When the hymn was sung, Rowland stood behind the high desk of the mistress, and gave a short lecture on the words, 'Thou crownest the year with thy goodness.' Rowland was not ungifted with the talent for extempore preaching, common to so many of his countrymen, and therewith possessed, in general, much self-possession; on the present occasion, it must be confessed that he felt unusually nervous, still he commanded himself and his feelings, and by degrees, forgetting them and his hearers, in his subject, warmed into a natural flow of eloquence that somewhat astonished his congregation, and entirely gained their attention. Beneath a quiet exterior Rowland hid a romantic and poetic mind, which few, if any of his friends knew anything about; for he had never shown his poetry to them, and never attempted to publish it. But it sometimes appeared, in spite of his efforts to repress it, in his sermons; and now it made a desperate effort to burst forth, and conquered. There was so much to excite the enthusiasm of a young preacher in that harvest-home gathering--in the mows of golden corn heaped up against the future--in the splendid autumn weather they were then enjoying--in the bright sunshine and many-hued leaves of the changing trees--and the goodness of God crowning the whole! I am not going through his sermon, for I should only mar what his feelings made powerful. Suffice it to say that some of his friends had tears in their eyes as he preached; others, according to the custom of their country, uttered occasional exclamations of approval as he went on, and some were glad to own him as their near and dear relation. Perhaps the proudest moment of the farmer's life was when Mr Gwynne went up to him after that short discourse, and shook him by the hand, with the words--emphatic words for him-- 'Well, Prothero, I congratulate you upon your son. You have reason to be proud of him. He managed his sermon well at a short notice, clear, poetical, etc., and all that sort of thing.' The abrupt termination to the speech was occasioned by the approach of Lady Mary Nugent, who also congratulated Mr Prothero. 'Thank you, sir; thank your ladyship; glad you approve,' was all the proud father could say, with the tears in his eyes all the while. As to Rowland, he was undergoing an ovation of hand-shakings and praises from everybody present, which he was fain to put an end to, by beginning to organise the procession to the tent. One simple sentence, however, rang in his ears for the remainder of that day. 'Thank you, Mr Rowland, for your sermon. I hope you have done us all good,' said Miss Gwynne. She began to think more highly of him than she had ever thought before, and owned to Miss Hall that he had words at command, and that at a short notice.