In the Scots Magazine for November, 1743, the following proclamation is printed:—
“All brethren and sisters, I let you to witt that there is a twa-year-auld lad littleane tint, that ist’ ere’en.
“It’s a’ scabbit i’ the how hole o’ the neck o’d, and a cauler kail-blade and brunt butter at it, that ist’er. It has a muckle maun blue pooch hingin’ at the carr side o’d, fou o’ mullers and chucky-stanes, and a spindle and a whorle, and it’s daddy’s ain jockteleg in’t. It’s a’ black aneath the nails wi’ howkin’ o’ yird, that is’t. It has its daddy’s gravat tied about the craig o’d, and hingin’ down the back o’d. The back o’ the hand o’d’s a’ brunt; it got it i’ the smiddy ae day.
“Whae’er can find this said twa-year-auld lad littleane may repair to M⸺o J⸺n’s, town-smith in C⸺n, and he sall hae for reward twall bear scones, and a ride o’ our ain auld beast to bear him hame, and nae mair words about it, that wilt’r no.”
Hogg, in his “Shepherd’s Calendar,” referring to the religious character of the shepherds of Scotland in his day, tells that “the antiquated but delightful exercise of family worship was never neglected,” and, “formality being a thing despised, there are no compositions I ever heard,” he continues, “so truly original as those prayers occasionally were; sometimes for rude eloquence and pathos, at other times for an indescribable sort of pomp, and, not infrequently, for a plain and somewhat unbecoming familiarity.” He gives several illustrations, quite justifying this description, from some with whom he had himself served and herded. One of the most notable men for this sort of family eloquence, he thought, was a certain Adam Scott, in Upper Dalgleish. Thus Scott prayed for a son who seemed thoughtless—
“For Thy mercy’s sake—for the sake o’ Thy puir, sinfu’ servants that are now addressing Thee in their ain shilly-shally way, and for the sake o’ mair than we daur weel name to Thee, hae mercy on Rab. Ye ken fu’ weel he’s a wild, mischievous callant, and thinks nae mair o’ committin’ sin than a dog does o’ lickin’ a dish; but put Thy hook in his nose, and Thy bridle in his gab, and gar him come back to Thee wi’ a jerk that he’ll no forget the langest day that he has to live.” For another son he prayed:—“Dinna forget puir Jamie, wha’s far awa’ frae us this nicht. Keep Thy arm o’ power about him; and, oh, I wish Ye wad endow him wi’ a little spunk and smeddum to act for himsel’; for, if Ye dinna, he’ll be but a bauchle i’ this warld, and a back-sitter i’ the neist.” Again:—“We’re a’ like hawks, we’re a’ like snails, we’re a’ like slogie riddles; like hawks to do evil, like snails to do good, and like slogie riddles to let through a’ the gude and keep a’ the bad.” When Napoleon I. was filling Europe with alarm, he prayed—“Bring doon the tyrant and his lang neb, for he has done muckle ill this year, and gie him a cup o’ Thy wrath, and gin he winna tak’ that, gie him kelty” [i.e., double, or two cups].
Very graphic, is it not! It reminds us of the prayer of one Jamie Hamilton, a celebrated poacher in the West country. As Jamie was reconnoitring a lonely situation one morning, his mind more set on hares than on prayers, a woman approached him from the only house in the immediate district and requested that he should “come owre and pray for auld Eppie, for she’s just deein’.”
“Ye ken weel enough that I can pray nane,” replied Jamie.
“But we haena time to rin for ony ither Jamie,” urged the woman, “Eppie’s just slippin’ awa’; and oh! it wad be an awfu’ like thing to lat the puir bodie dee without bein’ prayed for.”
“Weel, then,” said Jamie, “an I maun come, I maun come; but I’m sure I kenna right what to say.”