“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!”