rawing-room, put
his head in at the door, and shouted: "The plates are a' smashed,
and I'm awa."

A facetious and acute friend, who rather leans to the Sydney Smith view
of Scottish wit, declares that all our humorous stories are about
lairds, and lairds that are drunk. Of such stories there are certainly
not a few. The following is one of the best belonging to my part of the
country, and to many persons I should perhaps apologise for introducing
it at all. The story has been told of various parties and localities,
but no doubt the genuine laird was a laird of Balnamoon (pronounced in
the country Bonnymoon), and that the locality was a wild tract of land,
not far from his place, called Munrimmon Moor. Balnamoon had been dining
out in the neighbourhood, where, by mistake, they had put down to him
after dinner cherry brandy, instead of port wine, his usual beverage.
The rich flavour and strength so pleased him that, having tasted it, he
would have nothing else. On rising from table, therefore, the laird
would be more affected by his drink than if he had taken his ordinary
allowance of port. His servant Harry or Hairy was to drive him home in a
gig, or whisky as it was called, the usual open carriage of the time. On
crossing the moor, however, whether from greater exposure to the blast,
or from the laird's unsteadiness of head, his hat and wig came off and
fell upon the ground. Harry got out to pick them up and restore them to
his master. The laird was satisfied with the hat, but demurred at the
wig. "It's no my wig, Hairy, lad; it's no my wig," and refused to have
anything to do with it. Hairy lost his patience, and, anxious to get
home, remonstrated with his master, "Ye'd better tak it, sir, for
there's nae _waile_[161] o' wigs on Munrimmon Moor." The humour of the
argument is exquisite, putting to the laird in his unreasonable
objection the sly insinuation that in such a locality, if he did not
take _this_ wig, he was not likely to find another. Then, what a rich
expression, "waile o' wigs." In English what is it? "A choice of
perukes;" which is nothing comparable to the "waile o' wigs." I ought to
mention also an amusing sequel to the story, viz. in what happened after
the affair of the wig had been settled, and the laird had consented to
return home. When the whisky drove up to the door, Hairy, sitting in
front, told the servant who came "to tak out the laird." No laird was to
be seen; and it appeared that he had fall