“Dr. Scott, minister of Carluke (1770), was a fine graceful kindly man, always stepping about in his bag-wig and cane in hand, with a kind and ready word to every one.  He was officiating at a bridal in his parish, where there was a goodly company, had partaken of the good cheer, and waited till the young people were fairly warmed in the dance.  A dissenting body had sprung up in the parish, which he tried to think was beneath him even to notice, when he could help it, yet never seemed to feel at all keenly when the dissenters were alluded to.  One of the chief leaders of this body was at the bridal, and felt it to be his bounden duty to call upon the minister for his reasons for sanctioning by his presence so sinful an enjoyment.  ‘Weel, minister, what think ye o’ this dancin’?’ ‘Why, John,’ said the minister, blithely, ’I think it an excellent exercise for young people, and, I dare say, so do you.’  ’Ah, sir, I’m no sure about it; I see nae authority for’t in the Scriptures.’  ‘Umph, indeed, John; you cannot forget David.’  ’Ah, sir, Dauvid; gif they were a’ to dance as Dauvid did, it would be a different thing a’thegither.’  ’Hoot-o-fie, hoot-o-fie, John; would you have the young folk strip to the sark?’”

Reference has been made to the eccentric laird of Balnamoon, his wig, and his “speats o’ drinking and praying.”  A story of this laird is recorded, which I do think is well named, by a correspondent who communicates it, as a “quintessential phasis of dry Scotch humour,” and the explanation of which would perhaps be thrown away upon any one who needed the explanation.  The story is this:—­The laird riding past a high steep bank, stopped opposite a hole in it, and said, “Hairy, I saw a brock gang in there.”  “Did ye?” said Hairy; “wull ye hand my horse, sir?” “Certainly,” said the laird, and away rushed Hairy for a spade.  After digging for half-an-hour, he came back, quite done, to the laird, who had regarded him musingly.  “I canna find him, sir,” said Hairy.  “‘Deed,” said the laird, very coolly, “I wad ha’ wondered if ye had, for it’s ten years sin’ I saw him gang in there.”

Amongst many humorous colloquies between Balnamoon and his servant, the following must have been very racy and very original.  The laird, accompanied by Hairy, after a dinner party, was riding on his way home, through a ford, when he fell off into the water.  “Whae’s that faun?” he inquired. “’Deed,” quoth Hairy, “I witna an it be na your honour.”

There is a peculiarity connected with what we have considered Scotch humour.  It is more common for Scotsmen to associate their own feelings with national events and national history than for Englishmen.  Take as illustrations the following, as being perhaps as good as any:—­The Rev. Robert Scott, a Scotsman who forgets not Scotland in his southern vicarage, and whom I have named before as having sent me some good reminiscences, tells me that, at Inverary, some thirty years ago, he could not help overhearing