A farmer
of the Carse used to complain very much of the awkwardness and
stupidity of all the men whom he employed, declaring that, if
he were only furnished with good clay, he believed he could
make better men him-
self. This ridiculous tirade got wind among the peasantiy, and
excited no small indignation. One of that class soon after found
an opportunity of revenging himself and his neighbours upon
the author, by a cut with his own
weapon.
It so happened
that the farmer was so unfortunate, one day, as to fall into
a quagmire, the material of which
was of such a nature as to hold him fast, and put extrication
entirely out of his own power.
In his troubles,
observing a ploughman approaching, he called out to him, and
desired his assistance, in order that he might get himself relieved
from his unpleasant confinement. The rustic, recognisinghim
immediately,
paid no attention to his entreaties, but passed carelessly by,
only giving him one knowing look, and saying,
“I
see you’re making your men, I'’ll not disturb you
!”