An admirable story of a quiet pulpit rebuke is traditionary in Fife, and is told of Mr. Shirra, a Seceding minister of Kirkcaldy, a man still well remembered by some of the older generation for many excellent and some eccentric qualities.  A young officer of a volunteer corps on duty in the place, very proud of his fresh uniform, had come to Mr. Shirra’s church, and walked about as if looking for a seat, but in fact to show off his dress, which he saw was attracting attention from some of the less grave members of the congregation.  He came to his place, however, rather quickly, on Mr. Shirra quietly remonstrating, “O man, will ye sit doun, and we’ll see your new breeks when the kirk’s dune.”  This same Mr. Shirra was well known from his quaint, and, as it were, parenthetical comments which he introduced in his reading of Scripture; as, for example, on reading from the 116th Psalm, “I said in my haste all men are liars,” he quietly observed, “Indeed, Dauvid, my man, an’ ye had been i’ this parish ye might hae said it at your leisure.”

There was something even still more pungent in the incidental remark of a good man, in the course of his sermon, who had in a country place taken to preaching out of doors in the summer afternoons.  He used to collect the people as they were taking air by the side of a stream outside the village.  On one occasion he had unfortunately taken his place on a bank, and fixed himself on an ants’ nest.  The active habits of those little creatures soon made the position of the intruder upon their domain very uncomfortable; and, afraid that his audience might observe something of this discomfort in his manner, he apologised by the remark—­“Brethren, though I hope I have the word of God in my mouth, I think the deil himself has gotten into my breeks.”

There was often no doubt a sharp conflict of wits when some of these humorist ministers came into collision with members of their flocks who were also humorists.  Of this nature is the following anecdote, which I am assured is genuine:—­A minister in the north was taking to task one of his hearers who was a frequent defaulter, and was reproaching him as a habitual absentee from public worship.  The accused vindicated himself on the plea of a dislike to long sermons. “’Deed, man,” said the reverend monitor, a little nettled at the insinuation thrown out against himself, “if ye dinna mend, ye may land yersell where ye’ll no be troubled wi’ mony sermons either lang or short.”  “Weel, aiblins sae,” retorted John, “but that mayna be for want o’ ministers.”

An answer to another clergyman, Mr. Shireff, parochial minister of St. Ninian’s, is indicative of Scottish and really clever wit.  One of the members of his church was John Henderson or Anderson—­a very decent douce shoemaker—­and who left the church and joined the Independents, who had a meeting in Stirling.  Some time afterwards, when Mr. Shireff met John on the road, he said, “And