The Supreme Moment. 35 



Loch Leven, have been drawn over Spirit Lake in 

 Iowa in my skiff for half an hour by a monster pickerel, 

 and have played with the speckled beauties in Dead 

 River, It is glorious; making a hundred thousand is 

 nothing to it ; but there's a thrill beyond that, my dear 

 old quaint Izaak. I remember in one of my sweet 

 strolls " ayont the wood mill braes " with a great man, 

 my Uncle Bailie M. — and I treasure the memory of 

 these strolls as among the chief of my inheritance — this 

 very question came up. I asked him what he thought 

 the most thrilling thing in life. He mused awhile, as 

 was the Bailie's wont, and I said, " I think I can tell 

 you. Uncle." " What is it then, Andrea ? " (Not 

 Avid-rew for the world.) " Well, Uncle, I think that 

 when, in making a speech, one feels himself lifted, as 

 it were, by some divine power into regions beyond him- 

 self, in which he seems to soar without effort, and swept 

 by enthusiasm into the expression of some burning 

 truth, which has lain brooding in his soul, throwing 

 policy and prudence to the winds, he feels words whose 

 eloquence surprises himself, burning hot, hissing through 

 him like molten lava coursing the veins, he throws it 

 forth, and panting for breath hears the quick, sharp, 

 explosive roar of his fellow-men in thunder of assent, 

 the precious moment which tells him that the audience 

 is his own, but one soul in it and that his ; I think this 

 the supreme moment of life." " Go ! Andrea, ye've hit 

 it!" cried the Bailie, and didn't the dark eye sparkle! 



