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Old Church Clock

<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3> <blockquote>—An unlessoned Girl, unschool’d, unpractis’d; Happy in this she is not yet so old But she may learn; and happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn; Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit Commits itself to yours, to be directed. Shakspere. </blockquote> “Robert Walker was less surprised at my history (which it took me a long time to tell) than I had expected him to be.  In fact he knew almost every thing that was going on in his parish, and people often wondered how he came to know so intimately matters concerning themselves, which they had supposed were closely locked up in their own breasts alone.  When I told him of the pestilent doctrines which the stranger was spreading among the miners and others of his flock, he immediately reminded me that he had darkly hinted at this in the sermon which he preached to us before our confirmation; the substance of which I have just related to you.  I thought he would have split his sides with laughing when I told him of the way in which Gawen Braithwaite and I had dispersed the assembly by our sudden and unintentional intrusion into their councils; and tapping me playfully on the cheek, while his eyes ran over with tears of mirth, he said, ‘Take care, my good lad, as long as you live, that you never play the devil in any other character than you did last night!  He is a kittle customer to deal with, and generally has the best of it in the end with those who meddle too much with his concerns.  Resist the devil,’ said he solemnly, ‘resist the devil and he will flee from you—aye,’ he added, smiling once more at the recollection, p. 78quite as fast as silly Willie Tyson and his man Peter!’ “‘And so they ran, did they?’ continued he, for he could not get the amusing notion out of his head, ‘very fast, eh?’ “‘Like rats out of a burning corn-stack,’ said I. “‘I do wish I had been with you,’ said the old man; ‘I would have set up a halloo that would have rung in Willie’s ears till—till—till he gets Coniston Hall!’ and he laughed once more till his sides shook again. “His mood, however, was soon changed into sober sadness, when I proceeded to explain to him how the handsome stranger had won the heart of my poor sister Martha, and how deeply and unchangeably I feared her affections were engaged.  Martha was a great favourite with Mr. Walker, as indeed she was with every one who knew her; and he saw at once the difficulty of her situation.  ‘Poor thing!’ said he, with a deep expression of melancholy foreboding on his countenance, ‘what is to become of her!  I know her well: she has not given her heart hastily, nor hastily will she withdraw it.  What a fiend he must be to steal the affections of one so good, so innocent, and so confiding!  Bad men are always selfish; and with all his professions of zeal for the liberty and instruction of mankind, he could not forget his own interests, or restrain his passions.  ’Tis always thus; they who deal with evil on a large scale, are almost sure to indulge in a little private vice on their own account!  Yet why condemn him hastily?  The man that could win the heart of our Martha must have in him something that is plausible at least, if not estimable.  She would not give away her diamonds for Irton pearls. [78]  Who knows but the believing maiden may be even now converting the unbelieving lover?  I will speak to her on the subject, and that before I am a day older.  I think, my young friend, she will not hesitate to confess to me her inmost thoughts?’ p. 79“‘I will answer for that,’ said I; ‘but how is the interview to be brought about?  I shrink from entering upon the subject with her myself, and should be the unwilling bearer of any message which might lead her to suspect that I had in any way played a false part towards her.’ “‘Leave that to me,’ said the old man, ‘I see no difficulty in the matter.’  He turned to his little writing-table, which drew out from beneath his book shelves, (for we were in his little room on the top of the house which he had fitted up for his private study,) and wrote as follows: <blockquote>“‘My dear Martha, I wish to see you tomorrow on particular business, and at eleven o’clock.  Bring your brother with you as a companion by the way.  Your affectionate Pastor, Robert Walker.’ </blockquote> “This note removed every difficulty at once, as far as I was concerned.  I was thus not supposed to have any knowledge whatever of the occasion of this summons, but was merely to be an attendant on my sister’s steps.  Now, sir, it is very remarkable, and I have never since been able to account for it, that though I have generally well remembered (as you have heard) the state of the sky and weather, and the little incidents of the journey, on every other occasion that I have thought of sufficient importance to relate to you, (for such things always make a deep impression on the mind of a mountaineer,) yet, on this occasion—one of the last that I shall ever forget—the whole landscape is to me a perfect blank, and I have not the slightest recollection of any single event that occurred from the moment when poor Martha and I left our father’s door, to that when we stood before the parsonage of Seathwaite, and were welcomed by Robert Walker into his dark and spacious dining-room!  That welcome, and the soft yet somewhat melancholy smile on his countenance, I shall never forget.  As we stood together, looking out from the long low window on the rich landscape before us, we saw the p. 80handsome stranger cross the little foot-bridge that led from the other side of the Duddon to the Parsonage, and make his way directly for the door of the house.  Martha, who was the first to observe him, turned very pale, as if on the point of fainting, and said in an anxious low voice to Mr. Walker, ‘I cannot meet him here!’ and made for the door as if to escape.  The old man laid his hand gently on her arm and said, ‘You are too late to avoid him, but go behind the squab if you wish not to be seen; you will be safe enough there.’ “This squab was a long oaken seat, or settle, with a high wooden back, running from the fire-place half way down the middle of the room.  I dare say such seats (and very uncomfortable they are) are still to be found in most of the old farm-houses in the North. “The stranger entered as Martha disappeared; and I was very much struck with the ease and grace of his manner.  He wore the look and air of one who was on the best possible terms with himself and all the world.  Much as I felt disposed to dislike him, I could not help admiring both his person and address.  There was an awkwardness and nervous action about Mr. Walker, which I now observed for the first time, that showed to great disadvantage when compared with the stranger’s ease and self-possession. “After courteously placing a seat for his visitor, Mr. Walker took his accustomed place in his arm-chair in the corner, and then his wonted calmness and dignity at once returned.  The stranger was the first to break the silence. “‘Well, reverend sir,’ said he, with a bland smile on his face, ‘I am here at your own request.  How you found out my place of abode I am at some loss to discover, and what your particular business may be with me, I can still less conjecture.  I shall doubtless learn both at your convenience.’ “There was nothing in the words of this address to give the slightest offence; yet there was something in the tone in which it was uttered, to excite uncomfortable feelings in my mind, and I saw Mr. Walker slightly colour, as if he felt somewhat nettled at the manner at least of the address.  Yet the feeling, if such existed, soon passed off; and he resumed his usual calm yet somewhat firm expression of countenance as he said: “‘The second part of your difficulty, sir, you have a right to have solved, as it shall soon be; with regard to the first it seems less to the purpose.  I ought in the first place to say, that it is simply in my public character as the authorized preacher of the Gospel in this parish, that I have taken what would otherwise seem a great liberty with a perfect stranger, to request an interview with him, without first assigning grounds for the request.  That you have so readily complied with it, I beg to offer you my thanks.’ “I was much struck with the somewhat stately form of language which Mr. Walker in this case assumed—so different from his ordinary discourse with his plain country parishioners.  He took up the tone of the scholar and the gentleman with more ease than I had thought it possible for one whose course of life had been so long removed from the society of his equals. “‘Sir,’ said the stranger, ‘before you proceed further, allow me to protest against your assumption, that in your public character you have a right to exercise over me any superintendence or control.  I belong not to your flock, I subscribe not to your creed.  Even the tyrannical Church of Rome professes to fetter the minds and torture the limbs of those only who have at some period professed allegiance to her doctrines; and these are not days when the Church of England can safely arrogate to herself a power (however anxiously she may long to do so) which would rouse the dormant spirit even of an Italian slave.’ “‘Pardon me,’ said Mr. Walker, with the utmost calmness; ‘over you I neither claim nor wish to exercise any authority whatever.  But there are those over whose religious condition the laws both of God and man have given me power and authority, and upon them I am bound to exercise it, both for their sakes and my own.  The Church has devised a certain system which she declares to be founded on Scripture, and propounds it to all her people as their rule of faith and life.  I, having given my full assent and consent to that system, have accepted the office, under her authority, of spreading and propagating that system among those committed by her (under the Bishop) to my care.  I am not, then, here to reason out, either with you or my people, a new system, but simply to enforce one long established by the Church at large.  I am bound by my oath “to banish and drive away all erroneous and strange doctrines,” and this by every means by which the laws of God and man may aid me.  While then you are at full liberty, as far as I am concerned, to entertain any notions you may please as to religion or politics; you are not, at the same time, equally at liberty to spread them abroad among my flock, if I can by fair means prevent it—and prevent it, by God’s blessing, I will!’ “The stranger smiled scornfully at the old man’s energy of expression, and said; ‘My venerable old friend, attempt not what you cannot accomplish.  The day is gone by, when recluses like you, ignorant of the world and of the strides which it has of late been making towards full liberty of thought and action, could keep men’s minds in darkness by the vain terrors of an expiring superstition.  Be content to lament in your chimney corner over the obstinacy of this perverse generation, and leave the course of events to march on towards that high destination which assuredly you cannot hinder.’ “‘You much mistake the matter,’ replied Mr. Walker, ‘if you suppose that we, in these remote regions of the globe, are necessarily ignorant of the on-goings of the world beyond our barren mountains.  Our books are our telescopes, which bring distant things distinctly before our observation; and history tells me the staleness and the vanishing nature of those theories which to you seem all novelty and permanence.  Nor think that I threaten without power to execute my threats.  I shall not wait to cure the evil which you may occasion; my duty is to prevent; and that I can do by a power of the extent of which you are probably little aware.  I thank God it is a moral power, but not, on that account, the more easy to be resisted.  Recollect how long I have presided over these few sheep in the wilderness, and then consider whether, by this time, they must not well know the voice of their master!  Why, sir, you could not hide your head in a cottage between Eskdale Moor and Muncaster Fell, but I, did I wish it, could know where it rested, and almost what it meditated, by next morning!  Take, then, my advice, and leave this country for ever.  I threaten you with no loss of life or limb; but if you are found within these bounds after this solemn warning, your movements will be watched and dogged by those who have it in their power most effectually to put a stop to your designs.  The mountain top will be no safeguard—the gloomy mine no security.  Nay, the very fiends themselves will rise in rebellion at my bidding, and fling dismay into the hearts of those who rashly deny their existence!’ “The stranger cast on the old man a look of the utmost surprise, as he gave utterance to these last words.  The scene in the mine, no doubt, rushed upon his recollection; and he looked hard at Mr. Walker, as if he wished to trace in his countenance some signs of his being privy to the ghostly visitation of the night before.  But nothing could be seen there but the proofs of a mind determined to carry through its high resolves; and it was with somewhat of a subdued tone that the stranger at last resumed the conversation. “‘I doubt not,’ said he, ‘that you have it in your power fully to execute your threats.  I have heard and seen enough already to believe it.  But why, sir—pardon me, I cannot account for it—why should you show so much zeal in a cause which seems so little deserving of your support,—a Church, which has left merit like yours to pine in neglect amid these barren mountains; and a State, which binds you to keep the peace among these half-civilized barbarians, and does not reward your pains with even the barren smile of its countenance?’ “The old man turned upon the stranger a look in which a lurking smile was mixed up with much sternness of expression, and said: ‘Well may I be anxious to remove such a tempter as you from my unsuspecting flock, when you thus artfully assail what you doubtless deem the weak side of even the shepherd himself!  My lot indeed may seem to you to be somewhat hard; but I answer in one word—a stronger than which the king himself cannot use—I AM HAPPY.  I am where my Master placed me, and that of itself is enough for a good soldier of Jesus Christ.  But, sir, even in a worldly point of view I am happy, nay, to be envied by those who look with narrow views (pardon me) like yourself, at what makes happiness here below.  I suppose you think wealth, power, and fame to be the three things most to be desired to constitute a happy man; and in which of these am I so deficient, as to give me ground for repining at the lot which has been assigned me?  With regard to wealth–though I certainly can boast of none of the superfluities of life, yet by our own industry and occupation (without which even abundance cannot give enjoyment) I and my wife have acquired more of the good things of this life, than either of us, from the condition of our birth, had a reasonable right to look for; and who can justly complain, whose lot in life is better than his father’s?  As to power—I think you have already had abundant proof that I possess it, in my own sphere of action, in no ordinary degree.  What absolute monarch, or what turbulent populace (and they are much the same) reigns so uncontrolled as I over the hearts and wills (but, I am proud to add, through the affections) of the people of Seathwaite?  Power is mine, such as Rome only dreamt of; the greater because it is never exercised.  And as for fame—the desire of which is perhaps the least blameable of our earthly passions, because it springs out of our innate hope of immortality—who has it more, in possession and in prospect, than the old feeble individual before you?  These mountains are visited by tourists attracted by the beauty and splendour of our rural scenes; but the humble residence of Robert Walker is not passed by as the least interesting among them.  p. 85The Lord of Muncaster Castle doffs that hat to his country pastor, which he would not take off before his monarch on the throne. [85]  My children—and a fine healthy, though somewhat numerous race they are—will hand down my name to the next generation, I trust, as untarnished as they received it; and my children’s children, unless they are strangely forgetful of the pious lessons which their fathers have taught them, may hold it their highest honour to be descended from Robert Walker; and find that name of itself a passport and a recommendation even in what is called a cold and heartless world.  We have lived here, sir, my life-companion and I, so long, as almost to form part of the landscape.  Good Bishop Jeremy Taylor tells a story of an old couple in Ireland, who had resided so long in the same village that if they had given themselves out to be Adam and Eve, there was no one alive to contradict then.  We are almost in the same condition.  While, then, these rocks shall frown and that stream shall flow, my name, humble as it may be, is assured of its earthly immortality.  The future Poet, whom the spirit of the Church and these divine scenes shall inspire with strains that shall blend the music of earth with the higher notes of heaven, will not omit my name from his pictures, when he paints my beloved Duddon in colours which shall last for ever; and who knows but some more lowly historian, smit with the love of my most humble but sincere service to my Master, shall hold up my name as a watchword to the fire-side of the quiet cottager; and teach the farmer at his plough, and the weaver at his loom, to call to mind my history; recommending to their sons patience, and perseverance, and piety, by the example (oh, how weak, feeble, and failing!) of Robert Walker!’ “The old man had risen from his chair, and paced the room with rapid strides as he gave utterance to the last sentences of this prophetic vision of his future history; and it was some time before his eye, which was sparkling with pious gratitude to God for all His blessings, caught that of the stranger, as it was fixed on him with the expression of a cold and quiet sneer.  His countenance immediately changed, and he coloured slightly at having thus exposed himself, in his open-heartedness, to the charge of a vanity, which was surely, in this case, of a most pardonable nature.  ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘I have become a fool in glorying—you have compelled me.  I have shown you that, on your own selfish principles, I have indeed much to be thankful for.  But we must bring this matter to a close.  I look for a promise from you, which you must see it would be useless to withhold, that you will vex this quiet district no longer with your presence.’ “‘I go,’ said he, ‘father; but I go not alone!  You, and this simple youth shall know that there is at least one heart here which sympathizes with my feelings, and will not shrink from sharing my fortunes.  Love, father, is stronger than’— “‘I RENOUNCE HIM!’ exclaimed poor Martha, rushing forward from behind the screen under which she had been sheltered during this remarkable conversation, and standing erect in the middle of the room with her eye boldly fixed on the face of the wondering stranger—‘I renounce him, now and for ever!  Oh Frederick!’ “I shall never forget her expression at that moment.  ‘Father,’ she continued, ‘I love him’— “‘Loved him, you would say, my child.’ “‘Nay, father, love him still dearly, and will for ever love him!’ “‘Then fly with me,’ said the stranger, ‘to a land less inhospitable than this’— “‘No, Frederick! that cannot, shall not be.  At my baptism I was married to Another, and with one who has stained his baptismal robes will I never be united!’ “This is some plot.’ “‘No, Frederick, believe it not.  All is honourable, except—oh, Frederick, why did you not tell me the truth?  Begone; if you can, be happy; but never see me more!’ “And they parted, and they never did see each other more!” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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