Mr. Kilfuddy, notwithstanding a spice of worldly-mindedness in his constitution, was, nevertheless, an honest and pious Presbyterian pastor; and the quickness of his temper at the moment stirred him to rebuke the cold-hearted speculations of this sordid father. ‘Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said he severely, ‘I can see no point o’ comparison between the case o’ your twa sons and that o’ Jacob and Esau; and what’s mair, the very jealousing that there may be sin in what ye wish to do, is a clear demonstration that it is vera sinful; for, O man! it’s a bad intent indeed that we canna excuse to oursels. But to set you right in ae point, and that ye may hae nae apology drawn from scriptural acts, for the unnatural inclination to disinherit your first-born, out o’ the prideful phantasy of leaving a large estate, I should tell you that there was a mystery of our holy religion hidden in Jacob’s mess o’ porridge, and it’s a profane thing to meddle with that which appertaineth to the Lord, for what He does, and what He permits, is past the understanding o’ man, and woe awaits on all those that would bring aught to pass contrary to the manifest course of his ordained method. For example, he taketh the breath of life away at his pleasure, but has he not commanded that no man shall commit murder?--Mr. Walkinshaw, Mr. Walkinshaw, ye maun strive against this sin of the flesh, ye maun warsle wi’ the devil, and hit him weel on the hip till ye gar him loosen the grip that he has ta’en to draw you on to sic an awful sin. Heh, man! an ye’re deluded on to do this thing, what a bonny sight it will be to see your latter end, when Belzebub, wi’ his horns, will be sitting upon your bosom, boring through the very joints and marrow o’ your poor soul wi’ the red-het gimlets o’ a guilty conscience.’ Claud shuddered at the picture, and taking the reproving minister by the hand, said, ‘We canna help the wicked thoughts that sometimes rise, we dinna ken whar frae, within us.’ ‘Ye dinna ken whar frae?--I’ll tell you whar frae--frae hell; sic thoughts are the cormorants that sit on the apple-trees in the devil’s kail-yard, and the souls o’ the damned are the carcasses they mak their meat o’.’ ‘For Heaven’s sake, Mr. Kilfuddy,’ exclaimed Claud, trembling in every limb; ‘be patient, and no speak that gait, ye gar my hair stand on end.’ ‘Hair! O man, it would be weel for you, if your precious soul would stand on end, and no only on end, but humlet to the dust, and that ye would retire into a corner, and scrape the leprosy of sic festering sins wi’ a potsherd o’ the gospel, till ye had cleansed yourself for a repentance unto life.’