UNIVERSITY OF llUfm"^ LIBRARY 
 AT URBAf^ACt! m
 
 EINEST SINGLETON. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF « DR. HOOKWELL. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 1848.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by S. & J. Bentley, Wilson, and Flea% 
 Bangor House, Shoe Lane.
 
 
 4- 
 
 TO THE LORD JOHN MANNERS. 
 
 'S. My Lord, 
 
 -^ We are told that when a Persian king 
 
 '^^S^ was once upon a journey, and people presented 
 him with a variety of splendid presents by 
 the way, a labouring man, having nothing else 
 to give him, ran to the river and brought him 
 some water in his hands, which the king very 
 graciously received, for the offering was made 
 to a noble-minded man, who valued the feel- 
 ing of the giver rather than the gift. Need 
 the author of these volumes say more, than 
 that he trusts that his offering, made in the 
 same spirit as the poor man's gift, may be as 
 kindly received. 
 
 While availing myself of your lordship's 
 
 ^ permission to dedicate this work to yourself, 
 I think it fair to state that all the opinions 
 '*'• contained in it may not correspond with those 
 held by your lordship ; but I feel, however 
 we may differ as to the means of rendering 
 our Anglican Church most serviceable for the 
 wants of the people, our attachment to that 
 church, and to those interests, is one and the 
 same. 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 VI DEDICATION. 
 
 I must not allow myself, ia this place, to 
 dwell upon your lordship's unwearied efforts 
 in your public character to raise and amelio- 
 rate the condition of your fellow-creatures — 
 evincing that nothing that concerns humanity 
 is foreign to your lordship's heart, lest I should 
 be tempted to overstep the usual limits of a 
 dedicatory epistle. 
 
 I have the honor to be, my lord, 
 
 Your lordship's faithful servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 October, 1847.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Rome. — Antiquities and modern Sights of. — Diary 
 of an Invalid^ and Henry Matthews. — Eton. — Mr. 
 Canon Matthews. — Sir John Hohhouse. — Roman 
 Churches, Palaces, Promenades, &c. . . 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Ernest Singleton missing. — Lord Henry Maitland 
 commences his Italian Story. — Signor Troilo SaveUi, 
 Baron of Rome. — Personal Description of. — His noble 
 Mother. — The Chiesa Nuova. — The Mother of St. 
 Augustine. — The young Lord a Bandit Chief. — Reck- 
 less and desperate Course of Life. — A Prisoner in the 
 Castle of St. Angelo. — Accusations against him. — 
 Use of Masses. — The Baron SaveUi under Sentence 
 of Death. — His extraordinary Calmness. — The Con- 
 fortatori della Misericordia. — His Confession. — His 
 Will. — His favourite and faithful Priest. — Ernest 
 Singleton's Return, and Trouble. — Walks with Lord 
 Henry. — His Counsel and Comfort . , .15
 
 vm CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Letter from young Thorold. — Chetwode, a young 
 Artillery Officer at Leith. — Edinburgh. — Grouse 
 Shooting. — Earl Seafield. — Highland Games. — Fling- 
 ing the Hammer, Tossing the Cakes, Racing, &c. — 
 H. Meux at Glenmoriston. — Setters. — Surly Hall, &c. 
 — Deer-Stalking, Sir John Thorold's Opinion of. — 
 The Muckle Hart of Benmore. — Prince Albert at 
 Lord Breadalbane's, and Lord Willoughby's. — Use 
 of Highland Sports to Englishmen. — Salmon-fish- 
 ing. — Eagles, &c. — Continuation of the Story of the 
 Italian Noblejnan. — The Absolution. — Fearless of 
 Death. — Preparation for his Execution.- — The tender- 
 ness of the Priest. — His Consecrated Hand. — Sym- 
 pathy of those around him. — The Bell for Prayer. — 
 His wonderful Self-possession. — The Executioner.— 
 Forgiveness of his Enemies. — His Courtesy. — The 
 Prayers of all for him. — His noble Heart. — His Dear 
 Priest. — The Tears of the People. — His Conduct at 
 the Block, and Execution. — Sir John and Lady Tho- 
 rold's Exclamations. — Lord Henry's Description of 
 the Castle of St. Angelo. — The present Pope Pius 
 IX., a noble Christian. — Good Men often imprisoned 
 for political Offences. — Lord Stafford. — Robert Em- 
 mett.; — Earl of Derby. — The Rector of Penscellwood 
 on Capital Punishments. — Ernest Singleton's anxious 
 Desire for their Abolition. — Beseeches Lord Henry 
 to advocate the Measure in Parliament. — Mr. Ewart. 
 — Lord John Russell. — Sir Fit2,roy Kelly. — Charles's 
 clear Argument. — The Death of William Brown of 
 Glasgow. — Dr. Brown of Edinburgh. — Mr. Greville*s 
 Kindness. — Ernest refuses the Editorship of the Ma- 
 gazine . . . . .38
 
 CONTENTS. IX 
 
 QPAPTER IV, 
 
 Description of Belswardine Hall. — Its outside Ap- 
 pearance. — The Staircase and Entrance Hall. — The 
 Library. — Its Books of Value. — The Terrace, and 
 Garden. — Woods, Walks, «&c. — Description of Sir 
 John Thorold, Lady Thorold, and Miss Thorold. — 
 Mr. Greville, one of the Dilettanti. — Lord Henry 
 Maitland, M.P., his Intellectuality, personal Appear- 
 ance, his political Usefulness, &c. — Ernest Singleton. 
 — Beau Id^al of a Clergyman of the Church of Eng- 
 land. — Personal Appearance and Manners. — His Pa- 
 rentage, — His Career at Eton and Cambridge. — Why 
 he loved the Church of England. — H)^othesis of cer- 
 tain Salvation. — Due Balance of ancient and mo- 
 dem Learning. — How the Gospel triumphs. — Libe- 
 rality of Sentiment. — Benevolence towards the hum- 
 bler Classes. — Moultrie of Rugby. — Reality of Reli- 
 gion. — The highest Beauty. — The Friends, Neigh- 
 bours, and Acquaintances of Ernest Singleton. — The 
 Rev. Joseph Hooley Merriman, of Lawton Court. — 
 The opposite to Ernest's character. — His Zeal, his 
 Changeableness. — His Levity. — Saying of Machiavel. 
 — Personal Description. — Captivating Discourse. — I 
 by itself I. — His Jealousy. — His Curate's Opinion of 
 him. — Why never popular. — The Rev. Walter 
 Hughes. — His Calvinistic Tendencies. — Zeal in pa- 
 rochial Visitings. — Launcelot Nixon, an aged Curate. 
 — Such as Bishop Jebb describes. — His Poverty. — 
 Preaching. — The " Country Parson." — His Whig 
 Patron. — Industrious Wife. — The common People. 
 — A noble Bishop. — The Rev. Arthur John Heber- 
 den. — His Learning. — Austerity. — Love to the 
 Church. — Dissenters. — Sir Francis Aubrey. — The 
 People's Opinion of Parson Heberden. — No com- 
 plimentary Christian. — Erudition and Simplicity. —
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Love of Music. — His Walks and Seats on the Hill. 
 —Example to Country Gentlemen. — The Rev. John 
 Daisy. — His Heedlessness. — Personal Appearance. — 
 Always smiling. — Kindness to all Persons. — Com- 
 mon Sense. — No learned Lore. — Carelessness during 
 Divine Service. — Attention to the Poor. — Rev. Mr. 
 Jones. — A Welsh Parson. — Hospitality of Farmers a 
 Snare. — Sir Francis Aubrey's Saying. — Jones's for- 
 mer Character at Huddersfield. — His convivial Ha- 
 bits. — Why not suspended ? — The Rev. Mr. Chet- 
 wode. — A Magistrate, and Chairman of the Board of 
 Guardians. — Turnpike road Commissioner, &c. — Rec- 
 tor of an agricultural Parish. — Erects a Chapel of 
 Ease. — The Rev. Horace Benyon, also a Man of 
 Property. — Would not become a Magistrate. — Not 
 Guardian willingly. — His Conduct towards Roman 
 Catholics. — A Roman Catholic Earl. — Ill-treatment 
 of a Priest by Roman Catholics. — The Priests' Love of 
 Literature. — The Protestant School. — Wished Ernest 
 to be his Curate. — The Arrival of the Monk. — The 
 Rev. Edward Creyke, and political Dissenters. — The 
 Rev. Peter Richards. — His harsh Writing. — Calvin- 
 istic and Arminian. — Reasons why the Church of 
 England can never fall. — Rev. Dr. Hook. — Basis of 
 an Evangelical Alliance . . . .77 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Ernest Singleton's Friend of all Friends, Charles 
 Henry Kerr. — Personal Description of Kerr. — His 
 Habits at Eton. — Independence of Public Schools. — 
 Characters of Boys at Eton. — Quotations from Sou- 
 they, Shelley, WordsAvorth, and Cowper. — Gentle- 
 manly Nature of Etonians. — W. Mackworth Praed. — 
 Christ Church, Oxford. — Kerr's Rooms. — His Dog.
 
 CONTENTS. XI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 — Geology and recherche Suppers. — Sutton Courtney 
 Abbey. — Cruelty of Sporting. — Lord Byron's Eaglet. 
 — Kerr's Character at Oxford. — Humane Resolution. 
 — Takes a first Class Degree in the Schools. — Stu- 
 dies modem Languages. — Visits Portugal.— Rome. — 
 Athens. — Becomes a Country Gentleman of Whig 
 Politics. — His extraordinary Letters to Ernest Sin- 
 gleton. — His Opinion of Millocrats and Benthamite 
 Principles. — Usury. — Peel's Bill of 1819. — Factories. 
 —David Hume.— Sir R. Peel's Corn Bill.— Idolatry 
 of Money.— Himself a "Miltonian."— Baptist Noel's 
 " Plea for the Poor." — Baxter. — Jonathan Edwards. 
 
 — Melanchthon. — Zuinglius. — Swedenborg. — Argu- 
 ment with Rev. F. Close of Cheltenham. — Sir Wil- 
 liam Follett. — Bishop Wilson. — Letter IL — Love 
 of Literature and Science. — Dislike of Pohtics. — 
 Value of a good Book. — Love of Democracy, and 
 Hatred of Oppression. — Cruelty to Animals. — The 
 commercial Spirit of the Age. — Dread of Dr. Pusey. 
 
 — Character of Sir R. Peel. — Canning's noble Na- 
 ture. — Burke. — Shiel. — The late Duke of Cleve- 
 land. — High Praise of Martin Luther. — Zuiugle, &c. 
 
 — The Poet Shelley. — Cause of his Unbelief. — His 
 Queen Mab. — Can he be saved ? — Visit to Lord 
 Byron's House at Diodati. — Swedenborg and Edward 
 Irving. — The Rev. Renn Hampden. — Close, Chan- 
 ning, and Waller. — Singleton's Thoughts on the Sal- 
 vation of Shelley. — Purgatory. — Letter III. — As- 
 tounding Peroration. — First Acquaintance with Mes- 
 merism. — Extraordinary Revelations of a Mesme- 
 riser. — Effect on Charles Henry Kerr. — Singleton's 
 Letter to him. — Letter IV. — Visions, Powers, Trans- 
 figurations of A. M. L. — Her Beauty. — An Angel 
 incarnate. — Her Knowledge of all Things. — Informs 
 Kerr that Shelley is saved. — Charles Henry deter-
 
 Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 mines on writing a Book. — Singleton's Remarks. — 
 Letter V. — Increased Hold of Mesmerism. — Supe- 
 riority of the Roman Catholic Church. — Bishop He- 
 ber. — Prediction concerning England. — Ernest Sin- 
 gleton's Meditations on the Church of Rome. — Letter 
 VL — More of A. M. L. — Poor Kerr's Troubles in- 
 crease. — Enchained by his Mesmeriser. — ■ Ernest 
 wishes to visit his Friend. — His ardent Friendship . 118 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Ernest Singleton returns to the Rectory from Bels- 
 wardine Hall. — His Sister perceives his Melancholy. 
 — Reveals to her his Plan. — He reads the Letter to 
 her. — Communicating Intelligence of poor Kerr's 
 Confinement in a Lunatic Asylum. — Prepares for his 
 Journey. — She gives her Consent to his Plan. — Her 
 Suggestions. — He arrives in London. — Proceeds to 
 Hanwell. — The kind Physician. — Dr. Craine. — 
 Louisa, Emma, and Ralph Craine. — Dr. Carpenter. — 
 Ernest consults the Doctor. — Writes to his Sister 
 to make Preparations for his Friend. — His opinion 
 of Asylums. — Writes to a clerical Friend, giving an 
 Account of Poor Kerr. — The Habits and necessary 
 Management of his Malady. — Hope of his ultimate 
 Recovery. — Ernest blesses the Poor for their kind 
 Sympathy. . . . . .169 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Important Letter from the Pastor of Penscellwood. 
 — Bishop Baines's celebrated Sermon on Faith, Hope, 
 and Charity. — Danger of Converts to the Church of 
 Rome. — The Pastor cannot admit his Expositions,
 
 conte:nts. xiu 
 
 PAGE 
 
 because opposed to the great Doctors and Councils of 
 the Roman Catholic Church. — Smoothness of Style. 
 
 — The Inquisition, Cruelty of the civil Power. — 
 Proselytism and Charity. — Intolerance of the Ro- 
 mish Church. — Calumnies against that Church. — 
 The Notion of giving Divine Honours to an Image, 
 ridiculed. — But what has the Church of Rome 
 taught ? — Curious References. — If Bishop Baines 
 is right, Pope Clement YIII. must he wrong. — 
 James Naclantus on the Latreia. — Representation at 
 the Altar. — Jeremy Taylor. — Faber. — Council of 
 Trent. — Frankfort. — The Romish Church as a Body. 
 
 — Worshipping of, and praying to the Virgin Mary. 
 
 — Examples given. — The Psalter of the Blessed 
 Virgin, by the Seraphical Doctor. — St. Bonaventure. 
 — Is the Church of Rome what she was ? — ^Is she re- 
 formed or not ? — Can modem Divines reject the 
 elder ones ? — The Anathema, and Pope Clement 
 VIII. — Difficulty in Apologies for the Church. — 
 Power of Absolution, and Doctrine of Repentance. — 
 Romish Refinement and Subdivision. — Attrition and 
 Contrition. — Diana de Penitentia. — The Council 
 of Trent. — The Famous Navarre. — Pope Adrian, 
 and Cardinal Caietan. — Reginaldus. — The Bishop's 
 ipse dixit. — Specimen of the Romish Church. — The 
 Bible prohibited. — Bellarmine's Statement. — Bishop 
 Baines a learned Divine in Romish Learning. — Be 
 upon your Guard. — Church of Rome asserts much 
 in her Defence. — The Pastor's classical Refreshment. 
 
 — The two last Chapters of the Life of Agricola. — 
 Dislike of Controversy. — Apt Quotation from Taci- 
 tus. — Hopes to set out for Belswardine. — Ernest 
 perceives the Tendency of the present Age towards 
 the Romish Church. — Expects to be involved in Con- 
 troversy. — Prays for Firmness and Courtesy. — Dry-
 
 XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 den. — The Pastor a Man of Peace. — Disliked Slander. 
 — But would not yield to Rome. — Bishop Baines 
 a pious Divine. — Differences between the Churches 
 of Rome and England. — Luther's Language. — The 
 Reformation a great Work. — Excellent Words of Sir 
 Robert Peel. . . . . .191 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Belswardine Hall. — Arrival of the Countess de 
 Pazzi, and Camilla Martelli. — The Capponi Family. — 
 Welcome to the Pastor of Penscellwood.— Sir John 
 Thorold, a fellow Etonian. — The Pastor retires to 
 Sir John's Study. — Lucy and Dora sit with him. — 
 Their dislike of Mr. Merriman. — His ill-natured Re- 
 marks on Ernest Singleton. — The Pastor refutes 
 them. — The Pastor's Tale of his Parish, and the Sin- 
 gletons. — The Typhus Fever. — Unconcern of a Mo- 
 ther. — ^Lord Byron quoted. — Dick Wood recovers. — 
 The Fever spreads. — Number of Deaths, and quick 
 Burials. — A Farmer's Family taken ill. — Character 
 of the Farmer. — The Pastor's Intimacy with him. — 
 Edmund Singleton and his excellent Wife. — Educa- 
 tion of their Sons. — Description of the eldest. — His 
 two Brothers. — The Illness of Henry. — Conversation 
 with him.— His Death.— Effect on the Pastor.— The 
 Day of the Funeral. — Sir John and Lady Thorold 
 enter the Study. .... 216 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Pastor of Penscellwood renews his Tale. — 
 Grief of the Mother.— The Poet Gray's Remark. — 
 Illness of Ernest Singleton, and his Brother Ed- 
 mund, — Dangerous State of Ernest. — Saved by
 
 CONTENTS. XV 
 
 FAOB 
 
 the Pastor's Exertions. — The Father himself seized 
 with Typhus Fever. — His speedy Death. — A cold- 
 hearted Farmer's Remark. — The Pastor's intense 
 Grief. — Appropriate Lines from Southey. — Lamenta- 
 ion for Edmund Singleton. — The poor Widow . — Er- 
 nest's Removal. — The Widow's Fortitude during the 
 Illness. — Subsequent Depression. — Things that recal 
 former Scenes. — The bereaved Boys. — Ernest in- 
 tended for the Church.— Great Need of more Clergy. 
 — Mode of bringing up a Youth for the clerical Pro- 
 fession. — What will the Bishops do ? — Reasons for 
 connecting the Yeomanry with the Church. — Gentle- 
 manly Feelings. — Bishop Watson's right View. — 
 Who could be the Enemy of Ernest Singleton. . 238 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Ernest Singleton's Poetry. — A simple Sketch, &c. 
 — The Pastor's Observations on Cruelty to Animals. 
 — Lines on an aged Beggar. — On the Death of Wil- 
 berforce. — The two Ships. — The Village Church. — 
 The Church-yard. — On being asked who I would ra- 
 ther be of all who have ever lived. — On the Death 
 of L. E. L. — Instances of great Men who found So- 
 lace in Poetry. ..... 257 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Two Letters from John Thorold to his Sister Dora. 
 — The Banks of the Clyde. — Dumbarton. — Greenock. 
 — The Argyleshire Hills. — The Isle of Nuns. — 
 Ailsa Craig. — Loch of Belfast. — Crawfordsbum. — 
 Craigavad.— Cultra, &c.— The Cave Hill.— Carrick- 
 fergus. — Paul Jones. — Church of St. Nicholas. — Its 
 Monuments, &c. — Lough Morne, a curious Legend
 
 XVI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 of. — Noisy Vale. — Lame. —Appearance of the Wo- 
 men. — Olderfleet Castle. — Magee. — The Gobbins. — 
 Roman Catholics, Slaughter of. — Letter IL — Bally- 
 gelly Head. — Cairn Castle. — Glenarm. — Its lovely 
 Retreat. — The Monastery of Glenarm. — Legend. — 
 Sliemish. — Fine Scenery. — Fort of Dunmaul. — Ger- 
 ron Point. — Clocken Stocken. — GlenarifF. — Red 
 Bay Caves. — Redcastle. — Cushendall. — Francis 
 Turnley, Esq., Benevolence of. — Court M'Martin, a 
 Danish Rath. — Singular Story of it. — Slick-na-aura. — 
 Abbey of Bona Maree. — Epitaphs. — Stratagem of 
 Sorley Boy. — Noble reply of Dool Oge. — Supersti- 
 tion, Power of. — Ballycastle, Town of. — The new Po- 
 lice, or Peelers. — An Irish Fair. — Quotation from Dr. 
 Syntax. — Satisfaction derived from John Thorold's 
 Letters. ...... 277
 
 TO 
 
 THE LORD JOHN MANNERS 
 
 WITH FEELINGS OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT 
 
 FOR HIS lordship's PUBLIC INTEGRITY, 
 
 HIS LOVE OF literature, 
 
 AND sterling CHARACTER, 
 
 THESE VOLUMES 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED 
 
 BY A FELLOW-ETONIAN, 
 
 THEIR AUTHOR. 
 
 .iflorfat Gtona in (GcclEsia Sri.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Oh, wilt thou quench the light, 
 That should illuminate 
 The nations who in darkness sit. 
 And in the shadow of death ? 
 Oh, wilt thou stop the heart 
 Of intellectual life." Southey. 
 
 " I do not run after modern inventions, unwarranted, un- 
 tried, without struggles, without glory, without past, and 
 without future." D'Aubigne. 
 
 " Rome ! Rome !" exclaimed sweet Lucy 
 Thorold ; "we have talked so much about 
 Rome that really the subject is an exhausted 
 one, and we must no longer weary "'"' — 
 
 " Not me," interrupted Lord Henry ; " I 
 cannot be wearied in carrying my thoughts 
 back to enchanting scenes of antiquity ; and 
 besides, I have new things yet to relate." 
 
 *' New things about Rome ! " were the words 
 
 VOL. J. B
 
 ^ ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 of astonishment that escaped from the lips of 
 Miss Lucy Thorold. 
 
 " Oh I some capital story perhaps," said 
 Dora, an enthusiastic sister of Lucy's ; " do 
 let Ernest Singleton be present, he will so 
 enjoy it." 
 
 " It is something of a story," said Lord 
 Henry, " and my dear friend Ernest will indeed 
 like it ! But where is Ernest ? 
 
 " Li the library, reading old books," answer- 
 ed Lucy. 
 
 " Or out in the park watching the young 
 fawns," exclaimed Dora ; " he is so bewitched 
 with the love of animals." 
 
 Lady Thorold rang the bell ; and messengers 
 were despatched over the house, and around the 
 house in search of the Rev. Ernest Singleton ; 
 and among them a park-keeper, deftly clad 
 in Lincoln green, was seen wending his way 
 to the clump of beech-trees on the summit of 
 the Roman bank, — doubtless led by previous 
 observation to that spot, as being the favourite 
 retreat of the young gentleman. 
 
 '' And so," remarked Lady Thorold, address- 
 ing Lord Henry, " your admiration of Rome 
 is not so unbounded as that of some travellers 
 to the 'Eternal City?'" 
 
 " Oh ! by no means," replied his lordship ;
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 3 
 
 "always reserving from all disappointment or 
 censure, the Pantheon, complete, beautiful, and 
 of the purest age ; the Colosseum, though sadly 
 ruined, yet remarkable for its enormous mass ; 
 and St. Peter's, with its unspeakable grandeur 
 and beauty." 
 
 " Would your lordship exclude from de- 
 lectable reminiscences the little Temple of 
 Vesta, and Trajan's Pillar ?" asked Mr. Greville, 
 who at the moment leisurely took possession 
 of the nearest ottoman. 
 
 " Not at all,'' answered his lordship, at the 
 same time scrutinizing his questionist with a 
 look which at once said '' we have a man of 
 taste among us," — and continued, " Oh ! cer- 
 tainly not ; these at once not only strike, but 
 please the eye." 
 
 " And who was the architect of St. Peter's ?" 
 asked Miss Lucy Thorold. 
 
 " Bramante began it, I believe," replied Lord 
 Henry, " and Sangallo and Peruzzi succeeded 
 him, but many other architects were engaged 
 upon it afterwards, Maderno finishing the front 
 and the two towers." 
 
 " We must not forget Michael Angelo," 
 interposed Mr. Greville, in his usual low tone of 
 voice. 
 
 " Indeed we must not," continued Lord 
 
 b2
 
 4 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Henry, "for he erected the immense dome; 
 the ardent, noble, lofty Angelo ; a man who 
 would have made a great monarch, if such 
 should be tested by the virtues of an Angelo." 
 
 " Painter and architect alike," said Mr. 
 Greville ; " ay, and sculptor, author, poet, — 
 Buonarroti was excelling in all."''* 
 
 " Yes, and when his enemies thought to 
 have engaged him in works too great for his 
 accomplishment, and hoped to see him sink 
 for ever under the displeasure of Pope Julius, 
 how beautifully he executed the allotted task !" 
 
 " Yes,'** said Lord Henry, interrupting Mr. 
 Greville courteously; "the Capella Sistina is 
 a grand ensemble of art. But of his archi- 
 tectural labours we now speak ; and in reducing 
 to order the confusion occasioned by the plans 
 which had been successively followed in the 
 course of the erection of St. Peter's, — and, un- 
 fortunately, he lived not to see his plan execu- 
 ted, — he displayed consummate power and skill.'' 
 
 " How vast must be the size of this Church 
 of the World, as I may almost call it," re- 
 marked Lucy. 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Henry ; "I saw it day 
 after day, and there was no getting accustomed 
 to its grandeur. The 'Duomo' at Milan — 
 and that cathedral, by the way, in fretwork.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. O 
 
 carving, and statues, surpasses St. Peter's itself 
 — in no degree prepared me for it. The har- 
 mony and proportion, however, of the interior 
 are so excellent that, immense as it is, the 
 eye distinguishes all parts without dismay or 
 difficulty." 
 
 "It is a common remark," added Lucy, 
 ''■ that the accuracy of its proportions take 
 somewhat from the magnitude of its interior." 
 
 " I could not think so," replied Lord Henry, 
 " although T know that such an observation 
 is commonly said to be made ; for its size 
 struck me from the first moment, before I 
 could attend to the symmetry of its form, and 
 the richness and exquisite workmanship of its 
 ornaments." 
 
 " Oh ! that immense canopy of the high 
 altar," exclaimed Mr. Greville ; " and then the 
 splendid mosaics, tombs, paintings, frescoes, 
 the new sacristy, the various works in marble, 
 gilded bronze and stucco, these are surpassingly 
 fine ; but there are other churches also that 
 are beautiful." 
 
 "Yes," said Lord Henry, "St. John's of 
 the Lateran (the parochial church, you know, 
 of the Pope) has much that is rare and 
 excellent in art." 
 
 " Indeed it has," responded Mr. Greville ;
 
 b ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 " that beautiful chapel of Corsini, unequalled in 
 its proportions, and the altar-piece from a 
 painting of Guido/' 
 
 " And next comes the Santa Maria Mag- 
 giore, with its beautiful mosaics ; the high altar, 
 consisting of an antique porphyry sarcophagus ; 
 and then the churches of St. Lorenzo, of 
 San Pietro in Vincoli ; of St. Agnes in the 
 Place Navona, of St. Augustine, St. Ignatius, 
 with many others, are all worthy of note." 
 
 " Equal to our St. Paul's in London ?" asked 
 Lucy. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " answered Lord Henry ; " except 
 St. Peter's, which is so far superior ; no, there 
 is nothing that surpasses our St. Paul's, or 
 Westminster Abbey, or the York Minster ; 
 or to be compared with that cathedral at 
 Seville, on which we discovered so much last 
 night." '- '" • 
 
 " Oh how I should love to see Rome ! " ex- 
 claimed Dora, in her usual enthusiastic tone. 
 
 " You would be disappointed, perhaps," said 
 Mr. Greville, in sotto voce ; " Rome has been 
 overrated, and at all events you must not visit 
 Xjrreece first." 
 
 " No one can deny the proofs," said Lord 
 Henry, " of the ancient magnificence of Rome ; 
 it must have been the capital of a great, rich,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 7 
 
 and enlightened people, — but really now all is 
 dirt and wretchedness, mean subserviency and 
 gaudy show ! "" 
 
 " Even the interior of the churches," inter- 
 posed Mr. Greville, " shew what the ancient 
 monuments have been. At first sight, the great 
 number of churches, and many famous for their 
 size and splendour, fatigue the eye ; but the 
 interior of them is filled with columns taken 
 from the Roman palaces and temples, and these 
 certainly are used with more liberality than 
 taste." 
 
 " Oh, you see Ionic and Corinthian, granite 
 and white marble, all cast together without any 
 regard to the nicer rules of architecture and 
 uniformity." 
 
 " Just so," said Mr. Greville to his lordship's 
 remark ; " although it is but justice to observe, 
 that some of the finest specimens are most ju- 
 diciously arranged ; and, altogether, we must 
 feel thankful that they were taken from build- 
 ings in an irreparable state of ruin, and trans- 
 ferred to the safe keeping of holy ground." 
 
 " I suppose you have read the Diary of an 
 Invalid F" asked Lucy, addressing Mr. Greville ; 
 " it is such a charming book ! " 
 
 " Not only read the book," replied Mr. Gre- 
 ville, "but knew well its amiable and gifted
 
 8 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 author, Henry Matthews ; and mdeed for some 
 while I jomed him in his travels." 
 
 '' I believe he was nearly or quite a contem- 
 porary of yours at Eton ?" asked Lord Henry. 
 
 " He was rather before my time," replied 
 Mr. Greville ; " and he was a collegian, and I 
 ■ Avas an oppidan ; but I had the honour of form- 
 ing one of the party at the cricket-match on the 
 Campo di Marte, near Naples, which Matthews 
 mentions as ' Eton against the World ;' and the 
 world was beaten in one innings !" 
 
 " Cricket in Italy must be warm work," re- 
 marked Lord Henry. 
 
 " Yes, indeed; and although this great match 
 took place in the month of February, it was as 
 hot as June can be in England." 
 
 *' I should so like to have seen Mr. Matthews !" 
 exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 " And you would have beheld," answered 
 Mr. Greville, " one of the most intellectual 
 looking men that painter's imagination, or ar- 
 tisfs pencil could possibly have conceived. 
 He was tall, and elegantly formed, with a 
 pale countenance, high forehead, black hair, 
 and an eye of peculiar interest and intelli- 
 gence, — that kind of dark brown eye, which 
 seems to mellow everything it looks upon." 
 
 " Was he related to Lord Byron's friend?"
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 9 
 
 asked Dora ; " that Charles Matthews whom 
 Lord Byron always thought so infinitely superior 
 to himself?" 
 
 " He was his brother. Indeed, I was ac- 
 quainted with every member of the family, hav- 
 ing frequently visited Colonel Matthews (their 
 father) at Belmont, in the county of Hereford ; 
 and a more eloquent preacher and public speaker 
 than the Rev. Arthur Matthews, a canon of 
 Hereford Cathedral, and an elder brother of 
 Henry, could hardly be found within the British 
 realms."" 
 
 " I have heard much of Arthur Matthews," 
 said Lord Henry ; " and it was he who be- 
 haved so handsomely when Sir John Cam 
 Hobhouse did not wish a memoir of Charles 
 Matthews, which was compiled by his brother 
 Arthur, to be published." 
 
 " Just so," said Mr. Greville ; *' he burned 
 the whole MS. in Sir John's presence, from Sir 
 John not liking that many of his own enter- 
 taining juvenilities should be preserved." 
 
 " Ay, but that loss of the memoir was a 
 serious one to the literary public," observed 
 Lord Henry ; " and I think the learned and 
 eloquent canon carried his feelings of courtesy 
 and sensibility rather too far." 
 
 " That matter is placed beyond discussion,
 
 10 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 now," said Mr. Greville. " Doubtless the 
 memoir was nobly written, for the Matthews 
 are a gifted family, and the book to which 
 Miss Lucy has just alluded demonstrates the 
 high talents of one member of it." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Lucy ; " how interesting are 
 his observations !" And Mr. Greville and Lord 
 Henry Maitland, having paused in their brief 
 remarks, she continued, — " While you were 
 speaking of the churches, those noble edifices 
 which bear a testimony to the devotion in our 
 forefathers, which might tacitly strike their less 
 religious posterity with shame, I could not help 
 thinking also of the palaces of Rome, which 
 speak of a race of men dignified and noble." 
 
 " Well said!" exclaimed Lord Henry; " for it 
 is impossible to enter the churches of Rome, as 
 also our own cathedrals at home, without a kind 
 of awe, which, when unattended by superstition, 
 must, we humbly hope, be acceptable to a 
 Creator, who, at the same time that He appears 
 incomprehensible, has still given His creatures 
 sufficient knowledge of His will, to require 
 from them adoration, and a dutiful submission 
 to such of His laws as are adequate to their 
 comprehension. But," continued Lord Henry, 
 in a lower tone of voice, " I must not inter- 
 fere with Miss Lucy Thorold's further inquiries."
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. H 
 
 *' Oh," said she, " I was just thinking of the 
 palaces of Rome, and their grand and beautiful 
 pictures and statues.'' 
 
 '' But you remember," said Dora, " what 
 Matthews says of them : ' Made a tour of 
 palaces, splendid and useless. The owners live 
 in a few obscure rooms, and the magnificent 
 galleries are deserted.' " 
 
 " Some are occasionally inhabited by foreign- 
 ers — are they not, Mr. Greville ? " asked Lucy : 
 " for instance, the Barberini Palace, in Mat- 
 thews' time, was the residence of the ex-King 
 and Queen of Spain, and the Prince of the 
 Peace." 
 
 " Just so," answered Mr. Greville ; " and 
 Barberini is the largest among private palaces. 
 It was built, I think, by Bernini, and its style 
 is beautiful. It is adorned with some splendid 
 paintings by Guido, Caravaggio, Peter of Cor- 
 tona, &c., and the works of sculpture are valu- 
 able : and there is a library of 60,000 volumes, 
 with 9,000 manuscripts ; this, you may guess, 
 to me is the most alluring possession, far more 
 so than the medals, bronzes, and precious stones, 
 which many admire in preference to old and 
 dusty books." 
 
 " And Matthews mentions other palaces," 
 remarked Lucy, who loved to follow up a sub-
 
 12 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 ject ; " the Colonna, with its suberb saloon, 
 its fine picture of St. John preaching in the 
 Wilderness; and poor Beatrice Cenci, byGuido, 
 taken the night before her execution ; and he 
 speaks of her charming countenance, full of 
 sweetness, innocence, and resignation."*' 
 
 " I recollect it well," said Mr. Greville; " and 
 all the rooms in the palace Colonna are deco- 
 rated with rich and rare pictures by the first 
 masters, and particularly the gallery, which is 
 one of the very finest in Europe. In the gar- 
 dens are ruins of the baths of Constantine, and 
 those of the temple of Sol." 
 
 "And the Corsini palace, with its exquisite 
 pictures by Domenichino, Salvator Rosa, Guer- 
 cino, Guido, and others,"" continued Lucy ; "and 
 the palace Doria, and Spada."" 
 
 " Yes,'' said Mr. Greville, " I recollect the 
 Corsini palace well, for there also is a valuable 
 library and gallery ; it was here Queen Chris- 
 tina lived and died. The Villa Doria, too, in 
 which Raphael lived, has a large and excellent 
 collection of pictures ; and the Spada, with its 
 statue of Pompey, at the foot of which the im- 
 mortal Caesar fell, although Matthews would 
 say it is not the statue of Pompey, at the same 
 time he can find no other more consistent owner 
 of it."
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 13 
 
 " Well now," interrupted Lady Thorold, 
 " we must really not talk over all the fine and 
 beautiful things and scenes recorded by Mr. 
 Matthews, or Forsyth, or Eustace, or any other 
 entertaining traveller, for you must recollect 
 that my Lord Henry Maitland has yet his story 
 to tell us, and really we are very rude.'' 
 
 " Oh, not at all," said his lordship ; "I have 
 been a willing listener, indeed, for I myself was 
 truly captivated with Rome, from the first por- 
 tion, even the Piazza del Popolo, which met 
 D^y eye, to the last and minutest work of art 
 which charmed it, beyond all that my feeble 
 expression can give an idea of, and therefore 
 I cannot wonder at the curiosity of those who 
 have not had this extremest pleasure." 
 
 " Suppose," said Mr. Greville, " we all start 
 on a trip to Rome — come, what say you ? a 
 noble house in the Piazza di Spagua, the focus 
 of fashion, not forgetting to peer into ancient 
 Rome also, as Matthews says of the Roman 
 Forum, now a sort of Papal Smithfield, which 
 is still the finest walk in the world, — ' Here 
 Horace lounged ; here Cicero harangued ; and 
 here now the modern Romans count their beads, 
 kill their pigs, cleanse their heads, and vio- 
 late the sanctity of the place by every species of 
 abomination."
 
 14 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 " Oh, how horrid, Mr. Greville ! " exclaimed 
 Lucy and Dora almost simultaneously ; " how 
 cruel of you to speak thus of noble things." 
 
 "And yet,''' answered Mr. Greville, with 
 his blandest tone of courtesy, beneath which 
 lurked a little symptom of raillery, — " and yet 
 Miss Lucy's favourite author thus speaks, — and 
 I am not quite sure that Matthews in these 
 few words has not hit off the ancient character 
 and modern complexion of Rome with the 
 truest nicety — yes, these words speak volumes." 
 
 " They do, indeed," said Lord Henry ; and 
 this led to a brisk conversation, not so much on 
 the filthiness and paltriness of much of modern 
 Rome, as on the grandeur of its fountains, and 
 other contrasting scenes and incidents, until 
 Lady Thorold again interposed, and Ernest 
 the wanderer was again inquired after in 
 vain.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Sir Owen, in a shroud was drest, 
 They placed a cross upon his breast ; 
 
 And down he laid his head : 
 Around him stood the funeral train, 
 And sung with slow and solemn strain, 
 
 The service of the Dead." Southey. 
 
 It being determined by all the party, Lucy 
 Thorold alone not consenting, that Ernest Sin- 
 gleton would not soon return, Lord Henry 
 began his story ; a story of the death of a 
 pious Italian nobleman, who was in early life 
 connected with banditti, and engaged in the 
 perpetration of many horrible and revolting 
 crimes. 
 
 " I will relate it," said his lordship, " as 
 correctly as I can remember it, for, as late as 
 the last week, I read over the old MS. which 
 contains it ; an illuminated MS., ornamented 
 with much purple and gold, and curiously 
 written." 
 
 " Oh, we must see it," exclaimed Dora. 
 
 " We must, indeed," said Lucy ; and, evi-
 
 16 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 dently thinking of Ernest Singleton, " when 
 we are all together." 
 
 " But come," interposed Lady Thorold, " we 
 ought not to say a word now, but listen at once 
 to our kind traveller." 
 
 " Attention ! " cried Sir John Thorold, who 
 was an old soldier, and had just entered the 
 morning room, after transacting business with 
 his steward. 
 
 The word was instantly obeyed by the little 
 troop, and Lord Henry Maitland began : — 
 
 THE ITALIAN STORY. 
 
 " There was a baron of Rome, by name 
 Signor Troilo Savelli, a branch sprung up from 
 a root of noble blood ; ay, as noble as any 
 family descended from the ancient Romans, 
 could, by all the course and emblems of genea- 
 logy and heraldry, be possibly conceived to be. 
 The Lord Savelli was tall of stature, of delicate 
 constitution, of a complexion rather of an oHve 
 colour than fair, his hair black and thick, hardly 
 shading a face neither fat nor lean ; his eyes 
 were black and full, and quick ; his nose sweetly 
 raised, a true Roman nose ; his mouth of a just 
 proportion, and rather smiling than otherwise; 
 his forehead elevated and spacious, and he had 
 not so much as one single hair upon his cheeks.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 17 
 
 He possessed a sweet voice, always ready and 
 courteous in his answer ; and, indeed, so com- 
 plete in good fashion, that even at the block 
 it is related of him, that he failed not to salute 
 and re-salute all men, according to the occasion 
 and their condition; and when he was not at 
 liberty to take off his hat with his own hands, 
 he requested others to do it for him." 
 
 " How noble ! '' exclaimed Dora. 
 
 " I suspect,'' said Mr. Greville, in a half 
 whisper, " that nothing, as the poet saith, be- 
 came him in his life, like the leaving of it."" 
 
 " You shall hear," said Lord Henry, and 
 his lordship continued : — 
 
 " Nothing could exceed the care and anxiety 
 with which his noble mother provided for his 
 education and watched his opening course. 
 When he was yet a child, she gave him in 
 charge to certain learned and religious pre- 
 ceptors ; who, until he arrived at the age of 
 sixteen years, did with great fidelity and abi- 
 lity teach him not only classical literature, 
 but exercised him somewhat in the paths of 
 science and general philosophy. And they 
 further, by their good example and counsel, 
 led him onward to thoughts and deeds of their 
 benevolent religion. Nor was his mother con- 
 tent with this: for she endeavoured anxiously
 
 18 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 to procure by many other means his advance- 
 ment both in learning and virtue. In regard 
 to his progress in literature, she gave him 
 stores of books, of time, of opportunity, and 
 used all those tender arts and solicitations 
 which were calculated to allure him on in this 
 pursuit ; and in regard to his love of virtue, 
 she addressed him in pious and choice con- 
 versation, directed his young attention to spiri- 
 tual discourses, to excellent sermons, and told 
 him to be much with persons who from time 
 to time might give him rational and religious 
 advice. Moreover, she caused him to be led 
 to confession, not only upon all the principal 
 festivals of the year, but once in every month. 
 
 '^ Oh ! I forgot this was a Catholic story,"' 
 exclaimed Dora ; " but how strict was his 
 mother !" 
 
 " Roman Catholic, if you please," replied 
 Lord Henry, in gentle correction : " let us never 
 resign the name of Catholic." 
 
 "It is in our prayer-book," observed Mr. 
 Greville. 
 
 " Well," continued Lord Henry : " the dis- 
 cipline of his lady mother was excellent, albeit 
 in some degree what we Protestants may ac- 
 count strict and severe. For, to shew her 
 extreme diligence in the pious tuition of her
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 19 
 
 son, she wrote out for his guidance a short 
 manner of instruction how to spend the whole 
 dav well. When he was very little, it is re- 
 corded that she kept him in awe by threats, 
 and even strokes of a little rod, but when he 
 grew older she endeavoured to lead him by 
 the fair means of requests and promises ; and 
 oftentimes with so many tears, that he after- 
 wards declared that the remembrance of these 
 passed like so many thrusts of a lance through 
 his heart. She like^vise procured the services 
 of a blessed man, Philippo, of the Chiesa Nuova, 
 to assist and hold him, in short, to be his 
 godfather at the sacred rite of confirmation, 
 and she took pains that he should form a 
 particular friendship with this pious man." 
 
 '' What was the Chiesa Nuova ? " asked 
 Lucy. 
 
 " Oh ! it was a new church," answered Lord 
 Henry; "then and now belonging to the fa- 
 thers of the Oratory of Jesus, — whence they 
 are called Oratorians." 
 
 " And," — Lord Henry continued his narrative, 
 — " she kept all evil examples out of his sight; 
 she gently excited him to a religious life ; and 
 exhorted him often, that he would live nobly 
 and like a Christian, saying that true Chris- 
 tianity is true nobility. Nor did her blessed
 
 ^U ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 mouth ever cease to say, ' Troilo, my son, 
 FEAR God, and love God/ During this early 
 period she took upon herself the government 
 of all his castles, that is, as the Italian word 
 castello means, all his mansions, and the town 
 or village belonging to each, and ordered all 
 his aifairs, while she lived in a continual state 
 of alternate hope and fear of the proof he 
 should make of her excellent and assiduous 
 guidance. Nor was there a religious house 
 or monastery, to the prayers of which she did 
 not recommend him : nor did any religious 
 persons come to her, or meet with her abroad, 
 to whom, all forgetful of herself, she would 
 not say ' Pray for my son.' And somebody, 
 as the sequel shews, did pray so well for him 
 as to cause his relinquishment of all evil courses, 
 and to procure his becoming a humble saint 
 of the church." 
 
 " I have been thinking," said Lucy, with 
 gentle interruption, " how much there is of 
 resemblance in this to the conduct of the dear 
 mother of St. Augustine." 
 
 " Oh yes," exclaimed Dora, " so like to that 
 sweet tract* recommended to us by Ernest 
 Singleton, which we have read so often, and 
 which Camilla Martelli so admired." 
 
 * " The Mother of Saint Augustine," published by Mr. 
 Burns, London.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. SI 
 
 " Oh, there is great resemblance," rephed 
 Lord Henry, '* and I fancy one sees in her the 
 portrait of a second Monnica — her son placed 
 in the order of the Catechumens — his course 
 among the subverters — and then the good 
 Bishop of Milan coming to his conversion and 
 succour, even holy St. Ambrose. But I must 
 not forestall events in my own story C and his 
 lordship proceeded. 
 
 " Well, notwithstanding all this anxious care 
 on the part of his good and noble mother, 
 Troilo, after the age of sixteen years, entered 
 upon a most abandoned and reckless course 
 of life. ' He sprouted out,"* as says my chroni- 
 cle, ' into great exorbitances,' and in the com- 
 pany, and at the head of the banditti, he 
 committed many robberies and murders, with 
 a most tempestuous and wicked mind. He 
 too early cast himself into the hands of flat- 
 terers, and impious followers : and they made 
 the way of sin to be smooth, and even heroic 
 to him."* These banditti resembled the Moss 
 Troopers of Scotland, or the Tories of Ireland, 
 not the political party, but the predatory bands 
 from which they derived their name. 
 
 " Our young lord soon became head and chief 
 of a powerful and reckless body of men, in 
 short, a bandit chief. His mother used every
 
 ^g ERNEST SINGLETON, 
 
 effort for the reformation of her son, for she 
 even wandered amid mountain fastnesses, and 
 fearlessly entered deep caverns at the risk of 
 her Hfe. His crimes at first were known to 
 those only who would not venture, by exposing 
 them, to draw on themselves the displeasure 
 of so great a house, but the excess and riot 
 of his outward conduct was such as to wound 
 his noble and tender mother to the very soul. 
 And when the worst came to the worst, and 
 she saw that public exposure was inevitable, 
 she resolved to take a bold step; and after 
 that every effort, divine and human, had been 
 resorted to in vain, she caused him for some 
 offences, which were far from being capital, 
 to be committed to the Castle of St. Angelo, 
 in hope that such a plan would separate him 
 from his horrid companions ; and the disgrace 
 of such a committal, with the help of time, 
 cause him to return to a better mind. 
 
 " But he was no sooner in prison than a 
 strong opposition to him broke forth. He 
 had, it seemed, offended many persons by his 
 enormous insolence and evil deeds, and yet 
 these, alarmed by the power and influence of 
 his house, and some, it may be, still cherishing 
 feelings of reverence for the dignity and nobi- 
 lity of his family, had smothered their resent-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 23 
 
 ments, and sought not his downfall. But 
 soon as public justice took notice of his excesses, 
 accusations poured in from all quarters, and 
 Pope Clement the Eighth, being desirous, in 
 the beginning of his pontificate to shew a 
 strong example of that impartial justice which 
 the world was to expect at his hands, and 
 most especially in crushing the cruel and 
 abominable banditti who were so pernicious 
 to the state of Italy, issued an order, that the 
 law should take effect on his person, rather 
 than his estates should be confiscated, think- 
 ing thereby that a greater terror would be 
 struck into the hearts of all, he little know- 
 ing the beauty and bravery of that noble spirit 
 which lay concealed beneath a savage and 
 remorseless exterior." 
 
 " And his poor mother !*" ejaculated Lucy 
 and Dora, almost in the same breath. 
 
 "What was her name?" asked Mr. Greville. 
 
 " I will give you her name, parentage, and 
 death," replied Lord Henry. " Her name was 
 La Signora Flaminia ; she was of the house 
 of the Dukes of Cesi, and sister to the Mar 
 quis of Riano. She died a natural death, and 
 was buried in the Theatines Church, at St. 
 Andrea della Valle, a church belonging to 
 a religious order instituted by John Peter
 
 24 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 CarafF, Bishop of Theate in Naples ; and in 
 this church she ejected ten masses to be said 
 every day for ever." 
 
 " I do not exactly understand," said Lucy, 
 " the meaning and use of those masses." 
 
 " I think," answered Mr. Greville, " they 
 are for the welfare of individuals, as the public 
 mass is for that of the whole church." 
 
 " I should conclude so, remarked Lord 
 Henry ; " but really we Protestants are so 
 ignorant of Roman Catholic usages, that we 
 can hardly explain, or even with justice re- 
 probate, many of their practices." 
 
 *' I believe," observed Mr. Greville, " that 
 the mass is offered up for the whole church, 
 triumphant, militant, and suiFering; for the 
 whole church in heaven, on earth, and in pur- 
 gatory ; and then, private masses are offered 
 for individual souls in either of these states." 
 
 " But why," asked Lucy, "if La Signora 
 Flaminia's soul went to heaven, why offer up 
 a mass ? " 
 
 " I think a Roman Catholic would say, it 
 would be in thanksgiving to God for her 
 happiness; but, you know, we could never say 
 of any individual, that he is gone to heaven, 
 although we may certainly say so of a portion 
 of the Christian world."
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 25 
 
 " Oh I see it," said Lucy again; " this would 
 be a reason for mass being oiFered, whatever 
 might be the conjecture about the state of 
 the disembodied soul." 
 
 " I fear the Roman Church obtains much 
 wealth by these means," observed Lord Henry. 
 " For my part, I cannot but believe that our 
 destiny hereafter is determined at our de- 
 parture from this world." 
 
 Sir John Thorold was about to make some 
 rather blunt remark on the subject, to the 
 effect that this was an " imposture," in order 
 to gain revenues ; and Mr. Greville was pre- 
 paring at least to offer some apology, without 
 supporting the practice, in the shape of some 
 show of proof from scripture, the ancient 
 liturgies, and partial testimony of the fathers ; 
 when Dora, with much animation, requested 
 that argument on this matter might be post- 
 poned, and Lord Henry be allowed to proceed. 
 
 Sir John seemed to be right glad at this 
 breaking off from a theological subject, for he 
 was a courteous host ; and Mr. Greville look- 
 ing all amiability and good grace, his lordship 
 continued his narrative. 
 
 " The course of events, as I have just before 
 insinuated, soon witnessed this young lord 
 under sentence of death in the strong prison 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 of St. Angelo. And here you must bear with 
 me, while I describe the services rendered to 
 him by priests of the Roman Cathohc Church, 
 according to its usual rites and ceremonies, 
 and perhaps we shall be ready to admire any 
 mode of proceeding which brings about the 
 contrition and composed death of a criminal. 
 
 " It was, then, upon the 17th of April, about 
 the hour of midnight, when the intelligence 
 was brought to the Lord Troilo Savelli of the 
 appointed time for his death. An inferior 
 officer entered the chamber where he was 
 sleeping, and at once said to him, " Your lord- 
 ship may be pleased to rise and apparel your- 
 self." To this he answered, " This indeed is 
 an hour which has a little of the unseasonable ; 
 but yet whither wilt thou conduct me ? '' The 
 man answered, " That place was to be made 
 ready for new prisoners,"" devising an excuse, that 
 he might not frighten him all at once. " I 
 believe/' said the young lord, " what you have 
 told me ; but I confess, you made me half 
 afraid;*" and then, sitting up in his bed, he 
 said, " Let me apparel myself, in the name of 
 God." He then cast an earnest countenance 
 towards a little picture of our blessed Lady, 
 and commended himself in great earnest to 
 the mercy of Jesus, and intercession of His
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 27 
 
 Mother, thinking it no unlikely way of success 
 to go by the mother to the son. 
 
 " As soon as he was apparelled, the omcer 
 returning, and doubting lest in his rash youth, 
 on finding out the truth of this midnight visit, 
 he might do some injury to himself or others, 
 suddenly cast the manacles on his hands ; but 
 his lordship gently stretching them out, said, 
 ' My friend, behold, I am here ready to obey 
 thy will, and the will of all the world, since the 
 will of God is such."* Having manacled him, 
 they led him towards the chapel ; and on 
 issuing forth from his chamber, he blessed 
 himself, as he best could, with the sign of the 
 cross, with both his hands ; and casting up his 
 eyes to heaven, he profoundly sighed ; because, 
 seeing that there were more people assembled 
 than were necessary for the changing of his 
 lodging, ' This,' he said, ' is another manner of 
 business, than to change me only from one 
 place to another ; but by the grace of God, I 
 am ready for all.' 
 
 " Thus silently going down to the chapel, 
 he was met by the governor, and the prove- 
 ditore, and by three others of them, who are 
 called Confortatori della misericordia^ in ap- 
 pearance suitable for the mournful occasion. 
 
 One of them addressed him, and said, ' My 
 
 c 2
 
 28 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 lord, the hour which God has prefixed for you, 
 is even run out ; render yourself into His 
 merciful hands." And he, without being trou- 
 bled, but softly sighing, thus answered, ' Let 
 God be blessed ! behold, I render myself to Him : 
 and dispose you of me.' And so those good 
 and charitable brothers of that congregation, 
 with some fathers of the Society of Jesus, 
 casting themselves around him, and endeavour- 
 ing to sweeten the bitterness of that intelligence, 
 comforted him in the best manner they could: 
 while he yielded gently to them all, and then 
 smiting his breast, and kissing the crucifix, he 
 demanded pardon of his God. 
 
 " One of the Confortatori, before allt hings, 
 immediately put him in miud of his confession ; 
 and on his asking for a confessor, a priest with 
 his albe upon his back, and his stole about 
 his neck, was pointed out. After this was 
 done, and much more of a sacred nature had 
 passed, they soon found that instead of having 
 to deal with a wicked and random youth, they 
 had to treat with a manly, generous, and ripe 
 Christian, far superior to what might have 
 been expected of him. One of the Confortatori 
 began to discourse upon the horror of death, 
 and the removal of its sting by our Lord's 
 agony, when the contrite nobleman answered
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 29 
 
 him, ' The wickedness of my life frightens 
 me more than the bitterness of my death. 
 Oh ! how wretchedly have I spent these 
 eighteen years. How have I run like a wild 
 unbridled horse in these later years of mine, 
 without any manner of restraint, wherever 
 mine own passions, and blind affections had 
 a mind to plunge me. It is I, and none but 
 I, who did precipitate myself; and yet you 
 bid me fix my thoughts and hopes upon 
 God.' 
 
 " Upon this, another Confortatori addressed 
 him in words too sacred to be quickly related, 
 and the Proveditore reminded him that he 
 should now make his last will and testament, 
 lest this thing in a later hour should harass his 
 soul. Upon this hint, the baron, without the 
 least delay, bade them write. And a generous 
 will in that distressing hour did he dictate, 
 leaving large alms to many churches, and other 
 holy places, and rewarding all those who had 
 done him any service in prison. After this 
 was finished, the baron entered upon a larger 
 confession before the reverend father, than he 
 had yet done, and especially accused himself 
 for having neglected to own the tender love, 
 prudence, and patience, which his mother had 
 manifested in his education, and so great was
 
 so ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 his anguish in this recital, that the worthy 
 priests thought he would several times have 
 fainted, and when he was asked afterwards 
 to take something to restore and comfort him- 
 self, he only answered, 'This only comfort or 
 restoration I would desire, that my very heart 
 might hurst for grief, and satisfaction might so 
 be given for my sins, if in any degree such would 
 be of any avail before God.' At the instant that 
 his hat was brought him, and one of his people 
 being desirous to take his montiera from off 
 his head : ' What are you doing ? "* he said. 
 They answered, they would give him his hat. 
 But he bade them let it alone, saying, ' It 
 did not matter :" and he added, with a sweet 
 voice, 'Look here awhile, they would fain 
 honour this head of mine, which I am to lose 
 within a few hours, for my sins !' 
 
 " Also, when his confession had drawn to a 
 close, he had said, ' I desire a favour of you 
 now, dear father, which you must not deny 
 me. It is, that I may have liberty to lament 
 my sins with tears ; and that, by them I may 
 give testimony to the Divine Majesty, of the 
 grief that abounds within my heart."* ' Weep 
 out,** answered the holy father, ' since our 
 Lord gives you such a desire for weeping.' 
 Scarcely had this last word been uttered,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 31 
 
 when already there began to fall a most abundant 
 shower of tears from his eyes, in such excessive 
 degree as that he bathed a good part of his 
 confessor's arms, and his sleeve was as wet 
 through as though it had rained from above. 
 
 " After this the most holy conversations pass- 
 ed between the noble young baron and his pious 
 Confessor, and often did his lordship cry out, 
 'Father, I bewail my most unfortunate life, 
 and not my most happy death.' And w^hen 
 he had continued talking in a truly Christian 
 strain until he was nearly exhausted, one of 
 the Confortatori exclaimed, ' It is enough, 
 Signor Troilo ! So great and so liberal is the 
 goodness of God, that he accepts all, and 
 He does it with delight.' And one of the 
 Chiesa Nuova said, ' That though our Lord 
 received a precept that he should die, never- 
 theless it is truly aflSrmed that he died volun- 
 tarily.' And then, after recounting the manner 
 of the Redeemer's death, and fitting it to his 
 lordship's state, inasmuch as he too died in 
 the flower and vigour of his age ; and also died 
 a violent death : and more, he died of the most 
 reproachful death which in those times could 
 be inflicted : the good father proceeded to 
 shew by what means that which was of neces- 
 sity might grow to be voluntary, by a volun-
 
 32 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 tary acceptance of it ; and, that so much 
 more it would be meritorious, as it should 
 more willingly be embraced. ' Then teach 
 me,' cried the baron, * how I may make this 
 enforced death truly voluntary.' Upon which 
 certain devout ways being declared by the 
 governor of the Confortatori, and embraced 
 by his lordship, — it was said, ' Perhaps, Signor 
 Troilo, we weary you too much;' but he 
 quickly replied, ' How can you weary me ? 
 These discourses make the night short to me, 
 and my disaster fortunate.' And then after 
 a silence, he demanded a penance. The father 
 answered, ' Let that penance be to die, and 
 to die well. Offer now this death of yours 
 to God with your whole heart, for the sins 
 you have committed.' ' I do,' he replied, ' offer 
 it with my heart, and with rny mouth ; and 
 it grieves me (as our Lord knows) that I 
 have not this night a thousand heads, that in 
 this one of mine they might be all cut off; 
 and a thousand lives, that they might all be 
 lost ; and, alas, what after all, would be this 
 gift ! and even the doing, and giving this little 
 I acknowledge to proceed from the hand of 
 God.' Next he was reminded of the manner 
 in which he had wounded his good angel, that 
 guardian angel whose benignity and love was
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 33 
 
 untiring, and who had been vouchsafed a share 
 in tliis his reformation, and was now breathing 
 into his heart, by command of the Almighty, 
 feelings of preparation, generosity, devotion, 
 contrition, and entire resignation to the 
 heavenly will. And next, the litanies were 
 repeated in a most solemn manner ; which act 
 of devotion took up nearly the whole time 
 until the hour of celebrating mass; all the 
 fathers being bathed in tears, while the ill-fated 
 baron maintained an admirable serenity of 
 mind." 
 
 At this moment a gentle sobbing was heard, 
 and on Lord Henry pausing in his narrative, 
 it was discovered that poor Lucy Thorold 
 was bathed in tears. The ardent Dora burst 
 forth also in sympathy with her beloved sister, 
 and ere Lady Thorold, who was herself affected, 
 could approach her daughters to lead them 
 into the ante-room, the door opened and the 
 lost Ernest Singleton was ushered in. For 
 a moment a gleam of joy lighted up Dora's 
 enthusiastic countenance, and which became 
 reflected on Lucy's in a sweet smile of recog- 
 nition, but it was as soon repressed when they 
 observed that poor Ernest himself appeared 
 to be in a desponding mood, and shewed 
 signs and tokens of having passed some por-
 
 S4f ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 tion of his time in weeping. On perceiving 
 this, her daughters the more unwiUingly re- 
 tired ; but still they did retire into the ante- 
 room, because Lady Thorold had already 
 passed on ; and, to their gratification, on their 
 joining her, her ladyship gently said, " We 
 shall return soon, — indeed we must summon 
 courage to listen to the remainder of this 
 interesting story." And, doubtless, she secretly 
 felt that the sooner the painful relation was 
 over, and in her presence, the better. 
 
 Ernest Singleton, with that gentle courtesy 
 for which he was remarkable, immediately 
 sought out Sir John Thorold, whose guest he 
 was, and apologised for his absence. Sir John 
 with hearty frankness, received it, and only 
 regretted that his young friend had been ab- 
 sent during the recital of a story which had 
 even given himself much pleasure in hearing, 
 albeit it was truly affecting ; " and which," 
 he said, half smiling, " has driven from our 
 presence, for a time, some of the more tender 
 portion of the creation." 
 
 Ernest looked towards the ante-room, and 
 after a rallying word from Mr. Greville, and a 
 kind surmise from Lord Henry as to the 
 cause of his absence, became reserved for 
 awhile.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 35 
 
 " No,"" he at length said, '* I have not been in 
 any of the cottages of the poor, for I met the post- 
 man coming to the Hall, and I rambled away 
 with this letter," — and he presented a letter 
 to Lord Henry Maitland, observing, " you well 
 know our poor friend to whom this relates ; 
 you remember Kerr, my loved and valued 
 Charles Henry Kerr."" 
 
 " Indeed I do," replied Lord Henry ; " I 
 well remember Kerr, although at Eton we 
 never know the Christian names of our school- 
 fellows." 
 
 " Just so," observed Ernest Singleton, " and 
 therefore I called him my Charles Henry Kerr." 
 Lord Henry perused the letter, and he too be- 
 came much affected, but laying it aside with 
 an air of calmness, he conjured Ernest Single- 
 ton not to ponder upon it too much ; and since 
 it was not a matter beyond all remedy, a ray 
 of hope could brighten up our thoughts, and 
 should be cherished in its faintest beaming 
 on our minds. 
 
 " I must see him," whispered Ernest in Lord 
 Henry's ear ; " I shall not rest until I see him. 
 Oh ! he will know me. I shall speak to him, 
 I shall walk with him, I shall release him, ay, 
 restore him." 
 
 Sir John at once thought he perceived that
 
 36 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 an old Etonian schoolfellow of poor Singleton's 
 had got into trouble, and knowing the affection 
 and regard that old Etonians ever bear, through- 
 out Hfe, one to the other, sympathized with his 
 young guest, and the kind-hearted baronet con- 
 soled himself with the thought that he should 
 be able to assist the unknown in such a sub- 
 stantial manner, as probably would cause all 
 difficulties on his part, and all painful remi- 
 niscences and present anxieties on Ernest's part, 
 utterly to cease ; and so, by way of a skilful 
 diversion on his part, he proposed that Lord 
 Henry should at once proceed with his story, 
 which had been so abruptly, yet not causelessly, 
 broken off. 
 
 His lordship excused himself awhile, and 
 begged permission to retire with young Ernest 
 Shigleton ; but Ernest rather wished that the 
 story might be continued, for he could not think 
 of himself being the means of breaking up the 
 little assembly. " And besides,'"* he said, " a 
 tale of mournful kind will suit me well : I 
 could not hear merriment and joking things, 
 as we are wont sometimes to engage in, at 
 this moment." 
 
 But Sir John, whose decision always at once 
 determined a matter, besought his young friend 
 to retire to the terrace for a short while : " And
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 37 
 
 recollect,"" he rejoined, " you have not heard 
 the commencement, so perhaps my Lord Henry 
 will run it rapidly over with you ; and mind," 
 looking towards his lordship, " that it is ra- 
 pidly achieved, or, I imagine, some part of our 
 little company will be oiFended," and his eyes 
 glanced towards the ante-room, wherein the 
 ladies sat, out of hearing, but not out sight. 
 
 Lord Henry and Ernest Singleton, on this 
 hint from the worthy and humorous baronet, 
 retired to the noble terrace walk, and there, 
 for the space of what appeared to them a brief 
 half hour indeed, Ernest poured forth his feel- 
 ings, and Lord Henry administered consola- 
 tion, the consolation consisting in chalking out 
 a line of conduct in this emergency for Ernest 
 to follow ; and it would be hard to say which 
 of the two friends were most lightened of their 
 distress, Ernest in the hope of seeing his friend 
 soon, or Lord Henry in feeling that he had 
 suggested the best mode of alleviating Ernest's 
 grief. Be this as it may, they both quickly re- 
 turned to the library, without one atom of the 
 commencement of the story of the Italian 
 baron having been communicated, as the ba- 
 ronet had hinted, by Lord Henry Maitland.
 
 38 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 '^ Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine 
 Thy scenes and story to combine !" Scott. 
 
 " Farewell ! I think we shall not meet again, 
 Till it be in that world where never change 
 Is knowD, and they who love shall part no more. 
 Commend me to my mother's prayers, and say 
 That never man enjoyed a heavenlier peace 
 Than Roderic at this hour. O faithful friend. 
 How dear thou art to me, these tears may tell !" 
 
 SOUTHEY, 
 
 On their entering the Ubrary, thej were 
 somewhat startled at seeing Sir John, Mr. 
 Greville, Lady Thorold, and her daughters, 
 all in hilarious mood, not laughing, it might 
 be, but still looking like persons whose con- 
 versation had just been of a pleasureable kind. 
 However, the mystery was soon cleared up 
 when a letter from John Thorold the younger, 
 that is to say, from John the son and heir of 
 Sir John, was handed by Dora to Ernest Sin- 
 gleton, she at the same time expressing the 
 gratification she knew it would give him.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 39 
 
 Alas ! how little did she know what was pass- 
 ing within poor Ernest's lacerated heart, for 
 the same post that had brought happy news 
 of one party, had also been the herald of mourn- 
 ful intelligence of Charles Henry Kerr, young 
 Singleton's valued and gifted friend. Now, it 
 was to be expected that the Thorolds would 
 be gladdened, because an unusual time had 
 elapsed since John's last letter, and they had 
 began to feel anxious about him. The letter 
 ran thus, and was addressed to his friend, 
 Mr. Greville, of whose arrival at his father's 
 house he had been apprised : — 
 
 "Leith Fort. 
 " My dear friend Greville, 
 
 '' Your letters are the most refreshing things 
 that I meet with ; and I was right glad to find 
 you were taking up your quarters in your old 
 haunts. I am here in young Chetwode's 
 rooms, while he is at the opera ; they are very 
 snug, much in the style of college rooms, only 
 a great deal neater than most of oars. An 
 old colonel who lives apart with his daughters, 
 &c., one captain, a downright good fellow, and 
 three subs, with about a hundred privates (all 
 artillery), make the strength of the fort. Chet- 
 wode likes it very much, finds lots of amuse-
 
 40 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 meiit in Edinburgh, has a horse, (a very fine 
 spanking mare, but hardly broke enough yet,) 
 kept for him by government ; a very good 
 table, fish, soup, game, &c., and in fact lives 
 like a city alderman, the duty being that in 
 his week he turns out about middle day, and 
 at eleven o'clock at night, to be saluted by the 
 guard, and now and then inspects the stables and 
 barracks ; and to-day he hauled up a private 
 soldier in the street merely for having his jacket 
 unbuttoned. I came here on "Saturday night 
 from the Trosachs, (where I had slept the night 
 before) via Stirling, a confounded wet soaking 
 day, and found Chetwode at the opera, which 
 he seems fond of. But his servant got me lots 
 of meat and drink, and I soon became as happy 
 as a king, though sober as a judge. I have 
 got two beautiful terrier whelps, about three 
 months old, which I got in Glen Urquhart, from 
 Lord Seafield's fox-hunter, a very true, good 
 style of dog. If I get them safe to the old 
 place, I shall write to Singleton, if I see him 
 not, to take one of the two, and the other 
 is destined for my sister Dora ; and you must 
 tell her that the little fellow has proved 
 he has a soul already — ay, an affectionate and 
 an intelligent one too. I have already named 
 him, a true aboriginal cognomen, Celt.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 41 
 
 " I have had but two days of grouse shooting, 
 the sport indifferent, the moor not being very 
 good, and the birds so wild, that long shots 
 were the order of the day. Grouse shooting 
 is pretty work, and hard work for man and 
 dog, but you don't see the working of the dogs 
 so well as in partridge sport. Black game 
 make pretty sport, after lying as close as a 
 hare, and sometimes a covey will lie down 
 and get up at intervals one by one, which tries 
 dogs very much. Earl Seafield's shootings are 
 about 245,000 acres in extent, let at a rent 
 which averages 1/. for a hundred acres, and 
 they lie in Moray and Banff shires chiefly, 
 and partly in Inverness shire. 
 
 " I have seen some desperate good High- 
 land games here. Flinging the hammer of 
 different weights : the man gets it pretty steady 
 up in his hands (sometimes one), and then 
 turns bodily round two or three times, and 
 lets the hammer fly. They have a game called 
 tossing the cakes. A young tree of good 
 weight and length is to be thrown up and 
 right over from you, — very few men can ma- 
 nage it. Just before I left Urquhart we had 
 games at Lord Seafield's place, where his son, 
 Lord Reidhaven, (a fellow just like you in 
 size, only not half so brisk and refined,) was
 
 4^ ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Staying with a shooting party. We had the 
 hammers, the stones, the cakes, hurdle and 
 foot races for men, a pony race, sack jumping, 
 and chmbing the greasy pole. The latter was 
 won by a boy who filled his clothes with dirt, 
 and coolly hung on by one hand while with 
 the other he unpocketed the soil he had taken 
 up, and then changed hands with the utmost 
 coolness amid roars of laughter. 
 
 " The shooting in the north lets very high 
 now, in some places 200/. and 300/. for a few 
 miles of country, (they don't count there by 
 acres,) and some of the men have immense 
 establishments of dogs. Sir H. Meux, the 
 brewer, up in Glenmoriston, has twenty or 
 thirty couple of dogs — setters seem to work 
 best on the moors— and his four guns killed a 
 hundred brace of birds, besides hares and other 
 game, and they call it a small bag. Nothing 
 should I have liked better than to have had 
 you up in the north ; the old general has been 
 a tight man, but his time is past for lugging 
 about youngsters, and his son is an out-and-out 
 noodle. 
 
 " They are surly chaps in the Highlands, 
 and I find the best way is to be surly to them, 
 they always suspect civiHty. Mention to Sin- 
 gleton, (and by-the-by, you '11 find Ernest a right
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 43 
 
 sound fellow,) that if ever I build a shooting- 
 lodge up this way, I shall call it Surly Hall, 
 aud then -we shall often think of old Father 
 Thames and glorious Eton. 
 
 " Edinburgh is the most splendid city I ever 
 saw, and beats London, as we vulgarly say, 
 into fits. There is a club there for the mili- 
 tary, being handy and convenient. I hope to 
 stay here a fortnight, waiting for a supply of 
 the sinews of war from home-land ; but I shall 
 keep out of their whiskey toddy, and have al- 
 ready become a perfect Houhynhym at their 
 oaten cake. 
 
 " Best loves to all. I shall write soberer 
 letters to Dora, — and believe me ever, 
 
 " Sincerely and certainly yours, 
 
 " John Thorold.'"' 
 
 The baronet was delighted with this style of 
 letter, and only regretted his son had not lin- 
 gered a longer while for grouse-shooting ; and 
 hence surmised that he intended to extend his 
 travels beyond the mountains and shores of 
 bonnie Scotland. 
 
 " Oh, it is a noble sport," observed Mr. Gre- 
 ville ; *' and the best mode of invigorating our 
 young nobility, for there is enough of hardship 
 and danger to give some feeling of adventure.
 
 44 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 fatigue enough to make rest truly sweet, and 
 then the breathing the pure mountain air !" 
 
 " The perfection of physical existence," ex- 
 claimed the hale old baronet ; "no one can 
 tell the buoyancy of spirits I myself have felt, 
 when, climbing the breezy heights of Ben-y-gloe, 
 with rifle on arm, I have prepared for a day of 
 exertion, and been sustained by the intense 
 interest of the noble sport." 
 
 " Of deer stalking ?" observed Mr. Greville. 
 
 " Yes, the noblest sport man can enjoy, and 
 well worth a lie down in a bothy at night, with 
 just a fire of bog-fir and heather-roots smoul- 
 dering in the midst." 
 
 " Ay, and what a noble animal is the red 
 deer." 
 
 " It is, indeed, a perfect animal," rephed 
 Sir John ; " unmatched in strength and swift- 
 ness, perfect in sight, perfect in hearing, and 
 so perfect in smelHng, as to be able to detect 
 the approach of his enemy at the distance of 
 miles. And the man, too, must be a sort of 
 perfect fellow who hopes to succeed in this 
 foremost of hill craft ; he must be right active 
 and nimble of foot, have a keen eye, steady 
 hand, unshaken nerves, and be patient of hun- 
 ger, cold, and hardship ; and take my word 
 for it, a man becomes not great in the deer
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 45 
 
 chase all at once, he must bear much discou- 
 ragement, multa tulit^ fecitque puer — you know 
 the rest." 
 
 " Happy the man," exclaimed Mr. Greville, 
 " who can cast off his town coat and town 
 habits, and set off for a hardy sojourn on 
 the moimtains, renovating himself now and then 
 by a dip in a burn." 
 
 *' True,"" said Sir John; " and many a burn 
 have I traversed in order to get within shot 
 of my noble animal ; — and then salmon-fish- 
 ing!" 
 
 At this time the ladies had reappeared in 
 the library ; and, it being the hour for Lord 
 Henry and Ernest Singleton to enter from their 
 walk on the terrace, a tete-a-tete was cut off 
 between Sir John and Mr. Greville, which 
 would probably have extended to a long and 
 brilliant description of the '*muckle hart of 
 Benmore," of Highland preserving and High- 
 land poaching, of Prince Albert in the forests 
 of Lord Willoughby, the Marquis of Bread- 
 ^Ibane, and the Duke of Athol ; and of the 
 poachers of " all denominations," from the for- 
 midable gangs that traverse the country, down 
 to the cotter's boy who snares the grouse on 
 the late sheaves, with a gin of horse-hair. And 
 of salmon-fishing, that most nervous and en-
 
 46 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 traDcing of sports, from his first dart at your 
 fly, until the clip be fairly in his silvery side. Oh, 
 they would have gone on until famine had 
 reminded them of their peremptory demands, 
 had not the ladies come to the rescue, and after 
 them Lord Henry and his young friend. 
 
 Well, now Ernest Singleton has read the 
 letter through ; and while Lord Henry takes 
 a glance through it, Dora is asking about the 
 eagles of Scotland, and whether there be many 
 now seen on the mountains, or in the glens ? 
 Upon this, Mr. Greville entered quite into a 
 disquisition on the royal bird, relating how fre- 
 quently he had seen eagles, especially the 
 golden eagle, in Sutherland and the heights of 
 Mar and Athol, and sadly disappointed Miss 
 Dora in describing them as voracious, foul feed- 
 ing, lazy birds, when she had imagined them 
 to be impersonations of magnanimity and ac- 
 tivity, feeding solely on what they themselves 
 killed rather than on carrion. While the fact 
 generally observed, is, that they gorge them- 
 selves on dead sheep and lambs, often on those^ 
 drowned and smothered in the mountain tor- 
 rents, or on breaking up of a snow-storm ; and 
 when these fail, they attack ptarmigan, and 
 hares, and even destroy the young deer in 
 abundance. Mr. Greville was proceeding to
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 47 
 
 state proofs of his opinion that the eagle would 
 soon become extinct in North Britain, and ob- 
 served that he should not be sorry, not less on ac- 
 count of the innocent animals it cruelly destroy- 
 ed, than because, since it only soared to a great 
 height when the atmosphere was clear and the 
 hills free from mist, the sportsman was often 
 alarmed, and he himself greatly so, by this 
 monarch of the clouds passing him suddenly 
 and noiselessly at the height of a few feet only 
 from the ground, when rain and fog (common 
 things enough in Scotia's realms) covered the 
 mountain side. Miss Dora was just about to 
 refer to some anecdote of courage and gene- 
 rosity connected with her aerial protegees^ when 
 Sir John, espying the perusal of his son's letter 
 to be finished, humorously expressed a hope 
 that Mr. Greville's ' deer ' lecture was drawing to 
 a close, in order that Lord Henry might be so- 
 licited to continue his narrative ; " especially," 
 observed the good baronet, ^' since our senses 
 have been well braced by our colloquial excur- 
 sion to the Highland mountains, and burns and 
 streams of the Highland glen, where even to 
 be ' in at the death"" was matter of gratulation 
 and delight.'' 
 
 Lady Thorold agreed in this suggestion, and 
 ]Mr. Greville having whispered to Miss Dora,
 
 48 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 (who was on the point of inquiring-,) that most 
 probably Ernest Singleton had been told much 
 of the former part during the stroll on the 
 terrace, and which intimation satisfied her, Lord 
 Henry at once proceeded to continue the Italian 
 story. 
 
 STORY OF THE ITALIAN NOBLEMAN. 
 
 f Continued. J 
 
 "After the mass had been celebrated, and 
 during which he behaved with admirable firm- 
 ness, even to the taking a portion of the words 
 in his own tongue, when a weeping priest could 
 no longer proceed with it ; and when the ab- 
 solution had been pronounced, and the most 
 blessed sacrament received by him at the altar, 
 he, turning about to all those who had assisted, 
 said : ' I give thanks to you all for yom^ charity 
 and courtesy; and, I beseech you, pardon the 
 painful night I have brought upon you.' And 
 then he desired the priest, for the love he bore 
 him, to repeat those words to every person in 
 particular; and being entreated to sit down, 
 the wonted circle was made about him. Every 
 one now endeavoured to animate him for the 
 combat then at hand, by representing the short- 
 ness of the pain, the immensity of the reward, 
 the vanity of the world, and above all, the
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 49 
 
 abundant grace and favour which in such a 
 short space of time had been vouchsafed to 
 him from heavenly sources. The priests spoke 
 to him so tenderly and so divinely, that when 
 asked by one of them if the punishment of 
 death did not seem small to him now: 'Small,' 
 he answered, ' it seems nothing. Yet,' and he 
 paused awhile, ' I cannot say it is nothing, 
 or yet very pleasant ; but nevertheless, it is 
 dear to me, and as such I prize it. And I 
 assure you, at the present it would be, as it 
 were, a kind of trouble to me to escape it. On 
 the word of truth, I affirm to you that I desire 
 my end, however painful it may be, towards 
 the remission of my sins through the atone- 
 ment of our Lord/ Again, to another question 
 the young nobleman said : ' I find in myself 
 no trouble nor trial, and methinks I am in 
 a hand which bears me up. I desire, and I 
 resolve to die in that manner which is taught 
 to me as the best ; and I am most ready for 
 the saving of my soul, to obey whatever chris- 
 tian commands shall be required of me.' 
 
 '' One of the Confortatori suggested, that ' for 
 this time his soul was sufficiently fed, and that 
 it would be well done, to refresh his body.' 
 The baron answered, ' there was no need of that.'' 
 But those around him pressing it much, some 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 wine was brought in by a servant of the lord 
 governor of the castle, but the baron would 
 not drink of it, thinking himself not worthy 
 to be thus comforted, simply washing his 
 mouth with it. And on a priest with much 
 weeping, exclaiming : ' Ah ! poor Signor Troilo!' 
 ' Poor,' he said, ' I was, when I was without 
 the grace of my Lord God, but now I take 
 myself to be rich/ 
 
 "He then instantly begged this holy father, 
 as a last favour, that when he had confessed 
 him at the block, and when he himself had 
 exclaimed ' O hone Jesu, sis mihi Jesus,'' and 
 at the commencement of the last absolution, 
 he would give the signal that the iron should 
 fall on his neck. But the priest refused to 
 do so, because by the canons of the holy 
 church, a priest may not co-operate to the 
 death of any man, for even in the Inquisition 
 all punishment was left to the secular judges ; 
 yet, he said that instead of giving a sign to 
 the executioner he would begin the words of 
 the absolution when he saw the executioner 
 preparing for the stroke, and thus rather give 
 a sign to Troilo himself. But, on consider- 
 ation for a moment, he refused to do even 
 this, because if it should alarm him in the 
 slightest degree, the instrument, through the
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 51 
 
 swerre of his body, might not fall directly 
 upon his neck, and thus he might be sub- 
 jected to a double pain, and double death. 
 But the nobleman throwing his head upon the 
 priest's bosom, cried out : ' Ah, father ! even 
 by all the love you bear this miserable and 
 sinful soul, do me this favour: I make a 
 promise to you in the name and by the help 
 of God, that you shall not cause any terror 
 in me by it. For God's love beheve me — Oh, 
 believe, beUeve me !' So urgently he continued 
 to seek this favour, that the priest at last 
 promised to comply, but only on these con- 
 ditions, that if he should not remember to 
 require it on the block, he should let it pass; 
 yet if he did remember it, and frankly call 
 for it, he would perform it. ' Then give me,' 
 he exclaimed, ' that sacred hand of yours.' 
 
 " His consecrated hand !" interposed Ernest 
 Singleton. 
 
 " Yes," answered Lord Henry ; " you know 
 the hands of Catholic priests are anointed, and 
 consecrated with great solemnity." 
 
 "I wonder not at it," said Ernest; "the 
 blessing by imposition of hands is so solemnly 
 spoken of both in the Old and New Scriptures." 
 
 " After this promise," continued Lord Henry, 
 
 " he seemed to be much calmed, and quite 
 
 D 2 
 
 LIBRARY .^ 
 
 umvERSiT^ OF mm^
 
 52 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 eased of any short excitement on this head, 
 and addressing the father, said, * Father, you 
 will then take care of my journey hence to 
 the block, as you have already promised ; and 
 you will please to go with me, telling me from 
 step to step of such things as are becoming, 
 that I may have my whole soul absorbed in 
 God alone.' ' I will say all to you,"* replied 
 the father; 'keep yourself prepared, and sit 
 down."* 
 
 " As soon as he sat down, with his coun- 
 tenance at once so piteous and serene, all the 
 strings of the hearts of those about him were 
 moved at once to pray him, that he would be 
 mindful of them in heaven." 
 
 " How beautiful !" exclaimed Lucy, smiling 
 in her tears. 
 
 " Yes — every one of them there present, both 
 with words and tears did recommend them- 
 selves to him the best they could, and were 
 not able to satisfy themselves in the desire 
 they had of expressing kindness towards him. 
 And truly, this was a death of so much ten- 
 derness that it could not fail deeply and last- 
 ingly to affect their hearts. Only the young 
 nobleman remained with a most angelical coun- 
 tenance, and with a composed heart which 
 seemed not so much as to know what belonged 
 to fear.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 53 
 
 " Soon there remained no more to be done, 
 the time being run ont, for the Ave Maria 
 bell sounded. In those countries, you may 
 know, there rings a bell every morning, noon, 
 and night, when all men recite three short 
 prayers, in the remembrance of the Incarnation 
 of Christ the Lord." 
 
 "Yes," observed Mr. Greville; "this they 
 do wherever they may be when the bell rings, 
 even in the very streets. There they salute one 
 another also, with a wish of the good day or 
 night." 
 
 " In accordance with this custom," continued 
 Lord Henry ; " they all knelt down, and said 
 the appointed prayer. Then salutiog all the 
 company, the baron sat down and was silent. 
 And while he continued in silence, they spoke 
 among themselves with astonishment of many 
 things they had secretly observed in him. For 
 it appeared that he never broke out into the 
 slightest perspiration, nor made any complaint 
 of anything. He never, after long standing, 
 placed himself with any appearance of weari- 
 ness upon his chair; nor even shewed any 
 unquietness. He never wept, but while he was 
 making his confession : neither had he any sen- 
 sation of thirst, fainting, sleepiness ; nor was 
 he overwrought by much sorrow. He was ever
 
 54f ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 fresh and strong, although during that night he 
 had been so very many times, and so long, upon 
 his knees. He always answered readily, and 
 with a lively voice. His memory never failed, 
 or so much as wavered. He was handsomely 
 and modestly apparelled. He spoke not one in- 
 considerate word, and never expressed a desire of 
 any earthly thing. At certain times he had a 
 smiling, and always a tranquil countenance. He 
 spoke with passionate tenderness of his noble 
 mother, and honourably and christianly of the 
 Prince and judges ; and even of those who pro- 
 secuted the cause against him. In short, so 
 gently and bravely did he conduct himself, that all 
 the old and experienced Confortatori of that Con- 
 gregation of the Misericordia were amazed to see 
 how abundantly the grace of God had wrought 
 upon that soul in the space of a few hours. 
 
 " Soon the executioner came in, and no man 
 had the heart to tell the young baron of it ; 
 but he, perceiving there was a press of people, 
 gently turned his face about, and as soon as 
 he had set his eyes upon him, he was not 
 troubled or agitated at all, but armed himself 
 only with the sign of the holy cross, and turn- 
 ing to his loved priest, who stood close by 
 him, he rose and said, ' Well, the hour is 
 come; gentlemen, let us go, and that cheer-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 55 
 
 fully." And they all answered him, ' Yea, let 
 it be done cheerfully, Signor Troilo, cheerfully 
 for the love of Jesus/ He then turned to- 
 wards the executioner, who was kneeling at 
 his feet to ask pardon, and said, ' Do your 
 office in the name of God, for so he will 
 have it.' He then, at the request of the ex- 
 ecutioner, arranged his dress for the better 
 expedition of his bitter death, and willingly 
 gave both his arms to be bound. When 
 this was done, they cast a gown about him, 
 and he kneeled down before the altar, as though 
 he craved a benediction at the hands of our 
 Lord. And, without the least change of colour, 
 beginning the psalm 'Miserere'' of himself : and, 
 being come as far as the outward room, he 
 paused there with a wonderful dignity and 
 grace, and said to some of the bystanders, 
 ' Might I not thank my lord, the governor of 
 the castle, before I die ? "* but they saying that he 
 had not yet risen, he accepted the excuse, and 
 commanded a gentleman, who served the gover- 
 nor, to thank him in his name. And next, 
 having demanded pardon of many of the 
 assistants, and exhorting them, in some very 
 few words, to the practice of virtue by the 
 example which they had before their eyes of 
 the contrary, he went on with the very same
 
 56 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 verse of the ' Miserere,"^ where he had left off 
 before, then sometimes turning to the priest, 
 he would say, * Come ! father, come ! to heaven ! 
 to heaven ! ' 
 
 " When he was arrived at the open stairs, 
 where many persons of the castle were standing 
 to see him, one of the Confortatori placing a 
 crucifix before him, and, as it were, covering him 
 with it, cried out with a strong voice, ' Let 
 Christ Jesus live !' (' Viva Giesu Christo !" ejacu- 
 lated Mr. Greville,) ' be not affrighted my lord ; ' 
 to which he made ready answer, * Yes, let Christ 
 Jesus live, in whom whilst I am hoping, I 
 fear not to be confounded ; ' and then his 
 favourite priest said, ' In te Domine speravi, 
 non confundar in aeternum ; ' which being 
 repeated by him, he spake thus : * Take the 
 crucifix aside ; let all the people see me, for if 
 I be good for nothing else, at least 1 may serve 
 them for an example.' There passed one that 
 way with a bottle of wine in his hand, who 
 saluted the baron on his knee, and the baron 
 courteously re-saluted him, and then returned 
 to the psalm which he had before begun. 
 Soon after, passing through the people who 
 stood there in great numbers, he said, ' Learn 
 by my example to live well, and pray for me.' 
 And thus with psalms and ejaculatory prayers
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 57 
 
 he came to the block, while every eye was 
 intently fixed upon him. 
 
 " The intrepid baron pausing there, said, ' I 
 would desire in these last moments of my life, 
 to see at least, and salute and thank the lieute- 
 nant-governor of the castle, since I cannot see 
 my lord the governor."* But the lieutenant not 
 being able to advance towards him on account 
 of his excessive weeping, the noble youth per- 
 ceiving it, turned to his dear priest and said, 
 ' Father, his heart allows him not to come ; 
 and perhaps I make the people stay too long."* 
 Oh what a valiant and undaunted mind, which 
 was troubled more with the slight inconvenience 
 of others, than with the apprehension of his 
 own immediate and fearful death ! 
 
 " At last, he cheerfully advancing forward, 
 the lieutenant-governor came before him, and 
 the baron casting himself upon his knee, said 
 to his priest, * In courtesy, father, take off my 
 hat ; ' which the good governor observing, cast 
 himself upon the ground with a loud and bitter 
 cry, and all the bystanders eagerly cast them- 
 selves upon their knees ; nor was there any- 
 ^ thing heard but a loud voice of lamenting, 
 while their tears fell upon the ground. The 
 generous young lord then addressed the lieu- 
 tenant thus : ' Sir, do not weep ; I had no 
 
 D 5
 
 58 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 design but to salute you, to thank you, and 
 to beg pardon, as now I do, both of yourself, 
 and in your person, at the hands of all those 
 who are present here ; desiring them to learn 
 at my cost, and to pray for my soul.' This 
 he said with so strong a voice as to be heard 
 by the whole multitude, notwithstanding their 
 weeping ; and when his beloved priest could 
 not refrain from tears, he leaned towards his 
 ear, and with softly reproving voice, said, 
 ' Behold, your reverence is weeping ; and yet 
 still you tell me I must have a noble heart/ 
 
 " Immediately after saying this, he wished to 
 ascend the steps, and lay himself down upon 
 the scaffold. One of the Confortatori at the 
 same instant cried out, ' Cheerfully, Signor 
 Troilo ! courageously, Signor Troilo ! ' and a 
 whole cry of prayers being made and raised 
 by all the company for him, that valiant heart 
 returned answer, even with a smiling coun- 
 tenance, ' Know, gentlemen, that I die cheer- 
 fully for the love of Jesus Christ, and in 
 punishment for my sins.' 
 
 " As he was laying down his head, ' Where,** 
 said he, ' is the father ? ' and turning towards 
 the executioner, he exclaimed, ' Stay awhile ; 
 for I will be reconciled.*" And beckoning the 
 priest towards him with his countenance,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 59 
 
 ' Father,' he said, ' on this hand I place my 
 good angel ; and on that St. Paul, and St. 
 John the Baptist; our Blessed Lady shall 
 stand before. Your reverence must remember 
 to perform the promise you made me. I will say, 
 
 bone Jesu esto mihi Jesus ! and when you 
 shall see the cord in cutting, you must say, Ego 
 te absolvo, that so when I shall invoke the 
 name of Jesus, and you absolve me, my soul 
 may begin her journey from this body of mine 
 towards heaven, by the mercy of my Lord, as 
 
 1 confide and hope it shall.' 
 
 " The priest was so extremely astonished 
 within himself, and fell into such an excess 
 of weeping, that he had not a word to answer 
 at the instant, but in the language of tears. 
 And he laying his head upon the block, ex- 
 pressly spoke these exact words : * Dear father, 
 draw near me. Let it suffice, and I take you 
 to witness, that I profess myself in my desire 
 to lay down a thousand heads, in this one 
 head of mine ; and in this one life to offer 
 up a thousand lives. I accuse myself for not 
 doing it with that fervour of devotion, that 
 vehemency of contrition, and that promptitude 
 of resignation, which I have been told and 
 taught. I accuse myself as truly of all the 
 sins I have confessed to your reverence, as if
 
 60 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 now I did repeat them to you one by one. In 
 penance, if it please you, I will give my head 
 to Christ as a punishment most deserved by 
 me ; and of you I desire absolution."' 
 
 " So did this noble heart, which neither 
 was, nor was to be conquered or daunted, lay 
 down that head upon the block. And saying 
 next, ' Bring hither the Crucifix that I may 
 see it,' he began also to say, ' O hone Jesu, 
 sis mihi Jesus,"* (Oh good Lord Jesus, be a 
 Jesus to me,) being accompanied by all the 
 people, who were already upon their knees, 
 and who also invoked the name of Jesus. 
 And his dear priest standing close at the one 
 side of his head, and looking still when the 
 executioner would commence to cut the cord, 
 as soon as he saw the knife lifted up for that 
 purpose, he said outright, * Ego te absolvo ah 
 omnibus peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, 
 et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.' He did then 
 both more speedily and more loudly than was 
 his custom, say, O Jesu, sis mihi Jesus ^'' and 
 at that instant his head flew off at once from 
 his body — the good priest, and many others, 
 hearing bis tongue at the last pronounce the 
 last syllable of the name of Jesus, with a strong 
 kind of hiss or whisper. And thus, we may 
 doubt not, his soul mounted up joyously into
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 61 
 
 heaven : adorniDg all his former life with a 
 most holy end ! Oh that we, when we come to 
 die, by whatever death" — 
 
 Lord Henry could not finish his sentence, 
 for his utterance was choked through emotion. 
 
 '•May know the sanctity of his end!" ex- 
 claimed Ernest Sinofleton in a low voice. 
 
 '• A noble, holy, and valiant heart indeed,^ 
 said Sir John, who had listened throughout 
 with profound attention. " My Lord Henry, 
 we thank you, thank you for your story." 
 
 " Indeed we do," added Lady Thorold. Her 
 ladyship would have said more, and Lucy and 
 Dora would have joined in thanks also, but the 
 sadness of the tale had overwhelmed them, and 
 they could not but retire and think upon it in 
 silence and in sorrow. 
 
 For some time there was a pause, even 
 among the gentlemen who remained, which was 
 at length broken by Mr. Greville, who remark- 
 ed what a dreary place was the interior of the 
 Castle of St. Angelo. 
 
 '' That is the chief prison in Rome, and still 
 used, I believe ? " asked Ernest Singleton. 
 
 *' It is," answered Mr. Greville, " and is to 
 Rome what the Tower is to London. Matthews, 
 I recollect, inspected it. In this castle are also 
 kept, as in the Tower of London, the tiaras and
 
 62 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 jewels belonging to the Pope ; and all the 
 manuscripts belonging to the Papal court ; here 
 also are exhibited the splendid fire-works in 
 celebration of the accession of each new Pope, 
 and which shone out the other day in honour of 
 Pope Pius IX." 
 
 " Then it is not a prison merely ? " observed 
 Singleton. 
 
 " Oh, by no means. Its ancient history is 
 curious. It once went by the name of Adrian's 
 Mausoleum ; but, on account of the strength of 
 its structure, was converted into a citadel, 
 within which the Romans have (especially 
 during the reign of Honorius, and the invasion 
 of the Goths) ably defended themselves. It 
 was then that it was unsparingly deprived of its 
 decorations." 
 
 " Oh, yes," observed Lord Henry, " and its 
 pillars are now an object of admiration at the 
 church of St. PauFs, whither they were re- 
 moved by Constantine the G reat : the statues 
 were left, but afterwards broken up, and used as 
 projectiles in defence of the besieged. Several 
 Popes subsequently strengthened the building, 
 especially Urban VIII., who flanked it with 
 bastions, surrounded it with ditches and ram- 
 parts, and made it, in a military point of view, 
 a very formidable place."
 
 ERNEST Slx\GLETON. 63 
 
 " The derivation of its name arose from a cir- 
 cumstance of a more pacific nature," observed 
 Mr. Greville : " when the angel of peace de- 
 scended upon the ancient chapel on its summit, 
 during the time of the plague, and was seen 
 in the act of sheathing a sword, which vision 
 intimated to the holy pontiff who beheld it (St. 
 Gregory) that this contagion would cease ; and, 
 in memorial of this auspicious event a marble 
 statue was placed on the top of the chapel, 
 representing the angel sheathing the sword : 
 and hence is it called Castle S. Angelo." 
 
 "An interesting derivation," said Ernest 
 Singleton, " albeit highly tinctured with super- 
 stition ; but perhaps this is the religion of the 
 Italians." 
 
 " You dare not say that before a member of 
 the Martelli family," said Mr. Greville. 
 
 Ernest's features relaxed into a faint smile, and 
 he quickly remarked, that now he remembered 
 several circumstances connected with the Castle 
 of St. Angelo, at the installation of the last 
 Pope, but none more vividly than the release of 
 many prisoners by that merciful pontiff's order, 
 when the cries of " Viva Pio bono " resounded 
 heartily on all sides, and the Roman people 
 pledged themselves to be the faithful guardians 
 of the Papal throne.
 
 64 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 " That Pope is the noblest Christian in 
 Europe," observed Mr. Greville, "and we can- 
 not tell what eventual good may be the result of 
 his accession — at all events, he himself is a 
 pattern of purity and benevolence, and will take 
 the lead in some important reformation." 
 
 At this instant the young ladies gently 
 walked in, and resuming the places they had 
 before occupied, began to engage themselves 
 again in the beautiful needlework which they 
 had just before abandoned. But the enthusi- 
 astic Dora could not long restrain the thoughts 
 that were glowing intensely within, and she 
 burst forth with an exclamation to the effect 
 that all those great men, who were mentioned 
 in history as being put to death for political and 
 other offences, were good and amiable. 
 
 Here was a sentiment broached which could 
 not but excite Ernest Singleton to the combat ; 
 and, had he been in his usual flow of spirits, he 
 would not have been satisfied with meekly 
 answering, 
 
 " Not all of them, I think, Miss Dora." 
 
 " Well, perhaps not," answered Dora ; " but 
 still you will allow that very many amiable per- 
 sons have been executed ; for instance, the 
 many martyrs of our own and other churches ; 
 and such a man as Lord Strafford" —
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 65 
 
 She would have run on with a list reaching 
 even to poor Emmett, a great favorite, but Lucy 
 interrupted her with the name of the Earl of 
 Derby. 
 
 '' Oh, yes, the good Earl of Derby ! " ex- 
 claimed Dora ; " I thought of him during Lord 
 Henry's story," lowering her voice, " the noble 
 speech his lordship made upon the scaffold, and 
 the gracious things he uttered to all around him, 
 even to the executioner himself; his humility 
 and prayers, and fearlessness, all so resembled 
 the last scene of Troilo Savelli, — surely Mr. 
 Ernest Singleton must remember it, for the 
 earl was lord, if I mistake not, of the Isle of 
 Man." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Ernest. "■ I know his 
 character well, — a braver, wiser, and more 
 prudent nobleman never existed ; and his words 
 on ascending the fatal scaffold are now in my 
 mind, * I am not afraid to go up there, even to my 
 death ! "* he was indeed a true yokefellow with 
 the brave young baron ! " 
 
 " I fully agree with Miss Dora," said Lord 
 Henry, " that the noblest of human beings have 
 died upon the scaffold." 
 
 " Indeed they have," exclaimed Lucy and 
 Dora at the same instant. 
 
 "And should not this circumstance," inter-
 
 66 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 posed Ernest, and his countenance brightened 
 as he gave this turn to the conversation, 
 " should not this circumstance lead us to pause 
 ere we sacrifice the life of man ? "" 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Ernest Singleton swears by the 
 Rector of Penscellwood," observed Mr. Gre- 
 ville; "it is of no use to argue with him ^hen 
 he gets his aid from that source." 
 
 " No, indeed,'** said Lucy ; " the good rector 
 is well fortified in all he advances, and Mr. 
 Singleton cannot follow a more exemplary and 
 judicious leader." 
 
 " I owe all that I am at present, and all that 
 I am likely to be, to that good man," said 
 Ernest, " yes, to my latest breath will I serve 
 him and love him — but, independently of my 
 deep esteem, I cannot but think his arguments 
 are incontrovertible." 
 
 " We all esteem the Rector of Penscellwood," 
 said Lord Henry ; " but he is not for the entire 
 abolition of capital punishments at this time, is 
 he.?" 
 
 " No," answered Ernest ; " but he would 
 wish to see the time arrive when they might 
 with safety be abolished.. The line taken by 
 him is this, — namely, that capital punishments 
 are not contrary to the Scriptures or to natural 
 law, but that they are not necessarily binding
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 67 
 
 on all generations ; and, therefore, it is open to 
 statesmen to do away with them if they can 
 find any other punishment as efficacious, or 
 more so, in the preservation of human life — 
 which might be the case in a more improved 
 condition of society." 
 
 " He would not have condemned to death 
 then," asked Dora, " either the Earl of Derby, 
 or Signor Troilo ?" 
 
 '* Certainly not the former," answered Ernest, 
 " for he distinctly lays it down, even in opposi- 
 tion to Beccaria, that there should not be 
 death for any political offences — and his wish 
 would reach the case even of Signor Troilo, a 
 case of murder, I believe. ' 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Henry, " and I so fully 
 agree with his reasoning (for I have diligently 
 perused his book), that whenever the subject 
 is brought forward in the House of Commons I 
 shall vote in favour of abolition." 
 
 " Then why wait," exclaimed Ernest with 
 somewhat of his wonted eagerness, " why wait 
 for others to bring it forward, when during 
 every year life is being sacrificed on the gallows 
 of our country, — it is a matter that admits of 
 no delay, — it was, as you know, to have come 
 on at the close of the last session, but Mr. 
 Ewart met with a family affliction."
 
 68 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 " Just SO," remarked Lord Henry, " and 
 I myself was nearly taking the matter into my 
 own hands, but I thought that it was a question 
 of too much importance to be debated at the 
 close of a session, and when so many inde- 
 pendent members were in the Highlands or 
 elsewhere, and the minister left with his thick 
 and thin supporters around him.""' 
 
 " Then you think Lord John Russell opposed 
 to abolition ?" asked Mr. Greville. 
 
 " Certainly, — indeed I know that a whig 
 opppsition to Mr. E wart's motion was pre- 
 determined on ; and at that instant the ma- 
 jority in a thin house would have been com- 
 paratively large." 
 
 "Let us pray and hope," said Ernest, "that 
 the prime minister who succeeds to power after 
 the next formation of a ministry, whoever he 
 may be, will, at all events, give his best atten- 
 tion to the subject, and offer his best reasons 
 against it, so that the country may be satisfied 
 that justice has been done, and also that the 
 writers in its favour may be enabled to combat 
 his arguments." 
 
 " That is the fair course," observed Lord 
 Henry. 
 
 " Then," said Ernest, " let us beseech you 
 yourself to bring it forward, that is to say.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 69 
 
 if no other member forestalls you, and it is 
 but candid towards Mr. Ewart, and Sir Fitzroy 
 Kelly, to say, that they might be given the 
 precedence." 
 
 " I expect that the former will certainly 
 renew his motion," remarked Lord Henry, 
 " therefore it will be my humble and glad duty 
 to vote with him." 
 
 *' And to speak in its favour," continued 
 Ernest. " Oh ! what is gained by putting a 
 man to death? In the Earl Derby a brave 
 and estimable pattern of human nature was 
 lost ; and even in the criminal case of Signor 
 Troilo, why cut off a changed man, — a man 
 whose character we have all just admired, and 
 on account of its superior ingredients, mourned 
 his untimely fate ? " 
 
 " Truly untimely," remarked Lucy. 
 
 " And had he been hardened and malicious," 
 continued Ernest, " why should we send him 
 in that temper before his God? Remember the 
 awful words, as the tree falleth, so will it lie. 
 We can only plead that his death would be 
 for the defence of those who remained on the 
 earth ; and I should feel this to be a cowardly 
 plea, in the first place, and in the second place, 
 an exaggerated one, for surely we can keep a 
 fellow creature from doing harm to others.
 
 70 ERNEST ' SINGLETON. 
 
 Oh I death is the resort of imbecile and das- 
 tardly tyrants, and not of brave men with other 
 effective means at their will." 
 
 " That is well said," whispered Lucy to 
 Dora. 
 
 " I am resolved," exclaimed Lord Henry, 
 " to consider what can best be done. I will 
 write to some friends, parliamentary friends, 
 this very day." 
 
 "You will gladden Mr. Churton's heart," 
 said Ernest, " and, may I add, mine." 
 
 " And mine ! — and mine '. " exclaimed Lucy 
 and Dora together. 
 
 "And, bye-the-bye," asked Dora of Ernest, 
 " you were so kind as to lend us some Maga- 
 zines published in espousal of the cause; and 
 can you send us another ?" 
 
 The colour rushed to poor Ernest's face, and 
 for a moment or two he paused ere he an- 
 swered, and said, 
 
 " The Magazine, I am grieved to say, and 
 most so on account of the reason, has ceased." 
 
 " How so ?" asked Lord Henry, wondering 
 that the interest of the public should be on the 
 wane in this humane age." 
 
 " Thereby hangs a tale," continued Ernest. 
 " You know, as I have before told you, that 
 I felt great interest and pleasure in assisting
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. '71 
 
 my young friend at Glasgow, for he seemed 
 to be zealous in a good cause, and devoted to 
 the study of letters. There appeared to be a 
 genuine spirit of liberality about him, for, al- 
 though he belonged not to the Episcopal 
 Church, yet he spoke kindly and courteously 
 of its members, at the same time that he 
 sorely grieved over the unamiable complexion 
 of the Free Church of Scotland, and lamented 
 its exceeding hostility to those who did not 
 belong to its communion, whether they were 
 episcopalians or secessionists. Well, I kept 
 up an interesting correspondence with him, and 
 was much edified by his observations on various 
 literary and humane subjects, when suddenly 
 our exchange of letters ceased, and what was 
 more perplexing to me, the Magazine, which he 
 ably edited, arrived not. Then I began to 
 think over all that I had written to him, fear- 
 ing lest some word or sentence had given 
 offence, and as I sat pondering in the little 
 rectory, I would almost become angry, and 
 think that one so testy and hasty would never 
 become a steadfast friend, so I resolved at 
 once to write to him as kindly as 1 could ; 
 when, lo, and behold ! after waiting some 
 time in suspense as to the reception of my 
 epistle, it Avas one day returned into my
 
 72 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 hands with the awful word ' dead,** twice 
 inscribed upon it."" 
 
 " Oh, how sad ! ^ exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 " Yes, the word ' dead' written in rude hand 
 by some post-master of the city. This was a 
 blow to me, as you may well conceive, and I 
 thought I should have fallen into a fainting 
 fit. I could not write that day, but on the 
 next I wrote to Glasgow to inquire after the 
 cause of his death, when I was referred to a 
 Reverend Doctor in Edinburgh, an uncle of my 
 deceased friend, and he forwarded my letter to 
 another who thus answered it : — 
 
 " ' Rev. and dear Sir, 
 
 " ' My brother-in-law, Dr. B— , of Edin- 
 burgh, put into my hands, a few days ago, your 
 letter of the 8rd instant to him, with a request 
 that I would write to you in reply, for he was 
 much aiFected at the death of his brother, and 
 indeed I have been best acquainted with his 
 later proceedings. 
 
 " ' It is a mysterious providence that my bro- 
 ther-in-law should have been taken away in the 
 very midst of his life of usefulness, and when 
 prospects were opening up and brightening, 
 which he believed would have enabled him to 
 devote himself more exclusively to a literary
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 73 
 
 life, aud to make some provision for two beloved 
 childrei], who are now left orphans. I knew 
 this was not only his earnest desire, but his 
 confident hope, and I am sure, had his life been 
 spared, no efforts would have been wanting on 
 his part to do good, and to provide for his own 
 household. But God has willed it otherwise, 
 and to His holy will and pleasure his friends 
 would desire submissively to bow. 
 
 " ' My late brother-in-law was connected with 
 the newspaper press for a number of years past, 
 and before he came to Glasgow he edited for 
 five or six years a newspaper in Kendal. It 
 was while there that his attention appears to 
 have been first directed to the subject of capital 
 punishments, a subject into which he entered 
 with all his heart, and to the prosecution of 
 which he intended to devote his future life. 
 My own impression is, that his mind was open- 
 ing and improving by the consideration and dis- 
 cussion of the subject, and that had he been 
 spared, he might have become not merely use- 
 ful but distinguished in this sphere of action. 
 An editor is now needed for the Magazine, and 
 it was hoped that Messrs. Blackie and Son 
 would have carried on the publication. Alas ! 
 a pen so gentle and humane as my brother-in 
 law's, will not easily be found. 
 
 ^'0L. I. E
 
 74 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 " ' Regarding his death I can say very Httle. 
 The fever of which he died (typhus), was at its 
 commencement exceedingly mild, and before he or 
 others apprehended any danger he had become 
 insensible. We have, however, a good hope con- 
 cerning him. It would have been an additional 
 comfort had we heard from his own lips his 
 dying testimony to the truth, but the nature 
 of his disease forbade this, and to God's ado- 
 rable will we would wish to submit. 
 
 " ' I shall be glad at any time to hear from 
 you, for Lfeel an interest in all who feel an 
 interest in a dear and very affectionate bro- 
 ther." 
 
 " This,"" said Ernest, with faltering voice, 
 " is the letter I received last week from a re- 
 lative of my friend; and oh! how it has grieved 
 me to think, that while I was almost cherishing 
 feelings of resentment and unkindness towards 
 him, because he answered not my letter with 
 his usual promptitude, perhaps he was in the 
 pain and delirium, or the stupor, of fever, — 
 or, it might be, stretched on his bed of death, 
 cold and motionless, far and beyond all my 
 petty feelings, — or, in his grave ! " and poor 
 Ernest turned away to weep. 
 
 Lord Henry reiterated his intention of taking 
 up the question of capital punishments, and
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 75 
 
 Eruest, lifting up his head, and looking earn- 
 estly at him, exclaimed, — 
 
 " Oh pray do so, my lord. By the interest 
 I took in my deceased friend I beseech you, and 
 this, my earnest request, is my atonement, is 
 all the amends I can render to his memory." 
 
 '^ No,'' said Lucy, with a voice of extreme 
 tenderness, which lacked not a tone of heroism, 
 '' you can yet do more, — yes, pardon the sug- 
 gestion, — it ought to have occurred to you — 
 you can occupy his place." 
 
 " And how that will please the good rector 
 of Penscellwood ! " exclaimed Dora in an in- 
 stant. 
 
 " Nothing can be better," said Lord Henry : 
 " and here am I as a subscriber." 
 
 " And I," said Mr. Greville ; " and let me 
 tell you Lord Henry will do more — his pen is a 
 host." 
 
 " No, no," answered Ernest thoughtfully ; 
 " no, this is not my forte ; the nature of edi- 
 torial arrangement is unknown to me, and the 
 public are capricious ; and, besides, it is a ques- 
 tion much taken up by the Liberal party." 
 
 '* And you are liberal," observed Lord 
 Henry. 
 
 " I hope I am," answered Ernest, " but not 
 a Liberalist of the passing day. It is a great
 
 76 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 question — a noble question, it is the very power 
 that makes the actions of a judge even more 
 responsible than those of a bishop ; and it is a pity 
 it should ever receive the damage that accrues 
 to all party-questions ; no, I might give offence, 
 I might not be ultra enough, and I should be 
 really unhappy were the cause injured through 
 any inadvertency of mine." 
 
 " I think it could not," urged Lord Henry ; 
 " and your advocacy of it would aid in render- 
 ing it no longer a party matter ; it would turn 
 the balance, or rather, commence the turning of 
 it." 
 
 " No," said Ernest, " I feel not the inclina- 
 tion, or the ability." 
 
 " Well, you must think of it," said Lord 
 Henry ; " we will talk it over again." 
 
 Lucy and Dora would have added their 
 wishes on the subject more earnestly and im- 
 ploringly, when salutations were heard in the 
 entrance hall, and the Rev. Joseph Hooley 
 Merriman was ushered into the library.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 77 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "Which shall be found 
 His friend, and which his enemy ? With whom, 
 At intervals of rest from pastoral care. 
 Shall he take pleasant counsel, and converse 
 On subjects which unbend, but not unnerve 
 The else o'erlaboured mind ?" 
 
 Moultrie. 
 
 Before proceeding fiirther let us be given a 
 short description of the personages we have been 
 introduced to, and of others who may fig-ure in 
 the scene, not forgetting their local habitations. 
 In the first place, Belswardine Castle, or Hall, 
 the seat of Sir John Thorold, is a noble build- 
 ing, fit residence for princes or the noblest of 
 the land, and certainly more resembling a royal 
 palace than the dwelling of a private English 
 gentleman. It is of great extent, consisting of a 
 main body and two wings ; and at the end of 
 each wing is a large additional building, which 
 are connected with each other by means of a 
 semicircular wall, in the middle of which ap- 
 pears a magnificent portal ; all these buildings 
 forming together a very spacious court. Origi-
 
 78 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 nally the wings had only one story, but the late 
 Sir John Thorold, of whom it could partly be ex- 
 claimed with the poet, as regards the latter line, 
 
 " Heaven visits with a taste the wealthy fool, 
 And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule," 
 
 carried them up to the same height with the 
 main body ; and he likewise caused all the out-, 
 side of this wall to be adorned with square 
 fluted pilasters of the Corinthian order ; these 
 and the other ornaments being of their natural 
 colour, which is that of hewn stone, but the 
 ground of the wall itself was of a redder colour, 
 which gave a singular and artificial appearance. 
 The roof of the whole building is covered with 
 copper, and surrounded by a balustrade. In 
 the centre of the front of this almost majestic 
 mansion is a plain angular pediment, bearing 
 the Thorold arms, and over the old and sub- 
 stantial entrance there is a small circular one, 
 pierced for an antique bust, and supported by 
 two three-quarter Ionic pillars. On the whole 
 the outward pile of building bore a magnificent 
 and venerable aspect, except in later portions 
 wherein the rules of corresponding architecture 
 had not been consistently observed and followed 
 by the late baronet. 
 
 On entering the mansion, nearly the first ob- 
 ject that strikes the eye, is the grand staircase.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 79 
 
 This is of blue marble, and the balustrade, 
 which is of iron, strongly gilt, is in noble and 
 elegant taste ; this staircase winding up out of 
 an entrance hall, richly adorned with pike, 
 spear, battle-axe, and antlers, while pictures 
 of exceeding and ancestral value are thickly 
 arranged on the sides of the spacious walls. On 
 the ground floor there was a large billiard 
 table, with sundry implements in readiness for 
 modern sporting with hawk, hound, rod and 
 line, or bow and arrow, and the whole was 
 thoroughly warmed by the heat which ema- 
 nated from a large hearth, on which huge logs 
 of gnarled oak were continually being piled, 
 while, before its welcome warmth, there lay 
 at full length some rare specimens of that old 
 breed of blood-hound and stag-hound, for which 
 Belswardine had long been remarkably famous. 
 The interior of the house is not a whit be- 
 hind the outside in its decorative elegance. 
 In the dining-room are many pictures by the 
 best masters ; and adown each side of the draw- 
 ing-room stand marble and alabaster statues, of 
 beautiful proportions, with tables of porphyry 
 and jasper in the centre ; on the ceiling a richly 
 painted scene of gods and demigods from the 
 ancient mythology ; and the tapestry consists 
 of velvet enriched with silver and gold ; in the
 
 80 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 best bedchambers, the furniture is of a sea-green 
 satin, covered with gilded network. But what 
 is most pleasing of all, is the appearance of the 
 library, which was of a circular form, surrounded 
 by book-cases of cedar, curiously wrought and 
 glazed, and decorated with festoons of gilt cop- 
 per. Over these cases are placed marble busts 
 of some renowned authors and orators, an- 
 cient and modern, from Homer down to the 
 statesman Pitt ; the space between the cases 
 and the cornice being adorned with large me- 
 dallions of bronze, and on the ceiling a beautiful 
 picture of Apollo. The chimney-piece is of 
 black marble, illumined with veins of diiferent 
 colours ; and over the chimney-piece are mirrors 
 with metallic frames, highly gilt. The curtains, 
 the sofas, chairs, and ottomans, are of crimson 
 silk, embroidered with fanciful designs. This 
 apartment serves not only to display the wealth 
 of its lords and masters, but also their devo- 
 tion to the Muse and the pursuits of general 
 literature, the present baronet, who had been 
 bred up in the camp, not being so eminent 
 a litterateur as many of his ancestors. The 
 shelves of the book-cases were not loaded with 
 volumes by the direction of a smart London 
 bookseller, which he estimates, perhaps, by the 
 quantity of paper and print, or the pomp or
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 81 
 
 delicacy of the binding ; far otherwise, these 
 shelves are filled with a comparatively small 
 but rich collection, which forms a complete sys- 
 tem of every kind of useful and ornamental, 
 with much of theological learning. All the 
 Greek and Latin authors, who have borne the 
 stamp of approbation for so many centuries, are 
 there ; together with the principal writings of 
 many of the Christian fathers ; and of these latter 
 Ernest Singleton was accustomed to borrow many 
 a folio and quarto volume, which, to the credit 
 of its possessor, was always most cheerfully lent. 
 From this library, which has a south-western 
 aspect, or rather S.S. W., as nautical men would 
 say, you soon step out upon a stately terrace, 
 from which there is a rich, though rather con- 
 fined, prospect. On descending from this ter- 
 race by a flight of steps surmounted with stone 
 bears, and other grotesque figures, you see be- 
 fore you a garden, which, on account of many 
 things, is truly enchanting, and if we were but 
 blessed with an Italian climate, the possessors 
 and inmates of Belswardine would here be 
 tempted to pass a large portion of their leisure 
 time. At every step you discover fresh beau- 
 ties, the joint work of nature and of tasteful 
 art. Basins surrounded with marble, springs, 
 fountains, cascades; busts, statues, groups ; spa-
 
 82 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 cious walks, artful labyrinths, and a beautiful 
 lime alley; grottos and bowers adorned with 
 natural foliage ; indeed, almost every ornament 
 that imagination can conceive here strikes the 
 eye ; but yet all disposed with that keeping, 
 that reserve, which is so necessary to make even 
 beauty itself agreeable. 
 
 At the end of a grand walk, which goes 
 through the whole garden, is a small wood 
 of beech and oaks, stocked with pheasants and 
 other game, and here the Miss Thorolds loved 
 to wander, at one time picking the wood-sorrel, 
 violets, and other wild flowers ; at another 
 time feeding the almost tame pheasants, or 
 listening to the cooing of the dove, and the song 
 of the nightingale perched on low and lonely 
 bough in the shade, or watching the contentions 
 among the inhabitants of a large rookery. Glad 
 were they to leave the heated greenhouses, and 
 orangery, to rove among the wild wood, and 
 along the flowery banks of a shining stream, — for 
 people who have all artificial sights and luxuries 
 in abundance, soon turn back to natural scenes 
 for refreshment, glad, indeed, to relinquish the 
 pine-apple for the common produce of the 
 orchard, or trained espalier. The race of 
 Thorolds had not been content with adorn- 
 ing their mansion and gardens only, but had
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. S3 
 
 likewise embellished the face of the whole 
 country round about, so that wherever the eye 
 turns it is charmed by grand and pleasing 
 objects. The hills round about are covered 
 with groups of beech and fir-trees, at once be- 
 tokening a noble domain ; and on an eminence 
 that faces the principal entrance of the Hall, a 
 most noble piece of ruins is constructed, which 
 appears to have suffered all the ravages of time, 
 and of human desolation, and strikes the eye of 
 the beholder, more especially if it be an anti- 
 quarian one, with a very singular pleasure, — 
 
 " He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds, 
 Surprises, varies, and conceals the bounds." 
 
 And truly the Thorolds had been distinguish- 
 ed for much combined nobleness and graceful- 
 ness of mind and character, (leading sometimes 
 to extravagance in the fine arts,) united to an 
 amenity of manner, and warmth of disposition, 
 which gained them troops of friends. The pre- 
 sent baronet was, perhaps, the least polished of 
 his race, at all events of late generations ; but 
 he was a man endued with many sterling and 
 most estimable qualities. He kept up the dig- 
 nified state of a thorough English gentleman ; 
 and while Belswardine was famed for its hospi- 
 tality, and continual round of company, more so 
 formerly than at the present time, the poor, for
 
 84 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 miles and miles around its proud towers, were 
 not forgotten, but rather, on every day, " freshly 
 remembered/"' In person he was robust, his 
 countenance florid from continual outdoor exer- 
 cise, and his head venerable with the snowy 
 tokens of having been conversant with the 
 happy and sorrowful scenes of this world for 
 very many years. Lady Thorold was tall and 
 stately in appearance ; her countenance benevo- 
 lent ; and she was always exceedingly plain and 
 simple both in her dress and her conversation, 
 so that the rustics often remarked, that many of 
 the more ordinary sort appeared at church far 
 finer than " my Lady : '' and they were always 
 glad when she entered their cottages to speak 
 common sense with them. 
 
 The Miss Thorolds were not absolutely 
 beautiful, but interesting in their looks ; Lucy's 
 countenance being one of calm repose, Dora's 
 usually lighted up with much vivacity, the 
 thoughts of her ready mind continually impart- 
 ing to it an expressive charm. 
 
 Mr. Greville belonged to the host of dilettanti, 
 and made a capital guest in a country house. 
 He was a member of nearly all the learned and 
 scientific societies ; skilled mainly in antiquarian 
 and archaeological lore, yet dipping much into 
 geology and modern chemistry. He was of a
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 85 
 
 good family, and an old periodical visitor at 
 Belswardiue. 
 
 Lord Henry Maitland, M.P., was an exceed- 
 ingly distingue looking personage, and one of 
 those young noblemen whose talents add lustre 
 to the rank allotted them by birth. Leigh 
 Hunt somewhere said, in conversation with 
 Lord Byron, that a monarch ought not to be 
 a man of talent, the monopoly would be too 
 great, the conjunction of talent and royal power 
 too overpowering. But this is quite wrono", and 
 very properly " the tenth transmitter of a foolish 
 face "" finds little favour with that vast majority 
 of persons who are themselves neither fools nor 
 knaves. Well, — if you wished to behold an in- 
 tellectual nobleman, or if any of the royal aca- 
 demicans desired to depict such a head and 
 form in imperishable colours. Lord Henry Mait- 
 land should sit for the portrait. His lordship 
 was very tall, certainly more than six feet in 
 height, slightly made, with vast length of limb, 
 and generally thin ; his address easy and fashion- 
 able, perhaps more elegant and natural than 
 artistically of the heau monde ; and he seemed 
 rather to recline upon sofa or ottoman, as 
 though he felt perfectly at home wherever he 
 might be. But his comitenance at once shewed 
 the possession of no ordinary mind. His fine
 
 86 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 dark eyes, when fully set upon you, pierced you 
 to the heart ; his jet black hair was elegantly 
 arranged, not frivolously, but in thick rolls, just 
 shading his fine forehead ; and the pale, but not 
 unhealthy, hue of his face was relieved by a 
 slight moustache, which imparted a somewhat 
 chivalrous appearance ; and then the mouth and 
 nose were formed as by a Grecian chisel, giving 
 a tone of classic grace and delicacy to the whole 
 contour of a strikingly handsome countenance. 
 But before all, his conversation was so earnest 
 and sensible : he so truly desired and strove to 
 make himself master of the leading questions of 
 the age ; he paid such deference to the express- 
 ed opinions of friend or opponent ; and he 
 seemed so anxious to be of benefit to the hum- 
 ble classes of the people, that it could not fail 
 that his lordship must be not only a favourite in 
 private circles, but ere long become a practi- 
 cal statesman, and be noted as one whom the 
 Prime Minister of the day would treat with ob- 
 servation and regard, and be glad to gain as a 
 helper in his administration. The great hin- 
 drance and temptation that lay in his path 
 of usefulness, would be any feeling of ambition 
 to become the head or leader of a political se- 
 cession, to be a Young Englander for instance, 
 rather than to unite his energies and talents
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 87 
 
 with those who had more power in actual pos- 
 session, and who were truly and really, not 
 theoretically, advancing the social and moral 
 progress of this great and enlightened country. 
 On every occasion, as yet, 
 
 " To tread the walks of death, he stood prepared, 
 And what he greatly thought, he nobly dared." 
 
 But Ernest Singleton, how shall I describe 
 him ? for he was the heau ideal of an enlight- 
 ened and humane clergyman of the honest and 
 true Church of England. In figure he was tall, 
 and his mien noble and engaging, with a singu- 
 lar expression of united talent and goodness in 
 his countenance. There was something particu- 
 larly captivating in his blue e j e, arched with 
 dark eye-brows, beneath a high and intelligent 
 forehead, with his hair so gracefully yet natu- 
 rally ordered, as though only common care and 
 skill were bestowed upon its arrangement. You 
 beheld at once a man, beyond all art and con- 
 trivance, gentlemanly by nature ; and, like the 
 true-born gentleman, never did he fail in polite- 
 ness and kindness to any, even the meanest, of 
 his fellow-creatures. His intellect was of an 
 high order ; and by his learning, and the ami- 
 ability of his disposition, he had risen, as we 
 shall hereafter see, from a somewhat low estate, 
 to be the companion, ay, the leader and g-uide
 
 88 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 of men of more worldly distinction and for- 
 tune. We admire some men for their talents, 
 and yet we cannot love them ; we love others 
 for their goodness, and yet we admire not their 
 general powers; but in our clerical hero both 
 love and admiration rejoiced to bask themselves. 
 Nearly all men agreed in praising Ernest Single- 
 ton ; and thoroughly he possessed the art of 
 conquering our prejudices, subduing our fierce- 
 nesses, and shewing forth our sympathies. At 
 Eton he was beloved by his tutors, and abso- 
 lutely adored by the lower boys of the school, 
 to whom he was ever a kind patron, and ready 
 to bare his arm in their cause against the tyrant 
 and oppressor. To Cambridge he carried his 
 estimable qualities, and was eagerly sought after 
 as an associate by the gentle and intelligent of 
 that noble University. And now, as a parish 
 priest, he was gathering honour to the Church. 
 He loved his Church, not only because he believed 
 her to be the happy medium between Romanism 
 and Dissent, but because he felt the power of 
 her faith, and purity, and love, upon his own 
 soul. Whenever any one spoke of this sect, or 
 that sect, or of the shining privileges and prero- 
 gatives of the Church of Rome, he would say, 
 that he felt in his heart that if he had but grace 
 given him to believe and walk as a Christian
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 89 
 
 churchman should, he would undoubtedly be 
 saved, and what more could he want ? Faith- 
 ful to his Church, and he would believe all the 
 cardinal points of the Christian faith, he would 
 pray to have power to abstain from all sin, to 
 be adorned with the lovely fruits of the Spirit ; 
 and thus believing, and thus living, his immortal 
 soul, by God's favour and blessing, could not 
 be lost. When others, therefore, talked of this 
 doctrine, and that discipline, and spoke of ex- 
 citements and sensations, he rejoiced in the set- 
 tledness of his heart. His heart was with his 
 Church as with his religion : his heart con- 
 demned him not in this : and his good heart 
 carried him through all the purposes and achieve- 
 ments of his ministerial life. As regarded the 
 nature of his studies, he felt that if he confined 
 himself to modern researches and attainments 
 only, he would be superficial, unballasted, un- 
 steady ; and, on the other hand, if he devoted 
 his mind to the contemplation only qf things 
 ancient, he might be full enough, but could not 
 bring his fulness to bear upon modern purposes 
 and events. And so mild, and yet firm and 
 unshaken, was he when controversial reason- 
 ings were imposed upon him, that it seemed 
 as though he ever held the principle, that it 
 is by the blood of its confessors, and not by
 
 90 EKNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 that of its enemies, that the gospel triumphs. 
 His devotion, which was deep and sincere, 
 never degenerated into bigotry, but, on the 
 contrary, he looked forth on all men who 
 differed from him with the kindest and most 
 charitable eye, as though when beholding all 
 the nations of the earth, he could exclaim, 
 " The Almighty has permitted himself to be 
 worshipped in so many ways, that we may rest 
 assured, a remnant of all religions will be 
 saved ; let us only hope in due time that 
 remnant will become the whole." Thus his 
 genuine liberality of sentiment, together with 
 his uniform benevolent demeanour towards the 
 poor, the poor whom he bare on his heart, 
 were peculiarly distinguishing characteristics of 
 his religious life ; and this was the more pleas- 
 ing in his character, because those who have 
 risen from the lowlier ranks, too often become 
 mere aping followers of the rich ; too often 
 forget by what ladder they had ascended ; and 
 look down in a disdainful manner on the hum- 
 bler classes, such as is never practised by the 
 nobly born, or the truly great. Wherever he 
 was, in lordly hall, or lowly cot, in the peopled 
 street, or on the lonelier road, he felt that he 
 was a Christian pastor — that he was a phy- 
 sician in search of patients, and to whom the
 
 ERNEST SfNGLETON. 91 
 
 diseased and afflicted should come, that he was 
 specially appointed to give light to the darkened 
 mind, to heal the broken hearted, to guide the 
 feet of all men into the way of peace, ay, as 
 his Etonian poet * has well expressed it, 
 
 " To us, and to our pastoral care, 
 Is many a human heart laid bare 
 
 In many a varj-ing mood : 
 All human sorrows, doubts, and fears. 
 All cares and troubles, smiles and tears. 
 Supply our mental food. 
 "To us the wounded spirit flies 
 For words of comfort to appease 
 
 It's own afflictive smart ; 
 The penitent, by fears opprest. 
 Comes to us, and asks ease and rest 
 For his o'erburden'd heart. 
 " Our aid is lent, our prayers are said. 
 By saint and sinner's dying bed : 
 
 To us, in life's last hour, 
 ■ Confidingly both young and old, 
 The soul's mysterious depths unfold — 
 Its weakness and its powers." 
 
 Religion formed in Ernest Singleton the 
 foundation and constant energy of a true and 
 earnest life. It made his existence a real thing 
 to him ; real in its deep heart of joy, in its 
 sympathies, sorrows, actions, and changes ; 
 every outer portion of his conduct was bound 
 to the unseen and the abiding : the strength of 
 * Moultrie.
 
 92 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 a constant will ; the artlessness of an open 
 heart ; the sparkling play of the unclouded 
 affections ; all the sense of his own safety and 
 of his duty towards others sprung forth from the 
 moving spring of that interior thought and 
 sense which governed the outer life, namely, a 
 remembrance of what his religion had done, and 
 was hourly doing for him. To him nothing 
 was so beautiful as the religion of the Christian. 
 Beautiful as might be the scenes of nature, 
 lovely and enchanting the woods, the rivers, 
 the hills, sweet and captivating the song of 
 birds, awful the mountain, and ravine, and 
 forest, joyous the delight of the shining day 
 over all, and rapturous the mind in its loved 
 solitude ; yet before all these, most beautiful, most 
 lovely, most awful, and most joyous and raptur- 
 ous, the humane precept, the still small voice, 
 the words of affection or kind warning, the joy 
 and glad tidings of the pure gospel. Nothing 
 so beautiful as the pure, the truthful, the 
 peaceful, the spiritual heart. No one so great 
 as he who aims at this greatness, lifted above 
 all vanity, and appetite, and low motives, and 
 all little things ; a greatness within the reach 
 of the meanest, too often missed by the highest. 
 This was the aim of Ernest's life, elevation of 
 the heart and mind ; comparative debasement
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 93 
 
 of the body ; lowliness before God and all 
 men, highmindedness to triumph over the 
 meaner allurements of his natural estate ; this 
 possessed him so fully, as to give simplicity 
 and directness to his life at all times ; in hall 
 or cot he would be the same, striving after the 
 high pattern of the new man, the second and 
 renewed Adam, and endeavouring to lead 
 others to worship Him in sincerity, complete- 
 ness, and truth. 
 
 And who were Ernest Singleton's clerical 
 neighbours ? for he was simply curate of the 
 parish of Milton, in which Belswardine Castle 
 was situated. First, there was the Reverend 
 Hooley Merriman, a man in whom were com- 
 bined the character of country gentleman and 
 clergyman, for he lived at a fine old mansion 
 called Lawton Court, had a somewhat substan- 
 tial tenantry around him, owned a whole village 
 of cottages, besides some straggling ones, and 
 himself performed the sacred duties of a small 
 chapel of ease, a sort of nominal incumbency as 
 regarded stipend, but by which he might escape 
 applications to undertake the services of neigh- 
 bouring churches; and, moreover, because he 
 felt a real wish not to render his ordination vow 
 a mere form, but to do what he could to 
 gather in, and maintain, converts to the church
 
 94 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 of Christ. But still, he was the opposite of 
 Ernest Singleton. Testy and changeable in 
 his disposition ; to one thing constant never ; 
 always harassed by his own unsteadiness of 
 mind, it might well be said of him, nil fuit un- 
 quam sic impar sibi : or, as Machiavel said of 
 Lorenzo de Medici, " the gravity of his life, if 
 compared with its levity, must make him ap- 
 pear a composition of two different persons, 
 each incompatible, and, as it were, impossible to 
 be joined together." Paradoxical as this may 
 seem, it is no uncommon character, and was 
 truly worked out in the whole life and conduct 
 of Mr. Merriman. He was in person little 
 without being mean, seldom careless, yet never 
 studied in his dress, bland in his demeanour, 
 except when under the brief dominion of a 
 sudden annoyance, or gust of passion, and 
 while in company he usually spoke in a sensible 
 and cheerful manner, his discourse often being 
 blended with much of humourous anecdote. 
 In the privacy of his study too, he would often 
 dilate over many things in a serious and capti- 
 vating strain, and you would really be led to be- 
 lieve you had a man of humanity and goodness 
 before you, but then he would at another time 
 be so changed, that you hardly knew, as the say- 
 ing has it, " what to make of him." Fickleness
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 95 
 
 of purpose, inclecisi(jp, and jealousy were his 
 sad failings. Everything must emanate from 
 himself, be created and established by himself, 
 be pulled down and builded up again by himself, 
 for he would not act in harmony with any 
 one. I, by itself I, was his failing. Did he 
 build a school, he would next be tempted to 
 raze it with the ground, and as to a school- 
 master, he would need twenty in the course 
 of a year. Always jealous of his curate, he 
 at length virtually forbade his visiting any one, 
 wliile at the same time he would complain 
 that the unfortunate underling did not visit 
 enough, but rather left all to be done by him- 
 self. The people of course made a capital 
 joke of this ; and the curate was not abso- 
 lutely silent on the matter wherever he went, 
 because he was a spirited fellow, and was 
 liked enough to be able to make much mer- 
 riment out of the ambulatory pertinacity of 
 the little man, only once being tempted to 
 say in an unguarded moment, that he was 
 " the biggest little fool "" he had ever met 
 ^*ith. And certainlv at times he could feel 
 " dulce est desipere in loco,'' for he would give 
 dinners and rural fetes, with dancing and fire- 
 works in the evening, all which would have 
 made another man of equal property exceedingly
 
 96 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 popular, and indeed he n^eant well, but still 
 ail was marred by the possession of the un- 
 pleasing qualities above-mentioned, and Ernest 
 Singleton, as well as many others, too often 
 sorely lamented that they could not act with 
 him in any public capacity that required sted- 
 fastness of mind and purpose, while at the 
 same time they would often enjoy his society in 
 private circles, and feel that there was much in 
 him to be loved, some things to be avoided, 
 nothing to be indefinitely hated. 
 
 Then there was Walter Hughes, the young 
 curate of Monckton. A fair-haired youth was 
 he, and of ingenuous and open disposition, albeit 
 of a Calvinistic turn of mind, and imbued with 
 rather low church views. He was especially 
 zealous in parochial visitings, and much liked 
 by the yeomen of his parish, among whom he 
 often went, and often dined in their houses, 
 and they feasted in his, yet he never trans- 
 gressed the limits of the strictest moderation 
 in all things, or permitted the smallest fami- 
 liarity to lower him in their presence. Ernest 
 was very partial to him, and used to say he 
 knew no more conscientious man than bro- 
 ther Hughes, always affable, always truth- 
 ful, always for real peace and brotherly 
 love. Near him lived Launcelot Nixon, a
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 97 
 
 curate of forty years standing, and one who 
 was indeed esteemed. Never was a better 
 man in heart, whatever superiority of intellect 
 might be boasted of by others. He was just 
 what Bishop Jebb describes : " A parish minister 
 should possess an active, bustling disposition, 
 with some turn for agricultural pursuits, and 
 much fondness for introducing habits of sobriety, 
 industry, cleanliness, and comfort, among the 
 lower orders.'' Alas ! poor Nixon must strike 
 out the category of " comfort," unless it be that 
 sweetest and most unworldly kind which pro- 
 ceeds from domestic love, however the outward 
 man be pinched by a near, though not actual, 
 relationship with poverty. At no period of 
 his life possessing more than one hundred and 
 thirty pounds a-year, as mere life-income, he 
 had contrived respectably to bring up ten chil- 
 dren, and to put them out as farmers and 
 tradesmen in the busy world. He was an ac- 
 ceptable preacher, for goodly numbered congre- 
 gations awaited him. His private character 
 was unexceptionable ; his manners always easy 
 and cheerful ; and, in short, he much resembled 
 the " country parson " of olden time, the man 
 who dined with his family and servants at one 
 o'clock, saw one course only on the table, and 
 morning and evening alike trudged about in 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 strong nailed shoe and worsted hose. Ernest 
 used to say, that he only wanted to be rich 
 in order that he might send, anonymously, every 
 half year, a substantial present to the worthy 
 curate ; and grieved indeed he was, when he 
 heard that the next presentation to the small 
 living, the curacy of which he held, was sold 
 by the patron, a country gentleman of whig, 
 and therefore parsimonious, politics ; for he 
 had really hoped that it would, at the decease 
 of a paralytic and aged incumbent, have been 
 generously given to the labouring curate, espe- 
 cially since the patron ever professed to be his 
 personal friend. An admirable wife was Mrs. 
 Nixon, and a helpmate indeed, when the fact is 
 ■announced that she kept no servant, no not for 
 baking, brewing, scouring, cooking, and washing. 
 Oh ! let no sneer or jeer attend this statement, 
 for what is equal to health, and cheerfulness, 
 and industry, and constant sense of duty, and 
 being by these virtues and blessings kept out 
 of debt ! Lowminded and vulgar people under- 
 stand not this nobleness of conduct, while your 
 highborn and most privileged will be the first 
 to rise up in admiration of the qualities that 
 lead to its determination, and, therefore, poor 
 Nixon and his wife and family, were held in 
 great and sincere esteem by the clergy and
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 99 
 
 gentry of his neighbourhood, even by those 
 who heard of him but visited him not ; and, 
 it was reported that the bishop of his diocese, 
 a benevolent and Hberal bishop, had much 
 calmed those anxieties and apprehensions which 
 beset every poor gentleman's life, by the kind- 
 est promises of aid, should he ever be turned 
 upon the world, or in any prior necessity be in 
 want of a friend, — and, on one occasion when 
 he repaired to his bishop on business, the 
 Christian father entertained the labouring son 
 in the Gospel as though he were true yoke-fel- 
 low, and was delighted to give heed to his con- 
 verse, and be most indulgent to his requirements. 
 On an opposite side of Milton resided Arthur 
 John Heberden, or, as Singleton would often 
 playfully call him, Johnny Heber. He was a 
 man of depth indeed, but lacking that power 
 which renders one pleasing and attractive in the 
 eyes of all men ; yet whenever love and attach- 
 ment fixed on Francis Heberden, it grew with 
 its growth, and strengthened with its strength, 
 until it became indelible. Heberden could 
 appreciate cheerfulness and joking in others, 
 but in himself there was an utter absence of 
 frivolity, and certainly at times he could hardly 
 escape the imputation of austereness, for the 
 multitude are more strongly drawn by unpro- 
 
 F 2
 
 100 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 fitable courtesies than by churlish benefits. 
 He was rector of Compton Magna, presented 
 to him by his cousin, Sir Francis Aubrey, of 
 Bayons Manor, who was a wealthy man of the 
 old whig school in politics, and who did a 
 considerable deal of good, not only by his mere 
 expenditure in continual improvements, but by his 
 exceeding love to the Church, to her schools, her 
 missionary societies, and whatever could con- 
 duce to the benefit of the members that enrolled 
 themselves under her pastoral instruction and 
 care. Consequently, in Heberden's rather small 
 parish there were no Dissenters, for all loved 
 Sir Francis, and all knew that their rector 
 acted to the best of his conscientious ability. 
 No man suspected his integrity and sincerity, 
 although some might have wished that a little 
 more outward sweetness and courtesy of dis- 
 position had been infused in the moral and 
 spiritual creation of his mind, — yet still, under 
 a blunt exterior often lies a feeling and sen- 
 sitive heart, and most men and women, if not 
 ever}' one, who knew him, would constantly 
 be heard to say, '' well, if there be a good 
 Christian man on God's earth. Parson Heberden 
 is one.'' Now Heberden was a very learned 
 mail, especially initiated in the theological lore 
 of the primitive ages of Christianity, and the
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 101 
 
 man who gets full oft into the company of 
 martyrs and confessors, and men of the holy 
 stamp of those earliest and uncompromising 
 ages, rather contemns modern saints ; and, be- 
 fore all things, cannot endure the sight or 
 presence of a mere professor, a sort of compli- 
 mentary Christian, who esteems it a credit to 
 Christianity, that he lends it his countenance. 
 Our rector looked every inch of him a learned 
 man, for he had that wrinkled and leathern 
 countenance which betokens hard reading and 
 profound thought ; his eye was dull in its com- 
 mon expression ; his frame tall, and not mus- 
 cularly filled up; and yet he was capable of endur- 
 ing great fatigue of body as well as of mind ; in 
 short, while he looked the man of mental 
 power and endurance, his tout ensemble did not 
 proclaim the brilliancy of genius, but rather 
 told of calm and holy devotion, and not im- 
 pulse and excitement. In his general manner, 
 albeit abrupt and not engaging at first, he was 
 on further acquaintance found to be full of 
 cordiality, simplicity, and kindness. Music 
 was the dehght of his soul, and usually the 
 dulcet tones of a piano or violoncello announced 
 to a visitor the nearness of the rectory house. 
 Behind the rectorial demesne, a hill, almost 
 to be dignified by the name of mountain, rose
 
 10^ ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 abruptly ; and it was his delight to work with 
 his parishioners in forming paths and rocky- 
 seats on the side of this hill, and while he 
 himself loved to wander alone upon its rugged 
 declivity, often inwardly exclaiming 
 
 " Solitude quam dilecta ! 
 Hinc in coelum via recta." 
 
 he was still delighted to behold the hill-side 
 covered with ramblers on a Sunday evening, 
 and to see them in groups on his walks, and 
 sitting in little coteries on his rudely-shapen 
 stone, turf, or wooden seats. Oh ! that many 
 a nobleman and gentleman of England would 
 thus open the park or ornamented grounds, to 
 their neighbours and the friends of their neigh- 
 bours, and a bond of union would be formed 
 between classes, and an improvement and re- 
 finement, as well as a cordial good-will effected, 
 which would be of the first importance to 
 the social well-being of the nation at large. 
 
 With this imperfect and rude outline of Mr. 
 Heberden's character, let us give a still slighter 
 sketch of the Rev. John Daisy. Good-humoured 
 Daisy was enough to provoke saint or sinner, 
 agreeing with all, disputing with none; often 
 giving heedless assent to contrarieties, he seemed, 
 as people would say, to care " for nobody nor 
 nothing.*" Daisy had a round and rubicund
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 108 
 
 counteDance, not fat, but well filled with fleshly 
 yermilion ; and his smile, which wrinkled not bis 
 face, albeit a dimple was apparent, seemed like a 
 perpetual thing at all times to be worn, and we 
 may question whether it was totally relaxed even 
 during the sacred performance of divine service. 
 And what harm ? Surely, the Deity smiles upon 
 man, "why should not His ministers look pleasant- 
 ly on His people ? Daisy had a blue eye ; not a 
 rudely laughing eye, but an eye of pleasantness, 
 which seemed as though it pierced nothing, and 
 never wished to look into your mind and heart. 
 Whether he could read a serious book, or a news- 
 paper's melancholy column of murders, suicides, 
 and misfortunes, was a problem not solved, for 
 Daisy was never seen to set his face against 
 these things. All people loved Daisy — women 
 hardly curtsied to him, it would have been 
 too formal — children ran out to meet him, and 
 in cottages sat on his knee, and said all kinds 
 of children's impromptu sayings — and it was 
 even said that he apologised to the squire and 
 his family for the length to which his sermon 
 one day had inadvertently reached. The squire 
 snored, and Daisy was sorry for this. Every- 
 body that went to him with a grievance or 
 misfortune, fancied that it was all removed iu 
 a moment ; for no one could imagine his ills
 
 104 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 were paramount, or even present, while Daisy 
 smiled all the while. And yet Daisy was no 
 fool, for he had right good common sense. 
 It would not do, perhaps, for all the clergy 
 to he like Daisy, and yet some of them would 
 be none the worse for being so ; and, on the 
 principle that if people would not fight there 
 would be no fighters, so if all were as unpro- 
 voking and inoffensive as he, there would be no 
 controversialists nor combatants in the Church, 
 and among the sectaries. Daisy would sit and 
 walk with Mr. Heberden, or " Hebden,"" as, after 
 the example of the common people, he called 
 him ; and Heberden would think he was filling 
 him brimful of learned lore, at the same time 
 that Daisy was assenting to all, but imbibing 
 none ; going away always, as regarded any 
 permanent plenitude, as empty as he came. 
 Ernest Singleton liked to recreate himself with 
 Daisy's simplicity and carelessness, and would 
 often jocularly exclaim: 
 
 '' Oh, John, John Daisy, 
 You take it so aisy." 
 
 And aisy he did take every thing, and doubt- 
 less would have fiddled alongside Nero while 
 Rome was burning. Daisy cared not whether 
 he read prayers in a~ surplice or not — on a 
 twilight evening Daisy has stood on a pew's
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 105 
 
 bench near a window, and read his sermon 
 from hence instead of from the daiker pulpit, 
 and no one perceived any inferiority in the 
 discourse. Daisy never looked how many, or 
 what kind of godfathers and godmothers were 
 standing round the baptismal font — Daisy cared 
 not where he placed the wine and bread at 
 the sacramental feast — Daisy would have mar- 
 ried the wrong couple sometimes, had it been 
 left to his heedless selection — and yet all things 
 were performed in his church with apparent 
 decency, because Daisy's people were decent, 
 and supplied any lack of carefulness on his 
 part, never taking advantage, though he was 
 imposed upon by strangers in matters of buy- 
 ing and selling, of his usual heedlessness and 
 unconcern. In one thing alone, Daisy was not 
 heedless, his attention to the poor. He never 
 missed to salute a poor man, he never left his 
 dwelling long unvisited, he would walk by the 
 plough side and engage in rural talk ; he would 
 take the dinner off his o^vn table to the needy 
 traveller ; he was prompt in attending the sum- 
 mons to the bedside of the sick — and Daisy look- 
 ed grave — when and where — at a funeral ! 
 
 There was Jones, a Welsh parson, who was 
 Singleton's abhorrence. Ernest would say, " I 
 must remember I am but a farmer's son, my
 
 106 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 lot might have been among farmers ; and I 
 trust 1 should have been contented among the 
 worthy of these most often worthy men, and 
 that I might have been enabled to elevate 
 their minds, but Jones mixes with them to 
 the degradation of himself and themselves." It 
 must be confessed that this is a great snare 
 to the country clergy. For the clergy are 
 always resident, farmers are very hospitable, 
 and especially they love to entertain their su- 
 periors, so that few men are more welcome to 
 their houses than the clergyman of the parish. 
 By degrees other farmers are invited, and a 
 farmer's sociable evening is generally passed 
 amid the fumes of tobacco and with a plentiful 
 circulation of the tankard of ale, even the 
 stronger alcoholic drinks not omitted. A cler- 
 gyman goes there for the sake of kindness 
 and friendship, and through fear lest the re- 
 fusal of an invitation might be set down to 
 pride, and when there he finds himself placed 
 in a singular and lonely position, and preven- 
 tive of the wants and mirth of others, if he 
 does not as they do, and joins not in the common 
 conviviality and familiarity of the company. 
 The farmer is well pleased to see his guest 
 enjoying himself; moreover, he gains an ex- 
 cuse for his own excesses, and thus in this
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 107 
 
 seemingly social, but really inconsiderate and 
 cruel manner, the minister is led on to a 
 course which he cannot but repent of after- 
 wards. Sir Francis Aubrey used to say, that 
 if he was a parish priest resident solely among 
 farmers, especially if the gentry did not invite 
 him and notice him, as some do look down 
 upon the poor clergyman, he knew not that 
 he could resist the temptation of seeking his 
 society with, them ; and hence, as a matter of 
 plus or minus, falling into their ways and habits. 
 And so poor Jones fell. Once an evangelical 
 and popular preacher, curate to one of the most 
 evangelical (conventionally so called) pastors of 
 the town of Huddersfield, he was presented to 
 a small incumbency in the agricultural heart 
 of the county of York ; and in process of time, 
 for the process was a gradual one, he became 
 the object of degradation, which his habits now 
 presented to the world. Why was he not 
 removed from the clerical office ? will be asked. 
 Because no one would mention the matter to 
 the bishop, or soon it would have been effect- 
 ed. The churchwardens would not : they were 
 farmers, and liked to have him at their fire- 
 side, indeed he was always welcome to a corner 
 in the huge settle in the kitchen. Rural dean 
 there was none, and the archdeacon would.
 
 108 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 or could not, stir in the business, unless it 
 was brought formally before him. Ernest Sin- 
 gleton said he was often tempted to make 
 complaints ; but no, he never would be " an 
 accuser of the brethren," and providence would 
 sooner or later, in fulfilling its mysterious pur- 
 poses, overrule all for the best. 
 
 There M^ere two other clerygmen, more dis- 
 tant friends of Ernesf's, or rather acquaintances, 
 who were highly connected with some of the 
 leading county families, and who were men of 
 geutlemantly feeling and Christian character, 
 but negative withal in respect to any peculiar or 
 earnest recognition of the clerical profession. 
 The Rev. Mr. Chetwode was a county magis- 
 trate ; chairman of the Board of Guardians ; 
 also chairman of the Turnpike Road Commis- 
 sion's Meetings ; a promoter of Savings' Banks, 
 — of the district Agricultural Society, — of the 
 Allotment System, — and many other plans foi 
 ameliorating the condition of the industrial 
 classes, of whom he himself might be said to 
 be chief He kept a good house, saw much 
 company, was an excellent master of servants, 
 — and employed many persons in various ways 
 on landed estates belonging to him. He was 
 the rector of a large agricultural parish, 
 in which were some important hamlets or
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 109 
 
 villages, and so he generously erected a 
 chapel of ease, for the benefit of the furthest 
 hamlet, and kept two curates in a constant 
 round of activity among the people. The Kev. 
 Horace Benyon was also a man of private pro- 
 perty ; and a more truly gentle and gentleman- 
 ly man in his manners could not be conceived. 
 He had objections to the office of magistrate 
 being filled by a clergyman, neither did he like 
 even to be the guardian, under the New Poor 
 Law Act, of his parish ; only the farmers and 
 poorer rate-payers of the parish had elected him, 
 and, being once elected, he thought it might be 
 a providential call to him to be of service in the 
 cause of humanity, and so he humbly took his 
 station, among the more thoughtless members, 
 at the board. He, too, kept one curate ; and a 
 kinder rector no curate could serve, or a man 
 less free from jealousy and interference, and the 
 hundred absurd and petty ways in which rectors 
 sometimes thwart the humble and zealous inten- 
 tions of a curate. His small mouth and elon- 
 gated chin, his dark and serene eye, with its 
 finely arched eyebrow, and his rather pale 
 cheek, with its black and handsome whisker, 
 gave him not only a gentlemanly appearance, 
 but one of delicacy, of taste, of sensitiveness ; 
 and you felt assured that such a one would
 
 no ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 never utter a harsh word, or deal out an inten- 
 tional oiFence, but almost rather shrink from 
 the expression of an honest, if it were an indig- 
 nant, feeling. And yet he made a vigorous 
 stand against the Roman Catholic powers that 
 were becoming influential in his parish. For it 
 happened that a Roman Cathohc family of great 
 distinction occasionally resided at their large 
 mansion in his parish, and owned many broad 
 acres there, on which lived a tenantry of no 
 mean number and wealth. The noble earl was 
 a liberal and prudent man, moderate in his 
 religious views; but the countess was exceed- 
 ingly energetic, and often being resident in a 
 noble palace at Rome, imbibed a strong zeal in 
 the cause of the advancement of her religion. 
 As yet Mr. Benyon had succeeded in keeping 
 the parochial school under the guidance of mem- 
 bers of the Church of England, although the in- 
 defatigable countess had endeavoured, through 
 the obsequiousness of her Protestant tenantry, 
 to place a Roman Catholic schoolmistress there : 
 and, moreover, he had been on good terms with 
 the Roman Catholic priest, who was a truly 
 refined and humane man, and had formerly been 
 one of the chamberlains to the Pope at Rome, 
 an office, of course, of high distinction. 
 
 But, lo, and behold ! without the least pre-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. Ill 
 
 vious warning, a letter is received by the priest 
 from his Roman Catholic bishop, ordering him 
 at once to retire from his pastoral station ; and 
 his consternation was great. It may be men- 
 tioned, that when he came into this locality he 
 possessed but three hundred pounds in the 
 world, no small possession, perhaps, for a 
 Roman Catholic priest, and this sum he had 
 totally expended on decorations in the chapel, 
 which was contiguous to this nobleman's Hall, 
 so that suddenly he felt himself to be a ruined 
 man, sold all that he had, even his books and 
 pictures, because no other appointment was 
 offered except that a residence at Oscott was 
 hinted at. It afterward appeared, that the 
 bishop thought that he was not sufficiently 
 doing his duty by the Church of Rome; that 
 he was too fond of general literature, which 
 drew on him less scrupulous ideas ; that he 
 became too sedentary and easy ; and, in short, 
 did not anathematise his flock for availing them- 
 selves of the privileges of the Protestant school, 
 and sometimes the Protestant churches; and, 
 altogether, he was not the man to oppose Mr. 
 Benyon and his gentlemanly curate, both of 
 whom were well received at the Hall, and 
 might possibly get into too much favour with 
 the noble and liberal-minded earl. The result
 
 112 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 was, that, on this good priest's departure, a 
 monk is deputed to succeed him — ay, a veri- 
 table monk with shaven crown, and hood and 
 cowl ; he makes his appearance, and he is ex- 
 pected to work wonders among the submissive, 
 or refractory, children of the universal Pontiff 
 of the Christian Church. This occurred soon 
 after Ernest's more intimate acquaintance with 
 Mr. Benyon, and, of course, was a subject of 
 interest to him ; and, indeed, Mr. Benyon had 
 hoped that he would have filled up the vacancy 
 which occurred in the curateship, and thus have 
 brought his sound judgment, his excellent 
 learning, and discreet temper, to bear against 
 the awaited furious onslaught, or religious 
 crusade, of the newly arrived monk. 
 
 Lastly comes before us, the Rev. Edward 
 Creyke, a dear friend and coadjutor of Ernest 
 Singleton's in all things ; one equal to him 
 in willingness to do great things, but inferior in 
 talent and judicious discernment. His parish 
 had several political Dissenters in it, mischievous 
 people, who play off the " No-Popery " cry 
 against the Church, all the time understanding 
 not whereof they afiirm, and many of them 
 using this cry as a bugbear merely to serve their 
 own temporal purposes. Mr. Creyke could 
 well say with Coleridge, *' I sometimes think it
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 113 
 
 just possible that the Dissenters may once more 
 be animated by a wiser and nobler spirit, and see 
 their dearest interest in the Church of England 
 as the bulwark and glory of Protestantism, as 
 they did at the Revolution. But I doubt their 
 being able to resist the low factious malignity to 
 the Church which has characterized them as a 
 body for so many years ! " This malignity cer- 
 tainly appeared on occasion in two men at 
 least, a covetous lawyer and profligate doctor, 
 in Mr. Creyke's parish, men, who, though they 
 attended sometimes on the services of the church, 
 yet invariably for their own advantage, sided 
 with what the great and philosophic mind of 
 Coleridge was constrained to call " that most 
 unblest phrase, the Dissenting interest.'"* Mr. 
 Creyke was a pious, and sweetly tempered man, 
 and no one could be more really zealous in seek- 
 ing out the sick and needy of his parish, and in 
 striving to help those to right that suffered 
 wrong. Being, unfortunately, placed among 
 railers and false accusers, he acted prudently on 
 that potential maxim of Archbishop Williams, 
 " he that answers a calumny keeps it alive : he 
 that will not, starves it:" and so he was just 
 the man for that station, one who could bear all 
 things calmly, and live harmless and undefiled 
 in the midst of a crooked and perverse people.
 
 114 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Such were some of Ernest's clerical neigh- 
 bours, each different in some degree to the 
 other, because under the independence of the 
 Church of England, men do not sink their 
 individual peculiarities in the system, but rather 
 speak and act as the heart openly prompts them, 
 and hence we are the more sure of their honesty 
 and truthfulness in all things. Few things are 
 more disagreeable than the canting terms and 
 sayings of a profession, be it what it may, laical 
 or religious, but from this bond the Church of 
 England ministers can afford to be free. Ernest 
 had many other acquaintances whom he was 
 glad to see at visitations, and other periods of 
 religious meeting ; and he had distant corres- 
 pondents, especially the admirable Rector of 
 Penscellwood, and the Rev. Peter Richards, 
 the absentee vicar of the parish wherein 
 Hughes officiated, this latter incumbent being 
 a rigid Calvinist, and one who was determined 
 to bring Ernest over to his views, if such a con- 
 version could possibly be effected. But he, in 
 his overmastering zeal, wrote too harshly, and 
 so his attempts all failed. How broad and 
 liberal is the doctrinal foundation of the Church 
 of England ! yea, Calvinist and Arminian may 
 meet in her bosom, and yet she likes not either 
 extreme, but with her fondest love encircles the
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 115 
 
 plain and earnest Christian, that comprehensive 
 name which all lay claim to, but which fewer 
 deserve or adorn. It is impossible to think that 
 such a cjiurch can ever be in abeyance, that 
 such a church will not be ardently longed for 
 by the mass of calm, moderate, heavenly-mind- 
 ed men, who live and abound on British ground : 
 it is impossible to conceive that the religion of 
 the laud will ever be based on the extremes 
 only of Romanist or Dissenting parties ; and if 
 such a fabric were reared, it could not possess 
 the main requisite of permanence, it could not 
 live in the great, trauquil hearts of genuine 
 Christian men, men who would rather seek the 
 road to heaven in quietness, love, and peace, 
 than amid the jarring controversy, the brilliant 
 errors, the continual excitement that is neces- 
 sary to keep up the mere mental and imagina- 
 tive, but most unsteady and capricious, religion 
 of a changeable people. One who hath well 
 noted what is going on in the religious world of 
 Europe in the present day, and who has watched 
 the flowing of the devotional stream for a long 
 while, saith, " Many Protestant seceders from 
 the Church in this country are gradually adopt- 
 ing practices and opinions to which their ances- 
 tors were resolutely opposed, — a spirit of 
 inquiry is excited among Protestants in foreign
 
 116 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 lands ; and many who, for awhile, reviled us 
 for not being sufficiently Protestant, approach 
 us now with respect, to ascertain the working of 
 our system, and to master the principles on 
 which we act." And again he saith, " Blessed 
 be God, those who thus think," that not the 
 Church, but ultra-Protestants are in error, " are 
 in number greatly increasing; those who not 
 only tolerate but love their Prayer Book ; and 
 from the increase in number, and influence of 
 such, proposals to reform the Prayer Book on 
 an ulra- Protestant model are now seldom to be 
 heard." Oh ! that we may look forward to the 
 time, as we can look back to such a blissful 
 period, when Christian hearts may be again one, 
 again one in feeling — again one in principle — 
 again one in doctrine — again one in discipline 
 — again one in brotherly love — again one in 
 spirit — again all members of one and the self- 
 same body, — that again the parting Redeemer's 
 prayer may be practically observed, and that 
 beautiful and loving unity described in the 
 fourth chapter to the Ephesians fully developed. 
 This is the true and only basis for an Evan- 
 geHcal alliance — all else is vain and futile as 
 any human attempt to calm the waves of the 
 tumultuous sea. We must all be of one mind, 
 all speak the same thing — expel the world —
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 117 
 
 fence the fold — be a holy brotherhood, in intel- 
 lect and heart agreed, — then we can call consis- 
 tently on the outer world to behold our unity, 
 and then there would be every likelihood of that 
 world confessing that it is a thing of beauty 
 and loveliness.
 
 118 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " If chance some well remember'd face, 
 Some old companion of my early race, 
 Advance to claim his friend with honest joy. 
 My eyes, my heart proclaim'd me yet a boy !" 
 
 Byron. 
 
 But, before all those described in our last 
 chapter, Ernest Singleton had one honoured and 
 most beloved friend. Let us be pardoned for 
 entering into a full description of an '' old 
 Etonian," though young in years, and a digres- 
 sion on dear, dear Eton. Every one who was 
 cotemporary at that school with Charles Henry 
 Kerr, will well remember the form and counte- 
 nance of that singular, yet attractive, youth. 
 Like the renowned Wilkes, he scared his fellow- 
 creatures from his path on first sight, yet, like 
 Wilkes, he would have given the handsomest 
 man in the world but one half hour's advance 
 even to win the good favour and grace of fair 
 lady. Charles Henry Kerr loved to muse 
 alone, solitude was dear to him, and yet it was
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 119 
 
 not fruitless in storing him with resources to 
 mingle with the most polished society as years 
 advanced, and shine in its circles yacz'/e princeps. 
 It is Goldsmith who says, that a solitary life 
 will make a man either a devil or a saint, but it 
 made Charles Henry neither of these, but 
 trained him up for a future literary and poli- 
 tical character. But how can a boy lead a 
 solitary life at Eton ? Let this be answered 
 after an Irish manner by asking another ques- 
 tion, How can a man lead a solitary life in the 
 heart of London ? The magnitude and multi- 
 tude of the places solve the question. At little 
 private schools a boy would soon be missed from 
 his tiny playground, and if he shewed propen- 
 sities superior to the narrow circle around him, 
 he would be teased and bullied worse than poor 
 Cowper in his larger sphere. Eton is not a 
 little school, neither is it cabined and con- 
 fined like the poet's Tirocinium, Westminster. 
 Among six or seven hundred boys individual 
 peculiarities are lost, and while there are always 
 rough and ready ones enough to ply the oar, or 
 urge the flying ball, the studious and the roman- 
 tic may seek their own shades, and sit under 
 their own trees, none caring to ask questions 
 about them. And Charles Henry loved the 
 solitary tree whither his wandering steps had
 
 120 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 borne him into the centre of Windsor, or Stoke 
 Parks, — oh ! he could have cried with Aswad, 
 in the wondrous Thalaba, 
 
 " This tree alone, that o'er my head 
 Hangs down its hospitable boughs, 
 And lends its whispering leaves, 
 
 As though to welcome me, 
 Seems to partake of life ; 
 I love it as my friend, my only friend! " 
 
 Yes, at Eton there are boys of all kinds of 
 dispositions and tastes, and they soon feel for 
 themselves that their feet are set as in a large 
 room. Thus walking parties form a staple re- 
 creation at Eton ; and to Ernest Singleton 
 this was always the most delightful one. A 
 walk with Leith, or Kinglake, or Fletcher, was 
 a treat indeed, and a treat that falsified the 
 proverbial assertion that it may be possible to 
 have too much of a good thing. These were 
 times of heart-blessings^ as Wordsworth calls 
 them, when heart bounded to heart, and each 
 lifted the other, without effort or struggle, to a 
 pinnacle of joyousness and genial thought. 
 
 Now Charles Henry Kerr would rove much 
 without a companion. We cannot say he was 
 like Shelley's solitary poetic wanderer, who 
 
 " Bought 
 With his sweet voice and eyes, from savage man, 
 His rest and food ; "
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 121 
 
 neither, in the same true poet's words, did he 
 
 " make the wild his home, 
 Until the doves and squirrels would partake 
 From his innocuous hand his bloodless food, 
 Lured hy the gentle meaning of his looks ! 
 And the wild antelope, that starts whene'er 
 The dry leaf rustles in the brake, suspend 
 Her timid steps, to gaze upon ajomi 
 More graceful than her own." 
 
 No : — nor yet with Wordsworth's " Summer 
 Pilgrim," could it of him be said, 
 
 " Back from his sight no bashful children steal : 
 He sits a brother at the cottage meal : 
 His humble looks no shy restraint impart, 
 Around him plays at will the virgin heart." 
 
 It was a fact, that in the personal appearance 
 of Charles Henry Kerr there was nothing ro- 
 mantic ; and yet he was the very soul of poetry 
 within ! Oh ! he was gentle, brave, and gene- 
 rous in heart ; but he bore a forbidding aspect 
 and a haughty look. It seemed as though his 
 companionship with Nature's forms and beauties 
 unfitted him to stoop to constant intercourse 
 with man. His mind grew gigantic on the 
 hills and mid the woods, and he could not bow- 
 down to a participation in the unmeaning exer- 
 cise and revelry of human society. Perhaps he 
 was aware that those protruding features, and 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 those shaggy eyebrows, that crowned an un- 
 gainly form and gait, were not in unison with 
 the handsome faces and manly forms that stood 
 in groups at Eton ; and hence, in earliest day, 
 felt, like Byron, that nature had set a mark 
 upon him that bade his sensitive mind seek 
 to escape the ridicule of the thoughtless throng, 
 and which would almost necessarily give an im- 
 press of that hauteur which never fails to alie- 
 nate the sympathies and affections of mankind. 
 Perhaps, considering that there was nothing 
 dark and unearthly in his look, for he had light 
 hair and eyes of a greyish blue, he was of all 
 men in appearance the least attractive looking, 
 the least amiable ! And yet at Eton no 
 word of reproach ever followed him, no finger 
 of scorn was ever pointed at him, no tongue 
 mocked or reviled him. It is true that Eton 
 boys are gentlemen in bearing and in manner 
 — they are quite above the nick-name propen- 
 sities of private schools — and, as we have said, 
 a boy and his peculiarities may escape in so 
 vast a crowd of aspirants for fame and observa- 
 tion — but it was not this that shielded Charles 
 Henry, but rather a certain respect and regard 
 for his known kindly nature, and his ready 
 poetical abilities. If anything occurred in the 
 school worthy of celebration by an aetherial
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 123 
 
 climber of Mount Parnassus, Kerr's quick pen 
 amused and gratified. A parody on Southey's 
 Battle of Blenheim, in celebration of a grand 
 football match, will never be forgotten, for it 
 fairly captivated the sterner minds of Bulteel, 
 Carew, and Toby Hamilton, those leading foot- 
 ball players who might be least suspected of 
 relishing even the stray strains of poetic genius. 
 Then, to any who would seek his society, his 
 conversation was elevating and most pleasing, 
 so full was his memory stored with the best 
 passages of the modern poets ; and then, he 
 was strongly suspected of being the well-known 
 and admired " Hermit " of the periodical called 
 the " Etonian," which was edited by W. M. 
 Praed. These things purchased peace and 
 regard for him, and gave him leisure to pursue 
 at will his wild and marvellous way. 
 
 From Eton our hero removed to Christ 
 Church, Oxford. Here he lived after the same 
 manner, but not with the same enjoyment, as 
 at Eton. In those dark cloisters, which con- 
 duct any one from the large quadrangle through 
 to the Christ Church walk, he had his rooms, 
 not far from the entrance to the Cathedral. 
 This situation was propitious to him, for he 
 could escape at any time from his college com- 
 paratively unobserved. He now, a la Byron, 
 
 G 2
 
 124 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 kept a noble Newfoundland dog, and with this 
 dog he vvas daily seen wandering adown the 
 banks of the Isis, generally as far as the noble 
 Harcourt domain, or upward over the Cumnor 
 Hills, so celebrated now by Sir Walter Scott. 
 An anecdote or two may be mentioned of him 
 here. On once passing the rooms of an un- 
 known fellow-collegian, and the door happening 
 to be open, he observed two pictures on the 
 wall of the sitting-room ; and immediately ex- 
 claimed to a companion, " This man, whoever 
 he may be, must be worth knowing, — he has 
 but two pictures in his room, and those are 
 portraits of Napoleon and Byron ! " After 
 some time he obtained an introduction to this 
 man, and they were congenial bosom friends 
 ever after. At this time the new discoveries in 
 Geology were being brought out before the 
 public, and he entertained serious thoughts of 
 forming on their data an Anti-Bible Society, but 
 this was never carried into execution. He was 
 fond of doing things after a recherche manner, 
 and thus would give not unfrequent supper 
 parties, when woodcocks and champagne alone 
 formed the repast. Several couples of wood- 
 cocks were purchased at a time these dainties 
 were sold at twelve shillings a couple, and the 
 champagne that aided their transit adown the
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 125 
 
 red lane of the human structure was not stinted. 
 These suppers were very delightful as feasts of 
 reason and overflowings of soul ; for there was no 
 undue noise and revelry, no bacchanalian break- 
 ings out afterward, but men of intellect and 
 heart were there, comprising not a few of the 
 scions of our noble British aristocracy. Among 
 these were some, who, like him, worshiped 
 Nature in her lonely scenes of grandeur and 
 beauty, and who, in after life, Tvith him, among 
 the ruins of glory and art, in Athens herself, 
 poured forth the fervid homage of the mind and 
 heart. Once during his career at Oxford, he 
 joined a company of sportsmen, who met at 
 Sutton Courtney Abbey, near Abingdon, and 
 soon he wounded a partridge. He picked it up, 
 but had not the heart to kill it. He knock its 
 head on the butt end of his gun, as a barbarian 
 keeper suggested, he could do no such thing ! 
 He took the bird home, nursed it seven days, 
 and it died ! But, meanwhile, he had become 
 attached to it, as Lord Byron to his wounded 
 eaglet on the shore of the Gulf of Lepanto, and 
 through it felt a sympathy for the whole par- 
 tridge tribe, and from that day made resolution, 
 as Byron did, and never did or would attempt 
 the death of another bird. There was some 
 jesting about this, for it became known ; but
 
 126 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 all the old Etonians who heard it canvassed, ex- 
 claimed, "Just Uke Kerr, he never could hurt 
 a living thing." All his pursuits were not Ox- 
 ford pursuits ; but as at Eton he could have 
 exclaimed with Milton, 
 
 " When I was yet a child, no childish play 
 To me was pleasing." 
 
 So at Oxford, all concourse, noise, and sport, he 
 would avoid, eschew the pacing up and down in 
 High Street, and rather in musing' thought hie to 
 the hill, the forest, and the vale. And yet when 
 he came to contend for literary eminence in the 
 schools, the fact of his being placed in the first 
 class of classical attainments, shews how 
 minutely and diligently he had perused the 
 classic treasures of Rome and Greece, and, 
 indeed, Plato, Aristotle, and Greek plays, had 
 become familiar matters in the grasp of his quiet 
 yet mastering intellect. During this period, 
 too, he had studied the German, Italian, and 
 Spanish languages with much effect ; and how 
 was it possible that he could be withheld from 
 at least lisping the numbers of Dante and 
 Goethe. 
 
 Well, Eton and Oxford over, and our friend 
 still undivested of his peculiar sympathies, he 
 longs to see other countrymen than his own.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 127 
 
 and to tread those classic shores of which he 
 has learned so much in classic song. Rome 
 and Athens, of course, ere long enshrine him. 
 Portugal, with its clean and pretty Cadiz, and 
 its most delightful Cintra, contained him long ; 
 — and of Switzerland he never could speak 
 enough, — 
 
 " Talking of the Alps, and Appennines, 
 The Pyrenean, and the river Po 1" 
 
 It was after these grand tours that he settled 
 down awhile in a beautiful part of England, 
 and took a radical lead in politics, at one time 
 becoming very popular with a body of " black 
 Byrons,"*"* against the enclosure of commons and 
 waste lands in the neighbourhood. Being a 
 man of fortune, and an orator, he attained a 
 county position, and brought forward a radical 
 lord at the next electioneering contest, riding 
 about and stirring up the people in his lordship's 
 behalf, and speaking to vast assemblies in most 
 of the provincial towns. Doubtless he made 
 many enemies at this unsightly trade, and far 
 better would it have been had he allowed the 
 dead to bury their dead. Oh ! what a genius 
 was crushed when Canning made politics his 
 business of life ! 
 
 In the midst of all this political turmoil, 
 Ernest Singleton wrote to Kerr, and received
 
 128 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 the following in answer, — and we will just give 
 a letter or two in order to shew, as hastily 
 given, the general tenor of his mind at this 
 period. 
 
 '' My dear Friend, 
 
 '' Your truly friendly letter has given me 
 much pleasure. It is a deep gratification to 
 hear of a friend by letter ; but I wish we could 
 meet, and I hope it may be managed, somehow 
 or other, before long. I am in the midst of 
 odious politics, but somehow you know it was 
 always my forte debellare superbos. Although 
 we appear to differ upon corn-law policy, I 
 do not think, if we were to meet, there would 
 be any very great difference of opinion. I know 
 many of the Millocrats do want to reduce wages, 
 and don't care a button for any one but them- 
 selves, — ' not that he cared for the poor but be- 
 cause he was a thief.' Nevertheless, I will 
 assist them in attaining their object (although I 
 detest all Benthamite and utilitarian principles), 
 because I see no other way of getting an entire 
 change of system. If once we get the victory 
 over the landed interest, the landowners them- 
 selves will then turn upon the monied men, and 
 the poor would be benefited both ways. The 
 manufacturers and capitalists are even now by
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 129 
 
 degrees displacing all the old proprietors of the 
 soil. Usury, being sure gain, has a natural 
 tendency to collect the monies of a state into 
 a few hands, which I look upon as one of the 
 worst of evils. I am much afraid the mischief 
 is already done, and that, without robbing the 
 public creditor, England can never more be 
 prosperous. PeeFs bill of 1819, by contracting 
 issues, made money scarce ; the corn-laws keep 
 food dear — population increases — wages are low 
 — work difficult to get, and now by his income- 
 tax Sir Robert will add to the nation's burdens. 
 Even with the most liberal legislation, it is now a 
 question whether England could maintain her 
 former monopoly of European commerce. Capi- 
 talists have exported machinery and set up 
 manufactures in lands where food was cheaper 
 and taxes were lighter. I quite agree with you 
 in your dislike of mills and factories, but I think 
 it may be a morbid feeling that ought not to 
 be allowed to sway one's opinions in matters of 
 legislations. 
 
 " My first wish is that the whole people should 
 be well fed, clothed, and educated. To do this 
 we must by some means bring down the over- 
 grown fortunes, and above all check the growth 
 of usury. David Hume says, — ' A too great 
 
 disproportion among the citizens weakens any 
 
 G 5
 
 130 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 state. Where the riches are in few hands these 
 must enjoy ail the power, and will readily con- 
 spire to lay the whole burden of the taxes on 
 the poor to the discouragement of all industry.' 
 I do not think wealth any certain sign of na- 
 tional happiness, and especially if it be not 
 freely circulated through the nation's arteries, 
 but I am much afraid we have gone wrong so 
 far that we are destined to see a revolution, 
 the attendant evils of which every honest man 
 will deplore. It will never do to throw Eng- 
 land back into morass, as you say, but we may 
 not do that, we may only add a few thousand 
 fertile acres to it for corn growth, and while 
 we protect our own agriculture sufficiently^ de- 
 rive at the same time plenty of food, and an 
 abundant source of revenue as well as an exten- 
 sion of trade. But if this be done, some alte- 
 ration in the value of money will, I am con- 
 vinced, be absolutely necessary to the existence 
 of many a mortgaged farmer. Peel don't seem 
 to me to be quite faithful to his firm allies. His 
 new corn-bill, the importation of live stock, and 
 the income-tax, are three hard things for them 
 to digest. I have no faith in him, for I can 
 never forgive him for hunting poor Canning to 
 death, and passing the Catholic bill (though I 
 should have voted for it). He of all men had not
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 131 
 
 any business to sacrifice what he considered an 
 essential bulwark of the throne and the altar. 
 We want a Pericles, and more of the fire of 
 genius. The worst feature of the age is, that 
 the people are corrupt. Money carries all the 
 elections ; and I fear that (although they may 
 have a temporary anarchy), they, the people, 
 are incapable of rational liberty. Where money 
 is so idolized the people must be debased. 
 Nevertheless, holding as I do the principles of 
 Milton and Algernon Sidney, I am bound to 
 fight against all Torjdsm ; though hopeless of 
 ever seeing anything like a Utopian heaven on 
 this earth. I have few with whom I can sym- 
 pathise, for neither my thoughts nor wishes are 
 much in unison with those of a majority of my 
 friends. If I can call myself by any sect or 
 name I am certainly a ' Miltonian.' I like, 
 however, any works or doctrines that tend to 
 spiritualise man, and to shew that the ruHng 
 principle of the will constitutes the moral being 
 rather than external show, or even action. I know 
 that you, as a poet, must have similar feelings, 
 for what is poetry but a spiritual aspiration 
 after higher things than this working-day world 
 affords ? 
 
 " Did you read Baptist NoePs Plea for the 
 Poor ? I attended his chapel in London, and
 
 132 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 was delighted with him. I should much like to 
 have a religious talk with you. I am very fond 
 of Baxter's works, and those of Jonathan Ed- 
 wards the American; but yet I by no means 
 agree with all their sentiments. I have been 
 lately reading the works of Melancthon, and 
 some of Calvin, and I agree with their views 
 on the whole ; but yet, perhaps, there are points 
 of difference for which the latter gent would 
 have treated me to a share of Servetus's fire. 
 I am astonished at his genius and eloquence, 
 for I had no conception he could write so well. 
 Of all theologians I like Ulric Zwingle the best. 
 I studied Emanuel Swedenborg lately; he is 
 very seducing when once you comprehend him, 
 but certainly I do not think him scriptural. 
 He is rather a second Plato in a christian dress. 
 Yet I found some of his works very interesting, 
 especially his view of future punishment, which 
 is rather eternal vice than eternal pain, a new 
 idea in modern theology. I am satisfied that 
 without the atonement all preaching is vain ; 
 but yet I never can think that such men as 
 Lafayette, and Shelley, and Priestley, are finally 
 rejected of their Maker. I read Fox's Martyrs 
 lately, and am delighted with the courage and 
 the charity of Bradford, Latimer, Taylor, Ro- 
 gers, &c.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 133 
 
 " I had a paper war lately with Mr. Close 
 of Cheltenham. He contends that worldly 
 prosperity is promised to the godly in the New 
 Testament, as the reward of piety. I deny this. 
 Which is right ? He refers me to Mark x. 30, 
 1 Tim. iv. 8, I give him back 1 Tim. chap. 
 vi. He says, every good man prospers, and 
 prints pamphlets to that effect. I say, many 
 good men are unable to get work or fitting food. 
 Surely Lazarus did not prosper. 
 
 " Now, my dear friend, write soon. What 
 a luxury to have a whole day's talk with you. 
 When will it be ? 
 
 " Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 "Charles H. Kerr. 
 
 " July 18. 
 
 "P.S. What think you.? I had the mis- 
 fortune the other day to sit in a company of 
 gents, lawyers, &c., who considered Sir W. 
 FoUett a greater man than Coleridge, Words- 
 worth, or Burns ! Oh tempora ! Oh mores ! 
 This England of ours sadly wants a Moses to 
 break in pieces her golden calf. Woe is me 
 that I am constrained to dwell with Mesech ! 
 
 " By the way, I heard you did a good action. 
 Did you not adorn the tomb of the excellent 
 Bishop Wilson ! Thomas Wilson is one of 
 my first favourites. Many excelled him in
 
 1 34 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 mind, but none in heart. That was always 
 
 right. In honouring him you have earned 
 
 honour for yourself. Oh ! for a church full 
 
 of ." 
 
 A second letter ere he was got out of the 
 trammels of political energy, ran thus : — 
 
 '' My dear friend, 
 
 " Thanks for jouy kind and interesting letter. 
 I received your ' Morning Post,"* and it serves as 
 a gentle hint that I ought to write to you, but 
 I have delayed it awhile because I would not 
 write too briefly and shabbily. I perceive there 
 is much diiference in our feelings as regards 
 the importance of politics. Like you, I delight 
 rather in the Muses' shade, in the beauty of 
 nature, the triumphs of art, the discoveries of 
 science, and the studies of philosophy, and 
 more than all, in the visits (alas ! too few and 
 far between,) of unfeigned and honest friend- 
 ship. I have an arbour by a clear rippling 
 little river, where if I consulted my own ease 
 I could for ever linger, holding silent yet 
 profitable communion (through their works,) 
 with the spirits of the mighty dead. Was it 
 not well said of John Milton, that many a man 
 lives a burden to the earth, but a good book is 
 the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, em-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 135 
 
 balmed and treasured up on purpose to a 
 life beyond a life ! But though it is so agree- 
 able to close one's eyes on the realities of this 
 working-day world, and to linger, like Pom- 
 ponius Atticus, in luxurious gardens, yet it 
 seems to me to be more manly and more consis- 
 tent with duty to battle with selfish feehngs and 
 erroneous opinions, and, if we cannot alter 
 things, at least to cry aloud (as Bob Southey 
 formerly said when he was a Liberal) against 
 the 'iniquity.' But it is clear we view this 
 matter differently, perhaps from some varieties 
 of organization and idiosyncracy. I partake 
 of the earnestness of Burns and Shelley in 
 favour of democracy, and like them am all on 
 fire when mine eyes behold oppression. You 
 talk rather like the gentle and thoughtful Cole- 
 ridge and Wordsworth, who, in my opinion, 
 are so predisposed to render homage that they 
 may sometimes venerate things not worthy of 
 veneration. My zeal and hatred of unfair op- 
 pression is In exact proportion to the sincerity 
 of the worship which I pay to Love. There 
 is one feeling in which I am very sure you will 
 sympathise, which may, perhaps serve for illus- 
 tration, I detest cruelty to animals, and it is 
 because I love mercy, and like to see the sum- 
 mer swallows sporting in full freedom and en-
 
 136 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 joyment that I am compelled to deal harshly 
 with such as would maim and destroy them 
 in their wanton mischief. ; Because I love civil 
 and religious liberty, I hate all approach to 
 tyranny or popery. But I war with principles^ 
 not with men, and while I denounce the offence, 
 I can feel kindly towards the offender. But 
 when the fault lies in the heart, and not in 
 judgment, — then I can only pardon the offender 
 on sincere repentance. It is an abuse of 
 charity to be too tolerant of evil. In weal 
 or woe, in life or death, I am for the good old 
 cause for which Hampden died in the field, and 
 Sidney on the scaffold, and I hate all disguise, 
 therefore I speak plainly. I heartily agree 
 with your disHke of this commercial money- 
 worshiping age ; but I differ as to the danger 
 of the good cause. If the Pusey party (pardon 
 the term) could get the ascendency, I fear they 
 would interfere with our religious liberties ; 
 albeit dissent, as regards sectarian doctrine and 
 opinion, is too much the very essence of in- 
 tolerance and bigotry. Puseyism, in meekness 
 and love (and Dr. Pusey is a sort of personifi- 
 cation of the Sermon on the Mount) would 
 be better than religious liberty and hatred, 
 and sourness therewith. 
 
 " I do not, somewhat in like manner, object
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 137 
 
 to Peel or his measures; but I scorn his sup- 
 porters for having broken all their pledges, 
 and I accuse him and his colleagues of poach- 
 ing most shamefully on Lord John RusselFs 
 manor of free trade. In a word, I have a 
 contempt for interested turncoats, and I am 
 one rather inclined to cry ' Men, not measures,' 
 than ' Measures, and not men.' I never par- 
 doned Peel for his Catholic bill, though I ap- 
 prove of the measure. He had no business 
 to destroy what he considered an essential bul- 
 wark of the altar and the throne. Nor had 
 he any excuse for hunting poor Canning to 
 death ! Canning was indeed a gifted child of 
 nature, — we will not wrong him by comparing 
 Peel for a moment. He was a poet and an 
 orator, a scholar and a gentleman, and as you 
 say, might have gone down to posterity. I 
 agree that it was a pity he ever was a politician, 
 not because I despise politics, but because I 
 think both Canning and Burke allowed am- 
 bition to undermine their better principles. 
 They both had warm and generous hearts, — 
 but, alas ! they had great need to pray not 
 to be led into temptation ; and when the 
 tempter said ' All this will I give thee,' I fear 
 they fell down and worshiped. Canning's 
 l)etter nature shone brightly in his later day,
 
 138 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 and we Liberals have granted him a full for- 
 giveness. Burke came forward so nobly to 
 assist poor Crabbe, that were it but for that 
 one action I must love his memory. And if 
 I am ever compelled to name his faults, it is 
 done with sorrow and reluctance as a man 
 might give in evidence against an erring father. 
 But for Burke, Crabbe, like poor Chatterton, 
 might have perished for utter want, unhonoured 
 and unknown. 
 
 " I think you give Sir R. Peel too much 
 credit for his income-tax. It seems to me to 
 be a delusion to say that it will not press on 
 the working classes as well as on the middle. 
 A property-tax, if they like it — but industry 
 should not be taxed while employed in the 
 creation of principal. I think it will prove 
 so oppressive and unpopular that at no distant 
 period it must of necessity be repealed. But 
 I am glad it is done, because it unsettles every- 
 thing, and because it will make the Conserva- 
 tive party divided and unpopular. ShieFs speech 
 was an admirable triumph of art ; and if he 
 had but a good delivery, he would be a first- 
 rate orator. You cannot sit in his company 
 ten minutes without feeling that he is a man 
 of genius. I think you underrate the mis- 
 chief done by the great overgrown fortunes.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 139 
 
 The late Whig Duke of Cleveland left about 
 a million value of gold and silver plate ! Had 
 this been sold, the Bank of England would 
 have given their notes, and issued two millions 
 more upon the strength of it, thereby adding 
 three millions to the currency of the country, 
 which alone would have relieved much of the 
 distress at present so generally admitted. Thou- 
 sands must starve for one man's unbounded 
 luxury. But enough of politics. As you say, 
 they can only be entertained as a matter of 
 duty, not as a delight of the whole spirit. 
 
 " I should much like to have a chat with 
 you upon religious matters, though I doubt 
 we should not quite agree. Indeed it would 
 be passing strange if we did, for how can minds 
 agree when brains are so differently organised. I 
 differ with you about Luther. He is one of 
 my prime favourites — a soul full of indomi- 
 table courage, the most affectionate tender- 
 ness, and burning fire of genius. Methinks I 
 never knew the true reading of the Gospel, 
 till I became a pupil of Martin Luther. But 
 Zuingle is more entirely my delight, because \ 
 he admits all good men of all creeds and climes ' 
 into heaven — such men as Epaminondas and 
 Plato, Socrates and Germanicus, Sir Thomas 
 More, Shelley, Lafayette, Priestley, Turgot,
 
 ]40 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Cato, Rammohun Roy, Toussaint, Lord Ed- 
 ward Fitzgerald, Franklin, Washington. Zuin- 
 glius, too, was Luther's superior in learning 
 and address, ap|)earing to unite the bold heart 
 of Luther with the qualities of the gentle Me- 
 lancthon. Verily, there were giants in those 
 days. I agree with you in sorrowing over the 
 errors of Queen Mab ; and also in the truth, 
 ' He that hath the Son hath life' — but yet — 
 in that unseen world, I will hope that poor 
 Shelley may acknowledge his error, and glow 
 with all that ardour for a self-sacrificed Saviour 
 of which his noble heart was capable. I think 
 his unbelief, arose from looking at Christianity 
 as set forth by clerical magistrates and narrow- 
 minded non-conformists, rather than as it was 
 seen in the reflected image of God in Christ. 
 Good men may err in judgment, but bad men 
 and devils, even when they believe, will not 
 love, but rather hate while they believe and 
 tremble. Shelley appears to me to be the very 
 best and purest specimen I know, of a man 
 almost refined to spirit even in this terrestrial 
 body. His face always puts me in mind of 
 beings of a more exalted order. Selfishness 
 is the root and the cause of all vice, and he 
 was absolutely free from selfishness. His only 
 fault seems to be that pride which is inherent
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 141 
 
 in all 711671 before they are taught by the 
 Spirit some idea of the tremendous majesty, 
 the inconceivable purity and hoUness of God, 
 their own deformity in His pure sight, and 
 their absolute need of Christ. But may not 
 all this be corrected in the world of spirits ? 
 I do not find in the Scriptures any decla- 
 ration that there shall be no opportunity of 
 repentance and conversion beyond the grave. 
 How many die in early youth most amiable, 
 most beloved, but certainly unconverted. None 
 can be saved unless through Christ: but I 
 hope many may be saved who, during their 
 abode on earth, never were in Him. Percy 
 Shelley appears to me a bright spiritual star. 
 I have often mused on his fate, and on the 
 extract you quote from Julian and Maddalo.* 
 
 " I thought on it while sailing over the spot 
 where sank ' that fatal and perfidious bark"* in 
 the romantic gulf of Spezia. The other ex- 
 
 * The passage was this, and most remarkable as con- 
 nected with the watery fate of poor Shelley : — 
 
 <' ho ! 
 You talk as in years past," said Maddalo. 
 " 'Tis strange, men change not. You were ever still 
 Among Christ's flock a perilous infidel, 
 A wolf for the meek lambs : jf^^ou can't swim, 
 Beware of Providence. '^
 
 142 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 tract you give is exquisitely beautiful. I thank 
 you for it. I often solace myself with the 
 hope of meeting Shelley bye-ancl-bye, and am 
 still inclined to say even when in the strongest 
 faith : 
 
 ' With such as he, where'er he be, 
 May I be saved — or — .' 
 
 " I lay for days together under the Acacia 
 tree on Byron's lawn at Diodati, and thought 
 of the pleasant days passed by him and Shelley 
 and Madame de Stael together, and could not 
 but feel, that to have been admitted to such a 
 company, would have been a kind of heaven to 
 me. Such communion, and on the blue lake of 
 Geneva ! I have seen enough of your own 
 poetry to know that you are cursed or blessed 
 (opinions differ) with the true poetical tempera- 
 ment — with the feeling heart — and the gifted 
 eye that can see, else I would not inflict on 
 you so much enthusiasm. 
 
 " So you have read Swedenborg, he too is 
 a poet. I do not believe in him — but I like 
 him beyond ,all expression. He certainly was 
 not an impostor ; but in my opinion it was 
 a strange kind of monomania, arising from an 
 unusual excitement of the organs of veneration 
 and wonder, perhaps from spiritual pride, like
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 143 
 
 poor Edward Irving. But Swedenborg was a 
 philosopher who might have ranked with New- 
 ton and Liebnitz. He puzzled me most pain- 
 fully, and had he not denied the Atonement, 
 I might perhaps have believed him. He is 
 the only man who ever shook my belief about 
 free-will and predestination. I find (as you 
 say) that his opinion of eternal vice is not new. 
 I very much incline to it. Mr. Dick of Glas- 
 gow seems to adopt it. I am very fond of 
 Jonathan Edwards, for I think him a splendid 
 metaphysician, and generally a man of first-rate 
 intellect. I esteem Wesley as a good man, 
 but I think his doctrine of free-will makes men 
 partly their own saviours ; and this (as my 
 excellent friend Renn Hampden says) is the 
 very haven of self-righteousness, to take Christ 
 as a supplement to our imperfect endeavours, 
 and not to own and feel, that to the end of our 
 lives here we are still, in every sense of the 
 word, sinners, but forgiven through the faith 
 that worketh by love, and therefore we have 
 Jiduciam propter Christum. I agree with 
 Luther in his commentary on the Galatians. 
 Close and I can never agi-ee. He wrote to me 
 that by ' virtue,' he presumed I meant ' piety.' 
 I replied, that I was very willing to admit that 
 what he called 'piety,' was too often a very
 
 144 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 different thing from virtue. I contend that 
 when the poor black woman, at risk of her life, 
 brought Mungo Park a bowl of milk in Africa, 
 she did an act of virtue : and I say, that any 
 religion that could teach that this action was 
 not virtue, is prejudicial, and tends to sap all 
 moral distinctions. As Burns hath it, ' the 
 heart benevolent and kind the most resembles 
 God." You should read some of Channing's 
 Essays on the character of God, heretical 
 though they be. ISIallbranche too is admirable. 
 Do you know Waller's verses ? 
 
 * Could we forbear disputes, and practise love, 
 We should agree, as angels do above. 
 He that alone would wise and mighty be, 
 Commands that others love as well as He. 
 Love, as He loved ! How can we soar so high ? 
 He can add wings, when He commands to fly. 
 Love what Isaiah prophesied, can do. 
 Exalt the valleys, lay the mountains low : 
 Love would between the rich and needy stand, 
 And spread Heaven's bounties with an equal hand : 
 Laws would be useless which rude Nature awe. 
 Love changing nature, would prevent the law ; 
 Men, whom we now so fierce and dangerous see. 
 Would guardian angels to each other be : 
 Weak, though we are, to love is no hard task. 
 And love for love is all that Heaven doth ask.' 
 
 "Well done, Sir Edmund Waller! like 
 Manasseh, he passed an evil youth, but was
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 145 
 
 penitent in riper age. Pardon this long epistle. 
 Oh! that 
 
 " '■ Nil mihi rescribas, attamen ipse veni.' 
 
 " Believe me always, 
 " Your attached and affectionate friend, 
 
 "Charles H. Kerr." 
 
 The above two letters are sufficient to shew 
 both the political and literary bias of the mind 
 of the Etonian, Charles Henry Kerr, and, like all 
 men who would follow their own arbitrary im- 
 pulses, much inconsistency and vague aspiration 
 is apparent ; but, on the whole, there is an 
 enthusiasm in the cause of good that is cheering 
 indeed. How grateful in the first epistle is the 
 winding up with literary matters after the un- 
 settled tirade on corn-laws, and such truly of 
 the earth earthy subjects. And how still more 
 grateful the enlarged literature of the second. 
 Poor Shelley ! he was a poet — he was of the 
 spiritual mind, if ever mortal can be of the 
 spirit. Truly, as Moore ^Tites in his life of 
 Lord Byron, after joining with those who 
 could best love ''the various excellences" of 
 Shelley^s heart, " his short hfe had been like 
 his poetry, a sort of bright erroneous dream ; 
 false in the general principles on which it 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 proceeded, though beautiful and attachhig in 
 most of the details. Had full time been al- 
 lowed for the ' overlight ' of his imagination 
 to have been tempered down by the judgment 
 which, in him, was still in reserve, the world 
 at large would have been taught to pay that 
 high homage to his genius, which those only 
 who saw what he was capable of, can now 
 be expected to accord to it." Poor Shelley ! 
 how he speaks in one of his letters from 
 Ravenna, when staying with Lord Byron, of 
 the tax of certain passions, of pride and 
 mistrust, " which we must pay," as he writes, 
 "for being human. I hope that in the next world 
 these things will be better managed." Alas ! 
 what next world ? Can the author of " Queen 
 Mab," the unbeliever in the Redeemer, albeit, 
 it may be, no unbeliever in a redemption, can 
 he have place among redeemed Christians ? We 
 ask with Charles Henry Kerr, " may not 
 all this be corrected in the world of spirits ? 
 We do not find in the Scriptures any decla- 
 ration that there shall be no opportunity of 
 repentance and conversion beyond the grave." 
 Where the tree falleth so shall it lie, saith 
 Scripture ; but this has nothing to do with any 
 present or future state of the tree itself : and
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 147 
 
 now is the accepted time, now is the day of salva- 
 tion, saith Scripture also ; but this excludes not 
 a further purification in another state. — And 
 certainly, we read in Scripture, that "this 
 iniquity shall not be forgiven you till you die, 
 saith the Lord God of Hosts." (Isaiah xxii. 14.) 
 And again, of a sin not to be forgiven ' ' in 
 this world, nor in the world to come."^ (Matt, 
 xxii. 3^.) And St. Paul speaks of fire " trying 
 every man's work," and of persons being saved 
 " so as by fire." What does all this mean ? 
 And what is the meaning of the " prison .-^ " 
 and the payment of the " last farthing V (Matt. 
 V. 25.) Oh ! that we could establish such a 
 doctrine, without all the adjuncts of a Popish 
 purgatory, for the sake of poor Shelley, and 
 the thousand miserably imperfect souls which 
 go down to the gTave ! 
 
 After the receipt of the last letter, the space 
 of nearly two years elapsed before Singleton 
 heard again from Charles Kerr ; when one day 
 he happened to see an advertisement in his 
 country paper, setting forth the sale of all his 
 effects ; and the catalogue of his furniture was 
 of the most recherche kind. He wrote to him 
 at a venture ; and judge his suprise on receiving 
 the following incomparable epistle :-—
 
 148 ERNEST SINGLETON. ' 
 
 ^VMy dear Friend, 
 
 " For friend I am sure you will allow 
 me to call you ; and I dare trust that you will 
 even forgive my long silence and my seeming 
 neglect. Believe me, no diminution of real re- 
 gard for you has been the cause of my strange 
 behaviour. On the contrary, I have still 
 thought of you as a dear and a valued friend : 
 but I hold it to be right not to trouble our best 
 friends with any recital of calamities, when by 
 such gloomy narratives little or no good can 
 be done. It would require a volume to relate 
 the story of a wild and varied, painful and 
 eventful life. It would even take a very long 
 time, and much paper, to recite the trials and 
 the sorrows of the last two or three years. I 
 shall not, however, dwell upon such things, 
 having no fancy to write a book of lamenta- 
 tions. 
 
 " Rejoice with me ! rejoice with me, my 
 friend, that sorrows have led to great joy, and 
 that the desires of my heart are granted 
 me ! ! I know not if you have at all studied 
 or believed in Mesmerism. However that 
 may be, I shall proceed, as briefly as I can, 
 with a plain unvarnished tale of truth. It 
 was in April last, as I was staying with my 
 brother near Wakefield (Yorkshire), I met, ap-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 149 
 
 parently by accident, a very young and very 
 interesting little girl, the daughter of a poor 
 mechanic, who was liable to the influence of 
 mesmerism. Miss Thompson, a young lady of 
 Wakefield, had mesmerised her. While in the 
 mesmeric state, she (the maiden) took my hand 
 in her's, and told me many of the principal 
 events of my past life, and she also told me 
 my reHgious opinions, and the toil I had taken 
 to examine the subject, and the changes I 
 had undergone. And she told me my most 
 secret thoughts ; and gave me in whispers 
 full proof that she really could tell me every 
 action, good or bad, which I had ever done ! 
 All I had aimed at, felt, or suffered, was open 
 before her ! ! When awake, she was (as I 
 afterwards found) careless about religious studies, 
 and a sceptic about the Bible ; but when in 
 the mesmeric state, she suddenly became like 
 one inspired, talked like an apostle, and con- 
 firmed the whole of the Scripture. She ap- 
 pealed to me, saying that I was in error, and 
 in very dangerous error, but that I was for- 
 given because all my motives were pure and 
 blameless ; that I did not believe Christ to be 
 God ; ' but,' said A. M. L., ' He is, indeed. The 
 One Self-existent and Eternal God ; and 
 He came on earth and died for men !' Be it
 
 150 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 remembered, that when awake she did not so 
 beheve ; neither did I altogether, for I was an 
 Arian. And Miss Thompson also was scep- 
 tical and wavering in her religious opinions ; 
 certainly not a converted person. 
 
 "A. M. L. proceeded to say, that Christ had 
 sent her to me to lead me out of error, and that 
 He had a work for me to do. ' But,' said 
 A. M. L., ' are you willing to pay the price ? 
 Come to me and I will teach you much that 
 you know not, for there is not much difference 
 now between my knowledge and that of an 
 angel ; but if you do undertake this work, I 
 warn you beforehand that very many and very 
 serious trials and sorrows will be your lot in 
 this life : are you, then, willing to lead a pain- 
 ful and stormy hfe, and to die a violent death ?' 
 I replied, ' Yes ; I am willing, if I can by so 
 doing serve Christ or do good to my fellow- 
 men.' Upon this we agreed to meet every 
 day : and I after this was her mesmeriser, for 
 she said it was to me that she was sent. 
 Wonders increased upon me ! She said she 
 was infallible, and spoke by the Spirit of God ; 
 and she did such wonders as day by day made 
 me marvel more and more. The whole Bible 
 was perfectly at her command ; she could quote 
 chapter and verse all through it ; and this at
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 151 
 
 will, and from books she had never read, such 
 as Leviticus and the Apocrypha. And, if any 
 man came in, she could instantly tell his dispo- 
 sition, religion, motives, and all about him. 
 Her system of religion is a beautiful and har- 
 monious one, and in strict accordance with the 
 written Word, and with the preaching of Christ 
 crucified ! 
 
 " But I must be brief. I examined her thus 
 every day for four months, and have written 
 four thick volumes of her conversations and 
 wonders. I then went to Liverpool, and with- 
 stood all the arguments and ridicule of the doc- 
 tors for six weeks : and after that I had a 
 month also in Edinburgh. I then came to Har- 
 rowgate, and the events that have occurred 
 here are wonderful indeed ! ! But not more 
 wonderful than true. 
 
 " A. M. L. is with me here ; her father and 
 mother are also here ; and my firm faith is now 
 changed into sight and absolute certainty. 
 A. M. L. had before said to me, ' Wisdom and 
 knowledge are granted unto thee ! ' and had 
 given me fiill proof of it. But one day (after I 
 had given proof of my faith by making sacrifices, 
 and being firm amid severe trials) she suddenly 
 said, ' Would you like to see an angel ? ' I 
 said, ' Yes ; indeed I should."* Whereupon she
 
 152 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 was transfigured before me, and has since 
 conversed with me as an angel, radiant 
 in superhuman beauty, and armed with more 
 than human power. All words would fail to 
 describe the celestial beauty and the rapid 
 changes of her countenance. We talk of many 
 things. The whole history of the world is open 
 to her. She saw the world created, or at least 
 re-formed, when Adam was created. But the 
 most interesting feature in her character is that 
 she does and can assume the exact features and 
 expression of our glorious Redeemer when He 
 lived on the earth. The object of her mission is to 
 announce the second coming of the Lord Jesus; 
 to explain the Bible, now but ill understood ; to 
 gather in the heathen rapidly to the Cross ; and 
 to give the Christian world some further revela- 
 tions. 
 
 " I cannot expect the world easily to believe 
 me, but / cannot disbelieve the daily evidence of 
 my own eyes and ears. Verily I have proved 
 that all things are possible to htm that 
 believeth ! 
 
 " I have glad tidings of great joy to tell the 
 
 world ! Believe me ever 
 
 " Your true and affectionate friend, 
 
 " Charles H. Kerr. 
 " Harrowgate.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 153 
 
 « P.S.— All I can get from A. M. L. is, that 
 she is a spirit incarnate in the flesh, as, she 
 says, the Virgin Mary was. 
 
 " Is not the idea of incarnate angels highly 
 poetical ? Is it not a beautiful yet humble 
 imitation of the self-sacrificing love of Christ ? 
 Is it not above man, yet still at an infinite 
 distance from God ? 
 
 " You may judge if my brain has been idle 
 the last six or seven months. No words could 
 tell what I have felt or suffered : not Luther 
 himself had more spiritual conflicts.*" 
 
 Poor Charles Kerr ! It may be guessed how 
 young Singleton felt on recovering from the 
 wonderment occasioned by the perusal of such a 
 letter. His first impulse was to set out and see 
 him, and the three hundred miles that separated 
 them seemed to him as but three. " He is the 
 victim of imposture," thought he ; and again he 
 said, " This abominable mesmerism is turning his 
 brain.*" On further reflection, he resolved to 
 write to him, wishing to receive another letter 
 ere he set out to Harrowgate. Accordingly he 
 wrote to him in what, he ventured to consider, 
 the best and most prudent terms. He did not 
 oppose his views altogether, but rather sympa- 
 thised with him. But he said plainly, if A. M. L.
 
 154 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 is entrusted with so large a mission to the 
 whole world, this matter cannot be hid in a 
 corner, she must soon come forth and declare 
 her tidings and revelations to every creature, 
 and in every clime. And, moreover, it cannot 
 be necessary that she should be thrown into the 
 mesmeric state, in order to give a clear account 
 of her ambassage, and a plain delivery of her 
 heavenly message ; she must be able to do this 
 when unoperated upon by human hand, and 
 clearly awake, and out of the mesmeric or 
 mystic trance. 
 
 This kind of reasoning he thought would 
 tend to open his dear friend's eyes. In him 
 he knew there could be no leaning towards 
 imposture or immorality — he was pure, and 
 purely seeking for the truth. But, lo ! he re- 
 ceived the following shorter letter, and with 
 no direct allusion to his proffered argument. 
 
 "• My dear Friend, 
 
 " I am much obliged indeed by your 
 very kind letter. It is a pleasure to have a 
 line from you, though I never doubted your 
 unshaken friendship. With regard to my 
 former letter, never man was situated in a 
 more romantic or a more extraordinary posi- 
 tion than that which I at present occupy.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 155 
 
 *' A. M. L. is with me, and she gives me 
 ■daily proof of the truth of all her assertions, 
 and her wisdom and knowledge seem to be un- 
 bounded : and she now answers questions just 
 as well when awake and in her natural state, as 
 she did formerly when mesmerised. She an- 
 swers any question upon any science, and the 
 mysteries of all worlds are open to her. I 
 have repeatedly seen her transfigured. The 
 rapid changes of her expression, and even of 
 her features, at such times are truly wonderful. 
 And she says that in heaven all external ex- 
 pression and beauty is the result of internal 
 feeling. The outward form is after death per- 
 fectly obedient to the guiding spirit, and a sure 
 indication of its qualities. Her beauty at such 
 times passes all the imagination of Shelley or 
 Byron, or the productions of earth's most gifted 
 artist ! ! I have seen the best works of art, but 
 the face of A. M. L. far exceeds them all. 
 Yet in her ordinary state she is not at all beau- 
 tiful, though very lady-like and interesting, and 
 even spiritual, in appearance. She has power 
 too : can lay me prostrate and half dead, or 
 give me, at will, superhuman strength. And 
 she is ever distinguished for innocence and 
 purity of heart; ay, she is a Wordsworth's 
 Lucy.
 
 156 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 *' When my book is published, you will see 
 and know all about it ; and you will find it well 
 worth the perusal. Mysteries hidden for ages 
 will be there revealed. 
 
 " She is an angel incarnate, as the Virgin 
 Mary and John the Baptist also were. Do not 
 incarnate angels supply a link in creation ? and 
 is not the idea highly poetical ? A. M. L. 
 comes to announce the second coming of the 
 Lord, and to give us some turther revelations. 
 
 " The incarnate angels, or spirits, will be 
 both men and angels, and thus will be nearer 
 Christ than any other creatures. 
 
 " I am struggling against a sea of troubles ; 
 but never yet was a great work done without 
 difficulty, and I aim at very extensive good. 
 Every noble crown is still a crown of thorns. 
 
 " A. M. L. is sixteen years old. She 
 describes all the dead. She explains the whole 
 Bible. She understands all existing systems of 
 theology, and has taught me great things. I 
 had read the Fathers, but her knowledge is far 
 deeper. 
 
 " All her teachings are in strict accordance 
 with the Scriptures. It is beautiful to hear her 
 enlarge upon the Redeemer's love, and on sal- 
 vation by His cross, and the secret fruition by 
 His spirit.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 157 
 
 " She assures me Shelley is safe In Paradise. 
 This, to me, is great joy, though I believed it 
 before. 
 
 " Many who are upright and kind of heart 
 have visions of the Redeemer in the hour of 
 death, and are saved in the eleventh hour, as 
 was the thief on the cross. Was not his a 
 miraculous faith ? 
 
 '' Wait patiently till you see the book. 
 Meanwhile I wish to keep as quiet as I can. I 
 shall have stir enough afterwards. I write 
 to veri/ few folk just now, so you may take 
 this note as a cordial proof of friendship. 
 When lifers storms are over, or lulled a little, 
 I hope again to see you. I am quite calm 
 and collected, and would not promulgate any- 
 thing which I cannot very well support against 
 all opposers. I do not forget my friends ; but 
 you may suppose I am very busy. 
 
 " Ever your very sincere friend, 
 
 " Charles H. Kerr." 
 " Harrowgate." 
 
 Still is he in trammels. Like Schiller, we 
 have seen him exhibiting a noble mind harass- 
 ed with doubts on the most momentous of all 
 subjects ; or striving after knowledge with a 
 painful and unquiet exertion. Still we see in him 
 the efforts of an ardent, enthusiastic, inquisitive
 
 158 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 spirit, to deliver itself from the harassing un- 
 certainties — to penetrate the dread obscurity 
 which ever overhangs the lot of man. At one time 
 he exclaims, " Rejoice with me, rejoice with me, 
 O my friend ! " and at another enlarges on 
 the discoveries yet to be declared by revelation, 
 through the agency of the poor mechanic's 
 daughter. Oh ! that a mind familiar with the 
 best and greatest intellects of the world of 
 literature and philosophy should be thus abso- 
 lutely bound. Here is another : — 
 
 " My dear Friend, 
 
 *' Thanks for your kind letter. I will not 
 write you a long one now, for I am not very 
 well, and have not time. But I wish to tell 
 you that you are not forgotten. 
 
 *' I have a long and very strange tale to tell 
 you some day. If we can meet, so much the 
 better; if not, I will tell you some day by 
 letter ; but it were a long business to enter 
 at all into particulars b^ letter. 
 
 " I may, however, assure you, from my own 
 personal experience, both as an operator and 
 a patient, that mesmerism is true, for I have 
 felt its healing and beneficial eifects, and I have 
 seen many of its wonders upon others. 
 
 " You hardly seem to agree with me, that it
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 159 
 
 will be a means of enlarging our ideas concern- 
 ing the spiritual world and spiritual things. 
 
 " I imagine that in good cases the soul 
 becomes as if partly set free from the body 
 and the animal mind. There is a great rise 
 in the moral being. But you ought to read 
 'Facts in Mesmerism,' by the Rev. C. Hare 
 Townsend, of Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 " I have repeatedly seen women in the mes- 
 meric state read books without any aid what- 
 ever from their eyes ; they will even see 
 through a box or a table, and they will tell 
 you what any one is doing at a distance. The 
 sympathies and antipathies are wonderfully 
 strengthened ; and persons are remarkably sen- 
 sitive in feeling, not in bodily feeling, but in 
 spirit. I doubt not but there are many cases of 
 imposture and exaggeration. Yet that there 
 are also most astonishing truths and facts, I 
 am certain, for I have proved it. But I 
 consider it a sacred mystery that never ought 
 to be lectured on in public, or proposed before 
 a mixed company ; and never to be done for 
 money. 
 
 " I am now a firm believer that Jesus Christ was 
 and is The One only God, Self-existent 
 AND Eternal. But really it is difficult now 
 to know what the creed of the Church of Eng-
 
 160 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 land is, for among my own personal friends I 
 could number six or seven different religions, 
 and some of them are clergymen. I and A. 
 M. L. also profess to belong to the Catholic 
 Church of Christ, but we do not join any sect 
 or any church of professing Christians. As for 
 Dissent, it is hydra-headed indeed, and is preg- 
 nant with progress to infidelity. I think A. M. 
 L. and myself should agree in more points with 
 the Church of Rome than with any other. But 
 I can never sanction her tyranny, or her idola- 
 trous prayers to the Virgin and the saints ; and 
 I hate the Inquisition as I hate and loath all 
 oppression. 
 
 " But I do think there is more faith and 
 charity in Rome than in any other church, 
 and certainly more poetry. My creed is to 
 unite Luther with Thomas a Kempis. But 
 many Catholics are evangelical, and rely wholly 
 on the Cross. There is an absence, too, of mere 
 excitement and love of popularity, and such real 
 devotion in their ancient prayers, such holy zeal 
 and goodness in their lives. Remember Pope's 
 bishop. 
 
 " As for political affairs, I may quote one of 
 Bishop Heber's beautiful hymns : — 
 
 " ' Loud the waves of bitterness about our vessel roar, 
 And heavy grows the pilot's heart to view the rocky shore.*
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 161 
 
 " There is no loyalty extant, and without 
 loyalty there can be no virtue and no happiness. 
 But men must deserve loyalty from their in- 
 feriors before they will get it ; and, alas ! I see 
 no prospect but revolution and misery for Eng- 
 land. Trade and wealth placed in bad hands 
 will lead on to the ruin of any empire. Better 
 were the days of Chivalry ! And yet caste and 
 class are no longer tenable, nor is it right that 
 they should be maintained. But in one way 
 or other the strongest and deepest spirits will 
 get the mastery over the weaker sort ; — but I 
 foresee a fearful time of distress and danger. 
 Believe me, ever 
 
 " Your true and affectionate friend, 
 
 " Charles H. Kerr. 
 
 "Harrowgate. 
 
 " P.S. — I promise you, I, even I, have felt 
 all and more than Hamlet, when he saw the 
 ghost, and exclaimed, 
 
 " ' day and night ! but this is wondrous strange ! ' 
 
 *' Yes, wondrous strange ! A. M. L. is an 
 angel, and her converse is more and more with 
 and from the world of spirits." 
 
 Alas ! this fatal postscript. Singleton had 
 hoped his friend was descending from his high 
 ideal flights into the realms of earthly kingdoms,
 
 162 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 and ready to fight his battles in behalf of 
 Hampden and Canning, Milton and Shelley, 
 right humanly over again. Strange and wond- 
 rous is his favourable mention of the Roman 
 Catholic religion ; and how comes it that this 
 religion is so alluring to enlarged and soaring 
 minds? Sir Walter Scott prophesied, in the 
 presence of Byron, that he (Lord Byron) would 
 embrace the Roman Catholic religion ; and the 
 noble poet himself says, " I look upon it (Ro- 
 man Catholic) as the best religion, as it is 
 assuredly the oldest of the various branches of 
 Christianity." Strange that persons should be 
 so captivated with the antiquity of the Church 
 of Rome, ancient, indeed, as it is, to the dis- 
 paragement of the real antiquity, also, of the 
 Church of England. People seem to think 
 that the Church must begin with some one 
 person, and not that there may be as many 
 churches as there were apostles, and all equally 
 ancient and true. And some superficial persons 
 actually give credit to the taunt that the Church 
 of England was non-existent before Martin 
 Luther and Henry VIII. ! All the while the 
 Church of England can trace, without interrup- 
 tion, her apostolical descent ; and, since Rome 
 has sanctioned so many novelties, is actually 
 nearer the model of primitive antiquity. This
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 163 
 
 is a fact that no person learned in the ancient 
 paths of the Christian Church will ever gainsay; 
 it is a plain historical fact, capable of clear and 
 positive proof; and on ancient ground we take 
 up our best and strongest position against the 
 innovating Church of Rome. 
 
 But pardon this digression, even thou who 
 art a diligent and unbiassed seeker after the 
 truth. For here comes another missile from the 
 troubled mind of poor Charles Henry Kerr. 
 
 " My dear Friend, 
 
 " I am just now in great perplexity, and I 
 will give you some idea after what manner. 
 
 " You know my convictions about A. M. L., 
 viz. that she is indeed, as she asserts, a teacher 
 sent of God. Well, now my friends are furious 
 against her, and they demand that I shall give a 
 promise never more to associate with her, or see 
 her; and they offer, as the only alternative, breach 
 of ail family feeling, friendship, &c., and a long 
 catalogue of woes. 
 
 " Now, to begin with, I hate pledges, and 
 like religious liberty. 
 
 " But you will see at once that I cannot con- 
 sent to this proposal. With my convictions, 
 to do so would be dreadful sin. I would not 
 do it if I were on the rack, and in good truth
 
 164 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 I am on the rack. It is hard to be accused of 
 want of affection, of madness, &c., because I 
 cannot give up my soul's convictions. 1 will 
 do all I can or may to preserve brotherly ties 
 of affection ; but, seriously speaking, I would not 
 do what they require, if I were even threatened 
 with Shadrach's fiery furnace. 
 
 " Now, nothing else will satisfy them ; only 
 for a time we have made a truce, that is, I 
 have promised not to write to A. M. L. until 
 I see my friends, and then I fancy a jury of 
 friends are to sit upon my case. 
 
 " The fact is, they want to persuade them- 
 selves that I am mad, because I believe in mes- 
 merism, and in A. M. L.'s superhuman know- 
 ledge. They will not even believe in mesme- 
 rism ; but I am not mad, most noble Festus ! 
 
 " Now you see nothing is easier than for 
 them and their jury to dispose of * facts' by 
 saying that they never happened, and that all 
 are mad who believe them. And no eloquence 
 will persuade a man resolved not to be con- 
 vinced. But I contend that if they dispute my 
 facts, I have a clear right to call my witnesses 
 and prove those facts. 
 
 " Is not this fair ? 
 
 '' Now, as for mesmerism, I can prove by the 
 oaths of five most credible persons, that A.M. L.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 165 
 
 did see or perceive objects shut up in a thick 
 book, which she could not possibly have seen 
 by any use of the eyes. And that she often 
 read in books, opened for her by strangers, 
 without her eyes ; they being closed and ban- 
 daged, and a hand held tightly over them. I 
 can also prove that she told my thoughts and 
 actions, and what I had in my pocket, and much 
 more. 
 
 Now, as for her knowledge, I can prove by 
 the oaths of ten witnesses of high character and 
 honour who have seen her, that she is an un- 
 learned girl, daughter of a poor mechanic, aged 
 seventeen, speaks bad grammar, and yet that they 
 were all astonished at her knowledge and her 
 wisdom. I can prove that she understands per- 
 fectly all existing systems of theology, and is 
 far better versed in the contents of the writings 
 of the Fathers, and of Luther and the Reformers, 
 and of the Catholic divines, than I am, although 
 she never studied, and I have. I can also 
 prove that she tells unerringly any man's creed, 
 character, tastes, talents, &c.; and I have ex- 
 amined her upon the whole history of the world 
 as far as I know, and I never found her fail, — 
 indeed, she teaches me. And four witnesses 
 will make oath that they believe her knowledge 
 to be superhuman !
 
 166 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 '' To my own mind her knowledge and abi- 
 lity are a greater miracle than if I saw a stone 
 turned into bread. And to me, her coming as 
 a teacher is more wonderful and mysterious 
 than if a ghost had come to teach me. I assert, 
 and can prove it, that A. M. L.^s powers are 
 superior to those of any living man, be he 
 who he may ; and never was I so astonished 
 as when I first found that this simple, un- 
 assuming, childish-looking girl, really could 
 teach me ! * Out of the mouths of babes and 
 sucklings,' indeed, thought I. 
 
 " I felt like Hamlet after he had seen the 
 ghost. And in a very short time, I, who had 
 withstood all the arguments of Baptist Noel 
 and the Rev. Dr. Hampden, and many a learned 
 rabbi, was quite overcome by this maiden, and 
 my convictions were altered in very important 
 points ; for, more especially, she taught me 
 that Christ was, and is, the only God. 
 
 " Now, is it not hard that I am to be con- 
 fined as mad for believing my own eyes and 
 ears ? But, jesting apart, I have no wish at 
 all for a madman's cell, and must put on the 
 wisdom of the serpent a little. But if I offer 
 to prove these things on oath by witness, can 
 any jury expect me to give this promise ? I 
 could tell you far greater wonders, but I keep
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 167 
 
 to what I can prove by unexceptionable evi- 
 dence, such as would hang a man. The world 
 will hear more of A. M. L. hereafter. The 
 teaching of A. M. L. will be quite as unpalate- 
 ab]e to the world as St, Paul's teaching was to 
 the Jews. She says she is come to send fire 
 upon the earth. 
 
 " Believe me, my only friend, 
 
 " Yours truly and affectionately, 
 
 " Charles H. Kerr. 
 
 " Harrowgate. 
 
 " I feel as Paul must have felt after that 
 journey to Damascus. But men called him 
 mad; and, indeed, I can bring more evidence of 
 facts than he could. 
 
 '• Have you thought much of the ' seven 
 spirits of God,' who and what they are r* Paul 
 calls them the ' elect angels,' aud they are 
 called God's ' ministers,' and ' the seven eyes 
 of God.' " 
 
 Poor, poor Charles Henry Kerr ! This letter 
 bowed down Ernest Singleton indeed. A.M.L. 
 with all superhuman knowledge endowed, 
 superior to any man living, and knowing all 
 the history of the world, ecclesiastical and pro- 
 fane, and yet could not speak with common 
 
 * See Revelations, chap. i. kc.
 
 168 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 grammatical propriety ! '' O gifted and valued 
 friend !" Ernest Singleton to himself exclaimed, 
 " what an infatuation ! Ay, a real, too real an 
 infatuation ; for thou art no religious impostor 
 who sets forth his own preaching as the inspi- 
 ration from ahove ! but thou dost of a truth, 
 and in all sincerity, believe what thou dost 
 state, — thou art no deceiver of others, but thy- 
 self deceived ! 
 
 " ' Thine innocence is strong, 
 And an entire simplicity of mind, 
 A thing most sacred in the eye of Heaven.' " 
 
 And now Ernest hesitated awhile before he 
 could make up his mind to visit his friend, and 
 with his own eyes behold the real state of 
 things. Kerr^s friends were not known to 
 Ernest, and probably they might not like 
 interference ; still poor Kerr might not be with 
 his friends. And then at moments Eton and 
 friendship were a furor not to be resisted or 
 restrained. Charles felt all the fervour in the 
 cause that Lord Byron ever experienced for 
 his Harrovian friends, even Long, Clare, or 
 Jocelyn ; and he knew that his friend, like the 
 noble poet himself, ' in his own domain of ima- 
 gination could defy the whole world ; while, 
 in real Ufe, a frown or a smile could rule him.'
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 169 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " By the tomb lay Thalaba, 
 
 In the light of the setting eve ; 
 The sun, and the wind, and the rain, 
 Had rusted his raven locks ; 
 
 His cheeks were fallen in, 
 
 His face-bones prominent. 
 Reclined against the tomb he lay. 
 
 And his lean fingers play'd, 
 Unwitting, with the grass that grew beside." 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 We left Ernest Singleton in the library at 
 Belswardine, when the Rev. Hooley Merriman 
 was announced as morning visitor. Ernest was 
 not in a mood to enjoy the gay humour of this 
 little man, and certainly not to endure the testi- 
 ness and irresolution which would probably be 
 most apparent. With much courtesy he there- 
 fore took his leave, and Lord Henry kindly ac- 
 companied him for a part of the way to the 
 little rectory-house, where his ever useful and 
 affectionate sister awaited his arrival, for Ernest 
 had been staying at Belswardine for two or 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 three days, and she expected that he would 
 have set out on his road home, a distance of 
 nearly four miles, soon after breakfast. She at 
 once observed an expression of sadness on his 
 countenance which he could ill conceal, and she 
 feared that he had not been happy at Sir John 
 Thorold's, or that some calamity had happened 
 in that respected family. But Ernest walked 
 at once into his little study, and beckoned his 
 sister to follow him, which she did with anxious 
 countenance. 
 
 " Oh ! Arty," he exclaimed, " I shall be so 
 happy if you consent — consent to my plan 
 which has just cheered me," and he paused. 
 
 " What plan ?" said Harriet Singleton, gently; 
 " another plan for our dear parish .?" 
 
 " No," said Ernest, "no, nothing to do with 
 our parish, — at least, not much. Oh ! Arty, you 
 have heard me speak of Charles Henry Kerr ; 
 you have read his letters, you could appreciate 
 his generous spirit ; you know what I thought 
 of his talent, how I admired and loved him." 
 
 " Yes, and he was to have come here, and so 
 you '11 invite him ?" 
 
 " Arty, my loved sister Arty, bear with me, 
 read this letter," and Ernest averted his eyes 
 and wept. 
 
 Miss Singleton seized the letter, and recog-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 171 
 
 nised it as one she had forwarded by Sir John's 
 letter-carrier to her brother; and while the 
 thouorht came over her that it would have been 
 better to have detained it until her brother had 
 come home, Ernest put out his hand for it, and 
 resuming his wonted composure in some degree, 
 expressed his wish to read it to her himself. 
 He accordingly read its contents in a subdued 
 tone, which were to the effect, that poor Kerr 
 had for some while, by the strangeness of his 
 conduct and his letters, given much uneasiness 
 to his friends, that at length sure marks of 
 aberration of mind had disclosed themselves, 
 and that an old family friend had been dis- 
 patched to visit him, who directly perceived it 
 to be necessary that he should be placed under 
 restraint ; and in short, the letter at once went 
 on to declare that he had been conveyed to a 
 lunatic asylum. The writer, who was a 
 near relative, proceeded to state that he was 
 well acquainted with Ernest's long and sincere 
 attachment to his unfortunate relation, that he 
 had found that a recent correspondence had 
 taken place between them, and he felt and 
 knew that so valued a friend might possibly 
 have an influence over him, and begged that 
 he would continue to communicate with him 
 
 by letter, for it was the first and most anxious 
 
 I 2
 
 17^ ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 desire of his friends that he should not be 
 utterly divorced from all the sympathies and 
 social affections of life, but that an endeavour 
 should rather be made to kindle within him 
 old and cherished recollections, and thus he 
 might be allured back again from the absurd 
 unrealities in which he had so lately suflfered his 
 mind to be absorbed. 
 
 " And to be wrecked ! " uttered Ernest in a 
 melancholy tone of voice, as he closed the let- 
 ter ; and his sister in vain strove to think of 
 some cheering word that might have weight 
 with him. But Ernest himself broke silence. 
 
 " And now, Arty," he exclaimed, " you must 
 get my things, a few necessary things, ready. 
 I shall answer this letter immediately, and as 
 soon as that is dispatched, I start for London — 
 for Hanwell." 
 
 " Can you do good ?"" said Harriet, know- 
 ing that it was useless to oppose by any other 
 question. 
 
 " I have hope I may,'*'' answered Ernest ; 
 " and now Arty for my plan." 
 
 Poor Harriet imagined that this journey was 
 his only plan, and in a few words expressed 
 her trust that he would reap satisfaction from 
 a glimpse at the state of his friend, and the 
 comforts of his abode.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 173 
 
 " No," said Ernest, " this will not be my 
 only comfort, or I shall be greatly disappointed. 
 Arty, we have a sitting-room, we have a spare 
 bed-room ; we . have the means — yes, yes," — 
 and he gazed earnestly on his sister — *' we 
 will have him here." 
 
 " Certainly," responded Harriet, who well 
 knew the variety of these cases, but who always 
 hoped for the best : " certainly, my dear bro- 
 ther, you have my full consent." 
 
 "Admirable sister!" exclaimed Ernest: "I 
 did think I should have been obliged to have 
 argued the matter with you, to have besought 
 you, to have prayed you — but why did I think 
 so, but that anxiety will breed apprehensions." 
 
 *' Perhaps I might argue," answered Harriet, 
 in a very low voice ; " but I suppose my brother 
 has thought it all over. But I must suggest, 
 Ernest, to you, the weight of your daily avo- 
 cations, your love of quiet study, your fond- 
 ness of the society of friends — do not let me 
 see you overborne by any addition to your 
 cares and labours." 
 
 " My labours will rarely be hindered, but 
 rather sweetened," replied Ernest ; " my hours 
 of study may be shortened, for indeed too 
 many of them are selfishly employed ; and my 
 friends that would find fault with me, or that
 
 174 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 would desert me, the sooner such friends take 
 a speedy departure the better — they would not 
 be friends of the heart, and I desire to retain 
 no other."" 
 
 " And do you think he can come ?" asked 
 Harriet. 
 
 " That remains to be seen,"" said Ernest. 
 " I had thought of not mentioning a word 
 of my plan to you until I had seen him, but 
 then I thought I could not so well gain your 
 consent by letter, and make out all the arrange- 
 ments. Now let me write for a few minutes, 
 and then I must get away.**^ 
 
 Harriet left the room to prepare with her 
 own hands a hasty repast for her brother, for 
 he already shewed signs of exhaustion, and 
 she well knew his anxiety to be at once on 
 his journey — a long journey, but much lessened 
 as to time by the existence of railways, one 
 of which could be reached within the distance 
 of a few miles. 
 
 Soon had Ernest written his letter, quickly 
 had he taken light refreshment while his port- 
 manteau was packing, and readily was he 
 conveyed to the railway station by the kind- 
 ness of a neighbour, and without any stoppage 
 or accident arrived safely in London ; from 
 whence he proceeded as quickly as possible
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 175 
 
 to that huge building, and necessary evil, called 
 Hanwell Asylum. 
 
 Ernest had never entered such a place be- 
 fore, and his heart beat rapidly. He enquired 
 of the porter if he could see such a one, giving 
 the name of his friend. He was asked for 
 his note of permission, and, alas ! he had never 
 thought of the necessity of this. But it must 
 be obtained, and probably he must return to 
 London. The kind porter, however, remem- 
 bered that Dr. Carpenter had not yet departed, 
 that he had finished his visitation of the patients, 
 but was to dine with a brother physician in 
 the neighbourhood. Ernest repaired thither, 
 and found that the two physicians were at that 
 moment at dinner, but he at once perceived 
 that it was not a day of company. He was 
 shewn into the usual waiting-room allotted 
 for patients, and the master of the house, 
 after some delay, attended upon him. Ernest, 
 made his business known to him, and the 
 physician, at once taken by his gentlemanly 
 manner, and knowing that the object of his 
 anxiety was a superior patient in the Asylum, 
 requested him to walk into the dining-room, 
 and partake of their family dinner; '*for," 
 said he, "I am sure that you cannot have an 
 interview with your friend until the morning;
 
 ITB ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 it is now past the regular hours of visiting." 
 Ernest, thinking that dinner was perhaps nearly 
 half over, declined the invitation with thanks, 
 and begged Dr. Craine to return to the dining- 
 room ; and that he would sit where he was 
 until he could have an interview with the 
 physician of the Asylum, and thus not in- 
 trude himself upon his family circle. The phy- 
 sician assented to this, on the condition that 
 he would join them after dinner, which he 
 much pressed on him ; and Ernest feeling at 
 once that this might be a most fortunate op- 
 portunity for conversing on the state of his 
 friend, accepted the proffered invitation. 
 
 Dinner being over, and wine and dessert 
 set on the table. Dr. Craine (with whom the 
 interview had passed) came to him again, 
 and conducting him into the room, introduced 
 him to his wife, to an elderly lady his wife's 
 mother, to his two daughters, Louisa and 
 Emma, and to his son Ralph ; and, above all, 
 and what was of most importance to poor 
 Ernest, to Doctor Carpenter, the very active 
 and efScient physician of the Asylum — he who 
 had introduced the milder treatment of lunatic 
 persons, and banished, except in extraordinary 
 cases, the system of coercion or violence. Er- 
 nest felt that he was in the presence of a
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 177 
 
 great and humane character, and this feeling 
 armed him with confidence. The party seemed 
 to be much struck with the appearance of our 
 young clergyman, and all were evidently in- 
 terested, with the exception of Ralph Craine, 
 whose features could not be prevented from 
 contracting themselves into a sort of contemp- 
 tuous sneer. Ernest's countenance wore a hue 
 of almost deadly paleness, and his evident 
 anxiety of mind, combined wdth the intelligence 
 of his look and the gentle tone of his voice, 
 told how much importance he attached to his 
 visit. The ladies, after some slight inquiries 
 respecting his journey j and the localities of 
 his home, retired to the small drawingroom ; 
 and the gentlemen being left alone, Ernest 
 soon entered upon the nature of his business. 
 Many and urgent were his inquiries, and these 
 were readily responded to by Dr. Carpenter ; 
 and not only did Ernest allude to his own 
 friend in particular, but he entered upon the 
 general theory of the question of lunacy, asked 
 for the experience of practical observation, es- 
 pecially in cases of reserve or melancholy ; 
 because he thought how any knowledge gained 
 from such a superior source might be here- 
 after of signal use in the treatment of his 
 friend, could he but be permitted to have
 
 178 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 him once domiciled under his roof in the village 
 of Milton. 
 
 How far he accomplished his object by the 
 interview of this evening may be gathered from 
 a short letter which he wrote to his sister ere 
 he retired to rest for that night at a neigh- 
 bouring hostelry, for Dr. Craine had no room, 
 either spare or prepared, for him at his house. 
 
 " My dearest Arty, 
 
 " You will be longing to have a line from 
 me, so before I retire to bed this night, I must 
 tell you what has happened, or I am sure I 
 should not sleep a single minute. I have not 
 yet seen my friend ; but I have been fortu- 
 nate enough actually to pass a whole evening 
 (the ways and means of this providential cir- 
 cumstance I must tell you when I get home) 
 with two eminent men, one of whom is the 
 famous Dr. Carpenter, physician to the Han well 
 Asylum. Well, he has told me much of poor 
 Charles Henry, and he thinks — oh, joy to me ! 
 — that he may certainly be released from his 
 confinement, and be restored to the care of 
 a friend. That I am to be that friend, you, 
 dearest Arty, have consented. But he says 
 that I must, of course, first communicate with 
 his friends; which I have, as you know, al-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 1T9 
 
 ready done, and indeed I expect his uncle 
 here to-morrow ; and also, he says that some 
 little time must be allowed for a further exa- 
 mination, and for getting all things ready, and 
 so it is plain that I shall be detained here for a 
 week, and you must ask Heberden to take 
 my duties for next Sunday, and if he unavoid- 
 ably cannot do so, you can write to Walter 
 Hughes, 
 
 " Doctor Carpenter says, that the greatest 
 danger is, that our dear friend will wander 
 away, not wilfully but unwittingly, and thus 
 we might lose him for a time. He says also, 
 that he fears the downward career of his ma- 
 lady, and that in a few years he may become 
 — what shall I say ? — imbecile : yet he cannot 
 certainly state what salutary effect the moral 
 treatment of liberty, conversation with friends, 
 interesting occupation in a garden, amusement 
 of fishing, reading of books and newspapers, 
 for all which things he may have inclination, 
 will have in course of time. Only we are not 
 to anger him, not to thwart him, if possible, in 
 any essential thing, but in all things gently to 
 guide and allure him ; and we had better have 
 him visited by the medical man at Milton at 
 certain intervals. 
 
 " Well, then, dearest Arty, you will have
 
 180 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 the small bed-room at the back prepared, 
 its nice dimity curtains, with all other ar- 
 ticles of furniture, arranged, and hang up those 
 pictures, the Roman prints, that are lying 
 near the bureau in my study. Place some 
 books and magazines in his room, but not 
 the Bible or Prayer-book. Send also for the 
 blacksmith, and let him put some iron bars 
 in the window, and have them painted white. 
 Remove all my papers and letters into my 
 bed-room, so that he may have free entrance 
 into my httle study — and in that little study 
 we shall soon hope to see the blazing fire, 
 and cheerful tea-things, which you will be so 
 glad to have ready to greet us on our arrival, 
 which will be late in the evening. Oh, these 
 things are the earthly idols of our existence, 
 next to those living ones, of which you to 
 my heart are chief. 
 
 " I can write no more, and hail to-morrow's 
 dawn with impatience. 
 
 " Ever, dearest Arty, 
 
 " Your affectionate brother, 
 
 " Ernest Singleton. 
 " Railway Hotel, September, 1846." 
 
 Perhaps it will be better to avoid the detail 
 of Ernest's proceedings until the period when 
 his dear friend arrived in safety and health at
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 181 
 
 the little rectory at Milton, because there 
 were many little things that tended to annoy 
 poor Ernest and retard his wishes, so many, 
 indeed, that it would take some time and space 
 to relate them. That '' waiting-room" at Han- 
 well, the anxieties that agitated his mind, the 
 oft-recurring idea that his friend might not even 
 recognise him, the turnkey-look of the officials, 
 and their everlasting unlocking and locking of 
 doors, and their footsteps and voices resounding 
 through the long passages, with a sight, too, of 
 a yard in which the pauper lunatics were 
 singing, or laughing, or walking up and down 
 in impenetrable silence — this outward aspect of 
 affairs troubled him ; and, alas ! when he came 
 to know more of what takes place, and must 
 take place, he could not but come to the con- 
 clusion that these lunacy palaces, however well 
 conducted, are inseparable from much positive 
 evil, and are certainly to be avoided, except in 
 extreme cases, by the friends of those who are 
 unfortunately deprived of the power and privi- 
 leges of a sound mind ; that is to say, they 
 should make every effort to place the unhappy 
 person under private care and surveillance, 
 rather than incarcerate him in one of these 
 public establishments. 
 
 Well, as has been said, let the minute detail
 
 18*3 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 of all these matters be passed over, and rather 
 let the following letter be perused, which was 
 written some while after poor Charles Henry 
 had been ensconced in the snug domicile of his 
 kind friend, by whom he was watched and 
 waited upon with the tenderest love and regard. 
 This is an extract from a letter to a clerical 
 friend : — 
 
 '' After all this good fortune, and some little 
 misfortunes, I found myself in the waiting-room 
 of the Asylum. What passed in my mind 
 I dread to tell you, for I almost now tremble at 
 the remembrance of my sensations. How could 
 I first look upon him ? how would he receive 
 me ? were the absorbing subjects of my thoughts. 
 After waiting for some while he was introduced 
 by a keeper, in the company of a surgeon of 
 the establishment, and he met me cordially; 
 yes, he seemed quite to be overpowered by his 
 feelings on our first embrace. Immediately I 
 thought to myself that in a life of solitude and 
 independence lay the real elements of his distem- 
 pered mind, therefore an endeavour to get him 
 within the pale and influence of some elevating 
 society might be of essential service. But soon, 
 very soon, I marked a change : and in getting 
 him home I had much occasion for vigilance. 
 Now he is reserved and silent, quite difi'erent
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 183 
 
 to his manner at Eton, for although he Hked 
 long rambles in solitude, yet in society and 
 with friends he was always particularly affable. 
 At this time he seems as though some deep 
 grievance lay heavy on his soul, and even the 
 motion of his body appears to say that a heavy 
 burden is imposed upon him. He is hurried and 
 abstracted in his observations, and soon turns 
 away from any one in an abrupt manner. 
 His mind is decidedly off its pivot, and yet 
 sometimes he will say that people think he is 
 mad, and will laugh greatly at this idea. His 
 laughter is at many times unmeaning, for when 
 walking or sitting by himself he will laugh and 
 talk to himself as though enjoying some capital 
 tale or joke, and often he laughs, as it were, 
 in people's faces, without at all meaning any 
 insult, or indeed knowing why he does so. In 
 his conduct towards persons of his acquaintance 
 he is very changeable. He will on one day be 
 so glad to see them, and then a short while 
 after will avoid them, and when they address 
 him he will walk on as though he knew them 
 not, and they will give a smile, and walk on 
 seeming to say, ' Poor fellow, we see what is 
 the matter.' Often he will be in great earnest 
 about the commencement of some matter, and 
 then totally forget it, and stroll away to the
 
 184 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 woods, and sit down nearly a whole day at a 
 time ; in fact he will often stroll away he knows 
 not where, and be conducted homewards by 
 some kind person. When in the house, he 
 often seems to be busied at his writing-desk, 
 and I can discover many scraps of original dra- 
 matic poetry written on loose pieces of paper, 
 with all kinds of dispirited allusion to love and 
 hatred, jealousy and revenge ; interviews be- 
 tween the Queen and her ministers : Satan and 
 his foes. Frequently he lies in bed during 
 several consecutive days, with the room dark- 
 ened, and fancying that he hears voices in his 
 room, and steps stealthily approaching him. 
 He usually, at other times, keeps his windows 
 open day and night, caring not for the coldness 
 and evidently oppressed by some pain or heat 
 in his brain. Then he will get up, and for 
 some days take very active exercise, walking 
 out to great distances, but avoiding people 
 as much as possible, often standing behind 
 a hedge or a tree until they have passed 
 by : and by this conduct, the poor, to whom 
 he has always been kind, used to think they 
 had offended him. To animals he continues 
 his wonted kindness ; albeit, sometimes he 
 would tease and even strike them. But he 
 loves to pass hours upon hours in the field
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 185 
 
 or stall with them, and will usually fill his 
 pockets with corn and bread, and walk up the 
 hedgerows in order that he may feed the little 
 birds. He will also stick up branches and stakes 
 in fields and gardens, and will tell you that he 
 does this for resting places for the little birds 
 in their flight. Oh he has all the kindness of 
 Shelley's poor lunatic ! He is fond, too, of 
 altering the position of furniture in any room, 
 and especially of cutting down shrubs and plants 
 in a garden. 
 
 " He seems strongly to believe in witches 
 and some other invisible agencies, and I fancy, 
 from his manner, that he sees occasionally some 
 peculiar vision, certainly he believes that these 
 exercise a control over him, and sometimes 
 disarrange things about his bedside, and often- 
 times he barricades his bed-room door and 
 windows by placing articles of furniture against 
 them. I observe that there is a remarkable 
 change in his eyes, for often there is a flashing 
 fire in them when sitting in perfect silence ; 
 at other times they become enlarged, and 
 there is a moist melancholy look about them, 
 as though indicating exceeding mournfulness, 
 and mental despair. 
 
 " These are a few of the things to be noticed 
 in his change. There is still the form, still
 
 186 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 the same features of Charles Henry Kerr, — ay, 
 little altered since Etonian days, for his young 
 and fresh heart ever preserved to him a youth- 
 ful look, — but the spirit has fled from those 
 features, the soul and former life have departed 
 from that form, and all is vacant and listless, — 
 the very ideal of one who, brooding on the 
 melancholy past, careth little for the more 
 mournful future. Oh, how I endeavour to 
 amuse him, to warm and invigorate him with 
 remembrances of Eton scenes and Eton men, 
 and for a little time he will be beguiled, 
 and give me such hope ! but, alas ! he soon 
 relapses into his careless habit again, and be- 
 comes as one that heedeth not the voice or 
 counsel of any friend. Politics are tried, and 
 most sensible remarks he makes, sensible in 
 regard to his own long-cherished views; but from 
 these he soon wanders away, nor can even the 
 most vivid allusions to Calvin or Luther, or 
 Zuinglius, or to those antipodes in religion 
 and literature, his favourite Byron, Shelley, 
 Keats, &c., long engage his attention, for truly 
 his brain has losts its sustaining power, and 
 soon we find the truth of the poets words, — 
 
 " Art and eloquence, 
 And all the shows of the world, are frail and vain, 
 To keep a loss that turns their light to shade.'
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 187 
 
 Yes, all seems to be vain and useless, and He 
 who can foresee and order all things, can only 
 know the issue. I have resorted to our ablest 
 medical man, and he says honestly, ' we cannot 
 cure the mind ; we may administer for the 
 body as far as it has influence on the mind, 
 but of mental disorders we know little or no- 
 thing, and even the most varied observation 
 has hitherto been productive of but little prac- 
 tical experience.' He also tells me, that there 
 might be a softening of the brain in commence- 
 ment, occasioned by over-excitement for a long 
 period, and that in the space of two or three 
 years my friend, my once gifted friend, might 
 become as a child ! 
 
 " * Ml/ Swift expire, a driveller and a show !' 
 
 " ' But,' I have eagerly asked, ' is there any 
 likehhood of a better prospect, — can anything 
 be done more than is done ? ' He shook his 
 head, faintly saying, * the very best course is 
 being pursued,' — and I could ask no more at 
 that time. 
 
 " My only endeavour now is to walk and 
 converse with my dear friend as long as time 
 can be spared to be with him, and to make 
 every attempt to divest his mind from preying 
 on itself, and when I cannot be with him my 
 dear sister takes my place. At times he is
 
 188 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 SO inclined for conversation, that it might be said 
 with our sweet and melodious Rogers, — 
 
 " ' Yet his voice, 
 Still it was sweet : still from his eye the thought 
 Flashed lightning-like, nor lingered on the way, 
 Waiting for words ;' 
 
 but again, that awful and unexplainable relapse 
 into almost utter vacancy of mind and manner, 
 destroys every attempt, and almost every glim- 
 mer of hope. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! what he thinks of A. M. L. 
 I hardly know. He rarely alludes to the sub- 
 ject, and I never broach it. Once I have 
 found him, and his eye beamed with all the 
 eloquent feeling that must have dictated the 
 beautiful lines in the ' Bride of Abydos,' com- 
 mencing, 
 
 " * Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark/ 
 
 Once I found him writing from memory those 
 exquisite yet mournful strains, — 
 
 " ' Or since that hope denied in worlds of strife, 
 Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life ! 
 The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, 
 And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray ! ' 
 
 " Poor Charles Henry Kerr, the poetical, the 
 pure, the richly conversational Etonian, how 
 is thy mind now clouded, mystified, and gla-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 189 
 
 rmglj lighted up, at intervals, with those sen- 
 sations which make the sadly forboding lines 
 of Gray to be too horribly true ! yes, even 
 
 " ' With moody madness laughing wild ! ' 
 
 Oh that hope thou once didst cherish of re- 
 generation here, and glory hereafter — now all 
 are dashed as a wine-cup from the hand ! 
 
 '• Oh, my dear friend, you will sympathise 
 with us I well know, and you will keep all 
 these things in your heart. As with the Prince 
 Athanasie, to whom you alluded in your last 
 welcome letter, so with our friend, 
 
 " ' And if his grief remains — let it remain — untold ;' 
 
 ay, for ever untold to a jeering and unfeeling 
 
 world. 
 
 " My sister joins in united regards to you, 
 
 '* Ever your affectionate friend, 
 
 " Ernest Singleton.'" 
 " Milton Rectory." 
 
 Such was Ernest's account of his friend ; and 
 matters passed on to his complete satisfaction, 
 the only addition to the first arrangement 
 being the aid of a steady person to accompany 
 his friend in his walks, when he himself was 
 otherwise occupied. For Ernest determined 
 that nothing should interfere with him in the 
 dutiful performance of his pastoral duties, for
 
 190 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 he could not bear the idea of relaxation either 
 in the writing of sermons, or parochial visit- 
 ings, or in his intercourse with friends, although 
 his hours of reading were broken in upon often 
 for a length of time. And he was glad to 
 find that the people of the village became in- 
 terested in his friend, for poor Charles Henry 
 would often sit down in their cottages, and 
 indeed there was quite a struggle among them 
 to say a word of comfort to him, or to give 
 him any little thing he seemed to admire, or 
 to watch him when he neared the great pools, 
 or might be seen entering a field where was 
 an unruly bull — yes, they would have perilled 
 their lives for him. Ernest loved to note this 
 feeling of kindness, and wherever he beheld it 
 he fervently blessed the poor.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 191 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Ita fieri necesse est. ut si omnia Vetera sint bona, omnia 
 nova mala, qusecunque nunc bona sunt, fuerint olim mala, 
 et quae nunc sunt mala, sint olim futura bona." 
 
 Colloquies of Erasmus. 
 
 "Nihil turpius quam reprehendere quod non intelligas." 
 
 Ibid 
 
 " An awful, reverend, and religious man." 
 
 Dryden's Good Parson. 
 
 Among the letters which had arrived at 
 Milton durinof Ernest's absence, was one that 
 should not be passed over, coming, as it did, 
 from a true friend and a venerable writer. 
 The sermon to which it refers is the celebrated 
 one of the late Bishop Baines, of Prior Park 
 College (Bishop of Siga), on faith, hope, and 
 charity, a discourse which has gone through 
 several editions, and made a vast impression 
 on the less learned and wary ; in short, it had 
 greatly absorbed the attention of a young friend 
 of Ernest Singleton's, and wrought feelings 
 within him which might probably lead to the 
 entertainment of too favourable sensations
 
 192 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 towards the Church of Rome. He therefore 
 had applied to the pastor of Penscellwood for 
 his opinion on this able and plausible sermon 
 preached by the Roman Catholic Bishop, and 
 obtained it in the following words : — 
 
 '' My dear Ernest, 
 
 " I am reminded by my friend Tacitus, whom 
 I lay down for an hour's converse with my old 
 pupil, that consilium ah omnibus datum est, peri- 
 culum pauci sumpsere : therefore, since there 
 is little merit, let me trust there may be some 
 usefulness in giving advice. Let me tell you, 
 that I hope to be at Belswardine very soon, 
 once more to see my valued contemporary and 
 friend, but, since I shall have so much to talk 
 over with you, I will dismiss this burden at 
 once, only bear in mind that to enter upon the 
 subject and pursue it, as it might be pursued, 
 would occupy more time and attention than I 
 can at present spare. 
 
 " The ' Substance of a Sermon,' is the pro- 
 duction of, I believe, a very amiable Roman 
 Catholic Bishop, and is so smooth, insinuating, 
 and persuasive, that it is very likely to win 
 those who do not keep their eye steadily upon 
 the true state of the question between the 
 Roman CathoHc and Prostestant Churches,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 193 
 
 and are not well acquainted with the favour- 
 able colouring which the Romanists can give 
 to their objectionable tenets, and the way in 
 which they can keep out of sight points which 
 they hold in reserve. 
 
 " I remember a former sermon of this divine 
 upon, I think, a similar occasion, much in the 
 same strain ; and from the nature of his powers 
 do not wonder that he is selected to hold forth 
 on their dedication days. 
 
 " I am quite unwilling to suppose that he 
 wilfully misrepresents what he states ; but I 
 must hesitate to admit many of his expositions, 
 if what has been laid down by other divines 
 of his Church, and has been admitted by that 
 Church, still stand in force ; I cannot receive 
 his assertions simply on his own authority, 
 when I look to what his Church has sanctioned. 
 
 " In order to have a notion of what is really 
 held by them, it may be necessary ' antiquos 
 exquirere fontes,' to the opinions of their great 
 doctors, and the decrees of the Council of 
 Trent, the great standard of their doctrines. 
 We have no opportunity of doing this to any 
 extent, but may just touch upon both. As for 
 their divines, it is well known that the doc- 
 trines of their Church, being delivered in large 
 and indefinite terms, and descending not to 
 
 VOL I. K.
 
 I94f ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 minute senses, are left to be explicated by 
 their writers ; but when the assertions of those 
 writers have been once recognised, unimpugned, 
 or unrejected, they must be taken to be true 
 expositions of the doctrines held by that in- 
 fallible body. As to the Council of Trent, in 
 particular, it declares that it follows the tes- 
 timonies of Holy Scripture, and the holy fa- 
 thers, and the most esteemed councils. Now, 
 whatever gloss may be put upon doctrines and 
 principles with which their Church is charged, 
 or however they may be smoothed down by 
 any bishop or champion who may desire to 
 view and place the question in the fairest 
 light, it must be obvious that little reliance 
 can be put upon such representations as con- 
 tradict the higher authorities above alluded to. 
 " I shall just make a few remarks which 
 have, among others, occurred to me in looking 
 through this discourse, merely as a sample, 
 that you may perceive how this exposition of 
 the leading (or s®me of the leading) tioctrines 
 of the Romanists — who lay such claims to 
 unity and universality as characteristics of their 
 body both in doctrine and discipline — differs from 
 many of those who have gone before him, and 
 whose statements are not abjured to this hour, 
 though they may be kept in the back ground,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 195 
 
 because they would tend to substantiate some 
 of the charges here attempted to be refuted. 
 
 " One of the first things that struck me, 
 occurs in the paragraph at the bottom of page 
 2, beginning with, ' And here, my brethren, it 
 follows,' &c. The plain question to be asked, 
 in answer to the general statement of this 
 paragraph is. Has the Church of Rome not 
 been accessary, or a principal in introducing 
 a system hke that which is here reprobated into 
 those countries where she planted, and still 
 tries to keep up, the Inquisition ? It is laid, in- 
 deed, upon the state, according to the loophole 
 contained in the concluding sentence, where 
 he speaks of civil enactments compelling the 
 conscience. This Church calls in as a dernier 
 ressort, the aid of another power, and casts upon 
 it whatever blame may arise from the exercise 
 of tyranny and cruelty. In the auto da fe, the 
 practice has been to turn the heretic over to 
 the civil magistrate, recommending, indeed, that 
 he should be dealt with favourably, while 
 she stands and looks on with tranquillity if he 
 should only be roasted alive. Thoughts of 
 this kind naturally obtrude themselves, though 
 the preacher has not yet brought forward the 
 vindication of his own Church, and is employ- 
 ing language that is beautiful, and would be 
 
 K 2
 
 196 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 unexceptionable, if he were not standing forward 
 in a cause, the persecuting spirit of which forms 
 a striking contrast to that which he commands 
 — as what he says of proselytism (page 3) con- 
 demns the conduct of the Romish Church in 
 the methods too frequently adopted by her 
 missionaries for the conversion of the heathens. 
 What he has also observed respecting charity 
 would be very winning if we could forget the 
 known uncharitableness both in sentiment and 
 conduct of that Church which he is about 
 to defend. At the end of that sentence (page 
 4) : ' the Redeemer shed his most precious 
 blood ; ' instead of the abrupt prolepsis that 
 follows, I feel inclined to substitute, ' But 
 methinks I hear you reply, how is this ? the 
 Catholics have their sanction of their Church in 
 applying force to the conversion of heretics, 
 and in rejecting all communications with them.' 
 This and much more, I apprehend, might be 
 urged from the intolerance of the system as it 
 has too frequently been seen to operate, when 
 pushed to the extremities that are always in 
 reserve. I beg you to believe that I admire 
 much of what the bishop has said of charity in 
 the abstract, and believe that, individually, he 
 knows how to practise it ; but when it is put 
 forward as the tone and temper of so intolerant
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 197 
 
 a church as that of Rome, and as an inherent 
 excellency which she cherishes after the pattern 
 he has drawn — I pause. 
 
 " In page 4 he enters upon a vindication of 
 their doctrines, and compares the calumnies that 
 have been charged upon them with those that 
 were cast upon the Church in its purest state 
 during the three first centuries, as if any com- 
 parison could fairly be drawn. ' There is no 
 absurdity,' he afiirms, of the earlier church, 
 ' that was not charged upon its doctrines.' 
 Many absurd things no doubt were falsely 
 advanced against it, but this is too sweeping an 
 affirmation ; many absurdities have since arisen, 
 with which that Church was never, I believe, 
 charged ; as for instance, the worship of images 
 and of saints, and the doctrine of the real 
 presence — the comparison by no means holds 
 good, and had better be omitted. 
 
 " He says they are cruelly, and unjustly, and 
 unaccountably calumniated (page 4), and in 
 many instances it may have been so, but when 
 he hints that the doctrines they hold have been 
 the cause of their being excluded from a share 
 in the common charities of Christians, I think 
 he has no reason to cast this in the teeth of the 
 present age. But, let us see a little what he 
 makes of one of the primary doctrines, the worship
 
 198 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 of God. He argues (page 5) against the possibility 
 in these learned and enlightened times of any 
 persons whatsoever, giving divine honours to a 
 lifeless and senseless image. But it will be well 
 to see what the Church itself notoriously has 
 taught, a church which in spite of learning or 
 light of intellect, claims to hold the same essen- 
 tials at all times, and in all places. He lays 
 it down, ' that the worst of treasons, and the 
 greatest of crimes, is to give his (God's) 
 homage to any creature whatsoever.' Observe 
 what the Romanists have expressly affirmed 
 of the homage they call latreia: and which 
 stands upon record as a received dogma. St. 
 Thomas Aquinas, one of their highest doctors, 
 thus lays it down ex cathedra — ' The cross of 
 Christ is to be adored with the supreme ado- 
 ration of latreia ;' and this is the doctrine * of 
 a multitude of others. Pope Clement VIII. 
 published a pontifical, in which these words are 
 used ; and they serve to explain what is meant 
 by the cross, that it is a material cross — * The 
 legate's cross must be on the right hand because 
 latreia, or divine honour, is due to it.' If 
 Bishop Baines be right. Pope Clement VIII. 
 must be wrong. 
 
 * See Bishop Taylor's Dissuasive against Popery. Sec. 17.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 199 
 
 '' As an example of the way in which things 
 may be mystified, look at the word origi?iaUi/ 
 at the end of this paragraph; consider how 
 carefully that is inserted, and how much it 
 saves. 
 
 " In the next paragraph, ' So far,' &c. (pages 
 4, 5.) I would just observe that the Dissenters, 
 as he, whom a late Act of Parliament calls a 
 Dissenter, is pleased to style the Protestant part 
 of his audience by a gentle and unusual abate- 
 ment of the term heretic ; the Dissenters, strictly 
 speaking, do not allow to each other, what he 
 seems willing to take for granted they do, any 
 more than the Roman Catholic allows that the 
 Dissenter can be saved out of his pale. 
 
 " I press on to the next paragraph (page 5), 
 where he argues upon the impossibility of men 
 beiug found capable of giving divine honours 
 to an image, to which I have already adverted. 
 I wonder whether he admits the recorded de- 
 clarations of the doctors of his Church, which, I 
 believe, it may be proved neither Popes nor 
 councils have ever distinctly denied. James 
 Naclantus, Bishop of Clugium, says, ' we must 
 furthermore confess without the slightest scruple 
 of conscience, that they (that is the faithful in 
 the Church) adore the very image itself. If 
 they adore the prototype with that divine wor-
 
 200 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 ship which is rendered to God, and which tech- 
 nically bears the name of latreia, they adore 
 also the image with the same latreia or supreme 
 worship.' Gabriel Biel affirms, ' If these should 
 be images of Christ, they are adored with the 
 same species of adoration as Christ Himself; 
 that is, with the supreme adoration called latreia.'' 
 
 " Then he makes a reply in the next para- 
 graph to the question, ' But why if the image 
 is not worshiped, is it there ?"* I hope he does 
 not call this appeal a statement of the doctrine. 
 It might be admitted by many impartial persons, 
 that the representation of a crucified Saviour 
 were not inappropriate at the altar, if the con- 
 sequences were not to be apprehended, which 
 really have taken place in the Romish Church ; 
 if hymns had not been addressed to the very 
 cross, and if he that occupieth the place of the 
 unlearned, and cannot argue, nor feel upon the 
 subject as a refined theologian, were not in 
 danger of adoring it. 
 
 " ' Really, my Christian brethren (page 5), I 
 blush to think it should be necessary to say, 
 that Catholics as well as you, know the folly, 
 and detest as much as you, the impiety of 
 giving divine honours to a lifeless piece of wood, 
 &c. ;' but other Catholic authorities have put 
 very opposite sentiments upon record. ' The
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 201 
 
 images of the Trinity and of the cross are to 
 be adored with the worship of latreia.' I 
 could send you many passages to this effect, as 
 given by Jeremy Taylor, and also by the 
 modem Faber, but you may have them within 
 your reach. Azorius, who is said to have been 
 their great master of casuistical theology, is, 
 perhaps, as explicit as any. ' This is the con- 
 stant sentence of the divines ; the image is to 
 be worshiped with the same honour and wor- 
 ship with which we worshiped those whose 
 image it is."* The Council of Trent is very 
 delicate upon this subject, but refers by a side 
 wind to the second Nicene Council, who have 
 approved of image worship. It is a curious 
 circumstance, shewing the pertinacity of the 
 Church of Rome on this point, that the Council 
 of Francfort disannulled the acts of that Xicene 
 Council upon this very ground, but that the 
 acts of the Council of Francfort itself, were set 
 aside and abolished by the interest of the Pope 
 with the Emperor ; and all this care was taken, 
 that their favourite latreia might be retained. 
 
 " Now if the Church, as a body, place any 
 rehance on their doctors and their councils, 
 which are what they appeal to, and if that 
 Church claim to be infallible and unalterable 
 in matters of doctrine, as I think you will 
 
 K 5
 
 202 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 find they do, you may easily understand with 
 what caution individual statements, like those 
 contained in the sermon, ought to be received. 
 
 "As to the worshiping and praying to the 
 Virgin Mary and the saints, he denies it, and 
 affirms that they only pray to them, 'just as 
 St. Paul prayed to his own converts, or I pray 
 to you.' I am sorry really upon comparing 
 this assertion with some of their own formulae, 
 to be obliged to ask whether he indeed prays to 
 any of his brethren or congregation in the 
 following manner : — 
 
 " ' O generous Mary ! obtain pardon for us ; 
 apply grace unto us ; prepare glory for us ! ' 
 (surely this is something more than saying, 
 pray for us). 'And with the elect to enjoy 
 grace,"* (as if she had it in her gift,) ' that we 
 may with melody praise thee : and do thou 
 drive our sins away.' 
 
 ^* Reparatrix et salvatrix, 
 Irroratrix et largitrix 
 Spiritualis gratise ! 
 Quod require, 
 Quod suspirOj 
 Mea Sana vulnera. 
 Et da menti 
 Te poscenti 
 Gratiarum munera."* 
 
 * Hymn called the Rosary of our Lady.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 208 
 
 " And in another part of the same hymn^ 
 ' Join me to Christ : Govern me always. 
 Enlighten my heart: Defend me always from 
 the enemy: Deliver us from all Evil^'' (the 
 very words, by the way, used by the Metho- 
 dists in the Lord's Prayer,) ' and from the 
 pains of Hell.' 
 
 " Now we may fairly take leave to ask, in the 
 words of the sermon, is there ' nothing wrong or 
 unreasonable in all this ? ' 
 
 " But the saints, so far from being merely 
 addressed, as he would have us believe, are 
 addressed in the same manner as the Virgin 
 * Oh, George ! we beseech thee that we may be 
 joined to the citizens of heaven,"' &c. 
 
 " ' Oh ! martyr Christopher ! make us in 
 mind worthy of the honour of the Deity, — 
 grant unto thy sorrowful people the gifts, which 
 in dying thou besoughtest.'' 
 
 " * Oh ! ye 11,000 girls ! lilies of virginity ! 
 &c., defend me in life, by granting me your 
 assistance; and shew yourselves in death, by 
 bringing the last comfort." * 
 
 "In addition to what I have adduced re- 
 specting the adoration of the Virgin, I will 
 just call your attention to what Bishop Taylor 
 brings forward on this head : ' There is a psalter 
 
 * From collects in the Service ' Ad Usum Sacrum.'
 
 204 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 of our Lady, of great and ancient account, in the 
 Church of Rome. It hath been several times 
 printed at Venice, at Paris, at Leipsic ; 
 and the title is. ' The Psalter of the Blessed 
 Virgin, compiled by the seraphical Doctor 
 Saint Bonaventure, Cardinal of the Holy 
 Church of Rome.' It is nothing but the psalms 
 of David (one hundred and fifty in number are 
 set down), altered, indeed, to make as much 
 of it as could be sense so reduced, in which the 
 name of the Lord is left out, and that of Lady 
 put in ; so that whatsover David said of God 
 and Christ, the same prayers, and the same 
 praise, they say of the Blessed Virgin Mary ; 
 and whether all that can be said without into- 
 lerable blasphemy, we suppose, needs not much 
 disputation."* * 
 
 "Did, then, the Church of Rome ever ap- 
 prove of this ? Did she ever reject it ? Is she 
 what she was or not ? Is she reformed or 
 not? 
 
 "I do not know how far their modern 
 divines may take upon them to interpret, sanc- 
 tion, or reject the older doctors of their own 
 Church, or how far they can go unreproved by 
 their Head. I suspect that considerable lati- 
 tude, if we may judge from what we hear, is 
 * Taylor's Dissuasive, &c., pp. 220, 221.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 205 
 
 allowed to champions ; while the Church itself, 
 as a ruling authority, keeps a reserved silence. 
 When I look at the anathema (in pp. 5, 6), 
 however, and compare it with what has been 
 cited, and with an infinite number of exanaples 
 of the same kind that might be adduced, it 
 does appear to me that the preacher anathema- 
 tises all those who have composed and used the 
 liturgies and hymns of that kind in his own 
 communion ; — has he not anathematised Pope 
 Clement VIII. ? — and unless their rituals are 
 purified and reformed, to a degree to which we 
 may be well assured they are not, may he not 
 have anathematised himself? In what strange 
 difficulties and inconsistencies are they not in- 
 volved who undertake to defend, or even apolo- 
 gise for, the errors that have crept into the old 
 Church ? 
 
 " In his defence of the priest's power of ab- 
 solution, he enters into their doctrine of repen- 
 tance, and denies that it facilitates the commis- 
 sion of crime. The exposition is, in many re- 
 spects, smooth enough ; but when I inquire 
 into what has been taught by some of their 
 great masters and authorities, from whom there 
 is no fair escape, I find myself entangled in 
 such materials as the following, — you know they 
 refine and subdivide upon the subject of repen-
 
 ^06 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 tance, and have attrition and contrition, &c. 
 * Diana de pcenitentia ' is one of their great 
 guides on this head. ' A dying man,' he says, 
 ' is not tied to be contrite for his sins ; but con- 
 fession and attrition are sufficient,' and, that 
 we may know what is meant by attrition, we 
 are told, that 'it is a sorrow for temporal evil, 
 disgrace, or loss of health, sent by God as a 
 punishment, or feared to be sent/ — ' As to the 
 precept of having a contrite or broken heart, it 
 binds not but in the article or danger of death, 
 nor then, but when we cannot have the sacra- 
 ment of penance.' 
 
 " The Council of Trent agrees with this ; 
 and the doctrine laid down by both together is 
 this, ' Neither is it necessary that our sorrow be 
 thought to be contrition ; neither is it necessary 
 that attrition should go before confession, but 
 will serve if it be some time after. And Diana 
 says, * If you confess none but venial sins, it is 
 sufficient if you be sorrowful for one of them ; 
 and the case is the same for mortal sins formerly 
 confessed.' Upon the subject of repentance, 
 the Romish doctors have taught, and it seems 
 admitted on all hands, that 'a sinner is not 
 bound to repent of his sin as soon as he hath 
 committed it; and that, though the Church 
 calls upon sinners to repent on holydays and at
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 207 
 
 Easter ; yet that by the law of God they are 
 not tied to so much, but only to repent in the 
 danger and article of death/ This is the ex- 
 press article taught in the Church of Rome by 
 their famous Navarre ; and for this he quotes 
 Pope Adrian and Cardinal Caietan ; and finally, 
 affirms it to be the sense of all men. Some of 
 their doctrines about repentance, when they 
 argue from the negative side, are passing 
 strange. * There is no precept,' says Reginal- 
 dus, 'that a sinner should not persevere in 
 enmity against God.' — ' There is no negative 
 precept forbidding such a perseverance.' 
 
 " Quotations might be multiplied without end, 
 and I have no mind to follow the sermon any 
 farther, but if there be anything in the fore- 
 going statements, I would only observe, that all 
 the remainder may be treated in the same man- 
 ner. An inquirer is saved the trouble, on cer- 
 tain objectionable points, for the preacher has 
 kept some of them totally out of sight by a sort 
 of finesse that could only succeed in a popular 
 oration. The only way to judge of the merits 
 of what is here alleged, is to try the bishop by 
 declarations of his predecessors; and not to 
 receive upon his bare ipse dixit, explanations 
 which, in the sense in which he would have 
 them understood, are opposed, under greater
 
 208 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 and admitted authority, by those who have 
 gone before him. 
 
 " These expositions may be admitted in some 
 things to come nearer to revealed truth, and 
 to the law of charity, than many of those by 
 which the voice of the Church has spoken. 
 But what has become of them? were they 
 not admitted? and have they ever been for- 
 mally renounced ? 
 
 " As a specimen of what the Romish Church 
 is capable of, in the authority of their own 
 divines and councils, and the little necessity 
 of the Word of God, Pope Clement VIII., 
 in the index of prohibited books, says, that 
 the Bible published in vulgar tongues ought not 
 to be read and retained ; no, not so much as a 
 compendium of the History of the Bible. Bellar- 
 mine declares, that it is not necessary to salva- 
 tion to believe that there are any Scriptures at 
 all written; and Cardinal Hosius, that it had 
 perhaps been better for the Church if no Scrip- 
 tures had been written. And if you allege that 
 these are antiquated statements not now to be 
 attended to, I say, shew me an authoritative 
 renunciation of them by the Church ; and 
 when, instead of it, you offer me a different 
 statement, the old things remaining as they 
 were, I much marvel that a body so united,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 209 
 
 and so infallible as they profess to be, should 
 put forth such varieties, and admit, and adhere, 
 at any time to such incongruities as must ever 
 deprive an advocate of the power of a con- 
 sistent, credible defence. 
 
 " These things, among a great number of 
 others, are suggested to my mind upon look- 
 ing into the sermon, and oppose themselves 
 to the representations therein contained. I 
 repeat my conviction that the author is an 
 amiable man ; and may be, in their style of 
 learning, a very learned divine. If so, he pro- 
 bably knew more than he has thought fit to 
 tell us. However, at all events, while I give 
 him all due credit for as much candour as the 
 spirit of his institution will allow him to retain 
 towards Dissenters, I should, for stronger rea- 
 sons than he has used in his representations, 
 object to receive his exposition. Nothing that 
 is here said, knowing what I do, can satisfy me 
 that this Church is so unexceptionable in doc- 
 trine, discipline, and practice, as the Bishop of 
 Siga is pleased to represent it ; and to others, 
 and I am not treating him, I hope, too harshly, 
 when I say, while you listen to such vindica- 
 tions, however smoothly set off, as are inconsis- 
 tent with what has been repeatedly proved 
 against them, and are mere popular appeals to
 
 210 ERNEST SINGLETON, 
 
 objections never set aside : — be upon your 
 guard. 
 
 " I am aware that the Church of Rome has 
 more to say for herself than many people 
 imagine ; but she must be attended to with 
 great caution. The obverse of the medal is 
 beautiful, and has a fine gloss upon it ; and 
 her friends know how to hide some apparent 
 defects, and shew it to advantage ; but, depend 
 upon it, it will not bear turning. 
 
 " I write these things to you, my dear 
 Ernest, not that I believe you want in general 
 the little information herein contained, though 
 some of the particulars may be new to you ; 
 but because I rashly promised to give you my 
 opinion of what you forwarded to me, whereas 
 I really have no time to spare ; for, to the 
 many calls of business upon me, I cannot exist 
 without a little classical refreshment, and from 
 scribbling this letter, must turn again to the 
 two last chapters of the ' Life of Agricola,' 
 which are really most beautiful. At the same 
 time, however, I have reason for suggesting to 
 you that it might be of real service to you 
 to pursue this subject a little further ; because, 
 whatever may be our dislike to controversy, this 
 too often unamiable contest is forced upon us. 
 Remember what our friend Tacitus says, ' For-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 211 
 
 tissimus in ipso discrimine exercitus est, qui 
 ante discrimen quietissimus.' 
 
 " You know what to say for me at Bels war- 
 dine ; and, with true regards to Harriet — 
 hoping to see my dear friends at Milton shortly, 
 " I am, my dear Ernest, 
 
 " Your sincere friend, 
 
 " Alfred Churton." 
 " Penscellwood Rectory." 
 
 Ernest read, and read again this letter ; and 
 as he read it, the idea would rush into his 
 mind that, at some time or other, he would 
 be engaged in a controversy on religious points 
 with the Church of Rome. The growing tend- 
 ency of the age was towards Rome, and there 
 were private reasons which induced him to 
 beheve that he himself would be involved in the 
 matter. He only prayed that he might display 
 such firmness, mingled with becoming courtesy, 
 as was in this letter shewn by the pastor of 
 Penscellwood, for Ernest felt in his heart at all 
 times, that 
 
 " Faith is not built on disquisitions vain, 
 The things we must believe are few and plain ;" 
 
 and he would that all Christians would unite on 
 chief doctrines, and leave unessential things to 
 be held indifferently ;
 
 212 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 " For points obscure are of small use to learn, 
 But common quiet is mankind's concern." 
 
 No man was more inclined for peace and 
 quietness than the Pastor of Penscellwood, no 
 man had a more benevolent heart, no man 
 loved more to hide the faults and errors of 
 antagonists ; and so often was he excusing ene- 
 mies, so often endeavouring to find out apolo- 
 gies for mens' theological excesses, so often 
 placing the finger on the reviling lips, that when 
 the Church of Rome was the subject of his 
 candour and charity, men were too ready to 
 call him " Papist," or taunt him with names and 
 epithets that, while they scared not him from his 
 good labour, (and labour it was in some forward 
 company,) yet too often betrayed their own in- 
 considerateness ; especially when, at times, as in 
 this letter, he did shew that, although he could 
 feel kindly, and think justly, of Roman Catho- 
 lic individuals, yet that he could not yield assent 
 to the doctrinal, disciplinal, and practical sys- 
 tem of the Church of Rome. / 
 
 Bishop Baines was, doubtless, a pious and 
 zealous divine ; and there may be much to 
 admire in very many of the Roman Catholic 
 clergy ; but no personal conduct, however de- 
 voted and amiable, can serve to obliterate our 
 dislike of that Romish doctrine, which, in other
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 213 
 
 hands, may be the occasion of much wrongness 
 and despotism in the world. Such doctrines 
 and practices as set forth Transubstautiation ; 
 denial of the cup to the laity, however plausibly 
 attempted to be proved from Scripture, because 
 the disciples sometimes only broke bread ; sacri- 
 fice of masses ; honour paid to images ; indul- 
 gencies, however stated to be mere remissions of 
 ecclesiastical censures or penance ; purgatory ; 
 system of the confessional ; direct invocation of 
 saints ; undue exaltation of tradition ; seven 
 sacraments ; worship of the Virgin Mary ; su- 
 premacy of the Pope, &c. ; these draw a strong 
 line of demarcation between the Romish and 
 Anglican Churches, and to these the Church of 
 England must ever be, as she has hitherto been, 
 the constant, unwearied, and undaunted foe — a 
 foe that hath regard to truth and temper 
 throughout the entire range of her oppug- 
 nancy. 
 
 Luther was a great hero ; and the Reforma- 
 tion in his hands an heroic work. But Luther 
 was inexcusable, when he said, " I will pursue 
 them with my imprecations^ without stop or rest, 
 to my tomb. They shall never more have a 
 good word from me. I would that my thunders 
 and my lightnings roared and blazed over their 
 grave.'"* — " I cannot pray without cursing. I
 
 214- ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 cannot say ' Hallowed be thy name,' without 
 adding, Cursed be the name of the Papists, and of 
 all those who blaspheme thee. If I say ' Thy 
 kingdom come,' I must add. Cursed be the 
 Popedom, and all the kingdoms which are op- 
 posed to thine. If I say, ' Thy will be done,' I 
 add, Cursed be the designs of the Papists, and of 
 all those — may they perish — who fight against 
 thee. In this way I pray every day, and with 
 me all the true faithful in Christ Jesus." No, 
 Luther, no ; the same spirit which led you to 
 erase the Epistle of St. James from the canon 
 of Scripture, hath deluded you in this respect 
 also. 
 
 Still the Reformation was a great work. It 
 may be spoken of in the same words as Sir 
 Robert Peel used in speaking of another troubled 
 period. *' The French revolution," he said, 
 " had read a useful lesson — it had taught the 
 policy of early reformation. It had taught the 
 policy of relinquishing unjust exemptions and 
 special privileges held by particular parties." 
 And, as regards the English Reformation, sup- 
 ported by our episcopal divines of a noble day, 
 we may say, in continuation of Sir Robert 
 PeeFs words, ''It had," the French Revolution, 
 " on the other hand, calmed wild aspirations 
 after impossible perfection, and had taught dis-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 215 
 
 trust of the magnificent promises of the dema- 
 gogue, or the votaries of visionary speculation/' 
 Alas ! and alas ! a perfect Church, a perfect 
 government, or a perfect people, are things 
 never to be known upon this present earth : but 
 
 " O people keen 
 For change, to whom the new looks always green," 
 
 beware how you desire a revival of Popery, and 
 deem this change to be green and pleasant to 
 your view, because the abuses and perversions 
 of the Roman Church have so long been kept 
 out of view by your long support of the pure 
 and primitive Church of England.
 
 216 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " The poor are called ungrateful, but you still 
 Will have their thanks for this — indeed you will." 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 '' Dear, happy shade ! companion of the good, 
 The just, the pure, do I on thee intrude ? 
 Art not thou come my spirit to improve, 
 To form, instruct, and fit me for thy love ; 
 And, as in love we parted, to restore 
 The blessing lost, and then to part no more ?" 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Belswardine Hall usually witnessed a suc- 
 cession of visitors, but at this time there were 
 only two persons added to the circle which had 
 listened to the tale of the Italian Baron, but 
 these were personages of no mean importance, 
 the Countess de Pazzi, and her beautiful niece, 
 Camilla Martelli. The countess had been long 
 resident in the neighbourhood, and had been 
 brought over to England when a mere child 
 by her parents, who died in this country, and 
 Camilla had subsequently joined her. Her 
 maiden name was Capponi, and she had
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. i217 
 
 married a Florentine nobleman, who died some 
 years ago. Why the Capponi family originally 
 fled to England, for her father and mother, who 
 were of great wealth, never returned to Italy, 
 was hardly known, but rumour spoke of a 
 deadly feud between them and another noble 
 family, in which a relative of the countess, a 
 young cardinal, had certainly been slain, and 
 it was said that some of the other members of 
 the family dreaded lest they should fall by the 
 hand of the assassin. Hence their flight was 
 planned v/ith so much secrecy and suddenness, 
 that they were enabled by the aid and favour 
 of the British ambassador at Florence, to 
 escape with their entire property, their estates 
 having been, at the instigation of the ambas- 
 sador, privately sold or exchanged. So far 
 rumour told its tale ; and the fact of their be- 
 ing wealthy was apparent in the manner in 
 in which they kept up the Priory estate and 
 mansion, with the maintenance of a Roman 
 Catholic priest, and the expenses of a chapel 
 recently erected, and decorated with great 
 splendour. 
 
 These had arrived at Belswardine while 
 Ernest was absent ; but there was one who well 
 supplied his place, as a pattern of what the 
 clerical character ought to be, and this was no 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 ^18 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 less a personage than the good and humble 
 pastor of Penscellwood. Oh ! what joy to 
 Dora and Lucy when he unexpectedly arrived, 
 for they had known him all their lives, he 
 having been a contemporary with their beloved 
 father at Eton, and though residing far away, 
 usually spending some small portion of the year 
 at Belswardine. Sir John Thorold looked upon 
 him as a brother, and he it was who had 
 obtained the curacy of Milton for Ernest Sin- 
 gleton. Camilla Martelli, too, had long been 
 a bosom friend of the Miss Thorolds, so that 
 now they were not a formal party, conversing 
 under the restraints of polite society, but as 
 friends conversing with friends, speaking their 
 minds openly, and loving each other as the 
 cold world knows not how to love. Oh I it 
 was enough to fill one's heart with joy to behold 
 the good pastor rushing to the embrace of Sir 
 John, and Sir John returning the salutation with 
 the most cordial feelings of goodwill and regard. 
 
 " Once more," cried Mr. Churton, '' Provi- 
 dence has conducted me hither, — once more'' — 
 and his voice faltered with emotion. 
 
 " God be praised," responded Sir John, who 
 had less scruple in using the name of the Deity. 
 
 " When I look back, my friend," said Mr. 
 Churton, " you and I schoolfellows at Eton,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 219 
 
 you ill the same class for seven years, standiog 
 by my side, and so many with whom we were 
 famihar, now in their graves ! '"* 
 
 " And we spared !'' broke forth Sir John. 
 
 " Ay, in love and mercy spared !" exclaimed 
 the venerable pastor, and again he fervently 
 embraced the baronet. 
 
 The scene was touching to the members of 
 the family who witnessed it, and the weeping 
 pastor begged leave to retire to any room that 
 could be prepared for him, before he was in- 
 troduced into the society of the more general 
 company, none of whom were absolutely stran- 
 gers to him ; but still of Lord Henry Maitland 
 and Mr. Greville he knew little except by 
 tidings of their worth and goodness, conveyed to 
 him by letter, and very much by the letters of 
 the curate of Milton. 
 
 " Oh ! he shall retire into papa's study," 
 exclaimed Dora, as soon as Mr. Churton had 
 signified his desire to be more alone for awhile. 
 
 " And he will not, perhaps," said Lucy, 
 thoughtfully, " mind our sitting with him ; we 
 shall not fatigue him.'' 
 
 " Not at all," said Mr. Churton, with a smile, 
 
 for he overheard the remark: *'your presence 
 
 will greatly refresh me." 
 
 " Then," whispered Lucy to Dora, " we will 
 
 L 2
 
 220 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 ask him all about Mr. Singleton, and the truth of 
 what Mr. Merriman has been whispering against 
 hira ; and I am quite sure Mr. Merriman is a 
 little ill-natured wasp, — so many persons say so."" 
 
 " I never can bear him," responded Dora ; 
 " and he makes me feel so fidgetty when he is 
 in the room ; he seems to be so nervous, so pettish, 
 so void of a noble nature." 
 
 Now Lucy and Dora knew well that Ernest 
 Singleton was born of humbler parents than 
 clergymen of the Church of England usually 
 spring from, but Mr. Merriman had insinuated 
 that they were utterly disreputable, that Ernest 
 was careless and insincere in his profession, that 
 he was anything but a well-grounded scholar, 
 and that soon they would find out that his 
 failings far outnumbered any pretended virtues 
 he attempted to lay claim to, — and this was 
 already partly apparent from the strife he was 
 occasioning in the neighbourhood by setting 
 other clergymen at variance with himself, and 
 drawing people to his church by a reckless 
 course of allurement in preaching mere po- 
 pular doctrines in a style at once artificial 
 and declamatory. How the Miss Thorolds 
 had sat out this miserable invective they could 
 not tell, it was only because they knew the 
 entire falseness of all that related to his minis-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 221 
 
 terial duties, that they could Tvith any degree 
 of patience, endure to hear it, and Mr. Merri- 
 man himself, on having planted his sting, very 
 abruptly departed, taking leave in his usual tone 
 of polite gentleness. 
 
 And now their old friend is ensconced in 
 a large morocco reading chair in their father's 
 study, and they have asked him to tell them 
 all about Ernest's origin — and, " Well," said 
 he, " I must begin at the beginning — and you 
 must have patience." To which they both gave 
 a ready acquiescence. 
 
 " Well, then, on this promise," he smilingly 
 remarked, " I will commence.*" 
 
 " ' Although "it be a history 
 Homely and rude, I will relate the same 
 For the delight of a few natural hearts.' 
 
 Lucy remarked to Dora, that this was a quo- 
 tation from his favourite Wordsworth, and both 
 the sisters relapsing into profound silence, the 
 good pastor began a tale which was filled with 
 interest to them, after little Mr. Merriman's 
 unkind insinuations. 
 
 " On a certain morning in the mouth of July, 
 a young woman of very decent family in my 
 parish came up to the rectory, to tell me 
 that her brother Richard was returned home 
 from service, and was very ill, at the same
 
 4<22 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 time requesting me to step down and see him. 
 ' He has caught a violent cold,' she said ; ' is 
 all of a shiver, and feels a kind of rheumatic 
 pain in his bones.'' I returned with her, and 
 found poor Dick (as I had always called him), 
 sitting by the fire, indeed close upon the fire, 
 shivering in every limb, and so dull in his 
 mindp as altogether to present a strong con- 
 trast to his former state of strength and lively 
 spirits. He soon took to his bed, a low fever 
 crept into his system, and he became very ill 
 indeed. A doctor attended him, and ere long, 
 although the doctor very wrongly kept the 
 fact concealed from myself and the inmates 
 of the cottage, it was rumoured that Dick Wood 
 was ill of the typhus fever. Poor fellow, he 
 became very weak in the first stages of the dis- 
 order ; afterwards for some time he was insensi- 
 ble to all appearance, and then he experienced the 
 alternations of insensibility and delirium. His 
 mother had been, and was still in some de- 
 gree, connected with the Wesleyan Methodists ; 
 and she did not shew that affectionate feeling 
 towards her son that a woman of pious pro- 
 fession ought to have manifested in this hour 
 of calamity. She used to say to me in the 
 coldest tone that it could be said in : ' Ah, 
 sir, the Lord's will be done ; if we are to go,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 223 
 
 we must go,' — and then she would neglect her 
 son in all those tender offices which our beau- 
 tiful religion so eminently enforces on the fol- 
 lowers of a lowly and aiFectionate Saviour, and 
 which a mother's heart should require no in- 
 citement cheerfully and lovingly to perform. 
 True, the Lord's will must be done ; but as 
 true, that the Lord's Tvill is, that all His fol- 
 lowers should be eminently careful of the sick 
 and afflicted, although those very sick and 
 afflicted be the direst enemies of our lives.'' 
 
 " Oh ! I shall never like a Wesleyan Metho- 
 dist," exclaimed Dora. 
 
 " And we never saw one yet," said Lucy. 
 " Then speak not thus," rephed the Pastor 
 to Miss Dora; "judge not of all by one per- 
 son : and I know some good and humane men 
 among them. But I thought to myself, how 
 even the poet, the profane poet, might rebuke 
 this woman. For her conduct put me in mind 
 of that striking contrast between the love and 
 affection of two fathers, as described in an 
 extract that I have seen from one of Lord 
 Byron's poems ; and I will not make apology 
 for repeating what is pictured of so much cold- 
 ness in the one parent, and of so much zeal 
 and inward affection in the other. It occurs
 
 224) ERNEST SINGLETON 
 
 in a grand and awful description of a ship- 
 wreck : — 
 
 " ' There were two fathers in this ghastly crew, 
 
 And with them their two sons ; of them the one 
 
 Was more robust and hardier to the view ; 
 But he died early, and when he was gone, 
 
 His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw 
 
 One glance on him, and said, ' Heaven^s will be done, 
 
 I can do nothing ;' and he saw him thrown 
 
 Into the deep, without a tear or groan !' 
 
 " Now mark the difference — 
 
 " ' The other father had a weaklier child. 
 
 Of a soft cheek and aspect delicate ; 
 But the boy bore up long, and with a mild 
 
 And patient spirit told aloof his fate : 
 Little he said, and now and then he smiled. 
 
 As if to win a part from off the weight 
 He saw increasing on his father'' s heart. 
 With the deep deadly thought that he must part ! 
 
 " ^ And o'er him hent his sire, and never raised 
 His eyes from off his face, hut wiped the foam 
 From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed ; 
 
 And when the wished-for shower at length was come, 
 And the boy's eyes, which the dull film had glazed, 
 
 Brighten'd, and for a moment seemed to roam, 
 He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain, 
 Into his dying child's mouth — but in vain ! 
 
 <' ' The boy expired — the father held the clay. 
 And looked upon it long ; and when at last 
 Death left no doubt, and the dead burden lay 
 Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 225 
 
 He tvatch'd it wistfully, until away 
 
 'Twas borne by the rude wave, wherein 'twas cast ! 
 Then he himself sank {io^^-n, all dumb and shiv'ring, 
 And gave no signs of life, save his lips quivering !' 
 
 " Mark," observed the good rector, " the 
 master-hand of beauty and delicateness in these 
 lines ; but mark more, the profession of religion 
 in the one, and the no profession in the other, 
 yet see with which of them the religious atfec- 
 tions really lay." 
 
 " And the more religious we are, the more 
 tender and kind we should be ; should we 
 not r " asked Lucy. 
 
 " Certainly," replied the pastor ; and he re- 
 marked, that he had painfully witnessed this 
 unnatural state of the affections in persons pro- 
 fessing religion, and afterwards proceeded with 
 his plain narrative : " Poor Dick for a very 
 long time was sorely afflicted, and since durinof 
 those minutes when sense and perception of 
 things and persons were allowed him, he al- 
 ways called for my presence, so I took care 
 to hold myself in readiness to obey any quick 
 summons to his bedside. The neighbours did 
 what they could : one or two came to his 
 bedside, and they, alas I had too tnie a tale to 
 take back of the indifference of his mother. 
 She was not positively cruel — she waited upon 
 
 L 5
 
 226 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 him in almost sufficient degree, but the warmth 
 and soul of Christian affection was not in it. But 
 lo ! ere long, that mother herself was laid on the 
 same bed of affliction. Signs of restoration and 
 renewal appeared in poor Dick, and he re- 
 covered ; but his mother faltered, and fell ill 
 of the very same complaint : and, moreover, 
 ere his mother had been unwell for the 
 space of three days, her daughter also was 
 taken ill. At first, the mother became much 
 alarmed for her safety, and the daughter in 
 her fright would several times scream aloud. 
 The story is soon told. Mother and daughter 
 had to go through the same ordeal as poor 
 Dick — there was the excessive weakness, the 
 insensibility, the delirium, and the long, very 
 long period of gradual recovery. 
 
 " Now, adjoining to this cottage was another 
 one of a very dirty description. Two families, 
 both degraded and filthy in their habits, lived 
 under that same roof. There was a father, a son, 
 and two daughters in the back room, with a 
 portion of a room above ; and there was a 
 father, mother, three boys and a little girl, 
 in the front room, with a room above. Of 
 these latter, one boy and the little girl died 
 of the typhus fever; another boy was burned 
 to death, and the third, after much suffering,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. S27 
 
 recovered from the fever. For this latter little 
 boy I felt a peculiar sympathy. He was one 
 of the ugliest little fellows that could be con- 
 ceived, but amid all his rags and wretchedness, 
 he was honest and obliging; indeed, his ap- 
 pearance was so grotesque, as a little messenger 
 to the post, that he used to remind me of 
 beings sketched in Sir Walter Scott's novel of 
 the ' Black Dwarf.' He had a very narrow 
 escape from the jaws of death, but ultimately 
 recovered. 
 
 " Of the other family, the young man was 
 severely afflicted with the fever for a length of 
 time ; his two sisters were very ill with it, and the 
 father died ! This was a melancholy case, and 
 Ernest Singleton could tell you all about it more 
 fully than I can describe it now. But the fever 
 spread ; three more households caught the con- 
 tagion, and the whole parish became fearfully 
 alarmed. Persons who had ventured boldly 
 at first, now kept within doors, and very few 
 went near the infected houses. The church- 
 bell was tolling for days together, and some 
 corpses I was compelled to bury on the day after 
 death in rudely-constructed coffins, and these 
 could not be carried into the church. This 
 circumstance is a grievous one to poor people, 
 for they attach much importance to the bear-
 
 228 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 ing a corpse as far as the Holy Table in the 
 chancel, and turnmg round, and placing the 
 coffin on a bench in the centre of the aisle. 
 But in this case, all men saw the propriety of 
 not going into the church at all, but bearing 
 the corpse at once to the grave.*" 
 
 " How sad is this hurry of funeral rites," 
 observed Dora, as her cheeks grew pale at the 
 recital. 
 
 " Sad indeed," uttered Lucy. 
 
 " Come we now to the most melancholy case 
 of all," continued the pastor ; " for the poor, 
 feeling as they are in their affectionate hearts, 
 yet battle with grief in a way which the edu- 
 cated and more refined know not of. In my 
 parish dwelt a farmer's family which no tongue 
 can adequately describe. The farmer himself 
 rented a large farm, and he also carried on an 
 extensive business as a miller and a malster. 
 He was a most thriving and prosperous man, 
 indeed, no one was more likely, in the whole 
 country, to accumulate a large fortune. Being 
 a good scholar, and a man from whose lips 
 an easy authority flowed, his affairs were ma- 
 naged with comfort and gentleness in himself: 
 and this circumstance caused him to find time 
 for a certain degree of scientific and literary 
 attainment. Never in my experience have I
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 229 
 
 met, in any rank of life, with a man so de- 
 sirous of improving himself, and so meek and 
 humble under the knowledge he had attained. 
 His moral conduct was without a stain, his 
 temper calm and indulgent ; and his heart, 
 ay, the very depth of his heart, filled with 
 the purest benevolence, and moved with an 
 entire sincerity and singleness of purpose as 
 regarded his religious faith and practice. Such 
 a man I was proud to call my friend ; he 
 became beloved by me ; he was more to me 
 than princes and lords ever could have been ; 
 and he placed a confidence in me, never bor- 
 dering on unapt familiarity, which is the very 
 corner-stone, and groundwork, and cement of 
 all real friendship. Many were the walks we 
 took together amid our beautiful scenery ; many 
 were the plans formed to relieve the poor and 
 the young children ; and it seemed as though 
 his head and heart were uniformly engaged 
 on the side of kindness and pity ; and often 
 have I gazed on him and thought silently, 
 ' Oh that our great men in high places were 
 all pure and benevolent as this Edmund Sin- 
 gleton—'" 
 
 Dora could almost have shrieked at the men- 
 tion of this name, and Lucy burst into tears — 
 
 " ' Oh that all were honest and just, and
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 straightforward as he was, and we might indeed 
 be proud of our nobles, and bless God for 
 the gift of them to our country. 
 
 " Well, this man, this ennobled man, had 
 a wife, and a family of five sons. I have not 
 too much praised the father, and I cannot 
 speak too favourably of the wife and children. 
 She was connected with a large section of the 
 most respectable yeomanry of the neighbour- 
 hood, and report gave her a comfortable de- 
 gree of wealth as her marriage portion. That 
 she was an amiable woman and a devoted 
 wife will hereafter appear. The five boys were 
 all good-looking, gentle, well-conditioned scions 
 springing up around the parental trees. It was 
 suggested, to me that the sons of such a man 
 as Mr. Edmund Singleton should look to higher 
 stations of life, at least some one or two of 
 them, than their father had risen from ; and 
 therefore, a superior education would be of 
 essential benefit to them. I immediately ac- 
 knowledged the justness of this remark by having 
 a long conversation with their father on the 
 matter, and requesting that two of them might 
 come up to the rectory twice on every other 
 day, and commence lessons in Enghsh gram- 
 mar, and in Latin. A third boy begged hard 
 to come, and so in a short time, I had my
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 231 
 
 little class of three nice boys. The eldest, it 
 was arranged, was to be a veterinary surgeon, 
 or, it might be, a surgeon ; for one of the other 
 two, I suggested the ministry of the Church, 
 and the remaining one was to follow any pro- 
 fession or trade for which his inclination prompt- 
 ed him, and his abilities fitted him. One of 
 the five was certainly destined to be a farmer, 
 and for the youngest one there was time enough 
 yet to consider 
 
 " No one can conceive how I grew to like 
 and love my three boys. Learning tasks of 
 Latin was hard work ; for, as the poet Crabbe 
 says, when ridiculing the idea of ' reading made 
 easy,'— 
 
 " ' Learning is labour, call it what you will — 
 Upon the youthful mind a heavy load : 
 Nor must we hope to find the royal road.' 
 
 At the hours of eight o'clock every other morn- 
 ing, and at four o'clock in the afternoon of the 
 same day, they were with me. They learned 
 faster, and remembered what they learned, bet- 
 ter than I could have expected. My own Eton 
 grammar was the commencement; and after 
 a while they could write exercises, and con- 
 strue in Caesar. Then came themes and verse- 
 making, first nonsense and next sense-verses. 
 During this time I kept them well accustomed
 
 232 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 to English reading aloud, and the recitation 
 of English verses, because I thought that the 
 formation of mind, of generous and pure mind, 
 should be the object and end of all learning. 
 The elder son was a beautiful and elegantly 
 made boy. The ease with which he excelled 
 in horsemanship, and his very gentle and good 
 manner, gained him the favour of very many 
 persons. His disposition could hardly have 
 been surpassed, and had Southey seen him, 
 he could not have described him better than 
 in the words of his Roderick, spoken of the 
 youthful Alphonso, — 
 
 « ' Rich 
 In form and feature, growing strength of limb, 
 A gentle heart, a soul affectionate, 
 A joyous spirit filled with generous thoughts, 
 And genius heightening and ennobling all : 
 The blossom of all manly virtues made 
 His boyhood beautiful ! ' " 
 
 Lucy cast a look at Dora, as though at once 
 to acknowledge the fitness of these lines to 
 Ernest. 
 
 " Yes, he might have been the princely son 
 of a princely Spaniard, and in a princely man- 
 ner have played his noble part. In time this 
 youth was removed to the house of a relative 
 near Oxford, a relative who kindly undertook 
 to superintend the peculiar matters of his in-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 233 
 
 tended professional education ; and in order that 
 he might continue his classical pursuits, he 
 was sent to a school in the city of Oxford. 
 Here he won the esteem of his master, and 
 he was beloved in the more immediate circle 
 of his relative's friends. I was afterwards told 
 that he was reckoned to be the finest youth in 
 Oxford, and a letter from his schoolmaster told 
 me of his sweetness of disposition and his profi- 
 ciency in learning."" 
 
 " Yes, it is Ernest Singleton ! " exclaimed 
 Lucy, her sweet voice almost raised to a tone 
 of enthusiastic gladness. 
 
 '' I was now left," continued the pastor, 
 " with my two scholars, and often did we speak 
 of the absent Hairy^ and he laid an evident 
 stress on the name ; "all the letters he wrote 
 home they gladly brought to me. 'A letter 
 from Henry !' was sure to elicit a joyous spark- 
 ling of the eye, even before the voice could 
 announce it. And then they were to emulate 
 him in learning, and to strive not to be out- 
 done by the ' Oxford scholar' on his return. 
 Ere long the period of that return arrived, and 
 father, mother, and brothers, were all in ecsta- 
 cies to behold Henry again. The days, hours, 
 and minutes, were counted. At length he ar- 
 rived, and his mother running out to meet him
 
 234 ERNEST SINGLETON'. 
 
 a little way from the house, hung on his neck 
 for some minutes, ere she could give vent to 
 the fulness of her emotion. She was frantic 
 with joy ; he was grown and so improved ; his 
 dress was of the newest fashion, and set off the 
 elegance of his form — and she thought and ex- 
 claimed, that she had the nohlest son of any 
 in the whole world. He soon came up to see 
 me. Our meeting was cordial indeed ; and I 
 had much chat with him about my well-remem- 
 ed Oxford, which after all is the most classical 
 and solemn-looking place on the earth. But 
 still, with all his good and improved look, there 
 was an unwonted dulness and languor about 
 him. He was not so redolent of fun and hu- 
 mour, and so eager in exercise and enjoyment 
 as before, — and he did not walk out over the 
 grounds with his brothers in the manner they 
 had expected, and in short, they made many 
 jokes about his having become too fine a gentle- 
 man to walk, &c. His father, too, who was 
 really so proud of him, and took him about 
 everywhere with him, was much surprised at 
 his vacancy of manner, and his evident wish 
 to be let and left alone, so soon did he appear 
 to be wearied of company and conversation. 
 This kind of way increasing upon him, it be- 
 came necessary to consult a doctor; and on
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 2S5 
 
 his being driven to the neighbouring town for 
 this purpose, the medical man immediately 
 said, ' this youth ought to be in his bed — he is 
 very ill.' The words were too true ; he was 
 put to bed, and was soon very ill, as was sup- 
 posed, of bilious fever. Oh, how he was watch- 
 ed and waited upon by a tender mother and 
 most doting father. It was on a Saturday 
 morning that I was at his bedside, and had 
 much conversation with him about his school 
 at Oxford, and the religious conduct of it, and 
 he was glad to hear me read and pray with 
 him. 
 
 " On that day his father had gone to a dis- 
 tant town to procure the attendance of an emi- 
 nent physician ; and at eleven o'clock at night 
 the physician arrived, recommended leeches on 
 his stomach, and wrote a prescription, at the 
 same time assuring his father and mother that 
 there was no great danger, and he could ' pull 
 him through it.' On Sunday morning I had 
 returned from doing duty at a neighbouring 
 church, when a gentleman rode up to me gTeat- 
 ly agitated, and with almost convulsed lips and 
 countenance, could just utter, ' Henry Single- 
 ton is dead ! for God's sake haste to his poor 
 parents !' I could not haste — I was stricken 
 and dumb-founded — and, after a time, when I
 
 2S6 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 did arrive at that awful house of mourning, the 
 blessed father and myself were bathed in floods 
 of tears for a long while. Neither could utter 
 a word, — no, it was a sudden and a solemn 
 event, and the thought ' Henry is dead !' para- 
 lysed all endeavour. How to meet that mother, 
 and those dear boys who had lost for ever such 
 a brother, my spirit knew not.'' 
 
 The rector paused — his voice had during the 
 latter part of this description faltered, and he 
 could not proceed until he had given vent to his 
 feehngs. 
 
 Poor Lucy and Dora both wept. 
 
 " Oh, how dreary," he at length continued, 
 " was the inside of that house with all its win- 
 dow-blinds drawn closely down, or shutters 
 partly closed ; and then the funeral day, that 
 miserable day when mourners cannot be com- 
 forted because of their heart's affection, and 
 when others look mechanically grave and sad 
 because cold duty bids them. It was a day 
 of continued hard rain, and we all, a large 
 cavalcade of persons, had to ride to a church 
 nearly five miles oiF. But what of this ? who 
 thought then of himself. But, oh ! when the 
 father walked up the aisle of that venerable 
 church behind the cofiin of his son, where was 
 the heart that fainted not.? And when the
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 237 
 
 climax of all agony came on, and the last look 
 was given on that treasure-box that was hid in 
 the silent earth, then it was a moment of ex- 
 cruciating grief, such as overwhelms all flesh, 
 from the monarch to the beggar. The scene 
 cannot adequately be described, — neither pen 
 nor pencil can do it, — the imagination can alone 
 worthily give its impression an idea." 
 
 The pastor paused, for steps were heard ap- 
 proaching, and moreover he himself, in recount- 
 ing the sorrows of past years, could not but 
 feel his spirit weighed down and sinking within 
 him. The steps were those of Sir John and 
 Lady Thorold, who both came to inquire after 
 their honoured guest, and to see that refresh- 
 ment had been duly offered him. Poor Lucy 
 and Dora had forgotten the luncheon hour, so 
 the bell was soon rung, and the necessary orders 
 given. Sir John and Lady Thorold sat awhile, 
 making many kind and familiar inquiries, and, 
 indeed, had the tongue not spoken, any one 
 could have discerned the raptures of them both 
 from the speaking eye ; of both we say, for 
 Lady Thorold looked upon the pastor of Pens- 
 cellwood as of all friends the dearest and most 
 faithful to Sir John.
 
 238 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 • I question things, and do not find. 
 One that will answer to my mind ; 
 And all the world appears unkind." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Sir John and Lady Thorold having retired, 
 Lucy and Dora quickly besought the good 
 pastor to proceed with his tale, and he, at once 
 consenting, thus continued : — 
 
 " Nothing on earth could comfort the poor 
 mother ; her grief was too just, the cause of it 
 too recent, to give a hope that consolation could 
 soon perform its mitigating office. She seemed 
 to feel with Gray, ' what indeed is all human 
 consolation ? can it efface every little amiable 
 word or action of an object we loved, from our 
 memory. Can it convince us, that all the 
 hopes we had entertained, the plans of future 
 satisfaction we had formed, were ill-grounded 
 and vain, only because we have lost them ?' 
 Oh no ! there is but one grand comforting idea 
 on all such cases of bereavement, and that is,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 239 
 
 that all our little paltry schemes of advance- 
 ment and happiness, are as nothing with those 
 which the great Author of our lives can put us 
 in possession. To die is gain, must be the 
 belief of the most prosperous and happy Chris- 
 tian, as well as of the miserable and unfortunate 
 of the earth. 
 
 '^It was on the second Sunday after the 
 funeral, that I went into the house of gloom 
 and weeping, with my little soiled testament in 
 my hand. God may lead me, was my thought, 
 to read a word of comfort or resignation. 
 There was the mother sitting by the fire, with 
 another of these fine boys, who was feeling very 
 unwell. The father and the other boys were 
 gone to the church where poor Henry was 
 buried, to attend, as the custom is, on the 
 preaching of the funeral sermon. This little 
 fellow, Ernest by name" — Lucy exchanged 
 gentle looks with Dora — " certainly looked 
 very ill, and he was sorely afilicted with a 
 complaint of the same nature with which poor 
 Henry himself was at first seized. No time 
 was to be lost — the mournful mother saw my 
 anxious countenance — she attempted to cry, 
 and soon fainted away. Just at this time the 
 father and his boys, all in mourning array, 
 looking dismal with hatbands and scarfs, drove
 
 240 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 up. The state of matters need not be further 
 described. It is sufficient to jump at once to 
 the fact, that Ernest was dangerously ill, and 
 of the same complaint, now ascertained to have 
 been the cause of his poor brother's decease, 
 typhus fever. In less than a week, the two 
 other boys were also taken ill ; the younger 
 one having been removed from home. This 
 new disaster aroused the mother, she waited 
 diligently on her children ; for three days and 
 nights she never undressed herself, and every 
 morsel of food, and every draught of medicine 
 were administered by her hand. All hope of 
 Ernest was extinguished as far as mortal man 
 could know, and every evening the anxious 
 parents only left their children for the purpose 
 of joining with me in prayer in a small room 
 below ; and never can I forget the earnestness 
 with which they followed in their supplications 
 for heavenly aid. On one fine evening a crisis 
 was approaching ; it appeared as though Ernest 
 must be gone in an hour at the utmost. It 
 was told me where the doctor might be found, 
 and in a few minutes I was on a hard gallop. 
 By the blessing of God the doctor was found 
 at the expected place, and off he set as fast as 
 horse could carry him, while I followed more 
 leisurely on my exhausted steed. He after-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 241 
 
 wards told my friends that I had saved Ernest's 
 Hfe — * ten minutes more,' were his words, ' and 
 all must have been over/ The fact was, he 
 was just in time to perform a critical operation, 
 on which hung the thread of existence, and 
 even after it was performed, it was extremely 
 doubtful whether its necessary repetition could 
 be borne by the almost insensible patient. But 
 allow me to repeat, /, under the providence of 
 God, saved Ernest'' s life.''^ 
 
 A thrill of intense feeling ran through the 
 frames of the two dear Miss Thorolds, and after 
 an effort on the part of the good pastor to recover 
 from his own emotion, he tranquilly continued. 
 
 '* For a long time Ernest was attended by 
 three doctors, until one of them took the fever, 
 and was himself nigh unto death. Never could 
 any boy or man have been so low in the val- 
 ley of the shadow of death, without passing 
 through it, as poor Ernest. At least a week 
 of existence was totally lost to him, for he lay 
 without sense or motion, and for many weeks 
 he could not speak, nor turn himself over from 
 one side to the other, in his bed. During this 
 time, his distressed father and myself used to 
 walk out for an hour in the day, in some 
 secluded place, but he always seemed anxious 
 to return again. But oh ! horror upon horror, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 accumulated and unmitigated calamity, the 
 dear father himself faltered and became serious- 
 ly ill. It seemed to be a severe liver attack, 
 from which disorder his life had been in extreme 
 jeopardy some years before. But he was a hale 
 and robust man, of extremely ruddy coun- 
 tenance, and fine manly figure. Who can 
 picture this period of affliction ? I felt as 
 though the loss of this friend would break my 
 heart. There was a hard-hearted quarrelsome 
 farmer just come to reside in the parish, and he 
 met me one morning on my way to the house 
 of grief, and accosted me, ' Well, Sir Edmund 
 Singleton is just gone ! It's quite impossible his 
 widow can carry on the business. Too much 
 for any woman' — and then stooping down to 
 my ear from his gig, ' We shall be glad to 
 supply you with milk and butter — very good 
 cheese too." Oh, I felt I could have hurled him 
 from my sight — the tone, the manner of the man 
 was disgusting. I proceeded on : poor Ed- 
 mund was not gone, and some said he was 
 better. Alas ! as a pious churchman once said 
 of himself in his last hour, he was ' almost 
 well ; ' meaning, of course, he had almost done 
 with the ills and afflictions of this present time. 
 The doctors said it would be a favourable case 
 if the fever would at once break out and shew
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 243 
 
 itself — ^it did do so, and our kind friend sank 
 under it. Yes, the good, and noble, and ever 
 kind Edmund Singleton, on a beauteous Mon- 
 day morning went to his station among the 
 living dead. Oh ! that day of dark and dumb 
 distress can never be forgotten ; it is an era 
 in our parish life. It shook and paralyzed my 
 nerves ; I could do nothing but cry, for it 
 made me weak as a very woman. I recollect 
 trying to write on the subject, but I could 
 achieve nothing, and two short lines kept haunt- 
 ing me day and night : 
 
 " * There is no joy in Penswood* now, 
 Her harp is on the willow hough !' 
 
 And oh ! how I wished his blessed spirit might 
 have been permitted to pass before me in the 
 midnight hour. 
 
 " Oh, Southey ! Southey ! my thoughts were 
 kindred with thine — you had forestalled my 
 cherished and favourite feelings, when you 
 wrote so earnestly in memory of a dead friend : 
 
 " ' Oh Edmund ! thou hast first 
 Begun the travel of Eternity ! 
 
 I look upon the stars, 
 And think that thou art there, 
 Unfetter'd as the thought that follows thee. 
 
 * The rural abbreviation of " Penscellwood." 
 
 M 2
 
 24fi ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 " ' And we have often said, how sweet it were 
 With unseen ministry of angel power, 
 
 To watch the friends we loved. 
 
 Edmund ! we did not err ! 
 Sure I have felt thy presence ! Thou hast given 
 
 A birth to holy thought, 
 Hast kept me from the world unstain'd and pure. 
 
 Edmund ! we did not err ! 
 
 Our best affections here, 
 They are not like the toys of infancy : 
 
 The soul outgrows them not ; 
 
 We do not cast them off ; 
 
 Oh, if it could be so, 
 It were indeed a dreadful thing to die !' 
 
 " It were, indeed ! but comfort ye, comfort 
 ye, all mourners ! for chariti/ never faileth ; the 
 kind, and lovely, and pure affections of our 
 nature here have no end hereafter. So of 
 myself, with Southey in another poem, I would 
 exclaim, 
 
 " ' Meantime I soothe 
 The deep regret of nature, with belief, 
 Edmund ! that thine eye's celestial ken 
 Pervades me now, marking with no mean joy. 
 The movements of a heart that loved thee well !' " 
 
 After this little episode, which served to give 
 relief to his sensations, the pastor went on with 
 his humble narrative. 
 
 " During dear Edmund's illness, nothing could 
 exceed his anxiety for others, and his entreaty
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 245 
 
 was earnest and frequent, that his poor wife 
 would take some rest. At this time three of 
 their servants also took the fever, as well as 
 some of their labourers who lived in contiguous 
 cottages. His anxiety for them was intense, 
 and the mark of trouble on his countenance 
 the most distressing T ever beheld. Typhus 
 fever, you must know, is attended at all times 
 with peculiar disturbance of mind, and several 
 of our poor people beheld frightful images, 
 and whether waking or sleeping, our dear Ed- 
 mund Singleton seemed to be greatly moved 
 by the afflictions that had fallen on others round 
 about him. His prayers at this time were 
 beautiful and clear, and the words in which 
 he addressed his God and Lord on behalf of 
 his distressed wife were truly affecting and most 
 solemn. At the last my . name was on his 
 lips ; and when he could no longer pronounce 
 it, he began to spell it letter by letter. Alas ! 
 of how many others may we say in the address 
 of Scripture, ' Howl, fir-tree, for the cedar hath 
 fallen!' 
 
 " Friends and neighbours were soon sum- 
 moned to the funeral ; and flowers from our 
 own parterre, the very same wliich he used so 
 particularly to admire and speak of, were re- 
 quested to be strewed over his corpse as it
 
 246 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 lay in the coffin. I could not attend the fune- 
 ral breakfast, but took my station at the head 
 of the cavalcade. ' This was a great man,'' said 
 the doctor to me ; ' great and good in every 
 relation of life; a good father, husband, master, 
 and friend, such a man is not in the country 
 now.' ' It was a privilege, indeed, to know 
 him,' I replied, ' may we all know him here- 
 after.' The sad news quickly travelled, and in 
 every countenance you met you might have 
 thought some severe domestic calamity had 
 happened to each person. The poor widow ! 
 I was the first to return to her after the fune- 
 ral, and her relatives and myself endeavoured 
 to form plans for her relief — alas ! miserable 
 comforters. 
 
 " ' Who can school the heart's affection ?' 
 asks a beautiful melody, and well we may ex- 
 claim, ' Who can assuage the sorrow of the 
 heart, but God only?' The poor widow was 
 already attired in the weeds of widowhood, and 
 she was reclining on a sofa, bathed in tears. 
 She heeded not my entrance, and for some 
 while heeded not my speech. I began at once 
 to tell her how comfortably the last sad ob- 
 sequies had been performed — the blessedness of 
 the change to those who die in the Lord, even 
 so saith the Spirit — the little span to which
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 24-7 
 
 our own lives can extend, and then I bade 
 her turn to the living, and bless God for what 
 He had graciously spared her — four dear boys 
 yet to gather round her and comfort her. Im- 
 mediate removal to the house of a near relative 
 was suggested, and in a few days a journey 
 with some intimate friends to the sea-side. But 
 then, her poor boy Ernest, she never could 
 leave him. The doctor came opportunely in, 
 and stated that Ernest might be moved if 
 wrapped up carefully in blankets. Poor little 
 skeleton." 
 
 Lucy gave an involuntary shudder ; but the 
 pastor went on. 
 
 " A shadow of his former self, so attenuated, 
 so frail, seemed his form and countenance ; yet 
 he was cheerful, but it was as a smile on the 
 features of death. 
 
 " And long, very long, did this widow con- 
 tinue in her weeds; and though after a time 
 she did partially leave off the outward symbol, 
 yet never in her heart did she overcome her 
 sorrow, but rather it seemed as though Provi- 
 dence designed that she should be disciplined 
 for aye to look to that glorious resting place 
 above, where God shall wipe away all* tears 
 from our eyes, when the former things of sin 
 and sorrow shall have utterly passed away. In
 
 ^4S ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 the strongest meaning of St. PauPs admonitory 
 words, she was ' a widow indeed.' 
 
 "■ The poet Gray, I remember, writes tenderly 
 after this sort to a friend in affliction : ' If the 
 last struggle be over, if the poor object of your 
 long anxieties be no longer sensible to your 
 kindness, or to her own sufferings, allow me, 
 at least in idea — for what could I do, were I 
 present, more than this ? — to sit by you in silence, 
 and pity from my heart not her, who is at rest, 
 but you who lose her. May He who made us, 
 the Master of our pleasures and our pains, pre- 
 serve and support you !' This is amiable lan- 
 guage, tender thought of a kind and sympa- 
 thizing heart ; but oh, the Christian minister 
 can do much more than sit by in silence : he 
 can from heavenly authority style our deepest 
 sorrow as a ' light affliction,' he can speak of the 
 wrongfulness of grieving as those who have no 
 hope do grieve, and he can tell of the sorrow, 
 not after a godly sort, that worketh death. For 
 awhile argument can do but cold work, the 
 affectionate nature must have its vent ; but, in 
 due time, with God's blessing, afflictions may 
 be softened, though not subdued, and although 
 never, never forgotten, yet remembered with 
 lesser pain, and more resignation. What music 
 can one string make, when all the rest are
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 249 
 
 broken ? — alas ! it may render partial music ; and 
 we are told, yet as a wonder, of the violinist 
 in the dungeon, who, from one string only, 
 did draw forth a most cheering and charming 
 tone. 
 
 " In this case the afflicted subject of my 
 narrative had been buoyed up by strong exer- 
 tion and anxious excitement during the period 
 of the various illnesses, and she often said to 
 me, that if any body had told her before-hand 
 that she was capable of enduring one half of 
 that she did actually well endure, she would 
 not for an instant have believed them — but 
 soon, alas ! when all was over, hope and ex- 
 citement gone, then, as the poet sings, 
 
 " ^ If cease the pressure, ceases too 
 
 The strength that from that pressure grew !' 
 
 then the whole system of body, soul, and spirit, 
 is relaxed ; then all is at once downright dejec- 
 tion and prostration of spirit — and oh I for what 
 a length of time we may exclaim of such an 
 one in her unpreparedness for the endurance of 
 such trial, 
 
 " ' She felt, what noble minds may guess, 
 The pride of silent wretchedness !' 
 
 Yes, all earthly pride, simultaneously with 
 earthly affection, had now departed ! And 
 
 M 5
 
 250 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 here, I may observe to you, that the good and 
 dear persons were accustomed (as they seemed 
 to have right to do, as far as beings who know 
 not what may be on the morrow have right) to 
 indulge in large plans of what the latter end of 
 life to them might promise — and a goodly picture 
 of prosperity and worldly happiness it presented. 
 All that bright prospect was at once darkened 
 indeed ; yet much light and much comfort, far 
 more perhaps than under other circumstances, 
 has been preserved ; and though heaviness may 
 endure throughout the whole night of life, yet 
 joy shall come in the morning, the eternal morn- 
 ing of unfading light. 
 
 " No people but those who have experienced 
 sore and bitter bereavements (yet are not these 
 legion ?) can know how many trivial scenes, 
 sayings, and things, are continually occurring to 
 open up our memory again, and recal the be- 
 loved person and all his dear ways to life ! 
 The poet may say, 
 
 " 'I look for ghosts ; but none will force 
 Their way to me — 'tis falsely said 
 That there was ever intercourse 
 Between the living and the dead ; 
 For surely then I should have sight 
 Of him I wait for day and night, 
 With love and longings infinite !' 
 
 but the dead do live again with us, mentally, 
 
 1
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 251 
 
 if not corporeally. It was a melancholy hour 
 on one occasion of my visiting, when I found 
 that a handsome mourning ring, with poor 
 Henry's bright hair enclosed, had just arrived — 
 and this ring ordered by her blessed partner un- 
 knov\'n to her — and now that kind and consoling 
 being was himself laid in the silent grave. This 
 was an incident of mournful import, but hun- 
 dreds of the like occurred ; and for a long time 
 perpetual tokens of his past actions and future 
 intentions were happening ; and even the com- 
 mon things, the vacant chair, the enquiry of 
 children, the treasured clothes, the last things 
 handled, the favourite animals (especially the 
 horse and dog) ; but oh, it is a catalogue past 
 reckoning. 
 
 " For a long period we had much continu- 
 ance of affliction among our poorer people, and 
 the short period that elapsed between death and 
 the burial was harrowing to the heart. You 
 must picture to yourselves the sad scenes, and 
 think how we prayed that we might never be 
 sentenced to witness, in God's mercy, the like 
 again. 
 
 " Next, my whole attention was turned to 
 the poor boys. They grew to be hearty and 
 strong again, and two of them became proficient 
 scholars in Greek, as well as in Latin. Ernest,
 
 252 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 I trusted, would have a disposition granted him 
 for the ministry of our Church, and I felt assur- 
 ed that much good must arise from attaching, 
 in this way, the middle and lower orders to the 
 Church. I still think so. We have to reclaim 
 the population of our large towns, and to evan- 
 gelise our colonies, and for this work we must 
 nurture good and hardy soldiers of Jesus Christ. 
 What bones and sinews to religion would it be 
 to fill the new Missionary College at Canter- 
 bury with such scions of the Church as these, 
 vigorous, clear-headed, undaunted youths ! The 
 clergy may effect much in this way. 
 
 " It was well observed, the other day to me, 
 by an amiable and gifted friend, that the clergy- 
 man alone knows, each in his own district, the 
 promising scholar, the boy of steady character, 
 who is fit to become the servant of the Church ; 
 let him do what he can, by placing the matter 
 before his parents, by obtaining contributions 
 from the chief proprietor, and others interested 
 in the boy's welfare, to secure his talents for 
 this service. And, after suggestions in regard 
 to taking a youth under his own roof, and first 
 training him as a scholastic teacher, he drew the 
 further picture of a young man, once the inmate 
 of the Parsonage, now a deacon, returning to 
 officiate as curate in his native place. His
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 25S 
 
 early character has been moulded by his present 
 Superior according to his own sentiments ; he is 
 endeared to the parishioners by the ties of birth, 
 and by their knowledge of his religious deport- 
 ment from youth upwards ; his reverence for his 
 patron has become a matured habit ; he has no 
 desire to exchange his old home for another, 
 where he will be less appreciated, nor has he 
 any connections through whom promotion will 
 necessarily descend upon him. Thus he pro- 
 ceeded to descant on the useful and enduring 
 friendship of patron and pupil, supposing that 
 the clergyman has the control of an extensive 
 parish ; but, of course, where this is not the 
 case, the young minister must seek employment 
 apart from his benefactor, wherever he can find 
 it." 
 
 " As in Ernest Singleton's case now," ob- 
 served Lucy, who evidently had wished to say 
 something before. 
 
 •' Just so," replied the pastor, " for my parish 
 needed not a curate, or it would have been the 
 thing nearest my heart to have associated him 
 with me in my work." 
 
 "He is such a good, eloquent, clergyman,*" 
 observed Dora ; " we are but too glad that your 
 loss is our gain." 
 
 " Yes," said the pastor, " he is a good minis-
 
 £54 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 ter, and made so under greater disadvantages 
 than at this time exist, for there are colleges and 
 diocesan schools now established, which render 
 this matter one of easier accomplishment than 
 formerly ; but the main question still is, Will 
 the bishops generally ordain young men of cul- 
 tivated minds and manners for the sacred 
 ministry, although they have not gone through 
 a university course at Oxford or Cambridge, or 
 even Dubhn, or Durham ?" 
 
 " Lord Henry Maitland says, he hopes they 
 will," observed Dora ; " and his lordship gave 
 us an interesting account of his tour through the 
 manufacturing districts." 
 
 " I should hope and expect that they will," 
 continued the pastor : " I should hope so because 
 at this time the Church needs a great accession of 
 hard-working and able ministers ; and doubtless 
 the demand will henceforward more than equal 
 the supply. I should hope so, because many 
 energetic men would no longer be driven to seek 
 an outlet for their religious talents in the ranks 
 of Dissent, which thus acts as a drain opened 
 from the Church. I should hope so, because 
 these young men would be most eminently fitted 
 to sustain the missionary cause. And I should 
 hope so, further, because the bands of the Church 
 at home and abroad would be vastly strength-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 255 
 
 ened by the attaclunent to herself of the friends 
 and relatives of these, and who are, indeed, no 
 mean portion of the electoral body of England. 
 Let there be no fear that these young men will 
 not be gentlemen ; it is education, and natural 
 propriety of feeling, when education and refine- 
 ment have become a second nature, that make 
 the gentleman, and not necessarily birth, with, 
 too often, the undue mixing with the menials, 
 grooms and gamekeepers, of a great house. 
 Bishop Watson loved to ordain * literate"' can- 
 didates for the ministry; and in this way he 
 added to the priesthood of the Church men of 
 illustrious abilities and shining character. Oh ! 
 that our good bishops may consider this matter 
 wisely and well, and that many an amiable and 
 Christian youth may henceforward feel that he 
 is not utterly excluded from all hope of being 
 useful and faithful in the holy ministry of the 
 apostolic Church of England." 
 
 " Oh ! Ernest Singleton is so gentlemanly ! " 
 exclaimed Dora. 
 
 " And so good and faithful, and mitiring in 
 his profession," added Lucy. 
 
 " Yes ; Ernest," observed the pastor, " by 
 wonderful good fortune on my endeavour, ob- 
 tained a footing in the college of Eton, and 
 from hence his transit to the university was
 
 256 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 easy ; this course will make a man a gentleman, 
 if anything will." 
 
 "And what Mr. Merriman has said is all 
 untrue," exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 " Yes ; my whole tale proves it to be so," 
 said the pastor ; " and he must have an un- 
 settled heart who can be, in the smallest degree, 
 the enemy of Ernest Singleton."
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 257 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Bring me my young geranium, mother, for I want to see 
 My little favourite, how it grows — if any flower there be: 
 Ah, there's a bud ; but oh ! I shall not live to see it 
 
 bloom. 
 'Twill be so strong and beautiful, when I am in the 
 tomb." 
 
 Avon. 
 
 After such a decisive declaratioD, the dear 
 pastor's gentle hearers were satisfied ; and Lucy 
 begged leave to bring a few pieces of Ernest 
 Singleton's poetry, which had fallen into their 
 hands, and, with Mr. Churton's approbation, 
 she commenced reading the following lines, 
 written on an affectino- case, which had occurred 
 in the village of Milton. It was entitled on 
 the manuscript 
 
 " A SIMPLE SKETCH FROM THE NOTE-BOOK 
 OF A YOUNG MINISTER. 
 
 " Mine is a tale I would rehearse to you 
 Who seem to shun the poor abodes of men. 
 And feel for no man's sorrows but your o\sti. 
 Upon whose hearts sits selfishness supreme.
 
 ^5S ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Ye politicians, that disturb the world, 
 Commoving us with presage of alarm, 
 Or scaring with sedition's reckless cry. 
 Ye lawyers, that confound the simple mind; 
 Ye controversialists, whose jargon'd creed 
 Makes proverb of the theologian wrath : 
 All ye that follow fashion's puny will. 
 The gay, the rich, the worldly, and the proud, 
 Who have no fear Divine before your eyes. 
 Yet crouch beneath the swift caprice of man ; 
 The drunkard, the blasphemer, and the vile ; 
 And mostly ye who would deform the mind. 
 And banish comfort from the hearts of all, 
 Ye scribblers mean, who vend your puny trash ; 
 You lordly poets, more refined in guilt; 
 You skill'd in metaphysics, and in doubt 
 The dreariest path of human reason trace : 
 All, all that really shun the heavenly light ; 
 The common jugglers, that make life a jest, 
 And only blest in circles of your own. 
 Come near ; if all your feelings be not seared. 
 And bring i/our comforts to the bed of death ; 
 Come near, but come with reverential awe, 
 A God, ye all shall know, is present here ! 
 
 " Oh enter softly ! on a death-bed lies 
 The tender Christian, young, affectionate. 
 Beloved by many tender as herself ; 
 Oh see you not the hectic on her cheek 1 
 Oh hear you not the ever-struggling breath ? 
 Come nearer still, and feel the feverish pulse, 
 Alas ! how quicken'd are the steps of life ! 
 And she has lain long days upon yon bed. 
 And there are those have watch'd long days around. 
 And night has brought but shorten'd rest to them : 
 Our God rewards them for their ceaseless care !
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 259 
 
 There has she lain, I know, prepared to die ; 
 
 Yet she would live, if life might be her choice ; 
 
 Aye, she would live to charm a parent's heart. 
 
 For she *s the favourite ! and with sisters too 
 
 Renew fond scenes of innocent delight 
 
 In all the pla}^ulness of gentle youth ! 
 
 Oh treacherous malady, that mocks delay 
 
 When hastening most thy victim to the tomb ! 
 
 Why wilt thou crush the spring-buds of our joy. 
 
 And mar the wish'd realities of hope ? 
 
 Come further in, and see, outstretched beyond 
 
 The form that once defied the ills of life, 
 
 And hardly knew the weaknesses of man. 
 
 Now gaunt and helpless on the restless couch, 
 
 Craving assistance from the tenderest hand, 
 
 And seeking comfort separate from itself. 
 
 And all its labours and pursuits once loved, 
 
 Erst followed in extreme content and joy ; 
 
 God ! what a change ! yet fraught with every good. 
 
 This is the father — and who would not deem 
 
 His child's severer pain would bring unrest. 
 
 And all the curst inquietude of fear 
 
 To his no longer unawaken'd mind, 
 
 Arousing thoughts, too premature, of death ? 
 
 Oh no — he will be sever'd from his child 
 
 Only when death shall part. Another room 
 
 To him is distance from her gentle cry I 
 
 He ■wdll be nigh, though danger be his share, 
 
 And sooner part for ever, than awhile ! 
 
 Father and child, who'd fail to help you both ? 
 
 ' Now, politician, enter on the task; 
 Hight theologian, now pour in thy balm ; 
 Lawyer, unfold your ever-gaining schemes ; 
 And potent scribbler, now becalm the brain ;
 
 260 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Ye gay, ye rich, ye worldly, and ye proud, 
 
 Come near and tell the worthlessness of all 
 
 The fashions and possession of our kind ; 
 
 Ye drunkards and blasphemers, awful crew. 
 
 Come on with curse and godless merriment ; 
 
 And ye who undermine religion's stay. 
 
 Mingling your venom with the daily news ; 
 
 With ye who trust to human guides alone, 
 
 And see in reason light complete revealed ; 
 
 Draw near — I challenge you — and comfort bring 
 
 To minds dissevered from all earthly joy. 
 
 Why shrink ye 1 Learn how worthless every creed, 
 
 And every thought, and action, and all wealth. 
 
 That cannot gladly meet such hours as these. 
 
 "A vaunt, ye wretches ! and stand forth the man 
 Of faith unfeigned and ever-hallowed deed ; 
 Passions subdued, and temper sanctified, 
 Affections spiritual, with word and thought 
 Mindful of his high calling in the Lord ; 
 Who, by his borrowed radiance, amply shews 
 In whose bright presence constantly he dwells, 
 Reflecting oft on others some faint beam 
 Of purity and peace — come eminently forth, 
 Witness of grace, in loveliness of life, 
 Leading all minds to muse upon the scene 
 Effulgent with the glory of the saints, 
 Where all pure men have reach'd their welcome home! 
 
 " He speaks — an angel from the church on earth — 
 ' Peace be unto you all I Know this — the mind 
 At peace within is peace to all without, 
 The lighten'd heart is alway filled with joy, 
 The affections freed are kindnesses themselves, 
 Streaming forthwith in tenderness and love 
 To every being that may cross our path — 
 The animal that comes within our care,
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 261 
 
 The smallest insect that we dare not crush, 
 
 The very flowers which skirt our daily walk, 
 
 All will reflect the brightness of our mind, 
 
 And catch a lighter hue, a dearer joy ! 
 
 And thus we look upon the vast broad sea. 
 
 The woods, the valleys, the eternal hills. 
 
 And we may gaze with dark and gloomy eye ! 
 
 We come again, we view the very same 
 
 From the same spot, but with an alter'd brow, 
 
 For light is over all, the light within 
 
 Of hearts at peace, rejoicing in the smile 
 
 Of friendship, and a charitable mood 
 
 Flowing from faith in the Eternal Good ! 
 
 This marks the difference between him who walks 
 
 With God, and him who crowds within himself, 
 
 Investing all with his own weary thought. 
 
 Come from the world — all purest joys therein 
 
 Are deadly streams from an infernal source. 
 
 Rendering mankind oblivious of their God. 
 
 How interrupted all our pleasures here ! 
 
 How fleeting all our thoughts of peace and hope ! 
 
 How few and far between our best delights ! 
 
 What certain trouble in all earthly rest ! 
 
 Then how can we rejoice in finite love, 
 
 When the Eternal calls us to Himself?' 
 
 " Oh let but him who meets with gladdening smile 
 Of welcome from the friend he once betray'd ; 
 Let the poor prodigal who strays from home. 
 Yet meets a wondrous welcome on return, 
 And let the self-accusing man, who fears 
 His own unworthiness can never win 
 The object of his love, yet is received — 
 Let such remember, how their hearts would leap 
 Out of themselves at such forgiving love ! 
 And hence their feeling will be sign most true
 
 262 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Of his emotion, who, once self-abhorred, 
 Amid the deep despondency of guilt. 
 That gracious whisper hears, ' Be of good cheer I 
 Thy sins are all forgiven, go in peace ! ' 
 
 " Blest man ! with voice as from a lovely land, 
 He speaks sweet peace to the requiring heart. 
 And leaves a tone behind, which in the calm 
 Cements a union with the church above, 
 And converse holds with heavenly spirits there ! 
 
 Behold our crowns of gold ! and hear our song 
 
 Of adoration, triumph and high joy ! 
 
 Look on our robes, so beauteous in the Lamb ! 
 
 Come taste our rest, from tribulation borne I 
 
 We call you, we, the saints, and once your friends 
 
 On earth ; we call you with impassioned voice, 
 
 Oh come up hither ! enter by the way. 
 
 Pursue the path which we on earth pursued ; 
 
 Come to the blessedness which we enjoy ; 
 
 Come to the marriage supper of the Lamb ! 
 
 You are invited ; come, we pray you come ! 
 
 " If aught can smooth life's journey more than this, 
 If aught can shape a stronger staff in death. 
 If any word can purely preach more peace. 
 Or bring more light and ornament to man ; 
 If any stream, or any fount, be found 
 More crystal bright, or musically sweet. 
 Reader, come near, I pray you guide it here ! 
 'T will be right welcome to the bed of death. 
 
 " My Milton friends, amid your beauteous hills. 
 Your gentle vales and overhanging woods. 
 All who may breathe the air beneath yon sky. 
 To you a little more of toil and strife.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 263 
 
 A little more of earth's inferior joy, 
 
 A little more, and time shall cease to be, 
 
 And ye shall enter on Eternity !" 
 
 The pastor liked the earnest spirit of these 
 lines, and remarked, that they faithfully pour- 
 trayed the sympathetic disposition of Ernest's 
 mind. 
 
 '' For instance," he said, " I particularly re- 
 marked his allusion to the meaner animals. I, 
 for one, never can see the reason of supposing 
 that every creature is really in itself contempti- 
 ble, which happens to be clothed with a body 
 infinitely disproportionate to our own, for great 
 and little are merely relative terms." 
 
 " And the smallest insects have feeling," 
 interposed the ever kind Lucy. 
 
 " Most certainly," continued the pastor ; 
 " the Millepedes, for instance, rolls itself round 
 upon the slightest touch ; and the snail gathers 
 in her horns upon the least approach of your 
 hand ; see how expertly the flies on the window 
 will climb out of your way, fearing lest you 
 may hurt them. Are not these strong indica- 
 tions of their sensibility ? The good-natured 
 Montague truly remarks, that there is a certain 
 general claim of kindness and benevolence, 
 which every species of creatures has a right to 
 from us, and I think this sentiment cannot be too
 
 264i ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 early entwined in the education of our young 
 children. 
 
 " Mr. Ernest Singleton has often lectured the 
 boys on cruelty," observed Dora, " and so kind- 
 ly and rationally, that I think they feel his 
 counsel to be right." 
 
 " I am glad of it,*" said the pastor, " for 
 though children appear to be cruel, we must not 
 think that the Deity forms them with a propen- 
 sity to this most hateful of all dispositions ; but, 
 if not checked, it will certainly grow into a 
 habit." 
 
 The pastor further expressed his delight at 
 Ernesfs cultivation of the Muse, for he thought 
 it would ever be an occupation of delight ; and 
 having expressed a desire to hear more, Dora 
 begged permission to read something that, about 
 two months before, Ernest Singleton had com- 
 posed, on one evening at Belswardine, after a 
 conversation with a poor wandering man. 
 
 « ON SEEING AN AGED BEGGAR. 
 
 " ' Poor pilgrim of a selfish world, 
 Whose fated son art thou ? 
 By heaven I would that I could smooth 
 
 Thine aged brow. 
 Poor, poor old man, I feel for thee ! 
 
 The wintry blast is keen, 
 And yet thou art a goodly tree ; 
 Four score^ I ween ?'
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 265 
 
 " ' Fom- score ! ay, more I 've reached this day ; 
 A weary length it be, 
 I care not for the wintry blast, 
 
 'Tis nought to me ; 
 For kindlier far its rage I feel 
 
 Than earth's inhuman brood ; 
 It only mocks that hell of thine 
 Ingratitude ! ' 
 " ' When summer flings her mantle gay 
 O'er nature's genial scene, 
 When blooms the primrose on the bank 
 
 "\¥liere thou hast been : 
 Oh ! then you '11 cull the winsome wreath 
 
 To twine around thy brow. 
 And song as gay shall fill thy dream, — 
 What say '.St thou now V 
 " ' The summer sun may shine as bright 
 As e'er it proudly shone. 
 And gaily birds may sing, till sinks 
 
 Yon setting sun : 
 For me its rays are dark ; in vain 
 
 The primrose buds for me, 
 And hated sounds from yonder bough 
 The song of liberty. 
 " * Ah ! sweet is life's first morning draught, 
 With hope and friendship cro^vn'd, 
 When love and song alternate speed 
 
 In merry round ! 
 Where now my hope, save in the grave, 
 
 To rest a wearied soul 1 
 I wish this eve my requiem were 
 The tempest's howl. 
 " ' By all the soul of love I pray, 
 By all your hopes on high. 
 And seraph hours of life that look 
 Beyond the sky ; 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Oh wealth, let not a proud disdain, 
 
 By coarsest feelings fed, 
 Deny what birth's high brow will grant, 
 The humblest shed ! 
 
 " ' The star that ruled his natal lot 
 Uprose at heaven's decree. 
 What mortal mind can ever sway 
 Mortality ? ' 
 ' A little longer while, and I 
 Shall heedless wander on, 
 May blessings crown thy gift, when I 
 Am dead and gone !' " 
 
 Lucy begged to read some lines on one whom 
 she knew the pastor had always admired and 
 supported, for in Mr. Churton's eyes slavery 
 and the slave trade were abhorrent things, and 
 ought to be utterly abolished. 
 
 "LINES 
 
 WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY ON HEARING OF THE 
 
 DEATH OF WILLIAM WILBERFORCE. 
 
 '^ And we shall meet 
 
 Where parting tears shall cease to flow ; 
 
 And when I think thereon, almost I long to go !" 
 
 "Why should we mourn the happy dead? 
 Why grieve, as though below. 
 Those yet were mingling in our cares, 
 
 Who are as seraphs now ? 
 Have they not gain'd their long-sought homes ? 
 That home they love the best — 
 ' Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
 And the weary are at rest.'
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 267 
 
 '•' Was it well to tread the path 
 That Christ had trod before, 
 And cheerfully to bear the cross, 
 
 That He so \nlling bore ? 
 'Tis better far to share His crown. 
 
 With Him an equal guest, 
 ' WTiere the wicked cease from troubling, 
 
 And the weary are at rest.' 
 " Was it well to speak of peace, 
 To search into distress, 
 To make, by bearing well our own, 
 
 The woes of others less ? 
 'Tis better far to see the soul 
 From every pain released, 
 ' "Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
 
 And the weary are at rest.' 
 " Was it well with bread of heaven 
 To feed the hungry soul ; 
 To preach how grace, with mercy crown'd, 
 
 Shall fear no judgment scroll ? 
 'Tis better far to hear that soul 
 
 Invited to be blest, 
 * Where the wicked cease from troubling. 
 
 And the weary are at rest.' 
 '* 'Tis best to be where prayer and praise 
 Are never faintly pour'd, 
 And charity that knows no stain 
 
 By heavenly hosts adored ; 
 Where happiness shall light upon 
 
 The many here distress'd ; 
 ' "WTiere the wicked cease from troubling, 
 
 And the weary are at rest.' 
 " And nothing heard from those we love 
 That each would AArish unsaid. 
 And rothing from temptation more 
 That we ourselves may dread ; 
 
 N 2
 
 ^68 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Oh ! then we are reposing 
 Upon our Father's breast — 
 ' Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
 And the weary are at rest ! ' " 
 
 The pastor heaved a deep sigh ; but since his 
 countenance wore a look of deep gratification at 
 the recital of the poetry of his loved protegee, 
 Dora took courage, and proceeded to read a few 
 more short pieces. 
 
 BATTLE TO THE STRONG. 
 
 " Two ships went forth together 
 
 To sail upon the sea, 
 Like living beings sworn to keep 
 
 Each other's company : 
 The one was strongly built, and moved 
 
 Right merrily along ; 
 The other sailed as fast, but yet 
 
 Not seemingly so strong. 
 
 " Two flowers bloom'd together. 
 
 And looked each other's pride. 
 You might have sworn the one had been 
 
 The other's gentle bride : 
 Such softness gemm'd the one. 
 
 Such strength upheld the other ; 
 Perhaps they might more simply be 
 
 A sister and a brother ! 
 
 " Two lovers, too, were beaming 
 Each in each others' eyes. 
 Through life's most earnest strivi ng 
 Each the other's prize :
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 269 
 
 They, too, had sworn to bear 
 
 Fair or frowning weather, 
 And vow'd by every tender tie 
 
 To bloom or fall together. 
 
 " But the ship which brake before the storm 
 
 Was that which sail'd the strongest, 
 And the floAver that was tenderest, 
 
 Was that which bloom'd the longest ; 
 The lovers, he sank soonest. 
 
 She follow'd to the grave ! 
 Be silent, curious fools, and learn 
 
 Of power ye never gave ! 
 
 "THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 •* Oh, love the church-bell's peaceful sound. 
 That calls you to the house of prayer ! 
 Tread lightly o'er the hallo w'd ground. 
 For sweet the invitation there. 
 
 " Tread lightly, for the placid mind 
 Will all our ruder motives sway ; 
 And mark how little we 're behind 
 
 The dead, who once came here to pray. 
 
 " Tread lightly, for 'tis well and brave 
 To reverence the sacred spot ; 
 Yet weep not o'er the time-worn grave. 
 For happy is its sleeper's lot ! 
 
 " I would not have you idly mourn. 
 When e'en the best beloved depart. 
 But think, would you the church adorn ? 
 What thou canst be— and what thou art !
 
 S70 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 "THE CHURCH-YARD. 
 
 " Shall I to the church-yard go, 
 
 And take part in thoughtless play, 
 Leaping o'er the graves 1 Oh, no, 
 
 I 'd rather keep away : 
 For 'tis best in peace to read 
 The writing on the tomb — 
 ' Little traveller, take heed ; 
 Prepare to meet thy doom ! ' 
 
 '' Brother, quickly come away. 
 
 Seek the path o'er yonder hill, 
 And we '11 rove another day 
 
 By the running rill. 
 Let us take some flow'rets home ; 
 
 We can play, and love our school ; 
 'Tis well to learn, and well to roam 
 
 In wisdom's happy rule." 
 
 "LINES 
 
 ON BEING ASKED WHO I WOULD RATHER HAVE BEEN OF 
 ALL WHO HAVE EVER LIVED. 
 
 " Who had I been of all whom memory brings 
 In her far travel from the earliest prime, 
 Earth's laurell'd heroes, her long line of kings, 
 All that have stood upon the hills of time, 
 Down to this hour the proudest and the best ? 
 I have an answer ready from mine heart : 
 Of one, though bearing not the warrior's crest, 
 Of nobler port than greatness could impart. 
 'Tis he, that blest, that favour'd man of men. 
 Who from the world redeem'd, has passed away
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 271 
 
 To live above all height of mortal ken, 
 And sit in radiance on the judgement day ! 
 God ever strengthen what is here confess'd, 
 'Tis he who lean'd upon his Saviour's breast." 
 
 " He could have chosen none better," ex- 
 claimed the pastor, " not even St. Peter him- 
 self, — oh ! that the loving spirit of St. John 
 might pervade the Christian world ! " 
 
 " Well, I must crave permission," asked 
 Lucy, " to read the lines on the death of Miss 
 Letitia Landon, the poetess, although they are 
 rather long." 
 
 " Never mind," uttered the Pastor, " I shall 
 like to hear them," and so Lucy began. 
 
 "LINES ON THE LAMENTED DEATH OF 
 L, E. L. 
 
 " Et tumulum facite, et tumulo superaddite carmen." 
 
 Virgil, Eel. v. 
 
 " The red rose and pale violet, 
 
 The lily fair as snow, 
 Are really soft and beautiful, 
 
 As any things we know ; 
 And when expanded sweetly, 
 
 Upon a summer's day, 
 We cannot think how fleetly 
 
 They lie down in decay. 
 
 *' Thus, when the beauteous form 
 Is gazed upon with joy. 
 And song is shedding fragrance 
 O'er love without alloy,
 
 212 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 We think not of the frailness 
 
 That very song may speak, 
 We cannot see the paleness 
 
 That must steal o'er that cheek. 
 " Dear minstrel ! thou wert known to me ; 
 
 Thy brother was my friend, 
 And doubly now, in same pursuits, 
 
 A brother to the end. 
 I weep for him, I weep for all 
 
 Who '11 lose thee from their hearth, 
 So suddenly thy funeral pall 
 
 Hath check'd our gentler mirth. 
 " Oh ! if the muse can live on earth, 
 
 Thou wert that muse's child ! 
 Thy song was chaste, or lovely, 
 
 Or beautiful, or wild ! 
 As sleep unto the wearied mind, 
 
 Spnng-flowers to the bee, 
 Or sun that doth the earth unbind. 
 
 The muses were to thee, 
 " And thou didst wear a golden crown, 
 
 A queenly path was thine ; 
 A sceptre thou didst wield — it rul'd 
 
 This captive heart of mine ; 
 I mourn a gentle sovereign gone. 
 
 O'er me too lone and stern ; 
 I miss a very tender tone, — 
 
 And will it ne'er return ? 
 "A bough hath bended near me. 
 
 Its bird hath ceased to sing ; 
 The stream hath hush'd its flowing ; 
 
 The lute hath lost its string. 
 My path becomes more lonely. 
 
 As friends will steal aAvay ; 
 Our evenings are but only 
 
 Dim shadows of the day.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 273 
 
 " Shall woes and loves thou didst adorn 
 
 In all thy magic strain, 
 Till as jewels they were worn, 
 
 Be common things again ? 
 And art thou hushM for ever ? 
 
 And wilt thou sing no more ? 
 No tale of cruel slavery 
 
 Come o'er from Afric's shore ? 
 " Will any weep not o'er thee, 
 
 Or spurn thee from the mind, 
 Whose ways were ne'er unfriendly, 
 
 "Whose song was ne'er unkind ? 
 Ah, yes ! the despot never weeps 
 
 Upon the poet's grave ; 
 And thou wert lauding ever 
 
 The beautiful and brave ! 
 " If this lost world be comely, 
 
 This ruin'd form so fair, 
 Our fallen hearts so lovely. 
 
 Our broken song so rare ; 
 Oh ! what shall be the glory 
 
 Of seraph forms above. 
 And the everlasting story 
 
 Of angels' purer love ? 
 " And will thy soul be raised. 
 
 And wilt thou join that choir ? 
 And wilt thou sing the praises, 
 
 That never, never tire ? 
 Ah me ! thy song was nothing worth, 
 
 To that eternal ear, 
 And thou a child of monstrous birth. 
 
 If void of godly fear. 
 " But oh ! thy heart was riven 
 
 With grief that renders pure. 
 Thy tender hope was anchor'd on 
 
 The things that will endure : 
 
 N 5
 
 374 EUNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Among thy warblings is the lay- 
 In honour of a shrine, 
 Where truth declares the brighter day, 
 
 Where, sister ! thou mayst shine. 
 " And other hards are left on earth, 
 
 And other lyres are strung, 
 But time may pass away ere they 
 
 Will sing as thou hast sung : 
 Still, let us hail each bright essay 
 
 To elevate the heart, 
 And value more each kindling ray. 
 
 For they, too, must depart. 
 " And there is one, I scarce w^ould name, 
 
 The partner of thy choice ; 
 How dark, how lone, that widow'd man ! 
 
 Oh ! can he e'er rejoice ? 
 O God ! thy precious balm outpour 
 
 Beneath thy curtain'd dome, 
 To cheer him in his wintry hour — 
 
 His melancholy home. 
 " The storms that traverse sea and land 
 
 By Thee are calm'd again ; 
 The waves that rise at Thy command 
 
 All own Thy gentle reign ; 
 Of pity hang in yonder sky 
 
 One star, however dim, 
 And pity, most of all, that eye 
 
 That may not pity him. 
 '* The trees, clad in their wintry shroud, 
 
 Death's shadow idly seem, 
 The spirit of the wood doth moan, 
 
 And cold doth bind the stream ; 
 And yet they gather beauty, strength, 
 
 Green life in every lane : 
 So time will work its dreary length, 
 
 And then relax its chain !
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 275 
 
 " And think ! the happiest home, 
 
 The holiest and most pure, 
 Is overhung with shadow, 
 
 It cannot aye endure ; 
 And childhood's voice, like silver bell, 
 
 And smiling sunny face, 
 Drops like a spangle on the dell — 
 
 Another takes its place. 
 
 '* And eye may fondly beam to eye, 
 
 And heart may answer heart, 
 One taste, one thought united, 
 
 And yet they each shall part : 
 The gay, the gifted, and the strong. 
 
 The coward, and the brave. 
 Are passing, as the sound of song. 
 
 To sleep within the grave ! • 
 
 " But linger not around the grave, 
 
 Oh, pause not at the tomb ; 
 We shall not long be slumbering 
 
 Within that house of gloom. 
 Ah, no ! increase of life and love, 
 
 And liberty, is our's — 
 Then, hastening to that home above, 
 
 Heed not the fleeting showers !" 
 
 Poor Lucy's voice had almost failed her, as 
 she read some of the stanzas, and at the close 
 her feelings found solace in a burst of tears. 
 
 "I was thinking," she said, "of the melan- 
 choly death of poor L. E. L., and of those 
 beautiful, and too prophetic, lines which she 
 wrote during the voyage to the Coast of Africa,
 
 276 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 after her marriage to Colonel Maclean, the 
 Governor of Cape Coast Castle." 
 
 " A wretched place indeed," observed the 
 pastor, " although the scenery at night may be 
 remarkable, and somewhat enchanting to a 
 poetical mind, but not to such a joyous heart as 
 our poetess was gifted with." 
 
 "Every one who knew her was delighted 
 with her," said Dora. 
 
 " I have heard so," responded the pastor ; 
 " and I have to be thankful for her existence, if 
 it were only that it has called forth Ernesfs 
 muse, and I do hope that he will continue to 
 cultivate poetry, for it will be a delight to him 
 in many a lonely hour, and it has been in all 
 ages the solace of the great, the wise, the good ; 
 from the sweet singer of Israel, and from the 
 sage and gentle Plato, to Dante, the morning 
 star of the Reformation ; to our own statesmen, 
 Spenser, Sidney, Raleigh, Boyle ; to our divines, 
 Donne and Young, Herbert and Crashaw; 
 and then Milton, Shakspeare, Wordsworth, 
 what instructors and elevators of mankind are 
 these ! " 
 
 The pastor was continuing to enumerate the 
 blessings of poetry, when letters were announ- 
 ced from John Thorold, and the little party 
 quickly retired to the library to hear them read.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 277 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Giving each rock its storied tale. 
 Pouring a lay for every dale, 
 Knitting, as Avith a moral band, 
 
 Thy native legends with thy land. 
 To lend each scene the interest high. 
 
 Which genius beams from beauty's eye." 
 
 Scott. 
 
 " My dear Doha, 
 
 " Having sailed adown the Clyde from the 
 Broomielaw at Glasgow, I am now actually ex- 
 ploring the shores of Ireland. The banks of the 
 Clyde are very beautiful, and there are many 
 snug residences at first seen, which I greatly 
 envied, and I know not but what I should pre- 
 fer (if I am spared) settling down in one of these 
 ' cannie "* mountains, in preference to lording it 
 at Belswardine. The view much increased in 
 majesty as we proceeded, and you who love 
 scenery would have been enchanted. We saw 
 the Kirkpatrick hills on the right, and I could 
 not help thinking of the motto ' I mak siccur.' 
 Dumbarton Castle stands on a lofty rock, sur- 
 rounded at high water by the Clyde, and while
 
 278 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 the rock is of great bulk and height, the castle, 
 which must have been almost inaccessible, is but 
 an insignificant building on the summit. You 
 may well think I was wrapped up in thoughts of 
 Wallace, and was well pleased to hear one of 
 the sailors recounting the chief's deeds of valour, 
 to the edification of a fellow passenger, with no 
 mean degree of emphatic earnestness. The 
 view from the bosom of the Clyde of the 
 Argyleshire and Ayrshire hills is magnificent, 
 and I here beheld the sun set in unclouded 
 glory behind the mighty mountain Ben Lo- 
 mond. We passed Port Glasgow in Renfrew- 
 shire, a neat small town, and soon arrived at 
 Greenock, which I found to be a very unpleasant 
 place, so filled with lawless sailors, and lacking 
 the presence of persons of any apparent respec- 
 tability. I stayed here awhile. On the next 
 morning after my arrival, climbing the hill 
 above the town, I obtained a very fine and 
 extensive view, and then rowed over in a boat 
 to Dumbarton, and up the Leven water to 
 Loch Lomond, which beat everything I had 
 seen before. The unruffled calmness of the 
 lake, contrasted with the rude and rocky scenery 
 around, would form a descriptive task, which is 
 not my forte. Of course I entered Rob Roy's 
 cave. There is a beautiful little island at the
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 279 
 
 lower extremity of the lake, mentioned by Scott 
 as the burial place of the lairds of MacGregor, 
 and of families claiming descent from the old 
 Scottish King Alpine, called Inch Cailliach, or 
 the Isle of Nuns, where little vestige of the 
 church now remains, but the burial-ground is 
 still used, and regarded with a religious venera- 
 tion for its antiquity. Loch Katrine I need 
 not write about, you have it all in the 'Lady of 
 the Lake ; ' and I won't add quotations of poetry 
 to my other sins, albeit you may think it a sin 
 of omission. 
 
 " Well, I returned by Dumbarton to Greenock 
 again, and got on board a steamer for Ireland. 
 I stayed on deck all night, and beheld a magni- 
 ficent sunrise at sea ; there seemed to be a 
 pillar of fire in the ocean. Passed the Ailsa 
 Craig, that Bums compares Meg's deafness to ; 
 and Walter Scott (Scott again !) uses to express 
 the trust to be placed on the faithfulness of the 
 Lord of the Isles. It is an immense rock, 
 rooted in the sea, the resort of Solan geese, and 
 various species of sea-fowl ; and it is let by its 
 owner to some persons who gain a livelihood by 
 plundering the nests. About seven in the morn- 
 ing we reached the Loch of Belfast, the coast of 
 which is fine on the Antrim side, and passed by 
 the ancient town of Carrickfergus, famous as
 
 280 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 the landing-place of King William ; and a stone 
 is now shewn which was deposited on the spot 
 where he first trod. The castle is very ancient, 
 and looks gloomily enough. The town of 
 Belfast is an increasing commercial town, great 
 part of it belonging to the Marquis of Donegal, 
 who lives at Ormeau hard by. The Linen Hall 
 is a large building ; but I cannot say I like the 
 aspect of the town, and its suburbs are wretched, 
 so I was truly glad to stroll as far out as 
 Crawfordsburn, the romantic seat of Sharman 
 Crawford, who is a very thin and reserved man, 
 and not at all in aspect like a parliamentary 
 orator ; and also to visit Craigavad, the house 
 of Arthur Forbes, Esq., an excellent country- 
 gentleman and magistrate, and from whose 
 demesne there is an enchanting view of the sea 
 as bounded by the Antrim coast ; and then 
 Cultra, and the Episcopal Palace, the good and 
 renowned Bishop Manfs residence, which is near 
 Holywood. Oh, this part of Ireland strangely 
 contrasts, they say, with what I shall elsewhere 
 see, for the county of Down is quite like an 
 English county of the best kind. The ancient 
 name of Belfast is Beal-a-Farshad, or the 
 Mouth of the Ferry. 
 
 " Well, soon I was off upon the Antrim side 
 of this town. The road to Carrickfergus lies
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 281 
 
 close by the sea, and at low water, a very 
 extensive area of seaweed and ooze is exposed 
 to view, which detracts from the beauty of the 
 pebbly shore ; but still the main view of the 
 loch, with its shipping, and the little fishing-boats 
 in the distance, is very pleasing. There are 
 numbers of comfortable villas along this shore, 
 chiefly, I should suppose, built and inhabited 
 by the wealthy citizens of Belfast. I climbed 
 the Cave Hill, on the top of which is M 'Art's 
 Fort, enclosed with a fosse and mound, from 
 whence I gained a view of the dear blue hills 
 of Scotland ; and on my way down looked in 
 vain for Woodburn Abbey, and Cloughnaharty 
 Castle, till I was apprised that they existed in 
 name alone. Reached Carrickfergus, anciently 
 called Dun Sobarky, and one of the most im- 
 portant towns in the province of Dabradia, 
 but now degenerated into a dirty-looking place, 
 with unpaved streets, and broken windows 
 stopped up with coloured materials that would 
 have vied with Joseph's coat. This place, how- 
 ever, has been the scene of noble exploits, and 
 withstood, or yielded to, repeated bombard- 
 ments. Robert Bruce was its conqueror once : 
 Turlogh Lynogh O'Neil, and M' Car ty more 
 were brave chieftains here ; and many re- 
 nowned ones might be cited, even down to the
 
 282 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 time when H.M.S. the Drake fought so gal- 
 lantly with the celebrated pirate, Paul Jones. 
 In the Church of St. Nicholas, (and for your 
 sake I looked in,) in the northern arm of the 
 transept, stands the once splendid monument of 
 the Chichesters, — it is of great beauty, as far as 
 I can judge, and consists of several chambers 
 and niches occupied by figures in large and 
 small life, adorned with the costumes of their 
 respective rank when living, and composed of 
 marble and alabaster. Among others is the 
 effigy of Sir John Chichester the younger, who 
 was slain in a sally from the town, by James 
 Sorly McDonnell, Earl of Antrim, who be- 
 headed him upon a stone near the Glynn. It 
 is related that M'Donnell going one day to view 
 this family monument, and seeing Sir John"'s 
 statue thereon, asked, ' How the de'il he came 
 to get his head back again, for he was sure he 
 had once taken it from him ? "* This no doubt 
 puzzled him exceedingly. In this cemetery is 
 interred the Lady Catherine Forbes, only 
 daughter of Arthur, Earl of Granard, distin- 
 guished for her piety, matchlessness of character 
 and a' that, by the eloquent pen of Swift, as 
 ' glory of the Granard race.' The castle was 
 well worthy my attention ; it stands on a rocky 
 eminence projecting into the bay, and was oc-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 283 
 
 cupied by a large garrison. As in all old 
 Norman castles, you enter by a gate between 
 two circular towers of considerable height, 
 with portcullis, apertures for annoying an 
 enemy, and all apphances to boot. There is 
 pretty good fishing here, oysters and lobsters 
 are taken in great quantity, and the natural 
 curiosities of the soil are, they tell me, worthy 
 the inspection of the geological eye. 
 
 " The scenery all along the road from Carrick- 
 fergus to Larne is very good. On the right I 
 passed the elevated Lake of Lough Morne, 
 about the etymology of which there exists 
 much disputation ; it is far above the springs of 
 the neighbourhood, and must therefore be sup- 
 plied from its own internal resources ; its banks 
 are uncultivated and unplanted, and from its 
 exposed situation will not, I should think, ever 
 be chosen as the site of any future demesne. 
 The name is probably a corruption of Lough- 
 More, the great lake ; but the following fabu- 
 lous derivation, which is strongly adhered to 
 by the neighbouring peasantry, is entertaining. 
 ' This place,' they say, ' was once a large town, 
 when on one evening an aged mendicant came 
 to seek for lodging, which being refused, he 
 exclaimed,* " Although it is now a town, yet it 
 shall be a lough ere morn.'''' Immediately he left
 
 284f ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 the town, and withdrew to an adjacent hill ; 
 upon which, the ground began to sink : eels are 
 said to have arisen about the hearth-stones ; and 
 ultimately the whole town sunk into the abyss, 
 and the water rolled in over it ; from which 
 time it has been ever called Lough Morne.' 
 
 " Not far from Lough Morne is the glen 
 called the ' Noisy Vale,' so named from a small 
 subterranean river, which falls with a great 
 impetus into an aperture in the ground. A 
 little further is another subterranean river, and 
 the ingress of this stream takes place in a small 
 circular pit, about forty yards in diameter at 
 the mouth, called the Salt Hole, and it is seen 
 no more. Here it was that M'Sorly cut oflf 
 Sir John Chichester's head, the detachment of 
 the former having been lying in ambuscade in 
 this very Salt Hole. 
 
 " On descending a hill about three miles be- 
 fore reaching Larne, a most magnificent view 
 was unfolded to my eye ; before me, in the dis- 
 tance, lay the sea, and the peculiar rocky rug- 
 gedness of the coast, seen to a great length, 
 was very striking. The hills of Scotland again 
 bounded the landscape, and on in an opposite di- 
 rection might be seen the Isle of Man, and even 
 Snowdon, while beneath appeared the harbour 
 called Larne Lough, on the edge of which is
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 285 
 
 seen the town stretching out along its banks. 
 The situation of Olderfleet Castle, on the very 
 extremity of the peninsula of Currain (mind 
 you refer to the map), is bold and picturesque, 
 conveying ideas of grandeur amid beautiful de- 
 cay in the distant view, which ill accords with 
 the lesser appearance of the ruin on closer in- 
 spection. The eastern side of Larne Lough 
 is bounded by the Island of Magee, which is 
 very fertile and richly cultivated; while the 
 singular frequency, and almost formal peculiarity 
 of the division and subdivisions of the fields, 
 without a tree to be seen, told me too plainly 
 I was in Ireland — indeed, there is scarcely one 
 to be seen, with the exception of a Mr. Fer- 
 raPs plantation, about Larne, although it is 
 well known and proved that any description of 
 timber w^ould thrive well there. 
 
 " Soon I reached the miserable town of Larne, 
 to be jostled by sailors and fishermen, and after 
 sleeping at a wretched inn, which was the best 
 in the place, I was right glad to set out upon 
 a walk. This place was originally called Inver, 
 or ' lowly situated,' which it most certainly is ; 
 yet, notwithstanding its want of cleanliness 
 and repair, there is something original and 
 uncommon in its appearance, and one here in 
 perfection meets with the stout, weather-beaten,
 
 286 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 uncivil, dreadnought fisherman, a sort of fellow 
 who has always a drop from an illicit still at 
 hand, and who will venture his life for you, 
 after the shortest acquaintance, provided you 
 treat him handsomely, and humour his peculiar 
 tastes. The women I saw here were generally 
 coarse-featured, at least those of a certain age, 
 but I noticed some very pretty looking young 
 damsels, who, by wearing no caps or bonnets, 
 expose their complexions to the malevolence 
 of the sun and air, much to their disadvantage 
 in the course of a few years, while they are 
 very particular as regards the braiding of their 
 hair. They were usually petite in form and 
 feature, and at once bespoke a Scotch origin — 
 very different indeed to the tall and dark-eyed 
 Irish women, of Spanish kindred, whom I am 
 to see in the southern parts of Erin. 
 
 " The firs.t portion of my ramble was in the 
 direction of Olderfleet Castle (which I just men- 
 tioned), standing on the extremity of the pe- 
 ninsula called the Curraan, corrupted from the 
 Irish ' curran,' a hook, which form it resembles. 
 The commanding dignity of the site of this 
 castle must impress us with feelings of decided 
 reverence for its founder's judgment. It is 
 supposed to have been built by one of the 
 Bissets, a powerful Scotch family, and it was
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 287 
 
 here that Edward Bruce landed with the vain 
 expectation of becoming king of Ireland. From 
 this 1 crossed over to the peninsula Magee, mis- 
 named an island as I found ; and having landed, 
 I took the road to Brown's bay, and for the first 
 time visited a druidical cromlech, the covering 
 stone of which rests on three supporters, is six 
 feet in length and triangular, and it inclines to- 
 ward the rising sun : there are also two more, 
 but not easily reached. On the east of Brown's 
 Bay, for the first time also, I saw one of 
 those rocking stones which were said to ac- 
 quire a tremendous motion at the approach of 
 sinners — alas ! could it ever stand still ? Ac- 
 quaint Singleton with this legendary fable. 
 Still further to the east, I arrived at some 
 stupendous basaltic clifiB called the Gobbins, 
 at the name of which every Roman Catholic 
 will turn pale, and I myself was nearly sharing 
 the fate of their brethren, from having casually 
 and inadvertently mentioned the melancholy oc- 
 currence. It appears that in the 1642, about 
 thirty Catholics were thrown over this Tarpeian 
 rock, by a band of soldiers who salhed forth 
 from Carrickfergus Castle, under the command 
 of a Scotch Puritan named Munroe. There 
 are still places called Slaughter Ford, and Mur- 
 der Slay, in remembrance of the brutal and
 
 288 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 barbarous action. It is astonishing (but Mr. 
 Greville will say not to be wondered at) how 
 the Catholics, or ' Romans,' as they are always 
 designated here, treasure up an old grievance 
 of that kind; and, were it in their power, 
 the manes of their deceased fellow-religionist 
 would be amply appeased. The Presbyterian 
 religion prevails here ; and there is a stiffness 
 and formality about these people that is very 
 un pleasing. Beneath the Gobbins are several 
 small caves, now used as boat-houses chiefly, 
 but once the hiding place of many an out- 
 lawed band. There are great quantities of 
 sea-fowl also, and a particular breed of Irish gos- 
 hawks, so famed in ancient days and lays ; and 
 the chief rent paid formerly for the peninsula 
 of Magee, consisted of a pair of gloves and 
 a pair of hawks, but since that noble diversion 
 has been neglected, a less romantic chiefry is 
 required. The nest robbing here forms a dif- 
 ficult task, and requires a good resolution. A 
 man is let down the front of the steep precipice 
 by a cord fastened round his waist, taking with 
 him a basket for the young birds. Such sports 
 give health and strength to the peasantry, and 
 qualify them to court danger with dehght. If 
 the population less abounded, the extreme fer- 
 tility of Magee would enable its possessors to
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 289 
 
 live in comparative affluence ; and, as things 
 are, it happily presents something of the county 
 of Down prosperity ; that is, you see neat whit** 
 washed cottages in lieu of mud cabins ; and the 
 pig, as a privileged inmate, does not wholly pay 
 the rent. The fine sea-view from the Gobbins 
 pleased me much, and I returned to my inn well 
 satisfied with my day's expedition, and which I 
 must detail to you more minutely at some future 
 and more leisurable time ; and I have an affect- 
 ing story to tell you of the Maid of Lame. 
 
 *' I know not when this letter may leave this 
 town ; for, as you may guess, the postal re- 
 gulations are not the best in the '^^orld ; and 
 I shall write in a day or two again, lest new 
 and fresh scenes drive the elder ones out of 
 recollection. 
 
 "Best love to my dear father and mother, 
 and Lucy; and kind regards to Singleton, 
 Greville, and others. 
 
 "I am, your affectionate brother, 
 
 "John Thorold."" 
 
 "Lame." 
 
 "Ballycastle. 
 " My dear Dora, 
 
 *' I left Larne yesterday morning on foot, 
 and toiled along the wood for Glenarm. On 
 my arrival, I found the letter I wrote at Larne 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 still in my pocket, but I have just sent it by 
 a little urchin to some place they dignify by 
 the name of Post-office, but whether it will 
 ever reach you I cannot tell. 
 
 "At first the country appeared to be well 
 cultivated, and the views tame, until I had 
 proceeded for about two miles, when the bold 
 scenery of the Antrim coast, stretching to the 
 Giant's Causeway, began to unfold itself. On the 
 left stands Agnew's hill, a range of precipitous 
 mountain, crowned with the dark basalt ; and 
 between it and the sea, the church of Killyglene 
 is the most conspicuous emblem of civiUzation. 
 Passed by Ballygelly Head> — a good specimen 
 of the basaltic strata. Under it is seen a bold 
 rock, which at high water is completely insu- 
 lated. Upon its summit stand the ruins of 
 an ancient castle, said to be erected by a 
 prince of former days, to preserve his daughter 
 from the unwelcome visit of a suitor, but she 
 was ultimately carried off by her admirer. He 
 never could have read the story of Danae. The 
 ruin is called Cairn Castle from its situation; 
 on the right are the hills called Salagh braes, 
 under which lies the little church of Cairn Castle 
 parish; which, from its bleak wild situation, 
 and particular square form of its tomb memo- 
 rials, has a romantic and singular appearance.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. S91 
 
 To the east of the Salagh braes is an insulated 
 hill of the most gloomy appearance called Knock 
 Doo, or the Black hill, on which are numbeis 
 of goats and sheep feeding, the former gazing 
 over the vast precipices at the passing traveller 
 with the most seeming indifference. The dis- 
 tant view from this spot is very grand — the 
 coast of Scotland, and Ailsa Craig, with the 
 mountains of Arvan and Mull of Cantyre, are 
 all distinctly visible across a wide expanse of 
 water. The hill leading into Glenarm is very 
 long and steep ; from it you gain a good view 
 of Glenarm Castle and its domains, the re- 
 sidence of the Antrim family. 
 
 "So completely sheltered is the lovely re- 
 treat of Glenarm, that, were it not for the 
 spire of the church, one might hunt in vain 
 for this habitation of men. The hills almost 
 hang over the village ; and in former times it 
 would seem that it was inaccessible, excepting 
 either by the sea, or the narrow pass along 
 the glen. It is certainly the pleasantest re- 
 treat imaginable, and the walks over the rising 
 ground on either side, and by the sea-shore, 
 are delightful. 
 
 I wandered about Glenarm for some time. 
 
 The remains of its monastery are insignificant, 
 
 but still interesting; the tombstones are oma- 
 
 2
 
 292 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 mented with the coat of arms of each family, 
 and, by the ages marked on the marble slabs, 
 one may be led to conjecture that this is that 
 blessed portion of the ' Sainted Isle,' where 
 the inhabitants live so long as to find a con- 
 tinuance of existence burdensome, in which case 
 their friends convey them to an adjacent coun- 
 try, where the spirit will sooner relax its te- 
 nacious hold. The body of O'Neill the Great, 
 killed in the camp of Sorley Boy (i. e. Yellow 
 Charles,) was here interred in the 15th cen- 
 tury, and soon after, a friar from Armagh, 
 having shared the hospitality of the monastic 
 brethren, when about to take his leave, thus 
 addressed the abbot : — * Father, I am come 
 from our brothers of Armagh, to beg that 
 you would grant me leave to remove the body 
 of the great O'Neill, who lies buried here, to 
 the grave of his ancestors at Armagh.' The 
 abbot paused awhile, and then answered, ' Have 
 you brought hither the corpse of my Lord 
 James of Cantyre, which was interred amongst 
 the strangers at Armagh ? ' To which the friar 
 replying, that he had not — ' Then,' said the 
 abbot, ' while you walk over the grave of my 
 Lord James of Cantyre at Armagh, I will tram- 
 ple upon the great O'Neill at Glenarm;' and 
 so, at midnight he dismissed his guest.
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 293 
 
 " On the western side of Glenarm, the moun- 
 tain of Sliemish rears its lofty head, once consi- 
 dered to be the highest in Antrim. The first 
 village on leaving Glenarm is Straitcalye, a poor 
 fishing-place ; to the left lies the grand Vale of 
 Glencje, and from this spot the country still im- 
 proves in romantic scenery. The village of 
 Cairnclough had nothing to detain me ; and an 
 old woman, whom I overtook on the road, 
 offered to pilot me over the mountains to Cush- 
 endall — but I kept on, and my more circuitous 
 route was amply repaid by the scenes of un- 
 common beauty that presented themselves. On 
 the right of my path was the sea, calm and blue 
 as the sky above, with the setting sun here and 
 there warmly imprinted on its surface, and 
 whitening the becalmed sail of many a little 
 fishing- boat ; on the left, the dark mountains 
 arose, almost perpendicularly, to an enormous 
 height, and the shade of the trees at their base 
 cast a sombre gloom over my lowly way. This 
 whole line of road is indeed wild and pictur- 
 esque ; the heath grows to a great height, and 
 its blossom casts a beautiful purple tint over the 
 entire mountain, which is oftentimes strikingly 
 lighted up by the slanting beams of the setting 
 sun ; not far off, another mountain consists 
 solely of huge aid precipitous rocks, its surface
 
 294 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 covered with large grey stones, as though old 
 and durable as time itself. At one part I 
 reached the ruins of a little chapel enveloped 
 with trees, a dark basaltic cliff hanging over it ; 
 and onwards the natural and striking fortifica- 
 tion of Dunmaul broke upon my view. This is 
 situated upon the shore, and there are plain ap- 
 pearances of entrenchments ; a fosse and mound 
 being easily traced. Most of the forts in this 
 part are placed on insulated rocks ; and Dun- 
 maul is so called, because here the tribute of 
 black mail was collected, as probably exacted 
 by the Scotch. Adjoining this fort is Gerron 
 Point, so named from 'gear' sharp, and ' rinn"* 
 a promontory. Here the pedestrian must turn 
 out of his road, and ascend the highest point ; 
 and so nearly perpendicular is the mural preci- 
 pice in front, that the eye may be directed to 
 the very base of the rock where it first emerges 
 from the beach ; on this summit there is a large 
 flag-staff. The descent from Dunmaul and Ger- 
 ron Point is called the Fouran path, and from 
 thence to the Vale of Glenariff everything that 
 can be seen captivates the eye. A fisherman's 
 hut here and there lies ensconced among the 
 great masses of limestone that are thrown in 
 the wildest confusion on every side. Here you 
 may find human beings in a perfect state of
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 295 
 
 originality — little improvement from any colli- 
 sion with their fellow-creatures has burst upon 
 them — and a primitive simplicity, which one 
 cannot but like in some respects, necessarily 
 pervades their speech and actions. 
 
 " Not far from the path, on the right hand, 
 stands a limestone rock on the shore, which is 
 called the Clocken Stooken, not unlike the re- 
 presentation of a colossal figure seated on the 
 ledge of a rock. It was formerly supposed to 
 be the extreme northern part of Ireland, and it 
 is still regarded with a certain superstitious 
 feeling by the fishermen. There are here innu- 
 merable piles of sea wreck along the shore, 
 gathered for the manufacture of kelp, and 
 which business iumishes employment for num- 
 bers of people along the coast. To the left, 
 soon arose the bold hills of Carrig Murphy, and 
 Shine Baraghad, with great sublimity. I can 
 never forget my sensations when traversing this 
 wild and stupendous part of the country ; silent 
 and alone I contemplated these magnificent 
 works of Nature, and many poetical thoughts 
 rushed into my mind — and what then ? why I 
 suppose they walked out again. 
 
 " The whole Vale of Glenariff is remarkable 
 for its extended and desolate prospect ; the 
 mountains on its sides arise, perhaps, with too
 
 296 ERNEST SINGLETON, 
 
 much regularity and monotony of character, but 
 the view adown the inmost depth of the glen is 
 fine, terminated on the west by the lofty sum- 
 mit of Cruach a Crue, and on the north by the 
 mountains of Lurgeidan. There is also a cas- 
 cade, about a mile and a half on the Ballymena 
 road, called Isnaleara, which waters the glen 
 throughout the whole summer, and falls into the 
 sea at Nairaemh, near the Red Bay Caves, 
 and by the little village of Waterfoot. 
 
 " At the mouth of the Glenariff river are the 
 caves of Red Bay, formed probably by the 
 inroad of the tide at some remote period ; the 
 mouth of one of them is converted into a smith's 
 workshop, and has, I can assure you, a very 
 Cyclopean appearance ; the other is the abode 
 of an old woman, who is strongly suspected of 
 dealing in illicit spirits. The road between the 
 caves and the castle passes under an arch cut 
 out of the solid rock ; and on the height imme- 
 diately above stands Red Castle itself on a most 
 commanding situation. It is supposed to have 
 been built by the Bissets, and nothing further is 
 known about it ; however, it is not the less a 
 striking object in the view, and I spent some 
 hours of winged meditation among its ruins. It 
 evidently had some communication with the sea 
 by lofty subterranean passages, which, but a
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 297 
 
 few years ago, afforded an admirable receptacle 
 for smuggled goods, but now are turned into 
 sheepfolds, or something of that kind. From 
 Redcastle to Cushendall, the scenery entirely 
 changes its character, the dreary and romantic 
 wilderness is transformed into a richly culti- 
 vated and less interesting country ; but the town 
 itself, situated on a fine tract of land between 
 the mountains and the sea, is very beautiful. 
 The whole town belongs to Mr. Francis Turn- 
 ley, whose residence of Drumnask I passed in 
 my journey thither, and before this he had 
 shewn me great kindness. I did not reach 
 Cushendall until nine o'clock at night — and the 
 days are shortening now — tired and hungry, 
 having found out by this time the difference 
 between Irish and English miles. Here is the 
 best inn along this line of road, for Mr. Turnley 
 has consulted the comfort of strangers — but, 
 after all, it is Irish comfort — less dirt than 
 usual, but plenty of noise and naked feet. The 
 blessings of education also thrive under his 
 auspices ; and schoolhouses are reared upon his 
 estate for the edification of the rising genera- 
 tion. 
 
 " The remnants of Danish intrusion are here- 
 abouts most prominent features, and I am told 
 
 that some of the legends of Ossian are still in 
 
 5
 
 298 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 the mouths of the primitive inhabitants of Cush- 
 endall, although I have not yet been in good 
 luck to meet vrith them. There is a story of 
 one Dallas, a Scotch pirate, being slain by 
 Ossian here. Behind the village, as viewed 
 from the sea, arises a Danish rath, which the 
 Cushendall legends call Court M*Martin, and 
 attribute to Martin M'Owen, Lord of the Seven 
 Glens, who erected his castle upon the summit. 
 Tradition tells us, that Martin was the son of a 
 fisherman at Cushendall, who, on his return 
 from casting his net at the mouth of the river 
 Dall, perceived a large vessel, then an object of 
 great admiration and astonishment, anchored in 
 the bay ; and on the deck sat the captain con- 
 sulting an astrological volume. The captain 
 called Martin into the vessel, and told him it 
 was fated that he should wed a lady of Cushen- 
 dall before a certain hour. ' Retire then, Mar- 
 tin,' said the astrologer, ' in my ship's boat, and 
 endeavour to persuade some fair one of the 
 village to become my bride ; and fear not, for I 
 have wealth for thee and thine to bestow in 
 compensation of thine efforts.' Martin entreat- 
 ed many fair ones to accept the unexpected 
 riches, and accompany him to the vessel in the 
 harbour, and at length prevailed. Being about 
 to fvScend the side of the vessel, the captain ex-
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 299 
 
 claimed, ' Martin, I thank you ; you have per- 
 formed your part, but my hour is past, and 
 I must withdraw from hence ; here is the fulfil- 
 ment of my promise and of your wishes,' at the 
 same instant casting a bag of gold into the boat. 
 Martin eagerly seized on the treasure, but his 
 happiness was not without alloy at the captain's 
 rejection of the proffered bride, who was no 
 other than the wife of Martin ! However, since 
 fate thus willed it, he submitted to its decree, 
 and returning home, erected his court on the 
 top of the hill I have just mentioned, and 
 became lord and master of the Seven Glens 
 along the coast. 
 
 The lofty conical hill of Lurgeidan, i. e. the 
 footstep on the face, is everywhere conspicu- 
 ous, and from every spot it is beautiful. Its 
 summit is a flat plain perfectly green, where 
 formerly the great Fin M'Comtal and Ossian, 
 with their Clan-na-buiske, were lodged within 
 a fortress. From the hill arising out of 
 Cushendall on the coast road to Cushendon, 
 I gained a majestic and extensive mountain 
 view. The Trostac mountain is seen in the 
 distance, rearing its dark and lofty front far 
 above the lesser hills of Glenaan and Glendun. 
 I here looked back on Redcastle Bay, which 
 with a wide open sea to the left, is very fine.
 
 300 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 Between this part and the town of Ballycastle 
 the road lies chiefly over an immense tract of 
 bog, which, with its black piles of turf, presents 
 a very gloomy and unsocial scene. Hills, here 
 and there, covered with huge grey stones, and 
 streams rushing precipitously down narrow dells, 
 present a singularly picturesque appearance, 
 and these form a boundary on one side to the 
 bog. After I had walked for about four miles 
 I gained a view of the island of Raghery, and 
 Pass of Jura, in the distance. To the left. 
 Knock Lade and Sliebh-na-Aura lift their 
 enormous bulks, and Ballycastle soon becomes 
 visible in the lower country, with the snow- 
 white cliffs of Kenbaan projecting into the sea 
 beyond it. Near to Ballycastle, I passed the 
 Abbey of Bona Margy, the burial ground of 
 the Antrim family. Here rest the ashes of the 
 famous James M'Sorley, who defeated the last 
 of the McQuillans. The ruins of the Refectory, 
 dormitory, &c., are still visible ; and the eastern 
 end is ornamented with some tolerably executed 
 bas-reliefs. I wandered about the burial- 
 ground in search of something ancient, and the 
 oldest tomb I could find bore the following in- 
 scription : — ' Here lyeth the bodye of James 
 M'Naghten, first Secretaire to Randal, first 
 Earl of Antrim, who departed this mortalitie
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 301 
 
 in the year of our Lord God 1630/ The 
 term ' our Lord God,'' is remarkable as she wing- 
 how the divinity of our Lord was enforced on 
 every opportunity. It is astonishing how per- 
 tinaciously the Catholics adhere to their old 
 burial-grounds ; and though the abbey is in 
 ruins, an awful monument of desecrating times, 
 the burial ground is still used. The modern 
 inscriptions generally run in the following words : 
 ' To mark the ground of Dennis M'Aulay, the 
 remains of his wife are deposited; 17th Sept. 
 1822. Requiescat in pace."* 
 
 " Knock Lade is remarkable for presenting 
 the same appearance from every direction, and 
 cultivation is rapidly creeping up its sides, unless 
 Cobden says, ' Thus far shalt thou go, and no 
 farther.' On the highest point is a large heap 
 of stones, called in the Gaelic tongue, Cairn-au- 
 Truagh, or the Hillock of the Three. The 
 tradition in regard to this cairn states, that 
 three Danish princesses, sisters, after various 
 misfortunes and wanderings, were buried here. 
 To the south of Knock Lade is seen the ma- 
 jestic hill of Slieb-na-Aura, oftentimes the scene 
 of many a deed of blood ; and here the McDon- 
 nells and McQuillans fought the decisive battle 
 which completely established the laws of the 
 one, and totally extinguished the power of the
 
 S02 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 other. This victory of Sorley Boy of Dunhice 
 was the result of bravery and artifice combined, 
 a common mode of proceeding in those days, 
 and perhaps in our own. 
 
 " I must tell you this story. Sorley Boy 
 resolved to procure by stratagem what he feared 
 the alliance of the O'Neills with the McQuillans 
 might prevent courage alone from accomplish- 
 ing ; and observing a dangerous bog between 
 the enemy and himself, caused a number of 
 rushes to be cut in the night-time, and strewn 
 over the surface of the bog, so as to form a safe 
 pass across. In the morning, sending a party to 
 brave the O'Neills in their very camp, their 
 fiery chief immediately ordered out the cavalry, 
 but the challengers, with true Parthian cou- 
 rage, now fled towards their own camp by the 
 path of rushes they had made, while O'NeilFs 
 cavalry, eager in the pursuit, were engulphed in 
 the treacherous road. In attempting to retreat, 
 O'Neill and his followers were cut oif by Hugh 
 M 'Uveal, to whom the young chieftain offered 
 as a ranson, ' all the young horses, and all the 
 fair damsels of Claneboy.' ' Sir,' said M 'Uveal, 
 ' if all the horses in Ireland were Sorley Boys, 
 I would rather go on foot :' and immediately 
 clove his helm in two. Near the top of the 
 mountain an elevation is pointed out, with two
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 303 
 
 cairns erected thereon, as being the burial place 
 of O'Neill and one of his devoted followers. 
 
 After the battle of Aura, Sorley Boy with- 
 drew to the vicinity of Trostan, a lofty and 
 conspicuous mountain over Cushendall, where 
 he was entertained in right good fellowship 
 by Macauly, Lord of the Glens, and there a 
 cairn was erected to commemorate the festivity. 
 In one of the feigned retreats made by Sorley 
 Boy to deceive O'Neill, the party was retarded 
 by the inactivity of an officer named Dool Oge, 
 who for many years had been a follower of the 
 M 'Donalds. Upon being chid by Sorley Boy 
 for his loitering, he replied, ' Sir, it is impossible 
 for me to run with you and with your father 
 before you.' This was a noble reply of the old 
 warrior. 
 
 " The immense estates which had been here 
 decided vi et armis to belong henceforth to the 
 M 'Donalds, were shortly after about to be con- 
 tested by two brothers of the same family ; but 
 the dispute was terminated by the aid of super- 
 stition. When the two armies were drawn up, 
 and ready to engage, O'Dorman, the clerk of 
 St. Patrick, stepping in between and ringing 
 a bell, pronounced the curse of the great patron 
 saint of Ireland upon the unjust claimant. The 
 effect was immediate, for the brothers became
 
 304- ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 reconciled, and the right of primogeniture 
 acknowledged. 
 
 " The entrance to the town of Ballycastle, 
 shaded by rows of trees, is very pretty. As I 
 was walking in I met a party of policemen 
 dragging some unfortunate victim to the guard- 
 house. The regulations of these police officers 
 are very beneficial to the country, and deserve 
 the highest commendation : the men are usually 
 efficient and active, and, indeed, it is surprising 
 how in some instances they have traced a 
 culprit through the almost inaccessible fastnesses 
 of the country, and when they have found him, 
 their courage in making a capture, opposed as 
 they are by hundreds, is highly creditable to 
 their bravery ; and by this time they have an 
 accurate knowledge of all the desperate charac- 
 ters, and of their favourite haunts. Every town 
 and village in Ireland have police stationed in 
 them, regulated in number by their size, and 
 the disposition of the inhabitants round about, 
 for some neighbourhoods are more dangerous 
 than others. They are all dressed in dark 
 green cloth jackets and white trowsers, these 
 latter being of grey cloth during the winter ; 
 each man is armed with a carbine, pistols, and 
 sabre, and they have a manly and martial ap- 
 pearance. It happened to be fair-day when
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 305 
 
 I was at Ballycastle, and of course there was a 
 row in the evening, and the usual incitations of 
 the 'Face of a Papist!" and ' The face of an 
 Orangeman ! " were loudly vociferated. A regu- 
 lar battle ensued ; the shillelagh was flourished 
 in double quick time, the stones flew about like 
 hail, the police were instantaneously called out, 
 and I could not but admire their activity and 
 dauntless conduct. The quickness with which 
 they pierced through the dense crowd, and laid 
 hold of the most desperate offenders was won- 
 derful ; but they were a small party, and the 
 crowd hemming them in on all sides, they 
 were ultimately, though reluctantly, compelled 
 to fire in self defence, and soon the valourless 
 multitude was quickly dispersed. The police 
 are commissioned to take away a mau'*s walking 
 stick on coming into the fair, so the people 
 generally hide their shillelaghs in some places 
 near the town, and thus the first signal of a 
 row is notified by a simultaneous rush for their 
 sticks and stones, and they come hallooing and 
 leaping into the town, determined on having a 
 fight. 
 
 " And now, dear Dora, I must close this 
 rambling letter. I like to send you an account 
 of all I see, but I am not a deep thinker, as 
 you know, and cannot but pass over many
 
 306 ERNEST SINGLETON. 
 
 thino-s on which others would dwell with de- 
 
 o 
 
 light. You know what the old play says, 
 ' some may travel to analyse earths, or dissect 
 morals, I love the grand — ' ; still, if you were a 
 member of the Royal Agricultural Society, or 
 were learned in Buckland or Lyell, I might 
 inform you whether zoolite, or gypsum, pipe- 
 clay, or limestone, were the composite of the 
 earth over which I tread — but no, I agree just 
 now with our old friend Dr. Syntax — 
 
 " ' The picturesque 's my only aim ; ' 
 
 and nobly the worthy doctor stuck to his text ; 
 and although in seeking it, I hope to escape 
 some of his adventures among robbers, in' 
 churchyards, at inns, on race-courses, theatres, 
 and fields, yet may T not exclaim, 
 
 '' ' 'Stead of hallooing to a fox, 
 
 I must catch echoes from the rocks ; 
 With curious eye and active scent, 
 I on the picturesque am bent.' 
 
 " I hope to date my next letter from the rude 
 rocks of Raghery Island ; and, with best love 
 to my dear father and mother, and Lucy, and 
 regards to all friends, 
 
 '' Ever your affectionate brother, 
 
 ''John Thorold.*"
 
 ERNEST SINGLETON. 307 
 
 The party at Belswardine were much de- 
 lighted on the perusal of these letters, and 
 Mr. Greyille owned that the style of writing 
 was far superior to that of the letter directed 
 to him from Scotland. Sir John Thorold now 
 began to think that the observation bestowed 
 by his son on all that came in his way, be- 
 tokened an energetic and useful life, and that 
 most probably he would soon be pointed out as 
 the most Hkely scion of an ancestral house, to 
 represent the allotted portion of the*couuty in 
 parliament. Dora and Lucy both longed to 
 shew these letters to Ernest Singleton, because 
 they were most anxious that he should form an 
 high opinion of their brother, and be a friendly 
 guide to him throughout the inevitable vicissi- 
 tudes and responsibilities of his early life. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by S. & J. Bentley, Wilson, and FlilY, 
 
 Bangor House, Shoe Lane. 
 
 #