Shall I ever forget the beauty and solemnity of that service? It was so different from any service I had ever seen. All was so orderly and so void of anything like gloom. There was undoubtedly a great deal that to my boyish mind was unintelligible, but the general impression produced on me was so profound that I was thrilled to the heart in a way I had never been before. Following the cortege out from the chancel to the east end of the churchyard, I heard the words of Christian hope in a glorious resurrection spoken by an old and venerable man of commanding appearance, when the casket had been lowered into the grave, which was lined with moss and flowers; I listened entranced while the choir sang the beautiful hymn: “Father, in Thy gracious keeping Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.” and then, when all was over, I crept away out of the crowd, to ponder over what I had seen and heard. Brought up on the Shorter Catechism, explained, or I should say distorted, by stern and unbending teachers, I actually believed there was nothing good in any other faith. But here I had been brought face to face with a new phase of Christian belief, and one which to my boyish mind was far more beautiful than that to which I had been accustomed. Young as I was, I had thought a good deal about such matters. Were I to go to my father, he would give me no sympathy, but tell me to mind my lessons, and leave such things for older heads to consider. There was, however, one man in the village with whom my fondness for books made me a great favorite. This was old Mr. Lindsay, who had himself been a probationer of the “Auld Kirk”, but who, because of inability to sign the Confession of Faith, had never been received into the ministry. For many years he had been a teacher of a semi-private school in another parish; but ever since I could remember he had been living near our home, retired from professional life, and spending most of his time among his books. To him I would go for advice and instruction. As soon as our frugal supper was over, I said to my mother, “Mother, I am going to see the auld dominie, and get him to help me wi’ a gey hard Latin version that I have to do for the morn.” “Weel, weel, Alan, do ye sae, but see ye dinna bide ower late, else your father’ll no be pleased.” In a few minutes I had knocked at the old man’s door and had been admitted into the sanctum, where I had spent many a happy evening among the books. “Come awa, laddie, and sit you doon. What’s the difficulty the nicht? I haena seen ye for twa or three days. Are they all weel at hame?” “Yes, thank ye, Mr. Lindsay, a’body’s fine, I hae a question or twa I wad like to speir at ye, if you please, about the use of the ablative absolute; but,” and I hesitated, “It was something else I wantit maistly to speak to you aboot. I gaed to the colonel’s burial the day.”