“Then, Jessie, my woman, aye dance!” cried the delighted Doctor.
It was capital!
When the Rev. Mr. (now the esteemed Dr.) Macgregor, of Edinburgh, settled in Glasgow as minister of the Tron Kirk, he had occasion, a few weeks after, to visit a family in one of the poorer districts, where he was as yet unknown to the eyes of his flock, although their ears had heard his name, and his personal appearance had become in some vague way familiar to their minds. He inquired of the goodwife whether the head of the house was at home, and, being informed that he was not, was kindly invited to await his arrival. This not occurring so soon as the goodwife had expected, she suggested to her visitor, who had not acquainted her with his name or station, that he should “gang oot an see the pigs,” the mother-pig having brought into the world a fine litter, a few days before. This, of course, Mr. Macgregor cheerfully consented to do. The inmates of the sty having been duly inspected, and the virtues of the mother-pig extolled till the old woman’s vocabulary refused to supply another adjective, she informed her visitor that “the young piggies had a’ been named aifter different fouk;” according as their personal appearances seemed to offer points of resemblance. And she indicated this and that one, as the bearer of some well-known name, honoured or otherwise, until she came to the last one, a rather diminutive, but active specimen of the porcine breed. “An’ this ane,” said she to her unknown and attentive listener, “this wee black deev’luck, we ca’ Wee Macgregor o’ the Tron!”
“An’ this ane,” said she to her unknown and attentive listener, “this wee black deev’luck, we ca’ Wee Macgregor o’ the Tron!”—[Page 106.]
The genial Doctor himself has frequently told the above story with great and unaffected gusto.
The Christenin’, the Waddin’, the Catakeezin’ (now an unknown institution), and the Burial—these were occasions which brought the occupants of the pulpit and the pew into the closest relationship, and from which many capital illustrations of the national humour and character have arisen.
Baptism, of course, sometimes had a different significance for different persons. “What is Baptism, John?” a minister, in the course of a public catechising, asked his beadle.
“Baptism?” answered John, scratching his head, “weel, ye ken, it’s sometimes mair and sometimes less, but, as a general rule, it’s auchteenpence to me and a shillin’ to the precentor.”
“Hoo mony o’ the Elect will there be on the earth the noo, think ye, Janet?” said one old crone to another. “Ten?”