The foster-sisters

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

There was a Roman Catholic Chapel in Newcastle, but it had been closed ever since our arrival, and the priest had left town. The rumors of a second attempt of the Chevalier de St. George, or the Pretender, (that unlucky gentleman being one or the other, according as the speaker were Whig or Jacobite,) though as it turned out totally unfounded at that time, had made it expedient for such of the Catholic clergy as knew the value of peace, to keep out of sight. But these rumors had now begun to die away.

It was reported that King Louis had forbidden the chevalier to fight with his army in Flanders, or even to visit it; that his highness was living quietly in the neighborhood of Paris, amusing himself with shooting and playing, and other more questionable diversions, and that there was not the least likelihood of his getting together another fleet at present to re-place that which had been scattered by the storms of the preceding winter.

The Jacobites still held up their heads, and used their passwords, and wore their white ribbons. But I could not but observe that a large number of the fine bonnets which sailed into the side entrance of St. Anne's were trimmed with red plumes and flowers.

Amabel had one of her rare headaches that day. She got up, but was obliged to go to bed again. I applied the usual remedies, and she by and by began to amend, and at last fell into the deep sleep which usually ended these attacks.

As I knew that she was not likely to wake for some hours I ventured to leave her, and, taking my book of "Hours," I stole down into the garden, and seated myself in a shady corner, a favorite place of mine, where one of the buttresses of the old gray stone church projected into our garden. There was a window directly over my head, out of which several lights were broken, and as I sat, I could hear the voice of Mr. Cheriton reading the service, and the droning responses of the old clerk.

Mr. Cheriton had a good voice and read remarkably well. He had too much taste to mumble the service, as many clergymen do, or to repeat it like a child going through the pence table. Not that I should have seen any thing wrong in it if he had, for I was used to say my own rosary much in the same way. Mr. Cheriton had also a musical ear, and his efforts, joined to those of Mr. Lilburne, the organist, had made the singing the best in town, so that many fine people came purposely to hear it. These people were sometimes to be seen coming away before the sermon, which I should think could hardly have been very pleasing to Mr. Cheriton.

I had not said to myself that my object in seeking the corner under the church wall was to hear the service, and yet such was really my purpose. I had begun to be very curious about the ways and worship of Protestants, and would have liked very well to go to church with Mrs. Thorpe for once, but I had not yet ventured to propose such a thing to Amabel. However, I said to myself that there could be no harm in listening, so long as I did not join in the heretical worship. So I did listen with all my ears, and made the discovery that the service—prayers, hymns, and all—was in English, so that I understood every word.

"How strange that they should have the Church prayers in the common vulgar language that they use every day," said I to myself. And then the thought occurred to me, that as most of the worshippers were common vulgar people, perhaps it was as well that the prayers should be in a language which they understood.

Presently I made another discovery, which was, that the priest did not have all the service between himself and the choir, but that the people actually joined in it. Any one who looks into the matter will see that in the Romish Church there is no such thing as common prayer as we understand it. The priest and his assistants perform the mass, and the choir sings the responses, while the books of those who are able to read contain various devotions, such as are considered appropriate to different portions of the service. There may be as many different prayer-books as there are worshippers.

But here I heard the voices of all the school children, and many of the congregation beside, join in the "Good Lord deliver us," and other responses of the litany. I had now given up all pretence of reading and listened with all my ears. I found myself strangely affected by these English prayers. The short petitions seemed calculated to meet almost every case of need or sorrow common to man. I felt the tears very near my eyes, and when the choir sung the twenty-third psalm—