THE LIBRARY
OF THE

OMNIBUS ARTIBUS
OF M
CLASS
BOOK
825M1475
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THE
HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.





THE
HERMIT IN EDINBURGH;
OR,
SKETCHES OF MANNERS
AND
REAL CHARACTERS AND SCENES
IN
THE DRAMA OF LIFE.
F. M'Donough
"Forsan et hæc olim meminisse jurabit.”—VIRGIL.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR SHERWOOD, JONES, AND CO.
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
CRIV. OF MINN. LIBRARY
1824.


LONDON:
SHACKELL AND ARROWSMITH, JOHNSON'S-COURT, FLEET-STREET.


A
* $35
ALLEN
CONTENTS
ΤΟ
THE THIRD VOLUME.
Page.
The Mariner
The Leith Stage.......
1
21
The Scotch Language Vindicated
.... 33
An Article on Servants
Great Peoples' Servants, (in continuation)
Returned from Paris, and a Word about
Emigrants.........
A French Circle and Advice ....
43
51
...
David Blunt
A Character.....
67
81
93
107
622197


vi
CONTENTS.
Page.
Ways and Means, Art of Living without
Money...
119
......
My Married Friends .....
137
Poor Emily
147
........
The Retired Officer......
159
The Road to Notoriety.
171
An Applicant......
185
Come to Nothing of Joey Gallon
199
The King's Visit to Edinburgh
209
The King's Visit (in continuation)………………………….. 223
A Recapitulation and Conclusion.....
.... 233


THE MARINER.
VOL. III.


"Hominem pagina nostra sapit.”—MARTIAL.
"Am I so chang'd by suffering, so forgot,
That love disown me. Zillah knows me not?"
MONTGOMERY.


THE MARINER.
It was in a stormy night of March, when the
equinoxial gales are truly fearful on the
northern coast; the wind blew furiously off
shore, and the current ran mountains high;
the clouds passed in rapid and gloomy suc
cession across a full moon, which just enabled
us to discern the lights at Leith from time to
time but the state of the weather was such,
that it was impossible to make the land.
"Thus," thought I," does the tempest-
beaten, climate-struck mariner, brave all the
dangers of the main. Thus does he endure
the extremes of heat and cold. Escaping
the cannon's destructive mouth; living and
B 2


THE MARINER.
weathering out many a heavy and careful
menacing of death, to founder in sight of
land. Touching his native strand, within the
glimmer of the fire-light of the humble habi-
tation where first he drew his breath, within
the sound of his own parish church, whose
ancient wall echoed the plighted vow of his
parents at the hymeneal altar, and first re-
ceived him, directed by their care, in the road
of rectitude, and in the path of religion. Per-
haps, bent down by time and hardships, the
old couple now expect a son; or, scarcely
daring to trust to the delusion of hope, con-
verse themselves to sleep: partly going over
the dangers of the boisterous main, and partly
cheating the long nours, and quelling their
struggling fears, by fervid orison, and by
often repeated wishes or his safety. Alas!
no morrow shall dawn upon their last and
only remaining pledge of love. The gay
hearth shall no more blaze for him. His
parish church shall toll out the knell of his
departed days. Or, perhaps, some tender
partner, or bosom friend, musing over her


THE MARINER.
5
wheel, with tearful eye, like the faithful
Penelope at her web, may, at this moment,
be retracing all the scenes of lost felicity,
which sparkled over her earliest youth, and
bloomed in promise of an union; or, a long
life passed together in mutual love and truth,
she may be reflecting, with becoming pride,
on the many offers and temptations which she
has spurned for her beloved sailor, when sad
reports shall assail her ears, of the havoc
which the furious elements must make that
night on the wrecks, which the dawn of day
may probably discover to afflicted eyes. She
will bless her stars, that her William is not
expected on such a night; yet will pass her
sleepless night in the mental dread and agony
which uncertainty must produce; her morn-
ing prayer shall die upon her lips, when the
cold corpse of her heart's treasure shall be
towed to the land. At this instant, I felt
a damp chill seize upon every limb. A
wave dashed over me; and a piercing shriek
issued from the bosoms of two young women,
whom I had covered with my tartan cloak,


6
THE MARINER.
and who sat trembling on deck. The master
of the vessel, and his small crew, were occu-
pied, and, evidently agitated. We had now
lost head-way considerably; and from a
flash of lightning, which commenced a second
scene of horror, we beheld the coast of Fife.
Enlarging to our view, we had left it for
many hours, and fondly hoped to have been
landed at Leith considerably before this time.
Dripping with wet, I looked round on every
side for a countenance of relief, when a
stern visaged seaman, a passenger on board,
accented in a hoarse tone, "This is nothing,
your honor, to what I have seen;" and then
(his features softening, and his eye speaking
gentle pity), he addressed himself to the
young women, "Ladies, there's nothing to
fear. I say, master, keep her out to sea. She
is a good sea-boat. Stay! I'll lend you a
hand. See how the rain begins to drop in
torrents! Heaven be praised! the wind will
soon be down. Steady as you go, there. La!
there's nothing to fear!" All hung on his
words, as if an angel had uttered them. He


THE MARINER.
7
took the helm from the weary helm's-man.
The rain did pour upon us in torrents; and
the wind subsided by degrees. As he per-
ceived it, he cast a glance upwards, with a
ghastly smile, which seemed half to say,
“Hail! once more, ye terrors of the deadly
deep ;" and half told us that his nautical ex-
perience had not deceived us. I handed him
a glass of spirits: in return for which, he
threw me his boat-cloak, which I declined
⚫ in the first instance, but accepted, on his ob-
serving, "nothing will hurt me. The stormy
winds, the thunder, lightning, and rain; the
angry waves, and the lowering clouds, and I,
are old acquaintances. I am not worth their
while-not worth taking care of; for I have
nothing to live for. Bless you! It is your
rich and happy ones as clings to life, and falls
prematurely by accidents." Here he shook
his head; and a solemn pause followed his
last words. "The wretch," he resumed
again,"must spin out life's cable to the
end."Here the rain abated considerably;
the wind murmured itself to rest; the day


8
THE MARINER.
dawned upon us, and the hardy mariner fee-
bly smiled again. Our boat was soon lowered
from the deck; our sailors were exhausted,
yet they tugged with all their strength, and
the bold veteran tar so bore his part, that it
was evident he was no novice, no fresh water-
sailor-
"No lounging landsman labouring at the oar."
I studied his countenance minutely it had
possessed another expression, far different to
that which hardships and misfortunes served
to have tarnished; the lustre of his youth,
with the eye, had been impassioned; the smile
had been warm and mirthful; the forehead
open, candid, and benevolent; there had been
a dimple on the cheek planted by the hand of
broad humour; his locks had been berry-
brown, but now the sudden and opposite
changes of climate had shed his hair and
sprinkled winter's frost upon his brow; the
furrow of care and disappointment seemed to
have altered his features entirely; the fire of


THE MARINER.
9
his eye was quenched, and his lip fell like
that of attention at a tale of sadness.
I longed to learn his history; and now we
were landed. The hearts of two brothers
danced at beholding their sisters safely land:
that delight, too, was once mine, but is mine
no more. I received all their thanks for the
trifling services which I had rendered them
on our passage from the opposite coast; and
I brought the sailor into the Britannia (he
was an honour to her) to breakfast with me.
I asked him what business he had in Edin-
burgh; he told me "None," but that what
he had to do at Leith would soon be settled,
and he should very soon again embark on the
watery element, on a broader scale, and pro-
bably cross the Atlantic. "What, so short a
stay on shore ?" said I. "Yes, your honour;
I know no one here-land has no charms for
me-1 am more at home at sea." "Oh!".
interrupted I, you like the sea best ?"
"That's another matter," he replied; "we
all like dry land best; but who of us gets
what he likes best in his passage through life?
66
B 3


10
THE MARINER.
And that's for some wise purpose, I take it."
I have heard a rich and eloquent preacher
deliver from the pulpit a lengthy discourse,
replete with the flowers of rhetoric, the lan-
guage of high classical education, the skill
and ingenuity of learned argument, with
action suited to the subject; and yet the
amount conveyed not so much as "and that's
for some wise purpose, I take it:" the brief
yet humble conviction of "I take it" was
more impressive than volumes.
My admiration for the character of a true
British sailor, which I have weighty reasons
(wounding my bosom) for, and a womanish
feeling, which is all that a dear mother has
bequeathed me, prevent me from lengthening
and finely drawing out a simple tale, which
took so fast a hold of my sympathies, that I
think I now see the man of England, in his
sailor's dress, seated before me, and that I
hear him relate his plain, but (to me) most
interesting history.
"I am an Englishman," said he, on com-
mencing his narrative. "That's an honour-


THE MARINER.
11
able name," answered I.
"Thank your
honour: yes,
I am a man of Kent"—" And,"
added I, "that is the soil of the bold"-He
smiled. "My father, who was an honest
farmer, wanted to put me to a trade; eldest
brother was to have had the farm, and he had
three sisters to provide for. I could not abide
business, for my thoughts were always afloat:
I had heard of Nelson and other great men,
and I wanted to see a little of life.
It was
my wish to enter the King's service; but my
poor old father besought me, with tears, not
to bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the
grave, but first to try the merchant-service,
and when I had had my whim out, he said,
he hoped that I should quit that line, and
stay steadily at home. Well, I owed the old
man obedience, and I did accordingly. I
kissed mother and sisters, squeezed dad's
hand, and started, for fear of piping. I
joined my ship at Shields, and got under
weigh, first, for Scotland, and next for a Rus-
sian port.
We were wrecked off the Ork-
neys, and lost two of our best hands: I had


12
THE MARINER.
a squeak for my life myself, and never should
have reached shore, if I had not been used to
swimming from my earliest years. I lost all
my kit, and I got so severely hurt by a fall,
that I kept my bed and spit blood for three
weeks; a bad beginning, thought I-it looks
as if this was a judgment, for thwarting poor
father's wishes. So I was determined to
make the best of it, and wrote in high spirits
home, making less of the matter than it really
was, and not saying a word about the loss of
my clothes and money, which I valued very
little, except a silk handkerchief which mother
gave me, and father's silver bacco stopper,
which he kindly put into my hand at parting."
Here he drew breath, a cloud passed across
his face, and he seemed to wish not to go over
the sorrows of his life again. I uttered not a
word, and he began once more. "Well-here"
-his tongue faultered-" here I met in with
Mary M'Alpin "-at this name a blush be-
spoke blighted hope-" Well, your honour,
I was sick and she attended me; and I was
lonely and she cheered me; and I was pen-


THE MARINER.
13
marry,
nyless and her father sheltered me; so we
got spliced together, and lived very happily
for a month, by which time the vessel was
refitted; we got a supply of money from
England and took some goods and passengers
on board. I got new rigged out, and re-
solved, after this first trip, to come back to
Mary, and to go into some line or another,
although I was fit for none. I did not write
home to tell father and mother of my mar-
riage, for I knew that they would think me
too young to
and Poll was a poor girl,
and we had nothing but our youth between
us, so I trusted to mother's being so glad to
see her son home again, and Poll's good
looks, sister's putting in a good word for us,
and father's forgiveness; but I was sorely
punished for this-" here he again betrayed
emotion, but cleared his voice and went on.
"I sailed, but we met with another gale;
we were picked up by a man of war, the jolly
crew gave me too much grog, and as I again
lost my new rigging and my time, and was
not articled to the master of the merchantman,


14
THE MARINER.
I thought that I would not go home like a
fool, but would see a little service; and I
entered accordingly: liquor, and not reason,
was at my helm at the moment; and I paid
dearly for my frolic. To make short of a
long story, your honor, I served for nearly
ten years, in all parts of the world; I have
witnessed hurricanes and thundergusts; have
shed my blood for my country in action;
have taken and been taken, and have been
retaken again; have lost my all and have
been fitted out again as well as ever. At last,
peace came, but there was no peace for me."
I bade him still hope for better times, and
forced another glass of spirits on him.-"I
did indulge hope, but yet not without dread;
for it seemed to me that I was not born to be
happy, and my undutifulness came into my
mind again." Well might he have exclaimed--
"Hope feebly glimmer'd on my heart's despair.”
"I was paid off at Portsmouth, and was re-
solved to see father and mother, brother and


THE MARINER.
15
sisters first, and then to go down to the north
to fetch Pol up, after breaking my marriage
to the old folks; I had a few trifling presents
for them, and I trusted that my coming
home at last, would make up for all their
uneasiness about me. I arrived in the Isle
of Thanet; the house was shut up; the folks
was all at work; the farm was all new
fangled and done up; there was no old dog
to come and fawn upon me, to welcome me;
my heart dunted (an expression which he
must have picked up in Scotland) against my
breast, as if to tell me that all was not right.
I went to the fields, it was in harvest time;
but my poor parents' harvest was got in for
the last time they now slept together beneath
the sod, and left no trace behind them, but
the aching void in their unworthy son's
bosom. Sisters had died in youth; brother
had turned out ill, and had listed for a sol-
dier, after parting with the farm; but per-
haps that may be for the best too; he is a
bold fellow and a bright scholar, and he may
come to som'at at last: at all events, I will be


16
THE MARINER.
sworn that he'll do his duty like a man.” An
unwelcome tear intruded in his eye. " I
had now prize money, and smart money; a
silver watch and half a dozen rings with real
jewels, for Poll; so I starts for the north
again. I could not find a vessel for the
Orkneys direct, so that I was obliged to take
my passage to Leith, and to travel on foot, a
thing which I was little accustomed to; at
length I set sail for the islands, weary, foot
sore, and somehow downhearted; for my
heart misgave me, and I appeared to myself
as if I was born for nothing but trouble;
perhaps, thought I, Poll is dead too, or in
wretched poverty, for I never heard from her.
the whole time of my absence; and, as I
can't write (for I neglected my education`
entirely when I was taken up with the
notion of going on board of a man of
war) she never had received any certain
tidings, about me, and might have left
the place; or have been forced to go
to service. This would have distressed me
much; but I was comforted by the idea,


THE MARINER.
17
that the little money which I had saved
would make us all right again. I reached
her door. She looks out of the window.
ask for her by my own name; and
I
she
did not recollect me in the least. She says,
no such a person lives there; and bids me be
gone. I inquired next door, and find her
married to another man.. -She had had
me cried at the shore and Pier of Leith; at the
end of seven years' absence had picked up a
whipper-snapper fellow, in Edinburgh; and
had gone down to Orkney to set up a shop.
That, your honor, was the death blow. Could
I take her again? No: trust another." Here
he gave a long whistle, in order to banish
agonizing remembrance-" and that's all—
I am now on my way to enter again at Leith.
Fortune can never play me fouler than she
has done so success to your honor, and good-
day to you, for I fear I have already tired you
enough with my story." "We part not thus,
honest Jack," said I. So detaining him to
dinner, I sent him to his quarters in a little
better spirits than I found him. Many years


18
THE MARINER.
sure,
*
after this, I met him by accident, in London.
He had served out the second war. He had
fought and bled again. "I am still afloat,
your honor," said he to me, "the billows
and the bullets, the boarding spikes and
sabres, have spared me till now; and, I am
I never got out of their way. My
time a'n't come yet: the heart is tougher
than we think for. Mine was broken long
ago; yet I have kept above water, with the
wreck of it, as you see-and that's all."
"And that's all, indeed!" exclaimed I to
myself, "has fortune no balm in store for
thy bruised and bleeding bosom? Will joy
never again beam over thee, in life's dreary
* This unassuming statement was uttered so em-
phatically, that nothing more could be conveyed by
the language of the intrepid Æneas, in the following
invocation:-
"Iliaci cineres, et flamma extrema meorum,
Testor in occasuvestro, nec tela, nec ullas
Vit avisse vices Danaum, et si fata fuissont
Ut caderem, meruisse manu."
VIRGIL


THE MARINER.
19
voyage? Art thou still alone, as it were, in
life's crew? And, whilst other men may
enjoy the solace of friendship, affection, and
the ties of consanguinity? must thy heart
be widowed, and thyself fatherless, and a
stranger in the land? Only thirty-six years
in age, yet a century old; in sad reverses and
in sufferings. But our bark is not built for
very long passages. The winds themselves
shall one day cease to blow. There is a port
beyond the planet of our inhabiting;" and
that it may be a peaceful one to poor Jack,
and to all those who peruse this humble bio-
graphy, up to the present day, is the hope
and wish of
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.





THE LEITH STAGE.


"Chi va piano, va sano,
E lontano."
ITALIAN PROVER B.


THE LEITH STAGE.
THE family of Trotter has, for its motto,
"Festina lente," which means slow and sure.
This device would well have become the
Leith stage twenty years ago, when the
dram-drinking coachman took two nods and
three drams betwixt the Tron Kirk and
Leith. Things have mended their pace since
that day, and some of the Trotters have got
into a full gallop in fortune's car; but the
Leith conveyance is still only up to the acce-
lerè of Paris, which is but a jog-trot after
all, and which is as different from a city or a
Piccadilly turn-out, as sheep's-head broth is
from genuine turtle soup, which is very long


24
THE LEITH STAGE.
odds. But every man to his taste: some like
the simple, some the sublime; some cannot
live without importations from regions beyond
the line; some adhering to the line of pru-
dence, are content with homely fare; and it
is the opinion of many that the introduction
of oriental and of accidental luxuries have
vitiated the national palate, and debilitated
the constitution which was so robust in the
days of our ancestors. The dramatic stage
has altered as widely from what the coarse
taste of the olden times was, as the most
superior turn-out of a mail drawn by four
thorough-bred horses is to a road-waggon
with four dreaming plough-horses in it. The
Leith vehicle still preserves its measured,
steady step, for we are not prepared for the
Piccadilly touch, and the "down the road,"
attended with such strife and rivalship, such
looking out for fares and fairs, such jockey-
ship for customers, such having an eye to
trade and to pickpockets. Our national dis-
cretion could not put up with the slang of the
brethren of the whip, from Dover-street to


THE LEITH STAGE.
25
the corner of Bolton-street; and, to say the
truth, the liberty given to the organ of speech
there, would be inadmissible in the discreet
contiguous towns of Leith and Embri' (Edin-
burgh.)
I had tarried so long with the seaman, and
written so many letters after his retreat from
the inn, that it was dark, and another stormy
evening coming on; just one place in the stage,
the load of which seemed stowed like herrings
in a barrel. I therefore got edged into a
corner; and, as the door shut, the driver
claimed his dues for the candle. "Well,"
thought I, "we are an enlightened people:
he who travels in Greece, or has grease to
travel with him, can boast no more. Besides,
there is something discreet in this dip, which
casts a glimmer of acquaintance over us. I
have felt the doubts and inconvenience of
being boxed up with three or more individuals
in a travelling machine, and of fearing lest
the rosy-fingered morning should have handed
in something very unpleasant. In this short
way the consideration would have been unne-
VOL. III.
C


26
THE LEITH STAGE.
cessary; but in a long, dark winter's night,
it is a serious matter to reflect on.
I paid a penny for the condle with much
pleasure, and had the advantage of having
the mutton-fat
go through its process of fusion
under my very nose. A fat wife (I hope she
was such) and a sick child were my "vis a
vis" companions: the lady proved to a cer-
tainty that she had strong breath; and the
infant put it beyond a doubt that she (it was
a lassie) had a weak stomach.
"Blow high,
blow low," was the order of the night. The
window was raised and dropped a score of
times. The wind blew keenly and fiercely:
my fellow-travellers often blew their noses, for
reasons which I dare not explain. I rendered
mine impregnable by foul vapour, from a
double charge of snuff; and we had the good
luck to set down the mother and the child
mid-way to Edinburgh. We took up a worse
companion—such are the ups and downs of
life: the corpus delicti which was given in
charge to the coachman, was a Highland
drover in the last stage of intoxication. How


THE LEITH STAGE.
27
I longed to be set down!—but it might have
been worse.
Strange bodies are transported in night-
coaches the other side the Tweed, and ""Tis
better to lie drunk than dead," says the song;
and so would say any one condemned to be
packed up in the same vehicle with the chance
customers of a road, be its length ever so
short. The drover remained motionless; not
so the tongue of Miss Annie M'Clish. She
fished for, and found out my birth, parentage,
and education, in a few minutes, and even
went so far as to enquire about my property.
In return, she named a score of rich relations
of her own, and at least as many men of
mark-a Knight, a Baron of Exchequer, a
Colonel, a Captain of a man-of-war, a Minis-
ter (of the kirk), an Ex-provost of half a
century back, a Sheriff of Inverness, and,
lastly, her cusin, a Writer. From these family
records, she brought me into ancient history;
and seemed as well-acquainted with Julius
Cæsar and his descent into Britain, as if she
had been one of the party. She then mono-
c 2


28
THE LEITH STAGE.
polized all the conversation by a monologue
on the history of her own kintry—detailing
the private biography of Ro-bert Bruce as
circumstantially as if it had been an affair of
yesterday, and explaining the enmity betwixt
the Bruces and Baliols with no small degree
of intelligence. It was evident that she had
read a great deal; and it was as clear that she
did not hide her "talent under a bushel."
From Scripture she passed rapidly, but loqua-
ciously, to the Douglas cause, of which I saw
no end until our arrival, when probably she
might have brought me before the inner or
outer house, and secured me by the button
until I heard all; but a pert London rider,
who was in the opposite corner, affronted her,
and so put an end to her discourse. Having
heard her called Miss, on being put into the
carriage, and contemplating the lines of age,
which seemed to mock a bay-wig in full and
flowing curls upon her forehead, he asked her
by way of a hoax, "Pray, Ma'am, was you
never married ?" She blushed blue, smiled,
and replied, "Sic non-sense! (making two


THE LEITH STAGE.
29
long syllables of the word)-Why ye ken
better, for
ye hard my uncle's servant-lass ca'
me Miss." "Very much a miss," muttered
the would-be-wit to himself; "but would
you
like to marry an Englishman ?" "Why,"
looking girlish-like, "I dinna think that I
should shoot (suit, so pronounced) an Eng-
lishman." "I hope not, Ma'am; that would
be deadly bad." "Suit, ye pronounce it in
the south," resumed she, a little flustered by
this incivility: "what I mean is that I am
unco' fond of hame, and a plain-spoken body,
so that your *braw Englishman would think
the like of me quite an incumbrance." "Not
a bit, Ma'am; you might be very useful,"
answered he very flippantly: "we English-
men are grave, silent fellows, and you could
talk for your husband, provided you would
only allow him to think for himself."
Here the bagman laughed, winked his eye,
and looked for applause; but he gained none
* This evergreen spinster's having passed her six-
tieth year may account for her unconquerable Scotch
dialect.


30
THE LEITH STAGE.
from me: I felt this wound to humanity, this
assault against all delicacy, as though it had
been personal. The unmanly triumph over
a woman, whether to expose her age, her
weakness, or her ignorance (and this charge
could not be substantiated against her), is
everywhere abominably despicable: yet how
many would-be wits and dandies there are (a
strange unnatural mixture!) whose principal
amusement and occupation consist in detect-
ing a hole in a stocking, or a wrinkle in a
coat; a straw sticking to a stocking, or a spot
of mud upon a petticoat; a slip of the foot,
or of the tongue; an innocent blunder, or a
more innocent blush; a national phrase or
accent, the brogue or broad Scottish dialect,
when, perhaps, the self-made critic has a
worse accent, a worse phraseology, and ten
times more ignorance than the party reviewed
and corrected. But ignorance is proud of its
little knowledge, effrontery and flippancy
exist only at the expense of timidity and
humility, of the humble rustic and the lone
defenceless female. The present one was a


THE LEITH STAGE.
31
strong instance of this, a complete case in
point. Dejection sat upon the lady's brow:
the aggression was wholly unexpected. Miss
Annie gave a short cough and accented in a
low tone, "I'm muckle obliged to ye." Si-
lence reigned during the short remainder of
our journey, and I was happy to be released
from my situation.
How I abhor these coxcomb, travelling
prigs, lace-venders, order-takers, and sample-
carriers, half bucks, half shopmen, vapour-
ing, where unknown, in their gigs, or with
their master's horse. I remember one of these
fellows who passed himself off for a Major
amongst the women and at Poole's Coffee-
house; and another fellow, who was a pastry-
cook, and who run away with a female under
the name of a Colonel-Major Baggs and
Colonel Cook! Forsooth, the triumvirate
would have been complete, had a travelling
tailor been added to them, by the name, style,
and title of Major Bridges, because (as the
story goes of a fellow of the trade getting
smuggled in at a rout by that name): when


32
THE LEITH STAGE.
detected and hard-pressed, he had an expla
natory excuse,by saying, "Made your breeches,
Sir, I meant."
To lace the jackets of such fellows, whe-
ther tailors, lace-venders, or the travellers of
a haberdasher's warehouse, would be no small
gratification to
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.


THE SCOTCH LANGUAGE
VINDICATED.


"A man convinced against his wil!
Is of the same opinion still.'
BUTLER'S HUDIBRAS.


THE SCOTCH LANGUAGE
VINDICATED.
WITH all due deference to the memory of
the witty author above named, I think that
these lines rather mean, a man set right
against his will; and in that point of view,
they bear upon a Scotch friend of mine, who
would never be convinced that the broad
Scotch phraseology and accent were not the
easiest understood, the plainest, the most com-
prehensive, and the most forcible; there was
not a single expression which he did not de-
fend with all his might and main; even bad
spelling was considered as a trivial fault by
him, and he one day observed, that he did not
see why one man had not as good a right as


36 SCOTCH LANGUAGE VINDICATED.
:
another to his own particular method of
spelling. I sometimes used to amuse myself
at his expence; but do what I could, he
always seemed to come off at least half
triumphant, and was more obstinate and con-
firmed in his opinion than ever. His shifts
and turns to defend his cause were curious
enough, and as they often made me laugh,
they may perhaps have the same effect on my
reader in the words knife, knee, knight, &c.
the old Scotch pronounce the k very strong,
and on my objecting to that pronunciation, he
exclaimed, "Why man, what business has
the k there at all, if it is not to be pronounced?
And do you not suppose that the man who
first put the k there knew our language as
well as we do?" Many broad Scotch words he
clearly proved to be of French origin, adding,
"And since you are a' sic fuils as to gang
to France for your fashions, why should we
not have a fashion in our words ?" Nay he
positively asserted that if an Englishman and
a Scotchman were to travel together on the
continent, without knowing the languages of


SCOTCH LANGUAGE VINDICATED.
87
the countries through which they passed, the
Scotchman would be generally better under-
stood than the former, because he speaks
broader, more emphatically, and pronounces
the a, and other letters, more like a French-
man. In Holland, the thing is ridiculous,
but not less true: an Englishman has no
chance at all, but broad Scotch is quite easily
made out; and I knew a Scotch lady, who
travelled through Holland and Flanders, and
who, whenever French was of no use, spoke
broad Scotch to the Dutch and Flemish, who
perfectly comprehended what was meant. My
shoon, is Flemish, but my shoes, would be un-
intelligible to them; hand shoon, hand shoes,
mean gloves, which a Scotchman compre-
hends immediately; but the fact is, that my
friend was such a stickler for his ain langage,
that he could twist a meaning or etymology
out of any thing; for instance the term haber-
dasher, he proved to me to be pure German,
and easily made out by a Scotchman. “Have
that Sir," purporting will you have that Sir?
being its component parts, haben das her;


38
SCOTCH LANGUAGE VINDICATED.
"for," continued he, "the first shops were
like booths at a fair, and the travelling or
residing merchant was always in front of it,
either stationary or walking about, provoking
the passer by to purchase, as we see the up-
holsterers about Moor Fields, and a number
of Jew salesmen in different parts of the town.
Nay, the very term merchant is applied to
every trade in France and Scotland; a grocer
is a merchant in Scotland, and deals, as in
France, in wines, dried fruit, spirits, wax
candles, &c. Nay, in France, you have mer-
chants from a wine merchant and upholsterer,
down to a match merchant and a ginger-bread
merchant un marchand de vin, un marchand
de meubles, un marchand d'alumettes, et un
marchand du pain d'espice; this is certainly
letting down the mercantile men as low as
possible, whereas in England, no retail vendor
is a merchant, and their merchant is a com-
mercial character of the highest importance;
what we call a merchant, is termed a nego-
ciant in France. The Scotch name for a
radish was defined by my friend with much


SCOTCH LANGUAGE VINDICATED.
39
ingenuity; he persisted in its being of very
elegant derivation, namely, from the Latin
verb refero, and as the returning year brings
back its annuals with it, refert, (it brings back
the radish at its due season) so much for a
hard shift; it may fairly be called a far
fetched explanation, but it strikes me that
rave forte is nearer the thing; be that as it
may, he gave one very decided proof that a
Scotchman can make himself understood in
Flanders, and can comprehend their meaning
more readily than a man who only speaks cor-
rect English.
Two English gentlemen were travelling
through Brabant, and had occasion to employ
a tailor; the amount of his bill, for some
trifling repairs of clothes, was twenty francs;
and as the travellers had been imposed upon
more than once, a receipt was called for; the
tailor spoke a little bad French, but could not
write it; he accordingly wrote out the receipt
in his own native language, which bore-
"Bekent unt fanger 20frs." This was as
little to be understood by either of the travel-


40
SCOTCH LANGUAGE VINDICATED.
•
lers, but on one of them saying to his Scotch
servant, "What the devil does this fellow
mean?" Sandy cast an eye over the paper, and
explained it in an instant, although he could
neither speak one word of Flemish, or of Ger-
man (which differ widely.) "Eh! Sir," ex-
claimed Sandy, quite delighted, "its plain
eneugh, feggs it is juist pure Scotch, he kent
he'd fingered 20frs." The translation was
most satisfactory to all parties, and my
friend's triumph on relating the story was
very great.
It must therefore be allowed
that the lowlander is as much entitled to his
dialect and phraseology as any other nation;
the Greeks, for instance; how different is the
Athenian from other Greek; the Sicilian
again, which is very distinct from pure ele-
gant Italian; the pays de basque, very little
resembling the French; nor is a Scotchman
with his unco's half so ridiculous as an Eng-
lishman talking bad French, or a Frenchman
pronouncing English in such a manner as to
make downright nonsense of it, for instance
the man who having a written direction to


SCOTCH LANGUAGE VINDICATED.
41
Ironmonger Lane in the city, stopped a per-
son to enquire for this said Ironmonger Lane,
which he pronounced irons manger l'ane;
upon which the person to whom he addressed
his enquiries, and who spoke French, replied,
"Ma foi Monsieur, allez manger votre ane
on vous voulez." "Faith Sir, you may eat
your ass where you please," and so he left
him; no such ridiculous circumstance could
have occurred to Sandy, nor could he make
so gross a mistake as an Englishman, who
on being informed that, on the memorable
day of August, on which the faithful Swiss
guards were massacred, Lewis the Sixteenth
flew for protection to the National Assembly,
which he left between two sans culottes, ex-
claimed, wonderful! and when he repeated
the story, he assured his hearers that the king
came out of the assembly with two hundred
pair of breeches under his arm: avec deux
cens culottes sous les bras. And again,
another John Bull, who upon hearing a
Frenchman say that he had performed a long
journey in a day, and that he proceeded, as it


42
SCOTCH LANGUAGE VINDICATED.
+#
were, mechanically, machinallement, cried,
"Oh! I understand, par une machine alle-
man!!! Can any thing be more absurd?
Having now, in many instances, vindicated
lowland Scotch, I shall take leave of my
reader in that dialect, saying guid naight,
which would be quite clear to a Flemish per..
son, naght mynheer, and dak madam, being
the ordinary salutations of the country, which
are literally nothing but day and night to
you; but evidently meaning good day, and
good night, as says, at this present writing
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.
P.S. Since writing the above, a fastidious
friend observed that he always considered
as a very indelicate phrase, the married wo-
man in Scotland calling her husband my
man, and yet, in polished France, what is ma
femme, but my woman?


AN ARTICLE ON SERVANTS.


"Necessitas non habet legem."
"Necessity has no law."-PROVERB.


AN ARTICLE ON SERVANTS.
NOTHING but necessity, I should think,
could induce one in humbler classes of life to
become a servant; the very idea of being at
the nod of an employer-to have the life of a
man devoted to another-no will of his own
-degrading offices to perform-to be subject
to the harsh temper, the caprice, the varying
humour of a master, must be a hard thing
indeed. Then, again, the chance of being
thrown into mendicity in old age, to be an
outcast when past the time for labouring,
must be a sad perspective to a servant who
becomes such perhaps from the want of that
very education which might be a resource


46
ON SERVANTS.
and support to him in the evening of life; a
servant is, indisputably, a degraded class in
life, yet what could the great, the proud, the
vain, the opulent do without them? Idleness
is, not uncommonly, the cause of a young
man's going to service; and idleness is what
multiplies his office. Amongst great people
the Scotchman is a faithful servant, but he is
not a smart one; he is dull, he is heavy; the
office of an active, intriguing, dashing, lying
valet does not suit him, not that he is a bit
more disinterested or less servile and obse-
quious than another man when once he
becomes a livery man, but because his cool,
plodding, calculating, safe way of going on is
at variance with the pert coxcomicality of the
hall and anti-chamber; you very seldom see a
spruce Scotch footman, and when you do he
is remarked. I remember one of this descrip-
tion at the house of a general officer's widow
in Edinburgh, whose three handsome daugh-
ters are amongst the "have beens;" they
were very proud dashing ladies, censorious to
a high degree, and particularly severe upon


ON SERVANTS.
47
their own sex, but pride must have a fall
sooner or later. They all married ill, spent
their small fortunes, and can now keep no
man servant to insult decency and common-
sense with as formerly. One of these young
ladies (they were so then) had the effrontery
to apologise for a female attendant's coming
into the room, by saying "I am quite dis-
tressed for the want of a footman, as our's got
a commission the other day and left us all in
a hurry." These ladies had actually pro-
cured an ensigncy in a fencible regiment for a
handsome rascal who had been their livery
servant-this too from the daughters of a
military man-for shame! however some one
undeceived the colonel of the regiment who
never allowed the man to join. This, is, how-
ever, (I hope and believe) a solitary instance;
and your puppy footmen are in Edin-
burgh amongst the few: they are seldom
Scotch, a strapping Hibernian, or a flashy
English servant is more common. A bit of
education is what the Scot likes to get, and


48
ON SERVANTS.
when once he has that, his mind, as may
naturally be expected, soars above servitude,
and more particularly above the livery ser-
vant. Good masters make good servants, as
some people say, but I have witnessed the
reverse in a number of instances: not but
that bad example, harsh, unfeeling treatment,
irregular pay, and making too free with do-
mestics, are sure to spoil them; but the
reverse will but seldom bind them to fidelity
and attachment, and there are many worthless
ones who prefer going from place to place to
remaining steadily in a moderate, economical,
and orderly family. Waste is the bad foot-
man's harvest, and those who merely select
their servants from their being tall or good-
looking do not deserve trusty ones; for my
own part, I like to see an old, grey-headed,
steady, faithful looking man-servant. But
this would be odious to a dandy or to an
affected lady of quality, who must have a
brace of fellows like grenadiers behind her
carriage, and must have half a dozen or more
conceited, pampered attendants, merely to be


ON SERVANTS.
49
passed in review by the frequenters of her
routs.
Having been carried further than I was at
first aware of, let us go more particularly into
the characters and conduct of this class by a
stricter examination of the subject, and par-
ticularly of that of the servants of the great,
which shall form the subject of the next
chapter.
VOL. III.
D


1
T
4


GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS,
(IN CONTINUATION.)
D 2


4
for when ruin'd's the rake,
The greater the harvest his liv'ry men make."


GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
In looking about through life and making
observations, it has often struck me that a
great and expensive house was more likely
to come to decay, from occult and imper-
ceptible causes, than from greater and more
obvious objects. These are generally guarded
against, whilst the minor ones pass unno-
ticed until they come to an enormous amount,
and produce a crash similar to one occa-
sioned by the giving way of the complex
component parts of a piece of machinery,
which appeared at the time permanent and
in good order. Order, counter-order, and
disorder, frequently succeed each other with


54 GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
"
wonderous rapidity; and, when the latter
begins with high life below stairs," the
principle is an undermining one.
"How are
we ruined ?" might be a question frequently
made by a nobleman to his numerous atten-
dants, through whose hands his substance is
so continually sifted, that it is by no means
a wonder that it should be so very often
scattered to the winds; the ladder, or scale of
perquisites, of itself, is a
of itself, is a lofty account,
inconsiderable as it may at first seem; but
what renders it more injurious to the mas-
ter's purse is, his ignorance of its existence,
like cook's cousin, and butler's brother, a
visiting wife to the coachman, and set com-
pany parties to my lord's own man. These
invisible consumers are little noticed, but
their avidity and appetites are felt in time,
and most generally when it is too late! The
serving man and woman's office places them
at the back of him or her who is the head of
the house, and for this reason their secret
manœuvres are not brought to light. How
often have I laughed, or rather smiled as in


GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
55
scorn, when I have detected a stout lazy
liveryman turning some dowager duchess
into derision as he follows her in the street,
waddling like her grace just as he passes a
brother worsted laced knave, or white stock-
ing'd varlet, standing with a swaggering air
and a cane like a fishing rod, (in token that
he and fellow-servant contrive to make a
good thing of their place by hook or by crook;)
of the same description are the anticks of a
brace of conceited footmen at the back of the
town landau, coach, chariot, or vis a vis.
They will alternately sport their telegraphic
mummery to each other, and not unfre-
quently take the measure of my lady's ancle
by a glance as she descends from her equi-
page, and will saucily make it the standing
topic of conversation at the third table,
which they contrive to get attended on by
the servants of servants, in the shape of poor
boys, knife-cleaners, and fags, who depend
upon the livery for a dinner, for protection,
and a promised place at some future period;
thus the peer or rich baronet is only calcu-


56 GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
lating on three tables to support when he has
four or five, one of which may always be
managed by broken victuals, never given to
the poor, except in the shape of hangers-on,
and by a voracious dog, which never broke
bread at the board, and by a devil of a black
cat, on the back of which all fractures and
wastes are laid. It may sometimes happen
too, that John and Oliver cannot write, and
then a servant out of place, as secretary to the
lower house, is absolutely wanted, and Mary,
too, has a sweetheart for whom a kitchen
mercury or amatory message carrier becomes
necessary; the sweetheart again may at some
future convenient period rob the house, but
that's nobody's fault. Of the insolence of
laquais' no one can doubt who has never had
to pass through them at a crowded opera, or
at the gate of Kensington Gardens; or if he
has remarked their low affectation whilst
waiting at a rout, their imitative powers stop
at nothing; they must drink, dress, play cards,
and intrigue with a relative resemblance to
their betters, not to mention their mock titles.


GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
57
and down stairs gambles; we will now come
to a living scene or two, and descend to par-
ticulars. Coming away suddenly from an
evening party in consequence of an aunt's
indisposition, I very shortly perceived that
we were not expected by the party in the
kitchen and hall; the latter of which dis-
played a brilliancy of appearance, which might
have owed its existence to a gross of half
burned wax lights, or (as I found that it was
a birth-night ball) to a more elegant present
from the family wax-chandler. The first
footman literally looked sulky at our unwel-
come return, and the whole establishment
entered into a conspiracy to punish us. In
the first instance we were kept waiting for a
considerable time, whilst some of the servants
were changing their dancing dress, and to
allow others to complete the figure of the
country dance.
Next there was not one article
of provision for supper, although the smell of
the lower regions was most inviting. In answer
to inquiries on this head, it was observed, that
the vile cat had just knocked down a ragout,
D 3


58
GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
which the French cook had prepared to be
warmed the next day; a glass of wine being
called for, it was stated that the butler was
gone to bed very ill, but that if we wished he
could be called up. This was declined, and
some water-gruel was mentioned, but the fire
had gone out as we were not expected; but
poor Robin (a kitchen-pensioner) could soon
light it again. This was done, and I heard
my poor aunt called an old frump for giving
so much trouble, but this I put up with for
fear of causing the loss of a place. The game
of extreme extravagance however went on
until the good lady was forced to reduce her
establishment, and to go abroad for the re-
mainder of her days.
At a certain General's house, who is since
ruined, I remember a dispute betwixt some of
the upper servants and the French cook,
which was so loud that it was distinctly over-
heard; the former taxed the latter with not
giving them a share of the champagne which
he pretended to consume in his made dishes,
but which went to his own palate; the wine-


GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
59
drinking domestics in the west end of the town
are more numerous than would readily be
believed. These honest creatures are not
content with the bottoms of bottles, but re-
ceive presents from the different trades-people,
which must be got back on the articles sold,
but which minister to the luxuries of over-
grown idlers, who muster more or less strong
according to the consequence or extravagance
of their employers, and sometimes leave them
roofless at the end of a few years service.
After which we perceive these retired stud-
grooms, head coachmen, butlers, valets de
chambre, house-keepers, and ladies maids
setting up business as inn-keepers, horse-
dealers, grocers, boarding-house people, and
lodging letters at the fashionable watering
places, not to mention house-stewards, bai-
liffs, &c. upon a larger scale, who often pur-
chase in the estate of the ruined rake or soft
credulous man of quality, and are rich land-
owners when their former masters are self-
exiled abroad, or disgraced and white-washed
at the same time by an insolvent act.


60
GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
The ruin produced by the in-door plun-
derers of the serving train is also as multi-
form as it is mischievous. Downright dis-
honesty, in its form, is not the system of
acting to be provided against; but the variety
of indirect methods and combinations from
the many-headed monster to be dreaded by
one who is capable of becoming a rich prize
to the menial crew. Waste, neglect, idleness,
pleasure, poverty, and love, are amongst those
unhinging and delapidating evils, not to speak
of treachery and vice. If waste be general
(as is very often the case) in every depart-
ment of an establishment, how soon must
it come to the ground! Provisions, clothes,
money, liquor, every thing will be lavished;
and wants will be so created, that the master
will be expending twice or thrice more than
is necessary, either in quantity or price, on
every article of consumption for himself
and family, for his servants and their
invisible families. Neglect will produce the
same effect from a different cause; and the
health of the horses employed will suffer


GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
61
severely from such conduct, both from the
embezzlement of corn, and general inatten-
tion to their comfort. Idleness is called the
root of all evil. Amongst servants it has
increased culpability in it; for it injures
the employer, first, by the business not done
for him, and secondly, by the little duty that
is performed, being so by proxy, for which
the master has to pay directly or indirectly,
i. e. out of his purse, in the dishonest charges
and weekly sundries of cook, house-keeper,
and butler; or out of the pantry, cellar,
corn-bin, and kitchen garden. The neglect of
furniture, linen, plate, china, and glass, is one
additional evil. Pleasure creates poverty in
servants, and poverty engenders fraud and
theft; whilst love sets the maids and men
sweet-hearting, or intermarrying, and then
one servant ceases to be a check upon the
other. There is a delightful going on of
hops (dances) at home and abroad; of
stealing away to the play-house, or to fetch a
walk. The giving of presents, which masters
have the advantage of doing without any re-


62
GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
turn in honesty, attachment, or fidelity, from
their servants. The cellar is drained, and
the horses are rode and driven to death, to
give airings to the dressing-room lady or
handsome nursery-maid; or to get home in
time from a party of pleasure to the country;
whilst my lord or my lady is deprived of a
ride or drive by the sickness or lameness of
a part of their stable-establishment. Lastly.
If a servant be married, it is the safest
way to take both parties into the house at
once, as both are certain to be pensioned on
him or her who has hired one of them.
The good sense of the reader will easily
perceive that these observations do not effect
trusty, industrious old servants (the number
of which is comparatively few;) nor do they
aim so low as at small establishments of a man
and a maid; or a footman with a poor boy
under him, over whom he most probably
tyrannizes, and who does half his work;
neither do they interfere with cookey and
her kitchen stuff; nor with the introduction of
a washer-woman, or a char-woman, unknown


GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
63
to the family, provided she does not rob the
house of linen or provision to a considerable
extent; they point at higher game, namely,
large establishments, where systems of idle-
ness and dishonesty are very likely to pro-
duce the ruin of the property, and at the
multiplied offices of servants, who introduce
their deputies ad infinitum: such as the but-
ler's bottle-washer; the groom's stable-helper ;
the kitchen-maid's dish-washer; a boots, kept
among the footmen; a knife-cleaner, fed in
the area; a messenger, for the men out of
livery; a mistress, for the fat porter; and a
secretary (as already stated); or a letter-
writer, for the firm of maids. In multiply-
ing servants for show, without a due propor-
tion of employment, idleness, vice, and ex-
travagance must creep into the house, and
less work (of what ought to be done) is per-
formed by the many than by the few. Stiles,
the porter, who looks forward to retiring as a
publican and sinner, wont open the gates, or
hall-door, unless he knows that his Grace,
or her Ladyship is at it. He has the news-


64
GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
paper to read, and the junior footman can
perform this office for him. The second foot-
man wont answer the bell.
coals; let Molly do it, for he
It is only for
has a game at
cribbage to attend to. My lady's footman
sends the pot-boy with her letter to the post
after looking into it, and gives him six-
pence; this will come in for postage, turnpike,
or something else forgotten last week; whilst
the second coachman (the first being drunk
in bed) has a parish-boy to do his duty in the
stable-mops, brushes and curry-combs will
easily provide for him-whilst he goes in a
plain coat to the billiard-table or fives court.
The confectioner leaves all to the cook; the
groom of the chambers has almost a sine-
cure of it; the comptroller and secretary are
mere men of pleasure; and half the game-
keepers and gardeners are working for them-
selves and friends; stud-grooms are often an
incumbrance, and men out of livery (exceed-
ing one or two) would be less expensive and
dishonest if they were in it. We shall con-
clude the following observations by a few


great people'S SERVANTS.
65
articles of advice to masters respecting their
servants. First, to keep as few as possible,
and those as long as they deserve it, provid-
ing for them in old age and infirmity. Se-
condly, keep but one gentleman in the house,
and let that be the master himself, unless he
have a poor relation or friend; but a gentle-
man-servant, or servant-gentleman, is a pre-
posterous being. Thirdly, overlook your
own cellar and stable. Fourthly, have no
married servants. Fifthly, beware of male
servants who are particularly handsome or
coxcomical. Sixthly, keep no men who are
fond of liquor, cards, fights, or horse-races.
Seventhly, let them not resemble you so
much in size, &c. that you will have to wear
your clothes jointly with them. Lastly, pay
them regularly, or they will overpay them-
selves, and allow no deputies to do another's
work. These may be useful hints, and are
intended as such. "Tel maitre, tel valet,"
is an old proverb, but is not a rule without
exception. A good master cannot always
make a good servant; but a bad one has no


66
GREAT PEOPLE'S SERVANTS.
in
right to expect to keep a good servant. Bad
example particularly must produce a want of
respect; familiarity, and confiding secrets to
domestics, are dangerous experiments; and,
if ever they are admissible, it is to tried,
faithful, and humble servants. To a trusty
creature, born on the estate, and bred up
the family, such as those of a certain deceased
and deeply regretted Duke, who used to ob-
serve, that he not only bred his horses, but
his grooms, who were, sometimes, the grand-
sons of his coachman; or to an old Corporal
Trim-like worthy, such as he who has long
followed the fortunes of
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.


RETURNED FROM PARIS,
AND
A WORD ABOUT FRENCH EMIGRANTS.


"Parbleu qu'il fait bon à Paris."
COMIC SONG FOR A MILORD ANGLAIS.
"Freeze, freeze, thou wint'ry sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh,
As benefits forgot."-SHAKSPEARE.


RETURNED FROM PARIS,
AND
A WORD ABOUT FRENCH EMIGRANTS.
I HAD scarcely emerged from the Leith
stage and was preparing to gain my hermi-
tage, when a very old acquaintance touched
me on the shoulder and accosted me thus:-
"Why man, you are the very person we have
been looking for, do you know that Bob only
arrived from Paris last night, and he will tell
you all about it; you will be able to compre-
hend all these matters of which I know
nothing. Bob has been to Italy too, but one
thing at a time is enough;" (so I thought)
66
you will find him very much improved,"


70
RETURNED FROM PARIS, AND
(there was room for it) "and he gives a good,
sensible account of his travels." "If he
gives as good a one of his money,” said I,
"you will have nothing to complain of;"
"that's true," answered he, "but here we
are not quite so well satisfied, he has cost us
a mint of money, but one must not be shabby
when we send our children abroad, or into the
world; every parent would do his best on
such an occasion:" (this is true Scotch feel-
ing and very meritorious, great sacrifices are
often made to indulge it)—“ one would like
one's son to do as others do, and to see every
thing that is to be seen; and Bob says that
that's no to be done for a trifle."
right," said I; "if a man "-(continued the
father)" goes to a cheap country to live
and to save money that is one thing, but an
enquiring traveller is another; he cannot
expect to find things at a low price; his very
journies must be expensive, wheels are dear
articles of themselves, besides I had made my
mind up to the thing, and although it has
gone beyond what I calculated, I kept a
"He is


A WORD ABOUT FRENCH EMIGRANTS. 71
reserve unknown to Bob, and a few retrench-
ments will bring up all the rest with a little
time; but come away and see Bob, he will
be very glad to meet a man who can talk to
him about foreign parts, and who will appre-
ciate his remarks." How a little locomotion
on the high roads of France and Flanders
elevates a man in his own opinion, and in that
of the untravelled or unlearned! The very
air of Paris puffs us up to a certain magni-
tude. "You have been in Paris,” accented
in a tone of inquiry, establishes a superiority
in a little mind, and the answer generally is,
"certainly, oh! dear, yes, more than once;"
or, "bless you, I know the French Capital as
well as my own,” From whence a man be-
comes a Capitalist at once in society, and his
remarks pass as current as Sir William For-
bes's notes, if he has a note book. Again, he
may be rich in remarks, and not wanting in
imagination. A very look into a French sea-port
makes a man think something of himself; but
a fortnight at Paris, and a week at Brussels,
with a peep at Vaterloo, as the cockney calls


72
RETURNED FROM PARIS, AND
it, and something taken down in the battle-
field, about cater brass (Quatre Bras), the
Bell alliance (an alliance pretty much in
character with the Belle Savage and the Bull
and Mouth, which happen to be La Belle Sau-
vage and Bolougne mouth, or harbour) and
Hog mount (Huguemont) render the traveller
an accomplished person and a man of the
world all at once; but Bob had travelled
further, and had tarried much longer than
these tasters of information, who would often
learn more from a tour printed, than from
their own narrow observations and contracted
views, of a very little, for a very little while.
Bob's person did not at all bespeak the Paris
habituè, or a frequenter of the Continent,
much less the enthusiast of Italy, and the
man who had seen the matchless cities of
Roma, Napoli, e Genova la superba! Bob's
person is coarse, but not quite devoid of affec-
tation: his head is extremely large, and he had
the good fortune to meet Doctor Spurzheim
at Paris, who assured him of the advantage
of such a huge knowledge-box, be the con-


A WORD ABOUT FRENCH EMIGRANTS. 73
tents of what it might. The young man is
coarse made, and not over burdened with
beauty, plain in his dress, and rough in his
address; but a suit of mourning, a glass, pen-
dant at his button-hole, added to gravity and
silence amongst strangers, gave him a pass-
port in Paris circles; and although the French
people called him John Bull, and gros pata-
pouf, yet they fancied that the pocket was
well lined, and they welcomed him, in conse-
quence, in company. He had seen so many
French emigrants in Scotland, he had wit-
nessed the attentions which were paid them
--the presents they received, the open doors
which awaited them every where,—the com-
mon cant of "if ever we return to our own
country, the English will see how we remem-
ber their reception," was so familiar to his
ears, that he had pricked down a regular
engagement daily, in his memorandum-book,
but he was mistaken in his men; they scarcely
recollected him; he had to put them in mind.
of his name, his country, day and hour, place
and date, where he had met with Monsieur
VOL. III.
E


74
RETURNED FROM PARIS, AND
le Comte, le Marquis, le Baron, le Chevalier,
et Monsieur l'Abbé, when he extracted "O!
effectivement, je me souviens d'un certain Ro-
bert-;" or, in bad English, as if inten-
tionally forgotten, "Oh! yes, maister Robert
; how do you do, Sir ?" and, without
waiting to ascertain how he could do, in a
strange town, "good mon-naing," pronounced
through the nose, and accented as a signal for
separation. Some of these worthies would
say, that they were badly lodged (how were
they in their garrets in London, whence some
of them issued, either to earn their bread by
old England, or to partake of our hospitable
cheer?) some lived en garçon, as single men
--so they did when treated at our taverns and
coffee houses-some were such losers by the
Revolution--so they were thirty years before
-in a word, every one had a put-off; and some
actually passed by old acquaintances, friends,
and benefactors, unnoticed. In the streets
of Paris, one was brought to on the Boule-
vards by an English officer, who, seeing him
fat, and decorated with the order of St. Lewis


A WORD ABOUT FRENCH EMIGRANTS. 75
(two new honors, since his return home),
begged leave to remind him of a large sum of
money, partly given, and partly lent to him:
dans l'emigration, the Knight was greatly
humiliated; but, furthermore, my informant
told me not. Honest Bob assured me that he
had been sadly affronted by these short me-
moried gentry; and what mortified him the
most was, that some of them were actually
receiving half-pay from our government, whilst
others had brought away little fortunes from
London, which they could not have amassed,
but from every door being open to them, and
from the warm and generous patronage of
our nobility. A certain Countess treated
Lady G so shamefully, at a party of hers
(the emigrant Countess's), that she actually re-
turned to her lodgings, sick with disappoint-
ment. Added honors have been given to some
of these returned nobles,-a step in nobility,
a ribbon, or a star; and, such is their weak-
ness, whether from age, or debility of mind,
or body, that the burden sits so heavily up-
on them, that they cannot open a hand,
E 2


76
RETURNED FROM PARIS, AND
extend an arm, or move a foot to serve an
Englishman. The ancienne noblesse is every
where stiff, unbending, and unmindful of the
past. They have suffered persecution; but
I leave it to them to say, whether they have,
or have not, learned mercy, mildness, or even
the virtue of gratitude. Shut out, every
where, by the emigrants, poor Bob, who had
no favor to ask of them but civility, informed
me, that he got into another sort of society,
namely, English settlers, and house-keepers.
in Paris, who had their motives, too, for emi-
grating, and for spending their own money in
France. This fault was not a reproach to the
emigrants of the Revolution; or, if it was one,
small one indeed.
it was a very
Within the walls of a hotel,* like a palace,
with spacious gardens, lofty apartments, and
halls formed for banquetting, and for all the
other purposes of hospitality, dwells a self-
exiled noble. His bifores, or heavy double
* Our readers are aware that the houses of the
nobility are called hotels, as well as the public hotels.


A WORD ABOUT FRENCH EMIGRANTS.
folding gates, are calculated to give admission
to an illustrious list of visitors,-to open
wide to the arts and sciences,-to answer the
knock of the numerous poor, but is it so?
no: a pale looking man is there buried alive,
unless when he makes himself ridiculous by
going out alone in a shabby carriage, which,
however, shabby as it is, has all the accom-
paniments of pride in servants ill-dressed, yet
imitating the style of a foreign ambassador.
These gates know not the tread of the English
traveller; nor had honest Bob any wish to
intrude on the solitary and gloomy pride of a
being very unlike a Briton. The natives of
that nation who, like Lord Musk, and others,
are rich and willing exiles, merit only the con-
tempt of that soil, whose manners, customs,
and pleasures, are at variance with theirs, and
whose very failings are virtuous, when com-
pared with those which effeminate and ener-
vated countries tolerate.
Within ten minutes walk of this dreary, yet
costly pile, stands the Hotel de Longpole,
formerly the residence of a Marshal of the


78
RETURNED FROM PARÍS, AND
Buonapartean manufactory. Here Bob was de-
lighted at being received with old Irish hospi-
tality. The life of the proprietor seems to be
like a long leasehold tenure, taken for a hun-
dred years, and this ancien has hitherto pre-
served all his faculties. He is one of the breed
of A'-grip-a' (to use a Scotch joke); for, it
-is asserted, that he never got a thing into his
hands, that he ever could prevail upon him-
self to part with, except it were a bottle of
wine. He got tired of England, after a fifty
years' lawsuit: during which long lapse of
time, he never could persuade the Lords and
Commons, the Chancellor, the bar, nor the
nation at large, that he had a right to the pro-
perty, on which he laid his tenacious fingers.
He, therefore, went off in dudgeon with old
England, and arrived, strong-box and all, in
-the French Capital: for as he found himself
in the wrong box, one side of the water, he
had certainly a right to bring his money-box
where he pleased, and to box the compass
until he found a spot where the iron chest
might rest undisturbed. He has bought a
3


A WORD ABOUT FRENCH EMIGRANTS. 79
house, he has bought a title, and daily buys
popularity, by keeping open house to a few
French flatterers, and a host of needy and
fly-blown characters, who leave the land of
liberty when it ceases to be such to them.
The old gentleman, however, is delightful,
according to my informant's account. When
he presides at the head of his table, his me-
mory is as tenacious as his touch; and he will
repeat tawdry stories, and sing obscene songs,
made in the reigns of Queen Ann, and the two
first Georges, of the Brunswick line, and which
he himself has sung, for the edification of youth,
in the three last reigns of the Sovereigns of
that name. The man is a walking history of
anecdotes, and likewise a very good tempered,
cheerful table companion; and it is declared
by those who know him, or are connected
with him by family, or other ties, both sides
of the water, that
66
7
they ne'er shall look upon his like again.”
They are both right, but their reasons for so
saying are very different indeed. He has


80
RETURNED From Paris, &c.
been a very gallant man in his day, and
so great is his memory, that it seems to
him but yesterday that he lived in amatory
story. Madame de la France, however,
when she hears his love tales, answers, Mon
sieur c'est possible.
One of the advantages of our traveller's
introduction to old Longpole, was an entre
into a house of a French nobleman of the first
class, who had visited England, from his at-
tachment to the Bourbons, and who, from
his civility to the English, evinces that he has
not forgotten the asylum which sheltered and
fed so many of his countrymen, the victims
of the Democratical and demoniac delirium of
a revolutionized and misled people; but, as
this noble edifice, and its inhabitants, merit a
separate chapter, they shall not be confounded
with Longpole, nor the late Colonel Long-
bow, or any other rum characters from
England, Ireland, or from the land which
produced
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.


A FRENCH CIRCLE, AND ADVICE.
E S


2
,,
1.20
*. dari
vegnoq rura l
etopaouta, fra ghing ed truorten
unin apear verstory) - par a
དངས་ལྷག་རྣན་
"Qui facit per alterem, facit per se.


A FRENCH CIRCLE, AND ADVICE.
OUR motto in the preceding page is a Latin
´saying, which involves much difficulty, and
lays heavy responsibility on us : it holds good
also in evil deeds, as well as in benevolent
actions; but I think that it is a sweeping
remark, which certainly should not be admit-
ted without some qualification; and as I was
bred to the bar, I think it fair to combat it:
my reader will soon perceive with what view,
and how it bears upon the present case. Let
us begin by good, evil comes quick enough of
itself.
A rich man employs an almoner to dispense
extensive charities; the donor of these bene-


84
A FRENCH CIRCLE,
ficent gifts takes his pleasure all the time, in-
dulges in idleness, revels in all manner of
pleasure; from time to time the faithful chap-
lain, or steward, informs him of a great case
of distress which he has relieved with the
money of his patron, or of a great number of
objects who have been fed and clad by the
funds destined for that purpose. The rich
man says ""Tis well;" perhaps, even, from
time to time, the latter will say, "Doctor, or
Reverend Father, I hope that you are doing
all the good you can with such a sum ?" The
almoner offers to convince him, by producing
his accounts; but the man of pleasure de-
clines the trouble of inspecting them, and here
the matter ends.
Can it be maintained that this doer of cha-
rity by proxy is equal to the mild, zealous,
exemplary man, who seeks out personally the
gloomy abode of poverty, of sickness, and of
suffering-the shade in which bashful and
indigent merit withers and pines away; whose
active charity examines and exerts itself, and
adds counsel and comfort to a donation; who,


AND ADVICE.
85
whilst it throws a shelter and a covering over
the shivering and starving pauper with the
one hand, wipes off the tears of affliction with
the other. The former really does his deeds
by another's hand, the latter by his own. Nay,
a great part of the good must be attributed to
the judgment, the sympathy, the impartiality
of the agent employed;-on his trouble, his
leisure, and his inclination, far the greater
share of these acts of mercy must depend.
And, lastly, the promiscuous giver by proxy,
he who examines not the treasurer's accounts,
knows not what is given, and still less how it
is applied.
In evil there certainly must be a line drawn
between the man who lends his sword to ano-
ther to defend himself in an affair of honour,
and him who, angry and vindictive, borrows
that sword, because he knows it to be a good
one, and goes out determined to kill his man
with it, and actually does so; the one is guilty
of culpable indifference, the other of culpable
homicide; for gentlemanlike murder seems to
to go no farther, at all events, in courts of


86
A FRENCH CIRCLE,
honour. Nor can a person who lends his
house to a friend, who games, keeps bad com-
pany, or scandalizes his neighbours in it, merit
the same onus of blame as the borrowing
acquaintance thus transgressing the laws of
propriety towards the lender and the neigh™
bourhood. If I have made out a good case,
I leave its application to my readers, es b9719-
I must now take up the thread of my dis
course, or rather of my relation of facts.
Bob- got admission to the nobleman's
house, where stars and ribands lent a lustre
to the lively at homes given there by the fair
one to whom this accommodation of a brilliant
suite of rooms was afforded. Here every one
was at home, and the gaping stranger might
fancy himself in the bosom of his family.
The lady who does the honours is a wholesale
article of beauty, if magnitude be a recom
mendation. Her manners are prepossessing
yet dignified: she has a certain air of friend-
ship about her; but whether that sentiment
be disinterested or not, 66 c'est une autre
chose." To be truly welcome, at this belle
1


AND ADVICE.
87
assemblée, a man must be either useful, or
ornamental,-Bob was neither; but he got his
lesson from an old hand, and he appeared to
be an object to the party, whence his bit of
advice for the benefit of others. The orna-
mental cavaliers (all of French growth) filled
up the corners, furnished the apartments,
served as dancing partners to the ladies, sung,
played, or stood near the throne of power.
The useful visitors at this hotel were flat-
terers, anglers, introducers, and make-ups at
a card-table, or to turn the leaves of a music
book; for harmony, dancing, scenic repre-
sentation, and card-playing, formed the even-
ing's amusements of the circle. All these
were very innocent; and the refreshments
(which suited not the Caledonian's taste) were
truly wholesome, and of great benefit to an
English guest, coming brimfull of wine and
substantial fare from the Hotel de Longpole,
or from any of the public hotels, where John
Bull's excesses are proverbial; for you might
have as much sugar and water, lemonade, or
spring-water, neutralized by a little currant.


88
A FRENCH CIRCLE,
jelly, as any feverish patient could desire, and
female attractions have a very feverish ten-
dency-" aye there's the rub.”
There was, in this gallant mansion, a young
lady to get married, and the net of enchant-
ment was cast at or over every supposed great
fortune which came in the shape of Jacky
Bull to Paris; not that un Anglais was a
greater favourite than any one else, but that
his money was thought safer
The only per-
son who ought to have been concerned in this
speculation was the least so. Very young,
modest, and pleasing, she merely looked to
the rebuilding up of her parents' fortunes
(such things are too common abroad), whilst
Madame and her allies manoeuvred all the
rest. The Ex-Colonel whom I met at Baillie
Carvey's was one of these, and was (accord-
ing to my information) as fulsome a flatterer
here, as he was a bitter abuser of his own
country.
A number of unsuccessful attempts were
made, beginning by the heir to the Longpole
property, provided always that no other heir


AND ADVICE.
89
should interrupt the succession; the pious
mother, next, cast an eye on a youth, who
passed for a man of fortune and fashion
abroad, but who turned out upon scrutiny,
only to be the minor part of piano-forte airs,
which he played off in Paris, and to have but
a very moderate income, arising from the
notes which his papa had been the operative
maker of; all that he could, therefore, do, was
to speak to his friends.
Sly Bob, learning all this, from an old
stager, had it given out that he was the son
of a mercantile man, of immense property,
and on his travels on the continent, and as
his stay was but short, after his introduction
(which he kept a profound secret from the
party,) he was sure of a hearty welcome, and
at least, three times asking, before any seri-
ous question could be put to him. It is an old
soldier's, and an old Scotchman's trick, never
to be on the go, until gone; never to be mar-
ried, except when at home, or when a wife is
present; never to be poor and seem poor at
the same time; the departing friend is for-


90
A FRENCH CIRCLE,
gotten before he is absent; the moving lodger
has nothing to expect from his landlady, or
host; the motive for pleasing is now at an
end; the married man gains no virgin smiles,
no matron's attentions, no parent's interest;
the poor man has no friend, but whilst Sandy
pays his way with seeming ease, be the task
ever so difficult, whilst the lodger has the ap-
pearance of remaining, he is every where wel-
come, every where looked up to, and can
turn to account the very people who thinks
that they are turning him to account. Bob
was well acquainted with all this management,
all these peace-time manœuvres, and thus he
was fully enabled to see high company abroad,
and to talk in a higher tone to his untrammelled
friends at home, whilst he could laugh in his
sleeve at all the able negociations of the court
of Venus. The last bold stroke of the house,
was an attack on the vacant heart and head
of a rich Creole; he swallowed the bait, with
ease, what would he not have swallowed?
But a brain surcharged with wine, and an
appetite rather over-dosed, caused the hook
-


AND ADVICE.
91
to lose its hold, and Masser Buckera got free
again; the West Indian was not particularly
nice about delicacies, proprieties, promises,
nor the nonsense which wine might have
inspired, in the way of flirtation, so he cut
adrift and threw himself into the arms of his
mamma, and went home, all safe. Lucky it
was that he sinned only in words, for there
were plenty of blades and triggers to resent an
attempt at injuring the fair fame of one who
deserved defending; but the movers of all
this mischief will never escape free from cen-
sure, nor will their Hiberniam Ambassador,
who was crest-fallen, at finding young Sugar
Cane impregnable, at home; and on learning
that civil law, and peace officers were his re-
ferees in matters of difficulty, and in his
juvenile scrapes:-but the soirees of the en-
chanted castle still go on, the lady's husband
seems to enjoy a sinecure place, the patron,
occasionally sits in awful state, and smiles on
the circle before him, the component parts of
which are no great characters, save only the
returned emigrants, shining in orders, and


92
FRENCH CIRCLE, AND ADVICE.
the succession of strangers, who gain admis-
sion for the purposes herein above mentioned,
Bob concluded, by saying that this was a leaf
of experience in his book, and that he should
advise minors on the point of coming of age,
with large estates blooming in promise, to
avoid this glittering circle; but he would
recommend it to all young men who had
nothing to risk, and who wished for an even-
ing's entertainment, à la mode de Paris, to
get introduced as he was, and to play off the
same stratagem, to ensure esteem; and it is
with a view of being useful, that this advice
of the wary traveller is repeated in this form,
and given with the very best wishes, by
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.


DAVID BLUNT.


et Homo sum."
le seul honneur solidè
Et de prendre toujours la veritè pour guide."-BOILEAU.


DAVID BLUNT.
"DID any one call at the Hermitage this
morning?" said I to my old fac totum, who is
my butler, hair-dresser, footman, courier, and
sometimes my adviser; an old Highlander,
with a very long head, and no very mean,
opinion of himself. He took a moment to
consider" why surely Alpin you must
know if any one has called or not? we have
not so many visitors at our solitary abode."
True, Sir," replied Alpin; "but then when
a person visits you, you would like to know
who and what he is, and what he wanted;
• Hermits do not receive ladies in their cells.


96
DAVID BLUNT.
now I hold it impossible to tell you, that
first and foremost he would not tell his name,
next I could not make out what he is, and
lastly he wanted nothing but to see you."
"Is he a gentleman, or a tradesman, a man
of business, or an idler ?" Alpin thought
profoundly, the only thing about him which
he carried to excess; he was so sicker (secure
or cautious) that he would have been the
death of a hasty man, or (what would be
worse) vice versa. "As for a gentleman he
can't be that," quoth Alpine deliberately,
"for he told me that he was not one; a trades-
man I take it he is not, for he looked more
like an officer; and then again he told me he
was not an officer, his business he said he had
none, and he was very much like an idler;
I picked out of him that he was an old soldier,
but if he was a private I may be any thing."
"And why not, Alpin ?" said I; "a man
has a right to be any thing which his merit
can make him; favour and intrigue, corrup-
tion and interest, thrust men into very elevated
situations which they have no right to; but


DAVID BLUNT.
97
merit may make a man any thing, and his
title to possession is hen undeniable." Here
I threw down my camlet cloak, put my horn
mull upon the table of the vestibule, and
flung myself into a garden chair, of old
fashioned, singular form, like myself, being
made of the fantastic roots of trees, which I
sometimes persuaded myself had at some time
or other afforded their umbrage to William
Wallace--to the royal fugitive, Charles, be-
fore the restoration-to the young chevalier,
renowned for his misfortunes-and to the
able poet, Burns, as famous for his disap-
pointments in life. I now made my usual
signal for unlacing my gout-boots, and Alpin
ventured to make his remarks as follow; I
dreaded a long story, but I assure my reader
it shall not be so.
Alpin and I were often téte-à-tête, and he
passed half his time in thinking what he
was to say, and the other in making amends
by the length of his tale; old age si
garrulous, and we ought to be indulgent
to it. "What your honor says," com-
VOL. III.
F


98
DAVID BLUNT.
menced my trusty veteran," puts me in mind
of what happened to the son of a lord; he
was muckle given to drinking, and street riot-
ing, and to exposing himself and family; so
his friends (an odd way of shewing friend-
ship!) got him put up in the Tolbooth a-
while, to keep him from mischief, and then
sent him out o' the country, that he might
not affront his name; one day as he was
looking out of the bars of a high window in
the prison, an acquaintance passed by, and
cried-"how the de'el Alek did you come
there?" "Just" quoth he, "as my second
brother got his promotion in the army, and
as my next brother got a place, that is to say,
by no merit, or good actions of my own, but
by the interest and interference o' my faimilie;"
and I remember puir Mrs. Mac Naggin being
sent to Inveresk,* just as much mad as I am,
and making the same answer to a person
who saw her, by accident in the garden of
thon dd place; it was a real shame, puir
body-she only li-ked (making two distinct
* A place where there are private mad-houses.
יי


DAVID BLUNT.
99
syllables of the word,) she only li-ked a drap
dram, and had been a little wild, or so, and
her husband shut her up; feggs, if the wives
could do the same, how many a braw gentle-
man would be wearing out his e'en against the
bars, and I remember" Stop Alpin,” said
I, putting an end to his remembrances, "I
know now who the visitor is, it is David Blunt!"
Alpin gave a shout of discovery, "Exactly,"
cried he; for he said, is the Hermit visible?"
"Vi-si-ble," repeated I: "he's, oot. Who
shall I say has called?" "No body." "Weel
Sir," adds I: " then I'll juist say a gentleman,
and describe your person." "Don't do that,"
said he, "for there's no kenning what, or who
is a gentleman now o'days, I hate the name,
and will have nothing to do wi't: you'll say
that a man (pronounced as if it had a double
n) called." That he was an "officer," inter-
rupted I. "That's juist
"That's juist as bad," quoth he:
"no, an old soldier, of the tribe of David, and
that's blunt." "I booed the person to the door,
for I did not take his meaning, but now I see
it with half an ee." My boots were now off,
F 2


100
DAVID BLUNT.
and I was on an easier footing with myself,
which will enable me to give David Blunt's
short account of the terms gentleman, and
officer, with a few prefatory words, forming
his history.
David Blunt is a lowlander, whose father
had a very large estate, and went by the name
of it; but as it was not entailed, and he mar-
ried twice, he sold it, and parcelled it out,
mostly amongst the children, du second lit, as
the French call them; the injusta noverca
took care of this, and poor David came off
with a very small portion: from this time,
he forbid all his acquaintance to call him by
the name of the lost acres, (Dawnington let
us call the estate, for the sound is not unlike
it,) and he frequently reprobated the poverty
and pride, closely allied, of Scottish lairds;
either retaining the names of forfeited (I
mean sold) land, or of petty estates, not
worth a name, (as already has been alluded
to in this work ;) his next retrenchment from
the designation of his correspondents, was to
lop off the esquire from the superscriptions


DAVID BLUNT.
101
of his letters, assuring them, that he was not
the follower of a knight, the hanger on of
nobility, the horseman or equery of any
master, and lastly, no esquire:-determined
to pester him with a name, his associates, and
his trades' people, now addressed him as
captain; this he rejected, having sold his
company; adding, that if he were the king,
he would expunge the rank from the army,
and would substitute that of centurion, com-
mander of a company, or of a man-of-war,
chief of a squadron, or any term but captain;
whilst it is prostituted to the captain of the
night, to a police fellow, to a skipper, to the
captain of a jail, and to the leader of a
banditti; the word officer, he has much
objected to, since the sheriff, every justice of
the parish, the excise, customs &c., all share
in this honor, but which might be avoided by
these animals being denominated, men-
hunters, magistrates, whippers-in, parish
beagles, (not beadles,) blood-hounds, body-
dealers, seisers, (not Cæzars) night-watchers,
and the examiners of goods; so that the


102
DAVID BLUNT.
words Hunt and Examiner, might still be
held up to the people.
It was proposed to him, lastly, to designate
him David Blunt, gentleman; but this he
forbade, as positively as all the rest, remark-
ing that every man (almost) who can put a
good face on his affairs, gets credit for a hand-
some suit of clothes, give himself airs in
public, and pays his way, styles himself, and
procures the ignorant to call him a gentleman;
so much so, that trade would now become
honourable, if its members went back to
Master Jones, the coppersmith, Master
Maltby, the publican, Master Selvage, the
woollen-draper, and the like; as the Master,
denoted a master draper, tailor, shoemaker,
or tinsmith; but in all common affairs of life,
these honest people would look, (he said)
very much in their places with simple
Thomas, Robert, Daniel, or George before
their humble surnames, instead of Robert
Robson, Esq., Daniel Town, Esq., and
George Guttle, Esq., alderman and fishmon-
ger, which sound so very like Robber Rob-


DAVID BLUNT.
103
son, Esq., Dunall Town, a squire, George
Gutsall, &c. &c.
As long as we hear of a company of tailors
sitting down to a sumptuous repast at the
Goose and Gridiron, with their president,
Spencer Short, Esq. of Clipstone-street, in
the chair, and the utmost harmony prevailing
amongst the gentlemen, and as long as we
read a long important looking list of the fol-
lowing licenced guttlers, being the gentlemen
appointed to carry up (not a round of beef
and a gallon of beer) but an address :—to wit,
Frank Fudge, of the Goat's Head, Cripple-
gate; Benjamin Belcher, of the Hole in the
Wall, Broadway; Frederick Froth, of the
World's End, Wapping; Jonathan Foul-
shame, of the Cock and Dunghill, Shore-
ditch; Samuel Scor'em, of the Blushing Rose,
Curtain-road; and, Simon Short, of the
Golden Fleece, Petticoat-lane; so long, my
friend insisted, the word gentleman ought
either to be considered as meaning nothing at
all, or ought to be given to the few, whilst


104
DAVID BLUNT.
the many might share amongst them, the
mister, the master, the citizen, the office-
bearer, the merchant, tradesman, publican,
and servant, since the publican is certainly a
servant of the public, whilst the servant of
nobility gets his share of gentility by being
thrust into my lord's gentleman, which the
ignorant are very apt to apply to these charac-
ters. The name of merchant is respectable;
master denotes power, and the being no longer
an apprentice; citizen marks a man's being on
his road to civic honors; an office or trade
affixed to a name proves unequivocality; viz.
Sheriff Trustworthy, Judge Sharp, (although
Judge Nott might be better,) Inspector
Keen, Surveyor Bright, Collector Close,
Bailiff Bluff, and Master Tailor, men, so
called, would lose nothing in public estima-
tion; nor would an author of to-day, putting
Esq. to the end of his name be less read if it
was given without this very uncertain ambi-
guous termination. An A.B., A.M., Dr.,
LL.D., R.A., or such like significant initials


DAVID BLUNT.
105
may have weight, but few would read an
Esquire's book merely on account of his ipsi
dixit, being so. Joining with David Blunt in
thinking his unassuming names, plain and
becoming, I shall confine myself to a still
more obscure one, which courts neither notice
or elevation, that is
THE HERMIT IN EDINBurgh.
F 3





A CHARACTER.


"Man never is, but always to be blest."-POPE.
"Man wants but little here on earth,
Nor wants that little long."
"Laudet diversa sequentes."-HORAT.


A CHARACTER.
I VERY often wondered what made my old
friend M'Millan always wear a smile on his
countenance, and preserve the rosy tint of
health in the decline of life, when I recollect
that he was thin and much paler in youth;
and when I consider that his family has been
brought to nothing in three generations, and
that his means are very circumscribed. What
appeared to me still more surprising was,
that he had not that happy even temper, when
a boy at the high school, and that the disap-
pointments of after-life were not calculated to
mend his disposition: nevertheless, at the
present day, he has always something good


110
A CHARACTER.
humoured to say to you, and a jest at his
tongue's end, a thing not common with my
sedate countrymen. "Were you ever mar-
ried, Mac?" said a certain Lord to him one
day. “Faith, no ;" replied the former. “That
accounts," continued his Lordship "for your
unruffled and unalterable temper." " You may
say that, my Lord," quoth honest McMillan.
This reply opened my eyes, in a certain de-
gree; yet, as happiness is the great (generally
unattainable) pursuit of man, I deemed it
worth my while to make further inquiry; for,
up to the present exception to the general
rule, I ever found men with whom I was in
the habit of mixing, discontent with their
situation, envious of that of a neighbour," or
employed in seeking after something which
was to fill up the measure of their wishes;
but which was found on nearer approach, like
a glow-worm light, a work as interminable as
the web of Penelope; a desire as far from
being satisfied as the thirst of Tantalus; for
ambition engenders ambition; pleasure only
leads to a further craving of false appetite;


A CHARACTER..
111
;
wants increase with the possession of worldly
goods; and although the poet is right in
stating, that
"Man wants but little here on earth;"
and that the period of his want is but short;
yet, so blind is he, that he perceives not this
obvious truth.
man,
On questioning my friend on the cause of
this happy change in his temper and appear-
ance, he gave me the following account in a
very broad Scotch dialect, which I shall omit,
in favor of my English readers, and give
them in plain simple language:-" When I
entered life," said the contented
"I was
mortified enough to find a baronetcy dropped
by our family, on account of not having for-
tune enough to support it; and it was not
very pleasing to me to see the estates of my
ancestors sold and parcelled out to a grocer, a
lawyer, and a broker. I should have liked
very well to have been a private gentleman
doing nothing, or to have put on a red coat,
for which I had vast ambition; but I was too


112
A CHARACTER.
poor for the former, and my family had no
military interest to put me forward in the
latter. It grieved me to see my cousin Adam
in the gold laced trappings of his regiment,
to behold the grocer keeping a pack of hounds
on our estate, and to find that my half brother
was making a rapid fortune in the law; and I
was cut to the quick, after leaving school, to
witness one school-fellow going into the navy,
another into the army, a third fitted expen-
sively out for India, a fourth obtaining an
easy and lucrative place under government
and so on.
Trade offered a road to inde-
pendence, but my family's pride forbade me
to enter into it, and my capital was too small
for any thing else. At last, I took to study-
ing the classics deeply, and became a regular
domine, a teacher, a tutor, a translator to any-
body. In this my occupation, I met with
many humiliations; I was pestered by the
tempers of my pupils, oppressed by the arro-
gance of my employers, often out of place,
and once made to set down at a lord's second
table, whom I had often helped at school, and


A CHARACTER.
113
with whom I had been most familiar. These
were bitter pills to swallow, but they were
wholesome for the constitution of the mind.
Walking one day, in Prince's Street, I met an
old school-fellow, who had been married
twelve months to a rich heiress; he had not a
shilling which he could call his own at
his out-set in life, so that he was still
poorer than myself, but his handsome person
was his fortune, and through it he married a
woman of title, and drove his coach and four.
"Ah! Jemmy," said he to me, "come, and
dine with me to-day, lad. It will be a treat to
me to have an old friend at my table, to raise
my spirits." Why, thought I, who ought to
be in spirits, if it is not you? I very soon,
however, found the reverse. His lady kept
dinner waiting an hour.
"Where's my
lady?" said he to one of his footmen,
she has but come from her ride, and is now
changing herself." "Would to fate that she
were," whispered he to me; "any change
would be for the better."-In a word, I found
him the most miserable of beings, tied to a
"Sir,


114
A CHARACTER.
vixen of quality, who looked down upon his
friends, stinted him in his wine, kept the
purse herself, and contradicted him in every
thing. This was the first lesson that led to
my contented state. I would not have
changed with him for all the riches of Potosi
and Peru. Taking up the news-paper the
next day, I saw my cousin Adam's name
amongst those killed at the battle of Talavera.
His head was knocked off by a ball. I put
up my hand and found mine safe upon my
shoulders. Lesson the second. I now deter-
mined upon employing my little capital, in
building a cottage at Porto bello, and letting
it. In this I succeeded most fortunately;
and who should propose himself for my tenant,
but my half-brother. I was delighted at this,
and mentioned it to a friend, who exclaimed,
"take good care to have a regular agreement,
for he is the greatest rogue existing; every
body hates him, and fears him." Another
good lesson-I had no cause to complain of
my fate; for I was well considered by all
who knew me, and had preserved my reputa-


A CHARACTER.
115
tion through all my poverty.
I was
now
private tutor to the grocer's son, which was
humiliating enough, but he broke his neck
when out hunting; and his son, who was now
a rich minor, on the eve of setting out on his
travels for the continent, gave me a handsome
present; and I got rid of a stupid, trouble-
some scholar. I now resolved on visiting
London; and on trying my fortune there, I
did so accordingly, and made a decent living
by my pen. On running over the Gazette
one morning, I saw Aleck Timberhead, ano-
ther play-mate of mine, in the list of pro-
motion, as high up as a Major General.
"Blind fortune!" cried I, "so young, and so
dull a man, to be at the head of his pro-
fession!" I wandered in a complaintive mood
to Hyde Park, where I met the General, as
thin as a lath, and as yellow as a guinea.
"Ah! Mac," cried he, on approaching me
on his pony," what would I give to be as
healthy as you. That d-d West Indies
will be my death. My constitution is broken
up entirely. I have neither appetite, rest, or


116
A CHARACTER.
taste for any thing." I now felt elated in
spirits; and being then as hungry as a hawk,
I quitted the Park, walked briskly down Ox-
ford-street, and dined with my bookseller, at
Hampstead. On my return, I recognized
another high school-boy, a captain in the
Navy. He was very glad to see me; but he
had lost his right arm, whilst mine yet fur-
nished me with bread. A trifling legacy was
left me this year; and I returned to Edin-
burgh, where, with the produce of my cot-
tage, and a few hundreds sunk for an annuity,
I exist quietly and contentedly. The proud
lord is now ruined, and living on the con-
tinent with a view of recovering, in some
measure; and one of my acquaintances, in a
public office, is proclaimed a defaulter to
government, and has fled for it. Every
body complimented me on my good looks, on
my return home; and I found my waistcoat
too tight for me, on my arrival in the land
of cakes. So have I continued for years, which
may account for my cheerfulness. I put my
hand upon his lips, at this moment; I heard


A CHARACTER.
117
enough; he smiled, and, in the language of a
Domine, said "verbum non amplius addam."
This is no bad hint to me. Nothing better,
nor more apropos can be said or done, on
this occasion, by
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURgh.
P. S.-I had nearly forgotten to state,
that Mr. M'Millan's friend, who went out
to India never returned; but fell a victim to
a liver complaint.





WAYS AND MEANS;
OR,
THE ART OF LIVING WITHOUT MONEY.


"I had a horse, I had na mare,
I got him frae my daddy,"
SCOTCH SONG.


WAYS AND MEANS;
OR,
THE ART OF LIVING WITHOUT MONEY.
To the younger son of a good family, or to a
handsome subaltern, whose purse being scrimp,
(as we call it in Scotland,) must have his wits
aye ready, a horse, so far from being an en-
cumbrance, is a wonderful resource: it puts a
man above the vulgar herd, it raises him to
a patrician appearance, for betwixt the equites,
peditesque, the distance is very great; here
the case is pretty much the same as that be-
tween the mounted Doctor,* and him who
* By mounted Doctors, is meant physicians riding
in carriages, coach, chariot, or the like; not your
VOL. III.
G


122
WAYS AND MEANS; OR,
travels by the marrow-bone stage, or on St.
Francis's horse, id est, in plain English, upon
ten toes; the charge of the cavalry must,
necessarily be greater and more effective
than that of the infantry practitioner, inas-
much as the former must occasionally ad-
minister horse-medicines to his patients, not
strong enough for a horse's drug, but strong
demi fortune gentry, such as are seen in London, so
low as in a solo, in gig, tilbury, or denuet, much
less on horseback, as if riding post for practice; no,
Sandy is too decent and discreet for such a thing,
and would almost as soon be hanged himself, as to
have his nag hanging upon a sick gentleman, or
lady's gate, or led about by the first beggar in the
street, who may be within hail for a penny; one
horse conveyances suit village and other country
surgeons and apothecaries; the solos and landaulets,
with a pony in the shafts, are only suited for fiddlers
and other music masters, the dancing master, with
his kit in his pocket, or the travelling tooth drawer.
I may perhaps be reproached for reverting so often
to this subject, but I have so high a respect for the
faculty, that I cannot help it.
"Je reviens toujours à mes moutons."


THE ART OF LIVING WITHOUT MONEY. 123
enough for the horse's stomach, because the
animal must live by medicine, as well as his
master.
This short preface is necessary to shew
that a good-looking young man has all to
gain and nothing to lose by his horse; what
lonely widow, or what waning Miss can resist
the graceful bow of a mounted cavalier? what
even obdurate tavern-keeper can refuse tick
to the youth whose horse is led up and down
for hours before his door,-is it Oman? no
man, or Fortune, (when he was to the fore?)
certainly not, for Fortune favors the bold; or,
M'Culloch? no; the beast (the horse be it
understood,) is a powerful attraction to him,
like a bank token, it is not money, but the
hope, shade, or promise of it, so that a pro-
mising youth, and his palfrey together, are
really two creditable articles; with what ease
and familiarity a buck can leap off his horse,
at the hour of dinner, at an hotel, or tavern-
door; how commandingly he can speak to
waiter, chamber-maid, ay and to his host also.
G 2


124
WAYS AND MEANS; OR,
For example, "Charles,* I say, is the Major
arrived? is my Lord in the chair? is captain
Mac to be of our party? what soup have we
to-day, Oman? or, Jessy, show me a room that
I may wash my hands; I have just returned
from a ride of twenty miles, and-be sure to
order the waiter to ice the wine." Irresistible!
so Mac, and Tom, and Jack, knew well, and
calf-faced Bobby tried it on for a certain
time, until getting a little money, and being
naturally of an avaricious turn, added to his
submitting to be spouse-ridden, he paid off
his old scores, and took to living frugally and
decently. Bob was one of those, who consi-
dered it all fair to get deeply into debt,
("drink deep, or taste not,” hem!) when the
prospect of paying was distant, and involved
in clouds of doubtfulness, but when the ready
penny was at hand, he parted with it with
all the tenderness of one who parts with a
* Charles Douglas, a most accommodating waiter,
and a good natured man, who might have saved
money, but who died in the direst indigence.


THE ART OF LIVING WITHOUT MONEY. 125
dear friend, and to do him justice, he never
kept any other friend, not that he never
sought for one, nor bore hard upon one; but
that having used them like credit, in the tem-
pora nubila of his life, he got rid of them at
the cheapest rate: but this is a digression from
my subject. I knew three blades who lived
for a considerable time, on the strength of their
horses, which were nearly as accomplished as
themselves, being equal not only to advance,
but to make others do the same, and also
being as able to stand the charge as to retreat
in good order. Of these three delightful rakes,
one has discharged his debts, since the period
alluded to; one has paid the debt of nature,
and his name shall be at rest; the third is still
scored up, and remembered by all enquiring
friends. They were the delight of the ladies,
the dread of the jewellers, the army furnishers
and tailors, (Miss George,* and all,) the con-
* A man so called from the softness of his manners
and speech, so much so, that he might have passed
for a dove, were it not for the length of his bill.


126
WAYS AND MEANS; OR,
stant attendants and support of the tavern-
keepers, and the ruin of the wine-merchants;
the tavern-keepers having this decided advan-
tage over them, that if the three cavaliers
were tardy and uncertain in their payments,
they were such magnets of attraction that
their friends paid for them, either directly or
indirectly-directly, by being proxy for one
of the party; or indirectly, by the worthy
landlord's scoring them doubly for fear of
accident; and why not? This custom was
taught them by their brethren in the south.
One of this triumvirate used often to say,
that any idiot could live well with money;
but the art of living without it was what re-
quired high talent and ability. The essential
qualities necessary for compassing this end,
were personal advantages, courage, the art of
pleasing, well-judged flattery, good-humour
and conviviality; all of which these three
characters possessed in a high degree, and
their success was effected as follows:-a first
strong impression was made, which drew re-


THE ART OF LIVING WITHOUT MONEY. 127
spect from one side of the house, and par-
tiality from the other: the man of the house
or shop dared not to be impatient or importu-
nate for his bill; the female (and it was essen-
tial that there should be one in the concern)
thought two out of the three sweet fellows,
and the third a fascinater by his wit, elo-
quence and adulation, so that her vote of cre-
dit and of prorogation was never withheld;
and if she had a control over the cellar, ware-
house, or pantry, its contents might be com-
manded. Then again, the numerous acquain-
tances of the party might be offended in the
person of either who should be either menaced
or coerced. And whenever a feast was set on
foot, the three male Graces were necessarily
asked; so that mine host could not lose on
these occasions.
Fashion-setting and recommending were
two other resources, added to goodnature in
seeking credit, and eloquence in gaining time.
Lastly, when all failed-Love! mighty Love!


128
WAYS AND MEANS; OR,
was called in to their aid, not in the vulgar
form of Paddy to his washerwoman, “Judy,
honey, I can't pay the bill, but I'll marry
you, if you like it;" but by more refined
manœuvres of prose and verse, sighs and vows
(which one of them called his wind bills and
bonds), obligations which he was fond of be-
stowing on his friends, and were happily and
dextrously addressed to some female connec-
tion, who had a secret, or avowed interest
with the dunning or pursuing party. All this,
however, was done in so spirited and lively a
manner, that it was impossible to be out of
temper with the acting person.
When it is said that these blades could
live without money, that statement is not
to be taken exactly as it is made: it is
only intended to shew how expensively and
how well some people get on with a very little
money, the major part of which goes in pre-
sents, in flash, and in keeping waiters, cham-
bermaids, and servants regularly and hand-


THE ART OF LIVING WITHOUT MONEY. 129
somely feed,
-
- another justification of the
French song-
"Quand on sait aimer et plaire
Qu'a' ton besoin d'autre bien ?"
THE HERMIT IN EDINBurgh.
G 3





MY MARRIED FRIENDS.


"Love has no gift so grateful as his wings,
How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem,
Full from the fount of joy's delicious springs,
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings."
LORD BYRON.


MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
THIS is a dangerous doctrine to promul-
gate, and might lead to immoral conse-
quences; yet there must be something of
truth about it, else, why should Cupid always
be represented with wings, like a volage? It
certainly does not give an idea of constancy,
or stability; and, if we listen to all the love-
tales, both ancient and modern, all agree that
there is no fixing the mischievous urchin. If
there were any certain means of effecting this
purpose, one would naturally suppose that it
was wedlock. In order, however, to ascertain
the truth of this idea, I called over in my
mind the long list of my married friends.


134
MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
Prospero was a young man of warm feeling
and of sanguine temperament; he married for
love; he has a handsome partner and a nume-
rous family. Of all the men in the world, I
should have expected him to be the happiest,
whereas he has become a mere conjugal slave,
the fag of an overpowering, overbearing wife,
the drudge of a clamorous, over indulged
offspring. "Warm my shoes, Prospy," will
his soft spouse say, at one time;
❝ do go and
see what is the matter in the nursery;" at
another, "I am sure you are no judge of
marketing,” will, one day, be the compliment
at table. "My husband cannot possibly dine
with you to-morrow," will be the sentence on
the next occasion;-" my husband won't go
without me," is the broad hint in one instance,
a wink, and a reminding that it is time to rise
from a pleasant party, are the sweets thrown
into the hymeneal bowl, whenever poor Pros-
pero is growing warm and comfortable, and
trying to flap the clipped wings of his former
freedom. Poor Prospy has fastened the noose
for himself, but the patient and non-resisting


MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
135
look which his features display, proves be-
yond a doubt, that if he had his liberty once
more, he would never surrender it up again.
Mrs. Prospero, however, passes for an ex-
cellent wife, an admirable mother and a mas-
terly house-wife; but the question is, whether
thrift alone can fill the heart, or economy
alone make a man happy?
Alonso was a volage, a general lover, a
prodigious favourite with the softer sex, a too
generous fellow and an excellent companion;
his better half prides herself upon having
married a reformed rake; upon having fixed a
voluptuous gay butterfly; upon having saved
a giddy youth from ruin; but poor Alonso
does not represent the matter thus; his refor-
mation has reduced his enjoyments; his being
fixed has made him nearly a fixture in his
lady's apartment, a fixture without free will,
without a voice in domestic government; his
saving has left him nothing to save; his re-
trenchments have created a void in his pocket
which produces endless humiliations.
"Ask
your mistress for money, you know I never keep


136
MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
the
99
purse," is his answer whenever an article
is brought to the house for payment.
"Go
to your mistress, John, and tell her to send me
half-a-crown," is his meek request; if he
wishes to go to a coffee-house, or to take a
hackney coach, and, in general, John has to
return to his master, with, "Sir, my mistress
wishes to know what you want it for," before
the coin is parted with; nay, on one occasion,
I recollect his deary's questioning him, before
company, as to how he had spent the last
sovereign which she had trusted him with;
bien entendu, that the money was his own,
but he had given up the command of it, to-
gether with all other power, dominion, and
controul. Then again, poor Alonzo was
forced to tell so many untruths, in order to
get a day's pleasure, or a piece of gold into
his pocket; "say that I am to dine with you
to-morrow," whispered he to me,
on ob-
serving the approach of his gentle Sophia.
This was in order to get out and to dine with
a few old college companions. "Sophy, love,
I wish you would pay Mr. so and so, a guinea


MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
137
which I owe him," was the degrading resource
of another day, whilst madame pulled out the
money and handed it over to him with a frown 1;
doubtless he was brought to book as to the
purposes to which it was applied; and, if he
prevaricated, had a curtain lecture for his
punishment. I well know that he has to beg
for snuff money, and to pretend to lose at
whist, to give charity with what money he can
obtain from his female treasurer.
Docilis is wedded to a stately dame, who
has honored him with her hand and nobility
of alliance, in return for his handsome person;
he was very proud of this match, when it had
the charms of novelty, but pride will have a
fall, and poor Docilis is come down to
nothing; her ladyship's arms are on the right
of his escutcheon; she has preserved her
livery, kindly to put him in mind that he has
none of his own; she never lets his memory
slumber on the subject of her brother being
Lord Lieutenant of a county; of her grand-
father having been one of the sixteen peers;
of the part which her ancestors took in the


138
MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
99
troubles of the year forty-five, nor of the im-
portance of her name in the north. If Docilis
should inadvertently say, "call my carriage,'
his proud dame will reply, "my carriage, if
you please, Mr. Docilis; it was stipulated
when we married that my establishment should
be separate and distinct." Then again, if the
subdued commoner should inform an acquaint-
ance that his horses cost him so much, the
Right Honorable Lady will remind him that
her money paid for them; and if an humble-
looking visitor be seen in the house, she will
contemptuously observe, that it is one of
Docilis's relations.
Ernestus was a person of high mental ac-
quirements, a profound scholar and a man of
taste; any woman might be proud of such a
husband, and might be happy with such a
companion; abstraction from the world, and
a single hearted disposition, kept Ernestus free
from the vices of ordinary men, and induced
him to consider wedlock as a state of pure
felicity. He married for a partner to un-
bend with, one who would sweeten the hours


MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
139
of rest from study, (and my friend lived by
literary pursuits) one who would conduct all
his worldly concerns, for which he was wholly
unfit, one who might look up to him, and be
instructed, moulded and formed by him, at
least, whose mind might receive that advan-
tage; he, therefore, did not look for fortune,
but laboured in his study to provide for all
her wants, nor was he unreasonable as to
beauty; health, youth, and temper were all
that he sought for, and his wife had a temper,
yes, it was one of her own, the most varying,
uncertain and contradictory in the world; yet
it seemed to grow under the maturing flame of
Hymen, for it was imperceptible before mar-
riage: his dear Amanda, the subject both of
his prose and verse (when courting) was
never satisfied; never in the same mind two
days together; the variety of her whims,
fancies, amusements, and dresses became
ruinous to the author; his toils were useless,
his struggles were never crowned with suc-
cess, whilst she, not only undervalued, but
detested the very means of her support, and
.


140
MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
despised the talent which raised him in the
estimation of every one else. Never was man
more disappointed: if he called her into the
library to read her a fine passage in a new
production of his, "I have no time, dear,"
would be her language; "I have things of
more importance to attend to; I am quite
sick of books, and of authors; I must dress
for Mrs. Newfangle's card party;" or "I shall
be too late for the play; my milliner has just
brought home a new bonnet, and I can't be
bored with attending to your dry stuff."
Such was the encouragement which he got
for his arduous task to support a dressy,
pleasurable wife; such the meed of praise
which he looked for, from one who might
naturally be partial to his talents, whilst
Amanda was incessantly complaining of him
to her neighbours and visitors. "Where is
your husband?" one would say. "Oh! at
the old story, stupifying himself over his
musty books; up to his eyes in ink and nasty
papers; fagging and poring over his lumber-
ing manuscripts: who would marry a book-


MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
141
worm? who would be plagued with an
author?" would be her reply to such enquiry;
and if asked how she liked his last work? if
it was as successful as it deserved? or if she
heard it quoted, or praised, she would flip-
pantly tell the enquiring friend that she knew
nothing about it; that she never read Ernes-
tus's works; that she was sick of the sight of
books, and now never read any thing but a
newspaper; that she heard of nothing but
composition from morning until night, and
abhorred the sight of pen, ink and paper, to
which she added occasionally, by way of
seasoning, the epithets of humdrum and old
foguey, applied to her husband, who was
scarcely forty.
Placidus married in the decline of life:
he had better have declined it altogether;
but he gave his hand and ample fortune
to a young woman not only without for-
tune, but dependent and unhappy in her
family. The mirth of her disposition, and
the gratitude which he expected, held out a
strong hope of happiness; he was, however,
}


142
MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
repaid by being talked and laughed down
whenever he attempted to raise his voice, or
to use his authority. "Not I, I'll not go to
your stupid family parties; I can't be bored
with your country walks; I positively will
not come home before three in the morning.”
These were the rebellions and risings up
against age and superiority, rendered more
pointed by unceasing remindings of his years
and infirmities, and by horse-laughs at his
expence. "My old husband," was sometimes
the endearing word of the day. "What are
you poking about? Oh! he'll be an hour
before he comes. Law, how you creep!"
with other equally liberal allusions, were
daily bread to him, and, to fill up the mea-
sure of his felicity, his rib passed whole
nights at balls, gave late and expensive par-
ties at home, broke his rest, by thundering
knocks when he had forgotten his plagues by
sleep, and flirted away his peace of mind,—
not to forget her comfortable habit of, ever
and anon, ringing in his ears, the probability
of her surviving him and indulging in plans,


MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
143
to be carried into execution when that period
should arrive, "You shall be my second,"
passed, for a long time, as a good joke with
Placidus, but his deary repeated it so often
and to so many, that he at last considered it
as a wish: it might be a jest with her, but it
was a grave subject to him.
66
One of my friends complains of having no
family; another says he is to be pitied for
having so large a one; one married acquain-
tance tells me that his bottle is his only com-
fort; another admires every other man's wife
but his own. Per contra: one wife murmurs
at her husband's want of attention to her,
whilst another sprightly dame is plagued to
death by that of her spouse: one cannot
stir an inch without him; he will never let
me have any pleasure," are her accusations
against him. "Keep my husband a long
while over the bottle, whilst I go out," said
(in a whisper to me) the warm constitutioned
engineer's wife, once so admired at Edin-
burgh and at Leith. "Here, woman, tak'
that pund note and buy bread with it," said
Benevolus to a poor object; "but dinna let


144
MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
the mistress (his wife) ken any thing about
it." Here a husband hides his expences from
his wife; there a wife conceals her extrava-
gance from her husband; the man of fashion
blushes for his rustic partner's ignorance; the
lettered lady looks down on her plain honest
piece of lumber; a contention for dominion
characterizes one couple; a constant combat
for who shall wear the pantaloons makes
another the subject for gossipping of their
neighbours; one wife makes her husband a
tool, and the next door-husband makes his
wife a fool; the man fond of liquor has a
water drinking parsimonious wife; the ab-
stemious man's lady is an excellent bottle
companion; what a pity that they should be
thus paired! And are these the sympathies
of wedded life, the sweets and comforts of
that delightful state? The pulling together of
partners; the-
"Thought meeting thought, and will preventing
will,"
described by the poet? Are these the facili-


MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
145
ties afforded of stemming the rough tide of
life? Does the maitresse femme gain conse-
quence from the lowering of her partner?
Does the active housewife require more credit
for thrift, by endeavouring to stultify and
make a cypher of her help-mate? Will the
rose of youth bloom more luxuriantly on the
cheek of the wife whose husband's grey hairs
are brought with sorrow to the grave? And
are the pinchings and parings, the waterings
and reducings, the checking of the generous
flow of hospitality and charity, calculated to
serve as fuel to keep alive the flame of affec-
tion and desire? Not to mention those
jealousies and tears, which are artfully prac-
tised to enslave and lay under contribution,
by turns, the flouncings and poutings, the
weepings and sighings which serve as a cloak
to transgressions, or insure the payment of a
bill.
"Domus et placens uxor," is the quota-
tation of an advertising doctor, but it strikes
me, that if he can find the placens uxor with-
out variation or alloy, he may also discover
VOL. III.
H


146
MY MARRIED FRIENDS.
the philosopher's stone, and be nearer to the
longitude than either Ditton or Whiston, so
celebrated in Doctor Swift's dirty line; this,
however, is a subject which a solitary Celebs
can only know by what he has seen in others,
nothing would be more pleasant, in this point,
than to satisfy the doubts of
THE HERMIT IN EDINBUrgh.


POOR EMILY.
н 2


Something than beauty dearer should we look,
Or on the mind, or mind illumin'd face."


POOR EMILY.
I HAD not seen her since her childhood,
when sporting like a gamesome lamb on the
braes of Yarrow; she had been since that
period at school, in the world (if Edinburgh
may be considered as such;) she had been
admired, sought as a partner in the dance,
flattered, disposed of in the gossiping circles,
to two or three rich and respectable young
men; she had been the pride of a father, now
reposing in the field of honor, had been
envied, courted, and, lastly, she was married.
Six moons had now passed over her lovely
head since she became a bride, yet she had
not completed her nineteenth year; in her


150
POOR EMILY.
features there could be no change, their
attractiveness and regularity were the same,
nor had the doubtful hue of her velvet cheek,
where the rose and lily contended for do-
minion, altered in the least; the glossiness of
her auburn tresses was still unimpaired, and
the coral of her lips was second in lustre to
none, but the fire of her eye seemed half
quenched, the expression of her features had
assumed a new character, a tinge of melan-
choly passed across her countenance like the
obscuring cloud which sullies for a time the
sunny lustre of the landscape, and all play-
fulness had fled from her for ever. Had she
been widowed, the language of her eyes
would have been easily understood; but she
was a young bride, married to him whom she
loved alone, and her partner, (as she in-
formed me) was every thing that her heart
could wish. What then could bend the rose
but to droop its dejected head and weigh it
down with the dew-drop of affliction? Poverty
and the chilling blight of the worldly, the
wrath of an offended, ambitious mother, and


POOR EMILY.
151
the frowns of the former friends of her dawn-
ing days; the hands which had once pressed
her's in warmth and seeming tenderness, and
which promised protection and support, were
now shut in distance or in coldness, or raised
to point derision, or to motion her to depart
from them; the tongues which had been
clothed in the accents of flattery and of praise,
of admiration and lavish professions, had now
sunk to the key of cruel pity, or to the uncha-
ritable murmur of censure; the relatives
who had sought her society now strove to
unlink and alienate themselves from all kin-
dred with her; her intimates disowned her
acquaintance, and every door was closed at
her approach.
What was her crime? Love. She had
wedded the youth of her choice, without for-
tune or interest, highly educated and well
connected, but without any certain income;
and not having yet embraced any profession,
he had vainly imagined that virtuous love
might meet with its reward even in our nether
world, and that the heart must be formed of


152
POOR EMILY.
adamant which could not exert its sympathies
for Emily. He had persuaded himself that
he had nothing to do but to produce her cap-
tivating form and pleading beauties to his
rich uncle, in order to ensure forgiveness and
the means of living in at least moderate cir-
cumstances. He was deceived in the flatter-
ing picture which he had drawn of man.
The stern old man, verging towards the clay
from which he rose, became like the arid
clod, unproductive; his scanty crop of bene-
volence was long reaped in, and nothing but
the frost of winter remained in his bosom ;
he refused to see what he inhumanly termed
the beggars, adding that if she could live
upon her beauty, she might for him starve,
work, or perish. Her mother, a church-going
old lady, held her breach of duty as a mortal
sin, and one which discharged her from all
feeling of maternity towards her. "I dinna
consider her any longer as my " (laying strong
emphasis on the proud, selfish pronoun)
"child," said she; " and he may enlist as a
private soldier, and she may go to service if


POOR EMILY.
153
they like; two young idiots juist bent on
each other's ruin." Where did she find this
doctrine? was it in her huge, splendid family
bible? or in the swellings of arrogance and
avarice of her mind?
Emily was poorly dressed, and I had
seen her a star of elegance; trinkets and orna-
ments had been converted into food; nay,
even her wardrobe had dwindled down to a
poor display. Her unfortunate, enamoured
Edward had knocked at every gate, had
thought himself into a state of stupor, had
applied to the former associates of his cloud-
less years, and found them all fail him in the
hour of trial...." How weak it was of him,"
(they kindly observed) to throw himself away,
who might have married anybody." Yes,
but did he adore anybody-or was anybody
or every body, with a fortune, alike to him?
They were now completely two outcasts, with
all the virtues and perfections which might
claim kindness at every hand.
On my entering her humble apartment, she
thus addressed me:-" This is truly kind-
H 3


154
POOR EMILY.
are you really come to see us in our hovel?
I thought that you too had cast me off; or
that my mother had poisoned you against me,
and had forbidden you to countenance me:
my poor Edward will consider your visit as a
high honor."
"Yes, by Jove," exclaimed I,
electrified by her appeal to all that dignifies
nature, namely, feeling: "yes, a high honer
indeed! the visit of an old man to the hand-
somest couple in Scotland, and one of them
known to him from her cradle, and most
highly esteemed by him." This language was
unexpected, and it drew tears from her:
after a short pause, she explained to me the
circumstances of their secret marriage, and all
the upbraidings which she had to endure.
A very few school companions had visited
her for a very few weeks, but as she could
not entertain them with an overflowing board
and with the exterior of prosperity, they had
all dropped off from her society; she shewed.
me at the same time a volume of letters from
her's and from her husband's relations and
quondam friends, exhibiting a revolting pic-


POOR EMILY
155
ture of the human mind in all the dirty, shal-
low, petty, and contemptible forms of refusals,
excuses, puts off, and advice substituted for
service rendered: two or three conveyed nig-
gard relief, rendered odious from its form,
from its ungraciousness, and from the pride
which accompanied it; in one instance it was
insulting, so much so, that her husband could
do no less than to return the dross, the want
of which was so severely felt.
Such heartless conduct is not national: it
is a disgrace to all the most civilized coun-
tries. In old Scotia, families in general cling
together; but the higher the class the more is
disinterested love a stranger, the more severe
the resentment of parents towards children
marrying to please themselves. The fate of
such unfortunates seems to me unspeakably
hard their situation forms an imperious
claim on sensibility. The honest merchant
who has failed in his industry is (not often
enough) taken by the hand; he whose habi-
tation has been a prey to the devouring ele
ment is recommended to general notice; the
:


156
POOR EMILY.
shipwrecked mariner draws succour from his
affluent brother; yet not a bosom beats with
the increased tide of sympathy, not a tear of
compassion bedews the cheek of humanity;
no wide palm of munificence scatters the gene-
rous gift on the couch of drooping, despond-
ing love, nor nerves itself to Herculean
strength to grasp and draw towards it the
languid lovely one fainting for want of hope,
nor to push forward the manly sufferer, con-,
cealing the tide of nature from her with whom
he strove to stem the current of wretchedness,
and to weather out the storm that lowers its
threatenings above their heads. What greater,
what more magnanimous act, could a monarch
or a rich man perform, than to step in betwixt
such a young, loving pair and ruin, and to
pilot them to a harbour of ease and shelter?
to provide for their wants, and to advance
their interests, and direct their steps, in the
uncertain journey of life?-to reconcile un-
kind relations to them, to weary, to impor-
tune, to exhort, to condemn them, until the
purpose be effected? It does not become met


POOR EMILY.
157
to say what I did: my visit, however, was
not an useless and worldly one.
If this imperfect picture should meet the
eye of a harsh parent, acting as has been
seen above, it is to be hoped that it will not
be read without attention and reflection.
Happy unions are so rare, that it is sad in-
deed when we have to complain with Burns,
and to inquire
6.
why should Fate sic pleasure take
Life's dearest bonds untwining?"
I am not blind to what makes marriage à la
mode the object of satire; but I am not dead
to that feeling which would confer unmixed
felicity on disinterested wedded love, although
I am the solitary
HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.





THE RETIRED OFFICER.


"I have done the state some service."
OTHELLO.


THE RETIRED OFFICER.
To Othello's words opposite might be added
these which follow-
66
but of that no more." 99
Such is the lot of the victor, when a few years
shall have mouldered away from the crum-
bling edifice of time: half pay, or no pay,
a proud carriage and a broken constitution;
these are the ordinary remains of the military
man reduced or retired from the service. Few
are the advantages which he retains-many
the obstacles to getting forward again in life.
The officer and the gentleman are still his


162
THE RETIRED OFFICER.
characteristics; but his youth and bloom have
fled; poverty is his portion, and he has no
longer his mess-room, his servant to attend
him; free quarters, bat and forage-money,
but must mess and forage the best he can,
upon
short allowance; and in all the solitude
of a pilgrim, there are few exceptions to this
general rule, and they most frequently occur
in the land of bannacks o' barley meal, be-
cause frugality is there at head-quarters; and
a man may eke out his half-pay, if he has any,
as well as on the continent, where it must
grieve every honest heart to find so many
hundreds of the defenders of Britain, living
merely for the advantage of drinking a little
thin wine, and of concealing their narrow
means from their friends and relations.
The character before us is of a different
stamp. He had been entrusted with com-
mand. He had risen, by long time and hard
service, to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel;
and, from having purchased some of the steps
of his promotion, and dearly earned the others,
he was allowed to sell out, which he did from


THE RETIRED OFFICER.
163
the honourable motive of paying his debts,
and of giving five hundred pounds to a sister,
destitute without his aid. When he dis-
charged these duties, which principle and
feeling imposed on him, he took out his com-
mission, cast a melancholy glance upon it,
locked it up in his drawer, and laying his
hand on his trusty old friend (his sabre), rub-
bing and polishing the blade, and heaving a
deep sigh, he hung it upon a nail, with his
sash, in a festoon under it, his rusty spurs
on each side, and a Dutch-clock over the
whole. Here were the emblems of time and
of trial, of by-gone life, and of reduced cir-
cumstances. His spurs would be useless to
him for life; but his sabre might yet second
his loyal arm, should the state require it,
although his rank and avocation were gone.
A goat-skin, which had covered his charger,
served for a carpet in his single room; a
field-bed, and four camp-stools, were all his
furniture; a few maps, and an engraving of
the King, were the only ornaments of his
apartment; and as he could not afford to


164
THE RETIRED OFFICER.
give a suitable frame, he therefore orna-
mented it with the rosettes of his gorget,
which being silver-gilt, he beat out into a
drinking-cup, and was all the plate which he
was master of; his epaulettes were melted into
pewter utensils for his scanty table, and his
scarlet-jacket was brushed, put by, and wore
on his Majesty's birth day. He was a man
of social habits, and what is called good com-
pany; but he was not of that description of
beings, who cannot endure solitude, and who,
rather than be alone, submit to be a hanger-
on at a number of hospitable men's tables, or
to the pillar of a tavern, or a coffee-house,
where they tell long stories, and allow them-
selves to be treated by richer idlers than them-
selves. He would have preferred to have
passed whole years, with a few books, and the
cultivation of his small garden; but he was
not put to the trial. As soon as his retreat
was known, in a small village of the north,
three brother officers of his, now placed on
half-pay, immediately came down, and settled
near him. His whole substance was reduced


THE RETIRED OFFICER.
165
to eighty pounds per annum, the produce of an
annuity obtained by sinking the residue of the
price of his commission; yet, with this he
preserved a degree of dignity, which ten times
the sum could not have bestowed on the
owner. Buttoned-up to the neck in his blue
coat, or surtout, with a black stock surmount-
ing it, he shouldered his cane, or carried his
umbrella, like a sabre under his left arm,
and marched forth from his quarters, as if
he had been going to take the command of
a brigade. No one could say that he owed
them a shilling, or an obligation. A visit, or
a glass of wine, for he would not accept of
the invitations of his neighbours, but never
failed to call on them, if they were in trouble,
or sick, and gave to them his advice, consola-
tion, or condolence, as the case might admit.
In his morning walks, he was never alone,
at least one or two of his comrades were always
with him. They looked up to him, and
treated him with the utmost respect; nor was
there any thing of interest, servility or flattery
in their conduct. They considered him still


166
THE RETIRED OFFICER.
as their Colonel, and their brother, although
they had nothing to gain by subordination,
nothing to apprehend from the authority
of a commanding officer. "Once a Colonel,
always a Colonel," is a common phrase;
but it has not common sense in it. Cour-
tesy will continue the title in society, when
the office exists no more; but this is a
mere affair of words, an empty sound, and
goes no further. In every other respect, the
individual is a simple citizen,* a man with-
There is no character which requires more good
sense and decorum to fill than that of a retired officer;
or of one who has sold out; the earlier the period of
life, the more difficult the task, because an elderly
man must have some experience, and have seen some-
thing of the world: now the more experience he has, and
the more he has seen of the world, the more moderate,
liberal, social, and modest he will be; but the young,
half-taught man, has the greatest difficulty in passing
from the soldier to the private gentleman; and he
will most probably over, or under-play his part. If
ill health, want of means, or the reduction of the
army, has transferred him to a citizen's life, he will
be dissatisfied with his situation; restless, uneasy,
proud, contemptuous towards those, who have never


THE RETIRED OFFICER.
167
out weight, or influence; not rich enough to
be an object to the designing, and (too often)
a cypher guest at every one's table. But
the case was very different with this Colonel
(he was never addressed otherwise); he held
his rank in the affections of his companions;
he kept his superiority from the free will of
those who addressed him less from habit than
from heart; he who had known the duty of
obedience, could judge of the feeling in
others; he who had practised moderation in
power, must insure the esteem of those who
had served under him; the soldier's friend,
although bereft of his external trappings, and
temporary rank, must hold a rank in remem-
brance, and a claim to the mutual service of
worn the sash and gorget. He will be vain, voluptu-
ous, and not unlikely give himself up to the bottle,
or to idleness. If he has quitted the army from mis-
conduct or disgust, he will be complaintive, unjust,
and will abuse his former profession, over-acting the
sportsman, the tradesman, or some new character;
but the true retired officer is loyal, loves his King,
regrets his colours, and is kind to his fellow-citizens.


168
THE RETIRED OFFICER.
those who have been the companions of his
honors and his toils; he who has suffered
hardships and privations will never be a petty
tyrant, nor will he, who has shared the
hottest of the fire with his brave men, pester
them to death upon parade, nor be the mere
martinet and disciplinarian of pipe-clay and
heel ball, oil and emery, bright buttons, and
minutely well-cut hair; had the Colonel been
in time of peace, such a feather-bed com-
mander, he would not have found his old
captain and two subalterns stick to him, and
hold him in high estimation in the decline of
life; they would have avoided and have
hated him, whereas they were his daily visi-
tors, to smoke a pipe with the Colonel was
their delight; they considered his one room
and cabbage garden still as head-quarters;
and, on the quarterly 25th, each of them had
him in turn to an honest joint of meat and a
proportionate quantity of whisky-toddy. Thus
passes his serene life. What a mortification,
what a self-reproach it must be to the tyrant,
when in office; to the unfeeling commanding


THE RETIRED OFFICER.
169
officer, or to him, who has shrunk from his
duty, or done it negligently and disgrace-
fully; to one who has never seen blood, ex-
cept on the cat-o'-nine-tails, which his severity
has applied to the back of a poor soldier;
or to him, who has dressed and domineered
upon the private's hard earnings,—what a
burning shame it must be to him to meet the
man whom he has oppressed, whether officer
or private,—to behold, in his eyes, contempt
and accusation; to observe the one refuse
him a salute, and the other murmur out a
malediction; to find himself contemptible in a
blue or a black coat, and his abode, even if it
were splendid, avoided by all those who have
had the misfortune to have served with him:
such a one's cabin might become his prison, if
sickness confined him to it; no kind brother
soldier would converse away the heavy hours
with him; and here, the example of my friend,
if not amusing, or instructive to the civilian
who peruses it, may serve as a necessary lesson
to the red and blue coat-flutterers of fashion-
able corps, to those whose importance dwells
VOL. III.
I


170
THE RETIRED OFFICER.
in highly laced crimson pantaloons, or whose
scented pelisses have never been put out of
shape by a passing bullet; to coffee-house
cornets, and to the dandy of the parade, the
drill of a procession, or to him who gives the
lisped out words of command of a muster-day :
whatever be their military rank, they will sink
into nothing, whenever they part with it, and
will discover, when too late, that the union of
starch and stays with gunpowder and naked
blades is as unnatural and ridiculous, as mon-
strous and incompatible as that of a butterfly
and a lion, an eagle and a jack-daw. May
this hint be of service to them; if not, they
will have no apology to qualify it, for it is
offered without present respect or any cere-
mony by
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.


THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
1 2


11
>)
by
19.
"Money makes the marc to go."
{


THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
In England and its metropolis, the theatre
is so extensive that we naturally expect to
see a great variety in the drama of life,
scenes are shifting, and different actions are
incessantly passing before the eye; vicissi-
tudes are so multiplied daily, that their
effect is scarcely perceived. Thousands are
plunged from affluence into poverty, from
fashion into contempt; whilst as many are
elevated from obscurity into notoriety, and
are thrust up from low stations into elevated
situations, ample fortunes, and even purchased
titles, and mercenary high connexions. From
extravagance springs debt; from the emi-


174
THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
nence of fashion issues envy; from giddiness
of power, or pleasure, arise intoxication and
folly, which undermine the uncertain fabric,
and brings it soon headlong to the dust.
Wealth, without wisdom, is of dangerous and
most uncertain tenure, for it is, of itself, a
substance,
"That knows no sure, no fix'd abiding place,
But wand'ring loves from hand to hand to pass."
On the other side of the scene, we behold
cash accumulated, it matters not how, by
fair, or foul means. Trade, a legacy, a lucky
hit, a lottery-ticket, or a rich wife; gaming,
usury, secret-services, intrigues, quack medi-
cines, vice, profligacy, fraud, juggling, mono-
poly, or embezzlement: the coin buys land,
and influence draws acquaintances and con-
nexions, ensures luxuries and consideration,
places the possessor in the magistracy, and
county influence compasses a borough, and
then may aspire to any thing.
But these wonderful accessions, and re-
verses of fortune, are not frequent in the


THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
175
more sterile land of thistles; and the stage
is so limited, that the performers have not
scope enough to figure away to the best
advantage. The law and trade are the most
ordinary roads to money and promotion,
but do not point to the notoriety of high life.
A few mutes in the lower house, and here and
there a provost, my lorded for a year, and be-
knighted, or be-baroneted afterwards, are the
few splendid instances of fortune's favors
to her children of the north; whilst, in the
south, she runs full-gallop with her favorites.
There are, however, now and then, a charac-
ter or two, who, from the sale of sugar and rum,
the sudden rise on the price of some article,
a constitution injured in tropical climates, or
good practice as an agent, steps up, on a sud-
den, to the top of fortune's ladder, which he
kicks down instanter, looking contempt-
uously and highmindedly on his quondam
companions and friends; the latter character
(the doer or agent), may, if he be highly
gifted with cunning, industry, and perse-
verance, do his extravagant landed clients,


176 THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
29
and step into their shoes, when they are
barefooted and pennyless; for bargain buy-
ing never leads to a fortune without ruin-
ing one of the parties; who, besides the great
pull against him of necessity and haste, has
an overpowering force of "bussiness done,'
law expences, parchments, papers, nay even
of valuable advice, and attendance dearly paid
for, to kick up the beam to his prejudice;
thus time (his is not paid for) as well as tide
carry him down the stream, and adieu to his
prospects: he may change his views, but they
will afford him no other change, not even of a
a guinea. These are the most frequent alte-
rations of worldly circumstances in the Cale-
donian capital: trade aspires at the gold chain
of office; "a little brief authority;" at get-
ting sons on in the liberal professions and
marrying daughters off to lairds, or gentle-
tlemen; at a clumsy carriage and a clumsier
high dressed wife, and stops there; seldom in-
deed does the shop aim at celebrity in
fashion's ring, nor do the colonies ambition
any thing beyond scrip, long annuities, consols,
per cent, reduced navy and exchequer bills,


Yr86.97 61
871
THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
177
India and other bonds, a slice in the loan, set
dinners, a town and country house; but old
Edina has produced and smiled upon some
half dozen characters, who hit at a high
mark and were too unlettered to have read
the following line in Horace-
"Romani tollent equites peditesque chachinnum."
's
One of them, a rum puncheon looking fellow,
with a face like a sun-flower, travelled to his
summit of fashion and eminence through the
columns of newspapers; if he and his family
went to a watering place, they were gazetted
there in print, among the fashionable arrivals;
if they had a score of persons to dinner, or a
few score to a brag-party, it was Mrs.
evening party, concert, ball, or at home edged
in amongst the right honourables and honour-
ables, who adorned the pages of the Morning
Post, or some other breakfast paper, or the
man's name at full length was inserted after
ministerial dinners and the opening of the
town residences of the great. When peace
permitted the exportation of this huge bale of
1 3


178 THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
goods, its removal to the continent was an-
nounced with as much pomp as if some
crowned head had sailed from our shores, and
the return of wond'rous self, his lady, and
amiable family, produced the congratulations
of himself and said family; but he got posted
thus-"We congratulate the numerous friends
of so and so, or so, so, on the safe return, &c.
after visiting
(here followed
the list of foreign parts); and here we will
take leave of the would be important man and
his scenic part, placed like an oversized fly on
fortune's wheel, and exclaiming as it (the
wheel) performs its rotation, "See what a
dust we kick up.” Titled idlers will always
""
be found to visit such people, and keen
scented flatterers will not be wanted to smell
out a turtle, a haunch of venison, French
cookery and French wines; nay, would even
stick to the fat man, if he came down to—
“Rum punch and toddy O !”
Nay, who would be ungenteel enough to add


THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
179
R, for rum, and P, for punch,
And D, for-
there we leave them. Not to trouble our
readers with many more purchasers of noto-
riety, who justify the verity of the proverb,
we shall only name one. This gentleman,
(since so people are called who have acres
and a purse, and esquire, tacked without
further inquiry to their name)—this gentle-
man first took up a quill as a very common
man; some think that he wrote nonsense
in the line (at so much each) of his pro-
fession; others that he wrote common-place
stuff, at all events he only made the common
profits, and lived for many years in the airest
situation of a house, in chambers, honestly and
obscurely; a relation died, and the man who
lived by the page now found his way into the
pages of the public prints. He got two names
which double a man's consequence, although
they may be as obscure as Grub Hobson, or
any such other denomination. There is some-
thing we will allow very taking in two sur-
names, with the euphony of lordliness about
them, such as Montague Mathew, Berkley


180 THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
Craven, Villiers Somerset, (we will suppose)
Granley Greville, Percy Windham, &c. &c.
and such names are the most elegant furniture
for a novel, and the most attractive signs
hanging out to invite rich and romantic
maidens to change their own names and con-
ditions; but your Budge, Foreman, Jobson,
Green, Bar, Jackson, Bunt, White, and the
like, are only sufferable in a testament or
codicil, and ought never to be named in
polished society. Nevertheless, this honest
man's family surnames were of this last class;
yet they came forth, such as they were, with
the
Esquire's arrival at his estate, with
his hospitality, the loyal toasts at his dinner,
the donations to the parish, with his depar-
tures from country for town, and his safe
arrivals from, (the name of his place) not to
his lodgings in the new town of Edinburgh,
but to a fashionable hotel in London. There
he was lost (not missed) for awhile. We
then had him ushered into company who had
imposing names, and next noticed as a tra-
veller in Great Britain. At length he got


THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
181
over to the continent, unwillingly, unper-
ceived, for he had kindly allowed the inns on
both sides of the water to insert his Christian
name, family name, and name of adoption
per will and testament at full length; but
they passed unregarded with the other Whites,
and Browns, and Blacks, and Greens, with
the Millers and Bakers, the Alcocks and
Hitchcocks, the Hancocks, Budges, Fudges,
Cods, Haddocks, Herrings, and other queer
persons and fishes which the cessation of hos-
tilities have set afloat, and made travellers of
within the last nine years.
The two-named commoner had now a new
part to take, or he might have been lost to the
public for ever. He got mentioned on his
grande tour-the world was advertised of his
motions-performed and intended to be per-
formed; he was read of in France-per-
ceived in Italy - announced as about to visit
the Archipelago. It was hinted that he was a
very curious, clever fellow, positively asserted
that he actually had, or really intended to
purchase and bring home a valuable collection
---


182
THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
of rare matters from the parts which had the
advantage of being visited by him; he next
flirted and coquetted it with the expectations
and regrets of the readers of morning papers;
and Mr. Somebody Something was absent
from the tea-board for a long time ;-at length
he came out again in small print, presented at
a court or two, and travelling like some new
star northward, taking and making observa-
tions; and lastly, being for one second, hand
and glove with majesty; for mankind was
gravely told that Mr. had an audience
of one of the modern and minor kings in the
globe, who actually shook hands with him.
The Pope's toe, or rather the "
sacra por-
pora" was nothing to this. What must mam-
ma think, whose birth and appearance were so
plebeian ? What must sister (a mantua-
maker) feel upon such an occasion? What
I will the students and clerks who formed the
elite of his company in war-time, and during
the days of his mediocrity say to all this.
"Mirabile dictu!" (let us breathe.)
The writer of this account, who occasion-


THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
183
ally visited Jack or Bill in his lofty story
says nothing, for nothing surprises him.
He remembers his having a chaotic companion
place-book, into which he crammed every
thing which he could collect from news-
papers, magazines, hand-bills, and picked
up from private conversations; this proved
him to be a person of observation. He recol-
lected his having sung imitations of funny
songs, and his having once danced a horn-
pipe in his own parlour, which gives an idea
of activity of body, as well as of mind; nor
can he marvel at his getting noticed by the
fashionable prints, when he considers that
he must have paid fairly for such notice ;
and when he bears in remembrance the ne-
phew of a butcher, with not half this man
of fortune's capabilities, being gifted with a
second name, also, and making his debût from
the Scotch desk, as hunting with a Duke, in
the north of England, eminent on the peerage
list. This insertion in the newspaper, was
* It signifies not much to the reader which.


281
YTA JOTO/ OT Ɑ40я THT
184
THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
om da on Jugar odt ind ofw wollt
the first printed, announcing of his first step
on fume and fortune's ladder.
59 e Fed
The reflective enjoyments of the novice
great men are like those of monarchs,
without the alloy of truth, which is studiously
kept from them by flatterers and retainers;
and they are not aware of the sneers and
harsh remarks of quality, and other ill-
natured readers of fashionable engagements, {
arrivals, and transactions. "Who the deuce,.
is this man, with two vulgar names?” ex-
claimed one, who sees him thrust into the
columns of a newspaper, whom nobody knows.
"What Mr. Stiles Cramp again?" says
another, with a smile of contempt; "why
we see this fellow every where in print,
but no where in person." "Oh! yes," observes,
a lady of quality, "I recollect meeting
a very mean, ugly looking man of that name,
at the baths of Lucca, a Scotchman, who
seemed as if he fell from the skies, for no-
body knew who he was;" or probably, "let.
me think who this man can be; oh! now I
have it, it is that over-dressed, officious little


THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
185
fellow, who had the impudence to ask me
to dance with him, at
the banker's
ball, at Paris;" or, "the everlasting so and
so who one is tired of meeting at all the
watering places." These are the disadvan-
tages of notoriety; but they are generally
hidden from those to whose share they fall.
Far be it from the mind of humanity to
despise or ridicule, to envy or obstruct an
honest man arrived at riches by honourable,
industrious means, or who has inherited what
either his birth-right or merit may entitle
him to. Such a one may enjoy every com-
fort in life, without soaring above modesty,
or entering fashion's lists, as the rival of the
If such a one makes use of
great and gay.
his affluence, for the benefit of mankind;
if he becomes the patron of the arts and
sciences, the favourite of his neighbours, and
the father of the poor, his notoriety will be
praise-worthy; his name will be ennobled by
good actions, and recorded in the hearts and
memories of those who have benefited by
him; but when the mushroom growth of a


186
THE ROAD TO NOTORIETY.
lucky hour exalts itself merely by intrusion
into notice; when the wealthy fool pays for
puffs and paragraphs, lauding himself for
great dinners, houses, carriages, or some other
similar article: when the eye is arrested
whilst perusing the list of fashion, and sur-
prised by a name which announces nothing,
and nobody, or nothing better than Mr.
the commoner, taking a journey, or his din-
ner, it is natural to lay down the paper with
disgust, and to wonder how folks can thus
forget themselves; at least, such has ever
been the feeling of
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.


THE APPLICANT.


.
"Blow, blow thou winter's wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude."
SHAKSPEARE.
ix
sous lɛsonoo tɔidvi elanggan phuet, alla mort


THE APPLICANT.
I SET my face against all tyranny and op-
pression, pride, haughtiness, and want of feel-
ing. When these vices are shown undisguised,
they are hideous to every beholder. Man
shrinks from their deformity, and dreads
their baneful effects; so it is with that black
and base quality ingratitude; but, unfor-
tunately for the dupes of proud and insen-
sible wretches, who lord it over the meek and
suffering part of mankind, these abominable
defects are hidden under false appearances,
escape detection and execration from the ermin-
ed mantle of power which covers them, and
from the gaudy trappings which conceal their


190
THE APPLICANT.
deformity. Pride and ingratitude are of two
kinds, direct and indirect. The man who
dares not to be directly disdainful, can wound
by indirect tyranny; and he who professes
not to forget benefits bestowed, may in-
directly rob. another of his time, his talent,
his health, and peace of mind, in lieu of
which, he gives empty promises, without
an idea of ever performing them; holds out
delusive hope, which leads on the victim,
until patience is worn out, and despair
succeeds to agonizing uncertainty. There
are titled, and other villains, who joy in the
fading cheek of the expecting wretch, who
feast upon the disappointments of a throng
of misled creatures, looking up to their in-
terest, their affluence, or their power, no
share of which they have the smallest idea
of imparting to suffering worth, or to their
fellow man in distress. I could smite to the
earth certain mighty ones, whose halls are
filled with attending acquaintances, expecting
favors which they never mean to bestow, and
whose tables are covered with applications,


THE APPLICANT.
191
growing out of their false promises, expres-
sions of kindness, or proceeding from the mis-
taken idea which has been formed of these
outwardly kind and courtly beings, whose
hearts are rotten to the core. It costs nothing
to promise, as little to raise the expectation
of the frank and unsuspecting man. It is
a common, although a demoniac practise, to
give the world to understand that when
title, fortune, influence, and high situation
fall to the share of the man looked up to.
He will think of such a friend, serve such
a one, provide for a poor companion,
recompense him whose society has
charmed, and whose time and purse may
have been both sacrificed, or, at least, impaired
by associating with the profligate heir to a
fortune, the worthless next of kin to him, to
a title, or the converted blockhead, whose
family interest gains him honors, emoluments,
and ascendancy over humbler and better
men. How many amiable members of so-
ciety, persons of high talent, scholars, amus-
ing guests, and obliging acquaintances, are
or


192
THE APPLICANT.
daily sacrificed from being attached to such
contemptible characters. They fallaciously
conclude, that the festive hours spent with
these dissipated revellers, will be recollected
when fortune smiles, and that when their
nominal friends have it in their power, they
will not allow them to taste adversity. It is
far otherwise the monsters are either wholly
indifferent to their fate, or secretly exult in the
distance which worldly prosperity has placed
between them, and triumph over their suffer-
ings, whilst their gates and bosoms are alike
closed against them, and their letters are left
unanswered, and are treated with contempt.
The more to elucidate this statement, I
shall give a short account of an applicant,
who had the misfortune to get acquainted
with Lord Polyphrage, in Scotland, at a time
when he was only looking up to a coronet,
and attempted to be all things to all; when
his dissipated company was sought, because
he was considered as a good fellow; and
when the barrenness of his resourceless brain
was supplied by the talents and social qualities


THE APPLICANT.
193
of those who formed his circle, his golden
dream being realized, those friends who had
been familiar with him depended on his ex-
ertions, and counted on his professed kind-
ness. He let them fall off one by one, and left
them to regret ever having known him. Of
this number was Frank Freelove, a most
entertaining fellow, with a store of wit, kind
heart, and cheerful temper.
I have seen this same Frank voted to the
chair, by a numerous meeting of choice spirits.
I have marked the noble dunce approve the
choice, and join in electing him. I have
observed the favourite of a circle of gay
fellows, nay, even of scholars and men of
talent, hung on to the arm of this body,
without heart or mind; and I have marked
the ignorant and inexperienced measure
him from top to toe, with looks of envy.
They conceived that when the sun of power
warmed the insect into growth and magni-
tude, the man would rise with him. Patronage
was supposed to be so potent, and d so kindly
VOL. III.
K


194
THE APPLICANT.
directed, that the man of merit would expand
under the ray of favor, and would grow into
prospering independence; when the contrary
occurred, the vacant stare of surprise was
reflected by the more vacant look of the right
honourable, wondering at the consumma-
tion of all his wishes and seeming to marvel
at his being what he was. His papa was a
simpleton, his uncle an octogenaire. His
mamma.
like
-(we war not on women), a cast-
away; so that his chance of succession was
(to use the vulgar tongue) duberous. Poly-
phrase had nothing distinguished in his
appearance;
so that he was more
Duke Humphrey than Lord Anything; but
one sly idea introduced itself into his cranium ;
namely, that distance, and inaccessibility would
give consequence to him; and he had learned
one lesson of his profligate relation, namely,
that when a man is determined never to do
a kind, or generous act, he must intrench
himself in cold and distant civility; but the
heir of inheritance even beat the cold original,


THE APPLICANT.
195
by having a legion of porters and livery-men,
of lying-valets, and bullying-blackguards, to
fence him round with insolence, and so pre-
serve him from remonstrance, or apprehen-
sion. Frank Freelove trusted too much to
appearances; and, when his quondam friend
came to England, he considered that the
star of promise had risen upon him.
The great man, like his brain, was im-
penetrable. No remembrances ever enlightened
the dark page of memory. What has a
selfish man to remember except self? but a
weak man cannot be alone; so that he judici-
ously chose a new set and order of beings,
preferring mummers, caperers, theatricals,
empyrics, conjurers, and female impures, to
gentlemen with genius and feeling, who
might eclipse (mentally at least) the animated
stature of bronze and gilded matter, which
blind fortune had set upon a pillar, and be-
fore whom the unhallowed incense of gross
flattery was daily burned, and further clouded
the cloudy. Frank Freelove's spirit and
K 2


196
THE APPLICANT.
heart were nearly broken by daily attendance
at the Lord's door, and by incessant appli-
cation to this living rock; and, it is supposed,
that his failure was a further triumph to the
ingrate. A good man would scarcely believe
that the heart-consumings of the dupes of
grandeur are matters of delight to the tumi-
fied animal, who contemplates them without
a visitation of delicacy or sympathy, just as
the ruin of the modest, mildly claiming
creditor is the sport of the privileged plun-
derer, who thrives and fattens on his labours.
This last class is more to be pitied than the
first. Necessity may have led them into cre-
diting discreditable proud ones; but the
companion of stupid consequence, must have
been any thing but circumspect; for out of
nothing, nothing can come, and he who was
a mere counterfeit in early youth, and expect-
ancy, can never be supposed to improve in head
or heart, in riches and in riper years. Sensible
men will lose their time with such puppets,
but the crime carries the punishment with it;


THE APPLICANT.
197
Frank Freelove is now in indigence; with
companions of another cast, it had been
otherwise with him; however, to heap re-
proach on suffering, has never been the
habit of
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.





COME TO NOTHING;
OR,
JOEY GALLON.


"It's pride that puts down half the town,
So tak your auld cloak about ye.."-SCOT'S BALLAD.


COME TO NOTHING;
OR,
JOEY GALLON.
WHAT is pride? is a question involving
much perplexity. "It is the departure from
simplicity, modesty, and truth," would very
naturally answer one acquainted with man-
kind: true, but it is so multiform that one
knows not how to distinguish it. Gilded
ambition is pride in capital letters; avarice
has a number of shapes, yet is pride; self-
conceit may be of the body, or the mind; of
dress or address; emulation is the proud
race of fools; eccentricity is a species
of madness, and may as often be detected
through the fissures and loop-holes of ragged-
ness, as under the robe and mantle, the civic
K 3


202
COME TO NOTHING; OR,
cloak, or a cloak for our sins:-one English
lord's pride consists in a beard like a Jew of
bad colour, the manners of a coachman,
the check-shirt and dress of a common sailor,
the breeding of a blackguard, without the
dexterity of either of them; another prides
himself upon his success in vice; a third
upon being the king of his company; a fourth
on being anything but what he is. Now
every species of pride is likely to bring a
man to nothing, and so it was with Joey,
whom we call Gallon; because it was his
habit to drink that quantity in an incre-
dibly short period of time, and to sip out
the rest of his dose, until the close of his
eyelids, which scorned every influence of,
or connexion with, the operations of the
sun, or any other planet. Whenever Joey
was in the horizon of his course, or the
total darkness of the mind, neither Venus nor
Mars, nor any other star were perceptible
objects to him. With the spirit of the time
he sunk, and he rose, in the same manner.


JOEY GALLON.
203
A
Great neglect of his person was one of Joey's
eccentricities; a constant hammering at puny
wit, in the form of puns was another; and
it might justly be observed of him, that if
he now and then made a dead hit, when dead
drunk, he never made a clean hit, whether
drunk or sober. This rage for punning is
not general amongst the Norlanders. It ill
accords with the gravity of their habits.
smart thing is not Sandy's fort; yet a few
Edinburgh wits were strongly infected with
this disease, of which number was the great
Henry Erskine, whose professional and other
abilities will long live in the remembrance of
the many who esteemed and admired him.
Joey's wit, however, was never above par, and
generally had more for its object to make
his bottle-companions laugh, than to acquire
the reputation of a bright man; in this he
succeeded, for his friends were generally
laughing with him, or at him. The first was
his lot, when he kept a hospitable house and
table, not a hundred miles from George's-


204
COME TO NOTHING; OR,
square, and when his open cash account was
as useful to his friends as to himself, and
there were plenty of guests to feed Joey's
vanity, as long as he fed their hunger; but
the latter occurred when he ceased (from
compulsion) to draw bills and corks in their
favor; for then they ceased to report his
puns, jokes, and comical stories; and they,
only then, discovered that honest Joe was a
drunkard, a man without order, and his own
enemy.
It may now be but right to inform the
reader, that Mr. Gallon was a professional man,
and that the law was what he both professed
and practised, and that his practice brought
him in a very handsome annual revenue,
which, if taken care of, might have made
him comfortable in the decline of life. His
abilities, as a lawyer, were above mediocrity,
and no man is better acquainted with Scotch
law; but the spirit of the laws was his
favorite study, and so extensive was his
practice in this way, that when the spirit
was strongest, the flesh was weak indeed.


JOEY GALLON.
205
In Joey's flourishing time, he boasted of
one Duke, one Marquiss, and about a score
of Lords and Baronets, as his acquaintance,
and his dry humour was welcome at their
tables, where he was a laughter-moving com-
panion. Now, as he was very fond of hearing
himself talk, he never suspected that change
of circumstances would bring with it a change
of countenance; nevertheless, this happened;
and as soon as his wine-merchant, and other
tradesmen, ceased to credit his merry tales,
it was discovered that his love of liquor, and
shabby appearance, excluded him from the
mansions of the great, and that his old
friend, the whiskey-bottle, was his only re-
source; so that he did not, as heretofore,
wait for the usual time for intoxication, but
extinguished his own lights as early as possi-
ble, considering that as others made light of
him, he had no need to be over-nice himself.
Unfortunately he had, by this time, com-
mitted matrimony, and by daily committing
himself, he involved a very deserving woman
in his ruin and degradation. At length, a sus-


206
COME TO NOTHING; OR,
:
picion of debt brought Joey down to the
sanctuary of Holyrood-house, and there,
those whom he had most amused and bene-
fited, left him to solitude, and to his fate
there he drank out his best faculties, and would
have pined in want and oblivion, if a not
quite extinguished ray of intellect had not
pointed out to him the road to England, and
suggested the possibility of his getting bread
there, by explaining the laws and usages of
his own courts of justice.
It is almost incredible that such a remnant
of a man should be consulted on knotty
points, and that he should, through the haze
of liquor, snuff, and uncleanliness, have been
able to give clear and important opinions;
yet, so it was, and probably is-nay, but for
the sinking properties of his deep and con-
tinued potations, he might yet rise again to
notice and independence.
Whilst he was a resident in the environs of
Holyrood-House, a laughable story is told of
his having nonsuited a tailor, by sallying
forth at night, and trying on black dittoes,


JOEY GALLON.
207
•
which fitted him so well, that he walked
them off, with the tailor's shop boy at his
heels, hugging his ( Mr. Gallon's) bad habits
under his arm, which (on crossing the gut-
ter which separates the creditor from the
debtor), were his only security for his ac-
count. Small as this dirty aqueduct is, yet
the stream of Lethe is not more powerful in
its operations. The oblivion of "I pro-
mise to pay," is never failing to those who
cross this wonderful piece of water, which
is stagnant, and yet has a running effect at
the same time.
No doubt but, after practising this merry
hoax, Joey satisfied the tailor; for it is but
justice to say, that he was a man of honest
principles, and one "more sinned against
than sinning." How the lost Joey may be
faring at this present writing is uncertain.
When last he was met, his wardrobe seemed
not to be of the best description, and he was
covered with snuff, his eye filmy and dull,
and he appeared to consider the tonsor's oc-
cupation as unnecessary. He was no bare-
faced impostor, but just as slovenly as ever.


208
COME TO NOTHING; OR,
He had fixed his habitation in the vicinity
of the Banco Regis, whether to keep it in
view, or not, is best known to himself.
If that kind of pride with which he started
in life, namely, the being a great man's
jester, a dissipated noble's table friend, the
bottle-holder (for he never liked to part with
it), of a hard-goer, and the putter off of bad
puns, betrayed him into excess and difficul-
ties; a want of pride as to dress, delicacy,
and sobriety, is not less injurious to him in
premature age and debility. That the Scotch
are, as a nation, sober, frugal, and prudent,
is incontestible; but when once they outstep
the bounds of discretion, they are self-devoted
martyrs to the vice of intemperance. Of this.
number, young Honeycomb, whose family
figured in the law in acquired title, and in
a silent seat in Parliament, was a melancholy
example. This youth, after annihilating his
circumscribed intellect, gave himself up to
liquor; married
but here we owe
respecting the dead,
to the living silence
-suffice it to say, that the victim fell in the
season of youth, and yet survived his respect-


JOEY GALLON.
209
ability, his first situation in society, and his
reputation.
Of this stamp, too, was the son of a Colo-
nel in the army, bred to the bar, heir to a
fine estate, and of superior appearance and
education; yet who passed through all the
degrading and disgusting vicissitudes of life;
was a spectre of disease, inlisted repeatedly
as a private soldier, next became a beggar,
and subsisted for years on charity. These are
aweful examples of drunkenness, and far be-
low the level to which poor Joey has reduced
himself. The first could be tolerated in no
decent society, the latter has only put him-
self out, and possesses the power, although
not the will of returning to his place, amongst
rational beings. Should that ever occur, it
will be a rare example; but one which will
very much astonish and delight
THE HERMIT IN EDINBurgh.
102632





THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH.


"Edina! Scotia's darling seat,
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
Where once beneath a monarch's feet,
Sat legislation's sovereign pow'rs!
O'er him thy arms extend,
For Britain's sake defend
Our father, prince, and friend,
God save the King."
Sheridan's addition to the National Anthem.


THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH.
WHEREVER George the Fourth may jour-
ney, by sea, or land: whether to the warm
bosom of Green Erin, to the stern climate
where grows the purple heather,
"Where the blue bell and gowan lurk lonely
unseen;"
to the gay soil of France, or to his heavy
Hanoverian dominions, this prayer, on my
part, will follow him; I am a Scot, and I
hope and believe that the same sentiments
filled every bosom on our monarch's arrival in
the guid toune; but Sandy has a little wintry


214 THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH.
frost about his heart, which takes time to
warm, and he has a stiffness of limb and
muscle, which produces an awkward unpliabi-
lity of neck and knee: not that he is chary
in bendings and genuflexions for his interest,
but that he is not over nimble, or graceful in
performing them, and he was dazzled and
taken by surprise on this eventful occasion:
one which was calculated to be enrolled in the
brightest characters amongst the chronicled
fasti (or days of rejoicing) of Scotland. His
majesty's visit to Old Holyrood, had a power-
ful effect; could the ancient walls have spoken,
they must have exulted in the royal presence ;
it was long since they had been honoured by
a regal inmate; the bankrupt, and the broken
heart; the exile and fugitive had tenanted
the gothic palace's halls for a great lapse of
time; what delight then must have risen in
the bosoms of the young; what strange asso-
ciations must have rushed upon the minds of
the old! The sanctuary and refuge of the
unfortunate, from the prince to the private
gentleman, or trader, was now become the


THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH, 215
temporary home of an amiable reigning
sovereign; the roses were here blended in
suavity of union; those roses, entwined with
the thistle, shamrock, and oak, were now be-
come a column of strength and security; the
jubilee year had arrived, and there could be
but one cause and one feeling; but what a
fuss and pucker there was in adjusting kilts
or philabegs, in reviving dormant dignity, in
brushing up of beavers, and settling petticoats;
in attempting at revived politesse, and in prac-
tising ease and courtliness. What constraint
in reining in the organ of speech, and in
aping the euphony of our brethren of the
South! National costume was a prime object
on this occasion, and inundated the town
with the knights of the thimble, now become
men milliners-many a jest and jeer came
from sly Donald, on beholding St. James's
Highlanders, and such city mountaineers as
Sir Billy Blubberchaps, the fidus Achates of
the hero of modern romance; for the descen-
dants of the Scuthai, Scythians, or Scoti,
were now all knights of romance, and fancied


216 THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH.
themselves into the days of chivalry, the jest
was promoted by the great personage, who
had constant cause of mirth in contemplating
the grotesque appearance of this aldermanic
attendant, who was pretty nearly as much at
home in his Gaelic trappings as a sick turtle
in a wash-hand basin, or an oyster crossed in
love on terra firma, and who still shines cari-
cature as nearly to the life, as the print-seller
can make him without falling into the
clutches of that praise-worthy body, the
Society for the Suppression of Vice; his salu-
tations in character to the Lord Provost, pre-
vious to the civic feast, will never be for-
gotten! It could not be supposed that this
scene of gorgeous festivity and splendid
pageantry could pass without contests and
strifes, where so many strivings and emula-
tions, such vieings and exertions existed, nor
did it pass without disputes and bickerings,
contests and lawsuits; but they were not of
the complexion of the olden times the dirk
and broadsword, the battle-axe and highland
were not appealed to, but the courts of justice


THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH. 217
instead of the field of fight became the place
of dispute; and instead of half a score of
clansmen, with a chieftain or two at their head,
becoming food for the worms, this important
cause was kept alive by the gentry of the long
robe, and was food for them and for all their
hungry black-coated followers and assistants.
This mighty matter was no other than a dis-
pute between two noted chieftains, then be-
come rivals, and ever since at loggerheads
on account of one of them, very presumptu-
ously and incautiously displaying one hair, or
smeller more in the rampant lion's beard, on
his family banner, than the other; this cele-
brated cause is still pending, and promises a
further harvest to the wordy mouth-pieces of
justice, and to the minor limbs* of the law,
By limbs of the law, no inurbane personality is
intended towards Johnny Crookedleg, whose name
rhymes with dark; Justice is painted blind, For-
tune is blind, and Love is blind; then why may not
Justice, or Fame, or Fortune be lame? We have
a great poet who is lame in person, but not in intel-
lect; the same remark applies to Johny, but the
VOL. III.
L


218 THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH.
attached to that great body, and looking up
to the head of it. One party, after written
condescendances of proof, statements sup-
ported by argument, and assumptions on
either side; after joinders and rejoinders, long
petitions and reclaiming petitions, together
with replies and duplies, was found by the
ordinary wig (the wisdom of which is great)
in the outer-house, entitled to wear the addi
tional or supernumerary hair in the beard, or
crinose fringe of his lion, either as whisker, or
smeller, exhibited on his coat of arms; but
the other party made a hair-breadth escape,
term limb is descriptive of a dependant on the body
of the law, a remote branch of the trunk, a crooked
shoot from the lofty tree, a thing which if lopped off,
would not be missed, but, on the contrary, would
render the tree more stately; and becoming of itself
clearer and less encumbered, more luminous and ob-
vious, easier perceived and understood, an object of
terror to the guilty, of shade and protection to the
oppressed; the term limb, in Scotland, is one of
reproach; it may indicate deformity, or contemptuous
comparison; in short, it may be a limb of the law, or
a limb of the devil.


THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH. 219
and carried his cause into the inner-house
where, after mature deliberation, weighty
argument of counsel, learned in law, before
the sixteen wigs, the majority reversed the
decision!! But the adverse party, not paying
due respect to the decision of the sixteen full-
bottomed wigs, nor considering them as infal
lible, listened to the advice of Jemmy Giblets,
already notorious and far-famed, (and Fame,
according to the celebrated French author,
has two trumpets, applied to the obverse and
reverse) who counselled him to appeal to the
House of Lords, to the "Rerum Dominos
gentemque tagatam;" now Jemmy Giblets
was for killing two dogs with one stone, (he
would kill any thing which his sledge-hammer
fist, stone head, or stone heart could master)
and, as he left no stone unturned where his
client's interests and his own were combined,
he beheld, in perspective, the cause of litigar
tion going on, whilst he might travel, on his
employer's purse, to pay his respects to his old
party; (friends cannot belong to the man who
is without any friendship or feeling except
L 2


220 THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH.
·
•
that of the palm contracting on the pressure of
coin, or of the clenched shoulder-of-mutton
fist, assaulting the defenceless.) By his party
is meant the Whigs, to whom he clung as
vermin may to hair either real or artificial,
and from which (the party) he expected to
stamp a higher character, than what he at
present is considered to possess; by stamps as
productive of weight added to his high and
exclusive opinion of himself, in the brief reign
of the talents, a promise (he says) was posi-
tively made to him, and he will not be back-
ward in claiming the pledge, if ever an oppor-
tunity should occur: talents of gold and sil-
ver are the objects of his idolatry, all other
talents are only known to him by name, un-
less the blowing the coals of discord and
party fury be considered as such, and even in
that event the spark and the blower must be
very different, the one having some brilliancy
and fire in it, the other being a mere wind
machine, coarse and ill-fashioned in appear-
ance, and only fit for kitchen furniture, or a
blacksmith's forge; but, to return to the clan-


THE KING'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH.
221
nish quarrel; how happy it was that the
elements of Highlanders should be so changed,
so sublimated, since the days of yore, since
the feudal times, when a chieftain's opinion
was an oracle, his fiat a law; but this subject
is too grand to treat in common with such
materials as Jemmy Giblets, and as un-
worthy of being mixed up with him, as veni-
son and turtle is to figure on the same board
with tripe and garbage, cat's meat and dog's
meat; it shall therefore have its separate atten-
tion from
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.
V
1





THE KING'S VISIT.
(IN CONTINUATION.)


11
.t,
ཟླ་
"Il fut un tems
"What mighty contests rise from trivial things!"


THE KING'S VISIT.
(IN CONTINUATION.)
THERE was a time, in the annals of feo-
dality, when such a dispute would not have
been a wordy one, much less the subject of
written papers, and of legal proceedings; the
Andrea Ferrara would have leaped out of its
sheath; spear and buckler would have met
each other; broken crania would have evinced
the organ of destructiveness, and blood would
have flowed, instead of the black tide of ink,
to settle the matter of contention; but High-
land habits are on the decline, and the domi-
nion of the law narrows the power of the war-
L 3


226
THE KING'S VISIT.
like people, so that, were it not for the thrill-
ing descriptions of Sir Walter-
"The helmet and hawberk of glittering mail”
would be a dead letter, and entirely forgotten.
In those days, when the power of life and
death was vested in the chief over his vassals,
when Donald was summoned, by his faithful
wife, to come out of his hiding-place to be
hanged, and no to anger the laird by his dis-
obedience, which might be the ruin of his
familie, the courts of justice would not have
been troubled with the feuds and broils of
clans, the heads of which (and very hot heads
too) would have taken the law in their own
hands, as seems evident, from a number of
family mottoes:the
"Furth fortune, and fill the fetters"
of the Murrays, indicating the command to
their followers, to make predatory excursions,
and to bring in prisoners; the
"Touch not the cat but a glove"


THE KING'S VISIT.
aan
of the M'Intoshes, warning the unwary no to
anger
the laird-not to come within his claws
but (without) a glove, id est, the cat and the
laird; with many emblems and devices to the
same purpose, supported by lions, wild cats,
bears, savages, &c. These are purely Alpine
or Highland, whilst the bearings and quarter-
ings of other families have crusadical allu-
sions, such as pilgrim's shells, the double cross
of the M'Donnels, the Robertson's hand sup-
porting the crown, &c. &c. But we repeat it
again,—the rock and mountain spirit is on the
decline; and but for the minstrel and the
pageantry occasioned by royal presence, might
dwindle into nothing. There is, it is true,
one chieftain who holds such authority over
his vassals, that he has nothing to do but to
frown upon an enemy, or to point him out
with his finger, and he is certain to be devoted
to severe chastisement, to pounding and pum-
melling, to mauling and contusion; and when-
ever this chief considers his man beneath the
trouble of personal attack, he has a thousand
proxies ready to do the dirty work for him.


228
THE KING'S VISIT.
However, so degenerate is the present race,
so altered the times, that the laird's pocket
was made to bleed as copiously as the nose
and other features of the victim of a not far
distant instance of Highland revenge.
There remains yet a dull peer and gloomy
chief (in one and the same person), who fan-
cies himself into something regal, and signs
papers "Given at our palace of
;"
and another overgrown head of a clan, who
talks of his people (whom he takes all possi-
ble means of recruiting and increasing,) and
of his castle, of his fore-bearers, and his
purial-place, of the red scar, and the grey
cairn, the border and the pass, with all the
importance of primitive ages; but, alas! the
one is laughed at, and the other is not listened
to; and if matters go on this way much
longer, we shall only see genuine Highland
costume and manners on the stage and in
novels, except when the idea is awakened by
the loud bagpipe, or the merry strathspey,
but which will sink again into oblivion, and
be as little attended to as the boastings of the
1


THE KING'S VISIT.
229
sister kingdom, and their stories of a Brian
Boru, the Knights of the Red Branch, the
Chieftain of the Golden Shields, and all the
knight-errantry feats of the Os and the Macs,
the indigenous monarchs and petty princes of
the Green Isle, richly embroidered with super-
stitions and priestcrafts, with domestic battles
and pilgrimages to the Holy Land. And
here it is but justice to say that these animat-
ing themes might repose in the sleep of the
grave, and be forgotten with the wrongs of
the soil, were it not for the Hibernian bard,
Moore, whose delicate and warm finger so
gracefully, so warmly, and impressively, has
awakened the mute harp of his country, and
whose feeling has revived that plaintive har-
mony so characteristic, so natural to his coun--
try. Albyn, however, seems to gain the day
in fashion, and in popularity, from various
existing circumstances; the cause, however,
certainly is not that a more masterly hand is
exerted in her favour. But I am straying
from my subject, and must return to and con-
clude it.


230
THE KING'S VISIT.
The degeneracy of a race is caused by its
mingling with the pleasurable, the vain, and
effeminate-just as the vitiation of a profes-
sion depends, in great measure, on the worth-
lessness and duplicity which it meets with in
the course of its practice. The hordes of the
north, which formerly overran and conquered
the southern states, have long since ceased to
be dreaded exclusively: they only tell in the
battle-field, when mixed up with their brethren
of the east, west, and south. So it is with
the Highlander, now aggregated with his
Lowland neighbours; yet, however interwoven
with primitive ruggedness, the Highlander
and his propensities will always find a place
in my affections: if I blame his irascibility
and pride, I find generosity and hospitality
by their side, as redeeming virtues : if I mark
his distant and scowling brow, I recollect his
causes for suspicion, and how often he has
been the victim, for trusting to the artful and
designing. But the daylight is declining, and
I must conclude. The ill-natured critic will,
probably, be so vastly clever as to discover


THE KING'S VISIT.
231
that I have repeated this subject, and have
already touched on His Majesty's visit to Scot-
land. I thank him for his trouble-I have
done so repetition is the failing of age; but
there are things of which it may be said (in-
dividually)
66
decies repetita placebit."
So says old Horace, so also may say the old
HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.





RECAPITULATION.


"Sunt delicta tamen, quibus ignovisse velimus."—HORAT.
.:Thus fore and aft having abused them
If
All for my fancy and gig,
any one was to ill-use them,
-me, but I'd tickle his wig."-SONG BY DIBDIN.


RECAPITULATION.
ERE I close these brief and imperfect
sketches, drawn from real original matter, it
behoves me to say a few words. In the first
place, I have written them in perfect good
temper with all mankind, in peace and charity
with friend or foe, (if such I shall have made
by telling the truth.) Those who have
visited Edinburgh will have no hesitation in,
allowing it many local and national beauties;
to those who have not visited it, these pages
will give him or her some idea of the place,
of the country, and of the Scotch character;
they will see all of them impartially described,
and they will, at the same time, be aware of


236
RECAPITULATION.
the extensive improvement in a city which is
not the richest in the three kingdoms, but
which, from a spirit of laudable emulation
and industry, has effected very much in the
last few years, and this spirit of exertion has
gone forth to the country at large, and will
accomplish many desirable objects with the
aid of a few
years more of peace.
&
Cold as the climate of Scotland is, it has
brought forth its due proportion of talent,
just as the laborious northern gardener will
effect by diligence and toil, what a warmer
climate could scarcely produce. The arts,
the sciences, literature, arms, and commerce,
have had to boast of many Scotch names
standing at the head of their list of the
celebrated and well-deserving; whilst facts
can prove that the scale is rising in their
favour in these modern times, when com-
pared to the years which are gone by. It
is still in the memory of many old people
that there was a time when an Edinburgher
rode up to London as the safest mode of tra
velling, when the time taken for such as·
"


RECAPITULATION.
237
journey was frightful: when it was consi-
dered as prudent for a man to make his will
previous to his undertaking this Herculean
enterprize. In the present day, a trip to
Paris and back again is performed in con-
siderably less time. The same ancients can
recollect the building of the two bridges,
the want of which must have greatly dis-
figured the city In those days, the inter-
course with Edinburgh was nearly as limited
from the south to the north, as from the
north to the south, so few persons frequented
the Caledonian capital from mere curiosity
or for pleasure; at present it is an object of
high interest, not only to the English, but
also to foreigners; the lovers of literature, of
romance, and of the picturesque, have great
delight in examining the peculiarities of
Edinburgh; and in proceeding to the lakes
and to the other parts of the country abound-
ing in romantic scenery, and owing high
celebrity to the pens of the Scottish bards
and other native authors; nor are these
scenes of romance, these enchanted or fairy
•
*


238
RECAPITULATION.
"
haunts, confined to the lakes, the cataracts,
and to the highlands :-lowland Scotland
is full of them; nay, even the very environs
of the city present them to our view,
whilst others are to be found within half
a day's journey from the northern metro-
polis. Roslin Castle, for instance, Melrose
Abbey, the Pease Bridge, Loch Lomond, and
the Falls of the Clyde, all of which are beau-
tiful objects to a sentimental, reflective, and
tasteful mind. Then, again, the whole of
the country immediately round Edinburgh,
the sea prospect, the Pentlands, the views
from Arthur's seat and elsewhere, together
with the noble mansions and country seats-
as Dalkeith Palace, New Battle Abbey, Dud-
dingston House, and many other stately
edifices.
Amongst the improvements which blend
comfort with good appearance, are the pro-
gress made and making in the College, the
new superb approach to the city, which for-
merly was through the vilest and most dis-
gusting part of the town, and the very gently


RECAPITULATION.
289
proceeding cleanliness of certain parts of the
town, together with the getting rid of customs
the most abominable. There are no carriers
of a vehicle called "wha wants me?" nor is
the danger so great as of yore to the uncau-
tious stranger venturing through a wynd, or
a close, of having an epaulette on his coat of
a most horrible conformation, nor of his being
drenched in filth whilst listening to the gardes
des l'eau, or gardes la haut, from which the
Canongate and old town caution was derived,
and which was so unlike the ordinary cation
of the nation, which is slow and steady, that
it seemed more like the caution to a recruit
of ready-present-fire. Lucky stars defend
us from such a present and fire !!!
".
The same spirit of melioration has crept
into our language, our table, and our amuse-
ments. Importations of taste are incessantly
made from the mother country and from the
continent; pure English (which our ances-
tors called high English) is much oftener
heard in the streets and in society; all the
younger people converse in it, unless the


240
RECAPITULATION.
males be kept too long at the High School,
and are sent too late south, when the accent
is spoiled for ever; powerful instances of
which we meet daily in Scotchmen who have
passed half their lives abroad, yet produce
the unsophisticated vernacular of auld Reekie
in conversing with you at St. Petersburgh,
at Kingston, in Jamaica, at Constantinople,
Madras, or Bengal. Nay, there are indivi-
duals who are even proud of this uncon-
quered habit; the very highest classes,
however, send their sons to the English
universities, and thence to the continent for
education. The progress of Greek also at
college is another great desideratum obtained:
-in that particular it was not long ago very
much behind hand. In addition to all these
attractions, advantages, and improvements,
fashion, and a turn of the wheel of fortune,
have done a great deal in favor of Edina in
particular, and Scotia in general. The tartan
robe (which has got into vogue in France
and Flanders) adorns the London fair ones;
the border and other minstrelsy delight the


•
241
RECAPITULATION.
lovers of literature; the Scottish novels turn
the heads of the readers of light matter, and
even those of the second class are found
to amuse their perusers; the stage teems
with imitations and representations from the
former. Who would have thought some
years back of the Heart of Mid Loudon,*
(Mid Lothian) becoming a popular subject,
or of an Italian translation (much less repre-
sentation) of the Lady of the Lake—“ La
Donna del Lago!" Yet thus far has na-
tional talent reached.
*
In a reign, not very remote, Scotia played
at least her part in the cabinet; and in later
"The Heart of Mid Lothian is none other than
the Tolbooth, answering to the Newgate of London,
and a wretched prison it is. From criminal causes,
however, and from justiciary trials, a great deal of
matter has been raked: the subject does not appear
to me as grateful to the ear and eye, it is certainly a
very confined one; yet polished Paris even treats us
'with her modern trials, a remoter date would be
less revolting, and much indeed might be collected
from Les Causes Celebres." -
VOL. III.
M


242
RECAPITULATION.
years she figured most becomingly in the
field in Flanders, where circumstances are
recent in memory; all honor is given not
merely to Caledonia, but to the Highlanders
exclusively; the garb of old Gaul, which
"Dag Myneer" calls the soldiers in petti-
coats, is the decided favourite; the English
and Irish, (certainly superior in number, and
it is to be presumed equal in desert) are
scarcely thought of, and the white-horsed
regiment is the only one named, unless you
put them in mind of the Life Guards, when
they will condescend to reply "O! oui ces
beaux hommes."-"Oh! yes, those hand-
But costume and national dis-
some men."
tinction are not without their agency on the
mind; and very often it has a most powerful
effect; a primitive people appears to the ima-
gination; and where that idea is borne out
by good conduct, it will eclipse the equality
of a neighbour, differing so little from man-
kind in general. Thus far for externals. As
for myself, I regret daily to perceive the
wearing off of the Highland character, which


RECAPITULATION.
243
now consists more in the kilt and bonnet, in
the eagle's wing and claymore, in the purse
and tartan hose representing the sandal of
former times than in the single-hearted cha-
racter, the hospitable landlord, the intrepid
warrior, and hunter. Free from guile of the
olden times, the Highlander now comes south;
he disguises his habits, borrows (in all ways)
from the lowland men, his estate gets into the
market, and with all the talk about
"Clann Nan Gadhael Ann Guailibh Acheile."
Clan and country, kin and property, are all
left to go to ruin, and the tie is broken for
life; it is true that you will find him when
transplanted, what is called clanish; and if he
get into power, he will be partial and even
prejudiced. But this service comes too late,
and is moreover an act of injustice; in like
manner the lowlander and Scottish borderer
are national and even the favourer of a
parish or a town; for the Highland and border
animosities are now nearly rubbed off, nor am


244
RECAPITULATION.
I sure that this friction and polishing, this
collision and mingling have taken place with-
out impairing some of the pristine value of
the character, without a loss in weight and
in purity, and without an increase of alloy,
and of what the French calls faux brillant,
produced by a foil.
I had almost forgotten that the field of
criticism is greatly occupied by the Scotch,
and that there are those who observe that
there is no small degree of severity amongst
them; so that it may be said of them-
"Sunt quibus in satyra videar nimiș acer et ultra
Legem tendere opus."
They have not however enjoyed this power
quite undisturbed, witness Lord Byron's
attack and others of less note. To establish
a fair balance in the republic of letters, to
maintain an honest give and take, live and let
live principle, is what would be most pleasing
to me, and was the object I had in view in
giving to the public this my imperfect work.
It appears to me that the laurel and the bay


RECAPITULATION.
245
are the common property of the hero and the
poet, and that any monopoly or favoritism
ought to be inadmissible on Parnassus or in
the field of honour. There is as much fair
play as humour in Peter Pindar's lines, which
runs thus:
-
"I am no cormorant of fame d'ye see,
I want not all the laurel but a sprig ;
Then hear me guardians of the sacred tree,
And stick a leaf or two about my wig :"
and I recommend them to my countryman's
notice; and should I come under the power-
ful lash of the reviewers for this opinion, I
shall submit with the utmost humility, and
(with all due respect to their merit and utility)
be content with the pot-luck fare of other
authors. We Scotchmen have as great a
right to bear the criticisms, and particularly
the jokes of others, as we have to share in
those against them; and whilst Jack Roast-
beef, John Bull, Milord Anglais, &c. cause
the jests of our continental neighbours, and


246
RECAPITULATION.
whilst we, per contra, balance the account
with Mounseer Soupe Maigre, frogs and
wooden-shoes; and poor Pat runs the gaunt-
let for his bulls, and his brogue, and his
blarney; for his own hair and a wig, and
his coat buttoned behind (a thing we never
saw) to keep his stomach warm; we cannot
grumble at our Sir Archy M'Sarcasm, and
Sir Pertinax M'Sycophant; at the cottagers of
Glenburnie; nor at any other strictures which
only serve to awaken our national pride, and
to rouse us from the sloth, the rust, and the
want of cleanliness of less enlightened days.
With these reflections it is time to end, nor
shall I delay to release my reader from his
present occupation: if his intercourse with
Scotland and Scotchmen has been extensive,
I think he will not have much to complain of
them; and if perchance he be now running over
these pages at a Scotch breakfast, he need not
wish to change it for a dejeuner à la fourchette
in the Palais Royale; the lights and shades of
every national character are only to be re-
marked in proportion as they preponderate,


RECAPITULATION.
247
and I will fearlessly leave this investigation
to British candour. In my own defence I
shall say nothing, but trust that the asser-
tion made by that great poet, Pope, will not
operate against me:-
"Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be ;
In every work, regard the writer's end,
Since none can compass more than they intend,
And, if the means be just, the conduct true,
Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due."
Thus hopeth
THE HERMIT IN EDINBURGH.
END OF VOL III.
LONDON:
SHACKELL AND ARROWSMITH, JOHNSON'S-Court,
FLEET STREET.





















UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
wils v.3
825M1475 OHee
M'Donough, Felix, 1768?-1836.
The hermit in Edinburgh, or, Sketches of
3 1951 002 069 684 W
MINITEX
Minnesota Library Access Center
9ZAR06D09S08TF5

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