In the States he was not slow to pick up hints for his future work from Sunday School Unions and Mission Boards; but that the customs of a foreign country are not to be inferred from a surface glance, he learned by an incident which he never forgot. He had mounted the box of a coach, and was surprised to find the driver seated at his left hand. ‘Just as I had noted the great fact that “all drivers in America sit on the left side of the box,” I thought I would ask what was gained by this. “Why, I guess,” replied Jonathan, “I can’t help it; _I’m left-handed_.”’ In Canada he had the hardest work that had ever fallen to him, speaking almost every day for two or three hours, and that, perhaps, after a drive of thirty miles over the worst roads. But, perched on a lumber waggon, coat and waistcoat discarded, blouse and straw hat on, and in his mouth a good cigar, he was busy taking in the primeval forest--the tufted heads of the trees far up in the sky, the sunshine on the leaves, the sudden appearance of strange fires, the chop-chop-chop of the pioneer’s axe in the weird silence, and the clearance with its fine fields, cattle with tinkling bells, and happy children. Sometimes, joining a group of Highlanders, he would pretend to be an Englishman, and would quiz them about their savage language till he had roused their wrath, and then, to their amazement and delight, roll out Gaelic as good as their own. The ecclesiastical atmosphere was the same as in the old land. ‘This angry spirit of Churchism,’ he says, ‘which has disturbed every fireside in Scotland, thunders at the door of every shanty in the backwoods.’ For himself, in explaining the Church question, he avoided all personalities, and gave full credit to his opponents, insomuch that a Free Church preacher who (unknown to the deputy) attended one of the meetings confessed that he could not find fault with one expression. Controversy was hardly possible when those stalwart scions of Fiunary met the exiles face to face; indeed, in most places it was more a carnival of Celtic sentiment. At Picton in Nova Scotia the presence of the deputies attracted Highlanders from all the surrounding country; on a Sunday morning the bay was dotted with coming boats, and pedestrians, horsemen, and all sorts of vehicles, streamed into the town. There was a service in the open air. ‘The tent,’ writes Norman, ‘was on a beautiful green hill, overlooking the harbour and neighbouring country. When I reached it I beheld the most touching and magnificent sight. There were (in addition to the crowd we had left in the church) about four thousand people here assembled! John had finished a noble Gaelic sermon. He was standing with his head bare at the head of the white communion table, and was about to exhort the communicants. There was on either side space for the old elders, and a mighty mass of earnest listeners beyond. The exhortation ended, I entered the tent and looked around; I have seen grand and