As for Cardinal Pole himself, even Mr. Froude acknowledges that he was "not cruel." Burnet testifies that he rescued the inhabitants of his own district who were condemned to death from the hand of Bonner.[120]His secretary, Beccatelli, informs us that "he used his best endeavors that the sectaries might be treated with lenity, and no capital punishment inflicted on them;"[121]and he himself declares that he approved of putting heretics to death only in extreme cases.[122]Rigorous and severe punishmentsupon all classes of offenders, coercive measures and the stern exercise of authority were, however, according to the spirit of that age in every country, and it is not strange that the milder counsels of the gentle Pole were over-ruled, and that he was unable to hinder the executions desired by those who had the supreme power of the law in their hands. The administration of Mary was severe and despotic. Yet it is false to say that in her spirit and intentions she was cruel or tyrannical. What appears to us like an unnecessary and even impolitic rigor and vindictiveness against those who, by the laws of England, were rebels against both the civil and ecclesiastical authorities of the realm, was to a great extent due to the importunate counsels of the lay-lords. Even Bonner and Gardiner would gladly have pursued a milder policy, and the majority of the bishops and ecclesiastics, notwithstanding the atrocious persecutions to which they had been subjected under Henry and Edward, would have cordially sustained their primate if he had been left free to exercise his authority unimpeded by the interference of the civil power. Yet, though Mary's policy was severe, it was mercy itself compared to that of Henry, Elizabeth, and their Protestant successors. It is not only an atrocious calumny; it is a grim and dismal jest for the panegyrists of Elizabeth, and the exculpators of the hideous massacres of Cromwell, to affix the epithet of "bloody" to Queen Mary.[123]Moreover, it is not a mere question of a greater or lesser amount of bloodshed which should govern our award of justice in respect to the two cases. There is a difference of principle in the case, which an impartial Jew, Mohammedan, infidel, or even Protestant can and ought to admit, as some have admitted. Those persons who, in England or elsewhere, have been put to death by the civil power for the crime of heresy under the Catholic law, have been condemned for abjuring that religion in which they had been brought up, and which had been part of the law of the land, as well as the universal and traditional belief of the nation, from the beginning of its formation, or at least for centuries. Even if the principles of law by which they were condemned are pronounced tyrannical and unjust, it is plain that there is no parity between the case of a ruler acting on such principles, in common with other rulers of the time and of past ages, and according to maxims universally approved by jurists and statesmen, and one who compels his subjects to renounce their ancient laws and religion, and to abjure the faith in which they have been educated, at his individual whim and caprice. But although we are not disposed to abandon Queen Mary to her calumniators, we may give to Cardinal Pole the high honor of having been wiser than she was, or than her other counsellors were, and of having been in advance of the general spirit of his age in regard to the wisest and best method of treating religious errors, which had taken too deep a root to be summarily plucked up by a violent effort; and with these few remarks upon a topic which requires much greater space for a satisfactory discussion, we proceed with the personal history of the cardinal.
After Cranmer's execution, Cardinal Pole, who had hitherto been in deacons' orders, was ordained priest, consecrated bishop, and invested with the pallium as Archbishop of Canterbury. His works of piety were numerous; he founded religious houses,preached, prayed, and watched for souls in all respects as one that must give account. He was made chancellor of the University of Oxford, by the resignation of Sir John Mason, and chancellor of that of Cambridge also, on the death of Gardiner.
To a sensitive mind there is no greater anguish than that which springs from the hostility of those whom it has faithfully served. This suffering it was Cardinal Pole's lot to incur. His whole life had been devoted to God, the church, and the holy see. For these he had endured exile, persecution, and the loss of all things. For their sakes he had seen his mother and his dearest relatives dragged to the scaffold. In their cause he had studied, written, toiled, prayed, and wept till his hairs were gray. As their defender and champion he had been welcomed to England by his cousin and sovereign, raised to the head of the English church, and made the chief instrument in bringing back the ancient religion. But having done so, having given every proof a prelate could give of his devoted attachment to his religion, having twice been on the very steps of the papal throne, with what agony must his spirit have been tortured when he found, as he did find, that he was in disfavor with Paul IV.; that he was superseded as legate; that he was recalled to Rome; and that, to crown the cup of bitterness, he and his friend, Cardinal Morone, were to answer to a charge of heterodoxy before the Inquisition.[124]
"Does Almighty God, therefore," he wrote to the pontiff,[125]"require that a parent should slay his child? Once, indeed, he gave this precept when he commanded Abraham to offer in sacrifice his son Isaac, whom he tenderly loved, and through whom all the promises made to the father were to be accomplished. And what are now the preparations your holiness is making but so many forerunners of the sacrifice of my better life, that is, of my reputation? For in how wretched a sense must that pastor be said to live who has lost with his flock the credit of an upright belief?... Is this sword of anguish, with which you are about to pierce my soul, the return I am to receive for all my services?"
"Does Almighty God, therefore," he wrote to the pontiff,[125]"require that a parent should slay his child? Once, indeed, he gave this precept when he commanded Abraham to offer in sacrifice his son Isaac, whom he tenderly loved, and through whom all the promises made to the father were to be accomplished. And what are now the preparations your holiness is making but so many forerunners of the sacrifice of my better life, that is, of my reputation? For in how wretched a sense must that pastor be said to live who has lost with his flock the credit of an upright belief?... Is this sword of anguish, with which you are about to pierce my soul, the return I am to receive for all my services?"
Happily for the cardinal, Mary and Philip took his part. They remonstrated with the pope on the loss which they and their subjects would sustain if Pole were recalled, and they prevailed with the holy father so far that he consented to the cardinal's retaining the see of Canterbury, while he appointed Peto, the Greenwich friar, to supersede him as legate. Quite in the spirit of her father, Mary caused the nuncio who brought this decision to England to be arrested, and interdicted Peto from accepting the legatine office. He never received any official notice of his appointment, nor Pole of the papal decision. He was, however, too loyal a subject of the pope to avail himself of this regal interference. He ceased to act as legate, and sent his chancellor to Rome with entreaties and protests. Again the pope required that Pole should appear in Rome to clear himself from the charge of heresy; and Peto was summoned there also to assist the pontiff with his advice. Proceedings against the English cardinal were already commenced, and the distressing state of things was set at rest only by the death of some of the principal actors. Peto, the rival legate, died, and while the affair was still in suspense the grave closed over the disappointed, despairing queen, and the broken-hearted[126]cardinal. He was attacked by a quartan ague, and, feeling conscious of his approachingend, he made a will, in which he protested his attachment to the Church of Rome and especially to Pope Paul IV., from whom he had experienced treatment which seemed equally inexplicable and unkind. His last hours were passed in acts of devotion, and it was probably with supreme satisfaction that he laid his aching head on the pillow of death on the morning of the 18th of November, 1558. His friend, cousin, and sovereign had preceded him in the dark valley by only twenty-two hours, and he felt, no doubt, that his most powerful if not his best friend was no more. Elizabeth was already queen, and her Protestant tendencies were well known. There was every reason to suspect that she would reverse the religious system restored by her sister, and take advantage of the general unpopularity which Mary by her severity had incurred. There was one object only for which Cardinal Pole could reasonably wish to prolong his life, and that was to clear himself from the extraordinary charge which had been brought against him by calumniators. But it was the will of Providence that his fair and unspotted fame should be vindicated only after his death.
During forty days the palace at Lambeth was hung with black. An altar was placed in the apartment of the deceased cardinal, and masses were said constantly for the repose of his soul. His body was then conveyed to Canterbury with great pomp, and his funeral was followed by large numbers of citizens and clergy. The exalted rank of Cardinal Pole, the important part he had played in the history of his time, and the high offices he had filled made him an object of reverence to the multitude, who knew not, and did not even suspect, the intrigues of which he was the victim and the humiliating charge under which he lay.
We shall not endeavor in this place to follow the example of his indiscriminating panegyrists. Suffice it to say that he was a devoted son of the church, and that he did all in his power to resist the impious will of the tyrant with whom Providence had brought him face to face. His zeal for the conversion of England was laudable, though not crowned with the success which it deserved.
In his youth he had written a commentary on Cicero's works; but this was never printed, and the manuscript was lost. He excelled in exposition of the Scriptures, which were his constant study and delight. "His character," Mr. Froude allows, "was irreproachable; in all the virtues of the Catholic Church he walked without spot or stain."[127]He was honored with the friendship of men of great distinction, such as Sir Thomas More, Erasmus, Sadolet, Bishop of Carpentras, Bembo, Friuli, Paul III., and Ignatius Loyola. His forgiving disposition may be gathered from the fact that when three English ruffians came to Capranica to murder him, were arrested on suspicion, and confessed that they were emissaries of Henry VIII., he would only allow them to be condemned to the galleys for a few days. His clemency, as we have seen, in a relentless age, caused him to be suspected; and we have the testimony of Bishop Burnet, the Protestant historian of the Reformation,[128]to assure us that
"such qualities and such a temper as his, could he have brought others into the same measures, would probably have gone far toward bringing back this nation to the Church of Rome; as he was a man of as great probity and virtue as any of the age he lived in."
"such qualities and such a temper as his, could he have brought others into the same measures, would probably have gone far toward bringing back this nation to the Church of Rome; as he was a man of as great probity and virtue as any of the age he lived in."
"Hollo! George and Henry, where are you going in such a hurry? Can't you stop to speak to a fellow?" cried Frank Blair to his two school-mates, George Wingate and Henry Howe, whom he was trying to overtake in their walk on a fine afternoon in June.
"Yes," said George. "We can stop to speak, but not to stay long, for we are on our way to the church."
"What are you going to church for? You'd better come with me; for I can tell you there's lots of fun going on that you'll be sorry to lose!"
"What is it?" eagerly inquired Henry.
"Oh! I can't tell you unless you join us; all the fellows have agreed not to tell any thing about it, only to those who promise beforehand to go in and keep the whole secret."
"Ah! then," said George, "we could not agree to any such thing; for it would be wrong for us to make a promise like that beforehand. So we couldn't go with you, if we were not bound for the church."
"Why are you bound for church on a week-day?"
"Because," answered George, "to-morrow will be a festival, and we are going to help prepare the church, and then prepare ourselves for celebrating it."
"Well, I declare! I never did see any thing like you Catholic boys! You're a real puzzle to me; as pious as deacons, and take to religion as naturally as a duck does to water, and yet I know you love fun just as well as any of us. What are you going to do to prepare for this festival?"
"Oh! we shall help the sacristan, who is an infirm old man, to make the church neat and tidy, in the first place. Then we shall assist in getting evergreens ready for the decoration; and we expect our mothers and sisters with flowers to be arranged in vases for the altar, while we are twining and putting up wreaths. We hope to make the church very beautiful for the great feast of the Blessed Sacrament. After we get this all done, we shall prepare for holy communion, which we hope to receive to-morrow."
"And how do you prepare for that?"
"First of all, we make our examination of conscience, and say our prayers in preparation for confession."
"You go to confession! Why, I thought none but sinners confessed to the priest."
"And don't you think we are sinners?" said George.
"Of course not! How can we boys be sinners? I never thought of such a thing. I don't believe I'm a sinner at all! I only love a frolic once in a while; and I hate religion, because it's such a gloomy kind of business. So you think you won't join us, eh?"
"No; we have other matters to attend to."
"Well, then, good-by; but you'll be sorry you didn't go with us, I can tell you!"
He left them, and the two boys walked on in silence for some time. At length Henry said with a sigh,
"Don't you wish we could have gone with them, George? I'll warrantyou there's some grand fun up. I wonder what it is?"
"No matter what it is, Henry. We have only to do what is right, and what we know we ought to do first, and then we shall find ways enough to enjoy ourselves; and have more enjoyment, too, than we should if we neglected duty for pleasure."
"I suppose you are right," said Henry sadly; "but I can't help thinking there's more sport in going off with a lot of boys for a frolic than there is in being good, and helping the women fix up the church. It don't seem to me like boys' work, to be fussing with wreaths and bouquets."
"Ah my fine fellow! you are really getting very smart. What do you think of our fathers, and of Mr. A—— and Mr. S——, two of the most active business men in the place—and yet they take as much interest in having the church made beautiful for the divine offices as the women do. Don't you remember how Mr. A——, when he couldn't leave court during the trial of an important case, sent one of his students, and his man with a ladder, to help put up the wreaths last Christmas? Mighty smart for us boys to think it is too small business for us, to be sure! Then, as to the fun, we'll wait and see how the boys come out with their frolic. I have my own notion that there'll be more mischief than sport, and that we may hereafter be glad we had no part in it. Frank Blair is a pleasant, good-natured fellow; but he is a reckless chap too. He had learned a great many city tricks before they came here to live, and will do any thing for fun, without thinking of the consequences. Any way, we know there's nothing like duty first and play afterwards to make boys happy."
The church was situated in the very shadow of a wood that skirts the pretty village of M——, in northern Vermont. When the two boys reached it, they found quite an assemblage of their school-fellows awaiting the arrival of the sacristan, who soon appeared, and sent some into the woods with axes and hatchets to cut the evergreens, dispatched others with pails for water, and kept George and Henry to help him in the church.
They had just finished arranging all in order and dusting the sanctuary, when their mothers and sisters arrived with the flowers, which they took to a little room adjoining the sacristy, where the pails of water were left. Very soon some of the boys came in with the evergreen trees; the beautiful trailing pines of several varieties, and graceful feathery foliage of brilliant green, together with a profusion of other wild-wood treasures, which they had collected. The village girls also came bringing wild flowers and other contributions for the decoration.
Young Catholics in country places need not be told how pleasantly the time passed with this company in the varied occupations of tying wreaths, arranging bouquets in the vases, putting up the festooned garlands, winding the pillars, and executing other devices, with which they are already so familiar as to need no information. But it is certain that the young people of cities, losing all these true and natural enjoyments, as well as the developments of taste and ingenuity to which they lead, lose a valuable aid to devotion. They who cannot participate in the adornment of the material temple for the worship ofGod, by bringing the simple offerings of the woodlands and the valleys for its embellishment, lose a very important incentive to the due preparation of the spiritual temple for his reception.
Before the arrival of the priest, the work of decoration was completed, and each pious heart was gladdened to see how beautiful the altar looked, smiling through a profusion of flowers, whose fragrance hovered around the tabernacle of the Lord like a breath from paradise, and embowered in wreaths prepared from the "glory of Libanus," together with tributes from "the fir-tree, the box-tree, and the pine," which youthful hands had collected to "beautify the place of his sanctuary, and to make the place of his feet glorious."
When all was finished, the cheerful crowd quietly sought their places in the church, to prepare for the holy sacrament of reconciliation.
While these busy performances were in progress, George had looked in vain among the young people assembled to discover two lads who were near his own age, and in whom he felt a special interest—Michael Hennessy and Dennis Sullivan. He feared they had been drawn away into the expedition of their school-mates mentioned by Frank Blair.
On the following morning, the priest announced during the mass that there would be no vespers that afternoon, as he was going to visit another parish. After mass, Mr. Wingate and Mr. Howe told George and Henry that they intended taking the two families out to Mr. Howe's farm, a few miles distant, that afternoon, and that they might invite some of their young friends to accompany them. They were delighted; for there was nothing they enjoyed so much as their occasional visits to the farm. So they sought among the crowd at the church door their friends Mike and Dennis; but they were not to be found. They invited Patrick Casey, and a few other boys, to come to their homes after dinner and join the excursion.
Soon after dinner the large family carriages were brought up, and such a bustle ensued, stowing away in the vehicles baskets filled with buttered biscuits, cold ham and tongue, sandwiches, cakes, and sundry other delicacies, with a package of table-cloths and napkins, as betokened a grand supper in the woods, which was of all things the most delightful to the boys.
The party were soon comfortably packed into the capacious carriages, and set off in high glee. When they arrived at the farm-house, Mrs. Howe made arrangements for a plentiful supply of milk, fresh strawberries and cream, and other things, to be taken to a certain place in the woods at a time appointed, and the merry company set out in quest of the quiet nooks and shady dells of the forest.
There was no end to the pleasant incidents that here met our young people at every turn. They had scarcely entered the shadowy domain, when a partridge whirred up from their very feet into a tree over their heads, and they soon discovered she had left a brood of her young below. Such a scramble as took place in pursuit of the shy little beauties!—the girls holding their aprons, that the captives might be deposited in them as fast as caught. It was funny to see how the wise little creatures would hide under every chip, bit of bark, or dead leaf, and, when these were lifted, how still they would lie, as if lifeless—so near the color of the ground that it was hard to distinguish them—and allow themselves to be taken.
After sufficiently admiring their tiny prisoners, they set them at liberty,and resumed their exploration of the forest. Very soon one of them came across a night-hawk's nest on the ground, and called all the party to admire it, with its treasure of curious brown eggs. Then they discovered a blue-bird's nest built with rare skill in a hole in the trunk of a tree. And now a splendid gray squirrel attracted their attention; he ran up a tree and out to the end of a limb, where he sat calmly defying all their efforts to frighten or knock him off. A discussion upon squirrels and their habits ensued, and "Grandma" Howe told them she once saw a large gray squirrel by a small sheet of water, where a dashing mountain brook had subsided into a quiet basin, which he wanted to cross. He stood on the margin for some time, as if considering the matter—turning himself to ascertain the direction of the wind, which happened to be favorable—then, seizing a chip that lay near him, threw it into the water, and springing aboard of his little craft, raised his tail to catch the wind, and sailed across swiftly and safely. When he gained the other shore, he jumped off, and did not even have the politeness to pull his boat ashore after him.
All this time Mr. Squirrel sat eying his guests of "the green-wood" very composedly, occasionally stamping his little foot with pretty pettishness, and at length fell to nibbling a last year's beech-nut which he had carried up to his perch for a lunch with so much coolness that his young observers were quite charmed, and determined to leave him to munch his nut in peace. They now sought a bright little brook that danced gayly over shining pebbles near by, and the murmur of whose waters, mingling with the rustle of leaves stirred by the breath of June, whispered in sweet harmony the song of the woods. They soon reached a fringe of graceful willows marking its course, and dipping their pendent limbs to kiss the crystal flood.
Just then Mr. Howe overtook the party and called out, "Boys, who would like to try some trout-fishing in the brook?"
Of course the boys were all eager for the sport; but where was the necessary fishing-tackle?
"Ah!" said Mr. Howe, "you see I have provided for that," producing a case filled with jointed rods, flies, lines, and all needful appliances for trout-fishing.
Each boy was soon supplied, and started off in search of the deep pools and sequestered waters favorable for their sport; while the girls rambled on, delighting themselves with the beautiful June flowers, peeping into each shaded recess for the modest feathered orchis—queen of its tribe, and most fragrant flower of the woods—and exploring the more open spaces near the brook, for the several varieties of elegant and fantastic "ladies' slippers," which abound in the woodlands of northern Vermont. Then the splendid lichens and ferns attracted their admiring notice; and before the hour for their repast arrived, they had accumulated a wealth of sylvan treasures wherewith to embellish their homes, and keep alive pleasant recollections of their brief sojourn in those woody solitudes.
At length an envoy from the farm-house arrived laden with refreshments—cards of pure white honey-comb filled with transparent sweets, cream of the richest, field strawberries in profusion, and milk fresh and abundant The girls soon spread the snow-white cloths on the turf at the foot of an ancient oak by the brook-side, and, under the direction of the elder ladies, emptied the baskets and prepared an ambrosial banquet, while Mr. Wingate called in the stragglers, and theyoung fishers of the party, to partake of it. They were reluctant to leave sports which they were enjoying so much, and saw the day drawing to a close with regret. Each boy brought a fine string of trout for the Friday morning's breakfast, and appetites sharpened by their green wood scramble to the luxurious and plentiful repast.
At the close of their meal they prepared to return, and were soon on their homeward course; the young people all declaring that they had never passed an afternoon more delightful. George and Henry were very sure, as they remarked to each other, that Frank Blair and his companions could not have had so pleasant a time on their frolic of the evening before.
On the eve of the festival, as Frank Blair was sauntering down the street, after he had left George and Henry, he met Michael Hennessy and Dennis Sullivan.
"Hurrah boys! you're the very chaps I wanted to find," said he. "I say, don't you want to go in with a lot of us for a real tip-top time?"
"What is it?" they both inquired eagerly, when Frank said something in a low voice, to which they responded, "Yes, yes! we promise;" and he went on in the same tone to explain the plan.
"But we can't," said Michael; "our pockets are as empty as a last year's bird's nest, and this requires money."
"Oh! never mind that," was Frank's reply, "I'll plank the tin;" which announcement was met by a merry shout and, "We'll go!" from them both.
"Well, then," said Frank, "meet us at the depot within the hour," and passed on.
Now these boys had been on their way to the church; but after they parted with Frank, they turned their course toward the depot. As they were walking silently and leisurely along in that direction, Dennis spoke:
"I say, Mike, it seems to me that this is not just the right thing we are doing; our mothers think we are at the church, and I'm afraid no good will come of our turning away in this fashion."
"O you fool!" said Mike, "they'll never know but we are at the church, and fun's better than religion any day. I hate such humdrum ways, going along every day alike, and never a scrape of any sort; and so do all the boys."
"Not all of them; for there's George Wingate loves fun as well as any of us, and a grand hand to help it on too; but he never leaves better things for it," said Dennis sadly.
"Georgeisa regular brick and no mistake. He takes to fun and religion, each in its own time, as if there were nothing else in the world; but we can't all be like him, and there's no use in trying. I warrant you now that, if he could only have the chance, there's Henry Howe would a great sight rather pitch in for fun in a scrape like this, than go George's roads."
"Perhaps he would," and Dennis paused a moment sighing; "but I'm afraid it isn't right, especially for catholic boys. It's a poor preparation for to-morrow."
"Nonsense! boys can't be saints. We'll leave that to our mothers, they can say prayers enough for us and themselves too; so we may enjoy ourselves while we can. But I wonder where Frank gets all his money; his father is a stingy old curmudgeon, they say, and I don't understand it."
"Don't you know that his father's maiden sister, who lives with him, is rich, and she fills Frank's pockets.He told me so. He said that when he could get his father's permission, as he did to go to these shows this afternoon, his aunt furnished all the money he wanted."
In this way they chatted until they reached the depot, where a multitude of wildly excited boys soon absorbed their attention, and drowned the whispers of conscience for poor Dennis.
Meantime, as Frank was on his way home to replenish his purse for the evening, he met Patrick Casey and Johnny Hart, and accosted them much as he had Michael and Dennis. They objected that they were going to the church and could not join his party.
"O fol-de-rol!" said he; "there'll be chances enough to go to church, but you won't often have such a chance as this for a frolic. Mike Hennessy and Dennis Sullivan are going—"
"Are they?" eagerly exclaimed Johnny. "Then I'll go too. Won't you, Pat?"
"No, I won't!" said Pat resolutely. "If Mike and Dennis choose to do wrong, is that any reason why we should? Come along Johnny, and don't be a fool!"
Johnny hesitated as Patrick passed on, and Frank said the fools were those who'd lose all the sport for the sake of being as dull as beetles, and making old women of themselves; adding,
"There'll be time enough to be pious after you have done being jolly!"
This artful speech decided poor Johnny, who turned and went to the depot.
But why did Frank Blair say nothing of those who refused to go, while he baited his snare with the names of those who consented? It was because boys understand fully the force ofexample, and can wield it with great power to secure their ends. When we consent to act contrary to the still small voice of conscience, we never know how far the consequences of that act may extend. Evil examples attract more imitators than good ones—but woe to him who furnishes them; while firm adherence to the right may win some wavering soul to the path of duty, which will shine as one of the brightest jewels in our crown of rejoicing hereafter!
Johnny had hardly reached the depot before Frank arrived, and presently a train of cars came thundering up, the boys hastening to secure seats for the little village of H——, a short distance from M——, where they soon arrived, and upon leaving the cars found a great crowd gathered around an immense tent, awaiting the opening of the exhibition. This was announced in astounding illustrated hand-bills as the most remarkable one ever witnessed, embracing more unheard-of enormities in the brute creation, and wonders of the human race, than were ever before congregated in one assemblage.
When the tent was opened, the rush that ensued baffles description; during the progress of which Mike's elbows came in closer contact with the ribs of a boy near him than was at all comfortable, while Dennis Sullivan's fist went very innocently into the face of a lad who was pushing his way more sharply than was agreeable to his neighbors, leaving, in its unconscious energy, a "black eye" in his visage.
While the crowd was slowly entering the tent, the boys from M—— indulged themselves in dealing out a series of these little jokes, more to their own satisfaction than to that of the recipients. At length it was suspected they were not wholly accidental or unintentional, when a general row ensued, and cries of "Hustlethem out!" "Give them fits!" "Pitch into the boys from M——!" were wildly shouted from all sides. Our heroes stood their ground with a coolness worthy of a better cause, giving as many hard blows as they received and shouting, "Don't you H—— boys want to come to M—— to see the elephant again? Don't you wish you could, now? We'll show you we know how to return small compliments, we will!"
In truth, as it turned out, the M—— boys were in so much "better training," as the pugilists say, that those of H—— were in a fair way to get soundly pommelled, when some men interfered to stop the fight and inquire the cause. Frank spoke for his party.
"Well, gentlemen, these youngsters came to M—— the last time we had a menagerie and circus there, and behaved themselves so outrageously that a company of us determined we would pay them the first chance we had. And I think we have; grand fun it has been too!"
"Precious fun itmusthave been!" said a plain, farmer-like man; "and a beautiful pack you've made of one another out and out! Torn clothes, broken shins, bleeding noses, black eyes, and more bumps on your tarnal heads than the old frenologer feller that goes round lectering with a skull ever thought of! A pretty lookin' set of picters you are, an't you?"
"You bet!" said Frank; then turning to his companions, "but boys, I say, didn't we pepper them, though? I don't believe they'll want to come to M—— the next show-day. If they do, we'll be ready for them, eh, boys?"
A wild hurrah was the reply, and they sought a neighboring brook to wash off such traces of the conflict as water could efface. At Frank's invitation they then gathered around a booth where pies, cakes, gingerbread, lemonade, candies, and a variety of other delicacies were dispensed, where they refreshed themselves heartily after their exertions.
Before they had concluded their repast, the crowd had all disappeared within the capacious tent, and the shadows of evening were gathering fast. Not caring to go in directly, our young adventurers amused themselves by performing numerous pranks in which mischief was more conspicuous than sense or wit.
A young lawyer of the place, being quite devoted in his attentions to the merchant's daughter, they took the sign from his office and placed it on the front door of the merchant's residence. They removed a sign from one of the shops, on which was marked, "Codfish, salt and fresh; herrings, pickled and smoked; Boston cured hams—for sale here. N.B. Deacon's skins taken in exchange,"[129]and fastened it over the "meeting-house" door, writing under it with chalk, in large letters, "Inquire within."
Seeing a donkey quietly munching his nettles in a corner of the village green, they captured him, and with great exertion succeeded in imprisoning him within a back shed attached to a cottage where a maiden lady resided alone. When they tired of these and similar foolish exploits, too numerous to mention, they entered the tent. Unfortunately, their mischievous propensities entered with them. Frank soon began to amuse himself by tweaking the whiskers of a peevish old monkey, which forthwith sprang to the top of his head, and, holding on by his hair, planted its teeth so firmly in his ear that the young gentleman was fain to cry out for the keeper. At the same moment, Dennis had placed a piece of tobacco on the extremity of the elephant's trunk,and not dodging instantly, as he intended, was seized by the enraged animal and tossed to the top of the tent, coming down upon the bald head of an elderly gentleman, who, catching him with one hand, shook him until his teeth chattered, at the same time administering telling blows with the disengaged hand upon the sorely bruised urchin within his grasp.
While this was going on in one part of the tent, another of the enterprising company had ventured to cross the forbidden inclosure before the lion's cage, and was glad to escape from the claws of the animal with a coat badly torn, and scratches upon his face which he carried for many a day.
After a series of similar mishaps, the party took the down-train for home, each bearing unmistakable marks of thefun, and protesting they never before had such a "tip-top time," though Frank's misgivings found utterance in a low voice to Mike,
"My father's awfully severe, and I don't know what the old trump will say to all this when he hears of it; but it can't be helped now!"
He was not the only one of the company who was haunted by secret fears as to how the proofs of the affray, which each one carried on his person, would be regarded by their home circles.
Very quietly did the party of young pleasure-seekers retire to their beds, after they arrived at their homes that evening, fatigued and exhausted with the excitement of the past few hours. Nor were they in any haste to make themselves visible on the following morning.
Mrs. Sullivan called Dennis early to bring some water and assist her, that they might go to church in good season; but her calls were unheeded. So she sought his room, exclaiming, "Why, what ails you, Dinnie, my boy, that you cannot awaken for my calling?"
The mother's eye was quick to detect that something was wrong the moment it rested on the countenance of her hopeful son, and she added,
"For goodness' sake, Dinnie, darling, what has happened you, any how?"
Dennis made an awkward and blundering apology which entirely failed to satisfy his mother, who soon drew the whole story from him.
"It's all along of that dirty Frank Blair!" said she. "I wish to goodness he was across the sea, with his rogue's tricks and monkey pranks! It's no use trying to rear Catholic children to respect their religion, and attend to their duties, among these Yankees! They'd entice the very priest at the altar! A pretty shindy you've cut up now! But get up, and let us see how you are entirely."
Poor Dennis attempted to obey; but his head ached so cruelly, he was so lame and bruised and sore, that he became faint the moment he tried to sit up; and one of his eyes was swollen to such a degree that he could not open it.
"Bad luck to the mischief of these boys!" said his mother. "I see he'll never be able to go with me to church this day; so he may as well keep to his bed."
Glad enough was Dennis to creep back to his nest.
Mike Hennessy and Johnny Hart were not in so bad a plight, but they were unable to go to church.
As the boys were lying through the long hours oppressed with the languor that follows such wild excitement, andwith aching bones, their reflections upon the frolic and its consequences were by no means consoling. Nor did the comparisons they drew between the lawful sports of the play-ground and the reckless turbulence of "tip-top times" fail to decide the question in favor of the more quiet enjoyments.
Was it a pale phantom that sat by the bedside of each during those hours—while the joyful bells of the great feast were sending forth their jubilant peals—and searching his very soul with reproachful eyes pointed an uplifted finger from the painful realities of thenowto the calm vision of whatmight have been, had he followed the voice of conscience and the requirements of duty, until he shrunk affrighted from the picture? Ah! no, my boys; it was no phantom; it was the onlyrealityin the sight of which these mortal frames of ours subside to dust, and in comparison with the permanence of which they become—with all their importunate sensibilities, their worldly ambitions, their earthly cravings, and their fleeting pleasures—but the "baseless fabrics of a dream!" It was the tender, vigilant, and ever-present friend of the sinner; his best friend, his other self—his conscience! destined to be the crowning joy of his home in heaven, or to be exchanged at the portals of death for remorse, the gnawing "worm that never dies," in the regions of "eternal despair"! Woe to that boy who sins, and who fails to receive, in his first solitary hours, a visit from the reproving monitor, or to profit by its awakening and warning voice!
The next morning they were so much better that they could go to school, and meeting George Wingate in the yard, he exclaimed, "Why, boys, where were you yesterday, that you did not come to church? Henry and I looked for you through the whole crowd, to invite you to go with us to the farm. Pat Casey went, and we had the best kind of a time; we were so sorry you were not with us!"
They replied that they were not well, and had to stay at home. George noticed their embarrassment, and that the face of Dennis betrayed bruises about the eye, while Mike's forehead and Johnny's nose displayed traces of a similar nature, and he conjectured the cause of their absence from church.
After school, as he and Henry were walking home, Henry remarked, "I suspect, George, that wherever the boys went that afternoon, they had a rousing fight, for ever so many of them show the marks of it. I heard a man telling that there was a great row among the boys at the show in H—— that night; and I shouldn't wonder if our fellows were among them."
"We need not trouble ourselves about it," George replied; "but I thought at the time it was very likely we might be thankful we were called another way, and had nothing to do with their frolic. I've noticed that when boys go off by themselves in pursuit of fun, they seldom come out the better for it; and as for enjoyment, there is just none at all. I wouldn't give one hour of such pleasure as we found in the woods for the wildest frolic they can get up."
"Nor I either," said Henry; "I'm determined I won't have any part in their scrapes hereafter. If no other trouble followed, the shame of going to confession after a wild row is enough to destroy all the pleasure."
"Yes," George rejoined; "and I don't see how our boys who mean to go regularly to their confession can join heartily in these mad pranks. As for those who have no such intention, why, the less we have to do with them the better."
As Frank Blair had expected, his father was very much offended at the share he had taken in the performances at H——, and the assault upon the boys, of which he was informed the next morning by a man from H——, who told him all about the fright, and the tricks that had been played at that place: also, that the maiden lady, Miss Merton, whose bedroom happened to be in a part of the house adjoining the shed where the donkey was imprisoned, had been frightened almost to death by the braying of the animal in the night. Under the firm impression that the lion had escaped and was attacking her house, she rushed out in her night-dress, and, espying a light in a small shop near by, broke in upon three little French shoemakers, who were sitting up to finish some job-work that must be ready for morning. Now, one of these had been whiling away the time by stories of a ghost in a Canadian village, that had visited several families, and could assume the guise of different persons, living and dead. He was just reciting one of the most harrowing of these incidents when the sudden apparition of the lady in a long white dress, with a face of ghastly pallor, and eyes distended with affright, burst upon their astounded vision! Not for a moment doubting its unearthly nature, one of them jumped through an open window, another sprung up a ladder and out upon the roof, while the third took refuge under a dry-goods box in the cellar.
The unfortunate lady, thinking that the lion was in close pursuit, and that a glimpse of it through the open door had caused the sudden stampede of the shoemakers, dared not turn back; but betook herself to screaming at the top of her voice, in which she was joined by the affrighted sons of Crispin in so vigorous a chorus that the whole village was soon aroused.
When the cause of all the disturbance was revealed, and the harmless animal released from captivity, it was almost impossible to persuade the lady that her life was not in danger; and there was such serious question of sending to M—— and arresting the juvenile offenders, that Mr. Blair was advised to go immediately to H—— and settle the matter.
As for the shoemakers, we may be permitted to add—somewhat in advance of our story—the fact that their terrified imaginations had so far misled their reason that they could never again be persuaded to work in the shop after night-fall, or be led to believe fully in the identity of Miss Merton with their ghastly midnight visitant.
The man who communicated these details gave Mr. Blair the names of all the boys of the party whom he knew, among them those of Michael, Dennis, and Johnny.
"Those pestilent Irish boys!" Mr. Blair exclaimed indignantly. "They are always drawing our Yankee boys into fights and mischief! Some measures ought to be taken to make examples of them, and prevent these outbreaks."
He intimated the same to Frank that day while lecturing him severely for "following such ringleaders" into disgraceful riots. Frank had too much honor to permit his father to remain in this error, and protested stoutly that it was himself who persuaded them into it; but it was evident enough that he failed to convince his father of that fact. Mr. Blair was not an ill-natured man, and did not intend to be unjust; but he unfortunately indulged the prejudices againstforeigners into which too many Americans fall without pausing to examine whether they are just. They take a few bad specimens upon which to found a sweeping sentence against the whole class, not reflecting that the vices of the wicked serve to render them conspicuous, while the modest virtues of the good only withdraw them from public notice.
After he had given Frank a very stern admonition, Mr. Blair proceeded to inform him that a certain fowling-piece which had long been the object of his most ardent desire, and of which he had hoped to gain possession before the Fourth of July, would not now be purchased for him, on account of his misconduct; and that immediate steps would be taken to secure a place for him in the naval school at A——, in the fall.
These were severe blows to Frank. The disappointment of his cherished hopes in connection with the much-coveted fowling-piece, and his dread of the naval school, where he knew the discipline was so strict as to prevent the possibility of mischief, combined to make him take a very desponding view of life in general, and of what he regarded as the bondage to "old fogyism," in particular. He resolved, however, to behave in so exemplary a manner from that time as to induce his father to relent, if possible; for he knew present remonstrance or pleading would be in vain.
He became so very quiet and regular in his deportment that he soon won "golden opinions" on all hands, much to the delight of his aunt, with whom he was a special pet, and who hoped her brother might yet allow him to remain at home.
It was an unusually warm summer, and a Mrs. Plimpton, a friend of the Blairs from the city where they had formerly resided, came to pass the warm season with them, bringing her family—a son about the age of Frank, and two daughters younger.
Soon after she came, Mrs. Wingate and Mrs. Howe called to see her, and brought George and Henry to call upon the young strangers and Frank.
When they left, Mrs. Plimpton remarked, "What very agreeable people! And those young lads—so sociable, modest, and gentlemanly! I do not wonder that Frank's manners are so genial and quiet, since he has such associates."
"Frank does not associate much with them; and though Mrs. Wingate and Mrs. Howe are very agreeable, as you say, yet we have but little intercourse with them," Mrs. Blair replied, dryly and frigidly.
"And why not, let me beg to know?" inquired Mrs. Plimpton with evident surprise. "In so small a place I should think you would want to cultivate sociability with all people of intelligence and refinement!"
"We would be glad to, and they would be a valuable acquisition to any society, if they were not Romanists. But when enlightened Americans, who should and do know better, see fit to plunge themselves into that abyss of superstition and exploded absurdities, they ought to be avoided by all sensible people."
"And is that all?" said Mrs. Plimpton, laughing. "Why, my dear friend, I had hoped better things of you! I supposed by your solemn manner that there was some serious moral delinquency on their part. Really, I must be permitted to dissent entirely from your theory and practice in this matter. I am sure you cannot be aware of all that is going on in our cities. Many of my dearest friends are Catholics; some Americans and some foreigners; and the dear Sisters—now, don't look so shocked! I entreat of you—are my special favorites, and best counsellors. I have quite taken theminto my entire confidence on some most important affairs. 'Romanists,' indeed! Why, if we were to proscribe all the Catholics, we should lose a charming portion of our society. We 'liberal Christians' do not feel disposed to carry religious prejudices into the social circle, or to avoid pleasant people on account of their preferences or peculiarities in this respect. I shall only seek the acquaintance of these ladies the more earnestly for this reason. Do you know how their change of faith was brought about?"
"I never troubled myself to ask," Mrs. Blair said languidly.
"I can tell you!" said Miss Blair. "I heard the whole story from one of their particular friends, who has followed their example. It seems Mr. Wingate, who is a gentleman of wealth and leisure, had amused himself by devoting much time and attention to studying the principles of architecture—especially the ecclesiastical branch, for which he had a great taste. When it was proposed to build a Catholic church in the place, he begged permission to furnish a plan, which was accorded. This was so entirely satisfactory—combining exquisite artistic proportions with the close attention to economy in all the details, which is indispensable where the resources are limited—that he was urged to superintend the progress of the building, which he consented to do. Soon after operations were commenced, one Patrick Hennessy, an excellent mechanic, came to the place, having recently emigrated from Ireland, and was employed to aid in the work. Mr. Wingate had frequent conversations—controversies, if you will—with him on religious subjects, and was surprised to find, not only that Hennessy was perfectly acquainted with all the points at issue between Catholics and Protestants, but that his own preconceived opinions in relation to these questions were many of them false. He borrowed and read Hennessy's books, and the result you know. His wife, a highly cultivated and thoughtful woman, went with him heart and hand. Their children were then quite young.
"Mrs. Howe was a very different person from her sister, Mrs. Wingate. She was a fashionable lady, and, though not as wealthy as her sister, aspired to lead thetonin our little village. She assumed many airs, established intimacies and exchanged visits with stylish city ladies, which were more gratifying to her vanity than creditable to her good sense. When Mrs. Wingate became a Catholic, she entirely discontinued all intercourse with her, and uttered many sharp remarks upon the subject. She had never been as much beloved as her sister, and her course had provoked many envious and ill-natured comments, to which was now added the remark that she had not so much religion herself that she need be disturbed by the religious preferences of others. To tell the story in few words, she was finally taken suddenly very ill. The first person she called for was her discarded sister, who came and watched over her early and late with devoted tenderness—never leaving her bedside. When the physician pronounced her case all but utterly hopeless, she begged that the priest might be sent for; this had been the object of her sister's most fervent and constant prayers, but she had not dared even to mention it. Mr. Howe, after great hesitation, at length yielded to the wish of his idolized and dying wife. The priest came, baptized and received her into the Catholic Church. She lingered a long time, as it were, between life and death; but a strong natural constitution prevailed, and she recovered. After her recovery, thechange in her character was so marked and entire as to be apparent to all, and she came to be regarded as even more lovely than her sister. Mr. Howe soon followed her example, and their circle has since been increased by the addition of converts from time to time. I entirely agree with you as to the folly of abstaining from intercourse with them, and have become quite familiar with that coterie—a delightful one it is, too!"
"And is that all?" Mrs. Blair pointedly asked.
"All for the present," Miss Blair replied, smiling.
"How long will it be before you follow such interesting examples? It strikes me, I have seen a lady reading books lately that I should not once have thought could claim a moment's attention from her; but wonders will never cease, I believe!"
"I am not so tied to any set of opinions as to refuse to read the other side."
"Well," said Mrs. Plimpton, "I have never thought it worth while to trouble myself much about these matters; but I always read whatever I choose on any subject, and I think every one has a right to do so."
TO BE CONTINUED.