An old gentleman named Scott was engaged in the "affair of the '15" (the Rebellion of 1715) and with some difficulty was saved from the gallows by the intercession by the d.u.c.h.ess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. Her grace, who maintained considerable authority over her clan, sent for the object of her intercession and, warning him of the risk which he had run and the trouble she had taken on his account, wound up her lecture by intimating that, in case of such disloyalty again, he was not to expect her interest in his favor.

"An' it please your grace," said the stout old Tory, "I fear I am too old to see another opportunity."

=A Night in a Coal-cellar=

One night, sitting later than usual, sunk in the profundities of a great folio tome, the Rev. Dr. Wightman of Kirkmahol imagined he heard a sound in the kitchen inconsistent with the quietude and security of a manse, and so taking his candle he proceeded to investigate the cause. His foot being heard in the lobby, the housekeeper began with all earnestness to cover the fire, as if preparing for bed.

"Ye're late up to-night, Mary."

"I'm jist rakin' the fire, sir, and gaun to bed."

"That's right, Mary; I like timeous hours."

On his way back to the study he pa.s.sed the coal-closet, and, turning the key, took it with him. Next morning, at an early hour, there was a rap at his bedroom door, and a request for the key to put a fire on.

"Ye're too soon up, Mary; go back to your bed yet."

Half an hour later there was another knock, and a similar request in order to prepare the breakfast.

"I don't want breakfast so soon, Mary; go back to your bed."

Another half an hour and another knock with an entreaty for the key, as it was washing day. This was enough. He rose and handed out the key saying, "go and let the man out."

Mary's sweetheart had been imprisoned all night in the coal-closet, as the minister shrewdly suspected, and, Pyramis-and-Thisbe-like, they had breathed their love to each other through the key-hole. [25]

=Not Quite an a.s.s=

James Boswell, the biographer of Dr. Johnson, was distinguished in his private life by his humor and power of repartee. He has been described as a man in whose face it was impossible at any time to look without being inclined to laugh. The following is one of his good things: As he was pleading one day at the Scotch bar before his father, Lord Auchinleck, who was at that time what is called Ordinary on the Bills (judge of cases in the first stage), the testy old senator, offended at something his son said, peevishly exclaimed: "Jamie, ye're an a.s.s, man."

"Not exactly, my lord," answered the junior; "only a colt, the foal of an a.s.s."

=A Cute Gaoler=

Before the adoption of the police act in Airdrie, a worthy named Geordie G---- had the surveillance of the town. A drunken, noisy Irishman was lodged in a cell, who caused an "awful row" by kicking at the cell-door with his heavy boots. Geordie went to the cell, and opening the door a little, said:

"Man, ye micht put aff yer buits, and I'll gie them a bit rub, so that ye'll be respectable like afore the bailie in the mornin'."

The prisoner complied with his request, and saw his mistake only when the door was closed upon him, Geordie crying out:

"Ye can kick as lang as ye like, noo."

=Not Qualified to Baptize=

The only amus.e.m.e.nt in which Ralph Erskine, the father of the Scottish Secession, indulged, was playing the violin. He was so great a proficient on this instrument, and so often beguiled his leisure hours with it, that the people of Dumfermline believed he composed his sermons to its tones, as a poet writes a song to a particular air. They also tell the following anecdote connected with the subject:

A poor man in one of the neighboring parishes, having a child to baptize, resolved not to employ his own clergyman, with whom he was at issue on certain points of doctrine, but to have the office performed by some minister of whose tenets fame gave a better report.

With the child in his arms, therefore, and attended by the full complement of old and young women who usually minister on such occasions, he proceeded to the manse of ----, some miles off (not that of Mr. Erskine), where he inquired if the clergyman was at home.

"Na; he's no' at hame yeenoo," answered the servant la.s.s; "he's down the burn fishing; but I can soon cry him in."

"Ye needna gie yoursel' the trouble," replied the man, quite shocked at this account of the minister's habits; "nane o' your fishin' ministers shall bapt.e.e.ze my bairn."

Off he then trudged, followed by his whole train, to the residence of another parochial clergyman, at the distance of some miles. Here, on inquiring if the minister was at home, the la.s.s answered:

"'Deed he's no' at home the day, he's been out since sax i' the morning at the shooting. Ye needna wait, neither; for he'll be sae made out when he comes back, that he'll no' be able to say bo to a calf, let-a-be kirsen a wean!"

"Wait, la.s.sie!" cried the man in a tone of indignant scorn; "wad I wait, d'ye think, to haud up my bairn before a minister that gangs oot at six i' the morning to shoot G.o.d's creatures? I'll awa down to gude Mr.

Erskine at Dumfermline; and he'll be neither out at the fishing nor shooting, I think."

The whole baptismal train then set off for Dumfermline, sure that the Father of the Secession, although not now a placed minister, would at least be engaged in no unclerical sports, to incapacitate him for performing the sacred ordinance in question.

On their arriving, however, at the house of the clergyman, which they did not do until late in the evening, the man, on rapping at the door, antic.i.p.ated that he would not be at home any more than his brethren, as he heard the strains of a fiddle proceeding from the upper chamber. "The minister will not be at home," he said, with a sly smile to the girl who came to the door, "or your lad wadna be playing that gait t'ye on the fiddle."

"The minister _is_ at hame," quoth the girl; "mair by token, it's himsel' that's playing, honest man; he aye takes a tune at night, before he gangs to bed. Faith, there's nae lad o' mine can play that gait; it wad be something to tell if ony o' them could."

"_That_ the minister playing!" cried the man in a degree of astonishment and horror far transcending what he had expressed on either of the former occasions. "If _he_ does this, what may the rest no' do? Weel, I fairly gie them up a'thegither. I have traveled this haill day in search o' a G.o.dly minister, and never man met wi' mair disappointment in a day's journey." "I'll tell ye what, gudewife," he added, turning to the disconsolate party behind, "we'll just awa' back to our ain minister after a'. He's no' a'thegither sound, it's true; but let him be what he likes in doctrine, deil hae me if ever I kenk him fish, shoot, or play on the fiddle a' his days!"

=One Scotchman Outwitted by Another=

Some years since, before the sale of game was legalized, and a present of it was thought worth the expense of carriage, an Englishman who had rented a moor within twenty miles of Aberdeen, wishing to send a ten brace box of grouse to his friends in the south, directed his gilly to procure a person to take the box to the capital of the north, from whence the London steamer sailed. Not one, however, of the miserably poor tenants in the neighborhood could be found who would take the box for a less sum than eight shillings. This demand was thought so unreasonable, that the Englishman complained to a Scotch friend who was shooting along with him.

The Scotchman replied that "the natives always make a point of imposing as much as possible upon strangers; but," he said "if you will leave it to me, I will manage it for you; for with all their knavery, they are the simplest people under the sun."

A few days afterwards, going out shooting, they saw a man loading his cart with peats, when the Scotchman, approaching him, said, after the usual salutation--"What are you going to do with the peats?"

"I'm going to Aberdeen to sell them," was the reply.

"What do you get for them?"

"One shilling and eightpence, sir."

"Indeed! Well, I will buy them, if you will be sure to deliver them for me at Aberdeen."

"That I will, and thank you, too, sir."

All agreed, the Scotchman resumed his walk for about twenty yards, when he suddenly turned round and said: "By-the-by, I have a small box I want taken to the same place. You can place it on the top of the peats?"

"That I will, and welcome, sir."

"Well, if you will call at the lodge in the evening, I will give you the direction for the peats, and you can have the box at the same time."

He did so, and actually carried the box, and gave a load of peats for one shilling and eightpence, although neither the same man nor any of his neighbors would forward the box _alone_ for less than eight shillings.