“Wow, Davie, man,” quoth Maysey, his wife, “an’ ye mak but a poor figure indeed, when we’re a’ in sic a plight! Ye hear the woman speaks gude truth; an’ ye ken yoursel ye fenced us against the Brownie afore, but no against Kirky’s ghaist; tak the beuk like a man, an’ pit the fence o’ scripture faith round us for that too.” Stupid as Maysey was, she knew the way to her husband’s heart. Davie could not resist such an appeal—he took the Bible; sung the 143d psalm, from beginning to end, at Nanny’s request; and likewise, by her direction, read the 20th of Revelations; then kneeling down on his bare knees, legs, and feet, as he fled from the kitchen, on the damp miry floor of the milk–house, he essayed a strong energetic prayer as a fence against the invading ghost. But as Davie acknowledged, he had an irreverend expression naturally, that no effort could overcome, (and by the bye, there is more in this than mankind are in general aware of,) and the more he aimed at sublimity, the more ludicrous he grew, even to common ears. There is scarcely a boy in the country who cannot recite scraps of Davie Tait’s prayer; but were I to set all that is preserved of it down here, it might be construed as a mockery of that holy ordinance, than which nothing is so far from my heart or intention; but, convinced as I am that a rude exhibition in such a divine solemnity is of all things the most indecent and unbecoming, I think such should be held up to ridicule, as a warning to all Christians never to ask ignorance or absurdity to perform this sacred duty in public. The sublime part of it therefore is given, which was meant as a fence against the spirit that had set up his rest so near. To such as are not acquainted with the pastoral terms, the meaning in some parts may be equivocal; to those who are, the train of thinking will be obvious.—It is part of a genuine prayer.