There is a spot, dearer than all beside;
A spot where all the joys of life abide;
Where sweet affections cluster round the heart,
Where peace and love their purest hopes impart;
That spot is Home—
Call you this Death? ’Tis Life, immortal Life.
The duties of the succeeding day were not neglected, though even the
short day seemed longer in anticipation of the evening employments.
Cowper has given a delightful description of the “ushering in” of a
winter evening with all its pleasant accompaniments, and the truth of
his lively picture was fully realized as the happy group collected
around the sparkling fire. As Herbert continued the tale which had so
interested them all listened with attention.
“The tender mother and much loved sister had arrived at the home now
rendered solitary by the absence of the son and brother, whose love
had sweetened every passing hour. As they approached the mansion of
their aged relative, upon whose ancient towers the moon now cast a
silvery brightness, and had ascended the eminence upon which it was
situated, they stood for a moment to contemplate the scene before
them. There lay the proud and magnificent city, its domes and palaces
reflecting the soft brightness, and, here, the waves of the Tiber
rolled at their feet, its winding course lost in the distance. On
their right hand and strongly defined by the light, towered the
imperial palace where abode the haughty arbiter of the fate of their
Curtius, and, on their left stretched that Amphitheatre, the scene
of the most horrid cruelties, drenched with the blood of martyred
victims and strewn with their ashes. One thought seemed to possess
their minds, one terrible reflection to agitate their bosoms, as they
turned, shuddering, from this last prospect and bent their steps
toward their dwelling.
“In a spacious but low apartment, bearing marks of ancient
magnificence, but lighted by only a solitary lamp, lay reclined upon
a couch the kind but feeble old man, so long their protector and
sole friend, but now sinking by age and sorrow, for he had seen many
endeared to him by the most sacred associations suffering cruel
tortures and an ignominious death for Christ’s sake, and amongst them
the holy apostle Paul, from whose lips he had first heard the truth
proclaimed, “as it is in Jesus.” This stroke had bowed him to the
earth, and, although bending in submission to the will of his Maker,
his frame had yielded and he was fast hastening to his rest. The
untiring watchfulness of faithful love hovered around him, smoothed
his pillow and delighted in presenting to his rapt attention the joys
of heaven. The walls of that apartment, which had formerly echoed
with mirth and revelry, with the heavy tramp of the warrior preparing
for battle against the enemies of Rome, or with the commanding voice
of the Dictator, issuing mandates to his subjects, now gave back but
the heavy breathing of one of the last of their descendants, a feeble
old man, but in whose exhausted body dwelt a spark of ethereal fire
unknown to them with all their boasted power and splendor. This feeble
old man was a Christian. Near him sat a faithful domestic, watching
over him in the absence of her mistress with earnest solicitude. As
the matron entered the room and bent over him with anxious love, he
raised his eyes and a smile of affection passed over his features.
‘Welcome, dearest daughter,’ said he. ‘I am weary of your absence;
time passes heavily when I do not see those forms so dear to my heart.
Where is Cleone?’ ‘Here, dearest father. You are not worse, I trust.
Here is your own Cleone.’ ‘Ah, sweet child, those tones would almost
recall me to life, were it indeed deserting this time-worn body; but
why do I not see my Curtius? Why is he so long absent? Speak, Octavia;
say, Cleone, where is Curtius?’ A look of deep distress shaded their
countenances, for with sedulous care they had concealed from him the
situation of that darling boy who had been, from his earliest youth,
the delight of his heart. ‘Think not, dear father, that, though
absent, he forgets you. Oh, no; his messages are full of love and fond
remembrance and we will pray that the Lord will restore him to us in
his own good time.’ ‘May the blessing of his father’s God rest upon
him and you, dear children. Ah,’ said he, partly addressing those
around him and partly uttering his own thoughts, ‘I could almost
wish that I might live, if it were the will of God, to witness his
bright career of glory, dispensing happiness and prosperity over our
country and turning the hearts of the people from the worship of their
heathen deities to that of the true God. Say, dear daughter, may we
not believe that those ties which unite us on earth will continue in
heaven, nay, even grow stronger through eternity?’ ‘Father, I cannot
doubt it; it is the consoling hope of the Christian.’ ‘Aye, I shall
there meet your father, my Cleone; perhaps we shall be permitted to
watch over those so beloved upon earth.’ ‘Oh, father!’ said Cleone,
‘would that we might all go together.’ ‘Not so, dearest, you have yet
much, I trust, to do in this world.’ He lay silent for some time,
apparently in deep meditation; then, raising himself upon his couch
and clasping his trembling hands, he said: ‘How long, O Lord, holy
and just, shall this fair land be polluted by these abominations? The
blood of thy servants has been poured out like water; grant, O Father,
that it may call to Thee from the ground, not for vengeance, but for
mercy upon the murderers! And the time will come,’ said he, his whole
countenance glowing with the animation of youth, ‘the time is not
far distant when Rome in her splendor shall bow before the cross of
Jesus; when her haughty Emperors shall prostrate themselves before
the Christian’s God, and her temples, now blazing with golden honors
to Pagan divinities, shall echo with prayers and thanksgivings to the
God of the whole earth.’ And he fell back upon his pillow, overpowered
by the exulting emotions of his mind, a glow of triumphant joy still
rested upon his features and even retained its station there after
the heart, which had exulted in this vision of futurity, had ceased
to beat and the tongue which had uttered the inspiring prophecy had
become mute in death; for, even as the fervent ‘Amen’ lingered upon
the lips of those around him, the spirit left its decayed tenement and
returned to God who gave it.”
Herbert ceased reading and a solemn stillness prevailed for a few
moments, when he repeated the following lines.
Through death’s dark and shadowy valley
He, the Lord, shall be thy guide;
He, thy Saviour, true and holy
Christians shall with thee abide;
Light shall break upon the darkness,
Strength from Him thy steps sustain,
Mighty power support they weakness,
Joy and hope remove all pain.
Hark! what strains of rapturous pleasure
Greet thee from they home above;
Christian, blessings without measure
Wait thee in that world of love.
“There is more time, yet, dear brother,” said Charles, and Herbert
continued:
“In a splendid apartment, adorned with all the luxury of luxurious
Rome, and showing, by its magnificence, that it was the abode of a
patrician of the first order, was seated at a table a Roman citizen,
evidently of high rank. Rich wines were before him, and many and deep
were his libations while engaged in earnest conversation with a young
noble, who was walking the apartment with an anxious hurried step.
“Nay, my Flavius,” said the one who was seated, “you are too zealous
in this matter. I marvel much at the change in your appearance; but a
short time ago you were the life of our society; but now, by Bacchus,
how you are altered; even this sparkling Falernian tempts you not, and
your wit and brilliancy, which was the zest of our pleasure, is all
vanished. Come, my friend, throw aside this gloom, I pray you, and, as
for the young Curtius, we will see what can be done, we will see. He
deserves punishment for adhering to his gloomy doctrine, though, for
your sake, we will see what can be effected. Still, it is a labor of
Hercules to attempt to change the purposes of our mighty Emperor when
he has the pleasure of torturing one of these obstinate Christians in
view.” “Do not talk of delay, noble Galba,” said the young man, “after
witnessing the last scene between the Emperor and Curtius, are you not
convinced no time is to be lost? Preparations are even now making for
some exhibition on the morrow, and, I fear me, this heroic youth is to
be the principal actor in a most cruel tragedy. Servius, you have much
influence over this cruel Nero, will you not exert it to save this
last descendant of an illustrious house? Will not our cheeks crimson
with shame when we look upon those palaces, reared by his ancestors,
when we pass the memorable spot, where the first Curtius devoted
himself to his country? If we suffer this scion from such a glorious
stock to perish thus? And, for what? Powers of heaven! Why has he
not the same right to worship his God, as we have to bend before the
shrine of Jupiter or Bacchus? He is a Roman citizen, and shielded by
that name should be guarded by the laws of Rome, for he has committed
no crime.” “No crime! Flavius, by the immortal Gods, you are beside
yourself. It is well there is no one present to bear this report to
Nero. Your life, my friend, were not worth a straw. No crime, did you
say, to condemn our Deities? Speak lower, I pray you, our walls are
not thick enough to conceal such a monstrous sentiment.” “Nay, Galba,
this is trifling,” and a shade of deep vexation passed over the fine
features of Flavius. “Will you use your power over the Emperor to save
my friend, or have I overrated your friendship for me?” “You have
overrated my influence with Nero. ’Tis true, he fears, but he also
hates me, and, for the same cause, because he believes me a favorite
with the soldiery, but, in this case, he will heed me little, I fear,
for he knows he has the popular voice on his side, when he punishes
these Christians, and, because he hates them with a hatred as deadly
as can be cherished in the human breast.” “And what have they done to
incur his hatred? Can it be on account of the conflagration in the
city?” “No. For it is more than suspected that our imperial master
himself caused those fires to be kindled. No, Flavius, the destruction
of the whole city would not have planted in his selfish breast such a
deep and malignant spite. I will tell you the whole story, for it was
while you were in Britain the circumstance occurred, though I think
you must have heard of the beautiful Valeria.” “I have. She was the
favorite of the Emperor.” “Favorite is too cold a world, my Flavius.
All the love and kindly feelings that ever found a place in the breast
of the tyrant were lavished upon her. Her word was his law. Her
slightest wish was gratified, and most nobly did she use her power.
Was a petition for mercy offered to the Emperor, Valeria was the first
to second it; was an heroic achievement to be rewarded, Valeria’s hand
hastened to bestow the prize; her gentle influence hushed to repose
the stormy and malignant passions rising in the breast of Nero, and
Rome vainly exalted in the belief that their young ruler’s heart was
filled with heaven’s own attribute, mercy, for it was reported at one
time, when a warrant for the execution of a criminal was presented to
him, for his signature, he shed tears, and wished he had never learned
to write. Aye, this very tyrant, whom we now see surrounded by fawning
parasites, and furiously sacrificing all who dare oppose or obstruct
his vile inclinations, was then, or pretended to be, such an enemy to
flattery, that he severely reprimanded the Senate for amending the
wisdom of his measures saying, ‘Keep your approbation till I deserve
it.’” “But, Valeria,” said the young noble, “how did she lose her hold
upon his affections?” “Some of her relatives or friends, I believe,
had become Christians, and persuaded her to hear the preaching of
one of that sect, an extraordinary man, who pretended to be inspired
by a Superior Being, and who was known by the appellation of the
holy Paul. She was taught by him to believe that she was committing
great wickedness by living with the Emperor, and secretly quitted
the palace, leaving behind her all the costly gifts of the tyrant,
and devoting herself to a life of prayer. From that moment the rage
of the Emperor against this fanatical sect has known no bounds, and
to avow one’s self a Christian is enough to draw down his fiercest
indignation.” “And what has become of this female? How is it that
she has not fallen a victim to this indignation?” “Her retreat has
not been discovered, although every means has been employed, and,
it is said, that Nero has frequently offered pardon and wealth to
the victims of his hatred, if they would confess where she might be
found, but in vain, for a spirit of determined obstinacy seems to be
the pervading sentiment of these Galileans. Now, with this feeling
of stern revenge which still rankles in his breast, what chance,
think you, is there, that he will extend mercy to this young man?”
“But,” said he, seeing the distress which overspread the countenance
of Flavius, “my endeavors shall not be wanting. I will own to you,
Flavius,” he continued, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, “I
hate this inhuman tyrant, the blood of my ancestors boils within me
when I reflect upon the degeneracy of Rome, and I have imagined that
the statues of our forefathers frown upon us, as the empty pageants
which please his low and vulgar mind pass our polluted streets. Are we
indeed so base as to submit to the degradation of bending our knee, in
servile adulation, before this mockery of royalty? Did he possess one
redeeming quality, one noble virtue, we might, under that, shelter our
pusillanimity, but, by the shade of Brutus, we have nought to excuse
us in our mean endurance of his vile caprices. But a few weeks have
passed since our venerable Senators, even in that chamber, rendered
sacred by the associations, hallowed in the heart of every true Roman,
were obliged to sanction the admittance of his favorite horse to the
Consulship. By the memory of those most revered,” said the excited
Roman, starting from his seat, “this shall not be borne!”
The countenance of the young Flavius had reflected the indignant
emotions of the elder speaker, and the deep flush upon his cheek
expressed his sense of the degradation of his country. “Servius
Galba,” he said, in the same subdued, but earnest tone, “point but
the way to relieve Rome of this disgrace, and I will be the first to
follow it.” “Enough,” said Galba, “the path shall be opened; yes, by
the guardian deities of our city, the despicable tyrant shall yet lick
the dust he has polluted, but, my purpose is in embryo, and I had
not thought to say so much, but with you, noble Flavius, the secret
is safe, you shall know more in due time; perhaps the moment of our
deliverance may be nearer than I thought.” “In the meantime,” said
the young noble, “I may rely upon your intercession for my friend?”
“You may,” said he, “I will see Nero without delay,” and Flavius
left the apartment with an awakened hope for the deliverance of his
friend, for he believed Nero would not dare resist the request of
Servius Sulpicius Galba, the favorite of the powerful soldiery of
Rome, and one of her most popular citizens. Quitting the splendid
palace of the patrician, he passed hastily through the streets, until
he arrived at the large and gloomy building whose walls enclosed
the devoted young Christian, who had become endeared to him by his
virtues, and by that strong tie which binds congenial hearts. Armed
soldiers were stationed around, but no opposition was offered to
the entrance of Lucius Flavius. Descending the stone staircase, and
proceeding rapidly through the narrow passages, he arrived before
the cell where he encountered a sentinel, who, with respect, opposed
his farther progress. An order, he said, had been received from the
Emperor, prohibiting all further intercourse with the prisoner. “That
order, my friend, cannot refer to me. Come, my good fellow, allow me
to enter for a few moments, and here is where withal to pass many a
merry hour.” Half believing that the young Roman was exempted from
the prohibition, and strongly tempted by the glittering bribe, the
soldier, after some hesitation, withdrew the bolts, and permitted him
to enter.
“Now, my little brother,” said Herbert, “I must call upon you for a
display of self-denial, which you will, perhaps, think too great. Our
mother’s business requires my absence for a few days; it is a pleasure
to me to read the story with you, and if you will conclude to delay
the interest you take in its progress until my return, we can then
share it together; shall it be so?” It would be difficult to determine
whose countenance was most overclouded, Susan’s or Charles’s. “Oh,
certainly we will wait,” said Charles, “but I am so sorry, and, how
long shall you be away, Herbert?” “Tomorrow is Saturday,” said Herbert.
“I will endeavor to be at home on Wednesday, and you know, Charles, the
Sabbath evening intervenes, when I should not read.” “Do not despair,
dear Charles,” said his mother. “I think we may pass away the time
profitably and pleasantly.” But notwithstanding this prediction, the
cloud had not dispersed when they retired for the night.
The morning dawned, but not with its usual splendor. Dark and heavy
clouds lowered around the horizon, and many were the signs foretelling
a stormy day, but, as Herbert’s first stage was only about eight miles,
the gloomy weather did not prevent his journey. Towards afternoon,
the storm set in with violence, and every gloomy prognostic, so well
known to those who live near the ocean, was verified. As evening drew
on, Susan stood at a window, watching the wild motion of the waves,
and listening to their uproar. “Are there not frequent shipwrecks
upon this coast, dear aunt?” said she. “There has been but one within
my recollection,” said Mrs. Wilson; “a vessel, manned principally, I
believe, with seaman from Scotland, was driven from its course by a
terrible storm, and dashed upon the rocks. The bodies of seven men
were found upon the beach in the morning, and only one living being
to lament the loss of his companions. Afterwards, five or six more
were washed on shore, and they were all interred with respect and due
solemnity in the public burying ground, the solitary survivor attending
as chief mourner.”