He: 'With all my worldly goods I thee endow.' She: 'But, what is written in the law, how readest thou?' A novel

Front matter

WITH ALL MY WORLDLY GOODS I THEE ENDOW. Kenny & Co., Printers, 25, Camden Road, London, N.W. JE HE HAD MET HER DURING HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE ; AND THERE, BY A RUINED FOUNTAIN, HE HAD PLIGHTED TO HER HIS TROTH." P 14. He-" WITH ALL MY WORLDLY GOODS I THEE ENDOW." She— "BUT, WHAT IS WRITTEN IN THE LAW, HOWREADEST THOU?"' A NOVEL. BY G. Washington Moon, Hon.F.R.S.L. -7K Xonoott : GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK. 1889. I DEDICATE THIS, MY FIRST NOVEL, TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER, who died on September 12th, 1829, SIXTY YEARS AGO I EHEUI FUGACES LABUNTUR ANNI.

Preface

. /.=«• I DO not expect that there will be unanimity of opinion on the legal question raised in this novel ; for, I tentatively submitted the matter to the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, and also to one of the most eminent of our Q.C's. ; and I found the opinions of these respective representatives of the Church and of the Law to be diametrically opposed to each other ; — the Church holding that she is perfectly justified in instructing the husband to say to his bride, " With all my worldly goods I thee endow, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen", while the Law characterizes those words as a blasphemous lie, as gross as is that other which is uttered by a Bishop when, in the service of the ordering of priests, he says to the young candidate for holy orders, " Whose sitis thou dost forgive, they are forgiven ; and whose sins thou, dost retain, they are retained."

I shall be glad if this novel be the means of drawing public attention to this scandal, and causing it to cease. Either the Church of England, knowing, as she does, that she has not the support of the Law for what she states in the endowment clause of the marriage contract, should strike out of her ritual the words which lay her open to the serious charge of wilfully taking the name

PREFACE.

. VIII of God in vain, and teaching the husband to begin his married life by lying to his bride ; or the Law should recognize the binding nature of the endowment clause, as much as she recognizes the binding nature of the rest of the marriage contract; for, failing this, the validity of the Church of England marriages may gravely be called in question, because it is an axiom in Law that a contract which is not binding in every clause, is not binding in any clause. Therefore, if the endowment clause be declared void, the whole is void ; and the marriage ceremony, as performed in the Established Church, is a delusion and a snare by which every woman who, professedly, has been "married" according to its forms, has really been entrapped into concubinage, for she is no wife, and therefore her children are illegitimate ; and nine-tenths of the titles and inherited estates in England are not in the possession of their rightful owners. — See pp. 81-94, 211, and 254-261.

So much by way of explanation of the purport of the story; now let me say a word to borrowers of books : — Do you not, upon reflection, think it strange, dear readers, that you, who fairly claim to be considered liberal and just, have hitherto held it to be perfectly allowable to borrow a book, notwithstanding that you were well able to purchase it1? Or, rather, is it not strange that you have never thought about it at all? Permit me, then, to speak to you upon the subject;

PREFACE.

. IX and let me ask you kindly to pardon the freedom of my remarks. To me, it seems that if a book is not your own by right of purchase or of gift, you ought, in honour, to abstain from reading it, unless it belongs to a public library. You can have no just claim to be put into possession of the author's thoughts if you are able, but yet unwilling, to pay for them. Consider the labour which any " work " of fiction, that is worthy of the name, entails : — there is the preparation for it, probably by years of patient research and observation, — for, all knowledge is brought into requisition by an author; — the careful study of life and character, and of nature, animate and inanimate ; the storing of the mind with ideas worthy of being imparted, and with arguments powerful for the enforcing of truth ; the involving and evolving of the plot of the story ; the selection and due arrangement of subordinate incidents to be recorded, and illustra tions to be given ; and the clothing of the whole in suitable language, as evidenced in the preservation of the idiosyncracies of the speakers, in a clear recital of events, in forcible appeals, in logical reasonings, in graphic delineations, in scenic effects, in graceful allusions, and in poetic imagery ; and, in considering all this, you will, I think, admit that it is small enough remuneration which an author receives from the sale of his work — a few pence per copy — ; and that you ought not to deprive him of that, and yet seek to

PREFACE.

. X benefit by his labours. You are not bound to read the book ; but, if you do read it, let it be a copy to which you have equitably entitled yourself by purchase, or one which you have received as a gift. I once knew a person, — happily, he was what Juvenal calls a " rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno," — who was mean enough, and callous enough, to ask even an author ! for the loan of one of his works. If that person could have realized, and have been made to feel, the contempt which his request raised in the author's mind, his self-respect would have been utterly withered by it ; but, unfortunately, such persons are as destitute of sensitiveness, as they are of honour. Let no one pander to their meanness. They are of the class of persons who "button-hole" a solicitor, and, because he is a friend, try to get out of him, by a casual remark, a legal opinion which they have not the candour to own that they need, or the manliness to offer to pay for.

I would say, then, to ally — "Take the reviewers' opinions of this, or of any other work ; if those opinions are so favourable that they induce in you a desire to read the work, surely, in these days of cheap literature, you may, without serious risk, invest in the purchase of a copy ; but if the reviewers' opinions are adverse, you may, without loss, forego the reading of the work, and save your money and your time for a better investment. G. W. M. CONTENTS. CHAP. pAaE I. A Quaker's indignation 1 II. A Bishop's lie — priestly absolution 3 III. A deceived bride 8 IV. Daybreak as ter a storm 12 V. A meeting of lovers 15 VI. An ivy-covered cottage 19 VII. A lover's quarrel. — A broken heart 22 VIII. A tragedy 28 IX. An elopement 34 X. Parting of lovers. — A sagacious dog 38 XI. Moonlight. — A serenade 43 XII.

An overruling Providence 46 XIII. A Quaker's Meeting. — Roman Catholicism ... 51 XIV. The Sea.— A dream 58 XV. A lapsus linguœ. — Practical jokes 63 XVI. The Chateau d'Arques • 66 XVII. An irate Frenchman. — A true friend 70 XVIII. At Dieppe 74 XIX. " With all my worldly goods I thee endow " ... 77 XX. The trial, Askwyth v. Askwyth 83 XXI. After the trial 95 XXII. A musical evening at the ivy-covered cottage ... 97 XXIII. Sportsmen and their " game." — An old crow ... 110 XXIV. The dream repeated 119 XXV. Off to the Sahara 124 XXVI. An adventure in the ladies' compartment 127 XXVII. On prayer.— Twilight in the desert 132 XXVIII. Arabs and camels 138 XXIX. Dreams.— The unity of God. —The Scriptures ... 144 XXX. Address to the Diety.— Herculean feats CONTENTS. XII CHAP. PAGE XXXI Chastity and strength. — Church teachings, Eternity 156 XXXII.

The mirage of the desert.— Slavery 165 XXXIII. Casting out a devil 170 XXXIV. Night in the desert.— The captive rescued ... 174 XXXV. At Tripoli.— The Mediterranean. — Prayers at sea 184 XXXVI. God is Love, and God is Might 191 XXXVII. The Convent at Walmer 197 XXXVIII. Deeds, not Words— True worship 200 XXXIX. A double engagement. -The appeal 208 XL. Nature in summer and in winter ... 213 XLI. Woman's love. — The child stolen by gipsies ... 219 XLII. Keep on good terms with conscience 227 XLIII. The chase after the gipsy. — His capture and death 234 XLIV. The gift of sleep. — Vows: binding or not... ... 240 XLV. The Athauasian creed. — C%ra£-ianity. — Who shall roll away the stone F — Still with Thee 245 XLVI. The appeal in "Askwyth v. Askwyth" 254 XLVII. "Sister" Winifred in the Convent 262 XLVI1I. Vows of chastity. — By the sad sea waves 267 XLIX. The rescue from the Convent 277 L. Dovedale Castle. — The triple wedding

Chapter I

" It is a blasphemous lie," muttered Ernest Aldam, as with evident indignation and impatience he rose and left the church, greatly to the astonishment of the innocents, who believe that every utterance of a bishop is gospel. It has been said that " Men go in flocks like sheep, each asking what the old bell-wether will do." Not so, the fearless searchers after truth ; and such was Ernest Aldam. He, like the noble Bereans of old, took no man's ipse diæit for gospel; he "searched the Scriptures daily to see whether those things were so." He believed that there is truth in the Bible, especially in that passage which says, " All men are liars " ; though, with his naturally logical mind, he reasoned with himself that, if all men are liars, the speaker himself was a liar ; how, then, can we know that he spoke the truth ?

Ernest Aldam was a young barrister of about eight-and-twenty years of age, of manly bearing, and having a frank expression of countenance which was an accredited passport to every one's confidence. He was of an old Yorkshire family ; and his ancestors were spiritually minded Quakers who, in the licentious days of the Restoration, had protested boldly against the debasing corruptions of " the world, the flesh, and the devil," as evidenced in men's lives; and had bravely contended for the maintenance of purity of thought and kindliness of action, regardless that their protests and their example so incensed those in authority that they committed them to prison. And to prison, cheerfully they went for conscience sake ; and deemed themselves honoured by being called upon to suffer in the cause of Him who had voluntarily suffered for them.

No afflictions moved them from their purpose to lead holy lives ; and the tempest of persecution, which swept over them and their companions in tribulation, only made the roots of their faith strike more deeply, and lay hold more firmly upon the Rock of Ages ; and Ernest, in true devotion of heart, was prepared, if needful, to follow in their steps. Their record is on high.

Chapter II

" Why ! Ernest, my good fellow, what's the matter ? You seem ruffled," said Harold Hope, as he met his friend just leaving St. James's, Piccadilly. " Ruffled," replied Ernest, "I may well seem ruffled. There is nothing that so ruffles the calm depths of a fellow's mind, as does the blast of the breath of a lie." " But, surely," said Harold, " you have not been hearing any lie in church 1 " " Indeed, I have," said he ; " and one of the most blasphemous lies that ever were uttered." " You surprise me," remarked his friend. " Very likely," said Ernest ; but it is a fact. The Bishop of London just now laid his hands on the head of one of a number of young candidates for the priest hood, and said to him, ' Whose sins thou dost forgive, they are forgiven ; and whose sins thou dost retain, they are retained.' " If that is not a lie, I should like to know what is.

And it is not only a lie; but, being a lie, it is a blasphemy also, and a blasphemy of the most heinous character, for it is blasphemy uttered by a bishop officiating before the altar of the church of God ! " " Stop a bit," said his friend, " may it not be a suppressio veri, rather than a lie ? the bishop's meaning, perhaps, being somewhat as follows ; the qualifying clauses being eight-and-twenty years of age, of manly bearing, and having a frank expression of countenance which was an accredited passport to every one's confidence. He was of an old Yorkshire family ; and his ancestors were spiritually minded Quakers who, in the licentious days of the Restoration, had protested boldly against the debasing corruptions of " the world, the flesh, and the devil," as evidenced in men's lives; and had bravely contended for the maintenance of purity of thought and kindliness of action, regardless that their protests and their example so incensed those in authority that they committed them to prison.

And to prison, cheerfully they went for conscience sake ; and deemed themselves honoured by being called upon to suffer in the cause of Him who had voluntarily suffered for them. No afflictions moved them from their purpose to lead holy lives ; and the tempest of persecution, which swept over them and their companions in tribulation, only made the roots of their faith strike more deeply, and lay hold more firmly upon the Rock of Ages ; and Ernest, in true devotion of heart, was prepared, if needful, to follow in their steps. Their record is on high. WITH ALL MY WOilLDLY GOODS I THEE ENDOW. h.] while they dare not claim the power to raise the dead, because they know that their claim could be put to the proof, and immediately would vanish ' like the baseless fabric of a vision.' " The whole thing is a blasphemous assumption of one of the prerogatives of the Deity. ' Who can forgive sins but God only? ' For man, the sinner, to presume to take upon himself this divine power, and to tell another sinner like himself that he can confer the power upon him, is absurd enough to make one laugh, and would do so, were it not that it is, at the same time, awful enough to make one shudder.

" We may, and must, forgive the faults and failings, and short-comings, and wrong-doings, of our fellow creatures ; but tin is the irreligiousness of the wrong doing, the disregard of the command of God to love one another, and therefore is the essence of the offence, and that which, being committed against God, only God can forgive. " I hope that I am not boring you? " added Ernest. "Not at all; I am deeply interested," said his friend ; " for if the clergy had the power to forgive sins, they could each forgive himself his own sins. Why not? And that would be a pretty state of things ! " " A pretty state of things, indeed !" said Ernest. " But, which way are you going? " " I am going to my club," said Harold. [CHAr. " I will walk with you." " Do," said he, " for, your remarks bring to my recol lection something of importance which I have to say to you." >j " First let me add to my remarks," said Ernest, "that I am far from classing all clergymen of the Church of En "land in the same' categorv.

I know intimately many glorious exceptions — men who are sincere searchers after truth for its own sake, and who are as much astonished at my disbelief in certain dogmas, as I am in my friends' credulity. " The fact is, men's minds are not alike ; therefore, in the very nature of things, their faiths must be dissimilar. No man can see through another man's eyes. "Salvation by faith, therefore — that is, by intellectual faith — is impossible. God will neither save us nor damn us for that which we cannot help. " The faith that saves is the loving trust of the heart, — ' with the heart man believeth unto righteousness,' not with the intellect. "It is this fact that makes so objectionable the formulation of creeds to which all are expected to subscribe." "But," said Harold, "you surely hold that all clergymen of the Church of England believe the thirty-nine articles to which they subscribe?"

"Most certainly I do not," replied Ernest; "no, h.] nor one tithe of them. What ! All believe in priestly absolution ? All believe in the eternity of Hell's torments? All believe that a priest, by sprinkling water on a baby's face can regenerate its heart ? Has common sense left the world ? Thank God ! no. " There are, in the Church of England, thousands of honest, GoD-fearing clergymen to whom these doc trines are an abomination." " How, then," said Harold, " do they bring them selves to subscribe to the truth of those thirty-nine articles ? " " Ah ! there you beat me," replied Ernest. " I do not know. It is an enigma which I cannot solve ; but I can imagine a poor soul, which trustingly had leaned on the teaching of some bishop as his master, trem blingly taking up similar words to those of Naaman of old, and saying, as he enters upon his ministerial duties, ' In this thing the Lord pardon thy servant, that when my master goeth into the house of Rimmon to worship there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, when I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon thy servant in this thing.' "

Chapter III

The two friends turned down by the church, crossed Jermyn Street, St. James's Square, and Pall Mall ; and then sauntered leisurely up and down Carlson Terrace, where, undisturbed by noise, they could con tinue the conversation. " How came you," said Harold, " to be attending such a service as that to which you just now referred ? " " I take a great interest in young fellows starting on any new course ; and I was desirous of knowing what instructions and admonitions were given to young clergymen," said Ernest. " Do you," asked Harold, " take an equal interest in young maidens starting on a new course, young brides, for instance? I have a reason for putting the question," continued Harold, and waited for his friend's reply. " Certainly I do," said Ernest ; " and a more tender interest. Why do you ask?

" " Because your remark respecting the service for the ordering of priests reminds me of a trouble which a very dear friend of mine is in, and of my promise to aid her to the utmost of my power." The speaker, Harold Hope, was a young solicitor who had been a college chum of Ernest's ; and the friend ship of their college life had been maintained by frequent intercourse ever since. He was junior partner in the well-known firm of honourable solicitors, Stanhope, Leslie & Hope of Lincoln's Inn, and had married old Mr. Stanhope's elder daughter. " If I can assist you in the matter," said Ernest, " pray command my services. What is the trouble ? " "Little more than two years ago," replied Harold, " in that very church where you have just been, my sister-in-law was married to the son of a wealthy client of ours.

He had recently succeeded to his father's estates, and the marriage was looked upon as one that gave promise of great happiness. " But, differences arose between them, and finally he left his wife and child ; and has now gone abroad with a young widow whose Jezebel face has so be witched him that he has placed himself, body and soul, in her power, and has actually assigned to her, by deed of gift, the whole of his estates. " And now comes the question concerning which I shall be glad to have your professional assistance : — " Had he power to do so ? Did he not, in the marriage ceremony, in the most solemn words that it is possible to utter, endow his bride with all his worldly goods, so that he had not power to alienate them ? "The words which he used were these: — ' With all [cn.vr. my worldly goods I thee endow, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.

Amen ! ' "And, as evidence of that contract, they signed their names in the books kept in the vestry for that purpose. " Is not that a prior deed of gift ; or is it also, like the other matter, a solemn blasphemous farce, in which God's name is taken in vain ? If so, the Church, as by law established, is responsible for it ; the words having been put into the mouth of the speaker by the officiating clergyman." The young barrister knit bis brow. The introduc tion of this matter just after the discussion of the other, was indeed " piling Ossa upon Pelion." He was silent for some minutes ; and his friend watched him intently, and waited for his reply. At last he said, "This is a very serious matter, and one which requires grave consideration ; for on it hang most momentous issues. "Thus much I will venture to affirm : — Either there has been committed a gross misappropriation of pro perty, to call it by no stronger term ; or a trusting woman has been basely deceived as to her rights, by what I can describe by no fitter appellation than as another blasphemous lie instigated by the Church ; and for which the Church is responsible ; or else the Church is right, and the commonly received interpretation of the law as to a wife's property is wrong.

" In simple honesty, the contracting parties ought 1! in.] to have explained to them the nature of the covenant embodied in the words which the Church puts into their mouths and requires them to asseverate by an appeal to the Deity, and to ratify with their signatures ; and more especially so, if the words are not intended to have their obvious signification. " I must think over the matter, Harold ; and will write to you in a few days, giving you my decision." The friends parted ; Harold going to his club, and Ernest going to his chambers in New Burlington Street.

Chapter IV

Ernest Aldam could not sleep that night. His brain, always intensely active, was fearfully excited by the righteous indignation of his soul, and by the momentous issues which he foresaw might result from the case brought before him — momentous, not merely to his client, but likewise to countless thousands of others who had been married in the Church of England. As was his wont, when sleeplessness told him that his brain was dangerously excited, he resolved to take an early morning train into the country ; a resource that had never failed to bring him the needed rest. He tossed about until half-past three in the morning, then rose, drew up the blind, and flinging open the rain-gemmed window, looked out. The night had been stormy, and the angry roar of the retreating thunder of heaven's artillery was heard in the distance.

But the battle of the elements was over, and dark hurrying clouds — those camp-followers of the storm — borne along by the violence of the pur suing wind, swept sullenly, but swiftly, over the sky ; while the scattered cloud-squadrons revealed, through their serrated ranks, the sentinel stars brightly burning like camp-fires of heaven. L THEE ENDOW. Ernest was quickly dressed ; and, with nap-sac slung over his shoulder, was soon out of doors. No vehicles or pedestrians marred the long vistas of the deserted streets, the innumerable lamp-lights of which were reflected on the shining pavements still wet with the recent rain. Less than an hour's walk took him to the Liverpool street station, where he was in ample time for the five o'clock train to Cromer. The grey dawn was breaking; and, as the train sped away from town into the pure air of the country, the gradually increasing daylight gave Ernest the impression that the train was bearing him away from darkness into a land of light and beauty.

The rain-drops sparkled in the beams of the rising sun, and their splendour scintillated on the leaves to which they clung, as the boughs were swayed by the passing wind which, having moderated to a gentle breeze, was kissing the half-drowsy, perfume-laden flowers. All nature rejoiced : the night mists had rolled away ; the trees appeared to wraltz round each other in very gladness, as the train flew along ; the larks soared on high, singing as they soared, their song seeming to Ernest's devout mind, to be at the same time a tribute of praise to the Creator, and a shower of blessing to the earth. By ten o'clock the train was at Cromer, and over the undulating green hills, on the coast, the sea was seen ENDO W. flashing back the glorious sunlight, as if her jewelled bosom heaved with exulting adoration.

Ernest, leaving the railway on his left, turned his steps towards the thickly-wooded country that stretches inland. Passing the beautiful home of Locker-Lampson, the author of those clever vers - de - socie'te', entitled " London Lyrics," he was soon in shady lanes em bowered with trees. But why had he chosen this retired corner of the country in which to seek that rest which his over wrought brain needed ? Was it that in the neighbourhood of Cromer there was a greater attraction than all the beauties of nature and the freshness of the ocean air ? Ah! yes; an attraction which is the mightiest on earth — the irresistible attraction of a woman's love. Here dwelt the one being whose soul went out to him with all the yearning affection of a woman's loving nature, and to whom his own noble heart bowed in unselfish devotion.

He had met her during his travels in Greece ; and there, by a ruined fountain, he had plighted to her his troth, and their attachment was an interchange of perfect trust — a summer sky unflecked by a single cloud ; for, the chilling mists, which occasionally settle on life's greenest paths, were never suffered to rise and form themselves into clouds ; they were dissipated instantly by the warmth and sunlight of perfect love.

Chapter V

Ernest had telegraphed to Helena that he should be with her by about ten o'clock ; and soon the flutter ing of a maiden's garments at the end of the quiet green lane, told him of the impatience of the gentle heart that hurried to lessen the distance between them. They met in a rapturous embrace, Ernest folding her to his manly breast, and kissing her dear lips with passionate eagerness, while each read in the other's eyes the blissful story of unalterable affection. " O, Ernest," said Helena, " this is indeed hap piness ! " " Happiness to us both," replied Ernest, " as all our happiness should be. Joy would not be joy to me, my darling, if you did not share it." She took his arm, clasping it close to her bosom in very lovingness as they walked along, her upturned eyes still resting with unutterable gladness on that noble face whose every lineament was so dear to her.

She was of a Grecian type of beauty, well befitting her name ; and her dark lustrous eyes spoke of a soul of intense sensibility. " And what has brought you down ? " she asked. " The train, of course," said he, laughing in boyish ness of heart, as he looked into her sparkling eyes, so bright with happiness, and saw their gladness kindle afresh beneath the light of his sunny smile. [chap. " But why did you come ? " she asked, locking both her hands on his arm, and turning more fully to him her lovely face, radiant with the hope of hearing yet again those words of affection for which the insatiable hunger of her fond heart yearned. " Need you inquire, dearest ? Does not your own love answer the question which it prompts you to ask ? " Your affection for me, Helena, is the light of my existence, irradiating, with its beauty, life's darkest clays ; and, as the humblest plant turns to the light for its very life, so my whole being longs for your presence and lives but in your smile."

Thy sunny srrile is life to me, I live but in thy love ; As flowers live in heaven's smile, Of sunlight from above. Thy gentle voice my fond heart thrills "With music's sweetest tone, Awak'ning love's rich echoes there, Responsive to thine own. Thy graceful form more beauteous seems To me each time we meet ; And all my being, lowly bows, In worship at thy feet. But fair as is thy lovely face, More lovely is thy soul, And gives unto thy life a grace Which beautifies the whole. L THEE ENDOW. ▼0 " Dear Ernest," said Helena, " you think too highly of me ; still, it is very sweet to have the worship of a heart like yours. May God make me worthy of it. " But you look worn, dear one ; I am afraid that you have been studying too much." "I certainly had much to occupy my mind on Sunday," said Ernest ; " and I was so greatly excited by it that I could not sleep ; for I foresaw that probably I should be engaged in what might prove to be a very important suit."