They bade one another farewell tenderly and sorrowfully; and
he went out, under the tranquil, starry sky, to wander once more beside
the grave of his little child, and under the old gray walls of his
church. He had not known till now how hard the trial would be. Up to
this time he had been kept incessantly occupied with the numberless
arrangements necessary for so great a change; but these were all
completed. He had said farewell to his people; but the aching of his own
great personal grief and shame had prevented him from feeling that
separation too forcibly. But the stir and excitement were over for the
hour. Here there were no cold, curious eyes fastened upon him; no fear
of any harsh voice putting into words of untimely lamentation the
unacknowledged reason of his departure. The beloved familiar places, so
quiet yet so full of associations to him, had full power over his
spirit; and he could not resist them. The very ivy-leaves rustling
against the tower, and the low, sleepy chirp of the little birds
disturbed by his tread, were dear to him. What, then, was the church
itself, every lineament of which he knew as well as if they were the
features of a friend? It was a beautiful old church; but if it had been
the homeliest and barest building ever erected, he must still have
mourned over the pulpit, where he had taught his people; the pews, where
their listening faces were lifted up to him; the little vestry, where he
had spent so many peaceful hours.
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