“If U cannot come ureself write to ⸺ ⸺.
“I was got my son Lachie was a goot riter to rite the name of your shop in Glesco. He would tuke a place if you could get him wan.”
Not long ago a stalwart west country Highlander was describing to a company of Lowlanders the wonderful power and facility in drawing possessed by his brother Donald, “Hooch ay,” he said, “he’ll juist tak’ a bit cawk (chalk) the size o’ her thoom’s nose, and he’ll draw a man there, and a horse there, and you couldn’t tell which was which.” The company laughed. “Ay,” continued the speaker in a more impassioned vein, “and he wad tak’ a piece o’ cawk, and he wad draw a horse there and a cart there, and you couldn’t tell which was which. They was juist beautiful!”
We have so far here been looking at Donald’s humour on its least favourable side; having been viewing it, so to speak, in the garb of the Sassenach only. Let us now glance at a few examples in full Highland costume. And here at once is an instance showing rare shrewdness and wit combined. A Highland piper having a pupil placed in his hands by his chief, and not knowing the notes of music—the semibreves, minims, crotchets, and quavers, etc.—by the proper designations, although he knew each one by head mark, and its musical value very well, set to work in this way.
“Here, Donald,” said he, “took your pipes, my goot lad, and blow a blast.”
Donald did as requested.
“So, so!” exclaimed the old man, “tat iss very well blown, inteed—just beautiful. But what is sound, Donald, without sense? Just so. You may blow for ever without making a tune of it if I do not tell you how ta queer things on ta paper are to help you. Look here, lad. You see tat big fellow with ta round, open face (pointing to a semibreve between the two lines of a bar), he moves slowly from tat line to tis while you beat one with your foot and give a long blast. Now you put a leg to him. You make two of him, and he will move twice as fast. If you blacken hims face he will run four times faster as ta fellow with ta white face; but, besides blackenin’ hims face, if you will bend hims knees, or tie hims legs, he will hop eight times faster as ta white-faced fellow I showed you ta first time. And now whenever you blow your pipes, Donald, remember tis, the tighter you will tie tese fellows legs ta faster they will run, an’ ta quicker they will be sure to dance.”
There is a characteristic story which Highlanders themselves delight to tell, to the effect, that, once upon a time, when one of their countrymen was passing a farm-steading, the dog attached thereto came rushing and barking towards him, and latterly added injury to the insult which had been offered by inserting its fangs in the naked calf of one of the brawny Celt’s legs. Maddened by the pain, the Highlander seized a hayfork which happened to be conveniently near, and with one fell thrust transfixed the snarling tyke to the earth. The howls of agony quickly brought the farmer on the scene, who, on seeing his favourite collie writhing on the ground, exclaimed in wrath, “Why the devil did ye no tak’ the other end o’ the fork to the dog, you stupid ass?” “And why the dog did the deevil no tak’ his other end to me, you stupid ass yourself?” the Highlander replied.