140 THE EULOGY OF RICHARD JEFFERIES. 



magnetized with the spirit of the past, till the 

 early evening sends its shadowy troops to fill 

 the distant corners of the silent church, then 

 perhaps there may come to us forms gliding 

 noiselessly over the stone pavement of the 

 aisles forms not repelling or ghastly, but 

 filling us with an eager curiosity. Then 

 through the slit made for that very purpose 

 centuries since, when the pew was in a family 

 chapel, through the slit in the pillar, we may 

 see cowled monks assemble at the altar, mut- 

 tering as magicians might over vessels of gold. 

 The clank of scabbards upon the stones is 

 stilled, the rustle of gowns is silent ; if there 

 is a sound it is of subdued sobs, as the aged 

 monk blesses the troop on the eve of their 

 march. Not even yet has the stern idol of 

 war ceased to demand its victims ; even yet 

 brave hearts and noble minds must perish, and 

 leave sterile the hopes of the elders and the 

 love of woman. There is still light enough 

 left to read the few simple lines on the plain 



marble slab, telling how ' Lieutenant ,' 



at Inkerrnan, at Lucknow, or later still, at 

 Coomassie, fell doing his duty. And these 



