Scotch folks have each a mind of their own, which they respect. Still they are seldom found to be doggedly unreasonable. When it was proposed by the Secession congregation at Haddington to give a call to the afterwards celebrated Mr. John Brown, one of the adherents of the church expressed his decided opposition. Subsequent to his ordination, Mr. Brown waited on the solitary dissentient, who was threatening to leave the meeting-house. “Why do you think of leaving us?” mildly enquired Mr. Brown. “Because,” said the sturdy oppositionist, “I don’t think you a good preacher.” “That is quite my own opinion,” replied the minister; “but the great majority of the congregation think the reverse, and it would not do for you and me to set up our opinion against theirs. I have given in, you see, and I would suggest you might just do so too.” “Weel, weel,” said the grumbler, quite reconciled by the candidate’s frank confession, “I think I’ll just follow your example, sir.” All differences were ended; and afterwards, than this same individual, the Rev. John Brown had no greater admirer in the town of Haddington.

Old Hackstoun of Rathillet one day said to Mr. Smibert, the minister of Cupar, who, like himself, was blessed with a foolish, or rather wild, youth for a son—“D’ye ken, sir, you and I are wiser than Solomon.”

“How can that be, Rathillet?” inquired the startled clergyman.

“Ou, ye see,” said Hackstoun, “Solomon didna ken whether his son was to be a fool or a wise man: but baith you and I are quite sure that our sons are fools.”

These anecdotes and illustrations possess a value distinct from the rich ore of humour they reveal. They are redolent of the soil, and serve as “keek-holes” through which fitful glances are obtained of the manners and customs of the “rude forefathers of the hamlet,” and the easy relationship which in bygone days existed between the occupants of the pulpit and the pew.

Here endeth this lesson.