My New Curate Part 14

"G.o.d forbid," he said with a start.

"Well, I did. It happened in this way. It was nearly ten o'clock at night when I arrived at the door of the old pastor, to whose care I was committed on my first mission. I knocked, and knocked, and knocked. No answer. 'T was all the same. Father L---- had but one room and the kitchen; and that room was parlor, library, drawing-room, bedroom, and all. I dismissed the jarvey, left my portmanteau at the door, and wandered out into the night. I dared not rouse up the farmers around. It was the time of the White-boys, and I might get a charge of shot or a thrust of a pike for my pains. The night was cold and starry. And after wandering about for some time I came to a kiln. The men--the lime-burners--were not long gone, and the culm was still burning. I went in. The warmth was most grateful. I lay down quietly, took out my beads, and whilst saying the Rosary I fell fast asleep. I awoke to hear: 'Come, get out of this.' And, then, 'Good G.o.d! it is a priest.' Ah! well, how times have changed! But think kindly of us old men. We too have borne the burden and the heat,--the _pondus diei et aestus_."

A deep silence fell upon us both, broken only by the crackling of the turf and wood fire, I busy with the past, and he sunk in his own reflections. At length I said:--

"Would I trouble you to hand me down that 'Pars Verna' with the morocco cover? Thanks! This little time-stained book saw some curious scenes.

It was my companion in many a rough adventure. In these old times it was quite a common experience for myself to leave home at six o'clock in the morning so as to be at the station-house by seven. By the way, you did murder the names of the mountain town-lands when calling the stations last Sunday. You must try and get the 'bloss' of the Irish on your tongue. Well, we usually heard confessions from seven to three o'clock in the afternoon, with just an interval for breakfast--"

"Pardon me, sir, but do you mean to say the people remained fasting and received Holy Communion at three o'clock?"

"Yes, my dear young man, that was an every-day experience. I remember a mission that was given in the town of N----, where I was curate in '54, the year the first great missions were given by Fathers Bernard and Petcherine. One evening, dead tired after a continuous day's work, I was crossing the church toward the sacristy, when a huge s.h.a.ggy countryman stopped me. It was just half-past ten o'clock. 'I'm for Communion, your reverence,' said he. I was a little irritable and therefore a little sarcastic at the time. 'It is usually the habit of Catholics to receive Holy Communion fasting,' said I, never dreaming but that the man was after his supper. 'For the matter of that, your reverence,' said he, 'I could have received Communion any minit these last three days; for G.o.d is my witness, neither bite nor sup has crossed my lips, not even a spoonful of wather.' But to come back. Dear me, how easy it is to get me off the rail! After three o'clock I used to start out for my sick-calls; and, will you believe me, I was often out all night, going from one cabin to another, sometimes six or seven miles apart; and I often rode home in the morning when the larks were singing above the sod and the sun was high in the sky. Open that quarto."

He did. The leaves were as black as the cover, and clung together, tattered as they were.

"The rain and the wind of Ireland," I said. "It was no easy job to read Matins, with one hand clutching the reins and the pommel of the saddle, and the other holding that book in a mountain hurricane. But you are not a Manichaean, are you?"

He looked at me questioningly.

"I mean you don't see Mephistopheles rising in that gentle cloud of steam from my gla.s.s?"

"Oh no," he said; "you have your tastes, and I mine. Both are equally innocuous. But the fact is," he said, after a pause, "I cannot touch wine or spirits, because I want to work at night, and I must have all my faculties clear."

"Then you are working hard. G.o.d bless you! I saw your notes the other day. But don't forget your Greek. French is the language of diplomacy, Italian the language of love, German the language of philosophy, English the language of commerce, Latin the language of the Church, Greek the language of the scholar, and Hebrew the language of G.o.d. But I remember it gave a new zest to my studies long ago, when I read somewhere that our Divine Lord spoke Greek, at least amongst the learned, for Greek in the East was what Latin has been in the West."

"Yes, but 't is pitiful," he replied, with a blush; "I did get a gold medal from all Ireland in Greek; and yet, when I took up such an easy book as Homer the other day, why, 't was all Greek to me."

Here Hannah broke in, opening the door.

"Won't you take another cup of coffee, sir?" Awaiting the reply, Hannah poked up the fire and sent the blazes dancing merrily up the chimney.

Then she raised the flame of the lamp, and did a great many other unnecessary things; but the kitchen is lonesome.

"Well, Hannah," said Father Letheby enthusiastically, "I will. You have made me a confirmed teetotaler. I would not even think of punch when your fragrant coffee is before me."

"Wisha, then, sir, but there's more life in the little drop of sperrits.

However, your reverence is welcome to whatever you like in this house."

This is not the first time Hannah has a.s.sumed a tone of proprietorship in my little establishment. Well, no matter. It is our Irish communism,--very like that of the Apostles, too.

"You must not be disheartened about that," I said. "I read some time ago that no less a person than Lord Dufferin declared that, although he had taken a degree in Greek, he could not read a line of it in after years till he had learned it all over again, and in his own way."

"I am delighted to hear that," said Father Letheby.

"And when you do master your Greek," I said, "use your knowledge where it will profit you most."

He waited.

"On the Greek Fathers. Believe me, there is more poetry, science, philosophy, and theology there than in all modern literature, since Shakespeare. We don't know it. The Anglican divines do. I suspect that many a fairly sculptured sermon and learned treatise was cut from these quarries."

I suppose the poor fellow was weary from all the lecturing. Indeed, I think too his mind had rather a practical cast; for he began to ply me with questions about the parish that fairly astonished me.

"Did Pat Herlihy's big boy make his First Communion? What about establishing a First Confession cla.s.s? He heard there was a night-dance at the cross-roads, half-ways to Moydore. Why don't the Moydore priests stop it? Did I know Winifred Lane, a semi-imbecile up in the mountains?

He did not like one of the teachers. He thought him disrespectful. What was the cause of the coolness between the Learys and the Sheas? Was it the way that one of the Sheas, about sixty years ago, served on a jury, at which some disreputable Leary was convicted? What about a bridge over that mountain torrent at Slieveogue? He had written to the surveyor. Did I think the nuns in Galway would take a postulant? He heard that there was a sister home from New Zealand who was taking out young girls--"

"My dear young friend," I said, when I had tried to answer imperfectly this catechism, "I know you are a saint, and therefore endowed with the privilege of bilocation; but I did not know that you could dictate to six amanuenses at the same time, like Caesar or Suarez."

"Oh, by the way," he said, putting up his note-book, "I was near forgetting. With your permission, sir, I intend to put up a little crib at Christmas. Now, the roof is leaking badly over St. Joseph's Chapel.

If you allow me, I shall put Jem Deady on the roof. He says you know him well, and can recommend him, and there are a few pounds in my hands from the Living Rosary."

It was true. I knew Jem Deady very well, as a confirmed dipsomaniac, who took the Total Abstinence Pledge for life regularly every three months.

I also knew that that leak over St. Joseph's Chapel had been a steady source of income to Jem for the last ten years. Somehow it was an incurable malady, a kind of stone and mortar scrofula that was always breaking out, and ever resisting the science of this amiable physician.

Sometimes it was "ground-damp," sometimes the "weeping wall"; and there were dread dissertations on barge courses and string courses, but there the evil was, ugly and ineradicable.

"I dare say, Jem told you that I had been putting cobblers from the village every winter for the last ten years on that roof and that he alone possesses the secret that will make that wall a 'thing of beauty and a joy forever'?"

"Well, indeed, he said something of the kind. But I have taken a fancy to the fellow. He sings like an angel, and since the Concert he entertains me every night with a variety of melodies, amongst which I think 'Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still' is his masterpiece."

"He does not sing 'Two Lovely Black Eyes'?" I asked.

"No," said Father Letheby, seriously.

"I think his wife sings that," I said, as Father Letheby rose to go.

"By the way," I said, as I helped him on with his great coat in the hall, for he is one for whom I would make any sacrifice, "how have you acquired such a minute knowledge of my parishioners in such a short time?"

"Well," said he, tying a silk handkerchief around his neck, "I was once at a military review in England, having been invited by some Catholic officers. I stood rather near the Duke of Cambridge. And this struck me.

The Duke called out, 'Who commands that company?' 'I, sir.' 'What is the name of the third man on the right? Married or single? Term of service?

Character? Trade?' And I was utterly amazed at the accurate information of the officers. Now, I often thought, if our great Commander-in-Chief questioned us in that manner, could we reply with the same precision?

And I determined to know, as soon as possible, the name, history, and position of every man, woman, and child in this parish."

"And you have succeeded," I said admiringly. "You know them better than I, who have spent thirty years amongst them. But"--I could not resist the temptation of a little lecture--"if you are asked, accept no responsibility in money matters; and if two c.o.c.ks are fighting down the street, and consequently diplomatic courtesies are suspended between the neighbors, I would not, if I were you, trouble much to ascertain which of the belligerents had ethical and moral right on his side; and if Mrs.

Gallagher, by pure accident, should happen to be throwing out a pail of particularly dirty water just at the psychological moment when Mrs.

Casey is pa.s.sing her door; and if the tailor-made gown of the latter is thereby desecrated, and you see a sudden eclipse of the sun, and hear the rumble of distant thunder, don't throw aside your aeschylus to see the 'Furies'; and if Mrs. Deady--"

"Thank you! thank you, Father," he said, abruptly, "never fear. 'T will be all right!"

I closed the door on his fine, manly figure, and went back to my arm-chair, murmuring:--

"[Greek: Pathemata--mathemata]. So shall it be to the end, O Father of history!"

CHAPTER XI

BESIDE THE SINGING RIVER

Father Letheby was coming home a few nights ago, a little after twelve o'clock, from a hurried sick-call, and he came down by the cliffs; for, as he said, he likes to see the waters when the Almighty flings his net over their depths, and then every sea-hillock is a star, and there is a moon in every hollow of the waves. As he skirted along the cliff that frowns down into the valleys of the sea on the one hand, and the valleys of the firs and poplars on the other, he thought he heard some voices deep down in the shadows, and he listened. Very soon the harsh rasp of a command came to his ears, and he heard: "_'Shun! 'verse arms_," etc. He listened very attentively, and the tramp of armed men echoed down the darkness; and he thought he saw the glint of steel here and there where the moonbeams struck the trees.