I'll make arrangements now to sell off everything, and then for
'Larger constellations burning, mellow moons, and happy skies,
Breadths of tropic shade, and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.'
But the name I leave behind me—Letheby!—Letheby! It will go down from generation to generation—a word of warning against shame and defeat. Dear me! how different the world looked twelve months ago! Who would have foreseen this? And I was growing so fond of my work, and my little home, and my books, and my choir, and—and—the children!"
"Alice and Bittra have been pulled out of the fire unscathed," I said feebly. "Why may not you?"
"Ay, but they had physical and domestic troubles," he said; "but how can you get over disgrace?"
"That, too, may be overcome," I replied. "Is there not something about 'opprobrium hominum et abjectio plebis,' in Scripture?"
"True," he said, "there it is. I am forever grasping at two remedies, or rather supports—work, work, work, and the Example you have quoted; and sometimes they swing me up over the precipices and then let me down into the abysses. It is a regular see-saw of exultation and despair!"
"Let me know, when you have heard from the bishop," I said; "somehow I believe that all will come right yet."
"No, no, Father Dan," he said, "it is only your good nature which you mistake for a happy presentiment. Look out for a new curate."