And aye she’ll grund, and grund, and grund,
And turn her mill aboot, man:
Pe strange! she will put nothings in,
Yet aye teuk music out, man.”
There are some choice specimens of Donald’s English extant, and, before passing on to the richer ore of his natural humour, it will be worth while to glance at a few. First, there is the famous Inveraray proclamation, which I do not remember to have seen in print, but which, when a boy, I learned from the lips of a droll old man in Central Perthshire. It is a unique production, but is said to have actually been delivered at the Market Cross of Inveraray towards the close of the last century. Here it is—
“Ta-hoy!—a tither ta-hoy!—three times ta-hoy!—and ta-hoy! Wheesht!! By command of Her Majesty King Sheorge and Her Grace ta Tuke o’ Argyll! Any persons found fishing abune ta loch or below ta loch, afore ta loch or ahent ta loch, in ta loch or on ta loch, roun ta loch or about ta loch, will pe persecuted with three persecutions—First she’ll pe troon’d, and syne she’ll pe hang’d, and ten she’ll pe prunt; and if she’ll come back any more she’ll pe persecuted with a far worse persecution tan all that. Got save the King and Her Grace ta Tuke o’ Argyll!”
If we admit the above to be bona-fide, we can scarcely doubt the genuineness of the following prayer, which is said to have emanated from a contemporary of the Inveraray bellman:—
“Gracious Providence! Bless all ta Macdonalds, and ta Macdonalds’ children, tere sons’ sons and tere daughters’ daughters, for a thoosand years langsyne. Be gracious to send us mountains of snuff and tobacco, and send us oceans of whisky—ta very finest of whisky! Oh, yes! And send us hills of potatoes, and breads and cheeses as big as all ta Howe of Strathmore. And, moreover, likewise, send us floods of water, tat tere may pe grass for plenty to man and beast, and some to spare to ta poor of ta parish. Send us guns and pistols as more as ta sea and ta sand-shore; and swords, too, likewise, to kill all ta Grants and ta Macphersons for evermore. Bless ta wee stirk, and mak’ him a big coo pefore Martinmas. Bless ta wee soo, too, and mak’ him a big boar likewise. Oh, yes! Put the strength of Samson into Donald’s arms, and send us parley, kail, and corn prodigious. Bless all ta pairns—Duncan and Rory and Flora, and you, Donald, and you, Lauchie, and you, Peter; and glorious, yours for evermore.”
I do not ask any one to swallow the above, minus the proverbial “grain of salt.” I like to take it that way myself. And yet there are well-authenticated instances and occasions revealing deliverances quite as ludicrous and absurd. Witness the following fragment of a pulpit homily which appears in Hugh Boyd’s admittedly veracious Reminiscences of Fifty Years, and which the recorder appears to have heard himself, or received on highly credible authority:—
“Ah, my friends,” exclaimed the preacher, “what causes have we for gratitude! Oh, yes! for the deepest gratitude! Look at the place of our habitation. How grateful should we be that we do not leeve in the far North, Oh, no! amid the frost and the snaw, and the cauld and the weet, Oh, no! where there’s a lang day the a’e half o’ the year, Oh, yes! and a lang nicht the tither, Oh, yes! That we do not depend upon the aurawry boreawlis, Oh, no! That we do not gang shivering aboot in skins, Oh, no! snookin’ amang the snaw like mowdiewarts, Oh, no, no! And how grateful should we be that we do not leeve in the for Sooth, beneath the equawter, and the sun aye burnin’, burnin’. Where the sky’s het, Ah, yes! and the earth’s het, and the water’s het, and ye’re burnt black as a smiddy, Ah, yes! Where there’s teegurs, Oh, yes! And lions, Oh, yes! And crocodiles, Oh, yes! And fearsome beasts growlin’ and girnin’ at ye amang the woods. Where the very air is a fever, like the burnin’ breath o’ a fiery drawgon; that we do not leeve in these places—Oh, no, no, no, no! But that we leeve in this blessit island of ours, call’t Great Britain, Oh, yes, yes! and in that part of it named Scotland, that looks up at Ben Nevis—Oh, yes, yes, yes! Where’s neither frost, nor cauld, nor wund, nor weet, nor hail, nor rain, nor teegurs, nor lions, nor burnin’ suns, nor hurricanes, nor——”