St. Cuthberts | Page 8

shut, I
cud hae swore it was Chammers," whereupon the last state of me was
worse than the first.
But I was a little comforted in overhearing one Scot say to another as

they passed me on their homeward way, "He's no' to be expeckit to
preach like yon man frae Hawick," to which the other replied, and I
caught his closing words, "But there was a bit at the end that wasna
bad."
This was but a thin gruel to satisfy one's wondering soul, but it was
shortly thickened by the beadle. He was waiting for us at Mr. Blake's,
wishing instruction about some task that fell within his duties, but he
managed to have a word with me--
"I canna tell what waits ye, but, gin ye'd like to see through the manse,
I'll tak' ye through the morn."
I thanked him, declining, but secretly blessed him and inwardly
rejoiced.
At worship that night my gentle host read the story of the prodigal, and
when we knelt to pray he repeated twice, "I will arise and go unto my
Father," and in the pause I felt that the wave of some besetting memory
was beating on the shore; more and more was it borne in upon me that
this man had a past, shared only by himself and God and some one else
unknown.
The morning witnessed my departure from New Jedboro, and from the
window of the train I watched its fast-retreating hills, so often trodden
by me since with the swinging stride of joy, or clambered with the
heavy step of care.
There is neither time nor space to set down in detail all that followed.
Let it suffice to say that while they were musing the fire burned, and
the good folk of St. Cuthbert's slowly and solemnly resolved to call me
to their ancient church.
They were scandalized by a report, which spread with pestilential ease,
that I had known my wife but three short weeks when I asked her to
walk the long walk with me. This and other rumours provoked them to
despatch a sage and ponderous officer to the distant scene of my
labours, that he might investigate them on the spot. He came, he saw,

he was conquered. My wife lassoed him at a throw. He went home in
fetters, his eloquence alone unloosed. Long before the night on which
they should meet to call, he had brandished his opinion as to the
wisdom of my delirious haste.
"But did he mak' his choice so redeek'lus sudden?" he was asked.
"I dinna ken," he answered tropically, "and I dinna care. If he bided
three weeks, he bided ower lang. I kent that fine when ance I saw her.
Noo, I pit it till ye, gin ye were crossin' a desert place, an' ye saw the
Rose o' Sharon afore ye, wad ye no' pluck it gin ye micht, and pluck it
quick? I pit it till ye." And they answered him not a word, for there is
no debater like the heart.
I was told in after days that my historic friend the beadle canvassed for
me night and day, laying mighty stress upon the fact that he knew me
well, since he had travelled with me, assuring every ear that I was
"uncommon ceevil," and proudly laying bare the independent scorn
with which I had met his proposition to inspect the manse.
"But we micht get him yet," he concluded, "gin we gang richt aboot it."
These testimonials, together with his plaintive appeal to be relieved of
the responsibility which the absence of a fixed minister threw upon
himself, went far to confirm the wavering.
Nor shall I linger to trace the workings of that ponderous machinery
whereby I was at last installed as the minister of St. Cuthbert's Church.
Even the great assemblage which gathered to welcome us, with its
infinite introductions, its features social, devotional, and deputational,
its addresses civic and ecclesiastical, must be dismissed with a word.
It reminded me of nothing so much as of the launching of a ship, and
beneath all its tumult of artillery there thrummed the deep undertone of
joy. For St. Cuthbert's, contrary to its historic way, had parted with its
last minister, a man of great ability, amid the smoke of battle, and he
had gone forth as Napoleon went, with a martial record which the
corroding years even yet have scarcely tarnished. Fierce had been the

fight, the factions grimly equal, and beclouded with a sublime
confusion as to which side had been led by heaven and which by Belial.
On this point, even now, they do not exactly see eye to eye.
And this deep joy, whose untiring hum (joy's native voice) had
entwined itself with every exercise of our