This was Mr. Gilfil's love-story, which lay far back from the time when
he sat, worn and grey, by his lonely fireside in Shepperton Vicarage.
Rich brown locks, passionate love, and deep early sorrow, strangely
different as they seem from the scanty white hairs, the apathetic
content, and the unexpectant quiescence of old age, are but part of the
same life's journey; as the bright Italian plains, with the sweet _Addio_
of their beckoning maidens, are part of the same day's travel that brings
us to the other side of the mountain, between the sombre rocky walls and
among the guttural voices of the Valais.
To those who were familiar only with the grey-haired Vicar, jogging
leisurely along on his old chestnut cob, it would perhaps have been hard
to believe that he had ever been the M
