Philippe, when that monarch was on the French throne. The king received
the deputation very graciously, and honored them with an invitation to
dinner. During the evening the party retired to the royal library, where
the king, having ascertained that the bailie followed the calling of
bookseller, showed him the works of several English authors, and said to
him: "You see, I am well supplied with standard works in English. There
is a fine edition of Burke."
The magistrate, familiar only with Burke the murderer, exclaimed: "Ah,
the villain! I was there when he was hanged!"
="Fou'--Aince"=
George Webster once met a shepherd boy in Glenshee, and asked, "My man,
were you ever fou'?"
"Ay, aince"--speaking slowly, as if remembering--"Ay, aince."
"What on?"
"Cauld mutton!" [12]
=Sunday Drinking=
Dr. M----, accompanied by a friend, took a long walk on Sunday, and
being fatigued, the two stopped at an inn to get some refreshment. The
landlord stopped them at the door with the question whether they were
_bona fide_ travelers, as such alone could enter his house on Sunday.
They said they were from London, and were admitted. They were sent bread
and cheese and stout. The stout was bad, and they sent for ale; but that
being worse, they sent for whiskey. The landlord refused this, saying
they had enough for their bodily necessities.
After a great deal of urging for the whiskey, which the landlord
withstood, M---- said, "Very well; if you won't sell us whiskey, we must
use our own," at the same time pulling a flask out of his pocket.
This was more than the Scotchman could stand. The sin was to be
committed, and there would be no compensation to its heinousness in the
way of profit to his inn. "Ah, weel," he said, "if ye maun have the
whiskey, ye maun, an' I'll send ye the mateyrials."
=Drawing an Inference=
A certain functionary of a country parish is usually called the
_minister's man_, and to one of these who had gone through a long course
of such parish official life, a gentleman one day remarked--"John, ye
hae been sae lang about the minister's hand that I dare say ye could
preach a sermon yersell now."
To which John modestly replied, "O na, sir, I couldna preach a sermon,
but maybe I could draw an inference."
"Well, John," said the gentleman, humoring the quiet vanity of the
beadle, "what inference could ye draw frae this text, 'A wild ass
snuffeth up the wind at her pleasure!" (Jer. ii: 24).
"Weel, sir, I wad draw this inference:--she wad snuff a lang time afore
she would fatten upon't." [7]
=Going to Ramoth Gilead=
A sailor, who had served the king so long at sea that he almost forgot
the usages of civilized society on shore, went one day into the church
at his native town of Kirkcaldy, in Fife, where it happened that the
minister chose for his text the well-known passage, "Who will go up with
us to Ramoth Gilead?"
This emphatic appeal being read the second time, and in a still more
impressive tone of voice, the thoughtless tar crammed a quid of tobacco
into his cheek, rose up, put on his hat; then, looking around him, and
seeing nobody moving, he exclaimed, "You cowardly lubbers! will none of
you go with the old gentleman? I go for one."
So out he went, giving three cheers at the door, to the amazement of all
present.
=Why Saul Threw a Javelin at David=
A High-Churchman and a Scotch Presbyterian had been at the same church.
The former asked the latter if he did not like the "introits."
"I don't know what an introit is," was the reply.
"But did you not enjoy the anthem?" said the churchman.
"No, I did not enjoy it at all."
"I am very sorry," said the churchman, "because it was used in the early
church; in fact, it was originally sung by David."
"Ah!" said the Scotchman, "then that explains the Scripture. I can
understand why, if David sung it at that time, Saul threw his javelin at
him."
=A Sexton's Criticism=
The following criticism by a Scotch sexton is not bad:
A clergyman in the country had a stranger preaching for him one day, and
meeting his sexton, asked, "Well, Saunders, how did you like the sermon
to-day?"
"It was rather ower plain and simple for me. I like thae sermons best
that jumbles the joodgment and confoonds the sense. Od, sir, I never saw
ane that could come up to yoursel' at that."
=Strange Reason for Not Increasing a Minister's Stipend=
A relative of mine going to church with a Forfarshire farmer, one of the
old school, asked him the amount of the minister's stipend.
He said, "Od, it's a gude ane--the maist part of £300 a year."
"Well," said my relative, "many of these Scotch ministers are but poorly
off."
"They've eneuch, sir; they have eneuch; if they'd mair, it would want a'
their time to the spending o't." [7]
=Pulpit Eloquence=
An old clerical friend upon Speyside, a confirmed old bachelor, on going
up to the pulpit one Sunday to preach, found, after giving out the
psalm, that he had forgotten his sermon. I do not know what his
objections were to his leaving the pulpit and going to the manse for
his sermon, but he preferred sending his old confidential housekeeper
for it. He accordingly stood up in the pulpit, stopped the singing, when
it had commenced, and thus accosted his faithful domestic: "Annie, I
say, Annie, _we've_ committed a mistake the day. Ye maun jist gang your
waa's hame, and ye'll get my sermon out o' my breek pouch, an' we'll
sing to the praise o' the Lord till ye come back again." [7]
=Maunderings, by a Scotchman=
The following is said by _Chambers' Journal_ to have been written by a
Scotchman. If so, the humorous way in which he is taking off a certain
tendency of the Scotch mind, is delicious; if by an Englishman, the
humor will be less keen, though not less fair.
I am far frae being clear that Nature hersel', though a kindly auld
carline, has been a'thegither just to Scotland seeing that she has sae
contrived that some o' our greatest men, that ought by richt to hae been
Scotchmen, were born in England and other countries, and sae have been
kenned as Englishers, or else something not quite sae guid.
There's glorious old Ben Jonson, the dramatic poet and scholar, that
everybody tak's for a regular Londoner, merely because he happened to be
born there. Ben's father, it's weel ken't, was a Johnston o' Annandale
in Dumfriesshire, a bauld guid family there to this day. He is alloo't
to hae been a gentleman, even by the English biographers o' his son;
and, dootless, sae he was, sin' he was an Annandale Johnston. He had
gane up to London, about the time o' Queen Mary, and was amang them that
suffered under that sour uphalder o' popery. Ben, puir chiel', had the
misfortune first to see the light somewhere aboot Charing Cross, instead
o' the bonnie leas o' Ecclefechan, where his poetic soul wad hae been on
far better feedin' grund, I reckon. But nae doot, he cam' to sit
contented under the dispensations of Providence. Howsomever, he ought to
be now ranked amang Scotchmen, that's a'.
There was a still greater man in that same century, that's generally
set down as a Lincolnshire-man, but ought to be looked on as next thing
till a Scotchman, if no' a Scotchman out and out; and that's Sir Isaac
Newton. They speak o' his forebears as come frae Newton in Lancashire;
but the honest man himsel's the best authority aboot his ancestry, I
should think; and didna he say to his friend Gregory ae day: "Gregory,
ye warna aware that I'm o' the same country wi' yoursel'--I'm a
Scotchman." It wad appear that Sir Isaac had an idea in his head, that
he had come somehow o' the Scotch baronet o' the name o' Newton; and
nothing can be better attested than that there was a Scotchman o' that
name wha became a baronet by favor o' King James the Sixt (What for aye
ca' him James the _First_?) having served that wise-headed king as
preceptor to his eldest son, Prince Henry. Sae, ye see, there having
been a Scotch Newton who was a baronet, and Sir Isaac thinking he cam'
o' sic a man, the thing looks unco' like as if it were a fact. It's the
mair likely, too, frae Sir Adam Newton having been a grand scholar and a
man o' great natural ingenuity o' mind; for, as we a' ken right weel,
bright abilities gang in families. There's a chiel' o' my acquentance
that disna think the dates answer sae weel as they ought to do; but he
ance lived a twalmonth in England, and I'm feared he's grown a wee thing
prejudiced. Sae we'll say nae mair aboot _him_.
Then, there was Willie Cowper, the author o' the _Task_, _John Gilpin_,
and mony other poems. If ye were to gie implicit credence to his English
biographers, ye wad believe that he cam' o' an auld Sussex family. But
Cowper himsel' aye insisted that he had come o' a Fife gentleman o' lang
syne, that had been fain to flit southwards, having mair guid blude in
his veins than siller in his purse belike, as has been the case wi' mony
a guid fellow before noo. It's certain that the town o' Cupar, whilk may
hae gi'en the family its name, is the head town o' that county to this
day. There was ane Willie Cowper, Bishop o' Galloway in the time o' King
Jamie--a real good exerceesed Christian, although a bishop--and the
poet jaloosed that this worthy man had been ane o' his relations. I
dinna pretend to ken how the matter really stood; but it doesna look
very likely that Cowper could hae taken up the notion o' a Scotch
ancestry, if there hadna been some tradition to that effeck. I'm
particularly vext that our country was cheated out o' haeing Cowper for
ane o' her sons, for I trow he was weel worthy o' that honor; and if
Providence had willed that he should hae been born and brought up in
Scotland, I haena the least doot that he wad hae been a minister, and
ane too, that wad hae pleased the folk just extrornar.
There was a German philosopher in the last century, that made a great
noise wi' a book of his that explored and explained a' the in-thoughts
and out-thoughts o' the human mind. His name was Immanuel Kant; and the
Kantian philosophy is weel kent as something originating wi' him. Weel,
this Kant ought to hae been a Scotchman; or rather he _was_ a Scotchman;
but only, owing to some grandfather or great-grandfather having come to
live in Königsberg, in Prussia, ye'll no' hinder Immanuel frae being
born there--whilk of coorse was a pity for a' parties except Prussia,
that gets credit by the circumstance. The father of the philosopher was
an honest saddler o' the name o' Cant, his ancestor having been ane o'
the Cants o' Aberdeenshire, and maybe a relation of Andrew Cant, for
onything I ken. It was the philosopher that changed the C for the K, to
avoid the foreign look of the word, our letter C not belonging to the
German alphabet. I'm rale sorry that Kant did not spring up in Scotland,
where his metaphysical studies wad hae been on friendly grund. But I'm
quite sure, an' he had visited Scotland and come to Aberdeenshire, he
wad hae fund a guid number o' his relations, that wad hae been very glad
to see him, and never thought the less o' him for being merely a
philosopher.
Weel, we've got down a guid way noo, and the next man I find that ought
by richts to hae been a Scotchman is that deil's bucky o' a poet, Lord
Byron. I'm no' saying that Lord Byron was a'thegither a respectable
character, ye see; but there can be nae manner o' doot that he wrote
grand poetry, and got a great name by it. Noo, Lord Byron was born in
London--I'm no' denyin' what Tammy Muir says on that score--but his
mother was a Scotch leddy, and she and her husband settled in Scotland
after their marriage, and of coorse their son wad hae been born there in
due time, had it no' been that the husband's debts obliged them to gang,
first to France and after that to London, where the leddy cam' to hae
her down-lying, as has already been said. This, it plainly appears to
me, was a great injustice to Scotland.
My greatest grudge o' a' is regarding that bright genius for historical
composition, Thomas Babbington Macaulay, M.P. for Edinburgh. About the
year 1790, the minister o' the parish o' Cardross in Dumbartonshire, was
a Mr. M'Aulay, a north-country man, it's said, and a man o' uncommon
abilities. It was in his parish that that other bright genius, Tobias
Smollett, was born, and if a' bowls had rowed richt, sae should T. B. M.
But it was otherwise ordeened. A son o' this minister, having become
preceptor to a Mr. Barbinton, a young man o' fortune in England, it sae
cam' aboot that this youth and his preceptor's sister, wha was an
extrornan' bonny lass, drew up thegither, and were married. That led to
ane o' the minister's sons going to England--namely, Mr. Zachary, the
father o' oor member; and thus it was that we were cheated out o' the
honor o' having T. B. as an out-and-out Scotsman, whilk it's no' natural
to England to bring forth sic geniuses, weary fa' it, that I should say
sae. I'm sure I wiss that the bonny lass had been far eneuch, afore she
brought about this strange cantrip o' fortune, or that she had contented
hersel' wi' an honest Greenock gentleman that wanted her, and wha, I've
been tould, de'ed no' aboon three year syne.
Naebody that kens me will ever suppose that I'm vain either aboot mysel'
or my country. I wot weel, when we consider what frail miserable
creatures we are, we hae little need for being proud o' onything. Yet,
somehow, I aye like to hear the name o' puir auld Scotland brought aboon
board, so that it is na for things even-down disrespectable. Some years
ago, we used to hear a great deal about a light-headed jillet they ca'
Lola Montes, that had become quite an important political character at
the coort o' the king o' Bavaria. Noo, although I believe it's a fact
that Lola's father was a Scotch officer o' the army, I set nae store by
her ava--I turn the back o' my hand on a' sic cutties as her. Only, it
_is_ a fact that she comes o' huz--o' that there can be nae doot, be it
creditable or no'.
Well, ye see, there's another distinguished leddy o' modern times,
that's no' to be spoken o' in the same breath wi' that Lady Lighthead.
This is the new Empress o' France. A fine-looking queen she is, I'm
tauld. Weel, it's quite positive aboot her that her mother was a
Kirkpatrick, come of the house o' Closeburn, in the same county that Ben
Jonson's father cam' frae. The Kirkpatricks have had land in
Dumfriesshire since the days o' Bruce, whose friend ane o' them was, at
the time when he killed Red Cummin; but Closeburn has long passed away
frae them, and now belangs to Mr. Baird, the great iron master o' the
west o' Scotland. Howsomever, the folks thereaboots hae a queer story
aboot a servant-lass that was in the house in the days o' the empress'
great-grandfather like. She married a man o' the name o' Paterson and
gaed to America, and her son came to be a great merchant, and his
daughter became Prince Jerome Bonaparte's wife; and sae it happens that
a lady come frae the parlor o' Closeburn sits on the throne o' France,
while a prince come frae the kitchen o' the same place is its heir
presumptive! I'm no' sure that the hale o' this story is quite the
thing; but I tell it as it was tauld to me.
I'm no' ane that tak's up my head muckle wi' public singers, playgoers,
composers o' music, and folk o' that kind; but yet we a' ken that some
o' them atteen to a great deal o' distinction, and are muckle ta'en out
by the nobility and gentry. Weel, I'm tauld (for I ken naething about
him mysel') that there was ane Donizetti, a great composer o' operas,
no' very lang syne. Now, Donizetti, as we've been tauld i' _the public
papers_, was the son o' a Scotchman. His father was a Highlandman,
called Donald Izett, wha left his native Perthshire as a soldier--maist
likely the Duke o' Atholl pressed him into the service as ane o' his
volunteers--and Donald having quitted the army somewhere abroad, set up
in business wi' Don Izett over his door, whilk the senseless folk
thereabouts soon transformed into Donizetti, and thus it came about that
his son, wha turned out a braw musician, bore this name frae first to
last, and dootless left it to his posterity. I ken weel that Izett is a
Perthshire name, and there was ane o' the clan some years sin' in
business in the North Brig o' Edinburgh, and a rale guid honest man he
was, I can tell ye, and a very sensible man, too. Ye'll see his
head-stane ony day i' the Grayfriars. And this is guid evidence to me
that Donizetti was, properly speaking, a Scotchman. It's a sair pity for
himsel' that he wasna born, as he should hae been, on the braes o'
Atholl, for then he wad nae doot hae learned the richt music, that is
played there sae finely on the fiddle--namely, reels and strath-speys;
and I dinna ken but, wi' proper instruction, he might hae rivalled Neil
Gow himsel'.
Ye've a' heard o' Jenny Lind, the Swedish nightingale, as the fulishly
ca' her, as if there ever were ony nightingales in Sweden. She's a vera
fine creature, this Jenny Lind, no greedy o' siller, as sae mony are,
but aye willing to exerceese her gift for the guid o' the sick and the
puir. She's, in fack, just sick a young woman as we micht expeck
Scotland to produce, if it ever produced public singers. Weel, Jenny,
I'm tauld, is another of the great band o' distinguished persons that
ought to hae been born in Scotland, for it's said her greatgrandfather
(I'm no' preceese as to the generation) was a Scotchman that gaed lang
syne to spouse his fortune abroad, and chanced to settle in Sweden,
where he had sons and daughters born to him. There's a gey wheen Linds
about Mid-Calder, honest farmer-folk, to this day; sae I'm thinkin'
there's no' muckle room for doot as to the fack.
Noo, having shewn sic a lang list o' mischances as to the nativity o'
Scotch folk o' eminence, I think ye'll alloo that we puir bodies in the
north hae some occasion for complaint. As we are a' in Providence's
hand, we canna, of coorse, prevent some o' our best countrymen frae
coming into the world in wrang places--sic as Sir Isaac Newton in
Lincolnshire, whilk I think an uncommon pity; but what's to hinder sic
persons frae being reputed and held as Scotchmen notwithstanding? I'm
sure I ken o' nae objection, except it may be that our friends i' the
south, feeling what a sma' proportion o' Great Britons are Englishmen,
may entertain some jealousy on the subjeck. If that be the case, the
sooner that the Association for Redress o' Scottish Grievances takes up
the question the better. [21]
=A Leader's Description of His Followers=
Old John Cameron was leader of a small quadrille band in Edinburgh, the
performances of which were certainly not the very finest.
Being disappointed on one occasion of an engagement at a particular
ball, he described his more fortunate but equally able brethren in the
following terms: "There's a Geordie Menstrie, he plays rough, like a man
sharpening knives wi' yellow sand. Then there's Jamie Corri, his
playin's like the chappin' o' mince-collops--sic short bows he tak's.
And then there's Donald Munro, his bass is like wind i' the lum, or a
toom cart gaun down Blackfriars' Wynd!"
=It Takes Two To Fight=
A physician at Queensferry was once threatened with a challenge. His
method of receiving it was at once cool and incontrovertible.
"Ye may challenge me if ye like," said he; "but whether or no, there'll
be nae fecht, _unless I gang out_."
="What's the Lawin', Lass?"=
The following dialogue occurred in a little country inn, not so long ago
as the internal evidence might lead one to suppose. The interlocutors
are an English tourist and a smart young woman, who acted as waitress,
chambermaid, boots, and everybody else, being the man and the maid of
the inn at the same time:
_Tourist_: Come here, if you please.
_Jenny_: I was just coming ben to you, sir.
_Tourist_: Well, now, mistress.
_Jenny_: I'm no' the mistress; I'm only the lass, an' I'm no' married.
_Tourist_: Very well, then, miss.
_Jenny_: I'm no' a miss; I'm only a man's dochter.
_Tourist_: A man's daughter?
_Jenny_: Hoot, ay, sir; didna ye see a farm as ye came up yestreen, just
three parks aff?
_Tourist_: It is very possible; I do not remember.
_Jenny_: Weel, onyway, it's my faither's.
_Tourist_: Indeed!
_Jenny_: Ay, it's a fact.
_Tourist_: Well, that fact being settled, let us proceed to business.
Will you let me see your bill?
_Jenny_: Our Bill. Ou, ay, Wully we ca' him, but I ken wha you
mean--he's no in e'en now.
_Tourist_: Wully! what I want is my account--a paper stating what I have
had, and how much I have to pay.
_Jenny_: Did ony woman ever hear the like o' that--ye mean the lawin',
man! But we keep nae accounts here; na, na, we hae ower muckle to dae.
_Tourist_: And how do you know what to charge?
_Jenny_: On, we just put the things down on the sclate, and tell the
customers the tottle by word o' mouth.
_Tourist_: Just so. Well, will you give me the lawin', as I am going?
_Jenny_: Oh, sir, ye're jokin' noo! It's you maun gie me the lawin'--the
lawin's the siller.
_Tourist_: Oh, indeed, I beg your pardon; how much is it?
_Jenny_: That's just what I was coming ben to tell you, sir. If ye had
ask'd me first, or waited till I tell't ye, I wadna hae keepit ye a
minute. We're no blate at askin' the lawin', although some folk are
unco' slow at payin' o't. It's just four-and-six.
_Tourist_: That is very moderate; there is five shillings.
_Jenny_: Thank you, sir; I hope we hae a sixpence in the house, for I
wadna' like to gie bawbees to a gentleman.
_Tourist_: No, no; the sixpence is for yourself.
_Jenny_: Oh, sir, it's ower muckle.
_Tourist_: What, do you object to take it?
_Jenny_: Na, na, sir; I wouldna' put that affront upon ye. But I'll gie
ye a bit o' advice for't. When ye're gaun awa' frae an inn in a hurry,
dinna be fashin' yersel' wi' mistresses, and misses, and bills; but just
say, "What's the lawin', lass?"
=Meanness versus Crustiness=
A rather mean and parsimonious old lady called one day upon David
Dreghorn, a well-known Glasgow fishmonger, saying, "Weel, Maister
Dreghorn, how are ye selling your half salmon the noo?"
David being in a rather cross humor, replied, "When we catch ony half
salmon, mem, we'll let ye ken!"
=Speeding the Parting Guest=
It is related of a noble Scottish lady of the olden time, who lived in a
remote part of the Highlands, and was noted for her profuse liberality,
that she was some times overburdened with habitual "sorners." When any
one of them outstayed his welcome, she would take occasion to say to him
at the morning meal, with an arch look at the rest of the company, "Mak'
a guid breakfast, Mr. ----, while ye're about it; ye dinna ken whaur
ye'll get your dinner." The hint was usually taken, and the "sorner"
departed.
="Things Which Accompany Salvation"=
"What d'ye think o' this great revival that's gaun on the noo, Jamie?"
asked a grocer of a brother tradesman.
"Weel," answered Jamie, "I canna say muckle about it, but I ken this--I
hae gotten in a gude wheen bawbees that I had given up lang syne as bad
debts."
=Lights and Livers=
Lord Cockburn, when at the bar, was pleading in a steamboat collision
case. The case turned on the fact of one of the steamers carrying no
lights, which was the cause of the accident. Cockburn insisting on this,
wound up his eloquent argument with this remark: "In fact, gentlemen,
had there been more _lights_, there would have been more _livers_."
=Both Short=
"Ye're unco' short the day, Saunders, surely," said an undersized
student to a Glasgow bookseller, one morning, when the latter was in an
irritable mood.
"Od, man," was the retort, "ye may haud your tongue; ye're no' sae lang
yersel'."
=His Own, With "Interest"=
"Coming from h--l, Lauchlan?" quoth a shepherd, proceeding on Sacrament
Sunday to the Free Church, and meeting a friend coming from the Church
of the Establishment.
"Better nor going to it, Rory," retorted Lauchlan, as he passed on.
="The Spigot's Oot"=
Lord Airlie remarked to one of his tenants that it was a very wet
season.
"Indeed, my lord," replied the man, "I think the spigot's oot
a'thegither."
=Looking After Himself=
A canny man, who had accepted the office of elder because some wag had
made him believe that the remuneration was a sixpence each Sunday and a
boll of meal on New Year's Day, officially carried round the ladle each
Sunday after service. When the year expired he claimed the meal, but was
told that he had been hoaxed.
"It may be sae wi' the meal," he replied, coolly, "but I took care o'
the saxpence mysel'."
=An Epitaph to Order=
The Rev. Dr. M'Culloch, minister of Bothwell at the end of last century,
was a man of sterling independence and great self-decision. To a
friend--Rev. Mr. Brisbane--he one day said, "You must write my epitaph
if you survive me."