“They must take long strides,” replied the old man with a smile, “who put their feet in the marks left by old Robert Walker! However, to my tale once more.
“As I told you, I had for some time observed a change in the conduct and spirits of my poor sister Martha, and the looks exchanged between the good-looking stranger and herself led me to suspect, with the ready feeling of jealousy, that he might be, in some way or other, the cause of this great alteration. Yet I had never seen or heard of him before, as being either a resident or a visitor in the neighbourhood; nor could I conjecture how or where they had ever met. I determined, however, to fathom the mystery, for my sister’s welfare was as dear to me as my own, and I had at least as firm a reliance on her virtuous resolutions as I had of mine. Nothing, indeed, could make me for a moment suspect (and the event shows that it would have been criminal to suspect) that an improper thought or design had ever crossed her well-regulated mind. Observing her, one fine evening, during the week that these events occurred, quietly leave the house after the labours of the day were concluded, I determined to track her footsteps, though at such a distance as carefully to avoid her observation. What a path did she select for her evening’s ramble! Sir, you know the majestic shoulder of old Wraynos, out of which the river Duddon takes its rise, a little silver stream.—How it winds its way past the groves of Birker, under the gigantic heights of Walla-Barrow Crag, and through the delicious plain of Donnerdale, gathering up the little mountain rivulets as it hurries on towards the sea, till, at Seathwaite, it becomes a bold and brawling stream, battling with the vast masses of fallen rock that encumber its bed, and sprinkling the bushes that stand gazing into its current with a perpetual dew. Down this romantic track did my sister haste with a step as light and as timid as a mountain deer,—and, sir, the race of the red deer of the mountain was not extinct in my day, but you often saw their antlered heads gazing down upon you from heights which the most experienced shepherd did not dare to climb. She did not, however, pursue the Duddon as far down as Seathwaite, but turning up to her left, by the side of a little feeder to the stream, entered the circular plain of a small valley, which is one of the most retired and beautiful in the whole region of the lakes. Every thing in it, houses, trees, and even men, seem as old, and grey, and peaceful, as the hills which surround it! Here my suspicions of the object of her journey were at once confirmed. At the moment she entered the little circular plain of smooth green-sward from below, the stranger whom we had encountered on the fell was seen to issue from the shrubs that clothed the upper termination of the valley; and they met in the centre with a punctuality which showed—though my poor sister’s step seemed to slacken a little as they approached—that the time and place of meeting were by no means accidental. As I gazed on his manly form and graceful air, I could not but hope that all this augured well for my sister’s future happiness, though there was an impression on my mind, from whence gathered I could not explain, not altogether favourable to the stranger. Perhaps, thought I, it arises from that jealousy which is always felt towards those who are found to share in those affections which we wish, however unreasonably, to keep solely to ourselves. But what right had I to expect that my sister’s affections should all her life be confined to her own domestic fire-side? I watched them, therefore, with a mingled feeling, retire into one of the most secluded parts of the glen, and hastened to ascend the rock under which they had placed themselves as if to catch the last rays of the sun as they threw a parting glance up the western opening of the dale. All besides was black with shadow, and every singing-bird in the valley was silent, except a solitary blackbird, who had taken his stand on the highest twig of a towering birch that was still gilded with the light of the sun. He whistled a few fine farewell notes to the day, and then darted down into his thicket for the night. At that moment I heard my sister’s well-known voice from below, soft and sweet, as if taking up the song where the blackbird had left off his melody. The air was one well-known in our valleys, but has not, I dare say, attracted the attention of those caterers for the mart of music who gather up our native melodies as men buy up our virgin honey, at a low rate, and dress them out for higher prices, and a more fashionable circle. The words were, I believe, her own; for she possessed a remarkable taste for mountain ballads; or they might perhaps have been prepared for her by the native poet, of whom I before spoke to you; for they conveyed a sentiment which strangely harmonized with my own feelings with regard to the stranger, and seemed to show that she, too, had her suspicions as to his character, and was probably almost as ignorant as myself of his history. Never did notes sound so sweetly on mine ear as at that moment did my poor sister’s song! The time—the place—the feeling that the lines were dictated by the true sentiments of the heart, all conspired to impress them on my memory, and to convince me that there was a power in music to reach the heart, which no other charm possesses, when the words, the air, and the feeling are in perfect harmony with each other. I have prepared for you a copy of the verses, but I cannot convey to you that which is their greatest charm to me—the occasion on which they were first sung. They have also been harmonized by a friend, who, like myself, has smelt the heather in his youth, and has infused into the instrumental portion, some of the feeling and spirit which breathed in my poor sister’s melody. You are heartily welcome to both.
MARTHA’S SONG.
‘O speed not to our bonny braes
To cool dark Passion’s heat;
Nor think each stream, that wildly strays,
To every eye is sweet:The fairest hues yon mountain wears
No sunshine can impart;
The brightest gleams, the purest airs,
Flow from a pious heart!Clear be thy breast as summer breeze,
And tender be thy feeling,
’Twill give fresh verdure to the trees,
’Neath winter’s snow congealing!Then speed not to our bonny braes
To cool dark Passion’s heat;
The glittering stream, that wildly strays,
Is sweet—but to the sweet!’
“How shall I paint to you the feelings which crowded upon my mind as I wended my way homewards on that memorable evening! The darkening scene, as I crossed the rugged crest of Walna, was magnificent; and I have always felt that the heart and imagination expand with the prospect. How the littleness of human possessions strikes the mind, when we look over the successive boundaries of a hundred lordships, and feel for the moment permitted to possess, or at least to enjoy them, as much as their legal owners! How do human passions die away under the balmy breath of heaven; and the soul feel its original relationship to its eternal Author. Yet anxiety for my sister’s welfare pressed upon my mind at that moment with double force, because I alone was privy to her secret, and as yet only knew it in a way which prevented me from employing my knowledge for her good. Yet why should I interfere? was she not capable of regulating her own conduct, and was there anything in what I had discovered inconsistent with the prospect of a long course of happiness before her? With these thoughts I reached home, and was soon after followed by my sister, whose unusual absence had been quite unobserved by any other part of the family, nor did I give any token that it had been noticed by myself.”
CHAPTER X.
The sun is bright, the fields are gay
With people in their best array,
Through the vale retired and lowly
Trooping to the summons holy.
And up among the woodlands see
What sparklings of blithe company!
Of lasses and of shepherd grooms
That down the steep hills force their way,
Like cattle through the budded brooms;
Path or no path, what care they?White Doe of Rylstone.
“You recollect that in our interview with Robert Walker on the top of Walna, we were directed by him to assemble at his church on the following Sunday, the children to commence their preparation for Confirmation, and the parents to present their offspring and themselves to derive comfort and instruction from the occasion. Never did a brighter sun shine on the world than that which rose on that memorable morning! Why, sir, does the sun shine brighter on a Sunday than on any other day in the week?”
“I cannot,” said I, sniffing, “give a reason for that which does not exist; but I can see a reason why good men should sometimes think so, from their mistaking the warmth and light of gratitude springing up in their own hearts on that holy day, for the rays of the sun above them!”
“It may be so,” said the old man, “but I shall live and die in the belief that there was something warmer and brighter in the sun on that blessed morning, than I ever felt either before or since. The early work of the day, (and in a farm like ours there is always some labour which must necessarily be attended to even on the Sunday,) was finished long before the usual hour, and we were all dressed in our very best and on our way for Seathwaite Chapel, soon after nine o’clock. The early rays of the sun lighted up Coniston Old Man, [52] so that you might count every stone in his body. As we descended the slope of the mountain side for the vale of the Duddon, you might see a thousand white threads of water pouring down from every height that surrounded the valley, (for there had been a heavy shower of rain in the night,) and all rushing, with headlong impetuosity, into the brawling stream below. Then you could trace that stream, winding its beautiful way, now in sunshine, and now in shadow, till it gradually widened into a broad estuary, and lost\ itself in the bay of Morecambe, the dark mass of Peel Castle standing calmly amidst the waves, as if to mark the boundary between the broad river and the ocean. This sight of itself prepared the mind for the religious impressions which were to follow; even a child like me seeing in the picture before him an emblem of the hasty bustle of time and the quiet repose of eternity; and I could not resist putting up a silent prayer to God, that the light of His Grace might continue to shine upon the days of my short and feverish life as the sun in heaven was then glittering upon the mountain rills, now so bright and busy, and in a few hours doomed to become silent and still, as though they had never been. But another sight, still more impressive, broke on our view as we turned the crest of the little hill from which we first looked down on the chapel to which we were tending. Nothing, I believe, puzzles strangers so much, on visiting our Lake country, as to find out where all the people live. The houses of the district are placed in such odd nooks and corners, so buried under little knolls or spreading trees, and so like the old grey rocks about them in colour and shape, that an inexperienced traveller might roam through half that mountainous region, and fancy that its only inhabitants were sheep, rooks, and wanderers like himself. In the mining districts, too, one half of the inhabitants live under ground during the week, and it is only on a Sunday, when they come up to worship God with their brethren, that they see the light of the blessed day. Hence it is on Sundays only, that any man, native or stranger, can get a real sight of the whole population. Now, at the moment I speak of, just as we got a first view of the whole valley round Mr. Walker’s chapel, the whole population of the district burst on our sight at once. They were seen pouring over every height, and hurrying down the breast of every hill, of all ages, and in dresses of almost every variety of hue. The matrons, in their scarlet cloaks, which shone brightly among the green heather, were walking carefully along in groups of two or three, talking over, no doubt, the events of the week since they last met, the occasion that now more especially brought them together, and, it must be confessed, perhaps now and then mixing with more serious topics a little of the passing scandal of the country-side. The old grey-coated farmers, with stout sticks in their hands, said a few words on the subject of prices at the last Broughton sheep and wool fair; while the young men and maidens, laughing a little more loudly than the day justified, and walking a little nearer each other than their elders always quite approved, seemed to select, by way of preference, the most rugged and slippery paths they could find. In front of all rushed on the children and dogs, the latter, even at church, the better behaved if not the more intelligent party of the two. I would rather take my chance in the next world with some of the good dogs that I knew in Seathwaite, than some of the beasts in human shape that I have met with since I left it! Well, sir, all these were seen pouring at once down the hill sides, as lighthearted and cheerful as the larks over their heads. There could be no mistake as to the point to which, straggling as they seemed to be in their course, they were all finally aiming; for the little chapel-bell of Seathwaite was sending forth its sharp sound, not much louder than a mountain cuckoo, but still distinctly enough to be heard throughout the whole region in that still and silent air. What a picture had we then before us of the UNITY of the Church of Christ! Though the paths of these men, in the world, might be different, yet they all met together in harmony in the House of God—they all aimed at one point—they all hoped to be saved by the same faith. Here there was indeed ‘one house appointed for all living’—to pray in during life, to rest in after death. They all took Seathwaite chapel on their road to heaven! The bell which called them together to prayer was not much larger than a sheep bell, but it was obeyed by all the flock with a readiness which shewed how anxious they all were to be included within the fold of the Good Shepherd of their souls. Doubtless He was present in spirit. His minister on earth, as far as that little flock was concerned, was there in person; ready, as he always was, to see his flock, and administer to their spiritual comforts. There he stood, at the door of his humble parsonage, in his stuff gown and cassock, and his silver locks streaming in the wind, greeting every one as he passed by his door on the way to the chapel, and listening kindly to any little intelligence, either of joy or of sorrow, which the events of the last week might have brought forth. What a crowd there was assembled within and around that humble chapel, on that Sunday morning! There was not sitting or rather kneeling room for one half of the congregation. For though probably the number of candidates for Confirmation did not much exceed a dozen, yet Mr. Walker’s expressed wish, (and his wish was law,) had brought together all the parents, god-fathers and god-mothers, and elder brothers and sisters of every candidate, that they might be, on that occasion, reminded of their own Christian duties. These, together with a number of strangers attracted by the unusual circumstances, swelled the congregation to an amount far exceeding what the little chapel could contain; and so they stood about the door, or sat upon the walls and grave-stones of the church-yard, which, to a mountain-race on a fine autumn morning, formed quite as agreeable a temple of worship as the close-packed and somewhat mouldy space within. We, as being somewhat visitors and I a candidate, were civilly accommodated with seats by one to whom we were well known, and so heard and saw every thing that passed. There was no distinction of seats, or rather forms, in that little house of prayer. The forms all looked to the east, being entered from one small aisle which ran up from the west door to the altar. The people sat in families, but without distinction as to rank, all going to the place where their fathers had worshipped before, from time immemorial. The only difference was, that as each by degrees grew old and deaf, they advanced a step nearer the altar, that they might be able better to hear and see the clergyman. Thus the more sacred part of the building was surrounded by those who from age and spiritual experience deserved to be exalted in the Church of Christ—they were, as it were, the Elders round about the throne—they were a connecting link between minister and people—they were looked up to by those who sat behind, as their parents and examples; and no doubt it was an ambitious wish in the hearts of many of the younger, that as they advanced in years they might be thought worthy to fill that honoured circle, and receive the respect which they were then paying to their elders. Surely, sir, this is a more becoming way of encircling the altar of our God, than by crowding its steps with idle and ill-mannered boys, as is too often the case in town churches, putting those at the head who ought to be but at the entrance of the Church of Christ, and filling our minds, as we think of that sacred portion of the House of God, with the image of a school-master with his ferula instead of a priest in his holy vestments!”
“I am nearly of your mind,” said I, smiling at the quaintness of his notion, “but you must recollect that necessity has no law.”