“Let us go to prayers,” said Nanny: “it isna a time to creep into nooks on aboon other, an’ gie way to despair. There is but Ane that _can_ guard or protect us, let us apply there.” “Something has been done that way already,” said Davie Tait; “we canna come to handygrips wi’ him, an’ force him to stand senter at our door a’ night.” Davie’s matter was exhausted on the subject, and he did not much relish going over the same words again, which, he acknowledged, were _rather kenspeckle_; nor yet to venture on composing new ones out of his own head: this made him disposed to waive Nanny’s proposal. “Ay,” answered she, “but we mauna haud just wi’ saying gie us this, an’ gie us that; and than, because we dinna just get it aff loof, drap the plea an’ despair. Na, na, dear bairns, that’s nae part o’ the christian warfare! we maun plead wi’ humility, and plead again, an’ never was there mair cause for rousing to exertion than now. The times are momentous, and some great change is drawing near, for the dead are astir—I have seen them mysel’. Yes, the severed members that were scattered, and buried apart, are come thegither again—joined, an’ gaun aboon the grund, mouthing the air o’ Heaven. I saw it mysel—Can it be that the resurrection is begun? It is a far away thought for the thing itsel to be as near; but it’s a glorious ane, an’ there’s proof o’t. But then the place an’ the time are doubtfu’—had it been sun proof I wad hae likit it better. We little wot what to say or think under sic visitations. Let us apply to the only source of light and direction. David, be you a mouth to us.” “A mouth?” said Davie; but recollecting himself, added—“Hum, I understand you; but I hae mouthed mair already than has come to ony good. I like fock to pray that hae some chance to be heard; some fock may scraugh themsels hersh, and be nae the better.” “Oh fie, David! speak wi’ some reverence,” said his wife Maysey. “I mintit at naething else,” said he, “but I hae an unreverent kind o’ tongue that nought ever serous–like fa’s frae, let my frame o’ mind be as it will; an’ troth I haena command o’ language for a job like this. I trow the prelates hae the best way after a’, for they get prayers ready made to their hands, an’ disna need to affront their Maker wi’ blunders.” “How can ye speak sae the night, David? or how can sic a thought hover round your heart as to flee out at random that gate? If ye will _read_ prayers, there’s a book, read them out o’ that; if the words o’ God winna suit the cases o’ his ain creatures, how can ye trow the words o’ another man can do it? But pray wi’ the heart, an’ pray in humility, and fearna being accepted.” “That’s true; but yet ane maks but a poor figure wi’ the heart by itsel.”