Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character by Edward Bannerman Ramsay

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My relative used to tell of one of these officials receiving, with much
ceremony, a brother betheral, from a neighbouring parish, who had come
with the minister thereof for the purpose of preaching on some special
occasion. After service, the betheral of the stranger clergyman felt
proud of the performance of the appointed duty, and said in a triumphant
tone to his friend, "I think oor minister did weel; ay, he gars the
stour flee oot o' the cushion." To which the other rejoined, with a calm
feeling of superiority, "Stour oot o' the cushion! hout, our minister,
sin' he cam wi' us, has dung the guts oot o' twa Bibles." Another
description I have heard of an energetic preacher more forcible than
delicate--"Eh, oor minister had a great power o' watter, for he grat,
and spat, and swat like mischeef." An obliging anonymous correspondent
has sent me a story of a functionary of this class whose pride was
centred not so much in the performance of the minister as of the
precentor. He states that he remembers an old beadle of the church which
was called "Haddo's Hole," and sometimes the "Little Kirk," in
Edinburgh, whose son occasionally officiated as precentor. He was not
very well qualified for the duty, but the father had a high opinion of
his son's vocal powers. In those days there was always service in the
church on the Tuesday evenings; and when the father was asked on such
occasions, "Who's to preach to-night?" his self-complacent reply used to
be, "I divna ken wha's till preach, but my son's for till precent." The
following is a more correct version of a betheral story than one which
occupied this page in the last edition. The beadle had been asked to
recommend a person for the same office, and his answer was, "If ye had
wanted twa or three bits o' elder bodies, I cud hae gotten them for ye
as easily as penny baps oot of Mr. Rowan's shop," pointing to a baker's
shop opposite to where the colloquy took place; "or even if ye had
wanted a minister, I might hae helpit ye to get ane; but as for a gude
_beadle_, that's about the maist difficult thing I ken o' just now."

Perhaps the following may seem to illustrate the self-importance of the
betheral tribe. The Rev. Dr. Hugh Blair was one Sunday absent from his
pulpit, and next morning meeting his beadle in the street he inquired
how matters went in the High Church on Sabbath. "'Deed, I dare say no
very weel," was the answer; "I wasna there ony mair than yoursell."

Mr. Turnbull of Dundee kindly sends me an excellent anecdote of the
"Betheral" type, which illustrates the _esprit de corps_ of the
betherelian mind. The late Dr. Robertson of Glasgow had, while in the
parish of Mains, a quaint old church attendant of the name of Walter
Nicoll, commonly called "Watty Nuckle," whom he invited to come and
visit him after he had been removed to Glasgow. Watty accordingly
ventured on the (to him) terrible journey, and was received by the
Doctor with great kindness. The Doctor, amongst other sights, took him
to see the Cathedral church, and showed him all through it, and after
they were coming away the Doctor asked Watty what he thought of it, and
if it was not better than the Mains church. Watty shook his head, and
said, "Aweel, sir, you see she's bigger; but she has nae laft, and she's
sair fashed wi' thae pillars."

On the same subject of beadle peculiarities, I have received from Mrs.
Mearns of Kineff Manse an exquisitely characteristic illustration of
beadle _professional_ habits being made to bear upon the tender
passion:--A certain beadle had fancied the manse housemaid, but at a
loss for an opportunity to declare himself, one day--a Sunday--when his
duties were ended, he looked sheepish, and said, "Mary, wad _ye_ tak a
turn, Mary?" He led her to the churchyard, and pointing with his finger,
got out, "My fowk lie there, Mary; wad ye like to lie there?" The
_grave_ hint was taken, and she became his wife, but does not yet
lie _there_.

Here is another good example of betheral refinement or philosophy.--He
was carefully dressing up a grave, and adjusting the turf upon it. The
clergyman, passing through the churchyard, observed, "That's beautiful
sod, Jeems." "Indeed is't, minister, and I grudge it upon the grave o'
sic a scamp."

This class of functionaries were very free in their remarks upon the
preaching of strangers, who used occasionally to occupy the pulpit of
their church--the city betherals speaking sometimes in a most
condescending manner of clergy from the provincial parishes. As, for
example, a betheral of one of the large churches in Glasgow, criticising
the sermon of a minister from the country who had been preaching in the
city church, characterised it as "gude coorse country wark." A betheral
of one of the churches of St. Giles, Edinburgh, used to call on the
family of Mr. Robert Stevenson, engineer, who was one of the elders. On
one occasion they asked him what had been the text on such a night, when
none of the family had been present. The man of office, confused at the
question, and unwilling to show anything like ignorance, poured forth,
"Weel, ye see, the text last day was just entirely, sirs--yes--the text,
sirs--what was it again?--ou ay, just entirely, ye see it was, 'What
profiteth a man if he lose the world, and gain his own soul?'" Most of
such stories are usually of an old standing. A more recent one has been
told me of a betheral of a royal burgh much decayed from former
importance, and governed by a feeble municipality of old men, who
continued in office, and in fact constituted rather the shadow than the
substance of a corporation. A clergyman from a distance having come to
officiate in the parish church, the betheral, knowing the terms on which
it was usual for the minister officiating to pray for the efficiency of
the local magistracy, quietly cautioned the clergyman before service
that, in regard to the town-council there, it would be quite out of
place for him to pray that they should be a "terror to evil-doers,"
because, as he said, "the puir auld bodies could be nae terror to
onybody." A minister of Easter Anstruther, during the last century, used
to say of the magistrates of Wester Anstruther, that "instead of being a
terror to evil-doers, evil-doers were a terror to them."

The "minister's man" was a functionary well known in many parishes, and
who often evinced much Scottish humour and original character. These men
were (like the betheral) great critics of sermons, and often severe upon
strangers, sometimes with a sly hit at their own minister. One of these,
David, a well-known character, complimenting a young minister who had
preached, told him, "Your introduction, sir, is aye grand; its worth a'
the rest o' the sermon--could ye no mak it a' introduction?"

David's criticisms of his master's sermons were sometimes sharp enough
and shrewd. On one occasion, driving the minister home from a
neighbouring church where he had been preaching, and who, as he thought,
had acquitted himself pretty well, inquired of David what _he_ thought
of it. The subject of discourse had been the escape of the Israelites
from Egypt. So David opened his criticism--"Thocht o't, sir? deed I
thocht nocht o't ava. It was a vara imperfect discourse in ma opinion;
ye did weel eneuch till ye took them through, but where did ye leave
them? just daunerin' o' the sea-shore without a place to gang till. Had
it no been for Pharaoh they had been better on the other side, where
they were comfortably encampit, than daunerin' where ye left them. It's
painful to hear a sermon stoppit afore it's richt ended, just as it is
to hear ane streekit out lang after it's dune. That's ma opinion o' the
sermon ye gied us to-day." "Very freely given, David, very freely given;
drive on a little faster, for I think ye're daunerin' noo yersell."

To another who had gone through a long course of parish official life a
gentleman one day remarked--"John, ye hae been sae lang about the
minister's hand that I dare say ye could preach a sermon yersell now."
To which John modestly replied, "O na, sir, I couldna preach a sermon,
but maybe I could draw an inference." "Well, John," said the gentleman,
humouring the quiet vanity of the beadle, "what inference could ye draw
frae this text, 'A wild ass snuffeth up the wind at her pleasure?'"
(Jer. ii. 24). "Weel, sir, I wad draw this inference, he would snuff a
lang time afore he would fatten upon't." I had an anecdote from a
friend, of a reply from a betheral to the minister _in_ church, which
was quaint and amusing from the shrewd self-importance it indicated in
his own acuteness. The clergyman had been annoyed during the course of
his sermon by the restlessness and occasional whining of a dog, which at
last began to bark outright. He looked out for the beadle, and directed
him very peremptorily, "John, carry that dog out." John, looked up to
the pulpit, and with a very knowing expression, said, "Na, na, sir; I'se
just mak him gae out on his ain four legs." I have another story of
canine misbehaviour in church. A dog was present during the service, and
in the sermon the worthy minister was in the habit of speaking very
loud, and, in fact, when he got warmed with his subject, of shouting
almost at the top of his voice. The dog, who, in the early part, had
been very quiet, became quite excited, as is not uncommon with some dogs
when hearing a noise, and from whinging and whining, as the speaker's
voice rose loud and strong, at last began to bark and howl. The
minister, naturally much annoyed at the interruption, called upon the
betheral to put out the dog, who at once expressed his readiness to obey
the order, but could not resist the temptation to look up to the pulpit,
and to say very significantly, "Ay, ay, sir; but indeed it was yersell
began it." There is a dog story connected with Reminiscences of Glasgow
(see _Chambers's Journal_, March 1855), which is full of meaning. The
bowls of rum-punch which so remarkably characterised the Glasgow dinners
of last century and the early part of the present, it is to be feared
made some of the congregation given to somnolency on the Sundays
following. The members of the town-council often adopted Saturday for
such meetings; accordingly, the Rev. Mr. Thorn, an excellent
clergyman[178], took occasion to mark this propensity with some
acerbity. A dog had been very troublesome, and disturbed the
congregation for some time, when the minister at last gave orders to the
beadle, "Take out that dog; he'd wauken a Glasgow magistrate."

The parochial gravediggers had sometimes a very familiar professional
style of dealing with the solemn subjects connected with their office.
Thus I have heard of a grave-digger pointing out a large human bone to a
lady who was looking at his work, of digging a grave, and asking
her--"D'ye ken wha's bane that is, mem?--that's Jenny Fraser's
hench-bane;" adding with a serious aspect--"a weel-baned family
thae Frasers."

It would be impossible in these Reminiscences to omit the well-known and
often repeated anecdote connected with an eminent divine of our own
country, whose works take a high place in our theological literature.
The story to which I allude was rendered popular throughout the kingdom
some years ago, by the inimitable mode in which it was told, or rather
acted, by the late Charles Matthews. But Matthews was wrong in the
person of whom he related the humorous address. I have assurance of the
parties from a friend, whose father, a distinguished clergyman in the
Scottish Church at the time, had accurate knowledge of the whole
circumstances. The late celebrated Dr. Macknight, a learned and profound
scholar and commentator, was nevertheless, as a preacher, to a great
degree heavy, unrelieved by fancy or imagination; an able writer, but a
dull speaker. His colleague, Dr. Henry, well known as the author of a
History of England, was, on the other hand, a man of great humour, and
could not resist a joke when the temptation came upon him. On one
occasion when coming to church, Dr. Macknight had been caught in a
shower of rain, and entered the vestry soaked with wet. Every means were
used to relieve him from his discomfort; but as the time drew on for
divine service he became much distressed, and ejaculated over and over,
"Oh, I wush that I was dry; do you think I'm dry? do you think I'm dry
eneuch noo?" His jocose colleague could resist no longer, but, patting
him on the shoulder, comforted him with the sly assurance, "Bide a wee,
Doctor, and ye'se be _dry eneuch_ when ye get into the pu'pit."

Another quaint remark of the facetious doctor to his more formal
colleague has been preserved by friends of the family. Dr. Henry, who
with all his pleasantry and abilities, had himself as little popularity
in the pulpit as his coadjutor, had been remarking to Dr. Macknight what
a blessing it was that they were two colleagues in one charge, and
continued dwelling on the subject so long, that Dr. Macknight, not quite
pleased at the frequent reiteration of the remark, said that it
certainly was a great pleasure to himself, but he did not see what great
benefit it might be to the world. "Ah," said Dr. Henry, "an it hadna
been for that, there wad hae been _twa_ toom[179] kirks this day." Lord
Cockburn tells a characteristic anecdote of Dr. Henry's behaviour the
last day of his life. I am indebted to a gentleman, himself also a
distinguished member of the Scottish Church, for an authentic anecdote
of this learned divine, and which occurred whilst Dr. Macknight was the
minister of Maybole. One of his parishioners, a well-known humorous
blacksmith of the parish, who, no doubt, thought that the Doctor's
learned books were rather a waste of time and labour for a country
pastor, was asked if his minister was at home. The Doctor was then busy
bringing out his laborious and valuable work, his _Harmony of the Four
Gospels_. "Na, he's gane to Edinburgh on a verra useless job." On being
asked what this useless work might be which engaged his pastor's time
and attention, he answered, "He's gane to mak four men agree wha ne'er
cast oot." The good-humoured and candid answer of a learned and rather
long-winded preacher of the old school always appeared to me quite
charming. The good man was far from being a popular preacher, and yet he
could not reduce his discourses below the hour and a half. On being
asked, as a gentle hint of their possibly needless length, if he did not
feel _tired_ after preaching so long, he replied, "Na, na, I'm no
tired;" adding, however, with much naivete, "But, Lord, how tired the
fowk whiles are."

The late good kind-hearted Dr. David Dickson was fond of telling a story
of a Scottish termagant of the days before kirk-session discipline had
passed away. A couple were brought before the court, and Janet, the
wife, was charged with violent and undutiful conduct, and with wounding
her husband by throwing a three-legged stool at his head. The minister
rebuked her conduct, and pointed out its grievous character, by
explaining that just as Christ was head of his Church, so the husband
was head of the wife; and therefore in assaulting _him_, she had in fact
injured her own body. "Weel," she replied, "it's come to a fine pass gin
a wife canna kame her ain head;" "Ay, but, Janet," rejoined the
minister, "a three-legged stool is a thief-like bane-kame to scart yer
ain head wi'!"

The following is a dry Scottish case, of a minister's wife quietly
"kaming her husband's head." Mr. Mair, a Scotch minister, was rather
short-tempered, and had a wife named Rebecca, whom for brevity's sake he
addressed as "Becky." He kept a diary, and among other entries, this one
was very frequent--"Becky and I had a rippet, for which I desire to be
humble." A gentleman who had been on a visit to the minister went to
Edinburgh, and told the story to a minister and his wife there; when the
lady replied "Weel, he must have been an excellent man, Mr. Mair. My
husband and I sometimes too have 'rippets,' but catch him if he's
ever humble."

Our object in bringing up and recording anecdotes of this kind is to
elucidate the sort of humour we refer to, and to show it as a humour of
_past_ times. A modern clergyman could hardly adopt the tone and manner
of the older class of ministers--men not less useful and beloved, on
account of their odd Scottish humour, which indeed suited their time.
Could a clergyman, for instance, now come off from the trying position
in which we have heard of a northern minister being placed, and by the
same way through which he extricated himself with much good nature and
quiet sarcasm? A young man, sitting opposite to him in the front of the
gallery, had been up late on the previous night, and had stuffed the
cards with which he had been occupied into his coat pocket. Forgetting
the circumstance, he pulled out his handkerchief, and the cards all flew
about. The minister simply looked at him, and remarked, "Eh, man, your
psalm-buik has been ill bund."

An admirable story of a quiet pulpit rebuke is traditionary in Fife, and
is told of Mr. Shirra, a Seceding minister of Kirkcaldy, a man still
well remembered by some of the older generation for many excellent and
some eccentric qualities. A young officer of a volunteer corps on duty
in the place, very proud of his fresh uniform, had come to Mr. Shirra's
church, and walked about as if looking for a seat, but in fact to show
off his dress, which he saw was attracting attention from some of the
less grave members of the congregation. He came to his place, however,
rather quickly, on Mr. Shirra quietly remonstrating, "O man, will ye sit
doun, and we'll see your new breeks when the kirk's dune." This same Mr.
Shirra was well known from his quaint, and, as it were, parenthetical
comments which he introduced in his reading of Scripture; as, for
example, on reading from the 116th Psalm, "I said in my haste all men
are liars," he quietly observed, "Indeed, Dauvid, my man, an' ye had
been i' this parish ye might hae said it at your leisure."

There was something even still more pungent in the incidental remark of
a good man, in the course of his sermon, who had in a country place
taken to preaching out of doors in the summer afternoons. He used to
collect the people as they were taking air by the side of a stream
outside the village. On one occasion he had unfortunately taken his
place on a bank, and fixed himself on an _ants' nest_. The active habits
of those little creatures soon made the position of the intruder upon
their domain very uncomfortable; and, afraid that his audience might
observe something of this discomfort in his manner, he apologised by the
remark--"Brethren, though I hope I have the word of God in my mouth, I
think the deil himself has gotten into my breeks."

There was often no doubt a sharp conflict of wits when some of these
humorist ministers came into collision with members of their flocks who
were _also_ humorists. Of this nature is the following anecdote, which I
am assured is genuine:--A minister in the north was taking to task one
of his hearers who was a frequent defaulter, and was reproaching him as
a habitual absentee from public worship. The accused vindicated himself
on the plea of a dislike to long sermons. "'Deed, man," said the
reverend monitor, a little nettled at the insinuation thrown out against
himself, "if ye dinna mend, ye may land yersell where ye'll no be
troubled wi' mony sermons either lang or short." "Weel, aiblins sae,"
retorted John, "but _that_ mayna be for want o' ministers."

An answer to another clergyman, Mr. Shireff, parochial minister of St.
Ninian's, is indicative of Scottish and really clever wit. One of the
members of his church was John Henderson or Anderson--a very decent
douce shoemaker--and who left the church and joined the Independents,
who had a meeting in Stirling. Some time afterwards, when Mr. Shireff
met John on the road, he said, "And so, John, I understand you have
become an Independent?" "'Deed, sir," replied John, "that's true." "Oh,
John," said the minister, "I'm sure you ken that a rowin' (rolling)
stane gathers nae fog" (moss). "Ay," said John, "that's true too; but
can ye tell me what guid the fog does to the stane?" Mr. Shireff himself
afterwards became a Baptist. The wit, however, was all in favour of the
minister in the following:--

Dr. Gilchrist, formerly of the East Parish of Greenock, and who died
minister of the Canongate, Edinburgh, received an intimation of one of
his hearers who had been exceedingly irregular in his attendance that he
had taken seats in an Episcopal chapel. One day soon after, he met his
former parishioner, who told him candidly that he had "changed his
religion." "Indeed," said the Doctor quietly; "how's that? I ne'er heard
ye had ony." It was this same Dr. Gilchrist who gave the well-known
quiet but forcible rebuke to a young minister whom he considered rather
conceited and fond of putting forward his own doings, and who was to
officiate in the Doctor's church. He explained to him the mode in which
he usually conducted the service, and stated that he always finished the
prayer before the sermon with the Lord's Prayer. The young minister
demurred at this, and asked if he "might not introduce any other short
prayer?" "Ou ay," was the Doctor's quiet reply, "gif ye can gie us
onything _better_."

There is a story current of a sharp hit at the pretensions of a minister
who required a little set down. The scene was on a Monday by a burn near
Inverness. A stranger is fishing by a burn-side one Monday morning, when
the parish minister accosts him from the other side of the stream
thus:--"Good sport?" "Not very." "I am also an angler," but, pompously,
"I am a _fisher of men_." "Are you always successful?" "Not very." "So I
guessed, as I keeked into your creel[180] yesterday."

At Banchory, on Deeside, some of the criticisms and remarks on sermons
were very quaint and characteristic. My cousin had asked the Leys grieve
what he thought of a young man's preaching, who had been more successful
in appropriating the words than the ideas of Dr. Chalmers. He drily
answered, "Ou, Sir Thomas, just a floorish o' the surface." But the same
hearer bore this unequivocal testimony to another preacher whom he
really admired. He was asked if he did not think the sermon long: "Na, I
should nae hae thocht it lang an' I'd been sitting on thorns."

I think the following is about as good a sample of what we call Scotch
"pawky" as any I know:--A countryman had lost his wife and a favourite
cow on the same day. His friends consoled him for the loss of the wife;
and being highly respectable, several hints and offers were made
towards getting another for him. "Ou ay," he at length replied; "you're
a' keen aneuch to get me anither wife, but no yin o' ye offers to gie me
anither coo."

The following anecdotes, collected from different contributors, are fair
samples of the quaint and original character of Scottish ways and
expressions, now becoming more and more matters of reminiscence:--A poor
man came to his minister for the purpose of intimating his intention of
being married. As he expressed, however, some doubts on the subject, and
seemed to hesitate, the minister asked him if there were any doubts
about his being accepted. No, that was not the difficulty; but he
expressed a fear that it might not be altogether suitable, and he asked
whether, if he were once married, he could not (in case of unsuitability
and unhappiness) get _un_married. The clergyman assured him that it was
impossible; if he married, it must be for better and worse; that he
could not go back upon the step. So thus instructed he went away. After
a time he returned, and said he had made up his mind to try the
experiment, and he came and was married. Ere long he came back very
disconsolate, and declared it would not do at all; that he was quite
miserable, and begged to be unmarried. The minister assured him that was
out of the question, and urged him to put away the notion of anything so
absurd. The man insisted that the marriage could not hold good, for the
wife was "waur than the deevil." The minister demurred, saying that it
was quite impossible. "'Deed, sir," said the poor man, "the Bible tells
ye that if ye resist the deil he flees frae ye, but if ye resist her she
flees _at_ ye."

A faithful minister of the gospel, being one day engaged in visiting
some members of his flock, came to the door of a house where his gentle
tapping could not be heard for the noise of contention within. After
waiting a little he opened the door, and walked in, saying, with an
authoritative voice, "I should like to know who is the head of this
house." "Weel, sir," said the husband and father, "if ye sit doun a wee,
we'll maybe be able to tell ye, for we're just trying to settle
that point."

I have received from my kind correspondent, Rev. Mr. Hogg of Kirkmahoe,
the following most amusing account of a passage-at-arms between a
minister and "minister's man," both of them of the old school. The
minister of a parish in Dumfriesshire had a man who had long and
faithfully served at the manse. During the minister's absence, a
ploughing match came off in the district, and the man, feeling the old
spirit return with the force of former days, wished to enter the lists,
and go in for a prize, which he did, and gained the _fifth_ prize. The
minister, on his return home, and glancing at the local newspaper, saw
the report of the match, and the name of his own man in the prize-list.
Being of a crusty temper, he rang the bell in fury, and summoned John,
when the following colloquy took place:--"John, how is this? who gave
you leave to go to the ploughing-match?" "You were not at hame, sir."
"Well, you should have written to me." "I didn't think it was worth
while, sir, as we had our ain ploughing _forrit_[181]." "That may be;
but why were you not higher in the prize-list? I'm ashamed of you, and
you ought to be ashamed of yourself for being so far behind." John's
patience had given way, and, in his haste he burst forth, "Indeed, I'm
thinking, sir, that if ye were at a _preaching_ match, and
five-and-thirty in the field, ye wadna come in for _onything_, let a-be
for a fift'."

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