TALES AND SKETHES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6144, 2 April 1898, Page 1

TALES AND SKETHES.

♦ : - CASH. 'A PROBLEM OF PROFIT AND LOSS, WORKED BY DAVID LOCKERBY. [Bt Athtet.ta E. Barb.3 Antfwrof "Jan Vedder's Wife," &c. ] (AU Rights Reserved.) Chapter I. "Gold may be-dear bought." > , A narrow, steep street with dreadful ■ "wynds" and "vennels" running back jfrom it was the High Street of Glasgow at jthe time my story opens. And yet, though 'dirty, noisy, and overcrowded with sin land suffering, a flavour of old time royalty |and romance lingered amid its vulgar [surroundings ; and midway of its squalid length a quaint brown frontage kept ibehind it noble halls of learning and •pleasant old courts full of the " air of still, delightful studies." From .this building came out two young men in. academic costume. One of them set his face dourly against the clammy fog and drizzling rain, breathing it boldly as if it was the balmiest oxygen; the other, shuddering, drew his scarlet toga around him and said mournfully, " Ech, Davie, the High Street is an ill furlong on the dtfil's road! I never tread it but I think . .o^Jthe weary, weary miles atween it; and There is no road without its bad league, and the High Street has its com- ; its prison for ill-doers, its college, and its holy High Kirk. one of St Mnngo's bairns, and I'm above preaching for my saint." " And St Mungo will be proud of your birthday yet, Davie. With Buch a head, and such, a tongue, with knowledge behind, and wit to the fore, there. is a broad road and an open door for David Lockerby. You may come even to be the Lord Rector o* Glasgow College yet." " Wisdom is praised and starves ; lam thinking it would set me better to be Lord Provost of Glasgow city." "The man who buried his one talent did not go scathless, Davie ; and what now if he had had ten?" "You are aye preaching, Willie, and whiles rt is very untimeous. Are you going to Mary Moir's to-night ?" - < "Why should I?' The only victory over love is through running away." David looked sharply at his companion, but as they were at the Trongate there was no time for further remark. Willie Caird turned eastward towards Glasgow Green, David hailed a passing omnibus and was soon set down before a handsome house on the Sauchiehall Eoad. He went in by the back door, winning from old Janet, in spite of herself, the grimmest shadow of a smile. " Are my father and mother at home, Janet ?" " Deed are they, the mair by token that they hae been quarrelling anent you till the peacefu' folks like mysel' could hae wished them mair sense, or further away." . "Why should they quarrel about me?" •'■•...,. Why, indeed, since they'll no win past your am makin' on inarrin ' ? But the mistress is some kin to Zebedee's wife, I'm - thinking, and she wad fain set you up in a pu'pit and gie you the keys o' St Peter j while maister is for haeing you pit a bank or two in your pouch, and add Ellenmount to Looierby, and—" ■ " And if I could, Janet ?" "Tut, tut, lad! If it werna for 'if yon might pit auld Scotland in a bottle." "But what was the upshot, Janet ?" "I canna tell. God alone understand quarrelling folk." Then David went upstairs to his own room, and when he came down again his face wa3 set as dourly against the coming interview as it had been against the mist and rain. The point at issue was quite familiar to h"n ; his mother wishedhim to continue bis studies and prepare for the ministry. In her opinion the greatest of all men were the' servants of the King, and, a part of the spiritual power and social influence which they enjoyed in StMungo's ancient city she earnestly coveted for her son; "Didn't the Bailies and the Lord Provost wait for them, and were not even the landed gentry and nobles obligated to walk behind a minister in his gown and bands?" Old Andrew Lockerby thought the honour good enough, but money was better. . All the twenty years that his wife had been dreaming of David ruling his flock from a very throne of a pulpit, Andrew had been dreaming of him becoming a great merchant or banker, and winning back the fair lands of Ellenmount, once the patrimonial estate of the house of Lockerby. During these twenty years both husband and wife had clung tenaciously to their several intentions. Now David's teachers — without any knowledge of these diverse influences— had urged on him the duty of cultivating the unusual talents confided to him, and of consecrating them to some noble service of God and humanity. But David wa3 ruled by many opposite feelings, and had with all his book-learning the very smallest intimate acquaintance with himself. He knew neither his strong pointß nor his weak ones, and had not even a ' suspicion of the mighty potency of that mysterious love for gold which really was the ruling passion in his breast. ° NThe argument so long pending he knew wdfcfnowto bo finally settled, and he was '^TnonTeans unprepared for the discussion. \ &*/ came slowly down stairs, counting the jJbints he/* wished to make on his fingers, Mid quite resolved neither to be coaxed nor bullied out of his own individual opinion. He was a handsome, stalwart fellow, as Scotchmen of two-and-twenty go, for it takes about thirty-five years to fill up and perfect the massive frames of " the men of old Gaul." About his thirty-fifth year David would doubtless be a man of noble presence; but even now there was a sense of youth and power about him that was very attractive as with a grave amilo he lifted a book and comfortably disposed himself in an eaßy chair by the window. For David knew better than begin the . conversation; any advantages the defendant might have he determined to retain. After a few minutes' silence his father said, "What are you reading, Davie? It ought to be a quid book that puts quid company in the background." • David leisurely turned to tue title page. " ' Selections from the Latin Poets, 1 " A fool is never a great fool until he kens Latin. Adam Smith or some book o' commercial economics wad set yov lietter, Davie." « Adam Smith is good company for then that are going his way, father, but then : is no way a man may take and not find th< 'humanities good road-fellows." "Dinna beat around the bush, quid man; tell Davie at once that you wan! him to go 'prentice to Mammon. H< iens weel enough whether he can serv, him or no." : ..*«„. . «I want Davie to go 'prentice to you am brither, guidwife-it's nane o m: doing if you ca' your am kin ill names 7 and?Davie. your undo maks you a fau offer, an' you'll just be a born fool to re fuse it." "What is it, father? „.•*„ «Twa years you are to serve him. to j:< £300 a year ; and at the eiid^if .both^ag

business as I can buy you — and, Davie, Fse no be scrimping for such an end. It's the auldest bank in Soho, an* there's nane atweenyou and the head o' it. 'Dinna fling awa' good fortune — dinna do it, Davie, my. dear lad. I hae lookit to you for twenty years to finish what I hae begun — for twenty years I hae been telling myseF 'my Davie will win again the bonnie braes o' Ellenmount.' " There were tears in old Andrew's eyes, and David's heart thrilled and warmed to the old man's words ; in that one flash of sympathy they came nearer to each other than they had ever done before. "Davie, my son, you'll no listen to ony sioh temptation. My brither is my brither, and there are few folk o' the ! Gordon line a'thegither wrang, but Alexander Gordon is a dour man,, and I trow weel you'H serve hard for ony share in his money bags. You'll just gang your ways back to college and talc* up your Greek and Hebrew and serve in the Lord's temple instead of Alexander Gordon's Soho Bank , and, Davie, if you'll do right in this matter you'll win my blessing and every plack and bawbee o' my money." Then, seeing no change in David's face, she made her last, great concession— " And, Davie, you may marry Mary Moir, an' it please you; and I'll like the lassie as weel as may be." "Tour mither, like a' women, has sought you wi' a bribe in her hand, Davie. You ken whether she has bid your price or, not. When you, hae served your twa years I'se buy you a .£20,000 share in the Gordon Bank, and a man wi' ,£20,000 can pick and choose the wife he likes best. But I'm aboon bribing you, my lad— a fair offer isua a bribe;" The concession as to Mary Moir was the one which Davie had resolved to make his turning point, and now both father and mother had virtually granted it. He had told himself that no lot in life would be worth having without Mary, and that with her any lot would be happy. Now that he had been left free in thia matter he knew his own mind as little as ever. " The first step binds to the next," he answered, thoughtfully. "Mary may have something to say. Night brings counsel. I will c'en think over things until the morn." A little later he was talking both offers over with Mary Moir, and though it took four hours to discuss them, they did not find the subject tedious. It was very late when he returned home, but he knew by the light in the house-place that Janet was waiting up for him. Coming out of the wet, dark night, it was pleasant to see the blazing ingle, the white, sanded floor, and the little round table holding some cold moorcock and the pastry that he particularly liked. "Love is but cauldrife cheer, my lad," said Janet, " an' the breast o 1 a bird an' a raspberry tartlet will be nane out o' the way." David was of the same opinion. He wa3 very willing to enjoy Janet's good things and the pleasant light and warmth. Besides, Janet was his oldest confidant and friend— a friend that had never failed him in any of his boyish troubles or youthful scrapes. It gave her pleasure enough for a while to watch him eat,. but when he pushed aside the bird and stretched out his hand for the raspberry dainties, she said, " Now talk a bit, my lad. If others hae wared money on you I hae' wared love, an' I want to ken whether yon are going to college, or ■wb.etb.er you ate going to Lunnon amang the proud, fause Englishers ?" " I am going to London, Janet." "■Whatnafor?" "I am not sure that I have any call to be a minister, Janet — it is a solemn charge." "Then why not ask for a sure call? There is nae key to God's council chamber that I ken of." " Mary wants me to go to London." " Eeh, sirs ! Sets Deacon Moir's dochter to send a lad a wrang road. I wouldna hae thoct wi' her bringing up she could hae Bwithered for a moment — but it's the auld, auld. story; where the doil canna go by himser he sends a woman. And David Lockerby will tyne his inheritance for a pair o' bine c'en, and a handfu' o' gowden curls. Waly ! waly ! but the children" o' Esau live for ever." " Mary Baid," — " 1 dinna want to hear what Mary said. It would hae been nae loss if she'd ne'er spoken on the matter ; but if you think makin' money, an' hoarding money, is the measure o' your capacity, you ken yoursel' sir, dootless. Howsomever you'll go to your am room now : I'm no' going to keep my auld c'en waking just for a common business body." Thus, in spite of his father's support, David did not find his road to London as fair and straight as he could have wished. Janet was deeply offended at him, and she made him feel it in a score of little ways very annoying to a man fond of creature comforts and human sympathy. His mother went about the necessary preparations in a tearful mood that was a constant reproach, and his friend Willie did not scruple to tell him that "he was clean out o' the way o' duty." "God has given you a measure o' St Paul's power ©'argument, Davio, and the verra tongue o' Apollos — weapons wherewith to reason against all unrighteousness and to win the souls o' men." " Special pleading, Willie." " Not at all. Every man's life bears its inscription if he will take the trouble to read it. There was James Grahame, born, as you may say; wi' a sword in his hand, and Bauldy Strang, wi' a spade, and Andrew Semple took to the balances and the 'rithmetic as a duck takes to the water. Do you not mind the day you sp.oke anent the African missions to the young men in St Andrew's Ha' ? Your words flew like arrows — every- ane o' them to its mark; and your heart burned and your c'en glowed, till we were a' on fire with you, and there wasna a lad there»that wouldna hae followed you to the vera Equator. I wouldna dare to bury such a power for good, Davie, no, not though I buried it fathoms deep in gold." From such interviews as these David went home very miserable. If it had not >ecu for Mary Moir he would certainly nave gone back to his old seat by Willie ;au:d in the Theological Hall. But ' Mary »aa such splendid dreamß of their life in jondon. and she looked in her hope and J eauty bo i bewitching,' that he could not Dear to hint a disappointment to her. Befi?f' he . doubted whether she was really ~V ora minister's wife, even if he' should JU P the cross laid down before him— nt^l?,? 1 ™? up Mary,' he would jot admit to himself that thore could tingen c J?° a3ible dufcy in such a COn " heSf«f?' at even h ia father had doubts and oSSffi 1 WM P roven t0 David by the & nature of his advice and Glasgow Ton the morning he left to theCataT -^ cv were riding together " Your uncff n S . taticm > the old man said bank, Da 2 f™* you a seat in Us yourself to liaj vou>ll make room for you'll no forlfc J > e warrant - But thrives a* ahoul.nl * t ' when a Bnid8 nid man for God's sake L ? e **' hbn ; and S ivin S hope 'l shall Zli aworld full,. father. I ingtomyp roß "M^getto give accord"Takthe Wotid^-., . as it ought to be • •> ls ' mv lad > and no ' money i 3 moneys \ • never forget that two pennies in a ~,, Rather— an' you put gither. Butthen^ creep thegold won't T «£vf .^ am f ree *° rich nien hae lq^jjM^PWg. and though

o' yoursel', you will also gie to God the things that are God's." " I have been brought up in the fear of God and the love of mankind, father. It would be an ill thing for me to slink out of life and leave -the world no better for my living." "God bless you, lad; and the ,£20,000 will be to the fore when it is called for, and you shall mak it £60,000, and I'll see again Ellenmount in the Lockerbys' keeping. But you'll walk in the ways o' your fathers, and gie without grudging of your increase." David nodded rather impatiently. He could hardly understand the struggle going on in his father's heart — the wish to say something that might quiet' his own conscience, and yet not make David's unnecessarily tender. It is hard serving God and Mammon, and Andrew Lockerby was miserable and ashamed that morning in the service. And yet he was not selfish in themattor — that much in hia favour must be admitted. He would rather have had the fine, handsome lad he loved so dearly going in and out his own house. He could have taken great interest in all ( his further studies, and very great pride in seeing him a successful "placed, minister"; but there are few Scotsmen in whom pride of lineage and the good of the family does not strike deeper than individual r pleasure. Andrew really believed that David' 3 first duty was to the house of Lockerby. He had sacrificed a great deal towards this end all his own life, nor were his sacrifices complete with the resignation of his only child to the same purpose. To a man of moro chan sixty years of age it is a great trial to have an unusual and unhappy atmosphere in his home ; and though Mrs Lockerby was now tearful and patient under her disappointment, everyone knows tlufc tears and patience may bo a miserable kind of comfort. Then, though Janet had as .yet preserved a dour and angry silence, he knew that sooner or later she would begin a guerilla warfare of sharp words, which he feared he would have mainly to bear, for Janet, though his housekeeper, was also a "far-awa cousin," had been forty years in his house, and was not accustomed to withhold her opinions on any subject. Fortunately for Andrew Lockerby, Janet, finally selected Mary Moir as the Eve specially to blame in this transgression. " A proud up-head lassie," she asserted, " that cam o' a family wha would sell their share o' the sunshine for pounds sterling I" From such texts as this the two women in the Lockerby house preached little daily sermons to each other, until comfort grew out of the very stem of their sorrow, and they began to congratulate each other that " puir Davio was at ony rate outside the glamour o' Mary Moir's temptations." "For she just bewitched the laddie," said Janet, angrily ; and, doubtless, if the old laws regarding witches had been in Janet's administration, it would have gone hardly with pretty Mary Moir. Chapter 11. ?' God's work is soon done." It is a weary day when- the youth first discovers that after all he will only become a man; and this discovery came with a depressing weight one morning to David, after he had been counting bank notes for three hours. It was noon, but the gas was lit, and in the heavy air a dozen men sat silent as statues, adding up figures and making entries. He thought of the college courts, and the college green, of the crowded halls, and the symposia, where both mind and body had equal refection. There had been days when he had a part in these things, and when to " strive with things impossible," or "to pluck honour from the pale-faced moon," had not been unreasonable or rash ; but now it almost seemed as if Mr Buckle's dreary gospel was a reality, and men were machines, and life was an affair to be tabulated in averages. He had just had a letter from Willie Caird, too, and it had irritated him. The wounds of a friend may be faithful, but they are not always welcome. David determined to drop the correspondence. Willie was going one way and ho another. They might never see each other again ; and " If they should meet one day, If both should not forget, They could clasp hands the accustomed way." For by simply going with the current in which in great measure, subject yet to early influences, he found himself, David Lockerby had drifted in one twelve months far enough away from the traditions and feelings of his home and native land. Not that he had broken loose into any flagrant sin, or in any manner cast a shadow on the perfect respectability of his name. The set in which Alexander Gordon and his nephew lived sanctioned nothing of the kind. They belonged to the best society, and were of those well-dressed, well-behaved people whom Canon Kingsley described as " the sitters in pews." In their very proper company David had gone to ball and party, to opera and theatre. On wet Sundays they had sat together in St George's Church ; on fine Sundays they had sailed quietly down the Thames, and eaten their dinner at Richmond. Now, sin is sin beyond all controversy, but there were none of David's companions to whom these things were sins in the same degree as they were ito David. To none of them had the holy Sabbath ever been the day it had been to him ; to none of them was it so richly freighted with memories of wonderful sermons and solemn sacraments that' were foretastes of heaven. Coming with a party of gentlemanly fellows slowly rowing up the Thames and humming some passionate recitative from an opera, ho alone could recall the charm f ul stillness of a Scotch Sabbath, the worshipping crowds, and the evening psalm ascending from so many thousand hearthstones : " 0 God of Bethel, by whose hand Thy people still are led." He alone, as the oars kept time to aria or chorus, heard above the witching melody the solemn minor of "St Mary's," or the. tearful tenderness of " Communion." To most of his companions opera and theatre had come as a matter of course, as a part of their daily life and . education. David had been obliged to stifle conscience to disobey his father's counsels and his mother's pleadings, before he could enioy them. He had had, in fact, to cultivate a tasto for the sin before the sin was pleasant to him ; and he frankly told himself that night, in thinking it all over, that it was harder work getting to hell than to heaven. . „ , But then in another year he would become a partner, .marry Mary, and begin a new life Suddenly it struck him with a new force that he had not heard from Mary for nearly, three weeks A fear seized him that while he had been dancing and makin* merry Mary had been illand suffering. He was amazed *afc his own heartlfsness for surely nothing but sickness would have ! made Mary forget him. . The next morning as he went to the ; bank he posted a long letter^ to her full of ; affection and contrition and rose-coloured Sf^f"^ ' *an hour earlier to write it and he drinot ' after-talk. Besides, it wonldjfeQP^— .

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flnences of the old and better life around him to be in closer communion with it." Thus thinking, he opened the door of his uncle's private room, and said cheerily, " Good morning, uncle." " Good morning, Davie. Your father is here." ' . Then Andrew Lockerby came forward, and his son met him with outstretched hands and paling cheeks. " What is it, father ? Mother ? Mary ? Is she dead?" "Deed, no, my lad. There's naething wrang but will turn to right. Mary Moir was married three days syne, and I thocht you wad rather hear the news from ane that loved you. That* s a', Davie ; and indeed if s a loss thaf s a great gain." " Whom did she marry ?" "Just a bit wizened body i'rae tho East Indies, a'most as yellow as his gold, an' as auld as her father. But the Deacon is greatly set up wi' the mateh — or the settlements — and Mary comes 0' the gripping kind. There's her brother Gavin, he'd sell tho ears aff his head, 'an they werna fastened on." Then David went away with his father, and after half-an-hour's talk 'on the subject together, it was never mentioned more between them. But it was a blow that killed effectually all David's eager yearnings for a loftier and purer life. And it not only did this, but it also caused to spring up into active existence a passion whftse was to rule him absolutely — a passion for gold. Love had failed him, friendship had proved an annoyance, company, music, feasting, amusements of all irinds were a weariness now to think of. There seemed nothing better for him than to become arich man. " I'll buy so many acres of old Scotland and call them by the Lockerbys' name ; and 111 have nobles and great men come bowing and becking to David Lockerby as they do to Alexander Gordon. Love is refused, and wisdom is scorned, but everybody is glad to take money : then money j is best of all things." j Thus David reasoned, arid his father said nothing against his arguments. Indeed, they never had understood one another so well. David, for the first time, asked all about the lands of Ellenmount, and pledged himself, if he lived and prospered, to fulfil his father's hope. Indeed, Andrew was altogether so pleased with his son that he told his brother-in-law the .£20,000 would be forthcoming as soon as ever he choseito advance David in the firm. " I was only waiting, Lockerby, till Davie got through wi' his playtime. Tho lad's mysel' o'er again, an' I ken well he'll ne'er be contented until he settles cannily doon to his interest tables." So before Andrew Lockerby went back to Glasgow David was one of tho firm of Gordon and Co., sat in the directors' room, and began to feel some of the pleasant power of having money to lend. After this ho was rarely seen among men of his own age — women he never mingled with. He removed to his uncle's stately house in Baker Street, and assimilated his life very much to that of the older money maker. Occasionally he took a run northward to Glasgow, or a month's vacation on the Continent, but nearly all such journeys were associated with some profitable loan or investment. People began to speak of him as a most admirable young man, and indeed in some -respects he merited the praise. No son ever more affectionately honoured his father and mother, and Janet had been made an independent woman by his grateful consideration. He was so admirable that he ceased .to interest people, and every time he ..visited Glasgow fewe» and fewer of his old acquaintances came to see him. *A little more than ten years after his admission to the firm of Gordon and Co. he came home at the new year, and presented his father with the title-deeds of Ellenmount and Netherby. The next day old Andrew was welcomed on the City Exchange as "Lockerby of Ellenmount, gentleman." "I hae lived lang enough to hae seen this day" he said, with happy tears ; and David felt a joy in his father's joy that he did not know again for many years. For while' a man works for another there is an ennobling element in his labour, but when he works simply for himself ho has^become the greatest of all slaves. This • slavery David now willingly assumed ; tho accumulation of money became his business, his pleasure, the sum of his daily life. Ten years later both his uncle and father were dead, and both had left David every shilling they possessed. Then ho went on working more eagerly than ever, turning his tens of thousands into hundreds of thousands, and adding acre to aero and farm ' to. farm, until Lockerby was the richest estate in Aunandalo. When he was forty-five years of age fortune seemed to have given him every good gift except wife and children, and his mother, who had nothing else to fret about, worried Janet continually on this subject. s," Wife an' bairns, indeed!" said Janet ; " vera uncertain comforts, ma'am, an' vera certain cares. Our Master Davie likes aye to be sure o' his bargains." " Weel, Janet, it's a great cross to me — an' him sao honoured, an' quid, an' rich, wi' no a shilling ill-saved to shame him." " Tat, tut, ma'am ! Tho river doesna swell wi' clean water. Naebody's charged him wi' wrang-doing — that's enough. There's nae need to set him up for a saint." " An' you wanted him to be a minister, Janet." " I was that blind — ance." " We are blind creatures, Janet." " Wi' excepts, ma'am ; but they'll ne'er be found amang mithers." This conversation took place one lovely Sabbath evening, and just at the same time David was standing thoughtfully on Prince's Street, Edinburgh, wondering to which church he had better turn his steps. For a sudden crisis in the affairs of a bank in that city had brought him hurriedly to Scotland, and he was not only a prudent man who considered public opinion, but was also in a mood to conciliate that opinion so long as the outward conditions were favourable. Whatever he might do in London, in Scotland he always went to morning and evening service. He was also one of those self-dependent men who dislike to ask questions or advice from anyone. Though a comparative stranger he would not have allowed himself to think that anyone could direct him better than he could choose for himself. He looked up and down the street, and finally followed a company which entered continually until they entered an old ' church in the Canongate. • ' * Its plain wooden pews and old-fashioned elevated pulpitratherpleased than offended David, and the air of antiquity about the place consecrated it in his eyes. Men like whatever reminds them of their purest and best days, and David had been once in the old Relief Church on the Doo Hill in Glasgow — just such a large, bare, solemnlookinghouse of worship. The still, earnest men and women, the droning of the precentor, tho antiquated singing pleased and soothed him. He did not notice much the thin, little fair man who conducted the services ; for ho was holding a session with his own soul. A peculiar movement among the congregation announced that tho sermon was beginning, and David, looking up, saw that the officiating minister had been changed This man wag swarthy and tall, and looked like some old Jewish prophet, as he lifted his rapt face and cried, like one crying in the wilderness, " Friends ! I haiv& a question to ask you- to-night :\ 'What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole pyorld and lose.hiß o^n soul?'" , -, „ ,

silenced that voice, but it had found him out again — it was Willie Caird's. At first interested and curious, David soon became profoundly moved as Willie, in clear, solemn, thrilling sentences, reasoned of life and death and judgment to come. Not that he followed his arguments, or was more than dimly conscious of the moving eloquence that stirred' the crowd as a mighty wind stirs the trees in tho forest ; for that dreadful question smote, and smote, and smote upon his heart as if determined to have an answer. What shall it profit? What shall ifc profit ? What shall it profit ? David was quick enough at counting material loss and profit, but here was a question beyond his computation. He went silently ont of the church and wandered away by Holyrood Palace and St Anthony's Chapel to the pathless lonely beauty of Salisbury Crags. There was no answer in Nature for him. The stars were silent above, the earth silent beneath. Weariness brought him no rest ; if he slept he woke with the start of a hunted soul, and found himself asking that same dreadful question. When he looked in the mirror his own face queried of him, " What profit ?" and he was compelled to make a decided effort to prevent his tongue uttering the everpresent thought. . But at noon he would meet the defaulting Bank Conimittee, " and doubtless his lawful business would take its proper share of his thought !" He told himself that it was the voice and face of his old friend that had affected him so vividly, and that if ho went and chatted over old times with Willie he would get rid of tho disagreeable influence. Tho influence, however, went with him into the creditors' committee-room. The embarrassed officials had dreaded greatly the interview. No one hoped for more than bare justice from David Lockerby. " Clemency, help, sympathy ! You'll got blood out o' a stane first, gentlemen," said tho old cashier, with a dour, hopeless face. And yet that morning David Lockerby amazed no one so much as himself. He went to the meeting quite determined to have his own — only his own — but something asked him, " What shall it profit ?" and he gavo up his lawful increase and even offered help. He went determined to speak his mind very plainly about mismanagement and the folly of having losses ; and something asked him, " What shall it profit " ? and he gave such sympathy with his help that the money came with a blessing in its hand. The feeling of satisfaction was so new to him that it embarrassed and almost made him ashamed. He slipped ungraciously away from the thanks that ought to have been pleasant, and found himself, almost unconsciously, looking up Willies name in the clerical directory, "Dr William Caird, 22, Moray Place." David knew enough of Edinburgh to know that Moray Place contained the handsomest residences in the city, and therefore he was not astonished at the richness and splendour of Willies library ; but he was astonished to see him surrounded by five beautiful boys aud girls., and evidently as much interested in their le3sons and sports as if he was one of them. " Ech ! Davie man ! but I'm glad to see you !"■ That was all of Willies greeting, but his eyes filled, and as the friends held each other's hands Davie came very near .touching for a inomerit a David Loekerby no one had seen for many long years. But he said nothing during this visit of Willies sermon, nor indeed in several subsequent ones. Scotsmen are reticent on all matters, and specially reticent about spiritual experience; and though David lingered in Edinburgh a week, he was neither able to speak to Willie about his soul nor yet in all their conversations get rid of that haunting, uncomfortable influence Willie had raised. But as they stood before the Queen's Hotel at midnight bidding each other an affectionate farewell, David suddenly turned Willie round and opened up his whole heart to him. • And as he talked he found himself able to define what had been only hitherto a vague, restless sense of a want. " I am tho poorest rich man and the most miserable failure, Willie Caird, that ever you asked yon fearsome question of — and I know it. I have achieved millions, and lam a conscious bankrupt to my own soul. I have wasted my youth, neglected my talents and opportunities, and whatever the world may call me lam a wretched breakdown. I have made money — plenty of it — and it does not pay me. What am I to do?" "You ken, Davie, my dear, dear lad, what advice the Lord Jesus gavo to the rich man — ' distribute unto the poor — and come, follow me !' " Then up and down Prince's Street, and away under the shadow of the Castle Hill, Willie and Davie walked and talked, till the first sunbeams touched St Leonard's Crags. If it was a long walk, a grand work was laid out in it. " You shall be more blessed than your namesake," said Willie, " for though David gathered the gold, and the wood, and tho stone, Solomon builded therewith. Now, an' it please God, you shall do your am work, and see the top stone brought on with rejoicing." Then, at David's command, workmen gathered in companies, and some of the worst " vennels " in old Glasgow were torn down ; and the sunshine flooded " wynds " it had scarcely touched for centuries, and a noble building arose that was to be a home for children that had no home. And the farms of Ellenmount fed them, and the fleeces of Lockerby clothed them, and into every young hand was put a trade that would win it honest bread. In a short time even this undertaking began to be too small for David's energies and resources, and he joined hands with Willie in many other good works, and gave not only freely of his gold but also of his time and labonr. The old eloquence that stirred his classmates in St Andrew's Hall till " they would have followed him to the Equator " began to stir the cautious Glasgow traders to the bottom of their hearts and their pocket-books ; and men who didn't want to help in a crusade against drunkenness, or in a crusade for the spread of the Gospel, stopped away from Glasgow City Hall when David Lockerby filled the chair at a public meeting and started a subscription list with .£IOOO down on the table. But there were two old ladies that never stopped away, though one of them always declared "Master Davie had fleechedher last bawbie out o' her pouch;" and tho other generally had her little whimper about Davie " waring his substance upon ithor folks' bairns." ". There's bonnie Bessie Lamont, Janet ; an' he would marry her we might live to see his am sons and daughters in the old house." "'Deed, then, ma'am, our Davie has gotten him a name better than that 0' sons an' dochters; and though I am sair disappointed in him — " " You shouldn't say that, Janet ; he made a gran' speech the day." " A speech isna a sermon, mam; though I'll ne'er belittle a speech wi' aJ2loooargumout." " And there was Deacon Moir,. Janet, who didna approve o'the scheme, and who would therefore gie nothing at a." , " The deacon is sac godly that God doesna get a chance to improve his condition, ma'am. But for a' 0' Deacon Moir's disapproval I'se. count on the good work goto on." "'Deed yes, Janet, and though our Davie should ne'er marry at a'— " . .. ■ -,

Scotland and go up an' down through a the warld a' ca' David Lockerby ' blessed.' "