re sae pack. A minister was a
graun' man then, wi' a presence, an' a necktie that took a guid
half-yard o' seeventeen-hunner linen. I'm a minister mysel', ye ken,
John, but I'm weel aware I'm an unco declension. Ye wad like to hear me
preach? Noo, that's rale kind o' ye, John. But ye'll be snuggest at your
ain fireside, an' I'll come in, an' we'll e'en hae a draw o' the pipe
atween sermons. Na, I dinna wunner that ye canna thole to think on the
new kirk-officer, mairchin' in afore the minister, an 's gouns an' a'
sic capers. They wadna hae gotten you to do the like.

"Ye mind, John, hoo ye heartened me up when I was feared to speak for
the first time in the auld pulpit? 'Keep yer heid up,' ye said, 'an'
speak to the gallery. Never heed the folk on the floor. Dinna be feared;
in a time or twa ye'll be nae mair nervish than mysel'. Weel do I mind
when I first took up the buiks, I could hardly open the door for
shakin', but noo I'm naewise discomposed wi' the hale service.'

"Ay, it is queer to come back to the auld place efter sae mony year in
Glesca. You've never been in Glesca, John? No; I'll uphaud that there's
no' yer match amang a' the beadles o' that toun--no' in yer best days,
when ye handed up yer snuff-box to Maister M'Sneesh o' Balmawhapple in
the collectin' ladle, when ye saw that he was sore pitten til't for a
snuff. Or when ye said to Jamieson o' Penpoint, wee crowl o' a body--

"'I hae pitten in the fitstool an' drappit the bookboard, to gie ye
every advantage. So see an' mak' the best o't.'

"Ay, John, ye war a man! Ye never said that last, ye say, John? They
lee'd on ye, did they? Weel, I dootna that there was mony a thing pitten
doon to ye that was behadden to the makkar. But they never could mak' ye
onything but oor ain kindly, thrawn, obstinate auld John, wi' a hand
like a bacon ham and a heart like a bairn's. Guid-day to ye, John.
There's something on the mantelpiece to pit in the tea-caddy. I'll look
in the morn, an' we'll hae oor smoke."

VI

EUROCLYDON OF THE RED HEAD

_There's a leaf in the book of the damask rose
That glows with a tender red;
From the bud, through the bloom, to the dust it goes,
Into rose dust fragrant and dead_.

_And this word is inscribed on the petals fine
Of that velvety purple page--
"Be true to thy youth while yet it is thine
Ere it sink in the mist of age_,

"_Ere the bursting bud be grown
To a