Chapter 16.15 & Chapter 17.1 - Shirley

And these gentlemen stepped up before the lady generals. The rectors passed to the full front. The parish clerks fell to the extreme rear. Helston lifted his shovel hat. In an instant out clashed the eight bells in the tower. Loud swelled the sounding bands. Flute spoke, and clarion answered. Deep rolled the drums, and away they marched. The broad white road unrolled before the long procession. The sun and sky surveyed it cloudless. The wind tossed the tree boughs above it, and the twelve hundred children, and one hundred and forty adults of which it was composed, trod on in time and tune, with gay faces and glad hearts. It was a joyous scene, and a scene to do good. It was a day of happiness for rich and poor. The work, first of God, and then of the clergy. Let England's priests have their due. They are a faulty set in some respects, being only of common flesh and blood like us all. But the land would be badly off without them. Britain would miss her church, if that church fell. God save it. God also reform it. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN THE SCHOOL FEAST Not on combat bent, nor of faux men in search, was this priest-bed and woman-officet company. Yet their music played martial tunes. And, to judge by the eyes and carriage of some—Miss Kildar, for instance—these sounds awoke, if not a martial, yet a longing spirit. Old Helston, turning by chance, looked into her face, and he laughed. And she laughed at him. There is no battle in prospect, he said. Our country does not want us to fight for it. No foe or tyrant is questioning or threatening our liberty. There is nothing to be done. We are only taking a walk. Keep your hands on the reins, Captain, and slack the fire of that spirit it is not wanted. Mars the Pity