the recollection that a brother’s son—first cousin o’ my ain—
becam’ a complete bodily wreck in what they are pleased to
ca’ the Humanity classes. He wis the only laddie wean we
had i’ the twa families, and a gey throughither ane he wis;
but frae his cradle upwards their hearts were set on makin’ a
minister o’ him. Hooever, the poor creatur’ never wan the
length o’ the College. The Laitin an’ Greek classes i’ the
Grammar Schule were ower muckle for him. His grouth clean
stoppit efter the first year, an’ though he continued to dwine
away’ for a guid while, when the end did come, instead o’ his
mind bein’ occupied wi’ the sweet consolations o’ the Presbyterian religion, he wis cut off i’ the springtide o’ his days wi’ the words o’ a heathen Laitin poet on his lips. It wis a
great blow!
“Dead languages!” I think I hear my faither sayin’ as he wud stand at oor door, on the Bell o’ the Brae, argyin’ wi’ Peter Spale, the cooper. “Dead languages for a minister! What, I wud ask ye, Peter, hae we to do wi dead languages? It’s the leevin’ word we want, man, an’ nane o’ yer heathen gibberish. Lea’ that to the Romans, *wi’ their paters, an’ their masters, an’ their te deums. Ministers o’ oor perwashun should be grundit i’ the Doctrines, Original Sin, Effectual Callin’, an’ sic-like. It’s the essentials we need rung into oor ears frae the pu’pit, that they may gang to the inner heart an’ conscience, searchin’ as they gae ben. I grant ye, Peter, that the doctors may require the dead languages, That is richt eneuch, for it wud kill the maist o’ us, I’m thinkin’ if we kent what we got frae them i’ the shape o’ pheesic for the siller we pay. It is maybe as weel they should write their superscriptions in an unknown tongue, but we want plain an’ honest dealin’ frae the ministers.”
“ Dagont!” Peter wud say, as he planted his shouther dourly
