To one of these districts I, Alan Gray, came to work as a lay reader, previous to my ordination. The clergyman of the church to which I was attached was in many respects a man worthy of esteem and regard. A scion of a well-known English family, he maintained all the traditions of his race with dignity and self-respect; he had a beautiful voice and read the services in a manner which could not fail to attract people of culture and refinement; and he was ever ready to give of his wealth to relieve the needy and distressed. The congregation were almost entirely of the moneyed classes; the poor were not encouraged to attend the mother church, but were relegated to the care of a lay assistant, who held evening services in the schoolroom. Occasionally, however, some of the latter might be seen in the gallery of the church, where there were a number of free seats. As a matter of principle, I sat in the gallery when I was not asked to read the Lessons; and almost invariably I chose the same pew, where I had for my neighbor a quiet, douce, middle-aged man, whose horny hands told that he had done many a hard day’s work in his life. On the first occasion of my noticing him, he was listening with great intentness to the sermon. When the preacher was about to descend from the pulpit, I could hear my companion mutter: “Imphm, a strong smell o’ brimstone; that’ll be ane o’ his grandfaither’s auld sermons.” I was amused, but of course showed no sign. Some weeks afterwards I was again in my accustomed place, and my neighbor was in the same pew. The sermon came to a close and this time I heard the remark: “High and dry, an’ no a bit o’ noorishment in the whole affair; that’ll be ane oot o’ his daddy’s auld kist.” Again I was amused; but I was yet to be more startled. This time he spoke even more audibly, and with a good deal of contempt: “A perfect plash o’ gruel--naething in’t ava--fushionless stuff. That’s ane o’ his ain.” Naturally I was anxious to know this strange character, and you may be sure I took the first opportunity of making his acquaintance. On my commenting on his strange remarks, he said: “Weel, ye see, it’s weel kent that the minister has three sets o’ sermons--a boxful o’ his grandfaither’s--ane o’ his faither’s--an’ a wheen o’ his ain that he wrote when he was a curate doon in England. Folk that hae sat lang in the kirk ken what batch the sermon comes frae--it’s easy kennin’ them. He’s ower sair taen up wi’ playin’ gowff nooadays that he has nae time for preparin’ good speeritual meat; it’s cauld hash a’ the time.”