Morton boated the Nith at the Boat-pool, and poured _in_ her hundreds; Closeburn took the water at the nearest, with stilts, horses, and carts; Kier was completely deserted. Penpont emptied her wooded and sequestered glens of all that could wield a staff, or kilt a petticoat; even the more remote Keir Glencairn, and Dunsmore, sent their contributions of sacrament hunters. There they all congregated on the green slope of the manse, looking towards the sunny south. The Scaur sent her ample waters dancing and sparkling on the saugh tree, and the willows saw themselves reflected from her pools; whilst the stony banks murmured under the gentle salute of the stream. The tent stood with its back to the south, and the scorching sun; whilst a forest of faces fronted in an opposite direction. The whole scene was at once so imposing and picturesque, that it has established itself indelibly in my brain. A bald-headed little person, with spectacles, mounts the tent stair or ladder from behind; he takes off and thumbs his eye-glasses; whilst his soul is complacently abroad over the communion-tables, covered with napery—bleached white as the driven snow, on the very green where it is now spread. It was on one of these occasions that I heard Mr Keyden, in his _after_ address to the communicants, express himself in nearly the following terms:— “My friends and fellow-communicants, the ground which you now occupy is hallowed—it is holy. On this very spot did your forefathers meet, to hear the good, the pious, the persecuted Mr Samuel Austin—him whom the lawless hands of wicked men banished, with all he held dear, to the cave, and the moss, and the mountain. O Creehope! that now re-echoest to thy peaceful waters, what a tale thou couldst unfold of Austin’s nightly watchings, and prayer, and praises. O Queensberry, that rearest thy proud and double front to the very breast of heaven, have not thy long heath and deep morasses hid the servants of God when the pursuer was near at hand! O water! pure and peaceful water of Scaur, that now stealest along as if unwilling to disturb our present doings and meditation, thou didst hear him groan—thou didst mark his tears, and those of his deeply afflicted wife and family, on the day when his trial had come, and was not over; but now the servant of the Lord hath gone home to the house of his father. He and his are now around the throne, reaping, and greatly enjoying the reward of all their sufferings—the noble, the everlasting recompence of reward. He whom Lag pursued, and Douglas hunted, and Johnstone cursed with words of wicked and self-condemning import, is now following the Lamb whithersoever he goeth—yes, my friends, far and away, beyond that white cloud, which now comes betwixt heaven’s sun and us; far and away in the unfathomed depths of eternity—unmeasured fields of immensity—there dwell—there dwell—he and his. They are clothed in white, because they are worthy; and they cease not, night nor