In my early days the intercourse with the peasantry of Forfarshire, Kincardineshire, and especially Deeside, was most amusing—­not that the things said were so much out of the common, as that the language in which they were conveyed was picturesque, and odd, and taking.  And certainly it does appear to me that as the language grows more uniform and conventional, less marked and peculiar in its dialect and expressions, so does the character of those who speak it become so.  I have a rich sample of Mid-Lothian Scotch from a young friend in the country, who describes the conversation of an old woman on the property as amusing her by such specimens of genuine Scottish raciness and humour.  On one occasion, for instance, the young lady had told her humble friend that she was going to Ireland, and would have to undergo a sea voyage.  “Weel, noo, ye dinna mean that!  Ance I thocht to gang across to tither side o’ the Queensferry wi’ some ither folks to a fair, ye ken; but juist whene’er I pat my fit in the boat, the boat gae wallop, and my heart gae a loup, and I thocht I’d gang oot o’ my judgment athegither; so says I, Na, na, ye gang awa by yoursells to tither side, and I’ll bide here till sic times as ye come awa back.”  When we hear our Scottish language at home, and spoken by our own countrymen, we are not so much struck with any remarkable effects; but it takes a far more impressive character when heard amongst those who speak a different tongue, and when encountered in other lands.  I recollect hearing the late Sir Robert Liston expressing this feeling in his own case.  When our ambassador at Constantinople, some Scotchmen had been recommended to him for a purpose of private or of government business; and Sir Robert was always ready to do a kind thing for a countryman.  He found them out in a barber’s shop, waiting for being shaved in turn.  One came in rather late, and seeing he had scarcely room at the end of the seat, addressed his countryman, “Neebour, wad ye sit a bit wast?” What strong associations must have been called up, by hearing in an eastern land such an expression in Scottish tones.

We may observe here, that marking the course any person is to take, or the direction in which any object is to be met with, by the points of the compass, was a prevailing practice amongst the older Scottish race.  There could hardly be a more ludicrous application of the test, than was furnished by an honest Highlander in describing the direction which his medicine would not take.  Jean Gumming of Altyre, who, in common with her three sisters, was a true soeur de charite, was one day taking her rounds as usual, visiting the poor sick, among whom there was a certain Donald MacQueen, who had been some time confined to his bed.  Miss Gumming, after asking him how he felt, and finding that he was “no better,” of course inquired if he had taken the medicine which she had sent him; “Troth no, me lady,” he replied.  “But why not, Donald?”