wander forlorn in exile, in clouds and storms; was
censured, shot-at through his windows; had a right sore fighting life:
if this world were his place of recompense, he had made but a bad
venture of it. I cannot apologise for Knox. To him it is very
indifferent, these two-hundred-and-fifty years or more, what men say
of him. But we, having got above all those details of his battle, and
living now in clearness on the fruits of his victory, we, for our own
sake, ought to look through the rumours and controversies enveloping
the man, into the man himself.

For one thing, I will remark that this post of Prophet to his Nation
was not of his seeking; Knox had lived forty years quietly obscure,
before he became conspicuous. He was the son of poor parents; had got
a college education; become a Priest; adopted the Reformation, and
seemed well content to guide his own steps by the light of it, nowise
unduly intruding it on others. He had lived as Tutor in gentlemen's
families; preaching when any body of persons wished to hear his
doctrine: resolute he to walk by the truth, and speak the truth when
called to do it; not ambitious of more; not fancying himself capable
of more. In this entirely obscure way he had reached the age of forty;
was with the small body of Reformers who were standing siege in St
Andrew's Castle,--when one day in their chapel, the Preacher after
finishing his exhortation to these fighters in the forlorn hope, said
suddenly, That there ought to be other speakers, that all men who had
a priest's heart and gift in them ought now to speak;--which gifts and
heart one of their own number, John Knox the name of him, had: Had he
not? said the Preacher, appealing to all the audience: what then is
_his_ duty? The people answered affirmatively; it was a criminal
forsaking of his post, if such a man held the word that was in him
silent. Poor Knox was obliged to stand-up; he attempted to reply; he
could say no word;--burst into a flood of tears, and ran out. It is
worth remembering, that scene. He was in grievous trouble for some
days. He felt what a small faculty was his for this great work. He
felt what a baptism he was called to be baptised withal. He 'burst
into tears.'

Our primary characteristic of a Hero, that he is sincere, applies
emphatically to Knox. It is not denied anywhere that this, whatever
might be his other qualities or faults, is among the truest of men.
With a singular instinct he holds to the truth