I have already talked with Cousin Joslyn and Father Paul about a plan for a dame school, where at least the maidens might be taught the use of their fingers, in spinning, knitting, and mending of their clothes. Mistress Warner demurs at the knitting, which she says is work for ladies, like embroidery and cut-work, and not for cottage maids. But since it makes good warm hosen, I see not why they should not learn it as well as spinning.
Our priest, Father Paul, as he likes to be called, instead of Sir Paul, is one of an hundred. I never saw a better, purer face than his, though 'tis wonderful thin and worn, and by times full of care. He preaches every Sunday to the people, and repeats whole chapters of the Gospels and Epistles. Last Sunday 'twas that same which the Bishop gave us in the convent, upon charity, though I did not know then whence it came. ('Tis strange how far away seem those old convent days. I can hardly think I am the same maid who was content to spend hours over a cut-work cope, and never had a thought beyond what my superiors told me, or a doubt but that all our endless litanies to the Saints and our Lady were true prayers. But this is by the way.) I am sure Father Paul reads the Scriptures a great deal, for he is always repeating them to the people, as I said, and makes the most clear and practical applications of them to the common matters of every-day life.
Then he visits a great deal from house to house, specially where there is sickness or any trouble and he has composed many quarrels, to which these Cornish folk are a good deal given. He has made acquaintance with many of the wild moormen, and even persuaded some of them to come to the church now and then, to be wedded, and to have their babes christened.
I saw one of these weddings one day, and gave the bride a kerchief, which I had put in my pocket for some one in the village. The whole party were greatly pleased, and this morning the old mother of the bride came and brought me a great basket of whortleberries, the finest I ever saw. She would have no pay, so I gave her a pair of scissors and some needles, and Mistress Grace added what the poor thing seemed to value more than anything, a great loaf of brown wheaten bread. She gave us to understand that her child (not the bride, but another) was very ill, and could eat little, but would like the bread. Thereupon Grace, always compassionate, added a pot of honey, and a bottle of some cordial medicine to her gift, and the poor woman went away very happy.
'Tis strange with what a mixture of awe and contempt the servants and villagers regard these wild folk, who do indeed seem of another race than themselves. Cousin Joslyn thinks the moor folk are remnants of the first race who inhabited the country. I wish something might be done for them. But indeed I might say the same for the whole land, not only of Cornwall, but of our own Devon, and of all England.
Under what a worse than Egyptian darkness it lies! But one can see the glimmering of dawn, and here and there a mountain top touched by the sun; and I cannot help hoping that better days are at hand. My mother, however, is not sanguine—that is, she believes the truth will prevail, but only after long waiting, and many hard, and it may be bloody struggles. She has known the King from childhood, and she says she believes if he puts down the power of the Pope in this country 'twill be only to set himself in his place. But these are too high and dangerous matters for me.
[CHAPTER XXXIV.]
Aug. 3.