BV3705 .F54 1853 v. 2 
 Fletcher, J. p. (James 
 Phillips) 
 
 Autobiography of a 
 missionary. 
 
THE 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 A MISSIONARY 
 
 VOL. 11. 
 
^ I 
 
THE 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHT 
 
 A MISSIONARY. 
 
 THE REV. J. P:''fLETCHEE. 
 
 AUTHOE OF 
 
 A TWO years' residence AT NINEVEH. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HUEST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GEEAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1853. 
 
LONDON . 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 A MISSIONARY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Mrs. Tobin was a tall, thin lady, with a 
 solemn aspect and bilious complexion. She 
 rose in a very stately manner to receive me, 
 and waved her arm towards a seat with the air 
 of a queen. Then she sank back on the sofa 
 as if exhausted by the effort, and, in doing so, 
 dislodged her handkerchief from the pillow. 
 Fixing her eyes on the ceiling, she exclaimed, 
 with a very languid voice : " Boy, boy !" when, 
 to my surprise, instead of one of those nonde- 
 script youths called, in England, pages, there 
 
 VOL. II. B 
 
2 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 appeared an old, wTinkled native, who began 
 making an incredible number of low bows — 
 almost prostrations. 
 
 " What missis please to want ?" said the boy. 
 
 Missis said nothing, and did not vouchsafe 
 her sable attendant even a look, but pointed, in 
 a dignified way to the handkerchief. The 
 black page then raised and restored it very 
 reverentially to its fair owner. All this struck 
 me as rather ludicrous at first, but I became 
 quite accustomed to similar scenes, and finally 
 thought nothing about them. 
 
 The next day I was presented, by Mr. 
 Tobin, to a number of people, as " one of our 
 Missionaries," and had certainly no reason to 
 complain of the manner in which I was 
 received. There was an open-hearted courtesy 
 about most of those gentlemen which I still 
 remember with gratitude, but which I have no 
 desire to requite by putting them into print. 
 Suffice it to say that, in hospitality and kindly 
 feeling towards strangers, the English in India 
 certainly do no discredit to the reputation of 
 
A MISSIONARY. 3 
 
 the East for these amiable virtues. I found 
 myself the guest of people whom I had never 
 seen before, who knew nothing of me except 
 that I was a Missionary, yet who placed not 
 only their rooms and their tables, but their 
 horses and carriages absolutely at my disposal, 
 and treated me as liberally and as kindly as if 
 I had been one of their own relations. 
 
 My stay, however, at Madras was short, for 
 the Mission District allotted to me was about 
 two hundred miles distant from the Presidency, 
 and I was anxious to reach the scene of my 
 labours. I travelled in a primitive kind of vehicle, 
 drawn by bullocks, which pursued its weary and 
 tedious course along the paths or tracks that, 
 In India, are denominated roads. So few indica- 
 tions of civilization met my eye after I had pro- 
 ceeded a short distance from Madras, that it ap- 
 peared almost incredible when I reflected that I 
 was traversing regions which had been for so 
 long a period under the government of one of 
 the greatest nations of modern times. The 
 squalid, miserable looks of the people, their 
 
 B 2 
 
4 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 complaints of heavy taxation, and the wretched 
 hovels in which they lived, seemed by no means 
 creditable to the government which tolerated 
 such a state of things. 
 
 The tracks are sometimes so difficult to dis- 
 tinguish, that even my native guides, who had 
 frequently travelled by this road before, lost 
 their way several times, and regained it with 
 great trouble. The fact is, that the majority of 
 Englishmen employed in India, feel but little 
 interest in the country itself. It is for them a 
 place of exile to be endured for a certain 
 number of years, after which they hope to 
 return and enjoy themselves in their native 
 land. Hence few improvements take place, 
 except those which are absolutely indispensable 
 to the comforts or convenience of the European 
 sojourners in a few thinly-scattered stations. 
 In these localities, the roads are kept in good 
 repair for the evening rides or drives of the 
 Collector and his subordinates, while spacious 
 and handsome dwelhngs are erected for their 
 acxjommodation. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 5 
 
 But the native town still retains its mud 
 huts, its narrow lanes, its filth, and its abomina- 
 tions of various kinds. Cholera and other 
 destructive diseases pursue their ravages un- 
 checked and uncontrolled by sanitory measures 
 and sanitory reforms, and though the death of 
 an European excites attention, and calls forth 
 inquiry, yet thousands of natives disappear 
 annually from the earth without its awakening 
 much remark, or drawing forth any investiga- 
 tion into the cause of such an alarming mor- 
 tality. 
 
 But I must remember that it is not my 
 province to dwell upon points like these, 
 although it is very desirable that they should 
 meet with some notice. My whole journey to 
 the interior, indeed, impressed me with a melan- 
 choly sense of responsibilities neglected, and of 
 duties left unperformed. It is my belief that 
 if every Indian town had possessed, during the 
 last hundred years, its school and its school- 
 master, the natives would, by this time, be so 
 perfectly convinced of the falsehood and childish 
 
6 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 absurdity of their popular creed, that they 
 would be now ready and willing to receive the 
 instructions of the Missionaries. This is no 
 mere religious question. The Hindoos were 
 always desirous of secular knowledge, and now 
 they are agitating to obtain it. That agitation 
 must increase in energy and vehemence every 
 year, and if the boon is much longer denied, it 
 may endanger our rule, and evoke a spirit of 
 sedition which it will be difficult to lay. 
 
 At length, I reached the ancient city of 
 Madura, once the capital of the old Pandion 
 kings. The resident Mission Catechist had 
 been deputed to meet me, and as he spoke 
 English very well, I found myself quite at 
 home with him. He told me that Madura 
 formerly possessed a large university, and was 
 then famous as one of the chief seats of Brah- 
 minical learning in the south. It had also 
 been the head-quarters of the Jesuits when, 
 under Robert de Nobili, the nephew of a pope, 
 the astute sons of Loyola attempted to palm 
 themselves off upon the Hindoo priests as the 
 
A MISSIONARY. 7 
 
 Brahmins of the West, who were alone in 
 possession of the lost Veda. To support this 
 deceit, the Missionary Fathers practised daily 
 the most frightful austerities, and, it must be 
 added, so fearfully corrupted even the doctrines 
 of their own Church, that they called down 
 upon themselves the denunciations of Rome. 
 The Christianity which they left behind them 
 was, as might have been expected, of a very 
 questionable character. Thousands of the so- 
 called converts abandoned, in one day, without 
 a struggle and without a murmur, the creed of 
 the Roman Church, and embraced that of 
 Mahommed at the command of Tippoo Saib. 
 
 I was musing over these things, when the old 
 Catechist asked me if I had ever heard in 
 England of the celebrated Tiroo-Vullavan. I 
 was obliged to reply in the negative, upon 
 which he said, that if I pleased, he should like 
 to relate me a few particulars of one who, by 
 his poetical effusions, had conferred considerable 
 renown on his native city of Madura. The sun 
 was now declining ; and so after placing my chair 
 
8 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 beneath the grateful shade of two venerable 
 banyan-trees, the old Catechist stretched his 
 mat upon the ground, and seating himself 
 cross-legged, began the legend of Tiroo-Vul- 
 lavan, which as I am not sure that it has ever 
 appeared in English, I may be excused if I 
 insert it here. 
 
 " What I am going to tell you, Sir," said 
 the Catechist, " occured in the time of the 
 Pandion kings, before the Enghsh came into 
 this country, or the Mohammedans either. It 
 was a period, indeed, which even the heathens 
 consider very ancient, and during which they 
 say their false gods frequently appeared on the 
 earth, and assumed in turn various human 
 forms. One of these deities was Vishnoo, of 
 whom you have doubtless heard. He was a 
 great patron of learning, and is generally consi- 
 dered the founder of the Madura University. 
 At all events he collected a great number of 
 scholars from all parts of India, and selected 
 twelve of the wisest Brahmins to preside over 
 their studies. These venerable sages occupied 
 
A MISSIONARY. 9 
 
 as a seat of honour a golden bench, which had 
 been manufactured for them by Vishnoo him- 
 self. From this place they gave lectures in 
 logic, in poetry, and in philosophy, and all the 
 country round rang with the praises of the 
 twelve learned Brahmins of Madura. 
 
 " The distinctions of caste among the Hin- 
 doos were not then so rigidly observed as now, 
 nor where the Pariahs so rigorously excluded 
 from the society of those above them. The 
 twelve Brahmins, however, entertained very 
 marked opinions on this matter, and it soon 
 became known throughout the university that 
 no low-caste student need ever expect much 
 favour from them. 
 
 " ' A Pariah,' observed the venerable chief of 
 the sages, who was noted for his attachment to 
 Sanscrit and rice-pillau, ' a Pariah has no 
 business with learning, since he is a being 
 intended by Brahma to be a mere drudge, and 
 to attempt to raise him from this, his allotted 
 station, is not only foolish in a political point 
 of view, but decidedly impious and heretical.' 
 
10 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 " At this period, there Hved near Madura 
 a youth of the Pariah caste, noted for rare 
 genius and remarkable abilities. He laboured 
 hard during the day to procure the means of 
 subsistence for himself and his orphan sister, 
 and devoted the night to poetical composition. 
 The beauty of his verses attracted the attention 
 of the labourers by whom he was surrounded ; 
 and although their rude and uncultivated minds 
 were incapable of fully appreciating the excel- 
 lence of the sentiments contained in these 
 eiFusions, yet they enjoyed the sweetness of the 
 measure, and cheered their labours by singing 
 the odes of the youthful poet. So highly, in- 
 deed, did they estimate his strains, that with 
 one consent they conferred upon him the title 
 of Tiroo-VuUavan, the holy or sacred Pariah. 
 
 " One evening, a group of shepherds had 
 assembled on the borders of one of the conse- 
 crated tanks, and were diverting themselves by 
 chanting the verses of Tiroo-Vullavan. It 
 happened that a Brahmin belonging to the 
 neighbouring temple was passing at the time, 
 
A MISSIONARY. 11 
 
 and struck by the energy and beauty of the 
 sentiments expressed in their songs, he inquired 
 the name of the author. The shepherds di- 
 rected him to the humble cottage, where Tiroo- 
 Vullavan was occupied in kindling his fire for 
 the preparation of the evening repast. The 
 learned man was much impressed by the 
 youth's ingenuous appearance, and the ability 
 displayed in the answers made by him to the 
 difficult and subtle questions propounded. He 
 invited Tiroo-Vullavan to repair with him to 
 the famous University of Madura. 
 
 " When the Pariah first made his appearance 
 among th£ students, every one was charmed 
 with the beauty of his poetry, and the depth of 
 his philosophical views. The twelve sages, how- 
 ever, did not share the general enthusiasm. 
 The chief Brahmin thought it presumption in a 
 Pariah to compose poetry at all, and unpa- 
 ralelled audacity to publish it. He was con- 
 vinced, however, that there could be nothing 
 commendable in these flimsy stanzas, and he 
 determined at once to display to the public the 
 
12 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 profound character of his critical knowledge, 
 and to annihilate for ever the daring pretender 
 to the sacred title of poet. 
 
 " With this benevolent design, he convoked 
 an assembly of the students, and summoned all 
 the wise men of Madura to assist on the occa- 
 sion. He himself and his eleven brethren 
 seated themselves in state upon their golden 
 bench, and calling for Tiroo-Vullavan, com- 
 manded him to recite some of his poems. The 
 youth was at first abashed by the appearance 
 of his judges, and by the numerous concourse 
 which surrounded them ; but the applause of the 
 students encouraging him, he commenced one of 
 his latest and finest odes. As he proceeded, 
 acclamations burst forth from all sides, until the 
 voice of the reciter became positively inaudible. 
 
 " The chief Brahmin looked very stern, 
 having frequently recourse to his betel box while 
 the applause continued ; and when it had 
 ceased, he addressed himself to Tiroo-Vullavan 
 in a severe and contemptuous tone. He began 
 by complaining of the degenerate taste of the 
 
A MISSIONARY. 13 
 
 age, and eulogised the poets of the good old 
 times. Warming with his subject, he recapi- 
 tulated upwards of a hundred canons of criti- 
 cism which the unfortunate bard had violated, 
 and assured him with great earnestness, that 
 he had no taste for poetry. 
 
 " ' But the verses are so original !' timidly 
 suggested one of Tiroo-Vullavan's admirers. 
 
 " ' So much the worse, young man,' said the 
 • chief Brahmin, frowning ; ' originality is pre- 
 sumption, and a wilful departure from the rules 
 of a wise antiquity. Do you suppose that our 
 ancestors did not know better than we how 
 good poetry ought to be written ? And can 
 you anticipate even tolerable verses from a 
 man who does not understand Sanscrit? As 
 for this impious innovator from established 
 rules, my judgment is, that he immediately 
 quit the sacred territory of Madura.' 
 
 " Loud expressions of disapprobation followed 
 the promulgation of this sentence, and a tumult 
 arose among the students which it was found 
 impossible to allay. Their cries penetrated 
 
14 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 even into the Swergam or Elysium of Vishnoo, 
 where that divinity was aroused by them from 
 a profound reverie of philosophical contempla- 
 tion. Indignant at the interruption of what 
 the Hindoos consider the height of celestial 
 bliss, he repaired to the earth in great haste, 
 thinking perhaps that his beloved university 
 had been menaced by an invasion of the bar- 
 barians from the north. 
 
 " In the meantime, the tumult having been 
 partially appeased, the chief Brahmin had re- 
 tired to his dwelling to refresh himself after the 
 labours of criticism. He thought with com- 
 placency of the able manner in which he had 
 exposed the presumption of the upstart Pariah 
 — a complacency unruffled even by the recol- 
 lection of the ignorance and want of taste dis- 
 played by the multitude. 
 
 " ' A wise man is never popular,' said the 
 Brahmin to himself, as he surveyed with satis- 
 faction the dishes laid before him ; 'what can 
 we expect from gross minds who heed nothing 
 but the vulgar appetites ?' 
 
A MISSIONARY. 15 
 
 " At this moment, one of the servants of the 
 temple came to say that a stranger waited with- 
 out, and desired instant speech with the chief 
 Brahmin. The sage assuredly wished the in- 
 truder at the bottom of the nearest tank. He 
 was not particularly fond of being disturbed at 
 meals ; and moreover ill-natured people said that 
 although the rules of his order proscribed animal 
 food, the learned man entertained a private par- 
 tiality for mutton-curry. His eye, indeed, rested 
 for a moment with alarm upon one special dish 
 that did not seem wholly composed of vegetables, 
 nor was his apprehension abated by the sudden 
 appearance of the stranger himself who had 
 followed almost at the heels of his announcer. 
 
 " The Brahmin eyed him for an instant, and 
 seemed exceedingly disturbed. 
 
 " ' What do I see ?' he exclaimed, bowing 
 very low ; ' this honour — so unexpected.' 
 
 "The stranger placed his finger on his lips, 
 and motioned to the servants to retire. 
 
 " ' I hope he won't smell the mutton,' said 
 the Brahmin to himself. 
 
16 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 " ' Now,' said the stranger when the last 
 servant had withdrawn, ' what is the reason 
 of all this uproar.' 
 
 " * Swami, my lord,' gasped the chief Brah- 
 min, ' I am so overpowered that — but in short 
 the insolence of the lower people is getting in- 
 tolerable. An upstart youth has produced a 
 poem contrary to all the rules of criticism, and 
 the fickle multitude have taken it into their 
 heads to rank him with the highest of the sages. 
 Now your mightiness knows that the critical 
 canons — ' 
 
 " ' Never mind them,' said the stranger, 
 ' but tell me where I can find this youth.' 
 
 " At another time, perhaps, the Brahmin 
 would not have condescended to remember the 
 abode of so insignificant a person ; but he was 
 anxious to get rid of his visitor ; and therefore 
 briefly gave him the information he required. 
 The stranger bade him a hasty and somewhat 
 ungracious farewell, while the Brahmin muttered 
 to himself: 
 
 " ' Bad taste seems to be infectious. How- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 17 
 
 ever, I am glad he did not detect the mutton- 
 curry.' 
 
 " Tiroo-Vullavan was seated by his sister, 
 and receiving her congratulations on the ap^ 
 plause which the assembled students had 
 lavished upon the recital of his poem. The 
 bright eyes of the Hindoo girl sparkled with 
 pleasure and pride as she spoke of the success 
 that he had achieved, and of the glorious 
 immortality which he might anticipate. 
 
 "'Ah!' said the young poet, as he gazed 
 with affection on the beautiful form of his sister, 
 ' what would even immortality be worth, if it 
 were unshared by thee ? Dearest Narana, thou 
 art the lotos-flower of my soul.' 
 
 "'And,' replied his sister, 'as the lotos- 
 flower expands beneath the genial beam of the 
 sun, so shall my spirit rejoice when cheered by 
 thy glory's rays.' 
 
 Hush !' said Tiroo-Vullavan, ' some one 
 approaches.' 
 
 " His sister modestly retired, and the stranger 
 stood face to face with the young aspirant to fame. 
 
 VOL. II. c 
 
18 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 " ' Art thou ?' inquired the former, * the 
 young poet whose renown has reached my ears, 
 and disturbed the peace and quiet of the gravest 
 university in the Pandion realms. Nay, you 
 need not answer, for I read the reply in your 
 averted countenance and downcast brow. Fear 
 not, however, for I come as a friend. Yet tell 
 me, is it wealth and station that you hope to 
 gain by your song ?' 
 
 " ' Stranger,' replied Tiroo-Vullavan, ' I have 
 heard an ancient sage relate that yonder in the 
 far West there is to be found a wondrous bird 
 which lives for a thousand years, and then retiring 
 to its nest kindles its own funeral flames. But 
 from its ashes there springs another, and as 
 beautiful a successor that endures for the same 
 time, and then in turn begets in a similar manner 
 a fair offspring the counterpart of itself I would 
 resemble in my destiny that bird, and outlive in 
 my verse the ashes to which this earthly body 
 will one day be reduced. If, as our teachers 
 say, the soul must pass through successive 
 transmigrations, haply at some distant period I 
 
A MISSIONARY. 19 
 
 may hear in another form the praises of the 
 ancient poet, who yet lives in song, and thus 
 shall rejoice in having achieved a double im- 
 mortality.' 
 
 " ' Yet bethink thee,' said the stranger, mourn- 
 fully, as he gazed upon the animated features 
 glowing with aU the enthusiasm of hope, ' be - 
 think thee of the pain and of the struggles 
 through which a man must pass, who hopes to 
 influence the minds of his fellow men. The 
 trials and penances which our Sanniyasis* 
 practise in order to gain immortality, are but 
 a shadow of that sorrow and birth-throe of 
 the spirit which engenders earthly fame. Our 
 sages teach that all in this world is delusion, 
 but of nothing may this be asserted so truly 
 as of the renown which lives but in the breath 
 of men.' 
 
 " ' Alas ! young as I am,' replied the poet, * I 
 
 have had some experience of this. But yet there 
 
 is something besides mere fame in the wishes 
 
 of my heart. To influence my race for good, 
 
 * Indian devotees. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 AUTOBIOGRA.PHY OF 
 
 to teach future generations the lessons of piety 
 and virtue, to form the mind of childhood and to 
 soothe the sorrows of age would be a lot worthy 
 of a struggle, and one which a generous spint 
 miffht even sacrifice life to obtain.' 
 
 " ' I see you are resolved,' said the stranger, 
 ' and though, perhaps, in some respects I could 
 wish you a better destiny, yet your courage 
 and noble desires shall in one instance meet 
 with their reward. Go boldly to Madura 
 to-morrow, and present yourself before the 
 golden seat of the sages. Leave the rest to 
 
 me.' 
 
 "There was something commanding and author- 
 itative about the stranger's manner, and Tiroo- 
 Vullavan felt that he must obey him. They 
 parted and the young poet returned to his 
 solitary musings till the first beams of the rising 
 sun illumined the far distant horizon. Then 
 he arose, and having performed his devotions 
 repaired to Madura, where a large concourse 
 was assembled around the seat of the sages. 
 As soon as the people saw him they burst 
 
A MISSIONARY. 21 
 
 forth into loud acclamations. The stranger 
 stepping forth from among them, addressed 
 the crowd. 
 
 "'Men of Madura,' he said, 'genius is the 
 gift of heaven, and owns no distinction of 
 caste or rank. It is Hke the fire which burns 
 with equal brilliancy on the earthen dish of 
 the peasant or in the silver lamp of the king. 
 Tiroo-Vullavan has shown that he possesses 
 pre-eminently this divine quality, and my voice is 
 therefore that he take his place on the golden 
 bench of the twelve sages.' 
 
 " The crowd renewed their shouts as the 
 stranger spoke, and four of the principal 
 students approaching the twelve who had 
 already assumed their seats, demanded in the 
 name of the rest that the Pariah Poet should 
 seat himself by their side. 
 
 " The chief Brahmin foamed with rage at the 
 audacious proposal. 
 
 " * What !' exclaimed he, ' shall a vile Pariah 
 be honoured with the highest prize of learn- 
 
22 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 ing, and the company of Brahmin sages be 
 contaminated by the society of a reprobate 
 eater of flesh?' 
 
 " ' Ah, hypocrite/ said the stranger advancing 
 from the crowd, and whispering in the ear of 
 the irate sage. The learned nian looked suddenly 
 confused and alarmed while he wliispered in an 
 under tone : 
 
 " ' Only a slight indiscretion, your Mightiness ; 
 in fact an oversight. Wilhngly,' he continued 
 in a louder voice, but with the most marked 
 respect, ' willingly would we accede to the 
 wishes of so noble a personage,' here he made 
 a low inclination to the stranger, ' but this 
 golden bench bestowed by our founder, as a 
 token of the highest literary distinction is 
 already filled up, and it would be an injustice 
 to remove any of its present occupants. The 
 present length would not allow us to oifer an 
 extra seat even to Vishnoo himself.' 
 
 " ' That objection is easily removed,' said the 
 stranger, striking the bench so smartly with 
 
A MISSIONARY. 23 
 
 his walking staff that all the sages started up 
 in affright ; ' behold !' 
 
 " The spectators could scarcely believe their 
 eyes, when they saw the golden board prolong- 
 ing itself so as to afford comfortable accom- 
 modation for thirteen instead of twelve. They 
 looked round for the wonder-working stranger, 
 but he was no where visible. 
 
 " ' The scruples of myself and colleagues are 
 now removed,' said the chief Brahmin. ' Come, 
 then, Tiroo-VuUavan, and assume your place 
 beside the presiding sages of this great 
 university. Forgive and forget our past 
 opposition, and endeavour to render more 
 illustrious by your future exertions, the high 
 post which has been awarded you for your 
 past merits.' 
 
 " The acclamations redoubled as the young 
 poet seated himself on the golden board ; and 
 they were still more loud when a slight female 
 figure advanced to his side, and threw over his 
 head a wreath of lotos flowers. Tiroo-Vullavan 
 turned to thank the donor, and found himself 
 
24 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 in the embrace of his sister. And then the 
 poet's heart, he was want to confess afterwards 
 beat more proudly and triumphantly, than even 
 when he was elevated by the popular voice to 
 the rank of a sage. 
 
 " For many years, Tiroo-Vullavan and his sister 
 continued the wonder and the pride of the 
 surrounding country. Narana was so inte- 
 rested in her brother's pursuits, that she began 
 by degrees to share them, and became eventually 
 a poetess of no mean rank. True to his pro- 
 fessed intention, the young poet devoted himself 
 to moral subjects, and themes calculated to 
 promote the love and practice of virtue. It 
 seems also as if his aspirations had been 
 crowned with a successful issue, for even to 
 this day his poems are taught in all the schools 
 of India ; and there are few persons, except 
 among the most degraded and ignorant classes, 
 that cannot repeat a few lines of Tiroo-Vullavan, 
 the Pariah poet of Madura." 
 
 The stars were shining brightly from the 
 clear and cloudless sky when the old Catechist 
 
A MISSIONARY. 25 
 
 finished his tale. I was struck with many of 
 the sentiments which he had expressed, and did 
 not conceal my astonishment when he repeated 
 and explained some of the poet's verses whose 
 life he had been relating. They seemed far 
 above the gross and grovelling Polytheism 
 which I had been always taught to associate 
 with India and her creed, and although far 
 inferior to the sublime precepts of the Gospel, 
 were at least equal to most of the moral senti- 
 ments contained in Horace and the ancient 
 classical writers. The old Catechist smiled at 
 my remarks. 
 
 " Ah, Sir," he said, " the English gentlemen 
 are very clever; but they think that a black 
 man never can know anything. Yet an old 
 Missionary once told me that the Greeks took 
 much of their philosophy and learning from 
 our country, and that the first thing you teach 
 your children in England is the writings of the 
 Greeks. They were, he said, heathens, and still 
 they knew a great deal." 
 
26 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 " You think, then, that we underrate you," 
 said I. 
 
 " Oh, Sir," he replied, " the Missionary gentle- 
 men don't, perhaps, think so badly of us ; but 
 your people generally esteem us as dirt. Once, 
 when the Padre was examining my school, a fine 
 officer gentleman came in with him and listened 
 while the boys read in Tamul and English. As 
 they went out, I heard the officer say, ' Dear me, 
 
 Mr. , is it possible that you have been able 
 
 to teach those black fellows how to read and 
 write?'" 
 
 "Well," said I, "but you must not judge of 
 us all by that officer." 
 
 " No, Sir," replied the Catechist ; " but I find 
 the same thing with the Missionaries. A Euro- 
 pean gentleman goes into one of our villages ; 
 he sees a set of clay images, which he is told 
 the people worship, and then he sets them down 
 as a herd of childish and silly barbarians. He 
 gets such a contempt for their understanding 
 that he thinks anything will convert them, and 
 
\ 
 
 A MISSIONARY. 27 
 
 thus he scatters among them books only fit for 
 a child to read. But, Sir, I have been told that 
 the Roman Catholics in Europe have many 
 great and clever men among them, and yet they 
 do reverence sometimes to images, not much 
 better in appearance than those of our heathen. 
 And what they allege in their defence, our 
 learned pagans say in theirs, which is, that they 
 do not worship the image, but the god or the 
 holy person, some of whose attributes or features 
 it represents, and of whom it merely acts as a 
 memorial." 
 
 " And what do you think of the employment 
 of European Missionaries amongst you?" in- 
 quired I. 
 
 " European gentleman is very good," he 
 answered, " and much respected ; but he does 
 not speak to the heart of the native like one of 
 his own nation. Then. Sir, the sun here is hot 
 and the Missionary gentleman cannot get out of 
 his house during the day : and often w^hen he 
 has learned the language and got acquainted 
 with the people, some illness takes him, and he 
 
28 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 leaves, or he is moved off to another station 
 from which some one else has gone." 
 
 " And do you think the natives fit to take up 
 the work ?" 
 
 "You ask me one question," said the Cate- 
 chist, smiling, " and I ask yau another. Did the 
 Apostles wait to civilize the people they preached 
 to, before they raised up native churches and a 
 native clergy among them?" 
 
A MISSIONARY. 29 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 My Missionary career was not an adventurous 
 one. I lived aniong my Indian flock in the 
 midst of an Indian village, remote from Euro- 
 pean society, and, alas ! that I should have to 
 write it, the contagion of European manners. 
 My people were simple in their habits, and 
 patriarchal in their feelings. Four shillings a 
 month was considered a pretty thing in its way, 
 ten shillings a decent income, and twenty the 
 height of opulence. On the confines of the 
 village, was an extensive forest filled with all 
 kinds of game, where herds of wild boars 
 roamed in unmolested fi-eedom, and now and 
 then a tiger would pay us a roving visit. But 
 
30 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 I met with little annoyance from the denizens of 
 the wood, and although the howling of the 
 jackals sometimes kept me awake at night, and 
 one of them once leaped through the window, 
 and made a careful survey of my person with 
 his sharp, glittering eyes, I was on the best of 
 terms with my neighbours both biped and 
 quadruped. On Sundays I officiated in the 
 little chunam-plastered church, which a former 
 Missionary of classical taste had constructed as 
 like a small Grecian temple as possible ; and in 
 the week I traversed my extensive parish, about 
 as large as two English dioceses in a buUock- 
 cart, living almost exclusively upon rice, except 
 when I happened to shoot a few snipe or wild- 
 fowl. 
 
 One day in the seven was generally looked 
 forward to with some degree of lively expecta- 
 tion ; it was that on which my messenger 
 returned from the nearest post town with a 
 packet of letters from England. I used then to 
 place my chair beneath the shade of two banyan- 
 trees which grew near my house, and pore over 
 
A MISSIONARY. 31 
 
 the pious and affectionate soul-breathings of 
 Mr. Templeton, the quaint and sometimes 
 pedantic epistles of my uncle, and the open- 
 hearted, friendly communications of Merton. 
 From the latter I heard frequently. He wrote 
 in high spirits, chastened by the sobering tone of 
 religious feeling, and spoke with the warmest 
 expressions of his domestic happiness. By de- 
 grees I noticed a change in his style, and was 
 'inexpressibly shocked when in one of his letters 
 he intimated to me his fear that he was then 
 suffering from the secret and insidious inroads 
 of consumption. Subsequent intelligence re- 
 doubled my anxiety. He was growing worse, 
 though stiU in outward appearance but little 
 affected by his disorder, the existence of which 
 he had carefuUy concealed from his wife. But 
 at length he wrote no more, and I was left to 
 learn the last sad particulars from my uncle. 
 
 Death is painful to hear of at aU times, and 
 the death of those for whom we feel affection, 
 inflicts additional anguish if the tidings of it 
 reaches us in some distant region. The daily 
 
32 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 anxiety, the longing for, yet the dread of in- 
 telligence, the desire to fly to the bed side of the 
 sufferer that we may render the last sad offices of 
 friendship, and receive the last words of expiring 
 aflFection, heightened by the conviction that we 
 cannot and ought not to comply with it, all 
 tend to add to the intensity of our sorrow, and 
 to increase our pain. 
 
 And now, that the sad news comes at last, I 
 feel how strange my mournful countenance and 
 brief words must appear to those around me. 
 They cannot sympathise with me, for they have 
 never known him. 
 
 I hear from a distance the sound of boyish 
 revelry, and there seems something heartless in 
 it, though I have never breathed to any one the 
 cause of my grief. It soon oozes out, however, 
 and I have then no reason to complain of in- 
 difference on the part of my alien flock. Yet 
 their untaught attempts at sympathy wound 
 perhaps more than heal. 
 
 Writing as I do, at a distant period from the 
 occurrence of the events related in these pages, 
 
A MISSIONARY. 33 
 
 the emotions I describe appear invested with 
 a certain amount of unreality. There is a ten- 
 dency in all of us to underrate the afflictions 
 through which we have already passed. It is 
 this which so frequently invests old times with a 
 roseate hue, and leads us to cherish vividly the 
 recollection of their pleasures, while we can 
 scarcely believe in the intensity or depth of their 
 sorrows. It is as when the man immersed in 
 • the maturer cares of ]ife, smiles half con- 
 temptuously at the whining of the imprisoned 
 school-boy. 
 
 The grief of those who are actively em- 
 ployed, is, however, but of short duration. A 
 thousand daily cares and anxieties blunt the 
 edge of recollection and withdraw the sting 
 from regret. Soothed by the opiate of dis- 
 tracting influences, our sensibilities close again, 
 like a rapidly healing wound, and we wonder 
 that they could ever have felt so keenly the 
 deadly thrust of affliction. 
 
 Soon after her husband's death, I received a 
 letter from Mrs. Merton, and addressed to her 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
34 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 in reply some sentences of consolation and 
 encouragement. It seemed strange to me, 
 almost painful to be obliged to write to her on 
 such a theme. As I traced the characters, old 
 recollections rushed into my mind, and old 
 feelino-s revived which I endeavoured to check. 
 It appeared almost sacrilege to indulge them 
 while her tears were yet flowing for him. 
 
 About six months afterwards I heard again 
 from my uncle, who informed me that Mrs. 
 Merton and her father had left town. She was 
 now, he said, resigned to her loss, and was 
 devoting herself with unwearied assiduity to her 
 father whose health had suffered materially of 
 late. My old protege Jack had obtained the 
 post of midshipman on board the ' Dido,' the 
 captain of which was an old friend of ray uncle. 
 
 Time rolled on, and I began to feel unmis- 
 takeable tokens that the climate of India was 
 telling upon me. I will not weary the reader 
 with a detailed account of my struggles wdth 
 increasing iU health, and the many efforts which 
 I made to retain the position where it had 
 
A MISSIONARY. 35 
 
 pleased Providence to place me. It may be 
 sufficient to say that the medical men whom 1 
 consulted, gave it as their unanimous opinion 
 that I should at once return to Europe, and in 
 this the Local authorities of the Society con- 
 curred. 
 
 The news of my approaching departure from 
 my station was received by most of my flock 
 with great apparent affliction, in which I believe 
 'the majority to have been sincere. I had 
 entered into their habits and feelings as much 
 as I was able, and having acquired considerable 
 fluency in their language, they could converse 
 with me freely on their little troubles, and 
 understand me when I offered them either con- 
 solation or advice. Those who have had any 
 experience in the study of language, will com- 
 prehend a distinction which may seem to others 
 too subtle, w^hen I say that a man might speak 
 in a foreign tongue correctly enough according 
 to the grammatical theory, and yet be unin- 
 telligible to the majority of those whom he 
 addresses. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 I received an intimation that the Missionary 
 who had been destined to replace me, was now 
 on his way ; and one evening, a native servant 
 entered my verandah, and handed me a card, on 
 which was inscribed, " Rev. P. A. Haufman." 
 About an hour afterwards,- a bullock car drove 
 up the compound, out of which stepped a 
 gentleman with strongly marked Teutonic 
 features, who, seizing my hand, addressed 
 me as " mine reshpected Broder Shingle- 
 ton." 
 
 I gave him the warmest possible welcome 
 in return, and taking a seat, he began to dis- 
 course with considerable volubility. 
 
 " Mine goot Shur," he said, " we are bredren, 
 and should therefore know all about each oder. 
 My name ish Peter Atlantic; for you shee I 
 vas born on dat great Ocean, and they did 
 on that account gif me its name. By-and-bye, 
 I shall hafe de pleasure to introduce you to 
 mine pride, Karen Happuch." 
 
 I was uncertain whether the pride with the 
 strange name might be a horse, a flower, or a 
 
A MISSIONARY. 37 
 
 particularly handsome bullock, when Mr. Kauf- 
 man, observing my bewildered air, said : 
 
 " Karen Happuch is mine wife, Broder 
 Shingleton ] she is name after the daughter 
 of Job, you know. Her two sisters vere called 
 Jemima and Kezia. She is following after me, 
 but the bullock in her bandy has been shick on 
 the road, though I hope I shall be able to shave 
 him." 
 
 • The idea of shaving a buUock seemed rather 
 incongruous, but I soon got used to Mr. 
 Kaufman's peculiar phraseology ; and the 
 more I knew of his history, the greater respect 
 I entertained for him. He had been out as a 
 Missionary for fifteen years, when the death of 
 a relative in Germany left him heir to a con- 
 siderable amount of landed property. He 
 returned, and was offered a high and lucrative 
 appointment in one of the Universities, for 
 which his knowledge of Oriental languages 
 pecuHarly fitted him. But his heart was in 
 India, and he returned thither, having sold his 
 
38 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 estate and bought an annuity which enabled 
 him to dispense with a salary. 
 
 Karen Happuch soon arrived safely. She 
 was a Danish lady of Tranquebar, and, not- 
 withstanding her odd name, I found her a very 
 unassuming nice person. It was some satisfac- 
 tion to think that I could leave my flock in such 
 hands, and when the summons came to depart, 
 I almost felt, on bidding adieu to the worthy 
 Peter Atlantic, as if I were separating from an 
 old and valued friend. 
 
 From Madras, I took the overland route, and 
 arrived safely at Cairo, without having met 
 with anything worth recording in the way. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 39 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Being somewhat fatigued by my journey, I de- 
 termined to remain a month or two in the capital 
 of modern Egypt, the more especially as the win- 
 ter season had now arrived, and I no longer felt 
 myself suffering from immoderate heat. I had ' 
 studied Arabic in India, and found no difficulty 
 in making myself understood by the natives, 
 so that I could examine the curiosities of the 
 city alone, and unfettered by the official tyranny 
 of a professional guide. This mode of life was 
 new to me, and I enjoyed it. I hired a house 
 for a month in the most oriental quarter of the 
 town, and scarcely saw any one except the 
 natives of the place. 
 
40 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 I was walking one day in the bazaar, when 
 my eye, which had been hitherto carelessly 
 wandering over the different picturesque groups 
 so often met with in these localities, lighted 
 upon a face that immediately attracted my at- 
 tention. Its owner was dressed in the oriental 
 costume, and possessed a fine bushy beard that 
 a pasha might have en\ded. 
 
 " Surely," said I to myself, " I have seen 
 those features before." 
 
 The man looked up, and our eyes met. 
 Laying down his pipe with oriental deliberation, 
 he hurried towards me, and smiled as he re- 
 marked my confused stare in answer to his 
 English salutation. 
 
 " What, Mr. Singleton," exclaimed he, " have 
 you forgotten me ? No fault of yours though, 
 for I have deluded sharper ones than you in 
 my time, if you will excuse my saying so. 
 Well, I rather think I've done it pretty well, and 
 could even pass muster at Mecca, if necessary, 
 for a true believer." 
 
 " Pardon me," I said, " I am still at a loss.'* 
 
A MISSIONARY. 41 
 
 " What !" he said, " don't you remember 
 Jack Martin, Sir, and the old ferry on the Lea, 
 not to speak of St. Giles's and our young friend 
 Jack ? I told you, Sir, we should meet some 
 day in foreign parts, and you see my prophecy 
 has come true. But I have a great deal to say 
 to you, and perhaps you would have no objec- 
 tion to a little conversation in some less public 
 place than a Cairene bazaar." 
 
 " Well," said I, " let us go to my house, 
 which is not far off, and then I shall be glad 
 to know your adventures. But I hope you 
 have not turned Mohammedan." 
 
 "Not I, indeed. Sir," replied Mr. Martin, 
 " and perhaps I am a better Christian than I 
 was. I attend the services of the Missionaries 
 here, and I think they have done me some good, 
 but I am sure they have kept me from much 
 evil. In fact, I don't think one understands the 
 value of a church until one finds oneself in an 
 outlandish place like this." 
 
 We soon an'ived at my dwelling, where Mr. 
 Martin seated himself cross-legged upon the 
 
42 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 carpet, and having been furnished with a pipe, 
 made himself in a few minutes quite at home. 
 
 " I dare say, now, Mr. Singleton," he said, 
 after a short pause, " that you are surprised to 
 see me here, and, indeed, sometimes I can 
 hardly believe myself actually in the land of old 
 Pharoah and the Pyramids. Fine country, Sir, 
 though a queer set of people ; they would be 
 too much, I think, even for St. Giles's itself" 
 
 "And what are you doing here, Mr. Mar- 
 tin?" 
 
 " Why, Sir," he replied, " I can hardly tell 
 you exactly. The fact is, I am something 
 between a secretary and a man-of-all-work to a 
 gentleman hard by, who brought me from 
 England as his confidential attendant. When 
 we first came we intended to stop a fortnight, 
 ' but we have been in these parts about two years. 
 My governor, you see. Sir, is a studious sort of 
 man, that does not hke to be bothered, and so 
 I manage all the house affairs, pay everybody, 
 and keep the accounts. As for this Eastern 
 dress, it is all a freak of his, for he wished, when 
 
A MISSIONARY. 43 
 
 he came here, to live among the natives, and 
 adopt their habits as much as possible ; and as 
 this change of dress fell in very well with 
 my humour, I followed his example, like a 
 dutiful follower ought to do." 
 
 " Does your employer live far from hence ?" I 
 inquired. 
 
 " No, Sir," said Martin. " We have a house in 
 this quarter, and I hope I shall see you occa- 
 sionally, since we are such near neighbours. 
 And how does poor Jack get on, Sir ?" 
 
 We talked for some time on different topics, 
 and in the course of conversation Martin told 
 me that he thought his master intended to 
 leave Cairo shortly. He described him as a 
 man of eccentric habits and retired disposition, 
 who had secluded himself entirely from Euro- 
 pean society, and mingled very sparingly even 
 with the natives. He told me that he passed 
 his time chiefly in solitude, shutting himself up 
 for hours in his own room, and refusing admit- 
 tance to every one. 
 
 " But with all this," continued Martin, " he 
 
44 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 is very benevolent and charitable, and also, I 
 think, religious. One night, Sir, I heard sobs 
 and lamentations, as it were, from his room, 
 and I listened at the door, thinking perhaps he 
 was ill ; but it seemed as if he was praying, and, 
 though I could not hear exactly what he said, 
 yet it appeared as if he was very much in 
 earnest." 
 
 I felt considerably interested in the unknown, 
 and after Martin left, I sat for some time de- 
 bating with myself whether I should call upon 
 him, when the return of my old acquaintance 
 with a message from his master saved me any 
 further deliberation. He came to say that Mr. 
 Walsingham had sent his compliments, and 
 would, if agreeable, pay me a visit in the course 
 of the day. 
 
 "He looked rather cross," added Martin, 
 " when I first told him that I had met you ; but 
 when I said that you were a clergyman, in bad 
 health, who was living like himself among the 
 natives, his heart seemed to warm to you, and 
 he said : ' J must really see Mr. Singleton, 
 
A MISSIONARY. 45 
 
 Martin,' and so, Sir, he sent me with this mes- 
 sage." 
 
 " Well," said I, " if you think there could 
 be no objection, I will carry the answer myself, 
 provided you do not mind my accompanying 
 you." 
 
 " Not in the least," he replied, " and I am 
 sure he would be glad to see you." 
 
 As we went along, Martin informed me that 
 his employer he believed was highly connected, 
 but seldom spoke of his relatives, and never 
 made allusions to his past history. 
 
 " Once," continued Martin, " I said some- 
 thing about a person of the same name whom I 
 had heard of in London ; but my master inter- 
 rupted me with unusual sternness, and told me 
 if I desired to remain with him, never to mention 
 England, or any one belonging to it in his 
 presence. In fact, I was almost afraid he would 
 be angry at my meeting you, and I don't think. 
 Sir, I should have told him of it ; but he 
 questioned me rather closely as to where I had 
 been." 
 
46 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 We were now at Mr. Walsingham's door, and 
 my companion led the way through a narrow pas- 
 sage into a large square court, where he asked 
 me to wait by the side of a fountain, bordered 
 with orange trees, while he informed his master 
 of my presence. The room's which surrounded 
 the quadrangle seemed spacious and lofty, for as 
 is generally the case with eastern habitations, 
 there was no second story. Two large recesses 
 were lined with divans or low sofas, while a 
 third, much lower and less elaborately orna- 
 mented appeared to lead to kitchens or inferior 
 offices connected with the house. I had barely 
 time to note these general features, when Martin 
 returned with a message from his employer that 
 he would be glad to see me immediately. 
 
 Following him into one of the recesses 
 already mentioned, I entered an apartment to 
 the right which had been fitted up as a library 
 and contained an ample store of books. Mr. 
 Walsingham was writing or reading at a 
 large table in the centre, and as he rose to 
 welcome me I found myself opposite to a man 
 
A MISSIONARY. 47 
 
 of middle age, dressed in the Egyptian costume 
 and wearing his beard after the oriental fashion. 
 His naturally dark hair was thickly mingled with 
 grey, and on his spacious forehead might be 
 traced wrinkled lines, which owed their existence 
 apparently more to care or study than to years. 
 There was an expression of pride about his 
 features tempered, however, by that unmistake- 
 able air of com^^sy which characterizes men 
 'of birth and station. His mode of receiv- 
 ing me, savoured much of the easy dignity 
 that we are accustomed to associate with the 
 old regime of former days, the effect of which 
 was heightened considerably by the graceful 
 costume of the East. Perhaps, however, a 
 close observer might have detected beneath this 
 polished exterior, a certain reserve belonging more 
 to the scholar and recluse, than to the man of 
 action or pleasure. 
 
 r apologised for my intrusion, but he begged 
 me to consider my visit as a welcome one, and 
 added : 
 
 " Though I certainly shrink from the society of 
 
48 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 impertinent tourists and idlers, to whose curiosity 
 I do not choose to exhibit myself, yet I trust, 
 Mr. Singleton, you will not think such a pro- 
 hibition extends to one of your sacred office and 
 character. The fact is, I do not wish to hear," 
 he added, smiling, " that I and my humble 
 mansion have had the honour of figuring in the 
 next three volumes of Eastern travels, with 
 which some adventurous gentleman favours the 
 world. I have a slight objection to be ticketed 
 and labelled in some table of contents as * a sin- 
 gular character,' or ' eccentric Englishman,' or 
 to have all my little whims exhibited, with a 
 slight colouring, of course, to the gaze of ' an 
 indulgent' and curious public. Besides, you re- 
 member, doubtless, Sterne's old maxim, that 
 * an Englishman does not travel to see English- 
 men.'" 
 
 " Many seem as if they travelled for nothing 
 else," I replied. " But you must be rather 
 lonely here, Mr. Walsingham." 
 
 " Oh no, I have my books, faithful old com- 
 panions, who never grow weary or ashamed of 
 
A MISSIONARY. 49 
 
 my society ; and then I possess a young gazelle, 
 that has beauty without coquetry, and timidity 
 without affectation. Do you think I could 
 better myself in the actual world of men and 
 women ?" 
 
 " Well, there is something romantic about 
 your secluded state," I observed. 
 
 " Do not say that, or I shall suspect you 
 of intending to write a book, and to put me 
 into it," returned Mr. Walsingham, lightly. 
 "You have no idea what persecutions I have 
 already suffered from curious travellers. How 
 they contrived to ferret me out, I cannot tell, 
 but they have practised all kinds of stratagems 
 against my solitude. My servants were bribed, 
 my doors watched, my walks haunted, and one 
 lady sat herself down, note-book in hand, upon 
 the door-step, and declared she would not stir 
 tni she had seen me." 
 
 "And how did you get rid of her impor- 
 tunity?" I inquired. 
 
 " Why, you must know, I was driven in self- 
 defence to countermine. Martin is a very 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
50 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 clever fellow, and he acted as my substitute 
 on the occasion. What he told her, I do 
 not know, and never inquired, but some months 
 after, I received three volumes, very handsomely 
 bound, from London, containing a full and true 
 account of a mysterious -Englishman, whom 
 the writer had met and talked to in Grand 
 Cairo, The narrative connected with this 
 strange personage was so full of the mar- 
 vellous, that Martin declared he could not 
 in conscience lay claim to more than a quarter 
 of it." 
 
 Soon after I took my leave, and Martin 
 accompanied me back to my house, as I had 
 promised him some medicine for a headache, of 
 which he was then complaining. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Singleton, you are quite a 
 doctor," said he, as he examined my case of 
 instruments and well-worn chest, which had 
 already done good service in India. " I wish 
 I was," he added, " for the French and Italians 
 here are nothing but quacks, they say, and it is 
 well to be independent of them." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 51 
 
 He took the powder and departed; but in 
 about half-an-hour came running back in a 
 great fright, to say, that his master had fallen 
 down in a fit, and was now perfectly in- 
 sensible. 
 
 Seizing hastily my lancets and bandages, 
 I hurried after him, and found Mr. Walsing- 
 ham lying on the divan, quite motionless. I 
 bled him, and he revived a little, but his state 
 seemed so doubtful, that I determined not to 
 leave the house. It was well I did not, for 
 he was attacked by fever in the evening, and 
 before night was perfectly delirious. Finding 
 that there was no medical man near, in whom 
 I could confide, and having both studied and 
 practised- the healing art during my Missionary 
 career, 1 thought I might safely undertake the 
 case myself. 
 
 For some days I watched by the bed-side, 
 and ministered to the sufferer; nor shall I 
 easily forget how deeply thankful I felt when I 
 perceived signs that the vehemence of his dis- 
 order was considerably abated. In his delirious 
 
 E 2 
 
52 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 fits he murmured the name of Adeline very fre- 
 quently, and addressed some person who bore it 
 in terms of endearment. It somewhat startled 
 me at first, for Adeline had been the name of 
 my uncle's unhappy daughter ; but I knew that 
 this appellation was common enough in France, 
 and therefore paid little attention to it. 
 
 Profoundly thankful did I feel to the Almighty 
 Healer, when Mr. Walsingham revived so far as 
 to recognise and converse with me. His grati- 
 tude was unbounded, and I was even obliged 
 to repress its transports lest his emotions should 
 affect his recovery. I did not forget the respon- 
 sibilities of my own sacred profession, and en- 
 deavoured to lead his mind gently and cau- 
 tiously to religious subjects. On these indeed 
 I found him well informed, and his sentiments 
 were always expressed in a sincere and humble 
 manner. 
 
 Circumstances had of course materially altered 
 his bearing towards myself. The polished 
 courtesy of his first address now gave way to 
 the familiarity of intimate friendship. He re- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 53 
 
 signed himself into ray hands with all the sim- 
 plicity and trustfulness of a child, and there 
 scarcely remained a single trace of his former 
 proud and worldly deportment. 
 
 I quitted him as seldom as possible, for his 
 illness made it irksome for him to see the few 
 natives with whom he possessed a slight ac- 
 quaintance, and he had always shrunk from the 
 society of the Europeans. 
 
 My stay in Cairo had been much longer than 
 I originally intended, but I felt that I could 
 not abandon my patient. My little property at 
 home yielded me enough to live upon, and I 
 found my health improved by the climate of 
 Egypt. I was anxious, however, to quit it be- 
 fore the very hot weather set in, and Mr. Wal- 
 singham being now sufficiently convalescent to 
 occupy one of the divans in his study, I thought 
 I might mention my intended departure to 
 him, and ascertain whether he was disposed to 
 accompany me at least some part of the 
 way. 
 
 He listened in perfect silence to what I said, 
 
54 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 and then, after some consideration, inquired 
 abruptly — 
 
 " Do you think I might travel in a month's 
 time ?" 
 
 " That will depend," I replied, " upon whether 
 vour strength goes on increasing at the present 
 rate. If there is no relapse, I should say you 
 might ; and 1 imagine that the change would 
 even be beneficial." 
 
 " And you, I think, Singleton, are going to 
 England? Should you object to pay a short 
 visit en route to the Holy Land ?" 
 
 I replied that nothing would give me greater 
 pleasure if I could meet with a companion. 
 
 " Well," he answered, " I have some idea 
 of going there, and if you would allow me to 
 inflict my dull society upon you, perhaps we 
 might travel together. At all events, we can 
 speak of this hereafter, when my health is a 
 little more established." 
 
 We conversed for some time on various 
 topics, relating chiefly to the country in which 
 we were both strangers. I was surprised at 
 
A MISSIONARY. 55 
 
 the accurate acquaintance with Eastern lore 
 displayed by my new friend, and impressed by 
 the extent of his information on subjects which 
 lie far beyond the reach of a mere superficial 
 observer. He spoke with dislike and contempt 
 of the conventionalities of modern civilization, 
 and I thought his remarks tinged with a slight 
 touch of misanthropy. 
 
 " Were we in England now," he said, 
 glancing round the apartment, " this room 
 would be crowded with a set of useless nick- 
 nacks, which we should both despise, and could 
 well dispense with ; but which we must waste 
 our money on because, forsooth, society in its 
 wisdom has decreed that they are indispensable. 
 I come here, and adopt this tasteful and com- 
 fortable costume ; but I dare not show myself in 
 it to any travelling countryman, lest he should 
 deride me for not being such a swathed up crea- 
 ture as himself. The poor conventional slave 
 cannot speak out his feelings of honest enthu- 
 siasm when he admires either God's work or 
 man's, without being voted extravagant or eccen- 
 
56 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 ti'ic ; and perhaps he might be in danger of a 
 mad-house, if he had any property to covet, or 
 any stiff conventional relation to disoblige. Out 
 upon this wretched system !" 
 
 " And yet," said I, " the East is peculiarly 
 the home of conventionalism. Men eat, drink, 
 walk, and dress according to traditional rules. 
 How else can we account for the imchangeable 
 character impressed on everything which we see 
 around us ?" 
 
 " Ah ! that," said Mr. Walsingham, " is a 
 respectable conventionalism which antiquity 
 renders almost sacred. You would not compare 
 it to our ever-changing fashions that vary at 
 every new moon, and originate with people 
 whom generally one cannot help despising." 
 
 " Well," said I, " bad as we are, I do not 
 think you would really like to submit to the 
 oriental conventionalism, venerable though it 
 may be." 
 
 " Perhaps not," he answered ; " but early 
 education and prejudices, instilled into us when 
 we first begin life, have spoilt us for a more 
 
A MISSIONARY. 57 
 
 simple and natural state of things. However," 
 he added, quickly, " we will discuss these matters 
 more fully another time. You want a little 
 change from a sick room now, so go and see 
 the Pyramids, and after that, defend, if you can, 
 your modern upstart civilization." 
 
 My prognostications turned out correct, and 
 at the end of a month Mr. Walsingham could 
 go about without either inconvenience or 
 fatigue. 
 
 We wandered together through the ruins of 
 ancient magnificence, and moralized over the 
 vicissitudes which had befallen the country in 
 which we were sojourners. His remarks were 
 grave, and full of deep religious feeling, while 
 there were seasons when a profound melancholy 
 seemed to hold sway over his thoughts. It 
 was evident that some hidden sorrow was 
 lurking within; but he appeared, in this in- 
 stance, to shrink from sympathy, and not dis- 
 posed to invite confidence. When he alluded 
 to himself at all, which he seldom did, the 
 sincere humility of his tone interested me 
 
58 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 strongly, and made me most anxious to pene- 
 trate his secret. Why was he lingering here 
 at a time of life when most men are actively 
 engaged in working out the great responsibilities 
 of existence ? Such talents as he evidently pos- 
 sessed, and such advantages as he clearly en- 
 joyed, ought not to be wasted in the selfish 
 gratification of morbid meditation. 
 
 Something of this kind I hinted to him 
 during one of our expeditions. He received 
 my suggestions in silence, but seemed full of 
 thought until we returned. The next day, 
 however, he referred of his own accord to our 
 conversation. 
 
 " And you think," said he abruptly, " that I 
 ought to go back to a world which, in former 
 days I abandoned, because I so thoroughly 
 despised it. But what should I gain by that ?" 
 
 " For yourself nothing, perhaps," I replied, 
 " except the satisfaction of working out the end 
 and object of your being. For others you 
 might effect much." 
 
 "To be repaid with misrepresentation and 
 
A MISSIONARY. 59 
 
 ingratitude," he answered. " Those who have 
 attempted to serve men from Prometheus down- 
 wards, have met wdth nothing but disappoint- 
 ment." 
 
 " And will still," said I, " if they expect an 
 earthly reward. But is it nothing to labour 
 for high and noble ends with the consciousness 
 of God's approval to lighten our toil, and to 
 assure us of a destiny hereafter, brighter and 
 more glorious than men's applause or commen- 
 dation could give, or their disappointment and 
 dislike withhold. What if they view our efforts 
 with the same indifference or hatred, which the 
 best and noblest have borne before us. We 
 share the obloquy and misapprehension which 
 lay so heavily on them, shall w-e not partake 
 also in the reward which has now crowned their 
 unselfish exertion ?" 
 
 " I have thought of this," he replied so- 
 lemnly, " and I must own you are right. I feel 
 though I have long been trying to conceal it 
 from myself, that I am both selfish and self- 
 seeking. England possesses for me many 
 
60 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 painful associations ; but I must brave these, 
 and see in the sorrow which they inflict only a 
 well-merited penance for the past. Yet I will 
 ask you one thing. Stay by me and strengthen 
 my resolution by your presence and advice. Let 
 me not relapse if you can help it into my old 
 self. I should like to visit Jerusalem, for 1 
 have never yet been there. Afterwards we will 
 return to England together." 
 
 "I am delighted to hear of your determi- 
 nation," I replied, " and I trust, my dear friend, 
 that whatever the sorrows are to which you 
 allude, they may one day yield to the endearing 
 influences of home." 
 
 " Do not speak of home," he said hastily, as 
 if some unwelcome recollection had been excited 
 by the word, " I have no home, except like the 
 ancient philosopher, I may claim one in heaven. 
 All countries are alike to me in that parti- 
 cular." 
 
 " Yet you had" — and I paused, fearing lest a 
 reference to his former hfe might annoy or pain 
 him. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 61 
 
 " Friends, relatives, you would say, perhaps, 
 who ought to welcome and rejoice over a 
 returning prodigal," he interrupted in a bitter 
 tone. " But you forget that the fatted calf is 
 not always killed on such occasions. There are 
 those. Singleton, who might send the poor 
 penitent back to his husks again. But I must 
 not talk of this, or I shall not quit Cairo." 
 
 He paused a few minutes as if to subdue 
 some inward emotion, and then continued. 
 
 " Some day you shall know my history. I 
 will not tell it here, because perhaps the recital 
 might, as 1 said, induce me to give up all 
 thoughts of return. The feelings which im- 
 pelled me to fix my abode in this place, must 
 sleep till I am far from hence. I will leave 
 you now, for this conversation has disturbed 
 me." 
 
 I met Martin afterwards in the bazaar, and 
 he told me that his master had shut himself 
 up in his room, and given orders that no food 
 should be sent up to him. 
 
 "It is his way. Sir," said the worthy fac- 
 
62 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 totum, " whenever anything seems to cross 
 him. At such times he can't bear interruption. 
 I imagine I don't take after him in that though. 
 They say grief is thirsty, and for my part I've 
 found it hungry too occasionally. But he will 
 be better to-morrow, Mi'. Singleton, depend 
 upon it. These fits soon pass away from 
 him." 
 
 When I reached my own house, my servant 
 came running out to say that a strange gentle- 
 man, whose name he tried to pronounce several 
 times, but could not, was waiting for me within. 
 I walked into my sitting-room, and though 
 some years had elapsed since we met, I had no 
 difficulty in recognising the features of Mr. 
 Ranson. They were evidently, he considered, 
 set off to the best advantage by a slight sandy 
 moustache, and a very wiry beard of the same 
 colour. On his head he wore the usual Turkish 
 Fez. 
 
 " You would hardly know me, I dare say, 
 Mr. Singleton," said my old acquaintance com- 
 placently ; " positively, when I looked in the glass 
 
A MISSIONARY. 63 
 
 after a month at Cairo, I should hardly have 
 known myself. I rather think I am the thing, 
 quite a la Turque, you understand. In fact, 
 between ourselves," he added, *' I got a com- 
 plete eastern dress when I first came, and wore 
 it at the table-d'hote, but the fellows laughed 
 so, they are horribly rude the English, and the 
 donkey-boys in the streets hooted, so I took 
 it off." 
 . " And what are you doing here ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Oh ! it is a sort of partnership concern, 
 you must know, that I am engaged in. A 
 friend of mine, an artist, is out here sketching, 
 and I am to write the descriptions to his plates. 
 A fine fellow he is, but terribly cranky, and 
 always complaining that my prose don't do him 
 justice. In fact, we've had a little tiff just 
 now, and I walked off from the English hotel 
 where he is staying to the French house, where 
 I saw your name in the book, and of course 
 inquired you out." 
 
 " And what do you think of the East ? 
 Does it answer your expectations ?" 
 
64 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 " Don't ask me, Mr. Singleton," he replied. 
 " The truth is, I have been terribly disap- 
 pointed. There is nothing poetical about the 
 East, Sir. It is all a delusion — one vast 
 sham ! When I first caught sight of Greece, 
 I was delighted. Here, said I, is that classic 
 land which sages and heroes have rendered 
 immortal — the birth-place of Genius, and the 
 theme of undying verse. I landed in raptures, 
 and in my enthusiasm had bent down to salute 
 the far-famed soil, when I was hailed by the 
 cad of the Athens omnibus, which carries pas- 
 sengers to the city of Socrates from the Piraeus 
 every hour. I found the said city a shabby 
 affair, inferior to an English provincial town, 
 and was disturbed in my reverie at the Par- 
 thenon by a Jew boy selling oranges. I 
 congratulated myself on having arrived in 
 the 
 
 *' Land of the east and clime of the sun," 
 
 but was wetted to the very skin every day of 
 my sojourn there by drizzling showers, and 
 
A MISSIONARY. 65 
 
 could not even sit in doors without three great 
 coats on. The third day after my arrival at 
 Athens, I saw in the street a fine romantic- 
 looking fellow, whom I imagined to be a Corsair 
 or Giaour, or something of the sort. Thought 
 I, that man must have a history worth know- 
 ing. I'll make his acquaintance. I did so, 
 and found he was the cook at the French 
 hotel." 
 
 • " Well," said I, " you cannot complain of the 
 cold in Egypt ?" 
 
 " Ah, no," rephed Mr. Ranson, " I am 
 roasted here. And then the living, Sir ! Would 
 you believe it ? I can't get even a steak or a 
 chop for any price ; and their greasy dishes 
 brought on a bilious attack, from which I have 
 hardly yet recovered. Then they are a dirty 
 people. Sir — a filthy race. I have been flea- 
 bitten and mosquito-bitten, and worse, every 
 night of my life. In short. Sir, I can't see any 
 poetry in the East, and I am going back as 
 soon as I can to tell the world so." 
 
 I condoled with Mr. Ranson on this disap- 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
66 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 pointment, and, at his request, walked with him 
 to the hotel to act as mediator between himself 
 and his friend. I found the latter gentleman a 
 tall, thin person, with an exuberance of hair 
 about his face, and a most ferocious aspect. 
 He received us graciously,- however ; and after 
 a little conversation, I succeeded in reconciling 
 my poetical Orestes to his pictorial Pylades. 
 The latter extended his hand solemnly. 
 
 " Here, Ranson," said he, " take that and 
 shake it. You are a good fellow in the main, 
 but not sufficiently considerate. Like the 
 organ-blower, you are always putting in for 
 more than your share of the credit. What 
 would your prose be without my designs ?" 
 
 " And how are the people to know what your 
 designs mean except I tell them ?" retorted Mr. 
 Ranson. " Really, Danvers, you are too bad." 
 
 " What, Sir !" responded the artist, growing 
 angry again, " do you take me, Sir, for a 
 wretched sign-painter, who is obliged to have 
 scrawled under his miserable daubs, this is a 
 lion, and that is a bear ?" 
 
A MISSIONARY. 67 
 
 " If he painted you, Sir, there would be no 
 necessity for the latter description," exclaimed 
 the now equally irate author. 
 
 " Come, gentlemen," said I, " do not quarrel 
 about the importance of your respective shares 
 in the work, but let each do the best he can to 
 support the other ; and permit me in the mean- 
 while to relate a little Indian story, which bears 
 somewhat upon the question in point. Once 
 on a time a wealthy Brahmin, wishing to do 
 honour to his favourite idol, caused a car to be 
 fabricated at a great expense, upon which he 
 intended to exhibit, during a particular festival, 
 the image of his Deity. It was ordered in the 
 ritual that vehicles of this kind were to be 
 drawn only by men, and to induce the people 
 to volunteer, he proclaimed that certain privi- 
 leges should be awarded to those who rendered 
 the idol the most important assistance. Every 
 person hoped to find himself among this fortu- 
 nate number, and each contributed his share of 
 the labour so effectively that the ceremony was 
 considered one of the most impressive which 
 
 F 2 
 
68 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 had ever taken place in that part of the 
 country. 
 
 " As the car proceeded, the people followed it 
 with their applause till it reached a sacred tank 
 at some distance from the town, in which the 
 idol was to be washed according to custom. 
 While this part of the ceremony was going on, 
 the principal assistants having nothing to do, 
 began unfortunately to dispute among them- 
 selves as to who had rendered the most effective 
 services. The car maker insisted that the 
 greatest credit was due to him, the decorator 
 was certain that his ornaments had formed the 
 chief attraction, the men who pulled the ropes 
 urged their claims, while the person who was 
 bathing the idol left it in the middle of the 
 water, and hurried on shore to declare that if 
 his aid was not handsomely acknowledged, the 
 dumb divinity might lay there for ever as far 
 as he was concerned. In short, when the Brah- 
 min who had been to visit his brethren in a 
 neighbouring temple, returned to the tank, he 
 found his splendid car half buried in the mud, 
 
A MISSIONARY. 69 
 
 and his favourite image immersed up to the 
 neck in water. 
 
 " He was obliged, therefore, to promise that 
 all who had contributed even in the slightest 
 degree to the work in hand should meet with 
 their share of consideration and favour. His 
 words produced an instantaneous change in 
 affairs. The poor half-drowned idol was res- 
 cued from his unpleasant position ; the drawers 
 took hold of the ropes, and pulled away in good 
 earnest, while the decorator, having nothing 
 else to do, fanned the idol most vigorously as 
 it proceeded homewards ; and finally the pro- 
 cession returned in triumph, and was as much 
 applauded as when it had set out." 
 
 "Well, Sir," said the artist, "I withdraw 
 my expressions, if I have said anything offen- 
 sive." 
 
 " And so do I," added Ranson ; " and I am 
 sure, Danvers, Mr. Singleton will bear me wit- 
 ness that I described you as a very able man." 
 
 " Then talk no more about it," replied Dan- 
 
70 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 vers, "and let us for the twentieth time be 
 friends again. You have, it must be confessed, 
 a pretty knack at description. There now, I 
 have said everything a man should say; and 
 you must be as stony-hearted as the Sphinx 
 herself, if you bear malice. ' Will Mr. Singleton 
 sup with us ?" 
 
 I declined his invitation, having a sort of 
 presentiment that my new acquaintances might 
 seal their reconciliation by a little more con- 
 viviality than I felt disposed to witness; but 
 not being willing to give offence, I asked Mr. 
 Danvers to allow me to inspect the sketches 
 which he had made. He immediately laid open 
 his portfolio, and I turned over its contents 
 with some interest, for the designs were ad- 
 mirably executed. I almost started, however, 
 when, among some views in the Holy Land, I 
 came upon the portrait of a lady, in whose 
 features I traced the unmistakable lineaments 
 of Rachel Moncada. 
 
 "You seem interested in that sketch, Mr. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 7l • 
 
 Singleton," said Danvers. " If so, you will, 
 perhaps, be pleased to hear that we met the 
 original about two months ago in Syria." 
 
 " Mrs. Merton is an old friend of mine," I 
 replied. " Can you tell me if she is still in the 
 East ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," answered Ranson ; " for you 
 know, Danvers, she and the other lady both 
 said they were going to reside for a year near 
 Mount Lebanon." 
 
 "But where?" I inquired. 
 
 " Well, I can't remember the name of the 
 village," replied Danvers ; " but you will, doubt- 
 less, be able to hear something of them at 
 Jerusalem. The elder lady said she had letters 
 to a Mr. Babington, a medical man there." 
 
 I now took my departure, furnished with an 
 additional motive for visiting Palestine. It was 
 a singular encounter to look forward to, and 
 one which I could not anticipate without some 
 degree of anxiety. My first thought was that 
 I would tell her all ; my boyish love and its 
 concealment, my struggles to repress it when 
 
72 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 she became the bride of another, and my joy 
 that now I could offer her a home, and a heart 
 which had never ceased to feel strongly in- 
 terested in her welfare. But soon I said to 
 myself, " George Singleton, years have passed 
 since then ; you are both altered, and, perhaps, 
 the pale, sun-burnt Missionary may prove more 
 welcome as a sage adviser than as a lover. A 
 truce, then, with romance and boyish dreams. 
 You are old, my friend, and you know it. 
 Your calling and your years should warn you 
 against indulging the raptures of two-and- 
 twenty. See Rachel Moncada if you will, but 
 look forward to your meeting only with the 
 sober, grave delight, with which a Christian 
 ought to anticipate greeting the friend of his 
 youth." 
 
 Yet there was a strange gleam of pleasurable 
 emotion flashed across my mind when I pro- 
 nounced her name in my evening orisons, and 
 prayed that wherever she dwelt, or for whatever 
 she might be reserved, the God of her fathers, 
 the guide of the patriarchal Syrian wanderer. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 73 
 
 would be with her still. And as I craved His 
 direction, and besought that His future pro- 
 tection might rest upon me, I felt that my 
 prayer had ascended on high, and that the 
 answer would come likewise in His own good 
 time. 
 
74 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Two travellers are gazing upon Jerusalem, 
 from the low, rocky flat, commonly identified 
 with Mount Gihon. From behind the Gothic wall 
 which encircles the city, a few domes and minarets 
 relieve the monotonous mass of low, insignificant 
 houses that disgrace, in modern times, the former 
 metropolis of David and Solomon. Beyond rose 
 the bare and rocky mountains, which confront 
 the city towards the East. 
 
 " And it was here," said Walsingham, '■ that 
 the great work of man's redemption was worked 
 out. Who could think, with such associations 
 surrounding him, that the cry of the penitent 
 soul can fall unheeded on the ear of omnipo- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 75 
 
 tence. Let us contemplate this scene awhile, 
 Singleton, for I feel almost incredulous, and can 
 scarcely believe that I am here. Do you re- 
 member those magnificent lines of Tasso? How 
 applicable they seem now : — 
 
 " ' Ecco apparir Gierusalem si vede ; 
 Ecco additar Gierusalem si scorge ; 
 Ecco da mille voci unitamente 
 Gierusalemme salutar si sente.' " 
 
 "It is strange," said I, "that during all 
 your wanderings, you never visited this spot 
 before." 
 
 " Not so, friend, if you knew my history. 
 But the time is now rapidly approaching when 
 you shall know it, and advise me for the future. 
 It is a mark of confidence due to the preserver 
 of my life." 
 
 " Nay," I repHed, " / was but the humble 
 instrument in a higher hand. With regard to 
 your confidence, I have no right to demand 
 what it may be painful for you to grant, and 
 therefore perhaps it would be better not to 
 
/b AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 pledge yourself to relate that which may awaken 
 old sorrows." 
 
 " I have nursed them too long in solitude," 
 he answered, " the process has not been so be- 
 neficial as to lead me to continue it. To-night," 
 he added, solemnly, " I go to pray before the 
 tomb of my Saviour, to seek for pardon for the 
 past, and to entreat guidance for the future. 
 To-morrow we will talk more of this. And 
 now let us ride on to the Latin Convent." 
 
 We wended our way through the narrow and 
 dirty streets of modern Jerusalem, until we 
 halted at last before the old monastery, which is 
 one of the few memorials of the crusading 
 period. It was considered at the period of my 
 visit, and perhaps is still, as the inn of all Euro- 
 peans, to whatever community of Christians 
 they belonged, although strictly one of the Mis- 
 sionary establishments of the Church of Rome. 
 Here, however, as elsewhere, the magical virtues 
 of a silver key seemed to be duly appreciated, 
 and nothing could exceed the suavity and po- 
 liteness of the padre guardiano and his brethren 
 
A MISSIONARY. 77 
 
 to the two English heretics. Their manner 
 savoured perhaps too much of the style of an 
 attentive innkeeper ; but in such cases it is use- 
 less to torment ourselves with suspicions of the 
 sincerity of those who proffer us kindness and 
 civility, at a time w^hen both are much needed ; 
 and certainly the exercise of these two qualities 
 could rarely be more welcome than after a hot 
 ride of ten hours in a Syrian sun. 
 
 • Soon after sunset, Walsingham and I sepa- 
 rated for the night, and I lay for some time revolv- 
 ing over in my mind his promise of confiding 
 to me his past history. It must be evidently 
 a narrative not devoid of painful events, and 
 I almost shrank from the idea of listening to it. 
 Yet I felt that it would be unkind to refuse his 
 confidence when so frankly and freely offered. 
 Perhaps, too, I should be made the medium 
 through which consolation might be imparted 
 to a w^orld-weary spirit. 
 
 The distant sounds of the organ dispelled my 
 reverie, and diverted my thoughts to subjects 
 more strictly devotional. I pondered over 
 
78 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 the wonderful mysteries of which this hallowed 
 land had been the scene, and felt almost as if 
 it were a species of neutral ground between 
 heaven and earth. Never did I realise so fully 
 the great truths of Christianity and its miracu- 
 lous facts. It seemed to me as if the veil which 
 shrouded the invisible had fallen, and I was 
 standing in the very presence of the superna- 
 tural and the unseen. 
 
 My mind was too excited by the images 
 which it conjured up to allow me to sleep. The 
 more I courted slumber, the more it appeared 
 to fly from me, and at last I rose from my 
 couch, and wandered out into the street. It 
 was one of those nights known only in southern 
 climes, where moon and stars seem to the in- 
 habitants of a more northern region to shine 
 with unwonted brightness from the clear and 
 cloudless sky, while the hght breezes breathe 
 doubly welcome on the frame that has been 
 parched and fevered by the heat of the day. 
 I paced to and fro for some time, enjoying the 
 fresh and perfume-laden air, till at length drow- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 79 
 
 siness began to steal over me, and I resolved 
 once more to seek my chamber. It was, how- 
 ever, no easy task to find it, and after involving 
 myself in a maze of intricate passages and small 
 courts, I emerged into a circular church, which 
 I knew at once to be that containing the Holy 
 Tomb. It was partially lighted, but the faint 
 glimmer of the lamps left unrelieved the dim 
 obscurity which enveloped the surrounding ob- 
 jects. I felt impressed with the spirit of the 
 place, while my steps instinctively became noise- 
 less and my movements inaudible. I stood 
 holding in my breath, afraid that the slightest 
 sound might dispel the solemnity of that still 
 silence. 
 
 The rays of a lamp near the place where I 
 stood, fell upon a kneeling figure at a little 
 distance from me, and I was about to withdraw 
 lest I should interrupt the soul-breathings of 
 one who had evidently chosen for his devotion 
 an hour when none might witness his com- 
 munion with his God. Suddenly the tones of 
 his voice arrested my attention, and fixed me 
 as if spell-bound to the spot. 
 
80 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 " Father," murmured the suppliant, " hea- 
 venly Father, forgive thy erring child for the 
 sake of Him who suffered here for the sins of 
 man. Pardon that one great weakness of my 
 hfe, and in Thy mercy reheve me from the 
 results which have flowed- from it, results which 
 Thou knowest have brought upon me disap- 
 pointment and anguish unutterable. Oh ! 
 restore to me the peace of earlier and happier 
 days, and let me return from my voluntary 
 and self-inflicted exile with a bright and hoping 
 spirit, determined to submit to Thy will, and 
 in that submission find my true solace and 
 satisfaction. I ask forgiveness for the past, 
 and hope for the future. I ask it for the sake 
 of Him, who in His soul-agony could yet ex- 
 claim : ' Not my will, but thine be done.' " 
 
 " Amen," said I, solemnly, as I ghded to 
 the side of the supplicant, and knelt beside him 
 in silent prayer. 
 
 It was Walshingham. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 81 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 . The next day we mounted our horses, and 
 rode a few miles from the city to a small garden, 
 shaded with trees, beneath whose welcome shelter 
 we spread our carpets on the banks of a rivulet 
 which meandered along at our feet. Neither 
 of us, however, were much disposed to con- 
 template the scenery around us ; and when we 
 had dispatched the servants to a little distance, 
 that they might make preparations for our 
 rustic meal, Walsingham at once began the 
 recital he had promised me. 
 
 " I was about ten years old when my father 
 married a second time. My mother, his first 
 wife, died while I was yet an infant, and un- 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
82 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 conscious of the loss I had sustained, though 
 to that loss I may attribute most of the mis- 
 fortunes which have since befallen me. My 
 step-mother never liked me, and she persuaded 
 my father, who was an easy, good-natured sort 
 of man, to place me with the clergyman of the 
 village near which his seat was situated, while 
 they went up to London. She possessed one 
 of those stern, ambitious natures, to which the 
 bustle and intrigue of the world are as the breath 
 of life. Her relatives were connected with the 
 Government of those days, and perhaps she 
 hoped, through their means, to make her 
 husband something more than a wealthy 
 country gentleman. I was in her way, and 
 therefore she got rid of me as decently as she 
 could. 
 
 " However, I was very happy with the old 
 clergyman, to whose care I had been entrusted 
 — happier perhaps than I should have been at 
 home, with a step-mother whose manners over- 
 awed me, and who sedulously frowned down 
 every little ebullition of boyish feeling. My 
 
A MISSIONARY. 83 
 
 tutor was kind and considerate, somewhat 
 romantic in his disposition, and a perfect child 
 in the ways of the world. It was natural that 
 I should feel disposed to sympathise with his 
 tastes, and I soon became as romantic as 
 himself. At seventeen, I wTote bad poetry 
 and built castles in the air, like most youths 
 who have been trained in solitude, and entertain 
 an inclination for quiet and studious pursuits. At 
 length my venerable friend died, and I was even 
 more afflicted for his loss, than I could possibly 
 have felt at the departure of my own father. 
 
 " It was stiU my step-mother's policy to 
 keep me out of the way, and by her advice I was 
 sent to the University immediately, being only 
 allowed to pay a flying visit to my surviving 
 parent, whom I found completely in the hands 
 of his wife. To both, my presence seemed so 
 unwelcome, that I hastened to relieve them of 
 it as soon as possible. 
 
 "When I had taken my degree, I was 
 unwilling to return to such a miserable mockery 
 of home as my father's house would have 
 
 G 2 
 
84 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 proved under existing circumstances. I asked 
 permission to go abroad. It was, of course, 
 readily granted ; and so I wandered about for 
 some months through the different countries 
 of Europe, and finally fixed my temporary 
 abode in Provence." 
 
 " In Provence !" I exclaimed. " But go on. 
 I must not interrupt you." 
 
 " There I became fondly attached to a young 
 lady, whose mother had been married to an 
 Englishman; but who was then residing with 
 her aunt, a native of the country, and well 
 known to some of my Provencal acquaint- 
 ances." 
 
 He paused for a few minutes, during which 
 various emotions agitated my mind. But I 
 was determined not to interrupt him, and sup- 
 pressed as far as I could any external signs of 
 what was passing within. My companion, 
 however, was too much engrossed with his own 
 thoughts to pay much attention to me, and he 
 continued his narrative with his eyes fixed upon 
 the ground. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 85 
 
 " I shall not attempt to describe my Adeline 
 to you, though every feature is so deeply im- 
 printed on my memory, that I could do so 
 with ease. 
 
 " Suffice it to say, that in my day-dreams I 
 had always pictured to myself a fair ideal whom 
 I could love, and who could sympathise fully 
 with my tastes and feelings. That ideal I 
 thought I had now discovered, and I laid all 
 the fresh and tender emotions of a soul that as 
 yet had never known the charms of mutual 
 affection at the feet of Adeline. My love was 
 warmly returned, and for a time we were too 
 happy to think of the future. At length my 
 attention was called to it by the aunt — Madame 
 St. Aubin. I could not deny the justice of her 
 remarks. She urged upon me the necessity of 
 becoming a formal suitor for the hand of Ade- 
 line, and pressed me to consult my family, and 
 obtain their consent to our marriage. 1 offered 
 at once to wed her niece, but she would not 
 hear of this unless with the sanction of my 
 father. That sanction I doubted very much 
 
86 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 whether I could obtain, more especially as my 
 efforts would be counteracted by the inimical 
 influence of my mother-in-law. 
 
 " While I was considering in my own mind 
 what steps I ought to take, I received a com- 
 munication from the latter. Her style was cold 
 and ceremonious. She stated briefly that my 
 father entertained certain views with regard to 
 my marriage and settlement in life, which would 
 render my speedy presence in England parti- 
 cularly desirable. The letter concluded with, ' I 
 need not, I trust, remind you that any mes- 
 alliance contracted abroad would inflict incalcu- 
 lable injury on yourself, and prove a serious 
 blow to your surviving parent.' 
 
 " I threw down this epistle in a violent rage. 
 "What right had a stranger, a person that I had 
 always disliked and despised, to dispose of me 
 in this manner ? I felt sure she was the mover 
 of the whole, although my father's name was 
 used ; and in my indignation at being thus 
 made the puppet of an artful and ambitious 
 woman, I was but too ready to overlook the 
 obligations of filial duty. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 87 
 
 " I was brooding over this annoyance, when 
 Adeline joined me evidently under the influence 
 of great excitement. With broken accents and 
 flashing eyes, she told me that her aunt had 
 forbidden her to see me any more, and had even 
 threatened to write to her father in case she 
 proved contumacious. She spoke of the latter 
 as a harsh, severe man, who had treated her 
 during her short stay with him, with asperity 
 and indiff'erence. She threw herself on a chair, 
 and weeping bitterly, exclaimed that she had now 
 no one in the wide world who would love and 
 protect her. Then rushing to me frantically, she 
 clung round me, and implored that I would not 
 abandon her to the tyranny of her relations. 
 
 " I was deeply touched with her emotion, and 
 indignant at those who were the cause of it. 
 All our relatives seemed in a plot against our 
 happiness, and I hastily determined to act in 
 defiance of them. The details of a plan flashed 
 through my brain like lightning, and I did not 
 even wait to consider them, before I commu- 
 nicated my idea to Adeline. Among my Enghsh 
 
88 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 acquaintances at Malta was a lieutenant on 
 board one of the ships of war then lying in the 
 harbour of Valetta. The day before I had 
 received a note from him, stating that as his. 
 vessel was taking^ in some stores at Marseiles, 
 he should be glad if I would pay him a visit on 
 board. I resolved therefore to speak to my 
 friend, and through him prevail upon the 
 chaplain of the ship to marry us. This scheme 
 rather pleased my romantic fancy, and Adeline 
 eagerly assented to it. It was arranged that 
 she should feign submission and obedience, and 
 expect to hear from me when all was ready. 
 
 "My preparations were soon made, and the 
 chaplain, who was not in the secret, readily 
 consented to officiate. We were married, and 
 as Adeline did not like to encounter her aunt 
 immediately, we proceeded to Germany. This^ 
 Singleton, was my first great error, and though 
 I am not prone to superstition, I cannot but 
 think that my subsequent misfortunes have 
 been sent as its punishment. 
 
 "When we arrived at Cologiie, I acknowv 
 
A MISSIONARY. 89 
 
 ledged my step-mother's letter, but gave no 
 intimation of what had transpired. My father's 
 affection had long been alienated from me, and 
 fixed entirely on his second family. He was 
 besides so utterly subject to his wife, that he 
 was certain to take her view of the matter, and 
 I desired as much as possible to avoid explana- 
 tions until I should have an opportunity of mak- 
 ing them in person. Adeline wrote several letters 
 to her father, from whom she received no reply, 
 and this harshness fi*om a relative, to whom she 
 particularly desired to be reconciled, at present 
 tended very much to depress her spirits, and 
 make her look with some degree of self-reproach 
 on the step which she had taken. 
 
 "After a few months, I heard again from 
 my step-mother, who now insisted in a very 
 peremptory manner on my immediate return, as 
 she said that rumours of an unpleasant nature 
 had reached my father's ears, and that he 
 wished me to disprove them in person. 
 
 " My wife, poor thing, knew little of all this, 
 although generally aware that my parents and I 
 
90 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 were not on the best of terms. One day, how- 
 ever, when I came in from a walk, I found her 
 reading my mother-in-law's letter, which I had 
 left inadvertently upon my desk. She was in 
 an agitated state, and I soon discovered that she 
 entertained suspicions as to my conduct, which 
 were not easily allayed. She taxed me with 
 having deceived her, and demanded that I 
 should at once write and explain the real state 
 of things. This I was unwilling to do, as I 
 wished to see my father in person. We 
 accordingly set out for England, but I was 
 grieved to observe a great change in my wife's 
 behaviour. She treated me with a certain 
 reserve, which annoyed me, and produced a 
 corresponding irritation on my part. It appeared 
 as if I had sacrificed everything for her ; while 
 she repaid me by suspecting my honour, and 
 doubting the reality of my attachment. I began 
 to discern faults in her, the existence of which 
 I had never noticed before, though now they 
 seemed magnified in my eyes. A mutual cold- 
 ness was creeping over us both; and though 
 
A MISSIONARY. 91 
 
 she was looking forward to becoming a mother 
 shortly, all the happiness she had formerly felt 
 in the prospect, appeared to be gradually dying 
 away. 
 
 " Another circumstance which occurred about 
 this time, gave me no little trouble and annoy- 
 ance. I discovered by accident that my servant, 
 an Italian, had kept back several of my letters, 
 for the purpose of embezzling the postage 
 money. Unhappily, my wife chose to consider 
 that I was in some way concerned in this, and had 
 purposely intercepted the letters to her father. 
 I was obliged to prosecute the fellow, for in the 
 first instance I had complained of the post-office 
 authorities, and they were anxious to obtain 
 this species of public vindication. As a 
 stranger, appearing before a foreign court of 
 law, I was exposed to many delays and vexa- 
 tions, which did not certainly increase my hap- 
 piness and good-humour, especially as AdeHne 
 often accused me peevishly of deferring my de- 
 parture intentionally. 
 
 "At length we reached London. It was 
 
92 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 a cold, foggy day, and the dulness of the season 
 communicated itself to my spirits. Even my 
 native soil seemed to frown upon me, and to 
 give no welcome to the returning wanderer. 
 Our reception by my family was as disagree- 
 able as my mother-in-law could make it. My 
 father appeared disposed to forgive what had 
 been done, but sickness had made him peevish 
 and irritable ; and his wife took care, I have no 
 doubt, to check as much as possible all feelings 
 of affection. 
 
 " My mother-in-law now discerned, with 
 feminine quickness, that all was not well 
 between my wife and myself. They had 
 begun to entertain for each other a mutual 
 dislike, and she exerted all her ingenuity to 
 widen the breach. There is no being so truly 
 diaboHcal as an artful and unprincipled woman, 
 and some of her artifices were indeed worthy 
 of the Spirit of Evil himself. 
 
 "We were staying at my father's country- 
 seat, whither he had retired on account of 
 his health, which was by no means improved 
 
A MISSIONARY. 93 
 
 by the dissension he witnessed around him. 
 Some business required my absence from 
 home for a few days, and I went away, leaving 
 my wife at the Hall. She had been very cold 
 and distant of late, and I did not feel disposed 
 to take her with me. 
 
 " When I returned, I received the distressing 
 intelligence that during my absence she had 
 quarrelled with my mother-in-law, and had 
 left the house. A letter was put into my 
 hands, in which she reproached me with un- 
 kindness and neglect, and bade me farewell for 
 ever. 
 
 " She announced her intention of returning 
 at once to her native Provence, where she said 
 her aunt would willingly receive her again, and 
 her child should be trained up to hate the cold 
 and hypocritical English. The letter was written 
 evidently under the influence of considerable 
 irritation, and I rushed with it in my hand to 
 my mother-in-law's room. I upbraided her 
 with her conduct, and appealed to my father. 
 He was compelled to own the justice of my 
 
94 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 complaints, and I learned from him that this 
 malignant woman had used every artifice to 
 induce him to disinherit me. His eyes seemed 
 now fully open to her character, and with the 
 timidity of a child, he implored that I would 
 not leave him in her hands, as he was sure he 
 should not survive the present shock for many 
 days. 
 
 "What could I do? It would have been 
 unkind to have abandoned my only parent at 
 a time like this, and I felt certain that a little 
 explanation would soon set matters right with 
 my wife, who, I believed, was now safe with 
 her aunt in Provence. I wrote immediately, 
 to acquaint her with my present position, and 
 entreated her not to think harshly of me till 
 she heard my explanations, and had given me 
 an opportunity of defending myself To this 
 I received no answer; and soon after I had 
 dispatched it, my father was taken seriously 
 ill, and expired in the evening of the succeeding 
 day. 
 
 " There were many things which claimed 
 
A MISSIONARY. 95 
 
 my attention, and which I could not decently 
 leave undone. These detained me for about 
 three weeks in England; but when the more 
 urgent affairs had been settled, I hastened off 
 to Provence. Travelling day and night, I soon 
 arrived at the small village where I had first 
 met Adeline. My heart beat violently as I 
 approached the well-known house, and a feeling 
 of sadness that was almost prophetic came 
 over me, when I gazed once more on the un- 
 forgotten scenes, where I had formerly been 
 so happy in bygone days. 
 
 "My impatience was such that I hurried 
 unannounced into the presence of Madame St. 
 Aubin. She uttered a faint scream when she 
 saw me, darted forward and seizing my arm, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 *' ' Where, where is my child ?' 
 
 " ' What, Madame !' I cried, ' is she not 
 here ? Has she not arrived ?' 
 
 " A look of despair was my only answer, and 
 then I felt oppressed by a dim consciousness 
 that something horrible had happened, and 
 
96 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 poured forth question upon question with ner- 
 vous rapidity. Madame St. Aubin became 
 almost too agitated to answer me, and when 
 at length she recovered sufficient composure to 
 make her meaning intelligible, I was struck 
 dumb with astonishment and alarm. The last 
 letter which she had received from her niece 
 was simply dated London. It was short, and 
 the style betokened anxiety of mind. Adeline 
 stated that she was on the point of embarking 
 for France, and begged her aunt to meet her 
 at Calais. From that place Madame St. Aubin 
 was just returned, and had only an hour before 
 seen the letter which I had sent off from my 
 father's. 
 
 " I scarcely heard the reproaches that she 
 addressed to me, but rushed like a madman from 
 the house. I made inquiries at aU the hotels 
 in Paris and on the road, but could hear no 
 tidings of the lost one. At Calais my excite- 
 ment and the anxiety that tormented me 
 brought on a violent attack of fever, which con- 
 fined me for two months to my bed. As soon 
 
A MISSIONARY. 97 
 
 as I could walk, I crossed over to England, and 
 continued my search in London, but without 
 success. I consulted the newspapers, and 
 lighted once on an advertisement several months 
 old which excited some momentary hopes ; but 
 when I applied at the place indicated, I found 
 that the parties who were supposed to have 
 inserted it had left the neighbourhood, and I 
 was unable to trace them out. I spent five 
 years in these inquiries, but aU my exertions 
 were in vain. Moody and discontented, I left 
 England, and tried to divert my spirits by 
 travelling. But the spectre of past happiness 
 stiU haunted me wherever I went. I endeavoured 
 to drown recollection in business and pleasure, but 
 to no purpose. At length I settled in Egypt, 
 where, except for some few intervals, I have 
 since, resided. And now. Singleton, that you 
 have heard my story, what advice can you give 
 me?" 
 
 It was now my turn to speak, and after dis- 
 closing briefly in the first instance my relation- 
 ship to the unfortunate Adeline, I laid before 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
98 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 him those particulars with which the reader is 
 already acquainted. Martin was taken into 
 council, and his statement left no doubt in the 
 minds of both Walsingham and myself that his 
 former lodger had been none other than the 
 ill-starred young wife, upon whom her season of 
 trouble had fallen sooner than could have been 
 anticipated. Mr. Walsingham remembered per- 
 fectly that he had presented Adeline during their 
 courtship with the silver case now in my uncle's 
 possession. It had been a sort of heirloom in his 
 family, and the verses on the paper that was 
 found in it were, he told us, the production of 
 a young German friend, who had devoted him- 
 self to the study of astrology. 
 
 One circumstance in the narrative struck me, 
 however, as particularly mysterious. It seemed 
 natural enough that the unfortunate Adeline 
 should have omitted, in her confusion and per- 
 plexity, to inform her aunt of her address, more 
 particularly as she appeared to anticipate joining 
 her in Calais before her confinement took place. 
 Yet it was strange that she should not have 
 
A MISSIONARY. 99 
 
 written to her husband, whom she had formerly 
 loved so tenderly, and for whom at that period 
 especially one might have expected she would 
 have felt some touches of reviving affection. 
 
 I mentioned this to Walsingham, and found 
 that he entertained the same idea. 
 
 " With all my inquiries," he said, " I could 
 never find tfaces of any letter that had been 
 sent from her. I suspected my mother-in-law 
 at one time of having kept back something ; but 
 when I transferred over to her and her daughters 
 a larger share of my father's property than they 
 could reasonably have anticipated, I took advan- 
 tage of the grateful transports which she either 
 felt or feigned, to question her closely on the 
 subject. She denied with apparent sincerity 
 that she knew of any communication from 
 Adeline, and suggested that perhaps she had 
 been taken ill suddenly, and from her imperfect 
 knowledge of English had been unable to send 
 any message, while her condition would inca- 
 pacitate her from writing. It was a painful 
 idea, and I writhed under it as she spoke, but 
 
 H 2 
 
100 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 it seemed plausible in the absence of any proof 
 to the contrary." 
 
 My friend was overwhelmed with joy when 
 he heard of his son, and of the providential 
 circumstances which had led to the youth's 
 adoption by my uncle. He was moved by the 
 picture which I drew of the childless and 
 solitary old man, and let fall some sentiments 
 of self-reproach, as if he considered his own 
 conduct had tended to bring about his wife's 
 unfortunate fate. I endeavoured to console him 
 by the reflection that God had caused all these 
 things to happen for some good purpose, and 
 entreated him not so much to regret the past 
 as to prepare his mind for a meeting with his 
 son, of whom, I assured him, any parent might 
 feel proud. He continued, however in an 
 abstracted mood during our ride back to Jeru- 
 salem, and when we arrived at the convent he 
 retired to his own room, and I saw no more of 
 him that day. I passed the evening in writing 
 to my uncle, in order to prepare him for the 
 arrival of his hitherto unknown son-in-law, 
 
A MISSIONARY. 101 
 
 begging him also to communicate the intelli- 
 gence to Jack. 
 
 When I rose the next morning, a lay brother 
 brought me two cards, on which were inscribed 
 Mr. Tobias MacFungus and Mr. Jonas Win- 
 trington, each name having attached to it a 
 number of capital letters intelligible only to the 
 initiated, but which I suppress for fear of giving 
 offence to some society that may think fit to 
 •claim them. The tw^o owners of these appella- 
 tions, I was informed, would be glad to see me 
 as soon as I was at leisure to receive their visit. 
 Knowing the usual absurd reserve of English- 
 men when on their travels, I was somewhat 
 surprised at this initiative step ; but returned 
 for answer, that 1 would call upon the gentlemen 
 in question when I was dressed. 
 
 In half-an-hour the former messenger returned 
 and ushered me into an apartment of the convent 
 on a lower stage, where I found Messrs. Mac- 
 Fungus and Wintrington paying their attentions 
 to a very substantial breakfast. After the usual 
 observations about weather and climate, which 
 
102 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 seem as inseparable from even a travelling 
 Englishman as his mahogany dressing-case and 
 closely- shaven chin, Mr. MacFungus made many 
 apologies for their intruding themselves upon 
 me ; but having understood, he said, that I was 
 a Missionary here, he hoped that I would give 
 them the benefit of my local knowledge, as they 
 were strangers in Jerusalem. 
 
 I told him in reply, that, although a Mission- 
 ary, this was not my station, and that I knew 
 very little about the place ; but that what little 
 I did know should be at their service, if they 
 chose to put themselves under my guidance. 
 They were very glad of my offer, as they spoke 
 no language but their own, and a short conver- 
 sation soon made us tolerably acquainted with 
 each other. Mr. MacFungus was a slight-built, 
 active little man, with sharp grey eyes which 
 seemed every moment as if they would pierce 
 through his very spectacles. He was perpetually 
 in motion, and appeared absolutely incapable of 
 remaining quiet on his seat for a single instant. 
 Nothing, on the other hand, could present so 
 
A MISSIONARY. 103 
 
 complete a contrast to all this, as the appearance 
 of his compagnon de voyage. 
 
 Mr. Jonas Wintrington, like his namesake, 
 immortalized by Crabbe, 
 
 " Was six feet high and looked six inches higher." 
 
 His complexion was dark and saturnine, and 
 his eyes remained pensively fixed on a jar of 
 honey during the whole of the meal — not that 
 I suppose he was contemplating that in particular, 
 but had merely selected it, as many meditative 
 persons do, for the point upon which his regards 
 might rest when they had nothing else to employ 
 them. There are some people who seem never 
 to see with their eyes, and Mr. Wintrington 
 was clearly one of these. He appeared as if he 
 were considering intently something internal 
 rather than external, and spoke only by fits 
 and starts. The contrast seemed equally dis- 
 cernible when I came to compare the sentiments 
 of the two, as they were gradually drawn out 
 by conversation. MacFungus was perpetually 
 doubting, and his friend was a most credulous 
 
104 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 believer. The one had come to Jerusalem 
 prepared to question the authenticity and 
 genuineness of everything he saw or heard ; 
 the other received, with a most capacious 
 swallow, legends that even the most ignorant 
 pilgrims would have suspected. 
 
 " You see, Mr. Singleton," said MacFungus, 
 returning from the window to his chair for 
 about the twentieth time, " that I never can 
 believe all these stories about the holy places, as 
 they are called. Everything here is a sham ; in 
 fact, I can hardly make up my mind whether 
 this is Jerusalem or not. I imagine the old 
 city must have been several miles to the north, 
 I am not satisfied, moreover, about the posi- 
 tion of Bethlehem ; and as for the Temple, I 
 am sure it never could have stood where they 
 say it did." 
 
 " Respect the united testimony of history and 
 tradition," ejaculated Mr. Wintrington, in a 
 deep, sepulchral voice. 
 
 " All twaddle," replied his friend. " History, 
 you know, is full of misstatements ; and as for 
 
A MISSIONARY. 105 
 
 traditions, do you think I am going to credit a 
 set of lying monks ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said Wintrington, " there spoke yom' 
 Presbyterian prejudices." 
 
 "Well, Sir," said MacFungus, "I am a 
 Presbyterian, and I glory in the title. Mr. 
 Singleton, as an Episcopal clergyman, will 
 excuse me, but I think it the simplest and 
 most primitive form of Christianity. And I 
 must tell you, Wintrington, that I feel more 
 sympathy with the unaffected and unadorned 
 rites of Mohammedanism than with the mum- 
 meries of the so-called Christians here, who 
 require a Turkish guard to prevent them from 
 tearing each other to pieces." 
 
 "It is occasioned by the fervour of Oriental 
 piety," said Mr. Wintrington. 
 
 " Well, defend me from such fervour !" ejacu- 
 lated MacFungus. " But what do you say to 
 all this, Mr. Singleton ?" 
 
 " Why, I must own," I replied, " that I 
 consider the principal sites pointed out here 
 will not admit of a doubt ; but of course the 
 
106 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 lesser stations must be given up at once. Yet, 
 let us remember that in the case of the latter, 
 the misrepresentations of the monks may not 
 be exactly wilful falsehoods. It has long been 
 the custom to represent particular scenes from 
 the life and passion of our Saviour at certain 
 localities, and it is very likely that these scenic 
 mysteries have been confounded with the real 
 events which they were intended to pourtray. 
 With regard to the shameful contests between the 
 different Christian communities, there can be but 
 one opinion about them among men of sense 
 and religion." 
 
 As Walsingham had not yet left his room, 
 I sallied out with my new friends, and guided 
 them as well as I was able to the different 
 objects of interest in the Holy City. When 
 we returned, I introduced them to Walsingham, 
 w^hom his newly-revived hopes restored to a 
 more cheerful state of mind than he had ever 
 manifested since our first acquaintance. We 
 dined together, and afterwards our friends left 
 us for a ramble round the city, which was 
 
A MISSIONARY. 107 
 
 proposed by the indefatigable MacFungus, and 
 subnaitted to by the passive Wintrington, who 
 seemed to follow his more active friend about 
 with the imperturbability of a well-regulated 
 automaton. 
 
 "There go a singular pair of contradictions," 
 said Walsingham, as he looked after them ; 
 " credulity and incredulity arm-in-arm. Of the 
 two, however, I own I prefer the ready belief 
 of .the one to the doubting spirit of the other. 
 It is the happier error of the two," 
 
 " I must disagree with you there," said I, 
 " or admit what you will hardly I think 
 maintain, that falsehood is more congenial than 
 truth." 
 
 " And yet. Singleton," said Walsingham, 
 " an agreeable fictitious personage is more 
 pleasing than a dull reality. The ' Vicar of 
 Wakefield' never existed, but I enjoy his fire- 
 side talk more than I should the recorded con- 
 versation of some real, living, prosaic Jones 
 or Jenkins. Do you think the man who wept 
 over an imaginary Thermopylse was a whit the 
 
108 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 wiser when he grew ashamed of his emotions, 
 on being told that the real field was half a 
 mile farther on ? Or who would exchange the 
 polished philosophical, yet fictitious Hamlet of 
 Shakspeare for the dry and dull reality of 
 honest Saxo-Grammaticus ? But to change 
 the subject, when shall we take our depar- 
 ture ?" 
 
 " As soon as you please," I replied. " I 
 learned yesterday that Mrs. Merton is residing 
 with another lady near a village at the foot of 
 Mount Lebanon ; and after I have paid my visit 
 there, I am ready for you." 
 
 " I am sure there is some secret connected 
 vnth. this visit," said he, smiling ; " and I really 
 think. Singleton, you ought to repay my confi- 
 dence in kind." 
 
 I was willing enough to comply with his 
 request, as I felt that, on this subject, I needed 
 some counsel and direction. He listened to 
 my confessions with sympathising interest ; and 
 when I had finished the recital, he told me he 
 thought that I ought not to resolve on any 
 
A MISSIONARY. 109 
 
 plan till I had seen Mrs. Merton, and disco- 
 vered how far she might be disposed to enter- 
 tain the idea of a second marriage. 
 
 " People change so, Singleton," he continued, 
 " that you may find her a very altered person 
 from the Miss Moncada of past days. Other- 
 wise I cannot see any impropriety in making 
 known to her the state of your feelings. Your 
 friend and her husband has now been dead for 
 some years, and neither Scripture nor reason 
 have ever decided against second marriages. 
 If she had children, it might be different, but 
 this you say is not the case, and therefore you 
 may proceed on your wooing expedition with 
 every encouragement, the more especially as, I 
 should hope, both of you have outlived the idle 
 romance of earlier years." 
 
 " Do not make me too grave and matter-of- 
 fact a personage," said I, laughing. 
 
 " My dear Singleton," he replied, " you are 
 too old for poetics, and I would fain hope too 
 wise. Let the feelings of the past rest where 
 time has buried them, or if they revive at all, 
 
110 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 let them appear in the shape of honest manly 
 sentiments of esteem, such as will discredit 
 neither your grave years nor your clerical 
 calling. But I must pause in my homily, for 
 here come our two friends, and poor MacFungus 
 seems to have been in the hands of the Philis- 
 tines. What can have happened to him ?" 
 
 As he spoke, the two travellers entered the 
 room in a very disordered plight. Mr. Mac- 
 Fungus's nose was bleeding, and a dark swelling 
 over his right eye with sundry other contusions 
 and scratches, indicated that he had been in- 
 volved lately in some disagreeable adventure. 
 Mr. Wintrington was less battered than his 
 friend, but his spectacles had been broken, and 
 his coat tails torn off. The Itahan sub-prior 
 followed in the rear, with hands and eyes up- 
 lifted, and exclaiming at intervals : " O questi 
 Greci ! O questi birbanti ! O these Greeks ! O 
 these rogues, they merit richly the bastinado." 
 
 To our inquiring looks, Mr. Wintrington 
 replied by stating that he and his friend had 
 been visiting some small chapel of the Greeks, 
 
A MISSIONARY. Ill 
 
 where they were shown a miraculous picture of 
 Saint Nicholas, which had excited the ire and 
 incredulity of Mr. MacFungus. He forthwith 
 began to harangue the people present on their 
 ignorance and stupidity, in a mixed jargon of 
 English and ancient Greek, some words of 
 which having been unluckily understood, had 
 procured for them their present maiding. 
 
 " It is so unreasonable of MacFungus," con- 
 tinued Mr. Wintrington, " why can't he believe 
 as I do ? and then these things wouldn't happen. 
 Just before this took place, we had been looking 
 at a most interesting relic, one of the teeth of 
 Pontius PUate's porter, which MacFungus de- 
 clared he had seep before somewhere else. I 
 endeavoured to reason with him, you know, and 
 told him that the true relic must be one or the 
 other of the two, a consideration which would 
 have satisfied any calm-judging man, but he 
 gets downright frantic on these occasions." 
 
 " 1 don't believe it," roared MacFungus from 
 the sofa, on which he had thrown himself, 
 " I don't credit it, and I won't ; in fact, I don't 
 
112 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 believe in Jerusalem at all. Oh !" and he sank 
 back on his divan, his fervour having apparently 
 been checked by a sudden twinge of pain. 
 
 " To be sure," said the sub-prior, " those 
 Greeks are the most shocking impostors. Talk 
 of their Sun Nicola indeed ! But everybody 
 knows they are the greatest liars under the 
 sun." 
 
 " By the way, father," said Mr. Wintrington, 
 " you told me you had one of the bones of 
 Lazarus." 
 
 " Ah, that is another thing, that is a veritable 
 relic, if you please," said the sub-prior com- 
 placently. " Yes, my son, you may safely credit 
 anything lue show you ; but as for those Greeks, 
 never believe a word they say. They are the 
 greatest ruffians in the world, too, witness the 
 tooth which they knocked out of my right jaw 
 last Easter. O, the birbanti ! the bricconi !" 
 
 " I wish somebody would get me some lint," 
 sighed Mr. MacFungus from his divan. 
 
 This appeal at once attracted the attention of 
 the sub-prior, who, although as credulous as 
 
A MISSIONARY. 113 
 
 most of his countrymen, was a very humane 
 and good-natured man. He dressed the 
 wounds of MacFungus with great gentleness 
 and some skill, and his assiduous attention 
 extorted from his grateful patient an assurance 
 that if he should ever be able to make up his 
 mind to believe any legends, he would assuredly 
 give the preference to those of the Latins. 
 
 The next day we left Jerusalem ; and, after a 
 week's march, came in sight of the majestic 
 summits of Lebanon. As we proceeded, the far- 
 famed " white mountain" rose before us in all 
 its grandeur, the snow-clad peaks, from which 
 it derives its name, empurpled by the rising 
 sun. It was a glorious scene, and Walsingham 
 entered into it with aU the poetical enthusiasm 
 of his character. Yet interested as I was in the 
 magnificence of the prospect, there were other 
 subjects which distracted my attention, and 
 drew off my thoughts from dwelling upon that 
 exclusively. I was about to meet again the 
 loved one of my youth ; her for whom I stiU 
 entertained a daily increasing affection. Since 
 
 VOL. II. I 
 
114 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 I had nourished the idea that once more there 
 was a possibility that she might lawfully be 
 mine, I felt the recollections of past years re- 
 viving in all their freshness and in all their 
 strength. There existed no longer any reason 
 why I should not give the rein to those feel- 
 ings, which ever since her marriage I had 
 deemed it a sacred duty to discourage and 
 repress as much as possible. Then I thought 
 of her as the friend whom I might one day 
 meet in heaven ; now I pleased myself with the 
 anticipation that if God willed it so, her 
 society might prove my comfort and solace 
 upon earth. 
 
 We had been directed in Jerusalem to the 
 house of an English lady, with whom Mrs. 
 Merton was then staying. The village near 
 which she resided was now in sight; and a 
 Syrian peasant, whom we encountered, offered 
 his services to guide us to the abode of the 
 " Sitte Ingleez." Walsingham made many 
 inquiries of this man ; and we learned that the 
 friend of Mrs. Merton was greatly beloved in 
 
A MISSIONARY. 115 
 
 the neighbourhood. Scarce two years had 
 elapsed since her first coming among them, 
 yet she had established a large and prosperous 
 silk factory which had given employment to a 
 great number of the surrounding inhabitants. 
 As the Syrians of those parts were members of 
 the Greek Communion, she had built for them 
 a church and schools, superintended by an 
 enlightened and pious priest from Athens, who 
 had been prevailed upon to abrogate and re- 
 move many superstitious rites and practices 
 which he found existing among the ignorant 
 peasants. Every one, our guide said, spoke 
 well of their benefactress ; and when, a few 
 months ago, an attack was made upon her 
 house by some wandering Albanians, they had 
 risen en masse to defend her. 
 
 " How much more hke a Christian," said 
 Walsingham, " has this lady acted than another 
 countrywoman of ours, who in some respects 
 resembled her, but who wasted in misanthro- 
 pical seclusion and idle fanaticism those talents 
 and abilities which God had given her, and by 
 
 I 2 
 
116 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 means of which she might have effected so 
 much good. Her capricious tyranny and her 
 lavish and undiscriminating liberality alienated 
 the affections of those by whom she was sur- 
 rounded, and made her the prey of the hypoc- 
 ritical and the designing, while this lady's noble 
 efforts in the cause of humanity and civilization 
 have secured for her, as such efforts always will 
 when properly directed, the love and gratitude 
 of those whom she has benefited." 
 
 We had now reached the abode of Mrs. 
 Thornton, or the Lady Agnes, as she was more 
 commonly called, the Orientals rarely being 
 able to pronounce an European name. It was 
 an ancient castle, which had formerly been the 
 stronghold of some Druse or Maronite chieftain, 
 and still retained some vestiges of its former- 
 character. We alighted in a court-yard, amid a 
 crowd of retainers, showily dressed and ac- 
 coutered, one of whom hastened to announce 
 our arrival to his mistress. 
 
 On his return, wc were conducted into a 
 stately room, surrounded by divans, and richly 
 
A MISSIONARY. 117 
 
 carpeted, at the extremity of which reclined the 
 lady of the castle. She seemed about forty 
 years of age, and her tall commanding form was 
 set off to great advantage by the semi-oriental 
 garb that she wore. An air of decision and 
 energy gave to her features somewhat of a mas- 
 culine character : but their outline was regular 
 and harmonious, and they might have even been 
 termed beautiful, had they possessed a softer 
 and more feminine expression. She bent on 
 us a pair of dark lustrous eyes, the glances of 
 which were almost queenly, as she welcomed us 
 with dignified courtesy to her Eastern mansion. 
 Near her was seated a venerable priest, with a 
 white flowing beard, whom she introduced to us 
 as Father Athanasius, the Greek Rector of the 
 village. 
 
 In the course of conversation, Mrs. Thornton 
 discovered that Mr. Walsingham had known 
 some of her connections in England, and this 
 led to a conversation between them, the course 
 of which I at last interrupted, to inquire after 
 Mrs. Merton. 
 
118 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 "I think you will find her in the flower- 
 garden yonder," said our hostess ; " and as you 
 may wish, Mr. Singleton, to talk over past 
 scenes, too, you had hetter go out and meet her 
 there." 
 
 I was delighted with the . permission, for I 
 felt that on my part, at least, such a meeting 
 would have been awkward and embarrassing in 
 the presence of strangers. Passing through an 
 aperture, that served equally the purpose of a 
 door or window, and which had been left open 
 to admit the cool breeze from the mountains, I 
 came suddenly upon a scene of floral enchant- 
 ment, rivalling in beauty some of the de- 
 scriptions of the " Arabian Nights." Fragrant 
 parterres, blooming with the choicest Oriental and 
 European plants emitted their sweet odours on 
 every side, shadowed over by stately cedars, and 
 interspersed with venerable oaks, while in the 
 more open parts might be discerned long rows 
 of vines almost wrenched from their supporting 
 props by the weight and abundance of the 
 luxuriant clusters which they sustained with appa- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 119 
 
 rent difficulty. In the midst, a silvery rivulet 
 meandered along, losing itself finally in the ob- 
 scurity of an artificial cave, towards the entrance 
 of which I now directed my steps. A figure 
 in dark apparel made its appearance from within 
 as I drew near, and uttered an exclamation on 
 seeing me. It was she whom I was seeking. 
 
120 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 The lady, in whose house I found myself a 
 guest, possessed a character worth studying. 
 Descended from an old Norman family, and 
 untitled, like most of those who trace their pedi- 
 gree to the companions of the Conqueror, she 
 had inherited much of the restless energy, and love 
 of rule, which distinguished her far-famed an- 
 cestors. Her heauty and talents had in early 
 youth attracted some attention, and when a 
 wealthy commoner, moved by the influence of 
 both these qualifications, laid himself and his 
 estate at her feet, the world decided that the 
 enchanting Miss Blondville had nothing more 
 to wish for. As is commonly the case in these 
 
A MISSIONARY. 121 
 
 matters, the world was wrong ; Mr. Thornton 
 was a prosaic, good-natured man, that loved 
 money, because it gave him the means of taking 
 his ease, and hated ambition, because it put 
 him out of his way. He had been stirred up 
 by his wife to stand for a neighbouring borough, 
 and was never himself afterwards. The unusual 
 bustle and anxiety, he said, had affected his 
 constitution ; at all events, he did not long sur- 
 vive his election. 
 
 For a time the widow was too deeply and 
 sincerely affected by her loss to give the reins 
 to her favourite propensities ; but when her grief 
 had been obliterated by time, she once more 
 became sensible of the revival of her old am- 
 bitious desires. She endeavoured at first to 
 gratify these on English ground, but found it 
 no easy matter. Politics, of course, she could 
 not meddle with, and for quack philanthropy 
 she had no taste. She tried a little theology, 
 but the rector of the parish, a confirmed old 
 bachelor, and somewhat of a misogynist, would 
 tolerate no female interferences in his societies, 
 
122 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 or his schools. What was to be done ? Perhaps 
 duty would have answered, that woman's mis- 
 sion lies in doing good inobtrusively to those 
 around her, hut for this, Mrs. Thornton had 
 not, or thought she had not, any vocation. 
 
 She attempted literature, and vvas ridiculed by 
 the review^ers as a mere pedantic blue-stocking. 
 In despair she went abroad, and hearing at 
 Paris a vast amount of chit-chat about Syria, 
 and Lady Hester Stanhope, she thought she 
 would try the East. To the East she repaired, 
 inspected the north of Palestine, chose out a 
 fitting place as the scene of her future opera- 
 tions, disposed of her landed property in Eng- 
 land, and came out again, accompanied by Mrs. 
 Merton, with whose father, Mr. Moncada, she 
 had become acquainted through the medium of 
 some business transactions. Mr. Moncada's 
 death had mainly induced his daughter to take 
 this step, which she assured me she had never 
 regretted. 
 
 Such w^ere the particulars I learned from 
 Mrs. Merton during the conversation which, I 
 
A MISSIONARY. 123 
 
 fear, we prolonged to an unreasonable length. 
 One deep feeling of satisfaction at least I derived 
 from it. She was not changed. Sorrow had 
 made her indeed graver and more reflective, 
 but the Rachel who stood before me was still 
 in all essential particulars the Rachel of my 
 youth. I could no longer restrain the impatience 
 which impelled me to learn, as soon as possible, 
 her views on a subject materially connected with 
 my future happiness. In requital for what she 
 had told me, I laid bare my soul to her. I 
 spoke of my first boyish affection, of the deep 
 and perhaps more sacred emotions which had 
 succeeded it, and then I poured forth the more 
 ardent feelings of the present. My suit was 
 successful, and before we returned to the house 
 we had plighted our vows in the face of heaven, 
 and called upon God to bless the union of those 
 whom He had brought together a second time 
 in so mysterious a way. 
 
 There is a sanctity and a delicacy inseparable 
 from scenes like these, which makes me un- 
 willing to draw any further the veil which 
 
124 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 should conceal them from the curiosity of 
 uninterested parties. To all the world but 
 themselves, too, a pair of lovers are almost 
 ridiculous objects, and their conversation seems 
 vapid and unmeaning. Perhaps it is because 
 that, at such a season, the poetical element 
 expels the prosaic, and poetry in some natures 
 must degenerate into fustian or burlesque. 
 
 The next day I accompanied Mrs. Thornton 
 and our other friends, through what she termed 
 her domain. It was situated principally in a 
 a beautiful valley, watered by a rivulet whose 
 crystal stream was not always devoted to the 
 most poetical of purposes. On the spur of 
 the left-hand range of hills was erected a group 
 of buildings, the oriental exterior of which 
 would hardly have led one to suppose them 
 mere factories. On the other side was a neat 
 Syrian village with its church and school. 
 Both, I heard, were well attended, and had 
 already acquired some influence over the 
 adjacent districts. I entered the sacred edifice, 
 and observed with pleasure that, although its 
 
A MISSIONARY. 125 
 
 Eastern characteristics and construction were 
 most rigidly maintained, the tawdry pictures 
 which usually decorate the screen in Greek 
 churches had heen removed. The good old 
 priest told me that the Liturgy and Prayers 
 were said in the vernacular Arabic, and that 
 each member of his flock had, by Mrs. 
 Thornton's desire, received a copy of the 
 Holy Scriptures. The Bishop of the diocese 
 •at first entertained some doubts as to the object 
 of these reforms ; but he had since visited the 
 spot in person, and after a long interview with 
 Mrs. Thornton, departed, expressing himself 
 well satisfied with what had been done. 
 
 In the evening, we all attended the Church 
 service, and I was agreeably impressed by the 
 beauty of the prayers and their resemblance to 
 those of our own ritual. When the priest 
 had finished, Mrs. Thornton went among the 
 people, and made various inquiries after their 
 health and prosperity, which were always res- 
 ponded to with respect. Indeed, if one might 
 judge from appearances, nothing could exceed 
 
126 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 their grateful sense of the kindness of their 
 benefactress. 
 
 *' I always make a point of attending these 
 services, Mr. Singleton," said she, as we walked 
 homewards ; " for as they are at present con- 
 stituted, I can do so without giving up or 
 abandoning any doctrine of our own Church. 
 The Greek Bishop was at first not disposed to 
 sanction some of our reforms ; but Father 
 Athanasius, who is a very well-educated man, 
 has set matters in a proper light before him, 
 and at present we have everything our own 
 way. Indeed, I believe that if our own Church 
 were better known in these parts, and the 
 higher Greek Ecclesiastics a more enlightened 
 class of men, we might do much here." 
 
 " I think," was my reply, " that your own 
 plan is the best kind of mission that could be 
 devised. By giving the people employment 
 which they so much need, and providing for 
 their education in those points of Christian 
 doctrine which are common to all, you are 
 gradually winning their confidence, and pre- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 127 
 
 paring the way, perhaps, for sound and efficient 
 reforms in their once flourishing and orthodox, 
 but now alas ! sadly degenerate Church. All 
 I can say is, go on and prosper, and may God 
 bless your noble and self-denying efforts." 
 
 My stay was now drawing to a close ; and 
 as it had been decided that my affianced 
 bride should accompany me to England, I was 
 obliged to have the marriage ceremony per- 
 • formed without delay by the English chaplain 
 who officiated at a neighbouring sea-port town. 
 It was with feelings of the most heartfelt joy 
 and gratitude, that I knelt at the altar to 
 receive the nuptial benediction ; nor did I 
 dream, as I pressed my wife fondly to my 
 bosom, that our present happiness was but as 
 the gay and sunny aspect of a sky which is 
 soon to be overclouded with the gloomy vapours 
 that announce and accompany an impending 
 storm. 
 
 At Beyrout, a letter reached me from my 
 old friend Mayflower, containing the intelHgence 
 of the death of Mr. Templeton, who had long 
 
128 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 been ailing. This sad news damped our 
 nuptial joy, though it was not altogether unex- 
 pected. May we not think, however, that God 
 mingles sorrow with the draught of human 
 enjoyment, lest it should intoxicate instead of 
 soothe. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 129 
 
 CHAPTER VII. , 
 
 My first care on arriving in England was 
 to seek out my uncle, whom I found at his old 
 residence, and immersed, as usual, in his old 
 studies. The letter I wrote to him from Syria 
 had, in some degree, prepared his mind for the 
 visit of Walsingham, who accompanied me the 
 next day to my uncle's retreat. Their inter- 
 view though productive of kindly feelings on 
 either side, was in some degree painful, since 
 much that had to be discussed related to one 
 who was lost to both, and of whom neither 
 could think without a slight measure of self- 
 reproach. Yet, regrets for the irretrievable past 
 were soon cast aside by mutual consent, and 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
130 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 gave place to more hopeful and less desponding 
 themes. 
 
 Having learned from my uncle that Jack 
 was expected shortly, I left the two newly- 
 acquainted relatives to themselves, and strolled 
 out into the garden, where I found the old 
 house-keeper, Mrs. Dawson, busily engaged in 
 nailing up some stray tendrils of a small vine, 
 which had recently broken loose from their 
 fastenings. 
 
 " And so you have come home at last, 
 Mr. Singleton, from foreign parts ?" said the 
 good dame, when she recognised me, which 
 was not for some minutes, since increasing 
 years had rather impaired her eye-sight, and 
 reduced her to the use of a pair of horn 
 spectacles. These she drew from her pocket, 
 and putting them on, eyed me with as strict 
 and minute attention as she was wont to bestow 
 on her master's person in days of yore. Having 
 satisfied herself that I was in every respect 
 little altered from what I had been, she quietly 
 slid back the spectacles into her pocket, and 
 
A MISSIONARY. 131 
 
 said : " You have seen many wonderful things, 
 Mr. Singleton, I suppose ?" 
 
 ''Well," I replied, "my eyes have certainly 
 not been idle since I last saw you, for, as an 
 old favourite of your master says, Mrs. Dawson, 
 I have beheld ' many cities and men.' " 
 
 " Ah !" said the house-keeper ; " but you 
 never met, in all your travels, so clever a man 
 as your uncle, Sir, I'll be bound. Folks talk 
 about his odd ways now ; but let 'em, says I ; 
 and, as I always teU 'em too, clever people must 
 be odd. Bless you, if they weren't, where 
 would be the difference between them and 
 ordinary folk ?" 
 
 " And Jack," said I, " is he clever ?" 
 
 " He's a dear, good lad, Sir," she answered ; 
 " full of life and spirits, you know, as them 
 sailors will be when they are ashore. I always 
 look forward to his coming, though he does 
 turn the house topsy turvey. But he is a good 
 youth, and there are more than me as says so. 
 There's the widow at the end of the lane, 
 whose boy he pulled out of the river when he 
 
 K 2 
 
132 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 was half drowned, the young scapegrace, and 
 many others that always have a good word for 
 Master Jack, and never fail to ask me when 
 he is expected." 
 
 At this moment there was a ring at the 
 gate, and Mrs. Dawson hurried off to open it. 
 Finding myself abandoned, I took up the 
 hammer which she had thrown down, and was 
 selecting a suitable nail from the bag, when 
 a well-known voice shouted behind me : 
 
 " Where is he ? Let me see him directly." 
 
 I turned round, and found myself opposite a 
 fine-looking fellow, with a merry laughing face, 
 dressed in a naval uniform, which very much 
 became him. He sprang forward as soon as 
 he caught sight of me, and shook heartily the 
 hand which I thrust out to him. 
 
 " Well, Jack," said I, " this is very fortunate 
 that you have come just now, for I want to 
 talk to you a little before you go in doors. 
 And how have you been faring since I saw 
 you?" 
 
 " Very well, indeed. Sir," said Jack, enthu- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 133 
 
 siastlcally. " I like my profession, I like my 
 captain, and I like my ship, and that's saying 
 a great deal. In fact, Mr. Singleton, I believe 
 that if I could know the rights of the matter 
 with respect to my father and mother, I should 
 be perfectly happy." 
 
 " Few people can ever say that truly in this 
 world, my dear fellow," I observed. " But it 
 is upon that subject that I wish to speak with 
 you." 
 
 I then told him all the particulars which had 
 come to my knowledge, and was endeavouring 
 to prepare his mind for an interview with his 
 father ; but I had no sooner mentioned that 
 Walsingham was in the house, than the impe- 
 tuous lad darted off like a shot ; and when I 
 re-entered the study, I found him in the arms 
 of his parent. 
 
 Walsingham quitted his son's embraces as 
 soon as he saw me, and seizing my hand, ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Singleton, I owe much, very much of the 
 joy I now experience to you. I feel you 
 
134 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 have restored to me, in this boy, something to 
 live for !" 
 
 " My dear friend," I replied, " rather thank 
 Him who has preserved your life to see this 
 day, and in whose omnipotent hand, I and all 
 have been but feeble instruments. And now 
 let us pay to Him that tribute which piety no 
 less than gratitude demands." 
 
 We knelt around the table, and I endea- 
 voured to embody in words the feelings of all 
 present ; but I felt that on this, as on other 
 occasions, human language is painfully inade^ 
 quate to express the deeper and more sublime 
 emotions of the soul. Soon after, Walsingham 
 and his son left us, and I took the oppor- 
 tunity of making my uncle acquainted with my 
 marriage. 
 
 " I am very thankful to hear of it, George," 
 he said, " for Raehel was always a favourite of 
 mine. She has been an excdlent daughter and 
 an exemplary wife, and you cannot want a 
 better guarantee for future happiness. Still, my 
 dear fellow, do not forget that golden maxim of 
 
A MISSIONARY. 135 
 
 old Epictetus, ' bear and forbear,' as well as 
 the sounder advice of St. Peter. Perhaps I 
 and poor Walsingham might have been spared 
 a considerable amount of sorrow had we but 
 considered that marriage, to be happy, requires 
 mutual toleration of many defects and weak- 
 nesses. And now, George, I cannot conceal 
 from you my apprehension that I have done 
 my work here, and must soon ' sing my nunc 
 dimittis,' as one of my old favourites phrases 
 it." 
 
 " I trust not," said I. " You are looking 
 well, and your years — " 
 
 " Have not reached yet the threescore and 
 ten usually allotted to man's existence. But 
 what of that? We may be called hence at 
 any time, and for some weeks I have heard the 
 tread of the messenger's footsteps. Fortu- 
 nately I have none to leave but you three, and 
 I think you will hardly mourn much that an 
 old man has gone to those for whose society he 
 has sighed and longed through many a weary 
 year. I hope and trust that I am prepared, 
 
136 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 and, thank God ! that neither as a scholar or 
 a Christian, do I fear the putting off ' of this 
 mortal coil.' " 
 
 I was at first incredulous with respect to my 
 uncle's forebodings, but he told me some cir- 
 cumstances which proved that his fears were 
 not the mere offspring of a hypochondriacal 
 fancy. I now pressed upon him the necessity 
 of seeking the best medical advice. He smiled 
 faintly, and replied : 
 
 " You know Napoleon used to say that we 
 are machines made to live, and that when our 
 machinery has exhausted itself it is useless to 
 think of repairing it. I am much of his 
 opinion in this matter — at least, as regards my 
 own case. StiU it is our duty to take every 
 precaution, and so, perhaps, you would kindly 
 
 see Dr. for me to-morrow. And now, 
 
 my dear fellow, I must bid you good evening, 
 for I feel rather exhausted by what has hap- 
 pened to-day. But before you go, reach me 
 the Phgedo from the high shelf yonder. They 
 must have put it there by mistake, for it gene- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 137 
 
 rally lies with the New Testament on the table 
 near my bed." 
 
 " It is indeed worthy of that fellowship," 
 said I, as I brought him the book, " for it is 
 one of the noblest testimonies borne by unas- 
 sisted human reason to that great doctrine of 
 the immortality of the soul, which revelation 
 alone has made certain and sure." 
 
 " You are right," he answered. " And 
 leaning on Plato and St. Paul, I feel I might 
 almost exclaim : ' Now am I doubly armed !' 
 Yet how clear and undoubting is the witness 
 of the apostle when compared with the half- 
 hesitating speculative probability of the sage ! 
 We feel as we read that sublime chapter in the 
 Corinthians, this is the language not of acute 
 metaphysics nor of subtle logic, but of one who 
 has, indeed, been led behind the great veil, and 
 has investigated the mysteries which it conceals 
 from ordinary mortals. Ah ! the hope of 
 immortahty is a glorious thing, it has supported 
 many a world-hero in his struggles with 
 
138 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 opposing evil, it can sustain a Christian even 
 in torture like this." 
 
 He v^ithed as he spoke, and a spasm of 
 agony agitated his frame. He grew^ faint, and 
 I had to summon the old housekeeper, who 
 brought him a restorative", v^^hich seemed to 
 revive him for a few minutes. But the languor 
 of secret and incurable disease soon stole again 
 over his features, and he sank back in his 
 chair. I wished to remain with him the whole 
 of the night, but he thought I had better not 
 do so, as the consciousness of my being there 
 might disturb him. 
 
 " I have been so long a hermit, George," he 
 continued, " that company rather excites than 
 soothes me. I think, therefore, that here you 
 would be of little service to me, but you might 
 see the doctor to-night instead of to-morrow as 
 it is not very late." 
 
 I promised that I would go to him imme- 
 diately; my uncle pressed my hand affection- 
 ately, and we parted. I hailed the first cab I 
 
A MISSIONARY. 139 
 
 met, and was fortunate enough to find at home 
 the eminent physician to whom my uncle had 
 alluded. He shook his head doubtfully, as I 
 detailed the symptoms, and said he would see 
 Mr. Sainsby, without delay. I went on to our 
 hotel to apprize my wife and Walsingham of 
 what had happened. They were both eager to 
 fly to the assistance of the invalid, but I thought 
 they had better wait till the ensuing morning, 
 lest their visit might occasion too much excite- 
 ment, and perhaps make my uncle worse. I 
 was determined, however, to return, and learn 
 
 the state of the patient from Dr. , who 
 
 had offered me a seat in his carriage. He 
 called for me soon after, and we proceeded to 
 
 my uncle's cottage, whom Dr. found in a 
 
 very dangerous condition. 
 
 He said, however, that the peril was not im- 
 mediate, although the patient could hardly sur- 
 vive a week. At present he had given him a 
 composing draught, and hoped that its effect 
 might deaden the pain for a time and bring on 
 sleep. I returned with a heavy heart to the 
 
140 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 hotel to communicate the unwelcome tidings to 
 my wife and Walsingham, who were anxiously 
 expecting me. 
 
 The next day my uncle rallied a little, and 
 was able to see us. Walsingham determined 
 not to quit the house, and Rachel engaged some 
 lodgings for ourselves hard by. Deeply as we 
 all felt the impending blow, no one seemed to 
 suffer so visibly as the youth to whom the sick 
 man had supplied the place of a father. His 
 violent grief could not be restrained, and we 
 were obliged to keep him as much as possible 
 from the presence of the invalid. 
 
 Time passed on, and each hour seemed to be 
 working some change in the debilitated frame. 
 The more acute agonies had exhausted them- 
 selves by their violence, and were now suffering 
 their victim to sink gradually to repose in the 
 arms of death. The sick man frequently re- 
 mained insensible for several hours, and at times 
 his thoughts wandered and he murmured forth 
 verses of Scripture, sentences from the " Phse- 
 do," or solemn passages from the old Greek 
 
A MISSIONARY. 141 
 
 tragedians. As the period of his departure 
 drew near, his mental powers appeared to be 
 less clouded and obscured, and he would then 
 express very touchingly the hopes and expecta- 
 tions that were nerving him for the last great 
 struggle. 
 
 " George," he said faintly to me one morn- 
 ing, as I sat by his bedside, " you wiU take my 
 books, all except the ' Phsedo ' and the ' New 
 Testament,' which I wish buried with me in 
 my coffin. You may think me fanciful, per- 
 haps I am so, but it is a dying man's wish, and 
 you will execute it, won't you ?" 
 
 He seemed as if he would have said more, 
 but w^eakness prevented his utterance, and I 
 begged him not to exert himself too much. 
 
 It was a lovely spring evening, and the genial 
 warmth of the day had been such as induced us 
 to move the couch of the invalid nearer the 
 window, that he might look once more on the 
 smiling landscape and the sweet flowers. His 
 spirits seemed revived by the sight, but the 
 momentary rally was like the last feeble flame 
 
142 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 that shoots up as the lamp is waning into dark- 
 ness. He signed to us to open the window. 
 
 " Let me," he said, in a voice which sounded 
 clearer and more distinct than it had done for 
 many days, " let me breathe once more the 
 incense of my favourite flowers before I fall 
 on sleep. Ah, now I can feel the force and 
 beauty of that old Hebrew metaphor, as I never 
 felt it before. Do not weep for me, dear ones, 
 rejoice rather that, like the weary traveller who 
 has arrived at his journey's end, I am sinking 
 to slumber in the arms of a merciful father. 
 See how that ray falls upon the picture of Jesus 
 crucified ; it is a light that should cheer a poor 
 trembling sinner in his last moments, for it is 
 the glory that radiates around the cross. Fare- 
 well, farewell; I must go now — see, they call 
 me — Madelaine and her child, in robes of white. 
 Do you not see them? Do you not hear the 
 rustling of their wings. I come, blessed spirits, 
 I come." 
 
 He sank back on the pillow as he concluded, 
 and the last rays of the setting sun fell upon 
 
A MISSIONARY. 143 
 
 his face and lit up the smile that lingered there. 
 We hastened for assistance, but the dread fiat 
 had gone forth, and the close of another hour 
 found us standing a group of mourners round 
 the cold and deserted tabernacle from which an 
 undying spirit had just taken its flight. 
 
144 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Some months have elapsed since the event 
 recorded in the last chapter, and the members 
 of our little circle are met together to discuss 
 future movements and future plans. The 
 united property of my w^ife and myself had been 
 lodged in the hands of an old mercantile 
 acquaintance of her father, who promised to 
 invest it in such a manner as would procure 
 for us a comfortable annual income. I de- 
 termined, however, not to eat the bread of idle- 
 ness, for I felt that my ordination vows still 
 bound me to my office of a labourer in God's 
 vineyard. It was therefore my intention to 
 
A MISSIONARY. 145 
 
 seek a curacy as soon as possible, and this plan 
 met with my wife's hearty concurrence. 
 
 Walsingham had already grown tired of Eng- 
 land, and could not settle down to a country 
 hfe. He was' making preparations for another 
 journey to the East, and in this expedition his 
 son was to be his companion. We remained 
 in London until they took their departure, and 
 my wife seized upon the opportunity to dispatch 
 an ample package to her old friend Mrs. Thorn- 
 ton, with whom she still kept up a voluminous 
 correspondence. 
 
 The second day after they had gone, I wended 
 my way to the Clerical Agency Office in Fisher 
 Street, it having been represented to me as the 
 hkeliest place to hear of vacant curacies. The 
 exterior was not very promising. It was dark 
 and dingy, characteristics which seemed to have 
 communicated themselves with neighbourly 
 alacrity to the apartment inside, w^here the agent 
 sat in official importance within a species of 
 sanctum carefully railed off from vulgar observa- 
 tion. He was a stout man with a solemn voice 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
146 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 and a manner which seemed to savour of a 
 decayed or retired schoolmaster. A suit of 
 rusty black and a white cravat not in its pristine 
 purity, formed his habiliments, uniting together 
 at the throat in such a manner that even the 
 most practised and curious eye could detect 
 nothing in addition to them. He bent a pair of 
 dull and unexpressive eyes over a large folio 
 manuscript volume, the leaves of which his 
 fingers were turning listlessly to and fro without 
 any apparent object or aim. 
 
 After listening graciously to my business, and 
 casting his eye carelessly over the documents 
 which I submitted to him for inspection, he 
 noted down my age and other particulars on the 
 back of an old envelope, and asked me whether 
 " I was high, low, or middle." 
 
 I did not at first catch his meaning, but with 
 a gracious smile at my ignorance, he vouchsafed 
 a little further explanation. 
 
 " We call high, Mr. Singleton, gentlemen that 
 go about with stand-up collars, double-breasted 
 cassock waistcoats, and mortified faces, that put 
 
A MISSIONARY. 147 
 
 candles on the altar, and chant the service when 
 they can. Under the epithet middle, may be 
 comprised gentlemen who wear dress-coats with 
 open waistcoats, clean shirts with plain studs, 
 neat black gloves and wristbands. There is 
 nothing particular about their mode of offi- 
 ciating. Then, Sir, the low are sanguine- 
 looking gentlemen with large neckcloths and 
 bushy hair. They have usually loud voices, 
 and good lungs, with a strong predilection for 
 Proprietary Chapels. Talking of the latter, I 
 have a very pretty property on hand now, which 
 in the possession of an eligible party might prove 
 a very fair speculation." 
 
 " Indeed !" said I. 
 
 " Five hundred a year clear from pew rents, 
 Sir," continued the agent with increasing ani- 
 mation, " did fetch eight, but has decreased 
 since, in consequence of the last incumbent's 
 being a married man. Marriage rather spoils 
 a gentleman for those speculations. For a 
 single party, however, this would be particularly 
 eligible. The chief sitter. Sir, is a rich widow, 
 
 L 2 
 
148 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 who has made up her mind to marry a clergy- 
 man. Of course, Sir, this is strictly in con- 
 fidence." 
 
 I was indisposed to pursue a colloquy of this 
 kind, and asked rather briefly to see his list 
 of vacant curacies which ' I perused without 
 finding anything likely to suit me. I must 
 own also that I felt some repugnance to the 
 agent's off-hand business way, and I resolved 
 when I took my leave to trouble him no further, 
 but to try whether I should be more successful 
 with the " Church-Advertiser," a copy of which 
 I purchased on my way home. 
 
 While we were at tea I ran my eye over 
 the various advertisements, some being calcu- 
 lated to call forth a smile, and others exciting a 
 widely different feeling. Here, a curate was 
 wanted, possessed of all the advantages, moral 
 and physical, that could be embodied in a 
 single person, and expected to devote his time 
 and energies to the promotion of the spiritual 
 welfare of ten thousand people for the liberal 
 consideration of £50 a-year. There, an affec- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 149 
 
 tionate incumbent was desirous of enfolding in 
 his fraternal embrace a brother of sound lungs 
 and delicate appetite, who, in return for his 
 board and lodging, would assist in three services 
 on Sundays, and teach four amiable and intelli- 
 gent little boys during the week. Close to this, 
 was an intimation that Mr. Higgins would sell 
 by auction the cure of five thousand souls, the 
 highest bidder to be declared the purchaser, and 
 hard by, the account of a most tempting living, 
 which, after describing in very flowery phrase 
 the beauty of the property and the comforts of 
 the parsonage, wound up by a declaration that 
 the present incumbent was eighty-nine years of 
 age, and that of course almost immediate 
 possession might be anticipated. 
 
 Loving the Church as I do, and earnestly 
 feeling that these abuses form no part of her 
 system, but are condemned and reprobated by 
 the most zealous and most attached of her sons, 
 I must yet ask why such things exist. Surely 
 if the highest appointments and preferments are 
 to be bought and sold in this open and public 
 
150 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 manner, the oath against simony, which every 
 incumbent is bound to take on being inducted 
 into a benefice, is neither more nor less than an 
 ecclesiastical farce. 
 
 Undoubtedly, if the working clergy of England 
 are paid wages less than a respectable butler or 
 footman would condescend to accept, and are 
 doomed, unless they can purchase preferment, 
 to languish on in obscurity and privation, there 
 must be something in our institutions that calls 
 loudly for examination and reform. A few 
 defenders of the present state of things urge 
 the usage of the Romish Church, where the 
 salaries of the majority of the clergy are nomi- 
 nally on an equality with that paid to an 
 ordinary stipendiary curate among ourselves. 
 But they forget that, while the Romish priest 
 is a single man, the Anglican clergyman is 
 generally married and has to provide for the 
 wants of a family. Moreover, although the 
 nominal stipend of the priest is small, he has a 
 share in the offerings and fees, which sometimes 
 amount to a considerable sum, while the Enghsh 
 
A MISSIONARY. 151 
 
 curate is not paid one farthing for the extra 
 and occasional services which very often he 
 exclusively performs. The humblest member 
 of the Roman clergy has his room and furniture 
 provided for him at the Presbytere or parsonage, 
 where also he shares with his colleagues the 
 advantages of a common table. 
 
 It is said, however, occasionally, that the chance 
 of obtaining the prizes of the Church, is suffi- 
 •cient to compensate for all the toils and troubles 
 of curate existence. The assertion very much 
 reminds one of those splendid but delusive 
 hopes which are indulged in, from time to 
 time, by very aged relatives of beardless ensigns 
 and briefless barristers, and which lead them 
 sometimes to see in the 'hand of the one the 
 baton of the field-marshal, and on the head of 
 the other the flowing peruke of the chancellor. 
 But even were these rewards tenfold more 
 numerous, and tenfold more splendid than they 
 are, it is mere childish simplicity to suppose 
 that influence and connections have no share 
 in their allotment. Exceptions there may be 
 
152 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 of course, but in the majority of cases, the men 
 who are likely to obtain these prizes are precisely 
 those who do not need the assistance which they 
 afford. And even were College distinction and 
 University celebrity made the test of a man's 
 merit, it should not be forgotten that the most 
 active and zealous labourers in the Lord's vine- 
 yard are not always the persons who can make 
 the best Latin verses, or work out the most 
 successfully the problems of Euclid or the 
 Principia of Newton. 
 
 Some such thoughts as these occupied my 
 mind as I noted down the address of an 
 advertisement, whose style was the most un- 
 assuming of any that I had perused. This 
 vicarage was situated in a pleasant part of Kent, 
 and although the advertisement stated that the 
 salary given could be but small, money was not 
 then an object to me, and I immediately wrote 
 off to the address mentioned. To this appli- 
 cation I received a reply by return of post, 
 begging me to appoint some place of meeting 
 that would be mutually convenient. As, how- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 153 
 
 ever, the distance to the village where my 
 correspondent resided was not very great, I 
 determined to pay a visit of inspection to the 
 locality itself. 
 
 We found the place a charming specimen of 
 a quiet English village. It was embosomed in 
 an almost circular valley, surrounded by downs, 
 and shaded by a straggling plantation of trees, 
 which was dignified by the appellation of the 
 ." Forest." Tn the centre of the sole street, rose 
 the venerable church, with its quaint Norman 
 tower and ancient chancel, contrasting somewhat 
 unpleasingly with the patchwork repairs of the 
 aisles and transepts, which had been executed 
 in a style commonly known, I believe, as 
 " carpenter's gothic." Around the sanctuary 
 lay the memorials of the departed, many of 
 which dated so far back that their inscriptions 
 had been almost entirely obliterated. A group 
 of solemn yew trees shed a mournful effect over 
 the whole, not altogether removed by the flower- 
 garlands which, in compliance with an ancient 
 
154 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 custom long since disused in towns, were 
 suspended over many of the graves. 
 
 The grey-haired sexton made his appearance 
 from a neighbouring cottage while we were 
 examining the church, and directed me to the 
 Parsonage. Although larger, it was hardly 
 superior in its external aspect to the village 
 abodes by which it was surrounded, and owing to 
 the numerous additions, made doubtless by suc- 
 cessive incumbents, it gave one the idea of 
 three cottages joined together without much 
 attention to taste or regularity of design. The 
 old-fashioned porch was almost covered with 
 honeysuckle and other creepers, which clambered 
 up the dilapidated wall in luxuriant profusion, 
 as if they had been left very much to their own 
 wav, and were destitute of that trainino; and 
 culture which both vegetable and moral natures 
 imperatively require. 
 
 " There is no lady here," said my wife, as she 
 cast a mournful eye over the neglected flower 
 garden ; " if there were, all this would look very 
 differently." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 155 
 
 An untidy maid-servant ushered us into an 
 old-fashioned study, where everything seemed 
 in that state of confusion which marks more 
 than anything else the sanctum of a secluded 
 scholar. We found almost every chair occupied 
 by two or three volumes, the removal of which 
 overwhelmed me with a cloud of dust. The 
 comfortable leathern seat itself, sacred, as we 
 conjectured, to the studious occupant alone, was 
 •covered with patches and rents, while an un- 
 limitable extent of cobweb extended itself along 
 the cornices of the apartment. At length the 
 master of the house entered, the interval having 
 been evidently employed in making himself pre- 
 sentable. He was a venerable, grey-haired man, 
 w'ho seemed in admirable keeping with every- 
 thing around him, and eminently suited to the 
 quiet, retired station in which Providence had 
 cast his lot. 
 
 After some preliminary conversation, he ex- 
 pressed himself satisfied with my views, and 
 handing me a card, on which was inscribed in 
 black letter characters " Rev. P. Pleydell," hoped 
 
156 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 that I should find the curacy an agreeable 
 one. 
 
 " I am almost ashamed, Mr. Singleton," he 
 continued, " to name the stipend, but when you 
 hear that the vicarage is but worth eighty 
 pounds a-year, you will hardly feel surprised 
 that I can only offer you thirty pounds, the 
 more especially as my own private means are 
 small, and the demands made upon me here 
 extensive." 
 
 I assured him a stipend was of little conse- 
 quence to me, but expressed some astonish- 
 ment that the value of the living was so 
 small. 
 
 "The reason is," said Mr. Pleydell, "that 
 aU the greater tithes are in the hands of Squire 
 Chase, who lives in the great white house which 
 you must have passed on your entrance into the 
 village. He is the lay-rector." 
 
 " Pray excuse my ignorance," I said, " but 
 what is a lay-rector ? 1 have heard of such 
 a personage, but I never clearly understood 
 what it meant." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 157 
 
 " You are aware, perhaps," said Mr. 
 Pleydell, "that before the Reformation, the 
 monasteries had by degrees got into their hands 
 a vast amount of patronage, either by building 
 churches in the vicinity, by repairing them when 
 built, or by taking upon themselves the responsi- 
 bility of serving them. They also managed in 
 many cases to appropriate the larger tithes to 
 their own communities, an arrangement which 
 in those days had some show of justice as it 
 w^as an equivalent for services rendered. After 
 the abolition of the monastic orders, however, 
 the laymen who seized upon their property re- 
 tained also the greater tithes, leaving the smaller 
 for the support of the parochial minister, who, 
 because he performs those duties which the 
 rector cannot discharge in consequence of his 
 lay condition, is entitled the vicar, or agent of the 
 tithe-holder." 
 
 " But aU this," said I, " seems to me very 
 unreasonable. I can indeed, conceive that the 
 monks being spiritual persons, and in many 
 cases discharging spiritual duties, might with 
 
158 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 some fairness lay claim to money left for spiritual 
 purposes, but how a layman who gives no equi- 
 valent at all for the sums he receives, can go on 
 from year to year pocketing the funds devoted 
 by ancient piety to the service of God, appears 
 so flagrant an abuse that I am astonished to 
 find people who can submit to it. It is a gross 
 injustice to the clergyman who has all the duty 
 to perform, and a still grosser wrong to the 
 people, who are compelled to pay money for 
 nothing." 
 
 " It seems so, indeed," replied Mr. Pleydell, 
 " but so it is. Squire Chase draws from this 
 parish alone about six hundred a-year, and there 
 are several other parishes in the neighbourhood 
 which are in the same condition." 
 
 " And does Squire Chase," I inquired, " do 
 much for the poor ?" 
 
 " I am sorry to say, very little," replied the 
 Vicar. " We seldom, indeed, see much of him 
 here, as he is member for the neighbouring 
 town, and resides principally in London. I am 
 told that he professes himself a great Church 
 
A MISSIONARY. 159 
 
 Reformer, and is always inveighing against the 
 large incomes of the Bishops. I applied to 
 him some time ago about augmenting the 
 income of this vicarage, but he returned me a 
 very long, though I must say, civil letter to 
 the effect that he thought such a proposition an 
 encroachment on the rights of the laity. But 
 let us change the subject, Mr. Singleton, for I 
 dislike speaking of my neighbour at aU when I 
 cannot speak well of him, and we will go and 
 see if we can find some sort of habitation for 
 you." 
 
 In a very short time we discovered what my 
 wife termed " a love of a cottage" delightfully 
 situated on the outskirts of the village. It had a 
 large garden attached to it, with which Rachel 
 became at once enamoured, and finding that 
 the place pleased her, and was anything but 
 disagreeable to me, I agreed to take it at once, 
 and enter upon my duties as Curate of West- 
 pool the ensuing Sunday. The Vicar pressed 
 us to remain for dinner, but observing a cloud 
 gathering on the features of the slip-shod hand- 
 
1 60 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 maiden, who was present when he gave the 
 invitation, I thought it best to decline it, and 
 returned to town with my wife. 
 
 The next morning I saw our agent, who 
 informed me that he had invested our little 
 fortune to great advantage in railway shares, 
 which were likely to be very productive. As I 
 believed him to be an honest and upright man, 
 I made few inquiries, and having given him a 
 perfect carte blanche to manage the matter as 
 he thought best, I returned to our lodging, to 
 assist my wife in packing up. It was pleasant, 
 sunshiny weather, and neither of us I believe 
 were sorry to exchange the scenic rurality of a 
 London suburb for the open fields and fresh 
 bracing air of the real country. 
 
 We had taken our places in the railway 
 carriage, and flattered ourselves that we were 
 likely to retain the sole possession of it, when 
 the pleasing delusion was dispelled by the 
 entry of two gentlemen, whom by their dress 
 and general appearance I conjectured to be 
 members of my own profession. There was. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 161 
 
 however, a wide difference between the two, as 
 far as externals were concerned ; for the starched 
 and spotless cravat, perfumed hair, gold eye- 
 glass, and elegantly made clothes of the one, 
 seemed to betoken some degree of affluence ; 
 while the rusty-black coat and ill-washed linen 
 of the other, appeared as manifest tokens that 
 their owner was carrying on a keen struggle 
 with poverty, and had not retired from the con- 
 .test a victor. I set him down in my own mind 
 for some humble struggling curate, with a wife 
 and large family ; and as I always entertained 
 for the poorer clergy strong feelings of brotherly 
 sympathy, I entered into conversation with him, 
 and was confirmed in my opinion by the sim- 
 plicity, not to say rusticity of his remarks. 
 This was rather disappointing, for he had a fine 
 intellectual forehead, and an eye of particular 
 brilliancy ; but I imagined that perhaps his was 
 one of those strong natural geniuses which are 
 but too often allowed to rust in obscurity for 
 want of some suitable object to elicit their true 
 character. 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
162 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 The stylish young clergyman opposite me, 
 who had not hitherto spoken a word, seemed to 
 regard our poor travelling companion with no 
 friendly eye. He replied in monosyllables to 
 some remarks which the other had addressed to 
 him, and appeared determined to maintain a 
 dignified reserve towards one, whom he evidently 
 considered as much inferior to himself. With me, 
 however, he was more unbending, until happen- 
 ing to ask the name of my college, I informed 
 him that I had not graduated at either univer- 
 sity. He drew himself up very stiffly on 
 hearing this, and took an early opportunity of 
 expressing his wonder that the bishops should 
 ordain men who were not graduates, and thus 
 destroy the respectability of the Church. 
 
 " Of course I mean nothing personal," he 
 added in a tone which showed me most unmis- 
 takably that he did ; " but such is my consci- 
 entious opinion, and I always like to be 
 candid." 
 
 I was about to reply, when our companion 
 interrupted me, and addressing himself to the 
 
A MISSIONARY. 163 
 
 other, said with a countenance expressive of the 
 deepest wonder and veneration : 
 
 " Dear me, Sir, a university education must 
 be a fine thing, I am sure. You have been at 
 the university, Sir, of course ?" 
 
 " I should think so my friend," said the 
 
 gentleman contemptuously. '* I am of 
 
 College ; otherwise," he added, with a meaning 
 glance towards me, " I should not have intruded 
 myself into holy orders." 
 
 " And does a college training fit one so well 
 for the ministerial office in the Church of Eng- 
 gland. Sir ?" inquired the other. 
 
 " How can you ask such a question ?" was 
 the reply. " But probably you are a Methodist 
 or Dissenting minister, and don't think much 
 of the importance of learning and a good 
 education ?" 
 
 The poor man did not meet the question 
 with a denial, and the clergyman went on in a 
 pompous tone. 
 
 " You see I wish to say nothing against 
 either Methodists and Dissenters, who are very 
 
 M 2 
 
164 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 well in their way, if they confine themselves to 
 the shopkeepers and the lower class of people. 
 But the higher orders, my friend, require to be 
 addressed by a man of some knowledge and 
 abilities ; and for such a one therefore, an 
 university education is indispensable. And then 
 you know a sound divine ought to be acquainted 
 with the Scriptures and the Fathers in their 
 original languages, and understand perfectly 
 Greek, Syriac, and Hebrew." 
 
 " Ah !" said the supposed Methodist with a 
 sigh, "it is a great privilege to meet with a 
 man of edication. Could you allow me, Sir," 
 with increased reverence, " to ask you a few 
 questions ? It would be such a privilege." 
 
 " Certainly, my friend, certainly," replied the 
 clergyman condescendingly. "What is it you 
 want to know ?" 
 
 " I have an old book in my pocket. Sir," 
 said the other, producing it, " that a university 
 gentleman who lodged at mother's, left behind 
 him. Could you tell me. Sir, please, what 
 language it is written in ?" 
 
A MISSIONARY. 165 
 
 " This ?" said the member of College, 
 
 as he inspected the book with a very doubtful 
 and clouded aspect, " this is, I think, Chinese." 
 
 " There now," returned the other, " see what 
 it is to be a man of edication. And yet, Sir, it 
 is very odd that a Chinese book should have 
 ' Testamentum Syriacum,' which I always 
 thought meant Syriac Testament on the title- 
 page. But never mind that. Sir, for I have got 
 .another question to ask," and he pulled out 
 another book. " This, Sir, is an old Hebrew 
 Bible, in which I have often tried to read a 
 little. Could you kindly teU me the meaning 
 of this word in Genesis, and the root, for I 
 can't find it in my dictionary." 
 
 The divine coloured, and stammered out that 
 he had forgotten his Hebrew. 
 
 " Ah ! well, we will try a little Greek," said 
 the indefatigable querist, " I wish you would 
 construe me this passage in ' St. Chrysostom's 
 Homilies.' " 
 
 The clergyman took the book most reluct- 
 
166 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 antly, blundered over two or three sentences, 
 making several mistakes in quantity, which 
 were quietly corrected by the other, in whose 
 eye I now detected a certain malicious twinkle, 
 as if he enjoyed the whole thing amazingly. 
 His victim at last fairly broke down, and said 
 as he returned the book : 
 
 " I can make nothing of it ; but I must 
 observe that the Fathers write such barbarous 
 Greek, that few men of our college ever open 
 them. Now, if it was the classical writers, you 
 know that would be quite another thing," 
 
 " Dear me ! would it ?" said the merciless 
 tormentor. "I did not think of that. I 
 always supposed that the end of a clerical 
 university education was to make men ac- 
 quainted with Christian writings in the original 
 languages. I am sure you said so. Sir, just 
 now. But never mind, let us try Homer. Here 
 is this fine passage in the second book, let us 
 see what you can make of it." 
 
 The poor man took the volume, but got com- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 167 
 
 pletely at sea in the second line. He threw the 
 Homer on the seat, and exclaimed pettishly, 
 that he had forgotten his Greek. 
 
 " And yet, Sir," said the other, eyeing the 
 perfumed curls very contemptuously, " you 
 don't look very much like a patriarch." Then 
 changing his tone, and speaking with consi- 
 derable emphasis, he added : " Sir, you are a 
 sham, a humbug, and an impostor." 
 
 " What do you mean. Sir ?" cried the other. 
 " Do you want to insult me ? There is my 
 card. Sir. That will show you that I am no 
 impostor, Sir." 
 
 " It shows me," was the reply, " that you are 
 a man who was plucked three times in suc- 
 cession, and at last gained his degree only by 
 an iEgrotat." 
 
 " Who are you ?" demanded the tormented 
 collegian, now at his wit's end. 
 
 " Professor , of ," replied the other, 
 
 " who wiU take the liberty of advising Mr. , 
 
 not to be so vain in future of belonging to a 
 university, which does not, it appears, reckon 
 
168 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 him among its highest ornaments. Look you, 
 young man, I was loth to pluck off your bor- 
 rowed plumes, before you thrust them so fiercely 
 in the faces of myself and of our worthy friend 
 opposite. A true scholar. Sir, wiU always let 
 his modesty outvie even his learning. I trust, 
 however, you have this day ' received a lesson 
 which will make you more cautious in 
 future." 
 
 The train stopped, and our crest-fallen com- 
 panion got out, very much ashamed of himself 
 apparently, but I trust benefited by the hand- 
 ling which he had received from one of the first 
 Greek scholars in Europe, a man who it was 
 thought then would probably be raised to the 
 Episcopal bench. The Professor looked after 
 him with a smile, and turning to me said : 
 
 " ' Abiit evasit erupit.' I think our young 
 friend wiU be in no hurry to exhibit his 
 erudition in a railway carriage a second 
 time." 
 
 We now entered into conversation, and I 
 found the great scholar as modest in his 
 
A MISSIONARY. 169 
 
 mind and manners, as he was in his exterior. 
 I almost regretted our arrival at the station, 
 which prevented me from enjoying for a longer 
 space of time his brilliant and intellectual 
 conversation. However, there w^as no help 
 for it, since the Vicar of Westpool's chaise 
 was waiting for me at the terminus, so my 
 wife and I were obliged to bid our new 
 friend farewell, enjoying a hearty laugh over 
 our late adventure as we rode along. 
 
 We were soon comfortably settled in our 
 snug cottage, which, under Rachel's hands, 
 began to assume new attractions daily. When 
 I went out in the morning to my parochial 
 work, she commenced her household duties ; 
 and when I returned in the afternoon, I was 
 almost sure to find her twining the honey- 
 suckle round the pillars of our little rustic 
 porch, or clipping and trimming our sweet- 
 smelling rosemary-hedge with a pair of for- 
 midable-looking shears. She had also estab- 
 lished a poultry-yard, and was most zealous 
 in her attention to the wants of her feathered 
 
170 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 family, to whom we were indebted for an un- 
 limited supply of new-laid eggs, and other 
 small luxuries of that kind. In the evening 
 we had a little music; and not unfrequently 
 the good old vicar joined us, and argued with 
 me on some point in theology, or became my 
 antagonist in a game of chess. 
 
 On Sundays and festival-days we repaired 
 to the venerable church, where, after service, 
 my wife gave some lessons in music to a few 
 of the more talented school children. During 
 the week she attended the girl's school, aiding 
 and overlooking the village mistress, and would 
 sometimes accompany me in my visits to the 
 sick or the afflicted, soothing their sufferings, 
 and consoling them in their sorrows, with 
 that gentle hand and noiseless, unobtrusive 
 tact, which only can be found in woman. 
 
 Our villagers were a simple, kind-hearted 
 set of people, fond of their church and their 
 clergy, thankful and grateful to us for what- 
 ever kindness they received at our hands; and 
 as a body generally, free from any of the 
 
A MISSIONARY. 171 
 
 grosser or more heinous vices. Our life 
 seemed to glide onwards smoothly and hap- 
 pily, like some gentle stream, that meanders 
 along its quiet way, through verdant meadows 
 and shady groves, knowing neither the im- 
 petuous fary of the mountain-torrent, nor 
 the destructive rage of the tempest-stirred 
 sea. 
 
 One afternoon we all repaired to a little rural 
 f(&te, with which the vicar had indulged the 
 children of the village-school. We had made 
 a short excursion to the ruins of an old abhey, 
 situated in the vicinity, where our youthful 
 guests partook of a plentiful supply of cakes 
 and tea, after they had wearied themselves 
 with childish pastimes and romps, among the 
 remains of the deserted cloisters. One pretty 
 little girl was a special favourite with my wife, 
 on account of her docility and quickness. 
 On the present occasion, her companions 
 elected her queen of the day, and twined for 
 her a chaplet of daisies, and other wild-flowers, 
 which grew among the venerable ruins. Rachel 
 
172 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 thought she would make the child a small 
 present, to heighten the enjoyment of her 
 regal honours, and went home to fetch some- 
 thing suitable, telling me she should speedily 
 return. In the meantime, the vicar and I 
 strolled through the joyous groups talking 
 and laughing a little with each in succession, 
 and recalling to mind our own boyish days and 
 childish pastimes. 
 
 Two hours passed away, and my wife did 
 not make her appearance. It was growing 
 late, and the children were preparing to return 
 to the village. Feeling rather anxious to know 
 what had detained her, I hurried on before, and 
 found Rachel pale, dejected, and weeping, with 
 a letter lying opened on the table, which seemed 
 to be the cause of her grief. 
 
 " What does all this mean, dearest ?" I in- 
 quired, somewhat alarmed, 
 
 " It means that we are ruined, George," she 
 replied, handing me the letter. 
 
 I ran my eye hastily over the contents, and 
 found that it was from the managing clerk 
 
A MISSIONARY. 173 
 
 of my agent, who informed me that his prin- 
 cipal having been concerned very much of late 
 with railway speculations, had failed for a large 
 amount, and in the first agony of despair 
 brought on by this event, had put an end 
 to his life. The writer feared that absolutely 
 nothing would be left for the creditors; but 
 he thought it might be better for me to come 
 up to town immediately. 
 
 A dull lethargy stole over me, as I perused 
 these unfortunate tidings, and I sat for some 
 minutes holding the letter in my hand, and 
 gazing vacantly before me, utterly benumbed 
 and stupified by intelligence so unexpected 
 and so distressing. From this I was roused 
 by my wife, w4io, advancing towards me, laid 
 her hand on my shoulder, and endeavoured to 
 smile through her tears. 
 
 " Don't look so woe-begone George, dear, or 
 I shall take you for the Knight of the Sorrowful 
 Figure, in good earnest. The money is gone, 
 but I suppose it is God's will it should go, and 
 we must submit to that. After all, I dare 
 
174 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 say our lot will not be so very hard. God 
 will take care of us darling, as He has hitherto 
 done." 
 
 " Rachel," said I, " it is not for myself that 
 I care, but for you my dear one. You who 
 have known so little privation, and are therefore 
 so ill prepared to bear it." 
 
 " Do not think of me," she rephed, " I shall 
 get on well enough depend upon it, and there 
 are many things in which I might help you. 
 You know I am an excellent needlewoman, and 
 then I can paint, and do fancy work, and make 
 screens, which perhaps wiU bring us in some- 
 thing, so that we shall not go to the workhouse 
 yet, my dear." 
 
 I looked at her as she spoke with the noble, 
 patient heroism of woman's nature, beaming 
 through her earnest eye ; and then I prayed God 
 to bless her, and shield her at least from the 
 misfortunes and carking cares of poverty. She 
 sat down by my side, and endeavoured to console 
 me by making light of our misfortune, and 
 by leading my wounded and mortified spirit to 
 
A MISSIONARY. 175 
 
 look upwards in calm confidence and hope, to 
 Him whose hand had now descended so heavily 
 upon me. I fell upon my knees, and poured 
 forth my agitated feelings in prayer, my wife 
 kneeling by my side. When I rose, I felt 
 myself both comforted and relieved, while the 
 suggestions of hope which seemed but a few 
 minutes before to have abandoned me entirely, 
 began again to shed their sunshine upon my 
 mind, and to inspire me with activity and 
 energy. 
 
 My first step was to ascertain the true 
 nature of our present position, and with this 
 end I took the special train to London, and 
 hastened at once to the house of Mr. Burley, 
 my recent correspondent. He was himself in 
 great distress, having been involved in the specu- 
 lations of his principal, and being now a sharer 
 in his ruin. He gave me little hope of recover- 
 ing any of my lost property, and said that even if a 
 dividend could be obtained, the amount must 
 be so small that it would hardly be worth my 
 acceptance. The utmost I could do, therefore, 
 
176 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 was to place the matter with my late uncle's 
 solicitor, who condoled with me most sincerely 
 in my misfortune, and promised to rescue as 
 much as possible for us from the wreck. 
 Having thus concluded my business in town, 
 I prepared with a heavy heart for my return 
 home. 
 
 During the journey back, I revolved in my 
 mind a countless number of plans for the 
 future. It was quite clear that I must now 
 look wholly to my profession for support, and 
 that I must seek another curacy, since my 
 present one yielded me only thirty pounds a- 
 year. I determined, therefore, to take counsel 
 with the vicar, who I knew, was well acquainted 
 by experience with the viscissitudes of clerical 
 life. I accordingly went direct to his house 
 fi'om the terminus, and laid before him as 
 briefly as possible the necessities of my present 
 position. 
 
 He was both surprised and apparently 
 grieved when he understood the real state of 
 my affairs, but agreed with me at once that I 
 
A MISSIONARY. 177 
 
 ought to seek some other sphere of duty. He 
 added that though under ordinary circumstances, 
 a previous notice of six months was generally 
 expected before the departure of a curate, he 
 should of course waive that at present, and 
 concluded by offering to do everything in his 
 power to forward my views. 
 
 I thanked him sincerely for his kindness, 
 and begged that he would favour me with his 
 advice. He paused a little to think on the 
 matter, and then said : 
 
 " Were you an University man I should cer- 
 tainly advise you to try for a country curacy. 
 You could not, indeed, live upon the stipend, 
 but you might eke out your income by taking 
 pupils. As you are not, however, a graduate, 
 it would be very doubtful if you could get any, 
 since so many clergymen who have taken 
 honours at the Universities are obliged to sup- 
 port themselves in this way. In fact, I know at 
 present several men of first-rate abilities, who, 
 although graduates, are giving lessons in Latin 
 and Greek, and even in writing and geography 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
178 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 at private schools. To be obliged indeed to 
 depend upon a curacy alone for support, is to 
 have starvation like the sword of Damocles 
 perpetually hanging over your head." 
 
 " Might not I make an application to some 
 of the bishops ?" I suggested, " who have small 
 incumbencies or perpetual curacies in their gifts. 
 I have served the Church for many years abroad, 
 until my health would not allow me to serve 
 her any longer ; I have spent from first to last 
 about a thousand pounds of my own property 
 in eking out the scanty income which I have 
 always received, and it does appear to me that 
 under these circumstances I may with propriety 
 lay some claim to episcopal consideration." 
 
 " Unhappily," said the Vicar, sadly, " there 
 are already hundreds, perhaps thousands in 
 your case who have never since they were or- 
 dained been able to get even the third part of 
 the stipend which you obtained when a Mission- 
 ary abroad. The incumbencies and perpetual 
 curacies in the gift of the bishops are compara- 
 tively few ; and at each vacancy there are nume- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 179 
 
 rous claimants, so that you would have but 
 little chance among such a crowd." 
 
 " Then what can you advise me to do ?" said 
 I, despairingly. 
 
 " I think," replied the Vicar> " that London 
 after aU would be the best place under present 
 circumstances ; and I will write a line or two to 
 an old College friend, who may be able to direct 
 you better than I can. A man of talent and 
 ability has so many more resources to draw 
 upon in the metropolis than in the country ; 
 and as new churches are being erected there 
 perpetually, you may run some chance of ob- 
 taining promotion. Moreover, most of the 
 curacies are worth one hundred a-year, while in 
 the country you would in many instances re- 
 ceive only fifty pounds or eighty pounds, and 
 have either to keep a horse out of your scanty 
 means, or weary yourself to death in walking 
 from one village to another, as there is gene- 
 rally more than one church to serve. Indeed, 
 I once knew a man who had four, and two of 
 them six miles apart." 
 
 N 2 
 
180 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 "But are not such cases disgraceful to a 
 Church which is considered the richest in the 
 world ?" 
 
 " They are, but what remedy is there ? You 
 cannot blame the incumbent, who it may be 
 receives about fifty pounds annually himself 
 that he only pays his curate the same sum. A 
 large proportion, perhaps the largest, of the 
 livings in England are under one hundred a- 
 year ; and even if you were to make a re-distri- 
 bution of the Church property, it would hardly 
 give one hundred and sixty pounds to each indi- 
 vidual clergyman." 
 
 " Then you think such a state of things ab- 
 solutely incurable ?" 
 
 " I think it would require one wiser than me 
 to act as the physician. Still much more might 
 be done. For instance, the bishops, the wealthier 
 livings and perpetual curacies might contribute a 
 certain portion of their income towards the for- 
 mation of a general fund, out of which clergy- 
 men depending solely upon their profession for 
 support could derive a small annual addition 
 
A MISSIONARY. 181 
 
 to their stipends. Many of the clergy have 
 independent means of their own, and therefore 
 would not require the aid of this fund, which 
 should not assist those who are willing by pupils 
 or in any other way to supply the deficiency in 
 their income." 
 
 The reader may feel surprised that at such a 
 time I should have stood so long discussing 
 matters of a general nature ; but this conversa- 
 tion arose out of my present difficulty, and to say 
 the truth I was desirous of prolonging the time, 
 and shrank in idea even from the necessary yet 
 painful task of entering my once loved and 
 cherished little cottage as a messenger of 
 gloomy tidings. 
 
 I walked mournfully along the pathway 
 which led from the Vicarage to our abode, and 
 meditated with downcast eyes on the prospects 
 before me. The income of a curacy would 
 never support us ; pupils could not be obtained, 
 and I did not know what to substitute in their 
 place. Walsingham of course might have 
 assisted me, but his last letter conveyed the 
 intelligence that he and his son were projecting 
 
182 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 a trip to China ; and, moreover, I could not bear 
 the idea of becoming a burden upon his gene- 
 rosity. Too much engrossed with my reflec- 
 tions to heed where I was going, I stumbled 
 over some obstacle in the path ; and in recover- 
 ing myself almost involuntarily turned my eyes 
 upwards. A gay smiling aspect was on the 
 face of nature. The waters of the little rivulet 
 sparkled brightly in the sunshine, and the birds, 
 hopping hither and thither in quest of food, 
 chirruped cheerfully on its bank. One of them 
 looked up in my face, as if in triumph at his 
 success in bearing off unaided a large worm. 
 The sight recalled to my memory the com- 
 forting words : 
 
 " Behold the fowls of the air, for they sow 
 not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns ; 
 yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are 
 ye not much better than they ?" 
 
 I felt a sting of self-reproach, that I had 
 nourished even a momentary distrust of the 
 protecting care of my heavenly Father; and 
 for the first time since our misfortune I mefe 
 Rachel with a placid aspect and unruffled brow. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 183 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 During the next fortnight we were busily 
 engaged in making arrangements for our de- 
 parture. The cottage was readily taken off 
 our hands by the owner, and our little furniture 
 soon found purchasers. Tears came into my 
 wife's eyes as she regarded for the last time 
 the flowers which she had planted and tended 
 with such assiduous care, while I felt a pang at 
 parting with some of my old cherished volumes, 
 which the good vicar purchased from me, and 
 for which he would insist upon paying a most 
 extravagant price. The children flocked crying 
 round my wife, and entreated her not to leave 
 
184 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 them, while some of the parishioners whom we 
 had known more intimately accompanied us to 
 the train. We were perfectly overloaded with 
 presents of all kinds, and could scarcely find 
 room for the cheeses, fruit, and home-cured 
 bacon which the simple kindness of these good 
 people forced upon us. The vicar went with us 
 one stage of our journey, and was visibly affected 
 when we bade each other farewell. At parting, 
 he begged that I would accept of a small volume 
 which he gave me, packed up in brown paper, 
 as a slight memorial of our friendship, and 
 charging me to let him know from time to 
 time how I got on, he took his departure. 
 
 When we were near our journey's end, I 
 opened the parcel, which I found contained a 
 volume of George Herbert's poems, and a letter 
 enclosing a note for fifty pounds, that the 
 writer begged me to accept as a loan until cir- 
 cumstances should render its repayment per- 
 fectly convenient. As I knew that to return 
 this would highly disoblige him, I determined to 
 retain it for the present, the more especially as 
 
A MISSIONARY. 185 
 
 our own stock of ready money amounted to very 
 little. 
 
 After a long and weary pilgrimage through 
 the streets of London in quest of lodgings, we 
 engaged two rooms in the New North Road, 
 Hoxton, at the moderate rental of twelve shil- 
 lings a week. The people of the house were a 
 respectable old couple of quiet habits, and upon 
 the whole we found ourselves more comfortable 
 than perhaps w^e could have anticipated. It is 
 tnie we had no flower-garden to look down 
 upon from our Httle bed-room window, which 
 opened upon a low, marshy field, covered with 
 brick-kilns ; but we soon learned to laugh at our 
 privations, and rather to enjoy our change of 
 fortune than to fret over it. In fact, my wife 
 said that everything was so novel and so amusing 
 to her, that she would not for the world have 
 missed the opportunity of seeing such a new 
 phase of social Hfe. There is indeed more power 
 over misfortune exercised by novelty than many 
 of us are aware of. 
 
 From the first moment of my arrival in town, 
 
186 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 I had been considering how to obtain a curacy. 
 I did not like to apply to the clerical agents a 
 second time, but determined to have recourse to 
 the advertisements in the different Church news- 
 papers. After a long interval of patient ex- 
 pectation, I discovered one that I thought would 
 suit my purpose, and lost no time in repairing 
 to the address indicated. It was a large house 
 near one of the squares, and a handsome car- 
 riage was standing before the door. On the 
 brass plate I read, inscribed in large characters, 
 the name of the Rev. Montague Doldrum. 
 My timid knock had to be repeated a second 
 time before its sound reached the ears of a portly 
 domestic, who seemed to have been recently 
 aroused from his slumbers in a comfortable 
 leathern chair to the right of the hall, in which 
 I was now standing, and where I was allowed 
 to wait until the porter had communicated with 
 his august master. By and bye he returned to 
 say that Mr. Doldrum would speak to me at 
 once, and after telling me to go up-stairs and 
 take the first door to the left, he descended to 
 
A MISSIONARY. 187 
 
 the lower regions, where I heard him complain 
 of the hardship of " being woke up at this time 
 o' day to open the door to one of them curates, 
 who, poor wretches, don't get nothink equal to 
 a bishop's gamekeeper." 
 
 Mr. Doldrum was a stern-looking man, with 
 a condescending politeness which would have 
 frozen the loquacity of the most talkative 
 Frenchman in ten seconds. He surveyed me 
 from top to toe with the air of a prince, and 
 having intimated, through the conjoint medium 
 of a nod and a wave of the hand that I might 
 sit down, he said : 
 
 " I suppose you are the young man who has 
 come about the ciu-ate's place ?" 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 " I am very particular about my curates," 
 continued Mr. Doldrum, " I don't mean so 
 much with respect to their morals and piety, 
 these of course every decent clergyman pos- 
 sesses, but as to their manners and gentlemanly 
 deportment. Lady Charlotte — Lady Charlotte 
 is my wife." 
 
188 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 He paused mercifully for a few minutes to 
 allow me to recover from this overwhelming: 
 piece of intelligence, and then resumed. 
 
 " My last curate left because Lady Charlotte 
 thought that he ought to put on three white 
 cravats a day, which he objected to on account 
 of the smallness of his salary. But curates 
 now-a-days are so unreasonable." 
 
 As he seemed to expect some remark from 
 me in reply to this speech, I ventured to inquire 
 into the nature of the duties expected of me, 
 and whether they would allow of my taking 
 pupils? A slight frown crossed the brow of 
 Mr. Doldrum, and he replied in a tone as 
 nearly approaching to sarcastic as he could 
 make it. 
 
 " You will read the morning-prayers every 
 day at eight. I have them because Lady Char- 
 lotte thinks it proper that I should foUow the 
 example of Mr. Warrenville, Lord Stainsbor- 
 rough's son, who is the rector of the adjacent 
 parish ; but my state of health and many infir- 
 mities prevent my attending. Then you will 
 
A MISSIONARY. 189 
 
 have the Wednesday Evening Lecture, which 
 Lady Charlotte's aunt, who is evangelical, would 
 disinherit us if I gave up, two sermons on Sun- 
 days, litany on Wednesday and Friday at eleven, 
 workhouse, schools, infirmary, burials, baptisms, 
 and the marriages of the lower class, which are 
 numerous, on the other days of the week ; and 
 if, after you have done all this, you can get 
 pupils and attend to them, you are welcome to 
 take them." 
 
 I sat aghast at this enumeration of labours, 
 which would have given ample employment to 
 two clergymen at least, and Mr. Doldrum pro- 
 ceeded to inquire whether I was married. 
 
 " I hope," he continued, " that your wife is a 
 presentable person, and not so vulgar as many 
 curates' wives are. Lady Charlotte's views on 
 this subject are very strict. But, by the way, 
 there is one question which I forgot to ask, 
 though it is but too necessary in these leveUing 
 times. You are of course a graduate of one of 
 the Universities ?" 
 
 My answer in the negative made Mr. Dol- 
 
190 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 drum fall back in his chair, and I left him too 
 much astonished to utter a word, or even to 
 make a gesture in reply to my farewell saluta- 
 tion. The fat porter, who had resumed his 
 easy chair in the hall, stared apathetically at me 
 over the edge of the ' Times ' as I walked by 
 him, but allowed me to open the door for my- 
 self. It was quite a relief to get into the open 
 air ; and when I passed the sweeper at the 
 crossing, I felt that it w^ould be much better to 
 change places with him than become for any 
 consideration, the clerical serf of the Reverend 
 Montague Doldrum and of the Lady Charlotte, 
 his wife. 
 
 In justice to my brethren of the clergy, I must 
 here protest against the foregoing portrait being, 
 considered as a type of the incumbents of the 
 Anglican Church in general. The Doldrums 
 are very rare now-a-days, and it is to be hoped 
 that in a few years the race will be extinct 
 altogether. The other clergymen that I saw 
 during the time I was seeking for a curacy, 
 among whom were some as eminent for their 
 
A MISSIONARY. 191 
 
 high birth and exalted position as for their 
 earnest piety and indefatigable zeal, received me 
 in every instance with a kindness which I can 
 only characterize as being strictly and truly 
 paternal; but to my great disappointment, I 
 always found that my call had been already 
 forestalled by a crowd of applicants. One 
 clergyman showed me about forty letters which 
 he had received in the course of the morning, 
 and another was just preparing an advertise- 
 ment to the effect that the communications 
 forwarded him were too numerous to be re- 
 plied to. 
 
 I directed my steps homewards, dispirited 
 and discouraged by my want of success, and 
 could not help regarding with something like 
 envy the gay and luxurious equipages which 
 passed me on my way back. There were their 
 elegant occupants smiling and chatting, and 
 looking as if want and poverty had never 
 even in imagination crossed their prosperous 
 path — the thoughtless and happy children of 
 good fortune, who never seemed to grow weary 
 
192 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 of loading them with her benefits. My atten- 
 tion was particularly rivetted by one carriage, 
 in which sat a man whom I knew by sight, 
 and of whom I had heard a considerable 
 amount of evil by report. Narrow-minded, 
 ignorant and brutal, he had attained his pre- 
 sent position, it was said, by the most grinding 
 exaction, and by the unflinching and rigorous 
 oppression of his miserable dependents. The 
 world's voice described him as an ignoble 
 and worthless sensualist, who, notwithstanding 
 his gilded exterior, and the sums he lavished 
 on his bestial pleasures, was despised and 
 shunned by all right-minded men. Yet there 
 he reclined on his soft, stuffed cushions, talking 
 to a couple of boon companions, who sat oppo- 
 site, and revelling in the height of coarse 
 merriment and vulgar enjoyment. And as 
 I thought of our own dark prospects and daily 
 necessities, contrasted with this man's bloated 
 luxury, and his unlimited control over aU the 
 appliances of worldly comfort, sentiments arose 
 in my mind very similar to those expressed 
 
A MISSIONARY. 193 
 
 by the Psalmist, when he describes himself 
 as " being envious at the foolish, when he saw 
 the prosperity of the wicked." 
 
 It required some serious reflection, and a 
 considerable amount of stern self-monition, 
 before I could calm and purify the rebellious 
 emotions which were springing up in my 
 breast. The wealthy Christian who, from his 
 gUded saloon and eider-down cushions, preaches 
 to his poorer brother the duty of submission 
 and obedience to the Divine will, little knows 
 or appreciates the difficulty of that obligation 
 which he enunciates, and which, under dif- 
 ferent circumstances, even he might shrink 
 from practising. Yet I cannot but own that 
 I have been the better for the lesson, severe 
 though it was. It has taught me, at least, 
 to sympathise with and make allowances for 
 the impatient and unreasonable complaints of 
 poor human nature, when pressed hard by 
 calamity and trouble ; and has led me, I hope, 
 to refrain from mocking the afflictions of the 
 wretched by dictating to them a cant of resig- 
 
 VOL. II. O 
 
194 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 nation as impious as it is hollow and in- 
 sincere. 
 
 Of my subsequent trials, until I at last 
 obtained a curacy, I shall say little. It may 
 suffice to remark that, although we contrived 
 by hard struggles to pay our rent, and to keep 
 lip a decent and respectable appearance, we 
 were obliged to compensate for this by pri- 
 vations of another kind. A mutton-chop or 
 a small steak was a luxury too valuable to 
 be enjoyed oftener than once a-week, and 
 sometimes we had even to dispense with this ; 
 yet my wife bore up nobly against all these 
 troubles, and showed a simple trust in God, 
 and an heroic constancy which I frequently 
 despaired of ever being able to imitate. 
 
 Were these Memoirs only intended as the 
 records of my own personal doings, I should 
 probably be tempted to pass over many things 
 which, to the ordinary reader, may seem trivial 
 and mean. But I would fain nourish a hope 
 that the information thus supplied may lead to 
 fresh efforts and exertions on behalf of a class 
 
A MISSIONARY. 195 
 
 of men, than whom none suffer more severely 
 from the vicissitudes of life. The poor clergy- 
 man has not only to contend with the ordinary 
 privations and slights of poverty, to which 
 education and refinement have made his mind 
 doubly susceptible, but he is linked for life to a 
 position which neither human nor divine laws 
 allow him to abandon. The poverty-stricken 
 barrister, officer, or physician, may seek in 
 another calling the success which Providence 
 has denied them in their present occupation, 
 and will always feel that there are many other 
 steps for them up the ladder of fortune ; but 
 the clergyman is fettered on every side by 
 restrictions, which it would be needless to do 
 more than allude to. The scholastic profes- 
 sion, indeed, offers some openings ; but here 
 the competition is immense, and capital a sine 
 qua non. 
 
 For literature, a degree of talent and in- 
 formation is required which a zealous and pious 
 priest may well be excused if he does not pos- 
 sess, and even if he could lay claim to it, failure 
 
 o 2 
 
196 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 is not impossible. True, there exist societies 
 for the relief of necessitous clergymen, of whose 
 benevolent operations I can never speak but 
 with the utmost gratitude and respect ; but 
 their liberality must necessarily be spread over 
 so many claims, that the donations to indi- 
 viduals are but as a drop in the ocean. And 
 when we consider the pain which a refined and 
 ingenuous spirit experiences from being exposed 
 to the ordeal of examinations and inquiries 
 which, however imperative, and kindly, and 
 delicately conducted, must leave an indelible 
 sense of degrading obligation on the mind of 
 the applicant, we cannot be reasonably surprised 
 if many shrink from exposing the sores of 
 poverty even to a friendly eye, and prefer to 
 bear their burden alone and unsympathised 
 wdth, though the canker worms of sorrow and 
 disappointment are gnawing at their heart- 
 strings. 
 
 One morning, as I was on my way to the 
 newspaper office, where, for a trifling pecuniary 
 consideration, I was allowed to glance at the 
 
A MISSIONARY. 197 
 
 different journals, my arm was suddenly seized 
 from behind, and my name pronounced by a 
 familiar voice, from the tone of which I had no 
 difficulty in recognising Mr. Ranson. He was 
 very cordial and friendly ; so much so indeed, 
 that I judged I might in some measure confide 
 to him my present condition, and ascertain 
 from him whether I could possibly find some 
 occupation in London which would be com- 
 patible with my feelings and calling. When in 
 Egypt, he led me to suppose that he had 
 some connection with a publishing firm in 
 Paternoster Row, and I thought it not unlikely 
 that I might hear of some translating or editorial 
 work which would, at least for the present, 
 enable me to keep " the wolf from the door." 
 
 " You will have some difficulty in obtaining 
 translation work, I think," said Ranson, after 
 he had condoled with me very kindly on my 
 recent misfortunes. " Every body now-a-days is 
 a linguist, and even the National school-boys, I 
 suppose, will soon have their French and 
 German professors, and learn to bother the 
 
198 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 visiting curate with Fichte and Baiir. No, my 
 dear Sir, take my advice, and stick to origi- 
 nality. Give us something that is the fruit of 
 your own brain. What do you say now to 
 manufacturing jokes and conundrums ?" 
 
 " I am afraid I have no ability for that style 
 of composition." 
 
 " It is as easy as possible when you under- 
 stand the knack of it," said Mr. Ranson, com- 
 placently. " Get a dictionary of synonymes and 
 an old Joe Miller, and work away. Why I 
 have knocked off some score in the course of a 
 single morning, and as I send them to different 
 journals, I make rather a good thing of it. 
 Between ourselves, I supply all the puns for 
 the ; only let that go no further." 
 
 As, however, the manufacture of puns was 
 not suitable to my calling nor to my taste, I 
 suggested that, perhaps, I might find employ- 
 ment in some other department of litera- 
 ture. 
 
 " Why not attempt travels ?" said Mr. Ran- 
 son. " I have done so with some success. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 199 
 
 witness my book on Egypt, called 'The Pin 
 and the Pyramid.' " 
 
 " Excuse me," I observed, " but I do not 
 quite see the analogy between the two." 
 
 " They both begin with the same letter," 
 said Mr. Ranson, " and both have a point. But 
 here we are at my lodgings ; pray walk up, and 
 I will show you my book." 
 
 We ascended the stairs, and he ushered me 
 into a small parlour strewed with papers and 
 literary lumber of all kinds. He had some 
 difficulty in discovering a copy of his work, but 
 was at last successful, and placed in my hand an 
 octavo volume garnished with a coloured portrait 
 of the author clad in Eastern costume, and 
 riding upon a very ferocious-looking dromedary. 
 As I noted the bushy beard and curling mous- 
 tache of the portrait, I could not avoid glancing 
 at the peculiarly smooth and hairless chin of the 
 original. Mr. Ranson seemed to divine my 
 thoughts, for he coloured slightly, and said with 
 a sort of affected laugh : 
 
 " Ah, I suppose you are rather astonished at 
 
200 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 the fine beard they have given me, but that 
 was my friend the artist's doing ; and besides, I 
 thought it would look more oriental, you know." 
 
 I turned over the leaves of the book and 
 came upon the following passage : 
 
 " The East is indeed a region of scenic en- 
 chantment, abounding in objects replete with 
 gorgeous beauty, and breathing forth the most 
 resistless fascination. The mind of the traveller 
 is overwhelmed with regret and sorrow when 
 he quits a locality which surpasses the most 
 poetical illusions of the most fervid imagination^ 
 and tinges his recoUections with the brilliant 
 colouring and fairy magnificence of an Arabian 
 tale. I stood motionless at the stern as our 
 vessel receded from these Paradisal shores, con- 
 templating to tbx last the light which gleamed 
 from the Fanal of Bab el din, and only retired 
 because I found it necessary ta dry the pocket- 
 handkerchief, which had become perfectly satu- 
 rated with my tears." 
 
 Mr. Ranson was looking over my shoulder^ 
 and remarked : 
 
A MISSIONARY. 201 
 
 " There, I flatter myself that is something 
 like writing, don't you think so ?" 
 
 " But," said I, " Mr. Ranson, I thought you 
 did not much admire the East. You told me 
 at Cairo that nothing would please you better 
 than to get back again to England. I had no 
 idea you were nourishing all the time such 
 fervid admiration in secret." 
 
 " Well, I confess," was his reply, " I did not 
 find it very agreeable. But the fact is, people 
 generally have settled that the East is a region of 
 romance, and few care to undeceive them. Those 
 who take the other course, have commonly made 
 a point of turning everything they saw into 
 ridicule, which I don't exactly think right." 
 
 " No more do I. In fact, I consider it the 
 mark of a little mind, or of a sour and iE- 
 natured disposition, to strive to diminish the 
 reverencewhich men of rightprinciples will always 
 feel towards localities, rife with the associations 
 stamped upon their soil by noble actions and 
 great and arduous enterprises. If, as Johnson 
 says, we cannot envy the man who could stand 
 
202 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 on Marathon without emotion, we can scarcely 
 help treating with contempt a writer who visits 
 the scenes consecrated to the memory of man's 
 redemption, merely to make them the point of 
 a worthless jest. But still I think that ex- 
 aggerated enthusiasm may have its dangers 
 too." 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied Ranson, " but to return 
 to our former subject. Your remarks induce 
 me to think that perhaps something in the re- 
 viewing line would suit you. If therefore, you 
 will come with me, I can introduce you to the 
 editor of the ' Scourge,' who may, perhaps, 
 consent to receive you as an occasional con- 
 tributor." 
 
 We were lucky enough to find the editor 
 of the " Scourge" in his office, and still more 
 fortunate in securing his promise of assistance. 
 He made a long address to me on the impor- 
 tance of the art of criticism, and deplored the 
 lukewarm leniency of certain journals, which 
 fostered what he termed " the exuberance of 
 literary mediocrity." There was something true 
 
A MISSIONARY. 203 
 
 in all this, but I soon began to discover that 
 criticism in the mind of the editor of the 
 " Scourge" implied unsparing ridicule and savage 
 abuse. An author was literally to be " cut up," 
 and his " disjecta membra" impaled for the 
 edification and terror of all future delinquents. 
 No pains were to be taken to separate the ore 
 from the dross, or, while pointing out defects, 
 to instruct the erring in the art of writing well. 
 It seemed as if the aim and object of the 
 " Scourge" was rather to crush a man they 
 did not like, or to drive him despairing from the 
 arena, than to amend his defects by sound and 
 judicious advice, or to endeavour by a show of 
 kindness and encouragement to induce him to 
 correct those faults which were perhaps more 
 the result of inadvertency or inexperience, than 
 of blind ignorance, or of wilful incompetence. 
 
 My connection with the " Scourge" was not 
 long-lived. I could not prevail upon myself 
 to treat gentlemen and scholars with abusive 
 vulgarity, or to use the rhetoric of Billingsgate 
 to men who were probably cleverer than myself. 
 
204 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 A poor author had always been in my eyes a 
 sacred object, and when in imagination I pic- 
 tured him struggling with difficulties which none 
 could realize better than myself, and thought that 
 by a few lines of ill-natured satire, I might be de- 
 priving a sick wife of any little luxury, or some 
 motherless children of their daily bread, I could 
 not prevail upon myself to write with that 
 slashing vigour which the editor of the 
 " Scourge" thought indispensable to a true 
 critic. Poor authors, indeed, were his favourite 
 game, for no one could eulogize with such 
 florid servility the productions of the wealthy 
 and powerful. He perfectly reversed the old 
 Roman maxim: 
 
 " Parcere victis et debellare superbis." 
 
 Very soon I received an intimation from the 
 office that my services would no longer be re- 
 quired, and this affected me the less because I 
 had just heard of a curacy which seemed likely 
 to suit. I lost no time in calling upon the in- 
 cumbent, who, I was informed, resided in Enby 
 
A MISSIONARY. 205 
 
 Lane, near Whitechapel. It was with consider- 
 able difficulty that I discovered the parsonage, 
 towards which I had to wend my way through 
 narrow streets, with an atmosphere that exhaled 
 more repulsive odours than had ever crossed my 
 nostrils even in the East. 
 
 Each habitation seemed in the last stage of 
 dirt and decay, while stagnant streams, reeking 
 with the fumes of disease and death, rolled on 
 their putrid waters at the edge of the narrow 
 pavement of about two feet in width, that sepa- 
 rated them from the entrances of the houses. 
 Here and there an open door exposed to view a 
 dilapidated staircase or a small back court, more 
 abominable in its filth and smells than even the 
 street itself. The people appeared to be suited 
 to their abodes, if indeed beings with immortal 
 souls can be said without impiety to be suited 
 to such earthly Pandemoniums. They were a 
 gaunt, haggard race, more repulsive than castor 
 oil-anointed Nubians, and less informed than 
 them, perhaps, as to the great duties of religion. 
 
 The women seemed void of every tender and 
 
206 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 feminine quality that could render them capable 
 of discharging the great duties of mothers and 
 wives ; while in the brutal features of the men, 
 their scowling brows, and the dull idealess ex- 
 pression of their inflamed and sunken eyes, one 
 might read the external tokens of confirmed 
 debauchery and habitual crime. There were 
 children too with haggard care-worn features, 
 and looks rendered watchful and vigilant by the 
 frequent expectation of unmerited and pitiless 
 stripes. Here one, almost an infant in years, 
 tottered under a baby nearly as tall as herself, 
 with a duU leaden complexion and heavy sleepy 
 air, caused by the constant administration of 
 soporific drugs. And there a boy that could 
 scarcely walk, was writhing under the repeated 
 blows and kicks of a merciless ruffian who, with 
 the bravery of intoxication, dared any of the 
 surrounding crowd to interfere between him 
 and his child. 
 
 My heart sickened at the sight of all this 
 misery. Surely if anything could make Chris- 
 tians ashamed of their selfish divisions and 
 
A MISSIONARY. 207 
 
 party feuds, it should be the recollection that 
 while they are disputing about non-essentials — 
 countless thousands for whom Christ died are 
 dwelling in this Christian land, immersed in 
 worse than Pagan ignorance, and practising a 
 degree of brutality and violence towards even 
 their own flesh and blood, from which the gene- 
 rality of Pagans would recoil with disgust. 
 
 The parsonage house was built on an open 
 space of waste ground, perhaps the last rem- 
 nant of the large common that had formerly 
 existed here, but was now covered with habita- 
 tions. At the back was a small garden, the 
 privacy of which was amply secured by the 
 height of the brick-walls enclosing it, though 
 these defences were not proof against the va- 
 pours arising from the numerous heaps of 
 rubbish that had been deposited at their base. 
 
 The house itself was a plain square building 
 of brick, exhibiting in the formation of every 
 window, door, and room, the partiality of the 
 architect for a concurrence of right angles. A 
 slatternly maid-servant opened the door, on the 
 
208 AUTOBIOGRAPHY Ot' 
 
 brass-plate of which I had previously read the 
 name of the " Rev. L. Pemberton," and ushered 
 me into a small room, intended originally, 
 doubtless, for a study. At present, however, it 
 contained only a few worn and battered volumes 
 lying in disorder upon three unpainted deal 
 shelves, which were suspended from two rusty 
 nails by means of red twine. The study carpet 
 had evidently long since abandoned any pre- 
 tensions to a distinctive colour; and when I 
 looked round for a seat, I could perceive only 
 two chairs flanking a deal table, the material of 
 which was almost concealed by a worn-out cover 
 of green baize. 
 
 I had some reluctance to trust myself to either 
 of the unsafe supporters, and therefore took up 
 my position by the square window which opened 
 on a small quadrangular garden. Accustomed 
 as I had been so recently to the luxurious 
 flowers and foliage of the East, I could not but 
 remark the cheerless aspect of the poor plants 
 before me, which with heads hanging down, 
 and leaves fast withering, seemed to be carrying 
 
A MISSIONARY. 209 
 
 on a hopeless struggle with the numerous weeds 
 that clustered round them, and choked their 
 growth. The scene suggested to my mind a 
 fanciful comparison between the garden and the 
 district, both being places where evil weeds 
 flourished luxuriantly under the congenial in- 
 fluence of a poEuted atmosphere. 
 
 My reflections were soon interrupted by the 
 entrance of Mr. Pemberton, the perpetual curate 
 of St. Austin's, in the district of Shadwell 
 Green, as I learned from a printed paper lying 
 on the study table. He w^as a man in the 
 prime of life, and evidently not unacquainted 
 with its troubles. His pale and thin features 
 seemed to have caught the sallow anxious 
 appearance w^hich distinguished most of the 
 people I had met in the neighbouring streets. 
 He begged me to sit down; and after a few 
 preHminaries, we plunged at once "in medias 
 res," and entered upon the subject of the 
 interview. 
 
 The proceeds of his incumbency, Mr. Pem- 
 berton said, amounted to about one hundred 
 
 VOL. II. P 
 
210 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 and fifty pounds a year, out of which, fifty at 
 least were set apart for charitable purposes. 
 Owing to the poverty of the district, there was 
 great distress, while the people could not con- 
 tribute anything, nor was it easy to approach the 
 poorer sort, except as the ministrant to their 
 temporal wants. 
 
 " Under these circumstances," continued he, 
 " I must have carried on my solitary work alone 
 and unaided, had not the bishop kindly in- 
 terested himself with the Society, and 
 
 procured for me the annual grant of one hundred 
 pounds for an assistant, which sum I can now 
 offer you, if you would like to take a curacy in 
 such a place as this." 
 
 I thought over the matter a few minutes, and 
 at last determined on accepting the post ; but 
 being rather anxious about apartments, on 
 account of my wife, I asked Mr, Pemberton 
 where I could lodge, as there seemed no decent 
 house in the whole district. 
 
 " You are welcome to part of the Parsonage," 
 he replied, " as it is larger than I require, or 
 
A MISSIONARY. 211 
 
 indeed than I have the means of furnishino-. 
 My wife will be delighted with the society of 
 Mrs. Singleton, and I think you will be quiet 
 enough, as we have but one httle girl left 
 now." 
 
 The mention of his child seemed to excite 
 some painful remembrance, for his lip quivered, 
 and he turned to the window. After remaining 
 silent for a few minutes, he asked me to walk 
 into the front room, where I was introduced to 
 Mrs. Pemberton, a lady of about the same age 
 as her husband. 
 
 She welcomed me with simple and unaffected 
 kindness, and hoped, like Mr. Pemberton, that 
 we would take up our abode at the Parsonage, 
 " where," she added, " Mrs. Singleton's society 
 will be very welcome to me, as we have no 
 friends in town, and no means of entertaining- 
 them if we had, so that I scarcely ever see any 
 person with whom I can converse familiarly." 
 
 The room in which we were sitting contained 
 very few articles of furniture, and their appear- 
 ance was so .very shabby, that I was surprised 
 
 P 2 
 
212 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 to observe over the mantel-piece an elegantly 
 framed picture, representing two little girls seated 
 together on a mossy bank, with a country land- 
 scape in the back ground. 
 
 " That is one of our relics, Mr. Singleton," 
 said Mrs. Pemberton, with a sad smile. 
 " Those are the two dear children whom we 
 lost soon after we came here. It was taken 
 when Lawrence was curate of Eversleigh, that 
 little village you see in the back-ground, and 
 was presented to us by an artist of our ac- 
 quaintance who lived there, and whom my 
 husband had attended in his sickness. Poor 
 Emma and Kate did not long survive the 
 change from the fresh country air of Evers- 
 leigh. They pined away here, and we were not 
 rich enough to aiford a trip to the sea-side, 
 though the doctor said it might have saved 
 their lives." 
 
 The remembrance was too much for the 
 mother, and she wept. 
 
 " Do not distress yourself, darling," said Mr. 
 Pemberton affectionately, as he placed his arm 
 
A MISSIONARY. 213 
 
 on his wife's shoulder, and whispered some 
 words of consolation. 
 
 I saw that she was struggling with the 
 sad memories of by-gone days, and as it was 
 no scene for a mere acquaintance to witness, I 
 at once took my departure. 
 
 On my way home, I did not cease wonder- 
 ing at , that excitable and vagrant benevolence 
 which can only be moved by the sorrows of 
 individuals ten thousand miles away, as well as 
 that species of caste compassion which vigo- 
 rously excludes, from a share in its charity, any 
 individual who does not wear a flannel jacket 
 and corduroys. There are hundreds — perhaps 
 thousands — in this metropolis whose misfor- 
 tunes are aggravated by the delicacy and 
 refinement which not only increase the miseries 
 of their position, but withhold them from 
 soliciting assistance or relief. The daughters 
 and widows of clergymen, the families of ruined 
 merchants and professional men, whose incomes 
 cease with their lives, are often found enduring 
 an amount of wretchedness, which it is always 
 
2l4 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 hard to discover, and difficult to relieve. Yet, 
 perhaps, if benevolence would give itself a little 
 trouble, and keep its ears open a little more, 
 something might be effected even for these. 
 This virtue, I apprehend, when in healthy exer- 
 cise, does not content itself with merely sub- 
 scribing its guinea, or with ministering to the 
 necessities of the common beggar. It investi- 
 gates, it searches into, and pursues distress 
 through every hole and corner till it has 
 unearthed it, and then it relieves as if conscious 
 that it is only aiding a poor brother or sister to 
 bear the common burden, and rather. thanks 
 them for helping it to work out its own share 
 of the great responsibility, than considers 
 them as fettered from henceforth by the icy 
 chains of indissoluble obligation. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 215 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The district of Shadwell Green presented, 
 about thirty years ago, a painful specimen of 
 the neglect and irreligious indifference of the 
 last century. One solitary church with two 
 clergymen attached to it, was the sole provision 
 made for the spiritual necessities of seventy 
 thousand immortal beings, sunk for the most 
 part in the lowest abysses of debauchery and 
 crime. The brutal pastimes which had long 
 been driven out of more civilized parts of the 
 country and the raetropoHs, and were beginning 
 to be regarded even by antiquaries as things 
 out of date, and therefore worthy of their study 
 and attention, found here their last home and 
 
216 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 asylum. Decent people shunned the locality as 
 they would have shunned the pestilence, and 
 regarded a walk through it as an undertaking 
 replete with peril to both pocket and person. 
 
 At length an eminent merchant turned his 
 attention to this neglected region, and being 
 fortunate enough to secure the co-operation and 
 support of one of the most active and energetic 
 bishops on the bench, succeeded in erecting there 
 a number of churches and schools, which although 
 lamentably inadequate to the necessity they were 
 designed to supply, have been the means of 
 effecting a wonderful amelioration in the condi- 
 tion of those whose squalid dwellings encircle 
 them. The churches were soon fiUed, and the 
 schools crowded with children, very much to the 
 disappointment of sundry far-sighted persons, 
 who had foretold the utter failure of the whole 
 scheme, and denounced it as the self-exalting 
 policy of an Episcopal Hildebrand. 
 
 Mr. Pemberton had been for five years 
 labouring hard among the almost savage race 
 by which he was surrounded. The poor imder- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 217 
 
 stand and appreciate self-denial, and when they 
 saw this poor clergyman living in their midst, 
 and although for his station as indigent as 
 themselves, yet relieving their distress out of 
 his scanty income, they felt his actions were a 
 practical evidence, that he believed the doctrines 
 he taught, and therefore deemed that after all 
 there might be some truth in them. They 
 flocked to his church in great numbers, and 
 gladly welcomed his pastoral visits. A new 
 generation, recruited continually from the schools, 
 was growing up in habits of cleanliness, order 
 and industry — their influence is now making 
 itself felt even by the older people, and soon 
 with a few more churches, many more in- 
 structors, and the introduction of prudent sani- 
 tory measures, we may hope that Shadwell Green 
 will cease to be a synonyme for low vice, un- 
 manly cruelty, and brutal debauchery. 
 
 In three days time we were settled in the 
 Parsonage, and had made our arrangements for 
 the futui*e. We were all to have a common 
 table, and each family was to contribute a 
 
218 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 certain monthly sum towards the f=upply of it. 
 Our fare was meagre enough, and could hardly 
 be surpassed by the provisions doled out in the 
 most rigid conventual establishment. Yet we 
 were happy and contented. An affection, almost 
 sisterly, had sprung up between the two ladies, 
 while Pemberton and I regarded each other as 
 brothers, not only in name and profession, but 
 in truth and reality. 
 
 Of all the virtues which poverty has generated 
 or developed, and they are not a few, the most 
 remarkable is a readiness to sympathise with, 
 and assist persons who are tottering under the 
 same burden as ourselves. Those who have 
 lived among the poor wiU be struck by the 
 prompt and unselfish manner in which one 
 neighbour will help another, though the aid 
 given may involve no small share of discomfort 
 to him or her who affords it. A woman will 
 traverse half London on an errand for her sick 
 friend, or take charge of a fractious and squal- 
 ling child for whole days together. I have met 
 indeed with many more cases of real and dis- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 219 
 
 interested kindness among the extreme poor, 
 than among the rich or the respectable classes 
 of society. Hollow flatteries and honeyed 
 phrases seem, too often with these latter, to act 
 as the substitute for that earnest and g-enuine 
 sympathy which shows its concern rudely and 
 coarsely, perhaps, but at least means what it 
 says and embodies its professions in unmistake- 
 able actions. 
 
 Pemberton was a man of considerable attain- 
 ments, and possessed a fluency and eloquence 
 in preaching which rendered his discourse both 
 attractive and useful. His scholarship too was 
 of no mean order, and he showed me the copy 
 of a work he had published on the early 
 Liturgies, enriched with original dissertations 
 that might have done honour to a Bingham or 
 a Pearson. He got little, however, by it, 
 except a certain short and evanescent reputation, 
 which like some airy bubble vanished as soon 
 as it was full blown. The learned world was 
 indeed pleased for a few weeks to vouchsafe to 
 the book that species of semi-contemptuous 
 
220 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 patronage, which any attempt to illustrate 
 Christian antiquities always meets with in this 
 country, a circumstance exhibiting rather a 
 painful contrast to the attention bestowed on 
 such researches in Germany and elsewhere ; 
 but a more important inquiry soon arose, which 
 diverted the interest into another channel. A 
 learned man had written a very learned treatise 
 on the form of Nebuchadnezzar's slippers, said 
 to have been handed down to posterity in a 
 Cuneiform inscription. Ordinary readers thought 
 it a dull affair, but it became by some means or 
 other the rage, and an eminent boot-maker at 
 the West End nearly made his fortune by 
 devising a new kind of shoe, entitled the 
 " Nebuchadnezzar." Poor Pemberton's treatise 
 was, of course, put on the shelf, and though 
 the publisher did not lose by the transaction, he 
 was unable to afford even the smallest sum to 
 the author as a recompense for the time, learn- 
 ing and ingenuity lavished on his ill-requited 
 undertaking. 
 
 One could hardly have expected to have 
 
A MISSIONARY. 221 
 
 found such a man starving in such a neighbour- 
 hood. In the Roman Communion he would, 
 perhaps, have been a portly, well-fed Benedic- 
 tine ; among the Dissenters he might have 
 had a large and well-filled chapel, or the 
 headship of a college. At any rate, he could 
 not have been worse off than where he was. 
 Yet Pemberton never spoke of his hardships, 
 and even felt vexed if any one alluded to them. 
 He thought that such remarks nourished dissa- 
 tisfaction without leading to reform, and he was 
 quite willing to be a martyr, provided his Church 
 could be saved any scandal. Anglicanism, in- 
 deed, was a passion with him. It was almost 
 amusing to mark the deep veneration, the 
 simple, child-like enthusiasm with which he 
 would mention the names of Hooker, Andrews, 
 Taylor, and Bull, or pause to contemplate with a 
 kindling eye the portraits of some of those great 
 divines who flourished in the golden age of English 
 Theology. To hear him talk of that period, you 
 might have imagined you were listening to one 
 of the old rectors or vicars that the pious 
 
222 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 Puritans, whom it is now so much the fashion 
 to admire, turned out with their wives and 
 families to starve. Yet, with all this, he was no 
 narrow-minded bigot. You never heard from 
 his lips those bitter diatribes against Dissen- 
 ters, which with some seem to be considered the 
 essence of true churchmanship. Though he 
 would not have surrendered one jot, or one 
 tittle of the Anglican institutions, even if death 
 had been the penalty of non-compliance, he 
 could think charitably and kindly of those who 
 differed from them. 
 
 " We must not confuse," he said, one day to 
 me, "the modern Dissenter with the fierce, 
 intolerant Puritan of Charles' time, or charge 
 upon him the fault of a schism which all 
 Christians must equally deplore. Many earnest 
 minded and good men are Dissenters, because 
 the prejudices of family religion and early 
 education have too powerful an influence over 
 them to be cast off at once. Others, again, 
 have a strong and exaggerated sense of those 
 defects in the practical administration of our 
 
A MISSIONARY. 223 
 
 Church, which grieve many zealous Churchmen 
 among ourselves. Want of zeal, and that kind 
 of decent coldness which seems at all times to 
 have been fatal to our communion, may account 
 for the secession of hundreds in past times. 
 After all, Dissent is decreasing, and I beheve 
 will decrease yearly, in proportion to the zeal 
 and energy displayed by our clergy. In fact, 
 remove the fetters of poverty which now depress 
 the spirits, and cramp the activity of many a 
 deserving clergyman ; let our Presbyters feel 
 that their duty is to attend exclusively to the 
 ministry of the Word, and not to devote the 
 best portion of their time to school-keeping and 
 pupilising, and Dissent could hardly survive the 
 increased impetus which such a reform would 
 give to the efforts of Churchmen." 
 
 " StUl," said I, "you could hardly expect men 
 to give up those schools and pupils which are 
 now their chief means of subsistence." 
 
 " It would be an act of the most flagrant 
 injustice to demand it of them. The members 
 of the Church of England are bound to see 
 
224 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 that every one of their instructors is properly 
 remunerated, before they can ask any renuncia- 
 tion of this sort. And knowing, as I do, the 
 feelings of the majority of the clergy so em- 
 ployed, I am convinced that they would gladly 
 hail the prospect of a release from labours and 
 pursuits which must in a great measure abstract 
 their minds from the great duties of their 
 calling." 
 
 " And how would you propose to raise the 
 funds for this ?" 
 
 " Surely, if the Methodists, a body recruited 
 principally from the humble classes of society, 
 can maintain their Ministers in a position far 
 superior in comfort and freedom from pecuniary 
 difficulties to that occupied by thousands of 
 Anglican clergymen, we who number among 
 us the noble and the wealthy of the land, ought 
 not to raise any obstacles on that score. What 
 the Methodists do, we can surely perform." 
 
 " And do you believe that clerical distress is 
 so widely extended as is imagined?" 
 
 " I think even, that it is considerably under- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 225 
 
 rated, and that hundreds of our brethren are 
 undergoing all the miseries of semi-starvation." 
 
 " But may not much of this distress be attri- 
 buted to imprudent marriages, want of economy, 
 and so forth." 
 
 " I think not. In the first place, what right 
 have you to debar a clergyman from marrying, 
 when the Canons of the Church, and the dictates 
 of common sense, both declare the marriage of 
 the clergy to be not only lawful, but preventive 
 of the many disgraceful scandals too frequent 
 in another communion. If the celibacy of the 
 ministers of religion is desirable, come forward 
 and tell them so, as the Church of Rome does 
 at the time of ordination, and then every one 
 knows what he has to expect. But do not 
 permit and encourage a man to marry, and then 
 blame him for marrying. I would rather, in- 
 deed, trust to a celibacy that sprang from re- 
 ligious motives, than from pounds, shillings, and 
 pence considerations. Again as to economy. 
 Can a family of six or seven people live decently, 
 and as the family of a clergyman ought to live, 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
226 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 on eighty pounds a year ? Why it is little 
 more than four shillings a day, and you talk of 
 economy ! The thing is absurd." 
 
 " But there are very active and liberal 
 societies established for the relief of the poorer 
 clergy." 
 
 "There are, and God forbid that I should 
 seem to underrate or to censure their truly 
 charitable and Christian exertions. But they 
 can only afford to give small sums, so extensive 
 is the destitution, and so many the claimants. 
 What real help to a struggling family is an 
 additional ten or fifteen pounds a year '?" 
 
 " Yet, perhaps, the abilities of some persons 
 may be of such inferior description, as deservedly 
 to close to them the gate of promotion. In 
 times like these, it is particularly desirable that 
 the Church's defenders should be men of learn- 
 ing and ability, since intellectual more than 
 moral error is perhaps the besetting sin of the 
 age." 
 
 " Then why do the bishops admit such men 
 into the Church in the first instance. Let 
 
A MISSIONARY. 227 
 
 them be civilly dismissed when they present 
 themselves for ordination, and sent to the fac- 
 tory, the counting-house, or the plough. If 
 a blockhead be intolerable as a rector, he surely 
 is not fit for a curate, especially since, in the 
 latter capacity, he has generally the largest 
 amomit of work to perform. Besides, what 
 kind of talent do you want ? May not a man 
 be a true successor of the fishermen of Galilee, 
 although he is unable to make good Latin 
 verses, and is not versed in the philosophy and 
 subtleties of a defunct paganism ? Look at the 
 early fathers and ancient bishops who, next to 
 the apostles, were the converters of the world. 
 Almost all of them were ignorant of Hebrew, 
 and most of the Westerns did not even know 
 Greek, although it was then as vernacular as 
 French is now. Besides, if the prizes of the 
 Church are always the reward of talent, how is 
 it that some whom I could name have so large 
 a share of them ? They are quite innocent of 
 anything of the kind, I am sure." 
 
 Among the members of our congregation, 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 whom I used more speciaEy to \'isit and con- 
 verse with, was a retired veteran, who had been 
 present in almost every battle of the Peninsular 
 War, and now supported himself by making 
 bullets for a celebrated gun manufacturer in 
 
 Street. I had been attracted in the first 
 
 instance by his straight, upright figure, and by 
 the measured and ceremonious manner in which 
 he made the responses at church. I soon found 
 out that the inattentive urchins in his vicinity 
 had a great dread of " Muster Jobson," and 
 feared him more than even the schoolmaster 
 himself. One Sunday morning I missed him 
 from his place, and the noises of all kinds 
 which proceeded from the hitherto quiet corner, 
 caused his absence to be sensibly felt. In the 
 evening he came, and the effect of his presence 
 on his youthful neighbours was too marked to 
 escape attention. I felt interested in the old 
 soldier, and after a few visits we grew very in- 
 timate. 
 
 His two little rooms were always neat and 
 clean, for during his campaigns he had acquired 
 
A MISSIONARY. 229 
 
 many of the mysteries of the housemaid's art. 
 He had been an officer's servant during his 
 military career, and picqued himself upon being 
 able to cook and make a bed " better, Sir, 
 than any woman under the sun." His old 
 musket, and neatly pipe- clayed belts, were 
 suspended in his sitting-room, and one of 
 his chief amusements was to polish and clean 
 these relics of a more stirring time. A few 
 coloured wood-cuts of well-known battles, 
 decorated the walls, while over the chimney- 
 piece, in a handsome frame, was a large 
 copper-plate engraving of "the Duke," on 
 which the old soldier had expended nearly 
 the whole of a week's wages. He rarely 
 read anything but the Bible and Prayer- 
 book, which he said were " the best manuals 
 for soul-exercise he ever knew, or cared to 
 know." 
 
 Though regarded by his neighbours with 
 a certain feeling of awe, he had managed to 
 obtain great influence over them. If any one 
 were to be comforted, exhorted, scolded, or 
 
230 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 advised, Jobson was sure to take the offer 
 upon himself, and in this way he sometimes 
 saved the clergyman a vast amount of trouble. 
 In a less rigid disciplinarian, all this might 
 have led to an invasion of some of the more 
 special prerogatives of the spiritual office, but 
 Jobson invariably abstained from arrogating 
 to himself any portion of ministerial authority. 
 
 " Discipline, Mrs. Peterson, discipline is the 
 soul of every service, d'ye see," said he once 
 to a sick neighbour, " and therefore as touching 
 your conscience, you had better let the clergy- 
 man, who is the proper officer, put you through 
 your exercise. I'll read the Bible and the 
 Prayer-book to you as long as you like ; but 
 don't you think I'm going to make such a 
 fool of myself as old Mathison, the cobbler, 
 who has got ' a call,' as he says, and goes 
 about trying to create a mutiny in the district. 
 No, no ! I know better than that ; and so I 
 shall make my report, and fetch the clergyman 
 to you in less time than you could bite a 
 cartridge." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 231 
 
 Such was the person whose rigid features, 
 erect form, and military salute, thrust themselves 
 upon my notice, soon after I had parted from 
 Pemberton. 
 
 " Well, Jobson," said I, " have you any 
 more sick for me to visit to-day ?" 
 
 " Why, Sir," he replied, " my list is not 
 so full as it generally is. In fact, there are 
 very few in hospital just now ; but there is one 
 case about which I wished to speak to your 
 Reverence too. They live in the opposite house 
 to me." 
 
 " Oh ! you mean the old woman and her 
 daughter, who never come to church, and 
 whom I can never by any chance see." 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; but now the old lady is very 
 bad, and the young one almost out of her 
 wits with trouble. They say they were high 
 people once, and perhaps that's the reason 
 they keeps so close. It was just so with 
 Captain Somers, of the — th, when he lost his 
 wife's fortune." 
 
 " And did they ask you to apply to me ?" 
 
232 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 " Not exactly, Sir ; but the woman of the 
 house has been rowing at the poor gal on 
 account of the rent, calling her a cheat, an 
 impostor, a baggage, and I don't know what. 
 Then hearing all the huUabulloo, I stepped 
 in, you see, to appease matters. ' So,' says 
 I, to the landlady, ' Mrs. Pierce,' says I, ' if 
 we all had our deserts, who could escape 
 a court-martial ? And remember,' says I, ' if 
 you come the martinet over your poor neigh- 
 bour, somebody by- and- bye will come the 
 martinet over you.' 
 
 " ' Do you want me to lose my money ?' says 
 she. 
 
 " * No,' says I ; ' but even if you do wait a 
 little for it, there's a sure paymaster and an 
 overflowing treasure-chest up there.' 
 
 " ' Ah ! but,' says she, ' I prefer a bird in 
 the hand to all your fine stories of what's 
 a coming by-and-bye.' 
 
 " ' Mrs. Pierce,' said I, very sharp-like, for 
 she put me out with that last speech, ' it's my 
 belief you're a talking mutiny, and if you don't 
 
A MISSIONARY. 233 
 
 mind what you say, you'll be handed over to 
 the provost-marshal, whom in this case I take 
 to be the devil, d'ye see ?' 
 
 " Well, Sir, I went on for some time, mixing 
 up a soft speech and a threat, ' a medal and the 
 black-hole,' as old Major Calton said to us, 
 just before we stormed Badajoz ; and at last 
 I got her pacified, and promised to be security 
 that all should be right. And then you see. 
 Sir, the poor gal being softened a bit, could 
 not help talking to me a little, and so, among 
 other things, she said she should like her 
 mother to see a clergyman. So I came off at 
 once upon that, to try if I could find either you 
 or Mr. Pemberton." 
 
 " I will go with you there immediately," said 
 I. " But what is the occupation of these poor 
 people ? 1 suppose they do something for their 
 liveHhood ?" 
 
 " I can't say about the mother. Sir," he 
 replied, '' but I am sure the girl works like a 
 nigger, or even worse ; for when I was in the 
 West Indies after the 'mancipation, as they 
 
234 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 calls it, I can't say that I saw the niggers work 
 at all. But however this gal does, and no 
 mistake. I see the light of the candle through 
 her window sometimes for a whole night ; and 
 all day she sits there too. Ah, Sir ! it has 
 often made my old heart ache to watch the 
 pale, dejected face looking up from time to 
 time at God's blessed sunshine outside, and 
 then turning away in despair, as if the sight 
 and the longing for pure refreshing air were too 
 much for the poor, breaking heart." 
 
 " You describe a sad and distressing case," 
 said I, " but, I hope, not a common one." 
 
 " Common enough in this great city, Sir, 
 Heaven knows !" answered the old soldier — 
 " common enough to call down God's curse 
 and man's upon them as in their selfish luxury 
 lets such things be, and upon them as makes 
 their money out of these poor critturs' flesh and 
 blood. Why bless you, Sir ! I have seen so 
 much of all this in my day, that if I were 
 a parson, I would preach about nothing 
 else." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 235 
 
 " I was not aware you had lived so long in 
 London." 
 
 " Why, Sir, I had two sisters in that line, 
 and my only brother was a working tailor. 
 When we all four came up from the country, 
 we were as healthy and fresh-looking as ever 
 you'd wish to see ; and though all of us, even 
 the best, are but as sinners before His sight, yet 
 as regards man, I'll make bold to say, no one 
 could utter a word against us. When I left 
 England, they were full of joy and hope, poor 
 things, and talking about getting a large house, 
 where we could live together, and where they 
 could receive me when I came back. But 
 when I did come back, what did I find, Sir ? 
 My eldest sister, poor thing, after working 
 herself to a skeleton, died of sheer starvation ; 
 and the youngest and prettiest of the two, my 
 old father's darling, went astray as hundreds 
 and thousands have done before her, and ended 
 her miserable, wretched life by a leap off 
 Waterloo Bridge. It was my only brother that 
 told me this, and I shall never forget the place 
 
236 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 where I found him. It was a dark, damp 
 cellar underground, with one or two gas-lights 
 burning; and what with the gas and the 
 closeness, I thought I'd got into the Purgatory 
 that them Catholics used to talk about in Spain. 
 There was a raised place in the middle, and 
 upon it about a dozen men, looking as pale and 
 thin as though they'd been ghosts. And, Sir, 
 when my own brother stood before me, I didn't 
 know him, so much had hard living and 
 wretchedness changed the fine, healthy lad that 
 came up with me from the country. I took 
 him to my lodging, which, poor as it was, 
 seemed a paradise to him, and put a leg of 
 mutton on the table. Bless you, Sir, he 
 attacked it like a hungry wolf, and left not a 
 bit of it for the morning. And then he told 
 me aU the sad story about my sisters, and took 
 me to see the kennel where him and his 
 comrades lived. I heard enough misery that 
 night. Sir, to last me for a whole life. I 
 remember, when the French laid waste Portugal, 
 and treated the people so shamefully, we saw 
 
A MISSIONARY. 237 
 
 a great deal during our march after 'em to 
 grieve the heart, and to make the hand grasp 
 the musket tighter, but nothing ever shocked 
 me so much as the wretchedness of those poor 
 critturs. I did what I could for my brother, 
 but help came too late — he had taken to 
 drinking ; and when I went out again, I heard 
 in two months after I landed in Spain, that he 
 had died of delirum tremens. But here we 
 are, Sir, at the door." 
 
 ■ We were met at the entrance of the sick- 
 room by the daughter, a pale, sickly-looking 
 girl, in whose wasted cheek, sunken eyes, and 
 wearied, worn-out appearance, one might have 
 read at a glance the signs of unremitted and 
 unlightened toil, carried on by protracted and 
 over-tasked exertion. Her reception of us was 
 apathetic and indifferent in the extreme, though 
 there was a sort of formal courtesy in her 
 manner which, however, appeared rather to 
 proceed from past habits or early training 
 than from any present feehngs of gratitude 
 or respect. In fact, thought and sentiment 
 
238 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 seemed to have died away in her, together with 
 all those ennobling emotions and impulses, 
 deprived of which the human form resembles 
 but a machinery-moved automaton or a gal- 
 vanized corpse. 
 
 " This is Mr. Singleton, our clergyman, Miss 
 Smith," said Old Jobson, by way of introduc- 
 tion to a conversation which the young woman 
 herself seemed unwUling to commence. She 
 turned her eyes listlessly towards me, and said, 
 in a chilling tone : 
 
 " I suppose he comes to see my mother ? 
 She is in bed in the next room." 
 
 " Can I speak to her for a few minutes ?" 
 
 " I will see." 
 
 She went into the adjoining room, and closed 
 the door after her. When she was gone, I 
 whispered to Jobson, " Our visit does not seem 
 very welcome here." 
 
 " Ah, Sir ! you musn't judge by appearances. 
 That poor thing now, I'll be bound to say, has 
 not had more than three hours' sleep for these 
 two nights, and her obliged to work like a 
 
A MISSIONARY. 239 
 
 horse in the day-time. No, Sir ; all that 
 manner of hers is nothing hut sheer weariness 
 and despair. I'll warrant you might throw her 
 out of the window, and she'd make no resist- 
 ance. Speak to her gently, Mr. Singleton, 
 and I think she'll come round in time ; though, 
 poor lamb ! she has a hard burden to bear. 
 And now. Sir, I'd better leave you ; for women 
 folk don't like men to look upon their sorrows, 
 and I should be as much in the way as an 
 awkward, undriUed recruit in a crack company 
 on parade." 
 
 He made his military salutation and retired, 
 whilst I cast my eyes round the small apart- 
 ment. It was uncarpeted, and fuU of draughts, 
 proceeding from the numerous crevices in the 
 dilapidated walls, which appeared as if each 
 moment their fall might be expected. Large 
 pieces of plaster had fallen from the ceiling, 
 and in one or two places I could even see 
 through the laths that had been thus laid bare 
 into a dark hollow vacuity, formed by the angle 
 of the gable- sides. The rude deal table was 
 
240 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 covered with coarse calico and other materials 
 of labour, while near it stood a broken chair, 
 which was the sole seat in the chamber. I 
 looked out from the window, which opened on 
 a narrow street, where the height of the houses 
 opposite almost hid the sky of heaven from 
 the gazer. 
 
 It might have been, I thought, some conso- 
 lation to the poor white slave, if, in moments of 
 despondency and gloom, her eye could have 
 wandered over the fresh, smiling face of nature, 
 or looked longingly at the deep-blue azure 
 above, while the breaking heart murmured, 
 " I am weary of this captivity ; Father, call me 
 home." Yet even here was a portion of sweet- 
 scented mignonette, in its little pot out on the 
 window-siU, that seemed to draw the mind off 
 from smoke-dried houses, and narrow, pesti- 
 lential streets, to the verdant fields and the fra- 
 grant gale. 
 
 As I turned from the window, my attention 
 was attracted by a handsome and curiously- 
 carved oaken box, standing on the narrow 
 
A MISSIONARY. 241 
 
 mantel-piece, beneath which a small heap of 
 coal-dust was smoking, rather than burning, 
 in a rusty-baiTed grate. Such an article seemed 
 so incongruous with the room and its furniture, 
 that I went up to make a nearer inspection of 
 it. The w^orkmanship was Flemish, and exqui- 
 sitely done, each side representing some scene 
 from the New Testament. What, however, 
 principally excited my surprise and astonishment 
 was to observe, on a small silver shield, taste- 
 fully fitted into the lid, the armorial bearings 
 and motto of the family of Walsingham. I 
 should have been less certain as to their identity, 
 if a particular commission given me by Wal- 
 singham himself, shortly before he left England, 
 had not tended to impress specially on my 
 memory both the symbolical figures, and the 
 phrase inscribed beneath them. He was de- 
 sirous that his crest should be engraved on 
 a small number of books, which he had lately 
 purchased; and not wishing to be detained, 
 had requested me to superintend this operation, 
 and forward them, when completed, to him at 
 
 VOL. II. R 
 
242 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 Paris. Some discussion bad taken place with 
 the binder, respecting the proper spelling of 
 one of the old English words occurring in the 
 legend, and I had written two or three letters 
 on the subject. 
 
 The more I looked at the armorial bearlnofs 
 and the motto, the more certain I was that they 
 could be none other than Walsingham's. But 
 how had the article in question come into the 
 possession of these poor people ? If they had 
 merely purchased it in times past as a curiosity, 
 it was not likely that they would have retained 
 it when, under the pressure of severe poverty, 
 they had parted with everything else ? Was it 
 possible that Walsingham's mother-in-law could 
 be reduced so low in her temporal circumstances, 
 when I had always understood from him that 
 she had been comfortably, though not luxuriously 
 provided for. A third more uncharitable hypo- 
 thesis remained, to which at first I was not 
 indisposed to give credit. It was probable 
 that these people had been servants in the 
 house of the Walsinghams, and had purloined 
 
A MISSIONARY. 243 
 
 an old family relic, which they were afraid to 
 sell lest the armorial bearings and motto should 
 lead to their recognition, and perhaps punish- 
 ment. 
 
 There were inconsistencies in this latter view, 
 but I had no time to detect them, for at that 
 moment the younger woman entered, and asked 
 me in a short, dry manner, to walk into her 
 mother's room. I followed her, and was 
 surprised to notice the comparative neatness of 
 the inner apartment. Everything, indeed, from 
 the worn and patched coverlet to the broken 
 jug, bore the unmistakable marks of the most 
 abject poverty ; but there was a cleanliness in 
 the appearance, and an order and regularity in 
 the arrangement of the different articles that I 
 had not anticipated. The sick woman appeared 
 about fifty, and possessed well-proportioned 
 features, though want and suffering had rendered 
 them gaunt and hollow. She had cold, proud 
 eyes that seemed to repel either familiarity or 
 friendship, and there was a slight curl about the 
 lips expressive of indifference and contempt. 
 
 R 2 
 
244 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 I stood by the bedside, and endeavoured to 
 rouse in her mind some sense of the nature of 
 her present position. She listened with im- 
 patience, frequently shifting her place, and 
 manifesting by her looks, displeasure not un- 
 mingled with disdain. When I paused awhile, 
 she said with a dignified air : 
 
 " I think, Sir, you are not aware whom you 
 are addressing. I am a lady by birth and 
 education, and have kept my carriage in past 
 days. Do not fancy you are talking to one of 
 these low, ignorant creatures with whom I have 
 the misfortune to be surrounded." 
 
 " Both rich and poor," said I, gravely, " are 
 equal in the eyes of God." 
 
 " That is one of your new doctrines," she 
 replied with a sneer. '• I can remember the 
 time when my father rode from the church to 
 the Hall, and rector and curate walked by his 
 side with their hats off." 
 
 " Mother — mother !" murmured the daughter. 
 
 " Ann, my dear," said the invalid, " you are 
 a perfect fool, and have no sense of the dignity 
 
A MISSIONARY. 245 
 
 of your position. Is it not necessary that the 
 clergyman should know that he is not speaking 
 to a low vulgarian who is daily in the habit of 
 breaking all the commandments, like the woman 
 who was here yesterday ? And now, Sir, I 
 shall be obliged to you if you will read me a 
 a prayer or two." 
 
 I had already resolved to defer more serious 
 and searching conversation till we were better 
 acquainted, and accordingly complied with her 
 request. When I left, the daughter gently 
 closed the door of the sick chamber, and 
 accompanied me into the outer room. I turned 
 to speak to her, and saw the tears in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " You must have a melancholy time of it," I 
 observed, soothingly. 
 
 '' I have not made any complaint." 
 
 She endeavoured to answer in the dry, cold 
 tone in which hitherto her conversation with me 
 had been carried on. But the sight of her 
 mother had evidently stirred up feelings habitu- 
 ally dormant, or kept under strict control. The 
 
246 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 rigid features quivered for an instant, and then 
 she burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 I spoke to her kindly and consolingly, but at 
 first my words only increased the emotion which 
 they were designed to repress. In a short time, 
 however, her grief was exhausted by its own 
 violence, and she replied, ' though in a voice 
 broken and interrupted by sobs : 
 
 " You are kind — very kind, and I feel I am 
 very ungrateful. Pray do not take notice of 
 what poor mamma says. It is her way, and 
 she has known better and brighter scenes than 
 these. And oh, Sir ! they teU me she is dying, 
 and I fear sometimes she is not fit to die. Will 
 you come and talk to her often ? I should be 
 so glad if you would." 
 
 There was an earnestness in her manner now 
 which presented a painful yet pleasing contrast 
 to her former apathy. I assured her that I 
 should frequently repeat my visit, and then 
 asked her for her name, that it might be placed 
 upon our sick-list. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 247 
 
 "We call ourselves Smith," she said, in a 
 hesitating tone. 
 
 The suspicions I have alluded to recurred to 
 my mind as I fixed my eyes steadily upon her 
 countenance, and inquired in a somewhat stern 
 manner : 
 
 " Is that your real name ?" 
 
 The girl looked steadfastly and proudly at me 
 as she replied : 
 
 " It is not ; but, as I have said, we have 
 known better days. To call oiu-selves by our 
 true name, would but make us seem ridiculous, 
 and perhaps bring disgrace on the family of 
 which we are members." 
 
 I \vas at once satisfied, and after adding a 
 few words of apology, took my departure. 
 During my walk home, I pondered over what 
 I had seen and heard lately, and was so much 
 engrossed in thought, that I did not notice my 
 wife, who was wending her way to the school 
 on the other side of the street. She saw me, 
 however, and crossing over, accosted me. 
 
248 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 " George, there is a letter at home from 
 your friend Walsingham. He has arrived at 
 Cairo." 
 
 " I am glad of it," I replied ; " I want to 
 write to him to-night." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 249 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 There is a great power in little miseries. 
 When we are called upon to endure on a large 
 scale, the very magnitude of our visitation pro- 
 duces a deadening and benumbing sensation 
 that acts in some measure as the soother of our 
 pain. We feel too stupified at the calamity 
 which has overwhelmed us to be fully sensitive 
 to its sting, and like the tortured malefactor of 
 old, drink from the opiate-mingled chalice, 
 that arms us with insensibility against even the 
 sharpest and most searching agonies. 
 
 There is also a species of encouragement and 
 support which may be derived under great 
 misfortunes from a sense of the sympathy and 
 
250 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 approval of others. Like the combatants in 
 the Grecian games, we look around the arena, 
 and our gaze is reflected back by glances which 
 bid us take courage and persevere. Hope 
 whispers that the agony of the struggle will 
 soon be over, and that the brow which now 
 rolls down the perspiratiori of conflict shall soon 
 be shaded by the palm-leaves of the victor's 
 crown. But our little miseries are rarely 
 capable of admitting any counteractive influence. 
 We_ quarrel with ourselves for allowing them to 
 grieve us, and we complain that others look 
 upon our sufl'erings with indifference, or perhaps 
 with ridicule. Thus we become in a degree, 
 self-tormentors, and that which was wanting in 
 our petty misfortunes, we supply from our own 
 exaggerated sense of their magnitude, and keen 
 sensibility to the stripes which they inflict. 
 
 There are few patients who Would not rather 
 endure a sharp course of medicines, than that 
 constant course of watchfulness and self-denial 
 which under the name of diet is now tormenting 
 so many. In the one case, we make up our 
 
A MISSIONARY. 251 
 
 minds to suffer a short restraint and a transient 
 inconvenience, in the other we feel as if con- 
 stantly haunted by a spectre, which, like Sancho's 
 physician, is for ever carrying off from us the 
 choicest morsels, and debarring us the most 
 alluring recreations. I was not long in discover- 
 ing that poverty, like sickness, had a diet of its 
 own, which was both wearisome and vexatious. 
 It was not that my habits had ever been luxu- 
 rious or expensive. I could have given up 
 voluntarily many things which it seemed hard 
 to surrender against my will. And besides, I 
 was not alone. My wife, it is true, rarely com- 
 plained or murmured; her smile was ever 
 encouraging, and her words consolatory. But 
 I knew that a change had taken place in our 
 circumstances, for which previous education and 
 habits had iU prepared her, and I was aware 
 that she must feel it keenly. It was a subject 
 that we never discussed together, but I felt her 
 misfortunes even more poignantly than my own. 
 On the morning after my visit to the aged 
 invalid, I was seated at a very ricketty table with 
 
252 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 some sheets of foolscap before me, endeavouring 
 to collect materials for a sermon on " Content- 
 ment." I had already written the text, and was 
 pausing, pen in hand, over the opening sentence, 
 when my eye fell upon my wife, who was seated 
 opposite endeavouring to repair some rents in 
 my only cassock. As I looked up, she held the 
 garment before the light, and pointed out a 
 goodly array of patches and stains. 
 
 " I am afraid it will never look decent, 
 George, dear ; the next time you put it on, it 
 will certainly break out in a fresh place." 
 
 We both paused to digest this uncomfortable 
 intelligence, the more distressing, perhaps, be- 
 cause just then I had but two pounds in my 
 pocket, and thirty-five shillings was to go that 
 very morning towards the baker's biU. At last 
 my wife said in a hesitating tone : 
 
 " Could not you have a new one, dear ? It 
 would not cost much, and then I might go a 
 little longer, you know, without another dress. I 
 should not mind it at all, and I do like to see 
 you properly arrayed in church." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 253 
 
 I looked at her own patched and mended 
 gown as she spoke, and remembered the time 
 when I first saw her surrounded with every 
 comfort, and adorned with all the choicest and 
 refined luxuries a fond father's tenderness 
 could bestow. There was a movement of self- 
 reproach within, as if I had brought her to 
 this, and I felt repinings that I would not utter. 
 I rose abruptly, for I was in no mood to proceed 
 with my sermon on Contentment, and walked 
 out to struggle with the discontent which was 
 striving to gain the mastery. Pemberton en- 
 countered me at the door. 
 
 " Singleton, I'm glad I have met you, for I 
 want your advice about a sad case of distress 
 which I have just been witnessing. A brother 
 clergyman too. It is a shame that such things 
 should happen." 
 
 " Why, what is the matter ?" 
 
 " I was told about an hour ago," he replied, 
 " that a sick person wanted to see me imme- 
 diately. It was your old friend Jobson who 
 brought me the intelligence, and handed me 
 
254 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 this card, on which there is written, as you see, 
 ' Rev. Theodore Gorman.' Of course I went 
 off immediately, and found the poor man and 
 his wife in a wretched attic near here, enduring 
 the greatest possible misery. She has just 
 become a mother, and there are two elder 
 children with them. What is to be done ?" 
 
 " Cannot he apply to some of the societies 
 for the relief of poor clergymen ?" 
 
 " He has done so in times past, and they 
 behaved very kindly ; but his spirit is now so 
 broken by misfortune, that I do not think he 
 could be induced to take any active steps at 
 present." 
 
 " Well," said I, " Pemberton, we are poor, 
 and have our wives to consider ; but he is our 
 brother in a double sense, and we ought to do 
 something for him. I have been in countries 
 where the poorest Arab will share his crust 
 with the wandering stranger. Has civilization 
 so spoiled us, that we cannot do likewise ?" 
 
 " It was just what I was thinking of, my 
 dear fellow," he replied ; " but I was dubious 
 
A MISSIONARY. 255 
 
 about proposing it to you, on account of our 
 small means. However, I am so glad you see 
 the thing as I do. Come along at once, and 
 let us take our measures forthwith." 
 
 On entering the house, we were directed to 
 a garret up-stairs, where we found father, 
 mother, and children together. There was a 
 flush on the poor lady's face when she saw us, 
 and she attempted to cover her head with the 
 ragged coverlet, while the two little girls left 
 the large twopenny loaves with which Pem- 
 berton had already furnished them, and gazed 
 at the strangers with a mingled air of astonish- 
 ment and dread. Poor Gorman himself had 
 been sitting on the floor, and rose up to receive 
 us. He was a middle-aged man, with dull, 
 heavy features, and hands that seemed to have 
 been more accustomed of late to agricultural 
 or mechanical labours, than to clerical or 
 scholastic pursuits. There was a simplicity 
 and almost overwrought humility in his air, 
 manners, and language, which might have 
 
256 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 excited ridicule if it had not previously inspired 
 pity. 
 
 As I looked upon this distressed family, I 
 was ashamed of my own murmurs and re- 
 pinings. What were my necessities to theirs ? 
 And as I breathed an internal prayer for for- 
 giveness, and petitioned for that strength from 
 on high, which could alone make me bear the 
 little crosses of life with resignation and con- 
 tentment, I felt a quiet, placid calm dispelling 
 my former gloomy sensations, and even breath- 
 ing into my mind a species of exhilaration. 
 Under this influence, I played with the children, 
 comforted and encouraged the poor mother, 
 and even succeeded in raising a faint mo- 
 mentary smile on the woe-begone countenance 
 of Gorman himself. Pemberton even was 
 astonished at my sudden vivacity ; it re-acted 
 upon him, and in half an hour we had infused 
 new hopes into the unfortunate family persuad- 
 ing them that there might yet be roses in store, 
 lurking among the harsh thorns and briars of the 
 
A MISSIONARY. 25? 
 
 desert of life. Gorman showed us several letters 
 and papers, which testified in a very satisfactory 
 way to his respectability and high moral cha- 
 racter, and was almost too grateful to thank 
 us when he heard our proposal that his family 
 should be removed as soon as convenient to the 
 Parsonage. 
 
 Three days afterwards, they were comfortably 
 settled in two of our upper chambers, an ar- 
 rangement which rather cramped us for room, 
 though every one acquiesced in it without the 
 slightest repining. Each of us indeed was so 
 busily engaged in his or her schemes for the 
 poor family, that we found no leisure for 
 grumbling. Mrs. Pemberton, with her kind 
 heart and matronly experiences, had a thousand 
 things to talk of with the young mother, and 
 my dear Rachel was hourly revolving sage plans 
 and arrangements for little Caroline and Julia. 
 Pemberton and I took the father in hand, and 
 one evening when the ladies were up-stairs, we 
 drew from him a broken and somewhat uncon- 
 
 VOL. II. s 
 
258 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 nected history, which I have put in order a 
 little, and now present to the reader as 
 
 THE POOR PARSON S TALE. 
 
 " My father was a substantial farmer in one 
 of the midland counties of England, who had 
 married in early life the daughter of a neigh- 
 boiu-ing curate. To her I owe the first tender 
 cares of a mother's love, my education, and per- 
 haps some portion of my, misfortunes. My 
 father was a thoroughly English yeoman, being 
 passionately devoted to agricultural pursuits, 
 towards which he was always trying to direct 
 my attention, but the effect of his paternal 
 admonitions was counteracted by my mother, 
 who insisted that I should be brought up to the 
 Church. A strong attachment to her father's 
 profession was indeed her only fault, if fault it 
 could be called. A good education and a 
 refined mind made her naturally impatient of 
 the coarseness of those about her, and as she 
 
A MISSIONARY. 259 
 
 was sincerely imbued with religious feelings, she 
 considered that by following my father's calling, 
 I should be exposed to many temptations which 
 might otherwise be avoided. 
 
 " I am afraid that of the two I took more 
 after my father, for I was considered rather a 
 dull boy at school. The master, however, a 
 good-natured old man, consoled my mother 
 with the reflection that lads of genius generally 
 developed their abilities in later life. In my 
 case, I fear, he was mistaken, for although I 
 obtained my degree at college, it was mainly 
 owing to a fit of illness which enabled me to get 
 an ^grotat. This illness had been mainly owing 
 to the grief I felt at the death of my mother, to 
 whom I had been fondly attached. She used 
 to bear so patiently with my dullness, and 
 always cheered me on with kind words, while 
 my father, poor man, whether from having been 
 disappointed in his plans respecting me, or 
 what, I don't know, but he invariably was cross 
 at my slow progress. Although no scholar 
 
 s 2 
 
260 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 himself, he thought he had a right to quarrel 
 with me for not being one, and once because 
 I could not translate off-hand a page of Latin 
 from a book that he had taken up at random 
 from my study table, he declared that his money 
 was all wasted upon me, and that I should 
 never be good for anything. 
 
 " After he had recovered a little from the 
 effect of my mother's death, and I had returned 
 from College, he still continued very harsh to 
 me, so that I was often driven from home to 
 spend my evenings at the house of my old 
 schoolmaster, who lived hard by. Here I met 
 his daughter, who had been an old playmate of 
 mine in days gone by. Mary was but a simple 
 country-girl, though she had a kind, sympa- 
 thising heart. Her father's means were too 
 limited to allow of his giving her such an 
 education as perhaps he could have wished, and 
 her mother had died while she was yet very 
 young. But, as I said, she had a kind heart, 
 and no one felt its soothing influences more 
 
A MISSIONARY. 261 
 
 than her old companion. She was proud of 
 my acquaintance, poor thing, and looked up to 
 me as a scholar and an university man. It 
 might have been girhsh vanity, it might have 
 been a better feeling, but she always liked to 
 walk out with me, and I never found myself 
 so happy as when with her. In short, a mutual 
 attachment grew up between us, before even we 
 ever dreamed of love. Heedless, happy crea- 
 tures that we were, we never looked forward to 
 the future, but sauntered thoughtlessly along 
 together, as if life could always be spent in 
 wandering about the green meadows, borrowing 
 pleasant thoughts and joyous emotions from the 
 merry sunshine and the sweet-scented air. 
 
 "We had engaged ourselves mutually to 
 each other before my father was made iacquainted 
 with our position. This step on my part was 
 not premeditated ; it had grown out of our 
 daily companionship, and the vow was uttered 
 and accepted before either of us thought of its 
 import or consequences. My father was very 
 angry. He denounced me for daring to think 
 
262 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 of the daughter of a beggar, and ordered me to 
 prepare instantly for ordination. I obeyed him, 
 for rehgious principles had been deeply implanted 
 in my mind by my mother's teaching. Our 
 parting was sorrowful and sad, as all partings 
 are ; but we promised to be true to each other, 
 and I went away. 
 
 " I was to read with a clergyman for a year 
 before I was ordained, and in his humble dwel- 
 ling I found a kind-hearted host, and a com- 
 fortable home. He consoled and encouraged 
 me, ever directing my attention to those solemn 
 truths, and supporting promises the remembrance 
 of which in many a weary hour have preserved 
 me from despondency and despair. I had given 
 over corresponding with Mary by her own wish, 
 for, poor girl, she had a strong sense of right ; 
 and she feared lest I might get into trouble 
 through her. Thus I was naturally led to more 
 serious thoughts, and to a deeper trust in God 
 than I had hitherto experienced. We are all 
 self-deluding creatures, but when I was called 
 tipon to declare solemnly to the bishop that I 
 
A MISSIONARY. 263 
 
 trusted I was moved by the Holy Ghost to take 
 the sacred and responsible office of the ministry 
 upon me, I felt that the assertion was unac- 
 companied by any conviction of insincerity, or by 
 any emotion of self-reproach. 
 
 " While I was a curate at E my father 
 
 died, leaving me a small sum of money. Mary 
 also had lost her natural protector, and was 
 
 then residing with a family not far from E , 
 
 in the capacity of governess. Circumstances, 
 which it would be tedious to do more than 
 allude to, brought us together. I found the girl, 
 whom I had loved so fondly, a domestic slave, 
 treated worse than the lowest menial, worried 
 daily by her lady employer, and persecuted by 
 the dishonourable and degrading attentions of 
 that lady's brother. Oh, Mr. Pemberton ! she 
 had not said ten words to me before she began 
 crying as if her poor heart would break. She 
 was resting her head on my shoulder, when her 
 mistress, or slave-driver, as I must call her, 
 came in. She immediately, without a word of 
 inquirj'-, and without listening to a syllable of 
 
264 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 explanation, overwhelmed the poor girl with a 
 storm of invective which I had no patience to 
 listen to. I told her what I thought of her 
 behaviour, and in return she ordered Mary and 
 me to leave the house immediately. 
 
 " I related these circumstances to my good 
 
 rector at E , and the kind old man at once 
 
 offered to receive Mary into his house. He 
 had known her father, who had been at College 
 with him, and respected his memory too much 
 to allow his daughter to want a home. There 
 was now no obstacle to our union, and though 
 I was not very well off, I could not bear the 
 thought of exposing one whom I loved so much 
 to the temptations and vicissitudes of a gover- 
 ness's life. We were married, and soon after 
 the good old rector died. 
 
 " His successor and I did not agree so 
 well, for his wife, a fine London lady, disliked 
 my preaching, and considered Mary vulgar. 
 We parted, and I obtained another curacy of 
 eighty pounds a-year, on which we lived, or 
 rather starved for a few months. The incum- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 265 
 
 bent could not have been expected to increase 
 my stipend, for the annual value of his vicarage 
 was only twenty pounds, the greater tithes, to 
 the amount of three hundred a-year, being in 
 the hands of a lay rector. 
 
 " I will not weary you with an account of 
 the different curacies which I served, or the 
 hardships which I underwent. Suffice it to 
 say, that I was lured up to London by the hope 
 that a distant relative might do sometliing for 
 me. He had made his fortune in India, and 
 always led me to expect that I should be his 
 heir. He, however, discarded me entirely one 
 day, because I remonstrated with him for cruelly 
 maltreating his black servant, and died the 
 next week, leaving all his property to an hos- 
 pital. 
 
 " I then set up a small day-school, but 
 finding that I wanted capital to carry it on, 
 was induced to answer an advertisement which 
 offered loans to clergymen on moderate interest. 
 I thought a few months' hard work would 
 enable me to pay off the sum I wished to 
 
266 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 borrow, and accordingly went forthwith to the 
 place indicated. 
 
 " The office of the advertiser was situated in 
 one of the streets leading from the western 
 end of the Strand. After some delay, which I 
 attributed to the vast amount of business on 
 hand, he condescended to grant me an inter- 
 view. I found him a civil, smooth-spoken 
 man, with dark hair, moustaches, and military 
 appearance. He talked so glibly of the thou- 
 sands which daily passed through his office, that 
 I was almost afraid to mention the small sum 
 I required. However, he said kindly that, as 
 his father was a clergyman, he would waive a 
 point in my case, if I could get him the security 
 of two other names. With some difficulty, I 
 found two old College companions, then curates 
 in the metropolis, and as poor as myself, who 
 undertook this for me ; and I was thus enabled 
 to hand over to the bill-discounter an accept- 
 ance for double the amount which I had origi- 
 nally intended to obtain from him. He 
 promised to let me have the money in a week ; 
 
A MISSIONARY. 267 
 
 but after waiting ten days and receiving no 
 intelligence, I called at his office, and found he 
 had left the place. 
 
 " When the bill became due, it was presented 
 by a stranger, who declared that he had given 
 value for it, and threatened me with an execu- 
 tion if I refused to pay. As I was certain that 
 this would have ruined my school entirely, and 
 had no money to go to law with, I parted with 
 the little property I possessed to satisfy the 
 harpy, and rescue my two innocent friends 
 from the annoyance to which they had been 
 subjected at his hands. I was told by some 
 one afterwards, that I might have had my 
 remedy by an action, but this was a vain idea 
 for a penniless man. Not having money suffi- 
 cient to go on with, I was at last obliged to 
 sell my furniture in order to discharge my 
 rent. After this, one misfortune followed ano- 
 ther, till I was driven to move with my poor 
 wife, who was just on the eve of her confine- 
 ment into the wretched lodging where you 
 found me." 
 
268 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 The poor curate's narrative inspired us both 
 with the liveliest feelings of sympathy and com- 
 passion. We consulted together on his case, 
 and determined to leave no effort untried to 
 obtain some employment for him. Pemberton 
 said he was sure one of the Church societies 
 would grant a little temporary assistance ; but 
 the present and most pressing point was to fur- 
 nish him with attire more befitting his sacred 
 profession. His clothes were threadbare, and in 
 rags ; their miserable condition being only par- 
 tially concealed by an old dressing-gown, with 
 which Pemberton had supplied him. Neither 
 of us could help smiling when we found that 
 we could not muster sufficient habiliments, even 
 from our united wardrobes, to eke out the defi- 
 ciency ; but for once woman's wit came to bur 
 assistance, and Mrs. Pemberton, who was a 
 party to our consultation exclaimed : 
 
 " Dear me, I had forgotten. Why my aunt, 
 Mrs. Mornington, belongs to a poor clergy- 
 man's clothing society. She is the very person 
 to apply to in this emergency. You know dear. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 269 
 
 she collects old clothes from every quarter, and 
 sends them to distressed curates." 
 
 "And incumbents, too," added Pemberton 
 smiling, " I know some who have been ex- 
 ceedingly thankful to receive an old coat at 
 her hands." 
 
 " Is it possible," I exclaimed in astonishment, 
 " that in the wealthiest Church in Europe, there 
 should be found among those who minister at 
 her altars persons thankful for old clothes !" 
 
 -" Why, Singleton, you are quite a novice in 
 the mysteries of clerical existence. Come, to 
 enlighten you a little you shall have a note of 
 introduction to Mrs. Mornington, and negotiate 
 this business yourself." 
 
 Before I departed on my embassy, however, 
 my two friends vouchsafed a few words in 
 explanation of what I thought then, and con- 
 sider still, a singular and painful anomaly. It 
 appeared that a short time ago, a noble-minded 
 and zealous woman, whose name, though now 
 concealed from motives which may be easily 
 appreciated, is as worthy of remembrance as 
 
270 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 many which have figured in calendars, and borne 
 the blushing honours of red-letter type, con- 
 ceived the idea of aiding necessitous clergymen 
 by collecting for them second-hand clothes, and 
 other articles of wearing apparel. Honour to 
 her, eternal honour for her pious liberality. It 
 has often refreshed the spirit of the weary, and 
 cheered the mind of the desponding. May she 
 who has so often relieved the Redeemer him- 
 self in the persons of His poor servants, receive 
 at last the blessing addressed to those of whose 
 charitable works it shall be said, " I was naked 
 and ye clothed me." 
 
 Animated by such a noble example, many 
 ladies contributed their time and exertions to 
 this pious work until a society was formed, and 
 annual reports of their proceedings published. 
 This Association, an association which should 
 be alike the pride and disgrace of our Church, 
 has already continued its useful and charitable 
 labours for upwards of thirty-two years. I can- 
 not wish it a long existence, and I trust that 
 before another thirty years have passed away. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 271 
 
 its deeds of charity may have become simply 
 unnecessary ; but I am anxious to ascribe every 
 praise and honour that my feeble pen can con- 
 vey to those who have given themselves up to 
 this unostentatious labour of love. 
 
 Mrs. Mornington received me w^ith great 
 kindness, and listened with a grave smile to my 
 expressions of astonishment and surprise in 
 respect to the operations of the Society, which 
 she was good enough to explain in detail. If I 
 were to say that I have rarely encountered, even 
 in the lowest and poorest neighbourhoods, such 
 sad cases of poverty, such heart-rending accounts 
 of distress, I am certain I should not be con- 
 veying an exaggerated or unnatural idea of the 
 impression which these accounts left on ray 
 mind. Here were letters from venerable men 
 in my own country, who had been aged curates 
 when I was a school-boy, thanking their bene- 
 factress for worn-out coats and second-hand 
 vests. Some of these documents gave evidence 
 of the refined and highly-cultivated minds from 
 
272 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 whom they emanated, men who might have 
 been Heads of Colleges, or sat upon the Episco- 
 pal Bench, if merit in this world always ob- 
 tained its due reward. Others, again, were 
 simpler, and more homely in their style and 
 phraseology; but all were evidently the pro- 
 ductions of educated and pious men, of men 
 the excellence of whose early training could 
 now only add bitterness to their poverty, and 
 make them doubly sensible of its cruel pri- 
 vations. 
 
 In the course of conversation, I related the 
 history of poor Gorman, and easily obtained 
 from Mrs. Mornington a supply of ready-made 
 articles for present use. 
 
 " I must bring the case before our Foundress 
 and the committee at our next meeting," she 
 observed, " but as the wants of this poor family 
 are so urgent, I will furnish them on my own 
 responsibility. You will let me know if any- 
 thing more is required, and in the mean time I 
 hope you may be able to procure some pecu- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 273 
 
 niary assistance for Mr. Gorman. It was very 
 kind of you and my nephew to act as you have 
 done, but he must not remain a burden on the 
 liberality of two young married men with small 
 incomes." 
 
 As I walked homewards very well satisfied 
 with the success of my mission, it was natural 
 that my thoughts should be much occupied 
 with what I had just heard. The present 
 lamentable inequality of clerical incomes is un- 
 doubtedly owing, in the first instance, to the 
 unbridled rapacity and greediness of the nobles 
 and gentry at the Reformation, incited, I must 
 admit, by the luxury and covetousness of the 
 monastic order. Another cause of this evil 
 may be traced to the increase and depreciation 
 in value of the different lands attached to par- 
 ticular benefices, while a third originates in the 
 fact that the multiplication of congregations in 
 communion with the Church of our country, 
 has not been attended by an amplification of 
 those resources from which the remuneration 
 
 VOL. II. T 
 
274" AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 of additional clergy might be derived. The old 
 endowments remain unchanged from what they 
 were in the reign of Elizabeth, when the popu- 
 lation of this kingdom was infinitely inferior in 
 number to what it is now, and during succeed- 
 ing generations sectarian jealousy has put a stop 
 to all further assistance from the State. Any 
 attempts, therefore, to create an equality or a 
 lesser discrepancy in clerical incomes must be 
 founded on the reorganization and redistribu- 
 tion of the property of the Church. This 
 would at once affect the patrons of livings, who 
 could hardly be expected to view with satisfac- 
 tion a measure so injurious to their vested in- 
 terests. 
 
 There are indeed some eager reformers who 
 imagine that the deficiency might be filled up 
 by the spoils of the bishops and of the Cathedral 
 Chapters. Whether the few thousands which 
 could be raised in this way, by not the most 
 satisfactory means, would be at aU adequate to 
 the sum required, in order to place every cler- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 275 
 
 gyman on an equal footing, I must leave deeper 
 and more able calculators to determine. For 
 myself, I conceive that such spoliation would not 
 only be useless, but might prove, humanly 
 speaking, detrimental to the Church. No one 
 can have lived in this country for a twelve- 
 month, without becoming sensible of the homage 
 paid by all classes of the English people to 
 rank and wealth. It may be lamentable, but it 
 is true. In fact, the great reason why the 
 masses desert the meeting-house, and flock to 
 the Church, is because they attach certain ideas 
 of respectability to the* latter. It seems, there- 
 fore, fitting that the dignitaries of the Church 
 should in some measure correspond to the 
 higher class in society. For the one to have 
 weight with the other, their positions must be 
 equal, and therefore the income of a church 
 dignitary should in common fairness be in pro- 
 portion to the expenditure expected of him. It 
 must be remembered also that many a man has 
 only obtained preferment when age is stealing 
 
 T 2 
 
276 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 upon him, and after a long course of arduous and 
 ill-requited labours. Far be it from us to com- 
 pare such a one with the ecclesiastical Dives, 
 who, cradled in lawn, and nourished up in 
 luxury, has never even dreamed of the poverty 
 and misery which are racking the hearts of his 
 less fortunate brethren. ' 
 
 The present, however, is not an auspicious 
 generation for dignitaries. Evil eyes are upon 
 them from every quarter ; and it is now more 
 than ever specially needful that they should 
 walk warily. The sleek weU-beneficed divine, 
 who looks down condescendingly on the " in- 
 ferior clergy" may be painfully convinced some 
 day, that he is after aU but the equal of those 
 whom he affects to despise, if he is unable to 
 bear his present accumulated honours with 
 - moderation, and without invidious reflections. 
 Happily, however, the great majority of Eng- 
 lish dignitaries appear fully alive to the impor- 
 tance of doing something towards the relief of 
 their poorer brethren, and their large contribu- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 277 
 
 tions to the two principal societies, who afford 
 relief to distressed clergymen, seem an indica- 
 tion that past apathy wiU be atoned for by 
 present liberality and augmented zeal. 
 
278 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The fortunes of poor Gorman were now 
 much better than he had known them for many 
 years. Dressed in the clothes which I had 
 brought for him, he accompanied Pemberton 
 and me to the office of one of the charitable 
 societies, and easily obtained from them a small 
 grant of money, which enabled the whole family 
 to support themselves without any further 
 assistance from us. Not long after, a bishop 
 from the colonies, who was in great want of 
 clergymen, agreed to take Gorman out with 
 him, and to find some work for him in his 
 ample diocese. The prelate was one of those 
 simple and laborious men, whose exertions in 
 
A MISSIONARY. 279 
 
 our own days conferred more true lustre on the 
 episcopal order, than scores of titles and carriages, 
 or legions of purple-clad menials. He was 
 much pleased with our poor friend, and seemed 
 likely to prove a trusty supporter and a kind 
 patron to him. 
 
 The young mother wept very much when she 
 thought of parting from us, and still more when 
 she was obliged to take a last farewell of her 
 native shores. We administered such consolation 
 as we could; and the last glimpse I caught of her, 
 as the vessel sailed away, she was leaning fondly 
 on her husband's arm, and looking up trustfully 
 to him as if feehng that his societ}- and affection 
 would prove an ample compensation for the 
 home and friends she had left behind. 
 
 " A long march this for the poor lady and 
 
 the children, !Mr. Singleton," said old Jobson, 
 
 who stood beside me at the entrance of the 
 
 Dock. 
 
 "It is an undertaking, indeed, Jobson," I 
 
 replied ; " but there is One who has promised 
 
 to direct the path of those who trust in Him ; 
 
280 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 and though trouble and danger may surround 
 the traveller on every side, and the heart may 
 often be wrung with weary longings for our 
 distant mother land, yet as a wise man once 
 observed in ancient days, * There is a road froni 
 every country to heaven.' " 
 
 " Ah ! Sir, that was much what I said to poor 
 Tom Jackson of ours, who was shot down by 
 my side in Spain. He was raving, poor fellow, 
 in his ' delirum,' as the doctor called it, of the 
 old village church and the clump of trees over 
 his father's grave. ' Tom, my boy,' says I, 
 * you know I'm no scholar, but it seems to me 
 that at the last great muster day, nobody will be 
 very particular from what quarters you come out 
 when the trumpet sounds. These Dons and 
 Portegees, Tom, may appear very queer fellows 
 to you and me, and their country nothing after 
 old England, but yet one God made all.' And 
 thinking of poor Tom reminds me, Mr. Single- 
 ton, that Miss Smith was asking about you 
 this morning. I don't know, but I'm afraid 
 her mother is worse." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 281 
 
 " True." said I, "it is some days since I 
 was there ; I must pay them a visit at once." 
 
 We proceeded the rest of our way in silence. 
 I was considering in my own mind, whether I 
 could by any means ascertain the connection 
 which I was sure there existed between these 
 poor people and the Walsingham family. The 
 daughter had hitherto repelled aU my inquiries 
 with chilling reserve, but perhaps the mother 
 might be less disposed to evade my questions. 
 A Vague suspicion crossed me that she could 
 throw some light on the mysterious silence, 
 which had been preserved by poor Adeline from 
 the time when she abandoned the Manor-house, 
 until the fatal termination of her illness. The 
 more I thought over the matter, the more 
 strange it appeared that she should never have 
 given a clue to her address, although eager as 
 she must have been for the presence of her 
 husband at such a period, 
 
 I was determined, therefore, to satisfy myself 
 on this point without farther delay, and leaving 
 Jobson at his own door, I ascended at once to 
 
282 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 the chamber of the invalid, having dispatched 
 the woman of the house first to prepare her 
 for my visit. The daughter had just stepped 
 out, and her absence afforded me an opportunity 
 which I resolved not to throw away. I advanced 
 to the bedside, and looking steadfastly at the 
 sick woman, said : 
 
 " I believe I have the pleasure of speaking to 
 Mrs. Walsingham." 
 
 One glance convinced me that I was right. 
 She gazed on me for some minutes in astonish- 
 ment, and then said wdth more composure than 
 I had expected : 
 
 " You have then discovered who we are. 
 Did my daughter tell you ?" 
 
 " She has told me nothing," was my reply, 
 " but I knew the younger Mr. Walsingham 
 abroad, and from the description he gave me 
 of his mother-in-law, and other circumstances, 
 I was led to recognise her in you." 
 
 " And now that you have found me out, what 
 will you make of your discovery ? You are 
 perhaps the bearer of some communication 
 
A MISSIONARY. 283 
 
 from my affectionate son-in-law ?" she added, 
 in a sneering tone. 
 
 "Mrs. Walsingham," I replied, "the time 
 allotted you here may be short enough, and 
 therefore I will at once proceed to what I have 
 to say. Allow me first, however, to tell you, 
 that I am a near relative of your son's deceased 
 wife." 
 
 " What of her !" she exclaimed in an 
 alarmed tone, " she is dead, and her child 
 too. Did you not say she had a child ? I 
 am sure you said so, though perhaps my mind 
 is wandering." 
 
 " There must have been a letter from her 
 intercepted," I remarked, still keeping my eye 
 fixed steadily on her countenance, which was 
 beginning to show the visible signs of emotion 
 with difficulty suppressed. 
 
 " Letter ! what letter ?" she murmured inco- 
 herently. " To whom should she write when 
 her husband was away? Not to me surely, 
 w^hom she hated so. Well, I hated her too 
 with her foreign manners and upstart airs." 
 
284 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 " This is no time for such unchristian 
 thoughts," said I seriously. " Think how soon 
 you may have to appear before your Maker, and 
 make some reparation for your unkindness to 
 Walsingham, by revealing all you know about 
 this matter." 
 
 " Ha !" she exclaimed, raising herself in the 
 bed, and gazing at me with a look of sarcastic 
 triumph, " he is^ unhappy then ? He thinks of 
 his lost wife still ? Marvellous constancy ! 
 Heroic tenderness ! Tell me," she continued, 
 " is he miserable, is he wretched, is his cheek 
 pale as mine is now. Does he still w^ander from 
 country to country, and find no rest ?" 
 
 " He has indeed suffered much," said I, 
 thinking to appeal to her compassion. 
 
 " I am glad of it. I hated him, that pale 
 spiritless lad, born only to cross my path, and 
 undo all my best plans. Had it not been for 
 him, I should have been rich and honoured, 
 instead of lying here in this wretched hovel. 
 May the curse of a dying woman cleave to him 
 and his." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 285 
 
 " Peace !" said I, " if not for charity's sake, 
 at least for your own. Think upon where you 
 are going, and before whom you will shortly 
 appear." 
 
 " I tell you. Priest," she exclaimed wildly, 
 " I have done something more than curse. 
 Who sowed discord between him and his pretty 
 plaything, who drove her from the house, and 
 kept her letters from him, who tried to force 
 his dotard father to disinherit him ? I did all 
 this,- and I glory in it, glory even now. Why 
 shouldn't I ? Does he care for me ? Has he 
 not left me to starve ? Yet I have had my 
 revenge after all." 
 
 " Cease to speak in this way," I said, " and 
 let me offer up a prayer for you." 
 
 " Prayer ! it is too late ; none of your jug- 
 gling tricks for me. Go to the poor, the 
 ignorant, and the low born. Tell them of your 
 religion if you will, but preach not to one who 
 despises this childish babble. And yet — I feel 
 it is terrible to die." 
 
286 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 She sank back exhausted when she had 
 finished speaking. I immediately hurried off 
 to procure assistance ; but when I returned, I 
 gazed upon the cold motionless face of a 
 corpse. A loud exclamation of grief startled 
 me from my sudden stupor. I looked round, 
 and beheld the daughter who, regardless of my 
 presence, threw herself on her knees by her 
 mother's side, and implored her to speak but 
 one word to her child — to her poor heart- 
 broken child. Proud, haughty, malicious, as 
 the departed woman had been, there was one 
 then that loved her. 
 
 I attempted consolation, but the mourner 
 waved me impatiently away. 
 
 " Not now", not now, I cannot bear it. Oh ! 
 leave me now." 
 
 I saw it was no time to persist in unsea- 
 sonable exhortation, and telling her I would 
 come again the next day, I departed. As I 
 went out at the door, I turned and contem- 
 plated for the last time the proud rigid features 
 
A MISSIONARY. 287 
 
 of the dead woman, and the kneeling figure of 
 her daughter, as her frame quivered with the 
 effect of her violent sobs. 
 
 It was a scene which made my heart ache, 
 and I was almost glad when I reached the 
 outer door, where I found Jobson waiting for 
 me. 
 
 " I fear, Sir, that death-bed has not been a 
 satisfactory one," said the old soldier, in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 "• We must not judge," was my reply ; " but 
 I am afraid there was, indeed, httle ground for 
 hope." 
 
288 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 As I entered the little hall of the Parsonage, 
 our maid-of-all-work put a tastefully embossed 
 card into my hands, on which was engraved 
 " Baron de Moncada, Regent's Park." I found 
 the owner of this appellation in our drawing- 
 room engaged in conversation with my wife. 
 Both rose at my entrance, and Rachel 
 said: 
 
 " George, this is my uncle whom I think you 
 have never seen." 
 
 " Pardon me," said the stranger, " I believe 
 I met Mr. Singleton once on an occasion which 
 both of us would do well to forget. I was very 
 bigotted and prejudiced at that time, and, 
 
A MISSIONARY. 289 
 
 perhaps, I said some rude things, for which I 
 trust your husband does not bear malice." 
 
 I shook warmly the hand which he extended 
 to me, and assured him that I had quite for- 
 gotten any discourtesy with which he might be 
 pleased to charge himself. 
 
 "Well, that is right," said the Baron, cor- 
 dially ; " and being now good friends, I trust 
 we shall continue so. In fact, as I am going 
 to settle in this country, I hope we may often 
 meet. One thing I must say, and that is, that 
 you do not seem very well off here. However, 
 we can soon mend matters. What do you say, 
 Mr. Singleton, to a nice district church in the 
 suburbs ? 1 have given some ground for 
 one, and expect to get the patronage of 
 course, or at least to receive the first nomina- 
 tion." 
 
 " But, Baron, you are not a Christian, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " No, but what does that matter, you know, 
 now-a-days, when your Christian Parliament is 
 going to admit us to all its privileges. Come, 
 
 VOL. II. u 
 
290 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 come, you must not entertain old-fashioned pre- 
 judices against our people. We are good Pro- 
 testants, for we hate the Pope, and, indeed, 
 have as much interest as you have in keeping 
 him out of this country. We do not want the 
 Ghetto and the Inquisition introduced here, let 
 me teU you. Besides, did not our co-religionist, 
 Ben Davids, go in state to St. Paul's the other 
 day?" 
 
 " I am much obliged by your kind offer," 
 replied I, " which I will take into careful con- 
 sideration." 
 
 " Do so," said the Baron ; " and even if you 
 should not like this, I shall be in Parliament 
 soon, and my influence may, perhaps, be able to 
 secure you a good living." 
 
 " You think, then, that you will be ultimately 
 successful ?" 
 
 " I am sure of it. We have carried the mat- 
 ter through the Commons, and the Lords can- 
 not, and dare not, stand out much longer. But 
 even if they do, there are ways and means of 
 eluding, if not overpowering, the voice of that 
 
A MISSIONARY. 291 
 
 venerable and somewhat prejudiced branch of 
 the Legislature." 
 
 " The House of Lords will never give in." 
 " So it was said at the time of the Reform 
 Bill," returned the Baron, taking a pinch of 
 snuff. "The compelling power only wants a 
 little more screwing down." 
 
 " But really, my dear Sir," said I, " it has 
 always been a puzzle to me why a gentleman of 
 the Hebrew race should wish to sit in an English 
 Parliament. You are a member of one of the 
 proudest aristocracies on the face of the earth. 
 There were Jewish nobles and princes, when 
 the ancestors of the haughtiest Norman were 
 wandering as naked savages among the woods 
 of the Caucasus. You boast deservedly of the 
 purity of your race. You are justly proud of 
 having taught us our religion, and formed 
 our literature. You claim as your own, one 
 of the finest and best-situated countries in 
 the world, to which I believe that your 
 people will soon be restored; and yet you 
 seek for privileges which will turn out no 
 
 u 2 
 
292 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 less injurious to the Christian character of 
 our constitution, than to your own strong 
 feelings of special and exclusive nationality." 
 
 " My good friend, you talk like a very young 
 man with romantic notions, such as I had 
 myself at your age. Leave us to take care 
 of our nationality, which I never heard was 
 impaired, because Daniel was prime-minister 
 to three successive Kings of Babylon. And, 
 by the bye, what do you say to that ? Are 
 your Christian prelates and senators prepared 
 to be less liberal than a heathen monarch, 
 towards those whom they acknowledge to 
 have been once at least the chosen people of 
 God ?" 
 
 "The cases are somewhat dissimilar, A 
 conscientious Jew must long for the destruc- 
 tion of Christianity, the more especially since 
 it is so interwoven with our legislative enact- 
 ments, that it would meet him at every 
 moment, if he should ever become a legis- 
 lator," 
 
 " A conscientious Jew would, I hope, have 
 
A MISSIONARY. 293 
 
 a greater abhorrence for heathenism, and yet 
 idolatry was not destroyed under the adminis- 
 tration of Daniel. But let us, if you please, 
 leave the past and come to the present. What 
 is your legislature now ? It is not Protestant, 
 for the exclusive Protestantism of Parliament 
 was abolished in 1829. Is it Christian? 
 Why you have Socinians in the House, and 
 many others, who perhaps neither believe in 
 Moses nor in Christ. How long is this sham 
 to continue?" 
 
 " What security should we have for our 
 religion, if this principle were once in- 
 fringed ?" 
 
 " What security have you now ? Considered 
 as a member of the Church of England, you 
 have at present, in the national councils, worse 
 enemies than we should prove. The Romanists 
 and the Dissenters would gladly see the Church 
 prostrate to-morrow. We wish for nothing of 
 the kind. Our danger arises from fanaticism 
 and intolerance. The Church of England is 
 neither fanatical or intolerant. We know our 
 
294 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 own interests better, therefore, than to ruin 
 an institution not unfriendly to us, and to 
 substitute in its place the Puritan, who might 
 banish, or the Papist, who might bum us. 
 Again, you need not be afraid of proselytism, 
 for we never proselytize, while the Romanists 
 and Dissenters rob you of your people from 
 time to time. So that you see our admission 
 into Parliament will not be such a terrible blow 
 to your Church after all." 
 
 There were arguments which occurred 
 to my mind during this colloquy, and 
 which I could easily have brought for- 
 ward, had it not been for the fear of 
 hurting the feelings of a new relative, and 
 of one, moreover, who seemed disposed to 
 behave kindly to us. I mentioned them after 
 the Baron's departure to Pemberton, who told 
 me, much to my astonishment, that he looked 
 upon the admission of Jews into Parliartient 
 with the utmost indifference. 
 
 " Our Christianity, nationally speaking, is 
 gone, and why keep up mere formulas? Be- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 295 
 
 sides, if the Jews come in, we shall get Convo- 
 cation back." 
 
 " I am afraid, you are deceiving yourselves." 
 
 " Nonsense, John Bull is obtuse enough ; but 
 he will hardly stomach the dose of Jewish 
 Ecclesiastical Legislation." 
 
 " Nor will he tolerate a purely Ecclesiastical 
 Convention. I think a mixed Synod of clergy- 
 men and laymen might go down ; but people 
 are as much frightened at the Convocation as if 
 it was the Inquisition in propria persona. 
 
 " All ignorance and prejudice." 
 
 " Perhaps so, but you can neither convince a 
 man nor a nation against his or their will. The 
 mass of the people would in my opinion grumble 
 a little at the admission of Jews into Parliament ; 
 but after that they will submit quietly enough. 
 It will be said that as the Legislative influence 
 of a few Roman Catholics has not yet destroyed 
 the Protestantism of the Church, that of a few 
 Jews will not injure her Christianity." 
 
 " You put me out of patience with your 
 croaking, Singleton," said Pemberton with an 
 
296 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 air of good-bumoTired" irritation, "you will 
 attempt to persuade me next, I suppose, that 
 we shall have a Jew Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury." 
 
 " I think there would be many people slow at 
 discovering the difference." 
 
 Our conversation was here interrupted by the 
 entrance of the servant to announce the Rev. 
 Theophilus Dimity. 
 
 " Who is he ?" I whispered to Pemberton as 
 the Reverend visitor was wiping his shoes on 
 the mat. 
 
 " An old college acquaintance of mine, with 
 not a very modern character. John Bunyan has 
 hit him rather hard in the ' Pilgrim's Progress.' 
 But, hush ! here he comes." 
 
 Mr. Theophilus Dimity was a tall young 
 man with a countenance which appeared to have 
 seen much service in the smiling way. I noticed 
 that he smiled at every remark, even during the 
 discussion of the state of the weather, a topic 
 usually treated with mournful gravity, or at 
 least with a certain timid frigidity. But I sooa 
 
A MISSIONARY. 297 
 
 discovered that our new visitor possessed 
 another, and rather an opposite characteristic, 
 that of sighing deeply whenever it did not suit 
 him to commit himself in words. Some one 
 has spoken of beings all smiles and tears, 
 Mr. Dimity was a composition of sighs and 
 smiles. 
 
 He informed Pemberton that he had just 
 obtained the secretaryship to a charitable society, 
 and was every day acquiring influence that 
 would at some period or other eff^ectually pro- 
 mote his rise in the Church. 
 
 " You see, my dear fellow," continued Mi*. 
 Dimity, " I am what everybody calls a safe 
 man. People of all parties confide in me. A 
 High Churchman comes up, talks of screens, 
 candlesticks, anthems, surplices, and all that. 
 I listen attentively and smile assent. He abuses 
 the ignorance and prejudices of the middle 
 classes. I shake my head, and sigh. He in- 
 vites rrie to some little festive ceremony, and 
 then, of course, I smile again. In all this, 
 you see, I don't commit myself, for no- 
 
298 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 body can bring forward the evidence of a 
 smile or a sigh, and it is necessary to 
 be very cautious in these days you know. 
 The High Churchman goes away perfectly 
 satisfied ; he says to himself, ' Dimity is quite 
 orthodox; just the man we want.' Then 
 comes the Low Churchman, praises up the 
 foreign Reformers, slily commends the Puritans, 
 and is in raptures with the speech of that dear 
 Dr. Vappington, the dissenting minister at the 
 last meeting of the Bible Society. I listen 
 smilingly to all he has to say, and w^hen he 
 begins to talk of Romanizing practices, Jesuits 
 in disguise, the abomination of preaching in the 
 surplice, and of turning to the east, I sigh 
 deeply, and he takes it for granted that I am 
 wholly on his side. Thus, you see, being in 
 favour with both parties, they all speak well of 
 me, and I am sure to reap the advantage of it 
 in the long run. As, for instance, we'll say the 
 Bishop has a church to give away, ' Let Dimity 
 have it,' says one. ' He is perfectly sound, my 
 Lord, such an excellent Churchman; Dimity 
 
A MISSIONARY. 299 
 
 would be the person,' echoes a second ; * he is 
 so popular, has no prejudices, not at all an 
 extreme man, and decidedly Evangelical.' The 
 Bishop weighs the different statements and 
 begins to think, ' This Dimity must have some- 
 thing in him ; safe man — decidedly safe man. 
 I shall never be troubled with him. He will 
 not excite tumults nor abuse his Bishop from 
 the pulpit. Dimity shall be the person.' Now 
 what do you think of that, Pemberton, eh ?" 
 
 " Since you ask me," was the reply, " I must 
 tell you that I don't like your course at all, nor, 
 to speak candidly, do I think it worthy of a 
 Christian clergyman." 
 
 " Well, but," said Mr, Dimity, apparently 
 much disconcerted, " you know St. Paul be- 
 came all things to all men ; and I know I have 
 often heard you abuse party spirit." 
 
 " St. Paul used caution and prudence to con- 
 vert men to Christianity, not ' to get himself a 
 Church,' in the modern acceptation of the word. 
 I never reprobate either of these qualities if 
 
300 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 employed for the good of those committed to 
 our charge. I think a clergyman should be 
 specially careful of wounding the consciences or 
 the feelings of weaker brethren. But when he 
 employs these qualities for his own advance- 
 ment, and trims between two parties, not be- 
 cause he disapproves of party spirit — which I 
 still hate as much as any man can do — but 
 simply because he is afraid to join either, and 
 covets the high honour of being thought "a 
 safe man," then I consider him totally unworthy 
 of his sacred vocation." 
 
 Mr. Dimity sighed, and changed the subject. 
 He had lately returned from the south of France, 
 and spoke with much feeling and taste of what 
 he liad seen there. In fact, on any subject 
 where his natural timidity did not come into 
 play, he displayed great amiability and good 
 sense, which made one the more regret that a 
 man so little blessed with fortitude and decision 
 should have been thrust into a position where 
 both are so much required. What evils have 
 
A MISSIONARY. 301 
 
 not churches and communities suffered in all 
 ages from timid, time-serving, yet perhaps at 
 the bottom, well-intentioned men ? 
 
 When he rose to take his departure, Mr. 
 Dimity recollected that he had brought a model 
 of the Cathedral of Milan to show Pemberton. 
 He placed it on the table, and we both admired 
 the clever execution of the numerous details. 
 
 " Pretty, isn't it ?" said Mr. Dimity, drawing 
 back and gazing upon his property with owner- 
 Uke complacency. It was given me at Paris 
 by an English gentleman, in exchange for some 
 sketches I had made in Provence. Perhaps one 
 of you may know something of him, his name 
 is Walsingham." 
 
 "The very person I was wishing to hear 
 of," I exclaimed. " Is he on his way 
 home ?" 
 
 " I expect he will reach this in a week's 
 time," said Mr. Dimity. " He had some pur- 
 chases to make for his son, or he would have 
 come over with me. I can give you his ad- 
 dress in Paris if you like." 
 
302 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 He wrote it down on a leaf of my pocket- 
 book, and then bade us good morning. 
 
 " It is a pity that man was ever in the 
 Church," said Pemberton, after he was gone. 
 " As a layman, he might have been respectable ; 
 as a clergyman he is, I fear, in great danger of 
 becoming despicable. The able and the con- 
 scientious of all parties see through him ; and, 
 in fact, I do not think that he has such a 
 chance of rising as he seems to imagine." 
 
 On two occasions afterwards I met with Mr. 
 TheophUus Dimity. The first time I saw him 
 on the platform of Exeter Hall, applauding 
 noisQy, with voice and stick, the oration of a 
 taJl gentleman wath a loud voice and Hiber- 
 nian accent, who was bitterly denouncing the 
 
 Bishop of . The next view I obtained of 
 
 his person was in a procession of surpliced 
 clergy, at the consecration of a newly-erected 
 church, when he was chanting very loudly, and 
 endeavouring to look as mortified and mediaeval 
 as possible. 
 
 The next morning, I went to see Miss Wal- 
 
A MISSIONARY. 303 
 
 singham, for the purpose of offering her some 
 counsel and assistance in respect to her mother's 
 funeral. I found the poor girl much calmer, 
 but her calm seemed rather the result of sullen 
 apathy than of a better and more Christian 
 feeling. She Hstened, in a sort of stupor, to 
 the arrangements that I submitted to her, and 
 scarcely thanked me for the small sum which I 
 placed at her disposal. Beyond general topics 
 of consolation, however, I did not proceed 
 during this interview. I had gained enough 
 experience of late to know that, until the dead 
 are buried out of our sight, their remembrance 
 will haunt and weigh down our spirits, since it is 
 always kept from slumbering by the sight of 
 what was once the being whom we loved. 
 
 After the funeral, I again visited the mourner, 
 and discovered, as I had anticipated, that she 
 was more willing to listen to my consolatory 
 exhortations. Of the departed, unhappily, 
 little could be said that was satisfactory ; but I 
 did not fail to urge her decease as a warning 
 to the survivor, and a call to a more earnest 
 
304' AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 and religious state of mind. For some time, 
 she heard me with an impatient and discon- 
 tented air, as if she was being compeEed to 
 listen to what was repulsive and disagreeable. 
 At last, raising her head, she addressed me 
 slowly, and with considerable fluency : 
 
 " Mr. Singleton, you have been very kind to 
 me, and to her that is gone," (here her voice 
 quivered a little), " so that I am loth to say 
 anything that would shock or grieve you. But 
 misfortunes have changed me sadly ! When 
 these troubles first came upon me, I prayed to 
 God for help. He never heard me : at least. 
 He never helped me. I was driven, at last, 
 to toil and fag like a slave — yes, worse than 
 many slaves. Night and day, night and day, I 
 was at my needle, wearying myself out for a 
 few pence daily, and exposed besides to the 
 vulgar capricious tyranny of a mean, mercenary 
 wretch, who drove me nearly to distraction, 
 sometimes by threats of dismissal. My 
 mother's property was all lost by her uncle's 
 failure, so that she had nothing but my labour 
 
A MISSIONARY. 305 
 
 to depend upon, and I could not see her starve. 
 At first I tried to think of religion, and to 
 hope that all was for the best. But work 
 became so pressing, and the remuneration so 
 small, that I was forced to labour on Sundays 
 as hard as on working-days. Of course I 
 could not get to church, and though Mr. Pem- 
 berton called here several times, I would not 
 see him. I could not bear that one whose 
 equals we had once been, should see the misery 
 to which we were reduced. Sometimes I tried 
 to think of God and heaven, and good things, 
 but then I grew discontented, and asked why 
 God did not interfere to save me from all this 
 misery. Poor mamma had read a great many 
 of those brilliant French philosophical writers 
 of the last century, and in her troubles their 
 arguments began to tell upon her mind. Her 
 scepticism has communicated itself to me." 
 
 She paused a few moments ; but finding 
 I did not speak, continued in a more vehement 
 tone: 
 
 " Why was I left to all this wretchedness — to 
 
 VOL. II. X 
 
306 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 all these temptations ? What crime or fault had 
 I committed that I should be reduced to poverty? 
 Other people are rich, and comfortable and 
 happy, who I know have done nothing to 
 deserve it, and why should I, and others like 
 me, be made the exceptions. You will tell me, 
 perhaps, that I ought to have prayed and 
 thought about religion. But my work took up 
 every moment of my time ; and when it was 
 over, I was glad to lay my weary head down 
 for a few minutes' sleep. Still I have worked 
 and worked on till my brain has been on fire, 
 and my eye balls nearly started from their 
 sockets with agony. Why was I suffered to 
 endure this ?" 
 
 " Yet the nature of your occupation was 
 favourable to reflection." 
 
 " So the fine lady will tell you," she conti- 
 nued, sarcastically, "who wiles away half an 
 hour with her needle, not the woman who 
 works for bread. Reflection ! Why, after a 
 few months of this drudgery, the power of 
 thought seemed dead within me, and I went 
 
A MISSIONARY. 307 
 
 through my toil Hke a machine. It has 
 revived now only to make me feel how wretched 
 I am." 
 
 She pressed her hands to her forehead and 
 was silent. I pointed out to her the evil 
 tendency of the thoughts and feelings which 
 she had avowed, reminding her that social 
 inequalities cannot be considered entirely as 
 evils, and that they will soon give place to a 
 state where the sufferings of the miserable shall 
 be fully atoned for by an inexhaustible amount 
 of eternal felicity. 
 
 "Ah !" she said softly, "I have dreamed of 
 this. Many a time have I looked up at the 
 clear, blue, smiling sky as I hurried to the shop 
 with my work, and thought how much I should 
 like to be there. And then, when I came back 
 to my window, I felt my heart was softened for 
 a moment, and I could pray that God would 
 take me there at once, out of all these toils and 
 troubles. But He never did, and then I thought 
 it was all fancy and delusion, as my mother said 
 it was." 
 
 X 2 
 
308 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 I resumed my exhortation, and tried to alarm 
 her conscience, by depicting the strict and un- 
 swerving justice of God, which would not allow 
 Him to pass unpunished those doubts which 
 were an insult to His goodness, and mental 
 rebellion against His authority. 
 
 She raised her head haughtily ; there was 
 pride on her brow and defiance in her eye. 
 
 " I know not what you call justice," she ex- 
 claimed. " Is it justice to pass over unheeded 
 the prayer of a breaking heart ? Is it justice to 
 suffer an unhappy creature to be so engrossed 
 day after day with necessary labour that she has 
 no leisure nor inclination for religious thoughts, 
 and then punish her because she does not ac- 
 knowledge a paternal tenderness, which she has 
 never known. If such be indeed the justice of 
 Heaven, I scorn and defy its vengeance." 
 
 Shocked by her words, and by the increasing 
 violence of her tone, I made an appealing 
 and pacifying gesturle, but she was too excited 
 to heed it. 
 
 " No," sbe continued, " I am roused now from 
 
A MISSIONARY. 309 
 
 my lethargy, and am ashamed of the miserable 
 patience with which I have so long borne the 
 tyranny of both Heaven and earth. This morn- 
 ing the fellow for whom I work rated me worse 
 than he would a dog, because I had not brought 
 home some things which I could not finish on 
 account of poor mother's death, and now you 
 teU me, that God is angry with me because I 
 repine. I can bear it no longer. I will throw 
 away this wretched life at once, and take the 
 chance of what comes after. It cannot be 
 worse than what 1 have already endured." 
 
 She seized her bonnet and shawl, but I rose 
 from my seat, and implored her to pause for a 
 few minutes. Walsingham, I told her, would 
 soon arrive in London, and from what I knew 
 of him I was certain that he would never allow 
 his half-sister to depend for subsistence on the 
 disgusting drudgery which she so much dis- 
 liked. I spoke of his noble character, of the 
 readiness with which he at least would bury the 
 past in oblivion, and only remember that he saw 
 before him the daughter of his father, and one 
 
310 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 of whom he had never in the shghtest degree 
 occasion to complain. 
 
 Miss Walsingham heard me in moody silence. 
 When I mentioned her half-brother's arrival, 
 she testified neither emotion nor surprise, but 
 muttered in a low tone : 
 
 "No, no, I can never be indebted to my 
 mother's enemy for food and shelter." 
 
 I had exhausted, as I thought, every topic of 
 consolation, and remained silent in my turn. 
 Yet, though I spoke not, the internal strain 
 upon my thoughts was becoming intensely pain- 
 ful. I felt that if I could hope to rescue a soul 
 fi'om destruction and save a fellow-creature from 
 the suicide's grave, now was the moment. The 
 time was flying on, and each instant was 
 adding energy to her resolution, and nerve to 
 her purpose. I was certain that she would 
 elude my vigilance, and that no physical re- 
 straint could divert her from her design. Only 
 moral suasion could bend that iron will, and 
 soften that determined and obdurate soul. Yet, 
 although feeling aU this, and being as morally 
 
A MISSIONARY. 311 
 
 sure of the fatal result, as if I had seen it pic- 
 tured before my eyes, I felt that for the ransom 
 of worlds I could not wring from my now 
 barren invention a single argument, or a solitary 
 idea that my judgment told me would be of 
 use. At length a suggestion seemed to dart 
 across my mind with the rapidity of hghtning, 
 and I hastened to carry it out. 
 
 I spoke no more of God's justice, or of the 
 awfal character of His Almighty wrath. I told 
 her in subdued tones of One who had assumed 
 our nature, that He might bear our sorrows 
 and sympathise with our grief; of the pains 
 and privations which He had endured, that 
 those privations might become a sacred medium 
 of communion between Him and those who 
 should have courage and faith to follow out His 
 example. I bade her remember that He for 
 her sake had borne the world's contumely, and 
 drained to the dregs the chahce of the world's 
 scorn, while even His nature, blended with 
 divinity as it was, had known the abasement 
 of human despair, and had besought in the 
 
312 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 garden of. Gethsemane that the cup of suffering 
 might pass away. 
 
 I paused. The once haughty and sceptical 
 girl had sank upon her knees, while the tears 
 were fast chasing each other down her cheeks. 
 
A MISSIONARY. 313 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The demeanour of Miss Walsingham gra- 
 dually became calmer under the influence of 
 ray exhortations, and I began to perceive with 
 satisfaction that hope was once more reviving 
 in her mind. She listened with composure 
 when I again spoke of her half-brother, and 
 seemed as much astonished as pained on hearing 
 the history of Adeline, whom, on account of her 
 having been during that period at a continental 
 boarding-school, she had never seen. She was 
 equally surprised when I told her of the disin- 
 terested and generous manner in which Wal- 
 singham had increased her mother's fortune, as 
 she had been led to believe that the second 
 
314 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 family were, to some extent, defrauded of their 
 just rights. Altogether, I left her very much 
 disposed to take a favourable view of his cha- 
 racter, and not so disinclined as formerly to 
 receive assistance from him. 
 
 My wife met me in the hall of the Parsonage, 
 with the joyful intelligence that Walsingham 
 was waiting for me within. He had arrived 
 sooner than was originally expected, on account 
 of my letter, which his agent at Malta for- 
 warded to Paris, and which, therefore, he had 
 only received a day or two before. Our meet- 
 ing was very welcome to both parties, though 
 he gently blamed me for not having made him 
 acquainted with my loss, and the subsequent 
 hardships I had endured. Of the late Mrs. 
 Walsingham, he spoke in a feeling and for- 
 giving manner. 
 
 " She has wronged me deeply," he said, " and 
 most, if not all, of the troubles which have 
 fallen to my share in life, may be either directly 
 or indirectly traced to her instrumentality. But 
 she is gone, and may God forgive her, as I 
 
A MISSIONARY. 315 
 
 do. My resentment shall be buried in her 
 grave. And now, with regard to this poor 
 girl. She is my father's daughter, quite inno- 
 cent, as you seem to think, of any of her 
 mother's faults, and she must not be left in 
 that miserable hole half-an-hour longer. I 
 should like to see her immediately, if you can 
 find time to accompany me." 
 
 Of course I consented at once to this ; but 
 as the thought occurred to me that it would be 
 belter if I spoke to Miss Walsingham myself in 
 the first instance, and prepared her for her 
 brother's visit, I advised my friend to wait a 
 few minutes for me below. He approved of 
 my plan ; and happening to see Jobson standing 
 at bis door, I asked the old soldier if he could 
 let Walsingham have a seat in his room for a 
 short time. They went up-stairs together, 
 while I proceeded over the way on my 
 mission. 
 
 Miss Walsingham was both surprised and 
 perplexed when I informed her that her brother 
 was so near at hand, and mentioned his inten- 
 
316 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 tion of paying her a visit immediately. A 
 sense of her mother's past injustice towards 
 him, and a sort of shame that he should find 
 her in such a condition of abject distress, made 
 her feel nervous and embarrassed. She as- 
 sented, however, to the propriety of seeing him 
 at once, and I promised to return with him in 
 ten minutes' time. 
 
 When I entered Jobson's room, I found 
 him in very animated conversation with Wal- 
 singham, who seemed to enjoy drawing the 
 old man out, and making him speak of long 
 past military scenes and adventures. 
 
 " What a shame it is," said Walsingham to 
 me, as we walked across the street, " that an 
 old veteran who has fought and bled for us, the 
 careless sons of prosperity and affluence at home, 
 should be thus forgotten and neglected in his 
 old age ! Everybody now would readily con- 
 tribute towards a monument in honour of his 
 commander, and yet what would the best 
 General be without brave and energetic men to 
 back him ?" 
 
A MISSIONARY. 317 
 
 " My dear friend, the ' sic vos non vobis' of 
 Virgil is as much the rule now as it was nine- 
 teen hundred years ago. Shame on us, that we 
 have improved so little in social morality since 
 the days of Paganism !" 
 
 " These things make a thinking man despise 
 the world and those who inhabit it." 
 
 *' They teach us, at least, to expect in another 
 state that perfect justice and happiness which 
 we never can find here." 
 
 The meeting of Miss Walsingham with her 
 brother was full of embarrassment on either side. 
 Though such near relations, they were utter 
 strangers to each other, while the unnatural 
 estrangement which had existed so long between 
 them, as well as the prejudices and misunder- 
 standings resulting from it, rendered it difficult 
 to adopt at once a cordial and familiar tone. 
 Walsingham was the first to break down a 
 barrier of reserve that was becoming each 
 moment more painful, and, to borrow a 
 metaphor from my old acquaintance, Mr. Rusk, 
 " came at once to the point." 
 
318 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 He began by blaming himself for not having 
 made inquiries sooner respecting his mother-in- 
 law's circumstances, touched lightly and delicately 
 upon the unhappy feud which had existed between 
 them, and hoped in conclusion that his newly- 
 found relative would prove her forgiveness of 
 the past by accepting a home in his house for 
 the future. With great feeling, he endeavoured 
 to remove the sense of obligation involved in the 
 proposal, by a mirthful allusion to the necessity 
 for female supervision and superintendence in 
 a place only inhabited by bachelors ; but the 
 attempted jest evidently excited painful recol- 
 lections, and he broke off abruptly. 
 
 With the quick perception and ready tact of 
 her sex, his sister penetrated at once the nature 
 of his feelings, and without farther hesitation, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 ■ " Brother, I will go with you, and henceforth 
 you shall be to me all she has been, only do not 
 think harshly or unkindly of the dead." 
 
 She laid her hand upon his arm as she spoke, 
 and looked up to him with an expression of 
 
A MISSIONARY. 319 
 
 sympathising confidence. He felt the force of 
 the appeal, and answered cheerfully. 
 
 " I am sure you will be happy at the old 
 place, and Jack will be delighted that his aunt 
 is neither cross nor ugly. He is such a tall, 
 strapping fellow though now, that you may be 
 ashamed to own him as a nephew." 
 
 Miss Walsingham remained in her present 
 lodgings until she could make such additions 
 to her wardrobe as enabled her to move to her 
 brother's hotel. Perceiving that the oaken box 
 had taken my fancy, she begged me to accept 
 it as a slight token of her gratitude for my 
 past kindness. 
 
 " It is the only thing I have to bestow," she 
 said, " though I hope you will feel no scruple 
 on that score, since keeping it by me would only 
 keep alive painful associations." 
 
 I deposited my new acquisition in the safe 
 keeping of my wife, and went to return the 
 visit of Baron Moncada. I found him in- 
 habiting a handsome house near the Regent's 
 Park, where, at the period of my arrival, he 
 
320 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 was receiving a deputation of would be con- 
 stituents, who were anxious that he should 
 become their representative in Parliament. In 
 token of their admiration, they had just pre- 
 sented him with a silver cup, shaped like a 
 boar's head. It was a curious gift for a swine- 
 hating Hebrew, but the gentlemen of the de- 
 putation erred in ignorance. Many of them, 
 indeed, entertained very limited ideas upon the 
 subject of boars, and doubted, perhaps, whether 
 this mysterious animal possessed any affinity to 
 pork. 
 
 When* they had retired, I was asked to walk 
 into the Baron's study. He was in high spirits, 
 and rubbing his hands, inquired what I thought 
 of their cause now ? 
 
 " You see," he continued, " we are carrying 
 all before us. Public opinion will soon force 
 the Lords to surrender the point, and in less 
 than two years the humble individual before 
 you wiU be a senator. Patience and money 
 can do anything now-a-days, my dear 
 Sir." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 321 
 
 " They are, indeed, powerful auxiliaries," I 
 observed. 
 
 "Nothing like them. There was my title 
 for instance, which I got for a mere song, 
 though in ray mind the Austrians had still the 
 best of the bargain. But it was useful to me, 
 and I bought it, as I could have bought the 
 empire which sold it, if that had been an object. 
 Now 1 want a seat in the House of Commons, 
 and in time, by means of money and patience, 
 I shall get that too. In fact, I never fail in any- 
 thing I set my mind upon." 
 
 There was a proud glance in his eye as he 
 uttered the last words, which reminded me 
 strongly of his brother, and seemed to recall a 
 time when the Hebrew had not yet become the 
 outcast of the world. There are, doubtless, 
 great destinies in store for this people. Why, 
 alas ! will they persevere in their old national 
 faults, of endeavouring to work them out in 
 their own way ? 
 
 " By the bye," resumed the Baron, " I want 
 
 VOL. II. Y 
 
322 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 to speak to you about the church, which is to 
 be built on my ground. The first nomination 
 will be placed in your hands, for I shall not, of 
 course, meddle with it. Still I thought that 
 as I had given my money, I might do some- 
 thing for so near a kinsman. It is a maxim 
 with me never to throw money away. Spend 
 as much as you like, but take care you always 
 have some equivalent." 
 
 I thanked him for his consideration, as I did 
 not feel that I ought to decHne an offer of this 
 kind, the more especially as I by no means in- 
 tended to exercise the privilege for my own 
 benefit. My close intimacy with Pember- 
 ton had made me well acquainted with his 
 worth, abilities, and piety. I knew, moreover, 
 that the health of his child was suffering from 
 the unwholesome atmosphere of his district, and 
 he was also my senior in the diocese, therefore I 
 at once begged to recommend him for the post. 
 The Baron at first objected to what he termed 
 my romantic idea, but finally gave way, and did 
 
A MISSIONARY. 323 
 
 not seem ill-pleased, upon the whole, that I had 
 preferred the claims of justice and friendship 
 to the dictates of mere self-interest. He gave 
 me a note to one of the principal persons con- 
 nected with the erection of the church, and I 
 may as well mention here, that finally I had the 
 pleasure of seeing Pemberton installed as its 
 minister. 
 
 On my return, I found a note from Walsing- 
 ham. It stated that the living of Wickley- 
 cum-strete, a small village close to his country 
 residence, and the patronage of which rested 
 with his family, was now vacant, and he wished 
 me to accept it. At first I hesitated, having 
 become much attached to the poor people 
 among whom my lot had been cast. After 
 some consultation with Pemberton and other 
 friends, however, I gave way to Walsingham's 
 solicitations. The Hving had been well endowed 
 in times past, but the present population was 
 by no means numerous, while the neighbouring 
 parish afforded its vicfar only one hundred and 
 
 Y 2 
 
324 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 fifty pounds a-year, and contained about five 
 thousand souls. I therefore deemed it my duty 
 to transfer to this ill-paid benefice an annual 
 sum of one hundred pounds, from my stipend. 
 The transfer was effected through the medium 
 of Walsingham, who also added something 
 from his own purse. 
 
 While we were packing up, I found myself 
 at a loss how to dispose of a small bundle of 
 sermons and other manuscripts which I was 
 anxious should not be lost. My wife, however, 
 reminded me of the oaken box given us by 
 Miss Walsingham. 
 
 " That will be just the thing," said I, " go 
 and fetch it, my dear." 
 
 We found the box locked, and I was obliged 
 to have the lock forced. When we opened it, 
 I perceived two letters inside, with the seals 
 broken and was about to burn them, when an 
 idea darted across my mind which led me to 
 examine their contents. After reading two or 
 three lines, I suddenly snatched up my hat and 
 
A MISSIONARY. 325 
 
 hurried out of the house, much to the amaze- 
 ment of my wife and the locksmith. 
 
 Walsingham was not yet gone from his hotel 
 when I arrived there, breathless from the haste 
 I had used. He was alone and gazed upon me 
 with a look of inquiring astonishment, as I 
 thrust the papers I brought with me into his 
 hand. 
 
 " They are the letters of Adeline." The in- 
 formation was almost needless ; he had already 
 divined it, as I saw clearly by his changing 
 colour and agitated countenance. 
 
 " I am not equal to the perusal of them in 
 the presence of another, even though that other 
 is my dearest friend. Go now. Singleton, but 
 be sure you come here to-morrow, as I shall no 
 doubt have much to say to you." 
 
 I came as he requested, on the following 
 morning, and he then told me that these letters 
 had been WTitten to him by poor Adeline from 
 her lodging, whither she had begged him, in the 
 most moving terms to repair immediately. It 
 
326 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 was, of course, quite clear to him as well as to 
 me that they had been intercepted and kept 
 back by the mother-in-law, who had chosen this 
 base method of gratifying the hatred which she 
 had always entertained towards Walsingham, 
 and had latterly manifested to his young 
 bride. 
 
 What the state of his feelings had been, on 
 the discovery of this act of treachery may well 
 be imagined. He was now calmer, and perfectly 
 disposed to agree with me that his sister should 
 be kept in ignorance of her mother's guilt. 
 The perpetrator of the injury herself had gone 
 to her dread account, and neither of us wished 
 to shock the feelings of her surviving child. 
 
 "May God have mercy on the unhappy 
 woman ;" said Walsingham, solemnly, " but I 
 feel as if the aspiration were almost a mockery." 
 
 " We are all sinners," I answered, " and, 
 perhaps, it is better for us to abstain from 
 discussing in what degree each has merited the 
 displeasure of the Almighty. One thing we 
 
A MISSIONARY. 327 
 
 are sure of, that ' the Judge of all the earth 
 will do right.' " 
 
 I am now quietly settled in my village parso- 
 nage where it has pleased the Great Bestower 
 of all good to grant me no limited amount of 
 happiness. My wife still continues what I have 
 always found her, a comforter in my sorrows, a 
 sharer and heightener of my joys. Walsingham 
 resides near me at the Manor House. His sister 
 lives with him, and is called the " Lady Boun- 
 tiful" of our village, an appellation which she 
 has done her best to merit by numberless and 
 inobtrusive acts of benevolence and piety. Jack 
 is reading hard at Oxford, and they tell me 
 will probably take high honours. 
 
 Old Jobson, the worthy veteran of Shadwell 
 Green, has been appointed by Walsingham a 
 sort of deputy-steward in his service. The post 
 is nearly a sinecure, but it gives him something 
 to occupy his leisure, and takes away from his 
 mind that painful sense of obligation which 
 none feel more keenly than the respectable poor. 
 
328 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 He has latterly been nominated parish clerk, in 
 which capacity he is the terror of refractory 
 school-boys, and reads the service some think 
 almost as well as the parson himself. 
 
 My old friend Ranson goes on dabbling in 
 hterature, and frequently runs down to stay 
 with us for a day or two, on which occasions he 
 cross-examines the most intelligent of my 
 parishioners as to their personal histories, with 
 a minuteness that now and then quite alarms 
 them. He has established a particular friend- 
 ship with the dame of the little school here, our 
 chief authority in legendary lore, and hints 
 mysteriously that some day his researches may 
 see the light under the somewhat striking title 
 of " Peeps from the Window of a Country Par- 
 sonage." Pemberton has collected round him a 
 large congregation, by whom he is much res- 
 pected, and is considered in high quarters a 
 valueable and trustworthy Presbyter. 
 
 My wife's uncle, the Baron, is not in Parlia- 
 ment yet, and seems to doubt whether, in spite 
 
A MISSIONARY. 329 
 
 of " money and patience," he ever will be. It 
 is, however, very satisfactory for me to be able 
 to add that he is now studying the evidences of 
 our Divine Faith, and though neither Rachel 
 nor I like to be sanguine on such a matter, yet 
 we are looking forward to the result of this in- 
 quiry with deep interest and earnest hope. 
 
 And now before I conclude, let me invite the 
 reader to take a seat for a few minutes in my 
 study where are assembled the principal per- 
 sonages of this narrative. Their conversation 
 may form a species of Hibernian preface to the 
 foregoing pages. 
 
 Mr. Ranson commences by stating it as the 
 general opinion of my friends that I should 
 write a book. 
 
 " You have," he continues, " after perform- 
 ing your clerical duties a great amount of leisure 
 which, from the small size of the village, you 
 cannot fill up by professional labours. Then 
 the next town is too far off for you to assist the 
 clergy there. I think, therefore, that under these 
 
330 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 circumstances you should address yourself to 
 the public at large. The press is now become 
 almost as important as the pulpit in its influ- 
 ence over the general mind. The spread of 
 education augments daily the number of readers, 
 and it has been, I believe, pretty clearly demon- 
 strated that if wholesome mental food is not 
 provided for them, they will put up with any 
 garbage that falls in their way." 
 
 " I have thought of this," said I, " and feel 
 much disposed to follow your advice. But the 
 question is what to write ?" 
 
 " A poem," said Walsingham. 
 
 " A treatise on the Greek liturgies," said 
 Pemberton, 
 
 " A sketch of your travels," exclaimed 
 Ranson. 
 
 My wife glanced at Mrs. Pemberton, and 
 deriving encouragement from her sympathizing 
 looks, suggested " a nice religious novel." 
 
 All paused for my reply, which I delivered 
 from my leathern chair with eyes fixed on the 
 
A MISSIONARY. 331 
 
 ceiling, and without addressing myself to any 
 one in particular. 
 
 " For poetry I have no vocation. Ecclesias- 
 tical subjects demand a vast amount of learning 
 and a number of books. I have neither the 
 one nor the other. The public have been 
 indulged usque ad nauseam with voyages 
 and travels. Resides I think my natural taste 
 would lead me more to a work of imagi- 
 nation." 
 
 " What do you say then to a religious novel ?" 
 said Pemberton, " written on sound Church prin- 
 ciples, and proving that Convocation is indispen- 
 sable?" 
 
 " I think a hit at Popery might be more 
 popular," suggested Ranson ; " could not you 
 write a thrilling narrative that would make the 
 flesh of every Protestant householder creep upon 
 his bones, and call it the *Nun in the Cup- 
 board,' or the ' Jesuit in the Coal-cellar ?' The 
 thing would sell amazingly." 
 
 " My good friends," I replied, " I have no 
 
332 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 
 great liking for polemics in any shape, and least 
 of all in this. To discuss grave and solemn 
 doctrines in works of a light nature seems to me 
 out of place, and liable to detract from their 
 sacred character. If you explain them fully, an 
 ordinary reader is wearied, if superficially you 
 may unintentionally be grievously misunderstood. 
 Besides is it fair or honest to create a number 
 of puppets that the one we especially favour 
 may knock down all the rest, or to state our 
 own opinions in the strongest possible way, 
 while we leave to our opponents only the 
 mockery of a defence ?" 
 
 " You object then to a religious novel ?" said 
 Walsingham. 
 
 " In the popular sense, yes. But yet there is 
 a species of fiction free from these objections, 
 which I conceive a clergyman might write, and 
 a bishop read without detriment to either. It 
 has been attempted with some success in Italy, 
 and I am convinced would meet with favour 
 here." 
 
A MISSIONARY. 333 
 
 " Oh ! you mean such works as those of 
 D'Azeglio and Manzoni," said Ranson. 
 
 " Yes, and you might have added the names 
 of authors nearer home. What we want in fact 
 is a series of tales, free from party opinions, yet 
 dehneating accurately and correctly the scenes, 
 habits, and sentiments of the age we live in; 
 tales in which most of the personages introduced 
 should be in the best sense of the word 
 Christians, yet able to open their mouths with- 
 out delivering a sermon, tales which might 
 show the gradual quiet influence of religion 
 upon the mind without exhibiting either fanati- 
 cism nor Pharisaism, and which every father of 
 a family might, without hesitation or fear, place 
 in the hands of his daughters. Such is the 
 works I would write if I were able." 
 " Then why don't you ?" urged Ranson. 
 " Because I am afraid I have not ability for 
 the task. I shall, however, try and draw out a 
 plain, simple story, which if kindly received by 
 the public might encourage me to attempt 
 further eiforts." 
 
334 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A MISSIONARY. 
 
 " And what is to be the subject ?" 
 
 " My own autobiography." 
 
 Each of them looked rather confused, and 
 my wife exclaimed to Mrs. Pemberton with a 
 countenance of alarm : 
 
 "I declare he is going to put us all in 
 print." 
 
 Reader from these remarks thou may'st gain 
 some gHmpses of my intention. It is for thee 
 to say whether or no it has been successfully 
 carried out. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. 
 
Just published, in 2 vols. 8vo., with Portraits, 30s. bound, 
 MEMOIRS OF THE 
 
 COUET AND CABINETS 
 
 OF GEORGE THE THIRD, 
 
 FROM ORIGINAL FAMILY DOCUMENTS. 
 BY THE DUKE OP BUCKINGHAM AND CHANDOS, K.G., &c. 
 
 Amongst the prominent subjects traced to their springs and followed 
 to their final issues in this work will be found the great struggle that 
 took place, towards the latter part of the last century, between the 
 Crown and the Parliament; the administration of Lord North, the 
 formation of the Coalition Ministry, and the breaking-up of the Whig 
 party ; the King's first illness, and the contest on the Regency question ; 
 the French Revolution, and the War against France ; the Irish Rebel- 
 lion of 1798; and the Legislative Union between Great Britain and 
 Ireland, &c. There is scarcely a single individual of celebrity throughout 
 the period from 1782 to 1800 who is not introduced into these pages. 
 Amongst others, besides the King and the various members of the 
 Royal Family, are Rockingham, Shelburne. North, Thurlow, Lough- 
 borough, Fox, Pitt, Sheridan, Burke, Portland, Sydney, Fitzwilliam, 
 Tierney, Buckingham, Grenville, Grey, Malmesbury, Wilberforce, 
 Burdett.. Fitzgibbon, Grattan, Flood, Cornwallis, the Beresfords, the 
 Ponsonbys, the Wellesleys, &c. 
 
 " A very remarkable and valuable publication. The Duke of Buckingham has 
 himself undertaken the task of forming a history from the papers of his grand- 
 father and great-uncle, the Earl Temple (first Marquis of Buckingham), and Lord 
 Grenville, of the days of the second Wm. Pitt. The letters which are given to 
 the public in these volumes, extend over an interval commencing with 1782, and 
 ending with 1800. In that interval events occurred which can never lose their 
 interest as incidents in the history of England. The Coalition Ministry and its 
 dismissal by the King— the resistance of the Sovereign and Pitt to the efforts of 
 the discarded ministers to force themselves again into office— the great con- 
 stitutional question of the Regency which arose upon the King's disastrous malady 
 — the contest upon that question between the heir apparent and the ministers 
 of the Crown— the breaking out of the French Revolution, and tlie consequent 
 entrance of England upon the great European war, — these, with the union 
 with Ireland, are political movements every detail of which possesses the deepest 
 interest. In these volumes, details, then guarded with the most anxious care 
 from all eyes but those of the privileged few, are now for the first time given to 
 the public. The most secret history of many of the transactions is laid bare. 
 It is not possible to conceive contemporary history more completely exemplified. 
 From such materials it was not possible to form a' work that would not possess 
 the very highest interest. The Duke of Buckingham has, however, moulded his 
 materials with no ordinary ability and skill. The connecting narrative is written 
 both with judgment and vigour — not unfrequently in a style that comes up to 
 the highest order of historical composition — especially in some of the sketches of 
 personal character." — Morning Herald. 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
A TOUR OP INQUIRY 
 
 THROUGH FRANCE AND ITALY. 
 
 ILLUSTEiTING THEIH PKESENT 
 
 SOCIAL, POLITICAL, AND RELIGIOUS CONDITION. 
 BY EDMUISTD SPENCEE, ESQ,., 
 
 Author of " Travels in European Turkey," " Circassia," &c. 
 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s. 
 
 " Mr. Spencer is favourably known to the public as the author of several works 
 describing the land of the Osmanli, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Slavonian ; 
 and in the two volumes before us he has given the results of a Tour of Inquiry 
 through France and Italy, which, commencing at Boulogne, includes visits to 
 Paris, to the important towns in the centre and south of France, to Leghorn, 
 Rome, and Piedmont. As a careful observer of the actual condition of the people 
 in both countries, the results of his inquiries cannot fail to be read with much 
 interest and instruction. Mr. Spencer has Aiade himself thoroughly conversa- 
 with the present social, political, and religious condition of the people of Fraut 
 and Italy, describing at one time that curious class the vagrants of Paris; next t' 
 modern miracles by which the parti pretre in France are endeavouring to stimula 
 the superstitious feelings of the peasantry ; and then the hostility of the Pap 
 Church to intellectual progress, the political condition of Turin, the insurrectic 
 at Rome, &c. — topics which at the present moment excite the deepest interest 
 this country. It must not be supposed that Mr. Spencer's work is made up c 
 mere dry political or religious disquisitions, however valuable they may be in 
 themselves. He describes all that he saw with a facile and graceful pen, and the 
 tone of his narrative is altogether so animated and cheerful that we defy the 
 reader who takes the work in his hand for mere amusement to put it down 
 unsatisfied. We have now said enough to recommend Mr. Spencer's valuable 
 and interesting work, which we have no doubt will command an extended 
 popularity." — Morning Post. 
 
 " Mr. Spencer has travelled through France and Italy, with the eyes and feelings 
 of a Protestant philosopher. His volumes contain much valuable matter, many 
 judicious remarks, and a great deal of useful information." — Morning Chronicle. 
 
 " France and Italy, in their social or rather M«-social condition, are depicted in 
 these intelligent and interesting volumes with a vivid and striking truth. Tuscany, 
 with its unfortunate position as regards one power, and oppressed by its goaded 
 ruler on the other, the atrocities which take place by armed soldiery in the streets, 
 and the still greater horrors enacted in prisons in the name of the law — Rome, 
 which once more bares her dreadful dungeons, and the sanguine secrets of the 
 unholy Inquisition, to the eyes of the world— these, with other glaring evils, 
 exhilut a condition of things which move our indignation and our pity. To those 
 who would acquaint themselves with the state of these latter historic countries in 
 particular, we do not know any volumes that convey so much that is valuable on 
 such important heads, so interestingly, as Mr. Spencer's ' Tour of Inquiry.' " — 
 Weekly Dispatch. 
 
 " The work contains a good deal of fresh and striking matter on the present 
 condition and prospects of France and Italy." — Spectator. 
 
 " These clever and comprehensive volumes contain much valuable information 
 and much close reasoning." — Britannia. 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 13, GREAT MARLBOllOUGII STREET. 
 
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