The natives of Aberdeenshire are distinguished for the two qualities of being very acute in their remarks and very peculiar in their language.  Any one may still gain a thorough knowledge of Aberdeen dialect and see capital examples of Aberdeen humour.  I have been supplied with a remarkable example of this combination of Aberdeen shrewdness with Aberdeen dialect.  In the course of the week after the Sunday on which several elders of an Aberdeen parish had been set apart for parochial offices, a knot of the parishioners had assembled at what was in all parishes a great place of resort for idle gossiping—­the smiddy or blacksmith’s workshop.  The qualifications of the new elders were severely criticised.  One of the speakers emphatically laid down that the minister should not have been satisfied, and had in fact made a most unfortunate choice.  He was thus answered by another parish oracle—­perhaps the schoolmaster, perhaps a weaver:—­“Fat better culd the man dee nir he’s dune?—­he bud tae big’s dyke wi’ the feal at fit o’t.”  He meant there was no choice of material—­he could only take what offered.

By the kindness of Dr. Begg, I have a most amusing anecdote to illustrate how deeply long-tried associations were mixed up with the habits of life in the older generation.  A junior minister having to assist at a church in a remote part of Aberdeenshire, the parochial minister (one of the old school) promised his young friend a good glass of whisky-toddy after all was over, adding slily and very significantly, “and gude smuggled whusky.”  His Southron guest thought it incumbent to say, “Ah, minister, that’s wrong, is it not? you know it is contrary to Act of Parliament.”  The old Aberdonian could not so easily give up his fine whisky to what he considered an unjust interference; so he quietly said, “Oh, Acts o’ Parliament lose their breath before they get to Aberdeenshire.”

There is something very amusing in the idea of what may be called the “fitness of things,” in regard to snuff-taking, which occurred to an honest Highlander, a genuine lover of sneeshin.  At the door of the Blair-Athole Hotel he observed standing a magnificent man in full tartans, and noticed with much admiration the wide dimensions of his nostrils in a fine upturned nose.  He accosted him, and, as his most complimentary act, offered him his mull for a pinch.  The stranger drew up, and rather haughtily said:  “I never take snuff.”  “Oh,” said the other, “that’s a peety, for there’s grand accommodation[15]!”

I don’t know a better example of the sly sarcasm than the following answer of a Scottish servant to the violent command of his enraged master.  A well-known coarse and abusive Scottish law functionary, when driving out of his grounds, was shaken by his carriage coming in contact with a large stone at the gate.  He was very angry, and ordered the gatekeeper to have it removed before his return.  On driving home, however, he encountered another severe shock