The Pastor's Fire-side Vol. 1 (of 4)

It was late one fine evening in September, when a boat, borne along by a single sail, passed over the narrow sea which divides Lindisfarne from the mainland, and moored itself within the small bay of the island. The moon was beginning to rise; and by her silvering outline, already distinguished the venerable relics of Saint Cuthbert's monastery from the shadows of twilight.

Two persons wrapped in large cloaks, and followed by one who seemed a servant, rose from the boat; and giving a piece of gold to their solitary navigator, stepped on shore. The elder of the two made the sign of the cross upon his breast, and with his eyes bent to the ground, walked slowly forward. The younger performed the same act of devotion, though in a less fixed manner, and shivering as he looked up to the flying clouds, followed his companion. Having proceeded over sand and shingle without discerning any thing like an inhabited dwelling, he began to doubt the boatman's information respecting the situation of their purposed lodgings; and, looking around for some other intelligence, perceived a group of fishermen on a shelve of the rock.--By the assistance of his servant, he scrambled up the acclivity, and enquired the way to the Reverend Richard Athelstone's.--One of the men, raising himself from the heap of gathered nets they had been drying on the rocks, pointed along the top of the cliff, and told him to keep on, west of the abbey, when he would soon see the church, and the Pastor's house beside it.

The travellers proceeded a little way in the direction given: but finding that the dubious light bewildered them amongst rocks, ruins, and trees, the younger returned to the fisherman, and begged he would conduct them to Mr. Athelstone's. This request was obeyed with the same direct compliance as his question had been answered; and the man, throwing his net over his shoulder, trudged on before the travellers.--The elder pursued his way in devout abstraction. His eyes were fixed on the distant tower of the monastery; which, to his musing fancy, seemed to stand alone in the bright horizon, like the still hovering shade of the glorified saint of the island.

The way to the Pastor's dwelling lay by the ruins of the wall which had once surrounded the monastery. As the travellers approached it, the roofless aisles and broken arches stood white in the moon-beam; and the windows, partially obscured by the withered stone-crop which sprung from their mouldering columns, threw a checquered light on the half-sunk monuments below.--The youth, fatigued in limbs, and depressed in spirits, drew near his companion. The elder traveller pressed the nerveless arm that now rested upon his, and said in a low voice, "What desolation is here!--Ah, my son, how can we expect peace in the counsels, or virtue in the conduct of a people who thus dishonour the tombs of the saints."

"Alas, my lord," replied the young man, "if we must estimate the piety of nations by the unanimity of their councils, we have not much reason to congratulate ourselves on the holiness of Spain!--Why," added he with asperity, "did her vacillating policy drag us from peaceful Italy?--But for that, we might never have visited these rugged shores."

"Ferdinand," rejoined his father, "the disease of your heart, makes you misjudge your country.--Spain has her errors.--But no comparison can be justly drawn between a people that respect the Faith, even to hallowing the ashes of its apostles; and a race of men, who trample alike on the rights of their kings, and the ordinances of the church:--No good can come to such a people!"

The young man shuddered. "At least," exclaimed he, "no good can come to us, in so excommunicated a land:--though I shall not be sorry to shelter myself from so cutting a blast, even within the condemned cell of the heretic Cura of the island."

The travellers continued to follow their guide over rough ground covered with loose stones, and rendered intricate by the stunted trees which grew in scattered loneliness amongst the detached masses of the decayed monastery. Through the shadowy arches of what had once been a passage to the west cloisters, they espied a distant light.

"For your sake, my son," said the elder stranger, "I hope that portends we are near houses!"

"I hope so too," rejoined Ferdinand, "but I also fear, it may be only the lantern of some vessel, more lucky than we were, passing this desolate rock."

Having made their way through the varied gloom of the ruins, they came out on a smooth sheep-path.--The abbey now lay behind them.--Before them, rose the spire of the parish church; and near it, in holy fellowship, stood the parsonage; from whose ivy-latticed window still streamed the friendly ray which had guided them to its gate.

"This be our pastor's,--and God's blessing abide with him and his!" said the fisherman, pointing with a bow to the house.--Ferdinand put money into the man's hand; and then followed his father and their servant through a wicket into a little green court. They crossed its soft grass, and stooping beneath a low stone porch, knocked at the house-door. It was opened by a hoary-headed servant, of a hale and cheerful aspect. The elder stranger asked for the Reverend Richard Athelstone. The old man immediately opened a door at his right hand; and without other reply than a respectful bow, ushered the travellers into the presence of his master.

The venerable pastor of Lindisfarne advanced to meet his visitors; who, though unannounced, he saw by their air were foreigners and gentlemen. The elder apologized for their appearance at so late an hour; saying, they had arrived from Holland at Berwick that morning in the midst of a storm. "But," said he, "when so fine an evening succeeded, I became too impatient to tread the sacred shore of Lindisfarne; and to deliver a packet entrusted to me by the Grand-Pensionary Hensius, to delay my coming until another day."

As the stranger spoke, he presented the packet. Mr. Athelstone received it with a hospitable smile: and turning to a lady, who sat with two younger ones at a work-table near the fire; "Mrs. Coningsby, my dear niece," said he, "welcome these gentlemen; they come from a friend of your father's."

The lady rose; and gracefully obeyed, by expressing her reverence for the Grand-Pensionary; and the pleasure she felt in seeing Lindisfarne honoured by his remembrance in the persons of his friends. She then introduced the young ladies as her daughters. The eldest she called Cornelia, and the youngest Alice. They cast down their eyes, and bowed their fair necks to the strangers, as their mother named them:--and when, on observing the pale countenance of Ferdinand, she invited the two gentlemen to draw nearer the fire; the sisters moved their chairs back, and pursued their needle-work with redoubled industry.

Mr. Athelstone took a hasty survey of the Grand-Pensionary's letter; and folding it up, repeated his former polite greeting with the cordial addition of taking the strangers each by the hand.

"Pleased as I was to receive any friend of the Baron Hensius," said he, "how must my pleasure be increased, when I see in that friend the Marquis Santa Cruz!"

"The Marquis Santa Cruz!" repeated Mrs. Coningsby, in a tone of delightful surprize.

The Pastor smiled.--"Your name, my lord, has long been with us. Fame had given it to the world at large; but it was brought to our remote shores by your noble antagonist Prince Eugene of Savoy."

With a bow to the implied compliment, the Marquis inquired how recently the Prince had been in England.

"Not very lately," replied Mr. Athelstone, "my acquaintance with His Highness must be dated one and twenty years back; in the spring of 1704, when he came to England on a secret mission from the Emperor of Germany.--Having gained our queen's concurrence to support the Imperialists against Bavaria, Prince Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough embarked for Holland. Stress of weather drove their vessel on this coast. I then inhabited Bamborough-Castle, during the absence of my brother Sir Hedworth Athelstone; and going to the beach to offer the usual assistance to distressed mariners, I discovered my friend the Duke, and his noble compeer, in two nameless passengers. They took up their residence with me till the tempest subsided, and it lasted many days; but remaining unknown to the country, they gave the whole of their society to myself and my niece. It was then, my lord, that in discoursing on the great and good of all countries, Prince Eugene named with friendship the Marquis Santa Cruz; who, he said, had baffled his best military skill the preceding year in Italy."

An answering glow of generous admiration suffused the face of the Marquis. "Eugene of Savoy," returned he, "can afford such acknowledgements. And, that I did discover, and baffle his designs before the dyke of Zero, I have ever considered the proudest fortune which has hitherto been granted to my military career. Since that period, I have often met the Prince, both in the field and in the cabinet: and in every character, whether as soldier or as statesman, he has manifested that nobleness of soul which commands alike the confidence of friends and of enemies."

A blush overspread the fine, though matron features of Mrs. Coningsby. "Ah, my dear uncle," cried she, "why does not Louis hear this, from the Marquis Santa Cruz?" Then rising, she said she would enquire about his return, and left the room.

"Does Mrs. Coningsby speak of her son?" asked the Marquis.

"No," said the Pastor, "the young man she alludes to is the son of her elder sister, now in a better world. His father, you doubtless know; the Baron de Ripperda."

"I have not been in Spain these ten years," replied the Marquis; "but I know the Baron is now there; and introducing plans of internal policy, worthy the emulation of his own times, and the gratitude of future ages.--Before happy circumstances restored him to Spain, it was never my good fortune to meet him in any of my accidental visits to the Netherlands."

Mr. Athelstone and his noble guest continued their discourse on the public history of the Baron de Ripperda. Remarking, with some loyal animadversions, on his father Don Juan de Montemar Duke de Ripperda, who, in resentment for some slight from his sovereign, left Spain for the Netherlands; and, joining himself to the United States, exchanged his Spanish rank for that of a northern baron.--While the Marquis regretted that his son, the present illustrious Ripperda, had ever belonged to any other country than that of his ancestors, he expatiated with the pride of a Spaniard on the talents which were now reclaimed by their parent land. Mr. Athelstone, who had all the old-fashioned notions respecting amor patriæ, rejoined that the satisfactory accomplishment of Baron de Ripperda's mission as ambassador from the Netherlands to Madrid, had empowered him to resign with honour his bonds to their country; and to resume his hereditary rights in Spain in the manner best calculated to re-establish his house, and to transmit the ancient glories of his family.