Scotland -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Mr. Watts was conducting the service on the commonty. It was a fine,
still summer evening, and loud above the whisper of the burn from which
the common climbs, and the laboured "pechs" of the listeners rose the
preacher's voice. The Auld Lichts in their rusty blacks (they must
have been a more artistic sight in the olden days of blue bonnets and
knee-breeches) nodded their heads in sharp approval, for though they
could swoop down on a heretic like an eagle on carrion, they scented no
prey. Even Lang Tammas, on whose nose a drop of water gathered when he
was in his greatest fettle, thought that all was fair and above-board.
Suddenly a rush of wind tore up the common, and ran straight at the
pulpit. It formed in a sieve, and passed over the heads of the
congregation, who felt it as a fan, and looked up in awe. Lang Tammas,
feeling himself all at once grow clammy, distinctly heard the leaves of
the pulpit Bible shiver. Mr. Watts's hands, outstretched to prevent a
catastrophe, were blown against his side, and then some twenty sheets
of closely-written paper floated into the air. There was a horrible,
dead silence. The burn was roaring now. The minister, if such he can
be called, shrunk back in his box, and, as if they had seen it printed
in letters of fire on the heavens, the congregation realized that Mr.
Watts, whom they had been on the point of calling, read his sermon. He
wrote it out on pages the exact size of those in the Bible, and did not
scruple to fasten these into the Holy Book itself. At theatres a
sullen thunder of angry voices behind the scene represents a crowd in a
rage, and such a low, long-drawn howl swept the common when Mr. Watts
was found out. To follow a pastor who "read" seemed to the Auld Lichts
like claiming heaven on false pretences. In ten minutes the session
alone, with Lang Tammas and Hendry, were on the common. They were
watched by many from afar off, and (when one comes to think of it now)
looked a little curious jumping, like trout at flies, at the damning
papers still fluttering in the air. The minister was never seen in our
parts again, but he is still remembered as "Paper Watts."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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