Scotch Wit and Humor Part 38

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 Suss.e.x 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 eff.e.c.k. 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 Konigsberg, 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 circ.u.mstance. 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 la.s.s, 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 la.s.s 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 c.u.mmin; but Closeburn has long pa.s.sed 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-la.s.s 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 n.o.bility 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 a.s.sociation 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 ba.s.s 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', La.s.s?"=

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 la.s.s, 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?