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Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The book of
Scottish story
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: The book of Scottish story

historical, humorous, legendary, and imaginative,
selected from the works of standard Scottish authors

Author: Various

Release date: November 8, 2023 [eBook #72064]

Language: English

Original publication: Edinburgh: The Edinburgh Publishing

Company, 1876

Credits: Richard Tonsing, Susan Skinner, and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK

OF SCOTTISH STORY ***
Transcriber’s Note:
New original cover art included with this eBook is
granted to the public domain.
 THE BOOK

OF

SCOTTISH STORY:

HISTORICAL, HUMOROUS,

LEGENDARY, AND IMAGINATIVE.

SELECTED FROM THE

Works of Standard Scottish Authors.

“Stories to read are delitable,
Suppose that they be nought but fable;
Then should stories that soothfast were,
And they were said on gude manner,
Have double pleasance in hearing.”
Barbour.

EDINBURGH:
THE EDINBURGH PUBLISHING COMPANY.
LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO.
 EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY THE COMMERCIAL PRINTING COMPANY,
22 HOWE STREET.
 PREFACE.

Next to its Ballads and Songs, the Stories of Scottish Literature are
the most characteristic exponents of the national spirit. Allowing for
the changes which time and the progress of civilization have effected
in the national manners and character since the beginning of the
present century—the era to which the Stories chiefly refer—they shall
be found to delineate the social and domestic features of Scottish life
as faithfully as the Ballads do the spirit and sentiment of an earlier
age; or as the daily press reflects, rather than portrays, those of the
present day. While Songs—the simple expressions of feelings and
sentiments, musically rendered—change, in so far as they exhibit
habits and manners, yet their form is lasting. Not so the Ballads,
whose true historical successors are Prose Stories, as Novels are
those of Romances.
Whether we account for it on the theory that a larger infusion of
the imaginative and romantic elements, characteristic of the Celtic
race, gives additional fervour to the Scottish character, or otherwise,
it is a fact that in no other community, on the same social level as
that of the peasantry and working-classes of Scotland, has this form
of literature had so enthusiastic a reception. There can be no doubt
that this widely diffused and keen appreciation, by an earnest and
self-respecting people, of Stories which are largely graphic
delineations of their own national features, has been the chief
stimulus to the production of so large and excellent a supply as our
literature contains.
The present Selection is made on the principle of giving the best
specimens of the most popular authors, with as great a variety, as to
subjects, as is compatible with these conditions.
The favourable reception of the issue in the serial form, both by
the press and the public, is looked upon by the projectors as an
earnest—now that the book is completed—that its further reception
will be such as to assure them that they have not fallen short of the
aim announced in their prospectus, viz., to form a Collection of
Standard Scottish Tales calculated to delight the imagination, to
convey interesting information, and to elevate and strengthen the
moral principles of the young.
Edinburgh, August 1876.
CONTENTS.
The Henpecked Man, John Mackay Wilson
Duncan Campbell, James Hogg
The Lily of Liddisdale, Professor Wilson
The Unlucky Present, Robert Chambers
The Sutor of Selkirk “The Odd Volume,”
Elsie Morrice, Aberdeen Censor,
How I won the Laird’s Daughter, Daniel Gorrie
Moss-Side, Professor Wilson
My First Fee, Edin. Literary Journal,
The Kirk of Tullibody, Chambers’s Edin. Journal,
The Progress of Inconstancy, Blackwood’s Magazine,
Adam Bell, James Hogg
Mauns’ Stane; or, Mine Host’s Tale, Aberdeen Censor,
The Freebooter of Lochaber, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder
An Hour in the Manse, Professor Wilson
The Warden of the Marches, Edin. Literary Gazette,
The Alehouse Party, “The Odd Volume,”
Auchindrane; or, the Ayrshire Tragedy, Sir Walter Scott
A Tale of the Plague in Edinburgh, Robert Chambers
The Probationer’s First Sermon, Daniel Gorrie
The Crimes of Richard Hawkins, Thomas Aird
The Headstone, Professor Wilson
The Widow’s Prediction, Edin. Literary Journal,
The Lady of Waristoun, Chambers’s Edin. Journal,
A Tale of Pentland, James Hogg
Graysteel John o’ Groat Journal,
The Billeted Soldier, Eminent Men of Fife,
Bruntfield, Chambers’s Edin. Journal,
Sunset and Sunrise, Professor Wilson
Miss Peggy Brodie, Andrew Picken
The Death of a Prejudice, Thomas Aird
Anent Auld Grandfaither, &c., D. M. Moir
John Brown; or, the House in the Muir, Blackwood’s Magazine,
Traditions of the Old Tolbooth of Edinburgh, Robert Chambers
The Lover’s Last Visit, Professor Wilson
Mary Queen of Scots and Chatelar, Literary Souvenir,
A Night in Duncan M‘Gowan’s, Blackwood’s Magazine,
The Miller and the Freebooter, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder
Benjie’s Christening, D. M. Moir
The Minister’s Widow, Professor Wilson
The Battle of the Breeks, Robert Macnish
My Sister Kate, Andrew Picken
Wat the Prophet, James Hogg
The Snow-Storm, Professor Wilson
Love at one Glimpse, Edin. Literary Journal,
Nanny Welsh, the Minister’s Maid, Daniel Gorrie
Lady Jean, Chambers’s Edin. Journal,
The Monkey, Robert Macnish
The Ladder-Dancer, Blackwood’s Magazine,
The Elder’s Death-Bed, Professor Wilson
A Highland Feud, Sir Walter Scott
The Resurrection Men, D. M. Moir
Mary Wilson, Aberdeen Censor,
The Laird of Cassway, James Hogg
The Elder’s Funeral, Professor Wilson
Macdonald, the Cattle-Riever, Literary Gazette,
The Murder Hole, Blackwood’s Magazine,
The Miller of Doune, “The Odd Volume,”
The Headless Cumins, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder
The Lady Isabel, Chambers’s Edin. Journal,
The Desperate Duel, D. M. Moir
The Vacant Chair, John Mackay Wilson
Colkittoch, Literary Gazette,
The Covenanters, Robert Macnish
The Poor Scholar, Professor Wilson
The Crushed Bonnet, Glasgow Athenæum,
The Villagers of Auchincraig, Daniel Gorrie
Perling Joan, John Gibson Lockhart
Janet Smith, Professor Thomas Gillespie
The Unlucky Top Boots, Chambers’s Edin. Journal,
My First and Last Play, D. M. Moir
Jane Malcolm, Edin. Literary Journal,
Bowed Joseph, Robert Chambers
The Laird of Wineholm, James Hogg
An Incident in the Great Moray Floods of 1829, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder
Charlie Graham, the Tinker, George Penny
The Snowing-up of Strath Lugas, Blackwood’s Magazine,
Ezra Peden, Allan Cunningham
Young Ronald of Morar, Literary Gazette,
The Broken Ring, “The Odd Volume,”
A Passage of My Life, Paisley Magazine,
The Court Cave, Drummond Bruce
Helen Waters, John Malcolm
Legend of the Large Mouth, Robert Chambers
Richard Sinclair; or, the Poor Prodigal, Thomas Aird
The Barley Fever—and Rebuke, D. M. Moir
Elphin Irving, the Fairies’ Cupbearer, Allan Cunningham
Choosing a Minister, John Galt
The Meal Mob, Edin. Literary Journal,
The Flitting, “My Grandfather’s Farm,”
Ewen of the Little Head, Literary Gazette,
Basil Rolland, Aberdeen Censor,
The Last of the Jacobites, Robert Chambers
The Grave-Digger’s Tale, “The Auld Kirk Yard,”
The Fairy Bride, Edin. Literary Journal,
The Lost Little Ones, “The Odd Volume,”
An Orkney Wedding, John Malcolm
The Ghost with the Golden Casket, Allan Cunningham
Ranald of the Hens, Literary Gazette,
The French Spy, John Galt
The Minister’s Beat, Blackwood’s Magazine,
A Scottish Gentlewoman of the Last Century, Miss Ferrier
The Faithless Nurse, Edin. Literary Gazette,
Traditions of the Celebrated Major Weir, Robert Chambers
The Windy Yule, John Galt
Grizel Cochrane, Chambers’s Edin. Journal,
The Fatal Prayer, Literary Melange,
Glenmannow, the Strong Herdsman, William Bennet
My Grandmother’s Portrait, Daniel Gorrie
The Baptism, Professor Wilson
The Laird’s Wooing, John Galt
Thomas the Rhymer, Sir Walter Scott
Lachlan More, Literary Gazette,
Alemoor, Chambers’s Edin. Journal,
Tibby Fowler, John Mackay Wilson
Daniel Cathie, Tobacconist, Edin. Literary Almanac,
The Haunted Ships, Allan Cunningham
A Tale of the Martyrs, James Hogg
The Town Drummer, John Galt
The Awful Night, D. M. Moir
Rose Jamieson, Anon.
A Night at the Herring Fishing, Hugh Miller
The Twin Sisters, Alexander Balfour
Albert Bane, Henry Mackenzie
The Penny Wedding, Alexander Campbell
Peat-Casting Time, Thomas Gillespie
An Adventure with the Press-Gang, Paisley Magazine,
The Laird of Cool’s Ghost, Old Chap Book,
Allan-a-Sop, Sir Walter Scott
John Hetherington’s Dream, Old Chap Book,
Black Joe o’ the Bow, James Smith
The Fight for the Standard, James Paterson
Catching a Tartar, D. M. Moir
 THE BOOK OF

SCOTTISH STORY.
 THE HENPECKED MAN.

By John Mackay Wilson.

Every one has heard the phrase, “Go to Birgham!” which signifies
much the same as bidding you go to a worse place. The phrase is
familiar not only on the borders, but throughout all Scotland, and
has been in use for more than five hundred years, having taken its
rise from Birgham being the place where the Scottish nobility were
when they dastardly betrayed their country into the hands of the first
Edward; and the people, despising the conduct and the cowardice of
the nobles, have rendered the saying, “Go to Birgham!” an expression
of contempt until this day. Many, however, may have heard the
saying, and even used it, who know not that Birgham is a small
village, beautifully situated on the north side of the Tweed, about
midway between Coldstream and Kelso; though, if I should say that
the village itself is beautiful, I should be speaking on the wrong side
of the truth. Yet there may be many who have both heard the saying
and seen the place, who never heard of little Patie Crichton, the
bicker-maker. Patie was of diminutive stature, and he followed the
profession (if the members of the learned professions be not
offended at my using the term) of a cooper, or bicker-maker, in
Birgham for many years. His neighbours used to say of him, “The
puir body’s henpecked.”
Patie was in the habit of attending the neighbouring fairs with the
water-cogs, cream-bowies, bickers, piggins, and other articles of his
manufacture. It was Dunse fair, and Patie said he “had done
extraordinar’ weel—the sale had been far beyond what he expeckit.”
His success might be attributed to the circumstance that, when out of
the sight and hearing of his better half, for every bicker he sold he
gave his customers half-a-dozen jokes into the bargain. Every one,
therefore, liked to deal with little Patie. The fair being over, he
retired with a crony to a public-house in the Castle Wynd, to crack of
old stories over a glass, and inquire into each other’s welfare. It was
seldom they met, and it was as seldom that Patie dared to indulge in
a single glass; but, on the day in question, he thought they could
manage another gill, and another was brought. Whether the sight of
it reminded him of his domestic miseries, and of what awaited him at
home, I cannot tell; but after drinking another glass, and
pronouncing the spirits excellent, he thus addressed his friend:—
“Ay, Robin” (his friend’s name was Robin Roughead), “ye’re a
happy man—ye’re maister in your ain hoose, and ye’ve a wife that
adores and obeys ye; but I’m nae better than naebody at my ain
fireside. I’ll declare I’m waur: wife an’ bairns laugh at me—I’m
treated like an outlan’ body an’ a fule. Though without me they micht
gang an’ beg, there is nae mair respeck paid to me than if I were a
pair o’ auld bauchels flung into a corner. Fifteen years syne I couldna
believed it o’ Tibby, though onybody had sworn it to me. I firmly
believe that a gude wife is the greatest blessin’ that can be conferred
upon a man on this earth. I can imagine it by the treasure that my
faither had in my mither; for, though the best may hae words atween
them occasionally, and I’m no saying that they hadna, yet they were
just like passin’ showers, to mak the kisses o’ the sun upon the earth
mair sweet after them. Her whole study was to please him and to
mak him comfortable. She was never happy but when he was happy;
an’ he was just the same wi’ her. I’ve heard him say that she was
worth untold gold. But, O Robin! if I think that a guid wife is the
greatest blessin’ a man can enjoy, weel do I ken that a scoldin’,
domineerin’ wife is his greatest curse. It’s a terrible thing to be
snooled in your ain house—naebody can form an idea o’t but they
wha experience it.
“Ye remember when I first got acquainted wi’ Tibby, she was doing
the bondage work at Riselaw. I first saw her coming out o’ Eccles kirk
ae day, and I really thocht that I had never seen a better-faured or a
more gallant-looking lass. Her cheeks were red and white like a half-
ripe strawberry, or rather, I should say, like a cherry; and she seemed
as modest and meek as a lamb. It wasna very lang until I drew up;
and though she didna gie me ony great encouragement at first, yet, in
a week or twa, after the ice was fairly broken, she became remarkably
ceevil, and gied me her oxter on a Sunday. We used to saunter about
the loanings, no saying meikle, but unco happy; and I was aye
restless whan I was out o’ her sight. Ye may guess that the shoemaker
was nae loser by it during the six months that I ran four times a-
week, wet or dry, between Birgham and Riselaw. But the term-time
was drawing nigh, and I put the important question, and pressed her
to name the day. She hung her head, and she seemed no to ken weel
what to say; for she was sae mim and sae gentle then, that ye wad hae
said ‘butter wadna melt in her mouth.’ And when I pressed her mair
urgently—
“‘I’ll just leave it to yoursel, Peter,’ says she.
“I thocht my heart wad louped out at my mouth. I believe there
never was a man sae beside himsel wi’ joy in this warld afore. I fairly
danced again, and cut as many antics as a merryandrew. ‘O Tibby,’
says I,
‘I’m ower happy now!—Oh, haud my head!
This gift o’ joy is like to be my dead.’

“‘I hope no, Peter,’ said she; ‘I wad rather hae ye to live than dee
for me.’
“I thocht she was as sensible as she was bonny, and better natured
than baith.
“Weel, I got the house set up, the wedding-day cam, and
everything passed ower as agreeably as onybody could desire. I
thocht Tibby turning bonnier and bonnier. For the first five or six
days after the weddin’, everything was ‘hinny,’ and ‘my love,’ and
‘Tibby, dear,’ or ‘Peter, dear.’ But matters didna stand lang at this. It
was on a Saturday nicht, I mind, just afore I was gaun to drap work,
that three or four acquaintances cam into the shop to wush me joy,
and they insisted I should pay off for the weddin’. Ye ken I never was
behint hand; and I agreed that I wad just fling on my coat and step
up wi’ them to Orange Lane. So I gaed into the house and took down
my market coat, which was hangin’ behint the bed; and after that I
gaed to the kist to tak out a shilling or twa; for, up to that time, Tibby
had not usurped the office of Chancellor o’ the Exchequer. I did it as
cannily as I could; but she had suspected something, and heard the
jinkin’ o’ the siller.
 “What are ye doing, Patie?’ says she; ‘whar are ye gaun?’
“I had never heard her voice hae sic a sound afore, save the first
time I drew up to her, when it was rather sharp than agreeable.
“‘Ou, my dear,’ says I, ‘I’m just gaun up to Orange Lane a wee
while.’
“‘To Orange Lane!’ says she; ‘what in the name of fortune’s gaun to
tak ye there?’
“‘O hinny,’ says I, ‘it’s just a neebor lad or twa that’s drapped in to
wush us joy, and, ye ken, we canna but be neebor-like.’
“‘Ay! the sorrow joy them!’ says she, ‘and neebor too!—an’ how
meikle will that cost ye?’
“‘Hoot, Tibby,’ says I, for I was quite astonished at her, ‘ye dinna
understand things, woman.’
“‘No understand them!’ says she; ‘I wish to gudeness that ye wad
understand them though! If that’s the way ye intend to mak the siller
flee, it’s time there were somebody to tak care o’t.’
“I had put the siller in my pocket, and was gaun to the door mair
surprised than I can weel express, when she cried to me—
“‘Mind what ye spend, and see that ye dinna stop.’
“‘Ye need be under nae apprehensions o’ that, hinny,’ said I,
wishing to pacify her.
“‘See that it be sae,’ cried she, as I shut the door.
“I joined my neebors in a state of greater uneasiness o’ mind than I
had experienced for a length o’ time. I couldna help thinkin’ but that
Tibby had rather early begun to tak the upper hand, and it was what
I never expected from her. However, as I was saying, we went up to
Orange Lane, and we sat doun, and ae gill brocht on anither. Tibby’s
health and mine were drunk; we had several capital sangs; and, I
daresay, it was weel on for ten o’clock afore we rose to gang awa. I
was nae mair affected wi’ drink than I am at this moment. But,
somehow or ither, I was uneasy at the idea o’ facing Tibby. I thought
it would be a terrible thing to quarrel wi’ her. I opened the door, and,
bolting it after me, slipped in, half on the edge o’ my fit. She was
sitting wi’ her hand at her haffit by the side o’ the fire, but she never
let on that she either saw or heard me—she didna speak a single
word. If ever there was a woman—