ast. The inmates of the parsonage
wear, it is most true, the signs of a heavy bereavement; but they
converse as usual, and on ordinary subjects; they pursue the same
employments, they work, they read, they walk in the garden, they dine.
There is no change except in the inward consciousness of an overwhelming
loss. _He_ is not there, not merely on this day or that, for so it well
might be; he is not merely away, but, as they know well, he is gone and
will not return. That he is absent now is but a token and a memorial to
their minds that he will be absent always. But especially at dinner;
Charles had to take a place which he had sometimes filled, but then as
the deputy, and in the presence of him whom now he succeeded. His
father, being not much more than a middle-aged man, had been accustomed
to carve himself. And when at the meal of the day Charles looked up, he
had to encounter the troubled look of one, who, from her place at table,
had before her eyes a still more vivid memento of their common
loss;--_aliquid desideraverunt oculi_.

Mr. Reding had left his family well provided for; and this, though a
real alleviation of their loss in the event, perhaps augmented the pain
of it at the moment. He had ever been a kind indulgent father. He was a
most respectable clergyman of the old school; pious in his sentiments, a
gentleman in his feelings, exemplary in his social relations. He was no
reader, and never had been in the way to gain theological knowledge; he
sincerely believed all that was in the Prayer Book, but his sermons were
very rarely doctrinal. They were sensible, manly discourses on the moral
duties. He administered Holy Communion at the three great festivals, saw
his Bishop once or twice a year, was on good terms with the country
gentlemen in his neighbourhood, was charitable to the poor, hospitable
in his housekeeping, and was a staunch though not a violent supporter of
the Tory interest in his county. He was incapable of anything harsh, or
petty, or low, or uncourteous; and died esteemed by the great houses
about him, and lamented by his parishioners.

It was the first great grief poor Charles had ever had, and he felt it
to be real. How did the small anxieties which had of late teased him,
vanish before this tangible calamity! He then understood the difference
between what was real and what was not. All the doubts, inquiries,
surmises, views, which had of late haunted him on theological subjects,
seemed lik