“I am glad you were pleased with it, I am sure,” the minister modestly replied.
“Pleased!” echoed the matron. “I was just so perfectly feasted wi’ it that I cam’ hame an’ ga’rd Tammas turn up ‘Matthew Hendry,’ and read it a’ ower again to me.”
In Perth, about twenty years ago, there lived one, Kirsty Robertson, who earned her living by washing. The poor body had to work from morning till night to keep herself in food and clothing. She managed, however, to make a respectable appearance on Sundays, and was a regular attender of the kirk. The minister observed her decent and obvious poverty, and thought he ought to call on her, and see if he could assist her. He accordingly did so, and going in one night he saw Kirsty sitting by the fire, wearied out with her day’s labour. On hearing the minister come in Kirsty started up with an exclamation of surprise. He bade her be seated, and kindly enquired into her welfare, both spiritual and temporal. Before leaving, he inquired: “And I hope, Mrs. Robertson, you receive much good from your regular attendance at the ordinances?” “Ou ay, sir,” replied Kirsty, “it’s no’ every day I get sic a nice seat to sit on, an’ sae little to think aboot.”
Two men were talking about sermons. “Hoo did your minister get on last Sabbath?” asked the one. “Get on!” said the other; “he got on—just like a taed amang tar.”
A well-known Edinburgh lecturer—the late “Sandy” Russel of the Scotsman—was some years ago, it is said, enjoying a brief holiday in a quiet Highland retreat, which afforded excellent scope for the plying of the “gentle art,” and the Sabbath coming round in due course, he resolved, in order to dispel the tedium of the day, to attend the village church. The worthy parson noted the intellectual-looking stranger among his sparse congregation, and, on making enquiries, was informed of his personal identity. On the Monday following, the parson took a walk along the river side and very soon encountered the popular editor busy with rod and line.
“You are a keen fisher, I believe, Mr. Russel,” was the preacher’s introductory remark.
“Yes, I am, pastor,” was the instant and decided reply.
“I am a fisher too,” remarked the minister dreamily, “but a fisher of men;” the latter words were delivered with great unction.
“Oh, indeed,” dryly responded the editor, “I had a keek into your creel yesterday; ye didna seem to ha’e catch’d mony.”
