A gentleman to whom we told this story said it reminded him of another of what he called a “swell”—­a fine young fellow, with apparently more money than sense—­who dropped into a country church for service and was shown into the squire’s pew.  The squire was old and of fixed habits.  After settling in his seat he drew out his half-crown as usual and placed it on the ledge in front.  His companion pulled out a sovereign and ostentatiously put it on the ledge too.  The squire stared hard at him and soon reckoned him up.  He then placed a second half-crown on the first, and the stranger produced a second sovereign.  Five times was this repeated during the service.  At last the churchwarden brought his brass plate, which the squire gravely took and held out to his neighbour, who swept the five sovereigns on to it in a very grand manner.  The squire picked up one half-crown for the plate and, with a twinkle in his eye, returned the rest to his pocket!

Since the days of King David singing has always been considered a most valuable aid in the offering up of prayers and praises to the Almighty, and nothing sounded better in our ears than the hearty singing of a good old hymn by the entire congregation.  But why this period in the Church Service should have been chosen in later years as a suitable time for the wardens to disturb the harmony and thoughts of the parishioners by handing round their collection plates was beyond our comprehension.  The interruption caused by that abominable practice often raised unchristian-like feelings in our minds, and we wished at times that the author of it, whoever he might be, could be brought to the gallows and publicly hanged for his services; for why should our devotions be disturbed by the thought that at any moment during the singing of a hymn the collector might suddenly appear on the scene, possibly sneaking up from the rear like a thief in the night, to the annoyance of every one within reach?  If the saving of time is the object, why not reduce the length of the sermon, which might often be done to advantage? or, failing that, why not adopt the system which prevailed in the Scottish Churches?

[Illustration:  DUNCAN-BANN-MACINTYRE’S MONUMENT.]

The elder of the Free Kirk at Dalmally was much interested in what we told him about our English Services, where the congregations both prayed and sang in positions differing from those adopted in Scotland, and to continue the conversation he walked with us as far as Dalmally Bridge, where we parted company.  We then continued on our way to visit a monument erected on a hill we could see in the distance “to the memory of Duncan-Bann-Macintyre, the Glenorchy poet, who was born in the year 1724 and departed this life in 1812”; and, judging from the size of the monument, which was in the style of a Grecian temple in grey granite and inscribed to the memory of the “Sweetest and Purest of Gaelic Bards,” he must have been a man of considerable importance.  From that point