Lastly, death itself, the old foe of the human race, as he is supposed by many to be, takes a new form. The awful and awesome shroud in which he seems to be enveloped falls off, and what we recognise is not the spectral skeleton with the hollow eyes coming to consign us to darkness and to death, but a radiant angel, a sweet, blessed messenger from the Father, bidding us come with him to our happy and eternal Home to meet our loved and lost, to be in Christ and with Christ for ever, with no chance any more of breaking off from Him or losing Him. And, recognising this, we shall go with him with the eagerness of a child to begin a new life, to enter upon a higher existence, to do nobler work with a more untiring zeal and energy, to love with a greater love; and as we stand for a moment to look back upon our earthly life, in the freshness of the Eternal Morning, in the beauty of our new Home, we shall realise that in Christ's Heaven, which through His great mercy and sacrifice we have reached, we are to be new creatures for evermore.
[Illustration: W. W. Tulloch (handwritten signature)]
One dull though calm afternoon, when the century was younger by nearly half its years than it is to-day, two bright-faced, handsome boys, dressed in Highland costume, were quietly fishing in a mountain stream, when they were disturbed in their contemplative pastime by the piteous cries of a dog. Barely had they time to look round before a poor, miserable little cur ran past them, followed by an irate youth brandishing a stout cudgel. As the dog turned and cowered behind their creel, and seemed to crave their protection, the elder of the brothers--for such they were--stepped between the poor brute and its tormentor, asking the latter what the dog had done that it should be so ill-treated.
Said the lad gruffly, resenting the boys' interference:
"What's it to ye? She's ma dug, an' I'll do what I like wi' her."
"You shan't hit her with that stick," replied the sturdy youth, who, though tall for his age, was not so thick-set as his opponent, and was evidently a couple of years his junior.
"Mebbe I will, mebbe I willna," returned the lad, who, though not ill-looking, was poorly clad, and, for the time being, ugly with passion. "But I'll hae th' dug," and with the word he tried to push past the obstructer. A scuffle ensued, in which the younger boy wrested the cudgel from the dog's tormentor, but, as his share, received a blow on the nose which brought blood.