IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 2.2 
 
 B40 1 2.0 
 
 M 
 
 1^ Mi i 
 
 L25 illllU IIIIII.6 
 
 m^y 
 
 <% 
 
 # 
 
 7 
 
 
 
 r 
 
 y 
 
 Photographic 
 Sciences 
 ton 
 
 iV 
 
 ♦: 
 
 <; 
 
 -r^ 
 
 "^ 
 
 
 i\ 
 
 rj WEST MAIN STPCE7 
 
 WIBSTKR.N.Y. I4SS0 
 
 (71«)872-4503 
 
CmM/ICIVIH 
 
 Microfiche 
 
 Series. 
 
 © 
 
 CIHM/ICIVIH 
 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
 O^ 
 
T«chnie«l and Bibliographic Notas/Notat tachniquaa at bibllographiquaa 
 
 Th 
 to 
 
 Tha Inatltuta haa attamptati to obtain tha boat 
 original copy avallabia for filming. Faatura« of thia 
 copy which may ba bibliographically uniqua. 
 which may altar any of tha imagaa in tha 
 raproduetlon, or which may aignlflcantly changa 
 tha usual mathod of filming, ara chackod balow. 
 
 D 
 
 D 
 D 
 
 D 
 
 Coiourad -sovars/ 
 Couvartura da couiaur 
 
 □ Covars damagad/ 
 Couvartura andommagia 
 
 □ Covars rastorad and/or iaminatad/ 
 Couvartura raataurte at/ou palllculAa 
 
 □ Covar titia miaaing/ 
 La titra da couvertui 
 
 couvartura manqua 
 
 naps/ 
 Cartas gtegraphiquas an couiaur 
 
 Coiourad ink (i.a. othar than biua 
 
 Encra da couiaur (i.a. autra qua biaua ou noira) 
 
 I I Coiourad maps/ 
 
 r~~| Coiourad ink (i.a. othar than biua or black)/ 
 
 r~~| Colojrad piatas and/or illustrations/ 
 
 D 
 
 Planchas at/ou illustrations an couiaur 
 
 Bound with othar matarial/ 
 Rail* avac d'autras documents 
 
 Tight binding may causa shadows or distortion 
 along intarior margin/ 
 
 La raiiura sarrAa paut causar da i'ombra ou da la 
 distortion la long da la marga IntAriaura 
 
 Blank laavas addad during rastoration may 
 appaitr within tha taxt. Whanavar possible, thasa 
 hava baan omittad from filming/ 
 il sa paut qua cartainas pagas bianchas aJoutAas 
 lors d'une rastauration apparaissant dans la taxta, 
 mais. iorsqua caia 4tait possibia, cas pagas n'ont 
 pas At* fiimAas. 
 
 Additional commants:/ 
 Commantairas supplimantairas: 
 
 L'instltut a microfiimi la malllaur axamplaira 
 qu'll lui a 4t4 possibia im sa procurar. Laa dAtaila 
 da cat axamplaira qui aont paut-Atra unlquaa du 
 point da vua bibliographlqua. qui pauvant modlflar 
 una Imaga raproduita, ou qui pauvant axigar una 
 modification dans la mithoda normaia da fiimaga 
 sont indlqute ci-dassous. 
 
 I I Coiourad pag«s/ 
 
 n 
 
 Pagas da couiaur 
 
 Pagas damagad/ 
 Pagas andommagtes 
 
 Pagai! rastorad and/oi 
 
 Pagas rastaurAas at/ou palllcuites 
 
 Pagas discolourad, stainad or foxa« 
 Pagas d*color4as. tachatias ou piquiaa 
 
 Pagas datachad/ 
 Pagas ditachtes 
 
 Showthrough> 
 Transparanca 
 
 Quality of prin 
 
 Quaiiti inigaia da i'imprassion 
 
 Includes supplementary matarii 
 Comprend du material supplAmantaire 
 
 Only edition available/ 
 Seule idltion diaponibia 
 
 nn Pages damaged/ 
 
 |~~| Pagai! restored and/or laminated/ 
 
 r~| Pages discoloured, stainad or foxed/ 
 
 rn Pages detached/ 
 
 rri Showthrough/ 
 
 r~n Quality of print varies/ 
 
 I I Includes supplementary material/ 
 
 r~| Only edition available/ 
 
 Tf 
 pe 
 of 
 fii 
 
 Oi 
 be 
 th 
 si< 
 ot 
 fir 
 si< 
 or 
 
 sh 
 Ti 
 wl 
 
 M 
 dii 
 er 
 be 
 
 rl( 
 re 
 m 
 
 Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata 
 slips, tissues, etc.. have been ref limed to 
 (vnsure the best possible image/ 
 Lea pages totaiament ou partialiement 
 obscurcies par un feuiilet d'errata, una peiure. 
 etc., ont it* fiimies k nouveau de fa9on A 
 obtenir la maiiieure imaga possible. 
 
 This item is filmed at the rediiction ratio checked below/ 
 
 Ce document est film* au tauit de rAduction indiqui ci-dessous. 
 
 10X 14X 18X 22X 
 
 7 
 
 12X 
 
 1IX 
 
 20X 
 
 26X 
 
 30X 
 
 24X 
 
 28X 
 
 32X 
 
lils 
 
 lu 
 
 Jifiar 
 
 iag« 
 
 The copy filmed here ha* been reproduced thanks 
 to the generoeity of: 
 
 D. B. Waldon Library 
 University of WMtarn Ontario 
 
 The images appearing here are the best quality 
 possible considering the condition and legibility 
 of the original copy and in keeping with the 
 filming contract specifications. 
 
 Original copies in printed paper covers are fiimecf 
 beginning with the front cover and ending on 
 the last page with a printed or Illustrated impres- 
 sion, or the back cover when appropriate. Ail 
 other original copies are filmed beginning on the 
 first page with a printed or illustrated Impres- 
 sion, and ending on the last page with a printed 
 or illustrated impression. 
 
 L'exemplaire film* fut reproduit grAce A la 
 gAnirositA de: 
 
 D. B. WaMon Library 
 University of Western Ontario 
 
 Les images suivantes ont At6 reproduites avec ie 
 plus grand soin, compte tenu de ia condition et 
 de la nettet6 de l'exemplaire film4, et en 
 conformity avec les conditions du contrat de 
 fllmage. 
 
 Les exemplalrer originaux dont ia couverture en 
 papier est ImprimAe sont fiimAs en commenpant 
 par Ie premier plat et en terminant soit par ia 
 dernlAre page qui comporte une empreinte 
 d'impression ou d'iiiustration, soit par Ie second 
 plat, salon ie cas. Tous les autres exempiaires 
 originaux sont filmte en commer.^ant par la 
 premlAre page qui comporte une empreinte 
 d'impression ou d'iiiustration et en terminant par 
 ia dernlAre page qui comporte une telle 
 empreinte. 
 
 The last recorded frame on each microfiche 
 shall contain the symbol — >»■ (meaning "CON- 
 TINUED"), or the symbol y (meaning "END"), 
 whichever applies. 
 
 Un des symboles suivante apparattra sur la 
 dernlAre image de cheque microfiche, selon ie 
 cas: ie symbols — »> signifie "A SUiVRE", Ie 
 symboEe V signifie "FIN". 
 
 Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at 
 different reduction ratios. These too large to be 
 entirely included in one exposure are filmed 
 beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to 
 right and top to bottom, as many frames as 
 required. The following diagrams illustrate the 
 method: 
 
 Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre 
 filmAs A des taux de reduction diffArents. 
 Lorsque Ie document est trop grand pour Atre 
 reproduit en un seul cliche, il est filmd d partir 
 de Tangle sup6rie:ir gauche, de gauche d droite, 
 et de haut en bas, en prenant Ie nombre 
 d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants 
 illustrent la mAthode. 
 
 ata 
 
 Mure, 
 
 3 
 
 2X 
 
 t 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 3 
 
 i, % 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 
 , 
 
 
 , 
 
 ^ # : 
 
 S 
 
 6 
 
THE 
 
 HEATHENS OF THE HEATH: 
 
 A. KOM^N"CJi;, 
 
 BY WILLIAM McDonnell. 
 
 AUTUOB OF " EXKTEU HALL," ETC.. BTC. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PUBLISHED liY D. M. BENNETT, 
 
 335 BUG AD WAY. 
 1875. 
 
4 i c: i 
 
 Entered according to Act of Oon,?resa ,« the year ,874. b, 
 
 WILLIAM McDonnell. 
 
 '° "" *""'•■'' °' '"" I-'"™"-" <" Con^roBS, at Wa»hl„«,„„. 
 tAIl riBhts reserved.! 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 CHAPTER I, 
 
 PBMDELL OHUROH. 
 
 FN the waning light the old church rose with its Ivied 
 -*- drapery above the surroandlng trees, and its ancient 
 tower still stood proudly erect, as if to over-top the range of 
 northern hills by which it was sheltered. The iron bird 
 long perched over the same turretod structure, was now 
 immovable in the calm sky ; it gave no indication to the 
 waiting mariner, and from its elevated pivot in the motion- 
 less air, it looked towards the slumbering ocean on the 
 south, as if intently watching the gradual disappearance 
 of some distant sail. 
 
 How many centuries must have passed since the deep 
 foundations of that old grey edifice were laid ; how many 
 generations must have been swept away since the first 
 huge stones of Pendell Church were buried in the earth ! 
 It waa a venerable pile that seemed to link the present 
 with antiquity. For the last two or three hundred years 
 men had been wondering at its great age ; it appeared to 
 have gradually risen from the enriched soil and veruant 
 surface, and as the mysterious up-growth of piety, to have 
 escaped the ravages of time, in order to mark one sacred 
 spot to which various and successive races of men had 
 come, through emotions of love or fear, to exhibit forms 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 of faith and worshii) in song of praise or bloody sacrifice ; 
 and stout buttress, massive wall, and lofty tower, still 
 clutched the solid earth, as if determined that their union 
 should last forever. 
 
 What a strange, strange history has this Pendell sanct- 
 uary ; what varied scenes, what dark intrigues, what holy 
 strife, and what sad events were enacted within and around 
 its very walls! Yet there it stood, the mute record of lit'o 
 and death ; and from that same sad record tales of sorrow 
 and rejoicing, and of revenge and blood, were told by 
 mossy rock. or at the winter fireside, by old men who hud 
 licard the same legends from their grandfathers ; and tra- 
 ditions of superstition, intolerance and devastation, were 
 related as incidents of that same dark history. 
 
 Those singular traditions taught also, that, long before 
 Druidical worship was known in Britain, certain mission- 
 ary tribes from a remote land,— from India, from Egyi)t, 
 or from Persia, — had erected huge stones around the very 
 site of Pendell church, and its enclosed graveyard ; and 
 the 3pace that was now nearly covered with mossy, crumb- 
 ling tombs, and w'th graves almost hidden in the long, 
 rank grass, was, perhaps, once included in the "sacred 
 circle," within which religion was inculcated by strange, 
 mysterious ceremonies, either in worship of the triad of 
 Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva, or of Osiris, Isis, and Horus, or 
 by the Persian or the Parseo, while bowing before the 
 effulgent Sun in adoration of the great Ormuzd ; and then 
 in the course of time, when these and other deities had 
 been superseded, Woden and Thor had here their votaries ; 
 and here, too, beneath the shadow of some ancient oak, 
 once stood the Druidical altar, its white-robed priest and 
 his devout attendants. 
 
 Though the idea of a supreme power, or of a future 
 state, has not been universal, yet, from the beginning, 
 from our earliest knowledge of the remote past, we find 
 that man, in almost every clime, has been a w orshiper. 
 With rare exceptions, almost every tribe or nation has 
 paid homage to some great superior, either real or fancied. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 t 
 
 Some have seen the placid smile of deity in the early sun- 
 beam ; others have trembled to hear his angry voice in the 
 midnight tempest ; but man's noblest emotions have over 
 been awakened while acting in submission to that control 
 ling power which his imagination has depicted as being 
 the most beneficent. A compassionate deity has always 
 been more beloved than the Omnipotence which has been 
 represented as jealous and revengeful ; and if man truly 
 "paints himself in his god," the liberality or intoieraueo 
 of a people may be assumed according to the character of 
 the deity they are known to reverance. 
 
 The first simple worshipers at Pendell, in the fulness of 
 their gratitude, gathered the most beautiful flowers, which 
 they might have fancied as being the plumage of angels 
 wings, and presented them as a thanks offering to their 
 kind genii; others brought forth the rich, ripe fruit to 
 Biidha, or to Isis ; while suppliants to a deity more stern 
 and exacting, offered their weapons and their animals; 
 and frantic votaries, eager to propitiate some incensed 
 god, lacerated their own flesh, or shed the blood of the 
 human victim, or bade the mother give her infant to the 
 flames ; and when it was considered urgent to appease the 
 anger of a furious deity, holocausts of human beings were 
 remorselessly offered. 
 
 But then, with the flight of time, the gods of India and 
 Egypt, and Persia, were forsaken, and on came the con- 
 quering Eoman into Britain with his chief divinities, and 
 with his Lares and Penates. He gradually undermined 
 the Druidical altar, and erected the statue of Jupiter ; and 
 then, long after the ancient Celtic worship had been set 
 aside, as connected with the national faith, Constantino 
 came and dethroned the Roman gods ; he brought back 
 the cross, a symbol which had been venerated by the 
 nations of antiquity ; he compromised with the heathen : 
 much of the creeds and many of the rites of paganism were 
 incorporated into the new faith, and in time, after the 
 statue of Jupiter at Rome had been ponliflcally blessed and 
 meiamorphosed by the Church into the veritable statue of 
 
8 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ^■' 
 
 the apostolic Petor, many of the groat old standirip stones 
 of the "suored circle," or " giants' danco," at Pendell, were 
 tumbled down to form tlie foundation of its veicrable Chris- 
 tian sanctuary. 
 
 Now in the soft eve, while the red light faintly lingers 
 in the west, while there is a hush on earth for departing 
 day, and a calm in heaven as the vesper star appears ; now 
 when the feelings are subdued and solemnized, let imagi- 
 nation bring back some of the scenes and characters con- 
 nected with the old church of Pendell. Though centuries 
 have passed, it seems but yesterday since there was hero 
 scon a grand procession of priests, monks, and other vota- 
 ries, headed by mitred bishops and lofty dignitaries. Tlioy 
 came to consecrate this building, erected in place of the 
 primitive, wooden cathedral built by the semi-pagans of 
 the early Saxon times; to bless the earth destined to 
 receive the bodies of the deceased faithful, and to anathe- 
 matize the incorrigible who still remained outaide the pale 
 of the true church. The simplicity of paganism, and of the 
 primitive form of Christian worship, had been gradually 
 eclipsed by a brilliant and ostentatious ceremonial, and 
 here was a religious display in keeping with the increasing 
 power and assumi>tion of the priests of the new national 
 faith. Onward moved the mitred ecclesiastics ; crosses and 
 crosiers, and spangled vestments glitter in the sunliglit, 
 and the silver censors flash in the clear air as they are 
 swung to send out the fragrant incense ; strains of music 
 reach the ear, and as the procession, in all its religious 
 pomp, winds slowly around the sacred edifice, a hundred 
 devotees kneel on each side of the advancing dignitaries, 
 v;hile a crowd of others follow in the attitude of humble 
 reverence. 
 
 The grand circuit is thrice made ; the ground, oft moist- 
 ened with the blood of religious victims, has now been 
 sprinkled only witn the sacred water of the church. The 
 procession re-enters the building, but all do not follow. 
 Some from the jrowd hurry off to a little distance, from 
 which, perhaps, to view another ceremony— there is to be 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. f 
 
 another. Over a hundred years before that time, when 
 barbarous Saxon priests mot liero to dedicate the first rude 
 Christian church in the Pendeii valley, the religious in- 
 stinct of the period led them to require a sacritice, and 
 one of the remaining Pagan priests of Britain was piouHJy 
 slaughtered, as a peace offering, a short way beyond the 
 (christian altar. Alas! that that sacrificial instinct, so 
 foreign to humanity, should have become hereditary in the 
 Christian Church I 
 
 . Again the procession moves out slowly from the building ; 
 it is now headed by a score of tonsured monks with bare 
 feet. Their coarse gowns are tied around the waist by a 
 kind of rope; each monk holds a small wooden cross, and 
 between the two £tout brethren In advance there limps a 
 dccrepid man whom they aiB leading towards that great 
 lone standing stone near the highway. The old man is 
 one of the irreclaimable children of Abraham ; he believes 
 only in Moses and the prophets— not in Christ. Though 
 hated and despised, one more chance of recantation had 
 been offered him by the mercy of the Church, but he was 
 true to tlie tradition of his fathers— that offer had been 
 rejected ; and, now, as one of the polluted race, he is de- 
 creed unworthy of life. See! they have chained him to 
 the great stone ; the sturdy monks pile up the fagots that 
 seem to thirst for flame. The mitred bishops and the 
 priests and their pliant followers stand reproachfully 
 before him, and while the grey-haired Jew Is terrified by 
 curses and denunciations, he is told to kiss the cross which 
 is held towards him. The old man is weeping, but that 
 cross is an idol to him, and he turns aside his head.* A 
 resolute monk thrusts it into the victim's mouth ; the tears 
 and blood of the old man mingle, but none can pity. In 
 fierce haste the torch is applied, and as the flames leap up, 
 the shouts and imprecations of the furious crowd drown 
 the groans of the feeble sufferer. 
 
 In a few minutes more the last anathema is uttered, and 
 
 ♦Giordano Bnmo who wns burnt by the DomlnlcanH at Rome, 
 ref uued to kiss a uruuillx lield out to him for that yuritoHe. 
 
10 
 
 THE HEATIIENH OF THE HEATn. 
 
 whilo the monks remain to too(] tho flivmos, and prevent 
 any chance of rescue, bishops, priests and people return to 
 tho church. A number of sacred relics are to be enshrined 
 —a piece of the true cross, a nail, tlie beard of an apostle, 
 and the bones of a martyr, are cMsplayed before the won- 
 dering faithful, and then deposited. The fragrant incense 
 enters the silver shrine, and again clouds tho lighted altar ; 
 a Te Deum is sung, the benediction is pronounced, and 
 tho consecration of Peudell church is completed.* 
 
 • Tho vonoratinn for rollns In tho Churnh of Rome is. amonflr 
 many of On mllioronts, oh ttrrnX as ovor. Tho following extract ie 
 from a Canadian papor, Uatotl St^pt. '2ii\, IS'.I. 
 
 " Relics pou St. Michakl's Catuedual.— An unusual ovont took 
 plafo yostonlay aft»«rnoon In St. Miijhanl's Catiindral, boint; tho depo- 
 sition of curtain rollcs under ono of tho altars. Tho remains are 
 roputod to bo thorto of Saint Vliitonfonoof lo/joa soldiors of tho Empe- 
 ror Dl.»fl<»tian,an<i (!ommandnd by Saint Zono. Those soldiers refus- 
 ed to sacrillco to tho Rods of hoathon Rome, and wcro put to duath, 
 aftor forced lobor at tho Baths of Dioelotlan for sovon years. The 
 bodies wore buried at Tre Fontani, where it Is bdievod St Paul had 
 sufTored martyrdom under tho Eniporor Noro. His Grace, tho Arch- 
 bishop, whilo on his Into visit to Rome, procured those romains to bo 
 placod under an altar in the Cathedral for tho veneration of the Cath- 
 olics. The relics wore beautifully encased In wax. A solemn pro- 
 cossion was formed in the garden, tho body of the martyr being borne 
 by a train of the clur»;y in full ecclestastical vestments, and by them 
 deposited In its resting place. After vespers a brief history of the 
 life of this Saint was given by tho Rev. Archdeacon, and the ceremony 
 closed with ihu benediction of the Blessed Sacrament " 
 
 m 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 CHRISTIAN IIAUMONY. 
 
 TN past times when the Chunh was all powerful, when 
 •*- it miglit be said there was but one true church in all 
 Christendom; when no important disputes occurred on 
 doctrinal points, but when loud and bitter dis(nissions took 
 place on the j?rave question of liow priests and monks 
 should shave their heads, o wear the tonsure; when not 
 more than one book mij^ht be foun<l in a parish, or not 
 more than one man who cuuld read it ; when many pre- 
 lates could not even write; and when priests, monks and 
 friars roamed as bepj^ars or as robbers through a hungry 
 land; when nearly all of the baptized faithful— slaves or 
 freemen— grew up to bo ignorant, brutal, and ferocous; 
 and when the legitimate business of kings seemed to bo 
 but wanton rapine or murder; when Christian nations 
 were most faithless, when Christian men and women were 
 most faithless, and wlien Christian priests were most 
 numerous, and who, though not licensed to shed human 
 blood, might yet follow armies and stalk through the 
 battle fleld, and, with iron-headed mace, dash out th(^ 
 brains of wounded enemies; and when, also, f<»r the com- 
 mission of even petty offences, gashed and mutilated 
 creatures could be found iilmost helpless in every corner 
 of the land; in these dark times (when such was the 
 condition of affairs) what was the restraining influence of 
 the TuuE CuuiicH? Amid all the piety and terror wIkui 
 op ression was the rule, there was the added terror of 
 invasi )n. Shortly after the conse ration at Pendell, the 
 
m 
 
 1% 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Ills 
 
 li( 
 
 
 ;!!i 
 
 warlike Danes carre and almost destroyed its sanctuary. 
 The abbot was slain on its altar steps, and monks lay 
 bleeding and dead in and around the building. The Danes 
 returned once more to renew their acts of spoliation and 
 sacrilege. They again plundered this church, slaughtered 
 its cowled monks, and robbed and burned their monastery ; 
 and Danish and Saxon priests long continued in fierce and 
 bloody struggles for secular and ecclesiastical possession ; 
 and when, ai r many years of brutal strife, the great 
 Saxon revenge was taken on St. Brice's day, Danes lay 
 murdered around the altar of this very church, in which 
 they had sought refuge. 
 
 Then there was another invasion ; the Norman came, 
 and Norman prelates, backed by victorious hordes, depri- 
 ved Saxon bishops of their power ; and heedless of a com- 
 mon faith, or of clerical rights, they assumed jurisdiction 
 over the spiritual and temporal resources of each diocese. 
 The monastery, which had been restored, and which once 
 stood near this old church, was then occupied by Benedic- 
 tine monks who claimed to be exempt from canonical 
 obedience to the foreign ordinary, and who resisted the 
 prelatical authority of the rapacious Norman. But the 
 priestly invader knew his power, and would not yield his 
 spiritual plunder. Appeals to Rome were completely inef- 
 fectual, and after much fierce contention between bishop 
 and monk, the abbot was rudely deposed by the stranger. 
 But the monks nad their ow n revenge. The Norman prelate 
 was slain at midnight at the entrance of the sanctuary, 
 and his body long lay, among others of the consecrated 
 dead, in one of the many stone cofQns, the lids of which 
 could be seen level with the tiled floor of Pendell church. 
 
 Here came Peter the hermit on his rounds, and here his 
 voice was heard invoking aid for the Crusaders, denounc- 
 ing the Saracens, and praying for the delivery of Jerusa- 
 lem ; and here within this church, many a candidate for 
 knighthood kept his lonely midnight vigil over the armor 
 that was to protect him, as one of the soldiers of the Gross, 
 in distant Palestine. Aloa ! how many of these deluded 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 13 
 
 champions left their bones to bleach and crumble upon 
 the arid plains of Judea ! There were other scenes ; here 
 too, time after time, the faithful were amazed by wondrous 
 miracles performed by some noted Dunstan ; and by way 
 of change, monks performed scriptural plays, and lashed 
 the representative of Judas around the altar, to the great 
 delight of credulous and edified spectators. Here, again, 
 when one of Wickliflfe's wandering disciples recklessly 
 dared to broach his heresy, there was a furious commotion. 
 The indignant priests clamored against the outrage on the 
 ancient Faith ; the common doom of early innovators fol- 
 lowed, and the fanatical Lollard lost his life. 
 
 After those days there were troublous times. One of 
 the detestable usurpers whose reign, like that of others in 
 Britain, was but a pestilence, fancied himself almost 
 free to govern England without even being subject to the 
 usual dictation of the overshadowing power of Rome. But 
 pontifical thunder was quickly heard. Pope Innocent 
 issued his interdict, and for six dreary years the enduring 
 subjects of king John were deprived of almost every relig- 
 ious rite. While the English despot defied and feasted, 
 and while priests had a long holiday, the poor, suffering 
 people alone felt the punishment. No church bell tolled, 
 no mass was heard, no altar, or cross, oi sacred ima^e 
 could be seen, no man might shave his beard or salute his 
 neighbor ; the dead were refused consecrated ground, and 
 were tumbled, without a prayer, into ditches, hidden in 
 fields, or covered up along the highways. Every place of 
 worship in the kingdom was closed, and nothing in hu- 
 man shape could be found in Pendeli church, except the 
 dead monks that were stretched in rows down in its gloomy 
 vaults. 
 
 But who, In those days, could withstand the anger of 
 the Roman pontiff ? The craven king became submissive, 
 resigned his kingdom, and acknowledged himself the vas- 
 sal of the Holy See. Nothing less would satisfy God's 
 vicoregent. For such considerations the Church could 
 always relent, and receive back into its bosom the most 
 
I 
 
 u 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ■It 
 
 'J; 
 
 desperate transgressor. Yet, though the Church was in 
 plenitude of its power, there was alarming wickedness in 
 the land. The nation seemed debauched, and for years 
 the moral laxity of priest and layman was almost over- 
 looked in the prevailing depravity of the times ; even the 
 Church itself became infected, and, for about forty years, 
 rival pontiffs denounced and anathematized one another, 
 either from Rome or from Rimini, from Arragon or from 
 Avignon. However, after a long period of detraction, 
 Religion found a special remedy for the increased trans- 
 gressions of the times. There was a mountain of iniquity 
 to be removed, for which it seems the ordinary means at 
 the disposal of the church were considered insuflBcient ; a 
 more effective spiritual aid was required, and Tetzel was 
 sent forth to proclaim the potency of indulgences, and to 
 oiTer pardon and purity by the simple purchase of these 
 restoratives. The man who swore, or the man who stole, 
 he who robbed, or he who cut a throat, knew the exact 
 price which could free him from the taint of guilt ; and the 
 sale of these indulgences was announced also from the 
 altar at Pendell.* 
 
 Then, during the progress of the Reformation what 
 changes took place. There was great commotion in the 
 land; there were fierce discussions, and nowhere was 
 Luther more heartily execrated than here. Soon after, 
 there were religious riots and bloodshed, nnd in the hurly 
 burly which followed, priests and monks had to flee from 
 this place ; and pliant pastors took possession , though scenes 
 of the wildest strife were still witnessed in the house of 
 the Lord. Much damage was done to the building ; the 
 altar was pulled down, images were defaced, and relics 
 scattered about ; and when the voluptuous Defender of tho 
 Faith had full sway, many of those who could not acknow- 
 ledge his spiritual supremacy, and many who believed with 
 Luth r, or who believed in the Pope, were by the merest 
 
 • For ninety llvri^a. or about half a gninoa, Enerlish money, a par- 
 don oould bo i>ur<?ha3ed for the murder of a father, a mother, or a 
 wife, 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 15 
 
 whim of a pious tyrant, made amenable to the '* Bloody 
 Statute," and orthodox and heterodox alike, were often 
 led together to the stake or halter, almost under the shad- 
 ow of this Christian temple. 
 
 During these eventful times, the greatest crime of which 
 a man nould be guilty, or at least that which was most 
 certain to ensure the penalty of death, was his belief or 
 disbelief in certain religious doctrines. In one reign a 
 man must abjure the Pope and the Keal Presence, in the 
 next he must believe in the Mass and in transubstantia- 
 tion, and the facility with which prelates, priests, and 
 people altered their opinions on such subjects to suit a 
 fanatical sovereign, was evidence sufficient to lead to the 
 conclusion that had a doltish monarch proclaimed his 
 faith in Mahomet, five-sixths of his servile subjects would 
 have trampled on the cioss and kissed the crescent. Cran- 
 mer, the archbishop, was noted for his instability, and for 
 his ready adoption of extreme doctrinal points; but the 
 reasoning few who dared to have a creed of their own, 
 were certain to be doomed— even recantation could not 
 always save. The religious teachers of the period, Romish 
 or Protestant, knew no pity. Intolerance was triumph- 
 ant ; the taint of heresy was the very shadow of death. 
 
 However, when another change in the national faith had 
 been effected ; when, after many struggles and reverses, the 
 new church, with its royal head, its zealous bishops, its 
 sequestered estates, its princely income, and its assured 
 tithes, had been established ; when the possession of rich 
 cathedrals and churches, and other Popish forfeitures, had 
 been secured ; when Popish prayers and Popish liturgies 
 had been sufficiently diluted ; and when these, with a sim- 
 plifled ritual, were considered adequate to secure for all— 
 at least for the pastors— a ready passport to Paradise, still 
 many pious believers were restless; greater purity and 
 simplicity in faith and worship they thought should yet 
 be attained, and when texts could not convince, the torch 
 and the sword, as of old, were the aids often most relied on 
 to propagate new doctrines when other modes of persua- 
 
10 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ;.|i 
 
 sion had failed. At this time some differences of opinion 
 which had existed among priests, monies, and friars of the 
 Boman church were almost forgotten; the deluge of 
 schism appalled the stoutest champions of the older creed, 
 and, while taking refuge in the Pontifical ark, they watch- 
 ed the rising waters, until the mighty turbid flood burst 
 its bounds, and in torrents, rushed off madly in every 
 direction, and almost every way- mark of the "Mother 
 Church" was swept away, and there appeared to them 
 but one scene of wildness and moral desolation. 
 
 Soon after a horde of sects had sprung up, each claim- 
 ing to be the exponent of Truth ; and each ready to perse- 
 cute the other. The Roman church had been despotic— 
 the Reformed church could scarcely tolerate. Luther 
 threatened persecution ; Calvin did persecute. A Protes- 
 tant parliament persecuted Catholics; and priests and 
 Jesuits had to flee for their lives, and public rewards were 
 offered for their discovery. Prelacy was attacked by 
 Presbyterians, and Presbyterians by Independents; aTid 
 Cromwell's Roundheads rushed through the land praying 
 and slaying; and here at Pendell they cut down many 
 enemies of the Lord. They also tore down every remain- 
 ing relic of Popery and Episcopacy, and, while wiping 
 their blood stained swords, they shouted hosannas and 
 sung psalms in this old sanctuary. 
 
 But these wild times have passed. After Cromwell's 
 body had been dug up and dishonored by a pious king, the 
 Church by law established, calmly prospered under the 
 smile of royal favor ; and if it has had to deal occasionally 
 in a summary manner with recusants, and dissenting 
 teachers, it must no doubt have been out of the purest 
 motives for the extension of the true faith. The Church 
 has had a long era of prosperity ; it has been singularly 
 blest, that is if vast wealth is emblematic of blessedness— 
 and if its learned bishops have not all been endowed with 
 spiritual g'fts, they have, one and all, secured those tem- 
 poral favors which enable thorn to be more devoted to 
 their high calling; proving to scoffers that godliness is 
 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE H2ATH. 
 
 17 
 
 fcroat gain, and that the feet of those who bring glad tid- 
 iiit^s are ever *' beautiful upon the mountains'" 
 
 (Jrey old structure! still firm upon the earth, thou art 
 lit'le changed by years— yet what changes have taken 
 place around thee ! What great and what sad events have 
 happened here ; and what great ceremonies, great excom- 
 munications, great marriages, and great funerals ! What 
 shall future changes bring? Shall there be a gradual 
 relapse to Brahma, or an advance to Koason? Thy ton- 
 sured priests and monks have passed away; even their 
 very bones have not been left thee. No vesper bell is 
 longer heard at eve, no mass or litany is sung, but strange 
 voices and strai^e anthems tell of the strange creed that 
 has almost wrought ruin to thy founders. There is an air 
 of sadness in thy presence ; yet many still hope to restore 
 thy lighted altar, and to crown thee with thy ancient cross. 
 These hopes may be realized, for who can tell what an 
 ardent faith may yet accomplish ? 
 
 The Pendell valley is still attractive, and, in the genial 
 summer season, visitors and antiquaries loiter around the 
 place, and gaze with wonder at the many huge standing 
 stones, and at the curious mounds and barrows still to be 
 found in the vicinity. The church, sturdy in its old age, is 
 still the principal object in the rural picture, and even but 
 a short time back, few ever came or went without calling 
 at the cottage of old Sarah Afton, known to some as the 
 Seeress ; she, past her eightieth year, could relate many a 
 weird tale of the olden time. Her great-grandfather 
 was one of the Pendell martyrs. She could show the 
 places where bloody deeds were done, and point to the 
 very spot where some humble devotee, Catholic or Protes- 
 tant; had died for the truth. And then she could tell 
 startling stories of those dread times; she could also tell 
 of how shouts, and loud cries, and shrieks of terror of 
 ghostly combatants could be hoard around the church on 
 dark and stormy nights,, when the waves lashed the rocks 
 in Pendell bay; and how, on other nights, lights could be 
 often seen, and voices heard in the same building; and it 
 
18 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATE. 
 
 was a certain fact that one or two of her nearest 
 neighbors, coming home about midnight, heard the cocks 
 crow, and saw a long procession of monks moving out 
 from the church, and then march with solemn tread around 
 the graves. And, again, she would tell ©f how her own 
 sister's grandson had seen, in the bright moonlight, an 
 ancient Druid priest up in the great oak tree near the 
 church yard gate, and, that, with his "own two eyes," he 
 saw him cut, with a golden knife, a mistletoe from one of 
 the highest branches. Old Sarah Afton believes these 
 things the more readily because of what she had seen and 
 heard herself; and then she would lower her voice and 
 tell how, on many and many a night, and often on nights 
 the most tempestuous, when no living mortal was inside 
 the old building, she had heard the church organ, now in 
 plaintive stratus, and then in wild, rushing sounds, as if to 
 drown the thunder then heard in the stormy sky. 
 
 But now 'tis the close of day ; the moon appears again 
 peering cautiously over the summit of that distant hill. 
 The trees are sprinkled with the silvery light ; the outlines 
 of the sanctuary are barely visible, but a halo settles upon 
 its tower, and the shimmering ivy, like a shroud, is seen 
 flowing down its dark sides A luminous beam is stretch- 
 ing out over the sombre sea, and lone rays wander among 
 the graves, and flicker upon the numerous white tombs. 
 In the spreading gleam the two small tower windows shine 
 out like flashing eyes ; and the old church, almost hidden 
 in the partial gloom, seems to crouch down among the 
 (lead, like some glutted monster seeking repose while sur- 
 rounded by the whitened skulls and bones of its numerous 
 victims. 
 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE OUBATE OF PENDELL. 
 
 TT is evenins: again, a summer Sabbath eve. The hills 
 ^ are crowned with the glory of the setting sun, and in 
 the ruddy golden light the earth seems draped in its most 
 resplendent attire ; the day's farewell is as peaceful and 
 attractive as the smile of a departing angol. 
 
 The Reverend David Meade, curate at Pendell, is seated 
 in his arm chair on the lawn in front of the old parsonage. 
 Though surrounded by the beautiful scenery of the favor- 
 ed valley, he seems strangely indifferent to its attractions, 
 or they may have prodvced that reverie in whicli he indul- 
 ges. Leaning his head upon his ivory-headed cane, he 
 has been looking down for some minutes at that daisy 
 close to his foot, and in his musing he has wandered back 
 to youth, has been a child again at his mother's knee, has 
 been again at school, at college, at his ordination; he 
 again receives his appointment to a curacy, and, after his 
 marriage and the varied scenes and trials of over forty 
 years since that event, he finds himself, after the hasty 
 retrospect, now, in the decline of life, still a curate— still 
 only a poor curate at Pendell. 
 
 But why at all a churchman? Why in orders,— why a 
 priest? Why, with all his doubts and speculations, should 
 he be a curate? His father had been one before him, and 
 he, like a son of Aaron, without any wish or effort on his 
 part, had somehow drifted into the ministry— into ii [)osi- 
 tion which his mature judgment had told him wns m«>st 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 unsuitable ; but after apostolic hands had been laid upon 
 liim, thinking it too late to recede, ho, even contrary to 
 his own inclination, had remained a servant of the Church, 
 and had ever since been trying to teach or explain to 
 others that which he sometimes felt he did not clearly un- 
 derstand himself. Still, at times he tried to feel assured. 
 Had he not encouragement to submissive belief in the 
 example of learned prelates and of other distinguished 
 men? He strove to think that the theological opinions 
 which they had upheld might not be so extravagant as he 
 sometimes fancied. Any way, setting aside the mysticism 
 of a creed, lie often satisfied himself by thinking that 
 there was a base of morality in revelation from which he 
 could draw supplies to benefit his hearers; leaving the 
 many perplexities of belief to semi-inspired D. D.s, and 
 imaginative commentators. He had little difficulty, how- 
 over, with his parishioners at Pendell ; nearly all there, 
 simple and gentle, were believers ; hardly one ar.iong them 
 ever harbored a doubt, or ventured a speculation as to the 
 validity of any doctrine; they, like most others, simply 
 l)olicved that which they had been trained to believe from 
 infancy; and they were, therefore, just as steadfast in the 
 conviction that the Pope was anti-Christ, as their Catholic 
 forefathers had been that he was the august head of the 
 true Church. 
 
 The Reverend David Meade had been curate of Pendell 
 for over thirty years. He was now, fortunately for him- 
 self, under a rector who, having the benefit of a large 
 income arising, somehow, from other spiritual sources, as 
 well as from the cure of souls at Pendell, spent much of 
 his time either in London or Paris, or on a periodical tour 
 to certain continental cities. Perhaps these visits might 
 have been made by the Reverend Rector for the acquisi- 
 tion of greater religious knowledge, or in order to witness 
 the various developments of faith in different countries, 
 so as to be able, if possible, to understand why that which 
 was called "Apostolic Truth," and which had obtained 
 g'jvernmeiir patronage at St. Paul's in Old England, should 
 
 i 
 
 III 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 91 
 
 bf denounced as rank error aud anathematized as heresy 
 ttl St. Peter's in Old Rome. And tlien in the semi-annual 
 visit which he made to Pendell, ho could enlij,'ht»n his 
 curate in this important particular; and though rather 
 indifferent as to what latitude might be taken in scriptural 
 interpretation, he could see that the thirty-nine articles of 
 the English Church, had been, at least, outward! y respect- 
 ed. The Reverend George Morton, as rector, was faithful 
 in what he coiisidered ""he performance of his parochial 
 duties; his serai-annual visits were regularly paid, he 
 seemed anxious to know how many, young or old, were 
 prepared for the important rite of confirmation, was par- 
 ticular to get correct lists of marriages, baptisms, and bur- 
 ials, for which a fee had been given, and was rather strict as 
 to the collection of tithes and church rates ; and for these 
 onerous duties at Pendell, or rather for these toilsome 
 semi-annual visits, his spiritual income was over £800- 
 sterling. But all this was not clear gain; from this 
 amount the salary of his curate had to be deducted, and 
 he fancied himself truly generous by consenting to increase 
 the stipend of Tr. Meade, his journeyman parson, to £60 a 
 year. 
 
 For a period of about fifteen years under a former rich 
 rector, who had, it was said, "gone to his great reward," 
 Mr. Meade, as curate, had received the annual allowance 
 of but fifty pounds, and being simple as a child in money 
 matters, he really thought at the time, that the additional 
 ten pounds, with free use of the old parsonage, was almost 
 a sudden rise to affluence. He therefore gladly consented 
 to remain as sub-pastor and spiritual overseer of the Chris- 
 tian flock at Pendell, and to perform his old round of 
 duties— to preach twice on Sundays, to visit, to catechise, 
 to marry, to baptize, to attend funerals, and to do all the 
 clerical drudgery of the parish ; and after having signed 
 the agreement with his new spiritual superior, he hurried 
 home to impart the joyful information to his family ; and 
 then went to receive the congratulations of his many poor 
 friends. 
 
THE UEATIIENS or THE HEATH. 
 
 I i 
 
 t M 
 
 '!'!: 
 
 About three years uf tor his last api ointment, Mr. Meade 
 lost his faithful wife ; this aHliction at his a.t?e became the 
 darkest cloud over his remaining hopes of earthly happi- 
 ness, but a daughter was left him— a flower of purity and 
 goodness— who strove to make his declining years as hap- 
 py as possible. He had also a son in India. This young 
 man, Charles Meade, who was about two years older than 
 his sister, had been rated one of the most promising yonii^j 
 follows in the country, and being of an adventurous dispo- 
 sition, he determined, after he had left college, to see tlio 
 world for himself, and try to assist his father. Had ho 
 submitted to ordination as his father had done, he could 
 have remained in England, and might have had a curacy, 
 and perhaps even forty pounds a year to begin with, but 
 having the greatest aversion to the priestly trade, ho 
 refused to eke out a living by dealing in mysteries, or by 
 assuming clerical pretensions. He might have had suiTi- 
 cient influence to obtain a position in the army, but ho 
 looked upon the profession of arms as barbarism, and upon 
 so-called military glory as degrading to humanity ; a situa- 
 tion, however, offered in a wealthy mercantile firm, and 
 with strong hopes of success he sailed for India. 
 
 During nearly all his married life, the Reverend David 
 Meade had to struggle with difficulties, and while it 
 pinched him sorely to spare sufficient to pay for the educa- 
 tion of his children, by great self-denial he even managed 
 to secure for them accomplishments which few but the 
 wealthy could obtain. These efforts and sacrifices on the 
 part of himself and his wife now brought some return. 
 His household was small, being comprised of himself, his 
 daughter, and one old servant. Miss Esther Meade was 
 chief controller of domestic alTairs, and by her economy 
 and wonderful management, the humble stipend of her 
 father was made to produce home comforts not exceeded 
 in many more pretentious establishments. She was also 
 able to spare sufficient time to give lessons in music, 
 French, and drawing, to the children of certain families in 
 the parish, thereby adding to her father's little income an 
 
THE HEATUENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 513 
 
 amount which not only enabled her to supply sovcrul 
 needs— even at times luxuries— for her father ami herself, 
 but also to aid many of the pooi and destitute of her own 
 neighborhood. 
 
 What a pity that poverty and human wrotehcdness 
 should so often be found amid the attractive beauties of 
 nature, making even the sunlight almost gloomy to many I 
 What a pity that the human eye should ever give a dew drop 
 to the llower, or that the sigh from a sad heart should waft 
 the odor from the rosel What a pity that the view of the 
 rich scenery of the pleasant Pendell valley should bo 
 looked at with indifference, because gaunt hunger stands 
 like a spectre in the way. Alas! that sad spectre is too 
 often seen, even in the glowing summer time, as if impa- 
 tiently waiting for its own bleak season, dreary Winter, in 
 order to take possession of many an humble dwelling. 
 
 The curate, after his Sabbath toil, was thinking of these 
 things, and he remembered the many uncomplaining poor 
 he had seen that day in his visits. But why, thought he, 
 should there be poverty ? why so much distress ? Why, in 
 this land of wealth and greatness, should there bo one 
 solitary instance of suffering for lack of food ? The birds 
 of the air, and the fishes of the sea, have their abundance ; 
 the mountain goat finds its herbage even mid rocks and 
 wastes ; flocks luxuriate in rich valleys, and the cattle od 
 a thousand hills grow fat. Why is it that man alone, more 
 than any other of God's creatures, should be compelled to 
 feel the pangs of hunger ? What a shame that humanity 
 shouid be thus degraded! The world contains ample 
 stores for all ; kind nature, willing to be impai'tial, is lav- 
 ish in her dealings, and yields her gifts in rich profusion ; 
 but the fair and equitable distribution which she intended 
 is interfered with by too many of the selfish and rapacious, 
 and unheeded by too many of the wealthy in power. This 
 is a violation of natural rights ; for where all the children 
 of the earth are equal inheritors, unequal distribution of 
 the patrimony is injustice. A few, by force or by fraud, or 
 by little or no industry, have amassed wealth, and possess 
 
11 ThK HEAlUbNB OF TUK HEATH. 
 
 a superabundanre of every comfort ; the many have mostly 
 to exist by severe toil, and suffer great deprivation. A few 
 monopolize the ownership of the very land, keeping large 
 tracts unproductive; while a vast number of persons can 
 show no claim— unless it be that for interment— to a single 
 foot of the soil of their native country. This is a palpable 
 outrage on natural rights. British law, like the laws of 
 almost every other Christian land, still defends this 
 monopoly, and offers, as yet, no true remedy, no just res- 
 toration, for the evictions and usurpations of past days, as 
 if time had already legalized ancient acts of robbery and 
 spoliation ; and while Peligion stands by and smiles with 
 satisfaction at the present social arrangement, the nation- 
 al Church, supported by plunder, will make no effort at 
 reform in thin particular, but contented with its earthly 
 honors and emoluments, it assumes a proud humility, and 
 bids its destitute adherents be submissive to the decrees 
 of Providence, and to the powers that be ; and then, by its 
 own course, it glaringly exhibits a sad example of partiality 
 and injustice in the treatment of its own clergy. The 
 truly faithful pastors whose duties are the most arduous, 
 receive as the reward of their labor scarcely sufficient for 
 their humble support, while drones, called " church digni- 
 faries," are glutted with favors, and live in luxury. 
 
 These views strongly impressed the curate at the time ; 
 he had long felt that religion had become the trade of 
 many unscrupulous men, who, when clothed in its garb, 
 and uttering its prayer, had acted as if their profession- 
 called sacred— had authorized them to ignore every prin- 
 ciple of right. He knew that clerical arrogance and 
 assumption, Pagan and Mohammedan, as well as Chris- 
 tian, had circumscribed progress and stifled many of the 
 most generous impulses, and at the moment his memory 
 retraced many instances of their folly. 
 
 When Manetho, the Egyptian priest and historian, was 
 unable to believe that man alone could possibly have 
 erected the vast pyramids, obelisks, colossal statues, and 
 temples of the Nile, he insisted in his writings that these 
 
 'iJi 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THF HEATH. 
 
 L5 
 
 : 
 
 r 
 
 amazing); structures hod been erected by a dynasty of pods 
 who li.'id been the original rulers of Epypt for about 
 twenty-five thousand years, before human boinjjs had 
 become their 8uccossf^)r.s. 
 
 When the Calii)h Al Mainun, tlie cotcnutomiy of Char 
 Icriia«,Mio, received, with distinction, at hi3CourtatHa.i?da<l. 
 foreign astronomers and learned men, ho encountered 
 much opi>osition from the Mohammedan priests, who did 
 not wish that faitliful Moslems should ever seek for sci- 
 ence or wisdom beyond that contained in the Koran. 
 
 When Ou'ar, surnamed El Aalem, or the learned, wrote 
 a Keologii'ul work on the retreat of tlies«*a, the same priests 
 declared that his system was conlradiidory to certain i)tts- 
 sa^es in the inspired Koran; iio was, therefure, called 
 upon to make a public recantation of his supposed error, 
 and to avoid [lersecution, he loft Samarakand. 
 
 After C<Ji)ornicu8 had written his great work, Ih' lirv<>lu.. 
 Wmihns Orbinm Ccelestium, proving the sun to be the 
 centre of our system, so opposed were the priests of his 
 time to new opinions, that ho hid his manuscrii)t for over 
 twelve yeais, lest its publication should insure an anath- 
 ema. 
 
 Learned Jesuit fathers of the Christian Church, so 
 Intimidated Galileo by threats and imprisonment, that he 
 made a degrading abjuration of what he had written in 
 favor of the Coperniean system ; his works were then said 
 to be in opposition to the exi)ress word of God, and his 
 "Dialogues" were burnt at Rome, Yet though seven 
 cardinals signed the sentence of the Inquisition against 
 Galileo, and though even Luther joined in the outcry 
 against the correct theory of planetary revolution, still 
 that theory is now accepted Ijy science, and the name of 
 Galileo is honored by all ! 
 
 As soon as Buffon hadpublisliod his " Natural History," 
 which included his " Theory of the Earth," he was otTicially 
 informed by the Faculty of Theology in Paris, that several 
 of his propositions "were reprehensible and contrary to 
 the creed of the Church ; " and Buffon, too, was compelled 
 
'it I 
 
 26 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HE.VTH. 
 
 iiii' 
 
 
 
 m\'^ 
 
 to humbly declare, that he had no inteution to contradict 
 scripture, and that he would abandon everything he had 
 written which might be considered contrary to the law of 
 Moses. 
 
 Newton's thoory of gravitation was at first strongly 
 opposed ; he was accused of skepticism, and certain of the 
 pious, who declaimed against human learning, maintained 
 that " the Hebrew Scriptures, when rightly translated, 
 comprised a perfect system of natural philosophy." 
 
 Priests had also assumed to dictate to science, and had, 
 time after time, foolishly protested against the opinions 
 and discoveries of enlightened investigating and ingen- 
 ious men. Discovery and invention seem to have been 
 too often looked upon by the Church as tAvin children of 
 the Evil One.* 
 
 Geographical, as well as astronomical and geological 
 knowledge or discovery, was promptly opposed or discred- 
 ited whenever it came in conflict with the crude clerical 
 notions of the age.f 
 
 When the enlightened Bavarian Bishop Virgil, before 
 the ninth century, asserted the existence of the Antipodes, 
 Pope Zachary, who was scandalized at the idea, sent 
 orders to his legate, "to strip him of his priesthood, and 
 drive him from the Church and altars of God." 
 
 Roger Bacon, the ingenious Franciscian Friar, who was 
 
 * Ecclesiastical architedare, statuary or painting— any effort 
 which could add to the material splendor of the Church— might bo 
 indulged; but were a vigorous Inventive mind inclined to go much 
 further, suspicion was easily aroused, and the spectre of a Dominican 
 pointing to the Inquisition, too ol"ten restrained the aspirations of 
 genius. Darwin says; '* During the same period, the Holy luQuisi- 
 tion selected, with extreme care, the freest and boldest men in order 
 to burn and iniprison them. In Spain alone, some of the best men, 
 those who doubted and questioned— and without doubting and ques- 
 tioning there can be no progress— were eliminated during three jon- 
 turies nt the rate of a thousand a year." (Descent of Man Vol. i, p. 171.) 
 
 t A curious clerical theory, as to the causes of the revolution of the 
 earth, is that given by the Rev. Father Hardouin. He believed that 
 the rotation of the earth was caused by lost souls trying to escape 
 from the central Are of our globe ; that by their climbing on the inner 
 crust of the earth, which he asserted was the wall of hell, the world 
 was made to rovolve. as a squirrel, by clirabing, turns a ca^e I 
 
 m^ 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 27 
 
 called by his admircis the " Doctor Mirabilis ;"' who dared 
 to reprove the imir.oral monks and clergy of his time ; who 
 \'entured to explore the secrets of nature ; who was an 
 astronomer, and who, it is said, invented spectacles, and 
 made useful suggestions respecting the telescope and the 
 microscope, iuid wlio made many valual)le scientific dis- 
 coveries ; tliis wortliy man was harrass.Ml Vjy clerical igno- 
 rance and jealousy; he was accused of being in league 
 with the devil, of having sold himself to SJitan ; his dis- 
 coveries were pronounced to be the result of " iiellish 
 iiia,;,'ic; " his great work, the Opiifi Mdju,^, was condemned, 
 and, by order of Pope Nicholas III., he was forbidden 
 to teach. After useless appeals, he was thrust into prison 
 in his old age, and was greatly worn and enfeebled by an 
 incarceration of ten years. Soon after, when on his death- 
 bed, he uttered these melancholy words : ** I repent, now. 
 that I have given myself so much trouble for the love of 
 p('if>nce. It is on account of the ignorance of those with 
 whom I have to deal, that I have not been able to accom- 
 plish more." 
 
 The establishment of the Royal Society of England, was 
 opposed because it was feared that discoveries in exi)eri- 
 mental philosophy ** might be subversive of the Christian 
 faith;" the telescope and the microscope were called 
 *• Atheistical inventions." 
 
 Dr. Jenner was denounced for his discovery of vaccina- 
 tion, and the pulpit proclaimed the operation as " diaboli- 
 cal—a tempting of God's i)rovidence, and therefore a 
 heinous crime." Harvey's discovery of the circulation of 
 blood was scoffed at by priests, and even by many t)hysi- 
 cians, for many years. 
 
 Dr. Franklin was charged with sacrilege for his temerity 
 with lightning, and lightning-rods were condemned as 
 " threatening the will of an angry God." * Men who first 
 proposed to connect the Atlantic and Pacific oceanS; were 
 
 •Almost every church at the present d.ay has its llRhtninsr-rod: 
 ministers now seem to thinlv that it is uerhaiis more efllcac.'ioui-; thau 
 pray r for the preservutiou of the " huuso of God." 
 
 
28 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ;!li! 
 
 M >i 
 
 |; I 
 
 told " to fear the vengeance of Heaven, for attempting to 
 improve that which the Creator, in his almighty will and 
 Providence, has ordained from the creation of the world." 
 Russian priests considered the project of Peter the Great, 
 to cut a canal between the Volga and the Don, as " great 
 impiety." 
 
 The proposal to make a certain river in Portugal navi- 
 gable to the Tagus, was forbidden, because the Portugese 
 clergy asserte«l that, if it had been the will of God that 
 the river should be navigable, he would have made it so ; 
 and when Brindley, the great engineer, appeared before 
 a parliamentary committee in England, to urge a petition 
 favoring the construction of canals, he was asked by one 
 of the pious members : " Pray, sir, what do you suppose 
 God made rivers for ? " and though he calmly replied : 
 "To feed canals," yet the petition was rejected because 
 the Church at that day did not encourage such projects ; 
 even printing was looked upon as a hostile discovery. 
 
 How strange that clerical obstinacy should have retard- 
 ed the progress of astronomy, geology, philosophy, and 
 of almost every other moral and physical science; it is 
 well known that the self-sufficiency of a majority of the 
 most influential ministers has been a hinderance to social 
 and political advancement; even in petty matters their 
 interference has been most absurd. Not many yesars ago, 
 persons who attempted to winnow corn by mechanical 
 means were refused communion, while others were reprov- 
 ed for using forks instead of fingers in the use of food; 
 and in our own day " life assurance " has been neglected 
 by many because it "argues a distrust in Providence." 
 
 A distinguished writer, reflecting on clerical arrogance 
 and dictation in relation to scientific matters, says : 
 
 " Who shall number the patient and earnest seekers 
 after truth, from the days of Galileo until now, whose 
 lives have been embittered and their good name blasted 
 by the mistaken zeal of bibliolaters ? Who shall count 
 the hosts of weaker men, whose sense of truth has been 
 destroyed in the effort to harmonize impossibilities— whoa© 
 
 18 
 ■■I 
 
 I 
 
 ] 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH, 
 
 29 
 
 J 
 
 I 
 ■1 
 
 life has been wasted in the attempt to force the penerous 
 new wine of science into the old l>ottles of Judaism, com- 
 pelled by the outcry of the same stron,uf party? It is 
 true, that if philosophers have suffered, their cause has 
 I teen amply avenj^ed. Extinguished theologians lie about 
 the cradle of every science as the strangled snake beside 
 that of Hercules; and history records that, whenever 
 science and orthodoxy have been fairly opposed, the latter 
 has been forced to retire from the lists, bleeding and 
 crushed, if not annihilated — scotched, if not slain. But 
 orthodoxy is the Bourbon of the world of thought. It 
 learns not, neither can it forget; and though at present 
 bewildered and afraid to move, it is as willing as ever to 
 insist that the first chapter of Genesis contains the 
 beginning and the end of sound science, and to visit with 
 such petty thunderbolts, as its half paralyzed hands can 
 hurl, those who refuse to degrade nature to the level of 
 ]»rimitive Judaism." (Huxley, Lay Sermons, p. 278.) 
 
 And another — 
 
 " For more than three centuries the decad<^nce of the- 
 ological influence has been one of the most invariable 
 signs and measures of our progress. In medicine, physi- 
 cal science, commercial interests, politics, and even ethics, 
 the reformer has been confronted with theological affir- 
 mations that have barred his way, which were all defended 
 as of vital importance, and were all compelled to yield 
 before the secularizing influence of civilization." (Lecky, 
 History of Morals, Vol. 2, p. 18.) 
 
 Such instances of interference the curate knew had 
 been recorded as facts against pastors of the Christian 
 Church; and he also knew that, under the influence of 
 religion and nationality, influences which very many 
 still deem most sacred, the most terrible woes had fallen 
 upon the human family. What sufferings, he thought, have 
 beei. endured by mankind because of their adhesion to 
 those cherished ideas! What enormities have followed 
 the so-called propagation of the new faith! Christianity 
 claims to be a religion of peace, yet, what bitter discus- 
 
 § 
 
• lit 
 
 ! ■ 
 
 'I 
 
 M:!! I 
 
 I i' 
 
 30 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 sion, what fierce strife, and what sanguinary contests have 
 followed its footsteps. The early enemies of our faith had 
 marked the progress of the Church from an humble 
 beginning, to wealth and power, culminating in tyranny 
 and persecution. It had scarcely escaped from the bloody 
 rule of a Nero or a Diocletian ore it rushed out from its 
 gloomy hiding place in the Catacombs, greedy itself for 
 blood ; and history has borne sad evidence of the atrocities 
 of its adherents. The Christian Church had barely emerg- 
 ed from its cloud of obscurity, and gained recognition by 
 the government of the period, ere it snatched the sword 
 and persecuted its pagan predecessors; and then there 
 followed contention and disunion among its own uphold- 
 ers. It encouraged the wild crusades ; it established the 
 Inquisition in Spain, and had its Star Chamber in Eng- 
 land. It gave a modal in commemoration of the massacre 
 of St. Bartholomew; and conferred rank upon those who 
 slaughtered Papists in Ireland. In Eome it was a fury, in 
 England a despot, in almost every nation under its sway, a 
 fierce, vindictive tyrant. It has ever claimed to be the spirit 
 of order, progress and intelligence, yet strange to learn, 
 the long period— the centuries of its most unlimited con- 
 trol — a period of moral and intellectual degeneracy— is 
 known to all as the "dark ages." Before, as well as after tlie 
 Reformation, the Church was implacal)lc against unlimit- 
 ed freedom of thought, and even now, in more enlightened 
 times, should Reason offer the most humble suggestion, 
 contradictory to the mysteries of Faith, a host of its 
 ordained exponents will consign Reason to infamy ; as if 
 truth in any form could be eclipsed by doubt, or overcome 
 by argument. Why should this be ? Why is it that creeds 
 tend to make priests arrogant, and men servile ; and why 
 should ideas of intolerance and persecution relate almost 
 solely to religious or speculative belief ? The Church as- 
 sumes to teach humility, yet it is ever eager for power ; it 
 denounces worldliness, though insatiable for wealth; it 
 preaches peace, while being, perhaps, the active and prin- 
 cipal cause of the most desperate wars — its inconsistencies 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 81 
 
 are innumerable. This was the curate's train of thought 
 at the time, and though he had often had his own peculiar 
 doubts, and fancied he had discovered many discrepancies 
 ill word and in doctrine, yel he would try to reconcile all ; 
 he would even plead with himself for the Church. In his 
 darkest hours he had often been solaced by the teachings 
 of immortality and future bliss. There might be errors 
 in its doctrine, discrepancies in its scriptures, and useless 
 formality in its ritual; but after all there was something 
 ennobling in its example; something sterling in its pre- 
 cepts ; something tender and beautiful in its solemn pray- 
 ers and liturgies ; and something estatic and divine in its 
 promises of reward. It had been the gate of Heaven to 
 many a poor humble soul who had found the world unkind, 
 and to a host of the simple and unlearned it had smoothed 
 the passage to the grave. 
 
 But then, again, thought he in his wavering, why have 
 so many of the educated and intelligent grown so indiffer- 
 ent to religion ? Why is skepticism on the increase, boldly 
 challenging discussion ? Alas ! the curate felt that he 
 himself had too often wavered in his faith, that his belief 
 was uncertain, that he had passed years in irresolution, 
 regretting that he had ever entered the Church as a pastor, 
 and that he had often and often wished and prayed for a 
 means of living more in accord with his own ideas of use- 
 fulness. He looked back upon those years as a bleak 
 period of doubt and perplexity, and he fancied that had he 
 been placed in a different position he might have had a 
 larger field for liberty of thought and action; but like 
 Prometheus he had been chained to a rock— he had been 
 bound to a creed, and dared not openly speculate be- 
 yond it. 
 
 As he thus sat thinking, there was an expression of sad- 
 ness upon his intellectual face, and his mild grey eye still 
 rested upon the green sward. He looked up, the sunlight 
 had departed, and the solemn gloom of night was soon to 
 rest upon the old church tower; he felt that the evening 
 of his owa life would soon draw to a close. And now came 
 
 i 
 
li 
 
 II 
 
 32 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 the great regret, that for want of determination, for the 
 want of that true courage which the genuine in nobility 
 anu heroism alone possess, his efforts in the cause of pro- 
 gress had been sadly circumscribed. Though still in 
 comparative health and vigor, the grey hairs of age had 
 come, and he soon might have its palsied hand and its 
 faltering step ; it was too late now to enter upon a differ- 
 ent mission— he must leave his task unflnished. He 
 thought of this with regret— with remorse. And brood- 
 ing alone over this in the deepening shadows, there he 
 still sat, sighing at seventy, sa.dly sighing that the sum 
 mer of his life had been wasted away. 
 
 •i 
 
 ii 
 
 Mii 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ESTHER MEADE, 
 
 QHE was looking at the ocean in its grandeur, at the 
 ^.summer sea, at another dawn upon the great wa^Ue of 
 waters. How glorious in its immensity! There it lay, the 
 mysterious deep — a picture of the illimitable— in its most 
 complacent mood, gently heaving beneath the timid light 
 of the early day, while flashes of purple and gold glanced 
 far and near over its broad azure bosom. As yet the out- 
 lines of the distant coast were barely visible ; the dim grey 
 mountain afar seemed to rise up like a lone pyramid in the 
 great desert; the island, still beyond, rested like some 
 aeriel creation upon the slumbering waves, and then, soon 
 as the sun's broad shafts, like spirits of the light, shot 
 broadly upwards, the mariner's beacon flame faded away 
 with the stars, and the huge ships away, away out ui)on 
 the quiet sea, appeared to be flecks of drifting foam u}>on 
 the blushing ocean. 
 
 She was looking with placid enjoyment at this fresh 
 display of natural beauty and sublimity; s!ieoovild witness 
 with eagerness the tumult of a tempest, but the glorious 
 scene before her was one which was sure to lead Esther 
 Meade into a state of calm religious contemplation. She 
 felt that the attractive and harmonious blending of earth, 
 ocean, and sky, as then seen, was produ<"ed for man's 
 special observation and instruction ; that the eye was made 
 to convey impressions of these superb objects to the mind, 
 and that while he must necessarily acknowledge evidence 
 
u 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE REATfl. 
 
 t':;» 
 
 ;:it' 
 
 of design in their creation, his heart mnst beat in pratiturlo 
 to the great designer— the giver of all good. 
 
 Siu'h was the bent of her thonglits as she stood leanin ; 
 against one of the great rooks that studded the pebbly 
 shore of Pondell bay. Esther Moade was a picture of 
 health, and of womanly grace and dignity, and every look 
 and gesture indicated self-reliance and resolution. She 
 was of medium height, and her ligure was almost perfect. 
 Her face, though not very handsome, was one thata painter 
 would like to study. It had a rare expression of calmness 
 and determination ; her eyes were blue and soft, but pen- 
 etrating ; they seemed to catch one's thoughts at a glance ; 
 and her dark brown hair was now almost hidden under 
 the ample straw hat which she wore in her rambles and 
 excursions. Though quite indifferent to the modes and 
 almost endless changes of modern millinery, her dress was 
 always most becoming, and without affecting contempt 
 for expensive fashion, her own neat and peculiar style had 
 imitators among many who were prone to indulge in the 
 lace and silken mysteries or the boudoir. 
 
 Esther Meade delighted to be out with the dawn. In 
 the mild Summer time she would often recline for over an 
 hour at a time upon some jutting rock that was covered 
 with sea weed, and watch the rising sun, or wait until 
 some distant sail had disappeared from view. She was 
 accustomed to the sea in all its moods. She could row a 
 boat or manage a sail ; she could fish or swim, (as every 
 wonian should be able to do) ; she knew the whole chan- 
 nel into the bay as well as a pilot ; and she knew every 
 dangerous rock, and every wave-worn cave for some miles 
 along the coast, and oftentimes, even in rather rough 
 weather, she would sail or row out alone to the distant 
 light-house, and if the day was calm, she would stay lloat- 
 ing about for hours among the dangerous rocks sur- 
 rounding that structure, peering down, as some hovering 
 sea bird would, into the blue depths, as if looking after 
 some stray anchor of the Armada, or watching some shin- 
 ing object below ; or eager to find some relic of a storm, or 
 
THE HE\THEN8 OF THE HEATH. 
 
 35 
 
 trace the scattered spoil of a wreck. It was her delight to 
 be away on these excursions ; slic knew no fear, and she 
 would venture out in the wildest storm did necessity 
 require it. Her father often told her that she was too 
 daring, but, knowing her coolness and dexterity, he seldom 
 felt uneasy at her absence. She had been trained to this 
 rough and healthy exercise by her brother, and since his 
 departure she seemed more inclincil to take such recrea- 
 tion ; it no doubt reminded her of the many happy hours 
 they had thus spent together. She felt his absence sorely ; 
 she had now no companion in her wild excursions ; most 
 of her female friends thought her too reckless, scarce- 
 ly one of them would venture to join in her hazardous 
 expeditions, and none of the farmers' sons in the parish 
 would presume to make advances to the curate's daughter, 
 and the sons of such of the gentry as chose to reside ncur 
 Pendell generally sought fashion in London, or in other 
 cities, often spending lavishly what their falhers, in their 
 latter years, had tried to save. 
 
 In the Summer months a titled family or two might 
 make a short stay at Pendell ; ordinary visitors came and 
 went, but none came who could in any measure supply the 
 place of her brother. There was one particular visiror, 
 however, who professei to greatly enjoy such recreation 
 as she was in the habit of taking, and who seemed willing 
 to spend half of his time out in the Bay; this was the 
 Rev. George Morton, the rector. He, no doubt, wished to 
 make his parochial visits to Pendell periods of spec ial 
 relaxation ; during such times, he strove to pay the most 
 distinguished attention to Miss Meade, and he often pro- 
 posed to accompany her in a ramble along the shore, or 
 on a boating excursion ; she evidently stood very high in 
 his estimation, and he was anxious to have her under- 
 stand his appreciation. She, however, seemed indifferent 
 as to whether the rector considered her clever, or amiable, 
 tv otherwise ; she, somehow, never felt inclined to take a 
 walk, or enter a boat during his stay; and as she did not 
 consider herself particularly favored either by his prefer- 
 
 
 I 
 
 r 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HKATH. 
 
 r. I 
 
 i Hi, 
 
 i! if 
 
 ence or pressinj? requests, she always had a ready excuse 
 to remain at home. Still, on her father's account, know- 
 ing his dependent position on the mere whim of his supe- 
 rior—or rather of his employer—slie endeavored to make 
 herself as agreeable as possible, and to keep Mr, Morton 
 from fancying himself at all slij^hted. Sometimes the 
 rector was accomi)anied by his wife, he appeared anxious 
 that she and Miss Meade should become very intimate, 
 but Mrs. Morton felt her position, she was too straight- 
 laced and dignified in her manner with the curate's 
 daughter, and the formal invitation which she had given 
 Esther to visit the distant, stylish rectory, had never yet 
 been formally accepted. 
 
 So Miss Meade, fair and attractive as she was in her 
 twenty-fourth year, could not boast of a lover, or of a 
 choice companion ; neither did she receive, except seldom, 
 the polite attentions which gentlemen are generally glad 
 to show to ladies of refinement and education. Had her 
 father been a bishop, or a rich rector, many gallants 
 might have fancied that her blushes had reddened their 
 wine ; but as he was only a poor curate, Llio shade of his 
 penury paled the modest bloom that would have adorned 
 a princess. Her comparatively secluded position had, 
 however, given her more self-reliance, and as she cared 
 neither for the frivolity of artificial friendship, nor for the 
 glare of fashionable life, she only sought to make her 
 father's home happy, and to do her duty within her own 
 particular sphere. As a clergyman's daughter, she took 
 great interest in the affairs of their rural church. In one 
 sense she was in principle strongly " high church," that 
 is, her father and her grandfather, and her great grand- 
 father, having been duly ordained and declared successors 
 in the apostolic order, and authorized to preach whole- 
 some doctrine, and to administer the two Protestant sac- 
 ra?nents according to the ceremonial of the Church of 
 England, she inherited, or believed that she had a right to 
 inherit, strong prejudices in favor of the Established 
 Church. Her ideas of theology wore educed more from the 
 
 * 
 
 i' i' 
 
 mil li;' 
 
THE nr\THE\S OF THE HEATH. 
 
 37 
 
 church catechism and the chiucli i)niyoi book, than fron\ 
 the Bible, and she therefore inferred that the Church of 
 which that prayer book was the expositor, was, and must 
 be, the sole pillar and ground of truth. No wonder, then, 
 that she 1 ooked upon dissenters as rank and obstinate error- 
 ists, and upon the chapels, or conventicles, as she preferred 
 to call them, of Presbyterians, or of Methodists, or of other 
 denominations, as places or dens where rank heresy was 
 inculcated contrary to the ceremonies, doctrines and arti- 
 cles plainly set forth in the aforesaid Protestant manual; 
 and, like a certain class of hijj:h church individuals, she 
 could treat Popery with respect, while dissent was but wor- 
 thy of contempt. Still the actions of Esthin* Meade were 
 not intolerant; it was only her opinions that were illiberal. 
 How fortunate it would have been for mankind, had such 
 virtuous inconsistency controlled the acts of the inhuman 
 religious dogmatists of other days ! In her frequent inter- 
 course with humble families in the parish, as well as in 
 the more distant parts, she never inquired as to tlieir 
 creed, with a view to regulate her sympathies ; she tried to 
 discover their wants, and then she made efforts to benefit 
 all without distinction. The preachers or teachers of dis- 
 sent were in reality the only ones against whom she ever 
 hurled a reproach, and although she had an instinctive 
 dread of Infidelity, yet she tried to think it more consist- 
 ent and less injurious to the uneducated and humbler 
 classes, than the crude schism proi)agated by dogmatic 
 or blatant reverends of the Knox or Wesley schools. The 
 Established Church was therefore to her the real true 
 Church for England ; it was the spiritual successor of its 
 ancient Roman mother, a church which she venerated for 
 its antiquity, but denounced because of its oppression. 
 The English Church was freed from the useless ostenta- 
 tious cer-^monies of Romanism, it was purged from the 
 pagan and superstitious rites which had adhered to the 
 ancient faith, and it shone forth in happy England as the 
 authorized exponent of Christian truth. She often won- 
 dered why these characteristics were not ajti^arent to all, 
 
 If 
 
38 
 
 THE HEATHKNS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 1 "l li' 
 
 and that all did not submit to its toachinp:s. T]w Roman 
 Church, she holioved, had been once divinely ordained, 
 but it had fallen from its Kl<^ry, it had beeome proud and 
 intolerant, and had forfeited its position of pre-eminence. 
 It had persecuted, and this, she thought, was alone suffi- 
 cient to insure its degradation. A Christian church, perse- 
 cuting for opinion's sake, seemed monstrous ; and she well 
 knew that the great ecclesiastical Roman power had cared 
 but very little for human life where its own intolerant 
 aims re<piired a human sacrifice. 
 
 Overlooking its many bitter contests for supremacy, she 
 shuddered at its wanton prosecution of the wild attempts 
 of the crusades in which whole nations had been involv- 
 ed. The Head of the Christian Church, Christian poten- 
 tates, and Christian priests, had all urged the credulous 
 and impressible multitudes to arm; and frantic hosts, 
 with sword and torch, rushed forward to slay the hated 
 possessor of the "Holy Land," in order to rescue what 
 was supposed to be the sepulchre of Christ from pagan 
 control ; and though the Saracens had generally respected 
 the religious idea of the Pilgrims who went to visit the 
 sacred tomb, and had even allowed them to build a church ; 
 and though many believe that there is no fair evidence to 
 prove that these enlightened unbelievers had ever dese- 
 crated the spot so sacred to Christians, yet, in later times, 
 after a horde of barbarous Turks had taken possession of 
 Jerusalem, whi :i it was asserted that Christian pilgrims 
 had been terribly abused. Christian nations became in- 
 censed, and believed that the Almighty required them to 
 deal out signal vengeance, and in what followed, we see 
 the "Christian at work." 
 
 Pope Urban II., greatly affected, it is said, by the reci- 
 tals of Peter the Hermit, who had visited Jerusalem, 
 addressed an immense multitude, and urged them to de- 
 part and rescue the holy sepulchre, and as soon as he had 
 raised his hand to bless the armed host, and had pro- 
 nounced the absolution of their sins, they rushed oEC in 
 their terrible course of destruction. 
 
 I 
 
THE HEATHENS oF THE HEVIH. 
 
 M 
 
 So, onwanl marched a motly assemblage of undisci- 
 plined tliousaiids, woarini^ a cross upon tiie shoulder, dis- 
 l.luying the cross ui»on flaunting banners, and shouting 
 the battle cry of " 7>(''/.s' vult,'' God wills it. The belief was 
 then general, that the whole world was about to be de- 
 stroyed, and that the great day of judgment was at hand. 
 Every eclipse was the cause of intense alarm ; business 
 was almost entirely neglected ; buildings were suffered to 
 Ijccome ruins, and true believers seemed only anxious to 
 [)ropitiate heaven by attempting to rescue the holy sep- 
 ulchre ere the final consumation of all things. Insane 
 with this idea, the fanatical Crusaders dealt no mercy to 
 those who opposed them ; men, women and children, they 
 remorselessly slaughtered; neither tender infancy nor 
 hoary age was respected, and thousands of unfortunate 
 Jews were wantonly murdered. In the first crusade, after 
 a siege of five weeks, Jerusalem was taken by assault, and 
 a distinguished writer * remarks: " Neither arms defend- 
 ed the valiant, nor submission the timorous. No age or 
 sex was spared, infants on the breast were pierced by the 
 same blow with their mothers who implored for mercy ; 
 even a multitude, to the number of 10,000 persons who 
 had surrendered themselves prisoners, and were promised 
 quarter, were butchered in cold blood by those ferocious 
 conquerors." It is admitted that, throughout the entire 
 period of those terrible struggles, the Christians were more 
 brutal, and far less merciful, than the unbelievers whose 
 country they had invaded ; and though they had violated 
 treaties with impunity, yet when the chivalrous infidel, 
 Saladin, took Jerusalem, he spared all. 
 
 However, after these vast preparations, after the prayers 
 of the Church, after seven different crusades occurring 
 from time to time during a period of over 150 years, caus- 
 ing the destruction of over two millions of human beings ; 
 after such a waste of blood and treasure, and after such 
 untold expense, a few temporary successes were the mea- 
 
 h 
 
 Hume. 
 
If 
 
 40 
 
 THE HEATHENS OE THE HEATtt. 
 
 m 
 
 
 W 
 
 gre result; and the cowed, decimated crusaders returned, 
 leaving the "Holy City" still in the possession of the 
 unbeliever ; and Palestine, even to the present day, rejects 
 the cross, and is under the dominion of the crescent. 
 
 The main benefits which the world derived from the 
 crusades, were an increase of commerce with the unbe- 
 lieving nations of the East, and the extended influence of 
 Grecian and Saracenic civilization and refinement among 
 Christians; but the Christian Church was a peculiar 
 gainer, inasmuch as it was further enriched by a fresh 
 supply of human skulls and bones, {' nd other saintly relics 
 direct from the blest or cursed city of Jerusalem.* 
 
 Restless in its mighty power, the Church still aimed at 
 universal domination ; it was powerless for the time 
 against Paganism, but there were others whom it could 
 control. There were actually Christians at that time who 
 disputed the doctrines and defied the arrogance of the 
 Roman power. The Greek Church was a rival which could 
 not safely be assailed, but there was heresy in the land, 
 even within the limits of Pontifical authority, which must 
 be crushed out to save the integrity of the so-called 
 "Mother Church;" and the sword which had been used 
 ineffectually when the Christian was at work against the 
 Infidel m Palestine, was now to be turned against a Chris- 
 tian community in the south of France. The Albigenses 
 were the unfortunate people against whom the head of 
 the Church had directed his ire. In A. D. 1209 Pope Inno- 
 cent III. proclaimed a crusade against these unoffending 
 brethren— to him they were criminals because they had 
 
 % 
 
 i!ii 
 
 ♦ Alluding to the Crusaders, Guizot says: " Thoy also fonnd them- 
 selves in juxtaposition with two civilizations not only diflforent from 
 their own, bui- more advanced, tho Greeks on the one hand, and the 
 Mohammedans on the other. It is curious to observe in the old 
 chronicles, the impression which the Crusaders made upon the 
 Mussulmans. These latter regarded them flrst as barbarians ; ns the 
 rudest, the most ferocious, and the most stupid ^n&ss of men they 
 had ever seen. The Crusaders, on their part, were s^^ruck with tho 
 riches and elegance of manners of the Mussulmans." (Hist. Civili- 
 zKtion. Vol. 1. p. 154.) 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 41 
 
 dared to regulate i heir own religious belief— imd he urged 
 Oatholic princes and people to hasten forwaid in the holy 
 war of extermination; and in his fierce exhortation to 
 the king of France, used these words: " We exhort you 
 that you would endeavor to destroy that wicked heresy of 
 the Aibigenses, and to do this with more vigor than you 
 would toward the Saracens themselves; persecute them 
 with a strong hand, deprive them of their lands and pos- 
 sessions, banish them and put lloman Catholics in their 
 room." An army of nearly half a million of fierce zealots 
 was soon assembled, each of whom was exempted from 
 the jurisdiction of secular courts and tribunals for debt or 
 for crime; the pardon of all sins, past and future, was 
 promised by the Church, and a special indulgence was 
 '^ranted to every one who should become enrolled in the 
 holy army. The crusaders against Pagans in Palestine 
 wore a cross on the shoulder, and, as a distinguishing 
 mark, the crusaders against Christians in France wore a 
 cross on the breast, and were headed and commanded by 
 Chiistian princes, legates, bishops, and noblemen. Count 
 Raymond of Toulouse, then ruler of the territory inhabited 
 by the Aibigenses, though himsflf a Catholic, was quite 
 averse to the persecution of his own people, and his inter- 
 ference in their behalf greatly offended the Pope, who was 
 determined to extirpate the heresy. So when the great 
 army moved forward the Count became greatly alarmed, 
 and tried to conciliate his Holiness by consenting to act 
 even against the Aibigenses ; and though the Pope affect- 
 ed to grant him a pardon, he merely 'vished to keep him 
 submissive for the time, intendinj^ to punish him when 
 oj^portunity offered. The Pope's duplicity is exposed in 
 the following message which he addressed to his legate : 
 " We counsel you, with the Apostle Paul, to employ guile 
 with regard to this Count, for in this case it ought to be 
 called prudence. We must attack bcpprately those who 
 are separated from unity ; leave for a time the Count of 
 Toulouse, employing towards him a wise dissimulation, 
 that the other heredos may be the more easily defeated, 
 
 '■'i 
 
 m 
 
 c 
 
 3 
 
hnl 
 
 42 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 [■illl 
 
 and that afterwards we may crush him when he shall be 
 left alone." Such was the craft used by the Vicar of 
 Christ : his fanatical army thirsted for blood., and terrible 
 was the onslaught ; even history almost hesitates to give 
 the dark and sickening details of years of rapine, blood 
 and slaughter. 
 
 Having taken the city of Beziers, which was at that 
 time crowded with refugees— Catholics as well as heretics 
 —the leaders of the impatient fanatics requested the Pope's 
 legate, then present, to inform them, before the slaughter 
 commenced, how they should distinguish Catholics from 
 heretics, to which the legate sent this dreadful reply: 
 "Tuez les Tous, Dieu connoit ceux qui sont a lui! " — Kill 
 them all, God will know His own. This infamous com- 
 mand was strictly obeyed— not one was left «'!ve — not a 
 house was left standing, and in the sad night when Beziers 
 was in blood and flames, over 60,000 human beings lay 
 slaughtered within its blackened boundaries— a fearful 
 evidence that the Christian had been at work. 
 
 ' (• 
 
 il 
 
 III 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 "the chkistian at work." 
 
 npHERE have been saints in all ages, and in all nations, 
 
 1 
 
 Pagan as well as Christian. As boors without per- 
 
 sonal worth, or the least trace of natural nobility, can, 
 even at the present day, be created temporal Lords, so 
 the vilest of sinners, without a single ray of holiness, can 
 still be baptized or elevated into saints. The Church has 
 ever been ready to canonize its favorites, no matter what 
 the world might think of them or of their absurd or almost 
 miraculous transition from fiends to spirits of light. If 
 Pope or Prince recognized their services, from either a 
 s]>iritual, political, or peculiar point, it was easy to cancel 
 sins, venial or mortal, to pronounce absolution, and, 
 tiierefore, with the sacred sponge of authority, to wii»e 
 out every stain. High Priests of all creeds have, for a 
 consideration, generally been willing to transform hid- 
 eousness into beauty, and to change the sordid, brutal 
 character of some obsequious tyrant into one of meekness 
 and purity, deserving of a prominent position even in 
 Paradise. It might not be easy to determine how mucb 
 folly, how much virtue, or how much vice, would be suffi- 
 cient to establish a claim for canonization, but it is well 
 known that characters noted for great servility, for great 
 humanity, or for great atrocities, have alike been elevated 
 to tlie peerage of the celestial realm. 
 
 Now, without much seeking for illustrations as to why 
 some have received such special spiritual distinction, we 
 
w 
 
 44 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 IIm; 
 
 ■j«ii 
 
 all know tliat in Hindoostan the fanatic Brahmin who 
 tore his flesh with iron hooks, or let his finger nails grow 
 through the back of his hand, won the veneration of true 
 believers, and was esteemed a saint: that the dervish, or 
 Mohammedan monlv, whose life was spent in prayer and 
 penury, and who was ready to destroy an unbeliever to 
 secure celestial glory, was likewise a saint ; and we also 
 know that Christian fakirs, like their originals in India, 
 were canonized by the Church ; one, because he had doled 
 out a miserable existence, squatted and squalid, on the top 
 of a high pillar, as did Symon the stylite; another, like 
 St. Francis, because he had lived in a cave in rags and filth. 
 One, because he could periodically lash and persecute 
 himself; another, because he could systematically lash 
 and persecute somebody else. 
 
 Then, besides these, there is a curious tribe known as 
 National Saints, whose annual worship is generally a grand 
 debauch, and whose reputed exploits are mostly as mythi- 
 cal as the origin of the saints themselves. St. George is 
 venerated in England, probably because he is said to have 
 killed a fiery dragon, and a multitude of ignorant Chris- 
 tians actually believe that, as a noted bare back rider, he 
 performed that distinguished feat. St. Patrick is almost 
 adored in Ireland, partly because it is believed that he 
 banished snakes from the Emerald Isle, and partly be- 
 cause, by the convincing exhibition of a simple shamrock, 
 he so impressed the- minds of the Pagan Irish as to make 
 them believe that there were three superior deities instead 
 of one. And what St. Andrew did i'or Scotland, St. David 
 for Wales, St. Dennis for France, Augustine for the Saxons, 
 or Boniface for Germany, may be arrived at as correctly 
 by a simple guess as by the perusal of any particular record 
 in their behalf. 
 
 Among some of the latest worthies which the Roman 
 Church has authoritively added to the army of saints, we 
 find the name of Peter D'Arbues, who was Inquisitor Gen- 
 eral ot Arragon in 1484, and an active persecutor of heretics. 
 Ignatius Loyola, the gloomy fanatic and founder of the 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 4Fi 
 
 rrafty, unscrupulous order of Jesuits, was canonized by 
 Pope rireffory XV, in 1662; and, centuries before that, the 
 savage St. Dominic, who advocated and secured the estab- 
 lisliment of the "Holy Inquisition," and who, as some 
 assert, was the first Inqisitor General of that infamous 
 tribunal, was officially included among the blest by Pope 
 Gregorv IX in 1223. This very St. Dominic was he who 
 instigated the Pope against the Albigenses, and who aided 
 and encouraged the brutal Montfort in a further course of 
 persecution. 
 
 After the slaughter at Beziers, Count Simon De Mont- 
 foft, the beloved avenger of the Church, was now leader of 
 the "Holy Army," and he followed up his atrocious pro- 
 ceedings in different places, some of which proceedings 
 ar6 t hus recorded by Catholic authors : " He took several 
 castles which resisted the Holy Church, and hanged of 
 good right many of their inhabitants upon gibbets, which 
 they had well merited."* Relative to another i)lace, the 
 historian says: " The besieged, wearied out with a long 
 siege, having fled during the night, were stoi)ped by our 
 guards, who cut the throats of as many as they could 
 find."t And of ani)t her place: "The Count Simon having 
 taken the castle, caused the above named Aimrri, a nota- 
 ble nobleman, to be hanged upon a gibbet, also a small 
 number of knights. The other nobles, with some who 
 had mixed among them in the hope that the knights would 
 be spared, to the number of about eighty, wore put to the 
 Bword, and lastly, some three hundred heretics burnt in 
 this world were thus given over V)y him to the eternal fire, 
 and Guirande, the lady of the chateau, cast into a well, 
 was there crushed down with stones. "| 
 
 After a series of butcheries dminj; the first year of the 
 crusade against the Albigenses, the " holy army," with its 
 numerous reinforcements, commenced its second year's 
 campaign by taking, with other places, the castle of 
 
 h 
 
 m 
 
 Vml 
 
 .1 
 
 * Peter of Vaulx CtTnay. 
 t William of Nangis, 
 tPuy Laurons. 
 

 
 Hi 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 1! '1 
 
 
 '< ; 
 
 ill 
 
 ir ii1: 
 
 i 
 
 46 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Bi'om, when about one hundred of its defenders were 
 shockiu^ly mutilated ; their noses were cut off, and their 
 eyes were torn out ; but one individual was left one eye so 
 that he might be able to conduct the Cliristian savages to 
 the town of Carabat. All through their terrible course 
 the taking of several other castles and towns was followed 
 by similar atrocities ; jorisoners were offered the choice of 
 apostasy, or fire, or mutilation. When Montfort advanced 
 to the attack of Toulouse the peasants laboring in the 
 field, were slaughtered— men, women and children were 
 butchered— villages, cottages, and farm houses were burn- 
 ed to the ground, and the Poi)e's legate also ordered Ihe 
 destruction of vines, and the whole of the standing crops. 
 Thus, when town after town had surrendered, Montfort 
 was sure to order the execution of the inhabitants, and 
 thus for over twenty years were the Albigenses persecuted 
 and slaughtered by the unmerciful hosts of the Head of 
 the Church. 
 
 Among the mountains in the north of Italy there was 
 another body of Christians known as the Waldenses ; they 
 were not identical with the Albigenses, but were different 
 doctrinal^" and otherwise. They were distinguished for 
 the most irreproachable conduct, and a more inoffensive 
 people could not bo found in all Europe. Claudius, Arch- 
 bishop of Turin, wrote: "Their heresy excepted, they 
 generally live a purer life than other Christians." The 
 charge of heresy was, however, brought against them and 
 for over the great period of live hundred 3^ears— from 1179 
 to 1689— these people were fearfully harassed by the dom- 
 inant church. The first edict against them was issued by 
 Pope Alexander III. in which he said : " We therefore 
 subject to a curse both themselves and their defenders and 
 harborers, and under a curse we i)ruhibit all persons from 
 admitting them into their houses— but if they die in their 
 sin let them not receive Christian burial. . . We likewise 
 from the mercy of God, and relying upon the authority 
 of the blessed Apostles Peter and Paul, relax two years 
 of enjoim d penance to those faithful Christians who, by 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 47 
 
 the counsel of the bishops or other prelates, shall tuke up 
 arms to subdue them by fighting against them." Soon 
 after numbers of these people were burned at Bingen and 
 at Mentz, and many others hunted from place to place, 
 and scattered from country to country by an infuriated 
 soldiery. Another edict was issued against them by Poi>o 
 Lucius III. in 1181, and subsequently by other Popes and 
 rulers. Pope Innocent VIII. in 1487 directed his nuncio 
 and the Inquisitor General, Blasius, **To take up arms 
 against the said Waldenses and other heretics, and to 
 come to an understanding to crush them like venomous 
 asps, and to contribute all their care to so holy and so 
 necessary an extermination ; " and afterwards Pope Pius 
 IV., in 1560, authorized another brutal crusade against 
 them, and the most terrible cruelties were again almost 
 unceasingly perpetrated down to the year 1655, when, by 
 the interposition of Oliver Cromwell, of England, they 
 were partially discontinued, but were soon again renewed 
 and continued until 1689. 
 
 A Catholic writer furnishes a narrative of one of tho 
 atrocities committed against the Waldensos in 1500, and 
 states: "Having written you from time to time what ha? 
 been done here in the affair of heresy, I have now to 
 infoim you of the dreadful justice which began to be exe- 
 cuted on these Lutherans this morning, being the 11th of 
 June, and to tell you tho truth, I can conipaie it to noth- 
 ing but the slaughter of so many sheep. They were shut 
 up in one house, as in a sheepfold. The executioner v;ent, 
 and bringing out one of them, covered his face with a 
 nai kin, or benda as we call it, led him out to a field near 
 the house, and causing him to kneel down, cut his throat 
 with a knife. Then taking off the bloody napkin, he went 
 and brought out another, whom he put to death after the 
 same manner. In this way the whole number of eighty- 
 eight men were butchered. I still shudder when I thinly 
 of the executioner with his bloody knife in his teeth, the 
 drii)ping napkin in his hand, and his arm besmeared with 
 gore, going to tho house and taking out one victim after 
 
 'rm 
 
 J. 
 
 m 
 
IF 
 
 48 
 
 THE HEATHENS Ok' THE HEATH. 
 
 m ' 
 
 
 I !!l!i 
 
 !i ill 
 
 another, just as a butcher does the sheep he means to 
 kill."* Tomasso Costo, a Catholic historian, also wrote 
 concerning the cruelties to the Waldenses : "Some had 
 their throats cut, others were 8av;n throu^4i the middle, 
 and others thrown from the top of a high cliff; all were 
 juniolly but deservedly put to death." The Waldenses, 
 though subjected to such woful persecution, were not after 
 all exterminated ; they contended for liberty of opinion 
 with extraordinary pertinacity ; but it was not until tlu; 
 reign of Victor Emanuel, the present king of Italy, that 
 they received the same privileges as others. 
 
 Esther Meade recalled these historical facts of religious 
 persecution with a feeling of anguish and indignation. 
 In addition to these cruelties, she had to remember the 
 terrible Inquisition with its dread * familiars," its " Holy 
 Office," its dungeons, its racks, focvews, pulleys, weights, 
 and other horrid instruments for producing the most 
 agonizing torment. In imagination she could enter the 
 gloomy " hall of torture," and in the dim light she could 
 see the malignant judges of that infernal court; she could 
 see the rack, and the waiting executioner. She looks 
 again, and oh! fearful scene! She sees one of her own 
 sex, she sees a woman, young, and once beautiful, but now 
 naked— yes, actually naked -stretched out in dire agony, 
 with dislocated limbs, bleeding and fainting before men! 
 Men? No! but before fiends in human shape, called— In- 
 quisitors. There thev sit, or recline, with their books and 
 crosses, and with the stolid indifference of the veriest sava- 
 ges. Alas ! alas ! no soothing voice can ever more be heard, 
 no word of comfort spoken in that dolorous hour, no tender 
 human heart throbs with sympathy for that poor victim, 
 no eye is dimmed with pity for so much human suffering, 
 no ear is pain<>d to hear the death groans of that delicate 
 girl, guilty most likely of no offence, save that of having 
 perhaps spoken lightly of some suspicious priest, or of 
 some absurd rite of the Church. The dew of death is upon 
 
 'lu alettei'to Asoaiiio Caraecioli-DgwUug's Hist. Ilomauiam, 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 49 
 
 hoT brow, her parted lii)S are reddened with her own life 
 blood, her clotted hair, her bruised body, and her broken 
 limbs, elicit no word of remorse for her agony Alone and 
 unresisting she is in the hands of her brutal persecutors ; 
 the muffled walls conduct no sound of her distress to the 
 outward world, it is shut out to her forever. The icy hand 
 of the last deliverer is now upon her, but the actual stare 
 of death is less terrible to her closing eyes and fading vis- 
 ion than the scowl of the accursed monsters who sit before 
 her — the clerical monsters of the holy order of St. 
 Dominic* 
 
 Fearful reminisence! Miss Meade shudders as if she 
 were an actual witness of that scene of horror ; but soon 
 another view is presented. It is a gala day in Madrid ; it 
 is the Christian Sabbath. The pious who have attended 
 church are moving towards the massive, gloomy building 
 of the Inquisition. The Spanish King and his courtiers 
 are sitting on an elevated stage which is richly carpeted, 
 and the royal person is shaded by a silken canopy. f There 
 are also to bo seen familiars and grandees from Cordova, 
 and from other cities. Bishops in rich robes a e in con- 
 spicuous positions, and g^reat numbers of priests, monks 
 and friars, attest that there is to be a ceremony of some 
 kind in which the Church is greatly interested. The sun- 
 beams flash upon the mitres and crosses of ecclesiastics, 
 and upon the swords and spears and other military 
 weapons of the armed missionaries of the "True Faith." 
 All present seem to be in a state of excited expectation. 
 But hark! a bell tolls— it has been tolling at intervals 
 since the early dawn. It cannot be the call for an impos- 
 ing or brilliant religious ceremony ; no, 'tis a death knell, 
 the knell for another dread act of religious i)ersecution. 
 See ! There is now a movement in the vast crowd in front 
 of the Inquisition ; its heavy gates— like the gates of hell 
 —yawn wide, and a procession, as if intended to represent 
 
 * Described from a similar record in the Hist, of the Inquisition.— 
 Moreri. 
 
 t Charles II. was present at the " splendid " Auto da fe of 1680 at 
 Madrid.— Chamb. Enc. 
 
 8 
 
 ii: m 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 3 
 
 •Mii 
 
50 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF TH^ HEATH. 
 
 "1; 
 I 
 
 l^ii 
 
 .1 
 
 an egress of spirits of the diimned, moves slowly out. 
 Domiiiiean friars— call (fd pious men— are in advance, bear- 
 ing the repulsive banner of the " Holy Inquisition," peni- 
 tents, or those who have been terrified into compliance, 
 follow; and then follow the bare-footed, sad, and long 
 array of those who are destined for the flames. Some 
 with pallid face are wounded and limping ; some are too 
 weak and emaciated to walk, and these, with others whose 
 bones have been broken, and whose flesh has been man- 
 gled by the torture, are rudely borne towards the guarded 
 space in front of the majesty, the episcopacy, and the 
 nobility of Spain ; and in the midst of the fanatical crowd 
 whose eyes are hungry for a fresh scene of torture. The 
 condemned are clad in the yellow Sanbenito, disfigured 
 with infernal effigies, each wears the coroza, or pointed 
 cap of infamy, and holds an extinguished torch ; and each 
 is attended by a Jesuit who hurls reproaches, instead of 
 offering a word of pity or a prayer for mercy. They hfive 
 now reached the great cross erected in the field of the 
 Cruz del Quemadaro, the place of execution ; the sentence 
 is read, a blow is given to each of the condemned by one 
 of the clerical officers of the Inquisition, and the accused 
 are delivered over to the secular power. A feeble, formal, 
 hypocritical plea in their behalf is muttered by a priest— 
 a vile deceit ; for the stakes are fixed, and the fuel is ready, 
 and the condemned are chained and weeping. There is no 
 offering of mercy in reply to that plea, for the Christian 
 king ostentatiously sends his gilded and adorned fagot to 
 be added to the pile. Oh horror! The flames ascend, a 
 hundred human beings are shrieking, and groaning, and 
 writhing in torture. The surrounding multitude are 
 delighted, and thanks to God are given by the king, by 
 the priests, and by the people, for this triumph of the 
 True Faith, for the extirpation of so much heresy ; and 
 for the terrible spectacle of another Auto dafe* 
 
 * On the 12th of May, 1689. eighty-three heretics, includinjr twenty 
 Jews, were burnt by the Inquisition, and a pile of wood eighty feet 
 long and seven feet high was consumed in the religious ceremony. 
 
 r 
 
■ 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "tue christian at wokk." 
 
 WHEN one is in a reflective mood it often happens 
 that the most melancholy ideas will present them- 
 selves to the mind ; and memory seems to be importuned 
 to add link after link to a chain of events solely relatinj,' 
 to the sorrows and sufferings of mankind. While Thought, 
 like an angel of hope, has most delight in soaring towards 
 the splendors of heaven, it1ssometimosdoonied1<^descend 
 and to flutter like a bat amid the gloom and the ruins of 
 misery. 
 
 Esther Meade, ever pleased to reflect upon circumstances 
 which related to the happiness of her kind, would fain 
 retain ideas of all that had been conducive to earthly bliss, 
 but now, unable to control her thoughts, they seemed 
 determined to rush down with impetuous haste to the 
 very confines of woe, and to bring back to her view some 
 of the darkest pictures of history. 
 
 Nowhere in the annals of cruelty and oppression, can 
 more dreadful events be discovered than those whi^h 
 relate to religious persecution ; such events were now 
 vividly before her mind, and, upon her return from her 
 early ramble to the bay, she could think of but little else. 
 She tried to make the retrospection more agreeable, but 
 the sad review of the past continued in its sullen course, 
 and the wholesale destruction of human life caused or 
 directed by Dominicans, Jesuits, or Inquisitors General ; 
 by Torquemada, by Diego Deza, by Spanish Kings, such 
 
 n * n 
 
52 
 
 TUK HI.ATHKNS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ti!! 
 
 I 
 
 I'll i<i 
 
 I'f, 
 
 as Chas. I. and Philii) II., and by tln^ monster Alva, who 
 slaughtered thousands in the Netheilands, simply on ac- 
 count of a difference of opinion in matters of faith, induced 
 the most painful reflections, and seemetl to verify a remark 
 which she was surprised to hear her father once make— 
 " That Christianity had already cost the world over fifty 
 millions of human lives." 
 
 Christianity? Impossible! Thefaithof a true Christian 
 led all to bear reproach, to forgive enemies, and to be 
 kindly aflfectionate, one to another; even that faith in its 
 most adulterated form was superior to anything that Pa- 
 ganism had produced ; and were the whole world control- 
 led by its inspired maxims, what love, joy and peace 
 might exist among men ; and then there would be no 
 more war, no more dissension, no more persecution. Alas ! 
 how stern is history in dealing with many of our fondest 
 delusions ; a id how many thousands are rud V awakened 
 to discover that religious devotion is too of he prolific 
 parent of debasing superstition and cruelty. 
 
 While thinking thus fondly of the just tendency of her 
 faith, she sat before a window, and in the full light was 
 looking intently at what appeared to be a coin or medal 
 of antiquated appearance, which she had just selected 
 from a numif^niatic collection belonging to her father. 
 Now she turns the piece in her hand ; it is a small medal, 
 an ornament which was perhaps once proudly worn or 
 displayed in the olden time by some pious young Christian 
 lady in holiday attire. It was a medal made to commem- 
 orate a distinguished triumph of the Church over its 
 enemies , and though its i)rimitive wearer had grown from 
 youth to age, and had long since passed away, yet there 
 was the identical memorial still left to tell again of its own 
 origin. Miss Meade once more holds it out from her ; now 
 draws it closer and lays it down. She takes it up again, 
 and on looking closely at the obverse side, she sees the 
 stamped effigy of a Eonian Pontiff in cap and buttoned 
 cape, and around it the words, "Gregorius XIII. Pont. 
 Max. An. I. ;" and then on turning the reverse side, she 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 53 
 
 finds the representation of a furious winged angol with a 
 cross exalted in one hand, and a sword in the other, pur- 
 suing and slaying heretics, while surrounded by the dead 
 and the dying ; and over all this she could read the signifi- 
 cant inscription : *' Hugonitonun Strages 1572."* 
 
 Being in a contemplative mood, and while her gaze is 
 fixed upon the old medal, the veil is again lifted and she 
 finds herself almost in the centre of a large city— a Chris- 
 tian capital, too; for there are many great churches and 
 tall steeples, and numerous crosses, some of whifh dre up 
 alone among the scattered night-clouds; while others 
 gleam in the clear moonlight of the open sky. It is ap- 
 proaching the hour of midnight, the air is calm and genial, 
 and there are many sleepers in the quiet houses around. 
 There are but few revelers to bo seen in the streets, yet 
 occasional sounds of distant music and festivity reach the 
 ear. The city must be u ly, for it contains thousands of 
 invited strangers who had come to witucs'=5 the royal mar- 
 riage which recently took place ; but many of the wearied 
 are now seeking repose, and the proud Parisian metropolis 
 is comparatively still. But why are those armed bands 
 moving around, and whither at this late hour moves that 
 column of soldiers, whose weapons reflect the moon- 
 beams ? It IS not a time of war, yet armed groups of citi- 
 zens are to be seen at almost every street corner ; and a 
 large number of troops are assembled near the royal pal- 
 ace. But hark ! the clock strikes twelve— it is midnight— 
 the bell in the tower of the Louvre quickly tolls aloud in 
 the clear air, and the lone boom of a heavy gun is heard in 
 the distance. There are loud shouts and confusion ; there 
 is a rush of armed fanatics into a chamber where a wound- 
 ed man is seeking repose ; he is guarded by sevetal Swiss 
 soldiers who are speedily cut down by the assassins that 
 have entered; the wounded man— the Huguenot leader, 
 Admiral Coligny— is brutally murdered, and his mutilated 
 
 1 ,♦ ' 
 
 M 
 
 m 
 
 't 
 
 • In pulling down the old mint building, Cowgate Edinburg. a 
 specimen of the medal struck by Gregory XIII. to commemorate the 
 massacre of St. Bartholomew, was discovered. 
 
54 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 im 
 
 it'i. 
 
 I'Ki! 
 
 body tumbled out of a windcv uito the street, to be drag- 
 ged .bout by an infuriated populace. Shots and heavy 
 firing, and shrieks and cries of distress are now heard 
 every moment. Huguenots, trying to escape, rush franti- 
 cally through the streets, but are pursued and slaughtered 
 by the yelling savages that follow, or are shot down from 
 the windows of the houses. Numbers of the pursued, 
 believing that the king will surely protect them, hurry 
 onwards to the Louvre, but Charles, the monarch of 
 France, is firing on them, his own people, from an upper 
 window of the palace, while several of his attendants are 
 constantly loading guns to enable him to shoot a greater 
 number of his Protestant subjects. 
 
 Ail night long the slaughter continues, and fugitives 
 are hunted from place to place in every quarter of the 
 city. By grey dawn the streets are encumbered with the 
 murdered, and the river Seine is glutted with the dead 
 bodies cast into it; and on the morning of the 25th of 
 A-ugust, 1572, the sun shone down upon bloody pavements 
 and upon heaps of intermingled dead and dying, even 
 around the very palace of the Louvre; and soon as the 
 butchery wis over, Catherine de Medici, of pious memory, 
 queen dowager of France, gazed with satisfaction upon the 
 havoc, and the King himself went out to see the hated 
 slain, and to look upon the disfigured body ot Coligny, to 
 whom he had promised friendship and protection ; and 
 whih) stooping over his slaughtered people he expressed 
 his pious felicity by saying that the *' smell of a dead 
 enemy was agreeable." Special orders were then given to 
 continue the carnage, and the "Agents of Divine Justice" 
 in their eagerness to advance the True Faith deluged 
 many of the i rench provinces with blood, until the exposed 
 corpses of over thirty thousand human beings tainted the 
 air and produced wide spread infection. The Parliament 
 of France publicly eulogized the conduct of his Christian 
 majesty, and the King and the Court returned thanks 
 to God for HiS signal aid in crushing out so much heresy. 
 
 In great haste a messenger is :lesiiatCx*ed to another 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 55 
 
 city. The news of the slaughter at Paris, and in other 
 parts of France, is the cause of much joy and congratula- 
 tion even within the sacred walls of St. Peters. The wel- 
 come words of the king's message which said that ** the 
 Seine flowed on more m.ajestically after receiving the dead 
 bodies of the heretics," is received by the Roman Pontiff 
 with expressions of high approval. The joy in Eome is 
 great ; and Pope Gregory, the " Vicar of Christ," attended 
 by his cardinals, goes in grand procession to the Church 
 of St. Louis to sing '' Te Deum laudamus," and to return 
 special thanks to God for the triumph just gained over 
 the enemies of His holy Church. The Pope's legate in 
 France is instructed to felicitate "the most Christian 
 King Charles," and to asi^ure him that his Holiness 
 "praised the exploit so long meditated and so happily 
 executed for the good of religion." So important for the 
 advancement of the Faith is the slaughter at Paris consid- 
 ered, that Pope Gregory orders medals to be struck in 
 honor of the happy event, and the medal at which Esther 
 Meade is still looking is one of those designed by the head 
 of the Christian Church to commemorate the dreadful 
 massacre of the Huguenots at Paris on St. Bartholomew's 
 day. 
 
 So far the sickening remembrances had been of perse- 
 cution by the Catholic Church, and Miss Meade would 
 have made a plea for the reformed faith by trying to im- 
 agine that it was free from the contaminations of Rome, 
 and therefore not subject to the abominable charge of 
 fanatical cruelty. She would even have charitably shield- 
 ed the Popish religion from the terrible accusations 
 brought against it, but she was reluctantly forced to admit 
 that that religion had almost desolated the earth; and 
 that the whole system of paganism had never equaled the 
 atrocities committed by the so-called "Mother Church." 
 She wished to believe that no creed whatever emanating 
 from Christianity, could ever be so debased as to punish 
 unto death for opinion's sake, but not being able to escape 
 from historical facts, she hoiiod to find competent author- 
 
 
56 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 ity to place the burden of that iniquity upon Rome. But 
 what sa d the same history as to the absurd ideas, the 
 nonflicting doctrines, the bitter dissentions, and thf* fierce 
 persecutions by the adherents of Protestantism ? Why 
 that Luther, the great reformer, was so superstitious as to 
 l)elieve that epidemic diseases, earthquakes, and other 
 evils, were produced by the direct agency of Satan. He 
 believed that the Devil had often disturbed him at night ; 
 he believed in astrology, and that the peculiar appearance 
 of the nortliern lights on a certain night, indicated the 
 speedy approach of the end of sublunary things. He was 
 an intolerant bigot, and inveterate against those who op- 
 posed him • he would have shed the blood of the Pope and 
 the bishops ; he even looked upon such reformers as Carl- 
 stadt, Erasmus, and Zwingle, as rank heretics, and, judged 
 by his own words, he would, in support of his own crude 
 faith, have taken human life. Luther exhibited great 
 inhumanity towards the Anabaptists, and his disposition 
 against them may be inferred by an extract of a letter 
 which he addressed to his friend, Myconias ; he wrote : " I 
 am pleased that you intend to publish a book against the 
 Anabaptists as soon as possible. Since they are not only 
 blasphemous, but seditious men, let the sword exercise Its 
 right over them. For this is the will of God, that He shall 
 have judgment who resisteth the power." Luther, even 
 Luther, therefore wanted only sufficient strength and 
 authority to be a t heological despot and a persecutor. 
 
 And what of Calvin, the great French reformer?* He 
 was a gloomy fanatic, who, filled with impious zeal, advo- 
 
 ♦ In a s*^rmon, preached at Dundee, Scotland, the preacher, a 
 Presbyterian minister made the following remarks on Calvin: 
 
 "He was harsh, narrow, dogmatic, cold, ctu«»l. The system of 
 polity established while he lived in Geneva, was worse than that 
 which prevailed in Naples, under Bomba. It was a system of brutal 
 cruelty. One James Gruet, for writing some loose verses was behead- 
 ed. Even little boys and girls were liable to capital punisiiment for 
 trivial offences. And need he name Servetus, a name which despite 
 the one-sided sophistry of Calvin's defenders, rested like a bloody 
 blot ju that reformer's urow," 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 t1 
 
 cated and defended the burning of the unfortunate 
 Servetua for heresy; and he gloried over the infamous 
 deed when he wrote: "Whoever shall contend that it is 
 unjust to put heretics and blasphemers to death, will will- 
 ingly and knowingly incur their very guilt. This rule is 
 not laid down by human authority, but it is God himself 
 who speaks." Another reformer, the "meek Melanc- 
 thon," approved of the vile act, and declared that the body 
 of Servetus should have been chopped to pieces, and his 
 bowels torn out. 
 
 Munzer, a disciple of Luther, a leader and a preacher 
 of the Anabaptists, was a reckless agitator. Dissatisfied 
 with the half measures of the reformers ; he pulled down 
 the images which Luther had left standing in the churches ; 
 he proclaimed a community of goods, and incited his fol- 
 lowers to plunder the houses of the wealthy ; and, finally 
 at the head of about forty thousand turbulent fanatics, he 
 ravaged the whole country, and brought destruction upon 
 himself and many of his unreasoning dupes. 
 
 Overlooking many other scenes of religious infatuation 
 and cruelty which occurred on the Continent, the spectre • 
 of memory moves on and overshadows England; and 
 there, too, the fury of religious strife is producing its 
 blighting effects. The primitive sect has been almost an- 
 nihilated; and frantic zealots are in the arena. Episco- 
 palians, Presbyterians and Independents, are pursuing one 
 another with deadly hostility. Archbishop Laud, like an 
 Inquisitor General in the Star Chamber, is furious against 
 seceders and non-conformists ; and in his holy wrath he 
 crops the ears, slits the noses, and otherwise mutilates 
 disaffected Puritans. Whatever sect is in temporary power, 
 and most patronized by rulers or by royalty, is always 
 most oppressive ; and during several reigns, according as 
 Prelacy, or Puritanism, or Presbyterianism predominates, 
 the mutual struggle for ascendency devastates the land ; 
 and their deej) hatred of one another, as well as their 
 common hatred of Popery, is productive of horrible atro- 
 cities. There is hanging, and burning, and quartering, and 
 
 Mil 
 
 i 
 
6d 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 'i r 
 
 : i. 
 
 ill J 
 
 f. 
 
 , , i. 
 
 
 III"/ 
 
 1 
 
 ii' 
 
 !i 
 
 u ' ' 
 
 i 
 
 ;ij ■ 
 
 1 
 
 .ii! : 
 
 ■H 
 
 disemboweling, in almost every part of the kingdom, in 
 behalf of what is for the time, the '* True Faith ; " and the 
 knife, the axe, the rack, and the fagot, are readily put to 
 fearful use even in Old England. 
 
 In Ireland the penal laws against Roman Catholics were 
 most shamefully applied. This terrible code consisted of 
 over one hundred acts of Parliament, solely enacted for 
 the express purpose of enforcing Protestant doctrines. A 
 Catholic schoolmaster dared not teach ; and neither Cath- 
 olic nor Protestant teachers were permitted to instruct 
 Catholic children. A Catholic priest dared not reside in 
 the country yithout special permission, and a reward was 
 offered for the discovery of any priest or bishop not reg- 
 istered as having such license. A Catholic priest con- 
 victed of having performed any religious ceremony, or of 
 having married a Catholic and a Protestant, was condemn- 
 ed to be hanged ; and all marriages between Catholics and 
 Protestants were annulled. A wife on becomii «? a Protes- 
 tant could take the entire property of her husband ; and a 
 son, by a Lke change of faith, might dispossess his father. 
 There were many other similar enactments, and Catholics 
 of every degree were sorely oppressed ; and for the least 
 opposition, or resistance to most arbitrary aws, were 
 liable to ruinous forfeitures or death ; and the most inhu- 
 man cruelty and slaughter often followed. During the 
 long period of this terrible oppression in Ireland, thous- 
 ands were sent to bloody and untimely graves, and if the 
 persecutions by Protestants have not been, perhaps, as 
 infamously extensive as those of Catholics, it was only 
 because the venomous power of Protestantism was too 
 divided, or too limited. Protestantism, as well as Catho- 
 licity, possessed the genuine spirit, the vicious animus, 
 of intolerance, and needed only the requisite strength and 
 domination, to equal, or even to surpass, in oppression 
 and savage cruelty, all that had been done by the imperi- 
 ous ecclesiastical power of Rome. 
 
 Were the angel of Destruction required to speak for the 
 many slain of every land, he might say that the moat 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 59 
 
 dreadful wars which have taken place in every part of the 
 globe, were caused by intriguing priests, or by the viru- 
 lence of religious feeling. And were it possible for an 
 angel of Peace to re-animate the myriads of slaughtered 
 men, he might plead that they should be placed in some 
 world where there was no priest, no prophet, no altar, and 
 no temple ; and where it would be considered the vilest 
 blasphemy to assert that the Supreme Being could be 
 influenced and governed by passions alike to those of man 
 —by anger, by hatred, by revenge. And the angel might 
 then, perhaps, reveal an unwelcome truth by announcing 
 to all, to the Pagan, to the Christian, and to the Moham- 
 medan, that priests, and their pretensions, and their 
 inspired books, had as yet only misled humanity. 
 
 
 
i 
 
 .'! I 
 
 iPHIH^ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "the christian at work." 
 
 
 ?l 
 
 ;l 1 
 
 TTfTEARIED by these sad reflections, Miss Meade 
 ^^ sought a little relaxation. Her father had been 
 absent all day, and now it bein-^ evening time, she set 
 out to pay a visit to old Sarah Afton, whose cottage wasi 
 but a short distance from the parsonage. She found its 
 inmate at her spinning wheel, and, as usual, in a con- 
 versable mood. Old Sarah, though very credulous and 
 superstitious, was rather intelligent. She lived almost 
 alone, her only household companion being a little orphan 
 girl. 
 
 "Eh, but I'm glad to see you, young lady; I'm glad 
 you've called again ; I've had scarcely a visitor, and I've 
 been a bit lonesome. Bless you, take a seat near me, and 
 let me see your pleasant face. I've been thinking of old 
 times— and what times those are to think of, to be sure — 
 and this very day brings something sorrowful to my mind 
 —it is an eventful day even in my own poor life." 
 
 " Oh, nothing, I trust, very serious, mother ? " said Miss 
 Meade. 
 
 "Mother! ah, you always call me mother; 'tis a pleasant 
 name. I think every woman would like to be called 
 mother, and to be a mother, though I've never been one 
 —nor even a wife. Well, deary, 'tis sometimes sad even 
 to think. Almost every memory seems mournful to the 
 aged, and, as I am now long past life's three score years 
 and ten, my thoughts are often bU^ak enough. Ah me! 
 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE BeaTH, 
 
 ei 
 
 all I used to know at your age, where are they ? Only one 
 l)oor old soul left— only one ; except my sister's grand-son, 
 and 'tis hard to tell on what part of the wide ocean he is 
 just now. But, sweet lady, I will not burden your cheer- 
 ful mind with any troubles of the past. You know your 
 good father sometimes tells us, that 'suiliciont to the day 
 is the evil thereof.' '' 
 
 " Well, but you may tell mo your troubles, mother, 
 unless you v.-ish to keep them a secret; we all have sor- 
 rowful thoughts at times ; and a grief may be blunted by 
 telling it to a friend." 
 
 "I have few secrets from you, deary— few indeed from 
 anybody. I have told you about many of the sad acts that 
 took plaice hereabouts, years ago ; I've shown you the spots 
 where poor creatures were killed, and whcm we walked 
 over there among the old graves, where many a monk lies 
 buried, I've shown you where they said that martyrs 
 were burnt; and you know the lone spot where I told you 
 that my great-grandfather lost his life, don't you ? " 
 
 Miss Meade nodded assent, and old Harah wont on. 
 
 "Well, its over a hundred years ago, this very second of 
 May, since that poor man met his ond; and, strange to 
 tell, about a hundred years before that, on the very same 
 day of the month, too, his grandfather was shot by Claver- 
 house." 
 
 " By Claverhouso ? " Miss Meade interrogated, as if she 
 had forgotten such a name. 
 
 "Yes, by the ' bluidy Claverhouse,' as the Scotch called 
 him. He overtook the poor man and two other Covenan- 
 tors out on a moor, and he ordered his troopers to shoot 
 thom ; the three graves are there to this day.'' 
 
 " Yes, I now remember," said Miss Moade. " The Cov- 
 enanters suffered terribly in the south, and in the west of 
 Scotland; the Prelatists were their bitter perM«'cutors." 
 
 " Aye, deary, there are many graves all over those wild 
 moors. The Covenanters, poor bodies, wore hunted from 
 place to place by day and by night; Claverhouso and his 
 troopers gave them little rest. You know that the Prut- 
 
 
 
 4* ; Jl 
 
 
 
62 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 : 
 
 ^: 
 
 !'8 
 
 1 , •,. 
 
 |t:T 
 
 1 
 
 I- . 
 
 
 V ' i 
 
 ll 
 
 !•-' 
 
 
 .J 
 
 
 |-;j 
 
 
 t 
 
 estant curates of those days—not like some of our good 
 curates— were a set of carousing, godless men, who wanted 
 to force all to attend the parish church ; and in order to 
 find out the ones that went to Conventicles, they gave the 
 sojers the names of almost every one in a parish; the 
 sojers stood outside the church on Sundays, and took 
 down the names of the folks that came out, and all they 
 found absent were at once marked suspected. The 
 ' bluidy council, ' as it was called, that sat in Edinboro', 
 ordered the sojers to do the bidding of the curates, and 
 then Claverhouse and his troopers did the rest. Ah me ! 
 There were curious warnings given in those times of what 
 was going to happen. Armed horseman used to be seen 
 galloping up steep hills that a goat could hardly climb, 
 men without heads used to be seen standing in lonesome 
 places ; blood sf)ots would come in bibles while some poor 
 body was reading; and crowds of sojers would be seen 
 marching through the moors, and then vanishing in a 
 moment. This is what was known in Scotland as the 
 ' killing time,' and the poor Covenanters had to flee to the 
 glens, and the moors, and to caves, and other wild places, 
 but they were watched, and hunted, and slaughtered, day 
 and night without mercy ; and often, after they had met 
 to worship in some dark glen, Claverhouse would pounce 
 upon them unexpectedly, and then there was bloody 
 work. 
 
 Thoy prayed on the hillside, and sung in the glen, 
 In wilds far remote from the scofflngs of men ; 
 Yet the friends of the Lord, oft in pitiful plight, 
 Had to flee from the foe in the dead of the night. 
 
 A sweet Sabbath came, and the saints met once more, 
 To pray in the desert like others of yore; 
 But the troopers rushed on them, by Claverhouse led, 
 Thei-e were graves to be dug for the dying and dead. 
 
 Old Sarah repeated these verses from memory. "Ah 
 me! •' she continued, "but it was dreadful to hear tell of 
 it. They tried every way to discover the hiding places of 
 the poor creatures. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 63 
 
 The dragoons once took a little boy of ten years, and 
 as he would not tell them where his father was, they tied 
 a cord round his thumbs, and suspended the terrified lad 
 before his mother, and, though he was in great agony, he 
 would tell them nothing ; they then held his face over a 
 large fire till his eyes were ready to start out, and his ten- 
 dor skin to crack, yet still he would not answer ; he was 
 then dragged outside and the soldiers told him they would 
 blow out his brains. They took another boy and tied a 
 cord round his brow, and twisted it with the butt end of a 
 pistol, till the flesh was cut through to the bone, so that 
 the poor boy died. When they didn't kill outright they 
 tortured men and women in many ways. They stifled 
 them in crowded vaults, they tied men down upon their 
 backs, and put lighted matches between the fingers of 
 both hands, until their very finger bones were sometimes 
 burnt to ashes ; and many others were starved to death in 
 prison.* 'Tis dreadful to think of, young lady; for they 
 often killed women as well as men. I've also heard tell 
 of how they shot poor Marion Cameron at Cumnock. 
 This poor thing, with a few other women, were singing 
 hymns in a green hollow place in the moss of Daljig, when 
 a lot of troopers came along, by chance, and shot them 
 all. They were buried side by side on the moor. But I 
 think that the murder of poor Priesthill, or John Brown, 
 the pious carrier, was one of the most dreadful. The poor 
 man, having risen early, went out to dig ; he was suddenly 
 seized by a company of horsemen, who drove him before 
 them. Isabel, his wife, on looking out, saw him, and, 
 snatching up her infant, exclaimed, "O! Lord, give me 
 
 * Dunnotar was a noted place for the persecution of Covenanters. 
 There is a tombstone in the church yard of that place bearing the 
 following inscription : 
 
 "Here lie John Scott, James Aitchison, James Russel. and William 
 Brown, and one whose name we have not gotten ; and two women 
 also whose names we know not. and two who perished doune the 
 rock ; and one whose name was James Watson, the other not known, 
 who all died prisoners in Dunnotar Castle, Anno 1685, for their adher- 
 ence to the Word of Qod and Scotland's Covenanted work of Reform- 
 ation." 
 
 '9^ 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 :tH 
 
64 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 '; ! 
 
 11 
 
 grace for this hour." She went out, and for the first time 
 saw the dreaded Claverhouse; and then she knew her 
 j?roat trial had come. Her husband was told to kneel on 
 the wet sod, and to prepare for death. The poor man 
 knelt down with great calmness, and prayed long for his 
 enemies before him ; he then pleaded pitifully for his wife 
 and children, and then he embraced them tenderly, and 
 left them to God. Many of the rough soldiers had tears 
 in their eyes, and would have wept outright, only they 
 were afraid. Claverhouse was impatient at so much de- 
 lay, and told his men to fire. The pieces were leveled — 
 there was a pause— poor Isabel's sobs were alone heard, 
 but not a gun went off; the poor man before them, still 
 calmly bowed and kneeling, awaiting his fate. 
 
 "God bless your tender hearts," said the weeping 
 woman. "O! spare him to us, and the Lord will have 
 mercy on you another day. Spare him, good men, for the 
 sake of his poor children ! " The savage Claverhouse then 
 grew furious; he swore fearfully against the soldiers, and 
 rudely pushed Isabel aside ; he placed his pistol close to 
 the ear of the kneeling man, and blew out his brains. 
 
 When the deed was done, Claverhouse shouted out, 
 " What thinkest thou of thy husband now, woman ?" "I 
 ever thought muckle gude of him," said she, "and now 
 mair than ever. " " It would be but justice to lay thee beside 
 him," replied Claverhouse. " I doubt not, replied she, 
 " but your cruelty would lead you to that length ; but how 
 will you answer to God for this morning's work ? " "To 
 man alone," he said, " I can be answerable ; as for God, I 
 will take him in my own hands." After the departure of 
 the troopeys, poor Isabel tied up the shattered head of 
 her husband with a napkin, and then drawing her chil- 
 dren to her, she wept with them long and loud over the 
 mangled body, and for the time would not be comforted. 
 Poor, poor woman, she needed God to comfort her then ; 
 and strange to tell, the whole thing was foretold to her 
 the day of her wedding; the minister, a Mr. Peden, said, 
 "Isabel Weir, Isabel Weir, keep a winding sheet beside 
 
 II !, 
 
t 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 C5 
 
 I 
 
 you, for it may be hastily needed some misty morning; " 
 and alas! so it was.* 
 
 Throughout tlie sad recital, Miss M .tde was much 
 affected. The simple narrative had readily touched her 
 heart ; but then she had to remember with some reluct- 
 ance, that many of the persocnited Covenanters who had 
 escaped from Scotland, and most of the oppressed Puri- 
 tans who had left England, after having landed at Ply- 
 mouth Rock in America, and in their eager desire to force 
 their faith, or their peculiar doctrines on others, had 
 united to establish an iron rule of religious (lespotism; 
 the infamous Blue Laws had been enacted by them; 
 they had burnt so-called witches ; they had despoiled, 
 mutilated, and hung unoffending Quakers, and for nuiny 
 years their course had been one of brutal fanati»;ism in 
 the land of their adoption. So atrocious were most of 
 their proceedings, that the name of Puritan is now held 
 by many as the synonym for bigotry and intolerance. 
 
 Just as old Sarah had ceased speaking, she looked at a 
 shadow which moved slowly along the little winding 
 pathway close to the cottage. In a few moments a very 
 old, grey-headed man stood bent before them in the open 
 doorway. As he leaned with both hands ui»on his staff, 
 the few thin, white hairs which hung below his broad 
 brimmed hat were scarcly stirred by the evening air ; but 
 the setting sun which fell upon his meek, sad face, had 
 burnished his scanty locks, as if to restore the golden 
 hue which they had in his boyhood. Old Sarah got 
 up immediately and went to meet him at the door; he 
 gently took her extended hand, and she led him to a seat 
 by her side. The old man's smile was radiant as he bow- 
 ed to Miss Meade ; and he muttered some words of thanks 
 to Sarah. 
 
 "Well, Stephen, I thought you had forgot me; you've 
 been away nearly two days, and you know that on this 
 day, above all others, you should have been here early. 
 
 \\\ 
 
 !< 
 
 
 See Wodrow's Hist, of Porseciition of Scottish Covenanters. 
 
II* *■ 
 
 66 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HKATH. 
 
 1 1 
 
 I! .*' 
 
 '!•>', 
 
 m 
 
 Nearly two days is a long time for me not to see you, 
 Stephen ; a long time, when time is sometimes so long to 
 me." 
 
 "I haint forgot thee, Sarah," replied the old man 
 mildly. " 'Twould be too late in life to forget thee noo, 
 thoo knows that, lass; but I've been a bit busy to-day 1' 
 the church, and" said ho lowering his voice, "I've been 
 aroond the old spot again, a looking for that— aeems they 
 won't give it up yot— best to search no more; but still 
 thoo says it maun coom sume time yet afore we dee. Well, 
 I gav it oop again to-day, and, as the e'en appeared, I felt 
 a bit lonesome, and wanted to see thee again afore the 
 night cam." 
 
 The setting sunlight was upon the old man's face as he 
 looked up at Sarah, and the expression of his countenance 
 was most placid and benevolent. Old Sarah placed her 
 hand upon his uncovered head, and looked tenderly into 
 his eyes— tenderly as a fond mother would look at her 
 child ; at that particular moment her youth seemed to re- 
 turn, and one might fancy that she was a maiden again, 
 looking almost as beautiful as of yore. 
 
 " Poor Stephen ! When will that night come that must 
 separate us V When ? It can't be far off now, Stephen ? " 
 
 Sarah's voice trenibled as she spoke, and the old man 
 seemed to look vacantly at a shadow out upon the green 
 sward before the door, as he softly said : 
 
 "It must coom, lass, it must coom; maybe soon, too; 
 but then we maun meet again. Thoo's got my promise, 
 and I've got thine, that who goes into the night first, maun 
 coom back t' totlier ; I'll keep my word lass, and I well 
 know that thou'lt keep thine. Mayhap we may both gan 
 off together, and then we shall be as one at last upon that 
 t'other shore." 
 
 Miss Meade was aware that there was some peculiar 
 bond or relation between these two old people. She had 
 more than once been present, and had heard their expres- 
 sions of mutual esteem, if not of tenderness ; and had just 
 witnessed a touching dis[>lay of affection, but the real 
 
 ■ "'I. 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 67 
 
 nature oft he tie she as yet knew not. They were undoubt- 
 edly the oldest persons in the parish ; they were not rela- 
 tives, and old and young looked upon them with the 
 kindliest feelings. 
 
 Stei)hen Gray, for that was the old man's name, though 
 better known by all as Old Stephen, had, so far, six'ut 
 nearly the whole of his life at Pondell. He was some 
 years older than Sarah Afton, and like her had never been 
 married, and had neither kith nor kin that he knew of in 
 the land of the living. Any way, he se<'med content to 
 remain near Sarah, whom he had known from youth, and 
 to finish the journey of life in the little cottage, or rather 
 hut, that he had so long occupied. This humble abode 
 was near the church, even within the enclosed graveyard, 
 and he appeared to like his home all the better because it 
 was so near that spot to which he expected to be removed 
 before many years. Stephen had been sexton at Pendell 
 even before Mr. Meade had become the curate, b'ut age 
 had incapaciated him to some extent, and for a long period 
 his principal duty was merely to keep the church, and a 
 few old family tombs in order, and to have a kind of 
 supervision over minor matters connected with the church 
 and the cemetery. At leisure hours lie seemed to take a 
 quiet pleasure in wandering amon^ the many graves, as 
 if to commune with the dead, or as if anxious to recall to 
 remembrance some of those who had long passed away ; 
 he could, however, almost readily point out the resting 
 places of nearly all, simple or gentle, who had died in the 
 parish during the last fifty years ; and wanderers who had 
 been long absent in foreign lands, upon their return had 
 only to apply to Stephen to be shown the grave of a 
 father, or a mother, which no other person could, perhaps, 
 discover. 
 
 ^tfiss Meade was very partial to old Stephen, he was as 
 gentle and submissive as a child, and was always pleased 
 when she asked him to do her a service. In one respect, 
 he was very useful to her. She was passionately fond of 
 music, and was acknowledged to be one of the finest or- 
 
 r 
 
 ■5 
 
 :, 
 
 vWl 
 
 f, i 
 
 I •• 
 
 1 
 
 ^ :ntii 
 
 f ^' 
 
 ' wf 
 
 
 m 
 
1 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 ' 
 't 
 
 1: i,L 
 
 mn ui, 
 
 m 
 
 i''*' 
 
 iif,;l-i 
 
 i 
 
 
 lli;.' 
 
 68 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ganists within the bounds of several counties. Indeed, 
 j^ood judges had often asserted that all she had to do was 
 to go to London to secure a high position as a performer 
 on that instrument; at all events, it might be truly said, 
 that, owing to her splendid execution on the organ, her 
 father's congregation had been more regular in attend- 
 ance at church than they would have beoa if left only to 
 the attraction of his best sermon, or to the more vapid or 
 grandiloquent ones of the rector or l)ishop. Her most 
 thrilling effects on that instrument were, however, made 
 when she was alone, or at least when no one was present 
 in the old church but herself and Stephen ; and whenever 
 she felt troubled or dispirited, she would wait up until 
 jilmost all in Pendoil had retired, and then call upon him. 
 Stephen would open the church, and attend her were it 
 midnight ; and when he had learned that she did not wish 
 to have it known that she practised or played thus pri- 
 vately, he kept the matter a secret — even from old Sarab- 
 and the few who chanced to hear the organ at late hours, 
 (juickly circulated the report that the exquisite midnight 
 music was i^roduced in the sanctuary by some supernat- 
 ural agency, or by the wandering ghosts of the monks of 
 other days. 
 
 A short time after sunset, Miss Meade left Sarah's cot- 
 tage, but before she went away, she beckoned to old 
 Stephen, and when he got to the open door, she whis- 
 pered a few words in his ear; he slowly bent his head, as 
 if in compliance with some request, and in a few hours 
 afterward, when the night was dark, he stood just outside 
 the porch of the old church, holding its heavy, rusted key. 
 He had not been long there before Miss Meade came glid- 
 ing along the grave-bordered pathway. Not a word was 
 si)oken ; she merely put her hand quietly upon his shoul- 
 der, the massive, worn door then swung slowly upon its 
 grating hinges; and they both went into the dimness of 
 the silent sanctuary. 
 
 Had some spirit of a sainted martyr entered the vener- 
 able building to invoke divine aid, no pleading petition 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 fiO 
 
 could be more tender or affecting than the pathetic sounds 
 which were now audible ; had some poor tortured heretic 
 been bending before a cruel inquisition, there could be 
 heard no more tremulous appeal for mercy. There came 
 with those same sad sounds, the weeping of woe, the 
 depths of despair, the sobbing of the sorrowful, the hope- 
 less beseeching of the condemned, and the very groans 
 of the dying ; and then the shout of the bigot, the fury of 
 the fanatic, and the crash of destruction, rushed wildly 
 along aisle and chancel, and thundered in every vacant 
 cell and empty vault. After a soloiiin pause, there then 
 followed the mourner's prayer, touching and exquisite, 
 closing with the soft voices of angels, which gradually 
 died away in whispers of peace and hope for the wounded 
 heart. 
 
 The church was again closed; old 8toi)lien plodded 
 slowly homeward. Of what has he been thinking? had 
 those angel voices toufhod his heart? for bofoie he en- 
 tered his humble abode, he had more tlian once to wipe 
 away the tears wiiich had suffused his eyes. 
 
 By this time the night had grown somewhat stuiii.y, 
 and Esther Meade, feeling rather discomi)(»scd, was led by 
 her adventurous i;i)irit down to her favorite station at the 
 Bay. To see the ocean in its wildest state, was to her at 
 all times a magnificent sight, and now her eyes could be 
 gratitieu to the fullest extent. The wind liud greatly in- 
 creased, and the upheaval of distant billows could be seen 
 along the troubU'd line of the horiz<m; the light-house, 
 away out, being sorn«'times scarcely visible in t!ie commo- 
 tion. Now th<' hoars^f dirge of the gale se(>nied to wail 
 out from the bursting Vx/Aom of the deoi>; now there is a 
 lull, and again the wifi'l swells upon the ear like a 
 melancholy cadence; ihe savage surf is iK^aid like the 
 clash of cymbals; and the rush of wat«M' along the shore 
 or into numerous caves, comes like distant voices, or re- 
 sounding echoes. Amid this wiki chf»rus of sounds, Miss 
 Meade almost fancied herself in attendance at a grand 
 concert of thousands; and the tall, beacon tower, with its 
 
 i it 
 
 i i 
 
 -f '-' 
 
 •1- 
 
 '■-. ,■ 
 
 !fl 
 
 !f 
 
 X 
 
 
•I. 
 
 70 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 revolving light, seen looming up at times among the 
 breakers, was then to her like the conductor of the im- 
 mense orchestra, swinging his baton of flame w.hile beat- 
 ing time for the wave&. 
 
 t 
 
 r ) 
 
 ill 
 
 il 
 It"' 
 
 ' 1 \%' 
 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A MISSIONARY WANTED. 
 
 A DEEARY plain, almost a desert plain, in Winter a 
 
 IV 
 
 wild waste, bleak and inhospitable ; in Summer time 
 
 brown, arid and dusty; a few stunted or withered looking 
 trees here and there ; scarcely a shrub, or a green herb, 
 and very little grass to be seen, scanty shade or covert for 
 man or beast ; no clear stream to invite the thirsty travel- 
 er, but stagnant pools in dc^p, muddy pits, with slushy 
 margins, disfigured the surface of heathy grouad, giving 
 the whole an unsightly appearance. A wild place where 
 one would fancy that thieves, or Thugs, might roam with 
 impunity. A place for robbery, or a place for murder ; 
 and a place where no doubt these crimes had been com- 
 mittf 1. On tbe north, in the distance, this wide plain was 
 bounded by rising gronind, near which were several 
 wretched loukin:; huts, imhabited by human beings appar- 
 ently the most -psailid and destitiitje. At tirat view one 
 would suppose the men to be the veriest savages, the 
 women the mo^t decrraded, and tlie children, ragged and 
 filthy, the mom forsaken. Poverty, ignorani^e, supersti- 
 tion, and crime, seemed to have redwrf^d them to the lowest 
 condition, and to have left tjae iarke«t impress upon the 
 people and tlieir surrruundin-ry dnid a ]>i<^us humanitarian 
 upon visiting these uicasi- ^'•lit readily imagine that 
 he was in some far »rf. b*" .lod lanvl, among a brutal 
 race, where life wa- n^t^ti; . among tli*'' lowest caste of 
 men, with whom. mtsn-Jiii*, if such wece over known, was 
 
 k 
 
liii ^ 
 
 72 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 1 
 
 ! ! i 
 
 ill' 
 
 1 ]\ 
 
 1 il, 
 
 11 
 
 11 
 '1 
 
 
 ^• 
 
 it 
 
 nil ; 
 
 but riotous bloo'lshed ; amonpr idolaters, where the deep 
 ruts of the car wheels of Juggernaut could be seen on the 
 highways, or a rude temple be discovered sheltering the 
 hideous form of some pagan god ; or where some foul den 
 might be found in which human beings were offered in 
 sacrifice. Here, he might surely say, there is not only 
 ample scope for missionary exertions, but for charitable 
 efforts in which the bodily wants alone should be consid- 
 ered as possessing a paramount claim, for the apparent 
 barbarism and destitution of the people can hardly be 
 exceeded upon any part of the habitable globe. 
 
 Yet one would think that the surprise of such philan- 
 thropist should bo great when he remembered that this 
 land was a Christian land, and that the savages before 
 him were accounted a Christian people ; that he was stand- 
 ing, not in the wilds of Africa, but upon the very soil of 
 Old Britain, where Christianity had been carefully fostered 
 by generations of kings and rulers for over a thousand 
 years ; where a priesthood— a legion— wealthy and influ- 
 ential, were still einj»loyed and lavishly paid, to propagate 
 Christian doctrines; and where Christian churches wero 
 very numorous, the greater number of which being richly 
 endowed by the State. 
 
 Partly as an evidence of this, a few miles to the south, 
 the grey tower of Pendoll church could be dimly seen ; 
 and further, in the opposite <lirection, away beyond the 
 high ground, the steeple of Betnall parish appeared, faint 
 HH a shadow, al)()ve the tall trees that bounded the view. 
 Still th*^' Heath, or "Devil's Dale," as it was commonly 
 culled, with its savage inhabitants, was not for some rea- 
 Hon, included wifliin the boundaries of either Pendell or 
 flotnall i)arish . it had once been, and in fact still was, 
 part of a large contiscated estate belonging to some lordly 
 freebooter, who, for some vile or special service, had it 
 granted lo him by some pious monarch, and this estate 
 was then as txempt from the payment of ordinary rates 
 and assessments as if it had been the property of an arch- 
 bibhop. But in the course of time, after years of extrava- 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 73 
 
 gance and dissipation, other taxes or claims had accumu- 
 lated, over which the king had no control, and a host of 
 creditors, as a last resource, had placed their claims in 
 Chancery, and, once within its gripe, Chancery had drained 
 t' ~ avenue of the estate; had let its broad acres grow 
 wild and barren, its manor house tumbled almost to ruins, 
 had harassed more than one heir expectant to the grave, 
 and had scattered the impoverished serfs and retainers to 
 their only refuge on the bleak heath, where they and their 
 descendants, despised and neglected, had long become 
 outlaws and vagabonds. 
 
 As it was, neither Betnall, nor Pendeii, was willing to 
 admit the Heath was within its parochial limits ; neither 
 did the authorities of either parish wish to be burdened 
 with additional paupers from among the irreclaimable 
 thieves and cut throats of " Devil's Dale," still, as a mat- 
 ter of self-protection, something had to be done to limit 
 and, if possible, to prevent the incursions of such vaga- 
 bonds, and by united effort, with aid from other quarters, 
 a kind of prison, or place of torture, called a workhouse 
 or poorhouse— an institution of benevolence rather com- 
 mon in England— was erected on a convenient boundary 
 not far from the limits of the Heath, and such of the wild 
 race as had the temerity to wander towards Betnall or 
 Pendell, either as aged or infirm mendicants, or as adven- 
 turers to poach or to pilfer, were too well watched to bo 
 always able to escape detection, and, once in the clutches 
 of certain officials, little pity was shown ; for if they of the 
 Heath could not be convicted as thieves, they were gener- 
 ally imprisoned as vagrants, and unmercifully dealt with 
 as a warning to others. So the pious, the orderly, and the 
 prominent inhabitants of the two parishes, generally 
 treated their rude neighbors with the greatest indifference 
 or contempt, and these neighbors, feeling in turn that 
 they were despised, and that civilization had as yet only 
 offered them the refuge of a prison and the status of crim- 
 inals, felt aggrieved and resentful, and took every opi)or- 
 tunity of returning evil for evil, and of commiting depre- 
 
 :i^^ 
 
 : i 
 
 
 Si 
 
 1'^ 
 
 I 
 
mmm 
 
 m '■ I 
 
 ,;i| 
 
 :!!| 
 
 ;i 
 
 il ^■<li 
 
 ll' 
 
 lli illi 
 
 II 
 
 
 74 
 
 THE HKATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 dations, great or trivial, as time, place, and circumstances 
 permitted. 
 
 It was evident, therefore, that a feeling of dislike or 
 hostility on one side, had engendered a similar feeling on 
 the other, and they of the Heath, for a i)articular reason, 
 in one respect, did not evince any anxiety whatever to be 
 patronized by either parish, or to press a claim for legal 
 recognition as being the parishioners of any place ; for, 
 isolated as they were, like a community of bandits or out- 
 laws, and almost totally indifferent as to any duty or 
 responsibility they might owe to king or country, they felt 
 exempt from the payment of any kind of rates or taxes, 
 and any attempt ever made to collect such from them was 
 unsuccessful; and, as any effort of the kind would be 
 quite useless, they lived, and struggled, and wrangled, 
 and starved, and died in their own peculiar way; few, 
 indeed, ever caring to know more about them than that 
 they were kept domiciled as far as possible within the 
 bounds of the dreary Heath or Devil's Dale. Besides, 
 having the native inhabitants, the Heath had others also, 
 it was the resort of refugees from justice from all quar- 
 ters ; and gypsies and other wanderers, often found their 
 way to the wild region, and must have had a rude wel- 
 come, as they frequently remained long enough to indi- 
 cate that they were not treated as intruders, or despoiled 
 of any of the scanty wares which they bartered here and 
 there for a living. Sometimes people from the adjoining 
 parishes would pay a kind of holiday visit to the Heath to 
 see the "wild folk," just with the same kind of curiosity 
 that would lead others to enter a menagerie to see wild 
 beasts ; but those who went to the Heath, went at their 
 own risk, and often had to return minus a watch, a knife, a 
 handkerchief, or other articles of greater or less value ; 
 those who were lucky enough to escape the fingers of a 
 thief, often went he ne with cut or torn or spattered 
 clothes, as an evidence of the enmity that existed against 
 the resi)ectable outer world ; and it was not only darkly 
 hinted, but once in a while spoken openly, that some had 
 
 iii '! 
 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 76 
 
 recklessly entered the Heuth >vho were never known to 
 have returned. 
 
 Notwithstandinj? this state of things, a few persons, 
 who were traders, and a few such as Mr. Meade and his 
 daughter, who really commiserated the condition of the 
 people of the Heath, and who had given evidence of a 
 friendly desire to do something for their benefit, went 
 occasionally amongst them, and though received coldly 
 or with indifference, were not molested. The great mis- 
 sionary societies of Britain had never made any serious 
 attempt to rescue these people from the barbarism into 
 which they had been plunged. Home missions may, no 
 doubt, have been considered altogether too common- 
 place. There was something piously romantic in a Rev- 
 erend hero of the Cross wandering far over sea and land, 
 to make eloquent signs to dusky, well-fed savages in Af- 
 rica, or in an endeavor to make his frail attemi)ts at 
 Sanscrit or Bengalee, understood by educated Hindoos on 
 "India's coral strand;" but for a man of ability to be 
 pent up in a wild moor, and to spend time and talents 
 simply in order to Christianize his own heathen fellow- 
 countrymen at home, was too unostentatious to be ranked 
 as " missionary," and too monotonous to invoke the true 
 missionary spirit. The heathen, thousands of miles away, 
 were suiii)Osed to be in much greater need of missionary 
 attention, and heathen lands were said to be the proper 
 missionary field ; for it had been argued that a class like 
 those of the Heath, who lived in a Christian country, and 
 who could be even indirectly benefitted or controlled by 
 the influence of a Christian community, were not at all so 
 much in need of spiritual aid as the destitute in far 
 heathen lands, who had never heard of the Bible, and 
 who had not the healthy every day example of Christian 
 l)t>lievers before them. Still something by way of relig- 
 ious instruction had been attempted on the Heath. An 
 obscure body of Methodists called Ranters, after many 
 trials and much perseverance and persuasion, had suc- 
 ceeded in impressing some of the people with the idea 
 
 mi 
 
 
 ; % 
 
 mi 
 
 :| 
 
 %< (I 
 
76 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Pi. 
 m ■ 
 
 i .s 
 
 v.'A 
 
 
 '8 i^ ':M 
 
 that they were leading wicked lives, and that if they 
 refused the Gospel, their sufferings in another state of 
 existence would be many fold greater than the toils and 
 poverty and wretchedness of this life. So, after awhile, 
 a '* society " had been formed, and a small chapel erected ; 
 and as the preachers of this sect were rather illiterate and 
 unpretending, thi^y went among the '* wild folk," no doubt 
 with the best intentions, and as if only their equals in 
 humble position ; and their jieculiar threats and appeals— 
 generally us<'(l by Methodist sects— had such an effect 
 upon the credulity and ignorance of the rude people, that 
 many became so "religious" that noisy demonstrations 
 of worship could be often heard far and near on the wide 
 plain. 
 
 The barbarians of the Heath being, however, thoroughly 
 ignorant, could not really understand, or at all appreciate 
 the so-called "simple doctrines" which were i)reMched; 
 these not only bewildered the stupid souls to whom tlicy 
 had been presented, but led to angry arguments as to 
 their meaning, and thus perplexed these boors soon grew 
 tired of the religious novelty, and their pious, but rather 
 wild excitement, gradually died away. Certain acts of the 
 ranting exhorters had somehow dissatisfied many of their 
 new converts, who had formed the opinion that these 
 exhorters were in many respects as fallible and as exacting 
 in their way as other preachers in higher social position ; 
 besides, instead of a free gospel, demands had boen made 
 very often for money for various religious purposes. The 
 preacher, too, had to get something for his support ; some- 
 thing had to be given for the circulation of the bible— 
 though few on the Heath had read, or could even read a 
 line of it— and aid was required for missionaries away in 
 foreign lands. The trifle asked or given was, however, a 
 great sum to people who seldom handled a shilling; so 
 they of the Plain feeling themselves miserably poor, and 
 having a greater share of pity, rough as it was, for their 
 own destitute children than for exhorters or foreign 
 heathens, looked with distrust or indifference upon the 
 
 ;■■* 
 
 ''/'i 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 77 
 
 preachers. Sunday was made a day of gloom, and as they 
 had been warned against indulging in the sports and rec- 
 reations to which they had been accustomed, they soon 
 fell back into their old habits, and in a short time the 
 great majority of the converted abandoned the chapel for 
 their old resort, the low tavern or drinking house that had 
 long been estpblished amongst them ; here, they thought, 
 they could feel more social than any where else, and the 
 rude joviality which occasionally took place made them 
 often forget the toil that was before them ; and if they 
 slept an hour after the effects of a pint Of drugged beer, 
 they felt more satistled than if they had to sleep an hour 
 under a drowsy sermon, very little of which they could 
 comprehend. 
 
 This low place and a smaller drinking den of the same 
 kind, were the only resorts on the Heath that supplied 
 beverages for the inhabitants, and he or she who could 
 spare a penny out of the groat that had been amassed in this 
 impoverished region, was sure to seek solace with it at the 
 tavern. These haunts were the central spots for scenes of 
 drunken sports, brawls and dissipation ; and here it was 
 where matches were made for wrestling, and for feats of 
 strength or agility, and where challenges were given for 
 brutal fights, in which kicking, biting, and foul, and often 
 deadly blows, were legitimate methods of battering, and 
 pounding, and disfiguring the human body in the most 
 terrible manner ; and then there were cock fights, and dog 
 fights, and, by way of change of sport, fathers, and even 
 mothers, backed their sons— from eight to fifteen years 
 old — in combat with children of the same age, the sons of 
 others, and the fights between cocks and dogs, and chil- 
 dren, often, indeed almost always, led to combats between 
 the respective owners ct parents, and on such occasions 
 the whole plain might well be called the " Devil's Dale," 
 and the people the veriest fiends. 
 
 The precarious livelihood of mostly aV of these people 
 was earned by almost incessant labor, and l)y employment 
 in which children of tender \ cars were forced to assist to the 
 
 
79 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 I, 
 
 iS :^ 
 
 « 
 
 1'^ 
 
 utmost of thoir strength. The women, too, had not only to 
 manage household matters, but to spend most of their 
 time among rude, indecent men at heavy work, which was 
 not only sufficient to break down the strongest constitu- 
 tion, but to dwarf and deform the children engaged 
 therein ; and the almost total disregard i)aid to difference 
 of sex, led to what would be called the greatest demoral- 
 ization. As it was, coarse, (huiiken men seemed to tyran- 
 nize over women, and men and women, as if anxious to 
 lighten their own labor, comi>ellod mere children, by rude 
 and indecent threats, and often by blows, to do the most 
 slavish work, fit only for strong and active men. 
 
 Not far from the long row of huts or dwellings on the 
 Heath, and close to a wide, deep [)it, were several low, 
 rickety sheds ; some of them weiti sparingly thatched, or 
 covered with straw, others with a kind of matting, and 
 others with rough tiles. U^nder these sheds were ]'iles of 
 clay moulded into the shape of bricks, and left to dry, 
 previous to their being placed in the kiln. A number of 
 women and children were in one of the i)its ; some of them 
 stood with bare feet in the thick, muddy water u|) to the 
 ankles. The women dug the clay and shoveled it into 
 barrows that the larger boys and girls wheeled Slowly 
 away to a place where men and women, and some children 
 were actively treading the clay into soft, sticky mud to 
 prepare it for the moulders. Such of the children as were 
 not strong enough to wheel the barrow, carried baskets 
 of clay upon their heads, and if they stopped on the way 
 to rest for a minute or two, they were shouted at and 
 sometimes struck by men and women, who seemed deter- 
 mined to force them to do all the work they could possil>ly 
 perform. The laborers were covered with dirt and mud, 
 and the children's hair was matted with clay, and theie 
 were scabbed and bleeding sores on their heads, faces and 
 feet ; and several were so much covered with the dry, 
 adhesive mud, as to have their very ft.'atures hidden. In 
 another \nivt of the plain was the entrance to a coal pit, 
 in the murky depths of which the toilers— mostly men and 
 
THE HKATH1.NS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 TO 
 
 boyg— were hidden from the outer world for dreary peri- 
 ods of from fifteen to twenty hours at a time; and here, 
 too, women and children were obliged to labor, carryinj? 
 coal in barrows and buckets until painfully wearied ; and 
 the continued toil, in all quarters, from dawn until dark, 
 and during ll kinds of weather, so fagged and wearied 
 the unfortunate people, that the strongest stimulants 
 were too often craved by men and women, more eagerly 
 than food ; and children, instead of thinking of sport or 
 l)lay, were glad, in their periods of leisure, to drop asleep 
 on the wet, muddy, black ground, and forget their prema- 
 ture sufferings* 
 
 The mud huts, or houses of the heathen population, 
 were only such as would give to a civilized person the 
 most dreary idea of domestic comfort. Each hut was but 
 X single filthy apartment. The rain often came through 
 the wretched roof, and as there were but few huts which 
 had a chimney, or even a hole left for a window, the smoke 
 had to make its exit through the cipen door, or the best 
 way it could. Thore was nothing that could be called fur- 
 niture; a rough stool or bench, and a few of the most 
 simple cooking utensils might be found in some of th« 
 dwellings, but the greater number of them had neither 
 bedstead nor table, nor even a stool ; and the wretched, 
 wearied inmates, after having partaken of the most scanty 
 and unwholesome food, were compelled at night to huddle 
 together promiscuously, in great discomfort, on the wet or 
 damp ground floor, to find such rest as nature might for- 
 tunately bestow, after their many hours of the moat severe 
 toil. 
 
 But there were others on the Heath who managed to 
 escape the misery of such slavish labor— a class who 
 could not see any virtue in industry where poverty was its 
 reward. These were the thieves, the poachers, and the 
 robbers of the plain, who regularly visited the adjoining 
 parishes, and, evading bailiffs and detectives, generally 
 
 • See Note i in the Appendix. 
 
 ■I: 
 
 ^fc> 
 
 
 
 
 I; 
 
 
 I i 
 
 ^h 
 
i is 
 
 80 
 
 THE HEATHKNS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 u> 
 
 If 
 
 T] 
 
 I i 
 
 
 ii 
 
 ii 
 
 returned with sufficient i)lunder, iu the shape of game, 
 domestic fowl, sheep or lambs, clothing, or any article 
 that they could stealthily lay hands on, and, if the plun- 
 der was abundant, it was freely shared among the more 
 destitute of the Heath ; and then there was a period of 
 feasting and revelry for many. 
 
 It would not only be a useless, but a dangerous attempt 
 for any officer of justice to follow a culprit to the Heath ; 
 a summons, warrant, proclamation, or an authoritative 
 order of any kind, would be only laughed at. Once safely 
 back among his confederates, the thief might hurl defi- 
 ance at his pursuers, for he was sure to find ready refuge 
 and protection ; and the sharpest detective could neither, 
 by threats nor prayers, obtain the least information, either 
 to identify the fugitive or lead to an arrest; and if even 
 an arrest were made, should the officer of the law, with a 
 dozen aids, if he had them, persist in trying to take away 
 his prisoner, he and his assistant were sure to be mal- 
 treated most brutally— in any case they would be severely 
 abused— and the mob of lawless villians, by whom they 
 were surrounded, would not hesitate a moment to take 
 life— even the lives of all if necessary — rather than yield 
 one victim up to unmerciful magistrates; for the "poor 
 wretches of the plain entertained the opinion that they 
 were somehow injured and oppressed, and kept in a state 
 of want, and almost in a state of slavery, by pious and 
 respectable society generally ; and the minions of the law 
 were not only looked upon as agents of gross oppression, 
 but were accounted no higher in the estimation of most 
 of those half-wild barbarians, than a highwayman or 
 murderer would be held among civilized people. Believ- 
 ing, therefore, that they had been wronged and robbed by 
 the wealthy and powerful around them, they felt it a duty 
 to despoil in return— in fact, to be revenged ; and often, 
 indeed, when they went out for plunder, if nothing could 
 be more readily found, they would strip the clothes from 
 children ; and, if a chance offered, even kidnap the chil- 
 dren themselves. And for years there had been perishing 
 
TUE Hl'.ATHKNg OF THK HEATH. 
 
 81 
 
 little slaves on the plain, who had forgotten their parents ; 
 and there were parents, far and near, who bewailed their 
 children. There was oppression and distress in the land, 
 which the law had not remedied ; there was revenge and 
 blood which the law could not well reach. There were 
 tears and suffering which well to do society had overlook- 
 ed ; and there was a plague spot of poverty, superstition, 
 and crime, in the very heart of old England, which rich 
 missionary societies had neglected, in their hot zeal to 
 lavish pious funds among well-fed Pagans, or to mitigate 
 imaginary evils in the nuilarious climates of distant lands.* 
 
 * Seo Note 2. 
 
 
 »«^. 
 
 m 
 
 i« m ii< i iii i '- 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE BRITISH HEATHEN. 
 
 li '< 't 
 
 i« 
 
 TF a tired traveler on some dreary desert were anxiously 
 -*- seeking rest from long fatigue, or shelter from a sud- 
 den storm, he might hesitate to enter the onlyi>lace of 
 refuge that offered if it were as dingy, unclean, and suspio- 
 ious in appearance as the "Rook's Nest," which was the 
 name of one of the drinking houses on the Heath; and if 
 he were possessed of a watch or a sum of money which he 
 wished to keep in his possession, he might further hesitate, 
 and would most likely prefer to take his chance beneath a 
 gloomy sky or under a threatening cloud, than enter such 
 a nest at a late hour, or trust the black brow and scowling 
 aspect of the thick-set, wolfish looking fellow who was the 
 landlord and occupant of the dilapidated two-storied brick 
 fabric, over whose battered front door was nailed a piec(^ 
 of board, upon which some rare and learned genius of the 
 plain had succeeded in carving out two significant words 
 thus— "Rook's K^st." Then, if the same traveler in his 
 wistful search should move towards the other old building 
 across the way, and see its dirty entrance, its broken win- 
 dows, and see its rough, projc. ,iiig sign, that probably 
 the same artist had lettered, " The Bull Dog," he might 
 fjuicklyturn away in despair from a place of promise so 
 doubtful, when he ylso saw the stupid look and heavy 
 feature!"i of the half drunken, oi e-eyed host who sat like 
 some unci fan beast in a foul den waiting for his prey. 
 These were the two inn©, or ratlier drinking houses, oJ 
 
m\ 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEA.TH. 
 
 m 
 
 the Heath, and the great place.s of resort for nearly its 
 entire population. The Roolc's N jst, being the larger of 
 the two, was the haunt of those principally engaged at 
 work in the mines, and its name was somewhat appropri- 
 ate, every one of its customers being almost as black in 
 appearance '^'.s the veritable rooks themselves. The '* Bull 
 Dog," on the other hand, was chiefly patronized by the 
 laborers of the brick yards, who wore more rough in man-" 
 ner, and more willing to get drunk and quarrel, than, 
 perhaps, those who favored the other house; and though 
 each of these resorts had its own particular class of custo- 
 mers, it was common for them to mingle at either place 
 to drink, to wrangle, or to light, as the mood of the hour 
 chanced to direct. 
 
 It was Sunday morning— not a day of rest or recreation 
 for all on the Plain— and nearly church time ; for the 
 faint sound of the bells of Betnall parish could be heard 
 now and then in the clear, calm air. A number of labor- 
 ers who had been at work from an early hour in the clay 
 pits, had just strolled one after another towards their 
 respective huts, "just to clean oop a bit," that is to rinse 
 a portion of the mud from their faces and hands in dirty 
 water. Several of the children were still kept busy piling 
 unburnt bricks under the sheds, while a few other cliil- 
 dren— the sickly and worn out—were stretched listlessly 
 here and there on the bare ground, as if anxious for rest 
 that should be unbroken forever. By degrees a num 
 ber of squalid looking laborers, men and women— squalid 
 and ragged even in their Sunday attire--had assembled in 
 the small, filthy tap room of the Bull Dog. In a short 
 time the place became crowded; the day was warm, and 
 the cloud of tobacco smoke that filled the place seenu'd 
 to discompose none but the myriads of flies that were buz- 
 zing around, or diving into the clammy pewter mugn 
 which were very seldom polished. The rough people who 
 had entered appeared in a hurry to commence the day's 
 carousal by first swallovring the strongest stuff that Ne<l 
 Hogg jould liana over his counter ; and Ned, with his one 
 
 ft**- 
 
 ■^m 
 
 m 
 
 
flfTjr 
 
 m 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 m 
 
 blinking eye seemed to watch every drop as if willincr to 
 «ive only scrupulous measure to his craving customers. 
 One mi^ht think he was dispensing to a diseased set so .n«5 
 precious elixir of life, instead of the very essence of death. 
 
 ** Oy," said one fellow after wiping his mouth with the 
 back of his hand, "that's a rare un yer got Ned, whoy 
 thur will choake the bitch at th' Rook's in less than a 
 minnit." 
 
 "Thuishe wuU lud," replied the landlord, "she's a rare 
 un, suro enough ; an I'll lay an extra croon that she'll lay 
 oop the Rook's' beauty within 'alf an oor, and Tom 
 Slaughter will lose another wager. Well, damn un, I'd 
 loike t'let un lose a poond or more • and thoo'll do it, my 
 lady." Here Ned Hogg, the aforesaid landlord, lifted on 
 his counter a great, ugly bull slut, and patted her as affec- 
 tionately as his course nature would permit, while his 
 gazing customers were delighed. He had got this brute 
 as a Ti'VG present; she had been stolen a short time pre- 
 viously from a farmer a few miles distant, and Ned had 
 sent a challenge to his rival, Tom Slaughter, the landlord 
 of the Rook's Nest, who had another dog of the same kind. 
 Heavy bets had been made on the dogs, and great sport 
 was expected. A . 
 
 " Whoy B<.b, thees back brave un ! What's the look ? " 
 All eyes were now turned upon the man who had just 
 entere i. Bob Cuffer, who had been so addressed by the 
 landlord, was a noted poacher, or rather thief; he had 
 been "out" with felonious intent as usual, and had only 
 returned a few hours previously, with some plunder and 
 some news, of which all present seemed eager to have a 
 share . Bob's news was almost a? welcome as the spoil 
 which he was willing to divide among those who had 
 greatest need. He was a daring, able bodied chap, ready 
 for a bout with a bailiff or a detective, and as he had never 
 been " trapped " by either one or the other, or known to 
 come off second best in an encounter with any who had 
 been on the look out for him, he was a favorite ; and the 
 relation of his adventures whenever he returned had all 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 :.'-Hi|i» 
 
 the attractions of a romance for his lawless associates on 
 the Heath. 
 
 " What's th' look ? " continued the landlord, who hand- 
 ed Bob a glass of the strongest liqu,- w^^ich was drunk 
 off in a moment. " Ise glad thee's coom to meet Jack 
 Clench, I wood'na vur a poond hav un say that you went 
 off an wur afeard to coom to time." 
 
 " Oi beant afeard uv Jack Clench, nor noother mun, an 
 he knows it." Bob Cuffer, when he said this, swaggered 
 like a bully from side to side, and held out one of his big 
 arms in defiance. 
 
 "Hoy, Bob! but thee's got v« coot on th' yarm. Hast 
 liad a scuffle with any t' oodside ? " said the landlord. 
 
 There was a wound on the man's arm, but Bob, looking 
 at it with indifference, replied . 
 
 " Yes mun, I got into clootches wi'big Jones, the bailiff, 
 an iv he gav me that scratch wi' a pistol ball, I gav him a 
 broke skull wi' a big stim as big as his yed. I laid un low, 
 that I did, an he'll maybe get boxed oop an in aud 
 Steeve's care i' th' Pendell choorch yard afore anoother 
 week. He won't trooble me again, he won't. 
 
 The fellow chuckled at his vile exploit, and his savage 
 hearers uttered a chorus of approval in anticipation ol the 
 death of the unfortunate bailiff. Treating the evant as a 
 matter of no importance, the landlord filled out another 
 glass for Bob and inquired the news. 
 
 '* Oy," said Bob, " but I maun show you the swag first. 
 I got this watch, and there's his pistol, too, dam un ; I 
 gav uncle Jo his coat an boots." These were things which 
 he ha/ 1 taken from the bailiff; and the pistol and watch 
 were handed around to satisfy the curiosity of those 
 luesent. He then told them that he had been all through 
 Pendell and Betnall, that he had been at the rector's 
 place, and had picked up some clothes an^ other things 
 in an outhouse; "an see here," said he uncovering a 
 small basket which hung on his arm, "here's one o' the 
 rector's, teiinauts that never paid un ony toythes," and 
 Bob laughed heartily. 
 
 t-J 
 
 'SJ! 
 
 ;t 
 
 •"s^'l 
 
 -! 
 
 i- 
 
im 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 ■ i 
 
 8f5 
 
 THV, HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 i I' 
 
 i'ii 
 
 Crouched in the basket was a valuable game cock, on© 
 of a rare breed, great to tight, for which pareon Rockett, 
 rector of Betnall, and magistrate for the county, had paid 
 a high price, in order to afford amusement, and sometimes 
 profit, to himself and a few chosen friends who delightfvi 
 in testing to the utmost the fighting qualities of such 
 birds when a chance offered ; in fact the rector and his 
 select friends — being all wealthy and of course respectably 
 pious— were as fond of this kind of sport as they were of 
 horse racing, or of following the hounds. Bob Cuffer who 
 was also partial to feathers, and who prided himself in 
 being as good a judge of game cocks as any rector in the 
 kingdom, saw the i)arson'3 prize, and determined that it 
 should be his own ; so here was the bird to produce 
 unbounded admiration ; and Bob, who felt that this act 
 of relieving the parson was one of the most meritorious 
 kind, was the hero of the hour. Some laughed to think 
 how the rector would deplore his loss, and demand the 
 arres<^ of the unknown '' beak hunter," while others were 
 perhaps speculating in their own stupid way whether the 
 sermon which the rector might preach that day in Betnall 
 church would be one on charity and forgiveness, or 
 whether its text and burden w- M be, in conformity with 
 his every day practice towards ae sinners of the Heath, 
 "an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth." 
 
 After having related some of his minor adventures dur- 
 ing his raid into the parishes. Bob Cuffer gave his eager 
 hearers some of the Jiews. " Nance Carey, hur that was in 
 for a vamp' i' th' woorkhoose, smoothered her young un, 
 an then tried to set fire t' th' place; tliery was th' deevil to 
 pay amoong them, an all were cursing Nance; an noo 
 she'll be lagged surely, oonless we get hur oot sum way. 
 An' Dick Vance, him tiiat got hur th' kid, has coot and 
 run off, cause Rockett gav a warrant ver un. Little mercy 
 vur Nance i' th' parson s prison ; Rockett aint purtickler 
 hoo he deals wi' oor kind i' th' woorkhoo. >•;. 
 
 " Rocket! " exclaimcil one of the w</JU(;q, -v/Ii'~»y wen 
 his maid throost hur twins 1' tli' doon.^ pit, ihe i>arson 
 
THE HEATHENS 01 THE HEATH. 
 
 87 
 
 hooshed it oop, an helped hur wi' cash to gan off; but 
 Heeins th' rector knew more'n he ought to as who th' 
 father uv th' ba^jlufes was ; s«Mni)s his wife liuew more'n 
 siie cared vur too, tin slie hooried tli' wench away." • 
 
 "Oy,"said anotlier woman, "'twere caus th' babbies 
 wur his'n ; an 'twant the foorst lass that he sarved th' 
 loike, and mayhap woont be tlie last oonhjss his wife can 
 keep a watch on un better ; but he don't care vur she, he'd 
 bung hur eyes iv she said a woord." 
 
 "Wull let th' parson go vur a bit," resumed Bob 
 CulTer, " he's noot else to do arter he prays an feeds o' 
 Sunday, an more'n I knows vur what he sent his maid off, 
 but av he hurts Nance vur dooin once, what he knows 
 lots o' th' great uns oop in Loonun doos a' th' time, we 
 maun call an see im sum night when th' moon's abed." 
 This threat against the rector was well received, and Bob 
 then spoke on in the matter of news. " The chap they 
 calls th' bishoop oot o' Loonun, or sum oother great i)iace, 
 is a coomin doon t' th' parishes, an Roukett an a whole 
 lot o' parson chaps will be along t' oonvarm— yes, t' con- 
 varm ; that maun be it." 
 
 "Oonvarm? what's that," exclaimed one. 
 
 "Whoy, I dunno," said Bob, scratching his head rattier 
 roflBvitively, "it's t' convarm 1' th' ciioorch, they sez. 
 Thoy gets, I b'lieve, a lot o' maids an chaps drest oop 
 loiko t' gan t' th' choorch, and then they gavs em summaL 
 vur a dance at th' gloamin ; and then this ere bishoop an 
 th' parson chaps puts off vur th' rector's an has a goort 
 veed o' wittles, an artcr that they talfes summat to drink ; 
 and they .'til gans t' anoothor choorch' and begins again 
 loike." 
 
 " Convarm, oy T know it now," said the landlord, fan- 
 cying that he had made a discovery. " I'll joost convarm 
 my bitch here again ony that th' bi.«hoop brings vrom 
 Loonun or oot else. I'll wage on thee, lass ; that I will," 
 and I'e again i)atted tlie bull slut, on the counter. 
 
 "laintsuro that's it," said Bob Cuffer—" it may be- 
 but he wont coom here to convarm or tight wi th' deevil 
 
 
 C 
 
 If 
 
 ■I 
 
 li 
 
 'J 
 
 i. > 
 
 '■'-', *Wh.>., ,. 
 
88 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 hissel, or th' bitch either; or any otL r on th' plain. 
 But, hark, I've got oother news vur all," and then lower- 
 ing his voice a little, he said, " ther's one will coom doon 
 here soon, one's that's not a parson, nor a rect'r, nor noot 
 oot kind, but i' furriner, a cove vroin far abrood, that's 
 coom herr t' buy oop all this land ; and he's bought it vur 
 sartin ; the aud manor hoose, an all the aud estate o' 
 Mayston, an he'll coom here sure, an mayhap pull doon 
 th' Rook's Nest, an turn oot th' rooks, and level this aud 
 Bull Dog house t' th' groond, an pull doon everything, an 
 hoont us all off vur vurmin— that's what th' rect'r, you 
 know, calls we, rdniiin-an we'll all ha vt' gan off t' th' 
 woorkhouse, or off wi th' gypsies." 
 
 This part of the news caused no little excitement. 
 There was a storm of oaths, and there were threats of 
 lierce delianco, which were not mere idle threats ; but 
 which, to carry out, every man, and many of the women 
 |)resent, would have risked life or limb ; and were it neces- 
 sary, many of them would be then and there ready to 
 iil)i)ly tlie torch, or to use the knife or the bullet in defence 
 of the title which they considered they had to the Heath 
 by virtue of long i)oss<>ssion. 
 
 In a few minutes, when the explosion of anger had 
 nearly [)as3ed. Bob Cuflor went on to relate how he got 
 his informatiua. He said that, when passing through 
 Pendell, he had met old Stephen— who was regarded even 
 as a friend by all on the Heath— and that Stephen had 
 told him that a stranger had called at old Sarah Afton's 
 cottage, to make some in(iulries about Pendell and its 
 neighborhood, and about some of its old inhabitants, and 
 about some also who had been long dead ; that Sarah had 
 sent the stranger to Stephen, and that they both went 
 together to the Pendell grave yard to try and iind an old 
 family tombstone, so old that even Stephen himself was 
 unable to make the discovery. The stranger had a book — 
 a fhronicle of Pendell— which he cousulted from time to 
 time. He then told Stephen to get him a spade, and, after 
 a little time, he commenced to dig in a distant and over- 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 8'.t 
 
 grown oorner of the grave yard close to the angle of tlic 
 wall, and that when he had cleared away nearly a foot in 
 depth from the surface, he uncovered a marble slab. TIkj 
 (late and most of the letters on it being nearly worn away, 
 could not be made out, but the name, "Jean Vailliant," 
 and a cross with the usual monogram, thus — I. H. S.— 
 iuiving been cut deeper than the other words or letters, 
 could be plainly ^een. This was the name of an ancestor 
 of the stranger's, and he copied it into his book. He then 
 told Stephen that he had come from India to purchase 
 the old Maystou estate, which he said had belonged to 
 their ancestor, and that he would soon take possession 
 and make some improvements. Before he left he reward- 
 ed Stephen handsomely, and though the old sexton did 
 not yet know 1 he name of his benefactor, he seemed to 
 think that there was something sui)erior about him, and 
 that his residence at Pendell would make things vastly 
 better. 
 
 While Bob Cuffer was giving this relation, a gypsy 
 woman, who chanced to pass outside near the door, was 
 seen to become agitated when she heard mention of the 
 name that was found on the slab in the grave yard ; she 
 tlien stood and appeared to listen attentively to what Bob 
 was saying, and when h« had ended, she asked him to 
 repeat the name which the stranger liad discovered. 
 After this, she was seen to hurry off, as with the news, 
 toward a gypsy camp, which was at some distance on the 
 plain. 
 
 " Better or no better," said the landlord, " iv he cooms 
 here t' distoorb us, it maun be at liis own risk— we'll soon 
 do vur un — an he main be glad to get off afore we lave un 
 vvoorse than Bob left the bailee." 
 
 "Oy let un coom iv he dares," said three or four to- 
 gether, "we'll kick the goots oot un." Haifa duzen 
 others made similar expressions. 
 
 " Keep o shut mooth, luds, oontil he cooms," said Bob 
 (Uiffer, standing out before them all, " I'll ktiei) an eye on 
 un I don't troost un a bit ; an' iv he's ouy uv rh' damned 
 
 ;,} 
 
 II 
 
 ••**l|j^ 
 
90 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 pars'n tribe, or a friend o' Rockett's, I'll lay he woon't 
 trooble us long." 
 
 A number of men from the Rook's inn then entered ; 
 more liquor was demanded, and Ned Hogg's eye glistened 
 again while he was measuring out the fiery fluid. Among 
 others that then came was Jack Clench, Bob's antagonist, 
 a stout fellow like Bob himself. Both looked smiling and 
 defiant, and they had a glass together, as if to certify 
 before all that they were prepared to meet that day in 
 fair fight. Several persons could now be seen around here 
 and there with coeks and dogs ; there was quite a collec- 
 tion of these animals. The day's sport was about to begin 
 and all seemed eager to witness the usual scenes of cruelty 
 and blood, quite indifferent as to whether those scenes of 
 recreation should close with the death of a dog, or the 
 death of a human being. 
 
 I'' ^' <'MS 
 li' ■ i ill? 
 
 It: 
 
 ?ti 
 
CHAPTEE X. 
 
 BRITISH AND FOREIGN HEATHEN. 
 
 rpHE gypsy woman who hurried away from the inn 
 -*- after she had heard Bol) Cuffer give an account of 
 his interview with old Stephen at Pendeil, went on mood- 
 ily towards the gypsy canip. This was situated on a 
 distant part of the Heath wliere the scattered trees afford- 
 ed some little shade. The camp wad composed of a num- 
 ber of huts and a few tents. These huts wore much better 
 than those occupied by the plodding laborers at the bric^k 
 yards; there was some show of neatness around the 
 dwellings, even a few flowers could be seen. Among the 
 tents was one a little removed from the rest, into which 
 the gypsy woman entered. This person was called Ma- 
 lieel, and was known on the plain as the gypsy lady. She 
 was in the prime of life, reputed to be of superior caste, 
 anil might have been called han<Jsome were it not for her 
 very dark skin, her restless eye, and the sinister expres- 
 sion which seemed at times to disligure her features, that 
 were otherwise almost i)erfect. Though the period of 
 her residence on the Heath bad been but a few weeks, yet 
 she already possessed some influence with the wandering 
 peoi)le, and was deferred to by many. She must have had 
 some means of support, for she engaged in no kind of 
 employment, but why she came, or why she remaine^l, 
 perplexed even the gyi)sies themselves. 
 
 Squatted in a corner of the tent, was Zingari, a venera- 
 ble gyi>sy woman, whose age was said to be over a hund- 
 
 i| '» 
 
 A- 
 i'h 
 
 it 
 
 ii 
 
 4 
 
 
 t N 
 
 % 
 
 'ft 
 
 1" 
 
 '9' 
 
 
 I 
 
 X 
 
 'p-ii 
 
 
 hn,^^ 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 ( t 
 
 > i 
 
ii 
 
 1 
 
 ,^;! 
 
 %< 
 
 ,5!! 
 
 92 
 
 THE HKATHI.NS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 red years. Her hair was perfectly white, her face— once 
 perhaps beautiful — was wrinkleilaiid sallow, but lior black 
 eyes were intelligent, and though now sunken, had even 
 still much of the lingering fire of youth. The whole tribe 
 regarded her with reverence, for they bellowed that none 
 could equal her in dealing in mysteries and foretelling 
 events; and certain strangers from the parishes would 
 sometimes venture to call for such information as they 
 believed she alone could give. It was with this old woman 
 that Maheel for some reason preferred to reside. She was 
 attentive to the aged occupant, who was however strange- 
 ly reserved even towards her ; and they had little commu- 
 nication with others. 
 
 Old Zingari sat knitting a kind of woolen garment, and 
 while thus engaged she was humming a wild but melan- 
 choly air, to which the younger woman, while looking 
 vacantly at the busy fingers of the other, was apparently 
 listening ; and though no words were heard, the air itself 
 seemed to have a depressing effect upon the listener. 
 
 After some hesitation Maheel stooi)ed and whispered a 
 few words in a strange tongue. The old woman did not 
 even look up, she became silent, as if she had forgotten 
 her sad strain. In a few moments she slowly replied — 
 " Better for thee not to hear my words." 
 
 "Thy speech, Zinguri, will be now most welcome— 
 thou can'st explain ; besides I long to know what of my 
 past or future thou |)ercliance * an'st read. What of that 
 ancient name ; to whom did it belong ? " 
 
 " I know the name, Maheel, it is of one long dead ; but 
 there's a living man to claim it still— and him thou 
 knowst." 
 
 Maheel seemed disconcerted and whispered to her 
 again, and again Zingari replied: "Guilt breeds more 
 terror than the whirlwind. Why dreads the worshiper of 
 Kali?"* 
 
 "Nay, Zingari, Maheel will worship only Christna, the 
 beautiful Christna, the son of the virgin Devanaguy." 
 
 • The wife of Siva. 
 
THE nFATHENS OF THE HKATET. 
 
 03 
 
 "But rinistna, the bonovolont, is ploa-^oil with no sac- 
 rifice of blood, that cruel rite is for Siva, and for Moses; 
 and it is the hope of 'h*- boni^htod Chri^tinti." 
 
 "I have no hoi»«> in such a rite, Zin^jari, my hope and 
 trui?t are, like tliine own. in Cliristna." 
 
 " 8ayst thou in blessed Christ na ! Hath not the daupli- 
 ter of a Brahmin becom*^ a Chri-^ilan and a Pariah? Bet- 
 ter for her to be even of the D' adaams t in t)io temi)le 
 uf Sivn." 
 
 " "Why thus thy spoe<h, Zingan Jilood of sacred boast 
 or of human beinj^' I've never shod. My richest offerings 
 are for Cliristna, who will <'orne again."! 
 
 "Bolievest thou this? And hast thou still thy caste? 
 Stay! Let mo see thy hand." Here the old gypsy took 
 ^laheel's hand, and after having looked closely at the 
 palm, said: "The cross hath touched thine hand, not as 
 an ancient symbol of our race, but as the token of thine 
 apostacy. There is no Idood mark here as yet, but there's 
 a stain I sot- almost as vile. Maheel! Thou hast stolen 
 the blot-d of the living! " 
 
 The young gypsy woman started lu her feet; she look- 
 ed flercely at old Zingari, who so^Muod to heed her not 
 but re-commenced her knitting; and soon again her hum- 
 ming voice was heani, and words wt'i'(> now muttered with 
 the wild strain, as if of pro])hetic nn^aning. 
 
 Maheel, apparently stupitied, stood listening at the 
 entrance of the tent; and now, like one affrighted, she 
 watched the shadow of a great cloud sweep across the 
 l»la.in, and onward towar'd one of the long sheds, in whic<i 
 several wearied chiMren were seeking rest from the effects 
 of the most inhuman toil. Under a sudden imt)ulse, sbo 
 rushed after the shadow until she reached the shed. 
 Though stern and indifferent as she could l)o, her heart 
 Celt a touch of pity when she witnessed the sad condition 
 
 t Virgins attai^lied to the service of tlie Braliminical Trinity in 
 Pagodns ami in Temples. 
 
 + The Hindoo r(*li«inn teafiies that Christna will apT»ear again on 
 earth, as the tenth Avatar of Vishnu, to coiKjuer the prim^eof Demons, 
 or Bacivchasas, before tlie Una! destructiuu of all things. 
 
 f?'^ 
 
 I i I 
 
 1P:| 
 
 
 i:- 
 
 
 fili 
 
 v*-*i r 
 
 
 ,M: 
 
^. 
 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-S) 
 
 .^. 
 
 
 <r 
 
 !!.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 Ui Uii |22 
 
 H^ 1^ 110 
 
 1^ iiy4 li^ 
 
 j^ 
 
 ^. 
 
 0% 
 
 /> 
 
 ^ 
 
 <^^ 
 
 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Coiporation 
 
 m^ 
 
 <i 
 
 ;\ 
 
 ,v 
 
 \ 
 
 ^. 
 
 
 
 ;\ 
 
 33 WIST MAIN STRUT 
 
 WIMTH.N.Y. M5M 
 
 (716)t73-4S09 
 
 '4^ 
 

 1 
 
 6^ 
 
94 
 
 THE HEATMF-NS OF TIIH HKATH. 
 
 ■ •■ 
 
 
 w 
 
 ii; 
 
 
 of the ovorworkcd children. They lay around in rags- 
 some almost in a state of nudity— and with scratched and 
 bleeding limbs, upon whidi the dried mud was thick 
 enough to crack in flakes. They all appeared to be in an 
 utter state of prostration. A few of the more rugged 
 slept; a few others were feverish and raving, while two or 
 three were panting as if the last gusj) was soon to close 
 their sufferings. One boy, of alwut ten years, lay upon 
 his back, his eyes were bloodshot, and now and then ho 
 would throw out his arms and cry jntifully for water. 
 Near to him, a girl, scarct^ly his age, was huddled under a 
 few rags, and lay quite still. Maheel looked at several of 
 the little faces, as if anxious to recogni/e some one she 
 knew; but the withered expression upon all had mad<' 
 every face strange. Once or twice she made bare an arnu 
 as if to discover some mark, but each arm was too unclean 
 or too much scratched or bruised to leave any ordinary 
 mark distinguishable. She then a|)proached the 8leei)ing 
 girl, and gently uncovered her face. She gazed a moment 
 like one terror-stricken, and then shrieked and started 
 back— the poor girl was dead. 
 
 As Maheel turned to leave the wretche<l place, she saw 
 a little boy, who had just entered, st«)op to wet the parch- 
 ed lips of the; one who had been crying for water. There 
 was something i)eculiar in liis appearance; he might, at 
 flrst view, be taken for some gypsy child, and might 
 have passed for one, were it not that his hair was a dark- 
 brown and curly. As he held a dirty tin cup to the moul li 
 of the boy, his bare brown right aim was exitosed, and 
 above the wrist, on the inside of this arm, a snuill cinMr 
 or ring had been tattooed. When Maheel saw this, she 
 grasped his arm, and looked closely at the mark. The 
 boy seenu^d to know her at once, but without saying a 
 word, slie rushed away and retraced her steps to the tent 
 of old Zingari. 
 
 It was about noon ; the pious of the adjoining parishes 
 were a,t their devotions, and the two inns on the Head 
 were well filled, The boors at the "Rook's Nest" lia<i 
 
THE UEATHENB OF TUE HEATH. 
 
 drunk their quota; and those ai the *' Bull Dog " were not 
 hcliind in this respect. Matches and bets had been made, 
 uiul most present were in a fair state of preparation for 
 t he enjoyment of their usual sport. Alnuidy several stout 
 lads, precocious in villainy., had hero and there been test- 
 ing' the fighting qualities of timid bantams, and training 
 ihe vicious young of the canine kind to snuffle and yell) 
 for blood. All, however, b, mg now ready for greater 
 fj'uts of brutality, an opon level space between the two 
 iinis was chosen. This was Vtw usual arena for gladiato- 
 rial contests of all kinds, and here it generally was, that 
 men — even sometimes women— boys, dogs and birds fought 
 and battered and tortured one another on Sundays, to win 
 trifling sums, or to gain the applause of a crowd of ruf- 
 fians. 
 
 A rude fence encircled this space or ring, and after a 
 few preliminaries, Bob CufYer entered the enclomre with 
 tlie game cock which he had stolen from parson Rockett, 
 {ind offered to lay an e.\tra crown that that bird would 
 beat any other which could be produced. A stout miner 
 Irom the "Rooks" took the bet, and set down a cock 
 mueli more showy than the one in which Bob had such 
 contidence. The crowd had pushed and pressed to the 
 very edge of the ring, bets were boastingly renewed, the 
 birds were set facing each other, and the fight began. ' t. 
 first the miner's bird, being the larger, seemed to have it 
 ail his own way; the other, however, held out best; he 
 tore the comb and feathers from his antagonist; and, 
 finally, amid shouts and Jeers, drove him from the ring. 
 The miner was so enraged at this, that he caught his 
 panting bird, trampled it into the earth, and then fiung 
 the dead fowl into the face of one of the men who had bet 
 against him. Both men, being angry and excited, like 
 many around, struck each other, and a furiotis fight would 
 have taken place, were it not for the interference of some 
 who preferred to see regular si»ort, and who did not want 
 such interrupted by a common hasty quarrel. 
 
 i^ed Hogg, the landlord of the "Bull Dog," now came 
 
 
 
 I 
 ' '1 
 
 •4>, ■*"■ 
 fit* ■»» 
 
 &\ , 
 
 ,,,.,4.*>U 
 
 m 
 
96 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 forward with his great bull slut. His coarse visage anri 
 blinking eyes were forbidding by the eagerness of manner 
 which he exhibited. A slut of similar appearance was 
 brought on the ground by Tom Slaughter, the host of the 
 "Rook's Nest." Tom felt confidence in his animal, and 
 had bet heavily on her, and his clownish swagger and sin- 
 ister aspect seemed suitable ior the time and place. It 
 may be well to state that these respected landlords made 
 it a point to be always opposed to each other ; and more 
 than one trial of bodily strength and endurance had taken 
 l)lace between them, each bearing some permanent 'jcar 
 to remind him of his adversary an' Ned Hogg must 
 bear to his grave such a memento, even the loss of an 
 eye. 
 
 The unruly crowd of spectators again pushed and 
 «»quabbled in their greed to witness the coming fray. In a 
 short time word was given, and the dogs were let loose. 
 The vicious brutes rushed together, and seized hold at 
 once, each one pulling and tugging against the other. 
 Now Ned would shout to encourage his animal ; then Tom 
 ►Slaughter would yell louder in detian'ce. Now one dog 
 would come down, but to quickly rise and tumble the 
 the other; and the struggle was continued for several 
 minutes, neither dog seeming to be the gainer. In order 
 to give them fresh hold, the animals were separated by a 
 great effort, and the maddened brutes, chafing in their 
 blood, could with difficulty be held back. Tom Slaughter, 
 growing more confident in the power or endurance of his 
 favorite, taunted his opponent, and dared him to double 
 the bets. Ned Hogg, quite enraged, took him up, and 
 shouted that his slut, if she had but three legs, would be 
 more than a match for Tom's bitch, with four. Tom's 
 jeering reply only exasperated Ned, who, without saying 
 a word, took hold of his own dog, and, having tumbled 
 her, seized a short iron bar, and fiendishly snapped one 
 of her hind legs.* This bruf al act was applauded by sev- 
 
 * A gimilar ai-l was once perpetrated at a doiar fight ia England; the 
 owner chopped off his dog's log with a butcher's cleaver. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. '.'T 
 
 cral. and tho yelling, limping animal was again let looso, 
 and again hor savage instincts led her to sntitch hold of 
 her assailant. As it was, tho maimed animal made a des- 
 perate struggle, as if indifferent to her terrible injury, 
 but the fight was too unequal, and after a few fierce, but 
 wild attempts, she gave way and tried to escape from tho 
 ring. 
 
 All at once there were shouts and threats and great 
 confusion ; the din of oaths and foul language was hor- 
 rible. The landlords and their adherents dared one an- 
 other ; blows were struck, and tho two principals stripped 
 to fight, but the umpire, one of the miners, a i>oworful 
 and determined looking fellow, named Harry Tamblin, 
 with the aid of others, kept them apart, and, for over an 
 hour, it required the greatest effort to prevent a general 
 row, and to get the excitement sufficiently calmed to per- 
 mit the chosen actors of the next bloody struggle to make 
 their appearance. 
 
 All were again in waiting. The crowd had increased ; a 
 greater number of women and boys were among the s|)cc- 
 tjitors. Harry Tamblin, master of the ring— who was 
 resolute for fair play— had completed his arrangements 
 !'or the next hideous entertainment, and it was expected 
 Uiat tho coming struggle would be the one most suitable 
 for the expectant savages. 
 
 Two clownish looking m.en sprang briskly into the ring. 
 One was Bob Cuffer, and the other was Jack Clench, a 
 noted wrestler from the mines. Both were strong, active 
 men, and had that acquired swagger indicative of the 
 defiant bully. They were stripped to the waist. One wore 
 'AViiiit, heavy clogs, and the other had thick, hob-nailed 
 shoes. This was the usual way in which pugilists and 
 wrestlers on the Heath were shod as a preparation for 
 "purring," which maybe explained as the dextrous use 
 of the feet in kicking the shins, breaking tho ribs, punch- 
 ing out the eyes, or exposing the brains of an opitonent. 
 
 Harry Tamblin now placed the men in the centre. 
 They stood at ease, with arms folded, and wearing a smiio 
 
 
 i. 
 
 |v- ■ 
 
 ft: 
 
 ■►■-' 
 
 :'■ *■ I 
 
 ("" 
 
 
 ' ' 
 
 ■S 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 
 ■^, 
 
 m 
 
 h '■ 
 
 0--- : 
 
 m 
 
 t«»-.Ml 
 
 ■ sbI^^H 
 
 M^ 
 
 I. 
 
 IT J 
 
98 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 of indifferonne. The restless, scrambling crowd wero 
 once more pushed back, and the word was jjiven to begin. 
 The two men then cooly placed their hands on the bare 
 shoulders of each other, and stood for a few moments on 
 the alert. Then one gave a quick shove back, the other a 
 sudden side jerk. These motions wore repeated, each man 
 being cool and guarded. Then there was jerking, and 
 kicking, and already their shins were cut and bleeding. 
 They then closed and seized each other round the body, 
 and tried to twist and hook their legs ; there was more 
 kicking, and from their knees to their ankles was a mass 
 of cuts, bruises, and blood; but the men being about an 
 equal match, neither as yet fell. Bob Cuflfer made des- 
 perate efforts to throw his man, but his wounded arm 
 appeared to give him some trouble. His antagonist seem- 
 ed to know this, and, after several attempts, he succeede<l 
 in giving Bob a heavy fall. The two men were now down, 
 and they rolled, and tumbled, and kicked each other with 
 savage ferocity, and now the furious struggle began to 
 excite the bystanders. Bob Cuffer was still under, and ho 
 clenched his teeth first in the cheek, and next in the arm 
 of his adversary, and held on to the bleeding flesh as if 
 his life depended on the firmness of his hold. The other 
 man partly raised himself, and commenced to kick Bob 
 on the side, breast, and face, while his particular friends 
 shouted, " Noos thees got 'im, Jack, go into 'im, lad ; purr 
 his yed, do ; that's a good un ; smash anoother rib vur im. 
 Eh, Jiick, thoort a great un, purr 'im, i' th' goots. Ha! 
 he veels thee noo, Jack ; go in, lad— that's it." ♦ 
 
 The unfortunate man that was being thus brutally 
 treated, still held on with his teeth, and Bob's friends 
 would cry out, by way of encouragement, '* Hold thee in 
 to 'im. Bob, hold un, lad, hee'l soon give way, lad ; keei> 
 thy moothful, that's a good un ; " but a few more of thi> 
 merciless kicks would have finished Bob, were it not that 
 Harry Tamblin, who thought it was time to interfere, got 
 
 * See Kote s. 
 
> ■. 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 )9 
 
 others to assist him in separating the combatants; anc 
 when they now stood before each other, the sight was re- 
 volting. Bob Cuffer was one mass of blood and bruises 
 from his head to his feet. Three of his ribs had been bro- 
 ken ; his left eye had been kicked out, and it hung by tlie 
 tendons on his face. Jac)' <>lt>nch in appearance was 
 almost as bad ; a largo hole was in his cheek, from which 
 a piece had been bitten, and there was a terrible gaping 
 wound on his arm, from which the blood flowed copiously. 
 As the men stood yet defiantly before each other— a horrid 
 spectacle— and evidently 'v^t unwilling to renew their 
 savagery, the quick rattle jf vheels was heard ; all eyes 
 were turned in one direction. A pair of horses and a car- 
 riage drove hurredly up to the ring. Two persons were 
 seated in the vehicle. Old Stephen's white hair and bent 
 form, were at once recognized : the strange gentleman who 
 had been driving, immediately sprang from his seat, and 
 dashed into the centre of the ring. He got between the 
 two bleeding wretches; he seized them both, and held 
 them apart at arm's length, then quickly looking at them 
 and those around him, his thrilling voice cried out aloud, 
 '• Are ye human beings, or devils ? " 
 
 Was it the strange voice that had startled the young 
 gypsy woman? Maheel had been out on the plain, and 
 had seen the carriage approaching. Impelled by a singu- 
 lar feeling, she followed it closely, and as soon as she had 
 a full view of the stranger, and had heard his voice, she 
 started off as if in alarm, and ouce more entered the dis- 
 tant tent of Zingari. 
 
 ''ri-. 
 
 *^'^ ^ 
 
 
 mmmmmimm 
 
CHAPTER Xr. 
 
 JOHN VALIANT, A MISSIONABT. 
 
 rpHOSE who had been dwollorsonlhe Heath during a 
 -*■ life time of from sixty to seventy years or upwards, 
 could fairly assert that they had never been more aston- 
 ished at the daring of a complete stranj^er than thoy were 
 at the conduct of the unknown man who now stood in the 
 centre of the ring, and who not only reproved the combat- 
 ants but sternly reproached those who stood around as 
 spectators of the disgraceful struggle. The wild people 
 looked at one another in amazement, scarcely believing 
 the evidence of their senses. Many of them stood agape, 
 (luite undecided whether to act according to their usual 
 impulse, and rob and maltreat, or give a death-blow to 
 the officious intruder ; while others around seemed as if 
 awe struck by something which appeared so elevated and 
 commanding in the stranger. One herculean woman who 
 felt rather interested in Bob Cuffer, and who misunder- 
 standing the motives of the unknown man, and under the 
 influence of old hostility to outsiders, had raised a huge 
 club and was about to strike down the unflinching media- 
 tor, but was held back by Harry Tamblin, who, though a 
 kind of referee or leader among these people, was himself 
 as much surprised as others at the deliberate manner in 
 which tha. stranger proceeded i\f\ov his first inteference 
 with the wretched champions. The wounded men seemed 
 at once to recognize his good intentions, and they, as it 
 Tyere instinctively, obeyed him. He directed them to be 
 
«:( 
 
 THF HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 101 
 
 sontrd on the ^ronml, and ho carefully examined their 
 injuries, while old Stephen fr<»ni his seat in the earriaije 
 watehed, like .thers, his i)rocee(ling9 with j?reat interest. 
 The strange Samaritan first attended to Bob Cuffer, who 
 was in a bad condition, and like one possessed of the skill 
 of asurj^'eon, he replaced hisej'eaud bandaged his wounds 
 with strips of linen or cotton now readily procured for him 
 by some of the women. He next attended to Tom Clench, 
 and with the aid of Harry Tamblin, who was now willing 
 enough to assist, the two men were able to leave the ring. 
 The waiting but suspicious crowd at last grew more satis- 
 fied ; they had seen a generous act tenderly performed 
 without fear or hoite of reward, and after a while they 
 began to think that the humane volunteer was neither an 
 unfeeling detective, nor an enemy. 
 
 It may be here proper to give some account of this 
 unexpected visitor. When William the Conqueror landed 
 in England, among his followers from the French provin- 
 ces, was one from Normandy, who had proved his devotion 
 by many important services. William amply rewarded 
 his true friends, and to this one in particular, he granted 
 a large ostate in England— the very one which included 
 the Heath ; and also recognizing his great merit as a sold- 
 ier, he surnaraed him VaUlant— Jean Vaillant. This 
 appellation was readily adopted as a family name by the 
 Norman soldier, and by his descendants foralong period; 
 but in the course of time, as the French names Tonnelier, 
 lUmlanger, and Meiinier, had become Cooper, Baker, and 
 Miller, so Vaillant had become the English family name 
 of Valiant, and has thus since reniuined. 
 
 Some time after the unexpected death t>f the Conqueror 
 Jean Vaillant had been induced to join the Crusaders, but 
 like thousands of other deceived fanatics who left home 
 and country to rttack the Saracens, he never returned 
 from Palestine. His family, however, remained in England 
 and his descendants for centuru :•, held possession of the 
 f'state which had been granted by the king, until in the 
 course of time, during a peri »d of revolution, when trea- 
 
 m 
 
 .1 
 
 f 
 
 '^'Sfcv^ 
 
 ■iHIII 
 
102 
 
 THE HEATH I N8 OF THB UF.ATH. 
 
 
 I!;; 
 
 
 son was rife, and when kindly tyranta and usurperM 
 followed Olio another in quick sueocssion, one of these 
 royal plunderers had confiscated the land which had been 
 given to the Norman soldier. The last of the Vaillants 
 who had held possession was slain near Pendell, and the 
 touil) stone which had been placed ov(U* his remains was 
 that which lia<l been discovered by the stranger one of 
 his descendents— whose name was John Valiant. 
 
 This last representative of the ancient family was the 
 only son of the Bovcrend Henry Valiant, a Protestant 
 clergyman. The Valiant s, though originally Roman Cath- 
 lics, had become imbued with the prevailing ideas which 
 followed the Reformation, and, guided by the example of 
 kings, bishoi)s, priests and men high in authority, had 
 changed their faith. The Reverend Mr. Valiant having 
 been eminently pious, was seleet«>d by one of the great 
 missionary societies to carry the gospel message to the 
 "perishing" natives of India; and John Valiant, then 
 quite young, was taken from school in order to accom- 
 pany his parents to Calcutta. The Reverend Mr. Valiant 
 devoted his life to the missionary work, and though he 
 labored assiduously in connection with such men as Carey, 
 and Ward, and Duff, and Martin, yet near the close of his 
 life, which was prematurely ended in India, he regretted 
 to be obliged to acknowledge that the common or lowest 
 caste natives of that country — whom he had found by no 
 comparison to be as destitute and as grossly ignorant as 
 the same class of persons in Britain— were too much influ- 
 enced by the superstitions of Hindooism to adopt Chris- 
 tianity. Nay, ho had also found many of the learned 
 Brahmins bold enough to assert that they could fairly 
 prove, that the reli-^ious traditions of Persia, of Egyj^t, of 
 Judea, of Greece, and of Rome, had had their origin in 
 India, and that the doctrine of the Bible itself had been 
 drawn from the great fountain of all religions, the sacred 
 Vedas of the Hindoos; and he was also aware that the 
 powerful arguments of an able Brahmin had succeeded in 
 persuading even one of the Christian Missionaries to 
 
1 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 103 
 
 change his faith.* After his father's death, young John 
 Valiant was soon called upon to mourn the loss of his 
 mother. Though now left without a single relative in 
 India, he had, however, many warm friends, and guided 
 by them he remained to pursue his studies in one of the 
 principal institutions in the country. "While here ho 
 became intimately acquainted with many of the sons of 
 wealtliy natives, wlio were receiving a liberal edmmtion, 
 and he was suri)rised to find that though these young 
 men were under the tuition of Christian professors, and 
 liad had many opportunities of Iiearing the strongest 
 arguments which could be adduced in favor of the Chris- 
 tian religion, yet not one of these persons to liis know- 
 ledge had ever clianged his faith, or accepted the doctrines 
 of the Bible.f Being a close ai)plicant, in course of time 
 he acquired a knowledge of Sanscrit, and could converse 
 in Hindostanee and other native tongues, and he not only 
 became well versed in the sacred literature of the Hindoos, 
 but had on many occasions heard expositions of the Vedas 
 by learned Brahmins. He was familiar with natives of 
 every caste, and was so liberal in his opinions, and gen- 
 erous in his impulses, tliat his enlarged views and benevo- 
 lent tiisposition made him a general favorite. 
 
 Upon leaving college, he secured an engagement in a 
 wealthy mercantile house, and through the influence of 
 friends, as well as by his excellent business habits, he rose 
 by degrees to a high position, and traveled as a superin- 
 
 * Missionary Boborts by Bammoh jq Roy. 
 
 * The Reverend Dr. Prime, alluding to the great Christian collecres 
 eHtablished by Dr. DufT and othnrs in Calcutta, and which *' numbered 
 nearly fourteen hundred pupils." admits that "these Institutions are 
 open to students of all religions, and the mass ol them ar»^ Hindoos 
 or Mohammedans. Only in rare instances have they renounced the 
 faith n£ their fathers, while fewer still have become rnal Christians. 
 
 It 1» not the desire to become acquainted with Christian truth, 
 much less to bei^ome Christians, that indu«^es so many youth to 
 crowd these foreign seminaries of leaintner. They are anxious to 
 become qualifled to All the various lucrative posts which, in connec- 
 tion with the commerce and business of the country, are open to the 
 Dtttlvea.'-Arouud the World, p. -215. N. York, 187'i. 
 
 *4ii' 
 
 i4 
 ■ '1 
 
 I 
 
 Is. 
 
 §|: 
 
 
 
104 
 
 THE 1IEATUEN8 OF THE HEATH. 
 
 n 
 
 tondont through many parts of Imlia. His knowledge of 
 the country was extensive, and during the terrible Sepoy 
 rebellion, he proved to be of groat service not only to the 
 government, but to many of the natives by his interferenoo 
 in their behalf. He was also at Cawnpore during the 
 fearful massacre at that pla«^<\ and while there, though he 
 was himself in imminent (l;in;;<;r, yot he succeeded in sav- 
 ing the life of one distinguished English lady, and the 
 life of the daughter of a wealthy Parsce merchant of 
 Bombay. After the close of the rebellion he went to 
 reside in that city, and married the Parsee lady whom he 
 had saved, though she risked the loss of caste In marrying 
 a stranger. He lived a hai)py life with her for about ten 
 years, when she died, leaving him one son. John Valiant 
 was at the time almost Inconsolable; but though this 
 affliction was terrible yet his trouble did not end here. 
 He had sent his son, then almost eight years old, on a 
 visit to some of his mother's relatives nearly one hundred 
 miles from Bombay, and In about a month from the time 
 of his wife's death, the news reached him that his boy had 
 been seized by some wandering Thugs— whose religion 
 teaches them that it is no crime to murder— and he was 
 tortured by the most dreadful apprehensions. Every 
 effort that man could make to recover this child had 
 proved unavailing. Nearly a year had passed In the 
 search, and the only consoling information he could ob- 
 tain concerning him was that a child, answering the 
 description of his son, had by some means got Into the 
 hands of a Presbyterian missionary who was returning to 
 England, and that the boy had been taken to that country. 
 Under these severe afflictions John Valiant's health had 
 become much imi)aired; and the general sympathy for 
 him was very great. Though he had been for a long time 
 in the hot climate of India, its influence at this juncture 
 upon his constitution was rather severe, and his physician 
 recommended a long sea voyage. Such a voyage he found 
 in fact to be necessary, for the familiar scenes which re- 
 minded him of the happy days he had spent with his wife, 
 
 lii 
 
THE IIKATHKN'S OF THK HKATJI. 
 
 ior» 
 
 had a mostdeinessingoffoct ui)ou his sinrits, and a cliauKo 
 inighl be benoUcial. Besides it wus liis duly uul to rest 
 until he had found some relkible tidings ot' hissoii; and 
 lio made up hia mind tliat in cuso lie should not succeed 
 in his search, to spend liis wealth, whicli was very great, 
 in the i)urchase, if possible, of the old family estate in 
 En^dand, and to make that property available for the 
 beucllt of a class of overworked, distressed peoi»le in his 
 native country, whom lie believed to be far inorti destitute 
 and degraded than any similar class met with in his trav- 
 els through various parts of India. 
 
 In fact, the life of John Valiant had been spent so far 
 in doing good to others ; there was not the least degree of 
 selfishness in his nature. Were he the father of half a 
 dozen sons, he would not, for the sole purpose of enrich- 
 ing them, or to secure for them a life of sluggish ease— as 
 wealthy ecclesiastics and many rich Christians are wont 
 to do — forget his common relationshii) to mankind. From 
 his heart he pitied the children of others, who were forced 
 to face a life of poverty and hardship; and he did all he 
 could to smooth their rugged way. His theory was, that 
 poverty could not prevail to any great extent, were it not 
 for the general grasping and cuiudity of many of the 
 great and the wealthy. He believed that nionopoly of the 
 land— the present old established system— was but rob- 
 bery, and that any government which secured vast tracts 
 of real estate, either by grant or by purchase, to one indi- 
 vidual, did so at the expense of the natural rights of 
 others. He was of the opinion that the earth was tlie 
 common property of all, and that every person was enti- 
 tled to that certain portion of land, sufficient to cultivate 
 for his own sustenance, or for that of his family— and to 
 that portion only; that by such a distribution of the land, 
 and until a better system prevailed, all who were able and 
 willing to work, would be comparatively independent and 
 secure from poverty ; the aged, the sickly, and the infirm, 
 he claimed, should be sui)ported by the State, as children 
 would be supported by a kind parent. He also considered 
 
 ,$it 
 
 §1, 
 
 • 'J 
 
 ^i 
 
106 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 |!n 'i 
 
 ] :• ; 
 
 that so-called existing rights, which interfered with the 
 equitable apportionment of land, were but existing wronus 
 which legislation should abolish as speedily as possible. 
 It was even his conviction that as nations found it neces- 
 sary to secure a balance of power among rulers, and were 
 nnw'Uing to permit any one government to acquire too 
 mai.y possessions, or attain too extended an influence; 
 so, in order to prevent mercantile monopoly, or social 
 tyranny, individuals should be limited as to the amount of 
 wealth they sh-.uid be permitted to accumulate. He 
 would often .my, that were the claims of Justice but fully 
 granted, the labor of Charity would be forever very light. 
 
 Though John Valiant had peculiar notions on the sub- 
 ject of religion, and though perfectly tolerant to all, ho 
 had given no aid toward the erection of churches or tem- 
 ples, or places of worship of any kind ; yet he was a pat- 
 ron of schools, of colleges, of hospitals and of asylums. 
 Charitable associations had Leen formed by him, and 
 there was not a benevolent institution within his reach 
 which had not been benefitted by his ready munificence. 
 So highly was he esteemed, that in more than one of these 
 places his portrait could be seen in the most conspicuous 
 position— the readily recognized, well-built, middle-sized 
 man; the brown hair; the high forehead; the blue eye, 
 in which there was nothing stern ; the large, well-shaped 
 nose ; the mouth, almost hidden in a profusion of soft 
 beard, and the expression of the handsome face pleasin?'' 
 and benevolent. The portrait was not only respected y 
 high caste natives, but revered by many an humble pariah. 
 
 It might be truly said, that there was a day of sorrow 
 in Bombay when John Valiant was about to take his de- 
 parture from that city. Kepresentatives of all classes, 
 Hindoos, Parsees, Mohammedans, Indo-Britons and oth- 
 ers, the great and the humble, flocked to the spacious 
 harbor to take leave of one who had worthily gained the 
 name of being a public benefactor. Hundreds of the 
 poorer peoi)le, whom he had serve/' without distinction, 
 lined the shore, and soon singled out the vessel in which 
 
 he 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 107 
 
 he had embarked. They watched the anchors as they 
 were gradually drawn up, and the monotonous chorus of 
 the sailors, as they turned the capstan, sounded to the 
 listeners on shore like a wail on the waters. As the huge 
 ship which was to bear away the common friend of all, 
 swung slowly from her moorings, invocations were uttered 
 by men of different creeds ; and beseeching hands were 
 raised to Brahma, to Zoroaster, to Mahomet, to Christna, 
 and to Christ, that the beloved wanderer might be pro- 
 tected on the distant deep, and that no wild storm or 
 disastrous hurricane might cross the fathomless leagues 
 over which he had to be borne. 
 
 While a thousand eyes were gazing in one direction, the 
 evening shadows seemed fco steal down and rest upon the 
 fluttering sails ; the fading glory of the sunset appeared 
 to sink into the heaving bosom of the wide sea ; and as 
 the vessel moved off on her lonely way, cheer after cheer 
 was heard from shore and from ship. The deep boom 
 of a farewell gun resounded along hill, and shore, and 
 bay; and though sturdy men, who had cheered, could 
 have wept, Hindoo mothers who could not cheer, were 
 weeping ; and little dark-eyed children of the East, who 
 had neither wept nor cheered, were muttering the name 
 of John Valiant, even in their mother's arms. Ere night 
 had spread its gloom upon the scene, the dim uncovered 
 form of one man could be seen at the stern of the ship, 
 waving adieu, as it were, to the receding chore ; and when 
 darkness had at last closed around John Valiant, and had 
 hidden him from the view of all, the most tender feelings 
 of those of different nations and tribes— the genial im- 
 pulse of our common humanity— were touched and awak- 
 ened in many a heart, and many then wept in the shades 
 of that dismal night, as if bewailing the loss of a true and 
 only brother. 
 
 if!?' *' 
 
 pi>'TWjW i.M.t^pinnBii|i piipi iiiiiyi |iii.mniwiiMn.m. 
 
 ■^ ■! i"iiimPi"IIIPPP>Bpi.ii.M^ UWilfaui I V 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE MISSIONARY AT WORK. 
 
 TOHN VALIANT landed in Liverpool on his fortieth 
 •-' birthday. The long voyage from India had been very 
 serviceable, and his health was much improved. Though 
 still depressed in spirit, he felt that it was his duty to bear 
 up under the most severe trials— as such trials were the 
 common lot of all— and to be actively engaged in making 
 his life useful to others. Being of a hopeful disposition, 
 he yet trusted that the dark cloud which seemed to hang 
 over his future would be removed, and that sunlight and 
 brighter skies would cheer his after years. The agony of 
 mind which he endured in consequence of the loss of his 
 son, did not, however, lead him to despair of ever seeing 
 him again; it was the uncertainty of the bleak period 
 ^hich might elapse before that son would be restored 
 that made the present time so dreary. 
 
 After an absence of nearly twenty years he was again 
 in his native land. His native land? How unmeaning 
 was the flippant phrase ! The land was now to him as a 
 foreign shore— a land of strangers. Whom did he know 
 among the thousands that he met every day in his wan- 
 derings ? He might have felt less loneliness in a desert ; 
 not a familiar face to be seen among those he called his 
 countrymen. He could not say that he had a relative in 
 all England, unless his son might happily be living in the 
 land. If he had ever heard of one from his parents, the 
 long years which had passed since their death, and the 
 
 il 
 
li 
 
 TUE lTF.\Tin:N8 OF THE HE\TH. 
 
 100 
 
 ! I 
 
 many stranj^e events of his own life, had left his memory 
 a complete blank as to any information he had ever 
 received relating to family connections, except what he 
 happened to know of the general family history. Neither 
 had he any letters or documents from which he could 
 glean the least information in that resi>ect ; for such as 
 his father had left had been destroyed with many other 
 records during the great mutiny in India. He had, how- 
 ever, several letters of introduction, he had ample re- 
 sources, and he had determined that after a few days' rest 
 in London, he would re-commence his search for his son, 
 and ascertain all he could as to the chance of ever becom- 
 ing possessed of the old family estate near Pendell. 
 
 First, then, in order to find out who or where the mis- 
 sionary was that was supposed to have taken a foreign 
 child to England, he had made many enquiries, and was 
 advised to call at some of the principal Mission Houses of 
 London. He could not tell the exact time that the mis- 
 sionary had left Bombay, nor to what port in England he 
 had been destined, but after having visited two or three 
 of these different religious agencies, he ascertained that a 
 Presbyterian minister had landed in Liverpool from Bom- 
 bay about three months previous to the time of his own 
 arrival, and that the minister had with him, besides his 
 wife and a little Parsee girl, a Hindoo lady and a boy 
 about eight or nine years of age, whom she claimed to be 
 her nephew ; and that these i)ersons had been baptized 
 and were reputed to be converts to Christianity. This 
 preacher, he was informed, had left England and was then 
 in Belfast, in the north of Ireland. Mr. Valiant then took 
 the name and address of the minister, with the intention 
 of going to Ireland as soon as circumstances would 
 permit. 
 
 While making enquiries at the different Mission Houses, 
 the agents finding that he had resided so long in India, 
 and had such a knowledge of that far off laud and its vari- 
 ous inhabitants, seldom obtained by strangers, asked 
 several questions as to the state of that country, the con- 
 
 
 ;* ' 
 
 ' 
 
 '■ifc. 
 
 .#1 
 
 .. ■'it . 
 
 rf*--**; ft) 
 
 !f 
 
 It: 
 
 m 
 
 1 1. 
 
 It 
 
 ; ] 
 
 
 pmHMHPmi 
 
 rntrn^.- 
 
no 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 dition of the natives socially and morally, and whether in 
 his opinion the great superstition which overshadowed 
 the minds of those remarkable people was soon likely to 
 give way to the illuminating power of the pure gospel. He 
 replied that as a general thing the i^eople of India were 
 quite indifferent to Christianity, looking upon it as a relijjf- 
 ion far inferior to their own ; that every nation and tribe 
 in that vast territory seemed to be devoted to its own form 
 of superstition; and that among Brahmins, Buddhists, 
 Mohammedans, and Parsees, with whom he had long 
 dwelt in India and in other countries, and who comprise 
 over two-thirds of the whole human race, he had found as 
 much integrity and kindness of heart as he had ever found 
 among Christians. His answers led them to wonder at 
 the extent of his information ; and when he informed them 
 that there were thousands of poor wretches even in Lon- 
 don who were much more ignorant, destitute and depraved 
 than any of the Hindoos or Buddhists he ever met in his 
 travels, they seemed willing to admit the fact, but rejoined 
 that such natives of the East, though perhaps actually 
 more comfortable as to worldly circumstances, were yet 
 more destitute than the poorest, because in their natural 
 state unbelievers were under condemnation, not having 
 ever heard the glad tidings of salvation ; and some High 
 Churchmen had gone so far as to tell him that those 
 squalid and impoverished natives of Britain to whom he 
 had alluded, were really better off than Pagans possibly 
 could be, inasmuch as most of the paupers of England had 
 had at least the benefit of Christian baptism. 
 
 During his conversation with the missionary agents, he 
 also learned that there were not only missions to Turkey, 
 to India, to China, to Japan, to the Pacific islands, and to 
 frozen regions in the north— missions to the heathen, but 
 actually missions also to Christian nations. Protestants 
 had sent missionaries to convert Roman Catholics, and 
 Catholics had sent missionaries to convert Protestants. 
 Besides this he well knew that there were what might be 
 called minor, or sectarian missions. These are to some 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 m 
 
 'n 
 
 extent sustained by restless preachers who are ever ready 
 to travel about and engage in sharp discussions for the 
 l>urpose of gaining adherents to their particular views. 
 The Christianity of Europe is torn into shreds by sects. 
 In England the Churchman repudiates the Dissenter, who 
 is solemnly warned to return to the fold, out of which 
 there is no safety. Then the Dissenters, while declaiming 
 against Church pretensions, dispute among themselves. 
 The Presbyterian denounces the Methodist, the Methodist 
 the Baptist, and the Baptist takes a higli stand against all 
 others. Indeed he actually found more hostility towards 
 OMc another among Protestant sects in England, than he 
 had ever found among heathen sects in India ; and he also 
 had reason to fancy that many Protestant fanatics would 
 prefer to proseletize a hostile sectarian than they would to 
 convert a foreign unbeliever to Christianity. On the whole 
 he was satisfied that the money annually spent in the 
 mission service— the large sum required to send out mis- 
 sionaries and their families, to pay agents, clerks, printers, 
 and others connected with such establishments — was in 
 the aggregate an amount sufficient to endow a vast char- 
 itable institution ; and that the results so far, for all this 
 outlay, particularly in India, were but very meagre. Mis- 
 sionaries had from time to time complained of their want 
 of success, and had perhaps attributed their slow progress 
 to any thing but the proper cause ; and he gave it as his 
 opinion that if the large expenditure, which he considered 
 only wasted in India, were but properly expended at 
 home, for the benefit of the British paupers, there would 
 be fewer harrowing events to be recorded of the ignorance, 
 distress, and social misery prevailing in Great Britain, 
 that reputed land of i)iety and wealth.* 
 
 During his stay in London, John Valiant being desirous 
 of obtaining information about Pendell and its neighbor- 
 hood, was recommended to call on the Rev. George Mor- 
 ton, rector of Pendeli, who at that time v/as living in his 
 
 • See Note 4. 
 
 
 mfK. 
 
 4 
 
 
 
112 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ''{■ 
 
 In 
 
 1.: 
 
 't- 
 
 city residence. He found the rector's dwelling to be one 
 of the most stylish, and located iu a quarter noted for its 
 aristocratic pretensions ; and the rector himself, as a hum- 
 ble servant of the Church, seemed to be in the enjoyment 
 of the greatest abundance of worldly comforts. No doubt, 
 the Reverend Rector, like others of his class, cheerfully 
 performed much religious drudgery among the poorest of 
 his people in more tnau one parish, and in his ample dis- 
 tribution of spiritual food to c.hers, his own ghostly pab- 
 ulum might at times have become a little delicient, and 
 his pious hopes rather saddeied, particularly when he 
 mourned over the grievous secular destitution existing 
 among those very people to whom he had ministered. 
 Next to fervent prayer, the Rector might have therefore 
 found the comfoit and relaxation of a dip into fashionable 
 life — by way of contrast— just the very thing to stimulate 
 him to further exertions among the poor of the Lord, us 
 well as among sinners in the sanctuary. 
 
 Not being able to obtain from Mr. Morton the informa- 
 tion he required, the Reverend gentleman gave him a 
 letter of introduction to his Curate at Pendell ; and in a 
 few days afterward he presented himself at the rural i^ar- 
 sonage. He found the Rev. Mr. Meade the very person he 
 wished to find— like a father, like an old friend -altogether 
 most courteous and agreeable. He was delighted with 
 the scenery of the valley, and had a dream-like recollec- 
 tion of the place ; for his father, previous to his departure 
 for India, had taken him on a holiday visit to see the 
 ancient Manor House, on the old estate. What a differ- 
 ence he found between the modest parsonage of the poor 
 curate— the man who worked— and the stylish city resi- 
 dence of the wealthy rector, who perhaps only prayed! 
 Yet there was something so quietly beautiful in the sur- 
 roundings of the unpretending house of Mr. Meade, with 
 its white walls, its patch of dark green ivy, its quaint 
 windows, with small diamond-shaped panes, its shading 
 vines, and its climbing, clustering roses round the door 
 way, and then there was the pleasant lawn, dotted with 
 
H 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 118 
 
 trees, sloping down to meet the boulders, the gravel, the 
 shells, and the ripples on the beach, that he would have 
 readily chosen it as a model for his own dwelling-place. 
 
 As Miss Meade was absent from home — she had at last 
 been prevailed on to visit the Rector's wife— and as Mr. 
 Meade could not, on that account, well offer his hospital- 
 ity, he accepted Mr. Valiant's invitation to dinner at the 
 inn. While there, T^r. Meade gave his new friend a long 
 account of the changes that had taken place at Pendell ; 
 he told him about the poor of the parish, the low condi- 
 tion of the wild people of the Heath, and gave him some 
 important information as to the legal position of the 
 old family estate, which he told him had been advertised 
 for some time, by a final order in Chancery, and was to be 
 sold in less than a week. This was indeed information of 
 the most important kind to him ; and, as there was little 
 time for delay, John Valiant started that evening for Lon- 
 don. The sale took place as was advertised, the land was 
 sold at a low price, and he went back to Pendell within 
 five days from ^hat time the purchaser and sole proprietor 
 of over a thousand acres of the Manor, called Mayston. 
 
 Upon his return from the city, he soon became ac- 
 quainted with nearly all in the neighborhood of Pendell ; 
 he knew many also in the adjoining parish of Betnall. 
 There was nothing like pretension in his manner, and 
 many wondered that a person like him, the wealthy owner 
 of a large property, could be so easily approached, and so 
 familiar with poor working men, and even with children. 
 He had already placed in the Curate's hands an ample 
 sum to distribute among the deserving poor. He went to 
 visit old Sarah Afton, and spent an hour in her cottage ; 
 and Sarah, as well as others, was loud in his praise. He 
 sought out old Stephen Gray, and went with him to the 
 cemetery—as Bob CufFer had stated— to find an old family 
 tomb. Next to Mr. Meade, he made a companion of old 
 Stephen, he was fond of listening to his simple recitals ; 
 and as soon as he had decided to visit the people of the 
 Heath, he took him along as his only protector,, rightly 
 
 mi 
 
 frstn 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 n 
 
lU 
 
 THE HEATHENS OV THE HEATH. 
 
 r 
 
 
 ii 
 
 i t'r- 
 
 judging, that with such a person, he could win more con- 
 fidence than he should were he accompanied by a score of 
 constables, or surrounded by a company of grenadiers. 
 
 When the wounded men had left the ring, and whon 
 the exciteraent attendant on the occasion had in some 
 measure subsided, John Valiant stood quietly among the 
 people— the central object— as if scanning the faces of 
 those around him. Not a word was spoken, and as his 
 eyes wandered from one to another, he appeared to be in 
 deep thought, as if anxious to read their very hearts. The 
 calm, resolute bearing of the stranger seemed to win not 
 only admiration, but something also akin to submission. 
 The crowd gradually increased. One by one came to look 
 at the man who had, perhaps, just saved a life— saved a 
 man from being publicly slaughtered— and who had bound 
 up the bruises and wounds of the unfortunate wretchos ; 
 the man who, besides this, had the r'uring to utter a 
 reproof to all. Yet nearly all who had heard that reproof, 
 had now a kind of vague idea that it was deserved ; and 
 they felt that in the words which had been uttered, there 
 was not one of anger. On the people came, young and 
 old, from different parts of the Heath ; even many of tlie 
 Gypsies, impelled by a natural curiosity, hurried from 
 their distant camps, and stood around the ring. In a 
 short time, John Valiant moved toward the cariiage, the 
 people made way for him, and when he entered the vehi- 
 cle, he stood alongside old Stephen, and appeared in 
 full view before them all. The carriage was now .quickly 
 surrounded, eager faces were turned upward, and every 
 one present seemed to expect that the stranger would say 
 something before his departure. While all were thus 
 waiting, his clear voice was now heard uttering this kind 
 address : 
 
 "My friends, you have, no doubt, been surprised at my 
 visit. I have but lately come from a far country, and, 
 though a stranger, I was anxious to be among you, and to 
 learn for myself, whether the reports which I have heard 
 about you were correct, and whether the people of this 
 
 <( 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 115 
 
 wide plain, aro as wild, as wicked, and as ferocious as has 
 been represented. I was cautioned not to come her be- 
 cause it was said that as you cared but little for human 
 life, that as you could not be grateful for kindness, my 
 own life was in danger. But you see I came to this place 
 without fear, this old man being my only protector. I 
 came to find your condition most dei)lorable, and to find 
 that you have not only been badly treated by your fellow- 
 men, but urged '^n to infamy. I came, and have witnessed 
 your poverty, your wickedness, and your barbarous pas- 
 time; and, after all, though I have given you a plain 
 reproof, yet you have not so far injured mo ; and I am now 
 satisfied that, bad as you have been represented, that bad 
 as you really are, your hearts still contain germs of good- 
 ness; that you can be grateful to those who are kind to 
 you ; and that you can be raised from your present low 
 state, to become in time as honest, as diligent, and as 
 much respected as others." 
 
 Here the feelings of the people being evidently touch- 
 ed, as if the first blessed ray of hope had just dawned 
 on their minds. All present gave a long, loud cheer, and 
 he then continued : 
 
 " Now, my friends, as I pity you all, my object from this 
 day forward, if you are willing to help me, will be to try 
 and improve your condition. I stand here as the owner 
 of this land ; I am the sole owner of this old estate ; I own 
 the Manor House, and the entire Manor of Mayston. 
 This land once belonged to my forefathers; it has now 
 come into my possession, and as it is more than I ever 
 want to use, I wish to make it serviceable to others. I do 
 not want to drive you away from this Heath ; I want you 
 to remain. I want to keep you all with me, if you are 
 willing to stay. I desire to see this wild, barren plain 
 improved, and made green and inviting. I wish to secure 
 to each of you who is willing to cultivate it, a piece of 
 land ; I want to see each of you have his own cottage, and 
 his own pleasant garden ; I want to have a schoolhouse 
 erected, and to liud your children— and even yourselves— 
 
 1 
 
 t : 
 
 tt If, 
 
 1 
 
 ! 1 
 • 
 
 
lid 
 
 THK HKATHr.NS Ol' THK HKATH. 
 
 I t'l 
 
 , ' )■■ 
 
 i!-|i 
 
 learn useful knowledge ; and I want to see you all lead 
 peaceable, sober, intlustrious lives. I have had my own 
 afflictions; it will li^'hten thorn to bo engaged with you in 
 this approach to civilization. Will j'ou, then, friends, 
 help me to bring about this change ? " Cries of ** we will, 
 we will!" "I want to improve the whole estate; you 
 shall have an interest in that improvement, and every day 
 you truly serve, shall bring its true reward; and lastly, I 
 want to see you and your children go out into the parishes, 
 and to any other place in the whole kingdom, without 
 being watched, without being dreaded, and without being 
 despised. Now, my friends, I ask once more, shall wc 
 work together for this great end?" Cries of, "Yes, yes, 
 yes ! " '• Well, then, be it so. I, John Valiant, am willing 
 to take you all on trust ; remember that, and remember 
 the name. I must now leave here to visit the old man- 
 sion, which I have not seen since I was a boy, and I shall 
 soon return to begin the g.od work." 
 
 The rough set, unaccustomed to pity or kindness from 
 a stranger, now saw both pity and kindness in the strang- 
 er's eye, and wonderful to tell, many of the women- 
 women who are ever the first capable of detecting those 
 blessed impulses of the swelling heart— saw those genuine 
 rays of pity shining on the stranger's face, and soon those 
 very rays were reflected in the unbidden tears which fill- 
 ed their eyes. Other women present, burying their faces 
 in their aprons, sat and sobbed like little children ; even 
 the stalwart heroine who would have struck down this 
 benefactor, now hung her head in his presence like one 
 condemned. Men stood here and there as if overcome by 
 a singular influence. Some quite listless, others with 
 tremoiing nerves and clenched hands— hands not clench- 
 ed in anger, but as if trying to resist some mysterious 
 power which was about to assert itself in unmanning 
 them, and casting the very evil out of their natures. 
 
 Before he went away, John Valiant walked about the 
 place to see how the \)eople worked and lived. He went 
 into two 01 three of the meanest huts; he entered the 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 117 
 
 shed, and he was shocked to see the condition of the poor 
 overworked children, and he would not leave the place 
 until he had obtained a promise that the sickly children 
 should be carefully attended, and that none of the others 
 should be asked to work until his return to the Heath. 
 He distributed small sums among all those who appeared 
 to be in need. Every woman received something, and 
 every child had a little gift. To Harry Tamblin he gave 
 an amount sufiBcient to procure decent interment for the 
 dead girl, and necessaries for the wounded men. Just as 
 he was about to drive away, weeping women caught his 
 hands and kissed them ; and the eyes of many hardened 
 men seemed to be moistened for the first time ; and then 
 as the carriage moved ofl' a loud cheer was heard all over 
 the plain. 
 
 For a few moments the people stood and looked wist- 
 fully after the vehicle, but before it was a hundred yards 
 in advance, most of those present, as if by an involuntary 
 movement, rushed after the carriage and followed like the 
 escort of some distinguished personage. 
 
 After they had got beyond the limits ol' the Heath, many 
 of those who resided in the parishes wondered to see such 
 a procession ; and many even dreaded a wholesale plun- 
 dering incursion of their lawless neighbors. It was, how- 
 ever, soon evident that nothing of the kind was intended ; 
 there was not the slightest approach to anything disor- 
 derly ; those whom they had feared went along in a quiet 
 and submissive manner, and whether the carriage went 
 slowly, or at a brisk rate, all kept together. As they 
 emerged from a long avenue of huge oaks, the ancient 
 Manor House, situated on an eminence, burst into full 
 view. There the procession halted for a few moments to 
 gaze on the scene. A slight shower had fallen a short time 
 previously, and now a rainbow arched the eastern sky, 
 leaving the Manor House and its surroundings a central 
 picture in the iridescent frame, while slanting sunbeams 
 shone through the vacant apertures which once held win- 
 dows, and a thousand rays of the evening sun sparkled in 
 
 
 (I 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 I arf 
 
 if 
 
 | » |< H I 
 
118 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 the rain drops which stood like gems on the dark ivy that 
 draped the mouldering walls. 
 
 At this moment a number of gypsies who were ranged 
 on each side of the passage leading to the great entrance 
 of the building sung out aloud : 
 
 Oh welcome back to the ancient Hall I 
 The chief returns to its ivied wall. 
 Sure sign that the Manor now shall be 
 A place for the noble and the free. 
 The home of the Valiant family ; 
 Birds sing aloud, flowers ever roraain. 
 For the heir of Mayston comes again. 
 
 John Valiant left the carriage and approached the 
 building alone. He stood uncovered on the threshold of 
 the doorlcss entrance. Tears filled his eyes as he thought 
 of the past, and he was almost overcome by his emotions. 
 Ere he moved from the spot, those behind him were start- 
 led by what appeared to be an apparition. The old gypsy 
 woman, Zingari, wearing a red cloak, and holding a kind 
 of wand, stepped slowly out from an interior recess, and 
 stood before him. A little gypsy , boy that she held by the 
 hand, had a chaplet of oak leaves which she took from 
 him. She muttered an invocation in a foreign tongue, 
 which John Valiant appeared to understand, and then as 
 1^ bent his head, she placed the chaplet upon it ; and 
 thus arrayed, at the sunset hour, the heir of Mayston 
 entered the home of his ancestors. 
 
 il^ 
 
 
i 
 
 i 
 
 ml 
 
 at 
 
 CHAPTER XIII, 
 
 APOSTOLIC SUCCESSORS. 
 
 nnHE Reverend Mr. Rockett, rector of Betnall, unlike 
 -*- his spiritual brother, Morton, of the adjoining parish 
 of Pendell, did not care for city life, but chose to reside 
 in one of his country parishes where he could enjoy things 
 in his own way. Being a fortunate man as well as a good 
 churchman, he not only had the spiritual income of three 
 other livings— places which he scarcely ever visited— but 
 he was successful in securing curates to suit his own views, 
 men who were willing to pray at a cheap rate, and to 
 preach against dissent. Parson Rockett, though not 
 troubled with profound ideas on theology or politics, or in 
 fact on any other subject, had one particular idea, which 
 though not original he himself considered important, and 
 worthy of grave consideration, and this was, that what- 
 ever national misfortune had occurred in England since 
 the Reformation must all be imputed to the spirit of dis- 
 sent; no matter whether such misfortune came in the 
 shape of war or riots, short crops or scarlet fever. The 
 National Church he looked upon as worthy of the greatest 
 reverence, as capable of being the salvation politically as 
 well as spiritually of the entire kingdom ; and he often 
 wondered how it was possible for peasant, prince or 
 potentate, to overlook its perfection, or to deny its para- 
 mount claims. The Pope he rather pitied, as being some- 
 what spiritually deluded; but the whole vile tribe of 
 dissenters he held in the most utter contempt ; and he 
 
 ^\ 
 
 £.^' 1*. 
 
 12' 
 
 l\ 
 
 :'i: 
 
 Ml ' ■ t" 
 
120 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 II J 
 
 would ff'oquently assert there was not a prison, workhouse, 
 or madhouse, in all England, but what should be filled 
 with the stupid, ignorant drivellers of hypocritical Metho- 
 dists, sour-visaged Presbyterians, and sloppy Baptists. 
 The ragged, ranting, reverend itinerants of these and 
 other sects, he would expose to labor on the public high- 
 ways ; he would subject them to the moot degrading serv- 
 itude, or he would transport the whole contemptible crew 
 (luring life to some distant penal colony. He once tried 
 to argue with a Methodist clown, but having failed to con- 
 vince, he took off his coat and fought with the "Swaddler'' 
 outside the church door on a Sunday, in the presence of 
 some of his own congregation.* Statesmen like Gladstone 
 or Bright who had dared to advise the dis-establishment 
 of the Church, or who had ventured to tamper in the least 
 degree with its temporalities, he would hang at once to 
 the highest tree ; and were he to have his own way, no 
 man in Great Britain or Ireland, should enter a univers- 
 ity, or be a legislator, lawyer, physician or teacher; or 
 hold any office high or low unless he was willing to sub- 
 scribe to the Thirty-nine Articles, and to solemnly swear 
 that the same were the very essence of truth. Subscribe 
 to 1 hese same articles, and no matter what little peccadil- 
 loes one might commit, no matter what natural frailties 
 men or monarchs— monarchs were always more than men 
 in his estimation — were subject to these thirty-nine church 
 plasters applied according to rule, would heal every moral 
 defect ; these thirty-nine steps in the theological ladder 
 would enable him who climbed on them to reach the very 
 confines of Paradise. 
 
 There is no record among the latest accepted scriptural 
 revisions to prove that St. Paul ever kept for the amuse- 
 ment of himself, or for any of his friends, eiuier game 
 cocks, fox hounds, or race horses, or that he ever drank 
 costly wines, or generally lived ** fast." It is however to 
 be inferred from what he is said to have written, that at 
 one time he took pleasure in fighting with beasts at Ephe- 
 
 * See Note 6. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 121 
 
 bus; and he admits that he had derived a kind of prim 
 enjoyment while going about making havoc of the church, 
 entering into every house, harrassing and hunting certain 
 obstinate men and women who had presumed to differ 
 from him on some religious matters ; and so anxious was 
 he that all should think just as he thought on such sub- 
 jects, that he stood by and permitted a man named 
 Stephen, who had held heterodox opinions, to be stoned 
 to death, rather than allow unlicensed free thought to 
 contaminate the simple faith of others. But it is believed 
 that after Paul had entered the ministry, he put away 
 these childish ideas, and grew more moderate ; and though 
 he still thought that his own opinions were those that 
 ought to prevail— for he was a true priest in this respect- 
 he ceased to be an open active persecutor, and attended 
 more particularly to the production of explanatory letters 
 or epistles, which he must have thought greatly needed, as 
 very few of the wealthy and respectable pew holders of 
 his time were capable of understanding the complex doc- 
 trines of the new faith, until his inspired sentiments were 
 added to what had already been written. Upon reflection 
 many now consider — even many of the elect — that if Paul 
 had a failing, were it possible for him to have had one, it 
 was that after he had become an apostle, much of his old 
 persecuting spirit had remained, much of the Mosaic ani- 
 mus which had governed his utterances in the synagogue 
 governed his announcements in the church. He had been 
 intolerant as a Jew ; can it be said that he was not so as a 
 Christian ? Some have also thought that as Paul is the 
 reputed author of more than half of the present reduced 
 number of books comprising the New Testament, he had 
 another failing — that of being considered a chief scribe. 
 Any way, whether he can be justly charged with these 
 defects or not, it is remarkable that, since his time, the 
 most learned priests and prelates of the Church have 
 exhibited in their own lives these two particular idiosyn- 
 crasies, intolerance in disposition, and an itch for writing, 
 as if it were actually necessary to have Paul's failings, 
 
 IP 
 
 far*, 
 
 rv 
 
 I? 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 '>*.U ' 
 
 *^'ii 
 
 
 .. ^,1 I. 
 
 1' 
 

 t- 1 
 
 i. 
 
 '< .w r' ."^ 
 I 3 j: ■ 
 
 .1 .:. 
 
 ^f.; 
 
 11 i: 
 
 i! h : 
 
 122 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 as well as Paul's virtues, in order to prove boyond all 
 manner of doubt the genuineness of thac apostolic suc- 
 cession upon which they base their clerical authority and 
 assumption. 
 
 The arrogance of the priests of almost every form of 
 religion seems to be inherent; and the terrible facts of 
 history can alone tell of their persecuting spirit. That 
 spirit, it must be admitted, has actuated in turn every 
 Christian sect, great or insignificant. The most enlight- 
 enened heathens and unbelievers charge Christianity 
 with being essentially intolerant; and they assert that 
 every persecutor for opinion's sake, from the early days 
 of the Church, to the present time, claims as his author- 
 ity for that most damning of all sins, the very words of 
 Paul himself : " But though we, or an angel from heaven, 
 preach any other ^jospel unto you than that which we have 
 preached, let him be accursed.'* And then they point out 
 how Paul is fr.lly sustained by John,- who wrote; "If 
 there come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, 
 receive him not into your house, neither bid him God 
 speed. For he that biddeth him God speed, is a partaker 
 of his evil deeds." With regard to these threats from 
 Paul and John, and to another text, which says : "He 
 that believeth not shall be damned," the enemies of 
 Christianity boldly assert, that nowhere in the Vedas of 
 India— the most ancient of all sacred books— nowhere in 
 the theological literature of heathen nations; nowhere 
 among the doctrines of ancient pagan philosophers, can 
 sentiments so utterly bigoted and adverse to freedom of 
 thought be found ; and these opponents also assert that 
 the aphorism, "believe or be damned," can apply alone 
 to the claims assumed for the faith of the great Apostle. 
 
 Not satisfied with the Scriptures themselves, ordained 
 teachers seem to think it their duty to follow the example 
 of Paul, and become scribes. If sectarian priests cannot 
 manage to change the actual words of what has already 
 been written, they endeavor to distort the meaning, to 
 Buit their own narrow views ; and to this intent commen- 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 123 
 
 tary after commentary is published. The number of ex- 
 pository volumes that have been showered on bewildered 
 believers since the days of the Apostles, is overwhelming ; 
 and contending scribes are still at work, their excited 
 efforts too often producing wild confusion, or the open 
 hostility of an intelligent class to all Scriptural inspira- 
 tion. 
 
 The Rector of Betnall, though rather intolerant in dis- 
 position, had not, however, the other apostolic voucher — 
 he was not a scribe. He had never written a commen- 
 tary, nor had he even attempted the most feeble annota- 
 tion on a disputed passage. He had often told friends, 
 who had complained of his slackness, that ho did not 
 think he had ever written over a score of letters in all his 
 life; and no one would, therefore, imagine that he could 
 spend a week, or even a day, in the composition of a 
 sermon, when he could order and obtain a ready supply of 
 the orthodox stamp to his taste, for less than half a crown 
 apiece, or about a guinea for a baker's dozen—even some- 
 times for half that price. No, indeed, Parson Rockett 
 never bothered himself with divinity to that extent; he 
 considered that he did well if he read, perhaps, once a 
 month, a vapid eulogy of the Church to the few that 
 might be in attendance ; and as long as his curates saw to 
 the collection of church rates, and succeeded in prevent- 
 ing any of the flock from wandering toward dissent, the 
 good man's conscience was easy, and he spent the other 
 Sundays in innocent recreation with a few of his particu- 
 lar friends. 
 
 It will, no doubt, be admitted that some ministers, 
 i hough fortunate in having a sacred call, may neverthe- 
 less become frivolous and degenerate, and after all, sub- 
 ject to particular human frailties. It has been said, and 
 perhaps with some degree of trui !i. i hat lilthy lucre, or a 
 love of money, has even exceeded the sensuality w^hich 
 has been charged against the clergy. Popes, Cardinals, 
 Bishops and Priests, distinguished clerical rulers of all 
 sects, in times past, as well as at present, have not only 
 
 ll 
 
 ^ 1 
 
 m 
 
 
 ij."fi;ni. 
 
 i 
 
 m 
 
 K 
 
 ff 
 
 I ■ 
 
 .; ^l! 
 
 5| 
 
 
 Hi 
 
 I 
 
i i 
 II 
 
 124 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ili 
 
 it: 
 
 been eager for power and authority, but greedy for the 
 means of obtaining it ; and the wealth secured— often by 
 reprehensible devices— for churches, religious societies, 
 and pious corporations, is in startling contrast with the 
 stinted funds available for the support of schools, asy- 
 lums, hospitals and other charitable institutions. Dissent 
 now stalks abroad in fashionable costume. Even the once 
 world despising Methodist has flung aside his low-crowned 
 hat, and his high-collared coat to dress a la mode. His 
 once wild piety is now curbed under the shadow of a 
 steeple, and his preacher— now a Eev. Doctor — shouts no 
 frantic prayer, out utters his classic invocation in a " met- 
 ropolitan church." 
 
 Parson Rockett, a tall, stout, well-fed looking person, 
 being a rector, was of course wealthy ; and like a sensible 
 divine, he was determined to enjoy his hard-earned money. 
 Few, indeed, can extract more sweets from human life 
 than a popular priest. The rector was a magistrate, and 
 exercised his authority with as little compunction over a 
 Methodist or a Baptist, as he did upon a poacher or a 
 pauper. He had a large, comfortable house, well, if not 
 elegantly furnished. His cellar was stored with the choic- 
 est wines, and the strongest liquors, which his temperance 
 principles did not altogether forbid him touching. He did 
 not believe in temperance bosh. Did not Paul say to 
 Timothy: "Drink no longer water, but use a litth; 
 wine." * He had servants and hand maidens — to some of 
 
 *The temporance principles of one of the Bishops of the Siato 
 Church may be known from the following remarks of a newsiiapor 
 published in December, 1873: 
 
 " The Bishop of Lincoln, England, has actually preached a sermoh 
 in his cathedral against the temperance pledge. He denounced it as 
 unscriptural. He said that it ' undermined tlie Godhead of Christ '— 
 which, at least, is rather a curious figure. ' Then suppose,' said the 
 Bishop, 'that Timothy had been a pledged man when advised by St. 
 Paul to ues a little wine for his stomach's sake— would he not haM^ 
 injured his health and inflicted a damage on the cause of trutii by 
 refusing to follow the Apostolic advice?" Moreover, according to 
 the Bishop, the pledge ' leads to lying.' and ' it is a deadly sin for 
 Christians to sign it' The Bishop's sermon, naturally enough, was 
 Quoted with the warmest approbation at the licensed viotualer's din- 
 ner in the Crystal Palace." 
 
THK HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 12; 
 
 the latter, it had been rumored, he was much attached ; 
 he had horses and hounds which had been trained to take 
 a short cut after a fox across the fields or through the 
 crops of a dissenter, in preference to a dash through those 
 of a sound Churchman ; he had pigeons and poultry which 
 he fattened experimentally; capons and cauliflowers, 
 which he devoured rather voraciously ; and when he felt 
 wearied in the study of whist or of Whateley, he found 
 ready recuperation in a cock fight. This was, perhaps, 
 one of his greatest enjoyments, and what he called " glori- 
 ous fun ;" and there was not a rector within fifty miles who 
 could exhibit more magnificent game cocks, or bet with 
 more successful results upon his feathered favorites. As 
 the Parson was bound to be famous, at least in this way, 
 he spared neither pains nor hard cash to get the best 
 birds ; and those of his rustic parishioners, who were ready 
 to boast of his enterprise in this respect, would assert that 
 he spent *' more'u a hoondred poonds a year " — much 
 more than the salary he paid any of his curates—" t' gat 
 th' best gam bloode that th' coontry could affoord." 
 
 This boast was by no means an exaggeration, for the 
 parson's mania in this direction was well known to his 
 journeymen preachers, every one of whom was authorize<I 
 to secure, by purchase, or otherwise, the best game cocks 
 to be found in their respective parishes. So delighted was 
 the Eev. J. Eockett, with the diversion which a cock fight 
 afforded, that often, even privately, on Sunday itself, 
 when his curates were authoritatively dispensing the 
 word, and perhaps when the British savages on the Heath 
 might be mauling one another, the parson and a few 
 favored friends could be found in the large enclosed yar< I 
 at the back of his stables— a yard with great, high walls- 
 watching with delight the desperate struggles between two 
 birds, and staking heavy sums on the result. 
 
 The Rector of Betnall was well known to have one 
 apostolic qualification, if even his defamers would admit 
 of no other— he was given to hos|)itality. As his table 
 WHS always well supplied, he liked to receive stylish stran- 
 
 ,j 
 
 ' :l 
 
 ■I. 
 
 ■'as! »*• 
 
 mhmri 
 
 nti'iwa j ^y 
 
 1 
 
 it; 
 hi, 
 
 i 
 
12C 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE UE\TH. 
 
 gers and fashionable sinners. No doubt, by such a course 
 he perhaps thought he might entertain "angels una- 
 wares ; " but as these are admitted by proper judges to be 
 of different races, it might be difficult to designate tho 
 special region to which the rector's angels sometimes 
 properly belonged. However, on a particular day, we find 
 him showing courtesy to a number of peculiar guests— a 
 few of the very elect, the ordained of his own church, 
 with a bishop at their head. These might be truly set 
 down as saints and ministers of grace, and the Christian 
 ladies who flocked abotit them wore no doubt angels — and 
 bright ones, too, as the great mp«jority of ladies of course 
 always are ; and never since the happy day that the par- 
 son conscientiously took and subscribed his clerical vows, 
 had he reason to feel more elated. 
 
 The occasion which had called forth the special hospi- 
 tality, was the triennial visit of the Lord Bishop of Stork- 
 chester. Great exertions had been made to get a large 
 number of ignorant rustics prepared for confirmation ; 
 and special efforts had been put forth to get up a dinner 
 fit for the Episcopal stomach, for his lordship's chap- 
 lains, and for the clergy and distinguished company that 
 were in attendance. All Betnall had, of course, turned 
 out to see the Episcopal carriage, the retinue, and the 
 saintly person himself. Early in the forenoon a splendid 
 coach, drawn by four glossy bays, drew up before the Kec- 
 tory. How the country folks stared at the gold-mounted 
 harness, and at the postillion, the coachman, and the foot- 
 man, in blue and scarlet velvet liveries ! The bishop— a 
 rubicund little man, well preserved, was glad to see the 
 rector — his reverend brother in the Lord. They had 
 known each other in earlier days, and both bishop and 
 rector knew something also of the particular thorn that 
 had once troubled the flesh of the other before o "dinatiou 
 had in a manner subdued old propensities and put Satan 
 to his wit's end. His lordship and the rector had also, 
 like many others, obtained preferment in the Church 
 more through the influence of certain distinguished no- 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 127 
 
 blemen than in consequence of theological profundity or 
 of marked clerical demotion. 
 
 As soon as the bishop had entered the house, and got 
 fairly out of sight of the gaping crowd, he gave a know- 
 ing wink at the rector, entered a private room, and when 
 they were closeted together, his lordship hurriedly swul- 
 lowed a glass of wine, and then laughing aloud, pulled a 
 small note from his pocket : 
 
 '* Ah, Jack, Jack, what an epistle to send to your bishop 1 
 Pon my soul and honor, if I were to publish it in the Rec- 
 ord, the Archbishop would, no doubt, laugh himself into 
 fits, and the whole race of dissenters from Dan to Beer- 
 sheba, would, of course, rejoice and be exceedingly glad 
 at the expose. O, Jack ! what an apostle you are, to be 
 sure. What a custos morum among the clergy! " 
 
 " Why, Tom— I beg your lordship's pardon for the fa- 
 miliarity—but let me see it, can't you? Tom, what the 
 dev— I beg your pardon again— but what is it, what is it ?" 
 
 "Ah! you holy rogue, that apostolic hands were ever 
 laid upon your noble skull!— read that. Jack, read that." 
 
 The bishop handed the rector the few lines he had 
 received a day or two previously by post from Betnall. It 
 seems that the rector had written a short note to the 
 bishop, informing him that everything was ready for the 
 prelatical reception ; he had also, at the same time, written 
 a note to one of his curates. Both of these billets lay on 
 his desk, and, in his usual hurry, the note intended for the 
 curate had been directed to the bishop, and it read as 
 follows : 
 
 " Deab Folson: You must get that cock by hook or by crook. 
 Give old Marshall his price, If you can do no better. I'll have it out 
 of him In some other way. One of those infernal scoundrels from 
 the JEeath stole the splendid bird that Hovey sent me, and I must 
 have another as good. The bishop will be here by Tuesday ; send as 
 many for confirmation as you can. Should any of the old ones for- 
 get whether they had ever received the rite, no matter, let them come 
 on— we want a good turn out— a second operation will do them no 
 harm. Nail the cock without fail. Yours, John Rockett. 
 
 The parson felt a little chagrined at his mistake, but his 
 
 Mm 
 
 CI 
 
 ^\ 
 
 1 
 
 *f 1 
 
 I 
 
 
 t 
 
 t 
 
 r j 
 
 ' 
 
 ii 
 
 . 1 
 
 ■■'' J''""* 
 
 1 
 
 !9' 
 
 en I 
 
 

 Iji: 
 
 t 
 
 if 
 
 1 
 
 m$ 
 
 1 
 
 'Mi:' 
 
 i 
 
 •|b 
 
 I 
 
 ;:'■ i' ■ 
 
 
 i|L| 
 
 ML. 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 lordship, who was in the best of humor, did not keep him 
 a moment in suspense ; he drank oflf another glass of the 
 excellent sherry, and clapping the rector familL rly on the 
 shoulder, said: 
 
 "Now, Jack, no nonsense between us. On my word, if 
 I had a good chance, I'd really like to see some of this 
 rare sport again— quite harmless in its way. You've got 
 the birds, I suppose. Can't you let even Vanscourt have 
 a look at them before service ; can't you, Jack ? He'd be 
 highly pleased." 
 
 There was no mistake as to the bishop's eagerness for 
 innocent sport, if a suitable chance offered, but his lord- 
 ship desired to be circumspect ; his chaplain, Mr. Vans- 
 court, might go, but he himself could not. 
 
 The rector quickly turned round, delighted at the hint, 
 and in high glee replied : 
 
 ** O, Tom, you're not a bit changed— not a bit— the same 
 good fellow as ever.*' 
 
 This hasty and rather familiar address incautiously 
 blurted out, again bothered the rector ; but the bishop did 
 not seem to notice it. His lordship, though anxious to see 
 the birds, and perhaps willing to have them tested in the 
 pit, was yet reluctant to appear as a patron of such sport, 
 particularly when he perhaps might be observed by some 
 censorious Dissenter who would only be too ready to cast 
 a slur on the Church. No, he would merely take a look 
 at the game birds, and should they happen to fight, he 
 must retire. The rector in his eager desire to amuse the 
 bishop, really paid but little heed to his lordship's objec- 
 tions—it was but innocent pastime ; he went at once to get 
 things ready, and while Mr. Vanscourt, the bishop's chap- 
 lain, and two or three other divines happened, as it were, 
 to stroll out into the yard where the cocks were being 
 spurred for the occasion, the bishop and one or two of hig 
 clerical friends remained in the house, and watched the 
 proceedings from a window. 
 
 The fight soon commenced ; the birds were well match- 
 ed and the contest was likely to be close. The Bishop like 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 129 
 
 others got somewhat excited ; neither his religion nor his 
 elevation to Episcopal dignity, had as yet altogether 
 •'whipped the offending Adam out of him," and he look- 
 ed on from the window, greatly interested. His chaplain 
 ventured a little bet with one of the clergymen on a par- 
 ticular bird ; the bet was of course taken, and the rector 
 even offered to back the chaplain's wager and give heavy 
 odds. Other persons staked sumi; on the result, and by 
 and Dy a few more of the clerical gentlemen who had re- 
 mained in the house, having an inkling of what was going 
 on in the back yard, stole quietly out to the arena; host- 
 lers and men servants followed, and in spite of every pre- 
 caution little ragged boys and laborers climbed high 
 enough on some of the poplar trees that stood in a row 
 outside the wall, to look down into the yard and see v/hat 
 was going on ; it was to them as well as to many of the 
 clergy a great attraction. 
 
 By this time the chaplain had become so animated that 
 he seemed to have forgotten his (Clerical character. He 
 was seen standing close to the springing, fluttering birds, 
 giving an exclamation of delight as his favorite made a 
 successful dash ; now again, with hands on knees, he 
 would stoop over intent on watching the battle. In the 
 temporary confusion that took place his clerical hat— of 
 peculiar shape— had been somehow knocked aside jauntily 
 on his head ; his spectacles hung awry across his nose, he 
 liad become, as it were, disarranged ; and altogether the 
 tout ensemble of his reverence was not then such as was 
 strictly becoming the conventional gravity of a prelatical 
 chaplain. Parson Rockett fussed about bareheaded, so 
 absorbed with the struggle that he apparently forgot tlie 
 presence of the bishop and the clergy. The other rever- 
 end gentlemen, with one or two exceptions, seemed to be 
 j^reatly pleased with the sport, probably because the 
 bishop appeared to be »o delighted with it ; and almost all 
 in the yard were evidently so interested in the fight be- 
 tween two game cocks, that the occasion which had brought 
 mostof themtogt^theratBetnall had been nearly forgotten. 
 
 
 Bmm 
 
 !i 
 
 tiitiml 
 
 Hi 
 
 m 
 
 i 
 
 
 W 
 ^l 
 
 3 
 
 a 
 
 i; 
 
 
 'v i 
 
130 
 
 THE HEATHENB OF THE HEATH. 
 
 All this time there were people waiting in the crowded 
 church who no doubt were under the impression that the 
 delay in the commencement of the service was caused by 
 his lordship's attendance to his private devotions, prepara- 
 tory to the administratiou of the solemn rite which was 
 that day to confirm so many in tlie faith. 
 
 If, however, his lordsliip of Storkchester and certain of 
 his clergy derived any enjoyment from witnessing a forced 
 liglit between the wretched birds, those persons who had 
 the good fortune to be in the church had ample compensa- 
 t ion for having been kept waiting. Miss Esther Meade had 
 promised to come from Pendell to preside at the organ, 
 and never did the old walls of Betnall parish church re- 
 sound to richer strains. There she sat like a divinity sur- 
 rounded by silent worshipers, and every soft note that she 
 brought forth seemed to be wafted awa> at once on a 
 mission to the pearly gates. Was she, in the absence of 
 the ordained, making supplication like a ministering angel 
 for the people ? If so, the strains in which she prayed 
 made every ear attentive, every eye dim, and every heart 
 swell with emotion. Her sermon was tenderly awakening, 
 her precepts were gentle, and her petition was for peace. 
 There she was proving her apostolic power before all, and 
 working miracles for unbelievers, infusing life into dead 
 souls, and melting sordid, icy hearts by her grand skill in 
 the sublime mystery of music. What ordination conl<i 
 ])ostow such gifts ? and what virtue could emenate from 
 tawdry mitres or crosiers, from formal rituals, or ecclesi 
 asti(;al display, equal to that which she drew forth from 
 the chastity of soft, sweet sounds ? 
 
 There was a hush in the church when she raised her 
 lingers from her last prayer; and then silence was the 
 worship offered to the Great Supreme. But soon a hund- 
 red eyes were lifted to where she sat; one person, more 
 than all others, seemed to be lost in admiration ; this wa?^ 
 the Kev. Mr. Morton, rector of Pendell ; he was still most 
 attentive to Miss Meade, and would not Iof-j sight of her 
 for the society of a bishop. He stood robed inside the 
 
 m:'- 
 
 \:> 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 181 
 
 altar railinpr, and intently gazing on the fair preacher in 
 the organ gallery. The Rev. Mr. Meade, his curate, simi- 
 larly attired, sat submissively behind him, speculating 
 upon the nature of spiritual gifts, and doubting whether 
 the most pretentious priest could excel his daughter's 
 simple power over human hearts. A great number of 
 smartly dressed young people awaiting confirmation 
 seemed to have grown devoutly thoughtful for the first 
 time ; and a venerable couple who were seated in a retired 
 corner looked as if desirous of leaving " this vale of tears" 
 for the heaven that was then present to their imagination. 
 It was old Stephen Gray and Sarah Afton who sat side by 
 side. Old Sarah with pensive aspect was perhaps thinking 
 of the dreary past, while Stephen, witii suffused eyes, seem- 
 ed full of hope. He looked tenderly at her who was near 
 him, and then gratefully up at his other angel, Esther 
 Meade, and then he wondered in his simplicity how she 
 came to be able to make people weep ; he wondered where 
 music had its birth ; and then again he wondered whether 
 when the troubles of this life were all over, Sarah and he 
 should be welcomed by strains so heavenly when they 
 greeted each other on their happy arrival in the beautiful 
 land of the blest. 
 
 i 
 
 <i 
 
 
 i 
 
 iE%, 
 
 
 aii 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 i 
 
 : ■ 
 
 1 
 
 .1 : ;■ 
 
 i 
 
 r ' 
 
 m 
 
 i ': 
 
 ■ I 
 
 1 
 
 ■ 1. 
 
 : r ; ■ 
 
 1 
 
 t .'r 
 
 f 
 
 : i 
 
 ' ; 
 
 
 ; 'I 
 
 ■1 
 
 
 ill 
 
 ''■Hi 
 
 'ill 
 
 9 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CLERICAL THAUMATDRGY. 
 
 rilHOSE experienced in religious matters assert that tlie 
 -^ change from nature to grace is one of the most re- 
 markable. Old things are said to have passed away, and 
 all things to have become new. That is to say, the gross 
 desires which a man is said to have as a worldling are 
 relinquished for the more elevated and spiritual enjoy- 
 ments which a lively faith is presumed to bestow. It 
 would be auspicious indeed were this change as lasting as 
 it is pronounced to be beneficial ; but unhappily it is too 
 evanescent. Men in all ages have become religious enthu- 
 siasts for a time, and persons of all creeds who have be- 
 come disgusted with the things of time and sense— disap- 
 pointed with expectation — have generally, after longer or 
 shorter periods of religious devotion, returned to the world 
 and to its so-called pomps and vanities, to its pleasures or 
 its engrossing cares. 
 
 Strange as it may seem no class of men have been more 
 frail, and more erring in religious consistency, than priests 
 themselves. Though they undoubtedly regard heaven as 
 the realization of their fondest hopes, yet the honors and 
 emoluments of earth have been sufficiently attractive to 
 eclipse, even for a time, the glories of the celestial home ; 
 leaving them like ordinary beings, to wander wistfully 
 through the fading beauty and splendor of this sinful 
 planet; and while preaching to others they themselves 
 may too often become as castaways. 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 133 
 
 Among the Brahmins, where are said to be found the 
 most ancient of all clergy, a man is born to the priestly 
 order, and is considered, as it were, sacred by inheritance, 
 and the Jews, like other nations, copying from India and 
 from Egypt, had their Aaronic priesthood. Among Chris- 
 tians, however, there is no such royal road to the favored 
 position, and one must prepare for the pulpit as he would 
 prepare, in many respects, for any other profession ; but 
 somehow candidates for the altar are always ready to give 
 a guarantee for the sincerity of their intentions by assert- 
 ing that they have an irresistable desire to enter the min- 
 istry — not of course for pecuniary gain— but to sound the 
 glad tidings ; and to establish the purity of their motives 
 in the eyes of the world, they are prepared to solemnly 
 swear or declare before ordination, that they are called by 
 the Holy Spirit to go like apostles into the highways and 
 byways to preach the gospel to perishing sinners, and to 
 try and induce men every where to repent and to be born 
 again. 
 
 This idea of a "regeneration"— a peculiar scriptural 
 term — had its origin in the metempsychosis of Paganism, 
 and as the Hindoo doctrine of the transmigration of souls 
 is, perhaps, among the most ancient of all religious con- 
 ceptions, this idea has been adopted by the writers of the 
 gospels, in order to illustrate the apostolic meaning of the 
 new birth from original sin to righteousness; and every 
 Christian preacher, from the lordly Archbishop down to 
 the most insignificant dissenter, is presumed to be a "new 
 creature," is expected to have been " born again," and to 
 be in actual possession of this great credential before he 
 undertakes to venture out into the dark places of the earth 
 to add *• seals to his ministry." 
 
 Well, if we find ordained heads, after asseverations so 
 solemn, recklessly flinging aside the assumed garb of 
 sanctity and giving evidence of the grossest sensual desires ; 
 if we find a majority of the priests of almost every sect 
 anxious to heap up wealth, and thinking too lightly of the 
 [)revailing poverty among thousands of their fellow crea- 
 
 1 fj • 
 
 ffilSlk. 
 
 r!3 ' 
 
 i 
 
 cl"*i 
 
 i 
 
 
 IC 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 mi 
 
 
 m 
 
 jl 
 
134 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 tures; if we find these clerical backsliders, forgetful of 
 their own short coinings, still calling on others to repent, 
 what description of confidence can be placed in their sincer- 
 ity? If other sinners, after ineffectual struggles to get- 
 rid of secular entanglements, resign themselves with ap- 
 parent indifference to the gloomy future that may await 
 them, what should be the hopeless condition of wanton 
 reverends and unfaithful stewards? Pshaw! What care 
 they? Look at their manner of life; the luxuries most 
 of them enjoy ; they revel in sweets, while many a starv- 
 ing member of the flock is languishing ard despondent. 
 What care most of these consecrated gourmonds for daily 
 or hourly insinuations against them? What care they 
 for charges against character and conduct too often only 
 timidly urged? They boldly proclaim them calumnies! 
 They denounce the motives of a doubting Thomas, and 
 rise to insulted innocence, well knowing that so long as 
 they have the confiding and devoted Annas, and Marthas, 
 and Marys of the Church to advocate their cause, and to 
 resent unholy imputations, submission must eventually 
 follow. These are the living refutations priests bring for- 
 ward; these are the telling facts which win back confi- 
 dence, such are the appeals which the most eloquent accu- 
 ser cannot withstand. No wonder that clerical corruption 
 has so often to be overlooked, for, as it is, the secret of 
 priestly power may nr doubt be attributed in many cases 
 to female influence ; and experience has proved, time after 
 time, that the wily pastor may too often derive his greatest' 
 strength and assurance from the weakness ot credulous, 
 affectionate, unsuspecting woman. 
 
 There are said to be angels in heaven who surround the 
 cplesLial throne, and whose hosannas to the Great Supreme 
 ascend for ever and ever. We know that there are angels 
 on the earth who flutter around every temple, who fling 
 sunshine into every place of worship, and who illuminate 
 every altar; they sing the praises of their priest and 
 prophet, and the grandest cathedral would be gloomy 
 without their presence. These are the radiant visitants 
 
 m 
 
 »; 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 135 
 
 (hat win men to devotion ; these are the glowing texts that 
 touch the heart; these are the evangelists that have given 
 sjiints to every age ; and the sternest precepts delivered in 
 I lie most formal tone of authority, would find many unbe- 
 lieving ears, were it not that the harshest maxims are 
 moulded into music, and rendered into melody, and echo- 
 ed back to men's souls, by these beautiful rugels of the 
 temple. 
 
 The aspect of the bishop and the clergy, as they enter- 
 ed the church, was the very picture of- humble piety. 
 What a sudden change was here ! The display of meek 
 ness was admirable. His Ri.c'ht Keveronce, in lawn 
 sleeves, with bent head, and gloved hands crossed on his 
 breast, preceded by his verger, v/ith silver wand, and fol- 
 lowed by about a dozen of the clergy in robes, marched 
 slowly up the aisle, while the organ poured foitli a strain 
 that was, at intervals, sublime beyond conception. Lo! 
 what divinity doth hedge in these apostolic ones. See 
 the veneration they draw out on jjeople's faces ! Wonder- 
 ful conjuration ! The nobles and the gentry present look 
 with pride upon these distinguished ambassadors of the 
 Church, and upon the Church itself as being perhaps the 
 most celebrated prop of Britain's national greatness. 
 What confident, enthusiastic credulity ! Are these com- 
 mon, ignorant gazers— the plebs I'ustica et urbana— who 
 stand behind, impressed with the benefit of a State relig- 
 ion, or of any other religion ; do they share this same 
 enthusiasm ? Can there possibly be a doubt of the ten- 
 dency of their crude ideas relative to ecclesiasticism ? Are 
 they growing irreverantv Time may perhaps soon tell. 
 Quaint revolutionary notions often generate and mature 
 ill the brain of a ploughman, that would be quickly stunt- 
 ed and withered under the mitre of the bishop. This may 
 be an age of retrogression, for somehow the inspired con- 
 ceptions of the Church are becoming stale and obsolete. 
 Strange! what can be the reason? it is to be feared that 
 Thought is a,t the root of the matter, and that the tower- 
 ing cedars of our orthodox Lebanon, after centuries of 
 
 
 II 
 
 m ' 
 
 '■ ■- T^" 'lifl] 
 
 i" 
 
 ifeii 
 
 i 
 
 
 w^*' If I 
 
 ' '■ 
 
 Wwm 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 i*.' J ^1 
 
 
 
 
 iT 
 
 'i 
 
 ,' Mi' 
 
 ?^'^i Ml 
 
 
 
 rJi: I 
 
 
 si. ft' 
 
 itiiim*, *'J( 
 
 
 f '! 
 
 ■ I' 
 
 ^1 
 
 ti 
 
 _Jl = ' 
 
136 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 il 
 
 ( . ; ?■• 
 
 i 
 
 
 ft 
 
 costly experimental culture, are getting sapless and with- 
 ered. The Church admits that the age of mJracles is past ; 
 it has no more to offer, and the moonlight visions of mod- 
 ern saints fade away in the day dawn. Delusion is dearl to 
 many ; and priests who have been " overshadowing "truth 
 in their secret places, begin to discover that skepticism has 
 its birthplace upon the very steps of the altar. 
 
 His lordship of Storkchester, when seated upon his 
 Episcopal throne, might be deemed a study for a dram- 
 atist ; he tried to look like a man who had not a shilling 
 beyond what would pay for his breakfast ; and his rever- 
 end escort, like fishermen who had been toiling out all 
 night, and had caught nothing. Amiable deceivers ! Yet 
 who, at this solemn moment, could tbirk that this same 
 humble bishop had an income, dori\ea solely from his 
 spiritual legerdemain, of over £10,000 a year— actually 
 more than the united endowments of all the public chari- 
 ties and hospitals in the parish ? Who could believe that 
 this one man could earn more by his Episcopal trade in 
 one day, than many a poor, honest toiler could earn by 
 hard work during a whole year ? Who could fancy that 
 this bishop, and these wealthy rectors were, by a pious 
 figure of speech, called " despised followers of the cross, 1 
 Despised indeed ? what a farce ! and that these poor sub- 
 missive curates, who had the same ordination as the 
 most affluent clergy, are obliged to preach ;jd appear 
 respectable on a paltry allowance, scarcely b y^ nd the 
 ordinary earnings of a traveling tinker, Wha . a foun- 
 tain of purity and justice is this State Church! What 
 gushing pity and charity swell out the lordly bosoms of 
 its clerical magnates ! Alas ! it seems that ecclesiastical 
 elevation has not always a tendency to expand the kind- 
 liest impulses of our nature. Bishops are generally as 
 sordid as common men ; they mostly keep all they get. 
 The poor are seldom benefitted by the death of a wealthy 
 divine. Prelatical bequests are mostly for relatives ; as if 
 gold gained by the gospel should not be distributed out- 
 side of the Aarouic household. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 137 
 
 After the ceremony of confirmation was over, the bishop 
 delivered a very feeling charge to those upon whom he 
 had just laid his Episcopal hands, and all seemed to be 
 wonderfully edified, as if some prelatical or spiritual virtue 
 had been imparted by the mere touch of a true successor 
 of the Apostles. Imagination has wrought many a mir- 
 acle ; it may have still as much to do in curing a moral 
 evil by the touch of a bishop, as it formerly had in cuving 
 a physical evil by the touch of a king. Any way, to all 
 appearance, several persons looked more meet for heaven 
 since the bishop had pronounced his cabalistic words, than 
 they were before the service had commenced ; and then, 
 after his lordship had bestowed his solemn benediction 
 upon the retiring congregation, the greater number of those 
 who had renewed their Christian vows, hurried off to a 
 neighboring barn to feast, and to dance, and to have a 
 merry time during the remainder of the day *— the rector 
 and some of the gentry having given an amount sufficient 
 to furnish the items requisite and proper for this peculiar 
 festival. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, the bishop entered the vestry in 
 order to receive a formal address from the most distin- 
 guished among the laity of the parish. His reply was 
 most touching and affectionate, reminding many of St. 
 Paul's concluding words in his first Epistle to the Corin- 
 thians; and though he tearfully said: "Greet ye one 
 another with a holy kiss," he, like a faithful pastor, warn- 
 ed them at the same time in these words : ** If any man 
 love not the Lord, let him be anathema maranatha." 
 
 When the oration was ended, his lordship, the clergy, 
 and a select number of invited guests, were to dine at Par 
 son Beckett's. The rector, of course, spared neither pains 
 nor expense to get up something suitable for the great 
 occasion. It was rather an exclusive affair— no ladies 
 were present— the dinner was all that the greatest epicure 
 could desire ; the wines were such as to satisfy the taste of 
 
 *A common 
 Eniflaud. 
 
 wind-up." after Confirmation, in many parts of 
 
 )■ I' 
 
 
 
 f 
 
 |ncat , 
 
 £'.'.''.'V; 
 
 111" " ■' 
 
 
 
 
 :i 
 
 
 
 ^!i 
 
 « 
 
 II 
 
 [f 
 
138 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 
 
 
 t 1 > 
 
 •'i > 
 
 i 
 
 
 n 
 
 f ii 
 
 the most fastidious bon vivant, and as soon as some of the 
 reverend guests had been sufficiently stimulated, diffidence 
 gave way, and the boldest opinions were ventured— even 
 in the august presence of a bishop— on many of the prom- 
 inent political, religious, and social topics of the day. 
 Among the clergymen present, their ideas seemed to be as 
 different as their persons. Though, as Churchmen, they 
 had all subscribed to the famous Thirty-nine Articles— con- 
 scientiously, no doubt— yet strange to say, there were dif- 
 ferences of opinion, just as conscientious, regarding the 
 Ritual, the Athanasian Creed, the mode of Baptism, the 
 Prayer Book, and even the very Scriptures. For instance, 
 one clergyman would alter and expand the Ritual; he 
 would have rich vestments, lighted candles, incense, and 
 tinkling bells, and make church ceremonies altogether 
 more attractive and imposing; another disdained all hea- 
 thenish show ; he would simplify the service, and purify 
 the Church from every thing Judaical or Popish. One 
 would rid the Athanasian Creed of its monstrous damna- 
 tory clauses ; another would retain every threat that might 
 strike terror into unbelievers. A certain minister thought 
 immersion of adults was the proper mode of baptism; 
 another firmly believed that infant sprinkling was just as 
 efficacious. One distinguished divine would revise the 
 Prayer Book, and expunge from its pages vain repetitions, 
 and every text from the Apocrypha, especially anything 
 inserted from the book of Tobit ; he never referred to that 
 book, but he thought of Tobit and his sparrows ; a story 
 too puerile and silly for Christian ears ; an opponent would 
 not lessen the bulk of the Prayer Book for any considera- 
 tion, that estimable book was compiled by eminent bish- 
 ops, by some vfho had laid down their lives for the faith. 
 Next to the Bible, it had his most devout veneration as 
 being a blessing to the souls of men. The Apocryphal 
 Scriptures had been singularly useful ; for centuries they 
 had been read in the primitive Church, and many 
 learned and devout ministers, after much research, had 
 asserted that these very Scriptures were just as iuu(;h 
 
 fact 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 139 
 
 inspired, and as authoritative, as those which had been 
 retained. The pious story of Tobit and his sparrows, 
 could, and ought to be, read with as much edification 
 by Christians in general, as the story of Balam's ass, or 
 that of Jonah and the whale, or other similar holy and 
 credible narratives. One rector, on the other hand, broadly 
 asserted, that not only Apocryphal readings, but every 
 (liscrepancy as to time, place, and circumstance, and in 
 fact every statement not sustained by scientific facts, or 
 not in accordance with the advanced ideas of this enlight- 
 ened age, should be eliminated from the holy Scriptures; 
 to this, another rector tartly replied, that were such a pro- 
 cess of expurgation resorted to, all that would be left of 
 the Bible might be easily enclosed in his lordship's snurt'- 
 box. 
 
 These jarring sentiments among clergymen of the same 
 church, were very amusing to some of the guests, who, 
 perhai)S, cared but little what Church they belonged to, so 
 long as it was called the State Church. The Rev. Mr. 
 Meade, who sat near the end of the table, listened to the 
 foregoing clerical remarks with some surprise; he had 
 often heard similar discordant sentiments uttered private- 
 ly, or in a whisper, but now they were boldly spoken even 
 iji the presence of a chief shepherd. And though High 
 Church, and Low Church, and Broad Church, and Narrow 
 Church, and no church at all, views were expressed with 
 the greatest freedom, the bishop appeared indifferent as 
 to what was uttered by altitudinarians, latitudinarians, 
 platitudinarians or attitudinarians ; indeed, his lordship 
 seemed at times to relish the discussion, ready to prompt 
 one or another with a reply ; and he would occasionally 
 enjoy a hearty laugh at the evident discomfiture of some 
 contesting divine who had incautiously gone beyond his 
 depth in a too eager and confident defence of what has 
 been called, with a kind of reverential boast, " the grand 
 old story of the Pentateuch." 
 
 During the time so occupied in polemical discussion, 
 the bishop, though listening at intervals to his debating 
 
 
 1 11(9 
 
 
 Q 
 
 13 
 
 Vff 
 
 J j 
 
 1*^ 
 
 It' ■ til. 
 
 'i 
 
 0»f, 
 
 i: 
 
 SRI 
 
 .1 
 
 
 
 ill 
 
140 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 clergy, was mostly engaged in conversation witii liis old 
 friend and host, Parson Bockett, on the merits of the win- 
 ner of the stakes at the late Derby ; and he would become 
 almost absorbed in depicting the fine points of the most 
 noted horses of the day. While at college, his lordshii) 
 and the rector had backed many a fleet courser at Epsom, 
 and at other places, and it was still, it might be said, a 
 matter of harmless interest to renew an old theme that 
 had enabled them to pass many a pleasant hour. 
 
 "Vanscourt," said the bishop, now addressing one of 
 his chaplains who sat near him, "Have you nothing to 
 say among these wranglers? But, O! I know you are a 
 sad skeptic, and you are glad to hear those fellows tear 
 theology to pieces. Is that not so ? " 
 
 "You know, my lord," replied Mr. Vanscourt, ** that if 
 the wolves devour one another, it will be so much better 
 for the flock. You are, of course, aware that some of our 
 leading modern philosophers incline to think that theol- 
 ogy itself is a ravening wolf which mankind ought to 
 hunt down; and in my opinion, the priests themselves 
 are now doing the work which the people ought to have 
 v' jne long ago. For ages the Church, like Saturn, has 
 lived on its children— devoured its offspring. But Neme- 
 sis has come at last, and now the Chuch, like Niobe, may 
 mourn over those who have departed; over many, my 
 lord, who will never return." 
 
 T 
 
 ' i-!i 
 
 :■:>! 
 
 11 
 li 
 
 Ij 
 
 ll 
 
 I 
 
 I! 
 It 
 
 ! 
 
 'i,?i/ 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 DOUBTING CLERGY, EDUCATED HEATHEN, THE MERCHANDIZE OF 
 
 SOULS. 
 
 rpHE Rev. Mr. Vanscourt, the bishop's favorite chaplain, 
 -■■ was one of those clergymen of the Colenso type, 
 whom his lordship was pleased to call eccentric. He was 
 as reckless in reasoning on statements in the "Sacred 
 Texts," as he would be on statements in Baron Munchau- 
 sen or in Gulliver's Travels ; and it was thought that he 
 was even too ready, and too impolitic, to admit the conclu- 
 sions which such reasoning might force upon him. Still, 
 while willing to be numbered among the clergy, and to 
 receive clerical pay, he would pass many a joke at the 
 expense of things called sacred, and would fain be taken 
 for a skeptic, just as a very numerous class of persons who 
 are in reality skeptics, yet lacking moral courage, would 
 like to pass current in Christian society as being truly 
 orthodox. At times Mr. Vanscourt would startle his cler- 
 ical friends with questions which were suggestive of any 
 thing but confident belief in the inspiration of the scrip- 
 tures, and though he was looked upon by some of the 
 clergy as an "oddity," and by others as a very tottering 
 pillar of the Church, yet so long as the spiritual ruler of 
 Storkchester was satisfied with his ministrations, and 
 content to retain him as his principal chaplain, of what 
 use was it to complain, or even to remonstrate V There 
 were many others such as Mr. Vanscourt within the pale ; 
 and when prelates dared to write heresy, and distinguish- 
 
 » i 
 
 It, i "^^ 
 
 ••'•i^t!: , tfft'" 
 
 diH< 
 
142 
 
 THE HiJATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ed clergy to print reviews calculated to undermine the 
 true faith, surely the mere words of this favorite chap- 
 lain might be overlooked. Furthermore, did not tliis 
 "eccentric" priest know something of the acts of the 
 undoubtedly orthodox clergy that was far, far worse than 
 heterodox words, and more contaminating than the great- 
 est skepticism ? * 
 
 " But Vanscourt," again said his lordship in a quizzing 
 manner, "while you stand in a pulpit and wear a gown, you 
 must not hesitate to say something in defence of the faith. 
 Some of our friends here try to make it appear that the 
 gospels are mere fabrications from ancient legends, one 
 gospel contradicting the other. Come, let us have a vin- 
 dication or an exposition from you." 
 
 "My lord, I must admiv, my total inability to satisfy 
 your lordship's astuteness upon points so dubitative. At 
 best we can only guess as to whom the gospels can be 
 ascribed. I am reluctantly obliged to say that these writ- 
 ings contain many contradictions which we cannot gloss 
 over as Tertuliian, Origen and Eusobius have done. Ter- 
 tuUian, you know, said that he believed a certain doctrine 
 to be * absolutely true because it was manifestly impossi- 
 ble,' and Eusebius would have gone further. But in these 
 latter days we are obliged to give a more tangible reason 
 for the faith that is in us. There is a track of doubt on 
 every modern highway. I cannot assert that much learn- 
 ing will make men mad, but I am positive it will make 
 them skeptical. Boys now laugh at the ogres that fright- 
 ened their fathers, verifying the remark, that the creed of 
 one age may be the romance of the next." 
 
 "Take care, Vanscourt, take care; if you meet Doubt 
 on your travels and take it home, you should never bring 
 it to church with you." 
 
 " But, my lord," returned the chaplain, " what a her* u- 
 lean task it would be were we obliged to try and reconcilo 
 the statements *nd doctrines of the original number of 
 
 (( 
 
 • See Note 6, 
 
THE HEATbCNS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 143 
 
 gospels. If there are so many discrepancies in tlie four 
 which we are blessed with, what a number there might be 
 in the forty or fifty which you are aware were received by 
 the ancient fathers of the Christian Church." 
 
 "Ah, Vanscourt, you ought to have lived in the times 
 of these same primitive fathers. If we at this late period 
 are so easily imposed on as you think, what a field there 
 might then have been for your critical talents among such 
 men as Eusebius, who we must admit, was not over scrup- 
 ulous in the inventing of so-called official records and 
 miraculous legends, to gain believers. Pshaw! what was 
 the real harm in that, if he made men better ? You are 
 too critical, Vanscourt ; you would have made a capital 
 Celsus.'* 
 
 " Thank you, my lord, for the compliment; I am glad 
 you are willing to admit that Eusebius, and others of the 
 Christian fathers, were not, as you are pleased to say, too 
 scrupulous, in order to make their opinions popular. 
 Though some of our divines still almost worship Eusebius, 
 proof is now abundant that he dealt in wholesale fabrica- 
 tion ; he would not hesitate to write a gospel himbclf were 
 it necessary to convince others. His interpolation in Jo- 
 sephus, and his other pious frauds, stamp him as a master 
 in the art of deception. Indeed, his motto might well 
 have been — 'Vulgus vult decipi—decipiatur* 
 
 "Vanscourt, Variscourt," said the bishop, laughing, 
 '* you are really another Celsus. You make no allowance 
 whatever for the pious zeal of the early bishops ; they had 
 to accommodate themselves to the superstitions of igno- 
 rant pagans. If our great apostle thought it harmless to 
 tell a little fib, to make converts, some excuse should be 
 made for Eusebius. Paul said plainly, ' For if the truth 
 of God hath more abounded through my lie, unto His 
 glory, why yet am I also judged as a sinner ? ' What can 
 you say to that ? " 
 
 " I care not, my lord ; a lie is a lie, whether spoken by 
 
 ♦ The common people wish to be deceived--(i8celved let them be. 
 
 
 
 ,iii*i'' 
 
 i: 
 
 
 
 
 SBl 
 
 
 •"-■.1 
 
 II 
 
 ( r 
 
 iH 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 f f- 
 
1 1- 
 
 i 
 
 If 
 
 ■ 
 
 " i\ 
 
 ■'■•. 
 
 ' 1 
 
 1 
 
 II 
 
 
 • I* 
 
 M.. 
 
 i^ 
 
 U4 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Peter, cr Paul, or the angel Gabriel. Truth is a pillar 
 that can stand alone ; it needs not the buttress of false- 
 hood to keep it perpendicular, and some of those; whom 
 we called ignorant pagans, soon told us as much." 
 
 " No use, no use in speaking to you, Vanscourt ; you 
 are incorrigible. While many of our most eminent theo- 
 logians admit that it is still a debatable question, whether 
 we may not deceive the vulgar if it be for their own good ; 
 whether we may not do a little evil that good may come ; 
 you would have straight up and down perfection. No such 
 thing is to be had. Vanscourt, take care ; I lately heard 
 one of our pious ministers prophesy that the death of 
 Judas was in store for you." 
 
 •' Prophets, my lord, cannot always be relied on. Ora- 
 cles, prophets, seers, and soothsayers, are now rated by 
 many as nothing beyond shrewd guessers or common 
 fortune tellers. Some of our commentators have been 
 sadly puzzled to know whether any prophesies have ever 
 been fulfilled. Appropos of Judas, I must now seek infor- 
 mation from you. What was the end of this disciple ? I 
 would like to know what kind of a death it is which our 
 clerical friend says is in store for me. One of our scrip- 
 tural accounts says that Judas went out and hung himself; 
 another account of equal authority intimates that he per- 
 formed hari kari, as they still do in the East, that is, 
 he burst asunder in the middle, and that all his bowels 
 gushed out. Now will your lordship be pleased to enlight- 
 en me on this subject ? How did Judas die ? " 
 
 It is not known whether the Rev. Mr. Vanscourt ever 
 got a satisfactory answer to this question, his lordship's 
 attention having been called in another direction. Differ- 
 ent subjects, by different parties, had been discused at 
 both ends of the table, matters which seemed to attract 
 much attention, and one which related to the very strange 
 remarks made by the Archbishop of Canterbury,* at a late 
 
 * At Carlisle— 1872. The above remarks of the Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury, and the Hindoo replies, are an abridgement of those pub- 
 lished in the London Times, 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 145 
 
 5iiiflsionary inoeting. "His Grace," in urging the neces- 
 >ity for greater missionary exertions among the heatlien, 
 was reported to have said, when referring to the danger 
 which he thought existed by an increased intercourse with 
 the great number of Hindoo, Chinese, and Japanese mer- 
 cliants and students in London, that " In our metropolis 
 we are brought so near heathenism of the worst class, 
 that, unless we take some steps for the converting of the 
 heathen, the heathen will be converting us. For this is not 
 merely an imaginary idea, I am afraid to say it, but I can- 
 no* help thinking that this great proximity of the East to 
 ourselves, has somehow or other, affected the philosophy 
 on which the young men feed in our great seminaries of 
 learning ; that men of learning have more toleration for 
 that denial than they had in the olden times ; that sys- 
 tems which have existed for centuries in the extreme lands 
 of heathenism, are finding some sort of echo even among 
 the literature and philosophy of this Christian country." 
 The Rev. Mr. Meade, who heard this extract read, was 
 amazed at such an admission from the Primate of the 
 great wealthy Established Church of England; amazed 
 to find him concede the possibility of the heathen '* con- 
 verting us,'* and to find his logic floundering through 
 weak expressions, such as " some how or other," "some 
 sort of echo," phrases unsuitable for the capacity of a 
 school boy. What ! after all the treasure that has been 
 wrung from the nation in support of the popular faith, 
 after the assumed purer faith having been propped and 
 supported for centuries by kings and rulers; after tlie 
 powerful aid of money and swords ; after the vast expendi- 
 ture which has been incurred to Christianize such hea- 
 thens; after prayer and the persecution of unbelievers; 
 and after the Divine promise of support! What! all to 
 be endangered by the too free intercourse with a mere 
 half hundred of educated heathens ; a danger of being 
 converted to heathenism by the very people among whom, 
 and for whose supposed benefit, we have been wasting 
 missionary lives and missionary treasure, while leaving 
 
 mi 
 
 ii; 
 
 Ki!!"r!»; 
 
 ]' 
 
 tf 
 
 m 
 
 in 
 
 :i 
 
 
 SK I 
 
 r 
 
 'iv 
 
 M 
 
 
 *4 
 
146 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 m 
 
 Its 
 
 t}0 
 
 ■'"t , 
 
 British heathens— a class too ignorant and too brutal to 
 be compared with Asiatics— in a state of the lowest dej^ra- 
 dation. O! your Grace of Canterbury, O! wealthy Pri- 
 mate, what an admission ! What an inducement for the 
 intelligent Brahmins, and Buddhists, and Parsees, totako 
 your fears into consideration, to return missionary com- 
 pliments, and to mercifully send over a number of theii- 
 zealous educated priests to heathenize and elevate the 
 lowest caste of British barbarians who are such a cryinj:: 
 disgrace to the State Church and to civilization. O ! Righi 
 Honorable and Most Reverend " Canterbury! O! prince of 
 Lambeth! your pusillanimous admission should make you 
 ashamed of your spiritual pretensions. After this, your 
 apostolic twaddle, and your consecrated imposture, shouhl 
 be treated with contempt; you should bo mulct by all 
 Christendom, were it only to the paltry extent of one year's 
 salary; you would hardly miss £15,000— ($75,000,) and it 
 mi ,'ht be far better thrown away in sending one or two 
 dozen extra missionaries to India an to waste the same 
 amount of the harder earned mvuey of the people by 
 leaving it with you. 
 
 The remarks of the Archbishop soon elicited pointed 
 replies from educated Hindoos. One, among many forci- 
 ble things, wrote, that: "In these days of insincerity and 
 hypocrisy, when men are paid for declaring opinions and 
 propagating beliefs they do not believe in, it is not a novel 
 thing to see the High Priest of the Established Church 
 expressing opinions remarkable alike for their inaccuracy 
 and want of charity. " The foregoing part of this sentence 
 was such a hit — a very hard hit too— at the position occu- 
 pied in the church by Rev. gentlemen like Mr. Vanscourt, 
 that nearly every one at the table applauded the palpably 
 correct statements of the Hindoo. And the same educated 
 heathen further wrote : " Such of the English statesmen 
 and officials who watch the transition the Indian mind is 
 passing through, and the rapid strides, intellectual and 
 moral, which are the products of a liberal education ; will 
 bear me out in saying that the religious belief (if by relig- 
 
THE HFATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 147 
 
 gious belief, is meant a system vvhi«.'h inculcates doctrine^?, 
 of future life, charity, etc.,) of the so-called heathens, is 
 as enlightened as that professed, (but not imi>licitly follow- 
 edl by the class whose views are echoed by the Archbishop. 
 These heathens have toleration for their fundamental 
 creed. That no religion can be considered enlightened 
 which is not tolerant, is a truth taught by history. We 
 (heathens') infer from certain expressions which escaped 
 His Grace that toleration has no recognized place in the 
 Christian religion," and the same heathen further added, 
 " it is as unlikely for the heathen in London to embrace 
 the belief inculcated by the Archbishop, as it is for Mr. 
 Stuart Mill, or Professor Tyndall to believe in the com- 
 monly received form of Protestantism." 
 
 And, again, His Grace was replied to by another heathen, 
 who wrote to express the "intense pain," with which ho 
 had read the "unjust attack," made, '* by the head of the 
 Church on us heathens." **To the educated heathen 
 sojourning here it is a matter of merriment to see the 
 different s^ts of Christians keeping up an incessant war- 
 fare with each other." "On the other hand, it will do 
 immense good to His Grace to learn, that the most of us 
 heathens from India have an unmitigated hatred for those 
 who, having it in their power to ascertain the truth, do 
 not study accuracy, who do not care to read the works of 
 heathen writers on religion and philosophy, and yetabusf> 
 them and those who follow them, simply because they are 
 heathen, who have not yet learned the simple lesson of 
 speaking without disrespect about the religious opinions 
 of visitors to their country ; and, lastly, who call us hea- 
 thens * of the worst class ' for adopting the views of 
 celebrities like Mr. Mill, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Darwin, Prof. 
 Huxley and others." 
 
 The Eev. Mr. Meade, who had heard this rei)ort read 
 by one of the Rev. gentlemen present felt that the remarks 
 of these heathens were but too true ; that not only intelli- 
 gent Christians but Christian priests, do not care to *' study 
 accuracy " as to the position of unbelievers, and do not 
 
 I J' ^ m I 
 ; ;i!!?T>; 
 
 ; :ii!l'1!rt 
 
 I ;)ltllA| I'll 
 
 i : I 
 
148 
 
 TH2 HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 desire to read the wor^^ of heathens or of infidels, just as if 
 it were possible to come to a fair decision without hearing 
 both sides impartial! y . He felt that priestly misrepresent- 
 tations, though as common as ever against heathens and 
 unbelievers, were, after all, but little heeded, while the 
 reasoning of Mill, and Spencer, and the scientific doctrines 
 of Darwin, Huxley, and Tyndall, were receiving increased 
 attention even when religious creeds and revelations were 
 being declared illusory by the startling facts of science. 
 
 When the reading of the Archbishop's address, and the 
 Hindoo replies thereto had been finished, the greater 
 number of clergymen present, as well as Mr. Meade were 
 altogether more inclined to applaud the manly sentiments 
 of the educated heathens than to defend the craven posi- 
 tion of the Archbishop. 
 
 The conversation then turned upon advowsons. Two or 
 three of the wealthy rectors mentioned several choice 
 places where capital livings could be had for a mere song, 
 and one of these gentlemen just then happened to see in the 
 paper in v hich he had been reading about, ^^he Arch- 
 bishop and the Heathens," a number of clerical advertise- 
 uionts for the sale of advowsons, one of which was as 
 follows : 
 
 " ADVOWSON FOR SALE BY PRIVATE CONTRACT.* 
 
 Advowson of a living in the south of England. Population 250, 
 ^'/hoUy agricultural. No Dissent. Fine old church, lately restored. 
 Capital house, containing twelve bed and three sitting-rooms, office, 
 stabling, etc., complete. Productive garden, hot-house, conservatory. 
 Dry soil and mild climate. Good market town. Communication to 
 London and all parts of the country by railway. Estimated value 
 £5*20 per annum. Age of the present incumbent 66." 
 
 Hfre was considered a chance for speculation and cleri- 
 calcase; only a population of 250, no dissent, the incumbent 
 (56, and a chance of his being sickly. This was said to be 
 the cream of all similar advertisements in that day's 
 paper, and was pronounced just the thing for any gentle- 
 
 ♦ This advertisement appeared in the Church Hecord, with other» 
 of similar purport. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 149 
 
 man present who had an extra worthless stupid son to be 
 provided for. Indeed it was believed that none of the 
 clerical intelligence offices in London could furnish better.* 
 
 Alluding to this advertisement, an English paper, the 
 Birmingham Morning Post, remarks : 
 
 " That is a delightful touch—" no dissent "—so courteous 
 so Christian, and so expressive ; as if one should say of a 
 house, ' no bad smells,' 'no vulgar neighbors,' 'no ver- 
 min.' Then beside the absence of Dissenters, the living 
 is otherwise desirable. Two pounds a head for looking 
 after 250 people, with twenty pounds over, is not bad pay, 
 especially when we consider the 'fine old church,' the 
 'capital house,* with its twelve bed-rooms, garden, hot- 
 house, conservatory, stabling, and other appurtenances 
 so well known to ministers among the early Christians. 
 The age of the present incumbent only sixty-six, is a draw- 
 back; he might live twenty years longer, and then the 
 purchase of this ' cure of souls ' — fancy the connection of 
 such phrases ! — would be a bad speculation. Still the thing 
 is so very tempting that buyers will no doubt come for- 
 ward, and the right of shepherding and shearing these 250 
 sheep in the South of England will pass from hand to 
 hand for a considera+'on like any piece of merchandise. 
 We wonder what St. Paul would have thought of the busi- 
 ness. But then in his day they didn't take the Kecord." 
 
 The clergyman laid down the paper, and, while the 
 conversation continued, Mr. Meade took up another jour- 
 nal and glanced at its contents, and another advertisement 
 soon attracted his attention ; it read : 
 
 Clerical.— "Wanted, a Curate for the Warrington Parish Church, 
 stipend first year £l50, second year, £i2n, to undortake the whole 
 duty while tlie rector is away, about nine months in the year, and to 
 superintend the making of the rector's liay, etc. Apply to theliov. 
 W. Queckett, rector of Warrington." t 
 
 Ah, thought Mr. Meade what a chance this would be for 
 
 ♦See Note 7. 
 
 t This advertisement appeared in the Manchester Guardian of 
 July aoth, 1870. 
 
 IE 
 
 
 
 !^ 
 
 
 
 Sli I 
 
 if: 
 
 I. 
 
 Ji 
 
150 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 me, what an advance on my present stipend but why 
 should it be £30 less the second year ? Still, however, at 
 that, the income would be fully fifty per cent, over what I 
 have now, and for Esther's sake I would superintend tho 
 making of hay or even make it myself. But then, again 
 thought he, even if I should get this position, how could I 
 leave my poor wife's grave ; how could I leave the vener- 
 able church in which I have so long preached : how could 
 I leave my old parishioners. Where would be good old 
 Stephen's greeting smile in the morning, or his kind adieu 
 at night; who could serve Esther so faithfully? Ah no, 
 dear old Pendell, I cannot leave thee, and when my sun 
 sets, as it soon may, I must rest on thy bosom, and wither 
 away among thy autumn leaves. 
 
 No; great as the inducement might be — an increase of 
 stipend by fifty per cent., and the rector absent niiit^ 
 months in the year, with the privilege of making hay - 
 yet the poor curate of Pendell would forgo all rather than 
 sunder old ties; he would still prefer to submit to tho 
 dubious attentions, and to the increased but hardly wel- 
 come visits of his rector, Mr. Morton, rather than acceiit 
 a better paying position, and a curacy where his Eev, 
 employer might be present only during three months in 
 the whole year. 
 
 Other toijics were then discussed by the convivial 
 clergy. Unbelief and Dissent weve blamed for the dissatis- 
 faction created among agricultural laborers; "strikes" 
 and "unions" were denounced. The bishop expresseil 
 himself strongly against such combinations ; the interest 
 of the landed gentry and employers should be considered 
 paramount; and declared with some vehemence, that, 
 "itinerant agitators," who speak in behalf of the working 
 men, and who disturb their minds ; "should be ducked in 
 a, horse pond ;"* and a nobleman present apj>roving of his 
 Lordship's remarks, advised that all who joined a union, 
 
 ♦ The very words of the bishop of Gloucester at a late meeting in 
 Engluud— 1672. 
 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 151 
 
 " should be deprived of their allotments " (turned off their 
 land) "giving no hope even of a potato patch."* 
 
 The question of the growing insubordination— as it was 
 calL d -of working men, and the increasing spirit of inde- 
 pendence manifested by them toward their superiors and 
 employers led to a conversation concerning the lawless 
 people of the Heath. These unfortunates were bitterly de- 
 nounced as cut-throats and vagabonds; as benighted 
 allies of republicans, infidels, and dissenters; and no 
 words of condemnation were sufficiently strong to express 
 the feelings of the Kev. Mr. Rockett against these viola- 
 tors of law and order. His position as a rector had been 
 scoffed at, and his power as a magistrate not only treated 
 with contempt, but the vile herd, ungrateful for his leni- 
 3nt exercise of authority in dealing with the thieves, 
 poachers, vagabonds, and gypsies, that rambled from the 
 Devil's Dale to prey on honest people— had sent some of 
 those very wretches to lie in wait, and actually to plunder 
 himself, as it was he was comparatively powerless against 
 them — they conspired to protect one another. A bailift 
 whom he had sent out some time ago with a warrant, had 
 oeen nearly beaten to death by more than fifty of these 
 :owardly scoundrels, and though months had passed the 
 
 ♦ The very recommendation of a "Noble Duke" at the same time 
 —a dissenting minister probably alluded to the Bishop and the Duke 
 in the following reference to an address- 
 Mr. Spurgeon in a recent address in his tabernacle took occasion 
 incidentally to refer to the Warwickshire farm laborers' strike. Ho 
 remarked that, in many instances, clergymen were blind leaders of 
 the blind, and if a poor man went to a Dissenting chapel he was sub- 
 jected to a kind of ostracism by the clergyman and the squires. The 
 condition of the agricultural laborers was most shameful, and ho had 
 not rejoiced in anything more than when he heard they had begun to 
 stick and combine for their own interest. He wondered they had not 
 gone out on strike long ago. No doubt if wages were raised farmers 
 would complain they were pinched. In that case the farmers must 
 pinch the landlords. He had not a great deal of sympathy for the 
 latter, for there were numbers who had their thousands of acres and 
 who could stand a little squeezing without being reduced to aoject 
 poverty thereby Negro slavery was nothing to the treatment of the 
 laborers, and it ought to be denounced by every honest man and 
 earnest tong\io. 
 
 jii' 
 
 fii! 
 
 >*'^l 
 
 
 • M 
 
 
 
 m. 
 
 «st 
 
 Mir*?- 
 
 flllliA} f jj 
 
 H 
 
 11 
 
 :? 
 
152 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 man had scarcely yet recovered, and the injured rector 
 declared his intention of applying to high authority in 
 order to rid the entire Kingdom of such wretches. 
 
 There is something in human nature which will resist 
 oppression whether it be clothed in tawdry robes of state 
 or in the most gorgeous habiliments of priestly power. 
 The ruffianism too often displayed byaharrassed, hungry 
 peasantry, is frequently the fiendish shape or creation of 
 impotence against injury. And until rulers, priests, and 
 philosophers, are able to satisfy the impoverished, why 
 one man should be born rich and another poor ; and bo 
 able to justify the great inequality of our present social 
 condition, so long will men believe they have been wrong- 
 ed ; and that belief will cause them to either unite in a 
 resistance to oppression or to become degraded and dan- 
 gerous; talk of natural depravity as we like, wealth and 
 repletion may make rnen insolent and mischievous, but 
 poverty, pinching poverty, is the priicipal source of crime. 
 
 ■m 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A MISSIONARY EXCURSION. 
 
 ^PHOXJGH the Rev. Mr. Rockett, rector of Betnall had 
 every comfort that a reasonable man could desire ; 
 though he was a favored priest of the Established Church, 
 and a magistrate of the county ; tliougli he exercised much 
 social inj3uence, and might have done much good both to 
 the rich and to the poor, yet he never considered it his 
 duty to look beyond himself, or the nominal duties which 
 his position required him to perform. He was hasty and 
 tyrannical in disposition, and was certainly anything but 
 a favorite with the half -starved people of the Heath, for 
 his leniency was dreaded and his mercy was terrible. 
 Thieves and paupers he treated alike : and for the most 
 trifling cause he sent men, women, and children— many of 
 whom were hungry weak and sickly— to the hard labor 
 and wretched fare of the dreaded workhouse, rather than 
 permit vagrants to wander about or to beg for a mouthful 
 of bread; for this Christian minister liad an idea— one per- 
 haps not peculiar to himself— that a man who was very poor 
 and very importunate, must, as a matter of course, be a 
 very great scoundrel. So he had a ready remedy ; he could 
 not compound felony with a penitent thief— had he only 
 stolen an apple ; he could not conscientiously show mercy 
 to a i)oacher, and as he thought a very destitute person or 
 a pauper was a disgusting object to be seen at large, he 
 committed all without distinction, and let the mercy of 
 the law take its course— the only mercy he could ever show. 
 
 
 t'.rai; 
 
 t;:: 
 t 
 
 H»k*i, 
 
 »> 
 
 Bf' 
 
 tttt-" 
 
 fti 
 
 i 
 
 ( 
 
 ! I ■ 
 i \[ 
 '< \ ■ 
 
 i' 
 i; 
 
 III. 
 
 »'' t-i 
 
 > ' wi 
 
164 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 r 
 
 
 It might, however, be alleged that he had some reason 
 for this magisterial rigor. Had he not lost rabbits and 
 bulldogs occasionally; had not his garden been ransacked 
 in spite of his man traps , had not his favorite racer been 
 intentionally lamed; had not his harness been cut to 
 pieces, and his carriage wheels rolled away; and had not 
 nearly every game cock worth keeping been stolen from 
 him? And the pilfering of the last fowl of this kind caused 
 him to be greatly exasperated; and though he had not 
 been lately troubled, by those from the Heath, he thought 
 it was because he had been more watchful. Paupers he 
 detested for their craving, and gypsies he hated, as a race 
 of wandering superstitious wretches, whom he would ex- 
 terminate. 
 
 Most of the clergy present had heard of the " lawless 
 rabble " of the Heath and shared the feeling of Mr. Kockett 
 against them. The Eev. Mr. Meade alone ventured to say 
 a few words in their beh ; If —the only words he had spoken 
 openly at the rector's table. He stated that the condition 
 of these poeple had been lately much improved. A wealthy 
 gentleman, now the owner of the old Mayston estate, had 
 returned scarcely twelve months since, from India, and 
 had determined to reside on the property. It had been 
 said that the people of the Heath never could be civilized 
 until they had been converted, but the gentleman, though 
 he had not made any efforts to convert, had undoubtedly 
 reformed them in a great degree, and he hoped that in a 
 sliort time the marked change in their circumstances and 
 conduct would meet even the approval of the rector of 
 Betnall. 
 
 *' Eeformed, did you say ? Why who or what can re- 
 form them or improve their condition?" almost roared 
 out the rector. **I care not who goes among them, saint 
 or pinner, 'twill be all alike. Reform, indeed! Did they 
 not disdain the pure gospel we would have sent? Did 
 they not afterwards try the spurious stuff that a few Meth- 
 odist ranters tried to cram them with? And, even after 
 that, not one of our curates, no, not one, dared venture 
 
 rw 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 155 
 
 among them to counteract false teaching, Don't tell me 
 about any chance of their reformation ; neither St. Paul 
 nor the Archbishop of Canterbury could do any thing with 
 them. Transportation or the gallows, is, and can be the 
 only remedy." 
 
 " Now I really think," said the bishop, " that here, jven 
 at home, right as it were in our very midst, would be a 
 fine field for the exhibuion of the Primate's missionary 
 zeal. We have tried India almost in vain ; we have had 
 costly experience in other countries, and as the Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury is an authority, unless, as he says, 
 we look sharp the Hindoos will be converting us. Glori- 
 ous result after all our missionary efforts ! Britain to be 
 Brahminized in the nineteenth century. By the by, who 
 is this new comer ? Is he one of these self-same Hindoos 
 whom our Primate dreads ? " 
 
 "No, my Lord," humbly replied Mi. Meade, ** he is an 
 English gentleman who had spent many years in India— 
 a Christian gentleman, I presume, my lord, who to my 
 knowledge has already done much good and acquired 
 much influence over the people of the Heath." 
 
 " Well, then, he must be one of the Archbishop's Hin- 
 doos," again roared out Mr. Rockett, " he can be no 
 Christian. Christianity and the example of Christian peo- 
 ple have totally failed to influence such fiends. No, take 
 my word for it, the fellow is a Hindoo." 
 
 A genuine laugh followed this remark of the excited 
 rector of Betr all. 
 
 "Strange, very strange," said the Rev. Mr. Vanscourt, 
 ironically, " if Christianity itself has failed to benefit these 
 ignorant creatures, surely the every day life and example 
 of educated clergymen of our Apostolic Church, ought to 
 have settled the matter, and convinced them, at any rate, 
 that our form of godliness is great gain. Pon my honor, 
 this discrimination is greatly at fault." 
 
 " Vanscourt," said the bishop, humorously, to his chap- 
 lain, " I've a great mind to send you over to the Heath to 
 try your spiritual skill. Come, what do you say ? " 
 
 at 
 
 »— -" 
 

 m 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 if] 
 
 1 { t 
 
 <( 
 
 My lord, I feel myself, alas, too feeble for such a mis- 
 sion. The Gospel in good hands— in your own, for in- 
 stance—might do much. We know that most professing 
 Christians prefer a gilt-edged Bible to a very plain one ; 
 and I think that gold, with the Gospel, has made our faith 
 attractive among heathens, when the Gospel alone would 
 be rejected. The distribution of a little gold, or its equiv- 
 alent among an impoverished people, might create 
 on the Heath a wonderful relish for our doctrines. I 
 think if a man were hungry, he would be inclined to pray 
 for bread tirst, and for his soul afterward. Now, my lord, 
 as you are far, far more wealthy than I am, and as you 
 possess, of course, more spiritual gifts than all of us here 
 together, I think, therefore, my lord," said the chaplain, 
 bowing with much humility, *' that you should be the mis- 
 sionary to the Heath." 
 
 "Very good, indeed; well done! well argued. Vans- 
 court," said the bishop, laughing. *' Upon my word, if I 
 thought it was quite safe, I would go down among these 
 British heathens and see for myself. Of course you would 
 come, Vanscourt ? " 
 
 The chaplain, with seeming hesitation, spread his hands 
 by his sides, and bowed acquiescence ; and th^n, as if with 
 a timid voice, replied : 
 
 "Where your lordship would choose to go, I dare not 
 refuse to follow; but, would it not, would it not, your 
 lordship, would it not be better that we here should all go 
 together— all together, your lordship? What, my lord, 
 were we obliged to fight our way in, and fight our way out 
 among those evil ones ? Let us all go together, my lord- 
 would it not be much, very much better ? " 
 
 Another hearty laugh followed the simulated fear of 
 the chaplain. The rector of Betnall really felt uneasy at 
 the proposal, but was ashamed to exhibit the least appre- 
 hension. Mr. Morton, the rector of Pendall, wished to 
 plead some excuse ; and other clergymen present, would 
 prefer to enjoy social conversation over the rector's good 
 wine or brandy, rather than be made targets of, or be 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 157 
 
 
 pelted with stones, or even hallooed after by a ragged, 
 rascally mob away out on this vile Heath ; but the bishop 
 having expressed his determination to go, the Reverend 
 clergy all seemed, like other servile beings, to comply 
 with alacrity. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Meade again ventured to assure his lord- 
 ship and all present, that they might now go to the Heath 
 with perfect safety. The visit might be the production of 
 much good ; his lordship would see for himself, and would, 
 no doubt, be pleased to find so many evidences of improve- 
 ment. 
 
 "By the by," said Mr. Vanscourt, "this intended visit 
 reminds me of another singular contradiction which our 
 translators must have overlooked, and which our com- 
 mentators have as yet failed to reconcile. We are inform- 
 ed that an august personage, with his attendance, being 
 once on his way to Sodom, to see for himself whether that 
 city was as bad as had been represented, entered the tent 
 of Abraham on the plains of Mamre ; conversed face to 
 face with Abraham, and Sarah, his wife; had his feet 
 washed, and partook of cakes, milk, butter and veal- 
 refreshments £!et before him ; and yet, in another place, we 
 are told that — ' No man hath seen God at any time ' — that 
 no man can see him and live — ' Whom no man hath seen, 
 or can see.' Verily, my lord and Reverend gentleman, 
 this is a singular contradiction ; and I would respectfully 
 suggest, that those learned and pious men now engaged in 
 a fresh revision of the Bible, should try and reconcile 
 these conflicting statements, or else alter the text, as you 
 know it was common to do in other days ; otherwise, we 
 may expect a fresh brood of skeptics every year, who will 
 reason and reason, until they make most people believe 
 that religion is but superstition, and that our apostolic 
 authority but mere empty pretension." 
 
 " Now, Vanscourt," replied his lordship, " if our visit to 
 this modern Sodom is likely to be attended with danger, 
 you had better suggest an humble prayer, rather tlian 
 raise another skeptical hobgoblin to frighten us away from 
 
 «< 
 
 mi. 
 
 ^ 
 
 ir<rf 
 
 ml 
 
 ■t 
 
 ii 
 
 it 
 
101 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HFATH. 
 
 our true faith. "We want no more emeniations ; we have, 
 I fear, conceded too much altogether. The Bible as it 
 stands is well able to take care of itself without any of 
 your suggested expurgations. But we must go among 
 these wild people. I think it is our duty, particularly 
 now that there is little danger." 
 
 Mr. Meade re-assured his lordship, and stated that by 
 starting at once they could be all safely back by dusk. 
 
 The bright sunlight of an early autumn afternoon 
 spread its radiance over the wide plain, and the well defin- 
 ed shadows, scattered here and there, added nearly as 
 much to the rural scenery as the light that rested upon the 
 waving branches, or that flickered among the restless 
 leaves of the scattered trees. Kuminating cattle rested in 
 the shade, or stood at leisure by the road side, quiet flocks 
 fed or lay on green spots in the distance, and the white- 
 washed cabins — not the rude, wretched abodes that they 
 once were— seemed to smile a welcome to the visitor, while 
 tidy looking women, surrounded by playing children, sat 
 with plying needle on the door-steps. Far and near in every 
 direction a number of men were ploughing, and leveling, 
 and fertilizing the long neglected soil. The deep, muddy 
 pits and ditches had been filled up, piles of brick and rub- 
 bish had been removed, the long, unsightly sheds had 
 been torn down, and much of the material used in order 
 to make the dwellings more capacious and comfortable. 
 The chapel had been turned into a neat schoolhouse which 
 was well attended, the "Rook's Nest" had been demol- 
 ished, and the "Bull Dog" had been well cleaned and 
 repaired, and was now a kind of store house containing 
 tools, implements, necessary supplies, etc., such as might 
 be required by a busy agricultural population. What a 
 change within one year! There were no half drunken 
 loiterers to be found, none such watching or waiting to 
 rob or abuse a stranger, no cruelty to animals, no brutal 
 fights, no overworked women or hungry, suffering child- 
 ren to be longer seen ; all seemed to be buoyed up with 
 hope and confidence in the kind encouragement of one 
 
 \mj 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 159 
 
 man, and all seemed ready and willing to remain and 
 trust in him. So far only two persons had become dissat- 
 isfied, Tom Slaughter and Ned Hogg, the once thriving 
 landlords— one of the Rook's Nest and the other of the 
 Bull Dog— they saw nothing but ruin to them in the 
 changed condition of affairs, and, as they could not be 
 induced to stay, they had left the i)lace in disgust, never 
 to return. 
 
 On this pleasant afternoon the most tame or sombre 
 scenery would lose its gloom ; the steady improvement of 
 this part of the Mayston estate, in so short a period, made 
 the once desolate Heath look cheerful and inviting, and 
 as the bishop of Storkchester and his clergymen were 
 driven slowly across the wide plain, he was surprised to 
 find it so different from that which he had expected. His 
 lordship's carriage took the lead ; no wild mob threatened, 
 no one with felonious intent crossed his path. Those 
 working on either side merely paused to look after the 
 carriages as they passed along, and then quietly resumed 
 their labor. Harry Tamblin, who was now a kind of over- 
 seer on this part of the estate, happened to recognize the 
 Rev. Mr. Meade, and he civilly offered to conduct the 
 gentlemen about the plain and show them what improve- 
 ments had been already made, and what were contemi)la- 
 ted, Mr. Meade expressed his thanks, but told him he 
 need not leave his business. Upon inquiry for Mr. Valiant 
 he was told that that gentleman was then in Ireland ; and 
 though he had been absent from the estate for more than 
 a month, things went on with as much regularity as if he 
 were present. Every man seemed inclined to do all in his 
 power to second the efforts of his generous benefactor, and 
 it was a pleasure to witness the earnest endeavors all 
 made to break up the hardened surface of the land, and to 
 make mellow and enrich the callous soil in which their 
 hearts lay ; and in which they now felt that they already 
 had, for the first time, the sacred natural right of owner- 
 ship. Harry Tamblin seemed specially pleased at the 
 confidence reposed in him by Mr. Valiant, and to ail 
 
 
 jggS 
 
 •3li2. ' 
 
 If. 
 
 i '- it 
 
 :a«r.- 
 
 ii»H , 
 
 tSTt 
 
 I**'" 
 
 
 % . 
 
 Slit 
 
 
 tii:J'-. 
 
 ;v -i 
 
 na.'. 
 
 ktf 
 
 
 'it >: 
 
 
 j ■ 
 
160 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 m 'lf 
 
 appearance, the greatest union and harmony prevailed 
 among those sturdy laborers, who, scarcely a year back, 
 were dreaded by nearly all, as villains and outlaws, and 
 despised by their so-called civilized neighbors. 
 
 Strange as it may be, the rector of Betnall, the Rev. Mr. 
 Rockett, felt rather disappointed and irritated to think 
 that so little notice was taken of himself, of the bishop, or 
 of any of the clergymen present. A few civil words had 
 been spoken to Mr. Meade, but nothing approaching an 
 insult had been offered to the now defiant rector, who 
 really expected — even almost hoped — that he and his 
 friends might be mobbed or otherwise maltreated ; they 
 were not, as yet, even treated with contempt, nothing 
 more than ordinary indifference, an indifference that was, 
 at the time, more galling to the pride of the rector than 
 a direct indignity. He was really amazed to find that his 
 predictions concerning the people of the Heath were not 
 verified, and at the moment he would have been better 
 pleased had a dozen drunken ruffians waylaid the bishop 
 and clergy then and there, rather than they should return 
 favorably impressed with the place or the people. 
 
 The only persons on the Heath not seen engaged at 
 hard labor were a few gypsy stragglers vending little 
 articles, or mending tin ware or other utensils in some 
 by-place. These itinerants reminded the bishop of what 
 he had heard of the gypsies, and he at once expressed a 
 desire to visit their camp. They would then be among 
 real heathens, and might he not be able to truly assert 
 that this excursion was one of a missionary character. 
 
 In a short time they reached the gypsy camp. These 
 peculiar people still preferred to live by themselves in 
 huts and tents ; and as the new owner of the estate was 
 very kind to them, they seemed to be perfectly content 
 with their manner of life. The bishop's carriage stopped 
 in front of the principal tent ; Zingari's. The old gypsy 
 woman wa:^ seen sitting under the shade of a large oak 
 tree, a little boy stood near her ; and about a dozen other 
 gypsy men and women were variously occupied around a 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 161 
 
 few other tents close by. His lordship looked down with 
 some surprise, from his seat in the carriage, at the suppos- 
 ed queen of the wild race, and as ho thoujjht this was a fit 
 oi»portunity to commence his first missionary exhortation 
 he addressed her : "Well, dame, we have come out here to 
 see you, just to see you; I'm glad we've met. You havo, 
 I am told, lived here in this curious way for a long time, 
 yet I've never seen you before— you do not, I suppose, 
 know who I am?" 
 
 Zingari was dressed in her usual fashion; she was al- 
 most always prepared to receive visitors— for she was 
 generally much sought after— and as usual she was knit- 
 ting. She seemed quite collected, and scarcely looked ui> 
 at the new comers. 
 
 " I know who you are, and we have t-veu met here 
 before.'-' 
 
 These words spoken calmly and in a significant tone, 
 rather surprised most oi" the clergymen present. 
 
 "Oh, oh,— perhaps so "—replied the bishop, "many of 
 course know me whom I do not know." 
 
 " You know me well, and will never forget me," follow- 
 ed Zangari in the same significant manner. 
 
 " That may be, that may be, dame, but I really cannot 
 at present think who you are." 
 
 "I could bring a matter to your remembrance," said 
 she, "that might assist you." 
 
 " You probably could," he replied, " but 'tis of no con- 
 sequence, no consequence ; we have merely come here as a 
 duty to give you our best advice and instruction." 
 
 ''Hear him!" .said Zingari, looking around at her 
 gypsy companions, "who wants either your advice or 
 your instruction," and her words had a scornful meaning. 
 
 "Well perhaps you do," continued the bishop, now 
 determined to do actual missionary duty, "perhaps you, 
 dame, and your friends here might listen to our message 
 and be benefited, you are very old, very old indeed, and 
 cannot expect to live much longer. You and your people 
 are very superstitious, and you yourself, I am told, have 
 
 
 
 ' IBM* 
 
 S: 
 
 |;s., 3SU. 
 
 jii. ■■-;;[ 
 
 «'■-'■ iV 
 
 •I 
 
 nil 
 
 il 
 
 i 
 
 'n 
 
 
 ; 
 
 M'^ 
 
 :i- 
 
 
162 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF IHE HEATH. 
 
 'M If 
 
 practised on the credulous ; and without using a harsh 
 expression, you have taken money from poor people for 
 fortune-teliing. Now my good dame, this is wrong, very 
 wrong, for which the Almighty will hold you answerable. 
 We now wish you to reform; we, as God's messengers, 
 would pray you to abandon your error, and accept truth." 
 The bishop's manner was calm and confident, and his 
 seoming sincerity won looks and nods of pious approval 
 from nearly every one of his clerical attendants. 
 
 The loud laugh of the old gypsy woman startled all 
 present; even two or three of the gypsy men sprang up 
 and ran toward her, scarcely knowing what they did. 
 
 His lordship's look was one of blank amazement, and 
 when he saw the woman stately and erect, with outstretch- 
 ed arms before him, he instinctively shrank back into the 
 corner of his carriage, as if anticipating an immediate 
 attack. 
 
 "God's messenger! " she exclaimed, and her mocking 
 laugh could now be heard away out on the Heath, **0! 
 what vile assurance! what audacity to come here to see 
 me on such an errand ! Do I not know you, you prince of 
 hypocrites, you arrant impostor? Do I not know ye all, 
 you race of devouring wolves ?" 
 
 "Silence! you infernal old wretch," now roared out 
 Parson Kockett. The bishop quickly raised his hand, and 
 with nervous gesture waved it rapidly, as if most anxious 
 to keep the excited rectv>r quiet. 
 
 "I will speak here, with the heavens above me," con 
 tinned Zingari, "I did not ask you to come, and now you 
 shall listen. Did you come here to have me accept your 
 stale plagiarisms for truth ? Would you bring me doc- 
 trines as original that were old to my race ten thousand 
 years before the time of your reputed Moses ? You have 
 robbed our Vedas to form your creed. You have got your 
 Old book and your New book— the Bible— a thing of yes- 
 terday ; both, as you i-ry to believe, inspired. Inspired ? 
 Why, they have not even the merit of novelty. Your old 
 book is full of our ancient rites and ceremonies ; your new 
 
 At 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 163 
 
 book is but a re-hash of our doctrines ; our Christna is 
 your Christ ; and your new fangled creed of eighteen hund- 
 red years is yet unknown to tliree-fourths of mankind, and 
 even rejected in the very land of its birth, and is so like 
 ours that you have dared to assert, contrary to plain facts, 
 that ours is taken from yours. You talk to me of truth — 
 t hat which you have never sought for. You all chatter 
 back like magpies the few words you have Ip* u n id from 
 your grandfathers, and you do not look furth' ?~-you daro 
 not hear both sides—'twould be your destructi n." 
 
 The excited rector of Betnall was again about to make 
 a sharp reply, but was prevented by a sudden look from 
 the bishop, who now felt somewhat reassured, and he 
 anaiii addressed his venerable opponent: 
 
 "Dame, you are far too hasty, too hasty; we have the 
 truth, of this we are assured. We do not want to argue 
 with you ; but what have you done to gain true knowledge ? 
 We are confident that our religion is not a thing of yester- 
 day." 
 
 " O, yes, you are confident because it is popular herea- 
 bouts; you are assured of its truth because it gives you 
 ])aying ijositions. You don't want to argue because your 
 priestly presumption could be no gainer. No, you would 
 j>refer to lock up thought and put the key in your pocket ; 
 but this is what 1 have done to gain some knowledge. I 
 nave read that paper idol of yours from beginring to end- 
 iu</, from Genesis to Kevelation, yes, every word, and 
 what \n it ? But a mere scrap book from our ancient creed. 
 N'>w, have you ever read oar Vedas ? " 
 
 " I cann</f. say that I have," replied the bishop. ** But, 
 damo, a dis< tih*',ii>n of this kind is unseemly; ycu are too 
 positive in your error." 
 
 "Am I? And wiiat has yours been so far but a life of 
 vilrness and pretension ? You tell me I cannot live long; 
 but hear me. Old as I am, I shall survive you ; your days 
 will soon be nuinb(irc<j , " Here the bishop's cheek was 8e6n 
 to blanch. "You tell me tliat I have practised on the 
 credulous, and have taken from the poor; yet, poor as I 
 
 Jlii 
 
 m' 
 
 m^ 
 
 ii.,.-t: 
 
 
 S: 
 
 lA: 
 
 |{V' 
 
 ;:;:K::: 
 
 
 
 M, 
 
 fit 
 
 ii 
 
 i m 
 
 1 >« 
 
 
 
164 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 hi |« 
 
 i ■ 
 
 
 am, the little which I have privately given might count 
 equal to your own ostentatious alms. But on whose cre- 
 dulity have you practised ? What have you been doing ? 
 Is not year trade a deception, only submitted to because 
 it is popular here in Europe ? You are servile to a myth 
 because it brings you money; and servile priests have 
 made a servile people. If I have, as you say, taken money 
 from the poor, whether I have given value or not is best 
 known to those who have dealt with me. But what have 
 you !,dven to rich or to poor for what you have taken for 
 your soothsaying ? What a wolfish conscience you have 
 to accept the pile of gold that you get every year, while 
 thousands of your fellow creatures, even more worthy than 
 you. are houseless and starving ; but I've been only a com- 
 mon fortune teller. What were your prophets but such, 
 whose predictions have never yet been fulfilled? Ah, 
 Thomas Sumpter, apostolic knave, I know you well, and 
 all the conscience or honor that you ever possessed might 
 be hidden in a poppy flower." 
 
 "Now you deal in falsehoods," quickly retorted the 
 Bishi-ip, getting rather pngry. '* Woman I know you not ; 
 you linow nothing of me." 
 
 " Do I not ? I know you and all your race. Do I not 
 know those hireling expounders of godliness, whose ob- 
 trusive cunning stalks about in the guise of simplicity ? 
 Whose cupidity is fed by the ostentatious doling out of 
 pence to the poor in the presence of the wealthy; who rai! 
 against riches in order to become rich, who pray for hu- 
 mility in order to obtain power, who are weak-kneed where 
 there is danger, and formidable where there is mo foe, and 
 who are sycoj-thantic to tyrants, and arrogant to tht- 
 oppressed? O ye meek wolves! ye affectionate vultures ! 
 O, ye would be lords of heaven and of earth, what a world 
 this would-be were ye possessed of unlimited jK-wer ? " 
 
 "■ Vile woman, your mouth should be stopped, "exclaim- 
 ed the bishop. 
 
 "Ay, that's yowr pl*n; tltti^ ^swnr fevorile mode of 
 argument; but you can't ship me I know ye too well, ye 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 ip,n 
 
 canting hypocrites who revel in deceit. I know ye, placirl 
 schemers, who proclaim toleration, yet fiercely persecute, 
 who denounce slavery, yet keep the mind in bondage. O, 
 ye proud-unassuming, ye humble-arrogant knaves, ye 
 specious frauds that feed man upon myths which many of 
 yourselves reject! O, ye race of sophistical, consecra- 
 ted impostors, where would progress be if left to your 
 control? see what confusion you have wrought by your 
 creeds and confessions ; see what you have done by your 
 prayers and your pretensions. O, ye living lies that hoard 
 up gold in the midst of poverty, and that neglect black 
 crime in your own country to preach repentance in for- 
 eign lands. O, ye beggars, ye plotters, ye pretenders, ye 
 evil angels, see what a wreck ye have altogether made of 
 this beautiful world ! I know ye ! '* 
 
 "Infamous, unscrupulous woman," retorted his lord- 
 ship, "you are a defamer; you know nothing of us, you 
 know not one pro-ent, not one." and now the heightening 
 color flushed the bishop's face. 
 
 Zingari lixed her black eye on him for a moment and 
 then slowly said : '"Viper, I know you too well — perhaps 
 you think that like yourself I have forgotten Agnes." 
 
 "Woman," said he, now startled and angry, "you are 
 an impostor, a vile wretch, you never saw her face— never 
 —I know not of whom you speak." 
 
 ' Do you mot?" repli»-l she calmly, "Look there and 
 see if you c«n recognize any one." Zingari then walk- 
 ed slowly rc" the carriage ; she extended her right arm 
 so as to bring her hamd within ten or ' vvelve inches of the 
 bishop's face, this hand was partly doubled in order to 
 hold a small cizwrilKL' mjrror of polished steel or silver, 
 aboiit the si«e of a crown piece : the face of this little 
 mirror wae sligh^lv convex, and when she presented it to 
 the bi&lM»pith.: lim appearance, similar to that which 
 the brflftth mi;.: prod^ice on a polished surface. The 
 bishop"^ ^ves st^med to rest involuntarily on the mirror ; 
 presently in the center of it a bright spot appeared 
 which pr^w slowly larger and larger until it neared the 
 
 • ,w 
 
 
 •r% 
 
 
 Hi 
 
 &it!t 
 
 i^4 
 
 ^11: 
 
 
106 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 1. i 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 edge of the mirror, and then the bishop's gaze became 
 intense when he saw what seemed to be the reflection of 
 the face of a beautiful gypsy girl, whose age might he 
 about twenty years. The face had a very wan, sad expres- 
 sion, and at the lower corner of each side of the mouth, 
 there seemed to be veritable little blood marks; and 
 though the bishop would have fain withdrawn his eyes, 
 he still gazed and now actually shuddered. 
 
 "That's a fraud— another of your impositions," cried 
 out Parson Rockett who sat beside the bishop, " I can see 
 nothing, neither can any one.jlse," and the a igry rector 
 snatched the mirror, and witlfa hasty fling tried to send 
 it far into the brushwood where it never should be found. 
 He then turned a defiant look upon the old gypsy woman, 
 and was himself amazed to see her now standing a few 
 feet distant, and holding out in full view before all, the 
 very mirror which he fancied he had just thrown to a great 
 distance. 
 
 "This doesn't part fromme as easily as you imagine," 
 said Zingari still holding out the mirror. "If I am an 
 impostor, you will admit that my sleight-of-hand is sueh 
 as you do not often witness." 
 
 Though the bishop sat silent and evidently subdued, 
 the rector of P>etnall grew now more irritated, and tried 
 to believe that in his excitement he had failed to get hoM 
 of the mirror, and he demanded that it should be placed 
 in his hands for tlie purpose of satisfying all that he could 
 send it be> ' iid the reach of its owner. 
 
 "One trial must answer," said Zingari, " beware how 
 you make a i another attemi)t." 
 
 "Just what I expected you would do if put to the test," 
 shouted Mr. Rockett. Two or inore of the clergymen now 
 asked to see the mirror. She held her hand before the 
 face of the Rev. Mr. Morton the rector of Pendell, but the 
 surface of the mirror was quite dim. " There is nothing 
 for you at present," said Zingari, "there may be if you 
 ever see it again." 
 
 "Ay, I see how it is," cried Mr. Morton, "a downright 
 
 is. 
 
I 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 167 
 
 deception ! You have imposed on his lordship as you have 
 on most others. You work on people's imagination, and 
 on their fears." 
 
 Zingari made no reply, and as Mr. l^eade the curate of 
 Pendell, stood close to her she bade him look. The 
 mirror was at first dim, then it became clear as it did for 
 the bishop, and lo, the curate was amazed to see the very 
 likeness of his son who was in India, and whom he had 
 not seen for years. 
 
 ** Well, is that a deception ?" she enquired. 
 
 Mr. Meade felt rather timid to make an acknowledge- 
 ment after what his rector had asserted. 
 
 "I cannot say that it is," replied he in a hesitating 
 manner. 
 
 "And yet now you are afraid to say so," said Zingari. 
 "How like you are to those others; just as Christian 
 priests always do, for while they shout for truth, they are 
 every ready to deny its claims should it come into conflict 
 with their preconceived notions." 
 
 The silence of the curate seemed to be an admission of 
 the truth of what she had said. " You know the face 
 then?" 
 
 " I do," answered Mr. Meade. 
 
 "Well, then," she continued, " you have got another at 
 home, but be watchful of your bird, for there's a hawk 
 around your dwelling that would do it harm," and she 
 gave a significant glance at the rector of Pendell. 
 
 "You would have him your dupe also I see," uttered 
 Mr. Morton hastily. "There," said he throwing her a 
 small silver piece, don't fail this time— perhaps you can 
 do better at fortune telling." 
 
 Zingari took no notice of the money, but asked him 
 what he particularly wanted to know. 
 
 "Well, you have predicted the death of his lordshii) — a 
 shrewd guess by the by, seeing thu we are not all immor- 
 tal like yourself— but after that what is to happen ?" 
 
 "Oh, his lordship's great funeral, of course," replied 
 Zmguri. 
 
 . r 
 
 i', S- 
 
 tpxt 
 
 
 it 
 
 filBti 
 
 :;:*.:, »?»^' 
 
 III*.; tfi^' 
 
 m r 
 
 iiin i fU ■ 
 
 iiu:;. .y. 
 
 n't 
 
 p 
 
 i 
 
 IB!'* 
 
 il 
 
 t? 
 
 i 
 
 •''ft 
 
 MJ 
 
 s 
 
 1 
 
 
 i 
 
 M 
 
 Iff 
 
 ii. 
 
 B I 
 
 
 I 
 
 if 
 
 u 
 
 ; ^1 
 
 .* ' ■ ■ t' 
 
 il 
 
 ■: I 
 
 
 ¥ 
 
 II 
 
168 
 
 THE HC\THKN8 OP THE HEATH. 
 
 ,;i:h;rf 
 
 " Capital '."said Mr. Morton affecting to laugh, ** capital 
 guessing, as bishops are always certain to have great 
 funerals. "What a wonderful seeress to predict what she 
 knows is going to happen." 
 
 "Just as your greatest so-called prophets have always 
 done," she retorted. 
 
 "Ay, woman, but after all they gave us some shrewd 
 particulars ; try your hand in that line ; say, for instance, 
 who are to be the pall bearers." 
 
 " You will not be one," she quickly replied. 
 
 " Well, shall I not be among the mourners ? " 
 
 "No," said she, " not unless you yourself rise from the 
 grave, which is scarcely probable." 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Morton tried to laugh at this capital joke, 
 but somehow the laugh stuck in his throat, yet he contin- 
 ued, as if unabashed : 
 
 "O, of course you always like to bury those who are not 
 your dupes. Well, won't you promise me a stately fun- 
 eral?" 
 
 " No, not even the burial of a pauper, for you will never 
 need a coffin." 
 
 At this the rector of Pendell, in spite of his affected 
 indifference, was really startled. 
 
 "Here, you old Jezebel! " now shouted the Rev. Mr. 
 Rockett, " you have quickly disposed of one bishop and 
 one rector; save your favors for others; there are three 
 or four more of us here, yet. I suppose I shall die also— 
 what then ? Don't hurry me off too soon." 
 
 "Ah, you think that would be a safe prediction for me," 
 said Zingari. *' Well, we will not hurry you off, you will 
 survive the other two, but die you must ; aye, unexpectedly 
 before your time." 
 
 "Well, but you will bury me decently, won't you?" 
 l!i<iuired he in a mocking tone." 
 
 "Bury you? ah me, nol You will have no coffin, you 
 will have no funeral— for you will never need even a 
 grave." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE ISLAND OF SAINTS. 
 
 A S soon as John Valiant had made arrangements for the 
 '^^ restoration o£ the old Man jr House, for the i m | )ro vc- 
 ment of the land and cottages on the Heath, and for tlio 
 present employment and benefit of the poor inhabitants 
 on that portion of his estate, he resumed his search after 
 his son ; and he landed in Ireland during the first day of 
 J uly determined to make a thor< )ugh search i n that country 
 in the hope of being able to return either accompanied by 
 the object of his solicitude or posessed of some certain 
 knowledge concerning him. During the few months of 
 his stay in England, he had made inquiries not only at 
 the several Mission Houses, buL in many other places, 
 and he had also employed trusty agents to try and gain 
 such information as might be most likely to render his 
 journey successful. Any way, though still much depressed 
 the news he had obtained through certain sources, enabl- 
 ed him to start afresh more hopeful than he had been for 
 many a day. 
 
 Were a person desirous of tracing out on a map of the 
 world, a land that had been devastated by religious strife, 
 and still cursed by the demon of religious discord, he 
 might look through Asia, that primitive source of relig- 
 ious ideas, he might enter India and course along the 
 Indus, or the Ganges, and thence thiough China and 
 Japan, and find men worshiping at different altars, or 
 bowing before different shrines, and yet not be inclined to 
 
 3KJ 
 
 II > 
 
 
 ■M 
 
 m 
 
 
 t 
 
 53 
 
 rr 
 mill 
 
 lit":. 
 
 i: 
 
 i:3Ei 
 
 1*1 V < 
 
 ii%i sai^. 
 
 |ii«,j *,u 
 
 !1 
 
 \: 
 
 1 
 
 h 
 
 lit: 
 
 ^k 
 
 l\' 
 
 ;: i 
 
 I it 
 I tl 
 
 |i< 
 
170 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 )]«;:_ .^ 
 
 J^fc 
 
 H 
 
 ■ 
 
 i- 
 
 l 
 
 1 
 
 Im 
 
 s 
 
 1^ 
 
 i, 'taw 
 
 hate or harass one another because that Brahma, or 
 Buddha, orChristna, or some other deity, was the obJecL 
 of adoration. He would find that the maxims of Confucius 
 inculcated a reverence for the religious opinions of stranj,'- 
 ers ;* and that even in Africa, where it is said the greatest 
 supevstition still abounds, not one of the ancient temples 
 or vast siruriures which stud the course of the Nile, 
 and indicate the past greatness of Egypt, was ever erect- 
 ed to serve as an Inquisition. In these so-called be- 
 nighted lands where the great majority of mankind— the 
 still unchristianized— are huddled together, or classified 
 into castes, the powerful and prevailing influence of 
 Paganism has ever been averse to religious persecution ; 
 and not until the inquirer has passed into Europe, not 
 until he has entered the very stronghold of that superior 
 Faith for which is claimed every excellence, not until ho 
 has reached lands eminently Christian, can he truly dis- 
 cover the terrible effects of bigotry and religious persecu- 
 tion. 
 
 Strange that this should be the case, but history will 
 not belie the assertion. Look at the map. Oh! what a 
 contrast between Pagan Rome in the Augustan age, and 
 papal Rome under a Gregory, an Alexander, or an Inno- 
 cent! See Spain, almost wholly devoted to the Roman 
 Catholic Church, degraded by its intolerance, and its 
 Inquisition; and the government miserably enfeebled by 
 the dictation of priests. Portugal is much in the same 
 condition. France has been rendered restless and revolu- 
 tionary, as much perhaps by its bigoted, intermeddling 
 ecclesiastics, as by its intriguing rulers, or its insignificant 
 
 * " Amonpr the Chinese it is customary to ask, * To what sublime 
 religion do you belong?' One perhaps will call himself p. Confucia- 
 nist, another a Boodhist, a third a disciple of Lao-tze, a fourth a fol- 
 lower of Mohammed, of whom there are many in China, and then 
 every one begins to pronounce a panegyric on the religion to which 
 be does not belong, as politeness requin.'S ; after which they all repeat 
 in chorns,' Pow-town-Kiao,town.-ly, religions are many ; reason is 
 one ; we are all brothers.' This phrase is on the lips of every Chinese, 
 and they bandy it from one to the other with the most exquisite ur- 
 banity,"— Hue's Jtturney through the Chaiese empire, Cap. V. 
 
 «• 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 171 
 
 minority of Huguenots. Austria, and Italy, havo jnstbo.tjun 
 to see tliat the antiquated notion of a one true cliuii'li 
 has left tliem far behind in the march of iniprovomont; 
 and that toleration is at last necessary. If this ido:« of a 
 " one Lord, one faith, one baptism, and one true church " 
 so steadfastly adhered to in countries exclusively Roniuii 
 Catholic, has produced such degeneration, how is it in a 
 country where Protestants and Catholics, come into tlread 
 conflict; where a so-called heretical faith has been urged 
 on the majority, where wrangling Protestant sects only 
 truly unite in hostility to the papal Church and where 
 added to this hostility political and national wrongs tend 
 to aggravate and perpetuate the hatred that has already 
 existed for centuries ? Now where in a map of this wide 
 world can a land be found so cursed and blighted ? 
 
 There is a beautiful island in the Atlantic, long renown- 
 ed for its majestic mountains, its lovely valleys, its romantic 
 glens, its splendid lakes, its pleasant rivers, and its clear 
 streams. A fair island, as if nature had been determined 
 to exhibit an epitome of its richness and beauty, a green 
 spot raised in the midst of the blue waves, with glorious 
 scenery, fertile soil, and a healthful climate ; with verdant 
 slopes, with rocks, roses, and waterfalls, and every attrac- 
 tion to make it an earthly paradise; and yet this very 
 island richly endowed as it is by the great munificent 
 Hand, has been made nearly desolate by man ; and relig- 
 ious and political strife has swept through it, and over it 
 like a very besom of destruction. This island so beauti- 
 ful, so blighted, and so bereft ; this land, such a reproach 
 to its Popes, and potentates, this arena of fearful pious 
 and political discord, can alas ! be traced out on the map 
 as— Ireland. 
 
 This then was the country to which John Valiant had 
 determined to proceed. He landed in Dublin and remained 
 in the city for a day or two with an old friend whom he 
 iiad known in India. This person who was in an official 
 position in the Irish caidtal gave him much information 
 as to the condition of the country, the habits of the people, 
 
 i^ fe 
 
 ii-i, 
 
 -' s: 
 
 & 
 
 • \ 
 
172 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 C) * -^ 
 
 and vviiat were thon{,'ht to bo the main causes of the ron- 
 tlDued discontent of the great majority of t hf inhabitants. 
 Ireland was still very much disturbed ; the chronic stato 
 of rebellion in which it had been for centuries, still 
 required the presence of a large number of troops, and 
 these, with priests, parsons, and policemen, and numerous 
 ragged, hungry looking creatures wandering through the 
 streets were the most common and striking objects that 
 met the eye of a stranger. How different from what one 
 should expect! Here was a land which might be the 
 happy home of millions, but from which thousands annu- 
 ally rush as if from a plague stricken country — it is a 
 stricken country— it has been blighted by sectarian strife ; 
 and in every phase of misfortune that has befallen this 
 unhappy island, religious plotting, and religious discord 
 can be tracol as the root of the evil. Here for a long 
 period was c. i)ampered State Church— now happily dis- 
 established — representing but a fraction of the population, 
 yet reveling in wealth and pretension ; which for long 
 years, and in its palmiesi; days, was rapacious enough to 
 exact tithes from the great bulk of the inhabitants who 
 were of a hostile belief — the Koman Calliolic majority, 
 then, and still, the most destitute class of Irish— and on 
 whom it tried, often by the vilest means, to force a detested 
 creed, a church which would still continue to exact the 
 last penny from the very people who hated its doctrines, 
 were it not for the cry of, " shame, shame," which startled 
 at last even an indolent majority in the British Parliament 
 to a sense of simple justice. And then, when this very 
 church was deprived of this infamous right to directly 
 assess Irish Roman Catholics, (as it has assessed Irish and 
 English Dissenters,) as a proof of its reliance on Provi- 
 dence, its pusillanimous meanings — such as it lately gave 
 upon its disestablishment in Ireland— were heard through- 
 out the land, as if it had been forsaken by God and man. 
 But though the Catholics had declaimed long and loud 
 to a Protestant clergy against the oppression of titlies one 
 might assert that this affliction was but retributive j for 
 
 «». 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THH HEATH. 
 
 173 
 
 their own Church claimed tithes, withoui rtmorse, in 
 every country over which it had coutrol : auJ Pope Inno- 
 cent III. was among the first to esiabiiHli this odious Jew- 
 ish tax on all alike in England; and his decretal was, of 
 course equally authoritative in Ireland. Tlie. English 
 State Church, however, such as it was, and such as it is, 
 was but a partial evil in the land. The lie man Catholics 
 had, and still have, a much more oppressive burden in the 
 support of the ostentatious form of faith to which the> 
 are so devotedly attached. If Ireland has not been the 
 actual flower garden of the Roman Church, it has cer- 
 tainly been its kitchen garden, and while the numerous 
 hierarchs of the Popedom have flourished and fattened 
 among an impoverished people, they have made those 
 same people- the Roman Catholic Irish— their veriest 
 slaves. The Irish Catholic bishops, though ever ready to 
 talk in lofty strainn about patriotism, have never yet been 
 too faithful to their own (50untry. They declaim against 
 England, yet are willing to accept her gold and her favors, 
 as if their rights ; they are willing that the Irish race 
 should remain moderately turbulent— a thorn in the fore- 
 finger of Britain ; they are willing to denounce " Saxon " 
 schools, and ''Saxon " innovations, and " Saxon " civiliza- 
 tion, but yet would be among the first to prevent the peo- 
 plCj whom- they had gradually trained to believe, that 
 resistance to tyrants was a duty, from the commission of 
 an overt act, though that very act should secure for all 
 their fancied political liberty. Rome has ever been almost 
 idolized by the Irish priesthood • and Rome, the fanatic, 
 that would prevent a Protestai 1 1 Bible, a Protestant church, 
 or even a Protestant cemetery from being within its holy 
 boundaries,* is exalted as the model of truth and pro- 
 priety for all nations ; and though those same Irish bishops 
 well know that the submission of their country to Eng- 
 land is the result of the machinations of a veritab'i' Pope, 
 (Adrian IV.,) still, as if oblivious of this fact, the whole 
 
 • Bee N.jte 8, 
 
 1% 
 
 C 
 
 ft 
 
 !■».' 
 
 lt*f 
 
 li .) . 
 
174 
 
 THE HKA.TUF,N8 OF THK HKATH. 
 
 liearful story is uot told, but the ontire blame is placed on 
 others, or thrown upon the shoulders of the hated Saxon. 
 
 Alas for this poor island 1 the rule of priests has secured 
 for it an unhappy notoriety ; and traces of their dej^ener- 
 ating pway can be seen in the faces of too many of its 
 people. After centuries of ecclesiastical domination, igno- 
 rance and superstition prevail; the Irish are no longer 
 tho teachers, the poets and the musicians of Europe ; their 
 bards are all but forgolten, and their har]> almost silent. 
 O! what have hostile creeds and blind faiths done for 
 Ireland? What have mitres, and crosiers, and spangles, 
 and lawn, and consecrated gew-gaws and trumpery, Cath- 
 olic and Protestant, wrought for this creed-cursed country? 
 
 Such were the ideas that prevailed in the mind of John 
 Valiant respecting Ireland ; he could form no other con- 
 clusion than that this land of which he had heard so 
 much, had been deplorably misgoverned for centuries; 
 and that, though the government had of late years, been 
 honestly trying to better the condition of the country, 
 almost every effort in this direction had been interfered 
 with by the clergy, principally by those of Rome. The 
 recital of the political sutTerings of Ireland must still go 
 on; every wound must be made to bleed afresh, and tho 
 persecuted Church of his Holiness must be exalted as the 
 greatest of martyrs, as if its persecutions of heresy were 
 not vastly more cruel and extensive than all others. No, 
 nothing should be torgotten by Catholic priests ; the past 
 should never die— they would never see a single hope ; but 
 while England ruled, the bleak future was to be ushered 
 in, surrounded by the blackest thunder clouds, as if omi- 
 nous of continued disasters for their unhai^py island. 
 
 As it was, Mr. Valiant found that the people were 
 divided into sects and parties too prejudiced to reason, and 
 too much under the subjection of priestly rulers, to dare 
 think for themselves ; and, from v/hat he saw, he could 
 not help believing that if it had been the policy of those 
 in authority, civil and religious, to create disunion and to 
 engender strife among a naturally kind and generous peo- 
 
THE HEATHKNS UF THE HEATH. 
 
 175 
 
 pie, they hud only been too sueressful. He found that 
 after prayers and penalties, after blessings and excommu- 
 nications, after a lavish distribution of "Acts and Epis- 
 tles," and acts of Parliament, that Ireland was still vol- 
 canic, still ejecting its destructive lava, Hinging its burning 
 S'^oria far and near, and often rendering even noon-day 
 dismal with its smoke, its ashes, and its deadly vapors. 
 
 It was a gala day in Belfast, a great number of people 
 had assembled in the city; flags were suspended in differ- 
 ent places; several vessels at the quays had hoisted an 
 unusual quantity of bunting, and gaudy banners floated 
 in the genial air over certain buildings, and a few hung 
 gently rufiBed even from some of the highest steeples. 
 Shouting boys displaying blue and yellow ribbons tramp- 
 ed here and there through the streets; and men, women, 
 and children wandered about as if bent upon exhibiting 
 ribbons of the same kind tied around, or fastened to hats, 
 caps, and bonnets. Even most of the sedate, respectable 
 business men as they went along wore a little of this yel- 
 low or blue ribbon in a button hole, and the yellow, or 
 rather the orange color, seemed on this particular day to 
 be so prized by all, that few persons could be seen who 
 had not from a finger's length to a yard or two of t his kind 
 of ribbon fastened to coat or hat, as if it were a token of 
 some distinction. On ordinary occasions the chief town 
 of Protestant Ulster might be a model of sobriety and 
 quietness, but on this day, although it was yet the early 
 forenoon, a more rampant, noisy number of pooi)le could 
 hardly be got together; and it is questionable whether 
 strict sobriety could have engendered the wanton enthu- 
 siasm which appeared to control nearly all. Many seem- 
 ed to act as if there had been granted a special license to 
 be as boisterous and as unruly as possible; and many 
 others went strutting about with defiant look and rude 
 bearing, as if anxious to discover an opponent on whom 
 to exhibit appropriate vengeance. To make things more 
 confused, other noises besides loud shouting were almost 
 continuous. Shots were heard within the respectable 
 
 aa: 
 
 ■tM' 
 
 m 
 
 
 •331 
 
 jr;:! , 
 It '.I IttU-K 
 
 »• 
 
 a: 
 
 % 
 
 1 
 
 m-.i )« 
 
 m 
 
 ' •'" ri— 
 
 m 
 
 «•« kTW 
 
 i 
 
 
 1 ( ' 
 
 . [ 
 
 if 
 
 
 I: 
 
 f 
 
 H 
 
 i^h 
 
 
176 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ill 
 
 ■* ^}, 
 
 corporation boundaries of the city; fire crackers rattled 
 on the streets, and on house tops ; the constant rat-a-tat- 
 tat of little drums was deafning, and that which was 
 required to complete the most bewildering discord was 
 produced by shrieking fifes, whistles, and tin trumpets, 
 blown in every direction by boys whose puffed cheeks gave 
 evidence of a determination to make the most ear-piercing 
 sounds from the most insignificant of instruments. 
 
 A short time before mid-day the Dublin train reached 
 the Belfast station ; there were many passengers, several 
 of whom rejoiced not only in a profusion of blue and yel- 
 low ribbons, but who also wore peculiar shaped orange 
 collars, and a few men wore a kind of red gown which gave 
 them a most absurd and slovenly appearance. One indi- 
 vidual, api)arently some kind of a leader or official, be- 
 sides wearing ribbouL, a collar, and a rich scarf, had also 
 two or three medals fastened on his breast. He was a 
 stout, low-sized man, with a short neck, a florid face, and 
 something of the vulgar bully in his appearance. Indeed 
 at first view, one even reasonably skilled in physiognomy 
 might wonder how such a man could do any act that would 
 entitle him to wear any medal other than one of the 
 most poisonous brass; but like other (so-called heroes) 
 he might have won them because he was a partizan who 
 could be reckless and inhuman against political or relig- 
 ious opponents. He had evidently been expected, for 
 when the cars stopped, a crowd of men variously bedizen- 
 ed awpited his arrival, and when he stepped from the car 
 a loud shout rent the air, irregular shots were fired, little 
 drums rattled, flags were waved about in the wildest man- 
 ner, and two or three bands struck up a medley of tunes, 
 producing a poi pourri which to a musical ear was simply 
 distracting. 
 
 After a little delay this distinguished visitor, who prov- 
 ed to be a "deputy j-rand" something among the Irish 
 Orangemen, entered a carriage with three other persons, 
 a long processicni was formed, the bands struck up again, 
 banners were again waved, and the cortege moved ofif from 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 177 
 
 the station. This w;is the great 12th of July, a day more 
 sacred to many Orangemen than our Christmas is to 
 Christians. The anniversary of the battle of the Boyne 
 was again to be celebrated, Kin;^' William on horseback 
 — the Orange idol— was once more to be flaunted before 
 the eyes of the incensed Catholics; an old feud was to be 
 offensively brought to remembrance, aided even by some 
 who claimed to be distinguished as ministers of a religion 
 of peace ; and Protestantism here was again about to raise 
 its triumphant head in proud <lisdain for Pope and poi)ery, 
 ready to pray for the conversion of the dupes of that sys- 
 tem, or perhaps more ready to consign them to infamy ; 
 willing that the country should be purged of their pres- 
 ence, and that Providence might be further honored and 
 glorified, in their complete banishment or annihilation. 
 
 Mr. Valiant who had arrived at Belfast by the same 
 train, was rather surprised at this singular demonstration. 
 He waited quietly at the station until nearly all had 
 departed; and, as every vehicle in waiting had rolled 
 away hurriedly filled, he threw his light overcoat across 
 his arm, and carrying a small valise, took his way leisure- 
 ly towards the principal hotel. As he went along he dis- 
 covered that, for some reason, he was the object of much 
 questionable attention, and that notwithstanding the 
 clatter and the rush of people that had taken place in 
 their desire to keep near the principal carriage, many per- 
 sons stood and stared at him as if he had been an unbap- 
 tized native of the Sandwich Islands. Little Protestant 
 boys— for they wore the Orange ribbon— were so rude as 
 to yell after him as he walked on, and five or six of thcni 
 followed him closely, sometimes rushing in front of him 
 to make grimaces^ while one or another of their number 
 would be violently pushed against him ; others who stood 
 behind kept shouting, "papist! papist! papist! "and some 
 actually flung mud and stones at him, with the most 
 lawless intentions. 
 
 Amazed at such conduct, and really astonished that no 
 one interfered to saveastraiiger from insult, John Valiant 
 
 I' ! 
 
 1^: 
 
 <^f 
 
 s? 
 
 4; 
 
 'i liAt 
 
 ^; 
 
 I: 
 
 
 ! I 
 
 &I 
 
 «!.»' 1 
 
 
 «l 
 
 :•» 
 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 i 
 
 C 
 
 
 
 ,h 
 
 t. 
 
 X 
 
 ;v 
 
 
 K.| 
 
 't 
 
 
178 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEA^H. 
 
 quickened his pace, and iiad just turned ttie corner of a 
 street wlien he came face to Face with two very druu-kdi 
 men who stood in front of a kind of low tavern* The : !<'n 
 wore orange collars, and had a i»rofusion of blue .uid 
 yellow ribbons, and as soon as they perceived the strange 
 person before them, for some imuj^inable cause, they 
 rushed forward as if to lay hold of him. By a dexterous 
 movement, however, he just escaped their clutches, and 
 as he passed quickly beyond their reach, they seemei to 
 grow furious and between the stormy oaths and imprf--a- 
 tions which they roared in anger, the Orangemen's 
 blessing, **To hell with the Pope," could be distinctly 
 heard until he turned own another street and disap- 
 peared. Under the impression that many of the inhabi- 
 tants of this northern Christian city were more savage and 
 uncivilized than any of the wildest heathens he had ever 
 met in foreign lands, he began to feel anxious to get to the 
 hotel. Not a policeman was in view, even the few he had 
 seen about the railroad station must have been partisans, 
 for they too exhibited a portion of the orange in a button- 
 hole,, If he asked a question no one would give him a civil 
 reply ; even the very women either laughed at his appar- 
 ent discomfiture, or soowlod at his presence. 
 
 He made some inquiries as to his way to a certain part 
 of the city, but he must have been wilfully misdirected, 
 for he soon found himself wandering through the most 
 lUthy streets, where every second or third house seemed 
 to be a wretched kind of groggery or beer shop ; and in 
 these squalid retreats numbers of peoi)le had assembled. 
 Their beverage must, of course, have had its due effect, 
 for already several were singing, and bawling, id 
 toasting with screaming voice, "The glorious piou • and 
 immortal memory." Even here the Orange flags and 
 streamers were again conspicuous, and maudlin men with 
 glazeil eye and clammy lii), reeled along the highways 
 singing snatches of the " lioyne Water," and "Croj)i)ies 
 Lie Down," and halting occasionally to look around and 
 dellantly shmit, "To hell with the Pope." 
 
TUE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 179 
 
 As it was, Mr. Valiant felt somewhat uneasy. There he 
 was apparently in the most disreputable part of a strange 
 town, among a drunken ruffianly set who were ready to 
 insult, or to lay violen. nands on him without the least 
 provocation. But this was his mistake ; he had unwit- 
 tingly giving offence ; ho had without his knowledge 
 exasperated some reckless, excitable men ; and just as a 
 bull might be made furious by the sight of a red shawl, 
 the mere sight of the light green silk vest, which he, John 
 Valiant, as a free-born Briton, wore on his arrival in this 
 good Protestant c; \y, and which so raised the ire of certain 
 of its i>ious and loyal inhabitants, had nearly cost him 
 his life; for the six or eight villainous fellows who now 
 surrounded him, would not have hesitated to commit 
 any atrocity on the person of a deliant paptist — for 
 such they took him to be— were it not for the prompt 
 interference of a gang of Catholic workmen, and common 
 laborers who just happened to i»ass at the time. They 
 understood the difficulty at once. The same green vest 
 was the talisman which awoke their sympathies, and 
 aroused them to action; a fight quickly ensued, blows 
 came fast and heavy, there was a renewal of furious strife 
 between the Orange and the Green. The Pope was again 
 sent to hell — King William was again lustily damned ; 
 and Luther and Calvin, and John Knox, consinged again 
 to the bottomless pit. During tlie melee, John Valiant, 
 who had already knocked down more than one of tli > 
 aggressors, and who was quite willing to stand by his new 
 friends, was forced away from the spot by some of \\u 
 ard-^nt admirers. They looked ui)on him as being a brave 
 eliampion who was not afraid to display the Green even 
 in the midst of a vile Orange faction, and as they wished 
 to see him safe they conducted him to one of the [irincdpal 
 streets. His liberal reward was promptly refused; and 
 with hearty repetitions of "God l)es; your honor," 
 resounded in his ears, he hurried on, and without broken 
 bones, or fuither molestation, soon arrived at his desired 
 qiiaiters. 
 
 I' 
 
 '•n 
 
 •4\ 
 
 
 ■rri 
 
 'iu 
 
 1 ii^ 
 
 pb 
 
 1 
 
 £■ 
 
 lai 
 
 
 I4l 
 
 ;a« 
 
 
 iff. 
 
 ij, 
 
 
 Ift, 
 
 j»i 
 
 *1 
 
 im 
 
 •a: 
 
 f 
 
 
 c 
 
 i 
 
 rtl 
 
 .». 
 
 .«J 
 
 *i 
 
 •"l^ 
 
 
 ■i 
 
 i 
 
 m 
 
 t 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CUllISTIAN HARMONY. 
 
 ^piIE hotel in which Mr. Valiant found refuge, was, per- 
 -*- haps the principal one in the city, and, for that day 
 at least, seemed to be the headquarters of the Belfast 
 Orangemen, as well as for the crowd of that fraternity 
 which attended from a distance. A great Orange flag 
 waved from the cupola of the building ; a similar banner 
 was hung over the principal entrance ; and sundry other 
 flags and streamers, decorated windows, and fluttered 
 from conspicuous points of this particular rendezvous. 
 Several lodges of the brethren stood in w^aiting along the 
 street, and a greal iniber of people had assembled to 
 witness another annual display of ostentatious loyalty. 
 
 On his way to the hotel, Mr. Valiant had to pass through 
 nearly this entire assemblage, and though he was again 
 stared at by many, and heard muttered remarks about his 
 "wearing of the green," yet those hereabout were suffi- 
 ciently discreet to refrain from coarse language, and so 
 far orderly enough as to offer no offense. Besides- the very 
 fact of his having, as a traveler, chosen this resort, satis- 
 fled many, that though he had, no doubt, thoughtlessly 
 ventured to wear on this great day a disloyal color, he 
 would have never approached such a place unless he was 
 "all right." 
 
 When he entered the botoi, h-^ fuund it well filled; 
 several of the prhicipal magna.les ot 'Mie order" had 
 called to pay their rer.\>octs tv> I he ' t> irMiy Oraud " wor- 
 
 •: ;■■■ 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 181 
 
 J|««<4 M 
 
 tliy, who had boon his fuUow-pusseiiger on the train f 'om 
 Dublin. This individual was in one of the largest front 
 rooms, holding a kind of levee. There was nothing very 
 dignified in the proceeiling, for all seemed to be hilarious ; 
 and while these happy fellows were making arrangements 
 for the grand procession, which was about to take place, 
 Mr. Valiant hastened to change his vest; for, from what 
 he had heard, and from what had hat)pened, he now 
 began to have a strong suspicion that he was indebted to 
 the color of that article of his ai)parel for the singular 
 attention which had already been paid to him since his 
 arrival in Belfast. 
 
 It had been arranged that the procession should start 
 by noon from this temporary headquarters, but one 
 thing or another caused delay, and it was over an hour 
 before everything was in readiness. By that time, a great 
 many people were standing at street corners, and crowds 
 lined the principal thoroughfares along which the proces- 
 sion was expected to pass. Spectators could be seen at 
 every window; and boys who had climbed lamp posts, 
 stood watching and waiting upon these, and ui)on any 
 other accessible elevation that might give them a chance 
 to see what was going on. 
 
 Besides the many eager sight-seers, soldiers could be 
 seen drawn up in certain localities, and an extra force of 
 policemen, distributed here and there, was ready for any 
 emergency. It had also been rumored that a great body 
 of Catholics had determined to oppose the offensive dis- 
 play. Orangemen had been riotous and violent, and had 
 interrui'tod the late Catholic celebration of St. Patrick's 
 day. The annual recurrence of Orange demonstrations 
 was folt by the Catholics of Ireland to be not only uncalled 
 for, but a sore cause of irritation— more like a studied 
 insult than a desire simply to perpetuate the "glorious, 
 pious and immortal memory " of King William, and 
 which insult, if the Government could not prevent it> 
 must be resented at any cost. As it was, many sensible, 
 weli-meaning persons, Protestant and Catholic, were fully 
 
 3il. 
 
 I f 
 
182 
 
 THE HEATUEN OF THE HEATH. 
 
 satisfied that, no matter wha, necessity might have called 
 Orangeism into existence, there was not the least require- 
 ment for its continuation — none any way for its offensive 
 public displays ; that if it were ever a protective associa- 
 tion, it was now, in fact and spirit aggressive and unruly ; 
 and, from a common sense point of view, must be adjudg- 
 ed a wanton provocation. As a secret society, it had done 
 no good ; and as most secret societies have a tendency to 
 make weak minds enraptured with silly mysteries, to make 
 men exclusive, and to circumscribe generous impulses, 
 the Orange association in particular had been noted for 
 its creation of furious partisans, many of whom can be 
 almost totally blind to the claims of reason and justice, 
 when called upon to decide in the interest of a "brother,' 
 or in that of the so-called " loyal organization." 
 
 Nearly a century ago, when rude Protestant mobs, 
 called " Peep-o-day Boys," used to assemble at the early 
 dawn for the purpose of committing agrarian and other 
 outrages upon as rude a mob called " White Boys," as well 
 as upon other Catholics who were united in opposition to 
 the payment of tithes ; when Catholics in turn united and 
 were known as "Defenders," subsequently as "Kibbon- 
 men," and retaliated on Protestants, when collisions and 
 butcheries were of daily, or rather of nightly occurrence, 
 the whole country, especially in the north, was the scene 
 of violence and ruffianism scarcely ever exceeded. About 
 the time when it was felt that the penal laws, long strictly 
 enforced against "papists" had been greatly relaxed; 
 and when it was found that the Irish Catholics had become 
 generally more disaffected toward English rule, it was 
 thought important to make the union of Protestants more 
 influential. Most of the " Peep-o-day Boys " were as low 
 and as brutal in their instincts as it was i)ossible for any 
 of the "White Boys," or the "Defenders," to be, and 
 very few beyond this class of Protestant protectors cared 
 to be connected with such a body as these "Peepers." 
 However, after some cogitation and planning, '^•ertain men 
 of reHi)o«'iability and position, including Protestant minirf- 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 183 
 
 ters, were secured, and the first Orange Lodge was found- 
 ed in the village of Loughali, in the county of Armagh, 
 on the 21st of September, 1795. The name of Orangeisra 
 was choaon in honor of William III., Prince of Orange, 
 and it was not long before the association had branches 
 in every part of the Kingdom; it was even acknowledged 
 by Royalty, for the Duke of Cumberland became the 
 Grand Master for England in 1827. 
 
 Previous to this time it had crept into the array, several 
 regiments having had warrnnts for holding lodges ; and it 
 infested British society, not only in the United Kingdom, 
 but in many of the British colonics. 
 
 At first Orangeism was said to represent a defensive 
 association, such it might have done, but what has it 
 since become? Though many worthy, well-meaning 
 l)ersons have been induced to enroll themselve under its 
 Danners, many others upon closer acquaintance, have 
 readily withdrawn. The Orange organization has n»^t 
 entirely proved itself to be a fraternity to secure religious 
 liberty, and to check lawless intolerance ; it has itself too 
 often become lawless, intolerant, and overbearing, it has 
 not been a union of the most intelligent, the most orderly, 
 or the most peaceable, but frequently the refuge of too 
 mttny of the very opposite character; too often a mere 
 political stepping-stone for a class of men who could never 
 obtain either office, or authority, or worthy distinction of 
 any kind, outside of this peculiar association ; and who 
 are at times inconsistent enough to denounce the Po])e or 
 to serve his cause, just as the ])(>licy of political leaders 
 may require, for, at the present day, it may be fairly 
 asserted that Orangeism is as much a political as a relig- 
 ious orgianization. 
 
 An impartial writer in an article on Oran.neism says: 
 " The worst result of the Orange association was the con- 
 stant incentive which it supplied to party animosities and 
 'leeds of violence. In the north of Ireland the party dis- 
 plays and processions were a i)orpetualiy recurring source 
 of disorder^ and even of bloodshed, and the spirit oi ira- 
 
 
 t- 
 
 it' 
 
 « 
 
 .If 
 
 ;>:t I \ik 
 
 " • m 
 
 ;- I 
 
184 
 
 TEE HEATHENS OF THE HnATH. 
 
 ternity which pervaded its members was a standing obsta- 
 cle to the administration of the law. It was known or 
 believed that an Oran,t?e culprit was perfectly safe in the 
 hands of an Orange jury ; and all confidence in the local 
 administration of justice by magistrates was destroyed. 
 These facts, as well as an allegation which was publicly 
 made, of the existence of a conspiracy to alter the succes- 
 sion of the crown in favor of the Duke of Cumberland, led 
 to a protracted parlimentary inquiry, as well as a very 
 shocking outrage peri)etrated soon afterward by an armed 
 body of Orangemen on occasion of a procession in Ireland 
 tended so much to discredit the association, and to awaken 
 the public mind to a sense of the folly and wickedness of 
 such associations, that its respectability has since that 
 time gradually diminished. So great was the popular dis- 
 trust of the administration of justice in party questions, 
 that for several years the Lord Chancellor laid down a 
 rule, by which no member of the Orange association was 
 admitted to the commission of the peace ; and althougli 
 the association still exists, it is comparatively without 
 influence, except among the very lowest classes in the 
 north of Ireland. Of the colonial offshoots of the Orange 
 association, those of Canada have at all times been the 
 most active and the most floarishing. The Canadian 
 Orangemen being for the most part Irish emigrants, car- 
 ried with them all the bitterness of the domestic feud with 
 Roman Catholics. Outrages directed against Catholic 
 churches, convents, and other institutions were of not 
 unfrequent occurrence until recently ; and on occasion 
 of the late visit of the Prince of Wales to Canada, an at- 
 tempt was made to force from His Royal Highness a rec- 
 ognition of the association, which was only defeated by 
 his own firmness and by the judicious and moderate coun- 
 sels of his advisers." * 
 
 Nolwithstanding all this, those who in a manner exist 
 by Orungf^jsm have agitated /or a rejwal of all prohibitory 
 laws against Orange processions; and the Orange society 
 
 • Hi'o Olwuuber's Eiic, Art. Oraiiyeism. 
 

 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 185 
 
 would fain appear as persecuted virtue evoking sympa- 
 thy ; and notwithstanding the pleas and the pretensions 
 of this vaunting association, many of its leaders, and 
 many of its members, have proved recreant to their loudly 
 avowed principles ; there seom.s to be a leaven of Jesuitism 
 even in this society; for Orange members of Parliament, 
 especially in Canada, have been known to readily vote for 
 munificent grants to Catholic theological institutions, and 
 very few have proved more servile to Catholic Church 
 dignitaries than Orange politicians anxious for political 
 support, and Orange statesmen eagerly desirous of retain- 
 ing power. 
 
 When it became known that the Catholics had deter- 
 mined to oppose the procession, or attack the "loyal 
 body," the wildest shouts were heard in various quarters ; 
 many were delighted at the bare idea of having a chance 
 to cut down a "damned pai>ist ; " and certain mounted 
 officials, with streaming ribbons, galloped furiously about, 
 frantically brandishing a sword or other weapon, as if 
 the whole "glorious cause " just then and there depended 
 on the quantity of bluster or perspiration that might 
 escape them. At the time there api)eared to be much con- 
 fusion, and together with shouts, and oaths and screams, 
 there was a great waving of flags and pounding of big 
 drums. Frightened women were hurrying off, many of 
 them urging crying children to greater speed. Shopkeep- 
 ers could be seen hastily putting up shutters and closing 
 their places of business; ai)ple women and other petty 
 dealers, were making off with their stands, and several 
 persons were fastening down windows, and taking such 
 other hurried ijfccautions for safety as were thought 
 necessary. 
 
 Shots and shouts, the beating of big drums, and the 
 rattle of little drums, and the wild medley of x)arty tunes, 
 were again heard; and the din and disc(^rd were most 
 bewildering. Lodge after lodge fell in ; a great line was 
 formed, and after more needless galloping and cantering 
 about, the proceBsion at lamt started. Somewhat iu ad- 
 
 :ik«.iU 
 
 :■: C 
 
 " 4 
 
 I ;•■; 
 
 ;■ I 
 
186 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 • -'fell 
 
 1 a- 
 
 III ~T 
 
 Vance, the "Deputy Gmn<l," mounted on a grey horse, 
 rode with affected stately bearing; men at arms, and high 
 Orange officials on either side, made, as it were, vigorous 
 exertions to curb their restless, prancing steeds, and as 
 the sun shone down on swords and spears, and upon red 
 cloaks, red Hags, and orange flags; upon yellow and bhie 
 ribbons, and upon the varied tinsel and rude decorations 
 of this motley assemblage, the whole appeared to be more 
 like a vast gathering of harlequins, than an organized 
 fraternity intent on mischief. 
 
 Mr. Valiant from his seat at an upper window of the 
 hotel had seen the pre|)aratory arrangements for the pro- 
 cession, and, having waited until it moved away, and had 
 time to pass through some of the principal streets, was 
 about to follow and see something of the disi)lay, in order 
 to bo able to judge as to the effect of such an exhibition 
 upon a population so divided in theological belief. He 
 was not at the time aware that there was to be any hostile 
 Catholic demonstration ; this, though known to many 
 others had not reached him, and he had attributed the 
 wild shouts, that had rent the air to a feeling of Orange 
 ( xuberanec. Now, however, just as he was about to start 
 from the place, he was sur]»rised to see a wild mob of 
 men, who were yelling like iiends, rush up in front of the 
 hotel. As their sudden ai)pearance and savage aspect 
 boded no good, he (luickly re-entered the house, and went 
 up again to the room which he had just left. The landlord 
 was a picture of consternation ; he seemed to know at a 
 glance with whom he had to deal. Many of the servants 
 were terror stricken, most of them left the house and ran 
 off to places of security. There was no time lost by the 
 new comers; several of the mob rushed into the house 
 like furies, smashing windows, and furniture, and any 
 thing they could lay hands on ; others tore down the large 
 Orange flag that hung over the doorway, and the banner, 
 which but a few minutes previously had waved proudly 
 from the cupola, was now, like the other flag, lying in the 
 dusty street, torn into shreds, while a huudred yelling 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE UUATU. 
 
 187 
 
 men, and oven some wild looking women, were trampling 
 it int ' the ground, befouling every thread of the orange 
 silk, damning King Willi mi, and swearing loud vengeanc*' 
 against all connected with the ' infernal rabble of Urange- 
 men." 
 
 No one could be more helpless than the landlord of the 
 hotel in this extremity; he had been left almost entirely 
 deserted; a few oi his servants /ho had remained with 
 him had been violently assaulted and had to flee for their 
 lives. He saw some jf the infuriated men make prepar- 
 ation to set tire to the i»la<'e, and as he was well-known 
 for his Orange proclivities, he dared not approach to 
 plead or to remonstrate; for he well knew that his life 
 would then be held but of littlo account. None in the 
 neighborhood dared come to his assistance, and he ex- 
 pected to witness nothing but complete disaster. While 
 in this dilemma lie was noticed by some who were demol- 
 ishing hib property, A cry was raised, and nearly a score 
 of savage men chased him along halls and corridors, and 
 just as he was ready to fall into their hands weak and 
 panting, a door was suddenly opened by a gentleman ; the 
 landlord rushed into the room and locked the door; the 
 gentleman heroically remained on the outside, and the 
 savage pursuers were suddenly stayed in their course by 
 the resolute appearance and attitude of John Valiant. 
 
 After a few moments hesitation, one fellow made an 
 attempt to advance, and cried out: "Stand aside and let 
 us in!" 
 
 '* If you follow that man, you do so at your own peril ; 
 I'll not let one of you pass in here if I can prevent it," said 
 Mr. Valiant in a determined tone. 
 
 "Stand aside, I tell you. We must tear that damned 
 Orangeman to pieces," and the man made another 
 attempt to get to the door. 
 
 "If you approach one step further you will force me to 
 use this, and I shall do it. Don't come nearer." John 
 Valiant had somehow got possession of the short thick 
 end of a broken ilag-i)ole ; it was a i)iece of ash, and would 
 
 PQ 
 
 iM' 
 
 ir 
 
 
 I ] 
 
 
 ■ rl! 
 
 ■ inl 
 
 II 
 
 .:;» ! 
 
 .; i 
 
 MB*'- 
 
 '.! .e 
 
 K 
 
 
 ilf 
 
 'i 1 
 
 •^J.^ 
 
 
 ?# 
 
 
 »"«J 
 
 i 
 
 
 1 
 
 i.* 
 
 t - 
 

 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 ^"^^Sf 
 
 
 1.0 
 
 IM 
 
 1.1 
 
 1.25 
 
 !!il: 
 
 Li|2J §15 
 
 ■50 ■"■ K^B 
 
 m m B2.2 
 
 ;!f ufi 12.0 
 
 !■■■ 
 
 ■lUte 
 
 HiotQgraphic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 33 WIST MAIK STRUT 
 
 WEBSTM. N.Y. MSN 
 
 (716)S73-4S03 
 
 iV 
 
 
 W^ 
 
 
 
 '^ 
 
i^Z^ 
 
188 
 
 THE HBATUEN8 OF THB HEATH. 
 
 have been a terrible weapon in the hands of him who then 
 grasped it. 
 
 The men instinctively judging that they had an iin- 
 Qinching person to deal with, again hesitated, and, in 
 their disappointment they now became abusive. 
 
 '* You're another of the infernal crew ; if you don*t got 
 out of our way we'll soon find something, and hack you 
 to pieces." 
 
 " I'm no Orangeman," replied John Valiant, '* but you 
 are cowards to come here twenty to one after a single 
 man. Don't approach, I tell you: another step and I 
 strike," and now the heavy stick was raised and a furious 
 and perhaps fatal blow would have been given, if the fel- 
 low who tried to advance had not quickly retreated. 
 
 "You are one of the vile tribe— we'll send you to hell ; 
 but that's too good for you," now shouted another. *' You 
 've got the cursed colors next your heart— it ought to be 
 torn out and stuffed in your own mouth." While saying 
 this the man pointed scornfully to Mr. Valiant's breast. 
 
 In changing part of his apparel after his late misadven- 
 ture upon his arrival in the city, Mr. Valiant had thought- 
 lessly replaced the light green silk vest which had given 
 such offence, with one oi" a blue color, and though the 
 shade was rather deep, it only made the small silken 
 orange sprigs scattered over it more conspicuous. Even 
 then, after this fresh reviling, it did not occur to hira that 
 he was wearing any color which could possibly give 
 offence. 
 
 It is probable that the evil disposed men who were then 
 held aloof, would have soon overcome all opposition, and 
 have burst into the room, but Just then a number of sold- 
 iers and constables made their appearance. A few of the 
 lawless men who had entered the house were arrested, the 
 others had made their escape. 
 
 Before the arrival of this fortunate succor, the land- 
 lord had jumped down from a back window to a balcony, 
 and thence to a lane, from which he made off from his 
 enemies. Soon afterward, when he could venture to re- 
 
 ti 
 ic' 
 
 t] 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 189 
 
 1 V^i 
 
 turn to the house with servants and assistants, Mr. Val- 
 iant took his way through the city, desirous of finding out 
 the perambulating lodges. 
 
 While on their course through the streets, the report 
 eamo to the ears of some of the Orange leaders, that 
 their late headquarters had been nearly demolished. A 
 sufficient number of men were at once «letached ^nd sent 
 back to defend the place; soldiers and policemen had 
 also received orders to hurry forward. In the absence 
 of certain Orange bodies, a simultaneous attack had been 
 made on thoir lodge rooms, and a great deal of property 
 was destroyed. The houses of many of the most promi- 
 jH^nt Orangemen in the city had been ransacked, and 
 individual Orangemen, and certain other Protestants, had 
 boon hunted and waylaid here and there, and badly 
 beaten. Much injury had been done ; but as the Catholics 
 had so far refrained from making a direct attack on the 
 l)roce8sion, the incensed Orangemen were perplexed and 
 burning for revenge ; and as they could not at once lay 
 violent hands on the " damned papists," they could any 
 way visit their accursed mass houses and scatter their 
 crosses and their idols to the wind, and pitch thcif holy 
 water into the nearest puddle. 
 
 With such intent, over a thousand Orangemen had 
 orders to move forward. The "Deputy-Grand" and his 
 mounted companions, were determined, somehow, to teach 
 the papists anothef lesson that should be remembered. 
 Moving on then at a quick pace, it was not long before they 
 drew up before a large Catholic chapel, with intent, it 
 might be, to demolish it forthwith— at least such was the 
 desire of a great majority of those present. However, 
 before these Christian iconoclasts commenced their exem- 
 plary work, a fanatical chaplain, who wore a white gown, 
 and who, while holding a Bible in one hand, clutched a 
 sword in the other, proposed tliat all present, who had 
 never bent the knee to Baal, should lirst ask the blessing 
 of God on their ** endeavors to serve His holy cause, the 
 cause of civil and religious freedom, the cause of our 
 
 I . ! 
 
 I , I 
 
 i 
 
 if: 
 
 
190 
 
 THE nEATIIENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 glorious Constitution— the grand Orange cause." Horp 
 there was loud cheering, and while the pious chailain was 
 making shuffling endeavors to mount a cart for the pur- 
 pose of being sufficiently elevated to offer up a prayer, tlio 
 "Deputy-Grand" and several of his magnates galloped 
 up and interfered for the time with the devout proposal. 
 
 This great offlcial having intimated his desire to addross 
 the brethren, a vast circle was soon formed, he and his 
 companions rode to the centre, and with lusty voice ho 
 then and there spoke out to tho&e assembled : 
 
 *' Orangemen— loyal brothers— upholders of the causi^ 
 of civil and religious liberty, (great oheers,) surrounded, 
 as I am, by your impenetrable ranks, I feel that our holy 
 and glorious Protestant principles are safe (cheers), and 
 that could the sneaking Vicegerarrt of the devil, who now 
 hides his diminished head under i;he shadow of the seven 
 Boman hills; (cheers) could that propounder of blasphe- 
 mous infallibility, with his triple crown, and dead men's 
 bones, see your proud faces on this auspicious day (cheers), 
 he would tremble again on his tottering throne in the 
 sublime presence of Orange freemen (terrific huzzas). 
 But, brethren, much as we have done and suffered for our 
 glorious principles, how have we been treated by a dast- 
 ard Government, that would dare to circumscribe Oran,;j:o 
 liberty? (Hisses.) Here we are, face to face with be- 
 nighted papists— far worse than the veriest infidels— pa- 
 pists, who have been pampered to audacity, and whilo 
 trying to control and enlighten those serfs of Popery, wo 
 have, even on this very day, been made to suffer loss and 
 injury for our moderation (yells) ; and many of us have 
 become martyrs in the cause of truth and loyalty (renew- 
 ed yells). Shnll we, sons of noble sires, submit without 
 resistance to papist insults? (Never, never!) Servilo 
 statesmen now in power, have tried to denounce our prin- 
 ciples, and to reduce us to the degraded level of Pvoraaii- 
 ists. But hear me, brethren : by all the powers eternal, 
 this shall never be. (Great cheers. ) We feel that we can 
 be independent of rotten statesmen ; we feel, and we know. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 191 
 
 that we can have powerful aids; for the Lord God, even 
 the God of Israel, is on our side. (Immense cheering.) 
 
 See here, valiant brothers, I have on my Orange scarf 
 (cheers) because I am the Deputy-Grand Master of the 
 Orange Association of England (cheers), and because it 
 represents a good principle. It represents civil and relig- 
 ious liberty. (Loud cheers.) It represents an open Bible. 
 (Cheers.) It represents the preaching of the glorious Gos- 
 l)el of the blessed God. O brethren, shall I tell you some- 
 thing ? (Hear, hear, cries of '* yes.") Two or three years 
 ago, I sent to the New York State fifty Orange warrants, 
 and you will find in their lodge rooms— you will find fifty 
 
 papers signed with the name of . (Cheers.) Wo 
 
 have 300,000 armed Orangemen in Canada ; we have 250,(/0O 
 in Ireland (cheers), and there is not one of the Queen's 
 ships that sails out of Portsmouth, that does not contain a 
 band of Orangemen. (Cheers.) What then can we fear 
 from Gladstone, that infernal Jesuit ? (Loud cheers and 
 laughter.) I defy thee, (cheer) oh Pope of Bome, thou 
 nnconflned fiend of hell, the Lord God shall shortly con- 
 sume thee. (Cheers and laughter.) O House of Lords — 
 must I say it— I will say it, (laughter,) thou shalt perish. 
 (Laughter.) Shall I say something more ? I will say it. 
 O Prince of Wales, thou wilt never be king of England." 
 (Laughter and confusion.) * 
 
 A short time before the conclusion of this address sev- 
 eral excited and uncontrollable Orangemen had attacked 
 bystanders whom they took to be papists, others had placed 
 ladders against the gothic windows of the Catholic church 
 for the purpose of entering the building by that means ; 
 and while others were trying to force in the large church 
 door, about twenty scattering shots were fired, anc^ a 
 shower of stones followed from behind a low wall which 
 
 * That part of the above Bpeeoh after the words *" see here, valiant 
 brothers." is, aooordini? to a Belfast newspaper, the actual rodomon- 
 tade uttered at the annual m«!etingof the Stalybri^fre Constitution- 
 al Association, in Octolicr, 1872. by a Di'im^y Oraml Mastor of the 
 Orange Association, insHcondinc: a vote of thanlcs to the Mayor. 
 
 
 am- 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
192 
 
 THE UEATHEN8 OF THE HEATH. 
 
 enclosed a kind of yard at the buck of that eiiftce. Before 
 the smoke cloanMi away cries were hoard; three meu lay 
 on the ground, and live or six others who had been wound- 
 ed were seen limpini^ away, or led off by friends. Hund- 
 reds of the Orangemen now lost all control, and rage and 
 wild excitement seemed to predominate. Nearly a hund- 
 red men speedily rushed over the low wall, and the work 
 of havoc commenced. The first man wearing an orange 
 sash who got into the yard fell in a minute dead to the 
 earth ; and a stout man with a green scarf, who had struck 
 the mortal blow, now lay by his side desperately wounded. 
 In less than five minutes seven more Orangemen, and 
 thirteen Catholics, lay around in the yard, dead and dying, 
 and many others on both sides were severely wounded. A 
 company of soldiers now rushed forward, cleared the 
 place and took si3veral prisoners. Before the soldiers 
 came many of the Orangemen who had been trying to get 
 into the building through the windows, had been hurled 
 down from the ladders and were badly injured. Still 
 indifferent to the presence of soldiers or of constables the 
 (Orangemen in overwhelming numbers continued their 
 assault on the church. Stones flew thick and fast, and 
 every pane of glass, every window, and every door was 
 quickly smashed or broken. ' 
 
 Just at this time John Valiant had a narrow escape. 
 He had overtaken the Orange procession as the " Deputy 
 Grand " had commenced his address to his brethren, and 
 he was a witness of all that had subsequently occurred. 
 Previously, while in the streets among the people, he did 
 his best to allay bad feelings, and after the shots had been 
 11 red he, at his own risk, assisted many of the wounded ; 
 and he restrained a few others from the commission of 
 bloody deeds. Some time after the arrival of the soldiers 
 he by some means got into the church. He had been 
 greatly heated and fatigued by his exertions to serve otli- 
 ers, and as he sat in a retired spot wiping his face with one 
 of the yellow &ilk handkerchiefs which he had brought 
 from India, aboqt a dozen excited Gatholics, who were 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 193 
 
 then rushinp throiip?b tho stormed edifice, mistook him 
 for an Orangeman, and dashed at him with all tho fury of 
 savages. In another moment ho might have boon fatally 
 injured were it not for the foremost man who suddenly 
 stopped and spread out his arms as if to keep the others 
 back. 
 
 •'Good God! what are you? Did I not moot you this 
 morning when you were waylaid by Orangemen ? What 
 are you ? Who are you ? " 
 
 •' Yes, you met me this morning," said Mr. Valiant, now 
 recognizing his interrogator, *' and I don't forget you ; I 
 shall, I hope, have to thank you now for another rescue." 
 
 " But what are you ? " said the man again, and ho look- 
 ed with flashing eyes at the yellow handkerchief. 
 
 Mr. Valiant now seemed to understand all, and replied : 
 " I am nothing in this place— nothing but what I was this 
 morning— neither Orange nor Green, but a' stranger in this 
 city, even now anxious to get away— never to see it again." 
 
 **I believe you speak the truth," said the man who had 
 been looking searchingly into his eyes, " but as you have 
 got rid of the green, get rid of that color also, as soon as 
 you can if you wish to be safe." The men then hurried 
 away, leaving Mr. Valiant alone. 
 
 In about a minute afterwards several constables entered 
 and took possession of the church. By the greatest exer- 
 tions of the military and the police, tho infuriated Orange- 
 men were prevented from doing further damage. A strong 
 guard was set to protect the place ; and some hours after, 
 when the incendiary crowd had almost disappeared, tho 
 guard was replaced by a night watch. But the watchmen 
 must have slept, for before day dawn mighty flames leaped 
 as if to anticipate the sun rise ; and all the ensuing day- 
 one of gloom— many were looking with different feelings 
 at the bare, black, dilapidated walls of the Catholic 
 church; and those same roofless walls then stood up 
 before all as a fresh evidence of the harmony that exists 
 among Christian people in tho " Island of Saints." • 
 
 * Bee acoounts of Orange and Crtholic riots in Belfast 
 
 im- 
 
 H! 
 
 ,.r 
 
 
 
 ■.tM't. 
 
 <;■ i 
 
 fB ■ 1 
 
 iS 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MISSION ART EFFORTS AND FAILTTHES, 
 
 T^HAT a deluge of rain ! as if the weeping heavens 
 " * were anxious to wash out the blood, and to extin- 
 guish the smouldering fire caused by desperate religious 
 riots in a Christian city. It had poured down from an 
 early hour upon the desolate-looking streets of Belfast; 
 and the aspect of nature was truly melancholy. But not 
 alone did the streets seem desolate, for there were deso- 
 late homes and desolate hearts; and not alone did the 
 heavens weep, for women and children were weeping over 
 the recent slain. There was weeping in hospitals over 
 those who were soon to die, and there would be weeping; 
 to-morrow over the graves of those who had come to a 
 sudden and untimely end. 
 
 But yet all did not weep. who had lost relatives or 
 friends in the sad havoc of the previous day; there was 
 one who felt little or no regret at what had happened. 
 The Orange chaplain, in white gown, who desired to in- 
 voke destruction on the "man of sin," and who would 
 have prayed for the valiant brethren that had been 
 arrayed against popery on the late glorious Twelfth, felt 
 that strife such as had occurred, was necessary ; that in 
 the order of Providence, there would be an eternal war- 
 ring between the forces of good and evil, and that thereby 
 good would almost always overcome. " Staunch Protest - 
 antism " was his ideal of good, as "popish mummery" 
 was that of evil. Why, thought he, should there be weep- 
 ing among the victors ; the chaplain could see no reason 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 for tears— there should ho thought, be rather rojoiciii^ 
 —for if one of God's faithful frionda had fallen, a dozen of 
 his enemies had been exterminated ; and was not this, on 
 the whole, a benefit— a real gain? Besides, the Protest- 
 ant chaplain felt as much assured, that those of the loyal 
 Orangemen who had yielded up their lives in battling 
 against a foul sj'stem of lies and corruption, were just as 
 certain of eternal glory, as some Catholic chaplains felt 
 confident that these same Orange souls would be doomed 
 to an eternity of brimstone for harassing and persecuting 
 the innocent members of the only true Church. And if 
 ordained priests, Protestant and Catholic, entertained 
 such opposite oi)inions on this, as well as on cognate sub- 
 jects, it may reasonably be inferred that the people whom 
 they controlled would form similar charitable conclu- 
 sions. 
 
 However, notwithstanding the heavy rain, there were 
 occasional intermissions when one might venture out; 
 and so people watched and waited for a chance to take a 
 hurried walk, or even to run, to see the still smouldering 
 ruins, and the blotches of blood, and the reddened rain- 
 pools that marked the place of contest. 
 
 Some rubbed their hands delighted, while gazing at the 
 evidences of the Orange triumph ; others, with compress- 
 ed lips and savage looks, were thinking of revenge. And 
 yet the scene was not altogether strange, it was almost a 
 renewal of what many of those present had witnessed 
 more than once in their lives, and a scene such as others 
 hoped might be viewed again— but from a different stand- 
 point—when those that now exulted should be in conster- 
 nation. 
 
 Though many eager partisans or sympathizers had thus 
 seized o]>portunities of gr ing out, even for a few minutes, 
 to see what could be seen, many others, just as eager to 
 gaze with satisfaction at the ruins, or to deplore the 
 calamity, but who lived at too great a distance, were 
 obliged to remain at homo fretting the hours away, while 
 anxiously waiting for the weather to clear up. In a row 
 
 ;:.^t 
 
 I 
 
 iim< 
 
 £ 
 
 
IM 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 cf handsome cottages, situated in Malone, an elevated 
 suburb south of Belfast, an<l commanding an extensive 
 view, lived the Rev. Seth Graham, or rathe •, as the pol- 
 ished brass plate on his front door indicated, " Seth Gra- 
 ham, Missionary." Well, this same Mr. Graham, like 
 other ministers, had peeuliar views on many subjects, 
 and, though having been duly ordained to preach tlu^ 
 Gospel, and, as he believed, to denounce and belalK»r 
 Popery and Paganism, and if need be. Prelacy also, yet 
 he thought that no man had a right to be called " Rever- 
 end ; " still, although he positively refused to have that 
 significant prefix put before his name, he rejoiced in the 
 more appropriate addition of "Missionary." To some 
 extent he had been a missionary. Born and educated in 
 the Protestant city of Belfast, and in course of time, after 
 much theological training, set apart by Presbyterian au- 
 thority for the ministry, his reading and inclination led 
 him to become interested in missionary labor, and to 
 such labor he fancied he had a special call ; and strange 
 .to say, for one who was troubled with this notion, he tool< 
 at that time a rather sensible view, and considered it his 
 duty first to carry the " pure word " to the deluded papists 
 of his native land, instead of wandering oft" from one to 
 ten thousand miles for the purpose of reclaiming other 
 benighted beings. 
 
 To Irish papists then he went, yet he carried the mis- 
 sionary notion out so tar as to leave those of his native 
 I'ity to the chance proselyting impulses of other preach- 
 ers, and he turned his steps, Bible in hand, to the far South, 
 fully expecting he could persuade many that the Pope was 
 the " man of sin," and the veritable anti-Christ; and sus- 
 tained by a strong hope that his message would be gladly 
 received, he first opened the "Book of books" to the 
 staring, scornful Romanists of the old popish city of 
 Cork. 
 
 It may be truly said, that his Holiness, the Pope, has 
 not, even under the dome of St. Peter's, ar.y more devoted 
 to his cause, or more subservient to his authority, than 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THK HEATH. 
 
 197 
 
 those of the faitliful rosiding in the chief city of the prov- 
 ince of Mnnster. From Glen mire to Blaclc Pool, or 
 round to Black Rook, the Cntholics of Cork are far more 
 Roman than the Romans themsolves; and thouj?h these 
 Catholics forget— many perhaps do not know— that a Pope 
 was in a manner the main cause of the subjugation of 
 their country to England, they now hurl anathemas upon 
 Italian Catholics who have dared to deprive the Holy 
 Father of his temporal power; and nowhere else in Chris- 
 tendom are the rich or the poor— even the almost desti- 
 tute — more willing to furnish ** Peter's pence ** to replenish 
 the purse of the '* Vicar of Christ," or to say a ** pater and 
 ave " for his prosperity, spiritual and temporal, than those 
 of his creed in the same Munster capital. 
 
 It was among such people, then, that Seth Graham, 
 missionary, took a bold stand ; and he wrote and spoke 
 against prayers to the Virgin, and against invocations to 
 saints, against confession and absolution, and transub- 
 stantiation ; against penance and against purgatory ; and 
 against crosses and relics, and holy water, but all in vain. 
 He spoke but to deaf ears, for the deluded people only 
 jeered and laughed at him— they were most wilful in their 
 contempt— and many times when he thought it his duty 
 to waylay them as it were, to force them to listen, he would 
 try to catch even a few together as they came from mass 
 out of the principal parish chapel ; he would shout aloud 
 in order that they might hoar his arguments, or his decla- 
 mation, and more than once, it was with difficulty that the 
 police and others saved him from the indignation and 
 violence of those whom he would fain convert. 
 
 Within less than three months, then, from the time he 
 had left Belfast, he began to suspect that he was in the 
 wrong place, and that he was likely to have but little 
 return for his labor, and not only for his labor, but for 
 certain funds which he had rather lavishly distributed. 
 Before he had commenced this missionary duty, strong 
 appeals had been made to wealthy church members. It 
 had been represented that the time was auspicious, that 
 
 '*»'' 
 
 
 -■'•1 
 
 ! ■ i 
 
 I M 
 
 ■ ■ i ; 
 
 
 l^ 
 
 it 
 
 HL. 
 
 tt I 
 
 I V 
 < lit 
 
 •• fii 
 
198 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 
 
 sowers might now go forth to sow In southorn fields and 
 expect rich harveHts, and Protestant Christians wero 
 cntroated to furnish the indispensable suppliss for this 
 Bpeoial woric. Thoii^'h all would no doubt earnestly ]>ray 
 for the success of God's servant— and prayer was admittod 
 to be the most powerful aid— yet his hand must be other- 
 wise strengthened if they wished these prayers to be of 
 any avail. Long exi>erienoe liad already tauj^'ht them this. 
 So after much exertion, after church collections, and 
 Sunday school collections, and solicitations from door to 
 door, and after sundry tea meetings, got up by devoted 
 spinsters, a liberal amount had been obtained and placed 
 at the disposal of Mr. Graham, and to this judicious out- 
 lay among very needy Romanists, more than to his ser- 
 mons or prayers, or to the distribution of cheap Bibles, or 
 of texts, or tracts, was he indebted for the solitary half 
 dozen Irish disciples whom he claimed to have converted. 
 
 Dissatisfied, or rather disgusted, with the results of his 
 efforts among Irish papists in Cork, he returned to Belfast ; 
 and still full of the missionary idea, it was not long be- 
 fore he persuaded himself to believe that his proper place 
 was among the heathen. Popery, although a spurious 
 form of Christianity, had still something of its essence ; 
 had, any way, a belief in its great Founder, which was 
 somethirg bettor and safer by far than paganism or naked 
 unbelief. He was now convinced that the true field for 
 missionary labor was among those who knew nothing of 
 the "Inspired Word," who had never heard the gospel 
 message. To the heathen, therefore, he would go; he 
 would reveal to them the " plan of salvation," without a 
 knowledge of which they must all ultimately perish. 
 
 Teaming then, it is presumed, over the deplorable con- 
 dition of the dusky inhabitants of the East, an opportunity 
 was soon afforded him to hasten to their rescue. The 
 great Sepoy rebellion had just been suppressed, Christian- 
 ity, it was said, was gaining ground, and the false teachers 
 of Brahminism, Buddhism, and Mahometism, were hiding 
 their heads, ashamed and confounded. The blaze of gos- 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 199 
 
 pel light tbat was shod upon a benighted land— aided it 
 might be by the blaze of Christian artillery— liad produoed 
 glorious results among heathen mutineers. But faithful, 
 courageous expounders of the word were still wanting, 
 and volunteer missionaries were required to fill up the 
 ranl^s, and to supply the places of the numbers of devoted 
 men who hud fallen a prey to native fanaticism, to severe 
 labor, and to an oppressive and unhealthy climate.* 
 
 Approved of by the Presbyterian Board of Missions, 
 arrangements were soon made for his departure. The 
 outfit for a proselyting excursion to India would involve 
 no little expense, but funds were ample. The missionary 
 chest had always been well filled. Even though the cries 
 of poverty at home were pitiful; even though the body 
 were suffered to perish for lack of food, the immortal soul 
 must be saved at any cost; so still think the Lord's ser- 
 vants, and so they have always thought. Well supplied, 
 however, as he was, Mr. Graham very properly thought 
 that it was not good for him to be alone, and that it might 
 serve the cause could he find a suitable helpmate. He 
 made it a subject of prayer, and before many days, was 
 fortunate in getting a wife who, like himself, be wailing 
 the sad condition of idolatrous heathen, was willing to 
 leave home, and friends, and native land, and go to the 
 furthermost ends of the earth to spread the joyous news. 
 Therefore, feeling himself a chosen messeoger, the bearer 
 of blessings and a well filled purse, Seth Graham and his 
 wife went forth equipped for the missionary field, and 
 they set sail for India to join in the unceasing war against 
 the degraded followers of Juggernaut. 
 
 Alas for disappointed hopes ! A little over two years' 
 experience in India, fully satisfied the Belfast missionary 
 that, notwithstanding the great efforts, the painful sacri- 
 fices, and the vast expenditures made by the friends of 
 missionaries to establish pure Christianity among the 
 idolatrous natives of that distant land, the results were 
 
 • See Note 9. 
 
 1 
 
 » 
 
 m 
 
 • 
 
 it 
 
 f 
 
 I Mr 
 
 
T 
 
 200 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Mil 
 
 lil:. 
 
 as yet of the most paltry kind, and would be altogether 
 disheartening, were it not for the unwavering faith in the 
 future, which still kept hope alive in the bosoms of many 
 Christian ministers and people. He was aware that those 
 Janus-faced apostles, the J'^suits, had been early among 
 the tribes of India, and h^ !, by fostering the system of 
 caste, by claiming to be white Brahmins, and not for- 
 eigners, and by a deceitful compromise of religious ob- 
 servance, induced great numbers to tjlieve that Cath- 
 olicity was a religion but slightly differing from tbeir own 
 fdith, and therefore to receive the outward form of Chris- 
 tian baptism, whil*^ under the impression that that rite 
 was something bearing a clcse rela'^ion to the Hindoo 
 creed; this was the way that Romanism had obtained 
 nearly all of its native adherents in India. But what had 
 been the progress of Protestantism ? Though tradition 
 assigns India as the scene of the labors and martyrdom 
 of the Apostle Thomas ; though at a very early period, 
 primitive Christianity had been introduced into that coun- 
 try ; and though up to the present time, missionary lives 
 and treasures had been lavishly expended, still, compara- 
 tively speaking, not more than a mere handful of natives 
 could be claimed as having been converted to Protest- 
 antism. Scarcely over 120,000, out of a population of over 
 two hundred millions ; and out of these so-called convert- 
 ed natives, there were scarcely 25,000 communicants,* 
 while on the other hand, the progress of Mohammedan 
 missionaries had been most astonishing. They commenc- 
 ed their labors centuries after Christianity had gained a 
 foothold in the East, and now have in that country over 
 twenty-five millions who are followers of the Prophet, and 
 who look toward Mecca instead of toward Benares. But 
 then, it was said, that Mohammedanism was established 
 in India as much by the sword as by any other means, 
 
 * Mullen's Oensus of Indian Missions, taken in 1862, gb.\e Euro- 
 pean Missions. 418; ordained natives, 81; Catecliists, 1079; nati.e 
 cliurelies, 890; native Christians, 118,893; commnnioants, 21,252; boy 
 scjholars, 54,88» ; girl soholars 14,7'23. Meagre results indeed 1 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 2U1 
 
 lil^i 
 
 and yet, wonderful to relate, native Mohammedans are 
 more steadfast to their adopted creed than native Chris- 
 tians, and a Protestant clergyman has asserted that, " as 
 a general thing, the Mohammedans and Hindoos have 
 lived together with remarkable tolerance of each othev's 
 antagonistic faiths," * while it must bo reluctantly admit- 
 ted that, for some reason, there seems to be a strong 
 native prejudice against Christianity; its dictates were 
 considered too overbearing. 
 
 Minister of peace, as Mr. Graham was. these startling 
 facts made such an impression as to lead him to think, 
 that where so great a benefit was to be conferred as the 
 establishment of Christianity, and the overthrow of a 
 grossly erroneous system, a little pressure, different from 
 that of moral suasion, might be profitably used with stub- 
 born nations ; and he came to the conclusion, that if Chris- 
 tianity were ever to be established in India, such a pres- 
 sure, sooner or later, would have to be exercised. 
 
 Unsuccessful as he had been among uneducated Irish 
 Catholics, his efforts seemed hopeless, upon finding that 
 the placid philosophical Brahmins scarcely deigned to 
 reply to what was considered but the puerile arguments of 
 Christians. Obstinate as were the Jews in their disbelief 
 in the Christian Messiah; irreclaimable as were most 
 R jman Catholics, the supreme indifference of Brahmins 
 and Buddhists was most tantalizing. Hore, while under 
 the ' pression that nothing could withstand the argu- 
 mci-vs of Christian ministers, Mr. Graham found that 
 Brahminical priests, while pointing to their Rig-Veda as 
 tho most ancient of all sacred books,t alluded to Chris- 
 tianity, as but a thing of yesterday. They spoke of tho 
 " Liliputian ohronology " of the Bible as absurd, and of 
 the Bible itself as being only a plagiarized compilation 
 from their own Vedas, from other sacred books, as well as 
 
 ♦ Rev. E. D. O. Prime, D.D. 
 
 t Max MuUer. Professor In Oxford University, and many othet 
 learned men, admit tliat ttie Rig Veda of the Brahmins, is the oldest 
 of all saored buoku. 
 
 
202 
 
 THE HBATHEKS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 I 
 Xllt 
 
 m 
 "tii 
 
 from the sayings and writings of ancient sages, and 
 heathen philosophers; and when he found himself unable 
 to disprove these, and other such bold assertions, he be- 
 came incensed that such blasphemy could not lawfully 
 be punished in India as in Britain ; and, under a feeling 
 of holy indignation, he resolved to leave a land of spirit- 
 ual darkness, and return to his own country, which was 
 illuminated hy the glorious rays of Gospel light. 
 
 As he had claimed to have converted a few, even in 
 Ireland, it would not do for Seth Graham to leave the 
 East without being able to exhibit some proof of what had 
 been accomplished through his humble teaching in India. 
 He, like most other missionaries, was under the impres- 
 sion — nay, even confident— that he had done some good 
 among the heathen. It would not do to hear some parsi- 
 monious grumblers reassert, that the contributions of 
 Christian people had been again wasted in wild mission- 
 ary enterprises— no ; when he .next appeared before the 
 Missionary Board, or on a missionary platform in Ireland, 
 he wished to be able to give undoubted evidence of what 
 the Lord had affected through his agency; and who could 
 gainsay his usefulness, if he could bring with his bundle 
 of Hindoo idols, and weapons, and trinkets, two or three 
 living Hindoos as witnesses of what God had wrought 
 through the irresistible power of His word, as dispensed 
 by one of His most unworthy servants ? He had an 
 opportunity for doing this. About two weeks before ho 
 left Bombay, a native lady called on him, and stated that, 
 in consequence of having expressed a desire to embrace 
 Christianity, she had already suffered much injury— almost 
 persecution— at the hands of her v/ealthy relatives, and 
 that she had determined, rather than be obliged to con- 
 form to the religious practices which she had now aband- 
 oned forever to go to some Christian land, where siie 
 could be free to worship as she pleased, without any in- 
 terference from others ; and had, therefore, made up lier 
 mind to go to England. She had, she said, been informed 
 that Mr. Graham was about to return to that country, and, 
 
THS HEATHENS OV THE HUATU. 
 
 203 
 
 as an evidence of her sincerity, she desired that he should 
 baptize her and her little nephew— a boy of about eight or 
 nine years— to whom she had given Christian instructions, 
 and whom she wished to take with her, as if left in India, 
 he would relapse to Hindooism ; and she therefore consid- 
 ered it a sacred duty to save one so dear to her from a 
 superstition which might endanger his eternal happiness. 
 The lady adopted the Ohristian name of Sarah, and the 
 boy was known as Hemar. 
 
 Mr. Graham, delighted with the proposal, not only 
 readily acquiesced, but in order to make sure of such a 
 spiritual prize, he persuaded her to accept his hospitality 
 in the meantime. The native lady, though apparently in 
 good circumstances, was quite willing to become his 
 guest, as she wished to get away as privately as possible ; 
 but the little boy, her nephew, wy.3 reluctant to go to the 
 house of a stranger; his detention seemed to fret him 
 very much; he spoke of his mother, and wanted to go 
 home— though he then knew not its direction ; and were 
 it not for the watchfulness of his aunt, as well as the 
 eager desire of Mr. Graham, he would have made his 
 escape. 
 
 Besides these converts Mrs. Graham, the missionary's 
 wife, had a Farsee girl called Sheva that had either been 
 kidnapped, or induced to wander away from her parents' 
 home in Bombay. As it was, Mrs. Graham, being herself 
 childless, seemed to take a rare interest in the girl, and 
 pitying her spiritually destitute condition, not only induc- 
 ed her to become a Christian, but to refuse to return to 
 her parents. Being much depressed at the departure of 
 their child, the parents made every inquiry, and when 
 they discovered, as they supposed, her place of retreat, 
 made a demand that she should be given up. But Mr. 
 Graham and his good wife, having the girl's spiritual 
 interest at heart, denied that she was in their house, and 
 denied all knowledge of her whereabouts, and not only 
 protested against being suspected of keeping her conceal- 
 ed, but threatened to appeal to the law against an impu- 
 
 «HJ »-> 
 
 n 
 
 
 >% 
 
 \'J 
 
 
 'jKk,j 
 
 
 |« 
 
 .on : ■ 
 
 ml 
 
 W': 
 
 HI 
 
 m\ 
 
 fli 
 
 i^i^'^' 
 
 ■Jll 
 
 ■V 
 
 fiMln 
 
 -n . :f{»l 
 
 
 11 
 
204 
 
 THE HGATIIENS OF TUB HfiATH. 
 
 
 
 tation so unjust. The parents thus baffled went sadly 
 away ; they knew not that their child's affections had been 
 alienated, or that she had been secretly baptized by a 
 Christian priest, and though the same priest might admit 
 that it would be wrong to teach a child to forget its natur- 
 al parents, he might think it a far greater wrong to allow 
 her to return to those who were unable to give her a 
 knowledge of the true God, and thus imperil her salva- 
 tion.* 
 
 In due time Mr. Graham and his wife with their con- 
 verts landed in England. The season was chilly, there 
 was snow on the hiiis, and thin sheets of ice were spread 
 over ponds and pools, and even upon running water. 
 What a change from the hot breath of India ! The sight 
 must have been depressing to the natives of the East, for 
 the Hindoo lady appeared to have become suddenly rest- 
 less and discontented ; her natural vivacity had given way 
 to a suUenness of manner which was noticed by all ; and 
 her first day in a foreign land had scarcely closed in a 
 dreary night, when, without giving the least intimation, 
 she and her nephew suddenly disappeared. A hurried 
 search had been made, inquiries here and there had been 
 fruitless, no one had seen her, no one could give the least 
 reliable information about such a person, and no clue 
 could be obtained as to her place of retreat. Everything 
 had been managed with such secrecy and tact as to lead 
 one to suppose that she knew Gravesend— the first port at 
 which they touched— and every person in it. Her two 
 trunks and a few valuables had also been removed ; and 
 the only hint in any way relating to her which they could 
 get, was from a waterman who stated that about dusk 
 that evening he saw a dark featured, foreign looking wo- 
 man in conversation with some wandering gypsies who 
 were going towards London. He afterwards saw the same 
 person on one of the river steamers, but she had no boy 
 with her— she was alone— of this he was certain, for being 
 
 m 
 
 I? 
 
 Seo Note 10. 
 
 Ml 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 205 
 
 rather puzzled, as he said, by her manner and appearance 
 he watched the steamboat leave the wharf, and he saw 
 the strange woman sit apart from the other passengers, 
 and just as it was growing dark she wrapped a heavy 
 shawl or mantle about her as if preparing to sleep until 
 she got to the city. 
 
 Unsatisfatory as this information was, it set the mis- 
 sionary thinking. Who could this woman be? Could it 
 be his lady protege— his Hindoo convert Sarah? If so 
 what a vile deceiver ! He then became somewhat excited 
 and felt inclined to curse the whole race of pagans, and to 
 upbraid himself and others for wasting time and money 
 in futile attempts to rescue them from deserved perdition. 
 Sorely annoyed as he then was he could have wished for 
 another Sepoy rebellion in order that it might bring them 
 extermination. After the end of his long voyage he 
 intended to pray that night, and return thanks for their 
 escape from the dangers of the deep ; he intended that his 
 converts should have had a touching evidence of his deep 
 piety, but how could he pray now, or for whom ? How 
 hard for him to approach the "Throne of Grace " under 
 such circumstances. And yet, after all, he did pray— it 
 had become a habit— but alas ! his prayer was not for ten- 
 der mercies, but for fierce judgment on Pope, and pagan, 
 and infidel, and on those that refuse the gospel. He knew 
 that kings, prophets, and apostles, of old had hurled con- 
 demnation upon the heathen ; and as these should still 
 be denounced, he urged the Lord to banish unbelief and 
 to thunder in the ears of scofters the deserved threat: 
 "When your fear cometh as a desolation, and your 
 destruction cometh as a whirlwind, when distress and 
 anguish come upon you, then shall ye call upon me, but 
 I will not answer," and after this closing petition the mis- 
 sionary upon the first night of his return retired to slum- 
 ber, and it might be to dream of couverting savages in 
 other lauds. 
 
 c 
 
 
 M 
 
 f 
 
 ii » 
 
 f 
 
 J 
 
 ; ;, 
 
 {ill 
 
 ) 
 
 4 «••' ' ' f 
 
 > 1} 
 
 i . 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ■ a 
 
 m 
 
 MOBALITY WITHOUT THE BIBLE. 
 
 Tj^XPERIENCE has fully proved that ministers of the 
 '^ gospel are no less disconcerted by the trials and dis- 
 appointments of life than persons who have never had 
 apostolic hands laid upon them. Priests, from the nature 
 of their calling, though presumed to possess more of 
 the virtue of forbearance and resignation than ordinary 
 men, have too often been sadly deficient when required to 
 be an example unto others, and as a class the;; have never 
 shown themselves superior to common sinners in the hour 
 of trouble, of temptation, or of misfortune. This glaring 
 fact — for fact it is — has emboldened many doubters to 
 assert that religion, in the time of adversity, has never 
 yet surpassed, if it has ever yet equaled, the calm philos- 
 ophy of sages, ancient and modern, who had neither 
 belief in theological creeds, nor in inspired books. 
 
 One might go back to so-called Apostolic times, and 
 allude to the record of the weakness and prevarication of 
 Peter ; the infamous betrayal of Judas ; the contention 
 between Paul and Barnabas ; and the jealousy and dicta- 
 torial ambition of Paul himself. The history of the early 
 Christian Fathers, will show a repulsive side of human 
 nature, as exemplified in the wilfully unscrupulous state- 
 ments and fabrications of such as Ireneus, Tertullian, Or- 
 igen, Eusebius, and others, who were so thoroughly men- 
 dacious in the desire to propagate their crude doctrines, 
 as to justify the remark that '*Omnis homo mendax,'* may 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 207 
 
 be accepted as an inspired aphorism.* Later still, have 
 not the priests of Borne, and of England, and of almost 
 every other country, proved, as* a body, to be ambitious 
 and resentful, and the veriest slaves of mystery and 
 intrigue. They have been credulous or doubtful, ser- 
 vile or tyrannical as circumstances permitted or required ; 
 and, at the present day, the journalistic record of clerical 
 fallibility and crime, regularly flaunted before the eyes of 
 all— believers and unbelievers — is ruly infamous; and 
 yet, notwithstanding all this, the clergy have still the 
 audacity to assert that, without them and their creeds, 
 there could be no more morality, no more faithfulness, no 
 more peace among men ; ignoring the fact that their own 
 morality is too questionable, their own faithfulness too 
 unreliable, and their promised peace, but the excited jar- 
 ring of theological opinions, the hatred of sects, and the 
 persecutions of bigotry. They are evidently desirous of 
 forgetting that the only age of the world which can be 
 truly called the *' Pacific Age," was that immediately pre- 
 ceding the period assigned for the birth of the Christian 
 Messiah: a period when the vhole world was sunken in 
 so-called "heathenish darknoss," yet, withal, no such 
 time has ever since returned to bless mankind. 
 
 As history has borne sad evidence in relation to the 
 superiority of the morals and humanity which Christian 
 priests asser t must result solely from the adoption of one 
 
 * In the early centuries of Christianity, pious misrepresentations 
 were quite common. Following the example of Paul, many of the 
 Christian Fathers did not hesitate to invent and circulate that which 
 was untrue, in order to benoflt the Church. The interpolation in 
 Josephus, now admitted by Dr. Chalmers and others to be a forgery, 
 is charged against Eusebius, who was most unscrupulous in fur- 
 nishing apocryphal testimonials for the support of truth. In the 
 12th Book of his " Evangelical Preparation," Eusebius devotes a 
 chapter to prove that falsehood ought to be used when required ; and 
 he heads the 3tst chapter with the question, " How far it may be proper 
 to use falsehood as a medicine ? " Referring to the Christian clergy 
 of the fourth century, Dr. Mosheim, the learned divine and histo- 
 rian, admits. " That it was an almost universally adopted maxim. 
 that it was an act of virtue to deceive and lie, when by such meaua 
 the interestB of the Church ui ight be promoted."— Vol. l. p. 198. 
 
 
 ! 'f ■ 
 
 .1 is 
 
 'i 
 
 
 I i: 
 
 ii 
 
I ! 
 
 I 1 
 
 208 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 I 
 
 II ' 
 
 I' 
 
 of the most modern creeds, let us glance at what has been 
 said as to the standing and influence of some of those 
 who lived before Christianity was introduced to enlighten 
 the world. It is the fashion of Christian ministers to decry 
 Paganism, and to represent it as a system which has been 
 most debasing in its effects. Like other religious systems, 
 it has its dark side as well as its bright one, yet it is only 
 fair to hear something of what has been said in its favor 
 by men whose opinions candid persons admit to be above 
 suspicion, and whose statements have not as yet been 
 refuted. 
 
 Among those ancient pagans, who, according to a com- 
 mon orthodox phrase, '* knew not God," the names of 
 many of the finest characters on record are to be found. 
 Without alluding to kings, to soldiers, or to priests— the 
 "dead-heads " of society— who have ever been the prime 
 elements of strife, we find poets, philosophers, orators, 
 musicians, statesmen, physicians, scientists, and astrono- 
 mers, some of whose pure minds have furnished gems of 
 thought even for the pages of inspiration ; while the won- 
 derful talents and surprising intuitions of others, have 
 guided men, in nearly every vocation, through the ages 
 down to the present day. To establish this, it is not neces- 
 sary to grope into dim antiquity, nor need we seek to dis- 
 cover who it was that suggested the erection of the mighty 
 pyramids of Egypt, or whose grand conceptions gave 
 expression to the once shining face of Memnon, or set up 
 the towering Sphinx, with placid countenance, to gaze for 
 ages upon the flowing Nile, and out upon the desert 
 beyond ; neither is it necesssry to name the daring archi- 
 tects that evcavated the vast cave temples of Ipsamboul, 
 and those of India ; that designed the gorgeous palaces, 
 or that raised the immense statues and symmetrical obe- 
 lisks of ancient Egypt, which, after a lapse of thousands 
 of years, are still the pride and glory of the intellectual 
 world. No; let these dead pagans rest, they were the 
 great preachers of their time, and their texts can still be 
 read in the mountains of sculptured granite, and in the 
 
THE iikathens of the heath. 
 
 209 
 
 colossal blocks which they piled and beautified so that 
 future generations might have ample evidence of the 
 depth and sincerity of the faith of those who worshiped 
 Christna or Osiris. Instead of these, let us deal with some 
 of the pagans of subsequent centuries, and name but a 
 few who lived and flourished in the yesterday of time, 
 even as late as a thousand years before the reputed advent 
 of Christ. 
 
 We may commence with Homer the so-called "father of 
 poetry," and who, Sir William Temple says, " was, with- 
 out doubt, the most universal genius that has ever been 
 known in the world ; '* and of whose poems it has been 
 said: "It was by these poems that all the worthies of 
 antiquity were formed. Hence the law-givers, the found- 
 ers of monarchies and commonwealths, took the model 
 of their politics, hence the philosophers drew their first 
 principles of morality, hence physicians have studied dis- 
 eases and their cares, astronomers have learned the 
 knowledge of the heavens, and geometricians of the 
 earth." Great Homer! who, among the Christian priests 
 and prophets, have ever truly deserved more veneration ? 
 Then, following Homer, what an intellectual array I 
 Thales stands before us chief of the sages, one of whose 
 moral maxims was : "Avoid doing what you would blame 
 others for doing.'* " Enrich not thyself by unjust means." 
 And Pythagoras, whose teaching, it has been said, "was 
 of the purest and most spiritual kind— self restraint, sin- 
 cerity, and purity of heart, were especially commended ; 
 and conscientiousness and uprightness in the affairs of 
 life would seem to have been its distinguishing character- 
 istics." Among the sayings of this uninspired philoso- 
 pher are the following words of wisdom: "Do what you 
 believe to be right, whatever people think of you." "It 
 is impossible that he can be free who is a slave to his pas- 
 sions." Then we have Solon, eminently distinguished as 
 a law giver, who said: "Study excellence, and aim at 
 acquiring it." "Those are happy who act honestly and 
 live temperately." " Reverence thy parents." " Cherish 
 
 
 iV. 
 
 \ 
 
 
 '.ftt. 
 
 ' : li 
 
 '.■»! 
 
 it' 
 tl 
 
210 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATIT. 
 
 I 
 
 thy friend." Who can equal iEsop in philosophical fables? 
 what parables have ever been more useful to mankind ? As 
 dramatists, there is ^schylus the father of tragedy, and 
 Thespis with his wandering troop, and Euripides, said to 
 be the author of over ninety tragedies, in which, it is as- 
 serted, ** He is of all writers remarkable for having inter- 
 spersed moral reflections and philosophical aphorisms in 
 his dramatic pieces." 
 
 In history Herodotus, Thucidydea, and Manetho, are 
 regarded as being at least as correct and impartial as any 
 modern writers, and as a general thing undeviating in 
 their fidelity to truth. (What of some of our ecclesiasti- 
 cal historians, Protestants and Catholic ?) 
 
 As orators Demosthenes and Cicero have never yet been 
 surpassed; they are still the models of statesmen and 
 priests ; they continue to dignify politics, and to inspire 
 inspiration. 
 
 As mathematicians, Euclid, Archimedes, and Eudoxius 
 still give lessons to some of our professors, and Hippocra- 
 tes is still revered as the father of medicine and "prince 
 of physicians." To these might be added Aristotle and 
 others. 
 
 But the names of philosophers now perhaps most com- 
 monly spoken of are Confucius and Socrates, to the form- 
 er of whom is ascribed the authorsLip of the "Golden 
 Rule," which was centuries afterward transferred to so- 
 called "sacred writ" as an original saying of Jesus. Of 
 this great pagan it has been said : " His integrity and the 
 splendor of his virtues made him beloved; kings were 
 governed by his counsels, and the people revered him as a 
 saint ; " and of Socrates, whose character it is said equal- 
 ed if not surpassed that of any individual recorded in the 
 Bible. " The purity of his life and his serenity in the hour 
 of death have been the admiration of all, and many prom- 
 inent Christians take pleasure in associating Socrates with 
 Jesus." When near his end— having been unjustly con- 
 demned to die— he addressed his weeping judges, and, 
 with other exalted remarks, said : " Wherefore, O Judges, 
 
THE HBATUENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ail 
 
 be of good cheer about death, and know this of a trufh, 
 that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or 
 after death. He and his are not neglected by the Gods ; 
 nor has my own approaching end happened by mere 
 cliance. But I see clearly that to die and be released is 
 better for me."* What an example of hope and resigna- 
 tion for orthodox fanatics ! 
 
 With these we have a Plato, whose ** sublime philoso- 
 phy" has been eulogized by scholars in every age, and 
 whose writings, it is said, '* consist in that grand union of 
 abstract thought, imaginative decoration, emotional pur- 
 ity, and noble activity, which is the model of a complete 
 and richly endowed humanity." Read! these are his 
 words: "God is truth, and light is His shadow." "The 
 perfectly just man would be he who should love justice 
 for its own sake, not for the honors or advantages that 
 attend ; who would be willing to pass for unjust while he 
 practiced the most exact justice; who would not suffer 
 himself to be moved by disgrace or distress, but would 
 continue steadfast in the love of justice, not because it is 
 pleasant, but because it is right." 
 
 These great pagans are but a few of the excellent of the 
 earth, who knew nothing of a "Divine Revelation," but 
 whose great minds conceived a morality never surpassed.! 
 The propagandist priests of Christianity have been ever 
 ready to point out the foibles, and to magnify the errors 
 of these prominent men, and to convict them of licen- 
 tiousness and inhumanity. They are not free from cen- 
 sure—the wisest men have erred— but they are far from 
 being so depraved as it is the interest of the Church to 
 make them appear. They found it, no doubt, necessary- 
 like some philosophers and scientists at the present day— 
 to show an appearance of conformity to a religion or 
 superstition in which many of them had but little faith, 
 
 * Nearly 600 years afterward St. Paul is said to have written: 
 die is gain." 
 
 t See Note 11. 
 
 To 
 
 
 t [•: 
 
 ' ■] 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 : I 
 
 H 
 
212 
 
 THE HEATUENU OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ',■'• ' 
 
 yet with all the charges that have been urged against 
 them,* they will not appear the more degraded by a con- 
 trast of their most glaring errors, or even their imputed 
 crimes, with the gross, debasing licentiousness, and terri- 
 ble inhumanity of a Moses, an Aaron, a Joshua, a BaviU, 
 and a Solomon ; besides a hundred others of thebepraiseu 
 kings, priests, and prophets of the "book of books," 
 whose maxims and whose morals, if exhibited in the lives 
 and actions of men at the present day, would be pro- 
 nounced contaminating to society. What ideal excel- 
 lence have we even now that is not in some way a filtra- 
 tion of the grand thoughts, or the development of tho 
 embryonic conceptions of the pagan of other days ? How 
 lar in advance of them are we in mental or material pro- 
 gres? They have scarcely left us anything to originate; 
 our greatest discoveries are perhaps but mere traces of tho 
 lost arts. Besides the hundred gates they have thrown 
 open that we may visit an intellectual Thebes, besides the 
 metaphysical hieroglyphics which they have left us to 
 decipher, they have given, with innumerable sages, and 
 many amazing structures, the seven wise men of Greece, 
 and the seven wonders of the world. Pagan and unbe- 
 lievers! What might the world have gained if there had 
 been more of such? What errors, what inhumanity, what 
 bloodshed, and what sorrow might have been escaped, 
 had men been guided by the simple philosophy of unpre- 
 tending heathens, instead of having been mystified by 
 creeds, or demoralized by the crude, contradictory bewil- 
 dering pages of so-called inspiration ! 
 
 But although these excellent men have long passed 
 away they are still gratefully remembered ; no one can 
 fairly establish even a doubt as to their existence. They 
 
 • The evidences of Christianity must be in a laboring condition 
 indeed, if they require us to imagine that a Cicero, Tacitus, or Pliny 
 were worshipers of gods of wood or stono ; or to force on our appre- 
 hensions such a violence as that we should imagine that the mighty 
 mind that had enriched the world with Euclid's Elements of Geome- 
 try, could have bowed to the deities of Euclid's Egypt and worshiped 
 leeks and crocodiles.— Rev. R. Taylor " Diegesis," p. 14 
 
IU£ UEATUEXS OF TUB HEATH. 
 
 213 
 
 were real characters ; there was nothing mythical about 
 their race or their origin. Where they lived, and wliat 
 they said, and what they wrote, ar^ matters of certainty. 
 Can the same assurance ever be given as to the existence 
 of the several " sacred writers," or plagiarists, and proph- 
 ets, and apostles, and saints, to whom is attributed the 
 authorship of the various books, or tracts, compo.^ing tho 
 Bible, and whom the orthodox extol above all others as 
 exemplars of virtue ? Doubt has ever cast its deepest shad- 
 ow upon prophecy, and miracle and in8piration. The belief 
 of many unbelievers is mostly a continued struggle with 
 reason. Fiction seems to be the principal constituent of 
 ecclesiastical records. The most deceptive web of error is 
 that which has a golden selvage of truth; and what is 
 theology but a patchwork of truth and fiction, of wisdom 
 and absurdity ? In this reasoning, scientific and i)ractical 
 aj?e, the number is fast increasing who can neither believe 
 in Isaiah's predictions nor in Daiiiors wild visions; who 
 eannot conceive that Joshua ever made the sun stand still 
 upon Gibeon, or that the moon ever remained stationary 
 in the valley of Ajalon; who will not believe that the 
 witch of Endor ever raised the prophet Samuel, or that 
 Nebuchadnezzar "ate grass like an ox," or that Baalam's 
 ass ever uttered a word. They consider the legend relat- 
 ing to the labors of Hercules just as credible as the naru- 
 tive concerning the strength of Sampson ; the war with 
 Jupiter and the Giants just as likely to have occured as 
 the war with Lucifer in heaven ; and the story of Phae- 
 ton's wild horses rushing toward's the earth just as prob- 
 able as the ascent of Elijah's fiery chariot in the opposite 
 direction ; and still in this utter disbelief such skeptics 
 neither expect to become the victims ol" an incensed Jupi- 
 ter nor Oi an incensed Jehovah. 
 
 In polemical difficulties, equivocation is often as neces- 
 sary as pretension for Doctors of Divinity. The virtues of 
 ancient pagans have been so well established that some 
 who boastingly assert that there can be no morality 
 without the Bible, have been obliged to concede— in order 
 
 t Wb t\ 
 
214 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 I, 
 
 4: 
 
 ha' 
 
 
 to support this priestly notion— that several of these 
 renowned pagans were actually Christians— yes Christians 
 before Christ !— and the religion which they practised was 
 really Christianity in a kind of disguise. Yet do not many 
 consider that Christianity is even still the disguise of an 
 older creed ; still nothing more than th3 *' Buddhism of 
 the WeGt," for its prominent doctrines are inculcated in 
 the Vedas, and several of the remarkable incidents con- 
 nected with the life of the Hindoo Savior Christna, are 
 repeated in those which are remarkable in the life of 
 Christ.* As the record of Christna dates back ages before 
 the alleged time of Christ, can it be asked which of the 
 incidents referred to are entitled to priority— which tho 
 imitation? Clark, a prominent Christian writer, in his 
 *' Evidences of Natural and Revealed Religion," states: 
 "Some of the an cientest writers of the Church have not 
 scrupled expressly to call the Athenian Socrates, and some 
 others of the best of the heathen moralists, by the name 
 of Christians, and to affirm, that as the law was as it were 
 a schoolmaster to bring the Jews unto Christ, so true 
 mora] philosophy was to the Gentiles a preparation to 
 receive the gospel." P. 284. 
 
 Clemens Alexandrinus, one of the early Christians, also 
 says : *' And those who lived according to the Logos were 
 really Christians, though they have been thought to be 
 Atheists, as Socrates and Heraciitus were among the 
 Greeks, and such as resembled them." 
 
 And then we have other important admissions of tho 
 "Christian Fathers," and writers, such as that of the 
 shrewd, unscrupulous Origen, who, unable to detract from 
 the excellent lives and maxims of certain heathens, suys : 
 ''For God revealed these things unto them, and what- 
 
 * Such as the incarnation of Christna, born of a virgin, the adora- 
 tion of shepherds, the escape of the mother and child from tho tyrant 
 Kansa, the slaughter of male children by the same tyrant, etc., etc. 
 Sir William Jones, the great writer on India, says; " That the namo 
 of Christna and the general outline of his history were long anterior 
 to the birth of our Bavior. and probably to the time of Homer, wo 
 know vary certainly." 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 215 
 
 to 
 
 ever things have been well spoken." And Lactantius 
 writes : "And if there had been any one to have collected 
 the truth that was scattered and diffused [by pagans] 
 among sects and individuals, into one, and to have reduc- 
 ed it to a system, there would indeed have been no differ- 
 ence between him and us." "What then? and do the 
 philosophers recommend nothing like the precepts of the 
 gospel ? Yes, indeed, they do very many, and often ap- 
 proach to truth ; only their precepts have no weight, as 
 being merely human, and devoid of that greater and 
 divine authority ; and nobody believes because the hearer 
 thinks himself as much a man as he who prescribes them." 
 Lactant, Libs. 3 and 7. 
 
 And of Cicero's works Arnobius says : '* And if Cicero's 
 works had been read as they ought to have been by the 
 heathens, there would have been no need of Christian 
 writers." Yet, further, hear the grand admission of St. 
 Augustine : " For the thing itself which is now called the 
 Christian Religion really was known to the ancients, nor 
 was wanting at any time from the beginning of the liuman 
 race until the time when Christ came in the flesh, from 
 whence the true religion, which had previously existed, 
 began to be called Christian ; for this in our days is the 
 Christian religion, not as having been wanting in former 
 \imes, but as having in later times received this name."— 
 Augus. Vol. 1, P. 12.* 
 
 These admissions so distinctly stated by leaders in the 
 Christian Church ought to be ample proof that the purest 
 morality existed before the pages of the Bible were known 
 to man. India, said to be the cradle of humanity, civiliza- 
 tion, and religion, derived its excellent precepts from the 
 Vedas— the Rig Veda is acknowledged to be the oldest 
 sacred literary work in existence— and from these books 
 
 ■ri 
 
 * So pure were the doctrines of many of the andent philosophers 
 that they were accounted fit to be incorporated with those of Chris- 
 titinity. Moshelm says : " The coalition between Platoism and Chris- 
 tianity, in the seoond and third trenturies. is a fact too fully proved to 
 be rendered dubious by more aflirraations."— Vol. l, P. 170, 
 
216 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 the numerous religions of the world have derived their 
 various "Incarnations," and "Saviors," and "Trinities," 
 and "Plans of Salvation;" from these books all their 
 doctrines have been deduced— this is unquestionable. Sir 
 William Jones, himself a Christian, acknowledged to be 
 perhaps the best authority on India, writes of the primi- 
 tive religion: "A spirit of sublime devotion, of benesro- 
 lence to mankind, and of amiable tenderness to all sentient 
 creatures, pervades the whole work [Institutes of Menu] ; 
 the style of it has a certain austere majesty that sounds 
 like the language of legislation, and extorts a respectful 
 awe; the sentiments of independence on all beings but 
 God, and the harsh admonitions even to kings, are truly 
 noble; and the many panegyrics on the Gyatu, tho 
 mother, as it is called, of the Yeda, proved the author 
 to have adored (not the visible material sun but) that 
 divine and incomparable greater light, to use the words 
 of the most venerable text in the Indian scriptures, which 
 illumines all, delights all, from which all proceed, to 
 which all must return, and which alone can irradiate (not 
 our visual organs merely but) our souls and our intel- 
 lects." 
 
 And John Adams, in a letter to Thomas Jefferson, says : 
 '• Where is to be found theology more orthodox or philos- 
 ophy more profound than in the introduction to the 
 Shasta? 'God is one creator of one universal sphere, 
 without beginning, without end. God governs all the 
 creation by a general providence resulting from his eter- 
 nal designs,' etc. These doctrines— sublime If ever there 
 were any sublime— Pythagoras learned in India, and 
 taught them to Zallucus and his other disciples." 
 
 In "Forbes' Oriental Memoirs," the Hindoo character 
 is thus represented: "Piety, obedience to superiors, res- 
 ignation in misfortune, charity, hospitality, filial, parental 
 and conjugal affection, are among the distinguishing char- 
 acteristics of the Hindoos." 
 
 And Persia, too, had its morality. The Zend Avesta is 
 its inspired book, and a Oiiristian bishop speaks thus in 
 
TH£ HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 217 
 
 its favor: "The morality of the Zoud Avesta is entitled 
 to praise ; purity of word, action and thought, is repeat- 
 edly inculcated. To multiply the human species, increase 
 its happiness, and prevent evil, are the general duties 
 inculcated by Zoroaster to his disciples ; agriculture and 
 the multiplication of the useful arts are particularly recom- 
 mended to them." Butler's Horo Biblicce. Sir William 
 Jones also adds his testimony : ** The primeval religion 
 of Iran, if we may rely on the authorties adduced by 
 Monsani Fani, was that which Newtown calls the oldest 
 (and it may justly be called the noblest) of all religions ; 
 a firm belief that * One supreme God made the world by 
 His power, and continually governs it by His providence ; 
 a pious fear, love and adoration of Him ; and due rever- 
 ence for parents and aged persons ; a fraternal affection 
 for the whole human species; and a compassionate 
 tenderness for the brute creation.' " Here is a text from 
 the book itself : *' Opposition to peace is a sin. Rei'ly to 
 thine enemy with gentleness." 
 
 China and Japan were rich in moral teachings. Con- 
 fucius and Mencius, the Chinese philosophers, were 
 apostles of truth who preached a gospel never yet sur- 
 passed, and though their maxims have adorned " inspira- 
 tion," and though they have been cannonized by the 
 great high priests of every land, still they made their own 
 teachings subservient to the moral doctrines that existed 
 even before their time. The people of Japan, known as a 
 "friendly race," are approved for their filial conduct, 
 and for their great industry and cleanliness. As to the 
 alleged barbarism of these people, a Rev. gentleman in a 
 work lately published, ironically observes:* "I have 
 wished a hundred times since coming to Japan that we 
 could import into our own and some other civilized coun- 
 tries a measure of this want of civilization, or barbarism, 
 or whatever one may choose to call it." And as to their 
 shameful treatment by Christian nations, he says : ** The 
 
 ,M 
 
 ' 'ri ? 
 
 • Rev. E. D. O. Prime. D.D.-*' Around the World." 1878. 
 
 10 
 
 t 
 
 it 1.1 
 
 It -f 
 
I i 
 
 1 ! 
 
 i { 
 
 I!' 
 
 Nf 
 
 218 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Christian world owes a heavy debt to those heathen 
 nations which have suffered so much at the hands of 
 Christian governments." 
 
 Egypt, ancient Egypt, may well boast of civilization; 
 the most obstinate clerical fanatic can do but little indeed 
 with the puny opposition he might bring against the 
 claims of this once gre&t nation. It may be said that, in 
 many respects,Egypt towered above most other countries, 
 just as the pyramid towers above the desert. Of this 
 land, RoUin the historian, writes : '* Egypt was ever con- 
 sidered by all the ancients as the most renowned school 
 for wisdom and politics, and the source from whence most 
 of the arts and sciences were derived. This kingdom 
 bestowed its noblest labors and its finest arts on the 
 improvement of mankind; and Greece was so sensible of 
 this, that its most illustrious men, as Homer, Pythagoras, 
 Plato, even its great legislators, Lycurgus and Solon, with 
 more whom it is useless to mention, traveled into Egypt 
 to complete their studies, and to draw from that fountain 
 whatever was most rare and valuable in every kind of 
 learning." 
 
 As for Greece, and Rome, all history bears evidence to 
 their past greatness. Nearly every one of their pagan 
 heroes and heroines seem to have been characters of the 
 highest human excellence. They were not frightened 
 into virtue by theology. 
 
 Where can we find men more desirous of doing justice 
 and benefiting tho human race than Socrates or Plato, or 
 more exemplary than Lycurgus or Cincinnatus ? Where 
 can we find chastity to surpass that of Lucretia ; or honesty 
 that of Aristides ; or disinterestedness that of Timoleon ? 
 And now, after all the wild shouting of our modern clergy, 
 have their contending creeds produced better results for 
 the world at large than those arising from paganism or 
 unbelief? Are Christian priests better men than their 
 pagan predecessors? Have the Christian clergy shown 
 more self-denial, or more disregard for wealth, and posi- 
 tion, and authority than the expounders of the Vodas, tho 
 
THE HEA.THEN8 OF THE HEATH. 
 
 219 
 
 Zend Avesta, or even the Koran ? And the great question 
 on the whole may be, has Christianity, alone and unaided, 
 made men more intelligent, more truthful, more trusty, 
 more dignified, more contented and more humane than 
 paganism left them; has it, as the popular religion of 
 Europe and America, diminished more poverty and crime, 
 or lessened the evils of war, or produced a higher regard for 
 human life; has the slaughter almost constantly occur, 
 ing during the last eighteen hundred years, equalled or 
 •exceeded that under paganism during any previous period 
 of the same duration ? Enormous as the cost of the 
 Christian religion is at the present day— extortionate 
 assepsments or demands to pay the ecclesiastical incomes 
 of popes, cardinals, arch-bishops, deans, rectors, mode- 
 rators, curates, and the remaining vast swarm of the 
 clergy of all denominations seeking maintenance ; incess- 
 ant demands /or the erection of grand cathedrals and 
 palatial churches, and for the circulation of Bibles and 
 tracts ; and increasing demand for missionary and other 
 similar purposes— enormous as these assessments and 
 demands really are, they, after all, fall short of the mil- 
 lions required and expended by Christian nations for the 
 dreadful purposes of war; the Christian clergy, who 
 assume to be men of peace, or who contribute little or 
 nothing to the taxes imposed for the creation and support 
 of hostile fleets and invading armies, are yet among the 
 first to urge others to engage in bloody strife, and submit 
 to the exaction, even though asylums, and hospitals, and 
 chi. ritable institutions, should at the same time be lan- 
 guishing for necessary supplies. Doubters will still ask : 
 What has Christianity done for the nations ? What is 
 Athens now to what it was in the the time of Pericles? 
 Whether was Eome greatest in its Augustan, or in its 
 Pontifical age. 
 
 Notwithstanding the overwhelming evidence which can 
 be adduced to prove that the standard of morality is but 
 little, if at all, In advance of what it was eighteen hun- 
 dred years ago, oeleetial envoys such as Seth Graham, 
 
 ||ti<< 
 
 
 J Vi> 
 
 k 
 
 
 J »i- -• : ^ rf 
 
 : i 
 
 1 "f I , If 
 
 it '{ 
 ! it 
 
 !^:; i 
 
 : B» ■ ■ ■ : i 
 ' t ^ If. 
 
 fil ; f 
 
 U 
 
I. ] 
 
 220 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Missionary unable to disprove the existence of justice, and 
 integrity at that period, will pertinaciously assert that the 
 minds of men in the early ages had been impregnated 
 with the morality of the Old Testament, without whic;h 
 mankind would have been in the most deijlorable condi- 
 tion. Old Testament! It were, perhaps, better not to 
 give special instances of what that morality consisted; 
 it were better not to quote from the " inspired " record of 
 the lives of some of the elect of those terrible times, their 
 obscenities, their inhumanities or their savage, wanton 
 butcheries. Morality? Shocking! One instance may 
 suffice; read the life of the '* Psalmist"— called, "the man 
 after God's own heart," and if any pagan, since or before 
 his reputed time, has proved more w' eked, more sensual, 
 more abandoned, more treacherous, and more inhumanly 
 cruel than the illustrious King Pavid, then history is but 
 fable. 
 
 To be plain, nothing but the most daring disregard for 
 strict accuracy, or the most overwhelming idea of self- 
 righteousness, can still urge certain ministers of the 
 gospel to repudiate the goodness that is natural to man- 
 kind ; for it is positively false to assert that man is by 
 nature either "totally depraved," or "devilish." After all 
 the foolish cavilling as to the existence of morality without 
 the Bible, Christian writers of undoubted authority admit 
 and fully provi that the excellence of the morality of the 
 ancient world was alone sufficient for the guidance of 
 men— the ethics of "inspiration " being no way superior, 
 and certainly not original. Those who lived in the early 
 ages of the world were possessed of human feelings as well 
 as of human forms ; they had an affectionate regard for 
 their parents, their wives and their children ; they could 
 be faithful to their friends and magnanimous to enemies ; 
 they could pity the suffering, could weep with those that 
 wept, and shed tears of sorrow over the graves of those 
 who had departed ; they were as industrious, as kind, as 
 benevolent, as humane, and altogether as virtuous as 
 people of modern times; there was then, perhaps, even 
 
THB HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 less selfishness among men than there is at present. 
 It is stated that : " Among the primitive nations of the 
 world alms-giving was inculcated as a religious observance, 
 and is prescribed as such in their religious books." "In 
 early times Athens could boast of having no citizen in 
 want, nor did any disgrace the nation by begging." An 
 Athenian decree provided for the maintenance of those 
 who had been mutilated in battle, and for the children of 
 those who fell. Among the Romans chariiable legislation 
 was frequent ; the holding of land was limited as to ex- 
 tent, and those who had none got a portion to cultivate. 
 (How much such legislation is needed at the present da^' !) 
 Grain was distributed to the poor, first at a reduced rate, 
 but afterwards gratuitously ; and it Is said that the most 
 distinguished Roman senators exercised their talents by 
 speaking in public in behalf of the poor and oppressed ; 
 and while the most humble citizen was not forgotten by 
 the nation, children were trained to be regardful of their 
 parents, and education was considered highly necessary. 
 As the dissension and cruel strife long existing among 
 the different Christian denominations are a matter of 
 world-wide notoriety, it may now be well to inquire how 
 the pagan or philosophical sects of ancient times lived 
 together. The following extracts relating to those people 
 are admitted to be correct. Gibbon, the historian, says : 
 "In their writings and conversation the philosophers 
 of antiquity asserted the independent dignity of reason ; 
 but they resigned their actions to the command of law and 
 custom. Viewing with a smile of pity and indulgence the 
 various errors of the vulgar, they dilligently practiced the 
 ceremonies of their fathers, devoutly frequented the tem- 
 ples of the gods ; and sometimes condescending to act a 
 part in the theatre of superstition, concealed the senti- 
 ments of an atheist under the sacerdotal robe. It was in- 
 dififerent to them what shape the folly of the multitude 
 might choose to assume; and they approached with the 
 same inward contempt and the same external reverence 
 to the altars of the Lybian, the Olympian, of the Capito- 
 
 lOtiHt'J 
 
 1*1 
 
 ll» 
 
 !!■' 
 
 !»■ 
 
p 
 
 l!>i 
 
 822 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 r. 
 
 line Jupiter." Moslieim, the Christian historian, also 
 says: "One thing indeed, appears at first sight very re- 
 markable—that the variety of religions and gods in the 
 heathen world, neither produced wars nor dissensions 
 among the different nations." "Each nation suffered its 
 neighbors to follow their own method of worship, to 
 adore their own gods, to enjoy their own rites and cere- 
 monies, and discovered no displeasure at the diversities of 
 sentiments in religious matters. They all looked upon 
 the world as one great empire, divided into various 
 provinces, over every one of which, a certain order of 
 divinities presided, and that, therefore, none could behold 
 with contempt the gods of other nations or force strang- 
 ers to pay homage to theirs." 
 
 And alluding to the toleration allowed in the ancient 
 Roman empire, Mosheim further adds: "The Romans 
 exercised this toleration in the amplest manner, for 
 though they would not allow any change to be made in 
 the religion of the empire, nor any new form of worship 
 to be openly introduced, yet they granted to their citizens 
 a full liberty of observing in private, the sacred rites of 
 other nations, and of honoring foreign deities (whose 
 worship contained nothing inconsistent with the interests 
 and laws of the republic) with feasts, temples, consecrated 
 groves and the like testimonials of homage and respect." 
 (Ecc. hist.) 
 
 And Renan says : "We may search in vain the Roman 
 law before Constantino for a single passage against free- 
 dom of thought, and the history of the imperial govern- 
 ment furnishes no instance of a prosecution for entertain- 
 ing an abstract doctrine." (Hist. Apostles, p. 259.) What 
 a sad contrast with the toleration of Christian govern- 
 ments. 
 
 Mosheim thus inquires : "A very natural curiosity calls 
 us to inquire how it happened that the Romans who were 
 troublesome to no nation on account of its religion, and 
 vvho suffered even the Jews to live under their own laws 
 and follow their own method of worship, treated the 
 
 <-^«v 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 223 
 
 Christians alone with such severity. A principal reason 
 of the severity with which the Romans persecuted the 
 Christians notwithstanding those considerations, seems to 
 have been the abhorrence and contempt felt by the latter 
 for the religion of the empire, which was so intimately con- 
 nected with the form and indeed with the very essence of 
 its political constitution ; for though the Romans gave an 
 unlimited toleration to all religions which had nothing 
 dangerous to the commonwealth, yet they would not per- 
 mit that of their ancestors which was established by the 
 laws of the land, to be turned into derision, nor the people 
 to be drawn away from their attachment to it." (Ecc. 
 Hist.) 
 
 The ten persecutions alleged to have taken place 
 under Roman emperors are now admitted by impartial 
 Christian historians to be ten exaggerations. Even al- 
 lowing that there were twenty such persecutions what 
 would the total number destroyed be, compared to the 
 actual thousands slaughtered by Christians in contesting 
 some particular Christian doctrine ; how few compared to 
 the vast number by Christians during the crusades ; and 
 when we consider the millions destroyed to establish 
 Papal supremacy, and the number of Protestants slaught- 
 ered by Protestants, the Christians destroyed by Roman 
 persecutions would be an almost insignflcant collection. 
 
 Referring to the ten persecutions which certain Chris- 
 tian writers assert have taken place. Gibbon says ; *' The 
 ingenious parallels of the ten plagues of Egypt, and the 
 ten horns of the Apocalypse, first suggested this calcula- 
 tion to their minds." And a late writer says: **In the 
 fourth century, no settled theory of the number of per- 
 secutions seems to have been adopted, Lactantius reck- 
 ons up but six." (Cham. Enc.) 
 
 If the following account is reliable what a fiendish sys- 
 tem an intelligent pagan must consider Christianity: 
 "From the rise of popery in 606, to the present time, it ia 
 estimated by careful and credible historians that more 
 than FIFTY MILLIONS of the human family have been 
 
 u> 
 
 CI I 
 
 r : 
 
 II 
 
Jr 
 
 224 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ) i 
 
 !l. 
 
 X 
 
 1 1 
 
 it 
 
 »ii 
 
 
 slaughtered for the crime of heresy— an average of more 
 than forty thousand religious murders for every year of the 
 existence of Popery." In a note added to this we have 
 stated : ** A million of Waldenses perished in France ; nine 
 HUNDRED THOUSAND orthodox Christians were slain in less 
 than thirty years after the institution of the order of 
 Jesuits. The Duke of Alva boasted of having put to death 
 in the Netherlands thirty-six thousand by the hand of the 
 common executioner during the space of a few years. 
 The Inquisition destroyed, by various tortures, one hun- 
 dred AND fifty thousand within thirty years."* 
 
 Now, if we had the " actual figures " of those who have 
 been unmercifully dealt with by fanatical Protestants— of 
 those who have been persecuted by Puritans, and tortured 
 by "Pilgrim Fathers," or butcher|fl by other furious 
 zealots of the Reformed Church, would not the great 
 aggregate of victims be woeful ? Is there no one who can 
 weep for the crimes of this Christian Church ? Is there 
 no one who can blush for its still shameless pretensions ? 
 Hush— what a fearful picture ! Is there no one who can 
 blot out this infernal record against outraged humanity? 
 
 Alluding to the manner in which heathenism is gen- 
 erally spoken of by Christian ministers and people, the 
 Rev. Robert Taylor remarks : *' As it would not be fair to 
 take up our notion of the Christian religion, from the 
 lowest and most ignorant of its professors, and still less 
 perhaps, to estimate its merits, by the representations 
 which its known and avowed enemies would be likely to 
 give ; the balance of equal justice on the other side, will 
 forbid ever forming our estimate of the ancient paganism 
 from the misconceptions of its unworthy votaries, or the 
 interested detractions and exaggerations of its Christian 
 opponents. 
 
 The only just and honorable estimate will be that which 
 shall judge of paganism as Christians would wish their 
 own religion to be judged— by its absolute documents, by 
 
 * Dowley's Hist of Bomarisra, p. 542. and note Scott's Ch. Hist. 
 
THE HEATHENS OV THE HEAXU. 
 
 fiii 
 
 the representations of its adrocates, and the admissions 
 of its adveraaries. 
 
 When it is borne in mind that a supernatural origina- 
 tion or divine authority is not claimed for these systems 
 of theology, there can be no occasion to fear their rivalry, 
 or encroachment on systems founded on ouch a claim; 
 and still less to vituperate, and scandalize those, as 
 any means of exalting or magnifying those. There can- 
 not be the least doubt that in dark and barbarous ages, 
 the rude and unlettered part of mankind would grossly 
 pervert the mystical or allegorical sense, if such there 
 were, in the forms of religion propounded to their obser- 
 vance or impose on their simplicity, while it is impossible 
 that those enlightened and philosophical chara- ors, who 
 have left us in their writings the most undoubted evidence 
 of the greatest shrewdness of intellect, extent of inquiry 
 and goodness of heart, should have understood their the- 
 ology in no better or higher significance than as it was 
 understood by the ignorant of their own persuasion, or 
 would be represented by their enemies, who had the 
 strongest possible interest in defaming and decrying it. 
 When the worst is done in this way, Christianity would be 
 but little the gainer by being weighed in the same scales. 
 Should we be allowed to fix on the darkest day of her 
 eleven hundred years of dark ages, and to pit the grossest 
 notion of the grossest ignorance of that day, as specimens 
 of Christianity, against the views which Christians have 
 been generally pleased to give as reprosentations of pa- 
 ganism, how would they abide the challenge? Look on 
 this picture and on this." 
 
 Notwithstanding all that has been done by mission- 
 aries, notwithstanding the "running to and fro," "the 
 preaching of repentance." and the scattering of thous- 
 ands of Bibles alT over the earth, the Brahmin is still 
 steadfast in his faith and he still prizes the morality and 
 the beautiful precepts of the Vedas when he can read 
 therein : '* He who gives alms goes to the highest place 
 in heaven ; he goes to the gods." " Any place where the 
 
 M 
 
 nU 
 
 i ft 
 
 .tfi: 
 
 '■■ If 
 
 ';i i 
 

 i 
 
 226 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 mind of man can be undiBturbed is suitable for the wor- 
 ship of the Supreme Being." The vulgar look for their 
 gods in water ; the ignorant think they reside in wood, 
 bricks, and stones; men of more extended knowledge 
 seek theirs in celestial orbs; but wise men worship the 
 universal soul." "The way to eternal beatitude is open 
 to him who without omission speaketh the truth." " As a 
 thousand rays emanate from one flame, thus do all souls 
 emanate from the One Eternal Soul, and return to him.'* 
 
 And the Buddhist disregarding all other creeds, believes 
 that he has all truth when he reads in the sacred word of 
 Buddha. *' As the bee collects nectar, and departs without 
 injuring the flower, or its color, or perfume, so let the 
 sage dwell on earth." "Like a beautiful flower, full 
 of color, but without perfume, are the fine but fruitless 
 words of him who does not act accordingly." "As on a 
 heap of rubbish cast upon the highway, the lily will 
 grow, full of sweet perfumes and delightful, thus the disci- 
 ple of the truly enlightened Buddha shines forth by his 
 knowledge among those who are like rubbish, among the 
 people that walk in darkness." " Cut out the love of self 
 like autumn lotus, with thy hand! Cherish the road to 
 peace." " He whose evil deeds are covered by good deeds 
 brightens up this world like the moon free from clouds." 
 
 O, philosophers, can ye tell who alone has wisdom? 
 O, ye priests of a hundred sects, if ye cannot reconcile 
 your conflicting creeds, can ye prove to the world who 
 alone has truth ? 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 TRICKS OF TRADE. 
 
 •> 
 
 A FTER every hurried search and inquiry for the fugi- 
 -^^ tives had proved ineffectual, Seth Graham, Mission- 
 ary, in spite of his holy calling, felt greatly annoyed by 
 the treacherous disappearance of his fancied converts. A 
 short time before he had left Bombay he had written to 
 one of the principal secretaries of the Missionary Society 
 in Ireland, mentioning the necessity of his early return 
 on account of the ill health of himself and his wife, and 
 he had also given a rather generous account of his success 
 among the heathen. He modestly intimated that many 
 of the natives had already given the most touching expres- 
 sions of regret at his intended departure, and that living 
 evidences of his spiritual triumphs would, he trusted, 
 soon be exhibited on a missionary platform in both Eng- 
 land and Ireland. Upon receipt of this intelligence, 
 certain ministers at home took the earliest opportunity of 
 announcing the same from their pulpits, and certain of 
 the missionary-mad, both lay and clerical, rubbed their 
 hands in joyful anticipation of the rich treat that was in 
 store for pious free-givers ; and these ministers also trust- 
 ed to have an opportunity of witnessing the discomfiture 
 of the penurious few who were always throwing doubts 
 upon the utility of missions to the heathen, and predict- 
 ing that future results among such would be no better 
 than the past. 
 Seth Graham well knowing, from the nature of his 
 
 
 , i:''4 
 
 im 
 
 M 
 
 fi-.^! 
 
Irr 
 
 t..»B 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ! ? 
 
 communication to tils friends at home, that such announce- 
 ment would be made to expectant congregations, was 
 really mortified at the manner in which he felt himself 
 jilted, as it were, just as he fancied himself almost certain 
 of receiving the honors of a clerical triumph, and it sorely 
 puzzled his inventive faculty to Snd a way out of the awk- 
 ward position in which he had been placed by the desertion 
 and evident apostasy of the Hindoo woman, who, he 
 expected, would corroborate his assertions as to the neces- 
 sity for missions to India, as to the increasing power of 
 the go§pel, and the extended influence of Christianity 
 among those who were once worshipers of wood and stone ; 
 and he of course also expected that she would point to 
 him before all as, in a manner, her spiritual deliverer 
 from the demons of a cruel and debasing superstition. 
 
 That person is scarcely mortal who is entirely indifferent 
 to praise from his fellow man, particularly when, in his 
 own opinion, he has done something, little or much, to 
 deserve it. Praise is an honorary reward suitable to per- 
 sons of every degree ; it is the sunshine in which the hum- 
 ble can bask as well as the exalted, and Mr. Graham, like 
 most other ministers of the gospel, under the impression 
 that his peculiar talents had advanced ** the cause," had a 
 yearning for popularity, and would like to be hailed in a 
 well crowded church, or to stand uncovered before a fash- 
 ionable assembly of wealthy Christiai s, and to receive 
 their well earned plaudits. Many a night during his long 
 voyage home, did this retiring missionary comfort him- 
 self with the idea of suoh a reception, even in his dreams 
 he could often hear the congratulations of his friends, and 
 at times in his night visions, he could see the beautiful 
 faces and glowing smiles of the Christian ladies who seem- 
 ed to flutter around him like celestial butterflies, while he 
 in his humble pride sat perched like a bird of Paradise 
 upon one of the highest branches of the towering cedars 
 of Lebanon. And often, during the day, many an hour 
 would be spent while he and his wife would converse 
 about such pleasing probabilities in anticixmtion of an 
 
THE HEATHEMB OF THE HEATH. 
 
 229 
 
 agreeable reunion ; for with the credentials which he had 
 now in his possession, was it possible that he could expect 
 any thing else than the most distinguished greeting ? 
 
 But now, alas, what a change ! Seth Graham sat aside 
 by himself like one in despair, totally crest-fallen; he 
 spolce but little to his wife or to any one else, while she, 
 poor woman, tried to assure him by stating that perhaps 
 the Hindoo lady might have had some reason to remain 
 behind for a time, and that in all probability both she and 
 her nephew would proceed after them to Ireland. Mrs. 
 Graham recommended her husband to leave his address 
 and to ask some pious friends in the neighborhood to 
 keep a look out for the fugitives, and if they should be 
 discovered to urge them to follow. The missionary had, 
 however, but little hope ; he had a strong impression that 
 he had been grossly deceived, and that neither he nor his 
 wife would ever again lay eyes on the absconding converts. 
 He had intended to make a short stay in London, but 
 under the present circumstances he thought it best to go 
 on at once to Irelaud, and in the meantime he would try 
 and frame some excuse for the non-appearance of his Hin- 
 doo friends, and put the best face on the matter by making 
 the most he could of the Parsee girl, Sheva. 
 
 Perplexed, however, as he had been, his reception in 
 Belfast was after all most gratifying. It had been made 
 known through certain Presbyterian journals and other 
 Protestant papers, that the Kev." Seth Graham— they used 
 the objectionable prefix, Keverend— the self sacrificing 
 missionary, was soon expected ; that he had been obliged 
 to leave India in consequence of impaired health; that 
 during his stay in that oppressive climate, he had been 
 unceasing in his arduous labors, and as a proof of his 
 great success, would bring to his native country certain 
 converted Pagans whom he had turned trom idolatry to 
 the worship of the true God. This report having been 
 thoroughly circulated by pulpit and press, in less than a 
 week after his arrival, an immense assemblage greeted 
 him in one of the largest churches in Belfast. There 
 
 
 ii.'^^ll 
 
I'f 
 
 t ''. 
 
 230 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ii 
 
 I 
 
 
 4! 
 
 might not, perhaps, have been so many persons present 
 on this great occasion had it not been well understood 
 that Seth Graham would, in person, present to the people 
 the Hindoo and the Parsee converts, who, it was said, had 
 urgently solicited him to take them to his own country ; 
 and though for several days before the evening on which 
 the exhibition was to take place, many of the ministers 
 had been informed that the Hindoo woman had been 
 obliged to remain for a time in England, and that only 
 the Parsee girl would appear, yet this information was not 
 made known to the public ; it was considered an innocent 
 stroke of policy to keep this to themselves, else the sight- 
 seers might be disappointed and the want of this great 
 attraction might bring them but a very meagre attend 
 ance, and the amount to be collected for future missionary 
 operations might be scarcely more than enough to defray 
 the expenses of the evening.* 
 
 For a day or two before the meeting Seth Graham and 
 his wife did their best to make their Parsee convert, 
 Sheva, understand what she was required to do and say 
 on the coming occasion, and the girl being sufficiently 
 intelligent, was not a little gratifled at the important part 
 which she was expected to sustain. 
 
 The evening came at last ; the missionary platform was 
 as usual occupied by several ministers and wealthy friends 
 of the gospel, and the church was crowded with well dress- 
 ed ladies, whose aid on such occasions is of singular 
 potency. The secretary read the report. A very large 
 sum had been collected during the past year, and though 
 several extra expenses had been incurred, still the amount 
 received had been a little more than sufficient to meet all 
 demands; this was most gratifying, and reflected the 
 greatest credit upon the Beverend managers. The great- 
 est economy had, however, to be practised, the cause was 
 
 • A Methodist minister not long since in announcing from the pul- 
 pit that a missionary mooting would be held, stated— as an attraction 
 —that certain very prominent and influential preachers wwuld be 
 present, when he well knew at the time that they could not attend. 
 
 « 
 
 '1 ! 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 331 
 
 
 one of the noblest— indeed the very noblest— in which man 
 could be engaged. The conversion of the heathen was a 
 charge left by the Great Ruler to Christian men, and God 
 would hold his ministers responsible for the performance 
 of this most important duty ; and those members of the 
 Church who had wealth at their disposal would be called 
 to a dread account on the day of General Judgment if they 
 selfishly withheld the means so particularly needed for 
 Missions. It might be, and it had been alleged that there 
 was both poverty and ignorance in their own country, but 
 poverty could be borne ; penury never yet jeopardized a 
 man's soul— ignorance of God's Holy Word must result in 
 eternal misery. It had been stated that Ireland was 
 afflicted with Popery, and that the ignorance and servility 
 resulting from it were fraught with danger to free institu- 
 tions, and many believed it to be as great an evil to socie- 
 ty in general as the most degrading superstition of India. 
 These objections, now becoming so frequent, were really 
 superficial ; while being urged as having a basis of reason, 
 they were simply side blows against foreign missions ; but 
 as long as God's ministers were aware of their vast 
 responsibility they would never cease to urge Christian 
 men to hold out the glorious Bible, that grand old beacon 
 light, to the millions of human beings struggling in the 
 black darkness of Paganism. Popery, though compara- 
 tively an evil, was not perhaps entirely fatal to all who 
 had a sincere belief in its efficacy. The most eminent 
 Protestant reformers had admitted that Bomanism had 
 some portion of truth ; that while papists bowed to images, 
 kissed relics, and worshiped the Virgin, they still worship- 
 ed the Son, the Savior of men, and that therefore those 
 who had even a corrupt Christianity were better off than 
 those who had no Christianity at all.* 
 
 i: 
 
 m 
 
 * , h': 
 
 m 
 
 ''Si 
 
 * At a missionary meeting held at Toronto, Canada, in the " Met- 
 ropolitan" Wesleyan church, January 6th, 1873, Eev. Dr. Punshon 
 said: '* He desired active sympathy for this Japanese mission. The 
 missionary cause was the guage of a church's health and vigor, and 
 he could point in the direction of that distant land for their help as 
 indicated almost by Divine intelligence. He had a warm regard for 
 
 :f I 
 
232 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 J!^ 
 
 " 1 
 
 After two or three ministers had reiterated the senti- 
 ments expressed in the report, Mr. Graham, in apparent 
 good health, was received with cheers. The address which 
 he had prepared ga\e the usual orthodox repetition of the 
 condition of the heathen world, of their ignorance, their 
 superstition, and their degradation. The Brahmins were 
 said to be impostors, the Buddhists were illiterate, tlie 
 Mohammedans fiendish, and the people generally igno- 
 rant, squalid, poverty stricken, and brutal. He had seen 
 unfortunate widows forced to sacrifice themselves in the 
 SutteO; had seen fanatics immolate themselves under the 
 car wheels of Juggernaut, and had seen naked, raving 
 fakiis almost tear the fiesh from their very bones; the 
 people on the whole were in a most deplorable condition ; 
 there was neitb^r charity, nor chastity, nor scarcely human 
 feeling among them, they were, simply sensual and devil- 
 ish ; though many of them pretended an aversion to good 
 beef, yet he feared that many others were little better 
 than cannibals; and, were it not for British control, hU' 
 man life would be insecure ; were it not for self-sacrificing 
 missionaries, were it not for such resolute spirits as Carey, 
 and Duff, and Ward, Satan would reign triumphant over 
 the whole land. Dark, however, as this picture was, he 
 assured them that the Gospel was doing wonders in India ; 
 thousands were casting aside their idols, an.', were now 
 willing to serve the true God. He had hoped, he said, to 
 be able to give them the assurances of adult persons who 
 —he humbly said it— had been led to the truth by his 
 instrumentality, but as the Hindoo lady and her nephew, 
 who had accompanied him from India, had been obligetl 
 to remain for a time in England, he trusted to be able, on 
 some future occasion, to induce her to tell them of her 
 change of heart, and of what God's word had done for her 
 
 the Home missions and especially those for Lower Oanada (for the 
 conversion of French Catholics) but he held that they were better off 
 who had a corrupt Christianity than those who had no Christianity 
 at all." Strange thatother Protestant ministers should assf^rt Popery 
 to be a more dangerous error than Puiifanism or even unbelief. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 233 
 
 , to 
 
 who 
 
 his 
 
 lew, 
 
 ged 
 
 on 
 
 her 
 
 her 
 
 and hers. In conclusion, he urged them to be true to the 
 great missionary cause, and not to forget the millions 
 under condemnation of original sin, who were yet spirit- 
 ually destitute, but to strengthen God's hand by sending 
 out, at any cost, or at any sacrifice, zealous servants of 
 the Lord to the perishing heathen. 
 
 Like most of the assertions made upon missionary 
 platforms, there was, of course, some truth in the obser- 
 vations of Mr. Graham, and much exaggeration, which 
 was really more telling upon the rather credulous assem- 
 blage than truth itself ; and then to heighten the effect of 
 what had been stated, a few idols and trinkets were exhib- 
 ited, and after this the Parsee girl was smilingly led for- 
 ward for the edification of all. Sheva was dressed in her 
 native costume, she was decorated with a profusion of 
 rings and jewelry, much of which was extraneous, added 
 by Mrs. Graham, in her simple desire to produce an effect. 
 The girl's appearance was graceful, and her manner inno- 
 cent, and when she stood out before all, there was much 
 pushing, and crowding, and stretching of necks, and she 
 seemed somewhat abashed until Mr. Graham whispered a 
 few words in her ear, and while he still held her hand, she 
 spoke a few words in broken English— which she had been 
 made to practice for the occasion : 
 
 " Me Christin friends, me little Parsee girl very glad to 
 see you all. Me love you all in dis place in Irelan', an' in 
 Englan' too. Me greatly love my good fader Grame, an' 
 my good mudder Grame wid him too. Me love de Lor', 
 an' you love de Lor' too. Me leave my friends an' my 
 nice home to come here wid my good fader an' my good 
 mudder Grame, me can't not stay without dem. I love de 
 Lor', an' I love you all in my heart. Tink of my poor 
 friends in Bombay, send dem de missoner, an* send dem 
 de wor' of de Lor', too." 
 
 After the delivery of this rehearsed prattle in a very 
 hesitating manner, the girl made a low bow, and was led 
 aside by her ** good fader Grame," while the audience, as 
 if struck with wonder at this evidence of precocity so 
 
 111' 
 
 tk'k 
 
 
 *.' 
 
 t» 
 
 i. 
 I' 
 
 I 
 
 >i/[ 
 
 'll' 
 
 r 
 
 !l 
 
 h 
 
 jl 
 
i: 
 
 iii' 
 
 234 
 
 evangelical, awarded her their warm and grateful ap- 
 plause. 
 
 It is sufficient to say that this meeting was considered 
 a great success : a large sum had been collected to advance 
 •* the cause " in India, even to send a missionary in the 
 place of Mr. Graham. He himself was in an excellent 
 mood, and so highly favored was he, that in a few days 
 after this missionary reception, he had the good fortune to 
 be inducted as minister to a congregation in Belfast. 
 Being still of a restless disposition, and grown rather 
 more aggressive, simple preaching was not sufficient to 
 satisfy his clerical longings for notoriety. Popery still 
 raised its audacious head in his native land, and now 
 again he thought that a temporizing government had not 
 only tolerated this evil, but had actually sustained it and 
 its Maynooth professors by public grants ; that it was the 
 duty of every loyal Protestant—especially of protestant 
 •ministers— to proclaim increasing hostility against every- 
 thing Popish ; and, as he had learned by experience, that 
 it was almost useless to produce what he and many others 
 deemed unanswerable texts and arguments, either against 
 the man of sin, or against many of the prevailing theo- 
 logical errors, he believed that something more like mus- 
 cular arguments were indispensable, and as Orangeism 
 had a leaning in that direction, he became a member of 
 that society, and was soon afterward elected a kind of 
 district chaplain, and in his visits to sundry lodges, he 
 caused much excitement and evoked a strong anti-Popish 
 spirit at a time when the government was most anxious to 
 suppress Orange celebrations, particularly in Ireland; 
 and in defiance of proclamations, either from the Lord 
 Lieutenant, or from the Queen herself, he continually 
 urged the Orangemen to be true to their principles, and 
 not be afraid of either Pope or devil, to turn out, one and 
 all, and display their colors upon the ever glorious Twelfth. 
 
 » m 
 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WAVEBINQ FAITH. 
 
 vrTELL, on the day after the late Orange celebration, 
 ^* Seth Graham, weather bound like others, stood 
 gloomily at his window, looking up occasionally at the 
 Divis ridges now dimly visible in the leaden sky, and 
 then at the lowering clouds; ,he was annoyed by the 
 continuous rain, now streaming down, now lightening a 
 little but to disappoint him again ; he wished like others 
 to get out and to have an opportunity of visiting some of 
 his wounded friends, and like others perhaps to feast his 
 eyes upon the blackened ruins of the Popish church. 
 
 His wife, a delicate looking little woman, sat near him, 
 they had been conversing about the unhappy incidents of 
 the Twelfth. She, of a gentle and humane disposition, 
 had utterly disapproved of the bloodshed that had taken 
 place, and of the destruction of the building. He, in evi- 
 dent angry mood, had justified all, and while he had been 
 denouncing Romanism, and uttering the most uncharit- 
 able sentiments against that system, the Parsee girl, She- 
 va, who had been sitting half asleep on the carpet in the 
 middle of the room, had listened to his loud words and 
 seemed surprised at his vehemence. She looked from one 
 to the other, now at Mrs. Graham's thin, pale face, now at 
 Graham who with gloomy espression still looked out at 
 the window ; and she glanced at him from time to time as 
 if partly afraid of her spiritual parent. He was a man of 
 iiHMliuui height, rather slightly built, his face was sallow, 
 
 II 
 
 iSii B 
 
 i 
 
 mm 
 
 I 
 
 ■■*♦•! 
 
 III 
 

 236 
 
 THE HCATHENS OF THE HBA.TH. 
 
 I 
 
 ]iis eyes dark and sunken, and his lank black hair, now 
 touched with grey, was parted in the middle, giving him a 
 kind of sanctimonious appearance. He was one whose 
 religious zeal was an over match for his discretion, and 
 like certain biblical heroes, he could ignore human impul- 
 ses and commit an atrocious act were he under the impres- 
 sion that by so doing he was performing the Lord's work 
 or serving His cause. As he had hitherto done little either 
 among Catholics in Ireland or Hindoos in India, he now 
 felt it his duty to re-commence an agitation against Pope- 
 ry, His opinions had greatly changed as to the method of 
 procedure with false systems. About the time of his 
 ordination he believed in argument and moral suasion, 
 but now after his return and his long experience he was 
 inclined to believe that where reason and argument were 
 inefifective to crush down error, actual force if need be 
 should be used. And though he was ready to preach 
 against the Inquisition and Papal persecution, he would 
 not hesitate to use any means — even the most violent— to 
 undermine Popery and to prostrate the man of sin. The 
 pure gospel he believed could and would do much, and 
 faith alone could remove mountains. There was a time 
 in his life when Seth Graham verily believed that 
 prayer with faith was all that was necessary to ac- 
 complish anything— even to enable the believing Chris- 
 tian to perform actual miracles — to walk upon the 
 water, to remove the mountains, or to raise the dead. 
 He had known many sterling' believers who would exult- 
 ingly tell of the faith "of Gideon, and of Barak, and of 
 Sampson, and of Jeptha ; of David also, and Samuel, and 
 of the prophets," and who at the same time believed that 
 the promise was still for them, and that, even in these 
 latter times, they could through faith, quench the violence 
 of fire, escape the edge of the sword, and put to flight 
 armies of aliens— but alas ! in his long experience the reli- 
 ance of Seth Graham had been somewhat shaken, for he 
 had seen many of such who, while vainly hoping to the last, 
 still " died in the faith, not having received the promises." 
 
ses. 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 98T 
 
 It was to him, then, one of the most perplexing myste- 
 ries of theology why there should be promises so positive 
 and yet so unreliable. Had he not prayed for the down- 
 fall of Popery, for the conversion of the heathen, and for 
 the speedy and general spread of the gospel— all as it 
 seemed to little purpose. Popery, he admitted, appeared 
 to be sinking under the weight of its own infamy, but as 
 for the real and permanent conversion of Pagans, notwith- 
 standing all that had been done he had but little hopes ; 
 and though he still believed in the efficacy of frequent 
 prayer, and had still some trust in gospel promises, he was 
 verily of opinion that other means were necessary, and in 
 order to remove the mountain, faith must be aided by 
 some lever more powerful than an ordinary invocation. 
 These were his own private views which it would never, 
 never answer to publish to the world. Esoteric opinions 
 so dangerous might be whispered only to certain of the 
 initiated ; he was cautious enough to breathe them only to 
 his wife. 
 
 " I tell you what, Anne," he continued, addressing Mrs. 
 Graham, ** forbearance may be a virtue, but after one ex- 
 hausts every text in the Bible asrainst Popery, and finds it 
 to little purpose, I believe in takingf other means. I don't 
 regret the killing off of a score or two of Papists should it 
 serve as an example— they were the aggressors. I don't 
 care for the destruction of their Mas 3 House if it is likely 
 to effect any good ; and I wouldn't care a straw if, before 
 the next Twelfth of July, every Popish temple in the king- 
 dom was tumbled to the ground. That's the right way to 
 deal with false systems. Psha ! for prayer and moral force 
 with such glaring frauds on Christianity I Naked heath- 
 enism is nearer the truth.'** 
 
 "But that's not the scriptural way, Seth, to deal with 
 error," said his wife in a tone of mild reproof. 
 
 **Yes, yes, the scriptural way, the true Bible method," 
 retorted Mr. Graham. "The only way to eradicate evil 
 sometimes is to destroy it root and branch." 
 
 * See Note 12. 
 
 "% 
 
 
 j» 
 
 
 h I 
 
 
 "1 
 
 '■ ' ■U 
 
 : 1 !,. 
 
 1 
 
'1 
 
 I 
 
 
 , 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 at. 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 I^HIk '%c 
 
 ^H 
 
 
 «.' 
 
 m 
 
 
 II. 
 
 n 
 
 
 |i 
 
 H 
 
 ^Hl 
 
 1i^ 
 
 1 
 
 
 r 
 
 liiSl 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 "I doubt it, Seth, I doubt it; God would be more mer- 
 ciful," again urged Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Would He ? Through the mouth of Moses did not the 
 Lord God say to idolators : * They have moved me to jeal- 
 ousy with that which is not God ; they have provoked me 
 to anger with their vanities : For a fire is kindled in mine 
 anger, and shall burn unto the lowest hell, and shall con- 
 sume the earth with her increase, and set on fire the 
 foundations of the mountains. I will heap mischief ui)on 
 them ; I will spend mine arrows upon them. They shall be 
 burnt with hunger, and devoured with burning heat, and 
 with bitter destruction. I will also send the teeth of 
 beasts upon them, with the poison of serpents of the dust. 
 The sword without and terror within, shall destroy both 
 the young man and the virgin, the suckling also with the 
 man of grey hairs.'* There's scripture for you, wife. 
 What can you say to that ? " 
 
 **If it is, Seth," said Mrs. Graham after a little reflec- 
 tion, " the Lord is patient and long suffering. It is not 
 His pleasure to destroy." 
 
 " Is it not ? " said Mr. Graham sharply. " Let us see. 
 How did he treat the rebellious under Korah, Dathan, and 
 Abiram? 'The earth opened her mouth and swallowed 
 them up. And there came out a fire from the Lord and 
 consumed two hundred and fifty men that offered in- 
 cense. 't And those of the congregation that afterwards 
 murmured against Moses for this dispensation were cut 
 off at once by a plague to the number of fourteen thous- 
 and seven hundred."^ He paused for a moment, but his 
 wife made no reply. "And further," continued he, ** did 
 not the Lord order the destruction of the Midianites? 
 Hear the word : 'And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, 
 Avenge the children of Israel of the Midianites. And they 
 warred against the Midianites as the Lord commanded 
 Moses; and they slew all the males. And they slew the 
 
 • Deuteronomy, Chap. 32, v. 21 to 25. 
 t Numbers, Chap. 16. v. 32 and 36. 
 t Numbere. Qbap. le. 49. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 239 
 
 kings of Midian, besides the rest of them that were slain ; 
 namely Evi, and Rekem, and Zur, and Hur, and Rcba, five 
 kings of Midian : Balaam also the son of Boor they slew 
 with the sword. And the children of Israel took all the 
 women of Midian captives, and their little ones, and took 
 the spoil of all their cattle, and all their flocks, and all their 
 goods. And they burnt all their cities wherein they dwelt 
 and all their goodly castles, with fire.' This, Anne, Wu.3 
 the Lord's method of retaliation ; even afterwards when 
 the conquerors returned to the presence of Moses he ask- 
 ed them: "Have ye saved all the women alive? 'and 
 being of course answered in the affirmative, what was the 
 further command? *Now, therefore, kill every male 
 among the little one?, and kill every woman that hath 
 known man by lying with him. But all the women-child- 
 ren that have not known a man, by lying with him, keep 
 alive for yourselves.'* There, Anne, that's scripture also, 
 and none can deny it, and if, to a limited extent, following 
 the example of the select children of God,we have destroy- 
 ed in self-defence a score or so of idolatrous papists, and 
 burnt one of their strongholds, I ask if we have not suffi- 
 cient authority for cutting off the enemies of the Lord and 
 of his people ? " 
 
 After another pause Mrs. Graham slowly replied : "Yet 
 I would in these days let the Lord, if He so wills, be His 
 own avenger." 
 
 " In these days ? " sharply replied Mr. Graliam, who 
 seemed to grow more determined. "All time is alike to 
 the Lord ; He is the same yesterday, to-day and forever, 
 without variableness or shadow of turning, and what He 
 did in olden time He will do again. He cared not to show 
 relenting pity to transgressors— He gave them the full 
 measure of justice. His command is positive : 'And thine 
 eye shall not pity, hut life shall go for life, eye for eye, 
 tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. '+ The thous- 
 
 • Numbers. Chap. 31 to v. in- 
 t Deuter. Obap. 19, v. 2i. 
 
 
 ml 
 
 ^ 
 
 ; 
 
 
 in--- ■ S'M 
 
 '(M 
 
 f 
 
 It 
 
240 
 
 THE HEATHEN8 OF THE HEATH. 
 
 11 
 
 aiids slaughtered under Moses, and Aaron, and Joshua, 
 besides those under David and Solomon, and others of his 
 pious servants, were cut off as a necessity. The Lord 
 knew best how to deal with His enemies when He com- 
 manded 'But thou Shalt utterly destroy them, namely, the 
 Hittites and the Amorites, the Canaanites, and the Periz- 
 zites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites, as the Lord thy God 
 hath commanded thee.'* Terrible as the unsanctifled 
 declare these mandates, the Lord well knew that showing 
 mercy to enemies is often the grossest injustice towards 
 friends." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Graham listened in silence, she made no 
 reply, she dared not exclaim against the dreadful quota- 
 tions she had lust heard ; she dared not murmur against 
 the very words of inspiration. Though the record seemed 
 inhuman, she would fain believe that the Lord was after 
 all of more tender uiercy and compassion than evf the 
 word itself had made Him. And struggling betw( >er 
 humanity and her creed— between her benevolent impul- 
 ses and her rigid faith— she could have wept that those 
 unfortuately in error and unbelief, were still under the 
 curses of tha law and doomed to an eternity of misery. 
 
 Mr. Graham, noticing her depression, continued in a 
 milder tone : 
 
 ** I tell you what, Anne, these denunciations may seem 
 hard, but are not the words of the Lord as wise as they 
 are inscrutable ? If the heart becomes like adamant, it 
 must be broken by heavy strokes ; if line upon line, and 
 pr 3ept upon precept remain unheeded, other means must 
 be used to overthrow error. It has been so from the 
 beginning, and will be so to the end of time. Why, one 
 might have preached for an eternity in India, and the 
 Suttee would still remain an established usage, were it not 
 for the penalties of a prohibitory law ; and here in Ire- 
 land we may scatter Bibles and tracts by the thousand, 
 and the abominations of Popery will continue unless true 
 
 Deuter,. Cliap. 20. v. 17. 
 
THE H£ATHEN8 OF THE HEATH. 
 
 241 
 
 believers, and loyal men, rise in their might and crush 
 them under foot." 
 
 During most of this conversation, Sheva remained sit- 
 ting on the carpet, and her large, lustrous eyes seemed 
 occasionally to grow larger while hearing a rehearsal of 
 barbarities such as shoclced her naturally tender feelings. 
 For Mrs. Graham, she had a warm affection, but the cold, 
 harsh, stern manner of Mr. Graham caused her to feel at 
 times a dread of his presence ; for lately he had grown 
 indifferent toward the little foreigner, and his treatment 
 of her was sometimes more than unkind, as if she had 
 become a useless burden. Whatever means had been 
 taken to induce Sheva to leave her home, the girl now 
 appeared to have discovered that she had done very 
 wrong, and at times she cried bitterly for her parents, 
 uttering their names in the most affectionate manner, and 
 pleading to be taken home again. While she had the com- 
 panionship of the Hindoo boy, Hemar, to whom she was 
 much attached, she did not complain so often, but since 
 the disappearance of him and his aunt, she had become 
 more discontented, and were it not for the motherly kind- 
 ness of Mrs. Graham, she would have been very unhappy. 
 Even as it was, the minister's wife regretted the part she 
 had once conscientiously taken in aiding to induce Sheva 
 to leave her native country, and were an opportunity to 
 offer, she would now have willingly made a sacrifice to 
 send her back. 
 
 After Mr. Graham had ceased to quote any further 
 Scriptural denunciations against the so-called enemies of 
 the Lord, Mrs. Graham, who had noticed Sheva's disqui- 
 etude, took her hand and led her out of the room into 
 another apartment. Sheva had a little room to herself, 
 up stairs, and there she and Mrs. Graham often sat 
 together. Mrs. Graham, who took an interest in trying to 
 explain the Scriptures to her young charge, often found it 
 difficult to satisfy her '^curious inquiries on theological 
 subjects. The Parsee girl was very shrewd and intelli- 
 gent for her age, and though inMined to conlide much in 
 
 •»' 
 
 M I 
 
 11 
 
 m 
 
-r 
 
 if- 
 
 I! 
 
 242 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ■• ~^. 'i 
 
 li 
 
 m .1.11 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 .r 
 
 ^^B ' 
 
 > 
 
 ^H ''' 
 
 I '' 
 
 ^1 
 
 ii 
 li 
 
 ■■ait*- 
 
 SUE 
 ■MS 
 
 1 
 
 u 
 
 what Mrs. Graham might tell her, she was still very criti- 
 cal, and often expressed her dissatisfaction with the ex- 
 planation which she had heard offered. Mrs. Graham 
 sat down, and Sheva, being close to her, as usual, said, 
 after a few moments' thought, 
 
 ** O, ma, how can I love your God any longer, how can 
 I, after all father has just said; isn't He a very cruel 
 God?" 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Graham, rather surprised, ''you 
 must not speak that way, God is very good, very good 
 indeed. It would be terrible not to love God." 
 
 ""NTo^ ma. He is not good," continued Sheva, "for if 
 Re was good, He would not kill so many poor people, and 
 He would not kill poor little children, and little girls, and 
 burn der houses ; I could not love you at all, if you were 
 as bad as your God is." 
 
 "Dear child, dear child," said Mrs. Graham, "do not 
 say that, for if you do, God will be very angry, and punish 
 you severely." 
 
 "Why sho\:ld He be angry with me ? " said Sheva, " it 
 seems to me dai He is angry all de time. I never did 
 God any harm. Your God is bad, for He won't forgive 
 wicked peoj)le, but burn dem up for ever, and ever, and 
 ever ; I could not be as bad as dat, you could not, for I'm 
 sure you could forgive dem sometime -sooner, you know, 
 dan de long forever." 
 
 "O! Sbava, Sheva," said the almost alarmed Mrs. Gra- 
 ham, " do not speak so ; God is worthy of all your love, 
 and of my love; He is better than any one; no matter 
 'hat He does, it is all for the best." 
 
 " Ma," rei)lied Sheva, " you know it is not for de best 
 to burn poor people down in dat bad place, called hell, 
 that Christians talk so much about. I heard some Chris- 
 tian ladies say dat dere would be no good people in de 
 world only for hel- ; and dat God made dat horrid place. 
 Well, I don't want to be a Christian any longer; some 
 Christians are not like you, ma, but are vary bad people." 
 
 "Not a Christian, Sheva!" said Mrs. Graham, still 
 
iriti- 
 s ex- 
 ham 
 said, 
 
 7 can 
 cruel 
 
 '■' you 
 good 
 
 for if 
 
 b, and 
 s, and 
 iwere 
 
 io not 
 punish 
 
 a, " it 
 er did 
 orgive 
 r, and 
 or I'm 
 know, 
 
 s. Gra- 
 r love, 
 matter 
 
 de best 
 
 d hell, 
 
 Ohris- 
 
 " e in de 
 
 place. 
 
 some 
 
 jople." 
 
 •?. 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 more alarmed, " not a Christian ! O Shova, Sheva, unless 
 you are a CLristian, you can never get to heaven.*' 
 
 "If deywas all like you, ma," said Sheva, ** I might 
 remain a Christian, but you know Christians are very, 
 very wicked, not so good as Parsees or Hinduos, and I 
 don't tink dat your God is as good as de great Ormuzd. 
 Christians fight, and get drunk, and steal, and kill one 
 anoder like dey did yesterday. If Christians was as 
 good as Parsees, dere would not be so many beggars in 
 de streets, and so many poor hungry people going about 
 wh( have no houses of derown; and so many little girls 
 and boys, not so big as I am, going about in rags, who 
 have no friends to get dem anything to eat. O, ma, I do 
 pity dese poor little Christians, lut it seems to me dat 
 de rich Christian ladies, who come to our church, with 
 such fine clothes, don't care for dese little ones. If none 
 but Christians can get to heaven, I don't want to go dere 
 —it must be a very wicked place." 
 
 ** Sheva," said Mrs. Graham, more seriously, " you are 
 really wicked to talk that way. Heaven is a beautiful 
 place, where God lives with all His angels and saints, and 
 with all the good Christian people that have ever lived, 
 Heaven is God's great throne, surro aided by the blest 
 and the redeemed of all nations and tribes. Neither wicked 
 people nor idolators can ever enter that blissful abode. 
 O Sheva, you must never again be a Parsee, they are idol- 
 ators, and worship wood and stone ; it would be better to 
 be the poorest Christian beggar, for such get to heaven 
 where their sorrows are ended and where their tears are 
 dried forever." 
 
 "No, ma," replied Sheva, solemnly, "the Parsees do 
 not worship idols, dey bow to de sun, da^ gives us light, 
 and to lire. My own pa, in Bombay, never told me to bow 
 to an idol or an image. Fader Grame has what he says 
 are Hindoo idols, but if Christians are not idolators, what 
 is dis?" The girl quickly placed a large family Bible 
 on the floor, and she stood upon the book to enable her to 
 reach a oruoiflx which Mr. Graham had brought with him 
 
l! 4 
 
 I 
 
 241 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 [ ^iiiii 
 
 u 
 
 '{'if: 
 
 M 
 
 III' I 
 
 as a kind of tropVy from the south of Ireland. The wood 
 was black ebony, and the image pure silver : "and here, 
 too, is an image of the Virgin and child, and here is a pic- 
 ture of a saint, and here is a bottle of holy " 
 
 " Sheva, Sheva, for shame," said Mrs. Graham, hurriedly 
 pushing the girl aside, ** tor shame, see what youv'e done ! 
 Why do you stand on the Bible, God's Holy Word?" 
 Mrs. Graham raised the large book reverently ; her faco 
 was slightly flushed with anger, and poor Sheva stood 
 abashed— she scarcely understood the nature of her of- 
 fence. " See," continued Mrs. Graham, " this is the Holy 
 Bible that you have been standing on— a thing you should 
 never have done. But then, child," said she, calming 
 down to her usual mild way, ** you scarcely knew the dif- 
 ference ; yet remember for the future, that this is our 
 Sacred Book, which should be ever treated with the most 
 profound respect— it is God's revealed will to fallen man, 
 of priceless value. But, Sheva, those things that you call 
 Christian idols, are Popish, which some Catholics almost 
 worship; and, my dear, remember also, that Catholics 
 are not true Christians— they are little better than idola- 
 ters." 
 
 The Parsee girl was sorely puzzled ; she had heard Mr. 
 Graham say, time after time, that Catholics were idola- 
 ters, that the Protestant State Church was a fraud, and 
 that Baptists, and Methodists, and others were semi- 
 Popish and unscriptural ; and hearing these sayings often 
 repeated, she, as yet, did not understand what true Chris- 
 tianity really was. Poor Sheva, wishing, however, to 
 make some amends for her mistake, rubbed the cover of 
 the lar^e book with a cloth, she then carefully opened it, 
 and on the leaf opposite to the title-page there was dis- 
 played a fine engraving of the crucifixion in the same 
 Protestant Bible. Sheva had not seen it before, and Mrs. 
 Graham, who stood at her bide, seemed a little confused 
 at the discovery. It then flashed upon the mind of the 
 girl that this great book must be some kind of a Protest- 
 ant idol, and though she made no rema k, she wondered 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 245 
 
 why the picture of an object of Catholic worship should 
 be permitted to adorn its pages. 
 
 The clouds had at last disappeared, and the evening 
 sun shone into the little room, there was a lulling sound 
 from the busy town, and Mrs. Graham, in this quiet time, 
 sat dozing in an arm chair. Sheva, from the ivied win- 
 dow, looked beyond the brigntened summit of Cave Hill, 
 and out upon the golden sea, and beyond the ocean leagues 
 that separated her from India, and from those she loved. 
 Child as she was in a strange land, the most touching 
 memories led her again to her distant home, she saw her 
 forlorn parents, and in the very fulness of her heart she 
 wept aloud. 
 
 Mrs. Graham started up. " Why, you're weeping again, 
 poor child," said the affectionate woman, with eyt>s al- 
 ready suffused. *' May God comfort you ! " 
 
 "0, ma," said Sheva, throwing herself into her arms, 
 " take me home, won't you take me home ? Shall I never 
 see them again ? My poor mother is weeping ; my father 
 is sorrowful ; oh take me home, take me home, good ma, 
 or I shall soon die here! '* 
 
 "Stay, child," said Mrs. Graham, hurriedly, " here is a 
 carriage driving up to the house." Mr. Graham also saw 
 it from the lower room. Sheva, on looking out again, saw 
 a gentleman step down from the vehicle and approach the 
 door; she had a glance at the person, and thru&t her 
 head out still farther. In a, moment or two afterward, 
 slie sprung into the middle of the room, her large eyes 
 had a strange light, she gave a kind of scream, as she 
 rushed down stairs, and, just as the stranger entered, she 
 knelt before him, and clutched his knees, and, without 
 uttering a word, she looked up with pleading, streaming 
 eyes into the benevolent face of John Valiant. 
 
 fMii 
 
 u 
 
 ^: ;. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AN EBBING SHEPHEBD. 
 
 nil 
 
 rpHE Summer moonbeams appeared to slumber upon 
 -*- Pendell Bay, and the stars seemed to be listlessly 
 gazing down upon the bosom of the tranquil deep, in 
 which they were now but faintly reflected. The light- 
 house was like a misty spectre upon the shining waters, 
 and might remain unperceived were it not for its c .;ea- 
 sional flash, which was, however, almost eclipsed by a 
 moonlight nearly as bright as day. The distant mountain 
 looked like a pearly cloud ; and the island and the ships, 
 now dimly seen far out, appeared to be like luminous 
 spirit forms at rest in some haven of glory. Even the 
 V('ry air was in repose ; and the ripples that played along 
 th J gravelly shore were now scarcely audible. 
 
 The scene was calmly beautiful, one in which the lover 
 of nature might truly delight ; one upon which those who 
 had been for years tossed about by the storms of life, 
 might look with longing eyes, as if obtaining at last a 
 glimpse of the promised, peaceful hereafter. It was a soft 
 picture of earthly quietude which might easily lead the 
 fanciful invalid to dream of heaven, or the pious hopeful 
 sufferer, to speculate upon the sublime and glorious scen- 
 ery of the land of the blest. And, at that mystic time, 
 one indeed might have readily imagined that Night had 
 stepped down from her "ebon throne," eager to be trans- 
 formed into Day, and that she had already donned the 
 f lagrant spangled robe of Dawn, 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 247 
 
 It is said that natural scenery, either calm, beautiful, 
 or grand, would be entirely without value, were there no 
 appreciative observer. The moon-lit lake, the shaded 
 vale, the towering mountain, and the ocean tempest, inca- 
 pable of thought in themselves, still generate the most 
 sublime ideas in the mind of a spectator ; and unless there 
 were some mirror of intelligence in which these could be 
 reflected, the world might as well be one vast waste, or 
 the earth might still remain in its alleged original state, 
 " without form and void. " 
 
 But there was one observer this night that had looked, 
 time after time, upon Pendell Bay in calm and in storm- 
 one who could enjoy the quiet moonlight scenery, and the 
 placid surface of the deep, or hear with ecstacy the roar 
 of the storm, or look with fearless eye upon the madden- 
 ed waves, as they thundered wildly against the rocky 
 coast. Esther Meade, seated upon an elevated spot, had 
 a fine view of the spacious bay, but even at that witching 
 hour, she seemed to pay but little heed to the attractive 
 picture ; her mind was so pre-occupied, that she gazed as 
 if entirely indifferent to all but one diminutive point upon 
 the horizon. This night she had visited the ancient 
 church with her faithful attendant, old Stephen, and had 
 spent over an hour at her favorite relaxation on the organ, 
 and after she had separated from him, she wandered 
 alone, as usual, to her chosen retreat by the sea. 
 
 It was a time for quiet thought or for deeper meditation 
 and Miss Meade now seemed to ponder upon some subject 
 thoroughly engrossing. Occasionally as she gazed out, 
 her look would seem troubled and a stern expression 
 would mark her features. One might think that her quiet 
 and retired manner of life should leave her tolerably free 
 from care, but under a calm exterior she had an active 
 mind. She often thought of her father's circumstances, 
 of her brother in a foreign land, and very often of her 
 own future. She well knew that the humble stipend which 
 her father received for his services, with the small amount 
 which she was enabled to earn, was scarcely more than 
 
 
 if 
 
 I 
 
 I, |! 
 
 I 
 
I ''i^*:: 
 
 248 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 I 
 
 , 1 
 
 1 
 
 11 
 
 1 .p ■■ 
 
 i M 
 
 ; 11 
 
 
 1 
 
 h 1 
 
 m- 
 
 jflisli 
 
 sufflcient to keep up that appearance of respectability 
 which their position required; she knew that in a few 
 years her father would fail through age, and be rendered 
 unable to perform the required duties of parish curate ; 
 and then she thought of the sad possibility of his death, 
 or of his dismissal by the mere whim of an exacting 
 rector— the Rector 1 She now thought of the man with 
 increasing distrust, with positive dislike, which, on her 
 father's account, she was forced to hide. She had suffi- 
 cient reason to distrust his seeming regard for her father, 
 and sufficient evidence to suspect the attentions which he 
 was forward enough to pay to herself. There was a time 
 when this very rector cared not to pay a pastoral visit to 
 Pendell for months together ; but now, though a pluralist, 
 he had neglected his other parishes and devoted nearly all 
 his spare time to this retired place. He had lately visited 
 this favored spot about once in two weeks, to the surprise 
 of many ; and when he did come, he usually sought the 
 society of Miss Meade, paid her many compliments, and 
 even made use of certain tender expressions, which were 
 too significant to be misunderstood, and which, more than 
 once, caused the flush of anger to become plainly visible 
 upon her face. But what could she do under the circum- 
 stances ? For her father's sake, she was obliged to dis- 
 semble—an act most repugnant to her nature. Were she 
 to insult this reverend divine, this man in ecclesiastical 
 authority, from whom her aged parent gained his living, 
 her father might be cast upon an uncharitable world in 
 his old age, and they might be obliged to leave their 
 pleasant, peaceful home together. She had to dissemble ! 
 O! what would she not have given to be able to exhibit 
 that contempt for this rector which he deserved ! It was 
 a desperate struggle for her to appear unmoved in his 
 presence. There were moments when she was afraid of 
 betraying herself and upbraiding him before her father ; 
 there were times when she could scarcely keep from re- 
 proaching him even in church before the whole congrega- 
 tion. In violence to her feelings, but in compliance with 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 249 
 
 the urgent request of her father, she had once accepted 
 an invitation from the rector's wife, and had spent over a 
 week in London, in the rector's grand house ; had sub- 
 mitted to the patronizing airs of this condescending 
 woman, had listened to the pretty inanities of the rector 
 himself, and had at last been obliged to accept the hand- 
 some workbox which he had purchased f 3r her. Even at 
 that time she had her suspicions of him ; his easy plausi- 
 bility might have deceived some, but she understood him 
 at once ; and though he had often spoken of her father as 
 one for whom he entertained the greatest regard, and had 
 expressed his intention of making the curacy of Pendell 
 more serviceable to its estimable curate than it ever had 
 been, yet as time passed, she became more confirmed in 
 the belief that the Rev. George Morton was a heartless, 
 treacherous man ; and though the calm moonbeams were 
 still before her, she saw in the future the portentous storm 
 cloud that was likely to burst over the unprotected head 
 of her father. 
 
 As the rector's visits seemed now to be regularly ex- 
 pected. Miss Meade often sought excuses to go from home 
 during his stay. Though she wished to avoid him, she 
 found the task very difficult, for were she anywhere in the 
 neighborhood, he would be sure to make some excuse in 
 order to find her out, and when he failed to succeed, which 
 was, indeed, seldom, he became irritated and prolonged his 
 stay, determined to meet her, pud sometimes to venture a 
 mild reproach for her indifference. Some began to think 
 ttiat he had grown tired of the wild bustle of London, and 
 that he might possibly make his home at Pendell. He 
 had now his own rooms at the hotel ; he did not choose to 
 lodge at a private house, but was ready to accept an invi- 
 tation to dine with Mr. Meade— the providing of a suitable 
 dinner for the rector was a severe tax upon the curate's 
 resources— or with such of his parishioners as would afford 
 him an opportunity of meeting the curate and his daugh- 
 ter. He sometimes rode to Botnall to dine with Mr. Bock- 
 ett, his brother rector, but this was mostly when he was on 
 
 L«M.H 
 
 ms»i 
 
 ■•hkl 
 
 d 
 
 > n 
 
 1' 
 
■inf^p*' 
 
 k 
 
 250 
 
 THE HEATHKNS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 llH 
 
 r ! 
 % 
 
 ¥ 1 
 
 ;»J^T 
 
 «■■«' 
 
 :a>^ 
 
 his way back to London ; his Sabbaths were generally 
 spent in the city. 
 
 He had, however, lately been absent from Pendell 
 longer than usual, and Miss Meade had begun to enter- 
 tain some hopes that they would not be troubled with him 
 so often. During the rector's last visit, she had managed 
 to keep entirely out of his way, and he had, she hoped, 
 probably begim to think that his visits at his Pendell 
 parish were suspected by her father, as well as by herself ; 
 though if her father ever had a thought on the subject, he 
 kept it to himself, as he did many other troublesome mat- 
 ters. Any way, these hopes were quickly disappointed, 
 for Mr. Morton had unexpectedly arrived that evening; 
 and striving to avoid him if possible, she had stolen away 
 from the parsonage at an early hour, and went to spend a 
 while with old Sarah Afton ; then, when it was growing 
 late, she left Sarah's cottage, and went to the church with 
 old Stephen, and having indulged for some time upcn her 
 favorite instrument, was now alone gazing vacantly upon 
 the moon -lit scene before her. 
 
 But not altogether did this disagreeable subject con- 
 cerning the rector, occupy the mind of Esther Meade, 
 other matters of a more pleasing nature engaged her. 
 She had heard much of the wonderful improvements 
 lately made upon the Heath property ; she was surprised 
 at the almost miraculous change in the manners and 
 habits of the once wild set who had infested the place, 
 and equally surprised to learn of their present orderly 
 and contented disposition ; she had heard of the intended 
 restoration of the Manor House, and of nearly all that its 
 humane proprietor had done and proposed to do, and she 
 had heard her father, and old Stephen, and Sarah, and in 
 fact every one that knew him, not only mention the name 
 of John Valiant with the greatest respect, but speak of 
 him as being one of the noblest individuals living. Under 
 the impression that there might possibly be some exag- 
 geration in their favorable accounts, she had determined 
 to satisfy herself, and had asked old Stephen to drive her 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 251 
 
 down to the Heath to see what had really been done, and 
 she had returned pleased and delighted at the change. 
 
 Strange to say that though Mr. Valiant had been at 
 Pendell and in its neighborhood several times, she had 
 never yet seen him. He had once called at the parsonage 
 but she was then absent on a visit at the rector's in Lon- 
 don. She had often turned her eyes when at church 
 expecting to see him enter, but he never came ; and as yet 
 neither at church nor any where else had she met him, and 
 having heard so much in his favor from rich and from 
 poor, especially from those who were considered the most 
 destitute, she was really desirous of becoming acquainted 
 with a person so estimable ; with one who though wealthy 
 was neither purse-proud, nor ostentatious, nor indifferent 
 to the necessities of others. 
 
 Miss Meade having a great regard for unselfish people, 
 could not avoid drawing a comparison between the Rev. 
 George Morton, the rich rector of Pendell, with his three 
 livings, which paid him nearly four thousand pounds a 
 year, clear of all salaries to his curates, and this stranger 
 whose wealth had already been a fountain of benevolence 
 to those in need. She well knew that the name of the 
 rector of Pendell, as well as that of Mr. Rockett, the rector 
 of Betnall, had been despised by almost all upon the 
 Heath. These clergymen, with little sympathy for distress 
 and less charity for the destitute, were even now anything 
 but favorites, the rector of Betnall still being especially 
 detested ; indeed at one period his life would be counted 
 as of little value were he discovered alone in that region. 
 As ministers of the Established Cliurch— the true church 
 to her— they had only brought religion into contempt. 
 And then she began to wonder why it was that that Church 
 with its immense wealth, with its vast endowments, with 
 its titled bishops, its numerous clergy, and its influential 
 adherents, could have allowed such a place of infamy as 
 the Heath once was, to exist in England. From her child- 
 hood she had heard of the depredations of the reckless 
 people of the Heath, she hud heard of their poverty and 
 
 m 
 
 
 ii 
 
 II'!' 
 
 ' t 
 
 '■ !'i! '3 
 
 ■ ! :3 E 
 
M 
 
 :'aiiut 
 ■art:* 
 
 mt 
 
 252 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 of their crime, and of the efforts which a few benevolent 
 people had occasionally made to benefit them ; but these 
 efforts had for some reason been of little or no service. 
 She had read books and reports on the state of the heathen 
 world, and had read heart rending accounts of the labors 
 and sufferings of missionaries in distant lands, and of the 
 triumphant successes with which they had been ultimate- 
 ly crowned ; and, years ago, she had many a time wonder- 
 ed why men, said to be so truly devoted had not gone 
 among the half-starved heathen of the Heath for the pur- 
 pose of winning souls, instead of going thousands of miles 
 away to try and gain converts among the well-fed heathens 
 of Hindoostan. She had reasonably thought, that if 
 obdurate pagans in India could be humanized and Chris- 
 tianized, that a few score of British heathen, only half a 
 day's journey from St. Paul's Church in London, might 
 also be reclaimed. She knew that there were various mis- 
 sionary societies throughout England ; she knew that her 
 own church had annually collected vast sums in order 
 that the gospel might be sent to pagans afar off, even 
 while the unfortunates on the Heath, as well as a similar 
 class in other parts of England, were almost totally 
 neglected and forgotten. For years she had heard, 
 through pulpit and through press, of the great endeavors 
 of the Christian Church to make known the plan of salva- 
 tion to unbelievers, and through those long years she and 
 her poor father had known of those suffering people on 
 the Heath, and had many a time made appeals for them 
 to wealthy Christians, but she had learned from long 
 experience that so long as India, and China, and Japan, 
 and the South Sea Islands, stood in the way, and loomed 
 up before imaginative missionaries, little need be expected 
 for those socially and morally degraded at home. But 
 wiiat a change during the last few months ! Here was a 
 people long trodden under foot, long despised, long said 
 to be too vicious ever to be reclaimed by ordinary methods 
 now so changed and improved as scarcely to be recognized , 
 and this, too, all the work of one benevolent man, without 
 
THB HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 253 
 
 the aid or endorsement of any great missionary society, 
 witiiout the assistance of one " duly authorlzec', ' save by 
 those whom he himself had raised as it were from the 
 coarse clay, into whom he had breathed human ideas, and 
 to whom in due time he had given his own special ordina- 
 tion. 
 
 But what had the clergy of her church, as a body, ever 
 done for the perishing British heathen ? She might have 
 answered: Absolutely nothing! She had been informed 
 of the visit of the Bishop of Storkchestcr to the Heath— of 
 this his first missionary attempt — of his altercation with 
 the old gypsy woman, and of this worse than useless cleri- 
 cal excursion of his Ki^ht Reverence, his Lordship, his 
 chaplains, and the other clergy. She had heard of Zin- 
 gari's strange predictions, but had treated them as the 
 absurd threats or warnings of the professed fortune teller 
 of wandering tribes ; that which her father had, however, 
 related as to what he had seen in the little mirror— the 
 likeness of her brother— held before him by the old gypsy 
 woman, caused her no little surprise. She was by no 
 means what is commonly understood as superstitious ; no 
 believer in spiritual quackery, but she well knew that her 
 father was neither credulous nor easily deceived, and that 
 he would for no consideration make such a statement to 
 her, or to any one else, if he did not believe in what he 
 had seen ; as it was he seemed reluctant to mention the 
 circumstance, but as the rumor of the visit of the clergy 
 and of what had taken place, had reached her through 
 other sources, she had prevailed upon her father to give 
 her a more particular account of what had occurred. 
 
 While dwelling upon this singular circumstance, and 
 wondering by what means, natural or unnatural, the fea- 
 tures of her brother, as well as those of other persons had 
 been produced in Zingari's mirror, she was startled by the 
 appearance of the long shadow of a human form which 
 gradually approached from behind. She turned quickly 
 around, and there stood the dark figure of a man, as if 
 hesitating to take another step towards her ; his features 
 
I. 
 
 ■1 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 i 
 
 ■smti 
 
 M 
 
 
 were visible, and tliougii there was a smile to be seen on 
 them, it was ghastly in the moonlight. She know the i er 
 son and her first impulse was to rush past him a6d speed 
 home, but her pride and self-confidence held her to the 
 spot, and without an exclaimation, or a single word, she 
 stood up and looked sternly at the intruder ; she had little 
 fear at the moment. 
 
 "Ah! fair truant, you have not escaped me this time! 
 I would have traced you ten times as far ; and here you are 
 alone by the sea, or rather we are here alone, just as I would 
 have it. Oh fair queen ! verily you look like one at pres- 
 ent. I can scarcely find words to utter a reproach, but, 
 pretty wanderer, I ought to find fault with you ; how sel- 
 dom I have found an opportunity of expressing my admir- 
 ation for the loveliest of her sex ; one to me more beauti- 
 ful than that picture of serenity around us would be to the 
 eye of a poet." 
 
 The Bev. George Morton then raised his hat, made a 
 profound bow, and stepped closer to Esther Meade, whom 
 he had thus addressed. 
 
 "You are the rector of Pendell," said she, standing 
 before him, "I am the curate's daughter. We are here 
 alone, and you would take l s'antage of that circumstance 
 to address me in manner as you have. I shall take advan- 
 tage of this same to speak freely for once and tell you, 
 that though you do not deceive me, you impose upon your- 
 self when you fancy that I can regard your words as other 
 than offensive." 
 
 ••Offensive? Great Heavens! Offend you? No, not 
 for a thousand worlds," replied the persistent rector. 
 •'Only tell me, fair tormentor, how, or where, I can un- 
 burden my heart— a heart that has long been yours— so 
 that my ardent words, without provoking your gentlest 
 anger may make even a faint impression on her who hears 
 
 me, 
 
 >> 
 
 Miss Meade, curbing her resentful feelings, looked 
 steadily at him a moment, and then replied : 
 
 *• How or where unburden your heart, did you say ? By 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 leaving my presence, and by letting your w'fe hear that 
 which you would have reach my ears ; she has a right to 
 listen ; she has the best right to know to whom your heart 
 belongs, and I would fain learn from her the impression 
 which your words had produced." 
 
 " Bah ! " exclaimed the rector smartly, " That's beside 
 the matter; I keep such secrets from her, and from all 
 others," and then he continued in a softer tone, **I can- 
 not leave your presence. O, sweet Esther! were my wife 
 to know my feelings fo: you she would hate you for- 
 ever." 
 
 •' Not if she knew my opinion of you," said Miss Meade 
 calmly. "Not if she knew that I might entertain some 
 respect for you were I certain of your hatred instead of a 
 different feeling." 
 
 '•Cruel, cruel! Cruel of you!" continued the rector. 
 " Hate you? Impossible! I could hate her, I could hate 
 all else for your sake, Esther. For you I could make any 
 sacrifice— home, wife, children, friends, reputation, every- 
 thing." 
 
 " I require no sacrifices," said she. *' Yes, I ask a favor 
 —a sacrifice if you will— leave me, and never dare to 
 address me again as you have done. You have presumed 
 too far ; I have suffered long without complaint because I 
 did not wish to give another care to my father, but now I 
 tell you that from this time, no matter what the result 
 may be, the annoyance must cease." Miss Meade spoke 
 with great determination, her eyes told her meaning as 
 slie stood before him, and the Rev. rector though he 
 winced a little was by no means subdued. 
 
 "Sweet creature, dream not of annoyance from me," 
 said the rector, *' I could make any sacrifice for your sake 
 —but leave you I can't. I feel, even after all you have 
 said, that you will yet relent and bear with my importun- 
 ity. Though I regard your father for his worth, and ven- 
 erate him still more for your sake, yet you may believe 
 that it is solely on your account that I retain him as cur- 
 ate of Pendell, for you must be aware that he is at present, 
 
 ijg»"-»^>»k! (1 
 
 M: 
 
 :■ -^'i 
 
 1^ 
 
 OS 
 
 i ill: 
 
 ■i 
 
 h 
 
 ■■■ ';■ 
 
 
l-i; 
 
 Hi 
 
 256 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 vi 
 
 
 ■ ■ i 
 
 218 K 
 
 J 
 
 «MtA' 
 
 1 
 
 [ ^ 
 
 1 
 
 n«*t 
 
 1 
 
 ■4ti J 
 
 1 
 
 ii:il 
 
 I 
 
 ^p# 
 
 1 
 
 
 and has been for some time, unable to perform all his 
 required duties." 
 
 The color ibat now mounted to the cheek of Miss Meade 
 could not be seen in the pale light. Her indignation v. as 
 aroused by the man's persistency, and at the implied 
 threat of her father's dismissal. The rector lelt really 
 surprised at her manner; he felt that he had been too 
 urgent, or perhaps too precipitate. He stepped back a 
 pace or two, but it was to admire her more fully, for Esther, 
 with her clenched hands, and compressed lips, and fierce 
 expression, had at the time the aspect of a stern but beau- 
 tiful goddess. 
 
 For a moment or two not a word was spoken; she 
 struggling to restrain her emotion, he as if enraptured 
 with her appearance. Presently, as if anxious to conciliate, 
 he made an humble obeisance and advanced towards her. 
 
 ** Pardon! I most humbly ask pardon. If anything I 
 have said has led you for a moment to suppose that I have 
 not the proper regard for your feelings, pray let me explai n 
 my words ; if they have offended, let me, sweet angel, give 
 evidence of my contrition." 
 
 '* You ask for pardon ! You care as little for my pardon 
 as you do for my feelings. Why dare intrude or follow 
 me here? asked she, still boldly looking him in the face. 
 Your words are insulting, and your txireat contemptible as 
 you are yourself. Ycu, a clergyman ! What ii mockery ! 
 You, my father's employer! What a degrading service! 
 Better that we should starve ! Would that there were a 
 thousand now present to hear me tell you that your con- 
 duct is a disgrace to your profession ! " 
 
 These cutting words were keenly felt by the rector— 
 doubly cutting because they came from her, yet he en- 
 deavored to appear unmoved as if he had not understood 
 her meaning. He now began to feel that the scornful 
 beauty whom he would win, was not one to be easily im- 
 posed upon ; and that she must be approached in a differ- 
 ent way, and he at onc^ affected a desire to gain her good 
 opinion, even were be obliged to leave her forever. 
 
Levy 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 257 
 
 "Ah!" said he, with downcast look, "perhaps I de- 
 serve your reproaches, but not to the extent you have 
 gone. You misjudge me. For years I have kept aloof; 
 for years I have taken the most delicate methods of hint- 
 ing or of showing my regard for yon— an unfortunate 
 attachment, alas, for me ; for years I have waited for an 
 opportunity of explaining my position and making an 
 appeal. In a word, without you, my life must be un- 
 happy. Is there no hope ? " Then he knelt and seized 
 her hand, and endeavored to cover it with kisses. "O 
 Esther," as we are now here alone, 1 ask, is there to be no 
 hope ? I am peculiarly situated, if I can have no claim 
 on your consideration, tell me what is to be my doom. I 
 shall hold your dear hand until you speak some word of 
 encouragement, even for the distant futuie." 
 
 While Miss Meade was struggling to disengage her 
 hand, a strange voice from a little distance was iieurd to 
 say : *' Not quite alone, your Keverence, not quite alone as 
 you imagine ; what a pity that your mission here has been 
 8)ich a failure! Fair lady, if you cannot give a more 
 favorable reply to his gallant speeches, or if you cannot 
 trust your tongue to bid him hope, or to tell his doom, 
 shall I again i)ronounce it for him ? " 
 
 The rector was thoroughly startled; Esther looked 
 quickly around her. In front of a large furze bush, that 
 was sufficient to hid*; a person from view, stood the ghost- 
 like form of Zingari, looking toward the sea. Her right 
 arm was partly outstret/;hed ; her withered face wore a 
 solemn expression, and the m«^x>nlight, that was mingled 
 with her snow-white hair, seem*'/! like a halo around the 
 head of a prophetess. Though many might have been 
 alarmed at the time— for the hour was late, and the place 
 lonely— yet Miss Meade felt a measure of relief in the 
 presence of a third person, and she advanced with confi- 
 dence toward the old gypsy woman. JEJhe then turned to 
 address and rebuke the rector, she hoped for the last time, 
 but when she looked at the spot wh<re she ha^l left him 
 kneeling, she found that he had sud<lenly disappeared. 
 
 

 \ 
 
 
 i I 
 
 
 
 Chapter xxiv. 
 
 ZINGABI. 
 
 T EFT alone, as they now were, at an hour not far from 
 -*^ midnight, Zingari stood motionless for some time; 
 she seemed as if intent on watching the retiring form of 
 the rector, and to strain her eyes, as if to still keep him 
 in view. Her companion, who had better vision, and who 
 was no doubt anxious to be assured of the departure of 
 Mr. Morton, could see nothing of him, and it might have 
 been only imagination on the part of the old gypsy woman 
 to think that he was thien visible. Miss Meade was under 
 the impression that the rectur must have suddenly sprung 
 down from the high bank, in order to run along the cir- 
 cuitous shore, thereby to reach the village and escape 
 further observation. Once or twice the old woman placed 
 her hand behind her ear, as if endeavoring to catch the 
 sound of his retiring footsteps, and as soon as she seemed 
 satisfied that he had gone away, she gave a heavy sigh, 
 and without speaking a word, took Esther by the hand, 
 and led her slowly forward to the grassy elevation which 
 commanded the most extensive view of the Bay that could 
 be found in this retired place. A few dark clumps of 
 gorse were scattered here and there, and having seated 
 herself upon a projecting rock, she motioned Miss Meade 
 to take a place beside her . and then, as if musing' upon 
 the beautiful scene before them, or dwelling upon some 
 sad recollection of other yea»s, she comtinued scma silent 
 until her wierd and now dejected ai^peaiun-tr htxt at last 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 259 
 
 inclined her companion to speak : " Poor woman, you look 
 
 as if you were troubled." 
 
 There was another pause, and then Zingari slowly 
 replied with a siirh : " Alas ! what has my poor life been — 
 my almost dreary existence — but one continued scene of 
 care, one wild, sad sea of trouble. There was for me a short 
 period of happiness — ah, how short! — in my early days, 
 which was as calm and bright as that scene before you; 
 but oh heavens, how soon came the deep and constant 
 gloom.' 
 
 The poor woman seemed much depressed, her manner 
 was subdued, and now she drew her hand across her eyes, 
 which were full of tears. 
 
 " It would be a bleak month that had not more than 
 one day ol' sunshine," said Esther, feelingly, " I trust that 
 your remaining years ma\ bring y<iu i)eace.'* 
 
 "Peace, eternal peace, the oblivion of the tomb — that 
 must come,"' replied Zingari, "but what peace can I ex- 
 pect again, for there are some whom I can never forgive, 
 there are some whose vileness has brought me sorrow, 
 and some whose wrongs I should avenge. I can only 
 expect peace in the grave." 
 
 "Avenge! rather forget. Ah, what of the promised 
 peaceful k reafter, if we caiLiiot forgive?" asked Miss 
 Meade. 
 
 "The hereafter?" said Ziogari, "tiiat may be but a 
 dream— I often think so — better obi i vion . better nii'vanna * 
 than even a broken sleep ol life with a dream of misery." 
 
 " There is a future — it is not a mere dream— a blest state 
 of happine^ for those wh«> can iorgive," said Miss Meade. 
 "It is the duty of all to be like <» (javaily Father, to 
 
 follow His example andforgive— toioji^ve even those who 
 have done us the most injury." 
 
 "Ah! ciiild," replied Ziujzari, ** what a dreamer you 
 now are! Were you, like others, impelled to follow the 
 example of your so-called Heavenly Father, you would 
 
 * Buddk^stic anai4uiation. 
 
 s 
 
 (Ittljiti 
 
 
 ■\ 
 
 11 
 
I iililffl 
 
 260 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 often be untrue to your own nature, would be inconsistent 
 —at times greatly humane— but most often violently atro- 
 cious. Does not your own sacred book plainly record 
 numerous instances of how the Great Being, of whom you 
 speak, burned with revenge, and not only slaughtered the 
 guilty, but the innocent; not only visited male ofifenders 
 with fire and sword, disease and horrid tortures, but har- 
 assed unoffending women and harmless children with 
 fierce wrath and dire persecution. And shall we mortals 
 be more humane than your God; can we be more forgiv- 
 ing than the Divinity ? " 
 
 After a little hesitation, Esther replied : " We cannot in 
 any manner presume to be equal to the Deity in all that 
 is benevolent and merciful. Those whom God found it 
 necessary to destroy, were cut off, no doubt, as a warning 
 to others ; He should have power over the lives he cre- 
 ated." 
 
 "And if you follow up this mode of argument," resum- 
 ed Zingari, **if you fan so readily find an excuse for cru- 
 elty, you will, like fanatical theologians, only prove your 
 Deity like toa fieud— an irat«, malicious monster gloating 
 in vengeance."* 
 
 "Shocking! " exclpimed Miss Meade. 
 
 " It is (tYGU so," said Zingari. " By reading your Scrip- 
 tures, you can come to no other conclusion than that tne 
 Jewltth Deity— now the Christian God— was like an insatia- 
 ble fury, jealous and revtugeful, ever ready to take 
 offence ; not punishing his creatures as a father would his 
 childnai, but upon the merest pretext, involving all in 
 one common destruction." 
 
 *' These instances," replied Miss Meade, who felt some- 
 
 k 
 
 III 
 
 hi 
 
 '* liecBter, the great commentator, makes the following extraordl- 
 uary plea for .Teh' vah, with r<!gard to thi; slauphtor of male "littli> 
 >nes," as r-^norded in Numbers, Chap. 31, v. 17. *' With respect to tho 
 execution of male infants, who cannot be supposed to have been 
 ifuilty, God, the author and supporter of life, who has a right to 
 dispose* of Kiwhcn and liow He thinks proper, commanded it: and 
 'shall uottlie Judge of all the earth do right?' Amazing vindica- 
 tion ol cruelty 1 " 
 
n 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 261 
 
 what embarrassed, " were but rare exceptions tor a useful 
 purpose ; a few were cut off, that many might be saved. 
 Our God is a forgiving God." 
 
 "Suojlx w^ceptions," said Zingarl, '* are too numerous to 
 serve humanity, or to excite a true veneration for Jeho- 
 vah; the exceptions might, indeed, be called His rule. 
 You would have me think that your God is one that will 
 easily relent, and yet there is a sin, a so-called blasphe- 
 my, that He will never, never forgive." 
 
 •' My good friend," said Miss Meade, ** it is evident that 
 you are but partially informed; were you to study our 
 Scriptures carefully, you would find that the Good Being 
 whom we worship, is in Himself perfection." 
 
 "Child," replied Zingari, "you are like others of your 
 creed, positive and assuming. You fancy that your book 
 only requires to be read in order to produce conviction 
 and belief. I read that book before you were born ; read 
 it to prove to my own satisfaction that it is but a corrupt 
 version of the Sacred Vedas ; partly but a rehash of the 
 theologies of ancient nations, many of whom have already 
 passed away. Your so-called holy book describes the 
 Divine Being as like to an ordinary man, with the passions 
 of a human being, going about to be seen and felt, and 
 subject, like a common mortal, to love, hatred, anger, 
 wrath and fury." 
 
 "Well, if you will make it so," said Miss Meade with a 
 little warmth, " it is but another proof that the natural 
 heart cannot comprehend the things that belong to God. 
 His ways are not like ours, they are unsearchable." 
 
 " Mere flippant words," said Zingari, " words which are 
 too often but the refuge of the credulous and fanatical. 
 We cannot comprehend the Omnipotent— the great Brahm 
 —but when your book is, as you say, inspired to toll uk 
 what He is, it but robs Him of His glory ; no greater mis- 
 representation of the Deity is possible than that given of 
 Him in many places in your Bible. It makes Him a God 
 which cannot be seen, and which has been seen, a God 
 of love and a God of hatred, a God of pity and a God of 
 
 
 S"»!ln 
 
 •1' 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 5 , !i 
 
 it, '1 
 
 4 i' Ml 
 
 SJ - t r 
 J,. ' 
 
 
 M 
 

 rttfr 
 
 262 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 vindictiyeness, a God unchangeable and a God of insta- 
 bility. Your book is full of amazing contradictions which 
 your priests vainly strive to reconcile ; and together, your 
 arrogant priests and inspired contradictions have as yet 
 only mystified dupes and curbed the true progress of 
 humanity. Better that the book had never been written." 
 
 "And woman, what would the world be without it?" 
 said Miss Meade, looking sternly at Zingari. *' What 
 would this great nation be without its Bible and iU 
 authorized expounders ? " 
 
 "A world of more peace and less war, a world of more 
 human happiness," replied Zingari, "a world of more hu- 
 mane ideas. Your great book has consecrated imposition, 
 and made tyrants of priestly pretenders whom you revere 
 as its authorized expounders — how happy for mankind 
 were there no such crafty priests, no sucli greedy, aspiring, 
 paid agents of mystery. Without them your nation would 
 be more truly great, it would be less plundered, and less 
 impoverished. Your Bible has displaced truth and subvert- 
 ed man's ideas of right and wrong; it has taught men to 
 submit to extortion, and to become reconciled to abuses, 
 to political and theological despotism in every shape and 
 degree. The Bible and the priests, the Bible and the 
 priests, have done all this." 
 
 '* You are in error," resumed Miss Meade. ** Those who 
 will pervert its plain teaching, those alone, only create the 
 abuses which you seem to think exist. The Bible is the 
 great supporter of truth— it is truth itself. It is the great 
 opponent of despotism, and denounces every kind of op- 
 pression." 
 
 "Wild assertion," said Zingari calmly, "wild assertion, 
 child. If the teaching of your inspired book is so plain, 
 its meaning has perplexed your most learned men who 
 have harassed and bewildered the world with their wilt I 
 disputations. It has given rise to Popery and its silly 
 rites, it has created a hundred jarring sects : and in this 
 land, as in others, it has established that great nursei-y of 
 pretence and extortion— a State Church. The Bible is 
 
i [ri 
 
 THE HEATHENS OV THE HEATH. 
 
 263 
 
 {•""*jNn»|j:l 
 
 aot the opponent of despotism, it commands men to be 
 gubmissiv to rulers, and history tells us what too many 
 ol these have been. You surely know that when that vile 
 oppression, the slave trade existed, the bishops— your high 
 authorized expounders— opposed emancipation, and, like 
 other religious doctors interested in that dreadful traflQc, 
 quoted the Bible in support of slavery. I have no faith in 
 your Bible, I sometimes begin to doubt every eo-called 
 inspired book— even the Vedas. Inspiration! Alas, I 
 sometimes think that it is but the parent of superstition, 
 the ally of the cunning against the simple, of the strong 
 against the weak, the black shadow out of which proceeds 
 the most degrading of all servitude— mental slavery. You 
 speak of your nation being great with its thousands of 
 paupers — the defrauded— which are still increasing. No, 
 neither England, nor any other country, will ever be truly 
 great while a few are permitted to own nearly all the land, 
 and almost all the wealth ; while the great majority have 
 neither land, nor a mere sufiQciency ; while thousands are 
 slaves to severe labor, and while tens of thousands wander 
 about in the most pitiable state of penury, many wishing 
 for death and contemplating a hurried termination of 
 their existence. 
 
 "You speak of your doubts," said Miss Meade, "who 
 has not had them? At times they come like spectres 
 pointing to an abyss, at times like shining angels in the 
 light of dawn. They have been likened to the shadow of 
 truth, to the beginning of philosophy— What are they ? 
 perhaps but specious dangers at best," and then after a 
 few moments' reflection she continued : " You speak of 
 paupers, why should such be, why should any one be house- 
 less or homeless ? God pity them !— But then there must 
 be some poor, some sickly and infirm, and some weeping 
 like the children of sorrow ; all cannot be on an equality 
 as to natural gifts or wordly circumstances." 
 
 " I admit that to some extent," replied Zingari, ** but 
 is there not some dreadful abuse in the terrible dispropor- 
 tioii between the very rich and the very poor ? There are 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 
n 
 
 •I 
 
 I 
 
 264 
 
 TEE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 I|||| 
 
 
 •■1:; ■ 
 
 existing wrongs, legalized impostures, and consecrated 
 frauds, which still crush thousands down to poverty, thou- 
 sands who have vainly spent their breath in manly and 
 determined efforts against penury— how much have kings 
 and priests had to do wi+h this grossly uni ast and unnatural 
 condition of things? Butali," said she solemnly, while 
 looking upward and holding out her clenched hands, " I 
 see it, it is coming, it is coming, and Nemesis shall over- 
 whelm the usurpers, shall overwhelm them all. Alas, 
 child, there is oi)pression even in this so-called free land. 
 I and my people have felt it, we have asked for but little 
 —we met with persecution and I met with my first great 
 affliction, the loss of my greatest earthly tie. Alas for 
 Christian pretensions, your missionaries heard our cry, 
 but ran off to distant lands, and left us to unfriendly 
 priests at home. But stay, as you have said so much as to 
 the excellence and purity of your Bible, what have you to 
 say as to the character of some of its ordained expounders, 
 those riotous reverends, those greedy pharisees, those 
 audacious pretenders, that you seem to think so nec- 
 essary ?** 
 
 Esther looked up for a moment at the weird face of her 
 interrogator, ai:\d after a pause, merely said—" All are not 
 alike," she then turned her gaze upon some distant star 
 and remained silent. 
 
 For a little time Zingari seeemed to study the upturned 
 face of the curate's daughter. The moonlight as if ming- 
 ling with Esther's soft eyes must have reached and touched 
 some sensitive vein in the old gypsy woman's heart, for 
 when Miss Meade turned to speak, she heard a stifled sob, 
 and she saw that Zingari was bent and silently weeping. 
 
 Esther really pitied the poor woman, she felt at the 
 moment that Zingari must have had some sorrowful rec- 
 ollection of wrong, perhaps some sad reason for asking 
 such a question as to the general character of the clergy. 
 
 "Happy for you, that all are not alike," said Zingari, 
 after an effort to speak, " happy if you can escape from 
 the wretch that would injure you. Happy for me, if I had 
 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 265 
 
 never seen one of your clergy. O, child, I can easily 
 remember when you were scarcely more than a little 
 creeping thing loved by Agnes— ah, why did I mention her 
 dear name !— and welcomed by all in our camp. Can you 
 remember crazy Agnes, my poor stricken, betrayed Agnes? 
 O, how like you are to her now I " 
 
 "Yes, I can still remember her," replied Miss Meade. 
 " Though many years have passed since she sang for me, 
 I was but a little child then, and I have never heard her 
 history; you were silent as to her fate, 3'^our tribe was 
 silent, and my father, if he know much of her, scarcely 
 ever mentioned her name. But why speak of her as your 
 poor betrayed Agnes ? " Esther felt truly concerned, and 
 awaited a reply. 
 
 The tears stood again in Zingari's eyes. " A sad, sad 
 fate," at last she replied, *' a sad fate for >ne so young, so 
 innocent, and so beautiful— better that you should not 
 hear it even now. Yes my poor Agnes was betrayed and 
 sent to an untimely grave. Cursed be her deceivers, hur- 
 ried be their doom ! " The old woman now started up, 
 and looked wildly around, her eyes flashed in the moon- 
 light, and she seemed as savage as a tigress that would 
 rush upon those who had destroyed her young. "God's 
 curse be on them," again said the old woman. **0 A gnes ! 
 I could tear thy foul bretrayer limb from limb." And 
 then in a few moments after these passionate exclama- 
 ■".ions, she grew calmer, and said : " But better let him to 
 his fate— the doom of the wicked is almost certain— few 
 shall escape. I have waited for this, and shall wait a lit- 
 tle longer." The old woman became again subdued, she 
 had been almost overcome by the vehemence of her feel- 
 ing, and now, as the poor wi^ihered thing sat crouched at 
 Esther's feet, she covered her face with her hands, and 
 sobbed aloud. In deep sympathy at the moment with 
 Zingari, Miss Meade was so much affected, that she felt 
 unable to utter one word of comfort on this trying occa- 
 sion ; she merely stooped, and then tenderly raising tht 
 oV] woman's h&uc*, pressed it to her lips. 
 
 la 
 
 |t;::.^: ^ 
 
 
 mil 
 
 m 
 
 ■' I 
 
 !■;■; 
 
 w 
 
 '■. ^ ^ 
 
 is» 
 
 ) 
 

 Si 
 
 It 
 
 
 
 ■11 Bij 
 ■•tU., 
 
 ■'■it 
 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HF.ATH. 
 
 * Angel of the nisrht, daughter of the stars, lily of tho 
 moonbeams," at last murmured Zingari, *' may flowers 
 ever mark thy foo^steI)s, may the raven's wing never 
 shadow thy doorway, may no hidden serpent ever watch 
 thy path." She then placed her hand lovingly upon 
 Esther's head, and muttered some words— i)erhaps some 
 prayer or incantation— in an unknown tongue. 
 
 "My poor stricken friend," said Miss Meado, "your 
 cause of sorrow must be great, your grief must be severe. 
 I feel touched by your kind words, and would gladly suffer 
 to relieve you ; but even now, you can find comfort, if you 
 can, from your heart, pray for your enemies and perse- 
 cutors, and for all who have brought you this great 
 trouble. Forgive, that you may be forgiven." 
 
 "I cannot pray for fiends," said Zingari, hastily, 
 "prayer for such would be h^t mockery. I might forgive 
 an injury done to myself, bu. I cannot forgive the terrible 
 wrong done to an innocent creature. I need no forgive- 
 ness," she continued, resuming her wonted energy, "for 
 I have harmed none — neither God nor nr an." 
 
 Upon a little reflection. Miss Meade thought it useless 
 to press a Scriptural precept, which she believed tho 
 gypsy woman well knew was scarcely ever followed by 
 individual Christians, either lay or clerical ; and perhaps 
 never by Christian nations. Zingari was naturally quick 
 in detecting a fallacy, and, in her present mood, would be 
 unsparing in her caustic remarks against texts or maxims 
 so far beyond human nature as to be practically overlook- 
 ed by priest and people. 
 
 "I have harmed none," continued Zingari. "During 
 my long life, I have had many opportunities of crushing 
 those who have injured me, but my nature— such as it is— 
 was often superior to revenge, and I have waited to see 
 retribution come without being sought for. I cannot have 
 long to live ; and if you choose to listen, I will now tell 
 you something of my life ; and in this lonely place, you 
 shall also hear something concerning poor Agnes, and of 
 her sad fate. 
 
.■ li 
 
 '>? 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 M7 
 
 It is now a few months over a century since I was 
 l)rought to this country by an English family returning 
 from India. You look surprised at this statement, yet it 
 is true. I was seven years old when I left Bombay, and if 
 I live until next March, I shall be 108 years old; and 
 though this is calUjd a great age— there are other persons 
 older— yet I feel more vigorous at the present time than 
 mctst people do at seventy ; a regular life makes the differ- 
 ence, and were it not for my many troubles— for that 
 greatest of all miseries, the loss of one dearer to me than 
 life— and the bitter misfortunes of poor Agnes, I should 
 have fewer wrinkles in my face, and have still, perhaps, 
 some of the dark silken hair, which it was said, added so 
 much to the personal attractions which I may have had in 
 my youthful days. The gentleman in whose family I was 
 more companion than servant, was an officer in the ser- 
 vice of the East India Comtiany. He remained in India, 
 and survived scarcely a year after the departure of his 
 family. You, of course, remember the history of that 
 eminent Christian Governor, Warren Hastings, who was 
 sent to civilize, and perhaps to help to Cliri -^tianize India, 
 and whose career, like too many others of his class, was 
 but one of tyranny and plunder; he was the cause of 
 great disaffection among the natives, and in an endeavor 
 to suppress one of the many uprisings of the time, this 
 officer was killed. The pension allowed his family was 
 not very great, and my mistress, who was a very good 
 woman, though a professing Christian, did her best to 
 make this pension, with a few other resources, answer to 
 support her family, and to eduuite her little daughter— a 
 ^irl about my own age— and myself. The family was for- 
 tunately n »t large- the lady and her daughter, myself, and 
 my aunt, who, though a Hindoo woman, and a sincere 
 believer in the sacred Vedas, became so much attached to 
 her mistress as to volunteer to accompany her to Eng- 
 land. I was then an ori)han, and as 1 had been a favor- 
 ite in thv family previous to its depaiLure from India, 
 [, of oourse, could not be left behind. 
 
 I- 
 
 *'■ ..»;, 
 
 ^•"siiai '- '■ 
 
 ^M t 
 
 r,»i!!lt; ! 
 
 \\ r 
 
ml 
 
 »f 
 
 
 lit.* 
 
 268 
 
 THE HEATH KN8 OF THE HEATH. 
 
 In addition to this number, we had two ordinary aerv- 
 ants. We lived in a pleasant part of Ejigland, not many 
 miles from Pendell, wliore we now are. I was sent to 
 school with the lady's daughter; I was instruoted in 
 almost every usoful branch, and even had the benefit of 
 some accomplishments, which were willingly paid for by 
 my good mistress; indeed, I was almost treated as the 
 equal of little Mary, her daughter. But though the lady's 
 great desire was to make me a Christian; though I had 
 attended church, and in course of time had become as 
 well acquainted with the contents of the Bible as tho 
 most advanced in our classes, yet my aunt was so rigid in 
 her faith— though by no means rigid in her practice— that 
 she always succeeded in counteracting the teachintrs of 
 any Christian friends who would have me become a prose- 
 lyte, and in convincing me, by sound reason and argu- 
 ment, that our ancient creed was far superior to Chris- 
 tianity—was, in fact, the source from which that and mU 
 other creeds had been drawn ; and in this belief I havo 
 still continued and ever shall remain. 
 
 Well, in course of time, my kind friend and mistress 
 died; my poor aunt died shortly afterward; my com- 
 panion—I might almost call her sister —Mary, got married 
 and removed to a distant part of the country, and in less 
 than three yoars afterward, I heard of her decease. I was 
 now left alone, I someway found but little sympathy from 
 Christian people, and still less from many who called 
 themselves Christian missionaries. It had been asserted 
 that I was obstinate in my disbelief in the true faith, and 
 that I had treated its teachers with contempt, yet notwith- 
 standing this, and my being looked upon as a heathen, I 
 found some of your State Church ministers approach me 
 for another purpose ; they spoke of my charms, and even 
 offered me tempting inducements to become their slave. 
 
 Fortunately I was not left without a little means, and 
 1 succeeded in escaping every snare. Few can ever tell 
 how many impoverished creatures, how many friendless 
 and deatitute women have been lured to sin, and dragged 
 
 1tfi»; 
 

 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 269 
 
 down to Infamy, by the specious, unscrupulous wiles of 
 ministers of the gospel. In her will my kind mistress had 
 left me a hundred pounds ; by the death of my poor aunt 
 I received nearly an equal amount, besides a few valua- 
 bles, and as I happened at that time to visit a camp of 
 wandering gypsies, I found that they were the descend- 
 ants of an Indian race, that many of them understood my 
 native language, and that thoir religious ideas were in 
 most respects like my own. I had become disgusted with 
 Christian priests, dissatisfied with Christian people, and 
 stung by their pretensions, and shocked at the dishonesty, 
 the drunkeness, the brutality, and almost the general 
 immorality of nearly all classes who assumed to be super- 
 ior every way, not only to my own nation and race, but to 
 all other people, that I was glad to be received and treat- 
 ed as an equal by others who were generally supposed to 
 be less honest, less moral, and less civilized. To be plain, 
 I found the change most agreeable ; numbers of the Eng- 
 lish peasantry I had found to be the veriest boors, wretch- 
 edly poor, savage, ignorant, and superstitious, such as 
 they were until lately, upon the Heath, and such as can 
 be still found in many cities, towns and counties, of this 
 far famed island, and exceeding, in proportion to their 
 numbers, the degredation of any similar class of people in 
 all India. What a telling lecture might be given in rela- 
 tion to the vast sums of money wasted in extravagant 
 missionary enterprises, and upon the visionary attempts 
 of headstrong, persistent, romantic missionaries to civi- 
 lize and Christianize the heathen in distant lands while 
 blindly neglecting the thousands of a more vicious, more 
 barbarous, and a more debased population, even in this 
 very land of Britian. Verily, no folly can surpass the 
 vagaries of your impulsive fanatical missionaries ! 
 
 I had been scarcely a month with my new friends when 
 the chief man— some called him the king— of the gypsy 
 tribes paid us a visit. He was young, very intelligent and 
 of fine appearance. His manner was most agreeable, he 
 seemed to be beloved by all his people, and to me, in par- 
 
 
 IB 
 
 ni«»i»«i 
 
 
"■e< qi^iM*"? 
 
 % 
 
 » 
 
 IS » 
 
 '»• 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 • 
 ■ ^ 
 
 4 
 
 1 
 
 ! 
 
 ') 
 
 :5 
 ■ 
 
 i 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
 
 unit. 
 
 270 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ticular, he paid the greatest attention. Ab! me, what 
 happy, iiappy days! He must have possessed some 
 strange power of fascination, for cautious, as I then was, 
 I soon found that he had won my affections ; that the 
 world without him would be to me a dreary, dreary wasle. 
 But oh, happiness ! I shortly afterwards discovered that 
 he loved, that he worshiped, that he adored me. Then 
 came the rainbow of my life ; then came the glorious sun- 
 light of my existence ; then came the silvery moonbeams 
 by night— brighter than these; then sprang up the modest 
 early flowers at dawn, glittering with dew ; then came tho 
 languid rose at noon, yielding its rich perfume in the 
 shade ; then came the gentle lily quivering in the evening 
 air, and crowned with the rays of the setting sun; and 
 then again came the moonbeams, and the soft song of the 
 nightingale ; and again came the glittering host of heaven 
 to look down upon cur happiness. O God ! why does not 
 my heart burst when 1 think of this lost felicity ! Is there 
 a heaven that will restore it, is there a hereafter that will 
 unite us again ? If so let it come soon. O Seraphic vision 
 of departed bliss, stay, still linger before me, and let thy 
 bright, thy golden, thy beautiful wing, bear me onward 
 and waft me at last to my lost love— to my long lost angel ! " 
 While the shimmering waves now seemed melted into 
 moonlight, Zingari was again stooped and sobbing, ami 
 Esther's d>es were streaming with tears. 
 
m 
 
 >i*\'V^i 
 
 "«•, 
 
 >•♦...« 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ZINGARI AND ADBIAN. 
 
 TITHEN Zingari was able to resume her narrative ehe 
 ' ' said: "For over twelve years my married life was 
 almost one delightful period of unalloyed happines. Adri- 
 an and I seemed to have but one soul, one heart, one de- 
 sire, and that was to make each other happy. I never 
 knew a being of greater nobility of spirit, greater purity 
 of thought, greater simplicity of desire, or one of greater 
 disinterestedness. Our people loved us, and thciigh our 
 habits were industrious, little labor was permitted us, 
 for we were cheerfully supplied with most of the simple 
 necessaries which we required ; we always had more thaa 
 sufficient, and were, therefore, well enabled to help many 
 poor strangers who craved our charity or assistance. All 
 was sunshine. I seemed to inhabit a new and beautiful 
 world where there was little or no care. The earth ap- 
 peared to be but a paradise of brightness and flowers, 
 with intervening green fields, gentle hill slopes, shaded 
 vales, mossy rocks, and clear running streams. We sel- 
 dom remained long in one place— perhaps a week ; some- 
 times a month ; and then we, and a number of our people, 
 wandered away to some other beautiful spot, where we fixed 
 our tents and traded with the inhabitants. We offered them 
 lor sale strange little baskets, curiously made ornaments, 
 vases for flowers, fancy articles, and trinkets of different 
 kinds. In most places we were readily welcomed, and 
 troops of children with their jjarents would visit us on 
 
 
..,-r'^ 
 
 1li 
 
 ^1 
 
 .SStko^ 
 
 >td(t 
 
 272 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 holidays. We had music, and singing, and innocent 
 games. Sometimes Adrian, or I, or one of our people 
 would play the guitar, and then we would have a dance, in 
 which many joined, under the shade of some great oak ; 
 and often, before our departure from a neighborhood, we 
 received many little presents, and many tokens of regret 
 from those who had visited us. 
 
 Thus it was for a long time — for years— that we went 
 from place to place. In summer time, and in the genial 
 seasons, we generally selected rural spots which gave us a 
 view of the sea ; in winter time we sought some sheltered 
 place in the vicinity of villages or tow .s. Our industry 
 was constant, our wants were few and we almost always 
 had an abundance of all that was really needful. Though 
 we laid no claim to any portion ot the land— we had no 
 ownership in it— some of our people occasionally got per- 
 mission to cultivate a few roods by a road side ; we left the 
 little spot, planted or sown, and returned in due season to 
 dig or reap; and this for the time was nearly equal to 
 ownership of the soil. We in a manner looked upon the 
 wide earth as the common property of all, and many of us 
 often wondered in our simplicity why it was that some 
 had the power to refuse us and others the use of an acre 
 for necessTiry cultivation, while having or keeping hun- 
 dreds or tiiuusands of aci es of good soil lying idle and 
 mi productive ; we wondered how it was that some could 
 revel in indolent wealth, while others— the far greater 
 number— were doomed, or forced, to a life of harassing 
 toil, and extreme poverty ; it was to us at the time really 
 a matter of surprise why such extremes, why such appar- 
 ent favoritism and injustice, were permitted to exist. 
 
 The common desire of our little community was to 
 make the most of life, to enjoy its innocent pleasures, 
 and enable others— even strangers— to do the same. In 
 this way years passed. Ah how rapidily! I forgot that 
 there was such a thing as care, and I little dreamed at the 
 time that those days of bliss could ever have an end. 
 Alas for my inexperience! What did I know of the great 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 973 
 
 world and its wiles? A Irian and home were then the 
 world to me, and while in the midst of peace and felicity, 
 
 • fancy was nnal»le to conjure up any . ; aJow of ap- 
 
 , oaehing sorrow. How often do we forget, while admir- 
 ing the rainbow, and the yellow tinted clouds, wliich may 
 appear at sunrise, that these are perhaps but the precur- 
 Bors of a day of storm and gloom ! 
 
 As tribes of the gypsy community were to be found 
 here and there in different parts of the country, it of ton 
 happened that my husband would pay them a visit. This 
 h- was expected to do, it was in fact a kind of duty in- 
 cumbent on him as chief man. At first I used to accom- 
 pany him, always attended by one or more of our people, 
 but in course of time, when I had two little daughters to 
 talie care of — one about two years older than the other— 
 I found it inconvenient to leave them, and had therefore 
 to remain in camp with our friends ; and though at such 
 times Adrian would make the shortest possibly stay, yet I 
 found the days dreary and wearisome until his longed for 
 return. 
 
 It was on one of these occasions of his absence, that 
 our first difficulty, I might say our first great trouble with 
 strangers commenced ; ending, alas, some time afterwa^ d 
 in what was to me the most terrible afflction. We had 
 l>ut lately moved to a neighborhood which had been but 
 seldom visited by our people. Several of the inhabitants, 
 mostly those called the peasantry, came as usual to see 
 us. We traded little articles with them, and afterwards 
 entertained them and tlieir children with songs and sto- 
 ries ; and, as the night/- were fine, many would remain 
 .th us until a late hour. One Sunday evening in partic- 
 ular, a great number of persons flocked to our camp. 
 They must have thought the gypsies a wonderful pcoi)le ; 
 tiioy found them agreeable, entertaining, and often instruc- 
 tive ; quite honest and harmless, and not *he thieves 
 and vagabonds such as they had been too often repre- 
 sented. Well, while in the midst of some innocent sport, 
 I think I was the first to observe two mounted men gallop 
 
 
 a 
 
 
 t 
 
 
I 
 
 1 
 
 274 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 Aii^' 
 
 mt.tl 
 
 ■if^' 
 
 ,iil! 
 
 an I ' 
 
 hurriedly to where we were. It was a summer's evenlnpr, 
 and one of the strangers seemed to be heated and angry, 
 and he shouted in an excited manner before he reached 
 us. I then noticed that several of the i )eoi)le tried to st ea I 
 away, as if afraid of being detected in the commission of 
 some great offence. Upon inquiry I found that it was 
 the rector of the p.'trish with a bailiff that visited us. The 
 rector spoke in a loud and authoritative voice, his words 
 were threatening and his gestures violent; and many 
 persons present, especially the women and children, ap- 
 peared to be much afraid of him. It seemed that very 
 few of the laboring class cared to attend church, and for 
 some time many of them had altogeth(jr neglected to ap- 
 pear there. This indifference no doubt shocked the pious 
 feelings of his reverence, and, possibly anxious for the 
 safety of the souls of those whom he called. ' his people,' 
 he took this method of reproving them for their careless- 
 ness; and for that which he called the open violation of 
 the law of the land. This reproof was not very gentle foi- 
 he denounced them as heathens, infidels, dissenters, and 
 open Sabbath breakers, and assured them in forcible 
 terms, that he would commit them all to prison for their 
 studied contempt of both law and g el. He then refer- 
 red to us as being a noted set of wandering thieves and 
 impostors, wily and deceitful, deluding others into unbe- 
 lief and destruction ; and as we were therefore considered 
 even more guilty than the others, we were of course in- 
 cluded in his threat of punishment. 
 
 Though many of the women were, as I have said, mucli 
 afraid of this reverend detective, not one of our people 
 seemed to care for the stormy berating of the rector. 
 Even when he beeuine most excited, some of our men only 
 stretched themselves lazily out before him, and smiltni 
 and smoked their pipes as if amused by his vociferations ; 
 v/hile others tried to reassure those who had been intim- 
 idated. This conduct must have greatly en^-aged tie 'ioly 
 mti n. To be treated with such indignity was dvidently an 
 unpardonable offenoe— he at once oi.^ered '-Lt attend 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 275 
 
 ant bailiflf to take down the names of such as he knew, 
 and, if possible, to fln(^ out the names of every offender 
 present, in order that all should be summoned to appear 
 before the court of his reverence on the following morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Sure enough, next day at an early hour, five or six of 
 our men, and as many of our women, were cited to appear 
 and answer for the offence of Sabbath breaking and pro- 
 lane sei>l!ing. I was fortunately not included among the 
 offenders, and, anxious to conciliate, I thought it best to 
 pay an early visit to the rector, for he was to be the mag- 
 istrate, and I might say, the sole judge and jury in the 
 matter; but I could gain no admittance, he would neither 
 see me, nor listen to any plea that might be offered, and 
 before the noon of that day, over a dozen persons, men 
 and women were convicted by his humane reverence and 
 lined a crown each, with costs ; and in default of im.medi- 
 ate payment, each person was to be committed to prison 
 for one week at hard labor. In this extremity, I called 
 again. Few of the gypsies had any money to spare ; the 
 penalty might be considered small by those who had 
 means, but it was a large amount to those who had no- 
 thing, and I was informed that none of the poor working 
 people who were among the convicted, could possibly pay 
 the extortionate demand; some were absolutely without 
 a farthing, and I pited them. The rector admitted me 
 this time ; he had been probably somewhat appeased by 
 the triumph of justice at his hand. Though I had not 
 seen him for years, I knew him at a glance— more portly 
 and florid than he was when he first approached me with 
 an infamous proposal. He must, however, have forgotten 
 me. He looked like a man that lived high and drank 
 much, and that was evidently sensual enough to seek 
 indulgence of the basest passions. I did not misjudge 
 him. He wis more than civil to me— rather too free in 
 his manner— but I thought it best to be od my guard, to 
 say nothing that might irritate, but rather to accept tlio 
 compliments he paid me. He would, however, admit 
 
 1 . ... , 
 
 ir 
 
 
 H 
 
 
, p-r- 
 
 m - m 
 
 276 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 u 
 
 i 
 
 
 fJi ~,3£ 
 
 of no plea for his parishioners, and to prisoii Ihey were 
 sent.* The cases of the gypsies, though aggravated by 
 their demeanor toward him, he would, for my sake, he 
 said, take into consideration, and in the meantime delay 
 proceedings until the return of my husband. That eve- 
 ning the rector visited our camp ; easy and jocular, as if 
 he had been one of ourselves, or intimate with us for 
 years. I had much to do to prevent him from being 
 insulted; as it was, he got but sullen looks and a frail dis- 
 guise of contempt. The gypsies can, like others, be re- 
 sentful, but can also as readily forgive. The rector's 
 offence was not trivial ; his treatment of them was a wan- 
 ton injury, yet on my account, and knowing his power and 
 inliuence, he was suffered to call and to depart without 
 hearing any offensive observations. The next day he 
 called, and the day after ; he evinced a desire to become 
 familiar, and it was soon noticed that he paid obtrusive 
 attentions to a handsome woman, the young wife of one 
 of our men. A quarrel ensued, I could not prevent it, and 
 the rector was driven with curses and bitter reproaches 
 from our camp. 
 
 After this, no one could be more base or treacherous ; 
 he sent a bailiff to collect the fines ; my husband had but 
 just returned, and he called upon the reverend magistrate 
 to pay the penalties, as the easiest mode of getting rid of 
 the trouble, but fresh troubles followed. After the rector 
 had sent some of his poor parishioners to prison, a great 
 uproar took place, and about midnight some of his prop- 
 erty was maliciously injured, and some was stolen. We 
 knew nothing of this, for Adrian had determined upon 
 removal from the place, and he had already sent on some 
 of our things : and though the weather had become very 
 cold, wet and stormy, he would not remain, but in hi-^ 
 eagerness to get away, he failed to take the usual precau- 
 tions, and was for some hours under a drenching rain 
 while going forward to our new ground. The next daj^ he 
 
 • See Note 18. 
 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 277 
 
 '•I.. .. 
 
 felt very poorly; we had barely time to fix our tents and 
 get things arranged in our new location, before he had to 
 lie down; by evening he grew worse, and before it was 
 dark, news had reached us that greatly aggravated his 
 symptoms. We heard that, on the night of our departure, 
 another unlawful visit had been paid to the rector's prem- 
 ises, and that his stables and out-houses had been burnt 
 to the ground ; that his horses had been saved with dififi- 
 culty, but that much valuable property had been destroy- 
 ed; and worse than all, it had been asserted by his 
 reverence, that it was all the work of the vagabond gypsies 
 —one or more of his outraged parishioners were, no doubt, 
 the real culprits— but in the excitement, our people, who 
 were really innocent, were wantonly charged with the 
 offence. 
 
 This report had a very bad effect upon my husband, his 
 fever increased, he raved wildly through the night; by 
 daylight he grew calmer, and obtained a little sleep, and 
 while in this state of repose, he was rudely disturbed by 
 two constables, who had a warrant for his arrest as prin- 
 cipal in the arson lately committed. Some of our men 
 became furious, and were fully prepared to resist the con- 
 stables. Adrian again became delirous, and his other 
 symptoms grew alarming. Among ourselves we almost 
 always treat our own sick, but in this case I found it nec- 
 essary to send for a physician ; his certificate was any way 
 requisite to satisfy the constables that their prisoner could 
 uot be removed. It was with difficulty after all that we 
 got these men to leave us, they paid little regard to my 
 feelings, they seemed to care nothing for the distress they 
 caused us, and it was not until the doctor, who was a 
 humane person, gave heavy bonds for the appearance of 
 my husband upon his recovery, that they went away. 
 
 Gracious heavens, what days and what nights followed I 
 Prostrate before us all, raviny and helpless, lay the pride 
 of my life, the waning star of my existence, my love, my 
 hopo, my all. 01 God, what a change from manhood, 
 health, and beauty, to the poor, pale, blighted, withering 
 
 'nB 
 
 !J., 
 
 
 f :•; i: 
 
 i »'T ' 
 
 
 I: i 
 
fU 
 
 lliH 
 
 1 
 
 Pli 
 
 r' 
 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 2l*» 
 
 n 
 
 'tS}! 
 
 ■1 
 
 Sij 
 
 1^: = 
 
 J|S|: 
 
 i ^ 
 
 -f^Qll 
 
 
 ■^'f^ *' 
 
 I 
 
 « • 
 
 
 -.la-M 
 
 278 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 creature before us ! All that could be done was done ; the 
 devotion of our people was most affecting. I sat by him 
 night and day, I alone moistened his parched lips, and 
 heard his faintest whisper, and waited and waited to 
 hear him breathe my name. Sleep seemed to have left 
 me forever, but how dreadful were my waking dreams! 
 Days and nights must have again passed away when I 
 seemed suddenly awakened from one of these wretched 
 fancies. Was it the awful silence that whispered me to 
 listen? Ha! that was my name. O God! O Adrian! 
 There he still lay, his eyes now pleading to mine. I 
 looked from him to those now around us. It was night 
 and the feeble light cast a melancholy ray; and there 
 stood the doctor as if marking his last pulsations. Would 
 thej'^ had been mine! *Zingari.' Yes! Great God, why 
 calls Adrian now! I clasped my hands and looked from 
 him again in terror. Was it that wild look of mine that 
 bid them weep ? O yes, they wept and were sobbing, and 
 some of the little gypsy children who would stay near us 
 were weeping and sobbing too. But I could not drop a 
 tear. Those poor fading eyes then looked upon all affec- 
 tionately, and then turned again to me pleading and piti- 
 ful, as if to look a last adieu. * Zingari.' My name whis- 
 pered again! *Yes, I am by thy side.' By an effort he 
 laid his hand in mine— the blood seemed to rush from my 
 heart. That attenuated hand was now cold and clammy, 
 the touch of death was on it. When I knelt, the others 
 did the same; there were tear ;, but not a sob was now 
 heard, the only sound was the faint moan of the melan- 
 choly night wind. Ho must have thought it a call for 
 him ; his last smile caroo with his last words— his solemn 
 but his affectionate parting— ' Zingari, Zingari, we shall 
 meet again.' " 
 
 Here Zingari was onco more completely overcome ; the 
 tears poured fast down her sunken cheeks, and she was 
 an object of sincere pity to Esther, who now felt totally 
 unable to control her own feelings of sorrow. 
 
 After a mournful sih-nco the poor old gypsy woman 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 279 
 
 >maD 
 
 spoke again : ** It was oui last, sad parting. I never saw 
 him again. I must liave swooued at tiie moment of hla 
 deatli, and the lurliing fever, whioh I mu.st have hitherto 
 controlled by some powerful moral influence, had now 
 full sway, and boiled in my blood, and burned in my brain, 
 and left me raving and senseless. For over a month I lay 
 prostrate and unconsciouB, oscillating between life and 
 death. O, would that death had then the victory 1 O that 
 oblivion, or nirvana, had come to save me from that ter- 
 rible loneliness of heart, and from all future sorrows! 
 More than a month had been as completely blotted out of 
 my life as if I had no existence during that period. But 
 reason dawned again, reason that brought me a dread rec- 
 ollection of what had lately passed. How I then wished 
 for death! By degrees I was informed of Adrian's inter- 
 ment; of the refusal of the clergyman of the parish in 
 which we then were, to permit the sacred remains of my 
 husband to desecrate the place of Christian burial. This 
 clergyman had sympathized with his clerical brother 
 whose property was said to have been destroyed by us ; 
 and was not Adrian in his sight an unconvicted felon, and 
 worse, an unconverted heathen ? No better did he think 
 him ; and the idea of permitting him to rest in consecrat- 
 ed ground with the baptized dead of the Church, could 
 not be thought of. Burial was refused. Many of the hum- 
 ble laborers of the neighborhood felt for us, and would 
 willingly have overruled the d' cision of the uncharitable 
 j)riest, but they were powerless— the law was on his side.* 
 The gyjKsies would not, however, put their beloved chief 
 under ground in a common field, or by the road side, and, 
 as we were then not far from this place, besides having 
 many warm friends among the poor rough peo[)le of tbe 
 Heath, to whom my husband had ol'teu been very kind, it 
 was privately suggested that he should be interred at 
 Pen dell. He was taken away from me in the night—I 
 
 • It is not uneommon for clerical bigots to refuse Interment to 
 LhuBc will) have uot beeu baptised in thti State Church. 
 
 m 
 
 >mti . . 
 
 ^f 
 
 If, llf»l?' 
 
280 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 li 
 
 ^|IU|j|A| 
 
 
 
 knew nothing of it at tiie time. There was sorrow ui)on 
 the Heath when his loss was known, and if a rector or 
 parson of any kind had interfered to dispute his right to a 
 few feet of earth in the old grave yard, I believe that thoso 
 wild impulsive creatures would have torn down the par- 
 sonage, if not the very church itself. Our friends fortun- 
 ately met with ho hindrance. You were not then born ; 
 neither did your father yet live at Pendell. There was, I 
 am told, a great procession by night, and there were hun- 
 dreds that were seen weeping for the first time, whose 
 hardened natures, it was said, had lost the feeling that 
 produces tears. That guileless old man, Stephen Gray— 
 who was then young — had a giavt- ready. His friend, 
 Sarah Afton, held a lamp; and though there was no 
 religious service, no formal prayer, or no funeral rite, 
 Adrian's tomb was moistened and bedewed with tears, and 
 all that remained of my poor dear husband was consigned 
 to the earth, more like the ashes of a real prince of men, 
 than the body of one accused of crime, and hated and 
 despised by clerical despots who knew nothing of his vir- 
 tues. 
 
 You may have often seen his grave ; it is in a remote 
 corner, not far from the resting-place of the ancient Val- 
 iant family. Old Stephen Gray can point it out— I must 
 live near it forever. It is my flower garden ; the only 
 little spot of earth that I cultivate. There I often watch 
 my lilies in the moonlight, and wait in the silent night, 
 and gaze at the distant stars, until the weeping flowers 
 mingle their tears with mine. While my hand has still 
 its cunning, roses shall ever bloom around him. See, I 
 have one of them here," and Zingari displayed a faded 
 rose pressed close to her heart, ** and when I pluck an- 
 other, I hide this withered thing in the same earth that 
 hides him who was the sacred lotus flower of my exist- 
 ence. From this same grave I have often listened to your 
 music at midnight ; and the solemn tones of the organ in 
 the old church have often lured me to dream of a here- 
 after. 
 
THF HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 281 
 
 *Zingari, wi; shall me t again.' These were his last 
 words. O tell me, is such a meeting possible . Is there to 
 be a hereafter, a happy reunion of those long separated, 
 a never-ending period of bliss for souls that are immor- 
 tal? la there an Lverlasting? Can we have a proof of 
 the immortality of a single soul, or of the forever of a 
 created intoUigonce? Forever! O thf immensity of that 
 unending of which time itself is but tii • shadow! O the 
 unceasing changes of that Forever! Generation after 
 generation to pass away, the mighty works of man to 
 crumble, immense roclis to become dust, great mountains 
 to wear away, the vast ocean to become dry, and the whole 
 earth itself to be dissolved into its original vapor. And 
 then, after eons of ages, suns, stars and planets to fade out 
 and still intermiuable cycles of time to be perpetually 
 flowing onward, flowing onward into the vast abyss of 
 eternity, and still to be no nearer the end ! O, that incom- 
 prehensible word, Forever— that overwhelming idea of 
 duration— Eternity. 
 
 1 «l 1. 
 lilt 
 
 
 ^m 
 
 •J 
 
 ;■"»' , 
 
 
 
 
■v^ ^f\\* 
 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 kio 
 
 ///// 
 
 m A. 
 
 C// ^ A^ 
 
 
 V. 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 \AWIA |25 
 
 |5- ^^" B^H 
 
 !g IAS 12.0 
 
 111.25 11.4 
 
 U& 
 
 ^U4 
 
 6' 
 
 v^ 
 
 c? 
 
 ;% 
 
 w 
 
 w 
 
 
 n 
 
 ^ 
 
 /^ 
 
 
 '^ 
 
 '/ 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STRUT 
 
 WnSTM.N.Y. MS«0 
 
 (716) •72-4S03 
 
 iV 
 
 ^ 
 
 •s? 
 
 :\ 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
 ;\ 
 

 % 
 
 O 
 
I*. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE STOBT OF AQNES. 
 
 ^^ A SHORT time after the sorrowful visit to Pendell," 
 ■^^ resumed Ziiigari, "we moved to that place— I 
 wished to be near the grave of Adrian. At first the people 
 of the neighborhood were friendly— we found the working 
 class always so — but the evil rumor of being connected 
 with the destruction of the reverend magistrate's property 
 followed, anc' many persons kept away as if afraid of being 
 seen with us. The clergy in many places had warned 
 their i)arishioners to give us no further ^;nv^ouragement ; 
 they were mon who had it in their power to serve or to 
 injure, and it might not be safe to oppose their wishes. 
 In old times, as you may be aware, our people were 
 dreadfully persecuted by Popes, and other fanatical 
 Christian rulers. The principal Christian nations of 
 Europe vied with one another in hanging, and burning* 
 and otherwise brutally persecuting them for being di- 
 viners and wicked heathens 1* As it was now, however, 
 we felt that we were suspected and watched, and that the 
 better plan would be to remove to another place in order 
 that time might enable us to prove how false were the 
 accusations against us, and how peaceable and orderly we 
 could be among those that were willing to confide in our 
 good resolves. The people of the Heath proved to be 
 
 *IaEn>;land barbarous decreoB were issued a^rainstthe sypsies 
 by KiDK Heury VIII in 1631. uud by Qiio.n Elizuboth iu 1663. 
 
THB HEATHBNS OF THB HSATH. 
 
 S88 
 
 our friends. Wretchedly poor and de<jrraded even as they 
 then were, they felt that, like themselves we had been 
 badly treated by most of the clergy ; they sympathized 
 with us in our misfortunes, and gave us an invitation to 
 the only place they had to offer. We accepted their kind 
 proposal. Even in that desolate region we found one 
 pleasant spot, one shaded retreat, at some distance from 
 the noisy taverns on the Heath. The rough toll-worn 
 men were glad to see us come among them, though stern 
 and almost savage towards most others, and often brutal 
 among themselves, they were invariably kind to us, and 
 many of them, I have little doubt, would have died for our 
 protection ; and for years we have lived together without 
 alturcation of any kind. 
 
 As I said, I wished to be near the graveyard ; the Heath 
 is not far from Pendell— you know where our tents are — 
 and I could travel to the old church every day if I choso, 
 or steal away at night, as I often do, to sit by that grave, 
 close to which I must expect before long to be laid my- 
 self. 
 
 In about six months after my husband's death I lost 
 my oldost child ; she had always been delicate, and having 
 been very much attached to her father, she seemed even 
 at her infantile age, to feel ^rcjitl y depressed at his loss. 
 She pined away and died quietly in my arms— another 
 sore affliction— but as she had not been baptized in the 
 Christian sanctuary, in order to save any trouble with the 
 rector or curate, and to Insure her peaceable interment 
 in so-called consecrated ground, we took her away stealth- 
 ily by night and laid her by the side of her father. 
 
 Well, you must believe that the additional bereave- 
 ment added much to my sorrow, but I still had my re- 
 maining child to claim my attention, and to save me from 
 the great despondency which might otherwise follow. 
 Rhe grew up to be a healthy, beautiful woman, and, In 
 course of time, she became the wife of a trader who used 
 to deal among our people. He was an honest person, no 
 believer In any kind of religion, and had no national pre- 
 
 V- 
 
 ■tl 
 
 il 
 
 
 m 
 tA 
 
 f tvi 
 
284 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 dilections to interfere with his sympathies in the choice of 
 a wife, or of a friend ; and none could be of a more genial 
 or humane disposition. Ho liad sufficient means to Icee)) 
 iny daughter comfortably; and their married life, thougl) 
 
 of short duration, was one of the happiest. 
 
 About, a month after their marriage they removed to i 
 distant part of England ; I was pressed to go with them, 
 but I had decided to remain. Nearly two years after- 
 wards she gave birth to a daughter — this child was Agnos. 
 She was the only child they ever had, and all that could 
 be done by parents to educate and fit her for a higher 
 station was done by them; and before Agnes was fifteen 
 years of age, she was generally considerec to be the 
 most accomplished girl of the neighborhood in which 
 she resided. A little after this her father removed to a 
 village not far from the city of Oxford, and they were 
 scarcely well settled in that place before he died sud- 
 denly. I visited my daughter at that time and offered her 
 such consolation as I could.— I had only seen her twif^e 
 previously, since her marriage, once when Agnes was born, 
 and once afterward when she had a severe sickness. I 
 might have lived with my daughter ; her husband often 
 entreated me to do so, but my habits of life were so estab- 
 lished, that I could not live away from my gypsy friends, 
 nor at such a distance from that sacred spot in Pendell 
 graveyard. 
 
 For some time after this sad loss my daughter contin- 
 ued to reside near Oxford. Though her husband had lost 
 in certain business transactions, still he left sufficient 
 means to enable her and her child to live in comparative 
 comfort. Agnes became a fine singer, and it was not 
 long before she was induced to appear at public concerts. 
 Indeed it was asserted that her vocal powers were a great 
 attraction on many such occasions; and whenever her 
 name appeared on the bills a crowd was sure to be in 
 attendance. Her mother of course felt proud of this. 
 Agnes was even mentioned in the papers as one yet likely 
 to become a prirmi clonna, and It was hinted that certain 
 
 1*>' 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 28' 
 
 great managers of London Opera Houses had an eye upon 
 her. 
 
 Agnes in person was simply beautiful, in manner mod- 
 est, and in disposition kind an(f confiding. She was devo- 
 ted to her mother, and the liberal sums which she readily 
 obtained for her musical services were at onco poured into 
 the lap of her loving parent. In course of timehernameas 
 a singer had become famous, and among others from dis- 
 tances far and near, certain students from Oxford came to 
 hear her. Two of these in particular paid her very marked 
 attention ; they were divinity students, or nominally such, 
 and one of these was the youngest son of a nobleman. He 
 had heard her sing at the Cathedral in Oxford, to which 
 church she had often been invited, particularly on import- 
 ant occasions, as if to make the services more attractive. 
 
 You are probably aware that it is quite common for the 
 aristocracy to secure positions in the Church for their 
 younger sons. If a nobleman has four sons, he generally 
 manages to get the eldest into Parliament with a view to 
 the diplomatic service, or to a higher office ; the next one 
 he gets into the army; the next into the navy; and 
 should no other opening be found, whereby an office 
 may be monopolized, the portals of the church are always 
 open ; for the episcopate of the establishment have always 
 had a pre!'erence for aristocratic recruits ; and somehow 
 these scions of nobility generally succeed after ordination 
 in attaining that special spiritual grace said to be so indis- 
 pensable as a qualification for an Episcojial throne, far 
 sooner than men more learned, or, as considered by many, 
 more worthy. 
 
 Well, these two divinity students were evidently great 
 friends; they were mostly seen together; or at least, 
 where the one was, the other was sui : to be if possible. 
 There was good reason for this; one, as I have said, was 
 the son of a lord, the other was the son of a poor attor- 
 ney, whose limited income obliged him to pinch himself, 
 and live as sparingly as possible, in order that his only 
 son might be enabled to gain University honors, and 
 
 
 till |c|| ^ 
 
 
 \l 
 
 M r-l 
 
 t * 1 - * 
 
 '"i ■' 
 
 il 
 
 I;; 
 
 'il 
 
 I . i 
 
 j1 
 
 t 
 1 !< 
 
 V 
 
 . j 
 
 f 
 
 j 
 
 1. ; 
 
 i^ 
 
286 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 afterward, perhaps, through the influence of some profli- 
 gate Christian who had the presentation of livings at his 
 disposal, to get a chance of entering the Chnrch. The son 
 of the attorney, familiarly called * Tom ' by intimates, was 
 of a wily, servile disposition, and something peculiar in 
 his manner took the fancy of a fellow-student, the Hon. 
 Mr. Vernay, who made this younj? man his boon compan- 
 ion on almost all occasions, and even sui>plied him liboj- 
 aliy with money from the ample allowance granted him 
 by his noble father. Tom knew what he was about ; by 
 every act he cultivated the friendship of Vernay — friend- 
 ship with him was more an art than a feeling— and, with- 
 out seeming obsequious, he still managed to regulate his 
 tastes and his opinions to be in accord with those of hi.^ 
 aristocratic fellow-student. 
 
 Vernay was struck with the beautiful face of Agnes ; 
 her voice thrilled him as no other voice ever did ; he soon 
 began to feel that he could not live without her; and it is 
 possible that he would, if necessary, have resigned title 
 and family claims to call her his own. His companion was 
 not slow to discover the impression which Agnes had 
 made. He, too, was somewhat struck with her appear- 
 ance, and would have liked to make advances on his own 
 account, but, following his usual course toward Vernav, 
 he readily gave way to him ; and though ho lavished much 
 praise upon the personal charms of Agnes, he took 
 good care to leave the impression that he was, however, 
 no way smitten with the beautiful singer ; and he made it 
 a point to turn the warm feelings of Vernay for Agnes to 
 his advantage in other respects. 
 
 Vernay, being rather diflident— and more especially so 
 toward the object of his affections, scarcely knew how to 
 obtain an introduction to Agnes ; a mere hint to his friend, 
 however, was sufflcient. Tom, who could be forwrinl 
 enough, managed to bring the young people together. 
 Vernay Lad a delightful interview, for which he felt addi- 
 tionally grateful to his confident; the artful Tom had said 
 much to Agoes in praise of his fellow-student, and it 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 287 
 
 must be said that Agnes herself felt greatly interested in 
 the noble young man who had paid her so many compli- 
 ments ; and, apart from family connection— « sentiment 
 which c^nid not influence her toward him— she secretly 
 hoped and wished that the impulsive feelings of Vernay 
 might be sincere, and might ripen into love— a love which 
 she could return. 
 
 Months passed away, the interviews between Vernay 
 and Agnes were frequent, and mutual love was the result. 
 Already the fame of Agnes had reached London, and a 
 splendid professional career was before her. Operatic 
 managers had made tempting proposals; these, at the 
 intimation of Vernay, she at once declined, and for this 
 compliance he was just as willing to make a sacrifice. He 
 well knew that his father's aristocratic ideas would never 
 permit him to consent to the union of his son with a so- 
 called * low-born person,' more particularly with one 
 allied in any way to the gypsy race, and that as it would 
 be useless to try and obtain his permission to a connec- 
 tion which would only be considered degrading ; Vernay, 
 therefore, resolved to forfeit all family claims and get 
 married privately. 
 
 It must be said that Agnes, though willing to sacrifice 
 all for him she loved, disapproved of the hasty decision 
 of Vernay ; she advised him to see his father, and if all 
 entreaties failed, he might then do as he thought best ; 
 any way, it would, she thought, be better to wait ; and it 
 was with reluctance that she at last gave her consent to 
 be clandestinely married. This matter being then so far 
 arranged between the two most interested, next it was 
 considered necessary to apprise his friend Tom of their 
 decision. This worthy student was at the time rather 
 taken aback ; he did not fancy that this love matter had 
 matured so quickly. Though from the first an admirer of 
 Agnes, he had sufiQcient policy to appear indifferent to hor 
 charms; but subsequent intercourse had only increased 
 his admiration, and while pretending to plead, or to nego- 
 tiate for Vernay, he became so infatuated himself, that 
 
 
 jr. 
 
 111 
 
 
 \hi 
 
ff« 
 
 288 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 the bare idea of her becoming the wife of another madn 
 him resolve to delay, and finally to prevent, if possible, 
 the intended union. Wise in his way, he hud fully gained 
 the confidence of Vernay, and he approached him cau- 
 tiously. He advised at once that there should be no 
 unseemly haste ; would it not be better to give his noble 
 father some hint of what he intended to do; perhaps if 
 he were to ask him to see Agnes, just but once, he might 
 agree to do so, and then it is possible that his opinion of 
 her might be changed. He would, no doubt, see in her a 
 person not only educated, but one of distinguished talents, 
 and a lady in every respect ; and he might after all be so 
 favorably impressed with her, as to consider it no discredit 
 to receive her as a daughter. 
 
 Then again he argued delay for another reason. Would 
 it not be better to wait until after his ordination— this 
 would surely be within a year. And again, Vernay, he 
 said, might, by being too hasty in this matter, become 
 blind to defects of character and disposition which might 
 possibly in after years cast a shadow upon his happiness. 
 Not that he could see the least blemish himself, not at all, 
 but such a thing might exist, and, as a sincere friend, he 
 begged of him to take time and give his noble father an 
 opportuni:^y of saying either yes or no in a matter of such 
 importance. 
 
 Upon reflection, Vernay consented to be advised by his 
 friend, and to apprise his father of his intention to marry. 
 Agnes also, thoughnot too trustful of her lover's confidant, 
 thought it would be the most prudent course to adopt; 
 and as Vernay, still diffident, could not approach his 
 father on such a subject, it was agreed that Tom, his 
 friend and fellow-student should, on his behalf, call upon 
 the nobleman and explain how matters stood. Tom had 
 been at the Hall two or three times before as the guest of 
 Vernay ; and now with a letter from him to his father, 
 lie made his prompt appearance at the family seat to nego- 
 tiate in this delicate matter. He was, as usual, well re- 
 oeived, he delivered his message with the most serious 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEAafl. 
 
 countenance, as if ho were reluctantly performing a disa- 
 greeable duty simply to please a warm friend. He knew 
 that Vernay's father would never consent that his son 
 should marry such a person as Agnes : and, just as he 
 expected— even just as he had hoped— the nobleman was 
 of course indignant when he heard the story, and would 
 have threatened at once were it not for the artful propo- 
 sal made by Tom, whose policy it was to make it appear, 
 that, as the true friend of Vernay, ho had advised him not 
 to become too intimate with a young person, who, though 
 of fair character, might be otherwise sufficiently design- 
 ing to lead him to believe that love alone was her sole 
 incentive, instead of perhaps— which it probably was— a 
 desire for a connection with a noble and wealthy family ; 
 that in lact he had used every argument in his power to 
 warn his friend of the dangers of a hasty union, but to no 
 purpose. He professed the greatest desire not only to 
 serve his friend, but to save a distinguished nobleman the 
 mortification of the misalliance of one of his family with 
 a person of birth so very humble. Tom's proposal now 
 was, that Vernay's father should request that no marriage 
 of his son, with any person whatever, should take place 
 for a year; and, that during that period, Vernay should 
 travel alone on the Continent, and hold no communica- 
 tion with Agnes, except, it might be indirectly through 
 theagency of his college friend. Tom assured his lord- 
 ship that he thought he could prevail on Vernay to con- 
 s.'ut to this delay ; the task he fully admitted would be 
 difficult, still he had strong hopes of being able to induce 
 his friend to comply with such a request. A year's ccn- 
 aideration might do much to change hastily formed opin- 
 ions—to weaken this strange attachment— and if at the 
 end of that period Vernay's singular notion remained 
 unchanged som 3 other plan might be adopted to lead him 
 to see his error. 
 
 In less than a month after Tom's return from the Hall, 
 Vernay was in Switzerland; his parting with Agnes had 
 been most painful ; some terrible foreboding led her tg 
 
 ili 
 
 13 
 
 lil^ 
 
290 
 
 THE nEATIIKNS OF TIIK HEATH. 
 
 imafiino that she would never see him again. Tom, .f 
 course made liglit of the matter, and, after a time, ven- 
 tured to trifle about such very strict notions of constancy 
 as seemed to possess her mind : and he gaily assured h( !• 
 that the year would not seem long if she only tried to min- 
 gle again in public assemblies. People, he said, were anx- 
 ious to hear her splendid voice where it could be heard to 
 advantage, and it was, he thought, her duty to cultivalo 
 and exercise the great talent she possessed, by the favor 
 of Providence, for the delight and edilication of others. 
 Tom, as a divinity student could of course, like all tho 
 priestly tribe, interlard his remarlis, mean and desigiuj,' 
 as they might be, with cant and religious phraseology, ami 
 soon after he ever hinted that she should not refuse to 
 appear in the opera at London. Vernay, he asserted, 
 would not mind it now; though he well knew that his 
 absent friend had objected to have her make any engage- 
 ment with operatic managers. 
 
 Nearly six months had now passed; during the first 
 weeks of his absence Vernay had sent repeated messages 
 of his love, then they became less frequent, and now for 
 over a month nothing whatever had been heard from tlio 
 wanderer. Agues impressed to some extent by the cun- 
 ning assertions of Tom as to the readiness of some im- 
 pulsive persons to forget absent friends, began to have a 
 suspicion that Vernay's professions of attachment might 
 have been but impulsive utterances, and that in his travels 
 he had probably met with some handsome highborn lady 
 to whom he was paying serious attentions, while she her- 
 self was in a manner neglected. 
 
 Tom was of course too cautious to impute in plain words 
 that his friend could readily grow indifferent, but inuen- 
 does to that effect were not wanting, and Agnes still urge^i 
 by his plausible reasoning, and partly through a feeling 
 of resentment at the continued silence and probable dis- 
 affection of Vernay, consented to ttppear in London as a 
 principal singer in a certain popular opera. She did 
 appear, and the applause which followed was most enthu- 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 291 
 
 slastic. Her success was so grout, and so elated did she 
 feel that she could not resist the pleading of interested 
 managers to appear again and again. The press teemed 
 with extravagant comments, and musical critics felt 
 ulmost at a loss for words to do justice to her voice, as well 
 us to her attractive appearance on the stage. 
 
 It was not long before Vernay was apprised of what 
 Agnes had been doing in his absence. Copies oi the Lon- 
 don papers had been forwarded to him in which her name 
 as the great operatic debutante had been mentioned ; and 
 liints had already been sent him of how readily the fair 
 Agnes could forget her absent friends while thunders of 
 applause were nightly saluting her ears, and the compli- 
 ments of even princes were delivered to her in perfumed 
 notes by footmen in gorgeous livery. 
 
 More than ten months of the probationary year had 
 already expired. Vernay hud been as faithful us man 
 could be, but when assured, even though in the cautious 
 ambiguous language of his supposed friend, that the con- 
 stancy of no woman could be relied on, his anguish was 
 groat, and the depression that followed scarcely left life 
 bearable. He would have returned at once to reproach 
 Agnes for her presumed deceit and ingratitude, but his 
 pride forbade him. He was soon noticed to have be- 
 come gloomy and reticent, to wander away alone, and to 
 remain restless and feverish during the long nights in the 
 foreign hotel, with none able to whisper one word that 
 could restore confidence. 
 
 About this time Agnes had another great triumph ; a 
 Inmdred fragrant bouquets were thrown around her feet, 
 and garlands and coronals of roses were flung to her in 
 profusion; the assumed name of the 'Queen of Song ' was 
 upon every tongue, and the papers were again lavish with 
 1 he praises of the beautiful cantatrice, yet even during all 
 this elation, the heart of Agnes was true, and though she 
 thought she had been treated with neglect, her true 
 love never once faltered for Vernay ; he had been in her 
 thoughts continually. She wished to win fame more on 
 
 t\<'H tml 
 
 I ' 
 
 ■' !tl 
 
 W 
 
w 
 
 1,^1 
 
 292 
 
 THE HEATH EMS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 his account than on her own, and she 8truj,'gled to boliovi^ 
 that aHior all he would not have reason to reproach Iuh- 
 for the course she pursued when the year which was now 
 nearly completed had brought his return. 
 
 Yet another, and still another great musical triumph 
 followed, and one of the papers which recorded the addi- 
 tional brilliant ovations which she had received— she loved 
 to read these in her secluded moments— had also a start- 
 ling item of foreign intelligence. An English traveler, 
 named Vernay, the son of a distinguished nobleman, had 
 recklessly left his guide while ascending the dangerous 
 heights of Mont Blanc, and had fallen from one of tlio 
 precipitous icy crags into an abyss, out of which his body 
 would not probably ever be recovered. 
 
 Were that icy mountain to burst asunder and reveal the 
 frozen and mutilated victims, and the heaps of undecayed 
 dead that had lain for long years— perhaps for centuries— 
 uncofiQned in its avalanches, scattered about in tho 
 gloomy depths of its snow drifts, the startled beholder, 
 though of the stoutest heart, would be horrified at the ap- 
 palling sight ; and soon as Agnes had looked upon the ter- 
 rible words — the last she ever read— that woeful scene must 
 have appeared before her, for with one wild scream reason 
 took its flight and left her to mutter her melancholy com- 
 plaints to trees and shadows, to hum her pitiful song by 
 the running brook, to wail to the night wind, and to wan- 
 der a maniac forever. 
 
... f! 
 
 Hi i.i 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE STORT OF AGNES. 
 
 rt 
 
 ••A LAS!'* continued Zingari, after a sad pause, " what 
 -^^ a trial I had after this. I was, of course, sent for 
 immediately. Oh 1 what a sorrowful picture to see that once 
 beautiful girl, my grand-daughter, in whom we all took 
 such pride, now with disheveled hair and eyes of sadness, 
 sit by the hour alone gazing silently and vacantly afar, and 
 muttering her pitiful incoherences. The Winter season 
 was in its depth, the days were gloomy, and it was melpn- 
 choly to see her pick up some scattered sear and yellow 
 leaf, and look at it, and hold it out, as if desirous of pre- 
 senting a type of her own withered hopes. But another 
 calamity was soon to happen. My daughtex% who had 
 lately been in delicate health, had received such a shock 
 by the affliction of poor Agnes, that her symptoms sud- 
 denly became dangerous, and though she had the most 
 skilful treatment possible to secure, she died within a 
 week after my arrival at her house ; and with her last 
 breath she left Agnes to my sole care and protection. I 
 felt at the time as if I must sink under the accumulation 
 of troubles, but I nerved myself for the sad duties before 
 me, and possessing a vigorous constitution, I was enabled, 
 after severe exertion, to overcome difficulties which might 
 have sent another, at my time of life, to the grave. 
 
 There was nothing now left for me but to take sole 
 charge of Agnes ; she had no other near relative who could 
 care for her as I would. She was most fortunately very 
 
 ill 
 
 i i : 
 
294 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 .i' 
 
 
 quiet and submissive ; more like a delicate child, than a 
 grown woman. I never saw her any way agitated, except 
 when Vernay's deceitful friend made his appearance. He 
 came to see her two or three times after her affliction, and 
 she at once became frightened and tried to escape from 
 his presence. It seemed to have some effect on him, 
 though he tried to be sympathetic, and to appear at hia 
 ease; if ht 3poke to her, she would not reply, but would 
 hide her face, or run to me like a child afraid of danger. 
 
 It was then I somehow became impressed to say some- 
 thing to him ; and I s^oke as the words came. The last 
 time he called at the house, I remember telling him that 
 he was, in my opinion, guilty of some act of treachery or 
 dev^option, for which he might yet have to answer, and 
 that the misfortune which had befallen Agnes, was in some 
 way attributable to him ; how, or why, I could not as yet 
 tell, but it would possibly be revealed some time. I no- 
 ticed that what I said had a peculiar effect; guilt w.is 
 apparent, though he looked reproacLfully at me, he made 
 no reply, but soon as my eye caught his would-be-scornful 
 look, there was something in my steady gaze that must 
 have intimidated him, for he at once appeared disconcert- 
 ed, and took his departure. 
 
 Away upon the bleak Heath, among our own gypsy 
 friends, pnd surrounded by an impoverished people, poor 
 Agnes dwelt with us, shut out from the great world of 
 which she had but lately been such an ornament. None 
 could care for her more than we did ; none could pity her 
 more than the toil-worn people of the plain. 
 
 She would sing at times one of her wild, melancholy 
 strains, and every eye would be dim ; she would tell some 
 sad, simple story to the children that always liked to bo 
 near her, and even they would turn aside to weep. What 
 she said, or what she did, her most trivial acts, were sug- 
 gestive of something sorrowful, and generally affected 
 others to tears, though the favor of tears was denied to 
 herself, leaving her woe as it were as cold and as indurat- 
 ed as an icicle. 
 
than a 
 , except 
 ce. He 
 on, an<l 
 )e from 
 jn him, 
 ,r at hia 
 t would 
 mgor. 
 ,y some- 
 Ehe last 
 im that 
 3hery or 
 ver, and 
 in some 
 t as yet 
 I. I no- 
 uilt was 
 le made 
 scornful 
 at must 
 concert- 
 
 Q gypsy 
 )le, 1)001- 
 vorld of 
 Nono 
 pity her 
 
 ancholy 
 ell somo 
 ;ed to be 
 . What 
 ere sug- 
 affected 
 enied to 
 indurat- 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Some months had now passed since the death of her 
 mother ; the poor afflicted girl gave us but little trouble, 
 she was still childlike and humble, still submissive to my 
 slightest wish, yet it was evident to all that she was fading 
 away, and that her malady had no remedy but death. 
 Strange to say I had, so far, never heard her mention the 
 name of Vernay, though we all felt that the sudden news 
 of his unexpected end must have been the true cause of 
 her sad condition ; and still more strange was the report 
 that Vernay's father had never expressed the least regret 
 that his son had been so hurriedly sent to eternity. It had 
 been stated that the noble lord had expressed himself 
 more willing to lose his son by such a death, than to lose 
 him in the alliance which rumor had assured him that 
 Vernay had been determined to form ; he would rather 
 have that son perish as he had, than be obliged to own 
 Agnes as a daughter. Alas ! how stalking pride can some- 
 times overshadow natural affection. 
 
 Notwithstanding this dreadful loss to a uoble family, 
 Yernay's friend Tom was never once suspected of having 
 by false reports driven a fellow-being to distraction. The 
 false friend was received at the Hall with the greatest 
 consideration, in fact the distinguished head of the house 
 appeared to sympathize more with him in his presumed 
 sorrow at the loss of his college companion than Tom 
 could ever sympathize with the family for the bereave- 
 ment they had sustained ; and the nobleman himself ex- 
 pressed his gratitude for the skilful manner in which Tom 
 had prevented a union, which, his lordship asserted, must 
 in the long run be fraught with misfortune to the principal 
 parties concerned ; and he assured the aspirant for divini- 
 ty honors, that he should for the future seek his advance- 
 'iient in the Church almost to the same degree he intend- 
 ed for his lost son. Tom of course pretended to be 
 altogether unworthy of such consideration; the part 
 which he had faithfully and conscientiously taken in the 
 matter was dictated by emotions of the truest friendship ; 
 he alTected to be greatly distressed on accoant of the ea- 
 
 C! • III 
 
 I Hi 
 
 I I 
 
 i y 
 
 
296 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH, 
 
 am 
 
 I'M- ^m-i 
 
 liifj 
 
 lamity that had happened, and while he wished to make 
 it appear that his grief was most poignant, his insincerity 
 became apparent to others bv his parasitical servility to 
 the principal members of the bereaved family. 
 
 As time went on Agnes grew worse, none had the faint- 
 est hope that she would over recover. Day after day as I 
 went about with her I watche^jthe progress of her disease. 
 Her wasting form painfully told of her certain strides 
 toward the grave, and that no physician could now be of 
 any avail. In her demented state she had some affecting 
 peculiarities. She would scarcely pass a flower— even the 
 most humble— met in her pathway, without stopping to 
 address it a few words, as if the poor flower alone could 
 understand her appeal, or remedy her pitiful condition. 
 If she saw a stream in her wanderings, she would sit and 
 listen to its murmurings, and throw a leaf or a bud into 
 its little eddies, and while she watched it coursing on the 
 current and passing away forever, she would softly sing 
 some plaintive air, as if warbling an adieu to happiness. 
 And then again on clear calm evenings she would take 
 my hand and lead me to the nearest hill to watch the set- 
 ting sun, and as the great orb of day disappeared in its 
 halo of glory, she would hum some touching anthem, and 
 the faint sounds of her voice at such times might be liken- 
 ed by many to the echo of the farewell of some departing 
 angel of the blest. 
 
 One day I let her wander off alone, I had often done so 
 before, some of our people were usually near her places of 
 resort, and she generally returned in a short time. A few 
 little children followed her ; they seemed to take a strange 
 pleasure in being with one so kind and gentle. She had 
 not, however, been gone more than an hour before I was 
 surprised at her hasty return. She rushed into my arms, 
 panting and almost breathless, her eyes had a wild fright- 
 ened appearance, and she trembled like one dreadfully 
 terrified. The cause was soon apparent. I spoke some 
 soothing words, and in a little time laid her down, and 
 then stole out to try and find out what caused her such 
 
one so 
 aces of 
 A few 
 trange 
 16 had 
 I was 
 arms, 
 fright- 
 dfully 
 some 
 n, and 
 r such 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 297 
 
 agitation. I myself was somewhat startled by the unex- 
 pected appearance of one whom I then considered among 
 the vilest of mankind. Under an oak tree, within twenty 
 feet of me, stood Vernay's deceitful friend. He must have 
 sought an opportunity of coming stealthily to the Heath, 
 for though he might have been personally unknown to 
 many, an evil report was attached to his name, and it was 
 not always safe for such as he to be seen where he now 
 was by broad daylight. He seemed to become uneasy 
 when he found I had recognized him ; he might have, per- 
 haps, been informed that I was absent, and he had taken 
 the opportunity of trying to discover A.gnes, or learn some- 
 thing of her condition. He would, no doubt, have done 
 much to get her restored, provided there was a hope of ever 
 being able to win her esteem. When he saw me approach 
 him, he attempted to get away, but I told him to remain and 
 hear what I had to say, it would be his safer course ; that 
 were I but to discover him to certain parties in the Heath, 
 he might be then and there torn to pieces. He remained, 
 and I went close to where he was standing. I then took 
 from my bosom a letter which had been forwarded to the 
 address of Agnes by some unknown person, who could not 
 have been aware of her misfortune. It was one of Tom's 
 deceitful letters to Vernay, and probably taken from 
 among his papers after his woeful death. I showed it to 
 the cowering wretch before me, and told him that I had 
 now full evidence of his guilt, of his damning treachery 
 towards two unsuspecting persons. He was scarcely able 
 to make a reply. It must have been, he said, a mistake. 
 * Then read for yourself,' I said, 'that is your vile signa- 
 ture, a signature which I have taken the trouble of prov- 
 ing to be genuine.* He was in a manner amazed at the 
 undoubted evidence of his infamy thus presented. I gave 
 him no clue as to how the letter had come into my posses- 
 sion, and one would think by his guilty look, and his 
 astonished gaze, that he almost imagined me to be more 
 than human thus to be able to hand him on the wild Heath 
 the very letter he had written months before to Vernay. 
 
 H:M>» 
 
 t : 
 
 
 
 11 
 
 If 
 
298 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 ■•I 
 
 ill 
 
 i •}' I, 
 
 rW ' 
 
 The letter stated that, according to report, Agnes was 
 spending? most of her time among the gay and fashionable 
 in Loudon; that operatic managers were in fact deitiG3 
 she almost worshiped, and that the adulation which she 
 received from certain high born personages was quite suf- 
 ficient to make her forget her older friends, who, it was 
 evident, had now but an occasional place in her memory. 
 That, from what he had heard, she would shortly leave 
 London for Paris or New York with some celebrated 
 artistes on an extensive engagement, and the letter, after 
 much more in the same terms, recommended Vernay not 
 to allow his mind to dwell for the future on any one par- 
 ticular person, unless it might be one who could remem- 
 ber him with an affectionate constancy and regard in his 
 absence. 
 
 This was, perhaps, the strongest letter that Vernay had 
 received from his deceitful friend; and it might have 
 been the very one that had brought despair and urged 
 self-destruction. Fortunately poor Agnes was sa^ed the 
 agony of ever reading this infamous epistle; her fate 
 had been, I may say, irrevocably settled long before 
 that letter had reached my hands. 
 
 After I had satisfied the wretch before me, that I was 
 fully informed of his treachery, I said to him : * Go from 
 this place, and never dare to return, if you come back, it 
 will be to hear me pronounce your doom. Go, whether 
 you rise to affluence and distinction, or sink to disgrace, 
 you will never find one to love you truly; you shall find 
 no consolation in your greatest affliction, your last mo- 
 ments shall be without hope, and your future shall seeiri 
 to be but blackness and despair. I have met him but once 
 since that time ; he came here not long ago on a holiday 
 missionary excursion ; he came quite forgetful that he liad 
 ever seen me, or perhaps that he had been ever hero be- 
 fore ; he came here with his spiritual authority as Thomas 
 Sumpter, Lord Bishop of Storkchester, the bishop of this 
 very diocese, accompanied by some who might be called 
 bis clerical hawks and ravens, to convert us gypsiea. I 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 299 
 
 gave him his answer, and unless I am greatly mistaken, 
 he will never come here again, nor will he, I thinlf , forget 
 what took place between us on that occasion. 
 
 You seem very much surprised at what I tell you, but it 
 is the truth. Thomas Sumpter, poor Vernay's fellow- 
 student, was, as I have said before, a most obsequious 
 person, at once fawning and deceitful, he won his way to 
 wealth and distinction by the most contemptible efforts, 
 and though he may be looked upon with veneration by 
 some poor dupes, who have been taught to regard the 
 priestly order or caste with a kind of awe, thinking men, 
 and the many who cannot afford to speak out, will regard 
 him, and such as he is, with scorn and utter contempt. 
 
 Thomas Sumpter would have used any means, even the 
 most despicable, to gain the object of his ambition ; he 
 feigned humility, and little by little, as a parasite, he 
 made an advance. After his ordination, he was presented 
 to a living by Vernay's father, and not long afterward he 
 became a rector. As he was very intimate with the noble- 
 man's family, in course of time he professed to have 
 formed an attachment for one of his lordship's nieces— his 
 sister's daughter. The nobility have sometimes what may 
 be called poor relations ; and as his lordship's sister had 
 been left a widow, with several daughters, and a rather 
 scanty income, Thomas Sumpter, being high in his lord- 
 ship's favor, and having good prospects before him, was 
 quiie safe in making a proposal. His marriage followed, 
 and if his wedded life has not been the most happy— for his 
 wife cares but little for him— the alliance which he formed 
 brought him sufBcient influence to secure his elevation to 
 a bishopric; and this is how he became what is foolishly 
 called, * the right reverend Father in God of this diocese.' 
 
 The shock or fright which poor Agnes received from 
 the sudden appearance of this wretch, was pvoduetive of 
 the most disastrous ellects. For the remainder of the day 
 she would try to hide herself in any corner, where she 
 fancied she could be secure from the observation of any 
 one save mysfclf ; before night she began to throw up 
 
 •**•?'! 
 
 mi, iWj 
 
 \ i^ 
 
 M! i] 
 
 
 i 
 
 k 
 
■ v.',' 
 
 soo 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 blood, her symptoms became alarming, and as we had no 
 doctor near us, I had to use such remedies as I could pro- 
 vide myself. The next day she seemed like one dead. 
 Our people, and our poor friends on the Heath, seemed to 
 vie with one another in their humble endeavors to help 
 the dying girl, but all to no purpose. Poor thing, as she 
 lay with pallid cheek, looking out wistfully at the Spring 
 flowers, or upward at some bright cloud moving across 
 the blue sky, one could see that the finger of death had 
 already touched her brow, and thaL she was gazing for the 
 last time upon those beautiful objects of nature, in which 
 she ever took such delight. Presently the rich notes of 
 the thrush would reach her ear, and she would attempt 
 to rise, as if to respond with her voice of other days ; but, 
 alas ! every feeble effort only proved that she should sing 
 no more, not even the simplest plaintive air, and that she 
 must soon leave us forever. As the day declined, she 
 seemed to gaze with melancholy interest upon the glori- 
 ous sunset, and as she watched the red rays lingering in 
 the west, I could see that her e/es were filled with tears. 
 Soon I saw her lips moving, and I stooped down close to 
 catch her words. In the faintest whisper she said : *Dear 
 grandma, the shadow is gone.* O how thankful I felt at 
 that moment. Poor child, the shadow was gone, but her 
 mind was only restored as if to permit the recognition of 
 her friends once more, and to bid us all a long adieu. Now 
 she seemed to listen; the silence around her was deep, 
 not even the soft evening air would give its gentlest mur- 
 mur. Again she whispered : * Grandma, can you not hear 
 his voice? He calls me— hear him— yes, grandma, he 
 calls.' She gave my hand a feeble pressure, it was all she 
 could do, her eyes brightened up, a beautiful smile rested 
 upon her features. * I am coming, Vernay, I am coming,' 
 and while the ruddy glow was still in the heavens, she pass- 
 ed away, and we stood around in tears, and in the presence 
 of death, when the evening star appeared, as if to sig- 
 nalize the advent of another pure spirit among the blest. 
 This," resumed Zingari, after a pause, "is the sad 
 
 (( 
 
 mH' 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 30i 
 
 history of poor Agnes. Can you blame me for attributing 
 her misfortunes to the treachery of Thomas Sumpter, 
 your bishop ? and can you blame me for considering him] 
 and such as he is, as being nothing better than consecrat- 
 ed impostors, who deceive and plunder the people of the 
 nation? Aha! let him enjoy his ill-gotten gains; his day 
 of reckoning must come before long. 
 
 Since that affliction, I have lived on the Heath, striving 
 to benefit, in my own T>oor way, the unfortunate people 
 who, in a manner, have afforded us protection. You know 
 to some extent, what their hardships have been ; but you 
 do not know all, and you know how utterly it has been 
 out of our power to render them much assistance. 
 
 You have also heaid of the happy change that has taken 
 place ; one truly benevolent man has already done more, 
 in a few months, to humanize and elevate them, than all 
 the priests or missionaries that ever came with prayers or 
 tracts could do in a century. They have not been Chris- 
 tianized, but they have received a change of heart more 
 miraculous than I think Christianity, or what I have seen 
 of it, could ever bring them ; a change neither sudden, 
 fitful, nor spurious, like that transient impulse resulting 
 from religious excitement, but one gradual, and benefi- 
 cent, that is more likely to endure. I have been called a 
 fortune-teller, and your sordid priests have accused me 
 of obtaining money— as they do themselves— by the pre- 
 tense of superior knowledge— by an atom of truth and a 
 mountain of fraud. It would be well for thousands were 
 your assuming clergy as innocent of deceit as I am. To 
 those who came to consult with me, I generally gave my 
 best advice. I did not, as a matter of form, deal in magic 
 or in mystery, or resort to anything like your religious 
 incantations ; I did not always tell them that they would 
 travel to far countries and obtain great riches, or that 
 they should be loved by princes or princesses, or be mar- 
 ried to the wealthy and the beautiful. I generally told 
 them that by temperance, industry and perseverance, they 
 might count on success, and that with these virtues, 
 
 i 
 
 -lifi 
 
 
 • ;! 'i 
 
 4 
 
 if 1 
 
302 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 iT;«^ 
 
 m^ 
 
 whether on land or on sea, they had the best chance of 
 becomiog prosperous or wealthy. I varied my advice ac- 
 cording to circumstances, and any fee bestowed on me for 
 such fortune-telling was generally given to one or another 
 of the destitute people around me. You have perhaps 
 heard that I did more at times than such fortune-telling 
 as I have related ; I may have done so. In the presence 
 of some I leel impressed to speak of future events; I 
 speak what I feel at the moment, indifferent as to the 
 issue, and I have been told that my predictions have often 
 been most singularly fulfilled. I know not why I become 
 so influenced but nevertheless it is a fact ; yet I make no 
 pretension to supernatural power, if it be such. You I 
 know doubt this power ; you look incredulous. You are a 
 believer in a future state— an existence after death— yet 
 what actual evidence have you for such a notion beyond 
 hearsay, or that which you think has been revealed in the 
 Christian scriptures, and know you not ho^/ incorrect 
 these have been already proved ? You believe that your 
 Bible is an inspired book, and that its record— myths and 
 miracles— is true. You believe in its magicians and in its 
 witches, in its ghosts and in its demons, in its dreams and 
 in its visions, in its morose priests and in its frantic proph- 
 ets, and in the pious savages and licentious favorites of 
 the Deity. O what a progeny of absurdities is generated 
 by an unreasoning faith ! You and many others who claim 
 to be guided by common sense, believe almost without 
 hesitation the most foolish stories, provided they can be 
 taken from your * Book of Books '—your paper idol. You 
 believe that certain devils which had been cast out of two 
 exceedingly fierce persons, besought Christ to let them 
 enter a herd of swine, and that when the pigs became pos- 
 sessed, they ran violently down a steep place into the sea 
 and periahed in the waters; you believe in ridiculous 
 miracles, and in monstrous doctrines ; you believe that the 
 witch of Endor raised Samuel from the tomb, and that 
 the dead rose from their graves and walked about at the 
 the time of the crucifixion ; you believe that a benevo- 
 
THE HEATHENS 07 THE HEATH. 
 
 803 
 
 lent Deity will be obliged to damn over three-fourths of 
 the human race because of their opposition to his arbitra- 
 ry will, or their inability to comply with his law as laid 
 down in your great book ; and you actually believe that 
 certain corrupt men such as Thomas Sumpter, your 
 bishop, are the true successors of the apostles, and divine- 
 ly ordained and appointed to explain this law and guide 
 other sinners in the true road to heaven. 0,how strangely 
 credulous you Christians can be, while arrogant as to the 
 superiority of a faith so irrational and delusive ! And yet 
 while you believe ail this, while you believe in the incoher- 
 ences and wild predictions of your so-called holy prophets, 
 you doubt my ability to reveal anything concerning the 
 future. As a Christian you can gulp down all the mar- 
 velous narratives of your scriptures, and at the same time, 
 even in this reputed age of Spiritualism, you can be as 
 fanatical in your doubts as the most positive materialist. 
 Such people you know talk confidently of the immutabil- 
 ity of the laws of Nature, but when they see what is 
 deemed a violation of those laws in their very presence, 
 they still doubt and pronounce the thing impossible. 
 Galileo could not convince the priests that the world 
 moved, he was even forced to deny the theory himself, yet 
 still the earth revolved as before ; and though materialists 
 deny that matter can be affected by what is called spirit- 
 ual agency, yet objects are still moved by the same unex- 
 plained influences, and still many of such skeptics remain 
 as positive as ever." 
 
 Esther who had remained silent for some time, now 
 said : " I have never seen anything of the kind, how can I 
 believe without reasonable evidence ? " 
 
 "And still," replied Zingari, "your credulity in the 
 other matters which I have mentioned, and upon 
 which you have such doubtful authority, is most amaz- 
 ing." 
 
 " What of your strange mirror ? " said Esther, after a 
 little hesitation. 
 
 "Ah! you must have heard your father speak of that; 
 
 ■4i 
 "J 
 
 '.(■ft 
 
 •'•r 
 ■ if 
 
 Iff' 
 
 ft! 
 
 mi 
 
 if 
 
 
 '»■ ! 
 
 1 
 
 ' i^ 
 
 Ml 
 
 ;l !i 
 iff :i 
 
 'ft ■! 
 
 ! 
 
 ii 
 
 !■ 
 
 ■t, 
 
 U: 
 
 i fn 
 
304 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 
 you know as much of it in one sense as I do. It was given 
 me by my poor aunt shortly before her decease ; she told 
 me it had been in our family for generations, and that I 
 must never part with it— not even in death. To me, as 
 well as to others, its manifestations have been unaccount- 
 able. When I wish it to be used, I ha^ e only to fix my 
 mind intently on any person, the living or the dead, 
 and a representative face generally appears ; sometimes 
 it fails, or other features known or unknown to myself, 
 can be seen ; there are periods when it seems to be of no 
 service ; and it loses its peculiar virtue in any other hand 
 than my own, and the cause of all this is as great a mys- 
 tery to me as to any one else. Look," continued Zingari, 
 pulling the little mirror from her bosom, " look and see 
 if there is anything for you." 
 
 The act was so sudden on the part of the gypsy woman, 
 that Miss Meade was somewhat startled, and hesitated to 
 look at the dull piece of metal which Zingari held toward 
 her. 
 
 "Be not afraid, child, if you see ought, it may be the 
 face of a friend." 
 
 Zingari remained silent for a few moments, Esther look- 
 ed upon the mirror, the misty appearance slowly cleared 
 from its face, the moonbeams glanced upon it with re- 
 markable brightness, and lo, a face appeared, the face of a 
 stranger ; a genial intelligent face, but one quite unknown 
 to Esther. 
 
 ** You know him not," said Zingari, "but you will meet 
 him soon and it may be under singular circumstances." 
 While speaking Zingari had her eyes cast down reflective- 
 ly, and when she withdrew the mirror she placed it again 
 in her bosom— "Is that an illusion think you?" asked 
 the old woman. 
 
 "If it be a deception," replied Esther in a surprised 
 tone "it is a very remarkable one." 
 
 " Then we shall let time bring you proof," said Zingari 
 " you will not have long to wait, most of the future events 
 of your life may be in connection with the person that that 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH, 
 
 805 
 
 picture represents, therefore remember it well.* Many 
 of our greatest scientists and philosophers talk very flip- 
 pantly about the properties of matter, yet they will scarce- 
 ly admit of the occurrence of manifestations that we 
 witness every day ; manifestations that we cannot explain 
 ourselves. So-called savants are too often as headstrong 
 and dogmatic in their ignorant opposition to this occult 
 science, as priests once were and sometimes still are, to 
 philosophical facts. See, to what would they attribute 
 this power, a power the virtue of which I know nothing?" 
 Zingari then let her black ebony staff fall to the ground, 
 she then held her hand over it about six or eight inches 
 from the handle, and remained silently in this position for 
 a few moments ; then slowly raising her hand one end of 
 the stick gradually followed until it assumed the perpen- 
 dicular ; she then gave her hand a circular motion horizon- 
 tally, and, while the point of the staff remained in one 
 spot, as on a pivot, the handle described a circle which 
 was gradually enlarged as Zingari stretched out her hand, 
 and, as the rapidity of the motion was increased, a oone- 
 like figure, point downward, was quite apparent ; she then 
 slowly drew In her hand little by little diminishing the 
 circle, until the stick stood once more perpendicularly, 
 her hand being fully more than a foot above it ; the solid 
 staff was then allowed to fall, and Esther raised it and 
 handed it to its owner, t 
 
 "'Though the night must be now far advanced," said 
 Zingari, " I shall give you one more evidence of tliis sin- 
 gular power before we separate." She then produced a 
 small writing slate about four inches wide by six inches 
 
 * Stories relatinir to witches' mirrors are not uncommon— Zlngari's 
 mirror has been introduced simply as an embellishment. 
 
 t A gentleman— not a Spiritualist— in whom I could confide, in- 
 formed me that he saw a so-called medium cause a stick to rise and 
 swing around on its point, in the manner described as the act of 
 Zingari. He assured me that he could not be mistaken in what he 
 BAW.— Author. 
 
 In the Rev. Mr. Wesley's Journal for July 1761, an account Is given 
 of what a boy named Jonas Bushington related he saw in a looking 
 glass— The faces and forms of absent persons appeared. 
 
 \'^\ 
 
 n ii 
 
 I li 
 
 if 
 
 
 .11 ', 
 
 ii 
 
 ft ' 
 
306 
 
 THE HEATBEK8 OF THE HEATH. 
 
 1 t. 
 
 long in a frame ; she told Esther to rub it clean and be 
 sure that there was no writing of any kind on it. ¥he 
 moonlight was sufflcienUy bright to enable her to do this ; 
 she handed Esther a slate pencil and told her to break off 
 a little bit. Zingari then took the slate and placed it flat 
 upon the smooth level surface of a rock close by, the par- 
 ticle of pencil, not larger than a small grain of shot was 
 put under the slate, both persons then put a hand on each 
 side of the frame and held down the slate so that nothing 
 could possibly get between it and the rock. In this posi- 
 tion they remained silent for a little time ; then a slight 
 tipping sound was heard on the slate, and immediately 
 the pencil was heard as if being moved in writing. Esther 
 in her doubt and surprise, held her ear close to the slate 
 and could not be mistaken in the sound— it ceased— the 
 tipping was again heard, Zingari handed the slate to Es- 
 ther, and lo ! there was a communication in these words : 
 " My dear child — I am often with you, be not afraid to in- 
 vestigate ; truth is powerful and will prevail. Your loving 
 mother— Sarah. " 
 
 Amazing I There was writing, to all appearances the 
 plain legible hand of her mother ; of her mother long de- 
 ceased. Esther really felt nervous at the moment and 
 looked up at her companion for an explanation. 
 
 ** You know as much about it child, as I do ; I cannot say 
 who wrote these words ; you are I believe fully satisfied 
 that no art of mine produced them."* 
 
 "I am truly astonished," replied Esther, "I know you 
 have not deceived me, yet that writing is most wonderful." 
 
 • Having: heard that Dr. Slade. of New York could cause writing to 
 appear on a slate in a similar way to that described as having been 
 produced by Zingari, I went with a shrewd friend to the Doctor's 
 house for the purpose of investigating. A slate perfectly clean was 
 placed flat on the table, we carefully examined the table itself; we 
 heard the sound of writing; I p4aced my ear within an inch of the 
 slate and could not be mistaken as to the very spot from whence the 
 sound came. 
 
 My hand alone was all the time on the slate, and when I took it up, 
 a few words appeared, the purport of which could only be known to 
 myself. This took place about eleven o'clock in the forenoon.— ^u- 
 
 tliOt. 
 
I , i; 
 
 THE HIATUIIN8 07 TUK HEATH. 
 
 807 
 
 Esther again scrutinized tlie communication— " Exactly 
 like my mother's signature; my father would pronounce 
 it iiers at a glance." 
 
 "Well child," said Zingari taking back the slate, 
 ** what you have just witnessed may induce you to admit 
 that the knowledge of the profoundest thinkers is still but 
 very limited, and that there may be revelations yet in 
 store for mankind, far more wonderful than those you 
 have already witnessed.— Now before I go let me tell you 
 something. Unknown to yourself you have given me much 
 comfort, often afforded me delight, while listening to the 
 exquisite strains which many a night I have heard as I 
 sat alone by Adrian's grave. Before we came here to 
 night I heard you in the old church, and your touching 
 melody— almost mysterious and unearthly— brought me 
 tears, yet bid me hope for a hereafter ; for a reunion with 
 my loved ones; and your presence now in this retired 
 place, seems to be like that of a comforting angel. There 
 are others near, besides yourself, that I can love and ad- 
 mire for their purity of heart. Strange that the best of 
 our kind are so often found amongst the most secluded, 
 and should so often be obliged to struggle with adversity, 
 and to live, as it were, almost a whole life time in the 
 shade. Your father is a good man, kind and charitable— 
 a priest, in doubt of his creed— and his comparatively hum- 
 ble position has caused him to struggle with many diffi- 
 culties. Poor old Stephen Gray, guileless and as affec- 
 tionate as a child has been but a simple sexton, ever but 
 poorly paid, and is now after his long years of service, 
 partly depending on the charity of your father and a few 
 others. There is kind old Sarah Afton, to whose cot- 
 tage I have ever been welcome, living on the merest pit- 
 tance; and there are many of the poor people on the 
 Heath, with generous souls, who were until lately scarcely 
 able to obtain sufficient food ; and there is one yet of noble 
 nature who has but lately come among us, who has already 
 done much good, who is striving to do more, yet whoso 
 name is hardly known in England beyond the boundaries 
 
 X 
 
 ^m 
 
 i: If 
 
 !■!■ 
 
 
308 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 
 of his own property. Ought there not yet to be a distin- 
 guished recognition for such as these ? And you poor girl," 
 continued Zingari tenderly, "you with your wonderful 
 ability, you with your hopes and fears as to the future, 
 what shall I say to you ?" Zingari suddenly paused and 
 then slowly placing her hand upon Esther's head, looked 
 down and spoke: "Esther, there is yet trouble before 
 you ; in a short time you will have to encounter danger 
 and death; let your heart not fail you, in the darkest 
 hour you will find unexpected aid, and none shall hurt 
 you."* 
 
 Miss Meade was really startled at the old woman's 
 solemn manner, and at what was evidently intended as a 
 warning or prediction, she was going to speak but Zingari 
 calmly looked up at her, and, while pointing to the East, 
 said : "See, the night is gone, yonder is the dawn, let that 
 faint light in the distance be an omen for good. You have 
 heard my words ; be not afraid of their import. We sepa- 
 rate now for a time ; we may meet again when your hopes 
 are brighter ; there are happy years yet before you, and 
 your angelic music will continue to charm many when I 
 am in the grave." 
 
 nm 
 
 * Gazette's prophecy of the French Revolution Is far more re- 
 markable than the alleged predictions of Zingari. 
 
 
 
 
 lit. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 SINGULAR REVELATIONS. 
 
 TT is said that the world knows not its greatest men, and 
 -*■ no doubt the adage, like other wise observations, is 
 founded upon the experience of the most discriminating. 
 The greatest heroes are the philanthropists and the mag- 
 nanimous that are content to remaih unknown. Superfi- 
 cial and designing men are ever most anxious for promi- 
 nent positions. It is not every one that attains power that 
 is the most fitted to exercise authority. It is not he that 
 may be at the helm of State, or a popular leader, or in 
 command of an army, that is always best qualified for the 
 important post. True genius is ever modest and retiring ; 
 the shallow and conceited are forward and audacious in 
 their pretensions. Men often rise to the most eminent 
 positions by the practice of the basest devices ; and too 
 often dissimulation and treachery are the unworthy aids 
 that elevate some to the very pinnacle of greatness. 
 History gives overwhelming evidence, that numbers of 
 demi-gods and heroes— -the so-called patriots of ancient 
 and modern times— have risen above the suiface, and 
 towered up to Fame, quite indifferent to the havoc or 
 disasters which had preceded, or must have followed, their 
 elevation. Monarchs have reached a throne only by 
 passing over carcasses of the slain ; and great command- 
 ers have been .eager to rise higher and higher by adding 
 to the ghastly pyramid of skulls which was the hideous 
 pedestal of their success. In church and in state, in 
 
 N 
 
 1 • 
 
 :! r 
 'Ml 
 
 #*4l 
 
 ♦•ii'lu. 
 
 •'»'! 
 
 I 
 
 
 < 
 
 i^M.. 
 
 I ■ 
 
■ uiii 
 
 310 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 camp and in forum, in the highest and in the lowest posi- 
 tions, we find men ready to rush forward to gain distinc- 
 tion, even though they should have to crush hearts, or 
 desolate homes, or blast the reputation of the most de- 
 serving. While the truly noble will scorn to ascend by 
 basfci degrees, others will rise and climb— no matter how 
 meanly they have to overreach, no matter even if every 
 step in the ladder of their ambition has to be a crime. It 
 is said that the eagle with outstretched wings sweeps 
 grandly to the mountain's top ; yet the snake will man- 
 age to get to the same elevation by creeping on its belly. 
 
 While a hoct of subservient beings are therefore to be 
 found in every direction lying prostrate as it were be- 
 fore such gods of clay, of wood, or of stone as may provo 
 attractive for a time to a throng of fanatical worshipers ; 
 while men in every i)osition who claim to be actuated by 
 the noblest desires and governed by the purest motives, 
 can be seen crowding and crushing and intriguing for 
 pre: edence and for preferment; while we have orators 
 who fear to speak, scribes who fear to write, critics who 
 fear to judge, and a press so pusillanimous as to dread the 
 frown of wealth, the ban of a conjuring priest, or the 
 threat of a knavish legislator; while there are persons 
 who dare rot give utterance to their own honest convic- 
 tions ; it is a relief to know that there are men among us 
 whose steadfastness to principle is a rebuke to preten- 
 sion, who owe no allegiance to imposture, who will place 
 no offering upon the gilded altar of falsehood, but who 
 will at any sacrifice maintain the principles of truth and 
 justice. 
 
 Among such are the truly noble of mankind, and 
 among such could always be found John Valiant. No 
 man could be more unobtrusive in manner. He never 
 courted the great, or pandered to the whims or prejudices 
 of the multitude ; he never sought popularity by wantonly 
 declaiming against persons in high position, or by attribu- 
 ting exclusive virtues to those who tilled the soil, or were 
 obliged to vfOTk for their daily bread; and he cared 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 311 
 
 not how a man shaped or formed his gods, whether he 
 prayed to a hundred, or none at all, provided he was influ- 
 enced or governed by the great principles of humanity. 
 
 Although the visit of Mr. Valiant to Ireland had been 
 unsuccessful yet he had gained much correct information 
 as to the great cause of the rival dissensions, and distur- 
 bances which existed in that country. The Eev. Seth 
 Graham, upon whom he called in the hope of hearing 
 something of his son, he found as a man, to be genial and 
 hospitable as most Irishmen are reputed to be ; but as a 
 priest, upon the subject of religion, or of Orangeism, he 
 was as thoroughly impervious to reason as a lunatic. No 
 one could, however, doubt the sincerity of this clerical gen- 
 tleman ; if he was astray, he was sincere in his error ; in 
 fact Mrc Valiant found this quality of sincerity to prevail 
 among people of every creed, among Orange, and among 
 Green, even among those holding the most conflicting 
 opinions, in the Emerald Isle. 
 
 Upon making inquiries about his 3on, Mr. Graham 
 could give him no information whatever. He told Mr. 
 Valiant that he had evidently been misinformed; he 
 stated that a Hindoo lady, one of his converts whom he 
 had baptized, and whose Christian name was Sarah, had 
 requested permission to accompany him to Europe, she 
 had a little boy, named Hemar, with her, whom she called 
 her nephew, and who was another of his converts ; that 
 when ihey landed in England the lady had suddenly dis- 
 appeared with the boy ; and that although he, Mr Gra- 
 ham had made diligent inquiries, he had never heard 
 anything reliable concerning either of them. A rumor, 
 he said, had reached him that a woman described to re- 
 semble Sarah was seen in conversation with some strol- 
 ling gypsies; to this story he could scarcely give credence. 
 She might have met with friends ; for a long time he had 
 hoped to hear from her, but he was now under the im- 
 1 ression that she must have had some motive for remain- 
 ing away ; what that motive was, he was unable to deter- 
 mine. 
 
 M r.nm 
 
 
 
 W 
 
 il 
 
 i « 
 
312 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 (^i 
 
 i\ ' 
 
 Upon liearing this, it occurred to Mr. Valiant that the 
 story of her interview with a band of wandering gypsies 
 might be true. He knew that there was a kind of affinity 
 between the gypsies and the Hindoo race, he had heard 
 something of the short stay of a strange gypsy woman 
 upon the Heath, and he determined upon his return to 
 England to make some inquiries about her at the place 
 where he expected to get the most reliable information. 
 
 Befoie he left Ireland he induced Mr. Graham and his 
 wife to permit the little Hindoo girl Sheva to return to 
 India. The missionary was now convinced that she would 
 never retain Christian truth, that the instructions which 
 had been given her in Christian doctrines had been a more 
 waste of words, and that some evil spirit must be present 
 to interfere with her reception of divine knowledge. 
 
 Mr. Valiant did not attempt to erase this notion of 
 Satanic frustration from the mind of the missionary; ho 
 well knew that when prayers and godly efforts had sig- 
 nally failed in bringing the heathen under Christian 
 subjection, it was an old refuge among clerical embassa- 
 dors to lay the blame squarely upon the shoulders of that 
 imaginary being, the great enemy of mankind, who it is 
 often alleged has at certain times and seasons, or under 
 certain circumstances, sufficient power to counteract 
 holy influences, and to induce the partially enlightened 
 pagan to relapse to his old superstition, to turn from the 
 severe countenance of the Mosaic God and to gaze again 
 upon the benevolent face of Christna. It is recorded that, 
 "When any one heareth the word of the kingdom and 
 understandeth it not, then cometh the wicked one and 
 catcheth away that which was sown in his heart." * 
 
 " Those by the way side are they that hear ; then com- 
 eth the devil and taketh away the word out of their hearts 
 lest they should believe and be saved." t 
 
 If the gospel be so indispensable to "fallen man," why i? 
 
 * Mat. 18:19. 
 1 Luke 8:13. 
 
ad sig- 
 
 THE HEATHEN8 OF THE HEATH. 
 
 313 
 
 it that millions are yet unenlightened, and their eternal 
 happiness or misery left to depend upon the frail and 
 uncertain efforts of a few missionaries who are generally 
 unacquainted even with the language of those to whom 
 they are sent ? If conversion to Christianity be necessary 
 to insure the salvation of the human race, it would seem 
 that there must be but little justice or impartiality in the 
 contingent and very tardy mode of enlightment to which 
 the Deity is assumed to have given his approval ; for still 
 after the expenditures of vast sums the progress of mis- 
 sionary enterprises is at best but very doubtful, and in 
 numerous cases it must be adnaitted, that by following the 
 example of Christian people, many, very many, of the so- 
 called converted pagans are morally in a worse condition 
 than they were before they heard a word of the "joyful 
 tidings," and it may yet require some Parsee priest, some 
 grey haired Brahmin, or some Buddhist missionary, to 
 lead them back to the purity and simplicity of life from 
 which they have departed. With all the means and appli- 
 ances at the disposal of Christian propagandists, judging 
 by their progress among the heathen during the last fifty 
 years, what long years must yet pass before the Bible is 
 accepted— if ever accepted— as the sole standard of truth ; 
 and if the words of that Bible be the infallible words of 
 divine inspiration, what unborn generations must yet bo 
 hurled down to eternal perdition for the want of that 
 spiritual knowledge, which it may not be in their power 
 to obtain. Oh! what a sad conclusion must follow from 
 aiich orthodox exaction ; what a libel upon the beniflcence 
 of a Great Creator must be the inevitable teaching of the 
 arrogant, costly creed of Christendom.* 
 
 If it can be imagined that the Almighty can sanction 
 
 
 H 
 
 I i 
 
 whyi? 
 
 * Many Christian priests wish to avoid such an inhuman result 
 and try to explain that there may be some way of escape, or some 
 li'Bser condemnation for the unconverted, while others of the ordain- 
 ed point almost exultingly to chapter and and verse, and assert that 
 unless a man repent and be baptized, unloss he be born again, unless 
 ho believe in Christ, there can be no salvation : and nothing for him 
 buL " the lake whioh burneth with fire and brimstone " This must 
 
 14 
 
314 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 i«f-i»l* ^ 
 
 
 the perpetual torture of even two-thirds of the intelligent 
 beings whom He is said to have created, because unfortu- 
 nately they do not happen to have been made acquainted 
 with His rigorous laws, and with the peculiar mode of sal- 
 ration which it is said He has prepared for the very few 
 that may escape, it may bo also inferred from that whieh 
 we read, in what true Christians accept as the pages of 
 inspiration, that, though His invitation and His promise 
 is " unto all,*' yet for some inscrutable purpose He is will- 
 ing that many through ignorance should be lost; and 
 even aids to ensure their destruction. In those very pages 
 it is written : " He hath blinded their eyes and hardened 
 their heart, that they should not see with their eyes, nor 
 understand with their heart, and be converted, and I 
 should heal them."* " For this cause God shall send them 
 strong delusion, that they should believe a lie. "f Even 
 the same inspired record might lead us to suppose that if 
 Satan is permitted at certain seasons to exercise his wiclc- 
 ed control, the power of theAlF7iighty issometimes limited 
 and that he is not always omnipotent ; as an evidence of 
 this we read; "And the Lord was with Judah, and He 
 drave out the inhabitants of the mountain, but could not 
 drive out the inhabitants of the valley, because they had 
 chariots of iron. "J 
 
 The power ef the apostles was also uncertain ; thougli 
 they were told that, "all things are possible to him tlitit 
 believeth," and that by faith they should be able to per- 
 form miracles, yet they had reason to think that failli 
 alone was not always sufficient to do that which they de- 
 sired. When after a trial of their power they failed to 
 eject a certain "dumb spirit," upon inquiry as to why 
 they "could not cast him out," they were informed by 
 
 be the prevailing opinion of those who best understand the Christian 
 scriptures, else why should appeals so pathetic be made at misson- 
 ary meetings for the "perishing heathen." 
 
 ♦John 12:40, 
 
 tThes. 2:11. 
 
 t Judg.l:19. 
 
"» '•. i; 
 
 !i!' 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 315 
 
 their Master that, " This kind can come forth by nothing 
 but by prayer and fasting."* It is, however, an unquest- 
 ionable fact, that there are certain missionaries, like Seth 
 Graham, who are thoroughly satisfied that when they fail 
 to convert or to reform by the usual orthodox course, Satan 
 must be in some way the obstructing cause ; and as Mr. 
 Graham was strongly of this opinion, he was energetic in 
 expressing his belief that the "Devil as a roaring lion 
 walketh about seeking whom he may devour," that he 
 had already devoured a good many, and would yet make 
 away with Sarah and Hemar, his apostate runaways, and 
 would most probably disappear in sulphurous flames with 
 little Sheva herself. 
 
 As has been noticed, that poor child knew Mr. Vt\liant 
 at the first glance upon the day of his arrival at the mis- 
 sionary's house. She had often seen him in Bombay, and 
 had heard of his goodness, and young as she was, she had 
 sufficient confidence to make her appeal to him to be 
 restored to her paients. Mr. Va.iant pitied her forlorn 
 condition, he spoke words of kindness to her in her native 
 tongue, she wept when she heard his soothing voice, for 
 she felt that the hour of her deliverance had come ; and 
 to make sure he went at once and paid her passage to 
 Bombay, and placed her in charge of a friend on board a 
 vessel bound for India. 
 
 Upon his return to the Heath he was greatly pleased to 
 find that the people whom he had trusted, and whom he 
 wishedto serve, had steadily advanced during his absence. 
 The labor which wins a fair reward was producing a sure 
 reformation among those who once fancied that constant 
 industry was the only resource of such as were oppressed 
 and despised. Each man upon his little plot of ground 
 felt as if he had a home of his own at last, felt sure of its 
 I'ossesiion, and secerned not only desirous to cultivate 
 the soil, but to add certain simple embellishments as if to 
 make his plain aboda more attractive. Nothing at the 
 
 *Mark9:29» 
 
,1 11 
 
 316 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 I 11 
 
 n 
 
 
 IWkMU i 
 
 time could have been more cheering to Mr. Valiant than 
 the aspect of affairs upon the Heath ; industry and con- 
 tentment seemed to prevail, and wherever he made his 
 appearance he was warmly greeted as the common bene- 
 factor. 
 
 Though rather depressed in consequence of the want 
 of success in his search for his son in Ireland, still he was 
 not at all inclined to despond, and after a hurried inspect- 
 tion of the works he had commenced around the place, 
 and of those for the restoration of the Manor House, he 
 thjught it best to visit Zingari in order to ascertain from 
 her whether she or any of the gypsies knew anything of 
 the woman and the boy who had suddenly disappeared 
 from Mr. Graham on the day of his arrival in England. 
 
 When Mr. Valiant made his appearance at the gypsy 
 camp he was surprised to find that they had made pre- 
 parations for his reception as if he had been a prince of 
 their own kind. Who could have informed them of his 
 coming V He had told no one ; yet before he had reached 
 the place he was met by gypsy men and maidens in holi- 
 day garb ; his ears were greeted with music ; and children 
 presented him with little bunches of wild flowers which 
 they had tastefully arranged. When close to the camp 
 he saw an arch of evergreens, and, as he passed under 
 this, he was received by Zingari in the most cordial man- 
 ner ; she then conducted him to her tent in which an ex- 
 cellent repast had been prepared. After he had partaken 
 of this refreshment, he addressed his entertainers, he said 
 somethiDg kind to almost every one present, and distri- 
 buted little gifts among the children and then, in a little 
 time afterward, he was left alone with his old gypsy 
 friend. In a few words Mr. Valiant explained the object 
 of his visit. As he knew Zingari and mostly all upon the 
 Heath had heard of the loss of his son, he merely state I 
 to her, that his search in Ireland had proved unavailing, 
 and that perhaj)s the strange woman who had left the care 
 of her spiritual tutor, Mr. Graham, might be the same 
 that had so unexpectedly come among them. Zingari 
 
il.i 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 817 
 
 was greatly interested in what he said, and her positive 
 assurance that his son was still alive, had a most inspiring 
 effect upon him at the time. He did not however wish to 
 be considered a believer in a soothsayer, or in predictions, 
 or in the power of any human being to effect anything 
 supernatural ; ho was one on whom it would be difficult 
 to impose, but it was not long before Zingari's manner 
 and acts satisfied him that the woman he now consulted 
 was really possessed of extraordinary powers. 
 
 " The one you seek," said Zingari " has been here, her 
 name is Maheel, you may have seen her perhaps in India ; 
 and you may yet hear more of her history. She knew 
 you well ; she feared that you might have heard of her 
 crime and that you might be her detective ; and she was 
 startled when your name was first mentioned on the 
 Heath. Through a feeling of jealousy and vindictiveness, 
 she robbed an Indian mother of her son, and tried to 
 reduce him to the condition of an English slave— such as 
 we had here before you came among us. Our people saw 
 that he was one of their kind; with my assistance they 
 brought him back, and have thereby saved his life. Were 
 it not for this he might like others be worn down by years 
 of terrible servitude. He is still here with me, but he is 
 not your son, though *^^he child of an English father— see 
 for yourself." 
 
 She then called, and the little boy Hemar entered and 
 stood before them. "You have seen him before," con- 
 tinued Zingari, "he was present with me when you first 
 entered the old Manor House on your return from India." 
 
 "I now remember," said John Valiant, "but," said 
 he after having looked at the boy closely, " his face singu- 
 larly resembles one I must have seen somewhere." 
 
 "This is the boy," said Zingari, "that was brought 
 from Bombay as a concert by your missionary friend, 
 Graham." Mr. Valiant, evidently perplexed, still gazed 
 upon the boy's face : "Whose features can those possibly 
 be," said he at last in a reflective mood—" not of any one 
 in England ? " 
 
na 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 M 
 
 *• Yes of one now in England," calmly replied Zingari. 
 
 "Impossible, impossible my good friend, quite impossi- 
 ble." replied Mr. Valiant hurriedly, "you cannot tell mo 
 this." 
 
 "I tell you so," said she, "those features remind y<.a 
 of an old friend, even of one whom I have not seen siuuo 
 he was little beyond the age of that boy himself." 
 
 "I cannot think it at all likely," replied he in an 
 incredulous manner, "there can be no person thai I 
 know of in England to whom the lad bears the sli;j:litest 
 resemblance ; and as you know not who my intimate ac- 
 quaintances have been, how can you tell anything about 
 this old friend as you call him ?" 
 
 "Shall I give you his name ?" inquired the old gypsy 
 woman. 
 
 " You might perhaps make a shrewd guess," replied he, 
 " but if you will give me one particular name it >7lll much 
 surprise me." 
 
 "I shall," said she giving him a strange look, "and in 
 doing so I shall neither letter it, nor halve it, but begin.'"— 
 In using these words slowly and distinctly there must 
 have been some significant meaning which caused him to 
 look for a moment sternly at the woman before him. 
 Zingari seemed not to notice his manner, but took out her 
 little slate and laid it upon a small table, with a fragment 
 of pencil between the table and the slate. She then plac- 
 ed her hand upon the slate, and looking thoughtfully ai it 
 for a short time, said, as if addressing some one else: 
 " "Will you give me that name ? " A slight tipping noise 
 was then heard, then the sound of writing, and when that 
 ceased she lifted the slate and read ; she then whispered 
 into his ear, and he at once looked quickly around at her 
 in actual amazement. Zingari smiled at his blank aston- 
 ishment, and then as if to bewilder him still more, she 
 held the slate before him, and he read in a writing which 
 was most familiar, the signature, "Charles Maidston." 
 
 " Well," said he, after an effort to recover from his sur- 
 prise, "that is wonderful— the name although not the 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 319 
 
 handwriting. It must have been on the slate all the time ; 
 who could have written it ? '* 
 
 '•You may believe me," said Zingari, "that that name 
 was never before on my slate. I did not write it, nor can 
 I tell you how or by whom it was given, but there it is. 
 You I know are a doubter where others are credulous ; you 
 are a skeptic, nay, an unbeliever in all religious creeds ; 
 you are an honest but determined opponent to supernat- 
 ural pretension, and to imposition of every kind, and I 
 would dislike very much to be suspected even for a mo- 
 ment by you, whom I believe to be so great a lover of 
 truth. I have not deceived you, there is the name," said 
 she pointing to the slate, "known here but to yourself: 
 there is what you might take to be the handwriting of 
 your friend ; now let me see if I can tell you something 
 relating to him, ajid I shall afterward try and give you 
 another and perhaps a more satisfactory evidence of a pow- 
 er or influence about which you yet seem to know but 
 very little ; about which I have scarcely any knowlege my- 
 self." 
 
 The old woman then seated herself on a mat, she plac- 
 ed a hand over her closed eyes to exclude the light; 
 she remained silent for a short time, and while her visitor 
 was speculating as to her intentions she spoke out si owly : 
 " I see a traveler near the sunset hour in India, he is on 
 his way from Chunar to Mirzapore. The temple of the 
 Goddess Kali is almost in view ; he is wearied and anxious 
 1*) get to the end of his journey, and though he is alone 
 with his Kitmutgav,* who accompanies him, he never 
 once thinks of robbers, or of the terrible Bhuttotes or 
 Lughaees t that still infest the neighborhood. Now while 
 he dismounts, and waits to permit his horse to drink at a 
 small stream, he is suddenly seized from behind; his 
 hands are held, and a cord is pulled tightly around his 
 neck ; he is about to fall to the ground ; there is a shout, 
 and he is rescued from the deadly grasp of a band of 
 
 • A kind of hoad-sorvant in India. 
 
 t Stranglors and ffravo-diggors among tlio Thugs. 
 
 4 li 
 
 
 *■ I'm 
 
 
 :afl 
 
 . 1 1! '*:- 
 r ' 
 
V I 
 
 Ml 
 
 111 
 :ri: 
 
 ' V, 
 
 t 
 
 320 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Thugs by a company of Vaishyas * that rush forward ; 
 and these are under the direction of— him whose name is 
 yet on that slate." 
 
 An exclamation of surprise here escaped from Johu 
 Valiant. 
 
 "Stay," said Zingari, hastily, "let me see the rest. 
 Next day, the rescued one parts with the friend that saved 
 his life ; he is now returning to his Bungalo ; he meets a 
 poor Pariah, who ventures to address him— he gives him 
 alms. The Pariah utters a prayer for his benefactor : *As 
 thou art not afraid of my shadow, be assured that it shall 
 not leave the unclean. Thou shalt ever prosper, but thou 
 canst not meet thy friend again until thou hast crossed 
 the sea, and rescued in return the life of his very dearest 
 friend.' " 
 
 "Amazing!" said John Valiant, starting up like one 
 electrified. " Great heavens, my good woman— that is if 
 you are really a human being— how has this come to your 
 knowledge? I am that rescued traveler. I was saved 
 from the murderous Thugs by that very man— the only 
 time I was ever so close to death— and you know, or have 
 seen all this which I thought was unknown to any human 
 being, save those who were then present." He then stood 
 looking with astonishment at the grey-haired woman, us 
 if she had been one r.iised from the dead to make such a 
 revelation, 
 
 Zingari, however, still sat quite unmoved by his great 
 surprise, and by the time he had grown a little more col- 
 lected, she stood up and said: "Before you make that 
 rescue, or before you meet that friend again, you may be 
 nearer to death than you were at the time of your own 
 deliverance." She then drew close to him, and drawing 
 out her singular mirror, held it before him. "I want 
 you," said she, "to look at this. I told you I would try 
 and give you what you might consider a more satisfactory 
 evidence." 
 
 * Merchants or traders* 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THB HEATH. 
 
 321 
 
 Mr. Valiant who really folt like one awakened from some 
 singular dream looked listlessly at the round piece of metal 
 which the old gypsy woman held clutched in her hand. 
 The surface appeared at first view dim as usual ; they both 
 looked at it stedfastly for over a minute, still it remained 
 clouded, and though he had now scarcely a doubt of Zin- 
 gari's sincerity, and perhaps of her ability to do some 
 wonderful things, still he could not help thinking that in 
 this she might herself be the victim of a delusion ; as it 
 was even the old woman became a little disconcerted as if 
 anticipating a failure at a time when she was most anxious 
 that the test which she wished to give should be most 
 conclusive. They still looked; at last the edge of the 
 mirror began to get clear ; the dimness wore slowly away 
 until its surface, even to Zingari, appeared to be unusually 
 bright and glistening. Thus it remained for a time longer 
 and nothing yet could be seen upon it except the shadow 
 of some passing cloud. John Valiant, now more doubtful 
 turned to look at his old gypsy companion, but quick as 
 his glance fell again upon the mirror, he observed a face— 
 a woman's face— one of the most interesting, if not to him 
 one of the most beautiful which he had ever beheld. So 
 absorbed did he become with the fascinating pictun , that 
 he actually hold Zingari by the arm lest she should with- 
 draw from his view that which seemed to rivet his gaze, 
 and to produce the strangest, yet the most pleasing emo- 
 tions. The old gypsy woman herself was somewhat sur- 
 prised ; she knew the face at a glance ; it was not that 
 which she wished to have appear, but when she saw the 
 effect which it produced upon one so guarded and unde- 
 monstrative as her visitor, she was secretly pleased and 
 wished to indulge the eager gaze of the observer to the 
 fullest extent. 
 
 •* Beautiful 1 Who is this ? Who is she ?" said he at last 
 without removing his eyes from the mirror. 
 
 "Another friend,'* replied Zingari, "whom you have 
 never yet seen ; but whom you may shortly meet." 
 
 ' • Another friend I Can it be so ? I would be glad, would 
 
 K 
 
^im 
 
 k 
 
 322 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 'hi; i 
 
 
 be delighted to find such a one now. Strange," said ho, 
 still gazing on tlie picture, " there is the very same ex- 
 pression—And you know her ?" said he turning to Zingari. 
 
 **Yes, ever since her childhoood. She has been my 
 friend, and one of the dearest friends of him whose name 
 you have seen on that slate." 
 
 '• Not his wife surely— not his wife ?" said Mr. Valiant, 
 in a tone of eager inquiry that brought a smile upon tho 
 face of the old gypsy woman. 
 
 ** No not his wife ; the wife of no man yet," replied she, 
 " happy will be he who can hereafter claim her as such." 
 
 He then turned to look at the lace again but lo! it had 
 disappeared ; his disappointment was plainly visible ; and 
 the surface of the mirror was again dim even in the sua 
 light which filled the wide opening of the spacious tent. 
 
 In his intercourse with women John Valiant had always 
 been diffident. Though his face was one which would 
 have readily enabled him to win his way in affairs of the 
 heart, yet there was not the least forwardness or assur- 
 ance in his disposition ; while at all times he showed the 
 greatest deference to the softer sex, he felt under perfect 
 control in their society ; and never perhaps did an impulse 
 toward them betray him into an act or expression beyond 
 that of the most rigid propriety. Yet now, even in the 
 presence of the old gypsy woman, he was conscious of 
 having exhibited a weakness— if such it can be called— 
 which made him feel rathe, abashed. His gaze of delight, 
 his expressions of admiration, his eager inquiries, told 
 their own story, and led him to imagine that he bad been 
 singularly unguarded, and that his indiscretion, or want of 
 caution, would perhaps be fully understood ; or, it might 
 be, misunderstood by Zingari. He would above all things 
 at the moment have liked to know the name of her whoso 
 image had so suddenly impressed him, but he dare not 
 ask, he could not venture to utter an inquiry ; and then 
 deeming it prudent he tried to affect indilTerence, but his 
 
 attempts in this direction were a positive failure. Yet 
 thoni^h his awkwardness of mannor and utterance had a 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH, 
 
 823 
 
 signiflcant meaning for Zingari ; she merely smiled at his 
 discomfiture, and for some reason offered no further infor- 
 mation concerning one in whom she knew he felt so inter- 
 ested. 
 
 As it was, he had a pregnant theme which enabled him 
 to revert to another matter, and escape from his embar- 
 rassment—what of his son ? He did not even yet believe 
 that Zingari could give him reliable assurance of his 
 safety, or point in the direction in which he might bo 
 found; yet still his impulse was to inquire. There are 
 cases in which it affords a kind of relief to ask a question, 
 even when one scarcely expects to get a satisfactory re- 
 ply. The old gypsy woman had little over an hour since 
 told him that his boy was yet living— this he was inclined 
 to doubt and inclined to believe— but had she not siuco 
 then made revelations actually astounding, and he would 
 ask again. 
 
 Zingari saw that he was greatly troubled; and being 
 most desirous of affording him some encouraging acsur- 
 ance, told him that her impression was that he would soon 
 meet his son again, " though " said she in an under tone, 
 •' it may be in the midst of danger from which you both 
 will escape with difficulty." 
 
 In a short time afterward Mr. Valiant took leave of 
 Zingari and his other kind gypsy friends. A horse was in 
 waiting for him, and it was nearly Lun down when he left 
 the Heath. He was obliged to go to London agam, and 
 on his way had business to transact pt Pendell and ho hur- 
 ried to get to that village before dark. As he rode on he 
 thought of that beautiful face he had seen in the mirror, 
 and then of his old gypsy friend and of her very singular 
 revelations. What he had heard and seen in her presence 
 almost led him to believe that he was not in his right 
 mind. He who but very lately would have scoffed at any 
 reliance on witches or necromancers, was now, in his con- 
 fused state of mind partly under the impresion that he 
 must have been, to some extent, bewitched or controlled. 
 He had heard of spirit manifestations and of mediums, 
 
 Ml 
 
 '« Ml 
 
 i.ll' !i! 
 
324 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH, 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 Ma 
 
 
 and had been hitherto of the opinion that those were a 
 superstitious delusion, and these a set of fanatics or impos- 
 tors ; he even still believed that many of the numerous 
 clairvoyants and test mediums, and charlatans of Spirit- 
 ualism that resort to towns and cities, and advertise to 
 reveal secrets, and hold communication with the spirit 
 world, were too often to be found among those who try to 
 make a living by imposing upon the credulous. But what 
 could he say of Zingari, who, without pretension of any 
 kind, had given him clear evidence of a power that was to 
 him inexplicable; and, much as it conflicted with old 
 opinions and old prejudices he believed that it was but 
 manly and just to acknowledge that she was no deceiver ; 
 that much, if not all of what he had witnessed that day, 
 could not by any method of reasoning be ttributed to 
 the practice of any deceptive art; there might be, he 
 thought, some possible mode of explanation, but as it was, 
 he began to think there must be natural laws, physical 
 and mental, not as yet properly understood, and which 
 when better known must to a great extent change the 
 views of many of the prominent scientists and philoso- 
 phers that were already too dogmatic in establishing con- 
 clusions in accordance with their present scanty stock of 
 knowledge. 
 
 When he reached his quarters at Pendell he found the 
 people of the place in a state of great excitement. Some 
 disaster had happened, and he could hardly get an i;: .eli- 
 gible reply to his inquiries. His host was not to be z en 
 and those who hurried into and out of the tavern seemec] 
 to do so without any settled purpose. Anxious to know 
 what had occurred he went in a few minutes to Sarah Af- 
 ton's cottage, there he met old Stephen Gray who told him 
 that the landlord of the inn and two boatmen, had, after 
 breakfast that morning, sailed out on the bay toward the 
 lighthouse, with the rector of Pendell the Kev. Mr. Mor- 
 ton; that some returning fishermen had seen the boat 
 capsized by a sudden blast ; the landlord and the two men 
 being expert, had clung to the boat and were rescued, but 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 325 
 
 the rector could not be found, he had sank and was not 
 seen to rise again ; his body had been carried out to sea, 
 and would not in all probability ever be recovered. 
 
 Was this to be the first dark scene in the fulfilment of 
 Zingari's strange prediction ? George Morton the rector 
 of Pendell lying sepulchered in the deep sea, and unooffln- 
 ed beneath the heaving waves. 
 
 r«:f|;i: 
 
 ; <i 
 
 '^1 i 
 
.i"vV 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE LOST FOUND. 
 
 "TlOR over a week after the sad occurence on Pendell bay 
 -*- Miss Meade was unable to leave her room. The shock 
 caused by the news of the sudden death of the Rev. Mr. 
 Morton, had produced severe nervous effects which greatly 
 prostrated her. She did not, however, wish it to be sur- 
 mised that her indiposition was in any way attributable 
 to that disaster, although she was now fully satisfied that 
 were it not for the perverse infatuation of the Rector, 
 and his uncurbed desires for her society, he might still bo 
 among the living. It was now plain, that the passion in 
 which he had indulged year after year, was at last the 
 cause of his destruction ; and though she could have had 
 no reason to regret his loss, though he had obstinately 
 and persistently for a long period dared to harrass her 
 with what she considered unmanly and offensive atten- 
 tions, now, that she thought of his untimely end, of his 
 bereaved family, of his unprepared condition for eternity, 
 and of his body perhaps being tossed about upon the waves, 
 dashed against the rocks, or lying entangled fathoms 
 deep among the sea weeds, she could have forgiven ail, 
 and would have tried to forget the words and acts of him 
 who had given her so much annoyance, were it but possi- 
 ble to restore him to his weeping wife, and to a life which 
 he in a manner had forfeited. 
 
 On the morning of the fatal day on which the rector 
 had lost his life, some person had informed him that she 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. ' 
 
 had gone out on an excursion to the light house, and 
 thinking he might have a good opportunity of meeting 
 her there, he started off with the landlord of the inn and 
 two boatmen for that locality. His information respect- 
 ing Miss Meade's excursion was, however, incorrect, for in- 
 stead of having left in a boat for the light house as he had 
 been led to believe, she had walked out to visit a family 
 that resided about two miles from Pendell. As it was, she 
 could not reproach herself in the slighest degree for the 
 course she had pursued towards him. She had never at 
 any time, by word or deed, led him to imagine that his 
 professions to her could be considered other than insults 
 for which he would have been called certainly to answer, 
 were it not that she had to curb her indignation, and even 
 tolerate the presence of her persecutor rather than agitate 
 her father by making known to him the actual course of 
 conduct pursued by his clerical employer. O, how often 
 during these periods of her humilation did she wish for 
 her absent brother; his presence would have undoubtdly 
 relieved her from the hated attentions of the rector, and 
 have quickly taught that Rev. gentleman the value of 
 discretion when he came to know that she had such a 
 proctector so near. Now under a feeling of extreme de- 
 pression she thought again and again of him who had 
 been her earliest companion, and of his unaccountable 
 silence. Charles Meade, her brother, had not been heard 
 from for a long time, and the dreadful conjecture often 
 arose that his death alone could be the cause of his appar- 
 ent neglect. Letter after letter had remained unanswered 
 and as her father and herself had been informed in the 
 earlier ones which her brother had sent them that he was 
 obliged to lead a kind of wandering life in India, they 
 were in consequence of his neglect, or inability to com- 
 municate with them, unable to give the proper address to 
 any letter they might wish to send him, and were often 
 subject to apprehensions of the most painful nature. Then 
 she would think of her poor aged father, of him whose life 
 had been an almost constant struggle with difficulties, 
 
 »} i iiB..; -! 
 
 m 
 
 l.idii 
 
 If 
 
 '. f 
 
 1 
 
m 
 
 ■■M-- : *. 
 
 328 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 
 
 1 . 
 
 whose duties had been nearly unceasing, and who in his 
 decline was, mainly on her account, forced to deny himself 
 the necessary relaxation which his health demanded. It 
 was not long since that the unfortunate rector had plainly 
 intimated to her — and partly no doubt as a threat— that 
 her father was not able to perform his required duties, and 
 that he was retained as curate of Pendell out of considera- 
 tion for her. Who, thought she, is to be his next employer ? 
 Will my father be kept on to preach and to pray for a few 
 years longer with his old parishioners ? Will the greed of 
 a new rector cause his salary to be reduced, or will he be 
 thrown aside and superannuated and left to depend upon 
 the pittance o? charity which may be doled out by some 
 needy clerical society? The bishop of the diocese, the 
 Right Reverend Thomas Sumpter, has sufficient influence 
 to get the rich living of Pendell sold to a friend at a low 
 rate, or even presented to any particular favorite whom 
 he may recommend. On whom will it be bestowed ? Per- 
 haps some aristocratic fop, some reverend honvivant, or 
 some newly ordained obsequious creature, may come 
 among us as rector, to reap where he has not sown, to 
 pocket yearly over eight hundred pounds sterling for his 
 semi-annual visits, while some dainty young curate— a 
 slip shod theologist— a ladies' man skilled in archery and 
 familiar with croquet lawns, will be glad to come here and 
 preach pure and undefiled doctrines on Sundays, and flirt 
 about during the week days on a salary probably of less 
 than one-tenth of that which his rector is to receive for 
 the cure of souls at Pendell. Oh ! thought she, what a 
 monstrous system of injustice is the whole arrangement 
 for the sale or presentation of Church livings— making 
 merchandize of that which should be held sacred, inviting 
 the attention of keen speculators, and courting invest- 
 ments from the most unscrupulous worldlings. 
 
 There was a time when Esther Meade would not have 
 held such opinions respecting any thing connected with 
 the Church, or with the management of its secular afl'airs, 
 there we^ 3 long years during which she would have dread- 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 829 
 
 ed to cast a reflection on the conduct or even on the 
 motives of any of God's so-called servants, but she had 
 seen enough lately to convince her that though the doc- 
 trines of the Church might be pure, though its liturgy and 
 ceremonies might be scriptural, yet that its priests, more 
 particularly those of the higher order, were as sordid, as 
 intriguing, and as ambitious, as any other class of men, 
 and that their assumption of superiority as being the 
 " called of God," was simply one of the most flagrant im- 
 positions. A wonderful change had indeed taken place 
 in her opinions regarding those whom she once considered 
 as "the truly ordained successors of the apo.tles," and 
 whose authority in scriptural or ecclesiastical affairs 
 should be submitted to without a murmur. Now, how- 
 ever, she looked upon the majority of these pretentious 
 reverends and right reverends in a different light, for as 
 soon as her suspicions had been fairly aroused, she stud- 
 ied their characters and drew inferences from their con- 
 duct, and, from what she had discovered, had to conclude 
 that many, very many of them were little better than 
 what most of the poor of the parish designated them— 
 *' wolves in sheep's clothing ; shepherds that remorselessly 
 preyed upon the flock." 
 
 Pained as she was to be obliged to think so differently 
 of the clergy of her Church, the great majority of whom 
 she once believed to be beyond reproach, and every way 
 superior to the inflated preachers of dissent, she was now 
 willing to admit to the very few persons that had her con- 
 fidence, that from undoubted evidence, ministers of the 
 gospel were in some particular respects among the frailest 
 of mankind. And then forced in a manner to such a con- 
 clusion, other considerations would follow which at times 
 caused her great uneasiness. Can the doctrines which 
 such men teach be true? can those jealous, wrangling, 
 vituperative sects who are ambitious to have grand 
 churches and costly decorations— even though the widow 
 and the orphan should be houseless and hungry— and 
 whose preachers delight to be seen and known of men, 
 
 
 M 
 
 m 
 
 I- 
 
 iif< 
 
 Mm 
 
 
 mS| 
 
 i^r 
 
 m 
 
 
 m 
 
 , ! 
 
 ■V ' 
 
 ! 
 i 
 
 i'AL j 
 
 1 , 
 
330 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 :u J 
 
 it: t 
 
 
 ^w 
 
 can such as these, whose \ain desires belie their profes- 
 sions, be in any degree called humble followers of any 
 divine teacher, or the sole possessors of the only creed 
 which can be claimed as the basis of pure and undeflled 
 religion ? Are such teachers at all necessary, or would 
 morality and humanity be the gainers, were the whole 
 race extinct ? But here she was suddenly startled at ker 
 own approach toward skepticism, she dared not take 
 another step in advance. Where could such dangerous 
 reasoning lead her, but to that bleak unbelief whieh was 
 said to have left thousands without a hope in the future ; 
 for her reading and reflection had almost always led her 
 to suppose that disbelievers in revelation must be the 
 most self-convicted and unhappy of all God's crea- 
 tures. 
 
 One of the very few that ever had the confidence of 
 Esther Meade, was old Sarah Afton. Sarah had long been 
 made aware of the late rector's designs, and she had many 
 a time warned her young friend of his presence in tho 
 neighborhood. In every difficulty of any importance, 
 Miss Meade was sure to consult with this good woman ; 
 and now having sufficiently recovered from her late indis- 
 position, she once more made her way toward Sarah's 
 cottage. 
 
 "Ah, bless me, sweet child, but I'm glad to see you out 
 again ; why, deary, you look as well as ever. When Stephen 
 was here yestreen he told me you wanted to go to the 
 church again to-night to try the organ ; better wait a bit 
 longer ; in another day or so it would be little risk and 
 your music might be better." 
 
 **No risk now whatever," replied Esther, *' Ifeel quite 
 recovered, I told you when you called to see me two days 
 ago, that if I could not pray for the soul of him who had 
 departed, I must at least play a reqiuem to his memory ; 
 a requiem in proof of my forgiveness." 
 
 "Dear child, you could do naught else than forgive— 'tis 
 your nature. May God forgive him too ! Rector Morton 
 had much to answer for; his spirit may come again to tho 
 
. I" 
 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 old church when you play ; if any spell can bring it back 
 11 must be your music." 
 
 "I feel anxious, mother, to let my feelings speak, and 
 only through the organ can I truly tell my pity for his 
 fato. I want to touch those keys, and should his spirit 
 come I would that the music of my poor pardon could 
 bring it nearer to eternal rest." 
 
 "God bless your affectionate heart, dear child! O, 
 what a paradise this distracted world might have been if 
 human creatures had forgiven one another just as you 
 have forgiven this man who caused you so many hours of 
 vexation and trouble ?" 
 
 "Well, mother, let us only hope that he has found 
 mercy ; I will go to the church to-night with Stephen, and 
 when I leave it, I shall try to forget forever the misconduct 
 of him who can never injure another." 
 
 "Ah me, ah me," said old Sarah, "what a fate; who 
 would have thought it ! When I saw him pass here less 
 than two weeks ago, a healthy man, but may be with 
 bad notions in his head— I little thouj^ht when he was 
 riding down that hill slope yonder, thai he was so soon 
 to find his grave imder the waves way out in the Bay — my, 
 my, my, may God preserve us all from such an end!" 
 Then after a li^tlo reflection she continued '. " But, deary, 
 has your kind father returned from Storkchester, you 
 must be rather lonely ao the parsonage in his absence ? " 
 
 "He has not returnc^d yet," replied Esther, "he left 
 yesterday morning and may not be back until to-morrow 
 —he may return to-night. Some friends urged him to go 
 on to Storkchester and call on the bishop ; they got seve- 
 ral signatures to some kind of a document in his favor ; 
 indeed I think nearly all in the parish signed it. Yet I 
 fear it will be of little service ; money, or the influence of 
 some titled man of fashion, will of course be most likely 
 to secure the appointment to the rectorship; my father 
 who has been here so long only wants to try and retain 
 his present humble position ; he would ]ike to be continued 
 as curate; that's all he would seek— the people I know 
 
 l-irii ' 
 
 ■1:1 
 
 ' ; ill 
 
 
 I 
 
i' 
 
 
 
 ^, ,. •(:■ 
 
 332 
 
 THE HEA-THENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 want him— and he is gone to solicit hia lordship to say 
 something in his behalf." 
 
 "Of course he will, of course he will," said Sarah 
 eagerly, "of course the bishop will help him." 
 
 "But bless you, mother," continued Esther with some 
 touch of irony, " the bishop has, I suppose, too many 
 weighty matters to settle, to allow his mind to be dis- 
 turbed by such a trifling affair as my father would bring to 
 his notice; beside his lordship might not like to inter- 
 fere with the business arrangements— with the pounds, shil- 
 lings, and pence matters— of the new rector, who may 
 want some favorite to act as his curate at Pendell, or some 
 very needy parson who may be glad to offer his clerical 
 services for may be less than forty pounds a year; my 
 father, you know, had sixty from Mr. Morton." 
 
 "Old Sarah Afton remained thoughtful for a few mo- 
 ments and then exclaimed : " Deary, deary, such a thing 
 could never be allowed; never. What! send him away 
 who has been a kind minister among us so long, and let 
 another take his place? Never, dear child, the people 
 would never allow it! the bishop would never allow it! 
 What is the bishop for, and what is the Church for, if such 
 a thing could happen ? " 
 
 "The bishop," said Miss Meade calmly, " is one ap- 
 pointed to rule the people of his diocese, and to pay as 
 little attention as he likes to their wishes. He lives in a 
 palace, he is driven about in his carriage, and has servants 
 in livery to attend him ; he confirms some here and there ; 
 he ordains a few in his cathedral, and imparts his solemn 
 blessing to the congregation in it on Sundays; he gives 
 grand dinners and champagne ; he dines out and drinks 
 the richest wines ; and at the end of the year he draws his 
 princely salary of over six thousand pounds— how much 
 our high-priest at Storkchester gives the poor out of that 
 is, through his great modesty, only known to himself." 
 
 "That's what a bishop is for mother.* Now I shall tell 
 
 * See Note u. An opinion of the Ohurch of England bishoDS by 
 the Church Herald. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 333 
 
 you what the church is for. It will soon bo no place 
 for the poor or the humble; in every city and town in 
 the kingdom it will soon bo no longer a plain, simple edi- 
 fice, but a structure of polished marble of vast and magni- 
 ficent proportions and exterior; the interior will bo 
 gorgeous with windows of stained glass; with silken 
 cushions, and carpets of the richest material ; with costly 
 statues of dead heroes, and dead prelates ; with pictures, 
 and with a profusion of texts and other decorations in 
 silver and gold ; it is to be a palace to which the noble, the 
 wealthy and the titled can resort in all their pomp and 
 glory, perhaps to exhibit the latest fashions, or to listen 
 to operatic stars who are richly paid to chant the praises 
 of God. Besides this, the Church will be, as it has long 
 been, the mart for certain speculators, and a hive of wealth 
 in which numerous clerical drones can fatten at the ex- 
 pense of the whole community." 
 
 " 'Deed, but you surprise me child," said old Sarah, 
 scarcely able to comprehend all that had just been said. 
 
 **No, my poor simple friend," said Esther, "you know 
 but little about these things ; but they have been forced 
 upon my notice for some time ; they are also startlingly 
 apparent to others. The whole Christian Church has 
 been debauched by wealth ; the very sects have been cor- 
 rupted, and they try to vie even with us, and to rival one 
 another, in their love for extravagant display ; and all this 
 though paupers increase, and the pleadings of the poor 
 become more and more pitiful. But hear me," said she 
 with increased energy, " there must be another revolution 
 in England before long; and a greater than Luther must 
 soon come with no half measures, but with a vast and 
 sweeping reformation. " 
 
 Sarah Af ton still looked with surprise at the vehement 
 manner of the young lady, and though she was somewhat 
 in doubt as to the meaning of her hurried words, she was 
 content to suppose that they related to the present uncer- 
 tain position of her father, the curate. "I'm sure what 
 you say is correct," said the sympathizing woman, "I'm 
 
 ? * ! 
 
 1 I I 
 
334 
 
 THE HEATHEN8 OP THE HEATH, 
 
 i . f-< 
 
 ':» 
 
 
 
 9iu 'tj' 
 
 quite sure of that, but dear young lady, come what may- 
 even the worst— your good kind father will not bo without 
 friends. I know of one who will bo his friend, and who 
 will not let him suffer at the hands of the rector, or bibliop, 
 or pope, or anybody else ; a good man who has served us 
 all since he came among us. But I heard you say that 
 you had never yet seen him ; that's strange, my dear ; but 
 now I remember you were away at the rector's in London 
 when he came here first; and you were away when ho 
 called at the parsonage ; but you will see him hero soon 
 and then I know you will like him just as well as we all 
 do ; even old Zingari the gypsy who is so particular thinks 
 he is the finest man living." 
 
 This indirect allusion to one who had long been in Miss 
 Meade's thoughts, and who she believed was the same 
 person that Zingari also had reference to, caused a blush 
 to spread over Esther's cheek while her old friend was 
 speaking ^x him. The face that she had unexpectedly 
 seen in Zingari's mirror had made a sin; ' impression ; 
 it was at times vividly before her ; it even came to her in 
 her dreams. Yet what was remarkable, even to herself, 
 she somehow dreaded to make the least inquiry, lest sIk* 
 should be suspected of taking an unusua. interest in the 
 individual that all seemed to praise. At last she ventured to 
 ask with suppressed voice, "Was Mr. Valiant here lately?" 
 
 " Ay dear, he was— let me see, a week— nearly two weeks 
 ap^o ; he was here the very day that the rector was drown- 
 ed. He sat with us for over an hour in the gloaming, and 
 he talked with me and Stephen about the rector and his 
 sad end, and about yota: father, and about yourself— ay, 
 so kindly too about you, deary ; he even asked me what 
 your face was like, and then what I told him about your 
 sweet countenance, seemed as if to set him a thinking, 
 and after that he sat there where you are now without 
 saying a word for a long while ; he did not say much more 
 to us that evening but soon afterward went away. He 
 must be back about this time, I think— Oh I know you 
 will Mke him very much." 
 
 m»i 
 
♦ i'. 
 
 THE HEATUENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 335 
 
 Esther Moiidc was looking out upon the shaded path- 
 way through the diamond shaped panes of the cottage 
 window ; slie was looking out vacantly, and could neither 
 Bee the bay, the lighthouse, nor the church tower; all 
 before her at the moment seemed to be vacancy. She felt 
 her cheeks burning, and her thoughts becoming singu- 
 larly confused. A strange palpitation and a dimness of 
 sight brought on a feeling of weakness. She tried hard 
 to appear calm, and to escape the notice of her old friend ; 
 and in a short time when she had become more collected, 
 she changed the subject of conversation, and made some 
 remark about her brother. 
 
 •' There," said Sarah, *' my dream is out ! What do you 
 think, deary ? I dreamt last night about your brother 
 Charles, and I quite forgot it until you mentioned his 
 name. These dreams are strange anyway. I thought 
 that I saw you and him out on the Bay, as you used to be 
 long ago, and thai a storm arose, and that great fishes put 
 up their heads around your boat ; and then you both saw 
 rector Morton, who was lost, floating about on a plank, 
 and that you pulled him in, and after a good deal of 
 trouble, brought him safe to land. Now wasn't that a 
 curious dream, and what can be its meaning ? " 
 
 *' Nothing ©f any consequence you may be sure," said 
 Miss Meade, "I never pay much attention to dreams of 
 any kind. A dream is but the shadow of the memory; it 
 may give you the dim outlines of that which has passed ; I 
 scarcely think it will raise the veil to give one a glimpse of 
 the future." 
 
 After some further conversation about her brother, 
 Esther took her leave and went back to the parsonage in 
 the hope that she would see her father return before sun- 
 set. 
 
 That night at the usual hour old Stephen Gray was 
 again under the porch at the church door. It was gusty, 
 and the rushing wind moaned through the cypress trees, 
 and set the numerous willows growing around, to wave 
 mournfully over the tombs and little mounds in the 
 
 • Hi.1 
 
 
'4: 
 
 3dG 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 t^ V ■ 
 
 !'■ ■ ■■ 
 
 grave yard. Esther came but she was not alone, she had 
 met old Zingari in the dim pathway leading to the build- 
 ing, .md they entered the cnurch together. 
 
 In a few minutes afterward Esther commenced her 
 requiem, and the listeners that heard her sad strains 
 might have fancied that she was using her utmost skill as 
 if to reanimate him who had been lately cast away. It came 
 upon the ear like the faintest murmurs of grief, and then 
 in waves of exquisite melody that would touch the heart 
 of the most obdurate, and then came pitiful sounds, and 
 tender syncopated passages like sobs, and plaintive har- 
 mony, that some would think ought to have made angela 
 weep, or have stirred the dead that lay around the grey 
 old sanctuary. But though angels may not be able to 
 yield to emotions of sorrow, human beings have still the 
 solace of teirs, and old Stephen's eyes were filled when he 
 thought of the sad fate of the rector whom he had known 
 so long ; and Zingari, who sat alone in one of the darkest 
 corners of the church, was weeping, weeping again per- 
 haps for Adrian and for her children. 
 
 And if the doad stirred not, or if the spirit of the lost 
 rector cnuid not appear, those wonderful sounds then 
 borne away on the night wind which had now increased 
 almost to a gale, must have been heard by some passiug 
 stranger and have lured him to the spot. Old Stephen 
 V ho sp.c near the door, saw a person enter and stand list- 
 ening like one enchanted by the mournful cadences and 
 wonderful melody that filled the place ; his features could 
 not be seen in the gloom, and he stood aside, as if he did 
 not wish to be recognized by any one present. 
 
 Before the requiem was ended, and during a pause iu 
 the musical composition, the gale was heard at its height, 
 the old building seemed to tremble, and the hanging ivy 
 was swept against the gothio windows. There was anothei 
 paube, and during the interval the sound of a distant guD 
 was heard on the Bay— terrible signal so near the mid- 
 night hour! A ship in distress! T^^ere, that dreadful 
 boom again, and the stranger, who seemed to understand 
 
le had 
 build- 
 
 }d hoi 
 strains 
 ikill as 
 t came 
 d then 
 } heart 
 is, and 
 ire har- 
 angela 
 10 grey 
 able to 
 (till the 
 rhen he 
 known 
 darkest 
 An per- 
 
 ,he lost 
 Is then 
 creased 
 passing 
 Jtephen 
 md list- 
 ces and 
 }3 could 
 E he did 
 
 lause in 
 height, 
 ;ing ivy 
 anothei 
 ant gun 
 he mid- 
 ireadt'nl 
 erstand 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 337 
 
 the fearful meaning, rushed out at once into the storm. 
 
 On a particular headland, overlooking Pendell Bay, a 
 number of persons had hurriedly collected. They had 
 heard the distant guns, and people who reside near a 
 dangerous coast can readily understand their appalling 
 significance. The scene before them was terrific. Tho 
 towering billows, as if madly bent on destruction, rushed 
 wildly upwards as if determined to blot out at once tho 
 only star that dared for a moment to appear above tho 
 whirling demon-clouds of the desolate sky. There seemed 
 to be a league among the terrible forces of the storm king 
 —among the black monsters of the air and the f rantio 
 waves of the sea, led on by tempest or hurricane to rend 
 the heavens and to uproot the foundations of the earth, 
 and at the moment the fearful might imagine that no con- 
 trolling power could ever again sweep away the hideous 
 clouds from on high, or curb the infernal revelry of the 
 deep, or silence the continued roar of the tumultuous 
 waters. 
 
 What appeared to be a large ship, from her many lights 
 which could now and then be seen, was yet far out, but 
 from her drifting course was evidently unmanageable and 
 fast heading towards the rocks. On she came, heedless 
 as a maniac ; on she came in the horrid uproar of the ele- 
 ments—recklessly onwara ; on before the gale— on, on, on, 
 rushing and bounding frantically onward, as if eager to 
 appease the ocean fiend by her sacrifice or self-destruction. 
 
 Most of those now assembled had met here, probably 
 more out of eager curiosity to witness a disaster than, on 
 such a night, to run a great risk by attempting to pre- 
 vent it. 
 
 A few of a certain class who had often seen ships strand- 
 ed or wrecked, now stole away from the others and lurk- 
 ing hero and there by projections on the sides of the cliff, 
 pre[.ared to wait for hours, and to watch like vultures for 
 the catastrophe ; to wait for what the sea might cast up— 
 for either jetsam or flotsam— ready, in this Christian land, 
 to cut open a bale of silk, breach a cask of rum, or to 
 
 ts 
 
 '^nm 
 
 
 ar : 
 
 aiii' 
 
 ,41^'' 
 
 uktt% ] 
 
 
 I > I 
 
m 
 
 338 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 I)lunder the bruised and battered body of a dead sailor. 
 In the midst of the principal group who stood together, 
 two o^ three persons held great torches which threw u 
 lurid and fitful light on the terrible scene before them, 
 and while all seemed to be irresolute, one who was a kind 
 of itinerant preacher stepped a little aside and with sol- 
 emn but stentorian voice proposed prayer. He said, that, 
 as those now far out on the deep among rocks and quick- 
 sands were evidently beyond all human aid, all present 
 should ask the God of the storm and the tempest to como 
 to their deliverance. 
 
 "Stay! no prayer now," cried a woman who hurried in 
 among them in an excited manner, "try to deliver the ui 
 first yourselves, and let God help them al'terwards ; and 
 you," said she, addressing the preacher, "should show a 
 good example, if you have faith that He who is said to 
 have power to still the winds and the waves, will come to 
 their assistance. " 
 
 Not one yet moved at the bidding of her who had just 
 spoken, but the preacher replied: "I have faith, but it 
 may be for a wise purpose that this thing is to happen ; 
 should Providence, in His mysterious designs, bring this 
 disaster on some— for nothing can take place without His 
 consent— He will undoubtedly send blessings in abund- 
 ance to others." 
 
 " Oh! cowardly prophet of evil! " retorted the woman, 
 Btill excited, "if your God is all powerful, what wise or 
 mysterious purpose can there be in a mandate to bring 
 misery and destruction on human beings ? Has He at this 
 time changed His nature and become a demon, in order 
 to prove His benevolence and to send blessings on others ? 
 Has He just issued His dread command to the elements to 
 go on and destroy? Has He thus said to them in His 
 fury: 'Awake, wild tempest of the night, and swell thy 
 horrid throat in shrieks of frenzy 1 Blot out each linger- 
 ing star, and wrap the heavens in gloom, and let thy spec- 
 tral clouds rush on in tumult through the maddened air! 
 Let the dark forest crash beneath thy tread; lettremb- 
 
 
 'i' 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 330 
 
 ling hills in fear appeal, and moaning peaks and moun- 
 tains cower at thy roar I Startle thy mighty giants of the 
 deep, and lash them onward in their furious course ! O'er- 
 whelm great ships and feed thy hungry billows with the 
 dead, and let thy black destruction be complete by gulph- 
 ing down alike in turbulent waves the virtuous and the 
 vile.'" 
 
 " Think you, you praying coward," continued she, still 
 addressing the preacher, " that your God is so like a fiend 
 as to issue such a command, and if He has, have you the 
 presumption to believe that your shouting or beseeching 
 will induce Him to counteract it? Fooll you belie the 
 Great Maker I If you wish to serve Him truly now, keep 
 your supplications for another time, and go and make an 
 effort to assist His creatures in distress ! " 
 
 The preacher made no reply. The men around looked 
 at the woman —it was old Zingari that spoke. She was 
 well known to most present, and with some her words 
 and wierd appearance at the time and place seemed to 
 have produced the desired effect. A few men hurried 
 away to render any assistance they could, but the preach- 
 er and a few others remained still fearful or undecided, 
 or perhaps they were still anxious to put the prayer of 
 fiiith to the test in the hope that One would come with 
 mighty power, and say to the storm : "Peace, be still." 
 
 By this time the ship had swept past the lighthouse and 
 was rapidly approaching a dangerous reef within the bay. 
 She appeared to be a large Indiaman, and only one torn, 
 fluttering sail could be seen, and one of her shattered 
 musts hung over the side, rendering it still more impossi- 
 ble to change her course. Those on board appeared to 
 exhibit the greatest coolness and daring in this extremity, 
 but in spite of all efforts the ship seemed destined for 
 <lestruction, and was borne swiftly onwards until at last 
 she crashed upon the rocks about a hundred yards from 
 the shore. 
 
 Then indeed it was that gallant men were seen rushing 
 along the beach as if determined to run every risk in order 
 
 
 :m 
 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 
 '■ »j 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 :'M 
 
 
 ■:i * 
 
 ,. t 
 
 \ iii; S 
 
 ■! 
 
 ;i* n 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 ■ 1' 
 
 V\ 
 
9 ?t' 
 
 ^m 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 i%h 
 
 I it ill iJ 
 
 
 w 
 
 5* mn I,, 
 
 to rescue those on board the doomed vessel from the I or- 
 rible fate that seemed to await them. A life-boat and one 
 or two other boats were quickly manned and sent out, bi;t 
 owing to some mismanagement or to the heavy, danger- 
 0U3 sea that had to be encountered, the boats were speed- 
 ily dashed back, and it was with great difficulty that some 
 of the adventurous men were saved from a watery grave. 
 After another and another effort to get off the boats, it 
 was found impossible to get outside the towering waves 
 that rushed far up on the shore with terrific violence. 
 Two of the ordinary boats had been battered to pieces, 
 and most of their crews so severely injured as to render 
 them incapable of attempting any further assistance. At 
 this time, when many began to despair of being able to 
 rescue a single soul, one who appeared to be thoroughly 
 resolute and undaunted, got a few men together and after 
 much trouble righted one of the boats and had it drawn 
 some distance and launched again at a point where the 
 direct rush of the waves was diverted fro a the beach by a 
 ledge that ran out some distance. He then hastily choso 
 four stout sea-faring men and entered the boat with thoni, 
 and just as they had pushed off, a woman muffled lu^ 
 sprang into it, and at once ooized the helm just as it was 
 about to be taken by another. Whether the men were 
 surprised at her daring or wished to get rid of her as an 
 incumbrance, they discovered before they had procecdoil 
 many yard?, that she was no novice in the situation, and 
 that from her cool and fearless manner, and the skilful 
 way in which she headed the boat in the plunging waters 
 that she was likely to be of very great assistance to them 
 in their perilous course. As the night was dark the person 
 who was in command, and who served as a look out, liad 
 to kneel in the bow and to hold firmly on by the sides of 
 the boat ; the stout men labored hard, and yet it was wiHi 
 the greatest difflculty they could make any progress. 
 Many who watched them from the headland feared wIkmi 
 they disappeared at times that they were engulphed in ilv> 
 waves, while others trembling with apprehension occa 
 
<'*',i 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 341 
 
 he t er- 
 ,iid one 
 >ut, bi:t 
 lanj^'er- 
 ( speed- 
 it sonic 
 r grave. 
 )oats, it 
 ! waves 
 Lolencc. 
 pieces, 
 > render 
 ice. At 
 able to 
 roughly 
 nd after 
 it drawn 
 tiere the 
 ach by a 
 ly choHO 
 ththeni, 
 ffled up 
 as it was 
 en were 
 or as an 
 :oceedo<l 
 ion, an<l 
 e skilful 
 g waters 
 to them 
 e person 
 out, ha«l 
 sides of 
 was witl\ 
 iroj?r(v^s. 
 ■ed when 
 ed in tlv^ 
 on occa- 
 
 sionally turned aside as if unable to witness a fresh calam- 
 ity ; and in a short time afterward, when the boat had 
 become hidden in the darkness, very few present expect- 
 ed to see it ever return. 
 
 More than an hour had now passed, all on shore were 
 in a state of dreadful uncertainty, and those on board the 
 doomed ship expected every moment it would go to pieces, 
 and that they should be hurled among the breakers. As it 
 was, almost all on the ship had to cling to the rigging, for 
 the vessel had struck so hard that it remained immovable 
 as if wedged between monstrous rocks, and at intervals 
 the sea dashed against it and swept its entire length of 
 deck with great impetuosity. 
 
 At the very moment when hope had almost left every 
 breast, a loud report was heard, a curving light was seen 
 to rush through the air, from the shore to the ship ; a line 
 had reached it, a stout cable was with some difficulty 
 hauled on board, and connection with the land at last es- 
 tablished, through which nearly all on board were safely 
 brought to shore. 
 
 However, before an individual was saved that night by 
 the chance means now afforded by the cable, the joy 
 and surprise of all was heard in one wild exclamation 
 when the struggling boat, yet in great danger, was seen 
 returning. The brave woman was still at the helm, every 
 man was still in his place, and two or three women and as 
 many children, taken from the wreck, were seen crouched 
 down among them. Loud shouts of delight were again 
 heard even above the storm ; a number of persons rushed 
 down and onward even into the surf to receive those who 
 luid so miraculously escaped ; several torches gave suffi- 
 cient light to see all that were in the boat; and when it 
 was again dashed far up on the sloping beach, he who had 
 held command was the first to step ashore drenched and 
 bareheaded, the others soon followed, and while he was 
 assisting out the heroine who had so skillfully kept the 
 helm and guided them out and back on their perilous way, 
 t lie covering tell from her head and revealed the features 
 
 1 '. ■! 
 
342 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 of her whom he had seen in the mirror— the feature ol 
 the woman of his dreams— the now pale but expressive 
 face of Esther Meade! But it was not long pale, for 
 quickly, even in the dim, flickering light, a blush could be 
 seen to suffuse her countenance when she gazed in return 
 upon the manly and noble features of John Valiant. 
 
 Just then he looked around, as if to glance at those 
 whom he had helped to rescue, his eyes became fixed upon 
 a dark haired handsome Asiatic woman who held a trem- 
 bling boy by the hand. As soon as she observed him her 
 gaze grew intense, she grasped his hand and muttered 
 some words of surprise in a foreign tongue. '* Good God ! 
 is it Ranee?" 
 
 "Yes," replied she, ** it is Ranee ; you have saved her 
 life— you have saved us both," and then pointing to the 
 boy at her side she said : " Yes, I am Ranee ; and this is 
 Edgar your lost soni " 
 
 ^i-iiN' 
 
 ■■^: 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A LONG J3UBNEY, 
 
 TT was three days after the death of the rector of Pen- 
 •*• dell before the idea occurred to any one of suggesting 
 to the curate, that he might do himself a service by 
 calling on the bishop, to solicit his recommendation to 
 whoever might become the new incumbent of the parish. 
 The Rev. Mr. Meade, in his simplicity, had never given 
 the matter a thought. He had been curate of Pendell for 
 more than thirty years, and had, as he fancied, served 
 acceptably under different rectors in that parish. No one 
 had ever uttered the least complaint against him ; no one 
 had ever accused him of unfaithfulness, and, though liv- 
 ing in an age of wavering opinions, and even of positive 
 doubt and disbelief, yet, like many other skeptical priests, 
 he had never allowed his private notions respecting inspi- 
 ration, or prophecy, or miracles to interfere with his 
 duties, and had therefore never been called to an account 
 by any clerical superior, for teaching false doctrines, her- 
 esy, or schism. What then had he to fear ? He was, in 
 his own opinion, still able to perform the duties of curate ; 
 he had never imagined that any one would accuse him of 
 being too old, and, under these circumstances, he felt 
 quite confident— quite secure of his position— and could not 
 realize that, after his long services, he could be turned 
 adrift to make way for a stranger. 
 
 Having listened to what his friends had to say, and 
 having tried to convince them that their distrust was 
 
 ■f 
 
 1 ;*| 
 
 
 ! M 
 
 i' ( 
 
'II 1 
 
 i4 '<i' r 
 
 <ttf. 
 
 H 1 
 
 
 In 
 
 344 
 
 THTiJ HEATHENS OP THE HEATH, 
 
 altogothor groundless, he consented that they should 
 draw up a memorial in his behalf to the bishop, and get 
 it signed ; and he did this, as he did many other things, 
 more to gratify his anxious well-wishers, than because ho 
 considered such a proceeding necessary. In every matter, 
 however, of any importance, relating to the welfare of 
 those depending on him, he was sure to consult his daugh- 
 ter ; but as she was very much indisposed at the time, he 
 said but little to her on the subject, yet he said sufiQcient 
 to cause her to urge him to comply with the desire of his 
 parishioners ; for from what she had once heard the lato 
 rector say, she well knew that he would have had very 
 little consideration for her father, who was retained as 
 curate merely as a favor, or rather out of regard for her; 
 and that as a new rector might be disposed to make a 
 change, yet though the bishop might not care to interfere 
 it was barely possible he might be induced to recommend 
 her father were he to go himself and present the mo^ 
 morial. 
 
 Storkchester was forty miles from Pendell ; forty miles 
 and no railroad connection between these places. What 
 a distance in the imagination of the curate! Mr. Meado 
 was no traveler; he had never seen a foreign city, and 
 during many years had seldom gone further than eight 
 or ten miles from his own house, unless it were on occa- 
 sions when he had to join with the clergy of other parishes 
 as a kind of escort to the bishop, while on his visitations 
 through certain parts of the diocese. The great distance 
 to Storkchester was a perplexity to poor Mr. Meade. 
 There was the regular stage, to be sure, he could go by 
 that, but it did not pass until nearly noon, and then if the 
 roads should be heavy, he would be dropped at a stranpfo 
 place long after midnight. What an unpleasant reflection ! 
 And yet there was something worse than all this— yes, 
 actually worse— there was the expense; nearly half a 
 guinea for an inside passenger, and then to be crowded, 
 and crushed, and knocked about to make more room for 
 babies and bandboxes. What food for doleful consid- 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 345 
 
 should 
 •ind get 
 things, 
 ause ho 
 matter, 
 Ifare of 
 
 daugh- 
 ;ime, he 
 ifllcient 
 e of his 
 the late 
 ad very 
 i,ined as 
 for her ; 
 
 make a 
 nterfero 
 )mraenfl 
 the me«- 
 
 ty miles 
 What 
 Meado 
 ity, and 
 an eight 
 on occa- 
 parishes 
 sitations 
 distance 
 Meade. 
 Id go by 
 en if the 
 stran^o 
 flection ! 
 lis— yes, 
 half a 
 rowded, 
 'oom for 
 consid- 
 
 eration ! A place on the outside would not, of course, 
 cost so much, but just think, at his time of life, of having 
 to cling to the seat alongside of the driver, even if he were 
 so fortunate as to secure that position ; and to have the 
 cold wind, or perhaps the rain in his face, or finding a 
 free passage through his wrappings and his thin surtout, 
 caused him to shudder; and, worse still, what would it be 
 were he obliged to try and climb and find his way to the 
 top of the coach, and, while in that dangerous spot, to be 
 stowed away among rollicking sailors, and others as bad, 
 who might have no rcgjird for his fear or trembling, and 
 only laugh at his efforts to hold on to his rickety elevation ; 
 and be also compelled to listen to a round of uproarious 
 songs, and a long love ditty by some drunken soldier 
 returning on his furlou.;h, and a chorus from all; and 
 wild shoutings upon their arrival at every tavern or stop- 
 ping place. The idea of such an experience harassed 
 him very much; he would have willingly given up all 
 uolion of leaving home, if he could only convince his 
 friends that his case was not urgent. Alas! poor man, 
 what was he to do ? 
 
 In this extremity, a neighbor came to his assistance, 
 whoso kind offer relieved him in a measure from the per^^. 
 plexed condition in which he had been since he had com- 
 menced to brood over troubles that he fancied must be 
 incident to so long a journey. This good parishioner had 
 business to transact in a little mirket town within ten 
 miles of Storkchester, and he would be happy to drive his 
 Reverence that far ; and afterwards a chance might offer 
 whereby he could get the remainder of -the way without 
 much or any difficulty. In addition to this, others of his 
 friends, under the impression tht*t his funds were rather 
 limited, got up a little sum for him, quite sufficient to 
 meet his expenses, and he was spared reflections of a 
 peculiar kind by this timely benevolence. 
 
 As it was, therefore, destined that he should leave his 
 home, great preparations were made. Old Sarah Afton 
 had called to see Miss Meade, and suggested what to get 
 
 U* 
 
 ij 
 
346 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 
 
 i ' 
 
 Ill ) 
 
 ready, and what might be necessary to pack up for his 
 Reverence. A little trunk was filled, and the following is 
 a fair inventory of most of its contents : His best suit, 
 which, by good care, had been kept in a very tolerable 
 state of perservatioii for the last ten years. Think of it, 
 he might be asked to dine with his lordsliip and a select 
 comx)any of divines, and the curate of Pendell must, of 
 course, appear to advantage; his finest shirt, starched 
 and ironed to perfection, had ever so many wrappings to 
 keep it spotless ; there were cravats, handkerchiefs, and 
 bands, and a pair of gloves that a rich bridegroom had 
 once presented to him, that he had not worn for — oh, ever 
 80 long a time, all packed most carefully; then alonu- 
 with these, by the wise forethought of Sarah, a piece of 
 nice cake was stowed away, and a small bottle of a peculiar 
 cordial was snugly hidden, in case the curate, while in a 
 strange place, might have an attack of asthma, or rheu- 
 matism, or cholera; and by the recommendation of Miss 
 Meade, half a dozen of her father's best sermons were put 
 in— not any of the second-hand productions which could 
 be purchased for about a shilling apiece, but pious dis- 
 courses which she had helped him to write— he might bo 
 detained over Sunday, and requested to preach in tlie 
 cathedral, and it would be well to let a fashionable con- 
 gregation hear, if for once in their lives, plain words 
 which might humble the proud, and teach the wealthy 
 how to serve God by exhibiting a more humane regard for 
 such of His distressed creatures as needed assistance. 
 
 It was long beyond the curate's hour for retiring wh^n 
 the little trunk was at last packed, locked, and labelled ; 
 he looked at it complacently after the heavy task was 
 finished, and put it almost tenderly aside in a corner of 
 the room ; and just before he extinguished his li&ht and 
 got into bed, he went and again examined the straps and 
 the lock of that which contained his trifling bulk of bair- 
 gage in order to be satisfied that all was secure. An 
 early start in the morning was necessary, and he must rise 
 betimes so ab to cause no delay. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 347 
 
 But poor Mr. Meade could get no sleep— not a wink ; 
 his brain was, as it were, in a state of commotion ; he fan- 
 cied himself already traveling o'^'^r hill and dale leavinj? 
 far behind him those he knew, and entering a land of 
 strangers. And then when he got into the crowded city, 
 how would he address his lordship ; whom would he meet, 
 and to whom would he be introduced in the episcopal resi- 
 dence ; and what would be his feelings were he requested 
 to enter the richly cushioned pulpit of the cathedral— a 
 thing not unlikely— and stand before a city congregation 
 as a preacher— his heart sunk at the bare idea! At the 
 moment he would have most willingly given up all notion 
 of leaving home, and relinquish a claim to a bishopric, 
 could he only prevail upon his importunate well-wishers 
 to let him remain. 
 
 No sleep for him yet! Would his good clothes be 
 creased or injured in that trunk— his slippers had been 
 forgotten, he must not leave them behind, he might be 
 able to put them in his hat, or in his great coat pocket— 
 Ah, but not in his hat, he must wear his best one all the 
 way— what a pity ! he had only worn it on very particular 
 occasions, and had kept it as smooth and nearly as new as 
 when Esther made him a present of it seven years ago 
 last Christmas, and now it might get soiled on the road by 
 dust or by rain even though he had hali-a-dozon handker- 
 chiefs tied around it. And those creaking boots were 
 provoking ; he had actually stamped in them all the way 
 to and from church, and out around the lawn every Sun- 
 day for the last twelve months, still they creaked as bad 
 as ever— he hated creakers— he would like to pass through 
 the world quietly, without attracting- much notice, but 
 how was it possible for him to do so with such boots ; the 
 congregation were sure to turn their heads when he walk- 
 ed—or creaked— up the aisle, g,nd if he had to preach in 
 the great church at Storkchester, wouldn't they do the 
 same. Poor, poor, troubled curate ! 
 
 At last he slept ; it could not fairly be called sleep ; for 
 he was as yet unable to give one genuine snore-'his 
 
 ~ 
 
 IP 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 IB 
 
 ;;l;i 
 
 1 
 
^-il 
 
 
 S48 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 dreams kept him almost awake. He had got to Stork- 
 chester: he had a pleasing interview with the bishop, and 
 v»'as invited to dine at his lordship's table ; was introduccMl 
 to ever so many divines who were well known to ho 
 equally skilful in the selection of a text or a bottle of 
 wine, as occasion required ; was not asked to preach in 
 the cathedral ; his clothes had become strangely renova- 
 ted, his hat was glistening, and his boots were as polished 
 yet as mute as a court chaplain ; and, best of all, he had 
 just returned home with the living in his pocket, and was 
 being greeted by his friends as David Meade, D. D., rector 
 of Pendell. 
 
 Alas! who would like to awake from such a dream? 
 Yet it was all but a dream, and the good old curate had to 
 turn his eyes once more from the mirage to the desert. 
 He awoke after his uncertain slumbers just at the grey 
 dawn, called the servant to get him something to eat be- 
 fore he started away, but he found that his breakfast had 
 been already prepared. The morning was gloomy ; there 
 was a thick mist and he began to think of his hat. On the 
 way he would most certainly get out once in a while and 
 tramp and stamp on the wet grass by the road side in or- 
 der if possible fr mellow the hateful, discordant notes of 
 his boots. There, the trunk was all safe, straps and lock 
 all right ; he would not open it again until he got to Stork- 
 chester, no matter what might have been forgotten. His 
 daughter, though poorly, had got up before day and had 
 seen to everything herself. What a breakfast he had ; she 
 looked wistfully at her affectionate old father as he sat 
 eating alone at the little round table— a nice breakfast, 
 but she could not touch anything— eggs, and toast, and 
 coffee, and a tender piece of beefsteak, and some littlo 
 delicacies to tempt bis appetite. Esther had got all these 
 things spread before him, he would require a good meal 
 before he started, and he ate more than he needed to 
 please her. Breakfast was scarcely over when a little two 
 wheeled box, or cart, was seen before the gate— a two 
 wheeled vehicle and an old grey horse ; a curious seat for 
 
 m 
 
 
 
THE HEATBENS OP THE DEATH. 
 
 349 
 
 two, and a place behind for the little trunk. What care- 
 ful muffling ho had. Esther's heaviest shawl across his 
 shoulders and breast, and she took such a time to fix and 
 tuck, as if to hold him as long as possible, unwilling at 
 last to let him go. 
 
 •'Why, my dear, you will positively smother me," said 
 he with the faintest attempt to simulate anger in tone and 
 manner, evidently desirious of overwhelming a far differ- 
 ent feeling. He did not look her in the face, his eyes were 
 turned in a different direction ; he was going a far journey, 
 an unusual event in his life, and he looked about here and 
 there, extremely anxious to find something he did not 
 want. At last he said : *' My dear, I must have your brown 
 gingham apron— a handkerchief will be too small— to tie 
 around this. See, if it continue like this all day it will be 
 ruined," and he took off his hat and carefully applied his 
 cuff to its damp surface." Esther, more to please him 
 than to satisfy herself, wound something more suitable 
 and less conspicuous around the hat, and placed it on his 
 head. 
 
 "If it is fine, you know, I can take this covering off 
 when I please. Yes, I think this will answer ; and now be 
 a good child till I come back." These last few words of 
 his sentence were those he would have used to her near 
 twenty years before that, if he were going away when she 
 was a little girl ; she was a child still in his eyes, and to him 
 the words seemed still appropriate. Then having taken 
 a hasty leave, he hurrfed out of the house in a kind of 
 defiant manner, and took his seat in the cart by the side 
 of his companion. They had driven but a little distance, 
 when he looked back, and saw Esther waving her hand- 
 kerchief from an upper window. They drove on, and 
 when they got to the top of the hill he turned again. Pen- 
 dell was hidden in the mist, only the church tower could be 
 seen ; his eyes, too, must have been misty, for he could see 
 nothing else in that direction, so he looked the other way 
 and saw the long, dreary road before them, and resigned 
 himself to his fate. 
 
 ti 
 
 \l 
 
 
 
iT 
 
 hi 
 
 m 
 
 ;'c^ 
 
 IPI; 
 
 350 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 About five o'clock that evening they got to the little 
 market town or village of Weyton, and put up at a small 
 thatched tavern known as the "Three Swords,*' situated 
 conspicuously at the cross roads in that place, where a 
 famous battle had once been fought between Catholics 
 and Protestants. They had come so far without any diffi- 
 culty ; the curate's appetite bad v/onderfuUy improved on 
 the road, and he and his friend enjoyed the homely yot 
 substantial dinner that had been provided. After the 
 meal was over they sat and chatted by the fireside for an 
 hour or longer; the landlord was good natured and com- 
 municative, and told them all about the place, and much 
 about the great events that had occuriod in the neighbor- 
 hood during the last three hundred years ; many of theso 
 so-called "great events " had been of the most cruel and 
 bloody character, and strange as it then might seem, all 
 of these related to the intrigues of inhuman kings and to 
 the furious strife for power or precedence occurring from 
 time to time among Christian sects. Having discussed 
 these and other matters, Mr. Meade inquired whether 
 there might be an opportunity of getting a ride in the 
 morning as far as Storkchester, and though the landlord 
 said in reply that he thought no such chance was likely 
 to offer before the regular stage time, yet, that if the cur- 
 ato did not wish to travel by that conveyance and get late 
 at night at his destination, his trunk could be sent ou 
 before him by the stage, and in the morning if he could do 
 no better, why it would only be a moderate walk of ten 
 miles; and, even by walking only two miles an hour he 
 could get to the city early in the afternoon. Upon consid- 
 eration Mr. Meade thought it best to be guided by the 
 opinion of his host ; the stage called about ten o'clock that 
 night, it was crowded, but as drivers generally think that 
 there is always room for another package or another pas- 
 senger, the trunk was stowed away somewhere and sent 
 forward. 
 
 The curate had a good night's rest, a good breakfast at 
 an early hour next morning^ and though tlie weather wa;< 
 
tli 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE UEATU. 
 
 8S1 
 
 cold and rather windy, it was dry— his hat would not be 
 injured— and he set out with a light heart for the city. He 
 rested occasionally by the way, had a little lunch, admir- 
 ed some pleasant places, and on the whole, though rather 
 tired, got on remarkably well ; and, what added immensely 
 to his satisfaction, before he had traveled seven miles, his 
 boots had entirely ceased creaking — no more bewildering 
 music from these instryments. After this, he got a ride 
 for over two miles in a pedlar's wagon, and then 'r^i tut 
 a mile further to go ; but here he met with a poo * iiviircr 
 soldier, lately discharged, hobbling along and 03.i^iy^'<v; a 
 heavy bundle, he tissisted him to bear this to town, gave 
 him a shilling for his dinner, and by one o'clock in the 
 afternoon he got to the inn which the landlord of the 
 Three Swords had recommended ; his trunk was ttiere safe 
 and sound, he opened it at last, everything was in good 
 order, and he forthwith changed his apparel, and, some- 
 what disconcerted, he made further preparations to call 
 on the bishop. Feeling now fatigued, he rested for about 
 an hour, and then having partaken of a little refresh- 
 ment, he left the iilace for the Episcopal resiucjice. 
 
 It was a stately building, with clusters of toweriug 
 chimneys, that seemed to frown down upon others less 
 plevated, which dared to look up at the same heavens as 
 they did. An aristocratic structure, with heavy cornices, 
 iiad great bay windows, in one of the most fashionable 
 squar<^g of the city. The polished massive dooi, lying 
 open, was approached by a flight of marble steps, and at 
 the foot of these the bishop's carriage was in waiting. 
 How fortunate ! his lordship must, of course, be at home, 
 and he would be able to see him. When he had got about 
 half way up the ste^s, a stylish looking footman appeared 
 at the door, and just a» Mr. Meade glanced into the long 
 hall, he saw the bishop— who must have seen him— dart 
 Eside into an apartment, leaving abruptly a lady and othor 
 persons with whom he had been convorsiiit;, and then be- 
 foro he had got to th(^ top of the steps, the great door was 
 shunuied to in his face. 
 
 
 111 
 
 M 9i\ 
 
 • •- 
 
 fral'ii 5 
 
 i ■■ 
 1 
 
 rm ' 
 
 ( 
 
 1 '''¥14. 
 
 
 Ws.ir; L 
 
 i. i 
 
 \ • 
 
 ^m ! 
 
 1 ; 
 
 r! ! 
 
 I • 
 
352 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 n j: 
 
 Mr. Meade halted in surprise. That man, thought he, 
 must have known me, why did he slam the door to when 
 he saw me coming ; the bishop must have seen me, strange 
 that he should so suddenly go off without giving me a 
 single nod of recognition ; still, he is inside, the bishop is 
 here, and I shall ask to see him ; I may perhaps have been 
 mistaken by him for some other person. Eespectablc 
 looking applicants for relief are, no doubt, a heavy tax on 
 his lordship's scanty resources. He rang the bell. After 
 a few moments of suspense, the same footman cautiously 
 opened the door— only sufficiently wide to put out his 
 head: "His lordship is engaged, and cannot be seen to- 
 day," tartly replied the man to Mr. Meade's inquiry. 
 
 " I have come a very long distance and would like to 
 see the bishop on a very important matter. Will you be 
 good enough to give him my name ? " and he handed the 
 person one of the cards upon which his daughter had so 
 neatly written his address. 
 
 " His lordship, I tell you, cannot be seen to-day, he will 
 see no one ; he is engaged," said the stern footman, reluct- 
 antly taking the card, and quick as ho drew in his head 
 the door was aqain slammed. The poor curate was bewil- 
 dered. "What can all this mean ? " muttered he to him- 
 self, and while he stood there before the great man's gate 
 in the chilly wind, and now holding the memorial which 
 so many considered would have such weight with the 
 bishop, his heart began to fail him ; again he muttered ; 
 " What can all this mean ; besides the bishop must have 
 seen and recognized me." 
 
 The door ^11 remained closed, he looked about undo 
 cided what to do; would ho ring again? He was on the 
 point of doing so when he hoard the bolt drawn, and the 
 bishop's secretary made his appearance. 
 
 "Ah, the Rev. Mr. Meade! Am so sorry, jes, sottv, 
 quite so, but the fact is his lordship is — is really in lis- 
 I)osed; yes indisposed ; his physicians say so. Must trans- 
 act no business; must see nobotly. WsiP just goinii out 
 for an airing when y u csalied , has b-en ordered to do so. 
 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 353 
 
 Rogret this very much Rev. sir— am sure you will excuse 
 this, and some other time you can— ^ 
 
 The flippant secretary was emi^hatic, he did not finish 
 the sentence, he left the curate to supply the necessary 
 porsonal pronouns, as well as to supply other words 
 wanting ; he spoke rapidly, bowed repeatedly to the curate 
 in the most complaisant manner, and rubbed his hands 
 as if the raw air had already admonished him to retreat. 
 
 ]\Ir. Meade looked at him for a moment in astonish- 
 ment, he saw that the secretary, though very polite, 
 was unswerving; the chilling words, and the still more 
 chilling reception, if reception it could be called had 
 already had their due effect, and the poor curate, before 
 he withdrew, thought he would make one more effort, and 
 meekly said: 
 
 " I regret to hear of his lordship's indisposition ; will 
 you be so good as to place this memorial in his hands, it 
 may be of importance to me that he should see it at once. 
 I shall leave for home early to-morrow, and would be glad 
 to have his lordshir* favor me with a reply in the mean- 
 time." 
 
 The polite secretary again bowed and took the paper ; 
 he was evidently glad to get rid of the suppliant curate on 
 terms so easy, and he assured him in the same gracious 
 manner, thai, if at all ijossible, he would have the docu- 
 mont presrnted, and if the bishop were able to give it his 
 consideralion, he hoped to have the pleasure of forward- 
 ing a satisfactory answer. 
 
 With the mos: painful feelings of disappointment, the 
 old man turned away from the house in which he had but 
 lately fancied that he might have been a welcome guest. 
 O, how keenly he felt th footnnan's insulting manner, the 
 frigid courtesy of tL - rotary, and the evidently pre- 
 meditated negiect an : -nhospitality of the wealthy bishop 
 of t^ very diocese. _ ^i he been a common beggar, he 
 could scarce V have been more rudely repulsed. He was 
 unfeelingly ir^^en from the door that he had always hith- 
 ertf believe_ tos open for the courteous reception of even 
 
 
 
 :,.}:• 
 
 
 ;;?^i; 
 
 » K I. I ! 
 
 I fi U| 
 
354 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HBATH. 
 
 I S"'- 
 
 the poorest and most humble of the clerical members of 
 the Church. In the whole course of his long life, he had 
 never been treated so heartlessly. The pleasing anticipa- 
 tions in which he had ventured to indulge with respect to 
 an interview with his lordship, or to a place at his lord- 
 ship's table, were ruthlessly destroyed, and, with down- 
 cast look, discouraged and humiliated, he walked away 
 slowly and with wearied steps, having now different views 
 as to the relation existing between the wealthy bishop of 
 an English diocese, and a poor curate from such a parish 
 as Pendell. Before he had retired that night, he received 
 the bishop's informal reply to the address which hu had 
 left with the secretary for presentation. 
 
 " My Dear Me. Meadk: I regret very muoh that the memorial in 
 your behalf was not forwarded to me sooner. Arrangements havo 
 been completed whereby the Rev. Mr. Vanscourt, one of my chap- 
 lains, will succeed to the living at Pendell; and, as rector, he had 
 already appointed m y nephew, the Rev. Mr. Sofln, lately ordained, to 
 the curacy of Pendell parish in your place and stead. I shall be 
 happy, however, to assist you in any other way. 
 
 "Faithfully yours, ** Stobkchbsteb." 
 
 The memorial not forwarded sooner, and the late rector 
 not yet a week dead. Ah, thought poor Mr. Meade, what 
 a heartless letter, what an empty pretext to deprive me of 
 my only means of support. After so many long years am 
 I to be thus dispossessed of my curacy, separated from 
 my kind parishioners and sent away from my old home, 
 in order that the bishop's nephew maybe appointed in 
 my place ? Alas, alas, what a scheme of injustice to be 
 planned and executed even in the very bosom of the 
 Church! - 
 
 Alone and in a strange place, without Esther near him, 
 or one kind friend to speak a word of comfort in this hour 
 of trial, he sat for some time, bowed down and afiflictod, 
 with the bishop's letter spread before him; he could not 
 read it again, for the page seemed blank to his gaze ; thu3 
 he sat, and tear after tear dropped upon the gilt-edged 
 paper, as if to obliterate its contents ; and when at last he 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 855 
 
 laid the cruel letter aside and retired for the night he 
 wept himself to sleep after the manner of a poor troubled 
 child.* 
 
 • See Note 15, 
 
 nf 
 
 I 
 
 
 i ■ 
 
 !| -.^ 
 
 it. 
 
 
 '1 
 
 
 
 iiUh 
 
 
 iim^i 
 
 ^ i i. 
 
 
 i i) 
 
 jj 
 
 
 \H 
 
 \':m 
 
 
 ' '^^'hi 
 
 < (i 
 
 V'iSi.P 
 
 'i i: 
 
 
 
 - \ 
 
 ' ' '■ ] 
 
 : , I 
 
 ■ c 
 
 ■^'"i 
 
 .1; ']■ 
 
 hll 
 
 ': J] 
 
 
 ■ fa 
 
 
 .'VJ 
 
 
 'Hi 
 
 
 1 il 
 

 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 OFFER OF A NEW PARISH. 
 
 l^EXT morning, before the curate left Storkchester, he 
 -*-^ heard of the wreck of the Indiaman that had occur- 
 red in Pendell Bay. Previous to this information, he was 
 anxious to leave the city in which he was a stranger— in 
 which his own received him not— to shake the dust from 
 his feet, and never to see the place again ; but this start- 
 ling news made him still more desirous of reaching home 
 in order to learn the particulars of the disaster. Had ho 
 been aware that his daughter had run a great risk in her 
 humane endeavors to reach the fated ship, and rescue a 
 few iuUow-creatures, it would have been a cause of great 
 unoasinoss ; as it was, he knew nothing of this until he 
 got back to PendoU. In his haste to get home, he paid 
 out most of the little sum of money he had with him for 
 a seat in the stage, and he arrived at his own house about 
 dusk in the evening. When he entered his old home 
 again, it was with mingled feelings of pleasure and oi' 
 pain ; he was glad to meet Esther and others of his house- 
 hold, and grieved when he remembered that he must 
 probably very soon leave it in order that some stranger 
 should occupy it in his place, sit in its little parlor, pace 
 upon the pleasant lawn, and muse under the old oak in 
 the shade of which he himself had so often sat to think of 
 his troubles, to contemplate with respect to the future, 
 and to speculate upon the perplexing religious doctrines 
 to which he had been obliged to give a formal assent. 
 
. !i 
 
 THE IILATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 357 
 
 Painful impressions would have affected him more at tiie 
 time were it not for the emotions by \vhi(?h he was influ- 
 enced when he considered the tcrribre danger which 
 Esther had escaped, and now that it was over, he felt no 
 inclination to reprove her for her temerity, but rather dis- 
 l^osed to look on her with pride , and to speak of her con- 
 duct in terms of parental exultation. And then associat- 
 ed with this noble girl in the humane effort, was that very 
 man respecting whom nearly all were so ready to speak 
 in terms of gratitude. How strange that he and Esther 
 should have met for the first time under snch circum- 
 stances, and that she should not have even known who he 
 was until they had escaped all dango: and achieved their 
 purpose ; and until she had heard his name, as well as 
 her own, mingled in the shouts and cheers which greeted 
 them on their return. 
 
 This is partly what the curate had gathered from his 
 daughter's recital of the event, and he could then per- 
 ceive that she not only entertained a high opinion of 
 Mr. Valiant, but seemed greatly pleased when referring 
 to the glowing words which he had addressed to her before 
 those who had been rescued, as well as in the presence of 
 others who had assembled after they had safely landed 
 from the life-boat; she also appeared equally gratified 
 when she informed him that Mr. Valiant had called at the 
 parsonacre to make kind inquiries after her, and had call- 
 ed again that morning, in company with his son, to see 
 the foreign lady whom she had invited to stay for a time 
 with her, and with whom he appeared to be well acquaiol- 
 ed ; and how this lady was struck with the resemblance 
 which Esther bore to one of this lady's most particular 
 friends ; and then she depicted the delight of Mr. Valiant, 
 as well as the gladness of all, when this same lady restor- 
 ed his son; and she alluded to Mr. Valiant's princely 
 ,i:;enerosity toward the brave men who had accompanied 
 them to the wreck, as well as his kind attention to those 
 that had been saved from the ship. 
 
 As the foreign lady, who wished to be known as Ranee, 
 
 ''* 
 
 
 III! 
 
 : ..„j 
 
 Hut 
 m 
 
 <i.|g£P'l; 
 
 t 
 
 
 
358 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 had already retired— she was still suffering from the shook 
 she had received at the time of the wreck— the curate was 
 unable to see her that night, and add his welcome to that 
 so readily given by his daughter, he was, however, greatly 
 interested in what he had just heard, and he was as much 
 rejoiced as any one could be to learn that Mr. Valiant had 
 found his son in a manner so singular and unexpected ; 
 and that this boy was one of those whom Esther had 
 assisted in saving from a dreadful death. Indeed, so 
 absorbed was he in listening to his daughter's vivid ac- 
 count of the wreck and the rescue, that he had for the 
 time altogether forgotten that which an hour or two 
 before had prayed so heavily upon his mind ; and it was 
 not until all others in the house, except Esther, had retir- 
 ed, that he related to her his trials and disappointments 
 in the city of Storkch ester. 
 
 When he had finished the little story of his wrongs, he 
 was surprised to see how little affected she appeared to be 
 by what had occurred; and he was rather gratified to 
 discover that his daughter took a more hopeful view of 
 their circumstances than he supposed she would. One 
 might fancy that she was quite indifferent as to whether 
 she should hear of his dismissal, or of his retention and 
 advancement; and instead of being discouraged by what 
 her father had told her, her words, in reply, were such as 
 to have an inspiring effect, and her manner at this pecu- 
 liar time had a most cheering influence ; and though Mr. 
 Meado felt that those vested with power and authority in 
 the Church, had left him, after long years of service, to 
 struggle with adversity as best he could, yet while Esther 
 was with him, and as long as she could be so confident, he 
 would try to believe that the future might not be so dreary 
 as the clouds before him seemed to portend. 
 
 Early next day, several of his parishioners called to 
 learn how the bishop had received the memorial, and 
 whether his lordship had given it his favorable considera- 
 tion. Some present were, in fact, under the impression 
 that the bishop might be so influenced by what had been 
 
TH£ HEATHENS 0¥ THE HEATH. 
 
 359 
 
 said in favor of the curate, as well as by his own personal 
 knowledge of his excellence, that there was a probability 
 of Mr. Meade's advancement to a vicarage; and a few 
 were even sanguine enough to imagine that his loidship 
 would at once see the justice and propriety of lending his 
 powerful aid toward getting him appointed rector of the 
 parish ; all, however, had not the slightest doubt but that 
 ho was still to remain among them in a clerical capacity 
 of some kind for years longer. 
 
 The curate was of course much pleased to receive these 
 kind friends, and though he felt sad at the moment, yet 
 he could not keep from smiling at their earnestness of 
 manner, and the warmth of feeling that he had no doubt 
 would have become joyful excitement were it known that 
 ho had actually been dignified with a bishopric. Even 
 tlien, good man, knowing their affection for him, he dis- 
 liked to undeceive them ; he would have kept the unpleas- 
 ant truth if he could, but as they would soon hear all offi- 
 cially, he thought it would be best for him to explain at 
 once how matters stood. 
 
 As it was, some had already begun to suspect that all 
 was not right; they saw by the curate's subdued demean- 
 or that he probably had information of an unpleasant 
 kind to communicate ; there was something in his look of 
 mild resignation that had a depressing effect, and after he 
 had quietly put on his spectacles and read out slowly and 
 distinctly the bishop's harsh epistle, there was a deep 
 silence until he said to them, with tremulous voice: 
 " Therefore, my good friends, you must understand from 
 what I have just read, that I am your curate here no lon- 
 
 >> 
 
 ger 
 
 For a few minutes those around him looked as if thun- 
 derstruck by this intelligence ; some jumped at once from 
 their seats with a cry of indignation, others shouted : 
 "down with the Church, down with the bishop", down with 
 everything," while one, more excited and profane than 
 the rest swore out roundly against the Church and its 
 mitred auLhoriiies, and finished by saying: "Damn the 
 
 '^: 
 
 
 
 ■ ;i 
 
I- 
 
 I- imi} 
 
 : m. 
 
 f, ; 
 
 mr, u 
 
 3G0 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 U^'il 
 
 bishop, and damn Vanscourt and his fop of a curate— thoy 
 maun all go to hoU ; wo will keep thee here for our curato 
 in spite o' the deevil an' the bishop too ; let *em coom hero 
 an' try it if they dare ; an' if all goes to all we will all turu 
 Methodeos ;in' 'ave thee for oor preaeher." Other expros- 
 sions equally vehement were used on the occasion, ami 
 while the curate's eyes were filled with tears, and stout 
 parishioners stood around him with clenched fists and 
 flushed faces, another person entered the room, and vvheu 
 the curate looked up he recognized a truly sympathizin*^- 
 friend in John Valiant. 
 
 In a little time every thing was explained to the new 
 comer ; they would have him hear all. The bishop's let- 
 ter was again read, and again threats and expletives of no 
 pious kind were freely used ; and though Mr. Meade advis- 
 ed them to submit quietly to what was inevitable, yet they 
 remained still indi ■•nant, and after they had left the room 
 their voices coulu be heard outside in loud and angry 
 threats and denunciations, as if under the foolish impres- 
 sion that by such clamor they might possibly be able to 
 intimidate the bishop, or oblige him to restore Mr. Meade 
 to his old position among them. 
 
 Mr. Valiant did not require this additional evidence to 
 be assured of how highly the curate was esteemed by his 
 parishioners, and he took the opportunity of telling him 
 that he was not sorry that ho was to be relieved, were it 
 only for a short time, from his clerical duties, because he, 
 Mr. Valiant, was desirous of having the benefit of his ad- 
 vice and experience with regard to an institution which ho 
 wished to establish on the Heath ; an institution for the 
 culture and amusement of the residents of that place. 
 
 Mr. Meade, who had been touclicd by the devot ion of 
 tliose of his parishioners that had just left him, now felt 
 that an influential friend had come to offer encouragement 
 and that there was something in his proposal which might 
 be intended not only to keei) him from harassing thoughts 
 as to his future prospects, but also for his pecuniar> 
 advantage ; it was in fact a delicate way of hinting tbat his 
 
llr 
 
 THE HEATHENS UF TBI HEATH. 
 
 361 
 
 services won «l be rcviuiiud on the Hoath, not us a mission- 
 ary, but in a situation which porh.ips would be to him far 
 more useful and agreeable, and for Esther's sake he would 
 ^dadly serve in any such capacity. The curate in reply 
 assured Mr. Valiant that if he could be of any assistance 
 to him in his efforts to advance the condition of others, he 
 would gladly I'lace his humble services at his disposal. 
 Ho had been among the people of the Heath time after 
 lime, when few others in a clerical position would have 
 ventured to visit them, and now that they had been so 
 much more civilized, he could go more willingly among 
 them as an instructor. After a few words on other sub- 
 jects Mr. Valiant took his leave, having accepted an 
 invitation to call and spend the evening witli them. 
 
 Mr. Meade had not yet seen Ranee, and she now enter- 
 ed the apartment in which he was, accompanied by 
 Esther. She made a low courtesy and seized and kissed 
 the curate's extended hand. He received her in the kind- 
 est manner and assured her of a welcome, sympathized 
 with her on account of the suffering she must have lately 
 endured, and congratulated her on her wonderful escape. 
 He was greatly interested in this stranger ; she was well 
 known to Mr, Valiant, and had no doubt secured his last- 
 ing gratitude by having been the means of restoring his 
 son in a way ao remarkable ; and as there was yet a mys- 
 tery about the matter, Mr. Meade, as well as his daughter, 
 was curious to hear something of her history. 
 
 Ranee was scarcely thirty years of age, rather of a light 
 brown complexion ; she was not tall, but slight and finely 
 shaped ; her hair was black ; her eyes dark and expres- 
 sive ; her features were soft and regular, and her face, 
 though marked with some lines of care, was still beauti- 
 ful. There was a kind of mystery in her look that was 
 almost fascinating, and though a foreigner, she spoke 
 English quite well, and was of a most amiable disposition. 
 She was dressed partly in Oriental style, which was grace- 
 ful and becoming; she wore large ear-rings; she had 
 several rings on her fingers, and many gold ornamenta 
 
 U 
 
 
 
 •i^i 
 
 M I 
 
■I: 
 
 m 
 
 k 
 
 m 
 
 ■*!»»»» 
 
 .Ill 
 
 m 
 
 362 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 were conspicuous on different parts of her costume, all of 
 which she wore at the time of the wreck. She had never 
 been in England before ; never before out of India. 8I10 
 spolce of Mr. Valiant as an old and valuod friend, and both 
 Miss Meade and her father were anxious to make her as 
 comfortable as possible under the circumstances. 
 
 Early in the afternoon Mr. Valiant called at the parson- 
 age, he brought his son with him, and was in a most hai>py 
 mood. He came for the first time to spend a quiet even- 
 ing with his friends at the curate's house, to talk of other 
 days with Ranee ; and perhaps to whisper well-deservcMl 
 compliments to Esther, who had not been absent from his 
 mind twenty minutes at a time since he handed her out of 
 the life boat. Mr. Valiant's son was an intelligent boy, 
 now nearly ten years of age, and his brown hair and clear 
 Bkin might lead one to fancy that he was English born ; 
 he was attached to Eanee and was delighted when he met 
 his father again. How calm it was this pleasant afternoon, 
 the air was in repose as if weary by the fury which it ex- 
 hibited only two days previously when the richly freighted 
 Indiaman was cast upon the rocks. Though the great ship 
 had been dashed to pieces, much of its freight had been 
 washed ashore ; planks and spars, and boxes, and bales, 
 had been cast high and dry far up on the beach, and 
 among other things two of Eanee's trunks had thus been 
 discovered. Mr. Valiant gave them an account of what 
 had taken place after they had landed from the life boat, 
 "For more than three hours," said he, "we remained by 
 the cable which had been attached to the vessel from the 
 shore, until every human being except one was saved. 
 The person unfortunately lost was an invalid missionary 
 returning from Calcutta ; when the vessel struck he be- 
 came terribly alarmed, lost all presence of mind and was 
 washed overboard, even a large Newfoundland dog was 
 brought ashore by the Captain who was the last to leave 
 the ship. Shortly afterwards the gale increased, and by 
 dawn nothing of the wreck could be seen except part of 
 a shattered mast— a melancholy signal of the disaster— 
 
 1;. im| wa 
 
flit 
 
 lltMi 
 
 THE HEATHKNS OF THR HRATH. 
 
 363 
 
 which must have boon hold in an upriglit position by an 
 ontangleniont of ropes and bloelis among the roclcs. 
 Thirty-two sailors and the Captain were saved, and eleven 
 passengers. The next day after having secured most of 
 what was washed ashore, the Captain, a number of sea- 
 men, and most of the passengers proceeded to London ; 
 seven native sailors from Calcutta, three from France, 
 three from Germany, and two from Turkey, who were 
 undetermined what to do, were persuaded by me to go 
 to the Heath. I spoke to some in thoir native tongue, 
 and have perhai)s gained their coniidence— I wanted a 
 reinforcement of homeless men, and if I can induce them 
 to remain, those who choose may build a temple and wor- 
 ship Buddha— or any other Deity— and abstain from beef 
 every day in the year as rigidly as a good Catholic would 
 on Friday, provided they do not interfere with the relig- 
 ious observances of others— a charge rarely sujitained 
 against pagans— and they try and co-operate with all for 
 the general good. I wish to blend or amalKaniate the 
 Asiatic and the European, to wean them gradually from 
 nationality and superstition, and with your aid "said he 
 bowing to Mr. Meade, "to impart to them better and 
 more exalted ideas, and much of the useful and moat 
 requisite knowledge of which they are I fear unfortunately 
 ignorant." 
 
 Miss Meade, who sat a little distance from the others, 
 now turned to glance at the speaker, in whom she felt an 
 increasing interest. She looked chai miiig this mild after- 
 noon ; the sunlight was woven in her profusion of brown 
 iiair, so as to give it a golden sheen similar to a nimbus 
 over the head of a Madonna. There was one present who 
 l)articularly noticed this, and who was also struck with 
 the beautiful expression of countenance which heightened 
 the attractions of Esther, leaving her in his estimation 
 almost incomparable. She had listened to every word 
 with increasing pleasure, the voice which she had heard, 
 was to her soft and musical, and for the time she forgot 
 all care, and was supremely happy. 
 
 
 mm 
 
 If' 
 
 :.ii 
 
 
\M 
 
 ::;!! 
 
 ,1 
 
 ,4iU^j.. 
 
 Ml 
 
 \y ! 
 
 
 1; 
 
 364 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 "The limited knowledge which I possess," replied the 
 c'urato, " shall be mos' willingly bestowed in the way you 
 mention, if I am obliged to Icavo my old quarters. It will 
 be a pleasure to me to be engaged in such a duty ; when 
 one imparts useful information, ho gains by the giving— 1 
 may not, however, succeed as a missionary, but — " 
 
 "No, not as a missionary," interrupted Mr. Valiant, 
 ** not as a missionary in the religious sense of the term; 
 we will teach them no creeds. I would rather have them 
 unlearn all they know of the intricacies of theology, than 
 have their minds remain confused and stupifled by the 
 babel of clerical opinions on that subject. No, come as a 
 teacher of common sense ; you have that in abundance ; 
 come as the instructor of science ; come and touch their 
 hearts with the humane and generous feelings which 1 
 know you possess— that will be the true missionary worlc 
 which will make them more contented with existence, 
 than were they to bo trained to believe that this beautiful 
 world is but a vale of tears, and that the God they wor- 
 shii)ed is one who can be easily incensed, and so revenge- 
 ful and unforgiving as to hurl millions to perdition in 
 order that His offended dignity may be satislied. We 
 want no such Deity— we shall have no such teaching 
 there ; and if we are to have any kind of religion, let it be 
 that which will expand the heart and fully inculcate 
 universal brotherly love." 
 
 A generous glow was upon the face of the speaker, 
 when Miss Meade looked hastily at him. She was sur- 
 prised and rather pained at the moment— were not tlio 
 words she had just heard a reflection upon the attrib ites 
 and character of the Great Being whom she had b'^'ii 
 trained to worship; and now, ae her eyes rested calmly 
 upon John Valiant, she was sorry, vory sorry for his skep- 
 tical utterances. There was a time when 6li» associated 
 such ideas as Mr. Valiant had just given, as belonging? -o 
 the disBolute; she could do so no longer; he was every 
 way ciuite the reverse ; and she felt grieved that he and 
 others like him should be governed by suoh heterodox 
 
^5I1 
 
 ed the 
 ay yuu 
 It will 
 ; when 
 ring— 1 
 
 aliant, 
 ) term ; 
 ) them 
 y, than 
 by tho 
 ne as a 
 Ldanc(3 ; 
 h tlu'ir 
 vhich 1 
 :y work 
 istence, 
 eautirul 
 ey wor- 
 evciigo- 
 Ltioii in 
 d. We 
 eachinj; 
 let it bo 
 
 ICUlCcltC 
 
 ipeaker, 
 vas hur- 
 not tho 
 trib ites 
 id been 
 calmly 
 ds skop- 
 soeiatod 
 
 iis every 
 
 , he and 
 
 Lerodox 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 opinions; and also <?rieved to find that the mind, tho 
 Uilent, and the learning;- of the age, went so far in a direc- 
 tion so oblique from what she considered truth, 
 
 Mr. Meade offered no reply to what had been said. As 
 cni'ale of Pendell, he was supposed to be orthodox; he 
 had to give his assent to the Thirty-nine Article!L^< of his 
 Church, and probably would have assented to thirty-nine 
 more at the time of his ordination were it indispensable. 
 Like thousands of others, his trade was to be a priest, and 
 as a priest, he must profess to believe whether he believed 
 or not; and the tenets and mysteries which he could not 
 nnderstan(i, he left for the discussion of Doctors of Divin- 
 ity, or to the wordy hair-splitting of semi-inspired com- 
 mentators. 
 
 "And then," continued Mr. Valiant, "we must have 
 another helper, we must have that great aid to devotion- 
 music. What would your great cathedrals with their paint- 
 ing and statuary— with their images of saints, angels and 
 aposlleg— be without it? How much more attractive are 
 your forms and ceremonies ; how almost inspired are your 
 authorized prayers, and litanies, and vain repetitions ; and 
 how much more endurable are your prosy, vapid sermons, 
 when relieved by that great allurement ? Why, even the 
 sternest sects that once preferred monotonous droning, and 
 rcijoeted instrumental music as indecorous, or as olYensive 
 to the deity, now try to rival one another with the costly 
 melody of ' powerful organs ' and well trained choirs ; and 
 the basso, the alto, the tenor, and the soprano, are at 
 present the evangelists that do more now to keep piety 
 alive in our sanctuaries than the holy archbishops them- 
 selves. The fact is that, at the present time, religion can- 
 not stand alone, it must have such props to keep it from 
 falling into utter puerility. Yes, we must have music as 
 well as science on the Heath, they are both tho hand- 
 maids of humanity; and I have heard that the crowds 
 which have flowed so constantly toward Pendell Church 
 on the Sabbath, were drawn thither as much by tlie 
 preacher at the organ, as by the preacher in the Dulpit." 
 
 ii 
 
L^J 
 
 pif 
 
 ■pttHi 
 
 11''! 
 
 "Wl'f^H 
 
 w 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 m' . 
 
 4«Mr 
 
 i,a 
 
 s*l-', 
 
 306 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATa. 
 
 and having said this lie bowed to Miss Meade as if alono 
 wortliy of this peculiar compiiment. 
 
 Esther's face became suffused at the allusion, she <laro(l 
 not look toward him; even she, more orthodox than l)ic 
 i'urate himself felt the force of the remark and inwardly 
 admitted its truth. 
 
 " It is the case, I really believe," said Mr. Meade, rather 
 l)leased that Mr. Valiant shoul<l have thus recuip^nized his 
 daughter's abilities, "and very often indeed, had it not 
 been for the inspiration I received from Esthcu-, my mind 
 would have been in an unfit state for worship. At't(^i 
 a lonj? experience I lind relij^ion to be a thing more of foc^l- 
 ing than of reason; and mu ic being the soul of feelini; 
 prepares the heart. Many a lim*^ I have found it a heavy 
 task to pray — I often have doubted the efficacy of any sup- 
 plication to the dtnty — but after she had tou(jhed the organ, 
 prayer was a pleasure, and I felt it a restraint to be lim- 
 ited to the formal words of our ritual. Yes, music is the 
 voice of the heart, and it must be heard ui)on the Heath 
 to insure success." 
 
 "Well, if we get a fine instrument for our institution 
 on the Heath, you must jflml us a tirst class performer," 
 said Mr. Valiant addressing the curate. " Oh, if you coul«l 
 only get us the one I heard a few nights since in the Old 
 Ohurch. It was nearly midnight, and were I superstitious 
 ] might believe, as some in this place still do, that the 
 monks and nuns of other days leave their tombs at cer- 
 tain times, to celebrate again a midnight mass in their 
 ancient cafhedral, and that the 'Dies irw' is once more 
 sung as if to awaken the slumbering dead. Oh, what 
 music I chanced to hear— solemn and beautiful— I could 
 almost fancy that I was listening to the very wordr a 
 verse or two from that impressive medieval hymn on the 
 last judgment, mournfully chanted again, by some of the 
 ancient, hooded, choristers of the old church : 
 
 .aua 
 
 ;i, 
 
 *Tuba mirum spargons soniim 
 Per HOpiiI'^ni roKioimin 
 Coffot oTiiiKis unto thronura. 
 
 14114 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 807 
 
 Rnx tremond.T? majostatia. 
 Qui .'uilv.'indos salvas gratia, 
 Salva mo funs piutatls.' 
 
 The (lirc:e-liko sounds that wore borno away on the p^ale 
 at the time, would liavo nnn .= ae ] the stoutest heart, one 
 iniKht readily imagine that he heard the tremulous voices 
 of the prostrate monks as they tried to r)roiiitiate the 
 terriVjle divinity they worshii)ed ; or that holy angels were 
 1) leading with the furious storm that raged that night to 
 si)are some lone ship away upon the mighty deej), or to 
 si)are some, who were beloved in heaven, from being cast 
 away upon a treacherous shore. Who oould have been 
 the magical i)erformer in the church that night? " 
 
 Though this (luestion was as it were naively asked by 
 John Valiant, he no doubtcould have madeashrewd guess 
 as to the spirit, or the person that had called forth such 
 harmony. 
 
 "Esther plays in the church at a late hour sometimes," 
 said the curate, innocent of the knowledge that such an 
 admission to Mr. Valiant would greatly disconcert her 
 to whom ho ref(U*r(}d; she felt quite restless and would 
 h.'ivo gladly h^ft the room had an opportunity offered. 
 "At such times," ooiiliuucfl the curate, "she and old 
 Stephen have the church all to themselves, and seldom 
 are any present unless the monks come back to hear her; 
 in fact I have heard some say that her music can awake 
 the dead, I doubt if this be the case, but one thing I do 
 know, she often awakes the si)iritually dead who come on 
 Sundays to take a favorite doze in their pews." 
 
 Until that moment Miss Meade was not aware that John 
 Valiant had ever been in the old church, much less that 
 •he jiad been present at so late an hour during her last 
 l)erfornHince on tlio organ. The knowledge of this, 
 now discomposed her very much, why it should bo so, she 
 scarcely understood herself. 
 
 "All, I see, wo know, I think, to whom we may now 
 ap])ly without a chance of refusal. You have great 
 rca-un," said Mr. Valiant addressing the curate, "to be 
 
 
368 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 I 
 V 
 
 \Ul' 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 
 
 iT.:« 
 
 proud of your fair daupfhter. From what I have already 
 heard and seen she will be irresistible on the Heath as slio 
 is every where else. If she cannot awake the dead, I know 
 that she can awake the living; she can infuse life into 
 dead hearts, she has already given a fresh love of life to 
 one which was partly witherod ; and you and she together 
 will be the only kind of missionaries we shall ever require." 
 John Valiant, who must have noticed Esther's embar- 
 rassment, was desirous of making her feel more at ease. 
 She had perhaps never before been subject to the pecu- 
 liar emotions which had effected her during the last half 
 hour. She could not have been else than highly pleased 
 by the flattering allusion of Mr. Valiant, his peculiar 
 recognition of her abilities started her heart to throb 
 wildly in her bosom ; yet, it was singular that his words 
 should cause her, as it were, to shrink from such notice, 
 she could hear praise from other lips with indifference but 
 not from his. However, whether he fully understood her 
 feelings at the time or otherwise, he gave a welcome turn 
 to the conversation and reverted to Ranee, and to scenes 
 of his earlier days in a distant land. 
 
'I li' 
 
 ,1 ready 
 
 as sho 
 
 I know 
 
 fe into 
 
 life to 
 )gether 
 quire." 
 embar- 
 Lt ease, 
 e pecu- 
 ist half 
 pleased 
 peculiar 
 throb 
 3 words 
 
 notice, 
 ;nce but 
 ood her 
 me turn 
 ) scenes 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXII. 
 
 A RECOGNITION. 
 
 rilHE foreign lady, who was the object of much atten- 
 ^ tion, sat quietly listening to the conversation between 
 her old friend and the curate. She looked from time to 
 time at John Valiant and then at Esther; with him she 
 was well acquainted and she admired his nobleness of 
 soul; she perhaps knew his worth better than any one 
 present ; and the way in which she occasionally scrutin- 
 ized the features of Miss Meade might lead one to suppose 
 that there was something in the countenance she scanned 
 which greatly interested her; she looked at Esther like 
 one who v/as trying to remember whether she had ever 
 seen lier face before— a face now crimsoned and beautiful 
 in the evening light. 
 
 " I must tell you something of our friend," said Mr. 
 Valiant alluding to Eanee, *' Miss Meade must have been 
 greatly astonished to see us recognize each other as we 
 did after having passed in darkness through such a terri- 
 ble ordeal." 
 
 "Icertainly tog astonished," said Esther; "thesurprise 
 at meeting u-xder such circumstances was evidently 
 mutual." And, were she to have added her sentiments at 
 the momert, she would have told them that she was 
 oqutiUy surprised and pleased when she recognized the 
 features of him who had been so often in her tliougbts 
 bince her late visit to Zingari. 
 
 "Well," said Ranee, "it was a wonderful escapo. 
 
 1 1 
 
 r 'j 
 
 t it 
 
 4*mU 
 
 uh ^ ' 
 
 ■**'L. 
 
 ■t. Bl P' ' 
 
 a ! 
 
;i7o 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 •!f 
 
 
 SI 
 
 '«*HV 
 
 I !'i 
 
 %ii 
 
 Alfirmed as we well mi.^ht be n board the ship, I was 
 still more so when I tirst saw our little boat coininjf 
 towards us ; now poised upon a mighty wave, and now 
 hidden in the depths out of which I thouglit you could 
 never reappear ; and then, when you approached us sul'li- 
 t'i(Mitly near, so as we could recognize your forms, even the 
 hardy sailors were amazed when they saw a woman at tho 
 helm. O noble creature," said she addressing Esther, 
 " what a fearful risk you ran to save our lives ! " 
 
 " I did not think it was any risk at the time," said Estlior 
 calmly, "I saw the imminent danger you were in; and I 
 am sure that not one in the boat hesitated to go to yoiii 
 rescue out of consideration of personal safety— resolution 
 can easily overcome fear." 
 
 "Yes, yours was a noble resolution," continued Raiioo, 
 "it may have been to your magnanimous condncl, 
 and to your skilful guiding of that little boat throuj^h 
 the fiend-like waves eager for our destruction, that I uiii 
 indebted for my life, and for my unsxpected discovery of 
 a valued friend. Yet, I cannot say that this was alto- 
 gether unlooked for; all that day I anticipated some 
 disaster, still I was not afraid ; it was my impression, even 
 after our vessel struck the rocks, that no great evil would 
 befall me, that while others might be bereft of all, and 
 scattered among strangers, I should be well cared for. I 
 knew that our good friend Valiant was in England, bui I 
 fancied he would be found only in your great city of J .>n 
 don; not here in this quiet village of PendoU. You can- 
 not conceive the joy of my heart when I recognized hi-^ 
 honest face. He knows a little of my history, he can tell 
 you something about me in a few words; there may bo 
 little to interest any one, yet such as it is, I would ])rt't'or 
 to have you acciuainted with it." She spoke lluently in un 
 animated way, but with a slightly foreign acjcent. 
 
 "It is now nearly twenty years," said Mr. Valiant, 
 
 (< 
 
 w 
 
 since I first saw our friend Ranee, it was in Beiiun's, 
 This you know is the Holy City of the Hindoos, and p- 
 gaided by many of them as the center of the world, tlin 
 
fi' 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE UEATH. 
 
 371 
 
 gate of heaven, the place beyond all others in which the 
 pious believer in Brahma wisiies to die; thereby being 
 certain of eternal happiness. Her father had just died 
 there ; he was related to one of the India princes who had 
 formerly been a Eajah ; and Ranee, then scarcely eight 
 years old, was a widow. It had been arranged that in 
 consequence of that misfortune she should be kept in 
 Benares, educated and trained for religious duties, and 
 after a certain time be placed to serve for life in one of the 
 temples with other persons of like condition. You look 
 Hurprised when I say that Ranee was a widow at such an 
 early age ; it was nevertheless the fact ; she was a widow, 
 although never married ; I shall cxi)lain. A singular cus- 
 tom has long prevailed among the Hindoos in India of 
 b 'trcthing mere children, and should the bridegroom die 
 before the celebration of the marriage, the child, or girl, 
 or wcman, is considered a widow, and as such is prohibited 
 from being affianced again. Ranee was betrothed when 
 she was only five years of age, she became a widow before 
 slie was seven, and her father, then in poor health, took 
 her with him soon afterward, to the Holy City to receive 
 instruction, and he remained there until he died. I had 
 some business to transact with one of Ranee's relatives 
 who was on a visit to Benares, I went there to meet him, 
 and I S'l.w her then for the first time. This singular cus- 
 tom of betrothal which originated among the ancient 
 inhabitants of India, was subsequently adopted by the 
 Jc^ws, the Romans, and by other nations down to present 
 times ; indecKl many of the Mosaic ceremonies have been 
 copied solely from the original Hindoo, or Indian relig- 
 ious rites. 
 
 It was nearly ten years afterward before I saw Ranee 
 again ; I then scarcely recognized her, she had grown to 
 be a l>o,'iutiful woman, and I sliould not have known her 
 unless I had been inlormed who she was. I liad received 
 a letter from a very particular frien<l in Calcutla, wlio in- 
 formed me that he was a]M:>ut to get married, and he 
 requested that I would be i»resent at the ceremony. Be- 
 
 
I3IC 
 
 r I 
 
 r ' 
 
 1% 
 
 Ir 
 ll 
 
 kUh ft 
 
 372 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ing at the time but a short distance from Calcutta, I 
 attended, and I was pleased and surprised to find that 
 Kanee was to b» the bride. "While visiting one of the tem- 
 ples at Benares, my friend, whose name is Charles Maid- 
 Bton, happened to see her and was almost at once enam- 
 oured by her beauty. It was with the greatest difficulty 
 that he found an opportunity of speaking to her, but thoy 
 met, and in return she loved him with all ner heart, and 
 soon afterward— determined not to be baffled— he aidea 
 her and a female friend, an attendant in the temple, to 
 escape with him to Calcutta. This female friend was sub- 
 sequently the cause of much trouble. She was treacher- 
 ous and deceitful, and tried to supplant Ranee in the 
 affections of her lover. Thinking that she could more 
 easily accomplish her purpose by becoming a Christian 
 she went and got baptized and brought him the mission- 
 ary's certificate, but all to no purpose. Charles Maidston 
 looked ux)ou all religions as superstition, and had as much 
 reliance \n the truth of ancient Paganism as he had in 
 that of the modern faith of Christianity. 
 
 In spite of every effort of a jealous and unscrupulous 
 woman, the marriage took place. I never saw two more 
 happy persons in my life. By tluz act Ranee lost caste and 
 was considered by many as degraded ; while Maheel, her 
 rival, thorougiily embittered, left the city, nursing hor 
 hatred for Ranee, and threatening, no doubt, to seek an 
 opportunity for revenge; an opportunity for which she 
 was willing to wait for years. 
 
 Some time afterward, when the terrible Sepoy rebellion 
 was at its height, this same woman, Maheel, was an aGtiv( 
 agent among the disaffected. I heard of her in many 
 places, and I know that she did her best to entrap Raurn 
 and her husband to their destruction. When the rebellion 
 was overcome, and when peace prevailed again, I sett!* d 
 in Bombay, and I was glad to find that in a few month - 
 after this, my friend and his wife had been Induced to 
 remove to that city. Charles Maidston was «ngaged in an 
 extensive mercantile business, and had b^^en very prosper 
 
 iiU« 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEA.TH. 
 
 373 
 
 ous. He was a most honorable person, but rather too 
 conlifling in the integrity of others. During a period of 
 great commereial depression, he was prompted to become 
 responsible to a large amount for two or three friends 
 whom he wished to serve ; a crisis came, they were unable 
 to meet their payments, they left the country in a clandes- 
 tine manner, and he was financially ruined. Whether he 
 followed them (^r not, I am unable to say; my opinion is 
 that he must have done so. I received a few hasty lines 
 from him, stating that he would be under the necessity of 
 leaving India for a time ; he went away without troubling 
 any of his friends, and as he was of an independent si)irit, 
 he did not give me the opportunity of making any effort to 
 serve him. I subsequently learned thai one of the per- 
 sons for whom he had gone security to a large amount, 
 liad returned to England; another, an American, had left 
 for the United States ; it is quite probable that he followed 
 one or the other of these, and I am inclined to think from 
 some singular revelations which have been made lately to 
 me, that he is in the country at the present time." 
 
 During this narrative, John Valliant must have again 
 remembered what the Pariah had told him in India, after 
 he had been snatched from the grasp of Thugs by his 
 friend Maidston ; and what Zingari had said to him on the 
 Heath. He had already been instrumental in saving the 
 wife of him who had rescued him in India— ho had faced 
 death to do so— there seemed to be a singular coincidence 
 in all this, and he hada strong impression— even a belief— 
 that Zingari's prediction would become true, and that 
 Charles Maidston would yet be found in England. 
 
 Ranee, who had been listening attentively to what Mr. 
 V/iiinnt had related, now spoke, and stated that she was 
 satisfied her husband was then in some part of Great 
 Britain. Before he left home, be had been informed that 
 one of the principal persons for whom he had gone secu- 
 rity, had left India, and had been heard from as being in 
 London; and ho shortly afterward sailed from Bonil)ay, 
 determined, if possible, to find out this persoB ; he thought 
 
874 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 CU»i s 
 
 \w 
 
 "i'\ m 
 
 it would be his only chance of over obtaining any compen- 
 sation for the great loss he had sustained. 
 
 "Well," continued Mr. Valiant, resuming his narra- 
 tive, " shortly after my friend Mai<lston had left India, his 
 wife and child— they had one son about eight years of 
 age— went to reside with some of her friends at a placo 
 called Kundallah, the resort of many families from Bom- 
 bay during hot weather. About this time, it was that I 
 met with a severe loss— the greatest affliction of my life— 
 my wife died; and, following this misfortune, there soon 
 after came another. As I had many difficulties to contend 
 with, I sent my son to Egutpoora to remain with some of 
 his mother's relatives, until I got quietly settled again. 
 But such was not to be the case ; the great domestic loss 1 
 liad sustained, caused me to feel dejected, and then wh(Mi 
 the frightful news came that Edgar had been made aw;iy 
 with by Thugs, I was almost totally cast down. Day after 
 day I felt that I was losing strength ; and my health be- 
 came so impaired, that I was earnestly recommended to 
 leave India and seek restoration in another climate. After 
 some months' delay, I decided on going to England. I 
 took a particular interest in this country — not because it 
 happened to be the land of my birth, but it was the scone 
 of some of my earliest and most agreeable associations, 
 and because, to my mind, it was the great central point 
 from which Liberty had started on its triumphal marcli 
 throughout the world. But the greatest inducement wa-^, 
 that I might find my son ; for, from what I had boon 
 informed, I had reason to believe that he had been taken 
 to this country ; besides, there was a probability that I 
 might come across my friend Maidston. However, I must 
 at present say no more about myself. 
 
 It seems that, from the day of Ranee's marriage, 
 almost to the hour that her husband left the country, 
 Maheel never for a moment forj^ot her evil mission ; sho 
 must have had eyes and ears in every direction to tell hor 
 of an opportunity for mischief. She was not sorry to hoar 
 that Maidston had been unfortunate in business ; she was 
 
THE HRATIIENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 :{75 
 
 rejoiced to learn that Ranee had bc« u left boluiul— she 
 strongly hoi)od that slie had been deserted— and as she 
 luid somehow become possessed of abundant means to 
 aid her in a wicked purpose, she decided to follow him to 
 this country, in the expectation that she could, after all, 
 win his affections, and prevail on him to forget the wife 
 whom she thought he might be deairous of forsaking. 
 Whnt ^an surpass the intense hate of a neglected woman ? 
 Were Maheei a Christian, she would havo shed Ranee's 
 blood ; l3ut as Maheei was still a boli ver in Christna, she 
 wotild seek the destry tion of her rival by other means. 
 She would steal Ranee'i^ hated offi^i)ring, and send him to 
 slavery, and break his mother's heart, or rob her of her 
 r^nison. Maheei commenced at once to execute her de- 
 sign ; she had her spies at hand, she h{! 1 been informed 
 that a boy, supposed to be Ranee's -on, had been left at 
 Egutpoora, and as Ranee had been there some time before 
 that on a visit, she hastened to the place ; she had had a 
 description of the boy, and as Edgar must have had some 
 resemblance to Hemar, she mistook my son for the otner, 
 and took him away. She must havo soon discovered her 
 error, but to make sure, she i)laced Edgar in the keeping 
 of some of her confederates, and then she followed Ranee 
 to Kundaliah, She loitered around there several days 
 before an opportunity served her; at last, by means of 
 accomplices, she secured the boy, and kept him hidden 
 for some months, not for the sake of any reward that 
 might be offered, but for the imrpose of seeing whal effect 
 it would have ui)on the health and spirits of her she 
 wished to injure ; she also had it circulated tiiat Ch.irles 
 Maidston had gone to the United States, and that he had 
 met with his death there in an encounter with the Ameri- 
 can that had despoiled him. 
 
 These rei)orts, as well as the loss of her child, had a 
 very severe effect upon the health of Ranee; a nervous 
 ff'ver was the result, from which she narrowly escaped, 
 indeed it was asperte<l that one of her nurses— an emissary 
 of Maheel's-had been detected while in the act of tani- 
 
 
 X 
 
 ' . 
 

 <ii^. 
 
 ^^^.Wc 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 
 ^< 
 
 1.0 
 
 l.i 
 
 2.0 
 
 i 
 
 111 
 l» 1^ Ii4 
 
 IL25 i U_ ||.6 
 
 
 ^14 
 
 <r^fc i^'*^ ^^ 
 
 
 /: 
 
 7 
 
 s 
 
 Photogiaphic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WK7 MAIN STRUT 
 
 WfBSTIR.N.Y. 145S0 
 
 (716)872-4503 
 
 

 ^ 
 
37(i 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HKATH. 
 
 periug with the medicine ; a deadly drug might have been 
 administered were it not for the unusual precautions 
 which had been taken when suspicion had been awakened. 
 However, while she was still in a very weak condition, 
 good newo came at last, a letter was received which in- 
 formed her that her husband was safe in England, that he 
 was still in quest of one of the persons— the principal 
 one— by whom he had been such a loser; that he had 
 hopes of recovering much of what had been lost, and that 
 as he did not intend to return to India, she and Hemar 
 should sail as soon as possible for England; he even 
 directed her to stop at a certain place in Betnall, the par- 
 ish adjoining this, and that he would meet them there as 
 soon as his business permitted. 
 
 A little before this time I sailed from Bombay, I had pre- 
 viously exhausted every effort to discover my son, and had 
 offered an ample reward to whomsoever would restore 
 him ; yet I had been not long over a month out of the 
 country before he was taken to Eundallah and delivered 
 by a stranger to Ranee. She had heard of my loss, though 
 I had not been informed of hers; unaccountable circum- 
 stances, or perhaps Maheel's ingenuity prevented this; 
 however, she took good care of Edgar, he loves her al- 
 most as well as if she was his mother, and as she was 
 unable to correspond with me, not knowing where I 
 was, she brought hin* with ner here, even to be wrecked in 
 Pendall Bay ; yet she is fully entitled to an ample reward, 
 and the recompense which I trust I shall be able to give, 
 will be to restore her son." 
 
 Eanee brightened up at this intelligence, and kissed the 
 hand of him who had made her auch a promise. "She 
 knows all about it," continued Mr. Valiant, " I told her 
 this morning on the lawn that Maheel had been on the 
 Heath, and had left a boy there called Hemar, who I am 
 satisfied is the son of my friend; he is in safe hands at 
 present, and we shall all go there to-morrow and see for 
 ourselves; and almost everything that I have just told 
 you about our good friend Banee, I have had from her 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 877 
 
 own lips since she had been here— but let me tell you all. 
 When Maheel had made her escape with Hemai, she took 
 him to Bombay and passed him off as her nephew, she 
 went to a missionary and had him baptized, and, pretend- 
 ing to be a convert to Christianity she was re-baptized 
 herself. She told the missionary a singular story concern- 
 ing persecutions which she said she had suffered on 
 account of her change of faith, and, as the missionary was 
 on the point of returning to Europe, he was, like others of 
 his class, no doubt desirous of exhibiting such spiritual 
 trophies in England, and was therefore only too ready to 
 accede to her proposal to be taken to this country. Upon 
 their arrival, however, he waa greatly aggravated ; Maheel 
 and the boy had suddenly disappeared, and he has not 
 seen them since. 
 
 One of Maheel's accomplices in this vile business was 
 subsequently induced to reveal all she knew of the matter 
 to Ranee, and I am satisfied that much of the information 
 thus obtained will turn out to be correct. Maheel is still 
 I believe in this country; she is still bent on evil, she 
 must be watched. I have those of her race on the Heath 
 that will look closely after her. If she now finds out 
 Ranee is in England she will work and plot to effect a 
 malicious purpose, and in her desperation may commit 
 some more atrocious act than that of which she has al- 
 ready been guilty." 
 
 '* I am not afraid of the woman," said Ranee, " if I have 
 got clear of her so long, I now feel more confident, sur- 
 rounded as I am by true friends. I have already encoun- 
 tered many difficulties, and as you too well know, have but 
 just escaped a terrible danger to get even to this place. I 
 have no fear of her; my poor boy though long in her 
 power has been singularly protected, he is now you say, 
 safe out of her grasp. I shall see my child again, my own 
 dear little Hemar. Oh, what happiness to find him again i 
 I have had months of torture thirking of him-Hsad, sad 
 days, and dreary, restless nights— and to meet with my poor 
 boy once more, after all this intense mental angjish 
 
 1 
 
 ' ,1' 
 
 
 
 .lU 
 
 
 \r I 
 
 tl 
 
 
 1^ 
 
 .1: 
 
 "B 
 
 Gl 
 
 ■ 
 
 ■.lilt 
 
 1, 
 
 
 . 1 
 
 (I 
 
 n 
 
 i;f 
 
.'5 
 
 378 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 ,€■> 
 
 will be a sufficient recompense for what I have sufferod. ' 
 "You shall have that great pleasure to-morrow," said 
 Mr. Valiant, " be patient until then. I would not have 
 told you of this until I had made sufficient inquiries, and 
 was confident you would not be disappointed. The boy 
 nov; on the Heath with good old Zingari is yours. I might 
 have told you this when we landed from the vreck, even 
 at the moment you restored my son Edgar, but I waited to 
 be better assured ; now I am positive, and it may not be 
 long before you also meet with his father " 
 
 "Yes, yes, you shall all moot again, you shall," said the 
 curate whose sympathies caused him to venture this as- 
 sertion, and tears almost blinded his eyes as he uttered 
 the words. 
 
 Esther stooped over Banee in an affectionate man nor 
 and said something as if to confirm what her father had 
 so impulsively promised. The murmur of her voice ought 
 to have had a wonderfully soothing effect, it was always 
 like lulling melody, but now it seems to startle one per- 
 son present. Why was it that Ranee stood up so suddenly ? 
 8he stepped back and gazed at Esther whose features wore 
 a beautiful glow, while the red light of the fading day flllod 
 the whole apartment. " The very tone of his voice," said 
 Ranee appealing to John Vali.'int, "and look; his very 
 smile ! I noticed this when I first saw her. How wonder- 
 ful! See, is there not a most striking resemblance?" 
 She then pulled out a portrait from her bosom— the por- 
 trait of her husband— and exhibited it before them all. 
 Esther glanced at it and uttered an exclamation of sur- 
 prise ; the curate looked at it closely for a moment or two, 
 and then turning to Ranee he seized her hands in delight 
 and cried out: "Good God! it is the face, the very face 
 of my son Charles I " 
 
"^1 
 
 ii 
 
 ! 1^^ 
 
 1 
 
 |, if. 1 
 
 
 
 ' 3 
 
 ! : 
 
 J 
 
 it t ; 
 1 • 1 
 
 i! 
 
 f J' 
 
 r 
 
 • V 
 
 ■ ! 
 
 m 
 
 
 ll> 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A RAD END. 
 
 ll^HILE Mr. Moado and his friend still remained in 
 '* earnest conversation in tlie little parlor of the 
 parsonage, it became night; not a night of black darlc- 
 ness, but one sufficiently gloomy and windy to cause those 
 who were obliged to travel to wish that they were near 
 their journey's end. Heavy gusts swept across the Bay, 
 and rushed moaning through the scattered trees, and 
 thence onward, occasionally in vast circles as if chasing 
 one another, along the sterile plain until they passed the 
 most distant and elevated headland that gave a full view 
 of the ocean. It was a bleak night for a traveler, or for 
 any homeless creature that had no welcome to a iriendly 
 shelter; and such a creature — a forlorn looking woman- 
 was out this time on a highway close to the coast, and 
 fully ten miles from Pendell; and her face was turned 
 toward the parish of Betnall. She limped now and then 
 as if getting footsore or very weary, yet still she toiled along 
 laboriously upon the lonely highway— lonely and alone- 
 no, not alone ; she carried a bundle in her arms— an infant 
 —and when she came to a rivulet that crossed the roa<l in 
 a kind of ravine, she laid her bundle down close to a tree, 
 and went and scooped up some water in Ler hand, and 
 drank by this means until she was satisfied. She looked 
 around leisurely; she seemed to know the place, and 
 stood listening attentively as if for footstei)s ; but no such 
 sounds cume, she only heard the wind, and at intervals 
 
 ...i3ltt 
 
 ■ml 
 
 '■'Hi' 
 
 f.-j 
 
 -1 
 
 ■■' m 
 
 1 1 If 
 
 •rt 
 
 I <4 
 
 I I 
 t v ijS 
 
 
 Ml I't 
 
 In 
 
 Mi 
 
380 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HBATU. 
 
 when that spent itself, she could hear the gurgling of ilic 
 little stream. 
 
 The child was very quiet and while it slept so peacefully, 
 its mother— for this woman was the mother— went toward 
 an old ruin which stood at a short distance. This dilapi 
 dated structure— the scene of many a bloody struggle- 
 was roofless ; it had a great gaping arched doorway in 
 front, as forbidding in the night as the wide entrance to u 
 sepulchral vault ; and the ivy and wild vines that clung to 
 the walls in dense profusion, completely hid the spact»s 
 originally left for windows. 
 
 The woman was not afraid to stand in the gloomy 
 entrance and to look in at the darkness ; she had proba- 
 bly been there before. She went in and groped in one of 
 the corners with her hand, but she discovered nothing in 
 the pile of stones that lay inside; if she expected to flnrl 
 anything there, or to see or hear anybody in or near the 
 place she was disappointed; and she felt so. She went 
 back and lifted her bundle and placed it in a sheltered spot 
 near the doorway; she sat close by, stooped over, with 
 her head leaning on her hands, in deep thought, perhaps 
 brooding over her condition; her dark hair hung negli- 
 gently upon her shoulders, an old shawl was carelessly 
 thrown around her, and her dress was patched and torn 
 in several places. She was young— far yet from thirty ; she 
 was weak and had evidently suffered from sickness or 
 destitution. Why does she sit here? Is that vault-like 
 recess behind her the only place of shelter she can find ? 
 and is that stream her only scource of refreshment ? She 
 now lif^s her bundle— the child is still quiet— she opens it 
 a little, she feels lonely and almost alone, and wishes to 
 hear the least sound of anything that has life, even the 
 breathing of the child ; but now she cannot hear this. Is 
 it because of the moaning of the wind ? She stoops closer. 
 Ha 1 She hurriedly opens the bundle— the infant moves 
 not; the woman gives a sharp cry, she is now indeed 
 alone, for the child is dead. She still waits— stooped 
 closer yet, waiting or wishing for life to return— it comes 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATU. 
 
 381 
 
 not silt airti'ts ui) and with a wild stare loolts aioiind once 
 mote— a, pitiful pleading look— and again she liftfl the 
 infantas If to be fully wssured. '* Dead, dead— better dead 
 than aliv6,*' mu tered the woman solemnly, " better dead 
 with so little suffering, than to live and suffer much. 
 But /le shall suffer more than thou hast. I don't want to 
 wake thee, child, stay dead as thou art. Death will be more 
 of life to thee than life ever was. Thou wert neglected by 
 all but me. Yet alas! I could not give thee proper nour- 
 ishment. Thou hast sucked in my sorrow, and it poisoned 
 thee ; would that tho same could free me to follow. Aye, 
 stay dead ; he that should have owned thee wouid have 
 abandoned thee— thou wert with me abandoned. Stay 
 dead poor little creature— would that I were away with 
 thee! Poor tiling, thou never didst any harm— and yet 
 death came— 'twas thy best friend. Thou wert not long 
 here to learn evil— /le would have taught thee evil. Thou 
 art now in heaven where he shall never go— never ! Thou 
 Tuightst ha\e lived to learn evil ways from him as others 
 
 have learned them; but he cannot harm thee now. He would 
 wisli thee dead ; yet he may not know that thou art gone 
 
 until he sees thee as a star in glory from the black regions 
 
 of the condemned." She pressed her hands to the sides 
 
 of her head as if \o keep down some more agitating 
 
 thought. "Yes, better dead than to be disowned; better 
 
 that I were as thou art than to be degraded for having 
 
 become a mother by such a man as the heartless rector of 
 
 15etnali. A mother who has had no husband is nothing 
 
 l)ut an abandoned wretch, scarcely tit to live; so the pious 
 
 of tile rector's congregation say. O Christian charity ! But 
 
 is he fit to live if I am not ; he the treacherous seducer. 
 
 i'c^s, they will bid him live, they will hear him pray and 
 
 l)reach— they will overlook his sin— but I, poor abandoned 
 
 creature, cannot be forgiven. Ah! John Rockett, thou 
 
 Shalt die some time— perhaps thy end may be near— if so, 
 
 God have mercy on thee, thou hast much to answer for ; 
 
 k<^ep thy prayers for thyself thou wilt need them all. 
 
 Thou hast brought many a poor creature to sham© aad 
 
 n^m 
 
 i . . L, Mm 
 
 ••1 
 
 *' •■ ■ 
 
 
 ^ i !: 
 
 i \ 
 
 ■511 
 
 i 
 
 ; \ 
 
 ■ .y 
 
 
 ''a 
 !! 1 
 
 f : 
 
 i^ 
 
 I 
 ! 
 
 i 
 
 ,. a 
 
 I ;? 
 
 'h ii 
 
 "I 
 
 \U 
 
i 
 
 t 
 
 ?/■ 
 
 382 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 distress ; if I can iirevent it thou shalt do so no lonpor ; I 
 have kept thy secret only too faithfully, yet thou wouldst 
 let me starve. I have withheld my hand, but now I shall 
 strike, I shall expose thee before the world, in thy very 
 church if I can steal in—so Parson Rockett prepare." 
 
 She was now much excited, she pressed her hands 
 again to the sides of her head, and stooped down to look 
 at the features of her dead child. She remained in this 
 position for several minutes, and though her eyos seenn I 
 fixed upon the placid features of the infant, her thoughts 
 were away with the past. 
 
 Sh© remembered that it. was but little over two years 
 since she had left the fireside of her parents, the quid, 
 humble home of her honest father to go into the service 
 of the Rev. John Rocket, rector of Betnall. How partial 
 the rector had always been to her. He had seen her at 
 church and had noticed hor tidiness and good looks, and 
 would have her for a servant. How satisfied her mother 
 was to let her go, it was lucky to get such a fine place ; sho 
 would learn her catechism better, and she of course would 
 have to attend church more regularly, and learn lessons 
 of strict morality in a minister's dwelling ; this was what 
 her indulgent mother had imagined. But how different 
 had been her experience in the apostolic mansion ; riotiii;:? 
 and drunkenness, a disorderly household, debauchery and 
 a neglected and abused wife. Then came the fiend to 
 whisper avowals and promises that he never fulfilled, and 
 then followed her seduction, and heartless abandonment.* 
 
 h-- 
 
 * The following is an extract from the New Yoi ,c World, Nov. 1873 
 See Note 16 for further particulars of clerical frailty. 
 
 A sad clerical scandal was attracting attention in London. Tlio 
 Rev. John Reed was being tried before Sir R. Phillimoro, in the Court 
 of Arches, upon a criminal charge at the in^stance of the Bishop of 
 Exeter, for soliciting the chastity of four young women who hinl 
 been employed as domestics in his family. The accused is tne Vi<'.ii 
 of Tregony, in Cornwall. He was fifty-eight years old ; he hail 
 been charged with simony, in buying the living in ih65, nnd he <\k\ 
 not, enter upon it until 1868. He wife was an invalid, and ocou pied h 
 separate bedroom. The evidence was quite unfit for publi<'ation, 
 but. nevortheless, eom e of the London papers were printing it at 
 lengtb. 
 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 383 
 
 So far she had wandered back into the dreary past. What 
 was to be her future among Christian people who upheld 
 social laws so shamefully partial, unjust and oppressive ? 
 8he dared not look upon the bleak, hopeless aspect of the 
 time to come. She had scarely a hope left; she would 
 only be a poor despised thing, shunned and maligned 
 even by the ostentatiously devout of her own sex whose 
 sin was better concealed. And she would be pointed at by 
 (dmrch going matrons as a living text for a domestic lec- 
 ture on natural depravity. 
 
 These reflections brought her almost to the brink of 
 despair. What had she now to live for ? She would fain 
 embrace death ; but still she would not die, she must live 
 yet longer, she had a duty to perform, a disclosure to 
 make, a frail revenge to accomplish, and then she cared 
 not for existence. Impressed witli these ideas she started 
 up, her look was determined, she bared her right arm and 
 gazed at it thoughtfully. **Thin and wan, skin and bone, 
 to what it used to be, but still strong enough for the work 
 I havt/ to do when I have settled with him. O ! God, that 
 I should ever think of taking my own life ; that my friends, 
 if I have one left— should have to drag for my body in a 
 pond, or search for it at the bottom of a cliff, or wait until 
 the tide throws it up among seaweeds on the beach. O 
 God! what an end to all my expectations." 
 
 Having muttered this she bound her dishevelled hair, 
 folded the old shawl around hei, and before she lifted the 
 bundle she went once more into the vault-like place and 
 soon returned. 
 
 •' Not a shilling there, nothing left to screen us from 
 the cold blast, not a mouthful of bread for us to eat— for 
 us? alas I not for us— for me alone." She had for the 
 moment forgotten that the child was dead. " He prom- 
 ised to send something Uere, but he has failed to do so as 
 he did before; the crurjbs of his table would be of some 
 help now, but the brute forgets us— I shall not forget him, 
 I shall see his wife to-morrow, and I shall expose him ou 
 Sunday in the presence of his congregation— I will." She 
 
 n , 
 
 l^» 
 
 
 > :;■ 
 
 If' '■ 1 
 
 €m i 
 
 t. 
 
 ii I 
 
 1 I 
 
 fS'i '- 
 
 I if 
 
 ;. 15 
 
 III 
 
 
384 
 
 TUE H£ATU£NS OF THE HEATH 
 
 hurriedly lifted up tlie bundle; her resolution gave hop 
 fresh strength, slie had again forgotten that the child whs 
 dead ; but soon the terrible truth came, and when she felt 
 its now stiffened limbs she staggered under the trilling 
 burden and had to lean against a tree. 
 
 "I shall take thee to him at once— this very night if 1 
 can— and then, O, God ! must I take thee to thy grave 
 alone." 
 
 "No, not alone," said a voice close to her side, "not 
 a-">ne, you shall have one to follow. Let me go with you, 
 I want to see a grave, I want to see where the dead lie, 
 and how they rest, so that I shall feel better able if need 
 be to add another to their number." 
 
 The woman was startled ; she fancied that some poor, 
 crazed creature had made her escape from the prison 
 workhouse not far distant. The one who had so suddenly 
 addressed her was a dark haired, dark featured woman, 
 whose wild expression caused her black eyes to almost 
 flash in the gloom. She was wrapt in a large cloak, and 
 was greatly excited. 
 
 " Let me go with you, I shall help you. I may— I shciil 
 want your help in return. You want revenge, so do I. I 
 heard what you said, let me help you. I have money and 
 can pay you. You know this place. I want you to be my 
 guide. I want you to tell me of some I seek. Are they 
 here, tell me ? Don't look so afraid, I am now a Thug, 
 but I won't hurt you. See, here is gold." 
 
 She held out a gold piece in her hand, but the other 
 woman hesitated to touch it. 
 
 "Take It, you want it more than I do; there is plenty 
 more in this," said she, exhibiting a purse, "I may not 
 want it long." 
 
 "Let me carry your bundle." 3he went toward the 
 woman, but when she saw the fa'^e of the dead child in 
 the murky light, she drew quickly back. "Hal I would 
 rather not touch the dead— our Sudras do thT,t. You are 
 a Christian, and care not. Yet, I would touch it, if i could 
 but restore the life it has lost. Vf hy weep for your child ? 
 
:?ia 
 
 THE IIKATUENH OF TIIK IIIIATH. 
 
 385 
 
 'You t».ro H Clirislhin, and you havo tlio promise ret'onled 
 in your j^rcat book, that llio i)rayor of laltli can reani- 
 mate. Havo you i'aitli in that [)ro!nise ? If 1 were a 
 Christian, ami had faitli, I would raise tliat dead e')ii(i. 
 (Cannot you do bO? Havo you ever seen tlie dead raised 
 ,tlirou,L,di faitli— has anybody? You will not reply. Alas! 
 ilike others, you doubt, and like others, you believe. Prove 
 that one, even one, has ever been restored by faith, and I 
 too shall be a (Christian. Prove it, and l)y that same faith 
 I shall confound my enemies ; I shall use that power witli 
 ;as little mercy as Peter used it when he struck down Ana- 
 aiias and Sjipi>hira. Wonderi'ul i)romise, wonderful faith, 
 wonderful failures ; and it still remains for you and i>thers 
 'the same wonderful delusion. Woman, wee[) on, but your 
 .lead cannot revive ! Come let us lay it in its ^'rave ; let us 
 be the sole mourners. Seldom has pity found a p'aco in 
 my heart, but I can pity you, thouj^h many C'hristians will 
 aot. You are no sinner in my eyes— you have been sinned 
 ii,t,'ainst. You are not a i>ollut(»d thinu", and if I, with an 
 Iron heart, can compassionate you, be j;s-.ured that Uw 
 threat Creator will be far more willing to do the same. 
 You are a mother— a mother— there is sometiiing holy in 
 that name, it is tlie ma;jfic word to brinj,' out the tenderest 
 i^nnh of nature; and the fountain of true alfeelion can 
 never completely burst out and overflow until touched by 
 the maternal hand. O, if I had only been a mother, 1 
 inlj,dit have had a heart, ami I mi-^ht have been dilYerent 
 now! You still weei)— i)oor thinj^! If I stay near you 
 much lonj^'er, tears may come to my eyes once more, and 
 i may lose my power to hate, and become human a.t^ain. 
 Yet I cannot leave you. I am a fiend— I have little 
 .save hatred for any but you. Come, come, let us away 
 ♦vith your dead, and then we shall deal with the livin.^^" 
 
 The woman still leaned a.tjainst the tree; she was sob- 
 hinj^ now, and her comi)anion gently placed a hand upon 
 her shoulder and led her from the s[>ot. 
 
 "What is your name? You won't speak? I shall tell 
 you mine; I am Maheel—the wicked Maheel— I am wick- 
 
 17 
 
 t 
 
 li' 
 
 
 **» : " il 
 
 «<«:,' 
 
 I I 
 
 111 ' 1 
 
 M 
 
 !:;iii:i .t ' 
 
 i i ■ 
 
 Iv ' 
 
 . ! 
 1 1 
 
 I i 
 
 ■ 4 I 
 
 ' m I 
 
 i>- ti 
 
 li 
 
 ■[■ 
 
 v- I 
 
 
I 
 
 i 
 
 Vr 
 
 k 
 
 ?!'■■'- i 
 
 386 
 
 THE HEATIII.NS Of TlIK IIEATII. 
 
 ecI. 1 have been dospised by the only one I over lovod, 
 and now I have h«ft Clui.stna the bcnevolont to become, 
 perhaps, a worsliipor of Siva forover. Even worse than 
 that I shall become a Christian Thus, and be as hearllcss 
 as a Puritan, and as cruel as an Inquisitor, He who has 
 rejected me shall soon knov/ this; and my rival, if still 
 alive, she whom I hate, must die. Come, let us leave this 
 —do not stare at me as if I were Kali herself, I will never 
 hurt you. Come with me to Betnall, and Maheel will be 
 your friend." 
 
 In a few minutes they got to the top of a hill. Maheel 
 led her companion thus far without any resistance, indeed 
 it was the direction in which the woman wished to travel. 
 Below them at the distance of about half a mile the spiio 
 of the parish church of Betnall could be dimly secMi 
 against the clouded sky, and lights were yet to bo seen in 
 many of the houses, one of which in particular seemed to 
 attract the notice of Maheel's com i •anion. 
 
 " Is that Betnall ? " asked Maheel. 
 
 ** Yes," replied the woman, " that is Betnall." 
 
 " Do you know many there ? " 
 
 After a pause Maheel was answered: "Yes, one too 
 many." 
 
 ** Where does your mother live ? " 
 
 The poor woman looked down with the aspect of 
 despair and slowly muttered : *' In heaven." 
 
 •*Ha!" exclaimed Maheel, "his prayers and good 
 works, his vile treatment of you did that also. Where ia 
 the tavern ? " 
 
 "Away to the right of the church," said the woman,, 
 indicating the direction, not by pointing with the linger,, 
 but with a significant nod of her head. 
 
 "Shall we go to the cemetery first? "asked Maheel,. 
 " we can find one to bury this child for you, I will pay for 
 the labor." 
 
 **No," replied the woman with some energy, "I sh;ill 
 take it to /tim, he shall read the service over it first and 
 bury it afterward. He has the best right to do this, and I 
 
WW 
 
 ' a 
 
 TllK IIKATIIKNH OF TIIR IIK/Vl'll. 
 
 387 
 
 wjint his whole ('oii<^'ro<,'{ition to be at the fuiicnil, and his 
 wife jiinoiiK iho mourners." 
 
 "Sluill I K^) with you," asked Muheel. 
 
 " No, I wish to uio alone." 
 
 *' Maheol was silent for a minute and then said : ** Well 
 ufo alono. I shall meet you aj^ain. But tell me," said slir 
 al'ter some hesitation, "do you know any one here by iIk 
 name of Maidston ?" 
 " No, I never heard the name before." 
 "Weil, I shall And out for myself, but mind, I must poo 
 you aj^ain, you may be able to servo me, and I (^aii help 
 you. I shall perhaps be back in an hour or two. Meet 
 me at the tavern if you ean by that time — I shall Ilnd it 
 over the way you say," said Maheel pointing toward where 
 she supi)Osed it was. 
 
 " Yes," replied the woman, "go in that direction and 
 you will see the sign post." 
 
 Maheel then muffled herself closely up and partly cov- 
 ered her face in the folds of the largo cloak, she seemed 
 anxious to remain unknown to all others, and before she 
 went away she thrust a gold piece into the woman's hand 
 and left her, and just then the clock in the church tower 
 struck eleven. 
 
 Over half an hour from this time when the night grew 
 darker and the wind much higher, the liev. John liock )tt, 
 rector of Eetnall, the Rev. Mr. Vanscourt, clia[)lain to the 
 bishop of Storkchester, anothei* clerical friend, and two of 
 the neighboring gentry, each of whonitoeui)honiize might 
 be simply called a bou vlvant in his own way, were com- 
 foilably seated around a table in the large dining room of 
 the rectory. The llev. Mr. Vanscourt while on his way to 
 take possession of his new living at Pendell, or to be in 
 stalled as rector of that i)arish, had stopi)ed to spend a 
 day or two with his friend Rockett. Perhaps he called 
 to get a little spiritual advice from a pastor of so much 
 experience in holy things ; or, as the Rev. Mr. Rockett 
 was known to be a sound churchman, and a great cham- 
 pion lor biblical authority, it might bo tiiat the newly 
 
 t i 
 
 ■:i 
 
 ■\ 1 
 
 I, 
 
 1 , 
 
 IJ 
 
 
 
 _ * 
 
 ■ ' 
 
 '1 
 
 J 
 
 ■ 
 
 ij 
 
J88 
 
 THK HEA.TUENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 ^^m 
 
 
 ^^^n 
 
 
 ^^9 *" 
 
 
 O^^^B 
 
 
 ■ 1: 
 
 
 
 
 M. 
 
 
 iilBmj'i •' 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 I; ,- 
 
 appointed rector wished to x3onverse witli liis more ortho- 
 dox brother in order to get rid of u score or two of dam- 
 ning doubts on the subject of scriptural inspiration, and 
 scriptural contradictions, lest the faith of the simple and 
 unsuspecting believers at Pendell might be contaminated 
 by false teaching, or by the theories or exi)lanation.s of 
 modern science. So far the rector and his friends had had 
 a jolly time of it. In ho fore part of the day there was a 
 cock fight in the back yard, and within an hour and a half 
 parson Eockott's best game bird, for which he had 
 paid a large sum, had disabled two of his antagonists, and 
 killed two others. During dinner the conversation had 
 been lively, and though nothing had been ^aid about 
 the condition of the heathen world, or the progress of 
 religion, the p irson had a more absorbing subject, he was 
 fierce in his denunciations of the attempts to disestablish 
 the Church in Ireland, inferring that as soon as the emis- 
 saries of Satan had accomplished their purpose in the 
 Sister Isle a rei)etition of the infamous measure would 
 be introduced in England. He had no particular com- 
 plaint to make respecting any fresh predatory incursions 
 from the Heath, but he spoke in diyparagement of the 
 democratic notions of John Valiant, the wealthy proprie- 
 tor of the Mayston estate, and alluded to him as being a 
 kind of pagan or infidel who could show the barbarians 
 around him the shortest cut to hell ; who cared nothing for 
 religion, and who Dover heard a prayer uttered from June 
 to January. '* I don't suppose they care much for prayer 
 on the Heath," said Mr. Vanscourt, " like- Mr. Tyndall and 
 other such daring fellows, they believe thoy can get along 
 well enough without it. In fact you know, Rockett, that 
 many of ourselves begin to doubt whether prayer is of any 
 benefit, and some of the bishops begin to grumble at our 
 remissness in this respect; * however during the late har- 
 
 • In a letter da^^ed Decenibor 24th. 1872, addressed by the Archbis* 
 nop of Canterbury, to the Ari'hdoacon of Canterbury and Maidstone, 
 the Primate expresses surprise that the clergy ffenerally have not made 
 use of tlie prayers subscribed in the Liturgy of the Chur'^h of Eng- 
 land for seasons of excessive rain. His Grace trusts that, if we have 
 
m 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 389 
 
 vest we were urged in behalf of many of our agricultural 
 friends, to offer prayers in the Cathedral for fine weather 
 even the bishop himself said * amen ' among the rest ; but 
 no fine days came except an odd Sunday, and then of 
 course none dare work ; instead of that, we had rain, rain, 
 rain nearly every day for a month. Speaking of the 
 Heath, how is your good old friend, the gypsy woman- 
 old Zingari— of course you can't forget her." 
 
 "O, the Jezebel," said Mr. Rockott, in a rather excited 
 manner, "I know that old wretch too well. She's a fit 
 harpy for John Valiant and his vile gang ; she's an impos- 
 tor, an infernal old witch that ought to be sent post-haste 
 to-" 
 
 "That's it. Jack!" interrupted the Rev. Mr. Vans- 
 court, who perceived that the copious draughts of brandy 
 and water which the rector had swallowed, had already 
 produced something more than a stimulating effect, and 
 he wished to banter him a little for the sake of amusement. 
 " That's it Jack, hurry her off in true scriptural style ; you 
 know the sentence pronounced against such reptiles — it is 
 ill fact a Divine command — ' Thou shalt not suffer a witch 
 to live, these are the very words, so be off and make away 
 with her. Ah, but now that I remember,'* continued ho 
 in subdued voice, "she is not the kind of witch that you 
 prefer to deal with. If report be true you are a good 
 judge of the sort of witches that used to fascinjite our 
 
 a continuance of the unusually wet weather which has prevailed of 
 late, and which has put a stop to agricultural operations in many 
 f 4 of the country, the clergy in the Archdeaconry will notfi'ilto 
 . ake use of the prayer wherever the circumstances of the district ap- 
 pear to call for it. 
 
 During the late cattle plague in England, the Bishop cf Lincoln or- 
 dered the following prayer to be used in the churches of his diocese. 
 Unfortunately for the owners of the cattle the prayer proved of very 
 little service. 
 
 "Almighty God, who has made all things on earth for man, and 
 dost save both man and beast, we thank thee for the blessings we 
 receive from thee in the creatures of thy hand, and we pray thee to 
 restore to health those among them which are diseased, and to stay 
 this plague anu sickness of our cattle, so that we may use thy gilts 
 with joyful hearts to our comfort and thy glory, through Jt^s.js Christ 
 3ur Lord.— Amen." Loudon p apcr, 1872. 
 
 * I 
 
 ■^•iil 
 
 
 1 ii 
 
 : ] j 
 
 
m 
 
 390 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH, 
 
 illustrious friend Solomon in the olden time— that was the 
 age you ought to have lived in, Jack. The purists are 
 down on you now because it is hinted that you deal with 
 only five or six— that of course is only a Methodist slandei 
 —but slander or not, quote Scripture for them, man, i: 
 they trouble you again; you have as good right to a 
 plurality of wives, or hand-maids, or concubines, as Jacob, 
 or David, or Solomon, or many others. God permitted 
 these holy patriarchs and kings to indulge to this extent; 
 and, as he is unchangeable, his ministering servants in 
 these latter days may justly claim the same privilege —we 
 are all I imagine too foolishly scrupulous in this respect. 
 You remember King Solomon hadathousand ; a thousand 
 all told." 
 
 "A thousand ?— no, not quite a thousand," muttered 
 the Eev. Mr. Kockett with a stupid smile, while his un- 
 steady head hung down, now and then swaying from side 
 to side. 
 
 **Yes, Jack, a full thousand; nothing in ancient or 
 modern times can come up to that — here is chapter and 
 verse for it: 'And he had seven hundred wives, prin- 
 cesses, and three hundred concubines.' 'Twas a proof of 
 his wisdom to be able to keep them from tearing one 
 another's eyes out." 
 
 "So it was, so it was," said Parson Kockett, tossing up 
 his head and making a silly attempt to brighten up a 
 little. **So it was, Vanscourt; for he was a jolly good 
 fel— now Vanscourt drink your glass and don't bother us 
 with any more of such moral quotations— hie." 
 
 "Moral quotations? Ha, ha, everything Scriptural is 
 moral of course," replied Mr. Vanscourt, " though I must 
 admit that there are many chapters in the Old Testament 
 that I should prefer not to read in the presence of a 
 refined cc ngregation. I won't give you the exact chapters 
 lest you night study them for your own edification ; no 
 doubt you have read them over and over, and have them 
 all by heart." 
 
 " Vanscourt— hie— don't preach at us all night; you'd 
 
tHE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 391 
 
 you'd 
 
 ir-^ke a queer kind of Joseph yourself if temptation came. 
 I know a witch — hie — that you'd like to make away with." 
 
 "O, indeed I suppose you do. You have also some 
 knowledge of the renowned witch of Endor. Now Jack, 
 upon your honor, can you read the story of that wonderful 
 resurrectionist without smiling at the guUability of your 
 hearers ?" 
 
 "Of course I can, so can you,'* replied Mr. Rockett 
 stupidly, ** the witch of Endor called, and up Samuel came. 
 A pretty witch has power even to raise the dead." 
 
 Just then the Rev. Mr. Vanscourt who sat sideways 
 near one of the windows chanced to turn his head toward 
 it, the curtain had been partly drawn, and there right 
 before him, was a woman's face, close up, almost touching 
 the glass. A face once pretty, but now looking pinched 
 and pale by want or disease. The night must have been 
 very dark, for the light shone full upon her, revealing 
 every feature; and her sunken eyes were fixed sternly 
 ui)on the flushed and bloated countenance of the rector of 
 Betnall. 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Vanscourt, "if there 
 is not the veritable witch of Endor herself." 
 
 He was rather startled by the apparition; there was 
 something ghost-like in the solemn, cadaverous face at the 
 window-pane, and in the wild stare which was settled upon 
 the now inebriated host. 
 
 "See there, Rockett, look at that woman, she seems to 
 want you." 
 
 The parson looked up at his friend Vanscourt with 
 the same stupid smile and gave an incredulous wink, but 
 then to be satsifled he made an effort and turned to the 
 window and saw the pale woman. He closed his eyes for 
 a moment, he rubbed them as if to be certain that he was 
 not in a dream— there she was still. The smile had al- 
 ready faded from his face and he tried to avoid the eyes 
 that seemed to enter his very soul. He now grew nervous ; 
 then he became irritable, and all at once he seemed to be 
 aware of who it was, and to have become influenced by a 
 
 :. ill 
 
 mm 
 
 u "i 
 
 
 I 1 
 
 :: it 
 
392 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 
 ietermination to go out and meet the intruder direcstly. 
 
 "I want a light— bring mealantern." Heshouted this, 
 and in quiolf time a servant brought what he wanted. He 
 took the Umtern, and, witliout a word of apology, left the 
 room and the door was scareely closed behind him ere the 
 woman's face disappeared from the window. 
 
 When he got outside, the chill air caused him to shiver, 
 and he stumbled in the darkness. He walked a little 
 distance from the house, along the pathway leading to the 
 stable, and looked about, but he could see no one. He 
 held the lantern up almost as high as his head, but the 
 stream ol" light did not enable him to discover the form of 
 a human being, he could only see the row of tall poplar 
 trees, that stooa in the road along the line of the garden 
 wall, swaying in the wind. He hesitated : 
 
 ** Was it her ghost ? " muttered he to himself. ** I heard 
 yesterday that the wench was dead— v/as it her I saw ? " 
 
 '* Yes it was her you saw — you hoped she was dead— you 
 would let her starve and die like a pauper— see, here is a 
 dead pauper— and now I will never leave you until I have 
 revenge for this, and until I exi^oso y$u all over the 
 parish." 
 
 The woman stood before him and held out the dead 
 child, she seemed thoroughly aroused and indifferent to 
 what she said or did. 
 
 The rector, though a little startled at first, now gave the 
 woman an indignant scowl. " I wish you were dead, you 
 infamous harlot, why did you dare to come here with 
 your dead brat? — did I not caution you before? I shall 
 now have you locked up and confined forever as a danger- 
 ous lunatic." 
 
 "A harlot!— this word from you?" O heartless mon- 
 ster, shameless liar, degraded as I feel for having yielded 
 to you, I am not yet as low as you would have me— not as 
 degraded in tho sight of heaven as you are yourself— see," 
 said she holding out the dead infant, ** you are a murder- 
 er. You promised us a home and support, but you let us 
 star\e. A harlot! O, God, what a monster! " 
 
M 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 The woman had raised her voice, and were it not for tli* 
 voice of tlie wind as it ruslied through tlie trees, slie wouid 
 have been heard in the house. 
 
 "See," cried the now infuriate rector, "if you shout 
 that way I shall dash your damned brains out— I will, by 
 heavens! " He ■clutched- her by the shoulder and shoved 
 her from him with such violence, that the poor weak 
 woman was unable to hold the infant, and she let it fall to 
 the ground. 
 
 "Oh, my child," she cried, and she ran to lift it, "I 
 shall take it to your abused wife and she, yes she, shall 
 know all." 
 
 "Never, you she-devil, you shall never touch that bas- 
 tard again if that's what you're at." He seized her again, 
 pushed her aside and made a kick at the bundle to send it 
 beyond her reach ; he then dragged her after him toward 
 a large out building which was a short distance from the 
 stable. When he reached this place he tried to burst open 
 the door, but he found that the key had been left in it, and 
 ho forced the woman in before him. The poor famished 
 creature was unable to make the least resistance, her 
 strength had been completely spent, and quick as he let 
 her go, she fell heavily on the rough floor in a swoon. 
 
 The rector who was greatly flurried locked the door at 
 once on the inside and flung the key away. He scarcely 
 knew what he was doing ; he was still under the influence 
 of strong liquor, but ho was determined that she should 
 not escape and get into the house. 
 
 The outbuilding in which they were was very large ; the 
 upper part was packed with a large quantity of hay and 
 straw, which could not conveniently be put into the stable ; 
 the lower part contained a pile of dried wood, several old 
 packing cases, some broken furniture, a carpenter's bench, 
 some boards, and a lot of odds and ends which were here 
 thrown aside. 
 
 The rector now stooped low, he held the lantern close 
 to the woman's face, she was breathing, faintly breathing, 
 but very pale. She must have been cut when she fell, for 
 
 I 
 
 "•B 11! 
 
 'ii 
 
 .! fM 
 
 ■-H. P*i 
 
 :( 
 
 
 ; -i 
 
 I ; 
 
 f i 
 
 iii\ 
 
 '-.I 
 
 H 
 
 t 11 
 
 m 
 
 t '8 
 II 
 
 i 
 
 P 
 
394 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 
 
 there was a large gash across her temple, and she was 
 bleeding profusely. He began to get afraid— perhaps tho 
 woman was going to die— he did not care much for that, 
 but how could he get rid of the dead ; there was the body 
 of the child lying outside. He must hurry back to tho 
 house for a servant, he tried to open the door, he groped 
 around but could not find the key— he became confused ; 
 he was scarcely able to consider what was the best to do. 
 He went to a corner and got up the ladder which led to 
 the loft, he would try and make his way through the dry 
 hay and straw and drop down outside from the large open- 
 ing at the end. In his condition such an ett'ort was diffi- 
 cult and dangerous, but on he went ; he took a few steps 
 and stumbled, and the lantern flew out of his hand into 
 the very midst of the combustible stuff about him. 
 
 The rector's friends remained still seated at the table, and 
 fresh decoctions had boen prepared. Mr. Rocketthad been 
 gone nearly an hour, and during that time Mr. Vanscourt, 
 following up the topic which had been under discussion, 
 entertained his companions with little scriptural stories 
 concerning Lot and his daughters; Eachel and Bilhali; 
 Reuben and Bilhah ; Leah and Rachel ; J udah, Onan and 
 Tamar; Joseph and Potiphar's wife; David and Bath- 
 sheba; Amnon and Tamar; and other pious exemplary 
 recitals of a similar kind from the ** Word of God " ; and 
 then he followed with inuendoes touching certain repu- 
 1 ed propensities of their absent host. The time so far had 
 been spent agreeably, they were all in— and with — the best 
 of spirits, but soon after this they began to wonder why 
 the rector had remained out so long. 
 
 Mr. Vanscourt went to the window. "Can it be," said 
 he, " that we have the full moon ? I scarcely thought it 
 was the proper time for that. See, it is almost as bright 
 as day, and there is that woman— our witch of Endor— 
 away down tliere ; I thought she had gone away to com- 
 fort Saul." 
 
 There was a woman outside near the end of the garden, 
 she was closely muffled up, and was looking off in a direc- 
 
■vwi 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 395 
 
 tion from the house. The light now grew red, and the 
 room was all aglow. Why is this ? It cannot be sunriae, 
 for it is not yet far from midnight. A wild scream was 
 now heard. Mr. Vanscourt quickly turned his head toward 
 the illuminated point : ** Good God! " exclaimed he, " the 
 large outhouse is all on fire! Where is Mr. Kockett?" 
 They all ran out, every one in the house followed. A 
 search was made in all directions for the rector, but he was 
 not to be found ; neither could the woman now be seen. 
 
 The rector's wife had been very poorly for some days 
 and could not leave her room ; she was terribly alarmed. 
 She watched the lurid light, little dreaming of what the 
 flames were then devouring. She heard a footstep in her 
 room, and was startled by the appearance of a woman, 
 closely wrapped in a large cloak. The unknown visitor 
 was flurried and almost breathless, she laid a bundle on the 
 marble topped bedroom table. *' I have brought you your 
 husband's infant," said she, " its mother and he are out 
 there in that Christian Suttee, and their bones will be re- 
 reduced to ashes before dawn. You may have heard that 
 Zingari once told him that he would never need a grave, 
 he never will ; but in his place you must try and find one 
 to-morrow for that dead child." 
 
 The words were scarcely uttered before the rector's 
 wife fell fainting into an arm chair ; and Maheel having 
 done this fancied service for an unfortunate sister, stole 
 out of the house undiscovered, and like Ate she went her 
 way alono to try and work evil, and bring misery to 
 others. 
 
 im ;i 
 
 "ml- \l 
 
 I ',3 
 
 H is 
 
 i 4 
 
 !•,( 
 
 •I il 
 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ■tv 
 
 BTILL ANOTHER. 
 
 TT was not yet dawn— it was chilly— it was misty — it was 
 gloomy; but thick mist occasionally reflected the 
 crimson light that was emitted by the expiring flames of 
 the still burning outhouse; and the same dense vapor 
 seemed at times to rest like a flushed and angry cloud 
 upon the dark brow of the hill that over-looked the vil- 
 lage of Betnall. At such moments of partial illumination 
 objects could be plainly seen which in the the intermit- 
 ting periods would not be visible, and now, at the unusual 
 hour, the form of a woman might be discovered standing 
 on the hill, and from her attilude and moody expression 
 of countenance, it would require no great effort to fancy 
 that she was the spirit of the Rame angry cloud gloating 
 upon the ruin and destruction which was taking place 
 beneath her. 
 
 But, strange to say, though one might imagine that she 
 was gazing at the disastrous fire with satisfaction, she was 
 watching it with a different feeling. She who but lately 
 had awakened human sympathy in her breast, had mis- 
 erably perished in the flames before her, and for the sake 
 of the poor, wretched, forlorn creature who had stood 
 with her but a few hours previously, near the spot on 
 which she was now standing, she would if possible have 
 prevented the dreadful occurence that had taken place, 
 even if it should have added a few more years to the useless, 
 wicked life of the reverend svretch who tad betrayed the 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 397 
 
 unfortunate woman for whom she felt so much sympathy. 
 But the hoiirt of Maheel was closed aprain ; she had no 
 hope after this of ever meeting a single mortal whose 
 misfortunes she could compassionate ; she had scarcely a 
 hope of ever finding one who would take an interest in her 
 own fate. A feeble beam of sunlight had just commenced 
 to thaw the icicle in which her heart was encased, when a 
 black cloud intervened leaving it more cold, more indur- 
 ated, and more desolate than ever. Within a few hours 
 she had been doubly discomfited ; she had lately thought 
 she had found one whom she might be able to assist, and 
 from whom she might get Ljsistance in return; and she 
 expected to have been able to meet another for whom she 
 had long sought, in whom she had long taken the dearest 
 interest that a woman can take, but whose life she was at 
 present willing to embitter rather than be again shunned 
 and despised for the sake of a hated rival. She had faint 
 hopes however that that rival was not in existence, or if 
 alive she believed she was still in India ; yet, though al- 
 most driven to desperation, she was ready to make one more 
 ai)peal to him she sought, and if all failed, if he scorned 
 her again, she would summon every evil power in her 
 nature to make him unhappy. Even as it was, while the 
 image of that successful rival was in her mind, she could 
 not rest, and she was prepared to do the most daring act, 
 even at the cost of her life to have revenge. If she failed in 
 this, her last effort to win the regard of him on whom her 
 strong affections had so long been wasted, she would 
 abandon all hope, become reckless as to pity or remorse, 
 and pursue Eanee to the ends of the earth ; and then she 
 would exult to see him who had slighted her, a prey to 
 aespair. 
 
 She had been on the hill for some time looking gloom- 
 ily at the ascending flames, she seemed unable to leave 
 the spot, her eyes were fixed on the fire as if it were 
 3onsumiug her last j>rop of earthly happinesss, or her 
 last hope of heavenly bliss, and cis if desirous of remain- 
 ing until phe saw the last ember expire. There were 
 
 
 t 
 
 I 
 
 
 : 
 
 ] 
 
 
 »'■ (I 
 
 'I 
 
 i 1 
 
THE HfiATUENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 r 
 
 moments when she was tempted to rush down into the 
 midst of the glowing mass— it was only the demon of 
 revenge that kept her from self-destruction. She could 
 not endure the idea of having others whom she hated 
 live and enjoy the life which had nearly lost every attrac- 
 tion for her ; and there she stood, now in the deep gloom 
 and now in the dim light, thinking and brooding, and plot- 
 ting, how she could best effect the purpose which was 
 likely to be the principal object of her future existence. 
 
 After she had parted with the unhappy woman whom 
 she happened to meet the previous night, she went to the 
 little inn at Betnall and made inquiries for the person she 
 wished to hear of. The landlord, who was about retiring 
 for the night, was surprised to see a stranger, muffled up 
 as she was, at so late an hour. He tried to get a glance at 
 her face but could not make out a single feature. Maheel 
 was completely unknown to him ; he could give her no 
 Inlormation ; the name of the person for whom she asked 
 was one he had never heard of before. He pressed her to 
 hlay in his house for the night; he told her there was no 
 other place for the accommodation of strangers within 
 three miles of Betnall. Stay she would not, she made 
 Some trifling excuse; she was, she said, partly acquainted 
 with some in the neighborhood, she could remain with a 
 friend, and when she took her departure the landlord was 
 half inclined to follow, for being rather shrewd and 
 inquisitive he doubted what she had said, and from her 
 singular manner and appearance, he took it into his head 
 to fancy that she was somehow bent upon evil. 
 
 Late as it was she called at two or three other places, 
 buc with the like result. Could she have been purposely 
 misinformed ? She had had information from an accom- 
 plice in India— from one that she had well paid— that 
 Charles Maidston had left India for England and that he 
 intended to go to the village of Betnall, probably the 
 l)).ace of his birth, to see his friends, or relatives if any 
 were living. She was now in Betnall— a poor looking 
 resort Cor a once wealthy India merchant— scarcely more 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 309 
 
 tnan a dozen houses besides the little inn and the larse 
 pmrsouage. Was there any otlier |>lace of the same name 
 iL the south of Enj,'land? No, this was Betnall in the 
 /)t<rish of Betnall, and if he could not be found here, 
 something must have happened to prevent his coming, or 
 <yise he was there under an assumed name. 
 
 Had it come to the knowledge of any person that she 
 fiad sinister designs, or that she wished evil to any human 
 being ? Had any one warned Charles Maidston to keep 
 out of her way ? So far she had in a manner kept her mind 
 to herself and did not make known her purposes. The poor 
 woman with whom she was lately in company might per- 
 haps, from her excited words and inquiries, suspect some- 
 thing, but that injured creature had troubles of her own 
 which were too absorbing to permit her to think of any 
 thing else. There was one individual, however, that 
 Maheel believed knew, or rather guessed at her intentions. 
 During her stay upon the Heath she had made a kind of 
 confidant of old Zingari, and had asked certain questions 
 of her and even of some of the gypsies, which might have 
 set them thinking. Any way, she felt that Zingari was 
 ksuspicious of her, that she had somehow come to a know- 
 ledge of much of her past life, and had more than once 
 reproached her for acts committed in a diotant land, acts 
 which Zingari by some wonderful means had become cog- 
 nizant of. With her, therefore, she could not remain any 
 longer ; she left the Heath and visited different camps 
 from time to time, seldom remaining long in one place, 
 and seldom having intercourse with any outside of the 
 gypsy tribe. 
 
 Discouraged after the inquiries she had just made at 
 the inn and at the other places at which she had called, 
 she went off to find her new acquaintance — the woman 
 whom she had agreed to meet— and whom she knew had 
 intended to go direct to the parsonage and leave the dead 
 child with the rector, or with his wife, and to otherwise ex- 
 pose him. She had told the woman that she would meet her 
 Again that night, and now she was more anxious than 
 
 ^f 
 
 
 i 
 
 : I 
 
 IW -1 
 
 "•■If , 1 
 
 1 ' 1 
 
 ■'I 
 
 Id 
 
 .: I 
 
 
 I 
 
 t ! 
 
 ii 
 
100 
 
 TUU HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 L' - 
 
 ever to find her, and loarn whether she had suooeodod, 
 and whether the iuhuman rector was likely to be known 
 in his i>roi)er character, and to receive the requital due for 
 his infamy. By this time the clock in the church towt^r 
 had struck twelve ; it was midnight. Maheel was alonci 
 in a strange place, and though she had long been accus- 
 tomed to a solitary kind of life, she now felt unusually 
 dejected. The few people to whom she had lately spoken 
 had stared at her as if she were a runaway from the parish 
 workhouse, or from a lunatic asylum ; she felt the need of 
 kind recognition, or of a word of sympathy from some 
 one, and she hastened to try and find the only one in 
 whom she took an interest, and who in return might feel 
 some concern for her; she would even be glad to meet 
 any one, no matter how degraded, provided she could get 
 one sincere word of sympathy or encouragement. 
 
 The boldest and most daring in wickedness at times 
 require the advice or society of confederates to nerve them 
 sufficiently for a bad deed ; and the vilest, without the 
 evil companionship of their own kind, occasionally feel 
 the restraining i)ower of their better nature, and are 
 thereby rendered unable to commit a crime. 
 
 It was now partly so with Maheel ; she felt in a manner 
 subdued ; there was a transient feeling that she was pur- 
 suing the wrong course, that sooner or later sorrow and 
 remorse would follow unless her vicious and unreasonable 
 impulses were counteracted, and that if she did not very 
 soon exercise some controlling power over her intentions, 
 succeeding years would not be those of reformation ; her 
 future days would only bring ruin. 
 
 As she passed the church yard on her way toward the 
 rectory, she stopped and looked through the iron railing 
 to try and see the little mounds beneath which lay the 
 dead, and to hear the mournful moaning of the wind 
 through the sombre willows, and among the dim grave- 
 stones that marked the resting place of many a once 
 beloved object, of many whose emotions of love, of joy, of 
 Borrow, or of anger, had passed away forever. They loo. 
 
; I 
 
 Tlili! HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 401 
 
 <i I 
 
 thought she, harl Ihoir real or fancied slights and grievan- 
 ces, they had their resentments and i)erliai>s their revenge ; 
 of what consequence was It all now V How much better it 
 would have been had they shown forgiveness. She stop- 
 l)cd — she felt a willingness to remain near these silent 
 sleepers — she would at the moment prefer to be quietly 
 laid beneath the green turf, than to go among the living 
 and bo harassed again by withering care, and tortured by 
 disappointment. There was a lesson before her on the 
 vanity of human life, a lesson that she had never, per- 
 haps, until now paused to consider. She began to retlect. 
 What a fool I am, what a fool I have been, to waste my 
 life in a useless chase, In a mad effort to try to change or 
 control the feelings or affections of another; and In a 
 wanton determination to torment those who, it may be, 
 have never intentionally done me an injury. She remem- 
 bered the happy days she enjoyed when she and Ranee had 
 served in the same temple, and had placed flowers upon 
 the shrine of the benevolent Chrlstna; she thought of 
 those past days with regret, and of one of the slmi)lo beau- 
 tiful lessons of Buddha— "For hatred does not cease by 
 hatred, at any time— hatred ceases by love." Then why 
 should I hate Ranee? what after all has she ever done to 
 me? Who has ever wilfully Injured me? no. one. I have 
 never been cruelly treated like that unfortunate woman 
 who has so won my pity ; she has sufficient reason for her 
 enmity, while I show enmity without reason. I will go 
 immediately and find that suffering creature ; I shall have 
 in her one human being who can excite my dormant sym- 
 pathies, and I shall let my comi)assion for her overwhelm 
 every feeling of resentment that I may still be Inclined to 
 harbor against a fellow mortal. Oh! little mounds and 
 tombs, oh, willows and moaning winds, what lessons ye 
 now teach me upon the vanity of human life. 
 
 Alas ! these impressions were too transient ; while these 
 touching evidences of mortality were still before her eyes, 
 while the drooping willows seemed to be like mourners 
 waving and bending with heavy grief, and while the wind 
 
 il'i 
 
 
 lii 
 
 ,1 
 
;L:, 
 
 it**.- 
 
 m.i 
 
 
 4>2 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 reached her ears like the deep sighs of the bereaved, the 
 evil in Maheel's nature again reigned supreme— there wus 
 a cloud between her and heaven, there was one who prob- 
 ably still lived to stand between her and happiness. 
 
 The hated Ranee was again in her presence, again her 
 shadow was upon every hope; and Maheel, as she turned 
 with clenched hands and compressed lips to frown upon 
 the black sky, and upon the darkness around her was 
 more like the image of a remorseless fury than of one pos- 
 sessed of a human heart. 
 
 She pulled the cloak over her head again, she almost 
 covered her face, and she moved away from the church- 
 yard. The rector's garden was close by, she came to a 
 little back gate from vrhich a pathway ran toward the 
 house— this was a kind of short cut to the rector's kitchen. 
 She had just got inside the gate when she heard voices— a 
 woman's voice, and then a man's voice in loud and angry 
 altercation. She heard a man swear, and a woman make 
 an exclamation ; she could not detect the actual words 
 which were spoken, for the wind at the time was too high. 
 Suddenly the voices ceased, and a light appeared at the 
 end of the garden wall ; it waved to and fro in a singular 
 manner as if it were held by an unsteady hand. She 
 moved closer and could see two persons in a kind of strug- 
 gle ; she saw a man dragging a woman after him— this sho 
 thought must be the infamous rector ; she had never seen 
 him before. She recognized the woman, for the liglit 
 happened to fall on her face— it was the betrayed one. 
 Maheel's impulse was to rush forward and try to rescue 
 her ; she was about to do so when her, foot tripped against 
 a yielding substance and she nearly fell. She lifted a 
 bundle, and when her hand touched the cold face of tho 
 dead child, she drew it quickly away— she guessed at onoo 
 what must have happened— and she was inclined to lot 
 the bundle fall ; still she held it, her resolution was already 
 taken ; she would first help the woman to get away ; they 
 would both go and got into the parsonage and leave tho 
 body of the infant with tho rector's wife. 
 
■I 
 
 THE HEATHEliS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 403 
 
 < ; 
 t! 
 
 5! 
 
 She followed the light again; holding ihe bundle she 
 could not get on as fast as she wished ; she could now plain- 
 ly see both persons. The woman was making no apparent 
 resistance. The man kicked at the door, and shoved 
 against it with his shoulder, he still held to the woman. 
 The door was opened, the two got in ; some one must have 
 stumbled or fallen on the floor inside; the peculiar sound 
 was sufficient to indicate an occurrence of the kind ; she 
 had but just got to the door when it was quickly slammed 
 to and locked on the inside. 
 
 Maheel waited a few minutes, she was surprised at the 
 silence ; not a word was uttered, and she began to dread 
 that the rector in his desperation might have deprived 
 his victim of life. She went to a barred window ; it had a 
 shutter on the ins'de and she could see but very little; 
 she listened, she could perceive the flickering of a light, 
 but still no sound of a human voice. She soon, however, 
 heard the heavy steps move toward a corner of the build- 
 ing ; the light disappeared from the lower part of the out- 
 house, and she could hear some one as if trying to force a 
 passage thro jgh the dry fodder on the loft ; she walked to 
 the end of the outhouse, and just as she got there she 
 heard the partly smothered voice of a man cry: 'Vflvc, 
 fire," she ran back to the door and tried to burst it in, but 
 was unable to do so. She went a little off to lay down the 
 bundle in order to make another attempt to force in the 
 door, she heard no further cry, but v/hen she looked up 
 she saw dense black smoke rush from the fabric in every 
 direction, and, almost at once, mighty flames burst through 
 the roof, and leaped around the fated building like 
 demons. 
 
 She was terror stricken ; she knew that there were two 
 human beings fastened within that outhouse who were 
 doomed ; no power on earth could rescue them. She lift- 
 ed the bundle and ran back to the garden. She turned to 
 look at the building ; it was hidden in flame, and under 
 the impulse of the moment, she gave a wild scream, she 
 felt only for the unfortunate womar, and when she saw 
 
 jKiif, ^ I 
 
40i 
 
 THE HEATHESfS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 -I 
 
 the people rush out of the rectory, she instinctively hid 
 behind the wall, and while all was confusion and excite- 
 ment outside, the idea occurred to her of leaving the 
 child in the rector's dwelling. She rushed into the house, 
 she could see no person ; she heard a cry of alarm up stairs, 
 she ran up and saw the rector's wife— the only one who 
 had been left in the place ; she left the child on a table in 
 the bedroom, and hurriedly told her what had happened, 
 and when she saw the lady drop suddenly into a chair Ma- 
 heel made her escape to the hill and watched from there 
 like a ghoul during the remainder of the night. 
 
 Toward the dawn she felt greatly wearied— she had 
 stood upon the hill for some hojrs— and was nearly worn 
 out, the occurrences of the past night had told even upon 
 her rugged constitution. She was in need of a few hours, 
 rest and must find it somew.iere. She would enter no 
 house at present; and she was scarcely able to go any 
 great distance. She would go back and bathe her face 
 in the stream near the spot where she had met her late 
 unfortunate companion, and she could enter the old ruin 
 close by and sleep for a while unobserved. 
 
 Just as she was about to move away she perceived the 
 dim form of a man approaching ; she retired a short dis- 
 tance to escape notice, He was an early traveler and was 
 well wrapped up. Over his heavy overcoat he wore a large 
 shawl, and was evidently prepared to defy chilling mists 
 and sharp winds while on his journey. He carried a small 
 v^alise ; his step was firm and elastic, and he went along 
 with head erect like one who was fearless and full of hope, 
 and who had no forebodings as to the future. When the 
 man passed, Maheel, for some unaccountable reason, look- 
 ed after him ; she never moved from the spot while he was 
 in view, though once or twice she had a singular impulse 
 to follow and speak to him ; she watched him until he had 
 disappeared in the thick mist, and when he was lost to 
 her sight, so utter was her sudden feeling of abandonment, 
 of loneliness and of depression, that she could have almost 
 fallen to the earth. 
 
fi 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 405 
 
 ft may sometimes hapi^en, that unknown to ourselves, 
 nnvl when we have least anticipated peril, wo escape a 
 "biMger the knowledge of which might cause a shudder 
 when the risk we have run has been afterward discovered ; 
 and we may unwittingly miss a coveted opportunity to 
 serve or to injure, which loss when made known, may 
 lead us to feel that no such fortune will ever return. The 
 man who had passed had just escaped a danger; and 
 Maheel haJ missed an opportunity for which there was to 
 be no resurrection. 
 
 When she got back to the stream she was chilly ; she 
 did not like to touch the water, and she went without 
 <ielay to the old structure. In the dull grey light the ruin 
 seemed to be draped in mourning, and a place more suit- 
 able at the time for weeping and lamentation than for 
 quiet repose. Dark festoons of wild vines hung in many 
 jvirts, giving to the dilapidated walls a funeral appearance ; 
 and the mist condensing on the thick ivy caiae down drip, 
 drip, drip, like veritable tears. Gloomy and repulsive as 
 the i)lace might be to many, it was in keeping with her 
 frame of mind at the moment, and, almost thoroughly 
 overcome, Maheel went in and lay down on the damp 
 ground and was soon asleep. 
 
 She slept heavily for some time— a swoon-like lethargy- 
 she dreamt— what a troubled dream ! She was startled— 
 she raised her clenched hand to strike, she tried to scream. 
 No such sleep as that oould be refreshing or restore the 
 wasted energies of any human being. Of what did she 
 dream? She was in India again; she sat by the bright 
 Ganges in Benares gazing on the beautiful river; she saw 
 llanee and a multitude of other happy ones bathing there- 
 in ; but though defiled and anxious to be purified herself, 
 jjhe was forbidden by the priests; she was considered 
 more degraded than a pariah, and was not permitted to 
 enter 'he sacred stream. The formal renunciation of her 
 faith, and the pollution of Christian baptism, has forever 
 debarred her from that blissful privilege. After this she 
 was in the temple of Siva with Bunee ; they were Rowing 
 
 I 
 
 lit 
 
 f , 
 
d06 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 m 1. 
 
 mi ■ ' I 
 ill 
 
 J7S 
 
 '"III!- '• 
 
 t , 1' 4 
 
 i O 
 
 before the black aud bloody image of Kali, who wore hot 
 necklace of skulls. A priest demanded with a frightful 
 voice another human sacrifice, and when Maheel went to 
 strike down Ranee as the victim, Maidston entered and 
 delivered her, and Maheel herself was clutched by the 
 savage goddess and was just going to be torn in pieces. 
 
 She screamed and awoke in terror, and chilly as the air- 
 still was, the perspiration was streaming down her face, 
 When she opened her eyes in her gloomy retreat, she fan- 
 cied that she was actually in the horrid temple, that the 
 arm which was stretched out toward her was that of the; 
 terrible Kali and she shrunk back with another wild cry.. 
 "You are affrighted, O worshiper of Siva! What fresh. 
 burden of guilt is there on your mind to leave your rest 
 so like the ravings of a demon. Cease your frantic st rug- 
 gles, your power is gone forever. They whom you woiiM 
 persecute are protected, and woe is yours if you further 
 strive again. Arise and hear my words ! " 
 
 Maheel partially raised herself, and stared wildly at the^ 
 weird form which stood close to her. This strange figure 
 moved not ; the arm was still stretched out and pointing 
 toward the arched entrance ; and the solemn voice again 
 repeated : '* Arise and hear my words ; your life is in dan- 
 ger!" 
 
 Maheel started up in a kind of stupor ; she was amazed 
 to see Zingari, and paused before she made a reply. " My 
 life in danger! Who wants it? It is a curse to me; it. 
 would curse Lliatin which it entered were Iteven a scorpion.. 
 Of what use is my life to me ? " 
 
 " Live to repent ; you may need foi giveness." 
 
 "No, I will not repent, I want no forgiveness. I care 
 not for life. If danger comes I defy it." 
 
 "Would you like to die swinging by the neck like a 
 Christian's dog ? " said Zingari. 
 
 "No, I will die by this first," quickley replied Maheel, 
 thrusting her hand into her bosom. 
 
 "Stay," said she, "I have plucked your sting. I stole 
 your fg,jocied strength while you slept— you shall never use 
 
 < r 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 407 
 
 Miis.'* She held out a small vial of the mostactive |ioison, 
 and dashed it against a pile of stones. 
 
 Maheel in a fury made a grasp at the old woman, but 
 she stopped outside. "See," said she, "I have not eonio 
 hore alone, I have sufficient help to overpower you in a 
 moment and to deliver you to your enemies. See for your- 
 self?" 
 
 Maheel turned her eyes to where Zingari was pointing, 
 and saw two stout gypsy men standing by a tree. " W<3- 
 man Itellyouagain that your life is in danger— the hounds 
 of the law are now in pursuit; you are accused of burning 
 that house last night and of causing the death of two 
 people, and if you are taken, nothing will save you— you 
 will be hanged." 
 
 The fearful charge caused Maheel to reflect for a mo. 
 nient. 
 
 *' I never burned the house ; I would have saved one of 
 tlic victims if I could— you were a i)rophet of evil for the 
 ol her. Do you forget ? " 
 
 " Never mind that, I am not to blame if the event has 
 fulfilled the prediction. Christians say that it was propUo- 
 L'led concerning Judas— he cou'd not evade the act of be- 
 trayal — but that has not saved him from Iheir hatred. 
 There is a charge against \ou and your denial will be of 
 no use. Ketribution seems to follow you ! " 
 
 *' Let it come," said Maheel frowning, " I care not." 
 
 " Can you deny your evil design ? " said Zingaii. " What 
 brought you to this place? We knew well that you were 
 I'oming here for a bad purpose ; your intentions have been 
 known to me all along, and you have been watched." 
 
 "Watched, Ha! Few are able to play the spy against 
 
 j> 
 
 me. 
 
 "Fool!" replied Zingari 
 
 "Even those men (Ulside 
 heard what you said on this very spot last night to that 
 wretched womam. You would have saved her J)ut you 
 would go and work evil for another. Fool! he that you 
 came here to find passed close to where you stood but 
 eight hours since. You start! yes, he passed you this 
 
 ;' i 
 
 y i 
 
408 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 L m 
 
 (lawn almost as near to you as I am, lie was oven within 
 these walls a few minutes before you came here; he is 
 now at Peu'-lell with Eanee; you start again! Yes, with 
 llanee, and the child that you robbed them of and sent to 
 slavery has been restored— they arc now beyond your 
 power." 
 
 " Not forever," cried the now almost frantic Maheel, " 1 
 will pursue them, and who can stop me ? I will haunt her 
 dreams, and I will yet sacrifice her to Kali." She tried tc 
 go hurriedly out, but was again prevented by Zingari. 
 " Stay! accursed fool," said Zingari in a suppressed voice. 
 " See ! the law hounds are upon your track." 
 
 Three armed men were seen just crossing the little 
 stream. One of these was the landlord of the inn at 
 IJetnall, and they went at a quick pace along the road 
 leading to the Heath. Maheel stood back ; if arrested her 
 conviction might follow, and she shuddered at the thought 
 of the legal, and brutal mode of Christian retaliation. 
 They were silent until the men had i)assed out of sight. 
 The day was still cold and misty, it was approaching evc- 
 Tiing and the wind had freshened and swept through the 
 desolate ruin ; and heavy, black clouds seemed to accumu- 
 late over the place, Zingari suddenly spoke : " Flee from 
 this place, flee forever; but let me give you a warning: 
 Go not to the Heath again! " 
 
 "I must go, I shall go," replied the other in a deter- 
 mined manner. 
 
 Zingari looked at her a moment as if she wished to 
 penetrate her very soul, and said: "Must go? Well, as 
 you have disregarded that warning, the shadow is already 
 around you, and I must pronounce your doom. She whis- 
 pered a few words in her ear, and standing aside from the 
 entrance, said: "Go, you can choose the manner of youf 
 death!" 
 
 Maheel gave a shriek and rushed out, she fled past the 
 gypsy men outside, and crossed the highway and the wide 
 sterile flat that lay between the road and a cliff overiook- 
 the sea, kuowft f^s ^^^^ " Prui^'s Leap." She stood undi^- 
 
 it'. 
 
w 
 
 I'. 
 
 'I- 1 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 409 
 
 mayed upon the brink of the preuipicc, and stared at the 
 seething waters beneath her; she raised her arms, her 
 black hair streamed in the wind, she gave a t'ranLie cry, 
 and then bounded down to her destruction. 
 
 li 
 
 Ml 
 
 1 If 
 
 i= I II. 
 
 ! i 
 
 ^'i i 
 
M 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 
 
 rpHERE was a happy meeting at Pendell ; friends long 
 -*- parted had come togetlier again ; the curate's little 
 parlor was the scene of a delightful reunion ; and seldom 
 has it fallen to the lot of any to feel more exquisite enjoy- 
 ment than the family group had which were now assem- 
 bled. Ranee was with her beloved husband once more, and 
 had pressed her child to her heart ; Esther had wept upon 
 the bosom of her brother ; and the good old curate's eyes 
 were filled when he grasped the hand of his long absent 
 son. They were seated together again; the mildest re- 
 provals were uttered; explanations were given; excuses 
 were offered; tears were shed; smiles were abundant; 
 and it seemed as if the hope of the future could be seen 
 like a glowing celestial arch in the cerulean sky, like a 
 rainbow of the most vivid and beautiful coloring which 
 even lent its blush to the distant horizon. 
 
 Charles Meade had of course to explain why he had not 
 written for so long a time ; and why it was that his name 
 had been so ingeniou^^ly lengthened. He informed them 
 that after he had been in business in a certain establish- 
 ment in India, he had engaged with other parties, and had 
 been obliged to travel to towns and cities far apart ; and 
 being in expectation, month after month, of soon having 
 some permanent place of residence, he did not like to 
 have his friends in England under the impression that he 
 yvas obliged to wander in the midst of danger, ox that he 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 411 
 
 was never ^oinj? to have any settled place of abodi^ ; he 
 therefore refrained from holdin<,' further correspondence 
 in the hope that he mijjjht be shortly able to resume it 
 more to his satisfaction. Subsc(iuent losses after his 
 marriage had caused him to delay writinj,' still loi'ger, and 
 then when he had made up his mind to leave the country, 
 he deferred it altogether in the expectation of being able 
 to give a personal explanation to his friends on his arrival 
 in England. The slight alteration in his name was the 
 result of a mere whim. In one of the cities of India in 
 which he had to remain for over a year, there was another 
 person of the same cognomen, and, as there had been 
 some postal irregularity, letters had been wiongly deliv- 
 ered, and other mistakes made, which were very annoying ; 
 he had therefore, as a kind of remedy for this state of 
 things, changed his name from Meade to ]\raidston, and 
 let it so remain. On his arrival in England he had resum- 
 ed the original orthography of his patronyniic. When he 
 called the previous evening at the inn at Bet nail he made 
 himself known to the landlord as Mr. Charles Meade, and 
 when Maheel called a few hours afterward to ask for him 
 she was misled by the change; and it seems that he had 
 that very morning while on his way to Pendell, but barely 
 escaped an interview witli tlie dangerous woman. 
 
 ' It was a happy meeting in his old home ; there were 
 those now around him that were dearth' to him than all 
 others. One true friend was yet absent but he would no 
 doubt soon make his appearance. John Valiant had left 
 Pendell very early that morning for the Heath. It had 
 been agreed thatllanee. Miss Meade, and the curate should 
 accomi)any him to that place, but he had thought it best 
 lor certain considerations to ;;o alone. 
 
 He wished to have Zingari visit his friends at the par- 
 sonage, and make such explanations respeelinLj the (3on- 
 duct of Maheel, and the motives which that woman must 
 have had for leaving India; and he also desired that 
 Zingari, who had in a manner rescued Hemar and taken 
 maternal care of him for so long a time, should have the 
 
 1^ i 
 
412 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 m 
 
 rXH 
 
 i» i 
 
 f 
 
 privelege of delivering him to Ranee his mother. This he 
 thought would be a delightful surprise, but through a feel- 
 ing of delicacy he did not wish to be x^resent at such a 
 meeting. He therefore had Zingari and Hemar conveyed 
 to Pcndell early in the day, and he intended to return in 
 the evening and join them all at the curate's ; he did not 
 however, anticipate the pleasure which he had himself 
 before night when he found his old friend Charles Maid- 
 ston among the fresh arrivals at Pendell. 
 
 Zingari got to the parsonage with her charge during 
 the forenoon ; it is almost needless to allude to the emo- 
 tions of Ranee when she saw her boy again, and to her 
 subsequent delight when her husband unexpectedly enter- 
 ed the apartment where they all were. He had counted 
 upon finding his wife at Betnall, to which place he had 
 directed her to proceed and remain for him, but when 
 he got there, he was informed by two gypsy men whom 
 he met near the inn, of the shipwreck of the Indiaman 
 that had taken place in Pendell Bay, and that his wife 
 who had been rescued from the ship, and his son who 
 had been left on the Heath, would be found at his father's 
 house in Pendell. He had traveled on foot from Betnall 
 —walking was his favorite exercise— and a few hours 
 march along an English highway afforded him much plea- 
 sure ; he saw many old familiar places, many quiet inter- 
 esting spots that he had often visited when a boy, and he 
 spent some minutes gazing at the old ruins to which he 
 often used to stray for bird's nests in summer days long 
 past; but all along the way to Pendell the thoughts of 
 the fearful fire at Betnall had occupied his mind, and he 
 of course related the occurrence to his friend on his arri- 
 val. 
 
 When Zingari had delivered her young charge to his 
 parents and received their grateful thanks, she exchanged 
 a few kind words with Esther ; and she did not forget to 
 express her sympathy to Mr. Meade himself. His 
 sudden dismissal from the curacy which he had held for 
 so many years seemed to her to be grossly unjust. "It's 
 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 il3 
 
 This he 
 h a feel- 
 such a 
 )nveyed 
 iturn in 
 did not 
 himself 
 3 Maid- 
 
 during 
 lie emo- 
 to her 
 y entor- 
 coiinted 
 he had 
 it when 
 a whom 
 diaman 
 lis wife 
 on who 
 father's 
 Betnall 
 hours 
 ^.h plea- 
 t inter- 
 and he 
 lich he 
 ys long 
 ghts of 
 and he 
 lis arri- 
 
 to his 
 hanged 
 jrget to 
 e. His 
 leld for 
 "It's 
 
 part of the priestly system in this land," said she to the 
 curate. " You know as well as I do that that whole sys- 
 tem is one of deceit and plunder; but you are a priest 
 yourself and must I suppose be silent on that subject. 
 You are one of the ordained ; but you would almost rather 
 be anything else. You luive now a chance to make your 
 escape from the bondage of an absurd belief, you can 
 assert your freedom from creeds and articles, and from 
 the control of mercenary ecclesiastics ; but he who has 
 consented to your wrong, whose heartless cupidity would 
 leave you a beggar, will benefit but little by what he has 
 done to you, to me, and to others. I never can forget that 
 man ; he is continually before my mind, like some foul 
 object from which I could turn in disgust. But now," con- 
 tinued she approaching close to him, and scarcely speak- 
 ing above a whisper, " now mark my words— your vener- 
 able bishop will soon be dismissed himself ; he must soon 
 leave his wealth, his honor, and his ill-gotten gains, he 
 will soon be poorer than the poorest, he has a long 
 account to answer for, the shadow is now over his dwell- 
 ing, and another will soon have his bishopric. 
 
 " Two of your Church missionaries to the Heath have 
 gone already ; there will soon be a third." 
 
 This remote allusion to the death of the two rectors was 
 the only one Zingari made ; she did not even mention the 
 name of the unfortunate minister who had been destroyed 
 in the burning outhouse the previous night. For some 
 special reason Zingari had stipulated to be driven at once 
 to Betnall ; she got there in a few hours and stood by the 
 smouldering ruins. While in that place she heard of the 
 accusation against Maheel, and, as has been related, had 
 subsequently a meeting with Maheel herself; and then she 
 returned that night with the two gypsy men to the Heath. 
 
 There were carriages in front of the bishop's residence 
 at StoiKch ester. His lordship's state vehicle was not how- 
 ever this day among the number; but those that now 
 drove away were of the most stylish and aristocratic kind, 
 and servants, and footmen, in rich and varied liveries, 
 
 ^H^ 
 
 i ii 
 
 ■ H 
 
 ^ri:F 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
411 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 " 1 1* nil ' 
 
 Mil ' ^' 
 
 ^t^i 
 
 I s> 
 
 came and went— appeared and disappeared— in the most 
 stately and ccromonions manner; other carriages followed 
 to remain but a short time, and other bedizzoned coach- 
 men and servants, retired in turn, making the spectacle 
 in front of the episcopal palace what might be termed 
 rather brilliant for the dull evening. Many persons as 
 they passed along looked up at his lordship's windows 
 already illuminated; and many no doubt envied those 
 whom they fancied were to be regaled sumi)tuously that 
 night at the bishop's table. The number of squalid peo- 
 ple who were attracted to the spot, and who stood at a 
 respectful distance from so much grandeur, might proba- 
 bly have been under the impression that the three young 
 noblemen— the younger son's of certain lords— who had 
 had episcopal hands laid on them the previous Sunday in 
 the cathedral, were about to receive a lecture upon their 
 duties as priests from the pious bishop who ordained 
 them ; while others as they went by, surmised more cor- 
 rectly that there was to be another great entertainment, 
 and that his lordship's lios|dtable board was to be once 
 more spread to satisfy the dainty appetite of many whose 
 meals were seldom made more palatable by the luxury of 
 hunger; and to indulge the exquisite taste of connoisseurs 
 who could pronounce authoritatively as to the age, the 
 richness, or the peculiarity of a vintage, yet who perhaps 
 for years had never moistened their lips, or slaked their 
 thirst, with a sir::le draught of pure cold water. 
 
 A number of guests had assembled in his lordship's 
 mansion that cloudy evening; his lordship's secretary 
 who acted as a kind of master of ceremonies, had smil- 
 ingly received them and conducted them to the grand 
 saloon which was now a blaze of light. A large and beau- 
 tiful chandelier hung in the centreof the frescoed ceiling 
 and its lights were reflected in mirrors of the costliest 
 kind. The richly pannelled walls were decorated with 
 rare paintings; some by Claude and by Wouters, and a 
 few by Vandyke, and Poussin and other great artists; 
 there were busts in marble, and the carpet was of the 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 415 
 
 rarest pattern, displaying a combination of colors wliicli 
 0(mld not be surpassed. 
 
 Invitations had been sent out several days previously, 
 and lest it should in any way mar the x)leasure of tlic oveii- 
 injJT, it was suggested that no allusion should be made to the 
 sad occurrence at Betnall ; his lordship might perhaps feel 
 the loss of his old friend, the rector, very keenly, and it 
 was deemed advisable to keep him as yet in ignorance of 
 tlie lact. The fussy secretary managed to have this undor- 
 stood by those present. "Am sure," said he " 'twill reach 
 his lordship's ear soon enough— too soon— must not be 
 mentioned in his presence." Indeed, with many there, 
 the circumstance was of so little importance that its 
 knowledge would not have affected their enjoyment in 
 the least. Death comes in some guise or other every hour. 
 What was the use of being sad? So-called great men 
 were cut down every day ; the next day to be almost for- 
 gotten — even greatness has its destined oblivion. It was 
 sheer folly to nurse sorrow ; its seeds were in every heart 
 and must germinate in due time, but the poisonous weed 
 should be rooted up as quickly as possible. Were the 
 Queen to die to-morrow, guns would thunder, and joy bells 
 ring the next day in honor of her successor. So thought 
 perhaps nine-tenths of his lordship's chosen guests, and 
 the fate of the late rector of Betnall was on the whole 
 considered of little consequence. Dam vlvimus viva- 
 mus. 
 
 The spacious room was already well filled with eminent 
 clergymen and other distinguished persons. Literature 
 and Wit, Law, Physic, and Divinity had their most able 
 representatives to enliven the festive hours; and a fair 
 sprinkling of ladies would, of course, be present to grace 
 the occasion. The bishop had esthetical ideas; for no 
 matter how rich might be the plate, how glittering the 
 epergne, how brilliant the Bohemian glass-ware, or how 
 numerous the porcelain vases, there must be a profusion 
 of flowers ; and his lordship, like a sensible man, consid- 
 ered that the banquet could not be complete unless the 
 
 '» 
 
416 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 11'! 
 Ill 
 
 1 1 feiJtjEt^iigltj'^: \,f'\' /? 
 
 
 ! 1 "I 
 
 (•■ ' 
 
 iHli 'm 
 
 crowning attraction of all was the smiles of beautiful 
 women. 
 
 What a rigid Puritan Paul has been considered by 
 many. In his day, churoh-going ladies must have been 
 kept under strict subjection, and not allowed to interfere 
 in matters relating to a minister's pecuniary affairs, or in 
 the regulation of anything concerning the sanctuary, or 
 scarcely in the management of anything else. Paul seem- 
 ed to care little for female society ; indeed, there is ample 
 room to surmise that he looked upon women as inferior 
 beings, who were incapable of high attainments. On this 
 account, it has been thought that he was sainted by 
 merest courtesy ; his almost total disregard for the rights 
 of women has probably— and no doubt justly — debarred 
 him as yet from entering the "pearly gates" ; for some 
 fancy it only reasonable to suppose, that this pious dep- 
 redator of the fairest of creation is at present a restless 
 wanderer through some gloomy purgatorium adapted for 
 characters like himself. 
 
 If governed by the dictates of Paul, women should be 
 mute in church, even in the midst of the wildest "pvo- 
 tracted meeting," while the lords of creation might shout 
 themselves hoarse. These are his words : " Lei your 
 women keep silence in the church ; for it is not permitted 
 unto them to speak, but they are commanded to be under 
 obedience." And should they become curious and make 
 iiiquiries— as is natural— he tens them : *' And if they will 
 learu anything, let them ask their husbands at home ; for 
 it is a shame for a woman to speak in the church."* Then 
 desirous of forcing subjection lie says : " Let the women 
 learn in silence with all subjection. But I suffer not a 
 woman to usurp authority over the man, but to be in 
 silence." And as if Anally desirous of establishing her 
 inferioritj'^ beyond all doubt, he gives this convincing 
 proof: "For Adam was first formed, then Eve, and Adam 
 was not deceived but the woman being deceived was in the 
 
 ♦ The saints make no ailowaneo for women \\\ • have no husbands. 
 
BB 
 
 r|l 
 
 THE UEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 417 
 
 trans jjrression. For the man is not of the woman ; but tne 
 woman of the man. Neither was the man created for the 
 woman; but the woman for the man." The number of 
 ladies at the present day, orlhodox or otherwise, who 
 would be willing to subscribe to these doctrines of Paul 
 respecting their own inferiority or subordination, would 
 it is imagined, be very few ; and it is very questionable 
 whether any writer, ancient or modern, has done S3 much 
 to reduce woman socially and intellectually, as the ''great 
 apostle " himself. 
 
 Just fancy a bishop in this enlightened age issuing a 
 pastoral, and dictating to ladies how they should regulate 
 their coiffure: ho vv they should wear their hair, whether 
 long, or short, or broidered : whether ringlets would be 
 permitted, or a " switch " overlooked. Imagine one of this 
 same Paul's successors, ignoring fashion and fashion- 
 plates by describing what "modest apparel " should be— 
 prohibiting silks and finery, and permitting neither rings, 
 nor, necklaces, nor bracelets; nor "gold, or pearls, or 
 costly array," and then winding up by proclaming it im- 
 proper for any woman to dishonor her head by praying or 
 prophesying uncovered, which amounts to the same thing 
 as saying that her head would be dishonored by wearing, 
 or rather by exhibiting, a diminutive bonnet. 
 
 It ought to be a sufficient reproof to this saintly mar- 
 tinet to see how completely Christian ladies in all times 
 have in fact purposely disregarded his silly injunctions 
 respecting themselves, or their apparel, or decc>rations. 
 Unless in the ball room there is p'jrhai)s no other place 
 more conspicuous for excess and extravagance in the mat- 
 ter of dress and finery, than in the sanctuary itself. 
 Moreover, the ladies have another cause of complaint— no 
 very trivial one — against this monastic ajiostle. He was 
 an old bachelor and recommended others to adopt a life 
 of single blessedness ; for in referring to his own condition 
 he said: "For I would that all men were even as I my- 
 self." What nonsense ! What a pretty condition of affairs 
 it would be were reglious devotees to be advised by this 
 
 I' 
 
 If • 
 
 I*: 
 
 
418 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 over-zealous teacher ! To be sure, a great number of infat- 
 uated priests, and romantic women, following the unnat- 
 ural precepts of Paul, have actually remained celibates— 
 in some cases as has been alleged, perhaps only nominally 
 such— while another class of the clergy, almost one and 
 all, have been in haste to take unto themselves wives, 
 and have shown as little regard for the apostolic recom- 
 mendation in this respect, as ladies in general have in 
 relation to the prohibitive texts as to *' costly array." In- 
 deed so much has this been the case, that too many of the 
 ordained, as if determined to show their contempt, or 
 marked disapproval of Paul's injudicious advice regarding 
 matrimony, have cultivated female society after the fash- 
 ion of David, or Solomon, and to an extent sufficient to 
 cause repeated scandals in the Church, and consternation 
 among the elect. 
 
 Eeflecting men and women have considered it very 
 strange that holy patriarchs of old, including the man 
 after God's own heart, should have been permitted to have 
 not only a plurality of wives, but of concubines also ; and 
 that Christian commentators should make ample excuses 
 for the condition of such social and domestic economy in 
 those patriarchal times, while so strongly condemning 
 anything approaching such a condition of affiairs at the 
 present day ; but so long as what is termed '* illicit love " 
 is now included by Churchmen among the seven dealiy 
 sins, those who teach that such love — though over so ?>i;)- 
 cere— should be counted an immorality, ought to be pair-- 
 cular to try and avoid any such irregularity themselves. 
 
 The hours fled swiftly ; the bishop's lady was all smiles, 
 and looked queenly in her graceful folds of magnificent 
 satin. The bishop himself was in his happiest mood, and 
 it was remarked that no one had ever before seen him so 
 hilaiious; and he would have been even more so were it 
 not for the absence of his principal chaplain the Kev. Mr. 
 Vanscourt. This gentleman was one of his lordships's 
 greatest favorites, and scarcely a day was allowed to pass 
 without an hour or two of his enlivening company. The 
 
/ s 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 il9 
 
 Citaj/ic.ti kad now been away over three days, ho had been 
 expeotea a-e the banquet, and the bishop felt no slight dis- 
 appointment by his delay. Several of the guests seemed to 
 enjoy theu-selves amazingly, that is if it could be called en- 
 joyment to move or rather to force your way through crowd- 
 ed rooms ; to be obliged to wear a continual smile, to appear 
 interested in the elegant persiflage and other frivolous 
 chatter of such as claimed your attention ; to seem struck 
 by the sage remarks of some stale parliamentarian who 
 fancied that because he was in " the House " he must there- 
 fore be possessed of original ideas, and to be forced to 
 laugh at the vapid wit, and thread-bare anecdotes retailed 
 for your edification. Others who cared less for buzz and 
 bustle had entered an apartment specially devoted to 
 Orpheus, where they could meet dowagers and their 
 fair daughtirs, and listen to the latest and most reliable 
 news from the matrimonial market, and, after that, to 
 "Nelson and the Nile," "Ave Maria," "Schubert's Sere- 
 nade," and to some touching new love song; and hear 
 some of the choicest compositions of Beethoven, Mendel- 
 shon, Auber and Mozart, while a number of the more 
 youthful who could not indulge in the waltz, the polka, or 
 the cotillion, were forced to resort to fashionable flirt- 
 ation, and to find refuge for whispers and vows, in the 
 curtained recesses of deep bay windows, or in such other 
 retreats as could be found available. Much as these 
 young persons might feel disappointed, they must, of 
 course, be aware that dancing was out of the question ; it 
 would never do to exhibit such a conformity to the usages 
 of this wicked world as to favor Terpsichorean exercises in 
 a bishop's residence. 
 
 The banquet was at last over; the private discussion of 
 weighty subjects had ceased ; opposite politicians, as con- 
 sistency required, still held opposing opinions. The mis- 
 erable pretence of economy offered by the factious resist- 
 ance to the paltry grant of a few score thousand pounds to 
 a prince, and as much for a dowry for the next marriageable 
 daughter of Her Majesty, had been commented on from 
 
 ii| 
 
 *i;l 
 
420 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 
 .» <i 
 
 different standpoints ; and, as it had not been satisfacto- 
 rily settled who was to be the next Premier, or who would 
 next occupy the **Wool Sack," that question was allowed 
 to lie over. The secular affairs of the Church, and its 
 legitimate claims for increased parliamentary sustenta- 
 tion had elicted some singular opinions ; but the clerical 
 disputants had all agreed that the Kadicals and Dissenters 
 would certainly unite for the overthrow of that grand 
 bulwark of the British Constitution— the State Church. 
 Old officers had been perplexed about matters at the 
 " Horse Guards "—a reduction of the forces should not be 
 dreamt of— the physical strength of a nation was still 
 asserted to be the true measure of its power; and the 
 abolition of the purchase of commissions in the army was 
 decided to be Inf^'a dig. and a great injustice. The condi- 
 tion of the Navy had been discussed ; the proper construc- 
 tion of onii)£-of-war had not been hit upon, but all were of 
 opinion that a vast annual appropriation should be made 
 to uphold Britain's supremacy on the ocean. The situa- 
 tion of things in Germany, France, Spain and Italy had 
 been reviewed; a Protestant clergyman had expressed 
 much sympathy for the Pope, but admitted, as remarka- 
 ble, that those who had decried against his temporal 
 power, and those who still wished to curtail his spiritual 
 authority, were principally members of the Koman Catho- 
 lic Church. Castellar was pronounced a demagogue; 
 republicanism a fraud and a failure. Dilke was a design- 
 ing traitor who should be expelled from the House ; and 
 there was great unanimity in asserting that the rights 
 and privileges of constituted authority throughout Europe 
 should not be tamj)ered with. 
 
 Among the discursive topics introduced during the 
 evening, nothing, however, had been said about colleges ; 
 nothing about schools ; nothing about hospitals and other 
 humane institutions. No reproach was uttered against 
 legislators who allowed a condition of affairs to exist that 
 brought an increase of paupers, and a consequent increase 
 of crime. Nothing was urged for the suitable relief of the 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 421 
 
 ig the 
 lieges ; 
 
 other 
 ^gainst 
 3t that 
 icrease 
 
 of the 
 
 hiin: 'y poor; nothing was suggested for the proper care 
 of destitute women and little homeless children; and 
 nothing as to the necessity of providing decent places of 
 refuge for the thousands of wretched beings who are left 
 unprotected and uncared for, and whose existence is a 
 looming danger, whose squalid poverty is a threat and 
 whose lives are but a prolonged state of misery. No, 
 nothing was said about these foul ulcers on the body poli- 
 tic ; the Church, the army, and theNavy, seemed to occupy 
 the first x)lace in the minds of these assembled sages, 
 priests and patriots ; and when discussion had ceased, when 
 the last song was sung, when the last fantasia had been 
 executed ; when the last good-night was said, and when 
 the last guest had departed, the bishop, still in the high- 
 est spirits, and perhaps in a very impressible mood, retired 
 to his spacious library to indulge in a fragrant Havana ; to 
 have a few quiet thoughts by himself, and, it might be, 
 to weave dreamy speculations as to his chance of a future 
 archbishopric. 
 
 He had wheeled a large, easy chair in front of the fire, 
 and had scarcely taken half-a-dozen whiffs of his segar, 
 when, in the stillness of his retreat, he heard what he 
 imagined was a sigh ; he turned around to look and there, 
 at a short distance, in a little recess in the apartment sat 
 his chaplain, the Kev. Mr. Vanscourt. "What! You 
 here, Vanscourt?" said the bishop much surprised. 
 "Really you are a pretty fellow to be here indulging 
 alone— God knows how long, and so unlike yourself—while 
 we were greatly disappointed that you were not among 
 us ! Why did you not send me word that you were here ?" 
 The chaplain sat with his head bowed down, his face 
 covered with his hands so very different from his usual 
 
 manner. 
 
 As yet he made no reply, unless another heavy sigh, 
 deeper than the first, might have been considered an 
 appropriate answer. The bishop approached him and 
 laid his hand upon his shoulder. " Ah Vanscourt !— I see 
 how It is : you have been with that sad fellow Eockett and 
 
 $1 
 
 111 
 
t 
 
 
 U' m 
 
 122 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 —and-— I fear the Betnall air has not agrted with you. 
 Eh!" 
 
 "My lord! " ejaculated the chaplain overpowered with 
 emotion. 
 
 " My lord !— these are the only two words you have for 
 me now— all you have to spare after your flight into 
 Egypt, and away from that Philistine. You have no doubt 
 left Eockett half dead, when you come back here &o near- 
 ly dead yourself." 
 
 "Alas, my lord!" continued the chaplain still more 
 visibly affected. 
 
 ** Three words ! O, Vanscourt, what a dose of fiery fluid 
 you must have tr^.ken to check the music of your tongue ! 
 Well, we shall have another word next time, and then a 
 full round sentence. You like a pun, Vanscourt— give me 
 a sentence of any kind except the sentence of death." 
 
 " My lord, my lord," again he faltered. 
 
 '* Four words — not fairly a sentence yet — we shall have 
 it in good time," The chaplain now looked up, his face 
 was pale, his eyes blood-shot, and his hand trembled ; yet 
 the bishop mistook these symptoms and attributed them 
 to a different cause. Well, Vanscourt, you do look half 
 dead ! KocKctt must have been determined to send you 
 up sky-high— you are pretty elevated yet— now is it not so, 
 Vanscourt?" 
 
 "Good God, my lord, have you not heard the dreadful 
 news ? " 
 
 " News ? " inquired his lordship with the faintest possi- 
 ble smile. He now saw that the chaplain was in his sober 
 senses, and that his manner was strangely serious. 
 " Dreadful news ! No, Vanscourt, I care to hear no dread- 
 ful news. But what is it ; what is it ? " 
 
 The chaplain now arose from the chair and stood trem- 
 bling before him. The bishop was really startled at his 
 appearance, "Dreadful news, my lord— I see that y\)u 
 cannot have heard it yet, and to explain all I must indeed 
 frame a sad, sad sentence for you. Rockett — the unfortu- 
 nate John ..?.ockett, your old friend Rockett, was burnt to 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 423 
 
 death last night in his out-house at Betnall, and his very 
 bones liave been reduced to ashes! " 
 
 The words were scarcely more than uttered when the 
 bishop fell suddenly to the floor ; the secretary rushed 
 Into the room in great alarm. Doctors were soon in 
 attendance; all that medical skill and experience could 
 do availed nothing. A fatal sentence had been pronounced 
 by the chaplain— next day a coroner's jury had returned 
 -"Death by apoplexy." In two days afterward the cathe- 
 dral was draped in mourn: jg ; there was a great funeral ; 
 and Thomas Sumpter, late bishop of Storckchester was 
 born© away in solemn pomp, and gathered to his fathers. 
 
 I ii 
 

 IjW'jjl 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI, 
 
 OMINOUS CLOUDS. 
 
 nPHEliE are times and seasons in the life of almost every 
 -^ individual when the most degraded can perform a 
 virtuous act ; or when temptation comes with such irresist- 
 able power as to bring the most exemplary to the verge of 
 crime. 
 
 "What trivial circumstances have often changed the 
 whole course of a man's future, either leading him on to 
 a career of usefulness, or downward as an obstructive to 
 all progress. No one should feel too confident in his own 
 power of resistance, or triumph over those who have had 
 to succumb, for though a man should fancy himself invul- 
 nerable to the attack of an enemy, Evil may approach in 
 such a modest, insinuating guise as to succeed in its first 
 overture ; and perhaps to rule and triumph forever after. 
 Our imagined constancy to upright principles may often 
 be only a spurious adherence to rectitude arising from 
 continued success; were adversity to be an every day 
 companion, we might not hesitate to seek its riddance by 
 arts and stratagems inconsistent with honor or honesty. 
 Instances are constantly occurring in proof of these posi- 
 tions. 
 
 Sentiments of this kind were expressed during a long 
 conversation in the curate's little parlor at Pendell, and 
 while reviewing the character of Maheel and others who 
 were forever more beyond the influence of praise or cen- 
 sure. The curate and a few of bis frierds had met to 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 425 
 
 spend an evening together, and Mr. Valiant was of course 
 among the number. It was more than two weelts since 
 the calamity at Betnall, and nearly that time since the 
 great funeral of the bishop of Storkchester had taken 
 place. Mr. Meade gave them an account of the imposing 
 ceremony; he had had another journey to that city; all 
 the clergy of the diocese had been requested to attend the 
 solemn service in the Cathedral; and as the curate was 
 among the number of those invited, he of course consider- 
 ed it obligatory on him to make an appearance, and it 
 occurred to him that as he had heard nothing lately about 
 his successor to the curacy, the bishop's death might 
 probably cause some new arrangement to take place, and 
 that he might still be inekuled among the number of 
 active clergy, and allowed to serve for a time longer in 
 his old parish. This of course would be the wish of his 
 heart; and it is to be concluded that the wish in this case 
 was " father to the thought." He knew that Mr. Valiant 
 would be glad to have him on the Heath, but still he 
 would prefer his old home and would not wi -h to change 
 it until he left it for his grave. 
 
 How different this time were his feelings upon his arri- 
 val in Storkchester to what they had been on a former 
 occasion! Then he had been almost driven from his 
 lordship's door like a vagrant ; now, no pert servant in 
 plush livery made his appearance to close the door upon 
 him ; no smirking secretary, like a courteous dragon 
 stood in the way to prevent his entrance, the door was 
 open to permit another to pass out— one who was never to 
 return. No carriage was in waiting to give his lordship 
 an airing, but a hearse with towering black plumes was 
 there to take him to the grave. The wide hall was gloomy ; 
 he could enter and go among others that loitered in the 
 dim apartment which but a few nights previously had 
 been the scene of such gay festivity. The whole house 
 was made to appear gloomy ; and pictures, and mirrors, 
 and busts, and statuettes were clouded and draped— as 
 human beings were— to make them look what they were 
 
 :<( 
 
 n n 
 
426 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 not. The faces of trained mourners were gloomy; and 
 what made it seem more sad and gloomy than all to one 
 like the curate, who was troubled with a feeling heart, 
 there was no evidence of sincere grief in the whole costly 
 display. When the massive coffin was borne out, and 
 taken down the marble steps to be conveyed to the cathe- 
 dral, there were bowed heads and solemn faces, but no 
 voice of sorrow could be heard, no child's tear could be 
 seen, no wife's smothered sob reached the ear ; there was 
 nothing but a mere ceremonial of sadness, a studied coun- 
 terfeit of grief— not the slightest symptom of natural 
 feeling to touch a stranger's heart. 
 
 The next morning after the funeral, before Mr. Meade 
 started on his return home, the Kev. Mr. Vanscourt, the 
 new rector of Pendell, called on him at the hotel. The 
 rector, who appeared to be very much cast down, inform- 
 ed him that the late bishop's nephew, the Rev. Mr. Sofln, 
 who had agreed to accept the curacy of Pendell, had— 
 probably in consideration of greater pay and more leisure 
 —already changed his mind, and accepted the chaplaincy 
 of a frigate then under orders for foreign service. Mr. 
 Vanscourt admitted that he thought Mr. Meade had the 
 best right to the curacy— he had always thought so— but 
 the late bishop was most anxious to have Mr. Sofin, his 
 nephew, under his (Mr. Vanscourt's) charge at Pendell, 
 and he could not refuse his consent to such an arrange- 
 ment; for he was, he said, mainly indebted to the late 
 bishop for his appointment as rector of that parish. Now, 
 however, there was nothing in the way, and if Mr. Meade 
 would only consent to serve as curate, five pounds a year 
 should be added to his salary. The curate had accepted 
 the offer at once, and returned home delighted. He was 
 congratulated by many of his friends; Sarah At'ton and 
 old Stephen were greatly pleased, and there was rejoicing 
 among several of his old parishioners— two persons alone 
 were disappointed. 
 
 Mr. Valiant expressed his regret openly; he had, he 
 said, fully expected to have Mr. Meade with him on the 
 
f; and 
 to one 
 heart, 
 costly 
 it, and 
 cathe- 
 but no 
 >uld be 
 3re was 
 d coun- 
 aatural 
 
 Meade 
 urt, the 
 5l. The 
 inform- 
 f. Sofln, 
 I, had-- 
 ^ leisure 
 .plaincy 
 5e. Mr. 
 had the 
 so— but 
 3fin, his 
 endell, 
 rrange- 
 he late 
 Now, 
 Meade 
 a year 
 ccepted 
 He was 
 on and 
 ejoicing 
 s alone 
 
 |had, he 
 on the 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 427 
 
 Hetkth, and now this new arrangement might seriously 
 affect his plans for a time. Esther said nothing, sh»> did 
 not wish to have her father think she was dissatisfied; 
 but from the manner in which he had been already treat- 
 ed by his spiritual superiors, she felt his position still 
 insecure ; she would have preferred that he had given up 
 the curacy. He was getting too old for the duties of the 
 parish, and Mr. Valiant's proposal was one which, under 
 present circumstances, would have been most beneficial. 
 It would be with the greatest regret that she took leave 
 of the old house in which she had spent her youthful 
 days ; but she would have to leave it some time. It was 
 the parsonage of the parish, and the property of the 
 church, and, as her father was getting old, she could 
 scarcely expect that they would be able to remain in it 
 much longer— it might soon be occupied by others. 
 
 Charles Meade, who had succeeded in recovering a large 
 amount of money, had tempting offers to commence busi- 
 ness in London, and he and Ranee Jiad pressed Esther to 
 accompany them, and she had agreed to do so. She wish- 
 ed to see more of the metropolis and to hear one or two 
 of the great organists to be found in that city ; and now, 
 were her father to remain, how could she possibly manage 
 to leave him. Had he gone to the Heath he would have 
 been comfortably situated and well cared for, and she 
 could at the same time have an opportunity of visiting 
 London. She had often heard flattering speeches regard- 
 ing her musical abilities, and had been informed that she 
 could distinguish herself there; and for certain other 
 reasons she was more desirous than ever of going to the 
 great city. She really wished to be away for a time ; she 
 had some confidence in her own powers, and a laudable 
 ambition to become better known in the musical world ; 
 but the question still was if her father chose to stay in 
 Pendell, how could she get away ; it was to her a difficult 
 problem to solve, and its consideration caused her no little 
 perplexity. 
 
 Mr. Valiant was soiry to learn that the curate had 
 
 •I , 
 
 i 1 
 
428 
 
 x'HE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 decided to remain for a time ionj^er at Pendell and again 
 expressed liis rej^ret at tlie (loc5ision. ** I gave our friends 
 to understand," said lie addressing Mr. Meade, *' tliat you 
 would soon be one of our number, and all were pleased to 
 hear it, I have you know a curious lot of persons to con- 
 trol and civilize, and I relied much on your assistance ; 
 not in fact on your efforts alone, but I had hoped that 
 through you we could obtain the aid of another whose in- 
 fluence would have been invaluable. You still desire to 
 remain in Pendell out of a partiality to your old parish ; 
 you cannot by any means do so much good in this place 
 as you could among my friends on the Heath. Here a 
 majority of your parishioners would refuse to listen to 
 teaching which might chance to conflict with their long 
 established opinions ; here your instruction is limited to 
 the explanation of certain doctrines, the worth of which 
 many dispute and the value of which you may be doubtful 
 of yourself ; Lhere you might find minds wh if not alto- 
 gether blank as to certain tenets, might be a impress- 
 ible, and you might be far more successful in disseminating 
 scientific truth. After what has occurred in relation to 
 yourself you can have no certainty that you may not soon 
 be asked, or rather notified, again to retire in favor of some 
 new successor." 
 
 " They will not disturb me for at least a year," said Mr. 
 Mead3. "During that time I can better prepare for a 
 change. It affected me very much to be dismissed so 
 unexpectedly. I did intend to go with you to the Heath ; 
 it is now indeed a pleasant place to what it once was, but 
 you know my promise to you was partly conditional ; I 
 scarcely expected to be restored to the curacy, and was 
 grateful for your kind offer; and, to compensate in a 
 measure, I will promise to make a weekly visit to the 
 Heath, and, perhaps by the end of another year, I 
 may fully decide on going there altogether. The scenery 
 here may be more inviiing, yet I will not hesitate to tell 
 you that the instructions which I am obliged to give are 
 more from the head than from the heart ; I now begin to 
 
THE HK.VTIIKNa OF TIIK IIKATII. 
 
 429 
 
 I afjjaiij 
 frioiids 
 liat you 
 ased to 
 
 to con- 
 stance ; 
 •ed that 
 lose in- 
 esire to 
 
 parish ; 
 lis place 
 
 Here a 
 isten to 
 eir long 
 tnited to 
 3f which 
 doubtful 
 not alto- 
 jimpress- 
 inating 
 
 ation to 
 |not soon 
 
 of some 
 
 I said Mr. 
 ire for a 
 lissed so 
 
 Heath ; 
 I was, but 
 tioiial ; I 
 land was 
 late in a 
 It to the 
 
 year, I 
 
 scenery 
 be to tell 
 jgive are 
 
 begin to 
 
 feel that I ought to follow Truth ovori wor»' it to a S(>on»iii^' 
 desert; for whore truth is there can be no bleaii sloiility, 
 and where all are its faithful followers thoro must 1)0 con- 
 tinued peace and harmony. Yes, before the end of another 
 year I shall decide. But then Esther may b(^ away." 
 
 •* Away ! " said Mr. Valiant. He had not been infornioil 
 of her intention to go to London. "Away? Wliy, our 
 friend Miss Meade is not surely going to leave us ? " John 
 Valiant was evidently much concerned as to the nature of 
 the reply he might receive. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Ranee, "Esther has promised to come 
 and stay with us in London, her father will be able to come 
 and visit us often— for that matter he might remain with 
 us altogether. Any way while he is here Sarah and old 
 Stephen will be company for him and see that ho is well 
 taken care of. Esther must come with us ; that is positively 
 settled." 
 
 " Don't say positively," said Esther laughing, "I fear 
 I shall not be able to go for a long time. My father has 
 changed his mind and decided to remain here for another 
 year. How can I leave him ?" 
 
 " Nonsense ! You must go Esther," said the curate, un- 
 willing to disappoint her. "You must go child. I shall be 
 able to get along famously. You know how careful old 
 Barah was of me when you were lately indisposed; and 
 then I had Stephen to remind me of old times, and to talk 
 of those who had lived and flourished, or struggled here 
 when I first came to the parish. Yes, go Esther, I want 
 you to see something of the world, and London, you have 
 often been told, is a good representation of it— a world in 
 Itself. You must go child, you must go." 
 
 "Besides," said Eanee, "I have heard more than 
 one say, since I have been here, thai fame and fortune 
 are in London awaiting your arrival- perhaps a rich hus- 
 band. Now don't blush that way. I have been told all 
 about that wealthy lord who was struck by your musical 
 performance, as well as by your personal appearance. 
 You know the noble widower I mean— he whe paid you so 
 
 \\ 
 
 m 
 
430 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 1 .;1iv.ii- 
 
 ■ !.;'''S 
 
 much attention some time ago at Betnall during a visi^^Q- 
 tion of the late bishop. I have hear 1 the whole story." 
 
 John Valiant who had listeaed to every word, suddenly 
 looked up amazed; he stared at the curate inquiringly, 
 and his anxious look might at once be interpreted to mean 
 —Can this possibly be true ? 
 
 "Oh, yes," said her brother following up the attack 
 while Esther's face was one glow of crimson. "Esthe; 
 has surely made a conquest; old Sarah told me about it 
 and how that Lord Wedmore would have called here him 
 self to pay his respects and hear her play again, and per- 
 haps to say something very particular, were it not for the 
 late rector of this parish, Mr. Morton, who for some 
 reason put him off by saying that Esther w.is engaged tc 
 a clergyman in a distant parish. Is it not so father ?" 
 
 Mr. Valiant ^'rew still more amazed ; there was an ex- 
 pression of pain in his face; and Esther was apparently 
 overwhelmed, she was thoroughly confused ; she waa 
 unable to speak a word, or to leave the room, and she 
 could only look appoalingly at Ranee and at her brother. 
 
 The curate did noc seem inclined to encourage conversa- 
 tion on that oubjoct, but as he had been referred to by his 
 son, he merely said : 
 
 "Oh, I believe there was something of the kind, but 
 'tis of no consequence now. Let it pass. Esther has no 
 such aims. I wish her to go to London for a far different 
 purpose, and when we arrange matters here a little, she 
 shall follow you. I will see her off myseif." 
 
 " Lord Wedmore is in London at present; is he not? " 
 asked Ranee. 
 
 "Of course he is," replied Charles Meade, "and if we 
 delay at Pendell much longer, it is quite probabla that the 
 noble widower may pay us a visit himself. I have a'so 
 learned that he was greatly annoyed at the late Mr. 
 Morton for having misled him with respect to Esther. r>iit 
 now I believe her chances are better than ever." 
 
 Why was it that John Valiant remained so silent; !ir 
 was generally ready to take part in social conversatiot- 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 431 
 
 but now he seemed disinclined to say a word ? Tlie day 
 was near its close, the sun had set, and the shades of 
 eveninfjf filled the room. "Why were his reflections of so 
 sombre a character ? why was he impressed at the, time 
 with the idea that the sunbeam of his hopes had probably 
 faded away for ever, and that his future years would bo 
 passed in twilight and in shade? And why was it that 
 Esther, already so disconcerted, felt such relief when the 
 subject was dropped, and when she escaped from the 
 apartment to look after some household affair ? 
 
 For some time afterward— in fact during the greater 
 part of the evening— Mr. Valiant was not altogether in 
 his usual lively mood ; he was occasionall> in a state of 
 abstraction, and seemed to hear but little of the conver- 
 sation which took place. "When tea was over, they had 
 some music, and Kanee, who had a fine voice, sang a 
 favorite piece, and was accomi)anie(l by Esther on the 
 piano. The beautiful melody had, however, a saddening 
 effect on Mr. Valiant, and it was not until matters con- 
 nected with the late bishop and his family had been talk- 
 ed over, and some speculations made as to who might be 
 his successor, that he had become in any degree himself 
 again. In reference to this subject, he said, with anima- 
 tion and evident earnestness . 
 
 " "Were every bishop in England to be deposed to-mor- 
 row, and no others appointed, could there, or would there 
 be any possible loss to the nation V What real benelit is 
 the office to any save to the incumbent? Any virtue 
 said to be connected with it, is only like too much per- 
 taining to religion— merely imaginary. Emplane I has— even 
 in this enlightened and scientific age— to sui)port tweidij- 
 eight bishops, including two arch-bisliops; the people 
 have scarcely a word to say as to the choice or selection of 
 these men, and the useless burden of so many lordly pre- 
 lates, is an annual cost to the country of over one hundred 
 and fifty thousand pounds sterling;* besides perquisites of 
 
 A-bput throe-qutvi'ters of a million dollars. 
 
132 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 nWI* ^ ' 
 
 Hi 
 
 various kinds, which add largely to the sum total. Now 
 what real valuable service do these pretenders give in 
 return for this immense sum ? If an admission be at all 
 made respecting any benefit conferred by these consecrat- 
 ed impostors, it may simply be said, that they are as 
 beneficial in their way as the half-hundred chaplains who 
 are required for the special edification of the Queen.* 
 
 Were the professions of these pious dignitaries sincere, 
 they would, of necessity, have some conscientious scru- 
 ples as to the acceptance of exorbitant sums for nominal 
 services ; but in their extraordinary greed, and in helping 
 to exhaust the national resources, they reduce themselves 
 to a lower position than that of political place men whose 
 offices are the veriest sinecures. Pauperism is on the 
 increase around us ; sufficient funds cannot be raised to 
 meet the appeals of those engaged in the work of benevo- 
 lence ; and yet money is abstracted from the revenues of 
 the country to sustain Episcopal drones in luxury, while 
 at the same time, many humane institutions are languish- 
 ing for support. No wonder that discontent prevails in 
 England. The people feel themselves legallv plundered 
 in order that priestly pensioners and a host of others may 
 be dignified and pampered, and they almost despair of 
 finding a legal remedy ; even the very land is monopolized 
 to such an extent as that not more than one man of six 
 hundred and fifty persons owns a foot of English soil. 
 No wonder, therefore, that thousands rush anuaally from 
 these shores to find a home in a strange but more hospit- 
 able country, and that you need a standing army to over- 
 awe those whj are obliged to remain, and who are restless 
 and discontented while forced to bear unjust burdens, and 
 submit to the grossest mismanagement of public affairs. 
 You have a costly State Church establishment— arch- 
 
 * The spiritual guardians of tho Queen of Great Britain, rank an 1 
 nie, maybe summed up as follows: One domestic chaplain to Her 
 Majesty; one to Her Majesty's household at St. James'; forty-oifjflit 
 chaplains in ordinary to Her Majesty; eight priests in ordinary to 
 Hor Majesty. It may. therejEoje. be considered reasonable to suppose 
 tJbiat He.r Ma^iesty is safe. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 193 
 
 give in 
 )e at all 
 isecrat- 
 
 are as 
 ins wlio 
 n.* 
 
 sincere, 
 IS scru- 
 lorainal 
 helping 
 mselves 
 1 whose 
 
 on the 
 aised to 
 benevo- 
 mues of 
 V, while 
 ,nguish- 
 vails in 
 mdered 
 ers may 
 spair of 
 Dpolized 
 n of six 
 ish soil, 
 lly from 
 5 hospit- 
 to over- 
 restless 
 ens, and 
 affairs. 
 ,t — arcli- 
 
 rank an 1 
 in to Hor 
 irty-eitrht 
 •dinar y to 
 D suppose 
 
 bishops, bishops, lesser spiritual dignitaries, hundreds of 
 clergy, and thousands of other priests and preachers of 
 every sect and degree swarming all over the land ; they 
 seem wilfully blind to the political favoritism and injus- 
 tice which prevail in this so-called land of freedom ; and 
 to the pitiful poverty and gross ignorance which obtrude 
 in every part of the kingdom. If these priestly mercena- 
 ries were true men, such a state of things could not long 
 continue; at times they make feeble, but ostentatious 
 efforts to relieve the distressed; but so long as they pre- 
 tend to believe, and persist in teaching, religious and 
 political fables, so long will superstition enfeeble the 
 intellect, and usurpation make men servile; so long as 
 they assert that it is decreed by a benevolent Providence 
 that a minority must of necessity be rery rich, and the 
 great majority degradingly poor, the ignorant poor will 
 submit to be robbed of their natural rights, and no suit- 
 able effort will be made to stay the hand of the despoiler. 
 Assurance is the only diploma held by many a professor. 
 These assuming i)riests are most obtrusive in every rela- 
 tion ; they claim precedence as having been invested with 
 superior authority; they arrogate to themselves the right 
 to instruct, and perhaps just as often the right to dictate ; 
 and instead of leading in social, political, or scientific 
 progress ; they denounce the so-called infidols, and their 
 advanced ideas, and they lag behind too frequently as 
 obstructives, until forced onward by public common 
 sense, or by unerring demonstration, and then they as 
 frequently rush to the front and unblushlngly claim to be 
 principals in the march of improvement." 
 
 Mr. Valiant would be supported in these assertions by 
 a large majority of educated thinkers in Great Britain. 
 Ministers of the Gospel, while having sto jd so long in the 
 way of progress, will oftentimes demand : " What have 
 Infidels done to benefit mankind ? " The reply is, they 
 have been nearly always the despised leaders of progress. 
 They have been the most daring scientists and philoso- 
 phers—daring because they feared not to contradict "in- 
 
 '! ii- ■' 
 
 ill 
 
 19 
 
 \ i| 
 
 ,! 'fl 
 
4M 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 II s; 
 
 rl». i 
 
 
 spiration," and to prove many of its alleged divine truths 
 grossly incorrect. They were foremost in the anti-slavery 
 movement, even while bishops and priests were defending 
 slavery as being a ** divine institution ;" there is abund- 
 ance of proof of this; they have been among the most 
 active leaders in the temperance movement ; they have 
 been prominent among the workers for the abolition of 
 imprisonment for debt ; for woman's rights ; for the aboli- 
 tion of the death penalty; and they have alwayo been 
 advocates for progress and humanJty in every direction. 
 So patent are these facts, that even a portion of the 
 religious press have acknowledged that: 
 
 "Among all the earnest-minded young men who are at 
 this moment leading in thought and action in AiAerica, 
 we venture to say that four-fifths are skeptical of the 
 great historical facts of Christianity. 
 
 What is told as a Christian doctrine by the cl arches 
 claims none of their consideration, and there is among 
 them a general distrust of the clergy, as a cla; s, and an 
 utter disgust with the very aspect of modern Chrlcitianity 
 and of church worship. 
 
 This skepticism is not flippant ; little is said about it. 
 It is not a peculiarity alone of radicals and fanatics; 
 most of them are men of calm and even balance of mind, 
 and belong to no class of ultraists. It is not worldly and 
 selfish. Nay, the doubters lead in the bravest and most 
 self-denying enterprises of the day.''* 
 Another Chris ian paper has said : 
 "To the shame of the Church, it must be confessed, 
 that the foremost in all our philanthropic movements, in 
 the interpretation of the spirit of the age, in the practical 
 application of genuine Christianity, in the reformation of 
 abuses in high and low places, in the vindication of the 
 rights of man, and in practically redressing his wrongs in 
 the intellectual and moral regeneration of the race, are 
 the so-called infidels in our land. 
 
 * ^ew York EomngelisU 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 435 
 
 The Church has luisilkmimously left, not only the 
 working oar, but the very reins of salutary reform in the 
 hands of men she denounces as inimical to Christianity,- 
 and who are practically doing with all their might for 
 Humanity's sake, what the Church ought to be doing for 
 Christ's sake ; and if they succeed, as succeed they will in 
 abolishing slavery, banishing rum, restraining Jcentious- 
 ness, reforming abuses and elevating the masses, then 
 must the recoil on Christ-anity be disastrous. Woe, woe, 
 woe, to Christianity when infidels by the force of Nature, 
 or the tendency of the age, get ahead of tne Church in 
 morals, and in the practical work of Christianity. In 
 some instances they are already far in advance. In the 
 vindication of truth, righteousness, and liberty they are 
 the pioneers, beckoning a sluggish Church to follow in the 
 
 rear 
 
 '» * 
 
 This testimony ought to be sufficient; much of such 
 could be given, but were it still more copious, clerical 
 fulminations would be heard again, and the question 
 would be unscrupulously repeated in the pulpit, and on 
 platform: "What have iulidols done to benefit man- 
 kind?" 
 
 Now as the Keverend clergy and Christian men gener- 
 ally are not backward in claiming a moral superiority 
 over unbelievers, let us hear what an eminent historian 
 says on the subject of clerical faithfulness. 
 
 Upon his installation as rectoi of St. Andrews Univer- 
 sity, in April 1869, Dr. Froude in his address said : 
 
 ** We have had thirty years of unexampled clerical activ- 
 ity, churches have been doubled ; theological books, maga- 
 zines, reviews, newspapers have been poured out by 
 hundreds of thousands, while by the side of it there has 
 sprung up an equally astonishing development of moral 
 Jishonesty. From the great houses in London to the village 
 grocer, the commercial life of England has been saturated 
 ,fith fraud. So deep has it gone that a strictly honest 
 
 ,! m 
 
 Vtw Yo^k Tnd^endeTtt. 
 
436 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ,.i, 
 
 M . ' 
 
 tradesman can hardly hold his ground. You can no longer 
 trust that any article you buy is the thing it pretends to 
 be. We have false weights, false measures, cheating and 
 shoddy everywhere. Yet the clergy have seen all this in 
 absolute indifference; and the great question which at 
 this moment is agitating the Church in England is the 
 color of the ecclesiastical petticoats. Many a hun- 
 dred sermons have I heard, many a dissertation on 
 the mysteries of faith, on the divine mission of the clergy 
 on apostolical succesion, on bishops and justification, and 
 the theory of good works, and verbal inspiration, and the 
 efficacy of the sacraments, but during these thirty won- 
 derful years never one that I can recollect on common 
 honesty, nor those primitive commandments — thou shalt 
 not lie — and thou shalt not steal." * 
 
 Even while Christian priests are deploring the sad con- 
 dition of the Hea,then, a thousand certificates could be 
 procured to show that the "common honesty " of Pagan 
 and Mohammedan countries is far in advance of that in 
 Christian lands. 
 
 Mr. Valiant continued: 
 
 "Presumption is the eounterreit of talent. In every 
 land that I have visited I have found priests of almost 
 every creed willing to indu'ge in notions of their own 
 superiority. I ask are Christian priests behind the heath- 
 ens in this respect ? Christian priests generally assume 
 to be possessed of superior knowledge, and as the Chris- 
 tian faith in this land is powerful and popular, they as- 
 sume to give a tone to public opinion and too often debauch 
 the minds of legislators; even the Press, which should 
 be free, has become deplorably subservient to their fana- 
 ticism, and it consequently follows that little or no progress 
 or not sufficient progress, is made in humane and merci- 
 ful enactments. What class of men deserve to be branded 
 as hypocritical imposters more than those who exclaim 
 in pulpit and on plat:orm against the love of wealth, and 
 
 * From the Presbyterian a Monthly Record for May 1869— Lovell 
 MontreaL 
 
THE HEATHENS Oi' THE HEATH. 
 
 437 
 
 lovell 
 
 against worldlings who are intent upon adding house to 
 house, and barn to barn, while they themselves arc in 
 numerous instances most noted examples of cupidity ? 
 What class of men should be denounced as false teachers 
 more than thev who tell men at the present day to believe 
 that the myths, the mysteries, the contradictions, and the 
 absurdities of so-called inspiration are pure truth, when 
 reason and the higher inspirr don. of science plainly de- 
 monstrate the contrary. During ages progress was kept 
 at a stand still by incorrigible ecclesiastics— they can stop 
 it no longer. The professions of the clergy respecting 
 indifference to the great world, and the lessons they give 
 concerning charity, humility, forgiveness, and brotherly 
 love, and their regard for the poor, are frequently but 
 mere pulpit utterances, and the shallowest verbiage. Who 
 more than they are so ready to flatter the rich, or become 
 obsequious to the powerful? Who more addicted to 
 empty display where they think it can be safely exhibited 
 by gairish pomp and ceremony in places of worship? 
 and who are more bitter in detraction against those 
 who dare to think for themselves, and to dispute their 
 pretensions and authority? As for their regard for 
 the poor, many of them no doubt have feeling hearts like 
 other men, and would like to alleviate the wretchedness 
 of poverty ; but as a general thing, though ostentatious 
 in their efforts to relieve distress, as they are in most of 
 their other public efforts, the imaginary demands of the 
 Almighty— at least Jiis is the plea— have their first con- 
 sideration. Instead of urging the erection of additional 
 and vastly superior homes for the widow, and the orphan, 
 the aged, poor, the infirm, and the destitute, the most 
 wonderful exertions are made to increase the number of 
 lordly structures with towering steeples— each of which is 
 called a *' House of God "—and to secure this object they 
 have no compunction in soliciting the child's pence, the 
 widow's mite, and the poor man's shilling, even though 
 the pittance should be required to provide food ; and 
 though increasing thousands of miserable paupers should 
 
 ^ !■ 
 
 E ! 
 
438 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 &/,v 
 
 be obliged to wander about without a home or a place of 
 shelter. "* 
 
 During these remarks, the curate made no observation ; 
 he listened to the reflections made against the class to 
 which he belonged, more like a person who agreed with 
 what had been said, than like one who might feel inclined 
 to dispute the correctness of the severe assertions. Esther 
 seemed astonished at Mr. Valiant's earnestness of manner 
 and was almost disposed to believe that much of what had 
 been stated by him was but too true, and sufficient to 
 arouse others to think more on such matters ; still, though 
 a great deal she thought might be said against the worldly- 
 disposition of the clergy— particularly those of her own 
 church— who she believed were acting contrary to Christian 
 precepts, she was confident that the Christian religion 
 was superior to all others. She had never as yet allowed 
 herself to question its doctrines; nor did she wish to 
 harbor doubts sufficient to lead to an investigation of its 
 claims. In this respect Esther was only like the great 
 majority of her sex— a blind believer in the incompre- 
 hensible. 
 
 ''There must be certainly something wrong in the 
 management of public affairs in England," said Charles 
 Meade. " England ought to lead in efforts of benevolence 
 and humanity; she has done much in this respect, but 
 much, much more is wanting within her own borders ; for 
 still it is asserted that pauperism is on the increase. Dur- 
 ing the short period since my return, I have been besieged 
 by more beggars than I ever saw during an entire year, or 
 even during a longer period in India. As for London, in 
 spite of the police, one is importuned one way or another 
 for alms or assistance almost continually. The paupers 
 of London are conspicuous in almost every direction. It 
 is shocking to think that with all its reputed wealth, 
 there should be in England and Wales alone, over three 
 hundred and fifty thousand children under sixteen years 
 
 * See Note 16. respecting clerical crimes and f railities. 
 
 n: 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 439 
 
 of age who are solely depending on the precarious mainte- 
 nance of public and private charity." 
 
 '•I tell you what, my friends," continued Mr. Valiant, 
 •'there must be a change ; such gross injustice will not be 
 allowed to exist. It is gross injustice to have the fee sim- 
 ple of the land of this country in the hands of a few non- 
 l>roducers. You must set the land free for the industrious. 
 The monopolizers of the soil cry out about existing rights, 
 these, I contend, are existing wrongs; all men have nat- 
 ural rights, one of the principal of which is, a right to a 
 portion of the land for cultivation. Emigration may be 
 suggested, it is good in its way, but not a remedy for 
 British pauperism. Pauperism should not be allowed to 
 exist ; it can be stamped out. Set free the land for the 
 industrious ; gradually get rid of war appropriations, and 
 increase those for the purposes of peace— other nations 
 can be induced to follow the example. Get rid of your 
 army of costly state pensioners, of your army of useless 
 priests, your army uf trained warriors and of your army 
 of aristocratic and titled incumbents and useless oiflcials. 
 These measures may be flippantly pronounced ri.^^orous, 
 unjust, and even impoubible ; but they can be none of these 
 if attempted for the sole benefit of a suffering people. 
 Impossible ? Elect legislators of the right kind and the 
 thing is done ; a majority in Parliament in favor of equal 
 justice, humanity, and thorough civilization, will over- 
 whelm every despot and usurper in the land; and the 
 demon of war and destruction will be put to flight forever. 
 With such a majority what immense^ benefits would follow ! 
 You would have a government which instead of being 
 criminally lavish would be conducted on princii)les of strict 
 economy, you would have no need of oppressive burdens 
 of taxation, and no special exemptions from a fair asess- 
 ment or liability to contribute to the national resources ; 
 and the destitute of the nation, the orphan, the infirm, 
 and the aged poor, would be supported by the nation ; it 
 is now done only in part as charity; it must eventually 
 be done as an individual right. Let Eng'anc' lead, other 
 
 f! 
 
 ifi 
 
 H I 
 
440 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 Wm 
 
 H 
 
 liW 
 
 Ii3 
 
 |ii 
 
 natious I feel satisfied will follow. What! you exclaim a 
 general disarming? I say a general disarming ; a speedy 
 destruction of missiles of war, or their rapid conversion in- 
 to implements of peace, t Professing Christians have 
 talked long enough about turning spears into pruning 
 hooks, let them attempt it now ; the time was never more 
 propitious for a beginning. Some government will have 
 to make the attempt. I say again, let England taKe the 
 honorable lead and the alleged impossibility will quickly 
 disappear. In times not very remote, men in most civil- 
 ized nations— or what were called such— went armed ; it 
 was thought necessary for self-protection ; but now in like 
 communities swords have been flung aside, and men gen- 
 erally decide their quarrels or disputes, by law or by arbi- 
 tration without the aid of either rapiers or revolvers. It 
 must soon come to this among nations. 
 
 Priestly influence or example, however, will never bring 
 about this needful state of things. Physical force has 
 been the right hand of clerical despotism ; when prayers or 
 threats, or blessing or cursing, could not prevail, the 
 clergy have never hesitated to suggest or to approve of a 
 resort to the sword. Until lately the Pope kept his own 
 standing army ; when saints or angels, or ' the glorious 
 army of martyrs ' were found too dilatory, or too power- 
 less, shotted guns performed the required miracle. Priests 
 have blest the weapons of warriors, and have become 
 man-slayers themselves. Cromwell's preachers urged his 
 pious legions on to battle, and invoked the Almighty to 
 grant th em success. Prayers for naval and military tri- 
 umphs are offered in the churches. Cathedrals are often 
 decorated with banners taken in some bloody struggle; 
 and regimental colors cannot be properly dedicated with- 
 out the chaplain's prayer. If war is to be abolished, do 
 not wait for the ministers of the Gospel to help you ; when 
 
 t It Is estimated that eighty-three per cent of the revenue of Great 
 Britain is expended for purposes of war and only sevetUeer^ per 
 cent, for other alluirs 1 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 441 
 
 you are sure of success, they will volunteer their aid* 
 You must begin at the beginning, and the A. B. C. of this 
 and every other great reform in the "'uited Kingdom, will 
 depend upon the intelligence of the electors and their 
 careful selection of proper representatives to Parliament; 
 send true men there, and victory is assured. The Com- 
 mons of England is the political Omnipotence of the 
 British nation. 
 
 Thought is the associate of intelligence. British work- 
 men, and the British people generally, have begun to 
 think more about public matters than they have hitherto 
 done; there must, therefore, be a change; the injustice 
 of centuries must come to an end. You may make up 
 your minds that there will be a revolution of some kind, 
 (may it be a bloodless one!) which will sweep away every 
 monster abuse that has been created and nurtured by 
 despotic authority. It requires no far-seeing eye to 
 detect the little cloud in the distance ; it requires no great 
 discrimination to predict what is likely to follow. Great 
 abilities are not always necessary for elucidation; the 
 light of a candle may sometimes make a printed page as 
 legible as the light of the sun. There are unknown and 
 unassuming men at the present day in England who can 
 tell you that a vast change is impending ; that the plunder 
 of the public for the almost exclusive benefit of certain 
 favored classes, will no longer be tolerated; and that 
 neither the class of the very rich, nor the class of the very 
 poor, if such anomalous conditions chance to remain, 
 shall be all. wed to control the destinies of the nation. 
 Justice and intelligence alone shall govern ; and old Eng- 
 land shall no longer be a vast hive for royal, aristocratic, 
 
 * Pope Clement XIII sent to Field Marshal Daun. the Austrian 
 Commander a, consecrated hat and sword; such gifts had been pre- 
 viously given to those who had subdued unbelievers or subjugated 
 
 Kq l»l^o I»Jq Tig 
 
 An English paper lately said: " In the morning the bishop (Wil- 
 berforce) preached to the local volunteers, and pointed out there was 
 nothing sinful or contrary to the Divine Word in a man being a sol- 
 dier. That a war might be righteous one he held to be supported by 
 the Old and New Testament." 
 
442 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 or clerical drones ; or a wide domain for the indulgence of 
 special and unjust prescriptive rights. This is what now 
 appears in the future for Britain, no matter what either 
 Prime Minister or archbishop may assert to the contrary.** 
 Mr. Valiant was so absorbed with his subject, that he 
 spoke to the few about him with as much energy as if he 
 were addressing a vast assembly of the misgoverned of 
 all Europe ; he made, however, a most favorable impres- 
 sion on those that heard him. Esther Meade, in particu- 
 lar, was struck by the force of his remarks. The experi- 
 ence which she had already had, led her to entertain no 
 very high regard for the motives which influenced spirit- 
 ual dii^nitaries that had the regulation of Church affairs. 
 In visiting the poor around Pendell, she had often been 
 obliged to witness deplorable scones of poverty, and it 
 caused her to reflect a great deal as to the true origin of 
 the wide social dififerences which existed on every side. 
 
 When the fervid speaker had finished his remarks, the 
 curate, as if at last impelled to speak, said reflectively : 
 *' Well, well, I only wish that right and justice throughout 
 the world had ten thousand such advocates as you ; the 
 great mass of the wronged and the oppressed would be- 
 come more enlighten;'., and tyranny and imposition of 
 every kind would soon be confined to narrow limits.** 
 
 " Be one of the number, then," said Mr. Valiant. "The 
 cause of mental freedom alone is the grandest that can 
 engage the attention of the most gifted writer, the most 
 eloquent orator, or the most distinguished philanthropist. 
 There are, even in England itself, over ten times ten 
 thousand intelligent men who lament the accumulation 
 of political and religious despotism that still exists all 
 over the world, and at the infatuation of dupes that 
 submit ; yet, sad to say, a majority of these men would 
 perhaps be afraid to speak out openly and denounce the 
 abuses which have kept the most industrious so long in 
 liondage. They see Liberty still in fetters, and dare not 
 stand out before all, and strike a sturdy blow to set her 
 ti'ee. He who has the password of freedom, and who ia 
 
1 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE UEATH. 
 
 443 
 
 »> 
 
 afraid to whisper it to oiio who has it not, is simply a 
 traitor to principle; and no aphorism can be more true 
 than that which says: * He who hides a truth, betrays a 
 trust.'"* 
 
 It had been agreed that the curate and his friends 
 should visit the Heath the noxt day. Mr. Valiant had 
 been anxious to have them witness the great improve- 
 ments that had been made, and the gratifying progress 
 that had taken place in the conduct and disposition of the 
 once wild heathens of the plain. However, after he had 
 left the curate's house that night, and retired to his 
 lodgings, he began to reflect upon what he had heard that 
 evening, and he grew quite indifferent whether he ever 
 Again saw the Heath— it might be for evermore the black- 
 est desert to him. Never in his life had he felt so de- 
 spondent. The weather had become suddenly tempestu- 
 ous, and the rain came streaming down as if nature were 
 In a fit of despair. For the time, he ceased to take any 
 Interest in others, and he began to dwell seriously upon 
 his own uncertain chance of domestic happiness. The 
 aurate, he had been told, would still reinoin in Pendell; 
 and Esther — Esther— he dwelt upon the name— would 
 most probably be far away. He had counted upon the 
 companionship and assistance of the one, and without 
 ihe other— without her presence— life would be only a 
 
 *Scientiflc men are generally fearless In giving an opinion as to 
 <he merits of so called " Sacred Records," or the reliance to be placed 
 jn alleged tlieological facts. Yet even among sueli men there 
 may be some who are still too timid to confront public opinion ; 
 though they may know that such opinion Is based upon a myth. And 
 this timidity instead of being censured meets the approval of those 
 whose interests or whose prejudices lead them to urge on others to a 
 blind belief In the still popular fictions of " Inspiration." As an 
 evidence of this the Montreal Witness quotes approvingly regarding 
 the undignified course pursued by Prof. Faraday. 
 
 It seems that the Professor rf/w.seri to investigate Christian theology 
 from a conviction that there was "an absolute distinction between 
 religious and ordinary belief." (I) He declined to " Apply these men- 
 tal operations which he thought good in respect of high things to the 
 highest." (!) 
 
 (From the Student and Intellectual Observer, as published in the 
 Montreal Daily Witness of March 26 1870.) 
 
 n ■ 
 
4A4L 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 #''^' 
 
 heavy burden. What would wealth, honor, or distinction 
 be without her to share it ? But from that which he had 
 already heard, it was almost certain that she would be 
 attracted by a title, that her hand would be bestowed upon 
 II lordl> snitor ; and tnat she was lost to him forever. 
 
 Tortured with apprehension, he paced the room for 
 hours. Then he sat thinking ; he still heard the patter of 
 the rain, and while alone in the silent night, his imagina- 
 tion had free scope. He saw Esther the centre of intel- 
 lectual attraction in London ; he saw her surrounded by 
 noble and wealthy admirers ; he saw her smile on another, 
 but turn coldly aside from him ; he saAv how graciously a 
 noble widower had been received ; and, at last, his heart 
 beat wildly when he saw a brilliant company, and Esther 
 in her bridal robes. O, how beautiful she looked standing 
 before the bishop and his attendant clergy in St. Paul's 
 Cathedral ; he heard the organ's rich peal, and then he 
 heard her solemnly repeat the words of the marriage 
 service: "I, Esther, take thee. Lord George Wedmore, to 
 be my- " He could hear no more; he started up and 
 paced the room again ; his agitation was great ; for an 
 hour longer he could not think of rest. At last he becar^e 
 wearied and lay down, almost willing to die, willing -o 
 sleep, and willing to seek solace, even in dream*. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIl. 
 
 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 ''pHE faint blush of dawn came stealing along the verg?» 
 of the horizon, like some celestial messenger that 
 yet hesitated to awake from its slumbers the youthful 
 day. The stars seemed to linger, as if to welcome its 
 approach; and the deep azure sky slowly changed its 
 gemmed apparel, and appeared in its auroral vesture of 
 ruddy golden light, and its increasing glow soon over- 
 spread the magnificent arch of heaven, dispersing every 
 shade of night. 
 
 The morning was beautifully fine. The sun rose in 
 majestic grandeur like a benign divinity, after suddenly 
 annihilating the darkness, the mist, and the gloom that 
 had prevailed, and now spreading his dazzling glory, far 
 and w'id.(\ over a newly created world. A thousand birds 
 greeted h'ln earliest beam; a thousand perfumes were 
 intermingled w an incense offering to the resplendent 
 luminary ; and a thousand rays seemed to glitter in every 
 dew drop that decke<J the latest Autumn flower. 
 
 It would be well for raany a troubled heart, if changes 
 akin to those which so rcfidily alter and beautify the face 
 of nature, could also o<MMir to drive away as quickly the 
 clouds, the gloom, and the s^>rrow that have continued 
 day af ler day., and year after year, to make certain human 
 lives miserable ; but there are, «!as, .some whose sky must 
 ever remain thickly overcast with clouds, which even the 
 brightest ray cannct penetrate or digpel. The sunlight 
 
 V 
 
446 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ;i-H 
 
 r-'^'^' 
 
 may fall with equal brilliancy upon the palace, the hovel, 
 the prison, or the tomb; its refulgence may bring an 
 increase of gladness to the joyful or to the thoughtless, 
 but there are others around whom misery and its black 
 train of servitors stand so thickly, and so closely, that 
 neither sun, nor moon, nor star, nor hope can ever reach 
 or enliven them more. 
 
 When John Valiant awoke from his troubled sleep, the 
 bright scene from his chamber window was not so attract- 
 ive or refreshing to his eye as it would have been to him 
 but a single day previously. His dream of the past night 
 had been as delusive as the pleasant day dreams in which 
 he had been lately indulging for some time. Esther 
 Meade was in his first thoughts when he arose ; and the 
 same ideas recurred that had but a few hours before so 
 agitated him wh^r-n he had reflected on what he had heard 
 of her probable departure, and what he had imagined 
 would be the result of her intended visit to London. 
 
 However, he now tried to rid himself of these obtrusive, 
 disturbing notions ; his philosophy came once more to his 
 aid; he would make another effort to submit to what 
 seemed inevitable : he would probably have to pass most 
 of the day in her society — it might be the last opportunity 
 he would have of spending so many hours in her com- 
 pany—and afterward, when she went away from Pendell, 
 he would endeavor to forget that she existed, and to over- 
 come the grievous disappointment as much as possible by 
 redoubling his efforts in the generous enterprise to which 
 he had for nearly two yeara devoted his energies and so 
 much of his great wealth. 
 
 After he had left his friends the previous night, the 
 conversation among those in the curate's parlor related 
 principally to the wonderful change which had taken 
 place upon (he Heath siL<^e that property had come into 
 the possession of its prHt^ent munilicent owner. As for 
 the proprietor of the Mayston estate, no praise was con- 
 sidered too great. Charles Meade gave Ms father a short 
 account of how he had become acquainted iratli Mr. Yai- 
 
■^^ 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 447 
 
 iaiit in India, and of what ho Icnew of hici while in that 
 (jountry ; and he told him that the natives of every caste 
 looked upon John Valiant as being almost equal to a 
 ruitural born Brahmin. As the subject of their conversa- 
 tion was now absent, Esther herself did not hesitate to 
 express the high regard she had for a person so generally 
 esteemed for his kindness of heart, and so eminent for 
 his abilities and moral worth. She thought, however, 
 that his skepticism in religious mj,tters might perhaps be 
 a great drawback to his influence. 
 
 "The ouly drawback," said Charles Meade, "that can 
 ever effect his influence may be that which might possibly 
 arise from the jealousy or detraction of priests; but that 
 can ' nly happen in a religious community among whom he 
 has no particular desire to enter— that is a simple notion of 
 your own Esther. Some of the most distinguished men in 
 England to-day, are outsijoken disbelievers in all religion ; 
 and it must be admitted that prominently among the 
 leading progressive minds Ol nearly every country, you 
 will find learned, scientific, humane, and benevolent men 
 who treat divine revelations of every kind, either Brahmin, 
 or Christian, or Mohammedan, as complete myths. You 
 have in England such as Spencer, Mill, Tyndall, Huxley, 
 and Darwin : you have in Germany a thousand Humboldts ; 
 Y'-n have a new rAce of Voltaires in France; you have* a 
 Gi-^ibaldi in Italy, and a Castellar in Spain ; and where is 
 the land eitj er in Europe or America among whose princi- 
 pal men — the leaders par excellence — are not to be found 
 the most pronounced religious skeptics. It would not 
 be difficult to prove, that the world is far more indebted 
 for its present aoc ai, scientific, and political advancement 
 to self-sacrificing indivickiais wiLO disbelieve in theology, 
 than it is to those who *re almost continually wasting 
 efforts and sciaJideriing maae for the propagating of relig- 
 ious cree<ss ; and if our g(»^»«] ^riend Valiant only consented . 
 to remain in England he woald be the kind of missionary 
 we want — even a ■ led missionary to bishops and priests 
 themseKea— he * iud liberate thousands of minds that 
 
 m ■ 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 \ i 
 
i 
 
 Si 
 
 
 448 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 ire uow in the fetters of superstition ; he would teach men 
 I he true nature of rea^son, and the true dignity of manhood, 
 lind he would no doubt be a leader in Parliament where 
 the many obtuse and self-sufiBcient members of that body 
 would probably be induced to unlearn many of their old 
 fogy ideas concerning legislation and the true functions 
 of good government." 
 
 Esther Meade looked up for a moment steadfastly at 
 her brother. " Well do you think," said the curate, " that 
 it is Mr. Valiant's intention ever to leave this country 
 after all that he has been doing on the Heath?" 
 
 "I have reason to think so," replied Charles Meade. 
 " It is just like what he would do if he thought he could 
 be more serviceable elsewhere." 
 
 "And leave the Manor House after it has been re- 
 stored ?" 
 
 "Yes, I believe he would not hesitate a moment to leave 
 it if it were uecessary to do so in order to provide another 
 refuge for the unfortunate." 
 
 Estho^ became nervous and restless, she had to place 
 her hand over her eyes — the glare of the lamp light must 
 have affected Ui«^m. 
 
 " I cannot believe that he has any intention of leaving 
 England," said the ourate. "From what I could learn 
 from him I understood that it was his intention to restore 
 the old Manor House, and take up his abode in it." 
 
 "What! remain there all alone at this time of his life 
 without a wife -with old Ziugari perhaps as his house- 
 keeper?" 
 
 " Oh, T know nothing about that, "said the curate laugh- 
 ing. " If he should desire a wife he may probably be able 
 to tind one .soiriewhore in England." 
 
 " The woman that is to be his wife," continued Charles 
 Meade, emi)hatically, " isat present in India. I am confi- 
 dent of that." 
 
 A neuralgic pain must have darted through Esther's 
 head, she pres^'d her hand to her forehead— she wa? 
 seated clowe to her fa ther and he noticed her suffering. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 449 
 
 **Itls inathing, nothing at all," said Esther with a forced 
 smile in reply to his inquiry, '* I often have a slight attack 
 of this kind when I sit too long." She got up and went to 
 arrange a few flowers which had been placed in a little 
 vase in a corner of the room. 
 
 " I feel pretty certain of that," continued Char'es Meade, 
 scarcely noticing the short interrup'.ion, " for before I left 
 Boin})ay I had it from a particular friend, that Mr. Valiant 
 was engaged— yes actually engaged— to be married to a dis- 
 tant relative of his late wife— a wealthy lady— and that he 
 was to return within a certain time to complete his espous- 
 al. See if he does not leave for India before this time next 
 year." 
 
 At that moment the vase chanced to slip out of Esther's 
 hands; it fell on the floor and was broken in pieces. 
 **Well, well," said she slowlj'- **how really awkward I 
 am!" She stooped to pick up the few flowers and the 
 fragments ; she spent some time at this, and in trying to 
 press some of the large pieces of the broken vase together ; 
 and when she stood up and turned to the light, she was 
 smiling but her face was rather pale, and the curate at 
 once recommended her to retire. 
 
 '* Oh, never mind that," said he alluding to the broken 
 vase. "You look rather wearied, child, and need some 
 rest ; you know we shall have to start at an ea ly hour to- 
 morrow for the Heath, and you ought to retire." 
 
 Esther placed the flowers iind the fragments aside ; she 
 collected a few scattered sheets of music together, and in a 
 few moments bid all good night ; but when she got to her 
 room, instead of seeking repose, she threw herself deject- 
 edly into a chair ; she had a strange feeling of despondency 
 -—a kind of sinking— she gave a few heavy sighs and then 
 covered her face and wept. 
 
 Charles Meade, Eanee, and the curate still remained 
 in the parlor. " Now," said Charles Meade resuming the 
 conversation, and addressing his father, ** speaking of 
 marriage reminds me of the singular intimacy that has 
 always existed between old Stephen Gray, and Sarah AftoD 
 
 in i'.''l 
 
 B i: 
 
 1^ ;; 
 
 I <i 
 
HJ 
 
 t 
 
 450 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 r-; M'' 
 
 wmn 
 
 
 —something? far beyond ordinary friendship. Years ago, 
 before I left home for India, I remember well having been 
 told that there was a kind of engaq^ement between them ; 
 and that they were to be married some time. They are 
 not relatives ; for Stephen once told me so ; they are not 
 married, they still live apart just as they did years back ; 
 and now, on my return to Pendell, after a long absence, I 
 find that this strange attachment still continues as strong 
 as ever ; it is most extraordinary. One would think that 
 people at their time of life— for they are both very old- 
 would be indifferent to any very tender feeling. When 
 Kanee and I called at Sarah's cottage the other evening, 
 old Stephen chanced to come in while we were there, and 
 it was easy to perceive that there was something more 
 than ordinary friendship between them." 
 
 The curate paused for a few moments before he replied 
 "The attachment to which you allude," said he, ** had 
 long been a subject of conversation in this parish, but 
 time has detracte 1 from its interest, and the matter is now 
 scarcely mentioned. When I came here many years 
 since, I saw that there was an understanding of some 
 kind between Stephen and Sarah, but I was never suffi- 
 ciently curious to inquire what it really was. They are 
 two of the worthiest persons I ever knew, simple and 
 harmless as children, but I fancy too much under the 
 influence of superstitious notions concerning the interfer- 
 ence of witches, or fairies, or unseen beings, in mortal 
 affairs; and both of them are strong believers in spells, 
 omens, and predictions, such a belief has, I fear, so far 
 blighted their lives, and kept them as they are. During 
 Esther's late illness, old Sarah spent most of her time 
 with us. She and I had many a long talk about various 
 matters of past days, and among other things I referred 
 to the rumor that had once been common about herself 
 and Stephen ; and, after a little hesitation, she told me 
 that a few years before I came to this parish she and 
 Stephen had been engaged and were to have been married 
 on a certain day ; nearly every preparation had been made 
 
m 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 451 
 
 .go, 
 een 
 Bin; 
 are 
 not 
 ack; 
 ce, I 
 rong 
 that 
 old— 
 Vhen 
 ning, 
 5, and 
 more 
 
 for the nupitals. The first of May had been named for the 
 ceremony, but an intimate friend had informed her, that 
 that was an unlucky day for a marriage; besides it hap- 
 pened to fall on Friday, and that decided them to change 
 it to the next day; and it was so fixed. However, it 
 subsequently occured to Sarah, that the second of May 
 was the anniversary of her great-grandfather's murder at 
 Pendell, and she would have the ceremony put off for 
 another day, only she believed that it would be inauspicious 
 to defer it more than once. 
 
 In the meantime Stephen had gone to see some of his 
 relatives at a distance, and to purchase a ring. He was 
 to have been back early on the second of May; but he 
 did not return till evening, and brought the disconsolate 
 news, that in coming through the church yard he had 
 dropped the ring near the very spot where Sarah's great 
 grandfather had been put to death, and that he had 
 searched for hours without success. To lose the ring was, 
 it seems, considered a most unlucky omen ; besides on his 
 way back to Pendell Stephen had observed a hare to run 
 across the road, just in front of him— another bad sign. 
 The marriage was at once put off. Were the marriage to 
 take place under such circumstances, it would be followed, 
 it was asserted, by dire misfortune. Sarah and Stephen 
 felt that this unforsaen occurrence was a great afflic- 
 tion ; but it was one which must be submitted to. Sarah 
 had been assured by some wandering fortune teller who 
 was then in the neighborhood, that Stephen and she 
 would never be united until the ring was recovered ; and 
 that it would he useless to search for it at any other 
 time but the second day of May. 
 
 For over forty years poor Stephen has made his annual 
 search in the grave yard, but still the ring is missing ; and 
 although he insists that it is there still, yet it is most 
 likely that it will never be seen again by the parties most 
 concerned in its recovery." 
 
 " How very singular! " said Ranee, giving her husband 
 a meaning look. " You know I am noted for being able 
 
 ^:i 
 
152 
 
 THE HEATU£NS OF THE HEATH, 
 
 i -! 
 
 !%!.., ?i 
 
 to find things which have been long lost. I have more 
 than once dreamt of finding a ring in a cemetery ; and since 
 I have beeninPendell the very same dream has returned." 
 
 " If Stephen oilers a reward it may be worth your while 
 to make a search," replied Charles Meade laughing. 
 
 *' Now that I remember," said the curate, "Sarah also 
 told me that having much confidence in Zingari's ability 
 to predict, she '^nce called on her, but the old gypsy wo- 
 man gave her but liillc encouragement ; she merely told 
 Sarah that the ring would never be found until a search 
 was made for it by one who was yet in a foreign country." 
 
 "Then I had better try some time," said Ranee, "per- 
 haps I shall be the lucky stranger." 
 
 "You must wait until the first of May next," said 
 Charles Meade. " You know this is only the beginning of 
 October." 
 
 "You must remember," said the curate jocosely, "that 
 the search must be made on the second of May, not on 
 the first." 
 
 " Oh, then," said Ranee in a sprightly manner, " I shall 
 remember, and we shall have to come here from London 
 on the second of May next to search for old Stephen's 
 ring— and if I find it?" 
 
 " Then," said the curate, " there may be a golden wed- 
 ding." 
 
 At an early hour they all started for the Heath. They 
 had a carriage and a pair of liorses lurnished by Mr. Val- 
 iant, and lest the spirited animals should become restless 
 he undertook to drive them himself. Did he wish to be 
 alone ? 
 
 Esther had had a restless night, but the clear pure 
 morning air seemed to revive her, and her wonted cheer- 
 fulness almost returned. Her brother and Ranee indul- 
 ged in sprightly conversation and quizzed her about the 
 noble widower in London ; they told her it was probable 
 that she would soon ride in her own coach which would 
 have an aristocratic coat of arms emblazoned on its 
 panels. 
 
' t\ 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 453 
 
 She of course considered that it would be useless to 
 appear annoyed by their remarks and she tried to submit 
 to the infliction with th«5 best grace she could, trusting 
 that the unwelcome subject would soon be worn out. She 
 had some hopes that Mr. Valiant could not hear what they 
 were saying, but, as if fate would have it, every word 
 which in any way related to her, reached his ears at 
 once, even while the wheels rattled upon the hard road ; 
 but if Esther only knew the depressing effect that these 
 words had upon h's mind, she would have been the hap- 
 piest person present. 
 
 The curate was the imago of quiet contentment, he 
 looked with a placid smile on each familiar spot as they 
 went along, and he greeted with pleasant face those whom 
 they chanced to pass upon the way. 
 
 What a change in the ai>pearance of the once bleak, 
 sterile, and inhospitable Heath. Every object that had 
 disfigured the place had been removed. There were no 
 tainted festering pools; no filthy taverns, such as the 
 " Book's Nest," or the ** Bull Dog " ; no squalid, brawling, 
 ruffianly assemblage around them eager to indulge in 
 strong drink, as a preparation for their Sunday revelry of 
 blood. There were no polluted hovels in which deptitu- 
 tjon presided, or in which disease and vermin were bred 
 to afflict the wretched occupants ; no vicious, slatternly 
 women moped about; and no half nude, hungry, and 
 dejected looking children could be seen toiling as it were 
 for death, or lying listlessly around, worn out by severe 
 labor, as if anxiously awaiting their final release. What a 
 happy change from this ! what a cheering alteration in the 
 aspect of the place, and in the condition of the people i 
 
 The carriage was stopped upon a little eminence over' 
 looking a wide plain of verdure, they halted to gaze upon 
 the picture of lovlineb*:; and rustic beauty spread out before 
 them. The sunlight of the clear October day lent irs 
 mellowing glow to rural scenes, disjilaying here and there 
 a pleasing contrast with the shadows. A hundred bleat- 
 ig sheep fed around ; and numerous drowsy cattle resr^c} 
 
 ; :. .-I 
 
454 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■•' .„ ■<' 
 H' ' 
 
 
 '%. 
 
 by the road side. Nearly a hundred cottages, white, oi 
 colored according to fancy, could be seen, many of which 
 were almost -jovered with clustering vines. In front ol 
 every dwelling there was a piece of richly cultivated 
 ground in which clumps of young trees were flourishincr, 
 and the flowers which still lingered among them, seemed 
 desirous of sending their welcome of fragrance to the 
 visitors. The sturdy ploughman's song, the wanderin^. 
 school boy's whistling, the thrushes' soft notes, and 
 even the hum of the spinning wheel, could be heard like 
 the distant sound of mingled melodies. 
 
 About the centre of the plain there were several acres 
 reserved as a park, around and through which a number 
 of young trees and shrubs were thickly planted. Midway 
 in the centre of this park there was a handsome fountain ; 
 and, at a short distance, there was a large, new building— 
 not a church, but an ifice intended for an academy and 
 a scientific institute. It had a spacious hall which could 
 be used for public meetings, assemblies, leciures, musical 
 and dramatic performances, or other intellectual recrea- 
 tions. There were two or three other buildings designed 
 for public purposes; and it was evident thrt every arrange- 
 ment on the Heath was carefully made for the benefit of 
 the whole community. 
 
 Not a word was yet spoken, the visitors remained seated 
 in the carriage, and were strurk with admiration ; even 
 John Valiant seemed to regard the quiet scene with a new 
 feeling of pleasure; and before he drove away from the 
 spot he received the warm congratulations of his friends. 
 
 ** You perceive a great change here," said he, *' but it is 
 only such a change as might easily be made upon fifty 
 other Heaths all over England, had your perverse priests, 
 and their frenzied contributors, only sufficient discrimina- 
 tion toexpend their ample missionary funds for the comfort 
 and civilization of the thousands of the almost brutal an I 
 hungry heathen in Britain, instead of wasting their 
 energies and their resources by ineffectual attempts to 
 proselytize more enlightened, and better fed pagans in 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE Ht.ATH. 
 
 455 
 
 and 
 like 
 
 flistant lands. P^ide by side on that plain below us, you 
 will find the natives of different countries living in peace 
 togetiior, they have been taught to overcome the foolish 
 ];rejudice of naticuiality ; and Ihey will soon learn to si)eak 
 one language common to all. You will find men whose 
 minds were once dwarfed by religious dogmas, now ex- 
 panding t 'leir ideas under the iuii)ul.-e of the nobler creed 
 of humanity ; and if you try to ri I the world of its partial 
 and erroneous conceptions respecting religion and nation- 
 ality, you will soon get rid of the burden of priests and 
 soldiers. Free the land from its bondage of monopoly 
 and entail, and you will quicklv limit pauperism and 
 crime, and you will have fewer prisons and work houses ; 
 and your costly churches instead of being pretentious 
 fabrics for sui-erstition and useless di.'-play will become 
 useful at last as instil ut ions of learning, or for other requi- 
 site public purposes; endeavor to secure these changes 
 and you commence to clear the way for the general civili- 
 zation of the world." 
 
 As Mr. Valiant did not wish that there should be any 
 particular demonstration of welcome for himself or his 
 friends upon their arrival he had i)reviously sent word to 
 Harry Tambliu his principal manager or overseer, to make 
 a few simple preparations. IMr. Valiant had a neat cottage 
 on the Heath which he humorously called the "Town 
 House," and in which he also had his temporary office 
 for the transaction of business. He and his sou resided 
 there together ; he got a respectable old lady from Lon- 
 don to keep house for him, and, altogether, he was very 
 comfortable. His time, when on the Heath, was mostly 
 spent in seeing that the improvements lie was desirous of 
 making were properly carried out, and in visiting and 
 encouraging these whom he had induced to become act- 
 ual settlers on the Plain; and he was careful to devote 
 certain hours every day to the instru(.*tion o. his son. 
 
 Harry Tamblin was ijresent \vhen they drove up to the 
 large new building in the centre of the park. It was not 
 yet quite finished, but Harry had got one of the rooms 
 
 ■0^ <'X 
 i ■ :1 
 
456 
 
 THE HEATH KNS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 "If Is 
 
 mm ki'] 
 
 neatly decorated, and a table was laid out and well cover- 
 ed with choice rofreslimentH, sufficient to tempt the appe- 
 tite. Before they sat down to the repast Mr. Valiant sent 
 an invitation to Zingari to join them, but the messenger 
 soon returned and informed them that she was absent, 
 which was a cause of regret to them all. 
 
 After dinner they inspected the building. The hall 
 was of large dimensions, and the other rooms m.ost suita- 
 ble for the purposes for which they had been designed. 
 "This might be your church," said Mr. Valiant to the cur- 
 ate in a slightly reproachful tone, "but you would not 
 accept my 'call.* " 
 
 "Well, never mind, my good friend, "replied the curate 
 in a soothing manner. " It might have been better that I 
 had, but I shall turn pluralist for the time being, and have 
 two i)arishes.** 
 
 "And if you do," continued Mr. Valiant, "you must 
 also have two creeds ; you must leave your old creed at 
 Pendell. Your parishioners here will require a far differ- 
 ent gospel." 
 
 Other places were visited, and all were really delighted 
 at what they had witnessed. Mr, Valiant, although very 
 attentive, was noticed not to be in his usual high spirits. 
 Esther observed this also, and she was struck by his unus- 
 ual reserve towards herself. Most of the time he walked 
 with Ranee, and showed her the principal share of his 
 attention, and Miss Meade at once suspected that he was 
 probably taking this opportunity of encouraging a private 
 conversation about the lady in India to whom he was en- 
 gaged. Esther's feelings at the moment were not to be 
 envied, but the usual womanly resource was adopted, and 
 she appeared not only to be quite indifferent, but made a 
 great effort at gayety. This was perceived by Mr. Valiant 
 and he in turn was led into the error of attributing this 
 liveliness of manner on the part of Miss Meade to the 
 pleasurable emotions whi ih occurred to her when she 
 thought of her intended visit to London. 
 
 Paving visited different places on the Heath, and hav- 
 
 l\ 
 
 
THE HEATHENS UF THE HEATH. 
 
 457 
 
 Ing thoroughly satisfied his friends that his effortfi to civi- 
 lize the once infamous inhabitants of " Devil's Dale " were 
 already a success, Mr. Valiant was anxious to have his 
 visitors see the improvements made toward the restora- 
 tion of the old Manor House. A pleasant drive brought 
 them in view of the building. It was situated on an emi- 
 nence and surrounded by large oaks, some of which had 
 probably been planted by the founder of the original 
 structure. The primitive stronghold— for almost every 
 edifice of any importance in the days of villanage was 
 considered a stronghold— must have exhibited an appear- 
 ance of stern grandeur ; parts of the ancient massive walls 
 still covered with ivy, seemed to defy the hand of time, 
 an old buttress could yet be seen half hidden under its 
 load of dark green leaves ; and a watch tower at the end 
 of battlemented masonry, was still allowed to remain as 
 a memorial of the disturbed feudal times in England 
 when scarcely one ever doubted the propriety of the ap- 
 horism that, " Might makes Right." The restored part 
 of the building was an api)roach to the Elizabethean style, 
 and its simplicity was in marked contrast with the hoary 
 exterior of the architecture of the early Norman times. 
 A green sloping bank was in front of the Manor House, a 
 wide terrace was below that, and at the north end of this 
 plateau, as well as from the upper rooms in the mansion 
 a line view could bo had through an opening between the 
 intervening trees ; and during a storm the roar of the ocean 
 could be distinctly heard, and this, with the rush of the 
 gale through the great extended branches and the knotted 
 limbs of the old oaks made a tumult that would be alarm- 
 ing to many. Now, however, that the day was beautifully 
 calm and clear, the scene was one of reposing grandeur. 
 The visitors went through the various apartments, and 
 up to the old watch tower from which an extensive and 
 magnificent prospect could be had. They gazed for a 
 time in silence at the glorious picture spread out before 
 them. Esther was delighted and stated that she had 
 never before seen anything so fine. 
 
 :^l 
 
 ill 
 
 U: ■- '■: 
 
 ; 1- 
 
458 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 U 
 
 
 
 
 When they descended from the tower, Charles Meade 
 and Ranee went off together to explore some secluded 
 si)ot; and the curate, who remained, with his daughter, 
 addressed Mr. Valiant, and said : " Well, you were inclined 
 to blame me for not taking up my abode on the Heath, 
 but what shall I say to you for thinking to leave such a 
 place as this ? " 
 
 "Leave this place!" replied Mr. Valiant with some 
 surprise. 
 
 "Yes," continued the curate, "I have been told that it 
 is your intention to return to India before very long." 
 
 "Return to India," echoed Mr. Valiant with astonish- 
 ment. " Weil, my dear friend, you.have been greatly mis- 
 informed, I never intend to leave England again. There," 
 said he, pointing to the Manor House, " in that I expect 
 to live the remainder of my life." 
 
 Esther Meade looked into John Valiant's face with an 
 incpiiring gaze. I& it possible, thought she, that I have 
 
 understood him correctly ? She told her father that she 
 
 felt a little tired, and they went and sat together upon a 
 
 rustic seat on the spacious lawn. 
 
 "I am indeed delighted to learn," said the curate, 
 "that you intend to remain, and to have this from your 
 own lips. Charles told me he had been informed that 
 you were under a peculiar engagement to return to that 
 country." 
 
 "An engagement! Did he say what the nature of it 
 was ? " inquired Mr. Valiant, still much surprised. 
 
 The curate r lused before he ventured to reply ; and 
 Esther, though affecting to look around with indifference, 
 was intensely hiterested in the conversation. 
 
 "Well, I really—really imagine— I think it was a— an 
 engagement to be married to a lady in India." The curate 
 spoke in a hesitating manner, as if afi aid to commit him- 
 self in any way to what might be an unfounded rumor. 
 
 Mr. Valiant laughed aloud, the first and only hearty 
 laugh he had given for a day or two, and the ringing 
 sound of his voice, as it echoed under the great trees, per- 
 
■ 
 
 4 
 
 THE HEATHENa OF THE HJiATH. 
 
 459 
 
 haps satisfied Esther more fully than if he had made the 
 most solemn asseveration in contradiction of what her 
 brother had stated. 
 
 "O, what in the name of hearons," exclaimed John 
 Valiant, "could have put that into any one's head! I 
 scarcely think Charles would have origiDated such a tale; 
 the jesi' would be too transparent, but Idt me assure you, 
 once for all, that there is no truth whatever in the story. 
 There is no woman in India on whom my heart is set, and 
 I fear," said he, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, 
 " there is no lady in England whom I care for, that would 
 be willing to Jink her fate with mine." 
 
 Before he had finished the sentence, he t' ned his look 
 full upon Esther's face, as if thb last words were intended 
 for her ear alone ; a blush of the deex)est crimoon over- 
 spread her countenance; and he, so capable of detecting 
 the hidden cause of human emotions, and of understand- 
 ing the genuine impulses of the human breast, tiawat once 
 through the depths of that very blush, that Esther's heart 
 was still free; or rather, that it was his to win, even 
 though the once envied Lord Wedmore, or the noblest 
 suitor in England, were to approach, her ou beaded knees. 
 
 The curate made no further remarks on the subject. 
 Esther's heart beat wildly ; and John Valiant, as if affect- 
 ed by such a sudden glimpse of hope and of heaven, 
 became silent, and bent his eyes reflectively upon the 
 moss-covered gnarled roots of one of the large trees be- 
 fore him. 
 
 While thus thinking, an apparition appeared. Zingari 
 was seen at a distance, emerging from the thick shade of 
 one of the most closely wooded recesses on the Manor. 
 The curate got up at once, as if desirous of meeting her, 
 but the old gypsy woman had already noticed him, and 
 remained to await his approach. She sat upon the trunk 
 of a fallen tree, and the curate and she continued together 
 for some time, apparently in earnest conversation. Zin- 
 gari frequently pointed to the Manor House, and then 
 toward the place where John Valiant and Esther were 
 
 m 
 
460 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEA.TH. 
 
 yet seated. What was said between these younger {)eople 
 under the shade of the great oaks, in the curate's absence, 
 is unknown to any but themselves ; however, when Zin- 
 gari and the curate reached them, Esther still sat blush- 
 ing, but John Valiant suddenly seized her hand, and as 
 they both stood up, his eyes were filled with tears of joy 
 when he asked the Kev. Mr. Mead<\ and his old gypsy 
 friend, to sanction and to witness his betrothal. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 SUNSHINE. 
 
 ' ii! 
 
 T171THIN three weeks from the time of her late excur- 
 " ^ sion to the Heath, Esther Meade left Pendell to 
 accompany her brother and Ranee on a visit to London ; 
 and much as she had desired to see more of the attractions 
 of the great city, sho now left her home with evident 
 regret; indeed she would have remained, were it not for 
 the urgent manner in which her father pressed her to go 
 for a time. 
 
 Never had mortal found six months pass more drearily 
 than John Valiant had during her absence. Six months 
 without having seen Esther was to him an age of punish- 
 ment. He had often been tempted to follow her to London, 
 but he had refrained from doing so lest it should be con- 
 sidered an evidence of childish impulse. In his imagina- 
 tion the winter was interminably long, and lingering as if 
 resolved that spring should never return. What a bleak 
 period in his existence 1 
 
 As a kind of solace he went to Pendell very often, he 
 visited the curate frequently, seldom less than once a week, 
 to inquire about Esther-— she was never absent from his 
 thoughts, and though he endeavored to apply himself dili- 
 gently to the affairs of his little colony, yet the duty began 
 to grow wearisome, and he fancied that every succeeding 
 day presented a more gloomy appearance than the one 
 which had preceded it. 
 
 The curate had, according to promise, gone to the Heath 
 
 % 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
462 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE ^EATE. 
 
 m* 
 
 regularly, and was greatly pleased to remark the increas- 
 ing progress that was gradually taking place among th« 
 people of the plain. He spent much of his time with Mr. 
 Valiant, and they often went together to the Manor House 
 in which arrangements were being made for its perma- 
 nent occupation. 
 
 The March winds came at last, they came unusally 
 rough and wild, as if making a determined effort to rout 
 the tardy Winter, and to sweep away every vestige of it. 
 The boistorous forerunner of Spring seemed to take delight 
 in raising mighty pyramids on the wide desert of the sea; 
 in striding upon mountain billows, balancing great ships 
 in its extended hands ; in assailing lofty towers, and mak- 
 ing them tremble ; in rushing madly through the naked 
 forest, tossing up clouds of withered leave? ; and in making 
 venerable oaks sway with laughter, and crack their sides 
 at its gleeful turmoil; and then when the dark grey 
 clouds had been blown far apart, and oases of blue sky 
 appeared again, the reckless messenger grew wearied, lay 
 down and slept. 
 
 Then came April with tearful, timorous look, lifting 
 cautiously its azure veil as if to discover whether its dewy 
 footsteps had awakened its b "^tering precursor; and as 
 soon as it had shaken out its su .ny ringlets, and scattered 
 flowers around with a lavish hami to beautify the earth, 
 then came Esther Meade back again like the sunlight to 
 Pendell, to banish the winter from her father's home— 
 and from John Valiant's heart. 
 
 Esther did not return alone, Ranee was with her. 
 
 Seme great preparations had to be made, some house- 
 hold affairs had to be managed, and although much had 
 already been done toward furnishing and fitting up the 
 Manor House, Mr. Valiant wished to consult Ranee as to 
 other matters in that relation which required her special 
 attention. 
 
 During Esther's stay in London she had hri-rd several 
 of- the most celebrated musicians; au'l moce rlian one 
 opi)ortunity had been given hei of satiwf 7in<,' \he <^iitical, 
 
 \nt^ 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 463 
 
 that her wonderful skill on the organ could not be excelled 
 evon in the great metropolis. She had reason to feel 
 iiVoutl of this, and to be greatly flattered by the many 
 compliments which had been paid her by several eminent 
 persons. As for Lord Wedmore, his attentions were 
 almost constant ; he was certainly a person of distinguislied 
 abilities, of great good sense, and, for one in his position, 
 no way assuming. His attachment to Miss Meade wats 
 sincere, and had become stronger every day, Ranee, and 
 her brother, had noticed this particularly, and, as a duty 
 to herself, it was with the greatest pain that she had been 
 obliged to undeceive her noble suitor, to prostrate his 
 hopes, to explain her position, and to refuse the offer of 
 his hand. For Lord Wedmore she ever afterward enter- 
 tained the highest regard; the greatest compliment that 
 a man can pay a woman had been ])aid to her by him; 
 and her grateful heart appreciated it accordingly. In the 
 kindest possible manner she gave him to understand that 
 they never could be any more than friends ; and when she 
 pressed his han<l she said : *' Remember, that as we can- 
 not be anything else, we must always— yes, always be the 
 very best of friends." 
 
 For some weeks rumor had been busy on the Heath 
 regarding a certain happy event which was likely to take 
 place ; and there was but one opinion as to its beneficial 
 result. John Valiant was beloved by the people whom he 
 had benefited— in that lay his great power— and his 
 kindness and benevolence were household themes; and 
 no matter whom he might choose for a wife, they all felt 
 confident thrt she must posess some inherent virtue to 
 win his regard ; and that consequently she would aid the 
 good work which he had commenced. 
 
 From her childhood Esther Meade had endeared her- 
 self to almost every one, not only in her own parish, but 
 to nearly every one on the Heath. She and her father, 
 and her brother, could have gone to that place at all 
 times with perfect immunity, even wlicn it would not be 
 safe for others to trespass beyond the boundaries of the 
 
 ill !^i 
 
 ' !| 
 
464 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 m:- 
 
 ''ii*t 
 
 It 
 
 parishes. She used to visit the ha d workhouse and 
 distribute many little comforts to its j^ioor inmates; and 
 she was a regular visitant at the gypsy camp, and delight- 
 ed to take little presents to gypsy children ; and when 
 she was a child herself, she was one of Zingari's most 
 particular favorites. Her kindness to all was unbounded ; 
 and her unaffected modesty won the highest regard of 
 her father's wealthy parishoners. No wonder then, tha*-. 
 the rumor of John Valiant's intended marriage to Esther 
 Meade should be well received, for it augured much for 
 the continued i>rosperity of all on the Heath. 
 
 About the end of April, John Valiant in company with 
 Ranee and the curate, went to the Manor House to see that 
 every thing was comi^lete. In its best day the place never 
 looked more attractive. There were no armed men to be 
 seen on the battlement; no eager look-out on the watch- 
 tower; no prowling enemies in the vicinity. There was 
 no wild trumpet echo in the distance ; but the caroling 
 of a thousand birds could be heard, as if the forest trees 
 had become eloquent in praise of the genial season. One 
 or two domestics could be now and then seen engaged in 
 some particular duty, and an old gardener with his &on, 
 was busy pruning trees and trimming bushes; and the 
 garden itself was a picture of loveliness. The profusion of 
 young flowers, the little mountain of rock-work crowned 
 with some rare exotic, the neat graveled walks with box- 
 wood borders, the sparkling fountain, the clear running 
 stream, and the long shadows that seemed slumbering on 
 the green lawn, were surroundings that might have tempt- 
 ed the happy owner of the estate to fancy that this part of 
 it was a suburb of Paradise. 
 
 Having- spent an hour or more in a general survey of 
 the house and the grounds, they went and seated them- 
 selves at the end of the terrace from which a fine view 
 of the ocean could be had. Not a wave could be seen on 
 the bright bosom of the deep, it was heaving gently, as if 
 in calm repose succeeding its long and turbulent strug- 
 gles with the wintry elements; as it now looked, one 
 
 ii 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 465 
 
 might even fancy that it was a thing of life. An idea of 
 this Icind must have occured to John Valiant respecting 
 the placid sea on which he was gazing. 
 
 "I can scarcely wonder," he said, "that superstitious 
 and imaginative men in remote ages believed that the 
 ocean itself was a sort of Omnipotence, now wearied and 
 slumbering, and now enraged and furrowed with frowning 
 waves, as if prepared to sweep away the earth itself ; and 
 that they should also have deified celestial orbs, and even 
 mountains and rivers. Imagination can easily endow 
 inert objects with life ; but it may be said that a whole 
 universe of unorganized matter can not produce a single 
 idea. The great sun is not conscious of its own existence. 
 Its vast magnitude has no germ of thought. It knows 
 nothing of the grand universe of which it is itself a part. 
 Though it may rush through space with incredible swift- 
 ness, it knows nothing of the laws of motion ; and though 
 it may illuminate innumerable planets and satellites, it 
 has no conception of the amazing rapidity with which its 
 own light flashes from world to world. But Mind, that 
 mystery, which can exist in an atom, and comprehend a 
 law, and account for the motion of a thousand suns, can 
 that be blotted out, and be Jiregarded as the pure ema- 
 nation of mere matter, which it is alleged cannot be 
 annihilated? Bow difficult it is to decide the priority of 
 matter or of spirit! Are they coeval ? Is spirit but refin- 
 ed or greatly sublimated matter ? Can mind itself be an 
 entity ? If it be but the mere emanation of matter, how 
 wonderful that Mind should be the controlling power, and 
 matter subservient ! Who can decide ? " 
 
 "These are problems," replied the curate, "which I 
 often think are beyond human comprehension ; their dis- 
 cussion is but based upon the merest speculation." 
 
 "And yet," resumed Mr. Valiant, " they continue to 
 agitate thought among the learned, and, as theology is 
 but a myth to thousands of the most intellectual, the 
 question of the day seems to be to many : ' If a man die 
 shall he live again ? ' If what the Bpiritualists tell us be 
 
 

 
 KVJ': 
 
 46R 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 true, then death is only the portal to a new and progres- 
 sive state of existence. But we know that we exist at 
 present, and in any case it is but wisdom to make the 
 most of the life we have, by doing good, and endeavoring 
 to establish truth ; and if there be a future reward for good 
 works all the better. Our highest duty in this life is, I 
 consider, to try and promote the peace and happiness of 
 our fellow creatures ; in doing this we shall be almost cer- 
 tain of a commensurate reward here. I am, however, con- 
 vinced that, so far, religious teaching has been an 
 obstruction to true progress, and that it has wretchedly 
 failed to secure either peace or contentment in this world 
 —the only world that we really know any thing about, or 
 of which we have any correct knowledge." 
 
 The first of May was one of the most charming days 
 that ever brightened the glorious scenery around Pendell. 
 The blue sky was without a single cloud, there was not 
 the slightest wind to ruffle the sea, nrd the white sails 
 that were seen far out seemed like m* f s igers that were 
 in waiting to bear joyful news to every quarter of the 
 globe. There was, this calm morning, no mist along the 
 coast line; only the faintest shadow could be discovered 
 on the side of the distant mountain, and the lighthouse 
 towered up to its full height from its rocky basis, as if 
 anxious to witness a ceremony whicii would probably bo 
 of more general local interest than a ay of the kind that 
 had taken place in Pendell for over a century. 
 
 At an early hour people in their best attire, and with 
 happy faces, were seen io assemble on the little lawn of 
 the parsonage ; a number of young persons could be notic- 
 ed passing gaily onwards toward the church, and then 
 there came a long procession of men, women and children 
 from the Heath, the men bearing green boughs and the 
 women and children carrying bunches of flowers,, and all 
 seemed to be delighted with the simple part they were 
 prepared to take on <be occasion that had brought them 
 thus together. A glinii)se of the q/ithering would scarcely 
 veveal any thing fnore than flowers, smiles »nd sunlight. 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 467 
 
 i( 
 
 And then the old church itself seemed to have lost its 
 grey, grim appearance ; it looked almost as worldly in its 
 way as some new fashionable godly edifice specially erect- 
 ed for the stylish congregation of some highly popular 
 preacher. The sheen of the sunlight that fell upon its 
 walls hid the numerous fissures that time had been mak- 
 ing, and gave a roseate tinge to its outlines, and at a short 
 distance, the hanging ivy looked to be a vast wreath of 
 glistening silver leaves. The storm battered old tower 
 loomed up grandly in the clear air— proudly as it did in 
 the past days of its hooded monks^wearing its shining 
 garland, and its festooned glittering robe that flowed 
 down to the ground. 
 
 The inner decorations of the edifice, were of the most 
 tasteful and suitable description. A large number of the 
 ])rincipal inhabitants of the parish, and many distinguish- 
 ed persons from a distance, had already taken possession 
 of such pews and seats as could be found vacant. The 
 building in every part was filled by young and old, eager 
 to witness so interesting a ceremony, and when the bell 
 rung at last, preparatory to the commencement of the 
 service, many fancied that its tones had a sweet silvery 
 sound far more musical than its usual intonation for the 
 ordinary Sabbath service ; as if a juvenile voice had replac- 
 ed the hoarse accents of age. 
 
 V/hile all were in a state of expectation, the curate, 
 with a happy expression of countenance, entered and 
 walked up the central passage to the altar railing, his 
 boots, as if fate would have it, creaked louder than ever 
 to his great discomfiture— the bride, the bridegroon, and 
 f h^ bridemaids followed ; they passed between the people 
 of the Heath, who had the privilege of standing in a long 
 row on each side of the passage, and the green branches 
 which they had were held up so as to form a kind of ave- 
 nue. The curate was to officiate alone; he needed no 
 assistant, and ae soon as the ceremony was over, and tho 
 organ gave its last sound, Zingari, in peculiar attire, wa. 
 Been to approach tho bride and to place a wreath of beau- 
 
 ij ■ 
 
 'I M 
 
 f 
 
468 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 M 
 
 tiful white roses over her neck, and offer her congratula- 
 tions to the happy couple. J^ procession was then formed 
 and when Joh n Valiant and his bride got outside the church, 
 a number of children stood in a circle around them 
 and sung a few pretty verses composed by some rustic 
 in honor of the newly wedded. 
 
 Upon their return to the Heath that evening, where 
 there was to be great rejoicing, they all met in the largo 
 public hall which was finely decorated, and John Valiant 
 made a short address to those assembled and said : 
 
 "My good friends. It is about two years since I 
 first saw most of you now before me, and many present 
 will, no doubt, remember the sad scenes which I wit- 
 nessed on my arrival, such as I trust will never be seen 
 here again. I shall make no other reference to the cir- 
 cumstance, but you see how happily things have changed 
 since that day. At that time this place was but an unpro- 
 ductive desert, morally, and physically, loathsome to the 
 eye ; at that time it was not counted safe for a stranger to 
 make his appearance among those who were then dwellers 
 on the Heath. Most of you were counted a lawless, des- 
 perate set that would not hesitate to commit any atrocious 
 act, and that were watched and despised, and almost for- 
 bidden to go beyond the dreary bounds of the then so-called 
 ' Devil's Dale.' Now, however, you can go freely through 
 any part of England ; and strangers come here, not with 
 hesitation or dread, but read'ly to witness the reformation 
 that has taken place in. yourselves, and to look with sur- 
 prise and admiration at the improvements which have 
 been made ; this good has been accomplished steadily and 
 without ostentation ; and the fact that you are known to 
 come from the Heath, will now ensure for you the favor- 
 able consideration of persons even at a great distance 
 from the once denounced locality. It has been my good 
 fortune to have been able, in some degree, to bring about 
 this happy condition of affairs. I could not have done so 
 without your hearty co-operation ; and you have kept your 
 promise, and have faithfully seconded my efforts to help 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 4G9 
 
 you. I have this day takon an important step to benefit 
 my own condition, I am sure you all feel rejoiced at what 
 I have don '3; and I feel equally happy to think, that she 
 who has taken me 'for bettc>r or worse 'will readily and 
 cheerfully unite with me and with you in our further 
 efforts to advance the prosperity of all upon this estate. 
 And, pov/, that our circumstances have been so happily 
 improved, and our future prospects so far brightened, let 
 us never forget what wc owe to othoi who have not yet 
 been so fortunate. Thero are now thousands in this land 
 solely depending for the arest necessaries of life on the 
 benevolence of the humane. The noblest duly in which 
 man can be engaged is— not the blind worship of a deity 
 —but, in making efforts to help the suff'^ring, to relieve 
 the distressed ; and, above all, to lib' rate the mind from 
 the bondage of priestcraft, for mental slavery is by far 
 the most degrading. If there be a great Supreme Power, 
 that power must be omnipotent, and needs not the 
 pecuniary means, or the humble efforts of man, to bring 
 others to a knowledge of his existence, to make the world 
 submissive to his control, or to make his glory more 
 transcendent; and the man who wishes to improve his 
 own condition will fail to succeed, if while hoping or 
 praying for divine aid, or expecting the same, he makes no 
 vigorous effort to help himself." 
 
 Mr. Valiant having si)ent a few hours very pleasantly 
 among his friends on the Heath, took his departure for 
 the Manor House. He did not follow the usual fashion of 
 starting off with his wife after marriage, and spend- 
 ing a week or a month among strangers ; he 'eft for his 
 own home, and was escorted most of the way by a number 
 of enthusiastic people. It was nearly sunset when they 
 got in full view of the house, and its windows were all 
 ablaze in the golden light, as if purposely illuminated ; 
 the red rays of eve were seen upon the tree tops, and upon 
 the watch tower ; and the beautiful day seemed to linger 
 as if unwilling to depart and let its waning splendor be 
 lost in night. At the end of the wide avenue of old oaks. 
 
 1:1 s' 
 
 if i: 
 
 'it 
 
 ''i ' 
 

 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 
 
 
 ^^ ^5> 
 
 J 
 
 -<«Z. 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 11.25 
 
 l^|28 |2S 
 
 us 
 
 I 
 
 2.0 
 
 HIUU 
 
 U lil.6_ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^'J' 
 
 '> 
 
 
 '/ 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WIST MAIN STRUT 
 
 WMSTf-.N.Y. U5tO 
 
 (716) 871-4503 
 
 # 
 
 v^ 
 
 m 
 
 <> 
 
 
 \ 
 
 '^ 
 

 & 
 
470 
 
 THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 the carriapfc in which John Valiant anrl his wife wore seat- 
 ed halted for a few minutes, hi'> friends crowded around 
 to talte a kind leave, and when the veliicle drove on cheer 
 after cheer was given, and the glad cheers still resounded 
 until the happy wedded pair entered their own dwelling. 
 
 The next morning after Esther's marriage the curate 
 began for th 3 first time to realize the loss of his daughter, 
 and though his son and Ranee ha 1 remained with him 
 after Esther's departure, now that the pleasing excite- 
 ment was over, ho felt low spirited, and almost imagined 
 that he would never see her again. Everything about tho 
 place reminded him of her who would make his house her 
 home no longer. There was the chair in which year after 
 year she had often sat sewing, or reading, or looking pen- 
 sively out upon the lawn, or watching tho setting sun. 
 Ah me! "What must have been her reflections many an<l 
 many a time while sitting there alone! What must any 
 woman's thoughts have been that felt herself, when ap- 
 proaching the age of thirty, almost neglected, and in a 
 manner solely depending on an aged father for support or 
 protection ; and how sad and how lonely many a sensitive 
 dutiful daughter must feel while thinking of the future 
 under such circumstances. 
 
 Poor souls ! Obliged to be mute, and to seem content- 
 ed, while hiding from all— often even from the dearest 
 friends— their bursting, yearning bosoms and almost 
 broken hearts! Would that the condition of unmarried 
 women, in our present state of society, could receive more 
 just and tender consideration, for no human being can 
 feel more terribly forlorn than she who is not loved. Tho 
 secret sorrows of women who have never been wives, or 
 who scarcely expect to be such, would furnish a woeful 
 chapter in the history of human life. 
 
 However, the curate was really downcast ; it was strange 
 to him to feel so desponding about her who had so long 
 been almost his only companion. Esther was away, she 
 had left her old home, and he might have to leave it soon. 
 He still loved the old place ; he would like to remain in it 
 
THE HEATHENS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 471 
 
 forever, and he would have willingly made a great sacri- 
 fice could Esther be restored to him again. 
 
 These reflections had already brought tears to his eyes. 
 Ranee quickly noticed his depression, and tried to cheer 
 him. She would have him go out with her and take a 
 walk, it would have a good effect, and a ramble for an 
 hour or two would help to cheer away his gloom. 
 
 They went out together, and sat on an elevated spot 
 overlooking the Bay, and Banee talked again about the 
 shipwreck and about her fortunate escape. They went 
 down to the shore and she picked up shells and curious 
 seaweeds ; they walked to the old church, the decorations 
 were still there, but they reminded him of Esther's mar- 
 riage, and the silent organ recalled to his memory the 
 heavenly strains with which she had often filled the old 
 sanctuary. They passed out and walked along the grav- 
 eled carriage road which ran across the grave yard, 
 before they got to the end of this, they turned down a 
 little pathwtiy to read the inscription on one oT the old 
 tombs; they went to another, and then further on to 
 see an ancient monument said to have been erected in 
 memory of one of the original clerical founders of the 
 church ; it was in a dilapidated condition, and not a single 
 letter could be discoveied to give the least clue to the 
 name, the age, the position or the virtues of tb«^ departed. 
 Time had obliterated his name from the kxai oie and his 
 memory from mankind ; his virtues or his evil deeds were 
 totally forgotten. 
 
 While looking at this worn memorial Ranee chanced to 
 sec a little shining substance in one of the joints of the 
 foundation stones just level with the ground; it was 
 almost covered with a kind of thin dark green moss 
 and imbedded in matter, or in a sort of cement, that had 
 gradually accumulated and hardened during a long period. 
 She tried to pick it out with her fingers, but had to use a 
 small knife with some force to get it free. Presently she 
 succeoded in jerking it out. A broken ring I It \/as in two 
 pieces— and nearly equal halves. She picked theiu up. 
 
 
472 
 
 THE HBATfiiilNS OF THE HEATH. 
 
 The curate had wandered on a short distance, and was 
 speaking to some person; she immediately recognized 
 Stephen Gray. He was there as usual, just as he had been 
 every second day of May for the last forty years, looking 
 for the rmg which Eanee now handed him in two pieces. 
 
 The curate was greatly surprised at the discovery, ho 
 remembered at once what Sarah Afton had told him con- 
 cerning Zingari's assertion, that the ring would be found 
 only by a stranger ; and now that stranger proved to be 
 Ranee. 
 
 Old Stephen seized the little pieces, and kissed them 
 eagerly ; he looked wistfully at the tiny treasure which he 
 had been so long seeking, he s?t up'^n a grave to gaze at 
 the semi-circular fragments of gold, he rubbed them in 
 his hands and tried to place the parts together ; he was 
 quite satisfied that they once formed the very ring he had 
 lost ; ho seemed delighted at first, and expressed his joyful 
 thanks to Banee. But soon his countenance changed, and 
 all at once a sad, a very sad expression marked his features. 
 What an omen ! A broken ring I Bad, bad for the finder, 
 but worse, far worse for the owner ! Alas, alas ! poor old 
 man, his long, long, cherished hopes seemed to have been 
 utterly destroyed in a moment I and there he sat stooped 
 upon the little mound, and wept. 
 
 Eor a time neither Banee nor the curate understood the 
 cause of poor Stephen's emotion; they thought at first 
 that it might have been one of joy, but they soon dis- 
 covered that his heart was filled with grief, and the tears 
 ran down his furrowed cheeks, as i" the pent up sorrow of 
 years had suddenly burst forth and overflowed, to run on 
 lor ever. 
 
 When the cause had been toid by Stephen, through his 
 intermitting sobs, to the curate and Banee, they did their 
 best to convince him that his fears were groundless, and 
 that he should attach no importance whatever to the 
 accidental breaking of the ring ; but all such reasoning 
 was useless; poor Stephen still wept and sobbed, and 
 sobbed and wept, as if his heart would break ; and the 
 
THE IIFATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 473 
 
 fe; 
 
 curalo, feeling greatly affected by the sorrow of his old 
 friend, tried to assure him again that he was very much 
 mistaken in his singular fancy, that Sarah would in all 
 probablity take a different \ iew of the matter, and per- 
 haps regard the circumstance as an omen of good. 
 
 But it was of no use; Stephen only looked mournfully 
 at the "Curved pieces in his open hand and said : 
 
 " Poor, poor lass ! What a sad story I maun bring thee 
 after thy long, long waiting! Poor lass! 'Tis no omen of 
 good for thee, Sarah ; thoo wilt soon say that. Thoo said'st 
 it maun coom soom time afore death, and noo here it is 
 bent an' broke an' will never gan aroond thy finger. It 
 cam' just oot the toomb, an noo we maun only divide it, 
 an each tak' the half on't doon to the grave. Poor Sarah ! 
 we maun noo wait till we get to that t'other shore!" The 
 old man's tears now fell still faster as if they would never, 
 never, cease. 
 
 The curate and Ranee stood by for some time and 
 looked at Stephen with pitying eyes; never had they a 
 stronger evidence of heartfelt grief ; and as soon as they 
 could prevail on the gentle old man to leave the place; 
 they went together and accompanied him to Sarah Afton's 
 cottage. As Stei)hen had anticipated, the sight of the 
 broken ring was a dreadful omen to Sarah ; she was over- 
 whelmed with grief, and that sad second day of May was 
 the last anniversary they lived to see of their once expect- 
 ed wedding day. 
 
 Nearly seven years have passed away since Esther Meade 
 left her father's home to become the mistress of the 
 Manor House. About a year after her marriage the curate 
 went away with regret from the old parsonage atPendell, 
 to reside permanently with his daughter. He has been of 
 great service on the Heath ; and while instructing others, 
 he has received new ideas himself, and, better than that, 
 he has found sufflcient courage and independence to ex- 
 press them openly. The greater part of his time, however, 
 is spent at the Manor House. His little grandson John, 
 now over five years of age, and his grand-daughter Esther 
 
 ^. '11 
 
 1 1 
 
 i» (.i 
 
474 
 
 THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 about two years younger, enj^age much of his attention; 
 and he finds both pleasure and recreation in leading them 
 from one pleasant spot to another. The Heath itself 
 is vastly improved, and is now in the most flourishing 
 condition ; and its inhabitants are said to be among the 
 most intelligent, orderly, and industrious body of people 
 in England. It is still without a church, yet there is not 
 a pauper on the estate ; and rarely indeed has any person 
 from that place been called upon to answer lor an oiience. 
 Useful lectures are regularly delivered in the public hall, 
 especially on Sundays ; and an excellent band of trained 
 musicians can be often heard. The Sabbath is not the 
 sombre day it is in most other places ; but a quiet day for 
 rest, or recreation, according to individual desire. John 
 Valiant is revered upon the Heath, and his wife is honored 
 by all ; and many ardent Christians, who were once fanati- 
 cal, and missionary-mad, are already beginning to consider 
 whether it would not be more prudent, and more profitable, 
 to establish in many parts of Great Britain, such missions 
 as the one that has proved so eminently successful in 
 reclaiming the "Devil's Dale,** rather than have vast sums 
 sent out of the country in vain attempts to make the salva- 
 tion of Laplanders, Feejees, or Hottentots, more certain. 
 Pendell is still under strict ecclesiastical rule as far as 
 priestly livings are concerned, but the established creed 
 has been considered sufficiently liberal for skeptical 
 Christians since the Rev. Mr. Vanscourt has become the 
 rector. A fashionable young curate— very sentimental in 
 his way— reads a kind of moral sermon, fifteen minutes 
 long, on Sundays, and consequently gives almost general 
 satisfaction. The old cljurch has been renovated, but the 
 organ does not " draw " nearly so well since other fingers 
 than Esther's have touched its keys. The old parsonage 
 has been pulled down, and another built in more modern 
 style ; it has an extensive kitchen and a much more com- 
 modious dining-room than the old house had, and to which 
 it is said the new bishop and many of his clergy often 
 resort for mutual edification. 
 
THE HEATHENS OP THE HEATH. 
 
 475 
 
 There is a new monument in the cemetery a1 Pendell, 
 and a weeping an«el in marble is seen pointing, to an in- 
 scription which records in golden letters, the i iety, the 
 charity, and the virtue, of the late rector, Mr. Moiton. At 
 a distance there is another grave close to Adrian's, and 
 Zingari rests at last by the side of her beloved. Sarah 
 Afton has left her little cottage forever ; and old Stephen 
 Gray can no longer be seen slowly approaching it on quiet 
 evenings, or afterward wandering in the twilight among 
 familiar graves and tombs. His home is still within the 
 limits of the consecrated ground, and he and Sarah rest 
 beneath the same green covered mound ; they have at last 
 been united in death. One plain slab gives their names 
 and their ages; and a well worn pathway leads to their 
 silent retreat. Strangers visit the spot and the simple 
 story of Stephen and Sarah has caused many a tear to 
 bedew their grave ; and now annually on the second day 
 of May young men and maidens approach it reverently 
 and cover it with early spring flowers ; and for years yet 
 to come it will attract many a sympathizing heart to pon- 
 der in the old church yard at Pendell. 
 
 I i 
 
 .! 
 
 Mi 
 
 I 
 
If 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 »! 
 
 NOTE I. 
 
 WRETCHED CONDITION OF POOR CniLDREN. 
 
 Tn neveral numbers of the London Weekly Dispatch there were 
 accounts of the terrible condition of very young children who were 
 obliged to work inbrickyards of Staffordshire, Derbyshire, and Lei- 
 cestershire in dirt and mud, from a very early hour in the mornlnpr 
 until night; and that many of the little creatures were covered with 
 sores and scabs ; that they had matted hair, and bleeding feet ; and 
 that the Jabor was so constant, and so very severe, that they soon 
 became broken down, and had to be sent to a work-house, where 
 their subsequent treatment was most inhuman. 
 
 A report of the '* Lancet Sanitary Commission," states, that the 
 mismanagement (using a mild term.) of the Marland Workhouse, is 
 most culpable. Medicines have been carelessly administered by pau- 
 pers (pauper nurses). Forty children with cropped hair, sore heads, 
 scabies, and reeking with sulphur and impurity, have been crowded 
 into one small apartment, and dosed with brimstone, treacle, and 
 ood-liver oil ; that there were no play-grounds, but every thing cal- 
 culated to make the lives of the poor little inmates most wretched 
 and deplorable. 
 
 NOTE IL 
 
 A Londoc oorreepondent of a leading Canadian paper writes. De- 
 cember, 1873: 
 
 " As it is, our papers have been filled with more than the usual 
 complement of cases of distress and destitution. The master of a 
 London workhouse has been sent to jail for refusing admission to 
 a wretched woman with several children, and thereby causing the 
 death from cold of a baby in arms. A relieving officer is now under- 
 going an enquiry into his conduct for refusing relief to another 
 wretched, hard-working woman, unless she broke up her home and 
 came into the workhouse. Cases like these make a noise: public 
 benevolence is roused, the sufferers are provided for, and then publio 
 Interest dies away. But to any one who knows anything of London, 
 it is heart-breaking to think of the cases which are never hoard of— 
 of the thousands who starve, pine, and sink and make no sign." 
 And then, referring to the increase of crime, says : 
 " Just at this Christmas time, too, we have had a sudden increase 
 of violent crime. I should think for many years past there have not 
 been so many felons lying under sentence of death, as there are now 
 in ov.r county jails. In the Winter circuit just concluded, there wore 
 80 many capital sentences passed that there is certain to be a large 
 number of reprieves. Yet each individual case is well nigh as bad 
 as it could be. There is a sort of grim irony in the fact that just at 
 this period the Church of England should have held a ' day of inter- 
 
 
 
 i II 
 
 f 
 
178 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 cession 'for help lo mlHHi(»nary ontoiprisr'. Yost rday throiicrhnut 
 the Unitod Kingdom spooial services wore hold In our ohurohoa, and 
 prayers were offered up for God's grace to inspire our people to givo 
 more liboraily to foreign missions for the convorsion of the hnath'Mi 
 to the doctrines of the Angelican Church. Surely there is work 
 enough to be done in oonverting our own heathen at home before wo 
 look abroad." 
 
 Besides, the Church of England claimants ' for help to missionary 
 enterprise,' there are several other denominations more determined 
 and more fanatical, who would not hesitate to take the mite from a 
 hungry widow for Uie conversion of the heathen. What madness !— 
 Author. 
 
 NOTE III. ^ 
 
 rURRINa AND BRUTALITY IN LANCASHIRE. 
 
 A correspondent writes to the Liverpool Courier :—" Many of our 
 readers probably do not understand the meaning of the word ' purr.' 
 It does not mean the pleasant sound of poor pussy, as she nesllos up 
 to be stroked. No ; it means th3 dextrous use of the foot, armed 
 either with hob-nailed shoes or clogs ; and this not for the purpose 
 of walking quickly, nor walking a distance, but for the doliburate, 
 scientific purpose of punching or kicking a man's eyes out, or caus- 
 ing his brains to protrude through the skull, or breaking his neck. 
 As a rule, the men strip naked to the waist; they then face each 
 other— sound in skin and bones— they try to get a grip of each other, 
 as though wrestling, and twist their legs together so that one may 
 fall ; and should the top man be at liberty, backers then yell out, ' Na, 
 thaheshim; go into him; purr his yed; good lad; that's warming 
 him ; purr him i' th' guts ; oh, lads, but he's a good un.' Should tlio 
 under man try to raise himself, then there bursts forth another yell, 
 
 * Na ow'd lad, wha'll tha hes hem da'an jump on him; kill th' —.' 
 
 But should they fall together, and stick to each other, the chances are 
 that one or the other will use his teeth and bite the other. And this 
 is not the result of passion or momentary anger, but coolly and de- 
 liberately understood, or, as it is called, ' made.' Very often women 
 and children are eye witnesses, and thus the children are taught 
 from infancy how to use their feet; not to walk, or to run, for health's 
 sake, but to maim each other, to deform themselves, to utterly dis- 
 figure the image of humanity— that which should bo an index to lovo 
 and kindness— and to such perfection do the childron learn the * sci- 
 ence,' that utterly regardless of the Fifth Commandment, they will 
 exhibit the'.r skill on the shins of thoir mothers if they are not 
 allowed to fkCt precisely as they like. The foregoing is what may b(» 
 termed the practical part of the ' science.' Not very long ago, in 
 open day, in the borough in which I live, two men ' purred ' oa<'h 
 other ; one, with a scientific cut with his foot, kicked the other's oyo 
 out, and it lay on his cheek. It it needless to go on giving examph.'s. 
 for your columns aro oontinually telling of these brutal exhibitions. 
 Yet I cannot resist mentioning a circumstance which occurred in u 
 field, some years ago, near my rosidonce. Some friends had been to 
 a funeral, andi after oommittini;- their relative to the grave, wore 
 returning home the worse for drink, and got to words. Hearing a 
 noise. I went out to aee what was the matter, and there were these 
 
(f « 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 470 
 
 fri-^nds Rtandlntf round, not the ffra-e of thoir dtv^oasod frl<m'!. but 
 round two of their living oompanions. who w^to * purrincr' into eanh 
 othor'ti oareassos, the sound of which roaomblml tho knockiui^ in au 
 empty barrel end. It was weeks before I got rid of the ' auoor ' geu- 
 eatlon I felt that night." 
 
 NOTE IV. 
 The Rev. Dr. Dufif's ttistimony rosptM-ting the want of success 
 among Christian missionaries in India was given by him at a moot- 
 ing of the Froo Church Assembly in Edinnurgh. in 1869. Ho said: 
 "If you were to ask me one of the chieffst caus<!8 of the slow progress 
 of genuine Evangelical Christianity in India, and other heathen 
 lands whore the matter has con';> athwart m»>, I would have no hesi- 
 tation whatever In proclaiming (and I wish I had a throat of brass 
 and a tongue like a trumpet to proclaim it through every corner of 
 the British Empire.) that one of tho cliiefcst causes is to be found in 
 the miserable distractions and divisions of the Christian Church in 
 this land. The Duke of Somerset relates the manner in which a 
 Chinese Mandarin was puzzled by having two kinds of Christiauity 
 presented to him. Papist and Protestant, In India we have the rep- 
 resentatives of some twtntty-five different missionary societies differ- 
 ing more or less in policy, organization or discipline, and par- 
 tially in doctrine. You cannot go any where in India without having 
 this at once cast up. They ask, ' To which Church do you belong ? ' 
 and when you tell them, they may add, 'Ohl there are so many so- 
 called Christian bodies beside you. How are we to understand which 
 of you are right? Go and settle your differences among yourselves 
 and then come to us.* " 
 
 Notwithstanding this disunion still continues, the Mohammedans 
 are far more successful with the natives than Christian missionaries 
 have been, and nothing that St. Paul or Dr. Duff could say would rec- 
 oncile the Kirk and the Free Church, or overcome the fierce hostility 
 of other sects. 
 
 A missionary in conversation with a correspondent of the London 
 Times stated that with regard to the conversion of the Bongalese: "It 
 is all dark ; the old saying is true, when a man has been Ave years in 
 India he thinks he comprehends them; when he has been ten, he 
 begins to doubt that he does so ; when he has been twenty, he is 
 quite certain he does not comprehend them at all." And yet Bengal 
 is permeated with English thought and English litciiiture. Many of 
 the educated natives think in English, not in their native tongue. 
 But they are not becoming Christian. The missionary conference 
 ought to throw light on many subjects, aud will do so, ii the speakers 
 will tryto forget the London committees and the May meetings. 
 There are some missionaries in India who are strengthening British 
 rule and good government: there are some who are doing the re- 
 verse. 
 
 NOTE V. 
 
 A FIGHTING PARSON. 
 
 At the Petty Sessions held at Brackley, Northamptonshire, recently, 
 before Messrs. R. A. Oartwright, J. L. Stratton. and Sir W. R. Brown, 
 the Rev. B. Bobson. curate of Chacombe, and Henry Chinner, laborer, 
 were charged with oommittlng a breach ol the leace at Chacombe, 
 
 i ! 
 
i8U 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 on Sunday, September 22. The Rev. B. Robson denied the offence 
 Ohinner said ho only stood in hl>* own defense. William Herltafire. a 
 laborer livinu ut Chucombe.said on Hupt. 22d the Rev. fi. Robson came 
 out of the cliurch through the churchyard into the highway. Whou 
 he had got a r "v yards before the people he turned around and went 
 up toChinuer w >iihis arm up, and asked him if his name was Chin- 
 ner. Robsoud tubled his lists and stopped Chinnor. They went down 
 the road toguthor a short distance, and then Robson took off his hat 
 and coat and swore he would light Chlnnor. The latter pulled off his 
 coat but said he did not mean lighting. Robson struck Ohinner twice 
 before Ohinner struck him at all, and then they had a regular round. 
 There were several people present at the time. They had one 
 round, and then Ohinner knocked Robson nearly down. Robson 
 picked up some stones, but Ohiunur looked threateningly at him, and 
 Robson went up to him and said: "Lot's shake hands and then 
 settle it; you have got me into trouble enough." John Adkius, also 
 living at Ohacombe, said he saw both defendants strip to flght. and 
 also saw them fight Mr. Robson declined to say anything in de- 
 fense. 
 
 Ohinner said he was going to church, but when he got to the gates 
 he mot the people coming out, and they told him there would be no 
 service. Robson came through the people, and when he had gone 
 some distance turned to him and said: " Oome up in the field." He 
 (Ohinner) replied, "No that won't do; it is Sunday." Robson said. 
 " It is all the better for that," and took off his hat and coat and struck 
 him. He (Ohinner) only struck Robson in his own defense. The 
 Ohairman, addressing Mr. Robson. said they were pained to see him 
 in his present position. It was a scandal to the Ohurch.and they 
 hoped that the ecclesiastical law would have prevented the case 
 coming before them. If Ohinner had not struck Mr. Robson in his 
 own defense, he (Mr. Robson) could have been summoned for an 
 assault, and might have been sent to jail for two months without the 
 option of a fine. They (the magistrates) treated him as an ordinary 
 defendant, and should bind him over to keep the peace for six 
 months in £20, and Ohinner in £10. The defendants must also pay 
 the costs 36s. The Ohairman added that he hoped the vicar would 
 take notice of the case, and save the Ohurch from public scandal.— 
 English Paper. 1872. 
 
 NOTE VI. 
 
 It cannot be doubted that there are many clergymen in the State 
 Ohurch who may be classed as skeptical as Mr. Vanscourt; it is very 
 probable that there aresomesuch in almost every denomination who, 
 like Oolenso, Voysey, and others, still remain and preach, although 
 disbelieving in the *' Divine revelations " of Ohristianity. There are 
 others, however, who leave the clerical ranks as quickly as they dis- 
 cover that they have been in error. Many years ago the Rev. Robert 
 Taylor, A. B., curate of Midhurst, England, became an unbeliever 
 and wrote the " Syntagma," the " Mfgesia" and many other power- 
 ful works against Ohristianity ; later still we have Oolenso's writings, 
 the Essays and Reviews, and other publications reflecting on the 
 popular faith ; and when persons so eminent as the Rev. Mr. Olark 
 leave the Ohristian Ohurch, it is likely that we may have further 
 reasons given for the prevailing unbelief among so many of the 
 
ATPKNDIX. 
 
 4M 
 
 loflj-noil nn<l iritolifl'tual ; ho has nyitlnntly matlfs no sliulit ■•aTiflw 
 out of conscientious rojfard for what ho oonsklerod truth. 
 
 The Rkv. ]\rn. W. O. ('lake's RFNUNriATioN ok Holy Uudeiir- 
 Thu ronnnclatlon of holy orders by Mr. W. G. Chirk, Vl<'.>-MuHtor «.f 
 Trinity Oollcuo. and lato Pu))li« Orator at Canibri«lff(». a man of high 
 r«fputation In lUrratnrc, is folt to ho a vory serious mattor hy all 
 Hassos of Churchmen. Ho has long been known to entertain sorti« 
 opinions in connnon witli Bishop (\>1liiso and the school roprp- 
 sentod by tho writers of " Essays and Reviews." Ho does not bo!iov« 
 In tho Infallibility of the Soriptiros, rojettinK parts of them as of 
 doubtful authontieity, and tlndint? in others quostionable teaohinK in 
 tlieolotfy and morals. At his ordination ho was asked whether ho 
 unfoiKnodly bollovcd all tho Canonical Seriptures of the Old and New 
 Testament, and he answered. Yos. But ho no longer believ(!S them, 
 and moreover ho onnnot stand up In tho face of tho eouKroKation to 
 say, " • God spako these words.' when *' ho is convinced He did not 
 speak them." Certain newspapers are trying to convince Mr. Clark 
 that ho has dono vory foolishly, because the courts have decided to 
 Interpret the Articles with a good deal of latitude. In this and other 
 matters we are told that tho legal must be the measure of^tho moral 
 f'bligatlon. This is affirmed to be the understanding with which the 
 Thirty-nine Articles ace always signed now at the Universities. 
 Think of what this moans. Tho young clergy— the future teachers of 
 religion and morality— are being brought up to proclaim by their 
 example, if not by their lips, that everything is lawful for which a 
 man cannot be put in prison and convicted at the bar of a criminal 
 court! Behold, fhen, the millennium of dextrous swindlers and 
 clever cheats I It is to be hoped that the consciences of many another 
 Broad Churchman will be pricked by the serious declarations of 
 Mr. Clark into following his example. While they are known to 
 equivocato, t-'unday by Sunday at the altar, they ar.j the most serious 
 offenders against honesty in the nation, and doing most to sap the 
 foundations of all vQUgion.— English Indepenilent. 
 
 With referenco to skeptical clergymen. Bishop Colenso says: " I 
 assert, however, without fear of contradiction, that there are multi- 
 tudes now of the more intoUigent clergy, who do not believe in the 
 Noachian deluge as described in the book of Genesis. Yet did ever a 
 laymen hear his clergyman speak out distinctly what he thought, 
 and say plainly from the pulpit what he believed, on this point ? Did 
 ever n doctor or a bishop of the Church do this— at least in the pres- 
 ent day ? I doubt not that some eases may be found where such 
 plainness of speech has been exercised. But I appeal to the laity 
 generally with confidence. Have you ever heard your minister— able, 
 earnest, excellent as you know hlra to be— speak out plainly to the peo- 
 ple what he knew himself about these things ? Or, if not to the con- 
 gregation at large— for fear the ignorant and unlearned should wres', 
 it to their own destruction— has he ever told these things to you in 
 private ? . . . Have not the clergy kept back from you their 
 thoughts hitherto, not only about the deluge, but about a multitude 
 of other matters, such as those treated of in Part I of this book— 
 "Which, as my adverse reviewers say almost with one voice, have been 
 all along perfectly familiar to all respectable students of divinity." 
 (I'^'cfacepp. 28. 29.) 
 
482 
 
 AITF.NPFX. 
 
 How. in fnot. can it bo possiblo a olorirynian should venture to 
 tliink on thoso subjects, wlien by sd doing, ho is almost sure to come 
 to doubt or disbelieve some portion, at least, as we have seen above, 
 of tho Church's doctrine, and then ho may ffiel bound to follow his 
 own sense of duty, if it accords with thosnntimonts expressed by the 
 Bishop of London, and abandon voluntarily tho ministry of the 
 Clnireh, deprived of all share in itsdutios and emoluments, yet bur- 
 dened still with the necessity, aecordinj? to the present state of tho 
 ?aw, and dragging about him for his whole life-long his clerical 
 title f>-d its legal disqualification for engaging in any other duties of 
 activ'. ife." (K 20.) 
 
 " Should, however, his views of duty not compel him to make this 
 sacrifice, still how can a clorgymnn be expected to indulge in frc 
 thought on some of the most interesting and important Questions of 
 ]>liysica], historica". and critical science, when he knows that, for 
 firriving at any conclusion on certain points of Biblical criticism 
 which contradict the notions of our forefathers, living in days of 
 comparative darkness and ignorance of all sci/entiflc research, he 
 may be dragged into the Court of Arches, and thero by legality be 
 forcibly ejected, or if not ejected, at least suspended from his living, 
 and saddled for life with a crushing weight of debt, at the instance it 
 may be of some good, easy brother, who never perhaps knew what it 
 was to have a passionate y(\nrning for truth, who never made a 
 sacrifice for truth, as truth, who n( ver made a sacrifice in the search, 
 or for the maintenance of it, and never in fact gave himself an hoiir's 
 hard thinkinj? in all his life. What clergyman, I repeat, tv'ith a wife 
 and children to support, can afford to give himself to the simple 
 straight lorward search after truth— much less to the honest utter- 
 ance of it— at the cost of .^Dono." ( Ihid. p. an.) 
 
 NOTE VII. 
 
 THE CUKE OF SOULS BY PURCHASE. 
 
 {From an Inve:^tigaHng Contributor for the London Daily Xfws.) 
 
 1 aave learnt more as to the current value of advowsons and pres- 
 entations in the last hour than I am likely to forget ; and am at this 
 moment sorely puzzled between the a'3 vantages proffered me by these 
 two forms of investment. It's my way when I want information, to 
 go straight to the fountain hea'l, so directly I'd sanctione-' y 
 youngest daughter's engagement with Meokskip, our curate, .,nst 
 put myself in the train and came up to London to consult a clerical 
 agent as to the best thing to b(! done. My objections to the match are 
 beside the question, so I'd pass tliem by; though why on earth a 
 sensible girl with a comfortable home should puke and pine because 
 she was forbidden to think of a man who was no more able to keep 
 her in the way she had been brought up than I am to feed my pigs on 
 pineapple cream, is beyond mo allogetlier. How 'ver, it's done, and 
 there's nothing left but to make the best of it, Meekskip hasn't a 
 penny , of course. His father was a parson before him, his widowed 
 mother has three unmarried daughters and this son, (wid the lad 
 r-ould never have been sent to college if he hadn't been clever and 
 plucky, and so won an Exhibition. My v^aughter hrs £l,500 in her 
 own right ; and when I consulted my Uwyer, old Biber— a good man 
 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 483 
 
 biitt.f the old school, and with u conveyancing practice chiefly- 
 all he could advise was that I should have all Madge's money tied up 
 as tightly as possible, ordering it to be out into the funds, and pre- 
 venting the trustees, so far as I was aV>lo, changing the form of 
 investment for Indian railways or other specious ways of getting 
 five per cent. This would have given the you ig couple about £6't 
 a year, or less; or with the other i^l,500, which I shall in this case 
 find for my daughter on her wedding day, some £t20 a year. It was 
 to sec if something better couldn't be done with the money in church 
 property, aud I have been talking to the clerical agent this morning. 
 I found him as pleasant and business-like a little gentleman as one 
 could wish to meet. The first-floor of a London house, the ground- 
 floor of which is occupied by a shop— this is where I found my agent. 
 A deaf clergyman in what used to bo called a Puseyite-waistcoat, a 
 white tie, and coat and trousers of appiopriate color and cut, can- 
 nons against me as I reaeh the door. " I want to see Mr. Blank." (the 
 agent.) He remarks to mo interrogatively and apologetically, though 
 not hearing well he had turned round and trodden on ray toes. He 
 put his hand to his ear to catch my reply, so I shouted, '* The very 
 thing I've come here myself to do!" Avheroupon a door opened, and 
 we were both invited to enter. Not into the presence of the agent, 
 but into a counting-house, in Avhich several clerks were busy upon 
 ledgers and journals : and where printed bills of the livings on sale 
 hung from the walls, exactly as other bills hang at the Auction Mart 
 or Garraway's. The chamber is divided by a -wooden partition, 
 behind which the clerks are busy, a.r, I have said, while the remainder 
 is used as a waiting-room. We both send in our names to the agent, 
 who is in an adjoining room, the clergyman, with great skill, handing 
 in his name before mine to insure a priority, though we really came 
 in together ; after which we take our seats and look about us. "Cur- 
 acy Department " is printed in large black letters on one side of the 
 wooden division, then comes a door marked " Private," and then the 
 words, " Exchange Department.' The agent'^^ engagement does not 
 last long, and while the deaf clergyman is with him I ask for a 
 printed list of 'be livings which are in the market now. A pamphlet 
 consisting of nirty-five clo.sely-printed pages is handed me, and I 
 proceed to eon this over. The study becomes s'^ fascinating that 
 I fervently h')pe the deaf clergyman may have difficulty in persuading 
 the agent he is not disqualifled by hi- infirmity for the cure of souls. 
 and that his interview may be prolonged. "Population only one 
 hundred, neighborhood noted for its extreme salubrity, income 
 about £120 a year, price of presentation £5on." This is an epitome of 
 the firs' entry in my pamphlet: nut there is no rectory-horse, and 
 the whole thing doesn't seem quite gv)d enough for the man who is 
 to marry my daughter. I llx upon f:j,Oon as my limit, so that the 
 next is far beyond me, being 6,ono guineas, and yielding a n^t income. 
 "chiefly from glebe," of £650 a year. But it would weary you if I 
 were to go through the advertisements one by one. or to attempt to 
 describe the anxious care with which for Madge's sake. I compared 
 one with another. I had to balance snr-h things as "Population 
 3000, coach-house, stable, harness-room, loose-box. large walled 
 garden, conservatory, and a good supply of water.'" against such 
 tempting exrlanatory foot-notes at. " this preferment was purchased 
 
1S4 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 is 
 
 by one ottheCoIloKes for a Follow soino eight years Binne.and now it 
 is being soUl at the Ha mo price, allowing,' simply for the expense, of 
 conveyance, as was given for it at that time, when the incumbent (now 
 78) was only seventy years old." " Nopoor"wasar(Horamendation in 
 one case *, " single duty " 'D several. " Immediate possession," and 
 "there is every prospect ot immediate possession, incumbent being 
 seventy-one years of age and very infirm,'" were added as riders in 
 others. " The incumbent is fifty-two or llfty-thrco years of ago, but 
 his life is a bad one, was a statement which gave the rectory-house 
 " not in good repair'' gloomy associations, and made mo tuii with 
 a sigh of relief to the next page, where " the neighborhood offers 
 very good society, with plenty of llshing, hunting," etc., combined with 
 the assurance of "no chapel," seemed much more eligible— though 
 for that matter Meekskip, poor fellow, is no sportsman, and would, I 
 fancy, rather like a chapel to convert. 
 
 I had read thus far, Avhen the door opeiu-d and a head popped in. 
 "Has a deaf clergyman come here?" its owner asked. "Yes." 
 answered a clerk, laconically. " Is ho with Mr. Blank ?" " Yes."' 
 "All right; only wanted to know," and the head disappeared— as I 
 thought chuckling at the prospect of commission. A lanky young 
 man. in a straw hat, shooting jacket, and patent leather shoes— a 
 young man who looked far more like boating than preaching- 
 sauntered in leisurely and asked for the agent. He was engaged, 
 and this gentleman (myself) was waiting: was it anything the clerk 
 could attend to ? It was about a curacy ; London, and a good part uf 
 London essential. The vacancy at Chelsea required explanation. 
 "What sort of people lived in Chelsea; was Chelsea pu-^t of Bel- 
 gravia; were the dwellers in it of the upper classes?" It was the 
 clerk's, opinion that Chelsea was the favorite district for what he 
 would term the middle upper class of church-goers, which ha 
 specified, to prevent, the possibility of mist-ake, as "professionals, 
 artisans, tradesmen, and that class.'" 
 
 I was beckoned for at this juncture; the deaf clergyman had de- 
 parted by another door, and I found myself face to fa e with a 
 clerical agent. My first feeling was one of gratitude to him tor not 
 having made myself up like a clergyman ; and for being so straigiit- 
 forward and business-like. A brisk, fair gentleman, with a prepos- 
 sessing manner— that's what fhe agent ia He is well dressed and 
 well-jewelled, and carries a single-stone diamond und a full sized 
 blood-stone signet ring on the same hand. My first thought is that 
 I once met a sweil stock-broker very like him; my second that he 
 belongs to the race which Mr. Disraeli maintains furnish the master- 
 spirits of the world. " Not being a parson," I begin with a smile/ 
 "I'll explain my business in two minutes "—which I do. I learn 
 directly what £30uO will buy. If I want the money to be settled on my 
 girl I can have an advovvson of £'230 a year for Meekskip. with a 
 house, only I mustn't ask for any of the home counties— Kent or 
 Essex, for example— they're more, naturally. If, on the other hand. 
 I'll be satisfied with buying a presentation, or, in other words, a 
 living for Meekskip. which will terminate wi*h his life, why lean got 
 £400 a year. This is the outside value, the agent warns me, and the 
 income will be rather less than more, but I need not trouble myself 
 about the young people havinif to wait in either case if I once resolve 
 
 Hi' 
 
 1'? ' i 
 
APPKNDIX. 
 
 -18." 
 
 upon Ihe invostinont. " Tlio gvmt object of the owners of ohiuvjh 
 property." my friend adds pleasantly, "is to get an nuidi for it as 
 possible, and you'll llnd tliat after you've deducted i-ioo or £-110 a year 
 for your friend's services you'll have in addition to a residenee. 
 about Ave per cent, for your money :f you buy an advowson. and 
 from seven to ei^ht per cent, if you buy a presentation. An advow- 
 son is freehold, and can be settled on the lady and the offspring of the 
 marriage— that is. can be invested in the names of trustees and 
 be sold for their benellt on Mr. Meokskip's death, A presentation 
 will give you a better rate of interest, even after you've deducted 
 a reasonable sum for the clergyman's annual premiums for life 
 assurance; but then, you see, you can't compel him to keep his 
 payments up; so for absolute security for the wife there's nothing 
 like an advowson." " Doesn't the price of a presentation depend 
 upon the present holder's age?" I asked, for I didn't .seethe fun of 
 negotiating for something that would keep the young people waiting 
 and infliot upon us all the nuisance of a long engayement, "Far 
 less than you'd suppose," was the urbane reply: "besides, in any 
 presentation you bou-^ht.sir. Id arrange for immediate possession." 
 '• How could that be managed ?" " Quite easily— in fact, the com- 
 monest thing in the world. The present holder resigns. You place 
 the money in your solicitor's hands. Your solicitor sees the vendor's 
 solicitor, and if the resignation doesn't take plice, why the cash is 
 not parted with. I've a pretty little place here, (hands me a photo- 
 graph of rectory, (upon which I notice there is a tolerable stock of 
 such photographs on mantle-piece and desk.) but it's rather beyond 
 your figure. It has a nice church, ioj, in capital repair, (hands me a 
 photograph of church)— perhaps if you could make it guineas we 
 could affect the purchase." I ask about the incidental expenses con- 
 nected with the transfer of this kind of property; and find it to be 
 usual for the vendor to pay the agent's charges, so that the law> h-'s 
 bill ("£ao or £40, according to circumstances",) is all that will iall 
 upon me. I've learnt almost as much as I want to know by i- is 
 time, and the agent and myself shake hands with each oth ■. 
 nuitually pleased, I promising at his request "to refer to this inte. • 
 view when I write." I brought the book with tlie list of advowson -. 
 and presentation " in stock " away with me; and Madge, Meekskip, 
 and myself, shall have many a good pore over it, I promise you. 
 before deciding. Old Biber wanted to make me believe before I came 
 ap that buying or selling church preferment is Simony, and that 
 Simony is a crime ; but I flatter myself I return fully able to convince 
 him of the absolute absurdity of his views. This copious printed 
 list of livings on hand; the number of respectable applicants (I have 
 omitted half-a-dozen interruptions in our interview, from cards 
 being sent in. people waiting, and so forth), who were waiting; and 
 the unmistakable air of prosperous and extensive business which 
 environs the clerical agent's place— all put Simony out of the ques- 
 tion. I shall buy my future son-in-law an advowson (freehold,) just 
 as I shall buy my daughter her trousseau, and having once got it, 
 paid for it. and settled it. shall have the satisfaction of knowing it to 
 be as permanent provision as if the money were in the funds, while 
 Meekskip's social position as rector will be far better than a poor 
 curate who can't preach, with a small additional income from his 
 wife. 
 
486 
 
 AfPKNDIX. 
 
 NOTE V 1 I r. 
 
 Tho Protestant religion is now froely toloratoil in tho City of Rome, 
 though contrary to tho expressed desire of the " Holy Father;" and 
 Spain, notwithstanding the fierce protests of the priest-party has 
 also boforae Liberal. The following statement will, however, show 
 what diftifulties liberalstatesmenhavehadtoemjounter: Col.Fiti'h. 
 an English resident in Spain, had long but vainly tried to obtain 
 permission to erect a Protestant Church in that country. During tho 
 reign of Queen Isabella, the priests being all-powerful, such an 
 application from a heretic was treated with contempt; but after the 
 Queen had abdicated, a member of the new Government issued an 
 autliorization. dated November 9, 1868 : " The minister of Grace and 
 Justice has duly considered your petition to erect a Protestant temple 
 in this Capital. :ind has seen fit to authorize it. You can now pro- 
 co«'d with its construction in such manner as shall conform to the 
 municipal ordinances." 
 
 One would think that such a concession ought not to excite the 
 hostility of any reasonable person, but the ultra-Catholic papers 
 seemed to grow frantic over the permission. Tho" liegeneracion" 
 thundered out: "No man ever committed such an outrage on tho 
 Spanish people as Romeico Ortez, the minister who granted it. Since 
 Spain existed such a disgraceful and suicidal act never was com- 
 mitted. We say it. but nut liypocritically, we shall make special 
 prayer to God for the salvation of the soul of this degenerated man.' 
 Poor Ortez! 
 
 NOTE IX. 
 
 A missionary's HAUDSIIIPS AND SUFFERINGS. 
 
 A large majority of the impulsive ChristiauB who give so freely 
 and so liberally to the mission fund, are no doubt under tho impres- 
 sion that a missionary's life is one of great hardship and danger. 
 Madame Ida Pfei/er, the great travehu', was of the same opinion 
 until she visited the missionary statims in liidia, and sho writes as 
 follows: "In my opinion the missionaries wrc almost if not com- 
 plete martyrs, and I thought that they were so absorbed with zeal and 
 the desire to convert the heathen that, like the disciples of Christ, 
 (luite forgetting their comforts and necessaries, thoy dwell with them 
 under one roof, and ate from one dish, etc. Alas ! t'lese were pictures 
 and representations whi<!h I had gathered out of books; in reivlity 
 the case was very different. They lead the same kind of life as tho 
 wealthy; they have handsome dwellings, which are fitted up with 
 luxurious furniture, and every convenience. They recline upon 
 easy divans, while their wives preside at tho tea-table, and tha 
 children attack the cakes and sw(?etmeats heartily; indeed their 
 position ispleasanter and freer from care than that of most people; 
 their occupation is not very laborious, and their income is certain, 
 whatever may be the national or political condition of their coun- 
 try. . . . Many of the missionaries believe that they raixht 
 ellect a great deal by preaching and issuing religious tracts in tho 
 native language in the towns and villages. They give the most 
 Dttractive report of the multitudes of people who crov/d to hear 
 theii preaching and receive their tracts, and it might reasonably be 
 thought that, according to their roprosontations, at least half of their 
 
 
APPKNDIX. 
 
 487 
 
 ll 
 
 hearers would become converts to Chiistliinity:but unfortunately 
 the listening and rccoivins traets is us good as no proof at all. 
 Would not Chinese, Indian, or Persian priests have just as great 
 troops of hearers if they appeared in their resp< otivo national 
 costume in England or Franco and preached in the language of those 
 countries ? Would not peoph^ flock around them ? Would they not 
 receive the tracts given out gratis, even if they could not read them ? 
 
 I have made the minutest inquiries in all places respecting the 
 results of missions, and have always hoard that a baptism is one of 
 the greatest rarities. The few Christians in India who here and 
 there form villages of twenty or thirty families, have resulted prin- 
 cipally from orphan children, who had been adopted and broughtup 
 by the missionaries; but even thuso rcauiro to bo supplied with 
 work, and comfortably attended to, in order (o prevent them from 
 falling back into their superstitions." 
 
 Alluding to the manner in which missionaries travel about to 
 spread the Gospel, she says: " At the same time, it must bo remem- 
 bered that these journeys are not made in a very simple manner: as 
 mine has been, for iuHtanee; the missionary surrounds himself 
 with numerous conveniencies; he has palaquins carried by men, 
 pack-horses, or camels, with tents, beds, culinary and table utensils ; 
 servants and maids in sulTicient number. And who pays for all this V 
 Frequently poor credulous souls in Europe and North America, who 
 often deny themselves the neccssar)<'s of life, that their little savings 
 maybe squandered in this way in distant parts of the world."— .4 
 Woman's Jou7'ney Around tlie World. 
 
 In 
 
 '*[ 
 
 NOTE X. 
 
 THE MORTARA ('AST. 
 
 Many will no doubt reniombor that in the year 1858, one of the most 
 unjust and fanatical acts ever perpetrated by the Church of Rome, 
 took place in the city of r.oloKna, Italy. On the 23d of June, in that 
 year, a respectable Jew of that city. Signer Monolo Mortara, a 
 manufacturer and wholesale merchant of cloth, upon returning 
 home about ten o'clock at night, found that Padre Felletti, inquisitor- 
 in-chief at Bologna, had sent a number of policemen to carry off his 
 son Edgar, a mere child, who, it was said, had boon surreptitiously 
 baptised aChristian by a bigoted Roman Catholic servant-maid. The 
 parents of the boy were of course greatly surprised and afflicted, 
 and entreated that he should not then be taken away, in order that 
 the Archbishop of Bologna might in the mean time be appealed to; 
 but as he was absent, little further delay was granted, and the next 
 evening a number of papal soldiers entered the house and " tore tho 
 child out of his father's arms." Tho boy was then taken to Rome 
 and immured in a convent. Cardinal Antonelli, and other Roman 
 Church dignitaries had been appealed toby the parents with little or 
 no elt'uct; for it was said, that as the child had received Christian 
 baptism— even though by the hands of a common servant-maid— tho 
 church could not consent that tho boy should be returned to the 
 perilous charge of unbelicvintr parents. The parents, as well as tho 
 boy himself, pleaded that he should be allowed to return to his own 
 home, but all entreaties were in vain, neither the archbishop of 
 Bologna, nor Cardinal Antonelli. nor the Pope himself, would cou- 
 
 m 
 
488 
 
 APPF.NDIX. 
 
 sent tlint he Bhould bo civeu up : and Ibis cnse of opuresslon cau8.^d 
 snob excitement at the time in Europe, that tlio indignation in Eng- 
 hind was intense, and protests from the EvanKolical Aliiau«.'o. from 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury and many other bisliops; frompoers 
 and from members of Parliament, from Jews, and from other classes 
 were forwarded against the outrage. 
 
 Well, if such an outcry was raised against the IJoman Churc-h for 
 its sanction of such tyranny, what shall be said in denunciation of a 
 similiar atrocity on the part of Protestants ? The British law, to be 
 sure, quickly brought redress ; but priestly infatuation and duplicity 
 wus much the same in one case as in the other. The following 
 jiceount from an English paper describes what has been called the 
 
 Baptist Mortara Case," and proves how men, and even women— 
 under the impression that they are doing what is right— can bo 
 i)etrayed into the commission of the most heartl<>ss ac'.s, too often 
 th.) consequences of their minds having been debauched by super- 
 stitions. 
 
 The Lyons Cask.— A very extriordinary cjiso has been tried lately 
 before Mr. Baron Chanell, at the Cardift assizes. It was the subject of 
 a good deal of talk some months ago. It was alleged that a Jewish 
 girl, named Esther Lyons, had been surreptitiously converted to 
 Christianity by the wife of a Baptist minister named Thomas, and 
 then induced by the same lady to leave her father's house and remain 
 iiway from it. What was certain about the ear^e was that the girl had 
 liticome a Christian, that she was away from her father's house, and 
 that she declined to return to it. How far Mrs. Thomas and her 
 husband (who was supposed to be involved in the alTair) were guilty 
 has always been a matter o). dispute. The wUoNi case is now, how- 
 ever, undergoing a full invesi'.igation before a jury, the fatlmr of Miss 
 Lyons having brought an aciion against the llev. Nathaniel Thomas 
 and Louisa Ann Emily Thomas, his wife, and vnrlous other persons. 
 The trial (which began on Monday) appears to be exciting enormous 
 'iiterest throughout South Wales. The court is crowded daily, and 
 t he local papers say that it is very difficult to gain admissi jn. Ladies 
 t ^pecially are present in great numbers. On Tuesday morning the 
 luuoino of the case was brought into the court by the clerk to the 
 dffendants' attorney. As soon as the yo\iiK,' lady was seated, and was 
 observed by her mother, the latter began to cry out, "Esther, my dear 
 Jisther, come and sit by your mother." The entreaty was allowed to 
 1 ass unnoticed by the child, who warmly shook hands with those 
 ladie.s— her "dear friends,"' as she calls them in one of her letters— 
 l»y whom she was surrounded. It was distressing (says the local 
 reporter) to listen to the mother's appeal, and the judge sugg<'sted 
 that she had belter bo removed from the court ai^d accomodated with 
 a seat in one of the rooms. At last the poor woman fainted, and she 
 \ as then taken out. Mr. Barnett Lyons, the plaintiff", gave evidence 
 at great length. He iletailed how his daughter left him on the 'lid of 
 ,-^March, la.st year, {'ud how he went to the house of the llev. IMr. 
 'J'hoRias to seek her. Mr. Thomas assured him ho did not knoNf 
 where the young lady was. and he subsequently saw Mrs. Thonins, 
 who admitted that Esther had slept one night in her house, but would 
 not give any further information. So, after being asked by the lady 
 (who said she had been praying for his family's fonversion for thiee 
 wt^eks) to accept a little ))ook, he took his leave. That day or the 
 
 
APl'EMDlX. 
 
 489 
 
 ne:ct lit) mot Mr. Thomnp.wlio. in reply to tlio (lUfStiona about hU 
 (laughter. BiiiU: "I don't know; you will hour ol" her. Whorevor sho 
 is. Bho i8 Hafo." An arningement was at length come to, that Mr. 
 Lyons should »ee his Uuughtor on c'<.'rtain condition j, but ho was to 
 pay down a sum £lO. Ho olTcrud Mr, Thomas a chetiue for that sum, 
 but he would not tako it, ami it then appeared that Miss Lyons had 
 refused the interview. fcJho did see her father, however, in a lawyer's 
 olKlce in London and positively refused to i;o back. The cross- 
 t xamination of Mr. Lyons and of his wife (who was subsequently 
 ••ailed) was directed to show that they had systematically ill-treated 
 their dauRhter. This they positively denied. On Wednesday the 
 defendant's counsel protested against the intimidation of Miss 
 Lyons, by her whole family being brought into court, and by the 
 conduct of the Jewesses present, which, the reporter says, turned 
 the court into a Jewish " place of wailing." Mrs. Lyons was ex- 
 amined, and denied that she had ever ill-used her daughter, but 
 Esther herself spoke to a number of speeillc acts of cruelty. Before 
 her evidence was over, she fainted, and had to be carriedoutof court. 
 Then a dispute arose as to who should take care of her. The learned 
 judge said she mubt be seen by no one connected with the case, and 
 directed the governor of the jail to see that she had every requisite 
 for the ni;,'ht. A medical gentleman was called, and he reported 
 that it would be impossible for Miss Lyons to be examined further at 
 present, an l so the court had to be adjoyn-iied— English Paper. 
 
 NOTE XL 
 
 Many half-informed Christian priests are still bold in the asser- 
 tion that much, if not all, of ancient Pagan wisdom and morality was 
 obtained directly or indirectly from Jewish sources; while eminent 
 Christian scholars have been forced to admit Ihat such could not 
 possibly be the case. The ancient Jews wore an ignorant, stupid and 
 barbarous I'acc, and any true enlightenment they had was mostly 
 a reflection of that which had long previously existed among Pagan 
 nations. 
 
 Barnes, in an endeavor to prove that the Bible came from God, 
 and that it could not have been originated by illiterate Jews, says of 
 that people: "The Bible came from a land undistinguished for 
 literature—a land not rich in classical associations, a land not dis- 
 tinguished for pushing its discoveries into the regions of science. 
 Chaldea had its observatories, and the dwellers there looked out on 
 the stars and gave them names; Egypt had its temples where the 
 truths of science as well as the precepts of religion were committed 
 to the sacred priesthood: Greece had academic groves; but Judea 
 had neither. To such things the attention of the nation was never 
 turned. We have all llieir literature, all their science, all the'r 
 knowledge of art. and all this is in the Bible. Among the ancients 
 they were regarded as a narrow-minded, a bigoted, a superstitious 
 people."— Xec/Mre.s on Evidi'nre of Christianity, pp. 2r)7-8, 
 
 While the Jews were in this low condition, and ages before the 
 compilation of the Bible had been attempted, many Pagan nations 
 were in a highly intellectual state; and a Christian writer. Rev. Dr. 
 Croker, honestly asserts that: ** The statement of Justin Martyr and 
 Tertullian. that Pagan philosophers borrowed from Jewish prophets, 
 ttud the supposition that Plato had access to a Greek version of th*^ 
 
 
490 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Old TostHinont In Egypt, are obviously mere suppositious by which 
 over-zoalouB Christiana sought to muintain the supremiwy of th<i 
 Scriptures. The travels of Pythagoras are altogether mythical. tli»» 
 mere invention of Alexandrian writers who believed that all wisdom 
 flowed from the East. That Plato visited E.rypt at all. rests on the 
 single authority . f Strabo, who lived at It'ust four centuries afl<i' 
 Plato, and there is no trace in his own works of Egyptian research. 
 His pretended travels in PhtEnicia, where lie gained from the Jews a 
 knowledge of the true God, are more unreliable still. Plato lived in 
 the fourth century before Christ, and there is no good evidence of 
 the existence of a Greek version of the Old Testament before that of 
 the Seventy made by order of Ptolemy Philadolphus, B. C. 270. Jere- 
 miah, the prophet of Israel, lived two centuries before Plato, 
 eonscduently any personal interview between the two was simply 
 impossible."— C/trt.s/iaut/y aui Greek Philosophic, p. 47tf. 
 
 NOTE XII. 
 
 MUSrULAll CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 At a meeting held near Newry, the llev. Mr. Htokes Is reported to 
 bave observed that " It had been oddly proposed that some of the 
 Protestant cathedrals should bo handed over to the Roman Catholics ; 
 but he believed that it was the feeling of ioo.ooo Orangemen of Ulster 
 that if a single Protestant cathedral, Protestant church or Protestant 
 imrsunage-houso in the most remote or distant part of Connaught 
 or Munster was handed over to the apostate Church of Homo, they 
 would know where to find cathedrals that were just as good as the 
 cathedrals handed over. They know wl'.ere to find the Roman 
 Catholic cathedral of Armagh, and they felt that their 200,000 stout 
 arms would be able to hold it. They would say to the pastors of 
 every Protestant church that, before they gave it up to any apostatt^ 
 system, a barrel of gunpowder and a box of matches would send it 
 to the winds of heaven." The Rev. Mr. Stokes is a fair type of the 
 genuine orthodox Christian— one of those who so valiantly supported 
 Cromwell in his deeds of blood and devastation. Instead of " Resist 
 not evil," our Rev. hero would strusfglo hard to crush those who 
 preach any other religion than his, at least in his "house of God;" 
 rather than forgive Christian brethren, the Rev. gentleman would 
 retaliate by seeking to emulate the exploits of the memorable Guy 
 Fawkes. This is muscular Christianity with a veagoaucej— Xo?ic/oii 
 National liefortacr. 
 
 NOTE XIII. 
 
 A late instance of the unfeeling manner in which certain clerical 
 magistraties deal with poor working people in England, is related 
 h\ a London corresyoudent of the New York Tribune, dated May 27, 
 l;7i. 
 
 It seems that in the town or village of Ascott in Oxfordshire, a Mr. 
 H. refused to give to certain laborers— seventeen men— the wages 
 they demaudod, U shillings each— about $3.50 per week— and so they 
 quitted his work. He afterwards succeeded in hiring two men to 
 work at his price, but in order to induce these men nut to work for 
 farmer H the wives of the seventeen men met them, aud, as far- 
 mer H swore, tried to intimidate them from going to work for 
 
 liim. He had these women brought before two reverend magis- 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 491 
 
 (ratos, who arc priests of the State Church— the Rev. Mr. Harris. and 
 tho Uov. Mr. Carter, at Chipping Norton, a town some miles away 
 from Ascott— and sixteen of the women were sentenced to prison with 
 hard labor, nine of them for seven days, and seven of thorn for Ion 
 days. The women being too poor had no one to defend them, and 
 two of them had children infants at the breast. The corrospondont 
 says : " For the credit of England let me say that a sentence so bru- 
 tal has shocked everybody. The papers are ringing with denuu- 
 eiations this morning." 
 
 Alluding to the magistrates in the case, the Pall Mall Gazette said : 
 "Their interests and sympathies are all with the class, which in 
 cases arising under the act is almost invariably with the prosecutor, 
 and it will often happen that even the best of them will be under tho 
 inlluonee of a feeling, which sees in a strike an outburst of wicked 
 insubordination." 
 
 A A the London Times said: "The conduct of these magiatratos 
 was deplorable, the disproportion of the punishment to the offense 
 is altogether indefensible"— and It called upon the Lord Chancellor 
 to remove these reverend tyrants from tho bench. 
 
 Subsequently the working people assembled, a riot ensued, tho 
 police station was attacked and much injury done. 
 
 So great was the expression of public opinion at the outrage that 
 the matter was afterward brought before Parliament. 
 
 NOTE XIV. 
 
 The*'worldllness"of the clerical gentry of the State Church has 
 long been a public theme; but when a paper supposed to be In tho 
 interests of the Establishment publicly reflects upon the presumed 
 deflelencies of its chief pastors, ordinary people will begin to en- 
 quire \rhy such "galtered chatterboxes" and "wind-bags of tho 
 Episcopal bench " are yet retained and allowed to deplete the public 
 treasury by annually drawing very large salaries for their "flum- 
 mery, flattery and platitudes." While many of their spiritual lord- 
 ships are fond of display and keep up almost regal establishments. 
 It seems that others of them, according to the Church Herald, are 
 stingy, penurious and grasping. 
 
 In a late issue the London Church Herald complimented the 
 bishops in the following style: 
 
 "There never was a time when bishops were so painfully com- 
 m nplace and notoriously unremarkable." " Now we are blessed with 
 popularity-hunting prigs, gaitered chatterboxes, flimsy scholars. 
 smug vulgarians; men whose principles, whether good or bad, are 
 so deeply buried in tho dark recesses of their own consciousness 
 that neither themselves nor anybody else have ever been able to 
 flnd them out." Then It asked : 
 
 " Who that had been present at the so-called * Working-men's 
 meetings ' at our autumnal congresses has not felt a glow of shame 
 suffuse his heart, and a blush of ignoray crimson his countenance, 
 when listening to the soulless twaddle and degrading commonplace 
 flowing out of episcopal mouths on such occasions ? No high prin- 
 ciple taught, no lofty and Divine truth Inculcated, no distinctive 
 Church doctrine set forth, no sins and shortcomings of working-mon 
 boldly and bravely rebuked. Flummery, flattery, and platitudes 
 enunciated by the ever-talkative wind-bags of the episcopal bench. 
 
492 
 
 ATPKNUIX. 
 
 DDeaanyseuHihlu innn think for ono-halfHuooiiil that by such painful 
 und degrading exhibitions in which bishopH, both in mutter and 
 manner, are lowered to tlie low level of tub-orutors, the Church of 
 En>;land is helped in any way, or the opposition of consistent rulitf- 
 ii)iis opponents of that Church succesfuUy bought off." 
 
 Here is another choice bit from the sketch of the " Bishop of the 
 Purlod:" 
 
 "Cunning and clever, he keeps as chaplains lick-spittle creatures 
 of the baser sort, who hoist moral storm signals to see which wuy 
 the wind blows, or who act as clerical detectives in plain clothes, and 
 inform his lordship of their earnest labors. The bishop only exer- 
 cises hospitality when such work is absolutely essential, beintf 
 stingy, penurious and grasping. With nauseous ostentation, own- 
 ing *5.ooo a year, he has cut down his household expenses, so as t(j 
 save money and found a family. Butler, footman, and pages are not 
 now at the palace. And a witty country wag libolously avers that 
 the bishop is shaved by the lady's-maid. He rides to confirmations in 
 H gig, or sometimes walks all the way in wet weather, taking care 
 thab one of his literary chaplains privately informs some of the 
 London newspapers of lils truly humble and Christian spirit. 
 
 One would almost think these superllne gentlemen were talking 
 about preachers in " Salem Chapel.' See olso a caustic article on 
 bishops In the Edinburgh Iteineic for December. 1828. 
 
 NOTE XV. 
 
 From an EnoJ'inh Pojhw. 
 
 A Curate's Stoky.— The Rev. W. J. Shearlcy, M. A., incumbent of 
 Christ Church. Henton, in the parish of Wookey. near Wells Somer- 
 set, has written a pamphlet which now lies before us. In it he 
 describes what patronage has done for him, and how it works in his 
 neighborhood. He discloses his personal history with unusual 
 frankness— this, indeed, bein^r necessary for the understanding of 
 his case. He entered the ministry, he tells us. " with honest intention 
 and some zeal," not being "constrained to take orders for bread," 
 which is a happy thing ; for, if he had done so, he must apparently 
 have starved on £100 a year. He took a degree at Cambridge, in isio, 
 and then became vice-principal of a training college at Chester, 
 where he married his present wife, "by whom," he says, "I have 
 four sons and eix daughters— blessed be God— all living." }iut he 
 must needs go into the ministry ; and after a couple of curacies in 
 the diocese of Cheshire, he got a recommendation from the bishop 
 to his present small incumbency, which had just bi^en taken out of 
 the parish at Wookey. and endowed with a stipend of £100 per 
 annum. There was no minister's house, but he was accommodated 
 with one in the out-parish of We]ls, at the easy rent of £30, leaving 
 £70 for himself and his growing family. He was commiserated by 
 the neighboring clergy ; but he set to work conscienticusly, and for 
 one and twenty years he has "walked ihrough the heats of the sum- 
 mer and colds of winter " to look after his parishioners. There is a 
 Dissenting chapel in the village, in which " Bible Christians " hold 
 services, and of these Mr. Shearley speaks respectfully, not denying 
 that they have had a share in producing peace, order and religious- 
 ness in the place, but he modestly claims some credit also for 
 himself. 
 
APPKNniX. 
 
 493 
 
 Oil llio 4th of July, the Vicar of Wookey died, and Mr. aiioarley 
 tliought that after Bo many years' servleo he wjih justifled in asliiiitj 
 for the place. Ko had burao the heutand burthen of the day, and 
 " looking; upon the bishop as a trustee to udoiinistor his patronatfu 
 us in the siglit of God." "he at least expected that his claim would b ) 
 seriously conf!id«ued." and if rejected. " yet courteously and kindly, 
 and in the fear of God." Nobody will accuse Mr. Shearley of un- 
 reasonableness. He wrote instantl' to the bishop (the Vicar died on 
 Saturday) and on Monday he transported himself. by aid of the train 
 and a " swift cab " to tlio bishc^p's town-liouso in Queen Suuaro, 
 Westminster. His lordship's earriak'e was "at the widely-opened 
 door," and the butler before it ; but as soon as Mr. Sheariey was seen 
 approachiiYK up the steps the door was shunned to in his face, but 
 not before he had caught sight of the biahop, a lady, and liis secre- 
 tary in the hall. He shall tell the rest in his own words: "I felt 
 instinctively— being well known to the butler by sight— that my 
 presence was a difficulty, and not till after some waiting I pulled the 
 boll; then the butler appeared and said I could not see the bishop; 
 then I asked to see Mr. Bernard, but no admission after one hundred 
 and fifty miles travel, and to his credit, M;. Bernard, who then 
 appeared, seemed willing that I should see the bishop, but the 
 butler reiterated no admission, by ordc- of Dr. A, B, or C. and I was 
 left on the door step. Mr. Bernard proposed that I should walk with 
 him in the street, and then told me th.it an arrangement had been 
 made some months since, as the icport was Mr. Sluart Intended 
 resignation. Mr. Bernard said a letter was waiting for me. and 
 1 asked him to get it. as I might as well have the authoritative refusal 
 without delay ; he returned and brought letter A ; that I was roughly 
 treated, no one can deny— left on the dojr step, and the bishop, etc., 
 etc.. behind the door; knowing the probability of my early visit, 
 there seems to have been a djtermination to avoid seeing me, but 
 I arrived at the very moment when my presence was embarrassing, 
 and I was left to return to Wells witli a bare and hard denial of a 
 request, considerate in its terms, and reasonable in its character. 
 Alas, alas! how weary— how heartsick I I had been used as I never 
 used the poorest man. To get rid of me was the point ; and to drive 
 the suppliant curate of more than fifty years of age. and after twenty- 
 one years' of ago service, empty away in the fullest sense of the 
 words, was the conjoint action of the screened assembly." The 
 letter of the bishop was brief. It ran thus : " My dear Mr. Sheariey : 
 I am extremely sorry to hear of Mr. Stuart's death. I regret that 
 lam unable to promise the vacancy to yoi, having other arrange- 
 ments in contemplation. Faithfully yours. Auckland, Bath and 
 Wells." Mr. Sheariey remonstrated by letter with his bishop for 
 turning him away from his door with such scant courtesy, when 
 a rest of but ten minutes would have been welcome. Ho knew, he 
 said, that it was impolite to write thus, but he had counted the cost, 
 "I could not help thinking of the different way in which Christian 
 people regard Christian courtesies." He himself invited a poor man 
 with a wooden leg to take a ride in his fly. as he was posting to the 
 bishop— the bishop would not ask one of his own clergy as much as 
 to sit down and rest in his hall ! Four days afterwards Mr. Sheariey 
 learned the living of Wookey was given to the bishop's nephew. Mr. 
 Shearley"sexpcrieui?6a on this memorable 6th of July, seems to have 
 
404 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 broiiKht hlin miiuh litrht un indiiy thinffa. If such in th«) way in 
 which tho hiird-workiiiK clyr^y aro troated, *' oiijrht thn patronH^u to 
 remain where so much opportunity is alTordod to liiddon and advetiio 
 influonoes ?" Ho begins to see that tho ** political exaltation of 
 bishops and dignitaries has little afllnity with tho oloction of 
 Matthias to the ministry apostloship, and tho spiritual ovcrHuor 
 Hcrms often too much Incumbered with over-services to the demands 
 of customs and requisitions of lordly state." It " may be also that 
 cathedral establishments call for modillcation and rcjuvoncscenoo;" 
 for, when " two of the best livings in the gift of the Dean and Chapter 
 of Wells " are given to yoiing men not resident there for more than 
 four or Ave years, we can but lament and wish It had not been 
 ih\xa."—Enylish JudeptniJent. 
 
 NOTE XVL 
 
 Tho sporting propensities of clergymen, particularly those of the 
 8tato Church, have been publicly commented on a thousand times, 
 and lest it might be asserted that certain clerical frailties introduced 
 Into this work are e\a*;gerations, a few instances are given of some 
 of the latest departures from " moral rocitude " on the part of sora^ 
 of tho ordained "servants of tho Lord." The following extracts aro 
 taken from tho public papers ; the list could be greatly extended and 
 the names added of many erring priests and preachers of other 
 denominations. 
 
 THE C00K9 AND THE CLEUaYMEN. 
 
 The London correspondent of the New York World aayB: Scandal- 
 loving people Iwive of late been feasted full of fat things, and during 
 the last week they have been regaled with two unusually shocking 
 cases, in which the delinquents were clergymen cf the Church of 
 England. Both of tho ciises were very similar; In each of them tho 
 rector of a village seduced one of his domestic servants and became 
 the father of an illegitimate child; and in each of them the evidence 
 disclosed a very remarkable and astounding condition of society 
 among these pillars of the establishment. Of one of them I shall 
 speak very briefly; tho other demands a more extended comment. 
 " The rector of Hardwlcke," said the journals the other day, " was 
 yesterday morning charged at Cambridge before the mayor and 
 several other borough magistrates, with being the father of the 
 illegitimate child of Hannah Abrahams, former domestic servant at 
 the rectory. . . The hearlngof tho case occupied three hours, 
 and the magistrates eventually made an order of 2s. 6d. per week." 
 The other case, which was decided on Thursday in the Court of 
 Arches, Avas a still worse one. Tho Rev. John Jackson, the rector at 
 Ludbury, was charged before this ecijlesiustical tribunal *' with 
 adultery with his cook. Elizabeth Parry, with indecent conduct 
 toward his house-maid. Elizabeth Lane, and with being the father of 
 tha illegitimate child of Elizabeth Parry." The evidence of his guilt 
 was perfectly conclusive; it also disclosed the fact that while the 
 rector was seducing his cook his wlfo was carrying on a flirtailon 
 with tho curate; and when the cook's child was born, the rector, 
 his family physician, his wife, and some of his friends tried to induce 
 the cook to swear that the child was the son of a young man to whom 
 she had been engaged, and who would have married her had she not 
 yielded to the seductions of tho parson. This is really a shoekhis 
 
APl'KNDIX. 
 
 41)5 
 
 picture ol English elorioal life. There U a Krotvt Mixiety jus now 
 umonjf ji fwrtain elasf* of weak-ralnded pooplu to Induce Paiiuimont 
 to appoint a (.'(Jiumlssiou for the oxamination of oonventa ; but It 
 nilKbt aeom that thflro was a more orylnc uocosslty for tho oxainlnii- 
 tion of reotorios. The Rev. John Jackson is a man advancod beyond 
 the middle staco of life; ho has been married twonty-flve years; he 
 has boon In holy orders thirty years; and he has held the valuabU 
 Uvititf at Ludbury for ten years. In January. 1868, his family eon- 
 Hl.stod of the took, the housemaid, two other servants, himself and 
 wife, Ihelr son, and his tutor, a tfentloman preparing for holy orders. 
 Famlllaritios took place between the cook and the clergyman, and on 
 four or five ojeaslona he committed adultery with her. Suniu time 
 afterward, however, she loft the rectory, Mr. Jackson elving her 
 a certltloato of good character, and obtained service elsewhere, but 
 in September she went to the rectory again, and was there delivered 
 of a child. Mr. Jackson gave her a small sum of money, and sunt 
 her away after her conllnemont; but in October, Elizabeth appeared 
 one line iSunday morning in the church with tho baby, wlUlc Mr. 
 Jackson was performing service, held up the child, and said, in a 
 loud voice, "Look at your daddy!" This produced a sad commo- 
 tion ; and a few days afterward the magistrates made an order that 
 Mr. Jackson should pay to Parry 2s. 6d. a week for the support of the 
 child. The Dean of the Court held that there could be no doubt 
 whatever as to the guilt of Mr. Jackson In regard to any of the 
 charges against him, and In delivering his judgment he made some 
 very scathing remarks concerning him. "It is disgraceful," said 
 the learned Dean, "when the master of an ordinary household avails 
 himself of his authority and position to corrupt his female servants ; 
 but when timt master is also a clergyman, the disgrace is greater 
 and the consequences far more mischievous. Tho scandal whl(!h 
 the defendant has inflicted upon the parish committed to his care, 
 appears to have taken deep root, and will not be easily eradicated. 
 The defendant has done much to Injure the cause of religion, and to 
 weaken the influence of the Church, of which he is a priest." But, 
 as the original offense had been committed more than two years ago, 
 it was barred by the statute of limitations, and it was only within the 
 power of the Dean to pronounce a sentence of suspension ab offitno el 
 heuificio for Ave years. At the expiration of this period Mr. Jackson 
 may return to his holy ofllce, and again devote himself to the work 
 of increasing the population of the parish. 
 
 An English clergyman, the Rev. V. H. Moyle. has boon charged 
 before the magistrate at Middlesborough, with having forged docu- 
 ments to the value of £22,000, in connection with an iron company in 
 which he was a shareholder. 
 
 The clergy of England seem to have a bottomless capacity for 
 getting themselves into scrapes. A Rev. Dr. Hodglns has been sum- 
 moned by his clerk, " for spitting in his face on Sunday evening just 
 outside the church door." Mr. Stewart, a Liverpool rector, is at odds 
 with his vestry for putting up an obnoxious cross, and at the vestry 
 meeting there was almost a riot. The Vicar of Lundulph, owing to 
 disagreements, flnds his congregation reduced to three, and has 
 beeji publicly told by one of his recalcitrant flock that "he talked 
 nonsense," whicli wasn't a handsome thing for a sheep to say to 
 bis shepherd. When this congregation of Lundulph met on Easter 
 
49G 
 
 APl'KNDIX. 
 
 Monday, there was a row about muttois and things in >ren(M-al, and 
 especially concorningthe sucramoutal wino. Tho Vicar declared that 
 not onough had beon provided for the celebration of tho Eucharist. 
 The church-\vardon pointedly responded that as only two persons 
 had communicated tho past year, and he had sent a \vhol« bottle 
 t) the vestry, he thought there must have been unite enough and 
 to spare. The response of the Vicar is not reported, but ha must 
 have been in a most unclerical passion.— CanaJ/a/* Paper. 
 
 NOTE XVII. 
 
 ATTACK UPON THli ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 {From lilt London lieehii'e.) 
 
 This monstrous evil— which caps all other social and political evils 
 that afflict our country— has grown up and become hoary in its 
 iniquities; plethoric with the wealth it has unjustly accumulated; 
 and swollen out and overgrown with pride and insolent importance, 
 and no wonder, when wo consider that it has fattened and battened, 
 and ground down and oppressed the people of these realms lor eight 
 hundred years and upward. It had its origin— as must people knoiA'- 
 in that great buccaneering raid, which William of Normandy made 
 upon this country in lOCG. aided by soldiers and priests, and a host of 
 dissipated adventurers, which he gathered from all parts of Europe 
 by his offers of plunder; and wlio were filled with fiery zeal for the 
 conQuest of our unhappy country by a bull from the Pope, a conse- 
 crated banner, and a ring, said to contain a hair of Sc. Peter. Willi 
 this united band of fighting adventurers, priests, iind monks, 
 William succeeded in overcoming our Saxon ancestors; and, after 
 having established and consolidated his power by confiscating, 
 pillaging, burning, and destroying in all directions, he finally 
 parcelled out the land of the country among his rapacious follow- 
 ers, tho noble-blooded ancestors of our hereditary aristocracy. Not 
 that the line of this noble blood has been preserved unbroken ; for 
 very ma ly families of them have risen, and fallen, and sunk into 
 oblivion; so that the most of our present nobility have been very 
 recent creations; yet, from this plundering origin, our hereditary 
 aristocracy sprang. The Conqueror, however, wanted power and 
 means to sustain him in possession of his throne and his spoils ; 
 and hence, in parcelling out the estates of the country, he granted 
 them on feudal tenure; that is. he granted them conditionally, that 
 the holders should pay him service, and tribute of various kinds, 
 such as military service, or being compelled to arm themselves and 
 their tenantry in support of the governiuent, when reauested by 
 the king; as also to pay certain fines or sums of money, under tho 
 names of aids, reliefs, wardships, etc., which were, as Bhickstone 
 says, "in the nature of a modern land-tax." Tho money raised 
 from this source, and from the crown lands, or th estates, the king 
 kept for himself, constituted nt that time the only revenue of the 
 kingdom; for the people then paid no taxes, they being serfs or 
 laborers. 
 
 This, then, was tho origin of our landed aristocracy; men who 
 are bound by their tenures to defend the country, and to meet the 
 expenses of the nation, in return for the vast benefits they enjoyed: 
 that of sharing among them tho greater i)ortion of the land of tha 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 497 
 
 or 
 
 country. They subseauoutly succeeded, however, in getting their 
 military service commuted for money; but this, and various other 
 payments they were compelled to make, and continued to pay down 
 to the time of the restoration of Charles II., when the Convention 
 Parliament entered into an agreement with him, that he should free 
 them from all the lauded obligations, which they had hitherto paid 
 for their estates, and that they would present him and his successors 
 with an Excuse law. In other words, that ho would enable them, for 
 tliis boon, to shift the burden from their own shoulders on to those 
 of the people. Having tlius, for their own solflsh ends, cut off the 
 principal source of revenue, and having subsequently cajoled our 
 rulers out of the chiof portion of the "rowned lands, there were no 
 means of the carryi' g on of the government; so that in the reign of 
 William the Thiij^'d they were under the necessity of imposinga land- 
 lax of four shillings in the pound on the full annual value of land. 
 This, however, was too good a thing to be continued, and our aris- 
 tocracy now managed to shirk, or to render it almost a nulity ; for in 
 1798 they passed a law declaring that "the land-tax should only bi 
 levied on the original assessment of William the Third." So tha . 
 taking into account the large increase in the valuQ of the land, the 
 tax does not now amount to a farthing in the pound; for, if it were 
 assessed at this present value, at four shillings in the pound it would 
 realize a sum of upwards of twenty-flve millions; whereas, the land- 
 tax raised in 1868 araountol to only £i ,092. 6'J.). But in tho interim the 
 Excise duties, which they imposed on the people, have increased 
 from about a million to upwards of twenty millions, and the customs, 
 and all other public burdens, to a total of 60i millions. With the 
 possession of the land, they have possessed the control over the 
 tenantry, and the power of returning to what ought to be the people's 
 house, tho majority of their own tools and mouth-pieces, to do their 
 blildiag, auii to crush and retard all measures made by the friends of 
 th ! people in favor of retrenchment or reform. 
 
 The possession of this power to pack the House of Commons, has 
 placed the State also at their disposal, and most of its offices Iiave 
 been lllled by our aristocra:3y or their nominees; and fierce and 
 savage have been their attacks upon the few outsiders who have 
 lately obtained possession of phiL-es in the ministry. The Church, 
 too, has ever been a creature aad a tool of their own. and its bishops 
 and clei'gy, their brethren or relations, or their own nominees, or 
 slavish dependants ; for, in addition to the vast estates of the Church, 
 which, at dilTerent times, th'>y have shared among them, they have 
 now 15,950 Church livings to bestow on whom they choose, and about 
 nine or ten millions of Church revenue todivid j between the persona 
 they elect, Tue cler«y and arist'^ra^y have always got all the 
 cliarities of Englaml under tlieir control, amounting to above nine- 
 teen million sterling. The army and navy also, are for the most 
 pari ruled and offlcerei by them ; and all efforts to reduce the enor- 
 mous sum of about twsnty-ejght millions paid annually to support 
 them, and strenuously opposed by the numerous representatives of 
 these two services foui d in both Houses of rarliament. 
 
 In faet, the aristocracy have ruled our country for centuries ; have 
 divided all j)la''fs of pr dlt or honor between the two factions of tlieni ; 
 have shared among th'Muselves and tools the greater portion of the 
 i-eveuun; have warred a;,'ainMt freedom at home and abroad; have 
 
498 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 ever been the opponents of all measures for the political and sociftl 
 elevation of our peoplo, and have contracted an enormous debt 
 which now bows down the industrial energies, and limits the trade 
 and commerce of the country. To use the words of v?Toneral Foy. 
 when he gave a deflnitiou of aristocracy in the French Ohauibers, 
 some years ago: "Thjyaro the league and coalition of those v/ho 
 wish to consume without producing, live without working, occupy 
 hU public places, without becoming competent to fill them, and sei/.t* 
 upon all honors without meriting them. ' 
 
 We ask, then, whether it is not opposed to right and justice and the 
 happiness of the nation, that an exclui ive and privileged few should 
 claim possession of the whole land of the country V— should have 
 the power of preventing it from being properly cultivated, by 
 refusing some security or tenure ? should hold large portions of it 
 waste, or convert it into hunting " grounds and game " preserves ? 
 should have power to clear it of its human inhabitants at pleasure ? 
 and make the tenantry that hold and cultivate It their political 
 slaves ? 
 
 We further ask whether the principle of hereditary right is not a 
 manifest injustice? as it gives a foolish son a right to succeed a wise 
 father, and to thwart by his obstinacy or folly the most just and 
 righteous measures that the best and the wisest of our legislators 
 may propose for the security, enlightenment, prosperity, and profir- 
 ress of the nation. 
 
 If our brethren concur with us in opinion, that our hereditary 
 aristocracy has been, and continues to bo, a blight and a curse upon 
 our country, is i" not high time to use every political power they 
 possess to free themselves from its withering influence ? Is it not 
 time to meet, urge, petition, and beseech our representatives to do 
 away with the monstrous evils, primogeniture and entail, and compel 
 our aristocracy to do justice to all their children ? To limit by law 
 the quantity of land thatshouhl be held by individuals, and to cause 
 their immense estates to be divided among their children on the death 
 of the possessors ? To end, also, the slavish custom of the repre- 
 sentatives of tlie whole nation having every measure of importance 
 for the well-being of the country frustrated by a non-represented 
 and privileged few, they should enact that any law passed twic© 
 through thb House of Commons should boeonio the law of the land, 
 whatever other power in the State may be opposed to it. 
 
KXTUACTS FROM A FEfV OF THE C&ITIC IL N.j 
 TIVES OF" THE HEATHBNH OF THE HEATH.' 
 
 The volume just issued is eminently u bold book. It deals with 
 the roughest side ot English life, and is a work intended to stdke 
 hard blows at the atrocities ot the priesthood. The writer dives deep 
 mo the historical lore and tradition of early church matte,^ a ,d 
 rel,s,ous porsooutions, and weaves upon the thread of his romance 
 events, whrch speak but too plainly of the coarse elementof ZT.h 
 Ufe m certain of tho uneducated districts. The characters are 
 drawn with a fldelity. wlueh extracts from English papers of ^ 
 recent date cempietely vouch tor : the scenes are easily recogn .a We 
 and, as a book, showing a large research, a careful handling o, a 
 delieae sub,eet. and roa^.ning which is more than ordinar ," 
 forcible, tha book is deserving of much attentlo„.-.V. K S^Z 
 
 It is a story written with an object-tho disonthrallment of man- 
 kind from unworthy usages, prejudices, and beliefs ; and like "Exeter 
 Hall." It is likely to cause a shaking up of dry bones in some auar- 
 tera-Iioston Herald. ^ 
 
 Theology is generously discussed in its pages, but not didactically 
 or m set phrase; it is done in living dialogue, by the changing 
 panorama or incidents in perpetual motion, and through the con 
 duct of its most striking characters. We could not pretend to .>iv. 
 an outline of this fascinating romance in the space to which thJ 
 present notice is restricted: suffice it to observe that for all that is 
 startling yet truthful, radical and attractive, novel and wonderful 
 powerful and noble, it is one of those books which are written not 
 to die with the single sensation it creates, but to leave an im pression 
 on the mind that will prove indelible and lasting.-^anue/- of Light 
 Boston. 
 
 Mr. McDonnell's new book. " The Heathens of the Heath," is mor,^ 
 Interesting, if anything, than his excellent anti-theological romance 
 
 Exeter Hall." It is larger than that, and has more incident. -Z^.ces- 
 tiuator, licstou. 
 
The book is tha work of a master-hand, and iii whatever li^htit U 
 viewed, all must admit it is one of sroat power and interest.— 
 I'idianapolis Journal. 
 
 This is a theological romance, free from roliirious dullness, replete 
 with tact and argument, and containing many thrilling and impress- 
 ive passaijes. Its characters are woll-concoivod and sketched, and 
 the plot is developed with much dramatic power.— The Word, 
 Princeton, Mass. 
 
 The author's descriptions are vivid and pathetic. He has depicted 
 the wretched condition of the poorer classes in t!ie " Black Country." 
 and o.her parts of England, very plainly, and we are inclined to 
 believe, without exaggeration. . . . The author displays great 
 research in the argumentative portion of the work which commends 
 itself alike to the orthodox, the liberal, and the investigator . . . 
 The style of the volume is pleasing and natural— the interest is well 
 sustained from first to last, and the plot is ingeniously worked out.— 
 National, Toronto, Canada. 
 
 Romance and reason are blended throughout with consummate 
 skill, gliding almost imperceptibly into each other to form a whole, 
 and admirably calculated to lure the reader with the charms of tho 
 one into the bonds of the other. . . . Tho main plot is well worked 
 up, preserving its interest to the last; but remark what may bo called 
 the minor plots. Look at the simple but affectin;^ lives of Stephen 
 and Sarah, whose earthly happiness rural superstition has blighted ; 
 look at the romantic fate of Zingari and Adrian ; look at the heart- 
 moving story of Agnes ; those, and particularly tho last—the brightesi' 
 gem in tho author's collection— claim our undivided attention, and 
 we part from them with the feeling that to a master's hand they 
 owe their naturalness, their perfection, and their unallected 
 \iidi\)Xv.— Extract frQ)ii a critical reriew.