“Play thou the good fellow; seek none to misdeem;
Disdain not the honest, though merry they seem;
For oftentimes seen, no more very a knave,
Than he that doth counterfeit most to be grave.”
These posies brought more to Cuthbert’s mind than the memory of the
happy Christmas he had once passed within these very walls. The lines,
which he had known from his boyhood, were taken from old Thomas
Tusser’s Book of Husbandry, the favourite manual of the old franklin
Blount, and a work of which he remembered his father had always been
very fond, and which stood upon the book-shelf at Cheddar next the
Country Parson of Master George Herbert. All these recollections came
upon him at once, and overwhelmed his spirit. He was totally ignorant
of all that had been lately enacted at Cheddar, and of the present
situation of his father. He had not heard of or from his parents for
several months; but his fears for their safety had been quieted by a
promise, that especial orders should be sent to all the forces of the
Parliament to respect both the persons and the dwellings of all such
relations of the officers and men serving the Parliament as did not
take up arms against them, whatever might be their known sentiments on
affairs of church and state.
How far this line of forbearance had been broken through, and how
violently, the ruins around most plainly declared; for he was well
assured that Francis Heywood would have omitted no precaution which
could possibly have availed to protect the property of Sir Oliver; nor
had he been present with the division by whom this wanton crime was
effected would he have failed to repress it. But when “Havoc!” is once
cried, and the dogs of war are once let slip, who shall, who can,
restrain them, but he who sitteth in the circle of the heavens?
His fancy became bewildered with the thought of his mother’s grief,
and the dangers to which she might possibly be exposed, and of the
possibility that his father might be suffering the penalty of some
bitter persecution by his adherence to the royal cause. He, as was his
wont in all extremities of doubt and sorrow, betook himself to the
only source of true comfort, when men are guided by the Spirit of
truth to a right use of it:--he drew from the bosom of his doublet a
small Bible. He implored direction from above; and yet, when he had
done so, yielded to the petty superstition of opening the sacred
volume suddenly, and taking the first text that presented itself to
his eye for his counsellor. The words which he thus read were, “Where
envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work.” He
smote upon his breast with agony, perused the chapter of James the
Apostle, from whence it was taken, and that which followed. All his
resolutions were staggered and shaken. He was in a mood to unbuckle
his sword, and to find a lodge in some wilderness where man could not
penetrate. “Yet,” said he aloud, as pleading his own cause before the
invisible throne, “Lord, thou knowest all things, thou knowest that I
am not moved by the spirit that lusteth to envy in this great
contention against apostasy and spiritual wickedness in high places.”
In the fervour and agitation of his appeal his Bible fell from his
hand, and when he took it up, it opened at that same epistle at the
beginning of it; and reading there that he was to count it all joy
falling into divers temptations, and that the trying of his faith
worked patience, he was again as suddenly recovered to steadfastness,
in what he blindly persuaded himself was the battle of the Lord; thus
giving a most sad practical proof that he was a waverer, tossed and
driven to and fro like a wave of the sea. What further doubts and
changes might have coloured his meditations, and his prayers in that
desolate and afflicting scene, had he been left alone to brood over
all his fears, it is not possible to say; but he was roused and
interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the paved path, which led up
from the terrace towards the principal entrance, the steps of which
yet remained. He stood aside, that the intruder, whoever it might be,
should not discover him. To his surprise, it was no other than old
Margery of the sand pit. She turned towards the offices as soon as she
entered the Hall, and went winding her way through heaps of rubbish,
towards an outhouse in the court-yard, the roof of which was still
entire. Her aspect, and the echo of her staff and of her footsteps, in
that solitary ruin, were very strange and affecting. Afraid of too
suddenly alarming the aged and unhappy being, he followed her with
light and noiseless steps to the low building, which she entered. Of
the two small windows that gave it light one was half open, and having
gained it, he could see and hear what was passing within. Laying down
her bag and staff, she seated herself on a very low stool, close by
the little fire-place, and applied her breath to the embers. The white
ashes flew off, and laid bare the glowing embers. To these she applied
a few dry sticks which she had brought with her, and a warm and
cheerful flame, accompanied by a light crackling noise, soon blazed
comfortably before her.
“I wonder where the master is this blessed day,” were her first words,
“and Mistress Kate, that was God’s angel to me, and the rest of them.
Wherever they are, Christ comfort them, and bless them: they were good
friends to me, and to many. I never came to the gate, and went away
without a measure of meal and a kind word; and it was a good day for
my poor soul when the beautiful lady first talked to me:”--she
stopped, and put on another stick or two;--“and Parson Juxon, that
made me leave the pit, and gave me a bit of a cot to myself at Old
Beech, where he and I would have been now but for the wars and the
villainies of those devils that burned his house over his head, and
made a bonfire to roast me, if it had not been God’s will to make ’em
fall out about it. They called me ‘a child of hell,’ I mind:--well, it
is not the first time--many a score times gentle and simple have
called me the same, till within the last two years, and I thought it
was all over, and I got to heaven already; but there’s a weary bit yet
for me. I hope it wo’n’t be long. Now, if parson was here, he’d scold
and look pleasant at me, and say, ‘God’s time’s the best time,
Margery.’ Well, now, I’ve lost him--God’s will be done. I’ve been a
poor sinful body all my days; but I never harmed any more than a curse
might, and little ill could that do to any but my own poor self. It’s
well it couldn’t; for if it had been able to kill, I should have sent
it after many a one, and might again. God help me! I’ll be burnt for a
witch some day yet; and, truth to say, I’ve many a time wished I was
one,--but that’s all over. I say the Lord’s Prayer different now.”
Here she clasped and raised her lean and withered hands, and said it
in a humble whisper on her knees.
Cuthbert was agitated terribly; but he dared not speak, he dared not
enter.
“Who shall say,” thought his better mind, “who shall say that the
blessed One, who taught his disciples thus to pray, is not present,
dimly seen, perhaps, but felt with secret reverence and affection?”
Her prayer said, the old woman put a little earthen pot on the fire,
and again seated herself on the stool by the side of it.
“Ah! it’s no merry Christmas,” said she, “here, or any where else; but
I have known a worse; and I think this is safe hiding, for the folk
all think the place haunted. Well, I must thank God, and make the best
of it.”
As she ended these words, she began humming the air of an old
Christmas carol, and at last sung, in the mournful voice of age, this
ancient fragment:--
“He neither shall be clothed
In purple nor in pall,
But all in fair linen,
As were babies all;
He neither shall be rocked
In silver nor in gold,
But in a wooden cradle,
That rocks on the mould.”
At the close he went to the door, and before he entered called her
gently by name. The tone of voice in which he spoke had the effect
which he intended, and, without any cry of alarm, she rose up quietly
and turned round; but she no sooner beheld his military dress than her
terror became excessive. It was quite in vain that he attempted to
bring himself to her recollection: the fear of being dragged forth and
led to the stake was uppermost, and entirely bewildered her. In his
person she saw only one of those from whose hands she had so recently
escaped, and her shrieks and implorations were agonising to hear. To
relieve her he quitted the ruin; and before he was many hundred yards
from it had the pain of seeing her on the far side of it hobbling fast
towards the cover of the adjoining wood for concealment. He walked to
his quarters in a miserable and dejected mood; and as he passed an
open church which had apparently been occupied by Parliamentary
soldiers, he went in for a moment. It was empty: the tombs and
monuments had been broken and their inscriptions defaced: not a pane
of glass in the tall windows had escaped destruction: a painting over
the altar had been hacked to pieces; and, as if in mockery, the tables
of God’s commandments were left on either side plainly legible, and
above, in the midst, might be seen, in letters of gold, the words of
that message of mercy which the angels of God sang to the shepherds
keeping watch by night, when they announced the advent of
Messiah,--_Peace on earth,--good will towards man_.