even dreamt ambitiously of a churchwardenship. He
could see distinctly his own pew, with the gray, worm-eaten panels,
where he had sat many and many a warm afternoon, resisting sternly, as
became a man of mark in the parish, treacherous inclinations to slumber.
He saw the ponderous brown gallery--eyesore to archaeologists--which held
the village choir: there they were, with the sun streaming in on their
heads through the western window, till even the faded red cushion in
front deepened into rich crimson, chanting their quaint old anthems with
right good courage, though every one got lost in the second line, and,
after much independent exertion of the lungs, just came up in time to
join in the grand final rally. He saw the mild-faced, gray-haired parson
mounting slowly the pulpit stairs, adjusting and manoeuvring the
refractory gown that _would_ come off his shoulders with the nervous
gesture which, beginning in timidity, had grown into a habit that was
part of the man. More plainly than all--he saw a low, green mound, just
beyond the chancel walls, where one was sleeping who had lavished on him
all the treasures of a rare, unselfish, trusting love; the dear, meek,
little wife, who was so proud of her husband's few poor talents, so
indulgent to his many failings, who ever had an excuse ready to answer
his self-reproaches, whose weak, thin hand was always strong enough to
pluck him back from ruin and dishonor, till it grew stiff and cold. She
knew it, too, for he remembered the wail that burst from her lips when
she thought she was alone, the night before she died--"Ah! who will save
him now that I am gone?" How miserable and lonely he was long after they
buried her! How incessantly he used to repeat those last words, meant to
be comforting, that she spoke, with her arm wound round his neck,
"Darling, you have been so very, very kind to me!" So it went on, till
the devil of drink, choosing his time cunningly, entered into him, and
battled with and drove out the angel. A strange resurrection! Memories
that had died years ago, withering from very shame, began to curl and
twine themselves round the hard, battered heart as tenderly as ever.
These pictures of the past were still vivid and clear, when he became
aware of a dimness in his eyes that blinded them to all real surrounding
objects; he felt so surprised that it broke the spell; tears had almost
forgotten the way to his eyes.

Not very probable, is it, that a prosaic el