“What is that?” inquired the M.D.
“I refer to your habit of profane swearing,” replied the divine.
“True,” said Dr. ⸺, “but that is not an expensive habit, like yours.”
“Doctor!” rejoined Lawson, “I warn you that you will discover it to be a very expensive habit indeed when the account is handed to you.”
Another anecdote of a similar nature is recorded of this divine. He was dining at a friend’s house. A gentleman of the party was, in conversation, frequently employing the words, “The devil take me.” Dr. Lawson at length arose, and ordered his horse. The host was surprised, and insisted upon his remaining, as dinner had scarcely begun. But nothing could prevail on him to do so; and when pressed to give a reason for his abrupt departure, he replied, “That gentleman there” (pointing to him) “has been praying that the devil would take him; and as I have no wish to be present at the scene, I beg to be allowed to depart.”
At a subsequent period of his ministry, Dr. Lawson was appointed Professor in the Divinity Hall of the Associate Church. One morning he appeared in the Hall with his wig somewhat tousie and all on one side. A student whispered to his neighbour, “See, his wig is no redd the day.” The Doctor heard, but took no notice of it at the time; but when it came to the turn of this student to deliver a discourse, he was invited to the pulpit with these words from the professor—“Come awa, Mr. ⸺, and we’ll see wha’s got the best redd wig.”
Dr. Macfarlane, in his biography of Dr. Lawson, gives a story of another Selkirk minister—Mr. Law, afterwards of Kirkcaldy—who was equally remarkable with Dr. Lawson for wit and satire, piety and talent. There was a sort of scoffing character in the town in which Mr. Law lived, commonly called Jock Hammon. Jock had a nickname for Mr. Law, which, though profane, had reference to the well-known evangelical character of his ministry. “There’s the grace of God,” he would say, as he saw the good man passing by; and he actually talked of him under that designation. It so happened that Mr. Law had on one occasion consented to take the chair at some public meeting. The hour of meeting was past, the place of meeting was filled, but no minister appeared. Symptoms of impatience were manifested, when a voice was heard from one corner of the hall—“My freends, there will be nae ‘Grace of God’ here this nicht!” Just at this moment the door opened and Mr. Law appeared, casting, as he entered, a rather knowing look upon Jock Hammon, as Jock ejaculated these words. On taking the chair Mr. Law apologised for being so late. “I had,” he said, “to go into the country to preside at the examination of a village school, and really the young folks conducted themselves so well that I could scarce get away from them. If you please, I will give you a specimen of the examination. I called up an intelligent-looking girl, and asked her if she had ever heard of any one who had erected a gallows for another and who had been hanged on it himself? ‘Yes,’ replied the girl, ‘it was Haman.’ With that up started another little girl, and she said, ‘Eh, minister, that’s no true; Hammon’s no hanged yet, for I saw him at the public-hoose door this forenoon, and he was swearing like a trooper!’” (Upon this there was a considerable tittering among the audience, and eyes were directed to the corner where Jock was sitting.) “You are both quite right, my dears,” said Mr. Law. “Your Haman was really hanged, as he deserved to be; and” (turning towards the other) “your Hammon, my lammie, is no hanged yet—by ‘the grace of God,’” he added, with a solemnity of tone which removed every thought of irreverence from the allusion.
Very sharp and stinging was the wit and satire of the well-known Thom of Govan. One day when he was preaching before the magistrates, he is reported to have suddenly halted and said, “Dinna snore sae loud, Bailie Broon, ye’ll wauken the Provost.” On another occasion, the circumstances of which were very similar, he suddenly stopped in his discourse, took out his snuff-box, tapped it on the lid, and took a pinch of snuff with the greatest of deliberation. By this time the whole congregation was agog with eager curiosity to know what was wrong. Mr. Thom, after a little, gravely proceeded to say, “My friends, I’ve had a snuff, and the Provost has had a sleep, and, if ye like, we’ll just begin again.”
A country laird, near Govan, who had lately been elevated to the position of a county magistrate, meeting Mr. Thom one day on horseback, attempted jocularity by remarking that he was more ambitious than his Master, who was content to ride upon an ass. “They canna be gotten noo,” replied Thom; “they’re a’ made Justices o’ the Peace.”
Of the Rev. James Robertson, of Kilmarnock, who was possessed of high attainments as a theologian and scholar, there are many good stories. Like many another divine, Mr. Robertson was often annoyed by those busybodies who take charge of everyone’s business but their own. One day, when preaching upon the besetting sins of different men, he remarked, using a well-known Scottish saying—“Every ane, my friends, has his ain draff-pock. Some hae their draff-pock hingin’ afore them; ithers, again, hae their draff-pock hingin’ ahent them; but I ken a man that sits in my ain kirk that has draff-pocks hingin’ a’ around him. An’ wha dae ye think that is? A’body kens wha I mean—nae ither than Andro’ Oliphant.”