Of dawn on his white shield of expectation,’
and it would be covetous indeed, it might be even impious, to wish to dislodge him. Such as he is, and where he is, he stands pledge enough for Reunion. Meanwhile, let him enjoy the irony for what it is worth, that to compensate for many of his own who esteem him not, many ‘swallowers of the Council of Trent as a whole’ esteem him well. The English Oratory has for him a sort of veneration, as for a little brother lost who had Saint Philip’s very brow and mouth;[293] the Benedictine monks at Buckfast Abbey, near his old home, familiarly remember him, on birthdays, with prayer which is both a gift and a petition; and there are lay hearts which cannot think of his lonely burial-place, in snow-time or in rose-time, without the sense of hearing over it a solemn music from the Purgatorio:
‘Qui sarai tu poco tempo silvano;
E sarai meco senza fine cive
Di quella Roma onde Cristo è Romano.’
That wonderful prophetic strain, meant for eternity, must linger in the ear of every ‘Roman’ who has learned to love Hurrell Froude.
THE END.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The present Editor once hit upon a copy of the Remains in a bookstall, which had many of these names filled out in pencil; several of them, not all, proved to be accurate, and have been incorporated without acknowledgment to a nameless and deceased annotator.
[2] ‘What is Mysticism?’ in The Faith of the Millions. First Series. By George Tyrrell, S.J. Longmans, 1901, pp. 254-255.