micht require. An', man Laird, it was a' sae rale, sae rale,-I hunkert up, and raxed ma neck ower the dyke, to be deid shure there was naebody there but Angell James an' his God! . . . Then, there wad be a bittock o' silence; an' ma verra hert duntit on the sod, whaur I lay, till I feared he wad hear an' discover me; for I wad hate to be thocht an eavesdrapper, by intent. But, instead,

he stertit awa' in a kin' o' croonin' crack wi' his ain sowl, about the Christ, and the love o' the Faither, and the life o' the Saviour, and the Sacrifice on Calvary, and hoo muckle he owed tae the grace o' the Almichty, Wha had ca'd him intil this marvellous licht! An' after tellin' a' this tae his Lord and Maister i' the Heevens, just as if he had been talkin' tae a freen across the hill, he lifted up his voice an' sang wi' a liltin' tune, half birlin' wi' the laverock's cheer, half greetin' like the peesweep's wail, hert-breakin' and hert-healin' a' in yin

'He took me from a fearful Pit, and from the miry clay, And on a Rock He set my feet, establishing my way: He put a new Song in my mouth, our God to magnify; Many shall see it, and shall fear, and on the Lord rely.'”

"Truly, Jock, that was maist upliftin'! An' hoo did it a' end? Hoo cam' ye through that wunnerfu' experience?" I inquired, in my most sympathetic tone and words.

"Tinlie! Tinlie! I ken na, gif I can tell ye. It breaks me doon like a three year auld Bairn. An' yet it wad dae me gude to leeve it a' ower yince again. There was a langsome pause. heard the bit Boddy slingin' on his Satchel-Baggie,

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an' was easin' masel' up on ma knees tae observe; whan, Gude guide us a', gif he did na break oot again, an' a' aboot me, an' talk awa' to his Freens, I mean thae Inveesible Fowk!-'Aye, Lord,' says he, 'an' yon's the hoose o' Heather Jock, puir man, far yont the Muir; I canna ca' there as often as I wad like, Lord, for he cares for nane o' thae things; though Bell MacGregor aye welcomes me, an's fain tae turn ower ma buiks, an' tae hear bonnie words about the King o' Sowls. Lord, dinna blame puir Jock, nor be sair on him; for he has never yet discovered Thy face wi' his ain Spirit's een, nor ever yet seen Thy likeness shinin' on him thro' ony o' Thy followers. Oh, gie him that Vision, the sicht o' Thy ain lovin' Face! Show him Thy verra Sel', Maister and Saviour, or show him some yin a wee bit like Thysel', yin that micht lead him to think weel o' Thee. O gracious Faither, bring Bell and her Man an' their bonnie Dochter tae love and praise Thee in this world, tae follow the Saviour on Earth, an' at last tae gang Hame tae Him ayont the Stars. Dear Lord Jesus, be gude and kind tae Heather Jock an' Bell! But, dinna spare them ony pain or ony shame that may be needfu' to bring them tae Thy feet noo, an' tae Thy Hame in the end,— glory to Thy blessed Name!"'

Hech, man Jock, but it was a bonnie prayer, a bonnie prayer, an' awfu' winsome! It maun hae

lifted ye," quoth I, deeply moved.

"Lifted me!" cried Jock passionately, "Mibbe, mibbe,-years an' years after. But at the time, it flang me doon, laigh under that Muckle Thorn, an' left me wrastlin' there in an awesome agony, till the

Mune began glowerin' at me thro' the brainches.

'Nae God, nae God!' had I been mutterin' a' through ma life; there was a God, an' here was a Man leevin' day an' nicht in the abidin' consciousness o' God's presence, walkin' an' talkin' wi' God. 'Nae Saviour,' had I been growlin' tae masel', an' wallowin' in the mire o' sin; there was a Saviour, an' here was a Man mair shure by far aboot Jesus Christ an' His Salvation, than I was that the Sun wad speel ower the Beacon the morrow's mornin';— Nature micht change, but the Lord o' Nature, never! 'Nae Heeven, nae Hell,' had I aften chuckled tae masel', as I drank anither Deevil's Cup an' smacked ma lips; there was a Heeven, and here was a Man far ben within the Yett; an' there was a Hell, an' here was I, gallopin' doon till't, blin'faulded wi' pride an' self, an' there was this Christly man, hingin' on by ma coat-tails, an' lingerin' by the brink to haul me oot, even tho' at last it micht be by the hair o' my heid. Laird, Laird, did ye mark the last words o' the prayer-'tae spare us nowther pain, nor shame, that micht be gude for us, an' that micht bring us Hame to God'?”

. .

"Yes, they were stertlin' words; an' could only come frae a Sowl far ben wi' the Almichty, an' desperate shure that the Judge o' a' the Yirth could dae only what was richt."

"Stertlin' words, said ye,"-answered Jock,-" thae twa words-pain or shame-were knotted that nicht roon an' roon ma neck; an' in the dark days that followed for Bell an' me, they alane were the last cable, the cable that never snappit, an' that saved me frae sinkin' ayont a' reach intil the deepest mire

o' Hell! .. Pain and shame micht bring us Hame tae God-that was it, was it na? But, Laird, dinna press me! I could na gang through that story the nicht for a' I'm worth. It wad leave me a deid man

afore the mornin'!"

"Come to me, Jock, or let me come to you, some ither day," I warmly answered. "This walk an' crack has been to me as milk and honey. That Haw Thorn Bush is to me for ever a-blaze wi' licht. Let us not be strangers,-after such glancin' o' Spirit into Spirit, such throbbin' o' Hert against Hert. I bid ye Gudebye,-uttering it, in full, as a' ma wish for you an' yours in our saft Mither Tongue-God-be-wi'-ye!"

Jock waved his hand, with a respectful but silent greeting, wheeled into the Muirland Track, and was soon deep amongst the heather and broom on the footpath that led to his Home. I, with a great thumping at my heart, started full pace down the Hill Road, hoping to overtake the white - haired Peasant, who, all unknown to himself, was thus ruling the destiny of other Souls, as no Earthly conqueror could do. The swelling at my heart grew, and the thumping quickened, until, on a lonely part of the road, I halted and cried aloud,—“ By all the Gods, I must speak it out! Ten years at College, Ten years travelling Abroad, now ThirtySix Years of Age, and I have learned more of God, of Man, of Self,-more of the Brotherly, the Christly, the Godly,—more of the meanings of Life, Death, Eternity,-in these three weeks at Tinlie Tower and amongst the Peasants of Castlebraes, than from all the Libraries and all the Teachers of this little-mighty, learned yet ignorant World!"

But Angell James, as they lovingly called him, light of foot, happy in heart, and sweetly crooning to himself and to the birds the verses of some bonnie Psalm, got over many miles without haste, without fatigue, and was already, long before I reached Castlebraes, cheering Angell Jenn, over their cup of tea, with the recital of his day's exploits, utterly unaware how two human Souls had been stirred to their depths by coming within the sunlight of his passing presence. He, at rest with himself, with his God, with all Mankind, slept that night in balmy peace. I in Tinlie Tower, and Heather Jock at Peesweep Nests, dreamed and agonized for hours and hours, fighting our ways slowly towards the light, and still pursuing a stillretreating joy.

Next evening, about the time of the Milking of the Cows, I found my steps irresistibly carrying me in the direction of Peesweep Nests. Heather Jock's story had wakened in me an uncontrollable thirst for more and still more. Particularly that hint of "the dark days through which Bell and he had passed, and the weaving of a saving cable out of pain and shame." The constraint on my spirit forced me to find out all, either from Jock himself or from some one else.

On nearing the Peesweep Nests, a tall, auburnhaired, ruddy-cheeked, brown-skinned, bright-eyed Lass, came dancing out, wheeled round the corner of the house and off to the Muir, with a Pet Lamb frisking and leaping beside her, jumping joyfully on its four stumpy legs all at once, as if ordinary walking in such happy circumstances would be ludi