In Peebles there was a crazy being of this kind called “Daft Yedie.”  On one occasion he saw a gentleman, a stranger in the town, who had a club foot.  Yedie contemplated this phenomenon with some interest, and, addressing the gentleman, said compassionately, “It’s a great pity—­its spoils the boot.”  There is a story of one of those half-witted creatures of a different character from the humorous ones already recorded; I think it is exceedingly affecting.  The story is traditionary in a country district, and I am not aware of its being ever printed.

A poor boy, of this class, who had evidently manifested a tendency towards religious and devotional feelings, asked permission from the clergyman to attend the Lord’s Table and partake of the holy communion with the other members of the congregation (whether Episcopalian or Presbyterian I do not know).  The clergyman demurred for some time, under the impression of his mind being incapable of a right and due understanding of the sacred ordinance.  But observing the extreme earnestness of the poor boy, he at last gave consent, and he was allowed to come.  He was much affected, and all the way home was heard to exclaim, “Oh!  I hae seen the pretty man.”  This referred to his seeing the Lord Jesus whom he had approached in the sacrament.  He kept repeating the words, and went with them on his lips to rest for the night.  Not appearing at the usual hour for breakfast, when they went to his bedside they found him dead!  The excitement had been too much—­mind and body had given way—­and the half-idiot of earth awoke to the glories and the bliss of his Redeemer’s presence.

Analogous with the language of the defective intellect is the language of the imperfectly formed intellect, and I have often thought there was something very touching and very fresh in the expression of feelings and notions by children.  I have given examples before, but the following is, to my taste, a charming specimen:—­A little boy had lived for some time with a very penurious uncle, who took good care that the child’s health should not be injured by over-feeding.  The uncle was one day walking out, the child at his side, when a friend accosted him, accompanied by a greyhound.  While the elders were talking, the little fellow, never having seen a dog so slim and slight of form, clasped the creature round the neck with the impassioned cry, “Oh, doggie, doggie, and div ye live wi’ your uncle tae, that ye are so thin?”

In connection with funerals, I am indebted to the kindness of Lord Kinloch for a characteristic anecdote of cautious Scottish character in the west country.  It was the old fashion, still practised in some districts, to carry the coffin to the grave on long poles, or “spokes,” as they were commonly termed.  There were usually two bearers abreast on each side.  On a certain occasion one of the two said to his companion, “I’m awfu’ tired wi’ carryin’.”  “Do you carry?” was the interrogatory in reply.  “Yes; what do you do?” “Oh,” said the other, “I aye lean.”  His friend’s fatigue was at once accounted for.