Page:Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist (1844).djvu/94

 walked in instead of keeping on the surface. No material injury, however, had been inflicted: he bled, it 1s true, very freely—which, he being a man of full habit, was not at all marvellous—but, when he had got his best hat from the box, and had filled up the gash with a handful of nap, he was all right again, and got down just in time to assist his mistress in taking a general survey.

But there was nothing wrong—nothing lost—nothing out of its place; everything was found precisely as they had left it, with the single exception of the outer door, and how that had been opened none could tell. It had a lock, two bolts, a bar, and a chain, and as there was not a single mark on the outside to indicate violence, it was perfectly clear that it had not been forced. The only question, therefore, was—how could any one have got inside to open it? But this was a question which could not be answered.

in an isolated village, is, of all earthly places, the best adapted to the process of deadening a man's wits. If he have no occupation, save that which is strictly enjoined by the church—no hobby but his garden—no society but that of the fat-headed squires around him—his case is indeed desperate. A clergyman thus situated is morally buried. He must be lofty; he must be grave; he must pull a long face; he must look severe; he must walk with excessive circumspection; he must associate with none but those in whose hearts their horses have a much warmer place than their wives, and of whom it may be recorded that, if taken from their horses, not only while animated, but when they become dogs'-meat, the full half of that which they know isn't much. No clashing of intellect docs a pastor in that position experience—no new lights look in upon him: his mind becomes dim for lack of polish; his imagination soars but to sink; his faculties are weakened by the absence of that exercise which alone can impart to them strength; and he gradually and imperceptibly descends to the recognised level of the sphere in which he moves, severely and securely cloaked up in the arrogant vanity of ignorance.

But this is the rule! Aunt Eleanor's reverend friend was the exception: in as much as he actually conceived the means by which the cause of her perplexities might be discovered. He conceived an idea, which is very remarkable, that if he sat up at the cottage one night, he should know all about it. His mind hadn't struck such a light for a long time. He held it to be brilliant! And so it was: so brilliant that it dazzled him