An amusing anecdote of a pithy and jocular reply, comprised in one syllable, is recorded of an eccentric legal Scottish functionary of the last century.  An advocate, of whose professional qualifications he had formed rather a low estimate, was complaining to him of being passed over in a recent appointment to the bench, and expressed his sense of the injustice with which he had been treated.  He was very indignant at his claims and merit being overlooked in their not choosing him for the new judge, adding with much acrimony, “And I can tell you they might have got a ‘waur[54].’” To which, as if merely coming over the complainant’s language again, the answer was a grave “Whaur[55]?” The merit of the impertinence was, that it sounded as if it were merely a repetition of his friend’s last words, waur and whaur.  It was as if “echo answered whaur?” As I have said, the oddity and acuteness of the speaker arose from the manner of expression, not from the thing said.  In fact, the same thing said in plain English would be mere commonplace.  I recollect being much amused with a dialogue between a late excellent relative of mine and his man, the chief manager of a farm which he had just taken, and, I suspect in a good measure manager of the farmer as well.  At any rate he committed to this acute overseer all the practical details; and on the present occasion had sent him to market to dispose of a cow and a pony, a simple enough transaction, and with a simple enough result.  The cow was, brought back, the pony was sold.  But the man’s description of it forms the point.  “Well, John, have you sold the cow?” “Na, but I grippit a chiel for the powny!” “Grippit” was here most expressive.  Indeed, this word has a significance hardly expressed by any English one, and used to be very prevalent to indicate keen and forcible tenacity of possession; thus a character noted for avarice or sharp looking to self-interest was termed “grippy.”  In mechanical contrivances, anything taking a close adherence was called having a gude grip.  I recollect in boyish days, when on Deeside taking wasp-nests, an old man looking on was sharply stung by one, and his description was, “Ane o’ them’s grippit me fine.”  The following had an indescribable piquancy, which arose from the Scotticism of the terms and the manners.  Many years ago, when accompanying a shooting party on the Grampians, not with a gun like the rest, but with a botanical box for collecting specimens of mountain plants, the party had got very hot, and very tired, and very cross.  On the way home, whilst sitting down to rest, a gamekeeper sort of attendant, and a character in his way, said, “I wish I was in the dining-room of Fasque.”  Our good cousin the Rev. Mr. Wilson, minister of Farnel, who liked well a quiet shot at the grouse, rather testily replied, “Ye’d soon be kickit out o’ that;” to which the other replied, not at all daunted, “Weel, weel, then I wadna be far frae