con WHAT DO THE PARSONS DO? No. VI. THE WORKING CLERGY. "I AM very free to acknowledge that the working clergy in the establishment are a very indefatigable body of men. I am sure our curate, or rather the call him our curate; for I am, as you say you believe, curate of the parish, is so. You know I can scarcely a conscientious dissenter; and I do trust I am a dissenter from principle, and not from any rancorous hostility to the church. I would not appear upon a consideration, though I have been repeatedly urged to platform to denounce the established church for any do so. I never could bring myself to be mixed up with the motley crew who band together in political unions, where each one cares not what his neighbour's creed may be in other matters, pro This beautiful portion consists of an equila- | teral pointed arch, divided by slender mullions into nine lights, and has elegant and delicately-arranged flowing tracery in its head. It belongs to the decorated English style, and is enriched with modern stained glass, which forms the borders of the several divisions. The colours appear too fresh, and not sufficiently varied to accord with the pleasing shadows cast from the head of the window, which is entirely filled with coloured glass of great antiquity, representing several scripture incidents: the ascension of our Lord is beautifully limned in the upper compartment. "The east front," says Rickman, tains one of the finest, if not the finest decorated window in the kingdom. It is considerably decayed; but its elegance of composition and delicacy of arrangement, the harmony of its parts, and the easy flow of its lines, rank it even higher than th celebrated west window of York cathedral, which it also exceeds in the number of divisions." This window, from the tablet on which it is set to the highest point of the mouldings, is fiftyeight feet in height, and its breadth is thirtytwo feet six inches; it fills up the whole space between two uncommonly bold buttresses which rise, at eleven stages, to the ridge of the roof, where they are terminated with fine crocketed pinnacles; they have niches with enriched canopies, now much mutilated, and robbed of the statues which formerly occupied them. The whole of the accompaniments, including the shafts, mould-grumbled at a church-rate: he paid it cheerfully: ings, and buttresses, are exceedingly chaste and beautiful. The gable, which is not centrically placed, has crockets and crosses, now mostly broken off. The tower has an embattled parapet, with a small turret at its north-east angle; its height to the top of the vane is about one hundred and thirty feet: this is the most recent part of the cathedral, and was erected about three hundred years after the nave: it consists of four stories. vided he holds this fundamental article- the estab- longer introduced into my house." The individual who thus spoke to me, though a man not of very enlarged views, of much education, or without many prejudices, was one of what I may term the "old school" of nonconformists-that steady, sober, honest-minded class, which never for a moment dreamt or thought of the subversion of the establishment-who, while they deplored the decay of spiritual preaching in their own meeting-houses, hailed with delight the revival of it in the church, to he knew he was bound to do so, as every dissenter a working clergyman still. His indefatigable curate saw him each evening, and told him all the events of the day-for his mind was still active, and had lost none of its powers--and nightly did they offer their supplications in behalf of their beloved flock. The nonconformist referred to frequently called on the aged incumbent, and paid him every attention. He often read to him; for he had never married, and his companion sister, who used to keep house for him, had berries, the first ripe bunch of grapes, the finest dozen been dead some years. The first basket of strawof peaches from the dissenter's garden, one of the choicest in the neighbourhood, all found their way to the parsonage. On one occasion, when the old expressly referred to in the service at the meetingman's life was regarded as in danger, he was house. The influence of the Ecclesiastical Knowledge Society had not been so overwhelming as to bring the congregation of the meeting under its tyrannical sway: it had resolutely held out against such interference. Many a poor clergyman, be he rector, vicar, or curate, would have found a right hospitable welcome in my friend's comfortable mansion; while a very reserved and cold reception would have met the astonished feelings of some dis In the aisles at the back of the stalls are a a number of curious monkish paintings and legends, of great antiquity, and very rudely executed. Över each picture is a barbarous doggrel couplet, supposed to have been written by prior Senhouse: they were for some time concealed by whitewash, but were restored by dean Percy, afterwards bishop of Dromore. They consist of paintings of the twelve apostles, each having a part of the apostles' creed written over him, and legends of St. Anthony, St. Cuthbert, and St. Augustine. The diocese is of small extent, comprising portions of Cumberland and Westmoreland; but it is proposed to add the remaining pa-senting delegate, sent down from town to assure the rishes in these counties which form part of wondering inhabitants of R that the gospel was the diocese of Chester. S. J. not preached in the church, that the vicar was idle, and that the spiritual interests of the parish, as far as the establishment was concerned, were at a low ebb; and to return to town to tell the marvelling committee that the dissenting interest was at a lower still, for he had been obliged to stay at the inn, at the expense of the society, with his fellow-delegate-a Socinian-instead of being invited to the hospitable (mentioning the name of my worthy friend); and that, though he had attended the meeting, his offer of assistance had not been accepted. mansion of Though perhaps somewhat wandering from the direct purport of this paper, I have felt it right to make the above remarks, because I may have appeared in former papers to have an animosity against dissenters. Far from it. But there was as much difference in the character of the gentleman alluded to and that of my Sheffield companion, as between light and darkness. I am anxious also that the disposition of the person should be known with whom I held the following conversation. With reference to my friend's expression, "the working clergy," I wished to know his precise definition of the term. "Who do you mean by the working clergy?" was my question; for I thought, like many others, he did not rightly apply the term. "O," said he, "the men who, while they faithfully preach the doctrines of the gospel, are zealously employed in their parishes, who seem to be entirely devoted to the spiritual interests of the flock, who are constantly engaged in visiting and exhorting from house to house, in praying with the sick, instructing the ignorant, attending the young." their benefices, or consider the residence, legally exacted, as onerous and irksome, and are glad to commit to the charge of another their hungry flock; or those who are devoted to the sports of the field, or the gaieties of fashionable life; who are in the ballroom on the week-day and the pulpit on the Sunday, who are as well if not better skilled in whist than in theology. You have been somewhat severe on our ministers, and not without justice; now say, do you regard such as efficient working clergymen? Is not all this diametrically opposed to the solemn vows taken at ordination?" "Certainly," was my reply, "I wish we had none such amongst us as those referred to; and I am sure the rulers of our church wish most cordially that the whole tribe were extinct. I do not mean that they wish that persons of the stamp referred to were actually deceased, but that they were become dead to the world. I do think, however, their numbers are diminishing daily. There is a vast improvement in the church. I confess I grieve to hear of clergymen being at the opera or in a theatre, quadrilling in a ball-room with the young, or whisting it at the card-room with the old. Among the red-coats at a hunt the black stands prominently forth, to say the least of it, in exceeding bad keeping: and this is felt and remarked even by persons of no real vitality of religious principles. A clergyman never stands so high as when he is in his place. I do not mean frigid, stiff, reserved, morose, haughty, demure, inaccessible, proud-I would rather see him after the hounds, or betting at a race-course, or carousing at a convivial The faithful preaching of the gospel is unquestion-meeting-but when he carries with him the badge ably the groundwork of ministerial efficiency. There may be a great running to and fro, and yet saving knowledge may not be increased. There may be the erection of schools, and the institution of societies, and the distribution of tracts, and collections for the poor, and so forth; yet what will all avail if the moving principle is wanting? The parish may present a fair scene, but it will be a frosty scene. There will be still the naked branch and the fruitless bough. But it is not till the Sun of Righteousness is prominently brought forward, that the trees of the wood shall rejoice before the Lord; and the fruits of a new nature will bear testimony to the importance of preaching Christ the power of God. "Such men, decidedly," was my reply, "are a portion of the working clergy; but they are not alone entitled to the name. Their number, it cannot be doubted, is rapidly increasing; and, had the class been always numerous, the church would have been in a far different position from what it is, even though vastly improved, as I am sure you must candidly acknowledge, within our memories. But you must remember, my good sir, that, if a deep sleep had fallen upon the established church, one quite as profound had entranced the nonconformist body also it was not partial, it was universal. Our clergy and your ministers, indeed, are now in many cases aroused. Will you pardon me if I say that, in too many, yours have awaked to enter into an unholy alliance with men, from whose companionship a Watts and a Toddridge would have shrunk, to carry on a turbulent warfare against the institutions of the land; that I trust many, aye, very many of our clergy have arisen to engage in a warfare as turbulent, though in its ultimate success far different, against the assaults of Satan; and, whilst yours are aiming at the subversion of our establishment, ours are aiming at the subversion of the kingdom of the prince of darkness." To this remark-perhaps too strong-the reply, made with perfect good nature, was, "Well, I fear there is too much truth in it. Still," he continued, "surely you cannot call those in a true spiritual sense working clergy, who reside as little as possible on that he is a ministering servant of the Lord Jesus. Many propositions have been made of late, when there is somewhat too strong a clinging to externals, as to the propriety of the clergy always wearing a distinctive dress. It might do good. On some minds it might act as a restraint where higher motives were wanting; just as men sign tee-total pledges that they may not get drunk-as if the declaration of the bible and its denunciation against dissipation were not enough. I myself should readily adopt it. But there is one ornament-a very ancient one-I would wish all the clergy to wear; and to them I would not confine it: it is that of a meek and a quiet spirit.' I do not think any of the trappings of Rome half so gorgeous as this. I do not wish to see an undue levity on the part of a clergyman, but I do like to see an open frankness of manner: I would have every member of his flock feel-Well, this man is my friend, though I may be my own enemy: I can rely on his promise: his word is his bond: I may consult him safely, for he will give me the best advice in his power.' The uncompromising preaching of the gospel in its unsullied purity is to be the grand weapon in the minister's hand. But may not a minister, by the spirit of his devotional character, by the tenor of his own life, do much to win men to a better frame of mind?" "Well, then," again said my friend, "what after all is the use of cathedral establishments? Can you call the members therein working clergy? Is it not notorious that rich stalls have been conferred on men, not as the reward of a laborious life, of extensive *No person can speak more strongly on'this point than bishop Mant, in his charge at the primary visitation of the diocese of Down and Connor; and I purposely quote his language, as that of one whose opinions carry with them, in the minds of many, very great weight. "Of the influence of the clergyman who is devoted and enslaved to his pastimes, and whose sole intercourse with his parishioners, with respect to spiritual things, is in the customary communion of public religious offices, it were impertinent to speak as of a positive weight on the side of piety and virtue. Weight and influence indeed he has; but it is the weight of the ivy that contributes to the downfall of the tree to which it is indebted for nourishment and support. It is the influence of that noxious plant which oriental travellers have described as poisoning the surrounding atmosphere, and ne suffering vegetation to thrive within the action of its venom JW. scholarship, or of abundant usefulness, but from relationship, from private friendship, from interest made in their behalf by influential individuals? Would it not be better to do away with all such institutions whatever? Why," continued he, "I could mention scores of names of persons who have enjoyed high cathedral preferments, who had no claim, no title to such, and who never did any good to the interests of religion; whose elevation was a marvel to those who knew them." "I fully admit, in a great measure," was my reply, "the truth of what you state. I grieve to think how shamefully, in many instances, cathedral patronage has been abused; still I should much grieve to see these venerable institutions destroyed: their destruction would be the death-knell to the stability of all property, independent of their ecclesiastical bearing. To affirm that none who have enjoyed cathedral preferment have been worthy of it, would be grossly false; to affirm that amongst its members none are, strictly speaking, working clergy, would be more grossly false still. Of those who hold such preferment, how many, when their period of required residence is over, return to all the duties and anxieties of a large and populous parish? And, even of those who remain constantly resident, may not much of their time be employed in biblical and critical research, in the production of works bearing upon the great and leading doctrines of Christianity? A man may work as hard in his study as in his parish: as much may be done for the glory of God in the close of a cathedral as in the hourly performance of parochial duty. It does not follow that he who has a small parish is therefore a lazy parson; that, because in the estimation of others he has nothing to do, therefore he does nothing. We must not estimate a clergyman's work by turning to the clergy list, and seeing the amount of the population of his parish; neither must we estimate his worldly circumstances by the amount there stated of the value of his preferment. And, after all, a great change has lately taken place with respect to the cathedral establishments; whether for the better or the worse I presume not to decide. If, however, the members are, as too manyfoolishly supposed, a lazy body, their numbers will at least be diminished. And the same thing may be said of the resident graduates of colleges in the universities, who are not tutors: they are too often regarded as to be ranked among the non-working clergy, as slothful and lazy and gluttonous and wine-bibbing. The delegates of the Oxford, the syndics of the Cambridge printing press, could tell a very different tale. Drones there will be in every hive, and loungers and idlers are to be met with in every society, and doubtless such are not wanting on the banks of the Isis or the Cam; still it is most unfair to bring a sweeping accusation against a whole body of men on account of the faults of a few. The truth is, there are diversities of gifts. An individual, who makes an excellent parochial minister, might be very ill suited for what is strictly literary labour; his disposition, his qualifications, his acquirements, might render him unfit for such a work and so, vice versa, many a college resident, for years assiduous in his specific calling, whose scholarship and talents have rendered him an ornament to his college, on accepting preferment in the shape of a parish, finds himself utterly disqualified to discharge his duties, and at a period of life when it is exceedingly difficult to lay aside old habits. Middle age is not the season to enter on active parochial work. I am not convinced of the propriety of ordaining men of various professions, the strength of whose earlier years is fled, and whose prime may have been spent in fighting their country's battles; but such men are quite as likely, nay, I conceive more likely to become efficient parish ministers than they who, after a long residence within the walls of a college, must to : a certain extent have become incapacitated for entering on new scenes of labour. "And besides," I continued, "were it not that some of the clergy devoted their time to literary labour bearing on subjects connected with religion, I do not see but what may be termed theological research and elucidation must come to an end. I conceive no man, strictly engaged in the active duties of a populous parish, could have leisure for the carrying on any great work. Few persons are aware of the constant, nay, unceasing interruptions to which, in the course of one day, a parochial minister in such a parish is exposed. He frequently cannot call one moment his own. For this I could appeal to hundreds, nay, thousands of my brethren, of different views and sentiments, still all agreeing in this, that the laity and even the country clergy have not the most remote idea of their work. If you say in reply, then why not let the country clergy devote their time to literary labour? What opportunities, I ask, would they have for literary investigation? It is seldom that they are near any public libraries, that they are within reach of books of reference. Their own libraries may be well stocked; still this will not supply their wants. Perhaps persons resident in the immediate vicinity of large public libraries, or those at least to which they have access, are not aware of the privilege within their reach. I am free to confess that in my own case I have fully experienced and do experience this: I feel to the utmost the force of the somewhat vulgar proverb- Do not forget to make hay when the sun shines.' I neglected the wholesome advice, and must now be contented to gather up by the wayside what few scanty pickings I can." Our conversation was here somewhat abruptly interrupted. THE SHIPWRECK *. IT was a beautiful day: the dark, deep blue of the sky had scarcely a single cloud to speck it: the bright sun shone upon the broad open sea; and, as one long line of wave rose and plunged on the shore after another, a sheet of white foam broke upon the pebbles that lined the beach, and made them glitter in the sunshine, as if they had been so many round jewels. There was to be a ship launch: a beautiful ship, which the builder had taken the greatest pains to frame and put together, so as to be quite a model and pattern of beauty, was to be sent afloat upon the wide waters. The owner of the ship had fitted it up with every thing which would be wanted; and, when at last it was finished, when the builder had done every thing he wished to do about it, and it was quite ready, it was launched into the sea. The friends of the owner and the builder, who were standing by to see the sight, shouted, and the beautiful ship swam upon the waters as proudly and lightly as a swan. The owner of the ship, and the builder, then looked over it, and were quite satisfied: every thing in it and about it was so perfectly to their mind. The next thing was to put a captain in her. They had stored her with every thing for a voyage directly she was afloat and finished. They put plenty of all kind of provisions on board, plenty of fine fresh sweet water, and live stock, and abundance of green food, and store of fruits for the captain and his crew. When they had quite stocked the ship, they put the captain in her. Strange to say, he was one that had *From "Images." By W. Weldon Champneys, M.A., rector of Whitechapel, London. Second edition. London: Seeleys. This is an exceedingly pleasing small volume, written in a very simple style. It is printed to raise a small sum to defray the expenses of the third infants, and tenth school lately opened in Whitechapel; a parish of above 30,000. The author has done, and is doing much, for the moral and spiritual improvement of his extensive and sadly demoralised district, never been at sea before; but you will not think it strange when I tell you that the owner provided him with a most curious chart, in which every place that he might ever sail to was so plainly marked down, that, if he only looked to the chart, he would know at once where he was, and which way he was to steer his ship. They also gave him a compass, which, with the chart, would almost secure him from running on any danger while he kept a good look-out, and minded both his chart and compass. and see it, but wishes to keep it all to himself." While he was speaking this to the mate, the island hove in sight (for the ship was sailing fast); and, as the sun shone upon it at a distance, it looked so beautiful that the mate could not help turning towards it. "There," said the man, แ see, even at this distance, how beautiful it looks: it is indeed, even to look at, the most beautiful island in the world; but, if you were once landed on it, you would so enjoy it: it is full of strange fruits, such as you never saw before. Would you not like now to go there, and see what your owner has thus kept out of your sight, and kept all to himself, and know as much about it all as he does?" "I should," said the mate; for it began to seem very hard that the owner should have been so anxious to keep them from going to so beautiful an island. "I should very much like to see it; and see, as we get nearer to it, it looks more and more beautiful. I can see some of the tall hills, and the forests of wood, like a fringe along the sides: I think I shall steer the ship there." The owner gave him careful instructions too about his voyage. He told him that he might sail without any fear about the sea, for that there were no sunken rocks to fear; and that the winds that were blowing and filling his sails were all favourable, and would continue favourable as they had set in. He told them there was one great rocky island which he must beware of. It is surrounded, said the owner, by a dangerous reef of coral rock, the edges of which are so sharp and hard, that, if your ship once touches them, they would cut through copper, planks, and beams, and the ship would be lost. Do not think there is no danger, because you see none: the sea By this time the beautiful ship had got within the may be smooth, but do not trust to its smoothness: current, and was hurrying faster and faster every stand off from that rocky island: do not go near to minute towards the shore: the currents were very it if you were once to let your vessel approach to-strong, and sucked it along so fast, that the mate did wards it, there are eddies and currents that may bear you and your ship nearer and nearer till it strikes, and all is lost. Remember what I have told you: look to your chart continually: mind your compass; and then your voyage will be a happy and safe one, and all will be well. So the captain went on board, and his mate with him, and his crew, and a great many passengers, for it was a very large ship. It was beautiful to see its sails, as white as the driven snow, swelling out with the gentle wind that was blowing from the land, to see its white flag, on which was a king's crown, worked in gold colour, waving in the breeze: and, when the anchors were taken up, and the ship began to move through the dark green sea, the foam was driven from its bows and cutwater; and, as the waves broke against it, a shower of glittering sprinkles fell, like so many pearls, upon the clean decks. The ship went on; and all was right. The captain was continually looking to his chart, and steering by his compass; and, though they often got sight of the dangerous island, they never went near it; and the currents and eddies which were always running towards the island, drawing every thing nearer that should once come within the current, had no power over the ship. They kept so good a look-out that they never once got near enough even to see the island clearly. But, one day when the captain was in another part of the ship, and the mate was on deck, a strange man was seen in a little boat; and his little boat, that rode like a cork upon the waters, came swiftly towards the ship. They had often seen the boat before during the voyage, and had been always pleased at its lightness and swiftness, and the clever way in which it was managed: but the man that was in the boat this day was a stranger to them. The boat soon came up to the ship, and the man in the boat stood up, and seeing the mate on deck, said "So I hear say that you are not allowed to sail where you like?" "You are mistaken," said the mate; we are allowed to sail where we like; for we like to sail where our owner has told us to sail: but we are not allowed to sail to the dangerous rocky island: we are not even allowed to go near it, lest the ship should be wrecked." "O," said the man," there is no danger of your being wrecked: you would not certainly be wrecked if you went there: that island is such a beautiful place, that your owner does not wish you to land there not know how fast they were being hurried forward. The mate's eyes were fastened on the dangerous island; and nothing was thought of but the pleasure of seeing the forbidden place, and tasting its strange fruits, and knowing all about it. While the mate was thus employed, the captain came on deck, and saw in a moment whither the ship was going. He went up to the mate, who was his companion and great friend; and, though he knew all the time that he was disobeying his owner's plain directions, and saw that the ship was getting close to the place to which his kind and good owner, who had entrusted the ship and all its crew and passengers to his care, had strictly warned him not even to go near, he still suffered himself to be persuaded by his mate. When he heard about the beauty of the island, and the reason why they were told not to go near it; and though he might have turned the helm, and perhaps saved himself and his crew, he still kept the ship's head in the same course in which the mate had set it. The currents ran stronger and stronger the nearer they got to the shore; and in a few minutes a sharp coral rock cut through the bottom, divided the planks and beams as if a razor had cut through them: the water burst in at the rent, and the ship broke up. The whole of the crew and passengers were thrown into the sea. To add to their horror, the sky became covered with clouds, so quickly that it seemed as if night had suddenly come on. The sun was quite hidden the howling winds made the waters rage and swell, and dash with fury upon the rocks; and, instead of a calm sea, and a cloudless sky, and a happy voyage, and a beautiful ship, they had nothing before them but misery and drowning. But they were not drowned: some were floated to the shore on pieces of the wreck, and some were washed on shore by the waves; but so it came to pass, that the captain and his crew all reached the shore of the dangerous island. Cold, shivering, naked, miserable, as they were, they soon found that this was all nothing: they were hardly landed when a troop of robbers that lived on the island (which was very large) came down upon them. They seized them all, put heavy chains upon them, not even sparing the little children and women, and marched them off that same night to a prison, into which they threw them all and what was the poor mate's surprise as he caught a sight of the chief of the robbers, while he was holding a torch to light himself along, to find that it was the very same false one who had slandered the owner of the ship, and persuaded them to steer towards the dangerous island, by promising them so much pleasure and good. They found that the owner had known what kind of place this was, and had told them truly. So they were all put into prison: they were allowed food enough, but they could not eat it with that glad and cheerful heart with which they had enjoyed their food while on their voyage. Their chains, too, galled their limbs, and the iron entered into their very soul. In the middle of the next day they were surprised at hearing a loud knock at their prison door; and they heard some one speaking whose voice was well known to them: and well known it must have been, for it was the builder of the ship. The captain and his mate were ashamed to see him: they hung down their heads, and got into the darkest corner of the room, and tried to hide themselves from him. In a minute the door was opened, and he came in. His quick eye soon found out the captain and mate, and he called them to him. "How is it that you are here?" he said. "The mate persuaded me," said the trembling captain, trying to excuse himself; "the mate, whom you put on board my ship as my companion and helper, persuaded me to steer the ship this way, and I did it." "And why did you do so?" said the other to the mate. "That false man in the pilot boat deceived me, and I was deceived." "You have all done very grievous wrong; and, if you were dealt with as you are worthy to be dealt with, you would be left here to chains and death: but some one will be sent to redeem you from prison; and I am come to promise you this in the name of your kind owner and master; and you must wait patiently till this person comes, who will pay the ransom for every one of you." So saying he left them. The tidings he had brought cheered the poor shipwrecked prisoners very much indeed, at least those who believed what had been told them for a great many did not believe a word. The captain and the mate were both comforted, though they both began to think then how guilty they had been, and how much misery they had brought on the whole ship's crew by their wilfulness: but the kindness and love of their master left them without excuse: they no longer tried to justify themselves, as they had done at first, but condemned themselves for having disobeyed the plain directions given to them when the ship was launched for the voyage. Those who did not believe what the friend had come to promise them, were very loud in blaming both the owner for sending them with such a captain, and the captain for having brought them into so much trouble. It was no wonder that these should feel very miserable, because the hope of deliverance and liberty which cheered the others could not cheer them; for they did not believe they ever should be ransomed. The captain's eldest son was one of the worst of these: he had a perfect hatred to the owner of the ship, and little love for his father, or indeed any one but himself. He jeered at all who were comforting themselves with the hope of being one day set free; and, while he would not believe the promise of deliverance himself, he envied and hated those who did; and so indeed did all who had been in the room, and heard the promise made, but did not believe it. The people who were in the cther parts of the great prison did not all hear of the coming of the friend: some of them, indeed, heard a kind of half report of it, but knew nothing clearly about it. A long, long time passed, and yet no one came to redeem the poor shipwrecked prisoners. The friend visited them from time to time, and renewed the promise in the name of the owner; and every time he came he spoke more plainly about it. Sometimes he wrote to some of the prisoners (for he knew them all), and they read their letter to the rest; and in some of the letters the name of the person who was to come was written, and in others it was said who he was, and what kind of person he was, and what he would do, and a great many other particulars. All this kept up the hopes of those who really believed that the owner of the ship meant that they should be redeemed. At last the person came. A great many of the prisoners had not been contented to wait and see how and when their deliverer should come, but had laid it down that he should be such and such a kind of person, that he should come with great state and pomp, like a king-and so on. One day a person came into the prison, and said that he had come to pay their ransom. These people looked at him, and despised him in their heart, and said, "he could not be their deliverer, for he had not come at all as they knew he would come; that he was too poor-looking a man to be able to pay for them" and so they despised him in their hearts. He was a poor man in his outward look: he was not dressed in any fine or beautiful clothes: he came alone too: he was very gentle and kind in his manner and way of speaking; and his looks showed that he was very sorry for their trouble. He stopped with them in the prison for some time. Though the keeper of the prison could not have made him do so, yet he shared, of his own accord, every hardship which the prisoners underwent. He showed, almost as soon as he had come to them, that he was sent to deliver them: he showed them letters from the owner, their master, written with his own hand, and sealed with his own seal; and these letters he allowed every one of them that wished to read. Many read them: but those who had refused to believe that he was the person sent, though they read the letters, said they were forgeries, that he had got some one to copy the handwriting and the seal, and that they were not to be depended on. These men treated him not only with no respect, but with the greatest unkindness; and, though he put up with it all, and never answered their bad language and hard speeches, yet they went on the more for that; and all the comfort he found was with the few that had looked forward to his coming, who had believed the promise, and now rejoiced when they saw the letters of their master. This kind friend also thought what a joy it would be to him to deliver these poor captives, to take off their chains, and bring them back, clothed and happy, to the land from which they had sailed; and the thought of doing this cheered him all the while he was in the prison. At last the day came which had been appointed for paying the ransom, and the keeper of the prison was very busy, and, being very unwilling to part with his prisoners, did all he could with his servants to annoy and vex and harass the man, and make him change his mind. They told him he never could have enough to redeem so many with, that it would be better to let it alone, and leave them; but he had come to deliver them, and he would not go back whence he came without having done it. They all saw him go out, and he told them before he went out what he was going to do, and promised that, when he had paid the ransom to the last farthing, he would come back to them and so he left them. He was three days gone, and many of them began to fear that they had hoped in vain, and to no purpose. But early on the third day he returned, and the moment they saw him they knew that he must have paid the ransom; and it was so. The jailor came and set the doors of the prison open, though he did it surlily and against his will, and every one had free leave to go out. But, strange to tell, the men, who had refused to believe the promise that they should be delivered, had treated the deliverer with such un |