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A(
AGAINST THE STREAM.
T
'• TU
AGAINST
THE STREAM.
THE STOA- V OF
A HEROIC AGE IN ENGLAND.
BT THB AUTnOR OF
■COTTA FAMILY," '
TRKVELYAN," ETC.
"lUE 8CH„NBKna-COTTA FAMILY." '< DIAKY OK KlTrv
TORONTO. CANADA :
JAMES CAMPBELL & SON,
PKU.lv-5,3
♦-
w
Against the Stream.
CHAPTER I.
O one who has not tried, can imagine
^v;hat a pleasant thing it is to be, unde-
niablj and consciously, an old woman.
I mean, of course, literally not sym-
To have the whole landscape of life behind
you, and below you. To see, now and then in-
dications through the mists and shadows, why the
path wound here through barren, empty wastes,
and there through thorny thickets; in one place
scaled recklessly the perilous rocky steep, in an-
other crept in weary windings along monotonous
Slopes It had seemed easier to clear at a bound : or
why, just there, it broke off in a sudden chasm,
which at the time threatened to end its meaning
and waste its work altogether. To catch some ex-
planatory hints of a training of eye and nerve for
higher work hereafter ; some illuminated glimpses
8
AGAINST TUB STREAM.
Of fellow-travellers, to be succored just at tlnit per.
plexing turn, and nowhere else. To have the
long uphill all but over, and to find - the upland
slopes of^duty" all but merging in the "table-land
of glorj, as thev do, not for the exceptional liero
on y but for all who follow the footprints of the
Masters feet, if the Master's words are true- if
heroism means, as He showed, not exceptional
achievement, but self-surrendering obedience ; and
giory, as He is showing now, not some vague rep-
etition of eartlily pomps with a larger than
earthly audience, but the expansion and ilhimin-
ation of every faculty, in a life fuller than the
^ To watch such explanatory broken lights steal-
mg over the past that reaches back so far :_to
c^itch the dawn of unbroken, satisfying light on
the future, now so near. Rest here,1n the ac
quiescence in powers enfeebled, unequal to fresh
enterprise, that have done their work and can
undertake no more, save such stray quiet kind-
nesses as may come to us demanding to be done •
rest there, in the hope of powers renewed, so that
their exercise shall become once more a joy, such
as It was to move or breathe in childhood
A little faint insight through the learning and
unlearning of the years,- through their tenderer
tolerance, and larger judgments, into the patience
of Him who has been teaching and long-sufferin..
through the ages. A strong and ever-growinr.
i
shoi
hop
I mar
f seed
list at tlnit per-
To have the
1 " the upland
le "table-land
ieptioiial hero
sprints of the
are true; if
t exceptional
)edionce ; and
le vagiie rep-
larger than
and ilhunin-
ler than the
'Iier, because
lights steal-
^ so far ; — to
ng light on
Jj in the ac-
tual to fresh
rk and can
quiet Idud-
be done ;
ived, so that
a joy, such
)od.
earning and
sir tenderer
le patience
ig-sufFering
er-growing
AGAINST TUE STMEAM. 9
trust, through ^eme discords resolved, and some
despairs cashed into hopes; through some mis!
"nders tood things explained, and some wrongs
ri^^Ijted or turned into secret instruments of mal!
tyrdom, through much forgiven and something
ov rcome-m the purpose of Hi,„ ^-who willeth
not that any should perish," not because sin is a
mere passmg disease of the childhood of humauitv
or a mere passing discord of the hannonies of tlfe
universe, but because "He wiUeth that all men
should repent." A bright and ever brighten"^
hope m a heaven which shall be the seed-plot of
many heavens, through that Death which is the
seed of infinite life.
To find the - great multitude no man can num.
ber," the "majority" to which we go, no lon^r
an overwhelming dazzle of supernrtu'ral lights a
Ztt tl" "?'"" ""-dividuaiized angehclac;,
but the blessed company where the dearest eyes
wonder and smile, and the most f^xmiliar voices
are heard, in that speech at once so tender and so
high we know not what better to call it than
These things are worth waiting for, worth '
growing old for, worth having this world Emptied
Can I say that ?
Not always ; not most healthily, I think in
~,3 of ecstatic forsoeing, hut'in tho'l "
ments, more frequent when it is given to me in
some simple ways, to fill up the mlsure ^f th^^
10
AOAINST THE STREAM.
service wlio have p-one before, and so to feel that
after all, this world is indeed not empty to me,
though my best have gone on out of sight.
So vividly they stand before me, those old
times, now that the morning mists and the noon-
day haze are over, and the mists of night have
scarcely come; so clearly do the old voices sound
back to me in the quiet, especially from the ear-
liest days, and so different is the world whence
they come from this around me now, that I feel
attracted to sit down and picture them, with just
as little effort as if I were not making pictures at
all, but simply tracing outlines on a series of mir-
rors, and transforming them thus, by some magic,
into a series of stained-glass windows.
So it seems to me.
But then, of course, I always see the clear liv-
ing mirror behind my outlines ; and how far the
stained glass represents it to others I cannot know.
It is worth while to do it, for myself at least,
for I have lived through one of our country's
heroic ages, and as it seems to me, have seen some
of the heroes not very far off.
And, in looking back over my life, if there
are any principles which have been its joy and
strength, and which I could wish to see more the
joy and strength of others, they are these.
Christianity is to me, and ever has been, since
I learned to live by it, not so much a fresh mys-
tery, as a revelation of mysteries — a "mystery
siiovn;" not a clouding, but an unveiling; not a
W
AGAINST THE STREAM.
11
) to feel that
inpty to me,
sight.
e, those old
ad the noon-
' night have
voices sound
'om the ear-
3rld whence
7, that I feel
n, with just
» pictures at
eries of mir-
Bome magic,
he clear liv-
liow far the
mnot know,
self at least,
r country's
e seen some
5
■-I
now riddle, whose glory is that being the divinest
it is the deepest, but a solution of many riddles,
although indeed not yet of all.
The world and its great history are full of
darkness ; society and our own little histories are
full of darkness, and much of this Christianity has
left unconquered and unexplained.
But at the heart and centre of all is not dark-
ness, but light ; not only a mind infinite and in-
comprehensible, but a heart that loves and speaks ;
not a subtle setter-forth of riddles which humanity
has to solve at its peril, or perish, but a patient
Teacher of babes, to whom His human creatures
are dear ; not an inexorable medical examiner test-
ing candidates for appointments, but the Physi-
cian healing the sick; not the Sphinx, but the
Word.
Truth obvious indeed, and at the root of all
Christian theology (is not the absence of it practi-
cally Atheism ?) yet from which it seems to me
most Christian theologies are forever departing
into labyrinths of our own making, and ever
needing to be recalled.
And flowing from this is another principle,
which has strengthened me to live and hope. The
light, and not the darkness, are meant to conquer
in individuals, as in the whole. Human character
IS not immutable, like the instincts of animals
but corrigible and perfectible; perfectible in the
best to the end, corrigible in the worst to the
12
AGAINST THE STREAM.
%
endj^eapabb of radical cLango, capable of infinite
trno"^^o^' *'"'^T' '^^^""^' ^^ Christianity is
appamnt invincibility of .„a,l fa"^,] s in 'ood „e
n wrongs from otl,e«, i„ struggles with my ef
I, "t least ],ave not found it eas7to hold wh '
...deed I should have found it iLpossL 'tc? ''
out tor constant recurrenop tn thn**; » ^ '""",
wiich is its so,„-ce! ^' ^'^"^ *""''
Faith in God, unbounded ; and for that reason
Lope for men unbounded also. '
Are these things so easy to hold in a worl.l
where the chaos of a French revolution ca^ :S
01 for a century without evolving a o. cation?-
^.ere the Church of land after land, and I'l"
age, has succeeded toooftenin silencin-its nobtet
"ir^dT ''^T''^ o"g-ted°;fr vt
trade, and the abolition of slavery has nnf of di
events resulted in a planter's Para'd," of , ratef
ndus nous laborers ?-where a century of^ph I
thropic efforts leaves our En.rlish ]m7, ^
erloss tn i;ft ^te .1 J-"gi.sn Jegislation pow-
I'^^n and » '," =":™""''''«"g "^'g'.' of pan-
i^:^.uS:Lrst::Zsfoste:r^
^.ftxrres:-:,::::---" ■
instiauitj is
fixedness of
til, and the
fi good mwi,
with mjself,
old; which,
ible to liold,
great truth
that
reason,
in a world
I can wliirl
'-eation ? —
d age after
its noblest
the slave-
not at all
>f gi-atefnl
of philan-
tion pow-
'it of pau-
itj leaves
nereasing
)wn little
ways won
?
' faith in
whatever
M
A 0AIN8T THE STREAM. ^ 3
is dark, leaves it not doubtful that "in Ilim is no
darkness at all."
Do we not need a hope for man that has its
root deeper than in anj man, or in any history,
even in Him who loving most has suffered most'
who « underwent and overcame," Whose life was
servmg, Whose victory was in being vanquished, •
VV^hose reigning is serving, Whose reward for the
service of His own is to serve better. Whose work
in tlie midst of the throne is the old familiar r^hep-
lierd's work of "leading" and feeding, Whose
trmmph in the day of his joy will be to "gird
Himself and come forth, and serve ? "
And this leads me to the third living principle
of my life : belief in a heaven which is not a
contradiction, but a completion of true Christian
life below ; in a master whose promise is, not a
rewarding of seventy years of toil by an eternity
ot luxurious repose ; nor an avenging of seventy
years of abasement by an eternity of exaltation •
nor a compensation for seventy years of service
and suffering by an eternity of triumphal pomp
and regal state : but a training by the numbered
years of imperfect work here for an eternity of
blessed work, unhindered and unwearied ; by sev-
enty years of gradual deliverance from the bondage
ot self, not for an eternity of the gratification of
self in ellectual or spiritual, but for an eternity of
the only liberty worth having, the libei
the rights of independant atoms, but of
of a mutually dependent brotherhood.
rty, not of
'the duties
in the ])re-
14
AOAINgT THE stueam.
i
1?
fence of the Father whom all obey, and on Whom
a depend; the glorious liberty of love, 11:"
end i t • " """r- '"'" "'^ ^^-''o '» '•'« source a'd
end s tog,, d „ gi^.^g_ j^^^^^^ ^_^^ d
ptts to give Itself, giving and receiving in that end
ess .nterehange which ensnres growth, and tS
only IS worthy to be called life
A belief I have found not without practical im
portance : since earnests and foretastes of 01^0 om
.«ed mhentance are sure to be converted bvtt
wV,,and it makes not a little differance to I r
I-actical lifewhetherwe consider the t„e s-mb
and foretaste of heaven to be the contemplalf „f
to.hng cfes from suburban paradises, or the suc-
omg and serving the poorest creature to 1 ngTn
tiiose city streets. "
If I have had any power in my life to '• lif* nn
hands that hang down," to revive now and hi
opeforhumamtyin some veterans (to whom I
l«ye been as a child) worn-out with thrdL
pomtments of many victories which have fafel
to accomphsh all they seemed to promise • or in
«.me fallen creatures, worn-out wifh the te"r
ot many defeats, it is to such simple and obvCs
rnnciples as these that I owe it.
And yet, how vain to think we knoTv fi,„
Bpnngs of the influences which hav moS t
or th,o„gh which we have acted on o e^ . so
Tt^l^r '-''-'- -""^ -«"
Deeper even than its deepest principles is our
fH-
nd on Whom
ve, tlie neces-
its source and
and in all its
? in that end-
li, and which
practical im-
of our prom-
3i'ted bj the
'ancc to our
'uest symbol
mplation of
or thesuc-
fe toiling in
to " lift up
y and then
whom J
the disap-
lave foile'l
nise; or in
he despair
id obvious
tnow the
oulded us,
others; so
[iomliined,
iles is our
AOAhYST TUB STREAM. 15
. roh'nrlon, rooted not in a principle, but in the Per-
son we adore; and, since the divine history is
ever deeper and wider than all the theologies and
. philosophies drawn from it, to me, doubdess, as
to all, ron, the wisest to the simplest, all true
, power o live, or to help to live, has come from
IJim who, while in Himself revealing the Father
understood and saved the "sinner" who washed
r • I'^tv P^'^ "' ^"^ '^^^^d t^^e I^isciple who
denied Him oved and saved the Pharisee who
'persecuted Him," Whose presence makes heaven
and must make a heaven like Himself
_ We maj review or analyze our life into prin-
ciples as we analyze our food into alkalies, salts
and acids; but no chemical combination of alkali
salts and acids yet invented will keep us alive '
Principles must, after all, be rooted in affec
tions: life can only be nourished by life.
i
t
CHAPTER II.
" Fretted by eallies of Ixis inothor's kiseee,
With liglit upon liira from liia father's eyes."
ITCH recollections of early childhood with
me are all too soon broken in npon.
Yet to me also the world began with
Paradise. I can dimly recall such a zone
of tenderest sunlight, such a sense of being watched
and delighted in, and brooded and pui-red over,
and played with ; such a golden time of kisses
and coaxings, and tender foldings up at niglit, and
laughing wakings up in the morning,
And then, succeeding it, a time of silence and
darkness and cold ; of being hushed and kept
quiet because something which had made the sun-
shine of the home was gone, and something else
which needed that lost sunshine more than any
had come, and ' must be cherished and watched
and kept alive with such artificial warmth as the
world can make for motherless babes, — leaving at
the moment little warmth and light to spare any-
where for me.
8,
!ye8."
dhood with
upon.
began with
such a zone
ng watched
Ill-red over,
e of kisses
, nigiit, and
silence and
J and kept
,de the siin-
lething else
e than any
id watclied
raith as tlie
—leaving at
spare anj-
AQAINST TUE STREAM. yi
A dark confused chaotic time, "without form,
and void ;" i„ looking hack, I can scarcely tell
whether it lasted days, or months, or jcars ; a
time when God had made for me no lights, <rreater
or lesser, to divide tlie light from the darkness.
So my first associations with my brother, my
own brother Piers, who was afterwards the life of
my h-fe, were rather of sonictliing subtracted tiian
something added, rather of a great loss, than tlie
great gift ho was.
I tliink wo shall find it thus with many of our
best gifts often.
After this comes first into my recollection a
pervading and overshadowing memory of clothes.
Before, it was like being a bird or a flower.
Lut connected with tliat dark cluotic time, comes
sense of being in a state of existence where one
Jmd ahv^ys to carry about things to be taken care
o , which one was in some vague and uneasy way
Identified with and responsible for, and whicli the
people m the nursery who loved one most, felt to
be in some sense of more importance than oneself
and yet the very nature of which appeared to be
that the influences which were pleasant to their
wearer were pernicious to them.
It was, I suppose, the form in which my spirit
had to struggle into the consciousness of matter,
" Obstinate questionings.
Blank misgivings of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realized."
Ho
w many of the lessons incident to the " shades
IS
AGAINST THE STREAM.
t^
of the priaon-house " came to ine tlirough ni_y
clothes ! — tliroii<ijIi that portion of the iiiatc>rial
world which was to nie so essentially part of tho
Not me," and was evidently
regarc
led by those
around me as an integral portion of the " ^le ! "
I can remember now the delighted Bonso of
freedom with which, one fine Sunday afternoon,
I had crept, unnoticed, out of the garden door,
with my faithful companion, our great black New-
foundland dog, Pluto, u}) the green hill ontv^idc the
garden wall to the edg«! of the brook beyond, and
was enjoying at once the joys of liberty and of
tyranny in making him plunge into the water and
fetch me a .lick as I had seen my father do. I
remember now the half-remonstrant, half-conde-
sending way in which the grand creature yielded
to my little imperiousnesses, and then, landing his
freight, shook himself in a storm of sparkling
drops over ine and my new frock.
And I also remember a certain calm philoso-
phical interest (which ought in any consistent
biography to have presaged a genius for scientific
investigatiorA wherewith I waa O' -serving that the
drops did not penetrate m'> crape but lay o.i it,
round and sparkling, when nurse burst upon us
with baby in her arms, and a wail on her lips.
" Bless the maid ! what will she be after next ?
Miss Bride, Miss Bride, you contrary child, how
can you be so unfeeling as to forget your new
cra'j; and your blessed mother, and Sunday, and
I'
%
AGAINST TllhJ Smh'AJr.
19
roigli my
e material
part of tlio
d by tluxso
I " Me ! "
(1 sense of
r afternoon,
irden door,
)laek New-
oiitslde tlio
leyond, and
rty and of
} water and
;her do. I
lialf-conde-
ure yielded
landing his
sparkling
Im pliiloso-
consistent
or scientific
ng that the
t lay 0.. it,
st npon us
er lips.
after next ?
child, how
your new
iunday, and
ovorything, and romp about like a beggur's brat
\villi that great brute of a dog? "
A speech which left xxk? \u such a ]>ewildor-
nient ot images and injustices that I was to(, per-
piexc^ to cry or to defend myself, until the do-,
his affections getting the better of his tact, sho.l
iHM.sdf in a rapture of welcome over baby and
nunse, and thereby drew on himself a blow which
Hcnthnn away whining in his inarticulate way;
vvluLst T, tearfully protestir.g that Pluto was not a
l»n.te nor r a brat, and that I had not forgotten
^•nu ay, for father had only just given me my
fennday gingerbread, was dragged down the steps
of the dear old garden, from terrace to terrace
whining in my half-articulate way.
And I also remember to this day, my fiither
standing at the door of the Summer parlor, which
opened on the garden, welcomir.g me with open
arms caressing and comforting me, and saying
ha ;' Clothes did not matter at all if I would onl v
be lus own dear little bride, and not cry "
]^nt clothes did matter, as I knew too well in
my femimne experience, and as nurse protested,
How should maste. know about clothes, poor
'lear soul, who had neither to make nor to mend,
"or to starch nor to iron ? Men, the wisest of them
always ta ked as if clothes grew upon children like
fur upon kittens."
They mattered, indeed, so much to me. that I
iKid never any difficulty at all in receiving the
narrative of Genesis connecting clothes rh the
20
AGAINST THE STliEAM.
IN
ill '
fall rather than the creation of nrian, as a most
rational explanation of the nature of things, being
already quite convinced from my own history that
they conld never have been originally intended
as essentials in any beneiicent scheme of the
universe.
Only, Piers and I ^^sed in after years fre-
quently to lament that the primitive institution of
skins had not been adhered to.
Also, I suspect, clothes had nmch to do with
that next step which made so great a change in
our lives.
I have little doitbt it was a sense of his inca-
pacity for contending with the difficulties spring-
ing, not from the characters of his children, but
from their clothes, feminine and infantine, with all
the feminine care and attendance incident there-
unto, that induced him to place fit the head of his
house the discreet and sober-minded gentlewoman
who became our stepmother; clothes, I mean, in
the larger sense, — conventionalities, customs, pro-
prieties.
The reign of Clothes certainly did not cease
with my stepmother. Only the signification of
the world extended. Conventionalities, customs,
proprieties, all the ritual of life, these wore her
standard measures, lier household gods, her sacred
Scriptures, or at least her tradition of the elders,
which brought them down to practice ; her Talmud
if not her Pentateuch. AYith most of us, I sup
pose, our practical commentaries are unwritten.
S
■A
M>A'1JM«
n, as a most
tilings, being
I liistory that
illy intended
erne of the
er years fre-
nstitution of
h to do with
; a change in
of his in ca-
nities spring-
children, but
tine, with all
icident there-
le head of his
gentlewoman
s, I mean, in
justoms, pro-
iid not cease
nification of
ties, customs,
Gse were her
Is, her sacred
3f the elders,
; her Talmud
of us, I sup
unwritten.
AGAINST THE STREAM. 21
_ On the Upper Olympus, doubtless, with her as
with others, safe enthroned the serene lar-off ortho-
dox divinities, but by the liearth were acknowl-
edged two presiding powers, one deprecated as the
root of mischief, and the other honored with daily
incense and libation. Her evil genius was En
thusiasm ; her protecting divinity. Moderation.
To understand the Bible or anything properly,
she would have considered that everv text sliouid
be underlined with "Let everything be done
decently and in order," and " Let your moderation
be known unto all men."
With her, sin was doing anything too vehe-
mently ; heresy, believing anything too intensely;
justice between contending parties was thinking
every one equally wrong; charity, thinking every
one equally right ; the Christian warfare an armed
neutrality ; truth the residuum after the extraction
of all extreme pinions; paradise, the place where
all exaggerated ideas and characters are either
absent or kept quiet.
At least such was the impression she made on
rae in the exaggerations of my childish imagina-
tion ; for hers was a moderation which always
tempted me into extremes, and it is only later
that I learned to be just to her. She was as kind
as any one can be without sympathy, as just as
any one can be without imagination. She ad-
hered as faithfully to the golden rule, '^ As ye
would that men should do to you, do ye also to
them, as any one can do who has no conception
22
AQAIMST TUE STREAM.
•I
i;ii
m
V \>.
4 .
n
of the differences between men, between the
"they" and the "you," no idea of the patient
studj- of circumstance and character which the
true fulfilling of the precept involves.
In later years, moreover, we grew to under-
stand each other better; as she and I both learned,
I trust, something from each other, and more '
from life.
And in earlier years, I can see now, if not tJ.iu
good she did me, at least something of the eviin
from which she kept me.
It is good for us all to have some ice in our
lives. It makes the air fresher, and restrains the
enthusiasm which is meant to enrich the summers
and middle levels with living waters and life-
giving soil, from overflowing too early in the
spring tinie on the higher levels, and so evapora-
ting in mists of sentiment, or being lost in marshes
of vague good intention.
Much fond and foolish talk there was, no
doubt, in the nursery, when it was announced
that Mr. Danescombe, my father, was about to
marry Miss Euphrasia Weston.
Faltering exhortations were addressed to me
by nurse as to the duties of our new relationship
to the good lady who was coming to be our " new
mother ; '' congratulations whose compassionate
tones made me interpret them into condolences.
For children, like dogs, read speech as if it were
music, by tones rather than by words.
The only words of her exhortations which
AGAINST THE 8T11EAM.
2;j
3tweeii tlio
the patient
which the
to under-
>th learned,
and more '
, if not fi.io
>f the eviJs
ice in our
istrains the
e summers
\ and life-
•ly in the
o evapora-
in marshes
3 was, no
mnounced
about to
ed to me
lationship
our " new
passionate
idolenees.
f it were
as which
^"m
made any impression on me, were tliose terrible
promises of a " new mother." To me they were
what to a devout Jew might have been the"prom-
ise of a " new God."
In those days the French words, vulgarized by
bad nursery pronunciation into papa and mamma,
which would be so intolerable if they were not
hallowed to two or three generations by the lisp-
ings of baby lips, had not yet been introduced into
England, or at least hud not penetrated to our
social level in our little country town. There
was, therefore, no convenient intermediate con-
ventional term, expressive rather of position than
relationship.
And the sacred name, mother, was not, in ray
Protestant childhood, distributed in the liberal
manner since the fashion among any benevolent
ladies who undertake the charge of young girls,
good or naughty. In those days women only
became mothers through a mother's anguish and
To me "mother" meant one only incompar-
able love, one- only irreparable loss; "love which
had loved me, me as I was, not any goodness or
beauty in me, not my clothes nor my behavior,
but me, her little, helpless, longing, clinging
Bride ; loss which had left my childhood, con''-
sciously or unconsciously, one long empty cravino-
" feeling after if haply I might ' *"
brood over n
me, arms to fold me like hen
But now nurse seemed
una- wiuL^s to
to expect me to transfer
24
AOAINST THE STREAM.
11
lil.f 4
that dear lost name iji this easy way to an mi-
known quantity, as if it meant notliing, like a
nonsense nursery rhyme ; as if life meanUiothinc.
but a " make-believe" play with dolls.
I could not have done so even to an old doll.
Yet to remonstrate with any one who could have
had the want of perception to propose such a
thmg was, I instinctively felt, as useless as trying
to explain the mysteries of property to Pluto.
I cried myself to sleep silently that night, in
one of those unutterable agonies of childhood.
Happily childish agonies do not drive sleep away !
^ And the next moi-ning I awoke and began my
vain tears again, but made no moan or complaint,
until nurse linding I did not get on with my bread
and milk, began one of her half-caressing half-
querulous remonstrances.
'' What ails the child ? Miss Bride, you are
gettmg quite beyond poor old nurse. And so no
doubt others have thought. Maybe the new lady
will manage better."
^ Then I broke out into one gasping sob. and
said, " must I call the new lady mother? "
"Sure enough, child, sure enough! What
would poor dear nuister say ? ''
" Did father say that?''
" Who would make so bold as to ask him ?
Never mind, poor lamb, never mind ; what's the
name ? The nainis nothino-."
To me the name was unutterably much. But
I was consoled by perceiving that it was plain
4
nurse
lathe
T
falsel
into 1
of t]l(
guag(
tiucti
ble h(
know
Tl
knee,
breast
"]
Hi
and hi
his voi
"1
mean \
"1
head.
He
down t
to me
her."
Bui
i arms a
tears as
"Li
not afn
home t(
AGAINST THE STREAM.
25
7 to an lul-
ling, like a
ant nothing
in old doll.
could have
ose such a
ss as trying
' Pluto.
■t night, in
childhood,
leep away !
began my
complaint,
I my bread
ssing half-
e, you are
And so no
5 new lady
? sob. and
L J
What
ask him ?
vhat's the
ich. But
was plain
nurse had no sentence on the matter from my
father ; and I secretly resolved to ask hi.m myselti
To me the name was everything. To use it
falsely was, I felt in some dim way, to bring a lie
into my life, or rather to sap all significance out
of tlio words falsehood and truth, to make all lan-
guage, all sacred words and names lose their dis-
tinctive meaning and become mere interchangea-
ble hollowness. That is to say, this is what I now
know my instinctive revulsion meant.
The very next time that I sat on my father'c
knee, and could get my face well hidden on his
breast, with desperate courage I began —
" Must I call her mother ? "
His hands trembled as they stroked my hair,
and his lips as he kissed me, and I could hear that
his voice was half choked as he said—
"Who, little Bride? What does my darling
mean ? "
" The new lady," I said, without lifting my
head.
J He put me down, and paced hastily up and
I down the room • and then he said, in what seemed
*';. to me a very cold and absent voice, "I will ask
her.''
But ther. again suddenly he seized me in his
arms and pressed me to his heart, and I felt his
tears as he said —
Little Bride, my darling little Bride,
not afraid of me ? I
you are
home to take care of you and baby
am only bringing some one
vnn Qnrl KoU,, »
20
AGAINST THE STRIJAM.
■i
And so he fully believed, my poor father.
Bewildered by the advice of some, and the gossip
of others, and the well-meant querulousness of
nurse, and the various feminine and infantine com-
prehensibilities of baby and of me, he was bring-
ing home a sage and sobei-ininded new lady who
talked good English, whicli nurse did not, and*
was a good economist, which he was not, to pre-
side over his household, his children, and himself,
to provide us with costumes and catechisms, with
clothes, intellectual, moral, and material.
I am not describing typical relationships or
characters. Relationships and characters are not
to be so easily classified into types. Second mar-
riages are as different as first marriages, and step-
mothers as different as mothers or mothers-in-law.
-But our country town was not a normal commu-
nity, nor was mine a normal life. And this was
my experience.
The next day my father kissed me very ten-
derly when I went to bed, and said gravely,
" Miss Weston does not wush my little Bride
to call her anything that is not strictly correct.
You may call her Mrs. Danescombe. She would
like it."
I felt so relieved, and so grateful to the new
lady for the relief, I could almost have welcomed
her. I suppose a dim hope came to me that she
would after all understand me.
A week after that my father went away for a
day or two. In those days wedding journeys had
AGAINST THE STltEAM.
27
poor fatlitr.
nd the gossip
iilousiiess of
ifaiitine coin-
le was brinfi:-
ew ladj who
iid not, and'
not, to pre-
and himself,
schisms, with
ial.
tionships or
3ters are not
Second mar-
es, and step-
thers-in-law.
mal commu-
nd this was
le very ten-
avely,
little Bride
3tly correct.
She would
to the new
B welcomed
ne that she
t away for a
junieys had
not been introduced. Tie was married in tlie
neighboring town wliere Miss Euphrasia was stay-
; ing, and the next day he brought her home, and
we were summoned to greet her.
I She stooped down graciously and gave me her
^j cheek to kiss; and she spoke in a high-pitched
X caressing tone, supposed to suit the infantine taste,
I to Piers, and made a movement as if she would
I have taken him in her arms and kissed him. But
I she seemed to find her dress a little in the way.
: She wore a drooping large-brimmed hat with a
I feathei-, and ruffles and lappets and laces in various
J places, and I believe she telt shy with the child,
J which he with a child's instinct of course perceiv'
; ed ; and concluding she had no right of possession
: in him, he turned trom her with a little pout, and
I a little quiver of the lips, to me.
^ I saw her color rise a little, and I felt rather
■ than saw a slight uneasy frown on my father's
face. I knew that things were going wrong ; and
then all at once something motherly seemed to
wake up in my own heart (I do not know what
else to call it), a dim feeling that I was not there
to be taken care of, but to take care of other peo-
ple, of Piers and father, and even in some sense
of Mrs. Danescombe. And I folded my arms
around my little brother, and stretched out his
little hands and mine together towards her, and
then I seemed to feel father's frown relax to a
smile, and in a moment we were both caught up
and half smothered in his arms, and enveloped in
"!^
il; *'i ■
28
AGAINST THE STREAM.
u eompreJiensive embrace in wliieh Mrs. Danes
combe was in some waj involved.
Tlien afterwards fatlier liastily left tlie room
as if he Lad finished the reconciliation scene in a
play, his sanguine nature quite satisfied that all
was going right; and Mrs. Danescombe, after
bestowing a toy on Piers, and a new London doll
on me, was quite content to leave Piers to my
guardianship, while she smoothed herself down
before the small out Yenetian glass in the oaken
Irame over the old high-carved chimney-piece.
_ And I remember sitting in the window-seat
with my arms around Piers, altogether grave and
^PPJ with that new feeling of motherliness.
We did not touch our toys, but sat gravely con-
versing; so that Mdien father returned, clieerily
rubbing his hands, he looked a little disappointed
to see the new gifts neglected, and said to me
naif reproachfully ;
" Does not my little Bride care for her beauti-
lul new doll ? "
How could I 'i I, who was feeling wise and
matronly, as if I were the mother of the human
race, and had the world on my shoulders, himself
mcluded !
-Besides, what strange ideas he must have about
dol s ! Was a new doll to be made acquaintance
with, and taken to one's heart in a moment ?
However, I took up the doll, and began to
behave to it with great politeness.
And Mrs. Danescombe drew near us, and
Lii
I
I
i
u.
AGAINST THE STRFJAM.
29
Mrs. Danes J marlo sniidrv efforts to " annise" Pioi".s 1)v fork
mir
eft tlic room,
ion scone in a
isfied that all
isconibe, after
■ Loiidon doll
Piers to my
herself down
in the oaken
ney-piece.
window-seat
er grave and
motherliness.
gravely con-
led, cheerily
disappointed
said to me
r her beauti-
ng wise and
r the human
lers, himself
fc have about
icquaintance
ment ?
d began to
sar us, and
the angular wooden puppet with M-hieh she had
of
il
4
•osented him, by means
^ various mountebank attitudes, which were in-
I tended to be funny,
I I remember now the sense of grave wonder
, and pity with which I contemplated these futile
; attempts at entertainment, whilst Piers continued
to gaze steadily into her face with serious, unde-
luded eyes, evidently concluding that she was
quite too old to play, and that the whole thing was
a piece of very ineffective di'amatic perfonnance.
I think the courteous complaisance with which
little children receive our imbecile attempts to
amuse them very remarkable ; they who are never
taken in, who are themselves actors of the first
class, by instinct, living in a perpetually varied
drama as gloriously independent of vulgar neces-
sities of scene-painting as an Athenian audience:
they to whom any few square feet of earth where
they can be let alone are an imperial amphithe-
atre, and tM-o chairs a hip]^odrome, and a heap of
chips a fortune of theatrical properties.
Piers, I am Sure, took in the whole futility
and absurdity of the situation ; but he also under-
stood that the new^ lady meant well, and, like
the little king he was, from time to time he
vouchsafed her the patronage of a smile, and even
condescended to imitate her movements with the
puppet. '
Little king that he was ! My little king, wh
lom
30
4
AOAimr run stukam.
I
Nil
I would scn-0 wiMi all that I ,r„s ni.,! l,.„l i
«;-■.) .....1 ..Lens,,, ,,„., ,„e „„„ ;;:,;' •, ;;;;
Tl..-.t mVht r aske.! nurse :f I v„i„.ht ,av ,„v
The wonderful l.irds aud flowera o„ l,e" e 1, ,;
I-ett> eoat l,ad ahva;. been a Idndran.-e o „,e " j
also ,,.,.. „,ff.box, and I so often bad t l^
ail over again. ^'"e>*"
At first she seemed rafhoi- l.i,i.f „* ^i
i.nf +1 T ^ ^"•'-'J iacnei iiiirtat the reniiptit'
look r" ,'"'"''" 'r''^' ""< P'««'«d tbae'b bl'
ook«, ,0 ,,,„. ^„^ ^1^^ consented, and called us
Io.,r„,noeents!"andbe«antoe,7,,oo '
».„^'"T ?^"^'<«'P. <"■>= little arm under bis
«.«nd cheek flushed as ,t was with sleena d
he her Imle (at hand clenched like ate lie' ^
and thrust out over the edge of his cot M '
me, sea coly 'm a tongue nnderstanded of the
people." No one had ever explained them to ,n
on,: Z'T'""^' ^™^ «"« » •* g to
:rifi?:rx:r;r;vr™ '° °°-
^flf flv.f f T • ^^^''^^ <=he words were
''at that tune I cannot even tell Ti.«.
norant, and I am sure she could not read V »
"nprobably they were the lord's P^ver and tt
«a», doubtless, neither definite nor "broad. It
it i,
ur.
^ '"xl iiad, and
f>'n)i-, and keep
iiit(!i'preter, Jiig
I'li^ht say my
:>f at her Imee.
Oil lier eJiiDtz
lO'j to me, and
I'ad to be^rln
t the request ;
cd tJiat baby
and called us
', too.
^ under Jiis
h sleep, and
i a wrestler's,
is cot. My
3ns ritual to
nded of the
them to me.
anything to
^I'ni to some
words were
Jre were no
'as very \g.
read. Kot
'er and the
■ afterwards
y theology
broad. It
J
■4i
A OA INST TUE STREAM. 3 ^
foi-tainly, however, included a belief in something
that could hurt Piers and mo,' especially if we
were naughty, and in the dark.
Jhit mysterious, indeed, are all little children's
' piavers !
Who knows the '' tongues of angels ? " Who
knows the mystic, unutterable coi 'trumion there
may be between the Father of spirits and those
little ones whose angels always see His face!
" Exiled children of Eve," little royal strano-ers
whose wondering eyes hare not yet narrowed
tlieir range to our mortal vision,— whose free fear-
less, questioning thought is not yet fettered to our
mortal sj)etch,— who knows the delicate, aerial
touches that come and go along those strings the
worlds rude .hands have not vet swept? Who
knows the moment when the Father who fell on
the prodigal's ne^k and kissed him, clasps to his
heart those little ones who have not vet wilfully
left the Father's house? What kisses, what con-
secrating touches are theirs ?
Who knows, since God is love,-not primarily
the Infinite Mind that speaks to us by works or
thoughts, but the Father's heart that speaks to us
by lovmg,— what divine touches, real as a moth-
er s kisses, tender as the soft pressure of her arm.
rest on the little ones ? '"'
Not only on a few score of exceptional little
Oralilean children were the sacred Hands laid, in
those three years which made visible the eternity
ot unseen Divine love.
8S
A(}ATNST THE STREAM.
:4
II !
. Nor ,.s ,t only a few Jowi.sli fisl.erraoM wl.n
Imvo utulersto(,.l ti.e love of the Mastor for little
cli.Idro„,-tho l>abes,_tiie crcat„re« wo call speech-
less and iineonscious. ^
Is it not rather ^oe wlio have become blind, and
speechless, and unconscious ? blinded bvthe count-
less sma 1 <^litterin..s, and the countless vain pry-
jngs of tins world ; robbed of heavonlv uttenlnco
% Its empty chatterings and bitter Contentions,
made unconscious by its drowsy charms, of the
reaht.es of hfe and death, and love, of the capaci-
ties for sorrow and joy. deeper even than sorrow
around and within us still, whether we know it or
not Hs they are around the little children we
tlimk unaware of them ?
Who knows how little the wisest of us know,
or how much the simplest?
I know not, indeed, what passed in my heart
that night, or what wo.ds passed my lips." But ]
rememl>er my cheek resting on i„y little brother's
cheek, and the dear little hand unclenching itself
and resting on me, and the sleepy eyes opening
for a moment on mine, and the parted lips sLpily
lisping my name. ^ ^ "
And I remember lying down in my own little
heltl7"'^^^ still and happy, and warm I
heart, feehng not so mucli that I was brooded over
01- needed It, as that some kind of wings had un.'
Med in me, and were brooding over Piers, and
keeping him safe and warm.
conic blind, and
>fl l)y the coiint-
ntlcss vain prj-
'only nrtenuicc
er contentions;
charms, of the
, of tlie capaei-
tin tlian sorrow
we know it or
e cliildren mq
I AGAINST TUE STREAM. 33
i
That was, as far as I can remember, the way
7 God be-an to teach me; l,y filHnc. ,nj heart with
I that great lovo which was just a little fboblo ima-o
■^' of His. °
8
CHAPTER III.
m many respects, to onr onLT "" ''PP"<^''b)e,
«'o tacit underst ndirthT, ■■''; • ' '' "'^^'^ ^■'•*
P'atin^if that narrow am, 7 '"'"■'"*■ ■'^'=™tem-
""".-t, from some wMe c '?°'"P''"-" ""''^ »»™-
»d thought .vhonc t Ts ,'7'" »^«P--nce
assume their duly dimimrfi 1 '" ""'^'■««'
In my earlv 'i ° ™"""'™ Proportions.
de'«!.ted in w t,f tmetMn'^ '!■ T" '^'»''" «-
^"-hment an o,d X Cd to f! ,%"'?• '''"" "^
knowing well i,er w™l °*'"'"'^'' J'is ship—
"■'■a' stonns she had 1^'"''', ''"' ''•'><»^'-n.- also
«'- J-ad gallant, stood "d'r "'"^' '"•-^-•''-
P««te and battles to com" f' "^ '° "'^ '<^™.
tending to anything interni, P",'"""'™ "ot at all
1-"' «on,bative, exch, 1 n ',""' "'• ''"^'nopolitan,
, Tf'o Amer/cau we ; It*: ",/'' "'« '"'^'^■
""3 seas; we wore f eshfl °" ?'°"''^^'' ^'^^'^
I'esh hon, a hot %ht witi.
was
AOAmsr TUB stubam. 35
leaving been beaten. On ,„!! ^ "'^^'^''S '-""I
scarcely dawned that tl,„ "' "'" '''«''' ''•"'
T% were "our ^1 7 ^^ ^•''"™ ^' «".
'"""^. vigorous J r : ;i- /v'™? °'' ""= "'"^
-gnarled; the vigor of eou^ebll ■' ^""'^^' ™<'
they came of, aSd (ne2m . "'"''"''^^ '° *''" «'°*
tl.e knots and gn r b o' TiT\ ''" ''"'''''''^
d.-ed years before, mo™ J Ld "" 1 ''"""-
away, and in some Enc,!,-;, ^ "'"''"'^'^ died
"-bek" who !md dtttdTer""""' "="»'-'
'ith a dim disapproval of Di.f' ™"''™''^'J
tried to npset tbo f-t 1 ^'''''^''^'■8 who had
fo.- the mos' pi 'To be ?:. V Z*-'^^ ^^'-"^
"ea„t), and therefor nat™ 1 ? ^''''''"''''- *■■"
their noses. ' "^'"''"r, to speak through
-H-teiiSb^it ^of:£n»f'^'
o=e;!^1:i:r^-edrh:^ae^^^^^^^
The "German State=" /n
exist, even in popnlar ballad"^ '"'"^ ^'^ "»'
and too unknown and ™ i ^~'™'^ *°o ™™<>te,
any definite portrait ^""^ " ''"'"'"'■>' '» ''ave
Spain loomed rnisfjlv nr, ,
Bhadowy, with the old .loom": Tf- •™'^ >''''
Paat playing fitf„„^ trZTCl * >" "* ''^^
pnsons still echoing as we I or ' , ^'^'"'' »<)
--„:n,uisition\:;:--rt:ters
FTTTJl
•■ ii
1
i'i
!
'I' ;
i {
1 1
36 AGAINST THE STREAM.
..e». and ghostl.ness, as if tlie u-iiole stnicture were
heU together b, old spells grown feeble, and 1
a Md toueh or word might crumble helplessly
Insular! we thank God in our hymns for it ; isl-
anded safe, m our green security, with our glori-
ous consftution in Church and Sfetto, our king, '
our church, oar "wooden walls;" a seoo.rd
from X ""';''''" '!';" P'-""-™^ *» «-«-'
tiom the various idolatrous nations around If
Israel of old had been guarded bv the Struts of
Dover and the Gorman Ocean, who eo-Jd ay hat
things might not have ended differently 2 But
no doubt It was to be. Israel was a stiLeeked
peop e, and we, on the contrary, were always iin
proving ourselves and our constitution. ^
Of course even then there were a few croakers
who might have repeated Oliver Cromwell's od
exhortation, <• You glory i„ that ditch whiif
gu-ai-ds your shores; I tell you your ditch wil be
no defence to you unless you reform yourselves ; •'
and a tew profane wits infected with the levitv o{
W, who did not regard even the Thirty ie
Articles, or our most religious and gracious kin^
a« unassailable; and a few democrats\-ho d d .^
CO isider even our glorious constitution final C -
f . the most part, even if, when compariu.. class
^vth class amongst us, we now and then recounted
reluctantly that there was <.o,ne men- "
".at there might be some\:or:rrS;Cn:;
IM.
^h all, a ghastli-
structure were
I feeble, and at
able helplessly
mns for it ; isl-
witli ourglori-,
>tate, our king,
' 5 a second
than the iirst
IS around. If
the Straits of
could saj that
Jrentlj? But
a stilf-necked
re always im-
m.
few croakers,
romwell's old
ditch which
ditch M'ill be
^ourselves ; '•'
the levity of
! Thirtj-nine
racious king
who did not
I final. Eut
iparing class
II recognized
iiil pressure,
ch were not
AGAINST THE STREAM.
quite paradise ; when, on the other hand,
pared ourselves with the rest of the
self-appi
37
we corn-
world, our
became once
iation was restored, and
more sensible of our privileges.
Moreover, not only were we one island, we
were in another sense an archipelago of islands.
Not only was England thus islanded from tlio
world. Every country town was islanded from
the rest— was a living community in itself, with
its own local history and government, local glories
and wrongs, its local ciielo of tamilies established
there for generations ; not certainly without their
mutual jealousies and rivalries, but belonging to
each other by a real and recognized relationshrp.
And still fai-ther M^tliin this inner island was
an innermost, like the ball within ball of the In-
dian puzzle.
In those days every Englishman's " house was
his castle," in a more peculiar sense, or at least in
a greater variety of senses, than now. A house
belonging to a family, was part of its complex
existence, more in the same sense that a man's
body is part of his complex self. It grew with a
family growth, flourished with the family prosper
f ity, decayed with the family decaj ; and as we die
out of our bodies and leave them, so, with a mortal-
ity in one sense more patiietic because apparently
Jiot inevitable, a family might, by misfortune,
folly, failure of succession, die out of the old family
house. A house, tlierefore, had qnite a different
significance ; it had family histories stamped into
3S
^<^^J^BT mE STREAM.
it> growiiiff out of it • ;t 1, i ^
fctics, a i;f„ of its o«-n.' ""' "^'"'^'tor-
Thoro are sfatelv man-ii,i„» .<■
f 'f ^T^e,, .eat,::;'::, :;:-;'-'- '•'toei.es
- I>».lt i,,to them, and thr^d " '""" ''""'''
''•'"'S or J.o,neI. a, „ 4'^;; ^ /■"" ?l'' '"anorial
"re'y town. VYe all of "' "'^ "*'''"='s "*'
I'ouses still. Tliov lo,*" T" ''"''"Snizo fJiose old
«■• quaint and bmLZZ °'V" '"■"' ''""'»«'=.
ity that has groir^ ";'"'" ^^™^' ""^ l""".™'
^"d from tholn Z le , !"" ^'^ '"•°"'"' "'o»,
™el' as human cj^ .« ' " "* """'""-^ «'"1 ''oors
if. -«' the „e.n;"::r:.e:7'™ ""'="■" f^-j
tiiem or eompassionato tl,„ •''' '"''' '''okoine
"8 friends. """"■ »"' "^ l""Uings but
endeavorillg tow ller "If '"''"" ^ '""^ l"^ople
^acreduess "of CZul''' '" ''^^'o- "'- 'oat
^""dows and lirephL, I T""" "* ^h-zahothan
'^.-•'.r anns on do^ .T / l!^,'""";";-' '«ts, and
0/ ""■oloenth-cent.n.y ,tf;";t, ^/'""k tl>e rush
sliaracter-
•eat fami-
attaclies
It family
chcd io
ind this
manorial
■eets of
lose old
itJietic,
inman-
them,
out of
3d for
doors
re fed
coine
•s but
jhild-
tntry
ople
iost
;hau
and
usli
for
cd.
AGAIJYS2- THE STREAM.
7 39
or love what they Joved or ih^^^ .i.
Jf it is hard to 21 ? ^^'^ ^^^«"^'^»t-
-Intectnre live ^ r nL^Mr ^^^^^
-Vive a dead habil of seal fe "l. r"'"' '^'^ ^^
children Mali see. ■'^"^ ^''^ ^^'"id-
andLeo.':?7nt^^^^^
true geography all ZT i ' ^'''^°"'^^^- ^^^
to the^-nowltdgf r:"^^^^^ "^"f -^"^^ ^-d
«^^st begin, not wl-t !l ''' ^"* °^ ^^'^"^«.
^"twitifti;;:j;^^;:^^^^^
r^StfX^z:r::/-;^-diet.
kingdom. This m1 , ", , "? '''"■'"''*' i" 'I'e
of a dear rockv rivt . "" ■"''" ''-^ "'« ^'^e
which it cutitfi"; ■ ::*'=■•" "'^ !>«'« tl>'-0" -h
Around th d t f 'dlhe' '"^*-'»d.
i^gs, the two solid to^' ^ . '°''™'>'"^>' build-
with its doeo noil , , . ^''' ™'' ""^ weir
town AbboS W r\" dt^n""'"^7*^™« ^''^
the town clnste, J > ., """'' "'« ''""ses of
"-.ripotSrS^ -*'■■•". back over
the ^:;XV!n;i "d ^"" '"™" '» "^'^ ^-t • '
the bes ofit'bv jn-'r" constrained to make
T 1. "^ ^i' oy all Kinds of epfpr.fn'^ a •
cl>mb>nghero and delving t!,ere nnt , "'
--econstrLt::^''-'---;ho.e
h J 1
liitil
2.il
40
AGAINST TJIE STREAM.
coiitiimai victoiy over adverse circumstances, and
tended to communicate to its inliabitants, accord-
ing to the material on wliich the stamp was im-
pressed, a character either militant and adventn-
ous, or easy and imperturbable, conquering circum-
stances by resolutely surmounting it, or by accei)t-
mg Its ups and downs as inevitable, and makin-
them part of its own constitution. ^'
The entrance was by a Tudor arch into a bro^^d
passage. On the right was a large M^ainscotted
room with a stone floor and on. long, low mul-
honed window with a long, deep window-seat.
In this room, as a rule, the family breakfasted,
dined, and had all its family meals-all that were
]iot connected with ceremonial and extended to
strangers This also was the nearest approach
Piers and I had to a day nursery or play-room,
our great resource on any wet days which drove
ue from our natural territory in the garden : a
room into which, even after the 7egime of my
stepmother, Pluto was admitted, and my father's
lavorite pointer and setter, and that Ion- succes-
sion ot my kittens which came to such I variety
of tragical ends. Mrs. Danescombe's cat, which
never came to misfortune of any kind, sleek, im-
penetrable, demure, resided in the Oak parlor
approached by a small flight of steps on the oppo-
site side of the passage. Into this we only went
by invitation; but that eat had the entree A
most evil and hypocritical creature we considered
her; an embodiment of all the dark side of cat
Instances, and
tants, accord-
tamp was im-
nd adventwr-
3ring cii'cinu-
or by accept-
and maldnsr
into a broad
wainscottcd
g, low niul-
kvindow-seat.
breakfasted,
11 that were
3xtended to
it approach
play-room,
t^liich drove
garden ; a
ime of my
my father's
ong siicces-
!h a variety
cat, which
, sleek, im-
)ak parlor,
the oppo-
only went
37itree. A
considered
side of cat
AGAINST THE HTREAM. 4^
natnre— malignantly breaking all the china and
gluttonously imbibing all the dainties, on account
of which my luckless kittens suffered, and then
sitting upright on the pai-lor windoM^-seat wink-
ing superciliously at all the world.
There were few middle tints in the portraits
of our childhood, and among the most Eembrandt-
like that comes back to me is the image of my
stepmother's cat. All that Puritan meant to the
most prejudiced of Cavaliers, or Tartuffe to the
most anti-ecclesiastical of Frenchmen, that sleek
stealthy, whiskered black-and-white cat meant to
me. It scarcely ever purred. We believed it
could not pur ; its conscience was too laden with
crime. Nor do I remember its ever playing, ex-
cept once or twice in a murderous way with"a fly
on the window-pane when it thought no one was
looking. Its name was Mignonette, and to this
day I can scarcely do justice to the sweetness of
the little flower whose appellation it polluted.
The Oak parlor had a very different social* rank
from the Stone parlor. It was my stepmother's
especial domain. It was seldom entered by any
one until the afternoon, being the scene of lei-
surely employment and sober amusement, and of
all social entertainments not of the stateliest kind.
I here Mrs. Danescombe embroidered muslin and
made lace, or took snuff and played cards with
chosen associates, always for small stakes ; and there
were solemnly handed around trays with small
glasses of liqueurs or cardials, or in aftertimes
42
AGAINST THE STREAM.
i! Ill
I' J
witi- iaintj small cups of tea. No nproariona
merriment was ever heard within those precincts ;
nothing stronger than tea or cordials M-as ever
sipped therein. Seldom did masculine foot in-
vade them. If my flithor M'ished to entertain his
friends with solid British viands and vigorous
British beverages, recourse was had to the Stone
parlor, where also we gathered in the winter even-
ings, on oaken settles or footstools around the great
old chimney, with its dogs and log-fires. Echoes
of Christmas merriment and of children's laughter
hung around those old walls ; but the wainscot-
ting of the Oak parlor could never have reported
anything more sonorous than the murmured gos-
sip of the card-table, unless some of the players,
by any series of other people's mistakes or their
own mischances, lost their game and their tempers,
and broke out of the decorum of the place into the
hard realities of unfairly lost shillings and six-
pences.
There were two sacred things to me, however,
in the room,
^ In the recesses on each side of the high oaken
chimney-piece with its carved looking-glass, hung
portraits of my iiither and of my own mother in
the dresses they wore just after they were mar-
ried ; he with a bag-wig, hand rufHcs, and a swoi-d,
and elaborate shoebuckles, which certainly did not
recall his every-day appearance ; she with pow-
dered hair brushed over a high cushion, a little hat
stuck coquettishly on the top of it, a blue satin
AGAINST THE STREAM.
43
nproariona
precincts ;
was ever
5 foot in-
ertaiii Lis
vigorous
the 8tone
titer even-
'. the great
. Echoes
5 langliter
wainscot-
reported
ill red gos-
e phiyers,
1 or their
tempers,
e into the
and six-
however,
ajh oaken
ass, hung
lother in
ere mar-
a sword,
f did not
ith pow-
iittle liat
lue satin
bcdice and train, and brocaded petticoat, with a
hirge bouquet in the hand laid on her hip, and a
shepherd's crook in the other. At her feet was
a lamb wreathed with flowers, looking M-istfiiily
up in her tiice. The native Vandyke or Sir Josh-
ua had evidently a confused Ideal compounded of
the pastoral and the courtly, and was very familiar
with neither. There must have been sometliin<r
very invincible in the character of my mother's
face to penetrate as it did at once through the false
idealism and the imperfect execution of the painter.
For it was evidently a likeness. Underneath a
fair, iinely-arched brow were distinct though deli-
cate eyebrows, visible far back at the side of the
forehead, and overshadowing very large, soft, dark-
grey eyes. There was much depth in the eyes,
but no dreaminess. They evidently saw — saw
the lamb looking up into them, and much besides.
The mouth was Arm and grave, the pose of the
whole ligure was at once easy and commanding :
the small hand, wooden as the painting was, held
the crook with a real grasp. You felt instinctively
that the visible lamb and the imaginary flock w^ere
well cared for under such gr;.rdianship. (Jh!
with what longing I used to look at that lamb
lying so safe at her feet.
She sat before me, a type not so much of fond,
passionate motherliness, as of tender, wise, protect-
ive motherhood; not so much of the mother's
bliss, as of the mother's care ; not like one of Mu-
rillo's girl Madonnas dreaming over a new delight,
44
A0AIN8T THE STllEAM.
I ' \\
"t I Ke „„e of tl,o earlier It„i;:..„ snicJ, ,.rave
Yththo very wcMght of the mother's joy, and with
ho desthue. of ti,e iife with w],iel> ill- owu Is
iJOiuid u|).
For liad I not the memory of her toucli and
her kiss to interpret the portrait ? ILid not those
'ands pressed me to her heart, and did I not know
iiow those grave lips could part and smile ?
Underneath this portrait stood a Httle table
with a we 1 m it, containing, 1 knew, m^' mother's
work, and espeeiaily one dainty little frill of a
baby s cap, unfinished, with her needle in it
Upon It was placed her ebony spinning-wheel.'
Kurseusedto dust it reverently every nrorning;
and often I stole in with her, and then, when
nurse was not looking, I used to reach up to the
picture and softly kiss its hands.
Every afternoon, when there was no company,
1 spent an hour in that room with Mrs. Ihines-
eombe and the hypocritical cat, learning to sew.
J3ut at those times I did not dare to look much at
my beloved picture; because, being frecpiently in
t ouble witti my M^ork, I was afraid, if I caLht
sight of that lamb and of that dear 4e, a t'fble
rush of the feeling of motherlessness would come
over me, and I should cry. For, once, when I had
oeen very unsuccessful with my sewing, and had
had to unpick It several times, this had happened,
andMrs. Danescombe had asked what I was crviiu^
or ; and I, stretching out my arms to the picture,
and sobbmg out something about my « mother '
, j>
AGAINST TUE STREAM,
45
my stepmother had replied in an oven, undis-
turbed voice— one of her maxims being that " a
gentlewoman never degrades reproof into scolding
by raising her voice " —
" Bridget, that is something I cannot permit.
When little girls lose their tempers over their
tasks, I cannot suffer them to deceive themselves »
by calling their naughty passions sensibility.
You have many faults ; but I did hope you wei-e a
truthful child. Never let me hear you speak in
that way again."
And that was a reproach I never did incur
again. IIow it burnt into my heart! Not only
by the injustice, but the justice in it. For I was
a very truthful child; and it was not only the
dull pain of being misunderstood that hurt me;
it was the terrible fear that my stepmother, after
all, had understood me better than I understood
myself. Was she not older, wiser, my lather's
chosen ruler for us — set over us by all the mys-
terious powers whence authority springs — author-
ity against which I had not a thought of rebelling?
And had I not been in something very like a
naughty temper, writing down very hard things
against my stepmother, and the bitter tate of little
girls in general who had to learn sewing ; indeed,
even against the nature of things which involved
clothes that had to be sewn ? And was it possible
that I had desecrated that love to my mother, and
the memory of her love, by making it an excuse
even to myself for being cross and angry ?
i *,
ii
40
AQAINST THE STREAM.
I corhvinly liad sometimes, nndorneatli tlicso
perplexities and selt'acciisatious, a dim K(!iise, now
and tlieii ilashing into a i)assiuiiato persuasion that
it was not all my fault. JJut then, again, I re-
proached myself a^i^^ain for this.
If the things in Mrs. Danescombc's character
which jarred against mine had been angles, the
conflict would have been less harassing. J3ut in
her there were no angles; there was nothing to
lily hold of ; it was simply coldness, smoothness
of surface, hard polish, and impenetrability ; and
what " case" could be made out of these'? She
never scolded, or threatened, or punished. She
simply reproved. Her severest discipline was a
distant politeness and a peculiar way of calling irie
''Bridget." AYhat was there cruel in that? ^Yet
it froze into my bones. And there were times
when her mere presence was to me a prison worse
than the darkest ot" the dark holes nurse threat-
ened us with. It was not mitil long afterwards
I learned why.
Her government was base i on suspicion. She
was not theological in any sense; she had no ex-
treme theories of the depravity of human nature.
«Iiut she had a deep-seated conviction that every
man and woman, and more especially every ser-
vant and little child, was more likely to do wrong
than right, and more likely to do wrong from the
worst motives tlian the best.
-v^ombinud with liiis, or periiaps fiowino- from
it, was a remarkable keenness of perceptiorr as to
AGALVST THE STREAM.
?at]i flioso
sense, now
ijisiou that
j^ain, I re-
cliaracter
.nglt's, tlio
. J>ut in
otliing to
nootliness
ility ; and
3se ? She
led. She
nc was a
ailing me
at? Yet
3re times
!on worse
se threat-
fterwards
on. She
ad J 10 ox-
n nature,
at every
very ser-
o wrong
from the
47
any defect or mistake, in anything or person, from a
Bpeek of dust or rust on the furniture, to the small-
est solecism in dress or manners, or the least ax-
cess or defect in demeanor.
Therefore she never praised ; partly because
fehe thought commendation nourished vanity, and
partly because in the best work she always de-
tected some petty blemish, not imaginary, but
real ; yet, however small, sufficient to distract lier
attention from all that was good on it.
It would have been a difficult atmosphere to
(jrow in, but that we had a large space of life free
from her inspection, and an element of positive
freedom, warmth, and breadth in my father,
which, I suppose, would scarcely have done alone.'
Only I have often aght that my mother's char-
acter would have ioen the supplementary opposite,
as my stepuiother's was the neutralizing contrary
of my father. My mother's character would have
drawn out and filled up all that was highest and
bestm his. Mrs. Danescombe merely -re] )ressed
and neurralized. With her he was, perhaps, re-
stramed from doing or saying some things better
not done or said ; with my mother he would have
become all he might have been. Botli made some
kind ot liarmony, but with my mother all the lifo
would have been larger, richer, fuller.
~Mib>^ii<ll«i^2<uAi"
CHAPTER lY.
ft i
I' ■ *
ll !
« r
T the end of the passage was a wide stair-
case with black oak bannisters, which led
to the Best parlor, an apartment pro-
vided with furniture altogether
" too bright and good
For common nature's daily food ; "
where from week to week the amber damask cur-
tains and tapestried chairs were pinned into thick
coverings, and tlie carpet was rolled up on one
side, and the gilded sconces on the frame of the
small round looking-glass were veiled, and the
Venetian-blinds were closely shut.
This was the inmost sanctuary of Mrs. Danes-
combe's domain. In my mother's time it had not
been furnished, and I had faint memories of its
having been abandoned to us as a play-room ; of
wild games there with my father in winter twi-
liglit, and of delicious terrors, half-real, half-feigned,
as he sprang on us from dim cornei's with awful
growls and roars, in tiie characters of lion or bear.
Moreover, outside there was a balcony which was
AGAINST THE STREAM. 49
a dehVIitfuIlj romantic place, whence tiie M^orld
assumed quite a new aspect, a border-land which
was neither indoors nor out-of-doors, where all the
life of the street moved before us in a continual
procession, better than any picture-book.
But now aU this was changed, and we only en-
tered the room at all on the very highest days,
in our very best, and therefore most harassimr
clothes; and would as soon have thought of ven-
turing into the pulpit of the clmrch as into the
balcony.
^ Behind this were the principal bedrooms, look-
ing on an inner court, and then a flight of rather
adder-hke stairs leading to the first platform of
«ie garden, on which opened the Summer parlor
Tins was my father's especial retreat, the corner
of the house which he succeeded in defendinc
against all the assaults of Order, and keeping
freely open to us. ^ ^
In this room we had the rights of citizenship
the fullest extent ; everything was open to us ;
and, in consequence, everything wa. sacred to us
W Z'V-''"'"^' ?^ ^'"'^^^^ ^" ' '^"d to have
hurt anything my father cared about would have
fbrtunel '' "' ''''' ''''"''"^^' '^' ^"'^^^ '^ '^^'■
of lif -^ ^^^^f' Vrmel^^h. of government and views
-fife were the very contrary of Mrs. Danescombe's
I His expectation was that everv one. bclon^ino- tj
?iit ; and if, contra
•ary to expectation, any one
50
AGAINST THE STREAM.
m
did wrong, or anything went wrong, ho was
wont to attribute it to the best possible motives,
and resume his sanguine anticipations, unbroken.
Not, perhaps, an altogether adequate principle for
government on any large scale. Although I re-
member being smitten with a far keener repent-
ance by being misunderstood by him on the too
favorable side than all my step-mother's keen de-
tection and exposure of the dark ever brought to
me.
The real defect in his rule was not, I think,
hoping br trusting too much, but suffering his
sanguine temperament to dim his sight. To see
everything wrong, and yet hope everything good,
is higher, I suppose, because truer.
And it was there, I fancy, my mother would
have helped him. The optimism which revolted
to an extreme against Mrs. Danescombe's suspi-
cions would have been braced and corrected by my
mother's loving truthfulness.
That room was a world of interest to us. There
were marvellous models of machines in it (those
were the days of Watt and Arkwright), balls of
twine, fishing tackle, carpenter's tools, a turning
lathe, pieces of various woods — Spanish mahogany
and cedar, curious knots and blocks of oak, walnut,
and various native woods ; for my father delighted
in experimenting, and had a theory that half the
use that might be was not made of our own Eng-
lish produce. The marred work, and the pieces
with unconquerable flaws were oiir Jetsum and
ng, ho waa
bio motivos,
s, unbroken,
principle for
;hougli I re-
lener repent-
1 on the too
3r's keen de-
r brought to
not, I think,
suffering his
;ht. To see
^tiling good,
other would
lich revolted
mbe's suspi-
■ected by ray
us. There
in it (those
ght), balls of
Is, a turning
3h mahogany
' oak, walnut,
ler delighted
;hat half the
iir own Eng-
id the pieces
Jetsum and
AGAINST THE STREAM. 5^
Flotzura; but the greatest pleasure of all was to
be allowed to stand by and watch while he was at
work.
To watch the real work of grown people was
and endless interest to us children. It was their
amusements, and still more their attempts to
amuse us, which seemed to us so dull. And by
imstaken benevolence of that kind we in our
chiJdhood were not much oppressed.
^ My father having much " of the child's heart
in h,s bre..^ " Look us quite naturally into his con-
Udence . njoyed our synipatliy in his projects
as much u. we did his in ours. Mrs. Danescombe,
probably never having knoM^n childhood herself
capable ot having existed from inflincy like the
children in old-flishioned family pictures, erect
from morning till night in a cushion and hoop
never thought of us as helpless creatures that had
to be made nappy, but as fallen and refractory
creatures that had to be kept down, and brought
up, and If possible kept tidy. Thus no one took
any trouble to amuse us. And accordingly we
were endlessly amused.
A^ever, moreover, were children happier in the
scenery of their childhood, than we in that dear
oJd up-and-down house and garden.
The garden consisted of a succession of plat-
lorms and terraces, connected by flights of steps,
or by steep slopes. The tirst of these was c,r,..Sl
tne Summer parlor. Round it was a bord'er' ot'
^flowei-s-roses, pansies, marigolds, love-lies-bleed
52
AGAINST THE 8THEAM.
I !l
ing, hen and diicken daisies, sunflowers, holly
hocks, all Lord Bacon's catalogue. In one corner,
hollowed out of the rockj hillside, was a dropping
well, where the slow falling of the drops, one by
one, we saw not whence, into the dark cool water
'>elow, mysteriously echoing from the sides, made
delicious music for us. The entrance was draped
by tufts and fringes of feri.o of the richest green
and the most delicate forms; beneath it, under the
rock, was a bed of the sweetest lilies of the valley.
It was only entered in the early morning by a few
stray sunbeams, and of these scarcely one reached
the opposite rock, and none ever penetrated into
the clefts and cornerr. My father told us it was
natural, and carved out by the little drops them-
selves dropping through hundreds, perhaps thou-
sands of years. They had begun their chimes, he
said, long before any had sounded from the old
church-tower.
Thus to us that little melodious well w^as like
the threshold of a thousand delightful mysteries.
Where did those melodious drops start from?
From what dark hidden pools under the hills?
From what bright floating clouds in the sky?
Whose pitchers had they filled,— what little chil-
dren had they cung to before? What were
they^ saying to us, or wanting to say ? Wistful
Undines and ]Nixen longing to speak to us : wise
busy gnomes at work for ages, knowing thousands
of secrets they M^ould not tell but we would give
anything to hear; all the wild mythology of
AGAINST THE STREAM.
53
wers, }iol]y
I one corner,
3 a dropping
rops, one by
k cool water
sides, made
■■ was draped
idlest green
t, under the
t* tlie valley,
ng by a few
one reached
etrated into
Id us it was
drops them-
rhaps thou-
' chimes, he
om the old
ell M-as like
I mysteries,
start from?
' the hills?
I the sky ?
little chil-
iVliat were
•? Wistful
to us : wise
? thousands
" nurse "
mountain and water sprites; all ^liat
nature would say to us and cannot ; all that .we
would learn from her but cannot; dim reflections
of our personality on material things ; dim shinings
through and prismatic refractions of the person^^l-
ity beyond and within ; all this, and unutterably
more, murmured to us through that dropping
well. Children of the mystic and humorour
mrth, did we need legends Scandinavian or Teu-
tonic to tell us what a strange compound the
world was ?
Was there not, moreover, from time to time,
m that very well, an aj^parition of a gigantic wide-
mouthed frog, -ho in the midst of all that melan-
choly and mystic music, and those delicate ferns,
and those sweet lilies of the valley, would croak
and hop, and be as self-satisfied, and as entirely
an embodied joke, as any of the quaintest dwarfs
Grimm ever disinterred or Cruikshank ever drew?
The whole mysterious animal-world lay open to
us between our sympathetic dog Pluto and that
supercilious impenetrable frog.
When, years afterwards, we saw those German
stories, we:f8lt we had known them all our lives.
For I confess I am tempted to count it amon<^
the blessings of our childhood that we had no
children's books at all.
.m doubt there were children's books in our
d^ys ; but the allowance was scanty, and what
there w^s did not reach us. If we had been pro.
vided with any, they would, no doubt, have been
64
AGAINST THE STREAM.
i!!i :':
'i i
f ii
i{ m
heavily weighted with morals, and would have
been duller to us than our lessons. But happily
we were not. Our lesson-books were good, hon-
est lesson-books— nij first was a horn-book. Our
alphabets had no pictures ; there was no sugar on
the margin of our draughts of learning. We took
them, certainly not without tears. But if to us
" books " meant the antithesis of " play," and we
ciicd over them and their consequences very heart-
ily and very frequently, at least we did not fall
into the. far more desperate fate of yawning over
our play, and listless by requesting to be instruct-
ed how to amuse ourselves.
In our days the age of wise children's literature
had not commenced. For us Rosamond and
Frank, Harry and Lucy did not exist. They may,
indeed, have dawned on some of the higher social
summits, but certainly did not penetrate to Ab-
bot's Weir. Still less, of course, was there any-
thing for us of the nature of the reactionary
literature of nonsense, clever or inane, which suc-
ceeded that era of supernatural good sense.
What nursery nonsense we had was quite genu-
ine, with no perplexing parodies of sense, or half
glimmerings of sense treacherously lurking beneath
the surface. For us Little Jack Horner sat in
his corner, and took out his plum, and congratu
lated himself (not as one might have expected, on
his good fortune, but on his virtue,) in the most
literal way, without any allegorical construction.
No suspicions of satire, or of the signs of the
d would have
But happily
ire good, hon-
'n-book. Our
18 no sugar on
ng. We took
But if to us
jlay," and we
!es very heart-
e did not fall
i^awning over
be instruct-
en's literature
>samond and
. They may,
higher social
atrate to Ab-
as there any-
3 reactionary
e, which sue-
sense.
s quite genu-
sense, or half
■king beneath
orner sat in
nd congram
expected, on
in the most
construction,
signs of the
AGAINST THE STREAM.
65
Jt
zodiac, marred oar enjoyment of the confusion
which ensued when " the cat had tlie fiddle, the
cow jumped over the moon, the little dog laughed
to see the sport, and the dish ran away with the
spoon."
For us Mother Hubbard's agreeable disap-
pointment at the futility of her dog's coffin was
always fresh ; the funeral rites of Jenny Wren
could be repeated to any extent ; the Babes in the
V7ood and Little Bed Biding Hood were alter-
nately dreaded and desired as we felt oqual or not
to the luxuries of tragedy. But between those
ancient historias and the literature of our elders
there was no intervening world of little boys and
girls, exemplarily good, siipernaturally naughty,
sentimental, religious, or scientiiic.
The world of grown people's work— of animals
and flowers, the garden, and the timber-yard, and
the n-on foundry were our books. And for us
there was no idle reading.
Bat perhaps we were exceptionally happy in
these respects. My father himself was our Miss
Edgeworth, almost always ready to explain to us
Jus own work, or to enter with such serious inter-
est as we felt its due into ours.
And, of course, it is not every child who can
be free of a timber-yard and a foundry as we
were.
For I have not yot told half the delights of our
garden.
By the side of the dropping well was a door.
56
AGAINST THE STREAM.
iiii I
•If
^ik. I
better to us than an j underground stops of Alad-
din, leading through a short tunne], ending in a
flight of stairs cut in the rock, to the second gar-
den, which was a steep slope crowned at the top
with a terrace and ar^>or.
This was of peculiar interest to us, because it
was one of the pages of our own original illustra-
ted copy of the Pilgrim's Progress, being obvi-
ously the Hill Difficulty, tlie arbor where Christian
lost Ins roll, and also in another aspect the Palace
Beautiful, and the Delectable Mountains whence
the pilgrims could survey the land.
Could not we survey the whole land from that
summit ?
Below us lay the slate roofs of the town, tier
below tier, the two bridges and the river ; and op-
posite was the line old grey tower of the church,
with Its pinnacles standing out against the
wooded hillsides, whilst above stretched the sweep-
ing curves and sharp angles of the granite Tors,
the moorland hills, whence the river flowed'
purple and golden, with crisp lights and shadows'
or blue and soft and far away, "the everlasting
mils." °
This, therefore, was one of om- usual haunts on
Sunday afternoons.
In he side waU of this garden was another
door, and beyond it an orchard, and beyond that
a great free range of fields called the Leas, and at
the top of this a channel of water called the Leat
which was detached higher up from the river, and
ill
III
;ei)s of Alad-
011 cling in a
G second gar-
ed at the top
s, because it
^inal illustra-
being obvi-
ere Cliristian
t tlie Palace
lins whence
id from that
e town, tier
er ; and op-
' the church,
against the
d tlie Bweep-
ranite Tors,
ver flowed,
id shadows,
everlasting
il haunts on
vas another
iejond that
ieas, and at
1 the Leat,
3 river, and
A GAINST THE STREAM. r y
feU at one end of the Leas in a cascade ^vhich
turned the large water-wheel of the iron foundrv
At the other end of this Held was the timber^
yard, and the foundry and the timber-yard wore
among the chief scenes of mj father's work and of
our play.
In those days it was the general custom for men
of business to live near their work. Now, scarcely
even the smaller shopkeepers live over their shops ;
and not only great cities but country towns Le
|nnged witli their suburbs of villas. Then, even
argemei-chants lived near their warehouses, and
It, as we did, they possessed a farm, it was a ^en-
mnefarm in the real country, where men and
women did their real work ; and if things were fair
to see It was because it was their nature, not be-
c^ausethey were put there to be seen. I suppose
there IS gain in the change. People breathe better
air, at least physically; of the moral atmosphere I
am not so sure. It may be good to escape from
tori.r 1 ''"""''' '' ^^""^^^^^ ^"d conserva-
tories and geranium beds; it is certainly better
than to be buried, body and soul, in busin Ls b^
grade, the chief object of which is to earn the
means to do no work. The highest art may c !
ta n]^, ,^ that way be degraded into a trade ; and
1 think there are few manufectures or trades ^hich
-ay not, on the other hand, be raised into art
At least It was so with my father. That tim-
58
AGAINST THE STBEAM.
I I
! t
ber-yard and tluit foundry were to liim, and thron-h
him to us, outlets into the world of knowledo-e and
of work. °
Into the intei lur of the foundry we were not
permitted to enter excepi under his" protection.
My cliief associations with that wero a sense
of tlie wonder-working powers of water and of
lire.
It was, indeed, a perpetual fairy tale to see
those creatures which we knew as flintastie dwarfs
or melodious melancholy nymphs, or dancing
Bprites, when they worked at their own wild will
in the dropping well, or around the great loo-s on
the hearth of the Stone parlor, transformed into
steadfost and irresistible giants by the pressure of
the steady will of man.
For thousands of years the slow-dropping water
had been at work, and had carved out to the sound
ot Its own singing that strange hollow in the rocky
hills, with its grotesque angles and dim clefts ; and
now at last the great water-wheel was set to direct
It; and patiently and willingly the mighty crea-
ture rising to its full strength, turned the great
machine round and round, making, by its own un-
conquerable beauty, the loveliest sparkling cascades
and showers at every turn. And out of this com-
bmed power of water and man came harrows, and
spades, and scythes; and pots, and pans, and ket-
ties, and all kinds of fairy household gifts to make
our work easier and our homes nleasanter. Were
not the swift, flashing waters, careering with their
, and tlironf^jh
lowledge and
we were not
•rotection.
ivero a sense
skater and of
' tale to see
astic dwarfs,
or dancing
ivn wild will
*eat logs on
formed into
pressure of
pping water
o the sound
n the rock J
clefts ; and
set to direct
lighty crea-
i the great
its own un-
ng cascades
f this com-
irrows, and
s, and ket-
-ts to make
;er. Were
with their
AGAINST THE STREAM. 59
rush of rapid music over the wheel, as pleasant to
see and hear as when dropping into the well?
And were not scythes, and even kettles, as poeti-
cal things to make as caves ?— the fireside and the
reaping field being surely as sacred as the rocky
hillside and the heathery moors ?
I have always, however, been rather glad, as
far as the lessons and associations of childhood
went, that our machinery was worked by the scpa-
rate powers of fire and water, and not hy these
powers combined in the more prosaic form of
Bteani.
There was a Ir.rge foundry not fifty miles from
us, worked by steam, before we were born. And
at the great engine factory of Bolton and Watt,
many years before, mj father used to tell how Mr.'
Bolton showed Dr. Johnson round, and said to
him, "Sir, we sell here the thing all men are in
searcli of — Powei-."
We lived in the ^lays of the birth and infancy
of many things which have since grown to gigan-
tic powers and overspread the world.
Our childhood was passed in one of the great
dawns of history. The world was awake\nd
stu-rmg around us in every direction— machinery,
politics, religion— and my father was a man awake
to every throb of the busy life around him.
The great steam-power was already in the
world, and through the busy biMius of Watt, Cart-
wright, and Arkwright, was feeling after its' work
in railroads, steamboats and power-looms. But,
60
AOAIJfJST Tmj STUB AM.
happily for us, our moorland river did tlio work
lor UH ; and instead of pistons and cranks, and closo
oUy rooms, we had our ^ngantic water-wheel and
the aiscade which rushed over it from the hill.
Then, the pictures and parables enacted for us
on the -reat casting-days, wlien we were taken to
see the molten metal flow out of t\u furnaco into
the moulds of sand ; the Rembrandt-like groups of
men, with blackened, illumined laces, 8hovellin(^
out the liquid Are as if they liad been agents in
some fiery horrors of Dante's Inferno; the power
of lieat in that red cave of Are, raging at its roof
into fierce white flames, which always made mo
think of Nebuchadnezjcar's flery furnace, and clasp
tight my father's hand and Piers', lest they should
be burned up like the wicked accusers.
I used to wonder how the three children and
that " Fourth " looked in the midst of the flames ;
not black, I was sure, like old Reuben Pengelly'
the furnaee-man ; but beautiful and calm,'' and
fresh and white, like a very bright, soft moon in
the midst of the angry glare.
Yet old Reuben himself was very dear to us
children. He had lost a little boy about the age
of Piers, and he had always a very tender feeling
to Piers, partly because the child, looking, no
doubt, from his blackened face and muscular bare
neck to his kind eyes, had always had such trust
in him, and would have gone in his arms to the
mouth of the furnace. Reuben's delight on Sun-
day, when he had hie clean washed face and his
AOAINST THE STREAM.
61
d the work
IvS, luul eloso
'-vvht'ol and
the hill,
lie ted for us
're taken to
iirnaoo into
e groups of
shovelling
n agents in
the power
at its roof
made nio
?, and clasp
hej sliould
ildren and
he flames ;
Pengelly,
ealm, and
t moon in
iear to ns
t the age
Br feelinir
)king, no
iular bare
iuch trust
ms to the
on Suu-
) and his
best coat on, was to carry Piers in his arms al)out
the silent foundry-yard, among the stationary
wheels and hammers, and to sing us Methodist
liymne ; for he was a man '^f •), strong, fervent
piety, such as iitted his rorgh wcrJc and his mus-
cular frame ; and it was fi)!.:, liiin \ first remem-
ber hearing the story of tho inree ; liJdren in the
furnace. To Koubcn the ]. jio was the written
part of a continuous living history, unwritten ; and
he told us how that Fourth, " who made the flames
as soft as morning dews to them, wr.s with hitn,
old Reuben Pengelly, as really as with them, and
with ns little ones too." And I nscd often to gazo
mto the depths of that burning haze in a vague
hope of finding something marvellous there.
All the men knew us, not as angelic benefiict-
ors descending on them now and then on festival
occasions, but as little creatures they had some
kmd of tender right in ; " master's," and also,
therefore, "theirs." And we knew the inside of
many of ^heir homes, not nierclv by religious or
benevolent visits, but naturally, as our neighhors
—as people who had known, and loved, and served
us and ours before we had known them.
There is incalculably much in that tie of neio-h-
borhood between rich and poor, employer and em-
ployed. The m3re daily natural crossing of our
paths IS something; the familiarity M^th each
other s faces and dwellings, and the countlc- kind-
nesses that may spring out of it, are infinitely
more.
Uur Lord knew us well when He said
62
AGAmST TBE STREAM.
not "Ye shall love mankind as yourselves " h.n
quite different. ^' ■"'""'« »i<=»mnff i
And it often seems to me that l,«lf ti
problems which beset us a4e fro „ 1 r l'*'",'
poor havino- ceased in >,„ """' ""'^
neighbors 'wh„? , 'f ""^ '■'^"""^<»* "> be
machine ; b^an in 'ff ' • ' '"'' "' «- charitable
. -place th'e counfe ^^LVh "'"'"'^ *='' '»
goodwill and seiW ll '"'^""^""Sos of mntual
-".snstai?n-:r;r:;:,— ;;-
--^s.^o7:::^r-----"--
^""Thrrrr'h'''r"^''^^^""--"^^^
m^uJeaboad channel '"".'' "^ ^''*«'- *»" •>'
sailed away tote 1 ,•!" "''■*. °" ■"aginations
'»^a,wher:hf;::;t:it--^.^^^^^^^^
we sprang had grown ™ "•"*
tn.nTs:::d Re^^onM r T T*^ '" ^" » «>-
'I reproduced ohil ' '" '""-V ^''tent whilst
after their prey or ToiVf f "''''' '''« ^''^
the .ems of\^rKor™;r;r «™-'^^ --.
^tories'were r;:^t%'i'':[./"'' r-
.-c |)..pmar wicn us than
J)
AGAINST THE STREAM.
those of the garlanded trees an.l fi
or even of the monkeys of ;1q x ^'•^' P"""^^^''
the tfn.ber-,ard, th: t^ s Itnetr ' ^'""^^^^
to "s ; and I have no donbtth! T^ ™^^
far-off things and c^.^h ''"'" ^^ ^" ^hese
with our plays astp f "'^"^^^^ ^^^e musie
as free andTpV" ^ t^ll^T 'T ^^""^^ ^« ^-'^^^
had hopped S^nVh^rlTlt^^*^^
dajs. urancn m former
with tl,e Sent, Z" °" T «"^* "»'««t
endeavoring to drL », ''"■' ''^''''>'' "'""''««Iy
be cmhed by the " " M "™' *" "''^^"de, to
"/ iiio inexorable water-wheel.
f.
ii i
ml
CHAPTER y.
riE Sundays of onr childhood, how much
depends on them ! To me the associa-
tions thej bring are chiefly of sunshine
and rest; undisturbed, unless by an un-
ITheT'' '"'I'^'^'^^^^^y in relation to Sunday
I cannot recall much definite religious teach-
ing. We used, certainly, to say the Church cate-
dnsm to Mrs. Danescombe ; and I must confe" it
seemed to me a very obscure collocation of words
m which It was nearly impossible not to put the
V^it of It being explained to us, except the duty
to our neighbor, which was enforced^on us ."th
strong personal application, and left me so op
pressed with the impossibility of either saying or"
dong It and so perplexed about the quantit;of
in.g, ha I should have been quite ready, with a
certain little French girl at her first con«on, to
STTl""^' '7-lf guilty of all the sins pro
inbited m the Decalogue, including Simonv. ^
>w much
3 associa-
sunshine
y an un-
Sunday
IS teach-
ch cate-
mtess it
' words,
put tlie
>er any
le duty
IS with
so op-
'iiig or
tity of
know-
with a
ion, to
IS pro-
A OAimT THE STREAM. gg
My fother never gave us direct lessons of any
n tdid-tr" it"'"'"- ^'' ''^'^ undoubtedly
not d dactic, and I suppose he w; not do-nnatic •
;iias foi J ns own use, and certainly not disposed to
^.npose them on others. Neither was he 'hen to
eanl or to question. His „nnd was as littlooTtl
^tuff heretics, as that of inquisitors, are made of-
subtle material, perhaps sometim'es .nor simila;
than e. her think. In Scotland I think it probTble
ho would have accepted the Westminster Oonfe
;on,.n Saxony the Confession of Augsb u" in
nt nd". V^*''^^ '^""^""^^ substantially th
same, and in all cases omitting the anathemas.
. -He was not theological at all in the sense of
being keenly alive to the defects in other people's
hsftit I •", T '^' Theologian; in that
Hs faith began with God rather than Muh man •
^ss..thinan erring, t.ilin., sinning, than 11'
God, loving, giving, forgivino-.
Analysis and criticism were not his element
So far from his theology being negative, if a" -
Sr™'"^'^"^^'^^ --nation. I fn
after hte we wandered into doubts and perplexi^
iut to r 1 -fvT ""^' '' -'^"'"^^"^ denunciations,
but to the child's heart and tl
His iniluenc
what he loved
le Apostles' Creed,
on us was through what he was, and
66
AGAINST THE STREAM.
Cowper, then a new poet, was Iiis delight; not
or h,s sat.re on social frailties, or Jiis bitter lamen-
taaous over human depravity ; but for \m sympathy
with human wrong, his gentle pathos, his sunny
T; T ''^' '"^ ^"""^^ ^^P^ ^" ^"^" ^^«d God.
J>Jot that my father was destitute of the force
of indignation ; but, like Cowper's, his indigna-
tion M^as reserved for i., , .,.ee rather than for
error; for the Bastile, for tiie slave trade, for the
desecration of the sacrament into a political test,
tor the corruption and meannesses of " corpora-
tions, for "charging God with such outrageous
wrong as leaving the sages of old
" in endless woe
For ignorance of what they could not know."
It is strange to see how many abuses then hotly
contended for, are now abandoned by the extre-
mest reactionists ; and on the other hand, how
much of the larger hopes which still have to be
conteiided for, had even then dawned on gener-
ous Christian hearts.
^ To my father we owe the blessing of libera-
tion, space, and joyousness connected with Sunday
and to him also the inestimable benefit, that to us
Christianity M^as associated, not with limitation,
prohibition, retrogression, but with freedom, ex-
pansion, and progress, with all that is generous
and glad and hopeful, and belonging to the light.
At eight o'clock the "M^arning" churchtbell
announced that it was Sunday; and father used
to knock at our nursery door, and carry us off tc
delight; not
bitter iamen-
lis sympathy
)s, jiis sunny
lan and God.
of the force
his indigna-
ir than for
■ade. for the
^litical test,
" corpora-
outrageons
now.
1 then liotly
the extre-
liand, how
lave to be
on gener-
of libera-
th Sunday,
that to lis
limitation,
ledom, ex-
generous
the light,
hurch-bell
Lther used
us off tc
AOAmST THE STUEAM. q^
the weekly festival of breakfast in the 8tone-par.
appa^relT 'f r"'/'"V'"^^ ''''' '' patienee,-the
apparelL. g for church ; and then the walk bv
M .de down the quiet yet festive street
etween the closed shop windows, among he
fnendly greetings of the neighbor , acros^ the
;:Inn.chyard, past that one cornc>r of i wS wa
i^ most sacred place on earth to him and o us
"P the long aisle to our high, square now hof
the squire's and the vicar's. ^ ' '^""''^
When we sat down, my view was necessirilv
quite domestic, limited by the wooden wa T S
when the singing began, it was my p^v e/ ^
the Sunday transformations of evervb^dv h
means of clothes everybody by
Ju lorm but in mafpri-il en -^
known K„i "^^'^eriaJ. Silk was utterly nn-
'So foTcroVDif' '^"^" "^'"'^ ''"^
not h«„n Pndc P »™'^««'"o patterns had
Stout wookevT T ^- *'»<''^''«te'- looms,
woolseys, worn, ,„ cottage looms, clean
08
AGAINST THE STliEAM.
m
wliite kercliiefs, and sobor ] Aues and liodden greys
characterized liie iVee-sciU ?:,.
Yet none of tlie ti-anfiforniationb of Sunday
seemed to me so complete and reninrkable as th?'t
^vhicll set Reuben Pengelly in the choir :;allery,
finbrticing a Imge musical instrument — not the
" svec hitifa' iiddle," but a gigantic bass-viol ; in
a br?,ii'ht blue coat and scarlet waistcoat, which sat
on ins muscular nnaccustomed limbs like plate
armor, and a conspicuously white sMrt, his tace
shining at once with friction and devotion. There
was a sober radiance, and yet a sense of respon-
sibility about his countenance which continually
attracted me to it, and I always found myself
ending ray survey of my neighbors with that dear
reverent old face, as if nnconsciously I recognized
it to be a shrine and altar from which more than
could be heard or seen was going up to heaven.
And it must be confessed there was much to
distract my attention. If the wages-paying and
wages-receiving classes were thus sharply defined
by the material of their clothes, the minor dis-
tinctions among their richer neighbors were
equally marked to a discriminating eye by their
chronology. It was but at a slow pac -! that our
town toilettes could approach the str rd of the
squire's, and still further of the cou, . i,c pew, in
those !>■ jf intervals when the . r- ss shone on
us.
Many decades of tlie fashiori-l o -k were thus
represented around me, and it w". );iipossible
^ •'■•«.
lodden greys
3 of Sunday
kable as that
lioir :;;illery,
Jilt — not the
3ass-viol ; in
it, wliicli sat
)s like plate
'irt, his face
tion. There
50 of respon-
continnally
und myself
ith that dear
[ recognized
1 more than
:o heaven,
i^as much to
-paying and
•ply defined
minor dis-
ibors were
ye by their
CO that our
dard of the
bo pew, in
ss shone on
were tluis
jjiipoesible
■^1
AGAINST THE STREAM. gg
that my eye should not be arrested bv varieties
reaching from the aristocratic French classics of
tight skirts and sliort waists, to tlie lioop and lii-h-
whalebone hood of Miss Felicity Eenbow The
schoolmistress, to whom a Sunday dress was a
possession for life, and who would as soon have
tliought of changing her grandfather the general's
lory principles for Jacobinism, as her mother's
lashions for raiment, which she severely, but
blushmgly, characterized as "little better than
none at all."
•
I was not conscious of doing anything profane
or unsabbatical in thus contemplating my neiirh
bors. o J t>
At that time no gorgeous varieties of sym-
bohcal vesture had been thought offer the cler-y •
but I had no doubt that these varieties of costume
among the laity formed as integral a part of the
Sunday festivities as Tate and Brady, Reuben
1 engelly s great bass-viol, and my uncle Parson
I^'iord s preaching a sermon in the pulpit robed
m black.
I cannot remember anything special m those
sermons ; but I do remember well waking u]>
'from time to time, not, as far as I know, by exter-
nal suggestions, to a sense of meaning and a
sense of appropriation, in various parts of the
Liturgy.
First there was the Lord's praver. Whatever
else in the service might be the^eculiar posses^ '
sion of grown-up people, that plainly belonged to
>
', M
^
1
\
1 ■
i
pi
'
1;
i:-<
TO
A0A1N8T THE STREAM.
118 children. We said it every morning and even-
ing. Tlien there was the Apostles' creed, which
seemed to belong to the Lord's prayer, beginning,
with the Almighty Father and going on with its
simple history of the Saviour who came from
heaven, who also like us had once a mother, and
was nailed on the dreadful cross, and iiad died,
and had been " buried " like our mother ; but un-
hke her, had risen again. He had, I knew, made
other people rise again, but not mother yet. But
one -day He would make us all rise again ; for
that, father had told me, was what the end of the
Creed meant. And then I should see mother.
But there were two versicles in the Prayer-
book, which being entirely incomprehensible to
me, I always privately revised.
Whatever the rest of the congregation niight
be able to say, being grown up, and no doubt hav-
ing better consciences than I had, I, ignorant of
archaic English, and keenly conscious of my own
misdoings, could certainly never pray that God
would " not deal with me after my sins," and
"would not reward me after my iniquities." I
who had become entangled in such a bewildering
labyrinth of sins and iniquities, could I ask God
not to deal any more after them with me ? There-
fore I always left out the "not." "Kot dealing
with me," as I understood it, so exactly repr^
sented my stepmother's mode of punishment.
My food was given me, lessons were taught me
all the mechanism of life went on, even'^to the
AGAINST THE STREAM,
71
morning and evenincr kiss ; bnt T, as a little trem.
bling-, chnging, living, loving personality, Avas left
out, Ignored, the averted eye never nieetino- mine •
my words indeed answered; my wants supplied,'
but I myself unresponded to altogether; close in
body, in heart and soul banished into outer dark-
ness. I myself was simply " not dealt with." -•
If God were at all like that, watching coldly
and gravely in the expectation I should go wrono- •
what a destiny, if for ever and ever I were to live
m his sight and within his hearing, under the icy
weight ot his cold displeasure, not clear why I had
oflended Him, and feeling it quite hopeless to ask
without the resource even of an occasional flash
ot indignant revolt, because of course He must
be right !
Those versicles are, however, especially mem-
orable to me as connected with one especial Sun-
day afternoon.
I had gone through a week of those small
misdemeanors and misfortunes, connected, as usual,
chiefly with behavior and clothes, in which mis-
chance and misdoing were so inextricably con-
tused to me, yet in which I so often felt that if
the original offence which had drawn down the
displeasure of my stepmother had been trifling, '
the burning an^rer and revolt aroused in me were
^^ trifles. >:,.,eover I had fallen into two un-"
deniable passions about wrongs done, as I con-
ceived, to Piers, and to the reigning kitten.
That Sunday therefore, with unusual fervor
72
AGAINST TUN iSTREAM.
'i
S fi
JiiKi with bitter secret tear.. T ],ad prayed ni^
little private revision of Uic i^itiiro-v.
"Deal with me! oh, do not gTve up dealin-
witli nie aftc r 2ijy sins." * ^
Poor blundering childish prayer, I believe it
was heard.
I had (ortainly no irreverent intention of cor-
recting the compilers of the Prayer-book. I only
thought I must be so much worse than other peo-
pie who could calmly say the words as they Avcro
pi-mted ! Otherwise, or' course, the words w-Hild
never have been there. My stepmother had so
often told me I was quite exceptionally naughty,
anci this Sunday at least, after such a week, 1 felt
it must be true ; more especially because my fathei-
himself, having come in at the climax of one of
my passions, a-.d not knowing the cause, had
looked gravely distresses at me,
Tha Sund:^ afteri, ..m it happened that my
father was occupied with visitors, and Piers and I
crept awav ^o our usual resource through the
field to the foundry-yard, to pay a visit to Eeuben
Pengelly and Priscy his wifo. They lived at dm
gate-house, and we were uelcoiued as usual. ]jut
I w^as very unhapp;. eli-- like a little exileeven
there. While Pier, .as ^ting coraplacentlv on
old Pnscy Pengelly 'y knee, enjoying her .- lonuion
and his bit of apple pastry, I, quite beyond iio
consolation of caresses and pastries, sat and nursed
my sorrows on the little wooden stool in the
porch at lieuben's feet.
SJ
AOAmST THE STllEAM. 73
Tlie very qniet of tlio plaeo Rooinod to irritate
inc. r lijid so many liainiMcrs beating, and com-
plicated wiieel.s rovolvlii<r in iny little heart and
brain, that the usual din and rattle of the works
would have been more congenial to me.
Everything but me wa; ,-.) good and quiet and
iit for Sunday I The water playing over the idle
wheel, the lazy occasional creaking of some of
the machinery (like a yawn of Pluto awakened
out of Bleep), the quiet noiseless investigations
being purs-ied by Priscy's cat among heaps of
iron, and stationary machines she would not have
lared to come near on work-days; the absence of
all the clamorous busy life that tilled the place
at other times, and the peace and shining clean-
ness of '^euben's house and tace, always made
that por.ii seem to me the most Sunday-like
place m the world. And I liked to hear old Keu-
ben and Priscy talk, in a way I only half under-
stood, but always, I felt, in good kind voicp^
about good and happy things.
Put that day the disquiet within was too deep
to be soothed by th< quiet without.
All Pveuben's benevolent attempts to draw me
into happy childish talk had tailed, and at lengtl
Piers having fallen asleep on Priscy's knee, and
1 riscy having fallen fast asleep too, Reuben looked
tenderly down at me, an.' seeing, I suppose, the
duji, stony look so unnatural on a childish face, he
My lamb, what makes thee so wislit ?
5J
74
AOATNST THE STllEAM.
i
rl I
ft I
I
It uippened that just tl.on T was watching a
ittlo dra.ua boin^^ enacted on tlio opposite si.lo of
ho .yard, l>etwecu PWhc/h cat and a lar^.o brown
hon Anxiously the poor niotlier, ignorant oftlie
restranits nnposed on pussy by our i^resenco, had
been calhn,, her ch.Vkens to her, and at length had
fiuccecded ,n attractinc. the Jast of then,, from tlio ■
seductions of crumbs and grains, nnder tlio shelter
of Iier wings. And there she sat, tenderly duek-
J"ff over her little ones nestled close to her, and
heroically confronting the enemy.
I had watched the little parable with a strange,
choking bitterness; and, at first, when Eeuberi
spoke. 1 could say nothing.
But when he stooped down and stood me be-
side his knee, and then took me on it, and hold
iny hands so tenderly in his great sinewy hand, tho
firs :ce-crnst of my reserve began to melt, and I
said quietly-I felt too despairing for tears^
" If uhen, I cannot be good. I cannot. I
have done so many sins and iniquities. I think
Crod IS going to gi^ o up dealing with me."
I suppose he thought my case not very hope-
Iess,^tor he smiled most complacently, and said-
Crive thee up, poor lamb ! At last/ Why
He did not give up dealing with me f^'
^YhJ^ uV"t '^' ^'''' '^ '^' consolation.
What could Reuben have done as naughty as I
had ? I only shook my head. *= ^ ^^ i
,n V "i^Y'^""^''"^ ^' ^^ ^^""^^9^ ^^«^* ^^«s -Bride,
my dear? came out in his heart, voice. " The
wafcliiiifr a
iho Ride of
n'lfo brovvn
I'iuit of thu
-'seIl(.'0, hud
length had
, from tlio '
tlio sliolter
^r\y cluek-
her, and
a strange,
1 Koiibeu
d me be-
and hold
hand, tlio
Bit, and I
•s —
t,nnot. I
I think
rj hope-
said —
f Why
solation.
ity as I
s Bride,
" The
AGAINST TllK STREAM.
75
i.<.r(l ,s good, good; with poor hardened old sin.
uers, and to thee ! an innueont babe like thee ! "
I felt much more like a hardened sinner, what-
ever that meant, than like an innocent babe- and
suddenly something that had lain hidden at the
l)ottom of my heart rose up at his words-some-
tlnng I could never have said to father, and had
scarcely said ev(;n to myself.
" lieuben," I said, lookino^ straight up into his
eyes, -ia God good ? To you Keuben, but not to
me— not to me. He took away mother ! Even
those little chickens have somewhere warm and
soft to hide; and I have nowhere. God took
away mother from me. He must have known I
should never be good afterwards. He is not good
to me." °
ilappily for me the old man did not crush the
helpless cry of anguish with a reproof, as if it had
been a mere wilful cry of revolt. But a look of
pain came over his face, such as I should have felt
if Piers had struck father 1 And he said, lookin-
reverently upwards —
"Poor lamb! Poor motherless babe! She
knows not what she says. She wants to be good,
and she doesn't know how Thou wants it I— Thou
who hast died for it ! "
^' I do want to be good, Reuben," I said, afraid
I had not been quite honest. " But I want— oh
I want mother f " '
"My lamb, my lamb," he said, "you want
God 1 Mother is happy, for she loves God. She
«
ji
!
'
if ;■:
^ '
J"'
>
■\ !■
i .
■
.•It'
AGAINST THE STREAM.
did when she was here, dear soni, and now she is
with Him and loves Him better, for she knows
iiow God loves."
"/* mother happj, Reuben ? " I said, roused
to an unwonted daring. - How can she be happy ?
If s])e 18 living and awake, how can she be happv
and I so unhappy, and not good, and never .o\n^
be good ? WJiy, even 1 could not be happy on
father s knee, and father pleased with me, if Piers
were hurt or nauglity And how could mother ?
fehe loved ns more than that. I know-I know-
If God would let her-mother would come back
from anywhere-from anywhere~to help us and
m ke us good It is God who took her aM..y and
will not ever let her come back. And how can I
pretend to love God, or say He is good to me "
Keuben said nothing, but kept stroking my
hands. I was afraid he was vexed ; but when I
g anced up at him I thought he had never looked
^0 k.nd although great tears were on his cheeks.
And then gently, as if I had been an infant, he
™lr;"^^^^i\^"^^^--.-dshut^
ana kne t down, with me beside him, and praved
11 the drops stood on his forehead and the t^ars
rained down his face.
He said something like this—
"O blessed Father! Pity tliis poor M-isht
forlorn babe. She has lost her mother, and she
She I T'tI '' ^'"- '^^ ^^-^^'^ -^-tand
She thmks Thou art turning away Thv face from
J^ei, and .:;. caring for her. And all the time it
d now she is
'V slie knows
said, roused
le be happy ?
le be happy,
never ^oing
be happy on
me, if Piers
lid mother?
' — I know —
come back
help us and
ir away and
how can I
to me ? ■ '
roking my
>iit when I
iver looked
lis cheeks.
11 infant, he
t the door,
nd prayed
I the tears
3or ^visht,
', and she
^derstand.
face from
le time it
AGAINST THE STREAM. ^^
is Thon who art stooping down and likening Thy-
self to cmT/ihimj -to tliat poor, helpless fod of a
hen gathering her chickens— just to make us un-
derstand how Thou lovest us— calling, callmcr ;
spreading out Thy wings for her— for her ! Lovd,
make the little one understand ; make the babe
liear and see.
"Blessed Lord Jesns, Thou knowest how we
want to hear, and touch, and see ; above all, the
little ones. Thou earnest that we might touch
and see. Thou tookest them in thine mnns and
la.d Thine hands on them, that they might touch
and sec. Thou hast let them nail Thee to the
Cross that we might feel and see. Ah, good
Shepherd ! And this little lamb has lost sight of
Thee altogether ! But Thou hearest her cryino-.
Lord, it's only the lamb bleating for its mother—
Thy little lamb bleating f„r Thee ! Take her
home on Thy shoulders. Lord. Take her home to
Tliy heart, and make her happy, and make her
good."
Then he rose and sat down, and took me on
his knees again. I leaned my head on his shoulder
and was quite (piiet— quiet in my heart too.
''My lamb," lie said, "that's it; that's all.
You want God. And God wants you to be good
He gave his own 8on for us. He would have left
mother with you if He could. It seems to me He
wants you just to look up, as it were, and sec
mother smiling on you in heaven, ^^.s- sure enomjh
sJie 18 ; and then turning round to Him, just that
f
M
H J 1 (
78
AGAINST THE STREAM.
you may follow her eyes, and turn round to Him
too and see how He is smiling on her, and on you'
bo Ch,ld child !mother./.happ,! And'she
would never be happj unless she knew God was
good and good to you. Follow her looks up to
His face, my lamb, and you will see what she
All the time I had not cried. I had felt too
naughty and wretched. But those words went to
my heart.
"Mother knows God is good, and good to meP
His fe'ce ^'^ ^'^ ^''"'''^ ^''' ^''^^'' "^'''^'^' ^
^ And He helped me ; He did not give up deal-
ing with me. * ^
My new treasure was soon tested. For I
remember the veiy evening after that Sunday
afternoon talk with Keuben had begun to clear
things a little to me, I ventured to say to my steo
mother when I kissed her for the night, that I
really hoped now I should be good, for I thought
I Juki a ittle love to God, and He would help me
My heart was glowing, yet it cost me much to'
^ stammer out those words. To me it was like a
confession. It was in the Oak parlor. She was
ookmg out of the window. She turned round, a
1 tie surprised, and questioned me with her eyes
till I colored crimson ; but she only said :—
" Very well, Bridget. I am sure I hope yon
will be good. You are liable to very violent
ebuhuions oi feeling. I think it was two days
'-■ ,; »
If
•onnd to Him,
ii', and on j-ou
>J .' And she
new God was
' looks up to
see wliat she
had felt too
^ords went to
good io me."
1 upwards to
?ive up deal-
ted. For I
hat Sunday
^nn to clear
to my step-
light, that I
)!• I thought
lid help me.
ne much to
'' was like a
■ She was
ed round, a
th her eyes
l:~
t hope you
ery violent
3 two days
AGAIWST THE STREAM. 73
since yon called me cruel l)eeausc your kitten was
wlnpped for stealing cream, and three days since
you tried to take up your brother and kiss him
when he was nauglity and was put in the corner
and threw youi-self in a frantic rage with mo be-
cause I would not let you, which your fether saw •
and four days since you sat sobbing half-an-hour
as It your heart would break, because you had torn
your pinafore, and had to mend it, instead of play-
ing in the garden. You are subject to very vehe-
ment changes of emotion. I suppose this is one
of them. I hope it will last, and that you will in
future wash your hands in time for dinner, and
keep your hair smooth. / judge by fruits."
^ I crept humbly away, with the feeling one has
m seemg the dog in Landseer's picture, with wist-
M eyes and appealing paws, entreating the parrot
tor a crumb of cheese.
Yet I believe the hail.showers and glaciers of
my childhood were good for me, as well as its sun-
shine and soft dews. I went away saddened, but
no more chilled ^to the heart; fori had learned
that the sunshine and the dews, and -;oft hroodino-
warm wings of ever-present love were at least as
real as the cold. The key was in my hand ; it has
never been quite lost since; and secret after secret
m unlocked to me whenever I touch tlie doors of
hidden chambers with it.
So, as it happened, my feeling after mother
at
feelliig after God, and tinding
■ ;
! 1:
80
AGAINST THE STItEAM.
Him, wlncli I suppose, M'iis part at least of what
ile meant.
It_ was on tlie Snndaj after this tliat I was
thinking I wished mother had been among some
goodly fellowship " or "glorious company " or
"noble armj" mentioned in the Te Beu.n, t\,^t I
imght have been sure she was among those we
sang about as praising with ns. And then it
occurred to me that the Ploly Church throughout
the world could not mean the little bit of it where
^ve are and which we see ; where the prophets and
apostles are not any lono-er.
I remembered Reub'en's words, and all at once
a Iieavy roof seemed lifted off from the world, and
J followed mother's eyes up to his face, and saw
that the church of our old toM^n Avas only a little
corner of the great Church throughout the world
Avhidi 18 always praising Him; and that I, down
m the dark room, and mother up in the li^ht
where she was waiting for me, without anythW
between, were singing our Te Deum together
Thus the service gradually grew to^ shine out
on me bit by bit, like far-off fields on onr own
moors lighted up one by one by the sun.
JVIy attention to the sermon was less endanger-
ed by external objects; for I was always caused
dnrmg its delivery to subside into the depths of a
great pew, above whose walls nothino- was visible
to me but my nncie, Parson Fyforcf, the top of
Miss lehcity's whalebone hood, the bou's in Ma-
dam vxlanvil 8 bonnet, which used periodically to
4
h W-fHtim h it*'-'^!-^
'-»'^>r.f.
w^m
i least of what
lis tliat I M'as
1 among some
company " or
Deu'tn, that I
ong those we
And then it
?li throughout
•it of it wliere
propliets and
nd all at once
le world, and
'ace, and saw
onlj a little
lit tlie world
that I, down
in the light
)ut anything
togethei-.
to shine out
on our own
an.
3s endanger-
vajs caused
depths of a
was visible
the top of
ONVs in Ma-
iodically to
AGAINST THE STREAM. qI
I sway about and disappear, and then to recover and
j ei-ect theinselves inexplicably in a defiant manner •
the grave ^ice of Eeuben Pengelly above the choi
g^^oiy and the trees waving in the churchyard
outside tlie windows. ^
I remember wondering why 2ny uncle Fyford
pnt on quite a different voice from that in which
W] '' r ^"""-^ '^'' ^'^^^' ^"^ ^^'i^^ther I
should ever be expected to understand what he
Scllu.
But my most vivid recollections of the sermon
especmlly after that Sunday afternoon with Eeu
I'cn in the foundry-yard, were of a time of dJicious
rest when the two people who were kindest to me
n he world were looking serenely down upon me
andfters, bemg by father's express sanelion, al-
owed to go to sleep, was leaning his sleepy little
othe to h,ra, with. one hand around him, and
the o her hand nestled in father's ; while above us
«a. the dear sacred name.on a white marble tablet,
and a consciousness of a sacred corner outside in
he churchyard, and of something more sacred and
than tlie sunhght, a smile kinder than father's
embracing mother and us all.
And eager and restless as I was, the sermon
did not seen, long to me; and a heaven -where
congregations ne'er break up," would not have
seemed to me a terrihl. th.-mt at all.
fT
-iiil'iwV'BrTiil
CHAPTER YI.
;' 11
days had reference rather to social than
to ecclesiastical elevations ; and " broad " was ap-
plied to acres or to cloth, not to opinions.
Whatever purpose the laity went to church
for, severe critical analysis of ray uncle Fyford's
or his curate's sermons was not one of them.
I remember not unfrequently hearing strong
comments on the extravagance of some people's
garments and the imperfections of others', but
never any derogatory remarks on the extrava-
gances or defects, or " unsoundness " of any kind,
of the various doctrines delivered to us.
Occasionally I recollect my father's gentle pro-
testing that the Doctor — my uncle was a D. D. —
had " given us that again a little too soon ; " but
a suspicion that sermons were intended to be trans-
ferred beyond the church doors for discussion (or,
I am afraid also, for practice), never crossed my
mind.
lot the excess
r in my cliilcl-
)w " in those
to social than
i-oad " was ap-
lions.
int to church
mcle Fjford's
)f them.
earing strong
sorae people's
others', but
the extrava-
of any kind,
lis.
■'s gentle pro-
as a D. D. —
soon ; " but
;d to be trans-
iscuBsion (or,
• crossed my
AGAINST THE STREAM. gg
Indeed, all the sects represented in our little
town had subsided into a state of mutual toler-
ance wln-ch miglit have seemed exemplary, had
not this tolerance extended to somethings which
all Christian sects are supposed not to tole"'rate.
Protests were not the stj le of the day. " Against
the stream" scarcely any one seemed pulling. ^ The
eftect was a drowsy tranquillity. The various
pulpits would as little have ventured to fulminate
agamst the enormities of the slave-trade, the in-
toxication common at all convivial gatherings, the
noting at the races on our down, the cruelties of
our bull-baitings in the market-place, as against
each otlier.
" Were the feelings of the congregation to be
wantonly disregarded?" my uncle Fyford would
have pleaded. "Had not one of Madam Glan-
vils sons been a slave-holder? and had not the
enormities of the slave-trade been greatlv exagger-
ated ? Were there any of the most respectable of
the congregation who did not occasionally take a
glass too much ? (drunkenness was not then a
mere low habit of the ' lower classes ; ') and were
the httle ' harmless frailties' of the most respect-
able ot the parishioners to be wantonly druirced
nito the light? And even the Mower orders 'no
aoubt, must also have their amusements ; poor
creatures their lot of toil was hard enough already
without being further embittered by Puritanical
austerities. Wliaf vv" +'■- • ^ --
of a K„ii "r " '"'' wucaojonai discomfort
ot a bull, a creature without a soul (and without a
r
I. ifc:
If ■
84
AOAINST THE STREAM.
Jiteratiire to celebrate its wrongs), compared witli
tlie importance of keeping up a manly, ancient
English pastime, a healthy outlet, no doubt, for a
certain — brutality, we will not call it, but — a
certain recklessness of blood inherent in the very
vigor of the Saxon nature ? Was there not even
a text for it ? Had not St, Paul said (possibly
not in precisely the same connection), ' Did God
take care for oxen ? ' And should we be more
merciful than St. Paul ? No ; let such pretences
be left to the over-refined sensibilities of a Jean
Jacques Rousseau, to a nation which could guil-
lotine its sovereign and weep over a sentimental
love-story (especially if the love were misplaced),
or to the gloomy asceticism of an austere Pui-itan-
ism now happily for England extinct."
I used sometimes to suspect from the vehe-
mence with which my uncle defended this custom,
he being at once a tranquil and merciful man,
that his conscience was a little uneasy at the suffer-
ings to which, as a devoted entomologist, he ex-
posed the various beetles which were impaled in
the glass cases in the vicarage. He could always
be roused on the subject of the nervous sensibili-
ties of animals, and 1 ]-emember a hot debate be-
tween him and my father on Shakespeare's lines —
" The beetle that we tread upon
In corporal sufferance feela a pang as keen
As ■when a giant dies," —
which my uncle characterised as sentimental ?m^({
pernicious trash.
•inpared M'ith
anly, micient
doubt, for a
. it, but — a
t in the very
lere not even
aid (possibly
), ' Did God
we be more
leh pretences
;ies of a Jean
I could guil-
i sentimental
3 misplaced),
tere Puritan-
n the velie-
tbis custom,
erciful man,
at the suffer-
logist, he ex-
I impaled in
;ould always
)us sensibili-
t debate be-
eare's lines —
ipon
3 keen
;imfip.tfl.l -ind
AQAmST THE STREAM.
S5
I believe he would very gladly have stretched
tiie same conviction to the nervous sensibilities of
negroes; but his candor M'as too much for him •
and with regard to the abolition of the slave-trade
^Jie had to take up other grounds, such as the gen-
era tendency of Africans to make each other mis-
erable m Africa, if let alone, and the antecedent
improbability that "Providence" would have cre-
ated a substance so attractive to white people as
sugar, and so impossible for white people to culti-
vate, and would have prospered our sugar planta-
tions and sugar planters as It had, unless It had
meant that sugar should be cultivated by blacks
and consequently that blacks should be brought
irom Africa.
Thus it happened, in consequence of all these
- various arguments, or rather in consequence of the
prepossessions by which so many of our arguments
are predetermined, that Abbot's Weir protested
against very little, at that time, either in church
or chapel. My uncle did indeed periodically pro
test against various evils mostly remote or obso-
lete, such as Popery on the anniversary of the
Gunpowder Plot, the heresies of the fourth cen-
tury on Trinity Sunday, or the schisms of the
s(3venteenth century on the festival of Kin-
CJiarles the Martyr. "
But he rejoiced to think that we nad tallen on
different times, when Englishmen had learned to
live in harmony.
I>id not he himself indeed exemj % this har-
"»i^^.
80
AQAINST TUB A TREAM.
I
* si.:
11'^'
iriony by a cordial if somewlint ('orKieseciidinir in-
tercoiirse witii the Rov. Josiah IJal)bid^re,\],e
mild successor of the fiery Cronnvellian minister
who, at the Restoration, had been driven from the
pulpit of the parish church?
Mild indeed had that Presbyterian congrega-
tion become, in doctrine, in discipline, and inzelil;
and difficult would it have been for any one short
of a Spanish Inquisitor of the keenest scent to fas-
ten a quarrel on theological grounds on the Rev.
Josiah Rabbidge, a gentle and shy little man
who?f^ personality was all but overwhelmed under
the eouibined weight of a tall and aggressive wife,
th« fuKrteen children with which she had enriched
him. The instruction of the boys of the town when
they emerged from the mixed Dame's School of
Miss Felicity Benbow, and a congregation which
it was not easy to keep awake, especially on Sun-
day afternoons.
Of this last fact I had personal experiences,
one of our maids being sometimes in the habit of
taking us to the chapel on Sunday afternoons,
when nncle Fyford was preaching in his second
church in the country ; attracted, I believe, not by
the theology, but by the greater brevity of the
service, and the greater comfort of the cushions.
I do not remember being struck with any great
difference, except that Mr. Rabbidge's prayers
were shorter, and not in the Prayer-book, and
that he generally used the term "the Deity"
where my uncle said " Providence.''
4
} II
J
r.
oseendiniT in-
'abbiil^e, tlio
liiin minister
Iveii from the
an congrega-
!, and in zeal;
ij one sliort
• scent to tiis-
on tlie Eev.
' little man
elmed under
:rc8sive wife,
had enriched
i town Mdien
s School of
at ion which
11 J on Sun-
experiences,
he habit of
afternoons,
his second
ieve, not by
vitj of the
cushions,
h any great
e's prayers
i*-book, and
he Bcity"
AGAINST THE STItEAM.
87
T suppose tlio tonus were characteristic in both
cases. Mr. Rubbidge's element, when ho could
escape to it, was literature ; my uncle" iture.
To both human life was a subordinate tlnu.r. To
my uncle, indeed, if was brought near by the
l.onsehold presence of his orphan nephew, Dick
i^ytord, and three thousand parishioners, who had
at intervals to be married, christened, and buried •
and to Mr. Eabbidge by the constant inevitab'e
IH-essurc of a wife to be propitiated, fourteen chil-
dren to be fed,, a large portion of the boy-human-
ity of Abbot's Weir to be taught, aad that somno-
lent congregation to bo kept awake. Still, to both
all this tide of human life was a distui-bino. acci-
dent from which they escaped when practicable-
Mr Eabbidge to his dearly-prized ancient folios
and my uncle to his beetles. And as must happen,
1 think, to all from whom the human life around
recedes, the Divine seemed to recede also ; and on
the very pursuits they cared for more than for
humanity, fell a lifelessness and a barrenness.
JVfature herself refuses to be more than a scientific
catalogue to tl )se who subordinate humanity to
iier. Ihe thoughts and lives of the men of the
past become mere fossils to those who neglect for
them the living men and women of the present,
-f present does not live for us, how can the
past? II our "neighbor "has no personalitv we
reverence and supremely care for, how can nature
be to us mo2-e than a collection of things? If
humanity does not come home to our hearts, how
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Piiotographic
Sciences
Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(716) 872-4S03
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88
AGAINST THE STIIEAM.
ll'il
can God ? Thus, in a nicasuro, moderated indeed
by tlie merciful duties they were inclined to look
on as hindrances, the law of love aven,i,^ed itself.
Nature became to my uncle not so much a living
wonder and glory, as a storehouse to furnish glass-
eases for insects; and history to Mr. Rabbidgo
rather a nmseum of antiquities than a record of
continnous life ; and (^od not so mucli the Father
and the Saviour as the "Providence" wliicli
arranges with marvellous ingenuity the mechanism
of the universe, or the "Deity" which dwells afar
oil' in thick darkness at tiie sources of History.
Of the Incarnation, or of the Cross, they had
little need, in such a view of nature and of human
life.
It was probably, therefore, rather by an acci-
dent of position that my uncle retained the
dogma in his creed, while Mr. Rabbidgo had
glided, nnperccived by his congregation, and pos-
sibly by himself, into a mild and most unag
gressivo Arianism.
And yet in all this I speak rather of their
theories, and of what these would have made
them, than of themselves; or rather of what they
would have made themselves than of what God
made them.
My uncle could not, with the best intentions,
live for beetles, nor Mr. Rabbidgo for books.
That rollicking cousin of ours, Dick Fyford,
was perpetually plucking him back to the roui.diest
realities of human life in its crudest form of boy ;
;d indeed
d to look
ed itself.
L a living
ish glass-
^abbidire
eoord of
Father
" whicli
jchanism
'ells afar
■orj.
hey had
E" human
an aeci-
ed the
go had
Liid pos-
: unair
)f their
3 made
lat they
■It God
Jntions,
s.
tjford,
►ugliest
f boy ;
AQAmST THE STREAM.
89
to the crudest form of British boy, a boy with tin
invincible inclination for the sea.
And to poor j\rr. Ilabbidge's discipline, no
doubt, all Abbot's Weir contributed, from ALrs.
Rabbidgc to Piers and Dick Fyford, as Mrs. Danes-
combe did to mine. What fossils, what mon-
sters, or what intolerable bores we should become
if we could get rid of the things and persons in
our lives we are apt to call hindrances !
The intercourse between my uncle and Mr.
Eabbidge was, no doubt, made more amicable by
the manifest difl'erences in their persons and posi-
tions. There could, my uncle felt, be no danger
of a man forgetting the social distinctions caused
by the union of Church and State, who had, to
begin with, to raise his eyes eighteen inches before
they encountered his own ; whose rapid, hesitating
utterance contrasted characteristically with my
uncle's slow, round, sonorous enunciation; who
had to compress sixteen people into the old Ab-
bey gate-house, an appendage of the rectory for
which my uncle declined to receive any but a
pepper-corn rent; to whom the glebe cows ar.d
vegetables were as serviceable as to the rector him-
self.
]S''ot that Mr. Rabbidge's independence of
thought was in any way affected by these favors,
or by the necessity of accepting them. No sense
of favors past or to come would have made him
indifferent to the value of a Greek particle, not,
[ mean, only in the Athanasian creed, but any-
Hi
90
AGAINST THE STREAM.
where: and he liad licresies from tlie Oxford pro-
nunciation of Greek and Latin, in defence of
which lie would have suffered any persecution,
civil or domestic. In this the spirit of his Puri^
tan ancestors survived in him, and not even the
eloquent and forcible Mrs, Rabl)idge herself
could have constrained him to any compliance
beyond silence.
But my uncle's sense of ecclesiastical ditrnity
was satisfied by conferring these benefits. It was
not necessary by any extra chill and polish of
manner further to accentuate a difference already
sufiiciently marked. And therefore the inter-
course was of the friendliest kind; Mr. Rabbidge's
fourteen were welcome at all times to enter 'the
rectory garden through the arched door, which
connected it with the little garden of the gate-
house, Dick Fyford being after all a far w.
dangerous inmate than the whole fourteen
Lv>'
gether.
Meanwhile Mr. Rabbidge found recondite al-
lusions to beetles in the classics, Greek and Latin,
and my uncle returned the compliment by refer-
ring in his articles in the SentimetUal Magazine to
quotations suggested by his "learned friend Mr.
Rabbidge." One point my uncle never yielded
to "separatists." As an orthodox Chuiihman,
and as the minister of a State religion, he could
not be expected to concede to the alumnus of a
Dissenting academy the title of Reverend. It
would, he considered, be to eliminate all eJgnifi-
AGAINST THE STREAM.
91
Jgc's
cance from the word. " Titles," said my uncle,
'^are titles; to accord the right to confer them on
any self-elected community was to undermine tho
citadel of all authority. Persons who began with
calling a Presbyterian teacher Reverend, might
naturally end with calling their sovereign " citi-
zen." Mr. Rabbidge would, he knew, compre-
hend his motives." And Mr. Rabbidge did, and
never protested.
For they had the link said to be stronger than
a common love— a common hate; if so fiery a
word may be applied to any sentiment possible in
zones fe temperate.
They both hated " Jacobinism"— my uncle as
a man of property, which any convulsions might
endanger, and Mr. Rabbidge as a peaceable and
not very valiant citizen, who in any contest was
not likely to get the upper hand.
And they both disapproved of Methodism, the
only aggressive form of religion they were ac-
quainted with— my uncle condemning it chiefly
as having a " Jacobinical " tendency to set up the
"lower orders" and to "turn the world upside
down," and Mr. Rabbidge as an enthusiasm likely
to set people's hearts above their heads, and so
turn their brains upside down.
And yet, such are the inconsistencies of the
best balanced minds, Reuben Pengelly continued
every Sunday morning to play the principal bass-
viol in the choir gallery, every Sunday evening
to take a principal part in the prayers and exhor-
"PX
92
AQATNST THE STREAM.
tations in tlic little Methodist meeting, nnd every
day and night, everywhere when he was wanted
to pi-ay beside the dying bods or broken hearts
among my uncle's parishioners.
And there were instances in which Mr. Rab-
bidge had even been known to call poor Reuben
111, when he liad found his somnolent and respect-
able congregation roused by some dim niemorv
of the old Puritan teaching, for which their fore-
fathers had fought, or by some of the terrible
realities of life or death to an unquenchable
thirst for somQthing which he did not compre-
hend, which neither the mild Arianism of the
chapel, nor the mild orthodoxy of the church
aftorded, but which Reuben seemed able to give-
some dim orphaned feeling after One who is more
than "Providence" and " the Deity," whom Reu-
ben trusted and called on, in no very classical
Enghsh, as '' the Lord, the living Lord, the Lord
who died for us and liveth evermore, the lovino-
pitying, and providing God and Father of us aiv'
My uncle and Mr. Rabbidge both thought it
very strange ; but human nature, especially in the
" lower orders" and in women, is a strange com-
pound ; what classical author has not in one phrase
or another said so ?
Principle, sober principle, the incontrovertible
precepts of morality, ought to be enough for ra-
tional humanity ; but in all the relaticms of lite
and even it seemed in religion, men and women'
especially women, could not be satisfied without
AGAINST TUE STREAM.
93
nd every
! wanted
n hearts
VTr. Rab-
Renben
rcspect-
meinory
eir fore-
terrible
mcliablo
compre-
of the
church
;o give ;
is more
tu Reii-
3]assical
le Lord
loving,
us all."
light it
in the
3 corn-
phrase
eoniething more than sober principle to guide
their judgment ; they must have their hearts stir-
red, they must laugh for joy, and tremble, and
weep— they must have emotion ; and as this was
so, perhaps it was well that a man, on the whole,
60 respectful to authority, and so trustworthy as
Eeuben Peugelly, was to be found to supply the i
material.
Or as Reuben put it : —
" The devil took care there should always be
sinners, and the Lord took care there should
always be saints beyond the reach of anything but
liis blessed Gospel and his good. Spirit."
m
ertiblo
for ra-
)f life,
omen,
ithout
"■li
CHAPTER VII.
PPOSITE our windows, across the Corn
Market, was a long, low, rambling old
honse, once a dower-house of the Glanvil
family, but long before my recollection
the abode of Miss Felicity Benbow, the guide and
the terror of successive generations of iuvenile
Abbot's Weir.
Piers and I, sitting on the window-seat of the
Stone parlor, frequently observed the children go-
ing in and out of that wide-arched door. Tlie
house, and Miss Felicity herself, had a kind of
horrible, fascination for us. Sooner or later we
knew those solemn portals would open on us, and
engulf us also in that unknown world within
where dwelt the dark, shadowy powers of disci-
pline and knowledge, represented in the person of
Miss Felicity.
Thither every morning and afternoon we saw
the children, a little older than ourselves— some
It was rumored, noi older— tend in twos or threes'
or one by one, with lingering and sober steins, the
small satchel on the shoulder, and occasionally the
AOAmsT Tina stream.
li
95
book, too late consulted, be
inir
>. anxiously conned
over ; and lienco in a body, at the appointed hour,
we saw them issue with softened voices and quiet,
sobered paces for a few steps beyond the door, as
iar, at least, as the range of Miss Felicity's windows,
subdued by the restraints of those unknown pow-
ers^vIth,n; and then through the nan-ow streets,
in different directions, we heard the joyous voices
sound louder and freer as they distanced the
solemn precints, scattering frolic and music throu<.h
tiie town as they separated to their different
homes.
There also, on wet days, the various maids of
the richer flimilies gathered with hoods and cloaks
tor their young masters and mistresses. And
there, every morning and evening, the aristocrat
of the school, Madam Glanvil's little orphan grand-
daughter was brought and fetched, by the old
black butler in livery, on her white pony : a grave
retiring child, with dark, pallid complexiof and
overhanging brows, and with large, wistful brown
eyes, which often seemed to meet mine, and always
seemed to speak to me from some mysterious new
world. The rest of the children thought her
proud and superciUous; but those strange, deep
eyes with their wonderful occasional lights-not
the dewy sparkle of English eyes, but I flash as
from tropical skies-always had an irresistible
attraction for ne They had a wistful longing in
them Ike Plula s eyes, and yet a depth I could
not fathom, wkcsh always drew me back question-
90
AGAINST Tin: STRI'JAM.
-"I
inr^ and gncssiii^.. So.notliin^. betu'cen tl
teries of'tJio dumb
10 111V8-
niniul-world niid tho mvstcj
'1C8
leiri. I could
at once of
of the invj\sil)le spirit-world was in tl..
not i^W wl.y, but thoy made mo thin!
the dog Pluto, and of my niothor.
I could M-atch no one while she M'as there
mid I grew to feel at last that the attraction n.ust
bo mutual, for she always guided the white pony
near our windows, and in a furtive way used, I
elt, to watch Piers and me, although she always
looked away if cur eyes met. Occasionally, nioit
over, on stormy days, an old black nurse used to
appear with two black footmeii and a sedan-chair
instead ot the one negro with the white ])onv.'
Ihe black nurse used to api)arel the young la.ly in
a mass of orange and scarlet splendors, ami enter
the chair with her, and then in stately procession
Miss Amice Glanvil would be borne awav to the
hne old manor-house among the woods on the hill,
called Court. '
Altogether, therefore. Miss Amice was to me
like a tropical dream of glow and gloom, such as
our temperate zone could not produce; a creature
from a region of splendors and shadows, alto<^ether
deeper aiid richer than ours; a region whe^e the
birds and flowers are scarlet and gold ; a land of
earthquakes and hurricanes, and wildernesses of
beauty, of magniiicence, and tragedy.
Tor I knew that those bkck people were
s aves, and the gleam of their Mdiite teeth, and
the flash of their brilliant eyes when they pulled
AGAINST THE STREAM.
hQYC.
97
thei
3ir xvoollj locks, as tlicy used ffood-lnunorcdlv to
do to us c'liildron watel.iii- at tho window, ilsed
not to toiTity mo as it did many of the children in
tlie town, nor to amuse me, hut to malce me feel
mclined to cry. TJiey always made me think of
i uito when he was chained up in the kennel and
fawned and whined on us. Only Pluto was at
homo, and they were not; and Pluto was a do-
and they were not ; which nuide all the difference'
I thouglit, for hi.n and for them. They were
called also by the classical names which in France
and in Italy have retained their di^^nity, but in
Lngland were only given in a sort of kindly con-
tempt or facetious pity to dogs and to negroes. I
had heard the black woman call them Cato and
Oajsar ; and they called her Chloe.
Moreover we had, through Ileuben Pen-ellv
an acquaintance with Chloe's history, which -avo
us a glimpse into the tragedy which underlay^'the
splendors of Amice Glanvil's life.
Chloe had a whole woman's v: rid of her own
in her own country in Africa, not dead, livino- and
needmg her, but buried to her irrevocably and for-
ever.
She used to come now and then, when she was
allowed, to Reuben's prayer-meetings, and some-
times rather to confuse him by the fervency of her
amens, and of her shrill quavering singing, in the
refrains of the hymns. One evening she "still tur-
therbewildored the kindly man by breaking out
suddenly m a passion of sobs.
1^
7
98 AGAINST THE STREAM.
^ Kcubcn told us tho story ou the next Sunduy*
in tlio silent foundry-yard.
"I couldn't for the life of mo tell why," ho
said, he hiivinir no onitorical vanity to explain
such emotion. « I was o.dy talking to the folks
quite plain and quiet how the blessed Lord sat
weary by the well, and asked the poor woman for
a drmk from hor pitcher, and how she was slow to
give It Il-'m. Chloe staid after the rest had gone
8tdl rocking herself to and fro, as if she were rock-
ing a baby, hiding her face, and sobbing iit to
break her heart., So I went up to her soft and
quiet, not to fluster her, and I said, 'The Lord
Jias touched thee, poor dear soul. Cheer up. lie
wounds and lie can bind up.' 'Never, Massa
Keuben, never: said she (poor soul, she always
calls me Massa, she knows no better). 'Never
bind up. Ue knoios letter than to try. Let the
wounds bleed. No other way.' And then, in their
sudden way, like children, she looked up and
showed all her white teeth, and smiled, and down-
right laughed. It was more than a man could
inake out. 'It was all a\mg of that pitcher and
that well,' said she. And then she told me how
she had gone to the well one evening, years a-o,
by her hut, away in Africa, with her pitcher,''to
fetch water for her children, with her baby in her
arms. The children lay sick with fever." But at
the well the slave-hunters found her, gagged her,
bound her, Ibrced her away to the coast, and
squeezed her do.vn with hundredfi of others into
1 gone,
J^go,
^G^TNST Tllia STltEAM.
tlio slavG-sbip. She hoard
.'tnd nl.rht, ma
lllillfr— „j
tlio side child
ojiiiiii'' for Ji
'•en, d
Da
ay
'■"^Ited u«-ay. I was ,.t ,o,„c „ „ If , /''"n
tiling to draw. And He s-iiVl nil v "^
me,' said ei.e, 'sitti,„> there wpiv .""f *'„ J'"*'
me. And then Reuben said, « I cried Mn ;, *
as she did, poor soul ! The baby diedlt as Ts
voy-gewas over, and thou „,,e'n the faC on
mice, ills «ife had just died al lier birth.
;/i
m-
100
AUAINST THE STREAM.
and the poor fool loves Miss AmiVe like her own.
It's wonderful," concluded Kcuben, " what them
poor creatures will clina^ to and catch at, just for
anything to love, though for the matter of that,
Priscy's no better. The women are like enough
all the world over, poor souls. God bless them!"
Miss Felicity used sometimes to descend to the
door with the little Irdy, and watch her across the
market-place, which gave us ample opportunity of
studying that physiognomy so important to our
future iate.
She was a tall and rather a majestic woman,
vi'ith a stiff, erect carriage (a perpetual monition to
all lounging little boys and girls), keen black eyes,
high Roman features, and a severe moutli reso-
lutely closed, as if her life had been a battle with
difficulties harder to conquer than the little mis-
chievous elves who could never evade her penetrat-
ing eyes, or the terrible instrument of justice they
guided.
Yet it was not a ftice which repelled me, or
rnada me feel afraid. I felt rather drawn towards
her, as a kind of tutelary Athena ; not very close,
not exactly as a child to her heart, but as a subject
to her feet, witli a kind of confidence of justice in
those steady eyes, and those stern grave lips.
There was no fretfulness in the lines of the fur-
rowed bi'ow, in the curve of the mouth ; no nncer-
tainty of temper in the large keen eyes. If she
had carried the Mqi^, I do not think I should
,
licr own.
;iat them
5 just for
of that,
5 enoiiij^h
s thcni."
id to the
3ross the
unity of
t to our
woman,
iiition to
ck eyes,
til reso-
tle with
;tlc niis-
•enetrat-
ice they
me, or
towards
y close,
subject
stice in
^'e lips,
the fur-
' nncer-
Ifsho
should
AGAIKST THE STREAM.
have Jiad any fear of her petrifying the
people by turning it on them.
101
wronsr
Thei
•e were two other inhabitants of that old
mansion besides Miss Felicity
Every tine morni
bofon
,, m summer, „^
were up, and every fine evening in winter, as it
))egan to grow duslc, from that arched door, where
poured in and out every day the joyous tide of
young life, came forth two very diF ,ont Ho-ures
one the stately form of Miss Felic.v, and the
other a man tall as herself, but bowed" and stoop-
ing, moving with uncertain and uneven gait and
leanmg on Miss Felicity's arm. They crept away
into the country by the least steep of the three
roads which led out of the town, and in about an
hour re-entered the old honse and disappeared,
and the stooping tall man's figure was seen no
more till the next day. It was believed they went
always as Uv as a certain ancient well by the road-
side, called theBenitor Blessed Well; for they
were often seen resting on the stone bench beside
It, and had never been found further on.
It was curious how people respected the mys-
tery Miss Felicity chose to consider thrown around
fthat ruined life. Keen as her perceptions were
sharp and definite her words on every other sub'
ject, around him she gathered a veil of fond
excuses and illusions, so thin that all the town saw
through it, and yet all the town recognized it for
her sake.
To us children, indeed, something of the mys.
m
t
!>>.
I''
II 11
i':t
102
AGAINST TUE STREAM.
terj roallj existed, taking the form of
ceal
ino'.
Jialf
Miss Folicitj M'itli a halo, and th
tall, bent form loomed, at oi
con, like a ruined church set
.... a half-con-
ontjing^ mist, which surrounded
•ough which the
, at once a tower and a bea-
, -'cli set on one of the heights
a ong our coasts, once meant to be a sacred shHno
but now, the sacredness shattered out of it, surviv'
mg only as a warning against wreck
Lieutenant Benbow had been in the army, M'e
knew, and had been a fine handsome man, and had
grown suddenly old in middle life, not altogether
bj misfortune, but by something sadder, which
hung like a swoVd of Damocles over the festival
ot ite for any of us to whom life was only
leastitiir. *^
To me especially those two had a terril)le yet
tender interest. ^"e, ^ec
Lieutenant Eenbow had been to Miss Felicity
what Piers was to me. She had loved him de-
f.fi 'I'J"*'"' ^^"'''^ ^■"^' ^"'" "^■^^^' ^J^« d^^th of her
father. (Happily for herself the mother had died
early.) She had loved him with the kind of blind
love which some think the truest and most wo-
i^anly. To me the blindness alwavs seems to
come not from the love, but from the little alloy
of pride ,'.id selfishness in the love which so far
makes it false. It is possible so to love another as
ourselves that the very love comes to partake of the
nature of self-love, exaggerating, concealing, untrue,
mijust, falsely excusin.r '
iely gild
inc.
not quite. The little grain of 'trTieTo?eattl"e'^bot!
lialf-con-
n'ounded
liieh tlie
k1 a bea-
5 heiVlits
i slirine,
", siirviv-
I'mj, M-e
and had
ogether
', which
festival
IS only
ble, yet
^elieitj
im, de-
of her
d died
f blind
)St wo-
!ms to
! alloy
SO far
her as
of the
ntrue,
id yet
B bot-
AOAmST TUE STREAM. iqS
torn of the most selfish affection makes it by that
gram a least better than mere selfishness The
miser who half starves his children in hoarLgf^
them has surely in his hoard son^ething a dc Jee
more sacred than there can be in that o? the nn' er
^'ho hoards for himself alone. And with M
Fehcj y that grain of true love was large, and for>
^^^^^l^, at least, fruitful ; fruitful, at lea^in saci
protession. Their means were not large, but her
dehght had been to have his appoiftmel a,
c^ioice and abundant as those of the'riches Id
the Idol had accepted the homage ; repaid it, even
by such small and symbolical acknowledgmLts ^s
can be expected from duly incensed idols
She knew he had at least one fatal habit. In
a day when all gentlemen drank more than y.as
good for them, he drank more than most, and, un
fortunately, could stand less. '
Once only Miss Felicity's eyes were all bu^
opened. He persuaded a lovely youn^ Dual er"
girl to elope with Imn and to ma^rr/l^^ ^ ''"'
Miss Fehcity did not wonder at th^ Quaker
br" "tT'o^"; '"^ ''''' d^dwonder at h
brothei 8. The Quaker maiden's father was a tan-
ner, and, true daughter of a general and of tTe
church, granddaughter of a bishop. Miss Fe ic ty
did not enjoy having to double he'; liba ions n^
mcense m honor, not of her Adonis of a brotl^
but of his sepai^tist wife, a person of "low S
1:1
104
AGAmsT THE STREAM.
inrr
oi-ioin wlio had oiitic-od
'o (lonhlo her ofFen•^<^s, and I
.iw.'iy Iiis attbctlons."
return tliey l,ad proviousl
in u oil to bear.
:K«e oven the h"ttl
lo
y won, Avas ahnost too
life
Tlio thirteen rears of tlie lienten
adorat
wore tJiose, tlieref
on was feeblest
■int's niarriod
>ro, in wliich Miss Felicity's
In thirteen
years the b'eiiten;
one little g„.I, l„s eonsfit„tion and Iiis fortunes
:'f ;7t«^' ';-'"S -n.o time before t
a clnW s lielplesmicss, a.id a spoiled cliild's i.nperi-
m,sness and irritability, to be a bnrden fbrthc',^"t
of In. Me on the woman be had scarcely n^ticc^
vhde ho had another to ,vo,^hip hin,. l4 ho ,v
s';"T';:"f,'""*'' '''■^' F^lirf'ywas every It
She Wo tod the tanner's daughter ont of her n!l°:
^cce, t°ntl '•'i"!""''' g'-'''"'l*"'gl'ter to her heart,
with all the strength of her strong will and stron.,
pfle t,o„s, and with a kind of .nolancholy plea«, re
n tl>ecerta,„ty that if her "Bd bowed down ad
or Nebo stooped, and wore a bnrden to the wea;'
l^y more" ""^ "" ''"" """ """•''<=" *'"' ^er
doled 1 , her old, beantifnl god-image, which
miol crcnmstances," she said to herself,"™
the excess of his own fascinations," had shattered.
1»
re-
•■^ii'l crowned tlio old idol witli n n.^.
U.,ir by year she boii^rl.t tho (in.,, „,,,. ^
irc;ir;:.:,!;r "^ y- '-"^-"^^^^
V '^ P;^'Jito, and scatc( hhn in H.o , .
c-M,ui,„ ..„„,,, „„oi<„a,,erir:
mtr, and fho wannest corner oF f]„. *; • , '
what 1,0 1;^"'""*"''''"" ^^'"^'' '-«' """"^ '"•■-
sMe;:;:i:,^r™f;;';';'.'<>o''-vo ,■,.„„„„,.
tl.e lie, tenant and ir "''' " ""■■^'"I'P'-- of
who™e„n,pe„odtos:::i:'tf:ij;:;T;z'
an individnal hope and pleali'lt o 1 1 Z^
grace to know it M-liile she wo« o *^'^
"iiiit; bne was amoncr ns Tf ;„
among the saddest of onr irrevocahrL ,
™ find ont, for tho fir.t t^ne rt^t ' VT
'n."M [I me, that some ot the
106
AGAINST THE STREAM.
■Ill
noly one8 of God have been beside us for us to
-nsu t, learn of, speak to, listen to, only when
tliey have gone from us to be with the goodly
company who are, indeed, not far from us, but
are just beyond speaking distance, out of reach,
ioi tlie time, of voice and sight.
My father helped me to the recognition. Miss •
Loveday had been a friend of my own mother's,
and he had the greatest reverence and love for
seen^l"'''^ to say the poet Cowper must have
seen her in spirit when he wrote tlie lines—
" t^^'f' ''^^^'^^- yo»r l>r'ishes and your paint-
Produce them ; take a cl.air, now draw a saint
Oh, sorrowful and sad ! Tlie streaming tears '
Cliannel her cheeks-a Niobo appears
is thus a saint ?-throw tints and all aw»y
True piety is cheerful as the day —
Will weep, indeed, and heave a pitying groan
For others' woes, but smiles npon her olnT
Certainly Loveday Benbow - smiled upon hov own
woes" with a smile so real and bright, that tie
woes and the saintliness, the burden and the
srej h whieh bore it, might easily have bean
hidden from a careless eye. As to the pityino-
groan for others' woes, not only could that be re-
iied on for any woes, from the breaking of a child's
doll to the breaking of a maiden's heaft, but, whal
IS rarer for one whose life is passed in the shad-
ows she had a smile true and heart-warming as a
sunbeam for others' joys, from a child's holiday to
8 for US to
only when
lie goodly
n us, but
of reach,
on. Miss '
inotlier's,
love for
inst have
mt.
s
AGAINST THE STREAM.
tier own
;hat the
nd the
e been
pitying
be re-
i child's
It, what
e shad-
>gas a
iday to
lor
<.."hS wi„!e^;fr'' """ """ "'"' "--' ■■"-
often I deaf 'In IE T "'™" "^'""'"^
wise l,or 00 ,nse1 Vl 1™ ''"'i ^^■"P""'^' """ ^«
poHences betS in 1 07'",*' '""'' ^"""^ '=='■
qnicknoss of l,n. „ ^, * '-econipenso in Hie
W rosponto ' ^''f"'---" -<> tl,o fulness of
no »o;:l™ ts a"^'r "-^^ ^•"" --^
an archangel; Tnd fl,, L T ^■"'*^ '" ''^'- *™ '°
«o blended bat I 1 '•""'^ ''™'' ^'^■■^
whether it wa It if. '"'"'"'"'* ™"'^«^"d
ti- other p p ? r,^ ;i" "'■'"i"""^ '^^^-•
sinjrlenos of T , ' ™' sharpened bv
W of lo, XTnT-' ""*" " ™ "-'Si™'
comprehend fvl , ™''g""">on that n.ade her
qniek n d th ro?;tr" ?''*'^-' " '-e that
t'^in,.n„eSastst™:~''''''°---
o«udefeer"s'i,r;2it?t\LT'o;v^';'"
thaTof a pWeiin as k^" ^7'"^''^ ""'sl>t was
but deepeVr « L bernd"' ^ T' " ^'*"'
"^o oejond «vmptoms to causes,
Jl
loS
AOAINST THE STREAM,
'%■■
So.noti,„es indco,l,Bl,o «-oul,l ropro.u.], l,c,-self
o™L "! "^-Tt I«^"'"™"'''» ""-""gl' disgmses and
,oxcn es, as .f ,t were not as necessary to the help-
crs ot humanity as to its erities to see truly ^
I>ut It is true that the liei?l,tcninff „f any one
,.o«-er of nature requires the heightening . v^ y
power „ ,™w ,,„j.„„i,^,. t|,e';^rovvth ofever^
sp.ntual as well as every intellectual gift di
mands the gro.th of every other to preserve' l.ar-
«h oh made her perceptions so true would have
made her a keener detective than my stepmother
and a severer judge than Miss Felicity, if love had
faith and a larger hope in God and man.
blie always had something of the dove in my
eyes, as M,ss Felicity had much of the eagle, and
n my dark.r motnonts my stepmother not a little
rf the raven. Doves need sight as keen to defend
their blood as eagles to descry their prey. And
i iss loveday's brood was all the human creatures
at had need ot her. Partly, no doubt, this dove-
like grace that encircled her was assisted by her
voice, which, as with many deaf people, had a
pecuhar nnder-toned softness, like cooings nnder
hiek summer leaves; and partly by her dress,
which was chiefly replenished from lier mother's
3 tonclicd
;h lierself
:iiise8 and
the help-
any one
of every
of every
gift, de-
erve har-
iharacter
J Id have
) mother,
iove had
set, and
I deeper
B in my
?]e, and
a little
defend
. And
eatures
s dove-
by her
had a
under
dress,
other's
AGAINST THE STREAM. ]_qc)
Quaker wardrobe, in whioh tlie prosaic drab was
i^niored, and the poetical dove-color and wliite
])redoininated.
Miss Loveday's dress was M-hat has always
seemed to me the loveliest and most becomim.
ot any to middlcd-aged and elderly women I^
retained the Quaker quietness and the delicious.
Quaker freshness, without the Quaker peculiari-
ties ; and her manner was just like lier dress. She
18 fondly enveloped to my memory in a soft ^rey
and white cloud of clothing, which, Mdien I try to
analyze it, resolves itself into the whitest of cans
trammg her pale sweet face, the neatest of white
n.nslin neckerchiefs folded over her bosom, and
the softest of unrustling grey woollen drapery fall-
ing m sweeping easy folds around her. Xot one
sudden, startling, daz.Iing thing about her in
circss, or manner, or voice, not the rustle of silk
or the glitter of a jewel; except the irrepressible
occasional twinkle of her kind eyes, and the oc
casional merry ring which was like an audible
twinkle in her soft voice and her laugh.
She was just the opposite (I do not mean the
contrary) of Amice Glanvil, who was all mystery
and surprise. -^
The sorrows on which Miss Loveday smiled so
radian ly were not sentimental. From her child-
hood she had been under the yoke unimaginable,
unavoidable, of pain ; the yoke which in some re-
spects pre«e-es closer on tho. immortal spirit, and
cuts deeper into it than any other, and therefore
4m>l
IVf
no
AOAmsT run smeAir.
o«n in .ome respocts ,no„W it fo a ,„„,.o dclicato
perfection, anj tan;nv it f,„- larger l,,»-vc«ts
JVo «„o in Ai>bofi, m.i,.J,a,l l,ea„ able lo
latliom tlio cause.
We l,,,d two doctors in Abljofs AVcir. Ona
M™ted all ailments to debility, and relied for
cure ch,c% on " nature " and port wine
Iho otber. Dr. Looscleigb, was of a melancholic
disposition, bad a strong f,itb in tbo depravity of
tlie iiunian constitution, attributed ailments to ex-
ms and hoped tor relict; as fi.r as ho hoped at all,
fiom bleeding, blistering, and the lowering sys^
tcm in general. " ^
Both medical gentlemen had patients who re-
covered and patients wli„ died. But in Abbott
Weir, although theological controversy was n iid
the same could not be said of medical. Each ^enl
erahon, whatever its theological proclivities, desires
o live as long as it can ; debates on what man or
The partisans of Mr. Kenton said that those
ac ually slam, by his remedies ; and those who
recovered, recovered by the force of nature.
Datientt'Tn"\"^^'"-^"'''"''''«'' ""'"^ ''^ttl'^
patients of Dr. Kenton who recovered strug.ded
through by miracle or the vigor of an exceptional
constitution, and that those%vho died, pS
3 doliwito
?sts.
1 able to
ir. One,
neiif, at-
Jlied for
lancliolic
avitj of
ts to ex-
'd at all,
ing sys-
who re-
Abbot's
s miid
cli gon-
desirea
nan or
tnrallj
nnness
i those
killed,
3 who
at the
li^fgled
tional
•ished
^(^^r.YST imj sriiiuM.
Ill
the victims of nco^loct shnn,. ^ i .
contempt of means. ^^'^^h ^m faithless
-Ruth sjstcms had been tried on Af;^= T ,
bn neither sueeessful. S],e Ind 1 !T'''"'^'^
f"d bled in ehildhood by f, r '^f" , ^^-'''''^
-^^^troph,. si.o had "i,.^ \/; :^f :;;;^ ;"^-"
l^onton and Miss Felicity into a t^n,'^ ^•'•
part of either system which ,hl 1 r " i "" ^"^^
]>ort wine or br mdv T , ''^'"^^^ ''"''' ^''^
«^>e had pro ieh^
f^^"or. i^.. £:! tr ti:,;;r r ^^-^^^
i" the controversy, in X x r '''^''^''^^S^
was a standing we pon if ^^''' ^T^'^y'^ ^'^^
"Hlnced to break t^nt;K f '""'^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^«
and natnro :Sl^t:^ j^T' ^ '^'"^
disease, and the cZrl ^'^oseleigh and
-^edwe':trr::x:tt^^^^7
and other ceptLTTT"'''' ''^'''''' "^^ father
to arise, tl^st^-t^^^^^^^^^^^^ '^^'^ ^y^^^^^^
^etsandphenomen::;:.:;^::::^^^^^^^
en.e, who found tneco^^''''^^' state of exist-
tieable, to mil u^ "^''"^ therefore prac-
about ;ve,,t;:;:::z^iS^^^
-^ the port-Wine ^^s,stem;!ir^^^^^^
JI2
AOAmsr THE SriiNAAF.
' » I
#«» believed by tlu- no,.e...ty of soom;. son.o root
of ^ood Hi the evil te.ulenoj which had .appcd
iior brother's cxistciicc. ^
/f ^;';i« fo bch-eved thut the weekly visits
u t at least, a tenderer si^n.itlcai.ee than IVtiss
i oheity ehose to acknowledge. There had been
< aj8 wlien the ^.eTn'al doctor had paid Miss FehVitv
the most n.arked attentions; and durin^^ the yea/s
when her brother's n.arriacre had separated her
roin thoone ceaseless oI>ject of her devotion, Ab-
bot s A\ e,r had believed that it detected a ..radual
Botten.n^r of the tutelary Athena manner towards
iinn. It was considered that the prospect of a
pleasant home, a life without care, and an affection
which nianifosted itself in the flatterin.^ form of
respect.nc. her judgment enough to carry on contin-
ual controversies with hoi-, were beginning to melt
the impenetrable heart of Miss Felicity, and that
she would soon consent to be an illustrious case in
proof of the success of the building-up system.
But her sister-in-law died, the. lieuienant be-
came a helpless invalid, and returned to receise
once more his sister's homage • and from that mo-
ment Dr. Kenton's hopes were blighted.
Miss Felicity returned to her old life-long role
of priestess and amazon, adoration at her old
shnne, and unflinching conflict with infldels and
wit. ivramstances for its sake. And Dr. Kenton,
aict. .':, ,,.. ,iu- -omonstrances, and some years of
combaim;vf c..trangeT mt, came back, parti v bv
' some root
lud 8a])|)c(l
^kly visits
■i"l, on his
"liiin JVLiss
liad l>t'en
ss Felicity
tlio years
rated lier
tion, Ab-
a ^nidual
• towards
[)oct of a
affection
f form of
n contin-
^ to melt
and that
IS case in
stem,
nant bo-
' recenu
that mo-
vlC.imyy7y/,^.,.,,^,j^,
— 113
moans of 1,;,, „,„^i ,
cc->».,| 10 .;.„, 1,,,! "" "'"' '••ontt.ntio,, ; l,„
^'"t'-b-, br„, „,j „,:[*■'■ ""' to tl.o c„<l tl,„
continued to ,eo iPer ' -■'; """" °"" «■''"
'■" Abbot's W .d't/'" ™V''" "'"<•'•'• "•°"'™
spirit tlKan all tl^Zn of ,'r '"■"''"' "'"' """•«
8 " °' "'« '»wn put together.
)ng role
ber old
lei 8 and
Kenton,
'ears of
rtlv bv
CHAPTER VIII.
T was about two years after my fathers
second marriage that Piers and I we ,
^Xi:: ''^""' "^ ''' -'™' o^ «
h,„.=t f ., , ""^^' P™t "P for forty vcM,,
buist forth ,„ that Jato passion of maternaliove
I beheve she tried hard to be iust to ns al T
believe she tried harH t„ . , • ^
might be in her bo/ 1 ^eTe'r n\ T' ""'"
possible. Therestoftll M . " *"" "»-
see through tie s me J ,'^ *' """''■"'^'^ *»
winter da^X inThier 1 ta7 .ifS^ ["7
Around this child rfowed and ™I • ff "'•
]7 a flood of tropicS Tn i^' ''t t 7"'"^-
W Francis hnrl >,«. • j ^aiuts, ol course,
human ™d,t"i::*rr' ''■"'■"'^'' ■- --
wereuLhang b,tTk°b T"f^ '" *^™™'
glowed withl-eLtedTi t "I ?,'^''''P''' '^'"^"^'
u
AOAimr ruE stbsam. jj^
earnest, entire absorption ft , ''''° '" ' "»
"-Object t,.u intS rtt*; 'f'»" "'■"'
ness of all besir]n« o ' *^ ^^'^ foi-getfnl-
Hi. rf.ar„eter *;:;:,::, "''■'^t'-'' ^•'•-•
"liioii made tl,e wo ,1 „ «»»''tl'«ess about it
'•'--teristie nlti":" ^I/^r^ -* '"•."• His
"o^^eiess was this .novenlt , , ? '" '"'•'' ^"'^
and t),e„ it strnek yo„ , ,"? f ™' ""'^' "»''
g"«e into tl,e hes nla' ' J' • "^"''"^'^ "•""'"^J '<>
the P'easantesttb ';',':'' "' °. "- Po-ession of
■■en, of eou,.e, who tl „ V,t t"","^- "^^ ^'''W"
-cl places, eaH, pe,!^ ett r„l ToT'l f'"'^^
was scarcely ever apmren ' ';"' '" ""r''""'-' "
who created the final d I r ,' "' »'™^« we
anygovernmentdo be he""-"'' "■" "''»' ™"
'* the riotc, dote „„?•'"■' ""' '"'* P™"
who is in the wro, I o " ""-^^"g-tion as to
'•--seshaveeea::dtb;?;;:rr^'<''''"''
Francis was found in tr-,„n,Hl .
eovetcd deiijfht. tov nl -T^ Possession of the
t-n,nil,ity «.e desi "em:rof':;,t;' ""^ '™'
tlie world ; why conid w„ ? , «»' ernments in
brother alone ? ' ""' ''"^ '«« onr little
"'ns tranqnill,. roltl' J td'''"'" '"""""•''"^ being
P'aintiifs, and' 0,e trf< Ir "=''' ""^ P"P^'™^
nal plaintiffs. Franci, .w ^^ l"",- '"^P^'"
- "Other trnl, said, •' w^ "r,e.,"''t"-" •"
ni'tua to raise
116
A0A1N8T THE STIiEAM.
his sweet little voice," while I at least was in one
contnnial wail and clamor.
Even our father often gave the verdict aj^ainst
US. _ riic world M-as large," he wonld say/- and
Francis was little; why did we just want the one
thing the poor little fellow had set his heart on
tmd was so peaccablv enjoy in o- ? " '
In vain we pleaded rights^which we knew to
be unquestionable ; what can be more tiresome
or seeni more selfish, than to be alwavs pleading
ones rights, especially against M'hat is apparently
the weaker party ? 1 1 j
. ''yi^'yj"^^^ ^ve always shrieking about our
rights ^ Brothers and sisters should not think
about rights. They should be always ready ' to
give up ' to each other, and to do as they would be
done by."
So, between my stepmother's fondness, my
tather s generosity, and interpretations of the Seil
mon on the Mount which drove me wild with the
impossibility of combating them, and the certainty
of their being wrong, the tyranny of our little
brother was established.
This was a state of things, however, that could
not Jong continue unbroken.
At length my stepmother once more proi)osed
that Piers and I should be sent to Miss Felicity's
school. ''
^ My father had long opposed this, having cer-
tain theories of education, I think partly derived
IS m one
t a^j^ainst
ay, " and
tlie one
leart on,
knew to
iresome,
pleadini^
parentlj
>ont our
't think
adj 'to
^oiild be
?ss, my
lie Ser-
ith tlie
jrtaintj
r little
t could
o})osed
licitj's
g cer-
erived
A0AmS2 TllEsmEAM.
£»•
IX-Jr"''"'"""»"'-"'--y With Miss
,.o"t u. faeuuio: t):o\t, ttrs "' "'"•■"-'
.n as calling „„(, ,,,„„,^ be a d™t ' '""""^'
f ""■"' «•"■■■ -•*-•.., not the fltti„."n T?" • "''
ii-aine to contnr.f o,.^ "Liuig on ot an iron
out. Thootrts ™"'j: ^^°*"' ^'™" --a-
and colorless wi d eu 1 •'"" ""■"''""«»-°
fro^handfulloflom ™d n "",'' '''"'' "'»
-2, eo.ido.d "idt^^^r - :- 1?
^o7;::;^tfw]::;Tr'''-r-"^^^^^^^
-ouldnotdevlCouto ?""f""' ^'"'■^ ^"-^ I
tiplication table ™io " "'"•'''™^ «™» ">« "."I-
''-i"-stor,of%t^Sr:er.r;f"™'^""'-
gods a„d hc-oes. Not tl.at T. ""'• "■■ "'°
history," she wnni.l , " '"«' ""'c'!' use in
•'^Vhitwas h^r: „ i:!!"'.'" "^■"■•^"^ '•dmit.
foolish „,en's d edl" t Mn '""I'T"'' "'<"* '""'
a»s, you would hCL '"' "'"""^ "f ■•" P''l-
gods and heroes. a„d I .."..'l?™";""' "'"J ">o
tile world
combe ini<d
^'Kl tho ninltipJieation table.
^va., hadtobeleHnied, and M
^&d wait some time f
as
:i
r. Danes-
:<Jr £1 new world or
118
AGAN8T THE STREAM.
for a generation of cliildren wlio ca.ne into it Avith
their little minds filled already."
My poor father had certainly seen considerable
facnli^y for not getting on developed in Piers and
me s,„ce our little brother's arrival, and accord-
Z^J f,.^''^^V7/r"-ed his tlieory, and abandoned
s to Miss Felicity and the rote system. To u.
the sciiool meant simply Miss Felicitv, and a verv
awful personality we considered her." My father
was in the second stage of human progress, the age
of plnlosophical system and theory; Avhile Miss "
Felicity had adv.>nced to the third, contemptuously
Ignoring systems and philosophies, and recogniz-
ing nothing but facts and phenomena; and Piers
and I remained in the earliest, seeing nothing but
persons and personifications.
Froni the beginning, I think, although most
landly disposed towards us, Miss Felicity never-
theless regarded us as rather dangerous little per-
Bons, brouglit up in no one knows what heretical
persuasions concerning the rights and the wron<.s
of man. »
The years of our school-life were among the
most reactionary years England ever saw
Not an abuse but was rooted in its place, and
not a harvest of reform but was stunted and nip-
ped by tiie French Reign of Terror
n....?l*^ ^''''f}^^ ^'' ^'^'"^'^ ^^^'''^'^^^ their
nai lowest political prejudices into articles of tiie
Oreod, when the Revolution and his own personal
patience had consecrated the French king into a
;o it with
siderable
^iers and
:I accord-
andoned
To us
d a very
y fatlier
the auG
le Miss
)tuouslj
3cogniz-
d Piers
ing but
jh most
never-
tle per-
iretical
ivrouofs
ng the
'Q, and
d nip-
tlieir
of the
rsonal
iaio a,
I'f boon Ja„„|,-„3. jj"^"- ">d tLemsdvcs as if tkev
-'- looked for the J tnl 'f '"" "'■■ ^^'-"o'l
^"°ri<l on tl.e same s,C^!^^ "fovoment of the
0" which he looked fo "^ ' ' f "'"' P'™"Pl»«
P»'iente, simp,, t,„.„ed a S 1""' '■'™™'y «f i'^
W"/, a..d beoa, ne for fte 1 ' ''"""'^ "'« »"■"-•
^ "What do yon s«V" n" '""'^ Tories.
leHeify ,vo„,d t,.i ,„!;:,:' f'--Konton," Miss
Reformers and JacowS"' '''""'""^' " '« J-o-r
" I say, Miss Foiicitv " ;,
I ■■"-ays said. Above '„', " """" '''P'-'' " -'-'
"» violence to the eonsti t „ ^\r """^"'^'ons,
■«>■» little, Miss Fe tv JT'^' "''^ ""«' "''^fet
'« what I mean by rS ^"'f^' '''''' ''e-- That
^ e mnst kt her al„„l / """ ■''»^'''*ta"ce fails
tmnq„i„v -vait." "" ""'' "•■"''' ^^^ Felicitj^
Mild lories, on the other b^„^ n
Pyford and Mr. Eabbid™ t hi ' '''" '"^ ""<='«
servative from fear b„„ " ' '° "''"> «'ere Con-
■'-"• They .o!Z^:Z^'^ 7T' ■*" '•'■-
"'■• of the-.r own on behaTf o ' , " ^'^n of Te,.
t;on, wo„:d "keep the mobl '' ^'.°"°"« ^''^t''"-
f« to my father,' b,' ■;,;'';^;™' -." -d u.y nn-
"'y the gibbet, orthe-^ '»'"d. if necessary
..,%t:f^;::s^--^;>.erd,i,.
'^- '-0 have, on^r C^s lt„:tCrr;
120
AQAmST THE STliEAM.
-as„..etenj:tV;<;fri7lS
iiions, evcitpr] u. o r x- -^-^oufee of Com-
natio,; go ett ?e :;^,„': '7"°"' "''^"'^'^ ''^' "
t>on ag.i„3t ee,,t„,.ios of oppress'" ntr^"
sittiS ™'2 stt?f "''"-"r ^'<^"^ »"" ^ --
and I was reading "ion ^ S/'"V"'' '^'"'°'
tnees, so intently that I I ? *""''''" "'^
-«iine^irt;-^'''^'''^^-^^'"''«.
I ii.ornt?S:!'5,f r^'^ "•'"■ "■'' "-'< '^oea„so
%ht on e -nf ' "'"'"r' '" *™^ «"»«
with my "tel'nf""'"' ,T"""-' '^^^ °»""«^t«d
brino-tler^T- /™" ^ '■""<='*'' ^^■'"■'^1' ""X'lit
ti<i !,t„*^'" '*'"■'"' '=°''« "itliin reach of „„, pfj
IW wore passages in it about "n.,,
'ig tliem,
prejudice
ious men,
tJic great
>tlj wont
lit in the
of Com-
ted by a
'S hy tlie
bJe reac-
nce.
f course
B"Jit me
' to mv
I were
tiigliest
Pluto,
on nij
fether
uncle
slope,
2cause
some
d the
lected
"ight
pi-ac-
tural
^OAU'ST TJIE ^ritEAX
'•;ftV' about the «,„,,,. ., . ^-^
» P';ss«ffe assertfng that .. ^M" '"°"«"'! »'^«
J»^"ke,- through which If ^""''™ "» "id our
«° *'7 other, hue ; , a„r:- '^ '"'^''' fr"™ 0"
.<""•, duty to God a; I bv ;,?/'"' '°"^'^«"S in
*^°"gl.t eJoaror than the Cal?"" ""''" "''"•«'> I
the tr"^^'^^"""-^/™ approving p., „„
"It '
«»■• ^%/iV'l e'°/"* f o-t our a'weV.as about
Pf'or." And li,, „/-f '•' in the S„„ ^^
Ins hands. " "'" ""'""ne confiding^ i„to
He started as if he h«A >,
from him to the ground t. ™ ''""» <J»*ed it
" 'I %'^ J-d been T:'^"" S'^-nd his heel into
'^^-ro?:::r;'f-Mnothavee.pe«
•R'Slitsofman'--s„er ^^'=^.™'^: Tom Aiue's
poor innocent babe." ^ '"" '" *''« ^^^nds of this
"liideod, uncle Fyford " t .^
gentleman wh
not a storj book.' The
^8 much as fatJier, and
tlie Bas-
^^ar as
132
AOAINST TUE STUJJAM.
much as Miss Lovoday. Am\ he speaks about
"''^' er in lieaven, uuele Fyford. Indeed
Fath
Sunday book
our
it is a
u
Listen to the poor innocent ! " said uncle
Fyford. " It is cnoui-'li to
pierce one's heart,
)j
" Bride, my darlin- " said my fatlier, in liis dry
qniet way, " Tom Paine's ' Ei-hts of Man ' is not
exactly the book for you. If I had had any idea
that your tastes lay in that direction, I would
have labelled it, ' ]S^ot good for little girls.' But
Richard," he continued, turning to my uncle, " if
wise men would take the good in that book and
use It, they would do more to neutralize the harm
m It than by railing at it in a mass forever."
" Good in Tom Paine ! " said my uncle, roused
beyond his usual decorum. «I am sick of your
'good in everything: I believe you would find
good in the devil."
" There might have heen ! you know," said
my father, very gravely. His simple, quiet words
startled me like a flash of lightning. They made
me feel that he felt the existence of'the devil to be
'1 very real and sorrowful fact, instead of the half
ridiculous, half terrible, mythical legend handed
down to us in the nursery.
Mrs. Danescombe intervened.
" That is precisely what I am always saying to
Mr. Danescombe, Dr. Fyford," she said. '" Good
in everything there may be, though I confess I
have not found it, and I believe it is not the Bible,
but only Shakespeare that asserts it. But evil in
^^^l^ST THE STiiEAM.
^"•^•"•nly there is, at least
323
•' "--'-'^''t 'cast in every
^fver see we reniove it bj
e^'orjtliing most
person. And I can
blinding our ejes to it
for ;;,r::'/, f^^'ttM;:''" ? ''""^'•' "^- --k
l'"Pe we sliall strike tl.n ) !] ' '"' """"■^™ "«' I
bo.!, ro„el, the bet ter, ./t:?,, f"'^' '' -»
"mate as to l.ave lost vo n " '" ""*■'«■-
can eontinne for evt- " "'""'f''"'™. ^"I'ilo mino
-".0.7"- At" .ir':::;:"-"' ''■'^■■^'" '■^■'•°-^ "^
^0, replied my father "fl.nl i .„
potsherd, a™;,;;,': ^* ^"^ '»d.«g hi,,,, with ,1
% investigations into the " n-,tn.,i • ■ . „
™» we,-e, however, eheelced- "'"™' "S '*«" of
painful to„,ebeca„s;eve, M •p,"'"'* ""^ '•'^^
'»e any Jight on the ZZuZTI^"^ ""' «''™
of Jittle eii-Js T ,„„ , "^ "* of women" or
'-ndn,enltd Srr"^ '" ">« Ten Com.
The onl, res,,;' afen^d'f '■»"""""
Po,'tnne p„rs„it of k„owledl , ™ '"^' '"OP-
of a little direct rel o, 1 ^ ™' "'""'■'•• foi'ci 7
That even L , f °"V'''°" '™™ ™-'' ''^'I'O''-
Oalc parlor. R^Jlj * ■"! T '"'^ '''■"-'« ■" «>"
"Other was pn „, fc » '-<'' ^^ »7 step. ^
wc'o alone. A^dlov^ f'^'P' ^" «'»' "'e
-tW,presen7tot:o:ersr:;t"U"-''
12i
AGAINST TEE STREAM.
«
Brid
0, my Jurlin^c:," lio said, '' Diities are
better thiiiirs tor us to think about tl.aii ri^dits."
" If othor people w.Mild oidy think about vh^hU
a little, father," I ventured to murniur, " then it
would be very nice to have notliin<r to think about
but our duties. But they don't. They only think
about their own rin^hts, and our duties."
"Very true, Bride," Jie said. "They don't,
and they won't. And that is the way there is so
much troublesome history for you and mo to learn.
But you know some one must beo:in. Suppose
you and I begin at the other end. Oar own du-
ties, and other people's rirjhtt^. You will find
much more good come of it in the end."
Then, the only time I can remember, he led
me to my mother's picture, and stood before it,
with his hand on my shoulder.
" That was what she did, my child. God gave
her one of liis lambs to keep, and she kept it well
as long as she was liere. God help me to keep it
for Him and for her better than I have."
" Oh, father, you can't keep us better," I said.
That lesson was brief, but it accomplished its
end.^ It brought rae back to my duties, instead of
to lu's and to my stepmother's.
It was not very long after this that Piers and I
fell into another difficulty, at Miss Felicity's school
I remember this with especial distinctness, be-
cause it was the beginning of Piers and my enter-
ing into closer relations with Amice Glanvil and
sweet bright Claire Angelique des Ormcs.
AGAf^\^^T THE
A week before, tlio tl
"elieitj's honsG Imd bo
125
I)y thrco f;
STREAM.
sj^ai-e rooms in Mias
;«n en^^igcd and occupied
;»''oigner8, refiii^ees from 1
tliune la Marquise d'es O,
Claire A 11(^,1
ranc!e, Ma-
\\\\
G
^^tWique, and Loonti
•es. Jior little dauditer
■overned and i)rotected tl
no, a vivacious laid
GJn both, and
>i. w,(»\eine(j JVliss Felicitr nn,l «n aii
^Veir, bad fl.f. k.. .. . ''^•>' '^"'^ «" Abl
Mad,
'^'itbis been possible to....,
."^me bad only been seen'
i"y French vv
Wijuld
)0t'8*
tine, and i^^eetinc. TVfl r , ' '''*'" ^^^^'^'«»-
tl.earchedC:i,^,'^^r^"^'^^"^^'*^^
Abbot's Weir hJi not" ?""^^^^ ^^^'^r^m^.^ as
^ ; u jiad not previously dreamed of
the parlor insidoH,?.,""*" '""■ '"<"l'«'- i"
)ieit/8 win. b,rt , ''''7PP'»'>-''d "nder Miss Fe-
,7 ° » "i<„ Diit not under lier rod n« a i • i /,
amateur scholar. ' " '^'"'^ "^
It was an Anynst after-noon, very snltrv Tl, '
foom wasIon.»andl,.«-. Tvr- ' .*- J ^""'■7- The
I'y no government r' i f ""''^ «■«■' '««e'-<=d
certainly not eno 2 o 1 '*;• ""'"' '"""S'' ^ "^ "i"-
Miss Felieitv Zf, ° "^""P '"'■'-^' »'"■''''•«' awake.
126
AGAINST THE STREAM.
empcrof thon.i.trcm Tl.o Hies wore <]ruMsilv
huAAuv^ now and tl.en Hcruin«t tho panes, tl.c black
eat sleepily pnrnng on the window-seat, too lajsy
even to wink at my stepmother's cat on the onpo-
s.to w.ndow. Many of the children out of reach
ot the ,-od had yiehled to sleep, and the rest were
hopelessly stru^i^o.!;,,. against it, when tlie qnestion
catnc in a sliarp voice from Miss Felicity—
''Bridget Danescombo, who were the heroes?"
1 must have been half asleep myself, for I re-
member instantly sitting up trying to look especi-
ally wide awake, us is the wont of persons so sur-
prised, and responding desperately to the last
word which I had caught.
"Father says there are some in France, Miss
l^ehcity. He said so last night. They pulled
down a wicked place called the Bastile."
Miss Felicity's color rose. I think she did not
know whether I said it in simplicity or in malice.
" Bridget Danescombe," she repeated, slio-htly
rapping my fingers to recall my attention, " Think
what you are saying. Who were the /leroes f »
" And some, father said, there are in England "
I continued, divided between anxiety to sustain
< myself by that infallible judgment, and dread of
the well-known little ebony ruler. " They want to
pull down the slave-trade and the impressment-
he said impressment. These are our Bastiles. I
know he said they were heroes. And the only
name I remember is Granville Sharpe."
" Silly child, dreaming as usual," said Miss Fe-
<(
Ji^'ify. 'Jiplnrnaticall
^1^M/.V.STr7M'.s7-/?yi:j^,^
127
ftnsvvcT, and nd
"jy knuckles. »j
inonisliing nio by a aov
pcnIouH
S i^°"" ^"""«- ""« *-
Pnss to y„„r bi-oil
ci-c ran
K
p on
ler— tH-o
■•' of n,, anil:: j ^^^^^^^^^^^
"i-v,.a .•e„„ L " f ™'?'' ",",'?- of Pier,.
,,.,',''"'" /''■'■''o « •■'•gl. f! Miss Folieit,. " 1,„ ;,
1 . I.O.- chd say so, only Jast niM.t " ^' ''" ""'^■
h- tins time the lifH,. „ .
""g'^ly .n-onsed, wi |! t „ pS'",'""""^ "•■■>' """-
tlie battle from a«,r "'«'i"ct scenting
"Yo8, indeed, Miss Felicitv " T
"fatlier said inini-esainn. / •'' ™"tnred,
slaves was aa bad as I f,-"" "'"' "'"'''"A' ■•"
«'e, and Mr. Q a„ril e s "' '""^ ' "'' "'*''°^''«-
ing to stop it. "e!^^:'* «'"' ^ ''«'o 'br try-
t'- hero's na„,o, a.d a ' Ibn'" """ """ '''•'
b.^thep„4:\:^,:~->.^^^^^^^^^^^ of a.i
Amice Glanvil's great .nv^ ' '"« "P- ^ ^'^
der and qnestionrng! " '""''" "''S''"™ "'on^
She loolied a sliade more mllid fi,
'^!-'l-in,so„. I.-emem\^:';',f™:7'''"'
'egro footmen, and f fn|t-o -r. T ■ ''"'
-7tiu-ngtogrievem,prf;;'2^»'«»>"l
and
128
AGAINST THE STEEAM.
hi- J
For
But I had not miieli time for reflection,
then out and spoke Dick Fvford.
"Miss Felicity, if Bride Danescombe were not
a gii-1, so that no one can do anything to her, she
would not dare. My own uncle is a sea captain,
and I am going'to sea, and he says people who
cry out against impi-essment are traitors and fools.
I heard him. The king's navy could not be kept
lip without, and then the French would come and
kill the king and burn up London, and Abbot's
VV eir, and all of us."
The conflict was becoming perilous. Was
Miss Felicity's class of mythology — extra— to
prepare the more aristocratic classes for Mr. Rab-
bidge, and to distinguish them from the common
nerd, to end in this ?
Had not Mrs. Eabbidge, always a little too
eagerly alive to the growth of Miss Felicity's
pupils into her husband's, denounced the mythol-
ogy as a poaching on his demesnes? And had
not Mr. Rabbidge himself mildly admitted that
Miss Felicity was meddling with matters too hio-h
for her ? ^
And was it to be said that such frightful Jacob-
inism had been uttered in her presence unavenged ?
The case was perplexing. On the score of
pohtics it could not be taken up. Piers and I
had appealed to C«sar in the person of our father,
and to Miss Felicity paternal authority was a
foundation of all other authority, by no means to
be lightly interfered with.
For
o lush.
^f^^^^ST TUB STiiE.
dM
She therefore
129
(;^^ a> a dunce rather than as a here-
.S''^<?L°-^r^'»-"be tnov
asserted. "The her
'^'s better," she
rr««-">oUr::™^'"«-ee/Th
cuies and Pa
'i"seus
:ods. Ther
') — and others."
cy
■e were Iler-
*y, not having a 1,0^', ™'^ ^'"^ ^<^">'«
'^■■oes and the dragons We >r- '^"'' "'°
gone thousands of y?ar P • , ^""' '*<""' ^d
«'» --J-,- b„t I m^ t put S Danesco.„be, I
"Id you ninst sit on th.tl > '"''"'J' "" ^O",
tl'o sehooi. Talce ^hi, f °°' '" "'^ "'ddle of
of the heroes Wht,o:f '"? ''"'■" "'« '^^'-^
"ay come down." " ''"^ ''^"''"'^'^ «'em yon
)-'o"te^S:£:lr:»'-«-™y'itt,e.ob.ap,
'"0 dimb on a tal] s tool Tr™ P'P'^'' "<» '"«*
Jacobinism erusi.cd and tits' ""'? "'^ «^™» "^
..nd stood beside mo, Jiis eve« fl i "''' <''""«
™™«on, in defiance of a^ t ""^^ ™^ '"'« «'ee
Felicity took no not ee ff! " ^^ ^''^"'•' • ^iss
^'^ff for J,er to delHu t ^"ir™'"' «™ '"o
venges. '*" '" PoMy, irritating re-
ani^^dXr t^:^;r;°^ •'-•"ered
fti-^nge instinct of fusti.o T , ^""^ ^^ ^^'^"^
^etw.nmystepnj,ef:::dMr;;ij:*
^ij stepmother liad ne^
-f-
9
r<ipped my kn^^k-
r
p
If.
I
130
AGAINST THE STREAM.
les, or set me on a stool, or punished me in any
way ; and yet her cold " Bridget ! " hurt me more
than Miss Felicity's ruler, or even lier fool's-cap,
terrible as that was. ^
I felt that Miss Felicity, in some unaeconnt-
able way, had misunderstood my words. I did
not feel that she misunderstood and misjudo-ed
me. And, after a little while, getting used
to my position, I found myself endeavorincr
to account, not for rny conduct (in this instance 1
had the great and unusual happiness of a clear
conscience), but for Miss Felicity's, and to justify
This, ofcourse, did not help me to learn my
heroes," but it quieted my mind, and the book
served as a veil as I held it before my face.
And so the minutes passed on, 'until the bell
rang for the school to close.
We always finished in the morning with the
grace before meals, and in the evening with a
verse of evening prayer.
For this purpose Miss Felicity told me to
come down from my elevation.
To this instant my heart beats faster as I think
liow that sweet little French girl Claire, not of
course bemg in the awe of our punishments and
rules ot ordinary scholars, glided forward to me
before any one could stop her, with her easy
Irench grace, and helped me down, and kissed
my cheek, her first kiss, with the fool's-cap still
on, and led me to Miss Felicity, and asked her in
"""^'^^T TBM STBBAM.
fet, '^ ""^" Claire Jic-sif '". ^'; "«"-<>"«l7
*nge -s, arrange,; „„. ;„;,'';"' «-'"i her Jisso,„o
i'^sed mj quivering iip J'f/ "'-^ "«'e cap, and
tears. Tl,p„ „ ° * ' '""^ I was bnrsf.v ■
-.rtosHd ' if aT" '-^^d eoiii r: "7
"■'•'^;-'"o^o:rVi;:x'S.™^*--~
■^iersand I of « "corners apartinenf
down noiseless]. frZ ^, *''^ Sf»»«. Amice ea,n<,
''^'y Stood befo,.,:: ^ """'ov..eeat, and T„T
^ oyes IZ Z':;^ »'' -' those dart
" w!' '''"' ""° 110. """«' "'rough
asW. """'' ^"'•^ -•^'^ ^»A«^ .&„,,, „,,^
% eyes sank before her gaze
noth,„g. "ig m e.xeuse, but I could find
f'7f le'l'^d" "rlt/^ "'■"''-^'^ -'» have
''^d ^'--o^. And he ifi f " "" *^°''''' »'^ -
"• ■^«»''« not wicked.
133
AGAINST TUB STREAM.
And I was born with slaves. How can we lieln
Miiat we are born with ? "
Slic spoke very low, with a deep voice and a
clear hn^-ering utterance, which to me sonnded
ioreii,m. Tiie question was beyond me.
" ^""'^ ^f "^ ^^ kind to tiiem," I said, feebly.
J- hat was all I could think of.
" Some old Greek people se^ them free ! " said
l-iers, tlioughtfuUy, more childlike tlian I ; - that is
M^hat my father said Mr. Granville Sharpe wanted
ion can set them freer he said, with a boy's di-
rectness, " that is the only way, I think, of being
kmd to slaves." '^
Amice Glanvil turned her penetrating glance
on him, as if to look him through; but his frank,
blue eyes met hers with a steady gaze, and bore
the scrutiny.
/'Set them free! Piers Danescombe," she
said, "lou do not know in the least what you
are talking about. But you have given me the
ansvver at the very bottom of your thoughts, and I
thank you." For she was not in the least like a
cliild, our princess.
The negro nurse came to fetch her, and inter-
riipted our conversation.
_ But when she was wrapped up in her gold and
crimson splendors, she turned back to us and took
one of our hands in each of hers.
" Bride Danescombe," she said, " I like you I
have known and liked you a long time, and I like
you better to-day. Piers Danescombe, you are a
AGALYSJ^ TUE STiiEA.
M.
I felt honoi^ed as bv ? , ^"od-bj-e."
«o. was 000.0, and i?<a":::r'^^'''
^^-3 i:^T: fir---- S;.ed
133
at yon
any
anny.
in a flutter of deli^Iit
after
''^l^«"t the heroes"7ir'''''^'!'^- ^ ^«^-^«t all
^c^-oine. The spell of .• . '"'''' ^ ^^^^^ ^^""^t ^n7
PHncess had Xtt^a^thr ^ ^" '' ^"^
ace would be sure to open '^"^^^''^nted pal-
eonch, correcting eS t k ''" ^^'"^^ ^" -^
us. *= ^^fircises, unobserved bj any of
sou ''""""""'- ^'-W'tanght „e the les.
he.p:lTt!'"''^^^^«»"^-'"™ed,l3aiditto
considerations, as I did ' /I "" '" «''^' P-W'^
Butlfeltthee^Jsno 2 V' ''"' ^'"^ '^'d-
""d I felt no resentalyr "",™™S ""™ded,
*e took ,ny hard S /!!■?' 'f- .^nd when'
good little girl I tool . ^^
to'^Jj I tooJc courage, i-
I would b
and looking up
a good
e a
in
i
134
AGAINST THE STREAM.
her face said, " Miss Felicity, father said you were
one of tJie iierocs, too."
^ " Nonsense ! nonsense, child ! " she said, color-
ing. But I saw that the keen eyes moistened, and
she took me to Miss Loveday and said, in a trem-
ulons voice —
" Loveday, the child grows more like her poor
dear mother every day_I «aw it on that stool to-
day-and she has just that sweet, forgiving leujr.Pr
And please God, the poor little maid shall never
stand there again. It was a mistake of mine, and
It cut me to the heart. There," she added, lau-^h-
ing, "there's a foolish thing for a mistress to Tay
to a child Foolish old woman and foolish little
i>ride. IIow shall I keep you in order now ? You
will never be afraid of the ruler and the fool's-cap
more.' ^
But I began to love Miss Felicity. And oh
the good it did me to hear a grown-up woman
actually confess she had made a mistake and done
wronir !
It restored to me my ideal of justice. It made
me feel there was one right way for little children
and grown people.
^ From that day I would not have ofiended or
grieved Miss Felicity for the world.
But when she left the room Miss Loveday put
her arm around me and said
"Little Bride, it is quite right to learn about
the old heroes. All little boys and girls must.
But never thou give up believing in the lieroes
/
AffAIWST TUK uritBAM. jg,
and saints now. Tiiit ;= n,
know the hc-oos of long ""' Z'\^ "■'^' "<" '»
"bio mistake we can mako anv If """* ""'-
earn to know the heroes and saints ri " ""' '»
to-day, who are with „« 1 '^'"' '* """^'"'S
""sundet^tanding God i,lT; """T" *'""' '^ '*^'
and Savion, and^pntlg" SCrr'-" "^'^
-'•ong, made ^ntZ t^^lT'l'' "''" "-"'
to find t!,em i„ the worfd in , Vf'"' '^^'^
now, and loot to find ^ , T""' '""« ™rfd-
»d ,o„ wilU d S, ''nT'^"'"^'"^"'-".
">-, m,y dears, and foilow "henrVh'f ^'"^ '°
are called and whateverThe! ,1 1 f '™' «"^^-
that way, you may grow lite H,! *"' ""<'' '"
«"d, Bride," she added^'n , "" *""• 0''' "'ank
e-"! long ;go fo, «t !\''Z "r^' " I did ast
«^owed me /onr mothe; n ^' ''°';''' "«' ""d
before she went awa And tl ^r' ^^ '" '"^
all my life, Neve, „ '^"''.'"•t ''as helped mo
heroes are livi.fl no ion ''^ ""'* "'^ ^^""^ ""d
roes are notl^d ntTh' T" ^"*- "^'"^ ''e-
-'nts gone to ^ZJ'k^^l^Y'l '" '
-"eepyour heart open and :;:S,X:r
w
m
130
AGAIN .' TUE tiTIlEAM.
For, wiion fotl.er Jmd said Miss Felicity was ■,
|-, he had said also t,.at Miss IoJ:^::::
~o\reraH:i:5f\r,::7,- ^ -t
i
CHAPTER IX.
^'^^ve not failed. ' seed-time and harvest
""iiat are blossoms thrn- «
">« painted shows? W a?-™'. T" '"'° » »•'
"ever awatens into „,anhot ^ '''''""'°'' ^'"ci,
"»ve no harvest bnf pro „ 7 ^"^"^-'^es whieii
«nd never fulfllied ? P^'Petuaily renewed
" tonight there'' ,r,,,^i
bewilderment, no losinTXtr "" ''^'*'"^«^> "»
"nrf, DO horror of doubt T i I' "" '"'^^'ng our
Maly not, no fJht ' ""'^''^ «^ *«"W eer
.7 viijgarizing symbols in-
138
A0AIN8T THE STliKAM.
, to piotures, or by liamniering out poetioal i„.ac.08
into prosaic panibles ! ^
Again ana again in <>nr lives "God takes us
b.y the Imnd," as the old Moravian hynu. sings,
"and says, start afresli." *'
Hero, indeed, onr fresli startings are made ne-
cessary, too often, by onr wanderings from tl.e -
way, or onr weariness of the M^ay. 13nt the ful-
ness of ],ie tliere will surely not be less rich in va-
riety and glorious growth than the liindered and
fhietnat.ng and failing life here. For ever it will
be wa king in " newness of life." O wondrous ful-
ness of joy, when all the past shall enrich, not bur-
den and sadden, the present; when before the
heart, sat.shed witli the present in His presence,
shall spread endless ranges of hope in the unveiled
inturo, also in His ])resence !
We shall not be gods hereafter, but children of
(-Tod; and, forever, in our Father's hand, will be
inhnite possibilities of growth unforeseen by us
and divme surprises of bliss. '
One sueli morning, or fountain liead, in my life
was that memorable afternoon when Miss Felicity
exalted me to the stool of repentance and crowned
me with tlie fool's-cap, and afterwards exalted her-
self and human nature in mv sight bj confessing
herself in the wrong, and crowned me with the
kiss of reconciliation, which sealed me her loval
subject thereafter.
For then and there three great friendships of
my hfe began : that dear discipleship to Loveday
"^(^^^l^'^^T THE 8mt:^iM.
p , 130
'""•■■orino the Jiul v n ' "'" '""""'»'" f"',
And ,,r,t ,,, '"="•■'" '" "o"'-
O'"' lives bei^,,, S fl,":; "^ "™ '0 ■"«.
'•"to thoae tv^o eel; :;'" ""{ ''"S"" '« P-t,
I'ood w],iel. are c e 1° "■'""•™l'0"d and n,,an-
two,-so much m<!re to" T "","* """''^ ^^^ l«>'"?
to tl,e world. " "'"' """='•• «» n'ud, .nor^
"n opposite course to r '"""'■ ^''"'^ '"""^
A.n;co at Court, irLd.r'''^"'"'-'^-''''
'M^'-™ird\r::;:::'r/\---^"'-
to him" for so many T" H "^ r","" ■"°*-
•no greatly. '^ ''^ ^- "'^ "-oftsal surprised
">y delight in acceptiir '" ""'"*'■ " ''ttJe at
'" " ""' " ^^'•^ desirable Louse io
iW !
uo
AGAIN8T THE STRIUM.
visit at, and she was pleased to see mo nppreci,
"It is a big house cerfainly, Jh-ide," said tny
fother ; "but you know we do not grow bigger by
^ being III big houses." 00/
"Mr. Danescoinbo," remonstrated my sten-
niotlier, -lot me entreat you not to teach Jacobin-
isin to Bnde : for girls at least it cannot be suit-
';it is not the house, father," I said; "it is
Amice."
• ;; Amice, with the glory of the big house about
her, he said," and the black servants, and the
GW '''• '''" ''''^ ^"^^ ^^^ ^-- ^'-
^" Oh, fatlier," I said, « all our lives lono- "
' A very extensive period," ?ie said. ''^ I did
not know you had ever spoken to each other."
^ ^0, not exactly sj)o7cen until yesterday," I
said, but looJced, and understood each other al-
ways."
He laughed and said no inoro.
But in the evening I endeavored to shake
Tiers's resolution.
^e were sitting in that very miscellaneous
nmber-room, music-room, and workshop of my
father's, called the Summer parlor.
I was planning Armadas, and talking of o-rcat
naval campaigns. (We were just at the outbreak
of the first war with the French Republic.) Piers
was construetiii.,- M Uffi^ ^hiV • 1 au.' ■ /• 1 , '
- snip, a division uf labor
AGAISUl' rUK SrjtEAM.
it is
frerjnoiit bctH-oen ,is Tr„ " ^^^
'"" " critic, except ,.; /," "'"' ^"'"'""^ ' "akcr,
*'"•"« ti.nt would flo 1,1 ■■'•' r"""''" ^'•'"'"")--
'^''cJ ""til tl,e i;tt,e yZl'J! "'"" ■'^■™'' «"-
'"■""■"'0 Lnnds could ,tl . T "? f",*'' "^ '"»
<•'»% yo^u-s iu, I,;.j ,„, "y "• I IJoUevo from
''- «-owd is „,o,r ;';™ ;i-t ti,e ..*,-,,,. „,
™en«.oc.„„ot,ir„ll,?;^X"-^^^
tie boy ? ' " '''""'*'' ^"w ' aiieu jou a 'lit.
He lauffiied,
-%ite;::;^:ef:d''i-:r'::'''^--^ (-'-«.
^^^ot). Later in life I ^ ''°;™"g'" «nd too
fy the poor refuj: of "!,'" f""«'" -'-o
%''t the battles-'no, jik^o '^ "'^° '""^'^ "ot
fco eun calli.,^ rnTll,/'"' ' "*»''"" diifer-
I «'» a little bo,°rn" er ™rf ..r^'^'' ^ ^'''''^^^
Feminine and mlSl ■" "'"^ ^<='»'f-"
-"■•»i' very prlr '"« *;«-«on. „.„, be-
«"Jentl,- totterin,,; and also^'f ';™'r"'™"^ '™«
,., "I don't believebo .1- L ) V* ^'"'''J™1»"«-
liJce boys," I said; "at l t « f ''""^'■'«' l^^iug
do. Claire dcs Orm t„t T '"""' ''«^« '»)-^
--t^iandlamsnro^lVltb::;''"^'''''^"
142
AGAINST THE STREAM.
" She is not like a boy or a girl, or anjthino-,"
he replied. °'
"Less?" I said.
"No, you know very M^ell, sister," he said,
" fnore / "
"^ Yes, I think so," I said. « When she kissed
me, It felt as if it had been the queen. What is
she like ? A fairy ? or a princess ? or an an^el ? or
a hero ? "
"How can we tell, sister? We never saw
either. Only it would be worth while to do some-
thing for her, like what she did for vou,
)J
— f ^**^ Av^i y \yu.
" Yes," I said, " it would. But there is noth-
ing to do."
"Something always comes to do," he said,
" when we are ready."
^ It was a cheerful view of life, and more ax-
lomatu than Piers knew.
We had wandered from Amice and Court.
"And you will not go to Court? ^t if
father wishes it ? "
"Father does not care," he said.
Which I knew was true.
" Not to see Amice ? who is nearly as ^ood as
'a boy, and all those wonderful monkeys, and par-
rots, and models, and museums ? "
" I Ciin see Amice at school," he said.
" Oh, Piers, why won't you ? Not with me ? »
" Sister Bride, I cannot;' he said. " I cannot
be waited on by slaves."
i
1
img/
^(^^J^^r THE .STUBAM.
143
^ ^lad cried over tl.rov, '
«"d Lad somotiL tl 'k p"!""^^ »f ''-oue;
«•«"» on tl,e subject ^ "■' '■"""''■ l^ke-
into his very heart "'' ^'"' '«'«" ^^to-ing
I could saj no more.
So I went alone to Court.
-It was more awful than T , ,
»<=t at the door by tL tt f "?<"'""'• I was
"Shored with bows thr tghZ tlf '°°""^"' »''
dinmg-room, into the lan^e „;m ' """■"""' ''""l
^'0 one was there ard».""°-™°"'-
stately rooms, among the an. ?', '" ""^^"^ ^reat
t '0 ancestral ehai«r a^ the T ' ^""'"'^ "'"^
alone, without Piers t„ , . ''fPanese cabinets:
''•«'« gW indeed. 1 "d IT'"'- ' ^^^ » very
Miousuess of clothes not . -f ;""=°™''<>rtable eon-
"■o. which throZ tv^";''''"V'"^''"««<J-'-*
had become the tLZ ^tP™'^'"^'"^ '"onitions
eame on me irrepressiUy "'■'' "' "oments,
'"X or gushing, by anv ! , '*"' "<" " 'h-
essential reality and aW,T' •"" «■'"' "'at
-•bont her whie'h Thva' 1"' -'f-»n-ousno..
^js made evei
7t]
^ing of the
U4:
AGAINST THE STREAM.
nature of clothes and conventionalities sink into
tJioir due subordination.
hv l^'T' ^ '"ff "'"' '"'"' P^'^^-^ '^^^^* P^e^'« meant
Dj Jier being like a boj.
She came forward and took my hand.
brother^ ^^ ^''""''^^^ ''-' '^'^ "^-- kittle
My eyes fell.
"He could not-did not-come," I said, in
some confusion. '
" Would not," she said, decidedly. "He is a
strange little boy, but I like him."
kind^itd. ''''''''^ ^' "'" ''^^'' ''°^^^ "^^"^ ^^^
_ " He is the dearest brother in the world " I
said. '
She never asked if we liked her.
" You have another brother who is not like
likeJ iim. He looks as if he had been born old "
Ihat was unfortunate, for my stepmother, I
view looked on my friendship at Court as In
lut reduction for Francis.
I began to think her confidences as to the fam-
ily had better stop.
But she continued.
"I like your father; he is a gentleman, al-
though he does think it wicked to have slave^: I
*(
""^-^J^ST THE STUEAM. j^^
S^'e \ miryoTml 'V^!^ ^^^"^ Stepmother,
^^'--t he. to be ..TtollfT ^"^ ^ -^--JB
^^-- ^t sea would be tlf ?;".' ? ? "^■^^- ^
of many tilings ^' ^^^^^ ^^^^^es one out
enquiring ejes. "" ^ ^^'^^' ^^ those wistful,
^"<3 here w^^ .,
be wo„°d'erf ',7, j'™; '" " ^f"™ «' ^oa ! That mnst
to'esoopeaud t,m?t ' r' ^"'''•^ '» reverse the
"Yes. I like™ ] ","■ °'^"'> ''«'•
it was dangerous." ' "''"<'«?««% when
S'lo had her hot • ._
-<<jed n,e into thet:de'"'''"'^'^'-P»' 'ton
:'" -'•3 the peoplf irr ' ''■''""''' ^'-^ -P'ied,
indeed, it v.as m!ieh beTt^ 'k ^~'' ^ "'« P'^'J
°,"'- way. Eve,y one .; '"T '' ^"^ 'h^'
e >m.ged into then,selve" jIT^'"^ eharaeters--
P'e who had told wortdeir ?''''"'""• ^e*
'ng lions and tigers ,n ,^ ""■"' "*' "'ei'-KH-
q'"te white, Jr'C^t"tT^^'''^'<-, turned
questioning the capfca l\- '"■ ^'■''^'' ""d Icept
7.y danger ? AndTne m n Tf' ■'' "'-<' ^--
"'e Hethodists, and had s^m 1 ''"V"""''^" "'
ca,„„ o.„l .,_, . '"0 SWO.U bltr o,,tl,. a<,t„^j,^
It
was capital ftu,
10
doe to
Praj- for him.
J*'
146
AGAINST THE STliEAM.
it< t
I began to tliink her rather elfisJi and Imrd
hearted-" cynical" 1 should have said had I
Known the word.
^ ''Chloe is a Methodist," I replied, rather eva^
sively I kno V a Metliodist, too, old Eeuben Pan-
gellj."
"Yes," she said ; " the old man witli the vio-
oncello, m a scarlet waistcoat. Chloe loves him
like a brother. And Chloe heard from him about
you.^ He loves you all so much. Only Granny
won t let her go often to the meetings. She says
It gives those poor creatures notions."
" What notions ? " I said, rising out of my life-
Jong awe of Amice with some indignation. " Ko
one would get anything but good notions from
Keuben."
" Good notions for white people, very likely »
she replied; - but white people and black are not
the same. At least, so Granny says. I am not
sure; however, it makes very little difference to
Ohloe For she has her notions, wherever she is,
and they make her very happy."
1^' What notions make her happy?" I asked,
ihat God 18 veiy good, and loves every one,
black and white. That He can make black people
have white hearts," she replied softly. " It makes
her very happy. But I cannot quite see it. At
eas If I were black I should iind it difficult to
think God had cared much, or taken much trouble
about me."
^OAmsT THE STUEAM.
i aid not see it oncp " T -a
8ho^ved me." '^' ^ "^ "tilj Uenhm
" I^id not see w/)r/f g"' i
into mj eyes. * '^'^ '^'^^ booking full
"Thenyoun^stfl^itr!;^;^^^^^-"^^^^^^
^nd ungratefh]. /,,,, f/";^^ ^f!^ very cross
JI"». But I do now"" ^^^ "^^ understand
Gbe smiJed a little pecuJi.,. . m .
sarcastic but not severe "^' ^^ ^^^ ^wn,
" Understand God f » <,J.n • -
depth in her tone " Th f '"'''' '"^^'^ ^ ^^^ange
ii"ie^->I. You ire a yea^. V ^'°^ ^^^^ ^^ *
P^euben told Chloe." ^ '^''""^^^ '^^^ I am.
"Understand tJiat TX •
good al^js,'. 1 3,y „ "Jl;"^ Father, and «
.^^-^goodd'ealt'.^-;- .,
?'"'"Ido. But Chloe does 9, "'"^ ' ""'"™
'«"'• let a Mack man carrv 1, ''■'•^' "^ ^av-
qmte sure of that. B^lui T, ™''- ^ ^^ ^'<"
Waek then i„ Africa, the h stor ' ''' "T ""' ""
^orst of history. It dis u,h1 ■* ^^''- ^''^' '« «i'e
"«t one History. Andlf c^ T"'^'' "' ''*'«' o"'''
ti.at black man carrti"! 7 °"' '""• '" ""'"i' »f
-^«lr «ee, even if -^ " ; r^' ^'^^ ^ can't
148
A0AIN8T THE STREAM.
" All, Ainiee, I can see ! " I said. " Woiiklu't
you have liked to cany it for Hiin ? "
She paused a moment, and then said, very
slowly and gravely,
" If He had given it to me. Eut He did not.
It was only the Eonians."
" It is almost always the Romans or the Jews
who do lay things like that on people," I said.
" But it was Ills cross. Ah, I do think I should
have liked that! To have helped Him a little ! "
*a think you. would," she said, with a sort of
tenderness that had not been in her voice before,
"/would rather have beaten off tlie Jews and the
soldiers."
" I should not like to have been the Romans ! "
slie added, very low and sadly. " Do you think
any one can be like that now"?" she asked, with
one of her sudden, inquiring looks, as if she would
surprise an answer out of one's eyes.
The whole meaning flashed on me, and I was
dumb.
^ "Because," she said, "if that history is always
going on, yon see, as Chloe seems to think, there
must always be the two sides, and one would like
to be sure on which side one is."
"Do you care for flowers?" she resumed,
changing her tone and subject suddenly. "1
don't ; unless they are wild. Furze and heather
on the down, when one is galloping over it, are
nice. But in beds they are tiresome. And espe-.
^<^^INST THE STREAM. j^^
teea I shall have to tho v - '" ^ "'" ^e™"-
ffO'Seous this flower is anT , '''•>■'"*? ''««■
on and on forTverTl T '°™'^ *""'^rffe,
Ti.e,ya..esoq„eeTndt™oV'"T f "' ^ '■•'-'
one can so easily mal-.tl , '''^""^- ^^d
fres belong to one i f "'""'°'-'' ^■''"'' «^ea
P-P!«ity. \t Ct'no soTirr '"T f '"'«"'
conscience ; that is the ta,, J "" ""^ '"'"J ■">
yon s„..e they have „o ' 1 , '°"" "''''»• ^re
n-,and soL horse ::^:7;,''-f^ ""=-
i-ind of souls !7TOWM„ ,-,, H "•*' '""' ^"me
«%tobeaso^ni. s ;^:ir::';^" ^--
eat hadTTf r,2 '^.ift ^ stepmother's
siieh a very had nno T ' ™' '' ™"8t be
And I anf sure Thasl"" '•'"P'' '' ''-'^''•
o- tittens. Th ,'p„7r;^,7- Nor ^y
and are so soft and ;/,"'' ''S''"^' one,
thought of their lanti:?'"';'*''^ """ ^ "eve;
''Cats? cer,,:;nt"i7. rhf""';^';
ediy. "I always think ot; eoSid T'"' '''"'■*
pat oneself almost All ft,r an ' '""'^'^ "
>ng to bo stroked. That i7. '""''"' ''"^ ^''a"t-
others, like th^ers all . ' *""'• T'""* "re
" '• ^" """»">g. and stealth, and
150
AGAINST THE STBEAM.
ep'to One conlfl no?; have made, loould not if one
could. Ah, Eride ! (may I call you Bride ? It is
so much more like you than Bridget) how many
puzzles there are! Does it not ~eem as if the
devil must liave created some things ? "
"The devil create anything!" I said indi..-
nantly "No! God-the good God-created
everythmg, and created everything good."
"It is not all very good just now," she said,
shakmg her head. ''At all events, the devil has
spoiled a great d6al."
^ All this was said at intervals, as she was show-
ing me round the place, garden, rabbit-hutches,
pheasantry, poultry-yard, her own horse in the
J<t,-.bles, where the great bloodhound fawned on
iior, and the large staghound put his paws on her
shoulders m a rapture of welcome.
" There ! " she said, " down, Leo ! poor fellow I
Dogs one certainly could never have made "
" Some creatures love me, Bride, you see," she
added. I am not sure that you do. You think
me too like a boy. You see, I was the only child
there was no son, only a daughter, and I have to
do for both."
She did care, then, to be loved. So daring and
apparently independ .t, yet so sensitive to every
change of feeling in those she cared about-she
too, had need of love, as much as I had '
For J ],ad been feeling just a little doubtful
about her ; and she knew it as well as if I had said
indii
AGAINST THE STIiEAM
II T
aniums and dahlia,, and ZZmL \V^^' ^'^
tliey were sHff^n,-.. • . '-'*'"ejiias. i hey are as if
flovvers ,; W S'f, T"7"*- ^^""^ <"' ">«
p " , ana so natural and full „f lit
gardeners can spoil thorn T?^ , "' ""
valley, the .mj „h- "*'-''' '''"=^ °f 'he
B"t V ge ables poor rt ''"'''""''''^'' •'""' ^'"l^^-
I'est in an tneTa '!"*''%'''■' "'^.'-^do'-g their
ing about the :f ^ fhT' ""' '"' ""•»■^-
gardens are alwat-1 1 L "^'"^ *« A^^^fs in kitchen
suppose tl>o cZan'; "'Th ''™;V''"''"''»'^-' I
toes itnproves E"-" ' "'^'"' '""""^ '^^^
bor^ra"nti^.rrr°-o..%.ittlear.
a-ho^lr-dttcx teT^- "^T
open air nor indoors. Andf'hate a« T ""''^"^
»<i hits of Ss':u^"-i„rti ■■-.-
country. How T ci.^ i^ f '^^"^g to Jook like
;;-, and other people ,H.aretr;h1r;,t
f:!
How much she Iiad
seen ! CJapham, I kney.
152
AOAINST TEE STUEAM.
1 ! •
■!i
1 1- J
ft.
il
waa near lonclon. My fatho- luul a first consiu
tI.ore to who,,; one day wo wore to pay a visit.
VVJ„.t ,s It ,n yon, Briil,- Da„oscombc, that
makes ,„„ hke you, and say evorythi,,.. I o„, |
ituT ""' °"*/° f °" ' ^™ ^"■•' W much
And Ia,n sure you don't always like what I say.
But you know ,t is ,i„ito nselcss for n,e to see n
somebody also, and then wake up and find it Z
couM:;"t'tf-,,7''""'"''*^""^'^^''- ^"'^
laul^°rs,'' '''"°f' r'"^ " ''"'« "'onosyllabic
ips and^! "«™r laughed in peals, only with her
lips and eyes, and that one little quiet musical
droppin, onaughter.) "I willshew'you "
^L n '■'•™„'^"'^P' '*■ fo'- yon since the day yon
caUed Granville Shai-pe a hero "
Tlike r^ 'T .'"'""°™ '""g appendage to
t hke an ivory knitting-needle. "I found it
i:iz^^:r'T""^ ■•- i--ofi:™e :
to root Itself ,n, m any natural, proper way like
other crocuses; and so it shot down th.ful
tung, feeling and feeling for so.nethin! to twt
:ts root, about. Anaat UstUfonnd^^ZUlf
^n, Amice, Amice" T cmVi ^.„^t ^^
-therly wings flutterin:' aif rrint':^ feln
once more " Y„„ ,„,,„ y,„ ^^^^^ ^^ ^ j^^'^f
her and Ld f T-"".^ ''"' "^ ■■'™^ »" "ound
her, and h,d my head m her lap, and began to cry.
Ollgiit
"^^^^^ST TUB i,Tji^,^.lj^^
* J- uo JovG von W^ ] 1.,
Pio.-8 „n<i I. ,[,';,, y J, ''7 ''ked you so lonft
""o- Wl,at am I ? " ' ^'""^' ^'"'^ -^"n' more tl„m
k'nJ of soul and conecier , t"' "^"'^ ^"'"' »
"'0 «i.o/o, better "an t"?'' ."'*^^ ^■«". ->"
""""•"g to do with il " "• '^P'^"'"".}' "« I l-avo
iongtltlnirXo ^ '""= '"'^' ""-^ «-" »
into .nine. ''°'° ''^'"■' ^"'^'nod to come
"There! what would r',.„
would call it a ' scene ' T^ ^r -^ ''''■'' ' «''«
A" J-our pretty Se.-s ruffl , t ^^''^^''''''''e ?
in a ^outh-wesL. Comet '^ '^ ^°" '""^ ''''™
and Chloe shall helpyou " ^'''"' ^"'"■^'=1^.
«go, as ,0,. ,nSu t™ Twf -ft', ^^"f" ^--
"nd you such lovers of MacTs' ' """°'' ' '""•"'
was;^ri;X;rXf-™-anv,asshe
-dinaryattire :; :f;,i,;'' r "" "" '" ''-
(woven in the cot'al 1 ^ !'"» "'~"'^" dress
rath„r *o-t ,;,,''°'f Se-Iooms of Abbot's W».»
- "°'''^''- a Wd, all grey-not Miss Love!
If
1"4
AGAINi^T THE STUL'AM.
■S^
IH
A very fine, erect, m.-inlv oW UrUr ^ •
Described in color, her whole effect was steel
p-ey, as Lovo.Iay Bonbow's was dove-color ler
also sfonny, thunderous flashes *^ '
She looked ,„e all over, not, however, in a wav
wh h made me conscious of clothes. i| en Iho
nodded, rather a„,,n,vi„.,,, a„<, then she si M-
Go in and get ready for dinner. You havo
-enm,n„tes. Do you think I can wait Z clTi,!
«-tr;S!r^''!^^:rd'r™?»^"-
80 f]p-if tLf u ^'^^^ IS deaf, jou know—
1 e lifes U«t r™" '■"" ""^"""^ "•" -''"'
e iKes, so hat It ,s fj„,te useless to be ano-rv or
The dmner was silent. And again, the weic^ht
and th \C„,I^.rr h^ "'' "" ""' >''*'^'
^aiiiviu uiiiia like our verv li^cf i.ri.,M
was never e,-were a little oppreSivtt' . '"
],ert? / rr'^af f '" """':" ^''"'^ '^-'f '»
n-i, ,n a great chair by the window, and told
AGAINST THE UTItlUM.
US to go and amuse oursolves T^.f r.«r. t
;p-d the i^anci... silk ^Z^.^J':Z h :
Hoe, to keep off tJ,e fiies (of wl>r }, he snoke in
language so strong it souncied to m; ' th r like
8wea.-,ng), she eaJled me to J,er.
"Stand tliere in the lifHit ^^-1.1^ "n
combe," she said " on.l i . ,' " •-• '' ^'^"^8-
, biic saia, and let me Iook at you."
liiere M'as something in Iier dirpr.f I'n... •
wav u-liir.l. T.,fi , uiieer, imperious
^aj Mhich rather amused me; and not feelinr.
under her sceptre, I stood feJrless, lookin" f
occasionally nto her xr.-ov n,.^ ^^kiu^ up
Bl.e would L^ or do , 'oft ^ ^ ' '™"'''""° "■''^'
r ''''■' ^■'""- *''"'»■•' «»«I" Wts of yon t^,a I do,"
k"«-v_,.o„r eves and eyebrows. I s, It thov
bad stock to co,„e of.as old a ta,„il,. as any in ho
connty,only on the wrong sido, generally as to
P« . .OS, w ,en there «,.« politics wort i, th nkint I
ftghting about; the .older branch, bnt ParlhnTer
anans: thoyonngerbra„clnnana.ed.,et^ u^^^^
tbo k,ng, and are in the House rflC A,^d
I ear your father is following the femilv was-
Wh,g or even Jacobin, or one of thos; „hilt7
tl.r„p,sts who are worse, always mind n/otf^er"
r"f duties Don't flush and b 1.: d d
People cannot help what they inherit, I have „„
"pnuon of people who change their ian,i!v tltt I
or rei.s,on,- although it is a pity f„r 'thLn of
conrae. it thn^r l.« x„ , ^ -^ ' '^'■^^^ih oi
.,. ' - "o" "" ^53 a uiiy lor then
eourse, ,1 they happen to be wrong. Tour J)
iither
156
AOAmiST THE STMEAM.
m
is a gemleman, and a Banescombe-Danesc.ombe
of Danescombe. The Derlio.,... • . , ''"^^^^'"^^
i..to trade; tl„^:t cert int"" ™' 'T ^"^
»d decayed hr.l^:r^^;,!Z^:' ITII
ter than bogging, or than that v LTw P '
enough of that-alwa,. Ieadi„; oVel a'„d tr
.ina writing. Beggarly! And the kind's servi^P
yon a liorse, wliich elie iriav t„ .f^"""" '"'""s
Down togetl er don't t ^' '^'^ "™'' *«
uot-uii-r, aon t be nervous and throw \t
down, as town children are apt to do AndTf
can help it, don't bo a philanfhropt t wii hf "
hekiid ofltTl.' '""■■''*^^»ft ""d nielting-
tlie kmd of stuii those people are made of L^
being ,n the family, it is dangerons-i^Lt.ts
too. And, remember, I wiU h„ve n.ti • ! , '
with philanthropists. Th re .„ IVn, =" "■i'"
or anything you like." '° ^'''''^' "'' '■"^''>
wtrrZtdr ^- -^-"ef over
"itis^a'atlerrf °:t"™' ^'"'" ^' '"O'-o »'»e,
I>one»t not to answer her. especially when she says
AGAIN8T THE 8TItEAM. 157
things about other people. If my fatlier is what
she calls a philanthropist, I am sure tlie last thine,
he does IS to mind otlier people's duties. The
motto he gave me was, ' Other people's rights and
our own duties.' Is it quite impossib/to make
your^ grandmother understand? at least about
" Q"[te," said Amice. " And if she did hear'
that motto, she would not like him any better for
that. She would think he meant it was his duty
to look after people's rights and wrongs; and that
IS exactly what she objects to, as to the black peo-
ple yon are all so fond of. But I like the motto,
±5ride. Only, it might lead one, no one can tell
where; at least m<?."
The nearer I came to Amice the deeper the
mystery m her seemed. It was like wandering
through a great northern pine forest, in the twt
light ; glimpses here and glimmerings there, and
everything seeming to lead into a new infinity.
What had the shadows been which had lain so
/eep in her early life that they had made the faith
natura to her a Manicliean dualism ? that terrible
faith always ready to spring on us from the dark,
ness of sin and sorrow, that evil is co-eternal with
good, and in might perhaps co-equal.
Pi
! \
CHAPTER X.
WHOLE ocean of new life and thought
was open to us tlirough the advent of!
Madame la Marquise des Ormes, Claire,
and Leontine. There was also an Abbe,
niadame's brother, who occasionally appeared, but
preferred to live in a large seaport town about
fifteen miles off. M. I'Abbe, like many of his
countrymen, was not complimentary to his land of
refuge. He said the most comprehensible thing
to him in the character of the English was their
passion for the sea. He could for himself see no
way of living in such an island of ^^hrouillard"
and " hourgeoisie,'' except by keeping constantly
in view the one means of escape from it.
Among the four we bad brought before us four
suflBciently characteristic phases of the France of
our day.
Madame was Royalist to the core, with the
chivalrous old French royalty which the death of
Louis XYI. and Marie Antoinette enkindled into
a passion and exalted into a religion. Monarchy
and martyrdom united had surrounded the son of
AGAINST THE STREAM.
158
Samt Louis witli a halo so mystically interwoven
of earthly and heavenly splendors, that to see pro-
saic fact through it would have passed tli penetra-
tion of^ any mortal vision. In the later days of
Louis XIY., and through the reign of Louis XY
her family had lived a good deal in retirement on
their estates. The ladies of the race especially
had not shared in the sins and splendors of that
corrupting court, but had li-sd in familiar and
gracious intercourse with their peasantry, never
contemplating the possibility of a state of things
m which great ladies could do anything but reign
and distribute alms, and peasants desire anything
but rapturously to receive alms and serve.
That there could be any great fundamental
wrong in the nature of things, which made it the
highest hope of the majority of laboring men to
end life as dependent pensioners on the bounty of
the minority, never occurred to them. How could
it liave (lone so ?
Such wrongs intertwined with the innermost
fabric of society are; I suppose, seldom perceived
from within, until the slow growth of abuse at
last interferes with some elementary law of grav-
itation or cohesion, and the whole edifice crumbles
into decay or crashes into revolution.
Besides, unfortunately, it is precisely those who
would most gladly correct such abuses who natu-
rally come least in contact with them. Their own
virtues clear the region immediately aroimd them,
and if anxious and foreboding politicians talk
«
II
ft
ill
IGO
AQAINSi THE STREAM.
of " Augean stables,'' they reply, incredulously,
and correctly, " Was ever stall cleaner swept than
mine ? "
Madame des Ormes from the first seemed to
single out our family. She was sure there was
French blood in our veins— the highest compli-
ment she could pay ; there was a peculiar curve of
the eyebrow in my mother's picture uod in mc,
never seen in pure English faces. It was true.
My mother s grandfather had been one of the ex-
iles in the Huguenot persecution. Ours was the
only house in the town "^he volunteered to enter.
My stepmother she considered a little ^^hour
geoise,'' but my father's manners she approved.
Some people's manners, she said, were too much
for them. Like badly made dresses, you could
never forget that they had them on; and some
people were unfortunate enough to have no man-
ners at all. In the last category die included
Madam Glanvil, who was the only person I
remember her speaking of with a single tinge of
hauteur.
Her natural social level was that of the Coun-
tess of Abbot's Weir. And I well remember the
glory reflected on Madame and Claire, and even
on Leontine, when the Countess' coach stopped at
Miss Felicity's door, and the Earl and Countess
went up into Madam e's apartment.
I never knew what happened at Court. Mad-
ame, with M. I'Abbu and Claire, had been invited
there with all ceremony, and entertained with all
AGAINST TUB STREAM.
161
State; and Claii"^ told me Madam Glanvil liad offer-
ed to have tbcmdrivenhomein the family eoadi.
But her mother had declined. " She was onlj
a poor ejnigree;' she had said to Madam Glanvii,
"^and must disuse herself from such pomps. To
Olaire she said that nothing was so intolerable as
that etiquette of the province, or " the great airs of
the little noblesse." And she would never go to
Court again.
Nor was Madame altogether chai-itable to
^mice. She pronounced her a little wild— Mad-
ame " liked wild creatures in the forest ; they had '
a fine free grace of their own— but in the ^a^o;*
one never knew what they would do next. In a
word, the whole household was Insular. I am
afraid," to Claire, Madame said, with a little com-
passionate shrug, " in fact, Englishr
Madam Glanvii, on the other hand, whose
classifications were rather generic than specific, at
once set down Madame la Marquise as frivolous
and given up to vanities, M. I'Abbe as an ancient
dandy, and Claire as a butterfly, and all three as,
" m short, French^ The only person of sense and
character among them, she considered, was Leon-
tme, but then Leontine M^as a Protestant, and
made bargains, and did her work, and came to
church like any other Cliristian, " so that she was
scarcely to be called a Frenchwoman." I tried
often to bring my two groups of friends together,
but in vain.
The inevitable result of contact was efferves-
11
w
1G2
A0ATN8T Tim STREAM.
J
lUi
ceiice. Pressed closer, it would have i)&on explo-
sion, at least, ou Madam Ghiuvirs side. So 1 had
to desist, and content myself M'ith loving ♦^heiu all
rorivid.
Meantime, whatever else we learned or nnlc'rn-
ed, the meani.g of rouny words expanded wonder-
fullv throuo-h our iiitorconrse.
French and E!-i;4'lish ceased to be the simple,
plain definitloTis fchey had been. It was evident
to us there were so many kinds of French. And
to Claire, at least, it soon became evident that
there were many kinds of English.
Then that word " hourgeois,'^ how many puz
zles it made for me ; and also how many it helped
to explain, in endeavoi-ing to translate it to myself
or to Claire ! How much of English and French
social life and politics lay wrapped up in it ! Had
we absolutely no synonym for it ?
I had heard Madam Glanvil use the expression
" town's folks " with something of the same unflat-
tering emphasis. But then, with her, that meant
not merely the lack of a social distinction, but of
country habits. She would have used it with
little less depreciation for feshionable men about
town than for unfashionable men and women in
Abbot's Weir. It meant people who could noi
ride, or hunt, or tmmp about ploughed fields
etfeminate creature ho carried umbrellas :
conld not brave a iieiu of cattle. It had ind^ ( ■ to
do in some measure with trade. Certainly trndy
was not to be accepted except as a last resourct
AOAINSr TBE STJIKAM. jgg
wtlLT'' 7^° "'"""'''' *° sot rich b,-fade
were to be set down.
ner betweou gentry and " town's Colli." People
o good la,uily had (nntbrtunatel,, of course, ft
f her ' 7'' ™^ '° «" "'to business. Claire's
Mther on the eontrary, „„der the anoien r{ni,ne
would have had fonnally to resign his swordl^d
piouder perhaps, than in Franee; bnt prouder
b ca,.e less fenced in. IVide had to hold firm
.1 e barners law had left open. Titles which in
the third generation ee.xsed entirely, and a nobility
continnally recruited from the bench, the man f
factory and the counting-house, wer; in a very
of Cnce"""' """'^ ^™'" "" S.-^'^' 0'" "*l-^«
bettef^'^f" '"^'" "-'■' "'^' «^P-^^ «'« *'-g'>t
better ? In some respects. But it also expressed
tfifd?""- f"''"-' "'■-" -. I^etwecn fhe ;
tlie lower began, who could say ? Especiallv as
neither upper, middle, nor lower, were stt nan
waters resting at their own level. 'biU a, in f ot
tmual state of ebb and flow i„ and throu-.ireaeh
the 'station to which God has called ns " is bv no
means a fixed line, always perfectly eay to d*"!
mine, m a society where nothing is stationary'
104
AGAINST THE STREAM.
?:•
'V
. (
" Pleasant old barriers," Madame des Ormes
thought, " when people were not always 8triig<>;ling
upwards, but content with each other, themselves,
and their station. There were " stations '' in those
days ; and people had " leisure."
" Pleasant, picturesque old barriers," my iiither
said, " except that, within them all the time was
gathering the flood which swept all barriers away,
and much soil, and much life, which no floods
could restore."
Pleasiint evenings they were, when Madame
des Ormes and my father sat on each side of the
great chimney in the Stone parlor. Madame
always preferred the Stone parlor. She said to
Claire, who told me, that the Oak parlor was like
a state-chamber without the Court ; and the great
drawing-room like a mortuary chapel without the
sanctuary, only entered once a year, and terribly
bourgeoise. But the Stone parlor was like France,
like the hall of an old chateau where they met
after the chase. There were the sporting-dogs,
and the great logs flaming and crackling, and
cheerful talk, and going in and out, and a feeling
of life.
My father spoke French easily, and understood
it perfectly, a rare accomplishment for Abbot's
Weir in those days ; and to Madame his manners
had a deferential courtesy which she said alwaj's
reminded her of the Old Court.
Her dress I cannot so clearly recall ; I suppose
because it always seemed such a natural part of
AGAINST THE STREAM. j^jg
licrsell But l.er manner cliarmed me inexpressf-
bb. There was sn-h vivacity and such suavity
n It ; such grace and sncli freedom. And thou
her wliole person seemed an orc^an of speecli.
She spoke not only witli ]ier voice ; or wilh her
ejes hke Amice ; but witli every graceful bend of
her throat, and turn of her arms. And as tolier
hands their movements were like music. They
imde her conversation as sweet and as varied as
singmg.
She was, however, not without serious anxiety
about my father She thought him, like her poor
brother the abbe, too "^A.7..,^/,,;. ,„j ^J^^^^
they proved in Paris to what that led ? Many a
fragment of their conversation used to drop into
our minds, as I was playing with Claire or Piers
by the window, or as we sat silent by the lire, and
interested me more than anything we were doing.
They had many a debate over Arthur Yount,
the traveller, in the course of which all kinds of
curious detail of old French manners and customs
used to come out.
And those debates were sure never to spoil any
one s temper. Many sparks were struck, but there
were no explosions.
There was a common ground of tender pity for
human creatures in g „ ,,al ; and a sense that the
world and even the i ..urch in every corner of it,
even to that most unsearchable corner within our-
selves, needs a great deal of setting ri^^ht
Mr. Young, she v.ould admit, miglit draw but
0^^
i
160
AGAINST THE UTREAM.
of famisliorl
'1i
\x\
too truly, p;looiny picture's ot laniisiioi ?t"^'- driven
in lierds across the liills, unfed aiui un]iai(i, leaving
their own iiulds untilled to render serfs' service to
the seig^'cur.
"Bui J Mr. Dancscombe — he should not have
left out J}e otlicr side — there are hard matters
and lj;iiigry laborers in all societies. Or ai'c you,
perhaps, -o fortunate as to have none ? Are those
parish apprentices you spoke of all exactly content,
and well fed ? Mr. Young should have come to
Les Ormes ; and you also, Mr. ')anesconibc. We
would have entertained you with an hospitaHty
not quite, I hop3, unworthy of your own. You
should have seen how the services our peasants
had to render us in harvest or vintage or even on
the roads, were made quite a i'Ate to them. We
killed our oxen and our fatlings, and spread tables
for them on the terrP'^os of the chnoau; an(* we,
the ladies of the Casti.,, waited on tiiem ourselves,
and the sons and daughters of the Castle danced
with them afterwards ou liie greensward. It ^,■.l3
Arcadian ; the costume of the peasantry blending
with the toilettes of the old Court (eac'i. ui course^
keeping to their own), the pr'" ^e haiid-in-hand
with the peasant. Our peasant oi lain of our
preserving forests for the cL e? hey were
ne\ er so happy as when they accompanied us in
the chase, and I assure you many a Une brace of
game found its way from the seigneur's pouch to
the laborer's pot an feu-. Tliey were afraid to
complain, perhaps you think ? Quite the contrary.
AGAINST TUK STIiEAM.
167
I see liere nothin- ,>f t],o free spcceli there was
between our people and ourselves. Tiie quick
witofoiir countrymen and countrywomen, more-
over, I assure you, could give us as good as we
gave
(I had heard Amice say much the same of the
negroes.^
" They say our noblesse did not care for tlio
poor. Mr. Danescorabe, never believe it. Did
not our mother teadi us to make petticoats and
jacket.-^ for the old women ? And did not we dress
theyoun- brides from our own M-ardrobes with
our own : .mds ? Did we not make dainties for
our sick, an-; tend them by the sick beds '^ Yon
should ha- o scon our Christmas fetes and distribu
tions. Tiie peo; adored us. So completely of
the past as all that is, T may say it now without
vanity. They said no garments wore, and no
dainties tasted, like those which came from our
hands. Ah, Mr. Danescombe, they make me for-
get the Sermon on the M- .iint, those false accusers.
iJut in those days, believe me, tliere were little
secrets of that kind between us and the good God
wliich the poor deluded people forget, perhaps He
will not. You think we were an exceptional fam-
ily? My m<.thor was perhaps an exceptional!
womaa. Her piety had been learned at Port
Koyal, and some of our friends did .ometi.nes ac-
cuse it of being ' tant soit pen Janseniste: One
olour estates was not far from Port Koyal des
Champs. As children, we were sometimes taken
ins
AOAi:i.'<r THE istueam.
ii
ICIll
to see the ruins. My motlior could explain tl
the church uljicli they tilled with corn for the
poor, the ^ranlcns and fallen cells made .'^acred by
their prayers, made doubly sacred by their charity";
and she would never leave those poor up-turned
graves without praying in memory of the holy
souls of those who had lain there. As a child, I
never <piite knew whether, because by some inex-
plicable mischance they had missed the way of
salvation and needed our prayers, or because \ve
needed theirs. It was difficult. Tiiey were so
saintly, so heroic, and yet condemned by those
who should have known. Ah ! Mr. Danescombe,
sometimes a sad thought comes to me about our
France. I wonder whether it can be possible, what
our poor Leontine says, whether indeed we have
driven away our heroes and saints, who could have
rescued us; and so have nothing left to our country
but the martyi's, who can only die for us. These,
you know, the good God, and the malicious foe[
suffer not to full in any age or communion. The
tradition of those good men .nd women of Port
Royal lingered long among the poor of the district.
And we called our little daughter herself after one
of them, Claire— from the friend of St. Francis
founder of the poor Claires— and Ang^^ique after
the Mere Angelique."
'• It was a beautiful aad tender tribute. Ma
dame," my flither said. « May Mademoiselle be
worthy of both her patronesses."
" I do not say tiiere were no evils that deserved
A0A1N8T THE STliMAM.
I»i0
cliuHti'snment, and ncodcfl
say. " God knows tliuro w
eorroefioii," slio weld
cro many. Our (imit
Monaivli had been too niucli like a god, for a mor-
tal man, though a son of St. Louis, safely to
endure. There are traditions of Yersailles wo
Nvould willingly blot out. I]ut we wore chan-rinff
all that. We I Mr. Danescombe, the poor no-
blesse whom your Whigs abuse, and whom our
Jacobins have guillotined. Was it not we, alas 1
who commenced the revolution ? Did not ^\ do
JSfoailles (]\1. le Marquis) propose equal taxation,
the purchase from our order of certain feudal
rights, and the absolute abolition of others, such as
the eorvees, or any compulsory service without
compensation % And Mirabcan, and M. de Lafay-
ette, mistaken as some of us may have thougjit
them, were these men of the Unrgeouie or of the
canaille? We had true instincts. We felt the
tide must turn, was turning, and that we mu^
lead it. And did we not try ? We, and even our
king?"
" Y"^i <^^^ t^y no%, madarae," my father said,
sorrowfully, " at last."
" Ah, I know ; it was too late. The stream
was a flood. The tide was a deiugf. But how
could we tell ? What could we do^? It was, in-
deed, too late."
'• Ah ! Madame," my father said very gently,
" I am afraid all reforms are too late which wait
until the tide turns. All reforms which save from
revolution must ,ot be with, but against the
If '
WV I
lYO
AGAINST THE STREAM.
s
i«l:^
stream. God grant M^e find this out in time. God
grant England niaj not silence her heroes, and
only be left her martyrs ! "
But little Claire ! Madame des Ormes, charm-
ing and sweet as she was always, remained a for-
eigner, an exile, with all her sweet familiar grace,
a little apart, on a height we never forget, and I
am not sure that she did.
But Claire was our own from very early days,
our very own, with a difference, a fascinating
difference of nature, of tradition, of ideas, of tastes^
which made her always as fresh and interesting as
a new story.
If Amice lifted me outside our home, not with-
out a shock, so as to see that in a new light, Claire
lifted US outside Abbot's Weir, and even England,
and that without any shock. She saw everything*-
and every person through such a sunny mediujn,
and made the world so delightfully larger.
For one thing she learned English, which her
mother never attempted, and L^ontine and M.
I'Abbe never achieved further than as a means of
commercial intercourse with the " barbarous peo-
ple" who had, they confessed, received them " with
no little kindness." She learned it carefully,
thoroughly, only to the end deliciously blending
her own idioms with ours, and giving to our Eng-
lish a clear staccato definiteness and delicacy whidi
pointed it, as often she \ 'Dted my work, with the
last finish o. her accurate li; .^ers.
AGAINST THE STREAM.
171
And she tanght Piers and me, in return, her
clear graceful French, enjoying our amusement with
her mistakes, and never laugliingat ours.
Claire was not exactly a child, according to our
English ideas. She had no shyness, or awkward-
ness ; she seemed to have been born with that era-
cious tact, and that ready savoirfaire which made
the wheels of every day's life run smoothly.
Where we were self-conscious, possessed by self,
she was self-possessed, possessing herself, and all
her faculties.
It was her natural tendency to agree with peo-
ple, and x^lease them if possible ; to find out their
angles to avoid them ; just as in our Teutonic na-
tures there is often a natural tendency not to agree
with people, and to find out their angles to rub
against them. Hers was thegraciousness of a true
aristoeiiuy, not instilled by maxim, but infused by
the life of centuries. Stiffened into a maxim, it
might have read, " Yield; hecanse it is our right
to command^ Through all the courtesy there was
a touch of courtly dignity which made half its
charm.
It was a sunny atmosphere that Claire lived in,
a positive sunshine, like tliat of her own land of
purple vintages and golden harvests ; she actually
saw things softened, illumined, with all possible
lights brought out, and the shadows glowiiig M'ith
reflections of the light that dwelt within herself;
whilo many of us sec things at best through a grey,
clear, defining, unilhimining daylight, and pride our-
172
AQAm8T THE STMEAM.
fa'
:f
selves in consequence on onr trutli fulness ; as if sun-
shine were not as true as mere daylight. If Amice
Vv-as like a Nortliern forest, full of ghides and mys-
teries, Claire was like her own sunnv land of vin-
tago and harvests and valleys, that stand so thick-
ly with corn that they laugh and sing.
To make every-day life as pleasant as we can to
every one around us may not be the very highest
aim, but it is a good golden background for the
severer work of life to be relieved upon. And it
was on that golden ground Claire's world was
painted.
Brave she was by instinct and by cliivalry of race,
and ready to make her little person a shield against
the world for those she loved or pitied, as she proved
that memorable afternoon when she kissed me with
the foolscap on.
But the joys of the fight were not at all compre-
hensible to her. Her delight was to make everv
one at peace with one another, and pleased with
one another, and also with themselves.
When she came into your house, she alwavs
found out something pleasant in it you had scarce-
ly noticed before. If your windows looked south,
there was nothing so pleasant as a sunny aspect ;
if due north, there was nothing like looking out
fi'om the cool shadow into the sunliarht.
She taught us first to see how beautiful our
quaint old town was, in its green hollow of the
hills. She had especial delight in our wild flowers.
The banks of the three ancient roads which wound
A0AIN8T THE STliKAM.
173
from it up the liilLs, worn deep by the rains and
the tread of centuries, were, she said, each one a
Jianging garden of delights, frona spring to winter.
Siie and Piers and I used to go on endless expedi-
tions laden with baskets, which in the spring were
lilled with masses of primroses, violets, or blue hy-
acinths. These, of course, we knew and loved of *
old ; but Claire had a liberality in her love of flow-
ers beyond ours. Everything came well to her ;
things M^e had called M-eeds and rubbish, she con-
trived to make lovely nosegays of ; ragged robins,
" twelve o'clocks," foxgloves, woodruffe, blue corn-
flowers. She made her mother's little apartment
gay all the summer through; and when flowers
failed, she brought in leaves. Leaves were her
6])ecialty, she said, bramble leaves above all. She
said the flowers were her English china, better than
all the old majolica and Sevres in the chdteau, and
the autumn leaves were her English bijouterie and
bric-a-brac, richer than all the old bronzes, and
ormolu, with their metallic crimsons, and bronze,
and gold. And " in shape " she said " flowers .vere
nothing to leaves." '^ The good God," she thought,
" having left out the colors and perfumes, had all
the more beauty to spare for the design."
How choice and fair she made that little room
of her mother's !
In the corner was a little, low, narrow bed, like
a couch ; but Leontine had di-aped it with white
inusiin, aiv^Ttys fresh, a»xwl contrived u coverlid out
'A
174
AGAINST THE STBEAM.
>i
n
m
:, ,j
of some antique brocade, so that it looked like a
canopied throne.
Tlien there was a little table, with a mirror be-
hind it, and upon it a few relics, such as a jewelled
snuff-box, wnth a portrait of a grandmother, powder-
ed and frizzed, and one or two uilet ornaments.
And in the window^ a common deal table, draped
with muslin and frills, and always set with those
rich masses of flowers, or leaves, in common white
earthenw^are dishes, but looking as natural and at
home as if they were growing on their own green
banks. In a corner, a little table like an altar with
a crimson antependium, and a delicately-carved,
pathetic ivory crucifix on it ; and a richly-bound
prayer-book. On the walls were four or Ave min-
iatures grouped, and one larger head, often tender-
ly garlanded, of the king, Louis XVI.
We had nutting and blackberrying expeditions.
Piers and Claire, and Dick Fyford and I, Claire
declaring that no fruit in the garden was equal to
blackberries ; and many an opportunity was afford-
ed to Piers of risking his life by gathering nuts
and berries from impossible places up precipices
' and over rivers.
Our old abbey buildings, also, were great bonds
of union between us.
These, Claire said, were as much hers as ours,
being built by the monks, who belonged to all
Cliristendom, when there was one Christendom,
loni
ago. And she made the old arches and tow-
AGAINST THE STREAM.
175
ers live to ns, by telling us of an abbey close to her
father's cliateau, where real living nuns had been
cloistered, where the lamp was always burning
night and day in the cliurch before the altar, and
a sister kneeling before it, until the Revolution
iiad quenched the lamp, and scattered the sisters,
and turned the convent into a factory, and the
church into a granary.
I suppose Claire would not have been a great
reformer of wrongs ; although she certainly would
not consciously have inflicted any. She would
scarcely liave pulled of her own will against the
stream. Side by side with any one on whom that
strain of energy devolved, she could lighten the
strain inconceivably by delicately indicating how
to avoid all avoidable collisions, by keeping rowers
and steersmen awake to every counter-current and
every possible favoring breeze ; above all, by keep-
ing alive in the hearts of the toiling crew, that gen-
erous candor, open to every palliation and Q\e\j
excuse for opponents, which is not a little hard to
maintain when the stream against which they pull
is the injustice and the selfishness of anj^ry liuman
bemgs.
As a sufferer of wrong, nothing could bo
sweeter than she. Her hardest epitliet for those
who had murdered her father, and driven tliem all
houseless and destitute from their fair, bright coun-
try home, was <' deluded." Or if any severer
denunciations ever passed her lins, thev were ?1-
ways levelled at an impersonal '^ (?«." which had
»,!•
i:g
U I
Li!!"
Ilt-'l'
llfl'f
I'
li': ;
»l
AGAINST THE STREAM.
deluded every one. " Our poor, dear, deluded peo-
ple
evei
would
ly, "they {''On'') persuaded
them that they would find "-old mines in our clia-
teaux, that th
their
iiey would be Rentiers, and
starving children live hke princesses, without im-
poverishing us. I am sure they never meant to
ruin us. How could they, with all manmia and
papa had done for them all their lives, and grand-
mamma before ? We loved them, these pooi- peas-
ants and surely they liad loved us. They had
danced us on their shoulders, and sung ns songs,
and laughed with delight when I lisped in imita-
tion. I was their own in a way much as my moth-
er's. And all at once they {on) came from Paris,
and told them a quantity of falsehoods about the
cruelties of the noblesse; perhaps also some true
things, but certainly not what we had done. And
those poor peasants went mad. And one night
Leontine came in the middle of the night, and
drew me out of bed, and huddled on anything she
could find, and took me by the little back door,
whore my mother was waiting, through the wood'
up the hill, to a cabin, our woodman's hut. And
there we looked down and saw the dear old chateau
illuminated more brightly than for any of our fetes,
but for the last time ; flames breaking out of every
window, and those poor, mad people shouting and
dancing round it, where they used to dance with
us, or wait for alms. They did not steal our things.
They burnt them, Leontine said. And all hacim&Q
of what some wicked nobles had done somewhere
AGAINST THE STREAM.
177
with
else to other people. A7as it not strange ? L^ontine
said it was because of things farther off even than
that. She said things more precious than ormolu
and ebony had been thrown into the flames, in old
times ; men and women, men and w^omen of God ! —
her forefathers, she meant,— the Huguenots. She
said it was God "avenging His elect" at last.
But we did not burn the people, nor hurt them,
nor any one that we could help. And it seems a
very strange kind of justice that mj father, who
was good to every one, should suffer because some
one else's grandfather was cruel to people we never
saw
5)
Poor little Claire, " soUdarite " was a word that
did not exist in her French. And yet in other ways
she understood well that nations are not mere con-
glomerations of independent atoms, but that there
is a deep and terrible reality in the words "nation-
al life."
Leontine had her own interpretation of events,
to which she steadily adhered. She was the only
one among them to whom the history of the Revo-
lution did not seem an unintelligible chaos. " Gen-
eration after generation, Monsieur,'' she said to my
father, " our poor France has driven away her he-
roes, those who could and would have saved us.
It was not only that they hunted the Protestants
away. It was the strongest and hramst of all the
Protestants the,) hunted away. The gentle, and
timid, and helpless, and womanly remained. The
me7i, the soldiers of the faith, the heroes, fled or es-
12
I' Mm
178
AGAINST THE STREAM.
caped,to you, to Holland, to Prussia. Our strenotli
aud courage went to strengthen jou, in Holland,
England, and Prussia. And so when the flood
came, there were none strong enough to stem it.
Even the ladies and gentlemen of Port Rojal,
Catholics of the truest, spoke too much truth for
France, and they were trodden down. Generation
after generation our poor France has driven away
her heroes, and silenced her prophets, and now she
has none but her martyrs left. But those. Monsieur,
believe me, of the best. All our great ladies and
lords can suffer, cheerfully, nobly, piously, like
apostles. There is blood in France as pure and
noble as any in the world. But alas ! it seems only
to flow for the scaffold."
t
I
I
d
P
e(
CHAPTER ST.
;|ERY soon after ,„y fet day with Amice
' ^'l'i'"-,I at Court, it was decreed that Pier's
l'a(ha,i(l,n,,ie were to separate; that he
Jivas thenceforth to attend Mr. Rabl)id<.o'8
'oys school, while I was to continne with Miss
not:!' "'I' "■" '""^-'^di-^" that three a^^!
noon a week were to be spent with Miss lovedav
earn,„g embroidery, fine needlework, dress,na^
.ng; ™d nnllmery in general, as far as Miss Love-
flay's tastes could instruct me.
starf^rst."' " '™°"" ^'^ *"™ ■»'-> ""*' " tc
ish^^rtr\''"i',°^^'f- The last remnants ofchild-
aystt Abbo,' w" '"'"'"" '^'''^- ™» - those
aaysat Abbot sWe.rno intermediate boy's costume
edit^n of ray father's "coat, hosen, and hat."
'.e.-h;dd;-t::^;:rr?st<:?'r™:
i»r-^
180
AGAINST THE STREAM.
I*P
m :
id,;
watciiing at tlie old arched door, feeling terribly
feeble, '^ female," and forlorn.
At the corner he had the grace to halt and
tnrn and give nie a protective masculine wave of
the hand, before he disappeared, so glad and tree
in his sensible tight garments, made of things that
would not tear, made so as to be convenient for
climbing and racing, and everything I delighted
in, and in general with a view to being as little ob-
Btructive as possible ; M'liile mine seemed expressly
constructed with r. view to being obstructions in
the way of every i Ij'I;.- it was best worth while to do,
and tilling up aH the leisure spaces of one's life
with making and Minding them.
He had good reason to be glad; and for hijn I
was proud and glad too, I would not have had
him go a day longer with mo for all it cost me.
To him it was a beginning, and through him
for me also. But to me it was an ending also:
BO many things that are beginnings to brothers are
endings to sisters.
He was to go on and out in so many ways
— out into the world of boys, and of men, out into
the world of Greek and Latin, and all kinds of wis-
dom, ancient and modern — while I was to go no fur-
ther than round and round Miss Felicity's history
and mythology lessons, the geographical lists of
countries, provinces, and capitals, and the first
rules of arthmctic, my only progress being, out of
" round hand," business-like and legible, into " small
hand,' angular, ladylike, and indefinite^
AGAlmr TIIK STHEAM. igj
As hlUiir "r '''' '"'""'"' '" ^•■■^'••'rfoltHnitten.
■i\si jiib sister, J was iip\*.ip 111/M.,^ * u i •
1 , ' "t\or iiior(3 to be his constfuif
ho„, y co,n,,a„io„; as I.i« "mtlo ,„othor'> I 1
as a Iielploss li<m.,„„tl,e, a :,roo(l of duckli„^»
"ptfollou- h„„; ho must make l,i8 own way moot
to own temptations, encounter hi, own d™ •
f^ght h,s own battles, while I could only Xt
"nd flnttor my wings on the shore ^
Andhelikedif,ofconrse;he dehghted in it
«nd had no doa, slicnid nev.r liave any idea 1
< otonnmed, that when he was qnite ont of si. ht
I wen ,„to the Stone parlor and seizing the W^'
m^elf on the httle eot that had been his, where!
lite ins little motlior, cried bitterly, and sobbin-W
om her, no ono m tlie world ' "
hroll'l'"!*"''*,^' ' ^"■'■«"g "- «d,oo;-ho„r
oroke in on my lamentations. I symbolicallv
anointed my head, and literail,- ^vasIled niv W
iX'tv r- '""ip'r.?' -^^ ^ot int'olh?.::;
^tas.ponwardinhf,tohayef^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Bat all the morning the tears kept very near
^.
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1.0
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m 114 116
Sciences
Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. I4S80
(716) 872-4503
'/!^
■^Z^
^ ^
182
AGAINST THE STREAM.
if
the brim, and I felt A mice Glanvil's searching wist-
ful eyes on me.
At the end of the morning school, when we
were left alone, as we often were, while she took the
dainty little repast prepared for lier dinner, she
came up to me and grasped both my hands with
one of her abrupt passionate movements.
"Bride, I cannot be sorry for you," she said;
I* I have tried. But it is of no use. Next to be-
ing a man oneself, there can be nothing better
than to see one's brother beginning to be on the
way to be a man. Think of what they can do!
Think what he is going to learn to be, he and Dick
Fyford, and all of them. They are gone to lea-n
to be soldiers, to fight for England, and sailors to
man great ships for England ; and doctors to cure
people's diseases, and lawyers to set people's wront^s
right. (For that is what I think lawyers are fol-,
though Granny says they are only to puzzle right
and wrong together so cleverly, that no one can
find the way through without paying toll to them.)
And masters, to employ men ; or writers of books,
to teach men. How can you be anything for a
moment but glad that Piers is beginning? "
For she knew quite well I was not very glad.
"I shall be very glad to-morrow, Amice." I
said.
" Then be glad to-day," she replied. « I have
no patience with people w^ho keep turning their
faces the wrong way, and sighing and ciying be-
cause we m.u8t leave things behind. Of course, wo
A0AIN8T THE STREAM.
183
^'
are always leaving things behind. Look the other
way, and see what is before you, Bride Danes-
combe."
" I do not mind leaving things behind, Amice,"
I said, thinking her a little hard.
• " Then donH be left behind," she replied, with
her rare little laugh. "Goon! I mean to go on
although I am only a girl. But then, of course, I
have no brother, so I have to do for both. But if
I had a brother~a brave little brother like Piers
wouldn't we set some things right, together ! " '
'' But I cannot go on. Amice," I said. « You
know I have come to an end of Miss Felicity's les-
sons. And there is nothing to do but to go round
again, and to sit still and sew."
" Sitting still and sewing ^* dull," she said, em-
phatically. " Happily for me, Chloe does all that,
and there are plenty more." Then, suddenly, her
face flushed as with a new thought, and she
added, « Do you know. Bride, I think I will ask
trranny to let me learn sewing with you. One
never knows what one may have to do. And in
learning of Miss Loveday one learns so many things
more than she knows she is teaching."
^ That was a bright prospect for me-afternoons
with Amice and Miss Loveday ; and I left the room
greatly cheered.
But in the afternoon little Claire had made
some excuse of a message to our house, and we
crossed the market-place back to Miss Felicity's
together. ^
184
AGAmST THE STREAM.
m
She said nothing ; but as she put lier dear littlo
hands m mine, I knew well what she meant. She
wanted me to feel I had some one to take care of
still And in the evening, between Amice's bravery
and Claire's soothing, I felt almost as bright as Piers
himself when he swung into the passage, and his
jojous voice rang through the house, calling for me.
There was a button to sew on and a rent to
mend in those clothes which I had envied as so
imperishable. And there was a history, brief but
vivid, of the encounter with a bnllj of a bio- boy
■which had occasioned the damage. *'
Piers had begun his battle^'of life with wrest-
lings literal enough. He did not tell me the name
oi his adversary, nor could I gather quite clearly
the issue oftlie encounter except what might be in-
ferred from the explanatory statement that " he
could not help it, he could not see any fellow, wh
ever his size, throw stones at old black Cato, ana
call him names, and not try to stop it, and if the
big fellow were to iry it again, he must do the
same."
He had, moreover, a suspicious mnrk on his
eyebrow, which, with all his anxiety to conceal it,
and all my bathings, grew deeper in tint, so that
Piers had to select retired places, lest my step-
mothei-'s vigilant eyes should detect that he iiad be-
gun boy life so pugnaciously.
It was plain that there would be points enough
at which my brother s life and mine would meet,
r
k
n
h
fi
al
cc
boy,
AGAINST TEE STIiEAM. 135
and that he would need lifs little motlicr at many
extremes jet. •>
Apparently, the - big fellow " did try it a^^ain
for I ;ers came back a few days afterwards witl a
pee.d.ar twinkle in his eyes, and with a scar on L:
^ " He did not give it to me," was all he vouched
m explanation, '' it was only a corner of a stone I
came agamst in Ming. But he was under and I
don t thmk he will try it again."
" Other people's rights'and our own duties ? »
I ventured to ask.
I at Piers would explain no further.
It was a mean thing, in his opinion, to bra<.
of thmgs out of school befo e o-irls " ^
StV'n "I '\" '"*"''' ^''' ^^^'^"« -" him.
th.t P f T ' ^'"''''''^ '""^'^ me enough to show
that Piers had won his spurs.
Claire and I were decidedly proud of Piers'
leftterd to rrr' " '^^' ^-L^^"^-n<i beLg
lett behmd, to hnd hnn so unmistakable a boy
i3ut all our small public opinion was by no
"ml Z:TT: 'V'l "'^'^^^- ^'y «^^P-'ther
keep out of quarrels, he would quarrel in a gentle-
h s face disfigured m a manner which made it un-
combe did not take the matter more seriously
186
AGAINST THE STREAM.
But it was so difficult to porBiiiide him to take any-
tliing about the ehiklren sei'iously."
Mv father nierelv said, —
" My dear, it is impossible not to envy a littlo
the sanguine Quixotism of these young people.
Piers," he added, " if your black eye would begin
to set the whole world and all its wrongs right, it
would be a very well-invested black eye; and no
doubt you are of opinion it will. But remember
you have only two eyes, and only one new coat,
and for our sakes pjease take proportionate care of
each."
Piers and my stepmother were both silenced,
neither seeing clearly where the little sarcasm fit-
ted best.
But Miss Loveday wag profoundly serious on
the subject.
" My dear Piers," she said, in her gentlest voice,
falling, as usual with her in agitated moments, into
the " plain," Quaker mode of speech, " Thee will
never win the true battles in that way. The weap-
ons of the true warfare are not fists."
" But boys have not any others, Miss Loveday,"
he said.
" It is written, ' Love your enemies,' " said
Miss Loveday, with tears in her eyes. " Forgive
them that hate you."
" But I have no enemies," replied Piers, " and
as to forgiving people who hurt other people who
are helpless, I cannot, I might have hated him if
AOAINST THE STREAM.
187
WG could not liavc hw^^t it out; but now there is
no need to think of it uriy more."
Miss Lovejoy shook her Ijead.
" Pride can forgive an injury it has avenged "
Blic said. " Besides, we are told what to do ?f we
are smitten."
Piers made no reply; in the art of verbal self,
defence he was not strong. Besides, Miss Loveday
was a wonum, and deaf; and to defend oneself
agamst a woman in the vehement form argument
18 apt to appear to take with deaf people seemed
to him, I believe, unchivalrous. But he said after-
M'ards to me, —
"It says nowhere, Bride, that we are to do
nothing but be patient \i other people are smitten
on the cheek. And if the Sermon on the Mount
means that, it must be meant for men, not for boys
Grown men have the Assizes and the Parlia*
ment, and all that kind of thing to stop other peo,
pie from doing wrong ; but we have nothing except
mir hsts Besides, there is the Old Testament.
David and all of them often had to fight "
_ " Claire and I don't think you at til wrong," I
said, " nor, I think, does father."
But this did not console Piers. I think he
was more ashamed of our admiration of Miss Love-
day s remonstrance.
"It is hard to have such a fuss about nothing
only because 1 was so unlucky as to get hit whe?e
^t could be seen. Boys are always getting hit, of
course." ^ ^ " "j t*A
188
AGAINST THE UTEEAM.
In Ulphilas' translation of tlio Seriptnros for the
Goths, wo aro told that tho translator loft ont the
Book of Kings, thinking hit; Goths too likely to
draw such
did fi
the
encouragement as in
warlike proceedings therein recorded.
I>ut IMers had plunged into the priuiitivo ago
of Lyncli-law, and " vigilance connnittecs," with
which the world is always renewing its hoyhood,
for young human creatures and young luitions.
Homer seemed to him an imperishable picture
of life; only he; could never make out how the
Greeks could both scold and fight. The scolding,
he thought, was the natural share of those who
could not fight ; and the talking, of those who
could not work, or make.
Criticism he considered the natural province of
women, or of men who have nothing to do. It
was not till later that he learned how some talkinir
is nuiking, and some words are battling.
The streams of our lives seemed running very
far apart. For as Piers' life went forth more and
more into the din and tumnlt, mine withdrew
more and more into the stillness and retirement.
So much farther apart are boyhood and girlhood,
than womanhood and manhood, the parting and
distribution necessaKy to the deeper meeting and
uniting.
Even our amusements separated. Claire and
I pursued our strawbei-ry, and flower, and black-
berry gatherings, and nuttings, our gardenings, and
AlJAimr Till'} STREAM.
189
rambles alone, while Piers and Dick Fyford were
shouting' over cricket and football.
It was chiefly in making and mending tliatoiir
lives seemed still linked.
For ministries in the form of mending there
was no lack of opportnnitj. And Piers, now pro-
moted to a real carpenter's bench and perilous work- j
man's tools, constructed many a basket and box,
and even chair and table, for Claire and me.
Amice, he always continued to maintain, was
" almost as good as a boy ;" besides, she had the
glory of three additional years ; and with her (his
self-banishment from Court having ])een tacitly
annulled in consideration of Granville Sharpe's
achievemonf.s) he had many a daring gallop, not to
say steeplechase, over the downs and moorlands.
But it was always the flowers which Claire
loved that he contrived to remember, and to pour
out now and tlien in a careless, casual way from
his pockets, Avhen he returned from his expeditions,
and to empoAver me, if I liked, to carry over the
way.
Meantime, we sewed, and Loveday listened, like
Joan of Arc, to her " voices, " and talked to us.
That longing for the liberation of the negro slaves
which she had inherited from her Quaker ancestry,
and which had been as a patriotic passion to her
lonely life, could not but come out in those long quiet
afternoons. At first she hesitated to speak of it be-
fore Amice. But one day, when slie liad broken
off in some story of wrong, Amice rose, and coming
190
AOAINST THE STREAM.
kt
close to lier, said in those low clear tones Loveday
always heard so well, —
" Do not stop. You cannot tell nie worse than
I know. When I was a child, I heard the cries
from the punishment house ; I saw the spiked col-
lars, and the scars. You cannot tell me worse
than I fear. Tell me, if you can, anything to
give me hope."
And Loveday told us the story of the struggle,
so that the far-otf fields of Pennsylvania and New
England, where John Woolman and Anthony Ben-
azet toiled for emancipation until not one Quaker
held a slave, grew to us a land of sacred romance.
Dear to iis also was the story of the poor
bruised and half-blinded slave, Jonathan Strong,
left to starve by his master; how he was nursed,
and fed, and tended, and clothed by Granville
Sharpe and his brother the surgeon ; and then how
out of that movement of natural pity, obeyed,
grew the whole noble immortal work of Granville
Sharpe's life; how, alone, against the stream of
hiwyers and judges, and against the law itself era-
bodied in an iniquitous decision, and confirmed
by the opinion of Blackstone, he turned the stream,
<and brought round lawyers and judges, and at last
the very law itself, constraining Lord Mansfield to
demand the broad issue which he had so long eva-
ded, and to pronounce the liberating words, that
whenever a slave touches English soil he is free,
thus virtually pronouncing slavery itself a wrong,
and laying the axe at the root of the tree which
^OAlJfUr IJte urilKAM. igj
from that moment bog,,,, ,>„,>o,-oeivod to tottor to its
So wo 8at and sewed and lirtened al-„- „fr to
the echoes ot many wai-fa,™, „„ti| ,„„|er Miss l,«vo.
day « .nfluence, sewing itself became ennobled to
me and sec.ned an essential part of the wa,fare.
I'or m al wars," she said,' 'the battles „ro
b.,t the cnses ol the ca,„paign, the tests of strength
ong-tramed and long-tried. People are viefoi-i^ns
by vntue of what they were before the battle. It
ght, but the men who b,-ing the meat and bread,
ho men who till and pl„„gh, and sow the oo,-n and
.ord the ca tie, and," she added, with a g.-owin.
"itensity „, her voice, "the women who bake, a, d
...."<, and ehnrn, and sow, and bind up the wounc^"
fighS.' ' "''""^' ''"''"^'' ^"""*''''"'«' """
bread frr !•? ' i' """"' P"'>rfple8, into
mne lot Bat Amieo said " some wo.nen had to
take theu- share in the actual fighting, she believed "
"Queens," I conceded.
said't'lrT '"'™ '° ''" " '^'"'' of queens," she
«a.d, when there are no men in the fa.nily
There .s no Salic law which screens orphaned S
102
f0
i
Aff.irNsr 77//.; srilKAM.
wMoNvod won.on fVo.n taking, ihcic j,1hco on l!io
throne, or tlicir \)ixvt in tlif buttle."
And sonietinieR, slie i^aid to Mi.ss Loveday " It
is the wnitin^. that is so trjin- I fit were all' real
vorkin.ir, I M-ould not mind a bit vvliat the work
M-as. Jt is tlie waitin^r „„(1 doin^r nothing' ibr any
one that eats into one's heart like rust."
" AVaitinn; need not bo doin^^ nothing?," Lovedny
said. "1 have a good deal of it, and I have not
found it so."
" Waiting may be waiting on God," she added
very softly, "and I think there is little work as
good as that."
And as we looked at her patient face, so pale
and worn, and yet so often radiant from within
we imderstood something of what she meant.
CHAPTER XII.
hh cImmcterisHc of all trnly ,,p„.„rd path,
that as we rise the little hills grow less
and the high hills higher. '
Happy tbr 118 when the heights of our
CHdhood are so truly high that they d"„ not siX
l."t r,se, w,th our rising, and only seem the ,„o^
above „s the nearer we approach them. ItZ
always thns with Loveday Benbow, as through the
y ars I grew to understand better what sh^ «"
bhe was .n so many ways a eentre to our little
c.rc e; partly by virtue of the very stillness 'nd
.mehangeableness of her life amid our chan"",:;^
volvmg conditions ; by the simple fact of her being
always th.re, and much ,„ore by the fact of hef
heing always <• all Here."
Invalids have little idea how much the very
t, Iness and monotony of their sick chamber (I
hard often for them to comprehend or bear) tend
to make them a sanctuary where others, stepp n,
aside from the tumultuous world outside are earn-
ed, refreshed, and rested.
Loveday was our centre also, because she lived
13
m
194
AOAmST THE STREAM.
60 near the tnie Centre, which is the Snn, and
tlierefore with lier lieart in the glow of that cen-
tral sunlight, her mind looked freely all around,
and saw things in their true relations and propor-
tions, for us all; as we in the coil and tumult could
seldom do.
She became the " eye " of our little landscape,
as still waters do, uy simply reflecting the light.
Against the stream, as many of her convictions
were, she never seemed contending so much as fol-
lowing ; calmly floating, or rather sailing on, he-
cause her inmost spirit had found the " rushing
mighty wind " which " breathes upon the slain, and
they live ; " the Spirit which broods on the face of
the waters, and they are full of the living. She
was borne on, calmly, by the breath mightier than
all the torrents of the world.
With her the deepest things in us all were
opened, to ourselves and to her.
If Amice had lifted me first to a point of view
outside my home, and Claire to one outside our
England, Loveday Benbow lifted us all to a point
of view from which we felt there was an outside,
a glorious " expansion " a starry " firmament " be-
yond our whf le visible world.
Piers was her prime favorite. She loved him
almost as much as I did, and more than she did
me, which was saying much.
His school life was not an eventful one. After
that first conflict, he was seldom in the wars, or at
least wo did not hear of it.
AOAmsT TBE STSl^AM. jgj
DuI^F f^V^y*}' '""''' ^""^ '■" themselves to
P.e.sdeligl,ted ,„; althougl,, if ti.e fighting came
enough The energy which in Dick was apt to
t.m. to destruotiveness, in Re:, went to conl™!
ehjp 01- a shed, or a mode] water-w 1 .nrt m,i •
tl.em well as Dick had in maLng t : til
trees and his own limbs by reckless dimbing
Dy JVir. iiabbidge, lie excelled.
Ho looked at that time on the writers of books
rather as mere talke.^ on an extended scale. '
And talking as I have said, he regarded as th^
especal province of woman; or ofpelle in gin
eral who could not or would not wolk. ' Tl "s^™"
all professions of which speech was the m Im
he looked not withont contempt '
Two careers in life commended themselves to
l'™_ He wished to be a manufacturer or a doctor
they^rbtrT'"'"""' '" ''''• ■^-^'^ -^^
y were about. To cure men, and to mako
tbmgs, was plain honest work. That is, theTdeal
of those callings was clear to him. They were
something like keeping a garden, and tilS it o
Wpmg down the thorns and thistles of the wilde::
To be a doctor he thought the best. The de
I'Sht m watching the ways of birds and beast^
196 . AGAmST THE STREAM.
wlHcIi was natural to liim, inclined him to natural
nstorj .uid the skill and accuracy with which he
iiandled things, might avail him in surgerj.
What Ins conversations with Loveday were
about, 1 often did not know. She used to say the
boys spint dwelt among the "realities," amonc
the things that are, justice, goodness, and truth,"
unconsciously quoting Plato. She greatly longed
for Inm to become a physician. There M-as a pas-
sage in George Fox's journal to which she especially
delighted to refer. " The physicians," GeoL Fox
wrote (lamenting over the declension of all the pro-
fessu^ns from their true ideal), "were out of the
wisdom of God, by which the creatures were made
and so knew not their virtues. But they might be
brought back into the true wisdom of God, the
Word o Wisdom by which all things are."
And to this end she believed Piers, with his honest
heart, clear judgment, his delight to "hear and to
ask questions" of every one and everything, his
determination to see and know things as they are
might greatly help. ^
I suppose his early revulsion from literature
was owing partly to Mr. Rabbidge's mode of in-
struct. 3n. With Mr. Rabbidge literature was strict-
ly letters " in the literal sense ; the instrument
was everything. Even the great old Greek dra-
mas and liistories were to him rather herbariums
ol classical expressions than living fields of thou-ht
and beauty. The climax of attainment set bofSre
ir'iers was not to understand ^schylus or Herodo
AGAINST THE STREAM. jq-J'
tiis and tliroiiglx Lliem Greek life and thought, but
to write Greek verses, in which what was said was
quite immaterial if only it was classically said.
It took years of living to counteract the effect
of those years of learning, and to bring him back
through the realities of the present to the glorious
realities of the past.
Also it was natural to him not to take the same
turn as our brother Francis ; and Francis took at
once to literature in Mr. Rabbidge's sense of it.
" Words for the sake of words " did not at all repel
him. To be an '' elegant scholar " seemed to him,
and to Mr. and Mrs. Danescombe, a lofty ambition.
Francis became Mr. Eabbidge's favorite scholar
His memory was accurate, and his taste in a cer-
tain cold and superficial way correct ; and the <^lory
of prizes of the "first place " and of public 4ita.
tions was exactly the kind of glory he appreciated
and his mother delighted in.
Very early she began to suggest that it would
be a loss to the reputation of the town if Francis
were not sent to the university ; while at the same
time a year or two more or less of school could
make no difference to Piers, whose tastes were not
' in any way opposed to commerce. My vanity and
ambition were often aroused on behalf of Piers
But Piers was not to be thus roused. He had am-
bitions ; but not on that level.
That Amice Glanvil and T should be at home
with Loveday, and even Piers, and open our inmost
world to her was natural and obvious enough, she
k
lit- '
>
Hi
^i ii
li I.
198
AGAINST THE STREAM.
being tho dovelike M-inged creature that Amice
ir-iaton.cally said slie was, and we sorely in want of
such bi-ooding warmtli.
Amice having free range of Iicr paternaJ library
at Court, had been greatly delighted on behalf of
Loveday when she made a discovery in an old
translation of Plato of his theory of " iings secret-
ly growmg in the soul here preparatory to her free
expanded life hereafter.'-
Loveday's spii-itual wings were. Amice felt sure,
already fully developed ; wings that could make a
nest any where-on any rock, for her nestlings, and
could also soar far beyond our ken. It was only
natural, therefore, that we motherless creatures
should nestle beneath them.
But with Dick Fyford, the most militant and un-
t^uakerliko among us, it was the same.
Fi-om very early days he was always either
tailing mto desperate quarrels, or in desperate love
not unlrequently both together. And in all cases
Miss Loveday was his chosen confidant.
" Slie always took things so seriously," he said,
and did not make fun of a fellow." And a seri-
ous tax on any one's sympathy it must have been
to take Dick Fyford's loves and wars in earnest, so
frequently were the "scoundrelly doffs" of his lim-
ited but strong vocabulary, yesterday, "Not at all
bad fellows after all," to-day; and the hard-heart-
edness and cruelty he sh..uld never get over to-day,
in a few weeks obliterated by the unequalled fas-
cinations of the next heroine.
AGAINUT THE HTREAM. ^99
It was certainly a relief to Loveday when Dick
wentto sea, although she l>ad n.any scTuples about
seeming to sanction it.
"Making climbing at the risk of the neck a
matter of duty,, she pleaded, " does seem the only
way of savmg some lads from breaking their necks
as a matter of choice. And a sailor need not abso->
lately be a man of war, although in these days it
does seem too probable he will."
It was so also with Madame des Ormes. Noth-
mg soothed her so much as to sit by the little couch
where Loveday Imd to spend so much of hei- life
m the plain unadorned room, where the only lus-
trous thing was the old oaken floor, polished with
the rubbing of generations. She said it made her
think of Thomas a Kempis, and made luxury seem
a folly and a vulgarity.
The contrast of the stately gracious lady with
her animated face and movements, and our dear
dove-colored Loveday with her still soft face and
voice, often charmed me.
With most of us, Madame was, on religious
questions, a foreigner. There were mutual slispi-
cions, mutual reserves, mutual antagonisms conceal-
ed or confessed, mutual ignorance of the real basis
of one another's daily life. Even with my father
t le sympathy did not reach beyond - questions of '
the Second Table." She recognized him fully as
her -neighbor," and loved him as a lover of man-
kind, but as to his ecclesiastical position she was not
without disquiet.
fe
It
200
AGAINST THE iSTUEAM.
Vyith Loveday Beubow slie was at home. To
her slie opened the inmost sanctuary of her con
s ant heai't. To her she spoke as to :ione beside
ot her Jmsband ; cut down by the mob of Paris, at
the door ot the prison of the village at the terrible
sentence - A La Force." the terrible revolutionary
lormula corresponding to the masked sentence of
an earner inquisition, "To the Secular Arm."
IJiey dared not cry to all thosp innocent vic-
tirus, she said, -A la mort.' So terrible has
(.od made crime to conscience, my friend, tlmt the
worst of 118 dare not utter the worst they can do "
Ihey sat together under the great shadow of
death but they found it the shadow of the great
Threshold One day the gate would open, they
knew, and let them in. ^
.f .i^^'n!'"'' 7^'*,^"«"« Ch"«tian faith in the unity
of the Church, that barrier, so terribly real to most
of us, which separates the Churcli visible on earth
from that invisible in heaven, had become a mere
veil tmnsparent, at least translucent often here,
ihe Church for them was divided not into
Koman and Anglican, Catholic and Protectant,
but into the wrestlers and the victors, the combat'
an 8 and the crowned, the faint and few, struggling
still hrough the waves of this troublesome world
and the glorious multitude innumerable, welcomed
and welcoming on the other shore.
Yet Loveday Benbow was in the whole type of
her piety a Quaker. ''^
She had indeed been baptized in infancy, with
AGAINST TEE STREAM. 201
Miss Felicity as one of licr sponsors. And what-
ever had been her convictions, her health would
Iiave prevented her attending the public services
of the church. Moreover, the sacrament was not
administered in Abbot's Weir more than four
times a year, and the office for the communion of
the sick was regarded chiefly as a mild mode of
announcing the medical sentence of death.
Had her belief as to the sacrament been that of
the nuns of Port Royal, she must have been prac
tically reduced by circumstances, as many of the
nuns of Port Royal were by persecution, after
their dispersion, to " spiriiual communion."
Yet the mutual attraction between her and
Madame des Orraes was not an isolated instance
of union of heart between Roman Catholics and
Quakers, nor do I think the attraction was merely
one of personal character.
The Holy of Holies in all forms of Christianity
IS surely the same. For Friends the outer sane-
tuanes and courts do not exist ; for the most spir-
itual saints in all communions they only exist out-
side. The very multitude of dogmas and compli
cation of rites in the Roman Church has, in many
instances, driven her saints inward to find their
rest in the bare simplicity of some great first prin-
ciple. ^
For Brother Lawrence, as for John Woolman,
alike, the true dwelling-place and "coverincr" of
the spirit is in '^ awful retiredness inward hi the
presence of God."
1
■jt.
U I
■ I
203
AGAINST TUK HTliEAM,
Also, both Lovoday and tlic Marnniso wero
sudors. To both the whole world by under the
shadow and tho sliclter of the Cross of Eedoni,,-
lion. ^
By both it was never forgotten that the only
perfect hfe ever lived on earth had ended visibly
there ; and with both it was the deepest convictio; •
of the heart that this apparent end was not an
victor "^ ^ beginning, and meant not defeat but
On both, moreover, had been laid a life-Ion*,
burden, which conld never more be laid aside, the
bun en ot irreparable bereavement, and of irreme^
diable pam To both, therefore, life had made it
plain that the Master's Cross was not only to rescue
from snftering, but to empower to suffer; not to
abohsh the Cross for the disciple, but to consecrate
the yoke into the Cross, by the simple act of will-
ingly taking up« the involuntary burden daily af-
ter Him Thus, neither Madame des Ormes nor
Loveday Benbow were in the danger which besets
the prosperous "religious world » of making their
Ideal of religious service a beneficent dispensinc.
of alms from the throne, instead of, like the Ma^
ter ., a sympathetic bearing of the yoke with the
sufiering.
" Quaerens me sedisti lassus,"
for the pattern of h'fe was as present to them as
" Redemisti crucem passus,"
for its motive power.
AGAINST THE STJiEAM.
203
I liavc always ])CGn irhd that my first accinaint-
Jince witli lioly |)eoi)le was ainon^ those who
dwelt in the shadow, rather than among those who
dwelt in the snnshine.
It made it clearer whence the inward sunshine
came. It made me see a little into the depths of
Christian life before learning more of its expan-
sions.
Yet there was a difference as well as a resem-
blance between Loveday and the Marquise. It
arose, I think, partly from their types of faith, but
also partly from their differences of character and
experience.
The element of hope was far stronger in Love-
day Uonbow,— not the imperishable hope of the
immortal life, this was equally strong in both,— but
hope for this struggling, sinning, suffering world,—
hope for humanity.
In representing the life of the two symbolically,
I would picture Madame des Ormes kneeling with
clasped hands and upturned weeping face at the foot
of the Cross— the- Crucified still fixed there; but
Loveday should stand by the empty sepulchre, her
Jjands outstretched to clasp the feet that were to
" go before into Galilee," and on her lips and on
her radiant face the rapturous " Eabboni."
The words that seem to vibrate on the ear of
one are, " Jit/ God, my God, why hast tJiouformlcen
mcr' on the other falls the inspiring message, " Go
tell my brethren that lam risen and go before \jouP
But the thing about Loveday Benbow that was
I:
204
A0AIN8T THE STUB AM.
! i
cliaracteristically " Quaker" waa f],,> t * •
tude of her wl.o^e l,,u^ ™' "'" ^"'^'^"^ »"'-
Of all tlie titles give,, to the early Church be
b.etlu-en, 8a„Us, believers, diseiplea-'-the one
XiSr.^'"^-'^''^--'''''-^e::.t:::
Vou felt always that she was a "learner"
only a teaeher because always learning. w2L^
no pup.1 a„ne to drink of a stag„ant°water
The well of living water did indeed sprino- ud
m her heart continually-the Dropping Well from
ever, Zhtif',""' '""• ^^"^ " "'-^^ '™'. f-
W t^^cattoYr ""^ '^ '"'' ^'^'^ "-'^
«nppTv' ™rr'"' '" ''" '■"^ ''"""^«'' «''" did "0'
Biippiy ^ou in a moment with Rnm« ^«„.i j
-in.. She he.elf had to ^nsuTtTe 1 1:?
was no l,b,»ry of old parchments, no mere re oM
of decisions on other cases. It was a voice a W
voice, with a fresh decision for every case Thl
was indeed a J3ook more precious t 'her than '2
and sweeter than honey ; but to her that Book w^
J^tteranceofOnewhoHves,andspeaks,:ndT:
One^P.f I™''"> f'^'^ '^'•""Sl' the History of
One People, and above all of One Life, was she
believed inspired into the hearts of all peopTe to bo
«orever personally with the spirits of men, who
AGAINST THE STREAM. gQj
teaches, rcninds, pleads, enkindles, robnkes, ex.
i'orts eon.f(>rts,-doe8 all that is involved in tho
manitold word Paraclete.
In this n^reat Catholic truth, brought forward
and pressed on the consciousness of the Church as
so many truths have been, by one section of' it,
otten in disproportion, and witli that one-sided in'
tens.ty wh>ch seems the condition of the progress
of truth among us (wlio having a mountarn to
chn^b, Iiave to chmb it for the most part by a road
engineered in zig-zags), Loveday had been nur-
tured by her Quaker mother.
When first I remember her slie must have been
Bt.ll young, scarcely twenty. To us she never
seemed either young or old. In the external sense
youth, with Its vigor and eager impulse, was never
Hers In its deepest sense youth was liers, with
all Its freshness and glow of hope always. Scarcelv
twenty, yet her life as to personal 'incident and
action was already finished.
Mothei^s love for lier had early passed into the
heavens; father's love-protective, self-denying,
provident generous - she had never known!
Prom earliest childhood she had seen her mother
pnmig, fading, dying under her father's ne-lect
and extravagance. The very love which made
her quick to see and wise to soften her mother's
Bufferings rendered her keen to see and quick to
liate her father's selfishness.
Terrible are the lives thus poisoned at the
foimtam, for which the instinctive affections which
206
AO imST THE STREAM.
I! ■•
in
't
i!' ' il CM
«»re at tl.o root of all lovo, arc at war witl. tlio moral
principles \vliicli are at the root of all rii,'lit; for
which the alternative lies between ''calUn^r'evil
good," and not bein- able in the inmost heart to
"give honor where honor is most duo.''
Ten-rje when the great sacred parable of hu-
man relationships is reversed and falsified, when the
stone is given to the children for bread, and the
poisonous serpent laid in the child's bosom bv the
very hand that should liave guarded from it."' In
such a chaos there is no resource but one, to look up
from the broken mirror to the unbroken lirdit it
Bhould have reflected, from the love which has
faded to the eternal love, which is fatherly and
motherly at once, and never fails.
And this Loveday Benbow did.
The solitude in which her mother's death left
her was, for heart, and mind, and spirit, for all that
makes "me," as absolute as that of Moses on Sinai
Below was Miss Felicity worshipping her idol,
which she had robbed herself of gold,\ind jewels,'
or such equivalents as she possessed, and every pre-
cious thing, to make what it was; happy once'nioi'o
to be sole priestess at its shiine.
* To little Loveday it was no shrine. The ut-
most which her patient and injured mother had
been able in dying to leave her was a legacy of
r: 'o-ent pity, reverence for the unfulfilled rela.
t^o.. ' "•.^ lity for the lost man.
Au ' lo this solitude came to her the voice of
God, .. »ii3et, thro'.^h no mediating mortal lips.
H
'iVAlNST THE STREAM. 207
l)nt Jmrnorliato fron. spirit to spirit, i^iornn- thvoxvAi
nil tl.o weeping, and the wailing, of the pjople, tluit
V'.K'o •„., reached her; and direct, l,y „o tender
Ininian hnks, except the humanity of God made
•nan, by ru. nre„tlo steps of love ascendin- softly
Iroin hio.l,er to hi^i,diest, her spirit darted with an
arrow's ih-o-ht to Ilini. She felt Ilini always near-
est. Ills voice the clearest to hear, the easiest to un-
derstand, the dearest to follow, His love not only
the sublime crown and clitnax of all, but the most
fumdiar and homelike of all ; wliat He cared for,
her closest care ; what lie hated, lier most natural
mdio-nation.
For to her the voice of God was no mere in-
articulate music, but a livincr voice whose " Woe
unto you " was as real and as needed as its " Come
imto mc "-" Woe unto you " to the oppressor un-
der any disguise,-" Come unto Me " for the weary
and heavy laden of every color.
Well for her that her love for God was so true,
that hke all true love it brought its burden as well
as Its joy. .She did not perplex herself with theories
about anthropomorphism. She believed in the
possibility of the Incarnation with all its attendant
possibilities, and in the fact of the Incarnation with
all its results.
That God should be "grieved at His heart " to
her meant, at all events, something quite real, some-
thing at whicli those who loved Him must be o-riev^
ed at heart too.
ft
That God should be afflicted with theafflictio.
III*
208
AGAINBT THE STREAM.
hh
of Israel of old meant not that He had been roused
from the calm of the serene upper heavens to a
transitory exceptional pity, bnt that He pitied all
the creatures He had made, and was afflicted with
their afflictions always.
And the wronged people of the time, her
mother had taught her, were the "blac^ mankind"
whom the English people in the West Indies and
in America stole, and bought, and sold, and held in
cruel bondage, whom the Quaker Society, alone of
all sections of the Christian Church, had voluntarily
emancipated and refused to hold in bondage, and
were laboring to set free throughout the world.
There was something surely in the " listening,"
the stillness, the " waiting," on which fell clear as
a church bell when the whole church was asleep and
heard nothing, the conviction that to buy, and sell,
and hold in bondage " black mankind" was a sin.
^ During her long nights of weariness and days of
pain her spirit, that is she herself; had suffered
with the suffering people. She liad identified her-
self with them as Kosciusko with his Poland, or
Hofer with his Tyrol, or the most loyal Yendean
with the fallen race of St. Louis. She had made
that wronged people her people, as truly as she be.
lieved her God their God.
Not with a blind enthusiasm. She loved too
much to idealize. She longed to help too much to
suffer herself to be deceived as to what help was
needed. That the degradation was also moral
AGAINST THE STREAM. gOO
that tlie chains bound round them were also chains
ot sm, only made her pity more intense.
Taking them at their worst, stupid, childish,
helpless, brutalized, idle, vulgar, as their hardes
enemies could picture them, at their worst, and be-
cause of the worst oppression had made them, her
heart glowed towards them with indignant pity and
agonizing
To me, throng], her inspiration, that great anti-
slavery conaot became like one of Homers battles,
or the story of the Peninsnlar War, or of Waterloo
as I have heard them from those who fought there
Pennsylvania and New England, where John Wool-
man went on his weary foot-pilgrimages of com-
pass,on to rouse the "Society to the wrongs
of the slaves, were to me romantic and sacred namel
Those quamt old volumes of Quaker literature
which she loved to r^ad, with their old-fashioned
prmtmg and their .,„re old-fashioned wording
and tl,,„k,„g, conscientiously, or ,mconscionsly°
plam to the utmost limit of plainness, as to
the picturesque and the ffisthetic, even now make
^o.ce of the many now out of sight and hearing to
.ad been wh, e, or olive, or any artistic color, a,>d
~ ."' ™»'b' hair had rejoiced in raven tresses"
01 .adiant masses of gohl," tlie world would have
-vakeued up earlier to their wrongs. But Love, v
Imi. '7', i" T'"'' ""«l<-"PP<^d. woolly-haired,
"ngiacefid, and loved tliem better for their very
i
it ,]
t
£
210
AGAINST THE STREAM.
hi
iif^liiiess, as a mother her ugly child. In her heart
Ainiec declared, Loveday called them not Uach, but
hronze, a kind of duller gold.
Too often, indeed, the picturesque of things seen
and temporal may blind us to the true poetic of the
things unseen and eternal.
The whole history of that great wrong was
vivid and distinct to Loveday as her own.
"How nearly," she used to say, "the mon-
strous evil of modern slavery had, at the very be-
ginning, been crushed in the germ ; how irresistibly
and swiftly, once allowed to live, it had grown!"
For centuries the Christian Church had protest-
ed against slavery, had fought against it. For two
centuries she had vanquished it, and driven it from
every realm where she had sway. First of the
nations, Ireland, on this point twice in this long
campaign, wisest of all by virtue of the wisdom of
the warm heart, had renounced tliis wrong. In
1172 her clergy forbid all traffic in human beings,
and accomplished the emancipation of those who
had been sold into bondage, chiefly English men
and women, kidnapped and shipped from Bristol.
In France the burden of wrong had rested on
the heart of her king, and in 1315, Louis X. enfran-
chised all crown serfs, declaring that " slavery was
contrary to nature, which intended that all men
should be by birth free and equal."
And so for two centuries the cry of the bonds-
man had ceased to go up to heaven from Christen-
AOAIlrSr THE STJIEAM. gll
w.t, ahis ! the banner under which it was won was
too mirrow And moreover, the religious warsof
the Cross ehecked the progress of emancipation.
his b ethren ; but the followei-s of Mohaniu.ed were
no brethren," they were aliens, enemies of God
«e,esold mto bondage without remorse. For
broad as the field of Christendou. is, humanity I
broader. Ti.e Church had nobly thrown her shLd
had freed all Christendom from slaverv. She had
yet to earn that the pity and the jus'tiee of G^
J^ach tnrther than the most Catholic Church tC
has learned to believe in them, and that creation
18 an earlier claun on His love than baptism
In this inedi^val limitation of emancipation,
noble as ined,«,val Christian emancipation was
lay he little rift which was again to spoil .all its
Through tliis one weak place came in, slowly at
iirst, and then in overwhelming force, the whole
monstrous iniquitv of modern slavery, worse than
ancjent b, all the Cl.Hstian pit, ittd to s^
.7^^[j^;;^^"^^g^"a^n of conscience" which "made
The Spanish conquest of Mexico and Peru
caused the desolation of two countries. The native
1
I.
,1'
ill 4
212
AGAINST THE STREAM.
raecs of Anierica were crushed heno.ath the weijrlit
of forced labor, and the native races of Africa were
torn from their homes to supply their places. Not
M'ithont individual protest. Again and again the
merciful heart, always beating in the Church, be-
neath all slumber, and all disguises, rose against
this great wnclcedness.
Cardinal Ximenes refused (even at the instance
of Las Casas, in his mistaken hope of saving the
Indians) to sanction the African slave-trade.
Charles V. abolished slavery throughout his
dominions. The Dotninicans condemned it, in
contradiction to the Franciscans, and Leo X.,
■when the contending orders brought the question
before him, gave decision on the broadest issues.
" Not the Christian religion only," he said, " but
Nature herself protested against a state of slavery."
On two other sovereigns this great wrong
weighed heavily — Louis XIII. of France, and
Elizabeth of England.
The conscience of Christendom on the heights,
above the temptation, was clear. But great tor-
rents of wrong are not stemmed by voices from
the heights, but by humble men on the levels,
pulling against the stream, or laboriously building
dykes of common earth, to tui-n its course.
If kings are to serve a kingdom, it can only be
by coming down to serve. And Elizabeth and
Louis XIII. did not come down and serve ; they
stood on the heights and protested. x\nd the thing
tlie instance
'ranee, and
AGAINST THE STIiEAM. o. <>
against which tlioy protested paused for a moment
and then went on.
Self-interest proved stronger tlian monarchs
and i opes. Shivery rooted itself North and Soutli
through all the continent of America.
Louis was " uneasy " at having to sign an edict
consigning all Africans who came to his colonies to
slavery.
^ Elizabeth had a " religious scruple ; " and send-
iiig for Sir John Hawkins, the founder of the
-bnghsh slave-trade, expressed her horror at Afri-
cans being taken from their country " without their
free consent."
To Louis XIIL, for the first time probably, the
rehgicus argument was used. It was suggested
that slavery would be an effective means of propa-
gating the Gospel among those benighted Africans.
And the edict was signed.
^ To Queen Elizabeth Sir John Hawkins prom-
ised obedience; a promise which he kept by kid
napping as many natives as he could from the
Atrican coast on his-next voyage.
Something stronger than - religious scruples"
and "uneasiness" is needed to combat such evils
The Puritan forefathers of Massachusetts also
protested.
In the first instance, fresh from English political
reedom, and their own struggles for religious liber-
ty, they did more than protest. They threw two
masters of slave ships into prison, and threatened all
luture kidnappers wxUi death.
i
if'
214
AGAINST THE STREAM.
'■* i '
I
->, I *
In Ehode Island (1527) Roger Williams, the
founder, declared all negro servants free after ten
years of service.
Yet self-interest and love of money prevailed.
The evil crept on. By the middle of the seven-
teenth century every State south of Rhode Island
was slave-holding; and even the Quakers of Penn-
sylvania were involved both in the traffic and the
property.
The mediaeval day of emancipation was dying
fast, and thick night was coming once more over
the nations. The last voices of the nightfall have
their especial interest as well as the first voices of
the dawn.
Of these Baxter and George Fox are among: the
last solitary protests.
The last cry of warning from any body of men
comes in 1688 from a little community of German
Quakers, driven from Kreishiem in the Palatinate
to Pennsylvania. Coming, as they believed, to a
land of light and freedom, they break into a cry of
indignant agtonishment at finding " black brethren"
held in bondage there by Friends.
" Ah, do consider well this thing," they wrote
to the Monthly Meeting at Philadelphia, " you who
do it, if you would be done unto in this manner.
And if it is done according to Christianity, pray
what thing in the world can be done worse unto us,
than if men should rob or steal us away, and sell us
for slaves i"^ to strange countries, especially husbands
illiams, the
ee after ten
Y prevailed.
f the seven-
hode Ishiiid
3r8 of Poiin-
ffic and the
I was dying
more over
ghtfall have
st voices of
J among the
lody of men
of German
i Palatinate
ilieved, to a
:ito a cry of
k brethren"
they wrote
., " you who
lis manner,
lanity, pray
rse unto us,
, and sell us
ly liusbands
AGAINST THE STREAM. 215
fron, tlicir wives and cliildren ? Jfthis is done well
what shall we say is done ill ? "
^ Clear and strong, the protest of these humble,
single-hearted men rings out througli the growin-
darkness ; and then falls the silence^of ni-ht. The
chains of darkness are riveted on America^north and
south, on the bodies of black mankind, and on the
souls of the white.
Yet even through the night the silence is not
unbroken. There are voices mild and shimbrous
as of those who mutter in sleep, or isohited and
piercing as of the watchers who dwell in the pres-
ence of Him who neither slumbereth nor sleepeth
,. ^^Vl^ ^x'^^'^^" Quarterly Quaker meeting,
uneasy,'' hke Louis XIII., resolved, that tlie im-
porting of negroes from their native country by
I;riends is "not a commendable nor allowed prac-
tice and IS therefore censured. And in America
similar mild rebukes were repeated from time to
time. But however uneasy the censure may have
luade those it concerned, the uncommendable
practice w^ent on. -
Until at last began what Loveday used to call
the first voices of the dawn, the morning spread
upon the mountains, which she was persuaded
sUouJd never again die into darkness.
Solitary, scattered, too far apart, and too feeble
to be eclioes of each other; each separate voice
called forth in response to the Voice of the Sliep-
herd ; each separate witness, concerned not to " de-
i
R]-
216
AGAINST THE STREAM.
liver his own soul," but to deliver the oppressed
whose burden lay upon him.
At last in a few human hearts a love to God and
man had sprung up as determined and active as the
love of gain in the oppressors.
Self-love had encountered a love of man as real
as itself, and when real always stronger, as God is
stronger than the world.
In Long Island, William Burling, true to the
last to the generous sympathies of his youth, " ab
horring slavery from his early yoith ; " in Philadel-
phia, the merchant, sober Ralph Sandiford, refus-
ing to accept pecuniary aid from any who held
slaves ; and Benjamin Lay, scarcely four feet high,
with his long white beard, and stoical life, driven
nearly to madness by the scenes he had witnessed
auiong the negroes in Barbadoes.
And tlien, no longer solitary, but leading on a
chorus which was swelling daily, Anthony Benezet
and John Woolman.
It was good, Loveday thought, to observe that
each of these to whom it Avas given first to wake at
the Master's call, and to carry it on to others, and
so to wake the Church, had been listening for His
voice, were men M-ho had already risen above the
common idolatry of the age, who having refused
to bow the knee to Mammon, had thus learned to
say Ko to the prevailing sin around them, before
they said Yes to this high especial call.
It was no sin, she said, to buy and sell in the
AGAINST THE STREAM. gj/^
that the lieaveulj voices sounded clearest
Anthony Benezet, coming of a race trained for
generations to endurance, son of a fatlier exiled by
the revocation of the edict of Nantz (one of the
many heroes France had driven from her,) hold^
ing that the noblest service is rendered with the
noblest part of us, that in God's kingdom the hi^h-
est ofhces are those which serve men directly
instead of paying others to serve, chose the career
of a teacher in Philadelphia, rather than that of a
merchant.
Of silver and gold having none, better gifts
were given him ; impotent hearts leaped at his
word to action. ^
His tract on the history of Guinea furnished
Uaikson with material for his Essay on the Slave-
trade, and so gave the impulse to the English abo-
lition movement. ^
bp/^'' ?,"^^]' ^^"^^"^'^ r)i"wyn, formed the link
between the American abolitionists and the English
But most of all- loveday delighted in same
manuscript fragments which she possessed from the
Ws of John Woolman, of New JersT, 'a
^Minister among Eriends," who had died at York
I believed there had been, in past ages, people
who walked in uprightness before God, in a de'fco
exceeding any that I knew or heard of now living
And the apprehension of there being less steadine^
(I!
41? 'I
m
If'.
218
AQAIN8T TUh! STllEAM.
%
I
L-
and finniicss amon^ij: people of lliis aire tlian in past
Hges often troubled me wliilo I was a child."
There Loveday used to say was the little well-
Bpnn<5 on the hills from which all the river flowed.
John Woolman had learnt that in the Church
of God tliere is no irrevocaUe Golden Age in the
■past. The child in the new coh)ny in the new
continent of the far West was as near the source of
"uprightness," of truth, theological and practical,
as the children in the old country in the far East,
on whom Divine hands were laid eighteen centuries
ago; as the young man whose name was Paul, at
whoso feet the murderers of the first Liartyr laid
their clothes, on whose dazzled eyes broke the light
brighter than the Syrian sun, on whose ears fell
the transforming " Why persecutest thou Me?"
The dragons are ever springing anew from the
earth, and the heroes are ever needed to encounter
them.
The Church is a living body, as her Lord is
living, not a sculptured copy of more glorious sculp-
ture of olden days.
The good Shepherd leads, the good Spirit in-
spires, now as of old.
Around John Woolman doubtless were count-
less religious men, admirers of prophets, apostles,
and martyrs, and all the dragon-slayers of old,
quietly tolerating the dragon of their own days, and
even persuading themselves that he was a necessary
beast of burden, without whom the soil by which
they lived could not be tilled. To John Woolman,
AOAI.YSr IV/B STltfJAM. jll)
I'ftZ TT '■ '''"' '° ""''"'^' "-'f'' singleness
of l.eart, to the v«,c« „ftl,o fn.o Shonl.enl °.„d to
bo so « tecU. to ,..„,,^
s o,,or of moml and spiritual life,_n„, •„ bo tolc-
.0. for .„ .nstant, «.hoti,c,- tl.e field, eould bo
t-llod and tbeowno,. live without hi,„„,.nl°
cauJ in !!, '"'^.'''•ifo^' Englander tl.o fi«t encounter
came m prosaic New England shape.
IJe was asked to write a will bequeathin.- black
mankind as pi'operty. "
"As writing: "vas a profitable employ, and as of-
™d,ng sober people was disagreeable ,ny tl
^o : lorf'Tr™",-"'. '" "'' ""■""' ^"' - ^ '-k d
and I told the man that I believed the practice of
^.numgsavery to this people was not'ri;,;;::
ri in. ff t. Tl^. '","'^' '"'""^ "Sainst doing
wntings of that kind ; that though many in cm
society kept them as slaves, still fwas nof els/to
be concerned ,n it. I spoke to him i„ the feaj of
the Lord, and he made no reply to what I sa d hnf
went away ; he also had som^ 'concernfii e p it
fee and I thought he was displeased with m^
In this ease I had a fresh confirmation that
motive of Divine love, and in regard to truth and
ghteousness, opens the way to"a treasured ,r
ban silver, and to a friendship exceodi,,.. the
friendship of men." ° ®
He was not lifted above the level of his neigh-
1
is
n;
220
AOAINST THE STREAM:
:>f
m
J.' '' !
Mi i
'.ill'
bors. To hlin sober accnimihition of silver would
liave been pleasant ; and to lose at onco silver and
approbation was not pleasant ; but truth and ri«rht-
cousness and the friendship of God wero better,
and he chose them.
The sacritiee required of him was not great, a
few silver coins,— the sullen silence of a neighbor.
But the principle would have led to any sacrifice.
The faithfulness which enabled him to refuse the
shillings would have strengthened him to ohooso
the stake. '
His testimony began in 1759.
The Hand whose slightest indication he follow-
ed led him on. His mind being " in awful retired-
ness inward to the Lord," the things which grieve
the Merciful One became intolerable to him.
He could not bear in his journeys as a minister,
to " eat, drink, and lodge free cost " with those who
lived in ease on the hard labor of their slaves; he
could not bear to ride at ease, while the oppressed
were toiling, " hardly used," for those who welcom-
ed him.
Often weakly, and with a weary body, he trav-
elled on foot from place to place to bear his testi-
mony.
"Though travelling thus on foot was weari-
some to his body, it was agreeable to his state of
mind," while his spirit was "covered with sorrow
and heaviness," on account of « friends living in fat-
ness on the labor of the poor oppressed negroes."
Wearied with the way, like the Master, he seem-
AGAINST TUhJ 8TltEAM.
221
ed thus noaror Ilini arwl nearer tl
burden was laid hoavilj
ioso on wJiom tlie
In these lonely lon<,^ walks and «' in tl
lis stnto
IS
Of uim.hat.on, the sufferings of Christ and IIis
tasting death for every man, and the travels and
sufferings of the primitive Christians were livinHv
revived " in him. '' ^
His spirit grew freer under the yoke, and ho
expatiated " at one of ^i-c quarterly meetings « on
the tenderness and loving kindness of the Apostles,
as shown in labors, perils, and sufferings towards
the poor Gentiles," and contrasted with » this the
treatment which those Gentiles the negroes rece'V-
cd at their hands," and " the power of truth came
over those present, and his mind was united to a ten-
der-hearted people in those parts."
Many journeys he made from house to house
earnestlv warning the slave-owner against his sin!
in 1772 he came on a religious visit to En<r.
and, and laid before the quarterly meeting at York
the wrongs of this oppressed people.
And then soon afterwards he died
But in 1774 the Quakers of Pennsylvania and
JNew Jersey disowned any of their members con-
cerned in the slave-trade; and in 1776 thev dis-
owned any who refused to emancipate their slaves
1 welve years afterwards not a slave was held
by any member of the Society of Friends.
But these were dead. Who held the banner
and earned ou tiie fight now ?
222
AGAINST THE STREAM.
1,1
mi ' ^
4
It was a way of Lovedaj^'s that she never spoko
of " the dead."
Death, she taught ns, was not a permanent con-
dition, but a momentary transition, a commending
of the spirit, not for the first time nor the last, into
the hands of God.
" From the hand of God to the hand of God."
They lived by the hand of God. They live in his
protecting, moulding, peifecting hands forever.
" These all died in faith," she said, " not having
obtained the promises: they embraced them in
weakness and in darkness afar off. Do you think
they will not embrace them now, when they are in
tlie light, and in fulness of strength, when the ful-
filment comes near, as it is coming every day ? "
She could never endure a word which seemed
to give the visible precedence over the invisible
just made perfect.
"" " We shall not prevent ( precede ) theni that are
asleep," she would say. " They went before, and
they shall be first."
" But Loveday," I said one day, " these have
overcome, and the battle goes on ; you say the great
thing for us is to find out the dragons and the
heroes now."
" Yes," she said. " It is because God is not the
God of the dead, because the prophets are living
now, that it is such empty work to build their sep-
ulchres. They are not caring for their sepulchres,
but for the issue of the battle in which they shared."
" But how shall we find out the heroes and the
MAINST THE STBEAU. 2,3
dragons ? " I nsked, tl.inking tl,at tl,e Frenchmen
who destroye.l the Bastile, in whose eause (partly)
I had worn the foolscap, had not exactly loved
t f 1' '"? ?'>'"-" *'"' «™""^ Shar^e
MOHld not similarly fail. ^
"By fighting your own little bit of the brttle
well under the Captain's eye; by pulling a^int
^- stream of little temptations," she s^id;"' "
Ava. by refusing the ill-earned shillings John Wool-
jn was made ready to embrace the emancipation
of a race In the intervals of the battle, if they
W Z;^ J?'?T ""' "™"' ^^'■^^^^' '-^"d listen-
ing for the Master's word of command, and bein<.
mdy to obey it at all costs. Above all by Ustet
t^nj. He can direct us through any mice, if we
are a.ake and listening. John Woolman was
gmced mto his right path by a temptation to for-
sake It ; Granville Sharpe by an appeal to his kind-
ness from a poor bruised and runaway slave, Jona-
than Strong; Thomas Clarkson by an invitation to
write a prize essay; William Wilberforce, by an
appeal from Thomas Clarkson. But neither of
them would have followed the call," said Loveday
unless they had been listening for the Voice, and
had cared before all things in the world to follow it "
11
P
If
r.ir ^
ii;
I I
CHAPTER XIII.
T was New Year's Eve ; the eve of the
birthday of the new century.
It had been proposed that the most in-
timate members of our circle should wel-
come it in together in our house. But this fell to
the ground.
Madame des Ormes could not trust herself to
he in company on that evening. The old century
had slain and buried too much. Its last day would
to her but be a " jour des morts." She would keep
the vigil alone ; and her Claire would, she hoped,
sleep it in, and see the new century first in the
light of dawn. Her poor child's face ought to be
towards the dawn ; but scarcely her own.
Miss Felicity preferred being under the same
roof with her poor brother, though to him years.or
centuries could bring but little change.
Loveday was not an observer of days and
months, and times, and years. To her every morn-
ing brought its new mercies, and began a new life.
She sat beside the river which makes glad the city
of God ; and the river of time flowed by her less
AOAmST THE STJiBAM. ^,,~
I-eeded. It came from the exlmurtless clouds and
flowed to tl>e boundless seas, and was flowin/d.
V J . Tliere w-ere breaks in it, rapids, and e.5ms,
ot w at we call centuries. Days and nights were
•caht,es; and mankind had its days and rnVhte
."t they did not date from such artificial b riel'-
'lraZw^ '^ ''' ""' ^"^ ''^'•' ^'^''^-'^^-*^'
o„r!°wnI^7 ^"f' «'*''^""8 ™^ '•^''"''^'l to
our own family and my uncle Fyford. Dick was
faraway ,„ the Mediterranean, blockading. MaTta
and defending mdefensible Naples; his brief let
tcrs when he w™te full of nclgbut Nelson
duced the new centnry in state with the amber
damask imeovernd In n,„ j • '"huw
f.,H,o,. f„ '^°^*"^'-''' '" ""= drawing-room, but my
iather lor onee overruled her decision, and we met
.^gathered around the wood fire in tie old IZ
have J'^'ri^^''" ''''• "y ""<••''=' "*''« ting Will
Lave closed the session-; in three weeks the Irish
members will be flocking to London, and we sWI
Lave the fi,.t United Imperial ParliLent."
" The I'T fsrp'1' ^ ■■'" *'"'" ^"'■'J "^ ^"'her.
iiie old Irish Parliament died hard."
uncle ■"'ri'"""^ ■" ^r''""^ •"'^^ '"'•''•" ^^torted »>y
oi-nt Se^^'";° .f"'^ -"««'«»ering is tlieir strong
point. Seventy thousand in the last rebellion '98
att,3tr.""'^"'^-^'^'"™-'->i^'
IS
^ff^nm'.mmtm**
I'rf
V !
I ii
226
AGAINST THE STREAM.
" Well," said mj father, " in one good thing
they are strong — they are against the slave-trade
to a man."
" Poor creatures," said my uncle, " they never
had any slaves. Property of any kind is not at all
events their strong point, and it is easy enough to
be generous with other people's."
" You are right as to the slaves, liichard," re-
plied my father rather warmly. " They have never
had any slaves since the Irish clergy denounced
the Bristol slave-trade in 1172. I should like to
see our clergy follow their example now."
" Pray, Mr. Danescombe," said my stepmother,
" let politics be banished this one evening. Let
us speak of something more suitable to the occa
?)
Bion.
" What would you have, Euphrasia ? " he re-
plied smiling. "Politics are only the gossip of
centuries. I wish Dick was here," he added.
You have a letter from him, Piers. Did he say
anything about himself? "
*' Notlihig about himself," said Piers, "scarcely
anything about anybody but Nelson."
The "scarcely" meant Amice Glanvil, with
wdiom at the moment our cousin was vehemently
in love ; " this time," he said, " no boy's fancy,
but serious, a matter of life and death ! "
" I wonder if the lad says true," said my father.
" I should not wonder. The judgment of the peo-
ple who work under a man, especially that of the
young, often squares more ^v'ith the decision of the
AOAINSr TEE STREAM.
227
oenturies, than the jncl<.ment in high places.
i ity ]je should be defending that abominable
iNeapolitan tyranny ! "
'; There is something in the letter about the ex-
ecution of a Neapolitan admiral," said Piers, "and
the corpse rising out of the sea and followino. the
ships upright. It Avas horribly like the Day of
Jmigment, Dick says, and the poor fellow was
culled a patriot."
"Poor Caraccioli!" replied my father "It
was a sad business. The noblest helping to sustain
the vilest. No wonder the sailors shuddered."
" ^\ ^^'^8 only the weight of the stones attached
to the feet, which caused it," said my uncle, dryly
• Very probably," replied my father. ' I sup-
pose the Day of Judgment will be brought about
by some weight proving too heavy at last: Every-
th.ng must sink or float by some balancing of
weight8,-even Neapolitan courts. The wretdied
tiling IS to keep up things that ought to sink, by
weignts unfairly attached, the weight of Nelson's
nobleness and England's freedom, for instance, at-
tached to a defunct tyranny, making it float after
living men with a ghastly semblance of life.
We were drifting into politics again.
"At all events," responded mv uncle, "I sup-
pose you are not too cosmopolitan to rejoice in the
capture of Malta." ^
" One defunct thing safely buried, at all events,
that, o d order of the Knights," said my father.
1 et that had a grand life and meaning in it once."
228
AGAINST THE STREAM.
(tl
i<
< i
11
" Your old admiration, the French republic, has
life enough in it, at all events," said my uncle.
" As to meaning, I cannot say. N^ot exactly the
same as it began with, certainly. War and victo-
ries on all sides. In Italy, Marengo ; in Bavaria,
llohenlinden on the 2d, a month since. The Czar
an adorer of the new Alexander — Napoleon Bona-
parte. And even as to your blacks, the Convention
decrees emancipation in 179A, and their ships ravage
your Free Black Colony in Sierra Leone he same
year. "What French liberty means, is not so plain."
" It means the First Consul ! " said my father,
XQY-^ sadly. " Richard, yon are a little hard on me.
How could I help hoping ? Every one hoped twen
ty years since. Religious men hoped ; and even
scepticism hoped. Rousseau, and Tom Paine him-
self, only wanted to destroy the old beliefs, not for
the sake of destroying, but because they fancied
they had a new panacea for humanity. For once
the toiling, silent multitudes — the multitudes the
Master had compassion on, Richard, made them-
selves heard, and not having learned letters, they
spoke in whirlwinds. And the first breath of the
whirlwind swept away the Bastile, and seemed to
let in a flood of light, and make a world of room
for men to think, and form, and reform in. No one
thought whirlwinds would build. We only thought
they would clear the ground for the builders. But
so far, in France at least, the builders have not come,
and the whirlwind having destroyed the Bastiles,
whirls round the dust of their ruins, on and on,
AGAINST THE STBBAM. .^W
blinding men's eyes and stifling their breath. In
England please God, wo will begin with building,
not with destrojnig. It u,akes a very irregular edl-
I he diflicnlt thn,g now, Eicliard," he concluded
w. ha tremor in his voice, "is not to repent, b,,t
m 7LfI'''' "'" ' '"*"'"'• "^ C''™'i^"'7- Teach
Hrs'.'Danesco™br""'" '° '"'^'^^'" '"'^'l'"-''
We had made no plan of greeting the coming
.century Bat silence fell on us all My fathef
went o the wmdow and opened it. We stood near
It w.th hushed breath, hand in hand, mine in Piers'
»d father's. I knew Keubon Pengelly and tlTe
Me thod,sts were watching in the New Year to
gether ; and at the old house across the market-
place Madame des Ormes, and Claire, and Loveday
were keeping vigil. The still air seemed palpitat-
mg with prayer. And clear and deep at lasf fell
the twelve midnight beats of the fine silvery old
diurch '.ell. It was hot tolling in its first new ccn-
And then, through the still, frosty night, the '
We all stood still until the last vibration died
away a ong the empty, unlighted, silent streets.
Ihe old sacred voice is tr^.^ching ns to hope ' "
6a,d my father at last. -'Praue frW'-there'is
no surer path to hope." And then in a lower voie -
i
230
.GAINST THE STREAM.
\ !
i ;»
he added, as if to Irimself, " ' all creatures here he-
low,'' Yes, we are only below ! The whirlwind
and darkness are only below. ' Praise Ilim above,
ye heavenly host.' They are doing it. They have
learned the way to hope, the oidy way. Eichard,"
he said, grasping my uncle's hand, " let ihs have a
prayer, and part."
My uncle looked perplexed. Family prayer
even was not then a common institution, extempore
prayer was an idea that would never have occurred
to him, and the Liturgy itself was scarcely conceiv-
able to him, except as a whole, in its ordered se-^
quence. And no prayer-book was at hand to read
out of. Moreover, there was something curious in
kneeling except in a pew or at a bedside. Yet, he
did not like to decline. He hesitated a little, and
then did about the best thing that could have been
done.
We all knelt at the long, low window-seat, the
stars twinkling on us through the frosty air, and
the little star in Lovedav Benbow's window and in
Madame's shining across the market-place ; and in
a low voice my uncle said, " Let us j)ray for the
whole state of Ckristh church militant here on
earthy
So we entered the new century, as I trust, in
communion with the whole church, suffering and
battling in this transitory life, and departed from
it to the King in his heavenly kingdom ; always
militant here, and always militant in hope.
i;;i
I Jiave been
CHAPTER XI 7.
HE next morning I remember feeling it
almost strange how unchanged the world
looked. The sun dawned, not on a new
century, but simply on a new day.
But then, how much a new day means ! A new
morning and evening, the only eras nature recog-
nizes, illuminating the heavens for their birth and
Ciose, with unwearied varieties of festive ceremonial,
ot gladness and of tender solemnity.
Daily life began again, grouped not around cen-
tunes, but around its own endlessly varyincr work
and interests. j *, wuik
Although a centu.ry had begun, I c-.uld noc
torget the important event immediatelv before me
and Piers ; for it was settled at last that Piers and
1 were to pay the long-promised visit to our cousins
the Crichtons at Clapham.
A journey to London was not indeed as for-*
midable a thing as fifty years before. It could be
accomplished, travelling early and late, in three
days. My fether had been to London six times.
Mrs. Danescombe once. There were at least twenty
1^
P i
2;52
AGAJNiST ThE iiTUEAM.
>l
m !.
■%\;:
I)coi)lo ill Abbot's Weir wao had spout «oiiie days,
ut one time of tlieir life or another, in the great
city. The chief inantua-inaker, if she Jiad not
achieved the journey lierself, procured her fashii^ns
from a f-iend in the iiei<rhboriiig large town, who
uent annually. Still it was distinctly an event.
Preparations were made for it about on the
same scale as in these days for a voyage by the
overland route. It was still a popular belief
among us that the denizens of the inetropoh's
were, in the low*er strata, a people of preternatural
cunning and acuteness, against whose machinations
inexperienced young persons should be carefully
■warned ; and among the higher classes, endowed
with a preternatural perfection of good manners of
which provincial young persons were to stand in
awe.
People warned you, congratulated you, gave
you solemn auguries, or anxious good wishes, ac
cording to their experience and disposition, as at
the beginning of a new stage of your existence.
Madame Glanvil, indeed, who prided herself
on a certain fine old county flavor, and would have
held it a degradation to tone down even a certain
rongh provincialism of accent, to the common
smoothness of people who were " no better known
in one county than in another," by no means
shared this sentiment.
I had rather a shrinking from her rough hand-
ling of tlie subject. But that day I had to encoun-
encoun-
AGAINBT TllK STREAM. 238
" Don't bring back any tiuo London airs to me "
^ 8a,J, anting in hc-bigl.-baclcod chair, an.I nind,.
1,1 » ,?' '"'""*?' ""'• '^°'"» .r.inci„,/yo„r
words small like tbo stones in those new r.:.ds of
Mr. MacAdamV, till there's no telling what thtaro
or where they ecne from. Townsfdks are towns
folks, and nothing better, whether the town is v e" e
the palaces and Parliament Houses happen 'be
tirLf:n- t"-' ^°» OaneseombesTre betto;
1 an that, at least on one side. A nd above all " ,],«
added, her manner changing from rough ly to
sharp and serious warning, and her eyeslnvin'^ t
one of the,rstormy steely Hashes, " do.'t .^.inghome
»d the kmd of eant they talk at Clapham ; callin<
a dall the t.me fancying they can sec everybody's
Th t thl'v ^"i! 7"^.*""^^ "•="'" ""the world ove,.
Ihat they call 'saving faith.' Believing any wick-
ed hesagamst their own countrymen an°d coul y.
women, and crying and sighing over any hzy r ,n
way of a black that comes'whining to h "J Z' ,
whL 1 r ^t ]'^''°Py '1""'' s«t foot in Court
while the b.-eath >s m my body. And that, Bride
234
AGAfiftiT THE arilEAM.
u
■tt
1 .**
'!
Diincseombo, T Jiope you quite understand. Metli-
odihts tliere will be, I suppose, us lon^j^ as tliei-o are
poor ignorant fools to listen to tlicin, and as far aa
I see, among such they do no great harm. It keeps
them from worse, as wo set fire to the furze when it
grows too wild. And I allow they are better than
Jacobins. But Methodists in Mufti, Methodists
turned parsons, or parsons turned Methodists, and
worse than all, Methodists turned philanthropists,
that is Jacobins and Methodists in one, I never can
and will never abide. And that is what they are at
Clapham. I would as soon send Amice to Paris, to
learn religion from the French convention. But
there's your father's weak point, and he must take
the consequences. Only you understand, I mean
what I say. Forewarned is forearmed."
Then, half amused at the warmth she had work-
ed herself into, and pleased to see meumnoved, as
I always was when her assaults in any way touched
my father, she added, " Poorliule maid, you stand
lire pretty well. Come with me, and I will show
you something, I'll be bound you care for more
than Methodism or philanthropy, black or white."
And she walked before me up the old oak staircase
into her own bedroom, and there, drawing out
from a Japan cabinet sundry treasures of lace and
ancient jewelry, she presented me with a piece of
choice old English point, and with a pendant of
amethyst.
I should greatly have liked not to take them.
They seemed to me missiles thrown at Granville
A OAINST THE STREAM. 235
SluvrpcMr. Clarkson, Mr. Wilborforco, and all tho
Uaphain names I (leji(rl,te(' to honor.
But A mice clasped the jewel round my neck
^ "I know you would like to throw them at Gran-
ny 8 feet, she murmured, " or to subscribe them
to an anti-slavery society. But one would be melo-
dramatic, and the other dishonest. So submit "
And I submitted.
. A^r'? ""llf ^ ""'"^^'"^ ^^'^ ^^"•^"gl^ the woods
to Abbot .s Weir.
The air was clear and frosty; tho river beside
which our path wound mingled its tinkling icicles
With the rush of its many waters over the rocks
I like a day such as this," ^ aiic said. " There
seems room in the world to breathe. The sky
seems 80 bouncless and yet so near, and one's own
body like the river, s.. strong and free ; not a bur-
den, but a power. T]ut 1 am not a power ! " she
added suddenly, "not a river, indeed, nor a rock to
stop It, only a pebble. All women are no more
than that."
^ " Nothmg is really a power," I said, « except in
its own place."
"Yes, that is your religion," she said ; "God
in everything. Do yon know. Bride, I have been
puzzling out church histories and philosophies, and
all kinds of books, in my grandfather's library.
Books are the only world in which I am free— free
to think: and that is why I care about them. If
Jr'iers could not make and work, he would under-
stand what books are better. By-and-by he will •
u-
ir
236
AQACNST THE STREAM.
and I have come to tlie conclusion there are only
two religions — Pantheism and Dualism. Poly-
theism is only the popular side of Pantheism."
"Among the heathen, you mean," I suggested.
^ •' J^ot at all," she replied. " We may call our-
selves what we like, but you are a Pantheist and
I am a Dualist. You believe in one power— good ;
and I in two— good and evil."
" Of course I believe there is the devil, Amice,"
I said.
" You think you do," she said, " but you think
of him as of Attila, the scourge of God ; vanquish-
ed and swept over by the tide of victory ages ago ;
or as of an extinct race of wolves or tigers, prowl-
ing maliciously around the folds they dare not rav-
age. I believe in him as I believe in this terrible
Napoleon Bonaparte ,• and I have not the least idea
I ow the war is to end."
'' He is vanquished," I said. " I am quite sure
how the war will end. But of course I am not
sure how this campaign will end."
" You are thinking of Clapham," she said, « and
its campaign against wrongs, against us, Bride
Danescombe, the slaveholders. I can tell you how
that will end. Slavery will be abolished, sooner
or later, in ten, say, or twenty or forty years ; that
is, such slavery as Acts of Parliament can abolish.
But things are not so simple as you and Piers and
Clapham think. That is the perplexity about the
Bible. All the problems there are so simnle.
There is Christ and Satan, the world and \he
A QAimr TEE STREAM.
judged. / am passing on to be fnd4d BHdo . ^
it I iniVlif A^ , . "-^^' ^nd It seems as
directly thus before ' "^ "'™'" 'P""^^"
Tft V '^'''''^''- ^y ^^'^ tombs of my C
tatliers. Grannj does not know, of course C
I was quite sure it would do me ^ood 1^'
238
AOAINST THE 8TBEAM.
I'.i
■,A
mad, and like me rather the better for doing it, and
for daring her. It was so strange, Bride, in the
night. The wood was as weird as the chnrch. In-
deed the chnrch felt quite homolike after it. Na-
ture is 7iot all good and sweet. She is dualistic at
all events. She has tigers and serpents, and liur-
ricanes and volcanoes, and earthquakes and ava-
lanches; and even in her tame state here in Eng-
land, her winds and rivers moan and roar with voices
not altogether angelic. Thej did, at least, last
night. To-day 'the wind is a playmate — the wa-
ters are trickling and sparkling, leaping and cours-
ing like horses set free on the moors. Last night
they crept and whirled and plashed sullenly into
terrible dark, deep pools, where they could drown
people; and the winds wailed and Laughed and
jabbered and made sudden angry rushes at us."
" 'Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all,"
I said smiling.
" It was not conscience," she said, " and I was
not afraid. It was simply the night, the dark side,
which is always there. It was the beautiful tamed
leopard showing her teeth. They may call her a
nurse of men if they like. But she is a nurse of
* another race, a passionate, tropical creature. If she
loves us sometimes, at other times she turns on us,
and envies and hates us, and in her rage will do us
any mischief she can. One does not know what
dark old memories are haunting and maddening
her; perhaps it is those mighty fallen spirits of
Milton's. Their memories are bitter enough. At
AOAmsT TUB STREAM. 33,
»ny rate, it is very strange to me tl.at men, poets
a >d ot ,ers, can goon sentin,entali.i„gal,out nture
tint ™ T" " '"''""■^"'' ■>'-'>•. P-^ive e ir
tint meant „s notliii.g bnt good." ""atu.o,
'I But .yon got into tlie dmreli t "
,,o„;,r ' "^'^'^ '•' -^ different; there I felt at
" Yet," I said, « some people would tliin,- tl>„
j^-r, .)"'' i^'i'^ii the woods.'
ed, l>err,ch voice becoming trennlous." et.'^lt
:: ""Tli™"" '"' """"""^" -/differtntt^
ancestor ?rMr '""'^ "'^'^' ^™ k""-' "f ■■"
0" etas the r 'f """" """"' "'"^ '' '-'P-^" '-'■
Jm was the Crusaders, with the crossed feet tlie
"g.d, recumbent, stone limbs and holmedl ad^
he reve,^„t clasped hands. That helped me ' Tit
'ardtL'^'T -■"'• 'T'""' -^ "-'"'-
field nV; if' ^,°'"^ "'"' ^^ ^'^o<i' ^"d addin..
Plait and .? ' f, '^ '"''''"' ""■°"S'' '""»'"-» ""d
am, and done tl ,„gs he did not like, fon.W.t and
da. the wd :hf d!:^t^r^rre:ts
240
AGAINST THE STREAM,
there. How simple the combat seemed to him !
Infidel and believer, Turk and Christian, a plain,
visible piece of earth to rescue from undeniable
visible flesh-and-blood foes, and he would have
done his vork, and pleased the Master ; as simple
as for Abraham, or Moses, or David, or Daniel.
How easy for him to dare or to sacrli'lce anything,
everytliing ! So sure he must have been and so
Bingle-hearted."
" But it was not so sure ! at least it does not
seem so to us," I said.
" That is the -worst of it. The ways which
seem so plain at the time arc not always those
which shine out unquestionable afterwards. The
Eliziibethan monument helped me more. The hus-
band on the couch, not recumbent, reclining. 1
like the recumbent, prayerful effigy better. But
of course he would not be there reposing if it did
not mean that the active work of life were over for
him. Beside him the wife kneeling in prayer, with
all the children in the quaint ruffs and robes kneel-
ing behind her. I have always been attached to
that family of my ancestors. The whole of them
seem waiting, just as I am. The father waiting
for death and its awakenings ; the mother and the
children for life and its duties. So they have knelt
for two hundred years. I knelt beside them, and
tried to pray. Their path could not have been so
simple. The Reformation had come, and the
world had grown very entangled and complicated.
What numbers of good people thought the word
^G^mST THE aXllEAM.
241
need to pray and ZT 1} '' '""^- ^'^^ '"'d
in silence." ^^'''' '" '"'ODderful lielp
-asne4a„rdl:o.::;r,;;
wind moaned a liff-l« fi, i " i'"'^ ^^ *elt. TJie
•>"' .-t seo™eVi!:'lt:t*^«^r^-d trees,
other world. It is nnt 1- •? • , ' '"'^ '" ''"'-
nal seeming, it sofX ^'^,' "''* "" ''^ ^P'"'"
the dust it ™-ses 71^7:* "^'^' "^ ™'-'' ^
but poor Chloe's bre»Vl! T" '"""'^ "«"■• >"«
But Chloe was not t„ «„ T '' °'' ■"""""• ?»'•
"ot of the thTn's thr' M°"" ''"'■"- «'"= «™
«>i%'s that abidrt'i rir anT;,'"^ 1 1
else, to God and to me, andtla] " 1 1 ," i"""
most of all, „03, „f a, BrMe rf """"^'f'^ ■"«
Chloe, Bride, that this winderf'l 11^,7"' *'"'°"S^
It was so strange. It canTI ^ "" '" '"^•
whelming power, tha :urL:rrtre"r''":r-
—oh, Bride thinlf 1,^^. ? ' ^^ ^°" »f God
adeakoni::rte~'d"er''^''^"''^'-'-'
-ooSnrjhe^rrsro'Tr''"^"''"'
He waa obedient S th' t of tf P ' ""^ '^''^''
the slave. °* ""> Cross, that of
"I cannot tell von «-ii-,' t ^ i. -,. ^
I
o
242
AGAINST THE STREAM.
,1 'l|»S'«
< i
tliere beside me, as He did in Gethsemane, identi-
iied with poor Cliloe, looking I'p to God and saying
of her and her poor, low, despised race, 'I in thee,
and they in Me ; ' and then round on His Christen-
dom — His England — on me. Bride, saying, ' Why
persecutest thou Me ? '
" One with Chloe — that seeir.^d clear! But oh.
Bride, yet also one with me ! Stooping as low to
reach me as to reach her — lower^ since jpride is
lowest of all, and love is highest of all ; and I was
full of pride, andjshe was full of love.
"And I wept as I never wept before. And I
said in my heart to Him that I would be one with
those poor, despised ones, would live for them and
under the burden of their wrongs, until they could
be lifted off, and do my best to lighten their wrongs,
aud succor and sustain them, and lead them to
Him, all my life.
"And then the great church bell boomed out
midnight, and the chimes rang out, ' Praise God.''
And it seemed like a voice of which others might
say, ' It thundered; ' but to me it said. This is my
heloved Son in whom I am well pleased, hear
Him.'' And my vow was accepted, and I was con-
secrated to His service, in the least of those His
brethren forever.
" Oh, Bride, I rose so joyful. And then I kissed
Chloe, and we cried together. Poor Chloe is al-
ways ready for that. And even the 'how' per-
plexes me no longer. If he will take us as His
servants, it is His work, not ours, and He has to
le, identi-
nd saying
I in thee,
Cliristen-
ig, ' Why
! But oh,
IS low to
pride is
nd I was
And I
one with
them and
bey could
r wrongs,
them to
)med out
ise God.''
rs might
'his is my
sed, hear
was con-
hiose His
^G^mST THE smWAif. 2^3
show lis the way. That i« \.\.
and He w,,, „ot,'oa„„ot Lh ^^^Z ''"»^'
of a Dualist than a Pantheist 7 ! ?" '""''^
« ™>-.v real, and I (^nn<? L, V"" ""•' ""= battle
will end." °' *"" ''°^'' ™y part of it
»t th?ii:ti:;f::f x" :fj =• "-"^ -•"•-. ^d
last words were- "^ '*'" P"'^*'^' ^^ hor
.ou tno^'^ow and' ris'T""' ^^ "« -"«"-
begin." ' '' " '""« »" work should
1 1 kissed
loe is al-
ow' per-
8 as His
]e has to
llM
CHAPTER XY.
HE leave-takings before our journey to
London were numerous.
Piers and I were, in a way, the prop-
erty of the whole town. My father's
genial ways, his large employment of labor, his
real " public spirit," which made the well-being of
Abbot's Weir a matter of as grave interest to him
as that of his own affairs, his countless unostenta-
tious private kindnesses, of which we were often the
ministers, the long establishment of the family in
the town and neighborhood, gave us a relationship
to the little community, isolated fro .a all other
communities by the steep and muddy lanes which
led to it, and by the rocky moors and furzy downs
which bordered its territories on more than one side.
One custom instituted by my own mother had
brought me into contact with many of our neigh-
bors. Every Saturday, in my childhood, I, and
afterwards Piers, had been despatched laden with
a great basketful of fresh fruit and vegetables from
our large garden to various people who had known,
or might have known, better days, and who could
^^^IN8T THE aTREAM.
^^^y be relieved witho.if k^-
--:, slopes on which 5f-„J°V"7 f-
would say, "and H.-if oi "^ ' '"^' ^^^^^er
.better." "i.rlhe werL^tV'""""^ ''''"
^-''ned „s solemnly La nst th. °°""'' "''">
coaches;" the sImnL "'" "■"""I? f'«8t
"K7 ''- co„ttt.x;:r:r"^ ''" ^"™-
and artistic mve<,tmlJ. 7 , "'"" »"«""''
avoided thro„;i dS- so l-I"? '''°P "^ °"'^
"w"o expected w;i3r,i;K^ttro';r'r'-
wlien we came back and / "'^l"^'' tarts
tlierewereafewthw'th? r^', ^' "'«'" «"<!
I-ondon;" and M rs W ^ ^ '^l'^ "°' ^" '^«"^'- i"
whose whole JittFel,wTT"' "'' •'~'^'^^"-'
-.•eewhe„ohi,lS::3t„?;:^;o^,^eatonr
larged'nind in !:";;,: it^'i'i''"""" » ->"
ft " the „est books CZllTJIl^T'l ™
don, whatever anybody nnVh tZ " I ,'" k^""-
all, there was Priscv pl„„ n 7' ^"''' a'>o™
ns, and omino„: l.^opcS'' '"■ T'"'"" »•'"'
as we left them • " and T ? ""'«'" '^"<^ "»"«»
would be a Z: thin^ ^ '""r' f " «*»i«<'<i tlmtlt
cLapelat the F 2,", .t-^"''" ^^-'^^'^ great
^ee Scjuire WilbeSe b..f r. r/' *""■ '"
1^0-^on was no nearer ISarthr^ot's-VS
246
AGAINST THE STREAM.
m
" though sure enougli, it was as near." « As near,"
he concluded, passing his rough hand over his eyes,
" never you forget that. And God forbid I should,
though it does seem cruel far away."
And there were all the tliingh and persons that
could not be taken leave of— the dear familiar
dropping-well, and garden slopes, and the Leas and
the Leat, and the hills, and the little children, who
could not imderstand leave-takings, and would so
soon forget, anci the dear dogs, who did quite un-
derstand to their distress that we were going away,
but could not understand we were to return, and
would not forget.
And Madame des Ormes, who said —
" Your London is not to you what our Paris
was to us. That was like the Jieart of France-
poor, passionate, foolish heart — which we loved, and
which has lost itself and betrayed us. London is
only brain, I think, to England, very busy and
clever, but I do not see that you love it. It will
not absorb you, my child, or make you forget us;
I am not afraid. London is very large," she con-
tinued, " but perhaps you will be able to give this
packet into the hand of my friend. It is a letter of
our martyred Madame Elizabeth, which she will
like to see, too precious to send by post. And for
you, you must take some little souvenir of the old
Frenchwoman for whom you had so much good
ness." And she placed in my hand a little bracelet
of the renaissance v/ork, witli a locket enamelled
with roses and Loves, and also, I suppose to neu-
AOAUfST UIB bTHISAit. ^
tnilize mj- vanity, ,i com- M- Ti
i" IVencl,. " Yo ■ «T„„/ T""""' "'""'P'''
"Baptise til J S-"« ■' ™™d '». a„„.
-as in W ™L^'^^ '"^^'' -- '-. and a tre„.o,.
>'ad?othi™Xo""'''''''''"'^<'^'--i''!"I
.•on,tif,:trj:r„rp^'-"-<'-'-pi„e„s,.
Mod t,.oas„re. ^ ^ ' afterwards, poor little
from t' eir ki^,' 1^1 k „ ndtl'T'-: "-'"-'"S
""<■ it »-as of„„ use tp. e s*dl'"'1r"r:.'
seen no good come of it „ "7'"* ™- »l'e liad
people, came S. • ™P''' •^'^l*™")' ^onn.;
Paul's, and a wl ote tl, ",' "'" ">? "^ »'•
seen a few mil s *.:;" 7^ 'T'"" """^ '""^
«.".k of it, crowds were made n , f™ '"'' """ '<>
■ and cliildren and ml, '^ '""''' ™"<=".
no l.i....er and n , ' T"""' ™'' ^•'"'W^n wore
dred tironsa, d „7 them' Tr ", "'^™ ""■■= " """-
However, she had done ltt"st t:"''"' / "'"^■
and .he hoped we should trnf :r„";t™ -«>
twe wiioie, we went. '" ^ ^^» ^"
TT"
S48
AGAINST TEE HTREAM.
Lovcday said liftle. But lior dear ejes shoiio
more tlian usual.
*' S'ou will see the men who arc fighting the
battle for us all," she said. " Don't let anything
niake you mistake them. The good fight is luughti
visibly, remember, not by angels, but by men Tind
women and little children, by poor King David, and
by Jonathan, who eould not do without thehonov.
You would not have thought the dear apostle
Peter had walked on the sea, and would die on tho
cross, if you had heard him that dreadful night, and
Been him warming himself at the fire. Did you
say you wish I were going with you, my dear?
It seems as if it would be a wonderful help : and
I shall so miss you. Bride and Piers ! But we
shall see them all one day, you know," she added,
"see them at their mry lest, and for a long time
be at home with them. Bride ! "
And she looked so near seeing the just made
perfect, with her dear pallid face, and the far-away
look m her eyes, that I could do nothing but cry
and feel as if the parting were for ever, though I
insisted to her that it was but for a very little while.
My father made less of it than any one in words.'
"One would think the children were going to
be married, or going to emigrate to Nova Scotia,"
he said, " from the fuss made about it."
He entirely declined to allow that the expedi-
tion was anything of importance, but meanwhile
he was constantly recurring to it with a tender
solicitude which often made me ready to give it
AOAINST THE STP.EAM.
240
be both motlTa^ r -^ """° """ ''« ''"d '»
0.0 could noVX::?:,v™!»'^r^ ■'•'«•
■'"king a pleasant impros" on „„' " P™!^ "" '"'■•
wci-e, 6ho understood^, « o'"" ™"S"'s, «l.o
enlthatod people Anr, '""'"S"'''' "'"' ''«'''y
«-o..ld have infa Iblv "'' ""^ ''"'"'"■'>'• ^''"e''
concealed n^tl If :: ^ -, -• f ^^o-'ol,
-d^iie„backo,^ou;:i;;„X'aZr'''™'""
wei.su|«;.:r'2,r,r;;::;i*^^^^^
gestoj that a smaller wardro , am] i "' '"«•
won lu be far ,nore adva„ta..e«ns „ * '^ '"""'
ot which snffmtion „„ ,. ' conseijuonco
dations to observe „„f i • '"''''" recoinmen-
which our "tfl ntia?" -^ ""t "'« '^'^'""^
At tl.. 1 ,'"'■""'' cousins affected.
ten tmcMo r,:r b^: ^^-t ^ --^ ^-=-'
sections to be receiver»^ ' '" """^ '"'' '^'-
•ate^aatthe.:::rc^;-7j-
-;;:ii7rh^r^-f,-^^^^^
ciiec on tJie wide world together in fl. "7 7
ot tlie winter morning, before I hl.w' "^ "^"'^
to, utiore I iiad time to think.
250
AGAIJVSr THE STREAM.
L was no , however, until] the last familiar ^rey
Tor had vanished out of sight, at the next town
w^iere we were to change from the lieavy Abbot's
We.r eoaeh mto M^hat was considered tl^ marve
of speed and convenience which was to convey us
by the main road to London, and until the last face
and voice fami bar from childliood had been left be-
nind, that 1 felt we were really off.
From the warm nest into the world-" the cold
^vorld, as some people called it.
I did not think the world seemed cold at all
J^very one was very protective and kind to us
more protective than Piers always altogether liked!
he being now for the first time my "natural pro-
tec or. But how warm the nest had been I had
certainly never felt before.
Yet after all, some of the best warmth of the
nest was with me. I had Piers to watch over;
and Piers had me. And most delightful it cer-
amly was to belong entirely to each other, and to
have the world before us. Since we were children
we had not had such long unbroken talks. And
now we were better than children, it seemed to us,
and the things we had to talk about in what seemed
thea the long common past, and the long unroll-
ed future, were of endless interest.
And Piers reminded me in so many wave of
^ither, countless little turns of manner and little
dry, droll savings, and little houghtful attentions
to one's comfort. And yet so different, mo?e rT-
niliar grey
lext town,
J Abbot's
lie marvel
convey us
e last face
m left be-
" the cold
)ld at all.
id to us,
tier liked,
nral pro-
en I had
li of the
ih over;
1 it cer-
, and to
children
8. And
ed to us,
; seemed
unroll-
wavs of
id little
tentions
lore re-
AGAmST THE STREAM.
251
seeing heu7Z'JnZZl T "" I'f ^^'^^P^
«-th he ri:^ ^'"■"'"fl'^^ee of self-assertion,
tn t w U 'd IT f """""-^'"g "eeause he'
"lij^iuiLy, witn the under-cnrrnnf ^f ^ j , ,
f"l, chivalrons sympatl.y tha ^1 . ' "'P"
dividnal, but a type And h" ' P!''""'''' "" ''"-
and the branches fu Inf '„ ™' every„-l,ere,
moulded by rinds "I "'^ eoneeivable twist,
by inward aw 'rfml'Str ''■"""'^"•^' -"™«™="
earth a» if fbr etl™ t " J 1 "f ^"'"^P"" *'"^
'""•>' aM the loaves fluttering
P^ i
■wr
pi
252
AGAINST THE STREAM.
each with Its own delicate variety of tint and form,
and the shadow a shelter that has sheltered and
will shelter generations. But there my oak was
and that was enough for me. *
CHAPTEK XYt.
E travelled for the most part outside the
coach, a„d not thro,,/ an alto'^ther
'Wtad. A series" of bad h„
^.■eneh;attrd1:':rto1hr'j'^'"
fields of the Continent '"''°*'" "o™
".e pro.„ises'oa fS: ^ ^^T r^'"'"""""
■"eanaof one heart and so, i • ^"f "^ "•»« by no
class or station. There ''„» "'.^ «""■''" ""r
•ninds that we were ZlZl "o, X't "' T'
ouriieiVhbors Fn.m fi " ^"'^^^^^^s to enslave
doninsf his pa,-tv hL k '.''"'"■''«f'''"'^l7 "ban-
«-be,,.^,o:e:,Ssrt^
o- large s,..sid.es and our little aW/on ^^Co:
«^
254
AGAINST THE STREAM.
1| i .1:
^B s ill
tell
tinent, and not even consoled by onr splendid suc-
cesses at sea, were brought round to his opinions.
Moreover there was another gig:)ntic injperial
power rising n.t before the imagination, but before
the eyes, and in spite of the hands, of the people;
the power of Steam.
Against this the people had dashed themselves
again and again in blind fury, in what were even
now beginning to be the manufac. ■ i.g districts
in the north, burning the machinery, and hunting
the inventors out ^of the country; poor human
iiands and hearts wounding themselves like chil-
dren in vain assaults against the impassive irresist-
ible force of material progress !
Our way, however, did not he through these
more disturbed districts, but through the a-ricul-
tural lands of the south. *
It was not so much riot and ruin that we saw
as quiet uncontending misery ; hollow-eyed, hun-
gry faces, feeble bent forms that should have been
those of strong men, and worn old faces that should
have been those of children. Misery, hunger, star
vation ; patient, not through hope, but through
hopelessness. °
\ In one town indeed through which we passed,
we found broken windows in the bakers' shops, and
men still hanging about in muttering groups, the
sullen remnants of a mob recently hindered from
burning the flour-mills.
The bewildered magistrates had met, and
having consulted how to compel a reduction of
P"ws, had felt t},P K,) ^^^
10 f'o assailed, and hi t:™^""'"?^' '^ '^'™"g
tho.r attack on the „,„!„! """■>' '^'''-^'''i^d
'nttu at tenpenee a ponnd. " "'^"'
Stocked the hZl p. ■"'"'• ^''"^ «•« mob
galloping across the mZT If" ''™"«i««. a"d
*l'en still free; over i^,'^"''*' ^"-^ """'"ons
«f old civil w;,,7"P7^^'>f'-"-eal with battles
giant stone-oirelo; 7Tf!Ztl A^ ' '""^ """•'•"
^P'ros or fretted towers of oM ..;,"' ' '"''"^ "">
g'-«7 delicate lines into ,^1 ; " ff '^ «^»'^ «•"'"
preached; everywhereo ?„ f"^"^ "^ *« "P-
<"»ned in village a^,!' '""^ "" e™"'; wel-
tiers, officious waiters io fv I?.', \ '"^'^"'""^ ''°^
i^ing landladies. But ^w^„, k f'*^*' ""'' l"*"-""-
^«'e those silent la.,l„t T "^'""^ """^ "''"'"'d
~d j;»;:tSe:'' ""'''^■'^■^
At last M-e di-ew near th.
^"asses stood out distinctly tt ^'""\ ^^'•^- ^wo .
tJ^« twilight, the dornro r^'^TT^^^^^"^^^^
powers or West^ninsteVllf "^ ^^.^"^ ''' ^--
.^e cla, med a kind of kinsWn H 7'^^' ^^^"'^ ^^«t
^"^ House in tlie ir ^ '''"^''^^^'^^^^"nt-
Weir T-? Abbej church vard of An
^eir, viiere one of the earliest nrinf ^^'^^'^
^niest printing-presses in
; J
iri
I
256
AOAINST THE STREAM.
England liad co-existed with the Caxton- press at
Westminster.
Mj fatlier had often told us of it, and the little
Jink seemed to make those abbey tow-^rs I'l-e a ^v^\.
come.
There was litde time, however, to oln...rve
biiildingb, at no time the characteristic glory of
London.
We had ordered the streets; and the r^ulti-
tudes and mnaj.^. of human beings seemed to .^eize
and overwhelm m^, heart and mind, like a preat
Atlantic wave, and take away my breath. I seem-
ed to pant to get to an end, a shore. And there
was no end, no shore ! only always, on and on, those
busy, crowded streets, those wildernesses of human
dwelhngs. I felt altogether lost, my individuality
swept away and drowned, in the bewildering, bus}
wJiirlpool of those unknown crowds.
I could not account for it. If I could not have
held Piers's hand I think I must have cried out,
like somebody drowning. As it was, I squeezed
his arm as if I were clinging to him for life He
laughed, and asked if I was afraid, and said it was
as easy to the coachman to drive through London
Btreets us to one of our wagoners to plod throuo-h
the lanes of Abbot's Weir. '^
I knew the feeling was exaggerated and un- >
Bon?ble, but I could neither explain nor help i! .
And then, all -.w once, floating on my L ^-f q
words —
llr
in-
■ press v.t
the little
'X:e a wel-
I ol'i-iorve
glory of
le Tnulti-
i to tdze
i a groat
I Sef;!U-
nd there
on, tliose
f human
i'idualitj
ng, busy
not have
ried out,
iqueezed
fo. He
d it was
London
througli
I unv ?
ilp i; .
AGAINST mu STREAM.
257
ove;lri:fc;'^»' P"^n| Presence ea^e
;j-' tender „i,h,;H"^J»-"e a el,n<Uo
tor one of those overwhel, „•„„ f" '™'* ''0°'"
fe«"ng this I was at home " ''"'''^' *^"' '"^^
c„-et::"rt-/z zr- r ^^ ^--
wi'elmed by tlie din ^ '" *<' '«^«t over-
too »iid and', :'; ;t an : :;'ri ''■^ '°°'^^'j
overwJielmed by anytlu-L T. ''""•>''"" '» ^e
notbeatoffliteaS ^" ^f ""'' '>'^ '^<'«U
W. Heweirnldt' iH: t'dt"™^"^-^''
jears. ^ ^'^ ^^'^a Jcuowu us for
-g a-Vorj:st tf ''^. "f •' " "^^ -■''. «">-
ready for us. '< W i .u! ''^f '"'^ <'»'^'' he had
take yon to the Wa otn • "r ^"*' ^ «'i"
tie same equip! Jl;'?'"""' '^ ^°» '*e, with
ngainst my girfs." ' ""'-^ ''^ * ^'^"ding potest
~!i!:ilt"'H;,^^<^''^-'-»tobe
'00 round and he^; fo! ati^f B v" f^ "-
footman who helped me i, to^t """ "'" t™™
od -'-deofeoniscel , t .:iT ' '^'"'-
a pereonage towards a yo-m " """f '''o"" «o solid
■. .*
258
AGAINST TUB HTliEAM,
•!»' f I
it neccsarj to Justify the liberality of my father's
arrangemonts. ^
'' We thought Cousin Barbara would help us
to^buy suitable things," I answered, apologetic^
"Apologizing for your virtues ? Don't, mv
deal- At least not before your cousins, T pray "
fainTirf ^^^^'"^^*"«^^r ^-dge. The kst
faint gold ot sunset was dying away oyer the
broad nyer and in the frosty sky, buf there w^
of the Abbey towers, and the roofs of the old
Houses of Parliament. .
Again that absurd inclination to tears came
and Abbot's Weir, and father ; and the Houses of
1 aihament seemed sacred with memories of Loye-
day, and of the eloquent yoices that had pleaded
there until the great wrong was righted
^ As we went on, Cousin Crichton poured out
mformation which he thought would interest iis
He poimed out Mr. Wedgwood's works, in Gree
wiu's :t s T ^'"".^. "^^^"^ '^ ^^^^- -^
Watts, a Sohonear Birmingham, and spoke of
engnies Ota thousand horse power, and said tley
thrrreSr"^ ' ""'' "^"^"^"^ ^^^^^^^" ^^-"
He showed us Coyent Garden Theatre. - m-
tional ! he remarked, " whether we approyed of
ili A
'"''^"^ST TUB srnruw.
'T.
He told us «c , "^'>"" tnon-."
f dp, that tl/e,. C,tr -- ^es.„„-„3tor
"■'■'^'«;dge than ;„ 8t pi!,?" "'"^ °^ ^'""^ "'
!-;-« cvLe„T,f Lt it:,;:.';?' 'f'' "' --.'■'"■•'.g.
ested. "" ">, and was much inter
:-'»d'lZt-r;:f.:r"''''''-p--
T f u • d certainly hotrA t T^ ' ""d
1/elt Jn disgraceful i^oll ^ ^""''^ ««mV-t
^^■"'■o, apparently, inC 2^ '° ^^''- S-nnal.
™feWtyoftl,etwo. ^ ""'-' "^''^''.'he large,
5r- Olarkson g„t all tl^'at ''fr' ^P"'*' »d
«v.de„ee listened to, wh efv '* """-slavery
to collect ? "' " *"* " eost hi,n 8„ei, j^^or
'"CnT """''*''""' '''^'^^^^''™^-
thequiet'ol^townP °^ °"'- '>""'«« have reached
sha,^— oMand^a:;^,,^^^^
"Have vou Wpsf ,.
;^-J ^^-t Wl3ed ;'n^ "' Abbot's
town ? » ^"«ed "P the dear, eJeepj old
-.,♦
U i
if
M
«f«%
2G0
AGAINST THE STREAM.
^ " I don't think the old town is roused up," I
said. '' It is only father an^l I r.-..^|. y Benhow."
" Bcnbow ! I seeiri to know the name," he said.
"Her father is Lieutenant Benbow, and her
mother was a Quaker, and she is an invalid, and
Lai sufFcrcd much," I said, "but she cares for
whaC the slaves suffer more than for all her own
pain."
"Ah," he said, "the Quakers were always
sound on that point ; some of our best men are
among tliem. So you have i ot had any abolition
meetings," lie continued, with a business-like prac-
tical eye to " the cause ? " " Any slave-holders ? »
" One," I said, " one of our dearest friends.
But she hates it."
"Ah," he sighed, "she has seen it, I sup-
pose
And then he pointed out to ne the house where
Granville Shaj - livc^
^ " He is an ola acquaintance, too, I suppose," he
eaid smiling.
" The oldest of ail," I said. -' We like iiim best
of all."
"A very sound man," he replied; "a little
crotchety ; peculiar views .= o p- ophecy, but very
sound."
I felt a little chilled at the term. TVo' ''1
Andromeda have liked to hear Perseus called noth-
ing more sublime than " sound ? "
" There ho is ! " exclaimed Cousin Crichton.
He stopped the coacli, and I actually saw him;
H
iscd up," I
Bonl)ovv."
le," lie said.
V, and lior
ivalid, and
! cares for
ill lier own
jre always
ist men are
y abolition
s-like prae-
-holders?"
st friends.
it, I sup-
)use wliere
ppose," he
e iiim best
; "a little
, but very
. "Would
illed noth-
richton.
saw him ;
^ve, resolute cJiin. * ^^"^ ^'^ ^^^e mass-
'""i; had mv handi,, H y. '*'' ''^"''^ "'li
^d ^l.at l.ad« IVr-'.'^V"'-"'^ °''«-
Jonatimn Strong, and ,L°^, I'"""^ ""'' '^^«»<^d
I'ooksand record, aglsTtt ""T "'« '^»-
="'<! ^"dses, until t dr ". ,hi , ""?*' <"■ '^'^y^^
"; " '«l.t and laid to found r '"' "^ ^"»''""1
»f a" ^.aves in the rigl toot ;1 "' ""^ ''"'^'■'•^
oonntry. o'lteous judgment of one free
I was q,,ite.,„„d tears then.
for, Cousi" Shton^" n!';""""" '» ^""^on
•••ph.. " The iiret of" tho,n tn \' "''' *'°"'-' »»
all I " ""''" "" ; he wl,o began it
"Shall we see Mr. Plarkson » " t
a*, feeling as if everytUn' , ™"""'<^'' «»
now, veo thing good were possible
"Ciartson? Ah T „
Jent hard-worki..1nl 2 1°''^'"''- "^^ ^"^^^•
Clapham" (the " but" so'un d hit" ^ '^^^"^^ ^^
good hand at the foundations H /^^*^°"^^^") '' a
J^orrow you shall .ee Mrw2.^T' ^^' '^-
I^aps himsel,." ^^^^berfo. .e's house, per-
i
And that, I felt, was like
lying, « Yyu jj^y^
m
■'p
262
AOAWST THE STREAM.
Been the ministers ; to-morrow you sliall seo the
lvin<'
n.e c.„adi drovo throu^rh a handsome stone
gateway, and round a M-ide sweep of lawn, and
stopped at a porch, very Grecian and impressive,
tliougli vague as to style.
In a moment we were in the brilliantly-li.dited
<lmwH,g-room, witli lamps in various places, and a
tul,le set with silver and with flowers, and a steam-
ij; "HI, and a groat glowing coal-fire, and a ]>arty
of most cordially-;niiuled cousins, who kissed us
as 1 they had known us for years, and their father,
as If they had parted from him for years, and all
tell on us at once with various hospitable proposi-
tions, untd Cousin Crichton came t„ the rescue
" Stand back, girls. Yon set all ceremom-al at
< efiance. Cousin Bride Danescombe, let n.e irUro-
.duceyou one by one, beginning at the beginning,
lou have lieard of the Admirable Crichton.
1 hese are all Admirable Crichtons. This is Hatty
who has a talent io. finding out the most M'on'
derful people to admire; and this is Mattv
who has a talent for findiPo^ out the most uncoJi!
lortable people to comfort ; and this is Pha3be
who has a talent for finding out the most imprac!
ticable people to refonn ; and this," he added,
placing my hand in his wife's, " is your Cousin Bar-
bara the Admirable Crichton, who has a talent
for loving every one lovable or unlovable, and
will certainly take to loving you. The l>oys may
introduce themselves," M-aving his han. to three
[I IP .,
II see tho
>niG stone
rtwn, ami
nprcssive,
Ij-li<,'litcd
-OS, and a
I a steani-
d a ]>arty
Ivissed ns
iir father,
5, and all
pi'oposi-
jsctie.
iionial at
no intro-
t?inning.
'richton.
s Hatty,
3st won-
Mattv,
unconi-
Plioibe,
iinprae-
added,
sin Bar-
i talent
le, and
ya mny
o tliree
^OAlmr THE STREAM.
''"'■"•-• Any „a,„o that ,e| '^'■"^''r""'. Wons '
»'«••« I learned to lovo l,er «l •'," '"'' ""'<•'<•'''•
"M"--;'," ao that I had t "" '""'=' ""'' '>'sl' as
"P'-ojudiceto ov,.«^l''r' •''""'='• '^"owing'her,
«e.«io„»i„ which , 00 IfS"' t7 "' "'" ■»""■>•
love were held „p « ' e V""" W""<l«-in«
'■(■We was a w", derf, """"'^><''^'«'"-
«vem.,g ; tJ,e woleom If"" "'""" ""= »■'""«
>« I J-ad never seen tl,e .1 ^'" '""'' "'""'danee
« - la,go grate, t^w , /r""^ '™^^^ "^ eoal i„
"'".■•-r «Iow on m, „L7/'»' "f'^'o'nod,
"'«';-iy light in their mothe^fr' "" ""'*'
bandboxes, ,iri,,,-t ad .t'^' , J'f "'. '»'«•« of
to see what yon,, const T ? ^ ''■»"" like .yon
„„j,„ J- '=<"«""-™ do with; 01- with-
^»S'ld°rn?:::--'''^--betire,a„d^
'"adZrhad\.''t:r:rh "''''-''-«-' I
in
i
hi I
1 1
204
,©
,i)
SI
■'■!
■-'
■i
1
AQAUfST TUK HTliEAM.
cxeep ,„r u vvock when 1 l.ad tlio measles. I felt
I must m honesty disclahn such luxuries.
An J there were book-shelves, and a sofa and a
wn ,ng-table with lovely exotic hot-house flowl
on .t and a eheval-glass with lighted eandle 1
orackets^nd the fire-light flickeri^ on the or ms n
It wotld?"-'" "'"■* ^ -^^""fi-"- of a b d!
It wo dd require a special ceremonial to get into
't. The room was a residence; a house, .a garden
a palace 1 My poor little trunk did ook Zl
meagre in it. ; ^^J
beautiful everything is! So much too good for
me Cousm Barbara. You must put met some
little room fit for a girl."
"I hope you will be comfortable, my dear"
she sa.d, <• we do not wish to have luxirie , but we
Jo try to make people comfortable."
^ She left me, and in a few minutes her kind soft
voice Avas at the door aouin.
"Mj dec'ir," she said, "you will not mind fust
looking m on little Martha. She has bee. expec
mg you, and she wants a kiss." " ^
We went in.
There she lay, on a couch near the fire, her
fill ook of suffermg in them questioning mine-
W long tlun httle hands still l^okHng mine, so as'
not to let me go, when she had kissed me. The
large eyes seemed satisfied with their answer I
3. I felt
>fa, and a
) flowers
-ndles in
■ crimson
f a bed !
get into
garden,
olc very
>us and
ood for
n some
dear,"
but we
ind soft
id just
3xpect-
'e, lier
t wist-
mine ;
5 so as
The
vev, I
AGAIJVS2^ THE STUBAJf.
Suppose partly becan«P T i , ^^^
for tears. ^ ''"'' ^ ^«"W scarcely meet them
" ^j«s n,e again, Cousin Bride " .h -^
And the second h^c. ' ^^^ ^aid.
- Ifelttherewasot ^"''''^'''^'^^*^•^"^^^•
.MweaIthyhorehoTd'it^^^^^
-d therefore should be at ,' "'' '^ "^"^^^'
J- he]' ore flvinr- t "^'"t,-
«"y refused to gorieel w'h ''' """""^'"-tion-
cousin. " "^P '''"'»'" seeing the ne«-
"The brown-breaj fe J,^ ',- ^"^ ^°"^'" Criehton.
."•y is our voh,ata,y ooll^ib .f""''- '^'"' '"> P'''^-
'' seem, a shame to be ™1- '"' '" *'" ^^^'■""^ i
o*e,.e -nnot get enolroTlT'' ''"■'"- -'>''
"» s.g,a,. is not eomp^o-T nl """ ^'" "■«
ow protest against the T . ?"*'•>"'» know, is
take sagar." ° '"' ^""ve-fade. Perhaps j'ou
»-f hi3jo„r:j:,i.^~;h?"'"" '""'"' -
persons refoe to se 1 it a ,•». '""" ' "'"^ ^""^
none of us any harm." ""^ scif-denial does
it seemed <?frnr,A..^ ^ *
«'0"gl« of selM al, "h^tlt'" k""""'^"^ *«
"•"h its cold and hot „^ '!t !,' *""*'"' table,
-d foreign preserves' ITj, L^ ^^!>-'^ -i-s,
'>o-«»pes, and many ,™H;sV;rS:;;-
'••I
Ill
W.'
266
AGAINST TllK tiTilEAM.
'H
"t
' i i.
:> I
I )
f I
'k
ri/
Kf<<
■
1
■
J
■
1
^E'<
J
^■^
.^.li
vincial imagination. But if, seemed to gratify
Cousin Crichtoii to feel we were seasoning our daiil-
ties with that little pinch of self denial, so of course
I said nothinir.
I think the thought of those starving men and
women and little children, of whom we had been
seeing so many, would have made it difficult for -
me to enjoy anything as my cousin wished that
evenmg,— (of course I was over-fatigued and over-
excited,)— if it had not been for the thought of that
dear little worn face up stairs.
This family also was, after all, bearing some
share of the bui'dens of the woi-ld.
We had family prayers, (not then a matter of
course), commenced by a very impressive proces-
sion of servants, headed by the portly housekeeper,
a ftir more majestic person than Cousin Barbara,
and closed by a frightened-looking little maid,
whom I concluded must be one of Cousin Hatty's
uncomfortable people to be comforted, or one of
riioBbe's impracticable people to be refo)'med.
Very hearty and benevolent those prayers seem-
ed to me, and very lu; rible I am sure they were
meant to be. Our un worthiness and absence of all
merit was much lamented in them ; and the whole
world, black and white, heathen and Christian,
Avere most affectioilately remembered, our " poorer
bretiiren " (among whom my cousins diligently la-
bored) ; the niillions of India and China, for w'hose
sake the Church Missionary Society had just been
instituted.
Ik
AGAINST THE STREAM.
■i^ut somehow it feJf oq •*•
safe and sunny isl,nd ^; . ^.^ '^^''^ P^^P^^ on a
mn in an oasis of exceptLn^T i ' ^'''^'^' ''^
^ou^n our alms and blesXsTn f h'^ ^^ ^^^^^-•
Except in one tender lS^l ""^"-^^ '^'^^•^^•
"thebeWdmemb" o tt ^^ ^"Z^^^^^' - -l^'eh
-•t^^ -," was in a Z .^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^-^ -not be
commended to the me.eif„Sr " "" ^^"^^
-^s J. Jav awn,I'<i ' '
'«!" on the S ','1 T '''*''■ "^'''^fi^^-
"-"■fort " was a ToTd « ^ ''"'?'"^' ^ *" "-'
ti.e CHchton voea:,,T,i''' ;;;-'' ? 'T ."«" '"
so clear to kind CommliJi- I '" <^-«''"«tion
^Wo" and 'M„x,„w' t. r:;''"'""™ '•'-'"fort-
P>-ovincial mind liC„,i„e ''" '"'"'« ^'^ »
Pened, I saw as I tS '"• ^' ''"'^ ^» ''"P"
'hat my little ^vtJTaL *" '^'''^''^ ^^^.
-"ents. Our own hi! , ™' " *<"•" of W
never been con.^lersh.o:'''' " ' T" "'^-' '^^
-ever could be mo,^ 7,1- "'" '"°*" «'e'". ""d
Ji-'J, sweet little bai,t::d' 1 '™''^'' ^'-^ "^^^
Fyford, and Diet F,t d ^^ Iffrr''"'"' ''"*
or less rugged or round, brote'off *'"""'' '""■"
ftmjlj life, or never ha> inTf '" ™'"P'«'e
lJ"t this was a rotl? "'""''^'^ '"'o it.
r.v.i. -— . , '"-0"'i*te, warm, siinnv i.„--i,.
"■• '■■'""« woriu, with :*ll ft,... „..:.:";■,■■•>' "e^"'".v
that
w
ei-e therein. Its
.'*■
f(-h <'j
few
268
AGAINST THE STREAM.
sun and moon, and all its stars were there. The
father lovingly providing, generously bestowing,
ruling, delighting in the children ; the mother lov-
ing, sympathizing, understanding, serving ; all the
^ brothers and sisters so full of life, and activity, and
happiness— so full of trusted and trusting love.
How beautiful, how dear, how warm it was ! And
how much warmth it must shed all around ! What
a picture of "the Father's House" to those around
it ; what a foretaste of it to those within !
Yet my thoughts would wander back to that
bewildered, battling, toiling, struggling England;
that bewildered, battling world outside, and could
lind no rest.
Until they came back and did lind rest in Cous-
in Martha's sick chamber.
Little Martha seemed to link that abounding
prosperous family with the suffering, weary, strug-
gling world outside, and to make the contrast less
oppressive.
Our blessed Lord did not live in an oasis, when
He was visibly in this world, any more than he
lived in the deserts; but on the open hillsides; in
the city streets where the lame and blind were,
and the sick were brought to the doors ; on the
dusty roads ; by the village well, thirsty and weary,
really poor.
It seemed to me good for that prosperous house-
hold that the footprints of poverty should have
come into one chamber of it, poverty of all that
makes wealth enjoyable ; thirst and weariness no
AGAimr Tan stbeait. ^^
woltl. could relieve; (,„od that tl ,
<"•■« on wI,o.„ the 1 ,*t .f ,, '"''" ''"'"''' to
'Io«„ direct with no „1 "'! ^'=''"''>>do6 came
-a,be„edie«i:r„r„;;ft::fa:'^r''"^^-
"1 spirit, and they that I„„>„ "; *'" "'" Poor
l-" «^/m.rf*4*: ''?"|:^,''f'-"Sl;teo„s„ess,"
0/ God. Blessed afrTo tlat^l"'"'' " *" '^''"S'^"™
e'lall be filled." -^ ^' '"'"S'"' "^ i for ye
striiff-
f'/i ?
'■J
i ! i
'M,|
fir
CHAPTER XYII.
^-^FfE Jiistorj of the anti-slaverj struggle
^ IS not piqtiiresque, at least the English
l)ortion of it. Its battle-fields are com-
niittee-rooms of the House of Oonnnons
at no tnne the most picturesque of assemblies, tne
Icnv taverns whence Clarkson hunted out witnesses
platforms of abolition meetings, largely attended
by Quakers, the House of Commons itself; none
of them very manageable material from a pictorial
point of view. Its chief pictorial achievement is
a terribly geometrical drawing of a section of a
slave-ship with a cargo of black men and women
stowed in it "like herrings in a barrel," only alive
(at least, alive when they were packe<f), six feet by
one foot four inches being the largest space allowed
.to any. Few historical pictures, however, have
been so effective. It moved the House of Com-
mons. " It seemed to make an instantaneous im-
pression of horror on all who saw it."
^ov are the sacrifices made by the abolitionists
such as sensationally to impress the imagination.
Even such " a sacrifice to virtue" as three hun-
m
^OAINST rUEsTUBAM.
*ed thousand persons ,nv,-„„ ,„. . ^"
means as mucJ, to us n.tf ^ "I> sugar, scarcely
to tI,o sufferers, ,vi,o t ! "''''T '" '""^ »'■""«
- of .he aboiuln'of ITl^'l "I' "- r.-o,„.
experienced "great fnv t™ "■'"'* » "96,
-J-'onee returned t„ tfnse'l ^''™'''" "' «-=-
»P'ins sugar, the .njori v o 7''";-" ^"d' ^--
■jot mulcted of a luxutv ^ti ,' '""'''""'■"^^ '''■'''''
durcd by men like Clarkson r^''^"'"'^'"'*'' «"'
dence among the low tun 'r''"^ "" -•'-
or on the decks of sla^o ,1, / . '*''''''"''' 'owns
that hitter cup „f c^eM 'ifi'"^^P'"S h^ soul i„
»fto" sleep 4 C b,!f '"?'<">«d„ess until
P-onal danger he Zj^
l>ut drowned in a storm l« I, ,' '"° ™'» «»
" "-itness, and once Ih l\t ^^"""^ '" ^"'"^
^y » band of slavCTj ,' 'T'I^' '"'» the sea
-»e «ot subjects to be diJl ,r"''"'I»ol docks
Nevertheless in the of ■""^' -^P^esented.
continuance in well-doi, ^ ' "^■•°'«™ "' "P""'™*
t'-ough half a cent,t t T"^ l" ^'''P ^'"'o.
euthusiasm, with no romantic^ "^ sympathetic
to revive it, through .1?^ T °'' "'^'^nts
^'0 details of wrom aid ''^ ""'^ "^''"^ "^ P''0-
'■edress, the world ha "had 1 ''"^T,"^ ''"''""^ of
. Tbe extent to wh chtl T ""'"" '^^•■™'P'««-
"> some quarters after,tdMrr' "'"' """^^
setiuent generations a tcu, ^ "^ S'™" sub-
work. " """"^^y to undervalue the
But Granville Sharne and ni i
l^erti.rce, and th„ ieadei ut H. '*'""' ""^ ^'1-
* ot the contest, themselves
.^1
il
Jm
m
I -J
ft
''M
,rp
If
^i' .
272
AGAINST THE STREAM.
«#!"
blew no trumpet before them, called their deeds
by no grandiloquent names, and never gave them-
selves out as martyrs or heroes, or anything but
Christian men determined to lift off" a great crime
from their country and a great wrong from a con-
tinent.
I was a little disappointed at the feeling of my
cousins with regard to the slave-trade. They were
quite -sound" on the subject, of course; they
wore Mr. Wedgwood's cameo of "a man and a
brother ; " they abstained from sugar ; but they
were a little tired of the contest. "It seemed as
It It would never come to an end." It had gone
on in the House of Commons more than ten years ;
and ten years to my cousins was the whole of
conscious life. " It was remarkable," Mr. Clarkson
says, at the beginning of the century, '« that the
youth of the rising generation knew but little
about the question. For some years the commit-
tee had not circulated any books."
Kor was the anti-slavery literature very at-
tractive, or very " suitable for circulation in fam-
ilies."
The mere brutality of the wrongs inflicted
make their records as unreadable as the criminal
columns of a sensational newspaper. Besides
the '' newest thing," whether in bonnets or baret-
tas, in vestments, secular or ecclesiastical, in here-
sies or in philanthropy— will have irresistible at-
tractions for "the youth of both sexes.' And
anti-slavery was by no means the newest thing in
^^^^^ST THE STMJSAM
philanthropy r f . ^ ,
^"'^«- and felt ™„,e abo , H ""'"™"™'"^^
E«ept Jittte Martha .', o " '"^ '■°»^>n«-
^'«te«totheaehooba„dthp„ ' ^^^ ^■* my
aO' .neetings," .he aid " V.^ .'"^ "'^ '»'««-™-
the negroe. as thej can ' Th '"" ^ '' "«»••
t ajf ^ '■"^"'"'-"0 long b^,7 "- '"'^"'■•on
that IS J,^«^,^ ^^ =. . but then, yon tno„-,
"an sometimes make H^ ^ ^"'^ ""■ *' ^ I
»«sionariea i„ t™ wf "Sd"" '"'^ «'" ^^n
a* God to help," IJtJf'^ ' ^'"' ^ "an al«-av«
-ay. When n,^' het a t '/''' '"''' »'■"-'»'
-g.'' ^ "^ "^-^ "•'"« 'rubles t,^"X-
Moreover th^ ^^ • ,
W>:' ""^ P-P»-t'o wt; j"""' the battle,
Wilberforce said, " wi„, „ 7"^ ""'"'aned, as Mr
In 1800. 1801 I80P r^"'' ^'''»'-"
«Pedient to hn^fZlTf ''"' '' ^^^ J«%ed
"■ the Honse of (fom.r:''" '"''"°" «»' ^i""'?'
~eT:^tr-'^^'-^''^--ansi.e
-ad, .no, ge,ferori "rad, "T^ -^ V^Te"
^»aps they harl V. ,t ''^ ^civiioAyJedo-e th^t-
r-f :'»"-»" ^■'■* Ltd"- 'rr'"^^"^' '^■-
°""™" of thing, so fnli of I o'; '' "r^-' '^ '-^
18 ''ope in which iLcv
,»
'isi^'^.
274
AGAmST THE STREAM.
Mi
. k
ji':
Vi i'i
could help ! " " They had rather left slavery to
papa and Mr. Wilberforec and the Iloiise of Com-
mons." "I must come and see the day-schools
and Snnday-schools, and attend the meetings at
Exeter Hall for the Bible Society, and the London
Missionary Society, and the Church Missionary
Society."
However prosaic and old-fashioned those words
may sound now, to us, then, they were full of
spiritual romance, fresh as young leaves, frai^raiit
as spring flowers, strong and glad as a river just
set free from the winter ice. It was a joyous tide
of new life, n>):^ [ was swept away in it.
England ; , begun to awaken to the fact that
she had m: J .? - of ignorant children to be taught
the elements tl Christianit}', and millions of hea-
then subjects to be evangelized, and a whole world
within and vsathout in sore need of help. Durino-
the next few years, she was^ to get used to the
necessity of standing alone against the world in
more ways than one : and she was also to rise to
the duty of standing alone/(?rthe world, nntil the
Christian world awoke to help her. As certain aa
it is that there were years— at the beginning of
this century— in which our country alone stem-
med the desolating despotism of Napoleon, until
nation after nation awoke not at her call but by
her deeds ; so certain it is that at the beginning
of this century she alone, with anything to bo
called a national enthusiasm, stemmed the torrent
of a thousand wrongs; negro slavery, the cruel
^niseries of tJie i i • ^''
f°'-'"..ate ..nrf g^y 4" „'""""'' "•"•>•'""«, of tho „„.
"■•'''on afte,.nati„„ a ose " ..'".•'T'*"'"'"'", ..t
"' ^.77 'o its defeat :,, "- »'>" brighter &^'
. A"il equally certain ; ', ,'
»' "n at,„osphe,.e, (,„. , ^X" ' "'^^""We diflusion
- «'"ed to be, K:, : ;r r "t^ "' «"''-» was
"«'"Pied with its „''""•''''"•'""'>■, l-eLu, "''
^ ;'"^' t^^e motto of t}.n I , "^ ^'^od " u-as
f,« doubt should come W t"-'^' " ^^'^^ good »
^vays easy t. '^ '"^ert wined timt ,> ^^ ''"^
«^^ that towards the >bp^ »'/"^ '^'^ ^««J to
^->.a„dpe.o„a,,ett4"5:;trX^.<--
'\*« i
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET {MT-3)
1.0
I.I
l^|2^ 12.5
^ us, 12.0
IL25 i 1.4
2.2
1.6
Scifflices
Corporation
r<!i
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^^^^^
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\
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(716) 872-4S03
4
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'V<^
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M/JL
5
276
AGAINST THE STREAM.
7r
ins could never make enoudi of me. Thev were
much given to superlatives, not from exaggeration,
but from a certain glow through which they saw
things and people. The boys accepted me as a
kind of younger sister, with a variety which was
piquant ; and, in their way, were as good to me as
the girls. Happily (although I believe to Mrs.
Danescombe's disappointment), no thoughts of
matrimony intruded themselves. Indeed, people
were not in the habit of falling in love with me,
as they were with Claire. The only persons who
made that mistake in those days, were two elderly
gentlemen, one of whom had an idea that I should
devote myself efficiently to his eleven children,
while the other considered that I reminded him of
his first wife, an elderly lady recently departed;
and a young curate, who, I believe, thought 1
should be a mother to him and his parish. On
the contrary, people were in the habit of confiding
to me their love affairs, as if I had been a venera-
ble and indulgent grand-motherly person of sev-
enty. I took it as a compliment, this being a pre-
rogative of Loveday Benbow's, although it did
seem beginning rather early.
The first Sunday at Clapham was a decided
novelty to me. Instead of every one rising a little
later in homage to the da}^ of rest, every one was
down half-an-hour earlier to begin what, to my
cousins, was the busiest day in the week.
There was an amicable contest among my cous-
ins which should have possession of me to Intro-
AOAimr THE STUEAM. ^^^
same school ; and Pi,„h! , '"'^"'^ "> "le
^Bchool rooontV o,,™.^ tn' "' "'^"^'^ ■'" ^ "«'-
«d district, whiA l!ad " '"'•^ P°<"- "'"^ n^^glect-
with ,-. eroVded ';, ' f,i rilft,!", "''' " «■"«-'
distance from the classic!, ''"'^'"'™'^«. at some
W *' "' ''"«~' """"' " "
"•ere altog^tW a^new md??' ^""'"''y-^hools
^° one had tI,o„ehroTr n l'^"""™ "'««i"'tion.
^->- With aoS re Let It ™^ '" ^""-"''^
We had not even !, tf T} '""^ '» ''""^^ it-
l^^tions of little ones t. f . ' T^' " ^"^^ -^o'- '
^e'-y limited scale as to "r"*^ """^S"'' »" «
tept by a few old «Ue„ ,7 "^ """ '"^'"'""o".
Oberlin s„,,e,^eded aZnt I ''" "" ""^ P"""'?'"
t« keep tlegoats a,d f .'""""""■"^•"tooold
children." ° ' ""^ """^f"" «et to keep the
-n^yo« do with sTndi , " " '" ' '"•' "''"^
«''i'dr::f rtt"':hrcS'"'' i^f '"^'^ -"
people let their chil2n '■f\^'"^ "'e indifferent
«'e bad people itZ "'"' "'^-^ '*^'J- O*'
"0* met !i,e^,. ICl^' l\^''0'^-^- I Lad
way. And as to how ^ ""' "^ "'e
went to church, and sat T ff"' ^i""'''-'' ^ '^''^
' '"' "' 'he garden, and read
Pi
'It
'it
h
278
AGAINST THE STREAM.
%
good books, and, above all, had long talks with my
father.
" But, dear cousin Bride," said Phoebe, " the
bad people generally do keep out of the way, don't
you think ? They have lost their way, you know.
So we have to go out of the way to find them.
And wo have so many days to read good books
in."
It was a new view to me.
If ever " false witness " was borne against our
neighbor," it is in the accusation that the "evan-
gelical party " were supremely occupied with " sav-
ing their own souls." They might, some of them,
have narrow and shallow ideas of what " salvation "
' means (which of us has conceptions of that great
word, deep and broad enough ?), but at their own
souls they certainly did not stop ; laboring to sa
otlier people's souls was of the very essence of tlieu
religion.
Whatever else they believed or disbelievea
they believed most really that they had in their
possession a remedy for the sins and sorrows of
the whole world; and it was their duty and their
deliglit to bestow and apply it; sometimes, no
doubt, not discriminatingly or successfully. Have
we found yet the school of spiritual medicine
whose diagnosis is perfect, or whose treatment
never fails ?
The bright faces of my cousins did a large pro-
portion of their evangelizing work, bringing sun-
shine wherever they came.
my
'^f'^I^ST Tm STMEAM.
»f young shopwo'„e„. C r'' *---'""'e..s
ffte,^d around "the tabtV" "'" ^'"'"■S «'^-e«
a-We together, ,W « ste en^'" "^-^ '^'"' "'«
Pi^in to them, L a ' L,!. """.^TT^ "> '"^e it
?va3 altogethe; /ew to ^e -I f r"*" *'"■<"'
■"solving a very disc.l7„,;- °*'' "<" "'"^J'S
-"'a"tho« and bod s C^" *"^- "^ "'-"ffei
aeauauK .nee With "l\''™'^™nnff a familiar
^vlnch would come blck ,„ , ,' ^"«"^'' KWe
"n after-hoar of sorrow and " "'''"'" '" '»"/
"ft, when none but ftm.T''"'" ""O '>^«'"de.'
"We to penetrate the heart "''"^^ ^°"'<i ^^
^fS^L:e"rain'a^rr'"---la,
Xr^-Sli:^F- -^^
f-"el, to whom «od ;"1 ^^r'-, of littJo
Joseph, and of Ruth mnl?,f' ""^ °^ *''« '--oy
«'« child Savion 1 tll^^ "°''"-^^'''^' «"d ot^
Shepherd carr^-ing e Lr^;? "'" ''"^ ^"o"
about "busy bees" «rJ ., , '""''' «ere songs
fel'em. and the " Stlo ^^ '/'''',,'™"eer at Beth-
■"ereiful hands were id ' 't? ™ «•'""" the
«o lambs were safe,; d'ed bv ", -f '"''''' '"■
tender touches „f "the rtl ^•''"<='' a thousand
'"- ^'"''^ of Creeds" were
f:^
280
AGAINST THE STREAM.
sung and
y^xm
wh
Iv !'i
A
.hone into tlio liearts of tlio little ones
m tender tones and tints they would no more lose
from the memory of the heart, than their mother's
voiee or their mother's kisses.
Whatever might elsewhere have been dry or
over " doctrinal" in the creed, had for the chil-
dren to be made living and tender and human.
With them, at least, there was no danger of the
gracious meaning of the Incarnation being for-
gotten.
But the work qf Phoebe, the youngest of my
cousins, who, according to her father, had the
talent of finding out impracticable people to be
reformed, interested me most of all.
With her I went, in the afternoon, to the
people who lived, in every sense, " out of the
way," and accordingly had to be sought.
The other Sunday school was already an estab-
lished institution. The children came to it as a
matter of course. They were orderly and well-
dressed, and naturally, therefore, more disposed to
take the teaching as a matter of course. Many
of the parents also were in the employment, in
one way or another, of the rich people around,
and they had thus a hereditary habit of orthodoxy
respectfulness, and respectability. But PluBbe's
school was still experimental. It was a room in
an alley, in which it was by no means a matter of
course for the inhabitants to do anything they
ought to do, or not to do anything they ought not
to do, and in which very few were disposed as a
^»^/«Tw^^.^^^^,^
'natter of h'lhu *. i ^ ^^^
Slie coiilj not ».«)/ i
«'« protection of two of ^^^°"'' ">«"•«. ^ntfor
panied „s. "^^ "^ ^^^ ""-others who aceomf
'■«^ and personal. "" '"'^ ''"^'•rfore to bo
P'''ftopiernT„T'a'r''''"^' ""^^ """e no
'">f 'hen- edncation had L/\ ""' "'"""^■•'•"w
o-'lj' unfortunately ?„k, ^^f T"''^ """P'^to,
^, Theyi„e„JjJ-.» "|d.reet,-on.
«-« J^uugeetof them, than 1 '"'"'"' """■•H"
>«<-%eneo preter ' ,,t / ^'''P'"""- ^th
»f «-.Jd animals, in all t , 'Lt"'^'"f'' ' "''« "«'
«<="'«. sagacious, ouuuit IT"""'^ ""emselvcs,
"•aps, acute as one of t ?*' ^"""'' »"«Pfcious of
f- own, which pUt'harr' '^"^^ "'
l^^pingout of the school /""'' *'ffi™l'J' in
*/« weak poi„t,-!atd ; "• "f <"'"»" «" "dver
!'"■»-" beings, esp'eciaHv wZ '"J""''' °" »"
";««, as adversaries,- " - ""-i"™'" ^^
«f a contest of wit tl at 1 '? *^ ^'--^'ion
«>Pe with them. "' «^«''"o <=oosiD couJd
♦i"^"'- She brought the 'IT'^ "/^' '" ''""g
" "° '»''«■ and she brough!
282
AOAINUT THE STUEAM.
them liopc. At first, apparently, the whole thing
was regarded, in the alley, by the gloonn-jy di£
pojed as an insolent invasion, and by the cheer-
luJly disposed as a practical joke, which they
returned by breaking the windows with brickbats.
iJut by degrees, as one by one awoke to the fact
that she and her brothers really cared for them, ■■
cared that they should grow better, and do better,
and be all that is meant among those who are but
too obviously "lost," by being "saved," a little
band of chivalrous defenders gathered about her,
iilways ready to execute summary Lynch law on
any of their companions who presumed to create a
disturbance.
That afternoon she had to rescue a victim who
was being liberally "punched" for not "holdino-
his jaw." ^
And when we came to the closing hymn, and
the poor fellows shouted out a chorus about " sweet
fields," and " living streams," and " Jesus Shepherd
of the sheep," these innocent pastoral images alto-
gether overcame me.
To these outcasts to whom the world had de
nied all the innocent joys of home, Christianity,
through a woman's words, was bringing childhood,
for the first time. These little ones, hardened from
the cradle, wer^ now learning to come as little
children, (children for the first time in the new life,)
to the Master's feet, to the Savionrs arms, to the
King's kingdom. And looking across to Piers, I
eaw that he also was not a little moved.
ole thing
nil}' dis-
le eheer-
icli they
rickbats.
' tlie fact
or them,
better,
• are but
a little
out her,
law on
create a
im who
holdins:
nn, and
" sweet
lepherd
;es alto-
had de
tianitj,
Idhood,
id from
.8 little
wlife,)
to the
^iers, I
AGAm^T THE STREAM.
Tliese teachiiurs wore in fi. • .
cliuroh gervices '''^ "^ ^'^^ "^tervals of the
■o-m^tSl^":: "il'r --.-^i^'inee Christian
«.'ee, used to perS':<H wrf''"^-™''-"'
«■»&" and "Jes,„ Christ;;^ ' '"= '"=™M "-gels
violins and ba l;",,"' ,7t,f ^,"*r'' ■^-••' -•"'
It moved in« fi .. " "® C'Jioir.
" J-us, lover of m^^:;'' ^^''^ ""''' ™""' ^"S
Aad help me ,0 re8i„ "
f™"tl.edayswhf„Lus dto ' ^"""-Jo-^ard.
"fternoonsjtheseooldt/, ""f'""'"'-)' »» Sunday
"^ fi'ther used to"::t ' t: r"««-i'-<
They brought all ho„ li , ■* ™ '"^ '" '"m-
'"esahhatieal fti,,:es^^: .,'::X ^ Reuben -d
Stone parlor fire on winter " "-■"•''''''''• "'«
"' tl'e top of the garden on 2™'"^'' ""^ "'*«'
uoons. " ^" "" '"""J' summer after-
M
284
AGAINST THE STREAM.
11' > K
v.J> ' 7^1 " /" '■™™"; those "kin,l™l
points wh,ch 80 often „,ect in the l.oart with
ovenvl,ol„.,ng power, through the earlj- associa-
tions of tlie simplest iij'mns I
Tlie preaching was quite as new to me as the
essays ] „t this was a proclamation, a message, a
spealtmg direct from lieart to heart.
At this distance of time I cannot in the least
remember the su,,-ect, the words spoken-per ap
tliey might not bear acute criticLi; but I re-
.nomber as distinctly as if it were yesterday the
impression on my own heart.
A message from God, from (he Father, from
my lather, from the Saviour, to „,., searching
mto ny hear what I was loving, searching int^
my life how I was living, making me fee? how
poor my ite was, making me see how rich it ought
fore Qod!"""^ "' '"^'■"'' ""• "^"°S-S - ta-
It moved me much.
I felt too much to speak, when I came out of
church. But whatever emotions my dear cousins
experienced were not wont to exprL themse Ives
in silence. The Quaker element L not strong a
Cousin Crieh ton's. *=
"You enjojed it, Cousin Bride," said Hattv
and Matty simultaneously. ^
" ^ ;^^s not thinking exactly about enjoying.
It searched (juite down into one's heart ! " I said
"kindred
lieart with
ly assoeia-
me as the
preaching,
itations or
message, a
the least
— perliaps
but I re-
3rdaj the
ler, from
searching
ling into
feel how
it ought
me be-
le out of
' cousins
3m selves
itrong at
i Hattj
ijojing.
I said.
AOAlJiTST THE STREAM.
rri, 285
iiiej were satisfied.
-ft was vei'V <mrw] '> r, • 1 TT
-toneofthe^nrtriS't''"^"?--
curate, yon know." ^' ^^ ^"« ^^'^ the
'• You should hear Mr Cor>\^ j
Newton or" or. a i ^^"' ^^ dear old Mr
^•orld also, have (o.g^^ ^' "'"' ^'^''V' " «ekle.
*"niiy seemed to ris^ I 1, "'^T""' "^ "" 'l,e
fflee at Cousin Criel!toa J „ " '"""' '•"'<«™t
'•>;..»- said, orthii LVvcr'h'ir" '"■'" '°''^
"'Im, made to snaikl. 1 ^ """"" "> "'""i-
'I never Jlo^l•r^ o o
Bride," said le when T""'.''"" ^'''^' ^onsin
what I had felt' '° ^ '""^ » ««''= to her of
I replfei ^ '"'™ ""'^ '"'"^'^ "«• Cousin Martha,"
BH:J":it:r:~t^^^^^^^^^
cw missionary society.
■/'M
286
AGAINST TJIb! HTliEAM.
" Net sermons that speak to the heart like that "
I «a>« . '' Of con.-Ho Undo Fjford reads us what ia
ea e,l « «ernion. Uut preaehin- is scnetliini? very
uilterent." * ^
Preaching seemed to mo that evcuitur such a
i,'Ionou8 word, and a pulpit sucli a royal i.laeo!
St. Peter and the tiireo tlionsand -viio were
smitten to the heart at Jerusalem, and St. Pauls
NVoo unto me it'I preach not "-if ho had, indeed
had such a message to give, seemed to me quite
coniprehersibio. , ^
I pitied Martha very much that she could not
go to church, or teach in Sunday schools. I sup-
pose she felt it by something in my looks or tones,
lor she said — '
" Yet I do get sermons even here, Cousin Bride,
from so many things, from everything, sometimes
from the fire and from the trees waving in the un-
seen wind, from the stars; if sermons mean mes-
sages from God."
A r^^V.',^ ^'''^^' "^'''" ^^""^ le^medi to listens
And I told her about Loveday, of whom slie always
dehglited to hear. « But oh, Martha," I said, "it
IS these plain strong words piercing into the hearts
. that have not learned to listen. Surely if men .^o
on preaching like this, the whole world will turn
and listen, and love, before long I "
She hoped it would. She thought it must.
Ihe news was so good, the need so great.
And in that -low of hope I went to sleep that
n,ght in my princely bedroom, planning and dream-
like that,"
lis what I'a
hing veiy
li? such a
)liiee !
lu) wore
t. Paul's
I, indeed,
ne quito
)uld not
I siip-
)r tones,
n Bride,
letimes ;
the un-
m mes<
always
lid, " it
5 hearts
nen go
U turn
must.
"""'itlfST TBB anSAU.
« •'"'"I.S ..„•«,•„„„ 3 . "''^ - = >• schools, S„„,lay
"-»-l.i l.,.U "ever hX' ;;.^'-''» ^Vo.VauJ
" was an eri nf ,. .i "^''^^^e.
«.«etecl a „e,v em for e wor d'" '°""''''"
Y' I
I
p that
dream-
CHAPTER XYIIl.
N" looking at the little packet Madame
des Ormes had given me, I was a little
alarmed to find that it was intended for
no less a personage than onr local dio-ni-
tarj, the Countess of Abbot's Weir, whose t?wn
house was in Cavendish Square; and that it was
to be delivered into no hands but her own I
suppose the Marquise had vague ideas concern-
ing the size of London, and concerning the awful-
ness of our distinctions of rank.
Cousin Barbara could give me no light on the
subject. Cousin Crichton and his family " dwelt
among their own people," and had far too mucli
smiphcitj and self-respect to wish to attain
through any irregular by-paths, religious or secular'
to a social level ab-^ve their own.
I wrote to Claire, therefore, to explain what 1
could of the difficulty; and we were waiting for
the reply, when one morning a coach, a little be-
yond the usual sober and Pul)dued splendor of
Clapham. swept round to the porch.
In a few moments Mrs. Beckford-Glanvil was
ft'
as
i'er tread, a sonoro !,'„! ^l^ '" "'^ »'Mitv of
-•'k«; 70.; felt n«x,;'r"'" ^-"^ ^'^ '-'
-.native %„re ; tl.e ZZoul ""' "^ '''P''-
;eomed represented in J " 3^ : h' ' """ ^^<'^*
«.e ancient East in her L? ■' ^^ "'<"''"' of
™^f;c perf„,„es, the "ho t;:7 »<> her are-
a's «nd in the magnifieenee nft ''™""^'-^«" of
"I'ole " petite nobWrfEl'^^P.'-^^^"^^; the
;oensi„„ of her eourtl, th^ ""*' '" "'^ """dO"
J^oekford, but a BeekSd pf .r' "°' ""'^ »
» Beekford-GIanvirbt! t t" • '""' "»' only
-"t^dand fu.-theriS „„t «»vi, -nsi-
She saluted Co.isin R . ■* ^''■'P''''»n-
Foss..re of the hand „v "■"■' *'"' " ''^"'""g-'d
gracious acknowled.4ent TnT"' "'"' * S'''''''-^'
Cecilia about 4^'"^;-""- «» her consin
t 'e .nnsie-master, the nolV P v'^^-'' ""'■■<' ™8
"'•^ R'ench ,„ist es ; ^00^!™''" '''^^"'' ''"d
-■ey, and the Italian mast^ h ^r"*^ ^""""o-
fe'.a; really, M.^. CrieTol t ^^'"^"^^ ^'^
'f"gee« it seems a clarit "', JT" "'''' "^ ""'"7
•■■■'- children havesjr f """^"'^ '"^^^ons ft-.,/
"■"e scarcely leisure :
'},
01]
10
friendshi]
If
290
AGAINST THE STREAM.
I
■m
or society, or charity, or anythin-. How do you
m.'iiiaoo sncli things ? "
"i do not manage at all," said Cousin Barbara,
winch was ceitainly a correct account of lior inodo
of government. " The girls seem to enjoy every-
thing, and so to find time for everything."
" Certainly, your sons and daughters seem to
have time for everything," Mrs. Glanvil resumed.
" 1 hear of them in the Sunday schools, at the Dis-
trict Visiting Society, in the Missionary Collections
—everywhere. Quite models! I am always hold-
ing them up to my poor dear Cecilia and to my
sons. But then we all know, Mrs. Crichton, as
de:ir Mr. Y said so beautifully last Sunday,
raul may plant, and Apollos water.' And my
poor Arabella, you know, married so very early •
and her husband, Sir Frederic, so idolizes her that
he will not suffer her to enter a school or a cottage.
You know there is danger of infection ; those poor
creatures are not so clean and careful as one could
wish. How do you escape ? "
" We do not always escape," Cousin Barbara
replied. -But my children have good health,
thank God- and they take care."
" Ah, some people are hardier than others.
My poor darlings are delicate plants, Mrs. Crichton ;
a little too tenderly nurtured, perhaps; rather too'
much hot-house plants, I fear."
But she said this in a way which decidedly im-
phed the superiority of the hot-house products to
the hardy natives of the open air.
((
yon
'■onsemitorv wluv! ^ * ""^''J." from l'
^mi,oo,, of ^,„„.„^ »J *e dread „f ^„,;^°
kept «.„g„,j^„^^^ toroa H ""'^''0 ""Ir
^^e returned to'nlv ' "minence. ^
W'Jborforoo a little unre ' m"™""""' ""'"fc Mr
"?'■« "nportant interes"^^' f ""■'"^b', ^«t there
'"«e regulation and dis .0"° " ^'' "^''oeted; and
'™«^ sensible »e„ ,& ,f ''''"™' «^b what
practicable sel,en>e. ^ " ""= ^"f''^' and most
((
Cousin Barb,
with
rira
quoted :Mr. jTovV
^* '•'.0 slave-trade.
at
fl*
I.. '
292
AGAINST THE STUEAM.
^tli
IP' I
i
lie knew of no such tiling as the repjnlation of rob-
bery and murder."
Mrs. Glanvil said women must leave these prac-
tical questions to men, and changed the subject.
The peace with France was beginning to be-
come a general to])ic.
Mrs. Beckfcrd-Ghmvil had much information.,
on the subject "from private sources," no mere
newspaper reports, but things Mr. Eeckford-GIan-
vil had heard at the House of Commons, v/hicli
Bhe liberally commmiicated in confidential tones,
with a suggestion that perhaps at present " it had
better not go further "—opinions of cabinet min-
isters and various great men and honorable women
whom they had met at various dinners; sayings
even of a Higher Personage still ; what Mr. Pitt
intended, and Mr. Fox thought, and what His
Majesty had said in confidence.
She was floating away in the midst of this tide
of greatness, when the door opened and the butler
announced " The Countess of Abbot's Weir," and
a tall, majestic looking woman in deep mournino
advanced towards Cousin Barbara.
"You will excuse my coming Avithout intro-
duction, Mrs. Crichton," she said. « I had a mes-
sage from a dear friend of mine, Madame des
Ornies, through Miss Danescombe. It is a pleas-
ure to escape from London," she continued, looking
at the conservatory, "to have a glimpse of the
countjy, gardens, and flowers."
If she had sought far and wide she could not
m
v^
^«^/^ww/4.^,^^.^^
«:;? i>r my cousin c e to 'rr"'^'" "^ ' '■
fi'-t 'no.vperi„„,,, I ,„. 7°" ^ f^'^e when i„ ,„„
, s^rtor.trf'r"-'^--
kind,,. '"^ Wd. a„d he,d , a ,;„o, ,„
nialve my poor frionW. i ' ^^^^ ^^^<i softJv « f
Wl ' .e about tl,e,n all, ^ Zt ^'°""''- ^"" '""«'
^'■0 loves jou so .nuel, " "' '""""^ ""'e Claire
^'■'"vil, and whichif "'" ''""SO of Bonier?
» '"olfah eo««o of ;„'"' T' (»"' least se7 "et
-"''«•», «-e.'oeovt:d'S,r,'^-"'' ""o touch of a
or "'■'^■•"'-'- "ot™:,ix''f"'""'"^«*-
tl e BK "^''"''^^' (althou,,,, 1 '^/''^•' "f the ,,.„!,
re
294
AOAINST THE STREAM.
of the little hilJs,) it was tliat she was "at leisure
from herself," and simply by virtue of her sweet
graciousiiessset us free from the si)ell under which
we had been growing rigid. In a few minutes I
found myself talking to her about Madame des
Ormes and Claire, with that certainty of her realhi
canng which makes intercourse easy and natural
I rose to fetch the little packet. Mrs. IJeckford-
Wanvd also rose, said again liow her CY>cilia was
longing to see her cousin's friend, and hoped I
would tix a day to spend with her, and that my
cousins would accompany ine.
The prospect was appalling, but Cousin Barba-
ra having rescued me by saying we would soon do
ourselves the pleasure of returning Mrs. Eeckford-
Glanvil's call, I was set free to execute mv com-
mission.
_ When I returned the countess was quietly talk-
ing to Cousin Barbara on the universal topic of
the peace. But her information was by no means
so assured as that of Mrs. Beckford-Glanvil. The
earl, she said frankly, had never liked the war
and she had always thought it one of the finest
things Mr. Wilberforce had ever done to stand out
lor peace against his political friends.
" It is so much easier," she said, " to differ from
the whole world than from one's own party."
But she risked no other name bv quoting it in
support of any opinion ; and of the king, when
there happened to be occasion to mention his name
she spoke with the far-off loyaltv of an ordinary
'^9f
''''^^^^^r m^ srmAM.
*'•»;;' a,,,.oe::l;r''-»''-M..jesty nearer
t'wluced, and whose ll t " '""""■ "^ I'ein- in
-• ^o ''ou,. ,: 'rJ,;'r''r"^'"-'"
M^m■pe. Ho has always' „ T ^'^ ^'■^"•"o
"'° "W knights boforfthrM /".'"'' ''■'^•«™« of
^];o.Jt. Thegrandson of „ '^n f "'"'^'-y «.^
fan archdeacon, contontod t '"" '^"^ '"•''"'-
'7<=f "P to a ,„oroer; an li ""^ '"s appren-
«-Jiolo Jaw of England ' "'""''' ^""»«8 the
^-'. back to its t? :"oiC™'^'<=,d t-y false ptet
T].on afterwards, (wh^lr"'''™'^ »f freedom.
!f a-J-'i'ing,) giving Tn ,TT '° "' "^ "°"«
Ti-easnryandhisincome'^Jf Wo.ntmont i„ the
-"ding out ammnn ™X ;r "r ""^ "'™''<^<i '■"
nnjust and nnbrotherly war ,1 "'"""'''''''"•'^d the
ent to be alone a^aiL th^^'""';"^'"<'"<^a. Con-
J">^tice, such men end „, ^™''"' ^"^ "■""> and
---- basnet 'rSftr S-
^-™-\^tX-:i:;r^^-V"^--^'--
;r-i:L7"---»-"iSn:fji;:
,^,C--n Barbara sn,iH and said .er,.i„dl.
'Bride,
w.«a:vrn:d::"''^-«-*sha:
■ft^l!
.*-<"■ get into the carriage and show
trpe'8
'it'
mef
!"
296
AGAINST THE STREAM.
H\i
the countess said; -and will jour cousin conio
with us? Andwil you lot me drive them homo
with me, Mrs. Crichton, that we may have a Ion.,
talk over our common friends and our conunou
iieroes? If you can, I should like it so much ; the
earl ,s away, and it will cheer my solitary evenino- •
and I promise to send them back safely in the
evenmjr
Mh
It was impossible to refuse, and Hatty and I
spent a most liappy day at Cavendish Square see-
ing all kmds of interesting ancestral portraits, and
relics, and autographs, and feeling as if we were
personally drinking draughts of delight at the very
sources of English history.
Simple and natural her life seemed, as ours at
Abbot s Weir, or my cousins' at Clapham, in the
great world of London, which was her native plar-e
or among their tenants in the country whom she
loved to help; its deep places, simply such as mine
or Loveday's, or Reuben Pengelly's. Into these
depths she gave me one glimpse, which drew my
heart to het. Taking me into her dressing-room,
she drew back a veil from the portrait of a lovely
child about the age of Claire.
^" Last year she was with us," she said. " Tell
Claire. They used to play together in old days in
1 ranee."
And on taking leave she kissed me, and said she
must see me again at Abbot's Weir.
The visit to Mrs. Buckford-Glanvil could not
be evaded, but the good nature of my cousins
#
lOll^
AOAItfST riw STliBAM.
fe'reat as it was co„M . ' ^^^
r-^ to be present, and ^.."nieW.''^'""" """^
Cecilia's lono-ino. f^
-' .• but it waX^ :rZ; "?' "»« v<»7 appar.
--^^ «ot demonstnwivJeon ;2rr"^'^^^'''««'''<>
■"<•■■>'»' limpness seemed t7 -"f' ^ '"'"^ «f
™« perhaps vrhat lier n,o.h° '"'"'"''= ''<»■' "•'"d.
« hot-house plant "' "'^""^ ^j her being
-tt'^okTrrT^'''^"'^ ''«'«• Her
Cecilia felt charmed w^th M • ""V"" '"=•• ^ear
«'»'; and Cecilia ddnf tl'lr*^ '""''"''^ ■"
»»«. Ifc. GlanvilWn in ^' '™''"<' "> «s-
'■-ted on Madame Lol^T"' "'"""^ «'"'^-
it 18 cnrious," she sa,V?'«
d'd not mention her oJZ'^^' """"^"-■W
apparently. But, then to 17"'""' "'' '"'"■''<'"<>■>
■»anyforeignpe4„n;"^dis „.;"'"• "'"'^ "''^ «>
'noment in England, that w ^ r,''"^'"^ '-" "'is
"'"rquises.and conn el Z) f "'" P'-""'^^. and
to be helped, one to , ' u^ '''>«™"«'^ who have
after al^harit, beglLtXm" >'" "''™ ^ ««"'
quises^i^olt.re:?''™'"'''^^ P"nces and mar. .
Oimes ,« not ia want of .h^.;! \;. '^f"^^'^'«
UCo
Onneswnotinwantofehari^
*
•^ lives at
298
AGAINST THE STREAM.
il
Pf
ml
\!(
Abbot's Weir because she likes to be quiet, and
(she kindiv says) because she likes us. That is
all."
" Of course, Miss Danescombe, of course. No
one imagines a Marquise would settle in Abbot's
Weir from choice. I suppose the Countess of
Abbot's Weir knew them in better days ? " t
After a time Cecilia took me into her boudoir.
When I was alone with her she came out in a new
light.
To my cousin Crichtons the presence of their
parents seemed a free atmosphere in which all
their thoughts and hearts expanded ; to Cecilia the
absence of her motiier seemed a liberation. She
^vas surprised that I liked Clapham. It seemed to
her and her brothers the dullest place in the world.
She supposed it was because I came out of a deeper
depth of dulness at Abbot's Weir.
She seemed to me terribly tepid and old. She
admired nothing : she hoped in nothmg. She was
"^ d^sillnsionnee " at nineteen. The slaves she con-
sidered only less wearisome than the anti-slavery
people. She could not at all comprehend the fuss
made about them. "If they were emancipated,
they were still black and still poor, and how was
the world to be made an agreeable place for blacks
and poor people?"
The only thing she warmed into energy about
was her detestation of missionary meetings. Her
sister was married and never meant to attend an-
other in her life. "All kinds of people brought
AOAlmr TUB STUBAil.
■ , 2y!)
into your draivin.'-room " c\ i
;o much a l,oa<, to io^ L t^j'TJ ' ,''""«'" "'
tl>0 ^oolosical ani,„al., a«d all M , .' '''""" "l^"
'•"rions. But I .,,,,,1 "'" "<'«'««' or most
"""'^e.ne„,s; wo, r„r ''™T "•'" ">"«' l,avo
'•»i?'">-,„uso:u : ':":;7-'-ts,ort,.,.
right. ° ' '" """ '"-el sho might bo
She dopressed me dreadf„lly
It was the first example I Ind
tliat reaction from mJ, !i '-'"^''n'^ored of
-ntempt,orHir.d"i !'''•'''"';. '" " ^^»--'
tl.e second generaHon of •""■"'■' "•'''<='' l^o^'^
roligious professio" ' '-"™'''' "^ "" •"'™al
'-tntrt'^-"^^^^^--' ^^^-the
™e forthe sake of Abbo"; y^^Z'T"'-'''"' '"
future proprietor of Court P . i r "'•"' "* "'«
tim.ed to do„,;„ate the on "• ^'''°"' »"»-
polite but impenetble and rST'- '^"^ ^^'"^
to endm-e his wife's sori.,l7 " ""<* '•'»""^''
Jo7 them. But tli is ' ^'T™'^ "'^ '" ""■
to .-cligious tamilies " P<«="''^'-"J "ot li.nited
f
,'^00
'I t
AUAIS6T TUJi UTIWAM.
tr
Abbot'' -'Iv""' '!r '"'' ^'"'"''^^ '''^^"'•"•- ''I'-t
political i.ro8|,eet.s, cncernin^^ Ml.ich Mr. G\mvi\
wjis fur .nore reticont and Ics iufurn.e.l than bi.
^uito. Afr-^.. dinner the hostess employed herself
m impressing me with the importane; of the ex-
poetc^J guests, and espeeially expatiated eoncerniTig
Air. AVilber orce; how he "maintained religion in
the eye o the world by having a large houte, giv-
ing liospitable entertainments, and indulging him-
- f in those congruities to ins taste and ibrtuno
cSia!::^^"^ ''' ^''''''' ^-'^-- -^ the
thol'^^VnT r^'^ ^^'^ '"" that I should find
the hons ot Clapham whom I was to behold that
evemng, and even Mr. Wilberforce himselt; remov-
td far irom me into that world of clothes, congrui-
Me and the»Kot me" were so inextricably
confounded, and in which my ''Me" always b^
'^•ame so terribly isolated. ^ ^
Yain and foolish fears.
That sparkling wit, lighted up from that tevc\^v
whicli m all society drew its deepest glow from
tlie Presence it never quitted, that natural, court-
e^^^. considerate, easy, happy English gentleman,
tti..t . vAj. lovnig, generous-hearted Christian man
r ''^ 'T ":^^ ^'^^^" ^'^ ^""^"tes before the
1^ ^^)... .< >eif-impov ;nce and selflconsciousness.
of eynieisu. and "nil adinirari" melted away
■80 al)out
(1 van'oua
. GJanvil
tliiin Ilia
1 liorsolf
' tlic ox-
neerniiijnr
li^noii iu
use, giv-
ng liiiu-
fortuuo
and tlie
A GAINST THE STREAM. 30 j
tlu .. l)o«t, bccuu.o then- true selves. Eveothi,,.;
»» (-U « ereatm,, seemed w.^rth earing fur. Everv
'•routtn.e n lJi« .edeen.ed world sLmJd tlr h
loving and serving. "^
ed tfcZhlr ""f -^ '"^'^ ^ ^"^ ^"'^^ r^^oncil-.
uld find
)ld that
remov-
3ongrui-
lich the
tricably
ays be-
tendor
nuturo
V from
, eourt-
leraan,
11 mau
^re the
iisness,
awaj,
CHAPTER XIS.
'4
a
UR cousins M'oiild not liear of our return.
As our visit was prolonged, I began to
liave pathetic letters from Abbot's Weir.
Amice wrote, —
You seem Mr]j launched into the millennium,
for jou, that is, the reign of i-ighteousuess and
peace ; and for poor forsaken me, in the meantime
the " thousand years," of pining, without you. It
seems just that since you left !
" Granny is more deaf in her discriminating
way than ever, and more disposed to be didactic
to me. She suspects that I have a turn for negroes
and philanthropy, and accordingly finds and inakes
countless opportunities for depreciating philan-
thropists and negroes. And I am liorHblv torn
^ between the conflicting duties of ' submitting my-
self to my governors' and being ' true in all niy
dealings;' between the emotions of indignation
against what she says, and a reverent tenderness
for her. For she loves me more from year to year,
I know ; and she would feel my crossing her will
like a great hhw from the Jiand she loves best in
o
S(
di
at
w
da
r return,
began to
t's^yeir.
lenninni,
less and
leantime
y^ou. It
iiinatino:
didactic
negroes
d makes
pliilan-
>lv torn
ing my-
all my
gnation
derness
to year,
ler will
best in
-AGAINST THE 8TliBAM. ^^.^
cannot help seeing, ....ve and rtoU, e riiJ
,nl ^T '"■""='''•' ^° ""'t a bio Aom
no now would be like a man striking bfe Zl
motlier. It is all terribly entangled. Come bS
my smgle-hearted Bride and „.ii, , '
''"-gi. all these tanirn^:,^^^""
scattenng nets of ropes like cobwebs bvmS
n-alt o,nTf"!r '''""°' "^'P toeing and feel-
rMilH-..o ^ , "'o «^ ^ o"ti s excuses and difS-
ciilties so strono-lv fli-if- r coo^v, 1.7
o-n hnl^ii ^ ° 1 , ^^°^ ""^b^e liot only to
go boldly forward, but to l-o on at all «nr1 no 1
sit still, and let the net coil and n^ itif ll" ^
^ne tighter and tighter. '^^ ^^°"^
" Oh for the days of Moses, or of St Paul n.
w.o,a„dba,.esand'S,,loi„s;Ue,ritw'''^
u.y sajs, and sometimes I think when the call
.* • 'i
304
AOAmST TEE STUEAM.
Wk
comes I eo„W conut it all joy to follow, anvwl.ere,
in any way. " '
'[^fjT ^V kavr corns while 1 was asleep f "
And Claire MTote :—
"I long for you ahvays. Is London, tlien, af-
ter all, as strong in its attractions as our poor Paris
of the old days ? Or are you so strong in your at-
tractions that London will not yield°youbackto
lis ? les, that IS It. The Countess writes to my
mother m ecstasies about you. You are a sweet
^10 et a fresh brmth from the moors, a demoiselle
de a haute noblesse by nature,-a creature wliose
natural naturalness no Court could spoil. All this
^Tf -T '"'''''' ^^^'^ ^'^^ ^^«^^« ^'^ translated.
^ As If we needed to be told all that ! I call it
an impertmence to bestow all these beautiful phra-
ses on us as if they were anything new to us
i^esides I am not so sure about the manners
of the noblesse. There are bourgeois among the
haute noblesse and there are Bayards among the
bourgeoisie. They may create equality of posses-
sions in our poor France if they can ; but equality
ot persons never ! *'
_ " And here are your violets and primroses sich-
ing and growing pale foryou ! while Reuben waits
when he brings me your letters, lilco your New-
foundknd dog ,n his company manners trying not
to seem sohctous tor a bone. Mr. Daneseon.be
grows hypoc. tioal, and endeavors to persuade us
.lud Injnsdf that he is delighted you are enjoying
yourselves; and Miss Loveday grows .non.astica^
nywliere,
asleep f "
tlien, af-
oor Paris
your at-
i back to
Bs to my
a sweet
smoiselle
e wliose
All this
iislated.
I call it
iilphra-
us.
naniiers
•ng the
3ng the
posses-
quality
38 sigh-
n Waits
Kew-
ng not
combe
tde us
fojing
stical,
AGAINST THE STREAM.
ancJ ioctnres mo on fl,^ • t
t".'e, until I Ce romnrlt '"™ "''"'^ -^»-
nnd never a wo d thn^T . ''""« ''"'•™''")-,
" Piers no 11 ,. • n ''" *""" »"' 'ovinl
™an-ollo„s meet;"!, " ',7'"" """^ ''"« «» many
charming const ^^dT"' """^ ^"^^^ '"^n,
about. ' ""'' ^'eam-engines, to care
tlie otlier day, I recited . ^'•- Danescombe said
'eft too ,o„g emptyrtC; ^ll'nd r 'T "^"^
any poor cnp." "^ "^ ^°^ themselves at
And Loveday wrote :
^; My heart is glad for you Ynn o ^
V sight, on the Pitaloz.ia'^, ..telTeVT"^
Perhaps, after all, neverthelesTonT' '^ '^'•^'•
everything by being a littL w ' "ff 7, T' 'T
you know, they were not r,n,-f i * Connth,
.-e,Pa.i4oar;s:^»^-'^«
■And my stepmother •—
from your oxcellenr eo W li, ®''''*''''''' '"^»
make such amiable .1"Z "'^ *° *''"'' "'e^
ties your dear fat be 1 , ^I ""^^ ""'« ■""^^'e^
"berty migl, 1,:* ;;';,.t; r ■■^^'■--^ '"eas of
And mv fafho"- _
"%ebildre„:yo„r cousins are all Mndne..
r
1^.
306
AOAmST THE STREAM.
\
I caimot wonder tliat they delight to liave you, as
much as my judgment tells me I ought. And I
am sure you ought to stay on,, although I cannot
^vish 1^ as I should, and as they so kindly seem to
do. TV e grovv miserly over the years, as there are
fewer in the heap before us. But I think your
home will be none the less dear to you for all the
uxunes of your cousins'. You have a love for
helping to bear other people's burdens, my chil-
dren inherited from one better than I am. And
God knows, He and you and every one have made
the burdens of life light to me.
. '; You, letters glow, as if they came out of some
tropica lland^ You are among those who are help-
ing to lift off many burdens from mankind. And
I trust you may bring us back some good lessons.
We in Abbot's Weir have scarcely done all we
might.'
That letter of my father's made me passionately
ong to return, not from its words so much as for
the absence of any of the dry little sayings which
were natural to him, when no weight was on him.
And I could not bear the humility. Clapham was
not better than he was.
However, engagements had been made for us
iinti June; and through May, at all events, we
must stay. '
Moreover, at the period when that letter arriv-
ed, I was a little indignant with Clapham on more
grounds than one. I had expressed a wish to see
the chapel in which John Wesley had
preached.
AGAINST THE STREAM. . 307
Cousin Crichton had replied by some rather dis-
paraging remarks about tlie Methodist£,-excellent
peoj>le, he admitted, in their way, in tiieir day, and
m their place, but evidently not exactly in his way,
or m his day, or at Clapham. Also, one of nfy
cous.iis (it was dear good Phoebe the reformer) had
said to me something that offended me about Pier.
1 cannot remember the woi-ds. They were, I know*
very circumspect and very kind ; but they implied
tiiat Piers was not up to the Clapham standard of
religious experience. - He made so little response,
one could not be sure whether he cared ' "
Piers !-who would have thrown himself into
the water to rescue any one, while others were
wringing their hands on the shore ! Piers, who had
in o d days denied himself what he most cared about
tor the slaves, or any one in trouble, while I only
shed tears-easy, idle tears ! I was veiy indignant,
^id as that was the first time I had appeared in
that character at Clapham, my cousins were propor-
tionately astonished. ^
I said they were as bad as the people who would
not tolerate any one if he lisped, or said sh instead
ot s; that they would not have recognized St. An-
drew, or Kathanael, or any of the dear quiet saints,
M'ho would not protest and talk j-that they would
have believed in Apollos more than in St. Paul 1
don t know what vehement things I did not 'say,
blending in niy defence Piers and the Methodists!
1 said there was the Age of the II
fought the dragons and founded the
eroes who
cities, and the
308
AGAINST THE STllEAM.
Fs'li !'
Ago of the settled, comfortable citizens, who lived
in the cities and kept festivals over the skeletons of
the slain dragons ; that King David had his " first
three," and then his thirties, and his tliousands;
that Claphaniand its citizens and its festivals were
excellent, but where would Claphain have been,
unless the Weslejs and Whitefield had laced the
niobs of heathen miners and colliers, led on some-
tnnes bj worse than heathen rich people, had drawn
the colliers, out of their dens and holes, and con-
quered them for Christ— risking life over and over
again, « being destitute, afflicted, tormented ;" hunt-
ed out of the church thej loved— for too much love
to her lost children; hunted down bj lost multi-
tudes for determining to save them from their sins ;
avenging themselves on the church by bringing
back to her countless of her lost, to inspire her with
new life,— avenging themselves on the savage mob
bj bringing back thousands of them to God. I
said it was not true that the Weslejs were separa-
tists. Thej had been hunted out for beginning
the very work the Church was now waking up to
share.^ England had driven the loyal colonists in
America into becoming a nation, and the Church
of England had driven the loyal and orthodox
Methodists into becoming a sect. And th ings done
were not to be undone, mtions were not so easi-
ly to be caressed or chastised back into being colo-
nies.
I said it was excellent to preach good things to
reverent hearers in orderly pulpits, and to °coa-
no
^GfAINSr THE STliEAM.
o\j\)
tend m great n.eotir.gs against great wronr.s • bnt
I said, flnallj, that Piers was tetter t^n tl,n,
sand timesthan I was, wl.o was a way ZosiZ
iisii v.aj of saying out all I felt whiln i "
co.ds ti,,^,,,J,^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
s.ud I d d tlimk there mi^ht bo too mucii reli
g'ous talk and I was sure tl>ere mi^l.t bo too „u "t
rehg,ons judging; and tl,at there^-ere gl Tot
pie in the world at other places besides Cl-^lnm
and here had boon in other ages before imZi
MeTo ;r " '"■■'" "'" "''"■ Indeed iC
aided the daring remark that in some wiv, T
liought Abbot's Weir a more roomy sttto 3
istenco than Clapham, with glimpses i^'l! •.
world and a longer past. ^ " " '"^""
onet Oh T''*^ ^ '"'^ '""'"'™^^ ^"* «'••'» every
ono at Clapham was not so terribiv rich ; and that
>t the apostles, even, had had to liVe a,n;„g the^'
I thought after a little while it must have beea
' IF
r.!
310
AGAINST THE STREAM.
hard for tliem not to have felt it a sin of omission
not to have some thousands a year.
Cousin Phoebe was evidently a little tempted
to admit me among her company of impracticable
people to be reformed. She said very good-hu-
moredly, with a fnnny little buttoning of her lips,
" that, at all events, there was no danger of mis-
taking me for one of the silent saints."
But they had all the sunniest and sweetest
tempers. Cousin Plarj-iet at once adopted me as
one of her « uncomfortable people to comfort ; "
and Cousin Matilda, the most open to new con-
victions and new admirations of any of them,
generously conceded that she did think, from my
descriptions, Abbot's Weir must have some of the
best people possible in it.
And iterwards, dear little Martha having
heard of the little passage of arms, put her thin
arms round me and said,—
" I like you for being in a little fury about your
brother. Cousin Bride ; for I think there never was
any one, any boy, I mean, so kind and helpful and
gentle. lie saw why it was my head was a little
nncoiufortable on this eoucli, and he made me that
wooden support, you know to keep up the pillows.
I do wish he could have been a doctor ! Pie says
so little and does so quietly and exactly the riglit
thing. It is such a rest ! He wishes it too ; at
least, he did wish it so much. But of course vou
know." ^
I did know. But she seemed to know more.
Sl
at
AGAINST THE STREAM.
811
The little sufferor had atnicted out of hini the
se.ret_ he so rarolj spoke of, of the studies and
ambitions he had freely relinquished without ever
letting my father know he had sacrirtced anything
-to be able to help him in his business, and that
l^rancis might go to the University.
But Piers was the most trying of all For
when I told him of these fears of Pha^bo's (beinc.
anxious moreover to draw out of a little cloud
of reserve and gravity which I had observed on
mn ately), he only said--Perhai>s she is more
than half right, Bride. I am sure I am not what
1 waiit to be ; and wlU be, I trust," he added, softly.
_ This humility of Piers, and now of my tatlier's
in this letter, were too provoking ; most especially
so, because they really meant it.
Humility was not precisely the characteristic of
my cousin Crichtons, or of Clapham, as I saw it, ex-
cept of dear Cousin Barbara, who was not ''gifted"
in any way, she said, and greatly marvelled at and
delighted in the powers of utterance of her dauo-h-
ters. In secret, no doubt, they thought humbly
of themselves ; but then I did not see them in
secret ; the diaries which, no doubt they all kept
not being yet published. But in public the whole'
active, benevolent, flourishing community admired
each other too sincerely and too demonstratively
not to see reflected in themselves some of the o-low
th^y shed on others. They did not blow trum^pets
before themselves, but they did liberally serenade
each other.
312
,'!*.
AGAINST THE ST REAM.
And I considered tliat Piers and my father had
been over-iu)pressed by those triumphant clarions
llovvever it was only wl,en summoned by such
self-depreciation or such suspicions, to little counter
trunipetin..s of my own, that I lost the joyous sense
ot the stn- and the victory around me, and left for
a mmuto that Gulf Stream of love and life which
swept me on in its full warm tides, and swept
Bummer to so many shores.
»* opt
CHAPTER XX.
f"'' P'""™^'^' i" the dear old Holds and
lanos around Abbot's ^ye,V, and of the
by the riC:""^ °* ""^ "^-"'"- - "'0 wo';:
n^onntTrin'T''""'"-"™^"-^' •'"'<'"••'" May
,ni.hff"f'-^;-'"'''™™'' "onte^Ptnously Amice
Every garden overflowed with trea<?nrp« nf Ki
Bom into the roads, labnrnnn,, ''Z7p:^^:luo't
ftro," tl,o,™, pink and white, Waes, and, in thlr^
gons around avenues of horse-che'stnu /lie p^^
cessions awa,tn,g so,ne joyous bridal.-trees m
l^nown to Abbofs Weir, embosomed i^ i rali';'
>5
314
■*i
'If!
IKrftt 'I
.(Ml
AGAINST rilE HTIIEAM.
oak-woods. And
cd paradises, bods ot'swoet' vir.lots
in ScMiiiy nooks, under those wnll-
,er<)en8C3, chistei-s
aeiiiij almost tjje wlioie eliord of
lerin ricli
of anemones, eml)i
prismatic! color, all blendint^ with each otl
brocades and ''shots" of inte
^, ,^ ., , „ -woven tints, beforo
the ribbon'' style of art had been invented. And
iiarmonizinr. -dl, the delicious green of well-kept
hiwns, penetrating in little creeks and bays under'
the shadow of the groves and shrubberies.
Little paradises walled in from the wilderness
where certainly no thorns and briars, and apparent-
ly no serpent could enter; between these paradises
incessant interchanges of kindness and friendly in-
tercourse ; and from these, paradises, full of "" all
that was pleasant to the eye or good for food," in-
cessant ministrations of mercy towards the wilder-
ness which, unhappily, still existed outside, lurouo-h
ministering men and women who frankly recoo-ni-
J^ed each other as little less than angelic ; rivers^of
beneficence, flowing forth East and West and North
and South, and "glad tidings of great jov," sincere
Jy dearer to many of the happy dweller's than any
treasures besides, sounding forth far and wide from
that oasis of exceptional bliss.
As to me, I felt often, during that May, alto-
gether lapped in paradise, bodv, soul, and spirit
_ Never can I forget the effect of those May meet-
ings Since become the butts of so many witticisms,
on me.
Exeter Hall was not built until tliirty years
I
hose wnll-
3, eluBtC'l'fl
cliord of
I or in rich
ts, before
k1. And
well-kept,
ys under
ilderness,
ippiii-eut-
piirad ises
andly in-
of '" all
)od," in-
} wilder-
iiii'ongh
recogni-
ivers of
d North
sincere
lian any
de from
ly, alto-
ipirit
y ineet-
tieisins,
' years
AOALYST TllK STliEAM.
315
afterwards, but the 1
J lull were tiiere.
iinnan materials of Exeter
It
S
was the meeting of the London Missionary
'ociety to whieli I was first t
a ken.
We met in Fi-eoniasons* Hall.
tablH^i?"'''' Missionary Sodety had been es-
tabh.shed three years before, in 1798. The Bible
feocety to n.eet a dearth of the Seriptures, to which
'^ii existing means of supply were entirely inade-
quate was instituted two years later (1803)
wit], r ^Tf ^,^'''''"' '^"'^ ^^^'^^" commenced,
ith their hrst subscriptions of £13 2.. (J^., and
Earliest ot'all in this new spring-tido, many years
be ore, in 1731, the Moravian Brethren iiad sent
out then- first missionaries, and had sent them, ac-
cording to their noble custom, to the most despised
and rejected of all the slayes in the West Indies.
1 lie London Missionary Society had been in
existence five years, called into being by the dyinc
request of Lady Huntingdon. It .4 Lendlid to
embuice all sections of the Cliristian Church This
original purpose has been, in a great measure, frus-
trated partly perhaps by the narrowness of human
PJ-ejndice, but chiefly, J think, by the lar^^eness of
Divme purpose, working out that richer and deeper
umty which 18 to be attained, not by aneutraliz nc.
"nxture of all the elements in a mild and ineffectiv:
fZr nv'"' T^' ' ^'"' ^development of all in the
fiihiessoflife. It was found impossible for the
rt-
316
AGAINST TUE STREAM.
U
Ri« i ' '
r'n
!i !■
various Cl,„st,aa societies to work togetl.or, whoa
^ e prpc amat,on of the gospel of the eom.nou
CJmstmmty had drawn together comnumities of
onverts. But in those days the various soeieties
imt having mereased to the dimensions they after-
wards reached, tliere was leisure and good-will for
each to sympathize with all.
Accordingly my Cousin Crichton, altlion^h a
firm and orderly churchman, took us all to the Lon-
don Missionary Meeting.
Those who think Christian missions have effect-
ed nothing, would do well to consider the state of
t e world outside Christendom at the commence-
ment of this oentnry.
At that time all the societies were gropino.
their way in the thick darkness. *"
In India, the British merchants were still stren-
uoiisly opposing the disturbing of the natives, and
of the.r own commerce, bj the introduction of
Christianity. A year before, barred out by Eno.
^nd from all her stations, Carey had landed at tfe
l^anish settlement at Serampore.
When the glories of nations are seen to be not
miles of territory, but noble deeds and men, a radi-
ant halo will surely be recognized around the brows
of the brave little nation which was the first in
i rotestant Christendom to awake to the fact that
the re igion of Ck'ist is meant for all men, and to
open her colonies in the East and West Indies to
t.^- i'r>:-I;imation of His kingdom, '
'tlier, when
e common
uunities of
us societies
they after-
•od-will for
ilthou
to the Lon-
gli a
lave effect-
Sie state of
ommence-
gv,
opmg
still stren-
tives, and
notion of
t by Eng-
led at the
to be not
n, a radi-
;lie brows
3 first in
fact that
I), and to
ndies, to
AGAINST THE STREAM. g-j j
Except a few scattered converts of Schwarz
there was not a native Protestant church in India.
The words of Carey, on his outward voyage,
that Africa, for missionary work,- was not far f,-om
JingJand, and Madagascar very little farther"
seemed to us then a wild visionary speculation. '
Ihere was not a single Christian in the Pacifie*
Islands, or in Madagascar, scarcely in Africa; not
one in connection with the reformed churches in
Uinia or Japan. It was not until nearly three
centuries after the Reformation era, that the Pro-
estant churches awoke nationally, or collectively,
to the fact of the existence of an outside world to
be evangelized.
-ind now at length, at the beginning of the
century, England, "mistress of ihe seas," and
mo her of almost all the European colonies that live,
bad waked np to her great work of evangelization!
At that time all the societies were gropino- their
^yay in the dark; having yet to investigate thedis-
nictions of heathenism, ranging from savage fetish
vvorship to religions wirh systems more subtle than
any European philosophies, and with sacred books
older than the Kew Testament ; and therefore hav-
mg yet to invent the various weapons needed to
meet these various antagonists.
Ail the battle-fields had to be reconnoitred : aU
the weapons had to be foiged.
The Bible had to be translated into almost every
angnnge of the heathen wurld. Carey alone trans^
lated the wliole, or portions of it, into thirty of the
318
AGAINST THE STREAM.
EM
fl
of the Lible Societj was gradually exteiuled.
In many eases the written lanc,nia<re had to be
created Between the translation ^f tl^e Bible into
Gothic bv Ulphdas in the fourth century, and the
work of the Bible Society in the nineteemh not :
translation of the Scriptures had been made for the
mstruction and conversion of races outside Chris-
tendom.
^ It is true that only three centuries since the
third-namely the^ tenth, eleventh, and fifteenth-
are unmarked by fresh translations ; but these were
made for people already within the pale of Chris-
tendom.
Nearly three hundred years ago Luther's
German Bible for the German Folk " had begun
to create a German people and a German language •
but now first the Christian Church arose to place
the Testament of her Lord in the hands of the
whole race He came to redeem and to rule.
In India the missionaries found the' Sacred
Books of the Buddhist and of Mahomet, but not
that of Christ. In Africa and the islands of the
^ I'acific they found not only no Bible, but no gram-
mar, no alphabet, no written language. Li other
regions of the East they found indeed translations
of the Christian Scriptures, but in ancient forms
of speech which had died out of the comprehen-
sion of the people for more than a thousand years
Lvery missionary in those days went on a voy-
age of discovery. What missionary meetings and
AOAmST THE STREAM. ^^^
ree^ll^in these. The centuries of shnnber were
" f^"*^/" the long pent stream of life
i>a8lied downward in a cataract. "
sMls',t7n r.''"^"' '" "•'' ""'' '" '"'"dreds bo-
ma::,,™',:;,.""' •'np,ot„rcsq„e assembly in F,,o.
„=,i,°r- """ T' '"^'""^' "^'«» •''™ '00 low, in o„r
(esthetics and symbolisms?
Is not sculpture higl,er than architecture? Fs
cJie teirjpJe which maj enshrine it ?
nn«W t'^"" T' '"'"" ^^' ^ ^^^'^^^ but the sacred
H hat do we mean by a shrine, unless the jewel
IS more precious than the casket ? ^
And tlirough tlie religion which centres in the
Incar„at.on, the truth that "the true Shechinah
man, receives a new force which is simply infinite
More precious, capable of a diviner iLtytZ
the most glorious cathedral, is the simplest the
To the eyes which see things as theva.'e as thn
serene souls illu.nined with the^ angeli'ca ^m le "
:n Dante's " Paradiso," a multitude of merrud
won,en gathered fro.n soIita,y patient labors in!
cure corners to rejoice togethe,' and help towards
the ffrowth of the IC;-™H, 1.. n , i .1 '•""''ri'S
atioiT. nfti ' . ^^"■Sd"!-' thiough the manifest-
ations of the K,ng, must surely requii^e no acces-
320
AGAmST THE STREAM.
li
IH
il
i|
^
If
hi
I).
Bories of place or ceremoTiial to make as fail- a
picture as earth can show. Tlie time may come
when tlie liighest art will be seen to be with tliose
for whom goodness and truth are indissoluble from
bean'.y, becanse they are the eternal beauty.
To me, in those youthful days, when the hymn
of glory to Christ was sung in nnison, it seemed
like nothing so much as that " voice of a great mul-
titude, and of many waters, and of mighty thunder-
ings," heard of old in heaven.
I knew some of the quiet fountains from which
those many waters flowed, the little clouds, "no
bigger than a man's hand," in which the electric
force was gathered, which burst forth in that thun-
der of thanksgiving. I knew not only the Claphams
but the Abbot's Weirs. '
This crowd had not been formed, did not live
as a crowd. It was gathered, the best part of it,
one by one, from quiet hidden places scattered
through the land, where the little band, and the sol-
itary worker, were pulling "against the stream"
of their own little district. It had be3n gathered,
one by one, as I believed, in quiet hidden hours,'
when each human spirit there had been brought
into solitary communion M'ith the Divine Spirit!
For a moment those quiet waters had come fo'-th
from the unseen in this visible, audible tide of
praise; and soon they would pass again into the
unseen, visible and audible only to Him who
alone and who always sees the Church as Cne,
AGAmST THE STEEAM. ont
Fastidious eritidsm may p„ll its ,.l,vH,„ a
svmbolism to pieces; b„t to me the ^ ""^
" "'""" ^'"'' "'"™ Him, crown Him Lort „f „„ ,..
rf„S"ir^---'°'-'-"'^ea,,.eat
God." P "'" ''""^'^'^ "' *'"= Momit of
divine fires ' " "'"' ™k"'dli»S of the
■Were we altojfether wroii"- ' W.-,o *i
of Pentecost in tlio fl,e whi!hT,^» i T """""«
literal hell of 0,,,° „ri-o„ '™""' ""= ''«"'«1
in^nityofslate^^ X;;;.°7r'l "'.0 devilish
<'jedthe,t,htofihet:i:;^r:er:;;'tT
l>Iaces wh e 1 knew not « ™ j •. ';'>"""o, dark
Africa, and the a"d „ H "' '" ^"*^' ^■"■"".
tl,em? " ^ "' tongues to those who speak
---..odivi„eHte:::i;i;j:;:-:^;-^
21
i
!1, .'
322
AGAINST TUE STREAM.
il
of the lieart," which as we believe, shall never be
superseded and become obsolete ? or in that Church
Architecture which no fires of Advent judfrment
shall dissolve ?
\
\i
CHAPTER XXI.
W TV \^' ^''* ^^y «f ^^^; the day
(](.(
>i to door, carrying garlands festooned
■„.,M A • ^ ' v^"gg«rianasrestooned
■.IS c ea. to my memory as a proof-en^ravin/
bitten m by tlio event of its dose ^'
I was sitting by the open window in Cousin
Cnc hton s dn.w ng-room, all kinds ofsweet En"S
iy.g. m . wilted in from tl>e garden, and all kinds
of dehcat. aromatic exotic pcrfnmes breathing "„
ot the conservatory. =
Mr. Twistl to,.; the cnrate, had just come in and
washovenng about in an indefinite wav At
eng h he approached the window, and look ng ot
a Jund of mild rapture,— '
«a" w'/ ". '''"'"™"""'' ' "'' '^-' -'^ ^»-
abor:tttkr;oM™ma?"-'^'^'""^™---
" Oh, please not, Mr. Twistleton ! " I said. " It
32i
AG- .'NST THE STREAM.
was jnst the old woman's 'all tJrls^ being her
poor bm-c old solitary room, that made it so beau-
tiful in her to say it. Please not to talk of our
* all this ; ' it makes me so afraid heaven mio-ht bo
like it. "
^ " My dear Miss Danescombe," he replied, sur-
prised, apparently, at the vehemence of my tone, ,
" surely sueh foretastes of Paradise are given to '
prepare us for the reality."
" Oh, I trust not," I said, « I think not, I am
sure not. God will never let heaven be just a
little bit of exclusive bliss, without even as nmch
power of spreading it as we have here. It is so
unlike Himself."
He looked perplexed at my ideas, and a little
hurt at my fervor. I believe lie thought I was
getting into dangerous speculations, and had rather
a dangerous temper, and in a short time, after a
iaw indifferent observations, he left. My cousin
always insisted I had unconsciously checked a dec-
laration. But I never thought so. And if I had,
it was very fortunate for us both, inasmuch as
he married very wisely and well a month or two
afterwards.
All day my cousins and I were busy about some
of their countless bountiful and considerate kind-
nesses ; cutting and binding up flowers to take to
invalids, hunting out truant Sunday-school chil-
dren, carrying little dainties and tracts to the sick
poor. It was one of Cousin Barbara's plans always
to connect body and sou. in her distribut
ions
esj)e
)clnc: her
so boau-
Ik of GUI'
might be
>lied, 811 r-
my tone,,
given to
ot, I am
e just a
as much
It is so
I a little
it I was
id i-ather
, after a
f cousin
3d a dec-
if I had,
nnch as
or two
mt some
te kind-
I take to
)ol chil-
the sick
3 always
IS, espe
AGAmST TUB STREAM. 335
'u not Dcai tlKit her pensioners sliould thInV
Jo eoinmuted costly temporal help for 1 1 ^k
gious benefactions PoHt.V.nl ^ '''' ^'^^fP ^^^'i-
.ro.,b,e he,. „,„ ,„„;e ,!:' ^ ^^^''"'^^
o sustain without woakcing i.a p/ob Sn at I
My cousin Harriet and I were comin.. i„ at the
vZuJ^rV t'"^ ."'"""""g-'or quite „n-
VVherehaveyoubeen?"Isaid.
paid. ""^ '°'"' "^ *''« J^"^ ""'> John," ho
1' 'E}'"^ ^■•^ ^"fy terrible ?" I sivid.
Too terrible to speak of, sister," he said
.oin!' baVTo Tfr^ '" "" ™-' -<> ■" '-
s "o oaciv to that old name of our f.ln'Mi, a
wh,eh touched ,„e unaecountably "'"""''
" i ou are ill, PieVs," I said, elingin,, fo nis arm
-it lelt no suimnrfr TT^ ^\ to "to -» "is arm.
io bupport. He needed support from ,7ip
The earth opening her n.outh in the midst of
1*> -
ml
I I'M ^':
\k\i
326
AGAINST THE STREAM.
the tcits wl.oro the flunily -onl is propaniig and
tiie Jjttio chihh-en are at pjaj !
Down into the di-oadlul chas.n we Avent, Piers
ami I ; the valley of the shadow of death, so close
always to ns all ; ho lying on the bed of fever, I
vvatchn.g beside him liour by hour and day by dav
watching every look and movement, yet semJ
rated from him all the while farther than by con-
tments, ''
Week followed week, unnoticed, in that land
where 1 ime was no more.
Delirium came; and the secrets of that bravo
tender heart weie unveiled.
My father joined us; and we watched together,
yet still apart from each other as from Piers, afraid
to munnur our fears, unwilling to enfeeble the little
gossamer thread of hope to which we clun.. by
trustmg it to words. * ^
.* * * -jt ^
We watched together, yet alone, in that land
of chaos and thick darkness, where all the billows
and waves go over us, yet we live, if it can be
called hving to lie, breathing, but stunned and
bhnded ; that land of desolation where every one
IS alone, M'here prayer becomes nothing but a cry
without words, a lifting up of the soul like the
eyes bhnded with tears, not to see but to appeal
or at best (if such faith is given), a helpless, speech!
ess tailing on the heart of the Father, and resting
tor a sustaining moment there.
il
«
*
•anng and
'ent, Piors
Ii, so close
)f fever, I
■y ^y d'ly,
yet sepa-
■n by cou-
tliut laud
lat bi'ave
together,
rs, afraid
the little
hy
;lang
lat land
billoM's
can be
led and
ery one
ut a cry
ike the
ajjjpeal^
speech-
resting
AQAINST TUB STREAM. gg^
to.ntfti'u'::!;?f"^'"^^''^^
it Is not to f 'T"' "'^' '""^"^ ^^'^^^ ^^- time
Ir^ rs not t' "r^'^^^^^'-^^^^^; that this time the
"li s^d/ '^ ^^"^ "'^^^' ^^"" ^-^^^ ' -^ over
At .asc one morning, after a quiet sleen Im
said ma quiet, feeble, naturaUoicei- ^' >
feister, I liave been very ill T mn^f i.o
given a great deal of trouble/ "^"^^ have
Then I calJ.^d my father, M-ho was tryinc tn
s eep m the next room ; and with quie voi ef s
fit was all . matter of course, but with Srt
bea ing wUh a tumult of joy, we spoke to lim^
to him-yes, to himself, once more, and he an
svvered. The dreadful chasm cleaving us into set
urate existence was gone. ^'
We were one once more; we lived and our
ives flowed together; and oh, how much clo
how much deeper, how much fuller, for aU wehTd
gone through apart ! ^^
I have gone down into that gulf of terror more
than once since then. ®
I have crept up out of it alone to the poor com
mon earth, while the one I watched has r^sen o^"
otit,u.e.,intotl^^
an^JilrthiTtr' '-":'': '''^''^ ^"^ -^^^ -j-t
sTckul s t . ' '' ' ^''''' deliverance" from
SicWb than recovering to this fettered life
Iliave learned to believe, and sometimes to feel
I
;^2S
AGAINST THE STREAM.
tliat tlu! joy of tliut restunitio!! to lio:iltli— ovor-
wlioliiiii)(r, intcnso as it was— is but a taint pictiiro
of the joy of the rising to live tiio immortal life,
over which death has no dominion. But to this
day that joy of welcoming my brother back to us,
of seeing him rise step by step to life and health,'
and rise enriched with treasures from the depths
into wliich he had decended, remains to me the
purest type of that other joy "incorruptible and
undefiled, and that fadeth not away," which now I
einbrace by faith for my beloved, and hope ere
long with them to know.
How tender they all were, those cousins of ours,
the servants of the house, eveiy one, in their sym-
pathy in our joy ! How near they seemed, they who,
during that time when we were thus watchino- iu
the darkness, had seemed as far off as ci'eatures in
another planet ; how ungrateful T felt I must have
been for all their help; how grateful I felt now!
Cousin Barl)ara had some new surprise every
day from those countless, hospitable luxuries of
hers which she persisted in ascetically calling " lit-
tle comforts;" flowers, dainties, cushions, easy
chairs, the easiest of carriages.
1 could not help feeling that the rather oppres-
sive necessity, or rather " duty " of being rich, which
had occasionally weighed on me at Clapham, had its
very pleasant side when one had to be convalescent
in such a Castle Bountiful as Cousin Crichton's.
Yet I cou4d never forget that there were depths
into which no ( 'astle Bountiful could pour one drop
fl;i
A OAIjYtiT THE STU h\ 1 JA. f] .) ,
of consolation. I conic' never forc^ot that in all
tlKit terrible time the only hiunan eo.ntort that had
reached n.e was from the one chamber of suirerinc
m that beautitu], bountiful home ; that the only
tears 1 had been able to shed were one night whei..
at the very darkest of all, I had crept into little
Martini s room, and she had clasped Jier poor thin
arms round ine and sobbed—
;' Cousin Bride, I do love him so dearly ! But
oh, indeed, God loves him better! ' lord, he whom
Ihou lovest ts sick: Poor dear cousin Bride I »
■i-i-
CHAPTER XXII.
NE day we were driving together, Piers
and I, in Cousin Crichton's carriage alone
through the green lanes and over the
commons which then stretched beyond
Clapham, alone in that delightful uninterrupted
solitude one feels in a carriage, where no one can
got at one, and when one has no duties to any one
to s I mm on one awa,j.
It was one of our first drives.
" Bride," Piers said to me suddenly, « I was
delirious, was I not ? "
I had to admit it.
" Bid I say anything ? "
" ^ou thought you were a doctor, sometimes,"
1 said, "and seemed very pleased."
" I hope father was not there," he said.
" Oh, you deal blind boy ! " I said, " hiding
your wise ostrich head in the sands. Do you think
we do not know what you gave up to help us all?
And do you think we do not love to know it ? Or
that, yon will make us forget ?"
n
Was that all ?" he said.
AGAINST THE STREAM.
331
There were two other seals broken.
" Must he know i "
" He must know."
Kow, whicli seal should I break first ? I turned
awaj my head.
" You spoke a little— a great deal— of Claire,"
I said.
" Was anj one there ! " he asked, very earnestly.
" Xo one but me, " I said ; " and I always knew."
" That will do," he said.
And then there was rather a long pause.
" Nothing else ? " he said at last, with some relief.
"Yes, something else, brother," I said—
" scarcely anything continually, hut that one thing."
He looked inquiring. '^
I could scarcely speak of it yet. I scarcely
knew if he was str^^ng enough to bear it. Such
anguish had been in his bewildered eyes, and in
his clear, strong, unnatural tones wheii he spoke
of this. At last I resolved to say —
" It was sin, brother. You kept saying your
hfe had been lost, lost. You kept asking i1' there
was forgiveness for you ; for you f You kept on
telling me to be ready ; ready— as you were not.
Oh, do not ask me to speak of it ! while all our
agony was that you were ready, ready to leave us
and go away among the redeemed and holy, and
be blessed forever, and see God, and we see you
no more on earth foreser ! Do not ask me. I can-
not speak of that."
" I was not ready. Bride," he said quietly.
1
i
il i
'">r>o
ooJi
AGAINST THE STREAM.
"Do not say so, Piers," I replied, "you who
had calvvajs lived for us all ! "
" Bride," he said, " I had not lived for God."
" Surely," I said, •' to live for those lie has
given us is to live for God."
" I used to think so," he said ; " and certainly
loving our neighbors as ourselves is not ahvaj^s so
easy, Bride, especially when our neighbors are
very near, and we cannot quite like tliem. But
there is something more. There is the iirst great
commandment, you know, as well as the second ;
before the second, the foundation of the second.
I do not think I had ever even tried to keep that.
To love God with all our heart and soul and mind
and strength must mean something else than loving
our neighbor as ourselves. Our Lord did not use
vain repetitions. To love God himself for Hia
love to us, for himself! Sister, I had been learning
for weeks that I have never done it. I felt it bv
the lives around me, which had something I had
not. I saw it in Mr. Wilberforce's book on Prac-
tical Christianity. And if to break the greatest
commandment is sin, I have sinned ; not once or
twice, or seventy times seven, but always."
" But," I said, " to obey is to love, to submit is
to love. And you had obeyed, and had submitted,
God knows."
'• To love is to obey," he said ; " to love is to
submit ; but to love is more. You know that
Bride, well "
I did. It was useless to attempt to argue or to
AGAINST THE STREAM.
333
you who
.r God."
lie lias
certainly
V
waj'-s 80
bors are
n. But
'st great
second ;
second,
ep that,
id mind
n lovinfj
not use
for His
learning
It it bv
^ I had
'n Prac-
greatest
once or
ibniit is
>mitted.
.^e is to
w that,
lie or to
justify him to himself. There is no tilling up
ciiasins God has rent, with dust, or with rose-water.
There was a Jong pause. ^
At lengtli I said—
" But you are not so sad about yourself now
What did you do ? "
"I went in heart to God," he said, "..nd eon.»
fessed to him th,.t He was my Father, and I had
not honoiT 1 ; that He was my Redeemer, and
I had not ;. jca grateful to him. And I pleaded
Avith him, because He is my Father, to forgive
me ; and because He is my Saviour, to save me ;
to give me to know and to love him, to reveal
linnself by the Holy Spirit to me. For I was
sure that if I knew him as He is. I must love him.
It must be only some crust, or veil, or cataract, in
my eyes that hindered ray seeing; and it could be
only not seeing that hindered my loving. There
was nothing to be created for me to see, only some-
thmg in me to be removed that I might see. He,
with His infinite love, was there. I asked him to
open my heart that I might see and love."
I could scarcely speak.
" He was sure to hear," I said.
" Quite sure," he replied. " There was but one
answer— CVi^'M'if. He gave me to see Christ."
" You had no dream, no vision ? " I said.
" What do we want of dreams and visions ? "
he replied. " Of old it was in divers manners,
in these last days He has sent his Son. It is day,
Jiride, now— not night. It is revelation, not
'^f
331
AGAINST THE STREAM.
: if
4 J
clouds and darkness. The bri2:litnoss of his doiT
has been unveiled, the express iniai^'e of his person
has come, full of grace and truth ; has been a
little child ; has taken the little children in his
arms ; has touched the leper and healed him ; has
let the sinners touch him, and has forgiven them ;
has let them nail him to the Cross, and has prayed
for their forgiveness ; has loved us, and given him-
self for us ; has borne our sins in his own body on
the Cross, and has redeemed us ; has done all the
holy will we have failed to do, to enable us to do
it ; has suffered what we could never have borne,
to enable us to suffer ; being forever one God, has
made himself forever one with us, and is touched
with the feeling of our infirmities ; not pitiful only
or beneficent, but touched; has loved me and given
himself for me ; for with him " us means net a
inass of humanity, but a multitude of men and
women. And I know it, sister. Thank God, I
know it, now, for myself. And now that first com-
mandment sometimes seems as unnecessary as a
command to love my father or you ; as much an
instinct as breathing, as the love the heart has
never lived without."
* "We were silent a long time. Then the carriage
swept up to the porch. And Piers went to his
room to rest, and I to mine.
There is no filling up chasms sin has made or
God has made in humanity, or in the heart or con-
BcicQCG of any one of us, with anything but him-
self.
CHAPTER XXIII.
qE returned to Abbot's Weir through a
very different land from that ive had
fZJil.Jte t'"»vcrsed on our way to Clapham at the
'-^--—1 begmning of the year. It was late i„
October. 0„ee n.ore there had been a good har-
vo Eveo;wl>ere arose the golden wheat-staeh.,
of the ple„t,f nl crop just harvested. There seen.ed
a new elast.eity in the very air as we went baek
through the land relieved from thopressure of fam-
ue, with Piers restored to us-restored, as he felt,
more than a few added years; to life essential
spiritual, immortal. ' '
The voices of the plonghboys, as they followed
yielded t eir abundant stores, rang clear and joj:ous
s top wHh a firmer tread ; the women sang to their
th o„gh I,e villages; the children ran after the
low clK ' d"'""'" 1""'^ ™^ '"""-• Tlie h l!
tow-chccl;ed groups that had Imng about the inn
doors had vanished. The land ^as full „f ^^^
336
AGAINST THE STREAM.
w
and work, and hope. Enger groups there were,
indeed, everywhere, watcliiiig what further con-
iirmation of the new
ghad
tidin<xs we might
bring. For all England was in an intoxication of joy
at the new peace with France ; the peace of xVniiens.
A week or two before, crowds had met in London to
welcome the French Ambassador, liad taken the
liorses out of his coach, and dragged it bj White-
hall, through St. James's Park, to the park-entrance
of the Admiralty, where the gallant Lord St. Vin-
cent, still exceptionally in possession of his senses,
liad soberly recommended them, " if they were bent
on doing the gentlemen this honor, at all events, to
control their enthusiasm so far as not to upset the
coach."
The French Ambassador must have received a
shock to the national theory of the phlegmatic
character of Englishmen.
In Bath, Mr. Wilberforce found the people
" mad with joy." In many of the towns through
which we passed, bells were ringing, crowds were
hurrahing; in some, the streets had glorified them-
selves with arches of greenery, and such spasmodic
displays of flags and boughs as England, puritan-
ized out of her mediaeval picturesqueness, and yet
unenliijhtened bv imitative modern aesthetics, could
conjure out of her own unassisted brain.
" Peace, peace ! " The glad tidings rang through
the land, and the nation burst into one of those
outbursts of great joy which are so pathetic when
we think either to how little fruition they led, how
AGAmST THE 8TUEAM. oo^
66 i
™K.^a,.h.atio„ the, expressed, 0.. ho. ,,,„eh the.
Yes, we hoped, sotne of us, it was "on earth "
not only ,n one little eorrer of it • „»-,„„«,'
o«t^ Chnstendom ; Englan bei ' C as Tf 1"
-t.ons to hold out the".ight hand'of t 1 4 „
Wo d, and fl..e, and vapor of smoke " in Fran
All Europe, for the moment, was at peace
W :!"""" '^;--?-'-g'"bo from the asW
bum Milages m Sw.tzerland, from cities in Italy
rois at St. Petei-sburg or Tienna, and amono- the
people everywhere, at a propaganda of liber y and
Wn.ty carried orf like Mahomet's-by te Ind
sword d,d not at that .angnine n.oment'aff: t „s
The forms of the republic, in France, were as
yet preserved intact; indeed, they had becon'e
more class eal than ever Tl,„ .^-a "ecome
with a First ConsrVl'fdltr^Sr
dlCStM'''"^"*--^''*'"--^-™'^
There were, it is true, a few anxious and fore-
smd, d,d not l^pe. He thought the peace only ex-
perunental. But then the king had been wont to
ho « at wrong times. He had hoped obstinately „
ons the opposition of the America., colonic,.
intrmit;::'""™'""'^^''"'^'^'''-'-''*--'™^
22
P
^U's
338
AGAINST THE STREAM.
Mr. Pitt did not hope. But Mr. Pitt was out
of office.
Many military and nav^al men did not hope.
But then military and naval men naturally liked
war.
And so we gave France everything she asked,
except Naples and the Papal States (whether it
was ours or not to give,) settlements in India, and
at the Cape of Good Hope, West India Islands,
Italian protectorates, Rhine frontiers; and then,
like a fond and indulgent parent, fell into a rap
ture over her at consenting to be reconciled.
Having everything she could possibly want, what
could the result be but that she would be satisfied
and keep quiet, and never disturb the family peace
again ?
Meantime there was bread enough and to spare,
and work for every one who would work ; and our
England was a very merry and contented land to
travel through in that genial October sunshine
which had done such good work for her harvests,
and was now touching her woods and ferny downs
with every choicest and richest tint of bronze and
gold.
How beaut" '\il the dear old grey town looked
in the depths of its green chalice, embossed with
its crimson and golden woods, and rimmed with
the warm tints of its fern-covered moors, and the
soft blues and purples of its rocky " tors ! " It must
be confessed that its solid old monastic bridge
looked a little diminutive after Westminster, and
itt was out
AGAINST THE STREAM. 33,^
it eee,„ed f d^^'^^f 'r" -'-' «^at
T^.,«. ^i .1 , "^'^'v i-w aamit even to onpQolP
those «^ii LX„t. 1™ T.; "" "'^ ™'''^ °^
endles. primroses and k , relU ;%:r '" '"t"
yond ,.an,e of its „i,d ^oori "nd hi'lfe'" ""«^ •'^-
the place itself, tho„sl, smaH in if! l/ I ^'^^
into a „,,..,, ,ra„ T^^^^Z^^' -
world ? T^'" ^'"''^''' '» ''O'-^o'f 80 wide a
world, stopped the postcl.aise we were in for \
moment of weleomo „(• »i ""^ *
Frenoh if «n,. ' to'^tJtca us in her sM^eet
Kein k:^e,rMetse;td tfT^^''' *"
hcr.i. „ • /•'^ uiessea trod tliat we wero safA
iialt an hour tliat evening with Loveday Benbow
and looked ont once more with her eves into ^7;
w.de world of which not Abbot's \vel or Clanh J
only, or only England, or even Chri tedo^Jtr"
sp IXi!"ti • "' "• '^ """^ ™"« -'■"
840
AOAIN^T THH STIiEAM.
\ i
has need of a more robust strengtli to innliitain Its
own unaided ])attlo8, and npace to develop into a
freer individuality and a larger symmetry.
At Clapham, the current against the stream
was in itself so broad and strong, that there was
little demand on spiritual nerve and muscle in
gliding along it. If, as Goethe says, character un-
folds itself in the storms of the world, it must be
in storms encountered by the solitary bark, not in a
fleet of vessels cheering each other on,
Yery delightful it was to come back to Lovedaj^,
and find her all I had left her and imagined her
and more than all I had found since. The deepest
and highest life is by necessity also really the
broadest ; broader by all the space in heaven and
the infinity of God. If we deepen the channel
enough, and connect it with the Fountain of Life,
as with the ocean, we need not fear that it Mill be
narrow ; the very force and volume of the waters
will make it broad.
With every one else one seemed to take up the
old relationship just on a slightly different level,
at least at first, with just a touch of strangeness, a
kind of soupqon of a new and foreign accent enter-
ing into our intercourse, a sense of new experiences
gone through apart. With Loveday one seemed
to have been present all the time, simply to go on,
and not begin again at all. She always seemed a
creature over whom time had no power. There
she sat, as of old, dove-colored and white, with her
dove-iike voice and spiritual dove's wings ; and
Jier .y.iuti,, reiunvod like tlio k-uA,.\ .,= f , ,
which were hor I„-oo<J. "<-.ii> -laden
^..neltied."™'"^ »- "o dream. She was ,„ite
3l.ade of Jp U,;, ;,f '''"S?d, and felt it with a
icproacn and disappointment.
soeiet^ ;:;:;s:'7. '"°""« -^t «'api.am, i„ ,,,„
-.pon^oi c ofl.i, " ''' ^""''"^'"'"'<' -W' all the
V whieh to':::;:;';7::;\»^^^^^^^^^^^^^
liackjustthesanioBrideWn 1 ™ '"""^
a little difiienlt tor oi to ' " ''"■''^""^' »d not
Reiiheii^s not at all surprised. '
taken aback when I returiiod ul7 . ""''
by a kiss. ** " "' *'"■ ''™"ty years
wast'w^nt'eo't'rr,;' '"""'' ^"* » "<«• "'•^' ^
provided th rt:: I'liS:*'" ""t™"" ^"'
P>'i;antl.ropy,,.rki„;:,re:;r"'''^''''^'"'°
diseases r"<\r:::k" "^^^--"-
-'. Bat in, little IrrsltC^^"-
'\ to
AGATNST TUhJ STREAM.
I
^
My dear cousin, Dick Fyford, was not a little
changed ; changed for one thing into a lieutenant,
having been with Nelson at Copenhagen, and Nel-
son being a leader of the kind that leads in inore
ways than one to promotion ; showing the vay by
being foremost, inspiring men to be their bcdt, and
also clearing the way by his terrible alternatives of *
victory or death. He had compacted into a man,
having found a calling in which no amount of en-
ergy was superfluous, and no amount of daring out
of place.
Moreover, much of the hardness, as well as the
aimless restlessness of the boy had passed from him,
or fitted into the right place in him.
He privately confessed to me that the -vrongs
of the common seamen were all but intolerable to
see ; say nothing of suffering.
"You were not so far wrong about impress
merit, Cousin Bride," said he, " as I thought you
•were, long ago, when I wished you wore a boy, at
Miss Felicity's ; and would have fought you had
you been one. There is work for your anti-slavery
people nearer home than in the West Indies. Kid-
napping, bad ajid little food, flogging, turning out
to die like dogs when wounded and sick ; terribly
like negro slavery. Enough to make a man a
Whig, or a Jacobin, or any thing to set it right."
(Dick's politics were never abstract.) " The mu-
tinies at the Nore and at S pithead were put down
three years ago. And while Bonaparte keeps the
old country awake, and Nelson keeps him down, all
MAimr rm arnBAii. ^^
"nd all that," (Dick's L!, "'""' ""^ ^'"'"""^
"'"•') "«" « good deal oi ti,. wo.- n„ i
stare and peerages for ■' " " ^"'"''''^ «<-''
|^;^;eved....„eo.,,S7arr.:t'
bo to™ fron, hishett w;^,'',r r °" ""'' "■">' '»
t JcS'."™;: ^r-'l- C'-siu Bride," he said
a^icauj , yoii will understand "
I wished to be sympatlietic, but I could no^ i
encouraging. They seemed to me too far T ^
she with her early denM, ^f , ^^^''^ •
ence between them seemed t Ve. ' I'll;:
^^^'Peful symptom in the case. "^ '^'^
"Similars in friendship, Cousin Bridp .
sites in love!" he '^aid wi/l. fV^ ' ^P^^-
lU
AGAINST TUB STREAM.
i
were. Amice Glanvil and I do not understand
each other, and never did. And there is the hope ;
feeble I confess ; but one could live on a crumb
from that table."
" We needs must love the highest when we see it."
Those early " little loves " of my cousin's often
reminded me of Amice's portrait, the crocus-bulb,
sending out its long feeler into the soil to find
something to root itself to. They were no dilet
tante fancies ; they had all the humility of a genu-
ine passion, and so, in their measure, did not sink
but raise him. He never fancied any one was in
love with him.
I said, he knew I always liked to do what 1
could for him.
" He did know. I had always been as good as
a mother to him."
" Not quite that ! " I remonstrated. " I thought
that was too ranch even to try to be to any one."
'* Well, as good as a grandmother, at all events,
Cousin Bride," he said, " as good and indulgent
and ready to help as the best grandmother that
ever was ! "
Ho i^eant it as a compliment ; just as the old
gentleman at Clapham, old enough to be my
grandfather, had meant it as a compliment to ask
me to be his wife.
It was plain I must accept the dignities of ad-
rar-t'cd age. Perhaps I should grow younger as
my years increased. Meantime I would be as
nities of ad-
AGAINST THE STREAM. 345
• g^^"^"^otherly as the duties of such a L^enerally-
recognized protectorate demanded ^^"^^^^J^'
iu^T'' Jf""'^"^ ''"' ''^^^ changeless. As the
tutelary Athena of Abbott W^',. oi /
<-r-isn f-L A^ ' . . ,'^^^\^ ^Veir, she seemed to
Turn in ^'';''"' ^' ^™^^' ^^^^^^^' -^^dy to
turn ,t on anj dragon's brood whicli might invo
p;--g up in Piers or me, of presumption, or on!
Too;:;; t T '"'^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^^^ ^'-- ^-^-^ -
beanng disappeared, when I ventured to give liera
Lieu^^^^^^^^^^^
«m JlVr'^''^^"' """"^^ ^^"* ^"^ ^"^ «bould lay the
smallest offering on the shrine, on which it soLed
to her nothing that she should lay her life.
Fou are a kind child, Bride Danescombe, she
aid going back to the beginning of our friendship,
to the foolscap and the stool of penance. " You
are a dear, generous child. If any one wants you
to be good to them for life, they have only to be'l
by doing you an injustice." ^
And Claire, was she changed «
and^h!.""-'' ''"'""^^\ ^^'''' '^^''' ^^^«' ^"^te a year,
and that is a great deal at sixteen
She M^as a year older, for one thing, because her
mother was a year older, too obviouslj/
A httle more of a stoop in the dignified figure
spoke of the past no longer only subdued, but
346
AGAINST THE STREAM.
■ill '
Mi
fading ; the light in which slie saw the present a
little dimmed; the fears with which she saw the
future a little darker, — tlie future which was to her
all embodied in her Claire, on whose face her eyes
woidd rest so long with such a wistful solicitude.
An era of tender concealments had beofun be-
tween the mother and cliild. When that long
gaze at last would meet the quick, anxious glance
of Claire — Claire, who had been feeling it so long,
and had not dared to look, — the solicitude would
melt instantly out of both faces ; and on one side or
the other, some tender little pleasantry would dart
out to veil the anxious care which lay beneath.
And 80 thinking, dear souls, or trying to think,
they had quite imposed on one another, they went
on. And meantime their little stratagems had
successfiilly imposed on Leontine.
"Ah, Mademoiselle," she remarked to me one
day, soon after my return, mournfully shaking her
head, and glancing from Claire (who was humming
an old nursery chanson as she arranged hu' autumn
leaves in the i . \t room) to her mother, watching her
from the couch. "That poor cherished child, she
knows no more than the babe unborn what is be-
fore her !"
" Do any of us, Leontine ?" I replied. " If she
did know, what better could she do ? "
" But the shock, Mademoiselle Bride, the wak-
ing up, think how terrible ! "
*' What is to prevent what is terrible from being
a shock, and a waking up, Leontine ?" I said, think-
to me one
d. "If she
AGAINST THE STREAM. 347
ing of Piers's illness. « Would fear help us « or
toreseeinr- ? seeing the next step ? "
"But wlien the next step may I. a precipice?"
What can we do, Leontine, but look to llim
who sees heijond the next step ? What can we wish
for them more ? Besides," I added, trying to com-
bat my own fears, « Madame is not old, She may
revive. She has such a power of life."
"Alas, Madame is old," Leontine replied.
What does Revolution mean but that the whole
• machinery of the State has gone wrong, and the
wheels spin madly round like a whirlwind instead
ot stealing round imperceptibly like the hands of
a clock? Madame lived a thousand revolutions of
the years in one day ; one day, Mademoiselle,
which she never speaks of to any unless to Miss
Loveday ; one day when the best blood of France
was shed between L'Abbaye and La Force. There
IS no turning the sun-dial backwards. Mademoiselle
over such degrees ! But to you and that angelic
child there is yet sunshine ; and in the sunshine the
birds must sing. Let them, poor innocents, while
they can ; while they can ! "
But if Claire had grown a year during tlioso
months of separation. Piers had grown and gained
more. To him, in that sickness,
" The Budden frost was sudden gain,
And gave all ripeness to the grain
It might have drawn from after heat."
m life, worth calling life, is to be measured by
years ; and he at eighteen was a being one could
r-'l 1
048
AiJAINST THE STREAM.
\\\
VS
W- . i
rest on, and did i*est on, m^Iio cared for ns all,
instead of needing to be cared for ; and if that
does not mean the best part of manhood, what
does ?
Claire met him, when we retnrned, frankly,
joyonsly, just as of old, with that combination of
French and English manners which was in her so
charming, with a gracious littk' courtesy, and a
frank shake of the hand, and a little pleasantry
about his steam-engi.ie. But when she looked up
with her happy eyes and met his, something
silenced the little pleasantry, and flushed for a mo-
ment the bright face, and troubled the smiling eves.
Was it a look in his, or only that his face was
still pale and thin ?
However it was, so it happened that they
changed towards each other. A distance came,
and a reverence, and a doubting of one another,
and a comprehension of one another, — and a death
of old things, and a creation of new, which made
them further from each other and nearer each other
than all the world besides ; yes, all the world. Piers
and I, and Claire and I, included.
On one ground they still met free from self-
consciousness, or that double self-consciousness of
love. One sacred care united them, old and yet
mournfully new, the tender, thoughtful care for
Claire's mother.
I could not but see how her eyes followed them
both, and seemed to embrace them in one deep,
motherly gaze. Sometimes I used to wonder
A GAIiYST TUB 8TEEA M. g^g
whether, jrst in this one case her olrJ V. .
it alU T? '"^ '■^*'"='- «<"'" '"'™ negotiated
t all so amieablj, and watched as a double povT
or::™ti;rt!re:rrt:ar™"'°T^'-
tl.ey did. The swee^ ::^^ZZ^Z
do to wS t ""^''!''r^ f'^'"-^. "'e distracting
uonuts Mould have vanished. ■$>! woi,I,1 ti,„
liave remained ? or would fh. „fi ■ ^ """
Could »„^ „ ■°'^"°"''i"ie other have vanished?
™"'' ""> I'-rangement have helped them t„
fi'K each other? Could any arranglla "hev
::s;trt---7^hi:^^
To attend mass and be a little pM!osov/,e was
^•tet:f;r/r "'■"'' "-^'*^'-«^^^^^^^^^
1 'orestant, and rehg.ons to the heart's coi-e w«
TpL /.'"^"il.^"-^- ''««-. I believe, JfadZ 1
tor Pier h.rnselt. But for Claire? That Protes
ant xvorld with its endless divisions, and its th n
ab e labynnth, such a seethin., ehaos, It „.,"',«
hat France was a chaos, but then France had for
tho mon>ent abandoned religion. Whef r ^tio,
i I
350
AGAINST THE STREAM.
itself, the Church itself bt^came :i chaos, what hope
for the world — what hope for little Claire drifting
to and fro on that deep ? Do;ith might, indeed, break
down those partitions, migiit reconcile all i'uithful
Bouls iu Ilim who came to atone ; for her the^e per-
plexities ah-eadj grew thin and faint ; but Claire
had to live and who would guide her through?
All \hv\ aad a thousand things more wore in
Madamc''3 softened eves as she watched th(xse two
together.
Perhaps it was well for her and for them that
the guiding thread could not be in her trembling
hands.
Our brother Francis was not changed. "We had
talked very often of him. Piers and I, during his
convalescence — in our drives, and in quiet moments
on the journey home. I knew well it was of Francis
Piers had thought when he had said in that ilrst
long conversation in Cousin Crichton's chariot,
that it was " not always easy to love our neighbors
as ourselves, especially when they were very near
neighbors and we couldn't like them."
We had confessed to each other that the feeling
which had grown up in our hearts to France's was
very little like love, was terribly like the O} 'te
of love.
When pec • whose natures grate on r«, rs at
every point are brought into contact ,■ ^h us at
every point, something stronger than a negisi: v?^ dis-
I
^GfAmST TUB Sl^HJ^AM
ool
approval, or even a fudicial ri;«i;i.«. •
J/ "^^ ijctie. Jriatred is, after nil ir, ,•<-. i
-nga «„,, dislike enkindled b/^^C."^ '^="''-
And Francis had so manv ways and „„»r.-
that we could not even tr^ to like Sl^ m T
nesses witli a diso'iiifie h,L [ , „ "^ ^''"'*-
a P«.pose,JittIe ^nS ':;," "''f '--f -tl'
to notice littlpn^r •,"'"' ^'''='"ed mean
to rcsist;;[ttn^1 thl: S' ^^'^"^'' P^"^
. '""' "Ke any shallow waters harl o <• • , '
ting way of makin.. H.flJIf- ' ^ ^"^^"'S, fret-
tie actions imt'r aft Tnd I "" '""" ^""'' ""' "'-
on the surfacr "^'"^ ""'^''' '"'-'^ "^"d
Then one ^-g^tTaLt- nTrttv^t^^^^^^
and onp jTii\v.i,<. 1 . ** ^'trva — all outside —
-.etp:::iMnre!::;nr.: ^^ r "p-^
te%,-which'was thT^rFra;!" ^ " ""I'-
some futnre state of existence T ' . °. "PP""'- ■"
only the shell of the lar™'" " " '' '^""' '"
^epH:^'^'^rttrs*^''f-<'^."^-
out the creafn-e inside jT .Y^ '"^ '" «■'<'
must ^et tn ;^ Whe„' -v 7, ""^ "'''^' ""^ ''«
In that Vict • T «*' ''"'"'^ ^^ mnst try "
that distance, m that snnshiny atmosphe^ie
6,))i
AGAINST THE STREAM.
^U
HI
Ui4 I ?
of Cousin Cric'hton's, in the joy of renewed
etrength, and of that new life of faith, every victory
eeemed so easy, every victory so sure to inaugurate
a conquest !
So we came home ; and we did try. It seemed
as if Francis must have changed, too, and must
recognize our new purpose and meet us in it.
But there he was, as smooth and impenetrable
as ever, with no more idea there was an3'tliing
wliich required change in him than the Apollo
Belvidere ; there they were again, the old difficul-
ties, as real, as impossible not to dislike, as difficult
not to have struck into active fire as ever.
One misfortune was that he combined mv
father's genial manner with ray stepmother's cold
and superficial character. It seemed to me some-
times as if their natures were so unlike, that the
nature which sprang from them had a kind of ne-
cessity of falseness in it, from the impossibility of
any true blending of the elements.
He had taken to one habit which was new, at
least new in form. In childhood he always, as I
have said, continued to glide into possession of our
rights, our toys, coveted place in games, in short
of whatever coin was the currency of our childish
treasures, while we had been referred to the Sermon
on the Mount to satisfy our claims.
Kow that he was sixteen, and money, — the
coin of the large world — became his currency, he
began to borrow money. In the easiest way.
His week's allowance was not due until to-morrow,
AGAINBT THE STREAM. 353
lud offored wh,ch would be lost tcMnorrow ; or some
one had lent him a trifle, and he knew ne ther our
fuUv nor Rers would like the family .0 be n
debt for such a bagatelle. And of course the mor"
row of payment never came.
to tifi^k 'f r'' ^""7 """'' " "^""'^ ungenerous •
lur r^ °"''T''/"'J " ""elty to dream of tellin.
d -^ r And yet onr little pocket allowance
the • to^he f r,"r,™' «^"'""S further and fur-
ther into the fatal habit of doing what he liked
nnd havng what he liked, without conntLi tie'
" But what was to arouse him 3 "
To all onr remonstrances he opposed his con]
■mpenetrability and his genial nian^er °'
Once indeed he was so far roused by a very
earnest warning, as to say that if Piers made t so
thin!:t:;rd"f:r::^e^L\t::i^r''
rr;^Si:."-^-'----^^^^^^^^^
Whst ought we t.. do ? Each successive ..riev
a ce was so small, ii ..emed impossible to ro"bTe
our father with it, deep as his hatred of debt and
i™ oveof us all was. And moreover, not C^
our tenderness for ,.,ur father, but our ve y fL" of
being hard on Fi« .,%, kept us back. ^
#'^
.^.^ i
■
1
f
H
*
■j i
1
m
354
AGAINST THE 8TREAM.
It would have been to i,ne**namnil man," In
both of us, such a righteous satisfaction to have
tho.e ancient interpretations of the Sermon on the
Mcr.nt disproved, and to see that disguise, to us so
thin, to others apparently so impenetrable, shaken
olf, that we dared not lift a linger to hasten the
revelation.
*' What will be the end of it, Piers ? " I said.
« Debt, hopeless debt," he said gravely. ^ " Dis-
grace for us all, perhap. Because, happily for
Francis, this is not a world constructed so as to
make deb^ in the long-run either pleasant or possi-
ble."
It was on a wintry Sunday atlernoon. We
were walking on the hill^Me behind the garden,
over the field-path, iron-bound with frost, cakes of
ice in the litt' creeks of thf Leat whore we used
to harbor our lieets, blades of grass stilf and white
with frozen dew.
From the gi -^y Tors, sharply defined ? ■ • ainst the
frosty wintry-blue of the sky, came a keen air,
bracing every nerve and mnscV .
From the great phila u-opic! combats of Clap
ham we had come back i ac Ittle pricking diffi-
culties ! And yet nevei .uelesb the whole atmos
phere —moral, mental, and physical— felt to me
more in /igorating, more such as one's full strength
might develop, and do its finest work in.
I, in my way, had brought with me countless
schemes for the transplanting of Clapham philan-
thropic works into the virgin soil of Abbot's Weir.
Hi
i full strength
^'^'^I^Sr TBS SrjlEAM.
Piers ' ] •
good «-„;,::„.;:;^:t; 'i^^^^^^^^-^^t «„ one .,„„„
to ll«5 best wav of,..,,-,.,' ■* ' " "''"'*"" '"'ill as
'0 "o a.,.,eU,ei a nX' :?,:"!, >!"n - "e.ievc"
long icides were hlTJ t^^"^' ^"ir.
7> '- were creli IJXin '""'? '""■^■'••'«' A-t
empty. "'''y "tM; Eei,be>i'a porch
'hen'Itd'rtf^°-'«'"«fo,.,.p,.oJeet,a„d
Around the oW man'. 7
«'"-eo litHe children Clr '''"" ^'"'^'^'^
«'«-. as J,o nscd .; Piers a de"' '"'''"" ^'"°
-riere have we bpon r« j •
-ritrs, I whispered '» n,^ ^ "'" s^'^nd schemes,
begun ! » ^ '^'"^« ^^e Methodists have
" "i'es," said Piers «fT,« rp,
ster is something. But Z ZT^' ""^ ^^'^^^i-
^^ong the hiJis^eome tst ' '^'^"-^^ ''^'^ ™
*' -And thev are more f > t • •
"AtaJIevents"h 7- •^''"'^'^•
been no river without 'hem!'"^' "''"'" ^^^^dhave
h!'
-/Ty'"^"*^
U i
i i
CIIAPTEK XXIV.
^UT iiiost of all I found the change in
Atnice. She had chan<i;ed outwardly, aa
uo one else had. Her face was thinner,
her p:reat dark eyes seemed larger, and
looked further into one, than ever.
I saw it even in that minute when the post-
chaise stopped at the gate for her welcome to us.
And the first day I spent at Court I felt it
more.
She said she had missed me and ray " good in
everything," and had fallen deeper than ever into
lier " dualism." " Except," she said, " that the du-
alism is only on the surface now, far enough down
indeed, Bride ; yet underneath is soinething else.
Underneath is the Atonement, Bride, the Fatlier
and the Son, the Manger and the Cross, and man
reconciled. At the very root of all is not dualism,
but the incarnate crucilied Christ. At the very
heart of all is the light. That I never lose. But
oh! the conflict between the light ard darkness
goes down terribly far, and goes in terribly far,
and goes on teJi'ibly long 1 "
AGAINST THE UTREAM. 35^
Madam Glanvil's afo«i «
And slfe mis ;.o Vff! : ^""'P «™l--io"» glances.
and doaf„e^° sl.o wielded ' ' P''«"g«'-« <-* -go
pieasH ti:;'t Ud '^'^ ""' "'"- "- '""f
AmL. !i i ^ "" '""^ ^'^^ <^'^'^t thev did tell
Amice did not u-i^ni tlsp-n -^r
evade them ^ .u- " ^' ^'' ^''''" s^em to
them. Somethmg seemed to have taken pos-
i. I
aiaaaaiaf r i — rr • -i -nim
358
AGAINST THE STREAM.
m
session of her inmost heart which compelled her to
receive those stabs, and let the iron enter into her
soul.
A severer legislation also prevailed with regard
to Chloe and those " lazy brutes," Cato and Caesar.
" They should be made to understand their place,
if other people did not understand it for them,
Madam Glanvil was determined."
Poor Cliloe and Cato and Ciesar were entirelv
prohibited from attending the Methodist meetings.
Happy enough for them if they -were allowed
to enter the church, like their betters. In their
own country they would probably have been
knocked on the head long before this, as sacrifices
to some idol or devil. In the plantation they
would have been driven to the cane-work, and
might have been glad, idle creatures that they
were, if they escaped Sunday without a flogging,
say nothing of psalm-singing."
She was cruel in words, Amice thought, be-
cause deeds were impossible. The possibility of
cruel deeds, Amice always said, would have awa-
kened her to mercy.
It is said words do not break bones, but they
break worse than bones. Altogether, the three ne-
groes had now a cowed and humble look, dreadful to
me to see in a dog, much more in a human being.
In general their good humor and light-heaited-
ness won them ii' treatment in the household.
But tl.'jy, especially t;^ men, were often thought-
,less and (jhildish, and the spirit of tyranny is too
if «
AeAIAST TUB STREAM.
iiiv is too
359
2'3y to be evoked, especially in those who are
themselves accustomed to he on the lowelt str
the dntdges of the petty tyranny of otherl ''
with J >"» ""^ ""^ '=""''^'' ""d ^n^ious look
- il'wirref ,?:r"'"KrT''''^^^p«''■-
bea,■ the bWa toSL ''"""'' ""' "'^^ ""^'^'
I said so to Amice.
d. ni'/T'" '^^ '^^^''^' "^^^'^^ ^^'^"t down into tho
tut V^" T 'f '." P^^''^^ "P ^^^ ^^- ^e ^
luaes.je.e. Besides, Br de," she addpri "nii
otse f rJC ''' ''''-' ''""' - ^ «'- i-t bl
agailltCLtwder^- «"--'-'".
&™nl"alto^:;ef*^, ^'T''' "'""^'^ '-™
".^■.eCnJ^rn r:dV;ro^^^^
^,*eel sure IshouM break- thein»r;sr;f^^;::
360
AGAINST THE STMEAM.
m
Ih
1 '
the terrible thing is, she keeps me in fetters, and
imijrisons me with love. Yes ; yon may look aston-
ished ; with love. Granny loved my father better
than her own life ; and now she loves me better than
my own happiness. She has nursed me like the ten-
derest mother through dangerous infectious illness-
es—through a fever I brought with me from the
West Indies, and through small-pox. She took the
small-pox. You can see the marks now in her fine
stem old face. Only one or two ; but there they are.
And she bore it for me. She loves me in that kind
of w^ay, that if, for instance, I were in love with some
one she thought it unwise for me to marry, she would
let me pine away and die, rather than let me marry
as she did not like. And then she would sit alone
until she died, and never take another creature to
her heart, and never have a doubt that she had done
the best thing for me that she could. Remember,
she has never had her will crossed all her life ; and
she clings to her own will as a martyr to his faith.
She loves me, and hates what I care most about —
my poor slaves, and religion. She thinks the
negroes a set of idle savages, unfortunately neces-
sary conditions of West Indian property, who are
always, by their obstinacy and folly, defrauding
me of the revenue my fathers plantations ought to
yield. She will no more go into the question, what
right we have to enslave them, than into the ques-
tion, what right we have to break in horses. Of
course, neither horses nor negroes like it : but ex
CGpt
lor
our eonvenieuce, there is no need for
AOAIJfsr TUE STBBAM.
1 361
I'orses or negroes fo live at aJl Ti,
hunted down like wolves Ti , T °^ "'""" ^e
down like wolves in \frij\'-^ °^"'"'"''<'''»*^^
^^"gion. Si,e declare; w'tf^M^T ^''*'" *^ '"
.Vans, Baptists, all of , ^ ^ ^'''^-^' ^o-
■nsurreetion ; andof th^i! . '"^'^''^^ «» '»
'■•ons she sp'eaks w tld^ 1"''""™ "'="-«"
know she can. And as tn . P'""""'*^' ^ Joa
"■•'^ not in the least decree T ,"°^' ^'' ''^"'^^
Of course there is no 1. '^''?''"'" °° ""dence.
'>ogroessheiss!mp"y ™T^''''^- towards the
»«.ropists and rZ^Z tT. "" P'"'"
natical." ^^ ^"^ ^^ absolutely fa-
"Yes,"sheLi''"'.T::3ir"^i— -."
"■0 Weslevan meetings I Lach^! ^!"r ""-^
'I'o Joved in the world hJ " '""^ '"*** ">"
life and son!, as G^a^n-Z t'.'"" ''"'' ^''™<1 "'e,
'■"t'.atperii;,s^^2 ";;' r°""'-'^^"''M
»i"8, iniquitous ; em" r '"h n."' *""■'"•<'•
that one delight those 1, "^ *^'"'"' '"'<^ ""'j
liynns she could undi fT ^''"^'"'^ ""'' ««"g
™"st not be robbed ^"■"' ""*' """ *''^'» CWo^
^^And you did not succeed?"
J did succeed with Grannv fl,.
"ogry. She stonned and n»dat T '°'y
said Chloe might jro at h.n , "^ ' ''"' *''"
She had been bro„21 ^' Z" ""^^^ ""-.
-- i^ut natural «h^sho»ld' h-kril ICTi,!'; tli'
fI
Hi 1
ri '
303
AGAINST THE STREAM.
Methodists set on the slaves to deeds of devils
tliere was not the shadow of a doubt."
" So Chloe went again ? "
" Ko, Chloe would not go. She laughed and
cried, and asked if I thought the dear Lord could
only be found at meetings. The prayers were
good ; but soon we should get where we were be- ■
yond praying ; and the hymns were good, very
good, and very comforting, and we should have
plenty of them soon. Was she going to make
missis and m'ssie at war because of her getting a
little bit of comfort a little bit sooner ? Was that
like the good Lord ? And so Chloe will not go."
" And Madam Glanvil still persists that the
negroes if different from brutes, are only different
because they can be savages ? "
" Yes, you know, she always persists. The per-
sistence is from within ; anything outside does not
affect it. The trial is to love both. Bride — Granny
and the slaves, and the missionaries ; oppressor and
oppressed ; to love all, and to be able to help none."
" That will not last long," I said.
" Not always," she replied. " But it does last
rather long. However I have found some com-
fort."
She went up the ladder, and took down a book
from the shelves ; a clumsy, badly bound old book,
on yellow, coarse paper, in what seemed to me
Black Letter. For at that time the German lan-
guage as little formed an ordinary part of an Eng-
iome eom-
AOAmST THE STBBA3I. ggg
mrS ''"""■™' "" ^"^'^^ ^™^--. called
"At last I have found the Christians who takp
P the cross, the real hard, heavy, d s"l
Wave's cross," she said, « and care fo peoprta;
because no one eke does ; the ChristianL tjZ
I took the homely old books in my hand • the
ui uiucience that implies in our Entrlisi,
thoii^^Iitand education ! -^n^^Ush
Coleridge was at this very time making his
fi s d,ve .nto thatgreat ri.er of German tWH^r
itself but recently issued from its subterrnean
course to the davJio-l.f tk ^* ''^^ucenanean
gonetostud^t^Gfii.rrb^r::;::''^''^''
Pa-phr^se of Schiller': ^'^I^L^^^^
ta.nly not reached Abbot's Weir • and vtLT
was ,.0 busy with its own literatZ' ttt^Z
and .ts education of the world, white and bla k tJ
leave much e sure for any other literature of Jd"
ftcafon, St. I less for any literature which it wo^.Id
).ave regarded as not tending to edification a™,,
Amice ^"^Twrrisf;"'"^' "'1 ^°'^'''" -"*
I,,,! fl, V^'^ '""'^ a^ ■' '">• good Brethren had
haa them printed ami bound in some experimeu'd
•motherly wo,.u„,,, „, I ,,,, ^^, „^^^ p^;;;'-tai
-i-Jiey look as quaint and dr^ or^ -i i ^ i •
T' I
f'l
364
AGAINST THE STREAM.
m
eel as some of Loveday's Quaker books," I said.
" And very likely they are as living and true."
"As fresh and living as the New Testanjent,
almost, they seemed to me," she said, kissing one
^ of them— "a great deal fresher and youngei^than
tiie Apostolic fathers, except Ignatius, and bits of
that epistle to Dioguetus." She had explored so
many odd corners of thought in that library.
" And it is such a comfort they are in German," she
added, •' because Granny is not suspicious of them,
as she has grown to be of some of my books. Un-
ibrtunately (no, not unfortunately !) she discovered
the other day a copy of John Wesley's ' Thoughts
upon Slavery,^ and threw it into the lire. How-
ever, she had read it first. She had read it through,
and the plain, strong English has sunk into her
conscience, I know, as it did into mine ; for she is
continually bringing out bits of it to worry, or to
throw at me, by which I know they worry her.
Anti-slavery societies will never create a nobler ap-
peal than that. I know much of it, happily, by
heart, as Granny does by conscience. •
" Can human law tu?m darkness into light, or
evil into good? he writes. Notwithstanding \en
thousand laws, right is right, and wrong is wrong
still ; t/iere must still remain an essential difference
between justice and injustice, cruelty and wrong.
"One by one, besides, it answers all Granny's
favorite arguments.
You say. It is necessity ! ' he says, speakino-
of the dreadful slave-stealing and slave sliips. /
AGAINST THE STREA3f. 3^5
deny that vdlany ,,s eve, necessary. A man ran
Oe tmder no necessitu of deararJJ^n h ' yf
1 on call your lorefathers wolves ' said C .-nn
i^y, in uncoufessed reply to tin's. ' You sa^ "
made the slaves stupid and wicked. Th il vhlt
in inodern days, is called filial piety I ' '
'"'Jits necessary to my gaining a hcndred
t^ousa?id pounds,' WoRhy o-op, ^n i
theobjectof. 'IdenutlZ. ' ^^''^'natizing
is neces^aru fnt '^^''''^^'^^"'''^^^'^^^9 a thousand
'T.'^^^'^'ZZ-T''''' '' ''''^''^ happiness:
,.-.f«' ^^t^^odists are Anabaptists-Comnni
iiists, says Grannv. ' Tliev would rn.i "'""
rmo f,v +1 • ," •' "^in^ reduce everv
one to their own beggarly level.' *
_ '"'It is necessary for the loealth and qlorv or
objeetoi. TFm^^A «,. not ',iscessary to the aloru
fpna,^on: he replies ; ^..wi, ..^/"^Jf
country— these are necessary to the alorv n/n
^--, ^.^ abundance of n^ealth is nj'^ '^ " """
caily !"l"v ''d ^^!!",^-^^.>'" Isaid, parentheti-
" ^;^-^mnj lias read that, at all event. " «hn
;-epliod. " I know it because'she called m'w
ey atrajtor to his country, worse than fFreTct
clear-
3ther a Jacobite or a Jafol
-probably both in the
'', siio is not
germ. However, the
36(3
AGAINST TUB STREAM.
m
*s
Vi
book lias burnt itself in. What I long to know
is, if the tender appeal at the end to the hearts of
the slaveowners, and to God for help to the help-
less, has touched her. I think it must. It is
good. Bride, to liave the planters appealed to is if
they also had souls and hearts. Sometimes I
think some of jour anti-slavery friends a little
forget that. It is difBcult to love oppressor and
oppressed as hoth human creatures ; after all, botli
astray arid lost, and sorely in need of help. Per-
haps there is some good, after all, in having to do
it, not with one's wise, philanthropical heart only,
but with one's foolish, trembling, quivering, natural
heart, as I cannot help doing ; painful as it is."
Then, hugging her clumsy German books to
her heart, as she might a living creature that felt
being petted, she took me up stairs into her bedroom
— that delightful old room in the oldest gable of
the old Elizabethan house, partly in the roof, with
low mullioned windows, looking far over tiie woods
and the river to the grey moorland hills.
On the floor were piled heaps of books on all
subjects, in many languages. Amice had no fancy
for dainty fittings. Her luxuries were of another
kind from those of Cousin Crich ton's house ; poeti-
cal, rather than comfortable, or picturesque.
The sole luxuries of that room were the capa-
cious old escritoire that had belonged to her father,
with a fascinating treasury of small drawers and
pigeon-holes, and a desk that drew out ; and tliose
ever-increasing heaps of books which were poor
A0AIN8T THE STRKAM.
; to know
hearts of
)tlie lielp-
st. It is
sd to !i8 if
aetiiiies I
is a little
;*essor and
r all, both
Blp. Per-
ing to do
leart only,
ig, natural
as it is."
books to
e tbat felt
r bedroom
gable of
roof, with
the woods
>ks on all
i no fancy
)f another
se; poeti-
ne.
the capa-
)er father,
iwers and
and tliose
*vere poor
Chl(
367
wi.eli «e luid spent so many liours of talk in
w.to^t.nights,o,.i„tl,el,ea[„fsn„,,lt;n::
INow, she said, as we seated onrselve« " I
will tell you the history of me and rnvr!,''
books. Whenyou won't awa^l t jI^™,™
I had nothing but books left to talk ont m7C rt
to, I came, m a corner of a cupboard of the iibrarv
on son,e ,.cords of tl,e Missions of "the p „; o
called Moravians" m Greenland and in the West
Mies And I saw that the flrst mission to the
Debt /r ""' ^'°""" "^^ =* '"'"• ''""'^'J I-^<'»'"»-d
iJober, a Moravian potter from Ilerrnliiit, who, on
a journey to Denmark wi.Ii Count Zin.endorf, net
a West Indian negro slave, and was so touched with
compassion for the misery of those poor helpless
blacks, tliat he set his wiiole heart on going to tell
hem they hada Saviour. He set hi h^art „
A.S so fixedly, that being told by objectors there
was no other way of teaching the slaves but by
becoming a slave, h, j>T,^oeed to iecm. a slal
Umself, that driven to the daily toil with them
working in the plantations among tliem, and shar-
ome of them It seemed to me as absolnteiy
taking up the Cross and following Christ as any-
thing m this world ever was."
"Did lie do it?" I asked.
in»t"tf ^ ^"f''' ^^^ *'^ ""' ^^y- I' ^'"'^^'i
jnst there. Bnt m the same cnnboard T I'.uud
some German boots which, by the words '^to
! 1
'I'll
-
i;;^*
368
AOAlNSr THE STREAM.
t>
i».ii
PI
1 I
Fnitrun, on tlie outside, I knew mnst be about
these same Moravians. Of course I was deter-
mined to find out, and if one lias set one's mind on
finding out anything, of course one does not lot a
lan«>;uac:e stand in one's way. Granny seeing mi;
one day with those books, gave a little sigh, and
shook her head pathetically, for her.
"'Poor foolish Aunt Prothesea ! ' said she.
'Yes, that comes of being wilful, and taking
up with strange notions. She went to London
and met a crazy foreigner who called himself a
Count, as thny generally do. And this Count
made her ? .rtAy as himself. Some new religion
he had, noi ;.i t oi^ether Popish or Protestant. They
used crucifixes, and lived in connnunities ; not
exactly monasteries, for they married ; which was,
of course, better than being monks and nuns — unless
they married the wrong people, which poor Aunt
Prothesea did. She went to some unpronounce-
able place in Saxony, married some one they called
an Elder of the Church, not ill-born, they said,
but older, at all events, than herself about half
a century, I believe. And naturally he died ; and
unnaturally she pined for her Elder. They put
her into a widows' house, as they called it, and she
didn't like it ; who would ? To be classified like
the vicar's beetles ; or like adjectives and substan-
tives in the grammar ; or like all the people who
are one eyed and one-armed ; classified, and penned
up with a lot of women. So she came hack to
Court, and had a room given her ; your room it
AOAmST THE STMEAM.
be about
ras detcr-
3 mind on
3 not lot a
ieeinc: iin;
sigb, and
said she.
d taking
London
himself a
is Count
V religion
It. They
ities ; not
t'hicb was,
IS — unless
)oor Aunt
ironounce-
hej called
they said,
bout half
iied ; and
They put
it, and she
ssilied like
i substan-
eople who
tid penned
e back to
ir rooju it
869
not only not in a k„,.,m,.e but .mf ,, , .
"ny rational ,.cr«o„ -an r^ad ' Yn I '" "'P"""
booM"' '" ''" ""' •™" ■™>-""''S -"- about the
summer lividf^ vm, i. . , ^- ^"cl so, all this
«cr unue, you havma: deserted me I >,avo
been Imng with my great Annf P !
l^er United Brethren A 7 ^^othesea, and
WdoublydStf"'this ]/'" 'T' ^^""^
to me or what X '^ ''''^"' ^^^« become
auntln/h "P^"'^^''"^^^-'^'"d my great
aunt lias become to me. I rpnrl fi.^ i ^
^he sang them to me. TlL are na f T"' f '*
I^eden-orSnnfz^ir :;,:^^^^^^^^^^^^
daring, oquiverint w Uh ll T, "' '" '""""S ™'l
fJn T *i ^ '^^""o ^^'ith life, those words of ^av
unguarded, unbalanced, k^i^ -" -^ ' \me.in~-
24
bold, full, free, like the
fiVM
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
M
Vi
1.0
I.I
■ 10
u m
1^ 1^
1^ 12.2
u
•^ 1.
40
IL25 i 1.4
2.0
1.6
iiuujgicipniC
Sciences
Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(716) 873-4503
J\
■^
#
V>
rv
1^1,-
i/.i
JJ7-
370
AGAINST THE STREAM.
M '
Bible, and tJien a thousand other sides, like our
human hearts, like the Bible, and like no other relig-
ious books that I knov>'. Not a bit of grey in them,
not a neutral tint ; every color and every tint
and every shade, to meet all the countless shades
and colors, the countless thirsts and hungers, and
joys and sorrows of our hearts."
" But Luther was not a Moravian ?" T said.
How dim the name of Luther was to me ! like a
mere Heading in a catalogue ; and to Amice ho
ivas a living man— yes, living, then and now,
once and forever ?
" JSTo, certainly," she said ; " Luther was not a
Moravian. He was Luther. Nor am 1 a Mora-
vian," she added, with her little quick dropping of
laughter. "I am Amice Glanvil, your Amice.
Your Amice, who goes to church every Sunday,
and has no intention of becoming an adjective, or
an atom, in any community, married or unmarried,
even the best in the world. Were you afraid I was
in process of transformation ? "
I had been a little afraid as to what those curi-
ous black letters might lead. They connected
themselves in my mind in some unreasonable way
with black arts and mystical ideas. There were
Jacob Bohme, Swedenborg, and sundry mysti3al
and unutterable Teutonic personages, of whom I
had a vagjie idea that they were a kind of Protest-
ant Simeon Stylites, or Faqueers, M'ho, in some
symbolical way, adapted to European practicabili-
ties, lived on pillars, or stood permanently on one
'^<^^'^rNST THE STREAM.
ponentoof Mr. Wesl^v , 7- u """*"'• "'• <« op-
<-^ fo,™ of AnaS; ^"^""^^^^'="'^^'^4
Amice admitted thof fK*
me that the W 1 ' ,1 '"' T? '™''- ■^"' ^'"' '««
's'orn,, on the vovao-o acm« H ^ , *^°''-""'"8 in a
Wesley and Count Zinzenlrf V ' '"'"""■' *^'--
that it bein.. shnnlt f"'"''''"'»"''"gs,and
^othrei,„i„%rs„zr;he'; •''^' '-^^ ^"°"''
dom had become a „7.e™'t v hTJr "^'^^ ^'"S'
«- of opinion wlneh S;d^;i "'"'^ '^'■«''^'-
aocident. "ivmed them was a mere
»-'e:e:.!rpt.:of4-hr
-M.-. w->/himse?fii: trr Z"'^'^^'
■noment, that the different,! L ?""'"' "' one
one of words. '"""''^''" them was only
»"4til*^:tn!:', [»?;•-* ■•" '>o>iness,
a state i„ which Mne^^^^^^^^^^
Count Zi„.o„d„rf , T" "'«'"«tive.
■'"^ contended for holiness a.
rV
372
AGAINST THE STREAM.
being not so much a commandment as a promise
to the Christian ; in other words, for faith in Christ
as making the desire of holiness instinct; for
sanctification, not as a constrained work, as the
spontaneous free fruit of the Spirit.
Both looked on holiness as the great aim and
the great promise; both looked to Christ as its
source ; both regarded taith as the surrender of the
whole being, the dependence of the whole being
on God, as the means.
If there waA a difference, it was that Wesley
looked on this free, glad, instinctive goodness as
the attainment of the advanced saint, Zinzendorf
as the right of the simplest child who lives by the
new life ; that Wesley dwelt on the Christian life
more as a warfare—the Moravians more as a growth ;
on the resisting evil, the Moravians m-, m the
conquest of evil by good.
Amice at all events had evidently found her in-
tellectual element in the German literature, and
her especial spiritual element in that old book of
German hymns. Her beautiful, white spirit-wings
seemed to expand and grow strong in it.
I cannot say whether there may not have been
some unreasonable and exaggerated hymns among
them. I have yet to tind the hynm-book which I
should not think enriched by omissions.
Bat,. first through Amice's sympathetic transla-
tions, and afterwards by their own simple pro-
found, inimitable words, those hynms have grown
into a portion of my own life ; so that I feel as un-
3 a 'promise
th in Christ
stinct ; for
ork^ as the
jat aim and
Jlirist as its
Gnder of the
rhole being
hat "Wesley
goodness as
, Zinzeudorf
lives by the
Ihristian life
as a growth ;
ii« m the
"ound her in-
erature, and
old book of
spirit-wings
it.
3t have been
ymns among
>ook which I
IS.
betic transla-
simple pro-
, have grown
I feel as nn-
AQAINtiT THE STUBAM
«We to j„dgo tl,em critically as thp v.-
«•"« mo lullabies in infancy V'l T. *''''^''
- on-gina, atCaetion wa Zcont L^ , '•""•'''
found peace to the wav ,-,. i ^^^^''^ of tlieir pro-
tho contrast of ,017'^ v"\ '^^'" ^''''' '^^ ^^^ I
-m with herna^rl t nl'T '"' ^"^-^^^"^^ ^'
^^-^btlese reIation:^r::i^^^^^^
-t,^:St;5:S^^^ -e.
with us, fo/^THs ir^n^'^"*^^; ^"^--
Btant to be separated ;r oh. "'''' ^"' ""^ "^'
eternity, as seUe i" Hit ''"""^' ^'^ ^^ ^"
liieir theology is Jesus:-"
"DudessenmenscUlichLeben
Dasunsereseligmacht; '
Du desson Geist aufgeben
OenGeistunswiederb.-acht
Den wir verloreu halten •
DuunserFleiscliund Be-in-
AcUunterdeinemSchatten '
IsfsguteinMenschzuseyn"
A«:;p:^tf:::::iZ::-,?rct;''^,f- Widowed
t.me, when I think,,„; J ,;^;f j I -".le some-
tJ'ought her. and how h^ ' .!!! 1":'.!'?''"^" "'«/
must have snn
O'
rr
h
*,
:.'l'
mi
III
H
374
AOAINST THE STEEAAf,
and been at rest here over these dear old books,
in this dear old room."
" And these are the words, Bride, in which
Leonhard Dober taught our poor black slaves.
For I found the end of that story. He went in
spite of all discouragement to those poor outcasts,
not exactly as a slave, but poor, despised, as one
ready to be, in all things except sin, one with them.
He reached those poor broken hearts. 'Sweet,
too sweet,' they said, ' are the tidings you bring
to us.'
' That deep abyss of blessed love
In Jesus Christ to us unsealed '
was unsealed to hundreds of those parched and
weary hearts. So easy it was to them to confess
themselves to be ' nothing,' wretched, sinful ! In
Antigua the planters acknowledged that Chris-
tianity as taught by tl:e Moravians made the ne-
groes worth tx-^ice as much as slaves. And now
there are congregations of Christian negroes in
many of the islands ; some Moravian and some
Methodist. Zinzendorf's followers and Wesley's
do agree there. Ah, Bride, I often think, if we
could get down low enough, we should all agree
here ; as when we get np high enough we shall
all agree there.''
" But Bride," she added, " I have a little hid-
den hope, that it seems almost a treachery to you
to have ; yet almost a treachery if I have it, to
hide from you."
We were sitting on that low window-seat.
tvindoW'Seat.
^^^IN8T rUE STREAM.
tliem against her face ' Pressed
legal expenses 1 ^J'" "^ """k- The flnes,
the poor enfnl 1 T ' " '™''"'' ""J after all
)-ipLs, r„^™t rtrrr r '' '-' '*'" '^--'^
aricious white w1,o 0^1^ ''™1 ""^ '''"^ ''^-
>"o« than „.ere Iner hit T " ""=™- ^' '^
give to mj slaves." •* ^ ''''"" °»« ■''ay to
" I know, I linoiy ' " T ^a\A i.
l.er books had been bnl ' Z^:Z'''\ """ ^"
o^m part with ,o„, A,nioe. ntw"! I ^T'
^lii marrv nnri «,, , -^-•■-'vv can i { I-'iers
How can'l C^ZZ ""'- "'" ''*'"'' "''""S-
blacks are savies Td tT f "'^"- ^^ '''«
them worse." "' "" P'""""-^ "■■« some of
- Jun'tn'C^^j '""^a^'t'";"^ ''''' -"-
will have to help sTn^C^ IT ^ ''" ^^-^ ^'°"
will help n,e mwe Zn •'■°'" ^''"- '^o"
wa.,hereasi„the.^ostIndS"^'o;7„;r
,' f/^
fp"
376
AGAINST THE STREAM,
ravians will not hear of self-denial. 'Do you
think it was self-denial to the Lord Jesns,' Count
Zinzendorf said to John Wesley, ' when he camo
down from heaven to rescue a world ? ' No, Bride
it was love^ and that swallows up everything ; and
first of all selfy which it has not done yet for me."
esus,' Count
CHAPTER XXY
TERS and I were verv fnll ^t
But to 118 in Abbot's -Weir fn tl,„ ^
■•epresented an advance which l^P ^T' ''
and to CJaire and Ami^P » '"■' ^""^ '"«.
any romance. To he ' T 'T '"'"'"^ """>
Abbot's Weirit 1 elenZr ,'™ '^'^"'^"' "'
ress, most daring, nourl m '"""i °' P"S-
i«»l- "Utopian" Ji'^J^j^'j''" »."<i Chinier-
™til the country rtU h" ''^ "^ngements,
The principles <^f the Chi ""T"^ '' ^'"""'o-
incileated Lni the plif !" t'"^"' ''■""" ^'
Ifsacredthingsarelol 7t' t ^ ""^''"''"' *° do.
by boys and g r wWt f ' '" '»""''■•'■"" ''""""'^
nifv? A , ^, ^^' ^^lat becomes of theiV =^].
-ty? ^''d-batg..aranteehaveyo„:h:;a:'::t
v^
378
AGAINST THE STREAM.
) I
teaching heresy and schism? My opinion is tluit
you will liud these schools nurseries of separa-
tists."
" But mothers have to teach, Uncle Fyford,"
1 said.
" Then let mothers teach, my dear," he replied,
*' the clergy, and parents, are undeniable author-
ities. Indeed, the more I think of it the more it
seems to me a decidedly dangerous disturbance of
the designs of Providence."
" But you cantiot teach all the children, Uncle
Fyford, and the mothers don't. If we oidy taught
them the Catechism and a little of the Bible, it
could hardly be heresy ; could it ? "We can send
them to say the Catechism and their texts to you
when they know them."
" Thank yon, my dear. But really I am not
used to children, and the duties of my office are
onerous enough already."
" AVe thought so, uncle. And so, you will let
us try and help you a little ? Perhaps you would
even set us a few lessons? Or you will examine
the children, and give the prizes, if they deserve
any?"
" My dear, lessons for little children are really
not in my way." If you do indeed keep to the
Catechism and the Bible — the Gospels — I should
say, I daresay, after all, you will not go far
wrong.
" You could always come and see us, you know,
Uncle Fyford. And if you can only grant us the
AOAimr THE STJiEAM.
great favor wo Imv. f^ i
i" easy ,.oHr;vv:.at;r:r''"" •'•''"'•■-
wit),." "" °"' eclioolroom to begiu
Z\f "'•' !' '^. " <'-^" of rubbisi,."
«'7>aeo, wbieh we, w^ D ej "ai7f ''';"" "*'
onsly critically explored TP ' ""^ •"'«"•
windows whiii. cJ^^Id etilv he '''"'l^'"'^'"^'' "P
» little boardin. &> the fll "'"i'""' '' ""'' "■'"•
'■ng of the roof a « o , "J ""' " ''"'"^ ■•<•■?"■-
books, a desT»d at fn" " '"* '""'''"""''
«'o.. be complete ' P''«P«'-'"ions would
"Your 'Eilirrfr ''^'■' ""• '""'■ '■«««'«'"'l^.
:-o- own 4':: '^ iTZ T '" ^""'"'^
P"^ I did not n-ate-the^'isf ".'!/""'■='•;'
would have made an excel., ,t ^ '• ^'
Coleontera. The .„ "'"'""" ""'senm for ,„y
But p'erhaps Ifw '" a^iri"'^ ''"'''^"■
>vhole for some neol t " '''"'^'' <>" "'e
Utopian schemel-? ' '''""="' °^ '"»•"« t«d,
"MydrXiS''hr"-f"""'-
several shelves of those 1, ''' P°"'"ng to
to him the de i"h to „r •'■'"" ^''^'"''' '" «W*
ool.„hts of nn.»ss,on and of perpetual
at those- venerable
seareli were blended 'Mook ar n
oiumes. TJiej^ represent the theol
■i '.i
ogical
re-
fif
380
AGAINST THE STREAM.
searches of the wisest men of iiiunv centuries.
Eacli of them imagined he had reached a conclu-
sion on wliich Christendom might rej)oso, and be
at accord. And jou see Christendom is not at re-
pose or at accord. And you hope to make all this
plain to babes in a lew broken hours 1 It does
sound a little chimerical."
" But, Mr. Rabbidge," I said, " the babes have
to grow up and to be good, if tliey can. And wo
cannot wait until the folios are finished, and Chris-
tendom is at repose, can we, to try and help
them ? "
" Theology is a difficult science for young la-
dies to handle," he replied, "although it is one
which every tinker used to think he could fathom,
and which, for the feminine mind, seems to pos
sess irresistible attractions."
" We do not want to teach them theology, if
that means the contents of all those folios," I said,
"I am sure. How can we dream of such a
thing ? "We want to teach them something about
Christianity ; how God has loved us, and how wo
can show our love to Him."
" Christianity also is a large word, Miss Bride,"
he said, " and has many aspects. This scheme, 1
repeat, seems to me a little chimerical. Moreover,
I confess I consider it rather an interference with
the order of nature to take the children from their
parents for religious instruction. But I have no
doubt it \\'\\ do the babes good to be an hour or
two every Sunday with you and your brother.
AOAINST THE STREAM. ggj
And," he added patlietit-illv «T u
«"d the ".st„„.;j„ ;;';;• j^^?" .™" »-iii
tlian I have." '^"*""' '>™«>tion
" WfelrJr ''''"^''' "'''"'='"'™ "^"^ ">»■•« immovable
"'«■" are parents for," said she ",Y,J '^""
to teach their ehildre.; relWon 2 'f " f-''' f" ""'
Sundays for if H,„„ . re't'on * And what are
peopie^re'CtTs";::;'i[;;.T.'»-.r'-'''"^
-sider the p,f„ ,, oC J ' j, ^a':™ '^ ' '
cai, upsetting parcnt-il a„n,„„-. '^raimi-
ftmily life °C" ;, "'■'^'•''"'^ intrndingon
will Lr„ .wo ;: •"''"" "' "'« f'"™- '-'"-Wren
despise .,.eirTa;i;;s\asr;^r''r''°
And meantime yon set tlrm. '""'="•
»nd gossip awa, Z^y^ZZtT^r '" """
to teaeli any one teaeh tL ., ^^-J'"" "-"nt
rags, not ti Z^io a„d u ''"" '" '"""'J "'«
homes tidy"- " '^ ""^ '"'''''' ""^ '" ^^ep their
, My fatlier undertook onr defence on .1,;=
eion. "oiente on ttiis occa-
"Miss Felicity, von would scarcely set P •.
to teaeh the mothers as they are T , ""^
ins the children you know slw . / "" "'"'^'■-
"-S and mother I ' :t:'be" 'n'""f "" '■^-
S..nda,-scho„ls wil, .„ ^d s^ we^f tl t T
" .n ge.neration none will be wanted "A ,
winch d d not seem a, TTf„„- . . ■* ""P"
as it does now. P""' '" "' "' "'"^^ days
-fonnldo?;: S^d'r'V"? '""•"^"" " '-^-^ of
the stream"' ^""''''^'■^'^'"'"'^ «™ begun "against
, i
382
AGAINST THE STREAM.
'1
If I ^i
ilf '
In the town opinions were divided. Fortu*
nately our family was too well known for us to be
suspected, as Mrs. Hannah More had been a few
years before in a similar undertaking at Cheddar,
oi seeking to " entrap the children in order to sell
them as slaves." Nor did our fame, or the extent
of our operations, expose us to the self-contradic-
torv charges broumit acjainst her of " disaffection
against Church and State," of " abetting sedition,"
of " praying for the success of the French," and
of " being paid by Mr. Pitt."
Moreover, Mrs. Elannah More and her gener-
ous sisters were pioneers, and the success of her
labors, closely following those of Mr. Raikes and
others, had made Sunday-schools appear rather
less of an extravagance. I often think that per-
haps those self-denying and calumniated labors
among the " actual savages " of the Mendips, may
outlive all those books of hers which were wel-
comed with a chorus ot adulation by bishops,
priests, and statesmen. ^^Aut Morus aut angelus "
might be written with more permanent letters on
these than (as they were) by Bishop Porteus on
her " Estimate of the Religion of the Fashionable
World."
In our part of the country, moreover, the "W"es-
Jeyans had been at work for fifty years, and the
discovery of the treasures contained in the Bible
had inspired hundreds and thousands of our west
corntry miners and laborers with the determina-
tion to learn to read it. Convince any body of
AOAmST THE STREAM.
38^
to read!' Let ^ nlbo, '7' "7 '" '^'"■" ''"-
thing worth Jm„" ° -, f"''''' '"'^"'^ «°'"«-
ton to, and thTlIt 7""' "■''" '^'"•'= '° '« ^-rit-
will i;..„ to w„"e '•^^-"''""'i-ation, and they
land""!:::'!":-';-"." t "^^p"' °^ ^"s-
-eational aspiration, indeed w re o) ftl ""^ 1"
erate. IIaiin.5l, M^. i T« '^"^ "^<^st mod-
"'0 idea of tea inl L "^"'"^'^ ^'^^■'»"'-'l
no intention -'sti;' ""T ^ ™"^- " SI'" ''"d
episcopal CO ;4onTentT" :? '^ "^"?<' ""« «^ '-
tlieir station " '^ ""'"*' "^ raismg the poorabo™
not attempting weeVs^o 3 at tV TT
of religious literature witl, whin . w > ^"^^
not a,nbitious-Mrs Ilonli \1 ° "'"8"" ™'
Cateehisn,, broken 1,^? ^"'^^ " C''"'*
Testament'and t,"e p^v ^B T"™''" "'^ ^<'-
and nratts's Hymi^lr W ,5 " ^PeHing-book,
did not posses, "'^'" ^'"''» = P'^tures we
o'df^lfnCn^eC^rS
■n timse Jacobinical days dM '^ "''"'S''"
"'"oh.and resentiuily wonde JT"" "' ^''^
''■^~<=;-p'ottig\Tm:'^vr'"»*<'
Of the two " vested intpre^tq " .r ' i*
'end With, the parents and ;h:\,:eV:f.red:;:
384
AGAINST THE STItEAM.
4
schools,
the
parents
were
divided, and
not inac-
ccssible
in
a slow
way
to conviction
; hut
the
Dames naturally were unanimous and entirely im-
movable. They said the gentry were going to
take their bread out of their mouths, and put grand
empty words into the mouths of the children. In
vain we protested that we did not mean to inter-
fere with one of their schools, but only to keep
the children in order for them. The Dames were
wiser in their generation than we were. They
said we should make the children discontented
with them, and no one could say where it would
end. Education, they felt, and felt very sagacious-
ly, as a means of maintenance for superannuated
old women, would pass away, if it was to be re-
garded primarily, not with reference to old women,
but with reference to the children to be edu
cated. As in so many reforms, the people to be
reformed saw more clearh'^ whither these reforms
tended than the reformers.
The West Indian planters foresaw the emanci-
pation of the slaves, when the abolitionists only
Intended the extinction of the slave-trade.
The Dames of Abbot's Weir beheld in aofo-
nize'l vision vistas of day-schools — Lancastrian,
British, National — and the abolition of Dames —
while we only contemplated gacliering a few chil-
dren together on Sundays to teach them the Sermon
on the Mount, Watts's hynnis, and the Catechism.
In one sense the opponents of Hannah More
"were not so far
wrong.
The germs of a KevoUi-
n : hut the
tion
"^^^INST THE STREAM.
385
^y which poorCoavod T't "'""'^"■^ "'lor anothor
J'as its darkly patheti^sWo f,, 7" *"»''"'°'-'
tnry of experience tlTe 1 , "^'"^ "f"-- l">lf a cen-
wholesale naHo"a?s tok '™""f'«^"»-<=<i i" our
e"ncd ^tre'S.;:^:/^^^^^
eifectively tan..l,t t e thi 7° ' '"'""''^ "'^ '™™
'-.ffLirciassiw :;.o:;l ■ ''""-'" """■ ■■" «-»
t''eifch1,d,.e:':'i::l'r""'-^""'"^ - —-"each
-"Id or can co npaTellrr"''' "° ^""*y'*hool
-;it-fs„ch hint.::;:,. *« ■"<'-' »d^p."tua,
T^eir, looking back fZ ff '^'^ "^ Al'bofs
« ":-■"- £t.fg:LTo::;'"^'''-^ -
mopil'^"" ^^''^^ -« there i„po,,;,„ i,
Kers and I, and Amice.
" that httle school in t]
the rest of us tin
ic ol(
and Reuben Pengclly
1 abbey gatehouse, and
'5
-s!.ont Kugland, ..;- .;;™
■il
ilL.
fff^
m
386
AOArNST THE STREAM.
I! <
*.*■
a fountain wliicli was to rise, and spread, and float
iVbbot's Weir and Kii'dand above all the ru<^<'-od
Ararats in the world, and begin a new era!
And the fountain of great Avaters did rise and
did float England, as I believe, above many a peril,
although that
" Divine event
For whicli the wliole crealion waits "
sconis scarcely yet in siglit.
Meantime the war with the Dames waxed hot.
The Dames moved the grandmothers in general,
and the grandmothers moved the mothers ; and I
scarcely knc^v how it would have fared with ns if
Eeuben had not adopted the Machiavelian policy
of subsidizing the most intelligent and indignant of
the Dames, the one who could read and write, to
take charge of the babies in church. It was. Amice
protested, an infant sacrifice to Moloch, for she
declared that subdued sounds of woe, as from
pinched and cuffed infants surreptitiously pinched
during the singing of the Psalms, issued from the
dame's charge. But the stratagem answered. A
split was created in the hostile cabinet. .The
babies grew up ; in due time the dame grew too
feeble or too mild to pinch, and the subsequent
babies were mercifully suffered to sleep on warm
afternoons, if they did it quietly.
Our beginnings, as in most undertakings that
live, were small. Wo started with five teachers
and ten children.
The mothers brought the little ones, and left
til em, not witi
AOAmST THE 8TREA
M.
'ont anxfons exl.orhitions
387
bition. ° '''™'' «'•"»">' Simulated ow am-
A boginninff was all fi...*
» kind of com^febTo ,1 T.T ""'^ "■«'«>•
protest,,,., tl,at tl,owori ! r"'' ^^'"'''" «"•■'""•'
™« «8 well to enio ,^, ' ^"f ""■"«' ^^-y, it
•'•''-■■ons), took ZyZ^^lr' f™"'" »f '>«
;« -Mod the,,,, aiti ," fwll!!; "" ''■*'-. -
*«■• She said to ,„e that T, ?• """"^ '""'<"•
f d her tI,eolo,,y best t, " k'"' '"''"^'' ''»■•
Ved to have to do «^th ,1"? ''^-"'"'■''^ ^''«
fMdron among the m ; ' '"T' «''«• «■«
"'ff for her. '*'' " *"« "» best t,yin-
they certain,; „eard;f';r "".f-^ »d
tl«e most pop,,,,,,, of „„ " ti "^^ ,-i "'"''' "'^'^
get any one to ^J^^,, ;f « '''*«"ty was to
J^et moro than nr-^ -i t ,.
I'l ' «
1 ;■ 1
388
AdAINST THE STREAM.
cpidenues carried off far more in those daA^s than
now.
In long after years reniiniseencos would bo
brought out to me, by mothers, of little hymns
and sacred sayings of some lost darling, and of
the name of Jesus, blended by infant lips with
that of "mother," and of "Miss Amice,'' as of,
One nearer, and dearer, and kinder, and better
than all, to whom it was nothing strange or sad
to go.
And more than that, the hymns and texts
the little ones had loved would be spelt over by
lips and hearts often as simple, though not, in-
deed, as innocent, as theirs ; and rough men would
come to be taught the way the little lost child
luid found so pleasant, and to tread it, pleasant
or hard, so as it led where they were gone.
Claire did not join us, but she sought out many
a stray lamb to send to us.
The elder class fell to me ; and many a lesson
I learned in trying to teach them ; among them,
a greater allowance for my stepmother and Miss
Felicity, and a general appreciation of the difficul-
ties of teachers and parents, ministers, pastors, and
masters, and all governing persons; many a lesson
also as to the defectibilifcy of my own temper, and
the fallibility and general vagueness of my own
knowledge.
For if there is no flattery so delicious as the
attention of children, it is just because they are
quite inaapable of the flattery of pretending to
se davs than
AGAINST THE STREAM.
attenJ wlion tl
.381)
ej ar(
c^planatl;,,, ""'''^"■''1^''™'' '»«to«l "fa clear
TJie school soon ffrow so fJ.of i ,
Aiiiiec and Pjors .,„,? t r ,
«tad^tl,el,istorie of; "7,, "'"''' ""' "« ''"^ '»
to »mke tl,cm e ll ' "'" 1"''"""'e»' wav,
outer and I ", r tlw;"' ^r'^"''' "'" "> «""Jy thj
-*o C,^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ .., anew. .
■"'eir, tlio littL sir ^ ^"®''*"<' »■• Abbot's
oame to it. ' ^ ^ "■"=' '^»'' "ot a few who
CHAPTEIl XXVI.
lis
riROUGTIOUT tlie winter of 1801, and
t:^e sprincr of 1802, tho enthusiiism with
wliicli the people liad welcomed the
peace ' with France had been slowly
cooling.
^ By March, 1802, when the « Definitive Ti-caty"
of Amiens was annonnced, all idea of the peace
being definitive had began to fade away.
The most immovable of Tories in those dreary
days had the best of it in prognostication. Those
whose hopes of human progress had been largest
and inost endnring, had to confess themselves most
deluded. But few kept hold, through those terri-
ble years of the failure of freedom and the triumph
of falsehood, of " blood and fire, and vapor of
smoke," in which the last century set and the pres-
ent rose, at once of faith in freedom and of trust
in the loving rule of God.
This world for N"apoleon Bonaparte, and the
next for justice, and the just, seemed as much as
the hopefulness of any could grasp.
To my uncle Fyford and Madam Glanvil, in-
deed, the question was entirely without clouds.
(I
The Fi
^^^INST THE STREAM.
<3evij," said Mad
•en ell Jmd
391
.i.''vcn tlioniseli
been sent them in tlio
"'i GJanviJ, 's„id the d
es up to the
■evi] Jiad
*- us if wo dW no rest 't, 17" ? '? '3'"'" '■'-•
'>- F-nel,, as the BiWo toU J""'' """ ■•^- %'''
Kone ti.e way of a 1 .lo ' ''"'' ™™'^->' »* Paris l,as
despotis™. If the dctr ■'"''°'-"'" '" ^^°<J "'
- not to heeo,;: Z^"^ !->»«-
E..^and wil, ,,ave to er„l th'c» " "" '^'" "'«'
that had evoked and 1. !.•'""' ^™«<"''"!y
■-"•"Ctively, SLI tjf,-^ Yv "• ^"^'
some one princelv will T^ ''°^' '''''"^"^ for
Afen4;.tit:;:dr;;;r*^f%
to ask, Jike St riMM-ef 1 .'''''' ^^^^^<^' and
that th;y.ij';„^l;t!; -''"•'' ''''^^'-"s^
^'' 11 parle en ro'i''^ fim'^ ^
Mar,„is of Cornwal ; writ Jrf '^ 'T'"; ""=
Paris. TJiere wn« ,,^ "'"""g of JSapoleon from
be n-ore despotic. AI o ti! S"^"^™""""' could
arranged by Naoole,™ T f ' ™' " "^™<'«'-d»'
Pope ^ ^"''°" "'''"'■"» F'-once and the
':^'^^^::^:::^^}!'^^^r ^ad.
Or
mes said, "and
ame des
religion without faith ! Tlie
I
' %'BTK''*'-* ■■*! a» aseftw^^Sf*! "^^
802
J(/J//V^S7' 77//!,' milEAM.
iff ^'"^
roi)iil)lic was l)a<l, but this \\\\^'^v now pomp, liow
can any one bcai- it?"
Eiiirlisliinoii and En<,Hisli\voint>n in tlioso first'
inonths of peace llo(rl<cHi to Paris, the Paris wliicii
sincc! En<,^lislunen saw it last had ^iriiijlotined hor
Ivin«r and (pieon, dcvt)iirod brood at'tor brood of Iicr
Ptovolution, dc'hi^a>d her own streots, and Europe,
witli the best blood of Fi-ance, adored tlic «ro(kles8
of reason, establislied tutoy-mg and the aboh'tioM
of all titles, and now a<,'ain was C()innian(lin<j^ men
and women to call each other Madame andJioti-
.svVwr {Madame being politely restored many,
months before Monsieur), nay, was even said to
bo rising to the height of Moiiseignenr and Votre
Aftesse, and secretly i)reparing the Temple to
Cixjsar in which her offerings for so many genera-
tions were to be laid.
Madame said mournfully, " All can go back to
France except her own children. And*' yet what
should we lind there ? Scai'ceiy even ruins ; they
will be buried under the new constructions. Yet
I would give something for tidings of our old
terres and the peasantry. The chateau is gone,
and the lands are confiscated; but I think the
people— some of them— would remember us afiec-
tionately."
After that Piers began to think of an expedi-
tion to Paris. He set his whole heart on it, 1
could see, although he spoke little.
But to us the year 1802 was full of many
events wliich prevented his departure.
''^^/^V.Vr77M',S7%0,.
nil ,. , "93
' '>() timber tv!u]o I.-w? i
«onlJ ,„H'cr do. Pi„.„ 2; '."" ""» '">' «.tl,c,r
P'-'-'so for l,i„, " '" "'<""• »"/ sdJition,,! e/-
Moreover, Franeis went h, n <• , .
"■"otol iu tl,o to»-n. "" '^"'^'^ ''« ''"'1 c-on.
«''oreS\Td/h:\C4;;"rv^"''^'-'»"''
""'' to have the b,!,-, 1"* " ""'«' ''« to a,,.
f' «-onI,l he the it ' ™ ^ ,e I?' """""'"- "ft^^
""•ning over a „e,v .J**'''''"^'"'"™ <or Franeis's
«'« ««.ne opinio ,' 1""'"''' T '•'"'"'"'^'^'r of
Kratefnl. ""^ '"^'^""^d for oneo reall;
''■r-ti^rt/:^^^^^^^^
^"""W give. lie adnnttedi-r /"•'•"' ''«'■' ''«
J-»""gman at the uZelyl '""°" """ ■-
fr
li .1
304
AGAIN8T TIIK STliKAM.
—ho Dover could want ;ui}tliiii<r l.oyond." Tfo
smiled at Piers' u])preheiisiuiis. ''In lUet, althoii^rh
]io did not like to proiiiisu too much, lie ii.teiidod
tlKit neither IMers iior 1 should in the end be losers
by our most ^'onerous conduct."
So the summer jKissed, without Piers seeing
any means of accomplishin*,' his journey.
^ But in our little circle at Abbot's Weir one act
of Napoleon wrought more indignation than any
besides. This was liis expedition to restore slavery
ill St. Dominiro.
All the previous winter Loveday Benbow had
been watching with the deepest interest the move-
ments of Toussaint L'Oiiverturo and his black re-
public in Ilayti.
She thought, with thousands besides in Eng-
land, that at last the despised negro race was about
to manifest its capabilities. It was true that the
suprenuicy of the whites had not been overthi-own
without bloodshed. This was to dear peace-loving
Loveday the only doubtful feature. But if ever
war was justifiable, it was to rescue the feeble and
oppressed from slavery; if Leonidas and \Vul,;^im
Tell were heroes, Toussaint L'Ouverture*., h^uu^c
was at least as pure.
The negro government once established, all
Bcemed going on peaceably and justly. The trust
^.■' tlie liberated negro in liberated France, liber-
r^i. ^ ov n^Mions, is as aft'ecting to look back on as
■3'.iyed confidence of a child.
L >oicing bac'. also, we Qi
n see that the whole
^^f^^t^ST Tmj STIiEAM.
395
Wind eo,.,C7,,,^.: "'."' • ''"' ?^ '""■="^"- -P--
'^«"3 wl,o had been t. h ' '"'""'"t'o,,. Git-
I-'irst Cons,,!. „„d wro , M '"•"'''""""J '"-nisolf
iNapolooM responded bv « '-,
--f^-aid^.,,^:^:-:j2^^-..
^"akes its lu-storH /some t ''"'' ^'^''^^''^''"^-^ only
-' ^^-"^ fondiAid^: : ^-;- 1-thetie. T^
"i our poor blacks, it seined Sfe ^ '"^''^'"'^^
of a new era. ^^ ^"^ "^auguration
: wrote £
i^ani. "
Sonic
pcf^j>Ic,
" -1.
lusiasticaliy from CI,
^•.■nt L'ouvortu^; 4 'inr,!!!':!' " "'""g'" ^
;i]->-
'as mauguraiing a new
01
. (^-i|^
era, not
396
, AOAINSr THE STREAM.
• i
■.', ,
m
•li
rf
m:
only for the negroes and tlie West Indies, but for
the Church and the world. Some one had said thac
the negro race would probably commence a new age
of Christianity. The Eastern Churches had had
their age of subtle thought and elaborate dogma,
and the Latin and German races had shown the
strength and ability of man. The negro .ace might
be destined to manifest his gentler virtues ; to de-
velop on earth for the first time the sublime and
lowly morality of the Sermon on the Mount.
Greeks had taught us how to think, Eomans how
to tight, negroes would teach us how to suffer and
to forgive."
It was a golden vision.
Only, as Amice suggested and Loveday mourn-
fully admitted, they had not exactly begun in San
Domingo with forgiving. However, the forgiving
might no doubt come afterwards.
Madam Glanvil was naturally much irritated at
the whole thing.
She was almost reconciled to Kapoleon for char-
acterizing the negro republicans as '' apes." " Apes
and monkeys they were," said she, " only he might
have carried the comparison a little further home
The French aped the Greeks and Eomans, Brutus
and his assassins, and now they seemed likely to apo
Caesar, and more successfully ; and the blacks aped
the French. There was a difference ; the French
did it better. But apes they were, all alike."
Indeed Madam Glanvil had difliculty at times
AGAmST THE STItEAM.
Qr
-97
m not talciijir XmnlpnT, ly
•-oon a Bo J: ilTix::^o,r,''r"""
no revolution In h;« .. ^^^^^^ ^ould Lave been
Ij invented. *^ ^oJ-miila previous-
stand ;:;:fsr\:t ^f ■ " ""' "'''•^- ™^-
■nufV ,^^^^' ^^^^at does It matter who ? "
nua agaiubt ban Doni ni^o "Pci , i i-
base Ti "^^''^' merchants liave been
ba e enough to assist in it with transports £
Wilberforce remonstrated in the Uou..el'n
mons: but IVf.. a,m:-.... "^ "^^""'^ ^^ Com
ffuidl^
or ever
Mi. Addmgton responded very Ian-
- -^ij8 we must have Mr. Pitt 'back,
ee, ne-
Pap;
•Jthiiig wiJl be lost-honoi- c^nimer
»
■ii >;l
m
,
1 li
V
§ !
Ir
)
♦{
8
■ t
!
e*
1 '
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1
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T
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11
if
■ ')
H
i.
>il
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'*i
ill
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1
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ill
398
AGAWST THE STREAM.
groes, and England." Tliej said there must be
meetings every wliere ; the people everywhere
must be roused and instructed. They only needed
to know.
" Could you not get up a meeting in Ahhofs
Weir for tlw abolition of the slave trade f "
It was so easy to get up meetings at Clapham.
My cousins had no idea what a dilHcult thing they
were proposing.
Father said of course we could.
Piers said then of course we would.
I felt ashamed of myself. I had thought so
much of self-denials and tests of the reality of con-
viction, as a little deficient at Clapham ; and here,
at last, came a test, and I shrank back from it.
For an anti-slavery meeting presided over, as
it must be, by my father, meant, to me, banish-
ment from Court ; and, to Amice, I knew not what,
of perplexity and trial.
I dared not say anything for or against. I only
told Amice ; and she, after a pause, said what 1
knew she would say.
" It must be done. Bride. You must do it,
and you and I must bear it. Think," she added,
'" if it was only the least little push onward to the
lifting off of the terrible wrong ! What does it
matter M'hat little trials we have to suffer ? The
wrong is there, the sin is there, the suffering is
there, and that is the trial."
^ So I wrote, by my father's desire, to Cousin
Crichton to say we would do all we could— receive
AG-^TNST THE STRI^JAM.
■n-'o a dote..,,.,-,,:" re i ;*.";;*t°' "' """
cessarily in vain rsr. '""''' ''"' ^'»^ >'«-
>"«' they onlr,?, '"'""''■ '" «■" f™ncl,-
I'avon double obit i'v, V™- r:^ ''"''''^™'' '"
to re-e„slavo (1,0^1. T" '" '''" «^I'««tion ,
some troublesome P.onnl.i; / "^ '^''^^'^^ of
-BO between Fob a„ isoo" ^T''"' "' *'-
1S0«- I"tl,esecond„f;e ,?'/"' ,''r "">"''
perfectly. Tonssaint r 'n ""'™''«'od but i,„.
and ablest of t t rf-, , "■""■'^' ""^ "<■'*«'
'«e, and l,is noble re „1 \ t '■"" '"'' ">"'
■■"eo, vvboso sun t it!" ,e " 'T" "* ""^ "•'"■'«
"■"Pped by fal c Zl " acknowledged, ,vas en-
continued the
resistance mid
end the last Fre/ich
f ^ "K^re savage load
^''•s; and in tli
Soneral, f e,,.,„d_ „„„j^,^^j^
iT""
400
AGAmsi' THE STREAM.
' ■ ii . ,
by France, blew out his bi-ains '' in despair," the
Spaniards recovered the island, and slavery was
cstablislied.
In August, Tonssaint L'Ouverture was thrown
into the Prison of tlie Temple in Paris, thence
transferred to the fortress of Jonx, in a ravine of
the Jnra ; the victim we all felt of too frank a
trust in the honor of the white men he believed
in, jet had dared, and dai-ed successfully, to re-
sist.
The lull of the parliamentary anti-slavery con-
flict, which had lasted since Mr. Wilberforce's de-
feat hi 1799, continued. All the more important
was It that the stru^rgie should not be suffered to
be forgotten in the country, and the campaign
be carried on in detail. Accordini^ly our anti-
Blavery meeting in Abbot's Weir could not be de-
ferred.
My cousins wrote of it with enthusiasm. They
considered it quite a fresh launch for Abbot's
Weir. Cousin Crichton himself was to come down
to assist. At last, in October, the fatal day ar-
rived. ''
Large handbills had been posted on various
friendly walls and gates for a fortnight. The old
town-crier had rung his bell and sounded his
" Oyez ! " although that was by no means an
effective way of trunipeting any fact. The room
over the market-house had been engaged.
Still Madam Glanvil had not apprehended
the event which both Amice and I believed would
"' the woods of VonTZ^ "'^ " '""» ™'k
'-™s ,.„et,i„g unde 1 ;';■"«" "Tf °'' «'''™
eon cauop^. „4di„g leaves Jl" """"^ ""'' ™"'-
'"S "ito a fine net„„,? !, ? ""' '"=^<''' S™"'"
«•* its ft,, antnmnvo ,t r "" '"'^'' ^""^^
t™o I ,,ad avoided din u". "^ '"™^- ^«^ eo'»e
«"= I'onse ; nor l,ad IT^ "^""^'"S ti.e day in
G'^vil. Indeed, it ^as ,1, TT '" "•■'^'"»
l^^o.enr;preS„;r,,f"^-„dI
of nature. To-dav f Jn'c ^^ *^^^ sympathy
-Lu uaj tins was esueciallv fT,^ ''^
■Lo me there RPom«,^ ^ ^-peciajjj the case.
easy cry from ns !ike JZ , ^'^ ""> "" «n.
tofljto. Ti,e iterrolt, "iV^t"'"'*' "° '""»«
gi^en fronds „f the fe™l ""''"■!; »"• Even the
-'•t'-red and sod e.^ LT ^"'''- ""''-■ the
«f joys, and hopes and wl ^r''^'"""S «Poke
P0">1> was funerol 1 l™"'^''^-"- The ve,y
"bont those woodt tofethtr^frr ''f """^^^
»««' we only seemed tf reel tl '"f «'"'' ' »<J
trespassers. °''P ""'""S'l 'hem like
J Was vej'v o<w7 . ., 1 .
■ '■"'"™'="»'^'""odtome,inmy
26
m
1*1 i=
w
,'W
\A
402
AGAINST THE STREAM.
childishness, all nature was sad too. But Aniico
entirely rejected the idea of such sympathy.
" Nature is too old and wise to mewl and puke
with her children like that," said she. "And she
is also too grand and far-seeing. Our mother, if
you choose to call her so, is a queen. She has her
kingdom to care for, and if now and then she gives
a kiss or a smile to our little miseries, it is all we
can expect of her. She has seen so many such
breakings of hearts healed. She is too stately and
too busy, to heed our complainings overmuch.
She knows nothing of death and parting. She
only knows death as a phase of life. The dead
leaves and flowers are dear to her as the cradle of
next year's leaves and flowers. If they were dead
trees or forests she would not care more. She
Avould wear them down into mould for new trees
and forests, or perhaps into bogs and coal-mines.
Nothing comes amiss to her. The war and torture
even among her animals do not disturb her. She
is very stately and philosophical, even if she does
not enjoy it ; like a matron of old Rome at the
gladiatorial sights. She is healthy, and has strong
nerves. And to imagine she would look downcast
because you and I do not know what trouble to-
morrow may bring ! "
We went home by the kitchen garden. "We
had determined to spend our half hour at the win-
dow-seat in Amice's bedroom. All kinds of first
things came into our memory, as so often happens,
AGAINST THE STh
■EAM.
403
When we are or flu'ni.
J^o passe,! the old damp ,„o„Idv arbor
JJo .you romciiiber your „„,.,,•: 7 .
crocus bulb feeling for som^f "^ ""' ^""<"'' «'«
" And do youCr "; f;; t'/'-'^ - ? -
JO'"- .ir,,, around mo „„d 1 .lif T, 'P''"''' "l""""?
»^' Amice ? ' so surn'rt" !"'''':"«• ' "''<'" '»««»
tl-en ludf sadl,v f; ;'^ 1 *^'''' ^"" ™'-<" '">d
I rcniembeid '"'""" ^«"'
wLoIe heart in. BuL„ , ^'' '" '''"■ »"«'»
little help. Ah BridP f t""^^ "*' ''^^ ''«™ "o
Wo „ . ' ™' ''»«• "I'l'iy years r "
"e went no to Im.. .., . ^ .)t;ais!
g-.t.au„t ProtCa'r T'.^Z »' r"^^ ''^'
dow-seat, and she road , ""^ '»"' W'"-
of the G^uan h,„>ns - """ "™ ''""^^^ "^""a
■■DabtoderHir.derS=l,wache,««
Aui Dich will id, micU legen ^
Erqu,ck« mid, mi, seyen ^
i*"'"""''""'*"" '*»■«" u-d .lech
'''-Hsi„,intoamoL,;ri4:ata„^^
« XT . ,
'en
■^chen wasErtliut
e er mich wirrl anselm
Weil er doch niclit rulit
Wie
'/ .•
n -4
''i\
-4
404
AGAINST THE STREAM.
<f
i i
If!
Bia er mir kann hnlten
Seinen theuren Eid,
Dass ich noch soil werden
Seine ganze Freud."
" No," she said, with .a quiet trinmpli in her
deep tones. " He will not rest, until to us, even
to us, He fulfils his dear oath, that we, even we,
shall become throui:^h and throuo;h, altogether a
joy, even to Him."
We sat some minutes silent, hand in hand,
while through the open window came the colors
of the autumn sunset, and the murmur of the
river, and now and then a quiet song of a robin.
" Listen ! " she said, " I will call nature no
more irreverent names. She sinffsall throuirh our
Borrows, as the robin sings through the cold, as
the white-robed multitudes in the Revelation sing
on tlie Hallelujah, and " again they cry Hallelu-
jali," through all the tumult of earth. She sings
because she sees a hand within, an end bevond, a
Face above. Or if she does not, we do. Bride !
We see, and at all events, through all, we will
sing. Some sighing, I think, is singing ; and
some silence is better, when patience and hope,
who never seem long far apart from each other,
make melody in the heart."
i
CHAPTER XXYII,
nm I returned from Court tUi- «? .
possible way. „';, , ' ,, ' ' J""'' r ^"-^
doctrine, all „-itl, !„•,„ ,' 'f ' f"'^«' J"dgment,
^vl.ere, „„r „„ .„s o'X';:"'' "o'" flaw any.
P e'«).e.aW,, persons, or lets r '" °""'" P''"'
solid persona ity mad, tl» ,', ''''""''• ^°™d,
-ore soJM and ir;.::"'^"-"^,,!™ seen;
broad-shouldered Atlas to h„ •. ''"danotLer
-tiiicth CO Dear it \m
Ti.e aSrrnilVf ^'"'^ ^'-^.-oon,.
-be, eneo,npr: wltrrrafte''" ""'"'^
clothes and eonventionii;n "'' ■-*"'«' of
o.-eet feather, a new sill 1 ? ^ '17 """' *'"' "«
and looked as f t wt, d h'" t?'^"^'"°"«''
My father a little ke t e H '"'"''■'' '"^«--
'>-s was in the ale,?.: !l P""'"""<'- - ''«
■room.
al
ieeJ at liome, and as Utt.
placed
tO'i»g to
e able to do it as the chairs
at -eg.iar angles with a: ;;:::,
pre-
I,
I'
|,!-a
^;.!
40G
AGAINST THE STUEAM.
Hi '
Ml ;'
t»:i li
f (
i'l
: 4 ij
' ll
^^^^^^K
^kI
ii&
^il
i; fli
tenoe of hcing accustomed to bo sat upon. And
Cousin Crichton beaming with kind intentions
(ind lios])itality in ettse or hi posse, rubbing his
luinds with that eiTusive manner which always
gave him the effect of being everybody's liost ;
ehiborately making the very best of Abbot's Weir,
the narrow streets, the little houses, our church,
our hills, our old grey tower and chimes, in a way
which gave one the impi-ession that he was perpet-
ually apologizing to Clapham for having been
born in so insigniticant a corner ; sanguine about
the abolition meeting, about the peace, about
everything, and yet all the while one could not
but feel liable in the most placid manner, at every
turn, to tread on all tlie uncomfortable toes of
Abbot's Weir, as unconsciously as if xibbofs Weir
had no toes to be trodden on.
" AV^ell, Bride," he said, kissing me and laugh-
ingly rubbing his hands, " my fair Trappist, have
you forgiven us yet for being so ' terribly rich ' at
Clapham?"
My stepmother looked— petrified I cannot say,
since the word represented rather her usual man-
ner — she looked as if she were going back from a
fossil to a living madrepore, cold and gelatinous.
Could I have said anything so rustic, so vulgar, so
presumptuous?
" You have all but perverted your cousin Har-
riet into a reformer," he said. " I am half afraid
of her going into bread and watei*, or Quaker bon-
nets, or starting off for the Indies, East or West.
^(^^TNST TIIK ,STUKAM,
O'»o Uoos not socm -iIJ.. i
«•■"• as u„<-.„„fo j; { ""■' '"'■■"" *" '"^'ko iKT-
kuow, the Church of E„„l.,nrl i '*'' ^■""
tl'en not only the It, ' """ *" ""^ '"="-
''--■nor „t ,:;::;; 'f;-!^'r'^^
-we3e„t„„e„t"orv^i:t";;;T/''-
a fi.-at.dass u;;X,fr'f "'""•'''"'■"'' '""
into the n t t^i rC'r T -f "^'^ "^™''
Madan. G^^"1t ,'^™'','"" »*»J «"'-'■ was
"isant recollections of
shooti
^g over the covers of Court. II
^ was anx
408
AGAWST TUE STRKA.V.
111
I •'!
»
ioiis to see tlie lady of Iho mniior ; tlie earliest stato
ceremonial heeoiild reinetnb-r bein^r Madam Glaii-
vil's triumphal entry, as a bloomincr bride, with
the youn^r Sq„i,.o, into Abbot 'a Weir, under arches
of flowers, with the old bells clashing cannons, and
ringino- joyous peals ; the tenants and townsmen
hurraing, and the boys, himself among the nmn-
ber, indulged in an unlimited allowance of noise.
He had no idea in what a hostile form he was
now entering Madam Glanvil's principality. The
coach was at the; church door before we had lin-
ished our inspection of various old family monu-
ments and tablets of our own.
We came out at the old Lych gate just as the
two black footmen were drawn up in the usual
form to usher Madam Glanvil into the coach.
But there ^\■as a variety in the ceren..nial, to me
terribly significant. Amice, instead of lingerino-
behind, as usual, for a greeting from my lither^
was marshalled before her grandmother, who fol-
lowed her without turning round for the imperial
but friendly Jupiter nod with which she usually
favored us. For a moment I caught sight of
Amice's face leaning eagerly forward, and Tooking
very pale. In another moment, by a stormy flash
from Madam Glanvil's steel-grey eyes, I saw that
lier Twt seeing us was positive, not negative. Then
the blind was drawn violently down, the footmen
sprang up behind, and the horses pranced demon-
Btratively awav.
^j this I knew that Madam Glanvil had heard
dOATNST rilh]
'^TJiKLV.
409
-■oIenti;.;™:,,„Vrir'"'' '"^ ''-■•' beating
"ess of ,ny protest ^o'""""'/ and terse-
" I'l'eoeeupicd tn.^' ■- j >>
^JItisthoaholiti„n,„eeting,"„,fttheri„te.
Inc.;: pitti^'i:";::;-,. u[ t'""-, '™' » ^-'
I see." ■* "^ '"'■•>' '»8 slave pro; irty.
"IiicJced, fonsin Criditon " T.„-i <■
«<=« •' Sl,e is more fcrven °"' , , ""'' ^"O" ^»"''
eipati„„_tl,,.„a,n „;' w""'"'"*?-'"''""^'"-
--.e„o„,„. fj'^ij;^:?/"-'^-- That
i l.coM la Jy does not approve !"
toH;fei;.fct,:;::!"';!>p''™oarpHed
of Cousin Crieiiton Wan T ■ ""•"■•"""' ""^ ''''?"»
« ft.™,., .nad "Xt ; :'"'?"'""^'°"- "Sl'o
against pl.ilant ,r„m ' ^'""'' ™i«^!on.'>ries,
everyono'and ev r^'^ i„~ «»l"-". Hgai„st
subject." ■' ^ """ ^"'■'^s touch on tlie
anUmothers, must
the
ay
t', '", ''f *^^"' ^^e all know, ' Cat
stand
right hand," PJuckout'the
n
gJit eye,
J j>
off the
h
i i •^"
f « '
' "■ ' ; '
■(
•
I'
* >
I
410
AQA1JS8T THE STREAM.
" Unpleasant ! " yes I should tliink it would be
unpleasant for Amice! In the bitterness of my
heart I said to myself that unpleasantness was the
sharpest form of martyrdom Clapham knew, or
chose to know in its own person. The plucking
out of the right eye, being so rich, it naturally paid
to have done by proxy— by Germans, Methodists,
Baptist shoemakers. I was as unjust to prosperous
Clapham as Madam Glanvil. Talking was so easy ;
andj'et to me the talking to-morrow evening would
actually be cutting off the right hand. My only
consolation was to go and sit with Loveday! She
knew, at all events, something of what right hands
and right eyes meant ; although for her, dear soul,
the crushing and cutting had been done by an ir-
resistible Hand, and had only been made her own
act by acquiescence.
She was resting on the long cushioned window-
seat, beside her a little table with a nosegay of flow-
ers from the conservatories at Court. Amice sent
one, or when she could, brought it, every Saturday.
She had brought that yesterday.
That little trifling token of kindness melted me
out of my lofty heroics. I burst into tears, and
pointing to the flowers said,— >
" Oh, Loveday ! It is the last ! She will never
bring them again."
Loveday started.
" Amice ill ?" she said. « What has happened ?
My dear, I am afraid my deafness increases, I am
so stupid. I must Jiave beard wrono-."
A0AIJVS2^ THE STREAM ^^^
lasllf T.Y^'"'''"^^' ^^^' ^^"^^'" «^^e said -At
last ^t^s legmning r taking my ]nnd " r
know It must have como a i , ^ ^"
J^utlamnotreadj!" I said "
liands." iieretore the cup is not in our
Rood, Bride, it is'^^od' b tt " '"'"•" ^' '^
e^r so little of tl.oX lie JlrkS-V" '" '""''
strengthens Bridn " f,"°<^™'^.»'; the cap itseli
of on: wirif 1 ;,/'"<f^ ';-■''' "- -nvietion
-eWt3.at.ree,nasonJH.rn;;it;:L^
We Jiad one cloro-xrjncir, „
»ppo.«tedto„„eo;c;:ir's~^^^^
]4,l ! ''
4 i
412
AGArJVSl' THE STREAM.
oveiwl eluied by the pronii.ienee that had to be
given to liim. We Jiad our one physician and
-ueh to Dr. Kenton's credit it was\].it he 1:1:
rnnnni^. counter by that act to the prejudices of
M,ss I ehcity and of his patroness Madam Glanvil.
Madam G anvil, indeed, had never been known to
be in need ot a physician. But in attending this
evening Dr. Kenton must have counted tiie cost
to science and to himself, and must have known
that whatever l^appened in the future, he aban-
doned the inmates of Court to bein- systemat
ically " lowered " into the grave. " "^
There were several small tradesmen attendinc
at sonie nsK of loss; there was one Methodist tai"
mer, brouglit by John Wesley's "Thoughts on
S avery ; there were numbers of medians and
aborers, many of them from our foundry and tim-
bei^yard ; and there were all our Sunday-school
children-the boys very impressive in stamping
applause, when they understood it was allowed
^ My lather took the chair. The forms of " mov-
mg and seconding "seemed like parodies in that
confidentuil little gathering. But Cousin Crichtou
was rigid in his adherence to them.
It seemed scarcely worth while to have sum-
moned Cousin Crichton from London, and to have
severed such ties, just to spread a little informa-
tion among a few people, all of whom we knew
and to whom we could say so much more in confi!
uence any day I
A0AIN8T TUE STREAM.
At least iny covvardiv
same
moment
413
But iniVht not
VVas there not
'leart said so.
be said of all symbol^ ?
for life and deatl, ? VjZt n \ 'T",' "'™"
iug acts of life from u," V . "'''■>' "" ""^ "^«'-
so ves more h.;fl„ f ■■*'' ''''"'"•<'''<'' "' «1"="'-
fruit? '"''' ''"''' "^ "'^ P'"rf<i"g "f or,o
mooting to-etho Tan 1 T'' ""^ ""''^"^■'■'^J.
♦„ 1 i ""'-'oa une to be a ivc wlio was b^iM
to bo dead, and waited for soma Jft if ■ ,
promised ? " 8'" H<^ ''ad
W„om!'"'i;T""f '" "'" ^'"•"''» ^«- -r
ab e i; sv , hT'", "'""'"'"'-'' P'^^''aP% even
J^J rather recognized hpr nl=r. i i
^itae tremulonsness in 1 Toit '''"^^^^'^^-
be quiet. ' -^ ^'^^^"^" "^^^^^"«d him to
She did not remain cloaked
went on, she threw aside her cl
As the speeches
oak, and her hood
t
'm
liyj
414
AGAIMST TUK STIIEAM.
I- 1 mm
k^m J? t
. V, ;
fell hack uncorusdonsly as she leant forward, lisfen-
m^. qmro cuh.i, and apparently seein- no one, hut
with a steady fire hi her eyes.
I trenihled, now, lest bousin Orichton should
s--y any severe undiserin.inatii.i,. thin^.s against the
planters, as if they were all J^eros, whieh she
could not hear to hear.
But severity was not his weakness; and the
midienee was not iinpa^ifoned enou^d, to sweep an
orator on into any wild statements.
Cousin Criehton he-an with i)raisinir every-
body whom he c'oiild praise. And then a^.ewand
ixiralyzing tear eame over me that he would round
off a period with " heroic women forsakin- th(>ir
parents, and cuttin- off ri-ht hands." But hap-
pily either the bad light of our tallow candles
saved him from the discovery, or his better genius
interposed. ^
He much commended the shy young clero-y.
man. ./ ^ o ^j
Conservative as lie was, true to Church aTid
iiing, Lords and Commons, and all the detail of
our mimit ible constitution, he confessed he re-
^^retted that in this instance the Upper House had
fscarce y taken the lead in good works as might
have been hoped. . The Bill for the abolition of
tlie abominable trade had once passed the Com-
mons, but never yet the Lords. We were told in-
deed that "not many noble" (in mv presence he
did not venture on the " not many rich ") <' But
he rejoiced to tell them-if they did not already
"^^^^^^ST mi3 i^ritiuM.
4] ty
iie would Jiave l)oou .r).,,] 'i t ,
<"•, at all events l,or hi.l , , "■■ '"""s'^'s,
-t3x.ttai<e„t,n-.;::;i''t::',:;v.'-'^''-'
i'oweve,-, vvore firm s,,pp„,e ,lpj''"'' ','.''''' ''''■•'
I.o,„io„, a,.d Bishop Ilors e7 "f «f T"'''"'"'
Tlio o..ecpti„„al names .lesemZ' . '' '^"'>''''^-
mj /atlior, each of wl.' I i ^^'''^'^'^''S' and to
ei-Hn,,:.d,;jl^:ta
a readiness to receive tl..7 , '^"^^'«"ce into
bo^^an the seHo ^ t oh' ''V^ ''''''' ^-
First of nl] fi , ^ ^^^ ^P^ech.
which was fhe !rat '""^''^ "'"'^^ '""^ ""•'.
■«Pping and packing i„ L h„M ?r\ '' ' '"'''-
tmtcd by a large cojV of M r, "1 '''"^'"P' '"»«-
diagram ; the statis\L ofd..?! "o "f ''""'"'
Thus, in a calm, En-lish W ■■ ''"^'"S''-
cess! oTctr Xr '"'""^ ™'^~ -
cniolty. There w,« isolated o«ess in a
>' -l
41(1
AOAWST ri/K KTHKAX
amo„„ „,,, ,,, „„ jj ,,.,,^ ,1^^, en,olt 'i„v„ „ ;
'" "'" ""■''«'' '»■•"' "nclc- tl„, ,„il,l,.rt t;,k-„, ,,"
"vn.. or „,.,.seer, the en.ol.v ,W„/«, ^ '
all,,., o„ wl„ch 1,0 i„sietod. U„lcs8 tl„> toil „„ |
e ,„„„»1„„„,„3 i„ the pl„„tati,.,„ we,.o s„cl, „"
en,s , a ,-,u.o, a t,-opi„,.l ra™. it ,n„«t bo ,-o,no,„b; U
v«.-k,„g „, a oli,„a.o co„.,o„ial to thon,, the ^ , .'
Jaf,o„ wo„ld „„t l,avo to bo roe,-„itocl f, „„ Af
«.H1 -he t,.a,Io w„„ld „„, bo„oo,iod. U,,).™!^! o,'.'
o ..vago «.a,.fa,,, ^,^, ,..„„„, ,,„^^ ^^ "^^ ■
«S«1 , , Afnoa, the t,-ado wo„ld „ot bo p,«siblo.
. /'";" '««'™'"'totl,ehisto,Toftl,o 8t,-,i„„lo
g.v,.,g tl,o,r d„o to John Wooh„a„, A„,o, B™a
a..s a„d the A,„o,-ica,. Q„al<o,., and alh.Itt
the labo,. „ ■G,.a„ville Sl,a,.po, Cla,.k.o„, a, 1 totl "
eha,„p,o„sl„p of Mr. Wilbe,f„,.oo, ho conoLod
:""V' ™"'T^' between tl,o p,.ofe. i„„« l^^
eqnahty, and f .-aternity in F,.a„ce which had o^^do,l'
n ,. ,„„a.o„ San Do,„i„g„ and the i,„p,W
■■>ent of Toussa.nt, the s,-oatest noi.,-o, in tl,o d„„
geon on to J.n-a-and the froodon" b sod o,! a ""
;g.on ,H„d a Constitution Jiko onr o,vn; be C;
the „o,sj ox-plosion of revolntion ondinJin d "n„
-no ,1,0 white, and slaver, fo,- the W^.i^a 7tt
great patient stnio-rle a(*-iin«f ,.... ,
^o«-f,.o.nthoIIon,,os„fPariia,„entto"ve! „"
of on,- oonntrj, and befo,-o long, as ho boli n- to
end tr,„„,phantl,; or, ,.atl.er, ?s he da,.ed to ^e
If' I
sh ai)j)ronti('08,
licit V involvod
St tnsk-iimator,
vitab/e in tlio
58 tho toil and
'cro such us to
remoinbcred,
^ni, the popii-
t'vom Africa,
iilessasvsteiii
^nuy; villajrcs,
were encour-
ti possiMc.
'he stnin^irJo,
ntoiij Bmia-
and Wesloy-
alludino< to
II, and to the
3 condiKlod
8 of libei-tj,
1 liad ended
10 imprison-
in tlie dun-
ked on a re-
; between
f in despot-
ck, and the
carried on
■ery corner
oiieved, to
id to hope,
^^^rN8T iiiE ,rrnj,.^M^
f'> hc^rln ^ f,.p^}
417
1 era of conflict and
, ,. •, — v-Ki wi cor
"'>''''"oM of the slave trade.
And all the time T vv..« i;.f •
i"i,^ broke up ^^ ' ^"^' ^''^" ^^le meet-
grave, shook he,- ho,,l 'L- ' /'"= '«'*"<* ™rj
I was anxious I.,.,,r J . ^''^ ^'o^^'"-
*-d >'ot return a„L ^'..V, '•'f' f'71'»'-'«l, ™d
^fcly inside the .,.,t' '" '""^ "'"<^''«d her
h4i:t:,r:::i::;;-^-^*ook hands With
.o..fo"nth:!;:::r„:,r'--tKo,.henPe„.
" Poor lamb I " Rn\A p ,
-ord., but she has to rrf .r"' ,"f ^ "^^ "'"
lice." "^""^J^ "»-' wood for tiie sacri-
woulf !:rhe?!rt2,1, "'^' ^"^ ■"-"'• «'-
O-'-daduty.lC^'"""""^'^'"'" '--"
9s>«nofthe,%Lt. Butslie
2?
418
AGAINST TUB STREAM.
If , j
Bill
t!
r!!l"„/;' ''■''"'!'"™™'^ «'■■" forlicraelfone mo
ment ot ploasai.t ineorooureo witli us
tcied ! Loveday sa,d we did know how slie en-
dured, and thfit was much.
I knew sooner than I expected.
ihe next momins a letter came from Amice
tolhlTr ' r" ^""";''^'" ^"""^ "™ ''ft—'
bank I »h ' '""''' """ ''™S^ o™^ "'« violet
bank by the nver, j„st inside the gate. It is be-
9nnM I feel that my workt the work for
ri'sh':,:-"^"""- ^^--^ >•' --""ot be lea „„.
eo oJT™ "«/ """' ,'" "'" "" "■""'' ™ >"«" ^''t on
kissed hem I wonld have thrown my arras
aronnd her, but she would not have it
" / am one of them, Bride," she said, " not by
any condescension or sympathy, but really, Mil
a] y by hrthrujU. Granny says my motl.'r, „.-
lathers w,te, was a slave. Therefore I have i
mfselfl T '"■;. '"™'- ^"" - I -" - -'y
mjseJi iree-born." -^
And as she said so her eyes kindled, her form
w,th the feehng and purpose of the soul, as to A ve
one so,ne conception of what might be meant by
a 'spiritual body." Free-born indeed she was^
free-born m the old Tentonie sense, every inch and
every thought of i,ev free, that is noMe ; 'os™
erself one mo
^oAimr TUB BTitEAif. ^
'"-li'^Sr.^^tr'f-y^v,.. beside.
And I believe she"o,„r? ''-^f -i* a".<rer:
on Sunday afternoou T .°^ '" "■^^'- ^' "'a'
adverti.e„,euts, „d i^ ^ f '« "'"^ <>"« of the
■Daw^omnle in the chair ' Z ^' ,"^ ^""'^
;"on,i„,, but sbe bad . ; see 'i:'";":" !" "'«
leant out of the wJn,]n„, 7 InstantJj she
•' cto and era':::" oir"^"' '^ "■^™■••«^•
very conscious and sLepW. "'""'"^'' '""'"'"S
;;' Tear down that,' sbe said.
She was too angry fo,. epithets.
" llT:^t^\ ""■' ""= P-i-^ -'o shreds
ever dared toL tLt 1"? "f °^ "" '""^^ -'"o-
drive on.' ' ''" ''"''' »" "y walJs. Kow
onWsrastr:tirL~^'''^'«'^-^^.Hn
knoJ ofThill""'"' '"'""="'» -«' '-'■- did you
" ' Some weets since,' T sai.l
•"-''^"-.itt,esili:yc;ie.o.theto.„
420
rl
I
^ -t
^^
ilM'
AOALYsr THE tiTllEAM.
too,' sjiitl slie. 'Fool tliif T vvob f^
'Von, you. ,notlu.,.-. lu ' "•'' '" '^^'^ ■"»"=
c-I.u"i"^ '" """ ''■"""' "^ ""■'"' "" »"«»™' "'0
" How wo loft it j'onknow.
"As for ,„o, I c.o„lcl „ot l.olp boinj, more tl..,-,
'"" "" ''°'- «■''»• II^w eonlcl it look- to l,or, 1,„ U
»>. a Jong course of co.,cca!,„o.,t ? II„w Joukl
Blio „„dorsta,ul all tbo reasons whiel, „'* .s
feel ■ hopeless to tell her beforehand? hor <lo ■
.vfj- 7 '"'P"''',""™'-'«»' ""^ lH>,>eless„oss of ar,.„-
X^t V\ ""l>»-'^""y of abando„h,g
wiiat we considered riglit.
" Before the ove,?i„g I should have made a
de enn,„ed oBbrt, and told her all I felt cost her
and ,„e what it n.ight; aud it ™ight l,a™ « d d
^JZ'tcr ""^— '■■^' "-^ -"'^
eould, and havo concentrated her anger on you
slidtfC '"^•'^"'•"""'•-"'^^ -*-''" «!-
" I need not tell yon that, Bride ; it would
be nngonerous and unjust. You kno, her ad
bowMnuch, and how little, such words mean "
I knew, indeed that Madam Glanvil did deal
agly ,n superlafves, although not at all in the
6tUe ot tbo superlatives of Clapham
"However, she roused uie beyond cndnrar.co.
AOAIUST TUE STREAM.
T A ^^^
""■ It is »„ dim™,,, ,,:,",.,; - ,'" I-.,.
stances, to (liscii<« ... .i • ''"^ ^'"'"i^st cjrciim.
luiddone W]..,f.. , /T , ^^' ^0 ^o what I
of honor ? ' ^ ^^ ^ *^«^« know
to.J,to",:™I;I:" °"' P""'''"'"^ ™-0«> once „t-
cnoJtt;':""''' ""°"^'"^' "'"^ --W J'ave soft-
poor fatCTshr^r"'" -™- -"'"-or )'o„r
-d a good woln they ! : L^ ^ "^ff"!, -^^
not her own fault ]L i' ^"''' ^"'^^ ^^'«8
escombe ~-'
to
Dai
again
And she did say very bitter and
l>
. ''''i
■'Km
untrue th
inijs
^o ,
422
AGAINST THE STllKAM.
if
I
nioro than I felt I oiiirht to bear. I was perfectly
calm tlu!ii. And when T am quite calm I can aL
ways make Granny liear without shoutinf,^ I
spoke quite slowly, so that she must liear.'^md I
could see that she heard—
"First of all, naturally, I defended you ; and
then I said, < Granny, I tliank you more than I can
say for what you have told me. For now my duty
is clear. If my mot.ier was a slave, the slaves are
her kindred, and mine. I have a duty to her race
and mine, not oidy because they are men and
women— because God made them and our Lord
redeemed them— but because they are my moth-
er's peopU. And in one way or another, I will
devote myself, body, soul, and substance, to help-
ing and serving them in qvqy^ M^ay I can, as Ion-
as I live.' ^
"She did not storm anymore, poor Grannv.
bhe looked actually bewildered and frightened
and began to contradict hei-self. ° '
'Your mother was not exactly a slave,' she
said, ' when my i)oor George married her. She
had been, as an infant ; but her parents were set
tree in San Domingo. They were more than half
Spaniards ; Mmtees, I think they were called in
our islands. Three parts white or more. They
were free, and living on a plantation of their own,
with this their only daughter, when your father
saw her.
" '^ I'^c*'' /George ! I cannot blame him much
though [ did blame him bitterly, more than I
it hear, and I
A GA imrr the utiikam. 4^3
Poor fellow i I „.m 1 1 ?• '' '"''"'« '"'"•
cinJd, or would not Juive been h„t fnr f i
uites bo let us for<ret and for^rive.' ^^
novo,. fo"4t i";;^/,r ■""■■ '"'•*^°'' ^ -«^
UHist be iniue.' ■ *y '"otJier's people
U0S3",Sd'''''"'""''-^'-''^°'''"-»^*™<>e.--
staif ' rt'll ''^^ "'™'' fr°™ ■»« -.d went up
"-ptoir.Xorinrr"^.^''"-'
say. And then, if vou nL , ^ "'' *' ■''°"
^ . 11 \ ou pieaec, you ihhv
rs relations,
F «
mo
the King of Dahomej, to
424
AGAINST TEh] STIiEAM.
I'll S|i if I
«.e Popo of Rome, or the Methodist madmen or
,:S::i::?'''-- i^-a„ouwm„„tr:
"And so," Amice concluded, "I do sit af I.Pr
table^andneitherof „s spealcsa ;ord. ^^eVhe::
X id . r"^~'"""^' "^^^ ^-""^^d i«-
wiong, and mine overflowing with pity whicJi I
cannot utter or look; with i^everence L a he
made her break through during ail these years •
mj wilful folly and heartless ingratitude.' Never
^vhich she believed must have at any moment
brought me down on my knees in abjecl humi i^
ion and subjection! And when she brought out
this terrible, irresistible weapon, faithfully conceal-
ed so long to find it indeed terrible and irresistible,
WfX^^^^ - «h^ --^ ^eel, against
her.c f. The thiiig I am most sorry for as regards
myself and you, Bride ! " she resumed, "is thfs ap
pearance of concealment about the meeting. I
don t think we could have done otherwise. But
this made me more resolved to throw off all diso-uise
and come to the meeting myself. I thought over
It al Sunday night, Bride. I hope it did°,ot look
ike bravado, or any reflection on my father. You
think I did right ? "
" I am sure," I said, « it was not bravado ; it was
'^^'^'^^^^ and how are we to help confession
AGAmST THE STREAM.
495
Perimps Lave X d XL \'"" -'-' '^oy wo„M
what they would tkhf 1"^ '^'^ '" P"'''- 1>"'
face; ' thatTr ifc? *" ""^^ '^^ ' ^^^ to
think the e s no H7T'' ''"'' " °"'- ^nd I
heaven as" n'drivW m"', *""''' """ *'*^<' "'
>« to teachm^Xvlom- '1 "^ '*'^ ''""««' «■•
"as to Cha L ho„.h't n h?" "'f '" ^ -'=P'-<''
trade." = ' '" ''^™'' "bont the slave-
_'_'Sro," she said; "so I came."
">aykt'„\!];v!fll^''''^^'''''''«-<'-'>^e. Tou
danghter of a slave." ' "' ^°" '"'°^ ^ ^™ *e
f.l/w"i '''''■'' So^-l-Ve, Amice ? " I said " v
told Madam Glanvil- «„,! ""
opposition ! " ^'"""'.'-""'J »»«' 3'ou are fairly i,,
" For shame, Bride ! " she siid « r , „ ,
to think 'Methodism ' asO™?, „'''*" ''"S''"
to insurrection as Ihe ^'""'^/''''^ "> does lead
Church of En2nd and hT ^ ■"='""»" '» "•«
and if I haveTn^'le ,'„':';:" '" "'?«'"-'-™ !
Christianity it is to Hi '^' ""'"' ''o™ "f
most consen'at ve and ^'"'""""'' "■''" "''-^ *«
«arth. In my^Lt 1 n^P T™ "'"P''' ""»"
. «-h 1 , P'-othcsea's hvmn-l,o„l-
™t::omr;;:..';.t'''"":°""'^^"""-
^ 01 tiic heart, on patience in inward
th
and
I" i.
?•! •■
f 1 mmm s
1
(S'ffl
H
S''i
Ib
ji
1
ii'l
H:
i|_K
H
in
H i
426
AGAINST THE STREAM.
and outward tribulation, on poverty and lowliness
of spirit. Do you know, Bride," she said, with
one of her brightest sudden smiles, " I really feel
in some way nearer Granny now, and love her bet-
ter than before. I am not sure sometimes that I
do not really love her more than I love you or any
one, as I ought perhaps always to have done, and -
never could do. I am so sorry for her. In every
possible thing, Bride, I will submit to Granny, as
far as possible; and in this thing, which costs me
more than anything, most of all. I have told
Granny that you and Mr. Danescombe, and Piers,
are noble as JSTorman conquerors and crusaders, and
saints and angels, of better blood than the Glanvils,
and ten times better Christians than any of us!
And I have also told her that until she sanctions
it, I will not see one of you again."
There was no moving her. She had " begun "
indeed, as Loveday had said. We neither of us
said "good-bye."
We just gave each other one long kiss, and
turned and went home our different ways.
So, as it seemed to me, the sun was blotted out
of my life, and Amice's warfare began.
CHAPTER XXYIII.
^tate of radiant satisfaction
in til!'", '"'^ '^'' '""^ ^f Christianity
in these days was lowered ? Who «.,-^
people were not ready to cut n.T fi • V , ^
to go to the rack, the LocMh It t if^ ^f '
manded« " TTJa o .. ^' ^^ duty de-
"<iucu . jiis sense of " <?rtA'/7^w/ ' » •
Dorn. He felt, I am sure, as if l,o hitl oJ^ffT
own nght hand, metaphorically. Tto Ihff U
l.ev„.t„ous satisfaction, and refoiced il f
I'ad to boar the pais. For pZ^ , "' "'''"
-,asabsoh.toI,a^any S;,-,!;"""™^ "'-"'»
and the vicar continned to enter fh™„ / \^
«ate^hetwee, he savage hera,:;;:;;!?-'-'^
f nl t ch^ ll "7': -- ,-^*-S but eheer-
Jad .ea)i,rre„ i^„ "^ m:: l^ti™ ''^
U r,
'J'lie gates of Court
were like the gates of
i i'
i
428
AOAINST THE STREAM.
Dante's hell," he said. (He had been cultivating
poetry of the severest and gloomiest kind. Byron
was not yet available— had not yet written his sa-
tire on " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers."
Despairing young persons had therefore to draw
from deeper sources, and Dick bad found a trans-
lation of Dante in Uncle Fyford's library con-
genial.)
" Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,"
" Lascjate ogni speranza vol ch'entrate,"
was, he considered, breathing out of the savage
mouth of those heraldic griffins, written like an-
cient Hebrew words on the posts of the doors,
furrowed on the faces, black and white, of domes'
tic and host. Only to find a similitude for Amice
had he to rise to another book of the Divine
Comedv.
She was radiant, angelic— more than angelic
tender and good as a dear child, beneficent, gra-
cious, imperial, and, alas! far off as the Madonna
Beatrice.
Madam Glanvil never spoke to her. Nor could
it be said Madam Glanvil spoke graciously to any
one. She seemed, he said, in a kind of way, defy-
ing the world to come nearer to her than the child
she was thus rigidly keeping from her.
" Yery strange," said Dick ; « it seems as if
those two really loved each other better than be-
fore."
I remembered Amice's words.
^OMSST TITE STBBAJU'. ^^
doing them bothXS ' "=^^"'^'^' ""^ '' "-
really „ot only ontwardW h f ^^^' ^'""'° «™
to W SrandiCr J^," --"f .'.V ^'brnitting
o*' me in her heart sTl *'"^ " '^'^^'^e
things by Imlvef An? f r ""' ' ^'""^ '» ^o
i'eHiko a demon, arXd h ' ', 7'*^'" P"^''''
eyerything that ^s haMand drtltl??™""'
"■zing to herself. It is ;„„ 1- , "' """^ "S'>
passionate, steadfast 'nlC Lrt^ ^:r^"' ^™'''
■"Other's spinet'to te or;: X'st '^ T ''''^-
W, as I wa. beside Am?ce vet ., T'","'!' ^^
called me her ",.nn^-' ^f^''" ''^'^ always
"ic xiLr gooa-m-evervthino. *> i ,, .
genius „f common sense." And T' '' ^""'''
to plead for myself or for her And IZ "VT
never mentioned me, never asked *• ''/''"
never allnded to i.s. ""^ ""^ »^ "«
or dfd't tr" '''"V^ ^'' >-ealIygi;in. me up •
" °"'^; "'^'"' ^''^ trusted without tlfe shadow
430
, i
I
f*
AOAIXST THE STREAM.
Of a fear that I wonld always trust her without the
shadow of a doubt?
Yes, it meant that. In all my sane moments
1 w^is sui-e It meant that.
Nor had she the least shadow of a doubt who
would conquer in that contest between Amice and
her grandmother. " Love is stronger than Deatli "
she said, "and tlian all the shadows of death.
Alter all death, that is, hatred, pride, selfishness
has only shadows for its weapons, and can only
conquer shadows. And Amice's love and truth and
faith are no shadows. She will overcome sooner
or ater : she will conquer evil by good. And I
think It will be s#®n."
It did not seem soon to me. And the evil
thing, which severed Amice and me seemed to
me at all events a very substantial negation, as
subs antial as the negation of a rock to a ship
breaking to pieces on it.
It was a time of negations and partings.
At last. Piers, was able to fulfil his desire of
paying a visit to France.
^ He had no need to gather fresh details as to the
situation of the chateau where Claire had passed
her childhood. That I knew, was what the jour-
ney to France chiefly signified to him : but even
1 never said so, even to iiim. And to any one else
It seemed the most natural thing in the world that
any young Englishman, who was able, should take
ler witlioiit the
^G^^INST inE STItEAM.
431
ai'gates, to enter
'6>
t. and t,ose open gate« had closecl
■"Id m.sht close agai,, so soon.
did so, was i.Xd ;,:'""•. ^"' "'"' ^l-
^™de..se;„a;ri3uf::rCinf^«.^'''^-
Cliarles Fox Zs ? T ;."^'""'''"^'^^^'Pend.•ture.
^a X ox wiis iiand and p-]ov(i »Mf i, i •
derstand, in Paris ivr, ^ ? " '"'"' ^ ""-
follow." • '^" ™'"'"'- if ae sn,all fry
MaiJ:'Ls"oL7wi'rr "^ '"'^"'''" -■"
to take leave " to m!. 7 T """"= '» '»«'• 'wm
cons„iess:;^;,:f;;™r;f--«'-ti.e^
wife of the Oorsiean T /^ f' "'^ ^'•''<''«
Court at the T H rfes ^I ^ *' '^"^ " *<"«
I'-c setup the opera at; "t"'". ^'"^
I should hive thol ht =tL „ t^ "°^^^^''y'
Tuileries must be m !. ^'^ ""••''"™ »' "'o
»d Creol s tt taTen? f T"™' ^"'l ^'^''''''^
Of the older :," X ri''-r"' '"^'■°""^'-
"ear. The,!?: f "n! r.-^^r'''-^ --- I
pne.^t8 who take the
^ve a Church as well as a Co
" t^ie government demands
oath to violate tlie confe
urt
ssioiiaj
ini'ormation ahout
%■ "1
Ri If '
;!?*
432
AGAINST THE STREAM.
what it is pleased to call a Plot ; bishops appointed
by the Corsicaii, and all paid h\ him. It is quite
complete, and all absolutely in the Manager's
hands.''
"Mamma, "said Claire coloring, "he said he
would inquire about our dear old cure at Les
Orines. A.t all events he has not taken that oatii."
" No, indeed ; many of the old priests are
in prison. God bless them," replied Madame.
" See, my children," she added,." I grow bitter!
Do not the books of piety tell us that all earthly
glory is tinsel, all courts but a stage ? Only some
tinsel is in better taste. There is gilt paper and
ormolu. And to us, children of time that we are, a
thousand years will seem longer than yesterday."
" Mamma," said Claire in a whisper, " It has
done one good work, that new government. It
has abolished the festival for the guillotining of
our king."
" That is always something," Madame con-
ceded. " And the Fast for the Day of his Mar-
tyrdom, the prayers, and the weeping, no power
in France or out of it can abolish."
" And," suggested sanguine Claire, " they have
abolished the Decade, and restored the Week, and
the Sundii , , and opened the churches."
"' Condescending certainly to old-fashioned
people, to let them say September and Sunday,
once more," Madame admitted.
" There is nothing you can give me to do,
Madame ? '' said Fiers.
ve me to do,
AOAtjr^r me stbbax. ^^
%la/t J":e°tSr'V"'{;'""S a- Lore.
I can not even g^id^ £,„ 1 ? '"'"'^^ '""^ ™i'« ?
-0 industrious. ^itA , 1 ';:r ' ^r P»P'«
«f onr ruined chat<.a„r " " !™'= ""= «'<>nes
'«o built useful IittIeL«! ^T^' ^''"'^ «"
-But tlie Kin» tim n ,? "*» ''»"ses with thorn
will tnll ^' ^'"'™' Madame Elizahpti,
. , '"" yo'i even where H,„„ -^"^aoeth— wlio
""gl't weep for them ? Zl til "'i' *'"" •>''"'
"» tombs. It i3 n„; 2J'f '« Pranee have
8»eration that men buTd h ' *"'^ »■• f^^h
prophets." "■''' "'^ sepulchres of the
was so good, and »1I ti ''^ ™»"nunion. He
«>erewfreman;:^^:ta^ T'^ ''""• ^^^
J-on, if Mr. Piers w 7e ne T ' ° '"'"' "^ "=' «''
I'ort Royal des'champr r! "'"' "»""""" «^»Pf.
«vents, although tra3L , '"""' '"mbs at a )
"Madame, " slidTv "V"^ ''" ™'™-"
-"> certain,, make a p^^Hmt: t % "' ^'■^■•'''' " '
Champs." P"»nmage to Port Eoj-al des
Stay, I will write a litt oTetterf '" '"" ^'""'•^ "«<>•
28
43:4
AOAINST TUB i^THEAM.
If compromising letters wore
who was a Jacobin,
found — "
" True," replied .Madame. " Take this," she
said ; and opening a little cachette, she took out a
signet rmg and placed it on his linger.
" This is our family devise;' she said. " M le
Cure will recognize its bearer as a friend, and will
tell jou anything he can. Or any of our old ser-
vants. -But what dreams am I indulging? Who
knows where the cure is, or the church 'i And our
old servants may have been made conscripts and
i^illed long ago ; or republicans, and mav denounce
you ; or proprietors, and not too anxious for news
to disturb their possessions ; or they may have been
massacred, or noyaded as fliithful men and women.
Ta.'e care, my friend, how you use that token,
iiut keep It always, if you will, as a memorial of the
old days of our race, and of all the chivalrous kind-
ness of you and yours to an old French citovenne
It IS not a bad motto," she concluded—" 'J^oi roi
Z< in a circle-so no one can say which comes
iirst. Make it Divine, my friend, and then certain-
ly It matters little where the circle begins "
He kissed her hand, as we had beeli used to do
from childhood, grasped Claire's for an instant, and
went away. '
He was to start the next evening
It was his birthday, in January, the month
which had once given and taken away so much, in
our home. ' '
I went up to his room to help him pack, or
ng letters M^ere
^'"^^^'^'^r Tim STBEAM
rather to talk ,w,ii„ ,,„ ^^^
"VVe talked verr /a«t tr
'■ko o^n ending i;,r ,„o. '»'""'"«^ ^"''him, and felt
'" >vere going ^ 1 1^"''^''.-''^?, " to tbel as
^^^■•celj- fartl.el- to the 7 ,'"» ""P'''-tant. It ;,
^ «apha,n, ..areeVt '; "; , --.' .■" ti,„e, tt:
., ^'V I said "\v\ " ""■""' '■« ftir."
that lately f,.o„, ^-^^ '^^ ''*-« hea.d enough of
;''ey could be in Lo dtn Z 7% "" ^''''^' -^
ie worth while to do°\T- ^'"" «"« ' ^f wonM
""<' I -M, 'there tr:,:^'-^ '*'^«^/«.i:^
?<'"S'.idsomethin,.Xr "^'" ''« done;' ani
" Tp*"" "•«'■' f"»et''' "'"'^ *° "^ "-« when
Bride." )i 0.3 J -^ ,
^eticaJJj sjiappin tl,e lock f?.'^''^^^^
430
AGAINST THE STIiEAM.
ml
%
M
J' ; ■
i
i'
1'
mar is getting very confused. Unbapj)ily joa
never went to Mr. Rabbidge's and learnt about
aorists and iniporfeets, and narrative tenses. Some-
thing has never come, you see. And to go to
Franco to look for it does seeni what Uncle Fvford
would call Utopian and Mr. Rabbidge chimerical."
" Yet yon are going," I said.
"It would be soniethijig to find there was
nothing to be done," he answered. "To find,
that is to say, that France can do nothing for her ;
and, so, that there may indeed be something for u::
to do for her."
And 80 the next morning, to Madam Glanvil's
indignation, to Madame des Ormes's perplexity,
and a little to Claire's, but full of purpose and hope,
which, as usual with him, came out but little in
words, in the crisp January frost, he went off across
the moors to the sea.
V'.
hi
<K^^.^
CHAPTER XXIX
Tn[f thlT "'"' '"*' ''' '^'^-^ to ,„o
"uo tlie bracing air 'ituI fi '
and tlio eliill. " "'° "i"*
Sucli a diiniioss and cliill fi>ii
wl.on he was gone r SaoUf ererything
England, for the slave fof a! ""!■ ''"'•''""' -^^
winter days oL-ly T/g, i *■ '\"'', '"deed those
raise the national life '^ ° 'l"'''''™ ""d
of Q^'n's Bellf *^: 7^^ S""^' <>» - the Court
general, on bol if J-''^''^^-'"--. our Attorney,
defendant, an „,.!'/"P°'''''» ^omp^rte ; tlfo
ueienuant, an obseure Eov li^f • "".""J^"™ 5
tion liK.,1 ' -„ - . ' ^ ''"^' emijrre ; the aco
against ail'
cate, Sii- James Mack:
'iendij
. government
■intosh "
theadvo-
reality England
1! '
it
«'<'; ,
%
438
AGAINST THE STUB AM.
felt, and millions in silenced Europe felt it was Lib-
erty that was on her trial in her last asylum ; the
accuser, Despotism embodied in the First Consul ;
the advocate the last country in the world in which
the press remained free.
Mackintosh's eloquent words vibrated through-
out the land. England was quite capable of being
simultaneously electrified to her remotest towns,
and villages, and homesteads, before the electric
telegraph came into being; simultaneously for all
working purposes.
We make too much, I think, sometimes of these
material inventions. Eager groups awaited the
little badly-pi-inted reports of the trial, and news
from the passengers, at every inn-door, as the lum-
bering coaches passed through. Slow communi-
cations, clumsy reports ; yet the heart of the old
country beat warm and flist enough.
" Mackintosh called . on his countrymen to
" pause before the earthquake swallowed up the
last refuge of liberty Switzerland and Holland
once had a free press. Switzerland and Holland
(two of Bonaparte's miserable bagatelles) existed
no more. Since the prosecutions had begun, fifty
old imperial free German cities had vanished.
When vast projects of aggrandizement are manifest-
ed," he said, " when schemes of criminal ambition
are cained into effect, the day of battle is fast ap-
proaching for England. Her free press can only
fall under tlie ruins of tlie British Empire. TTp.r
free government cannot engage in dangej ous wars
'** i>
'^^^^INST THE STREAM.
^^'ithont tlie free inA l.«„ ^
^^ ting of Enlbfd lt''•"''''T"''''^■■P«Pl'^•
'O- would sLeeC if " rr • ' "" ""'-
people around his standarf " "'^ '' '" «"" ^"^
was translated into eve .^ ■■• ^"' ''"^ '''"™''e
1^-'- was ^^^^i£^-i::^r^
;"-'wUt::sitrior-"f^
:i:et;i^^-^-'»^-''--t:."zt:d-^
Eumors reached us of ins„lf, „» ,
A.«bassador, lord Whitworth a ,,! P ''^ '° T
I'egan to call it a Court „f t "'?,.<^<""-t-they
insults borue by Eu^L, d v, 1 ^"^' ^°"*"' !
patience of largeCttoel T\ "" '^"""^ "^ «»*'>'
otl.er creaturesC^oS t:t^ " ""^ '"''^'''■^''^
tolerance beyond isZiL t '^^ ""'' <""•'='«««
Bo„aparte/a.grei™'L,^4™r'-™-«-.st
sarcasm, in referencp t. ! " eontemptuous
»>• angr; tau,^ 'ot-VeX:! i"' '," ^^"^ ^^'^■''
and threats of the c„„o ''•"'' "^ "''^'"ies "
saloon at lord wl t "S"""^'' '""""''^d in ft,,,
"nation of shopL~^';,™!:!' ;''»"§''., the
U
h't tf
F» il
J,
uo
AGAINST THE STREAM.
I,
i.i?l
seems always to take the rest of the European
world by surprise.
War was dechired. or rather accepted. Two
Freucli privateers were captured. And in one of
the dramatic raf^es with wliich he cowed the rest
of the world, the First Consul, in revenge, seized
ten tliousand British subjects, who happened to be
peacefully travelling in France ; the ten thousand
" detenus'' who throngliout the campaigns of
Nelson and Wellington had to linger out the
weary years in French prisons, or at least, in a
society which to them was all one prison.
And among them was our own Piers.
We refused to believe it for a long time.
Piers, we said to each other, could speak French
60 well, he was sure to escape when others would
be detected. But then, acting, or any kind of strat-
agem or disguise were so foreign to his nature ;
and his whole bearing was " so English, " Claire
said despondingly, though far fj-om disparagingly.
But then, she added, there were sure to be kind
souls ready to help a stranger in France; had
not they tuinid it so in England ? and would her
compatriots be outdone ? She was sure there must
be fathers and mothers and sisters in France who
would feel how Piers would be missed, and would
lielp him to return to us.
In March I had received a letter from Piers,
quite long for him. He had made his way to two
of the Marquise's former estates. He had looked
for the cure, but in vain. One hundred and fifty
MAms7' me stream. 441
'It, , Toll: r\r''^' ''■•°»^'" "^ ''''-. ^<''•
xiiju vec, wrote Pier " In'a xr* i
lias placed the bust of B„,t„ t'o, ' t l'^ ""
convince every one tl,.f • Tailenes, to
h-e, were it not for the wa'r a, d 2 '' """"
The, Wished E„„and woTdd t ^:;;rr 'tZ
Em,gres nobles w^„,d not excite her to 1 ft" I
It was reported tJiev dirl ti T»r , '^"- '''^'^) a»
come back to live amon .them if t"'' 'f »""'
before— tlip ..i, h i tnem,— if not exact y as
■-Vet 7^ f '] ^'"^ ^"^**«^-t"nate]y been burnt
p-.asei-b/th:fLz^rdartt:-^::;
442
AGAINST TEE STREAM.
! I
s •
I
Slim, and he and his ^ged wife listened witli tear-
iul interest to all Piers could relate of Madame and
C.aire. The old man regarded himself as only
manager of the property, as of old, and looked for-
ward to restore it one day to Madame. But he en-
treated that she would come back without delay
I^or he privately told Piers "he had a great neph-
ew, his heir, brought up in ti . atmosphere of the
new regi7ne if regim.e it could be called, and he
eonld not be sure of his loyalty to any one or any-
thmg. He was a fine young man, however, and
his mother a lady of the fallen noblesse-the pe-
tite noblesse, certainly, not such a house as the
JJes Ormes. But he had sometimes thought
whether an alliance might be possible ? " Piers had
seen the great nephew privately, and thought him
an intolerable dandy and upstart. He could scarce-
ly bear to write the words of the Intendant, but
the old man had insisted, and asan envoy he thou-ht
himself bound to yield. In a fortnight, or less now,
he hoped himself to be with us again.
He wished to say something cheering to Mad-
ame. But it was difficult. I must judge how
much to mention to her. Ten years was a lono-
time anywhere. In ten years babies grew intS
youths, children into men, young men into
thntty fathers of families. It was a very lon«- pe-
riod in a country which could not count ten years
from Its new era, in which an institution Mdiich
nad lasted a twelvemonth seemed almost antique
To come back to old England he felt would be
AOAINST TUB STREAM. 443
like stepping from a raft, ,i„st lashed fosotl.er out
of broken p,eees of the ship, tofe,™ |° « t '
Jand was j^erliaps a rockv oWA\ «t i '^
ccnpared 'with \. Z„ / F 'j^e S'i« "^'^
.•«ek. And Just now the s^as seem;d fe ^ toZ"
the news fro,„ aZs IhT trf Z^ti^
about the conquest of Malta • «nrl ,., ^""^e^'""g
K;;d''t? r '?-"'■-- o,r,:
Orlh ? *^ '"^ """'"^ ^t»d fi™. Geor..e
S e ;:r rttf I'f ^-^^-^ ^•^^' »<> --^
had ^np .„ • ' "' '"""'' ™^ a" safe. He
W„/ T ^'""•"''y '° ">*« to find tlie curl
Madame had wished hi™ to see : and then iLne
little self-saM^d at to f 17""^', *" "^ "^
sao-flnif^r \r. 1 . "^"'^^ prudence and
Pn, »lT 7^ °'''"'"' ''°"'"5. not far from P„r
Rojal des Champs, whither he had ^„ne to „fX
among the peasantry.
Madame was, at 5rst, much incensed at tlm
proposition of her iutendant with regard to cLir:
> !«
-w
^ ^Ip-^ 1
t.ltJ
444
AGAINST THE STREAM.
'■ Poor man ! '-' she said, « to 8„ch a degree have
tliese whirlwinds turned the I.est brains ai^d be-
wildered the most loyal hearts. But tiie great-
nephew, insufferable ^onng man! I svippoHe he
would thmk it a condescension lo oadow my
daunhter with the remnant of the property of
whicii they have despoiled our house."
" Bi^^ Maman," said Claire, « it is not said
tiuit t})G youug man entertains the thought : at
least Jet us exonerate him !"
"What can you know, my innocent child?
Of course I do not suspect any young persons
of takmg such an affair into their own hands,
iliis at least, the duty of parents to provide mar-
riages for their children, the Revolution has not
changed. From such disorganization France is yet
preserved."
Yet, now and then she returned to the intend-
ant's scheme.
"Perhaps pride is after all the sin which has
brought down our order," she said one day to
Olaire. M. I'lntendant seems to have spoken
deferentially and loyally ; and, as you say, the
young man is not to be blamed. And if his moth-
er were, indeed, of good blood I The poor o-reat-
uncle is fond, no doubt ; but he says t.l ^oun^^
man is beautiful, let us hope also goou The
family were ji; ways devout."
But at t;. point, Claire, regard ^ ... ai consis-
tency, entirely abandoned the defence ,-i - youn^
man. ^
it h. not said
^(^AINST THE STREAM.
445
in France H L t, dV T ™'"™"''' «™»
away ? On thjwh^ 7' "'" ''°°' "''^'"S «"
badly forT/ot: ™t; St '■?"? "»' ^l'-"^'
republican days ha™ "^ ''"'"''^ '" ""^^e
BanejJrL- ett.a'- -ir- f :
then tbon wonldt W T: "n' r"'";'/"^ "'^«'
abouldhave been My JorM a f!;™f •, ^'"'
can exist anywhere onf „f p "'^^'''' "' "'«
tie world, now " * ^""^^'^ ' ^''^^^'^^'^ ">
"Unjust to me'" soM n].,- ..
w. wo„,dihave::;uhT;;;;irr-;
be nnjnst to any who have been good to «" M
Rers went-is detained-/,,. „,, l^Z^'- «•
forhi!:!;i;T:,7d:f'''iJ"-^°''/"'-'''-™'^p™.v
Bnt, fo'r thee? r l;./'" ."J!^' S^^™- beart !
Somet
lines r f(iQ\ as i
I cannot al
ways be with thee.
A!
446
f
ii
m
AGAINST THE STREAM.
And before I go, I would fain do my dntv for
liee ,f I knew it. M. J'lnter.dant was a l^rav; and
%al servant always. I spoke hastily of hi,n
Crod forgive me. I have failed in so rn noli ' "
And then the little tender veil of concealment
for a moment was laid aside, and the two wept in
one another's arms.
For a little shadow was falling on Claire-a lit-
tle shadow from one human form; yet, within that
shadow an eqlipse of the sun would, to her, have
added little darkness. Slowly, imperceptibly de-
cay and ruin were creeping on all that made her
home, on all that made the world home to her : ruin
beside Mdiich, when it came, the crush of falling,
nations, or of falling worlds, would for her have
added little tumult.
No longer now so very slowly, orimperceptibly,
the stages of declining strength were measured.
hvom the chair to the couch, from the couch ta
the bed, from helplessness to helplessness. The
steps we all have to tread, unless for us the last de-
scent which leads to the shining upward way, is a
precipice. ^ j =• «
^ And then came the keen March winds, penetrat-
|ing irresistibly through the carefully guarded win-
dows. And then a few days of bewilderment and
anguish And then the difficult way was over : and
the mother was perplexed about her'duties no more
or the duties of others. '
She had been led at last « by the right way to the
city of habitation." ^
«
She left her child to God
«'- she looked wi h C'^J* ^^»"«"^. »d
day and me. ■'^ ''^"^^' g»ze at love-
Thoii Claire preswd t),„
b'-'W..S the oL Nf,"r:rf •^.'" ''-''>• »nd
Mmo, the only Na.np f"' , "'' " "'«>'« e™ry
C'-tened split p^^X" ''''^' "" P""-'
We thonght there was a IW , ,
nance, as of eves that I,!. ^ "" ^'" '^"""te-
so..gI.t, and in'one glancel 'T °"'"' «^^«' '""S
Porplex-ed. ^^""^ understood all that had
PnrilVs^frft ^t'blt P^'-^"'' ™°"™.-ng, lowly,
.•tnd.c f sS^^^^^^^^^
r'^'X^f^ZlZZZ-'^'^r^^^^ And
childhood, to foil : t : moTh "r "" '^"™ ^^ °>3'
face." "'" niotherly eyes " „p to His
And beinsT siv ..tp- „„ ,
she learned her lesson . """■" '™"«"''' 'han I,
-e disciplined, and aCr J rVX*'
|r*%
,^v^'(s;
448
AOATNSr THE! STREAM.
fort in little ^In'ngs, refnsinr^ ^^ ^imb of comfort,
im my of l.ght, from any Bide.
Sometimes T wondered.
To me the feeling in sorrow was,—
" My feast of joy has been sNvept a way. I will
•not refuse the crun^bs under the table I.s susten-
ance. That would be suicide. Butto give thanks
at the empty table for the cMunnbs, and pretend to
Bay grace as for the feast, that would be servile, false.
And I w,ll not try. I will mingle ashes with mv
bread, and my drink m 1th weeping. God is a fJ-.
ther my Father, the Father. He will understand."
JJu^ CJaire, even in this sorrow which cleft her
tender heart, as well I kncM', was still like a guest
at a kings table. It seemed to me as if the old
Imbits of her high-breedmg went throngh her soul,
and pervaded her religion.
She world not fail in ,ny gracious form of
courtesy bec.i.se her heart was breaking, any
more than her mother when her life was ebbing •
not even, if I may say so, wiih God.
She opened her windows literally and syrr^olic-
alb; to t^e sunshine. She s. •.ad ihe little white
tables with the primrose '^er mother had delio-j.ted
m. She kept the roon r ; I pleasant, as if her
mother were on a jour: , , uu. she had expr.cted
her home. And yet her dear brown eyes were
otten dun and red with weeping.
" The good God thought it worth while to make
the primroses tlds spring," said she, "and should I
fail to show Him I see, and «ire and am grateful ^
M.
mb of comfort,
awav. I will
ble as susten-
to give thanks
nd protend to
e servile, false,
shes with mv
God is a F;,
understand."
hich cleft her
II like a gnest
as if the old
ngh her soul,
3US form of
•eaking, any
was ebbing;
nd sym'jolic-
■ little white
ad deliirhted
mt, as if her
tad ex}»octed
1 eyes wero
hile to make
md should I
til grateful ?
"^^'^^r^ST THE srnE^^^
Aiid then she cared, IBrido Q?
^^^onghsho iiassomncUhat 17'-''^'''"^ ^^^-
care for now." ^'^^ '^ ^'''''•^' and betfe,- to
yyhen lean fjivo tlioni- n -i
"<> g!ad, I know l!,„ fee! :!^ ?"* ' «'«' '» » '"■
tlien I iiope God fa ,r,.,l.' al«-«J8 ! 0„lv.
md I „., f,„ i ^'-^^J -"> 77 bo ,„„.o U,
■"'■•ajsu.oro and more." '''" '^ «ng, W
»9
m
1
M
CPIAPTER XXX.
TIE seizure of tlie ten tliousand Enfrlish in
France roused tlie nation from John o'
Groat's House to the Land's End. At
last England set herself resolutely against
the stream, regardless who pulled with her.
From that tiiue till the end of the war twelve
jears afterwards, whatever some factious men
might write about the futility of opposiug Bona-
parte and his "invincihles," and however a feeble
policy might reduce the war to " neat and inef-
fective expeditions," the nation went heart and soul
into the conflict, her spirit keeping firm in victory,
and rising with defe.ic.
For twelve j-ears we felt ourselves, every inch
of us, one Nation, and a nation standing alone, for
all nations, for all the kingdoms of the world
against one devouring Universal Empire. As long
as England stood, Napoleon could not assume the
coveted title of" Emperor of the West."
The symlwls of the Hebrew ] mphets and of
the Apocalypse came into men's minds in those
days as no oriental hyperbole, but the natural and
Ire. As long
t assume the
«d « reprieve onud^t "rV r''^''' -J"-'-
" '^ '1--"PP.-O,.oh „ : ! ^'"f ''- Pa."pl.let
■g
«
/''rarffo,,~;y''oMiiie„,,i,,;,,..'
'""'-•3, nt least o? , ? „T'"""""'>" «'' .'•il L
« "m t!,o sand of the sea "ft ' '"■'''■ *P'-''"fc'!"g
""'•'l'. fi-o,„ „otl,;„o. ,S *^'"" "'e dust ot^I,:
f"W"od tl,e,„, Se ;* r "'■*'■ '™8^» d
licaven" and "east fl '''^'''''s' "tl.o l,tst of
places." "^^ '^« *«-e down fron, tL°>
It IS difli(.,,)t e
'^I'o re„,e,nber, to T.hl 1 ""'"<'' '''■'^" f<«- "^
^•^ ^ 'onld attain any helh, 'r'' '""'■"'^'W^ "'at
can Javryer's son, the "''!'' °f ,?<>"'<"•' "'» Corsi-
Asposed of thrones to CkL^ f'' f '■°""^'' -''o
How eonid it fc d,n^'':°^"^'''« general.?
shonid commit any crimr ""''•"lil'le tlmt l,o
''■■'d mnrdered t!,e voT n ' '" '™ "" Relieved
"■y"; w).ohad a, 7pS- <^'Eng).ein at J, d.'
-one prison, and T:^^sI nt^L'O " """ ^'™^"''^<'
" ' m another; „-ho
11 >l
f.1
•ifir
452
AGAINST THE STREAM.
m
^^^^^^^^pt
u
Hi
1 .i
massacred his prisoners in Syria, and sliot six
thousand Russians kneeling helpless on the ice;
who, M-hen thousands of his own men fell, shud-
dered a little at the blood-stains on the white uni-
form thej^ happened to be wearing, and as a reme-
dy coniraandcd " only blue uniforms " in future ;
who never hesitated at a ftilsehood or a slaughter;
and for what object ? The glory of France ?
He was not even a Frenchman. His own supre-
macy ? No man disputed it. It was little won-
der if to some he seemed an incarnation of some
preternatural power witliout human heart or con-
science, and without human limitations, so swift,
so unable to rest, so in\'incible in destruction, so
unable, it seemed, to do anything but destroy.
Three successive Augusts he fixed his camp at
Boulogne, gazing menacingly across at our white
cliffs— and gathering his hundred thousand around
him to cross the sea and assail us.
In the first August, 1803, England answered
him by enrolling her three hr.ndred thousand
volunteers, to avenge her ten thousand detenus,
and to meet the hundred and tv/enty tliousand
veterans at Boulogne.
We laughed at ourselves and our voluntary
defenders, freely, as the custom of our country is.
Every town liad its jokes against itself and its citi-
zen soldiers (the old butt of wits from time im-
inemorial), t^^ - cut of their uniforms, or the hand-
ling of their arirs ; and Abbot's Weir was not be-
hind the rest. I remember well old stories of the
A3L
i, and sliot six
less on the ice;
men fell, shiid-
1 the ^v]lite nni-
^, and as a reme-
■ms" in future;
or a slaugliter;
Dry of France ?
Elis own supre-
was little vvon-
nation of some
m heart or con-
ations, so swift,
destruction, so
but destroy,
'ccd his camp at
ss at our white
lousand around
^land answered
dred tliousand
usand detenus,
'■enty thousand
our voluntnry
Dur country' is.
lelf and its citi-
from time im-
s, or the hand-
eir was not be-
ll stories of tlie
AOAmsT THE STBBAM.
lieroic valor with wl • ■ "' ^^^
»-om fortl, „,-tJ, fife '™;; """■ Sallant vo]nnte„^
ported o„tb,-o,.t o7 ;," "" '" «"<">'>"ter a re
"'; -«n.y to be nl£ r;:? "^ «-. and fir.,,-;,:.
^«t to „ark the road tots\?^^'"" ^■''"° ^'"''"^
-f b..t i„„l„,;„„, A, c :,., 'Z""'''-^' '■^'■'"•ned
f some review b^- some di^ ' T °" ""^''o"
*''e time, the manL.v « ,'?"''";,S'"'*'«=d offieer of
tobacco into hi., bnrf" '"' "'""'» » ^'dd of
W'e Jauii-hed if .n i
"-Po-ors'h t b ri?""''"™^ "-""Wed at
<^;'^'' otber and obevi,'. ti , '™"' '^ ' '*«^''"g iu
'■■"0. ■■" that incotil, " ''""''"•* """ !>« all^tj,
"O'Sbbors not a little. '""^^ ""'^'eads o„r
».vEr,ll!r„;^:l J^--.n»e„t.pa,, or ....M
^ Mea„ti,„e Mr. pft ,?^,; ""f"'-"^. ''™«, orti,„e.
of ™ felt ,va. his plac!, I ,^7' »■" "f what most
was living at W, Imer '"'' "^ *'^ '"'tio,,
,«■■-'. drillings we e ;:oi rr"t;"S' '"'-toer
I'/';."; ^o»-" "'arket-ho ?s ' ";r'°'"°'" "■«
»'bd,n s song, were .Z ' °" V"''«° «''«'•'"»•
^otehballadswererevi ed "r?"'''"'-«' ""^ old
T^alace bled, Seots whallt./,®™'^ "'bahaewi'
:c:^'-'^''Brito:s^:rot.e^:r,';t
-Xt:::r^;:'rf\Q-'-rs. to,,,."
St^'i
'^ traitor,
«* us little less
th;
m
454
AGATNSr THE STREAM
m
wn
FTow mncli did it nil iiieaii ?
Diseii>liiu?d, ai.d undcM- ublo loadersliip, it
meant sunictliiiig at Tralalgai", in the rcninsiilar
War, and at Waterloo.
Bonaparte never obtained a clianee to prove
wliat it would have meant on onr own sliores. It
meant, at least, that the nation felt herself a na-
tion ; and tliat every atom of the body ])olitic ])ad
become for the time, an atom multiplied by the
sum of the whole. It meant that we all knew
there was something worth infinitely more than
money ; and, many of us, that there is something
worth more than life.
Once more the eloquent words of Sir James
Mackintosh, the Advocate of Peltier, in the " de-
claration of the merchants, bankers, tradei-s, of
London " rang through the land. " We deem it
our duty solenmly to bind ourselves to each other
and to our counti-ymen, that we will employ all
our exertions to rouse the spirit, and to assist the
resources of the kingdom ; that we will be ready
with our services of evei'y sort in its defence; and
that we will rather perish together than live to
see the honor of the British name tarnished, or
that noble inheritance of greatness, glory, and
liberty destroyed, which has descended to us from
our forefathers, and which we are determined to
transmit to onr posterity."
On the 2d of August, 1804-, when Bona])arte
came to threaten us the second time from Bou-
logne with his myriads, and liis llat-bottomed
of Sir James
^<^^1NST THE STREAM.
in;,' «-as want J „ lo t'^^T ^" '''"•'"' "»" '
"^'t "P on tlie coast it\ "•"''°"''' ""■""« '"'«
a,'o,„Kl. """''' ""= '^"ons paid l,„,„age>
But on that siuno ISfl, ,*■ n
o"co ,„oro on the \^L '" '"'" '"''' '"'"d
oncJ!i!!;.r'''"™^ '''■'•- ^--'- of England
cause we were jou„„ And T , " '' ^""i'b' he-
■■"Xl Nelson worn about t/M"T"""'sl" P'"
Piers free. "' '" *""»'' "'« "'a.-, and set
to e,a:,::t,,r"' ''''"'■'= "■"' ^ ^'a^ draw„ nearer
™ade England what t wr'' !' u '"'''^''''' -''■*
!'■''- t'-an that wh Had '.f "^ ^""""S"'' ^'^
franee what it was t ..t ""' """^'^ »'■ '««
i«Ky save the R,-m;, !:'i""= °'""-'''' -''ieh fear-
•i :-ii
d Iioid till
^'■'jJo to the peor.le,
'(>Il(J'll/->!|f <I. - 1
-,— .-•■Mil L:!;r i
people, and the faith
"ot only on
JfHUi,
«™"ewo,nerUo,weetenthemb;,:f
•m
45(;
AGAWiST TUIJ STREAM.
rough men to change and save tlicni, which rnado
freedom and loyalty possible together, eoiild not
have wandei-ed tar from their divine source. Per-
haps, also, Leon tine and her Huguenot faith had
unconsciously infiuencod her, and that century of
persecution which haa robbed France of her
noblest; certainly Loveday and all she had seen
in her. However it came about, so it was, that
one Sunday morning she walked quietly across the
market-i3]ace with Leontine, and asked if she might
sit in our pew. And that Easter she received the
Sacrament, kneeling between my fether and me
under the old altar window.
" If this is indeed the best I could do," she said
to me afterwards, as we walked across the pleasant
Leas where Piers and I used to stroll on Sunday
afternoons, " my mother and yours would be glacl,
Bride. And I think it is. And I think they are."
She had always a strange sense, for one so
buoyant, of the transitoriness of this life, and its
continuity with the next. Perhaps her old Cath-
olic training had helped her to it, linking the liv-
ing and the dead, by more unbroken ties, than
some forms of Protestantism. Perhaps, also, the
convulsions which had desolated her country and
her home. I ahvays felt that to me life was in
some sense more solid, to her more liquid ; to me
as the firm land which could only be parted by
earthquakes, to her as the waves of a changing sea
forever heaving and parting, while bearing us on
to the invisible shore.
AG.
'''"^^'^^ THE STUEA.
U.
^57
She spoice of deafl. „
., -'^"-ons, a,H, not : ^ ?^ . -, ... ox
'^""■'' V'ito cheerful t '' ""'"^ '° '« froa,
«'< earm-ng hfe j;,,. '« •■•« quUe well t,-ea(„|
penence. '"S, and ga,ni„g ^,,,„^^,^ ^^'_.
In tile fii'st ])„
■■^'.■.■ont a„„ deferent 1 bTT '°^^'-'*^™^. very
'!'<-■ state of her nr/ ""' ^ery briol,, ' /
:-™^»^wa:ic-fWthe:5c
so«ie i-oinittances. ^' ^ ^'°1^^'^' to sfind J,er
""7; inferior i„ ra, iL" •""' ^ "■•■« '» tell W
not care fm. 1 • ^'^^^so weJJ fhof t
.ire:x:;^-oat:^rifre\:v;r'
p , '^j«- Ue wa<: 01,,.^ ,. *■ ^ sister
-;^e.. as a ehlM. ^ ,? , -;; &"'or would ear
'■'»^>t to do it, ete., ete. " """''^ ^'""^ be the
^'^"d I told our f.„l
\ "> Ciai,.e. And 'o I' "'"^ '"'"'^ «'"'P'y 1. ■
Ji'nK.,,. "'^ ''O tile nf>rr.L.,..V ^ -^ "'
w
certainties \vei_ ^
tile
Pw-piexitic
•seif.
CI
'■& an
ire b.
' iin-
^ rt^w \vortIs to P
ajiie our
'^'rs, only
458
AGAINST THE STREAM.
n
Hi
F
1 ']
. 1
?k|
a few, because it was so doubtful if tliey would
reaeli liim. She said it was tor her he liad become
a prisoner, and it was but his due. But the little
letter did reach him, and seemed to be as satisfac-
tory to him as a volume.
Thenceforth they corresponded, and those let-
ters which I never saw wonderfully lightened the
separation, even to me; they made Claire so
hapjn', that the reflected light gave me faith in its
source, through all the darkness of absence.
Probably, moreover, the separation by seas and
continents lightened the other separation between
the brother and sister, which inust have come for
me, when, however the love might continue, the
M'hole weight of his heart's confidence and caro
came to rest on another.
I seemed to gain a sister in Claire before I
parted with anything of a brother to Piers's
bride.
Moreover, this betrothal, w^hich my father wish-
ed to be known at once, had an unforeseen effect
on the relations between Amice and her grand-
mother.
One morning when I was tying sweet-peas in
the upper terrace of our garden, to my wonder and
joy. Amice herself came out from the Aladdin's-
lamp-like-door of the little subterranean passage,
and walked up the steep slope. I was too surpris
ed even to run and uieet her. The " lionor due,"
as I knew Amice felt, to Madam Glanvil, had so
^^AINST THE STIiEAM.
459
scaled my ]ips, ,,nd ,„^^j
^'^^ a clandestine interview '" ""^'^^"'"^
■g
-.y -- -"<^<-i View.
Indeed we had lived ^^^ITT" ^''^'^'^'^
>' ™« a yea,, sinee wf ad ! e ''""' ''"'°"°'^
ever happened I vZl , ' '""^'"'«'' ^^hat-
tMnkin/Ld tH,.X: rirn ^"'=^ "-
all times ratliei- like ■, hn,. d ' ^""<''' ^'•^ at
«ther like her l„d„t ,' ^""■' "='''' '» «">-. »■•
of feeling. Srandmother, as to demonstration
nr^ona.orc:s^^^^^^^^
t/iiiJd ! wifli .ill , . '
«on,,.o„ are as p .,'^af "'' ''nf'™" ^'"^ «"'""'•«-
and that is the 0^7: •'^ '^''"'"' °^ ""=»' »" ;
•«en hn„,ble eno 4 toTV T' '' ^'"^ ''^^
little like other !ri if *™ ■;"','" ''y'^-d rage a
■nonthsago. 1 1? fo , H" "" ''-■= '-en over
i'avejo„°shut 1 er o^ frf % '""'■"='""'^<'- ^^''y
Of course yonZiZ " ?""'' "" "^^^ time?
mean it.' ^ ^'" '"'^ "^"o'™ I did not
And s^/eTornir- " ''"''"' "" ""■"^^f"--
l^eh-el'/l'aT "™B„f: "" '■=""■ ^»- "^ «"™ee. I
And as I Z deaf "7 """ "' "^''°"' '» ^1'-^-
7P0seit,„„.,tC'Xt'i:tr°r*'""'^
J^anesconibe ? " *^"® ^^^ut Piers
a
-f told her of the
engagement with Cla
Ji'e.
460
AGAJiVii'r THE STIIEAM.
\::}
!»:*
plL.,.ed 1 1,0 1,,,^. ;, pHsuner, ,u,d tl,o <Avl « he.,-
an„t Protl.esea and her Elder. If o,ie is tcr&d.t
any one, or love any one, b„t an E.^lislunaut it
ud bc;^ter be a Frenclnnan. It seen.. ,nore natu-
al. One s ancestors lu.ndreds of years ai;o miglit
have done ti,osau,e. Besides it is rathert el^aneo
we Glanvds d.d not stay in Nor.nandy. and then
"t. nnght u 1 nniortunately have been French.
I here are o.dy two nations, after all, of reallv old
fatn.ly, the Frenei, and ourselves. The rek of
then, are ch.ldren, parvem.s, savages just dvilizod.
Wiio had ever heard of Russia when the Glanvila
ean>e w,th the Conqneror, or of Prussia, or even
rf Austmj Tl,en, besides, I don't like this pa!
toon 01 Poland. Not that I tinnk ™neh of 'the
loles. Bnt wo got over onr little pilfeiungs in
the dusk, befo,-e history began, we old nation^and
old fatnd.es. It is discreditable tobo'caught doin<.
these thiiigs in the daylight.'
"I suggested that the Hohonstaufen and the
Hohenzol ern were not altogether of new blood
and that the Holy Eon.an En.pire was rather l,.
" ' Hohenstuff and Holy Roman nonsense,' said
Granny irreverently, not believin^^ in history or
in fonugn languages, ^ that little French thing is
not a Roman, at all events, I am glad to see by
her comn.g every a,m,layto chnrch. You may
have her here with Drido Daneseond)e.'
but she Joukt'd
^^^r^^^T 2mj ST^AM.
:;*-.o„;,,::';.i;;tj-'-:^'-,«;. to
KiK once, and a,,, „ot .,,,.1, , "" '" '»™ '"v-
]"e a good deal. A„d " ; ■ ^ ':'™ l«-'en tl.ink- ■
'"' I H.h.k a„, Zil^l'^^y «™ ■■.•«l.t. Not
*""'^J.'m,t a liit of ;, "'^ "'" ""*«.' si.e co„-
A" .-die, i«co„.i^,ib,e\t;tr'' °^ "'" ^^»"'»<ii«ts.
can fo,- ,„o.' ' *''«' fe'ood or Juirm they
^^^S r s WtTad/r; 1, ""'■"-" '" "■<>
""f o.....;ios ;„ tl,e p]a„;ati;n« " " ""'"■'"'■''" "^
, " So," said A nice t;, '" ,'' '"■""■»'^- ''"«•"
'-■g;-'-, " I Lave W" '„::■"'" '^'■"«'-8' of
'ose- of ,«arty,.do,r,, Br L '',"'''""" "' '""^ red
7 good „.orl/s to the ^3^' ^ "P''-^'". »"'l do all
""^ «'"sl.ine. At least ,d t"'' "-'""P^'M-..
poor negroes myself B„ ' ^„™" «<=' to my
-eyes„,„.tei-„«;,Jt;:,,5.*''!''-4
''lilt, ''all th
^iJ •' And d
til
IS means so
nnich
er wJiole dej
ir fi
\
on know sJie to]
' ^o much, fo • Q
ice radi-
e servants in for hmU
terfroju tho B
J me I in,', ],. j^
rran-
ib]
7 praver. ' And
ave
e> or a Psalni, if
you I
chap.
i-e/ slie
-%
402
11
AGAINST THE STREAM.
said. 'Not too long, and take care tliat it is out
of the Lessons. I will not have any separatist
rambling about the Bible wherever you choose.
And a prayer out of a book. No ranting. One
or two of the colleots will do.' And she concluded
by saying, ' T think wc might have the Confession.
The Confession is very suitable. I have been
saying it over often lately, and I hope it has done
me a little good.' "
1! I
Jg£
CIUPTEB XXXI.
, , , '■"••"Sners entered P,™'"''''"- I''»-
"ctantly, as eriles or 0^ '^J'""'' "«<^P' re-
™« widened instead of h '" "'' ^"-bofs wZ
e«l„sion. "* •'^ f-^'ig narrowed by tl'l
f^,^'e:r;„ti:nr:,:f -;-- p'-«<' -on,
->d wiid ranges of TniMr" '"'"''"« ''"'^^
possible. i' . 'Oi a foreigner, almost im-
Pfe.sam^rnll^'^,^^;«" '■^^■*o»on torn from
"•'""■' "-- eheeries*:",:"'^ "" ?"'»« "f 'if"
"'■".;':r'—the gates,
tared them. " '''" ' ■""*-3' to man^ .„,„ ,„.
Fre:
illO
owever,
^^^*th the buoy
'•^nev of thoir
^^^^^e the bes^t of the:
e
i'ace, th
"^" cireum-
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)
h
/,
/.
t/j
fA
1.0
I.I
lA^lM |2.5
£ Its 112.0
Lil II U ii.6
Sciences
Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. I4SS0
(716) 872-4503
m
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<^
>^^
lV
^-\ ^o^
^>^
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5
4G4
AGAINST THE STREAM.
stances, kept up each other's spirits by tale and
cliauL^on, carved deh'cate toys out of bones, twisted
eliains, bracelets, and ornaments out of hair,
tliought it worth while even in that depth and
darkness to make the depth and darkness as light
and as tolerable as they could.
"With the Americans, men of our own race,
who were brouglit there afterwards, it Avas differ-
ent. Tliey drank the cup to the dregs, as those of
our race are apt to do, scorning small alleviations,
refusing comfort.
Some of us console ourselves by saying that it
is the nobler animals, to which freedom is as the
breath of life, which beat their wings against the
cage and break their hearts against the inevitable ;
tliat it is the very energy which makes our race
strong against remediable ills, which renders them
desperate beneath the irremediable.
Yet the creatures who sing in their cages have
surely also their merit and their strength. It takes
at least as much courage to sing away despair, as
to beat against the prison-bars.
Patience has its manly heroism as well as its
feminine beauty, is a " virtue" as well as a grace ;
and certainly it takes a lai-ger weight of Christi-
anity to make us patient than some of our nei<''h-
bors.
Claire naturally made the French prison her
"parish;" she and Leontine knitting and sewing
warm clothes for them, and doing what was more
difficult to her, maki
ng ''{pietes" in all directions
its bv tale and
f bones, twisted
our own race,
^^^^^y^T TUB S2'j,j,^j^
foi- money to l.oln I " '^^^
^varos. '*'"'^' or pnreliase of their
In tliis good work slm *-
porter i„ .yo„„gplth „ ','' l^""'™' «"P- '
'"en .„ general ^ero in 1,- '"'^- ^^'''''^y
P»P"iar among om 'he """;'' '■^^P<'»'« "ot
«M^ieastpernous.oCJtfrt:''"»"-^^^
1^'" a sailor, wliicL in ill *'' "«' » ^oWier
^--as mt a "Papist" but " P !' "' ""^ ^'''''""1 ''e
I'o was not gav or Ti '"''«''"" i "> the thin?
r» the L« place, (refHyinj.e fsl W ""^''^^'^•
some property, and I,,rf ' T" " ""' '■' "an
i"^ debts „,ost ri' 'd l?"""-'""'^'^' -^"d paid
']"ite domiciled amont „, '° '"' ''<'<-''"«e «oon
Even Madan, Gla-Tvil invited bim
to A mice
"' ''■''*" ^^'^t^ yestei-d,
IV
30
He
^' "i-'^n," said she
^oriii, who sat
^"fi'Jit not to
m
sit in
I" I
I ^^BFSWP I
466
AGAINST THE STREAM.
\M 4
tlio free seats. lie is a gentloman. Ask liim into
ours. Or stay ! the vicar nii<j;ht have him. I will
speak to the vicar, lie was quite an example, so
|ijrave and devout, never looked at any one, quite
an exan\ple, especially as of course he could not
understand a word of what was going on."
But Amice said hastily, "He does understand
English."
" What is his name ? " asked Madam Glanvil.
Amice did not know.
"Yery sti*ange you should know he knows
English, and yet not know his name," said her
grandmother.
" I know he understands English, because he
asked me a question at our gate, and understood
my answer. But of course I h.«'^ no necessity or
right to ask his name."
" What did he ask ? " said oitladam Glanvil,
" and at which gate ? "
" The gate at the end of the wood. Granny,"
said x\mice, "on tlie road to the moor. You
know it is the limit of the parole for the French
prisoners."
" I know no such thing. A very accommoda-
ting rule for us ! " said Madam Glanvil, grimly.
" 1 should recommend the French prisoners, as a
rule, to walk the other way. There are three
other roads. And I have no desire to have for-
eigners prowling about our cottages, among the
maidens and the hens. Frenchmen eat eggs by
[adam Glaiivil.
iladani Glanvil,
^o^^'^ST me sruEAjt.
«''etr„„:'^S' ,;;••!'>- color,. 030.,, ,,
,7-i^l'e, ..^.o„ i,a,i bote. "'""'■ ''"'"' «'■"""."."
'!'« responses to the Co , . f ""' "^"J"^- ^^fn^S
, "B"' *I1 this „■„; ™'f'"™^^«"gefi.er:" °
"''"•t he asked WlJ , .""/'''■'' "'^^■'^'- '"Id „,e
once ? '■ .>^ '-""lot you tell plainly at
I can and will " „„.i .
-""y anything .,o"i, ^?f/""ee. " There is
I «-a-s comin,. „p o„t „; ,, " •■• >'<-'0- short story
' - ,.,te with'on'e o H , k^R^I' "r" ''^ ^'»«' »
<'™' oi' in-s shoulder Tf' f °f "^^''/^ g.-andc-hil-
"'"'/' '•-.)' serious ioo't;"*,"* '"•« ''»',and
'"""c with ]„■,„. And X ""^"^ 1"'"^ "t
«'"of Lis faee when he sp L';''"!''' '"^ '""'' «'«"»
'""1 found the iittJe nnW ■■• ■'^'' ''"'J ''«
'•"•••d for raam,„,..',""^ *='■>''%' Wlterl.v in the
-V.»d could o'nly'oinr""1 '° '"''"^"^^ ''-
g»te, " whieh," he SZ^^rT '"^"''^ "'o
«n''e, "involved hin, 1 "'' " '*'«'" "momentary
'"■cen charity and t If " ,1 ™'" "' """^'lence, b<;
"'-' '-"•trcr.n.'tte to'L ': ""^ ,^'"°" "^ >-
" Well, „.h„> ,,,.,' .'" '"• P»™'e."
«
Wiiat could
wJiat did jou do ?
Ido, G
; ^ranujr, b,it ^^j^^ ^^^^
iM,
.■*f'
^§f|!
child
1 *•
468
Against the stream.
from him, and carry it to old Honor's cottage my-
self? "
" No, poor fellow ! You were very clever to
understand him," said Madam Glanvil. " No doubt
he has a wife and children of his own at home.
Those sailors always marry early. I Mill invite
the vicar, and Mr. Danescoinbe and his wife, and
ask him to meet them. You should write at
once, if I could only lind out the name. And you
can ask the little French girl. She will be some-
body for him to'speak to," concluded Madam Glan-
vil, unmoved as to her conviction of the impossi-
bility of a foreigner speaking English in any in-
telligible manner.
"His name is Godefroy," I said, "Captain
Ilervo Godefroy. His family is from Normandy.''
'' Normandy ! " said Madam Glanvil. " Almost
as good as a cousin. I have no doubt his fore-
fathers fought side by side with ours. Poor fel-
low ! pity they did not come over with us. His
wife and children must be very sorry now, that
they stayed behind."
And so Madam Glanvil, having provided Cap-
tain Godefroy with suitable domestic ties, and
almost proved to her own satisfaction that he was
scarcely a Frenchman at all, broke down her usual
rule of exclusion ; and the young French officer ob-
tained the entree to Court.
And so, as my selfish heart cried out at first,
my Amice was stolen away from me. And so, as
love learned in tlie eiid, our Amice found the ful-
^o^rNST rm: sritKAir.
"'■"cnt ofW life ,„, ■■■■ **"»
^vl.ic.1, surprised t I'lt 'T"'"' ^'='"-''^' »"«<^«y
;f.-"oui,,::r ;r::t;'V''''^°''^''<''-
tho use of centuries. It," ^ , V '^^'""""■°' from
"■n kiss her l,a„d, the te 1' '''•'"" ^''s'" '« '^"e
i'' paid, and the lo% 3 etlt ,r""^ "'''"' ^^'"•'^''
«l<o received the homage J'^' f"™ "■'"' "'*''''''
■"-">-«■ -.feint hlnsh e.^,e o,^;,! ^' '™<'. I ^e-
"id iace, and mve one , • i *"'"' '^"''•. Prond
"7" before The st Z: :""f ^'"" ■' -"a' l.avo'
™l care and ecnmancfhi ° ''°'^' "'"^ "f habit-
Captain Godefrov S „''/'";»''«' i'- She s.id
;7 J'« fati.e, an^ a 1 ,^,1 t? ^ ''f " 8-"--
Horconrtesv entirelvCck 7 "" ^°' '"'^ '"""'«■•
P-emptor^ i"9uisi io„ t t i,r'T**' '"■"' "'«
most people. She did nnt ' *'"= «'l'jocfed
;«e and'littie child 0'^,^" 'f '"" *""' "'«
d"«-od hi,„. She thoZh i ' T'w'" ^'"^ '"'J «■-
«>'■'"". to speak of then =''" '"^ '°'' Pai»'ul
Indeed ther
^''OutZX^pIl^^ii-^/S-^^dlo.
o -liencu oftcer which
tin ess
prevented
i
t.ii.
t
470
AGAINST THE STREAM.
i ^1
Abbot's Weir in general from <^n-atifying its cui-ios-
ity by direct questioning, and tlierefore left a large
margin around him for legends and myths on
which any light thrown by casual revelations of
his own, was welcomed, and multiplied into a
hundred prisms.
Not that he made any m3'8terie8 about himself.
No man could be more frank and straiirhtforward.
Intrusive curiosity he was certainly capable of baf-
lling. But in general he was simply unaware that
people cared to know about him. Reticent he nat-
urally was. It had, moreover, not been the habit
of the men of the " religion " in France to talk
much about themselves.
The Protestants of France had passed through
a two hundred years " discii)line of silence," living
all that time deprived of utterance in public assem
blies or in books,— by their very firesides watched
by spies and invaded by dragonnades. The disci-
pline had not been without fruit. It had not de-
prived them of the rapid and acute eloquence
which belongs to their nation ; but it had pruned
from them the habit of boastful and superfluous
speecli. There had been little temptation to them
to speak of what were their true glories, the gibbet,
the stake, the wheel, the galleys, the massacred
congregations, the violated hearth, encountered for
truth and for God.
My father from the first had taken greatly to
him. They had had many hopes and many rUsil-
lusionnemcnts in common. And to Madam Glan-
>-in.o P|)..ko freclv. To .,11 , , '^
"U age. "■" '" "'« venerubloMcss „f
;o.-otlil':;;,.::^,^,^^'^^^^^ ■•" '"•» *1. tenor
y '■"'■C'ign accent whM 1 '""""■f ""<' ^'«'"-
«'ys a little arbitral, :^d ,.".'"."'- "f «W. al-
, . A"J Amice, clurinVle ;"""""«•
!"i.'l'l>- fc.ninine way to kn » ^ ^'""•■'' '""^ ■'" »
'"terposing u-iti, a W word '"f' """■'""' ""^''
I«"loChi8,andahravsc,m •. / ''""'" '" '"' "P-
P« of the andien™^ ^""^Wutii.g to bin, the cbijf
-'^."' l; 'bri:,:!::::; r" ''•^^™^ *-. -.^
"•"■■.•« first, as it'eemed '■"'"''''""•' "«^<"
;-e-t^t:rt;.tr;,t;r"^-r^--
'""'Jred Protcsta,; /o? ,e t„:- ":^"'™-<^^'. ^ix
■"'d fe'nmdfatbcr had e c^edT "" °""' '^"'<••■•
of'f'o persecution L,,r^f">" ''"^^■'^''' '""'^'■■•«'
«<«lo. Their bou, ,sS ; f f' "" " "■■'"""^'l
■•.v officers of the 1 i J I'b " •''"'^^ "'to at night
°»'-«^ of the parish ™dT ' "f^^^'P^-ied by the
"-■n-oung dani; "l't'"f "''"1^^"' '^^P™'^'"/
-■^'■e-euts and bls^ e^nft'T f'™' "•'''" ^''i
™"te, there to he tin.h t ' p '"' '"'" ^»"
J oa a the expense of their parent.
" '•'''" ^^^« sea coast, and tl
Catliolio i-eli
II
lafc
ie midday of
^ - #ii
472
AGALVST TJI/'J HTliEAM.
' i 1
1 10 c,^n:hfoe„f], eontnry wa« nearly ren..lio<l ; and so
tl.o last hu-e en..;^ration of Protestant rclWeos
e8cap(M, hotter than most of their forefathers
"P.ty," Madam (Jlanvil said, "yonr father had
not been amon^. those exiles, you would then havo
been h^ditini^ on our side."
Captain Godefroy's mother was a Gniton :— a
clcsoendant of the fa.nily of the brave ^yov Gni-
ton, who held starving LaKoehelle so Ion- a.^ainst
the king's forces.
" Ah ! " Mudam Glanvil admitted, " I have
always been sorry at my lieart for that business of
LaRochelle. I have of ten heard of it. One of my
own ancestors was an officer of the fleet sent out
with the succors which never reached the be-
sieged ; I fear were never meant to i-cach. A bad
business. His Maje.ty had bad advisei-s, and but
too faithful servants. It nearly drove our family
over to the wrong side. If it had not been for the
civil wars and Oliver Cromwell, and the martyr-
dom of King Charles, I doubt whether we should
have held our politics."
''It was a sad affair for us," Captain Godefroy
replied. « It was among our nursery tales how the
starving citizens of La Rochelle three times saw,
with unutterable grief, the English fleet in the
offing, and three times saw— what we had been
used to think incredible— England baffled and
driven ba?k on her own element."
^ Amice looked up with one of her bright flashes
of intelligence and sympathy.
brifflit flashes
''^'^/^.^7'r7/A;,vrA.A'ij/:
<i ,
i our Illii'sorv f„1
"d-'," »i.e .uU ^ '"'^^ ""« '--0 hao„ of, ,,,„
" We J i *
"f '-p-Wvus:^";;^,;" :'-'/» '""■ to .to,.,-o.,
lie 6ai,l. " "^''"s euldrons for Jiorrore "
'•■""n'^o .-in-el, |,o,„ „,^,;,;f ■''« 1"^ borrows and tho
'lie stream." ° "'"""''■<"' Jears a-ainst
"™, which ha, proved Lr^' '""'' "«= ^ovoh,
d"e tor the mieearriago o' h- . I ' '"'""-'"''' »''« felt
^' ^;' 1 od,el,.o, .he e^tdd :4';!T°"';-^P^'^'-''-™
'Tune was bogiun;„JZt, ' '"' " P''^-
A"d some of your foreL ' ''"' »■■'«'. ffrindr
•™»i^i^h\tr*°'^ ^''^'■■V' he reph-ed "we , .
otherwise?" he asl-.H 7 ^ -^'^'^ ^^ave had if-
mrh.,^ r.. '^^^'^^' not without Rf,.«f
-ouJd certain], no h^^^^""' '''
theories were L" ' "^^"^
^^eie for non-resistance.
ir
.' '■ ill
1,
Wl'»i
474
AdAINST Till': STliKAM.
her eymptithics were uiuloiibtecllv with those who
rehistcd.
" Little ^'()0(1 ciuiic of it," she said, evasively,
npplyiii")^ to hersmiiyhox.
" So, many of us felt," he replied. " After
10S5, the year of the Ilevoeation, wo were ])()()r,
iiiul for the most ])art of lowly station, like ihe
Apostles. Our rieh men had escaped to enricli
En^dand and Germany. Our nobles were exiles.
Some of them, Madame, did ii^ht, not ignobly, in
your armies.' Our eongregations assembled in
deserts and caves at the risk of fusillades. Our
pastors were consecrated, as they knew, to the
' vocation of martyrdom,' But our pastors preach-
ed submission, and our people, for the most part,
to the utmost limit of endurance (the risin<>' of the
Cevennes being ended), practiced it."
Amice had laid aside her work, and was gaz-
ing far away.
" I weary you with my old histories," lie said
softly.
" No," she said ; " I was only thinking of the
West Indian slaves. If some of your people eoidd
have taught them the lessons of patience, they
would have come with force from such lips."
He paused.
" You have West Indian property ? " he said
earnestly. " In St. Vincent a plantation was left
to me. Once I wished to take charge of it and
■prevent some of the evils there ; and afterwards
I often regretted I had not. I thought I Jiad
I
m
Avith those wlio
5 sftid, evasively,
stories," lie said
^'l^U.YHT TUP ^yrnr,
«'W at la",.' '""r, '':"■" ^I" '0 'I'e oi,l t,,,,^ „ .
democrats n ''■•"*'<■■"'■« wore u-i.„r "-'
^^t. years si,,,,, ,;;"!. -^^^^^^^
!' "°' forty you,. «i, ee '^ ""•"" of "■" -m,. i;
"''' Oalns, by Jong.,,i„„ ,,,•'■''="'"■ °'' "^ineo poor
!'J'"- ' I die im,„ce, ,' : ""^ '""'' '"'o J^oure
■"""«"ee iteel,; willed ', T"'' '•'''"^ «,„•»
-ontl.e.affoMSlTnr'!'"""-^^"
'">■• I« tlM^yoara, ''''■■'*'''•'''•'"•« »em "
""^ Chnrch and ,1,0 Ja„: ' J;"'T'"""?-
1
cf "lobs
((
isaJinrncane
^w.>ntine
no one
sajs always that all
''^^^'. Tile fi
aii.1t
ic'isjii
'^giiinst."
«'•»' people die
^i
&,i
476
AGAINST THE STREAM.
: If
■iaifec
%
well," interposed Claire, who liappened to be pres-
ent. " Of our king also, and Madame Elizabeth,
may it not be said, ' Thus in old times died our
martyrs ? ' "
" Ah, Mademoiselle," he replied, " if you could
know how eagerly we, who have been so long
accustomed to be banished outside our national
history as proscribed and outlaws, take up and
claim the heroic traditions we have in common
with all our countrymen! To be exiled in
France^ as we were, was in some respects harder
than to be exiled //•0771 it. To understand our
isolation," he continued, " you must remem.ber it
is not thirty years since one of our pastors died in
prison for religion, in La Brie. And it is not fif-
teen years," he concluded, his voice dropping to its
deepest tones, and tremulous with feeling, " since "
all professions were closed to us and all means of
livelihood except trade, or farming; since our
marriages were illegal, our cliildren unrecognized
as lawful, the rites of Christian burial of our dead
forbidderi to us. It was only in 1787 that mar-
riage and burial were permitted us. Was it won-
dej-ful that we welcomed the dawn of the Revo-
lution ? "
" Ah, monsieur," said tender-hearted Claire,
breaking down into teai-s, " I wonder at nothing
in our poor France. My mother taught me that!
Only I like to think that we, of the Catliollc no-
blesse, and our king, did a little to help vou before
we fell In 1787, when these your wi^ngs wero
A0AIJVS7' THE STliEAM,
redressed, Franr.n i i '477
%•" ""'"'«"" -^ fe-. and a nobi,.
^^e was not a sage." '''" ^^''^^^'^"^ said ; - if
|he,r race was of the fei, t '"='' '" "'e.n.
*es „„tdra,v tears, b,tri,-? '*•'"''' «™%'
-- at tl,at mo^ent'i,: i gtl"™ ^^f'' S- «°
A 1, tie storm was gatl.lnW ^'""'' ^ '=^--
''aPP^ n,o,„o„t for us when H f "•"• " ■'' *«« a
P'-'-'arf.ed the first sc™" f ^*"' ^^l^aad
f ;"f d „s, at xYis,nes Xn t " *''" '^"' '»■"?'«
'aded fro,„ ,0,,^^ ,„ ' ^''',^j « ^""en who had
_^<g"es Mortes were Tof f' ' r! "'" P™""« "^
"»'"e„t for ,„ p J;' "!^- I' was a proud
f ^-„ne, h,-,„,„,f „^,^^-^"" when Rahaud St.
"'« Perseented CI,„reJ, „ V "*•''■ '■' Pa^'o-- of
P;'"' K^'haud, wl,o nd , »™f "" "^ our noUo
r*.''^%«ah„te /w. ':;^""''''"p-
""■""■ated Pres,-de„t o ICT ^f ^'*''' «™
^'•»"<^-e, and said there o „"T' ^^^^<"»'''v of
,«.»"""y .8 free, let W "' ""^ "ation, ■ Mr
■^'«" 1^0 p.-oscrihcdlthat , " ?'-^' ^'•'"•'' ^'*'"««i
"°"7' "Lid, touched .]!'• ^""''"a^a
^-■-<^-. of the persee„t;,*Sed ;";■'"" "'«
P'eacjed for the Jife of
.^1
;• »
#i'i
478
AGAIJVST THE STREAM.
■li
!-M
ii ai
i1
tlie groat-oTandsou of tlie persecutor. AVe could
not silence the clamors which drowned the djiix^
words of our king. Wo could only thaidc (iod
for him that he died patient, cahn, and believing
as any of those forefathers of our religion, whose
dying words had been similarly silenced lon<r be-
fore." *
"For me," he resumed, "I jiave indeed, hoped
too much, from every direction. I hoped from the
:N"ational Assembly, with Rabaud St. Etienneat its
liead ; I ho^ed from the Republic; did it not pro-
claim liberty and brotherhood ? I hoped from Na-
poleon i3onaparte ; did lie not declare that ' the
empire of the law ceases where the empire of con-
science begins?' I hoped the old hatreds were to
die out between class and class, between faith and
faith, between nation and nation. My politics,
therefore, are little woitli any one's attending to."'
_ "Yet," said Amice softly, "you would not
wish to have hoped less."
"Ko!" he said; "to hope all and lose all is
better, infinitely better than to hope nothipg and
lose nothing. Is not hope itself something ? "
So in many a talk by the fireside, in garden
and woodland walks, the summers and winters
wore on towards loOS. And all the while Amice's
life and mine were separating and gathering
around diflferent centres.
More and more the conversation, when w^e were
all together, used to be between Captain Godefroj
and Madam Glanvil. With Amice he had reacli-
ff and ffatheriiiir
ed a Gortuntv f ^^^
*•.•«. s,,;eel,f ""■'-«'»''.•"« that ncclod ,i«,o
J^^io difforent ^
"'"™c.te,.s, ful«„e,f ll^i.of,"";''^ '■«"«.■ as of thei,-
^^'t>> lie- .-eli.no, ""' "•»"<l«r«llly.
t ,'"-■'«. ''o:n.'^s^^"""' """ "f^'-S Son
w;r',:f "'--^-^"t I'u"^' ■''-■* ^ "'- -o.;:
. His Imrodita,.,. f ..-f,, ,">"">• w'tli life
"M eots, of so ,„any f,ee ! ° ' "* '" '"■■'"3' .str„„„
7'>- and .,„al.erahl, „ " tf."f^«»<= ^iU, s,.!
» « .Ife, must he accepted ,; ! 'f ' ""^' ^'""Ji.er
"•' '»■ heart, i„„st be ohev! .'■""'*"■ ""'^ to roa-
"'■■' °;- life; the hUk ^^ ''"' "■''«-'- <'ost to
"> mucl, of daring and dn "'™ ''»•' »°">l'ined
""^^ -"d l'orois„r,. ?' ' ^" "' «■»■'-", of dev
■•« »y in the v,.orW. """''"" '^- and liber ;
''^'hiah
't-'e s faith
must
was rath
er
^•onqner all J,op,ts,
"^ t^ie Supreme L
f ■
#
ove
480
AGAINST THE STREAM.
f '
P.
Both met and fulfilled each other's faitli in that
redeeming Cross wiiere Divine Love suflered to the
utmost for man, and one human will gave itself to
the utmost to God.
Both met and fulfilled each other's life in that
lifelong service of the oppressed, to which thej de-
voted themselves; every act and sacrifice ofwliich
God, in giving them to each other, made for them|
step after step, from light into fuller light, on and
on, as we believe, for ever.
I cannot think or speak of that deep, perfect,
ennobling love of theirs, except with the same grav-
ity and reverence as I think of their religion.
There were no misunderstandings, no lluetuatlons,
no flashes of surprise in it. Their hearts were
open all through to each other.
And at last, one morning in the winter before
the battle of Trafalgar, Madam Glanvil said to
Amice, as Amice was rubbing her chilled feet by
her bedroom fire (the old lady went out little now
and grew less arbitrarily deaf, and submitted
soraetnnes to be a little petted and caressed), " 1
do not think Captain Godefroy has any wife or
children, after all."
"I never thought he had, Granny," said
Amice.
" I suppose, now, there is no help for it,"
Madam Glanvil rejoined; "and he may as we'll
continue to come liere as before." Which was
Madam Cllanvil's sanction to Amice's enjrao-e-
ment. ^ "
Granny," said
■"^^^^y^r rm srjiBAif.
And the nexf ^, , **'^
C;.pt-.Godef,.o?s:' „:K''<= '» ''- -Me,
^^•■X and tak;„„ i,;, , '" " ^'l" «eo,-„ed an easv
"ion „;„ ..ndoS; d ;tf '" '^'*' ^'^ -".
>er than I have been SI ""■' ""'' ^<> better to
".0G,a„vi,;,eH,: ; J';-a,o„d ^luld, but a
"'at; certainly „ot /,, """gotlier the worse fn-
"'"■ I'onse to a Fremf '"'^'' «»-'^>' one of
--«a,lAV,nano;er.r;--t ''"'' '"''- =»"> "^
jou- forefathers did „'ot com "' " "''""ee that
-^yonr father hi-nsellinX:™" "''* "^^ »
fix hnndred only sij-tv ,' "'""^ration of the
- ''ad, there wonM -"ave T '""°- ^'' "'«^' I'ad, or
/. ''^•'o' know ,,„,''„:;''; b-'> "odiffienlty; a .d
'''fteep,.o„ apart. Tt^ V''^'"^ ^ke
f/°° iate," she coneludid i-r"!-' ^ ^"P''°^« it
'^^ an old woman's word t^l ' '""" "^'7 »">,
f «•> seem to have taken f "''•''<'" ''P'"-' "ow ■
-■se despots, preten^r ''^'' "'« '•'-•«« of the
}'ou will." '' "^"'^ '» eommaud by wiiUn^. what
And so saying, she toolc Amice', 1 .
"'e'" toffeti^r '*"'' "'^o '"
t so,„„ """^ 'noment
t soiuo tjiuverine ' -
he;
ther
^ips and
3i
tot-
i ml
t t r
■^' i^-'>f57-»?^,*rt't't'
hM
"«;■■.
482 ' AOAmST THE STREAM.
tering of limbs, but declining all sympatliy or
assistance, she left them together, and went slow.y
up the old oak stairs alone to her chamber.
f^Si
.■^
CHAPTER XXXU.
"'"' f ^*->eaae i;r"' ''""^■"^ "-->
^ to WkT""'-™'' "-ioa„;t" '"'" "-
. "onjrj blame iiejNo]f^' '*"/ Wore to servn
wonld a 'XI, ':'"f v^as '"deed ^f ! ' Yf '^ °f
seen ,,1 ™"'^'«-««a.idin2. ! ') Zl ^' '"^ '"'gen-
. Te'nde; e,a"- '- -ore." ' <^'' --
terms- fil,^„i. . "^ ^"J woment •
iabit!
hei
stop
— ^^ CO our mmn^f 1 . '-^ 6^ve n
ped/ ^""^«^t bei«g, 3i„^pj^ j^^
f rl
484.
AGAINST THE STREAM.
f 1
And I, not knoAving yet the austere sincerity
of grief, wonld vainly try to excuse and comfort
her.
But Herv^ Godefroy understood grief, and
Amice better ; the truthfulness of her nature, and
also the terrible truthfulness of sorrow. And he
let her grieve, grieving with her. He knew that,
such pain cannot be stilled, that the wound must
h'i,ve its anguish, if it is not to mortify, and
spread the touch of death throughout the whole
being ; that, so the anguish may work itself into
the whole heart, making it soft and deep and
tender, patient and pitiful.
The very night of Amice's betrothal, the blow
had come, that direct destruction of power, as if
by the smiting paralysis of an irresistible hand,
without warning or pain, which we call a
" stroke."
In the morning, Amice waited some time for
her grandmother's appearance (Madam Glanvil
having great scorn of aid in her toilet to the last,
so that no one ventured to intrude on her privacy
until she rang) ; until at last she became alarmed,
and rushing up the stairs, knocked softly at the
chamber door.
An answer came, gentle and faint ; and enter-
ing, she found her grandmother unable to move,
although her speech was happily unaffected.
Dr. Kenton when summoned thought the case
very serious ; and he hinted that one of the gravest
^""^^^^T m^ STli^^j^,
symptoms ;vas thc^. , . , T^"' ^^^
-But this Amfee w ^ , ^^'^ P^'^ient."
J^et she xi'aa r.^4.
'^''^ I acquiesced Irr"'"" *'"' ''<=«oIf fo,
on attributing Madam ffli"^?"*/''^ ''^'' '"^'-^'ed
-';'.-.ii,oa,.ti,,:;,l^,:;;^o.%WG.,.„;
Jt^^asa vain wish.
«»--.^::i;7.-"edtotbo,a.Wob.^
'«™i«en and help t'll^l l"""" »' &«t to ^
f ">'«'•' and lie W bene jf '// '"'IW, at last, to '
"^'•""ght be,- down. "'""' "'« ^-nd tbat bad
-^"t, as it was cli^ j'j
^iersuJf
aJo
"e, or alone
With A
f^^f ^. when sJie tJioil
-e, which
:ht
^^■as ..3t
1
vyfljil
^1
Ilff
486
AGAINST THE STItEAM.
m
m
»
III I
he same-^to thank God and a.k Ili.n not to let
her be m.patient-and often to breathe the nan.o
of Jesus, and sav howmneh more Jlehad suffered.
Hnnsdf once helpless as she M-as, unable to move
hand or foot, but also unable to hide Ills face from
the mocking, prying crowd, while slie could still
move one arm-and saw around her nothing but
love, and reverence, and pitj.
She took no farewells, except on.y of poor
Chloe. And that was tiie longest confession she
made, ot sm, ,r of faitlu Taking Chioe's black
hand with the one hand she could use, she looked
at Amice and said—
" You took good care of her. Slie will take
care of jou and yours. I am going where people
Hie not divided into black and wMte, or into slave
or free. All free there. Perhaps one day all free
here. Ion will come, and are sure to 'be wel-
coined on the right hand. Forgive me for hasty
M-ords, and pray that He may forgive, and that 1
may not be told to depart. Saviour of all, make
m all free, that we may he free indeed^
^ To which poor Chloe could only re])ly by sob-
bmg protestations of devotion and gratitude, and
assurances that missis would get well, or be sure
to have some high place in heaven, far above such
as she except for what the blessed Lord had done
for ail alike. '
For Chloe had no objection at all to differences
Of glory m heaven, and could never quite get over
a feehng that white people >vho. having all they
^"^^^^■r -mj, ^rju'AM.
;""W, natu,,.lly'/ed J ?""=".""""•%' "■« tW
'""ited ani»,„l to lu " 1""^"' Saviour ,^^
"otheJpit. """^^^^J because they couJd
-L>ut when piii X
"°;;V'"-'--Jtot,,r''=''->>w„,,.o,„tue
"-=:''Cfff--""td^^^^^^^
'' "- dear to 'eSl/r,'" ''™3' f-X' X
4'"l*-" •^' ""'' ^'"' '^I'O talks
-•-^O you ti) Jill- V • . -^^ajrr
"•!»-" "oi to X -r^o - »- CWoe has got to
""«s called us L°[ T'' """- '"''^'^ ? When
;eP;y«.onr B^ttt::'"' "«'--«"i
1 T ^V, and or/,;t ;±' r'^"* *« lord
"'urmured, "S T'^'f ^'«'^' "^"t once a.ai„ sh.
frfifi /A ^ ^ Saviour n-f ^7J 1^ ®"^
si
tlie Ja;
ip^e M'oj'ds
strucic to A
St
^^ ^'n those " Th
'"'ce's heart
>eJ7 the
:i'ang(
"'"^^^"/■^^^^r.X;
o;i
¥m
-SttfSf
488
■\(JA12^'liT THE iilUEAM.
Slavery:' which hor gniii<]inothor hud onco thrown
HJigriiy into tho lire.
So, all t]ironi,'h that suinnier and autumn of
1805, the shadow of doatii lay on the old house at
Court, and a hi^rh and brave spirit was sloui/
divestin^ir itself of much that cannot he carried on
that lonely journey ; having already put away all
sense of property, except as a provision for those
who are left below, and now laying aside pride,
and hard judgment, and much prejudice, tiiat so,'
when the last step came, nothing niight be left but
to conmiend herself, bare and destitute, but re-
deemed and reconciled, coniidingly, into the Fa-
ther's hands.
Following the slowly departing spirit along
that silent solemn way, those in the old house had
little thought to spare for the tumults in the world
around ; although, as winds and storms swept and
wailed through the woods, and battered ana can-
nonaded the old house with noisy display of force
(so feeble compared with the sile-i foe within), all,
except the sutLyrer, knew too wo]; tiur a iiercfi-
Btorni of war and peril was n-Iur around Eng-
land. The fleets of ]^elson and Villeneuve we?e
being tossed and driven by those autumnal gales.
Never, men said, since the Armada threatened
England, had her peril been as great as now.
Once more, as we all knew (and for the last
time, h' :di we knew not), iS^apoleon Bonaparte
M-as menacing us on the shores of France, and
jfid onco thrown
da threatened
; as now.
»■'■"' I'm. tl,e (!,.„„,, , ■ *«»
''7- '■«-•"',„;;"„ '"-i'-'^ .■o.,i,. ,„ ,,,,"„^
-ivoj ,,,/-".. oj.,,, „„«>
""'• And, n,eanti„,e \ i ^ f^"<'^'<''-n au,-a
::: '» »-o i„-,„ .„:" ;,i :;;;r' ^"'-™-, z
«"» '" restrain Villeneur ' "^ '^'■■'«"». «1,„
"'f ".e F,.„„,,, C/ ad"' "•'"'• ""« ""'y ^ .ow
"'"i ^o'«o„ after it w, T' '" "'« ^'^^^t I«d ea
'"■'"oricai inferin.-; » *»'• '"&''ior (Wee ", • !'
--"ntered b. Sir t l 'S d '^ """' """ "-
" e l^j-ench iieets Lor] f . ^ ^^ victory, tJia^
^i '.ho finpe,,,, «,ft,^;°;'»f «rt t!,e invaders
'« ""'O- on tJ,e war i„ r„ "'"' ""^ O^-d Army
;-« E-,g,a„d, aeon t- ,ed ::?^- , ""^ *''-C^
'nden,ab]e, Hdn-inisfered i « hlJ """"■''"^ '""^"
. ^^P<'''^"''Jmd>vifM.t ''S"'*^-
'" "neertainty as to i "' ^"f «'e were «;il
Th
^ ^^'i-usistible
fi>
;l -I
ii
♦lii
MliniMliiitfiJHi
if. 4
' > ,-■
i ;<■
f r
X 4
490
AGAINST THE 8TBEAM.
oiice more, he oifered his services to the Admiral-
ty, and, on the 22d of September, arrived at Ports-
mouth, to take command of the fleet. Exultation
and sorrow were strangely blent through England
in that departure; as, a few weeks afterwards,
when
" Home tliey brought her warrior, dead."
We heard how the people crowded around him
on the sliore, not idly gazing, but weeping around
him, and even kneeling to implore blessings on
him. So he sailed, in the Victory, taking his
coffin with him, made out of the mast of the
Z' Orient.
Two days afterwards Bonaparte left Paris for
his campaign against Russia and Austria ; and our
statesmen began to feel stronger than for many
years, believing that they had, at last, secured in
the alliance recently concluded with Austria and
Eussia a powerful coalition against Napoleon.
William Pitt was full of hope in this alliance ; but
the heart of England rested not so much on his
alliances, as on himself; on himself, and on Nel-
son, her two mighty sons; little dreaming that
neither of them was to be with us by the new
year.
The times were perilous, indeed, for England ;
but with Pitt and Nelson to think and to fight for
us, we felt the world no chaos. Rapidly indeed
th.^ thiiikino- and the fighting were wearing Jut
the heart and brain of the two on whom all Eng-
I.
tho Admiral-
ived at Ports-
:. Exultation
)iigli England
ts afterwards,
,dead."
id around him
eepiug around
3 blessings on
y, taking bis
e mast of the
left Paris for
istria ; and our
than for many
ist, secured in
:h Austria and
nst Napoleon.
is alliance ; but
much on his
f, and on Nel-
dreaming that
as by the new
I, for England ;
and to fight for
Rapidly indeed
re wearing jut
diom all Eng-
AGAms-r THE STREAM. ^^^
the Jieroes do, maklno- ];ffi„ ^ •/ g'^J'^ntlj, as
".onght ].ow h :' ^.^t trfd VT "" ""'"^
draining away tl,e life. "" '"'""•= ^"'^
o^er. Tlie hush nf '^''^^™^ ^t Court was
-^^'^ ^usn of awe had succeedorl fr. fi
iHish of anxious watclifulness "''"'^'^ ^^ ^'^^
--.,-Ci;s::,':E'.r\,;'"-"
bet;
were far a
^f^a^j. I felt it onc(
ll'e, in a measure, ^^■h^u 1 k.ielt besid
i'i the church on the ]N"ew Y
car's Eve of ih
e Chi
oe
e ceil-
il)2
AGAINST TUE STREAM.
i^
I ^' i
it
I
tiiry. The wind, the very sky, so pure and deli-
cate in its morning tints, the birds, flowers, were
material, mortal, corruptible. And she and I had
always and had still what was incorruptible and
faded not away. She has now that only. And in
those first moments I felt her not (joney but brought
nearer than ever before."
It seemed a time when barriers were broken
down, and veils rent from the top to the bottoui.
The world grew lai-ger and nearer, the struggling,
sinning, suff*ering world, with God loving it. And
then two things came before her like visions. The
French and English fleets, which Herve Godefroy
said he thought mnst ere long be joined in battle,
the human beings, countrymen of hers and of
his, fighting and struggling for the mastery and
dying there ; and the slaves in the West Indies,
men, and women, and children, too surely driven
that very morning to their hard, unbroken work
with threats and blows. What a chaos, wliat an
arena of wild beasts it seemed ! And Granny
was at rest beyond it all. But was God really
loving all ? English and French, slaves and slave-
holders ? And was dying, indeed, to go and be
with Ilim, wdth Christ, who had seen the world
and its battles, not from above only, but from
within., from heneath — borne down in the battle,
bruised, smitten, slain ?
If then God loved the world, those with Iliin
must love the world, and if He could bear to
Lave osoped from it Z. 1 ,'"•"' '" " ""d'
and b,-oatl,e freely I' " ''"""' "■''^' P"'' ^i'' is,
conld it bo but A«^«!/ iw o'n r "'' '^'"'
cost for the Jolt • ! T'' ''"' °* '"'^■»'' ^t any
only iov d t e JS" "T 'r" "™ -''» "<"
«"0"gh to dcen, tl,e W it 1 w ''"' '"P^i for it
'•'«-i-s3i„„e,,src;:sf'"''^^-'-"«
-tiiev throuffli lione ahlp ^^ v .
jf *^'''' «^'^ t^^e^j caring for 9
in Its measure for every confliV't ,>
Amice, against wronc ancf ,'n ' '""'"'^ *^
-Ifi'~l^^^ ^^^^^ -"«-^ gainst sin and
-^^f^TL^r^ r^ ^'-^ in its
.^ .^^ tu.th and justice are involved '
Surely, for tJie striffo-Ie
against tlie *rrcat
til]
wrong of s]
averv
■ongh English law,
'kM
Iff . ii.v; i!f''^ '''^'»''"''**'''^^'*'^*y-1»'*'WJ
494
A0AIN8T THE STREAM.
Snprcmelj, for tlie struggle, through Christ's
Gospel, against sin and despair in the slave and m
tlie master.
To this last she liad consecrated herself five
years before; when that high and prejudiced
spirit, latterly so clear and softened, had been the
only obstacle to the service. To this, beside that
lifeless forin, she consecrated herself again, as, ab-
solutely and without reserve what the softened
and lowly spirit which but that morning had de-
parted, must now be caring for most on- earth.
The only obstacle now in her path was the great
love which made life so precious.
Should she let that great gift of God be a
hindrance to obeying His call ?
She made no vow, she only knelt beside the pale,
placid, impassive face, and repeated once more the
words she had uttered a few hours before, respon-
ded to, then, with that last gaze, that wistful gaze
not fixed any longer on her, or on rmy thing on
earth.
''^Father, into Thy hands I commend my
spirit; into Thy hands to guide, mould,— into
Thy hands, absolutely, without reserve, to do with
me what Thou wilt."
Then, rising, she went down stairs.
It was daylight now, though not in the dark-
ened house. She went into the dining-room, and
at the sight of the high old empty chair daily life
came back to her, with the new great blank, and
li rough Christ's
the slave and in
ft of God be a
MAimr THE stseam.
the reahYv of f ],^
Horv^, Go,iofi.o, came "" '''"'' '""-'? ""''on
It was evidenflv r, ^ ^^ ^®^* ^^ God."
i"g .hem TgaS Ms ht; 'T^' '" '"•^' ■•"><J Pross-
•'-l '''0 dearest,: dlem^r'r?""" ''■'•' '^"■
^■'^ -OW how m„cl, „ "^h ': """"^^'^^'- I
oors." "'""te' tl.eir sacrifice tiian
' I on see I miKf <»„ •> i
^ Then shelecU mfn',- f ' f"'' "•™<' »on.'>
f- « few mon^nC'^/'-^'-'-ml^er of death,
^"'i then, a. they stood? "'°'' '"S^""''' there
*lo beside the sta, ! " r"' ^<=«'- by tl.efire-
"I «ee, my love r .^ ^ ''''air, he said,^
;P'"[ at ieast, not a^ar ITI- T' ^"" »-■'•»
«•'' « h„t a moment of on, •f^"""'- ^"'- '''fe
'be moment he, the if! Z/l \ ^"^^ ''*="«"«•
"''d with Him ibrovef" ^' '"S"^"""-' f'''' Him
Was
They did
'-P-ious,ai:dtfrt-- That hope
'hit'
precarious to utter.
lip-
I
'II
496
AOAINST THE STEEAM.
nm
And tliencefortli their only tliought was how
to lighten the separation to each other.
So that first day of death passed at the old
darkened house at Court ; not altogether dark ; a
day of death, but a day of duty fulfilled, of victory
won.
And, all the time, that terrible day of victory
and of death was wearing away at Trafalgar.
There, Nelson, smitten to death for England,
was still inspiring Englishmen to victory!
Wounded to death by a shot from a ship his hu-
manity had twice spared, supposing she had struck,
liis face lighted up through all bis agony, as cheer
after cheer from his crew announced that another
French or Spanish ship had surrendered.
Duty, not glory, was the glorious mark he had
set before his men ; sacrifice of self for England,
let England's recognition of the sacrifice be what
it might.
And at the last he thanked God that he had
dore that duty ; not more ; only " that which was
liis duty to do ; " his country had a right to all ;
not more than duty, but he hoped not less.
Weeping from end to end when she heard it,
England responded that he had ; scarcely able to
smile as he had smiled in dying at the victory he
had won for her ; since he who had won it was
dead.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
England, in o» in ' " '" ""'•'d «f
Weir. '""^ '^"'•'d "t Abbot'8
Genii::; s af ul;: ;Tt",?' '"" ^-'"-
had reached E„c,la„d"' '"' ""'■'J thousand,
struck the other .reatEL,,^'''^'''«"''; »d had
leaned, to the hea TrS " "^ ^^''"^ ^™
" yet possible for him to ll rV'""* '» "'"ke
for life, and was often 1„„ '^t '"'"^Shd havd
*o» the tidings of tSr^fr'^"'-''^'-^- ^"«
Austrian armie^ ^° ,, Nan„ f '^' ^"'"^'-^ ^»d
"•on of AusteriitzSvt^r '•''''^' '■''=<'"='«■
news eame to hi; ;„ 1 T'^' ^''e ^tal
-orethana,no„th-: aeSM T't"' " "'"«
-«>e great Minister, Wi] a„f plf Z'"';""'^' ^«°^
''oase at Putaev. He ZT ' " '^'^^'^ "' '»s
oM. His fKend Mr Wi b»l!!''™'^, '^'''^ ^ears
of a broken heart.
n
TJio J,
^ist words we knew of hi
32
orce said, "He died
broken forlov,. ^f r t
^n to have utter-
' 11
il
fifi:
498
AGAINST THE STREAM.
(
ed— " My countnj ; oh, my country ? "—rang like
a death-wuil tlirougbont the land.
They had done their duty bravely, to the
death, for England, those two Englishmen. Bet-
ter loved, the country could never be again ; nor
more fearlessly and disinterestedly served.
We had great names still,— Collingwood, and
Fox ; and one we knew not yet, iighting and mak-
ing order for us, far away in India. But these
seemed to most of us in those days of mourning
but of the second rank.
The heroes were gone, we thought, as men
have thought so often. We had good and brave
men left, but those whom we had lost had been
something more.
Amice was in London by the end of Decem-
ber. She had gone to stay at Clapham, with her
cousins, the Beckford-Glanvils ; the present pos-
sessors of Court ; to consult them about the ar-
rangements for the property, and about her expe-
dition to the West Indies.
Thus by war, and death, and absence, our lit-
tle circle had dwindled sadly.
Piers still in that French village near Claire's
old home ; and for many months not a word of
tidings from or about him. Dick Fyford, wound
ed at Trafalgar, and slowly making his way
home ; Amice away preparing to go to the West
Indies, for no one knew how long ; and Captain
Godefroy, certainly not present with us in spirit ;
there was great need that we should " server Us
be agrain ; nor
llingwood, and
. lost had been
bsence, our lit-
^<^^^mT THE STREAM.
uld " serrer les i taking root, &i^i
499
fore can bo donoJ^hvi^ ' '"'^ ""'"^
I'o.vs. He CO, IdniT , ""'*'"•'*'=" Pfers' class of
i-^ i>e„.„ 5 irift";'' V' "^■"""»" ^-'
day task very meekh an , vf "'"'" *" '"'« S,m.
his povertv if, d Mac l' n '"* f '''°"S ^^"^^ "f
"-, tbe b«sir,c 'r.l'thTe""''!,''^;'^- "'"^■■■
every tun,. I believe .1 '""' ^"^"^ »'
■•su. lurking ,11 „ ^A *'™^ "'•■'^ ">» Pxgan-
able st„pp,-„g o/a ' l:^'-;::; ■ t;^-. '-eco„„e.
mofon by Piers had stopped V'"""''^' '"' '»
-Me, a„ytl,i„g connected' wtth I^Tl^ '"'^
to P'-ospe,-. How deepiv it" ed. T " '"'"'<'
to see the dear grev head hi ^! '° "^' ^"""^
"!eb„ys; ,hetead,Tr wt 1? ""^ '•""""«
of them as they of ],im. ^ ^ " '"'""<''' "> """e
My impression was' that . -^i
fi not directly inc,,t«;t th Jit d,.r "'?"','"
1"8 scholar thought and Tr .''""' '"''"t
s'-pe to ,„any a vaC S "f '"««-" S-e
■".™y a rep,.ied S ng g! •/".'^ '»'^*">^
sMously toplou..h »n,l , : , ^ ""'" '">™n-
•■•"d then d,Crnt Tn s.f"' '^"^ "^^ «'-«™d ;
often „„oe, J S '1^"'='' ' . ^-y ""le seed,
'"perceived in its sowing, but
■^"ging up after many years
and
"one tile less
#1
:; II.
I :■
500
AGAINST THE STREAM.
And when lie felt his poverty deepest, he had
recourse to the " Pilgrim's Progress," or occasional-
ly to portions of " Robinson Crusoe," which never
failed to interest them all, and make them children
together, teacher and taught.
Claire meanwhile prospered greatly with
Amice's infant class.
Moreover, our Sunday-school began to grow in
many directions ; for one, in the direction origi-
nally foreseen by the dames. The instruction of
the "week had to be brought more up to the level of
the instruction of the Sundays. And it was seri-
ously in my father's conten.plation— which meant,
seriously on the eve of fulalment,— that Abbot's
Weir should have a week-day school on the Lan-
castrian system, combined with some hints from
Pestalozzi.
Thus were the most desponding Cassandras
among the dames justified.
It was quite a serious battle. The French
Reign of Terror was little more than a decade be-
hind us. And my lather was now proposing a
measure even more revolutionary than any which
had called forth accusations of sedition and athe-
ism a"-ainst Mrs. Hannah More. He proposed
what she earnestly disclaimed, in a letter to one ot
her bishops. He actually proposed t( teach the
youth of Abbot's Weir— the youth of both sexes
and all conditions — to write.
In vain Mrs. Danescombe warned, and Miss
Felicity threatened. " The pen would banish the
I til era children
AGAmsT rmj srjijsAM.
oOX
t'-re would te„o more „„^to"" t'"'"'?""
women laundresses, or sempst,.:::" '"' ""''"-
Maids would resnond^I.nl ^'-ps unsown; tI,o
overandtheir ;':^:''ltr";'''""'^.
spondonee would sweep awtv nil , °' °' """■'^-
level all social disductTons ""^ I'onost work, and
notHfotoferrT'^r' f'" Felicity „ig,.t
Paine and ^an Z'° ''■™'' ^»"-'« ="«) T^n
other sedition and )ZT °f '•0''"img; on the
and all unchariU'/eli'^i/.-^i; »;"». !'»'-d
.ng out through the l.reach o wri^ jf 'c? "<""-
But for England all was over Ov f ^ ■^f''^"-
->oed 1.0 written, ■E;:Cd',,3'^-V-'''"'^''''
fury of mental acti
ge of knowledge and such
IJnc eFvf ,^ '' '''' W^-ehend,
Uncle Fyford was neutral, TheSund
an universal
'aj-sehooJ
II
>^
t
Hi
ml
I
ih»i
502
AGAINST TUE STREAM.
m
(Hi
li
liad not been bo Jacobinical as he had feared.
Mr. Kabbidge was tolerant, but not encouraging.
lie had not seen any alarming ])assion for literature
result from letters, as he had taught them.
lieuben's comment was reassuring.
'* The good Lord," he said, " had mercifully
eent the good corn through John Wesley and
others, before lie set folks on putting up the mills
to grind it, or the ovens to bake it. The preach-
ing had come before the teaching, the gospel be-
fore the spelling-book, the converting Spirit before
the letter ; and now the good words were there,
the more schools there were to teach them, and
the more pens to spread them the better."
W I
1j;
f !
Never was intercourse with Lovedav Benbow
more strengthening and hopeful than during those
years of many changes and many perils.
War was to her altogether evil, inhuman, dia-
bolical. To her all victories were darkened, as
that one victory of Trafalgar was to all England, by
the shadow of death. The roll of glory was writ-
ten within and without, to her eyes, with lamenta-
tion, and mourning, and woe.
Self-sacrifice in dying she could understand to
the utmost. Self-sacrilice resulting in killing she
would scarcely place higher than a highwayman's
generosit3\
For Toussaint L'Ouverturo starved in the dun-
geou at Joux, for Andrev/ Ilofer, the patriot
betrayed and shot she could weep. Over Nelson's
'*%4i;-^
'^^^ALVSTTIIKsTJiBAM.
understand to
, . 503
'I'O could onl, iL ' tf'T' 1 '•'"'"O-,
""''™>eatl, tho J , ;,• " "'"'"Sl'ont un,l
1- turned aside t n ° 7"' ''" '"'''"' ""•'• "'' "''
"ot discourage tiie belt i!f f' "'" ■'=^<'»« '^id
porters. ° ""-'' '"''"•'"'-■J »»'o„g its sup-
"-eeri^rSnttr"'-^^"-"'---
''•'%^ve.eo„t,.epo:t':rta^:7'----'
-H.X;rtot::r''t^"^'-™'''^^
"c'tion o? ti,e i„;„: "; jz'i T"' ''^ ""^ ■=»»■
» persuasion ot^'ts r/jw *' "'' f "" '^^
watcJiingcloselvdoteetpdl^' '" "■''" ™'-e
^- ti,at pubiie s, 'w:r™"'"^^^""'p-
Manj l,earts wore touched t„T 7 '^ '^'"""^■
«0". Many conseie elr 'P''' ""^'S"*"
'■ godly repent.anee .' ' t , '" "''''"''^' ''' "<" '»
Tl'e very p,-es e ;? t e til'" 'i'"""""'^ ^™-
q^kes of «-ar of tho i ^ ''"'«»d and tl,e earth-
«»ng tl,e eonnl „"'""""•""" I'-"« ""-oat-
--....a„r::rx^:j^Vi?:j
It
ill
504
AGAINST TUB STREAM.
I
might bo harboring among us wliich miglit bo
blinding the ejes of our rulers, and weakening the
arms of our soldiers.
The two great rival leaders, Pitt and Fox, were
altogether one in their desire to redress this wrong.
Pitt had supported it from the first; had (Mr.
Clarkson said) been " steadfast to the anti-slavery
cause from the beginning ; " he had " vainly
sought to enlist France for it in 1788," he had
" fostered it in its infancy," unable, Mr. Clarkson be-
lieved, from " insuperable difficulties which could
not be mentioned," to do more; he had given
the weight of his unequalled eloquence to it again
and again, and had at least " kept it from Hilling."
And now that Pitt had died without effecting
the abolition, Mr. Fox took up the work more un-
trammelled tiian his predecessor, and sincerely de-
termined to make its accomplishment one of the
foremost objects of his policy.
What Nelson's grand battles were to England,
every turn of the anti-slaveiy debates in Parlia-
ment was to Loveday. She felt sure that the days
when fifty thousand helpless captives should be
kidnapped year by year in Africa, and as many of
them as survived the horrors of the voyage sold to
fresh cruelties in the West Indies, were drawing
to a close.
The very fervency of hope with which she
looked forward to the approaching deliverance
seemed too m.uch for her sensitive and feeble frame.
We had noticed with anxiety the gradual failing
jU
vliicli might be
i weakening the
look, wiu'c = i ;r:r"^ "' ''^ "■■""' '-"o-
tont abandon, erofJT-^r' "'^^'''' '"'o --oluc-
We scarcelv d r dfo , I' ^™'* ""«' '''"o«>or.
other, or to ht' ^'""^ °^ "'^^'^ """g^ '« each
the fa,nilv ho„i;t " f' "'"V" ''^'- '^ '^""•" on
in adults; and to tj"""': "' ^"'- »^ Po^^'Wo
young, koral »d t. XTf ^i "^"""^ '" *°
hopelessly e„tan,,od'Z wt"? T'''^' '■"''"^'''
which she accepted and c ndoned ^l ""t ""• '"
moral, mental, and pl.ysicl rtl ""."'«"«> "es,
wicked and sedncing ,„,« ^ '"■"*''^'-- ''■^ "
any!::f:iirt'r^"^''™'-''^»
^^;n. strict,, „r:i::r,,x?e'::rd;t\^-^
• . &»^tj lu maive jier wpII fi.« i
n>a,„.„g „o„,.e was to let l,er a o e 'to L™ ^ • "
vahd, in dpapo t+" , "-Juut, ro De an in-
' ^" P':-aCe. it VOU OOTlIr nr^4- i' liil
;r=t;f''^-^^---rtL'ts::^
thoti::?''^i"rr::;«ee,andlnpart
ments; and I believe sl„. 7^1 ? I ' ""'" »''-
-h„nd,iati„„,a:;d^;t X"" r:^^^^^^
siic luilieted on her fktho,. >, i ? ^' "^"^"^^
-ptedhereo„chJri^"l--r:sa?:
im
606
AGAINST THE STREAM.
very low place, in the kingdom. She felt, I be-
lieve, that there must be some especially bad pos-
sibilities in her, from which God mercifully had
saved through chastenings which He never wil-
lingly inflicted ; and she acted as if she could
never do enough for her father and Miss Felicity
and the world in general, to make up for being
such a burden on every one. And thus, accepting
the lowest place, and never seeking to make it in-
to a platform (such as can be made even out of
poverty and pftin, without the aid of vows or reli-
gious dress), all grace flowed naturally into her
heart, and with it a sweet and calm content, and a
glorious capacity for looking upward and enjoying
a perpetual feast in the gifts and graces of all
around her.
Once, I retnember, she said tome, during those
dark months of 1805, —
" IIow can I ever repay Aunt Felicity for all
her care of mv father, for doins: all I oucht to
have done? My heart and mind have been free
to take up the burden of the slaves. But she has
been a slave all her life for me and mine. And
that," she added, "is what makes true church
history so absolutely impossible. The deaths of
martyrs and the deeds of philanthropists are seen
and heardj and can be told ; but who can tell the
anguish of the homes from which the martyrs
came, or the sacriflce of those whose quiet work
at home made the public work possible ? "
" Who, indeed," I said, " can count the secret
AGAINST TIUJ m'lil'JAM
letter fron. 1,;,"^ ^ ' ''"''™""«'' ^'^ "'"' "
tioiit of preeedpnf Jn ,. .P"'"- " »* abuses, ]>a-
a verv hig s j'o 1 "T'"^ ^"'- ^"Slisl. in
or Milton or Tnl 1° n ^''''I'speare, or Bacon,
blinJ to^i.rvatu of ";?,°'' •'"''" ^^''^^ ^ "«
a", yet real,; o,dt Th f r " """»"^' "»' "'
..s steward8,iwell.saHrilrI 1 , """"""^ >»■'
n t a "seT"'" '° """'^"'S' I' '^ eert"a ll,
income of tld'tv ,0^^ "' '"'""'■ ''""' °"* "f ^'n
^^"rcsb also thcat sometiraes tho
508
AGAINST THE STREAM.
'tm, H-
thousands of pounds subscribed do come out with
a grand roll, as if thej were equal to the " two
niites," wdiich, of course, they are not.
" Nor is the heroism so impressive, for instance
as that of tlie French Huguenots, or of St. Paul
« The ships are too well built and victualled
to be liable to frequent ship^a-eck, or to « huncrer-
mgs often." ^
" Nor does the literature strike me as likelv to
be immortal, except perhaps some savings of Mr
Cecil's. *
" Everything strikes me as being on the second
level. No Luther, no Latimer; no genius, no
martyrdom; no perils, no glories; no fri^ht^ il
ice-chasms, no dazzling snow-peaks, no spontane-
ous paradises of flowers among the ice-seas.
" After all, are not all second generations apt
to be on the second level ? Will it be different
with the Methodists ? Was it different with any
of the Religious Ordei-s ? Was it different with
the earliest Church ? Must not the Church always
he Protestant before it becomes Catholic? And
becoming Catholic, in its midst must not new re-
formers have conLinually to rise and protest?
" But, this granted, on tJtis second level work
of the truest, conflict of the noblest, chanty of the
tenderest ; a wide grasp of the evils of the world,
and a determination to combat them ; a close in-
vestigation into evils at home, and patient labor to
remove them. Homes pure and tender, full of
-I GAINST THE .STREAM. g^p
house. Harriet " tl,„ p J • T ^ ™''''' *«
t'-"Sl.t n,e tropical. I .1 ' °1"™" "'"'"y^
""d a littlcnorefrosf , I , ' ""'■"' '""'
life- o 7;m' ' "" '"0''ti poverty in
I '0, -> Iitt.emore i,p on tlie hoi. :,ts- » ;,M. .
down among tl.c sufeers °*'" ' " '""<= ""''o
, "'^ IS a Jittle apprehensive as wlia « i
»>>d science, and' Tk^tv '!'"' "'"' '"'■'^'''
« hucjcn . it sees so many danger-
m
* in
111
510
AGAINST THE STREAM.
m
m
oils subjects. It is curious tliat on one point its
courage is almost reckless. It is not at all afraid
o encounter the peril of being rich. And yet, on
Uie whole, there seems to me more in the Kew
Testament about the*peril of being rich than about
• the peril of any kind of curious opinions."
This was part of her letter to me. To Lovedav
slie M'rote : — *^
"The talking here is excellent and inspiring,
but rather incessant. I sha'I be glad of a little
stillness. I want to listen, and look ; and I want
exceedingly not to be listened to and looked at so
much, as it one were something wonderful. You
have made me more than half a Quaker, Lovedav
my friend of friends. I want some 'silent meet-'
ings. I want to exercise myself by a good pull
against the stream. Here one seems borne on the
current. And I am afraid of merely drifting
^ " The hour of deliverance from the slave-trade
IS, they say, fast approaching. I shall scarcely see
It in England. But you will. And I shall feel it
among my ' black mankind.' And we shall rejoice
together." "'
I noticed that Loveday's eyes moistened, and
^ tier voice quivered, as she read aloud that last sen-
tence.
" We shall certainly all feel it somewhere," she
said ; " and we shall certainly rejoice together.
Orod knows where. And He knows best."
And in February Amice wrote me another
letter : —
AOAimr HIE STBJSAM.
"J I ®"
only n.,d rcnero 1 Lnl *","' ^«' ^«'<^"""-'J
"■«^ borne ^011 "'"' !''f ' "■'"'" ^e'^on
''*'"entation. "' ^ "^'"■'S- and bitter
"■an'atont'u alTv™!;:'"- f '^''^y' '■t«o more
"ti.or son in witom "I't' f'""'^ ''^'^ '» 'ay the
'I- friend otyZ tZT'"^- ^'^ ^"berforce
fin of WiUianfp;;'. ''""' """'^"■'^■- before the oof:
"Both Nelson and Pitf .
primeoflife!Both,vorn !'/V"''"»-' I" 'be
la^t «-orfs the/hav-e ] ft™ ^''°"''''''^- ^^h«'
heart- "^ ^ '"'^' ^^O'ng through every
And the great motto—
■Engtad expects e«,vm.„,„<,„i„,„,^.
What words to nerve and t„ • • .
'Jnty: and that < 2^' f iT,'! ^'^^'y and
™>-y highest is but^St ; , ^^; " '" """• Tbe
do.' What seed , ho™.' •' "'T" <*"'> '"
"And vet „.!. "'■'^ "' others !
"^r;:'^S:ri:.-Z'd'"^''^^"^-'-'
a good %ht And ? '^ " Sood soldier in
'-e «'at%;sy,^e , er' Zr *;/-' '-oes do
#
;! i
ii
i^!
|!
Ill
iM
'im
' ■>.
AGAINST THE STREAM.
^now, leaders cannot fail. But for England?
"Where can she look now ? "
She did not know that among the mourners
around the grave of Pitt was Arthur Wellesley,
just returned from the Mahratta war, and his vic-
tories at Assay.
for Endand ?
'I
CHAPTER XXXIV.
England. " onr world of
rapocted nmcli of Wm f f'^' ^™0' one had
of the second yeftil''Ti'' ""''• ■« "'O end
of debt. ^ ' '"""' ^""^ '^'^'"i my fatl,er
l-d never seen I„-,„,o„„3:^"™'f»«'"ong. J
of it-who'do ™t .nin^ir,"''"' ''" "" '""*
eonvenfenccs other peoni r°" "' "'' '"''^' ■'"-
«"d „,„scle. He C Jr''"" '"f "" backbone
only be dragged and nn,lLT'* ''""«' ^"^ can
people's cost." ^"^ *''™"e'' '"''^ =" other
He reproached himself
iJnpl
Wbe^,b5j:,:-^Hg^">.esald,<.X
to recognize the evil."
vored to excuse.
sino-
But \h- 7^ ^-"^iiigton
"'■ ^^''^- ^^'-^"escombe endea
mi
33
ijf .'
mS
6U
AGAINST TlltJ STIiJ'LUt.
" Thoy arc gentfemcmly debts, Mr. Danes-
combe," sbe said. " Tt Is a comfort that my poor
Francis has not degraded liimself hy tlirowing
himself aM'a;y on low associates. You see, hil
tastes are all so refined. Books, Mr. Danescombe.
He was always so particular, poor /cllow, about the
bindings of his books. And no doubt these yonn^
noblemen and gentlemen of fortune he has written
about, who were so pleased to come to his rooms,
could not be entertained quite like ordinary peo-
ple. He will; learn the value of money in time.
He was always open-handed."
My father shook his head.
"Euphrasia, for heaven's sake," he said, "let
lis call things hy their right names. If it had
been a young num's careless generosity, I would
have had more hope. To give to equals or infe
riors may, at least, be giving. To get into debt,
to entertain people above us, is simply largaining
and swindling— buying a position we have no
right to with money we have no right to. It is
the sin of the Pharisee and of the publican com-
bined."
" But this once we must give him a chance,"
she pleaded to him.
" The only chance," my father said, « is to let
him feel the weight ; to let him feel that these
easy, good-natured, selfish habits are tying and
binding him with chains more difficult to bear, in
the end, than it is to say ' 710 ' in the beginning."
" But these gentlemen who have accoinmo-
^^''^^^ST2'lr£JSTllf,A.V.
3 acconimo-
gnice I " ""• ^t would bo snch a clis-
" GentJcrnen ' " « i •
■•' bo a d.Waoe ' h T '"'"^ ">y f>Mm: " Lot
^O"!'! make i,i,„ j,-e,d '' ">"'='"'<'. «"d nothing
% step,„o,I,e,. tnrned (o me.
-'d=l>anke!,VC^,,7»'«^ "T"' """^ ^™--'.
-W all ,ni,,,t beri^' ' '"-d me „,ost-„,e
come back. = " ^^'' "^ o"Iy Piers could
brop. '■^^--' >— us .as altogether
'or/lSilVto W r :'"' ''" ■•" "- -<= Par-
-y-"';cv™"Wn:;r„:7;:?'"™^-^^^^^
«?«A':t;':e*:c:\f'''«--p-A
P'-ant and attentive! 'r. t" """"^ <'-
«''e'rsrZfiK^-t^"-tainment.
»^;^..-ng wrong aboutFl^:" ^'""'" ^^<'"' <""
'"™°™d when ,!„t "" , ^ ""'^ «» ««e,n
^''""i'-g.orin prC. ^ "'' "^^ ^™^ Perhaps
'Iff '"
m
I'll
I
510
. AGAWST THE STREAM.
I felt very sure that starvin*,' would not he tlio
fui-iii in wliic'h Friuicis would surt'er deht to press
upon him. But a dehtora' prison was by no means
an unreal, or a very tolerable, dread in those days.
It made my heart warm towards Francis just
to feel how she loved liim, and to her to feel
how she could love.
The self-reproaches which I had inflicted on
myself in my childhood, sitting at my sewing,
on that window-seat, came back to me.
Surely, I ^ thought, if I had loved my step-
mother more, and Francis, things would have
been better. I should have penetrated to her
heart sooner. We should have been more united
as a family, and more able to help each other.
Ajid yet the excuses with which she excused
him to herself were as repugnant to me as to my
father.
At last one morning came a letter in the labo-
riously neat handwriting of an uneducated person,
addressed to Piers, with " Urgent " on the cover.
After a little hesitation my father opened it
and to his perplexity found it signed in our fam-
ily name—" Dionysia Danescombe." Slowly the
meaning dawned on bim. It was from some one
calling herself the wife of Francis. "He had
wished the marriage to be concealed from his fam-
ily for a time," she said, "desiring to tell his
father himself."
She had consented. She wished now she had
not Ilertather, air.., had objected. His family
^<^^l^STmEt,TJiEAAr.
X to tell his
'"'Sty and wrons she I , ^, ''"'•^ '""' '"■•'-■»
"-Tiage, and ,.,„ .efn^dltu ' 'r*^ "" "^
Iraneis was in nm,,,, , , '""•> '™fcw; and
^-gry. Hel.ad„': '"'V'"-';"'"^'- "™ ^o---
tors to marry gentlcfo K , /.:"''' '^'^ '"■" *'"?! -
fo'fa, the, .^„srp : ■ ' he ' "^ ""'^ S-"'-
debta; and she h!d al« ' ^"'1'^^ W™g their
■■"«! «'.o did not T;iJr^ y^ '"•■•« kind ;
'"'"• She «-assureevel' ",'"" '» ^"""^ '<>
^-isDa„...on.:e:KL;te^''°-^'-
Impertinent croatnm " .1 • ,
herself n,y Fra„eist«Sfe r' '""' "'° ''"^ ^-"
-y ftti::::%:;^- fBrit""" '^ ^'"-•^ -v-
The letter is honest and l/ ';''"" ''""'" ^''« is.
'fe poor child, n:l:4Strc„o„g,,.
the race of Ci-cesna • n„^ 1 , ^""'"s comes of
of the bargain t' ,^ a t. 5 ^ '^'"•' ""^ «">-'
teach then^someth^V ^'"' ''''-■ But it may
bu JiTgat Jr.^^-"'''« ' " she exclaimed.
■^-vledge such In : ;:r^ Tl^- '"-' '» -
"'""• That my poor hov
518
AGAINST THE STREAM.
should be tied for life to a creature that cannot
fold or seal a letter properly ! "
" My dear," he replied, " if the law acknowl-
edges the connection, what can we do? The
question, at present, seems to be to acknowledge
the debt. And, indeed," he continued, endeavor-
ing to console her, " I think there is a cheerful
side to the affair. The father, you see, did not
wish it, which looks respectable. And he is a
village shop-keeper and yeoman ;— not one of tlie
rich university tradesmen, who prey on young
graduates. And a debtors' prison is the kind of
lesson our poor Francis is not likely to forget."
Every article in my father's pleading was, I
felt, telling the other way with Mrs. Danescombe.
" Indeed, Mr. Danescombe, I shall never be
able to understand you," she said. " What consola-
tion there is in the poor deluded boy's having made a
low marriage (which I do not for a moment believe
he has) ; and if he has, what comfort there is in
her father being not only a tradesman but poor ;
and least of all, how you can think any good is to
come of his being in a debtors' prison, you cannot
expect me to comprehend. I confess I think this
is not a subject for pleasantry."
" Pleasantry, my dear ! " he exclaimed. " I
never felt anything more serious or less pleasant
in my life. But the most serious thing of all is
the wretched habit which brought the poor boy to
it. I was only trying to hope that raiirht vet be
cured."
'¥ui
I that cannot
-eo, w),e„ he has nft a fauU ' f LTl""'"
- too eay-and his habits too Wld" " '""''"
and began to write a letter. «sc"toire,^
com'be^asklf" '" ^"" ™""g ? " M-^- Danes-
" To the girl's father," he renliert «t„ « j
out the truth and see what'can be £'■' '
she saM "Cd"to"le''"™ '" """ """"'^^ ™'- '"
-pensoand1JseI;-;""'^'^°™-^™'°''-«he
" Mj dear," he said very ^entlv « if u -c .
true, let us hope Francis is nof n • "^^
it is, what hpLr ° Pnsonjandif
^^^,^ What better way is there of helping him
The letter was sealed and dispatched.
f';e^tobe,wenthiJelfTo'^fl^^^^^^^^^^
letters. And J witli him ^' ^^'^
a.-HSutrti.er;T',::;n-'''''i='''-^^
around the door. ""■ """^ ""-o^d
When we came there was a huz, of sympathv
and way was made for us at onee. A hlT s„ 1'
i"wt",:;„;tr""''*'''^'-^°''°*---''"''i
-i
I:
520
AOALyST THE 8TUEAM.
A little subdued moan came from the sutferei-
and then a cheery word of thanks from a well-
known voice.
And in another moment my father and I were
standing with our own Piers, hand in hand, beside
poor Dick Fyfbrd, lamed at Trafalgar, and only
landed, owing to some accidents of weather, the
day before, on our coast.
" Picked him up at sea," said Dick, indicating-
P. ' o
lers.
With which vague vision of Piers floating from
Lorraine to England on some ancient Ocean Eiver,
we had for the time to be content ; cousin Dick
himself being the first subject of attention.
How content we were, I recollect to-day as
distinctly as if that were yesterday. It was like
springing straight from the breakers to the fireside.
The whole world became terra jirma once more.
Everything, I was pei-suaded, must go right now ;
the French war ; the abolition of the slave trade ;
Francis his and del)ts and marriage ; Amice and her
love, and her work for her slaves ; Abbot's Weir,
England, the world. And all because that one
parting was over !
So long ago ! So many partings since, without
meeting again ! Without the meeting again yet.
And now, at last, so near the meetings ; so nearly
past all the pai*tings, at least the partings /wm le-
ing left lehind, is it any wonder my heart should
bound sometimes, more like a happy child's than
an old woman's ? Is it any wonder that looking
the sutfei-er,
irom a well-
r and I wero
hand, beside
ar, and only
weather, the
AGAINST THE STREAM.
521
back to that return of my brother, the tears of joy
come into my eyes again, whiJe I feel now it was
nothing but a shadowy glimpse and a momentary
vision o± what is to come, and is not to pass away ?
k, indicating
floating from
)cean River,
cousin Dick
ition.
3t to-day as
It was like
the fireside.
I once more.
right now ;
slave trade;
nice and her
)bot's Weir,
ise that one
H]
ice, without
g again yet.
8 ; so nearly
i^Bfrom he-
leart should
child's than
hat looking
VI
CIIAPTFPv XXXY.
^^I^TjHERE were so many in want of help i
^ ^M ^^^ ^'i^tle world when Piers came back t
us, 'that there was little time to discuss
m
to
his own adventures. Besides Pier
s's
genius was not exactly narrative. For many years
some casual incident or remark would continue to
bring out new fragments in his French experiences,
but it was not in his way to make himself the hero
of a consecutive autobiographical story. We had
to put our " Odyssey " together as best we could
out of stray allusions and episodes.
On one point he insisted persistently ; and this
was, that he owed his escape to Olaire, to the easy,
idiomatic French into which we had naturally fallen
Avith her from childhood, and to the friendly aid of
the people who remembered her family, in reach-
ing the coast.
It was a fresli link between these two to have
that terra incognita to all besides, the scenes of
Claire's childhood, familiar ground to them.
Moreover, iu those three years, the world of
books had opened on Piers.
A GAIJVSl^ THE STREAM. 533
He ]iacl picked up fragments of the oldlibrarlp.
elaLr In r 1 ^''' ^'^'^'^ ^^^^^^^
bey HeLf" T"'"/"^^ '^'' ^'^-'-^'^^ ab-
lets a^wtl-? ''^'^''''^ ^'''^ ^'^^^^^^^-e-
grets and wishes m sharpening his mind a^^ainst
old mathematical problems Tn l.,'. , .f^'""^^
*™ntho3e he ^oZ '.Z.lL^l ^"t;::
ers had co.ne near to hiui ; the life of the cast h.^
become a reality, and a sehool to him-Cd ie
,"" ,""'1 ,^°'"e ™ liis mind, as his thee was
ptned the vnejarus and corn-fields of France
.n rehg,on8 reading, he had been limited to a
PortEoja copyof the Greek Testament, and to
Pascal, so .hat in those years the incrnst. ions and
petnfaet,ons of Mr. Eabbidge's "Jetters" h"d
beenp,ercedi„„.a„,direetion^b,li4^
But this, like the rest, came out in glimpses
The farst obvious and certain discovery 1,7ah
our I'ealer and helper had eome back to is and
that we had immediate need of him.
His first labor waste extract Francis from wis.
his' Letts'" Tv' '™'" """ '"^ '™'" »-"™^g
ms debts and his marriage.
_ Piere did not indeed find Franris in one of the
.n^erable dungeons in which John Ilowa,; h d
l»to.-e. The walls had been whitewashed,'! id
M\
-•;'ffl
524
AaAlNSl' THE STREAM.
some of tlio inoro obvious and fatal grievances luul
been removed ; but lie found him pemied in witli
a forlorn conipanj composed partly of destitute
creatures fallen there through wrong and misfor-
tune, and feeling tlie humiliation and helplessness
bitterly, and partly of reckless men brouglit there
by vice, and minding it very little, as long as they
could gamble with each other, or bribe the jailer
to get them such food and drink as they cared
for. .
Francis was depressed and remorseful. lie re-
gretted his debts, and rather repented his marriage.
lie felt he had lowered himself; but at the same
time he felt the punishment so far beyond his de-
serts, that he was half disposed to regard it as a
wrong, for which the only amende his family
could offer him was to pay his debts, and to ena-
ble him to make his married life as comlWtable as
circumstances would admit.
^ "If you had been here, my dear -ollow," he
said pathetically to Piers, " it would never hav<»
come to this.''
He had undoubtedly, he admitted, been too
"open-handed," but at the same time "he could
not but be sensible that much of the result hud
been the consequence of his father's being a little
nnsympathetic, and of the scandalous detention of
the Ten Thousand by Napoleon Bonaparte."
He felt himself a prodigal son indeed, but ar-
rived at a \QYy touching and hopeful point of his
career. lie had come to tlie husks. He found
)oful. lie re-
AOAWST TUF. STREAM. ggg
The p,„,.blo «v.» co,„,,Ie,e. will, „„„ „,„;,,,„„. '
i o father, I ha„e nuncV „-,a3 „„t tLem.
Ailljougl, o„tH-m',l)y o..,,ui„Iy ,„„„|, i„ ;.
l-voas,.eat deal ,.„„.„ „»e„„,,„„c,, t„ .,,„ P i,^
Ho ar-IiiioM- oC'<'il tl,„f i,„ i„„i , I .'""■I'-
ll I ,, 'o'" '"''t JK! had nia* i! niihh'ivPH
ovci, boon roa,l,„g rcli^^io,,., l,„ol«. ]Ic f,.|t tl a,
ol,adl,vo,ll,itl,o,,„i„eooK<,ala»pinl
oy.pp^^^^^^^^
";'••"■"" a lbnlo.I l,y |,i, prosenrpcsi, „ ■ ;
-«^..w.bo.e<.o.-r;;::rs!;:
_^^_^AMhis proposition Pic. was i„,i„itoI, Ji^
To ln-,u tI,ose words, wi.id, jjlidod so s,„„otl,]y
hi
m
!'i 1
536
AOAlNiiT THE STIil'JAM.
ironi tho lips of Francis, wore mich profomul ivnii-
ties; ami so iiist>|)aral)Iy iiniti'd with otiu;i' groat
moral realities of which Francis seemed to luivo
no conception !
/Vrnjas tho one evil of tho world ; Divine Love
spending itself in redeeming agonies to rescue
from sin ; giving itself perpetually in disci])line
Avhicli wounded and pro'oed, in i)arduns which
hound up and healed, to raise the fallen soul
from the slough of seliishness up to itself — were
so engraven on his lieart— that to see any one
grasping at the pardon not as a call hack to tho
heart of the Fathei-, hut as an escape from tho
discomfort of regret, Avas to him tho most terr--
ble profanation.
llis greatest hope was in Francis's marriage.
lie thought Mrs. Dionysia a young woman of
considerahle will and shrewdness ; and he was
inclined to believe, that once convinced that a
certain income had to suffice, she would have
conscience and sense to keep Francis within it.
Francis would teach her " letters " (especially
the letter "h"); and in return she would keep
Francis within the limits of tho law, and, pntbahly,
'secure him a "respectable " career.
The creditors were therefore, by his advice,
satisfied. Mr. and Mrs. Francis were established
in suitable rooms, with an allowance of which
she was to be tho chief steward. And Franciri
had every prospect, Piers thought, of becoming
in her hands an altered man.
On. ™r,,,.st ,,.,,,. ,,,s,„,,,,,, ,.,,,, ,,,,,,
f'.mHroMMnaluM.v.,^,,i,,s(: II,,, „,,,,,i|,,,,,, ,,!• ,,, . '
'""^^ '"" ^I'-H. Dionysia W(!rc l,y „o nu,i„s
i'> lead U) rosiH'cfa ) I'fv Ti i "imij
'.- - ;;P^nJ, ,;;|;;:;t,, K-^
I was thrown Imok on ,ny ohl fhoorv of Fran
vontionaiworid of, „,4:l;;;:j.';r '"'""'■ ™''-
">'■«» «<-'«>"'l lalKU- was of a more co,„-<.„i,|
'''i<l -m f h •/ ^^" couiproJ.ond l,ow wo
•'" '"' taken it as :i m..*^*-,,.. . x-
CJodol
'■<>y must IV ni
'iinttcr ofcoiirso tiiat C
I'll a {)n,-(,ner while A
iptain
^^ m
niico
I*
528
AGAINST THE STREAM.
V:
In
'J!
I V*
: \i
went alone on her mission to lier slaves. Ex-
cliaiiges had been ejected, and could be effected.
The Clapham influenc^e, the Beckford-Glanvil bor-
ough influence — every influence must be used to
set Captain Godefroy free.
AVith his own marriage in near prospect, his
matrimonial sympathies M^ere very strong. He
went to London and waited on the officials, stirred
lip the influences which influence ofiicials, touched
the warm heart of the Countess of Abbot's Weir,
and even moved the calm judgment of her lord,
to discover what might be done ; and finally had
the joy of bringing back Amice in triumph to our
own dear old house ; (Court being at the time in
process of transformation for the reception of Mrs.
Beckford-Glanvil) — with the promise of glorifying
Abbot's Weir by a triple wedding.
For our wedding was indeed to be triple.
Our cousin Dick Fyford had at last found the help-
meet whom he had no doubt Providence had de-
signed for him from the beginning. Patience, the
eldest of Mr. Eabbidge's fourteen, bad entirely
captivated him in his captivity. A little older
than himself (as had been usual with his early
attachments), and, since the death of her mothe;-,
enriched by all the experience of serving and nurs-
ing involved in the care of thirteen brothers and
sisters, she had been frequently called in by Uncle
Fyford to give counsel and aid in tending Dick's
wounds. On our cousin's impressible heart the
natural result had ensued. Patience was more than
^^GAUrST THE STllKAAf,
"OSS in ,im was ™t f r'''^"^ i^''"''-*''™ ">«""-
migl,t bo to W It :i^"r *''?"^''" »f-''»' l-e
inuiTcd a little at first fn. , ■ •'''^"'■'' "le-
dential eonsidoratiois '™"' ^""■^' ""-^ P™"
'a JpoST Rr'rl •" ^^"^'^" '■-• A
ing waked „p t„ « e Lorf/: <'™f fg"«on ^av-
had abandoned 1 imZ f „ ''\'''"'' ''°^'™'
ortbodox minister w:r 1 "'""P"' ""'^ «»
abandoned the rem'ai^ll r*"" ^'^ ^"■'"'^go had
We of snstaininlTdr o • ' '"""''^"^ "">"" »»!»-
with hisfo SehSlr"^^' »d ''"''S'ided,
Mjy uncle Fvford frit ti,„ . i.
knowledged the .ten af, ™'"P'™<»>t, and ao-
professions, Waf and ,}'T" """S"' °^ *e
wLole tbi, ; ,£ so 1 "^'°''- ^"^ «'™ the
luing was 60 conservative • wlr.Vl, „.„
tainly a recommendation Tt !' ! ' '^''■
tience to remove fron tb!' n ' ""'•>' ^°'' P«-
vicarage. Sl^l-onr nof t^ ^"'"^°'''' '" "'"
expectations Sbl"ti f '"'-^' "'"■--'abb
m
■Pf
111
,1!
I!
HI
jIs 1
r
530
. AGAINST THE STREAM.
iind hor quiet soft voice, that, on tlie whole, ho
easilv irlided into feeling it the most natural se-
quenee. In short, he soon began to be of Dick's
opinion that " Providence" must have desii^ncd it
from the beginning. And so Dick, at Patience's
request, was to be changed into Richard ; and wo
were to have a triple wedding.
How different the course of ti ue love had been
in each case ; and yet in each, in its measure true !
With Dick, secure anchorage of a home, shel-
tered and saf9 in England, to which his heart
might turn and rest, however he miglit be tossed
and knocked about, for the old country, by storms
or broadsides abroad.
To Piers and Claire the quiet ripening and ful-
filling of the long love of earliest years.
With Amice the raising and glorifying of every
faculty and capacity of her rich nature to its high-
est power. The discovery of a new world, the
creation of a new life, almost of a new self. I had
long since come to rejoice for her, and in her, with
my whole heart and soul. Who could help it,
loving her half as well as I did, seeing now she
grew to be all her dear, noble self, in the sunshine
of that great ennobling love ; how the new light
and life penetrated to ever^'- inmost depth, and
every uttermost blossom of her being ?
So the triple wedding came to pass.
In those days, Abbot's Weir had not blossomed
into aesthetics, social or ecclesiastical. Bridal veils
and orange-flowers had not penetrated to our re-
AGAI1Y8T TUE 8TJiE\M.
631
t<^ the iiiuIriMjieitv of n . ®° ^^^^''e ns
-«tc« for l,o,.self,- a^, n'e,: Vr r* ^^"-'^'^
tl"'oe couples rj„i oseou " .f '''' '"'"•™<' ""o
Auu feweotriGss and ho'inf,. -c ^i ,
raacle festival e„„„„l, i", ^T^ "^ "'" ^'"'i"'
"f Amice's movement I'd t ''""", •>' '""•''••^'^
d-- of laer radiant fa"el„tl/ '"'T''" ^f'^""
""d gracionsness of our a "°" ""'i" '^ ^'■''™
En^^isl. freshness rfVatLne^ "' ""' ^''^ ^^-'
jewot' The':;;t?:-"" "t ™°"«'' '» »^' -"•
ioned garde t e nL '■''^'' ''"™' "'« "'^-fash-
-ound' and rSn'd t'T'ba^u"^ "' f'"- ^''^''
sweeuins alon/n,„ , Mt^lground, ii,e river
'■"".an surround '^tt ;T'" ^Z"' ^-"^ '"''
school at the CtA. fr" "'^ "'o Sunday.
'fe oM Ahh:;:s,.t:: Xrr::td"r'"f
thein together fnr o^ ^ ^^^ *a"i?Jit
cidoohCLstrstinir^-™^
iJies. "iJbcicbs ot the eereruo-
'-)."'^«'>e,i„nin«„asantdl;o&if^
ii
If
If:
ii
ii
632
AGAINST THE STREAM.
Different as the course and the character of
the love which united them to each other, was
the course of the life before them.
To Cousin Dick and Patience, as Uncle Fj-
ford had said, in outward scene and circumstance
little change.
But to Amice and Claire how much !
Piers and Claire were to live, at first at least,
in the old Manor Farm, belonging to my father's
family ; one of the many small manor houses
then existing in our neighborhood. In its earli-
est stage, centuries ago, it had doubtless been a
stately dwelling compared with the rough cottages
of the laborers round it. And to this day an
air of good birth and breeding lingered around
it. There was a paved court in front, entered
by an arched gateway ; and a sunny terrace at
the side, sloping to one of tlie countless musical
brooks which run among our hills, with beehives
on it, and borders of thyme and sweet marjoram
and roses and pansies. And within were a hall,
with a long mullioned window, and a wainscotted
parlor with armorial bearings carved over the
large fireplace, and a broad oak staircase with
bannisters adorned with carvings of nondescript
heraldic creatures, beaked and clawed. And all
around its steep roofs and fine old clustered chim-
neys, a sheltering phalanx of fine old trees, which
threw deep sliadows athwart the courts and ga-
bles and su .ny slopes, and mude morning and
e\ ening musical with the cawings of a pre-histor-
AGAINST Tim STIiEAM.
533
"de from r tit If-"'' '° ^^'o'' ''^■- ''"sband
"■itJ. some new dfecoverv ^. ".• " '™""'S.
delight. "'scovery or jnvention of home-
Wed diffleuTtL to d " " "' "'™'"S'' «»•
Around them "o scene^ - J-' dimly perceived.
ftorm and battle Td -^ -f ""^ l""''""-"'' ^t
all that 1 d pe "Ir '• I" '"' ""'^ ^'^^'''P
No fair goldenTettin" of"^ '' '" *™> '^°"'
tlieir Jove! Thevtad"„ ■ T"?*""'''' '"■°'"'^'
xnej iiad only the love if-^^lf ^.^
■oc-ons stone itself, with all U. 1 1 k'^'JI '1'°
meaning
pi
an
for each oth
as a shield
certainly they did not feel' their lot th.
Yet
poorest.
^or did I,
ill
CHAPTER XXXYl.
OVEDAY and I were thus, in a sense,
left alone, of all the happy circle of my
childhood.
Loveday had always seemed as yoim^
as any of lis ; and now I felt certainly as old as
8he was, not at all regretfully or gloomily, bnt as
if set in a little skiff which had reached a calm
creek ; in a sense, outside the current of life, yet
not by any means stranded or anchored, but readv
at any moment, at any call, to be in the mid-cnr-
rent to succor any one there. Loveday 's skiff had
been a life-boat to many. Better I could not wish
for mine.
And yet, and yet — there Tvas a silence in the
fntniliar old terraced garden, on the Leas and by
the Leat, and in the empty rooms of the dear up-
and-down old house. What was the use of listen-
ing to the silence, or of filling it with tears ?— of
being left behind, or of looking only l)ackwards ?
As Amice had said years before, M'hen Piers
went first to Mr. Rabbidge's school, " Then donH
be left behind^'
3, when Piers
" Th^n donH
^(^^imST THE STUEAM
060
pressing to look at it \l '^alf-power is de-
^ iuoK at, It IS inspinnff to do "Vi^ i ir
. ^"^ cousin Dick had to leave home soon «ff«
ins niarriao-e • itiH i.^ / "u"ie soon atter
And o.ie great gain came t<, me ont of tl,
■".-•"y gains to others wliicli were T
sense at first loss to mo. ty fat e> an'TiT ""''
™ine;^:ft:rentir:™rjrDr'''«vr
ing^not seldom a.se;. on :-!f:i"Crf^^^^
i\M
I
530
I!
fii
J
z1 GAINST THE STREAM.
mg in its sunny pastures, and scalinj^ its far-seeing
iiei<rhts; resting ourselves with liis beloved Cow-
per, in his Winter Walks by the Ousc, or in Ins
Winter Evenings by the Fireside ; or led by Shak-
speare through the lengtli, and breadth, and
heights and depths of human character and human
life. Occasionally also new voices came to us,
comparatively feeble then, and not at their full
force,— yet (my fati. -r :.; ought) not witliout some-
thing of the old lire and timbre in them,~in the
early poems qf Wordsworth and Coleridge. Our
father never made a barrier of the past to block
out his vision into the present. And so one of
the best of all f iendships grew up for me — the
friendship between a father and a daughter; pre-
serving youth for the child, restoring youth to the
parent ; enriching the young with the wealth of the
recollected past, inspiring the aged with the life of
the future which is to expand it ; and hallowing all,
- the friendship, the memories, the hopes,— with
the tenderness of sacred instinctive affection. Often
I felt that all my loss elsewhere was made up to
me by the gain here. Often I thanked God that
I had learned to estimate this treasure befor.; it
was too late.
In politics it was not a cheerful time.
It seemed to my father a long descent from the
rule of Pitt, of the one man of genius, to the min-
istry of "All the Talents" which succeeded him.
Nor did he share Charles Fox's sanguine hopes of
peace with the Emperor Napoleon, He could
AOAaw Tim STUEAU. 537
-1.0 had caused ho g„ S D "!; Sw,t.orIa„d;
-. and the nohle G.^,;;!" tSi/p^'^™-
r::;:ror:h!::rv^"":^''''-» '™
^wk, hated E„;i:*::;;ih:c;:;':/r^'''"''
I'lous will bafflorl on^ 'J'lcied ot nii nnpe-
n-.l.odj.atlftf^,:;;—'?""'''''-?^""-
otism, and ..eiiiu, .,„!i , '''O"''™, and patri-
-0 da St^oX QtTn i:: r rp ''" l^'''"'" ^^''''-
nobicst of the RonnhL fv -^""*''"' ™fl "'^
tliat were too ™at ™ to 'f ""' "^ '" ''■^'<''' ■*»
ami worship hif^ir ^ """° '^^'" "' '"« ^et
"o weapons fZ '," 'f ''^"^ "''"''''> '>««■'•■'« at
sands. ' ^"'•'^"""'O''. «■• the slaughter of tW
For England to make poace win. . i
enemy, seemed to my father tn i . ' ""
nations, and her own L i f ' """''"^ ^■'="''«'-
to saoriiee the .UlTtv of ntl • T"" "^ "^■■»*™^^ '
of Hboraiism. 'Cs f "tr: "t^'T
not nnfrequent, in which heart l^d'S, X'
-the heart of the nation and tl.f .'
greatest-and saw t,.,,/ .? «""""* of her
-the prndencr ! f" P™.^™- ""<' '^'ont,
ity
.eprnden^ofthesuMlestH^^^^^^^^^
Grie
alent
abil-
voua it was therefore to him to hear
i
l!1
iir! n
of
5;]8
AGAINST TUE STJiLAM.
M
nerrotUxtinne goincr on with M. Talloyraiid tlirongh
all the summer of 1806, from sprin;^ till autumn,
while NapoK'on \vii> '.using the time in hringin,n;
nation after nation into submission ; '' subnJii.s!VH: "
whicli, as Lord Ilowick sa:d, " never sf;opT)ed I)is
progress."
His only consolation was to turn fci) the others
o'i the two objects which it was said Charles Fox
had set iiis heart on carrying— to the long parlia-
mentary warfare against tlie shive-trade opened by
the first Quaker petition in 1783.
On June 10, 1806, Charles Fox himself, as
Prime Minister, moved—" That tins House, con-
sidering the slave-trade to be contrary to the prin-
ciples of justice, humanity, and policy, will with
all practicable expedition take effectual measures for
its abolition." " His own life was precaiious,'' he
said, "if he omitted thisopportunity of saving the
injured Africans he might have no other opportu-
nity ; and under the circumstances he dared not
neglect so great a duty." " If he should succeed
in carrying through this measure," he declared,
" he should consider his life well spent, and should
retire sati?fied that he had not lived in vain."
Too soon was the precariousness of the life, and
the sacredness of that opportunity proved. It was
indeed his last. That eloquent ^ oU;e was no more
to be heard in Parliament. Ilii dth failed al-
mc.~^ immediately after thr* mo, \ ii was carried by
a ir;:ii ority of 114 to 15 in ' u ...mmons, and by
41 to 20 in the House of Lt»iAb.
AGAUW TUB STREAM. 539
Westminster Abbey! ' ""'■"' '™"^^P' »''
" The giants are dead," it was S'lid • « „ i
le:::::::.^'" '^-- ^^ ^ leTot:
to.:tt:rtL''ic--^^^--i«eed
peace witb Fran™ ?! , ' negotiations for
told heavily on 1, : if ■ *^"''' "'"^ '■"""■•'> I'^'l
ti.e discussion of pobl f s^y ,,","? f'Z T
wrote, "he npvn.. +• . "^'J^t,cs, jvir. Uarkson
'Twothin'.' 1^ sal? !' ^'-laver, cause.
""&'-, lie said, on his deathbor] ' T ..,;.i
i!w» / wUh the latter ' " "^ ^'"^
of it tafp^lter tr; ^™'^' ' ""<> "- '-p»
Again and' rrl d,s:r "" ','" ''^'"»" ^^-
tl'e House of Jot, l'^,?:" ''''T"' "''' '"
abolition quivered nl' ,• ""'•'' ''"'"= "* "'«
Debati ;, It 'Vo^';: H '"''"' ''""^
\^W''
Ifii
540
AGAINST THE STREAM.
his Majesty had demaiuh^d the resignation of office
rather than yield Caiholie emancipation.
It was decreed that no slave should be lauded
in the British colonies after March 1st, 1808.
That was a day of pure and exalted triumph at
Clapham. Whatever jealousies there might sub-
sequently be among the narrators of the light, to
those who fought it, success was incomparably
dearer than fame, and the success of May 22 was
the glory of each, and the joy of all.
Twenty y^ars before, in 1787, the first meeting
of the Society fbi- the Abolition of the Slave
Trade had been held, by twelve men, mostly mer-
chants, all but two Quakers : at their head Gran-
ville Sharpe, who had struck the first blow in res-
cuing Jonathan Strong twenty j^ears earlier yet, in
1767;~among them Thomas Clarkson, who of' all
the advocates approached the nearest ^o the mar-
tyr's crown, having again and again risked his
life in hunting out, through riotous taverns, and on
stormy seas, the evidence which convinced the na-
tion and the Parliament.
For forty years they had carried the contest
on ;— their first victory the decision wrung from
Lord Mansfield, that no slavery was possible on
English soil.
During those forty years, the monarchy of
France had perished ; the French Republic had
fallen before the Empire; all Europe, all freedom
and national life were falling before Bonaparte
^Cf^^INST THE STREAM ^^j
short "'"n ''""' '",™"'"" '""' "'■•eatoned our
.aparte ' "" "" "'"' "'« ''°""''" -"' Bo-
But steadily, iindistraeted by perils tliev f,.u . *
koe„yas any, or by the r„i„/„rf „ Z, ;
and falhng nations, and undi„n,aved b, defe and
-"»"y, Wilberforce and Clai-eon^" and those
who worked with them, had pnrsued their ZZ
purpose of rescuing a race. '<•"• gieat
And at last the middav enn „f iir- i
March 91 lanT i '"""J ^"" of Wednesday,
iviarc 1 25, 1807, shone on their victory.
Clapham went to the ends of the earth for met
aphors magnificent enough to express the ",
My cousins wrote me that Mr. Wilberforce had'
been eo„,pared to "Maneo Capae, the eh Id of the
sun, descended on eai-tl> i„ A . , "
ino-." P"'*' '"liiiman suffer-
A medal was struck, with ihe head of Mr
Jdberforce the " Friend of Africa " on one si
and on the reye,-se, a nund.er of Pagan ar^ocai
and shields, one of these personages bein., crowned
t..eooKK.:.„!;^Cy,ttt'^^"^'''»" ''''•""»"''
to the Iieart— •'«'7A
ter than all, thronxr
ave heard th
.'lit and
w'fi rrn
eirci^ijy And bet-
!i the shouts of victory
''I'd'
lii
n !
were
If:'
542
AGAINST THE HTIiEAM.
heard Uie throatc
was to lead to greater \'ictoi'v yet
iiin-,' murmars of a war which
Lord Pel
cv
tlie shive trade, but of slan
e alu>lition, not oiilv of
ared t
'ery ; and Sheridan
si
ay in the House that the abolition of tl._
:avo trade was but a prelude to the emancipation
of the slaves.
The planters, and all those interested
in main-
tainiiii,^ slavery, (like the Dames at Abbot's W
—and like the Pharisees), had indeed seen, fr
the first, whither the conflict
than many of tho.«.- who bea:an it
eir
oni
was tending, better
It was a daily delight to carry every detail of
the debates to Loveday, as she lay, now no longer
on the little couch, but on her bed, placed as i,ca •
the window as might be, that she might see the
birds which came to the window-sill for crumbs,
and the c'lildren playing in the empty market-
place. Sometimes I thought her very peace and
joy .lust 1 ep her live.
'• Wish it, only wish it enough, Loveday ! " I
6aid to l>er one day, " and you will live to the
next viftory as you tuive lived to this."
On the morning Avhen I told her th^ king's
consent had beon g.ven, she yielded to a pas-
sionate emoti<,. -arr- indeed for her. She wept
and sobbed foi loy. And then she broke into
ritual observance.
" Bride, " she said, " I cannot stay : , bed to-
day ; I must dress, and, dear, you will place the
couch in the front window in the dear old school-
Nviir which
not only of
(I Sheridan
htion of the
maiicij^atiou
ted in main-
bbot's Weil-
seen, from
]ing, better
ij detail of
V no longer
ced as uca ■
ii^ht see the
jv crumbs,
ty market-
peace and
>vedaj ! " I
ive to the
thj king's
to a pas-
She wept
)roke into
in bed to-
place the
3ld school-
A(Mimj' ■lllE STREAM 5.^3
J^Iiss Felicity eon, lured it a era^p i„,t i
m«de no resistuiiee. ' '"" '''"
And tl.at afternoon Claire and I had o„.
Love a. enee n,ere on the ii.tie eoL "1,, '.
I'l the elose white eap and the soft m-ey nnrnst
-:hi;::eferth:;™n;x-d"f^"
tt e ha^t hy her .de she ga/eri. Tote iTt,:
a^d knitt 1 -f ' 1""™*'™^ »d needle ,sc.,
b ts o 1 e on r' "",' '"''^^"■"■^' '""do out o
bits o he old dove-colored dresses ; and for tho
I ad n ,e H ?' °^ ''"' "'""•^■^ considere.: she
Imd „o,,e that was not dne to her father and Miss
She had some kind little saving for everv o„e
.ind she headed tl—p ,]< t- • » '"'"^"^'y one.
^^^^ '■'■ •'' '"I to Keen th(
'?|1
keepsakes for her, and
ieep
as tokens that the
th
ings as
poor Af-
fi
6U
AGAINST THE STIiNAM.
rican mothers and fathers and Uule ch!ldren
were not to he stolen from their homes again any
more, forever. And then rIio kissed them aM.
The children were pleased, but very subdued.
I think they looked on it as some religious festival,'
which indeed it was, and felt the kiss somethiufr
sacramental. ^'
And then, when the gifts were given, she said,
not in entreaty, but with a gentle easy authority,'
as of one accustomed to command,
"Aunt Felicity, I want them all to have a
holiday this afternoon, that they may rememl)er
the day."
And Miss Fch'city made no difficulty or demur,
strict as lier regulations about holidays were ; none
liaving ever been granted by her before within the
memory of Abbot's Weir, for causes less historical
than the Day of the martyrdom of the blessed
King Charles I.— to the confusion of the Jaco-
bins,— or the day of the " happy deliverance of
King James I. and the Three Estates of England,
from the most treacherous and bloody-intended
massacre by gunpowder"— to the confusion of the
Papists.
Every one felt that this was Lovcday's fete ;
like a birthday, a wedding, or a coronation.
And so the children went away ; but their sub-
dued demeanor, which usually ended with the sup-
posed range of Miss Felicity's inspection, lasted
further that day.
Tiie little ones went quietly all the way to their
AOAiNsr rm sritKAn. ,,45
l|ome,, to,l,o8,,r,,,.iseoftheir,,„,.en,s;.,sifit
ima Ijueri Siimlaj. ' ^
I, spent the a ten,oon with l,ei- also, as if it
"Day most calm, most bright
The fruit of thia;tho next World's bud.
1 lie indorsement of supremo delight ;
a day on which
"Heaven's gate stands ope."
'•-a,,.t-e.i„,,...::t:t:et::;::ri;-^^'''"'
J-t was indeed her lo^if rin,r „ °
seemed h'lcc a receiriL 1 1 v- ."""»' "' ""■ ^'
,, '^^^i^^"fe' the Viaticiin toirether
And after tlmt, I felt the journey had M I
taken, ar.d we must let her go ^ ^ ^'
davtraidtYer" I ''' '"'^^'^''^^ ^^^ ^^'^ ^un-
iiiglit. '^^' ^"^^'"^^ ^^«^' fo^' the
" Like Sunday ? Yes " bI^o o„-^ ..i
)-ou will all iroin Ji:::!l!" '"i'»>'° -.»<i
fil)e said w
help to
vyho
iLii a Solemn
carry it on. And we al
sn
IS
conquerino- and to
35
joj, " if we
are with Him
conquer,— nearer II
im
il
540
A0AIN8T THE STREAM.
than wo can be here— we, T think, surely may
help, not less."
She said few of what arc nsnally called last
words. Her words had all been spoken on the
shores of the eternal sea, whose murmnrs make
last words so sacred, in the Presence which makes
that sea but as the Sea of Galilee on that calm
morning when the risen Master waited there to
M-elcome the disciple to the shore.
She never spoke of closing and ending, or re-
pose, or death ; but of continuance, and beginning,
and service, and life.
" ' Going to rest ? ' " she said. " Yes ! such
rest as is possible to love ; the rest of Michael the
Archangel, the rest of Him who was 'persecuted '
in His Stephen, and whose strength was made
perfect in the weakness in His Paul. 'Sleep;'
yes, the sleep of those who 'rest not day nor
night.' All that need sleep to be left behind in
' the sleeping place.' And we, for us, waking,
serving, seehuj, with eyes that can bear to sS
' face to face.' "
" I hope I have been learning a little," she
said. " And now I shall begin to use what I have
learned. Not, indeed, ' ten talents ' or ' ten cities,'
J3ride; but perhaps some little village, some littlo
corner of the worlds, to help."
" Why not this corner ? " I said ; " dear Love-
day. Why not «6.?"
" I should like it best of all," she said, with
her (Md-like smile. "And we shall be near
' dear Love-
AOAmsr TUB BruEAsr. g^^
ono„gI. to ask Hi™. And fie knows and care,
wthout onr asking. But IIo will do tI,o X
best l,o,.o and there, f„,. „s all. He,,, if t Z
L't,,:'::::-^ ■"' ''''' -" ^""" '^^^- ^^
in W f'Tr'";*^' f ™ ^ "'""'' ^''^ ™« holding
in he feeble hands a letter from Amice Sim
S^n IdV^r-'''"''™'"'''-'''--™^/
ass J. glanced through it. *^
And as long as her congh gave her an infor
mission she entered inf-. ^ / ., "*^^"
loff °"^ enreiea into every detail of Amice's
" ^ ""■'■'e '0 *ee first, onr Lovodar " Anu,.^
wrote, "boeanse I a,n in thy country ton! "
people. Dear, they are not as delightt ,1 as t ryself
IZJlTrl' ""^--'"-V of the ief
1 an. a laid they have not yet reached a resrion
itTJ:' r ,'? ""^' ;"•'"<"" --* -d ,tr
tl om Id>e best is repose in the crudest sense of
doing notluug. A, Pamdise of lying sfill in the
Bunslune, and occasional singing and dancing w,!
a^go^Jd^lot sugar, sensuous and spiritnal,°;.o:;d
, " I" tastes, intellectual and physical, we cannot
.magme how to meet them. The things ™i,"
-ould be a bnrden to then. The thi Usth V
like would certnlnlv ^.«^f k. .t ,i- , . . »" "^3^
«
certainlj not be delights to
But then the
'e IS the lie.Mrt: thi
us.
It in us all
Hi
u
li
548
AGAINtST THE STREAM.
which loves; that is, our inmost selves. And this,
of course, we cannot pounce on in a moment.
^ " Poor dear, bkmdering, imitative children ;
children with the passions of middle age, and the
cunning of liunted old age.
" On one of the estates they wished to get up a
Sunday service in emulation of the white men,.
and for their Liturgy, recited in solemn measured
accents, ^ with responses, ' This is the house that
Jack baiW
" Sometimps 1 am afraid the sacred words in
our real worsliip may, in their ignorance, be to
some of them little better.
" Indeed, for that matter, we are nearer such
absurdities than we think, all of us, wlien we make
our devotions in any degree a repetition of charms,
instead of a CHjmmunion of heart or a lifting up of
the soui. It is so difficult to know when they un-
derstand, and when they only catch the words and
tones, and copij, like clever, timid children.
" Yet, here again, there is the heart in common.
That they can love, and sacrifice all for love, is true.
*' They may shoot me dead, or do with me what
they please,' one of them said, ' if they only do no
Iiarm to our teachers.'
"And some of them, I am sure, have learned
from the Moravians, of a pitying, loving, suffering
dying Saviour, to please whom they will be pa-
tient and honest (and which seems to me a miracle
of grace), will work industriously for mastei's Mdio
AGAINST THE STREAM.
5i9
W no more right to their service than a thief to
a stolen piu'se.
"Also, we are begi„„i„g to discriminate, to see
<l.ffe renees a„K,ng tl,e,« in character and i , race
ud tra.n,ng We l,ave a few men of quite \u!Z
iaces; one Mohan,n,edan, wl.o can read Arabfc
But tl>e grand difficulty is the slavery itself,
soften It as one can. '
" Often Burlve's words occur to me, 'Sothiiu,
Make, ahap^, ,U.e hut a ,leyraclM ,rLn.' I fed
nt-Z'f "" '/""""^ P---^^^ ™ ™ - ''-5
(te B L "? "'«^\'° ■'- "«« ^-netime wo think
ell L„de and P,ers) there is no real remedy but
tl.eone Rers propounded at Miss Felicity's yea s
ttle boy and knew nothing of what he was talt
ing about; namely, to set tbem free at once.
lo tram people to be men by keepin., them
children, to train people to be free e.^cep'^: b^- . t
>ng them free, by letting then, bear the con e
moie and more an impoaibilitv
.nean but that ,t « an nnpossibility, even to Godf
Wo have found that JVIr. David Barclay one
of your community, as no doubt you know' Z
omancpate thirty slaves in Jamaica abon te
^~ce;butheeou,dnotdoitmti;ia
ttchad to transport them to Ph;i,ulpj„.,:., ., .
tl-.-e apprentice them to trades, 'itans;:;;-'
Ki
ill*
550
AGAINST THE STREAM.
almost all cases ; but the coldness of the climate
of Pennsjlvaiiia was a ditBcult j.
Meantime Christiaiiitj can i-aise and does
raise some even of these sla^'es. ' If the Sou
makes any one free, he is free indeed.'
" Onlj it seems to me more difficult for own-
ers to do missionary work than for othei-s ; espe-
cially for owners wJio feel slavery a great wrong.
" I want to be down among them poor and
toiling and suffering ; and we cannot.
" We cannot ; oh, Loveday. How can I ? when
God liao made me rich with every kind of riches,
and above all, with such unutteral)le treasures of
love and joy ? "
" How good of God," Loveday murmured, as
I laid the letter down beside her, "to let me know
even H.at ! And yet how foolish ! " she added.
" As if we should be blind and deaf and forgetful
there. Blind in His light ! Deaf with His voice,
forgetful in His Presence, who careth for the
sparrows, to whom one of us is ' more than many
sparrows.' Oh, Bride, how I love those woi-ds'l
There seems to me a smile in them, like a mother
with playful tenderness reassuring a weeping
frightened child."
And then came an interval of breathlessness
and pain ; and she could say no more.
"Aiiiice has crossed her sea, and begun her
new life before I have," she said, when it was over.
" But oh, Loveday," I said, " no letters, no
message, no sound across that sea ! "
AOAINST THE STREAM. 55 j
;' ]^ot from that side," sl.e said. Onlv one Yoico
audible to mortal eai-s. Go and tell my hrcthren
that I am risen and go hefore them; was from, that
s^de. And it is enongh. But messages "from this
stde, who knows how constantly ? And we are to
be with Him wliom those messages reach, with
mm to whom here we pray."
" N-o," I said ; " the blindness, dimness, deaf-
ness, can bo only here ! But oh, Lovedav, say-
prom, so, prophecy-that you will not forget or
change ' ?= "^
"Did you make Amice promise?" she said,
s roking my fece as I bent over her. " Life
changes us more than death; more tlian livin^
with Him who changes not. With Him we shall bo
more ourselves, not less. All ourselves, our true
selves, perfected ; knowing more, hoping more,
loving more. My dear, love in heaven must be
deeper than, love on earth. No love in idleness,
no mere delicious leisures its chief rexvards ; but
cariiig, giving, helping, serving, glmng itself.
iT!TT f''"" ^''''■' ^^^ ^^^"-^J".^'' ^l^econ-'
eluded "who hast been so true to me, so much to
me so long, ,t seems difficult to think so Yet it
must be true. With Him who loves best. Loviu<.
even more than now. Although it seems difficuS
to tliink so. Loving more?''
And after that 1 know not that she said much
It came to imrsir.g night and day. Many of
hose siie had taught entreated to be allowed to
help. Her sick bed was supplied with the best
\%\
552
AGAIxYST THE STREAM.
m
El*'
dainties the little town could give, from little
shops, and from the gardens of the poor, sent M'ith
apologies in the most delicate way, as to a princess.
And every morning Claire brought the SM'eetest
flowers. Not one service was rendered her that
was not a service of love.
And when all the pain was over for her, forever
ii rare gleam of intelligence and tenderness came
over her poor father, as he looked on hei- face for
the last time, pale and lifeless and full of deep rest,
with lilies and white roses around her, Claire's last
offering. Old memories seemed to wake up
within him.
" My poor child ! Good little Loveday ! She
was like her poor mother. I did not do all I
?)
might for either of them. God forgive me.
Then turning to Miss Felicity and recurring to the
liabitual sliield of " adverse circunustances " which
she threw around him, he concluded, " But every-
thing went against me."
But Miss Felicity, as she led him away, for
once forgot the shield, and did not try to comfort
or excuse him. She knew too well how sure the
stream is to sweep down those who do not pull
against it.
She only said, " God canfonjive us ! He has
more than made up to her. He can make us a
littio like her,— a little, before we die."
Tho beauty of th,e patient life had burst on her
at last, now it was finished. It had then, after all,
\
-^GATNST THE STREAM.
from little
3r, sent with
to a princess,
the sweetest
red her that
her, forever,
crness came
hei- face foi-
of deep rest,
Claire's last
• wake n^
eday ! She
lot do all I
rgive me."
rring to the
ces " which
But every-
Hway, for
to comfort
w sure the
do not pull
553
but a lovely cherished shrine
been no poor ruin
of God.
But to me all through those sad days, and
from her grave, beside that of my own mother h^
wor^s kept echoino. back as if i ^ "^^"^^'^^^
« TF-il TT' . ' * "^'" heaven,—
With Htm who loves most, Loving more even
than she loved here below. Although it seems
difhcult to think 80. Zoving more-
! He has
make us a
urst on her
n. after all,
\ V,
' i"
%^ 'I'l
' Hi
> I 111
r;
-i-
CHAPTER XXXYII.
HE years were come during which Eng-
land had to pull absolutely alone against
the stream ; the whole continent swept
aM-aj bj the torrent of Bonaparte's victo-
ries; the oldest dynasties following M'ith such ac-
qniescence as they could assume, in tlie wake of
his triumph ; the nations dragged helplessly on
not yet aroused. And England herself without
any leader, on the throne, in the Council, in Pariia-
nient, by sea or by land, to whom she gave her
Avhole trust ; Nelson, Pitt, and Fox all laid low in
Jier defence.
Yet the spirit of the nation was high and un-
wavering. The conscience of men had been freed
trom the sense of a great national wrong. The least
symptom of success to our armv was welcomed bv
nian^', after the abolition of the slave-trade, as a sio-n
ot Divine approval ; while foilure, as at Buen'os
Ayres, was resented as the result merelv of the
incapacity of the leader, and did but increase the
sturcly determination of the people not to give in.
Meantime Europe seemed falling deeper and
pr
AGATN8T TUB STREAM.
655
deeper. On the 14tli of October, 180b, Prussia
touched her depth of humiliation at Jena. In
November Bonaparte had entered Berlin in tri-
umph. Happily for Prussia and for her kings, at
the last, they fought, and fell with the nation, and
were honorably identified with her suflerings.
While dismembering the kingdom, Bonaparte
circulated calumnies against the noble Queen,
and stooped to call the king "General Bruns-
wick," Prussia and her royal race were in the
dust together; and from the dust together they
arose.
But as yet not a promise nor a stir of rising
life was visible.
From Berlin Napoleon had issued, in Novem-
ber, 180G, the famous " Decrees," making all Eng-
lish commerce contraband.
In April, 1807, after his victory of Friedland,
Napoleon met the Czar Alexander in the richly
canopied tent on the raft on the river Nienien, and
concluded the Treaty of Tilsit.
North and suutli, east and west, on all the
dreary horizon, not a power seemed to lift its head
in opposition, over the fields swept level by trium-
phant armies ; kings were acquiescent, and nations
prostrate. Sweden, our one ally at that moment,
under the young king so soon to be dethroned,
seemed scarcely a Power, and scarcely witliin the
European horizon. Bonaparte's brothers were on
the thrones of Naples, Holland and Westphalia,
and one was soon to be on ihe 'lirone of Spain;
iii
R fir
556
ACiAI^tiT TUE STllEAM,
1
i-
. , .
1-
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f
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^^^^^^K!l'
1
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w
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1'
V
^^^^p
^^^^KI Wl
1
Jl
fl7
■<
i
wJule ],is generals were transferred to tliose c.f
iSaplesanaofSu-ecIen. *^ ^*
It is good now to roonll the thrill of deli.-ht
»•'"' «■ "Ol. tho H,.t sy,„ptom of th. rolcindl „ Tife
was wolecnod th,-ongl,out England. °
the «o Id, the only people that at the touch of
the French armies and the word of the 00", 1^
would not crumble into atoms. Was there d,
h.ng, some might auost.on, as national xlT^x,
Was not l„,„.a„ society after all a mere neb. la of
!..'*tctly indifferent around what centre thev
>.-e grouped, as one attraction or another pro ed
^.e stronger ; the isolation of England beln^rp '
m chamcal and geographical, an affair of a few
indiv dual existence, and self-interest. "
1 he answer canie from the most unexpectod
whereTlt "' 'f """"P' "■■'" '-• "'^at elsc-
» ere had been submitted to patiently enouol,
The game see.ned safer than usual. There w ,s ;
d.vis.on in the roy,al house. One imp J ^ J •
t-S-ng against another. Wluat 0111^1 l'^:
AGAWST TUB STllKAM.
557
than to entrap botli, betray botli, and set a Bona-
parte on the vacant throne?
But thou suddenly the great cliess-player dis-
covered tliat the pieces had life; k? . queens
bishops, knights, pawns; pawns mc... evidently
of uli, and most unaccountably of all ; were not
puppets, but me,i fathers and sons, families, a
nation.
From end to end Spain awoke ; awoke, arose,
lived, palpitated in every limb with life. Simul-
taneously, not at the summons of any one great
Leader, but spontaneously, without prepara*tion,
city after city, province after province, rose, felt
they were not many but one ; and as one man, re-
fused to be at the bidding of the man before
whom all Europe had bowed down.
The enthusiasm of sympathy throughout Eno--
land was universal. "
All our England (the England some call prosa-
ic, with an exceptional Alfred, Shakspeare, Milton
Cromwell, Nelson, or William Pitt) ran wild with
welcome to the " patriots of Spain."
Sonorous Spanish names rang like our own
groat patri. tic household names tlirough every so-
ber little country town in the land. The Maid of
Saragossa became as much a heroine among us as
Joan of xlrc ought to have been in Franco.^^ Eno-.
■and demanded to spend her treasure and her
blood in helping this new-born people to freedom.
• hp name of freedum luid its old magic still among
us, and knit the countrymen of Drake in brotherly
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558
AGAINST THE STREAM.
bonds to the old enemies of tlio Ai-inada. Mr. ^Y\].
berforce said in the lloii^e of Coiiniions, '-that
every Briton joined in pi-ujer to tlio Great Ruler
of events to bless with their merited success the
6trnir,i,des of a gallant people, in behalf of every-
thing dear to the Christian, the citizen, and the
man.''
We who know what came afler that first
trumpet-call of patriotism and liberty, the strug-
gles with the incapacity and selfishness of " patri-
otic Juntas," ^ which all but baflied Wellington, and
all the chaos that has follow ed, may find it difficult
to recall the deep and generous response that
Spanish appeal awoke.
But into whatever feeble and discordant echoes
the music fell, it was, nevertheless, in its beginning,
a true trinnpoL-call, clear and strong, giving fortli
no uncertain sound. It awoke the nations^from a
sleep of despair into which they never fell again,
to prepare themselves for the battle. And foi'any
nation to have rendered that service to Europe is a
possibility and a f^xct never to be forgotten.
It was in May, 1808, that this voTce of patriotic
resistance reached us from Spain.
On the 12th of July, Arthur Wellesley sailed
from Cork for Corunna.
In August he defeated the French at Vimiero ;
and the Peninsular War, and the full of Bonaparte
had begun.
Bona])arte had touched the sacred realities of
human life; and hencetorth his warfare was no
ula. Mr. ^y\].
iiinions, '• that
AGAINST THE STliEAM. 559
longer merely with dynasties, but with nations, and
with men.
Burin- those years my fatlicr woke to new
hopes for tlie world.
lie had always looked on Bonaparte as the
most unmitigated embodiment of the principle of
selhshness which is the root of human evil that the
world, or at least Christendom, had seen: the
devil 8 ideal of humanity, " Ye shall be as crods "
opposed to the divine, "I come to do Thy will "'
And selfishness, evil, could not, he'thou-ht
create, or even organize. Being a negation" of
light, and heat, and life, it can only detach, divide
disorganize, deny, destroy. The nearest approach'
It makes to positive organization is in freezino-
crystallizing living M^aters into ice. But the unity
thus created is only apparent; ice-seas, ice-bero-s
ice-blocks, with no power in them save that of'
mass and momentum ; power which the petal of a
flower at the touch of the sun can vanquish.
Into such ice-blocks Bonaparte had been freez-
ing the nations ; with such an ice-torrent he had
been laying them waste, through his Grand Army
And now at the awaking of life within the nations*
the whole frozen fabric was crashing down or
melting away. '
He had been able to create nothing. It in-
censed him that men of genius did not rise at his
call. He^ was ready to kvish rewards and decora-
tions on thorn. But in the icy atmosphere he had
spread, no literature could grow. Even the code
500
AGAINST THE STREAM.
'" If
called by his name was trnly, my fatlier said, but
a iiiodiHeation of the work of the Republic ; the
literature that did flourish was but the f'eeble'har-
vest of earlier sowing. The conglomerations of
peoi)le he had forced together into " kingdoms,"
did not recognize themselves as corporate\odies;
and when the icy hand was withdrawn, they sim-
ply flowed without effort back into the old chan-
nels. The one thing which liad seemed most like
a creation, the Grand Army which moved at his
bidding, and; was inspired by his will, which had
eidarged and compacted year by year, and had
crushed and desolated Europe, was indeed no or-
ganization of life to Europe or to France, hut only
a terrible engine of death, soon to recoil on itself.
And from the first moment when the nations
awoke, that engine of destruction, drea and
terrible and strong exceedingly, was doomed.
Many vicissitudes indeed there were. The pa-
thetic elegy —
" Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note," *
rang like muffled bells throughout England when
Sir John Moore fell at Corunna.
Deep was the indignation among us when
Andrew Ilofer was betrayed and shot in the Tyrol •
and true was the grief to many of us when the
young Schill fell in battle, saving Bonaparte frr.m
the dishonor of executing another patriot as if he
had been a rebel.
Many were the reasonable grumblings and
AGAINST TUE STREAM.
5G1
munnurings mno.ig ns wlien the Goverrnnent lav-
ished money in sendinc. thousands of EnL^hshnien
to die of marsh-fever at Waleheren, and withh d
Z " from Sir Arthur Wellesle;. Man, alio
r h„r W ;;"r'T^^' grumbh-ngs when Sir
A thur We leslej, after the victorv of Talavera
retu;e vvu in the lines of Torres Yedras, refusing
to nsk England and Europe by hurrving before
popular outery, as he refused to risk h'er ^for Imy
lii^'^^irdhness of cabinets, or cabals of fanatics. '
Ihose two years betw-een Talavera and Ciudad
Kodri^o sorely tried the patience and taith of the
nation. r<^^ while they were slowly passi 1
Bonaparte had imposed o, Sweden one of 1 i
generals as king, while Austria had given the
Corsican an Archduchess in marriage, and an hei
3iad been born to perpetuate the new dynasty •
nnd a deplorable war had broken out with Ame.:
oflJ:S '" ^'^ ''^'^'^^^ ^"^ "^^^^ --^"-^
Tet there was a feeling of hope throuc^h the
nation the indescribable sense of vital r/ .^ d
tiom the finest day in autumn ^ « ^
^^^^Oue hero was among us again, who never lost
lones Vedras, persisted that Bonaparte's empire
-ns undermined: and that England had ^
hold }
sula a h'ttle 1
ler own, and keep hope al
""gor, and l!ic(Tas|.
36
only to
ive in the penin-
would come.
662
AGAINST THE STUEAM.
Meantime, in our silence aiKl isolation at home,
there was anything but silence or lifelessness.
In 1811 the first steamboat was launched on
the Clyde. The great Steam Power had made
another conquest.
In the same year the anti-slavery cause gained
another victory by the passing of Lord Brough-
am's Bill, constituting slave-trading Felony.
And throughout the land sounded a chorus of
new poetic voices. Bonaparte could create no lit-
erature in France. But Freedom, and the conflict
with the oppressor, awoke a fresh burst of poetry
and art in England.
Once more, as in the days of Luther, English
thought drank from the old kindred Teutonic
sources (once more themselves issuing afresh into
the light), giving and receiving, as is natural and
due between races so one and yet so diverse.
Scott and Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge,
Southey, Keats, Shelley, began to be heard among
us. And Flaxman was there for the sculpture of
our heroes and singers ; now that we had again he-
roes and poets to celebrate.
It was an era of new life ; although the pow-
ers of death and darkness, storm and whirlwind,
were still mighty in the world. As of old, in all
our northern spring- tides, the hammer of Thor the
Thunderer weakened the earth to song.
And meanwhile, in our little world of Abbot's
Weir, life and death were at work.
1 of Abbot's
AGAINST THE STliEAM. 5^3
Thefoet of little olnklren imtterod about the
old rooMis at Daneseombe Manor, and mvvvy little
voices echoed among the ol<l trees. The o-arden
terraces of the old house in Abbot's Weir, the
DroppH,^ Well and the Aladdin's "Subterranean
1 assage, became scenes of hopes and deh-.rhts to
a new generation.
Little cousins came to join them, also, from the
V^icarage. Once more little motherless children
played on the slopes, and along the Leas and Leat.
l^or dunng our cousin Dick's absence with the
fleet, 1 atience, his young wife, had died, leaving
a twin boy and girl. The strain of motherly eare°
coming on her so early, had been too much for he^
ender and anxious nature, and she passed away,
leaving the great blank such gentle, devoted live
must leave.
Eager, eloquent, questioning voices may soon
be replaced. It is the quiet answering voices
scarcely heard except in response, in careful coun^
sel or in gentle decision, which leave the terrible
void of silence.
She m;ed_ until the baptism of her babes.
1 lers and Claire and I were sponsors. I had al-
'ways been drawn closely to her; and she had for
me that strange strong affection which so often si-
ieutly possesses natures that have little power of
utterance.
Horatio, the boy, was called after his father',
'ero ; and for the baby girl the mother would
iiave Jier own name joined with mine.
#
M
> /'•
)04
AGAINST THE STRILA M.
"Ton will love the little ones, and tliey will
love yon," she said, " Bride, Ci»nsin Bride ! "
I did indeed love them. Wh(» could have
helped it, having a " grandmotherly "' heart like
mine? Dick was smitten to the dnst bv the loss of
his wife's deep, quiet affection, and was only to ho
comforted by continual minute details about her
babies.
And so ithajjpened that their home was almost
as much with us as wMth Uncle Fyford, to wdiom
the babies w6re naturally a considerable perplex-
ity.
Mrs. Danescombe was more patient with these
little ones than she had been with us.
Indeed, sue seemed more dependent and more
sympathetic in many ways than of old.
The love for her Francis, which seemed first to
have awakened her heart to the joy of loving,
brought to her further teaching through the bur-
dens and sorrows, and even the disappointments of
love.
Mrs. Dionysia was not at all a person meekly
to take the second place. And my stepmother,
when she returned from her visits to Francis,
seemed to me to cling increasingly to us, and to
accept our attention and deference with a gratitude
very different from her old way of taking every-
thing as a matter of course.
Moreover these visits became rarer, as Francis
became established as a popular preacher in a fash-
ionable watering-place, where his exquisite man-
nt witli these
;h a gratitude
AGAINST TIIK STllEAM. 5^5
i.ers and roundu.! periods inado a ^n-cat impression :
and farther bolHud, while her father's death left
her jo.nt-he.ress of his not inconsiderable acenmu-
Jation 01 savings.
* Mrs. Danescoiube never blamed them. She
had too long been used to throw a veil over
Iraneis faihngs, to hide them from others; and
now It touched me to see how she tried to transfer
the ved, so as to hide what she could not bear to
see, from herself.
Francis' ilimilj increased ; the spare room in
lie house diminished. The grandmother's visits
became limited to an annual one, and this again had
to be himted in extent. There was only one small
room,-Francis' dressing-room-when his mother
was not there. Of course Mrs. Danescombe M-as
most welcome to it. But she could not but feel
she was costing them a sacrifice of comfort while
she stayed.
_ And at last, one year, instead of the annual in-
vitation, came a long apologetic epistle from Fran-
cis He and his wife were so distressed ; but tliev
had been obliged to make other arrangements i^i
the house. One of the children had to sleep in
the dressing-room. Francis had to content himself
with a strip of a room on another floor, which re-
ally Dionysia could not think of asking his mother
^''T'!u^' V'!"^^ '""'^ ^'^P^ ^^^' '"o'-e space in a
'^ ^^ ' talked of investing
I
her
property in building a house. But for tli
part of
! prea-
ipi
50(3
aoa/jYst I'm: stream.
ent witli tho <,M-eatcst ro<rret, tliev wore ivliictantlj
eonipelled to deny tliotriselves their atimial
pleasure, etc.
Mrs. Danescombe gave me tlie letter to read.
I felt an indignant flush rise to my cheek, and could
scarcely resti-ain myself from warm words of blame.
But my stepmother said, — '
" You see they have talked it over, and done
their best to manage it for me. But they cannot.
I will make haste and pack up the little presents
for the children, that they may get them in time."
We did not say another word, but I helped her
to finish and pack the gifts she had been so busy
preparing,— little knitted socks, warm grand-
motherly articles of winter clothing, packets of
manifold many-colored sweetmeats, yclept "fair-
ing," picture books, and some little luxuries Fran-
cis had been fond of as a child.
She took it \(iYy quietly. But the tears came
many times into my eyes, as I helped her. And
when the hamper was filled and carefully corded,
she sat looking at it a moment, and then said,-
'• It will please the little ones."
And then, with a child-like, helpless look, and
a quiet, hopeless tone I shall never forget, she
said, —
" They do not want me. JS'o one wants me."
I tried to comfort her. I said, « Wq all wanted
her— 7 loanted her ; " which, little as I could ever
have thought it, began to be really true.
But she shook her head.
AGAINST THK STltEAM. 5(57
spoke ot tJio now I.ouse, and the room there wouM
;«~,»i,ut<w,e... sue .He. ,;'r;:;
"I am afraid I Imve been too nn.el, give,, to
B,o„vs,a .„,<! .0. I tried not to ofil„d 1. V
But perLap. I said too ,„„el,. And sl,e does no
bear ,„„ol. She nat.n-ally thinks of her ow ,cl" 1
<i.-on,asItho„ghtof,„yFraneis. I should late
ndlt ,"",'"• ' ^"'^""-^^ ^ '"■"'«= - 'M
anu fini punisjied.' '
I don't know what I said tl,e„, she tonel,ed ,„o
BO to the heart. I bla,ned ,„yselt; and ,„ade tl,e
best of F a,,c,s, and said many ineohcrent tlnn.^s
3 « wh,^ I felt in the depth of ,ny heart, and
ended with was, —
" Oh, don't talk of ,naking idols. God gave
■ou a eh. d. And yon loved hi. ..-ith yon,- sZl
'ea, . He was your joy. Aad that di,i yonr
W good, and wanned it all throngh. And now
Jo,,r love b,'ings you pain. And that does „,
Sood, niore good than anything; the snflering of
love. Idols harden the hea,-t. Yonr love mfUns
you.'beart. Tl.is is not idolatry. Idolatrv fS^f
■shness ; wo,-sb,ppi„g anything or any one" for ou,-
t^od ,s not p„n,sl„ngy„„ ; n^ j, softening, teaeh-
>nK,-,nak,ng yon so dear and good ! tn \Z
and snlle,-, and yet love on. I„ that better way
m what way ,uo,-e like Hi,nself, can God teach ! "
K:
508
AGAINST THE HTREAM.
,11
She (lid nut o|>|)t»s(>. Sho kissed mo, and g;iid
I was kind, hnt ti)ut 1 must not tliiidc Francis
meant anythin<^ unkiiiik
" Ono day, perhaps, he will love enough to
Buffei-," I ventured to say, '■ and then God will
teach him."
" Not suffer ! " she said deprecutin<^l3'. " Plcaso
God, at all events, not 7nuvh. It is not much ho
has to learn."
Wc did all we could to cheer her, my father
and I. But the "serpent's tooth" had penetra-
ted.
Many an hour vfQ passed in the old oak parlor,
such as I had never dreamt we could spend there
together. I read and chatted to her. She did not
talk much. Her range of literature was not large.
]!^ove]s huit her. It was so difficult to iind any
Btory of human life which did not grate like a saw
on that sore heart. In history she had no interest ;
poetry she felt flimsy. To sermons and religious
books, I do not think she attended much ; bnt
these were what she liked best. Tlie good words
flowed past her like the murmur of a brook ; whilo
she sewed, and knitted, and embroidered, for Fran-
cis and his children.
And then came a cold ; the last blow which
so easily strikes down a frame which has lost any
strong vital power of resistance.
She did not very nmch care to live. She hop-
ed Dionysia would one day build the new house,
and they would have room for her, Yet theij
e enuii<^]i to
ion God will
AGALXST THE STREAM. 5^9
could do Mouther; ih..,t was too plain: and
that was the unutteiablo an<ruisli.
She did not much wish to'dio. It was not dear
Avha heaven conld have better for her than Francis
l»ad been. And even in l^eaven perhaps Francis
wonld not need her. Bnt she lumped Cxod wouM
be merc.tul and pity and for^nve her. And so
iiio conld be lived on there or here.
^ I wrote to Francis at the first symptoms of se-
rious Illness nrgently. I thought it would be so
terrible for luni if he did not arrive in time. IIo
wrote back very eloquent and affectionate messa-
gcs. Lut there was to be an Archdeacon's Visita-
tion, and he was to preach the sermon. It was an
opportunity of some importance ; an honor, he was
sure his mother would be sorry for him to miss.
I must write again immediately ; and if the ac-
counts were not better, he would come by the ear.
iiest coach.
honJ?' ^'''''* ™''^^'^'" ^'^ "^"'^^ appreciate the
_ " Tell him on no account to lose it for me," she
Baid. « He will come as soon as he can afterwards
1 Know. '
I wrote, in contradiction to her wish, urgina-
him to give up the Visitation, and come at ovj
±5ut there were no telegraphs and no railwavs
in those days. My letter arrived on the eve of
the Visitation. Dionysia had prepared a consider-
able entertainment. No one could say what
might depend on such an occasion, or ; esult from
570
AGAINST THE STREAM.
m
\i
. ^.'JJL
- •
^^^^^^^^B< i
^^^^^^^^^'
■
it. He preached tlio sermon, and started on the
next morning.
Mrs. Danescombe did not ask if Francis had
come. But she asked everj evening if tlie coach
had arrived. And when she was told that it had,
and no further news followed, she said nothing
more; except on the last evening, and then she»
moaned, —
"I am weaker to-night and worse. Poor
Francis, he will be very sorrv.
And then, after an interval, —
" Bridget, poor little Bride, you have been
kind. You have done all you could."
And again, —
" God 60 loved the world that He gave His
only Son. He must have loved very much. It
mtist be good to go to Hiin."
And again, in a feeble voice, as if to herself,-
" Poor dear Francis ! He will be very sorry
But you see, he could not help it. He could not
help it. Give him my dear love, and tell him I
pray God to bless him, with my last breath."
That morning the struggle was over. And we
trusted she I.ad found how good it is to be with
God.
The next evening Francis came.
He was very much moved. He blamed him-
eeltj at first, bitterly.
Then the old habit returned on him. And he
began to excuse hiuibelf, and to explain to us and
itai-ted on the
Torse. Poor
I have been
blamed him-
AGAIWSr THE STREAM. r^.
to himself how impossible it was he could have
done othei'wise.
in ff "'/'"," '" ?\°'"' """^ '"^ "'»"'<"• ™« laid
n the famdy vault beside .nine, the truer feeling
came back. *^
" No one will ever love me as she did," he said
to me as we sat alone together in t^- > oak parlor
- • never apin. Would to Cxod I ..d come the
daj before. '
His sermon at the Archdeacon's Visitation was
a great success. It brought him the presentation
to an excellent living from the patron, who was
one of the audience.
But I believe it brought him a far deeper
blessmg than that. It had brought him, through
the irrevocable loss, througli the unfullilled dufy
a sense pf irreparable, irremediable ill-return for so
much irrecoverable love, which pierced at last
through all his scales and crusts of self-compla-
cency, and left a sting of remorse and repentance
witlnn hnn, wakening the real heart within him to
the softening discipline of a life-long incurable
pain. °
There was no more onlj that smooth, trans-
formed i^spectable, but impenetrable larva of an
outside ' There was. as Piers had alwavs trust-
ed, and I had so often doubted, a creature.'stil] un-
developed and feeble, but living and to liveimmoi-
tally within.
There was no more only the Pharisee, prodh.al
or respectable, crude or transformed, thanking God
■a!
k
t
'h i'
672
AGAINST THE STREAM.
for the fewness and sliadovviness of liis sins, and
the efficacy of his repentance, and the success of
Jns labors in turning other people from their real
sinful sins.
^ There was the Publican, beating on his breast,
m many a secret hour of that inward, irremediable
pain ; feeling great need of forgiven ess, and asking
It; and hoping that the unquenchable love which
he had returned so ill, which had forgiven and
loved to the last, might be matched by another
Love, as enduring and as forgiving; and that he
might be suffered one day, when all his popular
sermons, and all his much-lauded labors were over,
to follow up the lifelong confession, « Father I
have sinned against Thee," by saying what he
could now never say on earth, " Mother, mother 1
have sinned against thee;' and so might creep hum-
bled and pardoned into some lowly place among
the redeemed at last.
CHAPTER XXXVm.
m [««; "f Bonaparte was drawing „ear at
tort; a close more melodramatic tl.an
any of l„s bnlletins. Or ratlier the
dran,a i,ad passed into other hands ; and t e me^T
*ama was deepening into true a^d terrible tt"
Wellington, and our little determined British
army, were no longer crouehin,, ;„
behind their defences. Thet were n ■"•"""
throngh Spain; and dayaLJvT'TT
das ed down the qniet ftreets of 11^^ Z^
garlanded with laurels for victory after -ctl
Salamanca, Ciudad lto,l,-:„, » j "'''^ ' i"™"'—
words ran. as n old R ^ 'J •'"" "'""""''
r^r, fi , itcoria ! A ^n-eat batt o won at la<;f
on the verv borders of France wlfl. fi V f -
annies driven before us. \''''''^ ''''^' '^'^ French
scenes," some
re
ski
in tl
-.s^u.B outside the great line of batti; Mdi
le s
pn-ngofl8l2, had been terribly ad
say — in ere
ich.
vancinir
574
JGALYST THE STREAM.
i *
i
in the for nortl,, and was now more terribly- ebb-
Yet it was sornetliin"' to Invo -f^^.i i
T71 1 II., ""& "^^ Jifive stood alonp aq
England d,d against that strean,, wl.en all th es
o» the world „.e,-e swept a«-ay betbre it. t 71
rt "T ";' ^"™''.\"'-'' E".-ope shonld a^.
3 toiget: ,t was mfinitely much for England
which England is not likely to for..et
dreadful drama went on ; essentially the last for
It; "than" 'T "" '^^'^ '"" "" "- '-5
mo.e han epilogue, merelj- the last struggles of
ti.o dy,„g, the last stroke of the coup de gr^
Grand Army had crossed the Niemen to crush h!
great barbaric northern en,pire ; in De™, bt
ed the N.emen agam, the Grand Army broken
and destroyed forever; fire and frost sweepin"
only to be crushed by elemental forces. Jlnn-
dreds of thousands dying, one by one, on b ttl
helds, ,n exhausting n,arches, of hung r, of cold
of wounds ; and, among all the dyingfit was said
( carcely one murmur against the mtu for w "om
and through whom, i„ various tortures, and Z
no purpose, they died. The Triun.ph of Loyalty
Omsplaced as .t might be) after all greater than the
rr.umph of Deaf, ; tlms reviving for the human
race capable of so enduring and^so sacrifidn" a
.iOJlnT THE BTBBAM.
. 675
nope, out Df the verv ,'„„,i, ^ ,
^vhich;twassacriC^ "^ "' "'" ''"^"■■^- '»
tl.e loss of neari; ha" a S ""' ""'"'""^^ "•'■'''
•7 t"o most «n.„*,; "■■;-';- ^; '"--""en
thousands of homes whence thr» ™"' "'"
''"J power .0 gather ZX^ZltZ'ir'
sand more to eneonnfp.. fi ""•^' *^^0"-
%3 fo.,r.,ifthsrt ::, h.: rrr "^^^
jet once undenhe magic onSl ".""''■''"'<''''
«ommand,able to win thrrv"'^' """""'"<'
liard-fought (i.ht ^ '" '"»'■« ""«' ono
— :f^ro:r s:!^^»:^r-es, hnt .
S"-en to a battle than tliat of "n „i ?'' """"«
«ons"(yo,,e.ch.aeht):l-^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Alter his defeat Mio«^ r. *-'«'pzig.
for hhn „n^,eJty:::;str-'' ""'^^ '"«'
^en.sX^r:ir:ar:;f,-?-'-
the fatherland. Ancient 1 ^ '"^^-^'ion of
coased to belong onl'rh";:"' T'^''
stories lived again and b„„ '° "''' "'^^i"
tion for the dcC; « allTT " "^''"^ "^ "'^P''™-
an that was mo^ ^ctd r.^r T' ^ ■■" "'"' -
LUdn jite. Songs and h&U
576
AGAINST THE STREAM.
,r I!
lads, strono^ and fresli as at the dawn of liistory,
rang from the hearts and hps of the nation.
In one sense, indeed, Bonaparte had created.
He had created by destroying. He had renewed
through death. At Jena, but seven years before,
he had crushed and broken and dismembered the
various states of the old Teutonic empire. At
Leipzig, he found springing from the scattered
ashes a new, patriotic, living Germany. Out of
ruin had sprung restoration ; out of states a nation.
And against nations the destroyer had no power.
France, indeed, seemed, like the demoniac in
the Gospels, still not to be able to free herself
from the awful double personality which had so
long possessed her. Bewildered, fettered, and
bleeding, she seemed still to answer at her tyrant's
bidding through her reluctant conscripts,' « My
name is Legion, for we are many." But even this
was soon to cease. The ten'-ible delusion was
becommg disentangled from her being.
^ In the South of France, where our Wellington
with the first army which had proved Bonaparte's
not " Invincible," was pursuing the retreating
French troops, paying his way according to the
bourgeois code of honor of "the nation of shop-
keepers ; " and, as w^e heard, welcomed by the
natives of the Garonne districts with indications
of the old fortresses which our ancestors had once
held, and with friendly inquiries why we did not
come back.
And in April, at Fontainebleau, Bonaparte
MAINST TSM STHBAX. ^„
s? :i;:„:hf t"' '""■•'■^" - --' - then
The very skies seemed to rejoice ThorT^ \
try for a time threw off h^ v^il of l /'"'l"^
and grassy meadows and wooded rivef skmes t'
welcome the Allied Powers and W -
rious soldiers, and peace ' '' '^" "^'^-
Tf ^^^"^' r^f '" ""^^ ^"^^^^ itself with deliffht
powe. to tM^thl^r t^\':^;r" he
l-d (and also inconceivable pinnde Hnfhe city)
A bt Wei' "n ZT" Tf'"'' "^ "'- -
to«sa.i.pos;:^r,r.7Snr""^^^"^"'-
Had not Abbot's Weir al«o her heroin ... f
welcomp '? A ^,T p neroie sons to
Captam F -ford, wounded at Trafalgar, and worn
578
AGAINST THE STREAM.
I' I
and battered by many a stormy day since on the
traiisport service for the Peninsnlar Army.
The spirit of old Elizabethan dramatic days
had come over us, not imitatively, but by the old
inspiration. We xvere to have something ap-
proachmg a Masque or Mystery ; although alto-
gether ignoring any alliance with medieval mum-
meries or papistical pomps.
There was to be a review of the gallant volun
teers, and a sham-fight ; to end in the triumphal
chairmg of our cousin Dick as the representative
ot the British forces, and the banishment of Bona-
parte, (in the shape of an apothecary of small
stature and military bearing, great among the
volunteers, who consented to be victimized for the
public good,) to an island in the middle of our
river, designed to represent the Island of Elba
It was a day of great festivity; too really glad
and natural to be riotous and irregular. The
country poured itself into the town ; flowers and
green boughs and garlands and triumphal arches
embowering the streets and festooning the win-
dows ; the farmers and laborers with their wives
and children flocking in on foot through all the
^ green and flower-strg^wed lanes, or in merry groups,
on pillions and in wagons; while every house-
holder m the town kept open house, and tables
were spread in the streets.
The review of our volunteers on the Down
went off m a way to convince us that had ]^apo-
leon had his coveted command of the Channel for
AGAINST THE STREAM. r-o
twelve hours and landed, Abbot's Weir at least
would have had b'ttle to fear.
/.aye^t"oM,f """i,'""'"'" -""''^^ "'"^"'<' "^o the
gayest of he revellers into onr holiday, lavishincr
«^e s„„sl„„e of her clearest skies, and from te
golden gardens of furze-blossom filling the fresh
breezy air with delicate fragrance
Captain Fyford having been duly honored in
tibe capacty of representative of\e British
Forces and the military apothecary having been
safdy b,v,ushed to the Island of Elba, all relnrn d
to ake then- share in the feastings and the speech-
-fyiugs, and af,erwa.ds in the°danee in the old
niarket-house. And it was still early in the ni^^
when the entertainments were over, a,'d thL
nerry-make,-s had broken up into various groups
arge or small, and were scattering through the
. All day the children had been with us, keep
"f, f:^ '» »«.'«n<i Claire; rather awed aTd
stilled than e.cited by this universal holiday, and
X^rnXTa;.""^""^ "^ ''^ "''»'-^»''
Little Horace and Patience especially, the
motherless twins, being timid children, wolld
scarcely let ffo mv }iflnr1= Ti \ ' ^""^^
if tl,P LJa^ fl ^^^y '^^'"^^ ^0 feel as
It the world had been turned upside down, and tho
serious part of it had devolved on them
Uaire and I had thought Patier-.e a little fe-
verish; and after the dance shew, with me to
580
,IJ'r
H I
AQAJNST THE STliEAM.
wei-u 8
si coping
see if t!ie niotlici'Iess little ones
peacefully in the old vieara-e
>ard whei-e our beloved were sleepin-^
Ihetown was growing hushed and quiet; only
^•ow and f .en the voices of the returnL. e H.Tt v'
people calhng to each other, sounded bac Vom
vanous distances along the valley and up the S
It was so stiU, that we could hear the rush of
he nver as we^went on towards the vicarar.al
den by which it flowed. ° *
Softly M^e went up to the children's nursery •
tranquilly m their cots ; and Claire and I tuLd
them up and kissed them, and then went down to
gethermto the garden. ^ov^n to-
" ^\^'^^^ ^ ^^ncy," she said, " but I did not like
the mothei-less little ones not to have some 1 ng
hke a mother's kiss and care to-nio-ht " ^
And we went back through the churchyard.
We paused toa-ether a Htfio k„
places there. ^ ^-^ ^'^^ '"^^"^^
murT'"T'^''''ri^ '^' motherless! " she mur-
mured. "I cannot bear to feel they are left out
Two resting-places. The children ar'e as eep and
there 13 qmet here." =h, .tiiu
"But not sleep or dreams, Claire," I said : " the
real hfe has begun for them. Wo watch L Z
AOAwn-r THE aritiuM. gg
fl,„MY"f f ""'' ''■^'= '■» ■>" ''"""" •' " 8l.e said •
that ,fc 1>.,. so rich and fu,l and prooions; '
Only as compared witi, tl,c waking by.an.I-
bj, I sa,d ; " the Hfc t),ey have been awaken d
«st he such anguish ; andLoveday, who used o
■spread her n,otherly wings over us ail - '
ciuil floTof M^r- ""■""" ^"°'" *-^' «-'"'e the
,;," ° '""' S'-^w >nore and more audi-
.n-;t^reetS/''^-^^'''"'''''-^-*'-^«-
Sniee then how many dear voieos, then witi, as
^H.^h't,::i'u:rt'Th:';i;™''--^''°
f.u7v f T ""''""«^ ""'"y' "•''™ Piers and Oa-.
on tlio market-plaee.
And tlien Captain Fyford made a request
;> me, m broken and doubtful words, whieh ,t "1
f-...d I eonid nrrhir/gt::,? '=""• ^"' ^' '^^'
m
AUAIN6T TUE STUh:AM.
A
I.'
■ti
"It would make so little difference," as Uncle
Fyford had said of his first niarriaf^e.
And yet it has made all the difference to me.
I J!
i m
,"a8 Uncle
ce to me.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
r
O It cauie about tliat once more there
And that impressive moral tale which was th^
omanee and consolation of ., ehildhood, of h w
translated into fal" opportunity of being
" So rur^ the n.un,! of life from hour to hour."
Yet it is never the same ^ound. The outwird
forms and scenes imv 1.^ fi.^ , oucwaid
less!,. The vo,y 6amene«3 constitutes tl,e diflbr
wiitre CTod orgaimes every leaf diveraelv and
creates personalities as individual as Adam' and
e:;!":™;":-""™' "■' ^■''' »<' ->«'''''»^'
n.ese into vai-ieties so inconce-'- •!,],. Ti .
eudl..ss,,vario,,s;andendle::K:d-';.get,r
Iherefore the morals of those vcr/"p„inted"
- 1,1
5S4
AGAINST THE STREAM.
tales of my childhood never came precisely into
play.
_ My temptations and my poor stopmothcj-'s from
within and without, were by no means the same.
In the first place, my step-children and I began
by loving each other very dearly ; and i; I shrank
determinedly, as I did, from assuming Patience's
nghts and titles, and being called "mother," it
mattered comparatively little to them, because it
so happened that « Cousin Bride " had long been
to them a name' expressive of the person who loved
them best in the world.
And in the second place, by no compact or
command or sanction, it nevertheless came to pass
that I had to submit, in the end, to being called
"mother." When or how it began I cannot re-
call ; but I could not foi-bid to those first-born
children the name my own children called me.
The truth would have been rather violated
than preserved by my rejecting it, although I often
tried to show both Horace and Patience that they
were better off" even than my own, having alvvavs
that other sacred and undying love w^atching over
them and awaiting them above.
Our home was not that worst desecration of an
erection over forgotten graves. It was as a tent
on the sacred threshold.
That first gleam of peace which we had all
celebrated as permanent passed away. War came
again : and Waterloo and St Helena.
And the warfare wliich Loveday had cared for,
1, because it
AOAlmr TUB STBBASr. 585
whieh, as wo believed, she was over eanng f„r still
bat and faithfully tlie Moravian and Metliodist
n..ss,onaries (with our Amice and Herve Godefrov
among them) did tlieire. ^ouelio^
grow'SC' 'I"' "' °'^'*''~'^ ""d d«Pondencios
foTiu-r r ".T ?'■««?«'■<>''«; and its gone,
lositj kept pace with its wealth
How oouM it help growing rich 3
(retic 'h?i!r'''^'°7 ""*'' P'^'^P'^ P'-"d«"' ™d «nor-
ge c , be ng prndont and energetic, makes people
"the mam, rich. And if being rich does no
>ic in teith-and stro .g, through the praver and
fes ,,^b, wliich onl, the worst"" kind'" o'f" ; ,
EauT ;:'"'• ,■^'.'^'''-''-'-althy air oircu.
mes, and the world ,s l<ept svveot, by li..ht md
(•'■"ganee, and by salt and fire. ^ ° '
Clapbam Iield meetings, and brought bHIs info
V" visit. " r™ '•' '•'""•''"" ^''"•'""-^ -'
.y visited the prisons, but Movxwi them-
!; I'l^i*!",'" ■" '"-P''^'K--1 -"^'e-ent homes!
the thousand and set
tliem to work on tlic mill
ions.
> )
580
AGAINST THE STREAM.
m
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And, nieanwliile, m Persia Ilenrj Martyu,
Bent forth fi-oin it. midst, toiled, and preached and
died, alone; and left but one convert; but in-
spired countless other lives.
My cousins married ; Harriet the « Reformer"
a devoted clergyman who lived and toiled in the
missionary field, unpicturesqne and illimitable, of
the low districts of London ; Phoebe went to be
the comfort of her husband's country parish
Matilda married a wealthy merchant, and admired
and assisted other people's excellent works to her
heart's content ; every one of them bearing with
them, wherever they went, the sunshine and
sweetness of that bright early home, from which
httle Martha had early passed away, leaving the
most fragrant memory of all.
And Amice and Herv4* Godefroy, with their
Moravians, worked on also in their own place, not
exactly prosperous, not growing at all rich, sorely
tried often, often failing in health ; but sometimes
overpaid wifh such rare, unutterable delights as
only such service enfolds; by seeing hearts that
had seemed dead wake up, and live, and rejoice,
and serve ; by seeing sufferings nobly borne and
nobly avenged, evil conquered by good, -patient,
taithful lives crowned by joyful death.
Some of their slaves they emancipated and sent
to the new free colony of Sierra Leone. And
amoiig the rest the labor proved, so far, not in vain,
that at the general emancipation in 18^2, the
islands in which missionary work had been most
AOAlmT TUB STREAM. gg^
tl e penod of apprenticeship, and to trust tbe sJam
with immediate freedom.
And then their work, as far as they could do
', was done. They had parted with their didren
12 before, to be brought „p in the braeij E "
I. h elnnate away from the enervating inflitenc^
physical and moral, around them l'-.^
tion "h!"^ "'emselves stayed till the emancipa-
ta^etn^b'T-n' '"'' ""^ ■•^'"neci, and took a cot-
tage on the hil s near ns, hoping that the vigor of
he .noorlaiKl air would restore the vi^or thev
but ci,e% Captain Godefroy-had lost! '~
Ihen- reward was not visiblv here- pvn»,>- •
deed for that best reward of doing god ^Z' Z
tor he rare blessedness of that int-ompt bfe ' !f
ono^of Which had mor:,ir,S--:
Kot on the heights; low among the heavy
^elvl^rnttd'^^-'! "-^« '««. "-' - o-
ha
111
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ie said.
oi
what are the little pin-pricka
peaking of Clap.
' ourselves? When God
we can inflict
wounds, it
?«' wound.
588
AGAINST THE 8TBEAM.
i
i^i
mg; and we learn-]earn to suffer as He suffered
And when he lieals, it is healing; and we Jearu
more-Jearn in our measure to heal as He healed "
And so she found it-my Amiee, our Amice, the
treasure and the succor of us all.
********
Twentj-five jeai-s from that abolition in 1807
througli wars and advei-sity, and victory and peace,'
and agam through new wars and new peace, that
great anti-slavery conflict went steadfastly on
t-til in 1832, the Yittoria, Leipzig, and Elba of'
the first war were succeeded by the Waterloo of
the real final victory; the twenty millions sterlin<.
freely gn^en by England to redeem herself and
Africa from the great wrong ; the banishment of
«ie iniquity for ever from all lands over which
Jingland held sway.
To the last the veteran leader, William Wilber-
force, lived and fought on; at the very last.(bv
one of those weird repetitions of history wliicli
reads like the refrain of a dirge), like Pitt and Fox
in the first campaigns of the war, dying, if not be-
fore the victory was won, yet before the day of tri-
innph dawned. And the whole House of Com-
mens followed him to his grave in Westminster
ADl)ey.
The sixty years war was over ; once more, evil
Had been conquered by good.
A conflict still, as we know, to be succeeded by
otaer conflicts elsewhere, in the same cause ; nevJr
ce more, evil
AGAmST THE STREAM. 55,^
indeed to be finished nnfil fi,« • • ■
banished „tteri,f,.o:,;;;:l'^ "^""^' ^''*" ''^
And then, and tlien ?
otu„q,„ty, beside which all else ZtTnT?
"ess is penetrable, the awful TibertTn.n ^'^'
and disobedieoee * '''"^' "' ^«'«^''"^-
«Jiae':;~r^"„:.nr''7''''^?
atmosphere " wli ; .1, i, ? ' *^^® "^o^'^^l
eiea4 an^d ^:i^^rfr7' '°^'^
which " moral atn>ospl,e,'es " ev " d T ^ "'T '"
come healthv • nnt h! , "^" "'"*'■"■ ""'I l>e-
vnlsion as rf'th. , ^ ^ ™''"""'' ''''■''^^tible eon-
foepin^'o, rel r::r'' ^•" ''^ " «"»«o„s
i.-v«- 1 . "'^^""S of the sanitary laws- hv n la
b^afewbra^rnVpSlXnTtZir?-
cue, refusing to drift smoothi; a lon/t" ^.T
ceiirrp7i<- nf fi,^ <■• 1 "^ '"""ft "'tn tne evil
ttCarn^ ""• "'■' ^'■""'=" '-"""'^'^ ^S-«t
THE END.
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