i-^ 
 
 I 
 
 lanM 
 
 MIW H ttttt
 
 ^ 
 
 -5^
 
 RABBI SAUNDERSON.
 
 WORKS BY IAN MACLAREN 
 
 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH 
 
 THE DAYS OF AULD LANG SYNE 
 
 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL 
 KATE CARNEGIE 
 AFTERWARDS 
 
 THE UPPER ROOM 
 
 THE MIND OF THE MASTER 
 THE CURE OF SOULS 
 COMPANIONS OF THE SORROWFUL WAY 
 THE potter's wheel 
 
 THE IAN MACLAREN YEAR BOOK 
 RABBI SAUNDERSON
 
 THE SUDDENNESS OF HIS FALL
 
 Copyriglit, isn.',, 1896, 
 By John Watson. 
 
 Copyright, 189G, 
 By Dodi), Mead axd Companv
 
 3^ 
 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. WILLIAMSON 
 
 OF GLENOGIL 
 
 WHO HAS INHERITED THE GIFT OF 
 
 WITTY SPEECH 
 
 AND HAS LAID IT OUT AT USURY TO THE 
 
 JOY OF HER FRIENDS AND THE 
 
 GLADDENING OF LIFE.
 
 PUBLISHERS' NOTE. 
 
 The character of Rabbi Saunderson was so dis- 
 tinctive a feature of " Kate Carnegie " that it has 
 been thought best to extract from that story 
 and to print by themselves the chapters relating 
 to him.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A Supra-Lapsarian 
 
 KiLBOGiE Manse 
 
 The Rabbi as Confessor 
 
 The Fear of God . 
 
 The Wounds of a Friend 
 
 Light at Eventide 
 
 PAGE 
 
 13 
 
 55 
 
 87 
 
 115 
 
 151 
 
 191 
 
 IX
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 t 
 
 The suddenness of his fall . . Frontispiece 
 He put Jamie's ecclesiastical history into a 
 
 state of thorough repair ... 17 
 
 The farmers carted the new minister's furni- 
 ture from the nearest railway station . 41 
 Searching for a lost note .... 67 
 "Some suitable sum for our brother here 
 
 who is passing through adversity " . 91 
 ' ' We shall not meet again in this world " . 97 
 When Carmichael gave him the cup in the 
 
 sacrament 123 
 
 " Shall ... not ... the .. . Judge . . . 
 
 of all the earth . . . do . . . right ? " . 141 
 " You have spoken tome like a father: surely 
 
 that is enough " 161 
 
 Then arose a self-made man . . .183 
 
 He watched the dispersion of his potatoes 
 
 with dismay ^95 
 
 He signed for her hand, which he kept to 
 
 the end 221
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN.
 
 l^ABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 
 
 JEREMIAH SAUNDERSON had re- 
 mained in the low estate of a " pro- 
 bationer " for twelve years after he left 
 the Divinity Hall, where he was reported 
 so great a scholar that the Professor of 
 Apologetics spoke to him deprecatingly, 
 and the Professor of Dogmatics openly 
 consulted him on obscure writers. He 
 had wooed twenty-three congregations 
 in vain, from churches in the black coun- 
 try, where the colliers rose in squares of 
 twenty, and went out without ceremony, 
 to suburban places of worship, where the
 
 14 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 beadle, after due consideration of the 
 sermon, would take up the afternoon no- 
 tices and ask that they be read at once 
 for purposes of utility, which that un- 
 flinching functionary stated to the minis- 
 ter with accuracy and much faithfulness. 
 Vacant congregations desiring a list of 
 candidates made one exception, and 
 prayed that Jeremiah should not be let 
 loose upon them, till at last it came home 
 to the unfortunate scholar himself that 
 he was an ofifense and a by-word. He 
 began to dread the ordeal of giving his 
 name, and, as is still told, declared to a 
 household, living in the fat wheatlands 
 and without any imagination, that he 
 was called Magor Missabib. When a 
 stranger makes a statement of this kind 
 to his host with a sad seriousness, no one 
 judges it expedient to offer any remark; 
 but it was skillfully arranged that Missa-
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 15 
 
 bib's door should be locked from the 
 outside, and one member of the house- 
 hold sat up all night. The sermon next 
 day did not tend to confidence — having 
 seven' quotations in unknown tongues — 
 and the attitude of the congregation was 
 one of alert vigilance; but no one gave 
 any outward sign of uneasiness, and six 
 able-bodied men, collected in a pew be- 
 low the pulpit, knew their duty in an 
 emergency. 
 
 Saunderson's election to the Free 
 Church of Kilbogie was therefore an 
 event in the ecclesiastical world, and a 
 consistent tradition in the parish ex- 
 plained its inwardness on certain 
 grounds, complimentary both to the 
 judgment of Kilbogie and the gifts of 
 Mr. Saunderson. On Saturday evening 
 he was removed from the train by the 
 merest accident, and left the railway sta-
 
 i6 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 tion in such a maze of meditation that he 
 ignored the road to Kilbogie altogether, 
 although its sign-post was staring him 
 in the face, and continued his way to 
 Drumtochty. It was half-past nine when 
 Jamie Soutar met him on the highroad 
 through our glen, still traveling steadily 
 west, and being arrested by his appear- 
 ance, beguiled him into conversation, till 
 he elicited that Saunderson was minded 
 to reach Kilbogie. For an hour did the 
 wanderer rest in Jamie's kitchen, during 
 which he put Jamie's ecclesiastical his- 
 tory into a state of thorough repair — 
 making seven distinct parallels between 
 the errors that had afflicted the Scottish 
 Church and the early heretical sects, — 
 and then Jamie gave him in charge of a 
 plowman who was courting in Kilbogie, 
 and was not averse to a journey that 
 seemed to illustrate the double meaning
 
 ^ 
 
 / fhM^ 
 
 m^j^~'-s^ 
 
 HE PUT JAMIE'S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY INTO A STATE 
 OF THOROUGH REPAIR
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 19 
 
 of charity. Jeremiah was handed over 
 to his anxious hosts at a quarter to one 
 in the morning, covered with mud, some- 
 what fatigued, but in great peace of soul, 
 having' settled the place of election in the 
 prophecy of Habakkuk as he came down 
 with his silent companion through 
 Tochty woods. 
 
 Nor was that all he had done. When 
 they came out from the shadow and 
 struck into the parish of Kilbogie — 
 whose fields, now yellow unto harvest, 
 shone in the moonlight — his guide broke 
 silence and enlarged on a plague of field- 
 mice which had quite suddenly appeared, 
 and had sadly devastated the grain of 
 Kilbogie. Saunderson awoke from study 
 and became exceedingly curious, first of 
 all demanding a particular account of the 
 coming of the mice, their multitude, 
 their habits, and their determination.
 
 20 
 
 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 Then he asked many questions about the 
 moral conduct and godhness of the in- 
 habitants of Kilbogie, which his com- 
 panion, as a native of Drumtochty, 
 painted in gloomy colors, although indi- 
 cating as became a lover that even in Kil- 
 bogie there was a remnant. Next morn- 
 ing the minister rose at daybreak, and 
 was found wandering through the fields 
 in such a state of excitement that he 
 could hardly be induced to look at break- 
 fast. When the " books " were placed 
 before him, he turned promptly to the 
 ten plagues of Egypt, which he ex- 
 pounded in order as preliminary to a full 
 treatment of the visitations of Provi- 
 dence. 
 
 '' He cowes [beats] a' ye ever saw or 
 heard," the farmer of Mains explained to 
 the elders at the gate. " He gaed tae 
 his room at half twa and wes oot in the
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 21 
 
 fields by four, an' a'm dootin' he never 
 saw his bed. He's Hfted abune the body 
 a'thegither, an' can hardly keep himsel 
 awa frae the Hebrew at his breakfast. 
 Ye'll' get a sermon the day, or ma name 
 is no Peter Pitillo." Mains also declared 
 his conviction that the invasion of mice 
 would be dealt with after a scriptural and 
 satisfying fashion. The people went in 
 full of expectation, and to this day old 
 people recall Jeremiah Saunderson's trial 
 sermon with lively admiration. Ex- 
 perienced critics were suspicious of can- 
 didates who read lengthy chapters from 
 both Testaments and prayed at length 
 for the Houses of Parliament, for it was 
 justly held that no man would take 
 refuge in such obvious devices for filling 
 up the time unless he was short of ser- 
 mon material. One unfortunate, in- 
 deed, ruined his chances at once by a
 
 22 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 long petition for those in danger on the 
 sea — availing himself with some elo- 
 quence of the sympathetic imagery of 
 the one hundred and seventh Psalm — 
 for this effort was regarded as not only 
 the most barefaced padding, but also as 
 evidence of an almost incredible blind- 
 ness to circumstances. " Did he think 
 Kilbogie wes a fishing-village? " Mains 
 inquired of the elders afterward, with 
 pointed sarcasm. Kilbogie was not in- 
 different to a well-ordered prayer — al- 
 though its palate was coarser in the 
 appreciation of felicitous terms and allu- 
 sions than that of Drumtochty — and 
 would have been scandalized if the Queen 
 had been omitted; but it was by the ser- 
 mon the young man must stand or fall, 
 and Kilbogie despised a man who post- 
 poned the ordeal. 
 
 Saunderson gave double pledges of
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 23 
 
 capacity and fullness before he opened 
 his mouth in the sermon, for he read no 
 Scripture at all that day, and had only 
 one prayer, which was mainly a state- 
 ment of the Divine Decrees and a careful 
 confession of the sins of Kilbogie; and 
 then, having given out his text from the 
 prophecy of Joel, he reverently closed 
 the Bible and placed it on the seat behind 
 him. His own reason for this proceed- 
 ing was a desire for absolute security in 
 enforcing his subject, and a painful re- 
 membrance of the disturbance in a south 
 country church when he landed a Bible 
 — with clasps — on the head of the pre- 
 centor in the heat of a discourse defend- 
 ing the rejection of Esau. Our best and 
 simplest actions — and Jeremiah was as 
 simple as a babe — can be misconstrued, 
 and the only dissentient from Saunder- 
 son's election insisted that the Bible had
 
 24 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 been deposited on the floor, and asserted 
 that the object of this profanity was to 
 give the preacher a higher standing in 
 the pulpit. This maHgnant reading of 
 circumstances might have wrought mis- 
 chief — for Saunderson's gaunt figure did 
 seem to grow in the pulpit — had it not 
 been for the bold line of defense taken 
 up by Mains. 
 
 " Gin he wanted tae stand high, wes 
 it no tae preach the word? an' gin he 
 wanted a soond foundation for his feet, 
 what* better could he get than the twa 
 Testaments? Answer me that." 
 
 It was seen at once that no one could 
 answer that, and the captious objector 
 never quite recovered his position in the 
 parish; while it is not the least of Kil- 
 bogie's boasting, in which the Auld Kirk 
 will even join against Drumtochty, that 
 they have a minister who not only does
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 25 
 
 not read his sermons and does not need 
 to quote his texts, but carries the whole 
 Bible in at least three languages in his 
 head, and once, as a proof thereof, 
 preaciied with it below his feet. 
 
 Much was to be looked for from such 
 a man; but even Mains, whetted by inter- 
 course with Saunderson, was astonished 
 at the sermon. It was a happy begin- 
 ning to draw a parallel between the 
 locusts of Joel and the mice of Kilbogie, 
 and gave the preacher an opportunity of 
 describing the appearance, habits, and 
 destruction of the locusts, which he did 
 solely from Holy Scripture, translating 
 various passages afresh, and combining 
 lights with marvelous ingenuity. This 
 brief preface of half an hour, which was 
 merely a stimulant for the Kilbogie ap- 
 petite, led up to a thorough examination 
 of physical judgments, during which
 
 26 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 both Bible and church history were laid 
 under liberal contribution. At this point 
 the minister halted, and complimented 
 the congregation on the attention they 
 had given to the facts of the case, which 
 were his first head, and suggested that 
 before approaching the doctrine of visi- 
 tations they might refresh themselves 
 with a Psalm. The congregation were 
 visibly impressed, and many made up 
 their minds while singing 
 
 " That man hath perfect blessedness ; " 
 
 and while others thought it due to them- 
 selves to suspend judgment till they had 
 tasted the doctrine, they afterward con- 
 fessed their full confidence. It goes 
 without saying that he was immediately 
 beyond the reach of the ordinary people 
 on the second head, and even veterans in 
 theology panted after him in vain, so
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 27 
 
 that one of the elders, nodding assent to 
 an exposure of the Manichsean heresy, 
 suddenly blushed as one who had played 
 the hypocrite. Some professed to have 
 noticed a doctrine that had not been 
 touched upon, but they never could give 
 it a name, and it excited just admiration 
 that a preacher, starting from a plague of 
 mice, should have made a way by strictly 
 scientific methods into the secret places 
 of theology. Saunderson allowed his 
 hearers a brief rest after the second head, 
 and cheered them with the assurance 
 that what was still before them would be 
 easy to follow. It was the application of 
 all that had gone before to the life of Kil- 
 bogie, and the preacher proceeded to 
 convict the parish under each of the ten 
 commandments — with the plague of 
 mice ever in reserve to silence excuses — 
 till the delighted congregation could
 
 28 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 have risen in a body and taken Saunder- 
 son by the hand for his fearlessness and 
 faithfulness. Perhaps the extent and 
 thoroughness of this monumental ser- 
 mon can be best estimated by the fact 
 that Claypots, father of the present 
 tenant, who always timed his rest to fifty 
 minutes exactly, thus overseeing both 
 the introduction and application of the 
 sermon, had a double portion, and even 
 a series of supplementary dozes, till at 
 last he sat upright through sheer satiety. 
 It may also be offered as evidence that 
 the reserve of peppermint held by 
 mothers for their bairns was pooled, 
 doles being furtively passed across pews 
 to conspicuously needy families, and yet 
 the last had gone before Saunderson fin- 
 ished. 
 
 Mains reported to the congregational 
 meeting that the minister had been quiet
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 29 
 
 for the rest of the day, but had offered to 
 say something about Habakkuk to any 
 evening gathering, and had cleared up at 
 family worship some obscure points in 
 the horning discourse. He also in- 
 formed the neighbors that he had driven 
 his guest all the way to Muirtown, and 
 put him in an Edinburgh carriage with 
 his own hands, since it had emerged that 
 Saunderson, through absence of mind, 
 had made his down journey by the trian- 
 gular route of Dundee. It was quite im- 
 possible for Kilbogie to conceal their 
 pride in electing such a miracle of learn- 
 ing, and their bearing in Muirtown was 
 distinctly changed; but indeed they did 
 not boast vainly about Jeremiah Saun- 
 derson, for his career was throughout on 
 the level of that monumental sermon. 
 When the presbytery in the gayety of 
 their heart examined Saunderson to
 
 30 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 ascertain whether he was fully equipped 
 for the work of the ministry, he professed 
 the whole Old Testament in Hebrew, , 
 and MacWheep of Pitscowrie, who 
 always asked the candidate to read the 
 twenty-third Psalm, was beguiled by 
 Jeremiah into the Book of Job, and re- 
 duced to the necessity of asking ques- 
 tions by indicating verbs with his finger. 
 His Greek examination led to an argu- 
 ment between Jeremiah and Dr. Dow- 
 biggin on the use of the aorist, from 
 which the minister-elect of Kilbogie 
 came out an easy first; and his sermons 
 were heard to within measurable distance 
 of the second head by an exact quorum 
 of the exhausted court, who were kept 
 by the clerk sitting at the door, and pre- 
 venting MacWheep escaping. His posi- 
 tion in the court was assured from the 
 beginning, and fulfilled the function of
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 31 
 
 an Encyclopedia, with occasional amaz- 
 ing results, as when information was 
 asked about some Eastern sect for whose 
 necessities the Presbytery were asked to 
 colleet, and to whose warm piety affect- 
 ing allusion was made, and Jeremiah 
 showed clearly, with the reporters pres- 
 ent, that the Cappadocians were guilty 
 of a heresy beside which Morisonianism 
 was an unsullied whiteness. His work as 
 examiner-in-general for the court was a 
 merciful failure, and encouraged the stu- 
 dents of the district to return to their 
 district court, who, on the mere rumor of 
 him, had transferred themselves in a 
 body to a Highland Presbytery, where 
 the standard question in Philosophy 
 used to be, " How many horns has a di- 
 lemma, and distinguish the one from the 
 other." No man knew what the minis- 
 ter of Kilbogie might not ask — the stu-
 
 32 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 dent was only perfectly certain that it 
 would be beyond his knowledge; but as 
 Saunderson always gave the answer him- 
 self in the end, and imputed it to the stu- 
 dent, anxiety was reduced to a minimum. 
 Saunderson, indeed, was in the custom 
 of passing all candidates and reporting 
 them as marvels of erudition, whose only 
 fault was a becoming modesty — which, 
 however, had not concealed from his 
 keen eye hidden treasures of learning. 
 Beyond this sphere the good man's serv- 
 ices were not used by a body of shrewd 
 ecclesiastics, as the inordinate length of 
 an ordination sermon had ruined a din- 
 ner prepared for the court by " one of 
 our intelligent and large-hearted lay- 
 men," and it is still pleasantly told how 
 Saunderson was invited to a congrega- 
 tional soiree — an ancient meeting, where 
 the people ate oranges, and the speaker
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 33 
 
 rallied the minister on being still un- 
 married — and discoursed, as a carefully 
 chosen subject, on the Jewish feasts, — 
 with illustrations from the Talmud, — till 
 som.^one burst a paper bag and allowed 
 the feelings of the people to escape. 
 When this history was passed round 
 Muirtown Market, Kilbogie thought 
 still more highly of their minister, and 
 indicated their opinion of the other 
 parish in severely theological language. 
 Standing at his full height he might 
 have been six feet, but, with much por- 
 ing over books and meditation, he had 
 descended some two inches. His hair 
 was long, not because he made any con- 
 scious claim to genius, but because he 
 forgot to get it cut, and, with his flow- 
 ing untrimmed beard, was now quite 
 gray. Within his clothes he was the 
 merest skeleton, being so thin that his
 
 34 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 shoulder-blades stood out in sharp out- 
 line, and his hands were almost trans- 
 parent. The redeeming feature in Saun- 
 derson was his eyes, which were large 
 and eloquent, of a trustful, wistful hazel, 
 the beautiful eyes of a dumb animal. 
 Whether he was expounding doctrines 
 charged with despair of humanity, or 
 exalting, in rare moments, the riches of 
 a Divine love in which he did not expect 
 to share, or humbly beseeching his breth- 
 ren to give him information on some 
 point in scholarship no one knew any- 
 thing about except himself, or stroking 
 the hair of some little child sitting upon 
 his knee, those eyes were ever simple, 
 honest, and most pathetic. Young 
 ministers coming to the Presbytery full 
 of self-conceit and new views were 
 arrested by their light shining through 
 the glasses, and came in a year or two to
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 35 
 
 have a profound regard for Saunderson, 
 curiously compounded of amusement at 
 his ways, which for strangeness were 
 quite beyond imagination, admiration 
 for his knowledge, which was amazing 
 for its accuracy and comprehensiveness, 
 respect for his honesty, which feared no 
 conclusion, however repellent to flesh 
 and blood, but chiefly of love for the 
 unaffected and shining goodness of a 
 man in whose virgin soul neither self 
 nor this world had any part. For 
 years the youngsters of the Presbytery 
 knew not how to address the minis- 
 ter of Kilbogie, since anyone who 
 had dared to call him Saunderson, 
 as they said " Carmichael," and even 
 " MacWheep," though he was elderly, 
 would have been deposed, without delay, 
 from the ministry — so much reverence 
 ' at least was in the lads — and " Mister "
 
 36 RABBI. SAUNDERSON. 
 
 attached to this personaHty would be 
 Hke a silk hat on the head of an Eastern 
 sage. Jenkins of Pitrodie always con- 
 sidered that he was inspired when he one 
 day called Saunderson " Rabbi," and 
 unto the day of his death Kilbogie was 
 so called. He made protest against the 
 title as being forbidden in the Gospels, 
 but the lads insisted that it must be 
 understood in the sense of scholar, 
 whereupon Saunderson disowned it on 
 the ground of his slender attainments. 
 The lads saw the force of this objection, 
 and admitted that the honorable word 
 belonged by rights to MacWheep, who 
 was a " gude body," but it was their 
 fancy to assign it to Saunderson — where- 
 at Saunderson yielded, only exacting a 
 pledge that he should never be so called 
 in public, lest all concerned be con- 
 demned for foolishness. When it was
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 37 
 
 announced that the University of Edin- 
 burgh had resolved to confer the degree 
 of D. D. on him for his distinguished 
 learning and great services to theological 
 scholarship, Saunderson, who was de- 
 lighted when Dowbiggin of Muirtown 
 got the honor for being an ecclesiastic, 
 would have refused it for himself had not 
 his boys gone out in a body and com- 
 pelled him to accept. They also pur- 
 chased a Doctor's gown and hood, and 
 invested him with them in the name of 
 Kilbogie two days before the capping. 
 One of them saw that he was duly 
 brought to the Tolbooth Kirk, where 
 the capping ceremonial in those days 
 took place. Another sent a list of Saun- 
 derson's articles to British and foreign 
 theological and philological reviews, 
 which filled half a column of the Cale- 
 donian, and drew forth a complimentary
 
 38 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 article from that exceedingly able and 
 caustic paper, whose editor lost all his 
 liair through sympathetic emotion the 
 miorning of the Disruption, and ever 
 afterward pointed out the faults of the 
 Free Kirk with much frankness. The 
 iame of Rabbi Saunderson was so spread 
 abroad that a great cheer went up as he 
 came in with the other Doctors elect, in 
 which he cordially joined, considering it 
 to be intended for his neighbor, a suc- 
 cessful West-End clergyman, the author 
 of a " Life of Dorcas " and other pleas- 
 ing booklets. For some time after his 
 boys said " Doctor " in every third sen- 
 tence, and then grew weary of a too com- 
 mon title, and fell back on " Rabbi," by 
 which he was known until the day of his 
 death, and which is now engraved on his 
 tombstone. 
 
 Saunderson's reputation for unfathom-
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 39 
 
 able learning and saintly simplicity was 
 built up out of many incidents, and grew 
 with the lapse of years to a solitary 
 height in the big strath, so that no man 
 would have dared to smile had the Free 
 Kirk minister of Kilbogie appeared in 
 Muirtown in his shirt-sleeves, and Kil- 
 bogie would only have been a trifle more 
 conceited. Truly he was an amazing 
 man, and, now that he is dead and gone, 
 the last of his race, I wish some man of 
 his profession had written his life, for the 
 doctrine he taught and the way he lived 
 will not be believed by the new genera- 
 tion. The arrival of his goods was more 
 than many sermons to Kilbogie, and I 
 had it from Mains' own lips. It was the 
 kindly fashion of those days that the 
 farmers carted the new minister's furni- 
 ture from the nearest railway station, and 
 as the railway to Kildrummie was not
 
 40 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 yet open, they had to go to Stormont 
 Station on the north hne; and a pleasant 
 procession they made passing through 
 Pitscowrie, ten carts in their best array, 
 and drivers with a semi-festive air. Mr. 
 Saunderson was at the station, having 
 reached it, by some miracle, without mis- 
 take, and was in a condition of abject 
 nervousness about the handling and con- 
 veyance of his belongings. 
 
 " You will be careful — exceeding care- 
 ful," he implored; "if one of the boxes 
 were allowed to descend hurriedly to the 
 ground, the result to what is within 
 would be disastrous. I am much afraid 
 that the weight is considerable, but I am 
 ready to assist "; and he got ready. 
 
 " Dinna pit yirsel intae a feery-farry 
 [commotion] " — but Mains was dis- 
 tinctly pleased to see a little touch of 
 worldliness, just enough to keep the new
 
 
 /^V- 
 
 THE FARMERS CARTED I HE NEW MINISTER'S FURNITURE FROM THE 
 NEAREST RAILWAY STATION
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 43 
 
 minister in touch with humanity. " It '11 
 be queer stuff oor lads canna lift, an' a'll 
 gie ye a warranty that the'll no be a cup 
 o' the cheeny broken "; and then Saun- 
 derson conducted his congregation to 
 the siding. 
 
 " Dod, man," remarked Mains to the 
 station-master, examining a truck with 
 eight boxes; " the manse '11 no want for 
 dishes at ony rate. But let's start on the 
 furniture; whar hae ye got the rest o' the 
 plenishing? 
 
 " Naething mair? havers, man, ye 
 dinna mean tae say they pack beds an' 
 tables in boxes; a' doot there's a truck 
 missin'." Then Mains went over where 
 the minister was fidgeting beside his pos- 
 sessions. 
 
 " No, no," said Saunderson, when the 
 situation was put before him, " it's all 
 here. I counted the boxes, and I packed
 
 44 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 every box myself. That top one con- 
 tains the fathers — deal gently with it; 
 and the Reformation divines are just be- 
 low it. Books are easily injured, and 
 they feel it. I do believe there is a cer- 
 tain life in them, and . . . and . . . they 
 don't like being ill-used "; and Jeremiah 
 looked wistfully at the plowmen. 
 
 " Div ye mean tae say," as soon as 
 Mains had recovered, " that ye've brocht 
 naethin' for the manse but bukes, naither 
 bed nor bedding? Keep's a'," as the 
 situation grew upon him, " whar are ye 
 tae sleep, and what are ye tae sit on? 
 An' div ye never eat? This croons a';" 
 and Mains gazed at his new minister as 
 one who supposed that he had taken 
 Jeremiah's measure and had failed 
 utterly. 
 
 " Mea culpa — it's ... my blame," and 
 Saunderson was evidently humbled at
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 45 
 
 this public exposure of his incapacity; 
 " some sHght furnishing will be expe- 
 dient, even necessar}^, and I have a plan 
 for book-shelves in my head; it is in- 
 genious and convenient, and if there is a 
 worker in wood ..." 
 
 " Come awa' tae the dog-cart, sir," 
 said Mains, realizing that even Kilbogie 
 did not know what a singular gift they 
 had obtained, and that discussion on 
 such sublunary matters as pots and pans 
 was useless, not to say profane. So 
 eight carts got a box each; one, Jere- 
 miah's ancient kist of moderate dimen- 
 sions; and the tenth — that none might be 
 left unrecognized — a hand-bag that had 
 been on the twelve years' probation with 
 its master. The story grew as it passed 
 westward, and when it reached us we 
 were given to understand that the Free 
 Kirk minister of Kilbogie had come to
 
 46 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 his parish with his clothing in a paper 
 parcel and twenty-four packing-cases 
 filled with books, in as many languages 
 — half of them dating from the introduc- 
 tion of printing, and fastened by silver 
 clasps — and that if Drumtochty seriously 
 desired to hear an intellectual sermon at 
 a time, we must take our way through 
 Tochty woods. 
 
 Mrs. Pitillo took the minister into her 
 hands, and compelled him to accom- 
 pany her to Muirtown, where she had 
 him at her will for some time, so that she 
 equipped the kitchen (fully), a dining 
 room (fairly), a spare bedroom (amply), 
 Mr. Saunderson's own bedroom (miser- 
 ably), and secured a table and two chairs 
 for the study. This success turned her 
 head. Full of motherly forethought, 
 and having a keen remembrance that 
 probationers always retired in the after-
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 47 
 
 noon at Mains to think over the even- 
 ing's address, and left an impress of the 
 human form on the bed when they came 
 down to tea, Mrs. Pitillo suggested that 
 a sofa would be an admirable addition to 
 the study. As soon as this piece of fur- 
 niture, of a size suitable for his six feet, 
 was pointed out to the minister, he took 
 fright, and became quite unmanageable. 
 He would not have such an article in his 
 study on any account, partly because it 
 would only feed a tendency to sloth — 
 which, he explained, was one of his be- 
 setting sins — and partly because it 
 would curtail the space available for 
 books, which, he indicated, were the 
 proper furniture of any room, but chiefly 
 of a study. So great was his alarm that 
 he repented of too early concessions 
 about the other rooms, and explained to 
 Mrs. Pitillo that every inch of space must
 
 48- RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 be rigidly kept for the overflow from the 
 study, which he expected — if he were 
 spared — would reach the garrets. Sev- 
 eral times on their way back to Kilbogie 
 Saunderson looked wistfully at Mrs. 
 Pitillo, and once opened his mouth as if 
 to speak, from which she gathered that 
 he was grateful for her kindness, but 
 dared not yield any further to the lux- 
 uries of the flesh. 
 
 What this worthy woman endured in 
 securing a succession of reliable house- 
 keepers for 'Sir. Saunderson and over- 
 seeing the interior of that remarkable 
 home she was never able to explain to 
 her own satisfaction, though she made 
 many honest efforts, and one of her last 
 intelligible utterances was a lamentable 
 prophecy of the final estate of the Free 
 Church manse of Kilbogie. Mr. Saun- 
 derson himself seemed at times to have
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 49 
 
 some vague idea of her painful services, 
 and once mentioned her name to Car- 
 michael of Drumtochty in feehng terms. 
 There had been some delay in providing 
 for the bodily wants of the visitor after 
 his eight-miles' walk from the glen, and 
 it seemed likely that he would be obliged 
 to take his meal standing for want of a 
 chair. 
 
 " While Mrs. Pitillo lived, I have a 
 strong impression, almost amounting to 
 certainty, that the domestic arrange- 
 ments of the manse were better ordered; 
 she had the episcopal faculty in quite a 
 conspicuous degree, and was, I have 
 often thought, a woman of sound judg- 
 ment. 
 
 " We were not able at all times to see 
 eye to eye, as she had an unfortunate 
 tendency to meddle with my books and 
 papers, and to arrange them after an
 
 50 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 artificial fashion. This she called tidy- 
 ing, and, in its most extreme form, 
 cleaning. 
 
 " With all her excellences, there was 
 also in her what I have noticed in most 
 women, a certain flavor of guile, and on 
 one occasion, when I was making a brief 
 journey through Holland and France in 
 search of comely editions of the Fathers, 
 she had the books carried out to the gar- 
 den and dusted. It was the space of two 
 years before I regained mastery of my 
 library again, and unto this day I cannot 
 lay my hands on the service-book of 
 King Henry VHL, which I had in the 
 second edition, to say nothing of an 
 original edition of Rutherford's " Lex 
 Rex." 
 
 " It does not become me, however, to 
 reflect on the efforts of that worthy 
 matron, for she was by nature a good
 
 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 51 
 
 woman, and if anyone could be saved by- 
 good works, her place is assured. I was 
 with her before she died, and her last 
 words to me were, ' Tell Jean tae dust yir 
 bukes aince in the sax months, and for 
 pny sake keep ae chair for sittin' on.' It 
 was not perhaps quite the testimony one 
 would have desired in the circumstances, 
 but yet, Mr. Carmichael, I have often 
 thought that there was a spirit of , . . 
 of unselfishness, in fact, that showed the 
 working of grace." Later in the same 
 evening Mr. Saunderson's mind returned 
 to his friend's spiritual state, for he en- 
 tered into a long argument to show that 
 while Mary was more spiritual, Martha 
 must also have been within the Divine 
 Election.
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE.
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 
 
 MINISTERS there were in the great 
 strath so orderly that they kept 
 their seaUng-wax in one drawer and their 
 string in another, while their sermons 
 were arranged under the books of the 
 Bible, and tied with green silk. Dr. 
 Dowbiggin, though a dull man and of a 
 heavy carriage, could find in an instant 
 the original draft of a motion on instru- 
 mental music he made in the Presbytery 
 of Muirtown in the year '5,9, and could 
 also give the exact page in the blue- 
 books for every word he had uttered in 
 the famous case when he showed that the 
 use of an harmonium to train Mac- 
 Wheep's choir was a return to the bond- 
 age of Old Testament worship. His 
 
 55
 
 $6 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 collection of pamphlets was supposed to 
 be unique, and was a terror to contro- 
 versialists, no man knowing when a rash 
 utterance on the bottomless mystery of 
 " spiritual independence " might not be 
 produced from the Doctor's coat-tail 
 pocket. He retired to rest at 10.15, ^^'^^ 
 rose at six, settHng the subject of his 
 next sermon on Sabbath evening, and 
 finishing the first head before breakfast 
 on Monday morning. He had three 
 hats — one for funerals, one for mar- 
 riages, one for ordinary occasions — and 
 lias returned from the Presbytery door 
 to brush his coat. Morning prayers in 
 Dr. Dowbiggin's house were at 8.05, and 
 the wrath of the Doctor was so danger- 
 ous that one probationer staying at the 
 manse, and not quite independent of in- 
 fluence, did not venture to undress, but 
 snatched a fearful doze sitting upright
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 57 
 
 on a cane-bottomed chair, lest he should 
 not be in at the psalm. Young minis- 
 ters of untidy habits regarded Dr. Dow- 
 biggin's study with despair, and did not 
 receiver their spirits till they were out of 
 Muirtown. Once only did this eminent 
 man visit the manse of Kilbogie, and in 
 favorable moments after dinner he would 
 give his choicer experiences. 
 
 " It is my invariable custom to ex- 
 amine the bed to see that everything is 
 in order, and anyone sleeping in Kil- 
 bogie Manse will find the good of such a 
 precaution. I trust that I am not a lux- 
 urious person — it would ill become one 
 who came out in '43 — but I have cer- 
 tainly become accustomed to the use of 
 sheets. When I saw there were none on 
 the bed, I declined to sleep without 
 them, and I indicated my mind very dis- 
 tinctly on the condition of the manse.
 
 58 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 " Would you believe it? " the Doctor 
 used to go on. " Saunderson explained, 
 as if it were a usual occurrence, that he 
 had given away all the spare linen in his 
 house to a girl that had to marry in . . . 
 urgent circumstances, and had forgotten 
 to get more. And what do you think 
 did he offer as a substitute for sheets? " 
 No one could even imagine what might 
 not occur to the mind of Saunderson. 
 
 " Towels, as I am an honorable man; a 
 collection of towels, as he put it, ' skill- 
 fully attached together, might make a 
 pleasant covering.' That is the first and 
 last time I ever slept in the Free Church 
 Manse of Kilbogie. As regards Saun- 
 derson's study, I will guarantee that the 
 like of it cannot be found within Scot- 
 land;" and at the very thought of it that 
 exact and methodical ecclesiastic real- 
 ized the limitations of language.
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 59 
 
 His boys boasted of the Rabbi's study 
 as something that touched genius in its 
 magnificent disorderliness, and Car- 
 michael was so proud of it that he took 
 me to' see it as to a shrine. One whiff 
 of its atmosphere as you entered the 
 door gave an appetite and raised the 
 highest expectations. For any book- 
 man can estimate a Hbrary by scent — if 
 an expert, he could even write out a cata- 
 logue of the books and sketch the ap- 
 pearance of the owner. Heavy odor of 
 polished mahogany, Brussels carpets, 
 damask curtains, and tablecloths; then 
 the books are kept within glass, consist 
 of sets of standard works in half calf, and 
 the owner will give you their cost whole- 
 sale to a farthing. Faint fragrance of 
 delicate flowers and Russia leather, with 
 a hint of cigarettes; prepare yourself for 
 a marvelous wall-paper, etchings, bits of
 
 6o RABBI SAUNDERSON, 
 
 oak, limited editions, and a man in a vel- 
 vet coat. Smell of paste and cloth bind- 
 ing and general newness mean yester- 
 day's books and a reviewer racing 
 through novels with a paper-knife. 
 Those are only bookrooms by courtesy, 
 and never can satisfy anyone who has 
 breathed the sacred air. It is a rich and 
 strong spirit, not only filling the room, 
 but pouring out from the door and pos- 
 sessing the hall, redeeming an opposite 
 dining room from grossness, and a more 
 distant drawing room from frivolity, and 
 even lending a goodly flavor to bedrooms 
 on upper floors. It is distilled from 
 curious old duodecimos packed on high 
 shelves out of sight, and blows over 
 folios, with large clasps, that once stood 
 in monastery libraries, and gathers a 
 subtle sweetness from parchments that 
 were illuminated in ancient scriptoriums
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 6i 
 
 that are now grass-grown, and it is forti- 
 fied with good old musty calf. The 
 wind was from the right quarter on the 
 first day I visited Kilbogie Manse, and as 
 we went up the garden walk the Rabbi's 
 library already bade us welcome, and 
 assured us of our reward for a ten-miles' 
 walk. 
 
 Saunderson was perfectly helpless in 
 all manner of mechanics — he could not 
 drive a tack through anything except his 
 own fingers, and had given up shaving 
 at the suggestion of his elders — and yet 
 he boasted, with truth, that he had got 
 three times as many books into the study 
 as his predecessor possessed in all his 
 house. For Saunderson had shelved the 
 walls from the floor to the ceiling, into 
 every corner, and over the doors and 
 above the windows, as well as below 
 them. The wright had wished to leave
 
 62 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 the space clear above the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 " Ye'll be hanging Dr. Chalmers there, 
 or maybe John Knox, and a bit clock '11 
 be handy for letting ye ken the 'oors on 
 Sabbath." 
 
 The Rabbi admitted that he had a 
 Knox, but was full of a scheme for hang- 
 ing him over his own history, which he 
 considered both appropriate and con- 
 venient. As regards time, it was the last 
 thing of which that worthy man desired 
 to be reminded — going to bed when he 
 could no longer see for weariness, and 
 rising as soon as he awoke, taking his. 
 food when it was brought to him, and 
 being conducted to church by the beadle 
 after the last straggler was safely seated. 
 He even cast covetous eyes upon the two 
 windows, which were absurdly large, as 
 he considered, but compromised matters
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 63 
 
 by removing the shutters and filling up 
 the vacant space with slender works of 
 devotion. It was one of his conceits 
 that the rising sun smote first on an 
 A'Kempis, for this he had often noticed 
 as he worked of a morning. 
 
 Bookshelves had long ago failed to ac- 
 commodate the Rabbi's treasure, and the 
 floor had been bravely utilized. Islands 
 of books, rugged and perpendicular, rose 
 on every side; long promontories 
 reached out from the shore, varied by 
 bold headlands; and so broken and 
 varied was that floor that the Rabbi was 
 pleased to call it the ^gean Sea, where 
 he had his Lesbos and his Samos. It is 
 absolutely incredible, but it is all the 
 same a simple fact, that he knew every 
 book and its location, having a sense of 
 the feel as well as the shape of his favor- 
 ites. This was not because he had the
 
 64 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 faintest approach to orderliness, for he 
 would take down twenty volumes and 
 never restore them to the same place by 
 any chance. It was a sort of motherly 
 instinct by which he watched over them 
 all, and even loved prodigals who wan- 
 dered over all the study and then set off 
 on adventurous journeys into distant 
 rooms. The restoration of an emigrant 
 to his lawful home was celebrated by a 
 feast, in which, by a confusion of circum- 
 stances, the book played the part of the 
 fatted calf, being read afresh from begin- 
 ning to end. During his earlier and 
 more agile years the Rabbi used to reach 
 the higher levels of his study by wonder- 
 ful gymnastic feats, but after two falls — 
 one with three Ante-Nicene fathers in 
 close pursuit — he determined to call in 
 assistance. This he did after an impres- 
 sive fashion. When he attended the
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 65 
 
 roup at Pitfoodles — a day of historical 
 prices — and purchased in open competi- 
 tion, at three times its value, a small 
 stack ladder, Kilbogie was convulsed, 
 and vlMains had to offer explanations. 
 
 " He's cuttit aff seevin feet, and rins 
 up it tae get his tapmaist bukes, but 
 that's no' a'," and then Mains gave it to 
 be understood that the rest of the things 
 the minister had done with that ladder 
 were beyond words. For in order that 
 the rough wood might not scar the sen- 
 sitive backs of the Fathers, the Rabbi had 
 covered the upper end with cloth, and 
 for that purpose had utilized a pair of 
 trousers. It was not within his ability 
 in any way to reduce or adapt his ma- 
 terial, so that those interesting garments 
 remained in their original shape, and, as 
 often as the ladder stood reversed, pre- 
 sented a very impressive and diverting
 
 66 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 spectacle. It was the inspiration of one 
 of Carmichael's most successful stories — 
 how he had done his best to console a 
 woman on the death of her husband, and 
 had not altogether failed, till she caught 
 sight of the deceased's nether garments 
 waving disconsolately on a rope in the 
 garden, when she refused to be com- 
 forted. " Toom [empty] breeks tae me 
 noo," and she wept profusely, " toom 
 breeks tae me." 
 
 One of the great efforts of the Rabbi's 
 life was to seat his visitors, since beyond 
 the one chair, accommodation had to be 
 provided on the table, wheresoever there 
 happened to be no papers, and on the 
 ledges of the bookcases. It was pretty 
 to see the host suggesting from a long 
 experience those coigns of vantage he 
 counted easiest and safest, giving warn- 
 ings also of unsuspected danger in the
 
 
 SEARCHING FOR A LOST NOTE
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 69 
 
 shape of restless books that might either 
 yield beneath one's feet or descend on 
 one's head. Carmichael, however, 
 needed no such guidance, for he knew 
 his w^ay about in the marvelous place, 
 and at once made for what the boys 
 called the throne of the Fathers. This 
 was a lordly seat, laid as to its founda- 
 tion in mediaeval divines of ponderous 
 content, but excellently finished with the 
 Benedictine edition of St. Augustine, 
 softened by two cushions, one for a seat 
 and another for a back. Here Carmichael 
 used to sit in great content, smoking and 
 listening while the Rabbi hunted an idea 
 through Scripture with many authori- 
 ties, or defended the wildest Calvinism 
 with strange, learned arguments; from 
 this place he would watch the Rabbi 
 searching for a lost note on some pass- 
 age of Holy Writ amid a pile of papers
 
 70 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 two feet deep, through which he bur- 
 rowed on all-fours, or climbing for a 
 book on the sky-line, to forget his errand 
 and to expound some point of doctrine 
 from the top of the ladder. 
 
 " You're comfortable, John, and you 
 do not want to put off your boots after 
 all that traveling to and fro? Then I 
 will search for Barbara, and secure some 
 refreshment for our bodies"; and Car- 
 michael watched the Rabbi depart with 
 pity, for he was going on a troublous 
 errand. 
 
 Housekeepers are, after beadles, the 
 most wonderful functionaries in the 
 ecclesiastical life of Scotland, and every 
 species could be found within a day's 
 journey of Drumtochty. Jenkins, in- 
 deed, suggested that a series of papers 
 on church institutions read at the clerical 
 club should include one on housekeepers,
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 7i 
 
 and offered to supply the want, which 
 was the reason why Dr. Dowbiggin re- 
 fused to certify him to a vacancy, speak- 
 ing of him as " frivolous and irrespon- 
 sible!" The class ranged from Sarah of 
 Drumtochty, who could cook and knew 
 nothing about ecclesiastical affairs, to 
 that austere damsel, Margaret Meikle- 
 wham of Pitscowrie, who had never pre- 
 pared an appetizing meal in her life, but 
 might have sat as. an elder in the Pres- 
 bytery. 
 
 Among all her class Barbara Mac- 
 Cluckie stood an easy worst, being the 
 most incapable, unsightly, evil-tempered, 
 vexatious woman into whose hands an 
 unmarried man had ever been delivered. 
 MacWheep had his own trials, but his 
 ruler saw that he had sufficient food and 
 some comfort, but Barbara laid herself 
 out to make the Rabbi's life a misery.
 
 72 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 He only obtained his meals as a favor, 
 and an extra blanket had to be won by 
 a week's abject humiliation. Fire was 
 only allowed him at times, and he 
 secured oil for his lamp by stratagem. 
 Latterly he was glad to send strange 
 ministers to Mains, and his boys alone 
 forced lodgment in the manse. The 
 settlement of Barbara was the great 
 calamity of the Rabbi's life, and was the 
 doing of his own good-nature. He first 
 met her when she came to the manse one 
 evening to discuss the unlawfulness of 
 infant baptism and the duty of holding 
 Sunday on Saturday, being the Jewish 
 Sabbath. His interest deepened on 
 learning that she had been driven from 
 twenty-nine situations through the per- 
 secution of the ungodly; and on her 
 assuring him that she had heard a voice 
 in a dream bidding her take charge of
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 73 
 
 Kilbogie Manse, the Rabbi, who had suf- 
 fered many things at the hands of young 
 girls given to lovers, installed Barbara, 
 and began to repent that very day. A 
 tall, bony, forbidding woman, with a 
 squint, and a nose turning red, as she 
 stated, from chronic indigestion, let it be 
 said for her that she did not fall into the 
 sins of her predecessors. It was indeed 
 a pleasant jest in Kilbogie for four Sab- 
 baths that she allowed a local Romeo, 
 who knew not that his Juliet was gone, 
 to make his adventurous way to her bed- 
 room window, and then showed such an 
 amazing visage that he was laid up for a 
 week through the suddenness of his fall. 
 What the Rabbi endured no one knew, 
 but his boys understood that the only re- 
 lief he had from Barbara's tyranny was 
 on Sabbath evening when she stated her 
 objections to his sermons, and threat-
 
 74 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 ened henceforward to walk into Muir- 
 town in order to escape from unsound 
 doctrine. On such occasions the Rabbi 
 laid himself out for her instruction with 
 much zest, and he knew when he had 
 produced an impression, for then he 
 went supperless to bed. Between this 
 militant spirit and the boys there was an 
 undying feud, and Carmichael was not 
 at all hurt to hear her frank references to 
 himself. 
 
 " What need he come stravagin' doon 
 frae Drumtochty for? it wud set him bet- 
 ter tae wait on his ain fouk. A licht- 
 headed fellow, they say as kens; an' as for 
 his doctrine — weel, maybe it '11 dae for 
 Drumtochty. 
 
 " Tea? Did ye expect me tae hae 
 biling water at this 'oor o' the nicht? 
 My word, the money wud flee in this 
 hoose gin a' wesna here. Milk '11 dae
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 75 
 
 I 
 
 fine for yon birkie: he micht be glad tae 
 get onything, sorning on a respectable 
 manse every ither week." 
 
 " You will pardon our humble provi- 
 sion " — this is how the Rabbi prepared 
 Carmichael; " we have taken my worthy 
 Abigail unawares, and she cannot do for 
 us what in other circumstances would be 
 her desire. She has a thorn in the flesh 
 which troubles her, and makes her do 
 what she would not, but I am convinced 
 that her heart is right." 
 
 That uncompromising woman took 
 no notice of Drumtochty, but busied 
 herself in a search for the Rabbi's bag, 
 which he insisted had been brought 
 home from Muirtown that morning, and 
 which was at last found covered with 
 books. 
 
 " Do not open it at present, Barbara; 
 you can identify the contents later if it
 
 76 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 be necessary, but I am sure they are all 
 right"; and the Rabbi watched Bar- 
 bara's investigations with evident anx- 
 iety. 
 
 " Maybe ye hae brocht back what ye 
 started wi', but gin ye hev, it's the first 
 time a' can mind. Laist sacrament at 
 Edinburgh ye pickit up twal books, ae 
 clothes-brush, an' a crochet cover for a 
 chair, an' left a'thing that belonged tae 
 ye." 
 
 " It was an inadvertence ; but I ob- 
 tained a drawer for my own use this time, 
 and I was careful to pack its contents 
 into the bag, leaving nothing." But the 
 Rabbi did not seem over-confident. 
 
 " There's nae question that ye hev 
 filled the pack," said Barbara, with much 
 deliberation and an ominous calmness; 
 " but whether wi' yir ain gear or some 
 ither body's, a'll leave ye tae judge yirsel.
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. ^^ 
 
 A'l] juist empty the bag on the bukes "; 
 and Barbara selected a bank of Puri- 
 tans for the display of her master's 
 spoil. 
 
 '' Ae slipbody [bodice], weel hemmed 
 and glide stuff — ye didna tak' that wi' 
 ye, at ony rate; twa pillow-slips — they'll 
 come in handy, oor ain are wearin' thin; 
 ae pair o' sheets — '11 just dae for the next 
 trimmie that ye want tae set up in her 
 hoose; this '11 be a bolster-slip, a'm 
 judgin' " 
 
 " It must be the work of Satan," cried 
 the poor Rabbi, who constantly saw the 
 hand of the great enemy in the disorder 
 of his study. " I cannot believe that my 
 hands packed such garments in place of 
 my own." 
 
 " Ye'll be satisfied when ye read the 
 name; it's plain eneuch; ye needna gang 
 dodderin' aboot here and there lookin'
 
 78 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 for yir glasses; there's twa pair on your 
 head already "; for it was an hour of tri- 
 umph to Barbara's genial soul. 
 
 " It's beyond understanding," mur- 
 mured the Rabbi. " I must have mis- 
 taken one drawer for another in the 
 midst of meditation"; and then, when 
 Barbara had swept out of the room with 
 the varied linen on her arm, " This is 
 very humihating, John, and hard to 
 bear." 
 
 "Nonsense, Rabbi; it's one of the 
 finest things you have ever done. Half 
 a dozen journeys of that kind would re- 
 furnish the manse; it's just a pity you 
 can't annex a chair "; but he saw that the 
 good man was sorely vexed. 
 
 " You are a good lad, John, and it is 
 truly marvelous what charity I have re- 
 ceived at the hands of young men who 
 might have scorned and mocked me.
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 79 
 
 God knows how my heart has been filled 
 with gratitude, and I . . . have men- 
 tioned your names in my unworthy 
 prayers, that God may do to- you all ac- 
 cordmg to the kindness ye have shown 
 unto me." 
 
 It was plain that this lonely, silent man 
 was much moved, and Carmichael did 
 not speak. 
 
 " People consider that I am ignorant 
 of my failings and weaknesses, and I can 
 bear witness with a clear conscience that 
 I am not angry when they smile and nod 
 the head; why should I be? But, John, 
 it is known to myself only, and Him be- 
 fore whom all hearts are open, how great 
 is my suffering in being among my 
 neighbors as a sparrow upon the house- 
 top. 
 
 " May you never know, John, what it 
 is to live alone and friendless till you lose
 
 8o RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 the ways of other men and retire within 
 yourself, looking out on the multitude 
 passing on the road as a hermit from his 
 cell, and knowing that some day you will 
 die alone, with none to . . . give you a 
 draught of water! " 
 
 " Rabbi, Rabbi," — for Carmichael was 
 greatly distressed at the woe in the face 
 opposite him, and his heart was tender 
 that night, — " why should you have 
 lived like that? Do not be angry, but 
 . . . did God intend ... it cannot be 
 wrong ... I mean . . . God did give 
 Eve to Adam." 
 
 " Laddie, why do ye speak with fear 
 and a faltering voice? Did I say aught 
 against that gracious gift or the holy 
 mystery of love, which is surely the sign 
 of the union betwixt God and the soul, 
 as is set forth after a mystical shape in 
 the Song of Songs? But it was not for
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 8i 
 
 me — no, not for me. I complain not, 
 neither have I vexed mv soul. He doeth 
 all things well." 
 
 " But, dear Rabbi " — and Carmichael 
 liesit^;feted, not knowing where he stood. 
 
 " Ye ask me why " — the Rabbi antici- 
 pated the question — " and I will tell you 
 plainly, for my heart has ever gone forth 
 to you. For long years I found no favor 
 in the eves of the Church, and it seemed 
 likely I would be rejected from the min- 
 istry as a man useless and unprofitable. 
 How could I attempt to win the love of 
 any maiden, since it did not appear to be 
 the will of God that I should ever have a 
 place of habitation? It consisted not 
 with honor, for I do hold firmly that no 
 man hath any right to seek unto himself 
 a wife till he have a home." 
 
 " But ..." 
 
 " Afterward, you would say. Ah,
 
 82 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 John! then had I become old and un- 
 sightly, not such a one as women could 
 care for. It would have been cruel to 
 tie a maid for life to one who might only 
 be forty years in age, but was as seventy 
 in his pilgrimage, and had fallen into un- 
 lovely habits." 
 
 Then the Rabbi turned on Carmichael 
 his gentle eyes, that were shining with 
 tears. 
 
 " It will be otherwise with you, and so 
 let it be. May I live to see you rejoic- 
 ing with the wife of your youth ! " 
 
 So it came to pass that it was to this 
 unlikely man Carmichael told his love 
 for Kate Carnegie and what like Kate 
 was, and he was amazed at the under- 
 standing of the Rabbi, as well as his sym- 
 pathy and toleration. 
 
 " A maid of spirit — and that is an ex- 
 cellent thing; and any excess will be
 
 KILBOGIE MANSE. 83 
 
 tamed by life. Only see to it that ye 
 agree in that which lieth beneath all 
 churches and maketh souls one in God. 
 May He prosper you in your wooing as 
 He did the patriarch Jacob, and far more 
 abundantly! " 
 
 Very early in the morning Carmichael 
 awoke, and being tempted by the sun- 
 rise, arose and went downstairs. As he 
 came near the study door he heard a 
 voice in prayer, and knew that the 
 Rabbi had been all night in interces- 
 sion. 
 
 " Thou hast denied me wife and child; 
 deny me not Thyself. . . A stranger 
 Thou hast made me among men; refuse 
 me not a place in the City. . . Deal 
 graciously with this lad who has been to 
 me as a son in the Gospel. . . He has 
 not despised an old man; put not his 
 heart to confusion. . ."
 
 84 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 Carmichael crept upstairs again, but 
 not to sleep, and at breakfast he pledged 
 the Rabbi to come up some day and see 
 Kate Carnegie.
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR.
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. 
 
 J 
 
 O' NE day Carmichael, who had quar- 
 reled with Kate over Mary Queen 
 of Scots and had lost hope, came to a 
 good resolution suddenly, and went 
 down to see Rabbi Saunderson — the 
 very thought of whose gentle, patient, 
 selfless life was a rebuke and a tonic. 
 
 When two tramps held conference on 
 the road, and one indicated to the other 
 visibly that any gentleman in temporary 
 distress would be treated after a Chris- 
 tian fashion at a neighboring house, Car- 
 michael, who had been walking in a 
 dream since he passed the Lodge, knew 
 instantly that be must be near the Free 
 Kirk manse of Kilbogie. The means of 
 
 87
 
 88 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 communication between the members of 
 the nomadic profession is almost perfect 
 in its frequency and accuracy, and Saun- 
 derson's manse was a hedge-side word. 
 Not only did all the regular travelers by 
 the north road call on their going up in 
 spring and their coming down in au- 
 tumn, but habitues of the east coast 
 route were attracted and made a circuit 
 to embrace so hospitable a home, and 
 even country vagrants made their way 
 from Dunleith and down through Glen 
 Urtach to pay their respects to the 
 Rabbi. They had particular directions 
 to avoid Barbara — expressed in cipher 
 on five different posts in the vicinity, and 
 enforced in picturesque language, of an 
 evening — and they were therefore care- 
 ful to waylay the Rabbi on the road, or 
 enter his study boldly from the front. 
 The humbler members of the profession
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. 89 
 
 contented themselves with explaining 
 that they had once been prosperous 
 tradesmen, and were now walking to 
 Muirtown in search of work — receiving 
 their alms in silence, with diffidence and 
 sham"e; but those in a higher walk came 
 to consult the Rabbi on Bible difficulties, 
 which were threatening to shake their 
 faith, and departed much relieved — with 
 a new view of Lot's wife, as well as a suit 
 of clothes the Rabbi had only worn three 
 times. 
 
 " You have done kindly by me in call- 
 ing " — the vagabond had finished his 
 story and was standing, a very abject 
 figure, among the books — " and in giv- 
 ing me the message from your friend. I 
 am truly thankful that he is now laboring 
 — in iron, did you say? — and I hope he 
 may be a cunning artificer. 
 
 " You will not set it down to careless-
 
 90 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 ness that I cannot quite recall the face of 
 your friend, for, indeed, it is my privileg"e 
 to see many travelers, and there are times 
 when I may have been a minister to them 
 on their journeys, as I would be to you 
 also if there be anything in which I can 
 serve you. It grieves me to say that I 
 have no clothing that I might ofifer you; 
 it happens that a very worthy man 
 passed here a few days ago most insufifi- 
 ciently clad and . . . but I should not 
 have alluded to that; my other garments, 
 save what I wear, are . . . kept in a 
 place of . . . safety by my excellent 
 housekeeper, and she makes their cus- 
 tody a point of conscience; you might 
 put the matter before her. . . Assur- 
 edly it would be difficult, and I crave 
 your pardon for putting you in an . . . 
 embarrassing position; it is my mis- 
 fortune to have to-day neither silver nor
 
 "SOME SUITABLE SUM FOR OUR BROTHER HERE WHO IS PASSING 
 THROUGH ADVERSITY '
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. 93 
 
 gold," — catching sight of Carmichael in 
 the passage, " This is a Providence. 
 May I borrow from you, John, some 
 suitable sum for our brother here who is 
 passing through adversity? " 
 
 *' Do not be angry with me, John " — 
 after the tramp had departed, with five 
 shillings in hand and much triumph over 
 Carmichael on his face — " nor speak bit- 
 terly of our fellow-men. Verily theirs 
 is a hard lot who have no place to lay 
 their head, and who journey in weariness 
 from city to city. John, I was once a 
 stranger and a wayfarer, wandering over 
 the length and breadth of the land. Nor 
 had I a friend on earth till my feet were 
 led to the Mains, -where my heart was 
 greatly refreshed, and now God has sur- 
 rounded me with young men of whose 
 kindness I am not worthy; wherefore it 
 becometh me to show mercy unto
 
 94 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 Others"; and the Rabbi looked at Car- 
 michael with such sweetness that the 
 lad's sullenness began to yield, although 
 he made no sign. 
 
 '' Moreover," and the Rabbi's voice 
 took a lower tone, " as often as I look on 
 one of those men of the highways, there 
 Cometh to me a vision of Him who was 
 an outcast of the people, and albeit some 
 may be as Judas, peradventure one 
 might beg alms of me, a poor sinful man, 
 some day, and lo it might be . . . the 
 Lord himself in a saint "; and the Rabbi 
 bowed his head and stood a while much 
 moved. 
 
 " Rabbi," after a pause, during which 
 Carmichael's face had changed, " you are 
 incorrigible. For years we have been 
 trying to make you a really good and 
 wise man, both by example and precept, 
 and you are distinctly worse than when
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. 95 
 
 we began — more lazy, miserly, and un- 
 charitable. It is very disheartening. 
 
 " Can you receive another tramp and 
 give him a bed? for I am in low spirits, 
 and so, like every other person in 
 trouble, I come to you, you dear old 
 saint, and already I feel a better man." 
 
 " Receive you, John? It is doubtless 
 selfish, but it is not given to you to know 
 how I weary to see your face, and we 
 shall have much converse together — 
 there are some points I would like your 
 opinion on — but first of all, after a slight 
 refreshment, we must go to Mains: be- 
 hold the aid to memory I have designed" 
 — and the Rabbi pointed to a large 
 square of paper hung above Chrysostom, 
 with " Farewell, George Pitillo, 3 
 o'clock." " He is the son's son of my 
 benefactor, and he leaves his father's 
 house this day to go into a strange land
 
 96 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 across the sea: I had a service last night 
 at Mains, and expounded the departure 
 of Abraham, but only slightly, being 
 somewhat affected through the weak- 
 ness of the flesh. There was a covenant 
 made between the young man and my- 
 self, that I should meet him at the cross- 
 ing of the roads to-day, and it is in my 
 mind to leave a parable with him against 
 the power of this present world." 
 
 Then the Rabbi fell into a meditation 
 till the dog-cart came up, Mains and his 
 wife in the front and George alone in the 
 back, making a brave show of indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 " George," said the Rabbi, looking 
 across the field and speaking as to him- 
 self, " we shall not meet again in this 
 world, and in a short space they will bury 
 me in Kilbogie kirkyard, but it will not 
 be in me to lie still for thinking of the
 
 
 "we shall not meet again in this world"
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. 99 
 
 people I have loved. So it will come to 
 pass that I may rise — you have ears to 
 understand, George — and I will inquire 
 of him that taketh charge of the dead 
 abofit many and how it fares with them. 
 
 '^And George Pitillo, what of him, 
 Andrew? 
 
 "'Oh, it's a peety youdidna live langer, 
 Mr. Saunderson, for George hes risen in 
 the warld and made a great fortune.' 
 
 " How does it go with his soul, An- 
 drew? 
 
 " ' Well, you see. Mister Saunderson, 
 George hes hed many things to think 
 about, and he maybe hasna hed time for 
 releegion yet, but nae doot he'll be 
 turnin' his mind that wy soon.' 
 
 " Poor George, that I baptized and 
 admitted to the Sacrament and . . . 
 loved: exchanged his soul for the world." 
 
 The sun was setting fast, and the land-
 
 loo RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 scape — bare stubble-fields, leafless trees, 
 still water, long, empty road — was of a 
 blood-red color fearsome to behold, so 
 that no one spake, and the horse chafing 
 his bit made the only sound. 
 
 Then the Rabbi began again. 
 
 "And George Pitillo — tell me, An- 
 drew ? 
 
 " ' Weel, ye see, Mister Saunderson, 
 ye wud be sorry for him, for you and he 
 were aye chief; he's keepit a gude name 
 an' workit hard, but hesna made muckle 
 o' this warld.' 
 
 " And his soul, Andrew? 
 
 " ' Oo, that's a' richt; gin we a' hed as 
 gude a chance for the next warld as 
 George Pitillo we micht be satisfied.' 
 
 "That is enough for his old friend; 
 hap me over again, Andrew, and I'll rest 
 in peace till the trumpet sound." 
 
 Carmichael turned aside, but he heard
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. loi 
 
 something desperately like a sob from 
 the back of the dog-cart, and the Rabbi 
 saying, " God be with you, George, and 
 as your father's father received me in the 
 day; of my sore discouragement, so^ may 
 the Lord God of Israel open a door for 
 you in every land whithersoever you go, 
 and bring you in at last through the 
 gates into the city." The Rabbi watched 
 George till the dog-cart faded away into 
 the dusk of the winter's day, and they 
 had settled for the night in their places 
 among the books before the Rabbi 
 spoke. 
 
 It was with a wistful tenderness that 
 he turned to Carmichael and touched 
 him slightly with his hand, as was a 
 fashion with the Rabbi. 
 
 " You will not think me indififerent to 
 your welfare because I have not inquired 
 about your afifairs, for indeed this could
 
 I02 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 not be, but the going forth of this lad has 
 tried my heart. Is there aught, John, 
 that it becometh you to tell me, and 
 wherein my years can be of any avail?" 
 
 " It is not about doctrine I wished to 
 speak to you, Rabbi, although I am 
 troubled thus also, but about . . . you 
 remember our talk." 
 
 " About the maid — surely; I cannot 
 forget her, and indeed often think of her 
 since the day you brought me to her 
 house and made me known unto her, 
 which was much courtesy to one who is 
 fitter for a bookroom than a woman's 
 company. 
 
 " She is fair of face and hath a pleasant 
 manner, and surely beauty and a win- 
 some way are from God; there seemed 
 also a certain contempt of baseness and a 
 strength of will which are excellent. Per- 
 haps my judgment is not even because
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. 103 
 
 Miss Carnegie was gracious to me, and 
 yoti know, John, it is not in me to resist 
 kindness, but this is how she seems to 
 me. Has there been trouble between 
 
 youi? " 
 
 " Do not misunderstand me. Rabbi; I 
 have not spoken one word of love to . . . 
 Miss Carnegie, nor she to me; but I love 
 her, and I thought that perhaps she saw 
 that I loved her. But now it looks as if 
 . . . what I hoped is never to be "; and 
 Carmichael told how Kate had risen and 
 left the church in hot wrath because he 
 had compared Queen Mary to Jezebel. 
 
 " Is it not marvelous," mused the 
 Rabbi, looking into the fire, " how one 
 woman, who was indeed at the time little 
 more than a girl, did carry men, many of 
 them wise and clever, away as with a 
 flood, and still divideth scholars and 
 even . . . friends?
 
 I04 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 " It was not fitting that Miss Carnegie 
 should have left God's house in heat of 
 temper, and it seemeth to us that she 
 hath a wrong reading of history, but it 
 is surely good that she hath her convic- 
 tions, and holdeth them fast like a brave 
 maid. 
 
 " Is it not so, John, that friends, and 
 doubtless also . . . lovers, have been 
 divided by conscience, and have been on 
 opposite sides in the great conflict, and 
 doth not this show how much of con- 
 science there is among men? 
 
 " It may be this dispute will not divide 
 you — being now, as it were, more an 
 argument of the schools than a matter 
 of principle — but if it should appear that 
 you are far apart on the greater matters 
 of faith, then . . . you will have a heavy 
 cross to carry. But it is my mind that 
 the heart of the maiden is right, and that
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. 105 
 
 I may some day see her ... in your 
 home, whereat my eyes would be 
 glad." 
 
 The Rabbi was so taken up wi-th the 
 matter that he barely showed Carmichael 
 a fine copy of John of Damascus he had 
 secured from London, and went out of 
 his course at worship to read, as well as 
 to expound with much feeling, the story 
 of Ruth the Moabitess, showing conclu- 
 sively that she had in her a high spirit, 
 and that she was designed of God to be 
 a strength to the house of David. He 
 was also very cheerful in the morning, 
 and bade Carmichael good-by at Tochty 
 woods with encouraging words. He 
 also agreed to assist his boy at the Drum- 
 tochty sacrament. 
 
 It was evident that the Rabbi's mind 
 was much set on this visit, but Car- 
 michael did not for giie moment depend
 
 io6 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 upon his remembering the day, and so 
 Biirnbrae started early on the Saturday 
 with his dog-cart to bring Saunderson 
 up and deposit him without fail in the 
 Free Kirk manse of Drumtochty. Six 
 times that day did the minister leave his 
 " action " sermon and take his way to 
 the guest-room, carrying such works as 
 might not be quite unsuitable for the old 
 scholar's perusal, and arranging a lamp 
 of easy management, that the night 
 hours might not be lost. It was late in 
 the afternoon before the Rabbi was de- 
 livered at the manse, and Burnbrae gave 
 explanations next day at the sacra- 
 mental dinner. 
 
 " It wes just ten when a' got tae the 
 manse o' Kilbogie, an' his hoosekeeper 
 didna ken whar her maister wes; he 
 micht be in Kildrummie by that time, 
 she said, or halfway tae Muirtown. So
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. 107 
 
 a' set oot an' ransackit the parish till a' 
 got him, an' gin he wesna sittin' in a 
 bothie takin' brose wi' the plowmen, an' 
 expoundin' Scripture a' the time. 
 
 " He startit on the ancient martyrs 
 afore we were half a mile on the road, 
 and he gied ae testimony aifter anither, 
 an' he wesna within sicht o' the Refor- 
 mation when we cam' tae the hooses; a'll 
 no deny that a' let the mare walk bits o' 
 the road, for a' cuid hae heard him a' 
 nicht; ma bhiid's warmer yet, freends." 
 
 The Rabbi arrived in great spirits, and 
 refused to taste meat till he had stated 
 the burden of his sermon for the mor- 
 row. 
 
 " If the Lord hath opened our ears the 
 servant must declare what has been 
 given him, but I prayed that the message 
 sent through me to your flock, John, 
 might be love. It hath pleased the
 
 io8 RABBI SAUNDERSON, 
 
 Great Shepherd that I should lead the 
 sheep by strange paths, but I desired 
 that it be otherwise when I came for the 
 first time to Drumtochty. 
 
 " Two days did I spend in the woods, 
 for the stillness of winter among the 
 trees leaveth the mind disengaged for 
 the Divine word, and the first day my 
 soul was heavy as I returned, for this 
 only was laid upon me, ' vessels of wrath, 
 fitted to destruction.' And, John, albeit 
 God would doubtless have given me 
 strength according to His will, yet I was 
 loath to bear this awful truth to the 
 people of your charge. 
 
 " Next day the sun was shining pleas- 
 antly in the wood, and it came to me 
 that clouds had gone from the face of 
 God, and as I wandered among the trees 
 a squirrel sat on a branch within reach of 
 my hand and did not flee. Then I heard
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. 109 
 
 a voice, ' I have loved thee with an ever- 
 lasting love, therefore with loving-kind- 
 ness have I drawn thee.' 
 
 " It was, in an instant, my hope that 
 this might be God's word by me, but I 
 knew not it was so till the Evangel 
 opened up on all sides, and I was led into 
 the outgoings of the eternal love after so 
 moving a fashion that I dared tO' think 
 that grace might be effectual even with 
 me . . . with me. 
 
 " God opened my mouth on Sabbath 
 on this text unto my own flock, and the 
 word was not void. It is little that can 
 be said on sovereign love in two hours 
 and it may be a few minutes; yet even 
 this may be more than your people are 
 minded to bear. So I shall pretermit 
 certain notes on doctrine; for you will 
 doubtless have given much instruction 
 on the purposes of God, and very likely
 
 no RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 may be touching on that mystery in your 
 action sermon." 
 
 During the evening the Rabbi was 
 very genial — tasting Sarah's viands with 
 relish, and comparing her to Rebekah, 
 who made savory meat, urging Car- 
 michael to smoke without scruple, and 
 allowing himself to snuff three times, 
 examining the bookshelves with keen 
 appreciation, and finally departing with 
 three volumes of modern divinity under 
 his arm, to re-enforce the selection in his 
 room, " lest his eyes should be held wak- 
 ing in the night watches." He was 
 much overcome by the care that had 
 been taken for his comfort, and at the 
 door of his room blessed his boy: " May 
 the Lord give you the sleep of His be- 
 loved, and strengthen you to declare all 
 His truth on the morrow." Carmichael 
 sat by his study fire for a while and went
 
 THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR. iii 
 
 to bed much cheered, nor did he dream 
 that there was to be a second catastrophe 
 in the Free Kirk of Drumtochty which 
 would be far sadder than the offending of 
 Mi|s Carnegie about Mary Queen of 
 Scots, and would leave in one heart life- 
 long regret.
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD.
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 
 
 IT was the way of the Free Kirk that 
 the assisting minister at the Sacra- 
 ment should sit behind the Communion 
 Table during the sermon, and the con- 
 gregation, without giving the faintest 
 sign of observation, could estimate its 
 efifect on his face. When Dr. Dowbig- 
 gin composed himself to listen as became 
 a Church leader of substantial build — his 
 hands folded before him and his eyes 
 fixed on the far window — and was so 
 arrested by the opening passage of Cun- 
 ningham's sermon on Justification by 
 Faith that he visibly started, and after- 
 ward sat sideways with his ears cocked, 
 
 Drumtochty, while doubtful whether any 
 
 115
 
 ii6 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 Muirtown man could appreciate the 
 subtlety of their minister, had a higher 
 idea of the Doctor; and when the Free 
 Kirk minister of Kildrummie — a stout 
 man and given to agricultural pursuits — 
 went fast asleep under a masterly discus- 
 sion of the priesthood of Melchizedek, 
 Drumtochty's opinio'U of the intellectual 
 condition of Kildrummie was confirmed 
 beyond argument. 
 
 During his ministry of more than 
 twenty years the Rabbi had never 
 preached at Drumtochty — being fearful 
 that he might injure the minister who 
 invited him, or that he might be so re- 
 stricted in time as to lead astray by ill- 
 balanced statements — and as the keenest 
 curiosity would never have induced any 
 man to go from the Glen to worship in 
 another parish, the Free Kirk minister of 
 Kilbogie was still unjudged in Drum-
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 117 
 
 tochty. They were not sorry to have 
 the opportunity at last, for they had suf- 
 fered not a Uttle at the hands of Kilbogie 
 in past years, and the coming event dis- 
 turbed the flow of business at Muirtown 
 market. 
 
 " Ye're tae hae the Doctor at laist," 
 Mains said to Netberton — letting the 
 luck-penny on a transaction in seed-corn, 
 stand over — " an' a'm jidgin' the time's 
 no been lost. He's plainer an' easier tae 
 follow then he wes at the affgo. Ma 
 word " — contemplating the exercise be- 
 fore the Glen — "but ye'll aye get eneuch 
 here and there tae cairry hame." Which 
 shows what a man the Rabbi was, that on 
 the strength of his possession a parish 
 like Kilbogie could speak after this 
 fashion to Drumtochty. 
 
 "He'll hae a fair trial, Mains"— 
 Netherton's tone was distinctly severe —
 
 ii8 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 " an' mony a trial he's hed in his day, 
 they say: wes't three-an'-twenty kirks he 
 preached in afore ye took him? But 
 mind ye, length's nae standard in Drum- 
 tochty; na, na, it's no hoo muckle wind 
 a man hes, but what like is the stuff that 
 comes. It's bushels doon bye, but it's 
 wecht up bye." 
 
 Any prejudice against the Rabbi, 
 created by the boasting of a foolish 
 parish not worthy of him, was reduced 
 by his venerable appearance before the 
 pulpit, and quite dispelled by his un- 
 feigned delight in Carmichael's conduct 
 of the " preliminaries." Twice he 
 nodded approval to the reading of the 
 hundredth Psalm, and although he stood 
 with covered face during the prayer, he 
 emerged full of sympathy. As his boy 
 read the fifty-third of Isaiah the old man 
 was moved well-nigh to tears, and on
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 119 
 
 the giving out of the text, from the 
 parable of the Prodigal Son, the Rabbi 
 closed his eyes with great expectation, 
 as one about to be fed with the finest of 
 the /wheat. 
 
 Carmichael has kept the sermon unto 
 this dav, and as often as he finds himself 
 growing hard or supercilious, reads it 
 from beginning to end. It is his hair- 
 shirt, to be worn from time to time next 
 his soul for the wrongness in it and the 
 mischief it did. He cannot understand 
 how he could have said such things on a 
 Sacrament morning and in the presence 
 of the Rabbi, but indeed they were inevi- 
 table. When two tides meet there is 
 ever a cruel commotion, and ships are 
 apt to be dashed on the rocks, and Car- 
 michael's mind was in a " jabble " that 
 day. The new culture, with its wider 
 views of God and man, was fighting with
 
 I20 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 the robust Calvinism in which every Scot 
 is saturated, and the result was neither 
 peace nor charity. Personally the lad 
 was kindly and good-natured; intellectu- 
 ally he had become arrogant, intolerant, 
 acrid, flinging out at old-fashioned 
 views, giving quite unnecessary chal- 
 lenges, arguing with imaginary antago- 
 nists. It has ever seemed to me, al- 
 though I suppose that history is against 
 me, that if it be laid on anyone to advo- 
 cate a new view that will startle people, 
 he ought of all men to be conciliatory 
 and persuasive; but Carmichael was, at 
 least in this time of fermentation, very 
 exasperating and pugnacious, and so he 
 drove the Rabbi to the only hard action 
 of his life, wherein the old man suffered 
 most, and which may be said to have led 
 to his death. 
 
 Carmichael, like the Rabbi, had in-
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 121 
 
 tended to preach that morning on the 
 love of God, and thought he was doing 
 so with some power. What he did was 
 to take the Fatherhood of God and use 
 it as a stick to beat Pharisees with, and 
 under Pharisees it appeared as if he in- 
 cluded every person who still believed 
 in the inflexible action of the moral laws 
 and the austere majesty of God. Many 
 good things he no doubt said, but each 
 had an edge, and it cut deeply into 
 people of the old school. Had he seen 
 the Rabbi, it would not have been pos- 
 sible for him to continue; but he only 
 was conscious of Lachlan Campbell, with 
 whom he had then a feud, and who, he 
 imagined, had come to criticise him. So 
 he went on his rasping way that Sacra- 
 ment morning, as when one harrows the 
 spring earth with iron teeth, exciting 
 himself with every sentence to fresh
 
 122 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 crudities of thought and extravagances 
 of opposition. But it only flashed on 
 him that he had spoken foohshly when 
 he came down from the pulpit, and 
 found the Rabbi a shrunken figure in his 
 chair before the Holy Table. 
 
 Discerning people, like Elspeth Mac- 
 fadyen, saw the whole tragedy from be- 
 ginning to end, and felt the pity of it 
 keenly. For a while the Rabbi waited 
 with fond confidence — for was not he to 
 hear the best-loved of his boys? — and he 
 caught eagerly at a gracious expression, 
 as if it had fallen from one of the fathers. 
 Anything in the line of faith would have 
 pleased the Rabbi that day, who was as 
 a little child, and full of charity, in spite 
 of his fierce doctrines. By and by the 
 light died away from his eyes as when a 
 cloud comes over the face of the sun 
 and the Glen grows cold and dreary.
 
 :'!i.!!,i L 
 
 WHEN CARMICHAEL GAVE HIM THE CUP IN THE 
 SACRAMENT
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 125 
 
 He opened his eyes and was amazed, 
 looking at the people and questioning 
 them what had happened to their minis- 
 ter. Suddenly he flushed as a person 
 strjLick by a friend, and then, as one blow 
 followed another, he covered his face 
 with both hands, sinking lower and 
 lower in his chair, till even that decorous 
 people were almost shaken in their at- 
 tention. 
 
 When Carmichael gave him the cup 
 in the Sacrament the Rabbi's hand shook 
 and he spilled some drops of the wine 
 upon his beard, which all that day 
 showed like blood on the silvery white- 
 ness. Afterward he spake in his turn to 
 the communicants, and distinguished the 
 true people of God from the multitude — 
 to whom he held out no hope — by so 
 many and stringent marks that Donald 
 Menzies refused the Sacrament with a
 
 126 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 lamentable groan. And when the Sac- 
 rament was over, and the time came for 
 Carmichael to shake hands with the 
 assisting minister in the vestry, the Rabbi 
 had vanished, and he had no speech with 
 him till they went through the garden 
 together — very bleak it seemed in the 
 winter dusk — unto the sermon that 
 closed the services of the day. 
 
 " God's hand is heavy in anger on us 
 both this day, John," and Carmichael 
 was arrested by the awe and sorrow in 
 the Rabbi's voice, " else . . . you had 
 not spoken as you did this forenoon, nor 
 would necessity be laid on me to speak 
 ... as I must this night. 
 
 " His ways are all goodness and truth, 
 but they are oftentimes encompassed 
 with darkness, and the burden He has 
 laid on me is . . . almost more than I can 
 bear; it will be heavy for you also.
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 127 
 
 *' You will drink the wine of astonish- 
 ment this night, and it will be strange if 
 you do not . . . turn from the hand that 
 pours it out, but you will not refuse the 
 truth or . . . hate the preacher"; and 
 at the vestry door the Rabbi looked wist- 
 fully at Carmichael. 
 
 During the interval the lad had been 
 ill at ease, suspecting from the Rabbi's 
 manner at the Table, and the solemnity 
 of his address, that he disapproved of the 
 action sermon, but he did not for a mo- 
 ment imagine that the situation was 
 serious. It is one of the disabilities of 
 good-natured and emotional people, 
 without much deepness of earth, to be- 
 little the convictions and resolutions of 
 strong natures, and to suppose that they 
 can be talked away by a few pleasant, 
 coaxing words. 
 
 The Rabbi had often yielded to Car-
 
 128 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 michael and his other boys in the ordi- 
 nary affairs of Hfe — in meat and drink 
 and clothing, even untO' the continuance 
 of his snuffing. He had been most man- 
 ageable and pliable — as a child in their 
 hands — and so Carmichael was quite 
 confident that he could make matters 
 right with the old man about a question 
 of doctrine as easily as about the duty of 
 a midday meal. Certain bright and 
 superficial people will only learn by some 
 solitary experience that faith is reserved 
 in friendship, and that the most heroic 
 souls are those which count all things 
 dross — even the smile of those they love 
 — for the eternal. For a moment Carmi- 
 chael was shaken as if a new Rabbi were 
 before him; then he remembered the 
 study of Kilbogie, and all things that had 
 happened therein, and his spirits rose. 
 " How dare you suggest such wicked-
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 129 
 
 ness, Rabbi, that any of us should ever 
 criticise or complain of anything you 
 say? Whatever you give us will be 
 right, and do us good, and in the evening 
 yoiji will tell me all I said wrong." 
 
 Saunderson looked at Carmichael for 
 ten seconds as one who has not been 
 understood, and sighed. Then he went 
 down the kirk after the beadle, and the 
 people marked how he walked like a 
 man who was afraid he might fall, and, 
 turning a corner, he supported himself on 
 the end of a pew. As he crept up the 
 pulpit stairs Elspeth gave her husband a 
 look, and, although well accustomed to 
 the slowness of his understanding, was 
 amazed that he did not catch the point. 
 Even a man might have seen that this 
 was not the same minister that came in 
 to the Sacrament with hope in his very 
 step.
 
 I30 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 " A'm no here tae say ' that a' kent 
 what wes comin' ' " — Elspeth, like all 
 experts, was strictly truthful — " for the 
 like o' that was never heard in Drum- 
 tochty, and noo that Dr. Saunderson 
 is awa', will never be heard again in Scot- 
 land. A' jaloused that vials wud be 
 opened an' a' wesna wrang, but ma 
 certes " — and that remarkable woman 
 left you to understand that no words in 
 human speech could even hint at the 
 contents of the vials. 
 
 When the Rabbi gave out his text, 
 " Vessels of wrath," in a low, awestruck 
 voice, Carmichael began to be afraid, but 
 after a little he chid himself for foolish- 
 ness. During half an hour the Rabbi 
 traced the doctrine of the Divine Sov- 
 ereignty through Holy Scripture with a 
 characteristic wealth of allusion to 
 Fathers ancient and reforming, and once
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 131 
 
 or twice he paused, as if he would have 
 taken up certain matters at greater 
 length, but restrained himself, simply- 
 asserting the Pauline character of St. 
 Augustine's thinking, and exposing the 
 looseness of Clement of Alexandria with 
 a wave of the hand, as one hurrying on 
 to his destination. 
 
 " Dear old Rabbi " — Carmichael con- 
 gratulated himself in his pew — " what 
 need he have made so many apologies 
 for his subject? He is going to enjoy 
 himself, and he is sure to say something 
 beautiful before he is done." But he 
 was distinctly conscious all the same of 
 a wish that the Rabbi were done and 
 all . . . well, uncertainty over. For there 
 was a note of anxiety, almost of horror, 
 in the Rabbi's voice, and he had not let 
 the Fathers go so lightly unless under 
 severe constraint. What was it? Surely
 
 132 RABBI SAUNDERSON, 
 
 he would not attack their minister in 
 face of his people. . . The Rabbi do 
 that, who was in all his ways a gentle- 
 man? Yet . . . and then the Rabbi 
 abruptly quitted historical exposition 
 and announced that he would speak on 
 four heads. Carmichael, from his cor- 
 ner behind the curtains, saw the old man 
 twice open his mouth as if to speak, and 
 when at last he began he was quivering 
 visibly, and he had grasped the outer 
 'corners of the desk with such intensity 
 that the tassels which hung therefrom — 
 one of the minor glories of the Free Kirk 
 — were held in the palm of his hand, the 
 long red tags escaping from between his 
 white wasted fingers. A pulpit lamp 
 came between Carmichael and the 
 Rabbi's face, but he could see the strain- 
 ing hand, which did not relax till it was 
 lifted in the last awful appeal, and the
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 133 
 
 white and red had a grewsome fascina- 
 tion. It seemed as if one had ckitched a 
 cluster of full, rich, tender grapes and 
 was pressing them in an agony till their 
 life ran out in streams of blood, and 
 dripped upon the heads of the choir sit- 
 ting beneath, in their fresh, hopeful 
 youth. And it also came to Carmichael 
 with pathetic conviction even then that 
 everyone was about to suffer, but the 
 Rabbi more than them all together. 
 While the preacher was strengthening 
 his heart for the work before him, Car- 
 michael's eye was attracted by the land- 
 scape that he could see through the 
 opposite window. The ground sloped 
 upward from the kirk to a pine-wood 
 that fringed the great moor, and it was 
 covered with snow, on which the moon 
 was beginning to shed her faint, weird 
 light. Within, the light from the up-
 
 134 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 right lamps was falling on the ruddy, 
 contented faces of men and women and 
 little children, but without it was one 
 cold, merciless whiteness, like unto the 
 justice of God, with black shadows of 
 judgment. 
 
 " This is the message which I have to 
 deliver unto you in the name of the Lord, 
 and even as Jonah was sent to Nineveh 
 after a strange discipline with a word of 
 mercy, so am I constrained against my 
 will to carry a word of searching and 
 trembling. 
 
 " First " — and between the heads the 
 Rabbi paused as one whose breath had 
 failed him — " every man belongs abso- 
 lutely to God by his creation. 
 
 " Second. The purpose of God about 
 €ach man precedes his creation. 
 
 " Third. Some are destined to Salva- 
 tion, and some to Damnation.
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 135 
 
 " Fourth " — here the hard breathing- 
 became a sob — " each man's lot is unto 
 the glory of God." 
 
 It was not only skilled theologians 
 like Lachlan Campbell and Burnbrae, 
 but even mere amateurs, who understood 
 that they were that night to be con- 
 ducted to the farthest limit of Calvinism, 
 and that, whoever fell behind through 
 the hardness of the way, their guide 
 would not flinch. 
 
 As the Rabbi gave the people a brief 
 space wherein to grasp his heads in their 
 significance, Carmichael remembered a 
 vivid incident in the Presbytery of Muir- 
 town, when an English evangelist had 
 addressed that reverend and austere 
 court with exhilarating confidence — ex- 
 plaining the extreme simplicity of the 
 Christian faith, and showing how a min- 
 ister ought to preach. Various good
 
 136 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 men were delighted, and asked many 
 questions of the evangeHst — who had 
 kept a baby-linen shop for twenty years, 
 and was unspoiled by the slightest trace 
 of theology — but the Rabbi arose and 
 demolished his " teaching," convicting 
 him of heresy at every turn, till there was 
 not left one stone upon another. 
 
 " But surely fear belongs to the Old 
 Testament dispensation and is now done 
 away with," said the unabashed little 
 man to the Rabbi afterward. " ' Re- 
 joice,' you know, my friend, ' and again 
 1 say. Rejoice ' — that is the New Testa- 
 ment note." 
 
 " If it be the will of God that such a 
 man as I should ever stand on the sea of 
 glass mingled with fire, then this tongue 
 will be lifted with the best, but so long as 
 my feet are still in the fearful pit it be- 
 Cometh me to bow mv head."
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 137 
 
 " Then 3^011 don't believe in assur- 
 ance? " But already the evangelist was 
 quailing before the Rabbi. 
 
 '' Verily there is no man that hath not 
 heard of that precious gift, and none who 
 does not covet it greatly, but there be 
 two degrees of assurance " — here the 
 Rabbi looked sternly at the happy, ro- 
 tund little figure — " and it is with the 
 first you must begin, and what you 
 need to get is assurance of your dam- 
 nation." 
 
 One of the boys read an account of 
 this incident — thinly veiled — in a re- 
 ported address of the evangelist, in 
 which the Rabbi — being, as it was in- 
 ferred, beaten in Scriptural argument — 
 was very penitent and begged his 
 teacher's pardon with streaming tears. 
 What really happened was different, and 
 so absolutely conclusive that Dr. Dow-
 
 138 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 biggin gave it as his opinion " that a 
 valuable lesson had been read to un- 
 authorized teachers of religion." 
 
 Carmichael recognized the same note 
 in the sermon and saw ajiother man than 
 he knew, as the Rabbi, in a low voice, 
 without heat or declamation, with fre- 
 quent pauses and labored breathing, as 
 of one toiling up a hill, argued the abso- 
 lute supremacy of God and the utter 
 helplessness of man. One hand ever 
 pressed the grapes, but with the other 
 the old man wiped the perspiration that 
 rolled in beads down his face. A painful 
 stillness fell on the people as they felt 
 themselves caught in the meshes of this 
 inexorable net and dragged ever nearer 
 to the abyss. Carmichael, who had been 
 leaning forward in his place, tore himself 
 away from the preacher with an effort, 
 and moved where he could see the con-
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 139 
 
 gregation. Campbell was drinking in 
 every word as one for the first time in his 
 life perfectly satisfied. Menzies was 
 huddled into a heap in the top of his pew, 
 a ^an justly blasted by the anger of the 
 Eternal. Men were white beneath the 
 tan, and it was evident that some of the 
 women would soon fall a-weeping. Chil- 
 dren had crept close to their mothers 
 under a vague sense of danger, and a 
 girl in the choir watched the preacher 
 with dilated eyeballs, like an animal fas- 
 cinated by terror. 
 
 " It is as a sword piercing the heart to 
 receive this truth, but it is a truth and 
 must be believed. There are hundreds 
 of thousands in the past who were born 
 and lived and died and were damned for 
 the glory of God. There are hundreds 
 of thousands in this day who' have been 
 born and are living and shall die and be
 
 I40 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 damned for the glory of God. There 
 are hundreds of thousands in the future 
 who shall be born and shall live and shall 
 die and shall be damned for the glory of 
 God. All according to the will of God, 
 and none dare say nay nor change the 
 purpose of the Eternal." For some 
 time the oil in the lamps had been failing 
 — since the Rabbi had been speaking for 
 nigh two hours — and as he came to an 
 end of this passage the light began to 
 flicker and die. First a lamp at the end 
 of Burnbrae's pew went out, and then 
 another in the front. The preacher 
 made as though he would have spoken, 
 but was silent, and the congregation 
 watched four lamps sink into darkness at 
 intervals of half a minute. There only 
 remained the two pulpit lamps, and in 
 their light the people saw the Rabbi lift 
 his right hand for the first time.
 
 ',,,s0SM' 
 
 "SHALL . . . NOT . . . THE . . . JUD(;E ... OF ALL 
 THE EARTH . . . DO . . . RIGHT?"
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 143 
 
 "Shall ... not ... the .. . Judge 
 . . . of all the earth . . . do . . . right? " 
 The two lamps went out together and a 
 great sigh rose from the people. At the 
 back of the kirk a child wailed, and some- 
 where in the front a woman's voice — it 
 was never proved to be Elspeth Mac- 
 fadyen — said audibly, " God have mercy 
 upon us." The Rabbi had sunk back 
 into the seat and buried his face in his 
 hands, and through the window over his 
 head the moonlight was pouring into the 
 church like unto the far-off radiance 
 from the White Throne. 
 
 When Carmichael led the Rabbi into 
 the manse he could feel the old man 
 trembling from head to foot, and he 
 would touch neither meat nor drink, nor 
 would he speak for a space. ' 
 
 " Are you there, John? " — and he put 
 out his hand to Carmichael, who had
 
 144 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 placed him in the big study chair, and 
 was sitting beside him in silence. . . 
 
 " I dare not withdraw nor change any 
 word that I spake in the name of the 
 Lord this day, but ... it is my in- 
 firmity ... I wish I had never been 
 born." 
 
 " It was awful," said Carmichael, and 
 the Rabbi's head again fell on his breast. 
 
 " John," — and Saunderson looked up, 
 — " I would give ten thousand worlds to 
 stand in the shoes of that good man who 
 conveyed me from Kilbogie yesterday, 
 and W'ith whom I had very pleasant fel- 
 low^ship concerning the patience of the 
 saints. 
 
 " It becometh not any human being to 
 judge his neighbor, but it seemed to me 
 from many signs that he was within the 
 election of God, and even as we spoke of 
 Polycarp and the martyrs who have
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 145 
 
 overcome by the blood of the Lamb, it 
 came unto me with much power, ' Lo, 
 here is one beside you whose name is 
 written in the Lamb's Book of Life, and 
 who shall enter through the gates into 
 the city ' ; and grace was given me to re- 
 joice in his joy, but I . . ." — and Car- 
 michael could have wept for the despair 
 in the Rabbi's voice. 
 
 " Dear Rabbi " — for once the confi- 
 dence of youth was smitten at the sight 
 of a spiritual conflict beyond its depth — 
 *' you are surely . . . depreciating your- 
 self. . . Burnbrae is a good man, but 
 compared with you ... is not this like 
 to the depression of Elijah?" Carmi- 
 chael knew, however, he was not fit for 
 such work as the comforting of Rabbi 
 Saunderson, and had better have held his 
 peace. 
 
 " It may be that I understand the let-
 
 146 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 ter of Holy Scripture better than some 
 of God's children, although I be but a 
 babe even in this poor knowledge, but 
 such gifts are only as the small dust of 
 the balance. He will have mercy on 
 w^hom He will have mercy. 
 
 " John," said the Rabbi suddenly, and 
 with strong feeling, " was it your 
 thought this night, as I declared the sov- 
 ereignty of God, that I judged myself of 
 the elect, and was speaking as one him- 
 self hidden forever in the secret place of 
 God?" 
 
 " I . . . did not know," stammered 
 Carmichael, whose utter horror at the 
 unrelenting sermon had only been tem- 
 pered by his love for the preachef. 
 
 " You did me wrong, John, for then 
 had I not dared to speak at all after that 
 fashion; it is not for a vessel of mercy 
 filled unto overflowing with the love of
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD. 147 
 
 God to exalt himself above the vessels 
 ... for whom there is no mercy. But 
 he may plead with them who are in like 
 case with himself to . . . acknowledge 
 the Divine Justice." 
 
 Then the pathos of the situation over- 
 came Carmichael, and he went over to 
 the bookcase and leant his head against 
 certain volumes, because they were 
 weighty and would not yield. Next day 
 he noticed that one of them was a Latin 
 " Calvin " that had traveled over Europe 
 in learned company, and the other a bat- 
 tered copy of Jonathan Edwards that 
 had come from the house of an Ayrshire 
 farmer. 
 
 " Forgive me that I have troubled you 
 with the concerns of my soul, John," — 
 the Rabbi could only stand with an 
 efifort, — " they ought to be between a 
 man and his God. There is another
 
 148 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 work laid to my hand for which there is 
 no power in me now. During the night 
 I shall ask whether the cup may not pass 
 from me, but if not, the will of God be 
 done." 
 
 Carmichael slept but little, and every 
 time he woke the thought was heavy 
 upon him that on the other side of a nar- 
 row wall the holiest man he knew was 
 wrestling in darkness of soul, and that he 
 had added to the bitterness of the agony.
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND.
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 
 
 WINTER has certain mornings 
 which redeem weeks of miscon- 
 duct, wlien the hoarfrost during the 
 night has resilvered every branch and 
 braced the snow upon the ground, 
 and the sun rises in ruddy strength 
 and drives out of sight every cloud 
 and mist, and moves all day through 
 an expanse of unbroken blue, and 
 is reflected from the dazzling white- 
 ness of the earth as from a mirror. Such 
 a sight calls a man from sleep with au- 
 thority, and makes his blood tingle, and 
 puts new heart in him, and banishes the 
 troubles of the night. Other mornings 
 Winter joins in the conspiracy of princi- 
 • 151
 
 152 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 palities and powers to daunt and crush 
 the human soul. No sun is to be seen, 
 and the gray atmosphere casts down the 
 heart, the wind moans and whistles in 
 fitful gusts, the black clouds hang low 
 in threatening masses,' now and again a 
 flake of snow drifts in the wind. A 
 storm is near at hand: not the thunder- 
 shower of summer, with its warm rain 
 and the kindly sun ever in ambush, but 
 dark and blinding snow, through which 
 even a gamekeeper cannot see six yards, 
 and in which weary travelers lie down to 
 rest and die. 
 
 The melancholy of this kind of day 
 had fallen on Saunderson, whose face 
 was ashen, and who held Carmichael's 
 hand with such anxious affection that it 
 was impossible to inquire how he had 
 slept, and it would have been a banalite 
 to remark upon the weather. After the
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 155 
 
 Rabbi had been compelled to swallow 
 a cup of milk by way of breakfast, 
 it was evident that he was ready for 
 speech. 
 
 " What is it, Rabbi? " as soon as they 
 were again settled in the study. " If 
 you did not . . . like my sermon, tell 
 me at once. You know that I am one of 
 your boys, and you ought to . . . help 
 me." Perhaps it was inseparable from 
 his youth, with its buoyancy and self- 
 satisfaction, and his training in a college 
 whose members only knew by rumor of 
 the existence of other places of theologi- 
 cal learning, that Carmichael had at that 
 moment a pleasing sense of humility and 
 charity. Had it been a matter of scho- 
 lastic lore, of course neither he nor more 
 than six men in Scotland could have met 
 the Rabbi in the gate. With regard to 
 modern thought, Carmichael knew that
 
 154 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 the good Rabbi had not read " Ecce 
 Homo," and was hardly, well . . . up to 
 date. He would not for the world hint 
 such a thing to the dear old man, nor 
 even argue with him; but it was flatter- 
 ing to remember that the attack could 
 be merely one of blunderbusses, in which 
 the modern thinker would at last inter- 
 vene and save the ancient scholar from 
 humiliation. 
 
 " Well, Rabbi? " and Carmichael tried 
 to make it easy. 
 
 " Before I say what is on my heart, 
 John, you will grant an old man who 
 loves you one favor. So far as in you 
 lies, you will bear with me if that which 
 I have to say, and still more that which 
 my conscience will compel me to do, is 
 hard to flesh and blood." 
 
 " Didn't we settle that last night in 
 the vestr>'? " and Carmichael was impa-
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 155 
 
 tient ; " is it that you do not agree with 
 the doctrine of the Divine Fatherhood? 
 We younger men are resolved to base 
 Christian doctrine on the actual Scrip- 
 tures, and to ignore mere tradition." 
 
 " An excellent rule, my dear friend," 
 cried the Rabbi, wonderfully quickened 
 by the challenge, " and with your per- 
 mission and for our mutual edification 
 we shall briefly review all passages bear- 
 ing on the subject in hand — using the 
 original, as will doubtless be your wish, 
 and you correcting my poor recollec- 
 tion." 
 
 About an hour afterward, and when 
 the Rabbi was only entering into the 
 heart of the matter, Carmichael made 
 the bitter discovery — without the Rabbi 
 having even hinted at such a thing — that 
 his pet sermon was a mass of boyish 
 crudities, and this reverse of circum-
 
 156 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 Stances was some excuse for his pettish- 
 ness. 
 
 " It does not seem to me that it is 
 worth our time to haggle about the 
 usage of Greek words or to count texts: 
 I ground my position on the general 
 meaning of the Gospels and the sense of 
 things"; and Carmichael stood on the 
 hearthrug in a very superior attitude. 
 
 " Let that pass then, John, and for- 
 give me if I appeared to battle about 
 words, as certain scholars of the olden 
 time were fain to do, for in truth it is 
 rather about the hard duty before me 
 than any imperfection in your teaching 
 I would speak "; and the Rabbi glanced 
 nervously at the young minister. 
 
 " We are both Presbyters of Christ's 
 Church, ordained after the order of 
 primitive times, and there are laid on us 
 certain heavy charges and responsibli-
 
 •THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 157 
 
 ties from which we may not shrink, as 
 we shall answer to the Lord at the great 
 day." 
 
 Carmichael's humiliation was lost in 
 perplexity, and he sat down, wondering 
 what the Rabbi intended. 
 
 " If any Presbyter should see his 
 brother fall into one of those faults of 
 private life that do beset us all in our 
 present weakness, then he doth well and 
 kindly to point it out unto his brother; 
 and if his brother should depart from the 
 faith as they talk together by the way, 
 then it is a Presbyter's part to convince 
 him of his error and restore him." 
 
 The Rabbi cast an imploring glance, 
 but Carmichael had still no understand- 
 ing. 
 
 " But if one Presbyter should teach 
 heresy to his flock in the hearing of an- 
 other . . . even though it break the
 
 158 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 other's heart, is not the path of duty 
 fenced up on either side, verily a straight, 
 narrow wa)^, and hard for the feet to 
 tread?" 
 
 " You have spoken to me. Rabbi, and 
 . . . cleared yourself " — Carmichael was 
 still somewhat sore^ — " and I'll promise 
 not to offend you again in an action 
 sermon." 
 
 " Albeit you intend it not so, yet are 
 you making it harder for me to speak. . . 
 See you not . . . that I . . . that neces- 
 sity is laid on me to declare this matter 
 to my brother Presbyters in court as- 
 sembled . . . but not in hearing of the 
 people? " Then there was a stillness in 
 the room, and the Rabbi, although he 
 had closed his eyes, was conscious of the 
 amazement on the young man's face. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," speaking very 
 slowly, as one taken utterly aback, " that
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 159 
 
 our Rabbi would come to my ... to 
 the Sacrament and hear me preach, and 
 . . . report me for heresy to the Presby- 
 tery? Rabbi, I know we don't agree 
 about some things, and perhaps I was a 
 Httle . . . annoyed a few minutes ago 
 because you . . . know far more than 
 I do, but that is nothing. For you 
 to prosecute one of your boys and be 
 the witness yourself. . . Rabbi, you 
 can't mean it . . . say it's a mis- 
 take." 
 
 The old man only gave a deep sigh. 
 
 "If it were Dowbiggin or . . . any 
 man except you, I wouldn't care one 
 straw, rather enjoy the debate, but you 
 whom we have loved and looked up to 
 and boasted about, why, it's like ... a 
 father turning against his sons." 
 
 The Rabbi made no sign. 
 
 " You live too much alone, Rabbi,"
 
 i6o RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 and Carmichael began again as the sense 
 of the tragedy grew on him, " and nurse 
 your conscience till it gets over tender; 
 no other man would dream of . . . 
 prosecuting a . . . fellow-minister in 
 such circumstances. You have spoken 
 to me like a father, surely that is 
 enough"; and in his honest heat the 
 young fellow knelt down by the Rabbi's 
 chair and took his hand. 
 
 A tear rolled down the Rabbi's cheek, 
 and he looked fondly at the lad. 
 
 " Your words pierce me as sharp 
 swords, John; spare me, for I can do 
 none otherwise; all night I wrestled for 
 release, but in vain." 
 
 Carmichael had a sudden revulsion of 
 feeling, such as befalls emotional and ill- 
 disciplined natures when they are disap- 
 pointed and mortified. 
 
 " Ver>' good, Dr. Saunderson " —
 
 iSiiii 
 
 "YOU HAVE SPOKEN TO ME LIKE A FATHER: SURELY THAT 
 
 IS ENOUGH "
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 163 
 
 Carmichael rose awkwardly and stood on 
 the hearthrug again, an elbow on the 
 the mantelpiece — " you must do as you 
 please and as you think right. I am 
 sorry that I . . . pressed you so far, but 
 it was on grounds of our . . . friend- 
 ship. 
 
 " Perhaps you will tell me as soon as 
 you can what you propose to do, and 
 when you will bring . . . this matter 
 before the Presbytery. My sermon was 
 fully written and ... is at your dis- 
 posal." 
 
 While this cold rain beat on the 
 Rabbi's head he moved not, but at its 
 close he looked at Carmichael with the 
 appeal of a dumb animal in his eyes. 
 
 " The first meeting of Presbytery is on 
 Monday, but you would no doubt con- 
 sider that too soon; is there anything 
 about dates in the order of procedure for
 
 i64 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 heresy? " and Carmichael made as 
 though he would go over to the shelves 
 for a law book. 
 
 " John," cried the Rabbi — his voice 
 full of tears — rising and following the 
 foolish lad, " is this all you have in your 
 heart to say unto me? Surely, as I stand 
 before you, it is not my desire to do such 
 a thing, for I would rather cut off my 
 right hand. 
 
 " God hath not been pleased to give 
 me many friends, and He only knows 
 how you and the others have comforted 
 my heart. I lie not, John, but speak the 
 truth, that there is nothing unto life itself 
 I would not give for your good, who 
 have been as the apple of my eye unto 
 me." 
 
 Carmichael hardened himself, torn be- 
 tween a savage sense of satisfaction that 
 the Rabbi was suffering for his foolish-
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 165 
 
 ness and the inclination of his better self 
 to respond to the old man's love. 
 
 " If there be a breach between us, it 
 will not be for you as it must be for me. 
 Y(2>u have many friends, and may God 
 add unto them good men and faithful, 
 but I shall lose my one earthly joy and 
 consolation when your feet are no longer 
 heard on my threshold and your face no 
 longer brings light to my room. And, 
 John, even this thing which I am con- 
 strained to do is yet of love, as . . . you 
 shall confess one day." 
 
 Carmichael's pride alone resisted, and 
 it was melting fast. Had he even looked 
 at the dear face he must have given way, 
 but he kept his shoulder to the Rabbi, 
 and at that moment the sound of wheels 
 passing the corner of the manse gave 
 him an ungracious way of escape. 
 
 " That is Burnbrae's dogcart . . . Dr.
 
 l66 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 Saunclerson, and I think he will not wish 
 to keep his horse standing in the snow, 
 so, unless you will stay all night, as it's 
 going to drift. . . Then perhaps it 
 would be better. . . Can I assist you 
 in packing? " How formal it all 
 sounded; and he allowed the Rabbi to go 
 upstairs alone, with the result that vari- 
 ous things of the old man's are in Car- 
 michael's house unto this day. 
 
 Another chance was given the lad 
 when the Rabbi would have bidden him 
 good-by at the door, beseeching that he 
 should not come out into the drift, and 
 still another when Burnbrae, being con- 
 cerned about his passenger's appearance, 
 who seemed ill-fitted to face a storm, 
 wrapt him in a plaid; and he had one 
 more when the old man leant out of the 
 dogcart and took Carmichael's hand in 
 both of his, but onlv said, " God bless
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 167 
 
 you for all you've been to me, and for- 
 give me for all wherein I have failed 
 you." And they did not meet again till 
 that never-to-be-forgotten sederunt of 
 the Free Kirk Presbytery of Muirtown, 
 when the minister of Kilbogie accused 
 the minister of Drumtochty of teaching 
 the Linlathen heresy of the Fatherhood 
 of God in a sermon before the Sacra- 
 ment. 
 
 Among all the institutions of the 
 North a Presbyter>' is the most charac- 
 teristic, and affords a standing illustration 
 of the contradictions of a supremely 
 logical people. It is so anti-clerical a 
 court that for every clergyman there 
 must be a layman— country ministers 
 promising to bring in their elder for 
 great occasions, and instructing him 
 audibly how to vote — and so fiercely 
 clerical that if the most pious and intel-
 
 i68 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 ligent elder dared to administer a sacra- 
 ment he would be at once tried and cen- 
 sured for sacrilege. So careful is a 
 Presbytery to prevent the beginnings of 
 Papacy that it insists upon each of its 
 members occupying the chair in turn, 
 and dismisses him again into private life 
 as soon as he has mastered his duties, but 
 so imbued is it with the idea of authority 
 that whatever decision may be given by 
 some lad of twenty-five in the chair — 
 duly instructed, however, by the clerk 
 below — will be rigidly obeyed. When a 
 Presbytery has nothing else to do, it 
 dearly loves to pass a general condemna- 
 tion on sacerdotalism, in which the 
 tyranny of prelates and the foolishness of 
 vestments will be fully exposed; but a 
 Presbytery wields a power at which a 
 bishop's hair would stand on end, and 
 Dr. Dowbiggin once made Carmichael
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. i6^ 
 
 leave the Communion Table and go into 
 the vestry to put on his bands. 
 
 When a Presbytery is in its lighter 
 moods, it gives itself to points of order 
 with a skill and relish beyond the South- 
 ern imagination. It did not matter how 
 harmless, even infantile, might be the 
 proposal before the court by such a man 
 as MacWheep of Pitscowrie; he has 
 hardly got past an apology for his pre- 
 sumption in venturing to speak at all be- 
 fore a member of Presbytery — who had 
 reduced his congregation to an irreduci- 
 ble minimum by the woodenness of his 
 preaching — inquires whether the speech 
 of " our esteemed brother is not ultra 
 vires," or something else as awful. Mac- 
 Wheep at once sits down with the air of 
 one taken red-handed in arson, and the 
 court debates the point till every au- 
 thority has taken his fill, when the clerk
 
 I70 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 submits to the' moderator, with a fine 
 blend of deference and infalHbihty, that 
 Mr. MacWheep is perfectly within his 
 rights; and then, as that estimable per- 
 son has by this time lost any thread he 
 ever possessed, the Presbytery passes to 
 the next business — with the high spirit of 
 men returning from a holiday. Car- 
 michael used, indeed, to relate how, in a 
 great stress of business, someone moved 
 that the Presbytery should adjourn for 
 dinner, and the court argued for thirty 
 minutes, with many precedents, whether 
 such a motion — touching as it did the 
 standing orders — could even be dis- 
 cussed, and, with an unnecessary prodi- 
 gality of testimony, he used to give 
 perorations which improved with every 
 telling. 
 
 The love of law diffused through the 
 Presbytery became incarnate in the
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 171 
 
 clerk, who was one of the most finished 
 specimens of his class in the Scottish 
 Kirk. His sedate appearance, bald, pol- 
 ished head, fringed with pure white hair, 
 shrewd face, with neatly cut side whis- 
 kers, his suggestion of unerring accuracy 
 and inexhaustible memory, his attitude 
 for exposition — holding his glasses in his 
 left hand and enforcing his decision with 
 the little finger of the right hand — 
 carried conviction even to the most dis- 
 orderly. Ecclesiastical radicals, boiling 
 over with new schemes, and boasting to 
 admiring circles of MacWheeps that 
 they would not be browbeaten by red- 
 tape officials, became ungrammatical be- 
 fore that firm gaze, and ended in abject 
 surrender. Self-contained and self-suf- 
 ficing, the clerk took no part in debate, 
 save at critical moments to lay down the 
 law, but wrote his minutes unmoved
 
 172 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 through torrents of speech on every sub- 
 ject, from the Sustentation Fund to the 
 Union between England and Scotland, 
 and even under the picturesque elo- 
 quence of foreign deputies, whose names 
 he invariably requested should be 
 handed to him, written legibly on a 
 sheet of paper. On two occasions only 
 he ceased from writing: when Dr. Dow- 
 biggin discussed a method of procedure 
 — then he watched him over his spec- 
 tacles in hope of a nice point; or when 
 some enthusiastic brother would urge 
 the Presbytery to issue an injunction on 
 the sin of Sabbath walking — then the 
 clerk would abandon his pen in visible 
 despair, and sitting sideways on his chair 
 and supporting his head by that same 
 little finger, would face the Presbytery 
 with an expression of reverent curiosity 
 on his face why the Almighty was
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 173 
 
 pleased to create such a man. His 
 preaching was distinguished for orderli- 
 ness, and was much sought after for Fast 
 days. It turned largely on the use of 
 prepositions and the scope of conjunc- 
 tions, so that the clerk could prove the 
 doctrine of Vicarious Sacrifice from 
 " for," and Retribution from " as " in the 
 Lord's Prayer, emphasizing and confirm- 
 ing everything by that wonderful finger, 
 which seemed to be designed by Provi- 
 dence for delicate distinctions, just as an- 
 other man's fist sensed for popular decla- 
 mation. His pulpit masterpiece was a 
 lecture on the Council of Jerusalem, in 
 which its whole deliberations were re- 
 viewed by the rules of the Free Kirk 
 Book of Procedure, and a searching and 
 edifying discourse concluded with two 
 lessons. First: That no ecclesiastical 
 body can conduct its proceedings with-
 
 174 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 out officials. Second: That such men 
 ought to be accepted as a special gift of 
 Providence. 
 
 The general opinion among good 
 people was that the clerk's preaching was 
 rather for upbuilding than arousing, but 
 it is still remembered by the survivors of 
 the old Presbytery that when Mac- 
 Wheep organized a conference on " The 
 state of religion in our congregations," 
 and it was meandering in strange direc- 
 tions, the clerk, who utilized such sea- 
 sons for the writing of letters, rose amid 
 a keen revival of interest — it was sup- 
 posed that he had detected an irregu- 
 larity in the proceedings — and offered 
 his contribution. It did not become 
 him to boast, he said, but he had seen 
 marvelous things in his day: under his 
 unworthy ministry three beadles had 
 been converted to Christianity; and this
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 175 
 
 experience was so final that the confer- 
 ence immediately closed. 
 
 Timts there were, however, when the 
 Presbytery rose to its height and was in- 
 veSfted with an undeniable spiritual dig- 
 nity. Its members, taken one by one, 
 consisted of farmers, shepherds, trades- 
 men, and one or two professional men, 
 with some twenty ministers, only two or 
 three of whom were known beyond their 
 parishes. Yet those men had no doubt 
 that as soon as they were constituted in 
 the name of Christ they held their au- 
 thority from the Son of God and the 
 Saviour of the world, and they bore 
 themselves in spiritual matters as His 
 servants. No kindly feeling of neigh- 
 borliness or any fear of man could hinder 
 them from inquiring into the religious 
 condition of a parish or dealing faith- 
 fully with an erring minister. They had
 
 176 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 power to ordain, and laid hands on the 
 bent head of some young probationer 
 with much solemnity; they had also 
 power to take away the orders they had 
 given, and he had been hardened indeed 
 beyond hope who could be present and 
 not tremble when the Moderator, stand- 
 ing in his place, with the Presbytery 
 around, and speaking in the name of the 
 Head of the Church, deposed an un- 
 worthy brother from the holy ministry. 
 MacWheep was a " cratur," and much 
 given to twaddle, but when it was his 
 duty once to rebuke a fellow-minister for 
 quarreling with his people, he was de- 
 livered from himself, and spake with 
 such wisdom as he has never shown be- 
 fore or since. 
 
 When the Presbytery assembled to re- 
 ceive a statement from Dr. Saunderson 
 " re error in doctrine by a brother Pres-
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 177 
 
 byter," even a stranger might have no- 
 ticed that its members were weighted 
 with a sense of responsibility, and al- 
 though a discussion arose on the attempt 
 of SL desultory member to introduce a 
 deputy charged with the subject of the 
 lost Ten Tribes, yet it was promptly 
 squelched by the clerk, who intimated, 
 with much gravity, that the court had 
 met in hunc effimctum, viz., to hear Dr. 
 Saunderson, and that the court could 
 not, in consistence with law, take up any 
 other business, not even — here Carmi- 
 chael professed to detect a flicker of the 
 clerkly eyelids — the disappearance of the 
 Ten Tribes. 
 
 It was the last time that the Rabbi 
 ever spoke in public, and it is now agreed 
 that the deliverance was a fit memorial 
 of the most learned scholar that has been 
 ever known in those parts. He began
 
 178 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 by showing that Christian doctrine has 
 taken various shapes, some more and 
 some less in accordance with the deposit 
 of truth given by Christ and the holy 
 Apostles, and especially that the doc- 
 trine of Grace had been differently con- 
 ceived by two eminent theologians, Cal- 
 vin and Arminius, and his exposition was 
 so lucid that the clerk gave it as his 
 opinion afterward that the two systems 
 were understood by certain members of 
 the court for the first time that day. 
 Afterward the Rabbi vindicated and 
 glorified Calvinism from the Scriptures 
 of the Old and New Testament, from the 
 Fathers, from the Reformation Divines, 
 from the later creeds, till the brain of the 
 Presbytery reeled through the wealth of 
 allusion and quotation, all in the tongues 
 of the learned. Then he dealt with the 
 theology of Mr. Erskine of Linlathen,
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 179 
 
 and showed how it was undermining the 
 very foundations of Calvinism; yet the 
 Rabbi spake so tenderly of our Scottish 
 Maurice that the Presbytery knew not 
 whether it ought to condemn Erskine as 
 a heretic or love him as a saint. Having 
 thus brought the court face to face with 
 the issues involved, the Rabbi gave a 
 sketch of a certain sermon he had heard 
 while assisting " a learned and much-be- 
 loved brother at the Sacrament," and 
 Carmichael was amazed at the trans- 
 figuration of this very youthful perform- 
 ance, which now figured as a profound 
 and edifying discourse, for whose excel- 
 lent qualities the speaker had not ade- 
 quate words. This fine discourse was, 
 however, to a certain degree marred, the 
 Rabbi suggested, by an unfortunate, 
 
 ft 
 
 although no doubt temporary, leaning to 
 the teaching of Mr. Erskine, whose
 
 i8o RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 beautiful piety had exercised its just fas- 
 cination upon his spiritually-minded 
 brother. Finally the Rabbi left the mat- 
 ter in the hands of the Presbyter}^, 
 declaring that he had cleared his con- 
 science, and that the minister in question 
 was one — here he was painfully over- 
 come — dear to him as a son, and one to 
 whose many labors and singular graces 
 he could bear full testimony, the Rev. 
 John Carmichael, of Drumtochty. The 
 Presbytery was slow and pedantic, but 
 was not insensible to a spiritual situation, 
 and there was a murmur of sympathy 
 when the Rabbi sat down — much ex- 
 hausted, and never having allowed him- 
 self to look once at Carmichael. 
 
 Then arose a self-made man, who con- 
 sidered orthodoxy and capital to be 
 bound up together, and especially identi- 
 fied any departure from sovereignty with
 
 THEN AROSE A SELF-MADE MAN
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 183 
 
 that pestilent form of Socialism which 
 demanded equal chances for every man. 
 He was only a plain layman, he said, and 
 perhaps he ought not to speak in the 
 presence of so many reverend gentlemen, 
 but he was very grateful to Dr. Saunder- 
 son for his honorable and straightfor- 
 ward conduct. It would be better for 
 the Church if there were more like him, 
 and he would just like to ask Mr. Carmi- 
 chael three questions. Did he sign the 
 Confession of Faith? — that was one; and 
 had he kept it? — that was two; and the 
 last was, When did he propose to leave 
 the Church? He knew something about 
 building contracts, and he had heard of 
 a penalty when a contract was broken. 
 There was just one thing more he would 
 like to say — if there was less loose 
 theology in the pulpit there would be 
 more money in the plate. The shame
 
 i84 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 of the Rabbi during this harangue was 
 pitiable to behold. 
 
 Then a stalwart arose on the other 
 side, and a young gentleman who had 
 just escaped from a college debating so- 
 ciety wished to know what century we 
 were living in, warned the last speaker 
 that the progress of theological science 
 would not be hindered by mercenary 
 threats, advised Dr. Saunderson to read 
 a certain German called Ritschl — as if 
 he had been speaking to a babe in arms 
   — and was refreshing himself with a 
 Latin quotation, when the Rabbi, in 
 utter absence of mind, corrected a false 
 quantity aloud. 
 
 " Moderator," the old man apologized 
 in much confusion, " I wot not what I 
 did, and I pray my reverend brother, 
 whose interesting and instructive ad- 
 dress I have interrupted by this unman-
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 185 
 
 nerliness. to grant me his pardon, for my 
 tongue simply obeyed my ear." Which 
 untoward incident brought the modern 
 to an end, as by a stroke of ironical fate. 
 It seemed to the clerk that little good to 
 anyone concerned was to come out of 
 this debate, and he signaled to Dr. Dow- 
 biggin, with whom he had dined the 
 night before, when they concocted a mo- 
 tion over their wine. Whereupon that 
 astute man explained to the court that 
 he did not desire to curtail the valuable 
 discussion, from which he personally had 
 derived much profit, but he had ventured 
 to draw up a motion, simply for the 
 guidance of the House — it was said by 
 the Rabbi's boys that the Doctor's suc- 
 cess as an ecclesiastic was largely due to 
 the skillful use of such phrases — and 
 then he read : " Whereas the Church is 
 set in all her courts for the defense of the
 
 i86 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 truth, whereas it is reported that various 
 erroneous doctrines are being promul- 
 gated in books and other pubHc prints, 
 whereas it has been stated that one of 
 the ministers of this Presbytery has used 
 words that might be supposed to give 
 sanction to a certain view which appears 
 to conflict with statements contained in 
 the standards of the Church, the Pres- 
 bytery of Muirtown declares, first of all, 
 its unshaken adherence to the said stand- 
 ards; secondly, deplores the existence in 
 any quarter of notions contradictory or 
 subversive of said standards; thirdly, 
 thanks Dr. Saunderson for the vigilance 
 he has shown in the cause of sound doc- 
 trine; fourthly, calls upon all ministers 
 within the bounds to have a care that 
 they create no offense or misunderstand- 
 ing by their teaching, and finally enjoins
 
 THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 187 
 
 all parties concerned to cultivate peace 
 
 and charity." 
 
 This motion was seconded by the 
 clerk and carried unanimously — Carmi- 
 cha€l being compelled to silence by the 
 two wise men for his own sake and theirs 
 — and was declared to be a conspicuous 
 victory both by the self-made man and 
 the modern, which was another tribute 
 to the ecclesiastical gifts of Dr. Dowbig- 
 gin and the clerk of the Presbytery of 
 Muirtown.
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE.
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 
 
 * I '"HE Rabbi had been careful to send 
 ^ an abstract of his speech to Carmi- 
 chael, with a letter enough to melt the 
 heart even of a self-suf^cient young cleri- 
 cal, and Carmichael had considered how 
 he should bear himself at the Presbytery. 
 His intention had been to meet the 
 Rabbi with public cordiality and escort 
 him to a seat, so that all men should see 
 that he was too magnanimous to be 
 offended by this latest eccentricity of 
 their friend. This calculated plan was 
 upset by the Rabbi coming in late and 
 taking the first seat that offered, and 
 when he would have gone afterward to 
 
 thank him for his generosity the Rabbi 
 
 191
 
 192 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 had disappeared. It was evident that 
 the old man's love was as deep as ever, 
 but that he was much hurt and would 
 not risk another repulse. Very likely he 
 had walked in from Kilbogie, perhaps 
 without breakfast, and had now started 
 to return to his cheerless manse. It was 
 a wetting spring rain, and he remem- 
 bered that the Rabbi had no coat. A fit 
 of remorse overtook Carmichael, and he 
 scoured the streets of Muirtown to find 
 the Rabbi, imagining deeds of attention 
 — how he would capture him unawares 
 mooning along some side street hope- 
 lessly astray; how he would accuse him 
 of characteristic cunning and deep plot- 
 ting; how he would carry him by force 
 to the Kilspindie Arms and insist upon 
 their dining in state; how the Rabbi 
 would wish to discharge the account and 
 find twopence in his pockets — having
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 193 
 
 given all his silver to an ex-Presbyterian 
 minister stranded in Muirtown through 
 peculiar circumstances; how he would 
 speak gravely to the Rabbi on the lack 
 of common honesty, and threaten a real 
 prosecution, when the charge would be 
 " obtaining a dinner on false pretenses "; 
 how they would journey to Kildrummie 
 in high content, and — the engine having 
 whistled for a dogcart — they would drive 
 to Drumtochty manse, the sun shining 
 through the rain as they entered the gar- 
 den; how he would compass the Rabbi 
 with observances, and the old man would 
 sit again in the big chair full of joy and 
 peace. Ah, the kindly jests that have 
 not come off in life, the gracious deeds 
 that never were done, the reparations 
 that were too late! When Carmichael 
 reached the station the Rabbi was al- 
 ready halfway to Kilbogie, trudging
 
 194 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 along wet, and weary, and very sad, be- 
 cause, although he had obeyed his con- 
 science at a cost, it seemed to him as if 
 all he had done was simply to alienate 
 the boy whom God had given him, as a 
 son in his old age, for even the guileless 
 Rabbi suspected that the ecclesiastics 
 considered his action foolishness and of 
 no service to the Church of God. Bar- 
 bara's language on his arrival was vitu- 
 perative to a degree; she gave him food 
 grudgingly, and when, in the early morn- 
 ing, he fell asleep over an open Father, 
 he was repeating Carmichael's name, and 
 the thick old paper was soaked with 
 tears. 
 
 His nemesis seized Carmichael so soon 
 as he reached the Dunleith train in the 
 shape of the Free Kirk minister of Kil- 
 drummie, who had purchased six pounds 
 of prize seed potatoes, and was carrying
 
 HE WATCHED THE DISPERSION OF HIS POTATOES WITH DISMAY
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 197 
 
 the treasure home in a paper bag. This 
 bag had done after its kind, and spilt its 
 contents, and as the distinguished agri- 
 culturist — who had not seen his feet for 
 years — could only have stooped at the 
 risk of apoplexy, he watched the disper- 
 sion of his potatoes with dismay, and 
 hailed the arrival of Carmichael with ex- 
 clamations of thankfulness. It is won- 
 derful over what an area six pounds of 
 (prize) potatoes can deploy on a railway 
 platform, and how^ the feet of passengers 
 will carry them unto far distances. 
 Some might never have been restored to 
 the bag had it not been for Kildrummie's 
 comprehensive eye and the physical skill 
 with which he guided Carmichael, till 
 even prodigals that had strayed over to 
 the neighborhood of the Aberdeen ex- 
 press were restored to the extemporized 
 fold in the minister's topcoat pockets.
 
 198 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 Carmichael had knelt on that very plat- 
 form six months or so before, but then 
 he labored in the service of two most 
 agreeable dogs and under the approving 
 eyes of Miss Carnegie; that was a differ- 
 ent experience from hunting after single 
 potatoes on all-fours among the feet of 
 unsympathetic passengers, and being 
 prodded to duty by the umbrella of an 
 obese Free Kirk minister. As a reward 
 for this service of the aged, he was 
 obliged to travel to Kildrummie with his 
 neighbor — in whom for the native hu- 
 mor that was in him he had often re- 
 joiced, but whose company was not con- 
 genial that day — and Kildrummie laid 
 himself out for a pleasant talk. After 
 the roots had been secured and their 
 pedigree stated Kildrummie fell back on 
 the proceedings of Presbytery, express- 
 ing much admiration for the guidance of
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 199 
 
 Dr. Dowbiggin and denouncing Saun- 
 derson as "fair dottle," in proof of which 
 judgment Kildrummie adduced the fact 
 that the Rabbi had allowed a very hap- 
 pily situated pig sty at the Manse ol Kil- 
 bogie to sink into ruin. Kildrummie, 
 still in search of agreeable themes to pass 
 the time, also mentioned a pleasant tale 
 he had gathered at the seed shop. 
 
 " Yir neebur upbye, the General's 
 dochter, is cairryin' on an awfu' rig the 
 noo at the Castle " — Kildrummie fell 
 into dialect in private life, often with 
 much richness — " an' the sough [noise] 
 o' her ongaeins hes come the length o' 
 Muirtown. The castle is foo' o' men — 
 tae say naethin' o' weemin; but it's little 
 she hes tae dae wi' them or them wi' her 
 — officers frae Edinburgh an' writin' 
 men frae London, as weel as half a dozen 
 coontv birkies."
 
 200 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 "Well?" said Carmichael, despising 
 himself for his curiosity. 
 
 " She hes a wy, there's nae doot o* 
 that, an' gin the trimmie hesna turned 
 the heads o' half the men in the Castle, 
 till they say she hes the pick of twa lords, 
 five honorables, and a poet. But the 
 lassie kens what's what; it's Lord Hav 
 she's settin' her cap for, an' as sure as 
 ye're sittin' there, Drum, she'll hae him. 
 
 " Ma word " — and Kildrummie pur- 
 sued his way — " it '11 be a match, the 
 dochter o' a puir Hielant laird, wi' nae- 
 thin' but his half pay and a few pounds 
 frae a fairm or twa. She's a clever ane; 
 French songs, dancin', shootin', ridin', 
 actin', there's nae deevilry that's beyond 
 her. They say upbye that she's been a 
 bonnie handfu' tae her father — General 
 though he be — an' a' peety her man." 
 
 " They say a lot of . . . lies, and I
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 201 
 
 don't see what call a minister has to slan- 
 der . . ."; and then Carmichael saw the 
 folly of quarreling with a veteran gossip 
 over a young woman that would have 
 nofhing to say to him. What two Free 
 Kirk ministers or their people thought 
 of her would never affect Miss Carnegie. 
 
 " Truth's nae slander," and Kildrum- 
 mie watched Carmichael with a relish; 
 " a' thocht ye wud hae got a taste o' her 
 in the Glen. Didna a' heer frae Piggie 
 Walker that ye ca'd her Jezebel frae yir 
 ain pulpit, an' that ma lady whuppit oot 
 o' the kirk in the middle o' the sermon? " 
 
 " I did nothing of the kind, and 
 Walker is a . . ." 
 
 " Piggie's no very particular at a 
 time," admitted Kildrummie; "maybe 
 it's a makup the story aboot Miss Car- 
 negie an' yirsel'. 
 
 " Accordin' tae the wratch," for Car-
 
 202 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 michael would deign no reply, " she wes 
 threatenin' tae mak' a fule o' the Free 
 Kirk minister o' Drumtochty juist for 
 practice, but a' said, ' Na, na, Piggie, 
 Maister Carmichael is ower quiet and 
 sensible a lad. He kens as weel as ony- 
 body that a Carnegie wud never dae for 
 a minister's wife. Gin ye said a Bailie's 
 dochter frae Muirtown 'at hes some 
 money comin' tae her and kens the prin- 
 ciples o' the Free Kirk.' 
 
 *' Noo a' can speak frae experience, 
 having been terrible fortunate wi' a' ma 
 wives. . . Ye'll come up tae tea; we 
 killed a pig yesterday, and. . . Weel, 
 weel, a wilfu' man maun hae his wy"; 
 and Carmichael, as he made his way up 
 the hill, felt that the hand of Providence 
 was heavy upon him, and that any high- 
 mindedness was being severely chas- 
 tened.
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 203 
 
 Two days Carmichael tramped the 
 moors, returning each evening wet, 
 weary, hungry, to sleep ten hours with- 
 out turning, and on the morning of the 
 thi/d day he came down in such heart 
 that Sarah wondered whether he could 
 have received a letter by special messen- 
 ger; and he congratulated himself, as he 
 walked round his garden, that he had 
 overcome by sheer will power the first 
 real infatuation of his life. He was so 
 lifted above all sentiment as to review his 
 temporary folly from the bare, serene 
 heights of common sense. Miss Car- 
 negie was certainly not an heiress, and 
 she was a young woman of very decided 
 character, but her blood was better than 
 the Hays', and she was . . . attractive^ — 
 yes, attractive. Most likely she was 
 engaged to Lord Hay, or if he did not 
 please her — she was . . . whimsical and
 
 204 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 . . . self-willed — there was Lord Inver- 
 mays' son. Fancy Kate . . . Miss Car- 
 negie in a Free Kirk manse — Kildrum- 
 mie was a very . . . homely old man, 
 but he touched the point there — receiv- 
 ing Dr. Dowbiggin with becoming cere- 
 mony and hearing him on the payment 
 of probationers, or taking tea at Kil- 
 drummie Manse — where he had, how- 
 ever, feasted royally many a time after 
 the Presbytery, but. . . This daugh- 
 ter of a Jacobite house, and brought up 
 amid the romance of war, settling down 
 in the narrowest circle of Scottish life — 
 as soon imagine an eagle domesticated 
 among barn-door poultry. This image 
 amused Carmichael so much that he 
 could have laughed aloud, but . . . the 
 village might have heard him. He only 
 stretched himself like one awaking, and 
 felt so strong that he resolved to drop in
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 205 
 
 on Janet Macpherson, Kate's old re- 
 tainer — to see hoAv it fared with the old 
 woman and ... to have Miss Car- 
 negie's engagement confirmed. The 
 Carifiegies might return any day from the 
 South, and it would be well that he 
 should know how to meet them. 
 
 " You will be hearing," Janet men- 
 tioned, " that they hef come back to the 
 Lodge yesterday morning, and it iss my- 
 self that will be glad to see Miss Kate 
 again; and very pretty iss she looking, 
 with peautiful dresses and bonnets, 
 for I hef seen them all, maybe twelve or 
 ten. 
 
 " Oh, yes, my dear, Donald will be 
 talking about her marriage to Lord Kil- 
 'spindie's son, who iss a very handsome 
 young man and good at the shooting; 
 and he will be blowing that they will live 
 at the Lodge in great state, with many
 
 2o6 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 gillies and a piper and he will be head of 
 them all. 
 
 " No, it iss not Janet Macpherson, my 
 dear, that will be believing Donald 
 Cameron, any Cameron — although I am 
 not saying that the Camerons are not 
 men of their hands — for Donald will be 
 always making great stories and telling 
 me wonderful things. He wass a brave 
 man in the battle, and iss very clever at 
 the doctrine too, and will be strong 
 against human himes [hymns], but he 
 iss a most awful liar iss Donald Cameron, 
 and you must not be believing a word 
 that comes out of his mouth. 
 
 " She will be asking many questions in 
 her room as soon as Donald had brought 
 up her boxes and the door was shut. 
 Some will be about the Glen, and some 
 about the garden, and some will be about 
 people — whether you ever will be visit-
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 207 
 
 ing me, and whether you asked for her 
 after the day she left the kirk. But I 
 will say, ' No; Mr. Carmichael does not 
 speak about anything but the religion 
 when he comes to my cottage.' 
 
 " That iss nothing. I will be saying 
 more, that I am hearing that the minis- 
 ter iss to be married to a fery rich young 
 lady in Muirtown who hass been court- 
 ing him for two years, and that her 
 father will be giving the minister twenty 
 thousand pounds the day they are 
 married. And I will say she iss very 
 beautiful, with blue eyes and gold hair, 
 and that her temper iss so sweet they are 
 calling her the Angel of Muirtown. 
 
 " Toot, toot, my dear, you are not to 
 be speaking about lies, for that iss not a 
 pretty word among friends, and you will 
 not be meddling with me, for you will be 
 better at the preaching and the singing
 
 2o8 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 of himes than dealing with women. It 
 iss not good to be making yourself too 
 common, and Miss Kate will be thinking 
 the more of you if you be holding your 
 head high and letting her see that you 
 are not a poor lowland body, but a Far- 
 quharson by your mother's side, and 
 maybe of the chief's blood, though 
 twenty or fifteen times removed. 
 
 " She will be very pleased to hear such 
 good news of you, and be saying that it 
 iss a mercy you are getting somebody to 
 dress you properly. But her temper will 
 not be at all good, and I did not ask her 
 about Lord Hay, and she said nothing 
 to me, nor about any other lord. It iss 
 not often I hef seen as great a liar as 
 Donald Cameron. 
 
 " Last evening Miss Kate will come 
 down before dinner and talk about many 
 things, and then she will say at the door,
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 209 
 
 ■* Donald tells me that Mister Carmichael 
 does not believe in the Bible, and that 
 his friend, Dr. Saunderson, has cast him 
 off, and that he has been punished by his 
 Bishop or somebody at Muirtown.' 
 
 '"' Donald will be knowing more doc- 
 trine and telling more lies every month,' 
 I said to her. ' Dr. Saunderson — who 
 is a very fine preacher and can put the 
 fear of God upon the people most won- 
 derful — and our minister had a little 
 feud, and they will fight it out before 
 some chiefs at Muirtown like gentlemen, 
 and now they are good friends again.' 
 
 " Miss Kate had gone off for a long 
 walk, and I am not saying but that she 
 will be calling at Kilbogie Manse before 
 she comes back. She is very fond of 
 Dr. Saunderson, and maybe he will be 
 telling her of the feud. It iss more than 
 an hour through the woods to Kilbogie,"
 
 2IO RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 concluded Janet, " but you will be hav- 
 ing a glass of milk first." 
 
 Kate reviewed her reasons for the ex- 
 pedition to Kilbogie, and settled they 
 were the pleasures of a walk through 
 Tochty woods when the spring flowers 
 were in their glory, and a visit to one of 
 the dearest curiosities she had ever seen. 
 It was within the bounds of possibility 
 that Dr. Saunderson might refer to his 
 friend, but on her part she would cer- 
 tainly not refer to the Free Church min- 
 ister of Drumtochty. Her reception by 
 that conscientious professor Barbara 
 could not be called encouraging. 
 
 " Ay, he's in, but ye canna see him, for 
 he's in his bed, and gin he disna mend 
 faster than he wes daein' the last time a' 
 gied him a cry, he's no like to be in the 
 pulpit on Sabbath. A' wes juist thinkin' 
 he wudna be the waur o' a doctor."
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 2U 
 
 " Do you mean to say that Dr. 
 Saunderson is lying ill and no one 
 nursing him? " and Kate eyed the 
 housekeeper in a very unappreciative 
 fashiop. 
 
 " Gin he wants a nurse she'll hae tae 
 be brocht frae Muirtown Infirmary, for 
 a've eneuch to dae withoot ony fyke 
 [delicate work] o' that kind. For twal 
 year hev a' been hoosekeeper in this 
 manse, an' gin it hedna been for peety 
 a' wad hae flung up the place. 
 
 " Ye never cud tell when he wud come 
 in, or when he wud gae oot, or what he 
 wud be wantin' next. A' the waufies 
 [disreputable people] in the countryside 
 come here, and the best in the hoose is 
 no gude eneucti for them. He's been an 
 awfu' handfu' tae me, an' noo a' coont 
 him clean dottle [silly]. But we maun 
 juist bear oor burdens," concluded Bar-
 
 212 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 bara piously, and she proposed to close 
 the door. 
 
 " Your master will not want a nurse a 
 minute longer; show me his room at 
 once"; and Kate was so commanding- 
 that Barbara's courage began to fail. 
 
 " Wha may ye be," raising her voice 
 to rally her heart, " 'at wud take chairge 
 o' a strainger in his ain hoose an' no sae 
 muckle as ask leave? " 
 
 " I am Miss Carnegie, of Tochty 
 Lodge; will you stand out of my way? " 
 and Kate swept past Barbara and went 
 upstairs. 
 
 " Weel, a' declare," as soon as she had 
 recovered, " of a' the impudent hizzies "; 
 but Barbara did not say this in Kate's 
 hearing. 
 
 Kate had seen various curious hos- 
 pitals in her day, and had nursed many 
 sick men — like the brave girl she was —
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 213 
 
 but the Rabbi's room was something 
 quite new. His favorite books had been 
 gathering there for years, and now lined 
 two walls and overhung the bed after a 
 ver^y perilous fashion and had dispos- 
 sessed the looking-glass — which had be- 
 come a nomad and was at present resting 
 insecurely on John Owen — and stood in 
 banks round the bed. During his few 
 days of illness the Rabbi had accumu- 
 lated so many volumes round him that 
 he lay in a kind of tunnel, arched over, as 
 it were, with literature. He had been 
 reading Calvin's " Commentary on the 
 Psalms," in Latin, and it still lay open at 
 the 88th, the saddest of all songs in the 
 Psalter; but as he grew weaker the 
 heavy folio had slid forward, and he 
 seemed to be feeling for it. Although 
 Kate spoke to him by name, he did not 
 know anyone was in the room. " Lord,
 
 214 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 why castest Thou off my soul? ... I 
 suffer Thy terror, I am distracted . . . 
 fierce wrath goeth over me . . . lover 
 and friend hast Thou put far from me 
 . . . friend far from me." 
 
 His head fell on his breast, his breath 
 was short and rapid, and he coughed 
 every few seconds. 
 
 " My friend far from me. . ." 
 
 At the sorrow in his voice and the 
 thing which he said the tears came to 
 Kate's eyes, and she went forward and 
 spoke to him very gently. " Do you 
 know me. Dr. Saunderson — Miss Car- 
 negie? " 
 
 " Not Saunderson . . . Magor Missa- 
 bib." 
 
 " Rabbi, Rabbi '' — so much Carmi- 
 chael had told her; and now Kate 
 stroked the bent white head. " Your 
 friend. Mister Carmichael "
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 215 
 
 " Yes, yes " — he now looked up and 
 spoke eagerly — " John Carmichael, of 
 Drumtochty ... my friend in my old 
 age . . . and others ... my boys . . . 
 bijt John has left me . . . he would not 
 speak to me ... I am alone now . . . 
 he did not understand . . . mine ac- 
 quaintance into darkness . . . here we 
 see in a glass darkly . . ." (he turned 
 aside to expound the Greek word for 
 darkly), " but some day . . . face to 
 face." And twice he said it, with an in- 
 describable sweetness, " face to face." 
 
 Kate hurriedly removed the books 
 from the bed and wrapt round his shoul- 
 ders the old gray plaid that had eked out 
 his covering at night, and then she went 
 downstairs. 
 
 " Bring," she said to Barbara, " hot 
 water, soap, towels, and a sponge to Dr. 
 Saunderson's bedroom, immediately."
 
 2i6 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 " And gin a' dinna? " inquired Bar- 
 bara aggressively. 
 
 " I'll shoot you where you stand." 
 
 Barbara shows tO' her cronies how 
 Miss Carnegie drew a pistol from her 
 pocket at this point and held it to her 
 head, and how at every turn the pistol 
 was again in evidence; sometimes a dag- 
 ger is thrown in, but that is only late in 
 the evening when Barbara is under the 
 influence of tonics. Kate herself admits 
 that if she had had her little revolver 
 with her she might have been tempted 
 to outline the housekeeper's face on the 
 wall, and she still thinks her threat an 
 inspiration. 
 
 " Now," said Kate, when Barbara had 
 brought her commands in with incredi- 
 ble celerity, " bring up some fresh milk 
 and three glasses of whisky." 
 
 "Whisky!" Barbara could hardly
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 217 
 
 compass the unfamiliar word. " The 
 Doctor never hed sic a thing in the 
 hoo'se, although mony a time, puir man 
 . . ." Discipline was softening even 
 thaV austere spirit. 
 
 " No, but you have, for you are blow- 
 ing a full gale just now; bring up your 
 private bottle, or I'll go down for it. 
 
 " There's enough," holding the bottle 
 to the light, " to do till evening; go to 
 the next farm and send a man on horse- 
 back to tell Mr. Carmichael, of Drum- 
 tochty, that Dr. Saunderson is dying, 
 and another for Dr. Manley of Muir- 
 town." 
 
 Very tenderly did Kate sponge the 
 Rabbi's face and hands, and then she 
 dressed his hair, till at length he came to 
 himself. 
 
 " This ministry is . . . grateful to me, 
 Barbara ... my strength has gone from
 
 2i8 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 me . . . but my eyes fail me. . . Of 
 a verity you are not . . ." 
 
 " I am Kate Carnegie, whom you were 
 so kind to at Tochty. Will you let me 
 be your nurse? I learned in India, and 
 know what to do." It was only wounded 
 soldiers who knew how" gentle her voice 
 could be, and how soft her hands. 
 
 " It is I that . . . should be serving 
 you . . . the first time you have come 
 to the manse ... no woman has ever 
 done me . . . such kindness before. . ." 
 He followed her as she tried to bring 
 some order out of chaos, and knew not 
 that he spoke aloud. " A gracious maid 
 . . . above rubies." 
 
 His breathing was growing worse, in 
 spite of many wise things she did for him 
 — Dr. Manley, who paid no compli- 
 ments, but was a strength unto every 
 country doctor in Perthshire, praises
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 219 
 
 Kate unto this day — and the Rabbi did 
 not care to speak. So she sat down by 
 his side and read to him from the " Pil- 
 grim's Progress " — holding his hand all 
 thg time — and the passage he desired 
 was the story of Mr. Fearing. 
 
 " This I took very great notice of, that 
 the valley of the shadow of Death was as 
 quiet while he went through it as ever I 
 knew^ it before or since. I suppose these 
 enemies here had now a special check 
 from our Lord and a command not to 
 meddle until Mr. Fearing was passed 
 over it. . . Here also I took notice of 
 what was very remarkable: the water of 
 that river was lower at this time than 
 ever I saw it in all my life. So he went 
 over at last, not much above wet-shod. 
 When he was going up to the gate . . ." 
 
 The Rabbi listened for an instant. 
 
 " It is John's step ... he hath a
 
 220 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 sound of his own . . . my only earthly 
 desire is fulfilled." 
 
 " Rabbi," cried Carmichael, and half 
 kneeling, he threw one arm round the 
 old man, " say that you forgive me. I 
 looked for you everywhere on Monday, : 
 but you could not be found." 
 
 " Did you think, John, that I ... my 
 will was to do you an injury or . . . vex 
 your soul? Many trials in my life . . . 
 all God's will . . . but this hardest . . . 
 when I lost you . . . nothing left here 
 . . . but you . . . — my breath is 
 bad, a little chill — . . . do you under- 
 stand? " 
 
 " I always did, and I never respected 
 you more; it was my foolish pride that 
 made me call you Dr. Saunderson in the 
 study; but my love was the same, and 
 now you will let me stay and wait on 
 you."
 
 HE SIGNED FOR HER HAND, WHICH HE KEPT TO THE END
 
 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 223 
 
 The old man smiled sadly, and laid his 
 hand on his boy's head. 
 
 " I cannot let you . . . go, John, my 
 son." 
 
 "Kao and leave you, Rabbi!" Carmi- 
 chael tried to laugh. " Not till you are 
 ready to appear at the Presbytery again. 
 We'll send Barbara away for a holiday, 
 and Sarah will take her place — you re- 
 member that cream — and we shall have a 
 royal time, a meal every four hours, 
 Rabbi, and the Fathers in between"; 
 and Carmichael, springing to his feet and 
 turning round to hide his tears, came 
 face to face with Miss Carnegie, who had 
 been unable to escape from the room. 
 
 " I happened to call" — Kate was quite 
 calm — " and found Dr. Saunderson in 
 bed; so I stayed till some friend should 
 come ; you must have met the messenger 
 I sent for you."
 
 224 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 " Yes, a mile from the manse; I was 
 on my way . . . Janet said . . . but I 
 . . . did not remember anything when I 
 saw the Rabbi." 
 
 " Will you take a little milk again . . . 
 Rabbi?" and at her bidding and the 
 name he made a brave effort to swallow, 
 but he was plainly sinking. 
 
 "No more," he whispered; "thank 
 you . . . for service . . . to a lonely man ; 
 may God bless you . . . both. . . ." 
 He signed for her hand, which he kept to 
 the end. 
 
 " Satisfied . , . read, John . . . the 
 woman from coasts of — of " 
 
 " I know, Rabbi," and kneeling on the 
 other side of the bed, he read the stor>' 
 slowly of a Tyrian woman's faith. 
 
 " It is not meet to take the children's 
 meat and cast it to dogs." 
 
 " Dogs " — they heard the Rabbi ap-
 
 ' LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 225 
 
 propriate his name — "outside . . . the 
 covenant." 
 
 " And she said, Truth, Lord, yet the 
 dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from 
 their master's table." 
 
 "" Lord, I believe . . . help Thou 
 mine . . . unbelief." 
 
 He then fell into an agony of soul, 
 during which Carmichael could hear: 
 " Though . . . He slay . . . me . . . yet 
 will I trust . . . trust ... in Him." 
 He drew two or three long breaths and 
 was still. After a little he was heard 
 again with a new note — " He that be- 
 lieveth ... in Him . . . shall not be 
 confounded," and again, " A bruised 
 reed . . . shall He not . . ." Then he 
 opened his eyes and raised his head — but 
 he saw neither Kate nor Carmichael, for 
 the Rabbi had done with earthly friends 
 and earthly trials — and he, who had
 
 226 RABBI SAUNDERSON. 
 
 walked in darkness and seen no light, 
 said in a clear voice full of joy, "My 
 Lord, and my God." 
 
 It was Kate who closed his eyes and 
 laid the old scholar's head on the pillow, 
 and then she left the room, casting one 
 swift glance of pity at Carmichael, who 
 was weeping bitterly and crying between 
 the sobs, "Rabbi! Rabbi!" 
 
 THE END.
 
 /
 
 uc 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILm 
 
 AA 000 368 881 9