About me then there was a din,_John Cheap, the Chapman's Library. Vol. 1: Comic and Humorous The Scottish Chap Literature of Last Century, Classified

They sought me out through thick an’ thin,

Wi’ deil hae her, an deil hae him,

He’s o’er the dyke;

Our Dominie has now dung in

His arse a pike.

Ye may weel judge I was right sweer,

This uncouth meeting to draw near,

Yet forc’d I was then to appear,

Altho’ perplex’d;

But listen how, and ye shall hear,

The hags me vex’d.

The carlings Maggy had sae cleuked,

Before young Jack was rightly hooked,

They made her twice as little booked,

But to gae on,

O then! how like a fool I looked,

When I saw John.

The Cummer then came to me bent,

And gravely, did my son present;

She bade me kiss him, be content,

Then wish’d me joy;

An’ tauld it was--what luck had sent,

A waly boy.

In ilka member, lith an’ lim’,

Its mouth, its nose, its cheeks, its chin,

’Tis a’ like daddy, just like him,

His very self,

Though it look’d cankered sour and grim,

Like ony elf.

Then whisp’ring now to me she harked,

Indeed your hips they should be yarked,

Nae mair Mess John, nor dare ye Clarkit,

Faith ye hae ca’d

Your hogs into a bonny markit,

Indeed my lad.

But tell me, man, (I should say master,)

What muckle deil in your way chas’d her?

Lowns baith! but I think I hae plac’d her,

Now on her side,

My coming here has not disgrac’d her,

At the Yule-tide.

An’ for yoursell, ye dare na look

Hereafter ever on a book,

Your mou’ about the psalms to crook;

Ye’ve play’d the fool,

Anither now your post maun bruik,

An’ you the stool.

She bann’d her saul, and then she blest it,

That in the Kirk-books it would be lifted,

An’ thus the weary wife insisted,

Our Lettergae

Will sit whar he will not be pish’t at

By dogs some day.

She wrung her hands until they cracked,

An’ sadly me she sham’d an’ lacked--

Ah, man! the Priest, how will he tak’ it,

Whan he hears tell,

How Maggy’s mitten ye hae glacket,

Ye ken yoursell.

The Session-Clark to play such prankies,

Ye’ll stan’ I fear upon your shankies,

An’ maybe slaver in the brankies;

It could na miss,

But lifting o’ the killimankies,

Would turn to this.

A toothless Howdy, auld and teugh,

Says, Cummer husht, we hae eneugh,

Thirsh mony ane has touch’d the pleugh,

As gude ash he,

An’ yetsh gane backlensh o’er the heugh,

Shae let him be.

Hesh no, quoth she, though he’sh be lear’d,

That ye ken what, they hae crept near’t,

Far you an I hash aft-times heard

O’ nine or ten,

Wha thush the clergy hath beshmear’d

Wi’ their ain pen.

The auld mou’d wives thus did me taunt,

Though a’ was true, I must needs grant,

But ae thing maistly made me faint,

Poor Meg lay still,

An’ look’d as loesome as a saint

That kend nae ill.

Then a’ the giglets young and gaudy,

Sware by their sauls, I might be wady,

For getting sic a lusty laddy,

Sae like mysell;

An’ made me blush wi’ speaking baudy,

’Bout what befel.

Thus auld an’ young their verdict had,

’Bout Maggy’s being brought to bed,

I thought my fill, yet little said,

Or had to say,

To reap the fruit o’ sic a trade,

On gude-yule day.

_What sometimes in the mou’ is sweet,

Turns bitter in the wame;

I grumbled sair to get the geet,

At sic a merry time._

PART III.

Now Maggy’s twasome in a swoon,

A counsel held condemns the loon,

The cushle mushle thus gaed roun’,

Our bonny Clark,

He’ll get the dud an’ sarken gown,

That ugly sark.

Consider, sirs, now this his crime,

’Tis no like hers, or yours, or mine,

He’s just next thing to a divine,

An’ vow, ’tis odd,

Sic men should a’ their senses tine,

An’ fear o’ God.

’Tis strange what mak’s kirk folk sae stupit,

To mak or meddle wi’ the fuca’it,

Or mint to preach in sic a pu’pit,

The senseless fools,

Far better for them hunt the tyouchot,

Or teach their schools.

They hunt about frae house to house,

Just as a tailor hunts a louse,

Still girding at the barley-juice

An’ aft get drunk,

They plump into some open sluice,

Where a’ is sunk.

A plague upo’ that oil o’ ma’t,

That weary drink is a’ their fau’t,

It made our Dominie to hal’t;

The text fulfil,

Which bids cast out the sa’rless sa’t,

On the dunghill.

They are sae fed, they lie sae saft,

They are sae hain’d, they grow sae daft;

This breeds ill wiles, ye ken fu’ aft

In the black coat,

Till poor Mess John, and the priest-craft,

Gaes to the pot.

I tald them then, it was but wicked

To add affliction to the afflicted,

But to it they were sae addicted,

They said therefore,

The clout about me should be pricked,

At the kirk-door.

But yet not kirk nor consterie,

Quoth they, can ask the taudy fee,

Tell them in words just twa or three,

The deil a plack,

For tarry-breeks should ay gae free,

An’ he’s the Clark.

I then was dumb! how I was griev’d!

What would I gi’en to be reliev’d!

They us’d me waur than I had thiev’d,

Some strain’d their lungs,

An’ very loud they me mischiev’d

Wi’ their ill tongues.

Had you been there to hear and see

The manner how they guided me,

An’ greater penance wha could dree!

A Lettergae,

Wi’ sic a pack confin’d to be,

On gude Yule-day.

Young Jack wi’ skirls he pierc’d the skies,

I pray’d that death might close his eyes,

But did not meet with that surprise,

To my regret,

Sae had nae help, but up an’ cries

Het drinks to get.

This laid their din; the drink was stale,

An’ to’t they gaed wi’ tooth an’ nail,

An’ wives whase rotten tusks did fail

Wi’ bread an’ cheese,

They birl’d fu’ fast at butter’d ale,

To gie them ease.

They ca’ upon me, then dadda,

Come, tune your fiddle, play us a

Jigg or hornpipe, nae mair SOL FA,

My bonny cock;

The kirk an’ you maun pluck a craw

About young Jock.

Play up, Sae merry as we hae been,

Or, Wat ye wha we met yestreen,

Or, Lass will ye lend me your leam?

Or, Soups o’ brandy,

Or, Gin the kirk wad let’s alane,

Or, Houghmagandy.

Sic tunes as these, yea, three or four,

They call’d for, ill mat they cour,

Play, cries the cummer, wi’ a glour,

The wanton toudy,

Wha’ did the Dominie ding o’er,

Just heels o’er goudy.

O’ music I had little skill,

But as I could, I played my fill,

It was my best to shaw good will;

Yet a’ my drift,

Was best how I might win the hill

The wives to shift.

Sae leaving them to drink het ale,

I slipt awa’, an’ let them rail:

Then running till my breath did fail,

I was right glad

Frae kirk and wives to tak’ leg bail,--

Nae doubt they said.

_The Lettergae has plaid the fool,

And shifted the repenting-stool.

To kirk and session bids good-day,

He’ll o’er the hills and far away._

THE SEQUEL.

Now, loving friends I hae you left,

Ye ken I neither stole nor reft,

But when I found myself infeft,

In a young Jack,

I did resolve to change the haft

For that mistak’.

An’ reasons mae I had anew,

For I had neither horse nor cow;

My stock took wings an’ aff it flew,

Sae a’ was gone,

An’ deil a flee had I was new

Except young John.

Too aft my thirsty throat to cool,

I went to visit the punch bowl,

Which makes me now wear reddish wool

Instead o’ black;

Or I must foot the cutty stool

Wi’ deil a plack.

The chappen-stoup, the pint an’ gill,

Too aft I caused for to fill,

Ay loving those wha would sit still,

An’ wet the mouth,

Ne’er minding that the TULLO-HILL,

Leads people south.

O but that loving laird Kingswells

My blessings flow where his foot swells,

Lang life to him whate’er befals,

God be his guide,

He’s cured a thousand thirsty sauls,

An’ mine beside.

O had I but thae days again,

Which I sae freely spent in vain,

I’d strive some better for to ken.

What future chance

Should blaw me here out o’er the main,

An’ sae near France.

But since that ills maun ay befall

The chiel that will be prodigal;

When wasted to the very spaul

He turns his tusk,

For want o’ comfort to his saul,

On hungry husk.

Now since I’m aff sae mony a mile,

There’s naething got without some toil,

I’ll wait; cross fortune yet may smile,

Come want, come wealth,

I’ll tak’ a pint in the mean while,

To Heilden’s health.

Sae, for a time, friends fare ye weel,

My pot companions, true and leel,

I wish ye all a merry yule,

Much mirth and glee

Nae mair young Jacks into the creel

That day for me.

_Some other Yule may yet cast up,

When we again shall meet,

To drown our sorrows in a cup,

In case we live to see’t._

ELEGY ON MAGGY JOHNSTON,

_Who died Anno Domini, 1711_

Auld Reeky mourn in sable hue,

Let fouth o’ tears dreep like May dew,

To bra’ tippeny bid adieu,

Which we wi’ greed,

Bended as fast as she could brew,

But now she’s dead.

To tell the truth now, Maggy dang,

O’ customers she had a bang;

For lairds an’ sutors a’ did thrang

To drink bedeen;

The barn an’ yard was aft sae thrang,

We took the green.

An’ there by dizens we lay down,

Syne sweetly ca’d the healths aroun’,

To bonny lasses, black or brown,

As we lo’ed best;

In bumpers we dull cares did drown,

An’ took our rest.

When in our pouch we fand some clinks,

An’ took a turn o’er Bruntsfield Links,

Aften in Maggy’s, at Hay-jinks,

We guzzl’d scuds,

Till we could scarce, wi’ hale-out drinks

Cast aff our duds.

We drank an’ drew, an’ fill’d again,

O wow! but we were blythe an’ fain:

When ony had their count mistane,

O it was nice,

To hear us a’ cry pick your bane,

An’ spell your dice.

Fou close we us’d to drink an’ rant,

Until we baith did glowr and gaunt,

An’ pish, an’ spue, an’ yesk, an’ maunt,

Right swash I trow,

Then aff auld stories we did chaunt,

Whan we were fou.

Whan we were wearied at the gouff,

Then Maggy Johnston’s was our houff,

Now a’ our gamesters may sit douff,

Wi’ hearts like lead.

Death wi’ his rung reach’d her a youff,

An’ sae she’s dead.

Maun we be forc’d thy skill to tine,

For which we will right sair repine?

Or hast thou left to bairns o’ thine,

The pauky knack,

O brewing ale amaist like wine,

That gar’d us crack?

Sae brawly did a pease-scon toast.

Biz i’ the quaff, and flee the frost,

There we gat fu’ wi’ little cost,

An’ muckle speed;

Now wae worth death, our sport’s a’ lost,

Since Maggy’s dead.

Ae summer night I was sae fu’,

Amang the riggs I gaed to spew,

Syne down on a green bank I trow,

I took a nap,

An’ sought a night balillilu,

As soun’s a tap.

An’ whan the dawn began to glow,

I hirsled up my dizzy pow,

Frae ’mang the corn like worry-kow,

Wi’ banes fu’ sair,

An’ kend nae mair than if a yow,

How I came there.

Some said it was the pith o’ broom,

That she stow’d in her masking loom,

Which in our heads rais’d sic a foom,

Or some wild seed,

Which aft the chappen-stoup did toom,

But fill’d our head.

But now since ’tis sae that we must,

Not in the best ale put our trust,

But when we’re auld return to dust,

Without remead;

Why should we tak’ it in disgust,

Since Maggy’s dead.

O’ wardly comforts she was rife,

An’ liv’d a lang and hearty life,

Right free o’ care, or toil, or strife,

Till she was stale;

An’ kend to be a canny wife

At brewing ale.

Then farewell Maggy, douce and fell,

O’ brewers a’ ye bore the bell;

Let a’ your gossips yelp and yell,

An’ without feed,

Guess whither ye’re in heaven or hell,

They’re sure ye’re dead.

FINIS.

ODDS AND ENDS,

OR, A

GROAT’S-WORTH OF FUN

FOR A PENNY.

Being a Collection of the best Jokes, Comic

Stories, Anecdotes, BonMots, &c.

[Illustration]

The Piper who was carried away for dead during the Plague

in London, but revived before interment.--See p. 22.

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

GROAT’S-WORTH OF FUN

FOR A PENNY.

A Sailor taking a walk in a field, observed a bull rapidly

advancing towards him--‘Helm a-lee, messmate,’ he cried out at the

top of his voice. The bull, however, probably not comprehending the

injunction, speedily levelled his adviser with the ground. ‘There,

you stupid,’ said the tar, as he raised himself, evidently more in

sorrow than in anger, on his elbow, ‘didn’t I tell you you’d run

foul of me.’

THE GREY ASS.--Shortly after the Battle of Waterloo, and while

the Duke of Wellington was at the height of his popularity, the

Boniface of a village inn somewhere in England, whose establishment

flourished under the name of ‘The Grey Ass,’ resolved to add to the

popularity of his house by substituting a painting of the Great

Captain, for the one which had so long dangled above his door. So

resolved, so done. A travelling artist was employed; the ‘Grey

Ass’ was obliterated; and the Duke ‘reigned in his stead.’ Alas,

however, for the uncertainty of human calculations; this event, to

which he had looked forward with the certainty of its increasing

his business, and consequently his coffers, proved to our landlord

a source of bitter vexation and disappointment;--a rival in the

village had adopted his discarded sign, and as the country bumpkins

were better acquainted with their old friend the Ass, than with

his new successor, the consequence was that they followed their

old acquaintance and left the Duke ‘alone with his glory.’ This

was not to be borne; our landlord, having nothing else to do, put

his brains to steep to devise some plan to counteract his fatal

error; and the result of his cogitations appeared shortly after

in an addition to his signboard, immediately under the figure of

the Duke, on which was painted, in large letters, the significant

intimation--‘This is the Old Grey Ass.’ Whether the exhibition

of the Duke of Wellington, with such an addition to his titles,

produced the desired effect, we have not learned.

A person desiring to be witty at the expense of a Jew whom he met,

accosted him thus--‘’Tis a wonder, Isaac, that we never hear of

the death of a Jew, or a Jack-ass; how does it happen, eh?’ ‘Well,

mishter,’ replied Isaac, ‘I does’nt rightly know; but perhaps you

and I will be the first in this neighbourhood.’

The following exquisite lines, the result of a true appreciation of

the sublime and beautiful in nature, are copied from the Album kept

at a small inn on the Banks of the Windermere, in Cumberland--

I never eats no meat,

Nor drinks no beer,

But sighs and ruminates

On Windermere.

Mr. Ogilvie, minister of the parish of Lunan, in the county of

Forfar, had a great deal of eccentricity in his composition.

One Sunday an old woman, who kept a public-house in the parish,

with whom Mr. Ogilvie was well acquainted, fell asleep in the

church during sermon--not an uncommon occurrence. Her neighbour

kept jogging in order to awake her. Mr. Ogilvie observing this,

cried out, ‘Let her alane, I’ll waken her mysel’, I’ll warrant

ye.’--‘Phew! phew! (_whistling_) a bottle o’ ale an’ a dram,

Janet.’--‘Comin’ Sir.’ was instantly replied.--‘There now,’ says

the minister, ‘I tald ye it wadna be lang afore that I waken’d her!’

AN OBEDIENT WIFE.--A Mr. P----n, of Dublin, was one morning

boasting among his friends that he had the _best wife in the

world_, and the reason he gave was, that _she did every thing that

he bid her_. ‘By Jasus,’ said one of the party, ‘I’ll bet a dinner

for the present party, that she will not boil a roasting pig.’

‘Done,’ said the husband. To market a messenger was despatched

to buy the pig, the company taking care that the husband should

have no means of communication with home. The pig being brought,

was sent to his house with this message, ‘that Mrs. P----n was

to have the roasting pig boiled, and sent to a certain tavern in

time for dinner!’ The messenger, on delivering the pig to cookee,

was accosted with, ‘sure now, the master is mad!--boil a roasting

pig!--By Jasus, I’ll not boil the pig! Sure and now you have made

a big blunder! Boil a roasting pig, indeed! But, however, a pig is

a pig, and I’ll take it to the mistress; and sure and now it is a

big blunder! Boil a roasting pig! Was ever such a matter as that?’

At the hour appointed came the dish under a cover; and as cookee

passed up the room to place it on the table, ‘is the pig boiled

or roasted?’ whispered every body in his ear. Not a word spake

cookee; but, on uncovering the dish, the roasting pig was boiled

sure enough; and Mrs P----n pronounced universally ‘to be the most

obedient wife in Dublin.’--(A true story, as Pat would say.)

MARCH OF INTELLECT.--A gentleman the other day visiting Mr. Wood’s

school in Edinburgh, had a book put into his hand for the purpose

of examining a class. The word _inheritance_ occurring in the

verse, the querist interrogated the youngster as follows:--‘What is

inheritance?’ A. ‘Patrimony.’ ‘What is patrimony?’ A. ‘Something

left by a father.’ ‘What would you call it if left by a mother?’ A.

‘_Matrimony._’

What colours were the _winds_ and _waves_ the last tempest at sea?

Answer--The winds _blew_ and the waves _rose_.

A gentleman walking along Parliament-street, towards the Abbey,

overtook a butcher who had a tray filled with sheeps’ heads on his

shoulder; the butcher was humming a tune, and his lightheartedness

induced the gentleman to observe to him, that he had more brains

than most men. ‘Yes, Sir,’ said the butcher, ‘I am carrying them to

the House of Lords.’ ‘Aye, aye,’ said a by-stander, they are very

much wanted there.

Sir Isaac Newton was once riding over Salisbury plain, when a

boy keeping sheep called to him, ‘Sir, you had better make haste

on, or you will get a wet jacket.’ Newton, looking round, and

observing neither clouds nor a speck on the horizon, jogged on,

taking very little notice of the rustic’s information. He had made

but a few miles, when a storm suddenly arising wetted him to the

skin. Surprised at the circumstance, and determined, if possible,

to ascertain how an ignorant boy had attained a precision and

knowledge in the weather, of which the wisest philosophers would

be proud, he immediately rode back, wet as he was. ‘My lad,’ said

Newton, ‘I’ll give thee a guinea if thou wilt tell me how thou

canst foretel the weather so truly.’ ‘Will ye, Sir? I will then,’

said the boy, scratching his head, and holding out his hand for

the guinea. ‘Now, Sir,’ having received the money, and pointed to

his sheep, ‘when you see that black ram turn his tail towards the

wind, ’tis a sure sign of rain within an hour.’ ‘What! exclaimed

the philosopher, ‘must I, in order to foretel the weather, stay

here and watch which way that black ram turns his tail?’ ‘Yes Sir.’

Off rode Newton quite satisfied with his discovery, but not much

inclined to avail himself of it or recommend it to others.

MILITARY MANŒUVRE.--A few days since a gallant and distinguished

military officer, who, though unlike Falstaff in one respect,

possesses among other characteristics of that celebrated person,

his facetious disposition, and goodness of heart, was passing along

Deansgate, when he observed a crowd surrounding a shop door, and

inquired the cause. He was told that an unlucky urchin had just

fractured a pane of glass, and that the shopkeeper was detaining

him in pledge for the payment of the damage. ‘How much is it?’

inquired the son of Mars.--‘Half-a-crown,’ was he answer.--‘Oh,

is that all?’ rejoined the officer, and thereupon unbuttoned one

of his breeches’ pockets which the unwitting shopkeeper considered

as an indication that the money was forthcoming, and with this

pleasing anticipation let off the boy, who was soon out of the

way. The gallant tactician observing the success of his plan,

and having now had his hand in his pocket a sufficient length of

time, deliberately re-buttoned up his treasure, and with suitable

_nonchalance_ laughed and rode away, to the no small amusement of

the spectators, who raised a loud shout at the painful expense of

the disappointed tradesman.

Being in company, and the ‘Tuscan grape’ producing more riot than

concord, Foote saw one gentleman so far gone in debate as to throw

the bottle at his antagonist’s head, upon which, catching the

missile in his hand, he restored the harmony of the company, by

observing, that if the bottle was passed so quickly, not one of

them would be able to stand out the evening.

A lady, seeing her lover running in great haste to meet her,

observed to him, that he must be in a very great hurry to run

so fast. ‘Madam,’ replied the lover, ‘I was _following_ my

inclination.’

THE WEEPING WIDOW.

Lady B----, who, in public, bewails her dead spouse,

While in private, her thoughts on another are turning;

Reminds us of lighting a fire with green boughs,

Which weep at one end, while the other is burning.

A Lord Lieutenant, going over to Ireland with his lady and family,

was in his passage, overtaken by so violent a storm, that the

mariners themselves gave the vessel over for lost, and expected

every minute that she would either founder or go ashore. At this

juncture a sailor observing one of the menials standing pale with

fear at the cabin door, came up to him, and asked him if ever he

had _lain_ with the duchess. ‘No,’ says the poor fellow, frightened

at such waggery in such a dangerous time. ‘Why then,’ says the tar,

‘you have that pleasure to come; for by G----, we shall _lie_ with

her grace in less than half an hour.’ The duke, who overheard this,

when the storm was abated, and the danger was over, sent the fellow

a handsome present, and forgave him the impudence of the jest.

ACCOMMODATION.--The following curious notice was affixed to the

residence of a gentleman, whose premises had suffered by some

nightly depredators.--‘Notice, those persons who have been in

the habit of stealing my fence for a considerable time past, are

respectfully informed, that if agreeable to them it will be more

convenient to me if they steal my wood, and leave the fence for the

present, and as it may be some little inconvenience getting over

the paling, the gate is left open for their accommodation.

ANONYMOUS BAPTISM.--The late Mr. M’Cubbin of Douglas, a most

happy humourist, and who was seldom outwitted, had his gravity

severely put to the test upon one occasion when officiating in a

neighbouring congregation, by a rustic who was no less impudent

than ignorant. After having administered the vows, and received

the satisfactory nods, the clown reached up the child towards

the pulpit to receive the initiatory sprinkling without either

whispering the name or tendering _a line_ to that effect. The

minister had for a considerable time bent his head, and inclined

his head to no purpose; until at last his patience beginning to

fail, he addressed the sponsor in rather a surly tone, ‘Your

child’s name?’ Not a syllable from the man! Mr. M’Cubbin repeated

very audibly, ‘Your child’s name, Sir?’ ‘Ye’ve naething ado wi’

that,’ rejoined the fellow, ‘gie ye’t its water,’ which the good

man was obliged to do, to the no small merriment of the gaping

congregation.

Daniel Purcel, the Hibernian punster, going along with a great mob

of spectators assembled to see a culprit pass to his execution at

Tyburn, asked a genteel person, who was standing in the crowd, what

was the name of the fellow going to be hanged. He answered, ‘One

Vowel.’ ‘Ah!’ said Purcel, ‘Do you know which of them it is, for

there are several of that name?’ ‘No,’ returned the other, ‘I do

not.’ ‘Well,’ said the wag, ‘this however is certain, and I am very

glad of it, that it is neither _U_ nor _I_.’

When the Leith Docks were to be opened, old Gow’s band was summoned

to play some appropriate air, and Sir Walter Scott suggested ‘Water

parted from the sea.’

MILITARY ETIQUETTE.--During the late rebellion in Ireland, General

Berresford (now Peer and Field-Marshal) commanded a district,

and, upon one occasion, proceeded to inspect a country Corps of

Yeomanry, drawn up for that purpose. On riding up to their front,

instead of being received with ‘presented arms,’ he found the corps

‘standing at ease.’ The Captain had, in fact, on first seeing the

General, given the word ‘attention,’ to which no attention was

paid--but, pressed by the General’s rapid approach, he proceeded

to the next order of his formula, ‘shoulder arms.’ To add to his

embarrassment, however, the arms moved not. The General, with his

characteristic good-nature, suggested to the Commandant to speak

in a louder tone, who, not a little indignant, repeated with a

Stentorian voice, ‘shoulder arms,’ but all to no purpose; there

stood the corps, dogged and motionless. Such a total apparent

ignorance of the manual exercise, naturally excited the chagrin

of the Captain, and the astonishment of the General, to whom the

former only a few days before had been puffing off the discipline

of his corps. At length, the General having intimated his intention

of reporting the corps, was about to leave the field, when a

Serjeant with his ‘halbert recovered,’ stepped in front of the

ranks, and addressed the General in the following terms:--‘Plase

your honour, General; don’t think the corpse does not know its

exercise as well as any sojers in the land. There is not min in

the country knows how to use their arms, aye and their legs, too,

bitter than those afore you; but since you must know the thruth,

Sir, the _min_ and the Captain of late have not been on _spaking

terms_.’

WHO AND HOO.--A little girl lately brought a volume to a Glasgow

librarian, with the following message:--‘John sent me wi’ this

book, and he wants the next ane.’ ‘And who is John,’ questioned the

man of books, to which the girl very readily answered, ‘he’s gettin

better.’

A CERTIFICATE EASILY GOT.--As the late Mr G----, farmer at

Duddingstone, once stood at his gate, an Irish lad came up to him

and requested to be employed.

Mr. G.--Go away, sir, I will never employ any of your country again.

Irishman.--Why, your honour? sure we are good workers? God bless

you, do give me a job.

Mr. G.--No, sir, I wont; for the last Irishman I employed died upon

me, and I was forced to bury him at my own charge.

Irishman.--Ah! your honour, you need not fear that of me, for I can

get you a certificate that I never died in the employment of any

master I ever served.

There was no resisting. Poor Paddy got employed at once, and

remained a faithful servant until his master’s death.

A LAZY HORSE.--Some time ago, a jolly farmer from D---- went to

Falkirk for ‘sax furlots o’ beans,’ which he had trysted from a

Carse farmer, near B----. After spending the day in dram-drinking

and fun with his cronies, about the going down of the sun’ he

bethought himself of stepping home. The landlord of the S----

public house, with the assistance of his stable-boy, got the

beans, and what was more difficult still, the ‘gudeman himsel’’

on horseback. So off Saunders got almost galloping. Unluckily,

however, at a sharp turning of the road on his route, down came

our hero, beans an’ a’. The whisky (wae be till’t) had so deranged

his powers of perception, that he mounted his bean-sack instead

of his mare, that was standing at some distance, no doubt well

pleased to see her master belabouring the bean-sack instead of

her own bony protuberances. At this moment up comes one of his

neighbours, who had, like himself, staid too long in Falkirk, and

seeing a man riding on a sack in the middle of the road, at that

time of the night, made a solemn pause. After listening a while,

he began to conjecture who it was, and venturing a little nearer

he exclaims,--‘Preserve us, what are you doing here?’--‘What am I

doing here!’ says Saunders, ‘I’ve been fechtin’ this twa hours wi’

that stupid mare o’ mine, and deil ae fit she’ll lift yet.’

MY SHIRT.

As _Bayes_, whose cup with poverty was dash’d,

Lay snug in bed, while his one shirt was wash’d;

The dame appeared, and holding it to view,

Said, ‘If ’tis washed again, ’twill wash in two.’

‘Indeed,’ cried _Bayes_; then wash it, pray, good cousin,

And, wash it, if you can, into a _dozen_!’

A farmer who regularly attends Devizes market, some short time

since, (finding the article unsaleable) gave another farmer 100

bushels of potatoes, which he was to send for, and on meeting

there, the following dialogue took place:--‘How did the ’taties

turn out?’ ‘Oh, main, good; I never eated better uns for the time

o’ year, and they are pretty nigh gone.’ ‘Well, thee may ha’ some

more on um if thee likest.’ ‘Why if I do, thee and me must ha’

a fresh agreement.’ ‘Fresh agreement! why dint I gie thee the

’taties?’ ‘Ah, but I can’t afford to ha’ ony more if thee don’t pay

one of the pikes!’ The waggon had to pass two turnpike gates, the

toll at one was 4d. and the other 4½d.

THE BANE AND ANTIDOTE.--The town bellman of Kirriemuir having

received a written advertisement to that effect, proclaimed in

the midst of the assembled multitude, on a fair day, in that

ancient burgh of regality or barony, as follows:--‘Notish--All

persons driving their cattle through the lands of Logie, to or

from the market, will be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of

law.’ And, immediately after, by way of sedative to the natives,

exclaimed--‘Ye needna mind a’ this, lads; it’s only a haver o’ the

grieve’s!’

A simple Highland girl, on her way home for the north, called, as

she passed by Crieff, upon an old master with whom she had formerly

served. Being kindly invited by him to share in the family dinner,

and the usual ceremony of asking a blessing having been gone

through, the poor girl, anxious to compliment, as she conceived,

her ancient host, exclaimed, ‘Ah, master, ye maun hae a grand

memory, for that’s the grace ye had when I was wi’ you seven years

ago.’

A LAST CENTURY ANECDOTE.--Mr. Ross, Pitcalnie, an ingenious

humourist, who spent his latter years chiefly in Edinburgh, was one

night (about the year 1780) reeling home in a state of intoxication

through St. Andrew-Square, when his fancy suggested to him the

following amusing hoax upon Sir Lawrence Dundas. It occurred to

his remembrance, on seeing Sir Lawrence’s fine house (now the

office of the Royal Bank of Scotland), that that gentleman was

then known to be engaged in the laudable business of prevailing

upon the members of the town council of Edinburgh to elect him

their representative in parliament, and that he had already secured

the approbation of so many of these worthy trustees of the public

interest that, but for one recusant deacon, he was certain of his

election. It was known that Sir Lawrence had tried every possible

means to bring over this dissentient voice, but hitherto without

success; and there was some reason to apprehend that, after all the

pains he had expended upon the rest, the grand object would not

eventually be accomplished. Pitcalnie bethought him to assume the

name of the deacon, to enter the house of the candidate, call for

what entertainment he pleased, and, finally, as Sir Lawrence was

confined to bed with gout, to go away without being discovered. No

sooner had he settled the plan in his own mind than he proceeded to

put it in execution. Reeling up to the door he rung the bell with

all the insolent violence which might have been expected from so

consequential a person as the individual he wished to personate,

and presently down came a half-dressed lacquey, breathing curses,

not loud but deep, against the cause of this unseasonable

annoyance. ‘Tell your master,’ said Pitcalnie, ‘that Deacon ----

(mentioning the name of the important elector) wishes to see him.’

When the man went up, and told Sir Lawrence that Deacon ---- had

come drunk to the door, wishing to see him, the heart of the

old gentleman leapt within him, and he instantly sent down his

compliments to his respected visitor, begging him to excuse his

non-appearance, which was only owing to extremity of illness, but

entreating that he would enter, and in every respect use the house

as his own. Pitcalnie grunted out an assent to the last part of the

message, and, being shown into a room, began to call lustily about

him. In the first place he ordered a specimen of Sir Lawrence’s

port, next of his sherry, then of his claret, and lastly of his

champagne. When he had drunk as much as he could, and given a

most unconscionable degree of trouble to the whole household, he

staggered off, leaving it to Sir Lawrence to come, next day, to the

best explanation he could with the deacon.

‘If Britannia rules the waves,’ said a qualmish writing-master,

going to Margate in a storm, ‘I wish she’d rule them straighter.’

An Irishman having a looking glass in his hand, shut his eyes, and

placed it before his face; another asking him why he did so, ‘Upon

my soul,’ says Teague, ‘it is to see how I look when I am asleep.’

A lady that had married a gentleman who was a tolerable poet, one

day sitting alone with him, said, ‘come my dear, you write upon

other people--prithee, write something for me: let me see what

epitaph you’ll bestow on me when dead.’ ‘Oh! my dear,’ replied he,

‘that’s a melancholy subject! don’t think of it.’ ‘Nay, upon my

life, you shall,’ says she; ‘come, I’ll begin: _Here lies_ Bid.’ To

which he answered, ‘Ah! I wish she did.’

Mr. O’Connel, who is remarkable for the successful verdicts he

obtains, having been lately robbed of his wardrobe, replied to a

friend that was lamenting his loss, ‘Never mind, my dear Sir; for

surely as I have gained so many _suits_, I can afford to lose a

few.’

The late Mr. Murray, who was of a very credulous disposition, was

telling a very strange and improbable story, when he observed

Fawcett cast a very doubtful eye. ‘Zounds, Sir,’ says he, ‘I saw

the thing happen.’ ‘If you did,’ says Fawcett, ‘I _must_ believe

it; but by ---- I would not have believed it if I had seen it

myself.’

A countryman busy sowing his ground, two smart fellows riding that

way, one of them called to him with an insolent air, ‘Well, honest

fellow,’ said he, ‘’tis your business to sow, but we reap the

fruits of your labour.’ To which the countryman replied, ‘’Tis very

like you may, for I am sowing hemp.’

Lady Carteret, wife of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in Swift’s

time, said to him, ‘the air of this country is good.’ ‘For God’s

sake, Madam,’ said Swift, ‘don’t say so in England; if you do, they

will certainly tax it.’

When Mr. Wilberforce was a candidate for Hull, his sister, an

amiable and witty young lady, offered the compliment of a new gown

to each of the wives of those freemen who voted for her brother, on

which, she was saluted with a cry of ‘Miss Wilberforce for ever!’

when she pleasantly observed--‘Thank you, gentlemen, but I cannot

agree with you, for, really, I do not wish to be _Miss Wilberforce_

for ever.’

An elderly man, from the Braes of Athol, who had never seen either

a ship or sea in his life, once chanced to be crossing from

Kinghorn to Leith on a very stormy day, and as the vessel heeled

terribly, he ran to the cords and held down with his whole vigour,

to keep her from upsetting. ‘For to sake of our lhives, shentles,

come and hold town!’ cried he; ‘or if you will nhot pe helping

mhe, I’ll lhet you all go to te bhottom in one mhoment. And you

ploughman tere, cannot you kheep te howe of te furr, and no gang

ower te crown of te rhiggs avaw? Heich?’ The steersman at this

laughing aloud, the Highlander was irritated, and with one of the

levers he ran and knocked him down. ‘Nhow! laugh you nhow?’ said

he; ‘and you weel deserve it all, for it was you who put her so

mhad, kittling her thail with tat pin.’

There is but one instance known, in which King James II. made a

reply of wit and humour. After King William had landed, it was

announced to James II.: ‘Sire, such a great lord has left you,

and has gone over to King William.’ Prince George of Denmark,

exclaimed, ‘est il possible!’ Again it was announced to James, that

another great lord had gone over to William: ‘est il possible!’

again exclaimed Prince George: and so he did always--exclaiming,

‘est il possible!’ upon every new defection. At last, Prince George

himself went over to William; and when his defection was announced

to James II., ‘What,’ said the King, is ‘_est il possible_’ gone

too.

A Highlander from the small isles, who had never been in a church,

or heard a sermon in his life, came over to a sacrament on the

mainland, and the service being in his native tongue, he paid great

attention till the psalm was given out, for he had missed the

first one. When the precentor fell a-bawling out, Donald could not

comprehend that, and called to some to stop him; but how was he

astounded, when the whole congregation fell a-gaping and bawling

with all their energy! Donald, conceiving it altogether a fit of

madness, of which the precentor was the primary cause, bustled up

to him, and gave him a blow on the side of the head, till the book

dropped from his hand. ‘What do you mean, sir,’ said the clerk.

‘Humph! pe you taking tat,’ said Donald; ‘for you was te pekinner

of tis tamn toohoe!’

George the Fourth, when Prince of Wales, meeting Mr. Colman at

a convivial party, composed of the first wits of the day, gaily

observed, that there were two George the Youngers in company.

‘But,’ continued his royal highness, ‘I should like to know who is

George the Youngest?’ ‘Oh!’ replied Colman, very happily, ‘I could

never have had the rudeness to come into the world before your

royal highness.’

Foote and Carrick were at a tavern together, at the time when the

gold coin was regulated. Foote taking out his purse to pay his

reckoning, asked Carrick what he should do with a light guinea.

‘Pshaw! it is worth nothing,’ said Carrick; ‘so fling it to the

devil.’ ‘Well, David,’ said Foote, ‘you are an ingenious fellow, as

I always thought you; ever contriving to make a guinea go _farther_

than any other man.’

One day Bannister was obliged to take shelter from the rain in a

comb-maker’s shop, in Holborn, where an old man was at work. ‘I am

sorry,’ said he, ‘that a person of your time of life should suffer

so much pain.’ ‘Pain! I have no pain, thank God!’ said the man.

‘Surely you must,’ said the wit, ‘are you not cutting your teeth?’

Coming into a coffee-house one stormy night, Bannister said, ‘I

never saw such a wind in my life.’ ‘Saw a wind,’ said a friend;

‘pray what was it like?’ ‘Like,’ answered Bannister, ‘like to have

blown my hat off.’

EPIGRAM.

‘Is my wife out of spirits,’ said Sir John, with a sigh;

(For he fear’d that a tempest was forming:)

‘Quite out, sir, indeed,’ said her maid in reply,

‘She finished the _brandy_ this morning.’

One day going to Holland House, by the Hammersmith stage, Rogers

was mortified to find that by the delay of the coachman he had

missed meeting with the noble proprietor. ‘Why, bless my heart,’

said he, looking at his watch, ‘you have been considerably more

than an hour bringing me here! What do you call your coach?’ ‘The

Regulator, Sir,’ said the man. ‘The Regulator!’ replied Rogers; ‘it

is a very proper title--for all the other stage coaches go _by_ it.’

A lady observing Mr. Jekyll directing some letters, one of which

was addressed to ‘Mr. ----, Solicitor;’ and another to ‘Mr. ----,

Attorney;’ inquired what was the difference between an attorney and

a solicitor. ‘Much the same, my dear Madam,’ replied the wit, ‘as

there is between a _crocodile_ and an _alligator_.’

POOR LAWS.--A man in the last stage of destitution, came before

the sitting Magistrate, at Lambeth Street, and stated that having

by the operation of the new Poor Laws, been suddenly deprived

of parish assistance, he was reduced to such extremity, that if

not instantly relieved he must be driven to do a deed that his

soul abhorred. The worthy Magistrate instantly ordered him five

shillings from the poor-box, and after a suitable admonition

against giving way to despair, asked him what dreadful deed he

would have been impelled to, but for this seasonable relief; ‘To

work,’ said the man with a deep sigh as he left the office.

SCOTCH FRUGALITY.--A commercial traveller having got a settlement

of his account with a shopkeeper in Falkirk, invited him to dinner

at the inn. ‘Na, na,’ said he, ‘I never gang to an inn; I’ll no

gang. But just tell me how muckle it would cost you gi’eing me my

dinner at the inn as ye ca’d?’ ‘Oh! never mind that,’ said the

traveller. ‘Aye, but I want to ken--just tell me,’ added he behind

the counter. ‘Oh,’ said the traveller, ‘perhaps six or seven

shillings.’ ‘Very weel, then,’ replied the curmudgeon, ‘just gi’e

me the seven shillings.’

A MAN OF FAMILY.--A decent highlander in Badenoch called lately

upon the minister of the parish, and making his bow, hoped ‘that

Mr ---- would look in at his house some day and christen _a few

bairns_ for him.’ ‘A few bairns!’ exclaimed the minister, ‘what

way is that to speak, Donald; how many have you got?’ ‘Why, sir,’

replied the other, ‘there were three when I left the house, but I

canna tell how many there may be since.’

BLESSINGS OF PRIMOGENITURE.--A countryman whose master had two

sons, being asked one day whether the youngest was married?

replied, ‘Yes.’ ‘Is the oldest married too? ‘Na,’ said the

sagacious servant, ‘ye ken he’s the young laird; he canna get a

wife till his father dies.’

A certain worthy divine from the north, who visits the general

assembly of the kirk of Scotland every year, has for time

immemorial taken up his annual abode in a certain tavern in

Edinburgh. This healthy mountaineer has an instinctive horror at

all deleterious mixtures in human food, whether solid or liquid;

and the reason he assigned for frequenting the above tavern was,

that he could always command the luxury of fresh eggs to breakfast.

These he always boiled himself, and would take none except he

found them hot from the nest. This year he appeared as usual,

like the bittern at her appointed time; but, unfortunately, he

laid his forepaw on a couple of plump eggs, but quite cold, and

apparently not laid yesterday. The man of the church waxed wroth,

and summoned the waiter. Betty assured him they were fresh, but

could not explain why they were cold. The landlady was next taken

to task, and threatened with the loss of a customer unless this

suspicious phenomenon was satisfactorily cleared up. ‘’Deed, sir,’

replied the hostess, ‘I am unco sorry for’t; but to tell Gude’s

truth, sir, I couldna get the cat to sit on them this morning.’

A SAILOR’S NOTION.--A Sailor, seeing some of our domestic

slave-traders driving coloured men, women, and children on board

a ship for New Orleans market, shook his head and said, ‘Jim, if

the devil don’t catch them fellows, we might as well not have any

devil.’

An American paper says--‘Travellers should be careful to intrust

their baggage to proper persons only, as a gentleman a few days

since, on alighting from a stage-coach, intrusted his wife to a

stranger, and she has not been heard of since.’

MONTAIGNE retained during the whole of his life an elderly female

in his service, who had been the nurse of his childhood, and to

whom he was in the habit of reading his compositions, on the

principle that if she could understand them everybody else must.

On one occasion the philosopher, whilst sipping his morning dish

of coffee, accosted her as follows:--‘Nurse, I have made a deep

discovery this morning.’ ‘Indeed,’ replied the old lady; ‘what is

that?’ ‘Why, nurse, you need not tell any one, but I have actually

found out what no one else could suspect.’ ‘And what is that, Sir.’

‘Why, that I am an old fool.’ ‘La! Sir! is that all?’ observed the

good woman; ‘if you had but asked me I could have told you that 20

years ago--I have seen it all along.’

THE BAGPIPER.--During the great plague of London, carts were sent

round the city each night, the drivers of which rung a bell, as

intimation for every house to bring out its dead. The bodies

were then thrown promiscuously into the cart, conveyed to the

suburbs, and buried. A piper had his constant stand at the bottom

of Holborn, near St Andrew’s Church. He became well known about

the neighbourhood. A certain gentleman, who never failed in his

generosity to the piper, was surprised, on passing one day as

usual, to miss him from his accustomed place:--upon inquiry, he

found that the poor man had been taken ill in consequence of a

very singular accident. On the joyful occasion of the arrival of

one of his countrymen from the Highlands, the piper had in fact

made too free with the contents of his keg; these so overpowered

his faculties, that he stretched himself out upon the steps of the

church, and fell fast asleep. He was found in this situation when

the dead cart went its rounds; and the carter, supposing that the

man was dead, made no scruple to put his fork under the piper’s

belt, and hoisted him into his vehicle, that our Scottish musician

should share the usual brief ceremonies of interment. The piper’s

faithful dog protested against this seizure of his master, jumped

into the cart after him, to the no small annoyance of the men,

whom he would not suffer to come near the body; he further took

upon himself the office of chief mourner, by setting up the most

lamentable howling as they passed along. The streets and roads by

which they had to go being very rough, the jolting of the cart,

added to the howling of the dog, had soon the effect of awakening

our drunken musician from his trance. It was dark; and the piper,

when he first recovered himself, could form no idea either of his

numerous companions, or his conductors. Instinctively, however, he

felt for his pipes, and playing up a merry Scottish tune, terrified

in no small measure the carters, who fancied they had got a legend

of ghosts in their conveyance. A little time, however, put all to

rights;--lights were got, and it turned out that the noisy corpse

was the well known living piper, who was joyfully released from his

awful and perilous situation. The poor man fell badly ill after

his unpleasant excursion, and was relieved during his malady by

his former benefactor, who, to perpetuate the remembrance of so

wonderful an escape, resolved, as soon as his patient recovered, to

employ a sculptor to execute him in stone. The statue represents a

bagpiper in a sitting posture, playing on his pipes.

PUFFING IN STYLE.--A few days ago a hawker, while cheapening his

haberdashery wares, was bawling out, ‘Here’s the real good napkins;

they’ll neither tear, wear, ruffle, nor rive; throw in the washing,

nor go back in the pressing. All the water between the rocks of

Gibralter and the Cape of Good Hope will not alter the colour of

them. They were woven seven miles below ground by the light of

diamonds; and the people never saw day-light but once in the seven

years. They were not woven by a brosy clumsy apprentice boy, but by

a right and tight good tradesman, who got two eggs, and a cup of

tea, and a glass of whisky to his breakfast; and every thread is

as long and strong as would hang a bull, or draw a man-of-war ship

into harbour.’

HIGHLAND SIMPLICITY.--A poor simple Highlander, who last week made

his appearance at Stirling shore and purchased a cart of lime,

met with an adventure sufficiently untoward. Donald had no sooner

got his cart well filled, than he turned his own and his horse’s

head to his own dear Highland hills. He had not, however, got far

beyond Stirling bridge, when a smart shower of rain came on. The

lime began to smoke. Donald, who was sitting on the front of his

cart, at first supposed it to be nothing but a whiff of mountain

mist, but at last becoming enveloped in the cloud, and no longer

able to see his way before him, he bethought him it was time to

cast a look behind, and was not a little amazed to discover that

the whole cause of the annoyance proceeded from his cart of lime.

It was on fire, but how was beyond his comprehension. He stopt

his horse and stood still, in hopes the rain would quench the

intruding element, but remarking no abatement, he next drove his

cart to a stream at a short distance, and taking his shovel, began

busily to throw water upon his smoking load. This speedily brought

Donald’s difficulties to a crisis, for his steed, unaccustomed to

the heat which threatened to deprive aim of his tail, began now

to exhibit symptoms of open rebellion. Besides, seeing that his

cart was in danger of being burnt to a cinder, and not knowing but

the horse might take it into his head to commence burning too, he

was resolved the bewitched load and ‘the puir beast and braw bit

cart’, should instantly be disunited. He accordingly unyoked the

impatient animal, and immediately buried the smoking lime in the

stream, triumphantly exclaiming as the hissing mass yielded to the

overpowering element, ‘the deil’s in her if she’ll burn noo.’

THE

COMICAL SAYINGS

PADDY FROM CORK,

WITH HIS

Coat Buttoned Behind.

BEING AN ELEGANT CONFERENCE BETWEEN

ENGLISH TOM AND IRISH TEAGUE;

WITH PADDY’S CATECHISM,

And his Supplication when a Mountain Sailor.

[Illustration]

GLASGOW:

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

COMICAL SAYINGS

PADDY FROM CORK.

PART I.

_Tom._ Good morrow, Sir, this is a very cold day.

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, yesternight was a very cold morning.

_Tom._ Well brother traveller of what nation art thou?

_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I came from my own kingdom.

_Tom._ Why, I know that, but where is thy kingdom?

_Teag._ Allelieu dear honey, don’t you know Cork is in Ireland?

_Tom._ You fool, Cork is not a kingdom but a city.

_Teag._ Then dear shoy, I’m sure it is in a kingdom.

_Tom._ And what is the reason you have come and left your own dear

country?

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, by shaint Patrick, they have got such

comical laws in our country, that they will put a man to death in

perfect health; so to be free and plain with you, neighbour, I

was obliged to come away, for I did not choose to stay among such

a people that can hang a poor man when they please, if he either

steals, robs, or kills a man.

_Tom._ Ay, but I take you to be more of an honest man, than to

steal, rob, or kill a man.

_Teag._ Honest, I am perfectly honest, when I was but a child, my

mother would have trusted me with a house full of mill-stones.

_Tom._ What was the matter, was you guilty of nothing?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I did harm to nobody, but fancied an old

gentleman’s gun, and afterwards made it my own.

_Tom._ Very well boy, and did you keep it so?

_Teag._ Keep it, I would have kept it with all my heart while I

lived, death itself could not have parted us, but the old rogue,

the gentleman, being a justice of peace himself, had me tried for

the rights of it, and how I came by it, and so took it again.

_Tom._ And how did you clear yourself without punishment?

_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I told him a parcel of lies, but they would

not believe me; for I said that I got it from my father when it was

a little pistol, and I had kept it till it had grown a gun, and

was designed to use it well until it had grown a big cannon, and

then sell it to the military. They all fell a laughing at me as I

had been a fool, and bade me go home to my mother and clean the

potatoes.

_Tom._ How long is it since you left your own country?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I do not mind whether it be a fortnight

or four months, but I think myself, it is a long time; they tell me

my mother is dead since, but I wont believe it until I get a letter

from her own hand, for she is a very good scholar, suppose she can

neither write nor read.

_Tom._ Was you ever in England before?

_Teag._ Ay, that I was, and in Scotland too.

_Tom._ And were they kind to you when you was in Scotland?

_Teag._ They were that kind that they kick’t my arse for me, and

the reason was because I would not pay the whole of the liquor that

was drunk in the company, though the landlord and his two sons

got mouthful about of it all, and I told them it was a trick upon

travellers, first to drink his liquor, and then to kick him out of

doors.

_Tom._ I really think they have used you badly, but could you not

beat them?

_Teag._ That’s what I did, beat them all to their own contentment,

but there was one of them stronger than me, who would have killed

me, if the other two had not pulled me away, and I had to run for

it, till his passion was over, then they made us drink and gree

again; we shook hands, and made a bargain, never to harm other

more; but this bargain did not last long, for, as I was kissing his

mouth, by shaint Patrick, I bit his nose, which caused him to beat

me very sore for my pains.

_Tom._ Well Paddy, what calling was you when in Scotland?

_Teag._ Why sir, I was no business at all, but what do you call the

green tree that’s like a whin bush, people makes a thing to sweep

the house of it!

_Tom._ O yes, Paddy, they call it the broom.

_Teag._ Ay, ay, you have it, I was a gentleman’s broom, only waited

on his horses, and washed the dishes for the cook: and when my

master rode a hunting, I went behind with the dogs.

_Tom._ O yes, Paddy, it was the groom you mean. But I fancy you was

cook’s mate, or kitchen boy.

_Teag._ No, no, it was the broom that I was, and if I had staid

there till now, I might have been advanced as high as my master,

for the ladies loved me so well, that they laughed at me.

_Tom._ They might admire you for a fool.

_Teag._ What sir, do you imagine that I am not a fool? no, no, my

master asked counsel of me in all his matters, and I always give

him a reason for every thing: I told him one morning, that he went

too soon to the hunting, that the hares were not got out of their

beds, and neither the barking of horns, nor the blowing of dogs

could make them rise, it was such a cold morning that night; so

they all ran away that we catched, when we did not see them. Then

my master told my words to several gentlemen that were at dinner

with him, and they admired me for want of judgment, for my head

was all of a lump: adding, they were going a-fishing along with my

master and me in the afternoon; but I told them that it was a very

unhappy thing for any man to go a hunting in the morning, and a

fishing in the afternoon; they would try it, but they had better

staid at home, for it came on a most terrible fine night of south

west rain, and even down wind; so the fishes got all below the

water to keep themselves dry from the shower, and we catched them

all but got none.

_Tom._ How long did you serve that gentleman, Paddy?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was with him six weeks, and he beat me

seven times.

_Tom._ For what did he beat you? was it for your madness and

foolish tricks?

_Teag._ Dear shoy, it was not; but for being too inquisitive, and

going sharply about business. First, he sent me to the post-office

to enquire if there were any letters for him; so when I came there,

said I, is there any letters here for my master to-day? Then they

asked who was my master; sir, said I, it is very bad manners in

you to ask any gentleman’s name; at this they laughed, mocking me,

and said they could give me none, if I would not tell my master’s

name; so I returned to my master and told him the impudence of the

fellow, who would give me no letters unless I would tell him your

name, master. My master at this flew in a passion, and kicked me

down stairs, saying, go you rogue, and tell my name directly, how

can the gentleman give letters when he knows not who is asking

for them. Then I returned and told my master’s name, so they told

me there was one for him. I looked at it, being very small, and

asking the price of it, they told me it was sixpence: sixpence,

said I, will you take sixpence for that small thing, and selling

bigger ones for twopence; faith I am not such a big fool; you think

to cheat me now, this is not a conscionable way of dealing, I’ll

acquaint my master with it first; so I came and told my master how

they would have sixpence for his letter, and was selling bigger

ones for twopence; he took up my head and broke his cane with it,

calling me a thousand fools, saying, the man was more just than to

take any thing but the right for it; but I was sure there was none

of them right, buying and selling such dear penny-worths. So I came

again for my dear sixpence letter; and as the fellow wus shuffling

through a parcel of them, seeking for it again, to make the best

of a dear market, I pict up two, and home I comes to my master,

thinking he would be pleased with what I had done; now, said I,

master, I think I have put a trick upon them fellows, for selling

the letter to you. What have you done? I have only taken other two

letters: here’s one for you master, to help your dear penny-worth,

and I’ll send the other to my mother to see whether she be dead or

alive, for she’s always angry I don’t write to her. I had not the

word well spoken, till he got up his stick and beat me heartily

for it, and sent me back to the fellows again with the two. I had

a very ill will to go, but nobody would buy them of me.

_Tom._ Well, Paddy, I think you was to blame, and your master too,

for he ought to have taught you how to go about these affairs, and

not beat you so.

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, I had too much wit of my own to be teached

by him, or any body else; he began to instruct me after that how I

should serve the table, and such nasty things as those: one night

I took ben a roasted fish in one hand, and a piece of bread in the

other; the old gentleman was so saucy he would not take it, and

told me I should bring nothing to him without a trencher below it.

The same night as he was going to bed, he called for his slippers

and pish-pot, so I clapt a trencher below the pish-pot, and another

below the slippers, and ben I goes, one in every hand; no sooner

did I enter the room than he threw the pish-pot at me, which broke

both my head and the pish-pot at one blow; now, said I, the devil

is in my master altogether, for what he commands at one time he

countermands at another. Next day I went with him to the market to

buy a sack of potatoes, I went to the potatoe-monger, and asked

what he took for the full of a Scot’s cog, he weighed them in, he

asked no less than fourpence; fourpence, said I, if I were but in

Dublin, I could got the double of that for nothing, and in Cork and

Linsale far cheaper; them is but small things like pease, said I,

but the potatoes in my country is as big as your head, fine meat,

all made up in blessed mouthfuls; the potatoe-merchant called me

a liar, and my master called me a fool, so the one fell a-kicking

me, and the other a cuffing me, I was in such bad bread among them,

that I called myself both a liar and a fool to get off alive.

_Tom._ And how did you carry your potatoes home from the market.

_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I carried the horse and them both, besides

a big loaf, and two bottles of wine; for I put the old horse on my

back, and drove the potatoes before me, and when I tied the load to

the loaf, I had nothing to do but to carry the bottle in my hand:

but bad luck to the way as I came home, for a nail out of the heal

of my foot sprung a leak in my brogue, which pricked the very bone,

bruised the skin, and made my brogue itself to blood, and I having

no hammer by me, but a hatchet I left at home, I had to beat down

the nail with the bottom of the bottle: and by the book, dear shoy,

it broke to pieces, and scattered the wine in my mouth.

_Tom._ And how did you recompense your master for the loss of the

bottle of wine?

_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I had a mind to cheat him and myself too,

for I took the bottle to a blacksmith, and desired him to mend it

that I might go to the butcher and get it full of bloody water, but

he told me he could not work in any thing but steel and iron. Arra,

said I, if I were in my own kingdom, I could get a blacksmith who

would make a bottle out of a stone, and a stone out of nothing.

_Tom._ And how did you trick your master out of it?

_Teag._ Why the old rogue began to chide me, asking me what way

I broke it, then I held up the other as high as my head, and let

it fall to the ground on a stone, which broke it all in pieces

likewise: now said I, master, that’s the way, and he beat me very

heartily until I had to shout out mercy and murder all at once.

_Tom._ Why did you not leave him when he used you so badly.

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I could never think to leave him while I

could eat, he gave me so many good victuals, and promised to prefer

me to be his own bone-picker. But by shaint Patrick, I had to run

away with my life or all was done, else I had lost my dear shoul

and body too by him, and then come home much poorer than I went

away. The great big bitch dog, which was my master’s best beloved,

put his head into a pitcher, to lick out some milk, and when it

was in he could not get it out; and I to save the pitcher got the

hatchet and cut off the dog’s head, and then I had to break the

pitcher to get out the head; by this I lost both the dog and the

pitcher. My master hearing of this swore he would cut the head off

me, for the poor dog was made useless, and could not see to follow

any body for want of his eyes. And when I heard of this, I ran

away with my own head, for if I had wanted it I had lost my eyes

too, then I would not have seen the road to Port Patrick, through

Glen-nap; but by shaint Patrick I came home alive in spite of them.

_Tom._ O rarely done, Paddy, you behaved like a man! but what is

the reason that you Irish people swear always by saint Patrick?

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, he was the best shaint in the world, the

father of all good people in the kingdom, he has a great kindness

for an Irishman, when he hears him calling on his name.

_Tom._ But, Paddy, is saint Patrick yet alive?

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, I don’t know whether he be dead or alive,

but it is a long time since they killed him; the people all turned

heathens, but he would not change his profession, and was going to

run the country with it, and for taking the gospel away to England,

so the barbarous tories of Dublin cutted off his head; and he

swimmed over to England, and carried his head in his teeth.

PART II.

_Tom._ How did you get safe out of Scotland?

_Teag._ By the law dear honey, when I came to Port Patrick, and saw

my own kingdom, I knew I was safe at home, but I was clean dead,

and almost drowned before I could get riding over the water; for I

with nine passengers more, leapt into a little young boat, having

but four men dwelling in a little house, in the one end of it,

which was all thacked with deals: and after they had pulled up her

tether-stick, and laid her long halter over her mane, they pulled

up a long sheet, like three pair of blankets, to the riggen of the

house, and the wind blew in that, which made her gallop up one hill

and down another, till I thought she would have run to the world’s

end.

_Tom._ Well Paddy, and where did you go when you came to Ireland

again?

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, and where did I go but to my own dear

cousin, who was now become very rich by the death of the old buck

his father; who died but a few weeks before I went over, and the

parish had to bury him out of pity, it did not cost him a farthing.

_Tom._ And what entertainment did you get there?

_Teag._ O my dear shoy, I was kindly used as another gentleman,

and would have staid there long enough, but when a man is poor

his friends think little of him: I told him I was going to see my

brother Harry: Harry, said he, Harry is dead; dead said I, and who

killed him? Why, said he, death: Allelieu, dear honey, and where

did he kill him? said I. In his bed, says he. Arra dear honey, said

I, if he had been upon Newry mountains with his brogues on, and his

broad sword by his side, all the death’s in Ireland had not have

killed him: O that impudent fellow death, if he had let him alone

till he died for want of butter milk and potatoes, I am sure he had

lived all the days of his life.

_Tom._ In all your travels when abroad, did you never see none of

your countrymen to inform you of what happened at home concerning

your relations?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I saw none but Tom Jack, one day in the

street; but when I came to him, it was not him, but one just like

him.

_Tom._ On what account did you go a travelling?

_Teag._ Why a recruiting sergeant listed me to be a captain, and

after all advanced me no higher than a soldier itself, but only he

called me his dear countryman recruit; for I did not know what the

regiment was when I saw them. I thought they were all gentlemen’s

sons, and collegioners, when I saw a box like a bible upon their

bellies; until I saw G for King George upon it, and R for God bless

him: ho, ho, said I, I shan’t be long here.

_Tom._ O then Paddy you deserted from them?

_Teag._ That’s what I did, and ran to the mountains like a buck,

and ever since when I see any soldiers I close my eyes, lest they

should look and know me.

_Tom._ And what exploits did you when you was a soldier?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I killed a man.

_Tom._ And how did you do that?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, when he dropt his sword I drew mine, and

advanced boldly to him, and then cutted off his foot.

_Tom._ O then what a big fool was you; for you ought first to have

cut off his head.

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, his head was cutted off before I engaged

him, else I had not done it.

_Tom._ O then Paddy you acted like a fool: but you are not such a

big fool as many take you to be, you might pass for a philosopher.

_Teag._ A fulusipher, my father was a fulusipher, besides he was a

man under great authority by law, condemning the just and clearing

the guilty. Do you know how they call the horse’s mother?

_Tom._ Why they call her a mare.

_Teag._ A mare, ay, very well minded, my father was a mare in Cork.

_Tom._ And what riches was left you by the death of your mother?

_Teag._ A bad luck to her own barren belly, for she lived in great

plenty, and died in great poverty; devoured up all or she died but

two hens, and a pockful of potatoes, a poor estate for an Irish

gentleman, in faith.

_Tom._ And what did you make of the hens, and potatoes, did you sow

them?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I sowed them in my belly, and sold the

hens to a cadger.

_Tom._ What business did your mother follow after?

_Teag._ Greatly in the merchant way.

_Tom._ And what sort of goods did she deal in?

_Teag._ Dear honey, she went through the country and sold small

fishes, onions and apples, bought hens and eggs and then hatched

them herself. I remember of a long-necked cock she had, of an

oversea brood, that stood on the midden and picked all the stars

out of the north-west, so they were never so thick there since.

_Tom._ Now Paddy, that’s a bull surpasses all: but is there none of

that cock’s offspring alive now.

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I don’t think there are, but it is a pity

but they had, for they would fly with people above the sea, which

would put the use of ships out of fashion, and nobody be drowned at

all.

_Tom._ Very well Paddy, but in all your travels did you ever get a

wife?

_Teag._ Ay, that’s what I did, and a wicked wife too, and my dear

shoy, I can’t tell whether she is gone to Purgatory, or the parish

of Pig-trantrum; for she told me she should certainly die the first

opportunity she could get, as this present evil world was not worth

the waiting on, so she would go and see what good things is in

the world to come; so when that old rover called the Fever came

raging over the whole kingdom, she went away and died out of spite,

leaving me nothing.

_Tom._ O but Paddy, you ought to have gone to a doctor, and got

some pills and physic for her.

_Teag._ By shaint Patrick, I had as good a pill of my own as any

doctor in the kingdom could give her.

_Tom._ O you fool, that is not what I mean; you ought to have

brought the doctor to feel her pulse, and let blood of her if he

thought it needful.

_Teag._ Yes that’s what I did, for I ran to the doctor whenever

she died, and sought something for a dead or dying woman; the old

foolish devil was at his dinner, and began to ask me some dirty

questions, which I answered distinctly.

_Tom._ And what did he ask Paddy?

_Teag._ Why, he asked me, How did my wife go to stool? to which I

answered, the same way that other people go to a chair: no, said

he, that’s not what I mean, how does she purge? Arra, Mr. Doctor,

said I, all the fire in Purgatory wont purge her clean; for she has

both a cold and stinking breath. Sir, said he, that is not what I

ask you; whether does she shit thick or thin? Arra, Mr. Doctor,

said I, it is sometimes so thick and hard, that you may take it

in your hand, and cut it like a piece of cheese, or pudding, and

at other times you may drink it, or sup it with a spoon. At this

he flew into a most terrible rage, and kicked me down stairs, and

would give me nothing to her, but called me a dirty vagabond for

speaking of shit before ladies.

_Tom._ And in what good order did you bury your wife when she died.

_Teag._ O my dear shoy she was buried in all manner of pomp,

pride, and splendour: a fine coffin with cords in it, and within

the coffin along with herself, she got a pair of new brogues, a

penny candle, a good hard-headed old hammer, with an Irish sixpenny

piece, to pay her passage at the gate, and what more could she look

for.

_Tom._ I really think you gave her enough along with her, but you

ought to have cried for her, if it was no more but to be in the

fashion.

_Teag._ And why should I cry without sorrow? when we hired two

criers to cry all the way before her to keep her in the fashion.

_Tom._ And what do they cry before a dead woman?

_Teag._ Why they cry the common cry, or funeral lament that is used

in our Irish country.

_Tom._ And what manner of cry is that Paddy?

_Teag._ Dear Tom, if you don’t know I’ll tell you, when my person

dies, there is a number of criers goes before, saying, Luff, fuff,

fou, allelieu, dear honey, what aileth thee to die! it was not for

want of good buttermilk and potatoes.

PART III.

_Tom._ Well Paddy, and what did you do when your wife died?

_Teag._ Dear honey, what would I do? do you think I was such a big

fool as to die too, I am sure if I had I would not have got fair

play when I am not so old yet as my father was when he died.

_Tom._ No, Paddy, it is not that I mean, was you sorry, or did you

weep for her?

_Teag._ Weep for her, by shaint Patrick I would not weep, nor yet

be sorry, suppose my own mother and all the women in Ireland had

died seven years before I was born.

_Tom._ What did you do with your children when she died?

_Teag._ Do you imagine I was such a big fool as bury my children

alive along with a dead woman; Arra, dear honey, we always commonly

give nothing along with a dead person, but an old shirt, a winding

sheet, a big hammer, with a long candle, and an Irish silver

three-penny piece?

_Tom._ Dear Paddy, and what do they make of all these things?

_Teag._ Then Tom, since you are so inquisitive, you must go ask the

Priest.

_Tom._ What did you make of your children Paddy?

_Teag._ And what should I make of them, do you imagine that I

should give them into the hands of the butchers, as they had been a

parcel of young hogs: by shaint Patrick I had more unnaturality in

me, than to put them in an hospital as others do.

_Tom._ No, I suppose you would leave them with your friends?

_Teag._ Ay, ay, a poor man’s friends is sometimes worse than a

profest enemy, the best friend I ever had in the world was my own

pocket while my money lasted; but I left two babes between the

priest’s door and the parish church, because I thought it was a

place of mercy, and then set out for England in quest of another

fortune.

_Tom._ I fancy, Paddy, you came off with what they call a

moon-shine flitting.

_Teag._ You lie like a thief now, for I did not see sun, moon, nor

stars, all the night then: for I set out from Cork at the dawn of

night, and I had travelled twenty miles all but twelve, before

gloaming in the morning.

_Tom._ And where did you go to take shipping?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I came to a country village called

Dublin, as big a city as any market-town in all England, where I

got myself aboard of a little young boat, with a parcel of fellows,

and a long leather bag. I supposed them to be tinklers, until I

asked what they carried in that leather sack; they told me it was

the English mail they were going over with; then said I, is the

milns so scant in England, that they must send over their corn to

Ireland to grind it, the comical cunning fellows persuaded me it

was so: then I went down to a little house below the water, hard

by the rigg-back of the boat, and laid me down on their leather

sack, where I slept myself almost to death with hunger. And dear

Tom to tell you plainly when I waked I did not know where I was,

but thought I was dead and buried, for I found nothing all round me

but wooden walls and timber above.

_Tom._ And how did you come to yourself to know where you was at

last?

_Teag._ By the law, dear shoy, I scratched my head in a hundred

parts, and then set me down to think upon it, so I minded it was my

wife that was dead and not me, and that I was alive in the young

boat, with the fellows that carries over the English meal from the

Irish milns.

_Tom._ O then Paddy, I am sure you was glad when you found yourself

alive?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was very sure I was alive, but I did not

think to live long, so I thought it was better for me to steal and

be hanged, than to live all my days and die directly with hunger at

last.

_Tom._ Had you no meat nor money along with you?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I gave all the money to the captain of

the house, or gudeman of the ship, to take me into the sea or over

to England, and when I was like to eat my old brogues for want of

victuals I drew my hanger and cut the lock of the leather sack to

get a lick of their meal; but allelieu, dear shoy, I found neither

meal nor seeds, but a parcel of papers and letters--a poor morsel

for a hungry man.

_Tom._ O then Paddy you laid down your honesty for nothing.

_Teag._ Ay, ay, I was a great thief but got nothing to steal.

_Tom._ And how did you get victuals at last?

_Teag._ Allelieu, dear honey, the thoughts of meat and drink, death

and life, and every thing else was out of mind, I had not a thought

but one.

_Tom._ And what was that Paddy?

_Teag._ To go down among the fishes and become a whale; then I

would have lived at ease all my days, having nothing to do but to

drink salt water, and eat caller oysters.

_Tom._ What was you like to be drowned again?

_Teag._ Ay, ay, drowned, as cleanly drowned as a fish, for the sea

blew very loud, and the wind ran so high, that we were all cast

safe on shore, and not one of us drowned at all.

_Tom._ Where did you go when you came on shore?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was not able to go any where, you might

cast a knot on my belly, I was so hollow in the middle, so I went

into a gentleman’s house and told him the bad fortune I had of

being drowned between Ireland and the foot of his garden; where we

came all safe ashore. But all the comfort I got from him was a word

of truth.

_Tom._ And what was that Paddy?

_Teag._ Why he told me, if I had been a good boy at home, I needed

not to have gone so far to push my fortune with an empty pocket; to

which I answered, and what magnifies that, as long as I am a good

workman at no trade at all.

_Tom._ I suppose, Paddy, the gentleman would make you dine with him?

_Teag._ I really thought I was, when I saw them roasting and

skinning so many black chickens which was nothing but a few dead

crows they were going to eat; ho, ho, said I, them is but dry meat

at the best, of all the fowls that flee, commend me to the wing of

an ox: but all that came to my share was a piece of boiled herring

and a roasted potatoe, that was the first bit of bread I ever eat

in England.

_Tom._ Well, Paddy, what business did you follow after in England

when you was so poor.

_Teag._ What sir, do you imagine I was poor when I came over on

such an honourable occasion as to list, and bring myself to no

preferment at all. As I was an able bodied man in the face, I

thought to be made a brigadeer, a grandedeer, or a fuzeleer, or

even one of them blew gowns that holds the flerry stick to the

bung-hole of the big cannons, when they let them off, to fright

away the French; I was as sure as no man alive ere I came from

Cork, the least preferment I could get, was to be riding-master to

a regiment of marines, or one of the black horse itself.

_Tom._ And where in England was it you listed?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was going through that little country

village, the famous city of Chester, the streets were very sore by

reason of the hardness of my feet, and lameness of my brogues, so

I went but very slowly across the streets, from port to port is

a pretty long way, but I being weary thought nothing of it; then

the people came all crowding to me as I had been a world’s wonder,

or the wandering jew; for the rain blew in my face, and the wind

wetted all my belly, which caused me to turn the backside of my

coat before, and my buttons behind, which was a good safeguard to

my body, and the starvation of my naked body, for I had not a good

shirt.

_Tom._ I am sure then, Paddy, they would take you for a fool?

_Teag._ No, no, sir, they admired me for my wisdom, for I always

turned my buttons before, when the wind blew behind, but I wondered

how the people knew my name and where I came from: for every one

told another, that was Paddy from Cork: I suppose they knew my face

by seeing my name in the newspapers.

_Tom._ Well, Paddy, what business did you follow in Chester?

_Teag._ To be sure I was not idle, working at nothing at all, till

a decruiting seargeant came to town with two or three fellows along

with him, one beating on a fiddle, and another playing on a drum,

tossing their airs thro’ the streets, as if they were going to be

married. I saw them courting none but young men; so to bring myself

to no preferment at all, I listed for a soldier,--I was too big for

a grandedeer.

_Tom._ What listing money did you get, Paddy?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I got five thirteens and a pair of English

brogues; the guinea and the rest of the gold was sent to London, to

the King, my master, to buy me new shirts, a cockade, and common

treasing for my hat, they made me swear the malicious oath of

devilrie against the King, the colours, and my captain, telling me

if ever I desert, and not run away, that I should be shot, and then

whipt to death through the regiment.

_Tom._ No Paddy: it is first whipt and then shot you mean.

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, it is all one thing at last, but it is

best to be shot and then whipt, the cleverest way to die I’ll

warrant you.

_Tom._ How much pay did you get, Paddy?

_Teag._ Do you know the little tall fat seargeant that feed me to

be a soldier?

_Tom._ And how should I know them I never saw you fool.

_Teag._ Dear shoy, you may know him whether you see him or not,

his face is all bored in holes with the small pox, his nose is the

colour of a lobster-toe, and his chin like a well washen potatoe,

he’s the biggest rogue in our kingdom, you’ll know him when you

meet him again: the rogue height me sixpence a day, kill or no

kill: and when I laid Sunday and Saturday both together, and all

the days in one day, I can’t make a penny above fivepence of it.

_Tom._ You should have kept an account, and asked your arrears once

a month.

_Teag._ That’s what I did, but he reads a paternoster out of his

prayer book, wherein all our names are written; so much for a

stop-hold to my gun, to bucklers, to a pair of comical harn-hose,

with leather buttons from top to toe; and worst of all, he would

have no less than a penny a week, to a doctor; arra, said I, I

never had a sore finger, nor yet a sick toe, all the days of my

life, then what have I to do with the doctor, or the doctor to do

with me.

_Tom._ And did he make you pay all these things?

_Teag._ Ay, ay, pay and better pay: he took me before his captain,

who made me pay all was in his book. Arra, master captain, said I,

you are a comical sort of a fellow now, you might as well make me

pay for my coffin before I be dead, as to pay for a doctor before

I be sick; to which he answered in a passion, sir, said he, I have

seen many a better man buried without a coffin; sir, said I, then

I’ll have a coffin, die when I will, if there be as much wood in

all the world, or I shall not be buried at all. Then he called for

the sergeant, saying, you sir, go and buy that man’s coffin, and

put it in the store till he die, and stop sixpence a week of his

pay for it: No, no, sir, said I, I’ll rather die without a coffin,

and seek none when I’m dead, but if you are for clipping another

sixpence off my pay, keep it all to yourself, and I’ll swear all

your oaths of agreement we had back again, and then seek soldiers

where you will.

_Tom._ O then Paddy, how did you end the matter?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, by the nights of shaint Patrick and help

of my brogues, I both ended it, and mended it, for the next night

before that, I gave them leg bail for my fidelity, and went about

the country a fortune-teller, dumb and deaf as I was not.

_Tom._ How old was you Paddy when you was a soldier last?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was three dozen all but two, and it

is only two years since, so I want only four years of three dozen

yet, and when I live six dozen more, I’ll be older than I am, I’ll

warrant you.

_Tom._ O but Paddy, by your account, you are three dozen of years

old already.

_Teag._ O what for a big fool are you now Tom, when you count the

years I lay sick; which time I count no time at all.

A NEW CATECHISM, &c.

_Tom._ Of all the opinions professed in religion tell me now,

Paddy, of what profession art thou?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, my religion was too weighty a matter

to carry out of mine own country: I was afraid that you English

Presbyterians should pluck it away from me.

_Tom._ What, Paddy, was your religion such a load that you could

not carry it along with you?

_Teag._ Yes, that it was, but I carried it always about with me

when at home my sweet cross upon my dear breast, bound to my dear

button hole.

_Tom._ And what manner of worship did you perform by that?

_Teag._ Why I adored the cross, the pope, and the priest, cursed

Oliver as black as crow, and swears myself a cut throat against all

Protestants and church of Englandmen.

_Tom._ And what is the matter but you would be a church of

Englandman, or a Scotch Presbyterian yourself, Paddy?

_Teag._ Because it is unnatural for an Irishman: but had shaint

Patrick been a Presbyterian, I had been the same.

_Tom._ And for what reason would you be a Presbyterian then, Paddy?

_Teag._ Because they have liberty to eat flesh in lent, and every

thing that’s fit for the belly.

_Tom._ What, Paddy, are you such a lover of flesh that you would

change your profession for it?

_Teag._ O yes, that’s what I would, I love flesh of all kinds,

sheep’s beef, swine’s mutton, hare’s flesh, and hen’s venison;

but our religion is one of the hungriest in all the world, ah!

but it makes my teeth to weep, and my belly to water, when I see

the Scotch Presbyterians, and English churchmen, in time of lent,

feeding upon bulls’ bastards, and sheep’s young children.

_Tom._ Why Paddy, do you say the bull is a fornicator and gets

bastards?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I never saw the cow and her husband all

the days of my life, nor before I was born, going to the church

to be married, and what then can his sons and daughters be but

bastards?

_Tom._ What reward will you get when you are dead, for punishing

your belly so while you are alive?

_Teag._ By shaint Patrick I’ll live like a king when I’m dead, for

I will neither pay for meat nor drink.

_Tom._ What, Paddy, do you think that you are to come alive again

when you are dead?

_Teag._ O yes, we that are true Roman Catholics will live a long

time after we are dead; when we die in love with the Priests, and

the good people of our profession.

_Tom._ And what assurance can your priest give you of that?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, our priest is a great shaint, a good

shoul, who can repeat a pater-noster and Ave Maria, which will

fright the very horned devil himself, and make him run for it,

until he be like to fall and break his neck.

_Tom._ And what does he give you when you are dying that makes you

come alive again?

_Teag._ Why he writes a letter upon our tongues, sealed with a

wafer, gives us a sacrament in our mouth, with a pardon, and

direction in our right hand, who to call for at the ports of

Purgatory.

_Tom._ And what money design you to give the priest for your pardon?

_Teag._ Dear shoy I wish I had first the money he would take for

it, I would rather drink it myself, and then give him both my bill

and my honest word, payable in the other world.

_Tom._ And how then are you to get a passage to the other world, or

who is to carry you there?

_Teag._ O my dear shoy, Tom, you know nothing of the matter: for

when I die, they will bury my body, flesh, blood, dirt, and bones,

only my skin will be blown up full of wind and spirit, my dear

shoul I mean; and then I will be blown over to the other world on

the wings of the wind; and after that I’ll never be killed, hanged

nor drowned, nor yet die in my bed, for when any hits me a blow, my

new body will play buff upon it like a bladder.

_Tom._ But what way will you go to the new world, or where is it?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, the priest knows where it is but I do

not, but the Pope of Rome keeps the outer-port, shaint Patrick the

inner-port, and gives us a direction of the way to shaint Patrick’s

palace, which stands on the head of the Stalian loch, where I’ll

have no more to do but chap at the gate.

_Tom._ What is the need for chapping at the gate, is it not always

open?

_Teag._ Dear shoy, you know little about it, for there is none can

enter but red hot Irishmen, for when I call Allelieu, dear honey,

shaint Patrick countenance your own dear countryman if you will,

then the gates will be opened directly for me, for he knows and

loves an Irishman’s voice, as he loves his own heart.

_Tom._ And what entertainment will you get when you are in?

_Teag._ O my dear, we are all kept there untill a general review,

which is commonly once in the week; and then we are drawn up like

as many young recruits, and all the blackguard scoundrels is pict

out of the ranks, and one half of them is sent away to the Elysian

fields, to curry the weeds from among the potatoes, the other half

of them to the River sticks, to catch fishes for shaint Patricks

table, and them that is owing the priests any money is put in the

black-hole, and then given to the hands of a great black bitch of

a devil, which is keeped for a hangman, who whips them up and down

the smoky dungeon every morning for six months.

_Tom._ Well Paddy, are you to do as much justice to a Protestant as

a Papist?

_Teag._ O my dear shoy, the most justice we are commanded to do

a Protestant, is to whip and torment them until they confess

themselves in the Romish faith; and then cut their throats that

they may die believers.

_Tom._ What business do you follow after at present?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I am a mountain sailor and my supplication

is as follows.

PADDY’S HUMBLE PETITION, OR SUPPLICATION.

Good Christian people, behold me a man! who has com’d through a

world of wonders, a hell full of hardships, dangers by sea, and

dangers by land, and yet I am alive; you may see my hand crooked

like a fowl’s foot, and that is no wonder at all considering my

sufferings and sorrows. Oh! oh! oh! good people. I was a man in my

time who had plenty of the gold, plenty of the silver, plenty of

the clothes, plenty of the butter, the beer, beef, and biscuit. And

now I have nothing: being taken by the Turks and relieved by the

Spaniards, lay sixty-six days at the siege of Gibralter, and got

nothing to eat but sea wreck and raw mussels; put to sea for our

safety, cast upon the Barbarian coast, among the wicked Algerines,

where we were taken and tied with tugs and tadders, horse-locks,

and cow-chains: then cut and castrate yard and testicle quite away,

put in your hand and feel how every female’s made smooth by the

sheer bone, where nothing is to be seen but what is natural. Then

made our escape to the desart wild wilderness of Arabia; where we

lived among the wild asses, upon wind, sand, and sapless ling.

Afterwards put to sea in the hull of an old house, where we were

tossed above and below the clouds, being driven through thickets

and groves by fierce, coarse, calm, and contrary winds: at last,

was cast upon Salisbury plains, where our vessel was dashed to

pieces against a cabbage stock. And now my humble petition to you,

good Christian people is, for one hundred of your beef, one hundred

of your butter, another of your cheese, a cask of your biscuit, a

tun of your beer, a keg of your rum, with a pipe of your wine, a

lump of your gold, a piece of your silver, a few of your half-pence

or farthings, a waught of your butter-milk, a pair of your old

breeches, stockings, or shoes, even a chaw of tobacco for charity’s

sake.

FUN UPON FUN:

LEPER,

THE TAILOR.

IN TWO PARTS,

WITH A

Selection of Entertaining Anecdotes.

[Illustration]

GLASGOW:

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

THE MERRY TRICKS

LEPER THE TAILOR.

Leper’s father lived in a village about six miles from Glasgow,

and died when he was but very young; he left a widow and three

children, two daughters and a son; Leper being the youngest, was

greatly idolized by his mother, who was a good soft-natured woman,

very industrious, and followed the bleaching of cloth.

As Leper grew up he grew a very mischievous boy, playing many

tricks on the neighbourhood, such as tying cats to dogs tails,

breaking hens legs, stopping peoples lums, or chimney-tops; so that

his poor mother was sadly vexed with complaints against him.

To get him kept from mischief, she prevailed with a Tailor to take

him an apprentice; he settled, and was very peaceable for some

time, until he got as much of his trade on his finger ends as he

might pass for a journeyman, and then he was indifferent whether he

staid with his master or not; his mistress gave him but very little

meat when he wrought at home, so he liked best to be in other

houses, where he got meat and diversion.

Leper being resolved on revenge against his mistress for her thin

kail, no kitchen, and little bread; for though flesh was boiled in

the pot none for poor Leper and his master, but a little bit on

Sundays, and all the bones were kept and put in the pot, to make

the broth through the week. Leper perceived always when she took

of the pot, she turned her back and took out the flesh, and set it

on a shelf in her own bed-room; one night after work, he steals

out a pan, cuts a piece of flesh out of a dead horse, and then

goes to a lime kiln, and boils it; next day his master being from

home, his landlady and him being in the house, after she had set

of the pot as usual, and taken out her bit of good beef, he goes

out for some time and then comes in, saying, the minister’s lass is

wishing to see you, to go directly and speak to her mistress. Off

she goes in all haste, Leper runs and takes away her bits of good

meat, and lays down his horse flesh; and knowing she would return

in a passion, and sit down with a soss in her cushion chair, as

she used, he takes a large pin, and staps it straight through the

cushion with its head on the chair and the point to her backside.

So in she comes in a rage, and down she sits with all her weight

on the pin point, and she roars out murder! murder! for she was

sticket in the a--e: the neighbours came running in, and Leper

went out with his bit of good beef, leaving the wives to doctor

his landlady’s doup, as they pleased; he still denied the doing of

it, and his master believed it might happen accidently, but the

houdie was very oft to be had before it was got hale again; and

his landlady by eating of the horse beef, took such a loathing at

flesh, that Leper and his master got all the beef ever after, and

his landlady turned one of the kindest mistresses a prentice could

wish for.

There was a neighbour wife on whom Leper used to play tricks

sometimes, for which she came and complained to his master and had

him severely beaten several times, Leper resolved to be revenged

on her, so one night he came to the backside of the house, (no one

being in but herself) and took up a big stone, and runs along the

rough wall with all his strength, which roared like thunder in the

inside of the house, and frighted the wife so, that she thought

the house was tumbling down about her ears, and she ran out and

sat down at a distance, looking every minute when the house would

fall down, till her husband came home and persuaded her to go in,

to whom she told the above story; ‘hout tout, daft tapie,’ said

he, ‘the house will stand these hundred years.’ Leper knowing they

were both in, comes and plays the same trick over again, which also

frightened the goodman so much, that he cried out--‘run Maggy, run,

for my heart plays pitty patty.’ And they would not lodge in the

house any more, till the masons convinced them of its sufficiency.

There was another neighbour who had a snarling cur dog, which bit

Leper’s leg; Leper resolved to be revenged on the dog, and so

one night he catches the dog, and carries him to the kirk where

the rope of the bell hung on the outside, so with his garter he

tied the dog’s fore foot to the rope, and left him hanging; the

dog struggling to get free set the bell a ringing, which alarmed

the whole village, every one cried out ‘wonderful fire! wonderful

fire! the devil is ringing the bell.’ When they saw the black

colly hang at the rope, I trow it set the minister and all the

people to their prayers: but Leper fearing he would be detected by

his garter, came to the minister’s side, and asked the reverend

gentleman what was the matter; indeed my bairn, said he, ’tis the

deil ringing the kirk bell; says Leper, I’ll go and see him, for

I never saw the devil; the minister cried stop the mad laddie,

but Leper ran and loosed the dog, crying it’s such a man’s dog,

which had the rope in its teeth; they all cried out, ‘the deil’s

i’ the cur, the deil’s i’ the dog,’ then took up stone and felled

poor colley, and the devil got the blame of making the dog ring

the bell.--This spread Leper’s fame, for being one of the wisest

and most courageous tailors that was in all the kingdom; and many

shaking their heads, said, ‘it was a pity he was a tailor, but a

captain or general of an army, as the devil could not fear him.’

After this a farmer in the neighbourhood hearing the fame of Leper,

how he had frighted the deil frae being a bellman, sent for him to

an alehouse, and drank with him very heartily, and told him he was

sadly borne down by a spirit of jealousy against his wife; and a

suspicion of her being too free with a servant lad he had before;

and if he would keep it a secret and learn him to find it out, he

would give his mother a load of meal, to which Leper agreed; so

he gave the poor supposed cockold instructions how to behave. So

home he goes, and feins himself very sick, and every day worse and

worse, taking death to him; blesses his three small children, and

charges his wife not to marry until his children could do something

for themselves, this hypocritical woman takes a crying, Aha! marry,

she would never marry! no no there should never a man lie by my

side, or kiss my lips, after thee, my ain dear lamb Johnny. Then he

acts the dead man as well as he possibly could, the neighbours were

called in, and he’s fairly o’erseen, as the old saying is, before

good neighbours. The sorrowful widow made sad lament, wrung her

hands and tore her hair.--The reverend women about began to dress

the corpse, asked her for a shirt. Ay, ay, said she, he has twa new

linen sarks, and there is an auld ane in the bottom o’ the kist,

that nae body can wear, ony things good enough for the grave; well,

said they, we must have some linen for a winding sheet, a weel,

quo’ she, I ha’e twa cut o’ linen i’ the kist neuk, but there’s a

pare o’ auld linen sheets, hol’d i’ the middle, may do well enough,

I had need to be carefu’, I’m a poor widow the day, wi’ three sma’

bairns.

Well, the corpse is dressed, and laid on the tap of the big chest,

while neighbours sat by her condoling her misfortune, and how the

funeral raisins were to be provided, said one the coffin must need

be seen about first. Ay ay, he has some new deals in the barn, he

bought them to make a bed o’, but we’ll no break them, there’s the

auld barn door, and the caff kist will do well enough, ony thing’s

gude enough to gang to the grave wi’; but O quo’ she send for

Sandy, my honest auld servant, and he’ll see every thing right

done; I’ll tell him where he’ll get siller to do any thing wi’,

he’s the lad that will not see me wrang’d; then Sandy comes wrying

his face, and rubbing his eyes. O Sandy, there’s a sad alteration

here, and ba-a she cries like a bitten calf, O sirs, will ye gang

a’ butt the house till I tell ye what to do; butt they went, and

there she fell a kissing of Sandy, and said, now, my dear, the

auld chattering ghaist is awa and we’ll get our will o’ ither; be

as haining of every thing as ye can, for thou kens it’s a’ thy

ain; but the corpse’ sister and some other people coming in, ben

they came to see the corpse, lifts up the cloth off his face, and

seeing him all in a pour of sweat, said heigh he’s a bonny corp,

and a lively like colour. When he could no longer contain himself

to carry on the joke, but up he got among them, a deal of people

ran for it, and his wife cried out, O my dear do you ken me? Ay

you base jade and whore, better than ever I did. Jumps on the

floor, gets his staff and runs after Sandy, and catches him in the

fields, a little from the house;--ate and drank with his sister

and neighbours who came to see his corpse, and poor Sandy went

home with a skin full of terror, and a sorting of sore bones, took

a sore fever and died a few days after, so he got quit of his

cockolder, and Leper’s mother got her load of meal.

John Cheap, the Chapman's Library. Vol. 1: Comic and Humorous The Scottish Chap Literature of Last Century, Classified · 第 6 / 7 章