Idonia: A Romance of Old LondonWallis, Arthur Frederick
History
Idonia: A Romance of Old London
Wallis, Arthur Frederick
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
By nights it was my custom to request a lodging for Idonia of the
clergyman of the town we rested at, while I myself would lie at the
inn; and by this means I was enabled to renew my pleasant acquaintance
with the Curate of Newbury; who (it will be remembered) had preached
that Philippic sermon against the Papists, and had moreover so
earnestly desired me that I should tell the Archbishop of his adding a
rood of ground to his churchyard. He seemed, methought, a little
dejected when I said I had had none occasion to His Grace, who
therefore remained yet in ignorance of the progress the Church made in
Newbury; but he soon so far forgot his disappointment as to tell me of
an improvement of his tithes-rents, by which he was left with seventeen
shillings to the good at Michaelmas; and with a part of this surplus he
had, he confessed, been tempted to purchase of a pedlar a certain book
in the French tongue called _Pantagruel_, from which he had derived no
inconsiderable entertainment, albeit joined to some scruples upon the
matters therein treated of, whether they were altogether such as he
should be known to read them.
"However, since none here hath any French but I," said he, "I bethought
me that no public scandal was to be feared, and so read on."
We rode into the little town of Glastonbury, where it lieth under its
strange and conical steep hill, about four o'clock in the afternoon; it
being then, I think, toward the end of January, and clear still
weather. And because it was already dusk I would not proceed further
that day; but in the morning, before daybreak, we proceeded again
forward, going by the ridgeway that, as a viaduct, standeth high above
the levels, then all veiled in chill grey mists. We got into Taunton a
little ere noon, and there baited our horses, being determined to end
our journey before nightfall, which we could not have done except by
this respite. The name of Simon Powell had been so oft upon my lips,
and I had with so many and lively strokes depainted him in conversation
with Idonia, that she had come to know him almost as well as I, and
thus I was hardly astonished when she turned about in her saddle to
gaze after a young man that walked in a meadow a little apart from the
highway as we were entering the hamlet of Tolland, and asked me whether
he were not, as in truth he was, my old companion.
Marvellous glad to meet with Simon after this long interval, I drew
rein and beckoned to him, who, running forward almost at the same
instant, took my hand, gloved as it was, and covered it with kisses.
"How doth my father?" I demanded eagerly, and ere he had concluded his
salutation.
"His worship may mend when he sees you come home," said he gravely, and
by that I saw I was not to indulge too large a hope of his mending.
"I would we were indeed arrived home, Simon," I replied; "but at all
events, this lodging shall soon be exchanged for a better; that is, if
he may yet bear to be moved."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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