Of such men as this shepherd were formed the elders—­a class of men who were marked by strong features of character, and who, in former times, bore a distinguished part in all church matters.

The old Scottish elder was in fact quite as different a character from the modern elder, as the old Scottish minister was from the modern pastor.  These good men were not disposed to hide their lights, and perhaps sometimes encroached a little upon the office of the minister.  A clergyman had been remarking to one of his elders that he was unfortunately invited to two funerals on one day, and that they were fixed for the same hour.  “Weel, sir,” answered the elder, “if ye’ll tak the tane I’ll tak the tither.”

Some of the elders were great humorists and originals in their way.  An elder of the kirk at Muthill used to manifest his humour and originality by his mode of collecting the alms.  As he went round with the ladle, he reminded such members of the congregation as seemed backward in their duty, by giving them a poke with the “brod,” and making, in an audible whisper, such remarks as these—­“Wife at the braid mailin, mind the puir;” “Lass wi’ the braw plaid, mind the puir,” etc., a mode of collecting which marks rather a bygone state of things.  But on no question was the old Scottish disciplinarian, whether elder or not, more sure to raise his testimony than on anything connected with a desecration of the Sabbath.  In this spirit was the rebuke given to an eminent geologist, when visiting in the Highlands:—­The professor was walking on the hills one Sunday morning, and partly from the effect of habit, and partly from not adverting to the very strict notions of Sabbath desecration entertained in Ross-shire, had his pocket hammer in hand, and was thoughtlessly breaking the specimens of minerals he picked up by the way.  Under these circumstances, he was met by an old man steadily pursuing his way to his church.  For some time the patriarch observed the movements of the geologist, and at length, going up to him, quietly said, “Sir, ye’re breaking something there forbye the stanes!”

The same feeling, under a more fastidious form, was exhibited to a traveller by a Scottish peasant:—­An English artist travelling professionally through Scotland, had occasion to remain over Sunday in a small town in the north.  To while away the time, he walked out a short way in the environs, where the picturesque ruin of a castle met his eye.  He asked a countryman who was passing to be so good as tell him the name of the castle.  The reply was somewhat startling—­“It’s no the day to be speerin’ sic things!”