o utter.

But this was not a morning for "mandating" with the minister. It was the
day of his pastoral visitation, and it behoved one who had a
congregation scattered over a radius of more than twenty miles to be up
and doing. The minister went down into the little study to take his
spare breakfast of porridge and milk. Then, having called his
housekeeper in for prayers--which included, even to that sparse
auditory, the exposition of the chapter read--he took his staff in hand,
and, crossing the main street, took the road for the western hills, on
which a considerable portion of his flock pastured.

As he went he whistled, whenever he found himself at a sufficient
distance from the scattered houses which lined the roads. He was
everywhere respectfully greeted, with an instinctive solemnity of a
godly sort--a solemnity without fear. Men looked at him as he swung
along, with right Scottish respect for his character and work. They knew
him to be at once a man among men and a man of God.

The women stood and looked longer after him. There was nothing so
striking to be seen in Galloway as that clear-cut, clean-shaven Greek
face set on the square shoulders; for Galloway is a country of tall,
stoop-shouldered men--a country also at that time of shaven upper lips
and bristling beards, the most unpicturesque tonsure, barring the
mutton-chop whisker, which has yet been discovered. The women,
therefore, old and young, looked after him with a warmth about their
hearts and a kindly moisture in their eyes. They felt that he was much
too handsome to be going about unprotected.

Notwithstanding that the minister had a greeting in the bygoing for all,
his limbs were of such excellent reach, and moved so fast over the
ground, that his pace was rather over than under four miles an hour.
Passing the thirteen chimneys of the "Lang Raw," he crossed Dee bridge
and bent his way to the right along the wide spaces of the sluggish
river. The old fortress of the Douglases, the castle of Thrieve, loomed
up behind him through the wavering heat of the morning. Above him was
the hill of Knockcannon, from which Mons Meg fired her fatal shots. The
young minister stood looking back and revolving the strange changes of
the past. He saw how the way of the humble was exalted, and the lofty
brought down from their seats.

"Some put their trust in horses, and some in chariots," said the
minister, "but we will trust in the Lord."

He spake half aloud.