at aged figure we have each recognized
our own young self. How often have I sat down on the mossy wall that
surrounded my churchyard, when I had more time for reverie than I have
now,--sat upon the mossy wall, under a great oak, whose branches came
low down and projected far out,--and looked at the rough gnarled bark,
and at the pacing river, and at the belfry of the little church, and
there and then thought of Mansie Wauch and of his vision of Future
Years! How often in these hours, or in long solitary walks and rides
among the hills, have I had visions, clear as that of Mansie Wauch, of
how I should grow old in my country parish! Do not think that I wish or
intend to be egotistical, my friendly reader. I describe these feelings
and fancies because I think this is the likeliest way in which to reach
and describe your own. There was a rapid little stream that flowed, in
a very lonely place, between the highway and a cottage to which I often
went to see a poor old woman; and when I came out of the cottage, having
made sure that no one saw me, I always took a great leap over the little
stream, which saved going round a little way. And never once, for
several years, did I thus cross it without seeing a picture as clear to
the mind's eye as Mansie Wauch's,--a picture which made me walk very
thoughtfully along for the next mile or two. It was curious to think how
one was to get through the accustomed duty after having grown old and
frail. The day would come when the brook could be crossed in that brisk
fashion no more. It must be an odd thing for the parson to walk as an
old man into the pulpit, still his own, which was his own when he was a
young man of six-and-twenty. What a crowd of old remembrances must be
present each Sunday to the clergyman's mind, who has served the same
parish and preached in the same church for fifty years! Personal
identity, continued through the successive stages of life, is a
commonplace thing to think of; but when it is brought home to your own
case and feeling, it is a very touching and a very bewildering thing.
There are the same trees and hills as when you were a boy; and when each
of us comes to his last days in this world, how short a space it will
seem since we were little children! Let us humbly hope, that, in that
brief space parting the cradle from the grave, we may (by help from
above) have accomplished a certain work which will cast its blessed
influence over all the years and all the a