“In the Cornhill Magazine for March 1860, in an article on Student Life in Scotland, there is an anecdote of the late Professor Gillespie of St. Andrews, which is told in such a way as to miss the point and humour of the story.  The correct version, as I have heard it from the professor himself, is this:  Having employed the village carpenter to put a frame round a dial at the manse of Cults, where he was a minister, he received from the man a bill to the following effect:—­’To fencing the deil, 5s. 6d.’  ‘When I paid him,’ said the professor, ’I could not help saying, John, this is rather more than I counted on; but I haven’t a word to say.  I get somewhere about two hundred a year for fencing the deil, and I’m afraid I don’t do it half so effectually as you’ve done.’”

“Whilst I am writing, another of the many stories of the learned and facetious professor rises in my mind.  There was a worthy old woman at Cults whose place in church was what is commonly called the Lateran; a kind of small gallery at the top of the pulpit steps.  She was a most regular attender, but as regularly fell asleep during sermon, of which fault the preacher had sometimes audible intimation.  It was observed, however, that though Janet always slept during her own pastor’s discourse, she could be attentive enough when she pleased, and especially was she alert when some young preacher occupied the pulpit.  A little piqued, perhaps, at this, Mr. Gillespie said to her one day, ’Janet, I think you hardly behave very respectfully to your own minister in one respect.’  ‘Me, sir!’ exclaimed Janet, ’I wad like to see ony man, no tae say woman, by yoursell, say that o’ me! what can you mean, sir?’ ’Weel, Janet, ye ken when I preach you’re almost always fast asleep before I’ve well given out my text; but when any of these young men from St. Andrews preach for me, I see you never sleep a wink.  Now, that’s what I call no using me as you should do.’  ‘Hoot, sir,’ was the reply, ‘is that a’?  I’ll sune tell you the reason o’ that.  When you preach, we a’ ken the word o’ God’s safe in your hands; but when thae young birkies tak it in haun, my certie, but it taks us a’ to look after them[183].’

“I am tempted to subjoin another.  In the Humanity Class, one day, a youth who was rather fond of showing off his powers of language, translated Hor.  Od. iii., 3, 61, 62, somewhat thus:—­’The fortunes of Troy renascent under sorrowful omen shall be repeated with sad catastrophe.’  ‘Catastrophe!’ cried the professor.  ’Catastrophe, Mr. ——­, that’s Greek.  Give us it in plain English, if you please.’  Thus suddenly pulled down from his high horse, the student effected his retreat with a rather lame and impotent version.  ‘Now,’ said the professor, his little sharp eyes twinkling with fun, ’that brings to my recollection what once happened to a friend of mine, a minister in the country.  Being a scholarly man he was sometimes betrayed into the use of words in the pulpit which the people were