1718, Dec 15
This day was commenced a newspaper in Edinburgh, the first that succeeded
in thoroughly planting itself in Scotland, so as to obtain more than an
ephemeral existence. It was the adventure of James M’Ewen, bookseller in
Edinburgh, and came out under the title of The Edinburgh Evening
Courant. The paper appeared in virtue of a formal authority from the
magistrates and town council, to whom M’Ewen was to be answerable for what
he should print and publish; and, that this rule might be enforced, he
was, ‘before publication, to give ane coppie of his print to (the)
magistrates’ The Courant was announced as to contain ample accounts
of foreign occurrences, and these derived, not through London prints, but
directly from foreign journals. It was intended as a decidedly Whig print,
in this respect differing from the Caledonian Mercury, which
was
not long after started in the Jacobite interest.
The Courant was from the first
successful. James M’Ewen, writing from Edinburgh, January 17, 1719, to the
Rev. Mr Wodrow, says: ‘As to our newspaper, it thrives so far as to be
very well liked by all, excepting the violent Jacobites, who hate it, for
no other reason but because it is a true and impartial paper. Several
gentlemen who were to have had the London papers sent them, have laid them
aside, because this contains the substance not only of them, but of the
foreign post also.’
In looking over, as it has been my fate to
do, the early volumes of the Courant, one cannot but groan over the
long, dry ‘advices’ from nearly all parts of Europe, and the wretched
meagreness of the department of home intelligence, whole months often
elapsing without so much as an obituary notice, or a ship’s arrival at
Leith. The reason of this unfortunate peculiarity was no other than the
civic censorship under which the paper, as
we
see, was from the beginning placed. Even intelligence in the interest of
the government was
not in every instance safe. In the course
of February 1723, the magistrates seized all the copies of a particular
number of the paper, in which there had been an apparently simple
paragraph. It regarded Mr Patrick Halden, then under trials before the
judges of the Court of Session as presentee of the crown for a seat on the
bench—he being a mere creature of the ministry unfit for the position.
Fired at the words: ‘We
do not hear of any great discoveries yet
made to his prejudice,’ the judges inflicted this punishment upon the
publisher, M’Ewen, who then announced the suppression of his paper, ‘that
our customers in the country may know why they cannot be served with that
day’s Courant, as also why we have been so sparing all along of
home news.’
It is at the same time evident that the
meagreness of the
home news was in part caused
by
mere difficulty of obtaining authentic accounts of such matters. A rumour
as to the death of a person of importance at a distance would arrive.
Owing to the sluggishness of posts, its verity could not readily be
ascertained. inserting it on trust, the journalist too often found, in the
course of a few days, that the announcement was unfounded. Such is a fair
specimen of the way
in which false intelligence occasionally
got into circulation; and every such case, of course, operated as a motive
to caution in future. The publishers, moreover, could not afford to keep
sub—editors to go about and ascertain the verity of rumours. As an
illustration of the difficulties hence arising— ths Caledonian Mercury
of March 3, 1724, contained the following paragraph: We hear
that my Lord Araiston, one of the ordinary Lords of Session, is dead
;‘
which was followed in
the next number by
‘It
was by mistake in our last that my Lord Arniston was dead, occasioned by
the rendezvous of coaches, &c., hard by his lordship’s lodging,
that were to attend the funeral of a son of the Right Honourable the Earl
of Galloway
;
wherefore his lordship’s pardon and family’s is humbly
craved.’
It affords a pleasing
idea of the possible continuousness of sublunary things, that the then
Whig, but now Conservative Edinburgh Evening Courant, which began
its career in 1718, and its then Tory, but since liberal rival, the
Caledonian Mercury, which originated about two years later, are still
published in Edinburgh.
The enjoyment during
thirty years of ‘position’ as an establishment, combined with the
progressive ideas of the age, was now working some notable changes in the
spirit of the Scottish Church.
There was still, of course, a general
maintenance of the old doctrines
and habits; all was to appearance as it had been—
places of worship attended,
Sunday observed, discipline kept up in particular outlying presbyteries,
there would even be found a majority of men of the old
leaven. When, however,
any strenuous Dumfriesshire or Galloway
pastor seemed animated by aught of the zeal of a past age, and thereby
excited troubles which came under the attention of the General Assembly,
he was sure to be snubbed, and, if contumacious, deposed. If a presbytery
of the ancient orthodoxy, labouring under fears of backslidings and
defections, ventured to reassert, in a public manner,
doctrine that was beginning to be
unfashionable, the General Assembly frowned on its forwardness. At the
same time, Mr John Simson, professor of divinity at Glasgow, openly taught
doctrines leaning to Arminianism, and even Arianism, and the same
venerable court could not, for a number of years, he brought to do more
than administer a gentle admonition.
It chanced, one day,
that a worthy pastor, Mr Thomas Boston, found in a house which he was
visiting a tattered treatise of the bright days of the civil war, written
by one Edward Fisher, and entitled The Marrow of Modern Divinity.
Turning over its leaves, he found it asserting orthodox Puritan doctrines
with a simplicity and pathos all its own, particularly one which had
lately been condemned by the General Assembly—namely, that, Christ being
all in all, a forsaking of sins was not necessary to reinstate us in
covenant with God. Here seemed the proper remedy for the alarming
rationalism of the church, and very soon there appeared a new edition of
the Marrow, under the care of Mr Thomas Hogg, minister of Carnock.
The book immediately got into wide circulation, and produced a very
decided impression on the public mind, insomuch that the General Assembly
felt called upon to issue a prohibition against its being recommended or
read.
Thus arose a once
famous conflict generally recognised as the Marrow Controversy.
Dissatisfied with the pronouncement the church, twelve ministers,
including Boston and Hogg, came forward with a Representation, in which
they remonstrated in very free terms with the General Assembly, expressing
themselves as grieved in an especial manner to find any disfavour shewn to
that freedom from the covenant of works which true believers felt to be
the chief branch of the precious liberty which Christ had given them, and
in which the eterna1 salvation of souls is wrapped up.’ For sending this
paper, the twelve brethren were taken in hand by the Assembly’s
commission, condemned, and ordered to stand a rebuke
(1723);
but, while submitting, for the sake of
peace, they took care to utter a protest, which left no room for doubt
that they remained unshaken in their opinions. The entire proceedings arc
far too voluminous for modern patience; but the importance of the affair
is undoubted. The ‘Twelve Marrow Men’ may be said to have formed the
nucleus of the dissent winch was a few years after matured under the name
of the Secession.
1719, Jan 29
About eight o’clock this morning, at a spot a little west of Aberdeen,
‘there appeared ane army, computed to be the number of 7000 men. This
computation was made by a very judicious man, who had long been a soldier
in Flanders, and is now a farmer at this place, who
with about thirty other persons
were spectators. This army was
drawn up in a long line in battle-array,
were seen to fall down to the ground, and start up all at once; their
drums were seen to be carried on the drummers’ backs. After it remained
more than two hours, a person on a white horse rode along the line, and
then they all marched towards Aberdeen, where the hill called the Stocket
took them out of sight. It was a clear sunshine all that morning.’
October 22d, a second
vision of the same kind was seen on the same ground. ‘About two thousand
men appeared with blue and white coats, clear arms glancing or shining,
white ensigns were seen to slap down, as did the former, at which time a
smoke appeared, as if they had fired, but no noise. A person on a white
horse also rode along the line, and then they marched towards the bridge
of Dee. This vision continued on the ground from three hours in the
afternoon, till it was scarce light to see them. It was a clear fine
afternoon, and being the same day of the great yearly fair held at Old
Aberdeen, was seen by many hundreds of people going home, as well as by
above thirty that were at their own houses, about half a mile distant.
It‘s observable that the people coming from the fair came through them,
but saw nothing till ‘they came up to the crowd that was standing gazing,
who caused them to look back.’
Nov 2
On the night of the 2d of November, the river Don was dried up from a
little below Kemnay down to near Old Aberdeen. It was so dry at Inverury
and Kintore, that children of five or six years of age gathered up the
fish, trouts, and eels, and many people going to a fair passed over
dry-shod. The water slowly returned about the middle of the day. The same
phenomenon was said to have happened in the Doveran at Banff two days
later.
The Commissioners on
the Forfeited Estates were left in 1716 in a position of discomfiture, in
consequence of the impediments presented by Scottish law and Scottish
national feeling. Acts of the legislature enabled them in subsequent years
to overcome some of their difficulties, and accomplish a tolerable portion
of their mission. Not indeed without further impediments from the Court of
Session, which, when their former decrees of sequestration were rendered
void, and could no longer protect the friends of the forfeited persons in
possession, gave efficacy to a new device of these friends, in the form of
exceptions which declared that the forfeited persons had never been the
real owners of the estates! In their report of 1720, they pathetically
advert to this new difficulty, and, as an illustration of its absurdity,
state a few cases, in which there had been decrees in favour of more
pretended owners than one—Seaforth’s estates, for instance, were by one
decree found to belong in full and absolute right to Kenneth Mackenzie of
Assint, by another to William Martin of Harwood, by another to Hugh
Wallace of Inglistown. For Mar’s estates, there were four of these
visionary owners, and for Kenmure’s five! The exceptions were generally
founded on conveyances and dispositions of the lands which were
alleged to have been formerly executed by the attainted persons in favour
of children and others. Notwithstanding these obstructions, the
commissioners were enabled, in October 1719, to sell Panmure’s estates at
£60,400 sterling, Winton’s at £50,482, Kilsyth’s at £16,000, and that of
Robert Craw of East Reston at £2364.
By reversals of the
decrees in the House of Lords, and the help of a new act, the
Commissioners were enabled, in October 1720, to sell a further lot of
estates—Southesk’s for £51,549, Marischal’s for £45,333, Linlithgow’s for
£18,769, Stirling of Keir’s for £16,450, Threipland of Fingask’s for
£9606, Paterson of Tiannockburn’s for £9671, besides two others of
trifling value. The purchase was in nearly all these cases made by a
speculative London company, entitled The Governor and Company of
Undertakers for raising the Thames Water in York Buildings (commonly
called the ‘York Buildings Company’).’ The exceptions in the cases of Keir
and Bannockburn were purchases probably made by friends of the former
owners. For any other persons connected with Scotland to have come forward
to buy these properties on their own account, inferred such an amount of
public indignation, if not violence, as made the act impossible, even if
there had been any recreant Scot, Whig or Tory, capable in his heart of
such conduct.
We shall have occasion,
under subsequent dates, to notice certain difficulties of a different and
more romantic kind which beset the Commissioners. But, meanwhile, it may
be well to complete the history of their ordinary transactions.
Out of thirty estates
left unsold in October 1720, they had succeeded within the ensuing three
years in selling nineteen, of which the chief were Lord Burleigh’s at
£12,610, Macdonald of Sleat’s at £21,000, and Mackenzie of Applecross’s at
£3,550, the rest being of inconsiderable amount, though raising the entire
sum to £66,236. The principal estate afterwards sold was that of
John Earl of Mar at £30,000.
When the Commissioners
closed their accounts in March 1725, it appeared that there was a total of
£111,082 sterling paid and to be paid into the Exchequer, from which,
however, was to be deducted no less than £303,905 of debts sanctioned by
the Commissioners, and for which they had issued or were to issue
debentures, and £26,120 allowed in the form of grants from the crown.
‘there thus remained, of money realised for public use and to pay the
expenses of the Commission, the sum of £84,043, 17s. 5d., while
properties to the yearly value of £2594 remained undisposed of,
including an item so small as Feu—duty of some cellars at Leith, part of
the Abbacy of Aberbrothick, belonging to the late Earl of Pamuure, 11s
3d.’
Some curiosity will
naturally be felt to know the aggregate expenses of the Commission,
and the balance of results which these left out of the eighty-four
thousand pounds, There is a mixture of the ludicrous and sad in the
problem, which may be expressed thus: money from the destruction (for
public objects) of about fifty of the good old families of Scotland,
£81,043; charges for the expense of the destruction, £82,936
=
£1107. Walpole would
find it hardly a decent purchase—money for a vote in the House of Commons.
Dec
By statute passed in 1718,’ arrangements had been made regarding the sum
of £16,575, 14s., which had been left over of the Equivalent money
at the Union, after paying sundry claims out of it, and for a further debt
of £230,308, 9s. 10d., due by England to Scotland since in equalisation of
duties, together with a small sum of interest—the whole amounting to
£248,550— also for enabling the king to constitute the bond-holders of
this debt into a corporation, which, after St John’s Day, 1719, should
receive £10,000 annually as interest, until the debt should be redeemed.
Now, the Bank of
Scotland had been going on very quietly for some years, with its ten
thousand pounds of paid-up capital, realising, as we can infer from some
particulars, about a thousand a year of profit from its business. A
prosperity so great could not then exist in Scotland without exciting some
degree of envy, and also raising up thoughts of rivalry in a certain
ardent class of minds. It began to be alleged that The Bank, as it
was commonly called, was stinted in its means and frigid in its dealings;
that it lacked enterprise; that it would be the better of an infusion of
fresh blood, and so forth. It had many positive enemies, who tried to
detract from its merits, and were constantly raising evil reports about
it. Most deadly of all, there was now this Equivalent Company, with about
a quarter of a million of debentures wherewith to engage in further
mercantile enterprise, so as to make their ten thousand a year a little
better. The boy, with his first shilling burning a hole in his pocket, was
but a type of it.
In December 1719, a
proposal came from a proprietor of Equivalent stock, to the effect that
that stock should be added to the £100,000 stock of the Bank, but with
nine-tenths of it returned by the Bank in notes, so that only £25,000 of
it should in reality remain active in the new concern. It was proposed
that, of the £10,000 of annual interest upon the Equivalent, the
proprietors of Batik stock should thenceforward draw two-sevenths, being
the proportion of £100,000 to £250,000; and of the £600 a year allowed for
management of the Equivalent, the Bank was also to be allowed a
proportion. In such a way might the Bank and Equivalent be brought into a
union presumed to be beneficial to both parties.
The directors of the
Bank received the proposition as an insidious attempt by a number of
outsiders to get into the enjoyment of a portion of their time-bought
advantages. They pointed out, in their answer, that the Equivalent stock
being only in the receipt of 4 per cent. interest, while the profits of
the Bank stock might be reckoned at not lower than 10,
the
proposal was inequitable towards the Bank. Besides, they did not want this
additional stock, finding their present working capital quite sufficient.
The proposer was thus repelled for the meantime; but he very quickly
returned to the attack.
Under the guidance of
this person, there was now formed what was called ‘The Edinburgh Society
for insuring of Houses against Loss by Fire ‘—an arrangement of social
life heretofore unknown in Scotland. But, as often happens, no sooner was
this design broached than another set of people projected one of the same
kind, with only this slight difference, that, instead of being a company
trading for profits, it was a mutual insurance society reserving all
profits for the insured. Such was the origin, in 1720, of what afterwards,
under the name of ‘the Friendly Society,’ became a noted institution of
the Scottish capital, and is still in a certain sense existing amongst us.
The Edinburgh Society consequently got no insurance business.
It nevertheless kept
together, under the care of a committee of secrecy, who gave out that they
contemplated a still better project. For some time, they talked loudly of
great, though unripe plans, by which they expected to ‘make Scotland
flourish beyond what it ever did before.’ Then there arose a repetition of
the old clamours about the Bank—it was too narrow, both in its capital and
in its ideas; the directors were too nice about securities; the public
required enlarged accommodation. At last, the Society plainly avowed that
they were determined either to run down the Bank, or force a coalition
with it. It was precisely one of the last century heiress-abductions,
adapted to the new circumstances of the country and the advanced ideas of
the age.
The opportunity seemed
to be afforded by the share which Scotland took in the South-Sea scheme,
large sums of specie being sent southward to purchase stock in that
notable bubble. In such circumstances, it was assumed that the stock of
coin in the Bank must have sunk to rather a low ebb. Having then gradually
and unperceivedly gathered up the monstrous sum of £8400 in notes of the
Bank, our Edinburgh Society came in upon it one morning demanding
immediate payment. To their surprise, the money was at once paid, for in
reality the kind of coin sent by speculators to London was different from
that usually kept by the Bank, so that there had been hardly any abatement
of its usual resources in coin. The Society tried to induce the cashiers
of all the public establishments to follow their example, and draw out
their money, but without success in any instance but that of the trustees
of the Equivalent, who came very ostentatiously, and taking out their
money, stored it up in the Castle. The public preserved a mortifying
tranquillity under all these excitements, and the Bank remained
unaffected.
The Edinburgh Society
soon after sent the Bank a proposal of union, ‘for the prevention of
mutual injuries, and the laying of a solid foundation for their being
subservient and assisting to one another.’ It mainly consisted in an offer
to purchase six hundred shares of the Bank, not as a new stock, but by
surrender of shares held by the present proprietors, at £16, 13s. 4d.
per share, or £10,000 in all, being apparently a premium of £6, 13s.
4d. on each £10 of the Bank’s paid-in capital. The Bank, however,
as might have been expected, declined the proposal.
The passing of the
famous Bubble Act soon after rendered it necessary for the Edinburgh
Society to dissolve; but the Bank, nevertheless, like a rich heiress,
continued to be persecuted by undesired offers of alliance. One, strange
to say, came from the London Exchange Assurance Company. By this time
(1722), it appears that the Bank had twenty thousand pounds of its
capital paid up. It was proposed on the part of the London Assurance, that
they should add £20,000, and have a half of the Bank’s profits, minus only
an annual sum of £2500 to the old proprietors; which the Bank considered
as equivalent to a borrowing of a sum of money at a dear rate from
foreigners, when, if necessary, they could advance it themselves.
Suppose, said the directors, that, after the London company had paid in
their £20,000, the Bank’s profits were to rise to £7000 a year—and the
authors of the proposal certainly contemplated nothing so low—this sum
would fall to be divided thus: first, £2500 to the old Bank
proprietors; second, the remaining £4500 to be divided between the
Bank and the Exchange Assurance Company—that is, £2250 to the latter,
being interest at the rate of 11 per cent. upon the money it had
advanced—which money would be lying the same as dead
in the Bank, there
being no need for it. The Bank of Scotland declined the proposal of the
London Royal Exchange Assurance Company, which
doubtless would not be without its
denunciations of Scotch caution on the occasion.
Robert Ker, who seems to
have been an
inhabitant of Lasswade, was a censor of morals much after the type of the
Tinklarian Doctor. He at this time published A Short and True
Description of the Great incumbrances and Damages that City and Country is
like to sustain by Women’s Girded Tails, if
it be not speedily prevented,
together with a Dedication to those that wear them.
By girded tails he meant skirts framed upon
hoops of steel, like those now
in vogue. According to Robert Ker, men were
‘put to a difficulty how
to walk the streets’ from ‘the hazard of
breaking their shin-bones’ against this metal cooperage, not to speak of
the certainty of being called ill-bred besides. ‘If a man,’ says he, ‘were
upon the greatest express that can be, if
ye shall meet them in any strait stair or
entry, you cannot pass them by without being stopped, and called
impertinat to boot.’ Many are ‘the other confusions and cumbrances, both
in churches and in coaches.’ He calls for alterations in staircases, and
new lights to be broken out in dark entries, to save men from unchancy
collisions with the fairer part of creation. Churches, too, would need to
be enlarged, as in the old Catholic times, and seats and desks made wider,
to hold these monstrous protuberances.
‘I wonder,’ says Ker,
that those who pretend to be faithful ministers do not make the pulpits
and tents ring about thir sins, amongst many others. Had we the like of
John Knox in our pulpits, he would not spare to tell them their faults to
their very faces. But what need I admonish about thir things, when some
ministers have their wives and daughters going with these fashions
themselves?
The ladies found a
defender on this occasion in Allan Ramsay. He says:
‘If Nelly’s hoop be
twice as wide
As her two pretty limbs can stride,
What then? will any man of sense
Take umbrage, or the least offence
Do not the handsome of our city,
The pious, chaste, the kind, the witty,
Who can afford it, great and small,
Regard well-shapen fardingale ?
Leave ‘t to them, and mothers wise,
Who watch their conduct, mien, and guise,
To shape their weeds as fits their case,
And place their patches as they please.”
We learn with grief that
our pathetic censor of the fair sex lived on bad terms with his own wife,
and was imprisoned both in Dalkeith and in Edinburgh for alleged miscarriages
towards her. One of his most furious outpourings was against a minister
who had baptised a child born to him during his Dalkeith imprisonment, the
rite being performed without his order or sanction.
1720, Jan 5
‘All persons (in Edinburgh) desirous to learn the French tongue’ were
apprised by an advertisement in the Edinburgh Courant, that ‘there
is a Frenchman lately come to this city who will teach at a reasonable
price.’ This would imply that there was no native French teacher in
Edinburgh previously. In 1858, there were eleven, besides three belonging
to our own country.
Jan
Public attention
was
at this time attracted by a
report of devilish doings at Calder in Mid-Lothian, and of there being one
sufferer of no less distinction than a lord’s son. It was stated that the
Hon. Patrick Sandilands, a boy, the third son of Lord Torphichen, was for
certain bewitched. He fell down in trances, from which no horse-whipping
could rouse him. The renal secretion was as black as ink. Sometimes he was
thrown unaccountably about the room, as if some unseen agent were
buffeting him. Candles went out in his presence. When sitting in a room
with his sisters, he would tell them of things that were going on at a
distance. He had the appearance occasionally of being greatly tormented.
As he lay in bed one night, his tutor, who sat up watching him, became
sleepy, and in this state saw a flash of fire at the window. Roused by
this, he set himself to be more careful watching, and in a little time he
saw another flash at the window. The boy then told him that between these
two flashes, he had been to Torryburn (a place twenty miles distant). He
was understood to have been thus taken away several times; he could
tell them when it was to happen; and it was then necessary to watch him,
to prevent his being carried off ‘One day that he was to be waited on,
when he was to be taken away, they kept
the door and window close; but a
certain person going to the door, he made shift and got there, and
was lifted in
the air, but was catched by the heels and coat-tails, and brought back.’
Many other singular and dreadful things happened, which unfortunately were
left unreported at the time, as being so universally known.
Lord Torphichen became
at length convinced that his son was suffering under the diabolic
incantations of a witch residing in his village of Calder, and he had the
woman apprehended and put in prison. She is described as a brutishly
ignorant creature, ‘knowing scarce anything but her witcheraft.’ She
readily confessed her wicked practices; told that she had once given the
devil the body of a dead child of her own to make a roast of; and
inculpated two other women and one man, as associates in her guilt. The
baron, the minister, and the people generally accepted it as a true case
of witchcraft; and great excitement prevailed. The minister of Inveresk,
writing to his friend Wodrow (February 19), says: ‘It’s certain my lord’s
son has been dreadfully tormented. Mr Brisbane got one of the women to
acknowledge ane image of the child, which, on search, was found in another
woman’s house; but they did not know what kind of matter it was made of.’
The time, however, was past for any deadly proceedings in such a
case in the southern parts of Scotland; and it does not appear that
anything worse than a parish fast was launched at the devil on the
occasion. This solemnity took place on the 14th of January.
For the crazed
white-ironsmith of the West Bow, the case of the Bewitched Boy
of Calder had great attractions. He resolved—unfavourable as was the
season for travelling— to go and examine the matter for himself. So, on
the day of the fast, January 14, he went on foot in ill weather, without
food, to Lord Torphichen’s house at Calder, a walk of about twelve miles.
‘I took,’ says he, ‘the sword of the spirit at my breast, and a small wand
in my hand, as David did when he went out to fight against Goliah.’ He
found the servants eating and drinking, as if there had been no fast
proclaimed; they offered him entertainment, which he scrupulously refused.
‘Then I went to my lord and said, I was sent by God to cast the devil out
of his son, by faith in Christ. He seemed to be like that lord who had the
charge of the gate in Samaria. Then I said to him: “My lord, do you not
believe me?” Then he bade me go and speak to many ministers that was near
by him; but I said I was not sent to them. Then he went to them himself;
and spoke to them what I said; but they would not hear of it; so I went to
three witches and a warlock, to examine them, in sundry places. Two of
them denied, and two of them confessed. I have no time to relate here all
that I said to them, and what they said; but I asked them, “‘When they
took on in that service?” The wife said: “Many years;” and the man said:
“It was ten years to him.” Then I asked the wife: “What was her reason for
taking on with the devil ?“
And she
said: “He promised her riches, and she believed him.” Then she called him
many a cheat and liar in my hearing. Then I went to the man, because he
was a great professor, and could talk of religion with any of the parish,
as they that was his neighbours said, and he was at Bothwell Bridge
fighting against the king; and because of that, I desired to ask questions
at him; but my lord’s officer said: “His lord would not allow me.” I said
I would not be hindered neither by my lord nor by the devil, before many
there present. Then I asked: “What iniquity he found in God, that he left
his service?” He got up and said: “Oh, sir, are ye a minister?” So ye see
the devil knows me to be a minister better than the magistrates. He said:
“He found no fault in God; but his wife beguiled him;” and he said: “Wo be
to the woman his wife !” and blamed her only, as Adam did his wife, and
the woman blamed the devil; so ye see it is from the beginning. This is a
caution to us all never to hearken to our wives except they have Scripture
on their side. Then I asked at him: “Did he expect heaven?” “Yes,” said
he. Then I asked at him if he could command the devil to come and speak to
me? He said: “No.” Then I said again: “Call for him, that I may speak with
him.” He said again: “It was not in his power.” Then my lord sent more
servants, that hindered me to ask any more questions, otherwise I might
have seen the devil, and I would have spoken about his son.’
On this fast-day, a
sermon was preached in Calder kirk by the Rev. Mr John Wilkie, minister of
Uphall, the alleged sorcerers being all present. Lord Torphichen
subsequently caused the discourse to be printed. His boy in time
recovered, and going to sea, rose by merit to the command of an East
Indiaman, but perished in a storm. It brings us strangely near to this
wild-looking affair, that the present tenth Lord Torphichen (1860) is only
nephew to the witch-boy of Calder.
Feb 5
The exportation of some corn from Dundee being connected unfavourably in
the minds of the populace with a rise of the markets, a tumult took place,
with a view to keeping the grain within the country. The mob not only took
possession of two vessels loaded with bear lying in the harbour,
the property of Mr George Dempster, merchant, but attacked and gutted the
house, shops, cellars, and lofts of that gentleman, carrying off
everything of value they contained, including twelve silver spoons, a
silver salver, and two silver boxes, one of them containing a gold chain
and twelve gold rings, some hair ones, and others set with diamonds.
Dempster advertised that whoever shall discover to him ‘the havers of his
goods,’ should have ‘a sufficient reward and the owner’s kindness, and no
questions asked.’
A similar affair took
place at Dundee nine years later. The country-people in and about the town
then ‘carried their resentment so high against the merchants for
transporting of victual, that they furiously mobbed them, carried it out
of lofts, and cut the sacks of those that were bringing it to the barks.’
Mar 20
Died, Alexander Rose, who had been appointed Bishop of Edinburgh just
before the Revolution. He was the last survivor of the unfortunate
episcopate of Scotland, and also outlived all the English bishops who
forfeited their sees at the Revolution. Though strenuous during all these
thirty-one years as a nonjuror—for which in 1716 he was deprived of a
pension assigned him by Queen Anne—he is testified to by his presbyter
Robert Keith as ‘a sweet-natured man.’ His aspect, latterly, was
venerable, and the gentleness of his life secured him the respect of
laymen of all parties. Descended of the old House of Kilravock, he had
married a daughter of Sir Patrick Threipland of Fingask, a family which
maintained fidelity to the House of Stuart with a persistency beyond all
parallel, never once swerving in affection from the days of the
Commonwealth down to recent times. ‘Mr John Rose, son of the Bishop of
Edinburgh,’ is in the list of rebels who pled guilty at Carlisle in
December 1716. The good bishop, having come to his sister’s house in the
Canongate, to see a brother who was there lying sick, had a sudden
fainting-fit, and calmly breathed his last. He was buried in the romantic
churchyard of Restalrig, which has ever since been a favourite
resting-place of the members of the Scottish Episcopal communion.
Apr 28
There was a jubilation in Edinburgh on what appears to us an extraordinary
occasion. The standing dryness between the king and Prince of Wales had
come to a temporary end. The latter had gone formally to the palace, and
been received by his father ‘with great marks of tenderness’ (the king was
sixty, and the prince thirty-seven). At a court held on the occasion, ‘the
officers and servants on both sides, from the highest to the lowest,
caressed one another with mutual civilities,’ and there were great
acclamations from the crowd outside. The agreeable news having been
received in the northern metropolis, the magistrates set the bells
a-ringing, and held an entertainment for all persons of note then in town,
at which loyal toasts were drunk, with feux de joie from the City
Guard. Demonstrations of a like nature took place at Glasgow—the
music-bells rung—the stairs of the townhouse covered with
carpets—toast-drinking—and discharges of firearms from the Earl of Stair’s
regiment. Nor was there a similar expression of joy wanting even in the
Cavalier city of Aberdeen—where, however, such expressions were certainly
more desirable.
May 2
One is startled at finding in the Edinburgh Evening Courant of this
date the following advertisement: ‘Taken up a stolen negro: whoever owns
him, and gives sufficient marks of his being theirs, before the end of two
weeks from the date hereof, may have him again upon payment of expenses
laid out upon him; otherwise the present possessor must dispose of him at
his pleasnre.’
Yet true it is that
colonial negro slaves who had accompanied their masters to the British
shores, were, till fifty-five years after this period, regarded as
chattels. One named Joseph Knight came with his master, John Wedderburn,
Esq., to Glasgow in 1771, and remained with him as his bound slave for two
years. A love-affair then set the man upon the idea of attempting to
recover his liberty, which a recent decision by Lord Mansfield in England
seemed to make by no means hopeless. With the help of friends, he carried
his claim through a succession of courts, till a decision of the Court of
Session in 1775 finally established that, however he might be a slave
while in the West Indies, he, being now in Scotland, was a free man.
Horse-racing had for
many years been considerably in vogue in Scotland. There were advertised
in the course of this year—a race at Cupar in Fife; one at Galarig, near
Selkirk, for a piece of plate given by the burgh, of £12 value; a race at
Hamilton Moor for £10; a race on Lanark Moor for a plate of £12, given by
the burgh; a race on the sands of Leith for a gold cup of about a hundred
guineas value, and another, for a plate of £50 value, given by the city of
Edinburgh; finally, another race at Leith for a silver punch-bowl and
ladle, of £25 value, given by the captains of the Trained Bands of
Edinburgh—the bowl bearing an inscription which smacks wonderfully like
the produce of the brain of Allan Ramsay:
‘Charge me with Nantz
and limpid spring,
Let sour and sweet be mixt
Bend round a health syne to the king,
To Edinburgh captains next,
Wha formed me in sae blithe a shape,
And gave me lasting honours;
Take up my ladle, fill and lap,
And say: “Fair fa’ the donors.”
Oct 17
The genius of Scott has lent an extraordinary interest to a murder
perpetrated at this date. Nicol Mushet appears to have been a young man of
some fortune, being described as ‘of Boghall,’ and he had studied for the
profession of a surgeon; but for some time he had led an irregular and
dissipated life in Edinburgh, where he had for one of his chief friends a
noted profligate named Campbell of Burnbank, ordnance store-keeper in the
Castle. The unhappy young man was drawn into a marriage with a woman named
Hall, for whom he soon discovered that he had neither affection nor
respect; and he then became so eager to be free from the connection, as to
listen to a project by Burnbank for obtaining a divorce by dishonourable
means. An obligation passed between the parties in November 1719, whereby
a claim of Burnbank for an old debt of nine hundred merks (about £50) was
to be discharged by Mushet, as soon as Burnbank should be able to furnish
evidence calculated to criminate the woman. Burnbank then deliberately
hired a wretch like himself, one Macgregor, a teacher of languages, to
enter into a plot for placing Mrs Mushet in criminative circumstances; and
some progress was made in this plan, which, however, ultimately misgave.
It was then suggested by Burnbank that they should go a step further, and
remove the woman by poison. One James Mushet and his wife—a couple in poor
circumstances—readily undertook to administer it.
Several doses were actually given,
but the stomach of the victim always rejected them. Then the project for
debauching her was revived, and Mushet undertook to effect it; but it was
not carried out. Dosing with poison was resumed, without effect; other
plans of murder were considered. James Musket undertook to knock his
sister-in-law on the bead for twenty guineas, and got one or two in hand
by anticipation, part of which he employed in burying a child of his own.
These diabolically wicked projects occupied Mushet, his brother, his
brother’s wife, and Burnbank, in the Christian city of Edinburgh, during a
course of many months, without any one, to appearance, ever feeling the
slightest compunction towards the poor woman, though it is admitted she
loved her husband, and no real fault on her side has ever been insinuated.
At length, the
infatuated Nicol himself borrowed a knife one day, hardly knowing what he
wanted it for, and, taking his wife with him that night, as on a walk to
Duddingston, he embraced the opportunity of killing her at a solitary
place in the King’s Park. He went immediately after to his brother’s, to
tell him what he had done, but in a state of mind which made all
afterwards seem a blank to him. Next morning, the poor victim was found
lying on the ground, with her throat cut to the bone, and many other
wounds, which she had probably received in struggling with her brutal
murderer.
Mushet was seized and
examined, when he readily related the whole circumstances of the murder
and those which had led to it. He was adjudged to be hanged in the
Grassmarket on the ensuing 6th of January. His associate Burnbank was
declared infamous, and sentenced to banishment. The common people,
thrilled with horror by the details of the murder, marked their feelings
in the old national mode by raising a cairn on the spot where it took
place; and Mushet’s Cairn has ever since been a recognised locality.
There was published
this year in Edinburgh a small treatise at the price of a shilling, under
the title of Rules of Good Deportment and Good Breeding. The author
was Adam Petrie, who is understood as having commenced life as domestic
tutor in the family of Sinclair of Stevenston, and to have ended it in the
situation of a parish schoolmaster in East Lothian. He dedicated his
treatise to the magistrates of Edinburgh, acknowledging them to be ‘so
thoroughly acquainted with all the steps of civility and good breeding,
that it is impossible for the least misrepresentation of them to escape
your notice.’
Adam sets out with the
thesis, that ‘a courteous way gilds a denial, sweetens the sharpness of
truth . . .
. sets
off the defects of reason, varnishes slights, paints deformities
. . . .
in a word,
disguises everything that is unsavoury.’ Everything, however, required to
have some reference to religion in that age, and Adam takes care to remind
us that civility has a divine basis, in the injunctions, ‘Be courteous to
all men,’ and ‘Give honour to whom honour is due.’
As to ordinary
demeanour, Mr Petrie was of opinion that ‘a gentleman ought not to run or
walk too fast in the streets, lest he be suspected to be going a message.’
‘When you walk with a superior, give him the right hand; but if it be near
a wall, let him be next to it.’ The latter rule, he tells us, was not yet
followed in Scotland, though established in England and Ireland. ‘When you
give or receive anything from a superior, be sure to pull off your glove,
and make a show of kissing your hand, with a low bow after you have done.’
In this and some other instances, it strikes us that a too ceremonious
manner is counselled; but such was the tendency of the time. There was,
however, no want of rude persons. ‘I have,’ says Adam, ‘seen some noblemen
treat gentlemen that have not been their dependents, and men of ancienter
families than they could pretend to, like their dependents, and carry to
the ambassadors of Jesus Christ as if they had been their footmen.’
Mr Petrie deemed it
proper not to come amongst women abruptly, ‘without giving them time to
appear to advantage: they do not love to be surprised.’ He also thought it
was well ‘to carry somewhat reserved from the fair sex.’ One should not
enter the house or chamber of a great person with a great-coat and boots,
or without gloves—though ‘it is usual in many courts that they deliver up
their gloves with their sword before they enter the court, because some
have carried in poison on their gloves, and have conveyed the same to the
sovereign that way.’ Women, on their part, are equally advised against
approaching superiors of their own sex with their gown tucked up. ‘Nor,’
says he, ‘is it civil to wear a mask anywhere in company of superiors,
unless they be travelling together on a journey.’ In that case, ‘when a
superior makes his honours to her, she is to pull off her mask, and return
him his salute, if it be not tied on.’
There is a good deal
about the management of the handkerchief, with one general recommendation
to ‘beware of offering it to any, except they desire it.’ We also are
presented with a rule which one could wish to see more universally
observed than it is, against making any kind of gesticulations or noises
in company.
There were customs of
salutation then, which it is now difficult to imagine as having ever been
practised. ‘In France,’ says Adam, ‘they salute ladies on the cheek; but
in Britain and Ireland they salute them on the lips.’ Our Scottish
Chesterfield seems to have felt that the custom should be abated somewhat;
or perhaps it was going out. ‘If,’ says he, ‘a lady of quality advance to
you, and tender her cheek, you are only to pretend to salute her by
putting your head to her hoods: when she advances, give her a low bow, and
when you retreat, give her another.’ He adds: ‘It is undecent to salute
ladies but in civility.’
Formula of address and
for the superscription of letters are fully explained; but Adam could not
allow ‘the Right Reverend Father in God the Lord Bishop of London’ to pass
as an example of Episcopal style, without remarking that many have not
‘clearness’ to use such titles. Adam is everywhere inclined to an infusion
of piety. He denounces ‘an irreligions tippling’ of coffee, tea, and
chocolate, which he observed to be continually going on in coffee-houses,
‘because not one in a hundred asks a blessing to it.’ He is very much
disposed, too, to launch out into commonplace morals. Rather unexpectedly
in a lover of the politenesses, he sets his face wholly against cards and
dice, stage-plays, and promiscuous dancing, adducing a great number of
learned references in support of his views.
The editor of a very scarce reprint of this curious volume,
remarks that, from the manifest sincerity of the author’s delineations of
good breeding, and the graphic character of many of his scenes, it may
fairly be presumed that they were painted from nature. We are told by the
same writer, that ‘Helen Countess of Haddington, who died in 1768, at the
advanced age of ninety-one, and to whom Petrie was well known, used to
describe his own
deportment and breeding as in strict accordance with his
rules.’ |