-was on the "Sin Offering" of the Jewish economy, as minutely described in Leviticus. He drew a picture of the slaughtered animal, foul with dust and blood, and steaming, in its impurity, to the sun, as it awaited the consuming fire amid the uncleanness of ashes outside the camp,--its throat gashed across,―its entrails laid open; a vile and horrid thing, which no one could see without experiencing emotions of disgust, 'nor touch without contracting defilement. The description appeared too painfully vivid,-its introduction too little in accordance with the rules of a just taste. But the master in this difficult walk knew what he was doing. And that, he said, pointing to the strongly-colored picture he had just completed, "And THAT IS SIN.' By one stroke the intended effect was produced, and the rising disgust and horror transferred from the revolting material image to the great moral evil.

How could such a man pass from earth, and leave no trace behind him? Mainly, I believe, from two several causes. As the minister of an attached provincial congregation, a sense of duty, and the promptings of a highly-intellectual nature, to which exertion was enjoyment, led him to study much and deeply; and he poured forth viva voce his full-volumed and ever-sparkling tide of eloquent idea, as freely and richly as the nightingale, unconscious of a listener, pours forth her melody in the shade. But, strangely diffident of his own powers, he could not be made to believe that what so much impressed and delighted the privileged few who surrounded him, was equally suited to impress and delight the intellectual many outside; or that he was fitted to speak through the press in tones which would compel the attention, not merely of the religious, but also of the literary world. Further, practising but little the art of elaborate composition, and master of a spoken style more effective for the purposes of the pulpit than almost any written one, save that of Chalmers, he failed, in all his attemps in writing, to satisfy a fastidious taste, which he had suffered greatly to outgrow his ability of production. And so he failed to leave any adequate mark behind him.. I find that for my stock of theological idea, not directly derived from Scripture, I stand

more indebted to two Scotch theologians than to all other men of their profession and class. The one of these was Thomas Chalmers,—the other, Alexander Stewart: the one a name known wherever the English language is spoken; while of the other it is only remembered, and by comparatively a few, that the impression did exist at the time of his death, that

"A mighty spirit was eclipsed,-a power

Had passed from day to darkness, to whose hour
Of light no likeness was bequeathed,―no name."

CHAPTER XIX.

"See yonder poor o'er-labor'd wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordy fellow-worm

The poor petition spurn."

BURNS.

WORK failed me about the end of June 1828; and, acting on the advice of a friend who believed that my style of cutting inscriptions could not fail to secure for me a good many little jobs in the churchyard of Inverness, I visited that place, and inserted a brief advertisement in one of the newspapers, soliciting employment. I ventured to characterize my style of engraving as neat and correct; laying especial emphasis on the correctness, as a quality not very common among the stonecutters of the north. It was not a Scotch, but an English mason, who, when engaged, at the instance of a bereaved widower, in recording on his wife's tombstone that a "virtuous woman is a crown to her husband," corrupted the text, in his simplicity, by substituting " 5s." for the "crown." But even Scotch masons do make odd enough mistakes at times, espe cially in the provinces; and I felt it would be something gained could I but get an opportunity of showing the Inverness public that I had at least English enough to avoid the commoner errors. My verses, thought I, are at least tolerably correct: could I not get some one or two copies introduced into

the poet's corner of the Inverness Courier or Journal, and thus show that I have literature enough to be trusted with the cut. ting of an epitath on a gravestone? I had a letter of introduction from a friend in Cromarty to one of the ministers of the place, himself an author, and a person of influence with the proprietors of the Courier; and, calculating on some amount of literary sympathy from a person accustomed to court the public through the medium of the press, I thought I might just venture on stating the case to him. I first, however wrote a brief address, in octo-syllabic quatrains, to the river which flows through the town, and gives to it its name;composition which has, I find, more of the advertisement in it than is quite seemly, but which would have perhaps expressed less confidence had it been written less under the influence of a shrinking timidity, that tried to re-assure itself by words of comfort and encouragement.

-a

I was informed that the minister's hour for r receiving visitors of the humbler class was between eleven and twelve at noon; and, with the letter of introduction and my copy of verses in my pocket, I called at the manse, and was shown into a little narrow ante-room, furnished with two seats of deal that ran along the opposite walls. I found the place occupied by some six or seven individuals,—r -more than half that number old withered women, in very shabby habiliments, who, as I soon learned from a conversation which they kept up in a grave under-tone, about weekly allowances, and the partialities of the session, were paupers. The others were young men, who had apparently serious requests to prefer anent marriage and baptism; for I saw that one of them was ever and anon drawing from his breast-pocket a tattered copy of the Shorter Catechism, and running over the questions; and I overheard another asking his neighbor, "Who drew up the contract lines for him?" and "Where he had got the whisky?" The minister entered; and as he passed into the inner room, we all He stood for a moment in the doorway, and, beckoning on one of the young men,-he of the Catechism,—they went in together, and the door closed. They remain closeted to

rose.

gether for about twenty minutes or half an hour, and then the young man went out; and another young man, he who had procured the contract lines and the whisky,—took his place. The interview in this second case, however, was much shorter than the first; and a very few minutes served to despatch the business of the third young man; and then the minister, coming to the doorway, looked first at the old women and then at me, as if mentally determining our respective claims to pricrity; and mine at length prevailing,—I know not on what occult principle,-I was beckoned in. I presented my letter of introduction, which was graciously read; and though the nature of the business did strike me as ludicrously out of keeping with the place, and it did cost me some little trouble to suppress at one time a burst of laughter, that would, of course, have been prodigiously improper in the circumstances, I detailed to him in a few words my little plan, and handed him my copy of verses. He read them aloud with slow deliberation.

ODE TO THE NESS.

Child of the lake!* whose silvery gleam
Cheers the rough desert, dark and lone,-
A brown, deep, sullen, restless stream,
With ceaseless speed thou hurriest on.
And yet thy banks with flowers are gay;

The sun laughs on thy ample breast;
And o'er thy tides the zephyrs play,

Though nought be thine of quiet rest.

Stream of the lake! to him who strays,
Lonely, thy winding marge along,

Not fraught with lore of other days,
And yet not all unblest in song,-

To him thou tell'st of busy men,

Who madly waste their present day,

Pursuing hopes, baseless as vain,
While life, untasted, glides away.

* Loch Ness.