air than
I'll do_." There is something not less than sublime in this reply.

Than my grandfather and "Uncle Ebenezer," no two brothers could be more
different in nature or more united in affection. My grandfather was a
man of great natural good sense, well read and well knowledged, easy but
not indolent, never overflowing but never empty, homely but dignified,
and fuller of love to all sentient creatures than any other human being
I ever knew. I had, when a boy of ten, two rabbits, Oscar and Livia: why
so named is a secret I have lost; perhaps it was an Ossianic union of
the Roman with the Gael. Oscar was a broad-nosed, manly, rather
_brusque_ husband, who used to snort when angry, and bite too; Livia was
a thin-faced, meek, and I fear, deceitfullish wife, who could smile, and
then bite. One evening I had lifted both these worthies, by the ears of
course, and was taking them from their clover to their beds, when my
grandfather, who had been walking out in the cool of the evening, met
me. I had just kissed the two creatures, out of mingled love to them,
and pleasure at having caught them without much trouble. He took me by
the chin, and kissed me, and then _Oscar and Livia_! Wonderful man, I
thought, and still think! doubtless he had seen me in my private
fondness, and wished to please me.

He was forever doing good in his quiet yet earnest way. Not only on
Sunday when he preached solid gospel sermons, full of quaint familiar
expressions, such as I fear few of my readers could take up, full of
solemn, affectionate, appeals, full of his own simplicity and love, the
Monday also found him ready with his every-day gospel. If he met a
drover from Lochaber who had crossed the Campsie Hills, and was making
across Carnwath Moor to the Calstane Slap, and thence into England by
the drove-rode, he accosted him with a friendly smile,--gave him a
reasonable tract, and dropped into him some words of Divine truth. He
was thus _continually_ doing good. Go where he might, he had his message
to every one; to a servant lass, to a poor wanderer on the bleak
streets, to gentle and simple--he flowed forever _pleno rivo_.

Uncle Ebenezer, on the other hand, flowed _per saltum_; he was always
good and saintly, but he was great once a week; six days he brooded over
his message, was silent, withdrawn, self-involved; on the Sabbath, that
downcast, almost timid man, who shunned men, the instant he was in the
pulpit, stood up a son of thunder. Suc