“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 humble 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.”
“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 very fair. But we know that
you always wish to prepare the young of your own parish for confirmation;
and so we have brought him to you that you may give us your advice as to
what he is to do to prepare himself, and you may depend upon it that we
will see that it is done.’
“‘Thank you, my good friend,’ said the Pastor, highly delighted, ‘thank
you! You have done what all parents ought, but not more than I expected
from you. I remember well, when I prepared you,—now forty years
ago,—when I prepared _you_ for the same solemn rite, I remember I told
you not to forget to bring up your children in the way they should go,
and thankful to GOD am I, that the seed sown so long since has lived in
your hearts, and has shot up at the proper time as fresh as if it had
been sown last spring! Truly the seeds of grace are as immortal as the
seeds of nature. See you that violet?’ said he, pointing to a little
simple pansy that was bending its graceful flower close to the spot on
which the old man stood,—‘look at it, and think, how came it there? Last
autumn, this spot was covered with bog-earth, which had probably rested
on this bleak and barren moor ever since the deluge. It was disturbed
last year by the spade of the turf-getter, and now, this beautiful little
flower has sprung up in this place! For ages and ages its seed must have
remained embedded in this sour and barren bog; yet, once disturbed by the
hand of man, it springs up fresh and lively, to show that GOD can keep
alive what to the eye of man may seem to perish, and can deck with grace
and beauty even the most unpromising spots of creation! So be it with
Thy WORD,’ said he, looking devoutly upwards. Now, I had observed the
pansy growing on the portions of heath which had been moved by the spade
a thousand times, yet never till now did I think that such a moral could
be drawn from so simple a fact. And, sir, I believe that there is _no_
fact, in nature or in art, from which a devout and observant mind may not
learn similar lessons of devotion. I never see a violet now, that I do
not think on Robert Walker, and the power of the grace of GOD.’
“The old man paused a little, and then continued: ‘My boy,’ said the
Pastor, addressing himself to me, ‘are you ready to learn?’ ‘As ready as
you to teach,’ said I, firmly but respectfully. I have often thought
since, that such a reply might, in the ears of some pastors, have sounded
something like a reproach; but in the ears of Robert Walker, whose
‘aptness to teach’ was as well known as his other good qualities, it was
a most agreeable answer. ‘Sharp and ready, I see,’ said he, turning to
my father with a smile; ‘but most of Bowman’s lads are pretty well
trained. I wish you to come to my church next Sunday morning, when I
propose to commence a course of lectures to the candidates for
confirmation; and I trust your parents will accompany you. They must
present you in the temple, as Joseph and Mary did their Holy Child. I
shall expect you all to “dine with me at noon,” with the rest of the
parish.’ This must sound in your ears as a large invitation from a poor
pastor (his income was not more than £20 a year) to a whole parish. But,
sir, it is no exaggeration; every Sunday did this good man keep open
house to his flock, and all were welcome who chose to partake of his
boiled beef or mutton, and a bason of broth.
“At this point in our conversation a young man joined our party, whom I
had for some time observed strolling about, and occasionally addressing
some of the various parties engaged in cutting turf on the fell. He was
good looking, and dressed in the prevailing fashion of the time, that is,
very much as I am at present, for my outward man has stood still in its
attire for the last forty years. It was evident that he was no native of
the north, and might be one of those _Lakers_, who, in that early period,
though not in such numbers as at present, visited the lakes during the
summer season, to enjoy the beauties of their scenery, and imbibe health
and strength from the pure breath of their mountain breezes. He
evidently eyed our Reverend friend with much curiosity; and respectfully
touching his hat, said with a smile, ‘Your outward attire, father, has in
my eyes a somewhat primitive appearance.’ Mr. Walker, if he felt the
sneer, did not seem to notice it, but replied with plain simplicity, ‘I
flatter myself, sir, that my dress is such as at once becomes my
character, and bespeaks my office. It is coarse in its texture, for the
materials of it were spun by my own hand; but its form is such as has
been handed down from time immemorial as belonging to the priest’s
office, and I see no reason, sir, why the priest’s vesture should not be
as unchangeable as his creed.’
“‘Unchangeable! venerable sir, _what_ is unchangeable? Is not the human
mind, in our days, gradually but irresistibly marching onwards, from the
darkness of ignorance to the broad daylight of liberty and knowledge? Is
not this an age of new light?” “It may be so,” said the priest, “but if
my creed be true, the last new light from _heaven_ came in the days of
our SAVIOUR—any new light _since_ then, must, I fear, have a different
origin!’
“The stranger did not seem disposed to pursue the conversation further,
but, slightly touching his hat, took his leave. We also paid our parting
respects to the pastor, and commenced our journey home. The stranger
joined us before we had advanced far on our return, and certainly we
found him a most intelligent and agreeable companion. He had seen much
of foreign countries, and mentioned many circumstances with regard to
them and their customs, which made a deep impression on my youthful
imagination. He accompanied us to the door of our house, which was
opened by my sister; and, much to my surprise, she received him with an
expression of countenance, and a conscious blush on her cheek, which
showed that it was not the first time that they had met. My curiosity
was excited, and I resolved, if possible, to find out the stranger’s
history and occupation.”