he be, am I
sorrowing as he would have me sorrow--as I should wish to have sorrowed
when I shall meet him again?"

He raised himself up and looked round; and after a minute rose and
walked humbly down to the lowest bench, and sat down on the very seat
which he had occupied on his first Sunday at Rugby. And then the old
memories rushed back again, but softened and subdued, and soothing him
as he let himself be carried away by them. And he looked up at the great
painted window above the altar, and remembered how when a little boy he
used to try not to look through it at the elm-trees and the rooks,
before the painted glass came--and the subscription for the painted
glass, and the letter he wrote home for money to give to it. And there,
down below, was the very name of the boy who sat on his right hand on
that first day, scratched rudely in the oak paneling.

And then came the thought of all his old school-fellows; and form after
form of boys, nobler, and braver, and purer than he, rose up and seemed
to rebuke him. Could he not think of them, and what they had felt and
were feeling, they who had honoured and loved from the first, the man
whom he had taken years to know and love? Could he not think of those
yet dearer to him who was gone, who bore his name and shared his blood,
and were now without a husband or a father? Then the grief which he
began to share with others became gentle and holy, and he rose up once
more, and walked up the steps to the altar; and while the tears flowed
freely down his checks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to lay down
there his share of a burden which had proved itself too heavy for him to
bear in his own strength.

Here let us leave him--where better could we leave him, than at the
altar, before which he had first caught a glimpse of the glory of his
birthright, and felt the drawing of the bond which links all living
souls together in one brotherhood--at the grave beneath the altar of
him, who had opened his eyes to see that glory, and softened his heart
till it could feel that bond?

And let us not be hard on him, if at that moment his soul is fuller of
the tomb and him who lies there, than of the altar and Him of whom it
speaks. Such stages have to be gone through, I believe, by all young and
brave souls, who must win their way through hero-worship, to the
worship of Him who is the King and Lord of heroes. For it is only
through our mysterious human relationships, through the love an