The Altar Steps | Page 3

of him instead
of golden fields.
_Now the darkness gathers,_ _Stars begin to peep,_ Birds and beasts
and flowers _Soon will be asleep._
But rats did not sleep; they were at their worst and wake-fullest in the
night time.
_Jesu, give the weary_ _Calm and sweet repose,_ With thy tenderest
blessing _May mine eyelids close._
Mark waited a full five seconds in the hope that he need not finish the
hymn; but when he found that he was not asleep after five seconds he
resumed:
Grant to little children _Visions bright of Thee;_ Guard the sailors
tossing _On the deep blue sea._
Mark envied the sailors.
Comfort every sufferer _Watching late in pain._
This was a most encouraging couplet. Mark did not suppose that in the
event of a great emergency--he thanked Mrs. Ewing for that long and
descriptive word--the sufferers would be able to do much for him; but
the consciousness that all round him in the great city they were lying
awake at this moment was most helpful. At this point he once more
waited five seconds for sleep to arrive. The next couplet was less
encouraging, and he would have been glad to miss it out.

Those who plan some evil _From their sin restrain._
Yes, but prayers were not always answered immediately. For instance
he was still awake. He hurried on to murmur aloud in fervour:
Through the long night watches May Thine Angels spread _Their white
wings above me,_ _Watching round my bed._
A delicious idea, and even more delicious was the picture contained in
the next verse.
_When the morning wakens,_ Then may I arise _Pure, and fresh, and
sinless_ _In Thy Holy Eyes._
_Glory to the Father,_ _Glory to the Son,_ _And to thee, blest Spirit,_
_Whilst all ages run. Amen._
Mark murmured the last verse with special reverence in the hope that
by doing so he should obtain a speedy granting of the various requests
in the earlier part of the hymn.
In the morning his mother put out Sunday clothes for him.
"The Bishop is coming to-day," she explained.
"But it isn't going to be like Sunday?" Mark inquired anxiously. An
extra Sunday on top of such a night would have been hard to bear.
"No, but I want you to look nice."
"I can play with my soldiers?"
"Oh, yes, you can play with your soldiers."
"I won't bang, I'll only have them marching."
"No, dearest, don't bang. And when the Bishop comes to lunch I want
you not to ask questions. Will you promise me that?"

"Don't bishops like to be asked questions?"
"No, darling. They don't."
Mark registered this episcopal distaste in his memory beside other facts
such as that cats object to having their tails pulled.

CHAPTER II
THE LIMA STREET MISSION
In the year 1875, when the strife of ecclesiastical parties was bitter and
continuous, the Reverend James Lidderdale came as curate to the large
parish of St. Simon's, Notting Hill, which at that period was looked
upon as one of the chief expositions of what Disraeli called
"man-millinery." Inasmuch as the coiner of the phrase was a Jew, the
priests and people of St. Simon's paid no attention to it, and were proud
to consider themselves an outpost of the Catholic Movement in the
Church of England. James Lidderdale was given the charge of the Lima
Street Mission, a tabernacle of corrugated iron dedicated to St. Wilfred;
and Thurston, the Vicar of St. Simon's, who was a wise, generous and
single-hearted priest, was quick to recognize that his missioner was
capable of being left to convert the Notting Dale slum in his own way.
"If St. Simon's is an outpost of the Movement, Lidderdale must be one
of the vedettes," he used to declare with a grin.
The Missioner was a tall hatchet-faced hollow-eyed ascetic, harsh and
bigoted in the company of his equals whether clerical or lay, but with
his flock tender and comprehending and patient. The only indulgence
he accorded to his senses was in the forms and ceremonies of his ritual,
the vestments and furniture of his church. His vicar was able to give
him a free hand in the obscure squalor of Lima Street; the ecclesiastical
battles he himself had to fight with bishops who were pained or with
retired military men who were disgusted by his own conduct of the
services at St. Simon's were not waged within the hearing of Lima

Street. There, year in, year out for six years, James Lidderdale denied
himself nothing in religion, in life everything. He used to preach in the
parish church during the penitential seasons, and with such effect upon
the pockets of his congregation that the Lima Street Mission was rich
for a long while afterward. Yet few of the worshippers in the