"And so all things are changed, except the river; where still—
'Willows whiten, aspens quiver.
Little breezes dash and shiver
On the stream that runneth ever.'"
"And," said Claude, smiling, "the descendants of mediaeval trout snap at the descendants of mediaeval flies, spinning about upon just the same sized and coloured wings on which their forefathers spun a thousand years ago; having become, in all that while, neither bigger nor wiser."
"But is it not a grand thought," asked Stangrave,—"the silence and permanence of nature amid the perpetual flux and noise of human life?—a grand thought that one generation goeth and another cometh, and the earth abideth for ever?"
"At least it is so much the worse for the poor old earth, if her doom is to stand still, while man improves and progresses from age to age."
"May I ask one question, sir?" said Stangrave, who saw that their conversation was puzzling their jolly companion. "Have you heard any news yet of Mr. Thurnall!"
Mark looked him full in the face.
"Do you know him?"
"I did, in past years, most intimately."
"Then you knew the finest fellow, sir, that ever walked mortal earth."