The Old Tory kept the secret of his Toryism to the last.
Only the minister caught it as he lay a-dying. He was not penitent, but he wanted to explain matters.
"It's no as they a' think, minister," he said, speaking with difficulty. "I cared nocht aboot it, ae way or the ither. I'm sure I aye wantit to be a douce man like the lave. But Meg was sair, sair to leeve wi'. She fair drave me till't. D'ye think the like o' that wull be ta'en into account, as it were—up yonder?"
The minister assured him that it would, and the Old Tory died in peace.
V
THE GREAT RIGHT-OF-WAY CASE
The Vandal and the Visigoth come here,
The trampler under foot, and he whose eyes,
Unblest, behold not where the glory lies;
The wallower in mire, whose sidelong leer
Degrades the wholesome earth—these all come near
To gaze upon the wonder of the hills,
And drink the limpid clearness of the rills.
Yet each returns to what he holds most dear,
To change the script and grind the mammon mills
Unpurified; for what men hither bring,
That take they hence, and Nature doth appear
As one that spends herself for sodden wills,
Who pearls of price before the swine doth fling,
And from the shrine casts out the sacred gear.