They had now come to a rude altar, constructed on a piece of rock, in front of which was a small space of green turf:  the whole spot was closely surrounded by beech and ash-trees; so closely, indeed, that the sun hardly made its way into it, and the rocks around it rising up through the grass afforded ample accommodation for the people.  In a moment, they were on their knees on the grass; some almost immediately before the altar; others kneeling against the rocks; others again with their heads and hands resting against the trunk of a huge beech-tree.

Hither had been brought the necessary appurtenances for the performance of mass.  A small, but beautifully white cloth was spread upon a flat portion of the rock; bread was there, and a small quantum of wine; a little patina and a humble chalice.  M. d’Elbee took his place among the crowd before the altar, and Father Jerome, having dressed himself in his robes, performed, with a fine, full, sonorous voice, the morning service of his church.  When so occupied, he had no longer the look of the banished priest:  his sacred vestments had not shared the decay which had fallen on his ordinary clothes.  No bishop rising from his throne to bless the congregation assembled in his cathedral, could assume more dignity, or inspire more solemnity than the Cure of St. Laud, as he performed mass at his sylvan altar in La Vendee.

After mass was finished, the priest gave them an extempore discourse on the necessity of their absolutely submitting themselves to their teachers, spiritual masters, and pastors; and before he had finished, he turned their attention to the especial necessity of their obeying the leaders, now among them, in carrying on the war against the Republic, and as he concluded, he said: 

“I rejoice at all times, my children, that you are an obedient and a docile people, content to accept the word of God from those whom he has sent to teach it to you—­that you are not a stiff-necked generation, prone to follow your own vain conceits, or foolish enough to conceive that your little earthly knowledge can be superior to the wisdom which comes from above, as others are.  I have always rejoiced at this, my children, for in it I have seen hope for you, when I could see none for others; but now also I rejoice greatly to see that you unite the courage of men to the docility of babes.  Hitherto your lot has been that of peace, and if you have not enjoyed riches, you have at any rate been contented:  another destiny is before you now—­peace and content have left the country, and have been followed by robbery, confusion, and war.  My children, you must, for a while, give over your accustomed peaceful duties; your hands—­your hearts—­all your energy, and all your courage, are required by God for his own purposes—­yes, required by that Creator who gave you strength and energy—­who gave you the power and the will to do great deeds for His holy name.