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will be found candid, and free from unreasonable prejudice; and I will take an early opportunity of ascertaining them."
Soon after this my friend left me, and I promised to communicate to him the result of my enquiries. The Sunday following, it being a serene autumnal morning, according to the description of the Divine Poet—" most calm, most bright"—I proceeded earlier than usual towards the school.
When I came up to Richard's cottage, he was standing at the gate, with his infant child in his arms, looking as if he could envy no man; as if Sunday were to him what it should be to us all, "the couch of time, care's balm and bay."
"You are rather earlier, Sir, than usual," he said.
"Yes," I answered, "the morning is so lovely, so Sunday-like, I could not endure to stay any longer within doors."
After some few observations had passed between us,—in which he expressed with an unaffected solemnity of manner peculiar to himself, his sense of the value of each returning Lord's day, calling it, (and I think he used, though unconsciously, Isaac Walton's very words,) "a step towards a blessed eternity,"—I asked him if he would have any objection to take two or three turns with me in the beech-walk, as it still wanted a considerable time to school.
He answered that he would gladly accompany me, especially as it might be better for the child to be taken under the shade of the trees.
"Richard," said I, "my friend Mr. Woodnot, and I may call him your friend too, was much amused with your plan for keeping off the enemies of your garden. He commended it highly, and thinks you therein set a good example to all true Churchmen, and especially to us of the Clergy."
"In what respect, Sir?" he asked. "Why," I replied, "in keeping your fences strong and sharp, and contrived in the best possible way to serve the purpose of fences; namely, to preserve one's property from injury. For we understood you to say, that, were it not for a little observation and foresight, however well all might be for three hundred and sixty-four days in the year, in one twenty-four hours all might be laid waste, either by the torrent from the high ground above you, or by the cattle from your neighbour's field."
"Indeed, Sir," he answered, "that is no more than the truth.
