The Charm In Scotch

1895

I wonder if persons who can write Scotch are sufficiently aware of the great literary advantage they have over writers who are not born to that ability. It is no credit to them that they can do it. It is a gift to nature dropped in their lap. I never heard of any one who learned by artificial means to write Scotch. Scotch writers do it, and no one else. It has long been obvious that the proportion of good writers to the whole Scotch population was exceedingly large, but I do not remember that it has ever been pointed out how much easier it is for a Scotchman to be a good writer than another because of his innate command of the Scotch tongue.

There are such delightful words in that language; words that sing on the printed page wherever their employer happens to drop them in; words that rustle; words that skirl, and words that clash and thump. — Scribner's.

She Waited

1901

Even a Scotchman cannot always be humorous, if he would. Like other people, however, he is sometimes funny without meaning to be. The Scottish-American thinks that the message sent by a young man in Peeblesshire to his waiting bride may have kept her from worrying over his nonappearance, but that she must after all have received it with mixed feelings.

The bride elect lived in a village some distance from the home of William the bridegroom. The wedding was to be at her home. On the eventful day the young man started for the station, but on the way met the village grocer, who talked so entertainingly that William missed his train.

Naturally he was in what is known as a "state of mind." Something must be done and done at once. So he sent the following telegram:

Don't marry till I come. WILLIAM.

If the bride elect knew her William she probably knew how he felt when he sent the message and forgave the mental confusion which resulted in what she must have looked upon as a needless request.

Scotch Is Greek to Her

1900

An exchange quotes the following conversation between husband and wife. She suddenly addresses him: "What are you reading so absorbingly?"

"It's a new Scotch novel."

"Oh!" cries the wife, with enthusiasm. "I'm so fond of those dear dialect things! Do read me a little!"

"Can you understand it?"

"Can I understand it?" she repeats, loftily. "Well, I should hope anything you are reading need not be Greek to me!"

"No, but it might be Scotch."

"Well, go on, read just where you are."

"'Ye see, Elspie,' said Duncan, doucely, 'I might hae mair the matter wi' me than ye wad be spierin'. Aiblins ma een is a bit dazzlit, an' I'm hearin' the poolses thuddin' in ma ears, an' ma toongue is clavin' when it sud be gaein'; an' div ye no hear the dirlin' o' ma hairt, an' feel the shakin' o' ma hond this day gin I gat a glimpse o' ye, sair hirplin' like an auld mon? Div ye nae guess what's a' the steer, hinney, wi'out me gaein' it mair words?'"

"Stop! Stop! For goodness' sake! What in the world is the creature trying to say?"

-He's making a declaration of love."

"A declaration of love! I thought he was telling a lot of symptoms to his doctor!" — Youth's Companion.