Another, similarly circumstanced, prayed “that the floodgates of heaven might be shut for a season.” This was towards the close of a protracted period of rain and storm, and the weather had never been worse than on this particular Sabbath. And, just as the good man persisted in his petition, a fierce gust of wind bore the roof-window of the church down with a crash, which was succeeded by a terrific clatter of broken glass. “Oh,” he exclaimed, assuming an attitude of despair, “O Lord, this is perfectly ridiculous!”
He was more of a philosopher who, when his good lady told him that he did not insist enough when praying for a change of weather, replied, “Nae use o’ insistin’, Marget, until the change o’ the mune.”
The pastor of a small congregation of Dissenters in the West of Scotland, who, in prayer, often employed terms of familiarity towards the Great Being whom he invoked, was praying one day that such weather would be granted as was necessary for the ripening and gathering in of the fruits of the earth, when, pausing suddenly, he added in a lower tone of voice—“But what needs I talk! When I was up at the Shotts the other day, everything was as green as leeks!”
The Rev. Dr. Young, of Perth, used to be annoyed by a couple coming to church, sitting away in the gallery, “ssh-ssh” as they talked in lovers’ language all through the service. He could stand it no longer, so one Sunday he stopped in the middle of his sermon, looked up to the gallery, and said, “If that couple in the right hand gallery there will come to me on Monday I will marry them for nothing, if they will stop that ‘ssh-ssh’!”
The Rev. John Ross, of Blairgowrie, indulged a propensity for versifying in his pulpit announcements, and one day, at the close of the service, intimated that
“The Milton, the Hilton, Rochabie, and Tammamoon,
Will a’ be examined on Thursday afternoon.”
And now we are induced to follow our subject out of the pulpit and into the wider sphere of pastoral life. It was here more particularly that the pungent and ready wit of the famous Watty Dunlop got full reign and enjoyed free play. The best known anecdote of this worthy relates to an occasion when he happened to be accompanying a funeral through a straggling village in the parish of Caerlaverock. Entering at one end of the hamlet he met a man driving a flock of geese. The wayward disposition of the feathered bipeds at the moment was too much for the driver’s temper, and he indignantly cried out, “Deevil choke ye!” Mr. Dunlop walked a little further on, and passed a farm-stead where a servant was driving a number of swine, and banning them with “Deevil tak’ ye!” Upon which Mr. Dunlop stepped up to him, and said, “Ay, ay, my man, yer gentleman’ll be wi’ ye i’ the noo; he’s just back the road there a bit chokin’ some geese till a man.”
Than Mr. Dunlop few ministers were more esteemed by their congregations as faithful and affectionate pastors, and so much respected by all denominations. And no doubt his freedom of speech and frankness of manner were important factors in bringing about this happy result. Here we have a capital example of his free and easy manner. While pursuing his pastoral visitations among some of the country members of his flock, he came one evening to a farmhouse where he was expected; and the mistress, thinking that he would be in need of refreshment, proposed that he should take his tea before engaging in exercise, and said she would soon have it ready. Mr. Dunlop’s reply was, “I aye tak’ my tea better when my wark’s dune. I’ll just be gaun on. Ye can hing the pan on, an’ lea the door ajee, an’ I’ll draw to a close when I hear the ham fizzlin’.” With the frankness so characteristic of him, this divine did not hesitate occasionally to intimate how agreeable certain presents would be to himself and his better-half. Accordingly, on a further “visitation” occasion, and while at a “denner-tea,” as he called it, at the close of a hard day’s labour, he kept incessantly praising the ham, and stated that Mrs. Dunlop at home was as fond of ham as he was. His hostess took the hint, and kindly offered to send Mrs. Dunlop the present of a ham. “It’s unco kind o’ ye—unco kind o’ ye,” replied the divine; “but I’ll no put ye to sae muckle trouble. I’ll just tak’ it hame on the horse afore me.” On leaving, he mounted, and the ham was put into a sack, but some difficulty was experienced in getting it to lie properly. His inventive genius, however, soon cut the Gordion knot. “I think, mistress,” said he, “a cheese in the ither end o’ the poke would mak’ a grand balance.” The gudewife could not resist an appeal so neatly put, and, like another John Gilpin, the crafty and facetious divine moved away with his “balance true.” Mr. Dunlop’s penchant for “presents” was, of course, well known, and on one occasion at least brought him into rather an awkward predicament. While engaged in offering up prayer in a house at which he was visiting, a peculiar sound was heard to issue from his greatcoat pocket. This was afterwards discovered to have proceeded from a half-choked duck which he had “gotten in a present,” and whose neck he had been squeezing all the time to prevent its crying.
On one occasion two irreverent young fellows determined, as they put it, “to taigle (confound) the minister.” Therefore, coming up to him in the High Street of Dumfries, they accosted him with much apparent solemnity, saying—