"'That music dear to a curler's ear,And enjoyed by him alone—The merry chink of the curling rink,And the boom of the roaring stone.'"
"'That music dear to a curler's ear,And enjoyed by him alone—The merry chink of the curling rink,And the boom of the roaring stone.'"
Relieving His Wife's Anxiety
A Scotchman became very poor by sickness. His refined and affectionate wife was struggling with him for the support of their children. He took to peddling with a one-horse wagon, as a business that would keep him in the open air and not tax his strength too much. One day, after having been sick at home for two or three weeks, he started out with his cart for a ten-day's trip, leaving his wife very anxious about him on account of his weakness. After going about fifteen miles his horse fell down and died. He got a farmer to hitch his horse to the cart and bring it home. As they were driving into the yard he saw the anxiety depicted on his wife's countenance, and being tenderly desirous to relieve it, he cried out, "Maria, its not me that's dead; its the mare!"
Radically Rude
Mr. Burgon, in his "Life of Tyler," tells the following amusing story: Captain Basil Hall was once traveling in an old-fashioned stage-coach, when he found himself opposite to a good-humored, jolly Dandy-Dinmount looking person, with whom he entered into conversation, and found him most intelligent. Dandie, who was a staunch Loyalist, as well as a stout yeoman, seemed equally pleased with his companion.
"Troth, sir," he said, "I am well content to meet one wi' whom I can have a rational conversation, for I have been fairly put out. You see, sir, a Radicalfellow came into the coach. It was the only time I ever saw a Radical; an' he begun abusing everything, saying that this wasna a kintra fit to live in. And first he abused the king. Sir, I stood that. And then he abused the constitution. Sir, I stood that. And then he abused the farmers. Well, sir, I stood it all. But then he took to abusing the yeomanry. Now, sir, you ken I couldna standthat, for I am a yeoman mysel'; so I was under the necessity of being a wee bit rude-like till him. So I seized him by the scruff of the neck: 'Do ye see that window, sir? Apologeeze, apologeeze this very minute, or I'll just put your head through the window.' Wi' that heapologeezed. 'Now, sir,' I said, 'you'll gang out o' the coach.' And wi' that I opened the door, and shot him out intil the road; and that's all I ever saw o' the Radical."
"Gathering Up the Fragments"
The inveterate snuff-taker, like the dram-drinker, felt severely the being deprived of his accustomed stimulant, as in the following instance: A severe snowstorm in the Highlands which lasted for several weeks, having stopped all communications betwixt neighboring hamlets, the snuff-boxes were soon reduced to their last pinch. Borrowing and begging from all the neighbors within reach were first resorted to, but when these failed they were all alike reduced to the longing which unwillingly-abstinent snuff-takers alone know. The minister of the parish was amongst the unhappy number, the craving was so intense that study was out of the question, and he became quite restless. As a last resource, the beadle was dispatched, through the snow, to a neighboring glen, in the hope getting a supply; but he came back as unsuccessful as he went.
"What's to be dune, John?" was the minister's pathetic inquiry.
John shook his head, as much as to say that he could not tell; but immediately thereafter started up, as if a new idea had occurred to him. He came back in a few minutes, crying, "Hae!"
The minister, too eager to be scrutinizing, took a long, deep pinch, and then said, "Whaur did you get it?"
"I soupit (swept) the poupit," was John's expressive reply.
The minister's accumulated superfluous Sabbath snuff now came into good use.
Sleepy Churchgoers
The bowls of rum punch which so remarkably characterized the Glasgow dinners of last century, and the early part of the present, it is to be feared, made some of the congregation given to somnolency on the Sundays following. The members of the town council often adopted Saturdays for such meetings; accordingly, the Rev. Mr. Thorn, an excellent clergyman, took occasion to mark this propensity with some acerbity. A dog had been very troublesome, when the minister at last gave orders to the beadle, "Take out that dog; he'd wauken a Glasgow magistrate." [7]
A Highland Chief and His Doctor
Dr. Gregory (of immortal mixture memory) used to tell a story of an old Highland chieftain, intended to show how such Celtic potentates were once held to be superior to all the usual considerations which affected ordinary mortals. The doctor, after due examination, had, in his usual decided and blunt manner, pronounced the liver of a Highlander to be at fault, and to be the cause of his ill-health. His patient, who could not but consider this as taking a great liberty with a Highland chieftain, roared out, "And what business is it of yours whether I have a liver or not?"
"Rippets" and Humility
The following is a dry Scottish case of a minister's wife quietly "kaming her husband's head." Mr. Mair, a Scotch minister, was rather short-tempered, and had a wife named Rebecca, whom, for brevity's sake, he addressed as Becky. He kept a diary andamong other entries this one was very frequent—"Becky and I had a rippet, for which I desire to be humble."
A gentleman who had been on a visit to the minister went to Edinburgh, and told the story to a minister and his wife there, when the lady replied, "Weel, he must have been an excellent man, Mr. Mair. My husband and I some times, too, have 'rippets' but catch him if he's ever humble." [7]
"Kaming" Her Ain Head
The late good, kind-hearted Dr. David Dickson was fond of telling a story of a Scottish termagant of the days before Kirk-session discipline had passed away. A couple were brought before the court, and Janet, the wife, was charged with violent, and undutiful conduct, and with wounding her husband, by throwing a three-legged stool at his head. The minister rebuked her conduct, and pointing out its grievous character, by explaining that just as Christ was head of his Church, so the husband was head of the wife; and therefore in assaultinghim, she had in fact injured her own body.
"Weel," she replied, "it's come to a fine pass gin a wife canna kame her ain head."
"Aye, but Janet," rejoined the minister, "a three-legged stool is a thief-like bane-kame to scart yer ain head wi'!"
Splendid Use for Bagpipes
A Scottish piper was passing through a deep forest. In the evening he sat down to take his supper. He had hardly began when a number of wolves, prowling about for food, collected round him. In self-defence, the poor man began to throw pieces of victuals to them, which they greedily devoured. When he had disposed of all, in a fit of despair he took his pipes and began to play. The unusual sound terrified the wolves so much that they scampered off in every direction. Observing this, Sandy quietly remarked: "Od, an' I'd kenned ye liket the pipes sae weel, I'd a gi'en ye a springaforesupper."
Practical Piety
The following story was told by the Rev. William Arnot at a soirée in Sir W. H. Moncrief's church some years ago.
Dr. Macleod and Dr. Watson were in the West Highlands together on a tour, ere leaving for India. While crossing a loch in a boat, in company with a number of passengers, a storm came on. One of the passengers was heard to say:
"The twa ministers should begin to pray, or we'll a' be drooned."
"Na, na," said a boatman; "the little ane can pray, if he likes, but the big ane must tak' an oar!" [10]
"There Maun be Some Faut"
Old Mr. Downie, the parish minister of Banchory, was noted in my earliest days for his quiet pithy remarks on men and things as they came before him. His reply to his son, of whose social position he had no very exaulted opinion, was of this class. Young Downie had come to visit his father from the West Indies, and told him that on his return he was to be married to a lady whose high qualities and position he spoke of in extravagant terms. He assured his father that she was "quite young, was very rich, and very beautiful."
"Aweel, Jemmy," said the old man, very quietly and very slily, "I'm thinking there maun be somefaut." [7]
Deathbed Humor
The late Mr. Constable used to visit an old lady who was much attenuated by long illness, and on going upstairs one tremendously hot afternoon, the daughter was driving the flies away, saying: "These flies will eat up a' that remains o' my puir mither." The old lady opened her eyes, and the last words she spoke were: "What's left's good eneuch for them."
A Matter-of-Fact Death Scene
The Scottish people, without the least intention or purpose of being irreverent or unfeeling, oftenapproach the awful question connected with the funerals of friends in a cool matter-of-fact manner. A tenant of Mr. George Lyon, of Wester Ogil, when on his death-bed, and his end near at hand, was thus addressed by his wife: "Willie, Willie, as lang as ye can speak, tell us are ye for your burial baps round orsquare?" Willie, having responded to this inquiry, was next asked if themurnerswere to havegloovesor mittens—the latter having only a thumb-piece; and Willie, having answered, was allowed to depart inpeace.
Acts of Parliament "Exhausted"
A junior minister having to assist at a church in a remote part of Aberdeenshire, the parochial minister (one of the old school) promised his young friend a good glass of whiskey-toddy after all was over, adding slily and very significantly, "and gudesmuggledwhiskey."
His southern guest thought it incumbent to say, "Ah, minister, that's wrong, is it not? You know it is contrary to Act of Parliament."
The old Aberdonian could not so easily give up his fine whiskey, so he quietly said: "Oh, Acts of Parliament lose their breath before they get to Aberdeenshire."
Concentrated Caution
The most cautious answer certainly on record is that of the Scotchman who, being asked if he could play a fiddle, warily answered that he "couldna say, for he had never tried."
A "Grave" Hint
Mr. Mearns, of Kineff Manse, gave an exquisitely characteristic illustration of beadleprofessionalhabits being made to bear upon the tender passion. A certain beadle had fancied the manse house-maid, but at a loss for an opportunity to declare himself, one day—a Sunday—when his duties were ended, he looked sheepish, and said, "Mary, wadyetak' a turn, Mary?"
He led her to the churchyard, and pointing with hisfinger, he got out: "My fowk lie there, Mary; wad ye like to lie there?"
Thegravehint was taken, and she became his wife.
A Spiritual Barometer
There was an old bachelor clergyman whose landlady declared that he used to express an opinion of his dinner by the grace which he made to follow. When he had a good dinner which pleased him, and a good glass of beer with it, he poured forth the grace, "For the richest of Thy bounty and its blessings we offer our thanks." When he had had poor fare and poor beer, his grace was, "We thank Thee for the least of these Thy mercies."
A New Application of "The Argument from Design"
An honest Highlander, a genuine lover of sneeshin, observed, standing at the door of the Blair Athole Hotel, a magnificent man in full tartans, and noticed with much admiration the wide dimensions of his nostrils in a fine up-turned nose. He accosted him and, as his most complimentary act, offered him his mull for a pinch.
The stranger drew up and rather haughtily said: "I never take snuff."
"Oh," said the other, "that's a peety, for there's gran'accommodation."
Two Methods of Getting a Dog Out of Church
I had an anecdote from a friend of a reply from a betheral (beadle) to the ministerinchurch, which was quaint and amusing from the shrewd self-importance it indicated in his own acuteness. The clergyman had been annoyed during the course of his sermon by the restlessness and occasional whining of a dog, which at last began to bark outright. He looked out for the beadle, and directed him very peremptorily, "John, carry that dog out."
John looked up to the pulpit and, with a very knowing expression, said: "Na, na, sir; I'se just mak' him gae out on his ain four legs." [7]
Born Too Late
A popular English nonconformist minister was residing with a family in Glasgow, while on a visit to that city, whither he had gone on a deputation from the Wesleyan Missionary Society. After dinner, in reply to an invitation to partake of some fine fruit, he mentioned to the family a curious circumstance concerning himself, viz.: that he had never in his life tasted an apple, pear, or grape, or indeed any kind of green fruit. This fact seemed to evoke considerable surprise from the company, but a cautious Scotchman, of a practical matter-of-fact turn of mind, and who had listened with much unconcern, drily remarked: "It's a peety but ye had been in Paradise, an' there might na hae been ony faa'."
A Preacher with his Back Towards Heaven
During one of the religious revivals in Scotland, a small farmer went about preaching with much fluency and zeal, the doctrine of a "full assurance" of faith, and expressed his belief of it for himself in such extravagant terms as few men would venture upon who were humble and cautious against presumption. The preacher, being personally rather remarkable as a man of greedy and selfish views in life, excited some suspicion in the breast of an old sagacious countryman, a neighbor of Dr. Macleod, who asked whathethought of John as a preacher, and of his doctrine?
Scratching his head, as if in some doubt, he replied, "I never ken't a man sae sure o' heaven and so sweert(slow)to be gaing taet." [5]
Nearer the Bottom than the Top
A little boy who attended a day school near his home, was always asked in the evening how he stood in his own class. The invariable answer was, "I'm second dux," which means, in Scottish academical language, second from the top of the class. As his habits of application at home did not quite bear out the claims to so distinguished a literary position at school, one of the family ventured to ask what wasthe number in the class to which he was attached. After some hesitation, he was obliged to admit, "Ou, there's jist me andanither lass."
A Crushing Argument against MS. Sermons
A clergyman thought his people were making rather an unconscionable objection to his using an MS. in delivering a sermon.
They urged, "What gars ye tak' up your bit papers to the pu'pit?"
He replied that it was best, for really he could not remember his sermons, and must have his paper.
"Weel, weel, minister, then dinna expect thatwecan remember them."
Mortal Humor
Humor sometimes comes out on the very scaffold. An old man was once hanged for complicity in a murder. The rope broke, and he fell heavily to the ground. His first utterance when his breath returned to him was, "Ah, sheriff, sheriff, gie us fair hangin'."
His friends demanded that he should be delivered up to them, as a second hanging was not contemplated in the sentence. But the old man, looking round on the curious crowd of gazers, and lifting up his voice, said, "Na, na, boys, I'll no gang hame to my neighbors to hear people pointing me oot as the half-hangit man; I'll be hangit oot."
And he got his wish five minutes after.
A Fruitful Field
The following anecdote was communicated to me by a gentleman who happened to be a party to the conversation detailed below. This gentleman was passing along the road not one hundred miles from Peterhead one day. Two different farms skirt the separate sides of the turnpike, one of which is rented by a farmer who cultivates his land according to the most advanced system of agriculture, and the other of which is farmed by a gentleman of the old school.
Our informant met the latter worthy at the side of the turnpike, opposite his neighbor's farm, and seeinga fine crop of wheat upon what appeared to be (and really was) very poor and thin land, asked, "When was that wheat sown?"
"O, I dinna ken," replied the gentleman of the old school, with a sort of half indifference, half contempt.
"But isn't it strange that such a fine crop should be reared on such bad land?" asked our informant.
"O, na—nae at a'—devil thank it; a gravesteen wad gie guid bree gin ye geed it plenty o' butter." [7]
The "Minister's Man"
The "minister's man" was a functionary now less often to be met with. He was the minister's own servant andfactotum. Amongst this class there was generally much Scottish humor and original character. They were (like the betheral, or beadle) great critics of sermons, and often severe upon strangers, sometimes with a sly hit at their own ministers. One of these, David, a well-known character, complimenting a young minister who had preached, told him, "Your introduction, sir, is aye grand; it's worth a' the rest o' the sermon,—could ye no' mak' it a' introduction?"
David's criticisms of his master's sermons were sometimes sharp enough and shrewd. On one occasion, the minister was driving home from a neighboring church where he had been preaching, and where he had, as he thought, acquitted himself pretty well, inquired of David whathethought of it. The subject of discourse had been the escape of the Israelites from Egypt. So David opened his criticism:
"Thocht o't, sir? Deed I thocht nocht o't ava. It was a vara imperfect discourse, in ma opinion; ye did well eneucht till ye took them through, but where did ye leave them? Just daunerin' o' the sea-shore without a place to gang till. Had it no' been for Pharaoh they had been better on the other side, where they were comfortably encampit than daunerin' where ye left them. It's painful to hear a sermon stoppit afore it is richt ended, just as it is to hear ane streeket out lang after it's dune. That's my opinion o' the sermon ye geid us to-day."
"Very freely given, David, very freely given; drive on a little faster, for I think ye're daunerin' noo, yersell." [7]
A New and Original Scene in "Othello"
At a Scottish provincial theatre, a prompter named Walls, who, being exceedingly useful, frequently appeared on the stage, happened one evening to play the Duke, in "Othello." Previous to going on, he had given directions to a girl-of-all-work, who looked after the wardrobe, to bring a gill of best whiskey. Not wishing to go out, as the evening was wet, the girl deputed her little brother to execute the commission. The senate was assembled, and the speaker was—
Brabantio: "For my particular grief is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature, that it engluts and swallows other sorrows, and is still itself."
Duke: "Why, what's the matter?"
Here the little boy walked on to the stage with a pewter gill stoup, and thus delivered himself:
"It's just the whusky, Mr. Walls, and I couldna get ony at fourpence, so yer awn the landlord a penny, an' he says it's time you were payin' whet's doon i' the book."
The roars of laughter which followed from both audience and actors for some time prevented the further progress of the play.
The Shape of the Earth
A country schoolmaster of the old time was coaching his pupils for the yearly examination by the clergymen of the district. He had before him the junior geography class.
"Can any little boy or girl tell me what is the shape of the earth?"
To this there was no answer.
"Oh, dear me, this is sad! What wull the minister sink o' this? Well, I'll gie you a token to mind it. What is the shape o' this snuff-box in ma han'?"
"Square, sir," replied all.
"Yes; but on the Sabbath, when a shange maclaes, I shange ma snuff-box, and I wears a round one. Will you mind that for a token?"
Examination day came, and the junior geography class was called.
"Fine intelligent class this, Mr. Mackenzie," said one of the clergymen.
"Oh, yes, sir, they're na boor-like."
"Can any of the little boys or girls tell me what is the shape of the earth?"
Every hand was extended, every head thrown back, every eye flashed with eager excitement in the good old style of schools. One was singled out with a "You, my little fellow, tell us."
"Roond on Sundays, and square all the rest o' the week."
Rivalry in Prayer
Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, has a wide-awake Presbyterian elder of Scotch character, who, although a persistent advocate of the Westminster Confession, occasionally for convenience sake—and from an innate love of religious intercourse—attends the meetings of his Methodist brethren.
At a recent prayer-meeting that was held preparatory to a centennial service in commemoration of the progress of Methodism in Nova Scotia, the presiding minister dwelt eloquently upon the wonderful growth and prosperity of the Methodist Church, and upon the life of its great founder, John Wesley. He also expressed thankfulness that on that day there were one hundred and nine Methodist ministers in Nova Scotia. The meeting thus very decidedly assumed a denominational character, but the minister asked the good Presbyterian brother to lead in prayer at the close. The elder complied, and after thanking God for the many good things he had just heard "about this branch of Zion," he added, with much depth and feeling, "O Lord, we thank Thee forJohn Knox; we thank Thee for the one hundred and nine Methodist ministers in our country, but weespeciallythank Thee for theone hundred and thirteenPresbyterian ministers who are preaching the Word of Life throughout our land. Amen."
A Compensation Balance
The answers of servants often curiously illustrate the habits and manners of the household. A bright maid-of-all-work, alluding to the activity and parsimony of her mistress, said, "She's vicious upo' the wark, but, eh, she's vary mysterious o' the victualing."
The "Sawbeth" at a Country Inn
The Rev. Moncure D. Conway, while traveling in the neighborhood of the Hebrides, heard several anecdotes illustrative of the fearful reverence with which Scotchmen in that region observe the Sabbath. Says he: "A minister of the kirk recently declared in public that at a country inn he wished the window raised, so that he might get some fresh air, but the landlady would not allow it, saying, 'Ye can hae no fresh air here on the Sawbeth.'" [11]
Scotchmen Everywhere
Was ever a place that hadn't its Scotchman? In a late English publication we find an account of a gentleman traveling in Turkey, who, arriving at a military station, took occasion to admire the martial appearance of two men. He says: "The Russian was a fine, soldier-like figure, nearly six feet high, with a heavy cuirassier moustache, and a latent figure betraying itself (as the 'physical force,' novelists say) in every line of his long muscular limbs. Our pasha was a short thick-set man, rather too round and puffy in the face to be very dignified; but the eager, restless glance of his quick gray eye showed that he had no want of energy. My friend, the interpreter, looked admiringly at the pair as they approached each other, and was just exclaiming, 'There, thank God, are a real Russian and a real Turk, and admirable specimens of their race, too!' when suddenly General Sarasoff and Ibraham Pasha, after staring at each other for a moment, burst forth simultaneously, 'Eh, Donald Cawmell, areyethere?' 'Lord keep us, Sandy Robertson, can this beyou?'"
A Bookseller's Knowledge of Books
A Glasgow bailie was one of a deputation sent from that city to Louis Philippe, when that monarch was on the French throne. The king received the deputation very graciously, and honored them with an invitation to dinner. During the evening the party retired to the royal library, where the king, having ascertained that the bailie followed the calling of bookseller, showed him the works of several English authors, and said to him: "You see, I am well supplied with standard works in English. There is a fine edition of Burke."
The magistrate, familiar only with Burke the murderer, exclaimed: "Ah, the villain! I was there when he was hanged!"
"Fou'—Aince"
George Webster once met a shepherd boy in Glenshee, and asked, "My man, were you ever fou'?"
"Ay, aince"—speaking slowly, as if remembering—"Ay, aince."
"What on?"
"Cauld mutton!" [12]
Sunday Drinking
Dr. M——, accompanied by a friend, took a long walk on Sunday, and being fatigued, the two stopped at an inn to get some refreshment. The landlord stopped them at the door with the question whether they werebona fidetravelers, as such alone could enter his house on Sunday. They said they were from London, and were admitted. They were sent bread and cheese and stout. The stout was bad, and they sent for ale; but that being worse, they sent for whiskey. The landlord refused this, saying they had enough for their bodily necessities.
After a great deal of urging for the whiskey, which the landlord withstood, M—— said, "Very well; if you won't sell us whiskey, we must use our own," at the same time pulling a flask out of his pocket.
This was more than the Scotchman could stand. The sin was to be committed, and there would be nocompensation to its heinousness in the way of profit to his inn. "Ah, weel," he said, "if ye maun have the whiskey, ye maun, an' I'll send ye the mateyrials."
Drawing an Inference
A certain functionary of a country parish is usually called theminister's man, and to one of these who had gone through a long course of such parish official life, a gentleman one day remarked—"John, ye hae been sae lang about the minister's hand that I dare say ye could preach a sermon yersell now."
To which John modestly replied, "O na, sir, I couldna preach a sermon, but maybe I could draw an inference."
"Well, John," said the gentleman, humoring the quiet vanity of the beadle, "what inference could ye draw frae this text, 'A wild ass snuffeth up the wind at her pleasure!" (Jer. ii: 24).
"Weel, sir, I wad draw this inference:—she wad snuff a lang time afore she would fatten upon't." [7]
Going to Ramoth Gilead
A sailor, who had served the king so long at sea that he almost forgot the usages of civilized society on shore, went one day into the church at his native town of Kirkcaldy, in Fife, where it happened that the minister chose for his text the well-known passage, "Who will go up with us to Ramoth Gilead?"
This emphatic appeal being read the second time, and in a still more impressive tone of voice, the thoughtless tar crammed a quid of tobacco into his cheek, rose up, put on his hat; then, looking around him, and seeing nobody moving, he exclaimed, "You cowardly lubbers! will none of you go with the old gentleman? I go for one."
So out he went, giving three cheers at the door, to the amazement of all present.
Why Saul Threw a Javelin at David
A High-Churchman and a Scotch Presbyterian had been at the same church. The former asked the latter if he did not like the "introits."
"I don't know what an introit is," was the reply.
"But did you not enjoy the anthem?" said the churchman.
"No, I did not enjoy it at all."
"I am very sorry," said the churchman, "because it was used in the early church; in fact, it was originally sung by David."
"Ah!" said the Scotchman, "then that explains the Scripture. I can understand why, if David sung it at that time, Saul threw his javelin at him."
A Sexton's Criticism
The following criticism by a Scotch sexton is not bad:
A clergyman in the country had a stranger preaching for him one day, and meeting his sexton, asked, "Well, Saunders, how did you like the sermon to-day?"
"It was rather ower plain and simple for me. I like thae sermons best that jumbles the joodgment and confoonds the sense. Od, sir, I never saw ane that could come up to yoursel' at that."
Strange Reason for Not Increasing a Minister's Stipend
A relative of mine going to church with a Forfarshire farmer, one of the old school, asked him the amount of the minister's stipend.
He said, "Od, it's a gude ane—the maist part of £300 a year."
"Well," said my relative, "many of these Scotch ministers are but poorly off."
"They've eneuch, sir; they have eneuch; if they'd mair, it would want a' their time to the spending o't." [7]
Pulpit Eloquence
An old clerical friend upon Speyside, a confirmed old bachelor, on going up to the pulpit one Sunday to preach, found, after giving out the psalm, that he had forgotten his sermon. I do not know what his objections were to his leaving the pulpit and going to themanse for his sermon, but he preferred sending his old confidential housekeeper for it. He accordingly stood up in the pulpit, stopped the singing, when it had commenced, and thus accosted his faithful domestic: "Annie, I say, Annie,we'vecommitted a mistake the day. Ye maun jist gang your waa's hame, and ye'll get my sermon out o' my breek pouch, an' we'll sing to the praise o' the Lord till ye come back again." [7]
Maunderings, by a Scotchman
The following is said byChambers' Journalto have been written by a Scotchman. If so, the humorous way in which he is taking off a certain tendency of the Scotch mind, is delicious; if by an Englishman, the humor will be less keen, though not less fair.
I am far frae being clear that Nature hersel', though a kindly auld carline, has been a'thegither just to Scotland seeing that she has sae contrived that some o' our greatest men, that ought by richt to hae been Scotchmen, were born in England and other countries, and sae have been kenned as Englishers, or else something not quite sae guid.
There's glorious old Ben Jonson, the dramatic poet and scholar, that everybody tak's for a regular Londoner, merely because he happened to be born there. Ben's father, it's weel ken't, was a Johnston o' Annandale in Dumfriesshire, a bauld guid family there to this day. He is alloo't to hae been a gentleman, even by the English biographers o' his son; and, dootless, sae he was, sin' he was an Annandale Johnston. He had gane up to London, about the time o' Queen Mary, and was amang them that suffered under that sour uphalder o' popery. Ben, puir chiel', had the misfortune first to see the light somewhere aboot Charing Cross, instead o' the bonnie leas o' Ecclefechan, where his poetic soul wad hae been on far better feedin' grund, I reckon. But nae doot, he cam' to sit contented under the dispensations of Providence. Howsomever, he ought to be now ranked amang Scotchmen, that's a'.
There was a still greater man in that same century, that's generally set down as a Lincolnshire-man, but ought to be looked on as next thing till a Scotchman, if no' a Scotchman out and out; and that's Sir Isaac Newton. They speak o' his forebears as come frae Newton in Lancashire; but the honest man himsel's the best authority aboot his ancestry, I should think; and didna he say to his friend Gregory ae day: "Gregory, ye warna aware that I'm o' the same country wi' yoursel'—I'm a Scotchman." It wad appear that Sir Isaac had an idea in his head, that he had come somehow o' the Scotch baronet o' the name o' Newton; and nothing can be better attested than that there was a Scotchman o' that name wha became a baronet by favor o' King James the Sixt (What for aye ca' him James theFirst?) having served that wise-headed king as preceptor to his eldest son, Prince Henry. Sae, ye see, there having been a Scotch Newton who was a baronet, and Sir Isaac thinking he cam' o' sic a man, the thing looks unco' like as if it were a fact. It's the mair likely, too, frae Sir Adam Newton having been a grand scholar and a man o' great natural ingenuity o' mind; for, as we a' ken right weel, bright abilities gang in families. There's a chiel' o' my acquentance that disna think the dates answer sae weel as they ought to do; but he ance lived a twalmonth in England, and I'm feared he's grown a wee thing prejudiced. Sae we'll say nae mair aboothim.
Then, there was Willie Cowper, the author o' theTask,John Gilpin, and mony other poems. If ye were to gie implicit credence to his English biographers, ye wad believe that he cam' o' an auld Sussex family. But Cowper himsel' aye insisted that he had come o' a Fife gentleman o' lang syne, that had been fain to flit southwards, having mair guid blude in his veins than siller in his purse belike, as has been the case wi' mony a guid fellow before noo. It's certain that the town o' Cupar, whilk may hae gi'en the family its name, is the head town o' that county to this day. There was ane Willie Cowper, Bishop o' Galloway in the time o' King Jamie—a real good exerceesed Christian, although a bishop—and the poetjaloosed that this worthy man had been ane o' his relations. I dinna pretend to ken how the matter really stood; but it doesna look very likely that Cowper could hae taken up the notion o' a Scotch ancestry, if there hadna been some tradition to that effeck. I'm particularly vext that our country was cheated out o' haeing Cowper for ane o' her sons, for I trow he was weel worthy o' that honor; and if Providence had willed that he should hae been born and brought up in Scotland, I haena the least doot that he wad hae been a minister, and ane too, that wad hae pleased the folk just extrornar.
There was a German philosopher in the last century, that made a great noise wi' a book of his that explored and explained a' the in-thoughts and out-thoughts o' the human mind. His name was Immanuel Kant; and the Kantian philosophy is weel kent as something originating wi' him. Weel, this Kant ought to hae been a Scotchman; or rather hewasa Scotchman; but only, owing to some grandfather or great-grandfather having come to live in Königsberg, in Prussia, ye'll no' hinder Immanuel frae being born there—whilk of coorse was a pity for a' parties except Prussia, that gets credit by the circumstance. The father of the philosopher was an honest saddler o' the name o' Cant, his ancestor having been ane o' the Cants o' Aberdeenshire, and maybe a relation of Andrew Cant, for onything I ken. It was the philosopher that changed the C for the K, to avoid the foreign look of the word, our letter C not belonging to the German alphabet. I'm rale sorry that Kant did not spring up in Scotland, where his metaphysical studies wad hae been on friendly grund. But I'm quite sure, an' he had visited Scotland and come to Aberdeenshire, he wad hae fund a guid number o' his relations, that wad hae been very glad to see him, and never thought the less o' him for being merely a philosopher.
Weel, we've got down a guid way noo, and the next man I find that ought by richts to hae been a Scotchman is that deil's bucky o' a poet, Lord Byron. I'm no' saying that Lord Byron was a'thegither a respectable character, ye see; but there can be nae mannero' doot that he wrote grand poetry, and got a great name by it. Noo, Lord Byron was born in London—I'm no' denyin' what Tammy Muir says on that score—but his mother was a Scotch leddy, and she and her husband settled in Scotland after their marriage, and of coorse their son wad hae been born there in due time, had it no' been that the husband's debts obliged them to gang, first to France and after that to London, where the leddy cam' to hae her down-lying, as has already been said. This, it plainly appears to me, was a great injustice to Scotland.
My greatest grudge o' a' is regarding that bright genius for historical composition, Thomas Babbington Macaulay, M.P. for Edinburgh. About the year 1790, the minister o' the parish o' Cardross in Dumbartonshire, was a Mr. M'Aulay, a north-country man, it's said, and a man o' uncommon abilities. It was in his parish that that other bright genius, Tobias Smollett, was born, and if a' bowls had rowed richt, sae should T. B. M. But it was otherwise ordeened. A son o' this minister, having become preceptor to a Mr. Barbinton, a young man o' fortune in England, it sae cam' aboot that this youth and his preceptor's sister, wha was an extrornan' bonny lass, drew up thegither, and were married. That led to ane o' the minister's sons going to England—namely, Mr. Zachary, the father o' oor member; and thus it was that we were cheated out o' the honor o' having T. B. as an out-and-out Scotsman, whilk it's no' natural to England to bring forth sic geniuses, weary fa' it, that I should say sae. I'm sure I wiss that the bonny lass had been far eneuch, afore she brought about this strange cantrip o' fortune, or that she had contented hersel' wi' an honest Greenock gentleman that wanted her, and wha, I've been tould, de'ed no' aboon three year syne.
Naebody that kens me will ever suppose that I'm vain either aboot mysel' or my country. I wot weel, when we consider what frail miserable creatures we are, we hae little need for being proud o' onything. Yet, somehow, I aye like to hear the name o' puir auld Scotland brought aboon board, so that it is na forthings even-down disrespectable. Some years ago, we used to hear a great deal about a light-headed jillet they ca' Lola Montes, that had become quite an important political character at the coort o' the king o' Bavaria. Noo, although I believe it's a fact that Lola's father was a Scotch officer o' the army, I set nae store by her ava—I turn the back o' my hand on a' sic cutties as her. Only, itisa fact that she comes o' huz—o' that there can be nae doot, be it creditable or no'.
Well, ye see, there's another distinguished leddy o' modern times, that's no' to be spoken o' in the same breath wi' that Lady Lighthead. This is the new Empress o' France. A fine-looking queen she is, I'm tauld. Weel, it's quite positive aboot her that her mother was a Kirkpatrick, come of the house o' Closeburn, in the same county that Ben Jonson's father cam' frae. The Kirkpatricks have had land in Dumfriesshire since the days o' Bruce, whose friend ane o' them was, at the time when he killed Red Cummin; but Closeburn has long passed away frae them, and now belangs to Mr. Baird, the great iron master o' the west o' Scotland. Howsomever, the folks thereaboots hae a queer story aboot a servant-lass that was in the house in the days o' the empress' great-grandfather like. She married a man o' the name o' Paterson and gaed to America, and her son came to be a great merchant, and his daughter became Prince Jerome Bonaparte's wife; and sae it happens that a lady come frae the parlor o' Closeburn sits on the throne o' France, while a prince come frae the kitchen o' the same place is its heir presumptive! I'm no' sure that the hale o' this story is quite the thing; but I tell it as it was tauld to me.
I'm no' ane that tak's up my head muckle wi' public singers, playgoers, composers o' music, and folk o' that kind; but yet we a' ken that some o' them atteen to a great deal o' distinction, and are muckle ta'en out by the nobility and gentry. Weel, I'm tauld (for I ken naething about him mysel') that there was ane Donizetti, a great composer o' operas, no' very lang syne. Now, Donizetti, as we've beentauld i'the public papers, was the son o' a Scotchman. His father was a Highlandman, called Donald Izett, wha left his native Perthshire as a soldier—maist likely the Duke o' Atholl pressed him into the service as ane o' his volunteers—and Donald having quitted the army somewhere abroad, set up in business wi' Don Izett over his door, whilk the senseless folk thereabouts soon transformed into Donizetti, and thus it came about that his son, wha turned out a braw musician, bore this name frae first to last, and dootless left it to his posterity. I ken weel that Izett is a Perthshire name, and there was ane o' the clan some years sin' in business in the North Brig o' Edinburgh, and a rale guid honest man he was, I can tell ye, and a very sensible man, too. Ye'll see his head-stane ony day i' the Grayfriars. And this is guid evidence to me that Donizetti was, properly speaking, a Scotchman. It's a sair pity for himsel' that he wasna born, as he should hae been, on the braes o' Atholl, for then he wad nae doot hae learned the richt music, that is played there sae finely on the fiddle—namely, reels and strath-speys; and I dinna ken but, wi' proper instruction, he might hae rivalled Neil Gow himsel'.
Ye've a' heard o' Jenny Lind, the Swedish nightingale, as the fulishly ca' her, as if there ever were ony nightingales in Sweden. She's a vera fine creature, this Jenny Lind, no greedy o' siller, as sae mony are, but aye willing to exerceese her gift for the guid o' the sick and the puir. She's, in fack, just sick a young woman as we micht expeck Scotland to produce, if it ever produced public singers. Weel, Jenny, I'm tauld, is another of the great band o' distinguished persons that ought to hae been born in Scotland, for it's said her greatgrandfather (I'm no' preceese as to the generation) was a Scotchman that gaed lang syne to spouse his fortune abroad, and chanced to settle in Sweden, where he had sons and daughters born to him. There's a gey wheen Linds about Mid-Calder, honest farmer-folk, to this day; sae I'm thinkin' there's no' muckle room for doot as to the fack.
Noo, having shewn sic a lang list o' mischances asto the nativity o' Scotch folk o' eminence, I think ye'll alloo that we puir bodies in the north hae some occasion for complaint. As we are a' in Providence's hand, we canna, of coorse, prevent some o' our best countrymen frae coming into the world in wrang places—sic as Sir Isaac Newton in Lincolnshire, whilk I think an uncommon pity; but what's to hinder sic persons frae being reputed and held as Scotchmen notwithstanding? I'm sure I ken o' nae objection, except it may be that our friends i' the south, feeling what a sma' proportion o' Great Britons are Englishmen, may entertain some jealousy on the subjeck. If that be the case, the sooner that the Association for Redress o' Scottish Grievances takes up the question the better. [21]
A Leader's Description of His Followers
Old John Cameron was leader of a small quadrille band in Edinburgh, the performances of which were certainly not the very finest.
Being disappointed on one occasion of an engagement at a particular ball, he described his more fortunate but equally able brethren in the following terms: "There's a Geordie Menstrie, he plays rough, like a man sharpening knives wi' yellow sand. Then there's Jamie Corri, his playin's like the chappin' o' mince-collops—sic short bows he tak's. And then there's Donald Munro, his bass is like wind i' the lum, or a toom cart gaun down Blackfriars' Wynd!"
It Takes Two To Fight
A physician at Queensferry was once threatened with a challenge. His method of receiving it was at once cool and incontrovertible.
"Ye may challenge me if ye like," said he; "but whether or no, there'll be nae fecht,unless I gang out."
"What's the Lawin', Lass?"
The following dialogue occurred in a little country inn, not so long ago as the internal evidence might lead one to suppose. The interlocutors are an English tourist and a smart young woman, who actedas waitress, chambermaid, boots, and everybody else, being the man and the maid of the inn at the same time:
Tourist: Come here, if you please.
Jenny:I was just coming ben to you, sir.
Tourist: Well, now, mistress.
Jenny:I'm no' the mistress; I'm only the lass, an' I'm no' married.
Tourist: Very well, then, miss.
Jenny:I'm no' a miss; I'm only a man's dochter.
Tourist: A man's daughter?
Jenny:Hoot, ay, sir; didna ye see a farm as ye came up yestreen, just three parks aff?
Tourist: It is very possible; I do not remember.
Jenny:Weel, onyway, it's my faither's.
Tourist: Indeed!
Jenny:Ay, it's a fact.
Tourist: Well, that fact being settled, let us proceed to business. Will you let me see your bill?
Jenny:Our Bill. Ou, ay, Wully we ca' him, but I ken wha you mean—he's no in e'en now.
Tourist: Wully! what I want is my account—a paper stating what I have had, and how much I have to pay.
Jenny:Did ony woman ever hear the like o' that—ye mean the lawin', man! But we keep nae accounts here; na, na, we hae ower muckle to dae.
Tourist: And how do you know what to charge?
Jenny:On, we just put the things down on the sclate, and tell the customers the tottle by word o' mouth.
Tourist: Just so. Well, will you give me the lawin', as I am going?
Jenny:Oh, sir, ye're jokin' noo! It's you maun gie me the lawin'—the lawin's the siller.
Tourist: Oh, indeed, I beg your pardon; how much is it?
Jenny:That's just what I was coming ben to tell you, sir. If ye had ask'd me first, or waited till I tell't ye, I wadna hae keepit ye a minute. We're no blate at askin' the lawin', although some folk are unco' slow at payin' o't. It's just four-and-six.
Tourist: That is very moderate; there is five shillings.
Jenny:Thank you, sir; I hope we hae a sixpence in the house, for I wadna' like to gie bawbees to a gentleman.
Tourist: No, no; the sixpence is for yourself.
Jenny:Oh, sir, it's ower muckle.
Tourist: What, do you object to take it?
Jenny:Na, na, sir; I wouldna' put that affront upon ye. But I'll gie ye a bit o' advice for't. When ye're gaun awa' frae an inn in a hurry, dinna be fashin' yersel' wi' mistresses, and misses, and bills; but just say, "What's the lawin', lass?"
Meanness versus Crustiness
A rather mean and parsimonious old lady called one day upon David Dreghorn, a well-known Glasgow fishmonger, saying, "Weel, Maister Dreghorn, how are ye selling your half salmon the noo?"
David being in a rather cross humor, replied, "When we catch ony half salmon, mem, we'll let ye ken!"
Speeding the Parting Guest
It is related of a noble Scottish lady of the olden time, who lived in a remote part of the Highlands, and was noted for her profuse liberality, that she was some times overburdened with habitual "sorners." When any one of them outstayed his welcome, she would take occasion to say to him at the morning meal, with an arch look at the rest of the company, "Mak' a guid breakfast, Mr. ——, while ye're about it; ye dinna ken whaur ye'll get your dinner." The hint was usually taken, and the "sorner" departed.
"Things Which Accompany Salvation"
"What d'ye think o' this great revival that's gaun on the noo, Jamie?" asked a grocer of a brother tradesman.
"Weel," answered Jamie, "I canna say muckle about it, but I ken this—I hae gotten in a gude wheen bawbees that I had given up lang syne as bad debts."
Lights and Livers
Lord Cockburn, when at the bar, was pleading in a steamboat collision case. The case turned on the fact of one of the steamers carrying no lights, which was the cause of the accident. Cockburn insisting on this, wound up his eloquent argument with this remark: "In fact, gentlemen, had there been morelights, there would have been morelivers."
Both Short
"Ye're unco' short the day, Saunders, surely," said an undersized student to a Glasgow bookseller, one morning, when the latter was in an irritable mood.
"Od, man," was the retort, "ye may haud your tongue; ye're no' sae lang yersel'."
His Own, With "Interest"
"Coming from h—l, Lauchlan?" quoth a shepherd, proceeding on Sacrament Sunday to the Free Church, and meeting a friend coming from the Church of the Establishment.
"Better nor going to it, Rory," retorted Lauchlan, as he passed on.
"The Spigot's Oot"
Lord Airlie remarked to one of his tenants that it was a very wet season.
"Indeed, my lord," replied the man, "I think the spigot's oot a'thegither."
Looking After Himself
A canny man, who had accepted the office of elder because some wag had made him believe that the remuneration was a sixpence each Sunday and a boll of meal on New Year's Day, officially carried round the ladle each Sunday after service. When the year expired he claimed the meal, but was told that he had been hoaxed.
"It may be sae wi' the meal," he replied, coolly, "but I took care o' the saxpence mysel'."
An Epitaph to Order
The Rev. Dr. M'Culloch, minister of Bothwell at the end of last century, was a man of sterling independence and great self-decision. To a friend—Rev. Mr. Brisbane—he one day said, "You must write my epitaph if you survive me."
"I will do that," said Mr. Brisbane; "and you shall have it at once, doctor."
Next morning he received the following: