What a picture it is to think of that blind man, standing there in his pulpit, instructing and comforting people who had perfect eyesight and seemed more favoured than he. Yet in all his sermons and in his conversation, there was cheerfulness and gratitude to God. No one ever heard him murmur or complain, and when he stood up and offered prayer, or read the Psalms in his clear, ringing voice, everyone realized that his whole heart was in the service. He became known as "Matheson of Innellan" and many people went there, summer after summer, in order to hear him preach. In 1886 George Matheson was called to St. Bernard's Church, Edinburgh. In May of that year he began his work as minister to that congregation, and remained for thirteen years. It was a very large congregation. There were nearly fifteen hundred members, in addition to hundreds of others who were simply attendants. Dr. Matheson resolved that he would not only preach to his people, but would visit them in their homes. His sister was deeply attached to him, and accompanied him wherever he went. Before he had been six months at Edinburgh he had visited six hundred families, besides calling upon the sick, the aged, the infirm and the dying. In addition to all this he was preparing sermons of rare quality and working in close sympathy with all the associations of his church. The visits he made upon his people were occasions long to be remembered. He was so warm-hearted and full of sympathy, that every person he met realized that it was no formal visit. Dr. Matheson kept up this method of visitation throughout his whole ministry. His church grew until there were nearly eighteen hundred members; yet he made a determined effort to keep in close touch with them all; and, blind though he was, he succeeded much better than most men would have done who had perfect vision. Like Henry Fawcett, the blind Postmaster-General of England, Dr. Matheson had a marvellous memory. No doubt the loss of eyesight does much to quicken the faculty of memory. Often after he had preached, the vestry would be besieged with people who were anxious to speak with him. Many of these people had known him before, and it was a source of amazement to them to have the blind preacher call them by name almost immediately after hearing them speak. Sometimes visitors from a distance, whom he had not seen for many years, would say, "You'll not remember me, Doctor." Perhaps a puzzled look would cross his face; then he would say, "yes I do; you are Mackintosh, of ----" It would be Mackintosh right enough, and Mackintosh would be a very much surprised man.