The Broken Font: A Story of the Civil War, Vol. 1 (of 2)Sherer, Moyle
History
The Broken Font: A Story of the Civil War, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Sherer, Moyle
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
Although Noble listened to this news with a smile, the severe and
mischievous spirit evinced during his interview with Daws, both in
language, tone, and manner, gave him more uneasiness than he chose to
impart to his wife, to whom he related much of what had passed between
them in a light and jocular vein. But, alone, he could not but be
impressed with the conviction, that a curate of this harsh and
malevolent character was a very uncomfortable and unsafe neighbour,
and might hereafter prove dangerous.
However, he had now plainly paid his last visit in the quality of
brother clergyman; and, if he was ever to come in that of enemy and
accuser, he could only do so under the restraining guidance of that
mighty, merciful, and mysterious Providence, which ordereth all things
wisely and well.
The good pastor was ill qualified to counteract the intrigues, or to
contend with the violence, of parties. He was a quietist, an optimist,
a dweller at home, enjoying to-day, and taking little anxious thought
for the morrow. His hours were divided between his parish, his study,
and his garden.
Old Blount, the most honest and hospitable of English franklins, was
the only neighbour with whom he could associate upon a footing of
mutual intercourse: but there was not a threshold in the village which
he did not often cross with some friendly inquiry or cheerful words
upon his lip; not a child, that would not rather run to than from him;
and the cottage curs were too familiar with his step and voice to do
more than raise and turn their heads as they lay watching at the
doors, when Noble passed by.
His chief recreation was the weekly visit to Wells. As regularly as
the appointed day came round, the worthy parson mounted his old white
mare, with her well stuffed saddle, rejoicing, in a seat covered with
cloth of a pale sky blue, much faded, and he was carried at a
meditative jogtrot to the fair and ancient city.
Here, at the house of his friend, he would refresh his spirits by
listening to (and sometimes joining in the rich performance of) the
best madrigals of the never surpassed composers of that day, and
taking his part in most pleasant and tuneful exercises on the viol and
the lute.
The troublous aspect of the times had of late somewhat altered the
character of these meetings; and the two holyday hours were now for
the most part, if not entirely, consumed in grave and anxious
consultations on public affairs. The severe spirit of the church
reformers of that period frowned upon every semblance of pleasure: to
them the song of harvest, the dance of the village green, and the
merry catch round the winter hearth, were things sinful and forbidden,
and the peal of the solemn organ in the house of prayer and praise
was hated as an abomination.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account