“A kittlin’, do ye ca’t?” exclaimed the minister, loud enough for all the congregation to hear him. “It soonds to my lug mair like the catterwaw o’ an auld tam-cat.”
And there have been humorous incidents connected with the praise of the Church for which the precentor could only be held directly responsible. Thus in the Statistical Account we read that, in the days of Mr. Cumming, the late Episcopal minister in the parish of Halkirk, in Caithness-shire, there was no singer of psalms in the church but the “lettergae” and one Tait, gardener in Braal. This Tait sang so loud, and with such a large open mouth, that a young fellow of the name of Inverach was tempted to throw a small round stone into his mouth, whereby his teeth were broken and his singing stopped at once, and he himself almost choked. Inverach immediately took to his heels; the service was converted to laughter; two of Tait’s sons chased and overtook him; and the scene was closed with a desperate fight.
Precentors, like musical men generally, of course, have not suffered from an overstock of modesty. Dr. Blair used to tell the following anecdote of his precentor with a great deal of glee. Happening to preach one day at a distance, he next day met that official as he was returning home—
“Well,” said the Doctor, “how did matters proceed yesterday at church in my absence?”
“’Deed,” replied the man of song, “no very weel, I’m dootin’: for I wasna there, Doctor, ony mair than yoursel’.”
I have heard how the vanity of a choirmaster was effectually crushed. It was in a certain church in one of our large towns some years ago. The rev. Doctor had given out a well-known psalm, which he expected would be sung to the tune of Martyrdom. Instead of that it was sung to a new tune which none of the congregation knew, and the choir had thus the whole singing to themselves. When they had finished, the Doctor rose, with an angry look on his face, and remarked, “Since the choir have sung to their own praise and glory, we shall now sing to the praise and glory of God.” Forthwith he began the words to the tune of Martyrdom, and the whole of the people joined with great warmth.
The reading of the proclamations, or marriage banns, etc., was long a duty which in country parish churches generally devolved on the precentor, and many sufficiently funny blunders was the result. In a small seaport town in the North, many years ago, when vessels left port, those of the crew who were members of the visible Church in the midst thereof were recommended publicly to the prayers of the congregation. Captain M’Pherson and his lady were prominent members, and the Sabbath succeeding the captain’s departure on one occasion, the written intimation which was handed to the precentor read as follows:—“Captain M’Pherson having gone to sea, his wife desires the prayers of the congregation in his behalf.” By the simple displacement of the comma after “sea,” the people were told that “Captain M’Pherson having gone to see his wife, desires the prayers of the congregation in his behalf.”
Precentors have sometimes received compliments which might be envied by those occupying higher places. The late Rev. Mr. M’Dougall, of Paisley, used to tell of having been accosted by a man on leaving some meeting, with—
“You’re Mr. M’Dougall, I think?”