Scotch Frugality.—A commercial traveller having got a settlement of his account with a shopkeeper in Falkirk, invited him to dinner at the inn. ‘Na, na,’ said he, ‘I never gang to an inn; I’ll no gang. But just tell me how muckle it would cost you gi’eing me my dinner at the inn as ye ca’d?’ ‘Oh! never mind that,’ said the traveller. ‘Aye, but I want to ken—just tell me,’ added he behind the counter. ‘Oh,’ said the traveller, ‘perhaps six or seven shillings.’ ‘Very weel, then,’ replied the curmudgeon, ‘just gi’e me the seven shillings.’
A Man of Family.—A decent highlander in Badenoch called lately upon the minister of the parish, and making his bow, hoped ‘that Mr —— would look in at his house some day and christen a few bairns for him.’ ‘A few bairns!’ exclaimed the minister, ‘what way is that to speak, Donald; how many have you got?’ ‘Why, sir,’ replied the other, ‘there were three when I left the house, but I canna tell how many there may be since.’
Blessings of Primogeniture.—A countryman whose master had two sons, being asked one day whether the youngest was married? replied, ‘Yes.’ ‘Is the oldest married too? ‘Na,’ said the sagacious servant, ‘ye ken he’s the young laird; he canna get a wife till his father dies.’
A certain worthy divine from the north, who visits the general assembly of the kirk of Scotland every year, has for time immemorial taken up his annual abode in a certain tavern in Edinburgh. This healthy mountaineer has an instinctive horror at all deleterious mixtures in human food, whether solid or liquid; and the reason he assigned for frequenting the above tavern was, that he could always command the luxury of fresh eggs to breakfast. These he always boiled himself, and would take none except he found them hot from the nest. This year he appeared as usual, like the bittern at her appointed time; but, unfortunately, he laid his forepaw on a couple of plump eggs, but quite cold, and apparently not laid yesterday. The man of the church waxed wroth, and summoned the waiter. Betty assured him they were fresh, but could not explain why they were cold. The landlady was next taken to task, and threatened with the loss of a customer unless this suspicious phenomenon was satisfactorily cleared up. ‘’Deed, sir,’ replied the hostess, ‘I am unco sorry for’t; but to tell Gude’s truth, sir, I couldna get the cat to sit on them this morning.’
A Sailor’s Notion.—A Sailor, seeing some of our domestic slave-traders driving coloured men, women, and children on board a ship for New Orleans market, shook his head and said, ‘Jim, if the devil don’t catch them fellows, we might as well not have any devil.’
An American paper says—‘Travellers should be careful to intrust their baggage to proper persons only, as a gentleman a few days since, on alighting from a stage-coach, intrusted his wife to a stranger, and she has not been heard of since.’
Montaigne retained during the whole of his life an elderly female in his service, who had been the nurse of his childhood, and to whom he was in the habit of reading his compositions, on the principle that if she could understand them everybody else must. On one occasion the philosopher, whilst sipping his morning dish of coffee, accosted her as follows:—‘Nurse, I have made a deep discovery this morning.’ ‘Indeed,’ replied the old lady; ‘what is that?’ ‘Why, nurse, you need not tell any one, but I have actually found out what no one else could suspect.’ ‘And what is that, Sir.’ ‘Why, that I am an old fool.’ ‘La! Sir! is that all?’ observed the good woman; ‘if you had but asked me I could have told you that 20 years ago—I have seen it all along.’
The Bagpiper.—During the great plague of London, carts were sent round the city each night, the drivers of which rung a bell, as intimation for every house to bring out its dead. The bodies were then thrown promiscuously into the cart, conveyed to the suburbs, and buried. A piper had his constant stand at the bottom of Holborn, near St Andrew’s Church. He became well known about the neighbourhood. A certain gentleman, who never failed in his generosity to the piper, was surprised, on passing one day as usual, to miss him from his accustomed place:—upon inquiry, he found that the poor man had been taken ill in consequence of a very singular accident. On the joyful occasion of the arrival of one of his countrymen from the Highlands, the piper had in fact made too free with the contents of his keg; these so overpowered his faculties, that he stretched himself out upon the steps of the church, and fell fast asleep. He was found in this situation when the dead cart went its rounds; and the carter, supposing that the man was dead, made no scruple to put his fork under the piper’s belt, and hoisted him into his vehicle, that our Scottish musician should share the usual brief ceremonies of interment. The piper’s faithful dog protested against this seizure of his master, jumped into the cart after him, to the no small annoyance of the men, whom he would not suffer to come near the body; he further took upon himself the office of chief mourner, by setting up the most lamentable howling as they passed along. The streets and roads by which they had to go being very rough, the jolting of the cart, added to the howling of the dog, had soon the effect of awakening our drunken musician from his trance. It was dark; and the piper, when he first recovered himself, could form no idea either of his numerous companions, or his conductors. Instinctively, however, he felt for his pipes, and playing up a merry Scottish tune, terrified in no small measure the carters, who fancied they had got a legend of ghosts in their conveyance. A little time, however, put all to rights;—lights were got, and it turned out that the noisy corpse was the well known living piper, who was joyfully released from his awful and perilous situation. The poor man fell badly ill after his unpleasant excursion, and was relieved during his malady by his former benefactor, who, to perpetuate the remembrance of so wonderful an escape, resolved, as soon as his patient recovered, to employ a sculptor to execute him in stone. The statue represents a bagpiper in a sitting posture, playing on his pipes.
Puffing in Style.—A few days ago a hawker, while cheapening his haberdashery wares, was bawling out, ‘Here’s the real good napkins; they’ll neither tear, wear, ruffle, nor rive; throw in the washing, nor go back in the pressing. All the water between the rocks of Gibralter and the Cape of Good Hope will not alter the colour of them. They were woven seven miles below ground by the light of diamonds; and the people never saw day-light but once in the seven years. They were not woven by a brosy clumsy apprentice boy, but by a right and tight good tradesman, who got two eggs, and a cup of tea, and a glass of whisky to his breakfast; and every thread is as long and strong as would hang a bull, or draw a man-of-war ship into harbour.’