however, that no clergyman could expect to retain the respect of his people or of the public, of whom it was known that he frequently or habitually attended theatrical representations.  It is so understood.  I had opportunities of conversing with the late Mr. Murray of the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, and with Mr. Charles Kean, on the subject.  Both admitted the fact, and certainly if any men of the profession could have removed the feeling from the public mind, these were the men to have done it.

There is a phase of religious observances which has undergone a great change amongst us within fifty years—­I mean the services and circumstances connected with the administration of the Holy Communion.  When these occurred in a parish they were called “occasions,” and the great interest excited by these sacramental solemnities may be gathered from “Peter’s Letters,” “The Annals of the Parish,” and Burns’ “Holy Fair.”  Such ceremonials are now conducted, I believe, just as the ordinary church services.  Some years back they were considered a sort of preaching matches.  Ministers vied with each other in order to bear away the bell in popularity, and hearers embraced the opportunity of exhibiting to one another their powers of criticism on what they heard and saw.  In the parish of Urr in Galloway, on one sacramental occasion, some of the assistants invited were eminent ministers in Edinburgh; Dr. Scot of St. Michael’s, Dumfries, was the only local one who was asked, and he was, in his own sphere, very popular as a preacher.  A brother clergyman, complimenting him upon the honour of being so invited, the old bald-headed divine modestly replied, “Gude bless you, man, what can I do?  They are a’ han’ wailed[25] this time; I need never show face among them.”  “Ye’re quite mista’en,” was the soothing encouragement; “tak’ your Resurrection (a well-known sermon used for such occasions by him), an I’ll lay my lug ye’ll beat every clute o’ them.”  The Doctor did as suggested, and exerted himself to the utmost, and it appears he did not exert himself in vain.  A batch of old women, on their way home after the conclusion of the services, were overheard discussing the merits of the several preachers who had that day addressed them from the tent.  “Leeze me abune them a’,” said one of the company, who had waxed warm in the discussion, “for yon auld clear-headed (bald) man, that said, ‘Raphael sings an’ Gabriel strikes his goolden harp, an’ a’ the angels clap their wings wi’ joy.’  O but it was gran’, it just put me in min’ o’ our geese at Dunjarg when they turn their nebs to the south an’ clap their wings when they see the rain’s comin’ after lang drooth.”