st their progress to church, which was
upwards of four miles from their home among the hills.

The sermon that day was peculiar. The minister of the parish was a
young man; one of those quiet, modest, humble young men, who are, as
their friends think, born to be neglected in this world. He was a
shrewd, sensible young fellow, however, who, if put to it, could have
astonished his "friends" not a little. He was brimful of "Scotch"
theology; but, strange to say, he refrained from bringing that fact
prominently before his flock, insomuch that some of the wiser among them
held the opinion, that, although he was an excellent, worthy young man,
he was, if any thing, a little commonplace--in fact, "he never seemed to
have any diffeeculties in his discoorses: an' if he _had_, he aye got
ower them by sayin' plump oot that they were mysteries he did na pretend
to unravel!"

Any one with half an eye might have seen that the young clergyman was
immeasurably above his flock intellectually. A few of them, among whom
was our friend McAllister, perceived this, and appreciated their
minister. The most of them, good souls, thought him worthy, but _weak_.

Feeling that he had been appointed to _preach the gospel_, this youth
resolved to "make himself all things to all men, in order that he might
gain some." He therefore aimed at preaching Christ crucified, and kept
much of his own light in the background, bringing it out only in
occasional flashes, which were calculated to illuminate, but not dazzle,
the minds of his people. He remembered the remark of that old woman,
who, when asked what she thought of a new minister, said, "Hoot! I
think naethin' o' him ava'; _I understand every word he says_," and he
resolved rather to be thought nothing of at all than pander to the
contemptible craving of those who fancy that they are drinking deep
draughts of wisdom when they read or hear words that are
incomprehensible, but which _sound_ profoundly philosophical.

But we might have spared our readers all this, for the young minister
did not preach that day. He was unwell, and a friend had agreed to
preach for him. The friend was an old man, with bent form and silvery
hair, who, having spent a long life in preaching the gospel, had been
compelled, by increasing age, to retire from active service. Yet, like
a true warrior, he could, when occasion required, buckle on his
Christian armour, and fight stoutly, as of old, for his beloved Maste