Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1876-07-21
BRATTLE BORO, VT, FRIDAY, JULY 21, 1876.

10 inc WOflu IOf many long uay. IN
deed, he was confined to his cell for a
month by order Of the prior, and ordered
to pray thrice day for the soul of Brother
John.
When brother Richard emerged from his
cell he was a changed man. He had gath
cred among the thorns of tribulation the
wholesome fruit of humility and the inn
mortal flower of charity. Henceforth no
bitter word ever fell from his lips, though
for time he had many provocations, and
"Hont soft qui mdty penSe," was the rule of
his heart. He made himself of little ac.
count, and outlived all enmilies. lie
lived much in his cell, and prayed so often
for the soul of brother John that at last he
got TO love him dead whom he had hated
living.
Time rolled on. The knights hair turn
ed gray and the good prior died.
Then there was great commolion in the
little priory, and three or four of the lead
ing trars hoped TO be prior.
That appointment lay with Sir Richard
Erpngham. lie attended the funeral of
the late prior, and then desired the SUBJ
prior TO convene the monks. "Good broth
ers," said he, 'your prior is Richard. 1
pray you to invest him forthwith, and yield
him due love and obedience"
The knight retired and the monks stared
at each other awhile, and then obeyed, since
there was no help for il; they invested
brother Richard in due form, and such is
the magic of station that in one moment
they began 10 look on him with different
eyes.
The new prior bore his dignity so meek
ly that he disarmed all hostility. His great
rule of life was still "Hont soft Q,ti mai y
peRSe," and there is no course more apt 10
conciliate respect and good will. The
knight showed him favor and esteem; the
monks learned TO respect, and by and by
to revere him; but he never ceased to re-
proach himself aud say masses for the soul
Of brother John.
The years rolled on. The knights gray
hair turned white; and one day he sent
for the prior and said TO him, "Good father,
have grave matters TO entertain you with
al"
"SDeak, wOrshpful sir" said the prior.
The knight looked at him awhile, but
seemed i'll at ease, and as one that hath re-
solved to speak, but is loath to begin. At
last he said: "Sir, there are men that waste
their goods in sin, or meanly hoard them
till their last hour, yet leave them freely to
Mother Church after their death when they
could no longer enjoy them. Others there
be whose breasts are laden with a secret
crime they ought to confess and clear some
worthy man falsely suspected, yet they will
not tell till they come to die. Methinks this
is to be charitable too late, and just when
justice can neither cost man aught nor
profit his neighbor. Therefore, not to be
one of these, l will reveal to you now a
deed that sits heavy on my conscience"
You would confess 10 me, my son? ?"
AS man TO man, isir, but not as a peni-
tent TO his confessor for that were no mer-
ii in me; it would be no more than bury
my secret in a ieshly grave. Nay what
tell TO you you shall tell TO all the world, If
good may come of it,
Here the knight sighed anu seemed much
like one who wresteth with
himself Then lie cast about how he
should begin, and to conclude he opened
the matter thus: "Sir, Please you read that
letter; it was writ by brother John unto
my wife,
The prior read il but said never a word.
Sir" said the knight, ''do you remem-
ber sad time when you lay in Norwich
Jail, accused of murder and cast for
death?"
II do remember it well, sir, and the un-
charitable heart that brought me to that
pass"
"Whilst you lay there, sir, something be-
fell elsewhere which ] will hide no longer
from you. The King being at his palace |
in London, knight who had fought by |
his side in France sought an audience in |
private. II was granted him at once. Then
The knight fell OH his knees TO the king and |
begged that his life and his lands might be |
spared though he had slain man in heat |
Of blood. The king was grave but gentle, |
hen l showed him the letter and owned |
The truth-that and my servant, in our
fury, had strangled that hapless monk"
"Alas! sir, did you take my guilt upon |
yourself to save my life so fully forfeited. |
Twas l who hated him--'twas l who flung |
he stone.'
"At dead body, tell thee, man. We
him and set his body up where
you saw it; hand in his death you had |
lone."
The prior uttered a strange cry aud was
silent. The knight continued in = low
voice:
"We set him in the yard, aud when we |
found him in tho porch, being half mad
with terror and drink together, we bound
lim on the horse and launched him. All |
his told the king, and he, considering
he proyocation and plying too much his
Did companion in arms, gave me my life |
and lands, and gave Inc thine, which in
deed, was but bare justice. So now, sir,
you know that you are innocent of blood
she'd, and tits am guilty."
The knight looked at the churchman and
hought to see him break forth into thanks
sivings. But it was not so. The prior was
leeply moved, but not exultant. "Sir,"
iaid he, like man that is near choking,
let me go to my cell and think over these
strange tidings."
"And pray for me, 1 do implore you,"
Iald the knight.
SAY, sir, and with all my heart"
Some days passed and the knight looked
o hear his own tale come round again.
But no; theprior was as silent as the grave.
Then amer while the knight sent for him
lgain and said, "Good father, what told
you was not under seal of confession"
81 know 1t, sir" said the prior. "Yet
will it go no further, unless l should out
i've you by Gods will. Alas! sir, you
nave taken from me that which was the