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Updated: May 10, 2025
"Na, nane ha'e I. I wad gang mysel' gien I cud be ony use," answered Mrs Mair; "but women are i' the gait whiles." "Weel, I'll no even say thank ye; I'll be awin' ye that as weel's the lave. But gien I dinna du weel, it winna be the fau't o' ane or the ither o' you twa freen's. Noo, Peter, we maun be aff." "No the nicht, surely?" said Mrs Mair, a little taken by surprise.
The old woman hesitated to tell, but after a little pressing she said, in half apologetic tone, "Weel, mem, it was na Ivor's fau't, but the day before yesterday he cam in fou ye ken he's fond o' his glass, mem, an' he was swingin' aboot his airms, poor falla, an' withoot the least intention, his haund cam doon wi' sik a ding on my heed that knockit me doon.
An' the first nicht 'at the win' 's up an' awa', dee the same, mem, wi' the win'. Get up upo' the back o' 't, like, as gien it was yer muckle horse, an' jist ride him to the deith; an' efter that, gien ye dinna maybe jist wuss 'at ye was a burn or a blawin' win' aither wad be a sair loss to the universe ye wunna, I'm thinkin', be sae ready to fin' fau't wi' the chield 'at made yon bit sangy."
'Tis dangerous for a young man to be telling more lies than is absolutely requisite. The lie superfluous brings many an honest man, and, what's more, many a cliver fellow, into a scrape and that's your great fau't, Pat. Pat. Which, sir? O'Bla. That, sir. I don't see you often now take a glass too much. But, Pat, I hear you often still are too apt to indulge in a lie too much. Pat. Lie!
"Ow, the kirk o' Scotlan', of coorse!" answered the patient, in some surprise at her ignorance. "Ow, whase but the Redeemer's!" "An' div ye think, Mr Craithie, 'at gien Jesus Christ had had a horse to sell, he wad ha'e hidden frae him 'at wad buy, ae hair a fau't 'at the beast hed? Wad he no ha'e dune till's neiper as he wad ha'e his neiper du to him?" What wad he hae to du wi' horse flesh?"
God pardon me for cursin' the harmless crathurs, for sure 'tisn't their fau't, sir: but you see, Major, I'll insinse you into it. Now look here, your honor. Did you ever see deeper: meadow nor that same, since you war foal -hem sintce you war born, your honor? Maybe, your honor, Major, 'ud just take the scythe an' sthrive to cut a swaythe?" "Nonsense, Connor; don't you know I cannot."
"Alas! alas! my bonnie birdie! Thy faithful mate flits round to guard thee. Connubial love! a pattern worthy The pious priest! What savage heart could be sae hardy As wound thy breast? "Ah me! it was nae fau't o' mine; It gars me greet to see thee pine. It may be serves His great design Who governs all; Omniscience tents wi' eyes divine The Sparrow's fall!
You ought to have had half an acre of land, at least, ploughed to-day." "Verra true, mistress. It was nae fau't o' mine. I had mista'en the hour. The funeral didna' come in afore sun-down, and I cam' awa' directly it was ower." "Was it any relation of yours?" "Na, na, jist a freend, an auld acquaintance, but nane o' mine ain kin. I never felt sare sad in a' my life, as I ha' dune this day.
Mistress Catherine Rooney, and all you good people, there is a great deal of difference between obtaining information and encouraging common informers. Catty. There is, I'm sinsible. 'Twas O'Blaney's fau't but he's down, and don't trample on the fallen. Old McB. Don't defind O'Blaney! Oh! the villain, to rob me of all my hard arnings. Mrs.
"Friens," said he, "I hae lived lang in the world; and in this house I hae often partaken the sweet repast of the conversations of that sanctified character, Michael Gilhaize, whom we a' revered as a parent, not more for his ain worth than for the great things to which he was a witness in the trials and troubles of the Reformation; and it seems to me, frae a' the experience I hae gatherit, that when ance kings and governments hae taken a step, let it be ne'er sae rash, there's a something in the nature of rule and power that winna let them confess a fau't, though they may afterwards be constrained to renounce the evil of their ways.
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