The Argosy — page 147: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

134 Secret as the Grave. shadow fell upon the quiet household at Mersham by the death of the invalid father ; and, as the estate was burdened, the widow Margaret rather decidedly set before her eldest son, Edward, the desirability of securing a lady of fortune for a wife. ‘Thou art twenty-nine,” said she, ‘‘and Mildred Hall is twenty-seven. I know she will favour thy affection, and I will speak to her mother on thy behalf.” Edward, being somewhat vexed by his mother’s importunity, left the house, although it was dusk, and walked towards S——. He was startled by seeing a dim light in the church ; and more so when, pausing in the porch, he found that some kind of service was going on within. An old man who had been ejected from a neighbouring vicarage thirty-two years before was pleading for the faithful in prayer. His feeble voice, tremulous with excitement, was heard bewailing the wicked- ness of the times. ‘‘ Thou hast smitten the city with pestilence, and purged it with fire, and yet it is as Sodoma. ‘There be not found ten righteous men within it. Where be our rulers? ‘They have eyes and see not; putting the people into the priests’ offices that they may eat a piece of bread. But,” added he, “if the minister here be chosen of the Lord, grant that he may have more understanding than all his teachers.” Presently the speaker preached from the text, ‘Gather my saints together unto me, those that have made a covenant with me by sacrifice ;” and the discourse, like the ancient roll of the prophet, was full “of lamentation, and mourning, and woe.” This ended, Luke Elvey, the aged clerk, who had received no unction, he said, since Master Howe went away, gave out the opening verse of the little known Puritan hymn— “The mighty Lord is still aboard, But He is all asleep ; Fair David’s son doth sheath his sword, And none the city keep: The enemy around hath roared While Cana’s children weep.”’ With a wild fervour the voices gathered strength, and, like a funereal dirge, the solemn cadence passed over the quiet resting-places of the dead, until the concluding words seemed shouted to the deep sleepers :— y “ Awake! awake! put on thy mail, Smite Ahab hip and thigh, And let the ministers of Baal Thy red right hand descry. Awake! awake! the nations quail ; Thy chosen cease to cry.” One voice there was singularly sweet and clear. More than once had Edward heard that voice during his own ministrations ; and afterwards its echo had thrilled his soul, and left a yearning there. Strange that it was to be the solitary music of his after-life. CORNICE OOO KS (E(@) ”