"Verra true, sir," replied the elder, calmly. "An' it is to be hoped for the credit of the kirk that neither yours nor mine come oot afore then."
Mortifying Unanimity
I said, to one who picked me up,Just slipping from a rock,"I'm not much good at climbing, eh?""No, sirr, ye arrrn't," quoth Jock.I showed him then a sketch I'd made,Of rough hill-side and lock;"I'm not an artist, mind," I said;"No, sirr, ye arrrn't," quoth Jock.A poem, next, I read aloud—One of my num'rous stock;"I'm no great poet," I remarked;"No, sirr, ye arrrn't," said Jock.Alas! I fear I well deserved(Although it proved a shock),In answer to each modest sham,That plain retort from Jock.
I said, to one who picked me up,Just slipping from a rock,"I'm not much good at climbing, eh?""No, sirr, ye arrrn't," quoth Jock.
I showed him then a sketch I'd made,Of rough hill-side and lock;"I'm not an artist, mind," I said;"No, sirr, ye arrrn't," quoth Jock.
A poem, next, I read aloud—One of my num'rous stock;"I'm no great poet," I remarked;"No, sirr, ye arrrn't," said Jock.
Alas! I fear I well deserved(Although it proved a shock),In answer to each modest sham,That plain retort from Jock.
A Consoling "If"
Bannockburn is always the set-off to Flodden in popular estimation, and without it Flodden would be a sore subject.
"So you are going to England to practice surgery," said a Scottish lawyer to a client, who had been a cow-doctor; "but have you skill enough for your new profession!"
"Hoots! ay! plenty o' skill!"
"But are you not afraid ye may sometimes kill your patients, if you do not study medicine for awhile as your proper profession?"
"Nae fear! and if I do kill a few o' the Southrons, it will take a great deal of killing to mak' up for Flodden!"
Happy Escape from an Angry Mob
The most famous surgeon in Edinburgh, towards theclose of the last (the eighteenth) century, was certainly Mr. Alexander Wood, Member of the Incorporation of Chirurgeons, or what is now called the Royal College of Surgeons. In these days he was known by no other name than Lang Sandy Wood (or "Wud," as it was pronounced). He deserves to be remembered as the last man in Edinburgh who wore a cocked hat and sword as part of his ordinary dress, and the first who was known to carry an umbrella.
It is generally supposed that he was induced to discontinue the wearing of the sword and cocked hat by an unfortunate accident which very nearly happened to him about 1792. At that time the then lord provost, or chief magistrate of the city, a Mr. Stirling, was very unpopular with the lower orders of society, and one dark night, as Sandy was proceeding over the North Bridge on some errand of mercy, he was met by an infuriated mob on their way from the "closes" of the old town to burn the provost's house in revenge for some wrong—real or imaginary—supposed to be inflicted by that functionary. Catching sight of an old gentleman in a cocked hat and sword, they instantly concluded that this must be the provost—these two articles of dress being then part of the official attire of the Edinburgh chief magistrate. Then arose the cry of "Throw him over the bridge"—a suggestion no sooner made than it was attempted to be carried into execution.
The tall old surgeon was in mortal terror, and had barely time to gasp out, just as he was carried to the parapet of the bridge, "Gude folk, I'm no' the provost. Carry me to a lamp post an' ye'll see I'm Lang Sandy Wood!"
With considerable doubt whether or not the obnoxious magistrate was not trying to save his life by trading on the popularity of Sandy, they carried him to one of the dim oil-lamps, with which the city was then lit, and after scanning his face closely, satisfied themselves of the truth of their victim's assertion. Then came a revulsion of feeling, and amid shouts of applause the popular surgeon was carried to his residence on the shoulders of the mob.
The End Justifying the Means
Sandy Wood had the most eccentric ways of curing people. One of his patients, the Hon. Mrs. ——, took it into her head that she was a hen, and that her mission in life was to hatch eggs. So firmly did this delusion take possession of her mind that, by-and-bye she found it impossible to rise off her seat, lest the eggs should get cold. Sandy encouraged the mania, and requested that he might have the pleasure of taking a "dish of tea" with her that evening, and that she would have the very best china on the table.
She cordially agreed to this, and when her guest arrived in the evening he found the tea-table covered with some very valuable crockery, which did not belie its name, for it had really been imported from China by a relative of the lady, an East Indian Nabob.
The surgeon made a few remarks about the closeness of the room, asked permission to raise the window, and then, watching an opportunity when the hostess' eye was upon him, he seized the trayful of fragile ware and feigned to throw them out of the window.
The lady screamed, and, forgetful in her fright of her supposed inability to rise, she rushed from her seat to arrest the arm of the vandal.
The task was not a hard one, for the eccentric old surgeon laughed as he replaced the tray on the table, and escorted his patient to her seat. The spell had been broken, and nothing more was ever heard of the egg-hatching mania.
Another lady patient of his had a tumor in her throat, which threatened her death if it did not burst. She entirely lost her voice, and all his efforts to reach the seat of the malady were unavailing. As a last resort, he quietly placed the poker in the fire; and after in vain attempting to get his patient to scream, so as to burst the tumor, he asked her to open her mouth, and seizing the then red-hot poker, he made a rush with it to her throat. The result was a yellof terror from the thoroughly frightened patient, which effected what he had long desired—the breaking of the tumor, and her recovery.
A Lecture on Baldness—Curious Results
Edinburgh laughed heartily, but was not at all scandalized, when one famous university professor kicked another famous professor in the same faculty, down before him from near the North Bridge to where the Register House now stands. Thecasus belliwas simple, but, as reported, most irritating.
The offending professor was lecturing to his class one morning, and happened to say that baldness was no sign of age. "In fact, gentlemen," said the suave professor, "it's no sign at all, nor the converse. I was called in very early yesterday morning to see the wife of a distinguished colleague, a lady whose raven locks have long been the pride of rout and ball. It was in the morning, and I caught the lady in deshabille, and would you believe it, the raven locks were all fudge, and the lady was as bald as the palm of my hand."
The professor said nothing more, but no sooner was his lecture ended than the students casually inquired of the coachman whom the professor was called to see yesterday morning. The coachman, innocently enough, answered, "Oh, Mrs. Prof. ——."
This was enough, and so before four-and-twenty hours went round, the story came to Prof. A—— that Prof. B—— had said, in his class, that Mrs. Prof. A—— wore a wig. For two days they did not meet, and when they did, the offender was punished in the ignominious manner described.
A Miserly Professor
An Edinburgh professor was noted for his miserly habits, though, in reality, he was a rich man and the proprietor of several ancestral estates. He once observed a Highland student—proverbially a poor set—about to pick up a penny in the college quad, but just as he was about to pick it up, the learned professor gave him a push, which sent the poor fellowright over, when Dr. —— cooly pocketed the coin and walked on, amid the laughter of a crowd of students who were watching the scene. He did not always stick at trifles. Going down the crowded street he saw a street boy pick up a shilling. Instantly the professor chucked it out of the boy's hand, and then, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, with his gold-headed cane in the other, carefully guarding it, he read out to the whimpering boy a long lecture on honesty being the best policy; how the "coin" was not his; how it might belong to some poor man whose family might be suffering for the want of that coin, and so on, concluding by pocketing the shilling, and charging the finder that "if ever he heard of anybody having lost that shilling, to say that Prof. —— had got it. Everybody knows me. It is quite safe. Honesty, my lad, is always the best policy. Remember that, and read your catechism well."
On one occasion he was called, in consultation with Prof. Gregory, about a patient of his who happened to be a student of medicine. The day previously, however, Dr. Gregory had called alone, and on going away was offered the customary guinea. This the stately physician firmly refused; he never took fees from students. The patient replied that Prof. —— did. Immediately Gregory's face brightened up. "I will be here to-morrow in consultation with him. Be good enough to offer me a fee before him, sir."
To-morrow came, and the student did as he had been requested.
"What is that, sir?" the professor answered, looking at his proffered guinea: "A fee, sir! Do you mean to insult me, sir? What do you take us to be—cannibals? Do we live on one another? No, sir. The man who could take a fee from a student of his own profession ought to be kicked—kicked, sir, out of the faculty! Good morning!" and with that the celebrated physician walked to the door, in well-affected displeasure. Next day, to the astonishment of the patient, Prof. —— sent a packet with all the fees returned.
It is said that he once took a bag of potatoes for a fee, and ever after boasted of his generosity in the matter: "The man was a poor man, sir. We must be liberal, sir. Our Master enjoins it on us, and it is recommended in a fine passage in the admirable aphorisms of Hippocrates. The man had no money, sir, so I had to deal gently with him, and take what he had; though as a rule—as a rule—I prefer the modern to the ancient exchange,pecuniainstead ofpecus. Hah! hah!"
Silencing English Insolence
"There never was a Scotchman" said an insolent cockney, at Stirling, to a worthy Scot, who was acting as guide to the castle "who did not want to get out of Scotland almost as soon as he got into it."
"That such may be the fack, I'll no' gainsay," replied the Scot. "There were about twenty thousand o' your countrymen, and mair, who wanted to get out of Scotland on the day of Bannockburn. But they could na' win. And they're laying at Bannockburn the noo; and have never been able to get out o' Scotland yet."
It was Johnson's humor to be anti-Scottish. He objected theoretically to haggis, though he ate a good plateful of it.
"What do you think o' the haggis?" asked the hospitable old lady, at whose table he was dining, seeing that he partook so plentifully of it.
"Humph!" he replied, with his mouth full, "it's very good food for hogs!"
"Then let me help you to some mair o' 't," said the lady, helping him bountifully.
Helping Business
Prof. James Gregory, perhaps the most celebrated physician of his day, but who, in popular estimation, is dolefully remembered as the inventor of a nauseous compound known as Gregory's Mixture. He was a tall and very handsome man, and stately and grave inall his manners, but, withal, with a touch of Scotch humor in him. One evening, walking home from the university, he came upon a street row or bicker, a sort of town-and-gown-riot very common in those days. Observing a boy systematically engaged in breaking windows, he seized him, and inquired, in the sternest voice, what he did that for.
"Oh," was the reply, "my master's a glazier, and I'm trying to help business."
"Indeed. Very proper; very proper, my boy," Dr. Gregory answered, and, as he proceeded to maul him well with his cane, "you see I must follow your example. I'm a doctor, and must help business a little." And with that, he gave a few finishing whacks to the witty youth, and went off chuckling at having turned the tables on the glazier's apprentice.
Sandy Wood's Proposal of Marriage
When proposing to his future wife's father for his daughter, the old gentleman took a pinch of snuff and said, "Weel, Sandy, lad, I've naething again' ye, but what have ye to support a wife on?"
Sandy's reply was to pull a case of lancets out of his pocket with the remark, "These!"
Rival Anatomists in Edinburgh University
Perhaps the most eminent teacher of anatomy in Edinburgh, or in Britain, early in this century, was Dr. Robert Knox. He was a man abounding in anything but the milk of human kindness towards his professional brethren, and if people had cared in those days to go to law about libels, it is to be feared Knox would have been rarely out of a court of law. Personality and satirical allusions were ever at his tongue's end. After attracting immense classes his career came very suddenly to a close. Burke and Hare, who committed such atrocious murders to supply the dissecting-room with "subjects" were finally discovered, and one of them executed—the other turning king's evidence. Knox's name got mixed up with the case, being supposed to be privy to these murders, though many considered him innocent. The populace,however, were of a different opinion. Knox's house was mobbed, and though he braved it out, he never after succeeded in regaining popular esteem. He was a splendid lecturer, and a man, who, amid all his self-conceit and malice, could occasionally say a bitingly witty thing.
It is usual with lecturers at their opening lecture to recommend text-books, and accordingly Knox would commence as follows: "Gentlemen, there are no text-books I can recommend. I wrote one myself, but it is poor stuff. I can't recommend it. The man who knows most about a subject writes worst on it. If you want a good text-book on any subject, recommend me to the man who knows nothing earthly about the subject. The result is that we have no good text-book on anatomy. Wewillhave soon, however—Prof. Monro is going to write one."
That was the finale, and, of course, brought down the house, when, with a sinister expression on his face, partly due to long sarcasm, and partly to the loss of an eye, he would bow himself out of the lecture-room.
The Prof. Monro referred to by Knox was the professor of anatomy of Edinburgh University, and thethirdof that name who had filled the chair for one hundred and twenty years. He succeeded his father and grandfather, as if by right of birth—and if it was not by that right he had no other claim to fill that chair.
Knox lectured at a different hour from Monro, namely, exactly five minutes after the conclusion of the latter's lecture. Accordingly the students tripped over from Monro to Knox, greatly to the annoyance, but in no way to the loss of the former. It may well be supposed that during their forced attendance on Monro's lectures they did not spend much time in listening to what he had to say. In fact they used to amuse themselves during the hour of his lecture, and always used to organize some great field days during the session. So lazy was Monro that he was in the habit of using his grandfather's lectures, written more than one hundred years before. They were—as wasthe fashion then—written in Latin, but his grandson gave a free translation as he proceeded, without, however, taking the trouble to alter the dates. Accordingly, in 1820 or 1830, students used to be electrified to hear him slowly drawling out, "When I was in Padua in 1694—" This was the signal for the fun to begin. On the occasion when this famous speech was known to be due, the room was always full, and no sooner was it uttered than there descended showers of peas on the head of the devoted professor, who, to the end of his life could never understand what it was all about. [19]
"Discretion—the Better Part of Valor"
A spirited ballad was written on the Jacobite victory at Prestonpans by a doughty Haddingtonshire farmer of the name of Skirving, in which he distributed his praise and blame among the combatants in the most impartial manner. Among others, he accused one "Lieutenant Smith, of Irish birth," of leaping over the head of "Major Bowie, that worthy soul," when lying wounded on the ground, and escaping from the field, instead of rendering the assistance for which the sufferer called. Smith, being aggrieved, sent the author a challenge to meet him at Haddington. "Na, na," said the worthy farmer, who was working in his field when the hostile message reached him, "I have no time to gang to Haddington, but tell Mr. Smith to come here, and I'll tak' a look at him. If he's a man about my ain size, I'll ficht him; but if he's muckle bigger and stronger, I'll do just as he did—I'll run awa'!"
Losing His Senses
A census taker tells the following story: The first difficulty I experienced was with Old Ronaldson. He was always a little queer, as old bachelors often are. As I left the census paper with him, he held the door in one hand while he took the paper from me in the other. I said I would call again for the paper. "Ye needn't trouble yourself!" said he, in a very ill-natured tone; "I'll not be bothered with yourpapers." However, I did not mind him much; for I thought when he discovered that the paper had nothing to do with taxes he would feel more comfortable, and that he would fill it up properly.
The only person whom Old Ronaldson allowed near him was Mrs. Birnie; she used to put his house in order and arrange his washing: for Ronaldson was an old soldier; and although he had a temper, he was perfect in his dress and most orderly in all his household arrangements. When Mrs. Birnie went in her usual way to his house on the morning referred to, the old gentleman was up and dressed; but he was in a terrible temper, flurried and greatly agitated.
"Good morning, sir," said Mrs. Birnie—I had the particular words from her own lips—"Good morning," said she; but Old Ronaldson, who was as a rule extremely polite to her, did not on this occasion reply. His agitation increased. He fumbled in all his pockets; pulled out and in all the drawers of his desk; turned the contents of an old chest out on the floor—all the time accompanying his search with muttered imprecations, which at length broke into a perfect storm.
Mrs. Birnie had often seen Mr. Ronaldson excited before, but she had never seen him in such a state as this. At length he approached an old bookcase and, after looking earnestly about and behind it, he suddenly seized and pulled it toward him, when a lot of old papers fell on the floor, and a perfect cloud of dust filled the room. Mrs. Birnie stood dumbfounded. At length the old gentleman, covered with dust and perspiring with his violent exertions, sat down on the corner of his bed, and in a most wretched tone of voice said: "Oh, Mrs. Birnie, don't be alarmed, but I've lost mysenses!"
"I was just thinking as much myself," said Mrs. Birnie; and off she ran to my house at the top of her speed. "Oh, Mr. M'Lauchlin," said she, "come immediately—come this very minute; for Old Ronaldson's clean mad. He's tearing his hair, and cursing in a manner most awful to hear; and worse than that—he's begun to tear down the house about himself.Oh, sir, come immediately, and get him put in a strait jacket."
Of course I at once sent for old Dr. Macnab, and asked him to fetch a certificate for an insane person with him. Now, old Dr. Macnab is a cautious and sensible man. His bald head and silvery hair, his beautiful white neck-cloth and shiny black coat, not to speak of his silver-headed cane and dignified manner, all combined to make our doctor an authority in the parish.
"Ay, ay," said the good doctor, when he met me; "I always feared the worst about Mr. Ronaldson. Not good for man to be alone, sir. I always advised him to take a wife. Never would take my advice. You see the result, Mr. M'Lauchlin. However, we must see the poor man."
When we arrived, we found all as Mrs. Birnie had said; indeed by this time matters had become worse and worse, and a goodly number of the neighbors were gathered. One old lady recommended that the barber should be sent for to shave Ronaldson's head. This was the least necessary, as his head, poor fellow, was already as bald and smooth as a ball of ivory. Another kind neighbor had brought in some brandy, and Old Ronaldson had taken several glasses, and pronounced it capital; which everyone said was a sure sign "he was coming to himself." One of his tender-hearted neighbors, who had helped herself to a breakfast cupful of this medicine, was shedding tears profusely, and as she kept rocking from side to side, nursing her elbows, she cried bitterly: "Poor Mr. Ronaldson's lost his senses!"
The instant Dr. Macnab appeared, Old Ronaldson stepped forward, shook him warmly by the hand, and said: "I'm truly glad to see you, doctor. You will soon put it all right. I have only lost mysenses—that's all! That's what all these women are making this row about."
"Let me feel your pulse," said the doctor gently.
"Oh, nonsense, doctor," cried Ronaldson—"nonsense; I've only lost mysenses." And he made as if he would fly at the heap of drawers, dust, and rubbish which lay in the centre of the floor, and have it all raked out again.
"Oh, lost your senses, have you?" said the doctor with a bland smile. "You'll soon get over that—that's a trifle." But he deliberately pulled out his big gold repeater and held Ronaldson by the wrist. "Just as I feared. Pulse ninety-five, eye troubled, face flushed, muckle excitement," etc. So there and then, Old Ronaldson was doomed. I did not wish a painful scene; so, when I got my certificate signed by the doctor, I quietly slipped out, got a pair of horses and a close carriage, and asked Mr. Ronaldson to meet me, if he felt able, at the inn in half an hour, as I felt sure a walk in the open air would do him good. He gladly fell in with this plan, and promised to be with me at noon certain.
As I have said, he is an old soldier, was an officer's servant in fact, and is a most tidy and punctual person. But old Mrs. Birnie had, with much thoughtfulness, the moment he began to make preparations for this, put his razors out of the way. Hereupon he got worse and worse, stamped and stormed, and at last worked himself into a terrible passion. I grew tired waiting at the inn, and so returned, and found him in a sad state. When he saw me, he cried: "Oh, Mr. M'Lauchlin, the deil's in this house this day."
"Very true," said Mrs. Birnie to me in an aside. "You see, sir, he speaks sense—whiles."
"Everything has gone against me this day," he went on; "but," said he, "I'll get out of this if my beard never comes off. Hand me my Wellington boots, Mrs. Birnie; I hope you have not swallowed them, too!"
The moment Ronaldson began to draw on his boots, affairs changed as if by magic. "There," cried he triumphantly—"There is that confounded paper of yours which has made all this row! See, Mrs. Birnie," he exclaimed, flourishing my census paper in his hand; "I've found my senses!"
"Oh," cried the much affected widow, "I am glad to hear it," and in her ecstatic joy she rushed upon the old soldier, took his head to her bosom, and weptfor joy. I seized the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat, and left the pair to congratulate each other upon the happy finding of Old Ronaldson'ssenses.
It's a Gran' Nicht
The following is a fine comic sketch of an interview between a Scotch peasant lover and "Kirsty," his sweetheart, who was only waiting for him to speak. It is in fine contrast with the confident, rushing away in which that sort of thing is done in other countries.
The young lover stands by the cottage gable in the fading light, declaring, "It's a gran' nicht!" Ever so often he says it, yet he feels its grandeur not at all, for the presence of something grander or better, I suppose—the maiden, Kirsty Grant. Does he whisper soft somethings of her betterness, I wonder, while thus he lingers? His only communication is the important fact, "It's a gran' nicht." He would linger, blessed in her presence, but the closing day warns him to be gone. It will be midnight before he can reach his village home miles away. Yet was it sweet to linger. "It's a very gran' nicht, but I maun haist awa'. Mither 'ill be wunnerin'," said he.
"'Deed, ye'll hae tae draw yer feet gey fast tae win hame afore the Sabbath; sae e'en be steppin'," she answered, cooly.
"It's gran'!" said he; "I wish ilka Saiturday nicht was lik' this ane."
"Wi' ye, Saiturday nicht shud maist be lik' Sunday morn, if ye bevil it richt," said she, with a toss of her head, for she rightly guessed that somehow the lad's pleasure was referable to herself. "I maun shut up the coo."
"Good-nicht!" said he.
"Good-nicht!" said she, disappearing.
He stepped away in the muirland, making for home. "Isn't she smairt?" said he to himself; "man, isn't she smairt? Said she, 'Saiturday nicht shud aye be wi' ye lik' Sunday morn, if ye beviled it richt!' Was it na a hint for me? Man, I wish I daur spaik oot to her!"
A Highlander on Bagpipes
Mr. Barclay, an eminent Scotch artist, was engaged in painting a Highland scene for Lord Breadalbane, in which his lordship's handsome piper was introduced. When the artist was instructing him as to attitude, and that he must maintain an appearance at once of animation and ease by keeping up a conversation, the latter replied that he would do his best, and commenced as follows:
"Maister Parclay, ye read yer Bible at times, Isuppone(suppose), sir?"
"Oh, yes."
"Weel, Maister Parclay, if ye do tat, sir, ten you've read te third and fifth verses of te third chapter of Daniel, when te princes, te governors, te captains, te judges, te treasurers, te counsellors, te sheriffs and all te rulers of te provinces were gathered together into te dedication of te image tat Nebuchadnezzar, te king, had set up, and tey were told tat whenever tey began to hear te sound of te cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, dulcimer, and all kinds of music, tey were to fall down and worship te golden image that Nebuchadnezzar, te king, had set up. I tell ye, Maister Parclay, if tey had a Hielandman, wi' his pipes tere, tat nonsense would not hae happened. Na, na, he would hae sent tem a' fleeing. It would hae been wi' tem as Bobby Burns said, 'Skirl up to Bangor, for ye maun a' come back to te bagpipe at last.'"
Walloping Judas
The late Dr. Adamson, of Cupar-Fife, colleague to Dr. Campbell, father to the lord chancellor of that name, at a late Saturday night supper was about to depart, alleging that he must prepare for the Sunday service. For two previous Sundays he had been holding forth on Judas Iscariot, and a member of his congregation, who sat at the table detained him with: "Sit down, doctor, sit down; there's nae need for ye to gang awa'; just gie Judas another wallop in the tow."
"'Alice' Brown, the Jaud!"
An old offender was, some years ago, brought up before a well-known Glasgow magistrate. The constable, as a preliminary, informed his bailieship that he had in custody John Anderson,aliasBrown,aliasSmith. "Very weel," said the magistrate, with an air of dignity, "I'll try the women first. Bring in Alice Brown! what has she been about, the jaud?"
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 herspiritual 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 youthat. I made the maist of it bynotfilling 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 simplicityin 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 wordfou: "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 steedplunged, 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 muckleo'him, but there's a dealinhim!"
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.
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.
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 cookAnd made a fav'rite stew.
Away he went as he was bid,And quickly he them slew;His mother straightway did them cookAnd made a fav'rite stew.
Isaac is suspicious of Jacob:
Then Isaac unto Jacob said,"Come near to me, I pray,That I mayfeelit is the truthThat 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."
Then Isaac unto Jacob said,"Come near to me, I pray,That I mayfeelit is the truthThat 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 understandwhat 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'quiteperfect; 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—asideboord!"
"Surely the Net is Spread in Vain in the Sight of any Bird"