strange thing, for he was not old. I knew him to be one Master
Jeremy Sparrow, a minister brought by the Southampton a month
before, and as yet without a charge, but at that time I had not
spoken with him. Without word of warning he thundered into a
psalm of thanksgiving, singing it at the top of a powerful and yet
sweet and tender voice, and with a fervor and exaltation that
caught the heart of the riotous crowd. The two ministers in the
throng beneath took up the strain; Master Pory added a husky
tenor, eloquent of much sack; presently we were all singing. The
audacious suitors, charmed into rationality, fell back, and the
broken line re-formed. The Governor and the Council descended,
and with pomp and solemnity took their places between the maids
and the two ministers who were to head the column. The psalm
ended, the drum beat a thundering roll, and the procession moved
forward in the direction of the church.

Master Pory having left me, to take his place among his brethren
of the Council, and the mob of those who had come to purchase
and of the curious idle having streamed away at the heels of the
marshal and his officers, I found myself alone in the square, save
for the singer, who now descended from the pillory and came up to
me.

"Captain Ralph Percy, if I mistake not?" he said, in a voice as deep
and rich as the bass of an organ.

"The same," I answered. "And you are Master Jeremy Sparrow?"

"Yea, a silly preacher, - the poorest, meekest, and lowliest of the
Lord's servitors."