To be present, as we often were, to see the modern version of “The Cotter’s Saturday Night,”--though in this version we mean a luxurious home, with all the appointments of comfort, culture, and of service,--crowned all delights. This social situation in Scotland is necessarily different from that in America, where, in the cities at least, native-born maidens so rarely take domestic service in families. With our composite people, also, there is usually such a disagreement as to the theories of the universe, as taught by priest, parson, and rabbi, that worship of the same God by all, at one time, in the same way, and in one household, seems impossible. The head of the house or the mistress holds usually to one form of dogma or ritual, while the servants have been reared in an atmosphere so very different that family worship, with the “help” joining in or present, is, to say the least, not customary in “the land of the free.” Occasionally British visitors, who imagine that the very mixed people called Americans are descended chiefly from insular instead of continental stock, like the late James Anthony Froude when in New York city, for instance, make disagreeable discoveries. At times, in our democracy the kitchen rules the parlor. At Invergowrie, as in a score or more of homes on the island in which I have been so often a guest, the two or three maids and perhaps a man-servant came in with their Bibles and read, with the children of the household, the Word which is above every other word--the Father’s message to his children. Where there was but one servant, the same rule usually held. At Invergowrie, besides a chapter of Scripture and a prayer by the father, the high priest of the family, the older son read one of the Psalms in Rous’s metrical version.