Laying down his little Bible, and looking at the people earnestly and in silence for a few moments, the preacher said—
“I have travelled in Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, and other places, and I never yet went in these countries without a guide-book. More than that, never in all my experience have I seen men or women travelling in these countries without a guide-book. The travellers always carried their guide-books in their hands, or in their pockets, and consulted them as they went along. In the evenings, round the tables or on the sofas of the salons, they would sometimes sit poring over the pages of their guide-books, considering distances and the best routes, and the cost of travelling and board. Any man who would have travelled without a guide-book, or who, having one, neglected to use it, would have been considered weak-minded at the least. Still further, I have noted that such travellers believed in their guide-books, and usually acted on the advice and directions therein given.
“But one journey I can tell of in which all this seems to be reversed—the journey from earth towards heaven. And here is our guide-book for that journey,” said the preacher, holding up the little Bible. “How do we treat it? I do not ask scoffers, who profess not to believe in the Bible. I ask those who call themselves Christians, and who would be highly offended if we ventured to doubt their Christianity. Is it not true that many of us consult our Guide-book very much as a matter of form and habit, without much real belief that it will serve us in all the minute details of life? We all wish to get on in life. The most obstinate and contradictory man on earth admits that. Even if he denies it with his lips, all his actions prove that he admits it. Well, what says our Guide-book in regard to what is called ‘getting on’? ‘In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct thy paths.’ Now, what could be simpler—we might even say, what could be easier—than this? Him whom we have to acknowledge is defined in the previous verse as ‘the Lord’—that is, Jesus, Immanuel, or God with us.”
From this point the sunburnt preacher diverged into illustration, leaning over the desk in a free-and-easy, confidential way, and thrilling his audience with incidents in his own adventurous career, which bore directly on the great truth that, as regards the Great End of life, success and blessedness result from acknowledging the Lord, and that failure and disaster inevitably await those who ignore Him.
While Jackman proceeded with his discourse, the sky had become overcast, dark thunderclouds had been gathering in the nor’-east, rain had also begun to descend; yet so intently were the people listening to this unusual style of preacher, that few of them observed the change until a distant thunder-clap awoke them to it.
Quietly, but promptly, Jackman drew his discourse to a close, and stepped out of the desk, remarking, in the very same voice with which he had preached, that he feared he had kept them too long, and that he hoped none of the congregation had far to go.
“We hev that, sir,” said the old elder, shaking him warmly by the hand; “but we don’t heed that, an’ we are fery glad that we came, what-ë-ver.”
As the wind had also risen, and it seemed as if the weather was not likely to improve, the laird hurried his party down to the boat. Waterproofs were put on, umbrellas were put up, the sails were hoisted, and the boat put off.
“I fear the sea is very rough,” remarked Milly Moss, drawing close to Aggy Anderson, so as to shelter her somewhat from the driving rain.
“Oo, ay; it iss a wee rough,” assented Ian, who now took the helm; “but we wull soon rin ower. Haud you the main sheet, Mr Mabberly, an’ pe ready to let co when I tell ye. It iss a wee thing squally.”