more than another, for innocence and misfortune, let that one be
Mary Evelyn! Let angels guard her, under the direction of her
sainted father. Send peace to her sorrows. Let thy balm drop into
every wound, thou gracious Being.”
“Amen,” responded the miller and his wife.
And surely God himself repeated the same Amen; for a sweet
beauty, shining in quiet happiness, rested upon the features of
the sleeping one. Montressor pointed to her, whilst he said in
anguish,--
“And should she wander in her mind, oh, soothe her. When she
awakens, tell her that I am safe, and that soon I am here again.
One kiss more, my Mary.”
Hans conducted him down to the pass, and soon the sound of the
horse’s hoofs were unheard in the distance. The moon was shining
brightly.
“Never,” said Hans, “were the rays so sweet here before. And well
may they, such a beautiful face lies in our house!”
* * * * *
The weary months of winter passed on, and Mary Evelyn was a gentle
maniac. Unremitting were the attentions of her humble friends, but
she heeded them not. She was always, when awake, playing with the
counterpane of her little bed; starting up, and shrieking in her
sport.
“Arthur Montressor,” she would say, “why do you go forth alone
to gather flowers for me? Must I not accompany you, and gather
the most beautiful for your own auburn locks? Ah! there is an old
venerable man enters. How beautiful are those white locks, and that
meek, meek face. Go, Arthur. I must stay here, alone, with the
headless man! headless, look at him,--gory neck! Ha, ha!”
Spring came, and the good dame brought flowers and strewed them
upon the pillow. They were steeped in the morning’s dew, and as
Mary applied them to her burning forehead, and parched lips, she
smiled and seemed to be pleased. But she played with them, and
their heads came off.
“Yes, yes,--he was beheaded!”
After this she daily became calmer, until she was herself again;
the beautiful and blushing Mary Evelyn. Yet, think not that the
madness had departed! Reason is like a mirror; break it,--you may
replace the fragments,--still it is broken. She loved to wander
forth along the glen, or into the cave. Her soul was like a harp,
which every spirit of Nature could touch. Madness had sublimed many
a thought and feeling, until they seemed to hold converse with
the spiritual world.--Nature is more personal than is generally
thought. She has a soul as well as senses. The latter are the
pleasant sights, the sweet fragrance, and the music of voices,
but the soul of Nature is that deep internal working every where,
whose will operates upon the senses. Have we not felt the throbbing
of its pulse of life, and can she live without a soul? Nature,
therefore, is earth’s best comforter to the lonely, because she
feels and acts--a free agent.
Mary Evelyn could now also enjoy the conversation of the miller and
his wife.
“Miss Evelyn,” Hans once in good humour remarked, “we thought that
you never would speak to us. But, as my mother used to observe,
‘persons may carry an egg long in their pocket, and break it at
last.’”
Whenever Miss Evelyn wished to be alone, she could retire to her
own little apartment, which opened into the back of the glen, or
wander into the cave, where the various sounds of the brook falling
amidst the rocks and cavities, and the notes of the birds, whose
nests were there, beguiled her melancholy.
Meanwhile active hostilities between the King and Parliament had
commenced. The sword had been unsheathed, and blood was already on
its edge. Counter acts, threats, and impeachments, ceased, and the
field was taken. Lancashire, echoing the voice of Lord Strange,
declared for Charles, and engaged in the struggle. A few of the
principal towns had been seized upon, and held by the Royalists, in
spite of the assaults of the Parliamentary forces; but the latter,
under the command of the most able generals, and fresh with the
enthusiasm of a new-born liberty, were soon to be successful.
The inmates of Dunald Mill were not altogether ignorant of these
troublous times. The clapper made a constant noise, and Rachel’s
speech, of which she naturally had a great fluency, was incessant:
still, these combined agencies could not deafen their ears to all
the reports. On the sabbath, when they repaired to Lancaster,
although it was the day of peace, there were no subjects of
conversation afloat, except rumours of war. In the church, many a
seal had the parson opened, amidst thunderings and lightnings, and
black horses, and white horses, and red horses, and riders bearing
bows, conquering and to conquer, had spurred forth. Then he would,
from Scripture prophecy, delineate the character of the opposite
leaders in the war. When Lord Strange planted the royal standard in
the county, the parson’s text was, “Who is this that cometh from
Edom?” Edom, he very judiciously considered, as synonymous with
Lathom, the family seat of his lordship. When Oliver Cromwell was
reported to be marching into Lancashire, at the head of a body of
men, whom he had himself levied and disciplined, he travelled into
the Apocalypse, and gave out the following;--“And they had tails
like unto scorpions, and there were stings in their tails, and
their power was to hurt men, five months. And they had a king over
them, who is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the
Hebrew tongue is Abaddon.”
“Abaddon!” the parson exclaimed. “Yes, Cromwell is a bad un, a
thorough bad un!”
Often did he descend into the valley of vision, and take a view of
the dry bones; or enter the field of battle called Armageddon. He
would then pray, and the clerk held up his hands and stayed them,
lest Amalek might prevail. And truly for the length of an hour
he prayed, as some of the dissolute Royalists remarked, without
ceasing or sneezing. Alas! cavalier parsons could quote and apply
Scripture language as ludicrously and blasphemously as roundhead
ranters!
Thus, war had lately been the constant theme. It seemed to be
pleasant to Miss Evelyn; and when all the tender and the beautiful
of her sex were imploring success on the handsome king, she
supplicated a blessing upon the arms of the fierce republicans, and
when news came of victory on the side of the Royalists, the cloud
which passed over her brow betokened that she considered herself
as one of the vanquished.
One Sunday morning, Hans, after donning his holiday attire, entered
the little room in front, where they generally sat together, and
found his wife and Miss Evelyn unprepared to attend him to church.
“So, Rachel, you intend to preach at home?”
“Yea, Hans,” was the reply, “my lady and I have agreed to stay at
Bethel, and not go up to Zion. It is not safe for females to travel
in such dangerous times. Nor can I enjoy the privileges of Zion at
present. Whenever I enter the church, my thoughts are disquieted
within me. It is so near the castle, and I think more of cannons
and soldiers, than any thing else. Nor is the parson clothed with
salvation, he speaks always of war. God will indeed make this a
Bethel, and Rachel Skippon shall sing aloud for joy.”
“Yes, my dear friends,” said Mary Evelyn with enthusiasm, “how
delightfully shall we spend the Sabbath! the little glen behind,
shall be our church, where no roof but that canopy above, can
intercept our ascending praise. The flowers shall be our hymn
books. Nay, nay, they whisper of a Creator, but not of a Saviour.
Even the lilies which he pointed out so beautifully when on earth,
are silent of Him! How calm is every object around! In what a holy
and sabbath repose do the rays fall, as if they were the feet of
angels, dancing so lightly upon our earth!”
“Yes,” replied Hans, in true christian feeling, “the sabbath was
made for man, and not man for the sabbath. Take away this day,
and we could not tell what heaven is. And yet that profane prince
proclaimed sports thereon, and appointed that his book should be
laid on the pulpit, along with the book of life. But, I must away
to the public ordinances. Should war come to Lancaster, which side
must I fall into? Alas, Evelyn speaks so beautifully of the holy
puritans, who hate a tyrant over their consciences, that for some
time I have ceased to pray for him who is called King.”
“Hans,” replied the dame, with some warmth, “if I thought you could
be so foolish as to take the sword, as truly as I live, I would
this moment disable you from leaving the house. But you could not
mean this;--no, no. Well, you can go, and to entice you home,
I shall prepare some savoury meat, such as thy soul loveth, of
which you may eat in abundance, and praise the Lord. Wont you bid
farewell to your wife?”
She threw her arms around his neck, but the old man seemed offended.
“Do you intend to disable me?” he asked, as he put her arms from
about him. “Thirty-five long years have I lived with you, and
never listened to such language. But since you have become Job’s
wife, I must be Job, and shew patience. Come, wife, kiss me,”
and he gave a loud and hearty laugh, which he suppressed when he
remembered that it was the sabbath.
“Fie, fie, Hans, to speak of kissing before a young lady! It is
unseemly.”
“Verily, dame, Miss Evelyn knew what kissing meant before. She
blushes--Good morning, Miss Evelyn. Good morning, dame. Hush, just
one, do not make a disturbance; it is the sabbath.”
The miller walked up the glen, and soon gained the highway. At
every step he beheld proofs of the bad effects of the “Book of
Sports.” No crowds were to be seen moving to church, but they were
loitering by the way, engaged in mirth and games.
“Ha!” exclaimed Hans, as he beheld an old man tottering on before
him,--“who can this be? I should know his gait, but then, his
apparel is changed. It is old Sir Robert; but before, he was always
dressed as a gay cavalier.”
The old knight turned round. His white locks hung over a
plain-fashioned coat, and his hat was stripped of the proud plume
which he had once sported. His age might be seventy, although his
face was rosy.
“Well, well, good miller,” he kindly said, “art thou alone also? I
left my beloved daughters at home, for I am fearful of the times.”
“You have nothing to fear, Sir Robert,” replied the miller, “in
Lancaster, since you are a Royalist.”
“A Royalist!” echoed the knight, and he shook his head. “Not much
of that now; no, no. The king has become a tyrant, and I disown his
cause. A gallant nephew of mine, a roundhead by principle, in a
battle of last month, was made prisoner, and the king gave him no
quarter--but death!”
“The taking away of life,” rejoined the miller, “Charles seems to
consider as his kingly prerogative.”
“His turn will come at last, Republicans say it _shall_, Death says
it _will_. And what is a King? The meanest beggar. The poor man may
only have one morsel of bread,--the king demands the half of it,
and he is not frightened, for all his pride, and by his thoughts of
dirt and scab to eat it. He,--a great man! Go to the treasury, and
there you will see the widow’s mite, and the starving man’s alms!
and Charles puts forth his white hand and takes them!”
“Yea, truly,” said Hans, “I am more independent in my cottage,
than Charles in his palace. I earn my bread by labour, but he just
puts on a few robes which we have all patched up with our own rags,
blows a whistle which we have bought for him, and plays with a toy
which he calls a sceptre, and for all this he receives his million.”
“Nay, good friend, you scorn a king too much. A king _can_ work,
and deserve all his salary, by ruling well, and peaceably. But as
for Charles, he has taken the sword against that country, which he
solemnly swore to protect. He sets his royal head up against all
the sage senators of the nation. One man laughs at a Parliament!
If his father deserved the name of Solomon,--Charles has much more
justly earned that of Rehoboam: for under him all the tribes of
Israel have revolted. He has bound on the nation, grevious burdens,
which cannot be borne, and which he himself could not move, even
with his little finger. And as for my poor Lord Strange--of the
Derby race--why he’s a black hearted Papist. Were Cromwell to
sweep down upon him, the vain nobleman would gladly hie away to
the Isle-of-man. I wish no evil to him, but merely pray ‘the Lord
rebuke him!’ would that the Eagle which brought a child to the
family, were again to descend and take this _child_ wheresoever he
lists!”
They walked on together. As they entered Lancaster, they were
struck at the unusual stillness and quiet of the streets. There
were no games and sports. The doors were shut, and no longer were
children sitting on the thresholds. The town seemed deserted,
until they came to the church gates, where crowds had assembled,
all in earnest conversation. The venerable structure arising to the
morning rays from the green hill, near to the castle, seemed like
an angel pleading against the uses and employments of the other.
They are both, evidently, of the same high antiquity, and standing,
also, upon romantic elevations, it might be imagined that they had
been founded to oppose each other. The parson, in one of his just
similies, had called the mount of the castle--Sinai, of which the
flashes and reports of the cannon were thunders and lightnings;
whilst he designated the mount of the church--Zion--where his own
notes were the still small whisperings of mercy, to listen unto
which the assembled tribes came up.
The crowds were gazing intently upon the castle, where the
sentinels had been doubled. A few were gay, and vapoured out jests
against the enemy, in the cavalier style of affected blasphemy and
dissipation.
“So,” said one whose hat was shaped in the fashion of one of the
turrets of the castle, high and tapering, but foppishly off the
true perpendicular, and who was lord of a neighbouring mansion,
“those cannons peer out from the loopholes in front like the
piercing eyes of a buxom damsel at the window, ogling and smiling.
They’ll riddle the breeches of the enemy. The governor assured
me, yesterday, that as the roundheads are so fond of Scripture,
whenever they come, he shall put a whole Bible in the mouth of the
cannon, thus to quiet them in the name of the Lord, and give them
holy promise, precept, and threat, line upon line, all at once.
They shall be left to digest them at their leisure.”
“Good, good, ha, ha,” replied a neighbour cavalier, “but then it
will scarcely be the Book of Life, you know.”
“Nay,” was the rejoinder, “you are out there. Come, let us reason
together. The Bible is the sword of the Spirit, it can kill,
especially if it were bound in a lead case, and thrown with fury.
It is the savour of death unto death, as they themselves would say.
Savour! aye there will be a pretty strong savour of powder on its
pages! Nol himself, although he had three warts at the end of his
nose, instead of one at the side, would smell it!”
“Could not the Royal Book of Sports,” slily said Sir Robert with a
smile of scorn on his aged features, “of which his present Majesty
has printed a new edition, be substituted in its place?”
“Good,” was the reply, “most excellent! Eh? would it not make
rare _sport_ amongst the roundheads? It would verily enforce them
to join in a few games, such as dancing till they fell down. But,
old knight, be on your guard how you recommend that measure again.
It has been seconded and carried by a majority of affirmatives in
parliament with this amendment, of being burnt by the hands of the
common hangman, instead of being vomited forth by the cannon.”
“See,” whispered the knight to the miller. “Parliament does its
duty nobly, by purging itself from that mass of pollution. I
attempted to do my duty when the king wrote it, and it nearly cost
me my head. The crowned fool fumed like the smoke of that tobacco
against which he blew ‘A Royal Blast.’”
The church was crowded, and many were obliged to stand, for lack
of better accommodation. A few soldiers from the castle took their
place in the aisles, and during the reading of prayers, at every
Amen pronounced by the clerk, and responded to by the congregation,
they clashed their sheathed swords on the echoing pavement, and
then laughed to each other.
The parson arose to commence his discourse. His face had got a
rueful longitude, which assisted him to read his text with becoming
effect.
“And there shall be rumours of wars.”
His divisions, theologically speaking, were striking and
impressive. He mentioned, in regular succession, all the rumours
which had been afloat!
“First, my brethren, when I was in the neighbourhood of Manchester,
the skies had darkened, and all was still around, when I heard a
warlike drum. But greater woes were to succeed,--and I fled.”
He had proceeded through the divisions, and had come to the last.
“Lastly, my brethren,”--
He was interrupted by a loud report of a cannon fired from the
castle. All sprung to their feet. The soldiers rushed to the gate.
“Lastly, my brethren,--there is the cannon bringing rumours of
wars.”
His voice was drowned by another and another awful peal rumbling
over the church.
“The enemy! the enemy!” was the general cry. Hans was borne
irresistibly along with the crowd to the castle; and from its
ramparts they beheld a strong body of troops encamping at the
distance of a few miles.
The governor of the castle stood with his glass. After gazing
long and anxiously, he exclaimed, “Soldiers, haste, prepare for a
siege. The enemy will be strait upon us. They are Oliver Cromwell’s
troops.”
“The cry was raised by the multitude, ‘Oliver Cromwell!’”
What terror seized even the bravest royalist at that plain name!
The military cleared the court of the frightened citizens, and all
the gates and avenues were strongly barricaded. The royal banner
was unfurled amid the shouts of the inhabitants, who now resolved
to rally.
“We are safe for one day,” exclaimed some. “Cromwell was never
known to be such a ruffian as to commence an attack, much less a
siege, on the Lord’s day.”
The miller, along with the knight, as speedily as possible
retreated to the extremity of the town, and proceeded homeward.
Sir Robert Bradley’s mansion was near the romantic vale of
Lonsdale. He was not a native of the county, but had retired there
after a life spent at the court of James, when he observed that
that sovereign’s successor, although young and inexperienced, could
not brook anything but honied words, and pleasant flattery, from
his councillors; and that to be faithful was to make him their
enemy. Nursed by two lovely and affectionate daughters, he enjoyed
a peaceful happiness he had never known amidst all the bustle,
intrigue, and rivalry of his younger days.
A few weeks ago, his nephew, who had joined the Parliamentary
troops, without his consent, and against his expressed wish, had
been captured in the field of battle, and the fate decreed by the
king, was death. The old knight had cursed the youthful roundhead,
but now, even more than his ancient fondness had returned for his
brother’s son, whom he had educated from a boy; and an uncle’s
blessing was given to the memory of the dead, whilst he imprecated
vengeance on the king. But there was one of the family to whom the
tidings came a darker message, and a more bitter loss. Not only
were the hopes, but the very existence of that one--dependant.
Sweet Madeline Bradley, the knight’s younger daughter, had been
betrothed to her cousin from childhood. They had tripped the same
path in the vale many a morn; and as many an eve they had bent to
unbuckle the old man’s shoes, their loving hands touching each
other, and their luxurious tresses failing together. And when
Madeline grew up into beautiful womanhood, when love mingles with
awe and worship, bashfulness and timidity only served to explain
their intimacy better. When she heard of his death, she started
not. Amidst the tears of her sister Sarah, and the grief of her
father for him who had been the family’s favourite, she wept not
for him who had been her lover. She raved not. Sir Robert thought
that she bore it lightly, till one evening at sunset, about a week
after the mournful news had been told her, he was seated in the
arbour. He heard a light step approaching, and then a low sweet
voice, as if afraid to be heard, making such a request, breathed
its silvery accents.
“Cousin, the night is so beautiful. Come, let us to the vale, if
you would rather not be alone, Cousin.”
And when her father stepped forth, the truth came to her
remembrance. Still she fainted not; but she became deadly pale, and
leaned for support against the young trees at the entrance. Alas!
her’s was a broken heart, although unknown; and the knight as he
blessed her in fondness at every return of the hour of rest, might
have read something in her deep blue eyes, raised so earnestly,
that would have told him that she was not certain whether she could
awake for him any more. With what regret she then parted from him!
She followed him to the door of his sleeping apartment, that a
latest farewell might be allowed. But the good knight saw not the
awful progress that death was making.
The miller and the knight, on their way home, conversed about the
arrival of the enemy.
“My good friend,” said Sir Robert, “trust me, that if the troops
be headed by Cromwell, the Governor of Lancaster Castle may yield
at discretion. What a deep, a burning enthusiasm, there is in that
wonderful man, although he be turned on the wrong side of forty! I
cannot but believe that it is the fire of heaven.”
“Verily,” replied Hans Skippon, “it will soon destroy the temples
of Baal. But here is the footpath leading to my quiet cottage. God
grant that the soldiers be not near it.”
They parted. The miller, on entering into the wide glen, started
as he beheld the roundhead soldiers there encamped. They were
engaged in religious services. A solemn hush, disturbed alone by
the shrill notes of the curlew and the plover, as they arose from
the long tufted grass, was over the band as they listened to the
exhortations of one of their preachers, who stood on a mass of grey
rock. Hans was inclined to join them in their sabbath employments,
but he dreaded lest he should be retained by them, and pressed
into their lists, although he might have been free from all fears
upon the latter point, as he would have been no acquisition to
the disciplined veterans of Cromwell. He, accordingly, avoided
them by a circuitous rout, on the back of a neighbouring hill, and
without hindrance or obstruction, at length reached his cottage.
He paused at the door. He heard a stranger’s voice. It was low and
husky;--but, unaccountably, by its very tones, he was spell-bound,
and compelled to listen.
“Maiden,” were the words, “thy sorrows and thy history, are those
of our mother country. I know that thou wert formed by God for
happiness, and was not England? Now she is bowed in the dust,--but
there is an outstretched rod for the oppressor, and an outstretched
arm of deliverance for the oppressed. Both gleam from the clouds of
her adversity, and soon, soon they reach those for whom they are
destined! Liberty cannot die while man has one heart-string. My
maiden, cheer is for thee. Thy father lost his head, sayest thou?
Others may lose theirs also.”
Hans, after these words were uttered, turned the latch, and walked
in. At the little window a soldier, not in the uniform of an
officer, but well accoutred, was sitting. He was gazing upon the
vale without, and his dark grey eye glowed, as it moved restlessly
on all the objects. The features were not finely formed: indeed,
they might be called coarse, though not plain, for a wild power
was expressed. From his broad and prominent forehead, the light
red locks were put back. His countenance, one moment, was so calm
and sanctified, that he might have been set down as a preacher of
the gospel: but the next, it was so troubled and fiery, that he
appeared a fierce and ambitious warrior.
Although his eye seemed upon the full stretch of resolution and
thought, his hand was placed softly upon the bending head of Mary
Evelyn, whom he had, evidently, been attempting to console. Old
Rachel was seated at a short distance from him, with a bible
in her hand, but many a look was stolen from its pages to the
countenance of the stranger. Her ears caught the sounds of her
husband’s footsteps.