Then
she rose, drew near through the gloom, and asked her the name of
the gentleman who had given them such a grand sermon. The woman
told her, adding that, although he had two or three times spoken
to them at the prayer meeting--such words of comfort, the poor
soul added, as she had never in her life heard before--this was
the first time he had occupied the pulpit. The woman thanked her,
and went out into the street.
"God bless me!" she said to herself, as she walked away; "it is
the stickit minister! Weel, won'ers 'ill never cease. The age o'
mirracles 'ill be come back, I'm thinkin'!" And she laughed an oily
contemptuous laugh in the depths of her profuse person.
What caused her astonishment need cause none to the thoughtful
mind. The man was no longer burdened with any anxiety as to his
reception by his hearers; he was hampered by no necromantic agony
to raise the dead letter of the sermon buried in the tail pocket
of his coat; he had thirty years more of life, and a whole granary
filled with such truths as grow for him who is ever breaking up
the clods of his being to the spiritual sun and wind and dew; and
above all he had an absolute yet expanding confidence in his Father
in heaven, and a tender love for everything human. The tongue of
the dumb had been in training for song.
Pages:
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262