Son Christopher

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Harriet Martineau. Son Christopher

Son Christopher

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SON CHRISTOPHER

SON CHRISTOPHER

SON CHRISTOPHER

SON CHRISTOPHER

SON CHRISTOPHER

SON CHRISTOPHER

SON CHRISTOPHER

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Harriet Martineau

Published by Good Press, 2021

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When this point was reached, a common idea seemed to take possession of the preacher and the whole congregation. The discussion was closed by an appointment of three of the elders to meet the preacher to-morrow at a spot beyond five miles from Lyme, to arrange for opening a communication with the exiles,—if not with the highest exile of all. The discourse thus strangely interrupted was resumed for a few minutes,—in order to point out how the Divine blessing had been manifestly bestowed on the opening of this house of prayer,—the congregation having been brought together to hear great tidings of hope in the darkest hour of Popish triumph. An ardent thanksgiving followed; and the general enthusiasm would gladly have found vent in the shouting of a gladsome psalm: but this could not be permitted. Nothing could be allowed in these night meetings but a low chant by a few select voices. It was said that these could scarcely be heard in any neighbouring house; and if they should chance to penetrate to any chamber, they would be as the music of dreams in the ear of the sleeper. Or the devout who solaced the night-watches with prayer might naturally suppose these strains to be the response of spiritual beings, who, as John Milton had said, are wont to walk the earth both when men wake and when they sleep.

The church clock tolled four as the Battiscombes entered their own yard. No one had spoken on the way home; and their hearts were so full that no one seemed inclined to speak in the hall,—except ​that the parents whispered the indispensable blessing before going to rest, and that the Squire said as he stroked his daughters’ cheeks that there must not be many such short nights for young Christians, or the fairest roses in God’s garden would fade before their time.

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