The Heart

Albeit I have as faithful a respect for the customs of the Church as

any man, I considered then, and consider now as well, that it was

almost beyond the power of any one to observe them according to the

fashion of the times and gain therefrom a full edification of the

spirit.

Therefore, that April morning, though filled in my inmost heart with

love and gratitude toward God, as I had always been since I had seen

His handiwork in Mary Cavendish, which was my especial lesson of His

grace to meward, with sweetest rhymes of joy for all my pains, and

reasons for all my doubts; and though she sat beside me, so near

that the rich spread of her gown was over my knee, and the shining

of her beauty warm on my face, yet was I weary of the service and

eager to be out. As I said before, Parson Downs was not to my mind,

neither he nor his discourse. Still he spoke with a mighty energy

and a conviction of the truth of his own words which would have

moved his hearers to better purpose had they moved himself as

regarded his daily life. But beyond a great effervescence of the

spirit, which produced a high-mounting froth of piety, like the

seething top of an ale-tankard, there came naught of it. Still was

there in him some good, or rather some lack of ill; for he was no

hypocrite, but preached openly against his own vices, then went

forth to furnish new texts for his sermon, not caring who might see

and judge him. A hearty man he was, who would lend his last shilling

or borrow his neighbour's with equal readiness, forcing one to a

certain angry liking for him because of his good-will to do that for

you which you were loth to do for him. Yet if there ever was a man

in harness to Satan as to the lusts of his flesh and his pride of

life, it was Parson Downs, in despite of his bold curvets and

prances of exhortation, which so counterfeited freedom that I doubt

not that they deceived even himself; and he felt not, the while he

was expanding his great front over his pulpit, and waving his hands,

on one of which shone a precious red stone, the strain of his own

leash. But I have ever had a scorn which I could not cry down for

any man who was a slave, except by his own will.

Feeling thus, I was glad when Parson Downs was done, and letting

himself down with stately jolts of ponderosity from his pulpit, and

the folk were moving out of the church in a soft press of decorously

veiled eagerness, with a great rustling of silks and satin, and

jingling of spurs and swords, and waving of plumes, and shaking out

of stronger odours of flowers and essences and spices.