Books: The Master Christian

M >> Marie Corelli >> The Master Christian

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Here going to where Sylvie stood, he took her by the hand, and led
her to the front of the platform. Then he turned again to his eager
and expectant audience.

"In your presence, my friends, and in the presence of God and before
the Cross, I take Sylvie Hermenstein to be my wedded wife! I swear
to devote myself to her, body and soul,--to cherish her first and
last of all human creatures,--to be true to her in thought, word and
deed,--to care for her in sickness as in health, in age as in
youth,--to honour her as my chiefest good,--and to die faithful to
her in this world,--hoping by the mercy of God to complete a more
perfect union with her in the world to come! In the name of Christ,
Amen!"

And then Sylvie threw back her veil and turned her enchanting face
upon the crowd,--a face fairer than ever, irradiated by the love and
truth of her soul,--and the people gazed and wondered, and wondering
held their breath as her clear accents rang through the silence.

"In your presence, and in the presence of God and before the Cross,
I take Aubrey Leigh to be my wedded husband! I swear to devote
myself to him body and soul, to cherish him first and last of all
human creatures,--to be true to him in thought, word and deed,--to
care for him in sickness as in health, in age as in youth,--to
honour him as my chiefest good,--and to die faithful to him in this
world,--praying God in His mercy to complete a more perfect union
with him in the world to come. In the name of Christ, Amen!"

Then Aubrey, taking his wife's hand, placed for the first time on
her finger the golden wedding-ring.

"In the presence of you all, before God, I place this ring upon my
wife's hand as a symbol of unbreaking faith and loyalty! I pledge my
life to hers; and promise to defend her from all evil, to shelter
her, to work for her, and to guard her with such tenderness as shall
not fail! I swear my faith; and may God forsake me if I break my
vow!"

And Sylvie without hesitation, responded in her sweet clear voice.

"In the presence of you all, before God, I take this ring and wear
it as a symbol of my husband's trust in me, and a token of his love!
I pledge my life to his; and promise to uphold the honour of his
name,--to obey him in every just and rightful wish,--to defend his
actions,--to guard his home in peace and good report,--and to
surround him with such tenderness as shall not fail! I swear my
faith; and may God forsake me if I break my vow!"

There followed a deep and almost breathless silence. Then Aubrey
spoke once more, standing before the throng with Sylvie by his side
and her hand clasped in his.

"I thank you all, my friends! Strange and unlike all marriage
ceremonies as ours is to-day, I feel that it is a sacred and a
binding one! Your thousands of eyes and ears have heard and seen us
swear our marriage vows--your thousands of hearts and minds have
understood the spirit in which we accept this solemn sacrament! I
will ask you before we go, to kneel down with us and repeat 'The
Prayer of Heart-searching' which I have said with you so often, and
to then quietly disperse."

In one moment the vast crowd was kneeling, and Cardinal Bonpre's
aged eyes filled with tears of emotion as he saw all these human
beings, moved by one great wave of sympathy, prostrate themselves
before the simple Cross where the wedded lovers knelt also, and
where Manuel alone stood, like one who is too sure of God to need
the help of prayer.

And Aubrey, thrilled to the heart by the consciousness that all the
members of that huge congregation were with him in his ideal dream
of Christian Union, offered up this supplication--

"All-powerful God! Most loving and beneficent Creator of the
Universe! We Thy creatures, who partake with Thee the endowment of
immortality, now beseech Thee to look upon us here, kneeling in
adoration before Thee! Search our hearts and souls with the light of
Thy revealing Holy Spirit, and see if in any of us there is
concealed an unworthy thought, or doubt, or distrust, or scorn of
Thy unfailing goodness! We ask Thee to discover our sins and
imperfections to ourselves, and so instruct us as to what is
displeasing to Thee, that we may remedy these wilful blots upon Thy
fair intention. Give us the force and fervour, the wisdom and truth,
to find and follow the way Thou wouldst have us go,--and if our
strength should fail, constrain us, oh God, to come to Thee, whether
we learn by sorrow or joy, by punishment or pity;--constrain us, so
that we may find Thee, whatever else we lose! Let the great
searchlight of Thy truth be turned upon the secret motives of our
hearts and minds, and if there be one of us in whom such motives be
found false, impure, cruel or cowardly, then let Thy just wrath fall
upon the misguided creature of Thy love, and teach him or her,
obedience and repentance! We pray that Thou wilt punish us, oh God,
when we have sinned, that we may know wherein we have offended our
dear Father;--and equally, when we have sought to serve Thee
faithfully, may we receive Thy blessing! Make us one with Thee in
Thy perfect plan of good; teach us how to work Thy will in the
fulfilment of peace and joy; make our lives of use to this world,
and our deaths gain to the next, and let the glory of Thy love
encompass us, guide us, and defend us now and forever, through
Christ our Lord, Amen."

After he had ceased, there was a deep silence for many minutes, then
all the people as if moved by one impulse, rose from their knees,
and standing, sang the following stanzas, which Aubrey had taught
them when he first began to preach among them his ideals of love and
labour.

If thou'rt a Christian in deed and thought,
Loving thy neighbour as Jesus taught,--
Living all days in the sight of Heaven,
And not ONE only out of seven,--
Sharing thy wealth with the suffering poor,
Helping all sorrow that Hope can cure,--
Making religion a truth in the heart,
And not a cloak to be worn in the mart,
Or in high cathedrals and chapels and fanes,
Where priests are traders and count the gains,--
All God's angels will say, "Well done!"
Whenever thy mortal race is run.
White and forgiven,
Thou'lt enter heaven,
And pass, unchallenged, the Golden Gate,
Where welcoming spirits watch and wait
To hail thy coming with sweet accord
To the Holy City of God the Lord!

If Peace is thy prompter, and Love is thy guide,
And white-robed Charity walks by thy side,--
If thou tellest the truth without oath to bind,
Doing thy duty to all mankind,--
Raising the lowly, cheering the sad,
Finding some goodness e'en in the bad,
And owning with sadness if badness there be,
There might have been badness in thine and in thee,
If Conscience the warder that keeps thee whole
Had uttered no voice to thy slumbering soul,--
All God's angels will say, "Well done!"
Whenever thy mortal race is run.
White and forgiven,
Thou'lt enter heaven,
And pass, unchallenged, the Golden Gate,
Where welcoming spirits watch and wait
To hail thy coming with sweet accord
To the Holy City of God the Lord!

If thou art humble, and wilt not scorn.
However wretched, a brother forlorn,--
If thy purse is open to misery's call,
And the God thou lovest is God of all,
Whatever their colour, clime or creed,
Blood of thy blood, in their sorest need,--
If every cause that is good and true,
And needs assistance to dare and do,
Thou helpest on through good and ill,
With trust in Heaven, and God's good will,--
All God's angels will say, "Well done!"
Whenever thy mortal race is run.
White and forgiven, Thou'lt enter heaven,
And pass, unchallenged, the Golden Gate,
Where welcoming spirits watch and wait
To hail thy coming with sweet accord
To the Holy City of God the Lord!

[Footnote: By the late Charles Mackay, LL.D., F.S.A.]

The effect of the last eight-line chorus sung by thousands of
voices, was marvellous. Such a spirit of exaltation pervaded the
music that the common wooden shed-like building in which these
followers of one earnest man asserted their faith in God rather than
in a Church, seemed to take upon itself all the architectural beauty
of a temple costing millions of money. When the singing ceased,
Aubrey raised his hand, and while his audience yet remained
standing, pronounced the blessing.

"God be with you all, my friends!--in your hearts and lives and
daily conduct! May none of you here present shadow His brightness by
one dark deed or thought of evil! I will ask you to pray that God
may be with me too, and with my beloved wife, the future partner of
all my work, my joys and sorrows, that we may in our union make our
lives useful to you and to all others who seek our help or care.
God's blessing be upon us all in the name of Christ our Saviour!"

And with one accord the people answered "Amen!"

Then this brief service over, they began to disperse. Without any
scramble or rush, but in perfect order and with quiet and reverent
demeanour, they left their seats and began to make their way out.
None of them were seen gossiping together, or smiling or nodding
over each other's shoulders as is very often the case when a
congregation disperses from a fashionable church. For these people
in their worship of the Creator, found something reverent, something
earnest, something true, valuable and necessary to daily living,--
and though there were two peaceful-looking constables stationed at
the door of egress, their services were not required to either keep
order or compel any of those thousands of poor to "move on." They
kept order for themselves, and were too busy with practical life and
thought, to hang about or gossip on the way to their various homes.
Several members of the congregation on hearing that their friend
Leigh was going to take his marriage vows before them all, had
provided themselves with flowers, and these managed to pass in front
of the platform where, simply and without ostentation, they handed
up their little bouquets and clusters of such blossoms as they had
been able to obtain and afford in winter,--violets especially, and
white chrysanthemums, and one or two rare roses. These floral
offerings meant much sacrifice on the part of those who gave them,--
and the tears filled Sylvie's eyes as she noted the eagerness with
which poor women with worn sad faces, and hands wrinkled and brown
with toil, handed up their little posies for her to take from them,
or laid them with a touching humility at her feet. What a wonderful
wedding hers was, she thought!--far removed from all the world of
fashion, without any of the hypocritical congratulations of
"society" friends,--without the sickening, foolish waste, expense
and artificiality, which nowadays makes a marriage a mere millinery
parade. She had spoken her vows before thousands whom her husband
had helped and rescued from heathenism and misery, and all their
good wishes and prayers for her happiness were wedding gifts such as
no money could purchase. With a heart full of emotion and gratitude
she watched the crowd break up and disappear, till when the last few
were passing out of the building, she said to her husband--

"Let us leave the flowers they have given me here, Aubrey,--here,
just at the foot of the Cross where you have so often spoken to
them. I shall feel they will bring me a blessing!"

"It shall be as you wish, sweetheart!" he answered tenderly,--"and I
must thank you for having entered so readily into the spirit of this
strange marriage before my poor friends, Sylvie,--for it must have
seemed very strange to you!--and yet believe me,--no more binding
one was ever consummated!" He took her hand and kissed it,--then
turned to Cardinal Bonpre, who had risen and was gazing round the
bare common building with dreamy eyes of wistful wonderment.

"I thank you too, my dear friend! You have learned something of my
work since we came to London, and I think you understand thoroughly
the true sanctity and force of my marriage?"

"I--do!--I do understand it!" said the Cardinal slowly. "And I wish
with all my heart that all marriage vows could be so solemnly and
truly taken! But my heart aches--my heart aches for the world! These
thousands you have helped and taught are but a few,--and they were
as you have told me, little better than heathen when you came
amongst them to tell them the true meaning of Christ's message--what
of the millions more waiting to know what the Church is failing to
teach? What have the priests of the Lord been doing for nearly two
thousand years, that there should still be doubters of God!"

Over his face swept a shadow of deep pain, and at that moment Manuel
left the Cross where he had been leaning and came up and stood
beside him. The Cardinal looked at his waif wistfully.

"What did you think of this service, my child?"

"I thought that the Master of all these His servants could not be
very far away!" answered Manuel softly,--"And that if He came
suddenly, He would find none sleeping!"

"May it prove so!" said Aubrey fervently. "But we own ourselves to
be unprofitable servants at best,--we can only try to fulfil our
Lord's commands as nearly to the letter as possible,--and we often
fail;--but we do honestly make the effort. Shall we go now, my lord
Cardinal? You look fatigued."

Bonpre sighed heavily. "My spirit is broken, my son!" he answered.
"I dare not think of what will happen--what is beginning to happen
for the Christian world! I shall not live to see it; but I have
sinned, in passing my days in too much peace. Dwelling for many
years away in my far-off diocese, I have forgotten the hurrying rush
of life. I should have been more active long ago,--and I fear I
shall have but a poor account to give of my stewardship when I am
called to render it up. This is what troubles both my heart and my
conscience!"

"Dear friend, you have no cause for trouble!" said Sylvie earnestly.
"Among all the servants of our Master surely you are one of the most
faithful!"

"One of the most faithful, and therefore considered one of the most
faithless!" said Manuel. "Come, let us go now,--and leave these
bridal flowers where the bride wishes them to be,--at the foot of
the Cross, as a symbol of her husband's service! Let us go,--the
Cardinal has need of rest."

They returned to their respective homes,--Aubrey and his wife to a
little tenement house they had taken for a few weeks in the district
in order that Sylvie might be able to see and to study for herself
the sad and bitter lives of those who from birth to death are
deprived of all the natural joys of happy and wholesome existence,--
whose children are born and bred up in crime,--where girls are
depraved and ruined before they are in their teens,--and where
nothing of God is ever taught beyond that He is a Being who punishes
the wicked and rewards the good,--and where in the general apathy of
utter wretchedness, people decide that unless there is something
given them in this world to be good for, they would rather be bad
like the rest of the folks they see about them. The Cardinal and
Manuel dwelt in rooms not very far away, and every day and every
hour almost was occupied by them in going among these poor,
helpless, hopeless ones of the world, bringing them comfort and aid
and sympathy. Wherever Manuel went, there brightness followed; the
sick were healed, the starving were fed, the lonely and desolate
were strengthened and encouraged, and the people who knew no more of
the Cardinal than that "he was a priest of some sort or other,"
began to watch eagerly for the appearance of the Cardinal's
foundling, "the child that seemed to love them," as they described
him,--and to long for even a passing glimpse of the fair face, the
steadfast blue eyes, the tender smile, of one before whom all rough
words were silenced--all weeping stilled.

But on this night of all--the night of Sylvie's "religious"
marriage, the Cardinal was stricken by a heavy blow. He had expected
some misfortune, but had not realized that it would be quite so
heavy as it proved. The sum and substance of his trouble was
contained in a "confidential" letter from Monsignor Moretti, and was
worded as follows--

"My Lord Cardinal,--It has come to the knowledge of the Holy Father
that you have not only left Rome without signifying the intention of
your departure to the Vatican as custom and courtesy should have
compelled you to do, but that instead of returning to your rightful
diocese, you have travelled to London, and are there engaged in
working with the socialist and heretic Aubrey Leigh, who is
spreading pernicious doctrine among the already distracted and
discordant of the poorer classes. This fact has to be coupled with
the grave offence committed against the Holy Father by the street-
foundling to whom you accord your favour and protection, and whose
origin you are unable to account for; and the two things taken
together, constitute a serious breach of conduct on the part of so
eminent a dignitary of the Church as yourself, and compel the Holy
Father most unwillingly and sorrowfully to enquire whether he is
justified in retaining among his servants of the Holy See one who so
openly betrays its counsels and commands. It is also a matter of the
deepest distress to the Holy Father, that a picture painted by your
niece Donna Angela Sovrani and entitled 'The Coming of Christ,' in
which the Church itself is depicted as under the displeasure of our
Lord, should be permitted to contaminate the minds of the nations by
public exhibition. Through the Vatican press, the supreme Pontiff
has placed his ban against this most infamous picture, and all that
the true servants of the Church can do to check its pernicious
influence, will be done. But it cannot be forgotten that Your
Eminence is closely connected with all these regrettable events, and
as we have no actual proof of the authenticity of the miracle you
are alleged to have performed at Rouen, the Holy Father is
reluctantly compelled to leave that open to doubt. The Archbishop of
Rouen very strenuously denies the honesty of the mother of the child
supposed to be healed by you, and states that she has not attended
Mass or availed herself of any of the Sacraments for many years. We
are willing to admit that Your Eminence may personally have been
unsuspectingly made party to a fraud,--but this does not free you
from the other charges, (notably that of exonerating the late Abbe
Vergniaud,) of which you stand arraigned. Remembering, however, the
high repute enjoyed by Your Eminence throughout your career, and
taking into kindly consideration your increasing age and failing
health, the Holy Father commissions me to say that all these
grievous backslidings on your part shall be freely pardoned if you
will,--Firstly,--repudiate all connection with your niece, Angela
Sovrani, and hold no further communication with her or her father
Prince Sovrani,--Secondly,--that you will break off your
acquaintance with the socialist Aubrey Leigh and his companion
Sylvie Hermenstein, the renegade from the Church of her fathers,--
and Thirdly,--that you will sever yourself at once and forever from
the boy you have taken under your protection. This last clause is
the most important in the opinion of His Holiness. These three
things being done, you will be permitted to return to your diocese,
and pursue the usual round of your duties there to the end. Failing
to fulfil the Holy Father's commands, the alternative is that you be
deprived of your Cardinal's hat and your diocese together.

"It is with considerable pain that I undertake the transcribing of
the commands of the Holy Father, and I much desired Monsignor
Gherardi to follow you to London and lay these matters before you
privately, with all the personal kindness which his friendship for
you makes possible, but I regret to say, and you will no doubt
regret to learn, that he has been smitten with dangerous illness and
fever, which for the time being prevents his attention to duty.
Trusting to hear from you with all possible speed that Your Eminence
is in readiness to obey the Holy Father's paternal wish and high
command, I am,

"Your Eminence's obedient servant in Christ,

"Lorenzo Moretti."

The Cardinal read this letter through once--twice--then the paper
dropped from his hands.

"My God, my God! why hast Thou forsaken me!" he murmured. "What have
I done in these few months! What must I do!"

A light touch on his arm roused him. Manuel confronted him.

"Why are you sorrowful, dear friend? Have you sad news?"

"Yes, my child! Sad news indeed! I am commanded by the Pope to give
up all I have in the world! If it were to give to my Master Christ I
would give it gladly,--but to the Church--I cannot!"

"What does the Pope ask you to resign?" said Manuel.

"My niece Angela and all her love for me!--my friendship with this
brave man Aubrey Leigh who works among the outcast and the poor,--
but more than all this,--he asks me to give You up--you! My child, I
cannot!"

He stretched his thin withered hands out to the slight boyish figure
in front of him.

"I cannot! I am an old man, near--very near--to the grave--and I
love you! I need you!--without you the world is dark! I found you
all alone--I have cared for you and guarded you and served you--I
cannot let you go!" The tears filled his. eyes and rolled down his
worn cheeks. "I cannot lose my last comfort!" he repeated feebly. "I
cannot let You go!"

Silently the boy gave his hands into the old man's fervent clasp,
and as Bonpre bent his head upon them a sense of peace stole over
him,--a great and solemn calm. Looking up he saw Manuel earnestly
regarding him with eyes full of tenderness and light, and a smile
upon his lips.

"Be of good courage, dear friend!" he said. "The time of trial is
hard, but it will soon be over. You must needs part from Angela!--
but remember she has great work still to do, and she is not left
without love! You must also part from Aubrey and his wife--but they
too are given high tasks to fulfil for God's glory--and,--they have
each other! Yes!--you must part with all these things, dear friend--
they are not yours to retain;--and if you would keep your place in
this world you must part with Me!"

"Never!" cried Bonpre, moved to sudden passion. "I cannot! To me the
world without you would be empty!"

As he spoke these words a sudden memory rang in his brain like a
chime from some far-distant tower echoing over a width of barren
land. "For me the world is empty!" had been the words spoken by
Manuel when he had first found him leaning against the locked
Cathedral door in Rouen. And with this memory came another, the
vision he had seen of the end of the world, and the words he had
heard spoken by some mysterious voice in his sleep,--"The light
shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehendeth it not!" And
still he looked pleadingly, earnestly, almost fearingly, into the
face of his foundling.

"We must speak of this again," said Manuel then, gently. "But to-
night, for at least some hours, you must rest! Have patience with
your own thoughts, dear friend! To part with earthly loves is a
sorrow that must always be;--Angela is young and you are old!--she
has her task to do, and yours is nearly finished! You must part with
Aubrey Leigh,--you cannot help him,--his work is planned,--his ways
ordained. Thus, you have no one to command your life save the
Church,--and it seems that you must choose between the Church and
me! To keep Me, you must forego the Church. To keep the Church you
must say farewell to Me! But think no more of it just now--sleep and
rest--leave all to God!"

The Cardinal still looked at him earnestly.

"You will not leave me? You will not, for a thought of saving me
from my difficulties, go from me? If I sleep I shall find you when I
wake?"

"I will never leave you till you bid me go!" answered Manuel. "And
if I am taken far from hence you shall go with me! Rest, dear
friend--rest, true servant of God! Rest without thought--without
care--till I call you!"

XXXIX.

The night darkened steadily down over London,--a chill dreary night
of heavy fog, half-melting into rain. Cardinal Bonpre, though left
to himself, did not rest at once as Manuel had so tenderly bidden
him to do, but moved by an impulse stronger than any worldly
discretion or consideration, sat down and wrote a letter to the
Supreme Pontiff,--a letter every word of which came straight from
his honest heart, and which he addressed to the Head of his Church
directly and personally, without seeking the interposition of
Lorenzo Moretti. And thus he wrote, in obedience to the dictate of
his own soul--

"Most Holy Father!--I have this day received through Monsignor
Moretti the text of certain commands laid by Your Holiness upon me
to fulfil if I would still serve the Church, as I have in all truth
and devotion served it for so many years. These commands are
difficult to realise, and still more difficult to obey,--I would
rather believe that Your Holiness has issued them in brief anger,
than that they are the result of a reasonable conviction, or
condition of your own heart and intellect. In no way can I admit
that my conduct has been of a nature to give offence to you or to
the Holy See, for I have only in all things sought to obey the
teaching of our Lord Jesus Christ, upon whose memory our faith is
founded. Your Holiness desires me, first, to cease every
communication with the only relatives left to me on earth,--my
brother-in-law Pietro Sovrani and his daughter, the daughter of my
dead sister, my niece Angela. You demand the severance of these
bonds of nature, because my niece has produced a work of art, for
which she alone is responsible. I venture most humbly to submit to
Your Holiness that this can scarcely be called true Christian
justice to me,--for, whereas on the one side I cannot be made
answerable for the thoughts or the work of a separately responsible
individual, on the other hand I should surely not be prohibited from
exercising my influence, if necessary, on the future career of those
related to me by blood as well as endeared to me by duty and
affection. My niece has suffered more cruelly than most women; and
it is entirely owing to her refusal to speak, that the memory of
Florian Varillo, her late affianced husband, is not openly branded
as that of a criminal, instead of being as now, merely under the
shadow of suspicion. For we know that he was her assassin,--all Rome
feels the truth,--and yet being dead, his name is left open to the
benefit of a doubt because she who was so nearly slain by him she
loved, forgives and is silent. I submit to Your Holiness that this
forgiveness and silence symbolise true Christianity, on the part of
the poor child who has fallen under your displeasure,--and that as
the Christian Creed goes, your pity and consideration for her should
somewhat soften the ban you have set against her on account of the
work she has given to the world. As a servant of Holy Church I
deeply deplore the subject of that work, while fully admitting its
merit as a great conception of art,--but even on this point I would
most humbly point out to Your Holiness that genius is not always
under the control of its possessor. For being a fire of most
searching and persuasive quality it does so command the soul, and
through the soul the brain and hand, that oftentimes it would appear
as if the actual creator of a great work is the last unit to be
considered in the scheme, and that it has been carried out by some
force altogether beyond and above humanity. Therefore, speaking with
all humility and sorrow, it may chance that Angela Sovrani's picture
'The Coming of Christ' may contain a required lesson to us of the
Church as well as to certain sections of certain people, and that as
all genius comes from God, it would be well to enquire earnestly
whether we do not perhaps in these days need some hint or warning of
the kind to recall us from ways of error, ere we wander too far.
But, having laid this matter straightly before Your Holiness, I am
nevertheless willing to accede to your desire, and see my young
niece and her father no more. For truly there is very little chance
of my so doing, as my age and health will scarcely permit me to
travel far from my diocese again, if indeed I ever return to it. The
same statement will apply with greater force to the friendship I
have lately formed with him whom you call 'heretic,'--Aubrey Leigh.
Your Holiness is mistaken in thinking that I have assisted him in
his work among the poor and desolate of London--though I would it
had been possible for me to do so! For I have seen such misery, such
godlessness, such despair, such self-destruction in this great
English city, the admitted centre of civilization, that I would give
my whole life twice, ay, three times over again to be able to
relieve it in ever so small a degree. The priests of our Church and
of all Churches are here,--they preach, but do very little in the
way of practice, and few like Aubrey Leigh sacrifice their personal
entity, their daily life, their sleep, their very thoughts, to help
the suffering of their fellow-men. Holy Father, the people whom
Aubrey Leigh works for, never believed in a God at all till this man
came among them. Yet there are religious centres here, and teachers-
-Sunday after Sunday, the message of the Gospel is pronounced to
inattentive ears and callous souls, and yet all have remained in
darkest atheism, in hopeless misery, till their earnest, patient,
sympathising, tender brother, the so-called 'atheist,' came to
persuade them out of darkness into light, and made the burdens of
their living lighter to bear. And will you not admit him as a
Christian? Surely he must be; for as our Lord Himself declares, 'Not
every man that shall say unto Me Lord, Lord, shall enter into the
kingdom of heaven, but he that doeth the will of My Father which is
in heaven.' And of a certainty, the will of the Father is that the
lost should be found, the perishing saved, the despairing
comforted,--and all these things Aubrey Leigh has done, and is yet
doing. But I do not work with him--I am here to look on--and looking
on, to regret my lost youth!