He was thus answered by another parish oracle--perhaps the schoolmaster, perhaps a weaver:--"Fat better culd the man dee nir he's dune ?--he bud tae big's dyke wi' the feal at fit o't." He meant there was no choice of material--he could only take what offered.
By the kindness of Dr.Begg, I have a most amusing anecdote to illustrate how deeply long-tried associations were mixed up with the habits of life in the older generation.

A junior minister having to assist at a church in a remote part of Aberdeenshire, the parochial minister (one of the old school) promised his young friend a good glass of whisky-toddy after all was over, adding slily and very significantly, "and gude _smuggled_ whusky." His Southron guest thought it incumbent to say, "Ah, minister, that's wrong, is it not?
you know it is contrary to Act of Parliament." The old Aberdonian could not so easily give up his fine whisky to what he considered an unjust interference; so he quietly said, "Oh, Acts o' Parliament lose their breath before they get to Aberdeenshire." There is something very amusing in the idea of what may be called the "fitness of things," in regard to snuff-taking, which occurred to an honest Highlander, a genuine lover of sneeshin.

At the door of the Blair-Athole Hotel he observed standing a magnificent man in full tartans, and noticed with much admiration the wide dimensions of his nostrils in a fine upturned nose.

He accosted him, and, as his most complimentary act, offered him his mull for a pinch.

The stranger drew up, and rather haughtily said: "I never take snuff." "Oh," said the other, "that's a peety, for there's grand _accommodation_[15]!" I don't know a better example of the sly sarcasm than the following answer of a Scottish servant to the violent command of his enraged master.