Excerpt from James Hepburn: Free Church Minister
Across a wide stretch of dreary level moor the Free Church minister of Dunross was wending his way towards home, at a rapid pace, one cheerless, foggy afternoon, late in the autumn. There were certainly no temptations to linger by the way. On a bright August or September afternoon, when the purple heather bloom was glowing under the rays of an unclouded sun, and picturesque ranges of hills were visible in the distance, the scene was not devoid of all beauty; but when, as at the moment, a dull brown expanse, broken only by occasional patches of coarse grass, or scattered boulders of stone, faded at a few hundred yards distance into grey mist, and a raw, cold wind was driving frequent scuds of light rain across the country, the spot was not one where any human being of ordinarily healthy turn of mind would have felt disposed to linger. The minister certainly did not linger. It would have sorely taxed any one, save a very practised walker, to keep pace with him for a couple of miles; and his long strides soon brought him to where the mere track he had been following gradually denned itself into a road.
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