Great Britain -- History -- Commonwealth and Protectorate, 1649-1660 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
The preacher himself, as if nothing extraordinary had happened, left
the church and sauntered through the streets of Woodstock, with the air
of a stranger who was viewing the town, without seeming to observe that
he was himself in his turn anxiously surveyed by the citizens, whose
furtive yet frequent glances seemed to regard him as something alike
suspected and dreadful, yet on no account to be provoked. He heeded
them not, but stalked on in the manner affected by the distinguished
fanatics of the day; a stiff solemn pace, a severe and at the same time
a contemplative look, like that of a man discomposed at the
interruptions which earthly objects forced upon him, obliging him by
their intrusion to withdraw his thoughts for an instant from celestial
things. Innocent pleasures of what kind soever they held in suspicion
and contempt, and innocent mirth they abominated. It was, however, a
cast of mind that formed men for great and manly actions, as it adopted
principle, and that of an unselfish character, for the ruling motive,
instead of the gratification of passion. Some of these men were indeed
hypocrites, using the cloak of religion only as a covering for their
ambition; but many really possessed the devotional character, and the
severe republican virtue, which others only affected. By far the
greater number hovered between these extremes, felt to a certain extent
the power of religion, and complied with the times in affecting a great
deal.
The individual, whose pretensions to sanctity, written as they were
upon his brow and gait, have given rise to the above digression,
reached at length the extremity of the principal street, which
terminates upon the park of Woodstock. A battlemented portal of Gothic
appearance defended the entrance to the avenue. It was of mixed
architecture, but on the whole, though composed of the styles of the
different ages when it had received additions, had a striking and
imposing effect. An immense gate, composed of rails of hammered iron,
with many a flourish and scroll, displaying as its uppermost ornament
the ill-fated cipher of C. R., was now decayed, being partly wasted
with rust, partly by violence.
The stranger paused, as if uncertain whether he should demand or assay
entrance. He looked through the grating down an avenue skirted by
majestic oaks, which led onward with a gentle curve, as if into the
depths of some ample and ancient forest. The wicket of the large iron
gate being left unwittingly open, the soldier was tempted to enter, yet
with some hesitation, as he that intrudes upon ground which he
conjectures may be prohibited—indeed his manner showed more reverence
for the scene than could have been expected from his condition and
character. He slackened his stately and consequential pace, and at
length stood still, and looked around him.
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.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account