And yet Sandy
knew his place. Like Corporal Trim, who, although so familiar and
admitted to so much familiarity with my Uncle Toby, never failed in the
respectful address--never forgot to say "your honour." At a dinner party
Sandy was very active about changing his mistress's plate, and whipped
it off when he saw that she had got a piece of rich pate upon it. His
mistress, not liking such rapid movements, and at the same time knowing
that remonstrance was in vain, exclaimed, "Hout, Sandy, I'm no dune,"
and dabbed her fork into the "pattee" as it disappeared, to rescue a
morsel. I remember her praise of English mutton was a great annoyance to
the Scottish prejudices of Sandy. One day she was telling me of a
triumph Sandy had upon that subject. The smell of the joint roasting had
become very offensive through the house. The lady called out to Sandy to
have the doors closed, and added, "That must be some horrid Scotch
mutton you have got." To Sandy's delight, this was a leg of _English_
mutton his mistress had expressly chosen; and, as she significantly told
me, "Sandy never let that down upon me." On Deeside there existed, in my
recollection, besides the Saunders Paul I have alluded to, a number of
extraordinary acute and humorous Scottish characters amongst the lower
classes. The native gentry enjoyed their humour, and hence arose a
familiarity of intercourse which called forth many amusing scenes and
quaint rejoinders.
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