“Do you remember anything near the time: have you had it a year, a month, or a week? Have you had it a week?”
“Hoot, ay, I daresay I may.”
“Have you had it a month?”
“I dinna ken: I cam’ here to speak about boats, and no about coats.”
“Did you buy the coat?”
“I dinna mind what coat I bought, or what coat I got.”
The upshot of it was, that their lordships were forced to reject the evidence of the witness.
Your city and burgh magistrates, too, by the sublime naturalness with which they “open their mouth and put their foot in it,” have afforded much fun to the world. A boy being brought before a newly-installed West country bailie for stealing a turnip, he sentenced him to seven days’ imprisonment, adding, in profoundly solemn tones, “And may the Lord have mercy on your soul.”
A Glasgow magistrate had a young lad brought before him accused with abstracting a handkerchief from a gentleman’s pocket. Without waiting for proof of the accused’s guilt, the bailie addressed him, remarking, “I ha’e nae doot but ye did the deed, for I had a handkerchief ta’en oot o’ my ain pouch this vera week,” and passed sentence.
The same magisterial logician was on another occasion seated on the bench, when a case of serious assault was brought before him by the public prosecutor. Struck by the powerful phraseology of the indictment, the bailie proceeded to say, “For this malicious crime you are fined half a guinea.” The assessor remarked that the case had not been proven. “Then,” continued the magistrate, “we’ll mak’ it five shillings.”