y safely venture to call Paisley's _greatest_ son), who
was one of his teachers, and who, as "Christopher North," wrote so many
witty and solid articles that undeservedly perished in _Blackwood's
Magazine_ at the beginning of last reign. I have rarely had such a treat
as my talk with this hale-hearted octogenarian. His charming daughters
keep house for him, and employ their leisure time weaving at a loom of
their own. The sheep that graze on the glebe supply the wool, and the
intermediate stages between the back of the sheep and the woollen
overcoat on the back of the needy are all supervised by these dexterous
daughters of the manse.

The coach to Craignish passes through a bit of Scotland that, in the
leafy month of June, must be glorious to behold. I passed along in a
fierce and chilling blizzard of sleet and snow. If a poet could keep
warm, thought I, this would be the spot for him to get impressive scenes
for his word-pictures. At one part, the road ziz-zags up a hill for
three miles, alongside a furious burn, to a height of six hundred feet;
from which eminence one sees, on the right, great bare crags and steep
heights, and, on the left, an inlet of the Atlantic foaming wildly
below. Ye gentlemen of the cloth, whose lot is cast in towns and who sit
at home in ease, think of the trials of your rural brethren in their
attempts to drive in winter through drifting snow to a presbytery
meeting fourteen miles away![20]

[20] I could mention another rural parish, considerably further
north, where, two winters ago, the roads were so badly blocked
with snow that for five consecutive weeks no church services
could be held! Both minister and congregation were overcome with
grief.

A MODEL MINISTER.

Not far from the city of Aberdeen is a little village of seafaring folk,
and the worthy minister, the Rev. Mr. Pollock, is guide, philosopher,
and friend to the entire community. Up to his manse, which is a mile
from the uneven and fishy streets, there is a constant _va-et-vient_ of
parishioners. One old widow wishes him to write to her son at the
Yarmouth fishing, herself being ignorant of English spelling; this old
man, painfully hobbling uphill on his stick, and muttering to himself as
he goes, desires the faithful pastor to come and cheer a bed-ridden wife
who is failing fast; that young fisher-lass will blush as she tells that
her young man is on the way home to claim her as his own, with the
Churc