There was very little in the letters beyond good wishes, and an account of the Vicar-General's health, but they seemed to link a Free Kirk divinity student on to the Holy Catholic Church.

Mother Church cast her spell over his imagination, and he envied the lot of her priests, who held a commission no man denied and administered a world-wide worship, whom a splendid tradition sanctioned, whom each of the arts hastened to aid; while he was to be the minister of a local sect and work with the "fruits," who knew nothing of Catholic Christianity, but supposed their little eddy, whereon they danced like rotten sticks, to be the main stream.

Next day a reaction would set in, and Carmichael would have a fit of Bohemianism, and resolve to be a man of letters.

So the big books on theology would again be set aside, and he would write an article for _Ferrier's Journal_, that kindliest of all journals to the young author, which he would receive back in a week "with thanks." The Sunday night came, and Carmichael sat down to write his weekly letter to his mother--she got notes between, he found them all in her drawers, not a scrap missing--and as he wrote, his prejudices, and petulances, and fancies, and unrest passed away.
Before he had told her all that happened to him during the week--touching gently on the poor Revivalist--although his mother had a saving sense of humour, and was a quite wonderful mimic--and saying nothing of his evening with St.Francis de Sales--for this would have alarmed her at once--he knew perfectly well that he would be neither a Roman nor a reporter, but a Free Kirk minister, and was not utterly cast down; for notwithstanding the yeasty commotion of youth and its censoriousness, he had a shrewd idea that a man is likely to do his life-work best in the tradition of his faith and blood.

Next morning his heart warmed as he went in through the college gates, and he would have defended Knox unto the death, as the maker of Scotland.