“Na, na,” replied the native with noticeable pride, “put up yer siller, I’ll hae nane o’t. It’s cost ye eneuch already.”
Speaking of Flodden, Sir Walter Scott was wont to tell a good story of a Scotch blacksmith whom he had formerly known as a horse doctor, and whom he found at a small country town South of the Border, practising medicine among the natives, with a reckless use of “lowdomar and calomy,” and who apologised for the mischief he might do by the assurance that it “would be a lang time afore it made up for Flodden!”
Nothing galls the national pride of the true-blue Scot more than the liberties that have been taken with that article of the Union which expressly declared that Britain should be the only recognised designation of the United Kingdoms of Scotland and England. The Queen of England, the English Ambassador, the English army, the English fleet, and similar expressions still in common use, despite the courageous and persistent protests of the Rev. David Macrae, and others, are therefore terms particularly offensive to a sensitive Scottish ear. A striking instance of this feeling occurred at the Battle of Trafalgar. Two Scotsmen, messmates and bosom cronies, from the same little clachan, happened to be stationed near each other when the now celebrated signal was given from the Admiral’s ship—England expects every man to do his duty.
“No a word o’ puir Auld Scotland on this occasion,” dolefully remarked Geordie to Jock.
Jock cocked his eye a moment, and turning to his companion—
“Man, Geordie,” said he, “Scotland kens weel eneuch that nae bairn o’ hers needs to be tell’t to do his duty—that’s just a hint to the Englishers.”
A North country drover once, returning homewards, after a somewhat unsuccessful journey to the South, was, in consequence, not in very good humour with the “Englishers.” On reaching Carlisle he saw a notice stuck up offering a certain sum to any one who could do a piece of service to the community by officiating as executioner of the law on a noted criminal then under sentence of death. Sandy herein perceived an opportunity of making up for his bad market; and comforted and encouraged that he was a perfect stranger in the town, he undertook the office, hanged the rogue, and got the fee. When moving off with the money, he was twitted with being a mean, beggarly Scot, doing for money what no Englishman would.
“’Deed,” replied Sandy, with a wicked leer in his eye, “I would hang ye a’ at the same price.”
A Scotch family lately removed to London, wished to have a sheep’s head prepared as they were accustomed to it at home, and sent a servant to the butcher’s to procure one. She was a Scotch lassie, and on entering the shop—