Chapter III: Part 3

"You have been speaking," he said at length, "of very high and wonderful things, into which, it would seem, even the angels dare not look; for we are, as would appear, taught in Scripture that it is in man's history that they see the workings of Divine Glory. And indeed, worthy Mr. Inglesant, when you have lived to the limit of my many years, you will not stumble at this; nor think this life a low and poor place in which to seek the Divine Master walking to and fro. These high matters of which you speak, and this heavenly life, is not to be disbelieved, only it seems to me--more and more--that the soul or spirit of every man in passing through life among familiar things is among supernatural things always, and many things seem to me miraculous, which men think nothing of, such as memory, by which we live again in place and time--and of which, if I remember rightly, for I am a very poor scholar, you doubtless know, St. Augustine says many pertinent things--and the love of one another, by which we are led out of ourselves, and made to act against our own nature by that of another, or, rather, by a higher nature than that of any of us; and a thousand fancies and feelings which have no adequate cause among outward things. Here, in this book which I was reading when you so kindly came to see me, are withered flowers, which I have gathered in my rambles, and keep as friends and companions of pleasant places, streams and meadows, and of some who have been with me, and now are not. There is one, this single yellow flower--it is a tormentilla, which is good against the plague--what is it, that, as I hold it, makes me think of it as I do? Faded flowers have something, to me, miraculous and supernatural about them; though, in fact, it is nothing wonderful that the texture of a flower being dried survives. It is not in the flower, but in our immortal spirit that the miracle is. All these delightful thoughts that come into my mind when I look at this flower--thoughts, and fancies, and memories--what are they but the result of the alchemy of the immortal spirit, which takes all the pleasant, fragile things of life, and transmutes them into immortality in our own nature! And if the poor spirit and intellect of man can do this, how much more may the supreme creative intellect mould and form all things, and bring the presence of the supernatural face to face with us in our daily walk! Earth becomes to us, if we thus think, nothing but the garden of the Lord, and every fellow-being we meet and see in it, a beautiful and invited guest; and, as I think I remember, many of the heathen poets, after their manner, have said very fine things about this; that we should rise cheerfully from this life, as a grateful guest rises from an abundant feast; and though doubtless they were very dark and mistaken, yet I confess they always seemed to me to have something of a close and entire fellowship with the wants of men, which I think the Saviour would have approved. If you, sir, can receive this mystery, and go through the honourable path of life which lies before you, looking upon yourself as an immortal spirit walking among supernatural things--for the natural things of this life would be nothing were they not moved and animated by the efficacy of that which is above nature--I think you may find this doctrine a light which will guide your feet in dark places; and it would seem, unless I am mistaken, that this habit of mind is very likely to lead to the blessedness of the Beatific Vision of God, on the quest of which you have happily entered so young: for surely it should lead to that state to which this vision is promised--the state of those who are Pure in Heart. For if it be true, that the reason we see not God is the grossness of this tabernacle wherein the soul is encased, then the more and the oftener we recognise the supernatural in our ordinary life, and not only expect and find it in those rare and short moments of devotion and prayer, the more, surely, the rays of the Divine Light will shine through the dark glass of this outward form of life, and the more our own spirit will be enlightened and purified by it, until we come to that likeness to the Divine Nature, and that purity of heart to which a share of the Beatific Vision is promised, and which, as some teach, can be attained by being abstract from the body and the bodily life. As we see every day that the supernatural in some men gives a particular brightness of air to the countenance, and makes the face to shine with an inimitable lustre, and if it be true that in the life to come we shall have to see through a body and a glass however transparent, we may well practise our eyes by making this life spiritual, as we shall have also to strive to do in that to which we go. My predecessor in this living, doubtless a very worthy man (for I knew him not), has left it recorded on his tombstone--as I will show you if you will come into the Church--that he was 'full of cares and full of years, of neither weary, but full of hope and of heaven.' I should desire that it may be faithfully recorded of me that I was the same!"

John went with him into the Church, and read the old vicar's epitaph, and several more--for he was very much taken with the old gentleman's talk, and indeed stayed with him the whole day: his host adding a dish of eggs and a glass of small beer to his daily very frugal meal. Johnny invited him to come to the Priory, and so left him, more pleased and satisfied with this than with any of his other visits. As he rode back through the darkening valley, and through the oak wood before the Priory gate, he little thought that not only should he not see the old Parson again, but that his quiet contemplative life was come to an end, and his speculations would now be chased away by a life of action; and for the future the decision, often to be made at once, as to what he ought to do, would appear of more consequence than that other decision, which had seemed to him, sometimes, the only important one, as to what it was right to think.

When he reached the Priory, he found the Jesuit had returned, and when at supper he inquired of Johnny if his ride had been a pleasant one, as the servant had told him he had been out since the morning, Johnny began at once, and told him all that had been passing in his mind since the priest had given him the book, and of all the directors he had sought for his guidance. Father St. Clare listened (though it may be doubted whether the recital was altogether agreeable to him) with great attention, and seemed pleased and amused at the boy's descriptions, which showed his pupil's fine perception of character.

"You have taken a wise course," he said, "which has led you to see much of the workings of the minds of men: this is the most useful study you can follow, and the most harmless to yourself, if you keep your own counsel, and gain knowledge without imparting it. I am glad you have told me all this, because it shows me I have not been deceived in you, but that the time is fully ripe for you to play the part your father and I have destined for you, and to play it--to great extent--alone. The day after to-morrow we shall go up to London; on the way, I will open to you the position of parties, the crisis of affairs--a position and a crisis such as never was before in this or any other country! You are very young, but you are years older in mind than most of your age, and your youth renders you all the more fit for the work I have for you to do. I trust you without reserve; I shall commit to your keeping secrets which would, if revealed, bring the highest heads in England, not to speak of my own, to the block. I have no fear of you."

Inglesant listened breathlessly and with open eyes to this address. It made his heart beat high with delight and excitement. Death--nay, the bitterest torture--would be nothing to him, if only he could win this man's approval, and be not only true but successful in his trust. His entire devotion to the Jesuit cannot be looked upon as anything wonderful, for the whole mental power of the latter, directed by the nicest art--a power and an art at that time not surpassed in Europe--had been directed to this end upon the boy's susceptible nature, and the result could not be doubtful.

The Jesuit might well say that the crisis was imminent, and the position of affairs peculiar. Plotters were at work in all directions, and for different ends; but the schemes of all miscarried, and the expectations of all proved to be miscalculations: those of the Roman Catholics--with whom St. Clare was associated--more than all. Their expectations were at the highest pitch. The Court influence was with them to a large extent. The Church of England was at its highest summit of glory and power, and its standing-point was almost their own. Laud was partly gained. He had refused a cardinal's hat; but in such a way that the offer was immediately renewed, and remained open. It seemed, indeed, as though little more remained to do, when this goodly edifice began to crumble, slowly, indeed, but surely, and with accelerating speed. A new power appeared in the country; hostile, indeed, to Catholicism, but, what was much worse, also slightly contemptuous of it, directing its full force against the Church and the Crown. The Church collapsed with wonderful suddenness; and the Crown was compelled to seek its own preservation, extending what little aid it might be able to render to the Church; neither had the least power or time to give to the assistance of their former allies. All this had not happened when the Jesuit and Johnny rode up to London, but it was foreshadowed clearly in the immediate future.

*CHAPTER IV.*

Father St. Clare and Johnny set out the next day, accompanied by two servants on horseback. The road was quite new to Inglesant after they left Malmsbury; and he was greatly delighted and amused with all he saw. The fair landscapes, the prospects of goodly cities with the towers and spires of their Churches rising into the clear smokeless air; the stately houses and gardens, the life of the country villages, the fairs and markets, strolling players, the morris dancing, the drinking and smoking parties, the conjurors and mountebanks, peasants quarrelling "together by the ears," and buying and selling; wandering beggars, and half-witted people called "Tom o' Bedlams" who were a recognised order of mendicants--everything amused and delighted him, especially with his companion's witty and penetrating comments upon all they met with.

At Windsor they walked on the terrace, from which Johnny saw the view, which was then considered only second to that of Greenwich, of the river and many pleasant hills and valleys, villages and fair houses, far and near. As they rode along, at every suitable opportunity, and at night after supper at the inns, the Jesuit explained to Johnny the position of public affairs. He told him that though the power of the King and the Archbishop was apparently at its greatest height, as the trial and condemnation of Laud's traducers, Prynne, Baswick, and Burton had just been decided, and the trial of Hampden for refusal to pay ship-money was about to commence, yet nevertheless, the impossibility of governing without a Parliament was becoming so evident, and the violent and aggressive temper of the people was so marked, that he, and those like him, who possessed the best information of what was passing throughout all classes, and among all parties, however secret, considered that changes of a very remarkable character were imminent. The temper of the people, he said, was the more remarkable, because in the one case, libellers like Prynne would have been put to death without mercy in either of the preceding reigns, and no notice taken by the people; and the tax, called ship's money, was so light and so fairly levied, as to be scarcely felt. The Archbishop, he said, was determined to force the service book upon the Scots; a most unwise and perilous proceeding at the present moment, and he was informed by the emissary priests then in the north of England and Scotland, that the resistance to it would be determined, and that the Scottish malcontents were supported by the Puritan party in the English Parliament. Under these circumstances, he explained to Johnny, that a change had taken place in the policy of some of the Roman Catholic party, who had formerly acted with Mr. Inglesant and Father St. Clare, and they had arrived at the conclusion that the Church of England was no longer worth the pains of humouring and conciliating. The Queen had been advised to attempt the perversion of the Parliamentary leaders, and several of the Catholic plotters had undertaken a similar enterprise. Father St. Clare told Johnny candidly, that he neither sympathised entirely with these views nor altogether with those of the party to which he had hitherto belonged. On the one hand, he had arrived at the conclusion that Laud was a true servant of the Church of England, and would never consent to submission to Rome, except on terms which could not be granted, but on the other, he had so long regarded the Church as the natural ally of Rome, and the uselessness of attempting to win over the Puritans was so apparent, that he had not entered warmly into these new schemes. He, however, was inclined to think that were a change to take place, and the Puritan party to gain the supreme power in the State, the re-action among the upper classes would be so great, that the Romish faith would gain numberless converts. He finally pressed upon Johnny the necessity of great prudence, telling him that he should be immediately placed about the person of the Queen as one of her pages; and, as soon as possible, transferred to the King's service in as high a post as the influence to be exerted could command, in order that he should possess as much influence as possible: that in the meantime his business would be simply to become acquainted with as many of all parties as he possibly could, and to gain their confidence, opportunities for doing which should be given him both in the assemblies he would meet at his father's house, and in other company into which he should be introduced. He warned him against crediting anything he heard, unless assured of its truth by himself--the most exaggerated reports upon every subject, he said, prevailing in the Court and city. The conversions to Romanism, he told him, though numerous, were nothing like so many as were reported, as might be supposed when the reputed ones included such men as Mr. Endymion Porter, the most faithful servant of the King and a firm Church of England man, though, like many others, entertaining very friendly opinions of the Papists.

Conversing in this way, they entered London one afternoon at the beginning of August 1637. Johnny, as may be supposed, was all eyes as they entered London, which they did by Kensington and St. James's Park. The beautiful buildings at Kensington, and the throng of gentry and carriages in the park astonished him beyond measure. As they passed through the park many persons recognised Father St. Clare, but they passed on without stopping, through the gateway by the side of the beautiful banqueting-house into the narrow street that led by Charing Cross and the Strand. The crowds were now of a different kind to those they had passed in the park. They passed several groups assembled round quack doctors and itinerant speakers, one of whom was relating how the congregation of a Parish Church the Sunday before had been alarmed by an insurrection of armed Papists--stories of this kind being then a common invention to excite and stir up the people. At one of these groups they were startled by hearing a man who was selling books, announce the name as "Jesus' Worship Confuted;" as the thing was new to the Jesuit, he stopped and ordered one of his men to dismount and bring him one, when it was found to be a tract against ceremonies, and especially against bowing at the name of Jesus. They resumed their passage down the Strand, Father St. Clare remarking on the strange ideas a stranger would attach to the state of religion in England if he listened only to the opposing cries. All down the Strand the Jesuit pointed out the beautiful houses of the nobility, and the glimpses of the river between them. They stopped at last at Somerset House, then a large rambling series of buildings extending round several courts with gardens and walks on the river banks, and a handsome water-gate leading to the river. They went to the lodgings of Father Cory, the Queen's confessor, who was at home, and received them hospitably. Johnny was so taken up with all the astonishing sights around him, especially with the wonderful view up and down the river, with the innumerable boats and barges, the palaces and gardens, and churches and steeples on the banks, that it was a day or two before he could talk or think calmly of anything. The next morning the Jesuit took him to his father's house on the north side of the Strand, where he saw both his father and brother, it not being the latter's turn in waiting at the Court. Mr. Inglesant was not more affectionate to his son than usual; he appeared anxious and worn, but he told him he was pleased at his arrival, that he must obey Father St. Clare in all things, and that he would become a useful and successful man. Father St. Clare had sent for a Court tailor, and ordered a proper dress and accoutrements for Johnny, who was astonished at his own appearance when attired in lace and satin, and his long hair combed and dressed. The Jesuit regarded him with satisfaction, and told him they were going at once to the Queen. Mr. Inglesant's coach was sent for them, and was waiting in one of the courts; and entering, they were driven through London to Whitehall.

It was the third of August, and the Archbishop was marrying the Duke of Lennox to the Lady Mary Villiers, the daughter of the great Duke of Buckingham, in his Chapel at Lambeth. The King was expected to go to Lambeth to be present at the ceremony, but this was of no consequence to the Jesuit, who wished to introduce his protege to the Queen alone. When they reached Whitehall, however, they found that both their Majesties had gone to the wedding, and the day being very rainy, news had been sent from Lambeth immediately after the ceremony that the Queen was returning, and she was then on the water. The Jesuit and Johnny left their carriage and went down to the water-gate. The Jesuit was evidently well known at the Court, and way was made for him everywhere. At that time the greatest laxity was allowed to the Catholics, and other priests besides the Queen's confessors were tolerated openly in London. As they reached the water-gate, the rain had ceased for a time, and a gleam of sunlight shone upon the river, and rested on the Queen's barge as it approached. Johnny's heart beat with excitement, as it reached the steps amid a flourish of trumpets, and the guard presented arms. The Queen, splendidly dressed, came from under the awning and up the steps, accompanied by her gentlemen and the ladies of her Court. Johnny never forgot the sight to his dying day, and it was doubtless one to be long remembered by those who saw it for the first time. When the Queen was near the top of the stairs and saw St. Clare, she stopped, and extending her hand she welcomed him to the Court. She seemed to remember something, and spoke to him rapidly in French, to which he replied with the utmost deference, in the same language. Then falling back, he indicated Johnny to the Queen, saying--"This is young John Inglesant, your Majesty, of whom I spoke to your Grace concerning the business you wot of."

The Queen looked kindly at the boy, who indeed was handsome enough to incline any woman in his favour.

"They are a handsome race," she said, still speaking French; "this one, I think, still more so than his brother."

"This is a refined spirit, your Majesty," said the Jesuit, in a low voice, "of whom I hope great things, if your Majesty will aid."

"You wish to be one of my servants, my pretty boy," said the Queen, extending her hand to Johnny, who kissed it on one knee; "Father Hall will tell you what to do."

And she passed on, followed by her train, who looked at St. Clare and the boy with curiosity, several nodding and speaking to the Jesuit as they proceeded.

Johnny was duly entered the next day as one of the supernumerary pages without salary, and entered upon his duties at once, which consisted simply of waiting in anterooms and following the Queen at a distance in her walks. This life, however, was beyond measure interesting to Johnny: the beautiful rooms and galleries in the palace, with their wonderful contents were an inexhaustible source of delight to him; especially the King's collection of paintings which was kept in a single apartment, and was admired over Europe. Father Hall took him also to many gentlemen's virtuoso collections of paintings and curiosities, where his intelligence and delight attracted the interest and kindness of all his hosts. Father St. Clare also gave him from time to time, small editions of the classics and other books which he could keep in his pocket, and read in the anterooms and galleries when he was in waiting. He would have been astonished, if the Jesuit had not told him it would be so, at the number of persons of all ranks and opinions in the Court who spoke to him and endeavoured to make his acquaintance, that they might remember him at a future time, evidently at the request of the priest.

Shortly after he came to London he was present at the Chapel Royal, at Whitehall, when the King took the sacrament and presented the gold pieces coined especially for this purpose. The sight impressed Johnny very much. The beautiful Chapel, the high altar on which candles were burning, the Bishops and the Dean of the Chapel in their copes, the brilliant crowd of courtiers, the King--devout and stately--alone before the altar, the exquisite music, and the singing of the King's choir, which was not surpassed in Rome itself. As the sunlight from the stained windows fell on this wonderful scene, it is not surprising that young Inglesant was affected by it, nor that this young spirit looking out for the first time on the world and its surprising scenes, and pageants, and symbols, realised the truth of what the old Parson had told him, and converted all these sights into spiritual visions; this one in particular, which led back his thoughts, as it was meant, to the three kings of old, who knelt and offered gifts before the mysterious Child.

Johnny saw his brother frequently, as the latter had grown out of his page-hood, and held another post about the Court, which gave him much leisure. The two young courtiers were at this time more alike than ever, and were much admired at Court as a pair. At one of the Queen's Masques, about this time, they acted parts somewhat similar to the brothers in Comus, but requiring greater resemblance, as in Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors, and both their acting and appearance was applauded by the King himself, who began to take notice of Johnny. Mr. Inglesant, the elder, had never been a favourite with the King, who was aware of his leaning to Popery, and indeed, at this time, both he and his friend the Jesuit were very much discouraged at the aspect of affairs. The position of the Papists had never been so good as at present, but this very circumstance was the ruin of their party. All restraints and reproaches of former times seemed forgotten; a public agent from Rome resided openly at the Court, and was magnificently feted and caressed; the priests, though to avow popish orders was by law punishable with death, went about and preached openly without fear; and it was related as a sign of the times, that a Jesuit at Paris who was coming into England, coolly called on the English ambassador there, who knew his profession, offering his services in London, as though there were no penal law to condemn him the moment he landed! High Mass at Somerset House was attended at noon-day by great numbers of the Papists, who returned together from it through the streets as openly as the congregation of the Savoy, and the neighbouring churches. Their priests succeeded in converting several ladies of some of the greatest families, thereby provoking the anger of their relations, and causing them to long for their suppression. They held large political conferences openly, and ostentatiously subscribed a large sum of money to assist the King against the Scots. Clarendon, indeed, says that they acted as though they had been suborned by these latter to root out their own religion.

It would seem, indeed, that the English mind is not habituated to plotting, and that the majority of any party are not equal to a sustained and concealed effort. The Jesuit, Mr. Inglesant, and the other astute members of their party perceived with sorrow the course things were taking without being able to remedy it. The former desisted from all active efforts, contenting himself with assisting the Queen in her attempts to win over members of the Parliament to her interest, and in opposing and counteracting the intrigues of a small and fanatical section of the Papists who were attempting a wild and insane plot against the King and the Archbishop, which was said to extend to even the attempting their death. As neither of these occupations was very arduous, he had little need of Johnny's assistance, and left him very much to himself. Inglesant, therefore, continued the cultivation of his acquaintance with both parties pretty much in his own way. He had several friends whose society he much valued among the Papists, and he frequently attended mass when not obliged to by his attendance upon the Queen; but he was rather more inclined to attach himself to the members of the Laudian and High Church party, who presented many qualities which interested and attracted him. He read with delight the books of this party, Dr. Donne's and Herbert's Poems, and the writings of Andrews and Bishop Cosin's Devotions, which last was much disliked by the Puritans, and, indeed, the course he took could not have been more in accordance with the Jesuit's plan of preparing him for future service, should the time ever arrive when such usefulness should be required. In his mind he was still devoted, though in a halting and imperfect manner, to that pursuit of the spiritual life and purity which had attracted him when so young, and he lost no opportunity of consulting any on these mysterious subjects who he thought would sympathise with his ideas. In this he had no assistance from his brother, who was devoted to the pursuit of pleasure--of worldly pleasure, it is true, in its most refined aspect--but still of such pleasures as are entirely apart from those of the soul.

One of his friends had presented Inglesant with a little book, "Divine Considerations of those things most profitable in our Christian profession," written in Spanish by John Valdesso, a Papist, and translated by a gentleman of whom Johnny heard a great deal, and was exceedingly interested in what he heard. In this book the author says several very high and beautiful things concerning the Spiritual life, and of the gradual illumination of the Divine Light shed upon the mind, as the sun breaks by degrees upon the eyes of a traveller in the dark. But though Johnny was attracted to the book itself, he was principally interested in it by what he heard of the translator. This was Mr. Nicholas Ferrar, who had founded a religious house at Little Gidding, in Huntingdonshire, or, as it was called in the world, the "Protestant Nunnery," in which he lived with his mother and several nephews and nieces, in the practice of good works and the worship of God. Extraordinary attention had been attracted to this establishment by the accounts of the strange and holy life of its inmates; and still more by the notice which the King had condescended to take of it, not only visiting it on his journey to Scotland, in 1633, but also requesting and accepting presents of devotional books, which it was part of the occupation of the family to prepare.

The accounts of this religious house, and of the family within it, so excited Johnny's imagination that he became exceedingly desirous to see it, especially as it was said that Mr. Ferrar was very infirm, and was not expected to survive very long.

It was late in the autumn when he made this visit, about two months before Mr. Ferrar's death. The rich autumn foliage was lighted by the low sun as he rode through the woods and meadows, and across the sluggish streams of Bedford and Huntingdon. He slept at a village a few miles south of Little Gidding, and reached that place early in the day. It was a solitary, wooded place, with a large manor house, and a little Church close by. It had been for some time depopulated, and there were no cottages nor houses near. The manor house and Church had been restored to perfect order by Mr. Ferrar, and Inglesant reached it through a grove of trees planted in walks, with latticed paths and gardens on both sides. A brook crossed the road at the foot of the gentle ascent on which the house was built. He asked to see Mr. Ferrar, and was shown by a man-servant into a fair spacious parlour, where Mr. Ferrar presently came to him. Inglesant was disappointed at his appearance, which was plain and not striking in any way, but his speech was able and attractive. Johnny apologised for his bold visit, telling him how much taken he had been by his book, and by what he had heard of him and his family; and that what he had heard did not interest him merely out of curiosity, as he feared it might have done many, but out of sincere desire to learn something of the holy life which doubtless that family led. To this Mr. Ferrar replied that he was thankful to see any one who came in such a spirit, and that several, not only of his own friends, as Mr. Crashaw the poet, but many young students from the University at Cambridge came to see him in a like spirit, to the benefit, he hoped, of both themselves and of him. He said with great humility, that although on the one hand very much evil had been spoken of him which was not true, he had no doubt that, on the other, many things had been said about their holiness and the good that they did which went far beyond the truth. For his own part, he said he had adopted that manner of life through having long seen enough of the manners and vanities of the world; and holding them in low esteem, was resolved to spend the best of his life in mortifications and devotion, in charity, and in constant preparation for death. That his mother, his elder brother, his sisters, his nephews and nieces, being content to lead this mortified life, they spent their time in acts of devotion and by doing such good works as were within their power, such as keeping a school for the children of the next parishes, for teaching of whom he provided three masters who lived constantly in the house. That for ten years they had lived this harmless life, under the care of his mother, who had trained her daughters and grand-daughters to every good work; but two years ago they had lost her by death, and as his health was very feeble he did not expect long to be separated from her, but looked forward to his departure with joy, being afraid of the evil times he saw approaching.

When he had said this, he led Inglesant into a large handsome room upstairs, where he introduced him to his sister, Mrs. Collet, and her daughters, who were engaged in making those curious books of Scripture Harmonies which had so pleased King Charles. These seven young ladies, who formed the junior part of the Society of the house, and were called by the names of the chief virtues, the Patient, the Cheerful, the Affectionate, the Submiss, the Obedient, the Moderate, the Charitable, were engaged at that moment in cutting out passages from two Testaments, which they pasted together so neatly as to seem one book, and in such a manner as to enable the reader to follow the narrative in all its particulars from beginning to end without a break, and also to see which of the sacred authors had contributed any particular part.

Inglesant told the ladies what fame reported of the nuns of Gidding, of two watching and praying all night, of their canonical hours, of their crosses on the outside and inside of their Chapel, of an altar there richly decked with plate, tapestry, and tapers, of their adoration and genuflexions at their entering. He told Mr. Ferrar that his object in visiting him was chiefly to know his opinion of the Papists and their religion, as, having been bred among them himself, and being very nearly one of them, he was anxious to know the opinions of one who was said to hold many of their doctrines without joining them or approving them. Mr. Ferrar appeared at first shy of speaking, but being apparently convinced of the young man's sincerity, and that he was not an enemy in disguise, he conversed very freely with him for some time, speaking much of the love of God, and of the vanity of worldly things; of his dear friend Mr. George Herbert, and of his saintly life; of the confused and troublesome life he had formerly led, and of the great peace and satisfaction which he had found since he had left the world and betaken himself to that retired and religious life. That, as regards the Papists, his translating Valdessa's book was a proof that he knew that among them, as among all people, there were many true worshippers of Jesus, being drawn by the blessed Sacrament to follow Him in the spiritual and divine life, and that there were many things in that book similar to the mystical religion of which Inglesant spoke, which his dear friend Mr. George Herbert had disapproved, as exalting the inward spiritual life above the foundation of holy Scripture: that it was not for him, who was only a deacon in the Church, to pronounce any opinion on so difficult a point, and that he had printed all Mr. Herbert's notes in his book, without comment of his own: that though he was thus unwilling to give his own judgment, he certainly believed that this inward spiritual life was open to all men, and recommended Inglesant to continue his endeavours after it, seeking it chiefly in the holy Sacrament accompanied with mortification and confession.

While they were thus talking, the hour of evening prayer arrived, and Mr. Ferrar invited Johnny to accompany him to the Church; which he gladly did, being very much attracted by the evident holiness which pervaded Mr. Ferrar's talk and manner. The family proceeded to Church in procession, Mr. Ferrar and Inglesant walking first. The Church was kept in great order, the altar being placed upon a raised platform at the east end, and covered with tapestry stretching over the floor all round it, and adorned with plate and tapers. Mr. Ferrar bowed with great reverence several times on approaching the altar, and directed Inglesant to sit in a stalled seat opposite the reading pew, from which he said the evening prayer. The men of the family knelt on the raised step before the altar, the ladies and servants sitting in the body of the Church. The Church was very sweet, being decked with flowers and herbs; and the soft autumn light rested over it. From the seat where Inglesant knelt, he could see the faces of the girls as they bent over their books at prayers. They were all in black, except one, who wore a friar's grey gown; this was the one who was called the Patient, as Inglesant had been told in the house, and the singularity of her dress attracted his eye towards her during the prayers. The whole scene, strange and romantic as it appeared to him, the devout and serious manner of the worshippers--very different from much that was common in churches at that day--and the abstracted and devout look upon the faces of the girls, struck his fancy, so liable to such influences, and so long trained to welcome them; and he could not keep his eyes from this one face from which the grey hood was partly thrown back. It was a passive face, with well-cut delicate features, and large and quiet eyes.

Prayers being over, the ladies saluted Inglesant from a distance, and left the Church with the rest, in the same order as they had come, leaving Mr. Ferrar and Johnny alone. They remained some time discoursing on worship and Church ceremonies, and then returned to the house. It was now late, and Mr. Ferrar, who was evidently much pleased with his guest, invited him to stay the night, and even extended his hospitality by asking him to stay over the next, which was Saturday, and the Sunday, upon which, as it was the first Sunday in the month, the holy Sacrament would be administered, and several of Mr. Ferrar's friends from Cambridge would come over and partake of it, and to pass the night and day in prayer and acts of devotion. To this proposition Inglesant gladly consented, the whole proceeding appearing to him full of interest and attraction. Soon after they returned to the house supper was served, all the family sitting down together at a long table in the hall. During supper some portion of the book of the Martyrs was read aloud. Afterwards two hours were permitted for diversion, during which all were allowed to do as they pleased.

The young ladies having found out that Inglesant was a Queen's page, were very curious to hear of the Court and royal family from him, which innocent request Mr. Ferrar encouraged, and joined in himself. One reason of the success with which his mother and he had ruled this household appears to have been his skill in interesting and attracting all its inmates by the variety and pleasant character of their occupations. He was also much interested himself in what Johnny told him, for in this secluded family, themselves accustomed to prudence, Inglesant felt he might safely speak of many things upon which he was generally silent; and after prayers, when the family were retired to their several rooms, Mr. Ferrar remained with him some time, while Johnny related to him the aspect of religious parties at the moment, and particularly all that he could tell, without violating confidence, of the Papists and of his friend the Jesuit.

The next morning they rose at four, though two of the family had been at prayer all night, and did not go to rest till the others rose. They went into the oratory in the house itself to prayers, for they kept six times of prayer during the day. At six they said the psalms of the hour, for every hour had its appropriate psalms, and at half-past six went to Church for matins. When they returned at seven o'clock they said the psalms of the hour, sang a short hymn, and went to breakfast. After breakfast, when the younger members of the family were at their studies, Mr. Ferrar took Inglesant to the school, where all the children in the neighbourhood were permitted to come. At eleven they went to dinner, and after dinner there was no settled occupation till one, every one being allowed to amuse himself as he chose. The young ladies had been trained not only to superintend the house, but to wait on any sick persons in the neighbourhood who came to the house at certain times for assistance, and to dress the wounds of those who were hurt, in order to give them readiness and skill in this employment, and to habituate them to the virtues of humility and tenderness of heart. A large room was set apart for this purpose, where Mr. Ferrar had instructed them in the necessary skill, having been himself Physic Fellow at Clare Hall, in Cambridge, and under the celebrated Professors at Padua, in Italy. This room Inglesant requested to see, thinking that he should in this way also see something of and be able to speak to the young ladies whose acquaintance he had hitherto not had much opportunity of cultivating. Mr. Ferrar told his nephew to show it him--young Nicholas Ferrar, a young man of extraordinary skill in languages, who was afterwards introduced to the King and Prince Charles, some time before his early death. When they entered the room Inglesant was delighted to find that the only member of the family there was the young lady in the Grey Friar's habit, whose face had attracted him so much in Church. She was listening to the long tiresome tale of an old woman, following the example of George Herbert, who thought on a similar occasion, that "it was some relief to a poor body to be heard with patience."

Johnny, who in spite of his Jesuitical and Court training was naturally modest, and whose sense of religion made him perfectly well-bred, accosted the young lady very seriously, and expressed his gratitude at having been permitted to stay and see so many excellent and improving things as that family had to show. The liking which the head of the house had evidently taken for Inglesant disposed the younger members in his favour, and the young lady answered him simply and unaffectedly, but with manifest pleasure.

Inglesant inquired concerning the assumed names of the sisters and how they sustained their respective qualities, and what exercises suited to these qualities they had to perform. She replied that they had exercises, or discourses, which they performed at the great festivals of the year, Christmas and Easter; and which were composed with reference to their several qualities. All of these, except her own, were enlivened by hymns and odes composed by Mr. Ferrar, and set to music by the music master of the family, who accompanied the voices with the viol or the lute. But her own, she said, had never any music or poetry connected with it; it was always of a very serious turn, and much longer than any other, and had not any historical anecdote or fable interwoven with it, the contrivance being to exercise that virtue to which she was devoted. Inglesant asked her with pity if this was not very hard treatment, and she only replied, with a smile, that she had the enjoyment of all the lively performances of the others. He asked her whether they looked forward to passing all their lives in this manner, or whether they allowed the possibility of any change, and if she had entirely lost her own name in her assumed one, or whether he might presume to ask it, that he might have wherewithal to remember her by, as he surely should as long as he had life. She said her name was Mary Collet; and that as to his former question, two of her sisters had had, at one time, a great desire to become veiled virgins, to take upon them a vow of perpetual chastity, with the solemnity of a Bishop's blessing and ratification, but on going to Bishop Williams he had discouraged, and at last, dissuaded them from it.

Inglesant and the young lady remained talking in this way for some time, young Nicholas Ferrar having left them; but at last she excused herself from staying any longer, and he was obliged to let her go. He ventured to say that he hoped they would remember him, that he was utterly ignorant of the future that lay before him, but that whatever fate awaited him, he should never forget the "Nuns of Gidding" and their religious life. She replied that they would certainly remember him, as they did all their acquaintance, in their daily prayer, especially as she had seldom seen her uncle so pleased with a stranger as he had been with him. With these compliments they parted, and Inglesant returned to the drawing-room, where more visitors had arrived.

In the afternoon there came from Cambridge Mr. Crashaw the poet, of Peterhouse, who afterwards went over to the Papists and died Canon of Loretto, and several gentlemen, undergraduates of Cambridge, to spend the Sunday at Gidding, being the first Sunday of the month. Mr. Crashaw, when Inglesant was introduced to him as one of the Queen's pages, finding that he was acquainted with many Roman Catholics, was very friendly and conversed with him apart. He said he conceived a great admiration for the devout lives of the Catholic saints, and of the government and discipline of the Catholic Church, and that he feared that the English Church had not sufficient authority to resist the spread of Presbyterianism, in which case he saw no safety except in returning to the communion of Rome. Walking up and down the garden paths, after evening prayers in Church, he spoke a great deal on this subject, and on the beauty of a retired religious life, saying that here at Little Gidding and at Little St. Marie's Church, near to Peterhouse, he had passed the most blissful moments of his life, watching at midnight in prayer and meditation.

That night Mr. Crashaw, Inglesant, and one or two others remained in the Church from nine till twelve, during which time they said over the whole Book of Psalms in the way of antiphony, one repeating one verse and the rest the other. The time of their watch being ended they returned to the house, went to Mr. Ferrar's door and bade him good-morrow, leaving a lighted candle for him. They then went to bed, but Mr. Ferrar arose according to the passage of Scripture "at midnight I will arise and give thanks," and went into the Church, where he betook himself to religious meditation.

Early on the Sunday morning the family were astir and said prayers in the oratory. After breakfast many people from the country around and more than a hundred children came in. These children were called the Psalm children, and were regularly trained to repeat the Psalter, and the best voices among them to assist in the service on Sundays. They came in every Sunday, and according to the proficiency of each were presented with a small piece of money, and the whole number entertained with a dinner after Church. The Church was crowded at the morning service before the Sacrament. The service was beautifully sung, the whole family taking the greatest delight in Church music, and many of the gentlemen from Cambridge being amateurs. The Sacrament was administered with the greatest devotion and solemnity. Impressed as he had been with the occupation of the preceding day and night, and his mind excited with watching and want of sleep and with the exquisite strains of the music, the effect upon Inglesant's imaginative nature was excessive. Above the altar, which was profusely bedecked with flowers, the antique glass of the East window, which had been carefully repaired, contained a figure of the Saviour of an early and severe type. The form was gracious and yet commanding, having a brilliant halo round the head, and being clothed in a long and apparently seamless coat; the two fore-fingers of the right hand were held up to bless. Kneeling upon the half-pace, as he received the sacred bread and tasted the holy wine, this gracious figure entered into Inglesant's soul, and stillness and peace unspeakable, and life, and light, and sweetness, filled his mind. He was lost in a sense of rapture, and earth and all that surrounded him faded away. When he returned a little to himself, kneeling in his seat in the Church, he thought that at no period of his life, however extended, should he ever forget that morning or lose the sense and feeling of that touching scene, of that gracious figure over the altar, of the bowed and kneeling figures, of the misty autumn sunlight and the sweeping autumn wind. Heaven itself seemed to have opened to him and one fairer than the fairest of the angelic hosts to have come down to earth.

After the service, the family and all the visitors returned to the mansion house in the order in which they had come, and the Psalm children were entertained with a dinner in the great hall; all the family and visitors came in to see them served, and Mrs. Collet, as her mother had always done, placed the first dish on the table herself to give an example of humility. Grace having been said, the bell rang for the dinner of the family, who, together with the visitors, repaired to the great dining-room, and stood in order round the table. While the dinner was being served they sang a hymn to the organ at the upper end of the room. Then grace was said by the Priest who had celebrated the communion, and they sat down. All the servants who had received the Sacrament that day sat at table with the rest. During dinner one of the young people whose turn it was, read a chapter from the Bible, and when that was finished conversation was allowed; Mr. Ferrar and some of the other gentlemen endeavouring to make it of a character suitable to the day, and to the service they had just taken part in. After dinner they went to Church again for evening prayer; between which service and supper Inglesant had some talk with Mr. Ferrar concerning the Papists and Mr. Crashaw's opinion of them.

"I ought to be a fit person to advise you," said Mr. Ferrar with a melancholy smile, "for I am myself, as it were, crushed between the upper and nether millstone of contrary reports, for I suffer equal obloquy--and no martyrdom is worse than that of continual obloquy--both for being a Papist and a Puritan. You will suppose there must be some strong reason why I, who value so many things among the Papists so much, have not joined them myself. I should probably have escaped much violent invective if I had done so. You are very young, and are placed where you can see and judge of both parties. You possess sufficient insight to try the spirits whether they be of God. Be not hasty to decide, and before you decide to join the Romish communion, make a tour abroad, and if you can, go to Rome itself. When I was in Italy and Spain, I made all the inquiries and researches I could. I bought many scarce and valuable books in the languages of those countries, in collecting which I had a principal eye to those which treated on the subjects of spiritual life, devotion, and religious retirement, but the result of all was that I am now, and I shall die, as I believe and hope shortly, in the Communion of the English Church. This day, as I believe, the blessed Sacrament has been in the Church before our eyes, and what can you or I desire more?"