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120
A HIGHLANC PARISH.
the congregation. And then stood up that vener¬
able man, a Saul in height among the people, with
his pure white hair falling back from his ample
forehead over his shoulders. Few, and loving,
and earnest, were the words he spoke, amidst the
profound silence of a passionately-devoted people,
which was broken only by their low sobs, when he
told them that they should see his face no more.
Soon afterwards he died. The night of his death,
sons and daughters were grouped around his" bed,
'his wife on one side, old Rory on the other. His
mind had been wandering during the day At
evening he sat up in bed; and one of his daughters,
who supported his head, dropped a tear on his
face. Rory rebuked her and wiped it off; for it
is a Highland superstition (?), that no tear should
ever drop on the face of a good man dying;—is it
because it adds to the burden of dying, or is un¬
worthy of the glorious hopes of living ? Suddenly
the minister stretched forth his hand, as if a child
was before him, and said, “ I baptize thee into the
name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,’*
then falling back, he expired. It seemed as if it
were his own baptism as a child of glory.