nt. To
many a man, certainly to any man of the refined mental and moral nature
of St Paul, this slow fire of indescribable annoyance would be far
worse to endure than a great and sudden infliction of pain, even to
death. It is a noble triumph of grace when such a test is well borne,
and turned by patience into an occasion for God. When Nicholas Ridley,
for a long year and a half (1554-5) was committed at Oxford to the
vexatious domestic custody of the mayor and his bigoted wife, Edmund
and Margaret Irish, it must have been nothing less than a slow torture
to one whose fine nature had been used for years to the conditions of
civil and ecclesiastical dignity and of a large circle of admirable
friends. And it was a spiritual victory, second only to that of his
glorious martyrdom (Oct. 16, 1555), when the close of that dreary time
found the once obdurate and vexatious Mrs Irish won by Ridley's life to
admiration and attachment, and also, as it would seem, to scriptural
convictions.[7] But it was a still nobler result from a still more
persistent and penetrating trial when St Paul so lived and so witnessed
in the presence of this succession of Roman soldiers that the whole
Guard was pervaded with a knowledge of his true character and position,
evidently in the sense of interest and of respect. It must have been a
course of _unbroken_ consistency of conduct as well as of openness of
witness. Had he only sometimes, only rarely, only once or twice,
failed in patience, in kindness, in the quiet dignity of the Gospel,
the whole succession of his keepers would have felt the effect, as the
story passed from one to another. As a fact, the "keeping power of
Christ" was always with him, and always used by him, and the men went
out one after another to say that here was a prisoner such as never was
before. Here was no conspirator or criminal; his "bonds" were
evidently (ver. 13) due only to his devotion to a God whom he would not
renounce, and whose presence with him and power over him were visibly
shewn in the divine peace and love of his hourly life.

We can please ourselves if we will by imagining many a scene for the
exercise of that influence. Sometimes the Saint would be left much
alone with the Praetorian. Sometimes a long stream of visitors would
flow in, and for a whole day perhaps the two would scarcely exchange a
word; the Guardsman would only watch and listen, if he cared to do so.
Sometimes it would be a case wh