th
souls lifted up to God in prayer; the church was not large enough to
hold the people, and the churchyard was filled with devout worshipers.
They sat upon the grass like the thousands that were fed by Christ in
the days of old. The soft wind blew upon them as it listed, and the Holy
Spirit, too, came with mysterious power; the vast assembly was deeply
moved. The long Sabbath was followed by a short night. Monday came, and
the people, having been profoundly affected by the services of the
preceding day, were again early on the grounds. They felt that they
could not separate without another day of worship--a day of thanksgiving
to the Lord for the wondrous revelations of His love at His holy table.
Mr. Livingston was constrained to preach, and that day proved to be the
great day of the feast. An unusual awe fell upon the preacher and his
hearers; the Holy Spirit wrought marvelously, melting the hearts of the
vast congregation and filling them with comfort, strength, and
thankfulness.

Mr. Livingston and his people declined to conform to the "Articles of
Perth." A goodly number of other ministers and their churches likewise
refused. The king determined to force them into submission by
authorizing a "Book of Public Worship", called the Liturgy. July 23,
1637, was the day appointed for its introduction. An attempt to force a
mode of worship upon Scotch Presbyterians! No experiment could be more
perilous to the king; it was indiscretion bordering on insanity. The
very announcement produced an underground swell such as precedes a moral
earthquake. Murmurings, groanings, threatenings, dark forebodings swayed
the nation. These were gusts fore-running the storm.

The day for testing the Liturgy arrived. Attention was chiefly
concentrated upon the Church of St. Giles at Edinburgh. The large
auditorium was filled with Presbyterians who were accustomed to worship
God in the plain, solemn manner of the apostles. The suspense preceding
the service was painful. Each heart was beating fast, repressed emotion
was at white heat, the atmosphere was full of electricity, no one could
tell where the fiery point would first appear. At length the dean stood
in the pulpit before the gaze of his insulted audience. He opened the
new book and began. That was enough, the spark struck the powder, the
explosion was sudden. Jean Geddes, a woman whose name is enshrined in
history, and whose stool is a souvenir in the museum,--Jean, impelled by
a bur