FAREWELL
Thomas À Kempis was right in saying that next morning would be a sad
one--not on account of previous merriment; but, as I drove home alone,
the separation from Father Letheby affected me keenly. He had, to use a
homely phrase, grown into my heart. Analyzing my own feelings, as I
jogged along the country road, I found that it was not his attractive
and polished manners, nor his splendid abilities, nor his sociability
that had impressed me, but his open, manly character, forever bending to
the weak, and scorning everything dishonorable. It was quite true that
he "wore the white flower of a blameless life"; but that is expected and
found in every priest; it was something else,--his manliness, his truth,
that made him
"--my own ideal knight,
Who reverenced his conscience as his king,
Whose glory was redressing human wrongs;
Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it.
* * * * *
... We have lost him; he is gone;
We know him now; all narrow jealousies
Are silent; and we see him as he moved,
How modest, kindly, all-accomplished, wise,
With what sublime repression of himself,
And in what limits, and how tenderly!"
My poor boy! my poor boy! I thought he would be over me in my last hour
to hear my last confession, and place the sacred oils on my old limbs,
and compose me decently for my grave; but it was not to be. _Vale, vale,
longum vale!_
There was a letter from the bishop, and a large brown parcel before me
when I reached my home. I opened the letter first. It ran thus:--
My dear Father Dan:--The prebendary stall, vacated by the death of
the late Canon Jones, I now have much pleasure in offering for your
acceptance. I suppose, if the [Greek: to prepon] always had force
in this world, you would have been canon for the last twenty or
thirty years; but at least it is my privilege now to make
compensation; and I sincerely hope I may have the benefit of your
wise counsel in the meetings of the Cathedral Chapter. It will also
give you a chance of seeing sometimes your young friend, whom I
have so suddenly removed; and this will weigh with you in accepting
an honor which, if it has come tardily, may it be your privilege to
wear for many years
I am, my dear Father Dan,
Yours in Christ,
----
"Kind, my Lord, always kind and thoughtful," I murmured.
Then I cut the strings of the parcel. It contained the rochet, mozzetta,
and biretta of a canon, and was a present from some excellent Franciscan
nuns, to whom I had been formerly chaplain, and who were charitable
enough not to have forgotten me. So there they were at last, the dream
of half a lifetime. God help us! what children we are! Old and young,
it's all the same. I suppose that is why God so loves us.
I took up the dainty purpled and ermined mozzetta. It was soft, and
beautiful, and fluffy. I could fold the entire rochet in the palms of my
hands, the lace work was so fine and exquisite. I put them down with a
sigh. My mind was fully made up.
Hannah came in, and took in the situation at a glance.
"Did he give 'em to ye at last?"
"He did, Hannah. How do you like them?"
"'Twas time for him! Lor', they're beautiful!"
"Hannah," I said, "have you any camphor or lavender in the house?"
She looked at me suspiciously.
"I have," she said. "What for? Aren't you going to wear them?"
"They are not intended to form the every-day walking-suit of a country
parish priest," I replied. "They must be carefully put by for the
present."
I took my hat and strolled down to see Alice. After telling her all the
news, and Father Letheby's triumphs, I said:--
"The bishop wants me to change my name, too!"
"_You_ are not going?" she said in alarm.
"No; but his Lordship thinks I have been called Father Dan long enough;
he wants me now to be known as the Very Rev. Canon Hanrahan."
"It's like as if you were going away to a strange country," she said.
"Do you think the people will take kindly to it?" I said.
"No! no! no!" she cried, shaking her head; "you will be Father Dan and
Daddy Dan to the end."
"So be it!" I replied.
I returned home, and just before dinner I penned two letters--one to my
good nuns, thanking them for their kindness and generosity; the other to
the bishop, thanking his Lordship _ex imo corde_ also, but declining the
honor. I was too old, _et detur digniori_. Then I got my camphor and
lavender, and laid the fragrant powder between the folds of the
mozzetta. And then I took a sheet of paper and wrote:--
To the
Very Reverend Edward Canon Letheby, B.A., P.P.,
a gift from the grave
of his old friend and pastor,
the Rev. Daniel Hanrahan, P.P.,
more affectionately and familiarly known as
"Daddy Dan."
Then the old temptation came back to wind up with a lecture or
quotation. I ransacked all my classics, and met with many a wise and
pithy saying, but not one pleased me. I was about to give up the search
in despair, when, taking up a certain book, my eye caught a familiar red
pencil-mark. "Eureka!" I cried, and I wrote in large letters, beneath
the above:--
"Amico, Io vivendo cercava conforto
Nel Monte Parnasso;
Tu, meglio consigliato, cercalo
Nel Calvario."
[Illustration: Waiting for my New Curate.]
I placed this last testament in the folds of the lace, tied the parcel
carefully, carefully put it away, and, after the untasted dinner had
been removed, I lowered the lamp-flame, and sat, God only knows how
lonely! as I had sat twelve months before, in my arm-chair, listening
for the patter of the horse's hoofs, and the knock at the door, and the
sounds of alighting, that were to mark the advent of
MY NEW CURATE.