brings a cheap glory. The poet who sings of freedom, the politician with his bill for the establishment of universal happiness, may turn away in disgust from the first grimy specimen of the suffering race. Macleod’s sympathy was for the individual there before him, Tom, Dick, or Harry, whom he claimed as a brother. He knew what touching affections and fidelities might lie behind the roughest exterior, and in the worst he still recognised a man. He fraternised with the sons of toil, shaking the horny fist, weeping on the brawny neck. In many a working man’s experience, it was a revelation and a turning-point, when the great genial Doctor, posted at the humble fireside, opened up the beauty of the Christian life. But often in the lives of the poor he found an unconscious splendour of virtue that pierced him to the heart. He saw a sister supporting, by her sole industry, an old father and a delicate brother, till she just lay down and died. One winter day he was summoned to the bedside of a working man who had hanged himself, but, having been cut down in time, was reviving; and the sinner had excused himself to his wife as follows: ‘Dinna be ower sair on me. It was for you and my puir bairns I did it. As an able-bodied man, I could get nae relief from the parish, and I didna like to beg; but I kent if I was deid they would be obleeged to support my widow and orphans.’ Always, when Macleod told that story, he went into an ecstasy, shouting, ‘That man was a hero!’ Considering the moral and material plight of the masses, he took up, first, the question of drinking. At Dalkeith he had written _A Plea for Temperance_, in which, while recommending total abstinence to all inebriates, and in certain cases to men of sober habits, he argued that there was nothing unchristian in the temperate use of alcoholic beverages. In Glasgow he had the teetotallers down on him for that; and still more for a speech which he made in the General Assembly, vindicating the working classes from the charge of drunkenness. The spectacle of the rich citizen, expert in vintages, raising his glass, ‘the beaded bubbles winking at the brim,’ and denouncing the toilers for taking their drop of whisky, filled him with scorn. But he warned men from the public-house; if they must have a dram, they should take it in the bosom of their family, after saying grace! For the cure of poverty he looked to no outward nostrum, but to a union of ranks through the general development of Christian life. He was not apt to quarrel with existing institutions, putting his trust, like the mother of ‘wee Davie,’ in ‘acts _out of_ Parliament,’ Yet he could exclaim, ‘O selfish pride! O society, thou tyrant!’ and when his foot was on his native heath he was a regular Radical. ‘You don’t mean to say that you would turn away those people?’ asked Kate with astonishment. ‘What people do you mean?’ inquired M’Dougall. ‘I mean such people as I have met in Glenconnan--your small tenants there!’