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Updated: May 5, 2025
When he began to speak, his voice was so low that he could hardly be heard, and he faltered so sadly that his friends felt that all was at an end. But, as he himself had once said, "Nait'ral parts are better than all the larnin' on airth;" and he had these "nait'ral parts," as he was about to prove. As he went on a change in his aspect took place.
However, I bear him no ill-will, poor man, only I don't want what I do leave to go to him, which it would if I were to die without a will; because, of course, he is my natural heir, and " "Haud ye there, man," said the Scot abruptly but slowly. "If he's your nait'ral heir, ye're his nait'ral heir tae, ye ken."
"Ye may be sure," he answered, "it gaed some agen the grain to seek wark frae HIM, an' I had no rizzon upon earth for no comin' to you first but that I didna want to be sae far, at nicht especially, frae my father. He's no the man he was." "Verra nait'ral!" responded the farmer heartily, and wondered in himself whether any of his sons would have considered him so much.
As a specimen of his manner of speech at that time we are told that once, when denying the advantages of education, he clinched the argument by exclaiming, "Nait'ral parts are better than all the larnin' on airth." As for the law, he did not know enough about it to draw up the simplest law-paper.
Gien she war my ain mither, there bude to be some nait'ral drawin's atween 's, a body wad think. But it winna haud, for there's the laird! The verra name o' mither gars him steik his lugs an' rin." "Still, if she be your mother, it's for better for worse as much as if she had been your own choice."
It was not the moon that could make it so white. "Ginevra!" he said, with trembling voice. "Yes, Donal," she answered. "Ye're no angry at me for ca'in ye by yer name? I never did it afore." "I always call you Donal," she answered. "That's nait'ral. Ye're a gran' leddy, an' I'm naething abune a herd-laddie." "You're a great poet, Donal, and that's much more than being a lady or a gentleman."
An' for this broo, I wad clear awa the lowse stanes, an' lat the nait'ral gerse grow sweet an' fine, an' turn a lot o' bonny heelan' sheep on till't. I wad keep yon ae bit o' whuns, for though they're rouch i' the leaf; they blaw sae gowden.
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