sweet smile, trustful and gentle, that
seemed to take any that spoke with him straight to his heart, and made
him many friends. He had the look rather of a courtier than of a
priest, and he was merry and cheerful in discourse, so that you might
be long with him and not know him to be learned. It may be said that
he had no enemies, though he did not conceal his beliefs and thoughts,
but stated them so courteously and with such deference to opposite
views, that he drew men insensibly to his side. It was thought by many
that he ought to go into the world and make a great name for himself.
But he loved the quiet College life, the familiar talk with those he
knew. He loved the great plenty of books and the discourse of simple
and wise men. He loved the fresh bright hours of solitary work, the
shady College garden, with its butts and meadows, bordered by ancient
walls. He loved to sit at meat in the cool and spacious hall; and he
loved too the dark high-roofed College Church, and his own canopied
stall with the service-books in due order, the low music of the organ,
and the sweet singing of the choir. He was not rich, but his
Fellowship gave him all that he desired, together with a certain
seemly dignity of life that he truly valued; so that his heart was
very full of a simple happiness from day to day, and he thought that
he would be more than content to live out his life in the peaceful
College that he loved so well.

But he was ambitious too; he was writing a great book full of holy
learning; and he had of late somewhat withdrawn himself from the life
of the College; he sate longer at his studies and he was seen less
often in other Colleges. Ten years he gave himself to finish his task,
and he thought that it would bring him renown; but that was only a
far-off dream, gilding his studies with a kind of peaceful glory; and
indeed he loved the doing of his work better than any reward he might
get for it.

One summer he felt he wanted some change of life; the sultry Cambridge
air, so dry and low, seemed to him to be heavy and lifeless. He began
to dream of fresh mountain breezes, and the sound of leaping streams;
so at last he packed his books into a box, and set off a long journey
into the hills of the West, to a village where an old friend of his
was the priest, who he knew would welcome him.

On the sixth day he arrived at the place; he had enjoyed the journey;
much of the time he had ridden, but he often walked, for he