On gude Yule-day.

      Young Jack wi’ skirls he pierc’d the skies,
      I pray’d that death might close his eyes,
      But did not meet with that surprise,
                        To my regret,
      Sae had nae help, but up an’ cries
                        Het drinks to get.

      This laid their din; the drink was stale,
      An’ to’t they gaed wi’ tooth an’ nail,
      An’ wives whase rotten tusks did fail
                        Wi’ bread an’ cheese,
      They birl’d fu’ fast at butter’d ale,
                        To gie them ease.

      They ca’ upon me, then dadda,
      Come, tune your fiddle, play us a
      Jigg or hornpipe, nae mair SOL FA,
                        My bonny cock;
      The kirk an’ you maun pluck a craw
                        About young Jock.

      Play up, Sae merry as we hae been,
      Or, Wat ye wha we met yestreen,
      Or, Lass will ye lend me your leam?
                        Or, Soups o’ brandy,
      Or, Gin the kirk wad let’s alane,
                        Or, Houghmagandy.

      Sic tunes as these, yea, three or four,
      They call’d for, ill mat they cour,
      Play, cries the cummer, wi’ a glour,
                        The wanton toudy,
      Wha’ did the Dominie ding o’er,
                        Just heels o’er goudy.

      O’ music I had little skill,
      But as I could, I played my fill,
      It was my best to shaw good will;
                      Yet a’ my drift,
      Was best how I might win the hill
                      The wives to shift.

      Sae leaving them to drink het ale,
      I slipt awa’, an’ let them rail:
      Then running till my breath did fail,
                      I was right glad
      Frae kirk and wives to tak’ leg bail,--
                      Nae doubt they said.

        _The Lettergae has plaid the fool,
        And shifted the repenting-stool.
        To kirk and session bids good-day,
        He’ll o’er the hills and far away._

THE SEQUEL.

      Now, loving friends I hae you left,
      Ye ken I neither stole nor reft,
      But when I found myself infeft,
                      In a young Jack,
      I did resolve to change the haft
                      For that mistak’.

      An’ reasons mae I had anew,
      For I had neither horse nor cow;
      My stock took wings an’ aff it flew,
                      Sae a’ was gone,
      An’ deil a flee had I was new
                      Except young John.

      Too aft my thirsty throat to cool,
      I went to visit the punch bowl,
      Which makes me now wear reddish wool
                      Instead o’ black;
      Or I must foot the cutty stool
                      Wi’ deil a plack.

      The chappen-stoup, the pint an’ gill,
      Too aft I caused for to fill,
      Ay loving those wha would sit still,
                      An’ wet the mouth,
      Ne’er minding that the TULLO-HILL,
                      Leads people south.

      O but that loving laird Kingswells
      My blessings flow where his foot swells,
      Lang life to him whate’er befals,
                      God be his guide,
      He’s cured a thousand thirsty sauls,
                      An’ mine beside.

      O had I but thae days again,
      Which I sae freely spent in vain,
      I’d strive some better for to ken.
                      What future chance
      Should blaw me here out o’er the main,
                      An’ sae near France.

      But since that ills maun ay befall
      The chiel that will be prodigal;
      When wasted to the very spaul
                      He turns his tusk,
      For want o’ comfort to his saul,
                      On hungry husk.

      Now since I’m aff sae mony a mile,
      There’s naething got without some toil,
      I’ll wait; cross fortune yet may smile,
                      Come want, come wealth,
      I’ll tak’ a pint in the mean while,
                      To Heilden’s health.

      Sae, for a time, friends fare ye weel,
      My pot companions, true and leel,
      I wish ye all a merry yule,
                      Much mirth and glee
      Nae mair young Jacks into the creel
                      That day for me.

      _Some other Yule may yet cast up,
        When we again shall meet,
      To drown our sorrows in a cup,
        In case we live to see’t._

ELEGY ON MAGGY JOHNSTON,

_Who died Anno Domini, 1711_

      Auld Reeky mourn in sable hue,
      Let fouth o’ tears dreep like May dew,
      To bra’ tippeny bid adieu,
                      Which we wi’ greed,
      Bended as fast as she could brew,
                      But now she’s dead.

      To tell the truth now, Maggy dang,
      O’ customers she had a bang;
      For lairds an’ sutors a’ did thrang
                        To drink bedeen;
      The barn an’ yard was aft sae thrang,
                        We took the green.

      An’ there by dizens we lay down,
      Syne sweetly ca’d the healths aroun’,
      To bonny lasses, black or brown,
                        As we lo’ed best;
      In bumpers we dull cares did drown,
                        An’ took our rest.

      When in our pouch we fand some clinks,
      An’ took a turn o’er Bruntsfield Links,
      Aften in Maggy’s, at Hay-jinks,
                        We guzzl’d scuds,
      Till we could scarce, wi’ hale-out drinks
                        Cast aff our duds.

      We drank an’ drew, an’ fill’d again,
      O wow! but we were blythe an’ fain:
      When ony had their count mistane,
                        O it was nice,
      To hear us a’ cry pick your bane,
                        An’ spell your dice.

      Fou close we us’d to drink an’ rant,
      Until we baith did glowr and gaunt,
      An’ pish, an’ spue, an’ yesk, an’ maunt,
                        Right swash I trow,
      Then aff auld stories we did chaunt,
                        Whan we were fou.

      Whan we were wearied at the gouff,
      Then Maggy Johnston’s was our houff,
      Now a’ our gamesters may sit douff,
                    Wi’ hearts like lead.
      Death wi’ his rung reach’d her a youff,
                    An’ sae she’s dead.

      Maun we be forc’d thy skill to tine,
      For which we will right sair repine?
      Or hast thou left to bairns o’ thine,
                    The pauky knack,
      O brewing ale amaist like wine,
                    That gar’d us crack?

      Sae brawly did a pease-scon toast.
      Biz i’ the quaff, and flee the frost,
      There we gat fu’ wi’ little cost,
                    An’ muckle speed;
      Now wae worth death, our sport’s a’ lost,
                    Since Maggy’s dead.

      Ae summer night I was sae fu’,
      Amang the riggs I gaed to spew,
      Syne down on a green bank I trow,
                    I took a nap,
      An’ sought a night balillilu,
                    As soun’s a tap.

      An’ whan the dawn began to glow,
      I hirsled up my dizzy pow,
      Frae ’mang the corn like worry-kow,
                    Wi’ banes fu’ sair,
      An’ kend nae mair than if a yow,
                    How I came there.

      Some said it was the pith o’ broom,
      That she stow’d in her masking loom,
      Which in our heads rais’d sic a foom,
                      Or some wild seed,
      Which aft the chappen-stoup did toom,
                      But fill’d our head.

      But now since ’tis sae that we must,
      Not in the best ale put our trust,
      But when we’re auld return to dust,
                      Without remead;
      Why should we tak’ it in disgust,
                      Since Maggy’s dead.

      O’ wardly comforts she was rife,
      An’ liv’d a lang and hearty life,
      Right free o’ care, or toil, or strife,
                      Till she was stale;
      An’ kend to be a canny wife
                      At brewing ale.

      Then farewell Maggy, douce and fell,
      O’ brewers a’ ye bore the bell;
      Let a’ your gossips yelp and yell,
                      An’ without feed,
      Guess whither ye’re in heaven or hell,
                      They’re sure ye’re dead.

FINIS.

  ODDS AND ENDS,

  OR, A

  GROAT’S-WORTH OF FUN

  FOR A PENNY.

  Being a Collection of the best Jokes, Comic
  Stories, Anecdotes, BonMots, &c.

  The Piper who was carried away for dead during the Plague
  in London, but revived before interment.--See p. 22.

  PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

A

GROAT’S-WORTH OF FUN

FOR A PENNY.

A Sailor taking a walk in a field, observed a bull rapidly
advancing towards him--‘Helm a-lee, messmate,’ he cried out at the
top of his voice. The bull, however, probably not comprehending the
injunction, speedily levelled his adviser with the ground. ‘There,
you stupid,’ said the tar, as he raised himself, evidently more in
sorrow than in anger, on his elbow, ‘didn’t I tell you you’d run
foul of me.’

THE GREY ASS.--Shortly after the Battle of Waterloo, and while
the Duke of Wellington was at the height of his popularity, the
Boniface of a village inn somewhere in England, whose establishment
flourished under the name of ‘The Grey Ass,’ resolved to add to the
popularity of his house by substituting a painting of the Great
Captain, for the one which had so long dangled above his door. So
resolved, so done. A travelling artist was employed; the ‘Grey
Ass’ was obliterated; and the Duke ‘reigned in his stead.’ Alas,
however, for the uncertainty of human calculations; this event, to
which he had looked forward with the certainty of its increasing
his business, and consequently his coffers, proved to our landlord
a source of bitter vexation and disappointment;--a rival in the
village had adopted his discarded sign, and as the country bumpkins
were better acquainted with their old friend the Ass, than with
his new successor, the consequence was that they followed their
old acquaintance and left the Duke ‘alone with his glory.’ This
was not to be borne; our landlord, having nothing else to do, put
his brains to steep to devise some plan to counteract his fatal
error; and the result of his cogitations appeared shortly after
in an addition to his signboard, immediately under the figure of
the Duke, on which was painted, in large letters, the significant
intimation--‘This is the Old Grey Ass.’ Whether the exhibition
of the Duke of Wellington, with such an addition to his titles,
produced the desired effect, we have not learned.

A person desiring to be witty at the expense of a Jew whom he met,
accosted him thus--‘’Tis a wonder, Isaac, that we never hear of
the death of a Jew, or a Jack-ass; how does it happen, eh?’ ‘Well,
mishter,’ replied Isaac, ‘I does’nt rightly know; but perhaps you
and I will be the first in this neighbourhood.’

The following exquisite lines, the result of a true appreciation of
the sublime and beautiful in nature, are copied from the Album kept
at a small inn on the Banks of the Windermere, in Cumberland--

      I never eats no meat,
        Nor drinks no beer,
      But sighs and ruminates
        On Windermere.

Mr. Ogilvie, minister of the parish of Lunan, in the county of
Forfar, had a great deal of eccentricity in his composition.
One Sunday an old woman, who kept a public-house in the parish,
with whom Mr. Ogilvie was well acquainted, fell asleep in the
church during sermon--not an uncommon occurrence. Her neighbour
kept jogging in order to awake her. Mr. Ogilvie observing this,
cried out, ‘Let her alane, I’ll waken her mysel’, I’ll warrant
ye.’--‘Phew! phew! (_whistling_) a bottle o’ ale an’ a dram,
Janet.’--‘Comin’ Sir.’ was instantly replied.--‘There now,’ says
the minister, ‘I tald ye it wadna be lang afore that I waken’d her!’

AN OBEDIENT WIFE.--A Mr. P----n, of Dublin, was one morning
boasting among his friends that he had the _best wife in the
world_, and the reason he gave was, that _she did every thing that
he bid her_. ‘By Jasus,’ said one of the party, ‘I’ll bet a dinner
for the present party, that she will not boil a roasting pig.’
‘Done,’ said the husband. To market a messenger was despatched
to buy the pig, the company taking care that the husband should
have no means of communication with home. The pig being brought,
was sent to his house with this message, ‘that Mrs. P----n was
to have the roasting pig boiled, and sent to a certain tavern in
time for dinner!’ The messenger, on delivering the pig to cookee,
was accosted with, ‘sure now, the master is mad!--boil a roasting
pig!--By Jasus, I’ll not boil the pig! Sure and now you have made
a big blunder! Boil a roasting pig, indeed! But, however, a pig is
a pig, and I’ll take it to the mistress; and sure and now it is a
big blunder! Boil a roasting pig! Was ever such a matter as that?’
At the hour appointed came the dish under a cover; and as cookee
passed up the room to place it on the table, ‘is the pig boiled
or roasted?’ whispered every body in his ear. Not a word spake
cookee; but, on uncovering the dish, the roasting pig was boiled
sure enough; and Mrs P----n pronounced universally ‘to be the most
obedient wife in Dublin.’--(A true story, as Pat would say.)

MARCH OF INTELLECT.--A gentleman the other day visiting Mr. Wood’s
school in Edinburgh, had a book put into his hand for the purpose
of examining a class. The word _inheritance_ occurring in the
verse, the querist interrogated the youngster as follows:--‘What is
inheritance?’ A. ‘Patrimony.’ ‘What is patrimony?’ A. ‘Something
left by a father.’ ‘What would you call it if left by a mother?’ A.
‘_Matrimony._’

What colours were the _winds_ and _waves_ the last tempest at sea?
Answer--The winds _blew_ and the waves _rose_.

A gentleman walking along Parliament-street, towards the Abbey,
overtook a butcher who had a tray filled with sheeps’ heads on his
shoulder; the butcher was humming a tune, and his lightheartedness
induced the gentleman to observe to him, that he had more brains
than most men. ‘Yes, Sir,’ said the butcher, ‘I am carrying them to
the House of Lords.’ ‘Aye, aye,’ said a by-stander, they are very
much wanted there.

Sir Isaac Newton was once riding over Salisbury plain, when a
boy keeping sheep called to him, ‘Sir, you had better make haste
on, or you will get a wet jacket.’ Newton, looking round, and
observing neither clouds nor a speck on the horizon, jogged on,
taking very little notice of the rustic’s information. He had made
but a few miles, when a storm suddenly arising wetted him to the
skin. Surprised at the circumstance, and determined, if possible,
to ascertain how an ignorant boy had attained a precision and
knowledge in the weather, of which the wisest philosophers would
be proud, he immediately rode back, wet as he was. ‘My lad,’ said
Newton, ‘I’ll give thee a guinea if thou wilt tell me how thou
canst foretel the weather so truly.’ ‘Will ye, Sir? I will then,’
said the boy, scratching his head, and holding out his hand for
the guinea. ‘Now, Sir,’ having received the money, and pointed to
his sheep, ‘when you see that black ram turn his tail towards the
wind, ’tis a sure sign of rain within an hour.’ ‘What! exclaimed
the philosopher, ‘must I, in order to foretel the weather, stay
here and watch which way that black ram turns his tail?’ ‘Yes Sir.’
Off rode Newton quite satisfied with his discovery, but not much
inclined to avail himself of it or recommend it to others.

MILITARY MANŒUVRE.--A few days since a gallant and distinguished
military officer, who, though unlike Falstaff in one respect,
possesses among other characteristics of that celebrated person,
his facetious disposition, and goodness of heart, was passing along
Deansgate, when he observed a crowd surrounding a shop door, and
inquired the cause. He was told that an unlucky urchin had just
fractured a pane of glass, and that the shopkeeper was detaining
him in pledge for the payment of the damage. ‘How much is it?’
inquired the son of Mars.--‘Half-a-crown,’ was he answer.--‘Oh,
is that all?’ rejoined the officer, and thereupon unbuttoned one
of his breeches’ pockets which the unwitting shopkeeper considered
as an indication that the money was forthcoming, and with this
pleasing anticipation let off the boy, who was soon out of the
way. The gallant tactician observing the success of his plan,
and having now had his hand in his pocket a sufficient length of
time, deliberately re-buttoned up his treasure, and with suitable
_nonchalance_ laughed and rode away, to the no small amusement of
the spectators, who raised a loud shout at the painful expense of
the disappointed tradesman.

Being in company, and the ‘Tuscan grape’ producing more riot than
concord, Foote saw one gentleman so far gone in debate as to throw
the bottle at his antagonist’s head, upon which, catching the
missile in his hand, he restored the harmony of the company, by
observing, that if the bottle was passed so quickly, not one of
them would be able to stand out the evening.

A lady, seeing her lover running in great haste to meet her,
observed to him, that he must be in a very great hurry to run
so fast. ‘Madam,’ replied the lover, ‘I was _following_ my
inclination.’

THE WEEPING WIDOW.

      Lady B----, who, in public, bewails her dead spouse,
        While in private, her thoughts on another are turning;
      Reminds us of lighting a fire with green boughs,
        Which weep at one end, while the other is burning.

A Lord Lieutenant, going over to Ireland with his lady and family,
was in his passage, overtaken by so violent a storm, that the
mariners themselves gave the vessel over for lost, and expected
every minute that she would either founder or go ashore. At this
juncture a sailor observing one of the menials standing pale with
fear at the cabin door, came up to him, and asked him if ever he
had _lain_ with the duchess. ‘No,’ says the poor fellow, frightened
at such waggery in such a dangerous time. ‘Why then,’ says the tar,
‘you have that pleasure to come; for by G----, we shall _lie_ with
her grace in less than half an hour.’ The duke, who overheard this,
when the storm was abated, and the danger was over, sent the fellow
a handsome present, and forgave him the impudence of the jest.

ACCOMMODATION.--The following curious notice was affixed to the
residence of a gentleman, whose premises had suffered by some
nightly depredators.--‘Notice, those persons who have been in
the habit of stealing my fence for a considerable time past, are
respectfully informed, that if agreeable to them it will be more
convenient to me if they steal my wood, and leave the fence for the
present, and as it may be some little inconvenience getting over
the paling, the gate is left open for their accommodation.

ANONYMOUS BAPTISM.--The late Mr. M’Cubbin of Douglas, a most
happy humourist, and who was seldom outwitted, had his gravity
severely put to the test upon one occasion when officiating in a
neighbouring congregation, by a rustic who was no less impudent
than ignorant. After having administered the vows, and received
the satisfactory nods, the clown reached up the child towards
the pulpit to receive the initiatory sprinkling without either
whispering the name or tendering _a line_ to that effect. The
minister had for a considerable time bent his head, and inclined
his head to no purpose; until at last his patience beginning to
fail, he addressed the sponsor in rather a surly tone, ‘Your
child’s name?’ Not a syllable from the man! Mr. M’Cubbin repeated
very audibly, ‘Your child’s name, Sir?’ ‘Ye’ve naething ado wi’
that,’ rejoined the fellow, ‘gie ye’t its water,’ which the good
man was obliged to do, to the no small merriment of the gaping
congregation.

Daniel Purcel, the Hibernian punster, going along with a great mob
of spectators assembled to see a culprit pass to his execution at
Tyburn, asked a genteel person, who was standing in the crowd, what
was the name of the fellow going to be hanged. He answered, ‘One
Vowel.’ ‘Ah!’ said Purcel, ‘Do you know which of them it is, for
there are several of that name?’ ‘No,’ returned the other, ‘I do
not.’ ‘Well,’ said the wag, ‘this however is certain, and I am very
glad of it, that it is neither _U_ nor _I_.’

When the Leith Docks were to be opened, old Gow’s band was summoned
to play some appropriate air, and Sir Walter Scott suggested ‘Water
parted from the sea.’

MILITARY ETIQUETTE.--During the late rebellion in Ireland, General
Berresford (now Peer and Field-Marshal) commanded a district,
and, upon one occasion, proceeded to inspect a country Corps of
Yeomanry, drawn up for that purpose. On riding up to their front,
instead of being received with ‘presented arms,’ he found the corps
‘standing at ease.’ The Captain had, in fact, on first seeing the
General, given the word ‘attention,’ to which no attention was
paid--but, pressed by the General’s rapid approach, he proceeded
to the next order of his formula, ‘shoulder arms.’ To add to his
embarrassment, however, the arms moved not. The General, with his
characteristic good-nature, suggested to the Commandant to speak
in a louder tone, who, not a little indignant, repeated with a
Stentorian voice, ‘shoulder arms,’ but all to no purpose; there
stood the corps, dogged and motionless. Such a total apparent
ignorance of the manual exercise, naturally excited the chagrin
of the Captain, and the astonishment of the General, to whom the
former only a few days before had been puffing off the discipline
of his corps. At length, the General having intimated his intention
of reporting the corps, was about to leave the field, when a
Serjeant with his ‘halbert recovered,’ stepped in front of the
ranks, and addressed the General in the following terms:--‘Plase
your honour, General; don’t think the corpse does not know its
exercise as well as any sojers in the land. There is not min in
the country knows how to use their arms, aye and their legs, too,
bitter than those afore you; but since you must know the thruth,
Sir, the _min_ and the Captain of late have not been on _spaking
terms_.’

WHO AND HOO.--A little girl lately brought a volume to a Glasgow
librarian, with the following message:--‘John sent me wi’ this
book, and he wants the next ane.’ ‘And who is John,’ questioned the
man of books, to which the girl very readily answered, ‘he’s gettin
better.’

A CERTIFICATE EASILY GOT.--As the late Mr G----, farmer at
Duddingstone, once stood at his gate, an Irish lad came up to him
and requested to be employed.

Mr. G.--Go away, sir, I will never employ any of your country again.

Irishman.--Why, your honour? sure we are good workers? God bless
you, do give me a job.

Mr. G.--No, sir, I wont; for the last Irishman I employed died upon
me, and I was forced to bury him at my own charge.

Irishman.--Ah! your honour, you need not fear that of me, for I can
get you a certificate that I never died in the employment of any
master I ever served.

There was no resisting. Poor Paddy got employed at once, and
remained a faithful servant until his master’s death.

A LAZY HORSE.--Some time ago, a jolly farmer from D---- went to
Falkirk for ‘sax furlots o’ beans,’ which he had trysted from a
Carse farmer, near B----. After spending the day in dram-drinking
and fun with his cronies, about the going down of the sun’ he
bethought himself of stepping home. The landlord of the S----
public house, with the assistance of his stable-boy, got the
beans, and what was more difficult still, the ‘gudeman himsel’’
on horseback. So off Saunders got almost galloping. Unluckily,
however, at a sharp turning of the road on his route, down came
our hero, beans an’ a’. The whisky (wae be till’t) had so deranged
his powers of perception, that he mounted his bean-sack instead
of his mare, that was standing at some distance, no doubt well
pleased to see her master belabouring the bean-sack instead of
her own bony protuberances. At this moment up comes one of his
neighbours, who had, like himself, staid too long in Falkirk, and
seeing a man riding on a sack in the middle of the road, at that
time of the night, made a solemn pause. After listening a while,
he began to conjecture who it was, and venturing a little nearer
he exclaims,--‘Preserve us, what are you doing here?’--‘What am I
doing here!’ says Saunders, ‘I’ve been fechtin’ this twa hours wi’
that stupid mare o’ mine, and deil ae fit she’ll lift yet.’

MY SHIRT.

      As _Bayes_, whose cup with poverty was dash’d,
      Lay snug in bed, while his one shirt was wash’d;
      The dame appeared, and holding it to view,
      Said, ‘If ’tis washed again, ’twill wash in two.’
      ‘Indeed,’ cried _Bayes_; then wash it, pray, good cousin,
      And, wash it, if you can, into a _dozen_!’

A farmer who regularly attends Devizes market, some short time
since, (finding the article unsaleable) gave another farmer 100
bushels of potatoes, which he was to send for, and on meeting
there, the following dialogue took place:--‘How did the ’taties
turn out?’ ‘Oh, main, good; I never eated better uns for the time
o’ year, and they are pretty nigh gone.’ ‘Well, thee may ha’ some
more on um if thee likest.’ ‘Why if I do, thee and me must ha’
a fresh agreement.’ ‘Fresh agreement! why dint I gie thee the
’taties?’ ‘Ah, but I can’t afford to ha’ ony more if thee don’t pay
one of the pikes!’ The waggon had to pass two turnpike gates, the
toll at one was 4d. and the other 4½d.

THE BANE AND ANTIDOTE.--The town bellman of Kirriemuir having
received a written advertisement to that effect, proclaimed in
the midst of the assembled multitude, on a fair day, in that
ancient burgh of regality or barony, as follows:--‘Notish--All
persons driving their cattle through the lands of Logie, to or
from the market, will be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of
law.’ And, immediately after, by way of sedative to the natives,
exclaimed--‘Ye needna mind a’ this, lads; it’s only a haver o’ the
grieve’s!’

A simple Highland girl, on her way home for the north, called, as
she passed by Crieff, upon an old master with whom she had formerly
served. Being kindly invited by him to share in the family dinner,
and the usual ceremony of asking a blessing having been gone
through, the poor girl, anxious to compliment, as she conceived,
her ancient host, exclaimed, ‘Ah, master, ye maun hae a grand
memory, for that’s the grace ye had when I was wi’ you seven years
ago.’

A LAST CENTURY ANECDOTE.--Mr. Ross, Pitcalnie, an ingenious
humourist, who spent his latter years chiefly in Edinburgh, was one
night (about the year 1780) reeling home in a state of intoxication
through St. Andrew-Square, when his fancy suggested to him the
following amusing hoax upon Sir Lawrence Dundas. It occurred to
his remembrance, on seeing Sir Lawrence’s fine house (now the
office of the Royal Bank of Scotland), that that gentleman was
then known to be engaged in the laudable business of prevailing
upon the members of the town council of Edinburgh to elect him
their representative in parliament, and that he had already secured
the approbation of so many of these worthy trustees of the public
interest that, but for one recusant deacon, he was certain of his
election. It was known that Sir Lawrence had tried every possible
means to bring over this dissentient voice, but hitherto without
success; and there was some reason to apprehend that, after all the
pains he had expended upon the rest, the grand object would not
eventually be accomplished. Pitcalnie bethought him to assume the
name of the deacon, to enter the house of the candidate, call for
what entertainment he pleased, and, finally, as Sir Lawrence was
confined to bed with gout, to go away without being discovered. No
sooner had he settled the plan in his own mind than he proceeded to
put it in execution. Reeling up to the door he rung the bell with
all the insolent violence which might have been expected from so
consequential a person as the individual he wished to personate,
and presently down came a half-dressed lacquey, breathing curses,
not loud but deep, against the cause of this unseasonable
annoyance. ‘Tell your master,’ said Pitcalnie, ‘that Deacon ----
(mentioning the name of the important elector) wishes to see him.’
When the man went up, and told Sir Lawrence that Deacon ---- had
come drunk to the door, wishing to see him, the heart of the
old gentleman leapt within him, and he instantly sent down his
compliments to his respected visitor, begging him to excuse his
non-appearance, which was only owing to extremity of illness, but
entreating that he would enter, and in every respect use the house
as his own. Pitcalnie grunted out an assent to the last part of the
message, and, being shown into a room, began to call lustily about
him. In the first place he ordered a specimen of Sir Lawrence’s
port, next of his sherry, then of his claret, and lastly of his
champagne. When he had drunk as much as he could, and given a
most unconscionable degree of trouble to the whole household, he
staggered off, leaving it to Sir Lawrence to come, next day, to the
best explanation he could with the deacon.

‘If Britannia rules the waves,’ said a qualmish writing-master,
going to Margate in a storm, ‘I wish she’d rule them straighter.’

An Irishman having a looking glass in his hand, shut his eyes, and
placed it before his face; another asking him why he did so, ‘Upon
my soul,’ says Teague, ‘it is to see how I look when I am asleep.’

A lady that had married a gentleman who was a tolerable poet, one
day sitting alone with him, said, ‘come my dear, you write upon
other people--prithee, write something for me: let me see what
epitaph you’ll bestow on me when dead.’ ‘Oh! my dear,’ replied he,
‘that’s a melancholy subject! don’t think of it.’ ‘Nay, upon my
life, you shall,’ says she; ‘come, I’ll begin: _Here lies_ Bid.’ To
which he answered, ‘Ah! I wish she did.’

Mr. O’Connel, who is remarkable for the successful verdicts he
obtains, having been lately robbed of his wardrobe, replied to a
friend that was lamenting his loss, ‘Never mind, my dear Sir; for
surely as I have gained so many _suits_, I can afford to lose a
few.’

The late Mr. Murray, who was of a very credulous disposition, was
telling a very strange and improbable story, when he observed
Fawcett cast a very doubtful eye. ‘Zounds, Sir,’ says he, ‘I saw
the thing happen.’ ‘If you did,’ says Fawcett, ‘I _must_ believe
it; but by ---- I would not have believed it if I had seen it
myself.’

A countryman busy sowing his ground, two smart fellows riding that
way, one of them called to him with an insolent air, ‘Well, honest
fellow,’ said he, ‘’tis your business to sow, but we reap the
fruits of your labour.’ To which the countryman replied, ‘’Tis very
like you may, for I am sowing hemp.’

Lady Carteret, wife of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in Swift’s
time, said to him, ‘the air of this country is good.’ ‘For God’s
sake, Madam,’ said Swift, ‘don’t say so in England; if you do, they
will certainly tax it.’

When Mr. Wilberforce was a candidate for Hull, his sister, an
amiable and witty young lady, offered the compliment of a new gown
to each of the wives of those freemen who voted for her brother, on
which, she was saluted with a cry of ‘Miss Wilberforce for ever!’
when she pleasantly observed--‘Thank you, gentlemen, but I cannot
agree with you, for, really, I do not wish to be _Miss Wilberforce_
for ever.’

An elderly man, from the Braes of Athol, who had never seen either
a ship or sea in his life, once chanced to be crossing from
Kinghorn to Leith on a very stormy day, and as the vessel heeled
terribly, he ran to the cords and held down with his whole vigour,
to keep her from upsetting. ‘For to sake of our lhives, shentles,
come and hold town!’ cried he; ‘or if you will nhot pe helping
mhe, I’ll lhet you all go to te bhottom in one mhoment. And you
ploughman tere, cannot you kheep te howe of te furr, and no gang
ower te crown of te rhiggs avaw? Heich?’ The steersman at this
laughing aloud, the Highlander was irritated, and with one of the
levers he ran and knocked him down. ‘Nhow! laugh you nhow?’ said
he; ‘and you weel deserve it all, for it was you who put her so
mhad, kittling her thail with tat pin.’

There is but one instance known, in which King James II. made a
reply of wit and humour. After King William had landed, it was
announced to James II.: ‘Sire, such a great lord has left you,
and has gone over to King William.’ Prince George of Denmark,
exclaimed, ‘est il possible!’ Again it was announced to James, that
another great lord had gone over to William: ‘est il possible!’
again exclaimed Prince George: and so he did always--exclaiming,
‘est il possible!’ upon every new defection. At last, Prince George
himself went over to William; and when his defection was announced
to James II., ‘What,’ said the King, is ‘_est il possible_’ gone
too.

A Highlander from the small isles, who had never been in a church,
or heard a sermon in his life, came over to a sacrament on the
mainland, and the service being in his native tongue, he paid great
attention till the psalm was given out, for he had missed the
first one. When the precentor fell a-bawling out, Donald could not
comprehend that, and called to some to stop him; but how was he
astounded, when the whole congregation fell a-gaping and bawling
with all their energy! Donald, conceiving it altogether a fit of
madness, of which the precentor was the primary cause, bustled up
to him, and gave him a blow on the side of the head, till the book
dropped from his hand. ‘What do you mean, sir,’ said the clerk.
‘Humph! pe you taking tat,’ said Donald; ‘for you was te pekinner
of tis tamn toohoe!’

George the Fourth, when Prince of Wales, meeting Mr. Colman at
a convivial party, composed of the first wits of the day, gaily
observed, that there were two George the Youngers in company.
‘But,’ continued his royal highness, ‘I should like to know who is
George the Youngest?’ ‘Oh!’ replied Colman, very happily, ‘I could
never have had the rudeness to come into the world before your
royal highness.’

Foote and Carrick were at a tavern together, at the time when the
gold coin was regulated. Foote taking out his purse to pay his
reckoning, asked Carrick what he should do with a light guinea.
‘Pshaw! it is worth nothing,’ said Carrick; ‘so fling it to the
devil.’ ‘Well, David,’ said Foote, ‘you are an ingenious fellow, as
I always thought you; ever contriving to make a guinea go _farther_
than any other man.’

One day Bannister was obliged to take shelter from the rain in a
comb-maker’s shop, in Holborn, where an old man was at work. ‘I am
sorry,’ said he, ‘that a person of your time of life should suffer
so much pain.’ ‘Pain! I have no pain, thank God!’ said the man.
‘Surely you must,’ said the wit, ‘are you not cutting your teeth?’

Coming into a coffee-house one stormy night, Bannister said, ‘I
never saw such a wind in my life.’ ‘Saw a wind,’ said a friend;
‘pray what was it like?’ ‘Like,’ answered Bannister, ‘like to have
blown my hat off.’

EPIGRAM.

      ‘Is my wife out of spirits,’ said Sir John, with a sigh;
        (For he fear’d that a tempest was forming:)
      ‘Quite out, sir, indeed,’ said her maid in reply,
        ‘She finished the _brandy_ this morning.’

One day going to Holland House, by the Hammersmith stage, Rogers
was mortified to find that by the delay of the coachman he had
missed meeting with the noble proprietor. ‘Why, bless my heart,’
said he, looking at his watch, ‘you have been considerably more
than an hour bringing me here! What do you call your coach?’ ‘The
Regulator, Sir,’ said the man. ‘The Regulator!’ replied Rogers; ‘it
is a very proper title--for all the other stage coaches go _by_ it.’

A lady observing Mr. Jekyll directing some letters, one of which
was addressed to ‘Mr. ----, Solicitor;’ and another to ‘Mr. ----,
Attorney;’ inquired what was the difference between an attorney and
a solicitor. ‘Much the same, my dear Madam,’ replied the wit, ‘as
there is between a _crocodile_ and an _alligator_.’

POOR LAWS.--A man in the last stage of destitution, came before
the sitting Magistrate, at Lambeth Street, and stated that having
by the operation of the new Poor Laws, been suddenly deprived
of parish assistance, he was reduced to such extremity, that if
not instantly relieved he must be driven to do a deed that his
soul abhorred. The worthy Magistrate instantly ordered him five
shillings from the poor-box, and after a suitable admonition
against giving way to despair, asked him what dreadful deed he
would have been impelled to, but for this seasonable relief; ‘To
work,’ said the man with a deep sigh as he left the office.

SCOTCH FRUGALITY.--A commercial traveller having got a settlement
of his account with a shopkeeper in Falkirk, invited him to dinner
at the inn. ‘Na, na,’ said he, ‘I never gang to an inn; I’ll no
gang. But just tell me how muckle it would cost you gi’eing me my
dinner at the inn as ye ca’d?’ ‘Oh! never mind that,’ said the
traveller. ‘Aye, but I want to ken--just tell me,’ added he behind
the counter. ‘Oh,’ said the traveller, ‘perhaps six or seven
shillings.’ ‘Very weel, then,’ replied the curmudgeon, ‘just gi’e
me the seven shillings.’

A MAN OF FAMILY.--A decent highlander in Badenoch called lately
upon the minister of the parish, and making his bow, hoped ‘that
Mr ---- would look in at his house some day and christen _a few
bairns_ for him.’ ‘A few bairns!’ exclaimed the minister, ‘what
way is that to speak, Donald; how many have you got?’ ‘Why, sir,’
replied the other, ‘there were three when I left the house, but I
canna tell how many there may be since.’

BLESSINGS OF PRIMOGENITURE.--A countryman whose master had two
sons, being asked one day whether the youngest was married?
replied, ‘Yes.’ ‘Is the oldest married too? ‘Na,’ said the
sagacious servant, ‘ye ken he’s the young laird; he canna get a
wife till his father dies.’

A certain worthy divine from the north, who visits the general
assembly of the kirk of Scotland every year, has for time
immemorial taken up his annual abode in a certain tavern in
Edinburgh. This healthy mountaineer has an instinctive horror at
all deleterious mixtures in human food, whether solid or liquid;
and the reason he assigned for frequenting the above tavern was,
that he could always command the luxury of fresh eggs to breakfast.
These he always boiled himself, and would take none except he
found them hot from the nest. This year he appeared as usual,
like the bittern at her appointed time; but, unfortunately, he
laid his forepaw on a couple of plump eggs, but quite cold, and
apparently not laid yesterday. The man of the church waxed wroth,
and summoned the waiter. Betty assured him they were fresh, but
could not explain why they were cold. The landlady was next taken
to task, and threatened with the loss of a customer unless this
suspicious phenomenon was satisfactorily cleared up. ‘’Deed, sir,’
replied the hostess, ‘I am unco sorry for’t; but to tell Gude’s
truth, sir, I couldna get the cat to sit on them this morning.’

A SAILOR’S NOTION.--A Sailor, seeing some of our domestic
slave-traders driving coloured men, women, and children on board
a ship for New Orleans market, shook his head and said, ‘Jim, if
the devil don’t catch them fellows, we might as well not have any
devil.’

An American paper says--‘Travellers should be careful to intrust
their baggage to proper persons only, as a gentleman a few days
since, on alighting from a stage-coach, intrusted his wife to a
stranger, and she has not been heard of since.’

MONTAIGNE retained during the whole of his life an elderly female
in his service, who had been the nurse of his childhood, and to
whom he was in the habit of reading his compositions, on the
principle that if she could understand them everybody else must.
On one occasion the philosopher, whilst sipping his morning dish
of coffee, accosted her as follows:--‘Nurse, I have made a deep
discovery this morning.’ ‘Indeed,’ replied the old lady; ‘what is
that?’ ‘Why, nurse, you need not tell any one, but I have actually
found out what no one else could suspect.’ ‘And what is that, Sir.’
‘Why, that I am an old fool.’ ‘La! Sir! is that all?’ observed the
good woman; ‘if you had but asked me I could have told you that 20
years ago--I have seen it all along.’

THE BAGPIPER.--During the great plague of London, carts were sent
round the city each night, the drivers of which rung a bell, as
intimation for every house to bring out its dead. The bodies
were then thrown promiscuously into the cart, conveyed to the
suburbs, and buried. A piper had his constant stand at the bottom
of Holborn, near St Andrew’s Church. He became well known about
the neighbourhood. A certain gentleman, who never failed in his
generosity to the piper, was surprised, on passing one day as
usual, to miss him from his accustomed place:--upon inquiry, he
found that the poor man had been taken ill in consequence of a
very singular accident. On the joyful occasion of the arrival of
one of his countrymen from the Highlands, the piper had in fact
made too free with the contents of his keg; these so overpowered
his faculties, that he stretched himself out upon the steps of the
church, and fell fast asleep. He was found in this situation when
the dead cart went its rounds; and the carter, supposing that the
man was dead, made no scruple to put his fork under the piper’s
belt, and hoisted him into his vehicle, that our Scottish musician
should share the usual brief ceremonies of interment. The piper’s
faithful dog protested against this seizure of his master, jumped
into the cart after him, to the no small annoyance of the men,
whom he would not suffer to come near the body; he further took
upon himself the office of chief mourner, by setting up the most
lamentable howling as they passed along. The streets and roads by
which they had to go being very rough, the jolting of the cart,
added to the howling of the dog, had soon the effect of awakening
our drunken musician from his trance. It was dark; and the piper,
when he first recovered himself, could form no idea either of his
numerous companions, or his conductors. Instinctively, however, he
felt for his pipes, and playing up a merry Scottish tune, terrified
in no small measure the carters, who fancied they had got a legend
of ghosts in their conveyance. A little time, however, put all to
rights;--lights were got, and it turned out that the noisy corpse
was the well known living piper, who was joyfully released from his
awful and perilous situation. The poor man fell badly ill after
his unpleasant excursion, and was relieved during his malady by
his former benefactor, who, to perpetuate the remembrance of so
wonderful an escape, resolved, as soon as his patient recovered, to
employ a sculptor to execute him in stone. The statue represents a
bagpiper in a sitting posture, playing on his pipes.

PUFFING IN STYLE.--A few days ago a hawker, while cheapening his
haberdashery wares, was bawling out, ‘Here’s the real good napkins;
they’ll neither tear, wear, ruffle, nor rive; throw in the washing,
nor go back in the pressing. All the water between the rocks of
Gibralter and the Cape of Good Hope will not alter the colour of
them. They were woven seven miles below ground by the light of
diamonds; and the people never saw day-light but once in the seven
years. They were not woven by a brosy clumsy apprentice boy, but by
a right and tight good tradesman, who got two eggs, and a cup of
tea, and a glass of whisky to his breakfast; and every thread is
as long and strong as would hang a bull, or draw a man-of-war ship
into harbour.’

HIGHLAND SIMPLICITY.--A poor simple Highlander, who last week made
his appearance at Stirling shore and purchased a cart of lime,
met with an adventure sufficiently untoward. Donald had no sooner
got his cart well filled, than he turned his own and his horse’s
head to his own dear Highland hills. He had not, however, got far
beyond Stirling bridge, when a smart shower of rain came on. The
lime began to smoke. Donald, who was sitting on the front of his
cart, at first supposed it to be nothing but a whiff of mountain
mist, but at last becoming enveloped in the cloud, and no longer
able to see his way before him, he bethought him it was time to
cast a look behind, and was not a little amazed to discover that
the whole cause of the annoyance proceeded from his cart of lime.
It was on fire, but how was beyond his comprehension. He stopt
his horse and stood still, in hopes the rain would quench the
intruding element, but remarking no abatement, he next drove his
cart to a stream at a short distance, and taking his shovel, began
busily to throw water upon his smoking load. This speedily brought
Donald’s difficulties to a crisis, for his steed, unaccustomed to
the heat which threatened to deprive aim of his tail, began now
to exhibit symptoms of open rebellion. Besides, seeing that his
cart was in danger of being burnt to a cinder, and not knowing but
the horse might take it into his head to commence burning too, he
was resolved the bewitched load and ‘the puir beast and braw bit
cart’, should instantly be disunited. He accordingly unyoked the
impatient animal, and immediately buried the smoking lime in the
stream, triumphantly exclaiming as the hissing mass yielded to the
overpowering element, ‘the deil’s in her if she’ll burn noo.’

  THE

  COMICAL SAYINGS

  OF

  PADDY FROM CORK,

  WITH HIS

  Coat Buttoned Behind.

  BEING AN ELEGANT CONFERENCE BETWEEN

  ENGLISH TOM AND IRISH TEAGUE;

  WITH PADDY’S CATECHISM,

  And his Supplication when a Mountain Sailor.

  GLASGOW:
  PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

COMICAL SAYINGS

OF

PADDY FROM CORK.

PART I.

_Tom._ Good morrow, Sir, this is a very cold day.

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, yesternight was a very cold morning.

_Tom._ Well brother traveller of what nation art thou?

_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I came from my own kingdom.

_Tom._ Why, I know that, but where is thy kingdom?

_Teag._ Allelieu dear honey, don’t you know Cork is in Ireland?

_Tom._ You fool, Cork is not a kingdom but a city.

_Teag._ Then dear shoy, I’m sure it is in a kingdom.

_Tom._ And what is the reason you have come and left your own dear
country?

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, by shaint Patrick, they have got such
comical laws in our country, that they will put a man to death in
perfect health; so to be free and plain with you, neighbour, I
was obliged to come away, for I did not choose to stay among such
a people that can hang a poor man when they please, if he either
steals, robs, or kills a man.

_Tom._ Ay, but I take you to be more of an honest man, than to
steal, rob, or kill a man.

_Teag._ Honest, I am perfectly honest, when I was but a child, my
mother would have trusted me with a house full of mill-stones.

_Tom._ What was the matter, was you guilty of nothing?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I did harm to nobody, but fancied an old
gentleman’s gun, and afterwards made it my own.

_Tom._ Very well boy, and did you keep it so?

_Teag._ Keep it, I would have kept it with all my heart while I
lived, death itself could not have parted us, but the old rogue,
the gentleman, being a justice of peace himself, had me tried for
the rights of it, and how I came by it, and so took it again.

_Tom._ And how did you clear yourself without punishment?

_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I told him a parcel of lies, but they would
not believe me; for I said that I got it from my father when it was
a little pistol, and I had kept it till it had grown a gun, and
was designed to use it well until it had grown a big cannon, and
then sell it to the military. They all fell a laughing at me as I
had been a fool, and bade me go home to my mother and clean the
potatoes.

_Tom._ How long is it since you left your own country?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I do not mind whether it be a fortnight
or four months, but I think myself, it is a long time; they tell me
my mother is dead since, but I wont believe it until I get a letter
from her own hand, for she is a very good scholar, suppose she can
neither write nor read.

_Tom._ Was you ever in England before?

_Teag._ Ay, that I was, and in Scotland too.

_Tom._ And were they kind to you when you was in Scotland?

_Teag._ They were that kind that they kick’t my arse for me, and
the reason was because I would not pay the whole of the liquor that
was drunk in the company, though the landlord and his two sons
got mouthful about of it all, and I told them it was a trick upon
travellers, first to drink his liquor, and then to kick him out of
doors.

_Tom._ I really think they have used you badly, but could you not
beat them?

_Teag._ That’s what I did, beat them all to their own contentment,
but there was one of them stronger than me, who would have killed
me, if the other two had not pulled me away, and I had to run for
it, till his passion was over, then they made us drink and gree
again; we shook hands, and made a bargain, never to harm other
more; but this bargain did not last long, for, as I was kissing his
mouth, by shaint Patrick, I bit his nose, which caused him to beat
me very sore for my pains.

_Tom._ Well Paddy, what calling was you when in Scotland?

_Teag._ Why sir, I was no business at all, but what do you call the
green tree that’s like a whin bush, people makes a thing to sweep
the house of it!

_Tom._ O yes, Paddy, they call it the broom.

_Teag._ Ay, ay, you have it, I was a gentleman’s broom, only waited
on his horses, and washed the dishes for the cook: and when my
master rode a hunting, I went behind with the dogs.

_Tom._ O yes, Paddy, it was the groom you mean. But I fancy you was
cook’s mate, or kitchen boy.

_Teag._ No, no, it was the broom that I was, and if I had staid
there till now, I might have been advanced as high as my master,
for the ladies loved me so well, that they laughed at me.

_Tom._ They might admire you for a fool.

_Teag._ What sir, do you imagine that I am not a fool? no, no, my
master asked counsel of me in all his matters, and I always give
him a reason for every thing: I told him one morning, that he went
too soon to the hunting, that the hares were not got out of their
beds, and neither the barking of horns, nor the blowing of dogs
could make them rise, it was such a cold morning that night; so
they all ran away that we catched, when we did not see them. Then
my master told my words to several gentlemen that were at dinner
with him, and they admired me for want of judgment, for my head
was all of a lump: adding, they were going a-fishing along with my
master and me in the afternoon; but I told them that it was a very
unhappy thing for any man to go a hunting in the morning, and a
fishing in the afternoon; they would try it, but they had better
staid at home, for it came on a most terrible fine night of south
west rain, and even down wind; so the fishes got all below the
water to keep themselves dry from the shower, and we catched them
all but got none.

_Tom._ How long did you serve that gentleman, Paddy?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was with him six weeks, and he beat me
seven times.

_Tom._ For what did he beat you? was it for your madness and
foolish tricks?

_Teag._ Dear shoy, it was not; but for being too inquisitive, and
going sharply about business. First, he sent me to the post-office
to enquire if there were any letters for him; so when I came there,
said I, is there any letters here for my master to-day? Then they
asked who was my master; sir, said I, it is very bad manners in
you to ask any gentleman’s name; at this they laughed, mocking me,
and said they could give me none, if I would not tell my master’s
name; so I returned to my master and told him the impudence of the
fellow, who would give me no letters unless I would tell him your
name, master. My master at this flew in a passion, and kicked me
down stairs, saying, go you rogue, and tell my name directly, how
can the gentleman give letters when he knows not who is asking
for them. Then I returned and told my master’s name, so they told
me there was one for him. I looked at it, being very small, and
asking the price of it, they told me it was sixpence: sixpence,
said I, will you take sixpence for that small thing, and selling
bigger ones for twopence; faith I am not such a big fool; you think
to cheat me now, this is not a conscionable way of dealing, I’ll
acquaint my master with it first; so I came and told my master how
they would have sixpence for his letter, and was selling bigger
ones for twopence; he took up my head and broke his cane with it,
calling me a thousand fools, saying, the man was more just than to
take any thing but the right for it; but I was sure there was none
of them right, buying and selling such dear penny-worths. So I came
again for my dear sixpence letter; and as the fellow wus shuffling
through a parcel of them, seeking for it again, to make the best
of a dear market, I pict up two, and home I comes to my master,
thinking he would be pleased with what I had done; now, said I,
master, I think I have put a trick upon them fellows, for selling
the letter to you. What have you done? I have only taken other two
letters: here’s one for you master, to help your dear penny-worth,
and I’ll send the other to my mother to see whether she be dead or
alive, for she’s always angry I don’t write to her. I had not the
word well spoken, till he got up his stick and beat me heartily
for it, and sent me back to the fellows again with the two. I had
a very ill will to go, but nobody would buy them of me.

_Tom._ Well, Paddy, I think you was to blame, and your master too,
for he ought to have taught you how to go about these affairs, and
not beat you so.

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, I had too much wit of my own to be teached
by him, or any body else; he began to instruct me after that how I
should serve the table, and such nasty things as those: one night
I took ben a roasted fish in one hand, and a piece of bread in the
other; the old gentleman was so saucy he would not take it, and
told me I should bring nothing to him without a trencher below it.
The same night as he was going to bed, he called for his slippers
and pish-pot, so I clapt a trencher below the pish-pot, and another
below the slippers, and ben I goes, one in every hand; no sooner
did I enter the room than he threw the pish-pot at me, which broke
both my head and the pish-pot at one blow; now, said I, the devil
is in my master altogether, for what he commands at one time he
countermands at another. Next day I went with him to the market to
buy a sack of potatoes, I went to the potatoe-monger, and asked
what he took for the full of a Scot’s cog, he weighed them in, he
asked no less than fourpence; fourpence, said I, if I were but in
Dublin, I could got the double of that for nothing, and in Cork and
Linsale far cheaper; them is but small things like pease, said I,
but the potatoes in my country is as big as your head, fine meat,
all made up in blessed mouthfuls; the potatoe-merchant called me
a liar, and my master called me a fool, so the one fell a-kicking
me, and the other a cuffing me, I was in such bad bread among them,
that I called myself both a liar and a fool to get off alive.

_Tom._ And how did you carry your potatoes home from the market.

_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I carried the horse and them both, besides
a big loaf, and two bottles of wine; for I put the old horse on my
back, and drove the potatoes before me, and when I tied the load to
the loaf, I had nothing to do but to carry the bottle in my hand:
but bad luck to the way as I came home, for a nail out of the heal
of my foot sprung a leak in my brogue, which pricked the very bone,
bruised the skin, and made my brogue itself to blood, and I having
no hammer by me, but a hatchet I left at home, I had to beat down
the nail with the bottom of the bottle: and by the book, dear shoy,
it broke to pieces, and scattered the wine in my mouth.

_Tom._ And how did you recompense your master for the loss of the
bottle of wine?

_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I had a mind to cheat him and myself too,
for I took the bottle to a blacksmith, and desired him to mend it
that I might go to the butcher and get it full of bloody water, but
he told me he could not work in any thing but steel and iron. Arra,
said I, if I were in my own kingdom, I could get a blacksmith who
would make a bottle out of a stone, and a stone out of nothing.

_Tom._ And how did you trick your master out of it?

_Teag._ Why the old rogue began to chide me, asking me what way
I broke it, then I held up the other as high as my head, and let
it fall to the ground on a stone, which broke it all in pieces
likewise: now said I, master, that’s the way, and he beat me very
heartily until I had to shout out mercy and murder all at once.

_Tom._ Why did you not leave him when he used you so badly.

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I could never think to leave him while I
could eat, he gave me so many good victuals, and promised to prefer
me to be his own bone-picker. But by shaint Patrick, I had to run
away with my life or all was done, else I had lost my dear shoul
and body too by him, and then come home much poorer than I went
away. The great big bitch dog, which was my master’s best beloved,
put his head into a pitcher, to lick out some milk, and when it
was in he could not get it out; and I to save the pitcher got the
hatchet and cut off the dog’s head, and then I had to break the
pitcher to get out the head; by this I lost both the dog and the
pitcher. My master hearing of this swore he would cut the head off
me, for the poor dog was made useless, and could not see to follow
any body for want of his eyes. And when I heard of this, I ran
away with my own head, for if I had wanted it I had lost my eyes
too, then I would not have seen the road to Port Patrick, through
Glen-nap; but by shaint Patrick I came home alive in spite of them.

_Tom._ O rarely done, Paddy, you behaved like a man! but what is
the reason that you Irish people swear always by saint Patrick?

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, he was the best shaint in the world, the
father of all good people in the kingdom, he has a great kindness
for an Irishman, when he hears him calling on his name.

_Tom._ But, Paddy, is saint Patrick yet alive?

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, I don’t know whether he be dead or alive,
but it is a long time since they killed him; the people all turned
heathens, but he would not change his profession, and was going to
run the country with it, and for taking the gospel away to England,
so the barbarous tories of Dublin cutted off his head; and he
swimmed over to England, and carried his head in his teeth.

PART II.

_Tom._ How did you get safe out of Scotland?

_Teag._ By the law dear honey, when I came to Port Patrick, and saw
my own kingdom, I knew I was safe at home, but I was clean dead,
and almost drowned before I could get riding over the water; for I
with nine passengers more, leapt into a little young boat, having
but four men dwelling in a little house, in the one end of it,
which was all thacked with deals: and after they had pulled up her
tether-stick, and laid her long halter over her mane, they pulled
up a long sheet, like three pair of blankets, to the riggen of the
house, and the wind blew in that, which made her gallop up one hill
and down another, till I thought she would have run to the world’s
end.

_Tom._ Well Paddy, and where did you go when you came to Ireland
again?

_Teag._ Arra dear honey, and where did I go but to my own dear
cousin, who was now become very rich by the death of the old buck
his father; who died but a few weeks before I went over, and the
parish had to bury him out of pity, it did not cost him a farthing.

_Tom._ And what entertainment did you get there?

_Teag._ O my dear shoy, I was kindly used as another gentleman,
and would have staid there long enough, but when a man is poor
his friends think little of him: I told him I was going to see my
brother Harry: Harry, said he, Harry is dead; dead said I, and who
killed him? Why, said he, death: Allelieu, dear honey, and where
did he kill him? said I. In his bed, says he. Arra dear honey, said
I, if he had been upon Newry mountains with his brogues on, and his
broad sword by his side, all the death’s in Ireland had not have
killed him: O that impudent fellow death, if he had let him alone
till he died for want of butter milk and potatoes, I am sure he had
lived all the days of his life.

_Tom._ In all your travels when abroad, did you never see none of
your countrymen to inform you of what happened at home concerning
your relations?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I saw none but Tom Jack, one day in the
street; but when I came to him, it was not him, but one just like
him.

_Tom._ On what account did you go a travelling?

_Teag._ Why a recruiting sergeant listed me to be a captain, and
after all advanced me no higher than a soldier itself, but only he
called me his dear countryman recruit; for I did not know what the
regiment was when I saw them. I thought they were all gentlemen’s
sons, and collegioners, when I saw a box like a bible upon their
bellies; until I saw G for King George upon it, and R for God bless
him: ho, ho, said I, I shan’t be long here.

_Tom._ O then Paddy you deserted from them?

_Teag._ That’s what I did, and ran to the mountains like a buck,
and ever since when I see any soldiers I close my eyes, lest they
should look and know me.

_Tom._ And what exploits did you when you was a soldier?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I killed a man.

_Tom._ And how did you do that?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, when he dropt his sword I drew mine, and
advanced boldly to him, and then cutted off his foot.

_Tom._ O then what a big fool was you; for you ought first to have
cut off his head.

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, his head was cutted off before I engaged
him, else I had not done it.

_Tom._ O then Paddy you acted like a fool: but you are not such a
big fool as many take you to be, you might pass for a philosopher.

_Teag._ A fulusipher, my father was a fulusipher, besides he was a
man under great authority by law, condemning the just and clearing
the guilty. Do you know how they call the horse’s mother?

_Tom._ Why they call her a mare.

_Teag._ A mare, ay, very well minded, my father was a mare in Cork.

_Tom._ And what riches was left you by the death of your mother?

_Teag._ A bad luck to her own barren belly, for she lived in great
plenty, and died in great poverty; devoured up all or she died but
two hens, and a pockful of potatoes, a poor estate for an Irish
gentleman, in faith.

_Tom._ And what did you make of the hens, and potatoes, did you sow
them?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I sowed them in my belly, and sold the
hens to a cadger.

_Tom._ What business did your mother follow after?

_Teag._ Greatly in the merchant way.

_Tom._ And what sort of goods did she deal in?

_Teag._ Dear honey, she went through the country and sold small
fishes, onions and apples, bought hens and eggs and then hatched
them herself. I remember of a long-necked cock she had, of an
oversea brood, that stood on the midden and picked all the stars
out of the north-west, so they were never so thick there since.

_Tom._ Now Paddy, that’s a bull surpasses all: but is there none of
that cock’s offspring alive now.

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I don’t think there are, but it is a pity
but they had, for they would fly with people above the sea, which
would put the use of ships out of fashion, and nobody be drowned at
all.

_Tom._ Very well Paddy, but in all your travels did you ever get a
wife?

_Teag._ Ay, that’s what I did, and a wicked wife too, and my dear
shoy, I can’t tell whether she is gone to Purgatory, or the parish
of Pig-trantrum; for she told me she should certainly die the first
opportunity she could get, as this present evil world was not worth
the waiting on, so she would go and see what good things is in
the world to come; so when that old rover called the Fever came
raging over the whole kingdom, she went away and died out of spite,
leaving me nothing.

_Tom._ O but Paddy, you ought to have gone to a doctor, and got
some pills and physic for her.

_Teag._ By shaint Patrick, I had as good a pill of my own as any
doctor in the kingdom could give her.

_Tom._ O you fool, that is not what I mean; you ought to have
brought the doctor to feel her pulse, and let blood of her if he
thought it needful.

_Teag._ Yes that’s what I did, for I ran to the doctor whenever
she died, and sought something for a dead or dying woman; the old
foolish devil was at his dinner, and began to ask me some dirty
questions, which I answered distinctly.

_Tom._ And what did he ask Paddy?

_Teag._ Why, he asked me, How did my wife go to stool? to which I
answered, the same way that other people go to a chair: no, said
he, that’s not what I mean, how does she purge? Arra, Mr. Doctor,
said I, all the fire in Purgatory wont purge her clean; for she has
both a cold and stinking breath. Sir, said he, that is not what I
ask you; whether does she shit thick or thin? Arra, Mr. Doctor,
said I, it is sometimes so thick and hard, that you may take it
in your hand, and cut it like a piece of cheese, or pudding, and
at other times you may drink it, or sup it with a spoon. At this
he flew into a most terrible rage, and kicked me down stairs, and
would give me nothing to her, but called me a dirty vagabond for
speaking of shit before ladies.

_Tom._ And in what good order did you bury your wife when she died.

_Teag._ O my dear shoy she was buried in all manner of pomp,
pride, and splendour: a fine coffin with cords in it, and within
the coffin along with herself, she got a pair of new brogues, a
penny candle, a good hard-headed old hammer, with an Irish sixpenny
piece, to pay her passage at the gate, and what more could she look
for.

_Tom._ I really think you gave her enough along with her, but you
ought to have cried for her, if it was no more but to be in the
fashion.

_Teag._ And why should I cry without sorrow? when we hired two
criers to cry all the way before her to keep her in the fashion.

_Tom._ And what do they cry before a dead woman?

_Teag._ Why they cry the common cry, or funeral lament that is used
in our Irish country.

_Tom._ And what manner of cry is that Paddy?

_Teag._ Dear Tom, if you don’t know I’ll tell you, when my person
dies, there is a number of criers goes before, saying, Luff, fuff,
fou, allelieu, dear honey, what aileth thee to die! it was not for
want of good buttermilk and potatoes.

PART III.

_Tom._ Well Paddy, and what did you do when your wife died?

_Teag._ Dear honey, what would I do? do you think I was such a big
fool as to die too, I am sure if I had I would not have got fair
play when I am not so old yet as my father was when he died.

_Tom._ No, Paddy, it is not that I mean, was you sorry, or did you
weep for her?

_Teag._ Weep for her, by shaint Patrick I would not weep, nor yet
be sorry, suppose my own mother and all the women in Ireland had
died seven years before I was born.

_Tom._ What did you do with your children when she died?

_Teag._ Do you imagine I was such a big fool as bury my children
alive along with a dead woman; Arra, dear honey, we always commonly
give nothing along with a dead person, but an old shirt, a winding
sheet, a big hammer, with a long candle, and an Irish silver
three-penny piece?

_Tom._ Dear Paddy, and what do they make of all these things?

_Teag._ Then Tom, since you are so inquisitive, you must go ask the
Priest.

_Tom._ What did you make of your children Paddy?

_Teag._ And what should I make of them, do you imagine that I
should give them into the hands of the butchers, as they had been a
parcel of young hogs: by shaint Patrick I had more unnaturality in
me, than to put them in an hospital as others do.

_Tom._ No, I suppose you would leave them with your friends?

_Teag._ Ay, ay, a poor man’s friends is sometimes worse than a
profest enemy, the best friend I ever had in the world was my own
pocket while my money lasted; but I left two babes between the
priest’s door and the parish church, because I thought it was a
place of mercy, and then set out for England in quest of another
fortune.

_Tom._ I fancy, Paddy, you came off with what they call a
moon-shine flitting.

_Teag._ You lie like a thief now, for I did not see sun, moon, nor
stars, all the night then: for I set out from Cork at the dawn of
night, and I had travelled twenty miles all but twelve, before
gloaming in the morning.

_Tom._ And where did you go to take shipping?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I came to a country village called
Dublin, as big a city as any market-town in all England, where I
got myself aboard of a little young boat, with a parcel of fellows,
and a long leather bag. I supposed them to be tinklers, until I
asked what they carried in that leather sack; they told me it was
the English mail they were going over with; then said I, is the
milns so scant in England, that they must send over their corn to
Ireland to grind it, the comical cunning fellows persuaded me it
was so: then I went down to a little house below the water, hard
by the rigg-back of the boat, and laid me down on their leather
sack, where I slept myself almost to death with hunger. And dear
Tom to tell you plainly when I waked I did not know where I was,
but thought I was dead and buried, for I found nothing all round me
but wooden walls and timber above.

_Tom._ And how did you come to yourself to know where you was at
last?

_Teag._ By the law, dear shoy, I scratched my head in a hundred
parts, and then set me down to think upon it, so I minded it was my
wife that was dead and not me, and that I was alive in the young
boat, with the fellows that carries over the English meal from the
Irish milns.

_Tom._ O then Paddy, I am sure you was glad when you found yourself
alive?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was very sure I was alive, but I did not
think to live long, so I thought it was better for me to steal and
be hanged, than to live all my days and die directly with hunger at
last.

_Tom._ Had you no meat nor money along with you?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I gave all the money to the captain of
the house, or gudeman of the ship, to take me into the sea or over
to England, and when I was like to eat my old brogues for want of
victuals I drew my hanger and cut the lock of the leather sack to
get a lick of their meal; but allelieu, dear shoy, I found neither
meal nor seeds, but a parcel of papers and letters--a poor morsel
for a hungry man.

_Tom._ O then Paddy you laid down your honesty for nothing.

_Teag._ Ay, ay, I was a great thief but got nothing to steal.

_Tom._ And how did you get victuals at last?

_Teag._ Allelieu, dear honey, the thoughts of meat and drink, death
and life, and every thing else was out of mind, I had not a thought
but one.

_Tom._ And what was that Paddy?

_Teag._ To go down among the fishes and become a whale; then I
would have lived at ease all my days, having nothing to do but to
drink salt water, and eat caller oysters.

_Tom._ What was you like to be drowned again?

_Teag._ Ay, ay, drowned, as cleanly drowned as a fish, for the sea
blew very loud, and the wind ran so high, that we were all cast
safe on shore, and not one of us drowned at all.

_Tom._ Where did you go when you came on shore?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was not able to go any where, you might
cast a knot on my belly, I was so hollow in the middle, so I went
into a gentleman’s house and told him the bad fortune I had of
being drowned between Ireland and the foot of his garden; where we
came all safe ashore. But all the comfort I got from him was a word
of truth.

_Tom._ And what was that Paddy?

_Teag._ Why he told me, if I had been a good boy at home, I needed
not to have gone so far to push my fortune with an empty pocket; to
which I answered, and what magnifies that, as long as I am a good
workman at no trade at all.

_Tom._ I suppose, Paddy, the gentleman would make you dine with him?

_Teag._ I really thought I was, when I saw them roasting and
skinning so many black chickens which was nothing but a few dead
crows they were going to eat; ho, ho, said I, them is but dry meat
at the best, of all the fowls that flee, commend me to the wing of
an ox: but all that came to my share was a piece of boiled herring
and a roasted potatoe, that was the first bit of bread I ever eat
in England.

_Tom._ Well, Paddy, what business did you follow after in England
when you was so poor.

_Teag._ What sir, do you imagine I was poor when I came over on
such an honourable occasion as to list, and bring myself to no
preferment at all. As I was an able bodied man in the face, I
thought to be made a brigadeer, a grandedeer, or a fuzeleer, or
even one of them blew gowns that holds the flerry stick to the
bung-hole of the big cannons, when they let them off, to fright
away the French; I was as sure as no man alive ere I came from
Cork, the least preferment I could get, was to be riding-master to
a regiment of marines, or one of the black horse itself.

_Tom._ And where in England was it you listed?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was going through that little country
village, the famous city of Chester, the streets were very sore by
reason of the hardness of my feet, and lameness of my brogues, so
I went but very slowly across the streets, from port to port is
a pretty long way, but I being weary thought nothing of it; then
the people came all crowding to me as I had been a world’s wonder,
or the wandering jew; for the rain blew in my face, and the wind
wetted all my belly, which caused me to turn the backside of my
coat before, and my buttons behind, which was a good safeguard to
my body, and the starvation of my naked body, for I had not a good
shirt.

_Tom._ I am sure then, Paddy, they would take you for a fool?

_Teag._ No, no, sir, they admired me for my wisdom, for I always
turned my buttons before, when the wind blew behind, but I wondered
how the people knew my name and where I came from: for every one
told another, that was Paddy from Cork: I suppose they knew my face
by seeing my name in the newspapers.

_Tom._ Well, Paddy, what business did you follow in Chester?

_Teag._ To be sure I was not idle, working at nothing at all, till
a decruiting seargeant came to town with two or three fellows along
with him, one beating on a fiddle, and another playing on a drum,
tossing their airs thro’ the streets, as if they were going to be
married. I saw them courting none but young men; so to bring myself
to no preferment at all, I listed for a soldier,--I was too big for
a grandedeer.

_Tom._ What listing money did you get, Paddy?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I got five thirteens and a pair of English
brogues; the guinea and the rest of the gold was sent to London, to
the King, my master, to buy me new shirts, a cockade, and common
treasing for my hat, they made me swear the malicious oath of
devilrie against the King, the colours, and my captain, telling me
if ever I desert, and not run away, that I should be shot, and then
whipt to death through the regiment.

_Tom._ No Paddy: it is first whipt and then shot you mean.

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, it is all one thing at last, but it is
best to be shot and then whipt, the cleverest way to die I’ll
warrant you.

_Tom._ How much pay did you get, Paddy?

_Teag._ Do you know the little tall fat seargeant that feed me to
be a soldier?

_Tom._ And how should I know them I never saw you fool.

_Teag._ Dear shoy, you may know him whether you see him or not,
his face is all bored in holes with the small pox, his nose is the
colour of a lobster-toe, and his chin like a well washen potatoe,
he’s the biggest rogue in our kingdom, you’ll know him when you
meet him again: the rogue height me sixpence a day, kill or no
kill: and when I laid Sunday and Saturday both together, and all
the days in one day, I can’t make a penny above fivepence of it.

_Tom._ You should have kept an account, and asked your arrears once
a month.

_Teag._ That’s what I did, but he reads a paternoster out of his
prayer book, wherein all our names are written; so much for a
stop-hold to my gun, to bucklers, to a pair of comical harn-hose,
with leather buttons from top to toe; and worst of all, he would
have no less than a penny a week, to a doctor; arra, said I, I
never had a sore finger, nor yet a sick toe, all the days of my
life, then what have I to do with the doctor, or the doctor to do
with me.

_Tom._ And did he make you pay all these things?

_Teag._ Ay, ay, pay and better pay: he took me before his captain,
who made me pay all was in his book. Arra, master captain, said I,
you are a comical sort of a fellow now, you might as well make me
pay for my coffin before I be dead, as to pay for a doctor before
I be sick; to which he answered in a passion, sir, said he, I have
seen many a better man buried without a coffin; sir, said I, then
I’ll have a coffin, die when I will, if there be as much wood in
all the world, or I shall not be buried at all. Then he called for
the sergeant, saying, you sir, go and buy that man’s coffin, and
put it in the store till he die, and stop sixpence a week of his
pay for it: No, no, sir, said I, I’ll rather die without a coffin,
and seek none when I’m dead, but if you are for clipping another
sixpence off my pay, keep it all to yourself, and I’ll swear all
your oaths of agreement we had back again, and then seek soldiers
where you will.

_Tom._ O then Paddy, how did you end the matter?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, by the nights of shaint Patrick and help
of my brogues, I both ended it, and mended it, for the next night
before that, I gave them leg bail for my fidelity, and went about
the country a fortune-teller, dumb and deaf as I was not.

_Tom._ How old was you Paddy when you was a soldier last?

_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was three dozen all but two, and it
is only two years since, so I want only four years of three dozen
yet, and when I live six dozen more, I’ll be older than I am, I’ll
warrant you.

_Tom._ O but Paddy, by your account, you are three dozen of years
old already.

_Teag._ O what for a big fool are you now Tom, when you count the
years I lay sick; which time I count no time at all.

A NEW CATECHISM, &c.

_Tom._ Of all the opinions professed in religion tell me now,
Paddy, of what profession art thou?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, my religion was too weighty a matter
to carry out of mine own country: I was afraid that you English
Presbyterians should pluck it away from me.

_Tom._ What, Paddy, was your religion such a load that you could
not carry it along with you?

_Teag._ Yes, that it was, but I carried it always about with me
when at home my sweet cross upon my dear breast, bound to my dear
button hole.

_Tom._ And what manner of worship did you perform by that?

_Teag._ Why I adored the cross, the pope, and the priest, cursed
Oliver as black as crow, and swears myself a cut throat against all
Protestants and church of Englandmen.

_Tom._ And what is the matter but you would be a church of
Englandman, or a Scotch Presbyterian yourself, Paddy?

_Teag._ Because it is unnatural for an Irishman: but had shaint
Patrick been a Presbyterian, I had been the same.

_Tom._ And for what reason would you be a Presbyterian then, Paddy?

_Teag._ Because they have liberty to eat flesh in lent, and every
thing that’s fit for the belly.

_Tom._ What, Paddy, are you such a lover of flesh that you would
change your profession for it?

_Teag._ O yes, that’s what I would, I love flesh of all kinds,
sheep’s beef, swine’s mutton, hare’s flesh, and hen’s venison;
but our religion is one of the hungriest in all the world, ah!
but it makes my teeth to weep, and my belly to water, when I see
the Scotch Presbyterians, and English churchmen, in time of lent,
feeding upon bulls’ bastards, and sheep’s young children.

_Tom._ Why Paddy, do you say the bull is a fornicator and gets
bastards?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I never saw the cow and her husband all
the days of my life, nor before I was born, going to the church
to be married, and what then can his sons and daughters be but
bastards?

_Tom._ What reward will you get when you are dead, for punishing
your belly so while you are alive?

_Teag._ By shaint Patrick I’ll live like a king when I’m dead, for
I will neither pay for meat nor drink.

_Tom._ What, Paddy, do you think that you are to come alive again
when you are dead?

_Teag._ O yes, we that are true Roman Catholics will live a long
time after we are dead; when we die in love with the Priests, and
the good people of our profession.

_Tom._ And what assurance can your priest give you of that?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, our priest is a great shaint, a good
shoul, who can repeat a pater-noster and Ave Maria, which will
fright the very horned devil himself, and make him run for it,
until he be like to fall and break his neck.

_Tom._ And what does he give you when you are dying that makes you
come alive again?

_Teag._ Why he writes a letter upon our tongues, sealed with a
wafer, gives us a sacrament in our mouth, with a pardon, and
direction in our right hand, who to call for at the ports of
Purgatory.

_Tom._ And what money design you to give the priest for your pardon?

_Teag._ Dear shoy I wish I had first the money he would take for
it, I would rather drink it myself, and then give him both my bill
and my honest word, payable in the other world.

_Tom._ And how then are you to get a passage to the other world, or
who is to carry you there?

_Teag._ O my dear shoy, Tom, you know nothing of the matter: for
when I die, they will bury my body, flesh, blood, dirt, and bones,
only my skin will be blown up full of wind and spirit, my dear
shoul I mean; and then I will be blown over to the other world on
the wings of the wind; and after that I’ll never be killed, hanged
nor drowned, nor yet die in my bed, for when any hits me a blow, my
new body will play buff upon it like a bladder.

_Tom._ But what way will you go to the new world, or where is it?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, the priest knows where it is but I do
not, but the Pope of Rome keeps the outer-port, shaint Patrick the
inner-port, and gives us a direction of the way to shaint Patrick’s
palace, which stands on the head of the Stalian loch, where I’ll
have no more to do but chap at the gate.

_Tom._ What is the need for chapping at the gate, is it not always
open?

_Teag._ Dear shoy, you know little about it, for there is none can
enter but red hot Irishmen, for when I call Allelieu, dear honey,
shaint Patrick countenance your own dear countryman if you will,
then the gates will be opened directly for me, for he knows and
loves an Irishman’s voice, as he loves his own heart.

_Tom._ And what entertainment will you get when you are in?

_Teag._ O my dear, we are all kept there untill a general review,
which is commonly once in the week; and then we are drawn up like
as many young recruits, and all the blackguard scoundrels is pict
out of the ranks, and one half of them is sent away to the Elysian
fields, to curry the weeds from among the potatoes, the other half
of them to the River sticks, to catch fishes for shaint Patricks
table, and them that is owing the priests any money is put in the
black-hole, and then given to the hands of a great black bitch of
a devil, which is keeped for a hangman, who whips them up and down
the smoky dungeon every morning for six months.

_Tom._ Well Paddy, are you to do as much justice to a Protestant as
a Papist?

_Teag._ O my dear shoy, the most justice we are commanded to do
a Protestant, is to whip and torment them until they confess
themselves in the Romish faith; and then cut their throats that
they may die believers.

_Tom._ What business do you follow after at present?

_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I am a mountain sailor and my supplication
is as follows.

PADDY’S HUMBLE PETITION, OR SUPPLICATION.

Good Christian people, behold me a man! who has com’d through a
world of wonders, a hell full of hardships, dangers by sea, and
dangers by land, and yet I am alive; you may see my hand crooked
like a fowl’s foot, and that is no wonder at all considering my
sufferings and sorrows. Oh! oh! oh! good people. I was a man in my
time who had plenty of the gold, plenty of the silver, plenty of
the clothes, plenty of the butter, the beer, beef, and biscuit. And
now I have nothing: being taken by the Turks and relieved by the
Spaniards, lay sixty-six days at the siege of Gibralter, and got
nothing to eat but sea wreck and raw mussels; put to sea for our
safety, cast upon the Barbarian coast, among the wicked Algerines,
where we were taken and tied with tugs and tadders, horse-locks,
and cow-chains: then cut and castrate yard and testicle quite away,
put in your hand and feel how every female’s made smooth by the
sheer bone, where nothing is to be seen but what is natural. Then
made our escape to the desart wild wilderness of Arabia; where we
lived among the wild asses, upon wind, sand, and sapless ling.
Afterwards put to sea in the hull of an old house, where we were
tossed above and below the clouds, being driven through thickets
and groves by fierce, coarse, calm, and contrary winds: at last,
was cast upon Salisbury plains, where our vessel was dashed to
pieces against a cabbage stock. And now my humble petition to you,
good Christian people is, for one hundred of your beef, one hundred
of your butter, another of your cheese, a cask of your biscuit, a
tun of your beer, a keg of your rum, with a pipe of your wine, a
lump of your gold, a piece of your silver, a few of your half-pence
or farthings, a waught of your butter-milk, a pair of your old
breeches, stockings, or shoes, even a chaw of tobacco for charity’s
sake.

  FUN UPON FUN:

  OR

  LEPER,

  THE TAILOR.

  IN TWO PARTS,

  WITH A

  Selection of Entertaining Anecdotes.

  GLASGOW:
  PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

THE MERRY TRICKS

OF

LEPER THE TAILOR.

Leper’s father lived in a village about six miles from Glasgow,
and died when he was but very young; he left a widow and three
children, two daughters and a son; Leper being the youngest, was
greatly idolized by his mother, who was a good soft-natured woman,
very industrious, and followed the bleaching of cloth.

As Leper grew up he grew a very mischievous boy, playing many
tricks on the neighbourhood, such as tying cats to dogs tails,
breaking hens legs, stopping peoples lums, or chimney-tops; so that
his poor mother was sadly vexed with complaints against him.

To get him kept from mischief, she prevailed with a Tailor to take
him an apprentice; he settled, and was very peaceable for some
time, until he got as much of his trade on his finger ends as he
might pass for a journeyman, and then he was indifferent whether he
staid with his master or not; his mistress gave him but very little
meat when he wrought at home, so he liked best to be in other
houses, where he got meat and diversion.

Leper being resolved on revenge against his mistress for her thin
kail, no kitchen, and little bread; for though flesh was boiled in
the pot none for poor Leper and his master, but a little bit on
Sundays, and all the bones were kept and put in the pot, to make
the broth through the week. Leper perceived always when she took
of the pot, she turned her back and took out the flesh, and set it
on a shelf in her own bed-room; one night after work, he steals
out a pan, cuts a piece of flesh out of a dead horse, and then
goes to a lime kiln, and boils it; next day his master being from
home, his landlady and him being in the house, after she had set
of the pot as usual, and taken out her bit of good beef, he goes
out for some time and then comes in, saying, the minister’s lass is
wishing to see you, to go directly and speak to her mistress. Off
she goes in all haste, Leper runs and takes away her bits of good
meat, and lays down his horse flesh; and knowing she would return
in a passion, and sit down with a soss in her cushion chair, as
she used, he takes a large pin, and staps it straight through the
cushion with its head on the chair and the point to her backside.
So in she comes in a rage, and down she sits with all her weight
on the pin point, and she roars out murder! murder! for she was
sticket in the a--e: the neighbours came running in, and Leper
went out with his bit of good beef, leaving the wives to doctor
his landlady’s doup, as they pleased; he still denied the doing of
it, and his master believed it might happen accidently, but the
houdie was very oft to be had before it was got hale again; and
his landlady by eating of the horse beef, took such a loathing at
flesh, that Leper and his master got all the beef ever after, and
his landlady turned one of the kindest mistresses a prentice could
wish for.

There was a neighbour wife on whom Leper used to play tricks
sometimes, for which she came and complained to his master and had
him severely beaten several times, Leper resolved to be revenged
on her, so one night he came to the backside of the house, (no one
being in but herself) and took up a big stone, and runs along the
rough wall with all his strength, which roared like thunder in the
inside of the house, and frighted the wife so, that she thought
the house was tumbling down about her ears, and she ran out and
sat down at a distance, looking every minute when the house would
fall down, till her husband came home and persuaded her to go in,
to whom she told the above story; ‘hout tout, daft tapie,’ said
he, ‘the house will stand these hundred years.’ Leper knowing they
were both in, comes and plays the same trick over again, which also
frightened the goodman so much, that he cried out--‘run Maggy, run,
for my heart plays pitty patty.’ And they would not lodge in the
house any more, till the masons convinced them of its sufficiency.

There was another neighbour who had a snarling cur dog, which bit
Leper’s leg; Leper resolved to be revenged on the dog, and so
one night he catches the dog, and carries him to the kirk where
the rope of the bell hung on the outside, so with his garter he
tied the dog’s fore foot to the rope, and left him hanging; the
dog struggling to get free set the bell a ringing, which alarmed
the whole village, every one cried out ‘wonderful fire! wonderful
fire! the devil is ringing the bell.’ When they saw the black
colly hang at the rope, I trow it set the minister and all the
people to their prayers: but Leper fearing he would be detected by
his garter, came to the minister’s side, and asked the reverend
gentleman what was the matter; indeed my bairn, said he, ’tis the
deil ringing the kirk bell; says Leper, I’ll go and see him, for
I never saw the devil; the minister cried stop the mad laddie,
but Leper ran and loosed the dog, crying it’s such a man’s dog,
which had the rope in its teeth; they all cried out, ‘the deil’s
i’ the cur, the deil’s i’ the dog,’ then took up stone and felled
poor colley, and the devil got the blame of making the dog ring
the bell.--This spread Leper’s fame, for being one of the wisest
and most courageous tailors that was in all the kingdom; and many
shaking their heads, said, ‘it was a pity he was a tailor, but a
captain or general of an army, as the devil could not fear him.’

After this a farmer in the neighbourhood hearing the fame of Leper,
how he had frighted the deil frae being a bellman, sent for him to
an alehouse, and drank with him very heartily, and told him he was
sadly borne down by a spirit of jealousy against his wife; and a
suspicion of her being too free with a servant lad he had before;
and if he would keep it a secret and learn him to find it out, he
would give his mother a load of meal, to which Leper agreed; so
he gave the poor supposed cockold instructions how to behave. So
home he goes, and feins himself very sick, and every day worse and
worse, taking death to him; blesses his three small children, and
charges his wife not to marry until his children could do something
for themselves, this hypocritical woman takes a crying, Aha! marry,
she would never marry! no no there should never a man lie by my
side, or kiss my lips, after thee, my ain dear lamb Johnny. Then he
acts the dead man as well as he possibly could, the neighbours were
called in, and he’s fairly o’erseen, as the old saying is, before
good neighbours. The sorrowful widow made sad lament, wrung her
hands and tore her hair.--The reverend women about began to dress
the corpse, asked her for a shirt. Ay, ay, said she, he has twa new
linen sarks, and there is an auld ane in the bottom o’ the kist,
that nae body can wear, ony things good enough for the grave; well,
said they, we must have some linen for a winding sheet, a weel,
quo’ she, I ha’e twa cut o’ linen i’ the kist neuk, but there’s a
pare o’ auld linen sheets, hol’d i’ the middle, may do well enough,
I had need to be carefu’, I’m a poor widow the day, wi’ three sma’
bairns.

Well, the corpse is dressed, and laid on the tap of the big chest,
while neighbours sat by her condoling her misfortune, and how the
funeral raisins were to be provided, said one the coffin must need
be seen about first. Ay ay, he has some new deals in the barn, he
bought them to make a bed o’, but we’ll no break them, there’s the
auld barn door, and the caff kist will do well enough, ony thing’s
gude enough to gang to the grave wi’; but O quo’ she send for
Sandy, my honest auld servant, and he’ll see every thing right
done; I’ll tell him where he’ll get siller to do any thing wi’,
he’s the lad that will not see me wrang’d; then Sandy comes wrying
his face, and rubbing his eyes. O Sandy, there’s a sad alteration
here, and ba-a she cries like a bitten calf, O sirs, will ye gang
a’ butt the house till I tell ye what to do; butt they went, and
there she fell a kissing of Sandy, and said, now, my dear, the
auld chattering ghaist is awa and we’ll get our will o’ ither; be
as haining of every thing as ye can, for thou kens it’s a’ thy
ain; but the corpse’ sister and some other people coming in, ben
they came to see the corpse, lifts up the cloth off his face, and
seeing him all in a pour of sweat, said heigh he’s a bonny corp,
and a lively like colour. When he could no longer contain himself
to carry on the joke, but up he got among them, a deal of people
ran for it, and his wife cried out, O my dear do you ken me? Ay
you base jade and whore, better than ever I did. Jumps on the
floor, gets his staff and runs after Sandy, and catches him in the
fields, a little from the house;--ate and drank with his sister
and neighbours who came to see his corpse, and poor Sandy went
home with a skin full of terror, and a sorting of sore bones, took
a sore fever and died a few days after, so he got quit of his
cockolder, and Leper’s mother got her load of meal.

Leper’s mother was a careful industrious wife, but as the bye-word
is, ‘a working mother makes a dally daughter,’ and so it happened
here, for she had two gleakit sluts of daughters, that would do
nothing but lie in their bed in the morning, till, as the saying
is, ‘the sun was like to burn a hole in their backsides.’ The old
woman, who was bleaching some cloth, was very early at work in the
mornings, and Leper’s patience being worn out with the laziness of
his two sisters, he resolved to play a trick on them, for their
reformation, so he goes and gets a mortcloth, and spread it on the
bed above them, and sends the dead bell through the town, inviting
the people next day at four o’clock afternoon to the burial of
his two sisters, for they had died suddenly; this brought all
the neighbouring wives in, who one after another lifted up the
mortcloth, and said, with a sigh, they’ve gone to their rest, a
sudden call indeed! Their aunt hearing of this sudden news, came
running in all haste, and coming where the jades’ mither was at
work, and was ignorant of the story, she cries out, Fye upon ye,
woman, fye upon ye! What’s the matter, sister, says she, what’s
the matter! I think you might let your wark stand for a’e day,
when your daughters are baith lying corpse. My bairns corpse! I
am certain they went to bed hale and fair last night. But I tell
you, says the other, the dead bell has been thro’ warning the
folks to the burial, then the mother cries out, O the villian! O
the villian that he did not send me word.--So they both ran, and
the mother as soon as she entered the house, flies to the bed,
crying, O my bairns, my dear bairns; on which the sluts rose up in
a consternation, to the great surprise of the beholders, and the
great mortification of the girls, who thought shame to set their
noses out of doors, and to the great diversion of the whole town.

Leper and his master went to a gentleman’s house to work, where
there was a saucy house-keeper, who had more ignorance and pride
than good sense and manners; she domineered over her fellow
servants in a tyrannical manner. Leper resolved to mortify her
pride; so he finds an ant’s nest, and takes their white eggs,
grinds them to a powder, and puts them into the dish her supper
sowns was to be put in. After she had taken her supper, as she was
covering the table, the imnock powder began to operate, and she let
a great f--: well done Margaret, said the Laird, your a-- would
take a cautioner. Before she got out of the chamber door she let
fly another crack; then she goes to order her fellow servant to
give the Laird his supper, but before she could give the necessary
directions, she gave fire again, which set them all a laughing; she
runs into a room herself, and there she played away her one gun
battery so fast, that you would have thought she had been besieging
the Havannah. The Laird and Lady came to hear the fun, they were
like to split their sides at proud Maggy. So next morning she left
her place, to the great satisfaction of all her fellow servants.

PART II.

Leper’s landlady became very harsh to his master, and very often
abused him exceedingly sore with her tongue and hands, and always
called upon him for more money, and to have all the money in her
keeping; which Leper was sorry for. It so happened on a day that
the tailor had got a hearty drubbing both with tongue and tongs,
that he pouched his thimble and was going to make a queen of her:
when she saw that, she cried out, O! will you leave a poor tender
dying woman. But Leper knowing the cause of her ill nature better
than his master did, advised him to take her on a fine day, like
a mile out of town, and give her a walk, and he would stay at home
and study a remedy for her disorder.--Away they both go; but as
she was always complaining for want of health, and that she was
very weak, she cried frequently out, O! ’tis a crying sin to take a
woman in my condition out o’er a door. During their absence, Leper
goes and searches the bed, and below the bolster gets a bottle of
rare whisky, of which he takes a hearty pull, and then pisses in
it to make it up; gets a halfpenny worth of snuff, and puts it in
also, shakes all together, and so sets it in its place again.--Home
they came, and she was exceedingly distressed as a woman could be,
and cried out, it was a horrid thing to take her out of the house.
The tailor seeing her so bad, thought she would have died, ran as
fast as he could for a dram, but she in her hypocrisy pretended she
could not take it, and called on him to help her to bed, into which
he lays her; she was not well gone when she fell to her bottle,
taking two or three hearty gluts, then she roars out murder,
I’m poisoned, I’m poisoned. Bocking and purging began, and the
neighbours were called in; she lays her blood upon poor Leper, and
tells how such an honest woman brought her a’e bottle as another
was done, and the murdering loon had stolen it and put in a bottle
of poison instead of it. Leper took to his heels, but was pursued
and carried before a justice of the peace, where he told all he had
done, which made the justice laugh heartily at the joke; and the
tailor’s wife was well purged from her feigned sickness, laziness,
and cursed ill nature; for always when she began to curl her nose
for the future, the tailor had no more to say, but Maggy mind the
bottle.

Leper was working with a master-tailor in Glasgow, who hungered his
men; and one morning, just when breakfast was set on the table, in
comes a gentleman to try on a suit of clothes; the master being
obliged to rise desired the lads to say the grace themselves. Every
one refused it, and put it to his neighbour, till Leper undertook
it, and said with an audible voice, that the stranger gentleman
might overhear him as follows:--‘Och, hoch! we are a parcel of poor
beastly bodies, and we are as beastly minded; if we do not work we
get nothing to eat; yet we are always eating and always fretting;
singing and half starving is like to be our fortune; scartings and
scrapings are the most of our mouthfuls. We would fain thank thee
for our benefactors are not worthy the acknowledging;--hey. Amen.’
The gentleman laughed till his sides were like to burst, and gave
Leper half-a-crown to drink.

Leper was not long done with his apprenticeship till he set up for
himself, and got a journeyman and an apprentice, was coming into
very good business, and had he restrained his roguish tricks, he
might have done very well. He and his lads being employed to work
in a farmer’s house, where the housewife was a great miser, and not
very cleanly in making meat, and sneeveled through her nose greatly
when she spoke.--In the morning, when she went to make the potage,
she made a fashion of washing the pot, which to appearance seemed
to him to have been among the first that had been made; then sets
it before the fire till she went to the well, in which time Leper
looking into it, sees two great holes stapped with clouts, he takes
up his goose, and holds it as high as his head, then lets it drop
into the pot, which knocked out the bottom of it; presently in
comes the wife with the water, and pours it into the pot, which set
the fireside all in a dam, for still as she poured in, it ran out:
the wife being short-sighted, or what they call sand blind, looks
into the pot, holds up both her hands and cries, ‘Losh preserve me,
sirs, for the grip atween the twa holes is broken.’ Says Leper,
the pot was old enough; but do you not ken that tailors potage
is heavier than other mens. Indeed lad I believe it, but they say
ye’re a warlock; its Wednesday all the world o’er, and a waefu’
Wednesday to me indeed, my pot might ha’e served me this fifty
year, a sae wad it e’en.

This sport diverted Leper and his lads through the day; and after
supper, knowing he was to get some dirty bed, as the cows and the
people lived all in one apartment, he choose rather to go home;
and knowing the moon was to rise a little after midnight, he sat
by the fire, told them many a fine story to drive away the time,
and bade the wife make the bed to see how it might be: to save
candle she made it in the dark, directly on the floor behind where
they sat, shaking down two bottles of straw; a calf which chanced
to be lying on that place, and which the wife did not notice was
covered with the straw, and the bed clothes spread over it. The
most of the family being in bed, the wife told them to go to bed
also, but Leper knowing of the calf, said I’ll make my bed come to
me, on which the wife began to pray for herself and all that was in
the house; so up he gets his elwand, and gives a stroke on the bed
which caused the brute to rise, and not seeing where to go, it fell
a crying and turned round, which set the whole house a roaring out
murder in their own tongue. The goodwife ran to the bed above the
goodman, and the whole family cried out, not knowing what it was;
but Leper and his two lads whipt off the blankets, and the brute
ran in among the rest unperceived; then Leper lighted a candle, and
all of them got out of bed, paid Leper for his work, and more if he
pleased, and begged him to go away, and take the devil with him. So
home he went, but never was employed by that wife any more.

Leper had a peal of the best customers both in town and country; so
one time he had occasion to go to the parish of Inchinan, to make a
wedding suit for a gentleman, after they were finished he desired
drink money for his lads, which the gentleman refused: Leper
resolved to be even with him, so he goes to the hay loft where the
groom slept, and takes his stockings, breeches, and jacket, sewed
them together, and stuffs them full of hay; makes a head, puts a
rope about the neck, and hangs it on a tree, opposite to the lairds
window; then goes to the laird and tells him that his groom had
hanged himself, and that if he would open his window he would see
him hanging; the laird was struck with astonishment, and knew not
what to do; Leper advises him to bury him privately. The laird
said he had not a servant he could trust, so begged Leper to do it.
Leper refuses, till the laird promises him a load of meal, then
Leper pulls out all the hay out of the groom’s clothes; goes and
gets his load of meal, and sends it to Glasgow,--then goes to the
groom, and says, lad thy master is wanting thee. So the lad in all
haste runs to see what his master wanted, the laird no sooner saw
him open the door, than he cried out, Avoid thee Satan, avoid thee
Satan! The lad says, what’s the matter? Did not you hang yourself
this morning? Lord forbid! said the lad. The laird says if thou be
an earthly creature, take that tankard and drink: which he did;
then says he to his master, Leper called me up, and said you wanted
me in all haste. Ho, ho, said the laird, I find out the story now,
if I had Leper I would run my sword thro’ him; but Leper before
that was gone for Glasgow with his meal.

Leper was in use to give his lads their Sunday’s supper, which
obliged him to stay from the kirk in the afternoon, he having
neither wife nor servant maid; so one Sunday afternoon as he was
cooking his pot, John Mucklecheek, and James Puff-and-blaw, two
civileers, having more zeal than knowledge, came upon him, and
said--What’s the matter, sir, you go not to the kirk? Leper
replied, I’m reading my book and cooking my pot, which I think is
a work of necessity. Then says the one to the other, don’t answer
that graceless fellow, we’ll make him appear before his betters;
so they took the kail pot, and puts a staff through the bools, and
bears it to the Clerk’s chamber. Leper who was never at a loss for
invention, goes to the Principal of the College’s house, no body
being at home but a lass roasting a leg of mutton; Leper says,
my dear, will you go and bring me a drink of ale, and I’ll turn
the spit till you come back. The lass was no sooner gone, than he
runs away with the leg of mutton, which served his lads and him
for their supper. When the Principal came home, he was neither to
haud nor to bind he was so angry; so on Monday he goes and makes a
complaint to the Lord Provost, who sends two officers for Leper,
who came immediately. My Lord asked him how he dared to take away
the Principal’s mutton? Leper replied, how dared your civileers to
take away my kail pot? I’m sure there is less sin in making a pot
full of kail, than roasting a leg of mutton, law makers should not
be law breakers, so I demand justice on the civileers. The Provost
asked him what justice he would have? says he, make them carry
the pot back again; and to the Principal, a leg of mutton will not
make him and me fall out; so they were forced to carry the pot
back again, and Leper caused the boys to huzza after them to their
disgrace.

There was a barber who always plagued Leper, and called him
prick-the-louse.--Leper resolved to be even with him, so he goes
and buys three sheep heads, and sends for the barber, and told him,
that there were three fine Southland gentlemen just come to his
house, which much wanted to be shaved, and he assured him he would
receive sixpence for each one of them;--this good news made the
shaver send for a dram;--Leper was still praising them for quiet
good natured gentlemen. So Leper takes him to the bed where the
sheep heads lay covered, and desired him to awaken them for they
would not be angry, or say an ill word to him, the barber lifts the
covering and sees the sheep heads, runs out cursing and swearing,
and Leper crying after him, sheep head barber.

The barber resolved to be revenged on Leper, so when he was shaving
Mess John, he tells him that Leper was the drunkenest fellow in
the parish. So Mess John warns him to the session; Leper comes and
says, what do you want with me, Sir? Come away Leper, says Mess
John, I hear a bad report of you; me Sir, I am sure they were not
my friends that told you that.--Indeed, I am informed you are a
drunkard.--I a drunkard you have not a soberer man in your parish:
stop Sir, I will tell you how I lead my life--in the morning I
take a choppin of ale and a bit of bread, that I call my morning;
for breakfast I generally take a herring and a choppin of ale, for
I cannot sup brose like my lads; the herring makes me dry, so at
eleven hours I take a pint, and sometimes three choppins; at supper
I take a bit of bread and cheese and a pint, and so go to bed. Mess
John says, its extravagant Sir, its excessive drinking, I allow
you one half of it for a quarter of a year. Says Leper, I’ll try
it, Sir, and come back and tell you. At the end of the quarter he
draws out his account, and goes to Mess John, who was sitting with
his elders in the Session-house, and says; Sir I have a demand on
you; on me, Sir; Yes, on you, Sir; don’t you remember you allowed
me so much drink for a quarter of a year and I want the money. Am
I to pay your reckoning, Sir. You allowed it, and if you wont pay
it I’ll take you before the Provost. The elders advised him to pay
it or he would be affronted; so Leper got the money. When he was at
the door, he says, Sir, will you stand another quarter: Get away,
says Mess John, and don’t trouble me. Leper says, I am sure you
may, for I am always twopence to your penny.

THE END.

ANECDOTES.

INCONVENIENCE OF A PETITION.

A reverend Gentleman, when visiting his parishioners, was in one
house first saluted with the growling of a dog, and afterwards
by the cheering voice of a female, d--ning the dog for his
ill-breeding. He advanced and enquired for the master of the house.
“What do ye want wi’ that?” said the female. “We are wishing to see
him,” said the Reverend Gentleman, “will ye be so good as bring him
to us?” “I’ll gang nae sic an errand,” said she; “ye may gang doon
to the market yoursel’, an’ ye’ll see him there: they’re thrang
killin’ the day. But what are ye wanting wi’ Pate, if a body micht
speir.” “This is the minister,” said the elder who accompanied him,
“he is wishing to have some conversation with Peter, and to put
up a petition.” “A petition! a petition!” exclaimed the matron,
“ye’ll put up nae petition here; the house is wee eneugh already,
an’ wha do ye think’s gaun to be fashed wi’ masons an’ wrights
an’ a’ thae clamjamfray about their house? Faith no--the devil a
petition will be putten up in this house, as langs am in’t we’re
gaun to flit at Whitsunday, so ye may come then an’ put up as mony
petitions as ye like.”

DUKE OF BUCCLEUGH.

Henry, Duke of Buccleugh was greatly beloved by his numerous
tenantry. One of his small tenants, Jamie Howie by name, had a
son about four years of age, who, having heard much of a great
Duke of Buccleugh, was very anxious to see him. Honest Jamie, in
a few days, was honoured with a visit from the duke, when Jamie,
doffing his bonnet, and making a reverential bow, says “O my Lord!
ye maunna be angry wi’ me, but it’s God’s truth, my Lord, there’s
a daft we callant o’ mine that canna rest, nor let others rest
nicht nor day; he has ta’en in his head sic a notion o’ seeing
what like ye are, Gudesake, my Lord, I dinna think he has ony
yedea ye are a man at a’ but some far awa, outlandish, ower sea
creature.” The Duke mightily tickled with this fancy, desired
Jamie to bring the youngster into his presence forthwith. Out
comes the juvenile inquisitor, with his finger in his mouth, and
cautiously reconnoitres the personage before him. At last quoth the
urchin, “Can ye soom?” “No my little fellow,” replied his grace,
“I canna soom.” “Can ye flee?” “No, I canna flee.” “Weel, man, for
as muckle’s ye’re I wadna gie ane o’ my father’s dukes for ye, for
they can baith soom an’ flee.”

A BANE TO PIKE.

Some boys diverting themselves in one of the streets of Edinburgh,
observed on a door, a brass plate with Al--x--nd--r Guthrie, W. S.
engraved on it. In their diverson, they broke a pane of glass in
one of the windows, upon which Mrs. Guthrie and the maid sallied
forth and seized one of the delinquents. “Ye young rascal, what’s
ye’r name?” says the lady, “Saundy,” replied the boy. “What’s
ye’r ither name?”--“Guthrie.”--“Wha’s ye’r mither?”--“My mither
sells burd’s cages.”--“Whar does she live?”--“I’ the Patter
Raw.”--“Wha’s ye’r father?”--“I dinna ken.”--“Do ye no ken ye’r
father?”--“Na! he ne’er comes but whan it’s dark, an’ naebody kens
bit my mither.” Upon hearing this, the lady in a passion let go her
victim, and running into the room where her husband was sitting,
fell a-scolding him like a fury about his infidelity towards her.
The young rogue laughed heartily at the success of his fraud, and
turning to his companions, said to them, “I think I’ve gi’en her a
bane to pike!”

SEEING ONE DRUNK.

The late Rev. Mr.---- of D---- Aberdeenshire was fond of his friend
and a bottle; he sacrificed so often and so freely to the jolly
god, that the presbytery could no longer overlook such proceedings,
and summoned him before them to answer for his conduct.--One of the
elders, and constant companion in his social hours, was cited as
a witness against him. “Well, John (says one of the presbytery to
the elder) did you ever see the Rev. Mr. C---- the worse of drink?”
“Weel a wyte no: I’ve mony a time seen him the better o’t, but I
ne’er saw him the war o’t.” “But did you never see him drunk?”
“That’s what I’ll ne’er see, for before he be half slockened, I’m
aye blind fu’.”

[Illustration: FINIS.]

  JOHN FALKIRK’S

  CARICHES,

  TO WHICH IS ADDED

  TAM MERRILEES;

  A CAPITAL STORY.

  GLASGOW;
  PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

JOHN FALKIRK’S

CARICHES.

Question, What is the wisest behaviour of ignorant persons?

Answer, To speak of nothing but what they know, and to give their
opinion of nothing but what they thoroughly understand.

Ques. What time is it when a scolding wife is at her best?

Ans. When she is fast asleep.

Q. What time is a scolding wife at the worst?

A. When she is that wicked as to tear the hair out of her head,
when she cannot get at her neighbours, and through perfect spite
bites her own tongue with her own teeth.--My hearty wish is, that
all such wicked vipers may ever do so.

Q. What is the most effectual cure and infallible remedy, for a
scolding wife?

A. The only cure is to get out of the hearing of her; but the
infallible remedy is to nail her tongue to a growing tree, in
the beginning of a cold winter night, and so let it stand till
sun-rising next morning, then she’ll become one of the peaceablest
women that ever lay by a man’s side.

Q. What time of the year is it that there are most holes open?

A. In harvest when there are stubbles.

Q. What time is a cow heaviest?

A. When the bull’s on her back.

Q. Who was the goodman’s muckle cow’s calf’s mother?

A. The muckle cow herself.

Q. What is the likeliest thing to a man on a horse?

A. A Tailor on a mare.

Q. What is the hardest dinner that ever a Tailor laid his teeth to?

A. His own goose, tho’ ever so well boiled or roasted.

Q. How many toads’ tails will it take to reach up to the moon?

A. One, if it be long enough.

Q. How many sticks gangs to the digging of a craw’s nest?

A. None, for they are all carried.

Q. How many whites will a well made pudding-prick need?

A. When well made it will need no more.

Q. Who was the father of Zebedee’s children?

A. Zebedee himself.

Q. Where did Moses go when he was full fifteen years old?

A. Into his sixteenth.

Q. How near related is your aunty’s goodbrother to you?

A. He is my father.

Q. How many holes are there in a hen’s doup?

A. Two.

Q. How prove you that?

A. There is one for the dung and another for the egg.

Q. What is the best method of catching rogues?

A. There is none so fit as a rogue himself.

Q. Where was the usefulest fair in Scotland kept?

A. At Mullgay.

Q. What sort of commodities were there?

A. Nothing but ale and wicked wives.

Q. How was it abolished?

A. Because those that went to it once would go to it no more.

Q. For what reason?

A. Because there was no money to be got for them but fair barter,
wife for wife; and he who put away a wife for one fault, got
another for her with two as bad.

Q. What was the reason, that in those day a man could put away his
wife for pissing the bed, but not for sh----g it?

A. Because he could push it away with his foot and lie down.

Q. What is the reason now a-days, that men court, cast, marry, and
re-marry so many wives, and only but one in public at last?

A. Because private marriage is become as common as smuggling, and
cuckolding no more thought of than for a man to ride a mile or two
upon his neighbour’s mare: men get will and wale of wives; the best
portion and properest person is preferred, the first left the weak
to the worst; and she whom he does not love he puts away, and lies
down with whom he pleases.

Q. How will one know the bairns of our town by all others in the
kingdom?

A. By their ill-breeding and bad manners.

Q. What is their ill-breeding and bad manners?

A. If you ask them a question in civility, if it were but the road
to the next town, they’ll tell you to follow your nose, and if you
go wrong curse the guide.

Q. Are young and old of them alike for ill breeding?

A. All the odds lies in the difference, for if you ask a child
to whom he belongs, or who is his father, he’ll bid you kiss his
father’s arse and then you’ll ken.

Q. What sort of creatures are kindliest when they meet?

A. None can exceed the kindness of dogs when they meet in a market.

Q. And what is collie’s conduct when there?

A. First, they kiss other’s mouths and noses, smell all about, and
last of all, they are so kind as to kiss each other below the tail.

Q. What is the coldest part of a dog?

A. His nose.

Q. What is the coldest part of a man?

A. His knees.

Q. What is the coldest part of a woman?

A. Her backside.

Q. What is the reason that these three parts of men, women, and
dogs are coldest?

A. Fabulous Historians, says, that there were three little holes
in Noah’s Ark; and that the dog stopt his nose in one, and the man
put his knee in another, and into the third and biggest hole, the
woman bang’d her backside: and these parts being exposed to the
cold blast, is the cause which makes them cold ever since.

Q. What remedy does the man take for to warm his cold knees?

A. He holds them towards the fire, and when in bed, draws his
shirt down over them.

Q. What does the women do, to warm their cold part.

A. The married women put their backsides into their husbands’
arms:--Virgins, and those going mad for marriage, their maidenhead
keeps them warm:--old matrons, and whirl’d-o’er maidens, and widows
bewitched, hold their coldest parts to the fire.

Q. And what remedy does the poor dog take for his cold nose?

A. He staps it below his tail, the hotest bit in his body.

Q. What is the reason the dogs are worst on chapmen than on any
other strangers?

A. It is said, the dogs have three accusations against the chapman,
which has been handed down from father to son, or from one
generation of dogs to another: the first is as old as Æsop, the
great wit of Babylon.--The dogs having a lawsuit against the cats,
they gained the plea: one of the dogs coming trudging home with
the Decreet below his tail, a wicked chapman threw his ell-wan at
him, and he let the Decreet fall and so lost their great privileges
thereby. The second is, because in old times the chapmen used to
buy dogs and kill them for their skins. The third reason is, when a
chapman was quartered at a farmer’s house, that night the Dog lost
his right of licking the pot.

Q. What creature resembles most a drunken Piper?

A. A Cat when she sips milk, for then she always sings, and so does
a piper when he drinks good ale.

Q. What is the reason a dog runs twice round before he lies down?

A. Because he does not know the head of his bed from the foot of it.

Q. What creature resembles most a long lean, ill-looking
greasy-faced lady, for pride?

A. None so much as a cat, who is continually spitting in her lufe
and rubing her face, as many such ladies do the brown leather of
their wrinkled chafts.

Q. Amongst what sort of creatures will you observe most of a
natural law, or instinctive knowledge?

A. The Hart and the Hind meet on one certain day in the year; the
Brood Goose, lays her first egg on Eastern’s Even, old stile; the
Crows begin to build their nest about the first of March old
stile; the Swans, observe matrimony, and if a female die, the male
dare not take up with another or the rest will put him to death;
all the Birds in general join in pairs and keep so; but the Dove
resembles the adulterer, when the hen grows old he puts her away
and takes another; the Locusts observe military order, and march in
bands; the Frogs resembles gipsies and pedlers, for the young ones
ride the old ones to death.

Q. Who are the merriest and heartiest people in the world?

A. The Sailors, for they’ll be singing and cursing and daming one
another when the waves (their graves,) are going over their heads.

Q. Which are the disorderliest creatures in battle?

A. Cows and dogs; for they all fall on them that are neathmost.

Q. What are the vainest sort of people in the world?

A. A Barber, a Tailor, a young Soldier, and a poor dominie.

Q. What is the great cause of the barber’s vanity.

A. Because he is admitted to trim Noblemen’s chafts, thake their
sculls, take Kings by the nose, and hold a razor to their very
throats, which no other subject dare presume to do.

Q. What is the great cause of the Tailor’s pride?

A. His making of peoples new clothes, of which every person, young
and old is proud. Then who can walk in a vainer show than a tailor
carrying home a gentleman’s new clothes?

Q. What is the cause of a young soldier’s pride?

A. When he lists, he thinks he is free of his mother’s correction,
the hard usage of a bad master, his liberty to curse, swear, whore,
and do every thing, until he be convinced by four halberts and the
drummer’s whip, that he has now got both a civil and military law
above his head, and, perhaps, far worse masters than ever.

Q. What is the cause of the poor dominie’s pride?

A. As he is the teacher of the young and ignorant, he supposes
no man knows what he knows; and because boys call him master,
therefore he thinks himself a great man.

Q. What song is it that is sung without a tongue, and yet its notes
are understood by people of all nations?

A. It is a fart every one knows the sound of.

Q. What is the reason that young people are vain, giddy-headed and
airy, and not so obedient as the children of former years?

A. Because they are brought up and educated after a more haughty
strain, by reading fables, plays, novels, and romances; gospel
books, such as the Psalm-book, Proverbs, and Catechisms, are like
old almanacks; there is nothing in vogue but fiddle, flute, Troy
and Babylonish tunes; our plain English speech is corrupted with
beauish cants, such as dont, wont, nen, and ken; a jargon worse
than the Yorkshire dialect or the Hottentot gibberish.

Q. Why is swearing become so common among Scotch people?

A. Because so many lofty teachers came from the south amongst us,
where swearing is practised in its true grammatical perfection! Hot
oaths, new struck, hath as bright a lustre as a new quarter guinea
just come from the mint.

Q. How will you know the bones of a mason’s mare at the back of a
dyke, amongst the bones of a hundred dead horses lying in the same
place?

A. Because it is made of wood.

Q. What are the two things not to be spared, but not to be abused?

A. A soldier’s coat and a hired horse.

Q. How is a man in debt like a nobleman?

A. Because he has many to wait on and call for him.

Q. How is swearing like a shabby coat?

A. Because it is a bad habit.

Q. How is a bad pen like a wicked and profligate man?

A. Because it wants mending.

Q. Why is a church bell like a story that is handed about?

A. Because it is often toll’d.

Q. What is a man like that is in the midst of a river and cannot
swim?

A. He is like to be drowned.

Q. Why is a drawn tooth like a thing that is forgot?

A. Because it is out of one’s head.

Q. Why is a book like a tree?

A. Because it is full of leaves.

Q. Why is a good sermon like a plump pudding?

A. Because there is reasons in it.

Q. How is a whorish woman like a charitable person?

A. Because she brings her husband to a piece of bread.

Q. How is a lawyer like a contentious woman?

A. Because he breeds wrangling and jangling.

Q. Who is the greatest fool in the world?

A. A whore; for she hazards soul and body for a miserable
livelihood.

Q. Who are the two greatest thieves in Great Britain?

A. Tea and Tobacco, for they pick the pockets of the whole nation.

Q. What is the difference between Ale-drapers and Linen-drapers?

A. Only this, the one cheats you with froth and the other with
cloth.

Q. If Extortioners cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven, where will
Usurers, Tallymen, and Pawn-brokers go?

A. The same road with Extortioners.

Q. What is the consequence of immoderate gaming?

A. By cards and dice, a man is ruin’d in a trice, for gaming and
whoring often hang together.

Q. What employments are likest to one another?

A. Soldiers and Butchers are bloody near relations, for they both
live by slaughtering and killing.

Q. What are the two hardest things to be found, and yet they are
both good in their kind?

A. Good women, and good small beer.

Q. Who is the likest to a Boatman?

A. An hypocrite, who always looks one way and rows another, in all
his transactions.

Q. What are the five greatest rarities to be found in the world?

A. A black Swan, a Phœnix, an Unicorn, the Philosophers’ Stone, and
a maiden at sixteen.

Q. What is the greatest folly that sensible people can be guilty of?

A. To go to law about trifles, for whatever way the plea end, the
lawyers will be the greatest gainers.

Q. Who has the honestest trade in the world?

A. Ballad-singers; for they always deal with ready-money: and it is
as ancient as the Siege of Troy, for Homer was a ballad-singer.

Q. What is the surest method for one to become both rich and
respectable?

A. To be sober and industrious.

Q. What is the best method of overcoming the argument of a positive
person?

A. Either to say with him, or give him no answer.

Q. What is the wisest course to be followed by a man who has a
brawling and scolding wife?

A. To keep silent, and then she’ll bite her own fingers with anger.

Q. What thing is that which is lengthened by being cut at both ends?

A. A Ditch.

Q. What is that which was born without a soul, lived and had a
soul, yet died without a soul.

A. The whale that swallowed Jona.

Q. What is the longest and the shortest thing in the world? the
swiftest and the slowest? the most indivisible and the most
extended? the least valued and the most regretted? without which
nothing can be done? which devours all that is small, yet gives
life and spirit to all that is great?

A. Time.

Q. What creatures are those which appear closely connected, yet