Why not at St. Ives on the market-days? Or he might be a ‘Running Lecturer,’ not tied to one locality that is as likely a guess as any.
Whether the call of this Wells Lectureship and Oliver’s Letter got due return from Mr. Story we cannot now say; but judge that the Lectureship,—as Laud’s star was rapidly on the ascendant, and Mr. Story and the Feoffees had already lost 1,800l. by the work, and had a fine in the Starchamber still hanging over their heads,—did in fact come to the ground, and trouble no Archbishop or Market Cattle-dealer with God’s Gospel any more. Mr. Wells, like the others, vanishes from History, or nearly so. In the chaos of the King’s Pamphlets one seems to discern dimly that he sailed for New England, and that he returned in better times. Dimly once, in 1641 or 1642, you catch a momentary glimpse of a ‘Mr. Wells’ in such predicament, and hope it was this Wells,—preaching for a friend, ‘in the afternoon,’ in a Church in London.[1]
Reverend Mark Noble says, the above Letter is very curious, and a convincing proof how far gone Oliver was, at that time, in religious enthusiasm.[2] Yes, my reverend imbecile friend, he is clearly one of those singular Christian enthusiasts, who believe that they have a soul to be saved, even as you do, my reverend imbecile friend, that you have a stomach to be satisfied,—and who likewise, astonishing to say, actually take some trouble about that. Far gone indeed, my reverend imbecile friend!
This, then, is what we know of Oliver at St. Ives. He wrote the above Letter there. He had sold his Properties in Huntingdon for 1,800l.; with the whole or with part of which sum he stocked certain Grazing-Lands on the Estate of Slepe Hall, and farmed the same for a space of some five years. How he lived at St. Ives: how he saluted men on the streets; read Bibles; sold cattle; and walked, with heavy footfall and many thoughts, through the Market Green or old
