over what could not
be bettered; and, third, it was hurtful, inasmuch as it prevented the
growth of new, hopeful, invigorating thought, and took from his
strength, and the quality of his following endeavor. A man's labors must
pass like the sunrises and sunsets of the world. The next thing, not the
last, must be his care. When he reached home, he would therefore use
means to this end of diversion, and not unfrequently would write verses.
Here are those he wrote that afternoon.

LET YOUR LIGHT SO SHINE.

Sometimes, O Lord, thou lightest in my head
A lamp that well might Pharos all the lands;
Anon the light will neither burn nor spread
Shrouded in danger gray the beacon stands.

A Pharos? Oh, dull brain! Oh, poor quenched lamp,
Under a bushel, with an earthy smell!
Moldering it lies, in rust and eating damp,
While the slow oil keeps oozing from its cell!

For me it were enough to be a flower
Knowing its root in thee was somewhere hid--
To blossom at the far appointed hour,
And fold in sleep when thou, my Nature, bid.

But hear my brethren crying in the dark!
Light up my lamp that it may shine abroad.
Fain would I cry--See, brothers! sisters, mark!
This is the shining of light's father, God.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MANOR HOUSE DINING-ROOM.

The rector never took his eyes off the preacher, but the preacher never
saw him. The reason was that he dared not let his eyes wander in the
direction of Mrs. Ramshorn; he was not yet so near perfection but that
the sight of her supercilious, unbelieving face, was a reviving cordial
to the old Adam, whom he was so anxious to poison with love and prayer.
Church over, the rector walked in silence, between the two ladies, to
the Manor House. He courted no greetings from the sheep of his neglected
flock as he went, and returned those offered with a constrained
solemnity. The moment they stood in the hall together, and before the
servant who had opened the door to them had quite disappeared, Mrs.
Ramshorn, to the indignant consternation of Mrs. Bevis, who was utterly
forgotten by both in the colloquy that ensued, turned sharp on the
rector, and said,

"There! what do you say to your curate now?"

"He _is_ enough to set the whole parish by the ears," he answered.

"I told you so, Mr. Bevis!"

"Only it does not follow that therefore he is in the wrong. Our Lord
Himself came not to send peace on earth but a sword."

"Ir