riend of mine should know other friends whom
I love so dearly. I am sure you will receive him kindly
for my sake, and that you will like him for his own. There
are reasons why I wish that your father should know him.

Give my most affectionate love to your sister. I can send
her no other message, and I do not think she will be angry
with me for sending that. It cannot hurt her; and she and
you at least know how honest and how true it is. Distance
and time make no difference. It is as though I were on the
lawn with her now.

Most sincerely yours,

GREGORY NEWTON.

When he had written this in the little book-room of his parsonage he
opened the window, and, crossing the garden, seated himself on a low
brick wall, which divided his small domain from the churchyard. The
night was bright with stars, but there was no moon in the heavens,
and the gloom of the old ivy-coloured church tower was complete. But
all the outlines of the place were so well known to him that he could
trace them all in the dim light. After a while he got down among the
graves, and with slow steps walked round and round the precincts of
his church. Here, at least, in this spot, close to the house of God
which was his own church, within this hallowed enclosure, which was
his own freehold in a peculiar manner, he could, after a fashion, be
happy, in spite of the misfortunes of himself and his family. His
lines had been laid for him in very pleasant places. According to his
ideas there was no position among the children of men more blessed,
more diversified, more useful, more noble, than that which had been
awarded to him,--if only, by God's help, he could perform with
adequate zeal and ability the high duties which had been entrusted
to him. Things outside were dark,--at least, so said the squires and
parsons around him, with whom he was wont to associate. His uncle,
Gregory, was sure that all things were going to the dogs, since a
so-called Tory leader had become an advocate for household suffrage,
and real Tory gentlemen had condescended to follow him. But to our
parson it had always seemed that there was still a fresh running
stream of water for him who would care to drink from a fresh stream.
He heard much of unbelief, and of the professors of unbelief, both
within and without the great Church;--but in that little church with
which he was personally concerned there were more worshippers now
than there had ever be