  FROM THE LAYS OF A LAZY MINSTREL Haggis broo is bla’ and braw, Kittle kail is a’ awa’; Gin a lassie kens fu’ weel, Ilka pawkie rattlin’ reel. Hey the laddie! Oh the pladdie! Hey the sonsie Finnie haddie! Hoot awa’! Gang awa’ wi’ philibegs, Maut’s nae missed frae tappit kegs; Sound the spleuchan o’ the stanes, Post the pibroch i’ the lanes! Hey the swankie, scrievin’ shaver! Ho the canny clishmaclaver! Hoot awa’! Paritch glowry i’ the ee, Mutchkin for a wee drappee; Feckfu’ is the barley-bree— Unco’ gude! Ah! wae is me! Hey the tousie Tullochgorum! Ho the mixtie-maxtie jorum! Hoot awa’! [We have received a note from the Lazy One, saying that he is staying in the North of Scotland with the Maclather of Maclather. He says, if we were to hear the retainers sing “Rigs Awa’”—of which he encloses a copy—during dinner, accompanying themselves on the national instruments, sporans and claymores, we should never forget it. We don’t suppose we ever should.——On second thoughts, we do not believe he has been out of town at all, but that someone has sent him a guinea Christmas hamper. “Rigs Awa’,” indeed! We’ll give him a recht gude willie waght in his ee when we catch him.—Ed.] VERY HARD LINES “Well, Kirsty, how’s business?” “Middlin’, mem, jist middlin’. Some days we dae naething ava, an’ ithers we dae twice as muckle.” Tammas (to Friend, who has joined the teetotal). “There’s nae doot, Jeems, ye’re a much improved man,—but I’ve lost a freend!” THRIFT! Mabel (who has just concluded a bargain for a fowl). “Then I’ll tell mother you’ll kill it and send it up to-night.” Mrs. Macfarlane. “Na, na, I’ll no kill it till the morn. I’m thinkin’ it’s goin’ to lay an egg this evenin’!” AN IRREVERENT SAXON “My card, mon? I hanna got one! But I’d hae you to ken that I’m a Mackintosh!” “You may be a Humbereller for all I knows, but my fare’s heighteenpence!” REASSURING! Old Gent (suddenly turning corner in narrow lane). “Oh!—I say!—Is he?—Will he?”—(backing into hedge.)—“Can he?”—— Peasant. “Don’t take no notice of ’im, sir! I’ve got a wee bit check on ’im if he runs!!” “THE VERNACULAR” Old Gentleman, frae Aberdeen (at the Exhibition). “I say, Joack, look up the cat’logk an see fa that is wi’ the ‘Brechum’ [horse-collar] on!” A NARCOTIC Doctor. “Look here, Mrs. McCawdle. Don’t give him any more physic. A sound sleep will do him more good than anything.” Gudewife. “E-h, docthor, if we could only get him tae the kirk!!” “AGE CANNOT WITHER, NOR CUSTOM STALE!” Returned Native (to country carrier, who has given him a lift). “We don’t seem to be covering the ground so fast as we did twelve years ago.” Carrier. “Ye’re wrang there, Mr. Broon, for it’s the same bit beastie!” AWARE OF THE CRISIS Sairgeant Mucklewham (more in sorrow than anger). “Halt! O Man Nummer Three, I wunner tae sae ye! Hoo can ye think Foreign Powers can ever respect ye, if ye wull persist in steppin’ three inches less than the regelation!” PUT TO THE ROUT Distracted Bandster. “Komm avay—komm avay—ee zhall nod give you nodingsh—ee vill blay de moozeek erselbst! Teufel!” [They retreat hastily. BOTH SIDES OF THE QUESTION Dissipated Tradesman (to the expostulations of the minister). “Ye’re aye crackin’ at me about my drinkin’, sir, but you don’t consider my drooth!!” “PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY” English Angler (on this side of the Tweed). “Hi, Donald! come over and help me to land him—a 20-pounder I’ll swear——” Highlander (on the other). “It wull tak’ ye a lang time to lan’ that fush too, d’ye ken, sir, whatever!—Ye hae heuket the kingdom o’ auld Scotland!” Northern Gamekeeper. “Will ye gie me some oil to my guns this morning, cook?” Cook. “If ye wunt oil frae me, ‘keeper,’ ye’ll need to mind. Ma name’s no cook—ma name’s Misthress Macphairson!” Gamekeeper (with a sniff). “Weel, gin ye’re no to be ‘cook,’ I’m nae to be ‘keeper’! Ye’ll be as gude as gie me ‘Maisther Forr-biss’!!” VACCINATION RE-NAMED The New Doctor. “Well, Mac, how is the little girl’s arm going on?” Mac. “Weel, sir, my gudewife says it’s looking just fine whaur ye tattoo’d it.” “WHAT IN THE CAPTAIN’S BUT A CHOLERIC WORD” The Laird (to his Gardener, who had caught somebody trespassing). “Hum! And you say, Saunders, that the fellow was impudent?” Gardener. “‘Impident!’ ’Deed, sir, if he had been the Laird himsell he could na hae been mair ill-bred!” MacNab (whose wife has met with a slight accident on the railway, to Railway Agent, who has called to offer condolence, and produces one or two pounds by way of solatium). “Na, na, if she dees it will likely be twa or three hunders!” A MODERN ATHENIAN Southern Tourist (in Edinburgh). “Can you direct me to the Royal Institution?” Native. (Vacant Stare.) “What est?” Tourist (giving a Clue). “Pictures, you know—Statues—and——” Native (after much thought). “Oo!—et’s the Stukky Feggars ye mean!”—(Pointing.)—“Yon’s et!” A POSER Fair Client. “I’m always photographed from the same side, but I forget which!” Scots Photographer (reflectively). “Well, it’ll no be this side, I’m thinkin’. Maybe it’s t’ither!” A NICE DISTINCTION Porter. “Train’s awa, man. Ye should hae ran faster.” Passenger. “Ran faster! Dod, I ran fast eneugh, but I should hae startit sooner.” “ALARUMS, EXCURSIONS” Perplexed Old Lady (at Scottish Junction in a fog). “Ah hae ma bundle—an’ ah hae ma teeck’t—but fa’s the Deeside Rel-ro’d!!” Excited Scotsman (who has just hooked a fish). “I’m dashed feared I’ll loose my half-crown flee!” “WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK.” Scene—District Court in a Colony Scots Judge (with a very marked pug-nose). “Weel, noo, sir, if ye gae along the ro’d in question, where’ll ye gang tae?” Scots Witness (deliberately). “That a’ depends, yer honour, on how far ye gae!” Judge (snappishly). “Ye understan’ vera weel, sir. If ye follow yer nose, mun, where’ll ye gang till?” Witness (after a pause). “Ah’ve always heer-ed it said, yer honour, that if ye follow yer nose too far, it’ll tak’ ye t’ the moon!” Judge. “Step doon, sir!”—(In an angry aside).—“The mon’s a fool!” Traveller (to Colonial Squatter). “Hullo, McDonald! I didn’t expect this of you! All your men working on a Sunday!” Mac. “This is nae Sunday, mun!—it’s Wednesday——” Traveller. “Not a bit of it! This is Sunday, I assure you——” Mac. “Aweel! Think o’ that, noo! We hinna seen a sowl for three months, an’ there’s nae an almanack i’ the hoose, an’ we’ve gotten jummelt up a’ th’gether!!” Malcolm (to the Colonel, who had been narrating his fishing adventures all over the globe). “Ye must ha’e had gran’ sport among the black men, sir! Hed they ony releegion?”—Colonel. “All kinds, Malcolm. Some worshipped idols, some the sun, some the moon, some the water——” Malcolm. “The watter!” (Musing.) “Aweel, sir, I couldna’ bring mysel’ to care for that!” Keeper (to the two Tourists, who find canoeing more difficult on the Highland rivers than on the Thames). “Hi! Hoy! Hoy! D’ye no ken this is the McChizzlem’s private watter!?” MAGNIFYING HIS CALLING Peter. “Na, laddie, this is ane o’ thae things a body can never learn. There’s no nae use in a man takin’ tae this job unless he has a naiteral born aptitude for’d!” GOING TO EXTREMES He of the ruffled temper. “As sure’s ma name’s Tammas Paterson, I’ll hae the law o’ ye, though it should cost me hauf-a-croon!” CARBINE PRACTICE Sandy McGuttle and a friend of his marking in butt. Officer in charge of squad at the shooting-range wonders why the deuce they don’t signal that last shot. He has also grave doubts about the number of bulls’-eyes already recorded. STAUNCH Old Lady (who had been buying eggs). “’Deed, Mr. McTreacle, butchers’ meat’s sae dear now-a-days ah’m no able to buy’t!” Grocer. “You should turn a vegetarian——” Old Lady. “A veegetarian!—Na, na! ah was born an’ brocht up i’ the Free Kirk, an’ a’m no gaun ta change ma releegion i’ m’ auld days!” Officer of Militia. “Well, sir, who are you? and what’s the matter?” Excited Citizen. “Me? I’m the bailie—the heid bailie, mon! I catched this wee laddie feshin’ on the Sawbath day! Says he’s a Caath’lic—a Rooman Caath’lic!! E-h, it’s just dreadfu’ to think o’—feshin’ in a Protestant loch!! And o’ the Sawbath! Lord save us!” RESIGNATION He (Third-Class). “Come awa’! D’ye no see that’s a first-class?” She (ditto). “Aweel, on a busy day like this, we maun just put up wi’ ony accommodation we can get!!” DESECRATION. English Angler (on Saturday evening). “Anybody ever fish up here on a Sunday, m’um?” Scots Landlady (in consternation). “Hech, mon! ye’d be jail’t!!” “PREHISTORIC SCOTLAND” DE-PICT-ED (Not by Dr. Robert Munro.) THE END BRADBURY, AGNEW. & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE Transcriber’s Notes:
|
|
