My fellow-passengers on one journey were small farmers, artisans, clerks, and fishermen. They discussed everything, politics, literature, religion, agriculture, and even scientific matters in a light and airy spirit of banter and fun. An old fellow, whose hands claimed long acquaintance with the plow, gave a whimsical description of the parting of the Atlantic telegraph cable, which set the whole carriage in a roar.
"Have you ony shares in it, Sandy?" said one.
"Na, na," said Sandy. "I've left off speculation since my wife took to wearing crinolines; I canna afford it noo."
"Fat d'ye think of the rinderpest, Sandy?"
"Weel, I'm thinking that if my coo tak's it, Tibbie an' me winna ha' muckle milk to our tay."
The knotty question of predestination came up and could not be settled. When the train stopped at the next station, Sandy said: "Bide a wee, there's a doctor o' deveenity in one o' the first-class carriages. I'll gang and ask him fat he thinks aboot it." And out Sandy got to consult the doctor. We could hear him parleying with the eminent divine over the carriage door, and presently he came running back, just as the train was starting, and was bundled in, neck and crop, by the guard.
"Weel, Sandy," said his oppugner on the predestination question, "did the doctor o' deveenity gie you his opinion?"
"Ay, did he."
"An' fat did he say aboot it?"
"Weel, he just said he dinna ken an' he dinna care."