“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.

“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 p. 38humble 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:—

    “‘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.’

“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............