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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Boh we'st set him free, oly prior," cried Ashbead. "We'n meayed up our moinds to 't. Yo just wait till he cums." "Nay, I command you to desist from the attempt, if any such you meditate," rejoined the prior; "it will avail nothing, and you will only sacrifice your own lives. Our enemies are too strong. The abbot himself would give you like counsel."
"Oh, do not talk thus!" cried Bess. "You will soon be well again." "Listen to me," continued Ashbead, earnestly; "dust na knoa that if thy babe be na bapteesed efore to-morrow neet, it'll be sacrificed to t' Prince o' Darkness. Go to some o' t' oly feythers confess thy sins an' implore heaven's forgiveness an' mayhap they'll save thee an' thy infant."
Next day that's yesterday her mind was clearer, an' I arsked her who Arthur was an' where he lived, if one had a mind to fetch 'im. I got out of her that he was called Arthur Miles Surname Chandon, an' that he lived at 'Oly Innercents. So this mornin', bein' allowed out, I went down to the place an' arsked to see Arthur Miles Surname Chandon.
Mey honts are itchen for a bowt wi' t' heretic robbers. Walladey! walladey! that we should live to see t' oly feythers driven loike hummobees owt o' t' owd neest. Whey they sayn ot King Harry hon decreet ot we're to ha' naw more monks or friars i' aw Englondshiar. Ony think o' that. An dunna yo knoa that t' Abbuts o' Jervaux an Salley wor hongt o' Tizeday at Loncaster Castle?"
As Didlum finished reading out the words, the lady at the harmonium struck up the tune of the hymns, and the disciples all joined in the singing: 'Oh, come and join this 'oly band and hon to glory go. During the singing certain of the disciples went about amongst the crowd distributing tracts.
But oh lor'! to think o' that grey-'aired rascal Arbroath with a fav'rite gel on the sly! Ha-ha-ha-he-he-he! We'se be all mortal!" and Twitt shook his head with profound solemnity. "Ef I was a-goin' to carve a tombstone for that 'oly 'igh Churchman, I'd write on it the old 'ackneyed sayin', 'Man wants but little 'ere below, Nor wants that little long! Ha-ha-ha-he-he-he!"
A violent dispute with the cabman set that disturbed heart yet more wildly thumping in Mrs. Chater's bosom; the sight of her husband uneasily mooning in the dining-room heated her wrath to wilder bubblings. Mr. Chater a 'oly dam' terror in Mincing Lane, if his office-boy may be quoted was an astonishingly mild man in his own house.
The rest which John Lander had obtained during the night, appeared to have revived him, and he seemed in better spirits, with an abatement of his fever. They accordingly proceeded on their journey, and after bathing, crossed the Oly in a canoe, which they found tied to a tree.
"'Oly 'eavens!" murmured Mr. Brimberly in a faint voice. The visitor, settling his bony elbows more comfortably, fanned himself until his sparse locks waved gently to and fro, and, nodding, spoke these words: "Oh, wake thee, oh, wake thee, my bonny bird, Oh, wake and sleep no more; Thy pretty pipe I 'ave n't 'eard, But, lumme, how you snore!" Mr. Brimberly stared; Mr.
The pilgrimage ends, as it should, at the shrine, that is, where the shrine had been; for the verger, after saying solemnly that they had come to the shrine of St. Thomas, solemnly added, "'Enery the Heighth, when he was in Canterbury, took the bones, which they was laid beneath, out on the green, and had them burned. With them he took the 'oly shrine, which it and bones is here no longer."
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