better because his life had so long been in harmony with what he taught. For two generations he had been with them, at bridal, and at burial, at the christening-carol, and at the death-wail. He had rejoiced in their prosperity, and at their last conflict with the Spoiler, had armed himself with prayer, and stood by, until there was no more breath. He had shed the baptismal dew on infant brows, that, now mottled with grey, bent over their children's children. His flock had not been so numerous, but that every part of their history was familiar to him, and kept its place in his memory. Such an intercourse had created, as it ought, no common attachment. They saw that his step was feeble, and that time had taken from him somewhat of manhood's glory; but they remembered that he had grown old in their service, that his eye had become dim, while he cared for their souls, and every infirmity was a new bond of sympathy. If there were any of the young, who might have taken pride in a modern preacher, one less prolix, or more after the fashion of the day, they checked the thought ere it was spoken, for they had learned to venerate their faithful pastor, from the patriarchs who had gone to rest. Little children imitated their parents, and gathered around him, treasuring all he said to them, and the love that thus came down from other generations, seemed not to have decayed at the root, or to have ceased from fruit-bearing.
The intermission between the services was short,