Rabbi Saunderson | Page 5

that the honourable word belonged by rights to
MacWheep, who was a "gude body," but it was their fancy to assign it
to Saunderson--whereat Saunderson yielded, only exacting a pledge
that he should never be so called in public, lest all concerned be
condemned for foolishness. When it was announced that the University
of Edinburgh had resolved to confer the degree of D.D. on him for his
distinguished learning and great services to theological scholarship,
Saunderson, who was delighted when Dowbiggin of Muirtown got the
honour for being an ecclesiastic, would have refused it for himself had
not his boys gone out in a body and compelled him to accept. They also
purchased a Doctor's gown and hood, and invested him with them in
the name of Kilbogie two days before the capping. One of them saw
that he was duly brought to the Tolbooth Kirk, where the capping
ceremonial in those days took place. Another sent a list of Saunderson's
articles to British and foreign theological and philological reviews,
which filled half a column of the Caledonian, and drew forth a
complimentary article from that exceedingly able and caustic paper,
whose editor lost all his hair through sympathetic emotion the morning
of the Disruption, and ever afterwards pointed out the faults of the Free
Kirk with much frankness. The fame of Rabbi Saunderson was so
spread abroad that a great cheer went up as he came in with the other
Doctors elect, in which he cordially joined, considering it to be
intended for his neighbour, a successful West-End clergyman, the
author of a Life of Dorcas and other pleasing booklets. For some time
after his boys said "Doctor" in every third sentence, and then grew
weary of a too common title, and fell back on "Rabbi," by which he
was known until the day of his death, and which is now engraved on
his tombstone.
Saunderson's reputation for unfathomable learning and saintly
simplicity was built up out of many incidents, and grew with the lapse
of years to a solitary height in the big strath, so that no man would have
dared to smile had the Free Kirk minister of Kilbogie appeared in
Muirtown in his shirt-sleeves, and Kilbogie would only have been a
trifle more conceited. Truly he was an amazing man, and, now that he
is dead and gone, the last of his race, I wish some man of his profession

had written his life, for the doctrine he taught and the way he lived will
not be believed by the new generation. The arrival of his goods was
more than many sermons to Kilbogie, and I had it from Mains' own lips.
It was the kindly fashion of those days that the farmers carted the new
minister's furniture from the nearest railway station, and as the railway
to Kildrummie was not yet open, they had to go to Stormont Station on
the north line; and a pleasant procession they made passing through
Pitscowrie, ten carts in their best array, and drivers with a semi-festive
air. Mr. Saunderson was at the station, having reached it, by some
miracle, without mistake, and was in a condition of abject nervousness
about the handling and conveyance of his belongings.
[Illustration: THE FARMERS CARTED THE NEW MINISTER'S
FURNITURE FROM THE NEAREST RAILWAY STATION]
"You will be careful--exceeding careful," he implored; "if one of the
boxes were allowed to descend hurriedly to the ground, the result to
what is within would be disastrous. I am much afraid that the weight is
considerable, but I am ready to assist"; and he got ready.
"Dinna pit yirsel intae a feery-farry (commotion)"--but Mains was
distinctly pleased to see a little touch of worldliness, just enough to
keep the new minister in touch with humanity. "It'll be queer stuff oor
lads canna lift, an' a'll gie ye a warranty that the'll no be a cup o' the
cheeny broken"; and then Saunderson conducted his congregation to
the siding.
"Dod, man," remarked Mains to the station-master, examining a truck
with eight boxes; "the manse 'ill no want for dishes at ony rate. But let's
start on the furniture; whar hae ye got the rest o' the plenishing?
"Naething mair? havers, man, ye dinna mean tae say they pack beds an'
tables in boxes; a' doot there's a truck missin'." Then Mains went over
where the minister was fidgeting beside his possessions.
"No, no," said Saunderson, when the situation was put before him, "it's
all here. I counted the boxes, and I packed every box myself. That top
one contains the fathers--deal gently with it; and the Reformation

divines are just below it. Books are easily injured, and they feel it. I do
believe there is a certain life in them, and . . . and . . . they