and most judicious course, and considered not only what was due to themselves but also to their erring brother? Yet they had not only failed to obtain the slightest concession from him, but he had gone so far as even to refuse to receive or confer with their own committec. The case was no doubt most distressing to them all, but, as far as he could see, it would bring well-merited ridicule on all church discipline if they dropped it at this stage. To appoint another deputation would be disrespectful to the dignity of the court; and as for himself, he had done all he could to bring about an amicable settlement: in fact, on last Sabbath evening, he had had a private interview in the manse with Mr. Mercer, which had terminated, he grieved to say, in a most unsatisfactory manner.

Such was the general tenour of the minister's harangue. It was in vain that Mr. Gordon, backed by William Simpson, farmer, of Greenfield, and Andrew Semple, watchmaker, argued against the minister-the latter declaring that the Session were putting back the hands of the clock, and falling behind time.

But all in vain! Adam, by the casting vote of the Moderator, was suspended" from the eldership; that is, deprived for a time of his official position and power. Mr. Gordon and the two elders who agreed with him, vehemently protested against what they called the tyrannical proceeding." Most fortunately for the cause of justice, the Rev. Daniel was not a bishop who could rule his parish presbyters as his own “principles,” whims, or— pardon the irreverent insinuation-his indigestion, might dictate. There was a higher court, and there was the law of the land,bigher than the court, to curb the minister's will, or as he always called it when in a passion-his conscience. The sentence of the Session might be, as was confidently anticipated, reversed by the Presbytery, though the district was notoriously narrow and prejudiced, and some of the clergy fancied that the straws showed how the winds of heaven blew, when they were only 1 moved by their own breath.

When Adam returned on that Sunday afternoon from church, he fortunately did not know, though be more than suspected, what the decision of the Kirk Session was. He knew certainly that his case must not only have come before the court, but must also, from its nature, have caused such a division of opinion as would make his position as an elder one of remark, of suspicion, and, to him, of personal pain. It was a temporary comfort, however, that he had no certain bad news to communicate to Katie, and that he could say, as he did with truth, "It wasna for me to be present, or to interfere. They have done their duty nae doot, an' I have done mine as far as I could."

When his humble Sunday meal was over, and before sunset, Adam went to visit one or two of the sick, infirm, or bedridden, who were on his list to attend to as an elder. Not until he was on his way to their homes did he realise the fact that, for

the present at least, he was probably no longer an elder. But as he never had formed the habit of visiting the sick as a mere official, but had made his office only a better means, given him in God's providence, for gratifying his benevolent and Christian feelings, he went, as he was wont to do, with a peaceful spirit and loving heart. The poor and suffering whom he visited received him with their usual kindness and gratitude. They felt that Adam could not be a bad or false man; that in him was love-love in its meekness, calmness, self-possession, sympathy, and forgiveness of others. They could not, perhaps, explain the grounds of their perfect unreserved confidence in him, yet they could not-it was impossible-entertain any doubts of his Christian character which could hinder their hearts from feeling what they in many cases expressed with their lips: "A real guid man is Adam Mercer! It's me that should say it, for he has been kind and guid to me. I'm no saying wha's richt or wrang; I ken this only, that I'll stan' by Adam! I wish we had mair like him!"

On his return home after these visits, he placed Mary on Charlie's chair, beside himself, resolving, although the other members of the class were still absent, that he would nevertheless teach Mary as their representative, as well as for her own sake. There had come into his possession one of those small books of religious guidance and instruction which many intellectual people-so called, but probably not so recognised by the angels who minister even to children affect to despise, just as they would despise any "still small voice" when compared with the loud storm, the brilliant fire, and the powerful, rock-moving earthquake. This book was but a number of texts, wisely arranged by a bedridden Christian, for each day of the year, with one of special and deeper import for its Sabbaths. The text for this Lord's Day was- -"They who know Thy name will put their trust in Thee;" and Adam said to her, when she had repeated it as the lesson for the day, "Do ye understan' what is meant by trusting God?”

"I'm no sure," "she said.

"But ye surely ken what it wad be to trust me?Do ye, Mary?"

Mary looked up and smiled. She made no reply, but was evidently puzzled by an attempt she was unconsciously making to understand the possibility of want of trust in the Sergeant. So, finding no response, he again asked, "Wad ye trust me, my wee woman ?”,

of shot and shell bursting and filling the heavens with flame and smoke and deadly missile, he had trusted God, and felt calm at his heart, like a child in the arms of a loving parent. These pictures flashed on him but for a second, yet they were sufficient to remind him of what God had been to him, and to strengthen his faith in what God was to him, and ever would be; so that when he bent his knee in believing prayer, ere he retired to rest, he felt strong and peaceful. He then slept as one whom God sustained, and who in waking, whether here or elsewhere, would be satisfied with His likeness!

Next morning the announcement of his suspension from the eldership was conveyed to him by an official document from Mr. Mackintosh, the Session clerk and parish schoolmaster;—a good, discreet man, who did his duty faithfully, loyally voted with the minister from an earnest belief that it was right to do so, and made it his endeavour as a member of society to meddle with nobody, in the good hope that nobody would meddle with him.

Katie heard the news, but, strange to say, was not so disconcerted as Adam anticipated. In proportion as difficulties gathered round her husband, she became more resolute, and more disposed to fight for him. She was like many women on their first voyage, who in calm weather are afraid of a slight breeze and the uneasy motion of the ship, yet who, when actual danger threatens, rise up in the power and dignity of their nature, and become the bravest of the brave-the very feeling and fancy which shrank from danger while it was unseen, coming to their aid as angels of hope when danger alone is visible.

"Aweel, aweel," remarked Katie; "it's their ain loss, Adam, no yours; ye hae naething to charge yersel' wi'."

But she would sometimes relapse into a meditative mood, as the more painful side of the case revealed itself. "Ay noo-ay-and they hae suspended yethat's hanged ye, as I suppose, like a dog or cat! Bonnie-like Session !-my word!--and for what? Because ye wadna kill the bird! Teuch! It micht pit a body daft tae think o't!" And so on. But this did little good to Adam, who felt his character, his honour, at stake. Things were daily getting worse to bear. The news had spread over the town, "Adam Mercer has been rebuked and suspended by the Kirk Session!" From that moment he became a marked man. Old customers fell away from him; not that any one openly declared that they would not employ him as a shoemaker merely because the minister and Kirk Session were opposed to him:-Oh, no! Not a hint was given of that, or anything approaching to it; but, somehow, new shoes seemed to have gone out of fashion.

The cold unfeeling snowball increased as it rolled along the street in which Adam lived, until it blocked up his door, so that he could hardly get out. If he did go out, it was to be subjected to con

VIII-15

stant annoyance. The boys and girls of the lowest classes in his neighbourhood, influenced by all they heard discussed and asserted in their respective homes, where reserve was not the characteristic of the inmates, were wout to gather round his window, and to peer in with an eager gaze, as if anxious to discover some fitting fuel to cast on their domestic hearths at night. It was as impossible to seize them, as to scare away by argument a flock of sparrows settling down upon a seed plot in a garden. When the Sergeant therefore ventured to go abroad, the nickname of "The Starling" was shouted after him by the boys, who adopted all the various modes of concealing their ringleaders which evidence such singular dexterity and cunning. The result was that Adam was compelled, as we have said, to keep within doors. He thus began to feel as if he was alone in the world. Every one seemed changed. Those on whom he had hitherto relied failed him. He or the world was worse than he had ever imagined either to be, and it was little comfort to him to know which of the two was in error.

The Sergeant, however, had much inward peace though little happiness. But how different are peace and happiness! Happiness is the result of harmony between our wants as creatures and the world without: peace is the harmony between us as spiritual beings and the Father of our spirit. The one is as changeable as the objects or circumstances on which it for the moment relies; the other is as unchangeable as the God on whom it eternally rests. We may thus possess at once real happiness and real peace; yet either may exist without the other. Nay more, happiness may be destroyed by God in order that the higher blessing of peace may be possessed; but never can He take away peace to give happiness! The former may end with life, but both when combined must exist for ever.

Adam, as we have said, enjoyed little happiness in the conflict, but he was kept in "perfect peace. When another Sunday came round, the old sense of duty induced him to go, as usual, to church. His absence might be supposed to indicate that he feared the face of man, because fearing the face of God. Katie accompanied him. Her courage rose to the occasion. Let not the reader who, moving in a larger sphere of life, has learned to measure his annoyances by a corresponding standard, smile at these simple souls, or think it an exaggeration to picture their burthen as having been so heavy.

Adam and Katie walked calmly to church, knowing all the time that they did so under the gaze of the cold and criticising eyes of some who were disposed to say to them, "Stand back, I am holier than thou!" Yet more persons than they themselves were aware of felt towards them kindness, pity, and respect, mingled with very opposite feelings to the minister and those members of Kirk Session who had made so much ado

about so small an affair. Others forgot the sympathy due to a suffering, good man, apart from its immediate cause. Many of his worthy friends said afterwards that they "did not think of it!" Alas! not thinking is often the worst of all.

Adam and Katie passed Smellie, as he stood at "the plate," without the slightest recognition on either side. They occupied their accustomed seat, but sat alone. Those who ordinarily filled the pew suffered from cold or conscience, and so were either absent or seated elsewhere. One may guess what sort of sermon Mr. Porteous preached from the text, "Beware of evil doers." The personal reference to the Sergeant was like a theme in his overture; or as an idea not so much directly expressed as indirectly insinuated from first to last. The argument was a huge soap-bubble of principle blown from his pipe until he could blow no longer, and then he contemplated it with admiration as if it were a glorious globe of thought which must be heavenly because it reflected the colours of the rainbow. His picture of the danger of the times in which he lived was very vivid, and his hopes of any improvement very small. But whoever proved a traitor, he himself would still earnestly contend for the faith | once delivered to the saints; and his trumpet, at least, would never give an uncertain sound; and he would hold fast the form of sound words :-and so on he went until his forty-five minutes were ended.

That the preacher was perfectly sincere, no one could doubt. He was no coward, or make-believe, but was thoroughly convinced. He would at any time have given up his "all" for his principles, and given his body even to be burned for them yet possibly " without charity."

We do not condemn Mr. Porteous' "principles." They were, most of them, what might be called Christian truisms, which no one believing in the supreme authority of the Bible, far less any parish minister, could dispute. But the practical application of his principles by the minister on certain occasions, as on this one, might be questioned. He might also have considered whether there were not many other Bible and Christian principles of wider import and deeper spiritual meaning, than those he contended for, not excluding but including them, and which he required to know before he could really understand or truly apply those even which he so tenaciously held and so frequently expounded. Half truths are untruths.

Adam stood the heavy fire from the pulpit with calm submission. He knew that very many in the congregation while listening to the minister were looking at him self; but, knowing also how much depends in every battle on the steadiness and self-possession of the non-commissioned officers, he looked the enemy in the face and never winced. Katie seemed inspired by his example-so far, at least that she neither fled nor fainted, and though not daring to gaze on the foe, she accepted his charge as if kneeling in the rear rank, with a calm

brave countenance, and eyes cast down meekly to the ground.

Poor Katie! What would Waterloo have been to her in comparison with this day's battle! That was an honourable conflict; but this was reckoned by those whom she respected as one of dishonour. In that was danger of wounds and of death-but in this were deeper wounds, and danger possibly beyond the grave! How often did the form of her old "faither" come before her-yet she thought it strange that he did not frown. But she never communicated her fears or feelings to her husband. "He has eneuch to carry wi'oot me," she said.

As they left the church more than one took an opportunity of addressing the Sergeant, and, to the credit of all, not one uttered an unkindly word. Some shook him warmly by the hand but said nothing. Others added, "God bless ye! Dinna heed, Mr. Mercer." Mr. Gordon and one or two of the elders were marked in their kindness. It would not have conduced to the comfort of the minister, though it might have made him doubt how far his people really sympathised with him or his "principles," had he heard some of the remarks made after the sermon by the more intelligent and independent of his congregation. But his ignorance was to him a kind of bliss; and whatever tended or threatened to disturb his self-satis faction would have been recognised by him as folly, not wisdom.

Adam could not close his ears, but he could hold his tongue, and this he did.

The worthy couple walked home in silence, and arm-and-arm too! for the first time probably in their lives. Mary, whom I forgot to mention, followed them in new shoes, a new bonnet, a new shawl, and her Bible wrapped up in a clean pockethandkerchief. As they entered their home, the Starling received them with quite a flutter of excitement. Shaking his feathers, hopping violently about his cage, or thrusting his bill, as if for a kiss, between the bars, he welcomed Mary, as she approached him with some food, and made the room ring with various declarations as to his being Charlie's bairn, his hopes of being yet a king, and his belief in genuine manhood.

"I think," quoth the Sergeant, "he is ane o' the happiest and maist contented bit craturs in the parish."

Mary, as if feeling that it was right to say something good on Sunday, archly put in, "I mind what ye telt me aboot the bird."

"What was't, my bairn?" asked Adam.

"It was aboot the fowls-I diuna mind a' the verse, but a bit o't was, ‘Are not ye better than the fowls?'"

"Thank ye for the comfort, Mary dear," said Adam, gravely.

From some common instinct of their hearts, Mr. Porteous' sermon was not spoken of. Was it because Mary was present? or only because Katie was so anxious to see the cheese well toasted for

their tea? or because yet why go on conjecturing! But at evening worship, which closed the day, Adam, as usual, prayed for his minister, and for God's blessing on the preached word; and he prayed to be delivered from evil-doing, and from fretting at evil-doers, and to be enabled to put his trust in God and do good. Katie on rising from her knees did what she never did before, kissed her husband, saying, “God bless you, my best o' men!" "Gae awa', gae awa'!" said the Sergeant; "ye want to gaur me greet like yersel', do ye? But na, lass, I'm ower auld a sodger for that!" With all his boasting, however, he was very nearly betrayed into the weakness which he professed to despise. But he seemed greatly pleased with his good wife's kindness, and he added "Bless you, my braw leddy, a'the same. And," in a whisper, "ye needna let on to Mary that I'm fashed. It micht vex the lassie."

CHAPTER VI.-JOCK HALL, AND HIS CONSPIRACY.

I MUST go back for a few days in my story. During the lonely week which I have but very partially and inadequately described for how few would believe that a man with a good conscience and good sense could suffer so much in such circumstances!-the Sergeant received a visit from Jock Hall, who has been already mentioned, and whom Katie described as "a ne'er-do-weel."

Katie's estimate of Jock's character was that of Drumsylie. Most parishes, indeed, have their quota of weaklings in intellect and weaklings in morals. Jock belonged to the latter class. He was thin, sallow-faced man, of a nervous temperament, and with lank black hair. He might be aged thirty, although he looked like forty. His jacket wis made of fustian, which might have been clean some years before; his corduroy trousers had ragged endings, beneath which were revealed old boots and worn-out stockings; while a tattered bonnet covered his capacious head-a head that, phrenologically, was of a superior type. How Hall lived no one knew, nor cared to know. lodging, when under a roof, varied with the means at his disposal for paying rent. If any unknown householder in the unknown recesses of the small towns which Jock visited, permitted him to sleep gratis on the floor near his fire, it was a secret known and appreciated by himself only.

His

Jock had never presumed to enter so aristocratic a house as Adam's. But now that public report had brought the Sergeant down somewhat nearer to his own level, and that he had a pair of boots to mend, without having any credit with even the most drunken cobbler in Drumsylie, Jock thought that, in the whole circumstances of the case, moral and commercial, he might visit the Sergeant without any offence. He did so, to the astonishment of Adam, and much more to that of his wife. "What do you want wi' Mr. Mercer?" was her question as she opened the door to Jock's knock.

When he entered the small but cleanly kitchen, his only remark was, "Like a new preen!" Looking round with a half-vacant, half-curious gaze, he fixed his eyes on the Sergeant for a moment, then walking up to the starling's cage, he muttered, "Deevils!"

This brief exclamation arrested the attention of Adam, who asked, "What do ye mean, my man? D'ye ken what ye're saying?”

"Fine," ,"replied Jock. "Deevils! again say I!” The Sergeant rose, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to the door.

"I understan'," said Jock; "ye wad hae me gang oot. Ye're no the first that has sent Jock Hall that gait! Maist folk like to see his back a hantle better than his face. But I'm no gaun oot at present, Sergeant. That Stirlin' o' yours 'll' no let me. I'm fond o' birds-in fac, they're the only leevin' things I care for. I never liked canaries, they're ower genteel and ower particklar aboot bein' 'coodled, for a tramp like me that never was in that way mysel'. But our ain birds-that's maavies, linties, and laverocks, or even gooldies, that can stan' a' wathers, and sing for a' folk, specially for them that's obleeged to lie oot in wuds, or on the heather-them's the singers for Jock Hall! I'm no acquaint wi' thae Stirlin's; but I'm telt that yours is no canny, an' that it speaks like an auld-farrant bairn." And Jock turned to the cage from which 'his attention had for a moment been diverted; and while the Sergeant was earnestly studying his strange guest, the guest was as earnestly studying the strange bird. The starling was singularly still, and seemed to sympathise with his master in his study of Hall. He then leaped up to his perch, turned his back to Jock, shook his feathers, turned round and looked again at the visitor with a steady gaze.

"That's a fearsome bird!" said Hall, without moving. “As sure as I'm leevin, I see'd his ee gettin' bigger and bigger, till it was like a saxpence as it glowered at me--I was frichtened it kent a' things I was doing or thinking aboot!”

"Let the bird alane!" said the Sergeant, "and sit here at the window if ye hae ony business wi' me, Hall."

Jock obeyed; but twice, between the cage and the window, he looked over his shoulder at the starling, as if he was afraid of him.

"What do you want wi' me?" inquired the Sergeant.

"Hoo lang," asked Hall, in a low voice, "hae ye had that bird? Hoo auld is he? Whaur did ye get him? What does he say when

"Never heed the bird," interrupted the Sergeant: "he's doin' ye nae ill."

"I'm no sae sure o' that, faix!" said Jock; "I'll wager he has seen me afore, or kens me--for he's no canny."

"Nonsense!" was Adam's only reply.