I can myself recollect an obsolete ecclesiastical custom, and which was always practised in the church of Fettercairn during my boyish days—­viz., that of the minister bowing to the heritors in succession who occupied the front gallery seats; and I am assured that this bowing from the pulpit to the principal heritor or heritors after the blessing had been pronounced was very common in rural parishes till about forty years ago, and perhaps till a still later period.  And when heritors chanced to be pretty equally matched, there was sometimes an unpleasant contest as to who was entitled to the precedence in having the first bow.  A case of this kind once occurred in the parish of Lanark, which was carried so far as to be laid before the Presbytery; but they, not considering themselves “competent judges of the points of honour and precedency among gentlemen, and to prevent all inconveniency in these matters in the future, appointed the minister to forbear bowing to the lairds at all from the pulpit for the time to come;” and they also appointed four of their number “to wait upon the gentlemen, to deal with them, for bringing them to condescend to submit hereunto, for the success of the gospel and the peace of the parish.”

In connection with this subject, we may mention a ready and complimentary reply once made by the late Reverend Dr. Wightman of Kirkmahoe, on being rallied for his neglecting this usual act of courtesy one Sabbath in his own church.  The heritor who was entitled to and always received this token of respect, was Mr. Miller, proprietor of Dalswinton.  One Sabbath the Dalswinton pew contained a bevy of ladies, but no gentlemen, and the Doctor—­perhaps because he was a bachelor and felt a delicacy in the circumstances—­omitted the usual salaam in their direction.  A few days after, meeting Miss Miller, who was widely famed for her beauty, and who afterwards became Countess of Mar, she rallied him, in presence of her companions, for not bowing to her from the pulpit on the previous Sunday, and requested an explanation; when the good Doctor immediately replied—­“I beg your pardon, Miss Miller, but you surely know that angel-worship is not allowed in the Church of Scotland;” and lifting his hat, he made a low bow, and passed on.

Scottish congregations, in some parts of the country, contain an element in their composition quite unknown in English churches.  In pastoral parts of the country, it was an established practice for each shepherd to bring his faithful collie dog—­at least it was so some years ago.  In a district of Sutherland, where the population is very scanty, the congregations are made up one-half of dogs, each human member having his canine companion.  These dogs sit out the Gaelic services and sermon with commendable patience, till towards the end of the last psalm, when there is a universal stretching and yawning, and all are prepared to scamper out, barking in a most excited manner whenever the blessing is commenced.  The