Perhaps the following may seem to illustrate the self-importance of the betheral tribe.  The Rev. Dr. Hugh Blair was one Sunday absent from his pulpit, and next morning meeting his beadle in the street he inquired how matters went in the High Church on Sabbath. “’Deed, I dare say no very weel,” was the answer; “I wasna there ony mair than yoursell.”

Mr. Turnbull of Dundee kindly sends me an excellent anecdote of the “Betheral” type, which illustrates the esprit de corps of the betherelian mind.  The late Dr. Robertson of Glasgow had, while in the parish of Mains, a quaint old church attendant of the name of Walter Nicoll, commonly called “Watty Nuckle,” whom he invited to come and visit him after he had been removed to Glasgow.  Watty accordingly ventured on the (to him) terrible journey, and was received by the Doctor with great kindness.  The Doctor, amongst other sights, took him to see the Cathedral church, and showed him all through it, and after they were coming away the Doctor asked Watty what he thought of it, and if it was not better than the Mains church.  Watty shook his head, and said, “Aweel, sir, you see she’s bigger; but she has nae laft, and she’s sair fashed wi’ thae pillars.”

On the same subject of beadle peculiarities, I have received from Mrs. Mearns of Kineff Manse an exquisitely characteristic illustration of beadle professional habits being made to bear upon the tender passion:—­A certain beadle had fancied the manse housemaid, but at a loss for an opportunity to declare himself, one day—­a Sunday—­when his duties were ended, he looked sheepish, and said, “Mary, wad ye tak a turn, Mary?” He led her to the churchyard, and pointing with his finger, got out, “My fowk lie there, Mary; wad ye like to lie there?” The grave hint was taken, and she became his wife, but does not yet lie there.

Here is another good example of betheral refinement or philosophy.—­He was carefully dressing up a grave, and adjusting the turf upon it.  The clergyman, passing through the churchyard, observed, “That’s beautiful sod, Jeems.”  “Indeed is’t, minister, and I grudge it upon the grave o’ sic a scamp.”

This class of functionaries were very free in their remarks upon the preaching of strangers, who used occasionally to occupy the pulpit of their church—­the city betherals speaking sometimes in a most condescending manner of clergy from the provincial parishes.  As, for example, a betheral of one of the large churches in Glasgow, criticising the sermon of a minister from the country who had been preaching in the city church, characterised it as “gude coorse country wark.”  A betheral of one of the churches of St. Giles, Edinburgh, used to call on the family of Mr. Robert Stevenson, engineer, who was one of the elders.  On one occasion they asked him what had been the text on such a night, when none of the family had been present.  The man of office, confused at the question, and unwilling