well to come in by; but to go out, I would use the door of the
people. So I went along the church, a fine old place, such as I had
never hoped to be presented to, and went out by the door in the
north side into the middle of the churchyard. The door on the other
side was chiefly used by the few gentry of the neighbourhood; and
the Lych-gate, with its covered way, (for the main road had once
passed on that side,) was shared between the coffins and the
carriages, the dead who had no rank but one, that of the dead, and
the living who had more money than their neighbours. For, let the
old gentry disclaim it as they may, mere wealth, derived from
whatever source, will sooner reach their level than poor antiquity,
or the rarest refinement of personal worth; although, to be sure,
the oldest of them will sooner give to the rich their sons or their
daughters to wed, to love if they can, to have children by, than
they will yield a jot of their ancestral preeminence, or acknowledge
any equality in their sons or daughters-in-law. The carpenter's son
is to them an old myth, not an everlasting fact. To Mammon alone
will they yield a little of their rank--none of it to Christ. Let me
glorify God that Jesus took not on. Him the nature of nobles, but
the seed of Adam; for what could I do without my poor brothers and
sisters?

I passed along the church to the northern door, and went out. The
churchyard lay in bright sunshine. All the rain and gloom were gone.
"If one could only bring this glory of sun and grass into one's hope
for the future!" thought I; and looking down I saw the little boy
who aspired to paint the sky, looking up in my face with mingled
confidence and awe.

"Do you trust me, my little man?" thought I. "You shall trust me