About the middle of the last century there lived in the neighbourhood of Denholm a natural named Daft Jamie, who was occasionally employed by the Laird of Cavers and his brother, Captain Douglas, who resided at Midshields, to transport them on his back across the water which flowed between their places of abode. One day Captain Douglas resolved to have a little fun at the expense of his brother, and bribed Jamie to drop the Laird in the middle of the river.
Accordingly, having taken Cavers on his back, and proceeded to the middle of the stream, “Oh! Laird,” exclaimed Jamie, standing stock-still, “my kuit’s yeukie!”
“Well, well; never mind that,” exclaimed Cavers.
“Ay, but I maun mind it;” and, notwithstanding orders, entreaties, and threats, Jamie plumped the Laird down into the water and began scratching his ankle to the infinite amusement of the Captain, who stood on the bank laughing like to split his sides. Jamie soon returned for the Captain, who, thinking of no other trick than his own, was speedily mounted and carried to the middle of the stream. At exactly the same spot where he had dropped the Laird, Jamie again stood still.
“Noo, Captain,” said he, “gin ye dinna gie me twa shillin’s mair, I’ll lat you doon too.”
It is almost needless to say the Captain had to “purchase his discharge” from the threatened immersion, besides suffering the retributive ridicule of his brother.
Jock Scott, a half-witted lad, who had been employed by the minister to cart some firewood, finding he had got the worst of the bargain, the reverend gentleman remarked severely, “Jock, when I came here they told me you were a fool.” “Ay, sir,” replied Jock; “and they told me ye wis a grand preacher; but,” he added in a lower tone, “it’s never safe to believe a’ that ye hear!”
In Perthshire, not long ago, a gang of workmen were digging a trial pit previous to some excavations being done. While they were at work throwing up the earth a half-wit named Jock Howe, belonging to the district, appeared on the scene, and addressing the foreman, said, “What are ye howking doon there for?” The foreman, taking in at a glance the character of his questioner, answered, “O, we’re diggin’ doon to Australia. Would you like to come?” Jock, after thinking for a minute, answered, “Ay man! Howkin’ doon to Australia, are ye? Lo’d! ye maun be far dafter than me yet. Can ye no’ sail to Australia an’ howk up, an’ ye wad be saved a’ the bother o’ liftin’ the earth oot, for a’ yer stuff wad then fa’ awa’ frae ye?”
Of our native half-wits, four at least have enjoyed a national reputation. These are Jamie Fleeman, the Laird of Udny’s fool, who will have a chapter here all to himself; Daft Rab Hamilton, Daft Jock Amos, and Daft Will Speir. Of the latter three—as well as of Fleeman—there are many good and interesting stories extant.
Rab Hamilton, like others of his class, was an example to some sane folks from the fact that he was a frequent, if not regular, attender of the church. In Ayr he was well known as a staunch Seceder. One day, however, he went to hear a sermon in a church belonging to the Establishment, and produced a sensation which was not soon forgotten by those who witnessed it. He took his seat on an inside stair, which had what is known as a “wooden rail,” and having put his head through the railing, in attempting to pull it back he found himself caught by the ears. He shouted at the utmost pitch of his stentorian voice—