Read Ebook: Thistledown: A Book of Scotch Humour Character Folk-lore Story & Anecdote by Ford Robert Duncan John Illustrator

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"Weel, weel, bailie, Mary an' me an' the weans maun just submit," said the knave, pretending to have broken into tears, at the same time saying to himself, "Blessed is he that wisely doth the poor man's case consider."

The soft-hearted bailie couldn't stand the silent appeal of tears nor the apt quotation the artful dodger had made, so, gathering together all the poor stock of savage energy he possessed, he turned on the prisoner, and said--

"Look here! I'll mak' it hauf a crown, and though you were ma ain brither I couldna mak' it less!"

Bailie Robertson of Edinburgh had not the advantage of an early education, nor the prudence to conceal his ignorance. A case was brought before him, in which the owner of a squirrel presented a claim of damages against a person who had it in charge, but who had allowed it to escape. The case was one of great complication, and the bailie was rather at a loss for a time. At length, collecting his faculties, he said to the defendant, "Hoo did it manage to get awa'?"

"The door o' the cage was open, and it gaed oot through the window," was the reply.

"Then, hoo did you no' clip its wings?"

"It's a quadruped, your honour," said the defendant.

"Quadruped here, or quadruped there," argued the magistrate, "if ye had clippit the brute's wings it couldna hae flown awa'. I maun decide against ye."

HUMOURS OF SCOTTISH RURAL LIFE

Affording better opportunities for the development of individual character than are to be found in the busy town and crowded city, country life is more congenial also to the growth and exercise of the faculty of original humour. In the denser populations information on every intelligible subject is so readily accessible through the medium of books, magazines, morning and evening newspapers, and courses of lectures, etc., that it is not incumbent on any one to form his or her own idea of any particular matter. Ideas here are supplied ready-made, like everything else, and warranted free from adulteration; and thus your city and townspeople see very generally eye to eye; and from frequency of contact with each other, and the causes already indicated, are forcibly rubbed into something like a general mental, as well as physical, similitude.

"Ye'll excuse me, sir," said the farmer and elder, "but ye're the Edinborough minister that was preachin' to us the day, an' I would like to ken if ye're walkin' oot the gate for mere pleasure on the blessed day, or if ye're on a mission o' mercy?"

"I just suspectit as muckle," broke in the elder; "but you that's a minister o' the Gospel sud ken that this is no a day for ony sic thing."

"Well," returned the Doctor, "we find good precedent for walking on the Sabbath. You remember that even the Master himself walked in the fields with His disciples on the Sabbath day."

But, of course, the ministers are more commonly the accusers than the accused in the matter of supposed or actual Sabbath desecration--both in town and country.

"Wherefore did you go and shoot the hare on the Sabbath day, John?" asked a reverend gentleman once of a parishioner who was "before the Session" for the misdeed in question.

"Weel, ye see," replied John, not unphilosophically, "I had a strong dreed that the beastie michtna sit till Monday, say just dressed his drodrum when I had the chance."

But a certain minister and elder in Perthshire once combined to transact dubious business, even "between the preachin's."

"Had it not been the Sabbath day, Mr. Blank," remarked the preacher, "I would have asked you how the hay was selling in Perth on Friday?"

"Indeed! Well, had it been Monday instead of Sabbath, I would have told you that I have some to sell."

"Imphm, ay, ou ay, sir. An' had it been Monday, as ye say, then, I wad just hae tell't ye I wad gie ye market price for't."

These fellows were wise as serpents, though scarcely as innocent as doves.

The Dumfries old lady who was accustomed to employ the wet Sundays in arranging her wardrobe had less cunning. "Preserve me!" she would exclaim, "another gude Sabbath! I dinna ken whan I'm to get thae drawers redd up."

Dr. Guthrie says "our ancestors might have been too scrupulous. I don't say they did not fall into glaring inconsistencies" in connection with Sabbath observance, and tells a story of his going to preach for a clerical friend in Ross-shire. Before retiring to rest on Saturday night, he asked his friend if he could get warm water in the morning to shave with.

"Wheesht! wheesht!" returned his host. "Speak of shaving on the Lord's day in Ross-shire, and you need never preach here again."

And yet at the same time, in the same locality, a little warm water and whisky would have been supplied on the self-same morning without question, being regarded as a work of necessity and mercy.

"Dod, wife," said he one morning, "I doot that treacle ale's no gaun to do wi' me, we'll need to try an' get a wee drap milk to the parritch. What do ye think?"

Janet had been missing her troke with the cow, and was rueing that she had consented to the "niffer."

"'Deed, gudeman," says she, "a bargain's a bargain. An' gin ye will hae milk, an' winna want it, ye maun just gang an' milk 'Matthew Henry.'"

Your rural Scot is reflective and argumentative to a degree.

"Dinna tell me," said a sapient Forfarshire laird of the old school, "dinna tell me that the earth's shaped like an orange, an' that it whirls roond aboot ilka twenty-four 'oors. It's a' nonsense. The Seidlaw Hills lie to the North and the Tay to the Sooth at nicht when I gang to my bed; i' the mornin' when I rise I find them the same; an' that's gude proof that the earth disna turn roond. I'll tell ye what it is--an' I speak wi' authority of ane wha's gi'en the maitter a deal o' thocht--the earth's spread oot just like a muckle barley scone, in which the Howe o' Strathmore represents a knuckle mark."

Reflective, I said. Very! And the ordinary Scotch farmer's love of gain is proverbial. Life in his eyes is valuable chiefly as a season in which to make money. Thus, not very long ago, while about half a dozen farmers were returning home by train from the Perth weekly market, they talked about how this friend and that friend was in his health; and about some others who had died recently, and how much money each of them must have left.

"Ay, but men dinna live nearly sae lang nooadays as they did in the Bible times!" remarked one, with a heavy sigh.

"Eh, man, na," broke in another, who had hitherto not spoken. "An' I was just thinkin' there to mysel' a minute syne, that Methuselah must have been worth a power o' money when he dee'd, if he was onything o' a savin' kind o' a man ava."

Many forces in Nature and circumstances in life conspire to disturb the peace of the farmer. Amongst them--trespassers. But, if he is a man of resource, he may summon a species of artillery that will "hold the field" against all comers. It is told of one in the South that, while some members of the Ordnance Survey were plodding here and there through growing grain and everything else on his farm, and perhaps more than was necessary, just to irritate the farmer, who, they had learned, was a crusty customer. They had not manoeuvred long when the farmer approached.

"What are ye dancin' aboot there for?" he demanded.

"Oh, we have a right to go anywhere," returned one of the company. "We are surveying, and here are our Government papers."

"Papers here or papers there," returned the farmer, "oot ye gang oot o' my field."

"No, we shan't," was the reply; "and, remember, you are rendering yourself liable to prosecution for interrupting us."

The farmer said no more; but going over to a shed which opened into the field, and at the time chanced to contain a vicious bull, he gently opened the door and stood aside. The bull no sooner saw the red coats than he, of course, rushed at them in full career. The surveyors snatched up their theodolite and ran for their lives, while the old farmer held his sides with laughter, and yelled after them--"What are ye a' rinnin' for? Can ye no show him yer Government papers?"

Speaking of trespassing, I am reminded of a story which reveals how ready-witted the rural inhabitants can sometimes be. One day, many years ago, Willie Craig, a Perthshire village worthy, found himself in the near vicinity of Scone Palace, and by cutting through the woods there he would reach his destination much sooner than by holding to the public road. The old Earl of Mansfield could never distinguish between a trespasser and a poacher, and Willie knew this, and that if he was seen he would, at the very least, be turned back. Still the nearer road was so tempting that he ventured it, trusting his own ready wit to cope with the vigilance of the terror-striking game-preserver. All went well until about three-fourths of the forbidden ground had been traversed, when, lo and behold, the Earl appeared. Willie, alert to every sight and sound, eyed the Earl ere the Earl had time to eye him, so instantly turned on his heel and commenced to retrace his steps.

"Hi, sir!" cried the Earl, "where are you going?"

Willie snooved along and made no reply.

"Halt, sir!" cried the Earl, rushing up to where Willie was; "turn this moment, and go back the way you came."

Willie meekly and instantly obeyed. He had not gone many paces when the Earl, straining a point in favour of so pliable a culprit, again stopped him and said he might go for this time. Willie hesitated for a moment, but, mastering the situation with one bright idea, he quickened his step, and, glancing over his shoulder, retorted with energy--

"Na, na, my lord; ye've turned me ance, but ye'll never turn me twice. I'll lat ye see, noo, that I'm just as independent as ye're fit to be."

"Was I gaun, think ye, to hae my sister abused by a woman that isna a drap's bluid to ony o' the twa o' us?"

Very good! And Peter's philosophic reply brings vividly before me the characteristic figure of honest Tammas Broon, a well-known denizen of a small Perthshire village. Tammas had little or no idea of things humorous; yet, as if by the inspiration of accident, he was continually passing remarks and answering questions in language and manner the most provocative of laughter. One day a Free Church minister--now of world-wide fame--was passing along while Tammas was busily engaged at the thatching of a stack in his own little barn-yard, and snatching readily at the circumstance as a means to the improvement of the moment, the divine called out--

"You are thatching, I see, Thomas. Do you think you will require to do any such work in the future existence?"

"I never said such a thing, lady," Tammas replied coolly, "I simply remarked that he was a hawk out of a bad nest." And the matter ended.

To be called "Fifish" is not a compliment, but there is much pawky humour in the typical Fife character. Here is a specimen:--Recently a tattered son of Orpheus attached to the end of a tin whistle penetrated the land as far as Kingsbarns, in the East Neuk. Entering at one end, he whistled himself right out at the other, without receiving a copper. As he passed the last door he turned towards an old native who sat sunning himself on a low dyke. "Man," said he, "I havena got a farden in the hale toon."

"Na, I'm no thinking ye wad," replied the ancient Fifer; "ye see, we do a' our ain whistlin' here."

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