“O, welcome, father.
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence
Here to unfold (though lately we intended
To keep in darkness what occasion now
Reveals before ‘tis ripe) what thou dost know
Hath newly passed between this youth and me.”
The war is over, and Mr. March safely at home, busy with his books and the small parish which found in him a minister by nature as by grace, a quiet, studious man, rich in the wisdom that is better than learning, the charity which calls all mankind ‘brother’, the piety that blossoms into character, making it august and lovely.