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A Lesson in Manners
William Martin was at one time a book auctioneer in Edinburgh. He was no great scholar, and occasionally made some humorous blunders during the exercise of his vocation. One night he made a clumsy attempt to unravel the title of a French book. A young dandy, wishing to have the laugh at Martin's expense, asked him to read the title again, as he did not quite understand him.
"Oh!" said Martin, "it's something about manners, and that's what neither you nor me has ower muckle o'."
A Magnanimous Cobbler
At a certain country election of a member of Parliament in the Highlands, the popular candidate waited on a shoemaker to solicit his vote.
"Get out of my house, sir," said the shoemaker; and the gentleman was forced to retire accordingly. The cobbler, however, followed him and called him back, saying, "You turned me off from your estate, sir, and I was determined to turn you out of my house; but for all that, I'll give you my vote."
How Greyhounds are Produced
At a certain mansion, notorious for its scanty fare, a gentleman was inquiring of the gardener about a dog which he had given to the laird some time before. The gardener showed him a lank greyhound, on which the gentleman said: "No, no; the dog I gave your master was a mastiff, not a greyhound"; to which the gardener quietly answered:
"Indeed, sir, ony dog would soon be turned into a greyhound if it stoppit lang here."
Vanity Scathingly Reproved
Burns was dining with Maxwell of Terraughty, when one of the guests chose to talk of the dukes and earls with whom he had drank or dined, till the host and others got tired of him. Burns, however, silenced him with an epigram:
"What of earls, with whom you have supped?
And of dukes, that you dined with yestreen?
Lord! a louse, sir, is still but a louse,
Though it crawls on the curls of a queen."
Gratifying Industry!
In Galloway large craigs are met with having ancient writing on them. One on the farm of Knockleby has, cut deep on the upper side:
"Lift me up and I'll tell you more."
A number of people gathered to this craig, and succeeded in lifting it up, in hopes of being well repaid; but, instead of finding any gold, they found written on it:
"Lay me down as I was before."
The Force of Habit
Some years ago a Scotch gentleman, who went to London for the first time, took the uppermost story of a lodging-house, and was very much surprised to get what he thought the genteelest place of the whole at the lowest price. His friends who came to see him, in vain acquainted him with the mistake he had been guilty of.
"He ken't very weel," he said, "what gentility was; and after having lived all his life in a sixth story, he had not come to London to live upon the ground."
Significant Advice
A church in the north country which required a pastor had a beadle who took an active interest in all the proceedings taken to fill up the vacancy.
One of the candidates, after the afternoon service was over, put off his cloak in the vestry and slipped into the church, in which our worthy was just putting things to rights.
"I was just taking a look at the church," said the minister.
"Ay, tak' a guid look at it," said the beadle, "for it's no' likely ye'll ever see't again."
A "Wigging"
The Rev. Dr. Macleod (father of the late Dr. Norman Macleod) was proceeding to open a new place of worship.
As he passed slowly and gravely through the crowd gathered about the doors, an elderly man, with the peculiar kind of a wig known in that district – bright, smooth and of a reddish brown – accosted him:
"Doctor, if you please, I wish to speak to you."
"Well, Duncan," said the venerable doctor, "can ye not wait till after worship?"
"No, doctor; I must speak to you now, for it is a matter upon my conscience."
"Oh, since it is a matter of conscience, tell me what it is; but be brief, Duncan, for time presses."
"The matter is this, doctor. Ye see the clock yonder on the face of the new church? Well, there is no clock really there – nothing but the face of the clock. There is no truth in it, but only once in the twelve hours. Now it is, in my mind, very wrong, and quite against my conscience, that there should be a lie on the face of the house of the Lord."
"Duncan, I will consider the point. I am glad to see you looking so well. You are not young now; I remember you for many years; and what a fine head of hair you have still!"
"Eh, doctor, you are joking now; it is long since I have had my hair."
"Oh, Duncan, Duncan, are you going into the house of the Lord with a lie upon your head?"
This settled the question, and the doctor heard no more of the lie on the face of the clock.
A Poacher's Prayer
Jamie Hamilton, a noted poacher at Crawfordjohn, was once asked by a woman to pray for a poor old woman who was lying at the point of death.
"I canna pray," said he.
"But ye maun do't, Jamie," said the woman.
"Weel, if I maun do't, I maun do't, but I haena muckle to say," said Jamie.
Being placed beside the dying woman, the poacher, with thoughts more intent upon hares than prayers, said "O Lord, thou kens best Thyself how the case stands between Thee and auld Eppie: but sin' ye hae baith the haft and the blade in your ain hand, just guide the gully as best suits Thy ain glory and her guid. Amen!"
Could a bishop have said more in as few words?
Broader than He was Long
Mr. Dale, whose portrait figures in Kay, was very short in stature, and also very stout.
Having mentioned to a friend one day that "he had slipped on the ice, and fallen all his length" —
"Be thankful, sir," was the consolatory and apt reply, "that it was not all your breadth!"
"Prayer, with Thanksgiving"
On one occasion, a clergyman eminent for his piety and simplicity of heart, but also noted for his great eccentricity of character, surprised his hearers by introducing the following passage into one of his prayers: "Oh Lord! we desire to offer our grateful thanks unto Thee for the seasonable relief which Thou has sent to the poor of this place, from thine inexhaustible storehouse in the great deep, and which every day we hear called upon our streets, 'Fine fresh herrings, sax a penny! sax a penny!'"
An Extra Shilling to Avoid a Calamity
A farmer having buried his wife, waited upon the grave-digger who had performed the necessary duties, to pay him fees. Being of a niggardly disposition, he endeavored to get the knight of the spade to abate his charges.
The patience of the latter becoming exhausted, he grasped his shovel impulsively, and, with an angry look, exclaimed: "Doon wi' another shillin', or – up she comes!" The threat had the desired effect.
Putting off a Duel and Avoiding a Quarrel
At a convivial meeting of the Golfing Society at Bruntsfield Links, Edinburgh, on one occasion, a Mr. Megget took offence at something which Mr. Braidwood, father of the lamented superintendent of the London Fire Brigade, had said. Being highly incensed, he desired the latter to follow him to the Links, and he "would do for him."
Without at all disturbing himself, Mr. Braidwood pleasantly replied: "Mr. Megget, if you will be so good as to go out to the Links, and wait till I come, I will be very much obliged to you."
This produced a general burst of laughter, in which his antagonist could not refrain from joining; and it had the effect of restoring him to good humor for the remainder of the evening.
A Test of Literary Appreciation
Dr. Ranken, of Glasgow, wrote a very ponderous History of France. Wishing to learn how it was appreciated by the public, he went to Stirling's Library incognito, and inquired "if Dr. Ranken's History of France was in?"
Mr. Peat, the caustic librarian, curtly replied: "In! it never was out!"
Ornithology
"Pray, Lord Robertson," said a lady to that eminent lawyer at a party, "can you tell me what sort of a bird the bul-bul is?"
"I suppose, ma'am," replied the humorous judge, "it is the male of the coo-coo."
A Practical View of Matrimony
"Fat's this I hear ye're gaun to dee, Jeannie," said an Aberdeen lass to another young woman.
"Weel, Maggie, lass, I'm just gaun to marry that farm ower by there, and live wi' the bit mannie on't."
Winning the Race Instead of the Battle
When Sir John Copse fled from Dunbar, the fleetness of his horse carried him foremost, upon which a sarcastic Scotsman complimented him by saying, "Deed, sir, but ye hae won the race: win the battle wha like!"
"After You, Leddies"
Will Hamilton, the "daft man o' Ayr," was once hanging about the vicinity of a loch, which was partially frozen. Three young ladies were deliberating as to whether they should venture upon the ice, when one of them suggested that Will should be asked to walk on first. The proposal was made to him.
"Though I'm daft, I'm no' ill-bred," quickly responded Will; "after you, leddies!"
"Ursa Major"
Boswell expatiating to his father, Lord Auchinleck, on the learning and other qualities of Dr. Johnson, concluded by saying, "He is the grand luminary of our hemisphere – quite a constellation, sir."
"Ursa Major, I suppose," dryly responded the judge.
Sheridan's Pauses
A Scottish minister had visited London in the early part of the present century, and seen, among other tricks of pulpit oratory, "Sheridan's Pauses" exhibited. During his first sermon, after his return home, he took occasion at the termination of a very impassioned and highly wrought sentence or paragraph, to stop suddenly, and pause in "mute unbreathing silence."
The precentor, who had taken advantage of his immemorial privilege to sleep out the sermon, imagining, from the cessation of sound, that the discourse was actually brought to a close, started up, with some degree of agitation, and in an audible, though somewhat tremulous voice read out his usual, "Remember in prayer – "
"Hoot man!" exclaimed the good-natured orator over his head, placing at the same time his hand upon his shoulder: "hout, Jamie, man, what's the matter wi' ye the day; d'ye no ken I hae nae done yet? – That's only ane o' Sheridan's pauses, man!"
Absent in Mind, and Body, Too
The Rev. John Duncan, the Hebrew scholar, was very absent-minded, and many curious stories are told of this awkward failing.
On one occasion he had arranged to preach in a certain church a few miles from Aberdeen.
He set out on a pony in good time, but when near the end of his journey he felt a desire to take a pinch of snuff. The wind, however, blowing in his face, he turned the head of the pony round, the better to enjoy the luxury. Pocketing his snuff-box, he started the pony without again turning it in the proper direction, and did not discover his error until he found himself in Union Street, Aberdeen, at the very time he ought to have entered the pulpit seven miles off.
On another occasion he was invited to dinner at the house of a friend, and was shown into a bedroom to wash his hands.
After a long delay, as he did not appear, his friend went to the room, and, behold! there lay the professor snugly in bed, and fast asleep!
Prof. Aytoun's Courtship
After Prof. Aytoun had made proposals of marriage to Miss Emily Jane Wilson, daughter of "Christopher North," he was, as a matter of course, referred to her father. As Aytoun was uncommonly diffident, he said to her, "Emily, my dear, you must speak to him for me. I could not summon courage to speak to the professor on this subject."
"Papa is in the library," said the lady.
"Then you had better go to him," said the suitor, "and I'll wait here for you."
There being apparently no help for it, the lady proceeded to the library, and taking her father affectionately by the hand, mentioned that Aytoun had asked her in marriage. She added, "Shall I accept this offer, papa; he is so shy and diffident, that he cannot speak to you himself."
"Then we must deal tenderly with him," said the hearty old man. "I'll write my reply on a slip of paper, and pin it on your back."
"Papa's answer is on the back of my dress," said Miss Wilson, as she re-entered the drawing-room.
Turning round, the delighted swain read these words: "With the author's compliments."
A Sad Drinking Bout
The following story of an occurrence at one of the drinking bouts in Scotland, at which the Laird of Garscadden took his last draught, has often been told, but it will bear repetition. The scene occurred in the wee clachan of Law, where a considerable number of Kilpatrick lairds had congregated for the ostensible purpose of talking over some parish business. And well they talked and better drank, when one of them, about the dawn of the morning, fixing his eye on Garscadden, remarked that he was "looking unco' gash."
Upon which the Laird of Kilmardinny coolly replied, "Deil mean him, since he has been wi' his Maker these twa hours! I saw him step awa', but I dinna like to disturb guid company!"
The following epitaph on this celebrated Bacchanalian plainly indicates that he was held in no great estimation among his neighbors:
"Beneath this stane lies auld Garscad,
Wha lived a neighbor very bad;
Now, how he finds and how he fares,
The deil ane kens, and deil ane cares."
Not Surprised
Benjamin Greig, one of the last specimens of tie-wig and powder gentry, and a rich old curmudgeon to boot, one day entered the shop of Mr. Walker – better known, however, by the nickname of "Sugar Jock" – and accosting him, said, "Are you no' muckle astonished to hear that Mr. L – has left £20,000?"
"Weel, Mr. Greig," replied "Sugar," "I wad hae been mair astonished to hear that he had ta'en it wi' him."
Greig gave a grunt and left the shop.
The Best Crap
A baby was out with its nurse, who walked it up and down a garden.
"Is't a laddie or a lassie, Jess?" asked the gardener.
"A laddie," said the maid.
"Weel," said he, "I'm glad o' that; there's ower mony lasses in the world already."
"Hech, man," said Jess, "div ye no ken there's aye maist sawn o' the best crap?"
A Marriage "Not Made in Heaven"
Watty Marshall was a simple, useless, good-for-nothing body, who somehow or other got married to a terrible shrew of a wife. Finding out that she had made a bad bargain, she resolved to have the best of it, and accordingly abused and thrashed her luckless spouse to such an extent that he, in despair, went to the minister to get unmarried.
The parson told him that he could do him no such service as marriages were made in heaven.
"Made in heaven, sir," cried Watty; "it's a lee! I was marriet i' your ain kitchen, wi' your twa servant hizzies looking on! I doubt ye hae made an awfu' mistake wi' my marriage, sir, for the muckle fire that was bleezing at the time made it look far mair like the other place! What a life I'll hae to lead, baith in this world and the next, for that blunder o' yours, minister!"
"Another Opportunity"
An old gentleman named Scott was engaged in the "affair of the '15" (the Rebellion of 1715) and with some difficulty was saved from the gallows by the intercession by the Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. Her grace, who maintained considerable authority over her clan, sent for the object of her intercession and, warning him of the risk which he had run and the trouble she had taken on his account, wound up her lecture by intimating that, in case of such disloyalty again, he was not to expect her interest in his favor.
"An' it please your grace," said the stout old Tory, "I fear I am too old to see another opportunity."
A Night in a Coal-cellar
One night, sitting later than usual, sunk in the profundities of a great folio tome, the Rev. Dr. Wightman of Kirkmahol imagined he heard a sound in the kitchen inconsistent with the quietude and security of a manse, and so taking his candle he proceeded to investigate the cause. His foot being heard in the lobby, the housekeeper began with all earnestness to cover the fire, as if preparing for bed.
"Ye're late up to-night, Mary."
"I'm jist rakin' the fire, sir, and gaun to bed."
"That's right, Mary; I like timeous hours."
On his way back to the study he passed the coal-closet, and, turning the key, took it with him. Next morning, at an early hour, there was a rap at his bedroom door, and a request for the key to put a fire on.
"Ye're too soon up, Mary; go back to your bed yet."
Half an hour later there was another knock, and a similar request in order to prepare the breakfast.
"I don't want breakfast so soon, Mary; go back to your bed."
Another half an hour and another knock with an entreaty for the key, as it was washing day. This was enough. He rose and handed out the key saying, "go and let the man out."
Mary's sweetheart had been imprisoned all night in the coal-closet, as the minister shrewdly suspected, and, Pyramis-and-Thisbe-like, they had breathed their love to each other through the key-hole. [25]
Not Quite an Ass
James Boswell, the biographer of Dr. Johnson, was distinguished in his private life by his humor and power of repartee. He has been described as a man in whose face it was impossible at any time to look without being inclined to laugh. The following is one of his good things: As he was pleading one day at the Scotch bar before his father, Lord Auchinleck, who was at that time what is called Ordinary on the Bills (judge of cases in the first stage), the testy old senator, offended at something his son said, peevishly exclaimed: "Jamie, ye're an ass, man."
"Not exactly, my lord," answered the junior; "only a colt, the foal of an ass."
A Cute Gaoler
Before the adoption of the police act in Airdrie, a worthy named Geordie G – had the surveillance of the town. A drunken, noisy Irishman was lodged in a cell, who caused an "awful row" by kicking at the cell-door with his heavy boots. Geordie went to the cell, and opening the door a little, said:
"Man, ye micht put aff yer buits, and I'll gie them a bit rub, so that ye'll be respectable like afore the bailie in the mornin'."
The prisoner complied with his request, and saw his mistake only when the door was closed upon him, Geordie crying out:
"Ye can kick as lang as ye like, noo."
Not Qualified to Baptize
The only amusement in which Ralph Erskine, the father of the Scottish Secession, indulged, was playing the violin. He was so great a proficient on this instrument, and so often beguiled his leisure hours with it, that the people of Dumfermline believed he composed his sermons to its tones, as a poet writes a song to a particular air. They also tell the following anecdote connected with the subject:
A poor man in one of the neighboring parishes, having a child to baptize, resolved not to employ his own clergyman, with whom he was at issue on certain points of doctrine, but to have the office performed by some minister of whose tenets fame gave a better report.
With the child in his arms, therefore, and attended by the full complement of old and young women who usually minister on such occasions, he proceeded to the manse of – , some miles off (not that of Mr. Erskine), where he inquired if the clergyman was at home.
"Na; he's no' at hame yeenoo," answered the servant lass; "he's down the burn fishing; but I can soon cry him in."
"Ye needna gie yoursel' the trouble," replied the man, quite shocked at this account of the minister's habits; "nane o' your fishin' ministers shall bapteeze my bairn."
Off he then trudged, followed by his whole train, to the residence of another parochial clergyman, at the distance of some miles. Here, on inquiring if the minister was at home, the lass answered:
"'Deed he's no' at home the day, he's been out since sax i' the morning at the shooting. Ye needna wait, neither; for he'll be sae made out when he comes back, that he'll no' be able to say bo to a calf, let-a-be kirsen a wean!"
"Wait, lassie!" cried the man in a tone of indignant scorn; "wad I wait, d'ye think, to haud up my bairn before a minister that gangs oot at six i' the morning to shoot God's creatures? I'll awa down to gude Mr. Erskine at Dumfermline; and he'll be neither out at the fishing nor shooting, I think."
The whole baptismal train then set off for Dumfermline, sure that the Father of the Secession, although not now a placed minister, would at least be engaged in no unclerical sports, to incapacitate him for performing the sacred ordinance in question.
On their arriving, however, at the house of the clergyman, which they did not do until late in the evening, the man, on rapping at the door, anticipated that he would not be at home any more than his brethren, as he heard the strains of a fiddle proceeding from the upper chamber. "The minister will not be at home," he said, with a sly smile to the girl who came to the door, "or your lad wadna be playing that gait t'ye on the fiddle."
"The minister is at hame," quoth the girl; "mair by token, it's himsel' that's playing, honest man; he aye takes a tune at night, before he gangs to bed. Faith, there's nae lad o' mine can play that gait; it wad be something to tell if ony o' them could."
"That the minister playing!" cried the man in a degree of astonishment and horror far transcending what he had expressed on either of the former occasions. "If he does this, what may the rest no' do? Weel, I fairly gie them up a'thegither. I have traveled this haill day in search o' a godly minister, and never man met wi' mair disappointment in a day's journey." "I'll tell ye what, gudewife," he added, turning to the disconsolate party behind, "we'll just awa' back to our ain minister after a'. He's no' a'thegither sound, it's true; but let him be what he likes in doctrine, deil hae me if ever I kenk him fish, shoot, or play on the fiddle a' his days!"
