“A sailor, who had been long out at sea, was on his return asked by a companion what sort of voyage they had. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘a very good one; only we had prayers twice. But one of the times there was no more occasion for them than if you and I should fall down and pray this minute.’”
Lord Loudoun.[175]
“My Lord Stair,[176] who wrote a very bad hand, sent once to my Lord Loudoun a written commission to be read to Sir Philip Honeywood.[177] Lord Loudoun received the letter at the British Coffee-house, where he was sitting after dinner with some friends taking a very hearty bottle; and whether the wine made him see double or no, so it was that he read the commission very distinctly. Next morning he went to wait on Sir Philip Honeywood, and being then quite cool and in his sober senses he could not read a word of it, and neither could Sir Philip. Lord Loudoun could not go back to Lord Stair and tell him his hand was not legible, so Sir Philip trusted to Lord Loudoun’s memory of what he had read the day before, and could not then read at all, a most curious fact. When the Duke of Cumberland was told of it he said, ‘Loudoun, why did you not stay and dine with Sir Philip, and then you would both have read it.’”
Lord Loudoun.
“Mr. Clark, uncle to Baron Clark, a most curious mortal, who had been bred a surgeon, had travelled over the greatest part of the world, and always walked. He had the misfortune to break one of his legs, and two pieces of the bone came out of it. He had them drest, and made hafts to a knife and fork of them. When he was dying he sent for Doctor Clark[178] and the Baron.[179] ‘Now, gentlemen,’ said he, ‘this knife and fork will be the most valuable part of my executory, and I’ll leave them to any of you two who shall give me the best inscription to put upon them. The Doctor, who was a fine classical scholar, tried a good many times, but at length the baron fairly got the better of him by a most elegant and well-adapted inscription,—
‘Quæ terra nostri non plena laboris?’”
Lord Auchinleck.
“Campbell of Suckoth[180] and his son were both men of great wit. The father had been constantly attached to the Duke of Argyle, but had never got the least assistance from him, upon which the son went and paid court to the Duke of Hamilton. His dutchess (sic) was then of the Spencer family.[181] So young Suckoth planted a mount, which he called Mount Spencer. The dutchess made him a present of some fine foreign trees in flower-pots, so he got a cart and a couple of horses from his father to bring them home with, but most of them broke by the way. The old man was not pleased that his son had deserted his chief, so he says to him, ‘Dear John, why will you pay court to the House of Hamilton, for I see naething ye get frae them but a wheen broken pigs?’ ‘Sir,’ says he, ‘broken pigs are as good as broken promises.’ ‘Very true,’ John, ‘but they’re no sae dear o’ the carriage.’”
Lord Auchinleck.
“Sir William Gordon[182] wanted a servant who could write well. ‘My father,’ said he, ‘knew of a very clever fellow, but the most drunken, good-for-nothing dog that ever lived.’ ‘Oh,’ said Sir William, ‘no matter for that, let him be sent for.’ So when he came Sir William asked him a great many questions, to which Brodie answered most distinctly. At last he asked, him, ‘Can you write Latin, sir?’ ‘Can your honour read it?’ said he. Sir William was quite fond of him, and had him drest out to all advantage. One day, at his own table, he was telling a story. ‘Not so, sir,’ said Brodie, who was standing at his back. ‘You dog,’ said he, ‘how do you know?’ ‘Because I have heard your honour tell it before.’ He lived with Sir William more than seven years.”