He was not a man, however, to be embarrassed or taken aback by a matter of this sort, but at once intimated the state of matters to the congregation,--"My brethren, I canna tell ye the text, for the mice hae eaten it; but we'll just begin whaur the mice left aff, and when I come to it I'll let you ken." In the year 1843, shortly after the Disruption, a parish minister had left the manse and removed to about a mile's distance.

His pony got loose one day, and galloped down the road in the direction of the old glebe.

The minister's man in charge ran after the pony in a great fuss, and when passing a large farm-steading on the way, cried out to the farmer, who was sauntering about, but did not know what had taken place--"Oh, sir, did _ye_ see the minister's shault ?" "No, no," was the answer,--"but what's happened ?" "Ou, sir, fat do ye think?
the minister's shault's _got lowse_ frae his tether, an' I'm frichtened he's ta'en the road doun to the auld glebe." "Weel-a-wicht!"-- was the shrewd clever rejoinder of the farmer, who was a keen supporter of the old parish church, "I wad _na_ wonder at _that_.

An' I'se warrant, gin the minister was gettin' _lowse_ frae _his_ tether, he wad jist tak the same road." An old clerical friend upon Speyside, a confirmed bachelor, on going up to the pulpit one Sunday to preach, found, after giving out the psalm, that he had forgotten his sermon.

I do not know what his objections were to his leaving the pulpit, and going to the manse for his sermon, but he preferred sending his old confidential housekeeper for it.