Chapter II: Part 2

The boy's first instructor was the old curate of the Chapel, who taught him his Church Catechism and his latin grammar. This man appears to have been one of those ministers so despised by the Puritans as "mere grammar scholars," who knew better how to read a homily than to make a sermon; yet John Inglesant learnt of him more good lessons than he did, as he himself owned, afterwards from many popular sermons; and in his old age he acknowledged that he believed the only thing that had kept him back in after years, and under great temptations, from formally joining the communion of the Church of Rome, was some faint prejudice, some lingering dislike, grounded on the old man's teaching. Other teachers, of a different kind, the child had in plenty. The old servants who still remained in the house; the woodsmen and charcoal burners; the village girls whom the housekeeper hired from year to year at Malmsbury fair; the old housekeeper who had been his mother's maid, and whom the boy looked on as his mother, and who could coax him to her lap when he was quite a tall boy, by telling him stories of his mother; one or two falconers or huntsmen who lingered about the place, or watched the woods for game for the gentry around. When he was ten years old, in 1632, the curate of the Chapel died; and Mr. Inglesant did not at once replace him, for reasons which will appear presently. John led a broken scholastic life for a year, going to school when it was fine enough to make a pleasant walk attractive to ----, where the Vicar taught some boys their grammar and latin Terence in the Church itself; and where there was a tradition that the great antiquary, Master Camden, Clarencieux King of Arms, coming on his survey to examine the Church, found him, and spoke to him and his scholars. At the end of a year, however, his father coming into the country, arranged for him to go to school at Ashley, where he was to stay in the house with the Vicar, a famous schoolmaster in the west country. This gentleman, who was a delicate and little person, and had an easy and attractive way of teaching, was a Greek scholar and a Platonist, a Rosicrucian and a believer in alchemy and astrology. He found in little Inglesant an apt pupil, an apprehensive and inquisitive boy, mild of spirit, and very susceptible of fascination, strongly given to superstition and romance: of an inventive imagination though not a retentive memory; given to day dreaming, and,--what is more often found in children than some may think, though perhaps they could not name it,--metaphysical speculation. The Vicar taught his boys in the hall of his Vicarage--a large room with a porch, and armorial bearings in the stained glass in the windows. Out of this opened a closet or parlour where he kept his books, and in this he would sit after school was over, writing his learned treatises, most of which he would read to John Inglesant, some of them in latin. This, with his readings in Plato, assisted by his eager interest, gave John, as he grew older, a considerable acquaintance with both languages, so that he could read most books in either of them, and turn over the remnants of the old world learning that still remained in the Prior's Library, with that lazy facility which always gives a meaning, though often an incorrect one--not always a matter of regret to an imaginative reader, as adding a charm, and, where his own thought is happy, a beauty. Here he imbibed that mysterious Platonic philosophy, which--seen through the reflected rays of Christianity--becomes, as his master taught him, in some sort a foreshadowing of it, as the innocent and heroic life of Socrates, commended and admired by Christians as well as heathens, together with his august death, may be thought, in some measure, to have borne the image of Christ; and, indeed, not without some mystery of purpose, and preparation of men for Christianity, has been so magnified among men. Here, too, he eagerly drank in his master's Rosicrucian theories of spiritual existences; of the vital congruity and three several vehicles of the soul; the terrestrial, in which the soul should be so trained that she may stay as short a time as possible in the second or aerial, but proceed at once to the third, the etherial, or celestial; "that heavenly chariot, carrying us, in triumph, to the great happiness of the soul of man." Of the aerial genii, and souls separate, and of their converse with one another, and with mankind. Of their dress, beauty, and outward form; of their pleasures and entertainments, from the Divinest harmony of the higher orders, who, with voices perfectly imitating the passionate utterance of their devout minds, melt their souls into Divine Love, and lose themselves in joy in God; while all nature is transformed by them to a quintessence of crystalline beauty by the chemical power of the spirit of nature, acting on pure essences. Of the feastings and wild dances of the lower and deeply lapsed, in whom some sad and fantastic imitation of the higher orders is to be traced; and of those aerial wanderers to whom poetical philosophers or philosophical poets have given the rivers and springs--the mountains and groves; with the Dii Tutelares of cities and countries; and the Lares familiares, who love the warmth of families and the homely converse of men. These studies are but a part of the course of which occult chemistry and the lore of the stars form a part; and that mysterious Platonism which teaches that Pindar's story of the Argo is only a secret recipe for the philosopher's stone; and which pretends that at this distance of time the life of Priam can be read more surely in the stars than in history.

More than three years passed in these pursuits, when Inglesant,--now a tall, handsome, dreamy-looking boy of fourteen, was suddenly recalled to Westacre by his father, who had unexpectedly arrived from London. His master, who was very fond of him, gave him many words of learned advice; for he expected, as proved to be the case, that his school-days--at least as far as he was concerned,--were ended. He concluded with these words:--

"I have done my best to show you those hidden truths which the heathen divines knew as well as we; how much more, then, ought we to follow them, who have the light of Christ! Do not talk of these things, but keep them in your heart; hear what all men say, but follow no man: there is nothing in the world of any value but the Divine Light,--follow it. What it is no man can tell you; but I have told you many times, and you know very well it is not here nor there, as men shall tell you, for all men say they have it who are ignorant of its very nature. It will reveal itself when the time shall come. If you go to the Court, as I think you will, attach yourself wholly to the King and the Church party, the foundations of whose power are in the Divine will. I foresee dark clouds overhanging the Church, but let not these affright you; behind, the Divine Light shineth--the Light that shineth from the hill of God. I have taught you to clear your soul from the mists of carnal error, but I have never told you to act freely in this world: you are not placed here to reason (as the sectaries and precisians do), but to obey. Remember it is the very seal of a gentleman--to obey: remember the Divine words of Plato, in the Crito, when Socrates was about to suffer; how he refused, when urged, to break those laws under which he was falsely condemned. Let those words ring in your ears as they did in his; so that, like the worshippers of Cybele, who heard only the flutes, you shall hear nothing but the voice of God, speaking to you in that rank in which He has placed you, through those captains whom He has ordained to the command. Whenever--and in whatever place--the Divine Light shall appear to you, be assured it will never teach you anything contrary to this."

There was no horse sent for John, but he was obliged to ride in an uncomfortable manner before the serving man who was sent to fetch him; children, and especially younger sons, being treated as little better than servants, and they were indeed often tyrannised over by the latter. When he reached Westacre, he was told his father was in one of the rooms in the new wing of the house, and on entering, he found him in company with three other persons. One of these was the newly appointed curate of the Church, whom Johnny had never yet seen; the other was a fine, handsomely dressed man, with a lofty, high-bred look, and in the window was a beautiful boy of about John's own age, in the costly dress of a page. Inglesant knew that this must be his brother Eustace; and after humbly receiving his father's rather cold greeting, he hastened to embrace him, and he returned the greeting with warmth. But his father immediately presented him to the gentleman who stood by him; telling him that this gentleman would probably spend some time at Westacre, and that it was chiefly that he should attend him, that he had sent for him home; charging him, at the same time, to serve and obey him implicitly, as he would his father or the King.

"He is a mere country lad," he said, "very different from his brother, but he is young, and may be useful in after days."

The gentleman looked at Johnny kindly, with a peculiar expression which the boy had never before seen, penetrating and alluring at the same time.

"He is, as you say, Esquire, a country lad, and wants the fine clothes of my friend the page, nevertheless he is a gallant and gentle boy, and were he attired as finely, would not shame you, Mr. Inglesant, more than he does. And I warrant," he continued, "this one is good at his books."

And sitting down, he drew Johnny on his knee, and taking from his pocket a small book, he said: "Here, my friend, let us see how you can read in this."

It was the Phaedo of Plato, which Johnny knew nearly by heart, and he immediately began, with almost breathless rapidity, to construe with, here and there, considerable freedom, till the gentleman stopped him with a laugh. "Gently, gently, my friend. I saw you were a scholar, but not that you were a complete Platonist! I fear your master is one who looks more to the Divine sense than to the grammar! But never mind, you and I shall be much together, and as you are so fond of Plato, you shall read him with me. You shall go to your brother, who, if he cannot read 'In Phaedone,' can tell you many wonderful things of the Court and the city that no doubt you will hear very gladly;" and letting Johnny go, he turned to his father, saying, in an undertone, which, however, the boy heard; "The lad is apt, indeed! more so than any of us could have dreamt; no fitter soil, I could wager, we could have found in England!"

Johnny went to his brother, and they left the room together. The two boys,--as the two children had been,--were remarkably alike; the more so as this likeness of form and feature, which to a casual observer appeared exact, was consistent with a very remarkable difference of expression and manner--the difference being, as it were, contained in the likeness without destroying it. Their affection for each other, which continued through life, was something of the same nature, arising apparently from instinct and nature, apart from inclination. Their tastes and habits being altogether different, they pursued their several courses quite contentedly, without an effort to be more united, but once united, or once recalled to each other's presence or recollection even in the most accidental manner, they manifested a violent and overpowering attachment to each other. On the present occasion they wandered through the gardens and neighbourhood of the Priory; and as the strange gentleman had foretold, Johnny took the greatest interest in the conversation of his brother, whom, indeed, he both now and afterwards most unfeignedly admired, and to whose patronage he invariably submitted with perfect satisfaction. Eustace, who had lately been admitted one of the junior supernumerary pages to the King, talked incessantly of the King's state and presence chamber, of the yeomen of the guard, of the pageants and masques, and of banquets, triumphs, interviews, nuptials, tilts, and tournaments; the innumerable delights of the city; of the stage players, tumblers, fiddlers, inn-keepers, fencers, jugglers, dancers, mountebanks, bear-wardens; of sweet odours and perfumes, generous wines, the most gallant young men, the fairest ladies, the rarest beauties the world could afford, the costly and curious attire, exquisite music, all delights and pleasures which, to please the senses, could possibly be devised; galleries and terraces, rowing on the Thames, with music, on a pleasant evening, with the goodly palaces, and the birds singing on the banks.

All this Johnny listened to with admiration, and made little reply to his brother's disparaging remarks on the miserable life he had led in the country, or to his sage advice to endeavour, by some means, to come to London to the Court.

Johnny remembered his master's counsel, and was silent on his own pleasures and pursuits. His pleasant walks by the brook side, pleasant shade by the sweet silver streams, good air, and sweet smell of fine, fresh meadow flowers, his walks among orchards, gardens, green thickets, and such-like pleasant places, in some solitary groves between wood and water, meditating on some delightful and pleasant subject--he thought his brother would only ridicule these things. It is true the next day when they went to the Avon to see an otter hunted, Johnny occupied the foremost place for a time; he was known to the keepers, and to two or three gentlemen who were at the sport, and was familiar with the terms in tracing the mark of the otter, and following through all the craft of the hunting, tracing the marks in the soft and moist places to see which way the head of the chase was turned. He carried his otter spear as well as any of the company, while the hounds came trailing and chanting along by the river-side, venting every tree root, every osier bed and tuft of bulrushes, and sometimes taking to the water, and beating it like spaniels. But as soon as the otter, escaping from the spears, was killed by the dogs, or, having by its wonderful sagacity and craft avoided the dogs, was killed by the spears, Eustace assumed his superior place, coming forward to talk to the gentlemen, who were delighted with him, while Johnny fell back into the quiet, dreamy boy again.

The two brothers were left together for several days, their father, with the strange gentleman--whose name Eustace told Johnny was Hall--having departed on horseback, on a visit to a gentleman in Gloucestershire. Eustace observed great caution in speaking of Mr. Hall, telling Johnny he would know all about him soon from himself. The boys passed the time happily enough. Johnny's affection for his brother increased every day, and withstood not only Eustace's patronage, but--what must have been much more hard to bear--the different way in which the servants treated the two boys. Eustace, who, though only a few minutes older than his brother, was the heir, was treated with great deference and respect; which might possibly also be owing to his being a stranger and to his Court breeding. Johnny, on the contrary, though he was quite as tall as his brother, they treated like a child: the housekeeper took him up to bed when it pleased her; the old butler would have caned him without hesitation had he thought he deserved it; and the maids alternately petted and scolded him, the first of which was more disagreeable to him than the last. The hard condition of children, and especially of younger brothers, is a common theme of the writers of the period, and Johnny's experience was not different from that of others. His disposition, however, was not injured by it, though it may have made him still fonder of retirement and of day-dreaming than he would have been. This hard discipline made him resolve to be silent on those wonderful secrets and the learning that his master had taught him, and to meditate increasingly upon them in his heart. He delighted more and more in wandering by the river-side, building castles in the air, and acting an infinite variety of parts. When his brother left him, this became still more delightful to him, and but for other influences he might have gone on in this fascinating habit till he realised Burton's terrible description, and from finding these contemplations and fantastical conceits so delightful at first, might have become the slave of vain and unreal fancies, which may be as terrible and dismal as pleasing and delightful.

After about a fortnight's absence, Mr. Inglesant and Mr. Hall returned from their visit, or visits, for they appeared to have stayed at several places; and the next day Eustace and his father departed for London. His father displayed more affection than usual on leaving Johnny behind him, assuring him of his love, and that if he heard a good account of him from Mr. Hall, he should come up to London and see the Court. Eustace's grief at losing his brother again was much lessened by his joy at returning to his congenial life in London; but Johnny watched him from the old gatehouse in front of the Priory with a sad heart.

While he is standing looking after his father and brother, as they ride up the hill by the same path which the Prior came down that fine summer morning long years before, we will take a moment's time to explain certain events of which he was perfectly ignorant, but which were about to close about him and involve him in a labyrinth from which he may have been said never to have issued during his life. We call ourselves free agents;--was this slight, delicate boy a free agent, with a mind and spirit so susceptible, that the least breath affected them: around whom the throng of national contention was about to close; on whom the intrigue of a great religious party was about to seize, involving him in a whirlpool and rapid current of party strife and religious rancour? Must not the utmost that can be hoped,--that can be even rationally wished for--be, that by the blessing of the Divine guidance, he may be able to direct his path a little towards the Light?

The laws oppressing the Roman Catholics, which had been stringently enforced during the greater part of James's reign, had been considerably relaxed when he was negotiating with the Spaniards for the marriage of his son, and again on King Charles's marriage with Henrietta Maria of France. From that time greater and greater leniency was shown them, not only by the exertion of Catholic influence at Court, but also through Puritan jealousy; the juries refusing to punish Popish recusants, because Puritan separatists were included in the lists. Spasmodic exertions of severity were made from time to time by the King and the Church party; but, on the whole, the Papists enjoyed more and more liberty, especially between 1630 and 1640. Advantage was taken by the party of this freedom to the fullest extent; money was amassed abroad, an army of missionary priests poured into England, agents were sent from the Pope, and every effort made in every part of England to gain converts, and confirm uncertain members. Many Papists who had conformed to the authority of the English Church beginning to entertain hopes of the ultimate success of the old religion, fell away and became recusants--that is, ceased to attend their Parish Church. Mr. Inglesant, who--through all his life--had watched the progress of affairs with a careful and far-reaching penetration, had, from the first, been in communication with chiefs of the popish party; but he was far too important a friend where he was to allow of any change in his behaviour, and he still rigidly conformed to the Established Church. The Roman Catholics were divided into two parties, holding two opinions, which, under different aspects, actuate all religious parties at the present day. The one viewed the English Church and its leader Archbishop Laud with hatred, regarding him, and doubtless with great truth, as their most formidable opponent, as occupying a place in the country and in the allegiance of the majority of Englishmen which otherwise could only have been filled by the older Church: the other looking more at the resemblances between the two Churches, held the opinion that little was needed to bring the Established Church into communion and submission to the Papal See, and by that means, at once, and without trouble, restore the papal authority in England. The efforts of this party were of a more political nature than those of the other; they endeavoured to win over Archbishop Laud to a conference, and a Cardinal's hat was offered to him more than once. To this party Mr. Inglesant belonged. Occupying a neutral position himself, and possessed of the confidence of members of both Churches, he was peculiarly fitted for such negotiations, and was in constant communication with those Churchmen, very numerous at Court, and among the clergy and the country gentry, who were favourably disposed to the Papists, though at the same time sincere members of their own Church. The value of emissaries possessing in this way the confidence of Church people and Papists alike was so obvious, that Mr. Inglesant and his friends did all they could to add to their number, especially as they were not very easy to procure, great jealousy existing, among nearly all Church people, of any foreign or armed interference in England on the part of the Romanists, who were always suspected of such intentions. Mr. Inglesant, therefore, whom nothing escaped, had marked out his younger son's temperament as one peculiarly fitted to be trained for such a purpose, and had communicated this idea to his intimate associate among the Papists, Father Sancta Clara, as he was called, of an English family named St Clare, a Jesuit missionary priest who travelled in England under the name of Mr. Hall. The latter was a man of great influence, unbounded devotion to his order, and unflinching courage; a profound scholar, and, according to the knowledge of that day, a man of science, trained, indeed, in every variety of human learning, and taking advantage of every scrap of knowledge and information for the advancement of his purpose. Of elegant and fascinating manners, and accustomed to courtly life abroad, he was, perhaps, the most influential agent among the thousand mission priests at that time scattered through England. His time, of course, was fully taken up with his difficult embassy, but he was interested in the account Inglesant gave of his son; and the idea of training him to such usefulness in three or four years' time, when their plans might be expected to be ripe, commended itself exceedingly to his peculiar genius and habit of mind. He was at this time Superior over part of the south-west of England, and was much engaged among the gentry in those parts--a position of peculiar difficulty, as the people of the greater part of that district were strongly Puritan, and the gentry hostile to Rome. So secluded and convenient a position as Westacre Priory was exactly adapted to aid him in his mission, and he resolved to take up his quarters there, from whence he could, with great hopes of escaping observation, continue his work in the adjoining country. Mr. Inglesant, with an eye to such a contingency, had purposely omitted to appoint a chaplain at the Priory for some time, and now nominated a Mr. ----, a graduate of Oxford, a man who was "ex animo" a Papist, and who only waited a suitable time to declare himself one. The number of such men was very great, and they were kept in the English Church only by the High Church doctrines and ceremonies introduced by Archbishop Laud; affording one out of numberless parallels between that age and the present. It is perhaps not necessary to say more in this place to explain the presence of Mr. Hall (otherwise Father Sancta Clara) at Westacre, nor the future that lay before Johnny Inglesant as he stood by the gatehouse of the old Priory looking after his father and Eustace as they rode up the hill.

*CHAPTER III.*

Father Sancta Clara was obliged to remain quiet at Westacre for some time, and devoted himself entirely to gaining an influence over Johnny. Of course in this he was entirely successful. There was a good library, for that day, at the Priory; the Prior's old books were still on the shelves, and Richard Inglesant, who we have seen was a scholar, added largely to them, bringing all his books into the country when he came to live at Westacre. The difference between Johnny's former master and this present one was that between a theorist and dreamer and a statesman and man of the world and critical student of human nature. The Father made Johnny read with him every day, and by his wealth of learning and acquaintance with men and foreign countries, made the reading interesting in the highest degree. In this way he read the classics, making them not dead school books, but the most human utterances that living men ever spoke; and while from these he drew illustrations of human life when reading Plato--which he did every day--he led his pupil to perceive, as he did more fully when he grew older, that wonderful insight into the spiritual life and spiritual distinctions which even Christianity has failed to surpass. He led him, step by step, through that noble resolve by which Socrates--at frightful odds, and with all ordinary experience against him--maintains the advantage to be derived from truth; he pointed out to him the three different elements to be found in Plato: the Socratic or negative argument, simply overthrowing received opinion; the pseudo-scientific, to which Plato was liable from the condition of knowledge in his day; and, finally, the exalted flight of the transcendental reason, which, leaving alike the scepticism of the negative argument and the dreams of false science, flies aloft into the pure ether of the heavenly life. He read to him Aristophanes, pointing out in him the opposing powers which were at work in the Hellenic life as in the life of every civilised age. He did not conceal from him the amount of right there is on the popular side of plain common sense, nor the soundness of that fear which hesitates to overthrow the popular forms of truth, time-honoured and revealed, which have become in the eyes of the majority, however imperfect they may really be, the truth itself. Nor did he fail to show him the unsuitability of the Socratic argument to the masses of the people, who will stop at the negative part, and fail of the ethereal flight beyond; and he showed him how it might be possible, and even the best thing for mankind, that Socrates should die, though Socrates at that moment was the noblest of mankind: as, afterwards, though for a different reason, it was expedient that a nobler than Socrates should die for the people,--nobler, that is, in that he did what Socrates failed in doing, and carried the lowest of the people with him to the ethereal gates. And in this entering into sympathy with the struggle of humanity, he prepared his pupil to receive in after years (for it is a lesson that cannot be fully learned until middle life is approached) that kindly love of humanity; that sympathy with its smallest interests; that toleration of its errors, and of its conflicting opinions; that interest in local and familiar affairs, in which the highest culture is at one with the unlearned rustic mind.

The boy drank in all this with the greatest aptitude, and would have listened all day, but his tutor insisted on his taking his full amount of exercise, and himself commanded his admiration as much by skill in the sports of the field as by learning. He made no effort to draw his mind away from the English Church, farther than by giving him a crucifix and rosary, and teaching him the use of them, and pointing out the beauties of the Roman use; he even took pains to prevent his becoming attached to Popery, telling him that his father would not wish him to leave the Church of England; and though that Church was at present in schism, it would probably soon be reunited, and that meanwhile the difference was unimportant and slight. He knew, indeed, that from the excitable and enthusiastic nature of his pupil, if he once became attached strongly to Roman theology, all his use as a mediator between the two parties would at once be lost; and he therefore contented himself with securing his own influence over Johnny; which he accomplished to the most unlimited extent.

After certain preparations had been made, and some needful precautions taken, a great change took place in the life at Westacre Priory. Strangers were constantly arriving, stayed a few hours, and departed, mostly coming in the night, and leaving, also, after sunset. Several, however, remained a longer time, and took great pains to conceal themselves. They all had long interviews with the Father. Services were also performed in the Chapel, frequently in Latin. It was death to say mass in England, except in the Queen's Chapels at St. James's, at Somerset House, and at Woodstock, nevertheless mass was said in all parts of England, and it was said at Westacre. One night, after Johnny had been asleep for some hours, he was awakened by Father St. Clare, who told him to dress himself and come with him, and, at the same time, charged him never to tell any one what he might be about to see--an injunction which the boy would have died rather than disobey. The long streaks of the summer dawn stretched across the sky before them as they crossed the courtyard towards the Chapel, and the roofs stood out sharp and distinct in the dim, chill air. The Chapel was lighted, and on the white cloth of the altar were tapers and flowers. Half awake in the sweet fresh morning air, Johnny knelt on the cold flag stones of the Chapel and saw the mass. Strangers who had come to the Priory on purpose were present, and some gentlemen of the neighbourhood whom Johnny knew. It is strange that the Jesuit should have placed so much trust in the prudence and fidelity of a boy; but he probably knew his pupil, and certainly had no cause to repent. This was not the only time mass was said; for one winter night--or rather morning--an old peasant known in the neighbourhood as Father Wade had been to Marlborough wake, and being benighted, bethought himself of asking a lodging at the Priory, and approached it by a pathway from the east, which, crossing the meadows beyond the Chapel, came round to the gatehouse at the front. He, however, never reached the gate, and being found at home the next day, and questioned as to where he passed the night, he was at first evasive in his replies, but on being pressed, told a mysterious story of strange lights and shapes of men he had seen about the Priory; and approaching--he said--fearfully along the path, there, sure enough! were the old monks passing up in procession from the graveyard through the wall into the Chapel, as through a door; and he heard the long-remembered chanting of the mass, and saw the tapers shining through the east window, as he had seen them when a little boy.

This manner of life went on for about a year, at the end of which time Father St. Clare's absences became more frequent, and Johnny was left much alone. The Father's mission in the west of England was not prospering, for the very simple reason that he was too good for the work. As far as the duties of a Superior went, everything was satisfactory. The country was mapped out in districts, and emissaries were appointed to each; but for the peculiar mission of Father St. Clare--that of personal influence--there was no scope. It was the habit of the Jesuits, by the charms of their conversation and learning, by their philosophical theories, and in some cases by their original systems of science, to gain the confidence and intimacy of the highest both in station and intellect. And for this seed to spring up, there must be first a suitable soil for it to be sown in, and this soil was particularly scarce in Wiltshire. All the refinement and learning of Father St. Clare was thrown away upon the country squires; any boon companion would have influenced them quite as well. Becoming conscious of this, the Jesuit rode frequently to London, where work which required the highest skill and talent was going on; and in his absence Johnny was left very much to his own devices. During one of these absences a priest who had remained concealed several days at the Priory, and who had taken a fancy to the boy, gave him at parting, a little book, telling him to read it carefully, and it would be of use to him through life. It was entitled, "The Flaming Heart, or the Life of St. Theresa," of which a later edition, printed in 1642, was dedicated to Henrietta Maria. It opened a new world of thought to Johnny, who was now sixteen years of age, and he read it many times from beginning to end. A great deal of it was so strange to Inglesant, that he was repelled by it. The exaggeration of the duty of self-denial, the grotesque humility, the self-denunciation for the most trifling faults,--most of the details indeed appeared to him either absurd or untrue; but, running through all the book, the great doctrine of Divine Illumination fascinated him. The sublime but mysterious way of devotion pointed out in it, while quite different from anything he had previously heard of, was still sufficiently in accordance with the romantic habit of his mind, and with the mystic philosophy in which his old master had trained him, to cause him to follow it with an eager sympathy. The natural and inspired writings of the great mystics, indeed, breathe a celestial purity, entirely distinct from those of their inferior disciples, who brought down their spiritual system to earth and earthly purposes. The rest from individual effort, the calm after long striving, the secret joy in God, the acquiescing in His will, in which the true elevation of devotion lies, and which is not the effect of lively imaginations or of fruitful inventions--of these, all men are not capable, but all may reach the silent and humble adoration of God which arises out of a pure and quiet mind, just as when a man enters into an entire friendship with another; then the single thought of his friend affects him more tenderly than all that variety of reflections which may arise in his mind where this union is not felt. This inward calm and quiet in which men may in silence form acts of faith and feel those inward motions and directions which, as this book taught, follow all those who rise up to this elevation, and which lead them onward through the devious paths of this life,--what must this be but the Divine Light of which his old master had so often told him he was ignorant, but whose certain coming he had led him constantly to expect? Enticed by such thoughts as these, he passed the days, hardly knowing what he did; and wandered in this perplexed labyrinth without a guide. Without a guide! but this book of his told him of a guide--a spiritual guide!--nay, even recommended obedience and entire submission to this director; and dissuaded from self-confidence. Where, then, was this guide, to whom, in the midst of such spiritual light and life, and after such ecstatic visions, he should turn? The book said it was the priest--any priest would do--but still it was the priest. This seemed to John Inglesant, whose perceptions the Jesuit had sharpened, but whose unrestrained romance he had not crushed, to be very different from that Divine Light of which his master spoke, from that transcendental voice of the Platonic Reason speaking in the silence of the soul; nay, it seemed to him to be a fall even from the teaching of the book itself. Meditating on these things, Johnny thought he would visit his old master, to see what he had to say about this new doctrine.

It was a fine summer morning when he made the visit; he had a horse of his own now, and a servant if he chose, but he preferred to-day to go alone. He found Mr. ---- had discontinued his school, and was entirely buried in his books; only reading morning and evening prayers, and a homily, or one of his old sermons in the Church on Sundays. He never left his study on other days, except for a turn in his little garden. His house was by the wayside, with a small paved court before the hall; and by the side of this court, the garden, into which the window of the study, in a gabled wing adjoining the hall, looked towards the road. He was pleased to see Inglesant, though he very dimly remembered him, and questioned him of his studies. Johnny read him some Plato with the Jesuit's comments, of which the old gentleman took notes eagerly, and afterwards incorporated them in his book. The book he was writing was upon Talismanic figures, but he was not particular what he put into it; anything of an occult and romantic character being welcome, and introduced with not a little ingenuity. He had no sense nor understanding of anything else in the world but such subjects and his books; and being exceedingly infirm, he could scarcely lift some of the larger folios which lay heaped about him within reach. He blessed God that his eyesight was so good, and that he could still read Greek--the contracted Greek type of that day. After some conversation, Inglesant opened his mind to him, told him what he had been reading, and asked his opinion. The old scholar pricked up his ears, and set to work with great delight, taking notes all the time; and Johnny found, years afterwards, when he happened to read his book in London, that all he told him was introduced into it.

"I find nothing, my dear pupil," he said, "in the Christian Church, very old, concerning this doctrine--for that author who goes by the name of Dionysius the Areopagite is of far later date--but I will discover to you some mysteries concerning it, which, so far as I know, have never been brought to light by any man. I find the germ of this doctrine in those fragments of metaphysics which go under Theophrastus, his name; who was a disciple of Aristotle, and succeeded him in his school; and was an excellent philosopher, certainly, by the works by him which remain to this day. Here he says that the understanding joined to the body, can do nothing without the senses, which help it as far as they can to distinguish sensible things from their first causes, but that all knowledge and contemplation of the first causes must be by very touching and feeling of the mind and soul; which knowledge, thus gained, is not liable to error. Synesius, a man well known amongst scholars, being vexed that this new divinity began in his day to be in request amongst Christians; and some illiterate monks and others taking advantage of it to magnify ignorance, to bring themselves into repute--Synesius, I say, wrote that exquisite treatise, which he inscribed 'Dio,' to prove the necessity of human learning and philosophy to all who will contemplate high things with sobriety and good success. 'God forbid,' he says, 'that we should think that if God dwell in us, He should dwell in any other part of us than that which is rational, which is His own proper temple.'

"Now whether the writings of some ancient and later Platonists, Greeks and Arabs, Heathens and Mahometans be a sufficient ground and warrant for them that profess to ascribe more to the Scriptures, by which sobriety of sense is so much commended unto us, than to the opinions of heathen philosophers, I leave you to consider."

Then Inglesant left him, for he seemed more desirous to put ideas into his book than to impart them, and rode home across the downs. As he went, he overtook a gentleman riding an easy-going palfrey, whom he found to be one whom he knew; one, indeed, of those who had attended the early morning mass in the Chapel. This gentleman, who was one of those called Church Papists, that is, Papists who saved themselves from the charge of recusancy by sometimes attending their Parish Church, knowing Johnny, and placing faith in him, began at once to relate his troubles. He dwelt sadly on the fines he had to pay, and his difficulties in avoiding the communion at Easter; but his greatest troubles were caused by his wife, who was much more zealous than he was, and refused to go to Church once a month to keep off the Church-wardens. Her religion, indeed, was so costly to him, that he had rather have had a city lady with her extravagant dress. He was very particular in inquiring after Father St. Clare, and whether Inglesant knew of anything he was engaged in; but John could give him no information, not knowing anything of the Jesuit's plans. They were hard times, he said, for a good quiet subject who wished to live at peace with his King and with his clergyman; but what with the fear of the apparitor on one hand, and of his wife and her advisers among the Catholics on the other--he had a hard time of it. He was a cheerful man naturally, however, and leaving this discourse, which he thought would tire his companion, he entertained him for some time with the news of the country, of which he gathered great abundance in his rides. Among other things, he told him of a clergyman at a parish not far off, who, he said, must be a Catholic in his heart, for his piety was so great and his punctuality in reading common prayer, morning and evening in the Church alone in his surplice so regular, that--so the common report ran--he had brought down an angel from heaven, who appeared to him in the Church one evening, in the glow of the setting sun, and told him many wonderful and heavenly things. When the gentleman had related this, they came to the point where their roads parted, and he invited Johnny--for he was very courteous--to come on to his house, and sup with him. To this Inglesant consented, visits being a rare pleasure to him, and they rode together to the gentleman's house, which stood on the edge of the downs, with a courtyard and gatehouse before it, and at the back a fair hall and parlour, having a wide prospect over the valley and the distant view. Johnny was courteously received by the popish lady and her sister, who was devout and very pretty. The supper would have been very plain--the day being a fast--but the gentleman insisted on waiting while a rabbit was cooked for his friend; and when it came, he partook of it himself, in spite of his wife's remonstrances--out of courtesy to his guest, he said, and also to enable him to get over his next fine, which, he said, it ought to do. The ladies asked John Inglesant many questions about the Father, and what took place at the Priory; also about his brother the Page. This made him leave early, for though he knew nothing of any plots or treason, he was constantly afraid of saying something he ought not to do; nothing was said, however, about the morning mass, which was too serious a matter to be lightly spoken of.

As he rode away through the soft evening light, he thought so much of the story the gentleman had told him, that he made up his mind to ride to the village and see the clergyman whose goodness was so manifest and so rewarded. He, surely--if no one else could--would show him the true path of Devotion.

Two or three days afterwards he took the ride, and arrived at the small old Church at a very opportune moment, for the clergyman in his surplice was just going into it to read the evening prayers. Inglesant attended devoutly, being the only person present; for the sexton's wife, who rang the bell, did not consider that her duty extended farther. Prayers being over, the parson invited Johnny to supper--a much better one than he had had at the Papist's--and Inglesant stated his difficulties to him, and asked his advice. The Parson showed him several small books which he had written; one on bowing and taking off the hat at the name of Jesus; another on the cross in baptism, and kneeling at the communion; a third on turning to the east, which last appeared to be mostly quotations and enlargements from Dr. Donne; a fourth on the use of the surplice. He repudiated being popishly inclined; having disproved, he said, that any of these practices were popish, in all his books, all of which, as far as Johnny could see, displayed considerable ingenuity; and while he inserted many trivial and weak passages, he seemed to have been well read in the Fathers and other old authors, and to have been a loyal, honest, and zealous advocate, according to his capacity, of the Church of England. He evidently looked on forms and ceremonies with the greatest reverence, and was totally incapable of telling his visitor anything of that mystical life he was so anxious to realise. Johnny inquired about the angel, but his host, while not appearing displeased at the reports being spread abroad, professed to deny all knowledge of it, but in such a way as to make Inglesant think he would like to have acknowledged it, had he dared. He rode away disappointed, and began to think he must consult Father St. Clare; which, for some reason or other he had felt a disinclination to do.

While he was in this perplexity, he bethought himself of his first schoolmaster, the man who taught in the Church where Camden visited him. He had forgotten all about this man, except that he was of a mild and kind nature; but he was so anxious for direction that he went to him at once. This man had been very poor, and brought up a large family, all of whom, however, he had put forward in life, some at the University and the Church, and some among the clothiers and glove-makers at Malmsbury and the other towns of Wiltshire. Johnny found him living alone--for his wife was dead--in a small cottage no better than a countryman's, with a few books, which with his garden were all the wealth he possessed. He was a great herbalist, and famous in the country for his cures and for his sermons, though no two people could agree why they admired the latter; all uniting in considering him a simple and rather poor preacher. This Inglesant learnt from a countryman who walked at his horse's side as he came near the village; but when he found the old gentleman sitting on a bench before his study window, and he rose and met his look, Inglesant saw at once--thanks to the cultivation of his perception by the Jesuit's teaching--what it was that gained him the people's love. He had large and melting eyes that looked straight into the hearts of those who met him, as though eager to help them and do them good. He received Johnny with great kindness, though he had quite forgotten him, and did not even remember when he told him who he was. But when Inglesant, who found it very easy to speak to him of what had brought him there, told him of his difficulties, he listened with the greatest interest and sympathy. When he had finished speaking, he remained some minutes silent, looking across the garden where the hot mid-day air was playing above the flowers.