thinking of the great Baptist preacher, Andrew Fuller. [Footnote: Fuller
was in early life, when a farmer lad at Soham, famous as a boxer; not
quarrelsome, but not without "the stern delight" a man of strength and
courage feels in their exercise. Dr. Charles Stewart, of Dunearn, whose
rare gifts and graces as a physician, a divine, a scholar, and a
gentleman live only in the memory of those few who knew and survive him,
liked to tell how Mr. Fuller used to say that when he was in the pulpit,
and saw a buirdly man come along the passage, he would instinctively
draw himself up, measure his imaginary antagonist, and forecast how he
would deal with him, his hands meanwhile condensing into fists and
tending to "square." He must have been a hard hitter if he boxed as he
preached,--what "The Fancy" would call an "ugly customer."] The same
large, heavy, menacing, combative, sombre, honest countenance, the same
deep inevitable eye, the same look,--as of thunder asleep, but ready,--
neither a dog nor a man to be trifled with.

Next day, my master, the surgeon, examined Ailie. There was no doubt it
must kill her, and soon. It could be removed; it might never return; it
would give her speedy relief: she should have it done. She courtesied,
looked at James, and said, "When?" "To-morrow," said the kind surgeon,--
a man of few words. She and James and Rab and I retired. I noticed that
he and she spoke little, but seemed to anticipate everything in each
other.

The following day, at noon, the students came in, hurrying up the great
stair. At the first landing-place, on a small well-known black board,
was a bit of paper fastened by wafers, and many remains of old wafers
beside it. On the paper were the words, "An operation to-day.--J.B.,
CLERK"