The
minister on one occasion had somewhat in this spirit called upon the
beadle to "wauken my Lord Elphinstone," upon which Lord Elphinstone
said, "I'm no sleeping, minister." "Indeed you were, my lord." He again
disclaimed the sleeping. So as a test the preacher asked him, "What I
had been saying last then?" "Oh, juist wauken Lord Elphinstone." "Ay,
but what did I say before that?" "Indeed," retorted Lord Elphinstone,
"I'll gie ye a guinea if ye'll tell that yersell, minister." We can
hardly imagine the _possibility_ of such scenes now taking place amongst
us in church. It seems as if all men were gradually approximating to a
common type or form in their manners and views of life; oddities are
sunk, prominences are rounded off, sharp features are polished, and all
things are becoming smooth and conventional. The remark, like the
effect, is general, and extends to other countries as well as to our
own. But as we have more recently parted with our peculiarities of
dialect, oddity, and eccentricity, it becomes the more amusing to mark
_our_ participation in this change, because a period of fifty years
shows here a greater contrast than the same period would show in many
other localities.
I have already referred to a custom which prevailed in all the rural
parish churches, and which I remember in my early days at Fettercairn;
the custom I mean, now quite obsolete, of the minister, after
pronouncing the blessing, turning to the heritors, who always occupied
the front seats of the gallery, and making low bows to each family.
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