Scotch Wit and Humor

"Surely the Net is Spread in Vain in the Sight of any Bird"

Our May had an ee to a man,Nae less than the newly-placed preacher,And we plotted a dainty bit planFor trappin' our spiritual teacher.Oh! but we were sly,We were sly an' sleekit;But, ne'er say a herrin' is dry —Until it's weel reestit an' reekit.We treated young Mr. M'Gock,An' plied him wi' tea an' wi' toddy,An' we praised every word that he spake,Till we put him maist out o' the body.Oh! but we were sly, etc.Frae the kirk we were never awa',Except when frae home he was helpin'An' then May, – an' aften us a' —Gaed far an' near after him skelpin'.Oh! but we were sly, etc.We said aye what the neebors thocht droll,That to hear him gang through wi' a sermonWas – though a wee dry on the whole —As refreshin's the dew on Mount Hermon.Oh! but we were sly, etc.But to come to the heart o' the nit,The dainty bit plan that we plottedWas to get a subscription afit,An' a watch to the minister voted.Oh! but we were sly, etc.The young women folk o' the kirkBy turns lent a han' in collectin',But May took the feck o' the markAn' the trouble the rest o' directin'.Oh! but we were sly, etc.A gran' watch was gotten belyve,An' May, wi' sma' "priggin," consentitTo be ane o' a party o' fiveTo gang to the Manse an' present it.Oh! but we were sly, etc.We a' gied a word o' adviceTo May in a deep consultation,To hae something to say unco' nice,An' to speak for the hale deputation.Oh! but we were sly, etc.Takin' present an' speech baith in han',May delivered a bonny palaver,To let Mr. M'Gock understan'How zealous she was in his favor.Oh! but we were sly, etc.She said that the gift was to proveThat his female friends valued him highly,But it couldna express a' their love,An' she glinted her ee at him slyly.Oh! but we were sly, etc.He put the gowd watch in his fab,And proudly he said he wad wear it,An' after some flatterin' gab,He tauld May he was goin' to be marriet.Oh! but we were sly,We were sly and sleekit,But Mr. M'Gock was nae gowk,Wi' our dainty bit plan to be cheekit.May came home wi' her heart in her mouthAn' frae that hour she turned a Dissenter,An' noo she's renewin' her youthWi' some hopes o' the Burgher Precentor.Oh! but she was sly,She was sly and sleekit,An' cleverly opens ae doorAs sune as anither is sleekit.

A Highland Outburst of Gratitude and an Inburst of Hurricane

"Ah, my friends, what causes have we for gratitude – oh, yes; – for the deepest gratitude! Look at the place of our habitation. How grateful should we be that we do not leeve in the far north – oh, no! – amidst the frost and snaw, and the cauld and the weet – oh, no! – where there's a long day tae half o' the year – oh, yes! – and a lang nicht the tither – oh, yes! – that we do not depend upon the aurawry boreawlis – oh, no! – that we do net gang shivering aboot in skins – oh, no! – smoking amang the snow like modiwarts – oh, no! no! – And how grateful should we be that we do not leeve in the far south, beneath the equawtor, and a sun aye burnin', burnin'; where the sky's het – ah, yes! – and yearth's het, and the water's het, and ye're brunt black as a smiddy – ah, yes! – where there's teegars – oh, yes! – and lions – oh, yes! – and crocodiles – oh, yes! – and fearsome beasts growlin' and girnin' at ye amang the woods; where the very air is a fever, like the burnin' breath o' a fiery drawgon; that we do not leeve in these places – oh, no! no! no! no! – but that we leeve in this blessit island of oors callit Great Britain – oh, yes! yes! and in that pairt of it named Scotland, and in that bit o' auld Scotland that looks up at Ben Nevis – oh, yes! yes! yes! – where there's neither frost, nor cauld, nor wund, nor weet, nor hail, nor rain, nor teegars, nor lions, nor burnin' suns, nor hurricanes, nor – "

Here a tremendous blast of wind and rain from Ben Nevis blew in the windows of the kirk, and brought the preacher's eloquence to an abrupt conclusion.

A Different Thing Entirely

While surveying the west coast of Scotland, Captain Robinson had received on board his ship the Grand Duke Constantine. As the duke could only remain a very short time, the captain resolved to show him as much as possible during his brief stay. Accordingly he steamed to Iona on a Sunday, believing that day especially suited for pointing out to his royal visitor remains associated with religion. Landing on the island he waited on the custodian of the ancient church with the request that he would open it.

"Not so," said the keeper; "not on Sunday."

"Do you know whom I have brought to the island?" said the captain.

"He's the Emperor o' a' the Russias, I ken by the flag," responded the keeper; "but had it been the Queen hersel' I wadna' gi'e up the keys on the Lord's day."

"Would you take a glass of whiskey on the Sabbath?" inquired the captain.

"That's a different thing entirely," said the keeper.

Canny Dogs

The following is given by a Scotchman by way of illustrating the kindly consideration evinced by the Scottish peasantry towards the domestic animals – especially the shepherds to their dogs – which consequently become their attached companions. A minister calling to visit one of his flock found before the fireplace three dogs apparently asleep. At the sound of a whistle two rose up and walked out; the third remained still.

"It is odd," said the minister, "that this dog does not get up like the others."

"It's no astonishing ava," said the shepherd, "for it's no' his turn; he was oot i' the mornin'."

A Compliment by Return

The minister's man at Lintrathen, though sufficiently respectful, seldom indulges in the complimentary vein. On one occasion he handsomely acknowledged a compliment by returning another. The minister had got married, and was presented with a carriage, for which John was appointed to provide a horse. Driving out with his wife, the minister said to John in starting, "You've got us a capital horse."

"Weel, sir," said John, "it's just aboot as difficult as to choose a gude minister's wife, and we've been lucky wi' baith."

Curious Sentence

Lord Eskgrove is described by Lord Cockburn, in his "Memorials" as a most eccentric personage.

Cockburn heard him sentence a tailor for murdering a soldier, in these words: "And not only did you murder him, thereby he was berea-ved of his life, but you did thrust, or pierce, or push, or project, or propel the li-thall weapon through the belly band of his regimental breeches, which were his majesty's."

Advice to an M.P

When Sir George Sinclair was chosen member of Parliament for his native county, a man came up to him and said: "Noo, Maister George, I'll gie ye some advice. They've made ye a Parliament man, and my advice to ye is, be ye aye tak-takin' what ye can get, and aye seek-seekin' until ye get mair."

Stretching It

Concerning the long-bow, no American effort can surpass one that comes to us from Scotland: It was told that Colonel M'Dowall, when he returned from the war, was one day walking along by The Nyroch, when he came on an old man sitting greetin' on a muckle stone at the roadside. When he came up, the old man rose and took off his bonnet, and said:

"Ye're welcome hame again, laird."

"Thank you," said the colonel; adding, after a pause, "I should surely know your face. Aren't you Nathan M'Culloch?"

"Ye're richt, 'deed," said Nathan, "it's just me, laird."

"You must be a good age, now, Nathan," says the colonel.

"I'm no verra aul' yet, laird," was the reply; "I'm just turnt a hunner."

"A hundred!" says the colonel, musing; "well, you must be all that. But the idea of a man of a hundred sitting blubbering that way! Whatever could you get to cry about?"

"It was my father lashed me, sir," said Nathan, blubbering again; "an' he put me oot, so he did."

"Your father!" said the colonel; "is your father alive yet?"

"Leevin! ay," replied Nathan; "I ken that the day tae my sorrow."

"Where is he?" says the colonel. "What an age he must be! I would like to see him."

"Oh, he's up in the barn there," says Nathan; "an no' in a horrid gude humor the noo, aither."

They went up to the barn together, and found the father busy threshing the barley with the big flail, and tearing on fearful. Seeing Nathan and the laird coming in, he stopped and saluted the colonel, who, after inquiring how he was, asked him why he had struck Nathan.

"The young rascal!" says the father, "there's nae dooin' wi' him; he's never oot o' mischief. I had to lick him this mornin' for throwin' stanes at his grandfather!"

Driving the Deevil Out

A Scotch minister, named Downes, settled in a rural district in the north of Ireland, where the people are more Scotch in language and manners than in the land o' cakes itself. One evening he and a brother divine set out together to take part in some religious service.

Meeting one of his parishioners on the way, the latter quaintly observed, "Weel, Mr. Downes, you clergymen 'ill drive the deevil oot o' the country the nicht!"

"Yes," replied the minister, "we will. I see you are making your escape."

Tommy did not use the deevil's name in his pastor's presence again.

Mental Aberration

In Lanarkshire, Scotland, there lived, about fifty years ago, a poor crazy man, by name Will Shooler. Will was a regular attendant of the parish church in the town, on the ceiling of which there was, for ornament, a dove with outstretched wings. One Sabbath day, Will grew rather tired of the sermon, and throwing his arms and head back, he saw the dove, and exclaimed, "O Lord! what a big hen!"

Sunday Shaving and Milking

On first going to Ross-shire to visit and preach for my friend Mr. Carment, I asked him on the Saturday evening before retiring to rest whether I would get warm water in the morning. Whereupon he held up a warning hand, saying: "Whist, whist!"

On my looking and expressing astonishment, he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "Speak of shaving on the Lord's day in Ross-shire, and you never need preach here more!"

In that same county Sir Kenneth Mackenzie directed my attention to a servant-girl, who, if not less scrupulous, was more logical in her practice. She astonished her master, one of Sir Kenneth's tenants, by refusing to feed the cows on the Sabbath. She was ready to milk, but by no means feed them – and her defence shows that though a fanatic, she was not a fool.

"The cows," she said – drawing a nice metaphysical distinction between what are not and what are works of necessity and mercy that would have done honor to a casuist – "the cows canna milk themselves; so to milk them is clear work of necessity and mercy; but let them out to the fields, and they'll feed themselves." Here certainly was scrupulosity; but the error was one that leaned to the right side. [15]

A Typical Quarrel

The story of the happy young couple who quarreled on the first day of their housekeeping life about the "rat" or the "mouse" which ran out of the fireplace, it seems, had its origin "long time ago" in the incident thus done into rhyme. The last verse explains the mysterious mistake:

John Davidson, and Tib his wife,Sat toastin' their taes ae nicht,When something startit in the fluirAnd blinkit by their sicht."Guidwife," quoth John, "did you see that moose?Whar sorra was the cat?""A moose?" – "Ay, a moose." – "Na, na, guidman,It wasna a moose! 'twas a rat.""Ow, ow, guidwife, to think ye've beenSae lang aboot the hoose,An' no' to ken a moose frae a rat!Yan wasna a rat! 'twas a moose!""I've seen mair mice than you, guidman —An' what think ye o' that?Sae haud your tongue, an' say nae mair —I tell ye, it was a rat.""Me haud my tongue for you, guidwife!I'll be mester o' this hoose —I saw't as plain as een could see,An' I tell ye, it was a moose.""If you're the mester of the hoose,It's I'm the mistress o't;An' I ken best what's in the hoose —Sae I tell ye, it was a rat.""Weel, weel, guidwife, gae mak' the brose,An' ca' it what ye please."So up she rose and mad' the brose,While John sat toastin' his taes.They supit, and supit, and supit the brose,And aye their lips played smack;They supit, and supit, and supit the brose,Till their lugs began to crack."Sic fules we were to fa' out, guidwife,About a moose" – "A what?It's a lee ye tell, an' I say again,It wasna a moose, 'twas a rat.""Wad ye ca' me a leear to my very face?My faith, but ye craw crouse!I tell you, Tib, I never will bear 't – ""'Twas a moose" – "'Twas a rat" – "'Twas a moose."Wi' that she struck him ower the pow —"Ye dour auld doit, tak' that —Gae to your bed, ye canker'd sumph —'Twas a rat." – "'Twas a moose!" – "'Twas a rat!"She sent the brose caup at his heelsAs he hirpled ben the hoose;Yet he shoved out his head, as he steekit the door,And cried, "'Twas a moose, 'twas a moose!"But when the carle fell asleepShe paid him back for that,And roared into his sleepin' lug,"'Twas a rat, 'twas a rat, 'twas a RAT!"The devil be wi' me if I thinkIt was a beast, at all —Next morning, when she swepit the fluir,She found wee Johnnie's ball!

A Ready Student

Dr. Richie, of Edinburgh, though a very clever man, once met his match. When examining a student as to the classes he attended, he said: "I understand you attend the class for mathematics?"

"Yes."

"How many sides has a circle?"

"Two," said the student.

"Indeed! What are they?"

"An inside and an outside."

A laugh among the students followed this answer.

The doctor next inquired: "And you attend the moral philosophy class, also?"

"Yes."

"Well, you doubtless heard lectures on various subjects. Did you ever hear one on 'Cause and Effect?'"

"Yes."

"Does an effect ever go before a cause?"

"Yes."

"Give me an instance."

"A barrow wheeled by a man."

The doctor hastily sat down and proposed no more questions.

Appearing "in Three Pieces"

Wilson, the celebrated vocalist, was upset one day in his carriage near Edinburgh. A Scotch paper, after recording the accident, said: "We are happy to state he was able to appear the following evening in three pieces."

"Every Man to His Own Trade"

A worthy old Scotch minister, who didn't object to put his hand to a bit of work when occasion required it, was one day forking sheaves in the stackyard to his man John, who was "biggin'." One of the wheels of the cart on which the minister was standing happened to be resting on a sheaf, and when the cart was empty his reverence said: "That's them a' noo, John, excep' ane 'at's aneath the wheel, an' ye'll hae to come an' gie's a lift up wi' the wheel ere I get it oot." "Oh," said John, "just drive forrit the cart a bit." "Very true, very true," rejoined the minister; "every man to his own trade."

From Different Points of View

The following anecdote is related of Sir James Mackintosh, the Scotch philosopher and historian, and the celebrated Dr. Parr: Sir James had invited the reverend doctor to take a drive in his gig. The horse became very restive and unmanageable. "Gently, gently, Jemmy," said the doctor, "pray don't irritate him; always soothe your horse, whatever you do, Jemmy! You'll do better without me, I am certain; so let me down, Jemmy – let me down." Once on terra firma, the doctor's views of the case were changed. "Now, Jemmy, touch him up," said he. "Never let a horse get the better of you. Touch him up, conquer him, don't spare him. And now I'll leave you to manage him – I'll walk back."

Speaking from "Notes"

A porter at a Scotch railway station, who had grown grey in the service, was one day superintending matters on the platform, when the parish minister stepped up to him and asked when the next train arrived from the south. The aged official took off his cap and carefully read the hour and the minute of the train from a document stuck in the crown.

Somewhat surprised at this, the minister said: "Dear me, John, is your memory failing, or what is up with you? You used to have all these matters entirely by heart."

"Weel, sir," said John, "I dunna ken if my memory's failin', or fat's up; but the fac' is I'm growin' like yersel' – I cunna manage without the paper."

"Consecrated" Ground

The Police Commissioners of Broughton Ferry, near Dundee, some time since compelled house proprietors to lay down concrete on the footpath in front of their properties. An old lady, residing in a cottage, proudly told a friend the other day that the front of her house had been "consecrated up to the vera doorstep."

Unanswerable

When a Scotchman answers a question, he settles the matter in dispute once for all. On a certain occasion the question was asked: "Why was Mary Queen of Scots born at Linlithgow?" Sandy Kerr promptly answered: "Because her mither was staying there, sir;" and there actually seemed to be nothing more to say on the subject.

Practical Thrift

An admirable humorous reply, says Dean Ramsay, is recorded by a Scotch officer, well known and esteemed in his day for mirth and humor. Captain Innes, of the Guards (usually called Jack Innes by his contemporaries), was, with others, getting ready for Flushing or some of those expeditions of the great war. His commanding officer, Lord Huntly, remonstrated about the badness of his hat, and recommended a new one. "Na, na, bide a wee," said Jack. "Where we're gain', faith, there'll soon be mair hats nor heads." [7]

Fool Finding

A Scotch student, supposed to be deficient in judgment, was asked by a professor, in the course of his examination, how he would discover a fool? "By the questions he would ask," was the prompt and highly suggestive reply.

Robbing on Credit

A Scotch parson said recently, somewhat sarcastically, of a toper, that he put an enemy into his mouth to steal away his brains, but that the enemy, after a thorough search, returned without anything.

Going to the Doctor's and "Taking" Something

A Scotch lad was on one occasion accused of stealing some articles from a doctor's shop. The judge was much struck with his respectable appearance, and asked him why he was guilty of such a contemptible act.

"Weel, ye see," replied the prisoner, "I had a bit of pain in my side, and my mither tauld me tae gang tae the doctor's and tak' something."

"Oh, yes," said the judge, "but surely she didn't tell you to go and take an eight-day clock!"

The prisoner was evidently nonplused, but it was only for a moment. Turning to the judge, a bright smile of humor stealing over his countenance, he replied quietly:

"There's an auld proverb that says, 'Time an' the doctur cure a' diseases,' an' sae I thocht" – but the remainder was lost in the laughter of the court.

A Case in Which Comparisons Were Odious

The late Rev. Dr. John Hunter, the much-loved minister of the Tron Parish, Edinburgh, had a call one morning from one of his many poor parishioners, who said he had come to ask a favor. On the worthy minister's requesting him to specify its nature, he replied, "Weel, sir, it's to marry me."

"Very good, John," the minister said; "let me know the place, day and hour, and I shall be at your service."

"But, sir," the bridegroom answered, "it's the noo!" (The bride was waiting outside.)

"Filthy and untidy as you are! No, no; go home and wash, and dress yourself, and then I shall be prepared to perform the ceremony."

"Bless ye, sir, ye should see her!" was the response of the applicant.

Pulpit Aids

Young Minister: "I don't think I need put on the gown, John; it's only an encumbrance."

Beadle: "Ay, sir; it makes ye mair impressive – an' ye need it a', sir, ye need it a'."

Choosing a Minister

The parish kirk of Driechtor had been rather unfortunate in its ministers, two of them having gone off in a decline within a twelvemonth of their appointment, and now, after hearing a number of candidates for the vacancy, the members were looking forward with keen interest to the meeting at which the election takes place.

"Weel, Marget," asked one female parishioner of another, as they foregathered on the road one day, "wha are you gaun to vote for?"

"I'm just thinkin' I'll vote for nane o' them. I'm no muckle o' a judge, an' it'll be the safest plan," was Marget's sagacious reply.

"Toots, woman, if that's the way o't, vote wi' me."

"An' hoo are you gaun to vote?"

"I'm gaun to vote for the soundest lungs, an'll no bother us deein' again in a hurry."

Prince Albert and the Ship's Cook

During the earlier visits of the royal family to Balmoral, Prince Albert, dressed in a very simple manner, was crossing one of the Scotch lakes in a steamer, and was curious to note everything relating to the management of the vessel, and among other things, the cooking. Approaching the galley, where a brawny Highlander was attending the culinary matters, he was attracted by the savory odors of a compound known by Scotchmen as "hodge-podge," which the Highlander was preparing.

"What is that?" asked the prince, who was not known to the cook.

"Hodge-podge, sir," was the reply.

"How is it made?" was the next question.

"Why, there's mutton intil't, and turnips intil't, and carrots intil't and —

"Yes, yes," said the prince, who had not learned that "intil't" meant "into it;" "but what is intil't?"

"Why, there's mutton intil't, and turnips intil't, and carrots intil't and – "

"Yes, I see, but what is intil't?"

The man looked at him, and seeing the prince was serious, he replied: "There's mutton intil't, and turnips intil't and – "

"Yes, certainly, I know," urged the inquirer; "but what is intil't – intil't?"

"Ye daft gowk," yelled the Highlander, brandishing a large spoon, "am I no' telling ye what's intil't! There's mutton intil't and – "

Here the interview was brought to a close by one of the prince's suite, who was fortunately passing, and stepped in to save his royal highness from being rapped over the head with the big spoon while in search of information from the cook.

"To Memory 'Dear'"

"Jeems," said the laird one day to his gardener, "there was something I was going to ask you, but man, for the life o' me I canna mind what it was." "Mebbe," said Jeems, who had received no pay for three weeks, "mebbe," said he, "it was to spier at me fat wey I was keepin' body and soul thegither on the wages I wasna gettin'."

Good "for Nothing" – not the Goodness Worth Having

It was a wet day and Jamie Stoddart could not go out to play; Mrs. Stoddart, who had just cleared away the breakfast things, and was about to commence a big heap of ironing, noticed sighs of incipient restlessness in the laddie, and said; "Now, I hope you'll be a good boy the day, Jamie; I've an awfu' lot o' work to dae, an' I can't have you bothering me." "Wull ye gie me a penny if I'm awfu' guid a' day lang?" asked her son. "Mebbe I will," was the reply; "but would it no' be better to be a guid laddie just to please me?" "I'm no' sae shuir o' that," answered the laddie, reflectively. "Ma teacher at the schule says it aye better to be good even for a little, than to be guid for naething." He got that penny.

"The Weaker Vessel"

The minister of a parish in Scotland was called in some time ago to effect a reconciliation between a fisherman of a certain village and his wife. After using all the arguments in his power to convince the offending husband that it was unmanly in him, to say the least of it, to strike Polly with his fist, the minister concluded: "David, you know that the wife is the weaker vessel, and you should have pity on her."

"Weel, then," said David, sulkily, "if she's the weaker vessel she should carry the less sail."

Minding His Business

An Englishman traveling in the north of Scotland, came up to a macadamizer of the roads, and while he was busy breaking the road metal, asked him if the direction in which he was going was the way to Aberdeen. The laborer, glad to rest himself a little, dropped his hammer, and said quietly to the stranger, "Now, where cam' ye from?" The traveler, nettled at not receiving a direct answer, asked him, "What business have you with where I came from?" The macadamizer, taking up his hammer and beginning to resume his occupation, said, "Oh, just as little business as where you are gauin to!"