Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character by Edward Bannerman Ramsay

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On another occasion, when all the country-side were hastening to the
Perth races, Jamie had cut across the fields and reached a bridge near
the town, and sat down upon the parapet. He commenced munching away at a
large portion of a leg of mutton which he had somehow become possessed
of, and of which he was amazingly proud. The laird came riding past, and
seeing Jamie sitting on the bridge, accosted him:--"Ay, Fleeman, are ye
here already?" "Ou ay," quoth Fleeman, with an air of assumed dignity
and archness not easy to describe, while his eye glanced significantly
towards the mutton, "Ou ay, ye ken a body when he _has anything_."

Of witty retorts by half-witted creatures of this class, I do not know
of one more pointed than what is recorded of such a character who used
to hang about the residence of a late Lord Fife. It would appear that
some parts of his lordship's estates, were barren, and in a very
unproductive condition. Under the improved system of agriculture and of
draining, great preparations had been made for securing a good crop in a
certain field, where Lord Fife, his factor, and others interested in the
subject, were collected together. There was much discussion, and some
difference of opinion, as to the crop with which the field had best be
sown. The idiot retainer, who had been listening unnoticed to all that
was said, at last cried out, "Saw't wi' factors, ma lord; they are sure
to thrive everywhere."

There was an idiot who lived long in Lauder, and seems to have had a
great resemblance to the jester of old times. He was a staunch
supporter of the Established Church. One day some one gave him a bad
shilling. On Sunday he went to the Seceders' meeting-house, and when the
ladle was taken round he put in his bad shilling and took out
elevenpence halfpenny. Afterwards he went in high glee to the late Lord
Lauderdale, calling out, "I've cheated the Seceders the day, my lord;
I've cheated the Seceders."

Jemmy had long harboured a dislike to the steward on the property, which
he made manifest in the following manner:--Lord Lauderdale and Sir
Anthony Maitland used to take him out shooting; and one day Lord
Maitland (he was then), on having to cross the Leader, said, "Now,
Jemmy, you shall carry me through the water," which Jemmy duly did. The
steward, who was shooting with them, expected the same service, and
accordingly said, "Now, Jemmy, you must carry _me_ over." "Vera weel,"
said Jemmy. He took the steward on his back, and when he had carefully
carried him half-way across the river he paid off his grudge by dropping
him quietly into the water.

A daft individual used to frequent the same district, about whom a
variety of opinions were entertained,--some people thinking him not so
foolish as he sometimes seemed. On one occasion a person, wishing to
test whether he knew the value of money, held out a sixpence and a
penny, and offered him his choice. "I'll tak the wee ane," he said,
giving as his modest reason, "I'se no be greedy." At another time, a
miller laughing at him for his witlessness, he said, "Some things I ken,
and some I dinna ken." On being asked what he knew, he said, "I ken a
miller has aye a gey fat sou." "An' what d'ye no ken?" said the miller.
"Ou," he returned, "I dinna ken wha's expense she's fed at."

A very amusing collision of one of those penurious lairds, already
referred to, a certain Mr. Gordon of Rothie, with a half-daft beggar
wanderer of the name of Jock Muilton, has been recorded. The laird was
very shabby, as usual, and, meeting Jock, began to banter him on the
subject of his dress:--"Ye're very grand, Jock. Thae's fine claes ye hae
gotten; whaur did ye get that coat?" Jock told him who had given him his
coat, and then, looking slily at the laird, he inquired, as with great
simplicity, "And whaur did ye get _yours_, laird?"

For another admirable story of a rencontre between a penurious laird and
the parish natural I am indebted to the _Scotsman_, June 16, 1871. Once
on a time there was a Highland laird renowned for his caution in money
matters, and his precise keeping of books. His charities were there; but
that department of his bookkeeping was not believed to be heavy. On
examination, a sum of half-a-crown was unexpectedly discovered in it;
but this was accounted for in a manner creditable to his intentions, if
not to his success in executing them. It had been given in mistake
instead of a coin of a different denomination, to "the natural" of the
parish for holding his shelty while he transacted business at the bank.
A gleam in the boy's eye drew his attention to a gleam of white as the
metal dropped into his pocket. In vain the laird assured him it was not
a good bawbee--if he would give it up he would get another--it was "guid
eneuch" for the like of him. And when the laird in his extremity swore a
great oath that unless it was given up he would never give another
halfpenny, the answer was--"Ech, laird, it wad be lang or ye gied
me saxty."

Another example of shrewd and ready humour in one of that class is the
following:--In this case the idiot was musical, and earned a few stray
pence by playing Scottish airs on a flute. He resided at Stirling, and
used to hang about the door of the inn to watch the arrival and
departure of travellers. A lady, who used to give him something
occasionally, was just starting, and said to Jamie that she had only a
fourpenny piece, and that he must be content with that, for she could
not stay to get more. Jamie was not satisfied, and as the lady drove
out, he expressed his feelings by playing with all his might, "O wearie
o' the _toom pouch_[173]."

The spirit in Jamie Fraser before mentioned, and which had kept him
awake, shows itself in idiots occasionally by making them restless and
troublesome. One of this character had annoyed the clergyman where he
attended church by fidgeting, and by uncouth sounds which he uttered
during divine service. Accordingly, one day before church began, he was
cautioned against moving, or "making a whisht," under the penalty of
being turned out. The poor creature sat quite still and silent, till, in
a very important part of the sermon, he felt an inclination to cough. So
he shouted out, "Minister, may a puir body like me noo gie a
hoast[174]?"

I have two anecdotes of two peers, who might be said to come under the
description of half-witted. In their case the same sort of dry Scotch
humour came out under the cloak of mental disease. The first is of a
Scottish nobleman of the last century who had been a soldier the greater
part of his life, but was obliged to come home on account of aberration
of mind, superinduced by hereditary propensity. Desirous of putting him
under due restraint, and at the same time of engaging his mind in his
favourite pursuit, his friends secured a Sergeant Briggs to be his
companion, and, in fact, keeper. To render the sergeant acceptable as a
companion they introduced him to the old earl as _Colonel_ Briggs. Being
asked how he liked "the colonel," the earl showed how acute he still was
by his answer, "Oh, very well; he is a sensible man, and a good soldier,
but he _smells damnably of the halbert_."

The second anecdote relates also to a Scottish nobleman labouring under
aberration of mind, and is, I believe, a traditionary one. In Scotland,
some hundred years ago, madhouses did not exist, or were on a very
limited scale; and there was often great difficulty in procuring
suitable accommodation for patients who required special treatment and
seclusion from the world. The gentleman in question had been consigned
to the Canongate prison, and his position there was far from
comfortable. An old friend called to see him, and asked how it had
happened that he was placed in so unpleasant a situation. His reply was,
"Sir, it was more the kind interest and patronage of my friends than my
own merits that have placed me here." "But have you not remonstrated or
complained?" asked his visitor. "I told them" said his lordship, "that
they were a pack of infernal villains." "Did you?" said his friend;
"that was bold language; and what did they say to that?" "Oh," said the
peer, "I took care not to tell them till they were fairly out of the
place, and weel up the Canongate."

In Peebles there was a crazy being of this kind called "Daft Yedie." On
one occasion he saw a gentleman, a stranger in the town, who had a club
foot. Yedie contemplated this phenomenon with some interest, and,
addressing the gentleman, said compassionately, "It's a great pity--its
spoils the boot." There is a story of one of those half-witted creatures
of a different character from the humorous ones already recorded; I
think it is exceedingly affecting. The story is traditionary in a
country district, and I am not aware of its being ever printed.

A poor boy, of this class, who had evidently manifested a tendency
towards religious and devotional feelings, asked permission from the
clergyman to attend the Lord's Table and partake of the holy communion
with the other members of the congregation (whether Episcopalian or
Presbyterian I do not know). The clergyman demurred for some time, under
the impression of his mind being incapable of a right and due
understanding of the sacred ordinance. But observing the extreme
earnestness of the poor boy, he at last gave consent, and he was allowed
to come. He was much affected, and all the way home was heard to
exclaim, "Oh! I hae seen the pretty man." This referred to his seeing
the Lord Jesus whom he had approached in the sacrament. He kept
repeating the words, and went with them on his lips to rest for the
night. Not appearing at the usual hour for breakfast, when they went to
his bedside they found him dead! The excitement had been too much--mind
and body had given way--and the half-idiot of earth awoke to the glories
and the bliss of his Redeemer's presence.

Analogous with the language of the _defective_ intellect is the language
of the imperfectly formed intellect, and I have often thought there was
something very touching and very fresh in the expression of feelings and
notions by children. I have given examples before, but the following is,
to my taste, a charming specimen:--A little boy had lived for some time
with a very penurious uncle, who took good care that the child's health
should not be injured by over-feeding. The uncle was one day walking
out, the child at his side, when a friend accosted him, accompanied by a
greyhound. While the elders were talking, the little fellow, never
having seen a dog so slim and slight of form, clasped the creature round
the neck with the impassioned cry, "Oh, doggie, doggie, and div ye live
wi' your uncle tae, that ye are so thin?"

In connection with funerals, I am indebted to the kindness of Lord
Kinloch for a characteristic anecdote of cautious Scottish character in
the west country. It was the old fashion, still practised in some
districts, to carry the coffin to the grave on long poles, or "spokes,"
as they were commonly termed. There were usually two bearers abreast on
each side. On a certain occasion one of the two said to his companion,
"I'm awfu' tired wi' carryin'." "Do you _carry_?" was the interrogatory
in reply. "Yes; what do you do?" "Oh," said the other, "I aye _lean_."
His friend's fatigue was at once accounted for.

I am strongly tempted to give an account of a parish functionary in the
words of a kind correspondent from Kilmarnock, although communicated in
the following very flattering terms:--"In common with every Scottish man
worthy of the name, I have been delighted with your book, and have the
ambition to add a pebble to the cairn, and accordingly send you a
_bellman story_; it has, at least, the merit of being unprinted and
unedited."

The incumbent of Craigie parish, in this district of Ayrshire, had asked
a Mr. Wood, tutor in the Cairnhill family, to officiate for him on a
particular Sunday. Mr. Wood, however, between the time of being asked
and the appointed day, got intimation of the dangerous illness of his
father; in the hurry of setting out to see him, he forgot to arrange for
the pulpit being filled. The bellman of Craigie parish, by name Matthew
Dinning, and at this time about eighty years of age, was a very little
"crined[175]" old man, and always wore a broad Scottish blue bonnet,
with a red "bob" on the top. The parish is a small rural one, so that
Matthew knew every inhabitant in it, and had seen most of them grow up.
On this particular day, after the congregation had waited for some time,
Matthew was seen to walk very slowly up the middle of the church, with
the large Bible and psalm-book under his arm, to mount the pulpit stair;
and after taking his bonnet off, and smoothing down his forehead with
his "loof," thus addressed the audience:--

"My freens, there was ane Wuds tae hae preached here the day, but he has
nayther comed himsell, nor had the ceevility tae sen' us the scart o' a
pen. Ye'll bide here for ten meenonts, and gin naebody comes forrit in
that time, ye can gang awa' hame. Some say his feyther's dead; as for
that I kenna."

The following is another illustration of the character of the old
Scottish betheral. One of those worthies, who was parochial
grave-digger, had been missing for two days or so, and the minister had
in vain sent to discover him at most likely places. He bethought, at
last, to make inquiry at a "public" at some distance from the village,
and on entering the door he met his man in the trance, quite fou,
staggering out, supporting himself with a hand on each wa'. To the
minister's sharp rebuke and rising wrath for his indecent and shameful
behaviour, John, a wag in his way, and emboldened by liquor, made
answer, "'Deed, sir, sin' I ca'd at the manse, I hae buried an auld
wife, and I've just drucken her, hough an' horn." Such was his candid
admission of the manner in which he had disposed of the church fees paid
for the interment.

An encounter of wits between a laird and an elder:--A certain laird in
Fife, well known for his parsimonious habits, and who, although his
substance largely increased, did not increase his liberality in his
weekly contribution to the church collection, which never exceeded the
sum of one penny, one day by mistake dropped into the plate at the door
half-a-crown; but discovering his error before he was seated in his pew,
he hurried back, and was about to replace the coin by his customary
penny, when the elder in attendance cried out, "Stop, laird; ye may put
_in_ what ye like, but ye maun tak naething _oot_!" The laird, finding
his explanations went for nothing, at last said, "Aweel, I suppose I'll
get credit for it in heaven." "Na, na, laird," said the elder,
sarcastically; "ye'll only get credit for the _penny_."

The following is not a bad specimen of sly _piper_ wit:--

The Rev. Mr. Johnstone of Monquhitter, a very grandiloquent pulpit
orator in his day, accosting a travelling piper, well known in the
district, with the question, "Well, John, how does the wind pay?"
received from John, with a low bow, the answer, "Your Reverence has the
advantage of me."

Apropos to stories connected with ministers and pipers, there cannot be
a better specimen than the famous one preserved by Sir Walter Scott, in
his notes to _Waverley_, which I am tempted to reproduce, as possibly
some of my readers may have forgotten it. The gudewife of the inn at
Greenlaw had received four clerical guests into her house, a father and
three sons. The father took an early opportunity of calling the
attention of the landlady to the subject of his visit, and, introducing
himself, commenced in rather a pompous manner--"Now, confess, Luckie
Buchan, you never remember having such a party in your house before.
Here am I, a placed minister, with my three sons, who are themselves
_all_ placed ministers." The landlady, accustomed to a good deal of
deference and attention from the county families, not quite liking the
high tone assumed by the minister on the occasion, and being well aware
that all the four were reckoned very poor and uninteresting preachers,
answered rather drily, "'Deed, minister, I canna just say that I ever
had sic a party before in the hoose, except it were in the '45, when I
had a piper and his three sons--_a_' pipers. But" (she added quietly, as
if aside), "deil a spring could they play amang them."

I have received from Rev. William Blair, A.M., U.P. minister at
Dunblane, many kind communications. I have made a selection, which I now
group together, and they have this character in common, that they are
all anecdotes of ministers:--

Rev. Walter Dunlop of Dumfries was well known for pithy and facetious
replies; he was kindly known under the appellation of our "Watty
Dunlop." On one occasion two irreverent young fellows determined, as
they said, to "taigle[176]" the minister. Coming up to him in the High
Street of Dumfries, they accosted him with much solemnity--"Maister
Dunlop, dae ye hear the news?" "What news?" "Oh, the deil's deed." "Is
he?" said Mr. Dunlop, "then I maun pray for twa faitherless bairns." On
another occasion Mr. Dunlop met, with characteristic humour, an attempt
to play off a trick against him. It was known that he was to dine with a
minister whose house was close to the church, so that his return back
must be through the churchyard. Accordingly some idle and mischievous
youths waited for him in the dark night, and one of them came up to him,
dressed as a ghost, in hopes of putting him in a fright. Watty's cool
accost speedily upset the plan:--"Weel, Maister Ghaist, is this a
general rising, or are ye juist takin' a daunder frae yer grave by
yersell?" I have received from a correspondent another specimen of
Watty's acute rejoinders. Some years ago the celebrated Edward Irving
had been lecturing at Dumfries, and a man who passed as a wag in that
locality had been to hear him. He met Watty Dunlop the following day,
who said, "Weel, Willie, man, an' what do ye think of Mr. Irving?" "Oh,"
said Willie, contemptuously, "the man's crack't." Dunlop patted him on
the shoulder, with a quiet remark, "Willie, ye'll aften see a light
peeping through a crack!"

He was accompanying a funeral one day, when he met a man driving a flock
of geese. The wayward disposition of the bipeds at the moment was too
much for the driver's temper, and he indignantly cried out, "Deevil
choke them!" Mr. Dunlop walked a little farther on, and passed a
farm-stead, where a servant was driving out a number of swine, and
banning them with "Deevil tak them!" Upon which, Mr. Dunlop stepped up
to him, and said, "Ay, ay, my man; your gentleman'll be wi' ye i' the
noo: he's juist back the road there a bit, choking some geese till
a man."

Shortly after the Disruption, Dr. Cook of St. Andrews was introduced to
Mr. Dunlop, upon which occasion Mr. Dunlop said, "Weel, sir, ye've been
lang Cook, Cooking them, but ye've dished them at last."

Mr. Clark of Dalreoch, whose head was vastly disproportioned to his
body, met Mr. Dunlop one day. "Weel, Mr. Clark, that's a great head o'
yours." "Indeed it is, Mr. Dunlop; I could contain yours inside of my
own." "Juist sae," quietly replied Mr. Dunlop; "I was e'en thinkin' it
was geyan _toom_[177]."

Mr. Dunlop happened one day to be present in a church court of a
neighbouring presbytery. A Rev. Doctor was asked to pray, and declined.
On the meeting adjourning, Mr. Dunlop stepped up to the Doctor, and
asked how he did. The Doctor, never having been introduced, did not
reply. Mr. Dunlop withdrew, and said to his friend, "Eh! but isna he a
queer man, that Doctor, he'll neither speak to God nor man."

The Rev. John Brown of Whitburn was riding out one day on an old pony,
when he was accosted by a rude youth: "I say, Mr. Broon, what gars your
horse's tail wag that way?" "Oo, juist what gars your tongue wag; it's
fashed wi' a _wakeness_."

About sixty years ago there were two ministers in Sanquhar of the name
of Thomson, one of whom was father of the late Dr. Andrew Thomson of
Edinburgh, the other was father of Dr. Thomson of Balfron. The domestic
in the family of the latter was rather obtrusive with her secret
devotions, sometimes kneeling on the stairs at night, and talking loud
enough to be heard. On a communion season she was praying devoutly and
exclusively for her minister: "Remember Mr. Tamson, no him at the Green,
but oor ain Mr. Tamson."

Rev. Mr. Leslie of Morayshire combined the duties of justice of peace
with those of parochial clergyman. One day he was taken into confidence
by a culprit who had been caught in the act of smuggling, and was
threatened with a heavy fine. The culprit was a staunch Seceder, and
owned a small farm. Mr. Leslie, with an old-fashioned zeal for the
Established Church, said to him, "The king will come in the cadger's
road some day. Ye wadna come to the parish kirk, though it were to save
your life, wad ye? Come noo, an' I'se mak ye a' richt!" Next Sabbath the
seceding smuggler appeared in the parish kirk, and as the paupers were
receiving parochial allowance, Mr. Leslie slipped a shilling into the
smuggler's hand. When the J.P. Court was held, Mr. Leslie was present,
when a fine was proposed to be exacted from the smuggler. "Fine!" said
Mr. Leslie; "he's mair need o' something to get duds to his back. He's
are o' my _poor roll_; I gie'd him a shilling just last Sabbath."

A worthy old Seceder used to ride from Gargunnock to Bucklyvie every
Sabbath to attend the Burgher kirk. One day as he rode past the parish
kirk of Kippen, the elder at the plate accosted him, "I'm sure, John,
it's no like the thing to see you ridin' in sic a doon-pour o' rain sae
far by to thae Seceders. Ye ken the mercifu' man is mercifu' to his
beast. Could ye no step in by?" "Weel," said John, "I wadna care sae
muckle about stablin' my beast inside, but it's anither thing mysel'
gain' in."

The Rev. Dr. George Lawson of Selkirk acted for many years as
theological tutor to the Secession Church. One day, on entering the
Divinity Hall, he overheard a student remark that the professor's wig
was uncombed. That same student, on that very day, had occasion to
preach a sermon before the Doctor, for which he received a bit of severe
criticism, the sting of which was in its tail: "You said my wig wasna
kaimed this mornin', my lad, but I think I've redd your head to you."

The Rev. John Heugh of Stirling was one day admonishing one of his
people of the sin of intemperance: "Man, John, you should never drink
except when you're dry." "Weel, sir," quoth John, "that's what I'm aye
doin', for I am never slocken'd."

The Rev. Mr. M---- of Bathgate came up to a street-paviour one day, and
addressed him, "Eh, John, what's this you're at?" "Oh! I'm mending the
ways o' Bathgate!" "Ah, John, I've long been trying to mend the ways o'
Bathgate, an' they're no weel yet." "Weel, Mr. M., if you had tried my
plan, and come doon to your _knees_, ye wad maybe hae come mair speed!"

There once lived in Cupar a merchant whose store contained supplies of
every character and description, so that he was commonly known by the
sobriquet of Robbie A'Thing. One day a minister, who was well known for
a servile use of MS. in the pulpit, called at the store, asking for a
rope and pin to tether a young calf in the glebe. Robbie at once
informed him that he could not furnish such articles to him. But the
minister, being somewhat importunate, said, "Oh! I thought you were
named Robbie A'Thing from the fact of your keeping all kinds of goods."
"Weel a weel," said Robbie, "I keep a'thing in my shop but calf's
tether-pins and paper sermons for ministers to read."

It was a somewhat whimsical advice, supported by whimsical argument,
which used to be given by an old Scottish minister to young preachers,
when they visited from home, to "sup well at the kail, for if they were
good they were worth the supping, and if not they might be sure there
was not much worth coming _after_ them."

A good many families in and around Dunblane rejoice in the patronymic of
Dochart. This name, which sounds somewhat Irish, is derived from Loch
Dochart, in Perthshire. The M'Gregors having been proscribed, were
subjected to severe penalties, and a group of the clan having been
hunted by their superiors, swam the stream which issues from Loch
Dochart, and in gratitude to the river they afterwards assumed the
family name of Dochart. A young lad of this name, on being sent to
Glasgow College, presented a letter from his minister to Rev. Dr. Heugh
of Glasgow. He gave his name as Dochart, and the name in the letter was
M'Gregor. "Oh," said the Doctor, "I fear there is some mistake about
your identity, the names don't agree." "Weel, sir, that's the way they
spell the name in our country."

The relative whom I have mentioned as supplying so many Scottish
anecdotes had many stories of a parochial functionary whose
eccentricities have, in a great measure, given way before the
assimilating spirit of the times. I mean the old SCOTTISH BEADLE, or
betheral, as he used to be called. Some classes of men are found to have
that nameless but distinguishing characteristic of figure and aspect
which marks out particular occupations and professions of mankind. This
was so much the case in the betheral class, that an old lady, observing
a well-known judge and advocate walking together in the street, remarked
to a friend as they passed by, "Dear me, Lucy, wha are thae twa
_beddle-looking_ bodies?" They were often great originals, and, I
suspect, must have been in past times somewhat given to convivial
habits, from a remark I recollect of the late Baron Clerk Rattray, viz.
that in his younger days he had hardly ever known a perfectly sober
betheral. However this may have been, they were, as a class, remarkable
for quaint humour, and for being shrewd observers of what was going on.
I have heard of an occasion where the betheral made his wit furnish an
apology for his want of sobriety. He had been sent round the parish by
the minister to deliver notices at all the houses, of the catechising
which was to precede the preparation for receiving the communion. On his
return it was quite evident that he had partaken too largely of
refreshment since he had been on his expedition. The minister reproached
him for this improper conduct. The betheral pleaded the pressing
_hospitality_ of the parishioners. The clergyman did not admit the plea,
and added, "Now, John, I go through the parish, and you don't see me
return fou, as you have done." "Ay, minister," rejoined the betheral,
with much complacency, "but then aiblins ye're no sae popular i' the
parish as me."

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