Chantrey knew better now what was good for his people; he
had clearer views of the snares and dangers that beset them, and the
sorrows that lie lurking on every man's path. He saw more distinctly
what Christ came to do; and how he did it by complete self-abnegation,
and by descending to the level of the lowest. But he had no delight in
standing up in his pulpit in full face of his dwindling congregation.
Language seemed poor to him; and it had grown difficult to him to put
his burning thoughts into words. As the bitter experience of daily life
seared his very soul, he found that no smooth, fit expressions of his
self-communing rose to his lips. It pained him to face his people, and
speak to them in old, trite forms of speech, while his heart was burning
within him; and they knew it, as they sat quiet in their pews, looking
up to him with inquisitive or indifferent eyes.
Mrs, Bolton could not escape her share of these troubles; though she
never accused herself for a moment as having had any part in causing
them. It was the archdeacon who had obtained the living of Upton for her
favorite nephew; and she had settled there to be the patroness of every
good thing in the parish.
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