hand. Half crawling, half sliding, over ridge and furrow, ditch and
hedge, somewhat like Satan floundering over chaos, the unhappy minister
travelled with all possible speed, as nearly as he could guess, in the
direction of the place of refuge. I leave it to the reader to conceive
the surprise, the mirth, the infinite amusement of the smith, and all
the hangers-on of the _smiddy_, when, at length, torn and worn, faint
and exhausted, blind and breathless, the unfortunate man arrived at the
place, and let them know (rather by signs than by words) the
circumstances of his case. In the words of an old Scottish song,

"Out cam the gudeman, and high he shouted;
Out cam the gudewife, and low she louted;
And a' the town neighbours were gathered about it:
And there was he, I trow."

The merriment of the company, however, soon gave way to considerations
of humanity. Ludicrous as was the minister, with such an object where
his head should have been, and with the feet of the pot pointing
upwards, like the horns of the great Enemy, it was, nevertheless,
necessary that he should be speedily restored to his ordinary condition,
if it were for no other reason than that he might continue to live. He
was accordingly, at his own request led into the smithy, multitudes
flocking around to tender him their kindest offices, or to witness the
process of release; and, having laid down his head upon the anvil, the
smith lost no time in seizing and poising his goodly forehammer. "Will I
come sair on, minister?" exclaimed the considerate man of iron, in at
the brink of the pot. "As sair as ye like," was the minister's answer;
"better a chap i' the chafts than die for want of breath." Thus
permitted, the man let fall a blow, which fortunately broke the pot in
pieces, without hurting the head which it enclosed, as the cook-maid