"A Reduction on a Series"
When the son of a certain London banker had eloped to Scotland with a great heiress whom he married, still retaining a paternal taste for parsimony, he objected to the demand of two guineas made by the "priest" at Gretna Green, stating that Captain – had reported the canonical charge to be only five shillings. "True," replied Vulcan, "but Captain – is an Irishman, and I've married him five times; so I consider him a regular customer; whereas, I may never see your face again."
The Selkirk Grace 1
Some hae meat, and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit. [2]
Inconsistencies of "God's People"
An entertaining anecdote, illustrative of life in the Scotch Highlands, is told by a border minister who once found himself a guest at a Presbytery meeting.
"After dinner, though there was no wine, there was no lack of whiskey. This, each made into toddy, weak or strong, just as he liked it. No set speeches were made or toasts proposed. After each had drunk two or three tumblers, and no voice was heard above the hum of conversation, the stranger got to his feet, and craving the leave of the company, begged to propose a toast. All were silent, until the moderator, with solemn voice, told him that God's people in that part of the country were not in the habit of drinking toasts. He felt himself rebuked, yet rejoined, that he had been in a good many places, but had never before seen God's people drink so much toddy."
Sending Him to Sleep
"Sleepin, Tonald?" said a Highlander to a drowsy acquaintance, whom he found ruminating on the grass in a horizontal position.
"No, Tuncan," was the ready answer.
"Then, Tonald, would you'll no' lend me ten and twenty shillings?" was the next question.
"Ough, ough!" was the response with a heavy snore; "I'm sleepin' now, Tuncan, my lad."
How convenient it would be if we could always evade troublesome requests, like our Highlander here, by feigning ourselves in the land of dreams!
Wiser Than Solomon
Two Scotch lairds conversing, one said to the other that he thought they were wiser than Solomon. "How's that?" said the other. "Why," said the first, "he did not know whether his son might not be a fool, and we know that ours are sure to be."
Modern Improvements
Sir Alexander Ramsay had been constructing, upon his estate in Scotland, a piece of machinery, which was driven by a stream of water running through the home farmyard. There was a threshing machine, a winnowing machine, a circular saw for splitting trees, and other contrivances.
Observing an old man, who had been long about the place, looking very attentively at all that was going on, Sir Alexander said:
"Wonderful things people can do now, Robby?"
"Ay, indeed, Sir Alexander," said Robby; "I'm thinking that if Solomon was alive now, he'd be thought naething o'!" [7]
Knox and Claverhouse
The shortest chronicle of the Reformation, by Knox, and of the wars of Claverhouse (Claver'se) in Scotland, which we know of, is that of an old lady who, in speaking of those troublous times remarked: "Scotland had a sair time o't. First we had Knox deavin' us wi' his clavers, and syne we've had Claver'se deavin' us wi' his knocks."
A Scotch Fair Proclamation of Olden Days
"Oh, yes! – an' that's e'e time. Oh, yes! – an' that's twa times. Oh, yes! – an that's the third and last time. All manner of person or persons whatsover let 'em draw near, an' I shall let 'em ken that there is a fair to be held at the muckle town of Langholm, for the space of aught days, wherein any hustrin, custrin, land-hopper dub-shouper, or gent-the-gate-swinger, shall breed any hurdam, durdam, rabble-ment, babble-ment or squabble-ment, he shall have his lugs tacked to the muckle throne with a nail of twa-a-penny, until he's down on his bodshanks, and up with his muckle doup, and pray to ha'en nine times, 'God bless the King,' and thrice the muckle Laird of Reltown, paying a goat to me, Jemmy Ferguson, baillie to the aforesaid manor. So you've heard my proclamation, and I'll gang hame to my dinner."
"Though Lost to Sight – to Memory Dear!"
Some time ago a good wife, residing in the neighborhood of Perth, went to town to purchase some little necessaries, and to visit several of her old acquaintances. In the course of her peregrinations she had the misfortune to lose a one-pound note. Returning home with a saddened heart she encountered her husband, employed in the cottage garden, to whom she communicated at great length all her transactions in town, concluding with the question: "But man you canna guess what's befaun me?"
"Deed, I canna guess," said the husband, resting musingly on his spade.
"Aweel," rejoined his helpmate, "I hae lost a note; but dinna be angry – for we ought to be mair than thankfu' that we had ane to lose!"
The Philosophy of Battle and Victory
During the long French war two old ladies in Scotland were going to the kirk. The one said to the other: "Was it no' a wonderful thing that Breetish were aye victorious in battle?"
"Not a bit," said the other lady; "dinna ye ken the Breetish aye say their prayers before gaun into battle?"
The other replied: "But canna the French say their prayers as weel?"
The reply was most characteristic. "Hoot! sic jabberin' bodies; wha could understand them if thae did?"
Patriotism and Economy
When Sir John Carr was at Glasgow, in the year 1807, he was asked by the magistrates to give his advice concerning the inscription to be placed on Nelson's monument, then just completed. The knight recommended this brief record: "Glasgow to Nelson."
"True," said the baillies, "and as there is the town of Nelson near us, we might add, 'Glasgow to Nelson nine miles,' so that the column might serve for the milestone and a monument."
Husband! Husband! Cease Your Strife!
"Husband, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, sir!
Tho' I am your wedded wife,
Yet, I'm not your slave, sir!"
"One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;
Is it man, or woman, say,
My spouse, Nancy?"
"If 'tis still the lordly word —
'Service' and 'obedience,'
I'll desert my sov'reign lord,
And so, good-by, allegiance!"
"Sad will I be, so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy!
Yet, I'll try to make a shift,
My spouse, Nancy."
"My poor heart, then break it must,
My last hour, I'm near it;
When you lay me in the dust,
Think, think how you'll bear it."
"I will hope and trust in heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse, Nancy."
"Well, sir, from the silent dead
Still I'll try to daunt you,
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you."
"I'll wed another, like my dear
Nancy, Nancy;
Then, all hell will fly for fear
My spouse, Nancy." [2]
A Scathing Scottish Preacher in Finsbury Park
People in Finsbury Park, one Sunday in August, 1890, were much edified by the drily humorous remarks of a canny Scotchman who was holding a religious service. The "eternal feminine" came in for severe strictures, this man from auld Reekie speaking of woman as "a calamity on two legs." He had also a word or two to say on government meanness, of which this is an illustration. An old friend of his who had been through Waterloo, retired from the army on the munificent pension of 13½d. per day. When he died the government claimed his wooden leg! [3]
A Saving Clause
A Scotch teetotal society has been formed among farmers. There is a clause in one of the rules that permits the use of whiskey at sheep-dipping time. One worthy member keeps a sheep which he dips every day.
The Man at the Wheel
Dr. Adam, in the intervals of his labors as rector of the High School of Edinburgh, was accustomed to spend many hours in the shop of his friend Booge, the famous cutler, sometimes grinding knives and scissors, at other times driving the wheel. One day two English gentlemen, attending the university, called upon Booge (for he was an excellent Greek and Latin scholar), in order that he might construe for them some passage in Greek which they could not understand. On looking at it, Booge found that the passage "feckled" him; but, being a wag, he said to the students, "Oh, it's quite simple. My laboring man at the wheel will translate it for you. John!" calling to the old man, "come here a moment, will you?"
The apparent laborer came forward, when Booge showed him the passage in Greek, which the students wished to have translated. The old man put on his spectacles, examined the passage, and proceeded to give a learned exposition, in the course of which he cited several scholastic authors in support of his views as to its proper translation. Having done so, he returned to his cutler's wheel.
Of course the students were amazed at the learning of the laboring man. They said they had heard much of the erudition of the Edinburgh tradesmen, but what they had listened to was beyond anything they could have imagined. [1]
Spiking an Old Gun
When Mr. Shirra was parish minister of St. Miriam's, one of the members of the church was John Henderson, or Anderson – a very decent douce shoemaker – and who left the church and joined the Independents, who had a meeting in Stirling. Some time afterwards, when Mr. Shirra met John on the road, he said, "And so, John, I understand you have become an Independent?"
"'Deed, sir," replied John, "that's true."
"Oh, John," said the minister, "I'm sure you ken that a rowin' (rolling) stane gathers nae fog" (moss).
"Ay," said John, "that's true, too; but can ye tell me what guid the fog does to the stane?" [7]
Playing at Ghosts
Some boys boarded with a teacher in Scotland, whose house was not very far from a country church-yard. They determined to alarm the old grave-digger, who was in the habit of reaching his cottage, often late at night, by a short cut through the burying-ground. One boy, named Warren, who was especially mischievous, and had often teased old Andrew, dressed himself up in a white sheet, and, with his companions, hid behind the graves.
After waiting patiently, but not without some anxiety and fear, for Andrew, he was at last seen approaching the memorial-stone behind which Warren was ensconced. Soon a number of low moans were heard coming from among the graves.
"Ah, keep us a'!" exclaimed Andrew. "What's that?"
And as he approached slowly and cautiously towards the tombstones, a white figure arose, and got taller and taller before his eyes.
"What's that?" asked Andrew, with a voice which seemed to tremble with fear, although, if anyone had seen how he grasped his stick, he would not have seen his hand tremble.
"It's the resurrection!" exclaimed the irreverent Bully Warren.
"The resurrection!" replied Andrew. "May I tak' the leeberty o' askin'," he continued slowly, approaching the ghost, "if it's the general ane, or are ye jist takin' a quiet daunder by yersel'?"
So saying, Andrew rushed at the ghost, and seizing it – while a number of smaller ghosts rose, and ran in terror to the schoolhouse – he exclaimed, "Come awa' wi' me! I think I surely haena buried ye deep eneuch, when ye can rise so easy. But I hae dug a fine deep grave this morning, and I'll put ye in't, and cover ye up wi' sae muckle yirth, that, my werd, ye'll no' get out for another daunder."
So saying, Andrew, by way of carrying out his threats, dragged Master Bully Warren towards his newly-made grave.
The boy's horror may be imagined, as Andrew was too powerful to permit of his escape. He assailed the old man with agonized petitions for mercy, for he was a great coward.
"I'm not a ghost! Oh, Andrew, I'm Peter Warren! Andrew! Don't burry me! I'll never again annoy you! Oh – o – o – o – o!"
Andrew, after he had administered what he considered due punishment, let Warren off with the admonition: "Never daur to speak o' gude things in yon way. Never play at ghaists again, or leevin' folk like me may grup you, an' mak' a ghaist o' ye. Aff wi ye!"
"Two Blacks Don't Make a White"
The family of a certain Scotch nobleman having become rather irregular in their attendance at church, the fact was observed and commented on by their neighbors. A lady, anxious to defend them and to prove that the family pew was not so often vacant as was supposed, said that his lordship's two black servants were there every Sunday. "Ay," said a gentleman present, "but two blacks don't mak' a white."
From Pugilism to Pulpit
Fuller was in early life, when a farmer lad at Soham, famous as a boxer; not quarrelsome, but not without "the stern delight" a man of strength and courage feels in his exercise. Dr. Charles Stewart, of Dunearn, whose rare gifts and graces as a physician, a divine, a scholar, and a gentleman, live only in the memory of those few who knew and survive him, liked to tell how Mr. Fuller used to say, that when he was in the pulpit, and saw a buirdly man come along the passage, he would instinctively draw himself up, measure his imaginary antagonist, and forecast how he would deal with him, his hands meanwhile condensing into fists, and tending to "square." He must have been a hard hitter if he boxed as he preached – what "the fancy" would call "an ugly customer." [4]
A Consistent Seceder
A worthy old seceder used to ride from Gargrennock to Bucklyvie every Sabbath to attend the Burgher Kirk. One day, as he rode past the parish kirk of Kippen, the elder of the place accosted him, "I'm sure, John, it's no' like the thing to see you ridin' in sic' a downpour o' rain sae far by to thae seceders. Ye ken the mercifu' man is mercifu' to his beast. Could ye no step in by?"
"Weel," said John, "I wadna care sae muckle about stablin' my beast inside, but it's anither thing mysel' gain' in." [7]
"No Road this Way!"
The following anecdote is told regarding the late Lord Dundrennan: A half-silly basket-woman passing down his avenue at Compstone one day, he met her, and said, "My good woman, there's no road this way."
"Na, sir," she said, "I think ye're wrang there; I think it's a most beautifu' road." [7]
Shakespeare – Nowhere!
It is related, as characteristic of the ardor of Scottish nationality, that, at a representation of Home's Douglas, at Glasgow or Edinburgh, a Scotchman turned, at some striking passage in the drama, and said to a Southron at his elbow: "And wher's your Wully Shakespeare noo?"
Steeple or People?
Shortly after the disruption of the Free Church of Scotland from the church paid by the State, a farmer going to church met another going in the opposite direction.
"Whaur are ye gaen?" said he. "To the Free Kirk?"
"Ou, ay, to the Free Kirk," cried the other in derision:
"The Free Kirk —
The wee kirk —
The kirk wi'out the steeple!"
"Ay, ay," replied the first, "an' ye'll be gaen till
"The auld kirk —
The cauld kirk —
The kirk wi'out the people!"
This ended the colloquy for that occasion.
Hume Canonized
Hume's house in Edinburgh stood at the corner of a new street which had not yet received any name. A witty young lady, a daughter of Baron Ord, chalked on the wall of the house the words, "St. David's Street." Hume's maid-servant read them, and apprehensive that some joke was intended against her master, went in great alarm to report the matter to him. "Never mind, my lass," said the philosopher; "many a better man has been made a saint of before."
Two Ways of Mending Ways
The Rev. Mr. M – , of Bathgate, came up to a street pavior one day, and addressed him: "Eh, John, what's this you're at?"
"Oh! I'm mending the ways of Bathgate!"
"Ah, John, I've long been tryin' to mend the ways o' Bathgate, an' they're no' weel yet."
"Weel, Mr. M – , if you had tried my plan, and come doon to your knees, ye wad maybe hae come maar speed!"
The Prophet's Chamber
A Scotch preacher, being sent to officiate one Sunday at a country parish, was accommodated at night in the manse in a very diminutive closet, instead of the usual best bedroom appropriated to strangers.
"Is this the bedroom?" he said, starting back in amazement.
"'Deed, ay, sir; this is the prophet's chamber."
"It must be for the minor prophets, then," said the discomfited parson.
Objecting to Long Sermons
A minister in the north was taking to task one of his hearers who was a frequent defaulter, and was reproaching him as an habitual absentee from public worship. The accused vindicated himself on the plea of a dislike to long sermons.
"'Deed, man," said his reverend minister, a little nettled at the insinuation thrown out against himself, "if ye dinna mend, ye may land yerself where ye'll no' be troubled wi' mony sermons, either lang or short."
"Weel, aiblins sae," retorted John, "but it mayna be for want o' ministers."
A Serious Dog and for a Serious Reason
A Highland gamekeeper, when asked why a certain terrier, of singular pluck, was so much more solemn than the other dogs, said: "Oh, sir, life's full o' sairiousness to him – he first can never get enuff o' fechtin'."
A Clever "Turn"
Lord Elibank, the Scotch peer, was told that Dr. Johnson, in his dictionary, had defined oats to be food for horses in England and for men in Scotland. "Ay," said his lordship, "and where else can you find such horses and such men?"
Entrance Free, and "Everything Found"
A member of the Scottish bar, when a youth, was somewhat of a dandy, and was still more remarkable for the shortness of his temper. One day, being about to pay a visit to the country, he made a great fuss in packing up his clothes for the journey, and his old aunt, annoyed at the bustle, said: "Whaur's this you're gaun, Robby, that you mak' sic a grand ware about your claes?"
The young man lost his temper, and pettishly replied, "I am going to the devil."
"'Deed, Robby, then," was the quiet answer, "ye need na be sae nice, for he'll just tak' ye as ye are."
Two Questions on the Fall of Man
The Rev. Ralph Erskine, one of the fathers of the secession from the Kirk of Scotland, on a certain occasion paid a visit to his venerable brother, Ebenezer, at Abernethy.
"Oh, man!" said the latter, "but ye come in a gude time. I've a diet of examination to-day, and ye maun tak' it, as I have matters o' life and death to settle at Perth."
"With all my heart," quoth Ralph.
"Noo, my Billy," says Ebenezer, "ye'll find a' my folk easy to examine but ane, and him I reckon ye had better no' meddle wi'. He has our old-fashioned Scotch way of answering a question by putting another, and maybe he'll affront ye."
"Affront me!" quoth the indignant theologian; "do ye think he can foil me wi' my ain natural toils?"
"Aweel," says his brother, "I'se gie ye fair warning, ye had better no' ca' him up."
The recusant was one Walter Simpson, the Vulcan of the parish. Ralph, indignant at the bare idea of such an illiterate clown chopping divinity with him, determined to pose him at once with a grand leading unanswerable question. Accordingly, after putting some questions to some of the people present, he all at once, with a loud voice, cried out, "Walter Simpson!"
"Here, sir," says Walter, "are ye wanting me?"
"Attention, sir! Now Walter, can you tell me how long Adam stood in a state of innocence?"
"Ay, till he got a wife," instantly cried the blacksmith. "But," added he, "can you tell me hoo lang he stood after?"
"Sit doon, Walter," said the discomfited divine.
The Speech of a Cannibal
"Poor-man-of-mutton" is a term applied to a shoulder-of-mutton in Scotland after it has been served as a roast at dinner, and appears as a broiled bone at supper, or at the dinner next day. The Scotch Earl of B – , popularly known as Old Rag, being at an hotel in London, the landlord came in one morning to enumerate the good things in the larder. "Landlord," said the Earl of B – , "I think I could eat a morsel of poor man." This strange announcement, coupled with the extreme ugliness of his lordship, so terrified Boniface that he fled from the room and tumbled down the stairs. He supposed that the Earl, when at home, was in the habit of eating a joint of a vassal, or tenant, when his appetite was dainty.
Not "in Chains"
A Londoner was traveling on one of the Clyde steamers, and as it was passing the beautiful town of Largs, then little larger than a village, and unnoticed in his guide-book, he asked a Highland countryman, a fellow passenger, its name.
"Oh, that's Largs, sir."
"Is it incorporated?"
"Chwat's your wull, sir?"
"Is it incorporated?"
"Chwat's your wull, sir?"
"Dear me! Is it a borough? Has it magistrates?"
"Oh, yess, sir. Largs has a provost and bailies."
Anxious to have the question of incorporation settled, and aware that Scotch civic magistrates are invested with golden chains of office, which they usually wear round their necks, our London friend put his next question thus: "Do the magistrates wear chains?"
The countryman very indignantly replied, "Na, na, sir; the provost and bailies o' Largs aye gang loose."