That's the laist, makin' seeventy-four, and ye may depend on every ane but that fourth pint under the sixth head. Whether it wes the beginnin' o' faith' or 'the origin,' a' canna be sure, for he cleared his throat at the time." Peter Bruce stood helpless at the Junction next Friday - Drumtochty was celebrating Elspeth and the achievement established her for life. -- Probationers who preached in the vacancy had heard rumours, and tried to identify their judge, with the disconcerting result that they addressed their floweriest passages to Mistress Stirton, who was the stupidest woman in the Free Kirk, and had once stuck in the "chief end of man." They never suspected the sonsy, motherly woman, two pews behind Donald Menzies, with her face of demure interest and general air of country simplicity. It was as well for the probationers that they had not caught the glint of those black, beady eyes. "It's curious," Mrs. Macfadyen remarked to me one day, "hoo the pulpit fashions change, just like weemen's bonnets. Noo a' mind when auld Doctor Ferintosh, him 'at wrote Judas Iscariot the first Residuary,' would stand twa meenutes facing the fouk, and no sit doon till he hed his snuff. "But thae young birkies gie oot 'at they see naebody comin' in, an' cover their face wi' ae hand sae solemn, that if ye didna catch them keekin' through their fingers tae see what like the kirk is, ye wud think they were prayin'." "There's not much escapes you," I dared to say, and although the excellent woman was not accessible to gross flattery, she seemed pleased. "A'm thankfu' that a' can see withoot lookin'; an' a'll wager nae man ever read his sermon in Drumtochty Kirk, an' a' didna find him oot. Noo, there's the new minister o' Netheraird, he writes his sermon on ae side o' ten sheets o' paper, an' he's that carried awa', at the end o' ilka page that he disna ken what he's daein', an' the sleeve o' his goon slips the sheet across tae the ither side o' the Bible. "But Doctor Ferintosh wes cleverer, sall it near beat me tae detect him," and Elspeth paused to enjoy the pulpit ruse. "It cam' tae me sudden ae Sacrament Monday, hoo dis he aye turn up twal texts, naither mair nor less, and that set me thinkin'. Then a' noticed that he left the Bible open at the place till anither text was due, an' I wunnered a'd been sae slow. It was this wy: he askit the beadle for a gless o' water in the vestry, and slippet his sermon in atween the leaves in sae mony bits. A've wished for a gallery at a time, but there's mair credit in findin' it oot beloway, an' pleasure tae; a' never wearied in kirk in ma life." Mrs. Macfadyen did not appreciate prodigal quotations of Scriptures, and had her suspicions of this practice. "Tak the minister o' Pitscourie noo; he's fair fozzy wi' trokin' in his gairden an' feedin' pigs, and hesna studied a sermon for thirty year. "Sae what dis he dae, think ye? He havers for a while on the errors o' the day, and syne he says, 'That's what man says, but what says the Apostle Paul? We shall see what the Apostle Paul says.' He puts on his glasses, and turns up the passage, and reads maybe ten verses, and then he's aff on the jundy [trot] again. When a man hes naethin' tae say he's aye lang, and a've seen him gie half an oor o' passages, and anither half oor o' havers. "He's a Bible preacher, at any rate,' says Burnbrae tae me laist Fast, for, honest man, he hes aye some gude word for a body. "It's ae thing,' I said to him, 'tae feed a calf wi' milk, and anither tae gie it the empty cogie tae lick.' "It's curious, but a've noticed that when a Moderate gets lazy he preaches auld sermons, but a Free Kirk minister taks tae abusin' his neeburs and readin' screeds o' the Bible. "But Maister Pittendreigh hes twa sermons, at ony rate," and Elspeth tasted the sweets of memory with such keen relish that I begged for a share. "Well, ye see he's terrible prood o' his feenishes, and this is ane o' them: "Heaven, ma brethren, will be far grander than the hoose o' ony earthly potentate, for there ye will no longer eat the flesh of bulls nor drink the blood o' goats, but we shall sook the juicy pear and scoop the loocious meelon. Amen.' "He hes nae mair sense o' humour than an owl, and a' aye haud that a man withoot humour sudna be allowed intae a poopit. "A' hear that they have nae examination in humour at the college; it's an awfu' want, for it wud keep oot mony a dreich body. 66 But the meelon's naethin' tae the goat, that cowed a'thing, at the Fast tae. 66 If Jeems wes aboot a' daurna mention 't: he canna behave himsel' tae this day gin he hears o' it, though ye ken he's a douce man as ever lived. 66 It wes anither feenish, and it ran this wy: "Noo, ma freends, a' wull no be keepin' ye ony longer, and ye'ill a' gae hame tae yir ain hooses and mind yir ain business. And as sune as ye get hame ilka man 'ill gae tae his closet and shut the door, and stand for five meenutes, and ask himsel' this solemn question, "Am I a goat?" Amen.' "The amen near upset me masel', and a' hed tae dunge Jeems wi' ma elbow. "He said no a word on the wy back, but a' saw it wes barmin' in him, and he gied oot sudden aifter his dinner as if he had been ta'en unweel. "A' cam' on him in the byre, rowing in the strae like a bairn, and every ither row he took he wud say, 'Am I a goat?' It wes na cannie for a man o' his wecht, besides bein' a married man and a kirk member, and a' gied him a hearin'. "He sobered doon, and a' never saw him dae the like since. But he hesna forgot, na, na; a've seen a look come ower Jeems' face in kirk, and a've been feared." When the Free Kirk quarrelled in their vacancy over two probationers, Mrs. MacFadyen summed them up with such excellent judgment that they were thrown over and peace restored. 66 There's some o' thae Muirtown drapers can busk oot their windows that ye canna pass withoot lookin'; there's bits o' blue and bits o' red, and a ribbon here an' a lace yonder. "It's a bonnie show and denty, an' no wunner the lassies stan' and stare. "But gae intae the shop, and peety me, there's next tae naethin'; it's a' in the window. "Noo, that's Maister Popinjay, as neat an' fikey a little mannie as ever a' saw in a black goon. "His bit sermon wes six poems - five a' hed heard afore four anecdotes-three aboot himsel' and ain aboot a lord—twa burnies, ae floo'r gairden, and a snowstorm, wi' the text thirteen times and beloved' twal: that was a'; a takin' window, and Netherton's lassies cudna sleep thinkin' o' him. "There's ither shopmen in Muirtown that fair scunner ye wi' their windows-they're that ill set outand inside there's sic a wale o' stuff that the man canna get what ye want; he's clean smoored wi' his ain goods. "It's a graund shop for the old fouk that hae plenty o' time and can turn ower the things by the oor. Ye'ill no get a young body inside the door. 66 That's Maister Auchtermuchty; he hes mair material than he kens hoo tae handle, and naebody, hearin' him, can mak head or tail o' his sermon. "Ye get a rive at the Covenants ae meenut, an' a mouthfu' o' justification the next. Yir nae suner wi' the Patriarchs than yir whuppit aff tae the Apostles. "It's rich feedin', nae doot, but sair mixed an' no verra tasty." So the old and young compromised, and chose Carmichael. Elspeth was candid enough on occasion, but she was not indiscreet. She could convey her mind delicately if need be, and was a mistress of subtle suggestion. When Netherton's nephew preached the missionary sermon he was a stout young man with a volcanic voice Mrs. Macfadyen could not shirk her duty, but she gave her judgment with care. "He's a fine lad, and 'ill be sure to get a kirk; he's been weel brocht up, and comes o' decent fouk. "His doctrine soonds richt, and he'ill no gang aff the track. Ye canna ca' him bashfu', and he's sure to be heard." Her audience still waited, and not in vain. "But the Lord hes nae pleesure in the legs o' a man," and every one felt that the last word had been said on Netherton's nephew.- Beside the Bonnie Brier-Bush. τα ATSON, ROSAMUND MARRIOTT, an English poet and essayist; born at London in 1863. She is the wife of H. B. Marriott Watson. Her works include Tares (1884); The Ballad of the Bird Bride (1889); A Summer Night and Other Poems (1891); Vespertilia (1893); The Art of the House (1896), and After Sunset (1904). HEREAFTER. Shall we not weary in the windless days Straining our eyes beyond the bourne to see Give us again the crazy clay-built nest, Summer, and soft unseasonable spring, Still to the land we love our longings cling, |