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Updated: June 17, 2025
"In the month of October, 1693, Sir Tristram and Lady Beresford went on a visit to her sister, Lady Macgill, at Gill Hall, now the seat of Lord Clanwilliam, whose grandmother was eventually the heiress of Sir J. Macgill's property. One morning Sir Tristram rose early, leaving Lady Beresford asleep, and went out for a walk before breakfast.
Genevieve, though very striking and vivacious in her white fox, was indubitably a frivolous-minded girl; she, Missy, was going to eat supper with the Reverend MacGill. Of course white fox furs were nice, and Arthur's eyelashes curled up in an attractive way, but there are higher, more ennobling things in life. The Reverend MacGill did not prove disappointing on closer acquaintance.
Good to her Lord, to her father and mother and Aunt Nettie and little brother, to the Reverend MacGill with his fascinating smile and good works, to everybody the whole town the whole world.
Missy, who knew her mother well, couldn't help feeling a deep degree of sympathy; besides, she wished Rev. MacGill might have had his pie she liked Rev. MacGill better than ever. But she dreaded her first moments after the guest had departed; mother could be terribly stern. Nor did her fears prove groundless.
In the Kirk's Alarm, wherein he again reverted to his Mossgiel period, he displayed all his former force of satire, as well as his sympathy with those who advocated rational views in religion. Dr. Macgill had written a book which the Kirk declared to be heretical, and Burns, at the request of some friends, fought for the doctor in his usual way, though with little hope of doing him any good.
MacGill's lot has been cast in strange places, and every incident of his book is pregnant with a vivid realism that carries the conviction that it is a literal transcript from life, as in fact it is. Only last summer, just before he enlisted, Mr. MacGill spent some time in Glasgow reviving old memories of its underworld.
But his hostess wasn't capable of an answering smile; she gazed despairingly, tragically, at the desecrated confection. "I took such pains with it," she almost wailed. "It was a deep-dish peach pie I made it specially for Mr. MacGill." "Well, I'm not particularly fond of peach pie, anyway," said the minister, meaning to be soothing. "Oh, but I know you ARE! Mrs.
Of course if I'd KNOWN " "Oh, that's all right," she cut in with magnificent ease. "I wasn't asking you to go with me. Reverend MacGill just appointed me on a kind of informal committee, you know I'm asking Raymond Bonner and all the boys of the crowd." "You needn't rub it in I get you. Swell chance of YOU ever wanting to make a date!" His sulkiness of tone, for some reason, gratified her.
Picker he wouldn't have shoved the blame off onto a maiden in distress... No, and she didn't think the King of Spain would, either... Or Rev. MacGill... There were lots of things just as good as being athletic... there were... lots of things... A moonbeam crept up the white sheet, to kiss the eyelids closed in sleep. Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame? A fitful tongue of fickle flame.
With one stroke of genius they were brought face to face with the logical sequence of their barbarous teaching, and that without a word of coarseness or a touch of caricature. Only once again did Burns return to this attack on bigotry and superstition, and that was when he was induced to fight for Dr. Macgill in The Kirk's Alarm.
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