It was about this time that the minister made a great mistake,
although he was trying to do his best for the people, and always
obeyed his conscience. He used to come over to the Cottage for a
ramble through my books, and one evening he told me that he had
prepared what he called a "course" on Biblical criticism, and was
going to place Drumtochty on a level with Germany. It was certainly
a strange part for me to advise a minister, but I had grown to like
the lad, because he was full of enthusiasm and too honest for this
world, and I implored him to be cautious. Drumtochty was not anxious
to be enlightened about the authors of the Pentateuch, being quite
satisfied with Moses, and it was possible that certain good men in
Drumtochty might resent any interference with their herditary
notions. Why could he not read this subject for his own pleasure,
and teach it quietly in classes? Why give himself away in the
pulpit? This worldly counsel brought the minister to a white heat,
and he rose to his feet. Had he not been ordained to feed his people
with truth, and was he not bound to tell them all he knew? We were
living in an age of transition, and he must prepare Christ's folk
that they be not taken unawares. If he failed in his duty through
any fear of consequences, men would arise afterwards to condemn him
for cowardice, and lay their unbelief at his door. When he ceased I
was ashamed of my cynical advice, and resolved never again to
interfere with "courses" or other matters above the lay mind. But
greater knowledge of the world had made me a wise prophet.

Within a month the Free Kirk was in an uproar, and when I dropped in
one Sabbath morning the situation seemed to me a very pathetic
tragedy. The minister was offering to the honest country folk a mass
of immature and undigested details about the Bible, and they were
listening with wearied, perplexed faces. Lachlan Campbell sat grim