eath of a favourite and accomplished daughter--I can still
remember the gracefulness of her person--sank into a state of profound
melancholy, which led him to shut himself from his friends, to give up
all public preaching and tutorial work, and to consider himself as
hopelessly lost. It is a curious fact that he dated his return to reason
and happiness and usefulness after a visit paid him by my father, who
happened to be in town, and who naturally was drawn to see his afflicted
friend, with whom, in the days of auld lang syne, he had smoked many a
pipe and held many an argument respecting Edwards on Freedom of the Will,
and his favourite McKnight. Mrs. Walford, who was aware of my father's
intended visit, had thoughtfully prepared pipes and tobacco, and placed
them on the table of the room where the interview was to take place. My
father went and smoked his pipe and talked as usual, poor Mr. Walford
sitting sad and dejected, and refusing to be comforted all the while.
When my father had left--owing, I suppose, to the force of old
associations--actually the poor man approached the table, took up a pipe,
filled it with tobacco, and smoked it. From that hour, strange to say,
he recovered, wrote a translation of the Psalms, became a trustee of
Coward's College, and took charge of a church at Uxbridge. This is 'a
fac,' as Artemus Ward would say, and 'facs' are stubborn things. Of this
Mr. Walford, the well-known publisher of that name in St. Paul's
Churchyard was a son, and the firm of Hodder and Stoughton may be said to
carry on his business, though on a larger scale.

Dressed in rusty black, with hats considerably the worse for wear, with
shoes not ignorant of the cobbler's art, unconscious of and careless for
the fashions of the world, rarely in London, except on the occasion of
the May Meetings--no one can tell, except those who, like myself, were
admitted behind the scenes, as it were, how these good men lived to keep
alive the traditions of freedom, civil and religious, in districts most
under the sway of the ignorant squire and the equally ignorant parson of
the parish. If there has been a decency and charm about our country life
it is due to them, and them alone. Perhaps, more in the country than in
the crowded city is the pernicious influence felt of sons of Belial,
flushed with insolence and wine. It is difficult to give the reader an
idea of the utter animalism, if I may so term it, of rural life some
fif