“The old man turned upon the stranger a look in which a lurking smile was mixed up with much sternness of expression, and said: ‘Well may I be anxious to remove such a tempter as you from my unsuspecting flock, when you thus artfully assail what you doubtless deem the weak side of even the shepherd himself! My lot indeed may seem to you to be somewhat hard; but I answer in one word—a stronger than which the king himself cannot use—I AM HAPPY. I am where my Master placed me, and that of itself is enough for a good soldier of JESUS CHRIST. But, sir, even in a worldly point of view I am happy, nay, to be envied by those who look with narrow views (pardon me) like yourself, at what makes happiness here below. I suppose you think wealth, power, and fame to be the three things most to be desired to constitute a happy man; and in which of these am I so deficient, as to give me ground for repining at the lot which has been assigned me? With regard to wealth–though I certainly can boast of none of the superfluities of life, yet by our own industry and occupation (without which even abundance cannot give enjoyment) I and my wife have acquired more of the good things of this life, than either of us, from the condition of our birth, had a reasonable right to look for; and who can justly complain, whose lot in life is better than his father’s? As to power—I think you have already had abundant proof that I possess it, in my own sphere of action, in no ordinary degree. What absolute monarch, or what turbulent populace (and they are much the same) reigns so uncontrolled as I over the hearts and wills (but, I am proud to add, _through the affections_) of the people of Seathwaite? Power is mine, such as Rome only dreamt of; the greater because it is never exercised. And as for fame—the desire of which is perhaps the least blameable of our earthly passions, because it springs out of our innate hope of immortality—who has it more, in possession and in prospect, than the old feeble individual before you? These mountains are visited by tourists attracted by the beauty and splendour of our rural scenes; but the humble residence of Robert Walker is not passed by as the least interesting among them. The Lord of MUNCASTER CASTLE doffs that hat to his country pastor, which he would not take off before his monarch on the throne. {85} My children—and a fine healthy, though somewhat numerous race they are—will hand down my name to the next generation, I trust, as untarnished as they received it; and my children’s children, unless they are strangely forgetful of the pious lessons which their fathers have taught them, may hold it their highest honour to be descended from Robert Walker; and find that name of itself a passport and a recommendation even in what is called a cold and heartless world. We have lived here, sir, my life-companion and I, so long, as almost to form part of the landscape. Good Bishop Jeremy Taylor tells a story of an old couple in