“A legacy was lately left by an old lady to the Peer of Aberdeen. As the will was written by the Dowager herself, and by no means distinguished for correctness of orthography or expression, a dispute has arisen as to the intent of the testator; and the following claimants have appeared for the legacy:—1st, the Earl of Aberdeen; 2nd, the Commissioners for erecting the pier at Aberdeen; and, 3rd, the Manager of the Charity Workhouse, who grounds his right on the fact that the old lady was in the habit, more majorum, of pronouncing poor peer. To which of the parties does the money belong?”
Cockburn immediately wrote in answer—“To none of the three; but to the Horticultural Society of Scotland for the purpose of promoting the culture of a sort of fruit called, or to be called, the Pear of Aberdeen.”
Many humorous instances of attempts to evade the law, and successful and unsuccessful attempts to get the better of it, could be cited; but most of them, of necessity, have been wicked as well as witty, and lie somewhat outside of my subject. One or two, however, may be tolerated, and the first, which reveals a biter neatly bitten, will be enjoyed. A dealer having hired a horse to a lawyer, the latter, either through bad usage or by accident, killed the beast, upon which the hirer insisted on payment of its value; and if it was not convenient to pay costs, he expressed his willingness to accept a bill. The writer offered no objection, but said he must be allowed a long date. The hirer desired him to fix his own time, whereupon the writer drew a promissory note, making it payable at the day of judgment. An action ensued, when, in defence, the lawyer asked the judge to look at the bill.
Having done so the judge replied—
“The bill is perfectly good, sir; and, as this is the day of judgment, I decree that you pay to-morrow.”
Steenie Stuart, a recently deceased and well-known inhabitant of a populous northern burgh, got “roarin’ fou’ ilka pay nicht,” and, in consequence, had frequently to appear and answer for his sins at the bar of the Police Court. As he approached the rail with a leer of recognition and compromise in his eye one Monday morning, the magistrate hailed him with “Here again, Steenie?”
“Ou, ay, Bailie,” Steenie replied.
“An’ are you no ashamed o’ yersel’?”
“’Deed, am I, Bailie; black ashamed.”
“Then what brings ye here ilka ither week?”