The Rev. John Brown of Whitburn was riding out one day on an old pony, when he was accosted by a rude youth:  “I say, Mr. Broon, what gars your horse’s tail wag that way?” “Oo, juist what gars your tongue wag; it’s fashed wi’ a wakeness.”

About sixty years ago there were two ministers in Sanquhar of the name of Thomson, one of whom was father of the late Dr. Andrew Thomson of Edinburgh, the other was father of Dr. Thomson of Balfron.  The domestic in the family of the latter was rather obtrusive with her secret devotions, sometimes kneeling on the stairs at night, and talking loud enough to be heard.  On a communion season she was praying devoutly and exclusively for her minister:  “Remember Mr. Tamson, no him at the Green, but oor ain Mr. Tamson.”

Rev. Mr. Leslie of Morayshire combined the duties of justice of peace with those of parochial clergyman.  One day he was taken into confidence by a culprit who had been caught in the act of smuggling, and was threatened with a heavy fine.  The culprit was a staunch Seceder, and owned a small farm.  Mr. Leslie, with an old-fashioned zeal for the Established Church, said to him, “The king will come in the cadger’s road some day.  Ye wadna come to the parish kirk, though it were to save your life, wad ye?  Come noo, an’ I’se mak ye a’ richt!” Next Sabbath the seceding smuggler appeared in the parish kirk, and as the paupers were receiving parochial allowance, Mr. Leslie slipped a shilling into the smuggler’s hand.  When the J.P.  Court was held, Mr. Leslie was present, when a fine was proposed to be exacted from the smuggler.  “Fine!” said Mr. Leslie; “he’s mair need o’ something to get duds to his back.  He’s are o’ my poor roll; I gie’d him a shilling just last Sabbath.”

A worthy old Seceder used to ride from Gargunnock to Bucklyvie every Sabbath to attend the Burgher kirk.  One day as he rode past the parish kirk of Kippen, the elder at the plate accosted him, “I’m sure, John, it’s no like the thing to see you ridin’ in sic a doon-pour o’ rain sae far by to thae Seceders.  Ye ken the mercifu’ man is mercifu’ to his beast.  Could ye no step in by?” “Weel,” said John, “I wadna care sae muckle about stablin’ my beast inside, but it’s anither thing mysel’ gain’ in.”

The Rev. Dr. George Lawson of Selkirk acted for many years as theological tutor to the Secession Church.  One day, on entering the Divinity Hall, he overheard a student remark that the professor’s wig was uncombed.  That same student, on that very day, had occasion to preach a sermon before the Doctor, for which he received a bit of severe criticism, the sting of which was in its tail:  “You said my wig wasna kaimed this mornin’, my lad, but I think I’ve redd your head to you.”

The Rev. John Heugh of Stirling was one day admonishing one of his people of the sin of intemperance:  “Man, John, you should never drink except when you’re dry.”  “Weel, sir,” quoth John, “that’s what I’m aye doin’, for I am never slocken’d.”