Drollery of Scotch Phraseology. -- A Scotchman who Lost his
Head. -- Two Severe Wounds. -- Premature Death. -- A Neat
Comparison. -- Cold Comfort.
I have spoken in a preceding chapter of the picturesque manner in which
the Scotch people of the old school express themselves. Here are two or
three examples which will well illustrate what I mean.
I one day made the acquaintance of an old Scotch soldier. He had been
present at the battle of Waterloo, and was fond of talking about the
Napoleonic wars.
I started his favourite topic.
He described the battle of Waterloo to me with the most remarkable
clearness. It was even touching to hear him give the details of the
death of one of his comrades whose head had been shot off by a
cannon-ball.
"Poor fellow," he added, "he will have to appear at the Last Day with
his head under his arm."
"Were you ever wounded, yourself?" I asked.
"Yes," replied the old Scot with an imperturbable seriousness which made
it impossible to suppose that he intended a joke; "I received two
wounds--one at Quatre-Bras and the other in the right leg."
I once had a long conversation with an old lady of eighty-two, whose
grandfather had served, in his youth, under Bonnie Prince Charlie. She
related to me all the wonderful adventures of her ancestor, and when she
had come to the end, added, with a gravity that was sublime:
"He's deed noo."
The conversation of these Scots of the old school is full of surprises.
You must be ready for anything. In the very middle of the most pathetic
story, out will come a remark that will make you shake with laughter.
This drollery has all the more hold over you, because it is natural. The
Scot is too natural to aim at being amusing, and it is just this
simplicity, this _naturalness_, which disarms and overcomes you.
Donald has a way of looking at things which gives his remarks a piquancy
that is irresistible: it almost takes your breath away sometimes, you
feel quite floored.
A Scotch pastor was trying to give a farmer of his parish an idea of the
delights which await us in Paradise.
"Yes, Donald," he cried, "it is a perpetual concert. There's Raphael
singing, Gabriel accompanying him on the harp, and all the angels
flapping their wings to express their joy. Oh, Donald, what a sublime
sight! You cannot imagine anything like it."
"Ay, ay, but I can," interrupted Donald. "It is just like the geese flap
their wings when we have had a lang droot, an' they see the rain a
comin'."
In making this remark, nothing is further from Donald's intention than
to make a joke, or be irreverent. He says it in all seriousness. It is
in this that a great charm of the Scotch phraseology lies.
A friend of mine told me that he was once walking through a churchyard
with a Scotchman, and feeling a fit of sneezing coming on, he remarked
to his companion that he feared he had taken a cold.
"That's bad," replied the Scotchman, "but there's mony a ane here who
wad be glad o 't."