Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

step became more pressing. Andrew had not been sufficiently
schooled in the science f the cross to Ivar up against it like a
i
'hristian, and his hearl. was tilled with nmnnurhv
he almost cursed the mis-call, 'd
t'h.'irity, which, to preserve a
inp.n from starving, dragged him away from all
worth preserving.
that mude life
At length his empty cupboard and empty table told him
that the day was come; he must absolutely starve, or go into
the workhouse. One hope alone remained; yet it was scarcely
a hope. "He would go and speak to Father Peter about it;
yet what could Father Peter do for liim ?"
It was in the afternoon of a sweet day of June that he locked
his cottage door, and set off with the support of his trusty
knotted stick, to go to the house of his old pastor. He had
good reason to go, for he had had no breakfast; and ho had
waited till all his neighbors had finished their dinner, hoping
that some chance might furnish him with n meal. But he had
been disappointed: and so, with nothing better than a bit of
crust, which he had begged to assuage his hunger, he trudged
on along the well known path. It led across the church-yard.
A lot of urchins, all well known to old Andrew, were enjoying
a glorious game of romps amongst the tombstones, spite of the
terrors of the sexton's stick, but they all ran at once to welcome
their old crony Andrew, and as he seemed tottering in his
walk, some offered even to lead him and assist him. But, no;
he would not spoil their sports; time and care would soon enough
do that: so he gave them a kind word, and sent them back
to their merry game. For awhile he could not help standing
to watch their gambols, as they leaped from stone to stone, and
situation as deeply as himself could do; but he was but a poor
country missiouer, dependant upon very precarious means:
he had many to weep for as destitute as Andrew; and though
he might eke out of his own poverty a little alms for each, yet
the aggregate would be far from sufficient for the entire support
of only one.
What, then, could he do ? Why, only give the such consolation as lay in
poor old man
his power. He well knew the
cruelty of the boasted poor-laws, and the grinding hard-heartedness
of those who administered them; but to have joined Andrew
in deploring these, would not have diminished his horror
ning.
Sorrowfully then, most sorrowfully, did he turn his steps
we were going to say, homeward, but ulas ! he had no home
now. Sorrowfully did he cast his last look on the little cross
THE VISION OF OLD ANDREW THE WEAVER.
now gilded by the warm rays of the setting sun, that stc/jd on
!>]( of the chapel; and slowly and painfully did he climb
flic hill Leading np to the old churchyard. Arrived there, be-
neath the lime trees, he paused to take one last and lingering
look around. The sun had set, but there was sufficient light
for him to recognize each well v :id fondly,
though sorrowfully, did lie dwoll on the reoollr-rtums that each
awakened. At length his eye sought his owu cottage. The
chimney only could be seen amidst the trees; but he knew it
was his. There was smoke curling up from the chimneys of
most around, harbinger of the evening meal; but none came
out from his; and his eye seemed to penetrate into its cold look-
ing and desolate interior, where his now idle loom formed almost
the sole remaining furniture.
He could not bear the thought of returning to it It seemed
to him even colder and more comfortless than the grave. He
was standing at the foot of one which had long been undisturb-
ed, and over which the grass and thick curly moss had spread
a bed far softer than he had pressed for many a year. It
seemed far more inviting to his weary limbs, than his hard
mattress on the floor there below. The evening was calm and
mild so at length he laid down his stick, and seated himself
on the yielding turf. By degrees the inclination to lie down
came stronger upon him, and at last he reclined himself entirely
upon it, and rested his weary and anxious head upon the
mossy pillow.
But his cares diminished not ; and, do what he would, he
could not bring himself to bow down, as he well knew he
ought, to the dispensations of Providence.
" Patience," he said to himself, " yes, I must have patience.
Well, I know it ! but I fears I haven't got it. It's all very well
to read about patience, sitting by a nice fire, with a good quar-
pursued each other round the trees, and dodged about the
iron-palisaded monuments; and he thought of many hours
which he had spent like them, and, perchance, of some which
he wished had been spent better; and wiping a tear from his
eye, he tottered onwards.
The good priests's house was reached. His first care was to
give his old friend a hearty meal, for he soon found out how
much he needed it. And then came the consultation.
But Andrew was right in his forebodings. "What could
Father Peter do for him ?" Ho felt, in sooth, the old man's
tern loaf and a lump of cheese beside one, but it's not so easj
to practise it, when they are eaten up, and there's no hope of
any more coming in their place aye, and it's all very well to
preach about patience to other people. O, Father Peter, I dara
say you believe what you say and I dare say it's all very good
and true but, change your snug little parlour for my cottage
yonder, and let's see how you'd be able to preach then. Oh I
I thinks then you'd be a little more indulgent with such poor
old creatures as me, and not chide ua for want of resignation.
" Well, but ai'nt I ungrateful to say so ? for your chidings
was always that of a father, and you've well made up for it by
many a good meal to poor old Andrew. May God bless-- you
for it, and keep you from such a sore trial as mine is."
"
So then," his thoughts went on after a pause, "there's no
hope left. I must go to the workhouse, and be locked up, and
have a pauper's dirty-looking dress put on me, for fear I should
run away ; and never be allowed to wander amongst the grave-
at encountering them, nor blunt his feelings when suffering
under them. He strove, therefore, to represent things in the
best light he could; and promised often to come and see him
in his new abode; and then added something about the consolations
of religion, and the blessings of poverty, and the advantages
of suffering, especially when applied to the expiation of
the past, and directed by the love of Him, who "suffered for us,
leaving us an example."
The old man could not gainsay anything of this; still he felt
cast down, and half inclined to murmur, when this last prop of
his hopes was taken away from him. He stones,
had, indeed, foreseen
to read the names of my old cronies, who lie here at
peace. Ah ! you were happy to be taken off befoie these sad
times. I wish I was with you. I wish I was lying here below
the quiet sod, with the wind singing sweetly through the lime
trees, and all my cares and sorrows buried beneath five feet of
earth 'twould be a more comfortable and happier place than
one of the coarse beds in the big house over * * * *
yonder."
How long he went on in his reverie 'twere hard to say, for
occasionally it was broken by short fits of forgetfulness, when
the weariness produced by his morning's fast and his walk
brought sleep upon his eyelids.
Suddenly, however, he was awakened from it, by an apparent
movement of ground beneath him. He lay for a moment
trembling and quite paralysed with terror, wondering if he had
that such must be the result of his conference with his pastor,
and had felt that it could not be otherwise; still, the hope,
however baseless, that perhaps Father Peter might advise him
to remain in his cottage, had stood between him and the
dceaded workhouse. But now that it was gone and the
pauper's death-bed, and the pauper's grave, presented themselves
to him, without the most distant chance of escaping
them, the desolation that came over his senses was almost stun-
been dreaming, when the upheaving of the sod became too
sensible for him to doubt of its reality. He started to his feet,
and would have fled, but fear took away, in the instant, the en-
ergy it had imparted, so that he clasped hold of a grave-stone
for support, and stood gazing in intense affright at the spot on
which he had been lying.
Slowly the turf was pushed up until it burst open, nnd disclosed
a human form, endeavoring, as it were with difficulty,
to extricate itself from some entanglement below, rail
making its way out. It soon suucei ded and stood before him.