Curate

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The Curate's Friend It is uncertain how the faun came to be in Wiltshire.

Perhaps he came over with the Roman legionnaires to live with his friends in camp, talking to them of Lucretius or Garganus, or of the slopes of Etna.

They, in the joy of their recall, forgot to take him on board, and he wept in exile.

Amen.

Almighty and everlasting God, who alone workest great marvels: Send down upon our Bishops, and Curates, and all congregations committed to their charge, the healthful Spirit of thy grace; and that they may truly please thee, pour upon them the continual dew of thy blessing; Grant this, O Lord, for the honor of our advocate and mediator, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

Almighty God, who hast given us grace at this time with one accord to make our common supplications unto thee; and dost promise that when two or three are gathered together in thy name thou wilt grant their requests: Fulfil now, O Lord, the desires and petitions of thy servants, as may be most expedient for them; granting us in this world knowledge of thy truth, and in the world to come life everlasting.

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Letter three, The Vicar, The Curate.

And telling me the sovereign's thing on earth Was Parma city for an inward bruise.

Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I.

No trifles failed his yielding mind to please, And all his passions sunk in early ease.

Nor one so old has left this world of sin More like the being that he entered in.

The Curate.

Ask you what lands our pastor ties? Alas! But few our acres, and but short our grass.

And that was all.

End of section 20 Chapter 4 The Death of the Curate It was on the sixth day of our imprisonment that I peeped for the last time, and presently found myself alone.

Instead of keeping close to me and trying to oust me from the slit, the curate had gone back into the scullery.

I was struck by a sudden thought.

Recording by Chris Gorringe War of the Worlds by H. G.

Wells Book One Chapter Thirteen How I Fell In With The Curate After getting this sudden lesson in the power of terrestrial weapons, the Martians retreated to their original position upon Horsell Common; and in their haste, and encumbered with the debris of their smashed companion, they no doubt overlooked many such a stray and negligible victim as myself.

Had they left their comrade and pushed on forthwith, there was nothing at that time between them and London but batteries of twelve-pounder guns, and they would certainly have reached the capital in advance of the tidings of their approach—as sudden, dreadful, and destructive their advent would have been as the earthquake that destroyed Lisbon a century ago.

But they were in no hurry.

In one place we blundered upon a scorched and blackened area, now cooling and ashen, and a number of scattered dead bodies of men burned horribly about the heads and trunks but with their legs in boots mostly intact; and of dead horses fifty feet perhaps behind a line of four ripped guns and smashed gun carriages Sheen, it seemed, had escaped destruction, but the place was silent and deserted.

Here we happened on no dead though the night was too dark for us to see into the side roads of the place.

In Sheen my companion suddenly complained of faintness and thirst, and we decided to try one of the houses The first house we entered after a little difficulty with the window Was a small semi-detached villa And I found nothing eatable Left in the place But some moldy cheese There was however water To drink and I took A hatchet which promised To be useful in our Next house breaking We then crossed to a Place where the road Turns towards Mortlake Here there stood a White house within a Walled garden and in The pantry of this Domicile we found a Store of food two Loaves of bread in a Pan an uncooked steak And half of a ham I give this catalogue So precisely because As it happened we Were destined to subsist Upon this store for The next fortnight Bottled beer stood under A shelf and there were Two bags of haricot Beans and some limp Lettuces This pantry opened Into a kind of washup Kitchen and in this Was firewood There was also a Cupboard in which we Found nearly a dozen Of burgundy tinned Soups and salmon and Two tins of biscuits We sat in the adjacent kitchen in the dark For we dared not strike a light And ate bread and Ham and drank beer Out of the same bottle The curate Who was still timorous And restless was Now oddly enough For pushing on and I was urging him To keep up his strength By eating when the Thing happened that was To imprison us It can’t be midnight Yet I said and Then came a blinding Glare of vivid green Light Everything in the kitchen leaped out Clearly visible in Green and black and Vanished again and Then followed such a Concussion as I have Never heard before or Since so close On the heels of this As to seem instantaneous Came a thud behind me A clash of glass A crash and rattle Of falling masonry All around us and The plaster of the Ceiling came down upon Us smashing into a Multitude of fragments Around our heads I was knocked headlong Across the floor against The oven handle and Stunned I was insensible For a long time the Curate told me and When I came to we Were in darkness again And he with a face Wet as I found afterwards With blood from a cut Forehead was dabbing Water over me For Some time I could Not recollect what Had happened Then things came to Me slowly A bruise on My temple asserted itself Are you better asked The curate in a whisper At last I answered Him I sat up Don’t move He Said The floor is covered With smashed crockery From the dresser You Can’t possibly Move without making A noise and I Fancy they are outside We both Sat quite Silent so That we could scarcely Hear each other breathing Everything Seemed deadly Still but once Something near us Some Plaster or broken Brickwork slid Down with a rumbling Sound Outside and very Near there was An intermittent Metallic Rattle That! Said the curate When presently it Happened Again Yes I said but What Is it? A Martian said The curate I listened Again It was not like The heat ray I said And for a Time I was Inclined to think One of the great Fighting machines Had stumbled Against the House as I Had seen one stumble Against the tower of Shepherdton church Our situation was So strange and incomprehensible That for three Or Four hours until The dawn came we Scarcely moved and Then the light filtered In not through the Windows Which remained Black but Through a triangular Aperture between a Beam and a heap of Broken bricks in the Wall Behind us The Interior of the Kitchen we now Saw grayly for the First time The Window had been Burst in by a Mass of Garden mould Which flowed Over the table upon Which we had been Sitting and lay upon Our Feet Outside the soil Was banked high Against the house at The top of the Window frame we Could See an Uprooted drainpipe The Floor was littered With Smashed hardware The end of the kitchen Towards the house was Broken into and since The daylight shone in There it was evident The greater part of The house had collapsed Contrasting vividly With this ruin was The neat Dresser stained In the fashion Pale green and with A number of copper And tin vessels Below it The wallpaper Imitating blue and white Tiles and a couple Of colored supplements Fluttering from the Walls above the kitchen Range As the Dawn grew clearer We saw through the Gap in the wall The body of a martian Standing sentinel I Suppose over the still Glowing cylinder At the sight of that We crawled as circumspectly As possible out of The twilight of the Kitchen into the Darkness of the scullery Abruptly the Right interpretation dawned Upon my mind "The fifth Cylinder," The fifth shot from Mars has struck this house and buried us under the ruins.

For a time, the curate was silent, and then he whispered, God have mercy upon us.

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Letter three: The Vicar; The Curate.

And telling me the sovereign's thing on earth Was Parma City for an inward bruise.

Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part One.

Much are the precious hours of youth misspent In climbing learning's rugged, steep ascent: When to the top the bold adventurer's got, He reigns, vain monarch of a barren spot; While in the vale of ignorance below Folly and vice to rank luxuriance grow; Honors and wealth pour in on every side, And proud preferment rolls her golden tide.

Churchill.

The lately departed minister of the borough; his soothing and supplicatory manners; his cool and timid affections; no praise due to such negative virtue; address to characters of this kind; the vicar's employments; his talents and moderate ambition; his dislike of innovation; his mild but ineffectual benevolence; a summary of his character; mode of paying the borough minister; the curate has no such resources; his learning and poverty; erroneous idea of his parent; his feelings as a husband and father; the dutiful regard of his numerous family; his pleasure as a writer; how interrupted; no resource in the press; vulgar insult; his account of a literary society; and a fund for the relief of indigent authors, and so forth.

The Vicar.

Oh boy.

You guys could have been the Curate, but instead you chose to kill an emissary of Zonkathon and piss him off.

Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk.

But it did get me thinking.

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The Curate's Friend.

It is uncertain how the fawn came to be in Wiltshire.

Perhaps he came over with the Roman legionnaires to live with his friends in camp, talking to them of Lucretius or Garganus, or of the slopes of Etna.

And that was all.

End of section 20 Chapter 4 The Death of the Curate It was on the sixth day of our imprisonment that I peeped for the last time and presently found myself alone.

Instead of keeping close to me and trying to oust me from the slit, the curate had gone back into the scullery.

I was struck by a sudden thought.