A Book of Quaker Saints

L. V. (Lucy Violet) Hodgkin

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• Publié par: theyp
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 43
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

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The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Book of Quaker Saints, by Lucy Violet Hodgkin, Illustrated by F. Cayley- Robinson

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Title: A Book of Quaker Saints

Author: Lucy Violet Hodgkin Release Date: October 22, 2006 [eBook #19605] Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

***START OF THE QUAKER SAINTS***

PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOK OF

E-text prepared by Mark C. Orton, Jeannie Howse, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/)

Transcriber's Note:

Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved.

Three obvious typographical errors were corrected in this text. For a complete list, please see theend of the book.

A BOOK OF QUAKER SAINTS

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

PILGRIMS IN PALESTINE. [Out of print.] THE HAPPY WORLD.

CONTRIBUTIONS TO 'THE FELLOWSHIP OF SILENCE.'

SILENT WORSHIP: THE WAY OF WONDER.

(Swarthmore Lecture, 1919.)

LOIS AND HER NURSE

A BOOK OF QUAKER SAINTS

BY L. V. HODGKIN (M RS . JOHN HOLDSWORTH)

ILLUSTRATED BY F. CAYLEY-ROBINSON, A.R.A.

ToList

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 1922

COPYRIGHT First Edition 1917Reprinted 1918 Transferred to Macmillan & Co. and reprinted 1922

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

DEDICATED

TO THE

CHILDREN

OF THE

SOCIETY OF FRIENDS

AND TO THE

GRANDCHILDREN

OF

THOMAS HODGKIN

PREFACE

The following stories are intended for children of various ages. The introductory chapter, 'A Talk about Saints,' and the stories marked with an asterisk in the Table of Contents, were written first for an eager listener of nine years old. But as the book has grown longer the age of its readers has grown older for two reasons:

First:it was necessary to take for granted some knowledge of the because course of English History at the period of the Civi l Wars. To have re-told the story of the contest between King and Parliament, leading up to the execution of Charles the First and the Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell, would have taken up much of the fresh, undivided attention that I was anxious to focus upon the lives and doings of these 'Quaker Saints.' I have therefore presupposed a certain familiarity with the chief actors and parti es, and an understanding of such names as Cavalier, Roundhead, Presbyterian, Independent, etc.; but I have tried to explain any obsolete words, or those of which the meaning has altered in the two and a half centuries that have e lapsed since the great struggle.

Secondly: because the stories of the persecutions of the Early Friends are too harrowing for younger children. Even a very much softened and milder version was met with the repeated request: 'Do, please, skip this part and make it come happy quickly.' I have preferred, therefore, to write for older boys and girls who will wish for a true account of suffering bravely borne; though without undue insistence on the physical side. For to tell the stories of these lives without the terrible, glorious account of the cruel beatings, imprisonments, and even martyrdom in which they often ended here, is not truly to tell them at all. The tragic darkness in the picture is necessary to enhance its high lights.

My youngest critic observes that 'it does not matter so much what happens to grown-up people, because I can always skip that bit; but if anything bad is going to happen to children, you had better leave it out of your book altogether.' I have therefore obediently omitted the actual sufferings of children as far as possible, except in one or two stories where they are an essential part of the narrative.

It must be remembered that this is not a History of the Early Quaker Movement, but a book of stories of some Early Quaker Saints. I have based my account on contemporary authorities; but I have not scrupled to supply unrecorded details or explanatory speeches in order to make the scene more

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vivid to my listeners. In two stories of George Fox's youth, as authentic records are scanty, I have even ventured to look through th e eyes of imaginary spectators at 'The Shepherd of Pendle Hill' and 'The Angel of Beverley.' But the deeper I have dug down into the past, the less need there has been to fill in outlines; and the more possible it has been to keep closely to the actual words of George Fox's Journal, and other contemporary documents. The historical notes at the end of the book will indicate where the original authorities for each story are to be found, and they will show what liberties have been taken. The quotations that precede the different chapters are intended mainly for older readers, and to illustrate either the central thought or the history of the times.

Many stories of other Quaker Saints that should have been included in this book have had to be omitted for want of room. The records of William Penn and his companions and friends on both sides of the Atl antic will, it is hoped, eventually find a place in a later volume. The stories in the present book have been selected to show how the Truth of the Inward Light first dawned gradually on one soul, and then spread rapidly, in ever-widen ing circles, through a neighbourhood, a kingdom, and, finally, all over the world.

I have to thank many kind friends who have helped me in this delightful task. The Book of Quaker Saintsowes its existence to my friend Ernest E. Taylor, who first suggested the title and plan, and then, g ently but inexorably, persuaded me to write it. Several of the stories and many of the descriptions are due to his intimate knowledge of the lives and homes of the Early Friends; he has, moreover, been my unfailing adviser and helper at every stage of the work.

No one can study this period of Quaker history with out being constantly indebted to William Charles Braithwaite, the author ofBeginnings of QuakerismHouse, and, and to Norman Penney, the Librarian at Devonshire Editor of the Cambridge Edition of George Fox's Journal with its invaluable notes. But beyond this I owe a personal debt of gratitude to these two Friends, for much wise counsel as to sources, for their kindness in reading my MS. and my proofs, and for the many errors that their accurate scholarship has helped me to avoid, or enabled me to detect.

To Ethel Crawshaw, Assistant at the same Library; to my sister, Ellen S. Bosanquet; and to several other friends who have helped me in various ways, my grateful thanks are also due.

The stories are intended in the first place for Quaker children, and are written throughout from a Quaker standpoint, though with the wish to be as fair as possible not only to our staunch forefathers, but a lso to their doughty antagonists. Even when describing the fiercest encounters between them, I have tried to write nothing that might perplex or p ain other than Quaker listeners; above all, to be ever mindful of what George Fox himself calls 'the hidden unity in the Eternal Being.'

29th July 1917.

L. V. HODGKIN.

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* * I. * II. * III. * IV. * V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. * XII. * XIII. * XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. * XIX. * XX. * XXI. XXII. XXIII. * XXIV. * XXV. * XXVI. * XXVII. XXVIII.

CONTENTS

PREFACE A TALK ABOUT SAINTS 'STIFF AS A TREE, PURE AS A BELL' 'PURE FOY, MA JOYE' THE ANGEL OF BEVERLEY TAMING THE TIGER 'THE MAN IN LEATHER BREECHES' THE SHEPHERD OF PENDLE HILL THE PEOPLE IN WHITE RAIMENT A WONDERFUL FORTNIGHT UNDER THE YEW-TREES 'BEWITCHED!' THE JUDGE'S RETURN 'STRIKE AGAIN!' MAGNANIMITY MILES HALHEAD AND THE HAUGHTY LADY SCATTERING THE SEED WRESTLING FOR GOD LITTLE JAMES AND HIS JOURNEYS THE FIRST QUAKER MARTYR THE CHILDREN OF READING MEETING THE SADDEST STORY OF ALL PALE WINDFLOWERS AN UNDISTURBED MEETING BUTTERFLIES IN THE FELLS THE VICTORY OF AMOR STODDART THE MARVELLOUS VOYAGE OF THE GOOD SHIP 'WOODHOUSE' RICHARD SELLAR AND THE 'MERCIFUL MAN' TWO ROBBER STORIES—WEST AND EAST SILVER SLIPPERS: OR A

pagevii 1 19 33 57 79 97 111 121 131 149 163 175 185 197

209

223 239 255 271

285

301 321 343 353 367

379

403

427

441

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XXVIII.441 QUAKERESS AMONG THE TURKS * XXIX.FIERCE FEATHERS465 * XXX.THE THIEF IN THE TANYARD479 HOW A FRENCH NOBLE BECAME A XXXI. 489 FRIEND XXXII.PREACHING TO NOBODY509 COME-TO-GOOD523 HISTORICAL NOTES539 Note.—An Asterisk denotes stories suitable for younger children.

I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

reproduced from water-colour drawings by F. C AYLEY -R O BINSO N

LOIS AND HER NURSE THE BOYHOOD OF GEORGE FOX 'DREAMING OF THE COT IN THE VALE' 'THE VOICE OF THE SILENCE' PALE WINDFLOWERS FIERCE FEATHERS A FRIENDS' MEETING

Frontispiece page36 114 306 324 474 534

A TALK ABOUT SAINTS

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ToC

'What are these that glow from afar, These that lean over the golden bar, Strong as the lion, pure as the dove, With open arms and hearts of love? They the blessed ones gone before, They the blessed for evermore. Out of great tribulation they went Home to their home of Heaven-content; Through flood or blood or furnace-fire, To the rest that fulfils desire.' CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

St. Patrick's three orders of Saints: 'a glory on the mountain tops: a gleam on the sides of the hills: a few faint lights in the valleys.'

'The Lord is King in His Saints, He guards them, and guides them with His mighty power, into His kingdom of glory and eternal rest, where they find joy, and peace, and rest eternal.' —GEORGE FOX.

A TALK ABOUT SAINTS

'What is a Saint? How I do wish I knew!'

A little girl asked herself this question a great many years ago, as she sat looking up at a patch of sunset cloud that went sai ling past the bars of her nursery window late one Sunday afternoon; but the w indow was small and high up, and the cloud sailed by quickly.

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As she watched it go, little Lois wished that she w as back in her own nursery at home, where the windows were large and l ow down, and so near the floor that even a small girl could see out of them easily. Moreover, her own windows had wide window-sills that she could si t on, with toy-cupboards underneath.

There were no toy-cupboards in this old-fashioned nursery, where Lois was visiting, and not many toys either. There was a dol l's house, that her mother used to play with when she was a little girl; but the dolls in it were all made of wood and looked stiff and stern, and one hundred years older than the dolls of to-day, or than the children either, for that matter. Besides, the doll's house might not be opened on Sundays.

So Lois turned again to the window, and looking up at it, she wished, as she had wished many times before on this visit, that it was rather lower down and much larger, and that the window ledge was a little wider, so that she could lean upon it and see where that rosy cloud had gone.

She ran for a chair, and climbed up, hoping to be a ble to see out better. Alas! the window was a long way from the ground outside. She still could not look out and see what was happening in the garden below. Even the sun had sunk too far down for her to say good-night to it before it set. But that did not matter, for the rosy cloud had apparently gone to fetch innumerable other rosy cloudlets, and they were all holding hands and dancing across the sky in a wide band, with pale, clear pools of green and blue behind them.

'What lovely rainbow colours!' thought the little girl. And then the rainbow colours reminded her of the question that had been puzzling her when she began to watch the rosy cloud. So she repeated, out loud this time and in rather a weary voice, 'Whatever is a Saint? How I do wish I knew! And why are there no Saints on the windows in Meeting?'

No answer came to her questions. Lois and her nurse were paying a visit all by themselves. They spent most of their days up in this old nursery at the top of the big house. Nurse had gone downstairs a long time ago, saying that she would bring up tea for them both on a tea-tray, before it was time to light the lamps. For there was no gas or electric light in ch ildren's nurseries in those days.

If Lois had been at home she would herself have bee n having tea downstairs in the dining-room at this time with her father and mother. Then she could have asked them what a Saint was, and have found out all about it at once. Father and mother always seemed to know the a nswers to her questions. At least, very nearly always. For Lois w as so fond of asking questions, that sometimes she asked some that had n o answer; but those were silly questions, not like this one. Lois felt certain that either her father or her mother would have explained to her quite clearl y all about Saints, and would have wanted her to understand about them. Awa y here there was nobody to ask. Nurse would only say, 'If you ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies.' Somehow whenever she said that, Lois fancied it meant that nurse was not very sure of the answer herself. She had al ready asked Aunt Isabel in church that same morning, when the puzzle began; and Aunt Isabel's answer about 'a halo' had left the little girl more perplexed than ever. Lois had heard of people 'going to church' before, but she had never

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understood what it meant until to-day. At home on S undays she went to Meeting with father and mother. She liked walking there, in between them, holding a hand of each, skipping and jumping in order not to step on the black lines of the pavement. She liked to see the shops w ith their eyes all shut tight for Sunday, and to watch for the naughty shops, here and there, who kept a corner of their blinds up, just to show a few toys or goodies underneath. Lois always thought that those shops looked as if they were winking up at her; and she smiled back at them a rather reproving little smile. She enjoyed the walk and was sorry when it came to an end. For, to tell the truth, she did not enjoy the Meeting that followed it at all.

Long before the hour was over she used to grow very tired of the silence and of the quiet room, tired of kicking her blue footstool (gently of course, but still kicking it) and of counting her boot buttons up and down, or else watching the hands of the clock move slowly round its big ca lm face. 'Church' was a more interesting place than Meeting, certainly; but then 'Church' had disadvantages of its own. Everything there was strange to Lois. It had almost frightened her, this first time. She did not know when she ought to stand up, or when she ought to kneel, and when she might sit dow n. Then, when the organ played and everybody stood up and sang a hymn, Lois found to her surprise that her throat was beginning to feel tight and cho ky. For some reason she began to wonder if father and mother were sitting i n Meeting alone, and if they had quite forgotten their little girl. Two small tears gathered. In another minute they might have slipped out of the corners of her eyes, and have run down her cheeks. They might even have fallen upon the page of the hymn- book she was carefully holding upside down. And tha t would have been dreadful!

Happily, just in time, she looked up and saw something so beautiful above her that the two tears ran back to wherever it was they came from, in less time than it takes to tell.

For there, above her head, was a tall, pointed, glass window, high up on the wall. The glass in the window was of wonderful colours, like a rainbow:—deep purple and blue, shining gold, rich, soft red, and glowing crimson, with here and there a green that twinkled like young beech-le aves in the woods in spring. Best of all, there was one bit of purest white, with sunlight streaming through it, that shone like dazzling snow. At first Lois only noticed the colours, and the ugly black lines that separated them. She w ondered why the beautiful glass was divided up into such queer shapes. There are no black lines between the colours in a real rainbow.

Gradually, however, she discovered that all the different colours meant something, that they were all part of a picture on the window, that a tall figure was standing there, looking down upon her—upon her, fidgety little Lois, kicking her scarlet hassock in the pew. But Lois was not kicking her hassock any longer. She was looking up into the grave, kind face above her on the window. 'Whoever was it? Who could it be? Was it a man or a woman? A man,' Lois thought at first, until she saw that he was wearing a robe that fell into glowing folds at his feet. 'Men never wear robes, do they? unless they are dressing-gowns. This certainly was not a dressing-gown. And what was the flat thing like a plate behind his head?' Lois had never seen either a man or a woman wear anything like that before. 'If it was a plate, how could it be

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