"Eh, my lord!" said Blue Peter, when by chance they found themselves
in the lull of a little quiet court, somewhere about Gray's Inn,
with the roar of Holborn in their ears, "it's like a month sin' I
was at the kirk. I'm feart the din's gotten into my heid, an' I'll
never get it out again. I cud maist wuss I was a mackerel, for
they tell me the fish hears naething. I ken weel noo what ye meant,
my lord, whan ye said ye dreidit the din micht gar ye forget yer
Macker."
"I hae been wussin' sair mysel', this last twa days," responded
Malcolm, "'at I cud get ae sicht o' the jaws clashin' upo' the
Scaurnose, or rowin up upo' the edge o' the links. The din o' natur'
never troubles the guid thouchts in ye. I reckon it's 'cause it's
a kin' o' a harmony in 'tsel', an' a harmony's jist, as the maister
used to say, a higher kin' o' a peace. Yon organ 'at we hearkent
till ae day ootside the kirk, ye min'--man, it was a quaietness
in 'tsel', and cam' throu' the din like a bonny silence--like a
lull i' the win' o' this warl'! It wasna a din at a', but a gran'
repose like. But this noise tumultuous o' human strife, this din'
o' iron shune an' iron wheels, this whurr and whuzz o' buyin' an'
sellin' an' gettin' gain--it disna help a body to their prayers."
"Eh, na, my lord! Jist think o' the preevilege--I never saw nor
thoucht o' 't afore--o' haein' 't i' yer pooer, ony nicht 'at
ye're no efter the fish, to stap oot at yer ain door, an' be in
the mids o' the temple! Be 't licht or dark, be 't foul or fair,
the sea sleepin' or ragin', ye ha'e aye room, an' naething atween
ye an' the throne o' the Almichty, to the whilk yer prayers ken the
gait, as weel 's the herrin' to the shores o' Scotlan': ye ha'e but
to lat them flee, an' they gang straucht there.
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