These two heads had a number of horns called _particulars_; and a tail
called an _application_, in which the sins of his hearers were duly
chastised, with vague and awful threats of some vengeance not confined
to the life to come, but ready to take present form in such a judgment
as that described in the text.
But he had resolved not to read his sermon. So he began to repeat it,
with sweeps of the hands, pointings of the fingers, and other such
tricks of second-rate actors, to aid the self-delusion of his hearers
that it was a genuine present outburst from the soul of Murdoch
Malison. For they all knew as well as he did, that his sermon was only
"cauld kail het again." But some family dishes--Irish stew, for
example, or Scotch broth--may be better the second day than the first;
and where was the harm? All concerned would have been perfectly
content, if he had only gone on as he began. But, as he approached the
second head, the fear suddenly flashed through his own that he would
not be able to recall it; and that moment all the future of his sermon
was a blank. He stammered, stared, did nothing, thought nothing--only
felt himself in hell. Roused by the sight of the faces of his hearers
growing suddenly expectant at the very moment when he had nothing more
to give them, he gathered his seven fragmentary wits, and as a last
resort, to which he had had a vague regard in putting his manuscript in
his pocket, resolved to read the remainder.
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