^EUNIVERJ^ ^lOSANCfl^ V 'I ^lOSANCfl^. ^/saaAiNiwv^ ^tUBRARYQ^ <^ ^fOJITY3JO^ ^S ^10SANGFI% ^UIBRARYQ^ ^UBRARY^ "SSBBAIWHI^ ^•UBRARY^ 'fownjn\n.ji\^ r ^tawiWHtf^ ^»0JllY3iO^ ^judnvsov^ ^lOSANCEl^ ^OFCAUFOB^ ^OFCAUFO^ <\V\E«NIVER% ^ "%mim4V^ ^atoih^ ^Aavnan-a^ ^•UBRARYQ^ ^ ^linww.cm^ -^/oiaAiMnitf^ %!/n-inV3JO^ ^UIBRARY^. ^l-UBRARYQc ^ttOJIIVDJO^ ^frUNIVERSJfc. ^lOSANCO^ ^QFCALIF(% ^Aavaain^ ^0FCAIIF(% y 0Anvaan-# ^EUNIVHM^ ^clOSANCflG^ %TOS0V^ ^\KUNIVER% ^DNVSQV^ ^clOSANCtl% ■ > * * * I 1 * ft I en ?A/ 6i ye 1889 Preface. Of late years a somewhat new sort of literature has sprung up in our midst, which has taken considerable hold upon the estimation of the masses. The compositions here referred to may not, in the opinion of cultured litterateurs, be regarded as of a high order of merit, nor, indeed, of any great degree of interest. Nevertheless, there cannot be a doubt as to the feeling which is evinced by the people at large relative to the matter. To define exactly this new species of book-writing would not be easy ; but the term by which it may be most familiarly recognised is Readings. The meaning of J5 the term must be pretty generally understood, — by all, t? we should imagine, but the very learned. That this Q new departure is a good one and increasing in popularity is everywhere evident. All that gives really innocent amusement, and brings man into contact with those kindly influences which broaden his sympathy with his fellows, is surely to be commended. It is freely admitted that Readings, to an eminent degree, occupy such a sphere of usefulness. :: 41 6777 I) V E EFAC E. Compositions of the kind, in order to fulfil the ends that are really desired, whether they be for the platform, or intended for the more humble gathering at the social fireside, must necessarily abound in humour and character, otherwise they fail of their purpose. The author of the present work has already issued several small contributions in this department of literature The kind appreciation with which these have been received by his fellow-countrymen, has encouraged him to issue a new series, and on a somewhat larger scale. As will be manifest to the reader, the author has confined himself to depicting character and incident as found among his countrymen, than which, as he believes, no richer or more entertaining subject can be found. Some of the life-scenes and phases of character portrayed in these pages, may not be quite such as many readers have been accustomed to come in contact with. Notwith- standing this, they are all in accordance with actual Scotch life among the working classes, as taking place in the occurrences of every day. CONTENTS OF EIUST SERIES. -♦-♦- PAGH MRS. M'FARLAN'S RABBIT-DINNER, . . . - 9 THE WASHIN -HOUSE KEY, U THE WOOIN' 0' KATE DALRYMPLE, 28 A POET'S BID FOR FAME, .......&? JOCK BROON'S PATENT UMBRELLA, .. - - . 49 COURTSHIP OF JONATHAN QUIGGS, 52 WILLIE WEEDRAP'S DOMESTIC ASTRONOMY, . - 60 THE STAIRHEID MAN A WDGE, 63 WEE BOBBIE BAREFEET, 7? LAMPLICHTER DAVIE'S LOVE AFFAIR, SB TAMMAS THORL'S FOTTYGRAPHIC EXPERIENCES, - S? THE SITTIN'-DOON CAULD, 96 RAISIN' HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW, 107 WHA RULES THE HOOSE? lit SANDY M' 'TARTAN'S VISIT TO THE SHOWS, - - - 1H Scotch Eeadings. FIRST SERIES. MRS. MACFARLAX'S RABBIT-DINNER. Johnny Macfarian was a shaemaker's mechanic. He ea'd in the tackets in the heels of the buits and shune, and was considered a crack hand at the job. Plenty of ordinary workmen might be able to do the plain work — that is, ca'in' the tackets in the soles — but Johnny had a geometrical genius for curves, and, with his "specks" on, could walk roun' the edges o' the heels like an experienced Corporation scavenger sweepin' the circle o' a lamp-post. Personally, Johnny was a wee man, but possessed — by way of effective contrast — a big wife, and an extra big sma' family. Johnny's weight corresponded with his size; he weighed seven stane in his stockin's — before breakfast. What additional weight he might have " scaled " after breakfast, consequent on the absorption o' a basin o' weel- biled parritch, an' a big floury baker's scone, wash't doon wi' a chappin o' sour milk, is a question touching atmospheric displacement in the stomach, which it would be kittle to guess at. Regarding Mrs. Macfarlan, or Betty, as Johnny com- monly styled her, she was the physical opposite of her " man " Johnny, and in point of bodily weight, was a per- fect whistler. 2 10 MRS. MACFARLAN'S RABBIT-DINNER. Betty, in view of her size, ruled the domestic roast, of course ; but Johnny seldom fell into her angry hands — he was sae plaguey wee and ill to catch. Even at the worst, their domestic rows were never very serious, and ended generally by Johnny sensibly capitulating to his angry spouse, and then gallantly sclimbin' up on a chair to tak' her twa rosy cheeks atween his hands and fondly kiss her. Now, Johnny Macfarlan, although a good man in many ways, was, I fear, not a particularly religious man. Some said Johnny was at heart a Socialist, and believed very much in the good time coming, when nations all over the earth would fraternise and live at peace — when happy working men would put five-pound notes between their breakfast rolls instead of corn'd meat — when colliers would be let down pit-shafts by silver ropes, and so forth. Anyhow, Johnny was the reverse of orthodox in his " views," and delighted in joking about Christianity and its exported adjuncts — hot rum and cold missionar}'. Johnny, it is true, had a " sate in the kirk," but the said " sate " was too often conspicuous by the owner's absence. His wife, Betty, however, was there every Sunday afternoon, and as she had a keen memory for passages in the, sermon appli- cable to Johnny's " lost state," she made up for her hus- band's absence frae the kirk by flingin' lumps o' the sermon at his heid at the Sunday dinner-table, which annoying artillery practice Johnny humorously checkmated by shov- ing into her plate the toughest bits o' girsle he could pick oot o' the dinner stew, so as to effectively "jab up" her clackin' tongue. But Johnny, altho' no a kirk-gaun man, was a capital hand at cooking a guid Sunday dinner. Pie could toast the breid to a fair hair, cut the ingans, minsh the " shooet " (suet), and saut and pepper the " stew " to perfection. Then, as for " maskin' the tea," there wasna a man nor an auld wife in Gleska could bate Johnny Macfarlan at that. MRS. MACFARLANS RABBIT - DINNER. 11 Weel, to come to the story of the grand rabbit- dinner ? Maggie, their auldest bit lassie, had been " oot at service " for some short time, and having got her first three months' wages, was at hame frae Saturday nicht to Monday morn- ing; and as the bit lassie had brocht hame some bawbees wi' her, the fond parents resolved on having a grand rabbit- dinner on Sunday. The proposition, which was made by Betty, was all the more readily assented to on account of Wee Mosey, their fifth auldest laddie, having had for some time a young rabbit in the cellar, and which had be- come awkwardly " in the road " on account of its removal to the house, consequent on a cairt o' coals having been put into the said cellar. The rabbit was therefore doomed, and its martyrdom was readily agreed to by all except Wee Mosey, who, unfortunately for the tragic sequel, had no voice — other than an appropriately small voice — in the matter. " An' hoo will ye manage to cook it, Johnny ?" inquired Mrs. Macfarlan, on the preceding Saturday nicht. "Ye ken it's an extra dish, an' ye hav'na had muckle experience that way, I'm certain." " Never ye mind hoo I'll cook it,' promptly replied Johnny, "I'll cook it, Betty, an' that's enough." " But, Johnny " " No a word, Betty, if you please — no a single word. I'll cook the precious thing, dinna ye doot. Jist ye leave oot an ingan, a spunef u' o' floor, an' a pair o shears. As for the rabbit, I ken whaur to get her," and Johnny yerked his head in the direction of the bed-pawn, signifying that the innocent subject of the sacrificial dinner was probably at that very moment sleeping under the kitchen bed, bliss- fully unconscious of the culinary fate awaiting it on the morrow. And now let us conceive Sunday morning as having ar- rived. Butty has gotten herself, and some six or eight o£ 12 MRS. macfarlan's rabbit-dinner. the auldest of the bairns ready for the kirk, and is now tor- menting Johnny with her final instructions — the proper dis- posal of the rabbit,as was natural, coming largely to the front. " Noo, Johnny dear," she said, " I've tell'd ye a' that's necessary for the richt bilin' o' the rabbit " "An' a great deal raair," interrupted Johnny, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. " Pey ye attention to auld Mr. Orthodoxy's sermon, Betty ; an' I'll pey attention to the richt bilin' o' the rabbit." An' now that Betty was gone, it was the dinner Johnny had to do with ; but the first principle of it — the rabbit — was curiously amissing. Everything, in fact, was waiting on the rabbit. There was the spunefu' o' floor, the ingan, the pepper and saut, alang wi' the knife an' the shears for the skinnin' o't. Besides all that, there was a glorious fire burning — in fact, a rale special fire, which visibly endangered the safety o' the " lum ; " the pat was also sittin' ready, an' so also was the tureen to " dish't " in. But the Hamlet of the play, the rabbit, was conspicuously amissing ! Ay, where was that blessed rabbit hiding itself ? Appa- rently scenting murder in the air, it had for the last two hours been strangely absent from even accidental sight. "Clearly," thought Johnny, "it's time I was setting to work. The kirk's barely in twa hours a'thegither, an' the pat needs an' hour-an'-a-half's guid bilin' ! I maun buckle up my sleeves, an' fa' to in richt earnest !'' This said, Johnny got on his " specks," as his sicht was a trifle fail't, and began rum magi n' aboot the odd corners o' the hoose in search o' the missing rabbit. If it had only been the cat he wanted, he could have begun skinnin' operations at once, as he was i'a'in' owre't every ither minute in his search for the missing rabbit. In fact so often did the poor cat come in his way that Johnny iinally dealt it a smart kick, which sent it flying below the kitchen-bed like a streak of greased lightning. MRS. MACFARLANS RABBIT - DINNER. 13 No ; that rabbit couldn't be got — it was simply nowhere ! He looked here, he looked there ; he looked high, he looked low; he looked over the bed, and he looked under it; he looked within presses, and on shelves ; in drawers, under chairs, and, as a final climax, in the wean's cradle ! But no ; there was no trace of the missing rabbit to be found anywhere. At his wit's end, Johnny, as a last shift, set the hale o' the remaining weans who had not been taken to the kirk by their mither to help him in the search. Their united efforts, however, completely failed to discover the missing rabbit's place of hide. The search being thus at all points a failure, Johnny, be- thinking himself for a moment, suddenly remembered that he had looked both in and under every place — except under the cradle. The cradle was sitting before the tire ; he shifted its posi- tion, and out leapt the missing rabbit, and with a nervous jump-jump-jump, was in at the back of a big kist in a second, pursued by Johnny and the hale jing-bang o' the shouting weans ! Reaching doon his hand at the back o' the kist, Johnny picked up the trembling victim, and ca.ri>d it into the scullery for instant "despatch," with- out, I fear, the least Christian, or even Socialistic compunc- tion. Pausing for a moment to consider what way, and at what part he would begin the work of death, the rabbit, appre- hensive of danger apparently, gave a sudden wriggle, and getting freed from Johnny's grip, it scurried across the floor, and was presently hid from sight below the kitchen- bed. Uttering an angry expletive, Johnny dashed after it, and in less than no time brought it out of quarters, and hurriedly despatched it. The rabbit fought toughly fur its little life, and proved a " fell thief " to master, as Johnny afterwards 14 ilRS. macfarlan's rabbit-dinner. admitted. But he managed it at last, and, in the inside o' five minutes, had it skinned and thrust holus-bolus into the dinner-pot. The fire did the rest, and it did its work well. In twenty minutes the pot was " bilin' like onything," and Johnn}- hoped to save his reputation as a grand Sunday cook, by having the dinner " dish't " in proper time for Betty's return f rae kirk. In fact, he hoped for even more than that. His reputation would not only be sustained by the " dish " which he was now preparing, but would be very much enhanced thereby, he fondly hoped. If the cooking of the rabbit- dinner proved a success, he would, in common justice, be entitled to some extra credit. There were many, no doubt, who could cook professional rabbit-dinners, but whaur was the man (Johnny asked himself) wha could mind five or six steerin' weans, nurse a "screamer" in the cradle, and cook at the same time a rabbit-dinner, including the killin' an' the skinnin' o't ? Yes, John Alacfarlan proudly looked round the kitchen, and boldly asked the walls — " Where was that gifted man ? ; ' and defeated Echo promptly an- swered — " Nowhere ! " ''It's just delicious," soliloquised Johnny, as he tasted the savoury " brae " with an unctuous smack of the lips ; " in fact, it's mair than merely delicious, it's jist perfectly ex- quishous! Saut an' pepper to taste pits the capstane on guid cooker}'," added Johnny, as he withdrew the tasting spoon from his lips, and prepared to dust a fresh sprink- ling of pepper atop of the savoury soup. Five minutes more passed, and — " I'll now venture to lift it," quoth Johnn}', and forthwith he whipped the pot from off the fire, and presently " dish't " the rich morsel in full view of the admiring children. " There ! an' if Betty's no pleased wi that dish I'll eat my auld bauchels. It's weel cooked, carefully sautet an' peppcr'd, an' bonnily ' dish't,' an' onything mair or better MRS. MACFARLANS RABBIT - DINNER. 15 than that it couldna weel be. But, guidsake, there's Betty at the door ! " And in two seconds thereafter, the veritable Betty, with her numerous family brood around her, stood on the centre of the kitchen-floor, admiring the " dish't " rabbit, and de- lightfully snuffing the savoury atmosphere which every- where filled the homely apartment. " Weel, Johnny dear, ye've managed to cook the rabbit I see, as ye said ye wad," was Mrs. Macfarlan's first salutation : " weel dune for you, Johnny ! " " Oo, ay, lass, I've cook't its goose nicely, an' I'm hopin' it'll prove a toothsome dish for us a'." " Weel, Johnny, if it tastes hauf as weel as it smells, the pirnickiest mooth '11 ha'e naething to fin' faut wi\" " I'll tak' my affy-davy on the taste o't, Betty ; the taste o't '11 be, if onything, upsides wi' the smell o't, for it's cook't according to Cocker, ye may depend ; — a spunefu' o' floor, a moderate-sized ingan, twa pints o' water to bile't in, an' finely sautet an' pepper't to taste." " Weel, we'll jist sit doon an' taste it, Johnny, dear," said Betty. And having now denuded herself of her Sunday "braws" she got on a working wrapper, and sat herself down to " carve " the rabbit forthwith. " Eh, Johnny, dear, d'ye ken, that rabbit brae's jist grand," remarked Mrs. Macfarlan, as she helped herself to a spoonful of the rich gravy. Johnny said nothing, but only sat and complacently smiled, his twa thumbs stuck in the armpits of his waist- coat, and his hands spread out delightedly, like a man neck- deep in the warmest of domestic clover. " An' the rabbit itsel's jist quite perfeckshous, Johnny — as tender's a bit o' chicken ! Oh, Johnny, ye're jist a fair love o' a man — a perf eck auld sweetie — a rale wee dear ! " Johnny ventured nothing in reply ; his soul was too full to speak ; he could only alternately snuff up the rich flavour 16 MRS. MACFARLANS RABBIT-DINNER, of the rabbit, and the still richer flavour of Mrs. Macfarlan's flattering incense. His two thumbs, however, gradually slid round to the top of the armpits of his waistcoat, under the rise of his swelling feelings, until the tips of his fingers were level with the crown of his head, and this characteristic position he maintained till his well-pleased better-half had put down his share of the rabbit-soup, and told him to " enrich his bluid wi't," and to mentally " thank his Maker for the toothsome mercies bestowed." Johnny, feeling in his heart that the " cook " had already been duly thanked, did not hesitate to inwardly thank, the ''bestower of the mercies" agreeably to Mrs. Macfarlan's request. Thereafter the whole family circle sat down to discuss their share of the grand rabbit-dinner. " An' what was the minister savin' till't the day, Betty ? " asked Johnny, as he warmed to his savoury dinner. " Oh, he was jist grand, Johnny, dear," joyfully responded Mrs. Macfarlan, as she " sooked," with evident relish, one of the " hint legs " of the rabbit. " Was he as guid's the rabbit, Betty ? " " Eh, ye sly auld sweetie ; ye're tryin' to fish anither com- pliment frae me ? " " Weel, then, Betty, tell me what was auld Mr. Orthodoxy's subject this afternoon — effectual calling ? fore-ordination ? foreign missions ? local Dorcas societies ? " " Nane o' them, Johnny," interrupted Mrs. Macfarlan. " What then, Betty ? " •' The New Jerusalem." " The New Jerusalem ! — h'm." "Ay, an' I wish we were a' safe there, Johnny." " Will there be ony biled rabbits there, Betty ? " " I hope sae, Johnny ; an' if they taste as weel's this yin, there canna be owre mony, I think." " Ay, but, Betty, ye maun bethink yersel' a bit ; a Scotch rabbit cooked owre a hamelv coal-fire is a' richt enough, but MRS. MACFARLAN S RABBIT - DINNER. 17 what aboot a sidereal rabbit ? — wha can tell the flavour of a sidereal rabbit, born an' bred amang the rolling spheres, an' cooked maybe ; by a stroke o' lichtnin' ! Eh, ye wisna thinkin' on that, Betty ? " " Sidereal rabbits, Johnny ; what sort of animals are they?" "Inhabitants o' the spheres, Betty, inhabitants of the rollin' spheres — star rabbits, ye ken. Ye surely dinna sup- pose, Betty, that ye're to be the only immortalised being up yonder ! For my pairt, Betty, I wad rather stay where I am on this roun' ball, than inhabit the New Jerusalem wi' some folks I ken." " What roun' ball d'ye refer to, Johnny?" quite innocently asked Mrs. Macfarlan, looking at the same instant under the table ; " what kind o' a roun' ball are ye referrin' to ? — is't a ball o' worset, or what ? " " Oh, this earth, Betty. Ye ken as weel's me that it's jist roun', an' nae ither possible shape, although ye'll no admit it." " Noo, Johnny, I want nae mair argie-bargiement aboot the circularosity o' the earth. I had mair than enough o' that subject frae ye the nicht afore yestreen. . Besides, it's no a Sunday subject to argie aboot." " Weel, d'ye admit it's roun', then ? " " No ; an' I'll never admit ony sic nonsense. D'ye think I ha'e lost my e'esicht, Johnny Macfarlan, an' my senses alang wi't ? Does that flat table look roun' ? G'wa' wi' ye, Johnny Macfarlan ; it's even waur than your daft Socialism, an' that's daft enough." " Weel, then, Betty, it maun be either roun' or flat ; if it's roun' " " We wad rowe afF o't," triumphantly put in Mrs. Mac- farlan. " An' if it's flat, wad we no be in danger o' walkin' owre the edge o't, and fa'in' doon, doon, doon into naething, eh?" 18 MRS. macfarlan's rabbit-dinner. " I ne'er heard tell o' onybody fa'in' owre the edge o'b Johnny, lang as I've leev'd." " There's maybe a muckle heich wa' built a' roun' the outer edge o't, then, Betty, to prevent accidents, eh ? " " I wadna wonder, Johnny; but the roun'ness o' the earth is jist aboot as hard to believe in as the nonsense ye talk o' the world spinnin' in space. Sic blethers ! Jist imagine ; if the world's spinnin' east at sic a rate, a body in Gleska wad never be able to get west the length o' Greenock, so they wadna ! " " Ha-ha-ha ! 'Od, Betty, I never saw't in that licht afore. Betty, ye' re an unappreciated genius — ha-ha-ha ! " " Oh, ay, jist lauch awa', Mr. John Macfarlan ; but I've the richt en' o' the stick for a' that, ye unconverted Sawb- bath-breakin', Socialistic auld vaigabond that ye are ! drag- gin' me into a heathen discussion on the Lord's Day aboot sidereal rabbits, the shape o' the earth, an' sic like nonsense ! 'Od, if ever again ye bring up the question o' star-rabbits, or the earth's shape, in my hearin', Sunday or Setterday, I'll— I'll— I'll " ' Wheesht, Betty, wheesht ! mum's the word ; ye've con- verted me ; I see't a' noo as plain's a penny. If the earth's liurryin' east, it's impossible we can ever get faur west ; ye micht manage the length o' Paisley wi' a stress, but Green- ock's quite oot o' the question. Ye were in the richt a' alang, Betty ; the earth's clearly flat, and it's staunin' stock still. That was a bit guid' rabbit." Ay, ye're speakin' sense noo, Johnny. If ye'd stick to the rabbits, an' let the stars alane, it wad be muckle better for my comfort an' yer ain peace o' mind." Mrs. Macfarlan at this juncture rose from the dinner- table, and began putting aside the dishes, in which job sne was handily helped by her auldest lassie, Maggie. She was nae mair than half thro' wi't, however, whei> Johnny, who was jist preparing hansel' for a leisurely MRS. MAUFARLAN'S RABBIT -DINNEK. 19 "smoke," was startled, doon to the length o' his very bauchels, by a terrific scream, which was instantly followed by the crash o' some delf, which Mrs. Macfarlan had ner- vously let fall to the floor. « oh ! — oh ! ! — oh ! ! ! " — yelled Mrs. Macfarlan, every ex- pletive rising to a higher note of horror. " In the name o' guidness, Betty, what's gaen wrang at a' ? Ha'e ye swallowed a fork, or what ? " " Oh, Johnny Macfarlan, what's this ye've dune ? In the name o' mercy, what's that I see ? " and Mrs. Macfarlan, her eyes staring in her head, kept pointing at an object only half discovered under the pawn of the kitchen-bed. Johnny looked as directed, and, horror ! the head of the rabbit was peering out, its delicate nostrils twitching with nervous excitement. Johnny, it must be confessed, was almost, if not altogether, as clean dumfoundert at the startling sight as was his wife, Betty. The idea of the " biled-and-eaten " rabbit discovering it- self below the pawn of the kitchen-bed ! and it safe and snug, too, in the general family stomach ! The thing was clearly impossible ! — nonsense ! Johnny went nervously over to grup the " thing," as he called it, when fuff, it jump't briskly across the floor, in sight of the entire family circle. " Oh, Johnny Macfarlan ! Johnny Macfarlan ! what's this ye've dune to me ! What was it ye biled in the pat ? " " It was the rabbit, Betty, the — the — the rabbit ! " "Then tell me what's that?" retorted Mrs. Macfarlan, pointing pathetically at the still alive rabbit. " It's— it's— it's, eh, an optical delusion ! " gasped out Johnny, who was at as great a loss as his wife, Betty, to understand the startling situation. " An optical delusion !— eh, Lord, what sort o' a thing was that to bile in a pat ? An optical delusion ! Ye've been !iO MRS. MACFAELAS'S RABBIT-DINNER. experimenting on me, ye heartless monster ! Oh, I'm pushion't ! I feel I'm pushion't ! Rin for the doctor ! — oh-oh! oh-oh! oh-oh!" " Ay, Betty, an optical delusion ! or .f ye — ye — ye'll no believe that, it must then have been a sort o' — sort o' — sort o' spiritualistic rabbit — the late article! — a kind o' rabbit medium, so to speak, that has got sort o' — eh — sort o' — — sort o' — eh — materialised again, ye understan'. Ye see,, Betty, there's nae real reason, when ye look at it, why rabbits shouldna ha'e souls as weel as men and women folks — wee souls, ye ken, Betty, maybe the size o' hazel nits — an' grant- ing that, Betty, the late biled-an'-eaten rabbit has maybe . cam' back in the material flesh, so to speak, jist to kind o' bid us an affectionate guid-bye; though, I frankly confess,- Betty, I'd much rather see the animal sittin' in a higher sphere the noo, chowin' a spiritualistic cabbage blade, than fuddin' aboot oor floor-heid, after being, to a' intents and purposes, baith bilcd an' eaten! It's a problem, Betty, the reappearance o't — an incomprehensible, mysterious, philo- sophic problem." " Tell me this moment what ye biled in that pat ? ye low, reckless, experimenting vaigabond !" " The rabbit, Betty ; I bile't naething out the late rabbit ; an' ye must allow it was carefully sauted an' pepper't to taste." " Whaur dia ye fling the skin an the feet o't ? answer me that, Johnny Macfarlan, that I may see what in a' the earth ye biled in the pat ? Whaur put ye the feet o't ? " " In the asb-bakey there," frankly ad *tted the puzzled husband. In a moment Mrs. Macfarlan, fearfully suspicious of the awful truth, had caught up the domestic article of use named, and was anxiously peering inside of it. A single brief trlance assured her wavering mind of the shocking truth. There lay the cat's skin, and the cat's four THE WASHING-HOUSE KEY. 21 paws which Johnny had so cleverly snipped off. Horror of horrors! they had actually eaten the cat ! which, through short-sightedness, Johnny had killed in place of the rabbit. When the awful disclosure was thus made certain to poor Mrs. Macfarlan, she lifted up her voice afresh and — yelled, literally yelled ! At the same moment, too, she dropped the " bakey " on the floor, and would the next instant have dropped bodily herself, if Johnny had not caught her in his heroic arms. " Weel," quo Johnny, " I've heard o men folks gettin' the babby to haud ; but och, it's a sair morning when a man o' licht wecht gets the wife to haud, an' her seventeen stane, if she's an ounce ! Neither biled rabbits nor German sausages could lang withstand an arinf u' like that ! ' THE 17ASHIKG-H0USE KEY. Mrs. Peascone was a Gleska housewife, and her man Patie was a journeyman baker. She lived in the top flat of a five-story East-end tenement, and had for a " below-neibor " a certain Mrs. Sooty, whose worthy guidman was " daein' for himsel'," as a thriving sweep. Now Mrs. Peascone and her neibor-housewife, Mrs. Sooty, were about as like each other in temper as their worthy husbands were opposite in trade-colour, and that's no saying- little. They were both badly afflicted with uppish notions, were jealous of each other " getting on " in the world, and had tongues in their head that went without greasing. A fortnight back, the worthy pair had a bigger row than usual, and it a' riz oot o' the disputed possession o' that vexatious article o' domestic need — the washin'-hoose key. 22 THE WASHING-HOUSE KEY. Last Monday mornin', it was clearly somebody's " turn " o' the washin'-hoose, but, the day being fine, twa o' the tenants claimed it, and hence the awfu' row. " Can I get that washin'-hoose key frae ye the day, Mrs. Peascone ? " asked Mrs. Sooty, resting her hands on her twa stout hainches, as she defiantly confronted her rival, the baker's better-half. " No, indeed, Mrs. Sooty, I'm needn't mysel' ; what's mair, it's no your turn," answered Mrs. Peascone. " But it is my turn," replied the sweep's charmer " But it's no, an' ye'll no get it," retorted Mrs. Peascone ■ But it is, an' I will," persisted Mrs. Sooty. " But I'm tellin' ye, ye'll no," snapped Mrs. Peascone, her words tasting of temper. " An' what am I to dae, then This is my day o't ; my things are a' turned oot an' ready for the biler ; tell me, what on a' the earth am I to dae, Mrs. Peascone ? " " Oh, jist dae withoot it, Mrs. Sooty, as mony a better woman has often had to dae before noo," snapped Mrs. Peascone. " Ye impident woman ! " returned Mrs. Sooty, " to pre- sume to talk to yer betters in that fashion ! There's peascone conceit for ye ! H'm ! oeascones, five for tip- pence!" " My betters ! — h m ! I'm or mail account than an auld pock o' soot, onyway," retorted Mrs. Peascone. " Weel, maybe, Mrs. Peascone, but let me tell ye this : you, above onybody, should never be in a hurry to expose your poverty-stricken washin' ; for it's weel ken't there's no a raf the syl I les. F. S. S 106 THE SITTIN'-DOON C A U L D. Policeman No. 199 gallantly went for Mattie, and Mattie, with the courage of her convictions, threw herself into posi- tion, and stoutly defended herself behind a chair. " Give me my sword ! Put on my warrior crown ! " again exclaimed Wattie, on seeing his wife in danger, the ex- citement brinsdnsf on a return of his disorder. "Stop 1 stop! for guidness sake, let me explain maitters!" exclaimed Mrs. Howclie, and thereupon she proceeded to inform the company as to the nature of Wattie's trouble — * A sair sittin'-doon cauld that wadna lift ; how Mattie had come to her for advice ; the ' cure ' that had been recom- mended and tried ; and this — the misguided result." " An what aboot Shakespeare, then ? " asked policeman No. 188, pointing significantly to Wattie, the stairhead tragedian. " Pit the puir excited man into his bed, and let him sweat oot the trouble under the blankets," said Mrs. Howdie. "Ring down the curtain ! Hark ! the prompter's bell," added Wattie, with his eyes romantically turned upwards to the ceilimr. And to this alternative the two constables agreed. " Han'le him gently, then," said Mattie, and in two minutes more Wattie was carefully deposited under the bed-clothes, with the Shakespearian steam pretty well blown off his bewildered brain. On the rctiral of the company, the last incident witnessed was Wattie magnificently waving his hand to them by way of adieu — " And now, good friends, a long and last farewell." So, Mrs. Howdie sat doon by Wattie's bedside, and assisted Mattie to sweat the " dour cauld oot o' him." This task they finally accomplished by the " breck o' daylicht," the method raisin' his mother-in-law. 107 of cure being simply a persistent repetition of the hard sweating process. Then, when the cure had done its work, and Wattie had sunk at last into the silence of exhaustion, his memory of Shakespeare completely defeated and used up, did the sweet influence of sleep, gentle sleep — the blessing of which he had so feelingly invoked in the earlier stage of his disorder — descend upon his troubled senses, smoothing the "wrinkled front of war" within him, and leading his Thespian charger into the peaceful stable. Next morning, when Wattie had recovered his lost senses, he looked about him inquiringly, and finding Mattie to be alone, he made a signal for " the len' o' her lug a moment," and cautiously whispered — " Mattie, what ha'e ye made o' Mrs. Howdie ? " " She gaed hame wi' the first breck o' licht," replied Mattie " an' ye may thank her skill an' patience that ye're in the land o' the leevin' this day. She han'ult ye like a licensed doctor." " Maybe ay, an' maybe yes," quo' Wattie, with a dubious- head-shake. " Nae doot she's a won'erfu' woman, Mrs. How- die ; but Mattie, I'll tell ye a deid secret — the cure was waur than the disease ! " RAISIN' HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW. Tam Frew was a journeyman corkcutter in the Sautmarket of Glasgow, half-a-century ago. He was a gey " wide " chap, Tam, and was strongly- attached to what he termed " the Auld Kirk o' Scotland,"' which, in Queen's English, meant a stiff dram. Indeed, so very fond was Tam of " turnin' up his pinkie," that he latterly lost both his credit and character, surren- 108 HAISIN' II is mother-in-law. derino- himself very much to the blandishments of idleness and street-corner " loafing." Tarn's faithful better-half, who was a mill-lass before marriage, rebelled in vain against her husband's frequent idle-sets as often as they occurred, and which generally consumed about three weeks of every calendar month. Tarn always frankly admitted his fault, expressing un- limited contrition and repentance, and promising amend- ment for the future — a future which never came. To make ends meet, Tarn's young wife was thus forced to return to her former occupation as a steam-loom weaver, while Tarn, the muckle ne'er-do-weel, habitually ate the bread of idle- ness, and hung aimlessly about the street-corners, an inter- esting specimen of the " man who can't get work." Things drifted on in this purposeless way for better than a year after Tarn's marriage, and would have gone on for lono- enough, but for the vigorous interference of his spirited mother-in-law, who had a genuine interest in her daughter, and who, according to Tarn's version, had a tongue like the "toon-bells," and a temper like ten ordinary women. Anyhow, it was clear that Tarn's mother-in-law was " an able yin," and proved herself the perfect " bubbly-jock " of her worthless son-in-law's idle existence. She faced-up to him in season and out of season ; she covered him with ridicule ; she showed him her nails ; and on one extreme occasion she took him so severely to task that he was fain to cry for quarter, and had to finally fly the premises ! " Talk about legal separations," quoth Tarn to himself, when he had gained the safety of the open street, " we've but sma' need for lawyers, an' legal deeds o' separation, as lang's we enjoy the great blessing o' a beloved mother-in- law ! As for what's at the back o' that, an a' the rest o't, let us pray ! " Tarn having been thus thrown upon his own resources, raisin' his mother-in-law. 100 very soon found himself in sore straits, and was fain before long to turn his thriftless hands to any odd jobs that chance might throw in his way. It was the terrible " resurrection times ' in Glasgow, the recollection of which is still referred to with feelings of hor- ror by elderly people. Comedy, however, is proverbially mixed up with tragedy in the drama of human life, and the story I have to tell belongs to the humorous side of things. Well, to resume, Tarn was standing one day at the fit o' the Can'leriggs, within an easy bow-shot of the gate of the old Ramshorn Churchyard. He had been idle as usual for a short time — about seventeen weeks only !— and was in a bad way financially, and, indeed, in every other way. His waistcoat hung frightfully loose on his empty stomach, and his throat was fair cracking with drouth. In point of fact, Tarn was just clean desperate, and was ready to undertake any sort of job which might turn him in a penny. ' Hillo ! Tam, ye're the vera man I'm wantin' to see," said Johnny Treddles, an oot o' work Radical weaver ; " can ye tak' a share in a risky, but guid-peying job ? " " A guid-peying job, Johnny ; man, that's what I'm fair deein' for the want o' ; can ye put me in the way o't ? " " Can ye keep a secret, Tam ? " " Brawly, Johnny, brawly,— if I'm in the pie, ye ken." " That's jist what I'm after, Tam— a trusty confederate. Lend me your lug a moment, Tam." Tam freely inclined his " lug " towards Treddles, who whispered a few startling words in his ear. " What ! lift a cleid body, Johnny ? " " An' what for no ? The money's white the moment the job's dune." ' Weel, that's certainly a temptation, Johnny, but what aboot the risk ? " " Oo, Tam, as for that, we'll jist tak' the risk as it chances 110 raisin' his mother-in-law. to turn oot ; it's but a triflin' concern that. Arc ye on for a share in the job ? " " I'm your man, Johnny ; a starving stomach canna afford to stan' lang on ceremony." " That's richt, Tarn ; leave it there '." and the two friends -mutually shook hands over the bargain. At a late hour that same night, Tarn met by appoint- ment his friend Treddles in the back-room of an attic apartment, occupying the gable-corner of a dilapidated apartment situated in College Street, where, for an hour before, a couple of strong-boclied Irish labourers had been anxiously awaiting their arrival. Here the immediate business of the night was discussed with whispered words and bated breath, lest any of the numerous chinks in the walls, or in the decayed floorage of the room, should reveal the secret of their unlawful purpose. The town-clocks were heard to proclaim the hour of twelve before the four "resurrectionists" thought it prudent to stir from their dilapidated domicile ; but with the stroke of " one " they found themselves scaling the low back wall of the old Ramshorn Kirkyard, carrying spades, a, dark lantern, and a large coarse pock in which to steal away the lifted body. With hushed footsteps they furtively crossed the inter- vening space, and were presently standing around a newly- formed grave. " What sort o' body is't, Johnny ? " anxiously enquired Tarn, feeling nervous a bit at thought of the ghastly job in hand ; " is't man, woman, or child we're gaun to lift ? " " Oh, it's a woman, Tarn ; only a woman ! Here, man, see, tak' a 'pull' at that before ye tak' spade in hand." And Treddles handed his nervous associate a half-mutchkin bottle of spirits. " Is — is — is the ' watch ' set a' richt, Johnny, was ye raisin' his mother-in-law. Ill sayin' ? " once more questioned Tain, as he handed back Treddles the half-mutchkin bottle. "Paddy M'Rory's ahint the dyke," promptly answered Treddles. " Ye're quite sure o' that, Johnny ? " "It canna possibly be otherwise, Tam, if there's ony truth in arithmetic ; Barney Rooney here mak's the third man o' the original fowr o' us. Let's fa' to." Delay they each knew was dangerous, and with one accord the three resurrectionists applied themselves, pick and spade, to the grim task in hand. In a few moments they had cleared a foot of earth, and were just beginning to warm to their work, when an eerie cry, as of some ghostly night-bird, startled them, down to the length of their boots. "What's that?" gasped out Tam, dropping the spade with fright. " What's what t " asked Treddles, resting on his pick. "What's which V added Rooney, the Irishman. "It's jist— naething!" said Treddles, with re-assuring voice, resuming suspended operations; "stick in, chaps, we're already mair than half-way doon; the grave's but shallow, an' the warst o't's owre." In a few minutes Rooney 's spade had touched the coffin- lid, and anxiety reached a climax. "Get the pock shaken oot an' ready, Tam," said Treddles ; " we'll prise the lid open in a jiffey." Tam did as directed, feeling a kind of cold shivery sweat creeping down his back as he watched his associates apply- ing their spades to lever open the coffin-lid. " There na, that's it ; fine, man ! " exclaimed Treddles, a moment after, as Rooney wrenched off the lid ; " a splendid corp ! tak' care o't, Rooney ; the pock, Tam, the pock ! come doon, man, an' gie's a bit lift in wi't." Tam jumped into the shallow cutting, and began to lend 112 W II A RULES THE HOOSE? a hand in " bagging " the resurrected bod\ T , when, all of a sudden, a gleam of moonlight clearly revealed the identity of the corpse to his startled eyes. With a yell of horror, Tarn dropped the body, shouting aloud " Stop ! stop ! put her back, for goodness sake ! I — I — I wouldn't unearth that woman for a thousand worlds!" " What's the matter, Tam ? is't your sister ?" " Waur than that, Johnny." " Your wife, then ? " " Waur than that — waur than even that, Johnny." " Och sure, then, it must be the devil!" exclaimed Rooney, the Irishman, with a laugh. " The devil couldna baud a can'le to her," yelled Tam ; " put her back ! put her back ! keep her down, for good- ness sake ! She's -" " Who ? speak ! quick ! out with it ! who is she ?" " My blessed mother-in-law ! ! ! " WIIA RULES THE IIOOSE ? Watty Wilson was a turkey-red dyer wha lived at number 9 Nettlesome Lane, in the East End o' Gleska. He stood just five feet and half an inch in his stockings. Being small in stature, he was, by way of compensating reversion, large of mind, and following up his ambitious instincts, ho had married Jean Jamieson, the biggest wife-body in the district. Jean Jamieson was a winder in Bartholomew's Mill when Watty yae nicht popped the question, and brocht his bird doon. Jean stood a foot above him in point of stature, and WHA RULES THE IFOOSE? 113 after marriage towered ever so inony feet above him in the matter of domestic precedence — a condition of things that Watty did not at all relish, and against which he kicked in vain. In the extremity of their domestic differences they flung epithets the reverse of complimentary at one another, which was amusing to their neighbours, if exasperating to themselves. Watty, thrust into a corner by his better twa-thirds, would cry out, by way of ridiculing her great size — " Six feet ! Big six feet ! " Whereat Jean would retal- iate with — " Five feet ! Wee five feet ! " This contemptible thrust never failed to rouse Watty's anger ; and stung into hot reprisal, he w T ould next sing out — " Elephant ! Muckle elephant ! " Jean following up with — " Midge ! wee midoie ! " And so on, the domestic duel would proceed, Watty invariably coming off second best. Thus far, and we proceed — the locality of our story changing to the back room of a Glasgow " public." "Weel, Watty," one day said Bachelor John, a carpet weaver in a neighbouring factory ; " an' hoo's a' wi' ye the nicht ? Ye look a thocht dowff, dae ye no ? " " Dowff! H'm, it's a wonder I'm leevin'." " What's gaen wrang, Watty ? Is the wife badly, or what ? " " Badly, by Jing ! I wish I saw her cauld and streekit ! " " Oh, Watty, Watty !" reproachfully exclaimed Bachelor John, lifting up his hands like a parish minister about to pronounce the benediction. " Ay ! — oh, Watty, Watty ! " sarcastically retorted the forlorn husband, " but set ye on a hot domestic gridiron, as Ill' W U A RULES THE HOOSE? I am, and tell mo if ye'd dae ocht but dance ? Oh, Watty, Watty, indeed ! If I had been as lang-heided a loon as ye are, Johnny, and never looked near the weemen-folks, it wad ha'e been muckle to my comfort this day." " Eh, man, Watty, it's the auld story owre again, I see — blighted love ! I'm rale vexed for ye, Watty. Can I dae ocht for ye — i' the way o' comin' atween you an' Jean, I mean ? " " If ye value yer heid keep awa' frae number 9 Nettle- some Lane," was the suggestive answer. " Has Jean a bit o' temper, Watty ? " " A bit o' temper ! " retorted the other. " Il'm, if it wis only a bit, a body could pit up wi't. Man, Johnny, she has a hale worl' o' temper. She's a fair Tartar." " Is she snuff ? " questioned Bachelor John. " Waur than snuff! " ruefully answered Watty. " Sulphur ? " put in Bachelor John. " Waur than sulphur ! " answered the dejected husband. Bachelor John bethought himself a moment, and then, with a sudden lighting up of the countenance, he leaned across the table and whispered — " Saltpetre ? " " Waur than Saut-Peter ! " forlornly replied Watty. Bachelor John recast in his mind the small dictionary of explosive words at his command, and after a thoughtful pause suggested as a climax — " Gunpowder ? " " Waur than even gun-poother ! " persisted the not-to-be comforted husband. " Then,Watty,my lad, Jean's a conundrum, an' I gie her up." " Think it oot a bit further," suggested the heart-crushed Watty. " Then, at a venture, I'll go in for gun-cotton ? " " Ye're on the track noo," encouragingly responded the desperate husband. " Keep at it." WHA RULES THE HOOSE? 115 "Dynamite?" shouted aloud Bachelor John, as a last effort. " A compound and general mix up c' a' the destructive elements ye've named, that's what she is ! " rejoined the desperate Watty. " Weel, that bates a' ! " replied Bachelor John. " But, hark ye, Watty, I'll tell ye o' a ploy." " What's that ? " " Pretend ye've listed, an' gang back this nicht to tak' a final fareweel o' her. There's something in that, ye'll find." " Listed ? " retorted Watty. " Man, I wadna venture to present mysel' afore the jaud unless I had the gun fairly on my shoother, by way o' self-preservation. She'd flee at me like a Bengal teegur ! " " The gun can be gotten," was the daring reply of Bach- elor John. " An' what's mair, Watty, I'se gang up to the hoose wi' ye as a ' support.' " "There'll be bluidshed, I fear," replied Watty; "but never mind. Onything's better than gaun thro' life wi' a cuisten-doon heid, an' a domestic hen crawin' like a cock owre ye, wi' its neb sunk in the nape o' yer neck. I'll 'list this vera nicht ; an' to be consistent I'll join the Koyal Forty- second, pit on the kilts, an' hand owre Jean my breeks as a farewell gift ! " That same nicht Wattie was seen repairing to number 9 Nettlesome Lane, with a veritable gun on his shoother, and no end of recruit ribbons on his bonnet, accompanied by his ingenious friend, Bachelor John, who had resolved to start forth as Watty's domestic guide, philosopher, and friend. The gun — which, although uncharged, was of most formidable size and appearance — had been borrowed for the occasion. " D'ye think I'll dae ? " asked the martial recruit, as he and his friend plodded their way towards the domestic fort about to be stormed. 116 WHA RULES THE II O O S E ? " Dae ? Why, you'll cairry the position \vi' a single rush ! " Watty groaned in spirit, and was less than half-sure of the result. " If ye only knew her temper/' he replied. " She wad face a Krupp cannon, let alane this empty stick that's hingin' owre my left shoother ! " " She's no to ken the gun's fu' o' naething, Watty. If she yokes ye wi' her cankery tongue, jist ye present the mooth o't at her, and I'll wager my best Sunday hat she tak's the farthest awa' corner o' the hoose for't." " Ye — ye — ye dinna ken her, Johnny," replied the terrorised husband ; " she can birl a spurkle like a dragoon's sword ! But cannie ! cannie there ! this is the stair-fit ; let's keep a calm sough as we approach the door. It's a crisis in my domestic career this — I feel it ! " " Courage, Watty, courage ! Keep yer chin weel up, and dinna disgrace the Queen's coat ! " "Are ye a' richt an' ready ? " finally asked the shivering W T atty, as the pair at last stood before the door. " Advance ! The position's ours ! " was Bachelor John's- over-confident reply. The next moment — tap, tap, tlrrap ! went Watty's- knuckles on the door, with an assumed vigour and self- confidence which the shaky condition of his mind scarcely warranted. On opening the door, Jean glowered — literally glowered — at the sight of her guidman with recruit ribbons tied to his bonnet, and a real gun on his shoulder, finding, for the moment, no words to fitly express her amazement. Taking an adroit advantage of her baffled silence, the heroic Watty strode into the kitchen as loftily and courageously as his short stature and secret nervous alarm would permit of, leaving his friend standing on the stair- head, behind the door. WHA RULES THE HOOSE? 117 "Jean," he began, not choosing to sit down; "Jean, you've dune the trick for me at last !" " What's that, Watty ? " " I've tooken the shillin' ; I'm 'listed ! " " Wha has been gi'en the buddy drink ? " was her crushing reply, followed up by a skirl of derisive laughter. " It's nae laughin' maitter, Jean. I've come to tak' a last fareweel o' ye — for ever ! " "Watty Wilson! Watty Wilson ! an' has it come to this!" cried Jean ; " yow 'listed into the sodgers ! Five feet nae- thing a sodger ! Cast aff yer ribboned bannet ; pit aside that custock aff yer puir auld crookit shoother — that I'm sure's sair wi' the wecht o't — and sit quately doon to yer pease-brose." " Present the gun at the jaud, Watty, that'll fricht her into submission," whispered the defeated husband's guide, philosopher, and friend, from behind the shelter of the door. " Ye muckle elephant that ye are," sang out Watty, levelling the gun at her; " if ye taunt me ony further I'll put a brace o' bullets through yer brisket !" Watty was not quite sure what the word " brisket " in- ferred, or whereabouts the "brisket" was physically located, but he had come across the word in story phraseology, and, as it sounded bi^ and formidable, he thrust it at her entire, in the hopes of securing a speedy capitulation at the enemy's hands. " Ye demented buddy that ye are ! " screamed the domestic virago ; " wad ye daur to level firearms at me ! " and wheeling adroitly about, she seized a heavy potato beetle, and made a dash at the shivering Queen's recruit. "Ground yer arms! " sang out Watty in the last extremity of mortal terror ; " ground yer arms, or feth, I'll circwm- splode ye ! " Watty obviously meant to affirm that he would blow her to pieces, but in the agony of his terror, his language, like his wits, had got inextricably mixed up. 118 WHA RULES THE IIOOSE? In a moment the angry woman had driven aside the formidable-looking musket, and was instantly on her husband's unprotected " tap," and the next moment poor Watty found himself flung out bodily on the stairheid, minus the musket, and all bruises and aching sores. Believing that his friend, Bachelor John, was still inside, Watty mentally commiserated his fearful fate, and rushed downstairs in quest of needed help. " She'll batter him into blue lumps ! " he sorrowfully sighed, as he hurried forth to regain the open street. At the " close mouth " he was more than astonished to find his philosophic " support " vigorously blowing a police- call for assistance. " In the name o' a' that's uncannie, hoo cam' ye there, Johnny ? Did the jaud throw ye owre the back window?" " Watty, I'll never be able to tell hoo I got doon the stairs. I'm here, thank guidness, an' that's a' I'm sure o\ But, Watty ; whaur's the gun ? " " Up i' the hoose ; I had nae time to think o't. It was awfu' work for twa-three seconds. The gun's " " What ! in her possession, Watty ? " " In her possession — defeat o' the British ! — victory o' the enemy ! — and great capture o' military stores ! Gang ye up an' beg the gun affher, Johnny." " Beg the gun aff her ! No, no ; not for ten thousand worlds, Watty ; not for ten thousand worlds ! " That night poor Watty lost hope and courage entirely, and refused to be comforted, lie had challenged his wife, and had been beaten ignominiously, and his philosophic "support" sent flying hence. So he resolved, poor man, to find his meals and lodgings outside till such time as he concluded on Jean's dragoon-wrath having settled down. But—" No ! no ! Watty ; ye'll dae naething o' the kind," put in Bachelor John. " Ye'se share my bed for this nicht, WHA' RULES THE HOOSE? 119 an' the morn's nichfc we'll try anither game wi' Jean — attack her frae some ither point of vantage — perceive ? " "Oo, ay, I perceive weel enough," frankly answered Watty ; " but I choose to be the commanding General this time, wha stan's at a safe distance surveying and directing the attack thro' a lang telescope." " Wheesht, wheesht, Watty ; there's nane o' us '11 hae to- gang under fire this time. The enemy has captured our gun at the point o' the tattie-beetle, it is true, and the posi- tion is clearly Jean's, nae doot. But, hark ye, lad ; I've hit on a plan to work the oracle wi' her. ' " An' what's that ? ' " It's this, Watty ; ye ken big Fechtin' Jock o' Bruiser Lane ? " " Brawly," replied Watty, "an my jaw kens him tae, as weel. He clooted my chafts yae nicht, just for fun, as he ca'd it, an' sent me into the middle o' the following week wi' the speed o' a sixpenny telegram ! " " Weel, Watty," proceeded his philosophic friend, " I'll get Fechtin' Jock to come alang for a dram, an' we'll pit him up to the game, which '11 be this — You an' him 'ill gang up to Jean the morn's nicht ; an' yell cry out — ■ Open the door, Jean, till I lether ye!' Then ye'll slip a wee bit back into the dark o' the lobby, leavin' Fechtin' Jock stan'in' in yer place before the door. Out'll come Jean, bouncin' an' threatenin' yer verra life — the tattie-beetle in her ban', an' then Fechtin' Jock '11 fa' upon her, an' wallop her weel, an' that tae be- fore she has time to see in the dark o' the lobby wha deals the blows. Then, when she's fairly floored, Jock '11 with- draw wi' a jump, an' in you'll slip, Watty, stan'in' boldly owre her wi' up-buckled sleeves, an' a' panting wi' exertion and excitement, as if ye had jist that moment struck her the finishin' blow, waitin' impatiently to hear her first ex- pressed word o' repentance an' domestic submission." " It looks gran' in theory," answered Watty, " but in 1 20 v;ha rules the hoose'I practice it '11 prove a risky job. Iloosumever, if Fechtin' Jock clisna mind a fractured skull owre much, an's willin' to come, then, death or life ! I'll risk it." Imagine, then, to-morrow night come round, and the fate- ful hour at hand. Fechtin' Jock's services have been secured, and Watty and his highly ingenious friend, are on their way to what, in military parlance, we may here call " the front." Watty is only half sure of the game, and his heart is thumping excitedly against his sides with the swing of an eight-day clock pendulum, notwithstanding the fact that, within the hour previous, he has swallowed three full glasses of Campbeltown whisky ! " Keep up yer pecker, Watty," puts in Bachelor John, " immortal glory, honour, and domestic house-sovereignty await ye. Ye'll come oot o' this adventure a local and domestic Lord Wolsele} 7 , and be voted for the remainder o' yer life a potato-beetle peerage, wi' a grant o' unlimited pease-brose a' the week, an' a tea breakfast on Sunday mornings. Fechtin' Jock, there, is richt able for his work." " Yes!" exclaimed the fighting man, " I'll smartly turn on her claret tap, tingle the ivories in her potato box, and con- found her eyesight and understanding in a jifYey." "For your ain sake, my man, as weel as for that o' a' concerned, jink the tattie-beetle," cautioned Watt\ T . " Yae weel-planted blow frae Jean would remit ye to anither and — let me piously hope — a higher sphere ; but cannie, lads ; we're here at the dreaded stair-fit yince mair." " Courage, Watty, courage ! " sang out the philosopher, " resolution is the half of success ! Why fear the result ? The ball rolls well. Let the cry be — On ! on ! Forward ! Death or victory ! " " Ay, imph ! " sneered the unassured husband, " an' what pairt are ye gaun to play in the bluidy drama, Johnny ? It's a' very fine to stan' behind a door an' cry oot — ' On ! on ! Forward ! Death or victory ! ' But, kennin' the enemy's WHA RULES THE HOOSE? 121 mettle as I dae, it's a vera different thing to march into a death's den an' withstan' the fierce haffet-clawin' o' an enraged woman." " Oh, ye ken, Watty, I'll stan' by ye as a * support.' Victory is often assured by a timely moving to the front o' the reserved ' supports,' ye ken." " Ay," thocht Watty to himsel' ; " ye'll be gaun to act as a flying column, I suppose," but he didn't venture to speak out the sarcasm. " Now, Watty, ye'll demand the gun, in stern, command- ing tones, outside the door, immediately the 'chapp' is given," explained Bachelor John, as the detachment cautiously ascended the stair; "an' you, Jock, ye'll be ready to floor her before she sees what's what, ye un'erstan' ?" " I'll close up her ' daylights ' pop, pop ! " significantly answered Fechtin' Jock. " If I could only manage to mak' my heart lie still" lamented the excited Watty. " It's fleein' aboot my breist like a new-caught bird in a cage." " Courage ; the day is ours ! Sound the advance ! " resolutely whispered the philosophic organiser of the ex- pedition. " Now, lad, lay your knuckles firmly against the panel o' the door." Thump, thump, thump, went Fechtin' Jock's shut fist against the door, and a moment after the voice of Jean was heard rumbling: inside somewhere, like rising thunder. " Wha's that layin' their ill-set feet against my door ? " she cried from within. " My door," thought Watty to himself; "she still claims the hoose as hers ! Feth, an' we'll ha'e a teuch fecht for possession, I see." Thump, thump, thump, was repeated on the shaken door-panel by way of answer to her question, and the next moment the voice of Watty was heard tremulously palpitat- ing on the dread silence — ».8. 9 122 WHA RULES THE HOOSE? " Open — the — door, Jean ; I com — manrl ye ! " "What! an' that's you, Watty, that's thumping sae im- pidently at my door ? Ye wee five feet, soor-dook sodger ! 'Od, if I rise frae my sate I'll clash your chafts wi' a wat dishcloot ! " " Demand the gun, Watty," the voice of the philosophic commandant was heard shouting from somewhere behind the kitchen door; "demand the immediate and uncon- ditional surrender and restoration of the gun ! " " I demand," blurted out Watty, " I demand the im-im- immediate and undivisional sur-sur-surrender and conspli- cation of the g-g-gun. Give me the g-g-gun ! " " Gi'e you the gun, ye wee morsel that ye are ! I'll mak' firewood o't first. If ye treat me to ony mair o' yer sraa' jaw, I'll rise an' wring the bit neck o' ye." " The gun, woman, the gun ! " demanded Watty, strengthened into firm speech and daring by the re-assuring words of the philosophic commandant. " It's the gun ye want," answered the storming virago ; " but I'll treat ye to the tattie-beetle." "The tattie-beetle!" yelled out the alarmed Watty, his hair galvanised into erect birses with perfect fright. " Stand fast. Victory or glorious death ! " sung out the commandant from behind the door. " Lordsake, here she comes ! It's you an' her for't now, Jock!" cried Watty, darting like lightning into a recess of the dark lobby. " Into her, but tak' care o' yer skull." A moment after the door flew open, ami — there was a scutlle, a series of yells, and a collapse of something heavy on the floor. Waity dashed in as the victorious pugilist withdrew, and stood valiantly over his prostrate wife, who was half- blinded with confusion and facial derangement. "D'ye want ony mair o't?" coolly inquired Watty, assuming a lofty air, although his heart was going like an \V II A EULES THE HOOSE: 123 express engine. " If sae, just tell me afore I pit doon my shirt sleeves ?" "Oh! oh! oh! Watty Wilson! Watty Wilson! To think ye wad ha'e sae abused your ain lawf u' wife — at your ain fire-en', tae. Oho ! oho ! oho !" "My ain fire-en'," soliloquised the much-delighted Watty. My ain fire-en' ! 'Od, that's a sweet bit to row in a married man's mouth. Jean, yer han' on't. I'm sorry for the thrashin' I've gi'en ye. But, lass, my temper got clean the better o' me, an' I couldna restrain my han's. When fairly roused, an' on my mettle, Jean, I've the strength o' thirty-sis African lions ! But wheesht, wheesht, lass ; dinna tak' it sae sair to heart. If it's a bargain atween us that I'm to rule an' you're to serve, then there's my han' on't, an' I'll never lift it against my loving and respected wife again. What say ye, Jeannie ? " " The sodgers ! the soclgers ! " cried out the conquered wife. " They'll come an' steal ye awa' frae yer ain loving Jeannie ! " " Say the word, an' it's no too late yet." " Yes ! yes ! " sobbed Jean. " Yer han' on't, then." " There ! " " An' noo, Jeannie, I'll aff an' awa' back to the barracks wi' the gun." " Tak' it oot o' my sicht, Watty ; an' oh, tak' care o' yersel' wi't, an' dinna be owre lang awa' frae yer ain loving doo. I'll be lonely till ye come back." " In a crack, Jeannie, I'll be back to kiss an' comfort yo — my ain sweet lovey ! " answered the delighted Watty ; and I have only to add, in conclusion, that twa happier domestic doos than Watty Wilson and Jean Jamieson dinna at this day dab kisses frae ilk ither at ony fireside in braid Scotland. 124 SANDY M'TARTAN'S VISIT TO THE SHOWS. SANDY M'TARTAN'S VISIT TO THE SHOWS. Sandy M'Taetan, and his loving spouse, Kirsty, paid a visit to the " Shows " last year, and turned oot twa o' the greatest curiosities to be seen there. Arriving at the spot, they very soon found themselves part and parcel of the densely-packed crowd, and, like other sight-seers, were jostled and hustled hither and thither with ceaseless repetition. To avoid separation, Kirsty " cleekit " Sandy, and hung upon his arm like a firmly glued and dove-tailed fixture. M'Tartan observed to Kirsty that the crowd was a mixed one, as they struggled through it, but Kirsty, with out- spoken humour, flatly declared that there was " nae mix- tures aboot it, for it was entirely made up o' Gleska keelies." " Weel, then, Kirsty, let's get inside some ' Show r to be clear o' them." " Na, na, guidman ; that wad be jumpin' oot o' the fryin' pan into the fire. We'll keep in the air — ootside." So they wandered hither and thither with the swaying crowd, and got glimpses of pictorial advertisements of many wonderful and curious pennyworths to be witnessed inside. Irish giants who could liirht the streets of Dublin without the help of a ladder; and Yankee tall men who, for a challenge of £100, could for height " flop" all creation. Wherever a giant was on exhibition, a dwarf, by way of con- trast, was invariably the second feature of the establishment. Then, there were also to be seen people with two heads, and women with full-grown beards; animals with too many legs, and animals with too few ; acting monkeys, and speaking fish; intelligent and calculating ponies, and star mammoth rigs ; knock- nie-out Sallys, and knock-me-down nine-pins ; merry-go-rounds driven by engines, and organs going by SANDY M'TARTAN'S VISIT TO THE SHOWS. 125 steam; stands covered with icebergs of ice-cream, and tables smoking with " blows of hot peas ; " ascending London boxes, and high-flying swings ; tents of pantomime fun, and booths of bleeding tragedy; waxworks, sparring booths, circuses, menageries, wizards' tents and hobgoblinscopes, with almost every other conceivable and inconceivable incongruity. Each booth had a great front of highly- coloured picture - canvas, illustrative of the scenes and wonders to be seen inside. The menageries especially were rich in pictorial display. At the stair-way of one of the largest " collections " a crier stood, who, with the aid of a good voice and a long tapered stick, with a tassel made of strips of coloured cotton adorning the top end of it, called frequent attention to a tremendous-looking picture of— " The great Hafrican lion, Nero, the pride hov the forest! — the huntameable monarch hov the Hafrican wilds, genTmen, as has heaten and swallered six h-alive keepers within the past four years ! To be seen h-alive, genTmen, to be seen h-alive ! No waiting ! no delay ! " With the expiry of each half-dozen words, the " crier " flopped the canvas picture with his stick, said picture representing the "pride hov the Hafrican forest" in the act of swallowing an " h-alive keeper." " Supposing we gang in and see the African ' monarch o' the wuds,' -Kirsty, eh ? " "Na, na, guidman; I'll e'en dae naething o' the kind; the fearsome britt micht tak' a fancy for you or me for supper. Let's move roond wi' the crood." ' Weel, let's try the ' acting monkeys/ Kirsty ; they'll no eat us alive, surely. They ha'e a born genius for crackin' a nit, but I never heard o' yin o' them takin' waur liberties wi' a man-body than chowin' the button aff his coat." " Gae awa' wi' you an' yer monkeys," retorted Kirsty ; " nesty, itchy britts ; I hate the vera sicht o' them ! " 126 SANDY M'TAUTAN'S VISIT TO THE SHOWS " Weei. fry a gless o' ice-cream," insisted M'Tartan. " It wad raise the tuithache in my three auld stumps." " Try a bowl o' het pease, then." "It wad develop the win' on the stammack." " Here, then," said M'Tartan, excitedly, " hand oot yer haun'. There's a penny ; get on the back o' a haooy-horse for five minutes, while I try a roond wi' the gloves," and before Kirsty had time to wink, M'Tartan had darted inside of a sparring booth, where some Birmingham men were show- ing how human eyes may be successfully discoloured, and noses scientifically put out of shape. Kirsty -was paralysed with astonishment. She looked up at the announcement of the performance on the canvas over the door, and saw that each entertainment wound-up with a regular " set-to " between the "Birmingham Cock" and the " Belfast Chicken," these being the professional sobriquets of the two leading men of the sparring establishment. "Eh, me," quo' Kirsty to hersel', "and he's really in to see a cock-fccht! Fine wark for a Scotchman and a Christian !" and she resolved to stand by for a time, mentally determined that a second fecht between a certain domestic cock and hen would be openly instituted on his return. Meantime M'Tartan had got himself well placed next the "ropes," and the audience having been invited to take a turn at the "gloves," M'Tartan boldly challenged the "Birming- ham Cock " to a bout, the more so that the English pugilist had just knocked down a " kiltit sodger" twice his own weight, who had ventured to face him. The honour of Scot- land was thus at stake, and our hero was prepared to vindi- cate it at all personal risk. M'Tartan, as may well be imagined, was a rare sight to sec when he had laid aside his stick and coat and donned the formidable-looking "gloves." " Noo, lead aft", my cockie," he remarked, " an' nae hittin' below the belt. I'll dust yer winkers, my man, an that SANDY M'TARTAN'S VISIT TO THE SHOWS. 127 afore twa ticks. There, tak' that ! " and driving out his right fist at the Birmingham man, that " expert " smartly drew aside his head, and allowed M'Tartan's blow to waste its virtue on the unresisting air, complimenting him, at the same time, with a stiff one on the bread-basket, which sent Sandy outside the " ropes," and into the arms of the laughing spectators. " 'Odsake, the birkie can hit ! " was M'Tartan's exclama- tion on being set up on his pins ; " but if he has scored the first knock-doon blow, I'll draw the first bluid. Come on, my man ; tippence for first bluid ! " Again M'Tartan shot out his hand, and again, quick as light, his understandings went uppermost, and he came down on the sawdust, this time on his bulky posterior. A roar of laughter succeeded, which M'Tartan heeded not. Rubbing the dust from his eyelids, he once more valiantly confronted his lithe and wary enemy. Humorously warning him to "mind his left e'e, as he was £aun to illuminate that orjran," M'Tartan tried a swingim;- side-blow at his opponent's right ear. The Birmingham man ducked cleverly, with a faint smile, and M'Tartan, amid.st, shouts of laughter, whirled three times round on his heel, and fell pop down on the saw-dust floor for the third time. The audience laughed aloud, and, dropping his gloved hands by his side, so also did the " Birmingham Cock." But his triumph was of brief duration. A commotion was presently seen amongst the spectators, and a peculiar shreigh of excitement told M'Tartan that Kirsty was within the booth. Such was indeed the case ; and a moment after the redoubtable Kirsty was inside the "ring," and had broken her auld umbrella over the Birmingham man's head. " Ye wad knock doon ma guidnian, ye vagabond that ye are ! " she exclaimed, following him up all round the ring, amidst shouts of laughter. " Dod, an' I get ye, I'se thraw the neck o' ye, ye keelie-looking craitur that ye are ! " 128 SANDY M'TARTANS VISIT TO THE SHOWS. " Does the old ' missus ' want a ' go ' ? " asked the Birmingham man, throwing himself into fighting position. " Ay ; haud ye there, fechtie, till I get at ye !" exclaimed Kirsty, uplifting her damaged umbrella menacingly for a second blow. But " fechtie," perceiving the humour of the situation, dropped his fists, and precipitately retired from the ring. And thus, by an apparent paradox, the " cock " having fled the spot, Kirsty virtually became the hen of the walk. "Kirsty!" cried M'Tartan, adjusting his deranged apparel, " this way, lass, afore ye affront me," and the heroic pair were presently outside the booth. " What for did ye interfere ? " resumed M'Tartan, as they made for the outside of the crowd ; " twa minutes mair o't, an' I wad ha'e poother't the birkie's pow wi' some swankin' blows. As it is, I've sent the chiel hame wi' a sarkfu' o' sair banes, I'm thinkin' ! The cock-a-doodle craw o' him was jist mair than I could stan'." " Sair banes or no sair banes," answered Kirsty, " I'm confident the birkie has a gey sair heid the noo. But I'm clean vext for my guid auld umbrella — the handle's fairly broken in twa." "Here, Kirsty !" suddenly exclaimed M'Tartan, " let's try a shot at the ' Lang Rifle Bange ' before we leave the grun'. I'm itchin' to ' pap ' the bull's-eye." " Pap yer wa's hamewards, guidman ; ye're no safe to be left alane in a crood like this. See, here's the tram-car waitin' on us ; in wi' ye." And ere M'Tartan had time' to expostulate, the amusing pair were inside the car and whirling westwards towards home. 'o End of First Series. Scotch Readings Scotch Readings Humorous and Amusing SECOND SERIES By Alexander G. Murdoch Author of "Recent and Living Scottish Poets " " A merrie buke's guid companie " SECOND EDITION GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MORISON LONDON: HAMILTON, ADAMS & CO 1888 GLASGOW: PRINTED BY ROBERT MACI.EHOSE, 153 West Nile Street. Pkeface. In issuing a second series of Scotch Readings, the author desires to thank both the press and the public for the kind and encouraging reception accorded to the first series which was issued last year, and is already in the third edition. This very gratifying measure of success has encouraged him, to still further exercise his fancy in the same popular direction, and he hopes that the present series may be accorded, a similar reception on the part of the reading- public. The literary merit requisite for such productions is not necessarily high. Of this the author is well aware. At the same time, literature of this class will be read and heartily enjoyed by a large section of the public, who, from the arduous nature of their employment, or for other reasons, have not the time or taste necessary for the perusal of works of a more elaborate and pretentious nature, and which often remain unread and neglected. V'i PREFACE. The scenes depicted in the following pages are exclusively Scotch, both in character and detail. They are all cast in that humorous vein, in which broad laughter predomin- ates, a distinct merit in itself in these hurried and exciting days of wear and tear, when business, worry, and care, press so heavily on men's minds. The truth of the modern aphorism, that there is no particular merit in a book being seriously unreadable, was never more forcibly apparent than now, and on this latter point, the author believes, the most censorious of readers will be at one with him. Glasgow, January, 1S88. CONTENTS. JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY, 9 THE MEN DIN' 0' JOHNNY MACFARLAN'S LUM HAT, 27 THE MINISTER'S MISTAKE, - 38 THE TAILOR MAK'S THE MAN, - - - - U JOCK TURNIP'S MITHER-IN-LA W, S3 LODGINGS AT ARRAN, 59 00 R JOHN'S PATENT ALARUM, 63 MRS. MACFARLAN GANGS BOON THE WATTER, - - 70 SANDY M'TARTAN'S VOYAGE TO GOVAN, - 82 ROBIN RIGG AND THE MINISTER, - - - 87 JOHNNY SAFTYS SECOND WIFE, ... - 95 THE GAS-ACCOUNT MAN, - - -104 DAVIE TOSH'S HOGMANAY ADVENTURE, - - 110 GLESKA MUTTON, U. PER POUND, 115 Scotch Keadings. SECOND SERIES. JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. If ye've half an hour to spare, I'll tell ye the story o' Johnny Gowdy's funny ploy ; for, altho' it's a grave story, it's at the same time a gey merry yin. and's weel worth the kennin'. " There's a snell nicht, Mysie," said Eobin Tamson, yarn merchant in the auld Candleriggs, as he presented his rubicund countenance and portly well-preserved form inside the narrow doorway of Johnny Gowdy's wee tobacco and snuff shop at the foot of the High Street of Glasgow, one chill wintry night some eighty years ago. when the law regarding debt and imprisonment was very different from what it now is. " A rale nippin' December nicht, atweel," responded Mysie, wife of Johnny, " an' it strikes me we'll hae a fa' o' snaw before daylicht the morn.'' " 'Deed, lass, I widna winder, an' if it brings a wee hue o' heat wi't, it's comin's welcome. Fill that, Mysie ; ye ken my likin'." And the customer placed a silver snuff- box on the small counter to be substantially replenished. " Licht broon an' macabaw, I suppose ?" asked the tosh shopwife. 10 JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. " Are ye speirin' my taste that way, Mysie ? O'd, if Johnny himsel' was here he'd ken better, I'm thinkin'. He's as familiar wi' my taste in snuff as he is wi' the face o' the auld Tolbooth clock. What's cam'owre the loon the nicht?" " Oo," replied the shopwife, proceeding to replenish Eobin's box, " he's snug seated in the back kitchen there, readin' awa' at the papers, an' up to the tap o' his twa lugs in the French wars." " Cry him ben, Mysie." A moment after and Johnny "himsel"' was at the back of the counter, full of inquiring wonderment, the " papers " still in his hand, and his auld flint specks thrown up on his bald and shining brow. Johnny was a short, podgy body, of a somewhat humorsome turn, a sort of short comedy in home-spun hodden-grey, with a persistent disposi- tion to close one eye when tickled — which was often — and laugh with the rest of his features. " Eobin Tamson !" he exclaimed, " is it possible ye're oot in sic a nose-nippin' nicht as this is ! O'd, laird, I hope ye've left yer croighley hoast ahint ye at yer ain fire-en', for it's no for exposure on a frosty December nicht like this." " Ye may weel say't, ye may vveel say't, Johnny ; but the mist's aye waur than the frost for a hoast, ye ken. It's the neb o' my nose that suffers the nicht ; till I had a pinch o' Mysie's famous mixin', my nose was just as cauld when I first cam' into the shop here as the ' black boy ' ye hae as a signbrod above yer door-heid. Here, Johnny, tak' a dip." " Ay !" continued Eobin, half to himself and half aloud, while Johnny helped himself at the box, Mysie, meantime, having moved off a bit to serve another customer — "there's waur than coughs an' cauld noses in this world," and re- ceiving back the box from Johnny, he re-applied himself to its comforting contents so vigorously as to cause his con- cerned cronie to ask — "What ava's the maitter — ony thing wrang, Eobin?" JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. 11 " A's wrang thegither, Johnny," replied Eobin ; " Deacon Spreull's gaun to bring my worldly a' to the hammer, an' sen' me to the Tolbooth. Hae ye an hour to spare wi' me up-bye in auld Jenny Middleton's Tontine taproom, Johnny ?" Johnny jerked his thumb in the direction of his spouse, Mysie, who was busy with a wife customer at the far end of the counter, and closing his left eye, suggested strong doubts on the subject. " Is't no at a' possible, Johnny, think ye ?" " "We'll try her, Eobin, we'll try her," and then, turning to his spouse, he said — " Mysie, I'll need to gang oot a wee while, I fear." " Xoo, Johnny- !" " It's a' richt, Mysie, it's a' richt an' ticht ; no a drap, lass, believe me, no a drap '11 cross my craig this blessed nicht ! The fack is," he continued, with a fluency of inven- tion which would have made the fortune of a novelist, " the French have jist landed on a hill at the back o' Camlachie, the laird here tells me, an' they're likely to be in the toon playin' Tom an' Herry wi' a'thing the morn's mornin'." " The Lord help us !" cried Mysie, unconsciously skailin' a haill skipfu' of snuff which she was in the act of serving to a customer. " O'd, I hope they'll no come doon the High Street." " I hope no, Mysie," continued the facetious snuff-dealer ; " but I'll hae to "an^ awa' roon to the Council Chambers alang wi' Robin, an' see the Provost an' the Bailies a bit ; for a' the toon burgesses are to be summoned there this nicht for the protection o' the city, an' we'll maist likely be served oot wi' a baton or a musket, to gie the bit puddock- eatin' French bodies a fell threshin' when they come." " Eh, me, the Lord keep us !" sighed the terror-stricken Mysie. " D'ye think I should pit on the window-brods ?" " It wad be safer," said Johnny. " I wad almost bid ye 12 JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. strike a compromise between war and business by pittin' on the ' brods ' hauf an' hour earlier the nicht ; say half-past nine instead o' ten o'clock ; an', Mysie, dinna wait up for me. The foreign loons '11 no be here before ten o'clock the nicht, Eobin — eh ? " " Oo, the shop windows are perfectly safe till ten o'clock the nicht ; hoo lang they may remain sae's anither question," responded Robin, as the pair prepared to depart. " See an' tak' care o' yer skin, Johnny, an' no be brocht hame to me on a shutter, wi' yae leg shot aff an' the tither only hauf on — mind ye !" "Death or glory !" cried back the gallant snuff-dealer, and the twa bosom cronies thereafter passed out into the chill street, and turning the corner of the Cross steeple, they immediately sought the seclusion and comfortable cheer offered nightly at auld Jenny Middleton's snuggery situated at the head of the once famous " Tontine Closs." Arrived in Jenny Middleton's, there the twa cronies found Willie Campbell, a " grocer buddy," who own'd a thriving wee Jenny-a'-thing shop at the head of the auld Sautmarket, cornering the east end of the Trongate. Willie kept every- thing saleable in stock, and a few things more, but would answer to no trade designation but the very respectable one of " grocer," his auld faither, decent, worthy man, having been that before him. Willie was a gleg, eident, thrifty, honest sort of a body, inheriting a useful talent for making twopence out of a penny. Willie, therefore, had about equal credit in kirk, bank, and market, and being in addition a toon burgess, he was personally and in numerous other ways " nae sma' beer." "An' hoo's his lairdship haudin' ?" Willie asked, and Robin's answer was prompt and significant : — " Deil ill, Willie, an', what's worse, no like to be better ! Financially, I'm jist an auld cask in the ban's o' a fell cooper, an' it's a hanging question whether they'll ca' the .IOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. 13 bottom clean oot o' me or gie me anither chance an' ' girr ' me up anew." " Wha's the cooper, Kobin ?" significantly asked the Saut- market grocer. " Deacon Spreull, o' the Stockwell. " " Then, the bottom's already oot o' ye, Eobin," rejoined the other. " That's what I'm fell fear'd o'," put in Johnny Gowdy, " the Deacon's mercy's like the North Pole, it's kin' o' cauld awee, an' tho' it's believed to exist it has never yet been yince seen." " Ye've said it, Johnny, ye've jist said it," acceded the yarn merchant with a heavy sigh, " I'm this nicht, I fear, naething better than jist a gone cask. The grim auld Deacon has me completely in his power. I'm hopelessly involved — bonded, mortgaged, post obited, and, in fact, generally and completely water-logged ; an' hoo to come oot o't, or hoo to escape the jile (gaol) is mair than I can even imagine, let alane soberly reason oot. Hech-howe ! this is a crookit warld when the penny '11 no rin richt," and the troubled yarn merchant dived his fore-finger and thumb into the centre of his well-filled box, and liberally replenished his capacious nostrils, which had unusually fine accommo- dation for snuff. " Gor, laird, an' are things owre bye in the Can'leriggs as bad as that ?" asked the Sautmarket grocer, his hair rising. on end ; and presently adjusting his spectacles he looked interestedly at the yarn merchant, as if searching there for facial proof of the impending financial disaster. " As bad, an' even waur, Willie," rejoined the all but broken man of yarn, " the Deacon maun hae his money immediately, or he threatens to roup me oot — stick an' stow." " Weel," put in Johnny Gowdy, "it's e'en a black frost wi' ye if ye're to lippen to the tender mercies o' Deacon Spreull. The Deacon, it's baith weel an' wide ken'd, is a 14 JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. hard creditor ; he could ' whussle ' a psalm tune an' skin a debtor alive. As faur as I can see, there's naething for ye, Eobin, but to conveniently dee ; that's the sair logic o' the position," and the adviser closed his left eye, and laughed with the lee side of his face. " Dee ! " exclaimed both the yarn merchant and the Saut- market grocer in a single breath. " Ay dee, Eobin ; to escape the Deacon's grup ye'll be obleeged to e'en dee." "Dee at just sixty !" retorted the man of yarn, " fack no, I'll no try that trick yet ; I'm e'en sixty, as I say, but, according to Scripture, I've ten years guid to the fore yet ; an', mair than that," he continued, " I've a solid kist here (tapping his stout chest) an' a bit o' soond clock-wark here (touching his deeply-furrowed brow) which should gi'e me a firm haud o' life till eichty guid. I'll dee to pleesure neither deil nor deacon ! " " Hoots man ! ye dinna unnerstan' me, Robin. There's only yae way o' being born, but there's fifty ways o' gettin' to heaven, an' still mair ways o' leavin' this worl'. To illustrate my meaning, a man that's sair pressed an' pitten tae can con- veniently dee by proxy, or by hoaxy, ye unnerstan'." "By proxy, or by hoaxy!" interjected the perplexed man of yarn. " Baith ways," persisted the snuff dealer, " break in business the morn, Kobin, dee suddenly the next day, an' come to life again in Greenock the week after. Willie there, an' mysel', 'ill see that ye're decently coffined an' in- terred ; an' if ye're anxious for posthumous fame, we can e'en pit up a bit canny stane owre ye, an' tell as big a lee about yer piety as ithers. Listen : — HERE LIES Eobin Tamson, Yarn-merchant in the auld Can'leriggs o' Glasgow, who departed this weary sojourn thro' a wicked JOHNNY GOVVDY S FUNNY PLOY. 15 wilderness o' thorns, to enter a better life — at Greenock! Much respected ; deeply regretted, etc., etc. His yarn is broke : his hank is spun : His f echt is f ocht : his race is run ! " "Weel, laird," resumed the ingenious snuff-dealer, "are ye gaun to tak' my grave advice — an' dee to escape the jile ?" " I'm a corp before this day week, Johnny, I may as weel dee in my bed as be killed on the street by the French — eh," laughingly rejoined the man of yarn. So, it was there an' then definitely fixed and arranged that Eobin Tamson, toon burgess and yarn merchant, in the Candleriggs, should, in view of extreme possibilities, die an' be buried by " hoax-y," as had been humorously suggested, on an agreed day of that week, and should, by some spiritualistic transmutation, come to life again in Greenock the week following and so end his years in peace and financial comfort. Thereafter the three friends separated. Things had gone all right thus far, when, in the course of the next afternoon, a rap-tap-tap came to the yarn mer- chant's door, which was promptly answered. "Weel, mistress," said Johnny Gowdy to the deceased yarn merchant's widowed spouse, as he and Willie Campbell stood together at the door of the bereaved house ; " hoo are ye stannin' yer sair heart-trial?" and half-closing his left eye, Johnny threatened laughter with the remainder of his face, a result which the gravity of the situation alone forbade. " Oo, just come yer wa's in ; I'm haudin' fairly. I hope I see ye baith weel ? " "Oh, Peter Dumdick!" merrily put in Willie Campbell, " we're baith thrivin' like spring cabbages — fresh-lookin' an' overflowin' wi' usefu' blossom," an' there an' then the worthy pair passed gravely inside. " An' hoo's the corp, Betty ?" resumed the snuff-dealer, as the pair followed the mistress of the house upstairs. " I was speirin' after the corp, Betty ; ye're absent a wee." 16 JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. " Oo, the healthiest corp I ever saw or heard tell o'," truthfully answered the " widow," " put owre a pund o' pope's eye steak to its dinner the day, was unco sair on the toddy bowl, an's jist fell mad for snuff ; a thrivin' halesome corp atweel." "Hillo, Johnny, is this yersel' ?" shouted the corpse from the room above. " I ken the sough o' yer hamely voice, an' that o' auld Willie Campbell, tae ! Come awa', freens ! come awa' ! Ye're richt welcome here," and the corpse, with its feet in warm slippers, a pair of horn " specks " across its rubicund nose, an' a snuff-box in its han', heartily invited its late bosom cronies to tak' a dip oot o' its box. " An' what aboot the ither world, Eobin ; is the place ocht better than this ?" facetiously inquired the snuff-dealer. " Weel, Johnny, my experience that way is but limited yet ; I've never got heicher up than this bit attic bed-room. But at ween the three o' us, I wad bate on the comforts o' the Gleska Can'leriggs against a' the worlds I've yet seen or heard tell o', atween this and the Jamaicas. 'Ye see, Johnny," he humorously added, " a body can aye get a grup o' yarn in the auld Can'leriggs o' Gleska, an' yarn's a healthy reality, altho' I never cam' across the word in Scriptur'." " Weel," rejoined the snuff-dealer, " ye'se likely to ken inair aboot the ither world before the morn's mornin', Eobin ; we mean to coffin ye the nicht." "Hoot-toot-toot!" laughed the deceased man of yarn, " ye're carryin' the joke owre faux, lads." "It's necessary, Robin," put in the Sautmarket grocer, " absolutely necessary." " What !" exclaimed the horrified man of yarn. " Absolutely necessary, as Willie has jist said," insisted the snuff- dealer. " In strict truth, there's nae ither way oot o' the hole ; for the Deacon, we've jist learned, hearing o' yer sudden demise, has got decree against yer body corporate, an' hasgi'en lang Tarn Sinclair, the ill loon, an' his wee man, Jock JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. 17 Cluggie, instructions to come here the nicht an' arrest yer corp ! " " What !" again exclaimed the deceased man of yarn, and. unable to articulate more, he sat back in his cushioned arm- chair for several moments, the picture of blank astonishment and collapsed nerves. "Arrest my guidman's corp!" screamed his faithful " widow," who had followed the twa cronies into her husband's bed-room, " before that happens there'll be twa corps in the room — lang Tarn Sinclair being yin o' them !" and Mrs. Tamson picked up a fireside poker which was lying handy, and suggestively flourished it in mid-air. " Stop ! stop ! " put in the inventive snuff-dealer, " the easiest way's aye the best ; we'll try an' sort the thing amang oorsel's, and then let chance an' the deil guide the rest. There's aye twa sides to a question — a richt side an' a wrang yin ; and the richt side in this case, Eobin, is jist to feenish the grim joke by yer lairdship gettin' inside the kist (coffin), preparatory to the beagle's arrival. The ' box ' '11 be here by an' by — it's trysted — an' I fear so will the beagles. We'll need to work the ploy confidentially amang han's ; a' in the hoose are in the secret, I suppose ? " The man of yarn nodded dubious affirmation, his mouth still agape. " Weel," continued the ingenious snuff-dealer, " consent ye to the kistin' (coffining), Eobin, an' if lang Tarn Sinclair and his dumpy shadow, ' Cluggie ' Jock, insist upon sittin' up wi' yer corp a' nicht, yae sepulchral grunt frae ye, or the mere liftin' o' a spectral han' against the can'le licht, winna fail to skail the beagles, an' set yer poinded body free." " But the ' kistin' ' o' me, Johnny," objected the deceased man of yarn, " that's the gruesome part o't." " Toots, Eobin ; yell be as snug as the snuff in yer box there. What's a coffin after a', but jist a bit o' plain clean fir, newly aff Johnny Wright's plane, an' wi' a bit cleadin' o' s. s. 2 18 JOHNNY GOWDY's FUNNY PLOY. black claith nail't roun't for decency's sake. The case is gruesome a wee, Bobin, there's no' a cloot o't ; but reject it, an' what's the consequences ? The deacon '11 pit ye in a stane coffin in the Tolbooth prison-house, an' my certie, that wad be waur than the widden yin." " That seems to be the only cauld alternative, Johnny," gravely assented the broken merchant. At this juncture, the deceased man of yarn's "weeping widow," who had shortly left the room, returned thither with a supply of hot toddy, which she placed on the table, and said — " Ye'll be nane the waur o' a heart-warmin' tumbler o' toddy this freezin' nicht, frien's, the mair sae, that the grim subject ye've in han's aboot as cauld as the air ootside." The " dram " was indeed a welcome visitant, much more so, as the deceased laird remarked, than either lang Tarn Sinclair or the trysted " kist." But they had no more than got richtly " placed " at it, when in the middle of a further elucida- tion of Johnny Gowdy's comic " plot," a loud knocking was heard at the front door outside. In ten seconds Susan Plooks, the more than middle-aged house domestic, suddenly thrust her head inside the room, exclaiming — " Guid save's ! there's a shirra offisher, an' a wee man wi' cluggs on at the door. The lang chiel has a bit o' paper in his han', an' talks o' ' law,' an' the ' Tolbooth.' I tried to keep him oot ; but the lang rascal wad be in, an' the wee yin wasna the eicht pairt o' an inch behint him." " What ! " yelled the deceased man of yarn, " are the beagles in the hoose then, Susan ? " " Oh, sir, I cood nae keep them oot ; they're stannin' in the lobby waitin' to ' pin the corp ' they say ; what's yer orders ? " " Intae yer bed, Eobin, instantly," exclaimed the snuil- dealer, " there's no a moment to lose ! " " Mattie," said the deceased laird, addressing his spouse, JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. 19 " gang ye doon an' keep the loons in play a wee while I get under the blankets, an' — oot o' this weary wilderness o' thorns!" " Yes, Eobin," said his spouse, " but noo that the enemy's inside the castle gates, there's naething left us, I fear, but honourable capitulation ; but I'll insist on guid terms, tak' ye nae fear." Obviously there was now no way of escape save in the carrying through of the grim joke, and to this doubtful end the inmates of the house practically set themselves, and that, too, with an energy and determination which promised high success. The man of yarn was without loss of time denuded of his vitality, and placed in bed as stiff as a poker, the room cleared of the table " cheer," and the candles blawn oot and removed. Thereafter, the twa cronies betook them- selves to another room to await the hazardous issue, which, anticipatory of further results was now practically in the hands of the mistress of the house and her domestic servant and confidant, Susan Plooks, a strong, muscular wench. In a very short time Mattie, supported by her confidential domestic, Susan, was down stairs, and boldly confronting the two beasdes. " Weel, gentlemen, what is't ye want ? what's yer bis- ness here at this sair time ? " " Oh, it's legal business we're after, mistress — legal business," Lang Tarn replied. " I'm certainly sorry a bit to disturb yer hoose at this trying time, but I have a warrant here (pulling out a piece of paper) to arrest the corpse of — eh — eh — (consulting the paper) Robert Thomson, late yarn merchant in the Candleriggs, an' wi' the trusty help o' my man, Jock, here, I'll dae't, mistress, beyond let or hindrance; an' let wha likes oppose me, it'll be at their ain personal risk, for my faith, Jock an' I will soon lay their feet fast in the auld Tolbooth prison owre-bye." " Um ! " grunted Jock, suddenly bringing down one of his cluggs on the floor with an alarming thump, and 20 JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. instantly he stuck his two thumbs into the two armpits of his rather loose-fitting waistcoat, and spreading out his large hands, threw himself into an attitude closely resembling the first position in dancing. Now, Jock was the physical opposite of his master ; for while Tarn was lang and thin, Jock was wee and stout. Jock, otherwise, was a graphic Scotch study to such as could enjoy the rich humour of odd personal character and dress. He was " heid-theekit " with a Kilmarnock bonnet of great circular dimensions, and which was a sort of family heirloom, having originally been owned and worn by Jock's father — a Gleska carter. He was also stoutly " foundationed " with a pair of enormous cluggs, which had gained him the expressive nickname of Cluggie Jock, while the face, beneath his bonnet, had the consistency and very much the appearance of a well-boiled bread pudding. Eegarding Jock's master, Tarn Sinclair, he was a tall thin pike of a man, with a cadaverous countenance and a pair of small grey eyes set under bushy heavy eyebrows of sinister aspect. Tarn had the sight of only one eye, having, it was said, caught a fatal inflammation in the other by looking through "keyholes" in the ardent pursuit of his peculiar vocation. " "Where is your husband's body, madam ? " authori- tatively demanded Sinclair, " I must know, and at once ! " " Dinna tell the loons whaur, for their impidence, mis- tress ; I wad daur them first ; at the warst it's but twa to twa," and Susan made the dishcloot fly aloft in the face of Jock, who jumped in his cluggs with anger, and once more threateningly shook the legal " snitchers " at her, grinning angry defiance. " Let me ' tie ' that woman's hands, Sinclair," shouted Jock, no longer able to hold his temper, " she's a wild ' assault and battery ' jaud ! " " A what ? " yelled the stung domestic, " ye'd ca' me a saut and peppery jaud, wad ye ! O'd, my wee man, I'll saut JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. 21 and pepper ye ! " and flying at Jock, she seized him by the collar, and most vigorously clooted his chafts with her unromantic weapon of defence — the " wat dish- cloot." Instantly there was a mixed and general scuffle, with nervous screamings and loud cries for help, which hurriedly brought out the twa cronies from their place of hiding. The sight that there presented itself was highly ludicrous and amusing. In the centre of the lobby Jock and the valiant domestic were in hard grips, and Susan, who had the best end of the stick, was energetically " clashin' awa' ' at poor Jock's pudding cheeks, who was in turn making violent efforts to put her determined wrists within his dreaded snitch ers. At the far end of the lobby, near the door, the house dog, a large mastiff was successfully keeping Lang Tarn at bay in a corner — Tarn excitedly " fechtin' " the furious brute back with his stick and yelling to all and sundry to " cry the desperate britt aff ! " In the rescue of. Sinclair from the dog, Jock himself had been fatally neglected, and on looking round they found poor " Cluggie " completely hors-dc-combat — Susan, the valiant domestic, having laid him across her massive knees in real nursery fashion, while she was heartily belabouring him with the awful " dishcloot " on that particular part of the human body where, according to Lord Bacon, a kick hurts honour very much. " Come, come, gentlemen," began the snuff-dealer in a mollifying tone of voice, " this is a most unseemly squabble, an' a corp in the hoose ! " " I am here to arrest that same corpse ! " rejoined Sinclair, reproducing his warrant. " Oh, ye'll get it, an' welcome," replied the other ; " but for decency's sake, gentlemen, please to consider the feelings of the bereaved widow." Hearing this, Mattie, the bereaved widow, lifted her 22 JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. apron to her face and wiped away a rebellious tear. Susan, the valiant domestic, would very probably have followed suit with the " dishcloot," but remembering to what an ignominious use it had but a moment before been put in the fundamental threshin' of Cluggie Jock, she loftily abstained from its use. " Eegarding that," said Sinclair, "I must see the corpse, so that I may know it's in the house." "Ye'll certainly see the body, Mr. Sinclair," said the bereaved widow ; " but ye'll maybe exkase my presence. Mr. Gowdy 'ill show ye Eobin's corp," and with the corner of her apron she wiped away a second rebellious tear. " This way, gentlemen," said Johnny Gowdy, and leading the way up, he entered the room, which was but dimly lighted by a single halfpenny " dip," and drawing aside the curtains he showed the deceased laird lying dimly dis- covered, with an ashen countenance (well rubbed with flour) and an expression of repose on his honest countenance, which plainly proclaimed him to be now at peace with all men, and especially with — Deacon Spruell ! He then quickly retired, leaving the two beagles alone in the room. " Weel, Jock, my man," began Sinclair, " here we at length are, there's the corpse, an' neither deil nor bogle 'ill lift it frae my sicht this nicht. Did ye hear what auld Tamson dee'd o', Jock ? " directing his thumb over his left shoulder in the direction of the corpse. " I didna jist hear," answered Jock, " death's been sae fell busy this winter that folk's no noticin' every case aboot. doors. There's a poo'er o' deaths takin' place in the toon enoo ; folk are deein' noo that never dee'd afore. Oh, it's nae lauchin' maitter to some folks, I can tell ye. Eh, but that's a wild win' that's blawin' ootside. Did ye hear that ' slash tae ' that the muckle airn gate at the closs-mooth gaed the noo ? " " Are ye frichtet for the corpse, Jock, or what ? " JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. 23 " Me frichtet ! no a bit ; there's a big lump o' the man here," and Jock valiantly struck his breast. " Well, Jock, we'll gang below ; the kitchen 'ill be a heap mair comfortable than this chilly room ; but bring doon the bottle and the glasses wi' ye." " Yes, I'll — I'll — I'll bring the bottle alang wi' me, if ye but tarry a second." " Follow up then, quick," Sinclair shouted back from the landing, carrying the lantern before him to save his footing. " Hy ! hy ! hy ! " yelled Jock, ramping his cluggs on the floor as loudly as he could, " come back, Tammas, an' no leave me to fecht my way oot o' a dark room, wi' naething hamelier than a cauld corp in't ! Hy, Tammas, whaur are ye ? " " At the stair-fit, Jock ; what are ye waitin' on ? " cried back Sinclair, briskly pushing his way towards the kitchen. " Lordsake, if the lang loon hasna left me to graip my way oot ! My lamp awa,' tae, an' my bonnet to look for ! Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " To simple-minded and credulous " Cluggie " the situation, comic in one view of it, was tragic in the extreme. The room was dark, the hour near midnight when ghosts are most abroad, the rising wind was moaning around the house like an unquiet spirit, and he — Jock — was alone in the room with a corpse ! Cautiously, and with bated breath and quickened pulse, he stepped about, searching for his lost bonnet. Once, nay twice ! he thought he heard a groan, as if coming from the bottom of some damp underground cellar ; a sort of indescribable sound, the expression, ob- viously, of a being in pain. He started back in alarm. " Lr — Lord — sake ! " he ejaculated, his knees beginning to sink under him, " talk aboot nice quate corpses ? There's a lot o' lowse mistakes in the warld ! S — S — Sinclair ! !" he shouted aloud, but the only response he heard was the wind 24 JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. outside shaking the old casements and slamming with weird power the big iron gate at the "closs-mouth." His over- whelming inspiration was to cut the spot at once, but then — his lost bonnet! There would have been a fine handle for Sinclair to joke with! His bonnet was not much in itself, although an heirloom in the family ; but his courage, nay his very character as a man, and his reputation as a sheriff- officer's assistant was at stake ! He couldn't, wouldn't run ! The bonnet must be recovered, and his courage established at whatever cost ! He looked about once more. Ah ! yonder it was ! a dark lump, as seen in the dark, at the end of a long- white something. Under the mutual inspiration of native courage and raw whisky Jock had for the moment either for- gotten or become heedless of the presence of the corpse. So he stepped hastily towards the object, and seized — the dead man's cowl ! "Wha's that!!!" said a low, deep, sepulchural voice, obviously that of the coffined corpse, "wha's that!" " Ah ! — ah ! ! — ah ! ! !" yelled the terror-smitten Jock, with chops fallen widely apart, and wheeling about, he dashed blindly out of the spirit-haunted room, reaching the stair- foot in three splendid leaps, where he lay for some moments yelling — " Murder ! ghosts ! help, Sinclair ! help ! " In a couple of seconds Cluggie's frantic cries for help brought the astonished Sinclair to the stairfoot. " Oh, the Lord help us, Sinclair I what a fricht I got ! D'ye ken, the corp spoke to me ! " " Ye don't mean it, Jock ? " said Sinclair. " I'm tellin' you its as true's yer stannin' there," earnestly replied Jock, his teeth rattling in his heid like dice in a box. "Fudge, fudge, that'll no dae, Jock," rejoined Sinclair. "The dram's been makin' ye baith hear an see dooble this niclit." "Dooble or single, Sinclair. I only wish I saw the auld JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. 25 tyke's corp daicently at rest in the Eamshorn kirk- yaircl." Ah ! there it was again ! a noise as of someone walking about in the dead man's shoes overhead ! "There's dootless somebody in the hoose, Jock," said Sinclair, getitng out a short baton emblematic of both auth- ority and defence. " There's nae doot o' that, Tammas ; it's either the corp or its unlaid ghost. Tak' my advice, Sinclair, and fling the job up." " Never !" rejoined Sinclair, valiant to outward appearance, but tremblingly alive to the peculiar eeriness, not to say horror of the situation. " Fling the job up ! an' a' because a starving cat has got intae the hoose an's playin' Herry wi' the collops in the pantry. Never ! my reputation, Jock, my reputation ! " " Life before reputation ony day, Sinclair," sincerely said Jock. " I'm for hame oot o' this onyway." " What ! desert the post o' duty, Jock ? Never ! Come, sir, lift up your lamp, an' follow me ! I command ye!" "Gang on then, Sinclair, in the name o' Beelzebub! Gang on an' I'll— I'll— I'll follow!" Eeaching the foot of the staircase, Sinclair, who was most valiant in leading the van, suddenly stopped short, and turning to his terrified man, Jock, he ordered him to ascend the staircase first. "Na, na, Sinclair, that cock 'ill no fecht. Ye're the captain o' the company ; gang ye up first, an' I'll follow." "What! frightened, Jock? insubordination? terrification? not possible?" "Faith ay, Sinclair, I'm no gaun to recklessly risk my nerves, no to say my very life, for eighteenpence ; I'll drap the barrow first." " Coward ! follow me ! " and therewith, they began to ascend the stair leading to the deceased merchant's bed-room. 26 JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. At this critical moment, the corpse was seen by both in the act of descending the staircase in its "deid-shirt." "Good Lord, deliver us?" yelled Jock and, flinging down his lantern, he precipitately fled the spot, reaching the stair- foot in a sort of rolled -up lump. Nor was the boastful Sinclair long behind him. Endors- ing his assistant's active proposition, he promptly seconded it, without even the thought of proposing an amendment. "Is't hame or the Tolbooth?" hurriedly asked Jock as he gathered together his mixed up limbs and senses. " The Tolbooth, in the name o' the police ! " as quickly answered Sinclair. In a trice the pair were once more on their lost feet, and were just on the point of making a satisfactory exit, when the large mastiff — which had been sleeping below the- kitchen bed — rushed to the door, wakened by the tumult, and judging the escaping pair as robbers, the dog made a fierce seizure of Jock's hindquarters tearing away in one- large mouthful the whole "seat" of his breeches, their owner being just saved from serious bodily injury by the prompt snap of the closing door. " Jock," said Sinclair, when the pair had gained the safety of the Candleriggs plainstanes, " it's a mercy ye got yer threshin' frae big Shusie before that thief o' a dowg bit the hinner en' oot o' yer breeches, eh?" "Urn!" snarled Jock, "the dowg's the warst o't." Sinclair and his man, Jock, never completely recovered the "fricht" they got that night, and they were both stout believers in resurrected ghosts till death. As for Eobin Tamson, he never came to life again in — Glasgow. But an awfu' close likeness to the deceased man o' yarn was for years afterwards in business co-partner- ship with a son of his in Greenock in the wholesale sugar way, and if ye but "heard the breath" of auld Johnny Gowdy's grandson on the subject, owre a toddy-dram, as I JOHNNY GOWDY'S FUNNY PLOY. 27 have often heard, he could maybe tell ye a thing or twa on the matter that wad afford ye anither laugh. Eegarding Jock's "rived awa'" breeches, the "breach," I have heard was never legally repaired ; although Jock, I understand, filed a case against somebody in connec- tion therewith in the Camlachie Court o' Session. The case, like the damaged bit in Jock's breeks, was never satisfactorily closed. Jock, however, pretty successfully mended matters by marrying a widow, getting thereby a new pair o' auld breeks, formerly the property o' her late guidman. The widow's former "man" having been a fine fat fodgel Eug'len Bailie in his day, wi' a wame like a military drum, the breeks, as ye may guess, were a fine, lowse, comfortable fit, Jock wore them till his dying day, and left them as a legacy to his widow, recommending them as a useful marriage present to her third man. THE MENDIN 0' JOHNNY MACFARLAN'S LUM HAT. It was a staggering blow to Mrs. Macfarlan's pride as a respectable house-wife, when she was told that her next-door neibor and enemy, Mrs. Howdie, had just tooken a hoose at " the Lairgs " for a hale week ; the more so, that she Mrs. Macfarlan was expected to stay at home during the Fair holidays, contenting hersel' wi' a penny voyage to Govan, or a hurl in the car the length o' Anderston and back again to the fit o' the auld Gleska Gallowgate. But that would never do ! Mrs. Macfarlan was a woman of considerable resource, and without unnecessary argument or delay, she at once resolved on checkmating Mrs. Howdie's " nesty, upsettin' pride," and constituting herself equal to the best o' them. 28 THE mendin' o' johnny macfaklan's lum hat. In this spirit Mrs. Macfarlan made up her rnind to be conveniently " no-weel," so as to gain her point of getting a hale fortnicht doon the watter, nae less, and when once Mrs. Macfarlan, had definitely made up her mind on a dis- cussed point — domestic or otherwise — her husband, Johnny Macfarlan, was about as good as nobody by way of a resisting buffer. On awakening next morning Mrs. Macfarlan, poor woman, discovered that " her puir nerves were a' upset," and that naething but a complete change o' air would bring her round to herself again. Johnny thocht different, and maintained, with consider- able show of reason and argument, that her trouble was mostly imaginary, and that she would be all right next day. But Mrs. Macfarlan had determinedly made up her mind to be ill, and ill she accordingly continued to remain, in spite of all Johnny's proffered herbs and arguments. There was, therefore, nothing for it but just to submit, and make arrangements for giving poor Mrs. Macfarlan a hale fortnicht doon the watter. For no a single day less than " a hale fortnicht " would Mrs. Macfarlan under the circumstances consent to take. It was thus agreed that Johnny's better-half and her family should proceed to Eothesay at the beginning of the Fair week, and should stay over the week following, as a means of restoring her suddenly upset health. The next important matter was the arranging of the general family wardrobe, and that was a big job to handle ; for the general family wardrobe, it must be confessed, re- quired almost entire renewal, from Johnny's auld " lum hat " down to the wee'st bairn's shoon ! As for Mrs. Mac- farlan herself, she was jist on the parish for dress ; and Johnny, poor man,wasin a somewhat similar pathetic condition. The situation was therefore very trying, not to say critical. The state of the family purse was anxiously THE MENDIN' O' JOHNNY MACFARLAN'S LUM HAT. 29 looked into, and it was found that after allowing so much for lodgings at Bothesay, so much for steamboat fares, and so much for loss of wages, there was only the limited sum of 7s. 9^d. to renew the general family wardrobe so as to make a presentable turn oot,and thereby spite Mrs. Macfarlan's twa bitter enemies and stair-heid neibors, Mrs. Howdie and Mrs. Draggletails. Johnny, however, did not collapse in weak despair. The situation was indeed desperate, but was not beyond re- sourceful ingenuity and hope. Johnny had a native genius for arithmetical geometry, and it was destined to come in handy on this occasion, in the subdivision, extension, aDd minute expenditure of the precious 7 s. 9^d., which was all the money that was at the immediate disposal of Mrs. Macfarlan, the worthy domestic treasurer. " As for me," said Johnny, " I can gang vera weel as I am. My ' wardrobe's ' no that ill." " Yer hat's jist deplorable," answered Mrs. Macfarlan, " it needs turnin', like mines." " An' nae shame tae't, Betty ; it's nine-an'-twenty years, come Fair Friday, since I first wore it at oor waddin'. But, Betty, lass, ye surely dinna mean me to wear my auld lum hat at the coast — eh ? " " An' what for no, ye're surely no ettlin' to put on that ugly twa-faced kep (cap) wi' the skip baith back an' fore ? If that's sae, I'll no stir yae fit oot o' the hoose. No, no, Johnny Macfarlan ! the neebors maun see that ye're a weel- tooken-care-o', gaucy, respectable guidman ; that ye've a wife that studies ye, an' that ye've a dress-hat to pit on wi' the best o' them, when occasion demands it." " But it's in a deplorable condition, ye say," argued Johnny, " an' what's the yise o' sayin' ony mair aboot it ? " " It can be mended ; Johnny ; my summer ' straw ' has been turn't twice't, an' gumm'd times withoot number ; so can your auld hat, Johnny." 30 THE mendin' o' johnny macfaklan's lum hat. " But a man canna vera weel turn an' auld hat," retorted Johnny ; " an' as for gumming 't, why, of course, that's quite oot o' the question." " Oo, but it disna maybe exactly need turnin', Johnny ; a bit polish wi' the blacklead brush micht restore its original gloss." " Go you tae Dumbarton, Mrs. Macfarlan ! Blacklead a Christian man's hat ! Great Christopher ! D'ye want to mak' a lookin'-gless o' the bowl o't ? " Oh, weel, Johnny, we'll see, we'll see," rejoined Mrs. Macfarlan, in a mollifying tone of voice. " Ye're an ingenious workman, Johnny Macfarlan, an' ye'll best see what can be dune for yer hat when it's hauled oot wi' ither orras frae ablow the bed. But yer best hat ye must wear at the coast, mind you that ! or no a single fit will I stir frae Gleska, doon the watter, or no doon the watter ! " The matter being thus summarily settled by Johnny's " ruling elder," the twa set oot on a visit to Paddy's Market on the Saturday nicht following, alang wi' some nine or ten of their twelve or thirteen weans, to spend in necessaries the 7s. 9^-d. at their disposal. Mrs. Macfarlan carried the purse, and Johnny carried the umbrella — and the wean. Mrs. Macfarlan therefore held the best end of the stick, and maintained undisputed possession of the same throughout the evening. Reaching Paddy's Market, the display there shown was very ample, and at some points — particularly the bonnet- stands — was perfectly dazzling, and, indeed, " quite temptashous," as Mrs. Macfarlan graphically put it. And, electrified to the length of her ten finger tips, Mrs. Mac- farlan nervously clutched her purse, as if she feared the immediate barter of its precious contents. The bonnets, in sober truth were just " quite lovely," and fair " brocht the watter tae the een." " Eh, man, Johnny, jist you look at that ! — there's a THE MENDIN' O' JOHNNY MACFAKLAN'S LUM HAT. 31 perfect love o' a bonnet ! — jist my rale taste ! Eh, but I'd like a bonnet like that ! " " Ay," drawled Johnny, " green silk, an' a white ostrich feather ! Is't no jist raither a wee lood in the colours for a woman o' your age, Betty ? " " Oh, ay ! onything's guid enough for me — yer puir neglected wife. I suppose ye'd ha'e the heart to see me wearin' an auld bauchle on my heid, wi' a blacking brush stuck on the tap o't for a feather, ye heartless monster that ye are ! But I'll see the price o' that bonnet this vera nicht ! " " Oh, buy't if ye like ; I'm jake-easy on't, Betty." Mrs. Macfarlan did not require much jibing to put her am- bitious desire into execution. She at once priced the article, and afterwards proceeded to haggle about the purchase of it — a proceeding which the philosophic Johnny, profiting by former experiences, was able to eye with easy indifference. Johnny stood aside, and for the space of fifteen minutes Mrs. Macfarlan contested the price demanded ; and, at last, as Johnny more than guessed, he saw the " sale-wife " roll up the identical bonnet, and coolly hand it over to his worthy better-half. " Weel, ye've bocht it, Betty," was Johnny's resigned salutation as he stepped towards his elated spouse. " Ay, Johnny ; an' a splendid bargain I've gotten o't. She wanted 15 s. for't, as weel she micht ; but I focht her doon to 5s. lid. — a perfect thief's bargain at the price!" "Let me see — 5s. lid. oot o' 7s. 9|d," rejoined Johnny, " that leaves only Is. 10|d. to renew me an' the weans !" Having thus secured for herself a grand new bonnet, Mrs. Macfarlan warmly insisted on Johnny at once taking in hand the repair and renewal of his ain auld lum hat, jist by way of snoddin' himself up a bit, as a man with a defective hat, she maintained, could never be considered " dressed," nae maitter what was his "pit on." So that same night, Johnny instructed his worthy better-half to bring forth the hat. 32 THE mendin' o' johnny macfaklan's lum hat. Johnny broadly surveyed it ; saw plainly its wasted nap, its long-departed style, its perished gloss, and the numerous long-standing cracks and bashes, which gave its entire cir- cular surface the configuration of a well-defined map of Lanarkshire. " Weel, what think ye o't, Johnny ? " " Weel, I'm no a prood man, Betty ; but I'd prefer a hat showing fewer bashes, with a little more gloss on its surface, and with a less allowance of ' rim.' Besides, Betty, the rim, ye see's, parting company wi' the body o't," and Johnny r holding it up to the gaslight, showed truly that the rim was all but parted from the body. " I'll shoo't thegither wi' a bit black threid, Johnny," sug- gested Mrs. Macfarlan. " No ; I ken a better way than that, Betty ; I'll sort it mysel' wi' a bit gutta percha and a wee taet solution." " Gutta percha an' solution, Johnny ! " exclaimed Mrs, Macfarlan, with unfeigned astonishment. " Ay ; gutta percha an' solution, Betty ! Jist ye haud on a wee, an' I'll show ye a bit clever magic," and at once Johnny began preparations for the mending of his auld lum hat, having some odd pieces of gutta percha at hand. A guid strong fire being one of the first requisites of success, that commodity was put within his use without loss of time. Mrs. Macfarlan put some fresh coals on the fire while the bairns vigorously blew the bellows turn about. As for Johnny himself, he was actively successful in get- ting a'thing ready for instant operation. In fact, so methodically and so exhaustively did Johnny go about the business, that his finished arrangements amounted to an obvious genius for organisation and would have secured his promotion at the Admiralty Office if sufficiently made known in that quarter. The hat under repair was carefully and minutely " pros- pected," and the situation accurately studied. The rim, it THE MENDIN' 0' JOHNNY MACFAELAN'S LUM HAT. 33 was true, was all but bidding good-bye to the body of the hat, but a thin strip of gutta percha on the top of a " lick of solution " would " cling the twa thegither nicely," and make " a grand, firm mend o't. " So, at least, thought Johnny, and possessing the full courage of his sanguine convictions he at once began active mending operations. The fire was now blazing finely, and sending out the heat of a miniature blast furnace. A small kitchen poker was rammed into the heart o't, while a fire-aim was sitting on the tap o't, and both articles were already glowing with positive heat. On the end of a fork the auldest laddie was holding against the heat of the fire a small bit of gutta percha, which was already curling and blistering into grand workable condition ; while Johnny himself was busy " straiking " the melted solution roun' the inner edge of the rim of his hat with the point of his right fore finger, pre- paratory to firmly gluin't thegither with the gutta percha. The rest of the family were surveying operations from the centre of the floor with mixed exclamations of wonder and delight, while Mrs. Macfarlan was busy shooin' some " tears " in their newly-washed and ironed frocks and " peanies," in view of their coasting excursion on Fair Monday coming. " Hand me that gutta percha, Bobbie," said Johnny, as he quickly but carefully put down the hat. " Quick ! that's it ! " Getting the soft gutta in his hand, he rolled it into a long thin strip ; and without a moment's loss of time twined it carefully round the bottom of the hat where the rim joined. " Noo, Bobby, the poker oot o' the fire," continued Johnny, warming to his work like a true mechanic. "Ay, that's something like a heat ; its jist perfect white. Whew ! that was a bleeze ! " he added, as the resinous gutta broke into flame under the strong heat of the poker. Again and again Johnny applied the poker by way of smoothing the "jine," but invariably the melting gutta flamed up and caused him to desist. s. s. 3 34 THE mendin' o' johnny macfarlan's lum hat. " It'll prove a grand mend, Johnny," Mrs. Mafcarlan ven- tured to remark, " if only the hat hauds out." " Hauds oot ? " repeated Johnny, looking up inquiringly. " Ay, disna tak' fire like, Johnny." " Nae fear o' that, Betty ; it's already been on fire an' oot again six or eicht times the nicht. Hand me owre that aim aff the fire, Bobbie, an' lift it wi' a wat cloth roun' the handle, for I see even the handle's bleezin' het." Bobby obeyed his parent's instructions to the letter, and Johnny at once applied the whole flat of the red-hot iron to the side of the hat by way of giving it a final polish and " nice general smooth-owre," as he styled it. In a moment the sottering gutta-percha broke once more into flame, and, owing to the heated state of the hat and the extra surface of the hot iron applied, the flame refused to be puffed out. Almost instantly the whole hat was in a blaze, and completely upset by the cries of the children and the screams of Mrs. Macfarlan, Johnny losing his nerve threw the blazing hat holus bolus at the back of the fire. The disastrous result was certainly not reckoned on in the remotest way. The great heat of the fire instantly converted the whole hat into a mass of oily pulp, and with a sort of explosive puff it seemed to go bodily up the chimney in one mass of flame. Here was certainly an unlooked-for catastrophe, bad enough in itself certainly, but trifling when compared with the alarming sequel which immediately followed. In two seconds it was evident that the " lum " was on fire ! " Eh, mercy me, Johnny Macfarlan ! what's this ye've dune ? " screamed Mrs. Macfarlan, throwing her two hands! aloft in perfect horror, " is't possible the lum's on fire ? " "Possible, Betty; it's a self-evident fact; spontaneous combustion, Betty, or something o' that sort, resulting frae a suddenly absorbed auld hat ! " and the highly philosophic Johnny struck an attitude which looked an ingenious com- THE MENDIN' 0' JOHNNY MACFARLAN'S LUM HAT. 35 c promise between comedy and pathetically bleeding melo- drama. "The guid keep us a'!" cried aloud Mrs. Macfarlan, " we'll a' be burnt alive, as sure as we're breathin' ! Oh, I wish I was in Abraham's blessed bosum this nicht ! " " Confound Abraham an' you baith, Mrs. Macfarlan ! " was Johnny's spirited rejoinder. " Bring me the saut-box an' a pair o' blankets till I damp oot the lum ; and look alive, Betty, before the hale land's on fire ! " There was -in truth not a moment to lose. The " lum " was not only on fire, but was positively roaring with flames for its entire length — from the bottom upwards. In fact, so powerfully was the chimney in flames that the whole house was shaking with the vibration caused by the roaring Iraught that fiercely swept it. " When did ye last get that vent soopit ? " demanded Johnny, as Mrs. Macfarlan handed him the saut-box, his little soul roused into heroic authority by the exciting catastrophe; "when, I ask, did ye last get that vent soopit ? " " Only the ither day, Johnny." " When, I simply ask ? " re-demanded Johnny, vigorously thrusting at the same time several successive handfuls of salt up the chimney. " Only aboot three years since." " Is that a', Betty ? I was guessing it hadna seen a sweep's brush this century. Bring me a pail o' watter, an' the blankets ; the saut's worse than yisless." " What, my guid Ayrshire blankets ! Are ye clean daft, Jbhnny Macfarlan ? I'll bring ye the watter, but no yae inch o' the blankets ye'll get to spread owre thae jambs, no even if it was to save the hale land frae the flames ! " " But I must get them," insisted Johnny, making a dash at the articles named. " But ye'll no get them, Johnny," as firmly retorted Mrs. 36 THE mendin' o' johnny macfaklan's lum hat. Macfarlan, seizing at them in turn. And thus arose a domestic tug-of-war, as to the possession and disposal of the bed blankets, the issue of which, in view of Mrs. Macfarlan's superior size and weight, could neither be of doubtful nor protracted contest. But the heroic Johnny, if heavily out- weighted, was certainly not out-spirited. He was, in point of resolute courage, quite equal to the trying occasion. " Let go my blankets, Johnny Macfarlan ! " cried his large spouse, forgetting in her passion the calamity which was raging in the " lum," and pulling at her end of the dis- puted blankets most vigorously. " I'll tear them in twa first ! " retorted Johnny, equally oblivious to the progress of the conflagration in the chimney, also pulling with all his strength at his end of the stick — « I'll — ni — I'll tear them in twa first ! " " Yell what, Johnny Macfarlan ? O'd I'll tear ye ! " And putting the whole weight and strength of her body into the tug, she whipped up Johnny clean off his feet and de- posited him with a lightning swish at the opposite side of the kitchen. Johnny held determinedly on by the dis- puted blankets, however, and was presently swished back again to his former latitude, thus forcibly illustrating the Highland sergeant's military command, " As you wass ! " " If it's a tumblin' circus clown ye mean to mak' o' me, Betty," gasped Johnny, " I'll gie ye some stiff exercise." " O'd, I'll clown ye ! " retorted Mrs. Macfarlan ; and swish — Johnny was once more deposited on the opposite side of the kitchen, much in the manner of a fly at the end of a fishing rod which is being actively whipped by an enthu- siastic angler. Suddenly, while the pair still violently wrangled, a rumbling noise was heard in the chimney, as if a bag of gravel was being emptied down the passage, and, the next moment, a pour of soot and water told too truly that some over-active sweep had descried the fire from his dingy the mendin' o' johnny macfarlan's lum iiat. 37 residence " up a back closs " somewhere, and that here was the frightful result — half a hundredweight of soot on the floor, liquidized with a bucket of water, which was quickly followed by a second, and even a third discharge, until poor Mrs. Macfarlan's abused floor was " jist fair soomin' ! " Struck with dismay, Mrs. Macfarlan yelled in perfect horror, while Johnny, equally astounded, let go his hold of the nether end of the blankets and blankly "glowered." The blankets thus released from Johnny's grasp got badly trailed in the soot and wet, which fair put the cope stane on Mrs. Macfarlan's accumulated distress, and she accord- ingly did everything hysterical except " fent " ; and, but for the arrival on the scene of the offending sweep, she would • very likely have chosen to conclude the amusing comedy in that legitimate feminine fashion. " Three shullings, if you please, Mrs.," said the sweep, wiping some highly imaginary drops of sweat from his brow, "an' I'm entitled to it by law, as ye ken weel enouch." " For what?" replied Mrs. Macfarlan, "for fylin' the hoose ? Clear oot o' here as quick's ye like, ye British nigger, if ye pit ony value on a hale skin ; clear out, I say ! " " Three shullings for pittin' oot the fire — that's what I require," and the sweep stood largely on his small dignity. " O'd, I'll three shullings ye, ye confounded vagabond ! fylin' my hoose for nae ends nor purpose, an' to croon a', wantin' peyment for the impidence ! O'd, I'll three shullings ye ! " and flinging aside her blankets she caught up a hearth- broom and energetically pursued the astonished sweep round the apartment, who escaped her vigorous wrath only by seizing Johnny bodily, and so making a protecting buffer of him in warding off the blows dealt by his exasperated spouse. " I'll summons ye for the money, auld wife," cried back the defeated sweep, as he made a hurried retreat from the place. 38 THE mendin' o' johnny macfarlan's lum hat. " Auld wife ! " ca'in' me an auld wife ! " yelled Mrs. Mac- farlau, " an' me only thirty next Marti'mas ! " " Ye're sixty if ye're a day ! and a dour auld Turk intae the bargain," was the sweep's parting shot. Mrs. Macfarlan made a quick rush at her sooty reviler, but he was gone. " He's awa' to tak' oot a summons," remarked Johnny, in a tone of voice touched with alarm. " Let him gang, an' I'll mak' the chiel wha tries to serve it on us dance the Hieland fling on a hot plate ! But, eh me ! it's my guid Aryshire blankets I'm like to greet owre," continued Mrs. Macfarlan, " they're fair ruined wi' soot an' dirty watter." "An' what aboot my lost lum hat, Mrs. Macfarlan ? The blankets are there in substance, as ye see, but whaur's my hat ? I ask, and defeated Echo answers — ' Where ? ' " Never mind yer hat, Johnny," said Mrs. Macfarlan, con- solingly, " I'll knit ye a grand new worset Tarn o' Shanter, wi' a red toorie on't as big as a turkey's egg, an', dressed in that, Johnny, the ekwal o' ye 'ill no be seen doon the watter next week between Gourock an' the Cumbraes." And so ended the mending o' Johnny Macfarlan's auld lum hat. THE MINISTER'S MISTAKE. Davie Doons, and his wife, " Coal Katie," first began the business of selling coals in a very humble way. Davie's back was for long both " cairt an' cuddy " in the carrying out of the customers' coals, but, orders increasing through the business push of his wife, Davie at length managed to purchase a second-hand cuddy for seven-and-sixpence, and making THE MINISTER'S MISTAKE. 39 another purchase of an oblong soap-box from a wholesale grocery store, he got it mounted on a pair of home-made wheels, and henceforth publicly drove about his own con- veyance. He named his newly-purchased cuddy, Katie, after his wife, and the beast's keep cost him little or nothing. In the course of the week an auld straw bass which some housewife had thrown on the street, or anything of a similar sort, would serve the humble animal with a good meal, washed down with a long drink of cold water from the horse-troch. Every morning, too, Davie bought the cuddy a new scone, rubbed her auld nose wi't, and ate it himsel' ! while every Sunday, Katie was led out to " grass " on some neighbouring park, getting her stomach corrected by a free feed of nettles, Scotch thistles, and docken leaves. When the minister looked Davie up — which event usually happened about yince in the twa years — he always excused himself for non-attendance at the kirk by declaring that business was sae bad and the profit on coals so small that he couldn't afford to buy Sunday clothes — unless the minister consented to admit him in his native full-dress suit of coal-gum blacks ! In this way Davie dodged along as best he could, and with his pipe in his cheek, a gospel tract in his waistcoat pocket, and a hunderwecht of coals on his back, he thought himself pretty fairly provisioned for both worlds. Things went on in this style, cannily enough, until one day the poor cuddy set down one of her fore feet on a piece of old wood with a five-inch roosty nail sticking through it. " That's a sair job for baith me and the cuddy," remarked Davie, as he bent down to pull out the nail. The forecast turned out too true. On the third day the cuddy, it was noticed, limped badly when in the cairt, and by the end of the same week she was a fair cripple, laid up in the stable. Davie was much put 40 . THE MINISTER'S MISTAKE. about at the accident. He might have spared his wife for a week, he thought, but not so well the indispensable cuddy. Davie, however, struggled on as best he could, poulticing the cuddy's disabled foot, and carrying out the customers' coals on his ain honest back, when one day he met the minister in the middle of the road. " Well, David," began the minister, " how are you keeping, and how's all at home ? " " Weel," replied Davie, letting his coal-bag swing down on the ground, " I'm aboot or'nar' mysel', but things are a' wrang at hame — Katie's in the way o' deein', I fear." " Dear me," said the minister, " I'm truly concerned to hear of this." "And so am I, sir," replied Davie, scratching his toozie head, " It's a sair mornin' for me when Katie's no fit for her wark, for then, ye see, I've got to cairry the customers' coals aboot on my ain back," and here Davie sympathetically rubbed first one shoulder and then the other. " Dear me, David, I'm quite astonished to hear you speak thus," said the minister, who very naturally thought that Davie was referring to his wife, instead of the disabled cuddy ; " do you really make Katie carry about the customers' coals on her back ? " " Well, no jist exactly on her back," replied Davie, " but she pu's them alang the streets in the cairt." " David ! David ! " exclaimed the minister, "thus to abuse your helpmeet and best friend ! " " Ye may weel say that, sir ! my helpmeet and best frien', indeed. She's wrocht lang and sair for me, and has cost me but little for food. She's a truly teuch auld yaud o' a beast to pu' in a cairt, an's worth twa pownies ony day." " David, my dear man, do not, I pray thee, speak of her in that way," said the minister, with averted look. " It's the candid, even-down truth I'm tellin' ye," replied Davie, " I'm gie'n her nae mair than's her due. She's been THE MINISTER'S MISTAKE. 41 a touch, willin', workin' auld yaud since the first day I had her " " Why, my good man," said the minister warmly, " you speak of Katie as if she was. some old horse." " She's worth twa o' ony horse on the road, I'm tellin' ye. Pit her atween the twa trams, and I'll bate my bonnet she pu's alangside o' ony horse or pownie in the coal trade." " Yes, yes, David," said the minister, " but, pray, tell me, what is the matter with Katie ? " " Weel, we was oot thegither wi' the coals, ye see (the minister nodded), and she set her foot doon on a five-inch roosty nail. The plaguey thing has beel't up to the vera shank bane, and I'm deid fear't she'll crap owre't." " And I have never heard of this till now, David ? " said the minister, reprovingly. " Oh, ye ken fine she's no a kirk-gaun animal," replied Davie, with a quiet laugh. " She's a teuch auld yaud atween the cairt trams, as I before remarked, but what's her religious value is mair than I could say." " She has a soul to save, David," said the minister. " Weel," stammered Davie, " that may be so, but I'm doubtfu' if she's aware o't." And Davie, tickled with the humour of the thought, " clauted " the back of his head, and glanced sideways at the minister with a twist in his face like a ravelled hank of thread. " Have you had a doctor to see her, David ? " next en- quired the minister. " If it's the veterinary surgeon ye mean, he waclna waste tuppence worth o' medicine on siccan an auld wrocht-oot animal as she is, I fear. She can pu' a cairt o' coals when weel, but beyond that she's worth jist naething ! " " She's surely worth praying for, David ? " said the minister. "Weel, sir, if prayin' wad bring her roun', the suner were intae't the better, for my back's fair broke daein' her 42 THE minister's mistake. wark ; " and Davie once more rubbed his shoulders with evident feeling. "Go home, David," said the minister, " and read a chapter to her, having faith in the result ; and I do hope and trust that this sore and trying affliction may be duly blessed to both you and your wife." Half an hour after, Davie was home and had related his interview with the minister almost word for word as it occurred. " Ma patience, pray for the cuddy ! " exclaimed Davie's better-half on hearing the story, " wha was gie'n ye drink, Davie ? " " Oh, it's a richt," said Davie, " but drunk or sober, I'll baith pray and chapter Katie in the stable this very nicht, for if I'm to cairry oot the customers' coals much langer I'll soon hae a corn on my back as big as Benlomond." That same night Davie took down the big-print Bible, and telling his spouse to bring matches and a candle, he. made straight for the stable door. " Licht the can'le," he said, getting out his specs and preparing for serious work. " I wad like to wale a chapter wi' a verse or twa suitable to our present afflic- tion, but whaur to fa' on't I'm bate to ken." "Try the Revelations, Davie," said his wife, "there's won- derfu' passages there." " Iievelations, did ye say ? " and turning over the leaves of the Book as it lay spread on his knee, he at length con- cluded just to take a chapter at random, when, just as he was proceeding to open his mouth with a big — Behold ! the disabled cuddy suddenly drew up her hind leg, and letting fly, knocked the specs frae his e'en, the Bible owre his heid, and himself owre the box he sat on. "Eh !" yelled Davie, on getting to his feet, " did ever ye see siccan rank unbelief! an' after a' the minister's talk, tae ! Her a sowl to save ! She's a perfect auld heathen ! " THE MINISTER'S MISTAKE. 43 "'Deed, I kenn'd weel enough frae the first that 'salts' wad hae sair't her better than Scripter," put in Davie's better-half. " I'll jist awa' up this instant and let the minister ken the result," was Davie's answer, and, quick on the thought, he at once set off in the direction of the minister's manse. " Weel, David, my good man," began the minister, " how's Katie haudin' now ? " " Mair life and spunk in her than I could have believed, and mair infidel unbelief, tae, I'm sorry to confess." " David ! David ! " expostulated the minister. " Oh, ye may David, David me as lang's ye like ; but when I made to read a chapter to her, the infidel auld yaud kick't the Bible slap owre my heid. There's conduct for ye!" " Deplorable ! deplorable ! " exclaimed the minister, with both hands elevated in mid air. " She must have altogether lost her senses. I'll just put on my hat, and come along and speak to her." '•' You'll speak to her, minister ? " questioned Davie, scratching at his toozie heid in fell surprise. " Yes, David, I'll seriously argue the point with her," replied the minister, turning away to get his hat and stick. In two minutes Davie had returned to the house, and warned his wife that the minister was coming along to see the cuddy. "And me in this state," said his wife, " my face and twa hands as black's a sweep's ! I'll jist rin in next door for twa minutes, and ye can tell the minister I'm oot makin' my markets." A moment after, the minister's solemn step was heard in the lobby. " Here already, minister ? " said Davie, as the reverend gentleman stepped across the threshold. " Yes, but where is Katie, your disabled helpmeet ? " 44 THE MINISTER'S MISTAKE. " She's in the stable, and I'll tak ye in to see her the noo. Sit doon a minute." " In the stable ! " exclaimed the astonished minister. " How can you be so unkind as to keep her in the stable ? " " And whaur then would I keep the cuddy if no in the stable ? Surely ye widna expect her to stay wi' me an' my wife in the kitchen, even though she has been a guid helpmate ?" replied Davie. " Do you mean to tell me that it is the donkey and not your wife that you have been referring to all this time !" exclaimed the amazed and confounded minister. " Of coorse ! and nae yin else," said honest Davie. " What ! Am I to understand that you call the animal ' Katie,' and that there is nothing the matter with your wife's leg after all ? " demanded the minister, in solemn tones. " Bless my heart, minister, did ye ackwally mistake my wife, Katie, for 'Katie' the cuddy ?" laughed aloud Davie, his coal-gum countenance puckered with a thousand merry wrinkles. A moment after the completely dumfoundered minister had hurriedly fled the spot. The disabled cuddy recovered the use of its foot in due time ; but when the minister meets Davie on the road he very conveniently looks up to his native skies and keeps the far-away side of the street. THE TAILOR MAK'S THE MAN. Bailie Stout, a Glasgow magistrate of a past generation, had made himself particularly obnoxious to the starving unemployed of the city during the distress which led to the riot of 1848, by refusing to vote them adequate help at the Town Council Board, and a trick was played on him, in that THE TAILOE MAK'S THE MAN. 45 connection, which eventuated in a highly humorous adventure, and forcibly conferred on the self-conscious Bailie, a brief experience as an amateur convict. The Bailie had been having his usual social sederunt in a small chop-house in the Trongate, and was returning, late o' night, to his house in the Candleriggs, when he felt himself seized without warning, and forced up a dark entry, at the top of which he was hurriedly disrobed of his sober tweeds and re-clothed in a suit of dirty white mole- skin, the identical suit worn by the ring-leader of the rioters on the preceding day. Thus attired, the outraged Bailie was left to shift for himself, as best he could. " My goodness ! " he muttered to himself, as he hurried off; "to think o' a Gleska magistrate jinkin' aboot the streets o' auld St. Mungo attired in an Irish labourer's cast-aff claes ! " He was making to get across Trongate, a little west oi King William's equestrian statue, when a strong voice halloaed him, and called on him to stop. Looking about, the Bailie saw two men hurrying across the Trongate after him, and concluding that a further development of the infernal plot already worked out against him was about to be inau- gurated, he thought discretion the better part of valour, and — precipitately fled. The Bailie's run, however, thanks to his moleskins and his bodily beef, was more of a " juck's waddle " than ought else, and in a few moments a pair of rough hands were laid on his shoulders. " The very man we want," said one of the two detectives- for it was none other than two local detectives. "A lucky find ! " " What want ye wi' me ? what's the matter wi' the auld hat noo ? " gasped out the astounded Bailie. " All right, the thing's moleskin in more ways than one. A certain man in a dirty white moleskin suit, led the rioters; 4(j THE TAILOK MAK'S THE MAN. this forenoon. This resembles the suit, and — you are undoubtedly the man ! Come along." " Great Scott ! here's a funny fix," exclaimed the horrified magistrate, " tooken up for a criminal — a rioter ! it's no' possible ! it's no' possible ! Look at me. I'm a toun's magistrate, Bailie Stout o' the auld Can'leriggs." " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed the officer. " Tell that to the Horse Marines. As for us, we're not quite so jolly green. Come along, you rascally old fraud ! " " The Lord luck to me, but this is most desperate wark ! " exclaimed the Bailie, as he was being led off, " but stop a wee ! jist ye stop a wee ! there's six or eicht '11 swing for this job yet. if there's an ounce o' law left in Scotland ! " And thus fuming out his just wrath, the unfortunate Bailie Stout was hurried off, without further explanation or apology, to the Central Police Office as a suspect of the most notori- ous dye. It looked an unfortunate affair for Bailie Stout. He was now practically in the hands of the police, and, what was even worse, was likely to be thrust into a common cell, with the charge of being a rioter written against his name. The bare thought of such an eventuality was tortur- ing in the extreme. But why bother himself ? The charge was glaringly false all through, and was he not Bailie Stout, a most respectable citizen, and — a magistrate ! And yet, had not men been convicted and hanged on purely circumstantial evidence. They had, in numerous instances, he well knew, and this unfortunate victim of a police mistake shivered with horror at the bare possibility of such a dire catastrophe as a criminal conviction. It was no use the victim's threats and expostulations. The two officers were obdurate, and the prisoner's repeated asserva- tions that he was not the man suspected, but the veritable, tangible, and irrefutable Bailie Stout, of the auld Gleska Can'leriggs, so perseveringly made, were received with shouts •of laughter as the stupid fabrications of a culprit neatly THE TAILOK MAK'S THE MAN. 47 trapped. "Within five minutes the officers and their prisoner were standing before the charge bar, in presence of the lieutenant on duty. " The charge ? " inquired the lieutenant. " A ' suspect,' believed to be the man in the white mole- skin suit, who led the mob in the East End this forenoon," answered the officer. " It's a mistake ! " gasped out the prisoner, " a most desperate, stupid, fearful mistake ! " " Silence, prisoner ! " said the lieutenant, in a tone of voice loaded with the weight of authority. " What ! wad ye daur to order me to silence ? — a toon's magistrate ! " The astonished lieutenant, thus taken by the proboscis, so to speak, deliberately put on and adjusted his spectacles, so as to have a proper survey of the prisoner. " Oh, ye may spectacle me as much as ye like, my fine man, but haucl yer haun' a bit ere ye commit me, or by my sang ye'll rue't the langest day o' yer life." " A fit subject for Gartnavel," remarked the lieutenant. " Tak' back that insultin' statement, sir, or stan' the con- sequences. I'm Bailie Stout o' the auld Can'leriggs," slapping the counter with his hand. "Now, look here, prisoner," said the lieutenant, "if I have to suffer another interruption from you, I'll at once lock you up in one of the cells as a drunk and disorderly incorrigible." ' Try that trick on me, an' its any amount o' nails in yer coffin, my fine chiel," said the prisoner, with rising spirit. " Silence, will you ? " thundered forth the lieutenant. " Go you to Cockenzie ! " retorted the prisoner. ' What is your name, sir ? " asked the lieutenant, changing his tack. " Bailie Stout," replied the prisoner, " as I've already tell't thir twa fellows fifty times within the last fowr minutes." The 48 THE TAILOR MAK S THE MAN. lieutenant burst into a fit of laughter, in which he was heartily seconded by his two official subordinates. " Oh, ye may lauch," said the prisoner, " but I'll haud ye a saxpence ye'll lauch on the wrang side o' yer mooth before ye're dune wi' this job, my fine fellows." " Are you going to give me your real name ? " once more questioned the lieutenant, " or must I add impersonation to the charge already preferred against you ? " " Bailie Stout o' the auld Can'leriggs, that's my name," once more insisted the prisoner, shooting out his rotund " corporation " with assured self-consciousness. " Let the turnkey search him," said the lieutenant, abruptly turning away. " What ! anither indignity ? Wad ye ripe my vera pooches ? ''' gasped out the prisoner, as the officiating turn- key seized him rather roughly by the arm, and wheeling him right about face began turning out the contents of the rather large and flabby pockets of his ill-fitting moleskin suit. The contents were common enough — a broken clay pipe, a bit of thick tobacco, a red-spotted pocket handker- chief, and — ah ! — what is this ? — a copy of the four inflam- matory resolutions read and passed by the rioters at the mass meeting held on the ( 1 reen before proceeding to their work of destruction. The keen eye of the lieutenant fixed on the document the moment it was brought to light. " A most important ' find,' ' remarked the lieutenant glancing over the paper, and taking in the sense of the com- promising matter with true official instinct and zest. " Looks bad for you, old man.' " What's this noo ? " gravely asked the prisoner, " hae ye fand anither mare's nest, or what ? " "We've found out what will send you across the seas, old man, 1 fear," answered the lieutenant. " Eemove the prisoner ; cell 21." " What ! pit me in a polis cell ? " sang out the indignant THE TAILOR MAK'S THE MAN. 49 Bailie. " Mind what ye're aboot, lieutenant ; if there's necks to be streetched in connection wi' this affair, my man, yours '11 rin a bad chance o' escape ; it's as fack as my name's Bailie Stout, an' that's gie'n ye a last warnin' word." The prisoner's last warning word, however, was of no effect whatever. The lieutenant seemed to care no more for it than he did for the spittle he exuded from his mouth at the moment, as if in contempt. And, fuming like a scold- ing washer- wife, the excited prisoner was led off to the con- finement of the cell, protesting with great vigour of lungs that he was the real and tangible Bailie Stout, o' the auld Can'leriggs, and vowing loudly that six or eight of the police officials would swing for the outrage done him, "if there was an ounce o' law left in Scotland." Bight law or wrong- law, however, poor Bailie Stout was run into cell 21, and the door heavily locked on him. "My goodness, but this is a fine farce!' thought the Bailie when left to himself ; " a Gleska magistrate in a polis cell ! It — it — it bates cock-fechtin' ! What wad the Provost say if he saw me here, I wonder?" " He would most likely say, my good friend," said a deep sepulchral voice from an opposite corner of the cell — " he would most likely say and conclude that, like me, you were here to note, observe, and study both sides of the question." The astonished Bailie jumped about three feet from the ground when the deep bass voice of the speaker broke on his ear, which suggested, in spite of its friendly words, an under- ground relationship and resurrectional possibilities. The voice that had just spoken, however, indubitably belonged to a man, as Bailie Stout presently discovered, and a man, too, displaying a personality six feet high, and turning the scales, obviously, at fifteen stone. He was, in fact, more than a mere man — he was, presumably, a minister, if a seedy black clerically-cut suit, a round-about stand-up white collar, and a broad, soft, shovel hat are worth founding an inference on. s. 8. 4 50 THE TAILOR MAK'S THE MAN. Advancing towards the astonished Bailie, the clerical- looking stranger frankly extended his hand as a token of good feeling and friendship in a common distress. The Bailie, however, overruled by his native -Scotch caution, proffered him only the extreme tip of his forefinger, which the indulgent stranger very warmly caught and as warmly shook, hoping that he saw his " valued friend quite well." The Bailie withdrew his imprisoned forefinger as soon as he was able, assured his interlocutor that he was full of his usual " weelness," and continued moving cautiously backward as often as the tall, clerical-looking stranger advanced in his direction. He was uncomfortably afraid of the tall stranger, who, in spite of his clerical attire, had an uncanny look. " Perhaps," thought the Bailie, " he's the resident prison parson let loose on me through some invisible sliding door- panel." Then he decided on questioning the tall cleric, point-blank, as to his business in the cell. " Pray, sir, are ye what's ca'd the prison parson ?" he bluntly asked. " No," responded the tall stranger, " only wish I were. Salary good, billet easy, no vestry meetings, no Dorcas societies, no insipid tea-drinkings with idle young ladies of relaxed sentiment, nor twiddle-twaddle talk with amiable old ones. No, friend, I'm not the prison parson — oh, dear, no! Just now, however, I happen to run the job pretty closely — without the salary though, which is equivalent to playing Hamlet without the character of Hamlet — under- stand ?" " No, I'll be whuppit if I dae," frankly answered the con- founded Bailie. " Ah, let me explain. "Well, you see, although not exactly the prison parson, I'm presently an imprisoned parson, and THE TAILOR MAK'S THE MAN. 51 passably happy at that. You also possess that invaluable mental panacea of contentment, my good friend, let me fondly hope?" "Na, na!" gruffly answered the Bailie, "I possess nae invaluable mental pancake o' the kind." " No ! Is it possible, and your head so full of strong character, too ? Kindly let me read your head, please." And the tall stranger made a step towards the Bailie, who fell back two steps with great promptitude. " Keep back!" he said with a deprecating wave of the hand, " I dinna want my cocker-nut graipit by you. Are ye a, travellin' phrenologist, or what ? " " I'm a minister of the gospel, friend," said the tall stranger in an appropriately grave and solemn tone of voice. " An' what the crickey are ye daein' here — in a polis office?" " Getting illustrations of the other side of the question, and gathering graphic matter for original pulpit ministra- tions." " Go you to Dumbarton ! I ken a thing or twa better than that, I'm thinkin'," " Oh, it's really so, my good friend," resumed the crazy cleric ; " and therefore have you a special care, old man, lest I chuck you into my next Sunday's sermon as a striking pulpit text. I only wish I had your name entered in my note-book (tapping a side pocket), but I'll get it, I daresay, from my Christian friend, the lieutenant at the bar as I pass out. You look in need of a word in season. I can fix you up there slick, I can. I usually carry a small bottle of spiritual consolation in my pocket as a mental pick-me-up in moments of distress, but the officious turnkey unfor- tunately relieved me of it at the bar only half an hour ago. Never mind, old boy, I'm square for you in another way. You seem a strong case for Scriptural quotation. You are, 52 THE TAILOR MAK'S THE MAN. I opine, nothing short of a five-mile-an-hour tramper on the broad road to perdition, eh?" The confounded Bailie " gapit wide, but naething spak'," to use a handy bit of phraseology. He was sort of half amused and wholly flabbergasted. " Kindly allow me to decipher your head, friend. Do! rare chance — gratis ! " "Keep back! keep back!" replied the Bailie with a shivery feeling. " If ye offer to lay ban's on my heid I'll knock hymn-books an' family Bibles oot o' ye, big as ye are!" " Just as I thought. Pugilistic propensities strong, reverential feelings weak," and this said, the disordered 'parson once more stepped close up to the retreating Bailie. " Sit doun, man! for ony sake, sit doun an' be at rest! I canna bear to see ye stottin' aboot the place like an unlaid ghost." "Sit down where, friend?" asked the crazy parson, looking pathetically around the empty cell. " On yer shovel-hat, if ye like. It's a saft enough lookin' handfu'." " Further confirmation of my first guess. Reverential feelings notably weak. Want to be preached at a bit. I'll take a memorial note of the sad fact, friend. Interesting case to me, I do assure you. You'll go slap into my next week's sermon, as sure as fate — dirty moleskins and all!" And, pop, out came a small metallic note-book, into which the miraculous parson proceeded to make an apparently copious entry, descriptive of the imprisoned Bailie. This effected, he next asked, by way of a climax, obviously — " By the bye, friend, what's your crime ? I'm particular about that, to a degree. ■ You're an Irish labourer, I see from your attire. Probably stolen the hod, eh ?" " I'm Bailie Stout o' the auld Can'leriggs, an' I want nae niair o' yer looney jargon, keep mind o' that!" THE TAILOR MAK'S THE MAN. 53 " Eev. Josiah Balderdash," said the turnkey at this moment, putting his head inside the door of the cell. " That's me ! " promptly answered the demented cleric. " Your fine's paid. Come along, and see to it that you cultivate milder spiritual tastes next time you go on the merry ' squeal.' " " Farewell, my good friend. Look out for yourself in my next sermon." " Ma feth ! if ever ye come up afore me at the Polis Coort, my fine man, it'll be sixty days in Duke Street for you, an' naething less, minister or no minister ! " the wroth Bailie hotly cried after the departing parson. Bailie Stout was liberated from custody that night only on the sworn testimony of two brother magistrates, and any amount of personal friends. Such is the confusing power of a wronst suit of clothes ; and so true is it that the tailor makes the man. And so ended Bailie Stout's prison adventure as an amateur , convict. JOCK TUBNIFS MITHER-IN-LAW. Jock Turnip got married to Jenny Sybo yae nicht very suddenly, after an eventfu' coortship o' seven years' duration. The event having cam' aff suddenly at the last, Jenny urged Jock to consent to lodge wi' her auld widowed mither, till such times as they had gathered twa-three hoose-things thegither. On hearing the proposal, Jock laughingly said — " Weel, Jenny, my dear, my name's Turnip, an' your mither's name's Sybo : neeps an' sybos usually mak' no' a bad blend ; sae, I think we'll e'en gang an' lodge wi' yer ■sonsie auld mither, Jenny, dear." 54 JOCK TURNIP'S MITHER-IN-LAW. lb was a' richt the first nicht o' the marriage. Mrs. Sybo- was in gran' tune — the dram being guid, an' her — weel — no' juist teetotal, ye ken. Everything gaed on first-rate, an' like rale clock-work, an' Jock thocht he had got married intae a fine, warm, cosy nest. An' it very sune proved a warm eneugh nest, nae doot, but — Jock shook his heid ower the rest o't. Weel, the very next mornin', Jock fand oot, to his cost, that he had married his mither-in-law, as weel's her dochter,. an' that the courageous mither-in-law had already put on the domestic breeks, an' was very evidently intendin' to regu- larly wear them. The dawn was juist beginnin' to blink thro' the window shutters, an' the half-past five o'clock bells were scarce dune ringin', when the awfu' voice o' Jock's mither-in-law was heard ootside the room-door, cryin' — " Get up, Jock Turnip, if ye're a man at a', an' mean to begin life weel ! Get up, an' dinna lie there, sotterin' in yer bed till a' hours o' the mornin." Jock roused oot o' deep- sleep, rubb't his twa bleer't e'en wi' his faulded knuckles, an' turned his gaze for a moment on his newly-made an' lovely better-hauf, wha was lyin' alangside o' him, six miles deep in a soun' sleep at the moment. "Jenny! (no response) Jenny!! (no movement) Jenny!!!" (gi'en her a heavy chinch wi' his bent elbow) — " Urn ? " grunted Jenny. " Yer mither's wantin' ye." " Naething o' the kind," said the mither-in-law, " let the puir, wearit lassie lie still. It's you I want up. Get up, an' get oot to yer wark this minute, or I'll very sune open yer twa steekit e'elids wi' the clash o' a wat dishclout ! D'ye hear me speakin' ? get up at yince, Jock Turnip ! " and Mrs. Sybo began drumming pertinaciously on the door panels. " I was married only last nicht ! " expostulated Jock. jock turnip's mither-in-law. 55 " A' the mair need ye should get up an' hurry oot to yer wark this mornin', ye lazy, guid-for-naething sumph ! " There was no escape from this kind of annoyance ; but so long as Mrs. Sybo was kept outside the snibbed door there was at least safety from personal harm. So Jock, who had a certain rude sense of humour, got up and deliberately locked the bed-room door from the inside. " An' noo, Mrs. Sybo," he cried through the shut door to her, " I'm gaun back to bed for twa hours' rest, an' I'm thinkin' ye'd better be daein' the same." " Gang back to my bed ! " yelled Jock's defeated mither- in-law : " gang back to my bed, an' a lazy, yisless, guid-for- naething son-in-law sleepin' awa' his seven senses on the first mornin' o' his married life — the thochtless, extravagant scoondrel ! " So far, Jock had clearly defeated his domineering mother- in-law. She had made the first move on the newly-arranged domestic draught-board, and he had rather smartly check- mated her play. Thus far, the best of the game was his. But Mrs. Sybo, although checkmated, was by no means defeated. She was a woman, and being a mother-in-law, she was a woman of very considerable resource. So she began to noisily heave about the kitchen furniture, ostensibly by way of showing her indolent son-in-law a brisk example of domestic energy, but in reality with the intention of tormenting him into a prompt compliance with her demand. " Faith ! " thought Jock, " I may lie in bed till doomsday, if I like ; but, my wordie, I'll no' be allooed to sleep yae blessed wink mair, I see — lie or rise ! " Bang ! (raddle — addle — daddle !) "Ow, what a smash! that's the three-legg't stule she's flinmn^ about ; I'm vex't for the neebors below !" Crash ! (jangle — angle — dangle!) " There goes the fender ! " Breenge ! (pirr — irr — irr !) 56 JOCK turnip's mither-in-law. " O'd, that's surely the tangs swishin' across the flair ! " Dump ! (dirrump — irrump — irrump !) " Great sticks ! that's the auld watter-stowp noo ! the table '11 gang next ! " At this juncture, however, Jock's lovely better-hauf sud- denly jumpt up, an' look't wildly roun', wauken't oot o' her six-miles-deep sleep by the crashing noises in the but-an'-ben kitchen. " Eh, Jock, dear, what's gaen wrang at a' ? is this the last day, the jidgment mornin', or what ? " " 'Deed, Jenny, lass, an' I'm jist thinking it's either the crack o' doom, or some terrible earthquake that's takin' place." " Oh, mercy me ! an' whaur's my puir mither ? " " She's busy superintendin' the removal o' the kitchen furniture." " What ! Jock ; are we flittin' then ? " " It seems sae ! " " An' whaur are we flittin' to ava' ? " " AVeel, Jenny, last nicht when I got married to you I thocht I was flittin' to bliss, but on waukenin' this mornin' I find I've tooken a trip to perdition ; an' the only thing that vexes me is the want o' a return ticket back hame again." " Eh, Jock, that's a sair word for a man to gi'e a new- married wife," said Jock's better-hauf, reproachfully. " It's no you, my dear ; it's yer lovely mither that's the sair bit. She's a fine, big, roun'-shape't, sonsie-lookin' woman, but her tongue's been dippit in vitriol ; an' if yer late respected faither dee'd abroad I wadna blame him for't." Weel, to resume, Jock attacked his bowl o' porridge in dour silence that mornin', an' gaed oot to his wark wi' his mind in a kind o' mixed state. " Hallo, Jock," said a bench-mate ; " greetings t'ye, noo that ye're a married man ; an' what think ye o' the wife ? " « -\Vh — wh — which o' them ?" asked Jock. JOCK TURNIP'S MITHER-IN-LAW. 57 ,; Which o' them d'ye ask ! o'd, are ye a Mormon, Jock ? ha'e ye married twa ? " " Seems sae," answered Jock. " I've married the wife, an' alang wi' her, her tart auld mither intae the bargain ; an', let me tell you, the pair o' them's likely to mak' a fou' handfu'." " There's mair than you in that same box, Jock ; but listen ; if ye've ony notion o' character, a mither-in-law's a gran' study for ye." " Study, ba hang't ! no, no ; I've nae notion o' studyfn' her •character onyway ; I want shot o' her ; can ye advise me, mate ? " "Ay, can I, Jock." " What then ? " " Shift yer lodgin's, Jock ; it's the only effectual cure." " Ye've said it, man ; ye've juist said it. I'll e'en shift my quarters this verra nicht ; mony thanks to ye for the kind hint." Weel, that same nicht, Jock, before gaun hame, secured a room for himself an' his better-half, Jenny, an' gettin' a han'-barrow, an' alang wi' that the help o' twa strong men, he hurried awa' owre to his awfu' mither-in-law's, to remove his wife's " kist an' beddin', " alang wi' her share o' the hoose furniture, which simple Jock had been a' alang led to believe was most valuable, and very extensive. Arrived at the door, Jock sent up the biggest o' the twa men he had brocht alang, wi' a message for Jenny to come doon at yince, an' to bring her kist an' her beddin' alang wi' her. " Is Jock Turnip wi' ye ? " was Mrs. Sybo's first pointed ■question. " He's waitin' at the stair-fit," was the answer. " Send the rascal up here this instant ; I want to see him very particularly." Down goes Jock's assistant with the curt message. 58 JOCK turnip's mither-in-law. " Weel, hoo does the moral barometer stan' ? " was Jock's- first question, " stormy lookin', I suppose ? " " Ye're wanted up stairs, Jock, by yer amiable mither-in- law, very particularly." Jock touched the one side of his nose with the tip of his fore finger; and winked suggestively with the opposite eye. " What, are ye no gaun up ? " asked his cronie. " No this time," answered Jock. " What, frichtit, Jock ? " " No exactly that," answered Jock, " but, ye see, my life's no insured, an' if I was to venture on an interview wi' my most amiable mither-in-law at this interesting juncture, it's mair than probable ye'd get me to hurl hame on (that barrow, instead o' my wife's portion o' the hoose furniture, d'ye see ? " Yes, they both clearly saw it, and had not long to wait a final solution of the dilema. In less than twa minutes doon comes Jenny wi' her share o' the hoose furniture in her airms, in the shape o' a hymn- book, a cup an' flett, a pair o' fitless stockings, a disconnected " dress-improver," an' a broken umbrella of great size, but of quite indefinite age. An' hard after her cam' also doun Mrs. Sybo, Jock's awfu' mither-in-law, wi' fire in her twa black e'en, an' an auld broom-handle fiercely grasped in her han' — " Ye wad steal awa' my dochter, ye heartless fellow, an' syne ha'e the impidence to come back wi' a barrow for my hoose furniture, ye unconscionable rascal ! O'd, I'll furniture ye ! " and swinging aloft the formidable broom-handle, Jock's valiant mither-in-law made a sweeping charge at the whole group — the empty barrow included. " The situation's dangerous," cried Jock, " lift men, an' rin for yer lives ! " an' afore twa ticks, the spot was clean vacated, an' Jock's drum-major o' a mither-in-law was left in free possession o' Jenny's imaginary kist — alang wi the JOCK turnip's mither-in-law. 5& equally-imaginary stores o' beddin' an' general kitchen furniture foolishly supposed to belang to her. Jock, however, keeps a firm haud o' his new lodgings,, and thinks the bargain a perfect blessin', noo that he has- secured undisputed possession o' his wife, Jenny, and got happily rid o' his awfu' terjer o' a mither-in-law. LODGINGS AT ARBAN. Tammy Lawbrop, a tailor chappie, an' I gaed doon to Arran last Fair Setterday to spend a week's holidays. We had a picturesque week o't, an' no mistake ! We had often heard the Island o' Arran spoken aboot as a grand place for pickin' up health. The air was sae wonderfu' fresh there, an' the saut water sae strong, that the folks said ye cood thrive finely there, an' even grow fat on plain tatties and herrin', mornin', noon, an' nicht, wash't doon wi' a jugfu' o' soor mulk. Oor livin' at Arran was, therefore, likely to prove very cheap. But, if the livin' was likely to prove cheap, the lodgin's turned oot a saut enough concern, I can tell ye ! Lodgin's at Arran ! D'ye ken what that means ? It means oftener than no' twa pounds a week for a hen hoose, wi' six or eicht in the bed, a coo's byre next door, an' the rain comin' thro' the roof! Talk aboot gaun abroad to see the picturesque in life ! Gang doon to Arran at the Gleska Fair-holiday time, an' ye'll never need to gang farrer to see- mair. Weel, we hadna jist exactly six in oor bed — Tammy Lawbrod an' I ; but oor room was quite remarkable for the want o' room. To begin wi', the wee microscopic bed we slept in had obviously been made for the accommodation o' some Italian organ-grinder's monkey in bad health. It was sae sma' that Tammy an' I had, yin micht almost say, to examine it wi' oor specks on ! It was a fine tak'-in, that 60 LODGINGS AT ARK AN. same furnished room. We saw it advertised in the Gleska papers as a FURNISHED ROOM TO LET AT ARRAN, Suitable for two bachelor gentlemen ; fine sea- view ;. garden at the back ; every convenience ; own key ; terms moderate ! Address — Mrs. M'Tavish, Brodick. The advertisement, ye'll notice, was very nicely worded, an' was fitted to draw like a mustard poultice. It drew Tammy Lawbrod an' mysel' a' the way doon to Arran jist like that ! (snapping his finger and thumb). We wrote doon for it at yince, an' engaged it for eicht days, without seein' it ; the advertisement, alang wi' Mrs. M'Tavish, was sae fu' o' promise. Talk aboot buyin' a pig in a pock ! It was waur than even that, it was aboot as bad as a man tryin' to read the papers wi' the specks on the back o' his heid ! Brodick's no' a big place ; but we had, never- theless, some difficulty in fmdin' oot Mrs. M'Tavish. " D'ye ken whaur Mrs. M'Tavish bides ? " I speired at a native, a wild-lookin' man wi' red hair, tartan troosers, and a squint e'e. " FauT daes she lceve ? " replied the Celt, " tell me faur she stays ? " " That's what I'm wantin' to ken, man," said I. " So wass me," answered the Celt, with a wild grin. " Can ye no' tell me whaur Mrs. M'Tavish bides ? " I yince mair asked him. " Wass you come a' ta way doon from Klasko to see Mrs. M'Tavish ? " inquisitively replied the Celt. " Tuts, man, d'ye no' ken whaur Mrs. M'Tavish bides, I'm speirin' ye — yes or no' ? " " Mrs. M'Tavish ! Mrs. M'Tavish ! " ruminated the Celt, " fat Mrs. M'Tavish wass she bee wantin' ? " " Mrs. M'Tavish wha let's the summer lodgin's," I answered. "Hump!" replied the Celt with a shrug, " efery Mrs. LODGINGS AT ARRAN. 6L M'Tavish, an' Mrs. Macfarlanes, an' Mrs. Macdougalls, an r efery other housewife on ta island keeps twa or four lodgers whateffer, an' twice as more too." Brodick's no a big place, however, as ye a' ken, an' I f and oot oor identical landlady before lang. She was standin' in' the doorway lookin' oot for oor comin'. We had passed her, back an' forrit, half-a-dizzen times before we ever even suspected that she was Mrs. M'Tavish, or that the hut she occupied was the " Cottage at Arran " we had seen described in that highly romantic and drawing advertisement. The " cottage " was a yae-story concern, and looked a sort o' twa-hunder-year-auld shepherd's hut or dowg-hoose, tooken doon, holus bolus, frae the hillside somewhaur, an' set on the edge o' the road as a protest against all modern ideas of ordinary taste and comfort. The " garden " at the back was a genuine cabbage yin ! Mrs. M'Tavish was a pure native o' the island. She snuffed, wore mutches an' specks, an' spoke a limited quantity of English, interfused wi' an unlimited quantity o' unpronounceable Gaelic. Beyond an' above a' that, Mrs. M'Tavish was a very thrifty, economical woman. Her hoose consisted o' a but- an'-a-ben, or, to phrase the thing more genteelly, a room an' a kitchen. She kept a coo, and a lot o' cocks an' hens in the hoose, forbye her lodgers. The hens had the best o't. They had, at a' hours, an' on a' occasions, the unqualified run o' the hoose, an' between their ceaseless cackle, the cocks' fearfu' crawin', an' the fine, fresh smell o' the auld coo, tethered at the faur-awa en' o' the kitchen bed, the place, mornin', noon', an' nicht, was remarkably fu' o' the very strongest country odours and associations. Talk aboot the picturesque in foreign travel! For a genuine e'e-opener, try Arran. Mrs. M'Tavish's yae-room- an'-kitchen concern in Arran was a whussler, I can tell ye ! It was the most musical, as weel as the most diversified, lodgin's I ever stayed in. As early as fowr in the mornin', ■Q2 LODGINGS AT AKRAN. it was cockie-leerie-law ! in yer sleepin' lugs frae the tane or the tither o' the twa cocks ; a' the forenoon it was moo-oo ! frae the auld coo in the kitchen ; while mornin', noon, and nicht, it was naething but clack, clack, clack ! frae the twa- and-twenty hens that roosted singly or in pairs in a' parts o' the hoose. But we had a waur experience than a' that — Tammy Lawbrod an' I. The hoose was a fine airy yin, the roof was thatched wi' straw, an' had numerous keek-holes in't, thro' which the daylicht peeped like wee stars. This was a' very fine sae lang as the weather kept dry. But a break in the barometer took place yae nicht suddenly, aboot fowr in the mornin', an' the scene was changed, as the poet says. That mornin' I was waukened oot o' a deep sleep wi' Tammy Lawbrod dunchin' me on the shoother wi' his elbow. I started, an' looked aboot me. " What's the maitter, Tammy ? " I asked. " The maitter ! d'ye no' see what's up ? " he asked, " why, it's poorin' o' rain in here, an' I'm jist thinkin' it wad be better for us baith to get up an' gang ootside till it tak's aff ! This is fine, lively, picturesque lodgin's we've cam' to, an' no' mistake ! " " Dook yer heid under the blankets till the rain's aff," quo' I, wi' a laugh, for I coodna help laughin' at the oddity o' the situation, badly as we were in for't. "Nae yise," replied Tammy, "the blankets 'ill be wat thro' in twa ticks ; the rain's already lyin' in wee pools on the tap o' them ! It's an umbrella we're sairly need in", I'm thinkin'." " The very thing ! " I joyfully exclaimed, an' afore ye cou'd say Jake Eobinson, I hadjumpit oot the bed, seized my auld umbrella, an' getting yince mair laid doon in bed, iiapp't it up abune oor twa heids, to save oorsel's frae the rain that was skytin' doon on us frae the dreepin' roof ! An' for twa lang hours we lay in the bed there, wi' oor LODGINGS AT ARRAN. 63 nichtcaps drawn doon owre oor twa lugs, an' the umbrella spread owre oor heids, a grand specimen o' the picturesque in life — and lodgin's in Arran ! I kenna how auld Mrs. M'Tavish got on in the kitchen that rainy nicht ; but I ken that. some o' the cocks an' hens had to hide for shelter ere mornin' below the chairs an' tables ! Folks ha'e different ideas o' hoo to spend a holiday ; but I'll say this much, if ye want a new experience in life spend .a week in Arran. But for ony sake dinna gang there withoot takin' wi' ye an ample supply o' waterproof, alang wi' a fine big bed-room Umbrella ! OOR JOHN'S PATENT ALARUM. Oor John's a rale genius in his way, he's aye after some droll invention or ither, an' there's nae end to his ingen- uity. Yae mornin' aboot a fortnicht back since he " sleepit in," an' quo' he, " Tib, that's twice I've sleepit in since the New- Year, but I'll sleep in nae mair. I've got an idea, an' I'll set to an' develop it at yince." Sae do un went John's elbows on the breakfast table, an' clap gaed his heid between his twa han's ; an' " I've got it Tib," said he, after five-and-twenty minutes' close thocht, " I've got it — a new idea o' a compound alarum bell, an' I'll hae it ringin' like a kirk-steeple bell this nicht week." John's a born genius, there's nae twa ways aboot that. His plan was this : — The clock, ye maun ken, was yin o' thir auld niddlety-noddlety sort that wag industriously across the yellow-ochred wa's. John, ye see, designed a wee wheelological instrument o' the curiousest kind, wi' ever sae mony engineerical turlie-whurlies aboot it. The inside works were as fu' o' brains and mechanical unnerstandin' as John's 64 OOIi JOHNS PATENT ALARUM. gifted heid could pang them ; an' this was the programme o' heidy contrivances an' sleep-breakm' noises expected to be set agoing at half-past five o'clock on the following mornin' : — The wag-at-the-wa' would be set half an hour forrit, an' in chappin' six o'clock the descendin' wecht would licht upon the trikker o' John's compleecated machine, the ball o' which would begin to descend and the hammer to reverberate jist as the clock bell ran oot. On the road doun, an' while busy alarming John, the wecht would first flap doon the bunker-lid, cowp a lot o' balanced stools, an' then screw on the gas-licht full. John's coffee-can would be hung con- veniently owre the gas-burner, an' while the guidman was findin' his way inside his breeks, the gas would be nicely warmin' the coffee. So much for John's patent alarum. " Tib," said the guidman to me yae nicht, just as the eerie chap o' ten was ringin' thro' the toun, " the patent alarum is noo loaded, an' we may baith gang to bed an' sleep as soun' as the birds in the woods. That new patent alarum o' mine would wauken the vera deid ! " Sae aff to rest we baith gaed, John an' I, an' presently fell soun' asleep, jist like twa spinnin' peeries. I sleepit soun' an' sweet — I'm positive o' that. But jist as the dawn began to grey the sky I maun hae fa'en to the dreamin'. I had been readin' a nicht or twa before aboot the Fa's o' Niagara. I thocht I was there. I was walking under them. The roar that was in my ears was perfectly deafenin'. I started, screamed, an' wauken'd clean up in a nervous fricht. Sittin' bolt upricht, I rubbed my e'en, stuffed my fingers into my ears, an' considered for a moment the exact situation. Yes, yes ; John's alarum was comin' thunderin' doun, an' the hoose was as fu' o' sound as the thrangest boat-yaird on the Clyde. I would rouse up John, I thocht. But no ; I would sit still an' watch the effeck o' John's invention — on himsel'. OOR JOHN'S PATENT ALARUM. 65 An' there he lay, kickin' an' flingin' an' groanin' an' moanin', under the awfu' noise o' the descendin' alarum, like a man fair demented. In a moment the descendin' wecht bleez'd up the gas, an' struck doon the bunker lid, an' — ow ! — what a smash ! John, puir man, breeng't aff the braid o' his back clean roun' on to the flett o' his stammack. The next moment doun bang'd the front flap o' the bunker, an' John, puir man, precipitately fulfilled the Highland sergeant's command— "As you was!" Anither moment, an' the wean's chair was fiang thump, dump doun ; then smash gaed a big stool, an' a second after, breenge went a pair o' big bread servers. At this extreme juncture, John, clean bye-himsel', jump't bolt upricht, and steadied himsel' on his beam-end on the tap o' the blankets. His e'en were burnin' like twa Hallow- e'en lichts, an' the hairs o' his heid were standin' strecht oot, like a bunch o' daurnin' needles in a sawdust preen-cushion. The cat, puir thing, had been fieein' frantically but-an'-ben the hoose a' the time ; an' to croun a', oor wee Skye terrier dowg, hauf demented wi' fricht, set up a series o' the most dismal, melancholy, an' heart-breakin' yowls. John sat in bed, stock-still, an' silently listened to it a'. Triumph was workin' in every line o' his face. The alarum was a tremendous success ! Yae wild spring, an' he was oot on the centre o' the fluir, snappin' his fingers, whistlin' " Tullochgorum," an' hoochin' an' leapin' like a dementit Highlandman, his sleepin' shirt daein' duty for a short kilt. Meantime, hauf-a-dizzen nervous sleepers had their peacefu' dreams shattered that mornin' by a succession o' patent thunder-claps. A nicht policeman, too, who had been shelterin' himsel' frae the rain at the stairfit, succeeded in makin' things doubly worse by fiercely springin' his rattle, under a settled conviction that the haill building was fa'in' in, — was gaun, in fack, to general pigs an' whussels ! s. s. 5 66 ook John's patent alarum. John, perfeckly undisturbed by the terrible consequences o' his patent ideas, drew on his breeks, an' mutterin' something aboot his " star being in the ascendant," sat doun an' steadied his nerves wi' a moothfu' o' warm coffee. The neibors roun' aboot, however, took events less quately. Windows gaed fleein' up, heids bobbed out, an' doors were flung open on every stairhead. In three minutes, or less, the staircase, frae tap flett to bottom landing, was crooded wi' terrified an' exasperated auld wives, picturesquely attired in red flannen petticoats, white short gowns, an' close-tied starchless mutches, an' everybody was asking every ither body what was the maitter — wha's gas meter had burst ? But naebody succeeded in turning the gas on the dark mystery. A Dutch sailor — Von Tromp by name — wha lived in the tap sky-licht when at hame, presently cam' tearin' doun the stairs, three staps at a time, his heavy sea-boots thrust hurriedly on, his sou'-wester crushed low doun on his broo, an' his muckle reefin' jacket flung loosely across his airm. On the road doun he cowp't successively three separate auld wives wha were industriously pechin' their way up the stairs in search o' explanations. " Von Tromp ! Von Tromp ! ! Von Tromp ! ! ! " screamed everybody in startling chorus, " what ava's the maitter ? " " Breakers somewhere on de wedder bow ; round helm, spread sail, an' coot stick before de wind," shouted the Dutch sailor, never stopping to look once behind him, but crushing wildly on " before de wind," an' running down, in his hot hurry, the excited policeman who had sprung his rattle at the stairfit three minutes before, an' who was now hurrying up to learn wha's roof had fa'n in. Recovering his feet wi' astonishing speed, the bumbased official turned on his lamp, blew his whussel like a loco- motive, an' sprung afresh his noisy rattle, winding up OOR JOHN'S PATENT ALARUM. 67 business by staring the haill stairhead full in the face, an' asking in a bewildered an' general sort o' way — " Wad some o' the folks no opleege her by makin' a * shairge ' ? " " A chairge ! " cried half-a-dizzen voices, " whit richt hae ye to spring yer rattle on the sleepin' Ian' ? wha sent for you ? what richt, in fack, hae ye here ava' ? " " Have I no as more richt here nor you ? " demanded the angry official, wi' a self-reliant cock o' the heid. " Fling that bunch o' dried heather doun the stair," roared Eab Rough, the blacksmith. And the "bunch o' dried heather " fell promptly back in view of bringing up a re- quired support. But what aboot oor John a' this time ? Weel, ye ken, I was busy listenin' at the key-hole to a' that had transpired on the stairheid ; an' when the panic was fairly owre, an' the policeman had been shoosted wide o' the neighbourhood for his vera life, I staps in atowre to John, an' — " Guidman," quo' I, " that's a dreidfu' wark ye've dune, the haill Ian', frae tap to fit, is in a nervous commo- tion." " It's glorious ! Tib ; clean glorious ! ! A greater success than this hisna been kenn'd since the days o' Galileo. Never mind the commotion amang the neebors. There's aye a bit stoorie rumpus amang ordinary folks when men o' great original genius like me shake society wi' their ideas. Sit ye doun, Tib, sit ye doun. Oor fortune's made at last. There's no a workin' man, between Ben Nevis an' Camlachie, but'll gang in for yin o' my patent alarums when yince the tremendous virtue o' them's kenn'd. Yin o' them, richtly handled, wad wauken a haill regiment o' sodgers, let alane a single sleeper. Sit doun, Tib ! sit doun, an' tak' a moothfu' o' this coffee. It's perfeckly delicious, Tib. Twa- three sips o't 'ill mak' yer goupin' nerves as quate's a kirk moose." 68 oor John's patent alarum. " But, O John," quo' I, " ye'll hear mair o' this or I'm gey fawr cheatit," gi'en my heid a solemn shake. " A monument as heich's the tap brick o' Tennant's stalk 'ill be the upshot o't, Tib," said John, clappin' my shoothers consolingly, till my vera heart louped intae my mooth. Noo, John didna stir a fit to his wark a' that eventfu' mornin' ; sae, as we sat thegither at the breakfast table — " John," I began, wi' a bit coaxin' lauch, " if the result o' your grand new patent alarum is the keepin' ye oot o' yer wark of a mornin', it can hardly be said to be fulfillin' the purpose for which it was designed." " Hoot-toots ! " ejaculated John " ye ken naething aboot the sublime exstatics o' genius. Wha could gang to their wark in the face o' sic an overwhelmin' triumph ? It pits the clean Peter on Jeems Watt an' the steam engine — thrice owre. Gang to my wark ! Tib. It wid be a doun- richt prostitution o' logic an' rationality ; naething short o't. Tib — naething short o't ;" an' John thereupon began snappin' his fingers an' whusslin' like fury, "All Among the Clover." Weel, the vera next nicht, word gaed roun' the Ian' that there were nae fewer than seven auld wives lyin' deid-ill o' shaken nerves an' low fever, resultin' frae the fearfu' fricht they had got, an' John, in spite o't a', persisted in his determination to load the alarum full-cock that nicht, an' that, too, wi' several improved additions, intendin', as he declared, to ring up the haill building, an' thereby consoli- date an' assure the success o' his new invention. Weel, I was perfeckly putten by mysel' wi' the bare thocht o't. Sae I gets on my chacket shawl an' my market bonnet, an' awa' I gangs across to my guid-brither — Johnny InkBottle, the lawyer's copying-clerk — an' I tells him what's what, an' what I wantit dune. Sae, jist to frichten John aff his mad intention, he traces oot a big fearsome-lookin' note o' interdiction against John oor John's patent alarum. 69 Muckle-din, chairgin' the said John Muckle-din wi' a' violent an' unprovoked molestation o' the neighbourhood, to the discomfort an' injury o' the lieges, an' threat'nin' a' sorts o' punishment, if the annoyance was persisted in, in the high name o' the Captain o' the Police, the which dockiment he promised to immediately send owre to John. Weel, back I gangs, an' five minutes after, an official knock comes to the door, an' a heavily-sealed an' awsome- lookin' dockiment was handed gruffly in. " John ! John ! ! what's this at a' ava ? " cried I, handin' him the legal dockiment, an' lookin' three fourths in a fent, ne'er lettin' on I kent ocht aboot it. John opened it, cannily, but deliberately, lookin' jist a thochtie blue on the subject, an', " Tib," quo' he, " it's a' letter o' interdiction against my alarum, frae the Lord Provost, nae less, wi' as mony ' Wherefor's ' an ' Whereas's ' scatter'd through it as wid cowp the wits o' onybody short o' a man wi' a poother'd wig. Weel, if that's no putten the veto on a man o' genius, I'll jump the kirk steeple." I tried to pacify him by showin' him the reasonableness o' the interdict, but — " Na, na," quo' John, " it's rale even-doon persecution ; naething short o't, Tib. They did the same thing, long ago, to Galileo- — a man of genius like mysel'. Ay ! Tib ; an' this is Great Britain, an' this the boasted 19th century! Lord, I could thraw the neck o' that narrow-souled Captain o' the Police ! His mind's no the size o' a George the Third sixpence !" Weel, to mak' a lang story short, the interdict was rumpled angrily up an' stapped viciously ahint the fire ; an' the alarum, wi' a' its patent wechts an' fastenin's, was that same nicht lowsed saucily doun, an', there and then, broken up into flinders, that an ungratefu' warld micht never profit by the idea. O'd, I never was mair pleased wi' onything in my life 70 OOR JOHN'S PATENT ALARUM. than jist to see John break up his patent machine. An' if ever oor John thinks o' constructin' anither Patent Sleep-Breakin' Alarum, I hope an' trust he'll succeed in makin' yin that'll wauken himsel', withoot exactly rousin' up a haill street. MBS MACFABLAN GANGS BOON THE WATTEB. Fair-Monday was at hand, when Mrs. Macfarlan's promised fortnicht at the coast would begin, and it was now expedient that the setting in order of the family wardrobe should be completed without further delay. Johnny's " lum hat " was irretrievably lost, and a new hat was quite outside of the question. The general purse wouldn't allow of it at all. The most that Mrs. Macfarlan could do, by way of compromising the loss, was to buy a " cut o' worset " an' knit Johnny a braw new Tarn o' Shanter according to promise. This she accordingly did, and on the Monday morning following Johnny was able to sport a grand Tarn o' Shanter bannet, with a great red " toorie " on the top of it, and showing a general breadth of body which, if it did not exactly cover the whole of Johnny's numerous family, effectively covered at least his own head and shoulders. "Weel, what think ye o' yer wife's handiwark, Johnny Macfarlan ?" asked the author o' the new Tain o' Shanter the moment her husband had clapped it on his head. " A perfect umbrella, Betty. A man could hide frae a shoo'r o' rain or a tax-gatherer under't. I hope the wind 'ill no naff t aff my heid gaun doon in the steamer the day." MRS. MACFARLAN GANGS DOON THE WATTER. 71 " Dod, ye maun watch that, Johnny. Yer lum hat was burnt the ither nicht, an' it wad be a heart-breaking affair if yer new Tarn o' Shanter was to be droon't." " Hum ! it wad be a trifle waur if I was to be droon't mysel'. Ye see, lass, it's no the bannet, but the heid that's in it. That's a general truth ; in my case it's a particular truth," and Johnny tapped his forehead, and smiled. " In your case, Johnny, it's no the bannet, but the turnip that's in it," quickly retorted Mrs. Macfarlan. " But, dod me, dinna let us waste ony mair time wranglin' owre turnips an' ither vegetables, Johnny, but rather see tae't that the weans an' a'thing are gettin' ready for the road. There, see ye that ; it's half-past eicht o'clock already, an' the boat sails at ten ! and me hisna on my bannet yet." " Only yae hale hour an' a half yet !" sarcastically observed Johnny. " I could walk to Dumbarton in that time." " Oh, ay, fiddle-faddle aboot till we're owre late for the boat ! A bonnie like husband ye are ! a fine helpmate atweel ! See that you dinna try my temper ony faurer this mornin', Johnny Macfarlan, or it'll be the waur for ye." At this juncture Johnny got out his pipe, and deliberately prepared to fill it, in view of enjoying for five minutes a nerve-soothing smoke, the accidental sight of which put his worthy spouse into a perfect rage. " Pit doon that lazy pipe this moment, Johnny Macfarlan, an' tie that wean's buits, or we'll never see Eothesay this day," she once more broke in, " an' cut up thir twa loaves into slices for 'pieces' in the boat, an' stuff them intae the port- manty alang wi' the rest o' the things ; an' dinna forget to tie up the three big umbrellas in yae bundle — ye can cairry them in yer oxter alang wi' the lave — an' get oot the perambulator; an' dinna forget to pit Saturday's Weekly Mail in yer pouch, for I hivna got time to read the stories yet, an' Johnny " 72 MRS. MACFARLAN GANGS DOON THE WATTER. "Stop! stop! I'll dae a' that, Betty! I'll dae a' that ! " " An' see that ye fix a buit lace to yer Tarn o' Shanter, an' tie it through a button-hole, Johnny ; an' mair than that " " Yes, yes, Betty ! the thing's a' richt ; but, great Csesar ! sie me time to breathe. Faith, an' the hen'll wear the cock's kame stiffly before I consent to flit to the saut watter again. I wudna gie a twa-hours ramble through the policies o' auld Camlachie, wi' the pipe in my cheek, an' a yellow butter- cup in my button-hole, for a' the saut watter atween this en New York." " Camlachie here ! Camlachie there ! " snapped Mrs. Macfarlan, " get you yer parcels under yer airm, an' set aff wi' twa-three o' the weans, or we'll never, I tell ye, be in time to catch the boat." " Ay, ay," answered Johnny, " come awa', weans. Oh, no the hale o' ye ; live or six'll dae," and picking up his parcels, including the three tied-up umbrellas, the basket perambu- lator, and the baggy portmanty, Johnny set off forthwith, followed in pairs by some half-dozen of his rather numerous family brood. " It's a fine thing to be married," thought Johnny to him- self, as he trudged heavily on, preceded by the weans — Mrs. Macfarlan bringing up a formidable rear, " it's a rale grand enterprising thing to be married." Following up her husband, Mrs. Macfarlan at length arrived at the Broomielaw, where she found Johnny in a dour " huff," and asked him, — " What's wrang noo ? " " Wrang, be hang't ! " retorted Johnny, "that infernal nichtcap ye've knitted me, to my sorrow, I fear, is faur frae being richt, whatever else is wrang! That's a' I've gob to say ! " " An' what's the maitter wi' the Tarn o' Shanter, if ye please, Mr. John Macfarlan, Esq. ? Let me tell you this, ye never MRS. MACFARLAN GANGS DOON THE WATTER. 73 look't brawer in yer born life, than ye dae in that same bannet o' my ain clever knittin' ! " " Wad ye believe this, Mrs. Elizabeth Macfarlan, Esq., when I was coming through St. Enoch Square there, a big loon of a cairter pointed at me wi' his whup, an' said to his neebor, ' D'ye mind yon, Jock : d'ye see Eab Eoy in breeks ! ' " " An' what o' that, Johnny ? " sneered Mrs. Macfarlan " Ay, an' a wee brat o' a laddie, a grocer's cadjer or something o' that kind, had the abominable impidence to ask me — ' Wha stole my toorie ? ' Waur than a', when I put up my hand to feel for't he lauched like mad ! " " But yer toorie's no' stolen ; it's on the tap of yer bannet yet, Johnny." " Oh, hang you, Betty ! Ye've nae perception o' satire ava' ; woman, yer cabbage-heided ! " "An' is that a' ye're in the dour dumps for, Johnny Macfarlan ? " Oh, ay, Mrs. Macfarlan, it's a' richt ; I've gotten my twa e'en open't this day ; I ken something I didna ken when I left the hoose half-an-hour asfo ! " " Ay, an' what's that, if you please ? " " I got a full view o' mysel' five minutes ago ! A thing I haena gotten for years. Ye don't ca' yon a lookin'-gless ye hae at name, Betty ? — a wee bit three-cornered scrap o' broken gless, about three inches square, tied up in a bit cloot, an' hung frae a nail in the wa' ! I was only able to see mysel' in bits at hame this mornin', but, haith, I've gotten a full view o' mysel' now, an' I've seen what the folks were a' glowerin' at me for. Nae wonder the cairter lad joked his neibor aboot Eab Eoy in breeks, pointing contemptshously wi' his whup-shaft at me ! The vera sicht o' me wad mak' an Englisher flee up a ' closs ' to be safe oot o' my sicht, or pap doon on his knees an' pathetically plead for mercy." " John Macfarlan, is this a' my thanks for sittin' up 74 MRS. MACFAELAN GANGS DOON THE WATTER. to a' hours knittin' a Tarn o' Shanter for ye, when I should by richts ha'e been sleepin' in niy bed ? But what's the mean- ing o' a' this bitter talk I canna understan' ; yer a cruel- hearted man ! that's what ye are ! " " Oh, ay, Betty, that's a' vera fine ; but I saw mysel' ten minutes since, as I was sayin', and I got a big fricht, I can tell ye ! " " An' pray, whaur did ye see yersel' then ? " " In yin o' the Colosseum windows owre-bye in Jamaica Street," said Johnny, assuming as grave a countenance as the joke would allow of. " An' I can tell ye, that if my Tarn o' Shanter measured an inch across the tap it covered nae less than fowr feet ! " " Is this oor boat ? " curtly asked Mrs. Macfarlan, not condescending to further parley. " Ay, Betty, this is oor boat," answered Johnny, moving promptly in the direction of the gangway, and presently they were all aboard — including the three tied-up umbrellas, the baggy portmanty, the " squealin' " basket perambulator, and alang wi' the rest — Johnny Macfarlan and his grand new Tarn o' Shanter ! " Hullo, there, Betty, whaur are ye gaun ? Woman, that's the cabin end ye're makiu' for : this way for the steerage ! " Such was Johnny's salute as he turned about on stepping aboard the steamer and saw his worthy spouse making self- conscious tracks for the cabin. Mrs. Macfarlan, however, notwithstanding that she perfectly well heard her husband's warning, did not once deign to look round, but kept moving steadily cabinwards, quite like a lady accustomed to that semi-genteel latitude — ahem ! Johnny glowered after her a moment like one bewildered. The cabin ! what was in the mad woman's head ? Stuffing the basket perambulator in among a lot of miscellaneous luggage lying on the bridge- deck, Johnny at once fixed on his auld specks, and with his MRS. MACFARLAN GANGS DOON THE WATTER. 75 three tied-up umbrellas stuck under his arms, went off to recall to reason his extravagant wife. The cabin was pretty well filled, and Johnny had some little difficulty in picking out from the rest his enterprising spouse. Very soon, however, he found her seated at the extreme end of the cabin — as far distant from the steerage as she could possibly get — with her face to the crowds that lined the quay, and her extensive family circle spread around her in very noticeable display. The picture was very highly interesting, and obviously only wanted the patriarchal- looking figure-head of Johnny himself to worthily complete the homogeneity of the general family photograph. And that philosophic figure-head was not long awanting, Johnny was there presently with his specks on, and his three tied-up umbrellas tucked under his left arm. " Mrs. Macfarlan," he began, " are ye in yer seven sober senses ? " " Never was wicer in my life, Johnny," w as the sententious reply. " Are ye aware that this is — the cabin ? " his voice lowered to an awe-inspiring whisper. " Quite aware o' that, Johnny," answered Mrs. Mac- farlan. " An' are ye gaun to sail in the cabin ? but no ! it's no possible ! " " Sit doon, man ; sit doon an' no mak' a public fule o' yersel." Johnny at once sat doon, and forthwith concluded in his own mind that the family purse was in a fatter condition than he had all along been led to believe, and that Betty was a " fly yin," and could work him when she liked, "just like meal bannocks." " Weel, Betty," he resumed after a pause, " I wisna anticipating a sail to Eothesay in the ' cabin ' when I cam' oot this mornin." 76 MRS. MACFARLAN GANGS BOON THE WATTER. "We're no gaun to llothesay in the cabin, since yer sae particular, Mr. Macfarlan." " And what in the name o' common sense are ye daein' here, then ? this is the cabin end, woman ! " " Man, ye're awfu' saft i' the heid. Talk aboot yer Tarn o' Shanter bringin' ye intae ridicule. Man yer heid's no worthy o't ; it's just covering a muckle turnip." " Confound you for a trick ! isn't this the cabin end ? " stoutly persisted the worthy husband. "Man, d'ye no ken yet, often as ye've been doon the Clyde, that they never lift the fares till they've left Dum- barton I Sit doon, Johnny, sit doon ; a fine thing it wad be if somebody in the boat here, or amang the folks on the quay there, should see us packed like sheep in the steerage, an' should gang an' tell my twa but-an'-ben neibors, Mrs. Howdie, and Mrs. Draggletails aboot it ; but if they hear