But the last look o’ yon lovely e’e,
And the deein’ grip she ga’e to me,
They’re settled like eternitie—
Oh, Mary; gin I were wi’ thee.”
By these illustrations I have endeavoured to shew forth, to all whom it may concern, the verbal beauty, the graphic force, and the powers for the expression of pathos and humour there is in the vernacular speech of Scotland. Like our national emblem—the thistle—it is, of course, nothing in the mouth of an ass. But well spoken, it is charming alike to the ear and the intellect; and, for the reasons already urged in this paper, is worthy of more general esteem and more general cultivation than the current generation of Scotch folk seem disposed to award it. Lord Cockburn pronounced it “the sweetest and most expressive of living languages;” and no unprejudiced reader of his Memorials will dispute the value of his opinion on the subject. He wrote excellent Doric himself, and made it the vehicle of his conversation in his family, and casually throughout the day, as long as he lived. Ho! for more such good old Scottish gentlemen! Ho! for another Jean, Duchess of Gordon, to teach our Scottish gentry how to speak naturally! That we had more men in our midst, with equal influence and education, and charged with the fine spirit of patriotism which animates Scotland’s ain “grand auld man”—Professor Blackie! It has been the fashion for English journalists with pretensions to wit, to animadvert by pen and pencil on what they regard as the idiosyncracies of Scottish speech and behaviour. Punch is a frequent offender in this way. I say offender advisedly, for no Punch artist, so far as I have seen—and I have scanned that journal from the first number to the last—ever drew a Scotsman in “his manner as he lived.” The originals of the pictures may have appeared in London Christmas pantomimes, but certainly nowhere else. Then the language which in their guileless innocence they expect will pass muster as Scotch, is a hash-up alike revolting to the ears of gods and men. We don’t expect very much from some folks, but surely even a London journalist should know that a Scotsman does not say “mon” when he means to say “man.” Charles Macklin put it that way, and the London journalist apparently can never get beyond Macklin. Don’t go to London for your Scotch, my reader! Listen to it as it may still be spoken at your granny’s ingleside. Familiarise yourself with it as it is to be found in its full vigour and purity in the Waverley Novels; in Burns’s Poems and Songs; in the “Noctes Ambrosianæ” of Professor Wilson; in Galt’s Tales; in the writings of the Ettrick Shepherd; in the stories of George MacDonald, J. M. Barrie, and S. R. Crockett; in the pages of “Mansie Wauch,” “Tammas Bodkin,” and “Johnny Gibb.” Don’t learn English less; but again, I say, read, write, and speak Scotch more frequently. And, when doing so, remember you are not indulging in a mere vulgar corruption of good English, comparable with the barbarous dialects of Yorkshire and Devon, but in a true and distinct, a powerful and beautiful language of your own, “differing not merely from modern English in pronunciation, but in the possession of many beautiful words, which have ceased to be English, and in the use of inflexions unknown to literary and spoken English since the days of Piers Ploughman and Chaucer.” “The Scotch,” as the late Lord Jeffrey said, “is not to be considered as a provincial dialect—the vehicle only of rustic vulgarity and rude local humour. It is the language of a whole country, long an independent kingdom, and still separate in laws, character, and manners. It is by no means peculiar to the vulgar, but is the common speech of the whole nation in early life, and with many of its most exalted and accomplished individuals throughout their whole existence; and though it be true that, in later times, it has been in some measure laid aside by the more ambitious and aspiring of the present generation, it is still recollected even by them as the familiar language of their childhood, and of those who were the earliest objects of their love and veneration. It is connected in their imagination not only with that olden time which is uniformly conceived as more pure, lofty, and simple than the present, but also with all the soft and bright colours of remembered childhood and domestic affection. All its phrases conjure up images of school-day innocence and sports, and friendships which have no pattern in succeeding years.”
CHAPTER II
CHARACTERISTICS OF SCOTCH HUMOUR
Various writers have attempted to define Scotch humour, but it is a difficult task, and in all my reading of the subject I do not remember to have ever seen a very satisfactory analysis of the subtle quantity. The famous Sydney Smith did not admit that such an element obtained in our “puir cauld country.” “Their only idea of wit which prevails occasionally in the North,” said he, “and which, under the name of ‘wut,’ is so infinitely distressing to people of good taste, is laughing immoderately at stated intervals.” Further to this, the same sublime authority declared that it would require a surgical operation to get a joke well into a Scotch understanding. It has been presumed that the witty Canon was not serious in his remark; that it was a laboured effort of his to make a joke. This may be true; and the idea of a surgical operation was possibly suggested by feeling its necessity on himself in order to get his joke out. Be that as it may, but for the fact that the genial Charles Lamb, curiously, entertained a somewhat similar notion on the subject, the rude apothegm of the Rev. Sydney Smith would never have misguided even the most hopelessly opaque of his own countrymen. No humour in Scotch folk! No humour in Scotland! There is no country in the world that has produced so much of it. Of no other country under the sun can it be so truly said that humour is the common inheritance of the people. Much of the kind of humour that drives an Englishman into an ecstacy of delight, would, of course, only tend to make a Scotsman sad; but that is no evidence that the Scotch are lacking in their perceptions of the humorous. It only shows that “some folks are no ill to please.” “The Cockney must have his puns and small jokes,” says Max O’Rell. “On the stage he delights in jigs, and to really please him the best of actors have to become rivals of the mountebanks at a fair. A hornpipe delights his heart. An actor who, for an hour together, pretends not to be able to keep on his hat, sends him into the seventh heaven of delight. Such performances make the Scotch smile—but with pity. The Scotsman has no wit of this sort. In the matter of wit he is an epicure, and only appreciates dainty food.” In so far as the above quotation applies to the denizens of the “North,” it is perfectly true. In such circumstances the Scotch will “laugh immoderately at stated intervals,” but the laughs will be like angels’ visits, “few and far between.”
Superficially regarded, Scotland is a hard-featured land; yet Scotch folk are essentially humorous. Do not go to the places of public amusement—to the theatres and music halls—particularly in the larger towns, where the populations are so mixed; do not go there to learn the Scottish taste and humour. This practice has led to the proverbial saying that “a Scotchman takes his amusement seriously.” In such places you may learn something of the English character and humour, but nothing of the Scotch. For an Englishman’s wit (he has little or no humour) being an acquired taste, comes out “on parade”—it is a gay thing—while Scotch folks’ humour being the common gift of Nature to all and sundry in the land, differing only in degree, slips out most frequently when and where least expected. Famous specimens of it come down from our lonely hillsides—from the cottage and farm ingle-nooks. It blossoms in the solemn assemblies of the people—at meetings of Kirk Sessions, in the City and Town Council Chambers, in our Presbyteries, our Courts of Justice, and occasionally in the high Parliament of the Kirk itself. In testimony of this read the Reminiscences of Dean Ramsay, Dr. Rodgers’ Century of Scottish Life, The Laird of Logan, and other similar collections of the national humour; or study the humours of our Scottish life and character as they are abundantly reflected in the immortal writings of Burns, and Scott, and Galt, and Wilson.
One of the chief characteristics of Scotch humour, as I have already indicated, is its spontaneity, or utter want of effort to effect its production. Much of it comes out just as a matter of course, and without the slightest indication on the part of the creator that he is aware of the splendid part he is playing. Then it has nearly always a strong practical basis. The Scotch are characteristically practical people, and very much of what is most enjoyable in humorous Scotch stories and anecdotes, as Dean Ramsay truly says, arises “from the simple and matter-of-fact references made to circumstances which are unusual.”