little hog-mane and tail, testified to her master's loving care. So
it was all happily settled, and after paying a most unfashionably
long visit to the lonely man, we rode away with many a farewell nod
and smile. I may say here that Salter was one of the most regular
of our congregation for more than two years, besides being a member
of the book club. In time, its more sensible volumes utterly
displaced the yellow paper rubbish in his but library, and I never
can forget the poor man's emotion when he came to bid me good-bye.

At my request he made the rough little pen and ink sketches which
are here given, and as he held my offered hand (not knowing quite
what else to do with it) when I took leave of him after our last
home-service, when my face was set towards England, he could not say
a word. The great burly creature's heart must have been nearly as
big as his body, and he seemed hardly to know that large tears were
rolling down his sunburnt face and losing themselves in his bushy
beard. I tried to be cheerful myself, but he kept repeating, "It is
only natural you should be glad to go, yet it is very rough upon
us." In vain I assured him I was not at all glad to go,--very, very
sorry, in fact: all he would say was, "To England, home and beauty,
in course any one would be pleased to return." I can't tell you
what he meant, and he had no voice to waste on explanations; I only
give poor dear Jim's valedictory sentences as they fell from his
white and trembling lips.

Very different was Ned Palmer, the most diminutive and wiry of hill
shepherds, with a tongue which seemed never tired, and a good
humoured smile for every one. Ned used to try my gravity sorely by
stepping up to me half a dozen times during the service, to find his
place for him in his Prayer-book, and always saying aloud, "Thank