That morning old Sally, the rector's housekeeper, was disquieted. She
had dreamed of making the great four-post, state bed, with the dark
green damask curtains--a dream that betokened some coming trouble--it
might, to be sure, be ever so small--(it had once come with no worse
result than Dr. Walsingham's dropping his purse, containing something
under a guinea in silver, over the side of the ferry boat)--but again it
might be tremendous. The omen hung over them doubtful.
A large square letter, with a great round seal, as big as a crown piece,
addressed to the Rev. Hugh Walsingham, Doctor of Divinity, at his house,
by the bridge, in Chapelizod, had reached him in the morning, and
plainly troubled him. He kept the messenger a good hour awaiting his
answer; and, just at two o'clock, the same messenger returned with a
second letter--but this time a note sufficed for reply. ''Twill seem
ungracious,' said the doctor, knitting his brows over his closed folio
in the study; 'but I cannot choose but walk clear in my calling before
the Lord. How can I honestly pronounce hope, when in my mind there is
nothing but _fear_--let another do it if he see his way--I do enough in
being present, as 'tis right I should.
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