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

hftfl not been tedious or altogether uninteresting to yon, for
whose amusement and instruction it was written. Wo would
fain persuade ourselves, that, although we might not draw the
tears from your eyes for our feeble pen claims no such power
yet that you turned away from the death-bed of poor Edwin
with at least a little feeling of sorrow and compassion in your
hearts, and with a deeper and more grateful appreciation of
that greatest of all blessings the blessing of the Faith
which has been given to so many of you gratuitously, and
for which, perhaps, you have never been called upon to
suffer. We are but too apt to undervalue advantages which
we have obtained without suffering or difficulty ; and if ifc
be true in general matters, that we prize a thing in proportion
as it haa cost us dear, how much more does it hold when
and he has proved it '
and if his ; portion be scant, and his lot
be hard, help him if you are able, and you will do a good
work, and one which God will bless ; for, the same God knows
well how much such fervent hearts, such generous souls, are
needed to make some atonement for the cold, dead manner, in
which too many of us, good, comfortable souls, take, as a mat-
brother, long a wanderer, perchance, but safe in the haven at
last, we, at least, bid you a hearty welcome. Bear your trials
with a steady and manly heart. The priceless jewel of the
dear old Faith is worth purchasing at any price, and if you be
but faithful to the end, your reward shall be exceedingly great.
CHAPTER XXI.
VALEDICTORY. A PARTING WOBD WITH THE CRITICS. THE PROUD
HEART BENDS AT LAST. UNAVAILING BEMOBSE. FRANK AND
MARIA. FATHER EUSTACE IS CHARGED WITH A MESSAGE TO THE
OTHER WORLD. WHO SHALL TELL A LITTLE PRATTLER " WHS
POOR GRANDPAPA IS SO SAD, AND WEEPS SO MUCH?"
As we have no doubt that the Browns, the Simpers, and the
rest of our critics, are greatly disgusted with our story, we cannot
conclude without a few parting words to them.
Brown is full of compassion for poor Mr. Stanhope, and deelan
-s that he was very badly used both by his son and the
wily old priest ; and Brown thanks God that there ia no dun-
>!' his son Tom's playing any such tricks upon him; and,
although we cannot thank God for it, we are very much afraid
rill-: TWO VICTORIES. 25
that there really i very little danger of it. Miss Simper "
some wrong, when she finds that iteonoludea with it de,itli-l>.-d,
instead of with orange blossoms and white favors. We liopn
the old gentleman will not be very angry, but, in fact,
content to be treated with the contempt and scorn which wo
know he will hurl at us for candor and ;
sincerity compel us to
i
confess that we care very little for old Brown or his o]
Faith is in ! question It is the poor struggling convert who,
in general, has the keenest appreciation of the glorious gift of
Faith. Again, we assure you that the story of Edwin Stanhope
is no made up tale. If you doubt our assertion, we
will tell you how to prove it. If you happen to meet any
of those and, thank God, they are not rare to meet with nowa-days
who are converts to our holy Faith, try to get them to
tell you their story, and if you do not meet with some tale, at
least substantially the same as ours, we are content to let you
rank on the side of old Brown, as one of the most We confess we feel more sorry to offend Miss Simper, but hopo
she will forgive us; for, although we might have made mir
story
implacable
of our critics. But if you meet with such a one, greet him
with a friendly voice and a hearty grasp, for he is a true brother,
to conclude in such a manner as to plc;ise her, still we
should have been obliged to conclude it by distorting
and ours is substantially a true tale. We have, too, so mm-h
confidence in her good nature, as to be persuaded that she will
not be offended, even if we remind her, that, after all, th
something grander and greater than orange blossoms or white
favors; and that some, who are favored above the rest, are
called to follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth, and to sing
a song which none else can sing and ; why they are so culled,
Miss Simper surely has often heard; and as she thinks of this,
we believe her heart will soften, and that she will become
reconciled to the unromantic ending of our little tale.
We ought, too, no doubt, to make a Catholic of Mr. Stan-
hope. Would to God we could; but twelve years have .rolled
away since the death of Edwin, and he is not a Catholic yet.
i :
ter of course, the blessings we have received, and for which we,
perhaps, sometimes think that we pay a dear enough price if
but ordinarily faithful to our religious engagements.
Bear patiently with his little peculiarities, if perchance, hg
have them, and remember only the cost at which he has proved
his sincerity. If you deem him too zealous, and consider that
he is sometimes scarcely prudent in the efforts which he makes
to bring others to the Faith, take care lest you be scarcely zealous
enough, and remember that an excess of zeal is better than
a want of it. Yes, again we say, greet him with a friendly
voice and a hearty grasp, and do your best to make him feel
that, if he has had to turn hia back on many an old friend,
that he has found many a new one ; and, thauk your God, that
his trial has never been yours, for it may be, that it would
have been a grievous temptation if you had been obliged to
purchase your Faith by the renunciation of He is a white-headed, feeble old man now; but although
everything which
is nearest and dearest to the heart of man. And for you, dear
still
stately, and even stiff in his manner, you would look in vain
for the pride and unbending self-will of other days. He buried
them at last, but it was only in the grave of his son.
On the morning after the death of his boy, when they timidly
entered the room, almost fearing to be repulsed, they found
him still kneeling by the lifeless form, and with one of the cold
hands pressed tightly to his heart. He allowed them to lead him
away as meekly as a little child, and sitting between Maria and
Father Eustace, listened to the sad story of how his boy had
sickened and died the death of the just. He did not speak,
even when the tale was done, but rising with a look so utterly
broken and miserable, that it rent their very hearts to see him,
walked slowly back to the room where the corpse was laid, and
throwing himself upon his knees, kissed again and again the
lifeless form, repeating ever and anon, " My own bright boy
my own heart's darling ! Where was there ever such a boy OB
mine ? and I have killed him I have murdered him I have
destroyed O
him !
God, forgive me ! Would that I had died
for him my poor, poor boy." So long as the corpse was in
the house he never left it ; and, although he insisted upon the
interment taking place in his own church, he made no objeeti. m
when Father Eustace requested his permission to perform the
private service which the Church orders to be celebrated over
those of her children whom circumstances prevent from being
interred in her own consecrated ground. As soon as possible,
after the funeral, he retired from the active management of the
affairs of the establishment of which he was the head, and retired
to a country residence some miles from London. He lives
there still, a feeble old man, but bent much more by the secret
sorrow which has written itself upon hia face and in hia form,
than by weight of years.
On the first anniversary of the death of his boy, he and his
daughter were sitting together, and when she rose from her
seat, and coming over to where he sat, put her arms about his
neck, and told him, with many tears and kisses, that she must
follow the example of his boy, and be a Catholic, too, he said
not a word, but kissing her very tenderly, put her gently away,
:u d retired'to his room, and cried through the livelong night.
On the morning she made her first communion, and ca
kiss him and tell him so, he took her in hit arms, nnd i
round her neck a magnificent diamond cross, which he had BUT-