velvet breeches and silk stockings. Nor was his wonder without sufficient cause; for the flourish of the Squire’s staff, marvellous to relate, had described precisely the signal in the air which was to ratify the message of the prophetic Sage whom Cranfield had sought around the world.
“And what,” inquired Ralph Cranfield, with a tremor in his voice, “what may this office be, which is to equal me with kings and potentates?”
“No less than instructor of our village school,” answered Squire Hawkwood; “the office being now vacant by the death of the venerable Master Whitaker, after a fifty years’ incumbency.”
“I will consider of your proposal,” replied Ralph Cranfield, hurriedly, “and will make known my decision within three days.”
After a few more words the village dignitary and his companions took their leave. But to Cranfield’s fancy their images were still present, and became more and more invested with the dim awfulness of figures which had first appeared to him in a dream, and afterwards had shown themselves in his waking moments,assuming homely aspects among familiar things. His mind dwelt upon the features of the Squire, till they grew confused with those of the visionary Sage, and one appeared but the shadow of the other. The same visage, he now thought, had looked forth upon him from the Pyramid of Cheops; the same form had beckoned to him among the colonnades of the Alhambra; the same figure had mistily revealed itself through the ascending steam of the Great Geyser. At every effort of his memory he recognized some trait of the dreamy Messenger of Destiny in this pompous, bustling, self-important, little
