Earning His Dismissal
Dean Ramsay tells an amusing story of the cool self-sufficiency of the young Scottish domestic – a boy who, in a very quiet, determined way, made his exit from a house into which he had lately been introduced. He had been told that he should be dismissed if he broke any of the china that was under his charge.
On the morning of a great dinner party he was entrusted (rather rashly) with a great load of plates, which he was to carry upstairs from the kitchen to the dining-room, and which were piled up and rested upon his two hands.
In going upstairs his foot slipped, and the plates were broken to atoms. He at once went up to the drawing-room, put his head in at the door, and shouted, "The plates are a' smashed, and I'm awa'!" [7]
Paris and Peebles Contrasted
In the memoir of Robert Chambers, by his brother William, allusion is made to the exceedingly quiet town of Peebles, their birthplace, and the strong local attachments of the Scottish people. An honest old burgher of the town was enabled by some strange chance to visit Paris, and was eagerly questioned, when he came back, as to the character of that capital of capitals; to which he answered that, "Paris, a' things considered, was a wonderful place; but still, Peebles for pleasure!"
Short Measure
An old woman who had made a great deal of money by selling whiskey was visited when on her death-bed by her minister, to whom she spake, as is usual on such occasions, about her temporal as well as her spiritual affairs. As to her temporalities, they seemed to be in a very flourishing condition, for she was dying worth a very large sum of money.
"And so, Molly," said the minister, "you tell me you are worth so much money?"
"Indeed, minister," replied Molly, "I am."
"And you tell me, too," continued the minister, "that you made all that money by filling the noggin?"
"Na, na, minister," said the dying woman; "I didna tell you that. I made the maist of it by not filling the noggin."
Two Views of a Divine Call
Of Scotland's great preacher, the late Rev. Dr. Macleod, the following is told: In visiting his Dalkeith parishioners to say farewell, he called on one of those sharp-tongued old ladies whose privileged gibes have added so much to the treasury of Scottish humor.
To her he expressed his regret at leaving his friends at Dalkeith, but stated that he considered his invitation to Glasgow in the light of "a call from the Lord."
"Ay, ay," was the sharp response; "but if the Lord hadna called you to a better steepend, it might hae been lang gin ye had heard Him!"
A Scotch View of Shakespeare
A Scotchman was asserting that some of the most celebrated poets and brightest intellects the world ever produced were descendants of his race, and quoted Scott, Burns, and others as evidence.
An Englishman who was present retorted: "I suppose that you will claim next that even Shakespeare was a Scotchman."
"Weel," he replied, "I'm nae so sure o' that; but ane thing I do ken —he had intellect eneuch for a Scotchman."
"As Guid Deid as Leevin!"
There was a mixture of shrewdness and simplicity in the following: Shortly after the establishment of the Ministers' Widows' Fund, the minister of Cranshaws asked in marriage the daughter of a small farmer in the neighborhood.
The damsel asked her father whether she should accept the clergyman's offer. "Oh," said the sire, "tak' him, Jenny; he's as gude deid as leevin." The farmer meant that his daughter would, owing to the new fund, be equally well off a widow as a wife.
The Mercy of Providence
An old minister was once visiting his hearers, and accosted a humble farmer who had been lazy with his crops in the wet season. "I hear, Jamie," said the minister, "that ye are behind with your harvest."
"Oh, sir," was the reply, "I hae got it all in except three wee stacks, and I leave them to the mercy of Providence."
A Scotch Curtain Lecture on Profit and Pain
The man who said this was not an atheist, but simply a druggist – a Scotch druggist – who was aroused by the ringing of his night-bell. He arose, went downstairs, and served a customer with a dose of salts.
His wife grumbled: "What profit do you get out of that penny?"
"A ha'penny," was the reply.
"And for that ha'penny you'll be awake a long time," rejoined the wife.
"A-weel," replied the placid druggist, "the dose of salts will keep him awake much longer; let us thank Heaven that we have the profit and not the pain of the transaction."
A Definition of "Fou"
A gentleman recently gave an entertainment in London on the peculiarities of Scotchmen, in the course of which he gave this definition of the national word fou: "Being gently excited by the moderate use of dangerous beverages."
The Journeyman Dog
A gentleman, staying in the family of a sheep-farmer, remarked that daily as the family sat down to dinner a shepherd's dog came in, received its portion, and soon after disappeared.
"I never see that dog except at dinner," said the visitor.
"The reason is," said the farmer, "we've lent him to oor neibor, Jamie Nicol, and we telt him to come hame ilka day to his dinner. When he gets his dinner, puir beast, he gaes awa' back till his wark."
Church Economy
A congregation was once looking out for a minister, and after hearing a host of candidates with more or less popular gifts, their choice fell upon a sticket probationer, whose election caused great surprise in the country.
One of the hearers was afterward asked by an eminent minister how the congregation could have brought themselves to select such a minister.
His reply was quite characteristic: "Weel, we had twa or three reasons – first, naebody recommended him; then he was nae studier, and besides, he had money in the bank."
It appeared that of the two former ministers, who had not come up to expectation, one of them had brought flaming testimonials, and the other had buried himself among his books, so that the people never saw him but in the pulpit, while the third reason was, perhaps the most cogent of all, for the people did not care to burden themselves with a too generous support of their pastor.
In another case the minister usurped the functions of session and committee, and ignored the office bearers altogether. One of the elders observed to another one Sunday morning, as the minister was trotting up to the meeting-house on his smart little pony, "It's a fine wee powny the minister rides."
"Ay," said the other, "it's a gey strange ane; it can carry minister, session, and committee without turnin' a hair."
Tired of Standing
A Paisley man, visiting Glasgow, much admired the statue of Sir John Moore, which is an erect figure. Soon afterwards he brought another Paisley man to see the statue, but not being topographically posted, he stared at the statue of James Watt, which is in a sitting attitude. Feeling somewhat puzzled as to the identity of what was before him with what he recollected to have seen, he disposed of the difficulty by exclaiming: "Odds, man, he's sat down since I last saw him!"
Religious Loneliness
"How is your church getting on?" asked a friend of a religious Scotchman, who had separated in turn from the Kirk, the Free Church, the United Presbyterian, and several lesser bodies.
"Pretty weel, pretty weel. There's naebody belongs to it now but my brither and mysel', and I am sure o' Sandy's soundness."
Prison Piety
Every place has its advantages, even the lock-up. A Scotch "gentleman," who had been guilty of some irregularity that demanded his compulsory withdrawal from polite society for sixty days, was asked, after his release, as to how he "got on."
"Weel," replied he, "ye see, a body canna hae everything in this life; and I'm no gaun to misca' the place, no' me. For a' the time I was there – just twa months, note, by-the-by – I was weel proteckit frae the wiles o' a wickit worl' outside, while my 'bread was aye gi'en me and my water sure.'"
A Successful Tradesman
One day, during a snow storm, the Rev. George More was riding from Aberdeen to a village in the vicinity of the town. He was enveloped in a Spanish cloak, and had a shawl tied round his neck and shoulders. These loose garments, covered with snow, and waving in the blast, startled the horse of a "bag-man," who chanced to ride past. The alarmed steed plunged, and very nearly threw its rider, who exclaimed:
"Why, sir, you would frighten the very devil!"
"I am glad to hear that," said Mr. More, "for it's just my trade."
Multum in Parvo
A Highland porter, observing a stranger looking intently on the Rev. Dr. Candlish, who was of small stature, said, "Ay, tak' a gude look – there's no muckle o' him, but there's a deal in him!"
When Asses May Not Be Parsons
In the pulpit one-half of Dr. Guthrie's rich nature was necessarily restrained. He could be pathetic there, but not humorous; though we did once hear him begin a sermon by saying that God on one occasion used an ass to preach to a sinner, but that He was not in the way of using asses when He could get better instruments!
A Scotch Version of the Lives of Esau and Jacob
Within the grounds of Hamilton Palace, in the west of Scotland, is a mausoleum. The walls are ornamented with bas-reliefs forming Bible illustrations. These have been paraphrased in verse by a local bard. One of the series is a history of Jacob, and from it the following extracts are taken. The brothers are thus introduced:
When Esau and Jacob were boys,
A wild boy Esau was;
Jacob was a peaceable boy,
But Esau loved the chase.
One day from hunting he came home,
A hungry man was he;
Jacob some famous pottage had,
Which soon caught Esau's e'e.
Rebekah instructs Jacob in the proposed deception of Isaac, but he is fearful of discovery. The former replies:
No fear of that, my darling son;
Just do as I direct —
I will you dress up for the scene,
That he will ne'er suspect.
Jacob obeys:
Away he went as he was bid,
And quickly he them slew;
His mother straightway did them cook
And made a fav'rite stew.
Isaac is suspicious of Jacob:
Then Isaac unto Jacob said,
"Come near to me, I pray,
That I may feel it is the truth
That unto me you say."
Then Jacob he went unto him,
And he his hands did feel.
"The hands are Esau's hands, my son,
But it's like Jacob's squeal."
"Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady"
An anecdote is told of Professor Haldane, of St. Andrews, one of the most estimable of men, yet, in spite of a pleasing person, a genial manner, a good house and a handsome competency, he was well-advanced in life before he could make up his mind to marry. When it was reported that he had fitted up his house afresh, it was supposed that he was going to change his state. On a given day, at an hour unusually early for a call, the good doctor was seen at the house of a lady for whom he had long been supposed to have a predilection, and betraying much excitement of manner till the door was opened.
As soon as he was shown in, and saw the fair one whom he sought calmly engaged in knitting stockings, and not at all disturbed by his entrance, his courage, like that of Bob Acres, began to ooze out, and he sat himself down on the edge of the chair in such a state of pitiable confusion as to elicit the compassion of the lady in question. She could not understand what ailed him, but felt instinctively that the truest good breeding would be to take no notice of his embarrassment, and lead the conversation herself.
Thus, then, she opened fire: "Weel, doctor, hae ye got through a' your papering and painting yet?" (A clearing of the throat preparatory to speech, but not a sound uttered.) "I'm told your new carpets are just beautifu'." (A further effort to clear the throat.) "They say the pattern o' the dining-room chairs is something quite out o' the way. In short, that everything aboot the house is perfect."
Here was a providential opening he was not such a goose as to overlook. He screwed up his courage, advanced his chair, sidled toward her, simpering the while, raised his eyes furtively to her face, and said, with a gentle inflection of his voice which no ear but a wilfully deaf one could have misinterpreted: "Na, na, Miss J – n, it's no' quite perfect; it canna be quite that so lang as there's ae thing wanting!"
"And what can that be?" said the imperturbable spinster.
Utterly discomfited by her wilful blindness to his meaning, the poor man beat a hasty retreat, drew back his chair from its dangerous proximity, caught up his hat, and, in tones of blighted hope, gasped forth his declaration in these words; "Eh, dear! Well 'am sure! The thing wanted is a – a – a sideboord!"
"Surely the Net is Spread in Vain in the Sight of any Bird"
Our May had an ee to a man,
Nae less than the newly-placed preacher,
And we plotted a dainty bit plan
For trappin' our spiritual teacher.
Oh! but we were sly,
We were sly an' sleekit;
But, ne'er say a herrin' is dry —
Until it's weel reestit an' reekit.
We treated young Mr. M'Gock,
An' plied him wi' tea an' wi' toddy,
An' we praised every word that he spake,
Till we put him maist out o' the body.
Oh! but we were sly, etc.
Frae the kirk we were never awa',
Except when frae home he was helpin'
An' then May, – an' aften us a' —
Gaed far an' near after him skelpin'.
Oh! but we were sly, etc.
We said aye what the neebors thocht droll,
That to hear him gang through wi' a sermon
Was – though a wee dry on the whole —
As refreshin's the dew on Mount Hermon.
Oh! but we were sly, etc.
But to come to the heart o' the nit,
The dainty bit plan that we plotted
Was to get a subscription afit,
An' a watch to the minister voted.
Oh! but we were sly, etc.
The young women folk o' the kirk
By turns lent a han' in collectin',
But May took the feck o' the mark
An' the trouble the rest o' directin'.
Oh! but we were sly, etc.
A gran' watch was gotten belyve,
An' May, wi' sma' "priggin," consentit
To be ane o' a party o' five
To gang to the Manse an' present it.
Oh! but we were sly, etc.
We a' gied a word o' advice
To May in a deep consultation,
To hae something to say unco' nice,
An' to speak for the hale deputation.
Oh! but we were sly, etc.
Takin' present an' speech baith in han',
May delivered a bonny palaver,
To let Mr. M'Gock understan'
How zealous she was in his favor.
Oh! but we were sly, etc.
She said that the gift was to prove
That his female friends valued him highly,
But it couldna express a' their love,
An' she glinted her ee at him slyly.
Oh! but we were sly, etc.
He put the gowd watch in his fab,
And proudly he said he wad wear it,
An' after some flatterin' gab,
He tauld May he was goin' to be marriet.
Oh! but we were sly,
We were sly and sleekit,
But Mr. M'Gock was nae gowk,
Wi' our dainty bit plan to be cheekit.
May came home wi' her heart in her mouth
An' frae that hour she turned a Dissenter,
An' noo she's renewin' her youth
Wi' some hopes o' the Burgher Precentor.
Oh! but she was sly,
She was sly and sleekit,
An' cleverly opens ae door
As sune as anither is sleekit.
A Highland Outburst of Gratitude and an Inburst of Hurricane
"Ah, my friends, what causes have we for gratitude – oh, yes; – for the deepest gratitude! Look at the place of our habitation. How grateful should we be that we do not leeve in the far north – oh, no! – amidst the frost and snaw, and the cauld and the weet – oh, no! – where there's a long day tae half o' the year – oh, yes! – and a lang nicht the tither – oh, yes! – that we do not depend upon the aurawry boreawlis – oh, no! – that we do net gang shivering aboot in skins – oh, no! – smoking amang the snow like modiwarts – oh, no! no! – And how grateful should we be that we do not leeve in the far south, beneath the equawtor, and a sun aye burnin', burnin'; where the sky's het – ah, yes! – and yearth's het, and the water's het, and ye're brunt black as a smiddy – ah, yes! – where there's teegars – oh, yes! – and lions – oh, yes! – and crocodiles – oh, yes! – and fearsome beasts growlin' and girnin' at ye amang the woods; where the very air is a fever, like the burnin' breath o' a fiery drawgon; that we do not leeve in these places – oh, no! no! no! no! – but that we leeve in this blessit island of oors callit Great Britain – oh, yes! yes! and in that pairt of it named Scotland, and in that bit o' auld Scotland that looks up at Ben Nevis – oh, yes! yes! yes! – where there's neither frost, nor cauld, nor wund, nor weet, nor hail, nor rain, nor teegars, nor lions, nor burnin' suns, nor hurricanes, nor – "
Here a tremendous blast of wind and rain from Ben Nevis blew in the windows of the kirk, and brought the preacher's eloquence to an abrupt conclusion.
A Different Thing Entirely
While surveying the west coast of Scotland, Captain Robinson had received on board his ship the Grand Duke Constantine. As the duke could only remain a very short time, the captain resolved to show him as much as possible during his brief stay. Accordingly he steamed to Iona on a Sunday, believing that day especially suited for pointing out to his royal visitor remains associated with religion. Landing on the island he waited on the custodian of the ancient church with the request that he would open it.
"Not so," said the keeper; "not on Sunday."
"Do you know whom I have brought to the island?" said the captain.
"He's the Emperor o' a' the Russias, I ken by the flag," responded the keeper; "but had it been the Queen hersel' I wadna' gi'e up the keys on the Lord's day."
"Would you take a glass of whiskey on the Sabbath?" inquired the captain.
"That's a different thing entirely," said the keeper.
Canny Dogs
The following is given by a Scotchman by way of illustrating the kindly consideration evinced by the Scottish peasantry towards the domestic animals – especially the shepherds to their dogs – which consequently become their attached companions. A minister calling to visit one of his flock found before the fireplace three dogs apparently asleep. At the sound of a whistle two rose up and walked out; the third remained still.
"It is odd," said the minister, "that this dog does not get up like the others."
"It's no astonishing ava," said the shepherd, "for it's no' his turn; he was oot i' the mornin'."
A Compliment by Return
The minister's man at Lintrathen, though sufficiently respectful, seldom indulges in the complimentary vein. On one occasion he handsomely acknowledged a compliment by returning another. The minister had got married, and was presented with a carriage, for which John was appointed to provide a horse. Driving out with his wife, the minister said to John in starting, "You've got us a capital horse."
"Weel, sir," said John, "it's just aboot as difficult as to choose a gude minister's wife, and we've been lucky wi' baith."
Curious Sentence
Lord Eskgrove is described by Lord Cockburn, in his "Memorials" as a most eccentric personage.
Cockburn heard him sentence a tailor for murdering a soldier, in these words: "And not only did you murder him, thereby he was berea-ved of his life, but you did thrust, or pierce, or push, or project, or propel the li-thall weapon through the belly band of his regimental breeches, which were his majesty's."
Advice to an M.P
When Sir George Sinclair was chosen member of Parliament for his native county, a man came up to him and said: "Noo, Maister George, I'll gie ye some advice. They've made ye a Parliament man, and my advice to ye is, be ye aye tak-takin' what ye can get, and aye seek-seekin' until ye get mair."
Stretching It
Concerning the long-bow, no American effort can surpass one that comes to us from Scotland: It was told that Colonel M'Dowall, when he returned from the war, was one day walking along by The Nyroch, when he came on an old man sitting greetin' on a muckle stone at the roadside. When he came up, the old man rose and took off his bonnet, and said:
"Ye're welcome hame again, laird."
"Thank you," said the colonel; adding, after a pause, "I should surely know your face. Aren't you Nathan M'Culloch?"
"Ye're richt, 'deed," said Nathan, "it's just me, laird."
"You must be a good age, now, Nathan," says the colonel.
"I'm no verra aul' yet, laird," was the reply; "I'm just turnt a hunner."
"A hundred!" says the colonel, musing; "well, you must be all that. But the idea of a man of a hundred sitting blubbering that way! Whatever could you get to cry about?"
"It was my father lashed me, sir," said Nathan, blubbering again; "an' he put me oot, so he did."
"Your father!" said the colonel; "is your father alive yet?"
"Leevin! ay," replied Nathan; "I ken that the day tae my sorrow."
"Where is he?" says the colonel. "What an age he must be! I would like to see him."
"Oh, he's up in the barn there," says Nathan; "an no' in a horrid gude humor the noo, aither."
They went up to the barn together, and found the father busy threshing the barley with the big flail, and tearing on fearful. Seeing Nathan and the laird coming in, he stopped and saluted the colonel, who, after inquiring how he was, asked him why he had struck Nathan.
"The young rascal!" says the father, "there's nae dooin' wi' him; he's never oot o' mischief. I had to lick him this mornin' for throwin' stanes at his grandfather!"