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