In 1772, when Dr. Thomas Blacklock, the well-known poet, who was blind, was preaching one of his trial discourses on the occasion of his being presented, by the Earl of Selkirk, to the living of Kirkcudbright, an old woman who sat on the pulpit stairs inquired of a neighbour if she thought he was a reader.
“He canna be a reader,” was the reply, “for he’s blind.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said the ancient dame; “I wish they were a’ blind!”
The ladies have always exercised a lively surveillance of the pulpit, and vended many an apt criticism.
“How did you like that young man we had to-day?” was once asked of a discerning village matron.
“Weel, I had just three fauts to his sermon,” was the reply.
“And what were these, if I may ask?”
“Weel,” said she, “firstly, it was read; and, secondly, it wasna weel read; and, thirdly, it wasna worth readin’!”
