Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character by Edward Bannerman Ramsay

E >> Edward Bannerman Ramsay >> Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34

Stories of humorous encounters between ministers and their hearers are
numerous, and though often seasoned with dry and caustic humour, they
never indicate appearance of bitterness or ill-feeling between the
parties. As an example, a clergyman thought his people were making
rather an unconscionable objection to his using a MS. in delivering his
sermon. They urged, "What gars ye tak up your bit papers to the pu'pit?"
He replied that it was best, for really he could not remember his
sermon, and must have his papers. "Weel, weel, minister, then dinna
expect that _we_ can remember them."

Some of these encounters arise out of the old question of sleeping in
church. For example--"I see, James, that you tak a bit nap in the kirk,"
said a minister to one of his people; "can ye no tak a mull with you?
and when you become heavy an extra pinch would keep you up." "Maybe it
wad," said James, "but pit you the sneeshin intil your sermon, minister,
and maybe that'll serve the same purpose." As a specimen of the
matter-of-fact view of religious questions frequently recorded of older
ministers, let me adduce a well-authenticated account of a minister in a
far up-hill parish in Deeside. Returning thanks one Sabbath for the
excellent harvest, he began as usual, "O Lord, we thank thee," etc., and
went on to mention its abundance, and its safe ingathering; but, feeling
anxious to be quite candid and scrupulously truthful, added, "all except
a few sma' bitties at Birse no worth o' mentioning."

A Scotch preacher, a man of large stature, being sent to officiate one
Sunday at a country parish, was accommodated at night, in the manse, in
a very diminutive closet--the usual best bedroom, appropriated to
strangers, being otherwise occupied. "Is this the bedroom?" he said,
starting back in amazement. "'Deed ay, sir, this is the prophets'
chalmer." "It maun be for the _minor_ prophets, then," was the
quiet reply.

Elders of the kirk, no doubt, frequently partook of the original and
humorous character of ministers and others, their contemporaries; and
amusing scenes must have passed, and good Scotch sayings been said,
where they were concerned. Dr. Chalmers used to repeat one of these
sayings of an elder with great delight. The Doctor associated with the
anecdote the name of Lady Glenorchy and the church which she endowed;
but I am assured that the person was Lady Elizabeth Cunninghame, sister
of Archibald, eleventh Earl of Eglinton, and wife of Sir John
Cunninghame, Bart., of Caprington, near Kilmarnock. It seems her
ladyship had, for some reason, taken offence at the proceedings of the
Caprington parochial authorities, and a result of which was that she
ceased putting her usual liberal offering into the plate at the door.
This had gone on for some time, till one of the elders, of less
forbearing character than the others, took his turn at the plate. Lady
Elizabeth as usual passed by without a contribution, but made a formal
courtsey to the elder at the plate, and sailed up the aisle. The good
man was determined not to let her pass so easily, so he quickly followed
her, and urged the remonstrance: "Gie us mair o' your siller and less o'
your mainners, my lady Betty." My kind correspondent, Rev. Mr. Agnew,
supplies me with an amusing pendant to this anecdote:--At a great church
meeting, Dr. Chalmers had told this story with much effect when Lord
Galloway was in the chair. After the meeting, Dr. Chalmers, and many
who had been present, dined at his lordship's hospitable table. After
dinner, when the morning meeting was discussed, Lord Galloway addressed
Dr. Chalmers on the subject of this story and, as if not quite pleased
at its being introduced, said, "Do you know, Doctor, the lady of whom
you told the story of the elder is a near relation of mine?" Dr.
Chalmers, with real or seeming simplicity, answered, "No, my Lord, I did
not; but next time I tell the story I can mention the fact." As a
pendant to the elder's disclaimer of "mainners" on the part of a lady of
rank, I may add an authentic anecdote of a very blunt and unpolished
Kincardineshire laird, expressing the same disclaimer of mainners on the
part of a servant, but in a far rougher form of speech. He had been
talking with a man who came to offer for his service as a butler. But
the laird soon found he was far too grand a gentleman for his service,
and became chafed with his requiring so many things as conditions of
coming; till, on his dismissal, when the man was bowing and scraping to
show how genteel he could be, he lost all patience, and roared out, "Get
out, ye fule; gie us nane o' your mainners here."

Of an eccentric and eloquent professor and divine of a northern Scottish
university, there are numerous and extraordinary traditionary anecdotes.
I have received an account of some of these anecdotes from the kind
communication of an eminent Scottish clergyman, who was himself in early
days his frequent hearer. The stories told of the strange observations
and allusions which he introduced into his pulpit discourses almost
surpass belief. For many reasons, they are not suitable to the nature of
this publication, still less could they be tolerated in any pulpit
administration now, although familiar with his contemporaries. The
remarkable circumstance, however, connected with these eccentricities
was, that he introduced them with the utmost gravity, and oftentimes,
after he had delivered them, pursued his subject with great earnestness
and eloquence, as if he had said nothing uncommon. One saying of the
professor, however, _out_ of the pulpit, is too good to be omitted, and
may be recorded without violation of propriety. He happened to meet at
the house of a lawyer, whom he considered rather a man of _sharp_
practice, and for whom he had no great favour, two of his own
parishioners. The lawyer jocularly and ungraciously put the question;
"Doctor, these are members of your flock; may I ask, do you look upon
them as white sheep or as black sheep?" "I don't know," answered the
professor drily, "whether they are black or white sheep, but I know that
if they are long here they are pretty sure to be fleeced."

It was a pungent answer given by a Free Kirk member who had deserted his
colours and returned to the old faith. A short time after the
Disruption, the Free Church minister chanced to meet him who had then
left him and returned to the Established Church. The minister bluntly
accosted him--"Ay, man, John, an' ye've left us; what micht be your
reason for that? Did ye think it wasna a guid road we was gaun?" "Ou, I
daursay it was a guid eneuch road and a braw road; but, O minister, the
tolls were unco high."

The following story I received from a member of the Penicuik
family:--Dr. Ritchie, who died minister of St. Andrews, Edinburgh, was,
when a young man, tutor to Sir G. Clerk and his brothers. Whilst with
them, the clergyman of the parish became unable, from infirmity and
illness, to do his duty, and Mr. Ritchie was appointed interim
assistant. He was an active young man, and during his residence in the
country had become fond of fishing, and was a good shot. When the
grouse-shooting came round, his pupils happened to be laid up with a
fever, so Mr. Ritchie had all the shooting to himself. One day he walked
over the moor so far that he became quite weary and footsore. On
returning home he went into a cottage, where the good woman received him
kindly, gave him water for his feet, and refreshment. In the course of
conversation, he told her he was acting as assistant minister of the
parish, and he explained how far he had travelled in pursuit of game,
how weary he was, and how completely knocked up he was. "Weel, sir, I
dinna doubt ye maun be sair travelled and tired wi' your walk." And then
she added, with sly reference to his profession, "'Deed, sir, I'm
thinkin' ye micht hae travelled frae Genesis to Revelation and no been
sae forfauchten[182]."

Scotch people in general are, like this old woman, very jealous, as
might be expected, of ministers joining the sportsman to their pastoral
character. A proposal for the appointment of a minister to a particular
parish, who was known in the country as a capital shot, called forth a
rather neat Scottish _pun_, from an old woman of the parish, who
significantly observed, "'Deed, _Kilpaatrick_ would hae been a mair
appropriate place for him." _Paatrick_ is Scotch for partridge.

I cannot do better in regard to the three following anecdotes of the
late Professor Gillespie of St. Andrews, than give them to my readers in
the words with which Dr. Lindsay Alexander kindly communicated them
to me.

"In the _Cornhill Magazine_ for March 1860, in an article on Student
Life in Scotland, there is an anecdote of the late Professor Gillespie
of St. Andrews, which is told in such a way as to miss the point and
humour of the story. The correct version, as I have heard it from the
professor himself, is this: Having employed the village carpenter to put
a frame round a dial at the manse of Cults, where he was a minister, he
received from the man a bill to the following effect:--'To fencing the
_deil_, 5s. 6d.' 'When I paid him,' said the professor, 'I could not
help saying, John, this is rather more than I counted on; but I haven't
a word to say. I get somewhere about two hundred a year for fencing the
_deil_, and I'm afraid I don't do it half so effectually as
you've done.'"

"Whilst I am writing, another of the many stories of the learned and
facetious professor rises in my mind. There was a worthy old woman at
Cults whose place in church was what is commonly called the Lateran; a
kind of small gallery at the top of the pulpit steps. She was a most
regular attender, but as regularly fell asleep during sermon, of which
fault the preacher had sometimes audible intimation. It was observed,
however, that though Janet always slept during her own pastor's
discourse, she could be attentive enough when she pleased, and
especially was she alert when some young preacher occupied the pulpit. A
little piqued, perhaps, at this, Mr. Gillespie said to her one day,
'Janet, I think you hardly behave very respectfully to your own minister
in one respect.' 'Me, sir!' exclaimed Janet, 'I wad like to see ony man,
no tae say woman, by yoursell, say that o' me! what can you mean, sir?'
'Weel, Janet, ye ken when I preach you're almost always fast asleep
before I've well given out my text; but when any of these young men from
St. Andrews preach for me, I see you never sleep a wink. Now, that's
what I call no using me as you should do.' 'Hoot, sir,' was the reply,
'is that a'? I'll sune tell you the reason o' that. When you preach, we
a' ken the word o' God's safe in your hands; but when thae young birkies
tak it in haun, my certie, but it taks us a' to look after them[183].'

"I am tempted to subjoin another. In the Humanity Class, one day, a
youth who was rather fond of showing off his powers of language,
translated Hor. Od. iii., 3, 61, 62, somewhat thus:--'The fortunes of
Troy renascent under sorrowful omen shall be repeated with sad
catastrophe.' 'Catastrophe!' cried the professor. 'Catastrophe, Mr.
----, that's Greek. Give us it in plain English, if you please.' Thus
suddenly pulled down from his high horse, the student effected his
retreat with a rather lame and impotent version. 'Now,' said the
professor, his little sharp eyes twinkling with fun, 'that brings to my
recollection what once happened to a friend of mine, a minister in the
country. Being a scholarly man he was sometimes betrayed into the use of
words in the pulpit which the people were not likely to understand; but
being very conscientious, he never detected himself in this, without
pausing to give the meaning of the word he had used, and sometimes his
extempore explanations of very fine words were a little like what we
have just had from Mr. ----, rather too flat and commonplace. On one
occasion he allowed this very word 'catastrophe' to drop from him, on
which he immediately added, 'that, you know, my friends, means the _end_
of a thing.' Next day, as he was riding through his parish, some
mischievous youth succeeded in fastening a bunch of furze to his
horse's tail--a trick which, had the animal been skittish, might have
exposed the worthy pastor's horsemanship to too severe a trial, but
which happily had no effect whatever on the sober-minded and respectable
quadruped which he bestrode. On, therefore, he quietly jogged, utterly
unconscious of the addition that had been made to his horse's caudal
region, until, as he was passing some cottages, he was arrested by the
shrill voice of an old woman exclaiming, 'Heh, sir! Heh, sir! there's a
whun-buss at your horse's catawstrophe!'"

I have several times adverted to the subject of epigrams. A clever
impromptu of this class has been recorded as given by a judge's lady in
reply to one made by the witty Henry Erskine at a dinner party at Lord
Armadale's. When a bottle of claret was called for, port was brought in
by mistake. A second time claret was sent for, and a second time the
same mistake occurred. Henry Erskine addressed the host in an impromptu,
which was meant as a parody on the well-known Scottish song, "My
Jo, Janet"--

"Kind sir, it's for your courtesie
When I come here to dine, sir,
For the love ye bear to me,
Gie me the claret wine, sir."

To which Mrs. Honeyman retorted--

"Drink the port, the claret's dear,
Erskine, Erskine;
Yell get fou on't, never fear,
My jo, Erskine."

Some of my younger readers may not be familiar with the epigram of John
Home, author of the tragedy of "Douglas." The lines were great
favourites with Sir Walter Scott, who delighted in repeating them. Home
was very partial to claret, and could not bear port. He was exceedingly
indignant when the Government laid a tax upon claret, having previously
long connived at its introduction into Scotland under very mitigated
duties. He embodied his anger in the following epigram:--

"Firm and erect the Caledonian stood,
Old was his mutton, and his claret good;
'Let him drink port,' an English statesman cried--
He drank the poison, and his spirit died."

There is a curious story traditionary in some families connected with
the nobleman who is the subject of it, which, I am assured, is true, and
further, that it has never yet appeared in print. The story is,
therefore, a "Scottish reminiscence," and, as such, deserves a place
here. The Earl of Lauderdale was so ill as to cause great alarm to his
friends, and perplexity to his physicians. One distressing symptom was a
total absence of sleep, and the medical men declared their opinion, that
without sleep being induced he could not recover. His son, a queer
eccentric-looking boy, who was considered not entirely right in his mind
but somewhat "_daft_" and who accordingly had had little attention paid
to his education, was sitting under the table, and cried out, "Sen' for
that preachin' man frae Livingstone, for faither aye sleeps in the
kirk." One of the doctors thought this hint worth attending to. The
experiment of "getting a minister till him" succeeded, and, sleep coming
on, he recovered. The Earl, out of gratitude for this benefit, took more
notice of his son, paid attention to his education, and that boy became
the Duke of Lauderdale, afterwards so famous or infamous in his
country's history.

The following very amusing anecdote, although it belongs more properly
to the division on peculiarities of Scottish phraseology, I give in the
words of a correspondent who received it from the parties with whom it
originated. About twenty years ago, he was paying a visit to a cousin,
married to a Liverpool merchant of some standing. The husband had lately
had a visit from his aged father, who formerly followed the occupation
of farming in Stirlingshire, and who had probably never been out of
Scotland before in his life. The son, finding his father rather _de
trop_ in his office, one day persuaded him to cross the ferry over the
Mersey, and inspect the harvesting, then in full operation, on the
Cheshire side. On landing, he approached a young woman reaping with the
sickle in a field of oats, when the following dialogue ensued:--

_Farmer_.--Lassie, are yer aits muckle bookit[184] th' year?

_Reaper_.--What say'n yo?

_Farmer_.--I was speiring gif yer aits are muckle bookit th' year!

_Reaper_ (in amazement).--I dunnot know what yo' say'n.

_Farmer_ (in equal astonishment).--Gude--safe--us,--do ye no understaan
gude plain English?--are--yer--aits--muckle--bookit?

Reaper decamps to her nearest companion, saying that was a madman, while
he shouted in great wrath, "They were naething else than a set o'
ignorant pock-puddings."

An English tourist visited Arran, and being a keen disciple of Izaak
Walton, was arranging to have a day's good sport. Being told that the
cleg, or horse-fly, would suit his purpose admirably for lure, he
addressed himself to Christy, the Highland servant-girl:--"I say, my
girl, can you get me some horse-flies?" Christy looked stupid, and he
repeated his question. Finding that she did not yet comprehend him, he
exclaimed, "Why, girl, did you never see a horse-fly?" "Naa, sir," said
the girl, "but A wance saw a coo jump ower a preshipice."

The following anecdote is highly illustrative of the thoroughly attached
old family serving-man. A correspondent sends it as told to him by an
old schoolfellow of Sir Walter Scott's at Fraser and Adam's class,
High School:--

One of the lairds of Abercairnie proposed _to go out_, on the occasion
of one of the risings for the Stuarts, in the '15 or '45--but this was
not with the will of his old serving-man, who, when Abercairnie was
pulling on his boots, preparing to go, overturned a kettle of boiling
water upon his legs, so as to disable him from joining his
friends--saying, "Tak that--let them fecht wha like; stay ye at hame and
be laird o' Abercairnie."

A story illustrative of a union of polite courtesy with rough and
violent ebullition of temper common in the old Scottish character, is
well known in the Lothian family. William Henry, fourth Marquis of
Lothian, had for his guest at dinner an old countess to whom he wished
to show particular respect and attention[185]. After a very
complimentary reception, he put on his white gloves to hand her down
stairs, led her up to the upper end of the table, bowed, and retired to
his own place. This I am assured was the usual custom with the chief
lady guest by persons who themselves remember it. After all were seated,
the Marquis addressed the lady, "Madam, may I have the honour and
happiness of helping your ladyship to some fish?" But he got no answer,
for the poor woman was deaf as a post, and did not hear him. After a
pause, but still in the most courteous accents, "Madam, have I your
ladyship's permission to send you some fish?" Then a little quicker, "Is
your Ladyship inclined to take fish?" Very quick, and rather peremptory,
"Madam, do ye choice fish?" At last the thunder burst, to everybody's
consternation, with a loud thump on the table and stamp on the floor:
"Con--found ye, will ye have any fish?" I am afraid the exclamation
might have been even of a more pungent character.

A correspondent has kindly enabled me to add a reminiscence and anecdote
of a type of Scottish character now nearly extinct.--I mean the old
Scottish _military_ officer of the wars of Holland and the Low
Countries. I give them in his own words:--"My father, the late Rev. Dr.
Bethune, minister of Dornoch, was on friendly terms with a fine old
soldier, the late Colonel Alexander Sutherland of Calmaly and Braegrudy,
in Sutherlandshire, who was lieutenant-colonel of the 'Local Militia,'
and who used occasionally, in his word of command, to break out with a
Gaelic phrase to the men, much to the amusement of bystanders. He called
his charger, a high-boned not overfed animal, Cadaver--a play upon
accents, for he was a good classical scholar, and fond of quoting the
Latin poets. But he had no relish nor respect for the 'Modern
languages,' particularly for that of our French neighbours, whom he
looked upon as 'hereditary' enemies! My father and the colonel were both
politicians, as well as scholars. Reading a newspaper article in his
presence one day, my father stopped short, handing the paper to him, and
said, 'Colonel, here is a _French_ quotation, which you can translate
better than I can,' 'No, sir!' said the colonel, 'I never learnt the
language of the scoundrels!!!' The colonel was known as 'Col. Sandy
Sutherland,' and the men always called him _Colonel Sandy_. He was a
splendid specimen of the hale veteran, with a stentorian voice, and the
last queue I remember to have seen."

A correspondent kindly sends me from Aberdeenshire a humorous story,
very much of the same sort as that of Colonel Erskine's servant, who
considerately suggested to his master that "maybe an aith might relieve
him[186]." My correspondent heard the story from the late
Bishop Skinner.

It was among the experiences of his father, Bishop _John_ Skinner. While
making some pastoral visits in the neighbourhood of the town (Aberdeen),
the Bishop took occasion to step into the cottage of two humble
parishioners, a man and his wife, who cultivated a little croft. No one
was within; but as the door was only on the latch, the Bishop knew that
the worthy couple could not be far distant. He therefore stepped in the
direction of the outhouses, and found them both in the barn winnowing
corn, in the primitive way, with "riddles," betwixt two open doors. On
the Bishop making his appearance, the honest man ceased his winnowing
operations, and in the gladness of his heart stepped briskly forward to
welcome his pastor; but in his haste he trod upon the rim of the riddle,
which rebounded with great force against one of his shins. The accident
made him suddenly pull up; and, instead of completing the reception, he
stood vigorously rubbing the injured limb; and, not daring in such a
venerable presence to give vent to the customary strong ejaculations,
kept twisting his face into all sorts of grimaces. As was natural, the
Bishop went forward, uttering the usual formulas of condolence and
sympathy, the patient, meanwhile, continuing his rubbings and his silent
but expressive contortions. At last Janet came to the rescue; and,
clapping the Bishop coaxingly on the back, said, "Noo, Bishop, jist gang
ye yir waas into the hoose, an' we'll follow fan he's had time to curse
a fyllie, an' I'se warran' he'll seen be weel eneuch!"

The following might have been added as examples of the dry humorous
manner in which our countrymen and countrywomen sometimes treat matters
with which they have to deal, even when serious ones:--

An itinerant vendor of wood in Aberdeen having been asked how his wife
was, replied, "Oh, she's fine; I hae taen her tae Banchory;" and on it
being innocently remarked that the change of air would do her good, he
looked up, and, with a half smile, said, "Hoot, she's i' the kirk-yard."

The well-known aversion of the Scotch to hearing _read_ sermons has
often led to amusing occurrences. One pastor, in a country district, who
was much respected by his people, but who, nevertheless, were never
quite reconciled to his _paper_ in the pulpit, found himself on one
occasion in an awkward predicament, from this same paper question. One
Sabbath afternoon, having exhausted both firstly and secondly, he came
to the termination of his discourse; but, unfortunately, the manuscript
was wanting. In vain efforts to seek the missing paper, he repeated
"thirdly and lastly" _ad nauseam_ to his hearers. At last one, cooler
than the others, rose, and nodding to the minister, observed, "'Deed,
sir, If I'm no mista'en, I saw 'thirdly and lastly' fa' ower the poopit
stairs;" evidently enjoying the disappearance of so important a part of
the obnoxious document.

This prejudice was indeed some years since in Scotland quite inveterate.
The following anecdote has been kindly sent to me from _Memoirs of
Charles Young,_ lately published by his son:--

"I have a distinct recollection, one Sunday when I was living at Cults,
and when a stranger was officiating for Dr. Gillespie, observing that he
had not proceeded five minutes with his 'discourse,' before there was a
general commotion and stampedo. The exodus at last became so serious,
that, conceiving something to be wrong, probably a fire in the manse, I
caught the infection, and eagerly inquired of the first person I
encountered in the churchyard what was the matter, and was told, with an
expression of sovereign scorn and disgust--'Losh keep ye, young man! Hae
ye eyes, and see not? Hae ye ears, and hear not? _The man reads!_"

On one occasion, however, even this prejudice gave way before the power
of the most eloquent preacher that Scotland ever heard, or perhaps that
the world ever heard. A shrewd old Fife hearer of sermons had been
objecting, in the usual exaggerated language, against reading sermons in
the pulpit. A gentleman urged the case of Dr. Chalmers, in defence of
the practice. He used his paper in preaching rigidly, and yet with what
an effect he read! All the objector could reply to this was, "Ah, but
it's _fell_[187] reading yon."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34