ed by the shows and counterfeits of truth as
the ignorant are, is it for me to hand them over to perplexity and risk?
They are simple believers, and are contented. They worship God, and are
at peace. They know their lot, and do not murmur at it. Is it right that
they should be disturbed with the religious differences and theological
subtleties which have already divided into innumerable sects the
universal family of Christians whom God made one? Is it fair or merciful
to whisper into their ears the plausible reasons of dissatisfaction,
envy, and complaining, to which the uninformed of all classes but too
eagerly listen? I have ever found the religious and the political
propagandist united in the same individual. The man who proposes to the
simple to improve his creed, is ready to point out the way to better his
condition. He succeeds in rendering him unhappy in both, and there he
leaves him. So would this man, and I would rather die for my people,
than tamely give them over to their misery."

A tall, stout, weather-beaten man, in the coarse dress of a fisherman,
descending the hill, intercepted our way. It was the man Cuthbert,
already mentioned by Mr Fairman. He touched his southwester to the
incumbent.

"How is the boy, Cuthbert?" asked the minister, stopping at the same
moment.

"All but well, sir. Doctor Mayhew don't mean to come again. It's all
along of them nourishments that Miss Ellen sent us down. The Doctor says
he must have died without them."

"Well, Cuthbert, I trust that we shall find you grateful."

"Grateful, sir!" exclaimed the man. "If ever I forget what you have done
for that poor child, I hope the breath----" The brawny fisherman could
say no more. His eyes filled suddenly with tears, and he held down his
head, ashamed of them. He had no cause to be so.

"Be honest and industrious, Cuthbert; give that boy a good example.
Teach him to love his God, and his neighbour as himself. That will be
gratitude enough, and more than pay Miss Ellen."

"I'll try to do it, sir. God bless you!"

We said little till we reached the parsonage again; but before I
re-entered its gate the Reverend Walter Fairman had risen in my esteem,
and ceased to be considered a cold and unfeeling man.

We dined; the party consisting of the incumbent, the six students, and
myself. The daughter, the only daughter and child of Mr Fairman, who was
himself a widower, had not returned from the cottage to which she had
been called