Following the advice of Horace, these apostles plunge straight into their subject. They will attack you with the question, whether you are not too fond of the things of this world? or else, whether you have made your peace with God?
The utter conceit of these amateur clergy is matchless. They are either hypocrites of the worst stamp, or fanatics of the first water, "airing their self-righteousness at the corners of the streets." The monotony of their tunes, the commonplaces of their would-be sermons, their long visages, and their grimaces as they pray—all this is the reverse of attractive.
I prefer the soldiers of the Salvation Army. They are rough, but they do not banish cheerfulness from their services. They are lively, and break the awful silence of the British Sabbath. Their services at first struck everyone as blasphemous; but one gets used to everything in this country.
I must not pass over the open-air orator, who, to excuse his faults of grammar, said to his hearers, of whom I was one: "My dear friends, I have had no education, and I know very well I am not a gentleman; but that does not prevent me from accepting the mission that I have received from Heaven to come and preach the Gospel to you. Jesus Christ was not a gentleman—He was a carpenter. The Apostles were not gentlemen either—they were fishermen."
Modest, is it not?
There are Scots so sure of their salvation that they pray but to thank God that they are not as other men are. These Christians, whom Burns has named the unco' guid, are charitable: they pray for their neighbours. There are, on the west of Scotland, two small islands inhabited by a race whose piety is really touching. Every Sunday, in their churches, they commend to God's care the poor inhabitants of the adjacent islands of England, Scotland, and Ireland!
They have their own future safety assured, and, in their charity, think of their neighbours.
Donald presenting Paddy and John Bull to the Lord! The scene is as touching as it is amusing.