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<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> <blockquote>   “You, Sir, know that in a neighbouring vale A Priest abides before whose life such doubts Fall to the ground; whose gifts of nature lie Retired from notice. . . . In this one man is shown a temperance proof Against all trials; industry severe And constant as the motion of the day. . . . Preaching, administering, in every work Of his sublime vocation, in the walks Of worldly intercourse between man and man, And in his humble dwelling, he appears A labourer, with moral virtue girt, With spiritual graces, like a glory, crown’d.”    “Doubt can be none,” the Pastor said, “for whom This portraiture is sketch’d.  The great, the good, The well-belov’d, the fortunate, the wise, These titles emperors and chiefs have borne, Honour assumed or given: and him, the Wonderful, Our simple shepherds, speaking from the heart, Deservedly have styled.” Wordsworth’s Excursion. </blockquote> “Hear of Wonderful Walker?” said I, “to be sure I have! and have honoured and revered his memory as one of the bright lights of the Church, shining in a dark age, and in a remote corner of the world, where it might have been feared that light would hardly have extended.  Why, my good friend, I once walked to the quiet and retired village of Seathwaite that I might make a pilgrimage to his grave; and though I have gazed upon the tombs and monuments of many of the most renowned heroes and sages of days gone by, none of them filled my mind with such deep sensations of awe and reverence as the quiet and unpretending tomb of Robert Walker!  I yet see the inscription as freshly as if I had read it yesterday—the villagers point it out with pride and pleasure, as an honour to their rustic church-yard, and preserve it from all profanation, as a treasure above all price.  How humble is the inscription engraved on that modest tombstone!  What a couple of saints are there recorded, reposing in peace and union after a long life of pious usefulness, and awaiting the sound of the archangel’s trumpet with a faith as firm as their sleep is tranquil!  Thus runs the record:— <blockquote>“‘In memory of the Reverend Robert Walker, who died the 25th of June, 1802, in the 93rd year of his age, and 67th of his curacy at Seathwaite. “‘Also, of Anne his wife, who died the 28th of January, in the 92nd year of her age.’ </blockquote> “Truly were they ‘lovely in their lives, and in death not divided.’  How I envy you, my friend, to have been taught by the honest voice, and to have gazed on the honest face of Robert Walker!” “Truly, sir, you are quite enthusiastic about my old pastor, and I suspect you have read the poet Wordsworth’s delightful sketch of his character, with the materials for which he was supplied by some of his surviving descendants; if not, I recommend you to lose no time in doing so.  My recollections of him are of a humbler kind, but perhaps not less interesting; to me he has been more than a father.  His divine words yet live in my memory—I wish I had always followed his good advice, and good example! “His habits, as you know, were quite upon a level with the plain and homely rustics of the village.  He lived as they lived, and worked as they worked.  But he lost no spiritual influence, or even worldly respect by this; on the contrary, by excelling them all in those pursuits of which they could judge, he gained credit among them for being always right in matters wherein they were less informed.  I believe the clergy, by their too frequent ignorance of, or contempt for, common things, often lose an influence among the uneducated, which all their knowledge of divinity can never make amends for.  Walker was the best shepherd on the mountains, and was not the less qualified thereby for being the spiritual shepherd of his people.” p. 39“You remind me,” said I, “of a good old parson of Buttermere, who was really a learned and sound divine, but was most esteemed by his flock as being the best wrestler in all the country side!” “That sounds ridiculous enough,” said he, “but what good thing is there which does not become ridiculous in its excess?  Good Mr. Walker, however, was of a different stamp.  He was at peace with himself and all the world.  He ne’er had changed nor wished to change his place.  Where he was born, there he lived, and there he died.  He baptized, married and buried, almost every individual of at least two generations in his parish; and where he laid them in their last resting-place, there he lay down himself, waiting his final reward.  I have myself always much respect for a dead body, knowing that it shall live for ever; and I always think that he who cares little for the bodies of them that sleep in Jesus, is often little better than an infidel.  It is not the soul only that is immortal, the body is immortal also! “But, sir, to my tale.  My father continued—‘Hearing that a confirmation is about to be held, we are anxious to put this our boy under the care of your Reverence, that he may be duly prepared.  We think, from what his master, Mr. Bowman, says of him, that he is a good scholar, and well-informed in matters of religion; we know that he is a tolerably good boy at home,’ (here my father spoke with a half-smile on his face, as if unwilling to allow so much in my favour in my presence; and indeed, though much delighted, for I had never heard him say so much good of me before, I fear the effect was in some degree to feed my vanity:) ‘generally speaking,’ my father continued, with an emphasis on the phrase, ‘generally speaking his conduct is very fair.  But we know that you always wish to prepare the young of your own parish for confirmation; and so we have brought him to you that you may give us your advice as to what he is to do to prepare himself, and you may depend upon it that we will see that it is done.’ “‘Thank you, my good friend,’ said the Pastor, p. 40highly delighted, ‘thank you!  You have done what all parents ought, but not more than I expected from you.  I remember well, when I prepared you,—now forty years ago,—when I prepared you for the same solemn rite, I remember I told you not to forget to bring up your children in the way they should go, and thankful to God am I, that the seed sown so long since has lived in your hearts, and has shot up at the proper time as fresh as if it had been sown last spring!  Truly the seeds of grace are as immortal as the seeds of nature.  See you that violet?’ said he, pointing to a little simple pansy that was bending its graceful flower close to the spot on which the old man stood,—‘look at it, and think, how came it there?  Last autumn, this spot was covered with bog-earth, which had probably rested on this bleak and barren moor ever since the deluge.  It was disturbed last year by the spade of the turf-getter, and now, this beautiful little flower has sprung up in this place!  For ages and ages its seed must have remained embedded in this sour and barren bog; yet, once disturbed by the hand of man, it springs up fresh and lively, to show that God can keep alive what to the eye of man may seem to perish, and can deck with grace and beauty even the most unpromising spots of creation!  So be it with Thy WORD,’ said he, looking devoutly upwards.  Now, I had observed the pansy growing on the portions of heath which had been moved by the spade a thousand times, yet never till now did I think that such a moral could be drawn from so simple a fact.  And, sir, I believe that there is no fact, in nature or in art, from which a devout and observant mind may not learn similar lessons of devotion.  I never see a violet now, that I do not think on Robert Walker, and the power of the grace of God.’ “The old man paused a little, and then continued: ‘My boy,’ said the Pastor, addressing himself to me, ‘are you ready to learn?’  ‘As ready as you to teach,’ said I, firmly but respectfully.  I have often thought since, that such a reply might, in the ears of some pastors, have sounded something like a reproach; but in the ears of Robert p. 41Walker, whose ‘aptness to teach’ was as well known as his other good qualities, it was a most agreeable answer.  ‘Sharp and ready, I see,’ said he, turning to my father with a smile; ‘but most of Bowman’s lads are pretty well trained.  I wish you to come to my church next Sunday morning, when I propose to commence a course of lectures to the candidates for confirmation; and I trust your parents will accompany you.  They must present you in the temple, as Joseph and Mary did their Holy Child.  I shall expect you all to “dine with me at noon,” with the rest of the parish.’  This must sound in your ears as a large invitation from a poor pastor (his income was not more than £20 a year) to a whole parish.  But, sir, it is no exaggeration; every Sunday did this good man keep open house to his flock, and all were welcome who chose to partake of his boiled beef or mutton, and a bason of broth. “At this point in our conversation a young man joined our party, whom I had for some time observed strolling about, and occasionally addressing some of the various parties engaged in cutting turf on the fell.  He was good looking, and dressed in the prevailing fashion of the time, that is, very much as I am at present, for my outward man has stood still in its attire for the last forty years.  It was evident that he was no native of the north, and might be one of those Lakers, who, in that early period, though not in such numbers as at present, visited the lakes during the summer season, to enjoy the beauties of their scenery, and imbibe health and strength from the pure breath of their mountain breezes.  He evidently eyed our Reverend friend with much curiosity; and respectfully touching his hat, said with a smile, ‘Your outward attire, father, has in my eyes a somewhat primitive appearance.’  Mr. Walker, if he felt the sneer, did not seem to notice it, but replied with plain simplicity, ‘I flatter myself, sir, that my dress is such as at once becomes my character, and bespeaks my office.  It is coarse in its texture, for the materials of it were spun by my own hand; but its form is such as has been handed p. 42down from time immemorial as belonging to the priest’s office, and I see no reason, sir, why the priest’s vesture should not be as unchangeable as his creed.’ “‘Unchangeable! venerable sir, what is unchangeable?  Is not the human mind, in our days, gradually but irresistibly marching onwards, from the darkness of ignorance to the broad daylight of liberty and knowledge?  Is not this an age of new light?”  “It may be so,” said the priest, “but if my creed be true, the last new light from heaven came in the days of our Saviour—any new light since then, must, I fear, have a different origin!’ “The stranger did not seem disposed to pursue the conversation further, but, slightly touching his hat, took his leave.  We also paid our parting respects to the pastor, and commenced our journey home.  The stranger joined us before we had advanced far on our return, and certainly we found him a most intelligent and agreeable companion.  He had seen much of foreign countries, and mentioned many circumstances with regard to them and their customs, which made a deep impression on my youthful imagination.  He accompanied us to the door of our house, which was opened by my sister; and, much to my surprise, she received him with an expression of countenance, and a conscious blush on her cheek, which showed that it was not the first time that they had met.  My curiosity was excited, and I resolved, if possible, to find out the stranger’s history and occupation.” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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