Part 12 (2/2)

=Mental Aberration=

In Lanarks.h.i.+re, Scotland, there lived, about fifty years ago, a poor crazy man, by name Will Shooler. Will was a regular attendant of the parish church in the town, on the ceiling of which there was, for ornament, a dove with outstretched wings. One Sabbath day, Will grew rather tired of the sermon, and throwing his arms and head back, he saw the dove, and exclaimed, ”O Lord! what a big hen!”

=Sunday Shaving and Milking=

On first going to Ross-s.h.i.+re to visit and preach for my friend Mr.

Carment, I asked him on the Sat.u.r.day evening before retiring to rest whether I would get warm water in the morning. Whereupon he held up a warning hand, saying: ”Whist, whist!”

On my looking and expressing astonishment, he said, with a twinkle in his eye, ”Speak of shaving on the Lord's day in Ross-s.h.i.+re, and you never need preach here more!”

In that same county Sir Kenneth Mackenzie directed my attention to a servant-girl, who, if not less scrupulous, was more logical in her practice. She astonished her master, one of Sir Kenneth's tenants, by refusing to feed the cows on the Sabbath. She was ready to milk, but by no means feed them--and her defence shows that though a fanatic, she was not a fool.

”The cows,” she said--drawing a nice metaphysical distinction between what are not and what are works of necessity and mercy that would have done honor to a casuist--”the cows canna milk themselves; so to milk them is clear work of necessity and mercy; but let them out to the fields, and they'll feed themselves.” Here certainly was _scrupulosity_; but the error was one that leaned to the right side. [15]

=A Typical Quarrel=

The story of the happy young couple who quarreled on the first day of their housekeeping life about the ”rat” or the ”mouse” which ran out of the fireplace, it seems, had its origin ”long time ago” in the incident thus done into rhyme. The last verse explains the mysterious mistake:

John Davidson, and Tib his wife, Sat toastin' their taes ae nicht, When something start.i.t in the fluir And blinkit by their sicht.

”Guidwife,” quoth John, ”did you see that moose?

Whar sorra was the cat?”

”A moose?”--”Ay, a moose.”--”Na, na, guidman, It wasna a moose! 'twas a rat.”

”Ow, ow, guidwife, to think ye've been Sae lang aboot the hoose, An' no' to ken a moose frae a rat!

Yan wasna a rat! 'twas a moose!”

”I've seen mair mice than you, guidman-- An' what think ye o' that?

Sae haud your tongue, an' say nae mair-- I tell ye, _it_ was a _rat_.”

”_Me_ haud my tongue for _you_, guidwife!

I'll be mester o' this hoose-- I saw't as plain as een could see, An' I tell ye, _it_ was a _moose_.”

”If you're the mester of the hoose, It's I'm the mistress o't; An' I ken best what's in the hoose-- Sae I tell ye, _it_ was a _rat_.”

”Weel, weel, guidwife, gae mak' the brose, An' ca' it what ye please.”

So up she rose and mad' the brose, While John sat toastin' his taes.

They supit, and supit, and supit the brose, And aye their lips played smack; They supit, and supit, and supit the brose, Till their lugs began to crack.

”Sic fules we were to fa' out, guidwife, About a moose”--”A what?

It's a lee ye tell, an' I say again, It wasna a moose, 'twas a rat.”

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