When, some years ago, an old woman in Perthshire had occasion for the first time in her life to make a journey by rail, she hied to the nearest station and demanded a ticket.
“First or third?” inquired the clerk.
“Oh, a first ane,” said she, “for I’m in an awfu’ hurry, an’ wad like to be hame again afore it’s dark.”
Burns prayed that the deil might “tak a thocht an’ mend.” “Janet, ’oman,” said a Perthshire cottager to his wife, “d’ye ken, I was prayin’ last nicht that the deil micht dee.”
“Dinna fash doin’ onything o’ the kind again, then,” replied Janet. “I’m thinking we micht get a waur ane.”
“Hoo’s yer mither the day?” was once asked of a country laddie.
“She’s nae better,” was the reply; “but there’s waur than that, the coo’s turned ill this mornin’.”
“I’m thinkin’, Nanny,” said an aged country cottager to his faithful spouse, one day, while he lay in bed contemplating his end, “I’m thinkin’ it canna be lang noo. I feel as if this very nicht the end wad come.”
“Indeed, gudeman,” said Nanny, in the most pensive tones. “If it were the Lord’s will it wad be rale convenient, for the coo’s gaun to calve, and I dinna weel see hoo I’m to be able to attend to you baith.”