A JOURNAL KEPT IN THE COUNTRY. 249 



of busy life ; beyond the village ways within the 

 old circle of the hills, work, wage-nights, holidays, 

 weddings, burials ; past all this a thousand ages 

 dead, a whisper of memory, the soul holds on its 

 way, never to lose itself or to wear out the mark 

 of each least thought and deed in the earthly years 

 so far behind. 



'.#:*- 



The church is very still. All, save some few like 

 old Tomsett, whose head has dropped upon his 

 hands crossed over his stick, are held by the preacher. 

 Mae'ry Bish forgets to giggle and adjust her hairpins ; 

 the grocer's lad for the time forgets Mae'ry ; the boys 

 by the west door, who usually begin to feel for their 

 pipes during the last hymn, are for the moment in 

 deep waters. 



To-morrow, we know, the village round will go its 

 way. Mae'ry will be back at her sluttish flirtations, 

 and Henery's malevolent little eyes look through the 

 smoke of his clay pipe on a hated world ; Mr. Eliab 

 Blaber will pursue that curious commercial path, 

 serpentine between much fundamental integrity and 

 time-honoured trade fictions ; Botting and Marchant 

 and all their kind will renew their walk of beer- 

 alleviated toil. Through the preacher's spell comes 



