themselves to better purpose than when compliments have to be paid.
Then again, the kilt is very impressive on a brawny chairman's legs: it
commands attention and respect at once. I have little knowledge of
colloquial Gaelic, though I have studied the grammar, and have some
skill in reading. A little Gaelic goes a long way in stirring the soul
of a Highland audience. Often I have heard a kilted chairman quitting
his English for a little and giving the audience a mellifluous Ossianic
sentence or two. The effect was electric: eyes gleamed, breath came
quick and fast, the souls of the hearers seemed to have tasted a tonic.
Spoken Gaelic is akin to the elements: it has a mystic affinity with the
winds that sough around the flanks of the mountains and along the
surface of the lonely lochs. There is perhaps not much business
precision about it, but for preaching, praying, and poetry, it is a
splendid medium.

In Arran, a jovial chairman thus introduced me: "Before I left home, I
thought of a great many nice things to say as a preface to the remarks
of our friend from Paisley. (Here he coughed violently.) Unfortunately,
I am unable to bestow these tit-bits on the audience owing to a
_kittlin'_ in my throat. Instead of saying what I meant to say, I think
I had better tell you a story. A minister one Sunday had occasion to be
highly displeased with the precentor, who broke down twice in quite a
simple psalm-tune. 'Excuse me, minister,' said the precentor, 'but I've
got a kittlin' in my throat this morning.' '_Kittlin'!_' hissed the holy
man in scornful wrath: '_it's mair like a big tom-cat_.' Ladies and
gentlemen, after these few and decidedly imperfect remarks, I resume my
seat, merely expressing the hope that our friend will feel himself as
much at home here as the deil did in the Court of Session."

Another chairman in an adjoining island, while engaged in tremulously
reading his introductory speech, came to a sudden stop. An irreverent
youth shouted, "_Is that a blot?_" After the laughter provoked by this
query had subsided, the chairman said: "I feel to-night like a square
pin in a round hole, or rather, like the Irishman who, when asked if he
was dead, replied, '_No, I'm not dead, I'm only spacheless._'" Having
said these words with a weird attempt at mirth, the chairman sat down
too hurriedly, and struck his head so violently against the back of his
chair, that the noise of the impact was heard in every part of the hall.