"Come oot and see a new star that hasna got its tail cuttit aff yet!" Exquisite astronomical speculation! Stars, like puppies, are born with tails, and in due time have them docked. Take an example of a story where there is no display of any one's wit or humour, and yet it is a good story, and one can't exactly say why: -An English traveller had gone on a fine Highland road so long, without having seen an indication of fellow-travellers, that he became astonished at the solitude of the country; and no doubt before the Highlands were so much frequented as they are in our time, the roads had a very striking aspect of solitariness. Our traveller at last coming up to an old man breaking stones, he asked him if there was any traffic on this road-was it at all frequented? "Ay," he said, "it's no ill at that; there was a cadger body yestreen, and there's yoursell the day." No English version of the story could have half such amusement, or have so quaint a character. An answer, even still more characteristic, is recorded to have been given by a countryman to a traveller. Being doubtful of his way, he inquired if he were on the right road to Dunkeld. With some of his national inquisitiveness about strangers, the countryman asked his inquirer where he came from. Offended at the liberty, as he considered it, he sharply reminded the man that where he came from was nothing to him; but all the answer he got was the quiet rejoinder, "Indeed, it's just as little to me whar ye're gaen'." A friend has told me of an answer highly characteristic of this dry and unconcerned quality which he heard given to a fellow-traveller. A gentleman sitting opposite to him in the stagecoach at Berwick, complained bitterly that the cushion on which he sat was quite wet. On looking up to the roof he saw a hole through which the rain descended copiously, and at once accounted for the mischief. He called for the coachman, and in great wrath reproached him with the evil under which he suffered, and pointed to the hole which was the cause of it. All the satisfaction, however, that he got was the quiet un moved reply, “Ay, mony a ane has complained o' that hole.' Another anecdote I heard from a gentleman who vouched for the truth, which is just a case where the narrative has its humour, not from the wit which is displayed, but from that dry matter-of-fact view of things peculiar to some of our countrymen. The friend of my informant was walking in a street of Perth, when, to his horror, he saw a workman fall from a roof where he was mending slates, right upon the pavement. By extra | ordinary good fortune he was not killed, and on the gentleman going up to his assistance, and exclaiming, with much excitement, "God bless me, are you much hurt?" all the answer he got was the cool rejoinder, "On the contrary, sir." A similar matter-of-fact answer was made by one of the old race of Montrose humourists. He was coming out of church, and, in the press of the kirk skailing, a young man thoughtlessly trod on the old gentleman's toe, which was tender with corns. He hastened to apologize, saying, "I am very sorry, sir; I beg your pardon." The only acknowledgment of which was the dry answer, "And ye've as muckle need, sir." One of the best specimens of cool Scottish matter-of-fact view of things has been supplied by a kind correspondent, who narrates it from his own personal recollection. The back windows of the house where he was brought up looked upon the Greyfriars' Church that was burned down. On the Sunday morning in which that event took place, as they were all preparing to go to church, the flames began to burst forth; the young people screamed from the back part of the house, "A fire! a fire!" and all was in a state of confusion and alarm. The housemaid was not at home, it being her turn for the Sunday "out." Kitty, the cook, was taking her place, and performing her duties. The old woman was always very particular on the subject of her responsibility on such occasions, and came panting and hobbling upstairs from the lower regions, and exclaimed, "O what is't, what is't!" "Oh, Kitty, look here, the Greyfriars' Church is on fire!" "Is that a', miss? What a fricht ye geed me! I thought ye said the parlour fire was out." From a first-rate Highland authority I have been supplied with the following clever and crushing reply to what was intended as a sarcastic compliment and a smart saying: About the beginning of the present century, the then Campbell, of Combie, on Loch Awe side, in Argyleshire, was a man of extraordinary character, and of great physical strength, and such swiftness of foot that it is said he could "catch the best tup on the hill." He also looked upon himself as a "pretty man," though in this he was singular; also, it was more than whispered that the laird was not remarkable for his principles of honesty. There also lived in the same district a Miss MacNabb of Bar-a'-Chaistril, a lady who, before she had passed the zenith of life, had never been remarkable for her beauty-the contrary even had passed into a proverb, while she was in her teens; but, to counterbalance this defect in external qualities, nature had endowed her with great benevolence, while she was renowned for her probity. One day the Laird of Combie, who piqued himself on his bon-mots, was, as frequently happened, a guest of Miss MacNabb's, and after dinner several toasts had gone round as usual, Combie addressed his hostess, and requested an especial bumper, insisting on all the guests to fill to the brim. He then rose, and said, addressing himself to Miss MacNabb, "I propose the old Scottish toast of Honest men and bonnie lassies," "and bowing to the hostess, he resumed his seat. The lady returned his bow with her usual amiable smile, and taking up her glass, replied, "Weel, Combie, I am sure we may drink that, for it will neither apply to you nor me." Amongst the lower orders, humour is found, occasionally, very rich in mere children, and I recollect a remarkable illustration of this early native humour occurring in a family in Forfarshire, where I used, in former days, to be very intimate. A wretched woman, who used to traverse the country as a beggar or tramp, left a poor, half-starved little girl by the road-side, near the house of my friends. Always ready to assist the unfortunate, they took charge of the child, and as she grew a little older, they began to give her some education, and taught her to read. She soon made some progress in reading the Bible, and the native odd humour, of which we speak, began soon to show itself. On reading the passage, which began, Then David rose," &c., the child stopped, and looking up knowingly, to say, "I ken wha that was," and, on being asked what she could mean, she confi dently said, "That's David Rowse the pleuch man.' And again reading the passage where the words occur, "He took Paul's girdle," the child said, with much confidence, "I ken what he took that for," and on being asked to explain, replied at once, "To bake's bannocks on;" "girdle" being, in the north, the name for the iron plate hung over the fire, for making oat cakes or bannocks. An amusing example of a quiet cool view of a pecuniary transaction happened to my father whilst doing the business of the rent-day. He was receiving sums of money from the tenants in succession. After looking over a bundle of notes which he had just received from one of them, a well-known character, he said in ban- ! ter, "James, the notes are not correct." To which the farmer, who was much of a humourist, dryly answered, "I dinna ken what they, may be noo; but they were a' richt afore ye To a distinguished member of the Church of had your fingers in amang 'em." An English Scotland I am indebted for an excellent story farmer would hardly have spoken thus to his of quaint child-humour, which he had from landlord. The Duke of Buccleuch told me an the lips of an old woman who related the story answer very quaintly Scotch, given to his of herself:-When a girl of eight years of age. grandmother by a farmer of the old school. A she was taken by her grandmother to church. dinner was given to some tenantry of the vast The parish minister was not only a long preacher, estates of the family in the time of Duke but, as the custom was, delivered two sermons Henry. His duchess (the last descendant of on the Sabbath-day without any interval, and the Dukes of Montague) always appeared at thus saved the parishioners the two journeys table on such occasions, and did the honours to church. Elizabeth was sufficiently wearied with that mixture of dignity and of affable before the close of the first discourse; but when, kindness for which she was so remarkable. after singing and prayer, the good minister Abundant hospitality was shown to all the opened the Bible, read a second text, and preguests. The duchess, having observed one of pared to give a second sermon, the young girl, the tenants supplied with boiled beef from a being both tired and hungry, lost all patience, noble round, proposed that he should add a and cried out to her grandmother, to the no supply of cabbage; on his declining, the duch- small amusement of those who were so near as ess good-humouredly remarked, "Why, boiled to hear her, Come awa, granny, and gang beef and greens seem so naturally to go together, hame; this is a lang grace, and nae meat.' I wonder you don't take it." To which the honest farmer objected, "Ah, but your grace maun alloo it's a vary windy vegetable," in delicate allusion to the flatulent quality of the esculent. Similar to this was the naïve answer of a farmer on the occasion of a rent-day. The lady of the house asked him if he would take some rhubarb tart: "Mony thanks, mem, I dinna need it." 66 It A most amusing account of child-humour used to be narrated by an old Mr. Campbell of Jura, who told the story of his own son. seems the boy was much spoiled by indulgence. In fact, the parents were scarce able to refuse him anything he demanded. He was in the drawing-room on one occasion when dinner was announced, and on being ordered up to the nursery, he insisted on going down to dinner with the company. His mother was for refusal, but the child persevered, and kept saying, "If I dinna gang, I'll tell thon." His father then, for peace sake, let him go, so he went and sat at table by his mother. When he found every one getting soup and himself omitted, he demanded soup, and repeated, "If I dinna get it, I'll tell thon." Well, soup was given, and various other things yielded to his importunities, to which he always added the usual threat of "telling thon." At last, when it came to wine, his mother stood firm, and positively refused, as "a bad thing for little boys," and so on. He then became more vociferous than ever about "telling thon;" and as still he was refused, he declared, "Now I will tell thon," and at last roared out, Ma new breeks were made oot o' the auld curtains!" A facetious and acute friend who rather leans to the Sydney Smith view of Scottish wit, declares that all our humorous stories are about lairds, and about lairds who are drunk. Of such stories there are certainly not a few; one of the best belonging to my part of the country, and to many persons I should perhaps apologize for introducing it at all. The story has been told of various parties and localities, but no doubt the genuine laird was a Laird of Balnamoon (pronounced in the country Bonnymoon), and that the locality was a wild tract of land, not far from his place, called Munrimmon Moor. Balnamoon had been dining out in the neighbourhood, where, by mistake, they had put down to him after dinner cherry-brandy, instead of port wine, his usual beverage. The rich flavour and strength so pleased him, that having tasted it, he would have nothing else. On rising from the table, therefore, the laird would be more affected by his drink than if he had taken his ordinary allowance of port. His servant Harry, or Hairy, was to drive him home in a gig or whisky, as it was called, the asual open carriage of the time. On crossing the moor, however, whether from greater exposure to the blast, or from the laird's unsteadiness of head, his hat and wig came off and fell upon the ground. Harry got out to pick them up and restore them to his master. The laird was satisfied with the hat, but demurred at the wig. "It's no my wig, Hairy, lad; it's no my wig," and refused to have anything to do with it Hairy lost his patience, and, anxious to get home, remonstrated with his master, "Ye'd better tak it, sir, for there's nae waile o' wigs on Munrimmon Moor." The humour of the argument is exquisite, putting to the laird, in bis unreasonable objection, the sly insinuation that in such a locality, if he did not take this VOL. IIL wig, he was not likely to find another. Then, what a rich expression, "waile o' wigs." In English what is it? "A choice of perukes;" which is nothing comparable to the "waile o' wigs." I ought to mention also an amusing sequel to the story, viz., in what happened after the affair of the wig had been settled, and the laird had consented to return home. When the whisky drove up to the door, Hairy, sitting in front, told the servant who came to "tak out the laird." No laird was to be seen; and it appeared that he had fallen out on the moor without Hairy observing it. Of course, they went back, and, picking him up, brought him safe home. A neighbouring laird having called a few days after, and having referred to the accident, Balnamoon quietly added, "Indeed, I maun hae a lume1 that'll had in.' The Laird of Balnamoon was a truly eccentric character. He joined with his drinking propensities a great zeal for the Episcopal Church, the service of which he read to his own family with much solemnity and earnestness of manner. Two gentlemen, one of them a stranger to the country, having called pretty early one Sunday morning, Balnamoon invited them to dinner, and as they accepted the invitation, they remained and joined in the forenoon devotional exercises conducted by Balnamoon himself. The stranger was much impressed with the laird's performance of the service, and during a walk which they took before dinner, mentioned to his friend how highly he esteemed the religious deportment of their host. The gentleman said nothing, but smiled to himself at the scene which he anticipated was to follow. After dinner Balnamoon set himself, according to the custom of old hospitable Scottish hosts, to make his guests as drunk as possible. The result was, that the party spent the evening in a riotous debauch, and were carried to bed by the servants at a late hour. Next day, when they had taken leave and left the house, the gentleman who had introduced his friend asked him what he thought of their entertainer-"Why, really," he replied, with evident astonishment, "sic a speat o' praying, and sic a speat o' drinking, I never knew in the whole course of my life." Lady Dalhousie, mother, I mean, of the late distinguished Marquis of Dalhousie, used to tell a characteristic anecdote of her day. But here, on mention of the name Christian, Countess of Dalhousie, may I pause a moment to recal the memory of one who was a very remarkable person. She was, for many years. to me and mine, a sincere, and true, and 1 A vessel. 68 >us in his attentions | insisted on his returning to the house and At last our eccen- giving back the spoil. The beggar was, howand looking at the ever, prepared for the attack, and sturdily deus, "What the deil fended his property, boldly asserting, "Na, na, about the room that laird, thae are no Todbrae banes; thae are ir chair and sit down? Inchbyre banes, and nane o' your honour's," *the table for three."-meaning that he had received these bones at the house of a neighbour of a more liberal character. But the beggar's professional discrimination between the bones of the two mansions, and his pertinacious defence of his own property, would have been most amusing to a by-stander. I heard often spoken lote was told strongly d much difficulty (as e had) in meeting the ul periods of the year, nd the "tarmes." He some time as workman outh on some house renmon name in England rvant early one morning d's door in great exciteas had run away, and e had gone. He turned earnest ejaculation, "I en Whitsunday and Maraim." I do not know a quiet, shrewd, and acute n the following little story, >rrespondent mentions havather when a boy, relating Athole, who had no family om he mentions as having vell: He met one morning or gardeners, whose wife he hopeful way. Asking him s the day," the man replied, morning given him twins. duke said, "Weel, Donald; ,hty never sends bairns with"That may be, your grace," >ut whiles I think that Provinistak in thae matters, and sto ae hoose and the meat to duke took the hint, and sent calf the following morning. of an amusing scene between a 1 for his saving propensities and sort of Edie Ochiltree, a wellnt who lived by his wits and pick up in his rounds amongst the s and farmers. One thrifty laird im sit down near his own gate to contents of his poke or wallet, hat he had come from the house, :w near to see what he had carried was keenly investigating the menils, his quick eye detected some hich there remained more meat i have been allowed to leave his Accordingly he pounced upon the declared he had been robbed, and I have, however, a reverse story, in which the beggar is quietly silenced by the proprietor. A noble lord, some generations back, well known for his frugal habits, had just picked up a small copper coin in his own avenue, and had been observed by one of the itinerating mendicant race, who, grudging the transfer of the piece into the peer's pocket, exclaimed, "O, gie't to me, my lord;" to which the quiet answer was, "Na, na; fin' a fardin for yersell, puir body." There are always pointed anecdotes against houses wanting in a liberal and hospitable expenditure in Scotland. Thus, we have heard of a master leaving such a mansion, and taxing his servant with being drunk, which he had too often been after country visits. On this occasion, however, he was innocent of the charge, for he had not the opportunity to transgress. So, when his master asserted, "Jemmy, you are drunk!" Jemmy very quietly answered, "Indeed, sir, I wish I wur." At another mansion, notorious for scanty fare, a gentleman was inquiring of the gardener about a dog which some time ago he had given to the laird. The gardener showed him a lank grayhound, on which the gentleman said, "No, no; the dog I gave your master was a mastiff, not a grayhound;" to which the gardener quietly answered, "Indeed, ony dog micht sune become a grayhound by stopping here." OF SOLITUDE. Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good! Hail, the poor Muse's richest manor-seat! |