“If God spares me, Gray, I mean to make this the work of my declining years.” The old man kept his vow faithfully. He set to work at once to arouse the interest of the heritors, upon whom lay the burden of maintening the fabric of the church; and, before two years had passed I had the pleasure of again visiting him and of seeing a beautiful restoration of a typical Scottish church of mediaeval days. The altar stood in the east--only it was not called an altar, but a communion table. The font--a lovely replica in marble of an ancient one--was in its proper place. The pulpit no longer barred the way to the sanctuary, but stood at the north side, between the chancel arch and the wall of the nave. Over the doorway leading from the chancel to the vestry there were three niches in which at one time figures of saints had stood; even these the doctor filled by three statuettes of the Blessed Saviour with St. Peter and St. Paul--copies in miniature of Thorwaldsen’s famous group. What was of even greater importance, there was inaugurated a far more orderly and reverent worship than before; an organ was installed, and the old walls resounded with a devotional service which, if not all that could be desired, was at all events a distinct advance towards the worship of the best days of the Christian Church. For a long time I was unable to understand the Doctor’s position. He was so thoroughly Catholic in sentiment that it was hard to see why he remained where he was. I could not believe that a man of his spotless integrity would hold to a religious body, with the majority of whom he seemed so entirely at variance, simply and solely because it gave him a comfortable living. One day we were sitting together in his study, and in the course of conversation I managed to draw him out without in any way reflecting on him personally.