THE SCOTTISH MINISTER.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XLI, Issue 2212, 12 September 1910, Page 7

THE SCOTTISH MINISTER.

SOME OF HTB WAYS. Two old cronies had been hearing the famous Dr. Chalmers, and in exercise of the freedom allowed in Church government, were discussing the preacher after his performances in the pulpit. One of the two was distinctly and declaredly appreciative almost effusively so for a cannie Scot,; but her praises did not seem to find much echo from her companion. Wishing to evoke some encomiastic criticism from her reticent fellow-hearer she said : “Weel, Marget ! an’ what thocht ye o’ oor doctor the day, than ? “ ’Deed, no muckle !*’ “Toots, ’umman ! Surely he wis unco deep !” 'l‘Umph ! He wisna deep, he wis drumlie !” The subject of the next was a pretentious young preacher, whose complacent conceit had made him (juite oblivious of the fact that he was addressing as coldly critical, and, to one of his calibre and methods, as unresponsive and perhaps cynical, an audience as could he found in all Christendom. At length, having essayed an oratorical flight quite beyond the strength of his callow intellectual pinions, he found himself tangled in an inextricable and incomprehensible jumble of mixed metaphors. One old wife, sitting in the body of the kirk beside her gudeman, and who had been listening most intently, with her hand behind her ear, bent over and appealed to her grim consort, in a tone loud enough to be herd for several seats around — “‘Fat’s his grund, John ?” John replied with a most expressive grunt, and in a tone even more widely audible : “Hech ! he his nae grund. He’s soomin’ !” , A specimen of rather shrewd and semi-contemptuous criticism was that on a Congregational minister of decidedly mediocre powers And low spirituality, who had forsaken his own connection to join the Establishment. He was appointed to the charge of B parish, and on the occasion of his first appearance in his new pulpit, a number of his old hearers, impelled by curiosity, went to hear him make his debut in his fresh environment. Among them was an old fisherman—a strong Independent —and he made the following comment after the service on the way home : “Ay, ay ! he’ll nae doot mak’ a glide Moderate minister !” '“How so ?” “Oh, he jist prayed aboot the craps, an’ the weather, an’ the cattle baists ; In fac’, a’thing ahoot a fairm-yard !” Similarly Dr. Mason relates a good anecdote, illustrating the strange vagaries of pulpit criticism. One old woman, he tells, after having heard a newly-placed minister preach, was heard to exclaim—‘‘Eh ! weel, sires ! he hisna a divertin’ coontenance !” As an unconscious association of ideas by which reading the sermon was classed as a bad habit, the following is characteristic : An old coach-driver, who was an enthusiastic admirer of the Reverend Dr. Welsh, minister of Old Deer, was expatiating to his box-seat passenger nn the virtues of his favourite. He ■ r very loud and very emphatic on merits of the learned doctor, i ie wis a graund scholar ; he wis a line, poo’erfu’ preacher ; be wis a raagneeficent theeologian,” and so on, and so on. The passenger innocently asked—‘‘Does he read ?” With an accent of deep disgust the driver replied “Peech, na ! He jist bites his nails an’ claws his croon i’ the poo'pit.” Somewhat akin to this was the terse hut telling description, by a country servant lassie, of a wellknown clergyman In my native county, Forfarshire. His appearance is not a little remarkable, as he affects a clean-shaven face, which is “sicklied o’er” possibly with the “pale cast of thought,” though some of his clerical brethren doubt if it be that. The pale face is surmounted by a “chevelure” of crizzed hair, something after the manner of a chief of the Solomon Islands. This was the occupant of the pulpit on the evening in question ; and the lassie, on her return home, was, of course, asked about the minister and the sermon in orthodox Scottish style. She replied—‘‘Oh, it wisna oor ain minister the nicht ; we hed a strainger.” “ Oh, who was it ? what was be like ?” “I didna hear his naime, mem ; but he had a face like a wumman, a vyse (voice) like a lion, an’ a heid like a heather besom !” An old minister in Aberdeenshire on his deathbed bequeathed a bit of worldly wisdom to his only son in these words—I‘‘Jock,” 1 ‘‘Jock,” he faintly said, ‘‘dinna mairry for siller ; ye’ll can borrow cheaper.” To another of these sturdy farmer clerics of the old school who was rather an indifferent preacher, and who was conducting his “veesitations,” a decidedly disconcerting answer was given by an old maiden lady, with whom, as it happened, the minister was not a “persona grata.” She was just preparing to take of her afternoon tea when the minister arrived, and, of course, in obedience to the universally recognised and practised laws of Scottish hospitality,. she proffered him a share of the fragrant, steaming decoction. The poor man was under some constraint, knowing full well that he was no great favourite with Miss Jean. He was, besides, utterly devoid of that pleasant social tact which is such a valuable endowment. Remarking that there was some obstruction in the spout of the teapot, and for want of anything better to say, he stupidly hazarded the remark ; “Yer teapot disna rin, Miss Kennedy.” “Ah, minister,” dryly retorted the spinster, ‘‘it’s jist like yersel’. It has an unco pair delivery.” The Rev. Mr. L of M was

accosted one Monday morning by a member of bis congregation —a quiet, pawky weaver —and after the usual interchange ef pleasant salutations the weaver said—--1 “Then wis a fine sappy sermon ye gied’s yesterday, minister !” I “Weel, John,” said the gratified preacher, “I'm sura I’m gled if ye were pleased.” “Ay,” said John, with dry (significance ; ‘‘but it wasna yer ain !” “Weel, ye see, John," somewhat sheepishly replied Mr. L , and making the best of it, ‘‘we ministers are sometimes overworked just like other workmen ; and after a hard week of extra duties we are sometimes not in a fit state to attack original composition, and so we hav# just to road up, and are forced to borrow ideas occasionally.” i John’s reply was deliciously pro--1 fessional and very Scottish—”Oo ay, air ! nae doot ! I wadna min’ if ye ! only took a pirn or twa accasionally, but ye suldna tak' the haill wab, sir !”—‘‘The Humour of the Scot,” - . i.—.