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 A PEDESTRlAlff TG^JK^Qj^j^ 
 
 THROUGH PART OF THE 
 
 HIGHILANBS OF SCOTLANB^ 
 IN 1801. . 
 By JOHN BRISTED, 
 
 ' OF THE HON. SOCIETY OT THE INNER TEMPI^E. 
 
 IN Tiro VOLUMES, 
 VOL. 11. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 FlUNTED FOR J. WALLIS, 46, PATERNOSTER-ROW, 
 BY T. BENSLEY, BOLT COURT. 
 
 1803. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 TO THE 
 
 SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 Page 
 
 We make for Dunkeld 1 
 
 The State of the Poor hinted at 11 
 
 Our reception at Dunkeld 2§ 
 
 Parking touched upon 53 
 
 We view duke Athols domains 114 
 
 We depart from Dunkeld • . . . . 122 
 
 Our reception at the Half-way House 127 
 
 The Pass of Killacrankey • MO 
 
 Our reception at Blair Athol 150 
 
 Character of Macnaughtan 153 
 
 We view laird Robertson's grounds 173 
 
 A word or two on Burns 175 
 
 Character of Macnaughtan {continued) 213 
 
 Freedom, knowledge, and virtue, go hand in hand. . 236 
 
 We make for Tunnel Bridge 291 
 
 Our reception at Tunnel Bridge 303 
 
 We traverse Coshievel Vale 320 
 
 We are troubled to get a night's lodging 330 
 
 A word or two on great men 333 
 
 We are troubled to get a night's lodging {continued) . 378 
 
 We obtain a night's lodging 385 
 
 We go down the Loch in a boat 3gQ 
 
 Our reception at Kiliin 400 
 
 O 
 
 4i74^3B 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Highlanders shghtly touched on 403 
 
 We leave Killin 431 
 
 A great man's justice 434 
 
 We travd onward 444 
 
 An affecting encounter 454 
 
 A specimen of genteel hospitality 465 
 
 We approach Loch-I omond 4^3 
 
 We pass a niglit at Tarbut 480 
 
 We travel onward ... 482 
 
 Sraollet touched on 487 
 
 We meet a volunteer officer ' 493 
 
 Our reception at Dunbarton 500 
 
 We make for Glasgow 511 
 
 A curious adventure at Glasgow 515 
 
 Our reception at Glasgow 520 
 
 Our interview with a Greek scholar 523 
 
 J am hailed by a drunken man 533 
 
 The Scottish universities touched on 536 
 
 Apothecarizing slightly handled 633 
 
 Our reception at Glasgow {conthmed) 647 
 
 We make for Hamilton • 65 1 
 
 Our reception at Hamilton 658 
 
 We obtain a nights lodging 662 
 
 We visit Lanark ^^^ 
 
 David Dale 668 
 
 We make for Edinburgh 678 
 
 Conclusion /QO 
 
A TOUR, & 
 
 
 
 JL ILL wc arrived within the aBtance o: 
 a few miles from Dunkeld the scenery con- 
 tinued nearly the same, in feature and ap- 
 pearance, as we had seen all this and the 
 preceding day : but now it suddenly as- 
 sumed a more rugged and terrific form. 
 We were shut in by mountains on the 
 right hand and on the left ; the vallics w^erc 
 nearly desolate, and void of cultivation ; the 
 river Tay had contented itself with a nar- 
 rower channel, through which it toiled and 
 fretted over many a broken rock, and many 
 a jutting precipice ; its banks were thinly 
 fringed with wood, which also slightly 
 skirted the hills midway up their heights ; 
 but their broad bare backs upheaved them- 
 selves to the clouds, their tops ascended to 
 the sky In the naked grandeur of sterility. 
 We walked on in pleasing pensive contem- 
 VOL. n. B 
 
2 Ws make for Dunkeld. 
 
 plation of the surrounding objects, each en- 
 joying the luxury of his sensations in the 
 profoundest silence ; a silence that made 
 itself to be felt ; when wc were suddenly 
 aroused from our delightful reverie, (even at 
 the very moment while the soul was con- 
 scious of all her superior energies, and felt 
 her divinity to stir within ; w^hile she con- 
 templated the great Author and Giver of 
 life in the stupendous efforts of his creative 
 power, and felt elevated and enlarged above 
 all that the world could give, and all that 
 the world could take away,) by the shout 
 of full forty rustics, male and female, who 
 were returning homeward from their kirk. 
 
 They hailed us cheerily, and plied us 
 with an abundance of questions, to all of 
 which we answered as we thought meet. 
 At length, an elderly and venerable man, 
 with a blue w^orsted bonnet on his head, 
 and here and there a straggling lock of grey 
 hair shading his temples, undertook to be 
 the sole spokesman ; between him and me 
 the following dialogue passed. 
 
 Who are ye two poor, feeble, crippled 
 lads ? — Americans. — What are ye. what 
 calling do ye follow ? — We are farmers,—^ 
 
We make for Bunkeld, $ 
 
 What are ye doing here, and where are ye 
 going ? — We arc going through Scotland in 
 order to learn to reap and sow corn, and to 
 manage land after the Scottish fashion of 
 agriculture. — Well, agood errand; God send 
 you speed, and you will prosper. Have yc 
 any religion in your countrj^? — Yes, plenty of 
 it. — Do ye attend your kirk regularly there ? 
 — Yes, very regularly. — Arc your ministers 
 sober, discreet, and good men, as ours are ? 
 — Yes, very many of our ministers come 
 from Scotland, and teach us how to be 
 religious. 
 
 Very good, replied the old man: — and 
 are the poor thought any thing of in your 
 country, or are they looked upon as littls 
 vcorth, as they are here ? — The poor are 
 treated, in America, according to their be- 
 haviour; if they are honest, sober, indus- 
 trious, and civil, they are respected, and 
 enabled to provide comfortably and plenti- 
 fully for themselves and their families ; but, 
 if they are idle, disorderly, profligate, and 
 abandoned, they are considered as nuisances 
 to the state, and left to perish as outcasts 
 of society. 
 
 Here the aged orator shook his head, and 
 
4 U^e make for Dunkeld, 
 
 answered — I wi.^h, witli all my heart, that 
 it was so ill this country. Our mnilbtcrs, 
 to be sure, arc, in general, very good men, 
 they live at their mafisc's, (or parsonage 
 houses) and are very kind and attentive to 
 their parishioners, whom they instruct in 
 their duty to God, by their doctrine, and, 
 still more, by their own pious and sober 
 lives : they are, also, very charitable and 
 compassionate : but their incomes are not 
 large, and they have but little to spare from 
 the support of their own families, which 
 are generally very numerous. But that Is 
 not the w^orst of our situation; for the 
 poor here get ?io muckle good by honesty and 
 industry. 
 
 If we work from morning till night, and 
 never spare ourselves a moment, we can 
 hardly provide for ourselves the bare neces- 
 saries of life, much less find food and rai- 
 ment for our families. Every article of Hfc 
 is so dear, every thing is so heavily taxecj; so 
 many Idle mouths are kept going, and this 
 wretched war so wastes the whole nation, 
 that the poor actually camiot exist. And 
 then the grand folks think that we are not 
 made of the same flesh and blood as they 
 
We make for Dunkeld. y 
 
 arc, but when we vail our bonnets to them, 
 as they pass, they never deign to notice 
 it by the least return of civility or attention. 
 If the rich could but know" how much 
 one smile of approbation from them, or one 
 kind, word, gladdened our hearts, they would 
 sometimes speak mildly to us out of huma- 
 nity and compassion. But God's will b'j 
 done, we must look for happiness in another 
 life, for in this world our lot is full of trox> 
 ble and misery; we are worked like slaves, 
 and nearly starved, and know not what 
 kindness and civility is from our superiors, 
 who little think, while they enjoy all the 
 good things of this world, of the hardships 
 and troubles that we endure, when our 
 wives and our children cry unto us for bread, 
 and we have none to give them. 
 
 The simplicity and ingenuousness of this 
 old man's countenance, and the feeling 
 tones in which he related the distressed si- 
 tuation of the poor, shewing that he him- 
 self had experienced in his own person all 
 that he had described, went directly to our 
 hearts ; and wrung our souls the more, be- 
 cause we were utterly unable to afford any 
 relief to those who so much needed it. We 
 ^ 3 
 
6 IFe make for Dunkeld. 
 
 answered, that the evils of which he com- 
 plained, with regard to the poor, scarcely 
 existed in America, where the wages of la- 
 bour \\'ere better proportioned to the price 
 of the necessaries of life; and, consequently, 
 that those who were sober, and industrious, 
 and careful, could maintain themselves, their 
 ■yvives, and little ones in plenty, and comfort. 
 
 The old man shook us heartily by the 
 hand, and begged God to bless us for honest, 
 bonny lads, and said, that he was very well 
 pleased to hear that the poor were tJiought any 
 thing of m our country, and permitted to earn 
 tread for themselves and families hy their 
 labour. 
 
 All the rustics now surrounded us closely, 
 apd we went through such a formidable 
 number of hand-shakes, and salutations of 
 — oh I honny lads ! — that we were well- 
 nigh worn out of existence by this very 
 friendly exercise. Very many of them ex- 
 pressed an earnest desire to go to America 
 with us. They said, that they were very 
 willing to labour all the day long, if, by 
 that, they could provide food for their wives 
 ^nd families. We replied, that we knew 
 not well how they could go, as the passage 
 
We make for Bunkeld. 7 
 
 over would cost a larger sum of money than 
 perhaps they could raise. At this intima- 
 tion they all hung their heads in drooping 
 despondency ; when the old man said, — 
 Nay, nay, even let us bear our lot with pa- 
 tience; our time here cannot be long; we 
 shall soon enter that kingdom, w^here there 
 is no respect of persons, and where the rich 
 man and the oppressor shall be judged ac- 
 cording to his deeds. 
 
 We now took our leaves of this good 
 company, who bade us farewell in tones of 
 undisguised simplicity and artless honesty, 
 and proceeded on our way, still surrounded 
 by the wild and ruggedly grand features of 
 nature. We came, when the thickening 
 clouds of night began to darken the surface 
 of the water, and to wrap creation round 
 in her misty mantle of indistinctness, to 
 Dunkeld ferry. Here we were obliged to 
 wait a considerable time, before, by the ut- 
 most dint of loud and repeated hallooing 
 and bawling, we could prevail on a lad to 
 come over and fetch us in a boat. 
 
 Our fare, which was a bawble a piece, 
 we were required to pay before we put our 
 foot into the boat : this demand being com- 
 B4 
 
8 IFe make for Dunkeld. 
 
 plied with, we crossed the ferry in com- 
 pany with two stout young men, the oldest 
 of whom did not appear to be twenty. 
 They were dressed decently, it being Sun- 
 day; and plied us incessantly with ques- 
 tions. They asked who we were; and re- 
 ceived for answer, that we were Americans. 
 They asked about the productions of our 
 country in a slight way ; but were particu- 
 larly inquisitive about the condition of the 
 poor^ whether they could earn enough to 
 keep themselves and their families by their 
 labour, which they gave us to understand 
 was not the case with them ; for their ut- 
 most exertions of industry and toil could 
 not obtain the hare means of existence, much 
 less any of the comforts of life, so inade- 
 quate were the wages of labour to the price 
 of all consumable commodities, owing to 
 the grievous burden of taxation laid upon 
 almost every article, which was necessary 
 for man, if he intended to prevent his soul 
 from being separated from his body by pain, 
 and want, and disease^ and anguish, and 
 despair. 
 
 Indeed, throughout the whole of our 
 tramp, the chief and most earnestly insisted- 
 
We make for Dunkeld, g 
 
 upon point of inquiry was, the condition of 
 the sinews of every nation, the great mass 
 pf the people. Whether with us, in Ame- 
 rica, they were ground down to powder, 
 and reduced to beggary by exorbitant taxa- 
 tion and unfeeUng oppression, and left to 
 perish unnoticed and without remembrance 
 by those very individuals, the comparatively 
 few great ones of the kingdom, whose 
 means of luxury and riot were supplied by 
 the toil and the industry of the poor la- 
 hotirers, whom they despised and persecuted, 
 as beings of an inferior order, and of a 
 coarser stamp ; as beings, whose duty it 
 w^as to administer to the service and to the 
 gratification of the high and mighty ones of 
 the earth, who considered that their delica- 
 cies were desirable in proportion as they 
 wxre wetted with the tears and moistened 
 with the blood of their insulted and afflicted 
 labourers ? 
 
 Or, whether the lower orders of society 
 were permitted to enjoy the fruits of their 
 own honest industry and daily toil, pro- 
 tected in their persons and in their property 
 by fixed laws, and stated regulations, admi- 
 nistered and put in forc^ by a mild and 
 
10 U'c make for Dunkeld. 
 
 cq\iitablc government, alike remote from all 
 the indescribable horrors of lawless anarchy, 
 and the terrible effects of soul-benuming 
 despotism ; a government, w^hich, existing 
 mlv for the happiness of the governedy and not 
 solely for the aggrandizement of the governors y 
 showered down on all its people the felicity 
 ^of freedom, and the blessings of indepen- 
 dence. 
 
 To all which questions we uniformly 
 answ^ercd, as we were so warranted to do 
 by the matter of fact, that the people in 
 America groaned under no oppressive and 
 arbitrary domination, neither did they sec 
 in every rich man a hard master, and a 
 cruel tyrant ; that the taxes were light and 
 equally imposed, pressing on the shoulders 
 of those, who, by their property, were most 
 able to support the burden, not calculated 
 for the sole purpose of wringing the hardly- 
 earned pittance from the hand of the poor 
 labourer, and snatching the scanty morsel 
 ©f bread, for which he had toiled in the 
 weariness of his frame and in the anguish 
 of his soul, from the mouths of his weeping 
 and famished babes. 
 
<the State of the Foor hinted at, 1 1 
 
 That the wages of labour were high, at 
 least, sufficiently so to enable those who 
 were not idle, and wasteful, to maintain 
 themselves and their households in decency 
 and in plenty ; that the greater number of 
 children any poor man had the richer he be- 
 came, because, at a very early age, every 
 child could earn more money by its labour 
 than was required for its support; that land 
 was very abundant, and to be purchased at 
 a cheap rate. All which induced men to 
 marry early in life, and thereby to increase 
 very much the strength and prosperity of 
 the kingdom, not only by multiplying the 
 population rapidly, but by becoming good 
 subjects and citizens; for those, whose 
 hearts are softened and purified by discharg- 
 ing the great and hallowed duties of hus- 
 band and of father, always are most at- 
 tached to their country, and are the 
 firmest defenders of her laws and constitu- 
 tion in the day of assault and in the hour 
 of danger, because it is the interest of all 
 virtuous men to preserve the well-being 
 and duration of government on the sure and 
 steady basis of proper subordination and 
 obedience to the laws ; whereas, wild and 
 
1 2 fbs Slate of the Poor hinted at. 
 
 di.-ordcrly people, Avho hang loose on 
 society, who regard not the great charities 
 of husband, father, son, and brother, but 
 live in the continued habits of depreda- 
 tion on the peace and happiness, the person 
 and the property, of others, whether they do 
 it by open violence or by unproductive idle- 
 ness, must be bad citizens and bad subjects. 
 It is their interest to overturn or to pervert 
 from their ri^ht course all those laws which 
 consult the vs cU-being of a people. They 
 are wild beasts, which prey upon the vitals 
 of their country ; they are locusts, which 
 dev^our the fruits of the kingdom, and con- 
 vert a garden of Eden into a wilderness 
 and a waste. 
 
 It is therefore incumbent on every go- 
 vernment to endeavour to promote the vir- 
 tue of the poor ; and this can only be done 
 by consulting their happiness, by enabling 
 them, with the exertions of industry, to 
 cam the mc:ins of existence in comfort and 
 in plenty, and by allowing an opportunity 
 of instruction and of education to all their 
 childi'jn. 
 
 Whenever we made these, and other 
 iirniiar observations, wc vrcrc informed that 
 
ne State of the Poor hinted at. 1 3 
 
 the case was very different in their country: 
 that marriage was to be dreaded as the 
 worst of all evils, because children, so far 
 from being a blessing, were a curse, owing 
 to the wages of labour being so low in com- 
 parison with the exorbitant price of all the 
 necessaries of existence ) that a man could 
 not even earn bread enough for himself, by 
 his own unremitting labour throughout the 
 day, much less provide for his family, who 
 could seldom do any thing towards their 
 own support ; for the w^ife had enough to do 
 to look after the little bairns, and no body 
 would employ the children, or if they did 
 sometimes, they never paid them wages 
 enough to provide even bread in sufficient 
 quantity to prevent them *from starving, 
 much less to purchase clothes and other 
 necessaries of life. 
 
 We wxre told that these, and many 
 other hardships under which the pcor la- 
 boured, particularly the entire want of pro- 
 vision made for them in the hour of sick- 
 ness or calamity, to vv^hich, from their pe- 
 nury, they were especially liable, took away 
 from them even the consolations of hope ; 
 that their liic wms one continued struggle 
 
1 4. ne State of the Poor hinted at. 
 
 against the accumulating horrors of want, 
 of pain, of neglect, of disease, and of an- 
 guish ; that their existence was only a ca- 
 tenation of agony and despair; as we 
 might easily imagine, by observing every 
 where on our road the forlorn, wretched 
 appearance of the huts, and the miserable, 
 famished condition of» at least, seven-tenths 
 of the inhabitants of the places through 
 which we had passed. 
 
 As this was a lamentable and very obvious 
 truth, but entirely out of the power of two 
 obscure and impotent individuals to remedy 
 or to remove, we contented ourselves with 
 recommending them to a patient reliance 
 on the providence of that God, in whose 
 hands are the issues of life and death, and 
 to look forward with humble hope to better 
 days, when their tears should be wiped 
 away, and their oppressors punished, as soon 
 as the measure of their iniquities was full. 
 
 Indeed it would have been cruel and ab- 
 surd to hold out to them any hopes of see- 
 ing their condition made better in this 
 world ; for who is to do it ? Individuals, 
 however wealthy, and however benevo- 
 lently inclined, can do but very little 
 
^be State of the Poor hinted at, \5 
 
 ^ towards alleviating the aggregate burden of 
 misery, which presses the great body of the 
 ppor to the dust. Individuals may give 
 money to reUeve the urgent and immediate 
 distresses of the poor in their neighbour- 
 hood ; but this, though a sacred and indis- 
 pensable duty incumbent upon the rich, 
 is only a mere temporary expedient. Still, 
 the great mass of the indigent groan under 
 weights of misery and affliction, which the 
 hand of private charity alone cannot 
 remove. 
 
 It is the government of a kingdom alone 
 that can render the situation of the poor 
 permanently better. Oh ! it would be a deed 
 of justice and of mercy, on which angels 
 might lean from heaven to contemplate 
 ■with pleasure, and to view with compla- 
 cency, if, amidst the enormous multiplicity 
 \)f their continually accumulating laws, and 
 their incessant votings of uncounted mil- 
 • lions, merely to decorate a small number of 
 individuals with the trifling trappings of 
 external state, and the gawdy glare of cum- 
 brous and unwieldy pomp, the rulers of this 
 nation v/ould pass it into a law, w^culd 
 make it an inherent and mdistrjicttble part of 
 
1 6 The State of the Poor hhite^I at. 
 
 our consthutmiy that all the poor might pos- 
 sess the opportunities of early, moral, and 
 religious and useful instruction ; and he en- 
 abled, by a more just and equitable dispen- 
 sation of the blessings of civilized institu- 
 tions, to earn the means of existence for 
 themselves, their wives, and little ones, in 
 plenty, peace, comfort, and security, by the 
 daily exertions of honest and well-directed 
 industry ! ! ! 
 
 This would be, at once, to f^trlke at the 
 root of the evil, and to cut off the very 
 sources of its existence ; would, at once, 
 serve as a broad and sure basis, upon which 
 private and individual charity might build 
 its benevolent exertions, without the mor- 
 tification of seeing:, as is too often now the 
 case, their endeavours entirely frustrated ; or, 
 at least, very much lessened in their bene- 
 volent effects, by the helplessness and vice 
 of an uneducated and uninstructcd people, 
 and by the oppressive load of an injudicious 
 and mistakenly-directed administration of 
 government ; an administration, w hich 
 seems not to know that it is the very 
 essence of political wisdom to strengthen 
 the loins of the people, to teach them 
 
The State cf'the Poor hinted aK 17 
 
 habits of virtue, to give theiTi the means of 
 plenty and of happiness, to bind their hearts 
 to their country by the indissoluble ties of 
 gratitude and affection^ that the executive 
 and legislative authority might secure to 
 itself the surest bulwark of defence, against 
 the assaults of danger, in the firm and steady 
 attachment of a virtuous people, who knov^ 
 and feel that they are indebted to the pa- 
 rental care of a mild and equitable govern- 
 ment for the most inestimable of all bless- 
 ings, an encouragement and protection to 
 enable them to cultivate the only perennial 
 source of happiness, domestic peace and do^ 
 mestlc comfort. 
 
 But what right have we to expect such a 
 blessed and heavenly disposition in the go- 
 vernment of Great Britain ? Have we not 
 seen her' load the people from age to age 
 with the burden o( everlasting debt ? Have 
 not the spires of her churches, and the tur- 
 rets of her palaces, for many a generation, 
 sparkled in the skies and glittered to the 
 sun ? Have not her princes and her lords 
 possessed all that unbounded w^ealth and 
 extended authority could bestows for cen- 
 tury heaped upon century ? Has not the 
 
 \OL. II. c 
 
IB The State of the Poor hinted at. 
 
 magnitude of her commerce whitened all 
 the seas of the globe with the sai^s of trade, 
 and poured a continually-Increasing tide of 
 riches into tlie nation, so that the Thames, 
 like another Pactolus, may be denominated 
 a river of gold ? Have not her armies and 
 her fleets sounded the terror of the British 
 name, and displayed the standard of British 
 valour, in every corner of the earth, in re- 
 gions glowing under the line and freezing 
 at the pole ? Has not her agriculture and her 
 manufactures evinced a degree of perfection, 
 ^vhich rival nations have considered as un- 
 attainable, and gazed upon w^ith envy ? 
 
 And is it not notorious, that the great 
 body of the people, whose toil upholds all 
 this- glittering show, are, even in this our 
 day of boasted wisdom and of science, in 
 this ^ge of philanthropy and of charity, em- 
 brutified in Ignorance, and its inseparable 
 concomitant vice ? Are they not ground 
 down to the very dregs of vitality, and to 
 the exhaustion of existence, by incessant 
 and unremitted toll, by scanty and preca^ 
 rious food? Are they not neglected, op- 
 pressed, and Insulted by those who are the 
 workmanship of the same God, who are 
 
ne State of the Poor hinted at. I9 
 
 formed of the same materials, made of the 
 sam.e perishable clay, and stamped in the 
 same mold, fashioned in the same linea- 
 ments of divinity ? Are not their habitations 
 the narrow and contracted abodes of filth, 
 of penury, of disease, of decay, and of an- 
 guish ? Are not their bodies bent and their 
 spirits broken by one continued chain of 
 hopeless misery? Are they not degraded and 
 debased by all that they see, and all that 
 they feel, and all that they hear? Is not to 
 them every sense only an inlet to wretched- 
 ness, only an avenue to agony ? And, to 
 crown all, to stamp the perfection of de- 
 spair upon their souls, have they not conti- 
 nually before their eyes the long perspective 
 of misery, which inevitably awaits the 
 earthly career of their little babes, who are 
 brought into existence amidst anguish and 
 tribulation, are nurtured in pain and in 
 want, and have no other companions of their 
 terrestrial journey, from the cradle to the 
 grave, but barren sorrow and irretrievable 
 destitution, the coldness of neglect and the 
 bitterness of contempt, a body worn down 
 with toil and with famine, and pining with 
 the slow-wastingof disease, and a mind ttn- 
 c 2, 
 
20 Tbf State of the Poor hinted at. 
 
 illumined by the beams of knowledge, and 
 uncheered by the mild radiance of religion ? 
 This is no imaginary picture, no carica- 
 ture stretched and over-drawn beyond the 
 life by the hand of an ardent and a heated 
 imagination. Let every one who doubts the 
 accuracy of the portrait, only examine the 
 condition of the poor in his own neighbour- 
 hood ; and, if he has a heart to feel, and 
 a head to comprehend, he will see and will 
 lament the wretched situation of those 
 hapless victims of want and of neglect, w ho 
 have no one to cry unto for help. With 
 what delight would every good man turn 
 the eye of gratitude and of applause upon 
 the government of his country, if it could 
 but be prevailed upon to deviate from its 
 accustomed routine of cold and insipid 
 pomp, of thoughtless and of phrcnzied ex- 
 travagance, into a measure so full of jus- 
 tice and of mercy, ^s permafiently to amelio- 
 rate the lot of the poor \ if they would, but 
 for once, make an experiment of compas- 
 sion, and substitute the generous feelings of 
 a heart warm with benevolence, and glow- 
 ing with philanthropy, in the stead of the 
 callous and frigid calculations of a head 
 
The State of the Pocr hinted at, 2 1 
 
 stuffed with political chicanery and syste- 
 matic falsehood ! ! ! 
 
 But of that, now, no more. Why shouM 
 I 'indulge the fleeting gleam of fallacious 
 hope only to feel more poignantly the pangs 
 of mocked expectation, to experience more 
 acutely the bitterness of disappointment ? 
 Let those, who disregard all this, read, if 
 they can, without emotion, the following 
 obser\'ations of a philosopher, who lived 
 under the ancient regime of France. 
 
 '^ On croit communement que les cam- 
 pagnes sont ruinees par les corvces, les im- 
 positions, et sur-tout par celle des tallies ; 
 je conviendrai volontiers qu' el les sont tres- 
 oncreuses : 11 ne faut cepcndant pas imagi- 
 ner que la seule suppression de cet impot 
 rendit la condition des paysans fort-heurcuse. 
 Dans beaucoup de provinces, la journ^e est 
 de hiiit sols, 
 
 *' Or, de ces huit sols, si je deduis rim- 
 position de Teglise, c'est a dire, a peu pres 
 quatre-vingt-dix fetes ou dimanches, et peut- 
 etrc une trentaine de jours dans I'annee ou 
 Touvrier est incommode, sans ouvrage, ou 
 employe aux corvees, 11 ne lul reste, Tun 
 portant I' autre, que six sols par jmir: taut 
 C3 
 
22 77^«? State of the Poor h'mted at. 
 
 qu'll est gar9on, je veux que ces six sols four- 
 nissent a sa depensc, le nourrissent, le ve- 
 tent, k logent ; des qu'il sera marie, ces six 
 sols ne pourront plus lui suffire, parce que, 
 dans Ics premieres annees du marriage, la 
 femme, entieremerit occupce a soigner ou i 
 allaiter scs enfans, nc peut rien gagner : sup- 
 posons qu on lui fit alors remise cntiere de 
 sa taille, c'est-a-dire cinq ou six francs, il 
 auroit a peu pres un Hard de plus a depen- 
 ser par jour, or cc liard ne changcroit sure* 
 ment rien a sa situation: que faudroit-il 
 done faire pour la rendre heureuse ? hausser 
 considerablement le prix des journees. 
 
 '^ Pour cet effet il faudroit que Ics seig- 
 neurs vecussent habituellement dans leurs 
 tcrres : a I'example de leurs pcrcs, ils re- 
 compenseroient les services de leurs domes- 
 tiques par le don de quelques arpens de terre • 
 le nombre des proprietaires augmenteroit 
 insensiblement ; celui des journaliers dimi- 
 nueroit ; et ces derniers, devenus plus raresj, 
 mettroient leur peine a plus haut prix. 
 
 '^ II est blen singulier que les pays 
 vantes par leur luxe etleur police soient les 
 pays oil le plus grand nombre des hommes 
 est plus malheureux que ne Ic-sont les na- 
 
"The Slate of the Poor hinted at, 23 
 
 tions sauvages, si meprisees dcs nations po- 
 licees. Qui doute que I'etat du sauvagQ 
 ne soit preferable a celui du paysan ? Le 
 §auvage n'a point, comme lui, a craindte ^ 
 prison, la surcharge des impots, la vexation 
 d'vm seigneur, le pouvoir arbitraire d'un 
 subdelegue ; il n'est point perpetuellement 
 humilie et abruti par la presence journalierc 
 d'homrnes plus riches et plus puissans que 
 lui ; sans supericur, sans servitude, plus ro- 
 buste que le paysan parce qu'il est plus heu- 
 reux, il jouit du bonheur de Tegalite, et 
 s;ur-toi:|t du bien inestimable de la liberte, 
 si inutilement reclamee par la plupart des 
 nations. 
 
 *' Dans les pays poUces Tart de la legis-^ 
 lation n'a souvent consiste qu a faire con- 
 courir une infinite d'homrnes au bonheur 
 d'un petit nombre ; a tenir, pour cet effct, 
 la multitude dans I'oppression, et a violer 
 envers elle tons les droits de Thumanite. 
 
 *' Cependant, Je vrai esprit legislatif ne , 
 devroit s'occuper que du bonheur general. 
 Pour procurer ce bonheur aux hommes, 
 peut-etre faudroit-il les approcher de la vie 
 de pasteur; peut-etre les decouvertes en le- 
 gislation nous rameneront-elles, a cet egard^ 
 C4 
 
f 
 
 24 Ihe State of the Poor hinted at. 
 
 au point dVm Ton est d'abord parti. Non 
 que je veuille decider unc question si deli- 
 cate, et qui exigcroit Texamcn Ic plus pro- 
 fond : mais j'avoue qu*il est bien etonnant 
 que tant de formes difFerentcs de gouverne- 
 ment etablies du moins sous le pretexte du 
 bien publique, que tant de loix, tant de re- 
 glements, n'aicnt ete, chcz la plupart des 
 peuples, que des instruments de I'infortune 
 des hommes. 
 
 " Peut-etre ne peut-on echn.pper a ce 
 malheur, sans revenir a des moeurs infini- 
 ment plus simples. Je sens bien qu'il 
 faudroit alors renoncer a une infinite de 
 plaisirs dont on ne pent se d-^tacher sans 
 peine, mais ce sacrifice ceperidant scroit un 
 devoir, si le bien general Texigeolt. N'cst- 
 on pas meme en droit de soup^onner que 
 Textreme f.licite de quelques particuliers 
 est toujours attachee au malheur du plus 
 grand nombre ? Verite assez heureusement 
 exprimee par ces deux vers sur Ics sau- 
 vages :" 
 
 *' Chpz eux est taut comnjiun, chez eux tout est egal, 
 " Comme ils sont sans palais, ils sont sans hopital." 
 
 The following anecdote w^ill not be lost 
 
The Sinte of the Peer hinted at, 25 
 
 upon those v/ho are apt to put two ideas 
 together, and appretiate things at their true 
 value, with a judgment unwarped by pre- 
 judice, and unbiassed by interest : 
 
 " Je ne puis m'empecher de rapporter 
 encore a ce sujet un fait assez plaisant : c'est 
 la reponse d'un Anglois a un ministre d'etat. 
 Kien de plus ridicule, disoit le ministre aux 
 courtisans, que la maniere dont se tient le 
 conseil chez quelques nations negres. Re- 
 presentez vous une chambre d'assemblee, ou 
 sont placees une douzaine de grandes 
 cruches ou jarres a moitie pleines d'eau: 
 c'est la que, nuds et pas grave, se rendent 
 nn douzaine de conseillers d'etat : arrives 
 dans cette chambre, chacun saute dans sa 
 cruche, s'y enfonce jusq'au cou; et c'est 
 dans cette posture qu'on opine et qu'on 
 delibere syr les affaires d'etat. Mais vous 
 ne riez pas? dit le ministere au seigneur le 
 plus pres de lui. C'est, repondit-il, qucjc 
 vois tons les jours quelque chose de plus 
 plaisant encore. Quoi done? reprit le mi- 
 nistre. — C'est im pays oil les cruches feules tien* 
 neut conseil, 
 
 ^' Ces errcurs sont plus multipUecs q:L on ne 
 p^nse. On sait ce conte d'un Suisse ; oa 
 
20 Our reception at Dunkeld, 
 
 lui avoit conslcrne unc porte des Tuillerie% 
 avec defense d'y laisscr cntrer pcrsonnc. Ua 
 bourgeois s'y presentc: — On n enire pohit^ — 
 lui dit Ic • Suisse. — Aus^i, — repcnd Ic bour- 
 geois, — -]e nc veux point e7itrer, via'is sortir 
 seulemeyit du pont vox ah — Ah ! sH sagit de 
 sortir, — reprend le Suisse, — monsieur voiis 
 pouvcz passer. — Qui le croiroit ? cc conte est 
 Thistoire du peuplc Romain. Cesar se pre% 
 sente dans la place publique, il veut s*y faire 
 couronner; et Ics Romalns faute d'attach^i^ 
 des idees precise an mot de ray ante, lui accor-. 
 dent, sous le nom Simper at or, la puissance, 
 qu'ils lui refusent sous le nom de rf^. 
 
 " Ce que je dis des Romains peut gene* 
 ralement sappliquer d^ toi,iS les div^7is et, a tons^ 
 le conseik dfs primes''' 
 
 As soon as we were landed on the Dun- 
 keld side of the Ferry, we besought our 
 companions to point out to us some public 
 house, where we might obtain a lodging 
 for the night. They, immediately, led us 
 to the door of a house, whose sign I forget, 
 belonging to George M'Diarmaid, at about 
 half past ten o'clock at night. We entered 
 directly into the kitchen; Cowan, as usual, 
 
Our reception at Bu72keld, Sll 
 
 bringing up the rear, and the sailor in the 
 hairy cap charging in the van. We saw, 
 standing in the middle of the room, a very 
 decent, cleanly-looking, ingenuous, and 
 open countenanced woman, whom I imme- 
 diately began to assail with the accustomed 
 tongue battery, of mere bother, which 
 serves to astonish and to delight those, who 
 are pleased with a discourse exactly in pro- 
 portion as they do not understand its 
 import and meaning; which, by the bye, is 
 the case with, by far, the great majority of 
 mankind, who are altogether bridled, reined, 
 curbed, whipped, lashed, and spurred by 
 those whose business it is to bruit into their 
 ears sentiments and doctrines which they 
 cannot comprehend, and therefore are re- 
 quired implicitly to credit, according to th(3 
 old and well-known definition of faith, credo, 
 quia hnpossihik est, — 1 believe, because it is 
 impossible. 
 
 The good woman stared, as well she 
 might, at our entrance, and questioned us, 
 but with good humour and artless simpli- 
 city, as to our business, and asked what we 
 wanted. — I answered, that we were two 
 American sailors, who were going to Blair 
 
C8 (5«r reception at Dunkeld. 
 
 Athol, and wished to have a night's lodging 
 under her roof; that I was well assured, 
 from seeing the honesty and kindness ex- 
 pressed in her honny countenance, that she 
 would not refuse a place of rest to two 
 poor, lame, crippled, hungry laddies, who 
 had been able to obtain but very little food 
 during the w^hole day, and were now faint 
 for want of nourishment and of rest ; that 
 in the morning we intended to renew our 
 journey, after we had seen the famous her- 
 mitage at Dunkeld, 
 
 Finding that my compliment on her 
 countenance was not thrown away, and, in 
 scood truth, her face would bear commen- 
 dation much better than many which I 
 have heard highly flattered in scenes of 
 civilized life, I began to entertain her with 
 an account of some such very marvellous 
 adventures, and astonishing incidents, as 
 made her mouth fly open with wonder, and 
 her eyes thrust themselves forward in 
 aghazcd stupor; through all which, however, 
 I could easily perceive that I had entirely 
 gained her good graces ; more particularly 
 so, when, by incessant-and loud gabble, I had 
 drawn all the neiirhbours from their houses 
 
Our reception at BunkeiJ. 29 
 
 into the room where we were, and the cla- 
 mours, in consequence of this pouring-in of 
 thirsty and curious animals, for liquor, be- 
 came so frequent, that the tap was conti- 
 nually kept in motion, to the no small satis- 
 faction and emolument of our worthy 
 hostess. 
 
 Our auditors expressed their admiration 
 and applause of us and our narration, by re- 
 peated draughts of beer, drunken for the 
 express purpose, as it should seem, of pro- 
 moting our health and w^elfare, which they 
 all vehemently assevercd that they wished, 
 and washed down every wish with a fresh 
 ingurgitation of their delicious beverage. 
 I now intimated to the landlady, that wc 
 were tired, and wanted rest and refreshment; 
 which she no sodner heard, than she smiled 
 and shook us by the hand, and shook us by the 
 hand and smiled, so cordially and so lovingly, 
 that I was afraid she w ould never finish her 
 kindness, and that we should obtain no re- 
 pose that night. 
 
 After awhile, however, she led us into 
 an upper room, plainly furnished, and clean, 
 and presently got us some tea, eggs, milk, 
 butter, barley -bannocs, &c. While we 
 were taking our repast the hostess came into 
 
30 Our reception at Dunkehl, 
 
 our room preceded by her husband, a tall, 
 thin, keen, honest- lookuig man, dressed in 
 bkie clothes, with a variegated bonnet, the 
 colours of which "Were grey, red, and blue, 
 in patches, on his head. He walked into the 
 room, followed at a respectable distance by 
 his wife, over whom he exercised the full 
 authority and sway of patriarchal sove- 
 reignty, and gently inclined his body to- 
 wards us, but still kept on his bonnet, while 
 he took a chair and sate himself down by 
 our sides. 
 
 His wife did not presume to sit down, 
 but stood at the back of his chair, and 
 every now and then asked us some artless 
 question about our travels, which wc an- 
 swered as occasion might require. I could 
 not but smile to see M*Diarmaid take fre- 
 quent opportunities of showing that he was 
 absolute king and lord in his own domains ; 
 for he would bid his w4fe hold her tongue, 
 when sh<5 was in the midst of asking some 
 question, and, more than once, he actually 
 sent her out of the room, for something, or 
 for nothing, while she was listening with all 
 her might to our narrations, and endea- 
 vouring to treasure up in her memory the 
 
Our reception at DunkeM. S 1 
 
 accounts which we gave, and the major 
 part of w^hich she could not possibly 
 comprehend. 
 
 On the whole, however, after he had 
 shown that his wife was his servant, the 
 host was very easy and complacent, and 
 allowed the poor woman to gratify her cu- 
 riosity by asking a great deal about Ame- 
 rica ; whether it Was as big as Dunkeld or 
 not; what kind of people lived there; what 
 they did, &c\ &c, ; to all which I was about 
 to reply, when her husband prevented me 
 by saying, — What do you ask such foolish 
 questions for ! don't you see what kind of 
 people the Americans are ! are not these tvoo 
 sailors something like us P Besides, do not 
 many of the Highlanders go and live in 
 America; did not cousin TJiomas go there 
 himself hut last year P 
 
 This judicious answxr of the host quite 
 satisfied the woman, and she, then, began 
 to examine our map of Scotland, which lay 
 on the table ; and, after poring over it for 
 some minutes, expressed her delight, with a 
 smile of the most artless and unsophisticated 
 simplicity, that she had found out, and 
 could put her finger on, the precise spot in 
 
 3 
 
S2 Our reception at Bunkeld. 
 
 the chart where Dunkcid was situated, and 
 also the place where she and her husband 
 were born, and where they were married, 
 the names of which I now forget. 
 
 This discovery put both her and her lord 
 and master into such excellent glee, that 
 they forthwith told us all their history, their 
 birth, parentage, life, and education, up to 
 the present hour. All which contained 
 nothing very remarkable, nothing much 
 differing from others in their situation ; 
 only, that they were both born in poverty, 
 both grew up together and loved one 
 another, and that she had a little money 
 left her by some relation, which enabled 
 them to set up a public- house ; in addition 
 to which, he was a carrier of parcels in a 
 cart from Dunkcid to Blair Athol ; that by 
 these means they were enabled to provide 
 subsistence for themselves decently and in 
 plenty, which was more than could be done ^ 
 by the poor, who had nothing else to sup- 
 port them but their daily labour. For they 
 said it was impossible for us to imagine 
 under what hardships the poor in that 
 country laboured, being often^ literally, in 
 
Our" reception at Dunkeld, 33 
 
 \vant of bread to supply the craving of their 
 children. 
 
 Indeed, wherever we went, we found all 
 the people in the same story, as to the con- 
 dition of the poor, which I was, then, in 
 hopes might have been confined to this 
 corner of the kingdom ; but I have since 
 learned that it is the same all over the na- 
 tion. For the other day, as I was walking 
 in St. James's Park, I saw the following 
 paper, printed in large characters, stuck up 
 against a wall not far from the Horse- 
 guards.—— 
 
 ^^ Wanted in the third regiment of 
 Guards, belonging to the Prince of Wales, 
 and commanded by Sir W. Fawcett, K. B. 
 and Governor of Chelsea Hospital, some 
 active young men, who will receive eight 
 guineas bounty, and every necessary equip- 
 ment of clothes, arms, &a In this regi- 
 ment the young men will find every encou- 
 ragement, and all due promotion ; and the 
 old, worn-out, disabled soldier, a safe asy- 
 lum, either in Chelsea hospital, or else- 
 w^here, a provision for himself and family. 
 By the care and attention of the officers the 
 privates in this regiment are superior in pay 
 
 VOL. II, D 
 
34 Oii/" reception at Bunkeld. 
 
 and comfort to the wages and hardships of day^ 
 
 lahourers, journeymen, and small shopkeepers,'* 
 
 That the officers are kind and attentive 
 to their men, and that the young soldier is 
 promoted and encouraged, and the disabled 
 veteran provided for, certainly redound very 
 greatly to the honour of the British nation. 
 For, surely, those who shed their blood, 
 and consume the flower of their lives in the 
 service of their country, ought to be libe- 
 rally rew^arded, and honourably encouraged. 
 But why that unmanly insult on the 
 wretched and degraded state of the poor, to- 
 wards the close of this extraordinary adver- 
 tisement? Why industriously obtrude upon 
 the public the most distressing of all truths, 
 that the great mass of the people are ground 
 down to the very dregs of penury and 
 want ? 
 
 Why is it, that t he wages a?id hardships of 
 day-labourers are so nmch worse than the pay 
 and comfort of a private soldier P Surely, no 
 good man, who really is interested in the 
 well-being of his country, can answer this 
 question w^ith any satisfaction to himself. 
 It is the duty of every nation to provide li- 
 berally and abundantly for its soldiery, be- 
 
A well-known fact commented on, 25 
 
 cause the duties which they discharge, and 
 the services which they perform, are of 
 great importance to the state ; but it does 
 not, therefore, follow, that the great majo- 
 rity of a people [and the day-labourers, jour" 
 7iejymen, and small shopkeepers, make seven- 
 tcnths of a nation) should be so wretchedly 
 situated as to make the lot of a private soldier 
 an object of envy and of longing after. 
 
 The government of a country would 
 consult its own permanent interest more by 
 permitting the great body of the people to 
 earn a plentiful and a comfortable mode of 
 existence, by the exertions of their industry, 
 than by starving them into the knowledge 
 of their condition being below that of a pri- 
 vate soldier ; because, from the industry of 
 the people must primarily flow all the na- 
 tional revenues, which support and keep in 
 motion the great machine of government. 
 And if this industry is paralysed by despair 
 and hopeless misery, where are the taxes to 
 be drawn from ? 
 
 Not from the soldiery, who are them- 
 selves a very heavy, though in some in- 
 i5tances a necessary, tax upon the country ; 
 D % 
 
36 A well htoivn fact commented on, 
 
 nor from the clergy ; nor from the gentry ;- 
 nor from the nobiUty ; all whose power 
 and whose very existence is upheld by the 
 toil of these very day-lahowcrs, journey me7iy 
 and small shopkeepers ; who, we arc told by 
 an advertisement, printed in large charac- 
 ters, and stuck up against a wall in a public 
 walk, that such a truth may not be con- 
 cealed from any one, live in a situation in- 
 fcrior io the pay and comfort of a private sol- 
 dier ; so great are their hardships y and so scanty 
 are their wages. 
 
 It is to be hoped, for the sake of decency, 
 of humanity, and of common sense, that 
 such an egregious insult upon the misery of 
 the people may never again be suffered to 
 be printed and publicly pasted against the 
 wall of a frequented walk. If wc must go 
 down to the grave under all the accumu- 
 lated horrors of pain, and want, and hunger, 
 and disease, let us, at least, not be denied 
 the small gratification of perishing in secret 
 and in silence ; let not our wretchedness be 
 industriously exposed to the rude gaze and 
 the> unhallowed mockery of every one that 
 passes along the streets ; let not our sorrows 
 be. aggravated; by being continually told, in 
 
J w£ll-known fact commented oh. 37 
 
 the most public of all manners, even by ad* 
 rertisements pasted up against the walls, . 
 that our wages and hardships render our si- 
 tuation worse than the pay and comfort of a 
 private soldier. Why increase the forlorn 
 state of our condition, by telling us, that we 
 shall be much better off by going to he shot 
 at for a shiUifig a day, than by following the 
 callings of our daily labour f" 
 
 Poverty has something, in itself, so 
 shocking and degrading, that most men will 
 rather submit to any misery than have their 
 penury, in its full extent, made known to 
 others ; and while this decent and salutary 
 pride remains, they will exert every nerve, 
 and struggle incessantly so to provide for 
 themselves and their families, that they 
 might not appear to be poor. Very manv 
 will bear, with patience, actual poverty; 
 but none, who arc not lost to all sense of 
 shame, will willingly submit to the public 
 imputation of being poor. 
 
 Hence, then, is seen, how very injudi- 
 cious is this method of inviting people to 
 become soldiers. It first exasperates, and 
 then hardens, all the best feeluigs of their 
 heart ; all those feelings of virtue, w^hich fit 
 
 i> 3 
 
38 A welU known fact commented on, 
 
 men to becpme good citizens and good 
 subjects, ready and willing to die in defence 
 of the dearest blessings of civilized society. 
 It alienates the affections of the husband 
 from his wife, because it publicly tells him, 
 that, since his wages and hardships are such 
 as to render his own existence wretched, 
 she must add to the burden of his misery 
 by consuming part of the scanty pittance, 
 which is not sufficient for himsclt, It sets 
 the heart of the father against his babes, by 
 shewing to him the darkened length of 
 present and of prospective misery, which 
 they entail upon him by detracting a por- 
 tion from his already too contracted wages. 
 It destroys the affection of the son for his 
 parents, because he is compelled to see, that 
 that they cannot provide him vyith the ne- 
 cessary requisites of existence. It arms the 
 hatred qf brother against brother, by point- 
 ing out the impossibility of their being both 
 maintained by a prpyisioi>, which is insuffi- 
 cient even for one. 
 
 Thus ate ^11 the great links, which bind 
 the sacred and hs^llow^d charities oi htisband, 
 father, son, and brother, round the human 
 heart, rent asunder by this cruel declaration. 
 
A well-known fact commented on, 3g 
 
 that the pay a?td comforts of a private soldier, 
 are superior to the wages and hardships of day - 
 labourers, journeymeny ayid small shopkeepers. 
 For those, who have families, seeing now 
 that it is publicly and industriously dis- 
 played to all the world, that they are in a 
 wretched state of penury and degradation, 
 will, since the great incentive to proper 
 conduct, self respect, is thus taken from 
 them, leave their wives and their little ones, 
 and become soldiers : and those, who have 
 not families, will prefer the superior comfort 
 and pay of a soldier to the wages and hard^ 
 ships of lahour, particularly when rendered 
 additionally forbidding by the certainty of 
 those wages being lessened, and those hard- 
 ships being augmented by the accession of a 
 wife, and the existence of children. 
 
 Eut it is only by an attention to domestic 
 virtues, that man is rendered a good citizen 
 and a good subject. A mere hireling mi- 
 litary machine, that has no bond of attach- 
 ment and affection to link him to his coun- 
 try and its laws, cannot be depended on 
 when the hour of danger shakes those laws 
 and alarms that country. While he receives 
 his pay, perhaps, he will continue to follow 
 p 4 
 
40 ^ well-known fact commented on, 
 
 his trade in the service of his pay-masters ; 
 but, from whatever circumstance, let that 
 pay fail, or be much diminished, and where is 
 the confidence to be placed in these beings? 
 Will they not be the first to lift the sword 
 and to point the bayonet against the breasts 
 of their employers ? 
 
 Not so with him, who knows that his 
 interest is intimately connected with that 
 of the state ; who, when he fights for the 
 government of his country, fights for that 
 which protects and supports to him all that 
 can render life desirable, namely, the power 
 of providing comfortably and plent fully for 
 lilmstlf his wfe, and his little ones. A mere 
 soldier fights for pay, and when that pay is 
 not forthcoming, he fights no longer; such 
 a being is an arrant trader in hlood. But he 
 who unites in his own person the exalted 
 characters of citizen and soldier, will never 
 quit the defence of his country and its go- 
 vernment, because, in fact, their protection 
 is his protection. Where shall he go, and 
 where shall he find a spot, w^hich is better 
 worth dying to defend, than the country 
 that contains all for which life is worth 
 possessing ? 
 
 3 
 
A well-kno'wn fact commented on, 4 1 
 But telling to the great mass of the peo-? 
 pie that their wages and hardships are such 
 as to render the lite of a soldier a desirable 
 object, is, in fact, telling them that they have 
 nothing worth fighting for ; because it is 
 telling them, that they are ground down to 
 the very dregs of bitterness and want. Be- 
 sides, this step is very impolitic ; because it 
 tends directly to create an enmity in the 
 minds of the people towards the soldiery, 
 by compelling them to form an invidious 
 comparison between the superior pay and com^ 
 fort of a soldier y and the wages and Jiardships 
 of a day-lahoiirer, a journeyman, and a small 
 sJiopkeeper, All the people in a kingdom 
 •^annot be soldiers ; for the actual existence 
 of the kingdom depends upon the industry 
 and productive labour of the poor : but sol- 
 diers are not productive labourers ; they con- 
 sume the fruits of the industry of others, 
 without any return w^hich raises revenue to 
 the government or increases the plenty of 
 -the nation. 
 
 Consequently, those who are not soldiers 
 must envy those who are, since they are 
 condemned to live in a much more 
 wretched cind indigent state. Now, it does 
 
42 A well-known fact commented on. 
 
 not require much political wisdom to dis- 
 cover, that the character of the citizen 
 should never be lost in that of the soldier ; 
 and, above all, that the military should 
 always be looked upon with the utmost 
 esteem and veneration, as men, who expose 
 themselves to every hazard and to death for 
 the sake of protecting their fellow-subjects 
 from the unprincipled ambition and iniqui- 
 tous designs of those enemies, whether fo- 
 reign or domestic, who would willingly de- 
 stroy our government, annihilate our laws, 
 and plunge us in all the indescribabk hor- 
 rors of a bloody and a phrenzied revolution. 
 Ten thousand other objections to this in^ 
 judicious advertisement are, at this moment, 
 crov/ding into my brain, but I will suppress 
 them ; and, indeed, I should not have said 
 so much, as I have done, upon it, but that 
 I wished to inculcate the necessity of treat- 
 ing the heavy and enormous distresses of the 
 poor with decency at least, if not with re- 
 spect. Sorrow is sacred ; and, surely, it is in^ 
 cumbent on those, who lay grievous burdens 
 on the shoulders of the people, not to aggra- 
 vate those burdens, by wanton mockery and 
 licentious insult ; not to tdl them that full 
 
j^ well-known fact commented on, 43 
 
 seven-tenths of the nation are in such a pi- 
 tiable state of degradation, that all their ex- 
 ertions cannot render their condition equal 
 to that of a private soldier. 
 
 Would it not be more consistent with 
 justice and humanity to invite the people to 
 become soldiers, by telling them, at once, 
 and fairly, what they are to expect, and 
 why their assistance is necessary ? That it 
 is incumbent on them, now, at this critical 
 moment, to rally round the government of 
 their country, in order to protect it against 
 the attacks of an insidious and implacable 
 enemy, whose ambition and want of all 
 principle prompt him to seek to destroy the 
 British const it uti 071 y and to reduce England to 
 slavery; that it behoves them, by every thing 
 which is dear and honourable amongst men, 
 to stand forward in defence of their coun- 
 try, and its established government ; tlieir 
 homes, their wives, their children, their 
 parents, their friends, and whatever else 
 can be an object of affection, of esteem, 
 and of regard ? 
 
 Would not this, think you, (provided, 
 indeed, that all this could be said with 
 truth, and the rulers of the nation really 
 
44 Our reception at Dunkeld. 
 
 consulted the well-being of the people,) be 
 more likely to warm the hearts of the sons 
 of Britain with the glow of patriot zeal, 
 than pasting up against the walls of our 
 public walks, as an inducement to enter 
 the army, an advertisement denoting, that 
 the pay (ind comfort of a private soldier are pre^ 
 ferahle to the wages and the hardships of day- 
 Iflhourers, of journeymen, and of small shop- 
 hep ers ^ 
 
 As our hosts countenance appeared to be 
 more illumined with knowledge than those 
 pf people, who are so circumstanced as he 
 is, generally are, we were in hopes of being 
 able to obtain some information respecting 
 the state of the country : but in this hope 
 we were deceived, and found that we over-* 
 rated the talents and acquirements of honest 
 M'Dlarmaid, when we expected to learn 
 from him aught, save the petty detail of the 
 few incidents which occurred immediately 
 under his own roof, or within the narrow 
 verge of his contracted circle of acquaint 
 tancc. 
 
 We were particularly earnest in our 
 inquiries about Burns, the immortal bard 
 
Our reception at Dunkeld, 45 
 
 of Caledonia. Here a gleam of transient 
 light burst in upon us; for the host declared 
 that he knew Burns very well ; and, indeed, 
 had long been his intimate friend. He is 
 as honest, and hearty a fellow, as ever lived, 
 - — quoth the landlord, — he gets drunk, here, 
 hi viy house, regularly, every market day^ 
 throughout the year. 
 
 We stared at this speech, and replied, 
 - — What ! Burns get drunk with you every 
 market day ! Why, he has been dead some 
 years, my good friend ; there must be some 
 mistake in all this. — Upon further examina-* 
 tion, and after explaining ourselves more 
 minutely, we discovered, that our host had 
 been, all this time, amusing himself and 
 edifying us with recounting the exploits of 
 a worthy hutcher in the vicinage, who hap- 
 pened to bear the same name as that which 
 Burns has engraved upon the tablets of 
 immortality ! 
 
 Alter awhile we prevailed on our land-- 
 lord to defer any Information with which 
 he might be desirous of benefiting our minds 
 till the next day, and intimated our wish 
 of retiring to rest. We were, accordingly, 
 shown up another pair of stairs^ into a room. 
 
46 Otir reception at Dunkeld, 
 
 the furniture of which was old, but neat 
 and decent ; and we enjoyed, in clean and 
 comfortable linen, the unspeakable luxury 
 of a mobt refreshing night's rest. 
 
 On the morning of August 9, we rose, 
 with a light heart, and an invigorated 
 frame, and sallied out in order to bathe in 
 the river Tay, which had now found a 
 deeper and a more extended bed, in which 
 to roll its fertilizing streams. We repaired 
 to a very convenient spot, close by the duke 
 of AthoFs walled pleasure-ground ; but 
 Cowan objected to our bathing there, be- 
 cause, at no great distance, down on the 
 same side of the river, stood a strapping, 
 brawny lass in the act of washing some pans 
 and kettles. Of this lovely, dirty damsel, 
 we asked whether wx could easily wade 
 over to the other side ; to which inquiry 
 she answered, that the water a little lower 
 down was not hiee highy for she had often 
 crossed it herself 
 
 Accordingly, we pulled off our stockings 
 and shoes, and I immediately determined to 
 cross the river with my usual precipitation, 
 which generally prompts me to do a. thing 
 first, and, afterwards, to thi^tk about it* 
 
Our reception at Dunkeld, 47 
 
 that is, in other words, first, to run my 
 head foul of some mischief, and then re- 
 flect upon the means of extricating myself 
 out of the difficulty, which a very small por- 
 tion of discretion would have prevented 
 from ever befalling me. Cowan, who 
 possesses much more savhig wisdom, waited 
 very quietly, with his shoes and stockings 
 under his arm, to see the issue of this hasty 
 mancruvre of mine. 
 
 I had not proceeded fifteen yards in my 
 passage across the river, before I fell souse, 
 head and ears, into a deep hole, to the great 
 diversion of the wench, who had directed 
 me where to cross the water, and the no 
 small entertainment of many standers-by 
 that lined the shore, and had come down to 
 the banks of the river for the express pur- 
 pose of seeing and gazing at the Iwo Amerl- 
 can sailors, who arrived at Dunkeld on the 
 preceding evening. By this unexpected 
 plunge I was very nearly suffocated, and 
 grievously incommoded by swallowing a 
 great abundance of water, for I went down 
 with my mouth open. 
 
 Nor was this all the inconvenience 
 which I sustained from my hasty descent ; 
 
48 Our reception iit Bunkeld. 
 
 for I cut my right foot (already much bli^-* 
 tcrcd, inflamed, and pained by walking) 
 against a sharp stone ; 1 completely spoiled 
 my watch, into whose works the water 
 found its way to their utter derangement ; 
 I wetted and soaked my map of Scotland 
 thoroughly ; I damaged rhy diary book, 
 which I always carried in the breast-pocket 
 of my jacket ; I lost my soap and towel ; 
 and, in struggling to save myself, one of 
 my shoes, which I carried together with my 
 stockings in my hand, took its leave of me, 
 and departed down the river never to re- 
 turn again. 
 
 These evils were of various magnitudes) 
 and of different consequence as to theit 
 effects : my foot I could cure by rest ; my 
 watch I did not care much about, as it was 
 not particularly requisite that we should 
 regulate our hours of march by the clock> 
 but might halt, or go forw^ard, as we 
 deemed meet, by night or by day, without 
 any restriction ; the places designated oA 
 the chart wxre not so entirely obliterated 
 by the damp as quite to prevent me from 
 traclns; enough of them to direct us on our 
 route; and the injury -of my diary I could 
 
Our reception at DunkeJd. 49 
 
 repair by industry In writing, while every 
 circumstance, which had occurred to us on 
 our journey, and had been recorded, was still 
 vividly impressed upon my recollection with 
 all their genuine glow of native colouring. 
 
 The loss of my towel, also, I could easily 
 repair by purchasing another ; but soap was 
 an article not so very abundant in the 
 Highlands as to justify any indifference or 
 unconcern at its departure ; and the fact is, 
 that it was full four days before we bought 
 any more, which we did at Killin, a town 
 situated at the head or source of Loch-Tay. 
 The absence of my shoe, also, was no slight 
 evil ; for, as I found, by w^oful experience, 
 it was no easy matter to get another at all, 
 and impossible to obtain one, which would 
 not tend to cripple me almost as much as if 
 i continued my tramp bare-footed. 
 
 I was, however, in no very proper situa- 
 tion now for reflection, and I hastened for- 
 ward to reach the opposite shore, w^hich 
 purpose I accomplished, at the expence of 
 two or three more unlucky plunges and 
 duckings. Cowan waited, with his shoes 
 and stockings under his arm, very patiently 
 and cooly w ithal, to see w^hether I intended 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
50 Our reception at Bunkeld. 
 
 to drown myself, or to scramble on to the 
 other side of the river ; and, when he per- 
 ceived, that I had made good my landing, 
 he, very prudently profiting by my mishap, 
 waded in safety lower down the stream, 
 "where the water was so shallow as not to 
 reach higher than the calf of his leg. 
 
 We wandered along a little farther on the 
 side of the river, and then precipitated our- 
 selves into the water ; we swam across to a 
 grotto in Athol's pleasure-ground, where, 
 stuck up against its mossy sides, we saw 
 some common-place morahty couched in 
 rhymes, which, certainly, did not reach 
 above mediocrity. What they were I now 
 know not ; I only remember that at the 
 time I saw them they appeared to me to be 
 worth forgetting. We sate awhile on the 
 grassy bank admiring the beauties of the 
 walks, shaded by lofty and over- arching 
 trees. We again repeated our experiment 
 of shouting, and stone choking, which wc 
 had tried in the stream near Perth ; but 
 with no better success as to ascertaining 
 the practicability of water's conveying 
 sound. We now swam back again to a 
 
Our receptio7i at Dunkeld, S\ 
 
 little plantation where we had deposited 
 our clothes. 
 
 We were scarcely dressed, when our 
 landlord, accompanied by two of his neigh- 
 bours, hailed us, and pointed out another 
 way, different from that in which we came, 
 whereby we might return to our inn. I 
 was obliged to limp along, with one foot 
 bare and naked, through part of AthoFs 
 domains, and somiC of the streets of the 
 town, exposed to the eager gaze of the 
 inhabitants, who flocked to the doors and 
 windows of their houses to see two such 
 sorry skilmahoons as we were, before I could 
 arrive at the public house; where I immedi- 
 ately purchasedof my hostanold shoe,which, 
 though by time and long service it displayed 
 many a tremendous chasm, yet what, with 
 rough manufacture, and a large quantity 
 of iron nails, would have been no con- 
 temptible load for a highland sheltie to drag 
 after him by way of carriage. 
 
 Breakfast being prepared the host and 
 hostess honoured us w 1th their company. I 
 was rather hungry, and made an attempt to 
 appropriate a piece of bannoc to myself^ 
 when M'Diarmaid prevented rne by put- 
 E z 
 
52 Our reception at Dunkeld. 
 
 ting back my hand. I looked up at this 
 manoeuvre, and perceived that he was 
 taking otf his bonnet very reverently, and 
 that his wife wore a very desperately serious 
 aspect. Presently thereafter mine host began 
 a long grace in the Earse, or Gaelic tongue, 
 not one syllable of which I could compre- 
 hend ; however, I managed to look very 
 devout, notwithstanding the ludicrously 
 dismal visasre which both the husband and 
 wife thought it proper to put on for the sake 
 of winning upon the Almighty so much, as 
 to induce him to bless their breakfast. This 
 long prayer being, at length, finished, I be- 
 gan to entertain hopes of having some 
 breakfast, yet I durst not venture upon any 
 ;"nore attacks on the bannock lest the host 
 should actually famish us with another 
 grace ; not to mention, that I could not 
 easily have kept my countenance grave 
 during the whole of a similar exhibition. 
 
 In patient waiting, therefore, w^e sate,, 
 while the landlord, with his fingers, turned 
 over the sugar, which was moist and brown, 
 with two or three whitish lumps on the top, 
 by way of ornament, put a pinch full, as 
 much as he could take up with his fore- 
 
Parking touched upon. 53 
 
 finger and thumb, into his mouth ; aad then, 
 still using his fingers, as better adapted for 
 the purpose than a spoon, heaved what hb 
 thought a sufficient portion into cur cups„ 
 Meanwhile his wife, after putting some tea 
 into the hollow of her hand, and from 
 thence conveying it into the pot, began to 
 slap against her petticoats the bannocks, or 
 thin, large, round, ^at cakes, made of barley- 
 meal, which she had that morning made, 
 in order to rid them of the dust and ashes 
 that flev/ about in great abundance ; which 
 necessary operation beiqg performed, she 
 handed the bannock to her husband, who 
 took the same, and tore down a strip, 
 much resembling a piece of shamois leather 
 in appearance, for each of us, and we dis- 
 cussed our breakfast, not without much 
 edifying discourse passing between our en- 
 tertainers and us. We had another grace- 
 representation, but not so long as the first, 
 whep breakfast was over. 
 
 We learned that the Duke of Athol was 
 endeavouring to lay waste and to depopu- 
 late Dunkeld, in order to increase the ex- 
 tent of his pleasure-gounds and park i 
 £3 
 
si Parking tsuched upon. 
 
 which laudable intention he had already- 
 been enabled partly to execute by divers 
 and sundry means, as refusing to renew 
 leases at their term of expiration and eject- 
 ing the tenants ; by purchasing, from time 
 to time, as opportunity offered, the little 
 freehold spots, &c. &c. for the church, 
 which originally stood in the middle of the 
 town, v;as now close to his Grace's park- 
 w^all ; for nearly half the houses had been 
 pulled down, and their inhabitants driven 
 out upon the world to ro^m in quest of the 
 means of existence in countries less inhos- 
 pitable, and in more genial climes. 
 
 And it seems, that this pious and bene- 
 volent nohlema7t hopes, in the lapse of a few 
 years, to accomplish the entire destruction 
 of the town, considered as a place of resi- 
 dence for human beings, and to become the 
 sole master of every spot of ground and 
 every habitation ; and, no doubt, he will be 
 able to effect this desirable purpose : for 
 what can the more than infantine weak- 
 ness of poverty, and ignorance, and systema- 
 tized subjection, avail in opposition to the 
 insolence of wealth untempered by un- 
 derstanding, and the pride of hereditary 
 
Parking touched upon. 56 
 
 domination undirected by the light of 
 knowledge. 
 
 ^f Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the lawn; 
 Thy sports are fled, and all ihy charms withdrawn. 
 Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen^ 
 And desolation saddens all thy green. 
 One onlv master grasps the whole domain, 
 And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 
 No more thy grassy brook reflects the day. 
 But chok'd with sedges works its weedy way; 
 Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
 The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest. 
 Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies. 
 And tires thy echoes with unvaried cries. 
 Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin ail. 
 And the long grass o'crtops the mouldering wall; 
 And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand. 
 Far, far away, thy children leave the land. 
 E'en now the devastation is begun, 
 And half the business of destruction done; 
 111 fares the land to hastening ills a prey. 
 Where wealth accumulates and men decay. 
 Princes or lords mmj flourish or may fade, 
 A Ireath can make them as a breath has made, 
 But a hold peasantry, their country's pride. 
 When once destroyed can never he supplied*" 
 
 It is a consummation devoutly to be 
 wished, that all those who are blessed with 
 extended wealth, and its inseparabJe at- 
 
 ^4 
 
56 Parking touched upon. 
 
 tendants, Influence and power, could be so 
 properly educated as to have their minds 
 enlarged beyond the narrow and contracted 
 sphere of self, to have their hearts and minds 
 purified and expanded by the light of know- 
 ledge and of benevolence ; then would 
 they perceive the infinite superiority in 
 point of advantage to the human race, and 
 of felicity to themselves, which must ine- 
 vitably result from a country teeming with 
 fertility, and abounding in inhabitants over 
 extensive tracts of dreary wilderness, how- 
 ever disguised and tricked out by the pom- 
 pous appellation of park, of pleasure-ground, 
 of shrubbery, and of lawn. 
 
 Although wealth and rank must always 
 possess great power and influence, while 
 hope and fear continue to actuate the hu- 
 man heart ; yet it may be worth while to 
 inquire, whether the rich do not possess the 
 most power of doing mischief, in proportion 
 as the lower orders of the people are placed 
 near the extremity of the descending scale 
 of penury and want. And this inquiry is 
 the more necessary, because we have no 
 right to expect that the present modes of 
 education; generally used in civilized coun- 
 
Parking touched upm, 5 J 
 
 tries, are calculated to teach the heredltarilj 
 wealthy to do justly, to love mercy, a?id to walk 
 hximhly zmth their God, A man, who, from 
 the first hour of his birth, has been sur- 
 rounded by flatterers and sycophants, in the 
 shape of servants or tutors ; who has been 
 permitted to gratify all the caprices and 
 mischievous fancies, which an unenlight- 
 ened mind is continually suggesting ; who 
 has been taught to imagine that every thing 
 is subservient to his own gratification ; who 
 has seldom or ever heard the voice of inde- 
 pendance and of truth telling him, that he 
 is a weak, frail, helpless being, w^ho must 
 one day render an account to his great 
 Master, of the stewardship which has been 
 committed to his care : such a man, it may 
 readily be supposed, will coolly, and with- 
 out concern, give orders that a town, a pro- 
 vince, or a kingdom, if his power extends 
 so far, shall be laid waste, and the inhabit- 
 ants driven from the abodes of themselves 
 and of their fathers, as outcasts, to roam 
 upon the world's wide stage, without hav- 
 ing where to rest their head, in order that 
 he might make a pari , or a piece of water , or 
 
6S Parking touched upon. 
 
 add a few more acres of land to Jus phamre 
 gardens. 
 
 Things being thus circumstanced, the 
 poor can have no means of withstanding 
 the desolating, though childish, vanity of 
 such a man, but in the protection and sup- 
 port of the government of their country, 
 which, by enabling them to earn a plenti- 
 ful subsistence, by their industry, at once 
 throws an insuperable obstacle in the way 
 of the rich man's cruelty and oppression ; 
 because, then, the labouring cottager, find- 
 ing that his own exertions can supply him 
 with the necessaries of life, and knowing 
 that, without his toil, and the toil of such 
 ^s him, the country itself cannot exist in 
 strength and in power, resolutely refuses to 
 be turned out of his cottage either by blan- 
 dishment or by threats, by money or by 
 force. Shall i (said Naboth to Ahab) give tip 
 the possession of my fat lie rs to thee, when thou 
 hast already more than thou canst use wellP 
 
 Not daring, then, to hope that indivi- 
 duals, who are born to great wealth and 
 power, w^ill be induced to forego a selfish 
 and a childish gratification, merely to bless 
 
 7 
 
Parking touched upon, 59 
 
 and to make happy thousands of their fel- 
 low-creatures, because their education, for 
 the most part, unfits them for discovering, 
 that the most pure, ecstatic, and permanent 
 of all enjoyments is the being an instrument 
 of active good to mankind in the hands of 
 Providence ; let us examine a Httle into 
 the subject; and, perhaps, we shall find, that 
 that this evil of depopulating hamlets and 
 villages, for the sake of 7na?tu fact urhig a park 
 or a shnihhery, can be traced to a higher 
 and a more simple source than the mistaken 
 views of an ignorant ahd uneducated land- 
 holder, even to the want of kindness and 
 attention to the condition of the poor on tlic 
 part of the government of the country. 
 
 It, surely, cannot require many words to 
 prove, that no village or town, consisting 
 of many hundreds of human beings, will 
 submit to be driven out to ruin and to de- 
 struction, merely to gratify the foolish and 
 unjust desire of 07ie man, if they can possi- 
 bly help it : nor does it require more trou- 
 ble to shew, that wherever the villagers or 
 townsmen are able, by the honest exertions 
 of their industry, to maintain themselves 
 and their families in decency and in com- 
 
6'0 Parking touched upon, 
 
 fort, they can prevent such an iniquitous 
 and arbitrary measure from being carried 
 into execution ; for while there continues 
 to be an effectual demand for productive 
 labour, which must always be the case 
 while a nation retains any prosperity or 
 strength, they will be independent, because 
 they can give their industry, a very full 
 equivalent, in exchange for the means of 
 existence ; and, then, what power has a 
 wealthy individual to drag or to wheedle 
 them out of their homes and their birth- 
 rights, when they are permitted to be in 
 subjection to no power but that of the laws 
 of their country, to which every good man 
 is always ready to pay the most implicit 
 obedience ? 
 
 The question now then is included withr 
 in very narrow^ and simple bounds ; namely^ 
 that from the benevolent interference of the 
 government alone can the poor hope for re- 
 lief from their burden of misery and op- 
 pression. It is unnecessary and absurd to 
 think of inducing individuals, who have 
 been always rocked in the cradle of prospe- 
 rity and of wealth, - to prefer the prospect 
 of a country fertile in population, an4 
 
Parkmg touched upon, 6l 
 
 Smllirtg with the happhiess of its inhabitants, 
 to the sight oi a smoot J ily -shaven lawn, a carp 
 pend, or a grotto. It is, therefore, better to 
 inquire whether or not some means may 
 be found of rescuing the great mass of 
 mankind from the iron grasp of ignorant 
 beings, intoxicated by the possession of 
 power to do mischief, and drunk with self 
 idolatry and pride, pampered and inflated 
 by Incessant adulation. 
 
 I know full well tliat every discussion 
 upon the state of the poor in any nation of 
 Europe is now looked upon with peculiar 
 j«ealousy and suspicion by all those, who, 
 through the weakness and blindness of their 
 understandings, believe, or assert that they 
 believe, the welfare of a kingdom to be pro- 
 moted in proportion as ike great hody of the 
 people are grovnd down to penury and hopeless 
 want. Much reasoning, or any great de- 
 sire of arriving at truths cannot be expected, 
 neither will it be found, among the advo- 
 cates for such an absurd and cruel doc- 
 trine, which equally outrages both huma- 
 nity and sense. 
 
 Accordingly, they tell us, that the law 
 of mcesshy must be submitted to, and tiiat. 
 
62 Parking touched upon, 
 
 as it pleases God to involve thousands and 
 tens of thousands of his creatures in destruc- 
 tion, by his earthquakes, storms, volcanoes, 
 and tempests, so it is necessary that the poor 
 should be kept in the bondage of ignorance 
 and of want. But this attempt at analogy 
 is rather unfortunate, because there is no 
 similarity in the two cases. The counsels 
 of God are, in our present very imperfect 
 state, inscrutable, and his ways past findmg 
 out. What purposes his tempests, volcanoes, 
 storms, and earthquake are intended to 
 serve we cannot know. Our duty is to sub- 
 mit humbly to his dispensations, and wait 
 patiently his appointed time. We now see, 
 with regard to the works of God, as 
 through a glass, darkly ; but we trust, that 
 all these difficulties will be cleared up when 
 we are permitted to see face to face. 
 
 Where there are no data on which to 
 reason, no reasoning can be had ; we are 
 entirely ignorant of the laws by which the 
 great Creator and Giver of Life regulates 
 his thunders and his lightnings, and by 
 what decrees he sends forth his pestilence 
 that walketl- by day, and his arrow that 
 flieth by night. We cannot, therefore, pre- 
 sume to reason upon what we know no- 
 
Parking touched upon. 63 
 
 thing about ; we cannot, surely, pretend to 
 account for that, which the invisible King, 
 only omniscient, hath concealed in night, 
 to none communicable in earth or heaven. 
 But the moral and political evils, which 
 deform the fair face of society and disturb 
 its happiness, are all of hummi origin, and, 
 consequently, can be removed by hinnan 
 means ; wherefore it becomes the duty of 
 every one to inquire into their cause, and, if 
 possible, to do it away, that its baneful effects 
 may no lonsfer desolate this nether world, 
 and poison the cup of life to countless 
 myriads of mankind. Many of these evils, 
 however, those who wring not under their 
 load affect to class as physical, as attributa- 
 ble to the law of necessity, and requiring 
 to be submitted to with equal patience as to 
 the riftiiig of the lightning's flash, and the 
 crash of destruction, which hangs upon the 
 maddening career of the tornado. 
 
 This patient and unrepining submission 
 has been particularly inculcated by those 
 who, not having personally experienced 
 these evils, and industriously avoiding all 
 intercourse with those who groan under 
 and arc afflicted by therh, affect to doubt of 
 
64 Parking touched upon, 
 
 their existence. I once knew a very find 
 lady, who hvcd quite on easy and fashiona- 
 ble terms with her husband ; she was im- 
 plored to bestow some relief, by a poor 
 woman, of a very modest and decent as- 
 pect. The lady asked the woman why she 
 wanted help ? — Because, — replied the wo- 
 man, with a sigh, — / am a wldozv and hun- 
 gry, — O, Lord, — answered the lady, — how 
 happy you must be ! I am sure, 1 wish that 
 1 voas a widow and hungry, I would give 
 any thing for two such blessings ; get you 
 gone about your business, for a bold and 
 forward hussey. — 
 
 The poor woman went on her way sor- 
 rowing, and cried, in the anguish of her 
 50ul, unto the Lord for help for herself and 
 her fatherless babes ; for being a widow and 
 an hungred was deemed no cause of com- 
 passion in the estimation of 'iXJine lady, who 
 Avas too silly and ignorant to be able to dis- 
 cern the manifest difterence between her 
 case and that of the woman, whom she 
 pronounced to be happy, and an object of 
 envy. She wished to be a widow that she 
 might get rid of her husband, of w^hom she 
 was tired, and have her full swing of un- 
 
Parking touched upon, 65 
 
 bounded licence, or espouse another male, 
 for whorp she entertained a momentary 
 penchant ; she desired to be hungry, that she 
 might enjoy the pleasure of eating. 
 
 But the poor woman, who solicited the 
 cold hand of charity, and solicited it in vain, 
 was a widow, who, in losing her husband, 
 had lost her only stay and support, the 
 guardian and the protector of her babes ; 
 she was an hungrcd, and had no means of 
 satisfying that hunger. 
 
 This scepticism on the part of the rich, 
 with regard to the sufferings of the poor, 
 adds greatly to the poignancy of those suf- 
 ferings, by making the afflicted mourners 
 feel that they are shut out from the sympa- 
 thizing tenderness of their fellow -creatures, 
 and thus denied the relief of complaint. 
 Who will hear us when we relate our dis- 
 tresses, — say they, — and who will heed our 
 sorrows ? — We have no hope in the rich, 
 for they despise and disregard us, and we 
 cannot Jielp ourselves ; will the Almighty 
 listen to our groans of anguish, and will he 
 number all our tears ? 
 
 The melancholy state of the lower orders 
 of society has ever been just cause of lamcn- 
 
 voL. II. y 
 
^6 Parking touched upon. 
 
 tation to all \vho arc really interested in the 
 •welfare of humanity ; and hovvcYcr unfeel- 
 ing politicians, either through hardness of 
 heart or weakness of understanding, cer- 
 tainly from narrow and mistaken views, 
 have pronounced it, both by word and deed, 
 to be necessary for the security of the higher 
 orders, it must ever remain an undeniable 
 evidence of the imperfection and injustice 
 of civilized institutions. 
 
 National prosperity is nothing abstract or 
 mysterious ; it can be made up only of the 
 prosperity of individuals ; and the greater 
 number of individuals, who arc happy and 
 thriving, that are to be found in a state, the 
 more prosperous and powerful is that state. 
 National prosperity consists not in the glit- 
 tering of palaces and the overthrow of cot- 
 tages ; not in the accumulation of indivi- 
 dual wealth and the decay of men ; but in 
 the aggregate produce arishig from its produc- 
 tive stock, for the equal interchange rf. vchkh, 
 hetiveen man and matiy money forms only the 
 measure ofvabie. 
 
 But tYils productive stocl cannot be put in 
 motion, cannot produce any revenue, vvitli- 
 out the toil and labour of the poor ; and the 
 
Parking tmthed upon. 6/ 
 
 more their industry is promoted and encou- 
 raged by the stimulus of hope, and the in- 
 citement of domestic felicity, the greater 
 will be the continually-increasing aggregate 
 produce of that productive stock. Hope^ 
 less penury, want, starvation, neglect, cold, 
 nakedness, and hunger, long continued, pa- 
 ralyse all the exertions and energies both of 
 body and of mind ; consequently, the more 
 the great body of the people are ground 
 down and oppressed, the more insecure and 
 weak must be the situation of the govern- 
 ment a^d the higher orders of society ; be-^ 
 cause the aggregate produce of productive 
 stock is continually decreasing, and with it 
 the means of providing for the external and 
 internal defence of a nation, namely, tJie 
 sources from whence pziblic revenues and taxes 
 can le draiim. 
 
 National prosperity, then, being directly 
 proportioned to the number of prosperous 
 individuals in that nation, it is necessary 
 that political institutions should consult the 
 well'hehig of the viany rather than the ag- 
 grandizemcnt of the few. No one can be so 
 outrageously absurd and foolish as to deny 
 that there exists, and always must exist, the 
 F ^ 
 
C)S Parking touched upon. 
 
 utmost diversity, both natural and acquired, 
 in the human character ; and that there 
 exists so much difference in the several cir- 
 cumstances of intellect, of bodily strength, 
 of industry, &c. &c. as must always inevi- 
 tably produce an infinitely diversified variety 
 in the situation of men in all the institu- 
 tions of civilized society. 
 
 But at the same time, even the most pre- 
 judiced bigot to routine, and the blindest 
 follower of established forms, however fool- 
 ish or pernicious they may be, must assent 
 to this position, that, under a wise, a mild, 
 and an equitable administration of govern- 
 ment, this difference will never be marked 
 by the extremity of misery being entailed as 
 an hereditary perpetuity, descending from 
 father to son, on any very large and nume- 
 rous classes of society. It is the duty, in- 
 deed it is the very essence, of all good go- 
 vernments, to prevent the evils likely to flow 
 from these natural and acquired inequalities 
 among men ; to protect the weak against 
 the oppression of the strong ; to guard the 
 Ignorant against the arts of the fraudulent 
 and the deceitful ; and to prevent the poor 
 
parking touched upon, 69 
 
 from being crushed by the over-bearing 
 cruelty of the rich. 
 
 And all this can only be done by that 
 which is the foundation of all earthly hap- 
 piness, allow'mg to the people the certain and 
 easy attainment of the 7neans of existence. In 
 all countries, by far the greatest number of 
 its inhabitants consists of human beings 
 who are desirous of very little more than 
 having the common wants of nature daily 
 supplied ; for which they offer the o?ily pro- 
 perty which they possess, tJie lahonr of their 
 Jia7tds, But to secure property is insisted on 
 as the most essential duty of government, 
 even by those whose whole lives and actions 
 show that they exist only to oppress the 
 poor. Out of thine own mouth shalt thou 
 he judged: — I will allow, and maintain, that 
 the hw of properly is the sacred and hal- 
 lowed link which binds man to man in the 
 great chain of social intercourse, the uni- 
 versal incitement to action ; without w^hich, 
 all the world would become stagnant and 
 torpid, a wilderness and a w^aste, without 
 cultivation and without hope. 
 
 Since this is so, then, surely, as much 
 attention, at least, should be paid to secure 
 
 ^3 
 
70 Park'nig touched upon. 
 
 and to protect to the poor man Ills property, 
 the labour of his hands, and a fair and full 
 price for it, when he offers to exchange it 
 for the means of existence, as is bestowed 
 upon the wealthy and the great, to secure 
 their property y their parks, their walks, their 
 manors, that they have. 
 
 It may not, perhaps, be altogether useless 
 or uninteresting to inquire, whether the 
 different governments of Europe have been 
 sufficiently solicitous to secure to the poor 
 this their only property, and to enable them 
 to demand a fair and full price for it, when 
 employed in the service of o-thers. 
 
 If we found that the poor were miserable 
 only in those countries whose governments 
 are avowedly and ostensibly despotic, wc 
 should not hesitate a single moment in at- 
 tributing this wretchedness of the great 
 mass of the people to the oppressive ini- 
 quity of their rulers, to the arbitrary cruelty 
 of those who ought to watch over and to 
 protect their subjects with parental tender- 
 ness and affection. Are we at a loss to 
 trace up to its true source the misery of the 
 poor at Constantinople ; of the lazzaroni at 
 Naples ; of the beggars at Turin ; of the 
 
Parking touched upon, 7 1 
 
 peasantry and the boors in Russia, in Prus- 
 sia, in Germany, in Spain, in Portugal, and 
 in-France before tiie revolution : what the 
 state of the people in this last mentioned 
 country now is we know not ; for, of the 
 internal regulations of that nation, and on. 
 what footing of permanency or of vacilla- 
 tion it is placed, we are entirely ignorant ? 
 No, we are well assured, that the degraded 
 and wretched condition of the poor in these 
 countries was altogetlier owing to the arbi- 
 trary and oppressive administration of their 
 governments. 
 
 But this misery of the great body of the 
 people, over w^hose neglected and forlorn 
 situation every votary of humanity must 
 heave the sigh of sorrow, and drop the tear 
 of compassion, is not confined to those 
 kingdoms whose governments are really 
 and nominally arbitrary. In this kingdom 
 of Great Britain, whose governmental con- 
 stitution, in its original purity, justly chal- 
 Ien2:es the astonishment of an admirincr 
 world ; the condition of the poor is such as 
 not to raise any sensations of pleasurable 
 complacency in the breast of the philoso- 
 pher, who is inclined to appreciate things at 
 
 F4 
 
72 Parking touched upon. 
 
 their true value, and not to he led away by 
 mere words and names/ who knows and 
 feels that the barometer of a nation's pros- 
 perity is not made up of the multitude of 
 her princes and her counsellors ; of the 
 gorgeous display of courtly finery, or of mi- 
 litary pomp ; of the profusion of individual 
 wealth, and of the trappings of office ; but 
 consists in the quantity of happiness, peace, 
 plenty, and comfort diffused throughout the 
 lower ranks of the people. 
 
 This circumstance, how^ever, cannot be 
 attributed to the principles of our govern- 
 ment, which are, in general, mild and equi- 
 table, and directly tending to procure free- 
 dom and independence to its subjects, but 
 to some other causes, into which it may be 
 necessary briefly to inquire. I wish to con- 
 sider the question altogether as a question 
 of property, for the sake of brevity and sim- 
 plicity, and also to prevent myself from 
 being involved in political discussions, 
 which might lead to consequences not pro- 
 ductive of any convenience or benefit. 
 
 It surely cannot be deemed a useless in- 
 vestigation, to explore the causes of the 
 present wretched state of the poor, while 
 
Parking touched upon, 73 
 
 the national grandeur and glory arc ostenta- 
 tiously descanted on by their numberless 
 admirers, as being far superior to what they 
 have been at any former period of time. 
 
 A reduction in the value of money, it 
 matters not from what cause, and an ad- 
 vance in the price of produce, are one and 
 the same thing, are, in fact, synonimous 
 terms. That this has been the case in 
 Great Britain for many years past every- 
 one's experience must have taught him. 
 But many people are disposed to imagine 
 that this is of no consequence, as the mHux 
 of money keeps pace w^ith its deprcsssion, 
 or the increased price of produce. What 
 does it signify, say they, if you give a gui- 
 nea for the same commodity which a hun- 
 dred years since could be purchased for five 
 shiUings, when it is as easy now to raise a 
 guinea by a given quantity of labour, as it 
 then was to muster five shillings ? 
 
 This statement of the case, however, is 
 not altogether just ; the land-holder, and 
 the tradesman, may not feel the inconve- 
 nience of this depression in the value of 
 money, because they have it in their power 
 to exact a proportionate revenue ironi the 
 
74 T arking tcuched ufon, 
 
 sale of their commodities; the merchant, in 
 such a case, and the proprietor of land, each 
 sells his respective articles of trade for more 
 pieces of money, in proportion as the value 
 :pf those pieces of money is sunken below 
 their former standard. 
 
 ]^ut those who have fixed incomes possess 
 no such power of relative accommodation 
 to the continually-increasing price of pro- 
 duce. Those who have money in the pub- 
 lic funds for instance ; they are compelled 
 to receive the same rate of nominal interest, 
 let the depression in the value of money be 
 what it may ; their capital, also, suffers the 
 same diminution as their interest; for neither 
 interest nor capital will command the same 
 quantity of productive labour w^hich it 
 could have done before the reduction in the 
 value of money took place. Suppose that 
 in the year 1780 two hundred pounds ster- 
 ling would purchase the same quantity of 
 produce, which will now cost three hun- 
 dred pounds sterling, and that a stock- 
 holder, then, vested his two hundred pounds 
 in the funds at five per cent, it is evident, 
 that he has actually lost one- third both of 
 his capital and interest, because he receives 
 
Parking touched upon, 75 
 
 Tiov/ only ten pounds a year for his two 
 hundred pounds, and these ten pounds will 
 not purchase more produce than six pounds 
 six shiihngs and eight-pence would then, 
 nor his two hundred pounds more than one 
 hundred and thirty-three shiihngs and eight- 
 pence; consequently, in order that he should 
 not suffer from the reduction in the value 
 of money, he ought to possess a capital of 
 three hundred pounds, and an interest of 
 fifteen pounds since fifteen pounds ; w ill 
 purchase no more produce now than ten 
 pounds, nor three hundred pounds pur- 
 chase more produce than two hundred 
 pounds would w hen he vested his money in 
 the public funds. 
 
 It is plain that the land-holder labours 
 under no such hardship by the depression in 
 the value of money; because, at the expira- 
 tion of his leases, or at the end of the year, 
 in rack-rents, he can demand a greater 
 number of pieces of money for the rent of 
 his land, in proportion to the increased 
 price of produce. The same reasoning 
 holds good with regard to every trader in 
 commodities, whose price is continually 
 fluctuating with the changeable value of 
 
7€ Parking touched upon. 
 
 money, so that their rise or fiill bears aa 
 exacft relation to each other, which brings 
 the whole to a general average or level. 
 
 In a country, w hose commerce is cxten- 
 five and complex, the value of property 
 must be aWays fluctuating ; but this, as has 
 been just now shown, produces no inconve- 
 nience in general, except to those who 
 have fixed incomes, and possess no means 
 of augmenting them. The enormous na- 
 tional debt also, with all its magnitude of 
 terror, and its menaces of national destruc- 
 tion, which has been from age to age 
 heaped upon the shoulders of the people, 
 and its necessary and inseparable attendant, 
 a grievous and heavy burden of annual tax- 
 ation, have augmented the value or price 
 of almost every species of property in this 
 kingdom ; and, consequently, has oppressed 
 all those who possess no other property than 
 than that which is fixed, that which does 
 not fluctuate and keep pace with the con- 
 tinual decrease in the value of money. 
 
 But labour, the only property which the 
 poor man possesses, has, unfortunately, been 
 stationary, or nearly so ; at least it has not 
 risen in price proportionally to the augmen- 
 
Parking touched upoi, 77 
 
 tation of other property, during this general 
 depression in the value of money for a full 
 century past ; and this alone will readily 
 account for a considerable portion of the 
 wretchedness which afflicts the great mass 
 of the people ; for the labourer, who now 
 receives two shillings for the same quantity 
 of toil, which, fifty years ago, purchased 
 one shilling, cannot, with those two shil- 
 lings, buy so much produce as the peasant 
 could half a century since buy for one shil- 
 ling; consequently, the condition of himself 
 and his family is worse now than was the 
 situation of the labourer then, and the poor 
 arc gradually thrust down lower towards the 
 extremity in the descending scale of misery 
 and of want, of cold, of nakedness, of fa- 
 mine, and of anguish. 
 
 Nor is it difficult to discover the reason 
 of the poor man's property not rising in 
 value proportionally to the augmentation 
 in the price of other species of property. 
 The poor man does not himself set a price 
 upon his labour; whereas the other holders 
 of property in the community, as the land- 
 lord and the merchant, fix the value of 
 their land and merchandize, according to 
 
78 Parking touched itpn. 
 
 the rate wlilch the effectual demand for 
 them will authorize; hence no injury ac- 
 crues to them from the continually increas- 
 ing reduction in the value of money, since 
 their income bears a relative proportion to 
 the augmented price ot all the articles of 
 consumable produce. 
 
 The labour of the poor man is a commo- 
 dity on which the purchaser alone sets a 
 pric€. He who toils in the field or labours 
 in the barn cannot say to his employer, — 
 increase my wages, or I will no longer work 
 for you ; — from this measure he is pre- 
 x'cnted, not only by the actual poverty un- 
 der which he groans, and wdiich threatens 
 him with destruction if he foregoes but a 
 few days of toil and its scanty stipend ; but 
 also by a positive law, which compels him 
 to remain in the parish where he is chained 
 down by settlement, like a door-post, or 
 any other fixture, immoveable; a mere ma- 
 chine, without volition, or even motion, 
 except as the wires are touched by the 
 master-hand of some human being called a 
 Justice of the peace, a Magistrate, &c. &c. 
 
 From his parish the poor man cannot es- 
 cape without the consent, probably, of the 
 I 
 
parking touched upon, 79 
 
 very man who employs him; and in his 
 own parish he must submit to receive what 
 wages a very few individuals, who considcjf 
 it to be their interest to buy labour at as 
 cheap a rate as possible, and to sell its pro- 
 duce as dearly as they can, choose to give 
 him.. A confederacv, not to advance the 
 wages oftlic poor, can be easily entered into 
 by a few individuals w4io live near each 
 other ; and accordingly we find, that men, 
 who agree in nothing else, join together 
 cordially in any scheme which shall spare 
 their pockets at the expence of the poor. 
 An opulent manufacturer may depreciate 
 the value of his w^orkmen's labour to the 
 lowxst possible rate, and the poor wretches, 
 who toil incessantly through the longest day 
 for a miserable pittance, have no redress, 
 have no means of assistance ; for the law 
 punishes any combinations among the poor 
 in order to raise the price of labour, and 
 these are the only means which they can 
 use to effect such a purpose. 
 
 Here wx have a marked and strong in- 
 "stance of the law being made, 7iot to protect 
 the weak against the strong, not to prevent the 
 poor from being crushed by the rich, but actu- 
 
80 Parkifig touched upon, 
 
 ally to arm the wealthy with full power of 
 injuring and oppressing the indigent and 
 the helpless. No law exists to prevent com- 
 binations among masters and employers, in 
 order to keep down the price of labour 
 below its fair and just standard, bearing a 
 due relation to the value of other property. 
 Hence, we find, that the rich have taken 
 advantage of this circumstance in their fa- 
 vour, and have gradually, from age to age, 
 ground down the poor to the very dregs of 
 vitality, and the exhaustion of existence, by 
 allowing them a scanty stipend, while their 
 own profits were enormous ; whence the 
 astonishing and almost incredible wealth of 
 individuals in this kingdom, and the ex- 
 treme penury and wretchedness of the great 
 mass of the people. 
 
 It is notorious to the whole world, that 
 the principal labour of this country bears a 
 not much higher rate now than it did a 
 century ago. But during this period, during 
 the lapse of these hundred years, it is that 
 the great depression in the value of money, 
 or the advance in the price of all produce, 
 has taken place, owing to the unpropitious 
 birth, and destructive growth, of that de- 
 
Parking touched up or?. 8 1 
 
 mon of desolation, the national debt, and 
 its offspring, the constant attendant upon 
 the 'Steps of its parent, an enormous and 
 continuallj-increasing annual taxation. 
 
 And it is during this period, that the 
 infallible gage of the poor man's misery, 
 the poor-rate, has mounted in the ascend- 
 ing scale of terror and of alarm. That the 
 increasing wretchedness of the poor is pro- 
 duced by, and always keeps pace with, the 
 augmentation of the national debt, is plain, 
 from the poor-rate mounting in proportion 
 to the progressively-increasing burden of 
 taxation ; which is readily accounted for ; 
 as the public debt increases, more taxes 
 must be levied to pay its annual interest ; 
 but as the money raised by taxation is ap- 
 plied altogether to the support of unproduc- 
 tive labour, it follows that the burden must 
 rest wholly upon the shoulders of productive 
 industry ; that is, upon the poor, the great 
 mass of the people, whose toil puts all the 
 capital of the nation in motion, moves all 
 the productive stock in the kingdom, and 
 replaces it again with an addition of profit. 
 
 In the year 1774, just at the commence- 
 ment of the American war, that ever-me- 
 
 VOL. II, G 
 
82 Parkifig touched upon, 
 
 morable monument of British folly and in- 
 justice, the poor-rate was not seven hundred 
 thousand poimds ) it is now full three mi/lions. 
 It cannot require any great qxiantity of rea- 
 soning to prove that the increase of the 
 poor-rate denotes the increase of the misery 
 of the poor; for if they were not in want 
 and in wretchedness such a thing as/wm/;* 
 7'eliey, or the poor-rate, could not exist. 
 
 Nothing, then, can more strikingly mark 
 the progress, and point out the cause, of the 
 misery of the poor, than this increase of 
 the poor-rate. None, not even those w^ho 
 pass their whole lives in endeavouring to 
 shut their ears to the voice of humanity 
 and the cries of compassion, will presume ta 
 deny that the portion of the poor, which is 
 principally supported by parochial relief, 
 particularly those who live in workhouses, 
 groaning under the accumulated pressure 
 of filth, of bondage, and of imprisonment, 
 are not sufficiently wretched. If they deny 
 it by the words of their mouth, they shew^ 
 the falsehood of their denial by theif con- 
 duct in endeavouring to avoid the wretched 
 objects, whom they meet in the streets of 
 our cities, the poor creatures that inhabit 
 
Tarklng touched upon, 83 
 
 these workhouses r'and these that appear 
 are in the best condition, for the most mise- 
 rable are not able, or not suffered, to go out 
 of their prison). 
 
 The, turning away of the people, who 
 assert that the British poor are extremely 
 well off and happily situated, in order to 
 avoid having their senses shocked by the 
 spectacle of human beings with counte- 
 nances pale, wan, and emaciated, with limbs 
 distorted and deformed, cadaverous figures, 
 languid and listless from debility, proves that 
 they are convinced, whatever they may 
 affect to assert, of the unequivocal marks 
 of misery, which are indelibly stamped upon 
 the Inmates of an English workhouse. 
 
 And those who occasionally visit the ha- 
 bitations of those poor who do not receive 
 parochial aid, and whose condition is 
 deemed better than that of their brethren, 
 must be convinced that the want, the 
 nakedness, the filth, the disease, the hunger, 
 and the anguish, constantly resident in these 
 abodes of afHlctlon, bespeak variety of 
 wretchedness, denote that the existence of 
 the poor is one continued series of misery;, 
 a catenation of sorrow and of despair. 
 
84 Parking touched upcn. 
 
 But, surely, it is unnecessary for me to 
 say more, in order to show the wretched 
 condition of the poor, whm that blessed 
 and heavenly institution, the Soclely for het- 
 iering the condition of the Poor, exists, for the 
 sole purpose of lessening the evils of parish 
 workhouses, and of diminishing the poor- 
 rate. A very full and minute account of 
 this inestimable charity is given in the 4th 
 volume of The Adviser i or Moral and Literary 
 Tribunal; therefore, I shall say no more 
 about it here ; only, I must offer it as my 
 opinion, that they will never be able to 
 carry their benevolent purposes into full 
 effect, unless they are backed by the aid of 
 the Government of this country, w^hich 
 ought to make it fully as much an inherent 
 part of the British Constitution to consult 
 the well-being of the great body of the 
 people, as it is to allow one man, their chief 
 magistrate or first servant, the King, twelve 
 hundred thousand pounds a year. 
 
 Leaving the Society^ then, to the prayers 
 of all good men, and to the blessing of 
 Heaven, I shall offer a few more remarks 
 on the condition of the poor in this king- 
 dom, -.because I deem it a subject of more 
 
Parkifjg touched upon, 85 
 
 importance, than any other, which comes 
 within the verge of political or of moral 
 discjussion. 
 
 If the misery of the poor arises chiefly 
 from the careless expensiveness and unprin- 
 cipled extravagance of governments, it fol- 
 lows, that the poor are the least wretched 
 in those countries, if any such there be, 
 whose government is administered in the 
 spirit of economy, of justice, and of kind- 
 ness. Fortunately for mankind we are able 
 to say, that some such states do exist ; 
 whence a convincing proof is drawn, that 
 the extreme misery of the poor is not a necessary 
 ' consequence of civil instlttitmis. 
 
 The instances, indeed, are not many ; so 
 expert are the generality of governments in 
 learning that part of political dexterity, 
 which consists in draining the pockets of 
 the people. The little republic of San Ma- 
 rino might have been pointed out as an ex- 
 ample of mercy and kindness to its poor; 
 what it is now I know not. for the restless- 
 ness and the ambition of a man, vohose only 
 delight seems to he to ride In the whirlwind and 
 direct the storrn, has made so many changes 
 already, and threatens to introduce so many 
 
 ^3 
 
80 Parking touched upon. 
 
 more changes in all the states and king- 
 doms which lie within his grasp, that a 
 writer is afraid to assert, to-day, that the 
 the condition of the people in any given 
 country is good or bad, lest, on the morrow 
 should come this gigantic power, and sweep 
 away all the traces of its former state. 
 
 I cannot, however, refrain from present- 
 ing the picture of the little state of Neu- 
 wied, as it was drawn by an English cler- 
 gyman, who visited it in the year i yg^ ; 
 merely to show w^hat can be done by a mild 
 and merciful administration of governrnent. 
 Neuwied is a pretty white stone town in the 
 midst of poplars on the opposite bank of the 
 Khine. The prince is, very happily for his 
 fellow-citizens, one who understands him- 
 self and his condition ; one, who knows 
 that the rulers of nations are, like other 
 people, ordained to live under the universal 
 find equal laws of responsibility ; that 
 with so much privilege and enjoyment 
 there should be so much duty and merit ; 
 that pre-eminent rank cught to rise pro- 
 portionably with pre-eminent use. 
 
 Accordingly, his life embodying these 
 ideas, has been adorned unceasingly with a 
 
Parking touched upon, $7 
 
 series of exertions, manifestly tending to 
 the public good. None of the German 
 trade in war, no- shuffling into corrupt in- 
 fluence, no pilfering of private treasure. All 
 was the policy of virtue, pure, disinterested, 
 and benevolent. He began with the moral 
 glory of self-government, to show that he 
 was fit to govern others. He discharged 
 the debts of his predecessors, though their 
 superstitious sacrifices, wasting their lands, 
 had diminished his means of doing it. He 
 reformed and retrenched in every depart- 
 ment. Religious toleration was unbound- 
 ed. The game laws, and all other feudal 
 oppressions, he abolished. There arc no 
 longer any droits d'Aula'me^ no arbitrary 
 fines, no impositions upon property, whe- 
 ther bequeathed or sold, no taxes upon inge- 
 nuity and labour, no personal constraint. 
 
 The place is free to all ; and every 
 tradesman or artificer, who has any thing ^ 
 to do, may do as he pleases. Each new 
 comer has, at once, the rights of citizen- 
 ship, and nothing to pay for them, but, 
 after four or five years, like the other citi- 
 zens, a contribution of Hvo half-crowns: 
 and even that he pays not if he builds ; if 
 
 G4 
 
S8 Parking touched upon, 
 
 he builds in stone he has fifty years exemp- 
 tion ; if in wood, ten. The ground for a 
 house is given, by the prince, to every 
 settler, without any quit-rent whatever. 
 These and other inestimable privileges 
 were ratified by a public guarantee, in a 
 placard written, signed, and published by 
 the prince himself, dated March 12, 1765. 
 And from that time to this thev have ne- 
 ver been known to fail. With the most 
 liberal construction, with the most benefi- 
 cent observance, every iota of each decla- 
 ration has been fulfilled to all. 
 
 These virtuous plans, in each .part, have 
 been executed with success equal to their 
 merit. The town and territory already 
 vaunt a new aspect, one of the best upon 
 the Rhine. The population is doubled, 
 ingenious arts and economic industry, and 
 manufactures relating to the best, because 
 the most necessary, arts of rendering life 
 comfortable and existence a blessing, all 
 have increased tenfold : and, above all, the 
 ■poor are permitted, by the ho7iest exertions of 
 their industry, to earn a plentif id provision for 
 themselves and their families. 
 
 No impositions on the press exist in 
 
parking touched upon, 8^ 
 
 Neuwied ',for, in pjihlic conduct as hi private 
 life, what Is wise and virtuous <annot have 
 aught to fear. 
 
 The prince, in the meanwhile, has ad- 
 vanced in the advancing welfare of all 
 around him. And, without the smallest 
 scandal, without hegglng or extorting a single 
 rlx-doUar from his people, under the hardened 
 and audacious preterice of paying off debts 
 which ought never to have been contractedy 
 or to defray the superabundant expences of the 
 civil list, vohlch should never have been Incur- 
 red, but merely from his own money-funds, 
 he has built two new palaces, from which 
 the eye' of morality, as well as of landscape, 
 may revel vv^ith fair satisfaction over the 
 ruins of the old. 
 
 But his best objects, though he has a ho- 
 rizon of thirty leagues, are those which have 
 been raised by himself. Each substantive 
 good work, for the prosperity of the com- 
 mon weal, to soothe the lot and to satisfy 
 the necessities of our common nature ; to 
 aid the advances of civilization, and, on his 
 appointed ground, to leave life better than 
 he found it. 
 
 Such is the praise of the prince of Neu- 
 
f)0 Perking touched upou, 
 
 wicd ; the rare and the enviable praise. 
 He began life with the treaty of Vienna, 
 and he ends as gloriously as he began it. 
 He was employed hi making peace o?ice, — biii 
 in making war never. 
 
 And yet, as times go, and as examples 
 and precedents are in very sufficient abun- 
 dance, he might have pleaded pov^erty, in 
 apology for any affection which he might 
 havehadyir the obvious profits of war to princes \ 
 for there are but seven and twenty villages 
 and three towns in the whole of his little 
 territory, and his revenues, at the first, 
 were not much more than an himdred thou- 
 sandjftorins, 
 
 ** Blush, grandeur, blush ! proud courts withdraw 
 your blaze. 
 Ye little stars, hid your diiinnishcd rays." 
 
 Such is the animati^ng and soul -elevating 
 portrait, which the amiable and spirited 
 Este has drawn of a good prince, wJio lived 
 to be the father and the protector, not the 
 phmdcrcr and the pilferer, of his people. 
 
 *' pi sic 
 
 Omnes vixissent reges ! ! ! 
 
Parking touched upon, ^\ 
 
 Before France had interposed her kind 
 o-ffices for the benefit of Switzcrlcind, that 
 country, in which a slight tax on salt was 
 almost the only btirdeu, exhibited the most 
 delightful of all spectacles to a benevolent 
 heart; namely, the exemption of the lower 
 orders of the people from almost all the 
 evils of penury and want, which oppress 
 and render wretched the great mass of the 
 community in almost every other kingdom 
 in Europe. 
 
 Geneva, also, before it experienced the 
 protection and support of the Gallic republic, 
 was remarked by all travellers to abound 
 in a body of peasantry better clad, better 
 fed, more healthy, more happy, in every 
 respect more comfortable, than those of 
 many other countries, and forming a strik- 
 ing contrast to the squalid, beggarly, mlser^ 
 able appearance of their poor neighbours, 
 who groaned and writhed under the op^ 
 pressive load of misery imposed upon them 
 by the cruel and arbitrary despotism of the 
 court of Turin. 
 
 But, perhaps, the example of America 
 is the most striking instance of what bene- 
 fits must inevitably accrue to the poor from 
 
92 Parking touched upon, 
 
 an uncxpenslvc government. In America 
 we see a eovernment stretched over an im- 
 mense tract of country, including a popu- 
 lation rapidly augmenting, and promising, 
 in no great length of time, to rise to a level 
 with that of Great Britain, and carried on 
 in all its departments, put in motion, 
 throughout the whole of its machinery, at 
 less than the hundredth part of the annual 
 expence of the English government . And, ac- 
 cordingly, we find that the condition of the 
 poor in America is proportionally better. 
 The wages of labour are much higher, and 
 the expence of living not so great as in this 
 kingdom. In addition to which the poor 
 enjoy the most inestimable of all political 
 blessings, landed property ; whence their in- 
 dependence, their comfort, their firm and 
 unbending attachment to the government 
 of their country, which secures to them so 
 much happiness. 
 
 Only, one thing is wanting to render the 
 condition of the American poor as felicitous 
 as their earthly existence can be, namely, a 
 proper education for all of them ; that their 
 hearts may be purified and their under- 
 standings exalted ; that tlieir virtue may bq 
 
Parking touched upon, 9*5 
 
 increased and their power augmented ; that 
 they may know and feel that pure moraUty 
 and true religion are the only sure and in- 
 destructible bases on which individual and 
 national prosperity can be erected. If the 
 American government will effect this 
 blessed purpose by legally establishing central 
 schools in every village and district through- 
 out the empire, it will earn to itself the 
 praises and the gratitude of the human 
 race, and the blessings of Heaven on all its 
 laudable exertions, long as the mountains 
 shall rest upon their foundations, and the 
 moon continue to give her light. 
 
 The general happiness of a country is 
 more intimately connected with the com- 
 fortable state of the lower orders of the 
 people than weak and wicked politicians 
 can be taught to comprehend. Not only 
 the character and the morals of the poor, 
 but also the great and general national 
 characteristics, are affected by it. The 
 misery resulting from extreme poverty has 
 a direct tendency to debase and to degrade 
 the human character. Energy of mind, 
 activity of body, and the constant and well- 
 .directed exertions of both, which so much 
 
p4 P/trking touched upon, 
 
 expand and invigorate all the intellectual 
 faculties, so much promote and stabilitate 
 health, and actually create and constitute 
 happiness, cannot be expected, neither W\\\ 
 they be found in beings to whom hope never 
 comes, that comes to all ; beings who know 
 not the universal stimulus to action, the 
 incitement of an adequate reward for their 
 efforts. 
 
 In such beings active virtue cannot ex^ 
 ist, for all the sources of virtue arc dried up 
 by despair ; all the higher and the nobler 
 qualities of the mind, as honour, courage, 
 integrity, fortitude, cannot belong to them, 
 for no opportunity is ever present to excite 
 them into action ; all the finer and the 
 softer feelings of the heart are nipped in 
 the bud by the chill frost of penury ; for 
 how can the glow of affection and of love 
 be kept alive, when want damps all the fire 
 of their exertion in favour of those little 
 helpless creatures, their offspring, who onlj 
 add to the already too great load of misery 
 by their incessant cries for bread, w^hich 
 cannot be given to them? Thus, the victims 
 of oppression, without hope, and almost 
 without a wi^h^ they drag on a weary and 
 
parking touched upon. 95 
 
 a forlorn existence ; this life presenting to 
 their sight naught but a wilderness and a 
 waste, and even the prospect beyond the 
 grave holding out to them no consolation, 
 no soothing solace of their cares ; for, neg- 
 lected, forgotten, despised, and chained 
 down in ignorance, they have never been 
 taught those pure, sublime, simple, and 
 holy truths of Christianity, which lighten 
 the load of the most wretched state of 
 mortality, and point to brighter skies and 
 happier climes, when they shall wing their 
 flight to those mansions of eternal bliss, 
 where the wicked cease from troubling, 
 and the weary are at rest. 
 
 AfamlUarity with this kind of wretched- 
 ness, also, has a prejudicial effect on the 
 minds of the higher orders of society. Some 
 of the best principles of human nature, and 
 the finest and most exalted feelings of man, 
 are ground down and blunted by having 
 sights of misery, which he cannot remove 
 or remedy, obtruded continually upon his 
 view. Benevolence, that principle which 
 lifts man up nearer, than any other quali- 
 fication, to the pure nature of the Deity, 
 is nearly extinguished in countries where 
 
96 Parking touched upon, 
 
 great numbers of people arc constantly ex- 
 hibiting the appearance of extreme misery. 
 In order to be convinced of this, let any one 
 observe the crowds which hurry by the 
 shoals of pitiable shocking objects that line 
 all the public streets of London, with per- 
 fect unconcern and total indifference, nei- 
 ther heeding the groans nor regarding the 
 misery of those poor wretches who hover 
 on the very verge of death, and, not un- 
 frequently, expire even under the uncon- 
 cerned gaze of the passing spectators. 
 
 And no wonder ; the agony of witnessing 
 misery which wx cannot relieve is so great, 
 that if these feelings of tenderness were en- 
 couraged, life itself would become a curse ; 
 indeed, the bodily frame could not long 
 support the conflict, and the compassionate 
 beholder of these distressed fellow-creatures 
 would, himself, soon be numbered with 
 the dead. We are compelled, therefore, 
 not to suffer our course to be arrested by 
 these wretched objects, whom we are not 
 able to relieve, and to stop and contem- 
 plate whose deplorable situation would an- 
 swer no other end than to agonize our own 
 hearts, and prevent us from discharging our 
 
Parking touched upon, ^y 
 
 duty to society, by palsying our exertions 
 with the benumbing hand of barren sor- 
 row 'and of fruitless grief. 
 
 To relieve great numbers is not within 
 the compass of private ability ; and, because 
 we cannot do all, cannot entirely and effec- 
 tually remove the misery which we daily 
 and hourly behold all around us, we, by 
 degrees, learn to be willing to do nothing, 
 and shelter our want of charity under the 
 inability to remove so great a load of wretch- 
 edness as that which presses upon the poor 
 throughout all the ramifications of our ci- 
 vilized institutions. Were instances of 
 misery less frequent their impression would 
 be stronger ; their continual recurrence 
 compells us to acquire an insensibility to 
 the calls of compassion, even in our own 
 defence, because the magnitude of the evil 
 places it beyond the reach of private indi- 
 viduals to remedy. 
 
 And all this begets a necessity for what 
 is called national henevokfice, w^hich is in 
 fact an absurdity ; it is charity without its 
 principle, the necessity for it Implying na- 
 tional Injustice. It Is the duty of a nation 
 not to arrogate to itself the undeserved title 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
58 Parking touched upoH, 
 
 of tharkablc by crowding the poor into 
 workhouses and other receptacles oi' misery,, 
 of disease, and of anguish, but to prevent 
 the existence of all these horrid tombs and 
 vaults of human happiness by acts of Justice. 
 Thus it appears, that the virtue, the 
 prosperity, and the 'happiness of the whole 
 nation is proportioned to the happiness, the 
 prosperity, and the virtue of the poor ; 
 and we have no reason to doubt that the 
 condition of the poor in this kingdom is 
 now such as is by no means calculated to 
 lead them to integrity, or to confer on 
 them felicity. And it also appears suffi- 
 ciently plain, that the misery of the lower 
 orders of the people in all countries is prin- 
 cipally ow4ng to the want of kindness, of 
 attention, and of justice, on the part of 
 their governments ; and that, although 
 governments which are really and avow- 
 edly arbitrary, produce the most oppression 
 on the poor, yet all other governments, 
 the principles of whose constitution may 
 not in themselves be arbitrary, which en- 
 courage a continued increase of annual 
 national expenditure^ indirectly bring about 
 
Parking touched upon. gg 
 
 the misery, the oppression, the slavery, 
 and the destruction of the poor. 
 
 Indeed, then, to talk of freedom and in- 
 dependence in such cases is a mere babble 
 of words, which a philosopher despises, and 
 endeavours to appreciate things as they 
 actually exist ; for he very well knows, that 
 a form of s^overnment, in its ori2:inal con- 
 stitution the purest and best adapted to 
 cherish the liberty and the happiness of its 
 people, if, by errors, whether wilful or in- 
 voluntary, in its administration, it should 
 incur a very large debt, and, its necessary 
 consequence, an enormous and continually- 
 increasing burden of annual taxation, must, 
 really and In effect, be as oppressive and 
 cruel to the people as are those govern- 
 ments, which, in their very essence and 
 principle, are openly and avowedly Influen- 
 ced and regulated by the most pernicious 
 maxims of unrelenting and Iniquitous des- 
 potism. 
 
 From all that has been said, then, It fol- 
 lows, as a necessary consequence from the 
 foregoing premises, that every extremely ex- 
 pensive government is, really and effectually, 
 cruel, oppressive, and despotic, 
 IX 2 
 
1 00 Parking touched upon, 
 
 I would, if possible, have these things 
 most seriously and impressively considered 
 by those who have it in their power to 
 remove the evils here complained of. 
 Surely, it is their interest, more than that 
 of any order of people, because they have 
 more to lose, and will experience the hea- 
 viest fall, when that ruin, which they are 
 hastenmg by their own blindness and in- 
 justice, shall come like a whirlwind, and 
 involve them and all their schemes of futile 
 idleness and contemptible vanity in irre- 
 mediable desolation. 
 
 The state of the poor marks most cer- 
 tainly and Infallibly the state of a country. 
 The condition of the poor in this coun- 
 try is deplorable, and beyond the reach of 
 individual and private charity to remedy. 
 The government alone can do it, and it pe- 
 culiarly behoves the rulers of the nation to 
 effect such a desirable purpose for their own 
 sakes, as well as for the sake of humanity 
 and justice, lest, when the cup of bitter- 
 ness is full even to the overflowing:, such 
 means must be had recourse to as every 
 well-wisher to the human race will shudder 
 to behold, and even the most hardened and 
 
Parking touched upon, ] 1 
 
 audacious despisers of their fellow- creatures 
 cannot anticipate without dread. 
 
 It is mere idle mockery and insult to 
 say, that the government of this country 
 has provided a protection for its poor by 
 the poor-laws ; when the experience of 
 nearly three centuries has invariably shown 
 that these very poor-laws are the greatest 
 curse that can hefall a nation. They act uni- 
 formly and undeviatingly as premiums to 
 idleness and profligacy, destroy all the in- 
 citements to industry and virtue, are the 
 very vault and charnel-house of indepen- 
 dence, of honesty, of integrity, and of hap- 
 piness. The chief end which that heavenly 
 Society for hettering the condition of the poor 
 has in view is, as far as it can, to counter- 
 act the destructive tendency of the 'English 
 poor-laws. 
 
 But that Society can, comparatively 
 speaking, do very little towards emancipat- 
 ing the British peasantry and poor from the 
 slavery of ignorance and of want, unless the 
 omnipotence of the imperial parliament by 
 its fat ordains that it shall be a part of the 
 law of the land to afford the means of edu- 
 cation and of a comfortable subsistence to all 
 
1 02 Parking touched upon, 
 
 the poor, whose Jiahits of industry and of so- 
 briety entitle them to demand this of their 
 country as 07tly a just equivalent for the ser- 
 vices, which their toil and hihour render to 
 iJu'ir country. Surely, a very small portion 
 of the uncounted millions which are annually 
 lavished, not alv^ays to promote the pur- 
 poses of humanity, may with propriety be 
 applied to such a measure as this, so re- 
 plete with benignity, with mercy, with 
 justice, and with utility. 
 
 I am well aware that by telling these 
 truths I shall expose myself to the hatred, 
 if not to the contempt, of those, w ho arc 
 interested in having them concealed. Those 
 who are behind the curtain, and see how 
 the political wheels of the state-machine 
 are moved, affect to laugh and sneer at 
 men for being ^Moh fools as to imagine that 
 the governors of kingdoms trouble their 
 fceads about regulating their motions by the 
 dictates of truth and reason. They wonder 
 at the alsurdity of men who devote their 
 whole lives to the investigation of moral 
 and political science, and then give them- 
 selves the unnecessary trouble of publishing 
 the result pf their investigations, when the 
 
Parking touched upon. ] OS 
 
 business of a nation is came<i on so much 
 more easily by the admirable expedient of 
 establishing laws by means of purchased 
 votes, and of levying contributions, no 
 matter how, for the purpose of keeping up 
 the external splendour and glare of the go- 
 Ycrnmental edifice. 
 
 And this is, doubtless, the result of po' 
 litical wisdom ; very few human beings 
 think at all, and still fewer dare to say 
 what they think ; so that the generality of 
 them, seeing that the trappings of a go- 
 vernment are finely bedizened and be- 
 spangled with glittering and gawdy deco-» 
 rations, never ask themselves this most 
 necessary of all questions. Is all sound and 
 right within P We see that the septdchres 
 are washed and whitened on the outside^ 
 and we seldom consider that within they 
 are full of rottenness and of corruption. 
 
 Many well-meaning people, also, who., 
 God knows, arc not Solomons, express their 
 dissent to the avowal of such truths as 
 those which I have just now laid before 
 the reader ; and complain of the mischie- 
 vous tendency of such doctrines. The mis^ 
 chievous tendency of truth 1 But let us hear 
 II 4 
 
104 Parking touched upon, 
 
 the arguments which these good people 
 make use of in favour of things staying as 
 they are. 
 
 Things are very well as they are ; and 
 I cannot bear those wicked people who 
 want to throw all into confusion, by dis- 
 covering that the people are starving. Have 
 we not the best of all possible govern- 
 ments ? Does not the law protect every 
 man's person and property ? Is not the 
 shillmg which a labourer earns as much his 
 as his landlord's thirty tJiousand a year are 
 his ? When the poor man is in want can 
 he not go to the parish ^workhouse P What 
 cause then have the poor to complain ? 
 And why should they be taught to grumble 
 by the visionary speculations oi philosophers, 
 who are always talking nonsense about 
 the necessity of ameliorating the afflicted con- 
 dltlon of humanity ; for my part, I am very 
 well content, I have a good comfortable 
 income, and care for nobody ; I will, there- 
 fore, support the present order of things ; 
 for I see no reason for any alteration, nor 
 what occasion there is of any reform in this 
 country, where things are as well as they 
 can he. 
 
Parking touched upon, 105 
 
 Such are the sentiments, and such the 
 arguments, gentle reader, which I have 
 more than once heard advanced, as at 
 once sufficient to silence all the efforts in 
 favour of humanity. But these worthy 
 declaimers mistake, the point in question; 
 which is not, whether a poor man's slitUmg, 
 which he earns, is his own, but whether 
 that sliilling is sufficient to procure the 
 means of existence for himself and family. 
 That it is not sujficieiit is proved, beyond all 
 power of controverting, by the continued 
 increase of the poor-rates, which could not 
 exist at all if the poor were permitted to 
 earn a comfortable maintenance by the 
 exertions of their industry. And parish 
 workhouses are not places very well cal- 
 culated to soothe the last hours of a dying 
 mail, and to wing his flight, into eternity 
 on the pinions of peace, of comfort, of 
 hope, and of religion. 
 
 And as for a man who has a comfortable 
 income being content, I have no objection 
 to it ; but certainly the poor, who have not 
 2L comfortable income, have no reason to 
 be content, have no reason to cry out 
 against a reform, nor can feel any peculiar 
 
]06 Parkirig touched upon. 
 
 conviction tha.t things arc us 'ice/l as they 
 can he. 
 
 But }'Ct the common cant of the day, 
 absurd and iniquitous as it is, finds some 
 people so weak as to convince them of its 
 wonderful wisdom, and induces them to 
 regard, as objects of hatred and ridicule, all 
 those who happen to feel the impulses of 
 humanity a little more powerfully than 
 men lost in selfishness and benighted in 
 ignorance are capable of experiencing. All 
 such are pointed out by the finger of scorn 
 as having a strange philosophical twist in 
 their heads, or, perhaps, are marked out as 
 objects of vindictive persecution, under the 
 insolent and unjust pretence of their being 
 enemies to the peace of society, when to 
 establish and secure this peace must be 
 the inevitable consequence of adopting the 
 measures which they propose. 
 
 It is in vain to hope for a speedy 
 change in the opinions of men whose 
 bigotted prejudices have been the slow and 
 gradual product of a narrow and contracted 
 education, and have been cherished and 
 strengthened by resolutely closing the ears 
 a;rainst the voice of truth, and shutting the 
 
Parking touched upm, 107 
 
 eyes that the . light of knowledge may not 
 be perceived. It cannot be expected that 
 a man will be easily induced to lean to the 
 side of mercy and of justice, if he has been 
 taught from his cradle to fortify his mind 
 against all plans for rendering the condition 
 of the multitude less miserable. If he has 
 had it carefully instilled into him, that it 
 is absolutely necessary to keep the poor 
 ground down in penury, and embruted by 
 Ignorance ; that they must be governed bj 
 the arts of imposition and of fiction, rather 
 than the simple and plain precepts of truth ; 
 that esiabiished forms and customs, merely 
 because they are established, arc to be 
 stoutly maintained, and never give place to 
 any alteration, however it may be calculat- 
 ed to promote the virtue and the happiness 
 of mankind. 
 
 Such a man has very much to tmlearn, 
 before he can be fitted to comprehend and 
 to approve a system of policy built on the 
 broad basis of universal philanthropy, and 
 existing solely for the purposes of peace, of 
 charity, and of brotherly love. The illu- 
 mination of minds, so darkened by the 
 thick mists of prejudice and of error, must 
 
lOS Parking tcuched upon. 
 
 be left to the writings of those moralists, 
 divines, and philosophers, whose labours 
 have already' done so much towards dif- 
 fusing the blessed truths of Christianity 
 throughout an ignorant and a mistaken 
 world. 
 
 It cannot be doubted, from the testi- 
 mony of actual and repeated experience, 
 that, in addition to the great phalanx of the 
 systematic advocates for oppression, there 
 are, among the higher orders of society, 
 too many sordid and unfeeling beings, that 
 care not at what expence of human happi- 
 ness the materials of their luxury are ob- 
 tained ; who, while they consume their 
 lives in the contemptible routine of child- 
 ish amusements, and the still more degrad- 
 ing pollution of mere sensual gratification, 
 never prevail on themselves to consider 
 that many of the articles, which contribute 
 to their vanity and selfish indulgence, have 
 been bedewed with the tears and steeped 
 in the blood of their injured and afflicted 
 fellow-creatures. 
 
 Not small, also, are the numbers of those 
 persons, whose minds are so enfeebled by 
 long continued habits of indolence and of 
 
Parking touched upon, 109 
 
 indulgence, that they tremble at the sound 
 of truth, and shrink from any information 
 of the misery oitht poor, lest it discompose 
 their nerves and ruffle their spirits, by 
 causing them to imagine, that every effort 
 towards amending abuses and remedying 
 evils W\\\ lead to the destruction of their 
 personal ease and pleasure. From the coarse 
 and shameless sensualist, and from the puny 
 frivolous flutterer after fashionable happiness, 
 we have no right to expect any generous 
 sympathy with the miseries of the poor. 
 
 To attempt to reason with such creatures 
 is in vain ; they listen not to the voice of 
 the instructor, charm he ever so wisely; 
 they must be left, therefore, to that great 
 and awful tribunal from which there is no 
 appeal, and where it will be pronounced 
 on every one according to his deeds. But 
 we have the most unquestionable proofs 
 that there are among the superior classes 
 of society, many whose hearts glow with 
 benevolence and compassion for the con- 
 dition of their inferiors. To these godlike 
 sentiments in the minds of many opulent 
 Britons the liberal support given to chari- 
 table institutions^ particularly to the Society 
 
1 1 Farking touthed upoff. 
 
 for heiierhif*; the condition of the Poor, bears 
 incontrovertible testimony. It is to be de- 
 voutly hoped that, it'any amon?: such wcli- 
 dLsposcd people are to be found, who op- 
 pose those plans ot political improvement, 
 •which tend directly to secure to society at 
 large its permanent amelioration, they will 
 attend to the numerous facts which every 
 where present themselves, and tr\', by pa- 
 tient inquiry into their causes, to discover 
 whether it is not i^icumhent on the Britii/i 
 government to consult, more effectually^ than It 
 does, the well-being of the great ?nass of the 
 poor. 
 
 This desirable purpose we dare not hope 
 will be carried into execution by the rulers 
 of the nation, from any wonderful incli- 
 nation towards humanity on their part, 
 -^t least, we have no right to expect it from 
 their past conduct, which seems rather to 
 have had in view their own aggrandize- 
 ment and power than the happiness of the 
 people. But if those individuals who are 
 blessed with wealth and influence in this 
 country, would only examine, themselves, 
 into the state of the poor in their own 
 neighbourhood, and, being thoroughly sa- 
 
Far king mcched up on. n i 
 
 tisfied that it is very wretched, would call 
 upon rti-e government, in the steady and 
 irresistible tone of truth, of justice, and of 
 mercy, to ameliorate the condition of its 
 indigent people by a properly-directed and 
 well-regulated legal establishment, this 
 most beneficent of all ends might be at- 
 tained ; for nothing can withstand the 
 temperate and firm demand of the united 
 ability and integrity of this kingdom, 
 backed by benevolence and, seconded by 
 wealth. 
 
 *■' Ye friends to trLitli, ye statesmen who survey 
 The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
 ^Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
 ^ctiveeri a splendid and a happy land. 
 Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore. 
 And shouting folly hails them from her shore; 
 Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound. 
 And rich men flock from all the world around. 
 Yet cotint our gains. This wealth is but a name. 
 That leaves our useful product still the same. 
 Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 
 Takes up a space that many poor supplied; 
 Space for his lake, his park's extended hounds^ 
 Space for his horses, equipage, a7id hounds. 
 The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth. 
 Has 'robb'd the neighbouring fields of half rhdr 
 growth ; 
 
1 1 C Parking touched upon. 
 
 His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
 Indignant spurns the cottage from the gcecn. 
 Around the world each needful product flie<. 
 For all the luxuries the world supplies. 
 IVliile thus the land, adorn' d for pleasure all, 
 In barren splendour feebly waits her Jail. 
 As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, 
 Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. 
 Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies. 
 Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes : 
 But when those charms are past, for charms are 
 
 frail. 
 When time advances, and when lovers fail. 
 She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. 
 In all the glaring impotence of dress » 
 Thus fares the land by luxury betray'd, 
 In nature*s simplest charms at first array'd ; 
 But verging to decline its splendours rise, 
 Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 
 While scourg'd by famine, from the smiling land 
 • The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; 
 And while he sinks, without an arm to save. 
 The country blooms, — a garden and a grave. 
 Where then, —ah where ! shall poverty reside. 
 To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? 
 If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, 
 He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade. 
 Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide. 
 And e'en the hare-zvorn common is denied. 
 
 If to the city sped, — what waits him there ? 
 To see profusion that he must not share ; 
 To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
 To pamper luxury and thin mankind 5 • 
 
parking touched upon. I \ 3 
 
 To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, 
 Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
 Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade. 
 There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
 Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps 
 
 display. 
 There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 
 The dome where pleasure kolds her midnight 
 
 reign. 
 Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train; 
 Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square. 
 The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
 Sure, scenes like these no troubles ere annoy ! 
 Sure, these denote one universal joy ! 
 Are these thy serious thoughts ? — ah ! turn thine 
 
 eyes 
 JVhere the poor, houseless, shivering feiyiale lies. 
 She once, perhaps, in village-plenty blest. 
 Has wept at tales of innocence distrest ; 
 Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. 
 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 
 Now, lost to all, her friends, her virtue fled. 
 Near her letrayei'^s door she lays her head. 
 And pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the 
 
 show'r. 
 With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour. 
 When, idly first, ambitious of the town. 
 She left her wheel, and robes of country brown. 
 Do thine, Dunkeld ! do thine, the loveliest train. 
 Do thy fair tribes anticipate her pain ? 
 E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! ! ! 
 
 VOL. II. I 
 
1 1 4 JVe View duke AthoVs domains, 
 
 Wc expressed a desire to survey the do- 
 mains of the duke of Athol ; but our trow- 
 sers were gone to be washed, and our 
 drawers, owing to rambUng over many a 
 hill and sliding down many a stecpy pre- 
 cipice, were not altogether in so sound a 
 state, particularly behind, as to permit us- 
 to exhibit ourselves to the gaze of the mul- 
 titude. Wc, therefore, obtained, merely 
 for the purpose of walking round the duke's 
 premises, some trowsers of the host, which 
 were, if possible, rather less respectable, and 
 less becoming in their appearance, than our 
 own, and, thus equipped, proceeded to the 
 garden of his grace. 
 
 Here we waited a considerable time, 
 till a man in a pig-tail and a powdered 
 head came, and, after surveying us minutely 
 with expressions of very great contempt, 
 told us, that he was an Englishman, and no 
 less a personage than my lord duke's head 
 gardener, and that he should not think of 
 showing us the grounds himself, but would 
 send one of his underlings. Saying which 
 he strutted off, with great consequence, 
 and also with some precipitation, lest any 
 one should detect him in the unworthy 
 
We view duke AthoVs domains. 1 15 
 
 act of stooping to converse with two such 
 wretched and dismally-looking vagabonds 
 as wc were. 
 
 Not long thereafter came our Cicerone, 
 who was an underUng indeed; for a thing 
 in a human shape, so debased and so de- 
 graded, and so cut down into nothing, I 
 never beheld. He was so totally below 
 every thing of man that I had hitherto 
 seen, that I had the curiosity to inquire 
 into his method of living, in order to arrive, 
 at the cause of so much wretchedness and 
 degradation in the countenance of a being 
 that was classed among the human species. 
 He told me, that he worked twelve hours a 
 day, m the domains of duke Athole, six 
 days every week ; and that for all this he 
 deceived as wages, six pounds a' year, equal 
 to nearly two shlUlngs three-pence three far- 
 things a week ; and also, two pecks of meal 
 a week, which was eaten, or, as he called 
 it, supped dry, that is, without any dressing 
 or baking, namely, by cramming a handful 
 of dry meal into the mouth and eating it, 
 and then washing down this nutritive and 
 delicious diet with water, 
 . We did not much wonder, since this, was 
 I % 
 
1 ! 6 IFe view duke AthcVs duiuahis, 
 
 his wa)^ of life, to find him nearly destitute 
 of all those finer and better feelings, all 
 those exalted and elevated sensations, which 
 serve to distinguish man from the brute 
 creation. For how arc the nobler virtues 
 to be called forth in a being whose frame 
 is wasted by incessant labour and scanty 
 food, whose mind is made one dreary blank 
 of despondency by having all the avenues 
 of hope and of happiness closed upon it for 
 ever? What incitement to energetic ac- 
 tion, either mental or corporeal, remains, 
 when tJie prospect of bettering his cojidhioii, 
 that universal stimulus to human exertion, 
 is taken away from a man, and nothing is 
 left for him to look upon but the wide waste 
 of unremitting toil without an adequate 
 reward, and of neglected and despised 
 penury without even the most distant 
 shadow of a hope of alleviation or of 
 amendment. 
 
 We asked him, w hethcr his wages w^ould 
 be continued wholly or in part, supposing 
 that he should be disabled, by sickness or 
 any other accident, which could neither 
 be foreseen nor prevented, from pursuing 
 his daily labour. He answered no ; that. 
 
We view duke AthoTs domains, 1 1 1 
 
 if he was taken ill, or any ways hindered 
 from working, he had no prospect save that 
 of starving. Add to all this, as if his situ- 
 ation did not sufficiently degrade him into 
 a mere machine, he was required to vail hh 
 honnet and to sta?id bare-headed during the 
 time that any of his master's children con- 
 descended to pass by him while he was 
 employed at work. 
 
 Not to mention the impropriety and ab- 
 surdity of accustoming a human being to 
 such pitiful and abject slavery, as the being 
 compelled to bow down to the dust before 
 a fellow-creature, and that fellow-creature 
 an Infant, such a mode of proceeding is a 
 manifest injury to the babes themselves; 
 because, by accustoming them to expect 
 such unworthy obeisance from a fellow- 
 being, they are taught to forget what very 
 weak and helpless little animals they are, 
 and are thus sunk still lower in the scale of 
 animated nature, by being actually reared 
 up to cherish and to increase that insolence 
 and ignorance which the softness of luxury 
 and an effeminate training never fail to 
 produce. 
 
 If, as we are told by the highest of all 
 
 13 
 
118 ,We view duke Athol's domahis, 
 
 authorities, pnde was not fnaile for matty 
 what ^re we to tlilnk of the wisdom of 
 those who educate It heir fchVldrcn as regi^r 
 Jariy to haughtiness anci to supeircilious pr.cr 
 sumption, as they ought tp fcreed thQm.wp 
 in the cultivation of th^t , .i:©ligio.n wJxQ^e 
 very essence is meqkness, humility, and 
 brotherly love ? 
 
 As our guide seerned quite shrouded ii,i 
 the pall of ignorance and of dullness, we 
 merely followed the paths which he point- 
 ed out; and, despairing to obtain any in- 
 formation from a being .that, perhaps, had 
 never once in his life asked himself a single 
 question^ or put two ideas together, for 
 the very good reason of not possessing two 
 ideas, we were contented to amuse our- 
 , selves by contemplating the scenery in 
 silence. 
 
 The walks were spacious, and the plan- 
 tations extensive and judiciously situated, 
 on eminences or in vallics^ so as to present 
 every, where objects of delight to the eye 
 of the enraptured beholder. We sate un- 
 der; tfeie shed of a rude and moss-grown 
 canopy, and surveyed the tumbling of the 
 'cataract as it laboured from rock to rock. 
 
We view duke AthoTs domains, 1 ] 9 
 
 and wasted its Idle fury in sheets of foam 
 upon its stony bed belSw. This scene 
 raised in our minds sensations truly sub- 
 lime and elevated, we actually seemed to 
 feel ourselves larger as we looked upon this 
 bold and magnificent water- fall. After a 
 while, our guide told us, that he was going 
 to show us the honmest and the bravest sight 
 in all the duke's grounds. 
 
 Accordingly, we followed him into a 
 room which was furnished quite in the 
 modern stvle, and were told to look at a 
 mirror; we did so, and saw the resem- 
 blance of the cascade as if in the very act 
 of rushing down upon us. Our minds, 
 full of the sensations which the view of the 
 fall had excited, had been raised to the 
 utmost stretch of expectation by being told 
 of something still more noble and sublime 
 to be seen ; and then, to be dragged into a 
 little, S7iug, painted room, and look at a 
 miirror which showed us the appearance of 
 what we knew to be false, fairly disgusted 
 us, and filled us with contempt for the 
 poor, childish, trifling taste that could have 
 sjrooped to devise such a petty artifice. 
 I 4 
 
1 20 IJ^e view duke Athofs domains. 
 
 Quanto prrestantius esset 
 
 Nuqien aquae, viridi si ninrgine clauderet iindas 
 Herba, nee ingenunm violarcnt niarmora tophum ?*' 
 
 ^^ The marble caves and aqueducts we view ; 
 
 But how adul'traie now, and different from the 
 
 true ! 
 How much more beauteous had the fountain been, 
 Embellish'd with her first created green, 
 Where crystal streams thro' living turf had run. 
 Contented with an urn of native stone.'* 
 
 The imagination cannot bear to be 
 checked in its loftiest flights, and circum- 
 scribed in its widest range, by the paltry 
 intrusion of art clumsily obtruded on its 
 notice, and compelling the mind to associ- 
 ate the handy-work of a small and a narrow- 
 animal with the bold and magnificent ope- 
 rations of nature. We listened not again 
 to the suggestions of our guide, but follow- 
 ed him in silence through all the winding 
 walks and embowered recesses of this en- 
 chanting spot, which is justly and deserv- 
 edly celebrated as one of the most paradi- 
 siacal places on the face of the earth. 
 
 We now bent our steps towards the inn, 
 put on our own trowsers, paid our bill, and 
 
We view duke AthoVs domains, 121 
 
 bade adieu to Dunkeld. M^Diarmaid and 
 his wife expressed their most cordial and 
 hearty good wishes for our welfare, squeez- 
 ed us closely and frequently by the hand, 
 and dismissed us with many a benediction. 
 The hostess, indeed, abated a little of her 
 regard for me, when she found that I 
 could not be prevailed upon to drink any 
 w^hisky with her at parting, when she 
 brought out her bottle and dram -glass ; 
 and it was altogether in vain to tell her 
 that I never dared venture on any liquor 
 less mild and innocent than water or milk : 
 however she transferred that portion of her 
 favourable opinion, which I lost by my ab- 
 stinence, to Cowan, who swallowed some 
 whisky merely to oblige her ; and she shook 
 him by the hand twice more than she did 
 me, telling her husband, that he in the hairy 
 cap did not like her, for he would drink no 
 vchisky with her. 
 
 This good couple gave us a complete 
 specimen of the honest, ingenuous, bene- 
 volent, and hospitable disposition of the 
 Highlanders, not one of whom, through 
 our whole rout, ever asked us an imperti- 
 nent question, or evinced the least petty and 
 
V2f2 IFe depart from Du}ikcld. 
 
 vile suspicion. They received us with a 
 liberal welcome, and dismissed us with the 
 chccrinc: smile of kindness and of benis:* 
 nity. \V^hen I forget to reverence and to 
 honour the manly and the dignified charac- 
 rter of the Highlander, may my tongue cleave 
 unto the roof of my mouth, and nwy my right 
 hand forget her ciinnhig ! ! ! 
 
 ^* When death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
 A time that surely shall come. 
 In heaven itself J'll ask no more 
 Than just a Highland welcome,** 
 
 We had proceeded some way on our 
 road to Blair Athole, when a messenger 
 from M*Diarmaid overtook us, and 
 brought to me my eye-glass, which I had 
 left behind me, in the very spirit of forget- 
 fulness and of negligence. This little ves^ 
 sel, being of blue glass, had very much at- 
 tracted the curiosity of our hostess, who 
 diligently informed herself of its use, and 
 made many a trial of its virtue upon her 
 eyes, but without any other success than 
 that of spilling an abundance of water upon 
 her breastkerchief, and wetting her bosom. 
 
PVe depart from Dunkeld, 123 
 
 She declared, that it was the prettiest and 
 the most curious thing which she had ever 
 zctn in all her life ; yet the moment in 
 which she discovered that we had omitted 
 to take It with us, she sent it after us with 
 all speed. 
 
 This was a very commendable specimen 
 of honesty ; because the glass, though in-^ 
 trinsically of very little value, was yet to 
 her a great curiosity, and might with ease 
 have been detained, as she knew, from our 
 own information, that we were never again 
 to return to Dunkeld. But I verily be- 
 lieve, that this excellent woman and her 
 hospitable husband wTre, both of them, 
 utterly incapable of entertaining even a 
 dishonest thought, much less of commit- 
 ting any deliberate deed of wilful iniquity\ 
 
 We went forward on our road, and soon 
 overtook a poor miserably-looking man, 
 who pulled off his bonnet to us with an 
 air of much simplicity, but in a style more 
 obsequious and submissive than we ever 
 could wish to see one human being use to- 
 wards another. We returned the salute 
 by uncovering our heads, and fixed our 
 eyes steadily upon him ; he was <' xxtXj 
 
1 24 We depart from Dun held. 
 
 made, elderly, and his countenance strongly 
 betrayed the look of one cowed down and 
 bent to the earth by the long continued 
 weight of poverty and- of distress. As our 
 chief object in this trancip was to obtain 
 some insight into the manners of the peo- 
 ple, we always accosted every one whom 
 wc encountered, and we learned from this 
 poor fellow, that he was a labouring pea- 
 sant, who had been a long time ill, unable 
 to work, and alnnost wholly without the 
 means of subsistence. That his wife had 
 died through mere want, and that his three 
 bairns wxre obliged to go through the 
 country to beg, lest they also should perish 
 from starvation. 
 
 The man, himself, told us, with the ut- 
 most artlessness, that he believed his long 
 illness w^as owing to the interference and 
 malignity oi warlocks, ox witches ; and that 
 the minister of the place had been very 
 good to him, and had prayed by him, and 
 given him money, and helped him, or he 
 should have perished ; but that the good 
 pastor had told him often, that there were 
 no such things as warlocks ; nevertheless, 
 continued the poor fellow, I know better 
 
We depart from Dunkeld, \ 25 . 
 
 about warlocks than he does ; oh ! he is a 
 good inan, a father to all his flock, and, it 
 his rntome was larger^ not one of us all would 
 ever suffer from want, or he distressed without 
 Immediate relief. 
 
 This was another testimony in favour of 
 the excellence and virtue of the Scottish 
 clergy. Indeed, I almost always found, 
 and I took much pains to inquire upon 
 this head, during my stay in Scotland, 
 that, whenever I asked any of the poor 
 about their minister, they spoke of him in 
 terms of affection and esteem ; a sure and 
 certain proof that the character of the 
 priests ill Caledonia stands very high in the 
 scale of morality and of religion ; which, 
 probably, is in a great measure to be attri- 
 buted to the very judicious mode of eccle- 
 siastical government exercised in that coun- 
 try, where there prevails very little inequality 
 as to incoine and rank among tlie tninisters ; 
 where the odious system of tythes is not hiown\ 
 and where the fashionable enormities of intem- 
 perance and of profligacy are regarded with 
 abhorrence. 
 
 In spite of all impediments, however, 
 arising from his illness, and the narrow^ness 
 
125 tVe depart from DunkeU, 
 
 of his worthy pastor's income that prevent* 
 cd the good apostle from carrying into full 
 effect all the better feelings of his heart, 
 the poor fellow had weathered the storm, 
 and was now just able to crawl about. 
 We were quite affected by his tears of 
 artless gratitude, and his impassioned man- 
 ner of shaking our hands, when we gave 
 him our little mite, as a tribute to honest 
 indigence and suffering simplicity. Not a 
 syllable of complaint escaped his lips ; he 
 told his tale most ingenuously, was fully 
 persuaded that his sickness proceeded from 
 the displeasure oi warlocks, and that his mi- 
 nister, although he gave no credit to the 
 existence of witches and hobgoblins, was a 
 holy, pious man, who devoted his whole 
 time and attention to promoting the wel- 
 fare of his parishioners. 
 
 It is plain from this instance of miserable 
 credulity and extreme poverty in the rus- 
 tick whom warlocks honoured with their 
 disapprobation, that the poor in this coun- 
 try stand in need of much more mtntal /'«- 
 struct ton y as well as bodily nutrition, than 
 they at present enjoy. Whether the facts 
 
Our receptiGn at the Half -way House. 157 
 which daily and hourly press upon us with 
 such an irresistible weight of testimony tc 
 enforce the necessity of the government of 
 the nation paying some attention to the 
 well-being of the great mass of the people, 
 will ever rouze the rulers of the kingdom 
 from their long continued slumber of 
 apathy and of indifference or not, time and 
 circumstance will show. If something is 
 not speedily done to amehorate the condi- 
 tion of this hy far the 7nost useful part of the 
 comnmmty, it requires no great skill in pro- 
 phecy to predict what must inevitably be 
 the result, a result pregnant with misery, 
 and big with destruction to every feeling 
 of gentleness and of mercy ; but which 
 cannot be avoided unless by a timely de- 
 viation from the common routine of poli- 
 tical expedient into the course of just and 
 dignified benevolence, whose ways are ways 
 of pleasantness, and all whose paths are peace. 
 
 We walked on, after a most refreshing 
 bathe in the river, and about six o'clock in 
 the evening arrived at the half-way inn 
 between Dunkeld and Blair Athole, bearing 
 for its sign the duke's arms, and kept by a 
 7 
 
128 Our reception at the Half -way House. 
 Madam Penn}xook, whose flat, fat, bloated 
 carcase, and brandy-drinking face, betoken- 
 ing all the petty malignity of supercilious 
 ignorance, we did not much relish, because 
 it augured no very favourable reception for 
 two poor, wearied, crippled sailors, that 
 appeared to be suffering sorely under the 
 pressure of indigence and of want. 
 
 ** Her silver locks displayed the moon. 
 
 Her brows a cloudy show, 
 Strip*d rainbows round her eye were seen. 
 
 And show'rs from either flow. 
 Her teeth the night with darkness dyes. 
 
 She's starr'd with pimples o'er. 
 Her tongue like nimble lightning plies. 
 
 And can with thunder roar." 
 
 " Willie Wastle dwelt on Tweed, 
 The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddiej 
 Willie was a wabster gude, 
 Cou'd stown a clue wi* ony body. 
 He had a wife was dour an' din, 
 
 Tinkler Madgie was her mither; 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 
 1 wad na gie a button for her. 
 
 " She has an ee, sfee has but ane. 
 The cat has twa the very colour; 
 Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 
 A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller ; 
 
Qw reception at the Half-way House. ^29 
 A whiskin beard afbout her mou> 
 Her nose and chin they threaten ither^ 
 'Sic a wife as Willie had 
 I wad na gie a button for her, 
 
 ^^ She's bow-hough'd^ she's hein-shlnn'd, 
 Ae Hmpin leg, a hand-breed shorter. 
 She's twisted right, she's twisted left^ 
 To balance fair in ilka quarter; 
 She has a hump upon her breast. 
 The twin o' that upon her shouther ; 
 Sic a wife as Willie had 
 I wad na o-ie a button for her. 
 
 o 
 
 ^^ Auld baudrans by the ingle sits. 
 An' \vi' her loof her Face a washin; 
 But Willie's wife is nae sa trig, 
 She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; 
 
 Her walie nieves like midder- creels. 
 
 Her face wad fyle the Logan water; 
 
 Sic a wife as Willie had 
 
 I wad na gie a button for her/* 
 
 Nor were we more enamoured of her 
 manner of receiving us. Her look was in- 
 tended to daunt us, and to render us abash- 
 ed by that expression of self-complacent 
 disdain, which barbarous iniquity and stu- 
 pid cruelty always feel for those who are, 
 or are supposed to be, less abundantly sup- 
 plied with this world's goods than the 
 VOL, II. K 
 
1 ^O Our reception at the Half-way House, 
 wretch that is applied to for the purposes 
 of hospitality. Wc asked for some refresh- 
 ment and a night's lodging, and were 
 flatly denied both, in a tone of the most 
 sharp and disgusting acrimony of churlish- 
 ness. By dint of much haranguing, how- 
 ever, and by the very frequent introduction 
 of the words good Madam into my speeches 
 and replies, we, at last, so far won upon 
 this enchantin<x creature's amiable tender- 
 ness of heart, that we were shown into a 
 little, vile, unholy, dirty room, up-stairs, 
 whose furniture consisted of a very shabby 
 bed and bedding laid upon two or three 
 old crazy boards, one stool, a broken chair, 
 and a large chest. 
 
 After being permitted to solace ourselves 
 a long time, in silent meditation upon the 
 delectable appearance of our apartment, 
 and being allowxd to bring my diary up to 
 the present moment, we were favoured 
 wnth a very scanty portion of tea, some 
 sugar on a broken potsherd, a little bread 
 and butter, and one egg between us. This 
 hospitable repast we were fain to swallow 
 on the chest, for no table was to be found 
 in the room. However, as we were very 
 
Our reception at the Half-way House, ISl 
 much crippled and fatigued we made up 
 our minds to rest in this room during the 
 night ; and as soon as we had swallowed 
 all the provisions that we could prevail on 
 the people of the house to bring us, we 
 went down to the river's side, not five 
 hundred yards from our inn, to enjoy the 
 luxury of a good swimming before we re- 
 posed in slumber. 
 
 When we had bathed and dressed our- 
 selves, we returned to the inn for the pur- 
 pose of Immediately going to bed, that we 
 might be able to prosecute our journey 
 early on the morrow. But, to our great 
 astonishment, we found that the benevo- 
 lent and lovely hostess would, on no ac- 
 count, suffer us to sleep in her house. We 
 told her that we had understood we were 
 to have a bed in the room where we had 
 taken our tea. She replied. No; that she 
 should not trust us m such a room as that ; 
 and that we need not say any thing more 
 about the matter^ for she would not lose her 
 time in iiste7iing to our speeches, let us leg as 
 much as we would. 
 
 What was to be done? It was now ten 
 o'clock at night, and we were absolutely 
 
1 3i2 Our reception at the Half -way House, 
 unable to crawl on any farther, till we had 
 some rest, on account of our feet being so 
 Svretchedly sore and blistered, not to men- 
 tion that the sand and dirt had worked 
 through the chasms of M'Dlarmaid's shoe 
 intp the gash of my right foot, which I had 
 gained by my morning's slip into the river 
 Tay. We, therefore, renewed our linguaJ 
 attack with unabated perseverance and vi- 
 gour, .'till, act last, after much time spent in 
 discourse, this amiable woman, more, as it 
 should seem, from being fairly wearied out 
 by our importunity than froni any sudden 
 and unusual impulse of humanity, graci- 
 ously condescended to permit us to sleep in 
 an out'Jiouse at some distance from the inn. 
 We were fain to accede to this proposal 
 rather tljian pass the night in the open air in 
 our present debilitated condition. 
 
 To this dormitory we were conducted by 
 no less a personage than the landlady's own 
 son, Mr. Pcnnycook, a young gentleman, 
 in whom the beauty of the baboon was 
 united with the wisdom of the ass. The 
 mother of this hopeful youth, however, 
 first dei^iandcd immediate payment, not 
 only for the entertainment which we had 
 
Our reception at the Half way Houses 133 
 already received, but also for the bed in, 
 which we. were going to sleep, because, as 
 she very civilly, and with much politeness, 
 observed, we might go off early in thq 
 morning before any one was up, mid cheat, 
 her out of her money, ^ 
 
 As this was the first instance, since the 
 beginning of our route, of our being charg- 
 ed for a bed, we determined to examine 
 carefully in what particular convenience 
 or elegance it excelled those on which we 
 had hitherto reposed. But our gentle 
 swain and conductor, the heir-apparent of 
 the Penny cook family, led us to the abode 
 without a light ; and it was only by means 
 of stern and authoritative language, with 
 how and then a seasonable vibration of our 
 sticks, or rather huge clubs, that we com- 
 pelled him to bring us a farthing candle. 
 
 We now surveyed our apartment. It was 
 a small room with a dirt floor; no glass, 
 not a single pane in the window-frames, 
 which were not even closed by any sub- 
 stitute for glass> as rags, stockings, old hats, 
 &c. but exhibited large apertures for the 
 convenience of permitting the wind or any 
 other more obnoxious visitant, in the shape 
 ic 3 
 
1 34 Our reception at the Half-way House, 
 of cats, dogs, or men, to enter the chamber 
 at will, and without molestation. It con- 
 tained no table, no stool, no chair, not 
 even a chamber utensil. In one corner 
 stood a box, whicli, upon inquiry, we un- 
 derstood to be a sleeping place for a post- 
 chaise driver, who was expected here about 
 two o'clock in the morning, and was to 
 stow his carcase in the same room with us. 
 In another corner lay our bed, small, with- 
 out any canopy or curtains, merely resting 
 on a few awkwardly joined boards ; the 
 linen was so marvellously foul and filthy 
 that I asked the good Mr. Pennycook 
 whether he ought not to be ashamed even 
 to think of putting a dog into such a vile 
 dirty hole. His answer was, — that I need 
 not make so much noise about it ; that the 
 sheets were pretty ckanlshy for that only two 
 foot passengers and a carrier had slept in them 
 since they were last washed. 
 
 This was an irresistible argument, and 
 we submitted in silence. Pennycook, now, 
 began to be very inquisitive about America, 
 and particularly wished to know, by what 
 title men were addressed in that country, 
 since they had no lords and dukes, and 
 
Our recepiicn cj the Ha^f-way House, 135 
 
 ended a long string of half-questions and 
 half- sagacious observations, the genuine 
 fruit of his own powers of reflection, by 
 saying, that he supposed if we were gen- 
 tlemen, and travelling about for pleasure, 
 that we. carried a good deal of money with us, 
 and were worth rohhhig. 
 
 To all this precious discourse we an- 
 swered, that the men in America wxre 
 called citizens, and that we never carried 
 more money with us than was necessary 
 to pay our expences from place to place ; 
 and, therefore, were not worth robbhig. And» 
 look you, citizen Penny cook, if the postil- 
 lion, or any other rascal, enters this apart- 
 ment to-night, we will, most assuredly, 
 knock his brains out ; for Americans never 
 sleep In the same room iJ^lth a post- chaise 
 driver, without killing him. 
 
 The close of this speech produced a very 
 visible effect on the countenance of our 
 hostess' offspring ; for he trembled, turned 
 pale, his lips quivered, and his teeth 
 chattered most plentifully, and he declared 
 that no one should sleep In the room that 
 night but ourselves. We then desired hlnv 
 to leave the apartment directly, and be sure 
 
 K4 
 
iS6 Our reception at the llaJf-tvay House* 
 to call us at four o'clock the next morniTig. 
 He, accordingly, withdrew, and locked the 
 door after him, leaving, however, for our 
 use, the lighted farthing candle. 
 • Wc then, putting our knap-sacks under 
 our heads by way 6f pillows, but not pull- 
 ing off any of our clothes, not even our 
 shoes, flung our carcases upon the misera- 
 ble pallet, that had been unjustly dignified 
 by the name of bed. Cowan, whose mind 
 is of a much firmer make than mine, and 
 whose indifference to all personal apprehen- 
 sion seems to amount to an almost total 
 insensibility of bodily danger, in a few 
 minutes fell fast asleep. But I, who am 
 seldom deficient in all proper care and con- 
 cern for the safety of my own person, did 
 not sink into slumber, but lay musing on 
 the barbarism and brutality of the beings 
 who had treated' us w^ith such a perfect dis- 
 regard to all the claims of hospitality and 
 of kindness. 
 
 " About two o'clock in the morning, while 
 Andrew lay snoring by my side, and I en- 
 deavoured in vain to court the refreshing 
 influence of sleep, I heard some one attempt, 
 very softlj^ to open the door of our apart- 
 
Our reception at the Haif-way House. 137 
 ment. As I very well knew, that people, 
 who could treat us in the manner Madam 
 Pennycook had done, were capable of per- 
 petrating any crime which villany could 
 contrive and force could execute, I felt my- 
 self not a little alarmed ; and, therefore, the 
 better to disguise my fear, bawled out 
 lustily, that I would immediately put any 
 one to death who entered the room. Upon 
 this, the noise ceased, and all was quiet for 
 some time. 
 
 But my apprehensions were not at rest, 
 and I desired Cowan to get up, that we^ 
 might leave this vile place, and pursue our 
 journey. Andrew, who was not rou'zed 
 from his slumber without difficulty, treated 
 my alarm with great contempt; and told 
 me flatly, that he would not, and could not 
 get up, for he was unable to walk on with- 
 out some more rest; andthat it was equallv 
 the same to him whether he was murdered 
 there by the violence of ruffians, or died on 
 the road for want of rest. So make your- 
 self easy, — quoth he, — it all, comes to the 
 same thing, whether you are knocked on 
 the head now, or drop out of existence 
 through mere fatigue a few hours henf:c. 
 
1 rivS Our rccepticn tit the Half-way House. 
 
 . Saying this^ he turned upon his right 
 side, and very soon sunk into a most pro- 
 found and enviable slumber. But notwith- 
 standing his philosophical 7ionr.halance, and 
 his carelessness about wl; at might happen to 
 him> yet as I much rather wished to finish 
 my intended journey in peace and safety 
 than to be immediately sent out of the 
 world by the kind interference of some hu- 
 mane gentleman, who might have a parti- 
 cular propensity to cut short the thread of 
 my existence, I cannot say, that I felt in 
 the least more easy on account of the con- 
 solatory doctrine which Andrew had just 
 been doling out for my edification and 
 amendment. 
 
 Nor did my heart beat with less unequal 
 throbs of palpitation, when, after about 
 half an hour, and w^hen we rnight be sup-* 
 posed to be asleep, I heard the door again 
 tried, and the latch gently lifted up. 
 Whereupon I again vociferated exclamations 
 of vengeance, and denounced threats of 
 destruction, if an immediate departure was 
 not made from our premises. This exhi- 
 bition of the latch-lifting, and of my bawl- 
 ing, occasionally, and at intervals renewed^ 
 
Our reception at the Half-zvay House, 1 3^ 
 continued for more than the space of an 
 hour, and then I heard the sound of some 
 footsteps steaUng quietly away, and no 
 farther molestation ensued. 
 
 But although I suffered no personal vio- 
 lence, most probably in consequence of my 
 being awake and calling out loudly when- 
 ever an attempt to open the door was made, 
 yet these alarms most effectually prevented 
 me from getting a single wink of sleep; 
 and Cowan himself confessed, that he ex- 
 pected every thing bad from such people ; 
 but that he was too sleepy and too much 
 worn down, either to make any resistance, 
 or to get up and go forward on his march. 
 At a little before four o'clock in the morn- 
 ing young Pennycook came and called us 
 lip, saying, he supposed that we had not 
 had much sleep, for, // was not unlikely 
 that somebody had wanted to come into the 
 room, and that might have disturbed tis. 
 
 We took no notice of his observation, 
 because we were not in a situation to 
 redress ourselves, if, by examining, we 
 could find out the destroyer of our night^s 
 repose; we, therefore, contented ourselves 
 with telling him, that his mother was a sad 
 
U6 • The Pass ofKilkcrankey. 
 
 brute fbi' hiaving piit us mtosiich an abomi- 
 iiafele pli<*e, rind afst<?d "ivSo ^iie was, » and 
 \vhTit she had' been; before she kept the inrt 
 m which she noW 14Ye<i. 'We lcarnf(id, froni 
 hts reply, that she had been c<!)<!)b' ih' the 
 3uke of AthoKs fkrtiily/and had married his 
 grace's valet, or coat- tf^i^te?',- and had' been set 
 Bp in this public-hoiVsd by their master and 
 mistress^ as a reward for fheir services: 
 
 August loth. 
 We bade young Pennycobk farewell, and 
 proceeded oh our journey, Vithout much 
 alacrity, as we were both weak' and fatigued, 
 and spiritless, for want of sufficient rest and! 
 nourishment to recruit the continual waste 
 which our frames had undergone by inces- 
 sant exercise. We were rather astonished 
 that oiir good lapdlady had not contrived to 
 pick up even a little senlblance of humanity 
 towards those who are in distress, during 
 tKe number of years tHat she lived in the 
 family of the duke of Athol ; but, perhaps 
 by those who know more of the interior 
 organization of nolle families than we do, 
 a satisfactory reason can be given for this 
 circumstance, which, by no means, re- 
 
founds, to the credit f^tjiex of th£ Jiea4 P^ 
 heart <)f any . created b^ing. 
 '' Be the cause what it may, the fact.,b sifiV 
 ficiently nptorioii3 to all the world, that the 
 geae,ral conduct of servants, in what ar^ 
 called great families, consists of a brutality 
 only equa.lled by their ignorance, and ^ 
 want pf l^indness and . attention to those 
 whom they do pot deem it their Interest X.^ 
 pblige ; only equalled by their abject and pi^ 
 tiful serv.i'Uty to all those with whom thcj 
 are immediately connected Ipy their chain$ 
 of bondage ^nd of service; chains neither 
 less heavy nor less cumbersome for bciu^ 
 "jDhitened QX ^yellowed over by golden or by 
 silver lace., Ijideed, this we may be as- 
 ^m;ed:of, tl%afc wq can form a very.ac<;urate 
 judgment of the master by observing J:li^ 
 behaviour.., of tix^, .s^'VfiLnt \ for the menial 
 dome;stic5 of a. household generally .borro^^ 
 the hyp.and colpuring of their 'mora,k an4 
 their manners from the complexion of thc^: 
 employer's life. Hence, if we see st^rvant^ 
 inspjent, cruel, profligate, abandoned, and 
 ignorant, or mild, gentle, civil, obliging 
 ^ober, honest, aud instructed, we may de-? 
 cifiyel^ pronounce upon the reprehe,nsi]bie 
 
142 V:fe Pass of Killacrankey, 
 
 or commendable conduct of those whose 
 liveries they wear, and whose bread they 
 eat. — 
 
 We walked onward towards Blair Athol, 
 beguiling the length of the way and the 
 roughness of the road by much miscella- 
 neous and desultory chat, with now and 
 then a hearty laugh at some of the curious 
 adventures which had bafallen us; all 
 of which, though subjecting us to some 
 bodily inconveniences, were productive of 
 incalculable benefit, by expanding and 
 strengthening our minds and presenting 
 to us a new stock of ideas, which would 
 serve as materials for observation and reflec- 
 tion as long as we lived, and, thereby, very 
 much increase our knowledge and our 
 power. 
 
 The scenery of the surrounding country 
 continued much the same as that through 
 which we had passed on the preceding day, 
 till, after walking, as it seemed to us, nearly 
 five miles, we saw a dirty, rough board, on 
 which was a piece of whitish paper, co.n- 
 taining, in characters badly spelled, and still 
 more wretchedly designed, these words. The 
 Hjoay to Sir James Pultney, Bart. The coun- 
 
The P^ss of Killacrajikey. 1 45 
 
 try round was terrifically grand : far as the 
 eye could range the prospect was bounded 
 by an eternal chain of mountains, whose 
 summits were buried in the clouds. 
 
 We crawled, at the imminent hazard of 
 breaking our necks, down some very steep 
 rocks, in order to bathe in the river Garry. 
 In the descent my spectacles were dis- 
 lodged from my nose and had nearly pe- 
 rished ; honest M'Diarmaid's shoe was 
 worn fairly off my foot, and required the aid 
 of a band of grass to be passed round it and 
 the whole body of my foot, embracing the 
 sole and the instep, lest it should not be 
 able to accompany me to the next habita- 
 tion. Cowan's watch was slung out of his 
 pocket, and received so rude a concussion 
 amid the rocks, that its faculties were so 
 deranged, as never again to be capable of 
 discharging their duty. 
 
 At length, by carefully and slowly pro- 
 ceeding downward, with the occasional and 
 alternate assistance of our hands and ictt, 
 and knees, and posteriors, we got to the 
 lowermost ledge of the precipice, by the 
 side of the river, without any other misr 
 chief than being nearly decorticated in 
 
 7 
 
144 The Pass of Killacrankey, 
 
 many parts of the body, in some particu- 
 larly, on which it is needless to animad- 
 vert. The water was most dehghtfully 
 clear and limpid, so as to enable us to 
 avoid sunken masses of the stone that lay 
 a few feet under its surface, and to afford 
 us a most delicious bathe. 
 
 We dressed ourselves, and stood on the 
 shelving ledge of a rock close by the wa- 
 ter's side, and suffered our souls to be rapt 
 in ecstasy by a survey of the most admir- 
 able -and stupendous scenery with which 
 our eyes had ever been blessed. The vast 
 masses of rocks had been in many places 
 •rifted by the lightning's blast, and disclosed 
 here and there an av^ful chasm. At their 
 base, and far up the steep, the hills were 
 naked and bare, but above thinly skirted 
 with hardy trees and shrubs, as the moun- 
 tain-ash, the elm, the hazel, &c. &c. The 
 arch of a bridge, which led to the mansion, 
 reared itself full sixty feet above the bed of 
 the river, although, in the winter season, 
 when the floods roll down the impetuous 
 tide -of their torrents from the mountain 
 heights, the waters rise above the level of 
 the arch; and find their way through some 
 
The Pass of Killacrankey, 145 
 
 round apertures at its side, apparently 
 made for the purpose of affording an outlet 
 to the streams, lest the great weight of 
 accumulated waters should press upon and 
 sweep away the whole fabric into destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 From the spot where we stood we be- 
 held, as wc looked throu'j;h the bridi!;e's 
 arch, a noble country open upon us ; the 
 banks of the river which tumbled its foam- 
 ing flood over many a rough and broken 
 fragment of rock that impeded its course 
 through the channel, wxre smiling with 
 verdure ; the plains beyond exhibited the 
 marks of cultivation, and the whole of our 
 prospect was terminated by a range of 
 mountains, some of which were slightly 
 clothed with w^ood, while the rest, in bleak 
 and sullen majesty, exposed their bare heads 
 to the storm, and defied the ravages of all- 
 devouring time. 
 
 In the rebellion of the year 1745, when 
 the Hessians came to this spot, they reso- 
 lutely declared that they would go no 
 farther, for they asserted that these were 
 the confines of the world. And no great 
 wonder that they turned back ; for, before 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
1 46 the Pass of Kilhurankey. 
 
 general Wade had caused the famous mili- 
 tary road, which now runs over all this tract 
 of country, to be made, half a dozen Hi[:^h- 
 landers with a few loose stones might have 
 defended the pass against a whole army of 
 assailants. 
 
 Gray says, that he never experienced the 
 sensation of sublimity from the morqent he 
 crossed the Alps, till he arrived at this spot. 
 In the ruder times of antient days a poet 
 might surely have been forgiven if he had 
 placed the infernal regions directly in this 
 spot, which might then have appeared to 
 be the hones and skeletofi of the world. 
 
 Here the bard might have imagined that 
 airy forms and shadowy spectres took up 
 their habitation, whether they hung upon 
 the rude fragment of a rock, or came ridd- 
 ing upon the viewless wings of the blast. 
 
 ^^ Vestibnlum ante ipsum, primisque in faucibu* 
 orci, 
 Lucius et ul trices pasuere cubiHa Carae : 
 Pallcntesque habitant Morbi ; tristisque Senectus, 
 Et Mctus, et malesuada Fames, ac turpis EgestaSy 
 Terribiles visu formae ; Letumque Laborque ; 
 Turn consanguincus Letl Sopor, et mala mentis 
 Gd,\x6:\2iy mortifemmqae adverso in limine Bellum.' 
 
The Pass of Killacrankey , 147 
 
 ^^ Just in the gate, and in the jaws of hell. 
 Revengeful cares and sullen sorrows dwell ; 
 And pale diseases and repining age, 
 Want, fear, and famine's unresisted rage; 
 Here toils and death, and death's half-brother 
 
 sleep, 
 Forms terrible to view, their ceniry keep. 
 With anxious pleasure of a guilty mind, 
 Deep fraud before, and open force behind." 
 
 We crawled up the rocks, and wound 
 our way up towards the road, along Pult- 
 ney's coppice-paths, still dw^elllng with 
 rapture on the scenes every where present- 
 ed to our view. We were shut, in on all 
 sides by mountains, of which those imme- 
 diately near us were hung with w^ood, well 
 dressed with foliage ; but beyond, and ele- 
 vated above all, the hills were naked to 
 their summits, not even scantily covered 
 with heath. The river rolled itself along 
 at our left, now opening upon us its white 
 and perturbed stream labouring to find its 
 way among the rocks, which opposed its 
 passage, then entirely hidden from our 
 sight by the out-jutting and over-hanging 
 hills, it allowed us only to imagine the dif- 
 ficulties w^ith which it struggled by the 
 
 L 2, 
 
14 8 The Pass ofKilhcrankey, 
 
 hoarse murmur of its waters, coming with 
 deep and solemn tones upon our ear, amid 
 the silence in which all around was hushed. 
 Here we 
 
 *^ Ourselves could catch the landscape, gliding swift 
 Athwart imagination's vivid eye : 
 And hy the winds and murmuring waters luU'd, 
 Were lost in lonely musing, in the dream 
 Confus'd of careless solitude, where mix 
 Ten thousand wandering images of things. 
 Soothe every gust of passion into peace. 
 All hut the SiveUbigs of the softened heart 
 That wakeiiy not disturb, th' enraptured m'uid.''* 
 
 We got at length, by a gradual ascent, 
 into the road, where the scenery still pre- 
 served the same sublimity of feature. 
 Trees were to be seen on the lower ridges 
 or tiers of mountains, with here and there 
 a little hut or cabin, apparently hanging in 
 the air, owing to the distance from us, 
 suspended at the side of the hill, the top- 
 most range was very lofty and enveloped in 
 clouds. 
 
 Almost immediately as soon as we had 
 regained the road, many very miserably- 
 looking people, dirty and ragged, male and 
 
The Pass of Killacrankey . 1 49 
 
 female, young and old, children and full- 
 grown, one with another, met and passed 
 us. Some of these gentry, who drov^e 
 horses, scarcely equalling in size a stout 
 Newfoundland dog, in carts almost as large 
 as a wheeel-barrow, hailed us with a great 
 abundance of Erse, delivered in the true 
 Irish twang, with a great variety of gesti- 
 cuhitory distortions. I sho(;k my head, 
 thereby intimating that I did not under- 
 stand a single syllable of their gabble, and 
 that all their rhetoric was lost upon me. 
 
 Upon seeing this motion of my head, three 
 or four of them bawled out loudly in Eng- 
 lish, He h dumb, lame, and an idiot. When 
 we heard this sagacious observation passed 
 upon my unfortunate worship, we laughed 
 so loud and so long, that the whole herd of 
 these good people waxed very wroth and 
 bespattered us with a great deal of abuse, 
 partly in English and partly in Erse, and 
 almost wholly unintelligible. 
 
 We marched onw^ard on our way, and 
 soon saw, at the distance of some miles, 
 Blair Athol. It was more extensive, but 
 not so interesting, as Dunkeld. The great 
 plantations of firs brought forth to our 
 
 L3 
 
1 *iO Our recpf^hn at Blair Ath&L 
 
 minds, toc^ forciiilv, the recollection that 
 the hand of art was ltibo»ring to supply 
 what nature, in a niggard!)' mood, had re- 
 fused spontaneously to bestow. We looked 
 in vain f )r the abundance of water and the 
 huge masses o\ rock which we had at Dun- 
 keld survc) ed with such sensations of un- 
 mixed but inexpressible delight. 
 
 On our arrival at Blair Athol we walked 
 into a public house kept by a person of the 
 name of Macnaughtan. A very decent 
 cleanly woman, with a care-befurrowed 
 countenance, received us in the most 
 hearty and kindly manner. She told us, 
 that M'Diarmaid's carrier, who passed by 
 on the preceding evening, had related to 
 her a great deal about two very hottest bonny 
 American sailors, \\ ho came to Dunkeld on 
 Sunday evening, and intended to sleep in 
 Blair Athol, at her house, the next night. 
 In consequence of which information the 
 lest bed had been aired, and the family had 
 staid up till twelve o'clock in earnest and 
 long expectation of their guests, whom they 
 much wished to see, and who had been so 
 accurately described, that the hostess knew 
 
Our reception at Blair AthoL 151 
 
 115 the moment she saw us walking on the 
 road. 
 
 We replied, that we were very sorry to 
 have been the unwitting cause of so much 
 trouble and disappointment to her, and 
 could, offer no better apology than by telling 
 her our story, as it really was, without 
 varnish or disguise, namely, that we were 
 so wretchedly worn out and crippled that 
 we had been compelled to seek for shelter 
 under the inhospitable roof of that callous 
 old woman Pennycook, the whole of 
 whose behaviour to us we did not fail cir- 
 cumstantially to relate. 
 
 As soon as we had finished our narration 
 the good hostess expressed great concern 
 at the shocking treatment which we had 
 experienced from Mrs. Pennycook ; she 
 said it was so unlike what a Highland wo- 
 ma7t should do. Indeed, — added she, paus- 
 ing a while, — I do not believe she is a High- 
 land woman ; no, no, she certainly comes 
 from tlie Lowlands ; a Highland woman 
 -woidd have willingly given up her- vWn bed 
 to strangers in such distress. 
 
 The countenance of this excellent wo- 
 man beamed v/ith kindness as she spoke, 
 L 4 
 
152 Our reception at Blair Athol, 
 
 and her eyes sparkled with brighter lustre 
 through the tear of humanity, which 
 adorned tliem with the mllcl radiance of 
 mercy and of compassion. In a moment 
 she provided for us a plentiful repast of all 
 that the house afforded, consisting of ban- 
 noes, for no bread was to be obtained, 
 good eggs, and excellent milk, all crowned 
 with a true Highland welcome. I know 
 not when 1 have been more delighted than 
 in contemplating the smile of cheerfulness 
 and complacency on the countenance of 
 this woman, when she observed that we 
 were pleased by her attention and alacrity 
 in administering to our wants. Her face 
 was as the face of an angel ; such indis- 
 cribable and heavenly charms does benevo- 
 lence diffuse over every feature, and every 
 expression of the human lineaments. 
 
 Before wx had fairly begun our breakfast 
 the host himself entered ; he welcomed us 
 civilly, but seemed rather shy and reserved 
 as I thought ; and therefore, though he sate 
 himself down in a chair by my side, I said 
 very little to him, but proceeded in my 
 business of lessening the bulk of consume- 
 able commodities on the table. As soon 
 
Character cf Macnaughtaii, 153 
 
 as we had appeased our hunger, I began to 
 bargain with him for a shoe, because it was 
 absolutely impossible to travel any farther 
 with that in which I had hobbled from 
 Dunkeld, so completely was it rent, torn, 
 and utterly demolished, as to all the pur- 
 poses of defence for the foot in walking. 
 
 At length one of mine host's was pro- 
 cured, Vv'hich being too short for me I was 
 obliged to permit the heel leather to be 
 down ; and moreover, it being shod 
 with iron within and without, I lite- 
 rally suffered, throughout the whole of my 
 tramp afterwards, the torture of being 
 rested upon a piquet every step that I took ; 
 not to mention that the dirt and sand 
 w^orked into my foot on account of my 
 shoe being down at heel. 
 
 Many of these inconveniencies I was an- 
 ticipating in my mind, and ruminating on 
 them somewhat ruefully, when I was gra- 
 dually rouzed from my meditations into 
 much more pleasing emotions, by listening 
 with admiration to the very sensible and 
 manly discourse of Macnaughtan, in w^hom, 
 however, I could not help observing a iratt 
 
151 Character of ^^'aoiaught an, 
 
 of character very common in the High- 
 lands, namely, the absolute authority which 
 is exercised over the v/omen. For he or- 
 dered his sistery the woman who had re- 
 ceived us so kindly on our first arrival, to 
 leave the room before he began to converse. 
 When I heard Macnanghtan, as it were 
 insensibly and without any apparent effort, 
 slide into a discourse replete with good 
 sense, and evincing a mind used to th'ink and 
 to reflect, I looked at him more attentively 
 than I had done before on his entrance into 
 the room, when I considered him as no- 
 thing extraordinary, nothing differing from 
 the common course of peasants, whose 
 daily toil supplies them with daily food. 
 His countenance and fii!;ure would not in- 
 tercst the generality of mankind. He is- 
 short of stature and rather slightly made ; 
 his face bears strong marks of close and 
 deep thinking, blended with many a line 
 of vvoe and many a furrow of heart-felt 
 grief. He displayed, but not ostentatiously, 
 an intimate acquaintance with the human 
 heart, and a thorough knowledge o^ Burns, 
 the new edition of whose works, in four 
 volumes octavo, by Currie of Liverpool, 
 
Character of Macnaughtan, 155 
 
 he possessed. Indeed he was rapt in ecs- 
 tasy by many of the strains of the bard of 
 Coila. 
 
 He told his little history, which was 
 short and simple, unmarked by variety and 
 unchequercd by abundance of incident; 
 that he had passed his youth as a peasant, 
 in peace and in comfort, supplying all his 
 wants by the labour of his hands ; that, 
 when young, ere the down had well shaded 
 his chin, 1)C had married her whom his 
 soul loved, and was blessed beyond the lot 
 of mortals in her affection, and in the con- 
 templation of the opening faculties of their 
 little babes, who had come to twist the 
 links of mutual love and of reciprocal at- 
 tachment still more closely round e very- 
 fibre of their hearts. 
 
 In this state of enviable felicity he had 
 lived for some of the first years after his 
 union with the beloved of his soul ; they 
 were all the world to each other, one heart, 
 one wish, one desire seemed to animate 
 both their frames ; it was the wish to ren- 
 der each other happy, to encourage each 
 other in virtue, to train up their little ones 
 in the nurture and the admonition of the 
 
156 Character of Macnaught an. 
 
 Lord. Their wants were few, and were 
 easily satisfied; the canker-worm of this 
 world corroded not their peace ; it was 
 their aim to travel on together, hand in 
 hand, through the pilgrimage of life, 
 and to drop together into the place ap- 
 pointed for all the living ; their only hope 
 was to pass through things temporal, that 
 finally they might not lose those which 
 are eternal. 
 
 And this purpose were they endeavour- 
 ing to effect by the exertions of industry, 
 and by the cultivation of religion. He had 
 for som.e years rented a farm of twenty- 
 five acres of land, and had been able, till 
 lately, by dint of incessant toil, and the 
 unremitting vigilance of economy, to earn 
 the means of a scanty existence for himself 
 and for a numerous family. But now the 
 taxes and impositions of every kind were 
 so enormous and so burdensome, that they 
 had fairly ground him down to the dust, 
 and denied him the means of living in spite 
 of his constant and uninterrupted bodily 
 labour. 
 
 As for myself, — said he, — I should re- 
 gard it all as nothing ; I would work from 
 
Character of Macnaught an, 157 
 
 mom till nlglit to earn a bit of bread, 
 which I would eat in the evening, drink a 
 draught of water from the spring that flows 
 yond'er by that green bank which you see, 
 read a poem in Burns, bless my God for 
 his goodness, and lay me down to rest, 
 with all humility and gratitude reposing in 
 the merits of my Redeemer, and looking 
 forward with a lively hope to those brighter 
 regions of immortality, where those who 
 have trusted in the mercy of a Saviour, 
 shall sigh no more, 7ior again shall shed the 
 
 hitter tear. 
 
 But my little ones, the pledges of my 
 love, the legacy which she who is in hea- 
 ven has left me,— I cannot see them starve, 
 and regularly sinking daily and hourly mto 
 the grave by the wasting efFects of want of 
 sufficient nourishment, and not feel that 
 my heart is rent with anguish. It is not 
 much that I want ; but that little I cannot 
 obtain by my own exertions. Neverthe- 
 less, I am not so badly off as many of my 
 neighbours, who are at this moment actu- 
 ally perishing for want of food ; and this 
 troubles me the more, because it is not in 
 my pov^^er to assist them. 
 
158 Character of Mi^crinhghtan. 
 
 If you have not been cyc-witnesses of 
 the distresses of the poor, you can form no 
 conception of the miseries which are en- 
 dured by ahnost all those who have not 
 been wheedled or dragged from their homes 
 to be butchered in the field of blood ; they, 
 for the most part, have been left to perish 
 by famine, a slower, but fully as certain a 
 mode of destruction as the bayonet or the 
 ball. I cannot immediately see the benefit 
 which is to accrue to the human race, by 
 sluicing out so much blood and lavishing 
 so much treasure, and all for noihhig to tlie 
 people, unless I am deceived. 
 
 I am certain that all this violence and 
 destruction are contrary to the mild spirit 
 of the gospel, w^hich enjoins peace on earth 
 and good will tow^ards men. But I believe 
 that great men and rulers of nations think, 
 that religion may do very zvellfor the vulgar y 
 and male them quietly submit to all the mhe- 
 ries which are heaped iipon them by those m 
 power, but that they themselves are much 
 too wise to be influenced by any of its pre- 
 cepts. At least I cannot otherwise ac- 
 count for the very narrovo, contracted, and 
 persecuUng spirit of all governments, so 
 
Character nf Ma en aught an. 159 
 
 very contrary to the enlarged benevolence and 
 wihoundcd patriotism which Christianity 
 teaches. Those men can never seriously 
 and truly regard the doctrines of our Savi- 
 our, who prefer rJie inere 'worldly and 7no- 
 mentary aggrandizemmt of tluniselves ajid a 
 very few more individuals, purchased at the 
 expcnce of the blood, the treasure, and tlie 
 comfort of uncounted millions of tlieir fellow^ 
 beings, to ma¥ing the ivhole human race 
 happy, by teaching them how to become the 
 disciples of tliat blessed Master who hath ex- 
 pressly told us that his hngdom is not of this 
 world. 
 
 But all these complaints and all these 
 reflections will avail me nothing ; they will 
 not satisfy the craving of my children for 
 food. And it is my duty to endeavour to 
 preserve from perishing by hunger those 
 beings w^ho are dependant upon me for the 
 means of existence, and who are linked to 
 me by every tie of affection and of good- 
 ness. They are the very images of their 
 mother, and inherit all her virtues ; her 
 mildness and meekness, her even cheerful 
 disposition, her' humble resignation to the 
 \%'ill of God. If I am denied the power of 
 I 
 
160 Character of Ma a: aught a fu 
 
 siipportins^ thcni in tliis country, I must 
 endeavour to do it in another ; and if I fail 
 there also, we will lie down and die, trust- 
 ing; in the mcrcv of God, in that we have 
 not failed to use those means which we 
 possessed. VVc arc, at best, only unprofi- 
 table servants ; but it is incumbent on us to 
 do all that we can towards contributing our 
 mite to lessen the evil and to increase the 
 good which exist in this world, and having 
 done all to hope. 
 
 Pray, on what terms can existence be 
 procured and supported in America ? Is it 
 obtainable by industry and attentive eco-^ 
 nomy ; or is it there, as it is here, beyond 
 the reach of the poor ^ 
 
 We answered, that, if he was once there, 
 and the expences attending the voyage 
 were discharged, and a small sum for pre- 
 sent need left, he mjight, with much less 
 labour than he now endured, procure a 
 more abundant livelihood for himself and 
 fam*ily. But that, as every thing else in 
 life v^^as, so also this was a matter of specu- 
 lation ; howxver, if he could not possibly 
 exist in this country, his wisest way wag to 
 put his trust in Providence, cross the At* 
 
Character of Ma en aught an. \^\ 
 
 lantic, and try what might there await 
 him. Or if he went to Russia, there, 
 owing to the benevolent and poUtic insti- 
 tutions of the late empress, Catharine the 
 second, he would be assured of providing 
 plentifully and comfortably for himself and 
 family, because foreigners were particularly 
 invited to come and settle in that country^ 
 and were much encouraged when there. 
 
 As this measure was dictated by the ge- 
 nuine spirit of political wisdom, wc took 
 the trouble of entering minutely into its 
 particulars, while Macnaughtan listened 
 with the most profound attention. We 
 told him, on the authority of that accurate 
 and deservedly celebrated historian TVilliam 
 Tooke, that Catharine the second, soon after 
 she was established on the throne of Russia, 
 published a manifesto, inviting foreigners 
 upon advantageous terms to come and settle 
 in her dominions. In July 1763 she con- 
 stituted a tutelary chancery for the protec- 
 tion of foreigners, possessing equal privi- 
 leges with the other colleges of the empire. 
 
 The chief design of this institution was 
 to take the foreigners into its protection 
 immediately on their setting foot in Russia, 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
1 62 Character of Macnaughtan. 
 
 and forward them, according to the direc- 
 tions contained in the manifesto, to the 
 place of their destination. It received an- 
 nually two hundred thousand rubles, which, 
 besides the purchase of a building for the 
 use of the chancery, was to be solely em- 
 ployed in providing seed-corn, cow-houses, 
 implements of husbandry, &c, for the colon- 
 ists, and in the erection of manufactories. The 
 tutelary chancery was enjoined to procure 
 intelligence concerning all waste and un- 
 tenanted places, to direct the construction 
 of new establishments, to watch over their 
 maintenance and adyancement, and to 
 keep up a correspondence with the Russian 
 ministers at foreign courts. 
 
 Shortly after a second manifesto appear- 
 ed, more accurately defining the advantages 
 and gratuities under which foreigners were 
 invited to settle in the Russian empire. 
 By its contents it was established, that 
 foreigners of all denominations may settle 
 in whatever part of the empire they please, 
 and to that end need only apply either di- 
 rectly to the tutelary chancery, or in the 
 frontier towns, to the governors and com- 
 manders. If their means be not competent 
 
character of Macnaughtan, \ 63 
 
 to the journey, they will be furnished with 
 money by the Russian muiisters and resi- 
 dents at foreign courts, and conveyed at 
 the imperial expcnce to Russia. 
 
 It also gives exemption from taxes for a 
 stated time, which, according to the stan- 
 dard of utility in the colonies, is set down 
 at jive, ten ^ and thirty years \ and most of 
 the colonies, after that time was elapsed, 
 have had a farther grant of immunity from 
 all taxes of whatever nature, for the same 
 number of years as before ; free dwelling 
 for one half year, dating from the day of 
 arrival. To those who intend to follow 
 the farming business, or some trade or 
 manufactures, a tract of arable land ade- 
 quate to their purpose is allotted, and all 
 necessary advances ^t their setting out. 
 
 For the erecting of a dwelling-house, for 
 the purchase of live stock, implements, 
 vessels, and other materials, the necessary 
 money is advanced, without hiterest, from 
 the imperial coffers, which, after the* ex- 
 piration of ten years, is to be paid at three 
 several instalments. The tniernal constitu- 
 tio7t 'of their jurisdiction is left to the option 
 of the colonists, who establish themselves 
 M Z 
 
l54 Character of Macnaughtan, 
 
 in whole villages ; but always in submis- 
 sion to the common law of the empire. 
 Importation of property dutyfree, and even 
 a quantity of commodities, the value of 
 which for a family shall not exceed three 
 hundred rubles. 
 
 Exemption from civil and 7niUtary service. 
 Hefreshment-money and travelling expen- 
 ces, from the frontiers of the empire to the 
 place of their destination. Free sale and 
 exemption from duties for ten years on the 
 exportation of all articles in the colonies 
 which have not hitherto been produced 
 and wrought up in Russia. Foreign capi- 
 talists, who set up fabrics, manufactories, 
 or w^ork-shops, may huy as many hoars and 
 vassals as Are requisite to their undertaking. 
 The colonies may keep fairs and markets 
 without paying any toll. 
 
 All these advantages extend also to the 
 children of the new settlers, even though 
 they be born in Russia. Their years of 
 exemption are to be reckoned from the 
 arrival of their parents or ancestors ; after 
 the expiration whereof they are all bound 
 to pay the taxes and services that are cus- 
 tomary in the country ; those who wish to 
 7 
 
Character of Macnaughtan. 1 65 
 
 quit the empire may do so, on condition 
 that after a stay of five years they pay the 
 fifth ; after having been settled from five 
 to ten years, the tenth part of the property 
 which they have acquired in the country, 
 into the imperial treasury. Whoever re- 
 quires distinct privileges beyond what are 
 granted in the manifesto, may apply for 
 that purpose to the tutelary chancery. 
 
 When we had done, Macnaughtan 
 thanked us for our information, and an- 
 swered, that all these indulgencics to fo- 
 reigners reflected great credit on the poli- 
 tical wisdom and sagacity of Catharine; 
 but that he should not like to live in a 
 country where the only law existing was the 
 will of one person, and where people were 
 allowed to buy and sell their fellow-crea- 
 tures for slaves, under the name of ioors 
 and vassals. Wherefore, he should rather 
 try what could be done towards maintain- 
 ing his family by his industry in America. 
 
 We replied, that this was altogether his 
 business, and not ours ; but that the treat- 
 ment of the boors and vassals in Russia, 
 though^ no doubt, it was very shocking and 
 unjust to iuy and sell men llke^ cattle at a 
 JM 3 
 
l66 Character of Macnaiightan, 
 
 market, was not nearly so harsh and cruel 
 as that of iJie negroe slaves which the Ame- 
 ricans use In tillage, and which diabolical 
 custom tarnished all the merit of t\\<:\r free 
 government, E\cn George Washington 
 himself, the venerable protector of his 
 countrymen from oppression and the iron 
 yoke of bondage, w as master of some hun- 
 dreds of slaves. 
 
 At hearing this Macnaughtan seemed 
 staggered and hurt ; he said nothing, but 
 paused a considerable time in deep silence, 
 and appeared to be lost in profound medita- 
 tion. As. we contemplated the countenance 
 of this worthy, noble, and unsophisticated 
 human being, we, for a moment, indulged 
 ourselves in the pleasing exultation that it 
 was in the power of the duke of Athol 
 materially to assist so w^orthy a neighbour, 
 who was situated immediately under his no- 
 tice, and, by that means, enjoy the unspeak- 
 able luxury of doing good ; a luxury which 
 infinitely surpasses all the pleasure which 
 mere animal and sensual gratifications can 
 bestow. 
 
 This anticipation of exquisite delight, 
 however, w as soon annihilated by the pain- 
 
Character of Macnaughtan. \^ 
 
 ful reflection, that in all probability the 
 duke of Athol would never know that such 
 a being as Macnaughtan existed. For great 
 and wealthy men are, at present, so unhap- 
 pily circumstanced as not even to be in the 
 way of knowing where are to be found 
 those objects which may call forth and 
 purify the best and the finest feelings of 
 their heart. Elevated to a painful and 
 pernicious height above their fellow-men, 
 they seldom see or hear but with the or- 
 gans of others. From their birth to the 
 hour of their death they are continually 
 struggling with every impediment which 
 the folly, the servility, the adulation, the 
 iniquity of interested and base sycophants 
 and dependants can throw in the way of 
 virtue. 
 
 Swathed, and rocked, and dandled in the 
 cradle of luxury, reared up in entire igno- 
 rance of the weakness and frailty of human 
 nature, and continually flattered into nar- 
 rowness of mind, into pride and presump- 
 tion of heart, unacquainted, from experience, 
 %vith the miseries and the distresses under 
 which so many of their fellow- creatures 
 grgan and are afflicted, living themselves 
 M 4 
 
l68 Character of Macnaiightan* 
 
 in the full tide of riot and of sensual indul- 
 gence, surrounded only by those whose 
 business It is, not only to obey all their 
 commands, but even to anticipate their 
 wishes and to execute their desires, almost 
 before they are formed ; how, where, by 
 what means arc they to learn to do justly y 
 to love mercy i and to zvalk humbly with 4heir 
 Godf 
 
 How are they to become acquainted 
 with the ineftable felicity resulting from 
 stretching out the hand of kindness and of 
 relief to a necessitous and a deserving fel- 
 low-creature ? Such men are certainly ob- 
 jects of compassion, inasmuch as their situ- 
 ation precludes them in a great measure 
 from the exercise of those feelings of gentle- 
 ness and of benevolence, on which depend 
 our purest and most ecstatic pleasures here, 
 and our chiefest hopes of a blessed immor- 
 tality in the days that are to come. 
 
 This inconvenience, terrible as it is in its 
 citccts, from keeping asunder two classes 
 of human beings, that, by frequent inter- 
 course, would much heighten each other's 
 virtue and happiness, by keeping up a con- 
 tinued reciprocity between them of blessing 
 
Character of Macnaughta7t, W^ 
 
 and being b/esseJ, admits of no other remedy 
 than that which will be produced by the 
 more general diffusion of truth, of know* 
 ledge, and of religion throughout the uni- 
 verse. This diffusion, however, from tha 
 nature of the impediments which it has to 
 encounter, must be very gradual and slow. 
 But we are assured that it must ultimately 
 take place ; for we are told, by the greatest 
 of all authorities, that t/ie knowledge of the 
 glory of God shall cover the earth as tlie waters 
 cover the sea. 
 
 When religion and knowledge, which 
 must ever go hand in hand, for 
 
 *^ Ignorance is the curse of God, 
 
 Knoivledge the wing wherewith we fly to Heaven,'** 
 
 shall have made such progress in this world 
 as to convince men of exalted rank, that 
 their very greatness and power derive their 
 highest and most permanent enjoyments 
 from promoting the happiness of their fel- 
 lows-creatures, distressed and afflicted, in 
 mind, body, or estate ; then, and not till 
 then, have w^e any right to hope or to ex- 
 pect, that the lords and princes of the earth 
 w^ill forego their present pursuits, (pursuits 
 
!70 Character of Macnaughtdft, 
 
 admirably adapted to their existing state 
 of education and of instruction,) and devote 
 their time, their talents, their wealth, their 
 influence, and their power, to diffuse the 
 smiles of happiness and plenty, and peace, 
 and virtue, over the countenances of their 
 fellow-men, and to lay up for themselves a 
 never- failing crown of righteousness, in that 
 kingdom, where tJiere is no respect of persons ^ 
 hut it is pronounced 071 every man according t9 
 his deeds. 
 
 Till that blessed hour shall arrive, let us 
 endeavour, to the utmost of our power, to 
 ameliorate our hearts and to expand our 
 minds, that when the day of trial ap- 
 proaches we may not be found wanting. 
 
 Will the following picture of the opti- 
 mates, and the higher orders, in a certain 
 great nation of old, be understood, and 
 point out any similitude to itself in these 
 our days of boasted refinement and of ad- 
 vanced civilization ? 
 
 ^^ Dissolved in ease, and soft delights they He, 
 Till every sun annoys, and every wind 
 Has chilling force, and every rainofTcnds : 
 For now the frame no more is girt with strength 
 Masculine, nor in lustiness of heart 
 
character of Macnaaghtan. I71 
 
 Laughs at the winter storm, and summer beam, 
 Superior to their rage : enfeebling vice 
 fVitkers each nerve, and opens every pore 
 To painful feeling: flowery bow'rs they seek, 
 As Ecther prompts^ as the sick sense approves. 
 Or cool nymphasan grots, or tepid baths. 
 Taught by vohiptuous wishes, they along 
 The lawny vale of every beauteous stone. 
 Pile in the roscat air with fond expence. 
 , Through silver channels glid^ the vagrant waves. 
 And fall on silver beds crystalline down, 
 Melodious murmuring; while luxury 
 Over their naked limbs, witli wanton hand, 
 Sheds roses, odours, sheds unheeded harie. 
 Swift is the flight of wealth ; unnumher' d wants^ 
 Brood of voluptuousness, cry out aloud 
 Necessity, and seek the splendid bribe. 
 The citron board, the bowl emboss'd with gems. 
 And tender foliage wildly wreath'd around 
 Of seeming ivy; and whatever is known 
 Of rarest acquisition ;ybr these their rights 
 In the vile streets they prostitute for sale ; 
 Their antlent lights, their dignities, their laws. 
 Their jiative, glorious freedom . Is there none, 
 Is there no villain, that will bind the neck 
 Stretched to the yoke P they coine, the inarket 
 throngs. 
 
 " O Britons, O my countrymen, beware. 
 
 Gird, gird your hearts ; the Romans o?tce zcere 
 
 free, 
 JVere brave, were virtuous. — Tyranny, howe'eF> 
 Deign 'd to walk forth awhile in pageant state, 
 And with licentious pleasures fed the rout. 
 
1 7^ Characfer of Macnaughtan. 
 
 The thoughtless many : to the wanton sound 
 Of fifes and drums they danc'd, or in the sliadt* 
 Sung C.Tsar, great and terrible in war, 
 immortal Ciesar ! /'>), a god ! a god! 
 ITc cleaves the yickling skies ! Cccsar weanuhUc 
 iuithers the occan-pebllcs ; or the gnat 
 I^itrag'd pursiirs'y or at his lonely meal 
 Starves^ a wide province ; tastes, dislikes^ and 
 
 flintys 
 ' To dogs and sycophants .* a god, a god ! 
 The flowery shades and shrines obscene return. 
 
 " But see along the North the tempest swell 
 
 O'er the rough Alps, and darken all their snows ! 
 Sudden the Goth and Vandal, dreaded names. 
 Rush as the breach of waters, whelming all 
 Their domes, their villas ; down the festive piles^, 
 Down fall their Parian porches, gilded baths. 
 And roll before the storm in clouds of dust. 
 
 " Vain end of human strength, of human skill. 
 Conquest, and triumph, and domain, and pomp, 
 And ease, and luxury ! O luxury 
 'Bane of elated life^ of affluent states, 
 IVhat dreary change ; what ruin is not thine F 
 How doth thy bowl intoxicate the mind ! 
 To the soft entrance of thy rosy cave 
 How dost thou lure the fortunate and great ! 
 Dreadful attraction I while behind thee gapes 
 
 c Th* unfathomable gulf, where Ashur lies 
 
 O'erwhtlm'cl, forgottcji ; and high-boasting Chain, 
 And Elam's haughty pomp ; and beauteous 
 
 Greece \ 
 And the great queen of earth, Imperial Rome,'* 
 
We view laird Robert son's grounds, 173 
 Our worthy host said, that he would take 
 us round the laird Robertson*s grounds, 
 which were close adjoining to his own 
 little cottage, also the property of Robert- 
 son, whose tenant he, Macnaughtan, was. 
 We gladly availed ourselves of his kindness, 
 and repaired immediately to the spot. The 
 place measured, as we were told, about five 
 miles in circumference ; but all mechanical 
 notions of measurement were obliterated 
 from our minds, when we surveyed the 
 beauties of this paradisiacal domain. 
 
 For a time, we were absorbed in rapture, 
 and experienced the pleasing delirium occa- 
 sioned by the indistinct and undefinable 
 sensations, which swept with uncontrolla- 
 ble impetuosity athwart our souls. The 
 numberless torrents, and cascades, and 
 rifted rocks, and caverned dells, which Na- 
 ture had flung with an abundant and a di- 
 versified hand, seemed altogether to shut 
 out her younger sister, Art, from any share 
 in forming this exquisite and unrivalled 
 spot, saving and except that she had allow- 
 ed her to throw a wooden bridge over a 
 most tremendously deep gulf, whose abyss 
 of waters was heard, but not seen, to la- 
 
] 74 IVe view hird Robertson s grounds* 
 hour and to toll along the broken masses of 
 rock, ere they could win their impeded way 
 along the rough course of their stony bed. 
 
 The mountains were side-clothed, and 
 tipped with birch and hazel, and mountain- 
 ash, and fir, and oak. At appropriate dis- 
 tances, and in well-selected spots, were 
 placed rural seats of turf, or of rudely hewn 
 wood; from which we surveyed the tor- 
 rents as they were tumbling, tier above tier* 
 and foaming and raging over the rugged 
 and craggy rocks, irregularly and fantasti- 
 cally disposed, assuming such a variety of 
 appearances and of shapes, as mocks all the 
 puny efforts of language to enumerate or ta 
 describe. From these seats, also, we com- 
 manded an extensive range of view, in hill 
 and dale, gay with verdure, and crow^ncd 
 with wood. 
 
 One large and deep-resounding torrent 
 came tumbling down the steep of the bank's 
 side ; the rest were in the course of the ri- 
 vers, which were two in number, and met 
 in a most romantic spot, striving which 
 should awx and astonish most by the display, 
 on their sides, of torrents, and masses, and 
 belts of rock. Here and there, welled out 
 
A word or two en Burns. 1 75 
 
 a still, small, and weeping rill, a soft and 
 soothing contrast to the deafening roar of 
 the water-falls. 
 
 We were informed that laird Robertson, 
 the owner of this enchanting domain, bore 
 a fair and an honourable character, and that 
 his eldest son was then an officer in the 
 army, and fighting in defence of royalty 
 against the Gallic squadrons. 
 
 On one of the seats, placed under the 
 shelter of over-hanging rocks, as we sate 
 down to rest and to be screened from the 
 fierceness of the sun's beams, now in their 
 meridian strength, we talked of Burns, the 
 Scottish poet, of whose works, as well we 
 might, we spoke in terms of the most 
 marked admiration and astonishment. Mac- 
 naughtan bore his share in the conversation, 
 and entered warmly into the praises of his 
 favourite bard, particularly dwelling with 
 rapture on the Cotter s Saturday Night. 
 After awhile one of us happened to re- 
 mark, that it was a most satisfactory consi- 
 deration to know, that Currie's very excel- 
 lent edition of Burn's work's was, by its ra- 
 pid and extensive sale, likely to make a 
 
1 76 A word or two on Bums, 
 
 comfortable and permanent provii>ion for 
 his widow and his family. 
 
 At this Macnaughtan turned round to us, 
 for he had, during the few last minutes,, 
 been sitting with his face towards the op- 
 posite part of the recess to that w^here wc 
 were, and with a tearful eye and a faltering 
 voice answered, — will a tliousajtd times ten 
 thousand pounds ever bring back Burns to the 
 suffering and afflicted wo?nan P Will money 
 he in the place of a husband to her P I lately 
 lost my wife, the mother of seven bairns, 
 and w^ould now freely and cheerfully give 
 the duke of Athors estate to possess the 
 happiness which I experienced with that 
 excellent woman but a year since. / would 
 willingly de-vote myself to a If e of irredeemabh 
 slavery if I might ojtly have her sitting by my 
 side, as she, this day two years ago, sate upon, 
 this seat with me. 
 
 Here his sobs were so frequent, and his 
 heart so full as to deny him further utter-, 
 ance for awhile ; he turned away his head 
 from us, and sought in a burst of tears that 
 relief which tears only could bestow. 
 Surely, the recording angel, with a blush 
 of joy, celestial, rosy-red, inserted in tkc 
 
A word or two on Burns, 177 
 
 book of life this speech, which did our host 
 honour as a man and as a christian ! 
 
 'As soon as time had been allowed to per- 
 mit the precious feelings of affection and of 
 nature, in some measure, to subside, and 
 Macnaughtan's swelling grief had softened 
 into that settled melancholy, which had 
 long shaded all his features, and given his 
 countenance a more pensive and interesting 
 cast, we rose from our seats, and traversed 
 the remainder of laird Robertson's grounds. 
 From thence our host led us to look at that 
 spot on the duke of AthoFs domains, where 
 Burns had laid himself down to muse, by 
 the side of a little water-fall, on a verdant 
 bank, utterly forgetful of the mighty lords 
 and stately dames, who were waiting his 
 coming in to partake with them his even- 
 ing repast. 
 
 Nothing that we saw about the duke of 
 AthoVs premises appeared to us to equal the 
 beauties of Robertson's garden of Eden; 
 they were very large and spacious, evincing 
 the great opulence of their owner, consist- 
 ing mostly of walks and woods, bearing evi- 
 dent marks of the hand of art recently em- 
 ployed in their creation. We did not en- 
 
 VOL, II. N 
 
17S A word cr two on Burns. 
 
 ter the ducal mansion ; it was not our in- 
 tention, at our first setting out, to see 
 houses, and pictures, and furniture, but to 
 survey the face of the country, and to catch 
 the hue and colouring of the manners of the 
 people. We were neither artists nor con- 
 noiscurs; but. rather, if I may so say, two 
 pJulosopJikal vagahondsy who wished to exa- 
 mine the condition of the great mass of the 
 people in one of the most interesting por- 
 tions of the British empire. 
 
 Poor Burns ! And thou the fairest flower 
 of British soil, wast rudely torn and crushed 
 by the unfeeling hand of dull and stupid 
 Indolence, of base and narrow malignity! 
 Did not the bard, in the breathings of a 
 prophetic spirit, darkly anticipate his doom, 
 when he poured forth the following strains 
 of immortality ? 
 
 '^ E'en thou, that moums't the daisy's fate, 
 That fate is thine, no distant date. 
 Stern riiin's ploughshare drives elate 
 
 Full on thy bloom. 
 Till, crushM beneath the furrow's weight, 
 
 Shall be thy doom.** 
 
 The time was, or history speaks not truth; 
 
A word or two on Burns, \ 79 
 
 when such a poet as Burns would not have 
 lived unregarded, or unlamented died. 
 
 '^ Suffice it now th' Esquilian mount to reach 
 With weary wing, and seek the sacred rests 
 Of Maro's humble tenement ; a low 
 Plain wall remains ; a little sun-gilt heap, 
 Grotesque and wild ; the gourd and olive brown 
 Weave the light roof: the gourd and olive fan 
 Their amorous foliage, mingling with the vine. 
 Who drops her purple clusters thro' the green. 
 Here let mc lie, with pleasing fancy sooth'd. 
 Here flow'd his fountain ; here his laurels grew ; 
 Here oft the meek good man, the lofty bard, 
 Fram'd the celestial song, or social walk'd 
 With Horace and the Ruler of the world. 
 Happy Augustus ! who so well inspir'd 
 Couldst throw thy pomps and royalties aside. 
 Attentive to the wise, the great of soul. 
 And dignify thy mind. Thrice glorious days. 
 Auspicious to the muses ! Then revered. 
 Then hallow'd was the fount, or secret shade. 
 Or open mountain, or whatever scene 
 The poet chose to tune th' ennobling rhyme 
 Melodious; e'en the rugged sons of war ^ 
 E'en the rude hinds rever'd the poet's name; 
 But now, -^ a not her age, alas! is ours — 
 Yet will the muse a little longer soar. 
 Unless the clouds of care v^'eigh down her wing. 
 Since Nature's stores are shut with cruel hand. 
 And each aggrieves his brother ; siJice in vain 
 The thirsty pilgrim at the fountain asks 
 Th' o'erflowiug uave. 
 
1 80 A word or two on Burns, 
 
 Pause awhile, and consider the testimo- 
 nies in favour of Burns by some of the 
 ablest and most highly-gifted men of the 
 present day, and then judge of the demerits 
 of those, who suffered such a man to pe- 
 rish. The following are the sentiments of 
 one of the first and greatest of writers, in 
 these or in any times, antient or modern ; 
 of one whose loftiness of genius can never 
 be suspected of stooping to waste a single 
 note of his immortal song in bestowing un- 
 merited praise on any one, 
 
 " A voice from Coila o'er the furrow'd field 
 Bewails the fountain shut, the volume sealM; 
 The throbs of genius struggling to be great; 
 The cheerless, chilling damp of lowly fate; 
 The home-bred conscious worth, untaught to bend 
 At the shrugg'd shoulder of a pitying friend ; 
 The pang that rends the maddening breast un- 
 known ; 
 And poverty's unutterable groan ; 
 The Vision^ bursting on the patriot soul, 
 Superior, unsubdued, beyond controul, 
 With all the prophet's, all the poet's rage. 
 High beaming o'er th' unperishable page; 
 The muse indignant mark'd, yet hail'd the day ; 
 And while her Tlurns pour'd forth his native lay. 
 Bright with the redd'ning holly grac'd his head. 
 And threw^ her mantle o'er the ploughman' 
 weed." 
 
A word or two on Bums. 181 
 
 " See the animated preface to the first 
 edition, printed at Kilrr>arnoc, of the poems 
 by' Robert Burns, the Ayrshire ploughman, 
 an original, national poet. The words of 
 Burns are these : ' The following trifles arc 
 not the productions of the poet, who, with 
 all the advantages of learned art, and, per- 
 haps, amid the elegancies and idlenesses of 
 upper life, looks down for a rural theme, 
 w^th an eye to Theocritus and Virgil. To 
 the author of this, these, and other cele- 
 brated names, their countrymen are, at 
 least In their original language, a fountain 
 shut upi and a hook scaled, Sec. &c.' Burns, 
 in one of his letters, calls himself///^ Voice of 
 Colla, i. e. oi Kyle, a district of Ayrshire. 
 
 " The public have now been gratified 
 with a complete collection of Burns's works 
 in verse and prose, which is a most valua- 
 ble addition to British literature. It is 
 difficult to speak in terms of commenda- 
 datlon adequate to the tempered zeal, cri- 
 tical judgment, and discerning benevolence 
 which induced the ingenious Dr. Currie 
 to undertake the office of Editor, during the 
 arduous and honourable discharge of his 
 most important profession* 
 
182 A word or two on Burns, 
 
 *' The character of Robert Bums, his 
 life, his merits, and his most deplorable 
 frailties, have been considered and appreci- 
 ated in the most candid, interesting, and 
 impartial manner by his brother Gilbert 
 Burns, by Dr. Currie, Dr. Stewart, and 
 Dr. Adair ; but by none with more felicity 
 and elegance than by a lady of a refined and 
 classical tastC/ polite accomplishments, and 
 cultivated genius, who knew him well, and 
 proved herself his friend and patron. They 
 have extenuated nothing, but have spoken 
 of him as he was ; and their narratives 
 raise, alternately, our admiration and our 
 regret. They paint his principles and his 
 conduct at perpetual variance, with a cer- 
 tain turbulence of disposition and passion to 
 which every temptation was ruinous and 
 every indulgence fatal. 
 
 '^ Aestuat inirens 
 
 Imo in corde piidor, mistoque insania liictii, 
 Etfuriis agitatus amor, et conscia virtus /" 
 
 '^I think that greater liberality might 
 have been prudently exerted to obtain an 
 adequate employment, and a safe as well as 
 
A word or two on Burns, 1 83 
 
 honourable support for a man destined to 
 bear up the full fame and dignity of tJie 
 poet of Scotland, who had described himself 
 to his countrymen (and can they now read 
 the words without barren shame and pas- 
 sionate remorse ?) as lialf mad, halffed^ and 
 half sarkit, i. e. half clothed, or rather half 
 sliirted, than by the strange and unaccount- 
 able occupation, which they conferred upon 
 him. That all the noble and learned che- 
 mists of the North could not discover, in 
 the whole table of affinities, a more sympa* 
 thetic ink, for a poet, than that of an Ex* 
 ciscfnan, may excite something between a 
 smile and indignation in the less-enlightened 
 South, It might even now draw iron tears 
 down the poetical cheeks of the Meca^nas 
 of Scotland, the Right Honourable Henry 
 Dundas. 
 
 ** And to the originality of Burns's genius 
 and of his commanding faculties there can 
 be but one opinion. To the harmony and 
 force of his English verse every ear assents 
 with delight; and to his Scottish poetry^ 
 his countrymen have borne that decisive 
 testimony, which natives alone can confer. 
 But the greatest effort of his genius is dis- 
 N 4 
 
1 84 A word or t^xo on Burns^ 
 
 played in TJie Vis'iou, which raises itself in 
 a pre-eminence paramount to all, as the cy- 
 press among the shrubs, I scarce except that 
 most pathetic and interesting poem Jlie 
 Cotter s Saturday Night, 
 
 \' But the volume of his letterS;, and, in- 
 deed, almost all his prose-writings, must be 
 considered as a phasnomenon in the litera- 
 ture of a rustic. It seems, I think it is 
 taken generally, the style of a cultivated 
 gentleman, who has lived and conversed 
 with ease in the higher circles of society, 
 manly, correct, eloquent, and affecting. 
 
 '' But I am told, that to estimate the 
 character of Burns with justice, we should 
 have seen him in his happier hours, and 
 marked the dignity of his natural deport- 
 ment, the animation of his eye, and the 
 power of his colloquial language. 
 
 " His sentiments, thejiash and out-hreak 
 of a fiery mind, often republican, but always 
 patriotic, and with the old national attach- 
 ment yet unextinguished in his breast, 
 claim our admiration or excuse rather than 
 our censure, in a man of such overbearing 
 powers, and talents out of their place. 
 
 . 7 
 
yizvord or two an Burns, 185 
 
 ^^ His track where'er the poet r6vM, 
 
 Glory parsu'd and generous shame, 
 ''^he unconquerable mind, and freedonCs holy 
 flame P' 
 
 And hear another kindred genius, that 
 lives to adorn and to bless our present gene- 
 ration, and who has engraved upon the 
 tablets of immortality the precepts of wis- 
 dom and the dictates of benevolence for the 
 benefit of every unborn age and undisco- 
 vered clime, strike his trembling harp, and 
 tune his doleful song, in sounds of lamenta- 
 tion and of sorrow over the tomb of the 
 Caledonian bard, to sooth his hovering spirit, 
 now that his tenement of clay is laid in the 
 narrow house ! 
 
 *' Then while his throbbing veins beat high 
 
 With every impulse of delight, 
 Dash from his lips the cup of joy. 
 
 And shroud the scene in shades of night; 
 And let Despair, with wizard light. 
 
 Disclose the yawning gulph below. 
 And pour incessant on his sight, 
 
 Her spectred ills and shapes of woe. 
 
 ^* And show beneath a cheerless shed. 
 
 With sorrowing heart and streaming eyes. 
 
1 86 A word or two on Burm. 
 
 In silent grief where droops her head> 
 
 The partner of his early joys; 
 And let hi? infant's tender cries 
 
 His fond parental succour claim. 
 And bid him hear in agonies 
 
 A husband'& and a father's name. 
 
 ** Tis done, the powerful charm succeeds ; 
 
 His high reluctant spirit bends ; 
 In bitterness of soul he bleeds. 
 
 Nor lonjier with his fate contends. 
 An idiot laugh the welkin rends 
 
 As genius thus degraded lies ; 
 Till pitying Heaven the veil extends. 
 
 That shrouds the poet's ardent eyes. 
 
 <^ Rear high thy bleak majestic hills. 
 
 Thy sheltered vallies proudly spread, 
 And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills. 
 
 And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
 But never more shall poet tread 
 
 Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign. 
 Since he the sweetest bard is dead 
 
 That ever breath'd the soothing strain. 
 
 *^ As green thy towering pines may grow. 
 
 As clear thy stream may speed along, 
 As bright thy summer suns may glow. 
 
 As gayly charm thy feathery throng; 
 But now unheeded is the song. 
 
 And dull and lifeless all around, 
 For his wild harp lies all unstrung, 
 
 And cold the hand that wak'd its sound," 
 
A word or two en Burns. 187 
 
 I must also be indulged with the liberty 
 of presenting the concluding periods of Dr. 
 Carrie's very elegant, accurate, profound, 
 and philosophical remarks prefixed to his 
 invaluable edition of Burns. 
 
 '' Let not men of reflection think it a 
 superfluous labour to trace the rise and pro- 
 gress of a character like his. Born in the 
 condition of a peasant, he rose by the force 
 of his mind into distinction and influence, 
 and in his ^^orks has exhibited, what is so 
 rarely found, the charms of original genius. 
 With a deep insight into the human heart, 
 his poetry exhibits high powers of imagi« 
 nation; — it displays, * and, as it were, 
 embalms, the peculiar manners of his 
 country ; and it may be considered as a mo- 
 nument, not to his name only, but to the 
 expiring genius of an antmit and once indepen- 
 dent nation. In relating the incidents of 
 his life, candour will prevent us from dwel- 
 ling invidiously on those failings, which 
 justice forbids us to conceal ; we will tread 
 liahty over his yet warm ashes, and respect 
 the laurels that shelter his yet untimely 
 grave." 
 
 Perhaps, after all that has been said, 
 
188 A word or two on Burns. 
 
 Burns has depicted himself most exactly in 
 the two following passages, taken from his 
 own works, and, as it should seem, design- 
 edly sketched for his own portrait : 
 
 " Is there a man, whose judgment clear. 
 Can others teach the course to steer. 
 Yet runs himself life's mad career. 
 
 Wild as the wave ; 
 Here pauf^e, and thro' the starting tear. 
 
 Survey this grave. 
 
 The poor inhabitant below 
 
 Was quick to learn, and wise to know. 
 
 And keenly felt the friendly glow. 
 
 And softer Jiavie; 
 But thoughtless follies laid him low 
 
 And stainM his name. 
 
 Reader attend, — whether thy soul 
 Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole. 
 Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 
 
 On lov/ pursuit: 
 Know, prudent, cautious, self controuly 
 
 Is ivisdom's root.'* 
 
 And still more particularly in these inimi- 
 table lines : 
 
 ^' I mark'd thy embryo, tuneful fiame^ 
 Thy natal hour : 
 
A word or two on Burns. 1 89 
 
 With future hope, I ofl would gaze, 
 Fond, on thy little early ways, 
 Thy rudely carollM chiming phrase, 
 
 In uncouth rhymes, 
 Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 
 
 Of other times. 
 
 <*^ I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
 Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
 Or when the North his fleecy store 
 
 Drove thro' the sky, 
 I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 
 
 Struck thy young eye. 
 
 '« Or when the deep-green mantled earth, 
 Warm cherish'd every flow'ret's birth. 
 And joy and music pouring forth 
 
 In every grove, 
 I saw thee eye the general mirth 
 With boundless love. 
 
 <« When ripen'd fields and azure skies 
 Call'd forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
 I saw thee leave their evening joys. 
 
 And lonely stalk 
 To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 
 In pensive walk. 
 
 ^^ When youthful love, warm-blushing strong. 
 Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
 Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 
 
 Th' adored name 
 I taught thee how to pour in song, 
 
 To soothe thy flame. 
 
IQO A word or tv:o on Burns, 
 
 " I saw thy pulsc*s maddening play 
 Wild send llice pleasure's devious way 
 Misled by fancy's meteor-ray. 
 
 By pass 10 Ji driven : 
 But yet the light that led astray. 
 
 Was U^ht from Heaven. 
 
 " r taught thy manners-painting strains. 
 The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
 ^Till now o'er all my wide domains 
 
 Thy fame extends ; 
 And some, the pride of Coila's plains. 
 
 Become thy friends. 
 
 '^ Thou can'st not learn, nor can I show> 
 To paint with Thompson* s landscape glow. 
 Or wake the bosom-melting throe 
 
 With Shenstone's art; 
 Or pour with Gray the moving flow 
 Warm on the heart, 
 
 <' Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose 
 The lowly daisy sweetly hloivs ; 
 Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 
 
 Its army shade; 
 Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows 
 
 Adorn the glade. 
 
 <*^ Then never murmur nor repine ; 
 Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
 And trust me^ not FotosVs mine. 
 
 Nor king*s regard. 
 Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 
 A rustic Bard. 
 
A word or two on Bums, 19 1 
 
 «< To give my counsels all in one ; 
 Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
 Vy^s<^xsq the dignity of mmi 
 
 With soul erect ; 
 And trust, ihe universal plait 
 Will all protect. 
 
 ^^ Jnd wear ihou this, she solemn said. 
 
 And bound the holly round my head ; 
 The polish'd leaves and berries red 
 
 Did rustling play, 
 And, like a passing thought, she fled 
 
 In light away." 
 
 But we are not to wonder that Burns 
 sunk into the grave without protection and 
 without support, when we all know and 
 feel that the following lines of a most ani- 
 mated and lofty writer contain the language 
 of the strictest truth. They arc the lines 
 of a man, who has, in this our day, come 
 forth in all the greatness of the most pow- 
 erful talents, and in all the acquired 
 strength of the most extensive and un- 
 bounded erudition, to uphold the cause of 
 virtue, of religion, of morality, and of 
 knowledge; who has shown by his writings, 
 writings that will for ever live, and Increase 
 in splendour as thev advance in years, that 
 
192 A word or tivo on Burns. 
 
 hy Uieralurcy zvcll or III d'lrcctcd, every 7i(]tion 
 must stand or JaU, must ji our hh or decay. 
 
 The giant capacity of this man has 
 mounted upon the ijotngs of fire, which it is 
 sciven to Genius alone to poise ; and has 
 soared into the regions of immortahty. 
 Alone, and without aid, confiding in the 
 boundless vigour of his ability, he has be- 
 gun, continued, and ended a work, which 
 will remain to the latest times a stupendous 
 monument of human wisdom and of hu- 
 man power. All the diverging rays of his 
 mighty intellect have been collected toge- 
 ther, and concentrated into one burning 
 focus, which will be a light to lighten the 
 sons and the daughters of Adam to the 
 temple of religion and of knowledge, long 
 as the winds shall roar and waters roll. 
 This literary luminary is now lord of the 
 ascendant, his beams have gone abroad into 
 the remotest corners of the intellectual 
 world ; and all the nether hemisphere is in 
 a blaze with the brightness of his refulgent 
 orb. 
 
 His poetry is the poetry of a mind strong, 
 ardent, daring, and perspicacious; it abounds 
 
u4 word or two on Burns, 193 
 
 in energy and in dignified simplicity ; it 
 alike displays the softest graces of melody 
 and of song, and rolls, in awful majesty and 
 with resistless fury, the Pierian thunder. 
 But what shall I say of his prose ? Surely 
 his are thoughts that breathe, and words that 
 hum. In sublimity of imagery, in animated 
 and impassioned diction, in declamatory 
 grandeur, in cutting, and in sarcastic irony, 
 in terrible and in pointed satire, which, 
 like the fell lightning's blast, withers where 
 it strikes ; we shall, in vain, search among 
 the records, antient or modern, of the off- 
 spring of intellectual vigour, to find his 
 equal. 
 
 He has put on the armour of power, and 
 has assayed the weapons of his might ; his 
 onset is dreadful, and the violence of his 
 attack none of mortal birth can withstand. 
 But he is arrayed in the panoply or virtue, 
 and wields the sword of truth. He has 
 gone forth as the unrivalled champion of 
 rectitude and of conscious integrity, and 
 has prevailed, I feel that my power is not 
 equal to my will. I cannot find words to 
 express the sensations of astonishment and 
 of respect for this man's ability and power, 
 
 VOL, H. O 
 
194 A word or two on Burns. 
 
 which are, at this moment, crowding upon 
 my heart. I know not how to convey an 
 adequate idea of his merits but by usinc; his 
 own unrivalled and inimitable language, 
 where he tells us what he has done. The 
 words are these. 
 
 *' I would not have you or any man 
 think, that I enter into a defence of my 
 work, as if I thought* it required one. No : 
 I have vindicated the authority of our na- 
 tional government and constitution, in a day 
 of turbulence and terror ; I have defended 
 the purity' and dignity of religion, and of 
 our sacred establishment ; I have pleaded 
 the cause of sound literature and of true 
 philosophy; I have recalled the public at- 
 tention to poetry without conceit, and to 
 criticism without affectation ; Ihavc endea- 
 voured to secure to women their honour, 
 social rank, and happiness, by an attempt 
 to tutn the thoughts and hearts of the in- 
 habitants of this island, from ^orks of ob- 
 scenity and indecency, from the morals and 
 manners of atheists and denlocratic spoilers, 
 to the \Visdom of the just; and I have boldly 
 invaded the strong holds of impiety and 
 anarchy, plebeian or trihimttian,' 
 
• A word or two on Burns, 195 
 
 '^ I have done all this ; and I ha\x 
 offended many. I have brushed away the 
 insects of literature, whether fluttering or 
 creeping ; I have shaken the little stems of 
 many' a plant, and the fiowfets have fallen ; 
 I have almost degraded myself by an atten^ 
 tion to minute objects in the service of the 
 public; and I am called upon to defend 
 myself. No. My countenance is unal- 
 tered ; my perseverance is unbroken ; the 
 spirit and tenour of my speech are yet the 
 same ; my words are firm. Semel causam did 
 (vel iterum dicturus) quo semper agere omnia 
 soUtus sum, Accusatorio Spiritu." 
 
 I trust that I shall be readily excused for 
 paying this my little tribute of respect and 
 of veneration to one of the niost distin- 
 guished writers which the World ever saW, 
 and to whom this country is most particu- 
 larly indebted for the 'labour of love, that he 
 has undergone for its sake. But T have, 
 yet, another reason why I wished thus un- 
 equivocally and undisguisedly to give my 
 opinion to the public on the rnerits of this 
 most extraordinary man. It is this : — In a 
 work, lately published, called Critical and 
 Philosophical Essays, by the Author of the 
 o z 
 
19^ A zvDJ'd or two on Burns, 
 
 Adviser y Vol. I. page 202, there is a most 
 unfortunate blunder, owing to the inaccu- 
 racy of the printer, or tlie corrector of the 
 press; and which blunder may easily lead 
 the reader to imagine that the author had 
 passed the severest libel on his own under- 
 standing, by ranking one of the very foremost 
 of writers in the same class with those of 
 the lowTst and most contemptible order of 
 scribblers. I did not discover the error till 
 the book was published ; for, it being 
 printed, and the proof- sheets corrected at 
 Oxford, I never saw the work till the 
 whole impression had been taken off, and 
 the volume was actually on sale. The pas- 
 sage runs thus : 
 
 *' We cannot, however, be misled by the 
 distempered ravings of this man's dreams, 
 if we only keep this great and simple truth 
 steadily in view ; that taste, like all other 
 knowledge, is altogether acquired by education, 
 and, consequently, that the perfection of 
 taste is directly as the knowledge, and in- 
 versely as the ignorance of a people ; hence 
 we can easily account for the neglect of 
 such writers as Bacon, Locke, Newton, 
 Milton, [and here, it was intended, should 
 
A word or two on Burns, - 197 
 follow, The Pursiitis of Literature ; but, by 
 a strange mistake, this admirable book, as 
 will be seen presently, was thrust in be- 
 tween the names of Murphy and The Puh^ 
 lie Characters,'] Burney, Johnson, Sir Wil- 
 liam Jones, Adam Smith, Dugald Stewart, 
 and a thousand others ; while Blair, Ma- 
 lone, Murphy, The Pursuits of Literature, 
 the Public Characters, Monboddo, Harris, 
 Peter Pindar, and an innumerable spawn of 
 dullness and malignity, are cherished and 
 admired by a nation, which arrogates to 
 itself the name of civilized andl.arned.'* 
 
 A more unlucky error could not have 
 crept into the book ; because it implies, 
 that the author is either so dull, or so ma- 
 lignant, or both, that he can shut his eyes 
 against the paramount excellence of a 
 writer, whom, f we take him hut for all in 
 all, we shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 It is needless to say, that, if ever another 
 edition of The Critical and Philosophical 
 Essays shall be called tor by the public, this 
 and many other fauks aad carelessnesses 
 shall be remedied and amended. 
 
 But to return. This admirable writer 
 shows, throughout his book, and partlcu 
 o ^ 
 
IQS, A word or twq on Burns, 
 
 larly in the follow ing lines, that learn'mg and 
 Uarned men have not met with that support 
 aj^\ encouragement, from the rulers of tills na^ 
 tionts tok^ch are their due ; and which it is es- 
 sential h the interest of the rulers to afford, 
 probably, owing to the general ignorance 
 and contempt of this most important truth, 
 namely, that the interests of government and 
 of literature are i^iseparahly blended together ; 
 they must go hand i?i hand, or neither of them 
 can ever prosper. Let the British govern- 
 ment extend the hand of friendship and of 
 affection to her intellectual children, and 
 the empire will flourish and thrive through- 
 out all her departments ; let this be done 
 steadily and uniformly, and the national 
 motto might then be justly thus inscribed : 
 
 ^^ Come the three corners of the world in arms 
 And we shall shock them.\' 
 
 These are the lines of that poet, of the 
 present age, who, like the bird of day, 
 always turns his eye upwards to the sun : 
 
 ^^ Say, would your thought to Homer's pomp asph'e, 
 Or, wake to loftiest rapture, Pindar's lyre ? 
 Go, then, and view, since clos'd his cloister'd day, 
 The self-supported, melancholy Gray .* 
 
A word or two on Burns, IQ^ 
 
 Dark was his morn of life, and bleak the spring,"^ 
 IVitkout one fostering ray from Britain's khig; 
 Granta's dull abbots cast a sidelong glance, 
 'And Levite gownsmen hngg'd their ignorance. 
 With his high spirit strove the master bard. 
 And was his own exceeding great reward. 
 Saw you not Mason stand with downcast eye. 
 While great Augusttis pass'd unconscious hy P 
 Till, wrapt in terrors of avenging night. 
 He starts Macgreggor with dilated might. 
 Have you not seen neglected Penrose bloom, 
 Then sink unhonourM in a village tomb ? 
 Content a curate's humble path he trod. 
 Now with the poor in spirit rests with God. 
 To worth untitled would your fancy turn? 
 The muse all friendless wept o'er Mickle^s urn : 
 Mickle, who bade the strong poetic tide 
 JRoll e'er Britannia's shores in Lusitanian pride, 
 
 I have had the good fortune, once in my 
 life, to meet with young Burns, the eldest 
 son of the poet. The young gentleman 
 pleased me much ; he was very young, but 
 his countenance indicated great power and 
 strength of mind ; his deportment was free 
 and easy, and his conversation manly and 
 judicious. Whatever he had to say he said 
 it without affectation, biit witli a steadi- 
 ness which evinced^ a min4 ^ceustonaed to 
 think and to repose vvith a becoming con- 
 o 4 
 
200 A word or two on Burns. 
 
 fidence in its own powers. May those men 
 who suffered the father to perish, now feel 
 that they are called upon to foster and to 
 cherish the scion of that noble stock, 
 
 *' Whose top- branch ovcr-peer'd Jove's spreading 
 tree, 
 Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, 
 Under whose shade the ramping lion slept! ! !*' 
 
 Peace be to the ashes of this high and 
 mighty bard ! and do ye, who trembled at 
 the living lion, rear wdth fostering hand his 
 royal progeny. 
 
 '* Zey, Zz'j, hnpoc t-.cv h 'jrpayiLCKrujv yevs. 
 
 ©avovro; £v TfKBy.rcii<n koci a-irsipocu.aa-t. 
 AsivTj; s^i^vYj§- T'sa-^' aTe<vp(pcx,viTtj.£v85 
 Nijcrr/j 7ti£t,£i XiijiC§. ov yap £vr£}.riS 
 OYjpoLv Tfocrpccav i!^o<r(^£p£iv cyir^vri^.OLCiv ." 
 
 *^ Look down, great king of heaven, look down, 
 behold 
 These deeds of baseness; see an orphan race. 
 Reft of the parent eagle, that, inwreath'd 
 In the dire serpent's spiry volumes, perish'd. 
 They, unprotected, feel th' oppressive pangs 
 Of famine, yet too weak to wing their flight. 
 And, like their parent, fill their nesl with prey/* 
 
A word or two on Burns, 20 1 
 
 May the names of Fergusson, of Bruce, 
 and of Burns, all gifted with the true fire 
 of genius, and all of whom the Scottish 
 nation has seen, without feeling or remorse, 
 pine under the accumulated weight, and 
 suffer all the horrors of poverty, of disease, 
 and of neglect, and finally sink into the 
 grave without any cornforter to close their eyes, 
 call up the blush of shame upon the cheeks 
 of the inhabitants of Caledonia, and rouze 
 them to endeavour, by deeds of future 
 mercy and benevolence, to erase from their 
 national character this deeply indented hrand 
 of i?tfamy I! ! 
 
 What Burns was wc have seen. Of 
 Bruce I know little or nothing, save that I 
 have read his poems with pleasure. I un- 
 derstand that he was a common sailor, and 
 died in extreme poverty at a very early age. 
 Upon recollection, I believe that some 
 little account of his life is prefixed to his 
 w^orks, collected in one volume duodecimo. 
 I have not the book by me to refer to, and 
 therefore cannot be certain as to this point. 
 Neither do I know much of Fergusson, 
 save that he was a man of very prime abi- 
 lities, and, as I am informed, was suffered 
 
£>02 A word or two on Burns, 
 
 to perish at the age of three and ii^enty, In a 
 hovel, literally xmthout coveringy without food, 
 without a si?igle human being to look after 
 hiyn a?id soothe his last hours, i7i all the ago- 
 nies of delirium and frantic madness, occasioned 
 by the forlorn wretchedness of his sitiiatio7i. 
 
 The following extract may give the rea- 
 der some idea of the loss which the nation 
 sustained when this son of genius was suf- 
 fered to be blasted in his bud, even before 
 his petals had expanded, and the flower had 
 been permitted to blossom into fruit. 
 
 ^' I cannot express my happiness suffi- 
 ciently at the instance of your attachment 
 to my late inestimable friend. Bob Fergus- 
 son, who was particularly intimate with 
 myself and relations. While I recollect 
 with pleasure his extraordinary talents, and 
 many amiable qualities, it affords me the 
 greatest consolation that I am honoured 
 with the correspondence of his successor in 
 national simplicity and genius. That Mr. 
 Burns has refined in the art of poetry must 
 be readily admitted; but, notwithstanding 
 many favourable representations, I am yet 
 to learn that he inherits his convivial 
 powers. 
 
A "jcord or two on Burns, 203 
 
 *' There was such a richness of conver- 
 sation, such a plenitude of fancy and at- 
 traction in him, that, when I call the happy 
 period of our intercourse to my memory, 
 I feel myself in a state of delirium. I was 
 then younger than him by eight or ten years, 
 but his manner was - so felicitous that he 
 enraptured every person around him, and 
 infused into the hearts of young and old 
 the spirit and animation which operated on 
 his own mind." 
 
 What opinion Burns himself entertained 
 of Fergusson may be readily seen by the 
 following account, which shows how much 
 the voice of Coila was interested in doing 
 honour to the memory of a kindred genius. 
 
 *^ Extr. Property in favour of Mr. Ro- 
 bert Burns, to erect and keep up a head- 
 stone in memory of poet Fergusson. 1787. 
 
 '* Session House, within the kirk of 
 Canongate, the twenty-second day of Feb- 
 ruary, one thousand seven hundred eighty- 
 seven years. 
 
 '^ Sederunt of the managers of the kirk 
 and kirk-yard funds of Canongate. 
 
 '^ Which day the treasurer to the said 
 funds produced a letter from Mr. Robert 
 
£04 A ivord or tivo on Burns. 
 
 Bums, of date the sixth current, which was 
 read and appointed to be engrossed in their 
 sederunt-book, and of which letter the 
 tenor follows : 
 
 '* To the honourable bailies of Canon- 
 gate, Edinburgh. Gentlemen, I am sorry 
 to be told that the remains of Robert Fer- 
 gasson, the so justly celebrated poet, a man 
 "vv'hose talents for ages to come will do 
 honour to our Caledonian name, lie in your 
 church-yard, among the ignoble dead, un- 
 noticed and unknown. 
 
 '^ Some memorial to direct the steps of 
 the lovers of Scottish song, when they w^ish 
 to shed a tear over the narrow house of the 
 bard w^ho is no more, is surely a tribute 
 due to Fergusson's mem.ory ; a tribute I 
 v/ish to have the honour of paying. I pe- 
 tition you, then, gentlemen, to permit mc 
 to lay a simple stone over his revered ashes, 
 to remain an unalienable property to his 
 deathless fame. I have the honour to be, 
 gentlemen, your very humble servant, {sic 
 subscrihitur) Robert Burns. 
 
 '' Thereafter the said managers, in con- 
 sideration of the laudable and disinterested 
 motion of Mr. Burns, and the propriety of 
 
A wcrd or tijoc on 'Burns. £05 
 
 his request, did, and hereby do, unani- 
 mously grant power and liberty to the said 
 Robert Burns to erect a head-stone at the 
 grave of the said Robert Fergusson, and to 
 keep up and preserve the same to his me- 
 mory, in all time coming. Extracted/6?r//i 
 of the records of the managers, by 
 
 " William Spkott, Clerk, 
 
 '' This is the inscription on the stone: 
 
 " Here lies Robert Fergnsson, poet. 
 Born September 5th, lysi.—Died 16th October, 1774- 
 No scnlptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 
 
 No storied urn, nor animated bust; 
 This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
 To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust.'* 
 
 *' On the other side of the stone is as 
 follows : 
 
 '^ By special grant of the managers to 
 Robert Burns, ^vho erected this stone, this 
 burial-place is to remain for ever sacred to 
 the memory of Robert Fergusson." 
 
 As this is my day for quoting, and my 
 hand is fairly in for it, I will present a few- 
 more sentences respecting this tomb-stone 
 of Fergusson. They are from a letter of a 
 nameless correspondent to Burns. 
 
9,06 A word or two on Burns. 
 
 '* So you have obtained liberty from the 
 magistrates to erect a stone over Fergus- 
 son's grave ? I do not doubt it ; such things 
 have been, as bhakspearc says, in the olden 
 time. 
 
 " The poet's fate is here in emblem shown. 
 He ask' d for bread, and he received a stone,'* 
 
 *' It is, I believe, upon poor Butler s 
 tomb that this is written. But how^ many 
 brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor But- 
 ler and poor Fergusson, have asked for bread 
 and have been served with the same sauce. 
 
 " The magistrates gave you liberty , did 
 they ? Oh generous magistrates ! , ce- 
 lebrated over the three kingdoms for his 
 public spirit, gives a poor poet liberty to 
 raise a tomb to e poor poet's memory ! 
 
 Most generous ! , once upon a time, 
 
 gave that same poet the mighty sum of 
 eighteen pence for a copy of his works. But 
 then it must be considered that the poet 
 was, at this time, absolutely starvi?tg, and 
 besought his aid with all the earnestness of 
 hunger ; and over and above he received a 
 worth, at least, one third of the value 
 
A word cr two on Burns. ^07 
 
 in exchange, but which, I believe, the poet 
 afterwards very ungratefully expunged." 
 
 Dr. Currle very justly observes on this 
 letter, " that the writer was mistaken in 
 supposing the magistrates of Edinburgh 
 had any share in the transaction respecting 
 the monument erected for Fergusson by 
 our bard. This, it is evident, passed be- 
 tween Burns and the kirk-session of the 
 Canongate. Neither at Edinburgh nor a7iy 
 where ehe^ do magistrates trouble themselves 
 to inquire how the house of a poor poet is fur- 
 nished, or how his grave is adorned ^ 
 
 Before I quit entirely so very interesting 
 a subject as that which relates to Burns or 
 to his writings, I would wish to offer a 
 few remarks concerning the propriety or 
 impropriety of endeavouring to diffuse, as 
 widely as possible throughout the world, 
 the knowledge of the poems of this ines- 
 timable bard. The edition of Burns's 
 works, w^hich Dr. Currie has presented to 
 the public, is beyond all praise. The edi- 
 tor has evinced himself, by his observations 
 and remarks throughout the book, to be a 
 man of raised and superior talents, an accu- 
 rate and extensive scholar, a judicious ob- 
 
cod Awrd or fuoo en Burns. 
 
 server of men and things, a profound ex- 
 plorer of the human heart, an elegant and 
 a spirited writer. 
 
 Such an edition as this, perhaps, none 
 but Dr. Currie can give. Indeed it is all 
 that can be expected or desired ; it is wor- 
 thy of the poet whose immortal produc- 
 tions it ushers into the world. But its 
 price is, unavoidably, too great for the ge- 
 nerality of purchasers. No doubt all who 
 can afford it, and are blessed with the least 
 capability of relishing and of appreciating 
 the effusions of genius and of taste, will 
 not hesitate a single moment about buying 
 this book, but will rather hasten to obtain 
 possession of so valuable a treasure, a trea- 
 sure greater than what India boasts. 
 
 Nevertheless, it seems a hard thing for 
 the great majority of readers in the British 
 empire, to be deprived of the pleasure and 
 the benefit resulting from the perusal oi 
 such a poet as Burns. Perhaps, with the 
 exception of the Scriptures, no writer is so 
 much calculated to rouze the imagination 
 into a state of the highest pleasurable ex- 
 citement, and to soften and to purify all 
 the best and finest sensations of the 
 
A wo rd or two on Burns, !209 
 
 heart, all the sensations which heighten, 
 confirm, and strengthen our efforts after 
 virtue, integrity, and benevolence. I 
 would most earnestly desire, that not a 
 single peasant in Great Britain, not an in- 
 dividual, rich or poor, in this kingdom> 
 might exist, who was not permitted, nay, 
 encouraged, to read and to study that ex- 
 quisite poem. The Cotter s Saturday Night, 
 It is impossible that any one can peruse 
 this most interesting and pathetic produc- 
 tion, so as to comprehend its import and its 
 meaning, without becoming better qualified 
 than before, to discharge his duty to him- 
 self, to his fellows-creatures, and to his God ; 
 without knowing and feeling, in a higher 
 degree, the great blessings inseparably an- 
 nexed to the performance of the sacred and 
 hallowed charities of father, brother, hus- 
 band, son, and citizen. It is a lesson of pure 
 morality and of genuine unsophisticated re- 
 ligion, from which the dlvhie might draw 
 rich sources of instruction ; it contains pre- 
 cepts of liberal and of enlarged policy and 
 patriotism, from which the statesman might 
 derive benefit and knowledge ; it abounds in 
 the dictates of extended and exalted mercy 
 
 VOL* II. p 
 
210 A word or two on Burns, 
 
 and benevolence, by which the pJiUosopher 
 might better learn how to regulate his own 
 conduct aright, and to teach others how to 
 steer their course with propriety. 
 
 Now, ill order to render the diffusion of 
 Burns's works as general and as universal as 
 possible, the only method which can be 
 adopted, is to print the best and most se- 
 lect of his poems, in a cheap pocket vo- 
 lume. If it were accompanied with short 
 critical notes, by way of running commen- 
 tary, illustrative of the peculiar beauties of 
 Burns, it would be so much the better, and 
 might contain sound and steady principles 
 of philosophical crUichm ; I mean criticism 
 founded on the only basis on which it ever 
 can stand with propriety or advantage, the 
 ■hivestlgat'wn of the facultm of the human 
 7fimd, 
 
 But as the ma::la for wood-cUts and cop- 
 per-plate engravings has become endemic, 
 and has infected all orders of people, so 
 that no book^ not even Sturmes reflections on 
 the wdrh of God, can now show its head 
 without a cut by way of ornament, staring 
 you in the fa ce like a disbanded soldier 
 with a black patch over his left eye, I sup- 
 pose that poor Burn must also be loaded 
 
A word or two an Burns, 2rl i 
 
 and bedaubed with wood-cuts and copper^ 
 tuts, and I know not what cuts. All 
 which I could very readily dispense with^ 
 because it unnecessarily enhances the price, 
 and does not add one kota to the beauty of 
 an author's style, or the dignity of his sen- 
 timent. However, I would rather have 
 Burns with the incumbrance of wood-cuts 
 than not have him at all. 
 
 To be sure, if these concerm amuse some 
 people who are fond of seeing pretty little 
 pictures J and, -perhaps, trouble not their 
 heads about the other contents of a book, I 
 have no objection to their being multiplied 
 BO as to be like Pharaoh's frogs, in our 
 houses, and our chambers, and our closets, 
 and upon our beds, and under our beds, 
 and hi all our offices of every description. But 
 I am vexed when I see them retard the 
 sale of any useful book which ought to be 
 extensively circulated, by augmenting its 
 price so as to put it beyond the reach of 
 the generality of purchasers. 
 
 Whether Burns, how^ever, appears with 
 or without cuts or 7iotes, it is particularly 
 necessary that the poet's widow and chil- 
 dren should profit, in some measure, by the 
 
212 A word or two on Burns. 
 
 sale of such an edition. Vv'hcrcfore, if any 
 person shall publish the poems of the bard 
 of Caledonia, in the manner just now men- 
 tioned, it is to be hoped and trusted that 
 he will allow the widow of Burns a share 
 in the profits of the sale. Nor can any 
 objection be raised to this measure on the 
 plea of its having a tendency to hurt the 
 sale of Dr. Currie's edition. On the con- 
 trary, it would rather promote it than not, 
 by setting forth the reasons why such an 
 edition was published, namely, to render a 
 service to the poet's widow and family, 
 and to the world, by a more general dif- 
 fusion of the poems of Burns than is com- 
 patible with the price of Curriers edition, 
 which cannot be purchased by the gene- 
 rality of readers ; and also by stating, in 
 the strongest terms, the unrivalled excel- 
 lence of Dr. Currie's edition, and the firm 
 persuasion that whoever can afford to buy 
 it will immediately make himself master 
 of such an invaluable addition to British 
 literature. 
 
 Whoever publishes an edition of Burns 
 on such terms as these, will be a public 
 benefactor, and deserve the thanks of all 
 
Character of Macnaughtan, 213 
 
 ^ood men, of all who wish to promote the 
 best interests of humanity. 
 
 We sate a full hour with Macnaughtan. 
 after he had shown us all that we wished 
 to see, and held a long discourse with him. 
 He seemed very desirous of detaining u^, 
 in order to get information upon many 
 subjects, on which he piled us with ques- 
 tions. It was our business to learn w^hat 
 we could from all whom we encountered, 
 not to tell what we knew, for that was of 
 Tcry little consequence to the* people w^ith 
 whom we met. As our host, however, 
 appeared to be gratified by having any 
 thing which he asked about explained, we 
 suffered ourselves, for a season, to be con- 
 verted from interrogators into respondents. 
 
 Among many other questions which he 
 put to us, he asked if we could tell him 
 why, in almost. If 7tot in all, civilized coim- 
 tries, female- servants had less wages tliaii the 
 male, although they, in general, worked harder, 
 and were obliged to hny their own clothes, 
 whereas the men-servants generally were pro- 
 vided with a livery, or some kind of coverhig^ 
 This circumstance, he said, had often pu^- 
 i' 3 
 
i2 1 4 Character of Macnaughtan, 
 
 zled him to account for ; it seemed an in- 
 justice, and he supposed it to arise from 
 the tyranny which men, tor the most part, 
 in every nation, exercise over the women. 
 
 We answered, that if he would have 
 patience to hsten to us, \vc would endca-. 
 vour to clear up this matter to his satis-, 
 faction. 
 
 The price of every commodity is always 
 proportioned to the effectual demand made 
 for that commodity. It is lower or higher 
 as the quanti^ of the commodity is greater 
 or less. * 
 
 By keeping this simple truth in viev/, 
 you will be able very readily to account for 
 the w^ages of female servants being lower 
 than those of the male. There are a very 
 many ways by which men can earn their 
 bread, besides that of going into service, 
 namely, the army, the navy, the plough, 
 manufactories, &c. &c. Eut all this re- 
 duces the number of competitors for the 
 place qf male-servant, and, consequently, 
 by lessening the quantity increases the 
 price ; because an effectual demand is con-r 
 tinually made for them, and the competir 
 tion is greater among those who want ser-f 
 
Character of Ma en aught an, % \ 5 
 
 vants than among those who want places, 
 and the masters outbid one another. 
 
 That this is so, daily experience teaches 
 us ; for we find it no very easy matter to 
 get a man-servant v/hen wx want one ; 
 the number of these commodities which is 
 upon sale, is not sufficient to answer the 
 demand of the market, and, consequently, 
 those who want to buy such a commodity 
 must give an advanced price for it. 
 
 It is not so with women : they have very 
 few methods by which they^ can obtain a 
 livelihood, unless by going to service. Con- 
 sequently, the number of competitors for 
 the place of female-servant is so much 
 greater than that of those who want to 
 employ them, that they undersell one ano- 
 ther. A female-servant is a cheap article, 
 becatise the market Is over-stocked. Wo- 
 men have scarcely any other mode of pro- 
 curing 'bread, for the major part of them 
 cannot exist by the labour of their liands 
 at spinning, the almost only employment 
 which is allowed them, or w4ilch thev can 
 follow, and therefore flock in shoals to 
 offer themselves for service. Whence mis- 
 tresses, without knowing the general prin- 
 ? 4 
 
2l6 Character of Mam aught an. 
 
 clple which regulates all these matters, but 
 merely in conformity to the dictates of 
 what they conceive to be their own self 
 , interest, seeing that the number of com- 
 petitors outruns the rjftxtual demand for 
 them, take advantage of this circum- 
 stance, and let them beat each other down 
 in the value of their w^ages, by the earnest- 
 ness of competition stimulated by hunger, 
 and sharpened by want, and thus get their 
 female-servants cheap. 
 
 And this is constantly seen to be the 
 fact ; for if it is known in the morning 
 that a w^oman-servant's place is vacant 
 any where in the neighbourhood, before 
 night several candidates for the employ- 
 ment are crowding in to fill up the va- 
 cancy. 
 
 Thus you see how this question stands. 
 The price of any article is directly as the 
 demand for it, and inversely as the num- 
 ber of competitors to supply that demand. 
 There is a greater demand for men-servants 
 than for masters, and of course the wages 
 of men-servants are high; there is a greater 
 demand for mistresses than for female 
 servants, and in consequence the wages of 
 
Character of Macnaughi an. 217 
 
 female-servants arc low. In the first case, 
 the competition is greatest among the em- 
 ployers, and they outbid one another ; in 
 the second instance, the competition is 
 greatest among the employed, and they 
 midersell each other. 
 
 Macnaughtan smiled, and thanked tis 
 for our explanation, which, he said, was 
 perfectly clear to him, and he should re- 
 member it as long as he lived ; but, added 
 he, — I do not like the rndrfference with 
 which you seem to speak of these things; 
 why do you call men mid women articles and 
 eomjnodlties, as if they were mere pieces of 
 lumber, blocks of dead inanimate matter? 
 Whatever be their station, they were form- 
 ed in the image of God their Creator, and 
 should not he considered so slightingly, nor reck^ 
 oned only as parcels of trade and merchandize. 
 
 We could scarcely refrain from smiling 
 at the ingenuous simplicity of our host, 
 and the zeal with which he stood up in 
 defence of the dignity of human nature. We 
 assured him, that our mode of speaking was 
 not intended to C(;nvey the least idea of 
 disrespect either for God or the works of 
 }iis creation, for both of which we enter- 
 
i2 1 8 Character of Maamughtan, 
 
 taincd all imaginable reverence and vene- 
 ration : but that we had used these terms 
 merely for the purpose of rendering our 
 explanation easy and familiar, so as to be 
 comprehended without trouble ; because 
 many of the most important and necessary 
 truths are prevented from being generally 
 known by their being wrapt up in abstruse 
 jargon, and unintelligible cant. 
 
 To this Macnaughtan replied, that he 
 was glad to find we did not mean by our 
 expressions, to speak irreverently of the 
 Almighty and the works of his hands; 
 tut he desired that, in future, we would 
 never use such terms, because, by accus- 
 toming yourselves to talk of your fellow- 
 creatures as mere machines, or articles of 
 trade or cominodities, you will by and by 
 learn to consider them as such, and care . 
 very little about their welfare ; will forget 
 that they have immortal souls, and therefore 
 cannot be objects of contempt ; and thereby 
 dishonour God and corrupt your own hearts, 
 by filling yourselves up with pride,, and 
 making you fancy that your brethren are 
 •very much your inferiors. 
 
 This sentiment of Macnaughtan's was 
 
Character of Macnaughtan, 2 19 
 
 so full of mercy and of Christian charity, 
 evinced such a dignified simplicity of heart, 
 that we gazed upon him with the mingled 
 sensations of affection and admiration, as a 
 being of whom the world was not worthy. 
 To think that wx should find amidst rug- 
 ged rocks and barren heaths, quite shut out 
 from the world, and all its relations and 
 dependencies, in the very depth of poverty, 
 ^.nd of want, of anguish and of sorrow, un- 
 heard -and unregarded, a man. whose mind 
 was firm and unbending as his native hills, 
 whose heart was the scat of a pure and 
 holy religion, an unblenched and incor- 
 ruptible integrity, that would not have dis- 
 graced the first apostles of Christianity ! ! ! 
 Of what inestimable value would the 
 example of such a one be, if he was placed 
 in a situation, where his light could so shine 
 hefore men, that his Father which is in heaveii. 
 might he glorified 1 1 1 
 
 *•' Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
 
 The dark unfathomM caves of ocean bear, 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness in the desert air.'* 
 
 We were very desirous of knowing the 
 
£>120 Character of Macnaughtan. 
 
 opinion which such a man entertained of 
 the national character of the British people, 
 and we, therefore, asked him what were 
 the general features of the English, and the 
 Scottish, and the Irish. 
 
 My opinion, replied Macnaughtan, upon 
 these subjects, concerning which I cannot 
 be supposed to have much opportunity of 
 information, is not perhaps worth hearing; 
 but such as it is, is at your service. The 
 English, for the most part, are a noble 
 and a generous people ; they are brave, in- 
 dustrious, active, and ingenious ; witness 
 the almost incredible exertions which they 
 make, and the apparently impracticable 
 enterprizes which they execute. But they 
 have many faults, most of which I attri- 
 bute to their ignorance, which is indeed 
 very great, and much to be pitied. They 
 are very proud and insolent, and apt to 
 consider themselves as superior to all other 
 nations, which is partly true ; but many of 
 them, as individuals, have no reason to 
 value themselves upon any very great 
 excellence, either of understanding or of 
 Tnorals. 
 
character cf Macnaughtan. 22 1 
 
 The high and rich people, I understand, 
 are more humane and benevolent, and bet- 
 ter behaved than in other countries ; perhaps 
 from having some religmi among iJiem, The 
 middle orders are, in general, very respec- 
 table, and very good, giving excellent ex- 
 amples of the superiority of virtue and 
 knowledge over every other consideration. 
 Although there are many even among 
 them that do no honour to the 7ia77ie of man, 
 I mean those that they call 'Squires, who 
 seem to glory in their shame, and think 
 that they were sent into the world merely 
 to gratify their sensual appetites, and thus 
 become but little better than beasts, con- 
 suming their time in eating, and drinking, 
 and sleeping, and all manner of bodily in- 
 dulgencies ; and their discourse is chiefly 
 nothing that can improve the mind or 
 mend the heart ; only about their sports and 
 diversions, such as a fox-chace, a horse- 
 race, or their own estates ; so that they 
 seem fitter to be 'whippers-m, ajid grooms ^ 
 and bi^iJifs, than gentlemen who have had 
 a liberal education. 
 
 Indeed, most of the English of all ranks, 
 are too much given to guttling ; so that a 
 
222 Character of Macnaughtan, 
 
 stranger would ima2;inc that an En<z;lisli- 
 man*s chief business was to cat. This, 
 however, I do not so much mind, as their 
 country is very fertile, and perhaps bet- 
 ter cultivated than any other in the world- 
 But I couid wish the morals of the great 
 body of the people were better; it is really 
 quite shocking for a man who thinks seri- 
 ously upon this life, and upon the life to 
 come, to see and hear of the profligacy of 
 the people in England. I do not speak 
 of the rich, for they are, comparatively 
 speaking, but few in number, and have 
 very many temptations to evil continually 
 throw^n in their way ; nor of the middle 
 ranks, for their conduct in general is very 
 exemplary ; but of the poor, the lower or- 
 ders of the state. 
 
 Whatever may be the cause, it is a de- 
 plorable truth, that the greatest part of the 
 English poor are ignorant, drmikeUy quar^ 
 rehome, and dreadfully given to profane curs- 
 ing and swearing. And with all their spirit 
 and proneness to violence, they are 7nerd 
 slaves, for most of them live upon the parish-, 
 and what greater slavery can exist than 
 that of eating the bread of dependence j and of 
 
Character of Macnaughtan, 223 
 
 Jrlnkmg the water of ajflktion out of another s 
 cistern P This matter may He too deep for 
 rhc to discover its cause ; but I cannot help 
 suspecting, that if the English poor were 
 properly educated, and trained up in habits 
 of religion, of decency, and of industry, 
 we should not see ale-houses and gin- shops, 
 at the distance of every fevv^ yards, crowded 
 with people, nor be shocked at hearing the 
 name of God blasphemed, every time that a 
 peasant opened his mouth. 
 
 The English, continued he, have every 
 advantage from nature and from art, that 
 can contribute to the happiness of man ; 
 and if they would worship their Creator 
 more, pay less attention to their bodies^ and 
 bestow greater care In Improvmg their mlndsy 
 they might be an example to all nations of 
 virtue and of goodness, as they now are of 
 courage and ingenuity. But, depend upon 
 it, no country can be really happy where 
 vice and wickedness are seen in all its cor- 
 ners ; there must be misery within ; arid 
 what signifies all outward show, If the heart 
 be not at restf We all know% from Scrip- 
 ture, and from experience, that there never 
 was, and never wull be, peace to the wicked. 
 
224 Character cf Ma en aught an* 
 
 I know it is the custom to speak ill of 
 the Irish ; but I do not think it to be 
 cither wise or just to condemn whole na- 
 tions and people by the lump. It is our 
 duty to speak of individuals as we find 
 them re all V to be ; and of such there 
 will always be both good and bad among 
 every people* But I cannot believe that 
 there exists a nation under heaven where 
 all the inhabitants arc bad. I do not see 
 how they could liold together as a natmiy 
 for there is no firm bond of connexion between 
 the "Wicked, What is to cement wicked 
 people together ? Oaths and promises are 
 mere st7'aws to one who does not believe in 
 a future state and a day of judgment ; and 
 where -inith is disregarded no ground of 
 confidence can exist, and all connexion 
 between man and man must cease. 
 
 The Irish great men are like the great 
 men every where else, I suppose, apt ta 
 think that there is not so mncli difference be- 
 tween them and God, as there is between 
 them and tlie poor. The middle orders in 
 Ireland have not yet the same incitements 
 to Industry and respectability of character, 
 as their neighbours, the English, have, and 
 
Character of Macnaughtan. qq^ 
 
 therefore, we should not pronounce harshly 
 upon them, for they have many very good 
 and noble qualities; they are generous, 
 hospitable, and brave ; they are thoughtless 
 and impetuous, to be sure, but that is 
 owing to the native energy of their mind, 
 which is at present undirected to any object 
 capable of properly employing all the fire of 
 their sotils. 
 
 The peasantry of Ireland are very hos- 
 pitable ^and kind to strangers. That they 
 have shown themselves very bloody and fe- 
 rocious must be attributed to their /^;/o- 
 rance, which is perhaps greater than that of 
 an,y other nation, owing to the prevalence 
 of that most horrid of all tyrannies, the 
 Roman catholic religion. I have no doubt 
 that if the Irish poor are ever properly edu- 
 cated and instructed, they will become a 
 very useful and respectable order of men. 
 
 It is very usual among us to speak ill of 
 the Lowland Scots, and for them to speak ill 
 of us ; but this is a foolish wicked custom, 
 and originates in national hatred and jea- 
 lousy, which every good man sincerely 
 wishes were buried at the bottom of the sea. 
 For my own part, I love to contemplate 
 
 VOL. 'II, Q 
 
^26 Character of Macnaughtan, 
 
 the virtue, rather thaii to dwell on the vice, 
 of my fcllow-crcatures ; and I can always 
 find enough goodness in other people to 
 make mc look upon them with a brother s 
 eye, and to humble myself before Cod, 
 The Lowland Scottish possess many great 
 and excellent qualifications. The rich men 
 are not worse, and I know not. that they are 
 better, than the great in other countries. 
 The middle orders are, in general, sober, 
 industrious, and thriving. 
 
 But it is the peasantry, the poor, among 
 the Lowlands, that so far surpass the people 
 of the same station in other countries. 
 They are better taught, more industrious, 
 their morals are infinitely purer, than those 
 of the English. You will not, perhaps, 
 meet with a poor man in Scotland who 
 cannot read and write, and cast accounts, 
 and perhaps understand a little Latin. And 
 wx see the blessed consequences of their 
 good conduct, all of which I attribute to 
 the schools erected in every parish throughout 
 the kingdo7n, where all the children of the poop 
 are instructed. The consequences of their 
 exemplary behaviour is, that at home they 
 live in peace and tranquillity, studying to 
 
Character of Ma Ji aught an, 227 
 
 be quiet, and mind their own business, so 
 that capital punishments or murders by law 
 are seldom seen in the country ; and intem- 
 perance, sensual profligacy, cursing, and 
 swearing, and riotous proceedings, are very 
 uncommon. And abroad, when they go 
 into other countries, the same habits of in- 
 dustry and decency of behaviour, with their 
 superior understanding, and more extensive 
 knowledge, enable them to carry all before 
 them, and to make their way to all the 
 riches, power, and honours which this 
 world can give. 
 
 Thus you see that, by the wise and just 
 institution oidi general education, the Scottish 
 nation is enabled to bring more ability to 
 market, as you would call it, in your way of 
 classing every thing as merchandize and 
 comfnodi.ties, than other kingdoms can. 
 Whence the Scottish are greater benefactors 
 to mankind, because those people which in 
 other countries pass their whole life in ig- 
 norance and mere mechanical labour, with- 
 out improvement, and without much more 
 utility than beasts of burden, in Scotland, 
 by the proper employment of their talents, 
 render themselves serviceable in a great 
 Q Z 
 
228 Character of Macnaughtan. 
 
 variety of ways, and, by improving the prac- 
 tical arts and scienccB, hicrease the power and 
 -prospenty of the human race. 
 
 You stare ! — (our stare, by the by, was the 
 stare of astonishment at his good sense and 
 benevolence) — but this is really and truly 
 the national character of the great body of the 
 Scottish people. You very probably have 
 met w^ith some individuals that have not 
 treated you kindly ; but others also of the 
 same nation have received you cheer- 
 fully, and welcomed you with gladness. 
 There will always be among a great number 
 of human beings some individuals who do 
 not sufficiently respect themselves, and con- 
 sequently do not discharge their duty to 
 their neighbour; but we must not judge of 
 the Jiational character of a people from these 
 solitary instances ; we must gather it from 
 the prevailmg conduct of the majority of the 
 inhabitants. And if you will take the 
 trouble of examining into the conduct of 
 the Scottish poor, you will find it to be, in 
 general, as I have said. They are for the 
 most part, sober, moral, religious, decent, 
 civil, kind, attentive, and aftectionate. If 
 
Character of Macnaughtan, £29 
 
 I was not what I am^ I sJmdd wish to he a 
 Lowland Scot. 
 
 ;• "This was exactly what we wanted to 
 bring Macnaughtan to; namely, some ac- 
 count of the Highlanders ; but we could not 
 well ask him the question directly : now, 
 however, as his heart w^as warmed by the 
 exercise of the sentiments of genuine and 
 enlarged benevolence and liberality which 
 he had uttered upon the characters of the 
 English, the Irish, and the Scottish, we 
 ventured to hint, that we should feel our- 
 selves gratified by hearing his opinion of 
 the Highlanders, more particularly as we 
 were so much delighted by his remarks on 
 the other nations. 
 
 Our invaluable host felt the compliment 
 thrill through every vein, and he drew 
 himself up in his chair a full half inch 
 higher than before, showing that he was 
 fully sensible of the conscious dignity of 
 being a Highlander. We w^erc much 
 pleased to see him enjoy such delight, al- 
 though it could not last very long ; indeed, 
 a state of pleasurable excitement so very 
 -great as that rouzcd by enthusiasm! 4)f any 
 kindi 4n ardent and warm imaginations, is 
 
 ^3 
 
230 Character of Alacnaughtan, 
 
 more than the bodily frame can sustain, 
 for any length of time, without having it^ 
 thread of vitality snapped by a too great 
 tension and over-stretching of the Ufe- 
 chords. Hence the languor and the lassi- 
 tude of soul so perceptible after any very 
 high sensations of mental enjoyment, whe- 
 ther proceeding from love, or devotion, or 
 study, or affectionate intercourse wifth those 
 who are dear to us ; so that this state of 
 existence which life affords, is always, to 
 minds of acute sensibility and a powerful 
 imagination, a continued alternation of 
 ecstatic bliss and of poignant misery, with 
 some little intervals, perhaps, of calm and 
 of unruffled tranquillity, 
 ' But I had very nearly spoiled all, by un- 
 luckily asking our landlord, whose arms 
 those Were which were painted on his sign- 
 post ? He ainsweredj with a look of surprize, 
 and half-resentment at my ignorance, iJie 
 arms of my family, of the clan of the Mac** 
 naught ans: 
 
 I bowed very lowly towards the ground, 
 and apologized for my want of knowledge 
 on this important subject, by observing, 
 that in America and in all republics, we 
 
Character of Macnaught an, ^Sl 
 
 had no such thing as family at'ms, neither 
 did we deem heraldic claims of any con- 
 sequence. But that, in our country, we 
 valued every man according to the virtues 
 of his heart, and the powers of his under- 
 standing. 
 
 Our host accepted the apology, and re- 
 plied, — It is very right so to value men ; 
 but it is a noble and an elevating sensatior^ 
 to be conscious that our blood has run pure 
 and uncontaminated for' rriariy generations, 
 through the veins of the upright and the 
 honourable. It is a great incitement to 4o 
 well, when we know that the spirits of our 
 fathers are looking upon our actions from their 
 hahitaiions of bliss. 
 
 As I by no means wished to do aught 
 that might displease or offend one whom I 
 so highly revered, I suffered him to ride on 
 his hobby-horse in peace, and he pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 If you wish to contemplate a noble and 
 a manly character, — said he, with an ele^ 
 vated crest and an air of self-confidence,-— 
 you must look for it in the Highlander. 
 Every thing that honour, and courage, and 
 honesty, and hospitality, and intelligence, 
 
 Q 4 
 
232 Character of Ma en aught an, 
 
 and fidelity can give, he possesses ; his soul is 
 neither bent down by slavery, neither is his 
 heart contaminated by worldly cunning 
 and deceit. With a mind enlightened by 
 education, and strengthened by reflection, 
 and with a heart softened by the best feel- 
 ings of benevolence and love, he is, in the 
 time of peace and tranquillity, gentle as a 
 lamb, mild and kind to all around him ; 
 the honour and the guardian of his wife, 
 the support and the protector of his chil- 
 dren. 
 
 But in the hour of danger and in the 
 day of battle, he is terrible as a lion rouzed 
 from his lair ; scorning flight and despising 
 death, he either sleeps in the field of war, 
 or returns crowned with victory. And 
 when the fight is done he no longer knows 
 an enemy ; for an Highlander wars not 
 with the vanquished, neither does he 
 trample upon the fallen ; but in the midst 
 of conquest remembers mercy, because he 
 fights not for the desire of blood, but to 
 vindicate the honour of his country, and to 
 protect all that is dear to the heart of 
 man. , 
 
 He looks beyond the grave, and rejoices 
 
Character of Ma en aught an. 233 
 
 in the prospect of a life to come ; he bears 
 the numerous ills which afflict his body 
 with patience, because they are but for a 
 season, and then depart ; he knows that his 
 soul is immortal, and that no power of man 
 can harm it. Barren as is his soil, and 
 scanty as is his means of existence, he eats 
 with cheerfulness the bread which he has 
 earned by the labour of his hands, and by 
 the sweat of his brow, and drinks his wa- 
 ter, pure and unmixed, as it flows adown 
 the rock, and humbles his soul before his 
 Maker with thanksgiving and with praise, 
 and shares his pittance with the stranger 
 and the afflicted. 
 
 If you want any enterprize performed 
 which demands steady and unbending cou- 
 rage, energetic and vigilant activity, pa- 
 tient Industry and unwearied toil, the' en- 
 durance of pain, of hunger, and of watch- 
 ing, the exercise of ingenuity and skill, a 
 heart to feel, a head to contrive, and a 
 hand to execute, you must look for the 
 Highlander, and he will do It, He shrinks 
 from no danger, he refuses no labour, if he 
 is called upon to do aught that is right be- 
 fore God, and can benefit his fellow -men. 
 
S3 4 character of Macmughtan. 
 
 I bles^ the Almighty that I was bom \ 
 Highlander ; and if it pleased Htm that I 
 might be allowed to earn a riveUhood Here^ 
 for myself and for rhy babes, I would end my 
 days In the country where I first drew breathy 
 dnd have my bones laid in the burying-ploie 
 of my forefathers. 
 
 His heart was now full ; it wrung his 
 soul to think that he must soon be com- 
 pelled to leave the spot of earth which first 
 hailed him on his entrance into life, and 
 tvhich was dearer to him than his own 
 existence ; he cast a look of unutterable 
 anguish over his native hills, heaved a deep-« 
 drawn sigh, and closed his lips in silence. 
 
 ** My soul turn from' them, turn we to survey 
 Where rougher chmes a nobler race display ; 
 A valiant race their stony mansion tread. 
 And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. 
 Yet' still, e'eii Here, content Can spread a charm, 
 E<idress the clinle;, and- all its rage disarm. 
 Tho' poor the peasant's hut, his feasts tho' small. 
 He sees his little lot, the lot of all. 
 Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose. 
 Breathes the keen air and carols as he goes. 
 With patient angle trolls the finny deep. 
 Or drives his vent'rous ploughshare to the steep. 
 At night returning, every labour sped. 
 He sits him down the Qionarch of a shed i 
 
Character of Macnaugltan. ^35 
 
 Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys 
 Bis children's looks, that Irighten at the hlaze", 
 .While his lov'd partner^ boastful of her hoard. 
 Displays her cleanly platter on the boards 
 And haply too some pilgrim, thither led. 
 With many a tale repays the nightly bed. 
 Thus every good his native wilds impart 
 Imprints the patiiot passion on his heart ; 
 And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise. 
 Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
 Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms. 
 And dear that hill which lifts him to the stonns; 
 And as a child, when scaring sounds molest. 
 Clings close and closer to the mother's breast. 
 So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar. 
 But bind him to his native itioimtains more.** 
 
 The time was now come when wc 
 were to depart, in all probability, for ever, 
 from a man whose character is such as 
 would dignify atid adorn any station. He 
 walked with us a little way, and then w€ 
 took leave of each other, not without regret 
 on our parts, and, as it seemed, not with- 
 out reluctance on his. 
 
 Never, oh never, while the vital current 
 shall roll its crimson tide in my veins, will 
 I forget to esteem, to honour, and to reve- 
 rence thee, O Macnaughtan ! and to bold 
 up, as an example worthy of the imita- 
 
235 Freedom^ knowledge, and 
 
 tion of all that breathe, thy tender good- 
 ness of heart, thy ardent desire after know- 
 ledge, and thy firm unbending loftiness of 
 mind, all attempered and softened by the 
 blessed influence of religion ! ! ! 
 
 I shall not deem it foreign from my pur- 
 pose to off:r some remarks upon a few ob- 
 servations of this inestimable human- being, 
 more particularly, because I wish never to 
 cease from inculcating this most important 
 truth, that knowledge, liberty, a?td viritie, 
 always go hand hi hand, A truth which 
 only requires to be- generally known, in 
 order entirely to change the face of human 
 nature, and, by a universal plan of edu-r 
 cation, to diffuse happiness, power, and re- 
 ligion, throughout those places which are 
 now the abodes of misery, of debility, and 
 of wickedness. 
 
 That the atrocities committed so lately 
 by the Irish peasantry, to which Mac- 
 naughtan alluded, with his usual gen- 
 tleness and mercy, arise from their igno- 
 rance, there can be no doubt ; that the 
 great mass of the people jn Ireland are de- 
 plorably ignorant, is a fact beyond all con- 
 tradiction \ and that ignorance prevents 
 
virtue, go hand in hand. 237 
 
 the growth of those finer feelings which are 
 the essence of humanity and tenderness, can 
 surely require no proof. That the Irish 
 peasantry possess the seeds of goodness and 
 of greatness, which will spring up and bear 
 fruit when they are watered by the streams 
 of instrviction, and cherished by the beams 
 of attentive affection, every one will allow 
 who has witnessed their hospitality and 
 artless good humour in their happier hours 
 of gaiety and mirth. But, at present, their 
 native energy and fire are palsied by the 
 benumbing influence of ignorance and of 
 want. 
 
 *^ For knowledge to their eyes her ample page. 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll. 
 Chill penury confines their noble rage. 
 Freezing the genial currents of their soul,''* 
 
 That liberty is the best, if not the only 
 soil, in which knowledge thrives, we learn 
 from the experience of all ages, the records 
 of whose transactions have been suffered 
 to glide down the stream of time into 
 our possession. I cannot deny myself the 
 pleasure of a testimony in favour of this 
 position, which is to be found in one of the 
 most distinguished historians of the present 
 
$38 freedom i knowledge, a fid 
 
 day, and one who has also bound the un- 
 fading wreath of poetry round his brows* 
 His w^ords are these : 
 
 *' Florence has been remarkable in mo- 
 dern history for the frequency and violence 
 of its internal dissensions, and for the predi- 
 lection of its inhabitants for every species 
 of science, and every production of art. 
 However discordant these characteristics 
 may appear, they are not difficult to recon- 
 cile ; the same active spirit that calls forth 
 the talents of individuals for the preserva- 
 tion of their liberties, and resists with un- 
 conquerable resolution whatever is sup- 
 posed to infringe them, in the moments of 
 domestic peace and security seeks with 
 avidity other objects of employment. The 
 defence of freedom has always been found to 
 strengthen and expand the mind; and though 
 the faculties of the human race may re- 
 main torpid for generations, when once 
 rouzed into action they cannot speedily be 
 lulled again into inactivity and repose." 
 
 The same great truth, t\i?it freedom and 
 Inovoledge travel on together, is shown forth 
 by a fact of a directly contrary nature to 
 
virtue, go hand in hand, ^S'Q 
 
 the one just mentioned, and thus related by 
 the same elegant and accurate historian. 
 
 - " The internal tranquiUity of Venice is 
 remarkably contrasted with the turbulence 
 of Florence ; but the Venetian nobility had 
 erected their authority on the necks of the 
 people, and Venice was ^z rr///W/V of nohles 
 with a populace of slaves. In no country 
 iicas despoUstn ever reduced to a more accurate 
 system. The proficiency made by the Vene^ 
 ttans in literature haSy accordingly, home no 
 proportion to the rank which they have in 
 other respects held among the Italian states. 
 
 '^ The talents of the higher orders were 
 devoted to the support of their authority, 
 or the extension of their territory ; and 
 among the lower class, with their political 
 rights their emulation was effectually extin- 
 guished. Whilst* the other principal cities 
 of Italy were daily producing works o£ 
 genius, Venice was content with the hum- 
 hie but more lucrative employment of 
 communicating those works to the public 
 by means of the press. Other govern- 
 ments have exhibited different aspects of 
 different times, according to the temper of 
 the sovereign or the passions of the multi- 
 
2i0 Freedom, knowledge, ar^d 
 
 tude ; but Venice has uniformly preserved 
 the same settled features, and remains ta 
 the present day a pluenomenon in political 
 history." 
 
 I cannot refrain from relating an anec- 
 dote which marks in the strongest manner 
 the vigilant and unrelenting tyranny of the 
 Venetian government, as it existed in the 
 year 1795. 
 
 In the spring of this year an English 
 gentleman was at Venice, where he had 
 been for some few weeks. One morning 
 early he was called upon by a ctvil officer, and 
 ordered to go with him, the officer, imme- 
 diately before the senate. — Sir, — replied 
 the astonished Englishman, — you must 
 have made some mistake, I am quite a 
 stranger here, the senate can have no busi- 
 ness to transact with me. — The officer an- 
 swered, that it was as much as his head 
 was worth to make any mistake, and that 
 the gentleman must positively follow him 
 directly. 
 
 Seeing that he had no alternative, John 
 Bull e'en trudged along, with a heavy 
 heart, a reluctant step, and a^wo-begone 
 rueful aspect, after his Courteous guide. 
 
virtue^ go hand in hand, 24 1, 
 
 who conducted him through the streets to 
 a spacious mansion ; and when they had 
 traversed a long passage, and were come 
 into a small square yard^ he bade his fol- 
 lower, look round upon his right hand. 
 He did so, and beheld a man hanging 
 from a gallows, and writhing in the con- 
 vulsive agonies of death. The traveller 
 shuddered at this spectacle, and after he 
 had been permitted to gaze upon it for 
 some minutes, he was thus addressed hy 
 his guide : 
 
 That man whom you see suspended on 
 a gibbet, is a Venetian tradesman ; he was 
 at a cofFee-house last night, where lie 
 talked about the government of Venice, for 
 'which he is novo hanged \ you I'l/iened to his 
 conversation, for vcJiicJi also you ought to he 
 hanged', hut, as you are a stranger, the senate 
 has, in the plenitude of its mercy, only ordered 
 that you should see the consequences of talkitig 
 politics iyi this cou7itry, and that you leave the 
 state in twelve hours, under pain of incurring 
 the penalty of death. 
 
 The English gentleman made a very 
 low bow to his conductor, and wished him 
 .a very good morning ; he then hastened to 
 
 vol.. II. R 
 
242 Freedom y kfiozv ledge, and 
 
 his lodgings, packed up his moveables, and 
 sheered off with all possible dispatch from a 
 place where he found that men were 
 hanged yc?r hcarhip; as zvell as speaking. God 
 bless those that are deaf, quoth he, for they 
 cannot be convicted of listening to much 
 purpose ; however, the Lord be thanked, 
 that things are ordered better than this in 
 England, where a man may both /lear and 
 speal too, without being called upon the 
 next morning by a grim-looking fellow, 
 with a message from the senate, that he 
 must come and be hanged directly, for they are 
 in a hurry. 
 
 It is asserted by Rousseau, who w^as 
 fond of displaying his ingenuity by ad* 
 vancing opinions contrary to truth and ex- 
 perience, that the arts and sciences are hicom- 
 patihle with freedom. What his notion of 
 freedom m.ay be, can be of very little con- 
 sequence to inquire, if it is a state of exis- 
 tence from which the arts and sciences are 
 to be banished, for without them what is 
 to render life an object of desire ? They 
 constitute by far the greatest portion of 
 human knowledge ; and gaiaaing know- 
 ledge is, in fact, the only means which wc 
 
- "virtue^ go hand in hand, £4,3 
 
 possess of exercising the mind ; but upon 
 the exertion of the intelleciual faculties de- 
 pends all the power which man possesses ; 
 consequently, without the arts and sciences 
 he would endure the worst of all slavery, 
 even the slavery of ignorance, which ren- 
 ders the human animal so weak and de- 
 fenceless, that he falls a prey to the first 
 tyrant that vouchsafes to use him as a beast 
 of burden or a machine, a mere instru- 
 ment to execute his will. 
 
 So far from being incompatible with 
 freedom, the arts and sciences cannotvcven 
 have a beginning but in states, wdiose go- 
 vernments allow of some degree of liberty 
 to the people ■ because their very invention 
 requires so much mental exertion as can 
 only be employed by those who enjoy 
 lehure and security ; two blessings which are 
 the chief oftspring of freedom. For with- 
 out leisure where is the opportunity for 
 intellectual exercise, and without security 
 where is the incitement to mental energy ? 
 It is in those kingdoms where capricious 
 and arbitrary domination is excluded by 
 •wise and ©quitable institutions, that the 
 universal mind of the community begins to 
 R ,5 
 
2*44 Freedom^ bwivledge, and 
 
 act, and a general tide of Intellect to flow^ 
 in numerous and diversified channels, 
 throughout the whole extent of the em- 
 pire. 
 
 Where no restraints cripple competition, 
 and the human mind is permitted to exert 
 her energies free and uncontrolled, the 
 spirit of honourable emulation and of noble 
 rivalry pervades all ranks of people, and 
 genius is roused by collision. On every 
 side the stimulus to iiTjprovem-ent is ap- 
 plied, and the soul of man, which can taste 
 of bliss only while it is conscious of its 
 worlling with activity and power, kindles 
 all her fires, collects all her divergent rays, 
 and directs them in one full bteze of light 
 and glory, towards the search of truth aiid 
 the acquisition of knowledge, till the beings 
 who had hitherto been but little elevated in 
 understanding or in virtue above the brutes 
 that perish, feel the divinity that stirs witii- 
 in them, and become sensible of the des- 
 tined end for which they were created, as 
 heirs of immortality, as possessing indes- 
 tructible faculties, which are always pro- 
 gressively augmenting in power in pro- 
 portion as they are exerted, and with the 
 
virtue^ go hand in hand, 245 
 
 augmentation of their power increasing 
 the capabiUties of virtue and of happiness. 
 
 But where the laws, upon which the 
 lives, the property, and the independance 
 of the whole community hang, are merely 
 thecapriclous and fluctuating inclinations 
 of an uneducated and an ignorant despot, 
 no arts or sciences can flourish, or even 
 rear their head. The w^ant of all legal se- 
 curity both of person and of property, the 
 incessant dread of that arbitrary power 
 which is continually exerted for the pur- 
 poses of depredation and of destruction, and 
 the intellectual torpescence which is the 
 unavoidable consequence of injustice and 
 oppression, all prevent their cultivation, and 
 even stifle them in their birth, forbidding 
 them from struggling into existence ; for 
 the minds of the whole mass of the people 
 are shackledy tamed, and hondaged. 
 
 Political must alv/ays imply intellectual 
 slavery ; because no people, who were ca- 
 pable of iJmikhig and reasoning, would per- 
 mit tyrants to domineer over them, since 
 they would feel their own power, and 
 know that, to the steady and spirited resist- 
 ance of ^high-minded and an enlightened 
 
 P' 3 
 
246 Freedom^ kno^viUdge, and 
 
 people, the splendour of the pvirple and the 
 weight of the scf^ptre would be but weakly 
 and ineffectually opposed. Soon would 
 the iron rod of oppression fall from the 
 despot's feeble gr:isp, and the uplifted sabre 
 drop from the withered arm of his affright- 
 ed satellites. Genius and ability can waVe 
 their pinions and expand their wings only 
 in those countri^^s vn here no injustice weighs 
 them to the earth, and no cruelty of re- 
 straint depresses the boldness of their up- 
 ward flight. 
 
 Add to this, that the arts and sciences 
 can never rise amongst a people who groan 
 under . the pangs of penury and want. 
 They require a certain degree of leisure and 
 of property in the community, in order to 
 enable them to pass over the threshold oi 
 existence. But despotism, by perpetual and 
 arbitrary imposts and extortions, forbids the 
 general accumulation of property ; and, by 
 laying the hand of its rapacity upon the 
 produce of other's industry, it paralyses all 
 the incitem.ents to action ; and invention, 
 t}\t mother of the arts and sciences, cannot 
 be born. They, the arts and sciences, require 
 the fostering indulgence of lihertj, of peace, 
 of social order, ofhtdusiry, and of property, to 
 
virtue, go hand in hand. 247 
 
 bring them to the birth, and to rear them 
 in their infancy. In their first moments 
 af life they are feeble, timid, and sickly ; 
 demanding all the tender care and more 
 than maternal protection of a mild and 
 equitable government, till they reach that 
 firm and unbending vigour of manhood, 
 which no violence can shake and no danger 
 can appal. 
 
 And all the records of history, all the 
 experience of ages, confirm the truth of 
 the position, that the arts and sciences go 
 hand in Jiand with liberty. When most of 
 the domains of Asia writhed under the 
 lash of arbitrary domination, and w^ere 
 involved in the thick mists of barbarity 
 ai^d of ignorance, the free tozvns exhibited 
 all the various excellencies of the arts and 
 sciences, liberal and mechanic. Witness 
 Palmyra, the sea-ports of Natoha, and 
 many other cities, over which the baneful 
 influence of Asiatic despotism did not ex- 
 tend. Athens, Corinth, and those states 
 of Greece, where the forms of government 
 were propitious to liberty, attained to emi- 
 nence in the arts and sciences; while : parta 
 and all the other despotic principalities were 
 
 K4 
 
248 Freedom y knozvledge^ and 
 
 sunk in the slumber of ignorance and of 
 
 darkness. 
 
 Florence and Genoa, in modern Italy, 
 sprang Ibrward in their march towards 
 civilization and refinement ; while Turin, 
 Milan, and Naples, halted behind in the 
 recesses of barbarism, and still lingered 
 npon the confines of mental darkness. 
 
 While the other portions of the North 
 lay steeped in the sleepy drench of the 
 middle ogeSy which involved the great mass 
 of mankind in the broad mantle of supersti- 
 tion and ignorance, for a long, long night 
 of century heaped upon century, the towns 
 v^hich formed the Hanseatic league were 
 enlightened and civilized. 
 
 In countries where popular liberty pre- 
 vails, the 'end of government is to establish 
 those institutions which tend to advance 
 the interests of the many. Hence, social 
 or der^ peace, jnst and regular suhord'mation, 
 industry and plenty, pervade all the depart- 
 ments of the empire, and bless all ranks of 
 people. Hence arises that spirit of Jionoiir- 
 ahle emulation, free from the withering taint 
 of envy, which produces all human im- 
 provements ; it is the emulation that in- 
 
lirtuey go hand in Igand. 249 
 
 cites men to press forward to approximate 
 towards that stand of ideal excellence 
 which exists in the imagination, but which 
 mechanical execution can never reach ; 
 not the emulation which prompts -men to 
 rival each other, and thereby introduces 
 into the heart the baleful train of envy, of 
 •hatred, of malice, and of all uncharitable- 
 ness. 
 
 In such a favourable situation the range 
 of exertion is broad and ample. The efforts 
 of art to correct the faults and to surpass 
 the beauties of former models, are unwea- 
 ried, incessant, and often successful : and 
 science, proceeding on the sure and steady 
 ground of experiment, substitutes sound 
 reasoning in the place of conjecture, and 
 •erects the temple of truth on the same 
 spot where once vacillated the airy fabric 
 of hypothesis. Bence, v/ill men gradu- 
 ally and progressively advance towards the 
 perfecUon of taste, that is, the general opinion 
 of excellence, entertained by sensible and en- 
 lightened minds ; for taste is the effect of 
 superior sensibility and raised imagination, 
 improved by culture ; consequently, the 
 general opinion 'cf people who possess such 
 I 
 
250 Freedom i knoidedge^ and 
 
 m'lnds, tnnst he I'ecehed as just, and f rem that 
 opinion fixed rules of taste viust he dravtm ; 
 this, Indeed y is the only tnie standard of taste 
 iidiich can he erected. 
 
 But in despotic governments this emu- 
 lation is destroyed ; lor, in countries crip- 
 pled by arbitrary power, the arts and sci- 
 ences, if they exist at all, owe their ex- 
 istence to private patronage and encourage- 
 ment, not to public favour and protection. 
 Hence the taste of the patron becomes the 
 standard of excellence ; and they who con- 
 form to this, arc cherished, while they who 
 do not, are turned over to neglect and 
 contempt. But this retards the progress 
 of improvement, by narrowing the avenues 
 of competition, and forcing human ability 
 to flow only in the narrow channels mark- 
 ed out to it by individual whim and private 
 caprice, instead of suffering it to bound at 
 large over tjie ocean's swelling tide, fanned 
 by the favouring gales, and cheered by the 
 auspicious breezes, of public, of 7iatlo7ial pa- 
 tronage, generc^l and compre J tensive. 
 
 Merit must often languish in obscurity 
 and perish in oblivion, if its rise into notice 
 depends upon the capiicfous and fluctuate 
 
*vh'tiie, go hand in hand. 251 
 
 ing munificence of patrons, rendered inso- 
 lent by lor:i'; continued prosperity, and vain, 
 w^eak, and foolish, by want of education. 
 The unbending loftiness of genius is not 
 likely to be found in the porticoes of prin- 
 ces and of lords, proffering the servile str: ins 
 of interested adulation ; neither will It be 
 seen offering up the incense of prostituted 
 praise to the lapdogs and the parrot? of 
 JciihTings. It demands rather than bestovvs 
 homage ; and if its energies and exertion- 
 'are to be cherished, they must be cherished 
 on the broadest and most liberal principles 
 of public and of governmental patronage. 
 
 The protection and the encouragement 
 which the arfs and sciences receive in po- 
 pular governments, is far oitferent from 
 those which are bestowed upon them by 
 princes, and lords, and private patrons- 
 Witness the Lyceum, the Academy, and 
 the Portico at Athens, which held out a 
 jioble stimulus to the exertions of all her 
 citizens, and thus directed the stream of 
 public ability in one broad and ample tide 
 to the service of intellectual im.provement. 
 In comparison with these institutions what 
 is the boasted patronage of individuals, 
 
*252 freedom^ knowledge^ and 
 
 however exalted by rank, and however 
 abounding in treasure ? 
 
 In the last cent\iry lived two monarchs, 
 who deemed themselves to be wonderful 
 patrons of the refined arts and sciences. 
 These were Charles the second of England, 
 and Louis the fourteenth of France. 
 
 What precise degree of improvement the 
 arts of statuary, of painting, and of sculp- 
 ture, underwent in Charles's reign, I will 
 not take upon me to determine. But the 
 state of literature during that period bears 
 upon its front the broad stamp of noto- 
 riety ; and we may probably be enabled 
 from thence to draw our conclusion of the 
 state of the fine arts and all other intellec- 
 tual exertions, all of which are usually af- 
 fected by the same causes, and flourish or 
 fade as they experience the genial influence 
 of honourable encouragement; or are doom- 
 ed to feel the baneful effects of a perverse 
 and distorted obliquity of patronage. 
 
 That the taste of the court, at that time, 
 poisoned all the streams of literature in 
 their springs and in their sources, is well 
 known, from the full tide of blasphemy 
 and of obscenitv, W'hich the most celebrated 
 
virtue, go hand in hand, 253 
 
 wits of the day rolled through every corner 
 of the kingdom. The whining cant and 
 the fanatic hypocrisy of the times imme- 
 diately preceding the restoration, although 
 they corrupted religion and corrupted let- 
 ters, yet did they not so deeply wound and 
 injure the great cause of literature as the 
 licentious and abandoned spirit of the Eng- 
 lish court, under the dissolute and profll- 
 crate banner of its debauched and unprin- 
 
 o 
 
 clpled king. 
 
 Genius and learning are, in themselves, 
 worse than nothing, unless they promote the 
 progress of religion, of pure moraliiy, of de- 
 cency, of industry y and of good order M society. 
 Did the celebrated writers of Charles's 
 time do this ? Do the dramas of Dry- 
 den, stuffed and crammed as they are with 
 the coarsest smut and the broadest liberti-- 
 nism, contain the precepts of wisdom and 
 the dictates of knowledge, which are cal- 
 culated to exalt the understanding and to 
 purify the heart ? Shall we becom.e better 
 men, shall w^e better know how to dis- 
 charge our great and hallowed duties to 
 ourselves, to our fellow-beings, and to our 
 God, by perusing the pages of Rochester, 
 
^oi Fre^iloniy knoivUdge^ and 
 
 who devoted all the powers of his mind for 
 the sole purpose of pr0pa;j5ating the defor- 
 mity cf Aice, and tuned the strings of his 
 lyre only in the service of licentiousness 
 and of debauchery ? 
 
 literature and tlic liberal arts, indeed> 
 seemed to reach a high degree of splendor 
 under the reign of the royd Mccienas of 
 France, the fourteenth descendant of the 
 house of Bourbon. But what cfFects did 
 they produce ? Did they mend the morals 
 of the people; did they purify the heartof 
 the French nation, and turn it from the 
 error of its ways to the w^isdom of the just ? 
 Did they diffuse the blessings of peace 
 and of rclieion throu2:hout all the corners 
 of the kingdom ? No ; the great mass of 
 the people still remained in ignorance and 
 in slavery, groaning under the burden of 
 intolerable oppression ; while the heart's- 
 blood of their husbands, their sons, and 
 their brothers, flowed in torrents,^ bedew"-- 
 ing the soil of other lands, and with their 
 bones whitening far-distant climes, to 
 gratify the childish, but destructive, vanity 
 of their grand monarque, who was ih^ 
 great patron of the arts and sciences. 
 
virtue 3 go hand in hand, 255 
 
 Fall seven tenths of the French people 
 derived no benefit from this so loudly 
 vaunted encouragement of the arts and 
 sciences ; it lessened not the burdens of 
 their misery ; it fed not their waives and 
 children ; it enlightened not their minds ; 
 it amended not their hearts. And as for 
 the higher orders of society, those who 
 immediately ranged themselves in gilded 
 rov^^'s under the banner of rovaltv, did thev 
 set an example of decency, of sobriety, of 
 temperance, of chastity, of mercy, of bene- 
 volence, of wisdom, of justice, of honour, 
 of integrity, to the world ? No. — No. — - 
 No. — Was not the king's ovv*n life one 
 continued scries of lewdness and of lust, of 
 cruelty and of superstition, of childish folly 
 and of military capering, of pitiful pride 
 and of ostentatious vanity ? Did he not 
 ruin and exhaust his people, by his endless 
 wars, his continual and exorbitant imposts 
 and extortions, so that he laid the broad 
 and sure foundation for that revolution 
 which has crumbled the throne of France 
 into annihilation, and struck a blow in 
 Europe that Vv^as heard throughout all the 
 confines of the habitable world ? , 
 
256 Freedom^ h^vjledge^ and 
 
 And was not licentious profligacy the 
 order of the day throughout all his court ? 
 Was not an open and shameless disregard to 
 the sacred and hallowed duties of conmihial 
 nnmi tolerated, nay, encouraged ? Were not 
 immorality, and barefaced practical athe- 
 ism, but fiimslly hidden under the beggarly 
 bareworn cloak of monkish mummery, 
 avowed and cherished ? Finally, did they 
 not turri their backs upon and despise, both 
 by word and deed, whatsoever things were 
 true, whatsoever things were honest, what- 
 soever things were just, whatsoever things 
 wxre pure, w hatsoever things were lovely, 
 w^hatsoever things were of good report, 
 whatsoever was virtue, and whatsoever was 
 praise ? 
 
 This man appears to have affected to 
 patronize the arts and sciences, that they 
 may serve as an embeUishment to his 
 court, as the veil which might cover from 
 vulgar eyes the mis-shapen and horrible fea- 
 tures of a corrupted and odious despotism. 
 The iniquities of the tyrant were varnished 
 over by the borrowed merits of the patron ; 
 and the name of a monster, black with 
 every crime, and polluted with every 
 
virtue, go hand in hand, o^j 
 
 deformity, was engraved on the tablets of 
 prostituted genius, and handed down to 
 posterity as the guardian angel of merit, 
 the liberal and munificent dispenser of 
 rewards and favours to talents and to 
 worth. 
 
 But the arts and sciences require a more 
 extended range for exertion and for experi- 
 ment, than will ever be admitted by the 
 jealous and distrustful policy of monarchs 
 and of courts ; they must be free as that 
 chartered Uhertine, the air, or the noblest 
 and loftiest display of their powers can 
 never be called into action. If they are 
 cherished only as the trappings of royalty 
 and the ornaments of a palace, their spirit 
 of fire is palsied, and they become ser- 
 vile, corrupt panders to luxury and effemi- 
 nacy, cowering under the wings of despot- 
 ism. For this species of patronage assumes 
 the tone of authority, and limits to its own 
 petty standard of acquired taste, those exer- 
 tions of the artist, which should be left free 
 and uncontrolled to follow the magic 
 workings of a mighty imagination ; whence 
 all original conception, all bold and daring 
 enterprize, are nipped in the bnd, are blast- 
 
 VOL. II, !^ 
 
258 Freedom^ knowkdgey and 
 
 cd in the very sources of existence by the 
 benumbing power of stupid frivolity and of 
 childish ignorance. 
 
 JSo man can esteem or admire that wJiich 
 he does not comprehend. Because, as there 
 arc no other means of obtaining know- 
 ledge than through the medium of the 
 senses, and the power of combining and 
 arranging ideas is proportioned to the num- 
 ber or the paucity of the primary images 
 received by the organs of sensation, it is 
 plain, that no one can really feel either 
 pleasure or pain from what has never made 
 any impression upon his senses. Let this 
 be applied to wonld-he patrons and sciolists 
 of every description, and we shall see the 
 absurdity of such people affecting to be 
 persons of taste, and to admire what could 
 never possibly have made any impression 
 on their organs of sensation, either through 
 native hebetude and dullness, or through 
 that weakness of mind which systematic 
 dissipation gives, and which entirely pre- 
 cludes all power of that close and vigorous 
 attentiojt to objects, without which no taste 
 or judgment in discriminating what is^ 
 beautiful or not, can ever exist. 
 
'Virtue^ go hand in hand, ^S9 
 
 If this truth is kept in view, it will rea- 
 dily appear how detrimental to the im-. 
 provement of the arts and sciences must 
 be their liability to receive the dictates and 
 directions of men, who, from their general 
 habits of ignorance and intellectual idleness, 
 cannot possibly entertain any regard for 
 the higher productions of genius, which 
 must be to them, for ever, as a fountain 
 sealed and a volume closed. The puerile 
 and contemptible propensities of a man of 
 very exalted rank and power might, if his 
 patronage be extensively diffused, introduce 
 affectation and conceit into the sculpture 
 of a nation, a false and meretricious glare 
 of colouring into her painting, and the 
 gloomy, dull, dungeon-like style of build- 
 ing. Into her architecture. 
 
 It is plain, then, that the assistance which 
 the arts and sciences receive from private 
 patronage, even though that patronage 
 should be the result of royal munificence, 
 is but as a drop of water in the ocean, in 
 comparison with the infinitely more ex- 
 tended benefits that would accrue to them 
 from public and national encouragement, from 
 government allnstttut'tons. Private patronage 
 s % 
 
£60 Freedom^ knowledge, mid 
 
 is generally found to possess a tendency to 
 corrupt the public taste, and to degrade the 
 ftrts and sciences trom that independent and 
 dignified rank which they ought to hold, 
 and to bend them down to the groveling 
 and debasing service of perverted vanity 
 and of ignorant folly. 
 
 Hence, is seen the necessity of those 
 great national institutions, by which pihl'/c 
 improvement arid pithltc instruction are 
 promoted. By the diffusion oi general in- 
 struction the instances of mdtvtdnal excel- 
 lence are m-ultiplied ; because the powers 
 of the human mind are almost uniformly, 
 always indeed, except in some few cases 
 of drllllsm and idiocy, increased in vigour 
 proportionally to the incitements to action 
 which are applied; and the greater number 
 of stimuli which are applied, of course the 
 greater number of men will start forward 
 in the walks of intellectual greatness, and 
 the larger will be the phalanx of genius in 
 every department of m^ental pursuit. 
 
 UndeTf" the auspices oi national instiiutiom 
 for the purposes of education, the literary 
 body of a kingdom becomes more ample 
 and extensive ; and^ as the number of those 
 
virtue J go hand in hand, 261 
 
 who are addicted to liberal and enlightened 
 pursuits increases, the love of honourable 
 feme and the desire of intellectual preemi- 
 nence lift up a nation from the debasement 
 of mere animal and. sensual existence into 
 a hfe productive of utility and abounding in 
 virtue ; they exalt a people in the dignity 
 of thinking beings. In such a state public 
 honours and public recompences are de- 
 creed to the sages and the benefactors of 
 the human race. The rough marble is 
 hewn into shape and laboured into form, 
 and expresses the lineaments and the 
 countenance of humanity ; the canvas 
 glows with living colours, and songs of 
 praise are sounded forth in celebration of 
 the deeds of worth ; and all the deathless 
 honours, w^hich sculpture, poetry, painting, 
 and music, can bestow^ are heaped upon 
 the name and the memorial of all those 
 who have deserved well of their country 
 and of mankind. 
 
 Thus there exists a reciprocity of assist- 
 ance, and a bond of mutual attachment 
 between the arts and sciences and liberty. 
 She protects and cherishes them, calls them 
 from darkness into light, from annihilation 
 
 S3 
 
i:6^ Freedom, knowledge^ and 
 
 into existence ; watches over the weakness 
 of their infancy, and guards them with 
 maternal care and tenderness, till they 
 arrive at the maturity of manhood : and 
 they, in return for all this kindness, attend 
 constantly in her train, and decorate her 
 altar with ornaments that never fade ; en- 
 grave upon her tablets memorials of affec- 
 tion and of applause, which the all-destroy- 
 ing hand of time itself cannot erase, but 
 which remain throughout all the periods 
 of eternity. 
 
 It has also been urged, that the arts and 
 sciences are productive of luxury, and that 
 luxury is pernicious to freedom. But they 
 may exist mfree governments without ad- 
 miinistering to luxury. It is true, that in 
 countries vih^xt private patro7iage alone ex- 
 ists, and, in consequence, taste is confined 
 to a few ; where the means of puhlk and 
 general instruction are denied, the mere 
 gratification of personal vanity, is, perhaps, 
 almost the only incitement which prompts 
 the voealthy and the nohle to encourage and 
 to patronize the Hberal arts. The patron 
 barters for, and buys, the production of 
 genius, and feels no other pleasure from its 
 
virtue, go hand in hand, Q65 
 
 contemplation, than knowing that it is in 
 his exclusive possession. He values the paint- 
 ings of Barry, and the sculpture of Nolle- 
 kens, only because they adorn his own apart- 
 ments ; and he receives delight from looking 
 at the wondrous displays of human ability 
 and of human invention, by which he is 
 surrounded, because he fancies iJiat the pos^ 
 session of what most other men have not money 
 enough to hny, exalts him in the scale of 
 superiority over his fellow-men. 
 
 It is this monopoly of their products, not 
 the arts and sciences themselves, which 
 constitute luxury. If national schools, for 
 the purpose of improving the fine arts, 
 were erected, they would not be incentives 
 to luxury, but would diffuse a spirit of 
 refinement, and a consequent amelioration 
 of morals, throughout the whole of the 
 people, by raising them up from their vege- 
 tative state of ignorance, their degradation 
 of mere animalization, to the elevated 
 height of mental exertion and of intellec- 
 tual enjoyment. Private mansions may 
 then be the abodes of neatness and of con- 
 venience ; but p-ubllc and national build- 
 ings should display magnificence and splen- 
 s 4 
 
264 Freedom^ knowledge ^ and 
 
 dour, the sviblimity of architecture, the 
 decorations of painting, and the majestic 
 simpHcity of sculpture. 
 
 In the proudest times of Athenian great- 
 ness, when they were victorious over all 
 their enemies both by sea and land ; when a 
 tlioiisand talents were collected into the public 
 treasury to answer any unforeseen and 
 pressing emergency ; when magnificent 
 temples were reared in honour of their gods, 
 and crowded with splendid monuments in 
 celebration of their heroes ; their greatest 
 men could -not be distinguished by their 
 manner of living from their fellow-citizens. 
 Their houses, their apparel, their equipage, 
 their attendants, were neither more expen- 
 sive nor m.ore sroro-eous than those of their 
 neighl^ours. Neither Miltiades nor Aristides 
 could be known by any external decoration 
 in the streets from the meanest citizen in 
 Athens. 
 
 Consider but for a moment, the absurd 
 consequences to which the assertion, that 
 the arts and sciences are incompatible with 
 freedom, unavoidably leads. If so, they 
 should be banished from the world, and all 
 the memorials of elevated genius, and all 
 
virtue, go hand in hand, 265' 
 
 the productions of polished invention, 
 should be destroyed and annihilated. Then 
 should we hail the barbarians that spread 
 desolation over the shattered remains of the 
 Ptoman empire, and drew" the curtains of 
 ignorance closely round about the western 
 world, for many and many an age, as the 
 benefactors and the saviours of mankind. 
 Then should w^c bow dow^n in adoration to 
 the name of that savage who doomed the 
 libraries of Alexandria to the flames, and 
 bless his sacred memory, in that he had 
 swept away in one Indlscrlminating devas- 
 tation the profound researches of the philo- 
 sopher, and the lofty effusions of the bard ; 
 that he had destroyed the labours of the 
 sage, and had obliterated the records of 
 the historian ; for all these bind the fetters 
 of slavery upon the human race ; and, al- 
 though they polish and adorn them, yet 
 are not the chains the less heavy for being 
 gilded. Man is only free wJuIe he is igno- 
 rant. 
 
 But if ail this is such idle nonsense and 
 such contemptible declamation, that even 
 children will laugh us to scorn for using 
 it, we may contemplate man^ with satis- 
 
266 Freedom^ hiowledge^ and 
 
 faction and complacency, as a being pos- 
 sessed of faculties whose expansibility and 
 vigour are directly proportioned to the ex- 
 tent of their cultivation, and progressively 
 advancing towards a higher degree of per- 
 fection in the attainment of virtue, and in 
 the acquisition of knowledge. And we 
 shall be convinced that whatever has a 
 tendency to soften and to refine, also 
 strengthens and invigorates, the human 
 mind, and renders it more capable of the 
 exalted and elevating blessings of liberty and 
 cf independence. 
 
 Having now shown that freedom and 
 knowledge travel on together, hand in 
 hand, it only remains to point out that 
 virtue also joins her aid to the other two, 
 and thus completes a triumvirate, to the 
 exertions of which this world owes all the 
 blessings that it enjoys. Nor will much 
 difficulty attend our pursuit in this respect, 
 for we have under our eyes an egregious 
 living instance of the truth of this asser- 
 tion, even the superior virtue of a whole 
 nation. 
 
 I mean the Scottish people, who surpass 
 their more ignorant neighbours^ the English 
 
virtue y go hand in hand, 267 
 
 and the Irish, as much in the purity of their 
 morals as they do in the extent of their 
 knowledge Those who would form an 
 opinion of the manners, the habits, and the 
 powers of the Caledonian peasantry, from 
 an observation of those of the English or 
 of the Irish, would be very widely mistaken. 
 It has long been remarked, even by those 
 who are ignorant of the cause, that the 
 Scots almost universally make tJieir way to 
 the highest eminence of their callings in every 
 quarter of the globe; and this success has 
 been attributed by the malignity of their 
 enemies, whose dullness prevented them 
 from perceiving the gross absurdity of such 
 an assertion, to mere intrigue and national 
 combination. 
 
 But the reason of the successful career 
 w^hich the Scottish run in almost everv 
 employment of life, will readily appear 
 from the following brief account of the 
 general and national mode of education 
 with which they, in a degree, perhaps, 
 superior to any other kingdom, arc blessed. 
 It w^ill appear that their success is owing 
 to those qualities which w4il ahvays ensure 
 success in every human enterprize as long 
 
dGS Freedom^ knowledge ^ and 
 
 as the moral and physical laws of God 
 remain unaltered, namely, superior hiow^ 
 ledge mid superior 'virtue. 
 
 Any one who has been in Scotland, and 
 has taken the trouble to examine for him- 
 self, and docs not wilfully close his ears 
 against the voice of truth, must acknow- 
 ledge that the Caledonian peasantry, the 
 poor, the great mass of the people, who are 
 the strengih, the sinezvs, the support of every 
 nation, are more intelligent, and have their 
 minds more enlightened, than are the un- 
 derstandings of the same order of men in 
 the other countries of the globe. Among 
 the very lowest and the meanest of the 
 children of poverty and of vvant, not one 
 can be found who docs not read, and very 
 few who cannot write, and are not con- 
 versant with arithmetic. And in conse- 
 quence of thcirC invahuihle acquisitions they 
 evince a degree of information and a d,e- 
 sire of knowledge, for vvhich we shall in 
 vain seek among the less enlightened boors 
 of the south, zvho are hut very little elevated 
 above the beasts wJiicJi they drive, or the 
 'tlough which they direct. 
 
 But how coiXies it to pa-.s that a whok 
 
*t)iriuey ^o hand in hand, ^ 69 
 
 7latton enjoys the unutterable privilege of 
 knowledge and of virtae, while, their 
 neighbours, divided from them only by a 
 river, are, for the most part, sunk in igno- 
 rance and embrutified in vice ? Even thus 
 it happens ; from the wise, and just, and 
 merclfid, and henevoknt insthutions of lis 
 government. In the year 1 646, the parlia^ 
 nient of Scotland, with a spirit of political 
 wisdom and goodness, that will ever rank 
 their names among the foremost of the 
 benefactors of mankind, made ^ legal pro- 
 vision for the establishment of a school in every 
 parish throughout the kingdom, fr the express 
 purpose of educating the -poor. This law 
 might fairly claim the meed of superior 
 merit over any other act of legislation 
 which can be found in the records of his- 
 tory, on account of its extended benevo- 
 lence, and the adequacy of the means em- 
 ployed to carry the end proposed into its 
 full measure of effect. 
 
 This heavenly statute was repealed in 
 1660, when Charles the second mounted 
 the British throne, because it was passed 
 during the comrno7i-wealth, and had not re- 
 ceived the royal sanction. It lay dormant. 
 
270 FreedoWy knowledge^ and 
 
 dnring iJie rcknis of diaries tlie second and 
 James tJie second^ but was called to life 
 again, exactly in the same form and feature, 
 by the Scottish parliament, after the revo- 
 lution in 1696. And from the operatioa 
 of this blessed law, now continued for some 
 generations, have arisen the superior in- 
 dustry, knowledge, and good morals of 
 the Scottish people, which have rendered 
 them so conspicuous in the ejes of the 
 whole world. 
 
 The cl lurch' est ahlisliment of Scotland, 
 also, unites its aid with that of the national 
 system of education, to promote the virtue 
 and morality of the great body of the 
 people. The clergyman is every where 
 residejit hi his own parish, and, bj his know- 
 ledge and attention, and by the irresistible 
 efficacy of example in leading a sober 
 decent life, he at once supports the au- 
 thority of the master of the parish- school y 
 and encourages the scholars to endeavour 
 after improvement. The teacher of the 
 school, himself is, not seldom, a candidate 
 for holy orders, w'ho devotes the time 
 vv^hich can be spared from his more imme- 
 diate professional studies to promoting the 
 
virtue^ go hand in hand, ^J 1 
 
 benefit of his fellow-creatures, in discharg- 
 ing the very important and respectable 
 duties of an instructor of youth. 
 
 It is not uncommon for the established 
 schools, even in the country parishes of 
 Scotland, to possess the means of classical 
 instruction ; and many of the farmers, and 
 some of the poorer peasantry, endure many 
 -physical hardships, and undergo much self- 
 negation, in order to procure for a son the 
 advantages of a learned education ; w^hich 
 is not of difficult attairiment, ov^ing to the 
 expence of instruction, but from the charge 
 of providing them with the necessary means 
 of existence, during the term of their pu- 
 pillage. In the country parish-schools are 
 taught, in general, the English language, 
 writing, and arithmetic, at the rate of six 
 shillings^ and Latin at the rate of ten or 
 twelve shtUhigSy a year. In the towns the 
 prices are rather higher. 
 
 That the salaries of this very useful 
 order of men, the parish school-masters, 
 should be augmented there can be no 
 doubt; and I was glad to see that Mn 
 Christison, one of the masters of the high- 
 school at Edinburgh, a gentleman to whose 
 
H. 
 
 5272 Freedom^ kno'wUdge^ and 
 
 abilities, extensive information, and un- 
 wearied assiduity, no words can do ju^ticcy 
 published lately a little pamphlet, entitled. 
 The Necessity of a more general tJlflusmi of 
 KnowIed(T;e, for the express purpose of 
 calling the attention of those who possess 
 the landed property in Scotland, and on 
 whom rests the burden of supporting these 
 schools, to this subject, and of prevailing 
 on them to increase the scanty stipends of 
 these men, on whose proper discharge of 
 their duty depends so much of the welfare 
 and prosperity of the kingdom. 
 
 This pamphlet is well calculated to an- 
 swer its intended purpose ; I sincerely hope 
 that it may. I would just remark that 
 Mr. Christison has flillen into one error 
 in it, through his eagerness to bestow a 
 lash on Sam Johnson, whose conduct cer- 
 tainly was ^open enough to reprehension, 
 without having recourse to a palpable mis- 
 take. He says, that if Johnson had en- 
 joyed the benefits of a Scottish university 
 education, he would have been able to tell 
 why Lock-Ness does not freeze. But Mr. 
 Christison should have remembered, that 
 the reason why Lock-Ness, or any other 
 
^virtuCi go hand in hand, 273 
 
 body of very deep water, does not freeze 
 unless in climates of very severe and long- 
 continued cold, v^as not knovs^n by any 
 one, not even those educated at the Scot- 
 tish universities, till Rumford explained it 
 to the world in his Seventh Essay on the 
 Propagation of Heat in Fluids, which ex- 
 planation did not appear till long after 
 Johnson had written his Tour to the He^ 
 brides. 
 
 That this school' establishment in Scotland 
 is the great cause of the people's superior 
 industry and virtue is plain, from the active 
 spirit of emigration and of enterprize so con- 
 spicuous in the sons of Caledonia. Know- 
 ledge is power; and man, in proportion as his 
 mind is enlightened, possesses the capabi- 
 lity of enlarging his views and of gratifying 
 that ever-living principle which pervades 
 all human nature, and is the great lever 
 which puts all this lower world in motion, 
 the desire of betteriiig his co7tdition ; a desire 
 which actuates all mankind, and is the 
 great incitement which stimulates the 
 human animal to those stupendous efforts 
 and exertions, individually and collectively, 
 that have raised civilized and polished na- 
 
 VOL. II, T 
 
1274' Freedom y hi ow ledge y and 
 
 tions to such an incredible height of power 
 and of force, both physical and moral, above 
 the savage tribes that prowl about the dc- 
 , serts of Arabia, or swarm in the American 
 wilds. 
 
 An educated human being can extend 
 his mental vision over a wider portion of 
 the globe on w^hich he dv/ells, than one 
 whose eyes are veiled by the thick mists of 
 ignorance ; he can discern w^hcre the most 
 effectual demand for ability is made, and 
 ivill repair to that spot, confiding in the 
 tiever- failing resources of an intellect en- 
 larged and strengthened by cultivation. If 
 the spot on which he is born needs the aid 
 of his powers, he makes that spot his 
 home ; but if, from any particular combi- 
 nation of circumstances, w^hicK he, as an 
 individual, can neither prevent nor con- 
 trol, a more distant land requires the 
 assistance of his faculties, to that land he 
 repairs. What is his natal soil to a man if 
 it gives him not sufficient scope for the 
 broad and ample display of his talents na- 
 tural and acquired ? Wliat is it hut a namef 
 That country, wkich demands and affords 
 
virtue i go hand in hand. ^75 
 
 the fullest exertion of a man's productive 
 powers, 
 
 *^ — — Hie amor^ hsec patria est.'* 
 
 Hence it is, that the Scots, feeling a 
 conscious superiority of moral and of in- 
 tellectual power over the inhabitants of 
 other countries, have poured, and still con- 
 tinue to pour, in their own persons, an 
 incessant stream of knov/ledge and of 
 virtue into the surrounding kingdoms, 
 whereby the great body of the neighbouring 
 waters is prevented from becoming stag- 
 nant ; these hosts and armies of adventu- 
 rers are the soul, the principle of vitality, 
 which keeps the unwieldy carcases ofotlier 
 states from putrefaction. 
 
 But what the Scottish character is 
 abroad, out of their own country, all the 
 world knows ; my business is to show that 
 the people are examples of virtue and mo- 
 rality at home, ^That they are good citi- 
 zens and good subjects is plain, from the 
 mfreqtiency of executions, the gibbets decay- 
 ing, and the edge of the legalized murder- 
 er's axe growing rusty for want of employ* 
 
2/6 Freedom^ btowledgCy and 
 
 ment ; from the peace, and tranquillity^ 
 and social order prevailing among them ; 
 from the steady observance of religion, 
 and, her inseparable attendant, pure tnorality. 
 And how can it be otherwise, when they 
 are so remarkable yir tJie strength of their 
 domestic attachments P For, as the commu- 
 nity is made up of individuals, if individuals 
 in general are observant of the great cha- 
 rities of father, brother, son, and husband, 
 that community must abound in patriots-, 
 since private and individual virtue is the only 
 foimdation of all public spirit and puhlic in- 
 tegrity. 
 
 As lovers, the Scottish people are remark- 
 able for the purity, the fervency, the dura- 
 bility, the refinement, of their affection : — as 
 husbands, for kindness and fideUty ; perhaps, 
 if they have any fault, it is that they are a 
 little too arbitrary ; but this is wearing fast 
 away, and I hope that another age will see 
 the Scottish w^omen ascend to that level in 
 the scale of society which their virtues and 
 their excellencies deserve to reach : — as^j- 
 thers, the Scots may be an example to all 
 other nations. It is scarcely credible what 
 privations they will not endure, in order to 
 
virtue^ go hand m hand, 277 
 
 benefit their children, particularly to obtain 
 for them histructton, which they wisely con- 
 sider as the cliief good ; neither is the care 
 of the parents lost ; they thro-w their hread 
 upon . the waters, and after many days they 
 find It ; for, as sons, the Caledonians are as 
 exemplary as in every other relation of life. 
 They strive, to the utmost of their power, 
 to render the last days of those who gave 
 them existence, easy and full of comfort ; 
 they rock the cradle of declining age.. If 
 they have risen to affluence, their parents 
 share it with them ; if they still remain in 
 poverty, their father and their mother, now 
 unable to toil, divide their pittance with 
 them. 
 
 Even in the very lowest ranks of the 
 peasantry, the earnings of the children are 
 generally at the disposal of their parents ; 
 probably, in no other country is so large a 
 portion of the wages of labour applied to 
 the support and comfort of those who have 
 toiled all their little day of life, and now, 
 that the night of age is come upon them, 
 cannot work; and they go down to the 
 grave in peace, for the offspring of their 
 
 T3 
 
C78 Freedom, knowledge ^ and 
 
 loins administer unto their wants ; now that 
 the sun, and the light, and the moon, and 
 the stars, are darkened, and the clouds 
 return after the rain ; now that the keepers 
 of the house tremble, and the strong men 
 bow themselves, and the grinders cease be- 
 cause they are few, and those that look 
 out of the windows are darkened, and the 
 doors are shut in the streets, for the sound 
 of the grinding is low, and he rises up at 
 the voice of the bird and all the daughters 
 of music are brought low. And they are 
 afraid of that which is high, and fears are^ 
 in the way, and the almond-tree flourishes, 
 and the grasshopper is a burden, and desire 
 fails ; because man goeth to his long home, 
 and the mourners go about the streets. 
 Now that the silver cord is becoming loos- 
 ened, and the golden bowl on the verge of 
 being broken, and the pitcher about to be 
 broken at the fountain, and the wheel to 
 be broken at the cistern. 
 
 Burns has, with his usual accuracy and 
 spirit, drawn the family-picture of the 
 Scottish peasantry, in his inimitable poem 
 of The Cotters Saturday Night, the three 
 
virtue y go hand in hand. 279 
 
 following stanzas from which I cannot 
 deny myseh' the pleasure ot transcribing. 
 
 **' At length, his lonely cot appears in view. 
 Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; 
 Th' expectant wee-things^ loddlin, stacher thro* 
 To meet their dad wi' fliehterin noise an' g-lee. 
 His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnilv. 
 His clean hearth- stane_, his thrifty wifie's smile. 
 The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 
 Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile_, 
 An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 
 
 £C 
 
 Belyve the elder bairns come drappin'g in. 
 
 At service out amang the farmers roun ; 
 
 Some ca' the plcugh, some herd, some tentie rin 
 
 A cannie errant to a necbor town : 
 
 Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown. 
 
 In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her c'e. 
 
 Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown^ 
 
 Or deposite her sair- worn penny fee. 
 
 To help her parents dear, f they in hardship le, 
 
 \Vi' joy imfeign'd brothers and sisters meet. 
 An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers. 
 The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; 
 Each tells the unco's that he sees or hears, 
 The parents partial eye their hopeful years | 
 Anticipation forward points the view. . 
 The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers. 
 Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; 
 Th^ father mixes a' wi' admonition due." 
 
 T 4 
 
£80 Freedom^ knowledge , and 
 
 And the superior morality and good con- 
 duct, the general attendants upon knov/- 
 ledge, of the Scottish people, have been 
 productive of the best effects in promoting 
 the prosperity of their country ; for, in 
 Scotland, agriculture flourishes, manufac- 
 tures thrive, commerce abounds, and wealth 
 is continually pouring its golden tide into 
 all her ports, and increasing, in a most 
 wonderful degree, the quantity and energy 
 of .productive labour throughout all the 
 departments of the kingdom. 
 
 Perhaps the strongest proof of the great 
 virtue of the Scottish people is their un- 
 wearied assiduity and patient resignation, 
 even under the accumulated pressure of 
 poverty and w^ant, which the present re- 
 duced and beggarly value of money, and 
 their scanty wages, necessarily heap upon 
 these suffering and afflicted human beings. 
 
 Will the English nation ever condescend 
 to learn instruction from their wiser neigh- 
 bours the Scottish, and erect a national 
 estahlisJunent of education on the same plan; 
 or will they still continue to blunder on in 
 ignorance, and affect to wonder at the suc- 
 cess of the Scots in every undertaking, 
 
'virtue, go hand in hand. £8 1 
 
 when they ought to know and feel, that, 
 while their Northern neighbours possess 
 more ability and fiiore virtue thdin themselves, 
 they must unavoidably surpass them in 
 every enterprize in which they are com- 
 petitors ? 
 
 The influence of the scliool-estahlishrmit 
 of Scotland on the peasantry of that coun- 
 try, has now fully decided this most im- 
 portant point of legislation, namely, tliat a 
 system of national education for the poor is fa^ 
 vourahle to morals and good government. In 
 the year 1698, says that great patriot of 
 Caledonia, ^Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun, 
 ^* There are at this day in Scotland, tvco 
 hundred thousand people begging from door to 
 door. And though the number of them 
 be, perhaps, double to what it was for- 
 merly,by reason of this present great distress, 
 {a famine then prevailed) yet in all times 
 there have been about one hundred thousand 
 of those vagabonds who have lived without 
 any regard or subjection either to the laws 
 of the land, or even those of God and na- 
 ture ; fathers incestuously accompanying with 
 their own daughters, the son with the mother^ 
 and the brother with the sister. 
 
*^S\* Freedom^ knozv ledger a fid 
 
 '' No magistrate ever could discover 
 that they had ever been baptized, or in 
 what Avay one m a hundred went out of the 
 world, Tliey are frequently guilty of 
 robbery, and sometimes of murder. In years 
 of plenty many thousands of them meet 
 tof^ethcr in the mountains, where they 
 feast and riot for many days ; and at coun- 
 try weddings, markets, hnrtah, and other 
 public occasions, they arc to be seen, both 
 men'and women, perpetually drmiky curstngj 
 blaspheming, and fighting together^ 
 
 And what, think you, was the remedy 
 proposed by ihis dignified statesman, of 
 w^hom it was said, that he 'wotild readily 
 lose his life to sa%^ his country, and "would 7tot 
 do a base tlmig to saS&it P Even this, that 
 the great body of the Scottish people 
 should be reduced to domestic slavery, after 
 the manner of the republics of antient 
 ^-^-/.^j-eece and Rome. ^TBut a much better and 
 , ^^^-^ more effectual remedy has been found than 
 '^^--any which this iniquitous and horrible 
 measure could produce, namely, the parish- 
 school estahlishmcnt, which has poured the 
 streams of virtue and of good morals into 
 the kin2;dom, at the same time that it 
 
virtue^ go hand in hand. £B3 
 
 rolled down the big tide of knowledge 
 throughout all its borders, from one ex- 
 tremity of the nation to the other. 
 
 Probably, all Europe does not present % 
 country in which so few victims are im- 
 molated upon the blood-stained altars of 
 the criminal lavo, as in Scotland. It is a 
 well-ascertained fact, that, on an average 
 of thirty years preceding' the year 1797, 
 the executions in this country did net 
 amount to six annually. Compare this 
 number, with the hosts of human beings that 
 are lannched into eternity from the new drop 
 at the Old Bailey every six weeks^ and will 
 you hesitate a single moment to allow that 
 the Scottish infinitely surpass the English 
 in virtue a?id ifi morality ^ 
 
 It is known that 07ie quarter sessio?is for 
 the town of Manchester has sent more 
 felons to the plantations than all the judges 
 of Scotland usually do in the space of a zvhok^ 
 year. It is an indelible disgrace to the 
 English nation, that there are 7na7iy thou* 
 sands of individuals in Manchester, that can 
 neither read iior write. Hy far the irreater 
 portion of those v/bo are put to death hy lat^ 
 
284 Freedom y knowledge ^ and 
 
 ill England, arc /// this deplorable state of 
 
 Ignorance. 
 
 Henry Fielding, tlic late chief magis- 
 trate at Bow Street, told Joanna Bailie, 
 the Immortal author of the Flays on the 
 Passions y that, during his sitting In the 
 office of magistracy, not above three or 
 four Scotitshmen were brought before him 
 for examination as culprits or suspected 
 characters ; but that countless swarms of the 
 Irish were continually crowding In upon 
 him, and not a less Jormidahle ?m?nber of the 
 English. 
 
 Several of the Northern states of North 
 America have made a legal provision for a 
 school In each of the different townships 
 into which the country is divided. This 
 has been done not long since, excepting 
 indeed in NewEngland, where these blessed 
 institutions were established In the last 
 century, and with uniform good effects. 
 Similar schools exist in the Protestant can- 
 tons of Switzerland ; but not in the Roman 
 Catholic districts ; for popery and every oUier 
 species of tyranny and injustice are Incom- 
 patible with the general diffusion of hiow-^ 
 ledge and virtue. Arbitrary and cruel io^ 
 
virtue, go hand in hand. 28^ 
 
 mination cannot exist in the bosom of a 
 nation that is blessed with instruction, and 
 knows and obeys the dictates of virtue, for 
 such a nation feels its own resistless power, 
 and compels its rulers to adininister their 
 government with moderation, mildness, 
 mercy, justice, and benevolence. 
 
 Every government must be a govern- 
 ment of opinion, for the moral and physical 
 force is always in the hands of the people 
 governed, since no nation could exist under 
 the burden of supporting a soldiery suffi- 
 cient to vanquish or destroy the great mass 
 of the inhabitants, if they were determined 
 to resist. Even the despot of Constanti- 
 nople, with all his janissaries and hireling 
 ruffians, and murder-trained machines, 
 would perish, if the opinion of the whole 
 Turkish people could be so directed as to be 
 averse from such a mode of rule. Conse- 
 quently, the government of a country must 
 be good or bad in proportion as the opinion 
 of the great body of the people is clear and 
 rational, or muddy and absurd. If the 
 people are ignorant, and their views in con- 
 sequence very contracted, the government 
 will be harsh, cruel, oppressive, unjust. 
 
285 Frecdcmy hwdolcdge^ and 
 
 iniquitous; it' they arc well instructed and 
 enlightened, and their views of course en- 
 larged and expanded, the government will 
 be mild, equitable, and consonant to the 
 well-being of humanity. Government 
 must alwa}5 take its hue and colouring 
 from the complexion of the people. If 
 they are ignorant, they cannot know their 
 own interests nor the relative duties be- 
 tween man and man, particularly those 
 between the rulers and their fellow-citizens; 
 whence, as power undeviatlngly corrupts 
 men, the government In such a kingdom 
 cannot be good. If the people are pro- 
 perly educated and informed, they are a 
 check upon the conduct of their legislators, 
 and, by the steady and well-directed cur- 
 rent oi popular opinion, force humanity and 
 justice into a hud of fashion among the 
 great and mighty ones of the earth, whose 
 propensities to evil and to the abuse of 
 authority are over- ruled and restrained by 
 the strongest and most permanent of all 
 human powers, rifLvnoXy, principles of justice 
 fixed on the indestructible basis of truth, of 
 reason, and of experience. 
 
 Whoever has cast his view bread and 
 
virtue^ go hand in hand, 287 
 
 expanded over human society, and has re- 
 marked the' various and diversified errors 
 ' by which it is corrupted and debased, will 
 be easily able to trace them to one simple 
 source, — the ignorance of the people. Look 
 at the slave of Turkish, of Italian, of Ger- 
 man, of Spanish despotism, and you will 
 observe him to be at the same time the 
 slave r)f ignorance. It is amongst an tin' 
 taught and an tg7ior ant people, that despotism 
 strides with more gigantic steps, and lifts 
 herself up with greater arrogance of front ; 
 it is then she appears more powerful and 
 mighty, contrasted with the universal little- 
 ness and degradation around her. 
 
 In certain districts in England, particu- 
 larly in the northern parts oi Yorkshire and 
 of Lancashire, and in the counties of West- 
 moreland and Cumberland, schools for the 
 hist ruction of the poor exist, and it is vveJI 
 known that the people in these places are 
 remarkable for their propriety and de- 
 cency of conduct, their industry and in- 
 telligence. At home, they are sober, or- 
 derly, social, and diligent; abroad, active, 
 energetic, aspiring, successful. Is it not 
 almost as proverbial to say, when any one 
 
2SS Freedom y knoivledgey and 
 
 IS talked of as having risen rapidly in thd 
 world, why lie is a YorksliircmaUy as to ob- 
 serve that he is a Scoiihhman r" And how 
 could this observation become so general 
 as to pass into a proverb, unless Yorkshire, 
 like Scotland, enabled her inhabitants to 
 acquire more hwvoledge and more virtue than 
 were to be found in other districts of the 
 kingdom, whence they bore away the palm 
 of contest from their competitors ? 
 
 A law, providing for the instruction of 
 the poor, was passed by X\\z parliament of Ire- 
 land ; but the fund, decreed for the support 
 and maintenance of this measure, was di^ 
 verted from it purpose, and applied to other 
 uses, and the poor are not taught. Was the 
 parliament of Ireland alarmed at having, 
 it knew not how, deviated into a measure 
 so full of wisdom and of benevolence as 
 this, and, in order to expiate this offence 
 a2;ainst their usual rou7id of proceedings, took 
 effectual care to render it of no effect by 
 conveying the money, which ought to have 
 been employed in promoting the virtue and 
 happiness of a whole nation, into more private 
 channels ; channels in which the stream of 
 national wealth has been wont to flow for 
 
■virtue, go hand in hand, 289 
 
 a longer period of time, than is consistent 
 v/ith public justice^ or with public security. 
 
 A great similarity of character is tound 
 to prevail between the Swiss, the Scottish, 
 and'the people of New England: a simi- 
 larity which must be chiefly attributed to 
 their similar modes of national educaiiofu 
 All these three nations are surrounded by 
 countries more fertile and more abundant 
 than their own, and by people more igno- 
 rant and less virluous than themselves ; 
 hence their emigrations into those countries 
 where they outstrip the natives m the race 
 for honours, Vvcalth, influence, power, and 
 all hum^an pursuits, in Vvhich success is 
 generally proportioned to the quantity of 
 intellect and of integrity embarked in tlicir 
 service. 
 
 The peasantry of Westmoreland, of 
 Cumberland, and of Lancashire, where 
 these school-estabiislimc7its exist, far surpass 
 in morals, in understanding, and in happi- 
 ness, the poor that live in those countries 
 and districts, where the great body of the 
 people crawl on, from the cradle to the 
 grave, along the barren and unprofitable 
 wastes of ignorance, of vice, and of misery. 
 
 VOL. II. u 
 
C90 Freedom, knowledge, virfue, l£c. 
 
 Yc fools, when will yc be wise ? Yc 
 simple ones, when will yc get understand- 
 ing ? Do men gather grapes of thorns, and 
 figs of thistles ? Will the English nation 
 still refuse to listen to the voice of the 
 charmer, charm he never so wisely ? Will 
 it continue obstinately to close its ears 
 against the voice of experience, and to 
 shut its eyes against the light of truth ; in 
 hearins: will it hear and not understand ; in 
 seeing will it see and not perceive ? Is its 
 heart waxed gross, and are its ears dull of 
 hearing, and its eyes has it closed, lest at 
 any time it should see with its eyes and 
 hear with its cars, and understand with its 
 heart, and be converted and healed^ 
 
 Will not the bright and shining ex- 
 ample of their Scottish neighbours, now 
 blazinr forth to the world for more than the 
 lapse of a century, have any influence on it, 
 and rouse it into exertion, and an ejfeciiial 
 demand tor a system of general and of ?iat tonal - 
 education, which may open wide the ave- 
 nues, and unbar the gates of knowledge, 
 and of virtue, and of happiness, to all her 
 people ? Or will it be content to blunder 
 on in the thick clouds of darkness and of 
 
We make for Tunnel 'Bridge. ogi 
 
 iiicyht, is-norantof these truths which oup-ht 
 to be engraven on the tablets of every 
 human heart ; namely, that ignorance sub- 
 dues and dchtlitatcs the powers of the m'tndy 
 and gradually tames them mto a drowsy and 
 a silent acquiescence to every species of oppress 
 she a7id of cruel atcthority ;~ih2it the love of 
 liberty must ever sink with the love of science^ 
 mid thctt public spirit ^ freedom, and literature , 
 must be burred in one common grave ; — and 
 that the happiness, tlie virtue, the energies, 
 the independence of a station, will wing their 
 last flight when the last spark of knowledge 
 is extinguished P 
 
 We had not walked onward, since our 
 bidding Macnaughtan farewell, many paces, 
 before we went to lean upon a low wall, 
 in order to survey the meanderings of a 
 rivulet which held its course at a consider- 
 able depth below the road on which we 
 stood, and won its way, bubbling over its 
 pebbly bed, along the tortuous winding of 
 its banks, under the arched shelter of lofty 
 and venerable trees. Here we saw a coar e 
 latge-boned woman washing some sheets 
 in the stream : she had tucked up her pdt- 
 
 U 2, 
 
'ii)'J // 6' make for "T nun el Bridge. 
 
 ticoats and fastened tlicm round the mid- 
 dle of her body, and with her naked feet 
 Avas treading and stamping vehemently on 
 the linen. This is a method of washing 
 which I found to prevail pretty generally 
 in Caledonia, both in the High and the 
 L/Owlands. I have seen them practise this 
 elegant mode of exhibiting parts, which 
 civilized nations arc, generally, in the habit 
 of imagining it necessary to conceal from 
 public view, at the Leith water, in the 
 neighbourhood of Edinburgh, and in many 
 other places. Indeed, we did not travel 
 four hundred yards farther from Blair 
 Athol, before we saw iJiree voomen hi one 
 liih, rivalling Eve in simplicity of naked- 
 ness from the waist downwards, and wash- 
 ing linen with their feet, in all glee and 
 merriment ; they jumped out, however, 
 on our approach, and set up a very loud 
 laugh, to which we gave no heed, but 
 marched forward on our road. 
 
 We passed the ferry at the river Garry 
 
 where the boat-man himself, apparently 
 
 suffering the very extremes of poverty and 
 
 wretchedness, at first refused to receive the 
 
 , iawhie apiece for our passage, because, as 
 
JVe make for Tunnel Bridge. 2p3 
 
 he said, — he was sure that we were worse 
 off than himself, and he scorned to oppress 
 the poor. 
 
 We then saw Bruar-iitlls, which Burns 
 has immortalized in song. This romantic 
 spot lost much of its interesting beauties 
 for want of trees to prevent the water from 
 being rendered shallow by the continued 
 evaporation, owing to the heat of the sun- 
 beams playing on the liquid without hin- 
 drance or control. Burns, after he had 
 left Blair Athol, wrote a poem to the duke, 
 called The humhle Fetttion of Bruar water ^ 
 requesting that his grace would plant its 
 banks with trees, which has since been 
 done. Some oi the stanzas of this little 
 poem are so beautiful that I cannot do 
 better than adorn my page by their in- 
 sertion. 
 
 *' Here, foaming down tlie shelvy rocks, 
 In twisting strength I rin, 
 There high my boiling torrent smokes. 
 Wild roarino- o'er a linn : 
 
 o 
 
 Enjoying large each spring and well 
 
 As nature gave them me, 
 I am, altho' I say't mvscl, 
 
 Worth gaun a mile to sec. 
 
 t^o 
 
294 ^^e mtike-for Timfiel'. ^idge* 
 
 ^^ Would tliLU my nobltf ma^itor pkaae 
 
 To p'A\\\ my highest wishes, 
 He'll shade \^^\ banks \\\ towering trees. 
 
 And bonuic spreading bushes. 
 Delighted doublv' then, my lorrf. 
 
 You'll wander, on my. banks. 
 And listen mony a grateful bird 
 
 Return you tuneful thanks. 
 
 ^^ The sober lav'rock,, warbling wild, 
 
 Shall to the skies aspire; 
 The goud spink, music's gayest child. 
 
 Shall sweetly join the choir : 
 The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear. 
 
 The mavis mild and mellow; 
 The robin pensive autumn cheer 
 
 In all her locks of yellow. 
 
 " This too, a covert shall ensure, 
 
 To shield them from the storm ; 
 And coward maukin sleep secure. 
 
 Low in her grassy form : 
 Here shall the shepherd make his seat. 
 
 To weave his crown of flow'rs. 
 Or find a shelt'ring safe retreat. 
 
 From prone descending show'rs* 
 
 ^^ And here, by sweet endearing stealth. 
 
 Shall meet the loving pair, 
 Despising worlds with all thein wealth 
 
 As empty idle care : 
 The flow'rs shall vie in all their charma 
 
 The hour of lieav'n to grace,. 
 
We make for Tunnel Bridge, 295 
 
 And birks extend their fragrant arms 
 To screen the dear embrace. 
 
 ' *^ Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 
 
 Some musing bard may stray. 
 And eye the smoking dewy lawn, 
 
 And misty mountain grey: 
 Or by the reaper's nightly beam. 
 
 Mild chequering thro' the trees. 
 Rave to my darkly dashing stream, 
 
 Hoarse- swelling on the breeze, 
 
 ^' Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 
 
 My lowly banks o'erspread. 
 And view, deep- bending in the pool, 
 
 Their shadows' wat'ry bed ! 
 Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 
 
 Mv craggy cliffs adorn ; 
 And, for the little songster's nest, 
 
 The close embow'ring thorn." 
 
 We now took our way directly over the 
 hills, having no longer any main or beaten 
 road to direct us. Before we sunk entirely 
 into the desolation that awaited us, we took 
 a last and parting view of Blair Athol, as 
 we laid ourselves down upon the heath. 
 The beams of the setting sun were playing 
 upon the battlements of the ducal m m- 
 sion, and gilding all the front of that noble 
 and spacious edifice ; the scenery all aroiuid 
 U4 
 
^(jG fVetnnhfor Tu:incl Bridge. 
 
 was extensive, and, save some large plan- 
 tations of fir, bare, wild, and sterile, bound- 
 ed in on all sides by a huge chain of moun- 
 tains. We indulged the pure and un- 
 mingled sensations of our soul, occasioned 
 by til is prospect, for awhile, and then pro- 
 ceeded onward. 
 
 We strode along in silence, for many 
 and many a weary step onward, till we 
 were faint and tired, and our feet so de- 
 plorably galled, blistered, and pained, that 
 wx could not crawd on farther. We threw 
 ourselves upon the heath, and surveyed, far 
 as our eye could range, one aching blank 
 of dreary desolation ; no vest'ge of a hu- 
 man being was to be seen, no track of a 
 living creature to be espied, no appearance 
 of a dwelling-place, where rest and shelter 
 may be found, served to prevent us from 
 feeling as if we wtre deserted of God and 
 man. We seemed to be treading upon the 
 borders of another world ; 
 
 ^^ Alone, and vvilbcut guide^ half-lost, we sought 
 Which readitst path led where these gloomy bound$ 
 Confine with man.'' 
 
 The barren breasts of the mountains 
 
JVe make for Tunnel Bridge, 297 
 
 were enveloped in clouds Avhicli hung 
 shadowing and darkening their whole mass 
 nearly to their base. Bat now the shades 
 of night began to deepen, and to cast a 
 browner horror upon all the surrounding 
 objects, and compelled us to move onward 
 in quest of a nocturnal habitation. 
 
 *^ Now o'er the one half world 
 
 Nature seems dead, and wieked dreams abuse 
 
 The eiirtain'd sleep ; now witeheraft celebrates 
 
 Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, 
 
 Alarum'd by his sentinel, the w olf, 
 
 Whose howl's his watch^ thus with his stealthy- 
 pace. 
 
 With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his de- 
 sign 
 
 Moves like a ghost." 
 
 '^ Now black and deep the night begins to fall, 
 
 A shade immense. Sunk in the quenching gloom* 
 
 Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. 
 
 Order confounded lies; all beauty void; 
 
 Distinction lost ; and gay variety 
 
 One universal blot : such the fair power 
 
 Of light to kindle and create the whole. 
 
 Dreary is the state of the benighted wretch 
 
 IVhoy then Icwilder'd, icanders thro' the darJi, 
 
 Full cf pale fancies and chmiseras hu^e; 
 
 Nor visited by one directive ray 
 
 f lom cottage streaming or from airy hall," 
 
C9^ We make for Tunnel Bridge. 
 
 After a tedious and painful creeping for-' 
 ward for some time, we could discern some 
 pigs, sheep, very small cows, a few huts, 
 and here and there a faint attempt at cul- 
 tivation. All which was like the balm of 
 Gilead to our drooping spirits, because it 
 foreboded a gleam of hope that we might 
 find a resting place for our head during the 
 night season. 
 
 Here we met a Highlander clad in his 
 kilt. He was }oung, active, intelligent, and 
 springing like the roe-buck over the hills ; 
 his step was firm and agile, his deportment 
 erect and rrjanly. He hailed us with po- 
 liteness, expressed his concern for our miser- 
 able situation, in tones of such feeling in- 
 terest, as made our heart-chords vibrate 
 with delight, and earnestly besought us to 
 turn back and pass the night with him in 
 his hut, where we should be heartily wel- 
 come to whatever he possessed. — I have 
 myself — said he, — walked forty miles to- 
 day, and my hut lies but two or three miles 
 distance over yon hill, and we will spend 
 the night cheerily together ; I will give you 
 whiskey, and you shall have my own hed. 
 
 Wc thanked him for his kind hospitable 
 
We- make far Tunnel Bnd:gs. 299 
 
 offer, but told him, that we comld not avail 
 ourselves of his invltatLon, becaui>e we were 
 -unable to crawl back so far. We begged 
 that he would have the goodness to direct 
 us where to find an inn. He replied, that 
 Tiumel Bridge was three miles farther on, 
 and the road so straight that we could not 
 possibly mistake our way. We shook 
 hands with -the Highlander, and parted. 
 We presently, however, found, that, not- 
 withstanding our honest guide's direction, 
 wx had lost our way, and had scrambled 
 up to the top of a precipice, dow^n which 
 my next step w^oiild have precipitated mc 
 had not Cowan bawled out lustily, — ad- 
 va^iice another foot, and you will pass the re- 
 mahider of this night with the devil. 
 
 Upon receiving this very satisfactory 
 piece of information, I cautiously m.ea- 
 sured the ground back again, till I got 
 once more upon the level plain, where I 
 laid myself down, and declared that I 
 would! remain till the morning should 
 dawn. To this measure, however, An- 
 drew objected,, saying, that he wanted sonie 
 mppe)', and must go on till he could arrive 
 at a place w here some refreshment might 
 
SOO TVe make for Tunnel Bridge, 
 
 be obtained. Wc, therefore, crawled on 
 in great pain, and slowly, on account of 
 the soreness and tenderness of ocr feet, 
 nearly an hour, when wc met a large fat 
 man on a little horse, driving some cattle 
 before him, and attended by two people on 
 foot, and a 6.0%. Of him, who was either 
 an Englishman or a Lowland Scot, we 
 asked our w^ay. He answered, in a very harsh 
 and surly tone, that ive knew our way as 
 well as he did, and 7mgJit get alofig about our 
 hus'mess. 
 
 We thanked him for the gentleness of 
 his answ^cr, and limped on; we soon after 
 met ten or a dozen Highlanders, walking 
 at a great rate, and singing songs in Erse, 
 ■vs'ith great vehemence of gesticulation, and 
 loudness of sound. To them wx put the 
 question, which was cur w ay to the near- 
 est inn ? and received for answ^cr, that wc 
 were homn' lame lads, and had nothing to 
 it?ir, for Tunnel Bridge was only two miles 
 farther on. We pressed forw^ard, and could 
 just discern on our left hand, by the faint 
 glimmering of light which served to cast a 
 pleasing melancholy shade over all around 
 us, a clean neat house, with som.e marks 
 
We male for Tunnel Bridge, 50 i 
 
 of cultivation about it, and a beautiful little 
 'lake in the front of the building. We saw 
 some huts thinly scattered on the way-side 
 as we passed, and bent our way onw ard on 
 the bank of a large river. The night now 
 grew excessively dark, and I proposed, and 
 Cowan was on the point of consenting, 
 that we should lie down on the ground 
 and wait till to-morrow's dawn might light 
 us on our march. 
 
 But just at this moment we discovered, 
 apparently at the distance of a mile from 
 us, a feeble glimmering of light, as of a 
 candle or lamp, in the v/indow of some 
 house. Concluding that this must be the 
 inn, wx made towards it, and, about twelve 
 o'clock at night, nearly half-dead with 
 pain and fatigue, \\ e crossed Tunnel Bridge, 
 and entered a large house, where \^/e were 
 presented with a perfect Highland scene, 
 such a one as we had not before witnessed. 
 Three women with very dirty visages 
 peeping from out their long, matted, dishe- 
 . veiled, and uncombed locks of yellow, one 
 far advanced in life, the -other apparently 
 under five and twenty, were walking lei- 
 surely to and fro, in a large apartment. 
 
50^ PP^e vi^ltfcr Timid BHi^^. 
 
 hun^ round with divers and sundry articles 
 ^ food> as dri^d meat, onions, sugar, &c. 
 &:c. su^pcnd^d on nails in a row, near thr 
 top of the ceiling. This room was also 
 furnished with old, shabby, dirty, broken 
 chairs, stools, and tabks, under which last 
 lay, reposing themscives on the dirt -floor, 
 no kss than nine dogs of different genera, 
 ^vhich soon filled «s entirely with fleas 
 and other vermin, to our sore annoyance 
 and discomfiture. Some other pedestrian 
 travellers were there, clad in Highland 
 kilt, and a large bed stood in one corner of 
 the room near the fire-place. 
 
 The hostess, who had a little babe in her 
 arms, was a very neat pretty woman, very 
 decently arrayed, with a strong expression 
 of fire in her dark black eye, and of perti- 
 nacity in the bold projection of her chin. 
 The host was a tall, stout, well-built 
 young man, not a la mode de sans adottt, 
 but properly pantalooned like a Christian 
 and a gentleman, as Strap sagely observ^th. 
 He at first welcomed us, as w^e entered the 
 room, with some pure Erse, pronounced 
 in the genuine brogue ; but finding that wc 
 were not skilled in the mysteries of the 
 
Our reception at "Tunnel Bridge, 303 
 
 said jargon, he honoured us with some 
 Endish, delivered in the true tone and 
 manner of one who had been dipped in 
 the river Shannon. 
 
 We asked for some tea, some eggs, and 
 a bed. Our appearance, which was now 
 none of the neatest, occasioned a huge 
 stare among these amiable people, who be- 
 gan altogether, and at the same instant, to 
 gabble Erse at us, without any mercy or 
 a moment's cessation, and continually to 
 point first towards Cowan and then to- 
 wards me. I must confess that I did not 
 very much like all this, for a more com- 
 plete picture of wildness and of uncouth 
 barbarity than the whole of this room ex-^ 
 hibited I never saw. We waited a con^ 
 siderable time and no refreshment was 
 forth-coming ; the hissing of Erse still 
 continued, with some few intervals of 
 pause, which wxre employed by the ho^ 
 in asking me, for Cowan had already fallen 
 asleep in his chair, very many questions of 
 who and what we were, w^hy wx should 
 think of coming over the trackless heath 
 to Tunnel Bridge at that dead hour of 
 
504' Our recepticn at Tunnel Bridge, 
 
 nlirht, &c. &c. To all vyhlch I returned 
 suitable answers, not very long ones, lor I 
 -\vas too iDueli fatigued ; neither did they 
 seem to satisfy our landlord, who sliook 
 his head, and bestowed upon me a sentence 
 of Erse, in a sharp tone, of which I did 
 not comprehend a single syllable. 
 
 He then left me; and I, seeing no appear- 
 ance of any food or liquid, began to write 
 in my d'lary, during which I had the satis- 
 faction of observing that the youthful and 
 blooming hostess, without any ceremony, 
 undressed herself close by me, within a few 
 inches of m.y seat, and deposited herself in 
 the bed that stood by my side ; a custom 
 which she must have been in the habit of 
 performing before spectators, as I judged, 
 from the cool composure with which she 
 laid aside her garments in my presence. 
 All this was done out of pure simplicity ; 
 for I am confident, from the countenance 
 and w hole demeanour of the w^oman, that 
 she would on no account have done any 
 thing which she had been taught to imagine 
 was immodest or indelicate. 
 
 At length w^-as brought us by the old 
 hag, whose red locks hung floating on 
 
Our reception at 'Tunnel Bridge, 305 
 
 every thing which she carried in her hands, 
 some stale bannoc which we could not 
 swallow; she also threw down from the 
 palm of her hand (a hand, but It sur- 
 passes description!! !) a dab of butter on 
 a broken saucer, whose colour the dirt con- 
 cealed ; after which she laid down on the 
 table, without a plate or dish, some slices of 
 hung beef, which required an ocean of liquid 
 to wash away the saline and pungent effects 
 of one mouthful. Then was brought milk 
 at least thrice skimmed, and of the true 
 Stiffolk blue. Our tea was made by this ve- 
 nerable dame, (who might very readily 
 have been passed off, even on a Greek 
 philosopher, as Mega^ra or Tysiphone,) by 
 throwing a small quantity of leaves into an 
 old broken-spouted pot, whose lid was of a 
 different form and figure from itself, and 
 secured to the handle by a string, wuth her 
 right-hand now fairly layered and varnished 
 with filth. After the liquor had stood 
 brewing awhile, she poured out to us each 
 a dish, which she sweetened by throwing 
 in w ith her well-begrimed fingers, a couple 
 of lumps of whitish sugar and a pinch of 
 brown, that is, as much as she could take 
 
 VOL. II. X 
 
S06 Our recepticn at Ttuwel Bridge, 
 
 up with her fore-finger and thumb, placed 
 in the attitude which is used for the pur- 
 pose of plundering a snufF-box of its con- 
 tents. 
 
 Eat we could not ; but as our throats 
 were fairly parched with thirst, and we had 
 no likeUhood of procuring any purer or 
 cleaner beverage, we contrived to swallow 
 some of the tea, and, by a little rest, began 
 to recover. The first use which I made of 
 my returning strength was to endeavour to 
 do away from the mind of our host the 
 unfavourable opinion which he evidently 
 entertained of us. I^ therefore, harangued 
 him about America and its inhabitants 
 so completely, and in such an immteUig'tble 
 strain, that I soon, seemingly, won his 
 heart, for he shook us both very violently 
 by the hand, and vehemently apologized 
 for his not being able to treat us more 
 handsomely and hi better style. But, he 
 said, that his house was full of gentlemen 
 w^ho were met there for the purpose of 
 settling the limits of some districts of land 
 in the 'neighbourhood ; nevertheless, that 
 we should have a good comfortable bed tc* 
 sleep in. 
 
Our reception at I'unneJ Bridge, 307 
 
 We thanked him for his kindness, and 
 begged that we n^ight be permitted to go 
 to bed directly, for we wxre quite worn 
 down , with fatigue and toil. ' We were 
 then shown, by one of the young damsels 
 whom we had seen on our first entering 
 the house, into a large upper room, in fur- 
 niture resembling a barn, at whose win- 
 dow-bench were standing, more than half- 
 drunk, three stout strapping Highlanders, 
 with very short kilts, not reaching down 
 so low^ as cleverly and fairly to cover their 
 posteriors, and a smaller animal, spruce 
 pig-tailed and pantalooned, who w^as sober, 
 and by his manner seemed to be a ganger 
 of beer. This important question, how- 
 ever, we soon ascertamed ; for, as they all 
 immediately crouded round us to inquire 
 some news of the two American sailors^ 
 concerning whose arrival below one of the 
 women had run up to tell them about an 
 hour before, we had an opportunity of de- 
 scanting upon the full and uncontrolled 
 liberty which the Americans possessed of 
 making and vending whatever liquor they 
 chose, to say some civil things concerning 
 the excise and exchemen in this country. 
 
 X 2, 
 
308 Our reception at funnel Bridge. 
 
 But this ingenious mancEuvre had nearfy 
 cost us very dear, for our hero of the ink- 
 horn and button-hole grew angry, and 
 »\vaxed wrathful, saying, that he had the 
 honour of serving his Majesty in the office of 
 excise, and would suffer no beggarly vaga- 
 bond to disparage his profession. Nay more, 
 he began to display an amazingly-abun- 
 dant knowledge of America, making fre- 
 quent allusions to Guthrie s Geographical 
 Grammar, which I soon perceived was the 
 source from w^hich he derived all his infor- 
 mation ; and ended a long speech by de- 
 claring roundly, that we were no better 
 than impostors, and that he was sure we 
 had never he en in America, 
 
 This bold assertion staggered his compa- 
 nions, and Cowman, foreseeing a storm, slunk 
 into bed, and w^as fast asleep in a twink- 
 ling. I felt myself awkwardly situated, 
 and still more so, w^hen one of the High- 
 landers unfortunately observed',that if I came 
 from t^ew York, I miist hiow the post-office 
 at Nova Scotia, and one Fraser Macpherson, 
 who was settled in Boston, as a carpenter. 
 I was under the disagreeable necessity of 
 declaring that I had not the honour of 
 
Our reception at Tunnel Bridge. 309 
 
 knowing Mr. Macplierson ; neither was I 
 acquainted with the precise situation of the 
 post-office in question. 
 
 My case now wore a very serious aspect, 
 for the Highlanders, any one individual of 
 whom could with his finger and thumb 
 have squeezed me out of existence, grew so 
 furious at the supposed palpable detection 
 of my being an impostor, that they all swore 
 they would throw me immediately out of 
 the w indo w^or heing a fief as 1 was. An 
 operation in which the ganger, grinning 
 and rubbing his hands with great glee, 
 prepared to assist. 
 
 No time was to be lost, I was entirely 
 hemmed in by these drunken barbarians, 
 who would have desired no better sport 
 than to have precipitated a poor, worn-out, 
 crippled wretch, that had, as they thought, 
 presumed to impose upon their sagacity, from 
 the window to inevitable destruction, on 
 the rugged stones below, on the side of the 
 river. I, therefore, assumed a very steady 
 and composed look, and said, — men a7id 
 brethren, hear me for a 7noment. — At t^his the 
 Highlanders put down their hands from the 
 collar of my jacket, and stood in a listening 
 
 ^3 
 
3 1 Ol^r reception at Tunnel BriJge, 
 
 attitude, while the gauger looked perplexed 
 and terrified, like one doubtful of the 
 event. 
 
 Having thus secured the privilege of 
 being heard, I began to harangue with 
 great vehemence, in a very exalted and 
 lordly key, for I well knew that the least 
 symptom of faltering, the least appearance 
 of fear, would inevitably seal my doom. I 
 appealed to their national honour, as High- 
 landers ; I played upon their passions, as 
 men, who might one day be themselves 
 strangers in a foreign land, and need kind- 
 ness and hospitality, which my countrymen 
 would always be eager to show them : I 
 then turned round quickly upon the un- 
 happy exciseman, and declared that his 
 ignorance was unpardonable, and only 
 equalled by his inhumanity ; that he had 
 tead a little in Guthrie s Grammar y and had 
 contrived to misunderstand all that he read. 
 I described some w^onderful places, fabri- 
 cated towns, cities, and rivers, on the spot, 
 and fathered them all upon America. 
 
 In a word, I so completely bewildered 
 my honest auditors, that they called me 
 lonny lad, honest sailor, &c. and nearly 
 
Our reception at l!unnel Bridge, 5 1 1 
 
 hugged me to death by their embraces, and 
 stunned me by their noisy vociferations. 
 As for the unfortunate beer- explorer, they 
 laid hands on him, and were proceeding to 
 quoit him out of the window in a trice ; 
 but I prevented this exhibition by observ- 
 ing, that if they killed him they would all 
 be hanged, and that to be hanged vvas a 
 death unworthy of a Highlander and a gen-- 
 tleman. 
 
 This remonstrance had the desired ef- 
 fect, and one of the stoutest of the High- 
 landers wTung the exciseman severely by 
 the nose, and told him, that he was a little 
 rascal, and should have been put to death 
 immediately for using a stranger ill, but 
 that the law protected him in such villayiy. 
 Saying which, he ceased from screwing 
 round the ganger's nose, and the poor fel- 
 low shot out of the room w ith all speed, 
 doubtless well-pleased at having escaped 
 with only the loss of part of his nasal 
 organ. 
 
 I entreated now that my companions 
 
 would leave the room, and let me retire to 
 
 rest; w^hich request they granted, after 
 
 giving me some more hugs, which nearly 
 
 X4 
 
3 1 '2 Our reception nt "Tunnel Bridge. 
 
 squeezed the breath out of my carcase, and 
 bestowing upon mc the frequent appellation 
 of honny lad. I then reposed my wearied 
 frame on as clean, nice, and well-aired linen 
 as I had ever seen. At about five o'clock 
 in the morning of the eleventh of August, 
 a tall kilted Highlander, not quite sober, 
 stalked into the room, looked all around 
 and into every corner of the apartment, 
 spied that I was awake, came and shook 
 me so violently by the hand, out of pure 
 good fellowship, that he nearly dislocated 
 my right shoulder, not to mention that he 
 pulled me more than half out of bed, and 
 then walked out of the apartment, not 
 having uttered a single word during the 
 whole time, from the moment he entered 
 till the moment that he departed. 
 
 After this kind and hearty salutation, I 
 contrived to get nearly three hours of as 
 sweet and refreshing a sleep as ever buried 
 the cares of man in the lap of oblivion ; 
 and about eight we rose and dressed our- 
 selves. On going to the window I had a 
 thorough view of an old man dressed in 
 full plaid ; while he dismounted, his horse's 
 stirrup and bridle were held by a running 
 
Our reception at ^umel Bridge. S 1 3 
 
 footman, in the shape of a little ragged 
 shoeless boy, more shabby than any thing 
 in nature, excepting himseH' and his laird's 
 steed and housing, whose tatters fluttered 
 in the wind at every breeze that blew. 
 
 We wished to know precisely what w^as 
 the hour of the day, as my watch had not 
 yet recovered its ducking in the river Tay, 
 and Cowan's time-piece still laboured un- 
 der the paralysing effects of its concussion 
 on the rock of the Pass of Killacrankey. 
 We, therefore, bade one of the women 
 inquire, and she returned for answer, that 
 tJie watch belonging to the house had not 
 .been right nor gone cleverly for some 
 weeks, and that nobody could tell the time of 
 the day. So little did these people regard 
 what we now deem to be one of the great- 
 est conveniences of life, the facility of ascer- 
 taining the precise moment of time when- 
 ever we please. 
 
 Andrew hath marched out to bathe 
 himself in the river which rolls its stream 
 beneath my window, where I am now 
 noting down in my diary whatever 
 events may occur. And even now while 
 I am writing, I behold three e:entlc- 
 
514 Oitr reception at 'Tunnel Bridge. 
 
 men, all differently dressed, yet all with 
 some twang of the Highlander about them, 
 tolerably well- mounted on grey, black, and 
 brown steeds, and very shabbily attended 
 by some ragged running footmen. They 
 come riding over that rough and crippling 
 bridge, whose rugged stones so sorely pierc- 
 ed my feet last evening. They are come 
 to settle the limits of some lands now in 
 dispute as to what possessor they belong. 
 Their powdered pates are shaking very 
 vehemently, while, with much action, they 
 litter their Erse language, which seems, 
 in gntturalism, to resemble the Welsh 
 tongue, and in the hrogue-way of pronunci- 
 ation to be like the Irish. 
 
 The view from the window where I am 
 sitting, is most despondingly desolate and 
 cheerless ; no little spot of verdure or of 
 cultivation appears on which the eye might 
 repose with complacency, and contemplate 
 with delight. Naught is to be seen but 
 vast tracts of heath, and naked hills heaped 
 upon hills, and mountain piled upon moun- 
 tain, w^ith their bare heads enveloped in 
 eternal clouds. 
 
 Cowan now came in, and wx both went 
 
Our reception at Tunnel Bridge. 515 
 
 down to breakfast in the same room where 
 we had supped the night before, and found 
 there our very bountiful companions, the 
 dogs, which had communicated to us such 
 a number of vermin, and an elderly High- 
 lander, whose face was muffled up in a 
 very dirty pocket-handkerchief. At first 
 he did not vouchsafe to notice us ; but, 
 when the hostess told him, in an au- 
 dible whisper, that we were Amertcam 
 and strangers, he was very courteous, and 
 told us that Jie and some other gentlemen 
 wxre met together here for the purpose of 
 settling some dispute about the marches* 
 He then proceeded to ask us many ques- 
 tions about America, its productions, the 
 condition of the people there, &c. &c. to 
 all which we answered as we saw occasion 
 prompted at the moment. 
 
 But he was particularly desirous of 
 knowing how we behaved to our women, 
 OMX freemales y as he called them : whether 
 Vs't treated them like slaves, or suffered 
 them to rise to that level in civilized so- 
 ciety which they ought to hold. Wc told 
 him, that. our women were as yet in a very 
 barbarous state of ignorance and of mental 
 
516 Our reception at Tunnel Bridge. 
 
 imbecility, and not too much burdened 
 with delicacy ; but that we suffered them 
 to have their full swing of cable ; and no 
 doubt in process of time, since we treated 
 them as our equals, they would make those 
 advances in wisdom and virtue which they 
 were so v\ ell qualified to reach by a proper 
 mode of early education. 
 
 I am glad to find, — replied the old man 
 cramming a large wadding of bannoc and 
 dried beef into his mouth, while he spoke, — 
 that you behave properly and like gentlemen 
 to the freemales, I wish it were altogether 
 so in this country ; but I am sorry to say 
 that in Scotland w^e are apt to consider 
 them as an inferior order of creatures, and 
 treat them, particularly among the poorer 
 classes of society, not much better than 
 dogs, making them carry heavy burdens, 
 and go without shoes and stockings, and 
 often not speaking kindly to them, nay, 
 sometimes not abstaining from beating 
 them. In England, I am told, for I never 
 w^as there myself, the case is somewhat 
 better, and the women are not so much 
 subdued and tamed as they are here. But 
 still; there, they are not quite unfettered 
 
Our reception at 1'iinnel Bridge, 3 1 7 
 
 and unshackled, for a wife is considered by 
 the law of the land as only part of the goeds 
 and chattels of her husband, against whose 
 violence and brutality she cannot easily 
 obtain redress. 
 
 We stared to hear an old man, with a 
 scurvy face, muffled up in a marvellously 
 foul clout, and all whose clothes were, if 
 possible, shabbier than our' own, talk so 
 sensibly and judiciously, and so much above 
 the common strain of conversation even in 
 people accounted to be well-instructed and 
 amply informed. But as w^e knew that, in 
 general, excepting perhaps the Scottish 
 female servants, who appear to be rather 
 hardly treated, the women both in Eng- 
 land and Scotland had no great reason to 
 complain of their condition, we answered, 
 that we hoped the female sex would soon 
 be liberated in his country, from any un- 
 pleasant or improper restraints on their 
 happiness ; but that it w^as impossible, in 
 any kingdom, to prevent so7ne indhnduah 
 from treating their women harshly ; and as 
 for heating his wife occasionally, I did not 
 know but the American was as expert at 
 this exercise as either the Scot or the Eng- 
 
5 1 S Our reception at Tunnel Bridge, 
 
 lishman, only I believed the general beha- 
 viour of the men towards the females was 
 mild and just. 
 
 The old man seemed satisfied, and acqui- 
 esced in the distinction between the general 
 and individual treatment of women in a 
 country ; he also added, to be sure some- 
 times women will be a little perverse, and 
 vex a man sadly, and then what is he to 
 do ? I had a wife myself who very seldom 
 ceased to torment me by her ill temper 
 and incessant scoldingy^^r twenty-jive years % 
 however I never contradicted her, think- 
 ing that she must by and by wear herself 
 out ; and so she did, for it has pleased God 
 to take her to himself for these last ten 
 years, and I have led a quiet easy life ever 
 since. And upon considering the matter 
 again, I do not know whether on the whole 
 the women do not fare as well as the pre- 
 sent distressed state of this country will 
 allow ; we must all do our best, and strive 
 to render each other as happy as we can dur- 
 ing our short stay here below; we shall 
 soon change this llfeyor a better or a worse, 
 according as we behave ; so it behoves us all 
 to look well to our conduct. 
 
Our reception at Tunnel Bridge. 3 VQ 
 
 Saying this, he shook us by the hand, 
 bade us farewell, and left the room. Wc 
 wished to know something of the history 
 o(. thA^ practical philosopher \ but, upon appli- 
 cation to the host and hostess, wc could 
 learn nothing more than that he vvas a 
 genihman in the neighbourhood. 
 
 At breakfast, as we could not eat the 
 bannoc, which seemed to be composed of 
 barley- meal, barley-straw, and dirt, in three 
 equal portions, we were favoured with a 
 very small portion of the stalest bread I 
 ever saw ; there was no such thing a$ 
 swallowing the butter, and not an egg was 
 to be had, so that we were now nearly 
 starved. We, therefore, determined to get 
 onward, in hopes of arriving at a place 
 w^here some consumable food might be 
 obtained, for both Andrew and I were 
 very leary, and looked pale, dreary, and wo- 
 begone; for want of sufficient nutriment 
 to supply the waste which our bodies un- 
 derwent from continual exercltation. Ac- 
 cordingly we discharged our bill, and took 
 leave of the host and hostess, who bade 
 us a hearty farewell ; and I also kissed the 
 hostess* dear little lovely babe, about nine 
 7 
 
520 JVe traverse Ceshievel Vale. 
 
 months old, who expressed a desire to go 
 alonp^ with me, because she had taken a 
 fancy to my spectacles. 
 
 Andrew, who regards' children only as so 
 many nuisances, looked on with silent con- 
 tempt while I was fondling the little inno- 
 ccnt,and waited rather impatlently,till I was 
 ready to proceed with him on our march. 
 
 We bent our way from Tunnel Bridge 
 dow^n Coshievel Vale, and had not pro- 
 ceeded far before we met a thin miserably- 
 looking fellow, driving a cart, drawn by 
 one horse, in which sate a large corpulent 
 woman, on a long form with a little girl 
 by her side. The fat rosy-gilled dame 
 hailed us, and, after asking some trifling 
 questions about our being lame, and w^he- 
 ther we ever knew^ what it was to ride, 
 &c. and receiving some brief answers, she 
 condescended to tell us she pitied our dis- 
 tress, and informed us, that she w^as the 
 wife of a tradesman in Glasgow^ and w as 
 going to carry her daughter to school at 
 Inverness ; that this was a wild, rude, and 
 savage place, not fit for a carriage to go in ; 
 and that Glasgow was a hraiv bo?i?iy spot. 
 
We traverse Coshievel Vale. 321 
 
 in which trade, and money, and gentility, 
 were to be found. She now ordered the 
 poor wretched biped on foot to drive on the 
 carri^ge^ which she had before caused to be 
 stopped, in order to give us an item of her 
 being a very genteel personage. 
 
 After awhile we grew very faint with 
 the sun's heat, which smote fiercely on 
 our debilitated bodies. As we were limp- 
 ing on we heard the sound of a torrent at 
 some distance from the road; we made 
 towards the spot from whence the noise 
 proceeded, and found a large bason scoop- 
 ed in the rock, by the continvied wearing 
 of the water, which descended from a 
 lofty w^aterfall. In this bason we bathed 
 and climbed up the rocks by the side of 
 the fall, and saw several torrents, one above 
 the other, descending from the pile of 
 rocks which were heaped up on each other. 
 On each side of the stony channel down 
 which the waters fell, a few mountain- 
 ashes had lifted their hardy heads, and by 
 their verdure cast a cheering ray of loveli- 
 ness over the naked sterility of the sur- 
 rounding scene. 
 
 We found our feet so very much blls- 
 
 VOL. II. Y 
 
J2i2 IVe traverse Coshievel Vale. 
 
 tcred that the least pressure ^caused an 
 acute sensation of pain, as if a burning 
 coal was applied to them. Cowan had 
 contrived to smuggle a minute portion of 
 soap at Tunnel Bridge, and we soaped the 
 bottom of our feet abundantly, and march- 
 ed on with much less inconvenience than 
 before. No doubt owing to the soap-lather 
 preventing the too speedy evaporation of 
 the secreted sebaceous matter, which serves 
 to lubricate every part of the human body, 
 and the consequent dryness and friction 
 that inflame and irritate the skin and make 
 it puff up into blisters. 
 
 After a time we again grew fatigued, ancj 
 lying down enjoyed the most exquisitely 
 refreshing slumber on the heath, which 
 renovated all our faculties, and infused 
 elastic vigour through all our frames. We 
 seemed to have drawn a new lease upon 
 life and bodily strength, by a very few- 
 hours spent in deep and undisturbed sleep. 
 
 " Tlr'd nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep I 
 He, like the world, his ready visit pays 
 Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes; 
 Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe. 
 And lights on lids unsullied with a tear." 
 
We traverse Coshi. vel Vale, 323 
 
 ■• How many thousands of my poorest subjects 
 Are at this hour asleep !— Sleep, gentle sleep. 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. 
 That thou no more wilt weig^li my eyelids down, 
 And steep my senses in for getf nines s P 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs. 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. 
 And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slum- 
 ber; 
 Than in the perfum'd chamber of the great. 
 Under the canopies of costly state, 
 And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody ? 
 O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile. 
 In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly coucft, 
 A watch-case, or a common lariim-hell P 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge; 
 And in the visitation of the winds, 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
 With deaf ning clamours in the slippery clouds. 
 That with the burly death itself awakes ? 
 Cans' t thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 
 And in the calmest and most stillest night. 
 With all appliances and means to boot, 
 Deny it to a king P Then, happy, low lie down ] 
 Uneasy lies the head that luears a crown,'* 
 
 " TtT-/' ohvoLs cidxr^^t nfya 5' aAyeo^v, 
 Y 2 
 
594' We traverse Coshievel Vale\ 
 
 I3i i5< iJ-'A Ilaucx." 
 
 ^^ Sleep, thou patron of mankind, 
 Great physician of the mind, 
 Who dost nor ])ain nor sorrow know, 
 Sweetest bahn of every woe. 
 Mildest sovereign, hear me now ; 
 Hear thy wretched suppliant's vow ; 
 His eves In gmtlc slumbers close, 
 And continue his repose; 
 Hear thy wretched suppliant's vow, 
 Great physician, hear us now." 
 
 We learn from a passage in the Furies of' 
 ^schylus, that the antlents entertahied a 
 very curious opinion of the influence which 
 skep had over the human mind, so as to 
 render its powers brighter and more per- 
 spicacious during the actual existence of 
 slumber; a period in which we generally 
 find that the mental faculties exert them- 
 selves with much less strength and accuracy 
 tlian when our senses are liable to receive 
 impressions from external objects. The 
 words of the Greek tragedian are these : 
 
JVe traverse Coihievel Vale, 32i 
 
 *' In sleep the vigorous soul set free 
 
 From gross corporeal sense, with keener view 
 Looks thro' the fate of mortals, dimly seen 
 Thro' the day's troubled beam." 
 
 Perhaps the pJitlosophers of modern times 
 would tell us that they can look through 
 the fate of mortals with a keener view when 
 they are awake than when they dream. 
 
 As we lay on the heath, a fellow who 
 would not have believed us if we had told 
 him, that he was not a gentleman, beat 
 his poor dog unmercifully, for no other 
 reason that wx could discover, but because 
 he had fired his gun in vain, for we ob- 
 served the moor-fowl fly away unhurt 
 after he had discharged the contents of his 
 piece ; whereupon he turned round and 
 fell furiously with the but- end of his gun 
 upon the unoffending dog. The rascal w^as 
 well-dressed and wore a powdered skull. 
 
 All around us the country was one eon* 
 tinned blank of desolation ; a little farther 
 on we saw a very few straggling huts, and 
 soon thereafter got into the high road, 
 from whence w^e beheld a tremendous 
 chasm, overhung with a wood-beskirted 
 Y3 
 
3^6 JVe traverse Coshievel Vale. 
 
 rock ; the torrent was heard to murmur 
 below, but no view could be obtauied of 
 its waters. Now, as we traversed the road 
 and approached the confines of a lofty hill, 
 a most lovely and exquisitely-beautiful 
 country unfolded itself to our view. The 
 plain was immeasurably extended beneath 
 our feet ; it wore an universal face of plea- 
 sant green. The wood now in its fullest 
 dress of foliage, the vallies teeming v/ith 
 plenty, the glittering spires and polished 
 turrets peeping from out the trees, the river 
 now hid from our sight, now tumbling out 
 from amid the hollow rocks, all conspired 
 to present so enchanting a picture, that we 
 stood awhile rivetted to the spot, and, In 
 rapturous trance as we surveyed this para- 
 dise, forgot that we were inhabitants of a 
 dreary and a disgusting world — forgot that 
 man was made to moiirn. 
 
 About four o'clock in the afternoon we 
 came to a decently-looking large house, 
 which we had been told at Tunnel Bridge 
 was an inn in the Vale of Coshievcl. Here 
 a very gentlewomanly female, in dress^ 
 person, and address, received us, in spite of 
 our vagabond garb and miserable appear- 
 
We traverse Ccsh level Vale, $27 
 
 ance, politely, courteously, and kindly^ 
 Her name was Miss Mengs ; and she iiold 
 us, that the whole country, farther than 
 we could see, belonged to Sir Robert 
 Mengs, her cousin, as I understood ; but I 
 might easily be mistaken, as the lady spoke 
 in a low gentle tone of voice, and I am 
 not particularly ingenious at hearing very 
 clearly and distinctly. 
 
 At first we entered a large and cleanly 
 room below, but our fair hostess soon led 
 us to an apartment above stairs, w^hich 
 commanded a view of the whole extent of 
 the beautiful surrounding scenery, which 
 was set off and heightened by the uplifting 
 of some wild and savage mountains, be- 
 yond all the circle of the cultivated pros- 
 pect, and whose bleak and rugged heads 
 we could now just discern in the distance. 
 
 But we stood very much in need of 
 some grosser and more substantial aliment 
 than what the view of the country, however 
 enchanting, could afford ; our bodies were 
 nearly evanescent for want of their accus- 
 tomed supply of nutrition. All our wants, 
 of this kind, however, were presently re- 
 moved by a plentiful dinner of soup, mut- 
 Y 4 
 
358 We traverse Coshievel Vale. 
 
 ton, and moor-fowl, which wc swallowed 
 with great perseverance and great glee ; 
 for we had not been able to procure any 
 animal food since our nocturnal repast at 
 Dundee, on the night of our examination 
 as vagrants and suspected persons, where it 
 was scarcely eatable, being made up more 
 of pepper and salt and dirt, than meat. 
 We, therefore, now recompensed ourselves 
 for the four lanyan, or fasting, days which 
 we had undergone. We w^ere now tho- 
 roughly in the Highland style, all our 
 spoons were of horn, every thing was 
 clean and nice except the salt, w^iich was 
 beastUly dirty beyond all description. 
 
 We took our leave of Miss Mengs, and 
 limped onward on our journey. We had 
 not proceeded far before we were gratified 
 by the view of the exquisite scenery upon 
 the earl of Breadalbane's domains. The 
 woods were extensive, and at a distance 
 seemed to hang suspended in mid-air ; the 
 buildings were noble and stately, the river 
 rolled in calm attendance on the cultivated 
 scene. On the right the hills wxre crow^nr 
 ed with trees and shrubs, excepting that 
 now and then the bare rock peeped out to 
 
We traverse Coshlevel Vale. 329 
 
 show what the daring and powerful hand 
 oj mail had done, how it had turned the 
 barren and rugged wilderness into a region 
 smiUng with verdure and waving with 
 foHage. 
 
 We now came to Loch Tay, whose 
 broad expanse of water deUghted and filled 
 our minds ; it was confined by two ridgca 
 of hills ; those on the right were wooded to 
 the top, those on the left were well culti- 
 vated to the summit of the first tier, above 
 which the naked mountains wxre lost ia 
 the azure vault of heaven. 
 
 ^^ Admiring nature in her wildest grace, 
 
 l^hese northern scenes with weary feet I trace. 
 O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
 Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep. 
 My savage journey, curious, I pursue. 
 Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. 
 The meeting cliffs each deep- sunk glen divides. 
 The woods wiJd-scatter'd clothe their ample sides; 
 Th' outstretching lake embosom'd 'mong the hills. 
 The eye with wonder and amazement fills; 
 The Tay meandring sweet in infant pride. 
 The palace rising on his verdant side; 
 The lawns wood-fring'd in nature's native taste 
 The hillocks dropt in nature's careless haste; 
 The arches striding o'er the new-born stream, 
 The village glittering in the noon-tide beam. 
 
330 Wc are troubled to get a night's lodging. 
 
 Poetic ardour.^ in my bosom swell, 
 I^ne wand'riiii: by the hermit's mossy cell; 
 The &wcq:>ing theatre of hanging woods; 
 Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods 
 
 Here poesy might wake her heaven- taught lyre. 
 And look thro' nature with creative fire ; 
 Here, to the wrongs of fate half-reconcird. 
 Misfortune's lighten 'd steps might wander wild. 
 And disappointment, in these lonely bounds. 
 Find balm to soothe her bitter rankling woun<l3 : 
 Here heart-struck gW^ might heav'nward stretch 
 
 her scan, 
 And injur'd worth forget and pardon man/* 
 
 We went to the inn at Kenmore, and 
 asked about having a boat to take us down 
 the Loch. The landlord, who had a very 
 handsome regularly- featured countenance, 
 a dark, keen, expressive, intelligent black 
 eye, and a very elegant and well-propor- 
 tioned form, all which he had set off to the 
 best advantage by a very neat and becom- 
 ing dress, cast upon us and our appurte- 
 nances such a look of superciliousness, of 
 
Wt are troubled to get a nights lodging. 331 
 impudent modesty, and of insolent civility, 
 that we could scarcely refrain from laugh- 
 ing in his face. He answered, that a boat 
 would cost a shilling a mile, and therefore 
 would not suit such gentry as we were ; at any 
 rate, that he should not choose to let any of 
 his boats go at that hour, so late in the even- 
 ing, unless it was to accommodate gentle^ 
 men who ^cx^ gentlemen, and that he should 
 be sure of his money. 
 
 We then asked him, if he could let us 
 have a lodging; at which question he fa- 
 voured us with a look of the most ineffable 
 disdain, and, pointing with the fore-finger 
 of his left hand, bade us look at his house 
 and adjoining offices, (which, to say truth, 
 were very spacious and elegantly built) and 
 then judge whether they were to be kept 
 up hy foot-passengers zvith htapsach on their 
 shoulders. No, no. — You had better walk 
 on farther, and see if you cannot get a 
 boat about eight miles onward, down the 
 side of the lake; and, hark ye i I would 
 not advise you two sailors to go to Greenoc, 
 or you will surely be pressed, for the gaiigs 
 are very hot upon it there. 
 
 We thanked him humbly for his great 
 
332 H'c are troubled to get a night's lodging, 
 kindness and condescension ; and asked 
 him if he \vas not once a valet to the earl 
 of Breadalbane. At this question he stared 
 and looked rather confused, as it was put 
 to him with much dryness, not to say con- 
 tempt ; however, he soon recovered him- 
 self, and, drawing up his head, answered, 
 that he had had the honour of being ^/f;///(f- 
 vian in waiting to his lordship, from whose 
 family he had married, and been placed in 
 this inn by his noble 7n aster. 
 
 We bade him farewell, and he wished 
 us a good evening in a much less authori- 
 tative tone than before we had asked him 
 the last question, w^hich, we intimated, was 
 done, because we judged from his manner 
 that he had been a servant to some great 
 man. We marched on, not taking a boat 
 for two very sufficient reasons ; first, that 
 we could get none, and secondly, that our 
 money began to run very short, and threat- 
 ened altogether to fail us before we could 
 reach our home. 
 
 We walked on down by the side of the 
 Loch, on the shore opposite to the Bread- 
 albane palace and pleasure-grounds, which 
 we did not enter and examine on account 
 
A word or two on great men. 333 
 
 bf the approach of night, whose lengthen- 
 ing shades forbade the exercise of any 
 dear and distinct vision on our parts. We 
 were soon overtaken by a venerable grey- 
 headed old man riding on a horse, with a 
 woman's side-saddle upon it. He hailed 
 us courteously and kindly, and with him 
 we had a long conversation. After he had 
 inquired somewhat minutely about Ame- 
 rica, and received answers that served to 
 allay his curiosity, he told us his little his- 
 tory, which was short and simple ; namely, 
 that he was a farmer in the neighbourhood, 
 and did well, and lived very cheerfully, till 
 both his sons were had away from him to 
 become soldiers, since which time things 
 had not prospered so much with him, for 
 he was old, and, not being so active as for- 
 merly, he missed the help of his boys upon 
 the farm ; and that his wife, poor woman, 
 had been ailing ever since, so much so, that 
 he had that very evening been to fetch a 
 doctor for her. 
 
 He then began to discourse upon the 
 situation of that part of the country with 
 which he v/as acquainted. He told us, 
 
534 A w^rd or two on great men. 
 
 that he, as yet, was able to hold out a little 
 longer, by sheer dint of labour and hard 
 living, and because in his younger days he 
 had saved a little money by being indus- 
 trious and frugal ; but that if things con- 
 tinued as they were^ he must soon be quite 
 ruined, as were already many of his neighs 
 bours, owing to the rent of the land being 
 screwed up to the very height of oppres- 
 sion. — Why, — continued the old man, — ^ 
 the country is in a manner unpeopled in 
 comparison of what it was some time 
 back, all entirely owing to so many estates, 
 which before were let in separate portions, 
 being now thrown into single farms of 
 vast extent, whereby great numbers of fa- 
 milies have been reduced to beggary, and 
 those who have not actually perished from 
 want, have been compelled to emigrate, 
 and have gone chiefly to America. 
 
 I must here positively break the thread 
 of the old man's discourse, and leave him 
 for awhile, in order to offer a few re- 
 marks on the causes of the evils which 
 this venerable inhabitant of the earth set 
 forth with so much simplicity in the ge- 
 nuine artlessness of his soul. 
 
A word or two on great meru 3Si> 
 
 It IS one of the most Important objects 
 of poiltical inquiry to trace to its source, 
 the accumulation of mischief springing 
 from any pernicious institution, and to 
 show to the generaUty of mankind its ten- 
 dency and its extent. In the ignorance of 
 unlettered barbarity such an attempt was 
 vain ; how were the rude minds of savages 
 to be made to comprehend the tendencies 
 of an evil deduced from historic experience 
 when no records of that experience ex- 
 isted ? And when society was more ad- 
 vanced, and some men were able and wil- 
 ling patiently to wade through the undi- 
 gested heap of monkish annals, and to 
 collect the materials of history from tradi- 
 tionary information, how were they to dif- 
 fuse the knowledge that they had acquired 
 among their fellow-men, when no medium 
 existed by which their thoughts and ob- 
 servations could find a ready and a facile 
 entrance into the great theatre of the 
 world ? Add to this, that men, through 
 the weakness and contracted narrowness 
 of their uninformed and unenlightened 
 minds, have always been prone to rest con- 
 tented with the first remedy which is at 
 
5:35 A zvord or t-wo on great men. 
 
 hand, against any evil that presses upoit 
 them, and trouble not themselves to specu- 
 late upon prospective contingencies, or to 
 balance remote probabilities. 
 
 Hence arose many customs and insti- 
 tutions, which, although they seemed to 
 counteract the then existing evil, have been 
 productive of incalculable mischief to later 
 ages, but have been still suffered to press 
 with their accumulated wxight of cruelty 
 and iniquity upon the human race, even 
 when the experience of many generations 
 has clearly evinced their injustice and ab- 
 surdity. To those who are versed in his- 
 tory, and surely it behoves every one to 
 be acquainted at least with the recorded 
 transactions of his own country, instances 
 of such customs and such institutions need 
 not be adduced ; since every page that 
 contains the narration of events which 
 have occurred in this or in any other 
 kingdom, will furnish them with nume- 
 rous examples in those remains of feudal 
 barbarity which disgrace the existing laws 
 of almost every nation in Europe, and arc 
 an insult upon the understanding, and an 
 
A word or two on great men. SS7 
 
 infringement upon the independence of 
 human nature. 
 
 In the present period of clvUlzatlon and 
 of intellectual advancement, many have 
 exerted themselves, and devoted their time 
 and their talents to point out the evils of 
 political folly and injustice ; neither have 
 their labours been altogether in vain ; but 
 very much yet remains to be done before 
 the great mass of mankind shall be allows- 
 ed to obtain even a very scanty portion of 
 comfort under any governm.ent, such as 
 hilherto have existed or have been admi- 
 nistered. Prejudice and niterest are the 
 great Impediments to all hurfian improve- 
 ments, and they are both the daughters of 
 one mother, even of ignorance ; but the 
 burden of calamity which now presses on 
 almost every rank of society, and the still 
 increasing weight of misery which -wc are 
 taught to expect, and no doubt will be 
 heaped upon our heads in future, 07ight to 
 prevail on men to listen to the admonitions 
 of reason, which alone can point out the 
 origin and the remedy of their sufferings. 
 At least, if they obstinately refuse to be in- 
 structed for their own benefit, they should 
 
 VOL. II. z 
 
338 Ji word or rjL'o en grc;it men. 
 
 have the decency to be silent. If they will 
 not endeavour to remove the causey of what 
 use is it to whine and lament about the 
 ■effect P 
 
 Since the revohition of 1688, the broad- 
 est features of misery which have deform- 
 ^ed, and still continue to deform, the fair 
 face of this kingdom, are the national dehty 
 ^\\\z frequency ofvjars, and a complex and ht^ 
 iricaie code of sanguinary and of partial laws, 
 whose gradual amendment and reformation 
 'by the mild but steady efforts of religion 
 "^nd of truth, have been prevented by cold, 
 and selfish, and cruel policy, propped up 
 by the broad buttress of ignorance, which 
 has induced men in authority to imagine 
 that theh' strength is proportioned to the 
 weakness, their happiness proportioned to 
 the misery, of the people ; for they have 
 not yet learned that the prosperity, the per- 
 manency, the power, of every government 
 must be always exactly in the ratio of the 
 peace, the plenty, the security of person and of 
 property, the knowledge, the good morals, the 
 religio?t, which flourish and abound among 
 , the lower and most numerous orders of its 
 "subjects/ 
 
i i 
 
 A word or two on great men. '^':^ 
 
 By recollecting that the narrow prin- 
 ciple of self opposed to the heavenly mo- 
 tives of enlarged benevolence, is the basis 
 of all political motion, as it has hitherto 
 existed in the world, we shall readily per- 
 ceive the cause why one very fruitful 
 source of the miseries which have afflicted 
 this kingdom, still remains to spread ha- 
 voc and desolation through all the lower 
 ranks of the community, I mean the laii: 
 of primogeniture , the common law of the land, ; .^ 
 A very brief view of this custom, so absurd 
 and so pernicious in all its bearings and 
 dependencies, will clearly prove that it 
 owes its birth and its present existence to 
 selfishness : a selfishness which has nipped 
 humanity in the bud, and has been a can- 
 ker-worm to corrode the sweet flower of 
 mercy, even at its heart's- core. I inten- 
 tionally omit the consideration of the in- 
 justice and cruelty which the law of pri- 
 viogenittire entails upon all the younger 
 branches of great families, particularly the 
 females, because their sufferings are but as a 
 drop of water to the ocean, in comparison 
 of the manifold miseries which this horrid 
 and barbarous custom inflicts upon the great 
 
340 J word or two on great men. 
 
 body of the people. When we balance 
 half a dozen, or half a score hundreds of 
 human beings that are pinched by this in- 
 stitution, against the many mtUlons which 
 are ground down and trampled in the dust by 
 its iron grasp, we are tempted 'to say, — hut 
 what are these few among so many? 
 
 I shall, therefore, only rapidly consider 
 its effects upon the public, upon the poor. 
 
 It derived its birth from the conquest-, 
 when a restless, bloody, insolent, and un- 
 feeling race of nohles parcelled out the 
 territory of the subdued and miserable 
 Anglo-Britons. It was admirably calcu- 
 lated to preserve and to prolong to them 
 the possession of arbitrary and of despotic 
 sway, and to continue the people in vassal- 
 age and in slavery, and also to furnish 
 military suit and service to their sovereign. 
 But in the lapse of a few centuries the 
 }K)wer of these feudal lords became so for- 
 midable, and their oppression so intolerable, 
 that both king and people conspired togc- 
 ther to destroy or to lessen their strength. 
 
 But what was now done ? The branches 
 indeed were lopped, but the foot remained ; 
 the trunk still continued, and in after times 
 
A word or t wo on great men. 34 1 
 
 shot forth other boughs and other fohage, 
 which, Hke the baneful tree of Upas, have 
 spread their poisonous exhalations and 
 their steams of destruction over all the 
 land. The race of nobles was neither to be 
 feared nor dreaded, as despots clad in iron 
 garments, after the contest between Charles 
 the first and the British people. But the 
 sting of the snake was not extracted ; the 
 laiv of prhnogeniUwe remained. Commerce, 
 in her turn, succeeded to the sword, and 
 found a golden path to that greatness and 
 to those honours which had hitherto been 
 approached only by steps of blood. 
 
 Hence, merchants became possessors of 
 landed property ; and, by successful specu- 
 lations in trade, by active and unwearied 
 industry, operating on the sure and steady 
 ground of frugality, the vion'ted interest ac- 
 quired great influence and high importance 
 in this kingdom ; even more than the 
 landed lords had possessed, but not of so 
 open and avowed a nature; they were 
 more indirect, working in secret and in 
 silence, but never missing their . intended 
 aim. 
 
 At the beginning of the reign of Great 
 
 ^ 3 
 
542 A word or two on great men. 
 
 Britain*s present sovereign, an extended 
 field of opulence was opened by our nefa- 
 rious and unhallowed success in the East 
 Indies ; and by the execrable industry with 
 which the produce of our West Indian 
 plantations was procured, I mean ihe trad^ 
 mg and the traffic of human flesh, for the 
 purposes of obtaining negro slaves. Our 
 merchants, swoln with the plunder of the 
 East, and lifted up into arrogance from the 
 possession of boundless stores of fruits lux-» 
 uriated by the blood, and bedewed with 
 the tears of their fellow-men, became sen- 
 sible of their dishonourably-acquired con- 
 sequence, supported government in all its 
 wars, and supplied the means of ostentation 
 and oi prodigality. 
 
 As a return for these important services 
 they \^ ere made noble ; and many of them, 
 by matrimonial connexions, blended their 
 interests with those of the old nohlesse, 
 whose paternal estates, not being augment- 
 ed by the streams of trade, had not kept 
 pace with the continually decreasing value 
 of money, or had been dissipated or encum- 
 bered by heedless and unprincipled extra- 
 vagance. Thus basking in. the sunshine of 
 
A rjoord cr two on great men. 343 
 
 royal favour, in alliance with, and courted 
 by, the nobles, and possessing the inBu- 
 ence inseparably attendant upon enormous 
 wealth, they glided into the legislative 
 temple. 
 
 And when once they had taken posses- 
 tion of this sacred scat, they established 
 their own aggrandizement upon the necks 
 of an humbled and an abased people. 
 Every law was propitious to their exalta- 
 tion. Banks swarmed throughout the 
 kingdom and engrossed all the specie ; the 
 wide and still widening extension of the 
 national debt enabled them to contract for 
 lucrative loans ; the East Indian monopoly, 
 chartered rights and corporate bodies, and 
 frequent wars, all increased their exorbi- 
 tant masses of treasure, while they sunk 
 the people into penury and want. 
 
 Thus in the course of a century these 
 traders, united to the scanty remains of the 
 old nobility,^ have acquired the greater 
 portion of the landed property of this king- 
 dom, which, descending lineally, and ab- 
 sorbing within its gulf, entails and mar- 
 riage-settlements, and all the monopolizing 
 mischiefs of primogeniture, now presents 
 z 4 
 
344- A word or tivo en great men. 
 
 such an alarming accumulation of hiJlvU 
 ^//j/ wealth, as xnQn?iCC^ a general destructmi. 
 It is from this source that the consolidation 
 of farms y so loudly complained of and so 
 justly lamented, is derived. For the heir 
 of an enormous Income, despising the sim- 
 plicity of a rural life, hurries to the me- 
 tropolis and enrolls himself among the 
 gilded pageants of the court, where vice 
 and luxury continually drain him of his 
 wealth ; and when the usual springs of 
 supply are dried up, his steward, a country 
 attorney, versed in all the petty windings 
 and doublings of financial chicanery, de- 
 vises plans of economy in order to fill the 
 pockets of his lord for a season. 
 
 And what is this wonderful economy ? 
 To avoid the ?iecessary expences vohich arise 
 from repairing and paying taxes for old farm -^ 
 houses) wherefore they are pulled down, 
 and vast tracts of land are let to one man> 
 who, indeed, carries on his business of 
 farming on a large scale, profitable to him- 
 self, but prejudicial to the community. 
 For numbers of people, who once lived in 
 comfort on smaller farms, are now driven 
 out upon the wide world ; they are not 
 
A word or two on great men. 345 
 
 even permitted to be day 'labourers, to be 
 hireling-workers on the land which they 
 once rented, because t\\Q great farmer, like 
 other great men, finds that it is convenient 
 for him to employ a much less number of 
 workmen now that the ground is all o?ie 
 farm, than were deemed necessary when it 
 was divided into several. 
 
 By this expedient, and by the corn-laws 
 of this kingdom, which are an actual mono- 
 poly of the necessaries of life, the rental of 
 estates is advanced to its highest pitch of 
 oppression, to the emolument of a very few 
 individuals , and the debasement and star- 
 vation of countless thousands of the poor. 
 The great and wealthy landholder f lis all 
 the high civil offices in the country, as 
 those of lord-lieutenant, sheriff, magistrate, 
 &c. and thus carries into execution the 
 Jaws vvdiich he helped to he passed. 
 
 In London he mounts to the envied 
 eminence of splendid exaltation by the 
 usual gradations of borough-jobbing, of 
 courtierizing, and a peerage ; or he takes 
 Jiis degrees at Newmarket and the gaming- 
 table, and becomes a professed man of pie a^ 
 ^ure. In either, and in both these cases, I^e 
 
3t6 u^word or two on great meit. 
 
 regards his tenants not a jot more than 
 the Russian 7ioblc docs his boors ; so that 
 he gets the ohrok or head-money y which each 
 male boor pays ; he cares not how his vassah 
 live, or whether they live at all. Hence, 
 the labouring peasantry are nearly as much 
 degraded and oppressed by the induence of 
 the very small number (oi\]j one liundred 
 and stxiy-scven men before the late accession 
 of the Irish members to the imperial par- 
 liament) of wealthy individuals, who mo- 
 nopolize all the legislative power of this 
 country, as their ancestors were by the 
 feudal lords ; for, by the law of parochial 
 settlement, they are, in reality, villains mid 
 serfs chained to the soil on which they 
 were spawned. 
 
 Upon a fair calculation, it has been prov- 
 ed that the whole number of men who, 
 by the possession of boroughs and large 
 country estates, hold in their hands the 
 power of electing all the representatives of 
 Great Britain, excepting the Irish, amount 
 to less than iivo hundred. This crying evil 
 arises altogether from the law of primogeni- 
 ture, which prevents the free circulation of 
 lauded property, and forbids it to find its 
 
A zvord or two en great men. 34-7 
 
 level like every other species of merchan- 
 dize. In the trading of which competition 
 is not crippled and destroyed by exclusive 
 monopolies. If it were done away the 
 natioa would in the course of a very {c\r 
 years wear a far different aspect from that 
 which it now presents ; a body of yeo- 
 manry and gentlemen farmers would be 
 produced, cultivating their own compe- 
 tent, but not vast estates, improving agri- 
 culture, and diffusing the blessings oipeace, 
 of plenty^ and of tnstructton to the poor. 
 
 The old man also told us, that it w^as 
 the custom among the very great me7i, 
 and one he mentioned particularly by name, 
 as having himself been a sufferer through 
 the power exerted on the part of the said 
 great ma7i, to raise what is called a volun- 
 teer regiment. This business is thus per- 
 formed, continued our communicative 
 companion ; the great man gives notice to 
 those of his tenants, who have young and 
 able-bodied children, that they shall send 
 one or more of their sons into the military 
 department, whose machinery is immedi- 
 -atcly under his ow^n inspection. / lost my 
 
548 A ivord or two on great men. 
 
 o'li'n iijco hnys in that very %iay, — said h^;, 
 sobbing and wiping his eyes as he spoke. 
 
 In vain the aged parents represent that 
 their sons are their chief, nay, their only 
 support ; that by their labour in superin- 
 tending the llirm the whole family is de- 
 cently and comfortably maintained. It is 
 of no use that they urge their anxious fear 
 Icsc their children's morals should become 
 corrupted by the accustomed and habitual 
 wickedness and disregard of all religion so 
 notorious in all military encampments; that 
 their boys would go out respectable for 
 their native simplicity and unadulterated 
 honesty, but would return, if they return- 
 ed at all, execrable, on account of their un- 
 feeling knavery, their unbridled licentious- 
 ness, and systematic want of all principle ; 
 for what else can be expected from such a 
 school, where men are regularly taught to 
 trade in human blood, and to sell their 
 skill in murder for a stipulated price ? 
 
 To all this a very short answer is given ; 
 that the young men must be forthcoming 
 as soldiers, or the parents must prepare to 
 leave their farms, and to embrace all the 
 
A wcrdor f'j^o on great tnen. 349 
 
 pangs of povetty, of want, of neglect, of 
 insult, and of a lingering death by misery 
 and famine, as the inevitable consequence 
 of their refusal to obey the mandate of 
 their lord, and to devote their children to 
 destruction. What could be done in op- 
 position to unlimited power not regulated 
 by the mildness of religion ? The young 
 men w^ere dragged to those spots destined 
 for the reception of those unhappy wretches 
 who arc hired to shed the blood of their 
 fellow-creatures, and to sluice out their own 
 for pitiful and dirty pelf. And, what is 
 still more strange, these infatuated beings 
 are taught to glory in their shame, to be 
 vain of their red livery, which is but the 
 flaunting badge of their slavery, and to be 
 proud of their calling, which is one continued 
 act of ^tsohedknce to and defance of the com- 
 mands of that mercful Saviour who hath pro- 
 flounced a hless'mg upon all those that promote 
 peace on earth and good-tmll towards men. 
 
 We now shook hands with the good old 
 jnan, who turned up into a by-road, and 
 left us. As we went on our w^ay we 
 mused on what we had heard, and were 
 not comforted. 
 
550 ^zvord oy two on great men. 
 
 It is well for us that ^Q;reat men cannot 
 wield the elements themselves for our de- 
 struction, but can only render us wretched 
 by human instruments of persecution and 
 oppression, or \vc should be utterly anni- 
 hilated. 
 
 " Could great men thunder 
 
 As Jove himself does, Jove would ne*er be quiet. 
 For every petty pelting officer 
 Would use hfs heaven for thunder, nothing but 
 .' thunder. — 
 Merciful heaven ! 
 
 Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphureous bolt^ 
 Split*st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak 
 Than the soft myrtle. — O, but man, proud man ! 
 Drcst in a little brief authority ; 
 Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd. 
 His glassy essence — like an angr)' ape 
 Plays sueh fantastic tricks before high heaven. 
 As make the angels weep.*' 
 
 If any thing could prevail on mankind 
 to abhor the Iniquity of butchery and 
 bloodshed, one should imagine that it 
 would be the knowledge of the miseries 
 attendant, inseparably attendant, on war. 
 But this is not very likely soon to be accom- 
 plished ; for we are taught, even from our 
 cradle, to look with admiration and as- 
 
 3 
 
A word or tivo on great men. 2r5 1 
 
 tonlsbment on heroes and warriors, as beings 
 of -a superior order to other men, beings 
 deserving of applause and of honour. But 
 while we are thus trained up by all that 
 we see, all that we hear, and all that 
 we read, to consider murder as commend- 
 able and exalted, wx cannot expect that 
 wars will be less frequent ; for men w^ill 
 surely be always inclined to follow that 
 pursuit which they think renders them re^ 
 spectahle in the eyes of others ; since to gain 
 the esteem or the notice, real or verbal, 
 (call it by what name you please, it is the 
 opposite of contempt) of their fellow-crea- 
 tures, is one of the greatest and most uni- 
 versal incitements which stimulate men to 
 action. 
 
 If there were no receivers there could he no 
 thieves, is a generally received maxim in 
 our courts of law, and it is full of truth 
 and of good sense. So if there were no 
 soldiers there coidd he no zvars. Now the 
 only method by which the frequency of 
 wars is likely to be diminished is, by adopt- 
 ing it as a part oi general education, to teach 
 ^ that the call in 2; of a soldier is not honour- 
 ahle before men, and that war is detestable in 
 
5^ A 'ii'crJ or two on great men. 
 
 the slgJii of God. Men, in general, do not 
 voluntarily embrace a proression which is 
 not deemed reputable, nor ibllow a call- 
 ing on which the brand ot contempt and 
 execration has been imprinted. That this 
 may in some measure be cfFected, by giv- 
 ing our w ritings, particularly our hisiGric^ 
 and h'wgraphy, an entirely different direc- 
 tion from that which they now have, wc 
 know by the mischief which these very 
 books produce now, from stimulating the 
 young mind to deeds of slaugliier and of 
 hlood under the mistaken names of honour 
 and of glory. 
 
 As Dr. Porteus, the present venerable 
 bishop of London, well observes, 
 
 " War Is a sfamc. whicb^ were their suhjecis wise, 
 Ku?rr.s ivou'd not play at," 
 
 But the only way to make these sub- 
 jects zvlsexSy to give them an early good edu- 
 cation ; for ignorarice cdiunot lead to wisdom. 
 If our children wxre early taught the great 
 trviths of Christianity, by a national plan of 
 unwersal Instruction, and had their minds 
 enlightened by knowledge, and their hearts 
 
A word or two on great men. S53 
 
 Jjurlfied by virtue, war would he a game 
 that kings would not play at so often as they 
 now do ; and the bloody trade of a soldier 
 would not be such an object of desire to 
 men as it now is. 
 
 Scarcely a history of any nation exists 
 which is not stuffed with accounts of bat- 
 tles, and murders, and hlood, and all manner 
 of htitchery ; and these are not held up as 
 objects of horror, nor their perpetrators as 
 monsters, doomed to infamy and universal 
 execration. But the minds of our children 
 are perverted, and trained to wickedness by 
 always hearing and reading these things 
 represented under the denomination of 
 Jiononr, and glory, and courage, and virtue, 
 as circumstances which elevate and exalt 
 tmman nature in the scale of dignity. Thus, 
 by calling evil good, and good evil, bitter 
 sweet, and sweet bitter, have these writers 
 broken dov/h the barriers of moral and re- 
 ligious duty, have lifted up the flood- 
 gates of vice, and poured out the torrents 
 of iniquity oVer the whole earth in one full 
 tide of general devastation. 
 
 They have poisoned the living waters of 
 the land in their springs and in their 
 
 VOL. II. A A 
 
S5\ /i word or tivo on great men* 
 
 sources, niakiiii; their streams streams ot 
 death ; ^vhcrcas, they should be salient 
 running fountains of health and peace, 
 blessing like the dews of heaven. But arc 
 the representations of thci^c men just ? Is 
 war such a glorious achievement ? Is the 
 calling of a soldier so full of honour and of 
 delight, that men might earnestly desire 
 it ? Think but for a moment, and you \vill 
 be easily able to answer these simple ques- 
 tions. Only take a brief survey of the 
 progress of a soldier, only sketch the out- 
 line of war, and then you will judge whe- 
 ther sucJl tJihigs vNghf to he. 
 
 I purposely decline the consideration of 
 the condition of the ojjicers, because their 
 number is comparatively small, and they 
 liavc many means by which they can con- 
 trive to elude some of the most pressing 
 circumstances • of their vocation, and also 
 by means of family influence, connexion, 
 &c. can be enabled sometimes to recline 
 upon the lap of softness and of wealth, 
 enduring no greater hardship than that of 
 playhig at so/Jier in the revicw-JieJd, at a 
 puhlk hre.ikfiist, or at cour't. 
 
 1 shall therefore consider the lot of a 
 
A ivcrd or two on great men. 355 
 
 common soldier, because it is he and his 
 comrades whose bodies are the materials of 
 war, the fuel which prevents this all-de- 
 vouring flame from being extinguished. 
 And that I might not appear to lean to 
 the side of severity and harshness, I will 
 not insist upon the situation of the great 
 mass of foreign armies, which is syste- 
 matically starved upon a beggarly pay and 
 scanty unwholesome food, as is the case 
 with the Russian, German, Spanish, and 
 other soldiers, who do not cost their re- 
 spective governments for a given number 
 of men one tli'trd of the price which the 
 same number costs in Great Britain. But 
 I will take our own soldiery, who, from 
 the humanity and liberality so conspicuous 
 in the unadulterated English character, 
 are better treated and more abundantly 
 supplied with the necessaries of life than 
 the soldiery of any other nation. 
 
 By some means or other, no matter how, 
 a simple peasant is taken from the produc- 
 the labour of the plough, and is turned 
 over to the iinprojitahle trade of fighting. 
 He is first put into the hands of a drill 
 Serjeant or corporal, who, by dint of oaths 
 
 A A 2, 
 
356 u4 word or two on great meiV 
 
 and curses, and frequent can'mgSy In procesl 
 of time teaches the once honest rustic to 
 hold up Jus head, to march with his rigid or 
 his left leg foremost, to halt at the "word of 
 command, to chew tobacco, to swear, and to 
 hate the French, 
 
 These very important acquisitions being 
 obtained, he is pronounced fit to exercise 
 in rank and file with other human animals, 
 that have been thus converted into machines, 
 Nov^ he is a soldier^ and while at home 
 literally does nothing except when he is on 
 duty, that is, he is a drone upon society, 
 wasting the fruits of productive labour in 
 the suppport of his carcase ; and his mind 
 continues to rot in ignorance without any 
 means of obtaining information, without 
 any opportunity of being properly em 
 ployed. 
 
 Hence, as idleness always engenders vice 
 the great quantity of profligacy and debau- 
 chery w^hich is continually floating among 
 the soldiery, and renders troops such a nui- 
 sance to any place where they are quartered, 
 by propagating Immorality and diffusing a 
 propensity to abandoned and unprincipled 
 conduct among the inhabitants. When on 
 
A word or two on great men. 357 
 
 duty, he either walks about as a sentinel 
 before a wooden hox, or he ^'alks into and 
 out of the said woodcji box, all the while 
 bearing a musket, with the bayonet fixed, 
 upon his shoulder, and a cartridge pouch 
 at his back, for the sake of preventing the 
 peace of the wooden box from being dis- 
 turbed. After a time, another soldier 
 comes and takes possession of the wooden 
 'box, and he marches home to his quarters. 
 But it is at a revkw-day in w^hich the 
 great glory of a soldier is seen. In order 
 to prepare for this glorious exJiibltlon he is 
 obliged to defraud himself of his necessary 
 sleep to put on his best clothes, to load 
 himself with several pounds weight of iron, 
 and walk off perhaps, in a hot broiling 
 day, to a large field at the distance of some 
 miles. Here, he, with several of his com- 
 panions, is revtewed^ that is, lie, for the space 
 of many hours, makes a miiltitude of md- 
 tioris with his hands, body, and feet, at 
 the sound of certain noises, which another 
 man in red makes by bawling out as loudly 
 as he can prevail on his lungs to permit himl 
 He puts out one leg, then draws it back 
 and puts out another; then scuffles with 
 A A3 
 
35S A wcrd cr tz:w on great men. 
 
 two feet at one time ; then puts his mus- 
 quet upon his shoulder, then takes it down 
 again ; then walks, runs, stops, kneels, 
 stoops, lies down, gets up again, and per- 
 forms a thousand bodily distortions, till he 
 is nearly dead with heat, and fatigue, and 
 hunger, and thirst, and w retchedness. And 
 all this is done for the sole purpose of 
 amusing and entertaining a great number 
 of well-dressed men and women, who 
 come crowding in carriages and on horse- 
 back, to see their fellow-creatures toil 
 through all the gradations of gesticular}^ 
 tvvis^ings, faint with watching, with want 
 of sleep, with weariness of fatigue, say that 
 it is vtry pretty y and then gallop home to din- 
 ner y v\here they forget all the miseries of 
 mankind in glowing Burgundy and brisk 
 Champagne. 
 
 All this is the oest Side of a soldier's life, 
 and in all this a man of plain understand* 
 ing and of common sense would perceive 
 no great quantity oi honour and glory. He 
 would not perceive that God was honour- 
 ed, or the happiness of man promoted, 
 (and these are the only two sources of ho** 
 nour and glory which exist) by a fellow's 
 
A word or two (?;/ great men. 359 
 
 cheimng iohacco, sweanng and curshig, being 
 a hiirden on society, living an humoral and a 
 profligate lljey swinging with his arms, scuffle 
 ing with his feet y and putting his body Into all 
 manner of painful postures, and grasping a?id 
 flourishing about a long piece of Iron afflxed to 
 a wooden base. 
 
 He might smile at the folly and absur- 
 dity of those who devote their lives to such 
 an employment ; but, when he considered 
 that to support all this puppet-shovo the 
 hardly-earned morsel of bread was wrung 
 from the hand of industry, and the great 
 mass of the people were ground down to 
 penury and want, merely to enable these 
 puppets to make all these movements, he 
 would no longer smile ; he would heave 
 the sigh of sorrow for the wretched state 
 of insulted and of degraded humanity, and 
 cast the withering look of indignation on 
 the selfish cruelty of those whose fleeting 
 and transitory moments of petty and ig- 
 noble pleasure are purchased at the expence 
 of the tears and the suffering of their un- 
 justly tormented fellow-creatures. 
 
 But we have seen only the fair weather, 
 the hoUday-side of a soldier; he has hi- 
 
 A A -4 
 
360 A word cr two o)t great men. 
 
 thcrto been wcU-fcd, well-clothed, an(^ 
 vy^ell-lodgcd ; he has only been occasionally 
 €a7ied and lashed, and at times exerdsed, till 
 he was faint and exhausted, for the amuse- 
 ment of his betters. But now he is sent 
 abroad to fight, no matter for what, for 
 something or for nothing, certainly for 
 nqtliing to him ; but wat is a game which 
 great men play at, and tbe hod'ies of little 
 men are the counters with which they set 
 up the game, or the dice which they throw 
 at every cast. 
 
 The mere business of fighting in which 
 limbs are hacked, atid hewed, and mangled, 
 and lopped, makes but ^ very small portion 
 of the soldier's misery. He is often com- 
 pelled to endure the gnawing pangs of 
 hunger, and the scorching pains of thirst, 
 which are evils that those only atFect to 
 despise who have 7iever felt them. In ad- 
 dition to the slow wasting of famine he is 
 pinched by cold, and benumbed by wet ; 
 he languishes in unwholesome encamp- 
 ments, the victim of disease and of putre- 
 faction. In this wretched conditipn he 
 meets with pity and sympathy from no fel- 
 low-being ; for hopeless misery and long- 
 
jdzvord or tzvo on great men. V>C)\ 
 
 continued despondency have rendered thcrt^ 
 obdurate and insensible to the calls of com- 
 passion. He is left to brCfithc his last in 
 ynassisted agony, with no one to soothe by 
 kindness his dying moments, or to c]osc 
 Jiis eyes in peace. If he perishes, no tear 
 of affection and of sorrow bedews his re- 
 mains ; but he is tossed into the earth, or 
 plunged into the wave, without notice and 
 without regard. 
 
 If he survives all these horrors, and lives 
 through his destined term of warfare, he 
 returns with perhaps half his body left 
 upon a foreign land, and /^r \he remainder 
 of Ills life must beg his bitter bread in the 
 country which once witnessed his days of 
 youthful vigour; when his toil-strung nerves 
 vibrated with delight to the morning 
 breeze ; when his productive labour fed 
 himself and benefited his country ; when 
 }ie returned at evening to his cot, and glad- 
 dened the heart of his father, and cheered 
 the soul of his aged mother ; when his 
 slumbers were the slumbers of innocencQ 
 and health, sweet, undisturbed, and reno-^ 
 vating his frame. 
 
 But novv' what is he ? A burden to th.Q 
 
:')G'2 A word or iiio en great men. 
 
 community, a cur c to Iiimsclt*, Hl^ mcairs 
 ot existence are derived i'nnn tlie tVuits of 
 others Industry ; he produces nothing; that 
 can add aught to the felicity or to the 
 \^Talth of his country. With a body 
 maimed and mutilated ; with a mind un- 
 culightciK'd by , knowledge, darkened by 
 vice; ,hq drags out the remainder of his 
 days a prey to penury and want, the vic- 
 tim of remorse ; his life is ivitliout comfort^ 
 and his death is 'without hope. 
 
 ,fls there any honour, ^ny gkrj, in all this, 
 that thy soul should seek to obtain such 
 aji /unviable situation ? If men were wise 
 would they leave the loovi and forsake the 
 phvgJyXo follow after the sounding of the 
 trun^pet and the beating of the drum ? 
 . . .'JThis is only the misery of the soldier, of 
 ^,nJndividisaL But what is this in com-r 
 parison.to the wdde- wasting desolation of 
 zvar P Those who are so blessed as to Uvq 
 in a country which is not the seat of war^ 
 can n^vcr. entiJr.taln an adequate conception 
 of Jts horrors, .althougl:i they, as we shall 
 see presently, have no cause to rejoice when 
 this daemon of destruction strides over the 
 bla^bted earth, That some lalnt notion, for 
 
A ivord or two on great men. S63 
 
 zio language can express all its mischief, 
 may be obtained of the pernicious conse- 
 quences of war, I shall borrow for a while 
 the pen of the benevolent and animated 
 £ste, who thus begins the relation of his 
 route from Louvaine to Liege, in the year 
 
 '^ And memorise another Golgotha ; 
 
 *' For thus, alas ! the road had it through 
 St. Tron, and Tirlemont from Louvaine 
 to Liege ! Had all the amateurs of war 
 been present, there was enough of the 
 sublime to have satisfied the most sanguine 
 of them all ! 
 
 ^Mt was now many a mournful month 
 ^ince the dire mischiefs had been first ]be- 
 wailed ! and yet through many a long mile 
 there was the cry of havoc still heaving 
 forth from every object round. Through 
 a main track almost every house was 
 pierced through and through. In each 
 poor clay wall there remained the hideous 
 stigma of every cannon-shot. Of many 
 houses battered and burnt there was not 
 left one stone upon another. Of the few 
 straggling trees that remained on the w^ay- 
 §ide undestroyed, not one escaped unstain- 
 
36^ J word cr tzvo on great men. 
 
 cd trorri the ahom'inaUon of spilled hlood» 
 The bones of horses and of men \vere scat- 
 tcredover every field ; the fragmcilts count- 
 less as when one hewcth wood upon the 
 earth ; entire skeletons were to be seen, — 
 7wt quite dry, not denuded quite, 
 
 ^' Every face was in sadness — cilery heart 
 seemed faint. The father bereaVed of his 
 children, — the widow and the orphan, 
 through astounding sorrovy torpid, /;/ silent 
 supplication for bread. Calamity and death, 
 at any time, in any form, cannot but b^ 
 full of awe. Yet human violence, more 
 fell than accident, seems to niake di'sastct 
 doubly dreadful. 
 
 '' One poor fellow, a farmer of the best 
 life and conversation, fell in hi^ own house 
 in the last solemn duty of the day. ' A 
 cannon-ball rushed into the room and hi'- 
 led him ; his wife and children klso at their 
 devotio7T, till kneeling around.^— An excels 
 lent young man, but the day before a 
 bridegroom, was'aiiothv'r victim. He was 
 coming forth from his chamber when a 
 random shot struck him. He dropped down 
 dead, — And his bride, young and beautiful, 
 \\cx swelling heart literally burst.— Sh^ 
 
^ word or two on great men. S^5 
 
 shrieked out, — O God, — and 7icvcr spake 
 more, — 
 
 *^ A brave boy, not fourteen years old, 
 was in the field. — A daemon, ia the shape 
 of an hussar, furiously assailed him, — and 
 roared out in broken French — Grace P 
 Grace P — Questionably thus — The poor 
 boy cither did not know what was meant, 
 or disdained if he did. He replied, — Ei 
 pourqiioi grace P — When instantly the ruf- 
 fian let fall his sabre, and the hoy, from his 
 head down, was cleft in iwahi. 
 
 *' It was in another such scene of hor- 
 rors, conjured up, and perpetrated from the 
 storehouse of all ill, that our gallant coun- 
 tryman, colonel Eld, had a picture, which 
 he wore hanging about his neck, driven 
 hito his heart, — It was a miniature of a 
 lady he had left in England, — who had his 
 plighted faith. 
 
 " If traditions are at all true, the dismay 
 and disasters of former wars do not fade 
 away in comparison wath these three days I 
 of horror between Liege and Louvaine, 
 This was the very ground, chiefly between 
 Neerwindcn and Landcn, where a century 
 before (July 1694) there was another dire 
 
^^6 J word or two on great men. 
 
 consummation of the inspired poet's worst 
 imapincd cnrse, the people he'itig sold for 
 naught, \Nhen the Miircchal Luxemburg 
 bought, with such prodigal guilt in blood, 
 the harrtu honours: of the f eld, 
 
 *' We were shown the place by a divine 
 old man. He was a substantial land- 
 holder, venerable in hoary-headed strength ; 
 but more from the strong wisdom of age, 
 -—with all his ideas justly bent upon good- 
 will and peace. — There— said he, still sigh- 
 ing heavily from his inmost heart, — there is 
 the fatal spot, — there, — there, — now — near 
 a hundred years are past, since the earth 
 was thus blasted by the despots of that 
 time. — Then thirteen of my kindred, I have 
 been made to know, — thirteen were doomed 
 in one day to die, — ^God help their endan- 
 gered souls ! 1 hope they had no misdeeds 
 as to the death of others." 
 
 I can transcribe no more, — I am wxaricd 
 and sick at heart in contemplating such 
 scenes of outrage and of injustice, such 
 cruelty inflicted on human nature, by those 
 who prey upon the vitals and batten on 
 the plunder of their fellow-men. 
 
 Is there any lionour in all this } 
 
A word or tzi'O en great men. ^ici"^ 
 
 Neither arc those whose country is not' 
 the seat of ^Xar altogether exempt from its 
 evils. It is a crying sin against the God 
 of all mercy, and as such is the cause of 
 lamentation and of regret to idl good men. 
 It is productive of ferocity of manner and 
 servility of spirit in its followers and its 
 traders ; so that they become no longer 
 citizens and supporters of society, but the 
 terror and the curse of all good order and 
 social happiness. It sweeps many victims 
 of its murderous malice into eternity, and 
 leaves whole families destitute and aban- 
 doned ; the aged father it bereaves of his 
 child, and his grey hairs go dow^n with 
 sorrow to the grave ; the mother, worn to 
 the very verge of existence by infirmities 
 and weight of years, sinks into death with- 
 out resistance and without struggle ; the 
 widow lingers out the remainder of her 
 days in barren sorrow and irretrievable des- 
 titution, exposed to all the spurns which 
 patient merit of the unworthy tahs, and closes 
 her eyes in endless slumber, w^hen that she 
 has seen the v/reck and the desolation of 
 all her family. When her sons have mi- 
 serably perished in the dungeons of their 
 
'.S65 J ivord or tivo on great men. 
 
 country, or have reddened the land of 
 foreigners with their blood, or have sunk 
 by the pestilential blastments of contagiort 
 on a distant bhore ; thlis ending a hfe whose 
 whole period has been exppsed io the voh'ipi 
 and stings of tbe thne, thd oppressor s wrongs 
 the proud mans contiimehy the laws delay , 
 and all the Insolence of office. When her 
 daughters, compelled by stern necessity, 
 have sought to earn their daily bread by 
 daily toil, have fallen victims to the count- 
 less wiles, and the innumerable machina- 
 tions of seduction, and have breathed their 
 last amidst all the horrors ot disease, of 
 filth, of famine, of anguish, and of despair, 
 neglected and deserted of men, cursing their 
 o'-jsn existence, a?id blaspheming God, 
 
 It oppresses the whole community, by 
 heaping oil it the excessive burden of ar^ 
 enormous taxation, a taxation which conti- 
 nually augments its demands, ^hd menaces 
 to sw^allow up in its fathomless gulf, all the 
 fruits of productive industry ; it palsies all 
 the exertions of labour by Cutting asunder 
 Its life-chords, in that it takes away hef sons 
 and sends them to be slaughtered iu the 
 field of carnage; it clogs up all the ma- 
 
A word or two oi great meh. sQg 
 
 chinery of commerce, making its wheels 
 drive heavily ; it stops the progress of agri- 
 culture ; it converts the land of plenty 
 into a wilderness and a waste, and sends 
 the inhabitants thereof to roam as outcasts 
 upon the earth, without home, without 
 food, without friend, without hope ; poor, 
 naked, wretches, whose houseless heads 
 and unfed sides arc bared to all the in- 
 clemencies of the seasons, and must hide the 
 pity less pelti7ig of the storjyi ! ! ! 
 
 But is this the picture w^hich historians 
 draw oi warriors and of war P No.- — They 
 teach us to admire and to envy the honour 
 and the glory of warlike nations. Read the 
 histories of Greece, of Rome, of France, of 
 England, and you will read little else, but 
 one continued tissue of hloodshed and of 
 murder. And these are celebrated by their 
 historians as splendid, hrilUant, powerful na- 
 tions : but where does the phrase happy 
 nation occur in the records of these sages 
 of literature ? Happiness dwelleth only in 
 the tents of peace and of virtue ; she is 
 frightened from those spots where the 
 sounding of the clarion to battle, and the 
 trampling of armed hoofs is heard, where 
 
 VOL. 11. B B 
 
370 A word or two on great men. 
 
 the blood-red banner of military desolation 
 is seen to float upon the wings of the 
 wind... ^'•A.'^-/v^'^. 
 
 Where are the historians who have been 
 influenced by this hallowed and sacred 
 truth ? Have they not all been wholly in^ 
 tent on describing battles, and victories^ 
 and armies, and triumphs ; rather seeking 
 to affix the names of great and glorious, 
 than oijust and good, to kingdoms and to 
 empires ? Have they not bequeathed to 
 posterity a mass of gorgeous misery, and 
 industriously varnished over the evils and 
 the horrors of sanguinary and iuviultuoui 
 revolutions ? Have they not hidden the de- 
 formity of vice from our eyes by throwing 
 over it the splendid veil of genius ? 
 
 Arc not the glorious fields of slaughter, 
 where men destroy and devour each other 
 with a rage more fell than that of tyger* 
 and of bears, celebrated in the strains of 
 eloquence and the song of the bard? Are 
 we not taught to dwell with rapture on the 
 carnage of thousands, and tens of thousands 
 pf human beings, by the 3ublimcst efforts 
 of commendation, which history, oratory, 
 and poetry can make in the mightiness of 
 
A 'word or two on great men. 3/1 
 
 of their power ? Can it be doubted that 
 the following lines, and indeed nearly all 
 Kyi Homer's Iliad, a book which we are all 
 instructed to admire, but never directed 
 liow to admire and what to detest, have 
 done much injury to mankind by instilling 
 into the young mind an early and an insa- 
 tiable desire after mUttary giwy P 
 
 ■" £1$ VTt' kyjXXr,os fji.syoL%i/.ii fxcov/^s; iTfToi 
 
 Air' aTT* EirnriTxrwrfiuiv, o ^s isro kv^os oLCccr^ai 
 lir^Xsi^i'S, Xv^jcoc h TtaXaa-cero X-^F^^ a,aTTra$" 
 
 *^ So the fierce coursers, as the chariot rolls, 
 
 Tread down whole ranks and crush out heroes' 
 
 souls, 
 Dash'd from their hoofs, while o'er the dead they 
 
 fly, 
 
 Black bloody drops the smoking chariot dye : 
 The spiky wheels thro' heaps of carnas:e tore ; 
 And thick the groaning axles dropi/d with gore* 
 High o'er the scene of death Achilles stood. 
 All grim ivith dust, all horrihle in blood ; 
 Yet still insatiate, still with rage on flame; 
 Such is the lust of never-dying fame.*' 
 
 But who that is apt to iJj'mk^ (and, alas, 
 B B ^ 
 
'37^ -^ ^ord or two on great men. 
 
 there are not many such !) and not b<5 led 
 away by names and sounds, is not thoroughly 
 shocked and disgusted by the images which 
 these lines call up ? How infinitely prefera- 
 ble are the following inimitable verses of 
 the same poet ; which he, who can read 
 without having his mind exalted and hi»s 
 heart amended, must be tnore than 7nan or 
 less than least ! ! 
 
 " H; ^ or' Bv Sfonco a(r'tp(x> (pasivY^v sfjji(pi (fsk^vy,v 
 ^Oliver ap.TrpBrsa., ore 6' £Tr?.£'ro vr^vsy^og a<$7^5,. 
 Ex r 2<^civ(jv itc/.cai c-KOTficci, y.cci Ttp-jonvz; .ol-acoi, 
 
 Uavrc: Zz r si'^eron a.>7tpa: ysyrfia h re (tpava, TfOiarv. 
 
 *♦ As when tlie moon^ refulgent lamp of night. 
 O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred Jight; 
 When not a breath disturbs the deep serene. 
 And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene, 
 Around her throne the vivid planets roll. 
 And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole ; 
 O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, 
 And tip with silver every mountain's head. 
 Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospvect rise, 
 A flood of glory bursts from all the skies; 
 The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, 
 Eye the blue vault, and bless th.e useful light." 
 
 In the first of these quotations the mind 
 
A word or two on great men. ^11 Z 
 
 is presented with every image that can de- 
 form and debase its nature ; excite vile and 
 unhallowed passions ; and transform man, 
 the similitude of his Creator, into the like- 
 ness of a brute. In the second citation, 
 those images only are called up which have 
 a direct tendency to elevate the under- 
 standing and to purify the soul ; to raise 
 ecstatic bliss, and to rouse it to virtue ; to 
 lead it through the noblest works of nature up 
 to jtature's God, 
 
 But to return from this digression, if to 
 present one of the most beautiful pieces of 
 poetry, both antient and modern, can be a 
 digression from any subject. Is it not 
 common in dedications to great men to 
 praise them ior famous victories and ^/ora/^j 
 conquests ; evils and crimes w^hose deformi- 
 ties should either be buried in oblivion or 
 dragged forth to the detestation of man- 
 kind ? Does not the antiquarian devote his 
 days and his nights to pore among the 
 darkness of antiquity, in order to discover 
 the precise day on which the battle ofCannas 
 was fought, or the straits of Thernopylse 
 defended ; and if that he fancies he can 
 make plausible his ground of conjecture, 
 
 BB3 
 
^Z^ A li'ord cr Izvo on great mei». 
 
 does he not, like Arclilniedcs, cry out in 
 ecstasy, s\j^v,ica, Eijpr,)ca, I have found, I have 
 found ? Only indeed with this difilrence, 
 that Archimedes rejoiced in that he had 
 made one of the noblest mid most useful dis- 
 coveries in science, whereby an incalculable 
 benefit hath accrued, and will ever con- 
 tinue to accrue, to the human race. But 
 wdiat has the antiquarian found, even al- 
 lowing that he has found what it is more 
 than probable he has missed ? Why, even 
 this, — he has cleared up the chronology of 
 human imquhy^ and has conveyed to posterity 
 the records of violence and of crime. 
 
 How comes it to pass, that the histo- 
 Tian confines himself to the relation of in- 
 stances of splendid villany, and forgets to 
 narrate examples of virtue, of mercy, and 
 of benevolence ; of the means by which 
 a kingdom or a province was made to 
 flourish in prosperity and in peace, and its 
 inhabitants to dwell in the bosom of their 
 families, rejoicing each man in the wife of 
 Jiis youth y and in the children of his love. 
 
 When Pericles the Athenian lay on his 
 death-bed, with his eyes closed, his friends 
 and relations, who stood round, thinking 
 
A word or two on great men. 3/5 
 
 that he had actually breathed his last, be* 
 ran to bewail their loss, and to enumerate 
 his viriucs and his excellencies, his many 
 splendid victories, his powers of eloquence, 
 his wit, and a thousand other things, which 
 their fondness for his memory recalled to 
 their recollection. — Pericles, who had been 
 listening to all that they said, answered, — - 
 But, my friends, you forget the greatest of 
 all my commendations, in comparison of 
 which my triumphs, and battles, and elo- 
 quence, and wit, and power, are as nothing, 
 remember — that no citizen of Athens has 
 ever been ohltged to wear mourning on my 
 account. 
 
 Where exists the king on earth that can 
 go out of the world with this speech of 
 Pericles in his mouth ? Can any one of 
 them say, with truth and justice, none of 
 my subjects have zvor?i mGur?iing on my ac^ 
 count. 
 
 How do all the military and bloody 
 achievements of that hero of France, the 
 patriotic Henry the fourth, fade away into 
 annihilation, when we compare it with the 
 everlasting glory of his benevolence, that 
 prompted him to utter this memorable 
 B B 4 
 
376 A word or two on great men. 
 
 speech, — / liope to live to see the day whm 
 every man in my kingdom shall be able to put 
 a fowl into his pot for lit^ daily dimier P 
 
 The Pvoman history has been an object 
 of almost universal attention ; and volume 
 upon volume has been written, fiUing up 
 all the recesses of knowledge and of eru- 
 dition, to describe its wars, its ovatio7is, its 
 triumphs ; at what particular gate an ovation 
 went in at, and at which a triumph eyitered ; 
 its shows, its chronology, its beast -fights, its 
 gladiatorial butcheries, its buildings, its extent, 
 and I know not what besides. But who 
 has written upon the happiness of this na- 
 tion ? A subject to me infinitely more in- 
 teresting than a collection of the medals of 
 all the emperors, or a gathering together 
 of the inscriptions of all the stones and 
 marbles th§it ever did or did not exist. 
 
 I had intended to show, by giving a 
 brief survey of the great leading features 
 of the Roman history, which is little more 
 than an unbroken series of wars, tumults, 
 massacres, murders, licentious anarchy, 
 and soul-benumbing despotism, to show 
 that it never had the least pretensions to 
 the title of a happy nation. But I find that 
 
Wi are troubled to get a night*s lodging. 377 
 this inquiry will engross more time and 
 room than this work will allow of, and 
 must therefore drop my intention ; and 
 perhaps many will deem it necessary for me 
 to apologize for the length of my disser- 
 tation already. I refer them to my preface 
 for the reasons why I enter into these dis-» 
 cussions ; and if what is there advanced 
 does not satisfy them, 1 am sorry for it; 
 I can do no more, but must bow and re-» 
 \\r^ in silence. 
 
 We had not proceeded many steps sinc^ 
 our bidding the venerable old farmer a 
 good night, before wx met a short, stoutly-* 
 built, very dirty Highlander, together with 
 a slender, delicately-countenanced boy, 
 who seemed to be about tliirteen. It was 
 always my custom, in this route, if pos- 
 sible, to ascertain the calling of every per-^ 
 son with whom we met and conversed, 
 that I might not unvvittingly oftcnd by 
 saying any thing disrespectful of such a. 
 calling ; a very serious instance of w^hosc 
 evil consequences 1 had nearly experienced 
 in my own person at Tunnel Bridge, in 
 my encounteir with the four drunken High- 
 
:378 fVe are troubled to get a flight's lodging, 
 landers and the exciseman. I \\as generally 
 able pretty speedily to ascertain this im- 
 portant point by observing minutely the 
 workings and shiftings of the countenance 
 in the person to whom I directed my dis- 
 course, at the different observations and 
 remarks which I made. 
 ^' But it was now too dark to avail myself 
 of this resource. I could not clearly see- 
 the lines of countenance in our two pre- 
 sent acquaintance ; I could only discern 
 the broad whole, not the single parts ; and 
 I discovered the face of one to be a large 
 mass of dirt, and that of the other betoken- 
 ed delicacy and sensibility. I, therefore, 
 determined to descant upon the different 
 vocations of men, cautiously and discreetly 
 Tvithal, till I should discover the calling of 
 these men ; and then I should know very 
 well how to proceed. 
 
 They hailed us, and asked who we were* 
 - — ^We replied, — Americans. They now, 
 but particularly the dirty man, for the boy 
 said but little, put to us many minute ques- 
 tions, and more especially inquired into the 
 amount of daily wages which workmen 
 ^nd tradesmen received in our country. I 
 
We are troubled to get a night^s lodging, 37^ 
 
 told him what pay masons, and carpenters, 
 and shoemakers, and peasants had ; to all 
 which he gave very little heed, regarding 
 all that I said with the utmost indifference. 
 No man, thought I, gets any knowledge 
 but from experience, and no man is really 
 interested in things which he docs not 
 know. I, therefore, was well assured that 
 I had not yet touched upon his way of life. 
 Wliercforc, I mentioned, as another effort 
 of discovering my companion's calling, that 
 a journeyman tailor could earn four or five 
 shillings a day, if he w^as industrious. 
 
 I had scarcely pronounced these words 
 ^'vhen the fellow laughed out loudly, — He, 
 he, he, he, — or rather uttered a sound very- 
 much resembling the neighing of a horse, 
 grasped me roughly and eagerly by the 
 hand, and cried out, — Why, I am a tailor, 
 and this boy here is my apprentice. 
 
 After enjoying some desultory gab about 
 tailors and their various habitudes of action, 
 we inquired where we might find a place 
 of abode for the night. They told us, that 
 a little farther on we should come to an 
 inn, where we should be sure of getting a 
 good bed and bonny cheer, for the land- 
 
380 We are trouhUd to get a night's lodging. 
 
 lord had lived some time in England ; and 
 that he, the tailor, and his boy, would 
 come and breakfast with us, and have some 
 discourse with us, the next morning, on 
 their return towards Killin. We answered, 
 that we should be happy to see them, shook 
 hands and parted, each pursuing his own 
 route, they towards Kenmore, we towards 
 Killin. 
 
 We very soon arrived at the place which 
 Jiad been described to us ; it was a very 
 little shabby hut, containing only one? 
 small apartment, and not quite half ano* 
 thcr, for the greater portion of it had 
 tumbled down, and the ruined fragments 
 lay heaped upon the ground. This was 
 the inn where we were to get a good bed 
 and bonny cheer. It was now late and 
 dark. We inquired at the threshold of 
 the door if we could get a lodging, and 
 out from the room (where sate a woman 
 and four children on the floor, round a 
 little fire made of peat) came a stout, dark, 
 black-haired, very ragged man, about fifty. 
 He answered, that he had no place for such 
 as we were. He then very churlishly and 
 surlily asked us where we came from last ? 
 
H^i are rrouUed to get a night's lodging. 38 1 
 ^ — From Kenmore, — we replied. — Why did 
 ye not stay at Kenmore, since it was so 
 late, and ye were so crippled and tired ?— 
 Besides, what business can two American 
 sailors (as you isay you are, and if you do 
 not tell a lie) have to travel about the 
 country in this manner, without any pass- 
 port and with such great bludgeons ? 
 
 He now began to ply his questions so 
 very fast, and so \ery impertinently, that I 
 thought it proper to express my astonish- 
 ment how it was possible for him, a High- 
 lander, all of whose nation were so justly 
 celebrated for their kindness, hospitality, 
 and benevolence to strangers, should be so 
 deplorably deficient in the common duties 
 of humanity and civility to two distressed 
 strangers, as to insult them by indecent 
 questions, and brutal insolent remarks. 
 This riib, by way of a hint, had the de- 
 sired effect, for the fellow immediately 
 softened down his harsh and discordant 
 tones, and smoothed his voice into some- 
 thing like the shape of a stage whisper, as 
 Bayes might term it, and apologized abun- 
 dantly for his want of room to accommo- 
 date gentlemen sueh as we were, on ac- 
 
382 We are troubled to get a night's lodging, 
 count of part of his house havinfr fallen 
 .down for these tvyo last years past; that he 
 jKHS^.y-ery sorry, but he could not help it ; 
 and Goncluded a plentiful speech by advis- 
 ing us to walk on some four or five miles 
 farther on the road, where we might get a 
 resting-place, for the inn there ^vas kept by 
 a Highland gentleman. 
 
 This man's marvellous glibncss of tongue 
 and facility of changing his note from the 
 insolent and the brutal, to the obsequious 
 and the pliant, induced me to ask him, if 
 h^ had ever been a servant in a great fa- 
 mily. He replied, that he once lived four 
 years in England, as footman to a Lowland 
 gentleman, that is a Scottishman of the 
 Lowlands, one of the directors of the East 
 India company. — Where, no doubt, he 
 exchanged the unsophisticated and inge- 
 nuous benevolence of the Highlander, for 
 the unfeeling selfishness of a crafty knave, 
 that: retails the contemptible rascality of 
 his betters at second-hand. 
 
 While he was relating this part of his 
 history, there issued out of the hut a tole- 
 rably-featured, very squalid and filthy mid- 
 dle-aged woman, wife to our host, to 
 
IV e (ire trouhkd to get a night's lodging, 385 
 whom she doled out some Erse, in a tone 
 of softness and of humanity. Whereupon, 
 the husband first nodding assent to the 
 worrian's proposal, very graciously offered 
 to permit us (because his wife had request- 
 ed it) to sleep on some hay in the room 
 w ithout a. roof, and whose walls were al- 
 ready partly down, and the rest rocking to 
 their very foundation, and vacillating at 
 every gust of wind ; but that we could not 
 have any victuals nor a candle. 
 
 We thanked him for his kindness, but 
 said, that wx would endeavour to reach the 
 next inn, and -bade him and his more hu- 
 mane spouse farewell. 
 
 I was so w^ofully lame, and suffered 
 such excruciating pain at every step which 
 I took, that I desired Andrew to lie down 
 and pass the remainder of the night in the 
 open air,- but he. refused, saying, that the 
 brutality of the last fellow who had denied 
 us a lodging, had so roused his indignation 
 that he could walk to the devil and back 
 again. The first part of your speech, re- 
 plied I, — I believe you can put into exe- 
 cution ; but the last I doubt. I am well 
 assured that you can >valk to the devil, but 
 
384 IFe are trouhled to get a night's lodging. 
 
 how -uill you comeback again ? We limp** 
 cd on, trying at first to beguile the tedious-^ 
 Xiess of our tramp by conversing together ; 
 but the pain, fatigue, and irritation, so tor^ 
 mented us, that we were soon obliged to 
 desist, and paced the remainder of our way 
 in sullen taciturnity, for the space of full 
 four miles. 
 
 All around us was shrouded in the thick 
 gloom of darkness and of night ; naught 
 was heard save the gentle, but uniformly 
 continued breaking of the unwearied wa- 
 ters of the lake against the shore ; and the 
 hoarse baying of the watch-dog, which 
 smote upon our ear at unfrequent intervals 
 as it was borne along upon the wings of 
 the gentle breeze ; and now and then the 
 loud tumbling of a torrent, whose broken 
 roar was heard though night's murky veil 
 had hidden its waters from our view. 
 
 *' Nighty sable goddess, from "her ebon throne, 
 In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 
 Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. 
 Silence, how dead ! and darkness, how profound i 
 Nor eye, nor listening ear, an object finds ; 
 Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse 
 Oriife stood still,. and nature made a pause j 
 An awful pause ! prophetic of her end.** 
 
IVe obtain a night's lodging. 385 
 
 These lines occurred to me as I was 
 crawling on, and the images which they 
 called up so soothed and comforted my 
 mind, making me forget the sufferings of 
 my body, that I looked upon it as a duty 
 of gratitude, for the great service and obli- 
 gation which they had conferred upon me 
 in the hour of need, incumbent upon mc 
 to write them down in my diary the mo- 
 ment in which an opportunity for so doing 
 occurred ; and from mj diary they glided 
 into print. I mention this, lest it may be 
 thought that I quoted them, as illustrative 
 of the scene around us, w^hich was not the 
 case ; the darkness indeed was rather pro- 
 found, but the silence was not dead, for it 
 was continually broken in upon by the 
 dashing of the wave against its bank, by 
 the loud sounding of the torrent, and the 
 sullen howl of the fierce guardian of the 
 night. 
 
 About, or after, midnight we came to a 
 miserable house, which, w^hether it was an 
 inn, or whether it was not, no sign was 
 present to tell us. It was not much more 
 inviting as to its appearance, though indeed 
 
 yoL. II, c c 
 
3^6 JVe obtain a night's lodghi^. 
 
 it was much ^drgcr than the hotel at which 
 we were oft'cred a night*s repose upon a 
 lock of hay. I believe this nn an si on con- 
 tained four rboms. Whatever it was, 
 whether a private house, or tlic inn kept 
 by a Highland gentleman, we were deter- 
 mined to ask for a lodging ; for to think 
 of proceeding farther in our present situ- 
 ation was absurd. Its only door was 
 c^uarded by a large spotted dog, with whom 
 neither Andrew nor I desired, just then, to 
 have any encounter, as we were' both too 
 much exhausted to exert ourselves to make 
 the necessary resistance in case of an at- 
 tack. We, therefore, began to be very 
 civil to him, and endeavoured, by a soft in- 
 sinuating voice, to wheedle him into some 
 degreee of gentleness of demeanour. 
 . ,But the honest beast despised us and our 
 adulation, and when either of us approach- 
 ed towards the door, saluted us with such a 
 very uninviting growl, that we regularly 
 retreated at the said sound. Thus were 
 two philosophers set at naught by a shaggy 
 rough-eared quadruped, who treated us 
 and our intentions with great contempt. 
 At length, however, the united clamour of 
 
We obtain a night* s lodging, 387 
 
 all three of us, that is, the dog and our 
 worships, brought out of the house three 
 large stout Highlanders, all in their shirts, 
 which were none of the cleanest nor of 
 the longest. The dog, now that he had 
 discharged his duty, and alarmed the fa- 
 mily, turned us over to his masters, and 
 was silent. 
 
 We asked for a night's lodging, saying, 
 that we had been directed to the house as 
 being an inn kept by a Highland gentle- 
 man. So it is, replied the shortest of the 
 three men, and who wore the longest 
 chemise of all the trio ; — it is an inn, and I 
 am the gentleman that keeps it ; and a 
 night's lodging you shall both of you have. 
 We thanked him, and stood near the door- 
 way while the host went in to strike a 
 light. During the time in which this 
 operation was employing the landlord, one 
 of the Highlanders, a very stout gigantic 
 fellow, asked, if wc were not afraid to 
 travel over such a desolate country by 
 night, where we might so easily be mur- 
 dered, and no one a bit the wiser for it ? 
 
 This little bit of a speech, uttered in the 
 true Highland twang, like that of the Irish, 
 
 Q Q Z 
 
58 8 JFe ok am a nighCs lodging. 
 
 rendered mc rather uneasy, and as Andrew^ 
 according to custom, never opened his 
 mouth eitlier to a.^k a question or to an- 
 swer one, I replied,— No ; tji^t we had no- 
 thing to lose, and that \vc travelled merely 
 to enjoy the beauties of the country, with- 
 out thinking about being knocked on the 
 head. — \\c then crawled into the most 
 filthy room, without exception, tliat we 
 had ever seen, and were presented with u 
 small bason of very sour milk, not good 
 butter, and that deplorable bannoc, which 
 had already nearly terminated my existence 
 by Inducing a desperate diarrhoea, that 
 weakened me to the very verge of eva- 
 nescence. We could not eat any thing, 
 and were so wretched and faint that we 
 could scarcely answer the questions which 
 the host and the two other men still in 
 their shirts, for they had not deemed it 
 worth while to put on any clothes, asked 
 us concerning America, w ithout remission 
 and without mercy. 
 
 I soon found by the discourse of the 
 stoutest of the men, the one who had put 
 to me that civil pleasant question about 
 being murdered, that he and his compa- 
 
We obtain a night's lodging. 389 
 
 nion were working masons, and at that 
 time employed in repairing the landlord's 
 ht^bitation. They inquired pa^rticularly 
 about the condition of the people in our 
 country, and complained grievously of the 
 distresses which the poor underwent in 
 theirs, and talked of emigrating to Ame- 
 rica. To all their interrogatories I returned 
 some short answers calculated to quiet 
 their curiosity. 
 
 While the two masons were reaping an 
 abundant harvest of information, as they 
 thought, from me, about the condition of 
 people in their trade in America, the host 
 amused himself by endeavouring to put on 
 my spectacles, with which, after many un- 
 successful trials, he at lensith saddled his 
 nose, and then com,plained that the sponge 
 prevented him from seeing cleverly. He 
 then seized my eye-glass with much avi- 
 dity, and, after admiring, w~lth frequent 
 bursts of exclamation, its pretty blue co- 
 lour, turned round to mc, and said, — I 
 warrant you now, that you did not get 
 this little thing in Scotland ; I suppose it 
 scrows in America, like our heather here 
 upon the hills, — To which I replied, thai: 
 c c 3 
 
590 We obtain a mgbt's lodging. 
 
 it was no uncommon thing for the ground, 
 at some particular places in our country, 
 to yield a large crop of such eye-glasses. 
 
 Upon hearing this he could not contain, 
 himself, but declared, quite in an ecstacy 
 of fervour, that he would go and live m 
 America. And he instantly pulled one of 
 the masons by the tail of his shirt out of 
 the very middle of a long speech, in order 
 to bid him look at the eye-glass which he 
 held in his hand. — This little thing, — said 
 he, — grows all over America as plentifully 
 as heather docs upon our hills; for this 
 American in the bluejacket here, told me 
 so. — The masons both swallowed the story, 
 and determined also to accompany the 
 landlord in his expedition across the Atlan- 
 tic main. — I smiled at their simplicity in 
 talking so easily of making a voyage of 
 three thousand miles, when perhaps all 
 three of them put together could not have 
 mustered twenty shillings ; and I also was 
 amused at the inaccuracy of the landlord,, 
 whose creative imagination had fastened 
 upon me the words, ally and as plentifully 
 as heather, whereas I had only said a crop 
 at some particular places. 
 
We oh tain a Jtight's lodging. 391 
 
 At length we intimated our desire of 
 retiring to rest ; and the host, first pointing 
 out to us our bed (which stood in the room 
 where we sate, and with its feet touching 
 the head of that in which our two friends, 
 the masons, deposited their carcases) with- 
 drew into another apartment, wishing us 
 a good night. Our Uncn was very clean 
 and comfortable. Andrew was in bed in 
 a trice, and as speedily fell fast asleep; 
 iust before I put out my candle, the large 
 overgrown mason again asked me, if I was 
 not afraid to traverse such a desolate coun- 
 try at that dead hour of night, when we 
 might so easily be robbed, and murdered, 
 and thrown into the loch there, which . 
 ran by the side of the road ? 
 
 This strange question, repeated the se- 
 cond time, and by the same person, whose 
 countenance I began to fancy looked very 
 much like that of a ruffian, very mucU 
 alarmed me ; for I well knew that we were 
 entirely at the mercy of these men, who 
 might put us out of e?:istencc, throw us 
 into the lake, and defy all probability of 
 detection ; so distant were we from any one 
 whom we knew, and so entirely ignorant 
 c c 4 
 
592 JVe obtain a night's lodging. 
 
 were all our acquaintance of our present 
 place of abode. However, I answered, 
 -with great apparent indifference, that when 
 we travelled in Spain, in Italy, and in Ger- 
 many, we were obliged to carry pistols that 
 wx might shoot or be shot in case of ne- 
 cessity ; but that in the Highlands we en- 
 tertained no fear, because we knew the 
 people to be kind, generous, hospitable, 
 and honest. 
 
 Saying this, I put out my candle an(i 
 crept into the bed, which was so narrow 
 and short as to cramp and benumb all my 
 limbs. I could obtain no repose; and, 
 while Cowan lay snoring with his face tor 
 wards the wall of the dark recess in w hich 
 the bed stood, I kept my eyes open, look- 
 ing towards the opposite side of the room. 
 Scarcely half an hour was elapsed since the 
 candle was extinguished, before out of his 
 sleeping-place slowly and cautiously crept 
 one of the masons. I could just discern, 
 by a beam of light which came into our 
 chamber through a little crevice in the 
 window-shutter, the tail of the fellow's 
 shirt, as he silently groped his w^ay round 
 the room. 
 
We obtain a night's lodging, 553 
 
 All IS over now,' — thought I to myself, 
 — our death-warrant is surely signed, and 
 in a few moments where shall I be ?— All 
 attempt at resistance was vain, and I wait- 
 ed in the dreadful calm of hopeless de- 
 spondency for the approaching moment 
 when I was to be murdered. The man, 
 after having crawled all round the room, 
 •sliding his hand over every part of the 
 chamber within his reach, came to our bed- 
 side and passed his rough and dirty fingers 
 over my body and face, and up to the pil^- 
 low under which I had secured all my 
 little baggage. The agonizing sensations 
 of my soul at the moment in which this 
 barbarian rested his hand upon my face, 
 are beyond all power of language to ex- 
 press ; they were such as will never be ef- 
 faced from my recollection while memory 
 holds her seat in this distracted globe ; my 
 heart for some moments ceased to beat, 
 the pulse of life stood still, and I forgot to 
 breathe. 
 
 Very sQpn, however, the man ceased to 
 lay his paws upon me, and departed to his 
 own bed. After a few minutes my facul- 
 ties began to wake from their torpor; and 
 
594 JVe obtain a nighfs lodging, 
 
 rccibon, \^'luch hud ])cH'n subpciicJcd in hor- 
 ror, to resume her seat ; and it occurred to 
 Xne, upon rcHcctiun, — that it* these men 
 had intended to murder us they would 
 have done it before, for no impediment 
 lay in their way ; and that many people 
 would make no scruple of robbing whose 
 consciences were too squeamish to let them 
 kill a fellow -creature. Whence I con- 
 cluded, that this fellow, supposing that wc 
 were asleep, had been searching in order 
 to find out something of ours which he 
 might convert to his own use, well know- 
 ing that we should not dare to inquire 
 about it in the morning, but be contented 
 that we were suffered to escape with our 
 life. 
 
 Although I now perceived that I was in 
 no great danger of bodily extinction, yet 
 my frame had been so agitated by the 
 wretched sensations and emotions which 
 had swept across my brain, that I could 
 not procure any sleep. And not long after 
 I heard such a trampling and knocking 
 immediately over iviy head, in the room 
 above that in which wx lay, hke the sound 
 of fifty . men rushing along the floor, a^ 
 
We obtain a nighfs lodging, 395 
 
 renewed all my fears, and brought upon 
 me that cold and chilly damp, which ter- 
 ror alone engenders. This noise lasted 
 pearly an hour, and then ceased. At length. 
 In spite of all impediments, through mere 
 exhaustion I sunk into some short and 
 broken slumbers. 
 
 At seven o'clock on the morning of 
 the twelfth of August, our fellow-lodg- 
 ers, the masons, rose, and opened the 
 window-shutters. They dressed them- 
 selves, and then darkened the room by again 
 closing the window-boards, which, as I 
 soon perceived, they did from a motive of' 
 attentive kindness, that the sun-beams 
 might not come in upon us and disturb 
 our repose. At ten o'clock wx rose, hun- 
 gry and unrefreshed for want of food and 
 sleep, for towards the morning Cowan also 
 had in vain solicited the sweet influence 
 of slumber. We breakfasted on bannoc, 
 whose most plentiful ingredients were 
 barley-straw and dirt, some eggs, tolerable 
 butter, and tea brewed in the filthiest pot 
 imaginable ; the salt was more than out- 
 weighed by dirt ; the tea-spoons were of 
 ^ilyer, ^ thing which we had not $een for 
 
59^ We go down the Loch in a hoat. 
 
 ^me days. Onr tViends the masons we 
 did not sec again. Wlicn wc had dis- 
 charged our bill, the host bade us farewell, 
 and shaking us by the hand, said, that he 
 hoped we should meet each other again in 
 New York, whither he soon meant to go, 
 because he could not cam the means of 
 existence in his ov/n country by the most 
 unremitted exertions, and labour the most 
 mcessant. 
 
 As our money now waxed very low, wc, 
 as if directed by the goddess of wisdom in 
 her ovm proper person, agreed to pay eight 
 shillings, besides two and sixpence for a 
 bottle of gin, which the rowers wanted to 
 comfort their insides, for a boat to take us 
 down to Killin, a place about eight miles 
 farther on, and situated at the head ot 
 Loch Tay. 
 
 Our two men, who rowed us up the 
 stream, exhibited in their countenances 
 every mark of misery and of despair. They 
 were both advanced in years, and the 
 w^rinkles in their brows and the furrows 
 in their checks betrayed the index of minds 
 worn down and a2;onized by continued but 
 
IVe go down the Loch in a hoat\ 397 
 
 unavailing struggles against poverty and 
 want. Wc learned that their families were 
 large, and that they were unable by their 
 employment as boatmen, which brought 
 them in scarcely anything excepting iiv 
 the sumnaer months, when travellers visited 
 the Highlands, litercJly to obtain food 
 enough to satisfy the cravings of hunger, 
 much less to clothe them decently, and to 
 raise the little pittance necessary to procure 
 the means of instruction for their children. 
 Long continued and hopeless misery- 
 had apparently benumbed all the faculties 
 of their minds ; it had even extinguished 
 curiosity, which is the very primary incite- 
 ment to a search after knowledge, and is 
 always found in the human animal, unless 
 where sunk in the deepest gloom of bar- 
 barity and of Ignorance. As we are told 
 by Cook, that the natives of New Holland 
 viewed his ship, such a marvellous piece of 
 structure, and so far surpassing all the power 
 and skill of rude nations, with the utmost 
 indifference, and expressed no desire to 
 gain the least information about a thing 
 so new and strange to their senses. 
 They asked no questions concerning x\me- 
 
598 ^i-'c go doivn the Lech in a boat, 
 
 rica or ourselves and our adventures; cir* 
 cumstanccs about which we had been abun- 
 dantly interrogated by almost every one 
 with whom wc had met since the corti- 
 mcnccment of our expedition. But they 
 passed the whole of the time in dreary 
 and in hopeless taciturnity, as if bending 
 all their faculties inward to feed upon their 
 own unremitting anguish. As long as we 
 were able to sit upright on the boats' bench 
 we surveyed the surrounding scenery which 
 for a while charmed us into a forgetfulness 
 of our uneasy sensations from bodily pain 
 and exhaustion. The broad expanse of 
 the lake, its borders fringed with wood, 
 the sides of the neighbouring hills culti- 
 vated, while those more distant and loftv re- 
 mained in their primitive sterility, present- 
 ed such a picture as might have delighted 
 us more had wx not been so deplorably 
 unwell. 
 
 As I had gradually sunk down at my 
 full length in the boat, I felt a sickness and 
 a fainting even unto death, and lifted up 
 my head in order to apprize Cowan of my 
 situation; but when I saw that his fallen;, 
 pale, livid, and collapsed countenance 
 
 3 
 
tVe go down dk Loch in a hat, Sgg 
 
 plainly proved that he was at least as ill, if 
 not much worse, than I was, I spake not 
 a 'syllable of complaint, but stretched my- 
 self out again on the floor of the boat, and 
 waited vacillating between life and eva- 
 nescence for nearly an hour. At length the 
 gentle and equable motion of the boat, 
 and the soft fanning of the breeze, revived 
 us so much that wx could again sit up and 
 lean over the edge of the boat to survey 
 the scenery. • As we approached towards 
 Kill in the country grew more and more 
 barren ; but in its immediate vicinity was 
 lovely and well-dressed in foliage. 
 
 At length we landed in the kirk-yard at 
 Killin, where we. saw a wooden box, a 
 temporary pulpit, from which the minister 
 had addressed his parishioners on the pre- 
 ceding Sunday, because the kirk itself 
 was not large enough to contain all the 
 congregation assembled there for the pur- 
 pose of receiving the sacrament. Here 
 again was a broad and ample testimony in 
 favour of the decency and good conduct of 
 tlie great body of the people in this coun- 
 try. I remember that when I first wxnt 
 to Scotland nothing; struck me so much as 
 
400 Our re:eptioi2-ai KiKin. 
 
 the strongly- marked dlifcrcnce betvvccil 
 its inhabitants' manner of employing the 
 sabbath, and that in which it is generally 
 spent in England. How it is spent in 
 England for the most part, especially in 
 large towns and cities, I need not say ; 
 those who have eyes to sec let them see. 
 But in Scotland, I observed that the places 
 of worship were constantly crowded, and 
 the streets even at night (will any one who 
 dwells in London believe this ?) free from 
 the noise of riot, and drunkenness, and 
 cursing, and s\^'earing, and abandoned pro-^ 
 fligacy. 
 
 Such are the blessed effects of general^ 
 of national education ! I do not think that 
 1 heard one oath sworn throughout the 
 whole of our journey, excepting once, and 
 that was by an old Irish woman between 
 Glasgow and Lanark, who damned us 
 for a couple of lousy beggars, because 
 her ass, on which she was carrying some 
 old kettles and tinkering apparatus^ was 
 disturbed in his meditations, and perverted 
 from his right way by our heedlessly 
 marching too near him. Could we have 
 
Our reception at Killin, 401 
 
 traversed as many hundred miles, nay as 
 many hundred yards, in England, and not 
 have been saluted with curses upon curses, 
 and oaths without number ? 
 
 We were now almost totally deprived of 
 all vitality, and with great difficulty con- 
 trived to crawl into a goodly and spacious 
 house, close by the kirk-yard, whose sign 
 displayed the arms of the clan of the Mac- 
 Dougals, bearing as a crest a ducal coronet. 
 We were not in a situation to delay the 
 moment of refreshment ; and therefore, un- 
 deterred by the magnificent appearance of 
 the house, strongly contrasted with the 
 beggarly exhibition which we and our ap- 
 pendages made, we marched boldly in. 
 Not far from the entrance of the passage 
 we saw the hostess, a M'Dougal ; she was 
 one of the finest, most stately, commanding 
 and dignified women I ever beheld. I pulled 
 off my cap, and m.aking a low bow, asked 
 if we could get any refreshment? Her 
 manner and deportment were as interest- 
 ing and fascinating as her form was finish- 
 ed and elegant. She immediately herself 
 showed us into an apartment up-stairs, 
 well- furnished, and much resembling a 
 
 VOL. n, D D 
 
402 Our recepticfi at Kiliin. 
 
 room in the best English inns, save that it 
 contained a book-case with only painted 
 wood instead of books in it, and four or 
 five paltry prints of the Prodigal wasting 
 his substance among harlots ; and that we 
 could find no bell, and were waited on by 
 a lad in a Highland kilt w hich was not too 
 long in its dimensions. 
 
 We had put down on the table before us 
 in a trice, an abundant and excellent din- 
 ner, consisting of soup, and ham, and fowl, 
 and roast beef, and veal, and three or four 
 kinds of vegetables, and a large bowl of 
 delicious cream with plenty of well-made 
 sweetmeats. A hearty dinner and some 
 •whisky drowned all our troubles and mala- 
 dies in the cup of oblivion ; and we began 
 to discourse vigorously on many subjects, 
 among the rest, upon the Highlanders, 
 occasioned by our waiter's short kilt flap- 
 ping about rather unsecmllly whenever he 
 exerted himself briskly, for the improve- 
 ment and edification of the females, many 
 of whom were continually moving about 
 the house in their vocation. 
 
 As w^as my uniform custom, I noted 
 down in my diary the heads and leading 
 
ne Highlanders slightly touched on. 403 
 features of our conversation, and the refer- 
 ences to any books which in the heat of 
 our discourse might be made; and shall 
 now give the result of our observations, only 
 divesting it of the round-about form of 
 dialogue, vsrhereby I shall avoid many and 
 many a said I and said Jie, and shall give 
 the whole the appearance of a plain and 
 simple narrative. 
 
 Why is the kilt, which seems to be a 
 dress more than bordering on indecency, 
 still continued ? In part probably from 
 the prejudices of custom which are very- 
 difficult to be eradicated, even in the most 
 enlightened minds ; and partly from con- 
 venience, because it allows full play to the 
 lower extremities, and facilitates the bound- 
 ing of the honest Highlander over his na- 
 tive hills. 
 
 Some years since, when it was debated 
 in the British parliament concerning the 
 propriety or impropriety of putting breeches 
 vxpon the Highlanders, the marquis of Lo- 
 thian, in all the vehemence of patriotic zeal, 
 declaimed so eloquently and so forcibly 
 against any innovation on the posteriors of 
 D D 3 
 
404 The Highlanders slightly touched on» 
 his couiitrymcn, that the motion was 
 dropped, and the Highlanders were still 
 permitted by law to run about with their 
 sterns - uncovered. The following lines 
 were, at the time of the debate on this 
 subject in the senate, handed about in 
 praise of the noble lord for his animated 
 defence of the kilt. 
 
 ^* Each breeze that blows upon those ])ra\vny parts, 
 Shall wake thy lov'd remembrance in their hearts; 
 And while they freshen by the northern blast. 
 So long thine honour^ name, and praise shall last," 
 
 So much for the kilt. I would fain call 
 the attention of those, in whom alone rests 
 the power of providing; a remedy, to the 
 state of the Highlanders, w^hose noble and 
 generous conduct dcscrves^better treatment 
 than that under which they are doomed to 
 groan and be afflicted. The following ac- 
 count is to be found, if I recollect rightly, 
 in the narration of a journey made through 
 the Highlands by a clergyman of the Scot- 
 tish church not many years since ; I forget 
 the exact title of the book. 
 
 " In the Highlands the only parts capa- 
 ble of agriculture are the valleys or glens. 
 
^he Highlanders slightly touched on, 405 
 and the bases of the mountains ; and these 
 valleys having the sun for a few hours only, 
 vegetation advances slowly, and the har- 
 vests are always late. The climate is 
 equally discouraging to the purposes of 
 husbandry. The spring is bleak and pierc- 
 ing, the summer is cold and short, the 
 autumn, from the beginning of August, 
 deluged with rains, the winter long and 
 tempestuous. During the latter season the 
 people are cut off from all communication 
 with the low country, by beds of snow, 
 impassable torrents, pathless mountains and 
 morasses, on the one side ; by long and im- 
 practicable navigations on the other. 
 
 *^ To these accumulated discourage- 
 ments of nature are added the oppressions 
 and ill-judged policy of many proprietors 
 of these sterile regions exacting far beyond 
 their natural value, even were they in hands 
 more capable to improve them. Where 
 both soil and climate conspire against the 
 raising of grain in any considerable quan- 
 tity, and where -there are no markets, pos- 
 sibly within the distance of fifty miles, for 
 the sale of corn and the lesser articles of 
 husbandry, the farmer turns his attention 
 i> i> 3 
 
406 Ihe Highlanders slightly touched en. 
 chiefly to the grazing of a few cattle and 
 sheep, as the means whereby he expects to 
 pay his rent and support his family. 
 
 " If, therefore, his farm hath been raised 
 at the rate of three hundred per cent, while 
 the price of cattle hath scarc(^ly advanced 
 I one hundred, this method of improving 
 estates, as proprietors term it, furnishes a 
 high-sounding rent-roll, extremely pleas- 
 ing to human vanity, but which, being 
 founded upon oppression, injustice, and 
 folly, hath hitherto proved fallacious and 
 humiliating to all those W'ho have perse- 
 vered in the cruel experiment. The situ- 
 ation of these people is such as no language 
 can describe or fancy conceive. If with 
 great labour and fatigue the farmer raises 
 a slender crop of oats or barley, the autum- 
 nal rains often bafHe his utmost eitorts and 
 frustrate all his expectations ; and, instead 
 of being able to pay an exorbitant rent, 
 he sees his family in danger of perishing 
 during the ensuing winter, when he is pre- 
 cluded from any possibility of assistance 
 elsewhere. 
 
 '' Nor are his cattle in a better situ- 
 aticn ; in summer they pick np a scanty 
 
Vh Highlanders slightly touched on, 407 
 support amongst the morasses or heathy 
 mountains ; but, in the winter, w hen the 
 ground is covered with snow, and when 
 the naked wilds afford neither shelter nor 
 subsistence, the few cows, small, lean, and 
 ready to drop down for w^ant of pasture, 
 are brought into the hut where the family 
 resides, and frequently share with them 
 the snlall stock of meal which hath been 
 purchased or raised for the family only ; 
 while the cattle thus sustained, are bled 
 occasionally to afford nourishment to the 
 children, after it hath been boiled or made 
 into cakes. 
 
 '^ The sheep, being left upon the open 
 heaths, seek to shelter themselves from the 
 inclemency of the weather amongst the 
 hollows upon the lee-side of the mountains ; 
 and here they are frequently buried under 
 the snow for several weeks together, and, 
 in severe seasons, during two months and 
 upwards. They eat their own and each 
 other's wool, and hold out wonderfullv un- 
 der cold and hunger; but even in mode- 
 rate winters a considerable number are 
 found dead after the snow hath disappcar- 
 
 D D 4 
 
408 The Highlanders slightly touched on, 
 
 ed, and in rigorous seasons lew or none are 
 left alive. 
 
 " Meanwhile, the steward, hard pressed 
 by letters from the gaming-house or New- 
 market, demands the rent in a tone which 
 makes no great allowance for unpropitious 
 seasons, the death of cattle, and other acci- 
 dental misfortunes ; his honour's wants 
 must, at any rate, be supplied, the bills 
 must be duly negociated. Nor is the navi- 
 gation-scene more pleasing ; the only dif- 
 ference between those of the interior parts- 
 and the more distant coast is, that the 
 latter, with the labours of the field, have to 
 encounter alternately the dangers of the 
 ocean, and all the fatigues of navigation. 
 To the distressing circumstances at home, 
 new difficulties and toils await the devoted 
 farmer when abroad. 
 
 *' He leaves his family at the com- 
 mencement of the winter fishery in Oc- 
 tober, accompanied by his sons, brothers,^ 
 and often an aged parent, and embarks on 
 board a small open boat in quest of the 
 herrings, with no other provisions than 
 oatmeal, potatoes, and fresh water; no 
 
^le Highlanders slightly touched on. 409 
 other bedding than heath-twigs or straw, 
 the covering, if any, an old sail. Thus 
 provided, he searches from bay to bay, - 
 through turbulent seas, frequently for se- 
 veral weeks together, before the shoals of 
 herrings are discovered. The glad tidings 
 serve to vary, but not diminish, his fatigues. 
 Unremitting nightly labour, the time 
 when the herrings are taken, pinching cold 
 winds, heavy seas, uninhabited shores co- 
 vered with snow or deluged with rains, 
 contribute towards filling up the measure 
 of his distresses ; while, to men of such ex- 
 -quisite feelings as the Highlanders gene- 
 rally possess, the scene which awaits him 
 at home does it most effectually. 
 
 '' Having realized a little money among 
 country purchasers, he returns with the 
 remainder of his capture, through a long 
 navigation, frequently amidst unceasing 
 hurricanes, not to a comfortable home and 
 cheerful family, but to a hut composed of 
 turf without windows, doors, or chimney^ 
 environed by snow, and almost hid from 
 the eye by its great depth. Upon entering 
 this solitary mansion, he generally finds a 
 part of his family lying upon heath or 
 
410 lb:! Highlanders slightly touched on. 
 
 straw, languishing through want or epi- 
 demical disease ; while the few surviving 
 cows that possess the other end of the cot- 
 tage, instead of furnishing farther supphcs 
 of milk and blood, demand his immediate 
 attention to keep them in existence. 
 
 *' The season now approaches when he is 
 again to delve and labour the grounds on 
 the same slender prospect of a plentiful 
 crop or a dry harvest. The cattle which 
 have survived the famine of the winter, 
 are turned out to the mountains ; and hav- 
 ing put his domiCstic affairs into the best 
 situation, w^hich a train of accumulated 
 misfortunes admits of, he resumes the car 
 in search of the summer herring or the 
 white fishery. If successful ia the latter, 
 he sets out in his open boat upon a voyage 
 of two hundred miles to vend his cargo of 
 dried cod, ling, &c. at Greenoch or Glas- 
 gow. The produce, seldom more than 
 fifteen or sixteen pounds sterling, is laid 
 out, m conjunction with his companions, 
 .upon miCal and fishing-tackle; and he re- 
 turns through the same tedious navigation. 
 
 '' The autumn calls his attention again 
 to the field ; the usual round of disappoint- 
 
ne Highlanders slightly touched oyu 4 1 1 
 nient, fatigue, and distress, awaits him ; 
 thus dragging through a wretched existence 
 'in the hope of soon arriving at that country 
 where the weary shall be at rest. In time 
 of war those who cno;a2;e in the fishery are 
 indiscriminately pressed without the small- 
 est regard to causes or circumstances, how- 
 ever distressing to the unhappy victims and 
 their starving families ; while others, w^ho 
 travel from the most remote parts, with- 
 out money or provisions, to earn thirty or 
 forty shillings in the Lowlands, by harvest- 
 work, are often decoyed into the army by 
 stratagems which do no credit to the hu- 
 manity of the age. 
 
 '^ These virtuous but friendless men, 
 while endeavouring by every means in their 
 power, to support their wives, their chil- 
 dren, their aged parents, and in all respects 
 to act the part ot honest inoffensive sub- 
 jects, are dragged away they know not 
 where, to fight the battles of nations, who 
 are insensible of their merits, and to obtain 
 victories of which others are to reap the 
 imaginary benefits. The aged, the sick, 
 and the helpless, look in vain for the re- 
 turn of tJieir friends from tlie voyage or th^j 
 
4 1 2 ne Highlanders slightly touched on. 
 harvest. They arc heard of no more ; la 
 mentations, cries, and despair, pervade the 
 village or the district. Thus deprived of 
 their main support, the rent unpaid, the 
 cattle sold or seized, whole families are re- 
 duced to the extremity of want, and turn- 
 ed out amidst all the inclemencies of win- 
 ter, to relate their piteous tale, and to im*- 
 plore from the wretched but hospitable 
 mountaineers, a little meal or milk to pre- 
 serve their infants from perishing in their 
 arms. 
 
 '^ In this situation they wander towards 
 the Lowlands, happy to find shelter at 
 night, from the chilling winds, driving 
 snow, or incessant rains, in some cavern or 
 deserted cottage ; still more happy if chance 
 hath provided their lodging with a little 
 stray/ or heath, whereon to lay their almost 
 lifeless infants^ the.constant objects of their 
 first attention, amidst all the calamitous 
 YJcissitudes of life. 
 
 '' Such is the hard lot of the great body 
 of the people who inhabit one fifth of our 
 island. Neglected by government, for- 
 saken or oppressed by the gentry, cut off* ' 
 during most part of the year by impassable 
 
the Highlariders slightly touched on. 415 
 mountains and impracticable navigations 
 from the seats of commerce, industry, and 
 plenty, living at considerable distances from 
 all human aid, without the necessaries of 
 life, or any of those comforts which might 
 soften the rigour of their calamities, and 
 depending most generally for the bare 
 means of subsistence, on the precarious 
 appearance of a vessel freighted with meal 
 or potatoes, to which with eagerness they 
 resort, though often at the distance of fifty 
 miles, 
 
 '' Upon the whole, the Highlands of 
 Scotland, some few excepted, are the seats 
 of oppression, poverty, famine, anguish, and 
 wild despair, exciting the pity of every 
 traveller, while the virtues of the inha- 
 bitants attract his admiration. The small 
 portion of half- ripened oats and barley, 
 which hath been secured from the atumnal 
 rains, is immediately threshed out for the 
 use of the family, but chiefly to pay the 
 rents at the then market price. When 
 the spring arrives, and no grain being left 
 for seed, the farmer must raise money by 
 every possible means to purchase that ^ 
 article ; sometimes the Individual graia 
 
4 1 4 I'he Highlander^ slightly touched ctt: 
 which he had sold a few months before^ 
 and which was stored for the purpose of 
 selhng it to the farmers at an advanced 
 price, proportioned to the scarcity of the 
 
 article when most wanted. His family 
 
 •J 
 
 also requires a fresh supply, which he buys 
 at the same disadvantage ; and is thus kept, 
 from rear to year, at the sole mercy of a 
 laird, steward, or jobber, for daily subsist- 
 ence, at a price which he can ill afford to 
 
 pay- 
 
 ^* This is the general state of certain 
 internal districts in what are called good 
 seasons ; but when the crops fail through 
 a long continuance of cold or wet weather^ 
 ■which generally happens every third or 
 fourth year, the distress is beyond descrip- 
 tion. — Our lairds — said a venerable High- 
 lander (bowed down with age and want) 
 to me, — our lairds do nathing for us, and 
 are ne'er satisfied till they have turned us 
 out of doors without a bawbie in our 
 pouches ; yet they arc ay poor, and ay 
 seeking mair siller for their lands. Gif 
 they wad stay at hame, instead of dangling 
 about the toon of London, v;here they are 
 
The Highlanders slightly touched on, 415. 
 nae mickle thought on, we wad tare bet- 
 ter, and they ne'er a bit the warse," 
 
 ' The above account is written by a Scot- 
 tish minister, who, I beUeve, was officially 
 employed to traverse the Highlands, and to 
 inspect the state of their inhabitants ; and 
 from the plain and artless manner in which 
 it is written, without vehemence or any 
 attempt at declamatory elevation, evident- 
 ly shows that he has not overdrawn the 
 picture ; to the truth and justice of vvhich^, 
 indeed, all who have examined the con- 
 dition of these deserving and hardly-used 
 people, can bear ample testimony. 
 
 Can it then be wondered at, that since 
 such has been the systematic oppression 
 and cruelty shown towards the deserving 
 and unfortunate Highlanders, all those who 
 can possibly escape from tyranny and star- 
 vation, fly to countries less rigidly brutal, 
 and to less inhospitable climes ? Accord- 
 ingly, wherever we came, we found the 
 recent marks of emigration, in the deser- 
 tion of the huts and the lamentation of 
 . those that were left behind. It was no 
 unusual thing for us to meet with whole 
 families of these wretched bein8!;s on the 
 
4\G The I-Jighlanders sli^htty touched on* 
 
 road towards some sea-port, going for the 
 purpose of endeavouring to get a passage 
 to America, \vhere they hoped to be per- 
 mitted to exist, by the exertions of their 
 industry ; a boon which was denied them 
 in their native country. 
 
 We sav/ them move forward in tribes : 
 the men, whose strength had not yet failed 
 them, bore the scanty bags of meal, their 
 only means of subsistence; the w^om en car- 
 ried their little infants in their arms ; and 
 the feeble and the aged, together with the 
 children that w^re able to walk, brought 
 up the rean In order to form some faint 
 idea of the iniquity which compels these 
 luckless beings to desert their home, wc 
 must recollect how strong and ardent is 
 their affection for their natal soil ; an affec- 
 tion which, in the Highlander, grows with 
 his growth, and strengthens with his 
 strength, which claims his last sigh, and 
 leaves him only with his latest throb. 
 
 An attachment to the land of their birth 
 is common to all men. And no w^onder, 
 since every object to which we have been 
 accustomed in the hours of infancy is as- 
 sociated with images of delight. The 
 
The Highlanders slightly touched on. 4 1 7 
 human mind, at its fitst entrance into this 
 world, receives its ideas from the impres- 
 sions which surrounding objects make upon 
 the organs of sensation ; but these impres- 
 sions are almost universally attended with 
 pleasure, on account of their novelty ex- 
 citing the mind to action, which, indeed, 
 is the highest of all human enjoyments. 
 Hence, every hill, and dale, and shrub, and 
 plant, with which we have been familiar in 
 our childhood, is connected in our associ- 
 ation with an image of delight ; and all the 
 scenes which our infancy has witnessed, 
 are endeared to the soul as long as the 
 mind continues to combine and to ar- 
 range its ideas, by those great moral laws 
 with which the Almighty has seen fit to 
 regulate the intellectual world. 
 
 But in addition to this stimulus to the 
 patriotism of the soil, as lord Shaftesbury 
 calls it, which the Highlander shares in 
 common with all the human race, he pos- 
 sesses many other very strong incitements 
 to this affection for the land on which he 
 first drew breath. His domestic endear- 
 ments, perhaps stronger than those of any 
 other country, the indissoluble ties of son, 
 
 Vol. it. e e 
 
41 S ^he tTtghlanders slightly touched on. 
 brother, husband, father, bind him to his 
 native mountains with the unfadintr, ama- 
 ranthine wreath of affection. The diffi- 
 culty with which he earns liis bread, aLo 
 helps to endear his country to him, by call- 
 ino: Ibrtli the exertions of his wife and little 
 ones, w hence the links of mutual . attach- 
 ment are more intimately twisted round 
 their hearts ; and likewise because it knits 
 more closely together separate families and 
 communities for the sake of reciprocal 
 assistance, whence the better feelings of the 
 heart, those of philanthropy and benevo-- 
 Jence, are exercised ; and patriotism is al- 
 ways proportioned to the quantity of vir- 
 tue resident in the bosoms of the inhabit- 
 ants of a country. 
 
 The rude and mountainous nature of his 
 country also greatly increases his love for 
 his natal soil, because it presents ' those 
 grand objects of nature to the senses, which, 
 perhaps more than any thing else, give the 
 mind an elevated and a dignified cast, ex- 
 pending and enlarging all her faculties ; 
 and because, by its difficulty of access, it 
 generally baffles the attempts of invaders, 
 and hence cherishes sentiments of national 
 loftiness and independence In the inhabit- 
 
"The Highlanders slightly touched on, 4.\g 
 ^nts : his isolated situation also strengthens 
 the attachment to the natal soil, and the 
 custom of combining in clans, which fa- 
 vour the propensity to family distinction 
 and genealogical consequence. But this 
 consequence can never be so great as 
 among those who know and acknowledge 
 its existence, and are acquainted with its 
 claims, and are willing to allow them. 
 Inasmuch as they also require the same 
 allowance for themselves. Among stran- 
 gers and foreigners, however, such claims 
 to importance would be urged without 
 effect ; because they, not being anyways in- 
 erested in their existence or growth, 
 would treat them with indifference if not 
 with contempt. 
 
 But, as Macnaughtan observed to us, 
 men are generally apt to be delighted wdth 
 the thought that their blood has flowed, 
 pure and un contaminated for many gene- 
 rations, in the veins of the upright and the 
 honourable. Indeed, whatever has a ten- 
 dency to give us respect in our own eyes 
 and in the eyes of others, is cherished by us 
 with great complacency and satisfaction; 
 for the esteem of others and of ourselves is 
 
420 ^he Highlandci's slightly touched oft, 
 
 the great and general stimulus to human 
 action. AH these and many more ties 
 bind the Highlander In the chains of will- 
 ing affection to the land of his birth ; and 
 nothing but the extreme:st rigour of neces- 
 sity, naught but the iron grasp of lawless 
 cruelty, can ever compel him permanently 
 to leave his native hills. 
 
 As this rod of oppression under which 
 these noble and generous people are crush- 
 ed and bruised, can only be broken in pieces 
 by the benevolent interference of the go- 
 vernment of Great Britain, I would wish, 
 by every effort, to make the cries of in- 
 jured humanity pierce even to the inmost 
 recesses of the legislative and executive 
 authority of this kingdom ; for that au- 
 thority alone, paramount to every other, 
 can redress the evils which destroy the 
 happiness of a people, whose exemplary 
 virtues demand every attention that kind- 
 ness and affection can bestow. I shall 
 therefore borrow the aid of genius and of 
 poetry, in order to make the stronger im- 
 pression upon the minds of those who are 
 mighty, if they were but willing, to save^ 
 that, if my feeble voice cannot be heard, 
 yet that the elevated tone of great and en- 
 
The Highlanders slightly touched on. 42 1 
 lightened minds may rouse indifference 
 and neglect from her leaden couch of 
 slumber and of sloth. 
 
 The following lines were written by the 
 leader of the Scottish bar, the brother of 
 that man who has now for many ye-ars 
 ranked as the first in genius and in elo- 
 quence in the courts of English jurispru- 
 dence. They were occasioned by the very 
 numerous emigrations from the Highlands 
 some few years since, and allude to a trans^ 
 action by no means fictitious. 
 
 ^* Fast by the margin of a mossy rill. 
 
 That wander'd gurgling down a heath-clad hill. 
 An antient shepherd stood, oppress'd with woe, 
 And ey'd the ocean's flood that foam'd below. 
 Where oenllv roekingr on the risino- tide 
 A ship's ujiifonted form was seen to ride; 
 Unwonted, well I ween, for ne'er before 
 -Had touch'd one keel the solitary shore; 
 Nor had the swain's rude footsteps ever strayM 
 Beyond the shcikcr of his native shade. 
 
 '^ His few remaining hairs were silver-grey. 
 And his rough face had seen a better day. 
 Around him bleating stray'd a scanty flock. 
 And a few goats o'erhung the neighboring rock; 
 One faithful dog his sorrows seem'd to share, 
 Aud strove with many a trick to ease his care; 
 E E3 
 
422 'The Highlanders slightly touched on. 
 
 While o'er his furrow'd cliccks the sah drops ran. 
 He cy'd his barren hills, and thus began: 
 
 *^ Farewell, farewell, dear Caledonia's strand, 
 Rough though thou art, yet still my native land ; 
 Exiled from thee, I seek a foreign shore. 
 Friends, kindred, country, to behold no more; 
 Bif hnrd oppression driven, my helpless age, 
 That should e'er now have left life's bustling stage. 
 Is forc'd to dare the ocean's boist'rous wave. 
 In a far foreign land to seeh a grave, 
 
 ^' And must I leave thee, then, my little cot, 
 Mine and my father's poor, but happy lot. 
 Where I have pass'd in innocence away 
 Year after year till age has turn'd me grey ? 
 
 '^ Thou dear companion of my happier life, 
 Now to th'e grave gone down, my virtuous wife! 
 ^Twas here you rcar'd, with fond maternal pride, 
 Five comely sons, three for their country died ! 
 Two still remain, sad remnant of the wars. 
 Without one mark of honour, — save their scars] 
 Yet live to see their sire denied a grave 
 In lands his much lov'd children died to save. 
 Yet siill in peace and safety did we live. 
 In peace and safety, more than wealth can give. 
 Mv two remaining boys, with sturdy hands, 
 llear'd the scant produce of our niggard lands; 
 Scant as it was, no more our hearts desir'd, 
 Ko more from us our generous lord requir'd. 
 
 '^* But ah 1 sad change ! those blessed days are o'er, 
 And peace, content, and safety, cliarm no more; 
 
The Highlanders slightly touched on. 4213 
 Anotjier lord now rules those wide domains, 
 Tke avaricious tyrant of the plains', 
 Far, far from hence, he revels life away 
 ,ln guilty pleasures our poor means must pay. 
 The mossy plains, the mountain's barren brow. 
 Must now be riven by the torturing plough 3 
 And, spite of nature, crops be taught to rise, 
 Which to these northern climes wise Heaven de- 
 nies. 
 In vain, with sweating brow and weary hands. 
 We strive to earn the gold our lord demands. 
 While cold, and hunger, and the dungeon's gloomy 
 Await our failure as its certain doom. 
 
 *^ To shun these Wis that threat my hoary head, 
 I seek in foreign lands precarious bread 3 
 Forced, tho' my helpless age from guilt be pure. 
 The pangs of hanislid felons to endure : 
 And all because these hands have vainly tried 
 To force from art what nature has denied. 
 Because my little all will not suffice 
 To pay th' insatiate claims of avarice, 
 
 ^^ In vain of richer climates I am told. 
 Whose hills are rich in gems, whose streams are 
 
 gold; 
 I am contented here ; I ne'er have seen 
 A vale more fertile, or a hill more -green ; 
 Nor would I leave this sweet, this humble cot. 
 To share the richest monarch's splendid lot. 
 Oh ! would to heaven th' alternative were mine. 
 Abroad to thrive, or here in want to pine. 
 Soon would I choose; — but ere to-morrow's sun 
 E E 4 
 
424 The Highlanders slightly touched on. 
 
 Has o'er ni)' head his radiant journey run, 
 I shall be robb'd, by jvhat tlwi/ justice call. 
 By legal ruffians, of my little all. 
 Driv'n out to hunger, nakedness, and grief. 
 Without one pitying hand to bring relief. 
 Then come, oh sad alternative to choose I 
 Come banishment, I will no more refuse! 
 Go where I may, nor billows, rocks, nor wind. 
 Can add of horror to mv sufi'ering mind. 
 On whatsoever coast I may be thrown, 
 No lord can he severer than my own, 
 
 ^' For thee, insatiate chief, whose ruthless hand 
 For ever drives me from my native land, 
 lor thee I leave no greater curse behind. 
 Than the fell bodings of a" guilty mind; 
 , Or what were harder to a soul like thine. 
 To find from avarice thy wealth decline. 
 
 ** For you, my friends and neighbours of the vale. 
 Who now with kindly tears my fate bewail. 
 Soon may the rulers of this mighty land 
 To ease your sorrow stretch the helping hand; 
 Else soon, too- soon, your hapless fate shall be. 
 Like me to suffer, and to fly like me. 
 
 " On you, dear native land, from whence I part, 
 Rest the best blessings of a broken heart. 
 If in some future hour the foe should land 
 His hostile legions on Britannia's strand. 
 May she not then th' alarum sound in vain, 
 Kor miss her hanish'd thousands on the plain! \ 
 
"The Highlanders slightly touched on, 425- 
 Is there in hunian form that bears a 
 heart, who can view the following picture, 
 and not hf ave the sigh of sorrow for the 
 forlorn condition of the inestimable High- 
 lander, 
 
 " Goodhccav'n! what sorrows gloom'd that parting 
 day, 
 That caird them from their native hills away; 
 When the poor exile, every pleasure past, 
 Hung round his hut, and fondly loolid his last ; 
 And took a long favewcl, and wish'd in vain 
 For seats like these beyond the western main; 
 And shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
 Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. 
 The good old sire, the first prepar'd to go 
 To new-found worlds, and wept for other's wo, 
 But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 
 He only wish' d for ivorlds Ityond the grave. 
 
 ^^ His Jovcly daughter, lovelier in her tears, 
 The fond companion of bis helpless years. 
 Silent went next, neglectful of her charms. 
 And Uft a lover's for a father's arms. 
 With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes. 
 And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose. 
 And kiss' d her thoughtless hahes. iviih many a tear^ 
 And clasp'd them close in sorrow doubly dear. 
 Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
 In all the silent manliness of grief. 
 
 4' Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sailj 
 Jhat idly waiting flaps with every gale, 
 
4'26 The Highhndcrs slightly touched en. 
 
 Downward they move, a melancholy band. 
 Pass from the shore, and darken all the strauci. 
 Contented toil, and hospitable care, 
 And kind connubial tenderness arc there, 
 ■ And pictv, witli wishes plac'd above. 
 And slcuchj toi/aliUy and faithful love,'' 
 
 It were a consummation devoutly to be 
 wished that statesmen would prevail on 
 themselves to make au experiment of hu- 
 manity, and alleviate the miseries of these 
 unfortunate human beings. But, alas ! it 
 is too true, that politicians are not very apt 
 to have much intercourse with humanity, 
 if it happens to lie out of their beat, does 
 not come within the round of form and 
 precedent. But though habit must always 
 possess much influence on the art of go- 
 vernment, as it does indeed upon everj 
 thins: relating to man, yet it should jiot 
 be all in all, it should not be paramount ; 
 but yield, when reason, humanity, justice, 
 religion, demand something new, some- 
 thing contrary to long established custom, 
 to be done. 
 
 It were to be wished, therefore, that, 
 although it has been the usage, for time 
 immem.oric;], to oppress and to evll-intreat. 
 
The Highlanders slightly touched on, A^J. 
 the honest Highlanders, now a new me- 
 thod may be tried, an innovation may be 
 made upon these esabUshed forms of ty- 
 ranny and wickedness, however sanctioned 
 by age, and hov/ever matured by length of 
 days. ' Although it is the i'ashion, the order 
 of the dav, to exclaim aeainst all reforms 
 and alterations, yet I would venture to re- 
 commend that a change might be made in 
 the situation of the Scottish mountaineers, 
 and that, for once, they might know the 
 effects of mercy and of kindness in their 
 superiors, since they have so long been made 
 to drink the bitter cup of oppression, and 
 to drain it even to the very dregs. 
 
 Time insensibly changes the genius and 
 the manners of men, by discovering new 
 truths and exploding old errors ; why then 
 should it not introduce occasional and 
 salutary modifications in the laws of a 
 kingdom ? The continual revolutions which 
 cavise such variations in the face of civil 
 ^ciety, afford sufficient reasons for pro- 
 ducing alterations, which experience has 
 deemed necessary in the mode of admi- 
 nistering government. Cast your eye over 
 the states of Europe, and say, is there not 
 
4c 8 'The Highlanders slightly touched on, 
 sufficient need of such changes ? If men 
 were to continue from age to age, and 
 from generation to generation, in one un- 
 varied round of opinion and of sentiment^ 
 invariable lav/s might be estabHshed with- 
 out fear of incurring the imputation of 
 absurdity. 
 
 But the continued variations in the hu- 
 man mind, and its steady but progressive 
 march towards a higher degree of know- 
 ledge and of virtue, demiand that the sys- 
 tem of government, by gradual and gentle 
 changes, should adapt itself to the opinions 
 which arise from the continued influx of 
 new light on every subject and in every 
 science which relates to the physical and 
 moral regulation of man. Think you, that 
 now, after the lapse of so many ages, the 
 same laws and customs are calculated to 
 bind the present race of Britons, as once 
 slung the chain of slavery round the necks 
 of their ancestors, under the haughty and 
 relentless sway of the bastard of Normandy ? 
 A change, then, even in the mode of go- 
 verning and ruling a people is sometimes 
 necessary. And why not change the pre- 
 vsent iniquitous system of oppression which 
 
The Highlanders slightly touched on, 429- 
 
 breaks down the body, though it cannot 
 debase the unbending and dignified soul, of. 
 the Highlander ? 
 
 ThiC statesman, \vho has not* examined 
 well the human heart by observing man 
 on a large scale, but chiefly by looking 
 into his own breast, and docs not know^ 
 that the mind of man takes its hue and 
 colouring from surrounding objects, and is 
 elevated or depressed as it is free and 
 enlightened, or as it is in bondage and igno- 
 rant, can never build his policy upon any 
 sure basis. He will be apt to adopt the 
 pitiful measures of fraudulent and tricking 
 expedient, in preference to the enlarged 
 principles of benevolence and justice, and 
 thus will alw^ays mistake the true interests 
 of the people. 
 
 It w^ould be well, if It were possible, (and 
 w4th the parliament of Britain what is not 
 possible ?) to render the condition of the 
 Highlander less WTctched. The soil and 
 climate, indeed, are sturdy obstacles to im- 
 provement ; but kindness and attention 
 may do much. At present the traveller 
 wanders through a naked desert, cheered 
 sometimes, but not often, by the sight of a 
 
430 The Hi^hlmidcrs slightly touched ov. 
 few cov\ s and sheep ; and now and then 
 stumbles on a heap of loose stones and turf 
 in a cavity between rocks, which is called 
 a hut or Ifousc. In this miserable abode 
 is a being, possessing all those sensations 
 which cultivation softens and refines, and 
 all those powers of imagination which 
 exercise enlarges and strengthens beyond 
 all power of count, a being destined to 
 irnmortality, doomed to screen himself 
 from the drifting of the snow, and to seek 
 shelter from the inclemency of the blast. 
 
 There have been, . and there are, many 
 soi'dhant philosophers, who have affected to 
 assert, and have talked and have written 
 that they might make others believe, this 
 to be a happy state of existence. But they 
 do not believe it even while they say it, 
 neither did they ever produce conviction 
 in the minds of others. For what of plea- 
 sure is to be derived from the privation of 
 all that can gratify the senses of men ; from 
 the presence of all that can depress his soul 
 into the gloominess of despair; from pen- 
 ury and from want ; from pain, oppression, 
 and anguish ? 
 
 One observation on this subject from 
 
PFe leave Killin, 45 1 
 
 S. Johnson, whose acutcness and sagacity 
 have never been surpassed by any man, and 
 I have done with it. 
 
 . <^ To hinder insurrection - by driving 
 away .the people, and to govern peaceably 
 by having no subjects, is an expedient that 
 argues no great profundity of pohtics. To 
 soften the obdurate, to convince the mis- 
 taken, to molhfy the resentful, are worthy 
 of a statesman ; but It affords a legislator 
 little self-applause to consider that where 
 there was formerly an insurrection there is 
 now a wilderness.'* 
 
 When we had discoursed our fill upon 
 other people, wx began to direct our 
 tliousrhts and eke to turn our tonsrues to- 
 wards the consideration of ourselves. We 
 found, upon an examination that was soon 
 m'ada, for it required no great minuteness 
 of research, or perspicuity of attention, that 
 our purse was almost empty, and menaced 
 us with a plenitude of vacancy, as some 
 philosopher hath it, so soon, that wx 
 should be prevented from reaching Inverary 
 on our way to Ireland, where we intended 
 tt) beat up the quarters of Andrew's rela- 
 
452 IVe leave Killin. 
 
 tiuns and tVlcnds, and where I, with gi*eat 
 glee, looked forward to reap an abundant 
 harvest of characteristic traits, as perhaps, 
 no people present more originality and 
 greater variety of feature, than do our neigh- 
 bours the Hibernians. 
 
 Our trowsers also were nearly worn out, 
 end Cowan, who had no drawers, exhibited 
 rather an awkward spectacle in the rear ; 
 and my shoe, late in the possession of our 
 friend Macnaughtan, of ever-to-be revered 
 memory, was well-nigh annihilated. We 
 determined, however, on moving forward 
 immediatclv; wherefore we discharged our 
 bill, bought a piece of brown soap, took 
 leave of our fair hostess, who courteously 
 attended us to the door of her house, and 
 kindly bade us farewel. We bent our way 
 through the vale of Glendchart, which was 
 lovely and beavitlful, abounding in green 
 and fertile pasture, filled with horned 
 cattle of a much larger size than any 
 w^hich we had hitherto seen in the High- 
 lands, and enriched and adorned by a river 
 which rolled its fascundating stream along 
 the wl'.ole extent of the valley. 
 
 The sweetness of this rural scene recalled 
 
tVe leave Killiit, 43g 
 
 to liiy recollection the flowery fields and 
 verdant meads where once my careless 
 childhood strayed, ^ stranger yet to pain ; 
 and my soul experienced all those mingled 
 sensations of melancholy and regret, which, 
 for the most part, accompany a retrospect 
 of the days that are gone, of the hours 
 which were passed in the morning of life, 
 when gay hope was ours, when our slum- 
 bers were light, and no care tormented us 
 beyond the day. 
 
 ^^ Oh, enviable early days ! 
 
 When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze. 
 
 To care, to guih, unknown ! 
 ilow ill exchang'd fur riper times. 
 To feel the follies or the crimes. 
 
 Of others or my own ! 
 
 Ye tiny elves, that guiltless sport. 
 
 Like linnets in the bush, 
 Ye little know the ills ye court, 
 ® ' When manhood is your wish ! 
 The losses, the crosses, 
 
 That active man erigag'e ! 
 The fears all, the tears all. 
 
 Of dim-declining age." 
 
 The mountains, which surrounded us 
 on all sides, wxre steril and bare. About 
 eight o'clock in the evening we came to a 
 
 VOL. II. F F 
 
4(^4 -^ great man's justice. 
 
 t-ery decent newly-built house, and well 
 furnished within. Tlic hostess (a very 
 cleanly nice woman, with a noble and an 
 expressive countenance, rendered still more 
 interesting by some deep lines of care and 
 melancholy, of grief, and of hopeless sor- 
 row) received us with every welcome of 
 kindness, of courtesy, and of hospitality. 
 
 After we had enjoyed our accustomed 
 evening bathe in the river, we sate down 
 to tea in a very comfortable room up-stalrs, 
 and we prevailed on our hostess to partake 
 of our beverage ; for there was something 
 about her countenance so lovely and so 
 interesting, that we wished much to be- 
 come acquainted with the cause which. 
 had darkened her features with the shades 
 of anguish. After some desultory conver* 
 sation, in which I detailed to her some in* 
 ci dents of our route, gave an account of 
 America, &c. I contrived, by observing 
 what lovely children those were that were^ 
 playing in the yard just beneath our win^ 
 dow, to lead her by degrees into her story; 
 the material part of w^hich I shall relate, 
 that the petty tyrant of his domains may 
 
A great man's justice. 435 
 
 know, that there yet exists a tribunal be- 
 fore which his iniquity may be blamed 
 aild arraigned, even the public contempt, 
 and the public indignation. 
 
 This woman told us, that she was the 
 mother of seven little bairns ; that about 
 two years since, she and her husband, to- 
 gether with their babes, came to this spot, 
 and found the house in absolute ruins, with 
 scarcely one stone heaped upon another. 
 That they rented the estate of their land- 
 lord, who is a very great man, greater than 
 all his tribe, the mightiest of his clan, upon 
 a tack from year to year ; and that, at their 
 own labour and expence, they had made 
 the house and its appurtenances what we 
 now saw them, decent, substantial, and 
 full of comfort as an habitation. That as 
 soon as they had so done, their lord had 
 .*ent his steward to triple their rent, I think, 
 but am not quite certain ; however, it was 
 to raise it very considerably. 
 
 In vain they remonstrated upon the 
 hardship of being screwed up so severely, 
 when they had already expended nearly the 
 whole of their little substance, and had be- 
 stowed much labour and time altogether for 
 
 F F ii^ 
 
A36 A great wz^wV justice. 
 
 the improvement of the premises, of which 
 the chief advantage must ultimately accrue' 
 to the landlord. To all their pleas and to 
 all their supplications for common justice, 
 they asked not for mercy, for mercy was 
 not in all the great man's thoughts ; but for 
 simple equity : this only answer was re- 
 turned : that the house and its appendages 
 were now worth such an advanced rent, 
 and, if they did not choose to give it, they 
 might turn out and seek an habitation 
 elsewhere, 
 
 . But who made the premises worth such 
 an advanced rent ? Was it not done solely- 
 by the toil and the money of the tenant ? 
 And is it consistent with common honesty 
 for the landlord to take undue advantage 
 of the industrious liberality of the poor 
 labourer, and swallow up in the gulph of 
 his own extortion the substance which be-^ 
 longs to another ; the substance which was 
 destined by productive industry to provide 
 food and raiment for the mother and her 
 helpless offspring? Are not, annually, 
 many human beings turned over to the 
 blood-hounds that growl in the kennels of 
 the law, and hunted out of life for crimes 
 
j^ grc2it man^s justice. 437 
 
 far less heinous in the sight of God, and 
 far less oppressive to society, than this vile 
 deed of one of the high and mighty lords 
 of the creation ? 
 
 " Nam quod turpe bonis, Tltio, Seioque, decelat 
 CrispinumJ'* 
 
 ^f For what, hj lavj, the Wretched peasant dies. 
 The nolle lord is Uftcd to the skies/' 
 
 • Many poor men, younger brothers, &c. 
 by reason of bad police and idle education, 
 (for they are likely brought up in no call- 
 ing, or can obtain no ^employment,) arc 
 compelled to beg or steal; and then hanged 
 for theft ; than which what can be more 
 knominious ? No7t minus erim Uirpeprinctpi 
 vmlts supplida,'qtiam medico multafmtera. 
 
 <^ When subjects'tlie k-7^«mirri'by 'T^& laio;-'^ r » 
 : Tis not in them, but in the Ai/zg-, the flaw';. 
 
 Jlieir murders brand with infamy, jti^nanj^,, ., , . 
 As svck mtn's frequent deaths the doctor blame,^ 
 Jiis knowledge damns, and puis his' skill to shame: 
 
 'Tis the governor's fault : Libentlus mac- 
 taut quam docent : They rather seek to 
 murder than Instruct, . 
 
 F F 3 
 
438 A great ma)Cs justice. 
 
 *' But in a great person, right worshipful 
 sir, a right honourable grandy, 'tis not a ve- 
 nial sin, no not a peccadillo ; *tis no offence 
 at all ; a comn:ion and ordinary thing ; no 
 man tak^s notice of it ; he justifies it in 
 public, and peradventure brags of it." 
 
 Wherefore, this afflicted woman and 
 her husband were compelled to submit to 
 these harsh and cruel terms ; because that, 
 now nearly all their means were swallowed 
 up in building upon and in improving their 
 landlord's premises, they were unable to 
 obtain an existence in another place, with- 
 out money and without friends. — Indeed, 
 — said she, — it is with much difficulty that 
 we manage to exist now, in consequence 
 of the high rent, and the scarcity and dear- 
 ness of the necessaries of life, and the hard- 
 ships which we have been so long made to 
 endure. And by all this we are rendered 
 incapable of assisting those very numerous 
 companies, consisting of whole families of 
 starving Highlanders, who have neither 
 home, nor money, nor food, nor friend. 
 
 They pass by our door in flocks every 
 day, the wife with the little ones first, then 
 the bigger children, and lastly the father. 
 
^ great ;;;^»'j justice. 439 
 
 But we cannot help them, though their dis- 
 tress wrings our very soul, for we are often 
 very destitute of food ourselves, and knov^ 
 not how to stop the cries of our own bairns 
 when they are hungry and ask for bread. 
 
 All this made our hearts to sicken with- 
 in us ; but as we were altogether unable to 
 remedy the evil, whose root lay much too 
 deep for the feeble and helpless arm of two 
 obscuife and unknown individuals to eradi- 
 cate and to destroy, we could only recom- 
 mend to this afflicted and oppressed daugh- 
 ter of sorrow a patient resignation to the 
 decrees of Providence, and a steady humble 
 waiting for that day when the oppressor 
 should be laid low, and the proud man 
 humbled to the dust ; when the cry of the 
 orphan should be heard, and the wailmg 
 of the widow should be regarded. 
 
 '• Beata civitas, non ubi pauci beati, sed iota civitas 
 beata.'' 
 
 That state is blessed, not wherq only a few individuals 
 are great, but where the whole people are happy. 
 
 Thus saith Plato in his Republic, at 
 F F 4 
 
440 A great man 5 justice, 
 
 least his Latin translator says so.. But 
 what modern politician troubles his heacj 
 about Plato or the happiness of the peo-. 
 pie ? 
 
 Would to heaven that it might ever bQ 
 in the power of our children, and of our 
 children's children, to say with the poet, 
 
 ^^ Oppression dies : the tyrant falls: 
 The golden eity bows her walls ! 
 Jehovah breaks th' avenger's rod : 
 The son of wrath, whose ruthless hand 
 Hurl'd desolation o'er the land. 
 Has run his raging race, has clos'd the scen^ cf 
 
 blood. 
 Chiefs arm'd around behold their vanquished 
 lord; 
 , Nor spread the guardian shield, nor hft the loyai 
 sv/ord. 
 
 " Shall frepzy and sophistry hope to prevail 
 When reason opposes her weight. 
 When the welfare of millions is hung in thescale^ 
 And the balance tjet trembles with fate. 
 
 <' Ah! who 'mid the darkness of night would abide 
 
 That can taste the sweet breezes of morn! 
 
 And who that has drank of the crystalline tide. 
 
 To the faeculent flood would return ? 
 When the bosom of beauty the throbbing heart 
 meets. 
 
vf great W5«V justice. 4-ii 
 
 Ah 1 who would the transport decline ? 
 And who, that has tasted of liberty's sweets^ 
 The prize — lut zvith Vifc — iioiild resign P 
 
 .<< Bui 'tis over; high heaven the decision approves. 
 Oppression hdiS struggled in vain 5 
 To the hell she had formed, superstitloTi removes. 
 
 And tyranny gnaws her own chain. 
 Ill the records of time a new asra unfolds. 
 
 All nature exults in the birth, 
 His creation, benign, the Creator bchglds, 
 . And gives a new charter to earth, 
 
 ^' Oh ! catch its high import, yc winds as ye blow I- 
 
 O, bear it, ye waves as ye roll ! 
 From the natiQns that feel the sun's vertical glow. 
 
 To the farthest extremes of the pole. 
 Equal rights, equal laivs, to the nations around^ 
 
 Peace and friendship its precepts impart*, 
 And wherever the footsteps of man ciinhefound^ 
 
 May he lind the decree on his heart I. 
 
 ^^ As spring to the fields or as dew to the flow'r, 
 Xq the earth parch'd with heat as the soft-drop- 
 ping show'r^ 
 • As health to the wretch who lies languid and wan, 
 Or'as rest to the weary, — is freedom to man. 
 Where freedom thehght of her countenance gives, 
 There only he revels, -V/iere only he lives. 
 Seize then the glad moment, and hail the decree. 
 That lids millions rejoice, and the people he free ^-^ 
 
 Qui brea,d/ of which the good hostess 
 
442 A great man's justice, 
 
 furnished us with a small portion, (however 
 it was all that she had, as we did not relish 
 the bannoc,) was brought from the town of 
 Stirling, at the distance of about fifty 
 miles. We slept in a spacious handsome 
 bed, in clean and good linen. Indeed our 
 accommodations here were much superior 
 to any with which we had met since our 
 departure from Edinburgh. About seven 
 o'clock in the morning of the thirteenth of 
 August we rose, and obtained water and a 
 towel to wash with ; the first instance that 
 had occurred to us on our tramp, of pro- 
 curing a bason and water in our bed-room, 
 but not soap, whose iis6 seems not to be 
 very generally known in Scotland. 
 
 At the moment of our departure we 
 found that we had not silver enough left 
 to discharge our reckoning. We offered a 
 twenty shilling note which the landlady 
 could not change, and bade us take again, 
 and put in our pockets, declaring, with 
 great cheerfulness and kindness, that we 
 were heartily welcome to the entertain- 
 ment which we had received, and that her 
 only regret was, that she had not been able 
 to provide better for us. We thanked her 
 
A great tnan^s justice. 443 
 
 sincerely for her hospitality and generous 
 conduct, but said, that as in all probability 
 we should never see that spot again, nor 
 have an opportunity of evincing our grati- 
 tude for her kindness, we must beg leave 
 to pay whatever was due. 
 
 At length, after some delay, change for 
 this small note was procured, not without 
 great difficulty, from a little hucksters 
 shop, that was dignified by the title of a 
 merchant's house ; we then paid our bill, 
 and departed, with many a benediction 
 from our excellent hostess. 
 
 Surely this woman deserves a better fate 
 than that of being systematically ground 
 down to powder, by the iron hand of un- 
 relenting oppression^ and being compelled 
 to see and to feel, that all her most unre- 
 mitting industry and unwearied applica- 
 tion could not prevent her little ones, her 
 babes, the children of her love, from ex- 
 periencing all the horrors of despair and of 
 ghastly poverty ! Why is the chill wind of 
 famine suffered to nip her infant blossoms^ 
 and the canker-worm of sorrow to prejr 
 tipon her little buds ere their buttons be 
 unclosed? Why does the rough blast of 
 
41-^ We travel on'^'ard, ' 
 
 cruelty wither their slender stems in the 
 
 morn and liquid dew of youth ? 
 
 We travelled forward in silence, >musing 
 OH the s<;ene of distress which had hitherto 
 ^waited this excellent family, and darkly 
 anticipating when the clouds of misery 
 that hung over their devoted heads were 
 %o burst in thunder and in storm, over- 
 whelming all in one rude crash of ^ deso- 
 lation. My mind was in a gloomy mood ; 
 por did the face of the country present 
 aught of cheerfulness to disperse- the shades 
 of heaviness w^iich darkened all, my soul, 
 and made the current of life flow drearily 
 in its channels. Every. step we took, for 
 many a weary mile onward, the surround- 
 ing scenery assumed a more and more naked 
 appearance, and accelerated its strides to- 
 wards the aching blank of steril defor-^ 
 mlty. Here and there a few miserable 
 firs laboured against the Inclemency of. tire 
 sky and the infa^cundity of the soil ; but 
 they laboured in vain, even to uphft their 
 hardy heads to the sky ; for they drooped 
 in desponding lowliness, and were shorn of 
 their leafy honours. The rallies were bar-^ 
 
tf^e travel onward, 445 
 
 t«n, and the mountains desolate, not even 
 dad with heath, but rough and rude, as if 
 th^y were the skeleton of the creation, the 
 bones of the world. 
 
 Our minds, however, were raised insen- 
 sibly up to a forgetfulness of earth and all 
 its sad reellitics, by listening to the loud 
 tumbling of a torrent from a neighbouring 
 hill. But we were dragged down from the 
 height of some of the most sublime and 
 heavenly sensations that the imagination 
 can conceive, when in a state of wildest 
 frenzy bordering on the indistinctness of 
 delirium, to experience the vilest emotions 
 of disgust, by the horrid scraping of a 
 WTetched fiddler, whose tones of diabolical 
 discordance scared us from the spot, and 
 Jidded all the speed of offended and of irri- 
 tated feelings to our march. This miser- 
 able scraper obtained a scanty and a pre- 
 carious existence by annoying the peace, 
 and by excruciating the ears, of all that 
 were so unfortunate as to come within the 
 sound of his barbarous dissonance. I know 
 not that I ever in my life experienced such 
 acute mental agony as when I was first 
 aw^akened from mv dream of elvslum, as I 
 
44-5 IVe travel onwards 
 
 stood listening to the roar of the torrent, 
 by the grating screak of this man's fiddle- 
 stick, while he tortured the strings of his 
 instrument. 
 
 I know not how it was, but as I walked 
 onward to get beyond the reach of the 
 tormenting musician's notes of horror, 
 some of the finest lines of one of the sub- 
 limest of the songs of the chorus in that 
 inimitable tragedy of Caractacus, rushed 
 into my memory with an instantaneous 
 flash of delight. How they should come 
 there, when the elevating sensations which 
 they produced were as opposite from the 
 emotions excited by the fiddler's tones as 
 heaven is from hell, I shall leave to deeper 
 metaphysicians than I am to discover. But 
 if they w^ill afford the reader a thousandth 
 part of the exquisite pleasure which they 
 diffused through my soul, so as to charm 
 my painful steps over the rough soil, and 
 lap me again in Elysium, he will thank 
 me for their insertion. 
 
 *' Hail thou harp of Phrygian frame ! 
 In years of )ore that Camber bore; 
 From Troy's sepulchral flame 
 
 With antieat Brute to Britain's shore 
 
Wt travel onward. 44? 
 
 The mighty minstrel came; 
 Sublime upon thy burn ish'd prow 
 He bade thy manly notes to flow ; 
 Britain heard the descant bold. 
 She flung her white arms o'er the sea. 
 Proud in her leafy bosom to unfold 
 The freight of harmony. 
 
 *• Mute till then was every plain, 
 
 Save where the flood o'er mountains rude 
 Tumbled his tide amain, 
 
 And echo from th' impending wood 
 Resounded the hoarse strain ; 
 
 While from the North the sullen gale 
 
 With hollow whistlings shook the vale; 
 Dismal notes, and ansvver'd soon 
 
 By savage howl the heaths among, 
 What time the wolf doth bay the trembling 
 moon, 
 
 And thin the bleating tlirong. 
 
 ** Thou spak'st, imperial lyre, 
 
 The rough roar ceas'd, and airs from high 
 
 Rapt the land in ecstacy : 
 
 Fancy, the fairy, with thee came. 
 
 And insplrafion, bright-ey'd dame, 
 
 Oft at thy call, wouid leave her sapphire sky: 
 
 And if not vain the verse presumes. 
 E'en now some chaste divinity is near. 
 
 For, lo ! the sound of distant plumes 
 Pants thro' the pathless desart of the air, - 
 
 'Tis not the flight of her, 
 
 ^Tis sleep her dewy harbinger. 
 
44 S We travel onward. 
 
 Change my harp, change thy measures^ 
 Call ffom thy mcHifluous treasures 
 
 Notes that steal on even feet ; 
 Ever slow, yet never pausing, 
 
 Mix'd with many a warble sweet, 
 Tn a litig'ring cadence closing, 
 While the pleas'd power sinks gently down the 
 
 skies. 
 And seals with hand of down the druid's slum* 
 
 b'ring eyes. 
 
 *' Whence was that inward <rroan ^ 
 Why bursts thro' closed lids the tear > 
 Why uplifts the brisding hair. 
 
 Its white and venerable shade? 
 
 Why down the consecrated head 
 Courses in chilly drops the dew of fear? 
 All is not well ^ the pale-eyM moon 
 Curtains her head in clouds, the stars retire^ 
 
 Save from the sultry South alorte 
 The swart star flings his pestilential fire ; 
 
 E'en sleep herself will fly, 
 
 If not recall'd by harmony. 
 Wake, my lyre, thy softest numbers. 
 Such as nurse ecstatic slumbers, 
 Sweet as tranquil virtue feels 
 
 'lV]ien the toil of life is cndivg, 
 While from the earth the spirit steals, 
 
 And on new-born plumes ascending. 
 
 Hastens to lave in the bright fount of day^ 
 Till destiny prepare a shrine of purer clay/* 
 
 We proceeded, as was our genwal cus* 
 
i^e travel onward. %^^ 
 
 torn when the surrounding scenery w^§ 
 calculated to impress our souls strongly, vS, 
 isiknce, and gave a full indulgence to all 
 the feelings and emotions of " our hearts ; 
 those emotions and feelings Vvhich . scorn 
 all the power of words, and, rnock all the 
 vain attempts of language to express. As 
 we travelled flirther onward ' the-: country 
 wore a milder and a softer aspect, fork 
 here and there had put on the verdani 
 livery of vegetation. We Sv^w at a little 
 distance from the road, on our'" right hand, 
 a lake w^ith a small island iii its centre, 
 containing the ruins of some old building, 
 apparently once a place of worship, and a 
 few trees. We had no means of getting 
 to the island unless we swam to it, and we 
 neither of ns thought bur strength ^qual to 
 such an undertaking. Near this lake, on 
 the opposite side of the road, in a very re- 
 tired spot, stood a lovely little dwelling, 
 situated at the foot of a lofty mountain, 
 w^hose height protected the'^'mailsion from 
 the violence of the w^inters wind 'and rain, 
 and whose sides, nearly h-alf-way* tip to- 
 wards its summit, was clothed Avith firs; 
 its head v/as bare and naked, sullenly 
 VOL. II. G G . '" 
 
450 We travel onward. 
 
 frowning over* the vast tract of desert waste 
 
 that on all sides surrounded it. 
 
 Wc now tui'ncd due west over ikic 
 mountains, and after walking a few hundred 
 paces, met some black-cattle drovers, from 
 "whom wc inquired our way ; but, owing to 
 their not being masters of much English, 
 and our not being in possession of any 
 Erse, we were very little the wiser for any 
 information that we received of them. 
 However, they shook us so violently by the 
 hand that we were in danger of having a 
 limb dislocated, and bade us farewell. 
 
 The rain now descended upon us for the 
 first time since our setting out upon our 
 expedition. We were thoroughly drench- 
 ed in a few minutes, so as not to have a 
 single dry thread about us, whence my diary 
 again suffered, but not very materially, for 
 when its leaves were afterwards dried I 
 found that not a letter was rendered ille- 
 gible. The country was quite desolate, the 
 mountains were clearly perceptible at their 
 base, their middle regions were wrapped 
 in clouds, but their tops were free from all 
 mist and obscurity. A little farther on- 
 ward the country was less dreary and 
 
We travel onward. 451 
 
 wretched ; and a few straggling, solitary, 
 scattered trees showed their blasted and 
 dirninutive forms ; on both sides rough 
 ragged rocks were piled up in dreadful 
 irregularity, and in diversified masses on 
 each other, till they reached the sky. 
 
 All this while the rain continued. The 
 heavens had been dark and gloomy for 
 some time past, and presently the storm' 
 came lowering on upon a thick mass of 
 clouds, till down it fell, and made the 
 torrents tumble from a thousand hills, 
 deafening us with their continued roan 
 The dead pause and the universal silence, 
 a silence that made itself to be felt, just 
 before the storm burst, was truly terrific. 
 
 *^ Tis listening fear and dumb amazement all : 
 When to the startled eye the sudden glance 
 Appears far south, eruptive thro* the cloud. 
 And following slower, in explosion vast. 
 The thunder raises his tremendous voice. 
 At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of heav*n. 
 The tempest growls ; but, as it nearer comes. 
 And rolls its awful burden on the wind. 
 The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more 
 The noise astounds, till overhead a sheet 
 Of livid flame discloses wide, then shuts 
 And opens wider 5 shuts and opens still 
 
 G G i? 
 
452 PVe travel onward. 
 
 Expansive, wrapping aether' in a blaze; 
 Follows the loosen'd aggravated roar, 
 Enlarging, dcep'ning, mingling peal on pcal> 
 Crush horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. . 
 
 *' Down comes a deluge of sonorous hail. 
 
 Or prone-descending rain. Wide rent the clouds 
 Pour a whole flood, and yet its flame unquench'd, 
 Th' unconquerable lightning struggles thro*. 
 Ragged and fierce, or in red whirling balls. 
 And fires the mountains with redoubled rage.*' 
 
 I shall never forget the sensations of 
 solemn awe and of terrible pleasure, which 
 filled my soul when I saw the continued 
 flashes of lightning wheel their vivid course 
 through the divided clouds, and heard the 
 thunder break in frequent peals over my 
 head, and its deafening echoes reverberated 
 from rock to rock. If ever the human 
 heart is lifted up to its God in the fervour 
 and in the purity of devotion, it is in such 
 scenes as these, where it witnesses the 
 mightiness of his power, and prostrates 
 itself with all humihty before the throne of 
 Him that killeth and maketh alive, that 
 abases the proud and exalteth the lowly ! ! ! 
 
 How oft amidst 
 
 Thick clouds and dark, doth heavVs all-ruling 
 Sire 
 
• We travel cnward. 453 
 
 Choose to reside, his glory unobscur'd. 
 And with the majesty of darkness round 
 Covers his throne, from whence deep thunders 
 
 roar 
 Must'ring their rage ! 1" 
 
 At length the rain ceased, and we ar- 
 rived at the brow of a mountain that com- 
 inanded a most extensive view of country/ 
 The colours in the sky were so .various 
 and vivid, the clouds so streaked and tinged 
 with mingling shades of azure, gold,, and- 
 crimson, as to present a picture beyond' all; 
 power of conception enchanting. .' ^It.seem4 
 ed as if. we had been bomccby : a ;magicr 
 wand into a fairy land. : A few. hiornents 
 before, and all around us, '.was* dark and 
 terrific; now we saw nothiiigb\it. cheerful- 
 ness and delight, arid the fair face of hea- 
 ven w^s dressed in ;the most alluring smiles 
 of loveliness and of gaiety, 
 
 ** As from the face of heaven the shattered clouds , 
 Tumuhuous rove, th' interminable sky. 
 SubUmer swells, and o'er the world expands 
 A purer azure. Thro' the lighten'd air 
 A higher lustre and a clearer calrn_, 
 Diffusive tremble, while, as if in sign 
 Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy, 
 
 GG3 
 
454 An affcctbig encounter. 
 
 Set off abundant by the yellow ray. 
 
 Invests the fields, and nature smiles revived.*' 
 
 Wc proceeded on our journey, and, 
 -when the enthusiasm of our minds had 
 subsided, we found that we y^axt wearied, 
 faint, crippled, and heavy with the wet. 
 We, therefore, sate down by the side of a 
 rill, to allay our thirst and to rest our bo' 
 dies. We had not long laid ourselves 
 down before there came by a decent, 
 though verjr poor woman, with two little 
 half-naked children, who were ^lore than 
 three part^ starved. They were not wet, 
 for they had taken shelter under the out- 
 jutting of a rock during the violence of the 
 late storm. Her countenance was the 
 countenance of one that had long since 
 shaken hand* with happiness ; it was 
 deeply marked with the lines of anguish 
 and the furrows of despair. It had once 
 been handsome, it now was haggared with 
 grief and want. She appeared to be about 
 forty, and was clad in many coloured rags, 
 but those rags were so nicely joined that 
 the garb made not an unseemly whole to 
 the eye, cyen oi the squeamish and fasti- 
 
An affecting encounter. 455 
 
 dious. We were neither one nor the 
 other. 
 
 When she saw us reclining against the 
 side of a hill which overhung a pure bub- 
 bling fountain of the clearest water, she ex- 
 - pressed great compassion for our distress, 
 by a look of sympathising tenderness, and 
 in a softened tone of benevolence and good- 
 ness offered us some bannoc and some but- 
 ter, which she took out of a broken bason 
 that was wrapped up in an old rag, Th^ 
 bannoc was blacker than Cowan's hat, and 
 about the size of a small plate ; the butter 
 was nearly as big as my thumb ; it wa^ all 
 the provision the poor woman had ; but 
 she offered it all to her fellow-creatures in 
 distress, although she and her babes wer^ 
 perishing, and knew not where to procure 
 a morsel of food when that little all waj 
 consumed. 
 
 This stupendous effort of liberality in a 
 poor creature, who was, together with her 
 little babes, actually perishing by piec^*^ 
 meal from starvation, roused our curiosity 
 to know something of her history. We, 
 therefore, pleaded, as an excuse for not 
 availing ourselves of her bounty, that, ^l-« 
 6 G 4 
 
4(66' Jft'-^Jfvcffhg eti counter. 
 
 though we were vveary and exhaustedj yet 
 -we were not hungry ; and desiring her to 
 f^t down by our sides, wc began to amuse 
 her with a long story of our /being Ameri- 
 can sailors; wlio had gone through many 'a 
 peril- both by^s^a and^land'; and many a 
 marvellous adventure did we recount. All 
 tliis had' thfe desired effect ; the poor wo-*" 
 rrian listened most attentively to our tale, 
 which beguiled her of an abundance of art- 
 less tears and sobs, the offspring of her 
 compassion for our supposed sufferings. 
 "> Our apparent frankness of communica- 
 tion entirely w^on her confidence, and she 
 related to us her own little story, which 
 was simply and briefly this : — :That she was 
 botn in Glasgow, where she had married 
 a weaver, and had always, during his life, 
 punctually, paid every one his due, and 
 maintained herself and household decently 
 and in comfort. That about three years 
 since her husband died, from which fatal 
 period she had gradually descended from a 
 state of plenty and of contented -happiness, 
 •to the vdry dregs of famine and: of misery : 
 that, by labouring in the fields for the far- 
 -^mers in the-summer, and by spinning in 
 
An affecting encounter, A57 
 
 the winter, she had contrived to earn the 
 bare means of existence for herself and her 
 little ones, till ail her household furni'tmre 
 was sold, and nearly all her clothes gone'? 
 when, about eleven months since> she wai 
 turned out of her' house by the landlord,' 
 for a deficiency of rent-paying, afiA* 'had 
 now nowhere to lay her head.' ' -^^^^^^^ 
 For awhile she received- soup frortl t^he 
 public kitchens of Glasgow, which was a 
 great relief to her ; but being taken ill 
 and unable to work, she was in danger 
 of perishing from want, for she could ob-* 
 tain no means of support. And haviftf V 
 in Glasgow her native city, (perhaps> th^- 
 wealthiest town in all Scotland,) solicited 
 the cold ^ hand of charity in vain,. she,-«s 
 soon as she could muster sufficient strength 
 to crawl, and her babes, -had set out for 
 the Highlands, where they wandered froni 
 hut to hut, entirely ' dependent on the 
 bounty of the Highlanders, whose goodne^ 
 of heart and generosity of disposition were 
 such, that, although they had only a very 
 scanty pittance for themselves, they ..would 
 never suffer a fellow- creature to go unre- 
 
43 S Jn affecting encounter. 
 
 licvcd from their door, while they had half 
 
 a mouthful of provender left. 
 
 This was the poor woman's artless nar- 
 rative, which she went through with much 
 steadiness and composure till she cast a 
 look of hopeless anguish on the emaciated 
 pallid food-imploring countenances of her 
 famished babes ; and this was more than 
 she could bear : her bosom heaved with 
 convulsive throbs, and she burst into an 
 agony of tears, which, however, she en- 
 deavoured to repress at the eager intreaty 
 of her little children, who implored their 
 mammy not to cry, and tried all in their 
 power to comfort her, by taking hold of her 
 gown, looking wistfully and affectionately 
 into her face, and telling her, that God 
 was good, and would help her. 
 
 Even vc\y flint "was softened at this 
 pathetic scene, and albeit unused to the 
 melting mood, I felt the scalding drops of 
 brine burn upon my cheek, while Andrew 
 mused in profoundest silence upon the 
 passing picture of human misery. After a 
 while, the woman grew more composed, 
 and earnestly desired, that \yc would take 
 
An affecting encounter* 459 
 
 the bannoc and butter, because, as she said, 
 we were in greater distress than she was, 
 land that probably she should be able to 
 procure a morsel of bread before sun-set, 
 from some hospitable Highlander. We 
 thanked her for her kindness, but declined 
 the acceptance of her proffered food, telling 
 her, that we were not a hungered, and 
 pould not then eat any thing. 
 
 We then offered her a shilling, which 
 she positively refused to take, saying, that, 
 if we had far to go, we should find the 
 w^nt of that shilling, (which, in the sequel, 
 proved true enough, for we were nearly 
 perishing before we reached home, through 
 a total failure of cash,) and she should ne- 
 Vpr forgive herself if she was the cause of 
 any ii^ischance befalling us, by her lessen- 
 ing our little stock of money. At length, 
 we, with great difficulty, prevailed on her 
 to belieye that we did not want the shil- 
 ling, and she took it, while the tears stood 
 in her eyes ; and she departed from us 
 with a profusion of thanks, declaring, that 
 she had not for many months been in 
 possession of so large a sum. 
 
 Wc felt a sickness at the heart not to be 
 
460. An affecting encounter, 
 
 described, at our inability to relieve this 
 poor creature in the extremity of her dis-f. 
 tress, to think that v<c could only give h^r 
 one beggarly sbillipg, .and even feel th^ 
 want of :t{>fit- paltry, ^i;n^^,, so [much, that, 
 before \\'9, >iho.uld travel another hundred 
 miles, w^jjhad^fiyery. reason to expect that 
 -we should su|Fer most severely, if not perish^- 
 through lack of money -!.!,!.. This thought 
 ■\vas Tnadness.— -But why did this poor wo- 
 man starid in so much need of assistance ? 
 What qriipe had she commift^d that she 
 should be ^^sjtarye4 to death ? Is it thus, by 
 destroying ^the poor> who are the main- 
 pillars ^nd support of every ii^tion, and by 
 adding, for ever adding, to the already too 
 great load of wealth of a very few indivi- 
 duals who are burdens and curses to. the 
 country, because their incomes arise solely 
 from the produce of e:!^cessive taxatipn, fro't^ 
 grievous imposts laid on productive in- 
 dustry, that politicians think to render.^ 
 kingdom flourishing and prosperous? 
 
 Bleed, bleed, poor, country ! 
 
 Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure. 
 
An affecting encounter, 46 1 
 
 'For goodness dares mot' check thee J wear tkou thy 
 
 wrongs, • . . 
 thy title is affeer'd." 
 
 " But, i?i the ivane of empires, mark the hour! 
 
 ' Jf^ice and the szvord consolidate all pow'r'. 
 Laws pass 'their hounds-, few statesmen stand 
 
 erect ; 
 All in their country's name themselves protect; 
 The public hopes with public credit sink — 
 At such an hour, when men to madness think. 
 What is the bard, and what his loftiest strain ? 
 Junius might probe a nation's wounds in vain." 
 
 " Mourn, helpless Caledonia, mourn. 
 Thy banish'd pelce, thy laurels torn ! 
 Thy sons, for valour long renown'd. 
 Lie gasping on their native o-round ; 
 Thy hospitable roofs no more 
 Invite the stranger to the door ^ 
 In smoky ruins sunk they He, 
 The moiiurnents of cruelty . 
 
 "^* lLhQ,waUing ip'idoiu, doomed to death. 
 Forsaken wanders o'er the heath. 
 The bleak wind whistles round hef head^ i i' 
 Her helpless orphans cry for bread', 
 Bereft of shelter, food, and friend. 
 She views the shades of night descend ; 
 And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement .skies,. 
 iVeeps o'er her tender hales, and dies,'* 
 
 But if it is vain to call upon the states- 
 
 7 
 
46^ yftt afectiu^ encounter^ 
 
 man td feel for and to redress the wrongs 
 of ail injured and an oppressed people ; 
 (upon the statesman, who thinks only of 
 enriching and of aggrandizing himself, of 
 swelling the coffers of his master till they 
 burst ; of heaping titles, and places, and 
 pensions, without number and without 
 count, upon his friends and dependents^ 
 while he utterly overlooks and despises the 
 poor, from whose vitals are drained the 
 means which support all these pensions, 
 and places, and titles, and treasures, and 
 enormous exaltation of the few;) will it be 
 also in vain to appeal to the mercy and to 
 the charity of those individuals who are 
 blessed with wealth ? If ye have hitherto 
 wasted your substance in all the round of 
 fashionable folly, and of modish vice; if ye 
 have sought for happiness in the glittering 
 of a midnight ball, or amidst the tawdry 
 trappings of a court ; if ye have looked for 
 her in the hurry and confusion of a rout, 
 in the lengthened files of hired attendants, 
 in the splendour of equipage, and in the 
 ostentation of apparel, in the meanness and 
 the profligacy of dicing depredation, in the 
 seduction of injured and of unsuspecting 
 
Jh affecting encounter. 4^3 
 
 innocence, in the broad and shameless dis-* 
 play of adulterous infamy ; if in all these, 
 and more than all these, pursuits, ye have 
 followed after happiness, and she hath still 
 eluded your grasp : breathe awhile from 
 your debauch, awake from your sleep of 
 death, and woo the approach of bliss by 
 administering help and comfort to the sick 
 and needy, by wiping away the tears of 
 sorrow and of anguish from the eyes of the 
 forsaken and the fatherless ; and by causing 
 the widow's heart to leap for joy, and her 
 countenance to beam with the smiles of 
 cheerfulness and of sweet content ! ! ! 
 
 Listen to the strains of the bard, whose 
 song breathes the sentiments of mercy and 
 of benevolence, and while you listen learn, 
 by doing good, to be happy ; for the great 
 Creator hath ordained that man shall find 
 his way to the temple of felicity by no 
 other path than that of imparting blessings 
 and aid to his fellow- creatures ! ! ! 
 
 ** Ah ! little think the gay licentious proud. 
 
 Whom pleasure, power, and affluence, surround ; 
 They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, 
 ^nd ivanlon, often cruel y riot ivaste ; 
 Ah ! little think they, while they dance along,^ 
 
4^4 '^n affecting encounter. 
 
 How many feci, this very moment, deatli, 
 And all the sad variety of pain ! 
 How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms, 
 Shut from the common air, and common use 
 Of their own limbs ; how many drink the cup 
 Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 
 Of misery ! Sore ])ierc'd by wintry winds 
 Hozv many shrink into tlie sordid hut 
 Of cheerless poverty I Did rich men think 
 Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills 
 That one incessant struggle tender lifcj 
 One scene, of toil, of suffering, and of fate; 
 Vice in his high career would stand appal'd. 
 And heedless rambling impulse learn to think', 
 The conscious heart oi cliariiy would warm. 
 And her wide wish hencvolence dilate; 
 The social tear would rise, the social sie^b. 
 And into clear perfection, gradual Hiss, . 
 Refning still, the social passions ivork! IT* 
 
 We now rose from "our seat where we 
 had listened to the tale of wo, which the 
 poor woman had related to us, and pro- 
 ceeded on our journey. All around us was 
 in unison with our feelings, for all around 
 was gloomy and cheerless. The country 
 was barren, rough, and rugged, and the 
 sun in vain endeavoured to dispel the 
 mountain mist, which hung in murky sul- 
 lenness on the hills, and slowly floated on 
 the vales beneath. 
 
A specimen of genteel hospitality, 465 
 We Inquired, but to no purpose, for an 
 inn, both because the very few people that 
 "we met understood naught save the Gaelic 
 tongue, and because the inns or public- 
 houses have no signs to direct the traveller 
 where he may hope to find refreshment, 
 as is generally the custom in other coun- 
 tries. As we travelled onward the count- 
 try became more beautiful, the Tallies smil- 
 ed with verdure, and the torrents tumbled 
 down their tides from all the neighbour- 
 ing hills. From the side of "one rugged 
 rock I counted thirteen torrents spouting 
 down one above another, and all losing 
 their united streams at the base of the 
 mountain, in the channel of the rivulet, 
 which wound its way along its stony bed 
 throughout the course of the glen or deep 
 valley benea^.h. 
 
 At length we saw a neat clean-looking 
 mansion, v/hose tiling some workmen were 
 repairing ; of them we asked where an inn 
 might be found, and received for answer, 
 a sentence of unintelligible Erse, accom- 
 panied with a broad grin. While v>'e were 
 accosting these people, and receiving re- 
 plies, all to no purpose, as we understood 
 
 VOL. II, H H 
 
466 A specimen cf genteel hosptality, 
 not each other, out came a tall, powder-. 
 pated, pock-marked man, dressed in plaid, 
 with a pair of spectacles on his nose, and a 
 newspaper in his hand; at a little distance 
 behind, in the passage near the threshold 
 of the door, stood a short, pale, dismally- 
 looking woman, arrayed in yellow. I im- 
 mediately pulled off my cap, and made a 
 gentle inclination of my body forward, 
 which salutation the gentleman returned 
 with a very stiff and sullen bow, and a 
 most rigid, surly, repelling visage.. 
 
 I then apologized for having been the 
 occasion of putting him to the trouble of 
 coming out of the house, and told him, 
 that we were strangers travelling to sec 
 and to enjoy the beautiful scenery of the 
 country, and having walked on nearly the 
 whole of the day over a very rough and 
 rugged road without any refreshment, we 
 were faint and worn down, and not knowr 
 ing where we were, or .what course to steer, 
 we had taken the liberty of asking his 
 workmen w^here we might find an inn ; but 
 that, owing to our not understanding the 
 Erse language, w^e were not the wiser foi; 
 the question wh^ch we had put^ or for the 
 
A specimen of genteel hospitality, 467 
 answer which we had received. Our 
 stately gentleman very graciously vouch- 
 safed to tell us that there was a public- 
 house about a mile farther onward, where 
 perhaps- we might be able to get some re- 
 freshment. Saying which he immediately 
 turned his back upon us, marched into the 
 house, shut the door, and went into a par- 
 lour, whose window looked into the yard 
 where wx were, and in which parlour we 
 savv that the table was spread out all in 
 order for dinner. 
 
 I stepped up to the window directly, 
 pulled off my cap, made a very low bow, 
 and thanked him for his great kindness 
 and polite attention ; I also made my obei- 
 sance to the good lady in yellow, his wife, 
 who was sitting down at the table, anc^ 
 marched off. 
 
 This reception was so entirely consonant 
 with the true principles of hospitality an4 
 politeness, so exactly what we might ex- 
 pect from a gentleman, that I cannot for- 
 bear from presenting this august personage 
 as an exemplar worthy of being followed 
 and copied by all those who wish to be- 
 have to strangers in the very best style of 
 H H ^ 
 
458 A specimen of genteel hospitality. 
 urbanity and of kindness. This respect- 
 able and dignified member of the com- 
 munity was Campbell laird of Glenfarloch, 
 the valley in which his house stood, and 
 which v/e were then traversing ; he had 
 been an officer in the army, and had mar- 
 ried an English woman. -— 
 
 The treatment which we met with 
 from this redoubtable hero recalled forcibly 
 to my recollection a similar reception 
 w^hich I had once the honour of experi- 
 encing from the wife of Abernethy Drum- 
 mond, one of the titular bishops of the 
 episcopalian church in Scotland, at Haw- 
 thornden, the seat of the celebrated poet 
 William Drummond, whom Ben Jonson, 
 the author of the Fox, and the Alchymist, 
 travelled on foot from England to visit. 
 About twelvemonths since, soon after I 
 first went to Scotland, a very intimate 
 friend of mine and I went to survey the 
 ruins of Rossellne Abbey, distant about 
 seven or eight miles from Edinburgh. 
 After viewing these noble remains of an- 
 tient architecture with much satisfaction, 
 we descended to the river at the foot of 
 
A specimen ^genteel hospitality. 4^9 
 the hljl on which the abbey I^ situated, and 
 determined to follow its winding track. 
 
 A^'^^^^^^o^y ^^ walked, or rather crept> 
 on by the edge of the river, whose sides 
 were steep and nearly perpendicular, and 
 clothed v.- ith wood ; but we were soon 
 compelled to begin to wade in the water, 
 because our path by the side now became 
 altogether impervious. For two or three 
 hours we amused ourselves most delectably^ 
 by sometimes advancing and sometimes 
 stopping to contemplate the graceful foli- 
 age of a pendent willow% that drooped its 
 head over the stream ; the weeping of at 
 silent rill from the rock ; or the rude over- 
 jutting of the fragment of a rifted hill. 
 
 After awhile, however, we became 
 wxary, and not very well satisfied, because 
 we knew nothing of our way, or where 
 we were going ; add to this that the shades 
 of night began to thicken around us, and to 
 shroud all the objects of sight in the misti- 
 ness of obscurity. At length, when the 
 darkness had thrown a ^Droader browner 
 horror on the surrounding scenery, we 
 found ourselves at the foot of a most ro- 
 apnantic building, situated on a lofty rock. 
 
 H H 3 
 
470 A specimen of genteel hospitality. 
 Opposite to the mansion, across the water, 
 in which we were standing, rose an ele- 
 vated ridge of hills, adorned with wood 
 from the base to the summit. 
 
 We were not very willing to proceed 
 any farther in the river, not only because 
 we w^ere cold, and wet, and weary, but 
 because we should probably flounder into 
 some deep hole in the river, and be drown- 
 ,ed ; that there were such holes in the 
 river we knew, because we had managed 
 to avoid three or four already in our pas- 
 sage, by the aid of the light; but now that 
 it was too dark to see whether the water 
 was deep or shallow, for half ten yards 
 before us, we did not choose to hazard 
 our carcases by a more lengthened wa- 
 tery expedition, not to mention that we 
 knew not w^here we were going, or in 
 what direction the river ran, and how long 
 we might be compelled to wade if we at- 
 tempted to follow its course. 
 
 We, therefore, set up a loud shout, in 
 
 order to obtain some assistance by which 
 
 » wx might find our way out of the river. 
 
 Presently appeared^ upon the battlements 
 
 above, some female forms, arrayed in white. 
 
A specimen cf genteel hospitality, 4 7 1 
 We ceased from farther vociferation, and 
 stood awhile contemplating the pleas- 
 ing-effect which the white drapery had 
 when seen at such a distance and by such 
 an obscure light, and gave our imaginations 
 full play and scope to decorate the wear- 
 ers of these robes in all the beauty and 
 loveliness of the angel's floating pomp, 
 and seraph's glowing grace. We wxre 
 roused from our reverie by the sudden ap- 
 pearance of a little ragged boy, who had 
 come down a winding- path which led 
 from the top of the rock to the water's 
 side ; this young gentleman bawled out to 
 us in the broad Doric dialect, — And are ye 
 wat?— When we had, with great truth, 
 assured him that we were wet, he led us 
 up to the house along the winding path- 
 way. We saw on our arrival at the top 
 of the rock, walking under the venerable 
 avenue of trees before the mansion, an old 
 lady dtessed in black silk, and a gentlewo- 
 man in w^hite, who was fat, fair, and 
 forty. 
 
 My friend stepped up, and addressed the 
 corpulent female, w^ho w^as the heiress of 
 Drummond, and had married Dr. Abcr- 
 
 H H 4 
 
47^-3 ^specimen ^genteel hospitality, 
 
 nethy, a bishop of the Lutheran church in 
 Scotland ; he told her that we were both 
 English gentlemen, who had come out in 
 the morning from Edinburgh, to see the 
 abbey at Rosseline, and that we had wan- 
 dered down the river till night-fall, when 
 we found ourselves at the foot of the rock 
 on which her mansion stood, and that we 
 had taken the liberty to call out loudly 
 for assistance, in order to be extricated 
 from our unpleasant situation, and to be 
 directed how to find our way to Edinburgh, 
 as we were entire strangers to the country. 
 - — The good lady heard him out, and then 
 very cooly told him, that if he would go 
 directly up the avenue, and turn to the 
 left, he could not mistake bis way, as it 
 was all turnpike road till he came to Edin- 
 burgh, which was rather more than eight 
 miles distant from her house. 
 
 We bowed lowly, and thanked the good', 
 lady for her kindness, and made the best 
 of our way home, for it was then nearly 
 eleven o'clock at night. So much for the 
 hospitality of Glenfarloch and Madam 
 Drummond, whose souls, I presume, are 
 cast in tod fine a -fnould to be troubled 
 
We approach Locb- Lomond. 473 
 
 with any of the plebeian feelings of civility, 
 of kindness, and of humanity. Otherwise, 
 perhaps, they might have found it in their 
 hearts to offer, at least, the semblance of 
 compassion, and to do something towards 
 alleviating the inconveniences under which 
 two strangers laboured. 
 
 After traversing a very long mile from 
 Glenfarloch's house we came to a dreary 
 vagabond inn without any sign, where- w^e 
 were nearly poisoned by heath-smoke and 
 other filth . We were shown into a room, 
 iarge> very dirty, with two unroofed beds 
 in it, a, wooden deling, rough and un- 
 plastered, and some wooden stools and a 
 table that appeared not to have undergone 
 any w^ashing since the days of Ossian and 
 his father Fingal, for whom, by all ac- 
 counts, such accommodations would have 
 well suited. It was not without reason 
 that Glenfarloch had said, that perhaps we 
 might get some refreshment at this house, 
 for when we asked the shoeless, stocking- 
 less, dirty, and middle-aged hostess, what 
 we could have for dinner, we received a 
 long catalogue of negatives as to the dif- 
 ferent kinds of food for which we inquired. 
 
4 7 4* JVe approach Loch -Lomond* 
 
 At length, she got for us something 
 which she called hung mutton, tried, but 
 it appeared, as to taste, and for any nutri- 
 tion that it contained, to be merely thin 
 slips of tough dried neat's-leather, most 
 abundantly laden with salt. One mouth- 
 ful of this delicious fare so effectually satis- 
 fied us, that I know not if actual starvation 
 could have induced lis to vetiture on a 
 second; neither Could we swallow thd 
 bannoc with any degree of gout, although 
 tve were nearly fariiished for want of food. 
 By dint of long-continued solicitation we 
 prevailed on her to provide us with a boiled 
 egg apiece, and thus we made our dinner 
 to be somewhat less of the starving order 
 than it otherwise would have been- 
 
 We asked for some sweetmeats,- — we 
 might with equal propriety have asked 
 for some ottah of roses, — the woman went 
 out of the room immediately, saying she 
 would fetch us some, and soon thereafter 
 returned with a very small bowl of sour 
 milk, telling us that we could not know 
 what it was to have sweet milk in Ame- 
 rica. At this unseasonable mistake of the 
 woman, Andrew, who, considering that he 
 
JVe approach Loch-Lmond, A7^ 
 
 is a philosopher, loves to indulge his .palate 
 as much as a;ny man Lknow, was some- 
 ^vhat disconcerted. He had been anticipat- 
 ing, with no small glee, the pleasure of swal- 
 lowing something nice; and when' he saw 
 the sour curdled milk, he grew very impa- 
 tient, and, squeezing an uhUsu^l portion of 
 acid into his visage, declared that this old 
 hag had a design upon our lires by bring- 
 ing us such filth. 
 
 ''In addition to the comforts of such a 
 meal, we had also the -supreme felidty of 
 the company and conversation of our host- 
 ess during the, greatest part of our' stay at 
 her house. She asked Us many a sagacious 
 question, of-— who we were, w^hether we 
 were married or not, what we did with our 
 wives, and if we made good husbands, 
 what calling we followed in America, to 
 >vhat clan we belonged, &c, &c. To all 
 which she received appr^opr-iate answers. 
 She then, in her- turn^ began to deal out 
 an abundance of information to us. She 
 -told us that the English were a very fat 
 big people, but ?io civil and polite as her 
 countrymen ; and that the Irish were • a 
 
476 We approach Loch-Lomond. 
 
 sad, drunken, quarrelsome set, and no bet- 
 ter than barbarians. She likewise said/ 
 that she did not know whether Glenfar- 
 loch was of the Argyll Campbells, but she 
 was sure he was not of the duke*s clan. 
 
 After having rested ourselves awhile, 
 we departed from our tiresome talkative 
 hostess, from whose conversation we could 
 obtain nothing either instructive or amus- 
 ing, it was all made up of the tedious 
 gabble of childish curiosity and credulous 
 ignorance. We walked for rather more 
 than an hour, when we laid ourselves 
 down upon a little low broken wall which 
 stood over a glen, at whose foot the gentle 
 murmuring of a rivulet lulled us to sleep. 
 It was a sweet retired spot, far from any 
 habitation of man, and embosomed in 
 trees. We looked awhile at the stream 
 that stole along its pebbly bed, and wound 
 its way over, and by the side of the roots, 
 which stretched their twisted fibres across 
 the whole of the channel, and were often 
 blended with those that spread from the op- 
 posite bank; and while we looked, the gentle 
 influence of slumber diffused itself over all 
 
TFe approach Loch-Lomond. An 
 
 our senses, and we lost all perception of 
 pur cares in the Jap of oblivion, 
 
 *^ This current that with gentle piurmuF glides. 
 Thou know'st being stopp'd, impatiently doth r^ge; 
 But when his fair course is not hindered. 
 He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stojiesj, 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage} 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays^ 
 With willing sport to the wild ocean. 
 Thus let me go, and hinder not my course ; 
 ril be as patient as a gentle stream. 
 And make a pastime of each weary step. 
 Till the last step has brought me to my home 5 
 And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil, 
 A blessed soul doth in Elysium/' 
 
 We awoke from our slumber refreshed 
 and cheerful, and had not travelled on far 
 before we obtained a view of Loch-Lo- 
 mond, which presented a much more va- 
 ried scenery, from its number of little tuf- 
 ted islands, than did Loch-Tay ; it showed 
 less of art and more of nature. At Loch- 
 Tay Breadalbane's hand was visible (in 
 more ways than one) ; here we recognised, 
 at every glance, the bold magnificence of 
 that plastic power by which all things 
 were created. The torrents were gushing 
 
473 tVe approach Loch-Lomond* 
 
 from all the hills that reared their bare 
 and perpendicular and rugged heads into 
 the clouds, their tops ascended the sky ; 
 the banks of the lake were a little fringed 
 xVith Avood ; the road, as it wound Itself 
 among the hills, now discovered a small 
 portion of the loch; then suffered a broad 
 expanse of waters to burst upon our en- 
 raptured sight, and anon hid all the beau- 
 ties qf this enchanting stream from our 
 inquiring eyes : the mist, that hung around 
 the summits of the mountains on which 
 it floated in all the majesty of darkness, 
 heightened the pleasing ^nd soul-exalting 
 effect of the prospect. 
 
 i\s wx approached Tarbut, there ap- 
 peared some marks of cultivation, and 
 more of wood was seen, and the scenery 
 was more exquisitely vivid. We plucked 
 some fine and fragrant honey-suckles by 
 the side of the loch, oi> whoae banks we 
 pursued our journey. 
 
 Cowan wished much to witness an 
 Irish scejie ; and, although born in Ireland 
 himself, insisted, that I, who never was in 
 the country in my life, should undertake 
 to give the brogue at the next inn where 
 
We approach Loeh-Lomond, 479 
 
 -we were to stop, while he, according to 
 custom, remained altogether taciturn. Jrx 
 vain I objected to this absurd proposal, and 
 represented to *him, that neither the Irish 
 nor the English were much liked bj the 
 Scots, who, indeed, generally despised 
 them both as little better than ignorant 
 and illiterate barbarians. I told him, that 
 we should be treated better as Americans, 
 because they were favourites with the 
 Scottish nation ; and, what was of much 
 more consequence, be able to see more of 
 the distinguishing traits and feature of the 
 people, who would flock round xis to ask 
 and to tell all that they knew and wanted 
 to know. All this sapient sagacity of 
 mine was thrown away upon philosopher 
 Cowan, who, with the most perseverous 
 obstinacy, persisted in his first scheme, 
 wherefore 1 submitted. 
 
 ^* Ego, ut contendere durum est 
 Cum victore, sequor. 
 
 Parere necesse est; 
 
 Nam quid agas^ cum te furiosus cogat, et idem 
 Fortior?" 
 
 *' I, when my friend Is obstinately bent 
 On his own \\ay, to follow am content. 
 
480 IVe pass a nigbt at Tarbut, 
 
 For what remains, when Andrew's lack of wii 
 Scorns to hear reason's voice, — but to submit/' 
 
 Accordingly to Tarbut, as two vagabond 
 Irishmen, we came ; and, entering a very 
 spacious and commodious inn, I stepped 
 up to the landlady, a decent woman, whom 
 I met in the passage, and, with a tone and 
 manner as of one lately dipped in the 
 Shannon stream, addressed her with, — 
 Armhy Madam, and can I he after taking a 
 little bit of a sJape withy&u to-nigJit ^ — The 
 woman stared, as well she might, and, 
 turning away, deigned not to make any 
 reply; her husband answered very drily, 
 that we might have beds in his house if 
 we meant to pay for them. We assured 
 him that we did, and ojdered tea to be 
 gotten ready, w^hik we went cjown to 
 bathe in the loch. 
 
 The consequence of our being Hiberni- 
 ans was exactly what I had foretold. For 
 the people, instead of crowding round us, 
 as usual, to ask questions, and to tell us all 
 that they knew, suffered us to talk Irish to 
 ourselves all the evening, without the least 
 interruption, so that we had but a bknk 
 
PFe pass a night at Tar hut, 481 
 
 night of it. Andrew fell asleep in his chair, 
 and snored for my amusement, while I 
 wrote in my diary, and read a few pages in 
 a little pocket Terence that had accom* 
 panied me throughout my journey, but had 
 lain unheeded in my knapsack ever since 
 our night at Dundee, when we were in- 
 terrupted in the middle of a long criticism 
 on him and on Plautus, by the unseason- 
 able entrance of the justices. Not a single 
 human being entered our room save the 
 girl, who got us our tea and breakfast, and 
 made our beds ; for here, for the first time, 
 we had a bed a-plece. 
 
 Our accommodations were very good, 
 and we had abundance of every thing that 
 we w^anted ; our room was neat and well 
 furnished, and the windows ran upon pul- 
 lies, a thing which we had not seen before 
 since the commencement of our journey. 
 The charge, however, was just double of 
 what we had hitherto paid for an abode of 
 the same length of time, which to us was 
 an evil of no small moment in the waning 
 state of our finances. But we could not 
 complain, as the entertainment was excel- 
 lent, and as the place was situated in the 
 
 VOL. II. I I 
 
4S2 tVe tra'del onward. 
 
 vicinage of the Lowlands, where every ar- 
 ticle of convenience or of necessity is dearer 
 than in the mountainous up-lands. 
 
 We arc both fully satisfied with this spe- 
 cimen of Irlclsm, and are determined not 
 to be Hibernians any more, but to con- 
 tinue Americans till we get back to Edin- 
 burgh ; particularly as the town of Dun- 
 barton, which lies dlredly In our road, is 
 full of soldiers, and our unhappy tw^ang 
 and dialed: may cause us to be suspected as 
 Wexford rebels, and occasion us much 
 trouble In our present state of distress, from 
 bodily exhaustion, and an almost evanescent 
 purse. 
 
 The view from the windows towards 
 the loch was beautiful. We stayed a few 
 hours later than we had intended on the 
 morning of the 14th, till the rain, which ^ 
 had poured down in sheets nearly all tlie 
 night, was abated ; and then w^e sheered off 
 to the great apparent joy of the host and 
 hostess, w^ho regarded us with looks of no 
 little unkindness and suspicion, never once 
 bidding us farewell, or expressing the least 
 interest in our welfare. 
 
 We walked- on utterly forgetful of the 
 
fVe travel onward. 483- 
 
 host and hostess, and every other reality of 
 life ; we were totally absorbed in the con- 
 templation of the unutterable beauties of 
 the surrounding scenery. The mountains 
 on our right hand wxre rugged, barren, un- 
 clouded by any obscurity, and pouring 
 down their torrents from innumerable rifts 
 in their time-vvorn sides; on our left, the 
 hills were clothed, nearly to their base, in 
 mist. As we pursued our march through. 
 a winding road overshadowxd by trees, the 
 loch presented new beauties at every step, 
 and at length blest our eyes with a prospect 
 sublimely grand. A Vast expanse of water, 
 calm and unruffled, stretched far beyond 
 the reach of our ken, and rolled its mild, 
 benignant streams round numberless little 
 islands, 
 
 Whose verdure clad 
 
 Their tufted sides with ever-pleasant green, 
 And herbs of every leaf that sudden flower'd. 
 Opening their various colours, and made gay 
 Their bosoms smelling sweet;" 
 
 and, far beyond all, arrayed in mist, the lofty 
 
 mountains reared their bleak majestic heads. 
 
 It Z 
 
484 IVe travel onward, 
 
 ** What various scenes thy wandering waves behold^ 
 As bursting from their hundred springs they stray? 
 And down the vales, in sounding torrents roll'd. 
 Seek to old Ocean's bed their rna2y way ! 
 
 •' Here dusky alders, leaning from the cliflTj 
 
 Dip their long arms, and wave their branches wide; 
 There, as the loose rocks ihwart iny bounding skiff. 
 White moon-beams tremble on thy foaming tide. 
 
 ** Flow on, ye waves, where Nature's wildest child, 
 
 Frowninor incumbent o'er the darken'd floods, 
 Hock rear'd on rock, on mountain mountain pil'd, 
 Ben Lomond sits, and shakes his crown of woods/* 
 
 We bathed in the loch, and found the 
 water, although not deep, extremely buoy- 
 ant, fully as much so as the waves of the 
 sea. We now began to find that we were 
 leaving the land of kiilt, and entering upon 
 ^ country of breeches, not so much by cast- 
 ing our eye upon the men a posteriori, but 
 from the very different mode of recep- 
 tion which we experienced. The High- 
 landers, for the most part, had been open, 
 unsuspecting, kind, and hospitable; but in 
 general the Low-landers received us with 
 coldness and suspicion, hesitatingly, and 
 often unkindly. 
 
 We came to the inn at Lush, where wc 
 
fVe travel onward, 485 
 
 were put into a good room, carpeted, and 
 tolerably furnished, commanding a most de- 
 licious view of a well-wooded spot, through 
 whose interstices, at several openings, 
 peeped a portion of the lake, and here and 
 there uprose the spire of some building, 
 among which that of the church, and the 
 top of the neat little parsonage, particularly 
 attracted our notice and admiration; and, 
 beyond all, a chain of irregularly high 
 mountains terminated our prospect. 
 
 We found our bowels so dolefully twisted 
 and tormented by the sorry and uncertain 
 diet on which we had fed, that I told 
 Cowan we were now in a proper state to 
 become the disciples of that great father of 
 the church, St. Jerom, who strenuously 
 recommends abstinence, both as to food 
 and liquor, and gives this remarkable reason 
 for it. 
 
 ^yNo7i quod Detis intestinorum nostrorum 
 rugitu delect etur^ sed quod aVtter pudicitm tut a 
 esse non potest,^'' 
 
 "Itis not thatGod is particularly delight- 
 ed to hear the rumllmg of our hitestines, but 
 that chastity cannot otherwise be safe." 
 Andrew, who cares not a pinch of snufF 
 i ^3 
 
486 tVe ti-cvcel cuivnrd. 
 
 for the fathers of the church, nor the sons 
 either, very devoutly damned poor St. 
 Jerom for a blockhead, and expressed a 
 jnost unfeigned desire for some food, where- 
 with to appease the cravings of his stomach, 
 ^nd to silence the murmurs of his belly. 
 After some little discourse on the subject 
 we came to a full determination that we 
 would never again travel in this manner 
 without a large wadding of solid opium in 
 our pockets, the want of which we sorely 
 yued, as we sat writhing our bodies, and 
 making divers hideous contortions of counte- 
 nance, and ghastly grinnlngs at each other, 
 A sad noisy, strapping, blustering wench 
 waited upon us, and (after banging the 
 door every time she went out of the room, 
 with a noise resembling thunder, and by an 
 unlucky bounce of by far the largest mem- 
 ber of her body, upsetting me and beating 
 Cowan out of his chair) brought us some 
 excellent tart and mutton, which should 
 have been eaten, could it ever have been 
 swallowed, at least a week before we had 
 the misfortune to have more than one sense 
 disgusted by its presence ; vile, filthy water, 
 tolerable porter,, good butter and cheese^ 
 
Smollet touched on, 487 
 
 'and the dirtiest table-cloth that ever martal 
 ejes beheld. 
 
 We dined, and marched on; our host was 
 very civil and directed us on our road. We 
 lost the loch aw^hile, but soon saw it again ; 
 the country became less hilly, more culti- 
 vated, and somewhat thickly studded with 
 gentlemen's seats and villas, and the loch 
 abounded in islands. As we passed on we 
 saw a very neat but not a large house^ in 
 which the celebrated Smollet was born. 
 As Smollet is a writer from whom I have 
 received much delight, and some mischief, 
 I shall, as concisely as may be, offer a few 
 remarks on him. 
 
 Smollet's genius was undoubtedly of the 
 highest cast, and of the most extensive 
 comprehension. As an historian, a novelist, 
 and a poet, he ranks among the foremost 
 sons of fame. All his produftions bear the 
 stamp of a mighty mind. His history, 
 though a mere bookseller's job, and written, 
 as indeed were most of his works, care- 
 lessly and in haste, evinces the hand of a 
 master. The style is flowing, easy, and 
 not deficient in strength ; his charafters are 
 
 II 4 
 
488 Smollet touched 011, 
 
 well drawn, and his observations acute and 
 shrewd. It is to be lamented that his 
 powerful mind w^as bent down and warped 
 by an attachment to party ; because this 
 unlucky bias has induced him to view men 
 and things, with regard to politics, not 
 through the telescope of truth, but through 
 the spe6lacles of prejudice. 
 
 His Ode to Independence breathes the 
 true spirit of poetry, and causes us to re- 
 gret that he did not pay more attention to 
 the muses, since they were so propitious 
 to his suit whenever he deigned to implore 
 their aid. But in his novels he has shown 
 forth his greatest strength ; they abound 
 with wit and humour, and ppurtray his ac- 
 curate and extensive knowledge of man- 
 kind and of the human heart. In some 
 few places he is pathetic, beyond all writers 
 that I know ; and it is much to be wished 
 that he had exercised this invaluable talent 
 of softening and refining the heart more 
 frequently. Such scenes as that where he 
 describes the agony of the young German's 
 soul at the thought of losing Monimia in 
 Count Fathom, and the Monument scene, 
 and some others, are infinitely to be pre-^ 
 
Smollet touched on, 439 
 
 ferred to all the coarseness of his humour, 
 when he descends into the dirt of mortality, 
 and rakes the very kenneh" for filth, because 
 they mend the morals while they touch 
 the heart. 
 
 He certainly wanted that vigour of mind 
 that is the parent of prudence and discre- 
 tion, and without which, talents, however 
 splendid, and acquirements, however great, 
 serve only to render the possessor miserable, 
 to raise the compassion of the benevolent, 
 and to excite the malignant triumph of fools, 
 who very charitably and exultlngly impute 
 those failings to the possession of a superior 
 understanding, which always originate from 
 deficiency of intelledt in some material 
 point. 
 
 Hence, with abilities that might have 
 performed any thing within the grasp of 
 human capacity, that might have led armies 
 to victory, might have shaken a guilty 
 senate with the thunder of im.passioned 
 and energetic eloquence, or instructed man- 
 kind in the great moral and religious duties, 
 he passed his life in continual alternations 
 of abundance and of poverty ; one while 
 scattering his wealth with the m.ost heed- 
 
490 Smollet touched en, 
 
 less profusion, and contemptibly indis- 
 crimlnating prodigality; at another time, 
 struggling against all the accumulated mise- 
 ries of penury and want, of fierce and lace- 
 rated pride, of ncgled:, of disease, of anguish, 
 and of despair; he ended a hfc of wretched- 
 ness by a death of wo, and left his widow 
 a beggar among aliens and strangers. 
 
 A most amusing and instructive life of 
 Smollet might be written, if a man of en- 
 larged and comprehensive views, one who 
 had investigated the human mind, and kept 
 his eye steadily bent on the means of pro- 
 moting the virtue and happiness of man- 
 kind, would undertake the task. No species 
 of writing; is better calculated to render the 
 most essential benefit to the human race 
 than wcU-diredled biography, containing a 
 -developement of the heart, and philosophical 
 inquiries founded on the broad and durable 
 basis of reason and of truth. But where is 
 such biography to be found ? Excepting 
 Samuel Johnson, Roscoe, and Currie of 
 Liverpool, I recollect not any biographers 
 in the English language who have done 
 justice to this kind of writing. They, for 
 the most part, present us with a string of 
 
Smollet touched on. ,4^1 
 
 anecdotes, from which little or nothing 
 of the individuars heart can be discovered. 
 We are not carried into his closet and his 
 chamber to see how he discharges his do- 
 mestic duties, by what means he improves 
 and strengthens his mind, and what were 
 the causes which promoted or retarded his 
 progress in virtue. Things that are the 
 most Interesting and most necessary to be 
 known, because they afford the means of 
 increasing the povs^er of diffusing more 
 widely knowledge among mankind, by 
 setting people to think, by rousing their 
 intellects into action, and calling Into play 
 those faculties of the mind, on the right 
 exercise of which depends all the happiness 
 of man here and hereafter. 
 
 But I have a still stronger obje(5lIon to 
 make against this amazingly transcendent 
 and abundantly endowed writer. .His 
 works surely seem not to be written for th^ 
 sole purpose of prornoting truth an-cl the 
 improvement of mankind ; of showing that 
 ignorance is vice, and vice is misery; that 
 knowledge is virtue, and virtue happiness. 
 He represents characters pf Immorality and 
 gf dissipation without teaching us to abhor 
 
4^2 SmoUet touched on, 
 
 them ; he bestows upon them all the allure- 
 ments of wit and the splendour of genius; 
 he gives them the loftiness of courage and 
 the irresistible attractions of mildness and 
 benevolence. 
 
 But every writer, particularly every 
 writer such as Smollet, whose works are 
 so replete with excellencies, that they will 
 be always universally read, should remem- 
 ber that he does an injury to mankind if 
 he brands not vice with inflimy, and arrays 
 not virtue in all her native loveliness ; that 
 he then becomes a pander to lewdness, and 
 propagates all the horrors of the daemon of 
 lust. 
 
 Let these memorable words of the great 
 moralist, whose only aim was to give ardour 
 to virtue and confidence to truth, never be 
 forgotten. 
 
 " In narratives, where historical veracity 
 has no place, I cannot discover why there 
 should not be exhibited the most perfed 
 idea of virtue ; of virtue not angelical, nor 
 above probability, for what we cannot 
 credit we shall never imitate; but the 
 highest and purest that humanity can reach ; 
 which, exercised in such trials as the various 
 
PVe meet a Volunteer Officer. 493 
 
 revolutions of things shall bring upon it, 
 may, by conquering some calamities and 
 enduring others, teach us what we may 
 hope, and what we can perform. Vice, for 
 vice is necessary to be shown, should always 
 disgust ; nor should the graces of gaiety, 
 or the dignity of courage, be so united with 
 it, as to reconcile it to the mind. Where- 
 ever it appears, it should raise hatred by 
 the malignity of its praftlces, and con- 
 tempt by the meanness of its stratagems : 
 for, while it is supported by either parts or 
 spirit, it will be seldom heartily abhorred. 
 The Roman tyrant was content to be hated 
 if he was but feared ; and there are thou- 
 sands of the readers of romances and novels 
 willing to be thought wicked if they may 
 be allowed to be wits. 
 
 " It is therefore to be steadily inculcated 
 that virtue is the highest proof of under- 
 standing, and the only solid basis of great- 
 ness ; and that vice is the natural conse- 
 quence of narrow thoughts ; that it begins 
 in mistake and ends in ignominy.'* 
 
 A little before us on the road we saw a 
 volunteer officer, dressed in his full military 
 suit, walking on leisurely, and with many 
 
49^ J^e meet a Vclunteer Officer, 
 
 an affected gesticulation, holding a pafasol 
 in his hand to shade his dear face from the 
 sun, which, to be sure, was then sonrjevvhat 
 powerful. As this hero appeared to be an 
 egregious coxcomb, and moreover a little 
 fellow, not stout enough to thrash us in 
 case of any quarrel, we determined to have 
 some banter with him* We, therefore, 
 quickened our pace, and soon came up 
 with him. A stronger contrast, as to ex- 
 ternals, could not easily be devised than 
 was our shabby, tattered, beggarly appear- 
 ance to this be-powdered, be-essenced, and 
 spruce little gentleman. The whiffs of 
 lavender-water and burgamot came float- 
 ing towards us, upon the gales that blew, 
 in great abundance from his white hand- 
 kerchief, which ever and anon he gave his 
 nose, while his head was held fantastically 
 on one side as if reclining on his left 
 shoulder. 
 
 When wx limped by him we bowed 
 bare-headed to the very ground, almost to 
 prostration, before this sn^all self-idolater. 
 This manoeuvre had the desired effe6l, it 
 puffed him up still more if possible than 
 usual, with the notion of his own fancied 
 
We meet a Volunteer Officer, 495 
 
 importance, and he called out in an in- 
 solent tone, — Fellows, what are ye ? what 
 do ye here, and w^hither are ye going ? — ^^Ve 
 are poor lame American sailors, your 
 honour, going to Glasgow, and please your 
 reverence ; we came from Tarbut, your 
 honour's worship. — This thrusting in of 
 absurd titles, as if in admiration of his su- 
 perior rank and consequence, touched his 
 very soul, and his sides were ready to 
 burst with imagined greatness, and aix 
 attempt to assume dignified haughtiness. 
 Wherefore he called out loudly and sharply, 
 giving his parasol a flourish while he spoke, 
 and looking wondrous big and marvellously 
 wise — ^That will not do for me ; you are a 
 couple of lying rascals, I see it in your 
 countenances, particularly you impudent 
 fellow in the hairy cap ; I have the honour 
 
 of being an officer in regiment of 
 
 volunteers, commanded by Colonel — ■ — , 
 and know you to be spies and traitors, and 
 will have ye hanged up at the next town. 
 
 — May it please your honour's sw^et 
 worship, we are not spies, if you please, 
 nor rascals, but only poor crippled travellers, 
 that have been seeing part of the beautiful 
 country of the Highlands. — Oh, ho ! I have 
 
496 We meet a Volunteer Officer. 
 
 caught you, have I ? and what do poor 
 sailors want to see in a country ? I a'n my- 
 self a gentleman, and descended from a 
 good family, and yet I never wanted to go 
 and see a beautiful country. If you arc not 
 spies, what the devil are ye ? answer me that. 
 Aye, aye, I see guilt in that red face of 
 your's, Mr. Hairy-Cap; and I will have 
 you tw^o beggarly scoundrels trussed up di- 
 rectly for having given a false account of 
 yourselves. 
 
 Here he applauded his ow^n wit with an 
 enormous grin, and proceeded to ask us if 
 we w^ere very poor. — Yes, sir, — we replied, 
 — wx have not had a full meal of meat 
 these many days. — Nor do you deserve it ; 
 what should such bloody-minded spies do 
 with a belly full of vi(5tuals, when you do 
 not deserve to live ? What have you got 
 in your knapsacks? But you need not untie 
 them.; I shall not condescend to look into 
 them ; I suppose they are stuffed with 
 broken viiftuals that you have stolen. Get 
 you both gone for two impudent rascals, in 
 daring to speak to a gentleman like me; 
 you may think yourselves well off that I do 
 not have ye both hanged at the next town. 
 Saying which he was going off from us, 
 
We meet a Volunteer Officer. 497 
 
 down a green lane, away from the road ; 
 but wc thought it w^as proper to give him 
 an item that his behaviour to us, however 
 poor and wretched we appeared, was not 
 consistent with the character of a gentle- 
 ' man, nor becoming one who wore a hu- 
 man shape ; we, therefore, said, and, at 
 the same time we spoke, assumed a very 
 different aspect from that which we had 
 hitherto worne; an aspect which caused 
 his visage to put on the mingled appear- 
 ance of astonishment and of fear. 
 
 Sir, although your' conduct to us has 
 not been such as to deserve any kindness, 
 yet we cannot think of leaving you till wx 
 have endeavoured to teach you a lesson 
 which might be of service to you as long 
 as you live. We are men, your fellow- 
 creatures, and, therefore, entitled to your 
 civility, at least till we forfeit that title by 
 our own ill behaviour : as strangers, we 
 have a double claim upon you ; and as 
 strangers in distress, a still farther dem.and 
 upon your compassion. But you have 
 treated us in a manner so brutal, that an 
 untaught Indian would be ashamed to use 
 it towards his dos:. 
 
 o 
 VOL. II, K K 
 
498 If^e meet a Vduntccr Officer, 
 
 Sir, it becomes you to learn, that it is 
 the duty of a soldier to be the ornament of 
 his country in peace, as well as her bul- 
 wark in time of war. We deem you 
 rather as an object of pity than of indig- 
 nation and contempt, because we perceive, 
 by the heavy vacancy of your counte- 
 nance, that you are deplorably stupid and 
 ignorant. This little advice, howxvcr, 
 you would do well to treasure up in your 
 memory, and attempt to square your ac- 
 tions by It in future ; namely, that nothing 
 becomes an officer in the army so much 
 as gentleness and mildness of carriage to- 
 wards those with whom he is not fighting. 
 A piece of advice, sir, which, if you had 
 ever learned, you would not now have ex- 
 perienced the mortification of being thus 
 rebuked by two poor shabby beggars, nor 
 have given us the trouble of attempting to 
 teach you how you ought to behave. 
 
 We see, sir, very well, by that bridl« 
 and toss of your head, and that uneasy 
 fidget of your body, together with the 
 ghastly contortions of your countenance, 
 that you fancy yourself hurt at the free- 
 dom of our language, and wish to appear 
 indignant at our presumption in thus 
 
U^e meet a Volunteer Officer. 499 
 
 addressing one who gives himself credit for 
 being greatly our superior. But you need 
 not give yourself any airs, sir, because we 
 well know, that all who evll-lntreat the 
 poor and helpless arc cowards also as well 
 as villains. You had better, therefore, be 
 quiet and rest contented, or we shall be 
 under the necessity 'of throwing you into 
 the river that flows hard by this spot ; an 
 operation which will discompose the order 
 and ceconomy of your pulverized locks, 
 dirty your fine glossy regimentals, and give 
 such a shock to your nerves, as will dis- 
 qualify you from holding that pretty para- 
 sol in your hand to prevent the sun-beams 
 from tanning your delicate complexion. 
 
 Or, perhaps, in order to complete what 
 you have begun, and to show that your 
 understanding is equal to your humanity, 
 you would do well to go to Dunbarton, 
 the next town, and inform the magistrates, 
 that tw^o bloody-minded French spies, with 
 broken victuals in their knapsacks^ are on 
 their way to set fire to the tov/n, and carry 
 off the castle and all its curiosities in our 
 waistcoat pockets. By which means wx 
 shall be secured before we can commit any 
 
300 Our reception at 'Dunharton» 
 
 mischief, and you will be applauded as the 
 diligent and sagacious servant of a wise 
 and a benevolent government, whose ma- 
 chinery cannot fail of moving regularly 
 and well while it has such wheels as you to 
 keep it in action. 
 
 Saying this wx left him to reflect at 
 leisure upon the scene which he had wit- 
 nessed, and made on for Dunbarton. 
 
 Loch-Lomond now ended, and the river 
 Leven began. As we wandered along its 
 banks we could not but remember the 
 sv*^eet lines of its bard, who was born upon 
 the margin of its stream. 
 
 «« No torrents stain thy limpid source, 
 No rocks impede thy dimpling course, 
 That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, 
 With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread ; 
 While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood 
 In myriads cleave thy crystal flood ^ 
 The springing trout in speckled pride^ 
 The salmon, monarch of the tide, 
 The ruthless pike, intent on war, 
 The silver eel, and mottled par. 
 D^vo^ving from ihy parent lake *, 
 A charming maze thy waters make. 
 By bowers of birch, and groves of pine. 
 And edges riowv:r'd with eglantine. 
 
 ^' Loch Lomond. 
 
Our reception at Dunharton, 50 1 
 
 *' Still on thy banks^ so gaily green. 
 May numerous herds and flocks be seen, 
 -And lasses chaunting o'er the pail. 
 And shepherds piping in the dale. 
 And antient faith that knows no guile. 
 And industry embrown'd with toil. 
 And hearts resolv'd, and hands prepar'dy 
 The blessings they enjoy to guard,'* 
 
 The scenery was lovely beyond all de- 
 scription ; the country around us was well 
 cultivated, and the banks of the Leven 
 were ornamented with neat houses and 
 little gardens, blooming in all the luxuri- 
 ance of Tegetation. It put me very much 
 in mind, only it is on a much smaller 
 scale, of the Thames, and its adorned 
 banks at Richmond and at Twickenham. 
 We saw SmoUet's monument, whose in- 
 scription some barbarians had defaced ; it 
 is in Latin and in English, and to be found 
 in a number of books. As I am no great 
 admirer of epitaphs in general, I should 
 not insert it in my diary even if I could 
 read the whole of it on the obelisk, which 
 I cannot. 
 
 The sun was setting, and the shades of 
 night began to render us desirous of a place 
 
 K. K 3 
 
502 Our reception at Dunharton. 
 
 of rest ; yet it was a lovely scene to sec 
 the appearance of the country, now at the 
 approach of evening, after a very hot and 
 sultry day. 
 
 *' As on we move, near down th' ethereal steep 
 The lamp of d;iy hangs hovering o'er the deep. 
 Dun shades, in rocky shapes, up ether rolTd, 
 Project long shaggij points, deep thig'd luith goldy 
 Others take faint ih' unripen'd cherry's dye. 
 And paint ahiusing landscapes en the eye. 
 There bUie-veil'd yellow, thro' a sky serene. 
 In swelling mixture forms a floating green. 
 Streak'd thro' white clouds a mild vermilion shines. 
 And the breeze freshens as the heat declines." 
 
 We followed the road which led to 
 Dunbarton, where we arrived when it was 
 sufficiently dark to render objects indis- 
 tinct. In the street we saw a labouring 
 man, of whom we desired a direction to 
 some inn. The fellow asked us who we 
 were, and received for answer, that we 
 wxre Americans. He then told us, that 
 he would show us an inn if we would give 
 him a bottle of ale. This trading and sale 
 of the very lowest offices of humanity and 
 civility, gave us no very exalted opinion of 
 our guide ; however, as any trait of cha- 
 
Our reception at Dunharion, ' ^05 
 racter is worth, at least, three-pence, we 
 agreed to give him the ale. Accordingly, 
 he led us to a house kept by an acquain- 
 tance of his, as beastly a place as ever a pig 
 would wish to be lodged in. 
 
 As soon as we entered, and had made 
 known our wants, the hostess, who was 
 ruddy, comely, talkative, and dirty, told 
 us, at once, and roundly, that she had no 
 bed in the house. The host, who was, in 
 every sense of the word, a beast, both in 
 look and behaviour, said to our guide, — 
 John, where did you pick up these two 
 shabby fellows, and what have thy got to 
 say for themselves ? — The cicerone took 
 the landlord into the kitchen to tell him 
 all that he knew about us. And while 
 they were thus engaged, I fairly bothered 
 the woman into letting us have a room; 
 not indeed without difficulty, as she 
 stoutly persisted for a long time, in de- 
 claring, that she had not a single spare 
 bed in the house. 
 
 We followed our hostess from the pas- 
 sage in which we had hitherto been kept 
 standing, into the apartment) destined for 
 our use ; it was as replete with nastiness 
 
 K K 4 
 
304- Our reception at Dunharton. 
 
 and filth as could be linaglned. Our guide 
 was preparing to accompany us, and had 
 actually . put one foot into the room for 
 that purpose, when I objected to the ma- 
 noeuvre, and desired the host to let him 
 have his stipulated portion of ale in the 
 kitchen. The landlady, however, wc 
 could by no means prevent from honour- 
 ing us with her presence. She asked us a 
 great multitude of questions, and received 
 such answers as we deemed it proper to 
 return. She then detailed to us all that 
 she knew,' and more than we wanted to 
 hear. Among much other edifying and 
 important information, she told us, that 
 many very genteel, large, fat men, some- 
 times came from England, and slept at 
 her house. 
 
 Upon further inquiry, we found that 
 these fat, large, and genteel men, were 
 drovers and graziers, who came to buy 
 the little black cattle of the Highlands, 
 which they put into pastures on the south 
 side of the Tweed, 
 
 This account, as it served to denote her 
 sentiments on the score of gentility, amused 
 us ; because every thing relating to clu^- 
 
Our reception at Dunbarton, 505 
 
 racterlstlc traits is interesting, and excites 
 the mind to speculate upon the influence 
 'which different modes of education exer- 
 cise on the human mind. But we were 
 not amused when she told us, that lately 'a 
 few days since, sixty Highlanders, men, 
 women, and children, with all their little 
 property, consisting of a few bags of oat- 
 meal, had come to the town of Dunbar- 
 ton on their way to America, whither they 
 were about to emigrate, because they were 
 literally starved out of their own country. 
 
 At length we exchanged the convert 
 sation of our landlady for that of a barber, 
 who came to shave Cowan. This fellow 
 was the very pattern of all shavers ; he 
 began to harangue from his first moment 
 of fathering the face, and continued bis 
 alarum to the last twist which he g^vc 
 Andrew's nose in finishing the operation. 
 Jle told us, that lord Nelson had perform- 
 ed greater wonders than ever, in his attaci 
 upon Boulogne, for which the king was 
 going to make him a cuke; that he Him- 
 self (the barber) had always supported the 
 present family on the throne, and that it 
 should never be hurt v/hile he lived, an4 
 
506 Our reception at Dunharlon, 
 
 had strength to carry a musket ; an exer- 
 cise to which he had been accustomed, as 
 a member of a volunteer corps now nearly 
 eight years, ever since the present just and 
 necessary war had been entered into. 
 
 He also told us, that although he was 
 not acquainted with Mr. Pitt, and could 
 not be his personal friend, since he had laid 
 on the powder tax, which was so very 
 detrimental to gentlemen of his (the bar- 
 ber's) profession ; yet he wished well to 
 that minister, who, in other respects, 
 jcemed to consult the best interests of the 
 country ; and he could not imagine how 
 that great statesman could be so far misled 
 and mistaken as to lay on a tax so injurious 
 to the w^elfare of Great Britain. But, for 
 his part, he (the barber) scorned all merce- 
 nary views, and was a patriot from prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 I then asked him if he would not have 
 lost all his business, as a barber, unless he 
 had entered into some corps, owing to the 
 gentlemen who were loyal, withdrawing 
 their custom from him. No doubt,- — re- 
 plied Don Whiskerandos, — no doubt I 
 should, and have been left with my family 
 
Our reception at Bunhartcn, 507 
 
 to starve, and therefore I became a volun- 
 teer. 
 
 A good definition of a volunteer, this, 
 thought I to myself; — a volunteer, then, is 
 a man who is starved into being a soldier. 
 
 Cowman, however, scon put an end to 
 my reveries, and the abundant discourse of 
 this flaming loyalist, by giving him six- 
 pence, which was nve-pence m.ore than 
 he had ever before received for simply 
 shaving a man's beard. At this the con- 
 scientious hero, who was above all merce- 
 nary views, and a patriot from principle, 
 murmured aloud, that no one ever paid 
 less than a shilling for being shaved; and 
 if he had knov/n how shabbily he \\^as to 
 be treated, he would not have condescend- 
 dep to come out of his house to wait upon 
 people who were not gentlemen. Whereat 
 Cowan very quietly bade him leave the 
 room, and drily observed, that he ought 
 to be contented with a sum of money 
 much greater than he w^ould ever obtain 
 by shaving two dozen of his brother volun- 
 teers. 
 
 The knight of the suds^ seeing that 
 ^herc was no remedy, followed Andrew's 
 
SOS Our reception at Dunbar to7i, 
 
 advice, and left the room, very audibly 
 damning us for a couple of dirty rascals 
 that knew not how^ to behave to gentle- 
 men. And in the passage he encountered 
 the hostess, who had been listening at the 
 door, with her ear applied close to the 
 key-hole, in order to know what we were 
 saying. To her the barber made heavy 
 complaints of our not being gentlemen, to 
 which she replied, even while he held the 
 door in his hand, so that we could hear 
 every word that was uttered, that she was 
 sure we were two beggarly Americans, 
 without any money in our pockets, because 
 we were so civil to every body ; but that 
 slie intended to keep a sharp eye upon us, 
 and would take very good care to be paid 
 somehow or other before we left the 
 house. 
 
 Our landlady's method of measuring the 
 wealth and the consequence of people by 
 their want of kindness and civility, made 
 us smile, though it gave us no very fa- 
 vourable opinion of her own amiable qua- 
 lities, and the virtues of those with whoni 
 she had been in the habits of intercourse. 
 For our refreshment we had some tea and 
 
Our reception at Dimharton, 50§ 
 
 bread, very dirty butter, and a greasy fried 
 fish, which set us both a cascading wi,th 
 the utmost vehemence, and nearly extin- 
 guished our lives on the spot. 
 
 For our entertainment the hostess de- 
 manded payment directly, before she went 
 to bed, and then, as she graciously observed, 
 we might leave her house as soon as we 
 pleased the next morning. We discharg- 
 ed our bill, and this fascinating woman 
 withdrew. We then examined our linen, 
 and found that, to all appearance, the sheets 
 had been more frequently used since their 
 last washing than those with which the 
 venerable dame Pennycook had accommo- 
 dated us. It was absurd to think of deposit- 
 ing our carcases in contact with such filth, 
 and we threw ourselves, without taking 
 off our clothes, on the bed, where, how- 
 ever, wx got not a vvink of sleep ; for, 
 during the space of more than three hours, 
 we lay in a most miserable state, till the 
 nastiness all around us, and the pent up 
 stagnant vapour of the room, very nearly 
 put us to death by sickness and suffoca- 
 tion. Our sensations wxre now intole- 
 rable, and, actually gasping for breath in 
 
510 Our reception at Bunlarton. 
 
 this unrespirable air, we endeavoured to 
 prevent immediate deriqitinm by lilting up 
 the window ; but the window was not to 
 be lifted up by any ctforts of ours ; and we 
 crawled forthwith out of the house, more 
 dead than alive, at about four o'clock on 
 the mornirg of the i6th. 
 
 We left the town without seeing any 
 of the rurioi^itics contained m the castle, 
 such as the old rv.sty carving-knife and 
 brass spurs of Vv'illiam Wallace, the cele- 
 brated hero of Caledonia ; the heel of the 
 shoe of another great man who never had 
 any shoes to wxar; the breeches of some 
 Scottish king who never wore breeches ; 
 with many other wonderments equally 
 curious and equally important. 
 
 The castle itself is an object worthy of 
 admiration, both on account of the build- 
 ing, and the almost perpendicular rock on 
 which it is situated ; although it attracted 
 our attention less forcibly than it would 
 have done had wx never seen the castle of 
 Edinburgh, which surpasses every thing of 
 the kind I ever beheld ; the large and 
 massy edifice which seems to defy the 
 ravages of time, and to laugh to scorn all 
 
fVe make for Glasgow. S 1 1 
 
 the idle vanity of mortal force to assail its 
 impregnable strength ; and the bold, loftj, 
 bleak, sullen, bare, and inaccessible rock 
 which frowns in horrid majesty, as if in- 
 dignantly submitting to bear the load of 
 building, that the audacious hand of man 
 had presumed to lay upon its venerable 
 shoulders, serve to inspire the beholder 
 with that awful terror and sublimity of 
 delight that never fall to elevate the soul 
 and to expand all the powers of the under- 
 standing. 
 
 We marched on, and now saw that the 
 river Leven ended its course, and the 
 Clyde began to assume the office of minis- 
 tering to the pleasures and the wants of the 
 inhabitants of that tract of the country 
 which we were about to traverse. The 
 scenery around was pleasant ; it had 
 dropped the rough and rugged form to 
 which we had been for some time past 
 accustomed, and had assumed a softer and 
 a milder aspect. The hills were no longer 
 lost in the clouds, nor were their summits 
 destitute of verdure ; the plains were cul- 
 tivated and adorned with many an elegant 
 
3] 2 IFe make for Glasgow. 
 
 mansion ; the ground was sufficiently 
 "Wooded, and the Clyde rolled along its 
 gentle and beneficial stream, on whose 
 calm and unruffled surface glided nume- 
 rous vessels, freighted with the productions 
 of trade and the conveniences of commerce, 
 and on its banks stood many a fair and 
 noble building. 
 
 Our pleasure, derived from contemplat- 
 ing the face of the country, was continu- 
 ally interrupted by the questions and re- 
 marks which were put to us by the people 
 whom we met on the road. All that they 
 asked, and all that they said, no doubt, 
 was dictated by artless simplicity blended 
 "with blameless curiosity ; but the frequent 
 attacks of these good people were exces- 
 sively troublesome. We, therefore, left 
 the road for awhile, and crept down to a 
 lovely, little, limpid rill, where we washed 
 ourselves thoroughly, and soaped our feet, 
 which were now nearly one continued 
 series of blisters, rendering the act of walk- 
 ing a perpetual source of pain and anguish. 
 
 At nine o'clock in the morning we came 
 to an inn, and were shown into a room 
 not very clean to be sure ; for the floor 
 
We make for Glasgow, 513 
 
 was of soft dirt, which stuck to our shoes, 
 the' ceiling was boarded and plentifully 
 hung with cobwebs ; the chairs, table, and 
 window, not too much accustomed to the 
 pail and cloth. However, they got us an 
 abundant breakfast of tea, eggs, milk, and 
 bread, all very good of their kind. Dur- 
 ing our repast we were amused by hearing 
 the people of the house, in the next room, 
 singing psalms and reading portions of the 
 scripture. Some of the tones indeed were 
 not very melodious, but there seemed to be 
 a sincerity and an earnestness of devotion in 
 their manner that surpass all the efforts of 
 art. I was particularly delighted to find 
 that the Sunday morning, before the places 
 of worship were opened, was passed in a 
 way so calculated to keep up and to in- 
 crease that noble spirit of religion and of 
 morality among the Scottish people, which 
 has so long made them loved at home and 
 revered abroad. I could not but call to 
 mind these exquisite lines of Burns in his 
 Cotter's Saturday Night : 
 
 *^ They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 
 They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim^ 
 
 VOL. II, L L 
 
5 1 4* IFe make for G las go w . 
 
 Perhaps Dundee's wild- warbling measures rise. 
 Or plaintive martyrs, worthy of the name. 
 
 Or noble Elgin beets the hcav'n-ward flame, - 
 The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
 
 Compar'd with these Italian trills are tame, 
 The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise, 
 
 Kae unison hae they uith our Crealofs praise.'* 
 
 As soon as we had breakfasted, and a 
 pause in their devotion allowed us an op- 
 portunity, we payed our bill, which was 
 more moderate than any charge that had 
 hitherto been made upon us, and departed. 
 The scenery continued the same, only we 
 lost sight of the Clyde as we travelled on- 
 ward along the road. We marched into 
 Glasgow about one o'clock in the after- 
 noon, when all the people were issuing out 
 from the different kirks, externally, very 
 finely dressed, particularly the women, 
 whose white drapery presented a notable 
 contrast to the filthy appearance of the. 
 streets, ,(all those ,who have ever been in 
 Scotland on a Sunday will understand my 
 meaning ; it is sufficient to say, that the 
 people do not suffer their streets to be 
 cleaned on the sabbath,) and to our de- 
 plorably vagrant condition. Cowan was 
 
u4 curious adventure at Glasgow. 5X5 
 literally a sans-cuhtte, for his trovvsers were 
 defalcated of their posterior department, 
 and he had no drawers, and his miserable 
 Russian -grey jacket did not reach lower 
 than his middle, so that at every step 
 which he took appeared an amazing exhi- 
 bition. 
 
 His rusty hat was terribly battered and 
 weather-beaten, and his countenance fairly 
 rendered haggard by long fatigue, pain, 
 and scanty precarious food ; his face was 
 pale, dreary, and wo-begone. Round his 
 body, towards the middle of his black 
 w^aistcoat, he wore his black silk neck- 
 handkerchief, tied in a bow, w^hile his 
 check shirt collar was unbuttoned, and left 
 his neck bare ; his black gaters on his 
 striped trowsers served to keep his shoes 
 on his feet, and to give the last finish to 
 his person and to his habiliments. Add to 
 all this, that he was fearful of being re- 
 cognised by any of his acquaintance, of 
 w^hom there were several in this town, 
 who knew him while he was studying 
 medicine at the university about two years 
 since. So that he slunk along the streets 
 somev/hat in the style of a crab, occa- 
 
 L L 2 
 
5 16 A curious adventure at Glasgow, 
 
 sionally showing that part of his body to 
 the people that passed by, which he deem- 
 ed to be less liable to be known than his 
 face. 
 
 1 was somewhat better off as to my trow- 
 sers, which were not so ragged as Andrew's, 
 and I had also a good sound pair of elastic 
 knit drawers on, though my feet were 
 worse ; as the Blair Athol shoe had now 
 fairly w^orn itself into my right foot, 
 whence I suffered much more than the 
 pillory or the picquet could inflict at 
 every step I trod. My hairy cap had suf- 
 fered from hard service, and could scarcely 
 retain in their place my green spectacles, 
 whose springs were loosened. My face 
 •was burnt and blistered by the sun, and in 
 some places the skin was peeled off in 
 large patches ; the collar of my check 
 shirt just peered above the black silk 
 stock which imbedded my chin. 
 
 Two more wretched dismally-looking 
 ragamuffins were never discharged from 
 the hulks. I asked a decently-dressed 
 elderly man to tell us where we could ob- 
 tain a lodging. He looked at me for half 
 a minute, and without altering a single 
 
A curious adventure at Glasgow » 517 
 muscle of his countenance, with much 
 civil gravity directed us to a goodly-look- 
 ing" house in street. We stopped 
 
 av^hile at the door, and listened to a psalm 
 which was sung by a clear and well-toned 
 male voice. We were much pleased at 
 this ; and 1 congratulated Cowan and my- 
 self on our good fortune in meeting with 
 such a place, where we should have no 
 riotous doings, nor be molested by bois- 
 terous company. Andrew heard my ex- 
 clamations with great indifference, and 
 then very drily observed, that he did not 
 much like these superstitious psalm-singing 
 people. 
 
 At the door, however, I knocked, and a 
 venerable matron presently appeared, and 
 showed us into a tolerably-furnished room. 
 She immediately left us without speaking 
 a single word ; during her absence we 
 could hear very distinctly, the same psalm- 
 singing voice pray, and read portions of the 
 scripture aloud. We wondered what all 
 this might be, and hoped that we had not 
 made some grievous mistake, and blun- 
 dered into a mad-house. Presently came 
 into us a young damsel, ruddy and plump, 
 
 LL3 
 
o 3 8 ui curious adventure at Glasgoiv. 
 
 with yellow locks, and rather a dirty face, 
 and not dressed altogether so decently as 
 modesty requires ; in good truth, she was 
 but very slenderly clad, and looked full 
 wantonly withal. 
 
 We were not very long at a loss to dis- 
 cover the meaning of all this manoeuvring, 
 for the lady soon gave us to understand, 
 that we had staggered into a bagji'io, and 
 she was ready to amuse us. I stared and 
 Andrew laughed ; but as this was an enter-, 
 tainment which we neither expected nor 
 desired after the fatigues of such a difficult 
 peregrination, we sheered but of the house 
 with all due precipitation and velocity, the 
 wench damning us for a couple of pitiful 
 sneaking rascals, that had no spirit ; and 
 the holy man of the house still continuing 
 his devotions with a very audible voice, so 
 that it was a strange contrast, caused by 
 his praying and singing psalms, and the 
 drab's swearing and cursing, sinking and 
 blaspheming. 
 
 This seemed to us so marvellous an ocr 
 currence, that we did not leave Glasgow 
 before we had inquired into the history of 
 this devout and pious male bawd, which 
 
A curious adventure at Glasgow, 5 1 9 
 we learned to be shortly this : Early in 
 life he had been a farmer in the west of 
 Scotland, but not liking that kind of life 
 he soon went to Edinburgh, and there set 
 up a hagnio, by w^hich laudable employ- 
 ment, he, in a few years, amassed a con- 
 siderable sum of money. With these 
 wages of iniquity he again stocked a farm 
 in the country, upon which he lived, and 
 was reckoned a thriving prudent man for 
 some years, but at length grew tired of 
 xural occupations, and betook himself once 
 more to his coupling vocation at Glasgow, 
 where he now resides. 
 
 His manner of spending the day is this : 
 When he rises in the morning he bawls 
 out prayers and reads the scriptures aloud 
 in his room, and repeats the same exercise 
 of his lungs in the evening. The remain- 
 der of the twenty-four hours is spent in 
 eating and drinking, in sleeping and super- 
 intending his domestic economy. The. 
 same routine is run on a Sunday, only then 
 the prayers, psalm- singings, and portions 
 of scripture-reading are repeated four times 
 in the day. Whenever a person visits his 
 house during the time of his devotions, 
 L L 4 
 
520 Our reception at Glasgow, 
 
 the old matron goes in and tells him, that 
 such a one, describing him accurately and 
 fully, is in such a room ; whereupon, this 
 hoary sage ceases awhile from prayer and 
 thanksgiving, orders some particular wench 
 to be sent in to the gentleman, and then 
 forthwith resumes his pious office of pre- 
 senting his adorations at the throne of 
 God. 
 
 This man is a character of great noto- 
 riety, and has carried on his trade for se- 
 veral years in Glasgow. Are not the laws 
 deficient if they cannot punish such a pest 
 of society, who not only promotes the 
 progress of profligacy by his vocation, but 
 renders a material and manifest disservice 
 to religion, by giving unbelievers an oppor- 
 tunity of mocking and scoffing, and blend- 
 ing maliciously together the sincerity of 
 pure devotion with the unhallowed cant 
 of hypocritical falsehood ? 
 
 We now determined not to ask any other 
 person for a direction to a lodging, but, in 
 spite of our appearance, went directly to an 
 inn on the quay,kept by an old acquaintance 
 of Andrew's, an elderly Irishman, whose 
 
Our reception at Glasgow, 521 
 
 Scottish, large, fat, busy, bustling, civil 
 wife, received us with vehement excla- 
 mations of surprise at our exhibition, par- 
 ticularly fixing her eyes upon Cowan's 
 tattered trowsers ; but she welcomed us 
 very heartily. She soon got us a plentiful 
 dinner; after which we crawled round the 
 town to see the lions. The streets are, in 
 general, wide, spacious, and airy, and the 
 buildings very regularly situated, and the 
 whole displays a pleasing and a noble ap- 
 pearance, showing the industry and the 
 opulence of its inhabitants. 
 
 The new bridge is a very elegant piece 
 of architecture ; the college looks dreary 
 and gloomy, resembling a prison, but it 
 has a good walk and garden annexed to it. 
 The hospital or infirmary is externally neat 
 and handsome, the inside we were not per- 
 mitted to see. The high kirk is the only 
 entire building of the kind, which John 
 Knox, in his zeal for reformation, spared 
 from destruction ; for he showed forth his 
 attachment to God by tumbling down 
 ecclesiastical buildings, and making them a 
 heap of ruins. It is long, large, lofty, and 
 of Gothic structure ; it is a venerable edi» 
 
;yZ'2 Our f'ece^tion at Glasgow. 
 
 lice, but defaced by a tower of more mo- 
 dern erection. Its inside is divided into 
 lour places of relij^ious worship, where 
 four congregations are all joining together,, 
 at the same time, in singing, and preach- 
 ing, and praying, for the honour of the 
 Lord, under one roof, which appeared to 
 me to be likely to create confusion ; at 
 least, as I stood in the aisle, the different 
 sounds issuing from the different pastors 
 and their flocks did not convey any very 
 distinct and clear notions of what they 
 were saying. Doubtless, however, no ma- 
 terial inconvenience arises from this multi- 
 plicity of worshippers on one spot, because 
 all the four meetings are constantly crowd- 
 ed, and each is conducted with that de- 
 cency and decorum so peculiar to the 
 Scottish people. 
 
 From the kirk wx adjourned to an 
 apothecary's shop, in order to purchase 
 some solid opium ; we were waited on by 
 a female, sister to the knight of the pestle 
 and mortar, who was a thin sharp-faced 
 woHian, very dirty both in person and 
 dross ; but tiiat we cared nothing about, 
 as wc could reckon ourselves on a par with 
 
Our interview with a Greek scholar » 523 
 most people, as to shabbiness of habiliment 
 and person, although we were vexed to see 
 that she knew nothing about the business 
 which she was commissioned to undertake, 
 because very many fatal consequences might 
 arise from her ignorance in giving wrong 
 medicines, &c. She actually offered us 
 several drugs, among the rest inspissated 
 juice of hemloc instead of opium ; but as 
 we knew opium when we saw it, we were 
 prevented from being poisoned by this fe- 
 male disciple of iEsculapius. We pur- 
 chased each a large lump of the extract of 
 opium, put it into our pockets, and march- 
 ed off. 
 
 From hence we went to call upon Mr. 
 E, e, a well-known character in Glas- 
 gow, and supposed to be one of the best 
 Grecian scholars in Scotland ; Cowan had 
 once been his pupil, and been instructed 
 by him in the Greek language. We went 
 down a very dirty little wynd or alley, at 
 the end of which, on the left hand, stood 
 his room, for he has but one. We mount- 
 ed up some craggy wooden steps, and 
 gained admittance into his apartment. 
 
524 Our interview with a Greek scholar, 
 which is in the shape of a Greek delta, 
 thus, A, so that you can only stand upright 
 in the middle oi it. It contains some very 
 valuable classical books, and a small table, 
 together with a broken chair ; but every 
 thing was so covered with dirt and dust, 
 that even w^e, immersed in so much nasti- 
 ness as we had been of late, wxre almost 
 poisoned. 
 
 The learned Grecian's bed was a small 
 hole in a recess at one corner ; it did not 
 appear to be three feet in length, so that he 
 must curl himself up as a dog doth, when 
 he lieth down ; it surpasses all the powers 
 of language to do justice to it in descrip^ 
 tion ; Swift himself could not have found 
 ■words to pourtray the beastliness of this 
 couch of erudition. Suffice it to say, that 
 I have never yet been acquainted with any 
 pig so nasty, that he would venture to de- 
 posit his carcase in such a sink of all filth 
 and uncleanliness. 
 
 The master of this delectable apartment 
 is somewhat short and thickly set, his 
 countenance hard, rugged, ill-favoured, 
 deeply scarred with the small-pox, and all 
 the seams filled up with dirt and snuff, for 
 
Our interview with a Greek scholar, 5^5 
 no rabid creature ever laboured under a 
 greater degree of hydrophobia than doth 
 this learned animal hipes et hnplume. His 
 neckcloth was, perhaps, once white ; it is 
 now black, saving and except some streaks 
 of damp snufF, which serve to variegate its 
 appearance. Shirt, at first, I thought he 
 had none, for none was to be seen at his 
 wrists or his neck, which w^as securely 
 grasped by a close black brown waistcoat. 
 At length, however, for I scrutinized him 
 strictly while he was descanting on the 
 merits of Warton's Theocritus, which he 
 held in his hand, and whose critical notes 
 he highly praised, I espied a long corner 
 stick out behind his neck over the coat- 
 collar ; and such an exhibition it presented 
 as I shall not easily forget. It was so be- 
 tanned, and begrimed, and bedirtied, that 
 it should seem not improbable to suppose 
 that if it ever was clean, it had not been 
 so at least for some years ; indeed a gentle- 
 man to whom I mentioned the circum- 
 stance afterwards, told me, that R e's 
 
 shirt was now just eight months filthier 
 than when he was last at Glasgow, in the 
 December of 1800. 
 
52G Our interviezv with a Greek scholar, 
 
 I have been informed that it is custom- 
 ary with the Austrian soldiers to dip each 
 man his new canvass shirt in oih put it on, 
 and never take it off again till time and 
 age have worn it piecemeal from their 
 bodies ; whence the great terror of their 
 attack, if the wind is full in the teeth of 
 their enemies. Perhaps our great Grecian 
 hath adopted this Austrian custom ; his 
 coat, waistcoat, small-clothes, stockings, 
 and shoes, were all once, peradvcnture, 
 black, though not so now. 
 
 In a single apartment, adjoining to his 
 own room, and which completes the whole 
 house, if a hut consisting of two little 
 cabins might be so called, lives his sister, a 
 poor w^idow woman with four children. 
 This apartment was much cleaner than 
 that of her brother, though by no means 
 such as to render existence tolerable. After 
 some little time spent in chat, we engaged 
 this profound scholar to come and spend 
 the evening with us at our inn on the Quay, 
 and bade him adieu for the present. 
 
 Cowman is deplorably down, dreary, and 
 out of heart, and I cannot prevail on him 
 
 to go to his friend , a respectable mer- 
 
 3 
 
Our inlerview zvith a Greek scholar. 5^7 
 chant in Glasgow, to get some money to 
 carry us over to Ireland, so that 1 suppose 
 we must steer for Edinburgh to-morrow, 
 although it is much more than probable 
 that our purse will not hold out till we 
 reach home. We returned to our inn, 
 
 where we waited till R e came to us 
 
 in the evening. We had a very great 
 abundance of conversation, and he display- 
 ed a large quantity of erudition, particu- 
 larly an intimate acquaintance with the 
 Greek language ; but I must confess, that 
 I thought him more of a verbalist, a word 
 digger, well acquainted with moods and 
 tenses, various readings, and different edi- 
 tions, than one who entered at once into 
 the whole spirit and meaning of an author. 
 He quoted long passages, but it was only 
 to settle the text, or descant on some 
 little vile particle, not to explore its ele- 
 gance, beauty, or sublimity. 
 
 While I was listening to this prcrfound 
 scholar, I could not but reflect upon these 
 w^ords of a late very justly celebrated phy- 
 sician,, who says ^' Erudition, considered by 
 itself, is a mixture of good and bad things, 
 often contradictory to each other, and badly 
 
5ilH Our intcrvieiv zv'ub a Greek scholar^ 
 digested, which burden the memory at the 
 cxpence of common sense, and render the 
 simply lettered man rich in provisions that 
 are useless, and poor in ideas ; great in mi- 
 nute things, and very little in great ones. 
 One of these lettered men fancies himself 
 of vast importance to society when he has 
 retained the divisions and chapters of all 
 antient works, and can tell how many 
 times a w^ord is to be met with in them, 
 although he has neglected to inquire 
 whether the sense of the word is of any 
 utility to the physical or moral man. 
 
 " These people, forgetting that man 
 was destined to think, collect together 
 passages without ever knowing the purport 
 of them. They are like some persons who 
 keep together the ruins of a building 
 without reflecting that the materials may 
 form a regular edifice. If a word or a 
 quotation follows in due order, they are 
 very careless either of the choice or the 
 order of the connexion. They are satis- 
 fied with the page Avhen it is well filled, 
 and they conceive the mind to be suffi- 
 ciently ornamented when they are able to 
 repeat thirty or forty words to explain one.- 
 
Our inter "view with a Greek scholar, 529 
 *^ Happily for the present age the rage 
 for philology is, in a great measure, passed 
 away. We now require words, but, in 
 matters of science, only such as are useful. 
 I do not mean to blame philology itself, only 
 to ridicule the absurd custom of comment- 
 ing on the words and ideas of others, with-^ 
 out ever thinking ourselves. This vain col- 
 lection of borrowed ideas keeps the mind 
 in a state of vile servitude. A man will 
 never know the powers of his capacity, till 
 he tries what he can do." 
 
 It was, however, an exquisite gratifica- 
 tion to us to enjoy some literary discussion, 
 after so long an absence from all that sa- 
 voured of the Lyceum or of the Academic 
 
 grove. R e was pretty decisive in his 
 
 strictures on men, particularly as to their 
 knowledge of Greek, on which ground he 
 ,^ deemed himself, as 1 could easily perceive, 
 the lord paramount over all other mortals. 
 He roundly asserted that Blair, and Robert- 
 son, and Macpherson, and Hume, and 
 Gibbon, and Reid, knew nothing about 
 Greek, but wxre pretty wxU acquainted 
 with the Latin tongue. 
 
 I smiled inw^ardly at this declaration, for 
 
 VOL. II. MM 
 
630 Ouf* interview wilb a Gyeek scholar. 
 I knew full well that most of these men, 
 whom R ■■ c had so contemptuously pro- 
 nounced as Ignorant of Greek, had display- 
 ed in their writings a knowledge of this 
 department in literature, which would re- 
 main a monument to their fame, when 
 their accuser's name was forgotten among 
 the inhabitants of the earth. I then afked 
 him concerning the knowledge and the 
 learning of Professor Dalzell and Mr. 
 Christison, and received for answer, what, 
 indeed, I well knew before, from a per- 
 gonal acquaintance with these two gentle- 
 men, that Mr. Dalzell was one of the 
 greatest Greek scholars in the kingdom, 
 and also a profound mathematician; and 
 that Mr. Christison was one of the most 
 universally able men existing in Europe ; 
 that he alike excelled in the profound in- 
 vestigations of science, and in all the wide 
 -and extended range of literature. 
 
 In the heat and ardour of conversation 
 We became so loudly enthusiastic in praise 
 of one author and another, particular pas- 
 sages of which we repeated in no very low 
 key, that v/e alarmed the good people of 
 the house; and (while 1 was in the very 
 
Our interview with a Greek scholar, 53\ 
 middle of bawling out some favourite lines 
 from the first Philippic of Demosthenes, in 
 the fury occasioned by which, I had knock- 
 ed my fist on the table and overturned a 
 glass, three parts full of scalding hot gin 
 
 and water, upon R^ e's breeches, which 
 
 burnt him so dreadfully, that he grinned 
 like a mad-dog, and roared out, XI [xot 
 avatSsirpj e7rieifje.£us, which, being interpreted, 
 is, — ^You d — d rascal, what do you mean by 
 scalding me in this manner ?) the door of 
 our room opened, and presented to our 
 view the fat landlady, filling up and closely 
 wedged into the door-way ; behind her, 
 actually, half upon her back, her husband ; 
 and, at his rear, riding on the skirts of his 
 coat, a lusty, strapping servant-maid in her 
 shift sleeves, without her gown ; all wear- 
 ing visages most strongly evincing astonish- 
 ment and dismay, and with mouths very 
 widely-gaping. 
 
 At this unlooked-for exhibition R ■ ■ e 
 ceased to grin and swear in Greek ; An- 
 drew retained the same expression of coun- 
 tenance, which he had put on during the 
 whole of the great Grecian's and my voci- 
 feration, namely, that of silent contempt ; 
 
532 Our intervieiv with a Greek scholar, 
 and I stared with amazement. At length, 
 the hostess, first, by an agile fhake of 
 lier — , dislodging her husband from his 
 seat, was delivered of the following speech, 
 whose utterance cost her many a rueful 
 look, and ghastly contortion of counte- 
 nance. 
 
 '^ Waes my heart, why do ye make such 
 a terrible crying ? we are all sober people 
 here, tod serve the Lord faithiiilly : our 
 neighbours will think that we are wicked 
 sinners and unbelievers for making such 
 ungodly noises of a sabbath night." 
 
 As I well knew that our noises had been 
 rather ungodly, I pacified the good woman, 
 by assuring her that v/e would be very quiet 
 for the future, and behave as became sober 
 christians on a sabbath night ; and she 
 
 departed. R c, who still felt the 
 
 effects of the gin and water which had 
 gone the wrong way, after he had thrust a 
 large quantity of snuff up his nose, and 
 5pate all over the floor, and partly upon 
 Cowan who sate near him, while I kept at 
 a very respectful distance, assumed a look 
 of great sagacity and self-importance, and 
 said, — I am wise, you arc young and fool- 
 
I am hailed by a drunken mam 533 
 
 i&hjr I could make much more noise than 
 you have done, (directing his discourse to 
 j^e) — but the people in this town are very 
 religious, and think that all noises except 
 what they themselves stir up by psalm- 
 singing and praying, are very atheistical ; 
 wherefore, I shall go home directly, and 
 read prayers to my sister and her family. 
 
 Saying which, he would not listen to 
 my request that we might be favoured 
 with his company a little longer, but shook 
 Cowan by the hand and departed ; fortu- 
 nately, he was rather offended with me 
 for burning him w^th the gin and water, 
 and therefore did not offer to touch me. 
 
 Of course it is needless to mention, that 
 Andrew, in consequence of sitting so close 
 to this profound scholar, caught the itch, 
 to his great discomfiture and annoyance. 
 
 I attended upon R e do^vn stairs, 
 
 in order to make my peace with him after 
 my unlucky movement on the table, that 
 had so much deranged the economy of the 
 Grecian's feelings, and walked some part of 
 the way home with him, after which I 
 took my leave. As 1 returned towards 
 
 M M 3 
 
534 1 am hailed by a drunken man. 
 
 the inn my ears were assailed by vehement 
 and reiterated shouts vociferated by a very 
 drunken voice. I shortened sail, and pre- 
 sently came along side me a decently- 
 dressed middle-aged man, most wofully 
 inebriated, who, reeling to and fro, with 
 great efforts and seemingly painful exer- 
 tions, informed me, that it was a Jinisk 
 nighty to which I assented. — The conver- 
 sation being thus begun, he proceeded to 
 question me pretty abundantly. — What 
 do you do with a bludgeon in your hand, 
 if you please } — Knock vagabonds on the 
 head. — There are no vagabonds in all 
 Scotland. And what may your calling be ? 
 — ^That of a gentleman. — A gentleman ! 
 and what besides ? — A doctor of medicine. 
 — And what do you do ? — Go about doing 
 good, in imitation of our Saviour. — What 
 countryman are you ? — An American. 
 
 Now, I perceive, — said he, taking hold 
 of my middle jacket button with the fore- 
 finger and thumb of his right hand, — that 
 you ar^ a joker and a blasphemer, for you 
 talked about our Saviour, when you only 
 look after the bodies, and not the souls of 
 men. — I am not joking, my good friend. 
 
/ am hailed hy a drunkefi man, S3S 
 
 but in earnest. — It is no such thing, and 
 you are no American, for you are a very 
 young man ; why I do not think that you 
 are forty. Now, in Scotland, we attend to 
 rcHgiori, because we are bred up and born 
 in our infancy ; but you Americans arc 
 not, and therefore know nothing of God 
 and his ways. Now, I tell you what, I 
 never saw you before in all my life, and I 
 shall be very glad to see you again ; will you 
 go halves in a pint of fort er with me now ^ 
 
 I could not help smiling to see that, even 
 although he was so very tipsey as to be 
 unable to associate his ideas with any 
 tolerable regularity, yet his systematic 
 prudence had not forsaken him, for he 
 proposed to go shares with me in a pint of 
 porter; a drunken English or Irish peasant 
 would have oiFered to treat me with the 
 liquor. T wished now to get rid of him, 
 for his eye became more glossy, his coun- 
 tenance more maudling, and assuming the 
 idiotic cast so peculiar to a certain state of 
 intoxication, and his tongue so very much 
 beset Vv'ith tltubation, that his words were 
 no longer articulate or distinguishable. I, 
 therefore, with some difficulty, disen- 
 
535 The Scottish universities touched on. 
 gaged myself from his grasp, for he had 
 seized my left hand also, in. addition to the 
 jacket button, both wlilch he held reso- 
 lutely and firmly, and wishing him a good 
 night, proceeded to my quarters, where 
 Cowman and I, finding ourselves not much 
 disposed to retire to rest, immediately en- 
 tered into a grave and serious discussion 
 upon the merits of the Scottish universities, 
 as far as related to medicine, for of the 
 other departments of study wc deemed 
 ourselves not qualified to judge. The re- 
 sult of our opinions I shall throw together 
 as concisely as possible^ into the narrative 
 form. 
 
 It might not be altogether improper 
 first to offer a few general remarks on 
 the tendency of established universities to 
 promote or to retard the progress of know- 
 ledge, and then apply them more particu- 
 larly to those of Scotland. 
 
 In every human calling the exertion of 
 those who follow that calling Is always 
 directly proportioned to the necessity of 
 making that exertion. This maxim holds 
 good throughout all the departments 
 
^i?e Scottish univh'shies touched cr:. 657 
 
 of mortal pursuit. If a man has no other 
 means of subsistence than what his pro- 
 fession brings hirh, he must endeavour to 
 acquit himself skilfully in his profession, 
 or, where the competition is not crippled, 
 he will starve for want of employment. 
 If a man undertakes to teach the mathe- 
 matics or a language, and has no other 
 source of revenue except that derived from 
 teaching, it is evident that his success must 
 depend upon his industry and ability. ' 
 
 But the endowments of public semi- 
 naries of education, whether schools or 
 colleges, diminish or destroy the necessity 
 of attention on the part of the teacher. 
 He receives his salary whether he lectures 
 well or ill. Hence, in proportion as a 
 tutor's salary is large, or sm.all, or nothing, 
 will his pupils be likely to receive no, a 
 little, or great, benefit from his instructions. 
 I might easily illustrate these simple prin- 
 ciples, and extend my remarks to a whole 
 volume, by particularizing instances taken 
 from the state of established institutions ; 
 but as I hereafter intend to devote some 
 time and attention to this subject, I shall 
 not enter into detail here ; any one who 
 
J58 ne Scottish universities touched on, 
 thinks and reasons will readily draw the 
 proper conclusions for himself. 
 
 Thus much I shall observe now, that 
 the established discipline of most colleges 
 is calculated to promote the ease of the 
 masters, not the improvement of the students. 
 Whether the teacher performs his duty or 
 not, the pupils are equally required to treat 
 him with all deference ; that is, in other 
 words, the master is presumed to be a 
 model of wisdom, and the student a mere 
 machine. If a teacher receives no other 
 income than what his lectures can procure 
 by the fees of those who attend upon his 
 instructions, he must exert himself to give 
 good lectures ; for no one, without com- 
 pulsion, and voluntarily, ever wishes to 
 hear a drone and a blockhead deliver his 
 drowsy hum a second time. 
 
 Those parts of education which do not 
 depend upon public endowments and in- 
 stitutions are generally best taught. Read- 
 ing, writing, and arithmetic, are generally 
 learned at private schools, and very seldom 
 is any one of the pupils found, who is 
 altogther deficient in these essential requi- 
 sites of literary instruction. Can the same 
 
^e Scottish aniversities touched on, 539 
 be said of those -who are supposed to be 
 taught the sciences and general literature 
 at universities ? The reason of the success 
 in one, and of the deficiency in the other, 
 is, that the private teacher knows full well, 
 that if; he neglects his scholars, his credit 
 as a preceptor will fail, bis boys will leave 
 him, and he must starve ; hence necessity 
 stimulates him to exertion. But the uni- 
 versity professor knows, that whether he 
 teaches his pupils or not, his salary remains 
 the same, that neither his industry will 
 augment, nor his negligence diminish his 
 income. 
 
 Whence, of course, his scholars are neg- 
 lected ; for it is certainly the interest (or 
 what is almost universally deemed to be 
 the interest, it is the great desire) of every 
 man to live as much at his ease as he can ; 
 and if his revenue is not augmented or 
 diminished, whether he exerts himself or 
 not, in the discharge of any laborious office, 
 what is to stimulate him to exertion ? If 
 some constituted authority prevents him 
 from the ostensible and avowed neglect of 
 his duty, yet what is to prevent him from 
 discharging it carelessly and with indiftc- 
 
64^ The Scottish universities tcuched on. 
 rente? If he is inclined to indolence, will 
 he not indulge it, since the stimulus of 
 necessity is withdrawn ? Or if he be inclin- 
 ed to activity, will he not rather direct his 
 industry to some pursuit from whence ad- 
 vantage may be derived, than to the dis- 
 charge of his duty, which will yield him 
 no benefit ? 
 
 Let these remarks be applied to the 
 Scottish universities, and we shall easily 
 discover the reason why they have flourish- 
 ed so highly, particularly in the medical 
 department. The salaries of the professors 
 (where there are any salaries) are very small ; 
 I wish they w^ere much smaller ; whence 
 these gentlemen are obliged to exert their 
 industry and ability in order to procure a 
 decent income from the fees which each 
 pupil pays for permission to attend a course 
 of lectures, and which fees will be abun- 
 dant or scanty in number according as 
 their instructions are worthy of being 
 heard or .shunned ; I mean, when there is 
 no absolute compulsion by the discipline 
 of the college, owing to forms, and de- 
 grees, and graduations, all which act as 
 so many wheels in favour of the teacher's 
 
ne Scottish universities touched on. 54 1 
 pocket, but as so many clogs In the way 
 of the pupil's improvement. 
 
 Possessing this and many other advan- 
 tages, the Caledonian universities are well 
 calculated to lay the foundation and to 
 promote the advancement of science and of 
 literature. The students are not marked 
 and harassed by any invidious and unne- 
 cessary badge of slavery, as to dress ; by any 
 foolish and formal routine of prayers and 
 of meals ; by the bondage of extorted oaths, 
 whereby God's holy name is prostituted 
 and made a pander to the petty interests 
 of narrow-minded bigots ; by confinement 
 within the walls of a dismal and a dreary 
 dungeon, from whence to escape is punish- 
 ment, and in which to abide is death. 
 
 It is in their power, whenever they 
 choose, to enter the groves of Academus, 
 and receive instruction from the hallowed 
 lips of the sages of science, whose precepts 
 and whose sentiments would have done 
 honour to the Portico and the Lyceum. 
 And those hours in which the professors 
 are silent, may be spent at their own 
 apartments in forwarding their intellectual 
 pursuits, uninterrupted by the impertinence 
 
542 The Stottish universities tduchdd on, 
 
 of a stipendizcd tutor, and unmolested by 
 the arbitrary frown of an appointed master^ 
 And surely not to be estimated as the least 
 in the scale of benefit, is the liberal com-' 
 munication of that improvement which is 
 to be derived from extensive and judiciously 
 selected and arranged repositories of books. 
 
 The length of the session also, from 
 October to July, during the whole of 
 which time the classes sit, is a great ad- 
 vantage to the pupils, whose minds are 
 less distracted by one annual vacation, 
 than if they were continually experiencing 
 the alternations of confinement and of free- 
 dom from all study* 
 
 One inconvenience, however, I must 
 note, which is, that, in consequence of the 
 Scottish boys generally going at so early an 
 age as twelve or thirteen to the university, 
 they do not conduct themselves with that 
 decency and decorum which ought always 
 to be found within the precincts of a lite- 
 rary seminary. I particularly allude to the 
 very improper custom of clapping, and 
 hissing, and beating with sticks, and kick- 
 ing with the feet, whenever a person en- 
 ters the class-room, nay, at the entrance 
 
The Scottish universities touched on* 545 
 of the professor, and at his exit, or when 
 he happens to please the pupils by any re- 
 mark, or lucky experiment in chemistry, 
 mechanical philosophy, &c. all which 
 levels the teacher to the degrading situ- 
 ation of a strolling player, or a mounte- 
 bank doctor, whose rant and whose gri- 
 maces are always welcomed with loud 
 shouts of applause by the mob. 
 
 Neither do these noisy salutations always 
 produce the most pleasant consequences; 
 for, not to mention how disgusting and 
 distressing they must be to the professor, if 
 he happens to be a man of feeling and of 
 refined manners ; sometimes the students 
 themselves are very indignant at being so 
 announced upon their entrance into the 
 lecture- room ; whence many squabbles 
 and boxings arise, rendering the place 
 more like a bear-garden than a hall of in- 
 struction. I remember that last winter" a 
 very stout young gentleman of Ireland 
 w^as ^o enraged because he was never suf- 
 fered to put his foot into the anatomical 
 professor's class-room at Edinburgh, with- 
 out being annoyed by the barbarous cla- 
 mour of claps, hisses, kickings, and shouts. 
 
5 4- 4- The Scottish universities touched on, 
 that he (to use his own expression) was 
 determined to he after breaking the faces of 
 several of the students. 
 
 Accordindv he broke some half dozen 
 human faces that morning ; and the next 
 day was hissed and clapped, and clapped 
 and hissed again ; whereupon he proceeded 
 to break some more faces : but a Scottish 
 lad, whose visage was not yet mended 
 from yesterday's fracture, objected to this 
 method of proceeding, and drew a pistol 
 from his pocket, swearing stoutly that he 
 would shoot the Hibernian immediately if 
 he did not desist from farther manual 
 arguments. The Irishman, nothing daunt- 
 ed, knocked down the pistol-presenter in 
 a trice, and pummelled him without 
 mercy. All the theatre nov/ was in an 
 uproar, the Irish students formed in a body 
 to assist their countryman, the Scottish 
 pupils ran to the aid of the fallen Cale<^ 
 donian, and kicks, and cuffs, and bruises, 
 of all sorts and sizes, black eyes, bloody 
 noses, broken shins, &c. &c. &c. were 
 given and received with such mutual good 
 will, and such perseverous obstinacy, that 
 young Dr. Monro, when he came to lecture 
 
The Scottish universities touched on. 545 
 found his class-room in one universal scuffle, 
 and grew frightened, and waxed pale. 
 
 Soon after, however, the venerable fa- 
 ther of the medical department at Edin- 
 burgh, the elder Monro, came, and, by his 
 presence, stilled the tumult. A Senatus 
 Academicus was called, the pistol-presenter 
 was expelled from the university, and the 
 breaker of faces publicly reprimanded. But 
 would it not be better to teach the chil- 
 dren to behave with a little decency and 
 civility, than to incur the risque of so 
 much trouble and vexation, as that of wit- 
 nessing all these barbarous uproars, and, 
 then, being obliged to have recourse to 
 punishment ; all which might be prevented 
 by a little attention on the part of the 
 professors ? 
 
 It is to be hoped, that the very coarse 
 and disgusting behaviour, which has so 
 long disgraced the students of the Scottish 
 universities, wnll give place to a conduct 
 more becoming, and better calculated to de- 
 note civilized and polished human beings. 
 
 Such is the view, which, on a general 
 and cursory inspection, Caledonian univer- 
 jsities present ; such beneficial consequences 
 
 VOL. II. ^" N 
 
5A6 The Scottish unhersities touched on. 
 
 are their foundation-principles calculated 
 to produce; and, how far, at present, they 
 contribute towards these desirable ends, 
 \Vill best be seen by entering more into 
 detail, and descending to a minuter Investi- 
 gation, that we rh^y be able to appreciate, 
 at its true value the merit of each school 
 of education. 
 
 At St. Andrew's, the barbarous restric- 
 tions laid on the inestimable privilege of 
 having access to a spacious and a well-fur-* 
 nifhed library, we must be allowed to de- 
 plore and condemn. No student, as I was 
 informed by a pupil who studied there, is 
 permitted to receive a book, unless som^ 
 professor sends to the librarian a note ex- 
 pressing the title of the volume, and his 
 approbation of, and leave granted, that such 
 book shall be perused. Will not this re- 
 finement on tyranny> this mental despotism, 
 confine and enervate the, efforts and the 
 energies of ingenuous youth ? Many and 
 many an author, from whom amusement 
 is to be derived, and instruction is to be 
 reaped, may be denied to the importunities 
 of the student, because the tutor, through 
 impenetrable duUnes$> a mistaken 2:eal, or 
 
"^he SCdttuh universities tmched on, 547 
 capfiX^iou^ severity, or all tUcse deformities 
 combined and blended together, may not 
 vouchsafe to grant the request. 
 
 Why ar^ tlie avcaues leading to the 
 temple of knowledge pt^structed ? Why 
 are her portals barred against^.the entrance 
 of aspiring enterprize ? Why , is a mlll-stonQ 
 slung roun4 the pinions of an eagle ? 
 
 J,,pas^ pvcr the extreme care which is 
 taken to jxi^ke -the divinity-students dex- 
 tqpi;i6 .cpnyeyancers^. particularly in the ar- 
 ticle oi' turkeys ; an especial instance of 
 which Wfe heard from the mouth of our 
 good landlord, of drunken memory, at the 
 Cardinal's town, because I suppose, — '^ that 
 these true disciples, for recreation's sake, 
 proved false thieve; s, seeing that the poor 
 abuses of the time wanted countenance." 
 r^Besides,-r-^' it was their vocation, and it 
 is no sin for a man to labour in his voca- 
 tion. Add to this, that even those brought 
 up at the feet of Gamaliel, sometimes, leav- 
 ing the fear of heaven on the left hand, and 
 hiding their honour in their necessity, are 
 fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to lurch."— 
 
 But I cannot pass, in silence, ove,r any 
 conduct, which is the result of bigQtry and 
 
 3f N i? 
 
54 S fhe Scottish universUifS touched on, 
 the offspring of persecution. The follow- 
 ing fact will need no comment, it speaks 
 for itself 
 
 Lately, oft a sunday morning, a gentle- 
 man from England, one of the protcftant 
 dissenters, preached at St. x^ndrew's, in the 
 open air, to a numerous audience. His ser- 
 mon being ended, he returned to his lodg- 
 ings, where he was greeted w^ith this mes- 
 sage, from the principal of the university, 
 that, unless he immediately decamped from 
 the town, he should be laid by the heels, 
 and put into prison. The gentleman re- 
 turned for answer, that he was licensed to 
 exercise the spiritual function, and that, 
 confiding in the protection of the law of 
 the land, he intended to preach in the 
 evening, in a certain field, where he should 
 be happy to see the worthy principal. The 
 evening came, a great crowd assembled, 
 the minister began his exhortation : 
 
 When, behold. 
 
 Not distant far^ with heavy pace, the foe 
 Approaching gross and huge, in hollow cube 
 Training his devilish enginry, impal'd. 
 On every side, with shadowing squadrons deep. 
 To hide the fraud : 
 
ne Scottish universities touched on, 549 
 that is to say, the pious principal, well 
 knowing, that his was the church militant 
 hefe.on earth, marched at the head of a 
 party of soldierSi.withucolours flying, drums 
 beating, and bagpipes snuffling through 
 the audience collected together to hear the 
 gospel expounded. The preacher, w^ho was 
 not a man to be frightened at a little smoke, 
 and a flash in the pan, said, that if these 
 military gentlemen wished to play a tune, 
 he would stop until they had done, and 
 then finish his discourse. They, accordingly, 
 played many a military march suitable to 
 the occasion, and, w4ien they w^ere heartily 
 tired, ceased. The clergyman then pro- 
 ceeded to finish his sermon, utterly regard- 
 less of 
 
 *^ St. Andrew's chief, who with full twenty men 
 March'd to the field, and then march'd back again. 
 
 As to physic, no great proficiency in the 
 medical profession can be expected, w^here 
 lectures are indeed read, but neither, hos- 
 pital nor patients are to be found ; where 
 anatomy is descanted on, but no subjects 
 for dissection . a;e., to be obtained. Hence, 
 
550 ^he Scottish universities touched on, 
 
 as may well be supposed^ since neither 
 anatomy nor the practice of physic can be 
 taught at this universityV many students do 
 not resort hither for that instruction which 
 they will not find* And hence, scarcely a 
 human being goes abroad into the world, 
 disgraced or adorned^ by a medical licence 
 from St. Andrew's, excepting, that now and 
 then, indeed, a solitary diploma is sold for 
 fourteen pounds and ten shillings, and sent 
 by the waggon, or coletch, or peradventurc 
 by a fishing-smack, to some battered apo- 
 thecary, who wishes"'t6 mount into a doc- 
 tor and a gentleman ; or a decayed barber> 
 to whom the craft of shaving hath become 
 tedious and irksome withal ; or to some 
 gentleman's cast-ofF valet de chambre, who 
 hath picked up a little money by dusting 
 his master's coat; or to other mortals, 
 equally deserving of, and equally entitled 
 to, the distinguished and enviable appella- 
 tion of doctor of medicine. 
 
 At Glasgow, I am sorry to say, that, in 
 one respect, they have improved upon the 
 barbarism of St. Andrew's ; for there, they 
 absolutely prohibit (as Cowan informed 
 me, and he ought to know, for he stu- 
 
The Scottish wiiversities touched on, 55 1 
 died at that university two years) tSe stu- 
 dents from reaping any benefit from the 
 library, uiitil the third year's residence ; 
 ;:ilj which period, no book is granted for 
 perusal to any of the pupils. This is an 
 instance of folly, of ignorance, and of pro- 
 fligate oppression, not to be paralleled, I 
 hope, for the honour of human nature, in 
 any other seminary of education. They 
 haVe also stamped the young men with the 
 brand of servitude ; they have arrayed them 
 in a monastic uniform, a barbarous red 
 garb ; a petty device, which we might 
 have imagined could not have withstood, 
 until the nineteenth century, the combined 
 powers of reason and of ridicule. But so 
 it is ; and, in order to complete the odious 
 system of unnecessary restraint, .tl^ey have 
 only to immure their disciples within the 
 precincts of their gloomy and cheerless 
 college. 
 
 There is one other material defect in 
 the system of instruction at Glasgow, 
 which occurs in the medical department ; 
 I mean, the neglect of making anatomy, 
 which is the foundation of all medical 
 knowledge, easy to the students. Pupils, 
 NN 4 
 
552 The Scottish universities touched on. 
 during the first year of attendance at the 
 class, are not allowed access to the dissect- 
 ing rooms ; which is an absurd and foolish 
 restriction ; for no one can ever learn 
 anatomy, merely by hearing lectures, un- 
 less he is also permitted to inspect, to 
 handle^ and to carve dead bodies himself. 
 The young men are so sensible of the 
 cruelty and injustice of this custom, that, 
 some little time since, they sent a petition, 
 couched in decent and respectful terms, 
 to the anatomical professor, requesting, 
 that they might be permitted to attend the 
 dissecting rooms, in order to become ac- 
 quainted with the human frame, on the 
 knowledge of which is built all physical 
 skill, and all surgical dexterity. 
 
 To this very reasonable request no an- 
 swer was vouchsafed. And, here, it may 
 not be amiss to observe, that the medical 
 teachers of this university are, in general, 
 very apt to conduct themselves distantly 
 and haughtily towards their pupils. This 
 shameful and unmanly behaviour, though 
 inexcusable, can readily be accounted for, 
 from the pitiful cowardice and abject 
 timidity of the students themselves; for 
 
The Scottish unhersities touched on. 55 S 
 those only can be trodden on who crawl 
 upon the ground. 
 
 Excepting these errors, which it is to hz 
 hoped the good sense of the heads of the 
 university will speedily remove, perhaps no 
 seminary of education, at this day, exists 
 in Europe, better calculated to answer its 
 intended purpose, than is Glasgow. It is, 
 by far, the greatest school in the British 
 empire, for the rearing of students to the. 
 Calvinist ministry. Multitudes of young 
 men flock annually to Glasgow, from Ire- 
 land, chiefly ; many from all parts of Scot- 
 land ; some from England ; and a few from 
 foreign countries, for the purpose of being 
 trained in the Calvinistic doctrine. The 
 still increasing numbers of ecclesiastical 
 students, plainly proves, that the system of 
 theology taught at this university is gene- 
 rally approved of. 
 
 But it is of medicine that I wish chiefly 
 to speak, because I do not deem myself 
 qualified to judge so well of any other de- 
 partment of study. Dr. JefFray, the pre- 
 sent professor of Anatomy and Botany, for 
 he monopolizes both these chairs, and fills 
 that of botany by deputy, possesses a range 
 
554 ^"hc Scotthh universities touched on. 
 of ability, an c.Ttcnt of knowledge, and a 
 vicrilancc of activity, that ^U men would 
 do well to endeavour to emulate, but I 
 know not who could equal. I wish that 
 his exertions were backed by able col- 
 leagues : as it is, however, Glasgow bids 
 fair, under his. auspices, to become one of 
 the first and best medical schools in Eu- 
 rope. The hospital is happily situated, 
 liberally supported, and well attended. The 
 college has also lately received a most va^ 
 luabie acquisition to its treasures in the 
 museum of the late celebrated William 
 Hunter, for whose arrangement apartments 
 are now building, on a most judicious and 
 enlarged plan, under the immediate inspec- 
 tion and superintendence of Dr. Jeffray. 
 
 In addition to the great advantages to be 
 derived from the instructions of the col- 
 lege, the opulent and thriving town of 
 Glasgow possesses another invaluable mean 
 of education in Anderson's institution. The 
 •late Dr. Anderson left, by will, his phi- 
 losophical apparatus, his library, and fo?r- 
 tune, to found and to support au institu- 
 tion hearing his name, which compre- 
 hends. ;cviid jfeeaahes .every branch of usetul 
 
The Scottish universities touched on, 55,S 
 science and art. This school is open to 
 every one, females as well as men, de- 
 sirous of improvement. That it is well 
 attended, I can bear witness from ocular 
 experience ; and was much pleased to see 
 the benches of the lecture -room crowded 
 with men and women attentively listening 
 to the precepts of instruction : it was a, 
 sight that reflected imniortal honour on 
 the laudable desire of knowledsre in the 
 inhabitants of Glascfow. 
 
 o 
 
 By the zealous assiduity and indefati- 
 gable exertions of Dr. Garnet, afterwards 
 lecturer at the Royal Institution in Albe-^ 
 marie Street, London ; and, then, of the 
 present very acute and extensively- Inform- 
 ed teacher. Dr. Birbeck, this seminary has 
 rapidly increased in utility and in honour. 
 It may justly be deemed a national bless- 
 ing ; a rich source of instruction, diffusing 
 the streams of knowledge throughout the 
 land, to render the people more powerful, 
 more virtuous, and more happy. 
 
 Of Aberdeen I can say nothing, for I 
 know nothing : indeed, I inquired con- 
 "Cerning its merit, as a university, and re- 
 <?cived for answer,-— that the town^ itself^ 
 
5S6 The Scottish univ erst lies tcuched on. 
 and the countr}' round about, sent to the 
 Eduiburgh market the best fresh and salt 
 butter of any place in all bcotland. 
 
 With melancholy thought, and with a 
 sorrowing heart, we turned a look of pity 
 towards Edinburgh, and sighed over the 
 fallen condition, and lamented the decay- 
 ing state of her medical school. We la- 
 mented it the more poignantly, because 
 her institutions, were they not perverted, 
 are such, as to make her, w^hat indeed 
 she once was, the unrivalled instructress 
 in that profession, whose object it is to 
 soothe the cares, and to alleviate the 
 miseries of mortality. Her chemical lec- 
 tures, in themselves, calculated, at once, 
 to teach the pupil how to distinguish, 
 and how to cure diseases ; her facilities 
 of obtaining anatomical instruction ; and, 
 above all, a most ample and judiciously 
 chosen library, which is open to all the 
 students, without any crippling restriction, 
 without any rigid restraint, without any 
 barbarous incumbrance ; are all admirably 
 fitted to pronounce her the unequalled 
 mistress, paramount to all the ^sculapiaa 
 academies on the earth. 
 
The Scottish universities touched on. 557 
 And, here, it would be unpardonable 
 not to mention, as deserving of the highest 
 praise and commendation that gratitude can 
 bestow, the care and attention, with which 
 all the bibhothccal department is con- 
 ducted by the excellent librarian, Mr. Dal- 
 zell, the Greek professor, so well known, 
 and so deservedly esteemed in the literary 
 world : " the very stream of whose life, 
 and the business he hath helmed, must, 
 upon a warranted need, give him an ex- 
 cellent proclamation. Let him be but 
 testimonied in his own bringings forth, 
 and he shall appear, even to the envious, 
 a scholar and a gentleman." 
 
 That Dr. Gregory, the professor of the 
 practice of physic, is a man of ability and 
 of information, no one, who knows any 
 thing of him, can for a moment doubt : 
 and no one, who is capable of forming' any 
 judgment worthy of being listened to, can 
 be so hardy as to assert, that he properly 
 and adequately discharges the high and re- 
 sponsible office which he holds. There 
 is, certainly, some good practical know- 
 ledge in his lectures, which, if delivered 
 plainly and simply, and by itsejf, would be 
 
558 The S coltish universities touched on, 
 of grcact service in instructi'ng the students. 
 But' he contrives almost to defeat the be- 
 nefit, which these practical remarks might 
 produce, by burying them in a fude mas$ 
 of observations on the exploded theories of 
 the anticnt medical schools ; all ^'hicb> 
 though it afford the doctor full opportunity 
 to display his wit, miserably wastes tii;n^ a,Rd 
 distracts the attention. It is the pupil' i^ 
 business to learn what is right, not to be 
 detained day after day, and week after we^k, 
 upon the nonsensical hypotheses of former 
 ages, which it is h^eneath any, man of 
 coiTimon understanding even to :notice. I 
 allude to the doctor's Ijong, very long com,- 
 mcnts pn the . doctrine of eiror loci; the 
 hujnoral path/)Icgy , and xn any other fooleries 
 wiiicli have had their day, a^4- should novv 
 be suffeied quietly to sleep, the sleep of 
 death,. 
 
 \ object; also, to ,the doctor's mode of 
 bringing a parcel of old medical author^ 
 in Latin,, , and reading long passages from 
 theijn^,' and then translating these passages 
 into English, merely for the purpose of 
 showing how 'Very foolish these writers 
 wxre, and how^ much wiser he is. This 
 
^'he Scottish universities iCuched on, 5S9 
 IS only so much of life consumed in idle- 
 ness and vanity ; it dees not, one jot, for- 
 ward the progress of medicine ; and is, in 
 fact, defrauding the ptipils of the instruc- 
 tion due to them. The doctor talks loudly 
 and fast, it is true, and laughs abundantly, 
 but, meanwhile, the hungry sheep (the 
 students) look up, and are not fed, swoln 
 with wind and the rank mist they draw. 
 Neither do the numberless tales and little 
 stbries which he continually recites, fot 
 the purpose of making his hearers laugh, 
 and of showing that he considers all medi- 
 cine as a farce and a cheat put upon the 
 ptibUc, tend to instruct them in the vety 
 serious and important calling which he 
 professes to teach them. I am rather in- 
 clined to believe that Dr. Gregory has paid 
 more attention, than he ought, to the fol- 
 lowing advice of one of the greatest phi- 
 losophers which the world ever saw. 
 
 *' If the teacher happens to be a man of 
 sense, it must be an unpleasant thing to 
 him to be conscious, while he is lecturing 
 his students, that he is either speaking or 
 reading nonsense, or what is very little 
 better than nonsense. It must,' too^ be 
 2 
 
560 The Scottish universities touched en. 
 unpleasant to him to observe, that the 
 greater part of his students desert his lec- 
 tures; or, perhaps, attend upon them with 
 plain enough marks of contempt, neglect, 
 and derision. If he is obliged, therefore, to 
 give a certain number of lectures, these 
 motivxs alone, without any other interest, 
 might dispose him to take pains to give 
 tolerably good ones. Several different ex- 
 pedients, howxver, may be fallen upon, 
 which will effectually blunt the edge of 
 all those incitements to diligence. The 
 teacher, instead of explaining to his pupils 
 himself, the science in which he proposes 
 to instruct them, may read . sorne book 
 upon it ; and if this book is written in a 
 foreign, or dead language, by interpreting 
 it to them in their own, and by now and 
 then making an occasional remark upon it, 
 he may flatter himself that he is ghing a 
 lecture. 
 
 " The slightest degree of knowledge and 
 rpplication will, enable him to do this, 
 without exposing himself to contempt or 
 derision, or saying any thing that is very ab- 
 surd, foolish, or ridiculous. The discipline 
 of the college, at the same time, may enable 
 
^he Scottish univer sides touched on, 56 1 
 him to force all his pupils to the most 
 regular attendance upon this sham-lecture, 
 and to maintain the most decent and re- 
 spectful behaviour during the whole time 
 of the performance. 
 
 Dr. Gregory is, certainly, a man of 
 sense, and of extensive acquirements ; 
 whence it is to be hoped, that he will in 
 future, exert himself really and truly to 
 instruct his pupils in the practical know- 
 ledge of medicine. At present, it is most 
 notorious that his lectures are calculated 
 for very little else than to mislead, and to 
 perplex the dull and the ignorant, and to 
 render the able and the educated disgusted 
 with the study of physic. His chief am-, 
 bition seems to be, to say something smart 
 against his own profession, which he, by 
 voice, by writing, and by deed, always 
 attempts to turn into ridicule, and to put 
 his hearers upon the broad grin. 
 
 Besides, his method of stringing together 
 a parcel of unconnected and often contra- 
 dictory instances, which he culls facts, 
 without arranging them under any general 
 head, or leading his pupils up to any great 
 simple principle, by which their know- 
 
 VOL, II. O O 
 
^62 ne Scottish universities touched 6n» 
 ledge might be made portable to them-" 
 selves, and beneficial to others, ren- 
 ders his instructions little better than a 
 huge, misshapen mass of chaotic jumble, 
 from which neither amusement is to be 
 obtained, nor improvement to b^ reaped. 
 Surely, the doctor forgets, that students of 
 medicine leave their homes, expend their 
 money, consume their time, and wish to 
 apply their talents for some other purpose 
 than that of laughing with or at their 
 lecturer. 
 
 Is all medicine a farce ; or, is there 
 something serious in endeavouring, and in 
 being often able to remove the languor of 
 sickness, to soothe the pangs of agony and 
 of pain, and to alleviate the numberless 
 miseries and ills under which our fellow- 
 creatures groan and are afflicted ? The 
 answer is so very obvious, that it must 
 strike upon the sense of the mpst hebe- 
 tated and ignorant. 
 
 Perhaps, also, the doctor is not aw^are, 
 that, by this unseemly conduct, he in- 
 directly libels his own integrity; because 
 he professes to instruct others in an art, 
 which he takes every opportunity of re- 
 
The Scottish universities touched on. 56^ 
 presenting as an imposition on the public, 
 a hum put upon the people, to use his 
 own phrase. Not to mention that his 
 mode of lecturing perverts and leads astray 
 many very well-meaning, but ignorant 
 and slow youths, who annually resort to 
 this university, and receive all his words as 
 the sayings of an oracle, and, most re- 
 ligiously, commit them to writing ; I have 
 witnessed more than a hundred pens mov- 
 ing at once to embody upon paper the 
 doctor's well-known facetious story of the 
 chicken that had neither tails nor rumps. 
 
 But the lectures, which he at present 
 delivers, will no more teach a man to be- 
 come a physician, than it will to instruct 
 him how to become a christian. Whoever 
 imagines that he can learn much concern- 
 ing medical science from the prelections of 
 Dr. Gregory, may as well endeavour — 
 " by striking the oar to hasten the cataract, 
 and by waving with a fan to add speed to 
 the winds." 
 
 Dr. Hope, the chemical professor, de- 
 livers , as full and instructive a course of 
 lectures on chemistry, as, perhaps, any 
 man in Great Britain. But, even his ad- 
 
 0^ 
 
564 Ths Scottish universities touched on. 
 mirers, and I am sure that I am disposed 
 to admire him, as having received more 
 chemical information from him than froni 
 any one else, probably, would be better 
 pleased if he did not dwell so long and so 
 very minutely on the question, how the 
 earth was formed, whether by water or by 
 fire ? A question, which, neither he, nor 
 any man else, will ever solve; and there- 
 fore is, at best, only trifling away time. 
 But it is productive of worse consequences 
 than this ; it involves some theories of a 
 sceptical tendency, which are very preju- 
 dicial to the doctor's auditors, the major 
 part of whom are young, and, by no 
 means, either from instruction or from 
 habit, fitted to examine the nature of evi-^ 
 dence, and think it very pretty to prattle 
 atheistical nonsense and blasphemy; thus 
 adding to the disgrace already attached to 
 Edinburgh, as encouraging and promoting 
 scepticism and infidelitj-. 
 
 A Ycrj respectable gentlewoman, at 
 Edinburgh, told me, with marks of sor- 
 rovv very^ legibly impressed on her coun- 
 tenance, that a relation of her's, a baronet, 
 a young gcnstleman of no unpromising 
 
The Scottish universities touched on, 565 
 abilities, had commenced unbeliever, and 
 strutted about the house, uttering; weak 
 ribaldry and cant against Moses and his 
 account of the Creation, ever since he 
 first heard Dr. Hope's lectures on geology ; 
 and from which lectures he continually 
 quotes what he deems irrefragable argu- 
 ments against poor Moses, but at which 
 his good aunt is very much hurt and 
 shocked, although she is neither able to 
 refute, nor, indeed, docs she understand 
 them. 
 
 I do not mean to cast the least imputa- 
 tion on Dr. Hope, or to say aught about 
 his belief, or his unbelief; I only wish to 
 point out the ill effects which result from 
 discussing such needless questions before an 
 audience, whose heads are not sufficiently 
 enlightened to perceive the folly and the 
 fallacy of all arguments drawn from mere 
 conjecture and fanciful hypothesis. 
 
 Of the name of Monro, to w^hose exer- 
 tions the very birth and existence of the 
 medical school at Edinburgh are owing, it 
 is difficult to speak in terms of sufficient 
 commendation. The present elder Dr. 
 Monro has, for full half a century past, 
 003 
 
566 The Scottish universities touched on, 
 
 delivered ample and accurate instructions, 
 in anatomy and in surgery to a. numerous 
 and an admiring audience. To enter mi- 
 nutely into the merits of his lectures 
 would be useless ; it is sufficient, generally, 
 to observe, that the experience of half a 
 century hath stamped upon them the seal 
 of approbation and of honour. 
 
 But I must, most unequivocally, and 
 with the most marked disapprobation, 
 enter my caveat against his frequent and 
 needless cruelty, in wantonly tormenting 
 living creatures. Surely, his pupils are not 
 likely to be very well instructed in the 
 great duties of humanity and of tenderness, 
 by seeing him continually cut up, and 
 mangle, and mutilate, and torture, in his 
 class-room, harmless ^nd unoffending ani- 
 mals. Let it never be forgotten, that 
 
 *' The eye, v/hich will not weep another's pain 
 Should boast no milder brightness than the glare 
 That reddens in the eye-ball of the wolf.** 
 
 *' All that breathe, and feel, and enjoy 
 the gift of life from their Creator, arc 
 entitled to protection from man, under 
 those limits and degrees which an honest 
 and upright mind knows without being 
 
ne Scottish universities tmiched on. 667 
 told. Surely, to sit calmly, and to watch, 
 with an impure, inhuman, and unhallow- 
 ed-curiosity, the progress of the desires, 
 and the extinction of the natural passions 
 in devoted animals, after such mutilations 
 and experiments, is a practice useless, 
 wicked, foolish, degrading, and barbarous. 
 There is no justification to be offered. 
 When an experiment, for any purpose use- 
 ful to millions of our fellow-creatures, has 
 been once made upon an animal, it should 
 be finally recorded by men of science and 
 veracity, as authentic and satisfactory, not 
 to be repeated. 
 
 '^ Among the inferior professors of me- 
 dical knowledge, is a race of wretches, 
 whose lives are only varied by varieties of 
 cruelty ; whose favourite amusement is to • 
 nail dogs to tables, and open them alive ; 
 to try how long life may be continued in 
 various degrees of mutilation, or with the: 
 excision or laceration of the vital parts ; to 
 examine whether burning irons are felt 
 more acutely by the bone or tendon ; or 
 whether the more lasting agonies are pro- 
 duced by poison forced into the mouth, or 
 injected into the veius. 
 o o 4 
 
56S The Scottish universities touched on, 
 
 '* Mead has in^idiousIy remarked of 
 Woodward, that he gathered shells and 
 stones, and would pass for a pliilosophcr. 
 With pretensions much less reasonable, the 
 anatomical butcher tears out the living 
 bowels of an animal, and styles himself a 
 physician ; prepares himself by familiar 
 cruelty for that profession, which he is to 
 exercise upon the tender and the helpless, 
 upon feeble bodies and broken minds, and by 
 which he has opportunities to extend his arts 
 of torture, and continue those experiments 
 upon infancy and age, which he has 
 hitherto tried upon cats and dogs. 
 
 *' What is alleged in defence of this 
 hateful practice every one knows ; but the 
 truth is, that, by knives, fire, and poison, 
 knowledge is not always sought, and is 
 very seldom obtained. The experiments 
 that have been tried, are tried again ; he 
 that burned an animal w'lth irons yesterday, 
 •will be willing to amuse himself with burn- 
 ing another to-morrow. I know not, that 
 by living dissections any discovery has been 
 made, by which a single malady is more 
 easily cured. And if the knowledge of 
 physiology has been somew-hat increased. 
 
The Scottish univer skies touched on, 569 
 he surely buys knowledge dear, who learns 
 the use of the lacteals at the expence of his 
 bumanity. It is time, that universal re- 
 sentment should arise against these horrid 
 operations, which tend to harden the heart, 
 to extinguish those sensations, which give 
 man confidence in man, and make the 
 physician more dreadful than the gout or 
 stone." 
 
 And yet in this our day, in the nine- 
 teenth century, so prevalent is this diabo-. 
 lical custom of mangling and mutilating 
 living animals, that an Italian professor of 
 medicine, I forget the rascal's name, saysj 
 in one of his publications, — '^ pro: miqmtate 
 temponmi, &c. &c. — that is, — -*' through the 
 iniquity of the times, we are prevented 
 from dissecting living men^ and are, there- 
 fore, obliged to be contented vvith cutting 
 up living greyhounds. Hear what the sen- 
 sible and judicious Celsus says, in answer 
 to those who applaud, and wish to follow 
 the example of Herophilus and Erasistratus, 
 two physicians, that were in the habit of 
 cutting up live men, in Alexandria. 
 
 " Id vero, quod festat, etiam crudele ; 
 vivorum hommim ahum atque pracordia in- 
 
570 The Scottish universities touched en, 
 ddi\ et salutis humanas praesidem artem, 
 non solum pestem allcui^ sed hanc etiam 
 atrodsstmam ial'erre : cum, prassertlm ex 
 his, quas tanta violentia quasrantur, alia non 
 possint omnino cognosci, alia possint ctlam 
 sine scelere. Nam colorem, Isevorem, mol- 
 litieni, duritlem, slmiliaque omnia non esse 
 talia, iuciso corpore, qualla Integro fuerint. 
 Turn quia, corporibus invlolatis, haec ta- 
 men, metu, dolore, incdia, cruditate, lassi- 
 tudlne, et mille aliis mediocribus afFectibus, 
 s^pe mutantur. Unde multo magis verisw 
 mile, interiora, quibus major mollities, et 
 lux ipsa nova est, suh gravissimis vuhierihus 
 et ipsa truddatione vmtaru 
 
 ^* Ncque quicquam esse stultius, quam 
 quale quid vivo homlne est, tale existimarc 
 esse moriente, Imo jam mortuo. Nam ne 
 uterum, ut nihllominus aerem contineat, 
 iipirante homine diduci ; slmulatque vero 
 ferrurn ad praecordia accessit, et discissum 
 txansversum septum est, quod membrana 
 quadam superlores partes ab infcrioribus di- 
 duclt, diaphragma Graeci vocant, homin.cm 
 protinus animam amittere : itaque demum 
 mortul praecordia et viscus omne in con- 
 gpectum latrodnanils media dari : . quod ne- 
 
The Scottish universities touched en. 571 
 cesse sit tale esse, quale mortui sit, non 
 quale Yivi fuit. Itaque, consequl medicimi, tit 
 hom'mem criidellter jugulet : 7ion ut mat 
 qualia vlvi viscera haheamus'' 
 
 I must relieve my reader and myself from 
 the disgust occasioned by the contemplation 
 of these horrid monsters in human shape, 
 and direct our attention to the benevolent 
 sentiments of the incomparable sir Wil- 
 liam Jones, on this subject. He says, in his 
 tenth Aniversary Discourse on Asiatic His- 
 tory Civil and Natural, 
 
 '^ Could the figure, instincts, and qua- 
 lities of birds, beasts^ insects, reptiles, and 
 fish, be ascertained, either on the plan of 
 Buffon, or on that of Linnaeus, without 
 giving pain to the objects of our examina- 
 tion, few studies would afford us more solid 
 instruction or more exquisite deHght: but 
 I never could learn by what right, nor con- 
 ceive with what feelings, a naturalist can 
 occasion the misery of an innocent bird, 
 and leave its young, perhaps, to perish in a 
 cold nest, because it has gay plumage, and 
 has never been accurately delineated ; or 
 deprive even a butterfly of its natural en- 
 joyments, because it has the misfortune ta 
 
^72 The Scottish universities touched on. 
 
 be rare or beautiful ; nor shall I ever forget 
 the couplet of Fridausi, for which SadI, 
 who cilcs it with applause, pours blessings 
 on his departed spirit. 
 
 *^ Ah ! spare yon emmetj rich In hoarded grain; 
 tlu lives with pleasure^ and he dies with pain/' 
 
 " This may be only a confession of 
 weakness, and it certainly is not meant as 
 a boast of peculiar sensibility ; but what- 
 ever name may be given to my opinion, 
 it has such an effect upon my conduct, 
 that I never would suiFer the Cocila, whose 
 wild native wood- notes announce the ap» 
 proach of spring, to be caught in my gar- 
 den, for the sake of comparing it with 
 Buffon's description ; though I have often 
 examined the domestic and engaging May- 
 ana, which bids us good-morrow at our 
 window^s, and expects, as its reward, little 
 more than security : even when a fine 
 young Manis or Pangolin was brought me, 
 against my wish, from the mountains, \ 
 solicited his restoration to his beloved rocks, 
 because I found it impossible to preserve 
 him in comfort at a distance from them. 
 
^be Scottish universities touched on, 575 
 There are several treatises on animals in 
 Arabick, and very particular accounts of 
 them in Chinese, with elegant outlines of 
 their external appearance ; but I have met 
 with nothing valuable concerning them in 
 Persian, except w^hat may be gleaned from 
 the medical dictionaries ; nor have I yet 
 seen a book in Sanscrit, that exp;ressly 
 treats of them. On the whole, though rare 
 animals may be found in all Asia, yet I can 
 only recommend an examination of them, 
 with this condition, that they be left, as 
 much as possible, in a state of natural free- 
 dom, or made as happy as possible, if it be 
 necessary to keep them confined." 
 
 Who, that reads these heavenly senti- 
 ments, will refuse to pour blessings on the 
 departed spirit of Jones ? 
 
 The elder Dr. Monro has also done a 
 deed, which shows, that the private inte- 
 rest of his family is, at least, as great an 
 -t)bject with him, as the desire of promot- 
 ing the public welfare of the university. I 
 allude to his foisting his son, quite a boy, 
 into the anatomical chair. It would be in^ 
 vidious to dwell minutely upon a circum- 
 stance, v/hich every one, that know;? it^ 
 
57 4- iTje Scottish universities touched on, 
 cries out against. It may, however, \>d 
 said, without the least breach of candour 
 or of charity, that the younger Monro is 
 neither qualified by capacity or by know- 
 ledge to fill that seat, which has been so^ 
 ably occupied, for nearly a century past, by 
 his father and his grandfather. A strong 
 proof of the opinion, which the students 
 entertain of this young gentleman's merit 
 is, that the benches of the anatomical thea- 
 tre are nearly empty when he lectures, 
 and that they are crowded and thronged 
 whenever his venerable father delivera a 
 preelection. 
 
 But there is another objection against 
 
 this measure of making the professorlhips 
 
 hereditary ; it strikes directly at the root of 
 
 the existence of Edinburgh as a medical 
 
 school. It is the great cause which has 
 
 made its fame decline, and its utility de* 
 
 crease. There is but one medical chair at 
 
 this day in Edinburgh, w^hich is not filled 
 
 up, like an estate, that descends from father 
 
 • to son ; the folly and the injustice of such 
 
 a measure must be apparent to every one. 
 
 Because the father is a cobbler of notoriety^ 
 
 docs it necessarily follow^ that the son must 
 
 3 
 
the Smtish universities' tottched on. 575 
 also mend a shoe well, although he be not 
 taught to strike upon the last ? In this king- 
 dom, for the most part, we think and act 
 more conformably to reason; and if we wish a 
 person to excel in any calling, we train hini 
 up to that calling ; indeed, (excepting in 
 the business of legislation and of professor- 
 ship-making, where we deem that here- 
 ditary descent is necessary, and firmly 
 believing in the existence of innate 
 ideas, are convinced, that a man may be 
 born a professor or a law-maker,) I know 
 no pursuit, in which something like capa- 
 city and knowledge, something more than, 
 mere birth, is not required. 
 
 But to return ; is it likely, that the 
 practice of hereditary professorship-making, 
 which hath already overthrown the credit, 
 and nearly annihilated the fame, of the 
 universities on the continent, will cause 
 this at Edinburgh to gain strength and to 
 flourish? Among learned men, what com- 
 petition can exist, when literary honours 
 and rewards, its very sinews and lifers- 
 blood, are cut away ? 
 
 ^^ Quis enim virtutem amplcctitur Ipsam, 
 
 Prcemia si tollas .^" 
 
5?5 The Scottish universities touched oH> 
 
 '* Who shall be found fair virtue to regard, 
 IJ ijoiL destroy the konokr and reivard r"* 
 
 Will any man of transcendent ability 
 and high acquirement; any man who fech 
 within himself, and is conscious of pos- 
 .sessing, the splendour of genius and the 
 potentiality of a mighty mind ; who is able 
 to diffuse light from his single orb, whe- 
 ther steady and temperate in the horizon,, 
 cr blazing in the meridian ; will such a 
 man remain at a university, w^hose utility 
 he may uphold, and whose fame he may- 
 increase, when he sees all the avenues to 
 literary eminence and honour closed upon 
 him for ever ; when he sees that all his 
 labours arc nothing w^orth, and that the 
 chair, which was once, and should always 
 be, the m.eed of excellence, is filled by a 
 beardless child, whose only merit is tl>e 
 having ?>ecn spawned by some quondam 
 professor ? 
 
 And it requires no great profundity of 
 penetration to discover, that, w4ien the 
 preceptorial seats of a university are filled 
 unworthily, that they will soon become 
 merely nomhiis umhru, the shadow of a 
 
The Scottish universities touched on, 577 
 name ; for who, in his senses, will repair 
 to such a place, when it affords neither in- 
 struction nor pleasure ; and there can be 
 found in existence any other spot, that 
 possesses the irresistible inducement of 
 •combining both delight and improvement 
 in its system of teaching and of study ? 
 ' Dr. Home, the professor of Materia Me- 
 <lica, is able, and well-informed;- and itf he 
 w^ill but learn to speak so that he can be 
 heard, his lectures will prove a valuable 
 acquisition to all that attend at his class. 
 
 Doctor Andrew Duncan senior, is a gen- 
 tleman long noted for his indefatigable in-^ 
 dustry and attention in the pursuit of his 
 profession. His Medical Annals, Lustra> 
 and Decads, in some twenty or thirty 
 octavo volumes, show, that he, at least> 
 labours diligently in his vocation ; neither 
 can it be denied, that, although thess 
 books lay no claim to originality of genius> 
 they are useful compilations, and contain 
 a collection of medical facts, from which 
 a reasoning and a thinking head may 
 derive much benefit. My business is with 
 the public, not with the private charactef 
 of the professor j yet, I cannot forbear 
 
 VOL. II. p p 
 
57 S The Scottish universities touched oft* 
 from mentioning, that I always heard the 
 poor both in the Infirmary, and in the 
 city of Edinbvirgh, speak in terms of the 
 greatest gratitude and affection of Dr. 
 Duncan, as one, whose humanity and 
 benevolence to them were ever active and 
 unlimited, shrinking from no toil and no 
 txpence, so that those, who were in af- 
 fliction and in distress, mieht be relieved 
 and comforted. 
 
 And it is well knovvn, that when he was 
 a private lecturer in the town, and in? 
 strutted some young gentlemen, as pupils, 
 under his own roof, that his bebaviolir and 
 conduct were unifolrmly such, as entirely 
 to win the esteem and affection of his 
 students, who never, to' this day, mention 
 his name w^ithout reverence and honour ; 
 and many of whom have left behind them 
 tokens of their regard, which will always 
 redound to the honour of the doctor's 
 merit, and their gratitude. 
 
 How can I criticise the lectures of such 
 a man? and yet, if I mean to do justice, 
 I ' must forget Dr. Duncan of Adam's 
 Square, in Dr. Duncan the professor of the- 
 Theory and Institutes of Medicine. It 
 
ne Scottish universities touched on, 579 
 seems, at best, but a needless division to- 
 separate the theory from the practice of 
 physic ; they are so intimately blended toge- 
 ther, that no man can know one without 
 being acquahited with the other also. To, 
 -iJdc sure, it makes an additional chair in the 
 university, and thus enhances the number 
 of fees, and augments the price necessary. 
 ta buy a doctor's degree. But this does 
 not promote the advancement of medical 
 knowledge. To theorize is, in fact, to 
 think; and no man .can practise medicine, 
 safely or properly, without thinking. As 
 theory is only a rational explanation of 
 facts, it is the duty of the medical teacher 
 to inculcate the theory of a disease, at the. 
 same time that he shows its symptoms and 
 its method of cure; otherwise, if it is 
 taught as a thing separate from, and inde- 
 pendent of practice, the pupils will onJy be 
 bewildered and led astray ; which is, cer- 
 tainly, needless, as any one will allow 
 who knows of what materials the heads 
 of the generality of Edinburgh medical 
 students are formed, and howv they are 
 furnished. 
 
 It cannot, then, be expected, that lec- 
 p p 3 
 
580 The Scottish universities touched ofh 
 tures on the mere theory of medieine, torn 
 and disjoined from practice, will be very 
 interesting or instructive ; nor is Dr. 
 Duncan's manner or matter calculated to 
 $et them off to the best advantage. He 
 favours his auditors with all the tedious* 
 disgusting nonsense of long exploded theo- 
 ries, which serve, indeed, to protract the 
 course through the winter session, which 
 otherwise could not be done, but are a 
 deplorable murdering of time ; and, then, 
 comments, at length, upon thei absurdity, 
 tvhen both the text and the commentary 
 should never have been brought to light. 
 And ail this is delivered in broad Scotch, 
 with such a wearisome Uniformity of 
 drawl, that it requires no very nice musical 
 ear to be actually tortured and agonized at 
 the doctor's tones. 
 
 I will say no more upon this head; but 
 only observe, that I cannot wish a greater 
 Kindness to the university of Edinburgh, 
 than the total abolition of this theoretic 
 chair; and that either Dr. Gregory should 
 giv6 some lectures on the practice of me- 
 dicine worth hearing, or that Dr. Duncan 
 sheuld be put in his place ; for Dr. Dun- 
 I 
 
ne Scottish uyiiversities touched on, 581 
 can's clinical lectures pronounce him well 
 qualified to discharge the duties of such a 
 station. 
 
 It now remains to speak of the gradua- 
 tion, and the mode of preparing for that 
 honour. The examination is professed to 
 be held in Latin ; not very Ciceronic, as 
 may be easily imagined from men, who 
 ^peak in the Roman tongue but twice in 
 the year, and from those boys who never 
 speak it at all, during the whole course of 
 their lives. Perhaps, it might be deemed 
 invidious to animadvert strictly upon the 
 purity and classical exactness of the lan- 
 guage, even of the professors, much m.ore 
 of the students ; I shall, therefore, pass it 
 over, only by giving it as my opinion, that it 
 be no longer disguised under the appellation 
 of Latin, but called, as in truth it is, jargon, 
 for the sounds are neither English, Latin, 
 Greek, French, Italian, Portuguese, Swed- 
 ish, or High-dutch, but they are 
 
 ^' A Babylonish dialect. 
 Which booby pedants most affect; 
 It is a party-coloured dress 
 Of patched and pye-ball*jd languages. 
 'Tis English cut on Greek and Latw, 
 Like fustian heretofore on sattin ; 
 
 p p 3 
 
582 ^he Scottish iinhverslties touched on. 
 
 It has an odd promiscuous tone, 
 As if they talk'd three parts in one. 
 Which makes some think, when these men 
 
 gabble, 
 They hear three labourers of Babel, 
 Or, Cerberus, himself, pronounce. 
 j^ leash of IdJiguagcs at once,** 
 
 The questions, which are asked, arc 
 many, of them very fair and useful ; some, 
 to be sure, are sufficiently trifling and ab- 
 surd : but the examination is certainly not 
 so conducted, but what it suffers a vast 
 number of ignorant, dull, unworthy can- 
 didates to be boulted through the sieve 
 into the diploma-tub, and come up doc- 
 tors of medicine ; which is, not only a 
 disgrace to the credit of the university, 
 but a very serious evil to the world, by 
 .letting loose licensed murderers upon man- 
 kind. Indeed, unless a thorough reforma- 
 tion is introduced into the mode of medical 
 study, at present adopted by, or rather 
 forced upon, the students at Edinburgh, it 
 cannot be laid to the charge of the young 
 men if they become dull and ignorant ; if 
 their views are narrowed, and their under- 
 standings clouded. 
 
■The. Scat lish universities touched on. .583 
 As there is no dictionary, nor any book 
 ;by which the jargon may be learned, the 
 candidate for a diploma must be taught to 
 jargonize by an animal called a grindery 
 •whose business it is to drill into the head 
 of his pupil, at a certain and stated price, 
 the questions and answers, which will pass 
 and re-pass in the examining-rooms during 
 the time of jargonization. The grinders 
 are very numerous in Edinburgh ; and, in 
 the printed papers and advertisements 
 which they stick up against the streets and 
 houses, style themselves teachers of medical 
 Latin, and state their terms, which are 
 rated according to the celebrity of the 
 grinder, as one, two, three, four, or more 
 guineas a month. 
 
 Now the public is given to understand, 
 by the terms of every doctor's diploma, 
 that he, the diplomatized being, is quali- 
 fied to practise and to teach the medical 
 art ; or, as it runs in the language of the 
 doctor-makers, — Eique potestatem damus 
 plenisslmam legendi, docendi, consult audi,, 
 scrihendly et disputandi in Gathcdram Doctor* 
 alem ascendendi, &c. &c. &c. 
 P P 4 
 
584 ^he Seotfisb universities tmched &rL 
 
 How far the merely passing the trial of 
 jargonization, which procures him this 
 diploma, qualifies a man to discharge the 
 high, and respectable, and important, and 
 responsible, and arduous duties of a phy- 
 sician, let all those, who are unprejudiced 
 and unbiassed, and capable of putting two 
 ideas together, look round upon their 
 medical acquaintance, and judge. 
 
 The grinder, for the most part, also, sells 
 a thesis, or inaugural dissertation, which 
 every jargonized student is required ta 
 produce, on some medical or philosophical 
 subject, to the candidate for a medical de- 
 gree. The price of a whole thesis is ten 
 guineas ; of half a thesis, that is, when the 
 student finds the English and the grinder 
 does it into Latin, or jargon, seven guineas 
 and a half. Thus, with the grinder at his 
 back, is many an unworthy wretch smug- 
 gled into that department, that rank, that 
 station in the scale of civilized and culti- 
 vated society, which can boast of having 
 been adorned and dignified by the names 
 of an Hippocrates, a Celsus, a Linacre, a 
 Sydenham, an Arbuthnot, a Fothergill, a 
 Brown, a Haller, a Zimmerman, a Dar- 
 
ne Scottish universities touched on, 585 
 win, a Rutherford, and a thousand other 
 benefactors of the human race! 
 
 But, as some excuse for this flagitious 
 conduct, the young men allege, that of two 
 evils they must choose the least. Unless 
 we go, say they, to a grinder, we shall, in 
 all probability, not obtain a jargonization ; 
 it is pretty well if we can contrive to drill 
 into our craniums by rote all Cullen's No- 
 sology, which, at four diseases a day, ac- 
 cording to his classification, cannot be done 
 -in less than the space of twelve months ; 
 besides, the endless labour of turning over 
 other books of the same sort, in which we 
 are examined, is more than can be endured. 
 Not to mention, that w^e cannot arrive 
 exactly at the yell, or dialect, or, whatever 
 it may be called, the jargon, and in which 
 'w^e are expected to make our re-sponses, 
 any other way than by applying to some 
 being, who can vivdvoce train us to imitate 
 the said yell. 
 
 Hence, by a grinder's help, we escape 
 very much of misfortune and vexation ; 
 he tells us the questions which will be 
 asked, and the answers which will be ex- 
 pected ; and as to the thesis, which, except- 
 
586 ^be Sfottish universities touched on, 
 ing the mere tcchliical terms, is sometimes 
 composed in Latin, and not jargon, how 
 is it to be supposed that we can write in 
 the Roman tongue, when all our time has 
 been taken up in attending to other things ; 
 besides, at the age of nineteen or twenty, 
 at a period at which many of us are jar- 
 gonized, that is, done into doctors; it 
 cannot be expected, considering our nu- 
 .merous avocations, and our previous want 
 of education, that we should be capable of 
 writing even correct and grammatical, 
 much less flowing and elegant, Latin. 
 
 All this may be very fine; but, upon my' 
 word, it is very dishonourable, and goes 
 directly to degrade the medical professio:h 
 itself, by enrolling under its banners un- 
 qualified and unfit men. Do we won.der 
 that such a mockerv of all education, since 
 ignorance uniformly begets impudence, 
 produces many a modern like Thessalus, of 
 whom take the following account from an 
 author of no little celebrity and renown? — 
 
 *' Thessalus lived in the reign of Nero ; 
 his father was a workman in marble, and, 
 in vain, tried to give his son some idea of 
 what was great and beautiful. Without 
 
ne Scottish universities touched on, 587 
 the least tincture of letters or philosophy, 
 Thessalus chose to commence physician ; 
 but he soon perceived himself deficient 
 in many points of knowledge, and in the 
 qualities which are capable of leading on a 
 man with credit in his profession. He ctill 
 preserved the tone, the manners, and the 
 language of the man of trade, and it was 
 easy to distinguish in him the carder of 
 wool (the calling which he followed be- 
 fore he turned doctor, and after his father 
 found that he was too dull to be made a 
 sculptor). He began, therefore, to win 
 upon his patients, not by prescribing them 
 proper remedies, but by flattering their 
 hopes, and sacrificing to their vanity. 
 
 *' In spite of his natural severity of 
 temper, he moulded himself, occasionally, 
 to the will of his patients, when he saw 
 that his low complaisance would turn to 
 good account. But with all this supple- 
 ness to those whose favour he had gained, 
 or wished to gain, he showed the greatest 
 impudence and temerity towards all regular 
 practitioners ; and he had no sooner suc- 
 ceeded at Rome by this meanness, (for the 
 Romans were an enlightened people,) than 
 
6SS T'be Scottish universities touched on. 
 he exclaimed, without reserve, against all 
 physicians;* and asserted that he only de- 
 served this title. 
 
 *' But true genius w^ill never be met 
 with in a physician, who gives marks of 
 duplicity or meanness of spirit ; who is 
 capable of pocketting affronts, and is ready 
 to laugh with the idle and the foolish, or 
 to sacrifice to every idol. Will not such 
 beings consider the fine arts and philosophy 
 as very useless branches of a physician's 
 knowledge, when the business can be done 
 so much more easily by attending in the 
 morning at the toilet, and making court 
 Xo the ladies, and, at night, being of the 
 most sumptuous parties ? Can we then 
 wonder that ignorant mechanics should 
 quit their trades for the sake of practising 
 physic ; or, that persons, who have learned 
 only the art of preparing medicines, should 
 have the boldness to consider themselves 
 as physicians, and undertake the treatment 
 of diseases ? Pliny says, that he who has 
 impudence may very easily pass for a phy- 
 sician. How far the saying of Pliny will 
 apply to modern times, I leave others to 
 judge. 
 
The Scottish universities touched on. 589 
 *' It is certainly much easier to gain, 
 by a servile complaisance, the vile applauses 
 of the people, or to procure praise and 
 protection from friends w^ho have been 
 won by flattery, or to rob the man of true 
 merit of his reputation, by circulating idle 
 reports to his disadvantage, than to rise by 
 ability, knowledge, and virtue. The phy- 
 sicians in Chill blow around the beds of 
 their patients to drive away diseases. The 
 people there think physic consists wholly 
 i-n this wind; and their doctors would take 
 it very ill of any body, who should attempt 
 to make the method of cure more difficult. 
 They think they know enough, when they 
 
 know how to blow." 
 
 But why all this declamation ? w^hy not 
 point out a remedy, if a remedy is to be 
 found ? Softly, my dear Sir : first, let us 
 shew forth a few of the faults o( this 
 system, and, when the cause of the evil 
 is discovered, the cure, perhaps, may be 
 found. — This jargonizing is a blind routine, 
 confined to a certain circle of actions, and 
 the reiteration of certain positions, un- 
 directed by the light of reason and of truth. 
 Indeed, the basis of medical education is. 
 
590 The Scottish universities touched oft. 
 for the most part, founded on routine ; 
 the evils of which must be obvious to alt 
 who think. Instead of fixing the atten- 
 tion of the pupils on the surrounding ob- 
 jects, whence alone they can learn aught, 
 for all human knowledge is derived from 
 experience, their teacher tries to fill their 
 minds with ten thousand speculative ideas 
 of an abstract nature, which neither he, 
 nor they, nor any one else, ever did^^ can, 
 or will comprehend ; and all this is so 
 "wrapped up in unintelligible cant, consist- 
 ing of words partly Anglicised, partly La- 
 tinized, partly Gailicised, partly Gr^cised ; 
 in short, jargonized, that no interpreter on 
 earth could ever decypher their meaning. 
 I defy any man, whatever may be his 
 ability and his knowledge, to affix a defi- 
 nite idea to half the words employed in 
 the generality of medical lectures, and of 
 medical books. 
 
 Hence, with all thcSe stumbling-blocks 
 in the way, we are not to wonder if many 
 Solomons are not found among the stu- 
 dents, when their understandings are nar- 
 rowed by a continued round of servile 
 imitation. But this is an evil of no slight 
 
"The ScoUi-sb universitits touched on. 5^1 
 magnitude; because it for ever cuts off 
 from the community all the advantages 
 which might be derived from so much 
 human ability, had it been f>roperly direct- 
 ed, instead of being perverted. Men, so 
 trained, can never become acquainted with 
 the physical and moral nature of man ; and 
 without this knowledge, what is a phy- 
 sician ? When we consider how very much 
 influence the passions have in creating or 
 removing disease, we shall sec the neces- 
 sity of a physician's studying the phi- 
 losophy of the mind, and of the human 
 -heart. But v/hat jargonized doctor does 
 this? Three short years, from seventeen 
 till twenty, spent under the tuition of a 
 grinder, will hardly enable a boy to in- 
 vestigate these very interesting, but very 
 difficult studies, very accurately, or very 
 extensively. 
 
 All ignorant people approve of routine. 
 Indeed, what absurdity and what mischief 
 is there, which ignorance does not cherish 
 and applaud ? Those who never think, 
 must condemn all the efforts of reason, 
 for it is a maxim, foynded on the phi- 
 losophy of the human mind, that no one 
 
5^ The Sc'oftish un'h&sities touched on. 
 
 can really esteem that which he Aozi not 
 know. Where routine reigns in power, 
 art, science, learning, humanity, justice, 
 Tirtue, all, either disappear entirely, or arc 
 kept very much in the back ground. The 
 capacity of Newton and the virtues of an 
 Angel cannot prevail over stupidity and 
 ignorance, if the one belongs to a youth, 
 and the other to a veteran, in the eyes of 
 almost all mankind. To appreciate knaw- 
 ledge and virtue in others, we must our- 
 selves possess these qualities. 
 
 Hence arises another great obstacle in 
 the way of medical improvement; for a 
 young man, seeing that his brilliancy of 
 understanding so far from accelerating 
 rather retards his career, is induced to say, 
 if it befalleth me as it happeneth unto 
 fools, why should I laboi^ to be more 
 wise ? For instance, at Edinburgh, in the 
 very bosom of jargonizing, while all the 
 other students are in the very act of being 
 drilled by a grinder ; In the midst of all 
 this confusion and chaotic mass of absur- 
 dity, W'hat young man will possess hardi- 
 hood enough to stand alone, and Isolated 
 from the rest, to devote his early life to 
 
The Scottish umv erst ties touched on, 693 
 *)tudy and fatigue, to triumph over igno- 
 rance, and wrest the leaden sceptre from 
 the hand of stupidity, at the almost inevi- 
 table 'certainty of being hated and perse- 
 cuted by the jargonized, and rejected with 
 contumely and scorn by the jargonizers ? 
 
 'So circumstanced, a lad of sensibility, 
 and desirous of attaining knowledge, is 
 either thrown back into the ranks of medi- 
 ocrity, or becomes thoroughly a slave to 
 the very routine, whose fetters he had in 
 vain attempted to snap asunder. Some 
 instances of which I have seen, and which 
 may be thus accounted for. Their minds 
 being active, and not able to rise to higher 
 pursuits, on account of the surrounding 
 impediments, followed with ardour any 
 pursuit, rather than endure the torments of 
 listlessness and vacancy. And jargonizing 
 being the only pursuit offered to them, 
 they embraced it. So much influence has 
 the situation in giving the tone and direc- 
 tion to the human mind. I have been 
 personally acquainted with some young 
 gentlemen at Edinburgh, whose abilities; 
 were such,, that by an extended education 
 they might have been fitted to lead armies 
 
 VOL. II. Q Q 
 
59^ ^h^ Scottish universities touched on, 
 to victory ; to shake a venal senate with 
 the thunder of their doquence ; or to have 
 enlarged the boundaries of science ; where- 
 as, now, their heads are altogether and en- 
 tirely filled with vain and idle notions upon 
 questions that can never be discovered by 
 human power ; such as, the matter of life, 
 the varieties and the causes of sympathy, 
 the matter of heat, the plastic power, the 
 inherent force of muscles, and much other 
 frivolous absurdity of the same kind, 
 When I think of these things I am vexed* 
 that so much industry and ingenuity 
 should be v^asted to no purpose. 
 
 In answer to these objections I have 
 been told, it is true, all these inquiries are 
 only so much waste of time, but practice 
 and experience will rectify all that i^ amiss. 
 — Experience ! What is experience ? It 
 cannot exist without the previous power 
 of minute attention> and accurate and en- 
 larged observation, that is, without a mind 
 previously strengthened and expanded by 
 general culture. A completely jargonized 
 being could never learn experience if he 
 was to live a thousand years; because he 
 has never been taught how to apply to the 
 
^the Scottish ufiiversities touched on. 5g6 
 sources of knowledge from which ex- 
 perience is- derived. 
 
 Experience is generally supposed to be 
 the necessary attendant upon length of 
 life, but it is the offspring of a vigorous, 
 an enlightened, and an attentive mind. It 
 is not acquired by the mere frequently re- 
 peated intuition of the same subject. If 
 so, he who has travelled oftenest to France* 
 must know most about that country ; that 
 IS, the carrier of the packet from Dover to 
 Calais must know more of the situation, 
 the means of defence, the capabilities of 
 productive industry of that town, than 
 does the statesman who never saw Calais 
 in his life. A weaver at the loom, or a 
 peasant who reaps corn, would know 
 more about the general principles, and the 
 proper political regulations of the corn- 
 laws and the woollen trade, than Adam 
 Smith, because this immortal and patriotic 
 philosopher had not seen corn so often as 
 the rustic, fior looked at a loom so fre- 
 quently as had the weaver. An old cor- 
 poral would know more about the art of 
 v^ar than Bonaparte, because he had seen 
 more battles. An old nurse would know 
 QQ Z 
 
^g6 'The Scottish uKlversities touched cft, 
 more of medicine than Bocrhaave, because 
 she had looked ottcner at sick people; 
 and the pliysician, who has seen the great- 
 est number of patients, will be the most 
 instructed, merely because he has seen 
 them. 
 
 The absurdity of all this is sufficiently 
 apparent ; and yet so ignorant are the 
 generality of mankind that they do not 
 perceive it, but couple experience and age 
 together as necessary companions, and pay 
 that deference to the old woman and the 
 old doctor w^hich is only due to know- 
 ledge and true experience. The question 
 in general, is not, Has a man learnings 
 penetration, and genius, but. Is he old ? If 
 he has grey hairs he is supposed to have 
 more experience, because he has seen more 
 than a young man ; but has he thought 
 more ; for experience is the daughter of 
 reflection, not of mere simple perception? 
 No doubt, age affords us an opportunity of 
 enlarging our understandings, and of in- 
 creasing our knowledge ; but the question 
 is. Whether we. have availed ourselves of J 
 that opportunity; if not, we have gained 
 no experience. 
 
The Scottish umversities touched on, 597 
 Can seventy or eighty years of dulness 
 ancl ignorance give a man experience ? 
 Experience implies the capability of ob- 
 serving and distinguishing an object in all 
 its bearings and relations ; it implies an 
 acquaintance with all the history of the 
 object, the power of reflecting, a{ simpli- 
 fying and reducing to a few general heads 
 a number of analogous or similar circum- 
 stances, of reasoning closely, and of taking a 
 broad and ample survey of nature and her 
 works, of art and her operations. Whence 
 the necessity of extensive reading, which 
 gives us historical knowledge, strengthens 
 our capacity for observation, and affords 
 the materials by which the mind is invigo- 
 rated and expanded in all her faculties. 
 
 But the system of jargonizing not only 
 precludes thfi possibility of general and 
 extensive reading, but produces such an 
 unfortunate attachment to routine and 
 system, and vain nugatory pursuits, that 
 the beings who are infected with this 
 malady, entertain an aversion and an ab- 
 horrence from men of erudition and ex- 
 tended knowledge. Let a man endea-- 
 vour to lead them up from their degra- 
 QQ3 
 
59^ The Scottish universities touched on. 
 dation to the elevated height of intellectual 
 expansion, and they will hate and curse 
 him, as the Irish in former times did the 
 English, because they were prohibited from 
 harnessing their horses by the tails, accord- 
 ing to long-established custom. 
 
 They decry all erudition as useless, be- 
 cause they do not know it ; and because 
 the public, as they think, respects them 
 more than it does learned men. But this 
 is no cause of rejoicing ; for the public 
 does not respect them but its own igno-. 
 rant prejudices^ which it sees adopted by 
 them ; and they mistake, as did the ass in 
 the fable, who attributed the homage of 
 the mob to his own merits, whereas it was 
 paid to the statue of Isis, that he carried 
 upon his back. A jargonized being does 
 not want sound reasoning and extensive 
 learning in a book, but a quantity of un- 
 meaning unintelligible terms, which puzzle 
 the ignorant and make them stare, while 
 they serve to raise the compassion or the 
 contempt of all those who are apt to think 
 and to reflect. Incapable of generalising 
 on any subject, their inquiries must be 
 bounded to minute and particular details ; 
 
^be Scottish tcnhersities touched on, 599 
 
 every disease wiil be deemed S7d juris, and 
 to require a specific remedy. 
 
 Such men will never read, but they will 
 rail (for it is easier to rail than to read) at a 
 writer, who, studying medicine as a sci- 
 ence, collects diseases, (differing only in a 
 few external and non-essential symptoms, 
 but requiring the same remedy, and origi- 
 nating from the same cause,) and arranges 
 them under one head. But he who sel- 
 dom or never reads, sees naught but him- 
 self on the theatre of existence ; not being 
 acquainted with what others have said, he 
 imagines all his own notions to be replete 
 with wisdom, and of the utmost conse- 
 quence. Erudition alone will enable such 
 a mistaken creature to enlarge the narrow 
 circle of his understanding, and to expand 
 the powers of his mind. The magnitude 
 of Importance which our natal spot as- 
 sumes in our eyes, shades away into anni- 
 hilation at the moment in which we con- 
 template the totality of the globe. 
 
 But still, my friend, what remedy do 
 you propose for this inconvenience ? We 
 have heard enough about the evil conse- 
 quences of the jargonizing system ; pray, 
 Q Q4 
 
500 'Jhs Scolllsh univershics tctichcd on, 
 now tell us how these evils are to be re- 
 moved or prevented. — This can only be 
 done, I imagine, by at once sweeping away 
 into evanescence the jargonization, and 
 resuming the good old. custom of lecturing 
 in the Latin language ; the discontinuing 
 of which custom, from whatever cause it 
 might have happened, has enabled such a 
 dreadful swarm of unqualified human 
 beings to steal into the medical profession. 
 Or, if the lecturing in Latin be deemed 
 inconvenient and improper, still let the 
 grinding, the jargonizing, be done away; 
 and such an examination, general, accu-" 
 rate, and extensive, given in the vernacular 
 idiom, as shall prevent any one from pass- 
 ing through the fiery ordeal to the temple 
 of honour, excepting those whose education, 
 intellect, and acquirements, shall entitle 
 them to receive so respectable a distinc- 
 tion. 
 
 Let this dignified tribunal be once 
 erected, and those animals, who now look 
 forward with the presumptuous hope of 
 creeping into the profession in spite of 
 dullness and ignorance, will betake them- 
 selves to those employments to which their 
 
51^ Scottish universities tmtched on, 601 
 genius is adapted, and for which their 
 knowledge fits them ; whether it be to 
 mend a kettle, to sweep a chimney, to 
 snip a yard of cloth, to gauge a beer-barreJ, 
 to weigh a pound of tallow-candles, to 
 mend an old shoe, or to compound and vend 
 drugs. 
 
 Hear the progress of the generaUty of 
 the medical students at Edinburgh, and 
 then judge whether it is possible that they 
 should be qualified, at the period of jargon- 
 ization, to enter upon the high, and im- 
 portant, and responsible function of a 
 physician. For the most part, at the age 
 of nineteen or twenty, come down raw, 
 ignorant, and awkward lads, just escaped 
 from behind the counter of an apothecary, 
 a place where the very vestiges of under- 
 standing are obliterated; where boys are 
 brutlfied by immoderate and unremitting 
 labour. Their hearts are hardened and 
 their spirits broken by all that they see, all 
 that they hear, all that they feel, and all 
 that they look forv/ard to. The habitation 
 of an apothecary is the great slaughter- 
 hou5<? of genius and of mind ; it is the 
 unrelenting murderer of hope and of gaiety^ 
 
60^ ^Je Scottish universities touched on. 
 
 of the love of reflection, and of the lov6 
 of life. 
 
 From such an abode of darkness and of 
 despair do very many come to Edinbitrgh, 
 with heads containing Httle or nothing 
 else than the knowledge of mixing a 
 draught, of rolling a pill, or of compound- 
 ing a drench. Without literature and 
 without science, is it to be expected that, 
 in the course of three years, at the expir- 
 ation of which period they are allowed to 
 jargonize, with no better an assistant than 
 a grinder, they shall be capable of ful- 
 filling the duties of a physician ? 
 
 But some few, and only a few, (for this 
 pernicious custom of destroying all virtue 
 and all intellect by apothecarizing young 
 men in order to fit them for physicians, 
 is very prevalent) have never been brutal- 
 ized in the shop of a pharmacopolist. 
 True, and so far they possess an incalcu- 
 lable advantage over their less fortunate 
 companions. But still they labour under 
 many disadvantages; for they generally 
 come from a country school where veiy 
 little literature is learned, and no science 
 is taught, at the tender age of fifteen or 
 
The Scottish universtties touched on, 603 
 sixteen, before the mind is capable of 
 sufficient strength of attention and depth 
 of reflection, to receive and to profit by 
 the objects which solicit the senses of a 
 student at a medical school ; and they are 
 done into doctors at eighteen or nine- 
 teen ! ! ! Boys, before they are twenty, are 
 licensed, by a diploma, to teach and to 
 practise medicine ! ! ! 
 
 I have been told, and am willing to be- 
 lieve, that some of the forwardest and the 
 brightest of these suckling philosophers 
 have so vigorously prosecuted their studies 
 before they came to Edinburgh, that even 
 a three years residence at this university 
 has not entirely obliterated their erudition, 
 and that, upon a pinch, they can stagger 
 through a page of Erasmus, or do into 
 English two verses of the Latin Testa- 
 ment. That this may be the case as to 
 some few of the most erudite among the 
 medical students I do not wish to deny; 
 but it is not so with the generality of them, 
 who are. very far from any acquaintance 
 w^lth Latin, or even English, in any shape 
 of correctness or of purity. 
 
 It is really shocking for a man v;ho has 
 
6*04 The Scottish universities touched on. 
 been only moderately instructed, to wit* 
 ncss the total defiance of all grammar and 
 of all sense In their conversation, and more 
 particularly, in their writings; all w^hlch 
 surely evinces the necessity of some stop 
 being speedily put to this inundation of 
 ignorance, that threatens to sweep away 
 and to annihilate the credit of a most 
 ijseful and honourable profession. 1 will 
 not insult the patience of the reader by 
 a tedious enumeration of the elegant 
 phrases and sterling weight of sentiment 
 to be found in their theses, whenever 
 they are so bold as to venture upon manu- 
 facturing an inaugural dissertation, without 
 the boughtcn aid of a grinder. One only 
 shall suffice : — A student, who is now jar- 
 gonized, came to me, and desired that I 
 would look over his thesis. This was a 
 business that I would most willingly have 
 declined, because few things are more 
 disagreeable than reading nonsense in 
 manuscript. 
 
 However, as I knew something of him, 
 and he had applied to me expressly, I did 
 not like to refuse peremptorily; I therefore 
 cast my eye over the title page, which ran 
 
The Scottish universities touched on. 605 
 
 thus : — De inaugufalis dis- 
 
 sertatio, Anctore Jacobus 
 
 I represented to him that this was wrong, 
 that it should be anctore Jacoho, and endea- 
 voured to make him understand why it 
 should be altered ; but all in vain, for 
 when he had heard me to an end, he re- 
 plied, — No, I assure you it is right, for 
 James is my name, upon my w^ord.-— I 
 laboured for nearly an hour to convince 
 him of his error ; but all to no purpose, 
 for at every pause which I made, he uni- 
 formly and stoutly answered, — and upon 
 my word, then, my name is really James, 
 
 I now gave the matter up, and looking 
 hastily through the thesis, I saw such 
 phrases as these : miilier doctiis putant ; — 
 cekherrima Monro affirmavere ; — 7'everenda 
 Dnncariniis sunt maxime sapient es, &c. &c. 
 I then returned his manuscript, telling 
 him, that it was very clever, but wanted a 
 few corrections, as it seemed to have been 
 written in haste, and adv.lsed him to get 
 some friend to look it over ; saying which 
 I bade him good morning, telling him that 
 I was engaged. What became of the 
 thesis I know not ; but within four months 
 
606 The Scottub universities touched on. 
 
 from the day that I first saw it, he "was 
 made into a doctor of medicine by the pro- 
 fessors at Edinburgh, and is now Ucens- 
 ed, by diploma, to teach and to practise 
 medicine ! ! ! 
 
 I cannot refrain from relating a little 
 anecdote of this very Jacobus, merely to 
 relieve the tedious uniformity of the sub- 
 ject. He was a young gentleman of Ire- 
 land, not over-abounding in linen, of 
 which indeed he had no change, conse- 
 quently he slept in buff. The morning 
 in which he was to be jargonized, on wak- 
 ing, he found that his only shirt was miss- 
 ing; upon which he turned hastily round 
 to his particular friend and bedfellow, and 
 exclaimed, — Arrah I you rascal ! and you 
 have stolen my shirt ; and that's a broad 
 hint for ye. — -It was so in fact ; his friend 
 had intended to appropriate Jacobus' shirt 
 to his ow^n use, but restored it on receiving 
 the above broad hint. Jacobus then dress- 
 ed himself, and was done into a physician^ 
 that same morning at eleven o'clock. 
 
 Are we astonished that such young men 
 as these receive with implicit confidence 
 any thing, however trifling or absurd. 
 
^he Scottish universities touched on, 607 
 which their teachers vouchsafe to tell them, 
 without examining into or reasoning upon 
 it ; that they are contented with words in- 
 stead of things ; that they are prevailed upon 
 to pursue the shadow and let slip the sub- 
 stance; that they are minute, petty, peeping, 
 contracted, frivolously and uselessly employ- 
 ed, instead of being bold, daring, ample^va^t, 
 towering, and aspiring in their researches 
 and investigations ? So circumstanced, it 
 must be expected that their understand- 
 ings would be narrowed by having their 
 minds directed to little, nugatory, "specu- 
 lative pursuits, not one whit better or 
 w4ser than the employments which Aristo- 
 phanes attributes to Socrates and his pu- 
 pils, namely, measuring how many of its 
 own lengths a flea leaps at one skip ? — • 
 whether the hum of a gnat proceeds from 
 before or behind ? &c. &c. 
 
 Such beings can never see far, or com- 
 prehend a whole ; they view only its mi- 
 nutest parts, and consequently never form 
 a right judgment ; they are like the work- 
 ing mechanic, who seldom sees farther 
 than the ends of his fingers and his tools. 
 How Can such creatures grasp the whole. 
 
60B The Scottish universUies touched oH, 
 of an object? With them would not Raf- 
 facile be a very pretty painter ; Haller a 
 nice botanist ; and Pope a smooth vcrsifyer ? 
 Could they sufficiently enlarge their men- 
 tal vision to anpretiate and to feel the 
 loftiness of the poet's genius ; the wide 
 and extended range of the philosophic 
 physician's researches; and the sublimity, 
 the dignified simplicity, of the divine 
 painter ? 
 
 These jargonized men march forward 
 boldly, loaded with written recipes and 
 lectures, and content themselves with say- 
 ing, — Why Dr. Timetrimmer, who is now 
 a baronet, knew no more than I do, and 
 sec how he has got on. — And their rea- 
 soning upon disease is equally wise, and 
 reaches no farther. The chief duty of a 
 physician is to endeavour to improve the 
 art of medicine by enlarging the bounda- 
 lies of knowledge ; it ought to be quite a 
 secondary thing with him how to get on ; 
 but it seems that a doctor's merit is gene- 
 jrally measured by the number of guineas 
 which he pockets, not by the extent of 
 his learning, and the skilfulness of his 
 practice. Looking up, therefore, towards 
 
ne Scottish universities touched on, ^09 
 that wealth and that title which sir Timothy 
 Timetrimmer has obtained, as is generally 
 known, without education and without 
 capacity, save that of bowing well, our 
 jargonizee trusts to his formula and tra- 
 ditionary prescriptions. 
 
 A girl comes to him with chlorosis ; and 
 he, finding some slight sympathetic fever, 
 which would vanish when the cause of the 
 disease, the general debility and the ob- 
 struction, was removed, gives her some 
 cooling draught to allay the febrile heat ; 
 and ten to one if she does not die under 
 his hands. A pregnant woman complains 
 of retention of urine, and our -^sculapius 
 looks into his book of knowledge, and 
 copies out a formula for a diuretic ; where- 
 as he ought to know, that the foetus 
 presses upon the neck of the bladder, and 
 that a diuretic may be fatal. These peo- 
 ple are incapable of perceiving the chain 
 of circumstances that connects together 
 the symptoms of a disease, and only at- 
 tend to one of its links, whence, were not 
 nature vigilant in preserving her children 
 in spite of the doctor's blunders, the regions 
 
 VOL. II. R R 
 
610 ^he Scottish universities touched on. 
 below would be peopled in much greater 
 numbers than they are even now. 
 
 Since such are the medical conservators 
 of our bodies, was Adrian to be blamed 
 for ordering this inscription to be placed 
 on his tomb ? '* It was the great number 
 of physicians that killed the emperor." 
 
 And three years, with the help of a 
 <rrlnder, are sufficient to enable a man to 
 
 o 
 
 become a physician ! ! ! Is it likely that a 
 man, who begins life with a lie,, shall end 
 it with integrity ? But every student who 
 is ground, and buys a thesis, acts a lie in 
 the face of the world. Waving, however, 
 all considerations of morality, 
 
 ^^ Cujus apud bardos minima est jactura, 
 
 I would earnestly desire the young students 
 themselves to recollect, or, if they never 
 knew, to learn, that the intellect cannot 
 be expanded, nor the mind invigorated, 
 nor the judgment matured, by plunging 
 at once, and early in life, into the techni- 
 cal jargon and mechanical . minutiae of the 
 trading part of physic. Let a general 
 
The Scottish universities touched on. 6l 1 
 foundation of literature and of knowledge 
 be first laid, and then you will be able to 
 discriminate between what is worthy of 
 being received, and what is worth forget- 
 ing, of the various mass of misshapen mat- 
 ter which is offered to your choice by 
 teachers and by books. . 
 
 It were a consummation devoutly to be 
 wished, that all young students, for w^hat- 
 ever profession designed, be it medical or 
 not, would listen to, and profit by, the fol- 
 lowing earnest and impassioned exhorta- 
 tion of one of the greatest and most dis- 
 tinguished writers of the present day. 
 
 '' I would call the rising youth of this 
 country to the intense, and fervent, and 
 uremitting study of the antient classical 
 writers as their primary choice ; particu- 
 larly in the Greek tongue, in which every 
 subject in philosophy, in history, in oratory, 
 and in poetry, whatever can dignify gr em- 
 bellish human society, in its most culti- 
 vated state, has found the highest authors ; 
 in which the principles of composition are 
 better taught and more fully exemplified 
 than in any other language. The Greek 
 writers are the universal legislators in taste^ 
 
 R R 2 
 
6\2 The Scottish un'rjcrsities touched on, 
 criticism, and just composition, from 
 whom there is no appeal, and who will be 
 found unerring directors. I call upon 
 them to have the couftige to be ignorant 
 of many subjects at their inestimable age. 
 
 " I exhort them affectionately, as a 
 matter of the most serious importance, 
 never to pretend to study, in their first 
 academical years, what they design as the 
 ultimate end of their labours, I mean their 
 profession. Their whole business is to lay 
 the foundation of knowledge, original, 
 sound, and strong. In particular, the 
 study of the law, as such, should never be 
 entered upon, even In limine, before the 
 first degree in arts is obtained. The spe- 
 cific study of the law, at that early age, 
 confines and cripples the faculties. Such 
 a student may arrive at mere . knowledge, 
 as a special pleader, but he will never be 
 illustrious or ornamental in his profession. 
 I wish to observe, with particular empha- 
 sis, that when a man has once entered 
 upon any profession whatever, his edu- 
 cation has in fact ceased. They who, by 
 a patient continuance and undiverted at- 
 tention to academical studies alone, have 
 
The Scottish universities touched on. ()]3 
 sought for the original materials of science 
 and of solid fame, have seldom failed In 
 their great pursuit." 
 
 And are three years sufficient to do all 
 this, and qualify a man to become a phy- 
 sician, in whom should be concentrated, as 
 in one focus, the united beams of literature 
 and of science ? Was it in such a school 
 that a Haller, a Zimmerman, and a Dar- 
 win, were enabled to display such gigantic 
 powers, and stupendous attainments ? But 
 I have been told more than once, this 
 erudition about which you make such a 
 route is of no consequence ; doctors can get 
 on better in their own native language of 
 Great Britain than in Greek ; a smooth 
 smiling countenance, a supple posture, and 
 a bent body, will get more fees than all the 
 science and learning in the world. 
 
 But this is not a fair mode of arguing ; 
 because I am not considering how a phy- 
 sician may contrive to procure the great- 
 est number of guineas, but how the medi- 
 cal art may be improved for the benefit of 
 the whole human race, and how the pro- 
 fession might be rendered respectable and 
 useful by the virtue and the knowledge of 
 ?l R 3 
 
6 1 4 ^be Scottish universities touched on» 
 
 its membcxs. I do not look upon a phy- 
 sician as a, jmcrc scavenger of guineas, an 
 animal that only crawls through this stage 
 of existence picking the pockets of the 
 credulous and of the foolish, but as a 
 being in training for immortality ; a being, 
 who, by his skill and integrity, may be the 
 minister of health, of blessings and of ease 
 to countless thousands of the sons and 
 daughters of affliction ; a being who passes 
 through life w ith honour, blessing and being 
 blessed, and, full of years and full of glory, 
 exchanges, at his appointed hour, his pre- 
 sent existence for that state of happiness 
 where he shall receive the reward of all his 
 good deeds from that Master whom he 
 hath faithfully served. 
 
 What can this world give of delight 
 equal to the exquisite sensations that per- 
 vade and swell the soul of that beiievolent 
 physician, to whom these lines may, with 
 truth and justice, be applied? 
 
 *^ When fainting nature calTtl for aid, 
 
 And hovering death prepar'd the blow. 
 His vigorous remedy displayed 
 
 The power of art without the show. 
 
'the Scottish universities touched on. ^l\5 . 
 
 '^ In misery's darkest cavern known. 
 His useful care was ever nigh. 
 Where hopeless anguish pour'd his groan, 
 And lonely want retired to die. 
 
 '^ No siLmmons mock'd hy chill delay. 
 No petty gain disdained by pride ; 
 The modest wants of every day, 
 The toil of every day supplied." 
 
 I have been often asked by one of these 
 jargonized doftors, in a triumphant tone, 
 and with a contemptuous sneer — And what 
 will all this learning do for a man ? De- 
 pend upon it, a knowledge of the world 
 will enable me to ride in a carriage, while 
 your learned men are fain to walk on foot. 
 — This is true enough ; for their knowledge 
 of the world consists of the most base and 
 dishonourable adulation, the everlasting 
 bow, the indefatigable smile, the prudent, 
 discreet, and dexterous adoption of the 
 opinion of every one from whom they hope 
 to procure a guinea, or a recommendation 
 to one who will give them a guinea. In 
 the present state of so-ciety such men will 
 carry away all the practice from one, whose 
 ^lind is too pure and too elevated to stoop 
 
 Ji R 4 
 
6i6 The Scottish universiiles touched on. 
 to such unworthy means ; and it ever will 
 be so, till a greater portion of knowledge is 
 diffused throughout the human race, for 
 men always love that best which bears the 
 greatest conformity to their own minds; 
 whence the rapid rise to wealth and to 
 fame, of those dodors, who 
 
 ^^ With softer souls and subtler art. 
 
 Can sap the principles^ and taint the heart, 
 
 With more address a lover's note convey. 
 
 Or bribe a virgin's innocence away. 
 
 Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic tongue 
 
 Ne'er knew to puzzle right, nor varnish wrong j 
 
 Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy. 
 
 Live unregarded, unlamented die. 
 
 All sciences a fawning doctor knows. 
 
 And hid him go to hell, to hell he goes ; 
 
 Studious to please, and ready to submit. 
 
 The supple wretch becomes a parasite. 
 
 Still to his interest true, where'er he goes. 
 
 Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish tongue bestows. 
 
 In every face a thousand graces shine. 
 
 From every tongue flows harmony divine. 
 
 Practised his patient's notice to embrace. 
 
 Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face, 
 
 With every wild absurdity comply. 
 
 And view each object with another's eye. 
 
 To shake with laughter ere the jest he hears. 
 
 To pour at will the counterfeited tears ; 
 
 And, as Ms grace shall hint the cold or heat, 
 
"l^he Scottish universities touched on. 617 
 To shake in dog-days, or December sweat. 
 How, when competitors like those contend. 
 Can surly Virtue hope to find a friend P'* 
 
 If we^ suffer ourselves to be led away by 
 these examples of profligate success, and do 
 not elevate our views above this perishable 
 scene of confusion, wx must even adopt the 
 same means, and, following the example of 
 those who have been by merit raised to that 
 bad eminence, look forward with hope to 
 the same successful termination of our la- 
 bours. For this is certain, that if a man 
 only takes this w^orld into the account, he 
 is a fool to waste his time in enlarging his 
 mind and in purifying his heart, w^hich, in- 
 deed, fit him for a state of eternal happiness 
 hereafter, but rather prevent his mounting 
 up in the scale of worldly honour and emo- 
 lument. 
 
 ^' Deign on the passing world to turn your eyes. 
 And pause awhile from letters, to he luisCy 
 There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, 
 Toily envy, want, the patron, and tliejail. 
 See nations slowly wise and meanly just. 
 To luried merit raise the tardy bust ! 
 If dreams yet flatter, once again attend. 
 Hear Lydia'sfate, and Galileo's end,^' 
 
6 1 S I'he Scottish universities touched on, 
 
 " Frange miser calamos, vigilataque praelia dele, 
 Quifacis in pan>d sulLhna carmina cdld 
 XJl d'tgnus vc7iias hcdcris, ct imagine inacra, 
 S)X"s nulla ulterior^ didicit jam dives avarus 
 Tantum admirari, tanium laudarc dcsertos, 
 Ut pucri Junonis avem : sed dcfluit aetas, 
 Et pclagi patiens, et cassidis, atque ligonis : 
 Taedia tunc subeunt aninios, tunc seque suamquc 
 Terpischoren oditfaainda et nuda scnectusJ" 
 
 ** I.ct flames on your unlucky papers prey, 
 Or moths through written pages eat their way. 
 Your wars^ your loves, your praises, be forgot. 
 And make of all one universal blot. 
 The muses' ground is larreu desert all. 
 If no support from Ccesar's bounty fall; 
 The rest, is ejnpty praise, and ivy croivn^ 
 Or the Icaji statue of a starved renown. 
 
 '^ For now the cunning patron never pays, - 
 But thinks he gives enough in giving praise; 
 Extols the poem, and the poet's vein. 
 As boys admire the peacock's gaudy train. 
 Meanwhile thy manhood, fit for toils and wars. 
 Patient of seas, and storms, and household cares-^, 
 Ebbs out apace, and all thy strength impairs. 
 Old age, with silent pace, comes creeping on. 
 Nauseates the praise, which in her youth she won. 
 And hates the muse by which she was undone. 
 Since all the race of life has been in leggary 
 
The Scottish universities touched on, 619 
 
 And yet those who are capable of under- 
 standing man's high and ultimate desti- 
 nation, and of appreciating their own true 
 interest, would rather endeavour to become 
 an in.^trument of comfort and of aid to the 
 miseries of affliflied and of suffering hu- 
 manity, by enlarging their minds, and 
 amending their hearts, than to mount to 
 the highest elevation, which meanness and 
 iniquity can reach. Let me beseech all, 
 whose youth is yet untainted, to pause ere 
 they submit to degrade and to contami- 
 nate, to tarnish and to wither, the purity 
 of their principles by a participation in 
 such dishonourable and contemptible want 
 of all principle and of all integrity. 
 
 Tanti tibi non sit opaci 
 
 Omnis arena Tagi, quodque in marc volvitur aurum, 
 Ut somno careas, ponendaque praRmia sumas 
 Tristis^ et a magno semper sperneris amico." 
 
 ^' But let not all the gold which Tagus hides. 
 And pays the sea in tributary tides. 
 Be Iribe sufficient to corrupt tlnj Ireast, 
 Or violate with dreams thy peaceful rest. 
 Great men with jealous eyes their friend behold, 
 IVhose secresy ttiey purcliase zvith t/ieir gotd," 
 
620 7'he Scottish universities touched on. 
 
 In addition to a more enlarged and 
 liberal system of education, the students of 
 Edinburgh would do well to study the 
 principles of medicine which the immortal 
 Brown has left as an invaluable legacy to 
 mankind. While he lived, his Indiscretions 
 were such, and his personal conduct so offen- 
 sive to the professors at Edinburgh, that I 
 do not wonder at their obstinately rejecting 
 his doctrine. But, now that he is dead, 
 and his ashes are cold, it would be more 
 manly and more just to open their eyes to 
 the light of his precepts, than wilfully tQ 
 remain in the thick mist and darkness of 
 their incomprehensible jargon, 
 
 *' He lives no more, be to his memory just. 
 For British vengeance wars not with the dust ; 
 A generous foe regards with pitying eye 
 The man whom fate has laid where all must lie/' 
 
 I shall not say at present aught farther 
 on this subject, than to observe, that, while 
 other universities, by adopting this system,, 
 are reducing the study of medicine to a 
 philosophical science, this school at Edin- 
 burgh, by pertinaciously rejecting it, and 
 treading in the eternal and endless round 
 
The Scottish universities touched on. 621 
 of, nonsense and of nosology, is degrading 
 it to a mechanical and a dirty trade. 
 
 It is impossible that the consideration of 
 the persecution of departed genius should 
 not lead us to remark on the neglect of 
 living merit. At this moment, in the uni- 
 versity of Edinburgh, is seated in the low^est 
 medical chair, both as to emolument and 
 to honour, a man whose ability and ac- 
 quirements would adorn and dignify any 
 station to which human nature can aspire 
 to reach. I mean Dr. Rutherford ; a gen- 
 tleman whose chemical knowledge was 
 displayed very early in life, even w^hen he 
 wrote his thesis for graduation ; he is the 
 discoverer of azotic gas. His scientific 
 knowledge and his literary accomplish- 
 ments are acknowledged and revered by 
 all who prize whatever is excellent. His 
 manners have been fashioned and polished 
 by foreign travel, his integrity is unim- 
 peached, and his professional skill un- 
 doubted. 
 
 Dr. Rutherford is the professor of Botany, 
 I do not mean to insinuate aught disre- 
 spectful of Botany as a study ; but only to 
 observe upon the injustice of giving that 
 
6'2^2 The Scottish universities touched on, 
 professional chair, which is confessedly the 
 least in emolument and in rank, to one of 
 the ablest and most extensively informed 
 men in Europe. There is no medical 
 chair which Dr. Rutherford is not qualified 
 to fill with dignity to himself and with 
 incalculable benefit to the students. A 
 strong proof of the high opinion which all 
 the pupils entertain of this gentleman's 
 professional abilities, is, the eagerness with 
 which they throng to his clinical lectures, 
 whenever he can be prevailed upon to de- 
 liver a course of such praslections. 
 
 Nor is this preposterous mode of filling 
 the medical chairs to be wondered at, 
 when we consider that the professors are 
 elected by the town council of Edinburgh, 
 which is composed mostly of tradesmen, 
 whose minds, being constantly employed in 
 their own business, cannot be expected to 
 be qualified to judge of the merit of those 
 that step forward as candidates for the 
 reward of literature and the meed of sci- 
 ence. Hence, are laid open the avenues 
 of intrigue, and canvassing, and undue 
 influence, as plainly appears from the pro- 
 fessorships generally descending from father 
 
The Scottish univ erst lies touched on, ^23 
 
 to son, and the consequent inability and 
 negligence of the teachers. 
 
 But all these obstacles and impediments 
 prevent the improvement of the medical 
 art ; because, as are the teachers so will be 
 the pupils in every department of civilized 
 society; so true is that celebrated saying 
 of Christina the queen of Sweden, — Sons 
 im Monarqiie stupide tonic sa cotir on Test on 
 le devicnt. Dependants, and those in in- 
 ferior situations, always acquire a similarity 
 of sentiment and of inclination to that of 
 their superiors and directors. Hence, v^hile 
 the system of jargonizing remains at Edin- 
 burgh, the pupils must continue to be be- 
 lievers and bigots in medicine, crippled by 
 a blind attachment and a passive obedience 
 to systems unsupported by reasoning drawn 
 from experience and fact. 
 
 Medicine halts in her progress, owing to 
 the frequent births of vain and speculative 
 hypotheses and fanciful conjectures, which 
 are conceived and engendered in the brains 
 of men, for whom close reasoning and 
 sober truth have no charms. Witness the 
 Boerhavian nonsense, and Cullen's trum- 
 pery about spasm, and a multitude of cthc? 
 
624 'J'he Scottish todversi/ieS touched on, 
 opinions, all of the same sort and tendency* 
 Add to this, the miserable consumption of 
 time, and waste of human intellect, in pur- 
 suing minute and useless ijaquiries, that 
 cannot one jot enlarge the boundaries of 
 medical knowledge ; I mean, attempts to 
 discover the number of coats in an intes- 
 tine ; to find out the constituent parts of the 
 semen, and the shape of the globules of the 
 blood ; the immediate and proximate cause 
 of the impregnation of the uterus, &c. &c. 
 &c. all which, to a man of plain under- 
 standing, appears very absurd ; but in which 
 medical bigots are so deeply interested that 
 they quarrel, and scold, and, if occasion 
 ne_ed, are ready to fight, in support of their 
 opinions. They will seriously contend, 
 with all the ardour of enthusiasm, that 
 an intestine has three or four coats, — that 
 a globule of blood is oblong or spherical, — • 
 that the uterus itself receives, or does not 
 receive, the semen ; according to the side 
 of the question which they happen ta 
 embrace ! ! ! 
 
 Such investigations and discussions 
 might be well suited to the capacity of 
 Sancho Panza, or to squire Ralpho, the 
 
^he Scottish universities touched on. 625 
 attendant upon Hudibras; but they will 
 never forward the progress of medical 
 knowledge, nor lead to the discovery of 
 any truth beneficial to mankind. And yet 
 so delighted are the students of Edinburgh 
 with these childish performances, that they, 
 sometimes, bruise one another, and give 
 and receive black eyes and bloody noses 
 in defence of their favourite theories, which 
 they wish to beat into each others heads, 
 by weighty and striking arguments. Nay, 
 it has been known, in some few instances, 
 that they have gone out and pistolled each 
 other into a belief of the doctrine of spasm, 
 or of error loci ; of the colour of the ani- 
 mal spirits ; of the shape and seat of the 
 soul, &c. &c. But this shooting has not 
 been so frequent, because it has been found 
 more inconvenient than boxing and fisty- 
 cuffs. 
 
 The only true and legitimate end of 
 studying medicine is, to extend the limits 
 of its knowledge for the purpose of allevi- 
 ating the miseries of mankind. But this 
 end is quite forgotten amidst these nuga- 
 tory inquiries. All the sciences, to which 
 Bacon's mode of philosophising by indue- 
 
 VOL. II. s s 
 
626 I'h Scottish universities touched oft. 
 tlon has not been applied, are full of hy- 
 pothesis and system ; which is exactly the 
 state of medicine ; whence its foolish the- 
 ories, and the doubtful nature of its facts 
 and cases ; the uncertainty of its evidence, 
 the absurdity and inaccuracy of its nosolo- 
 gical arrangements, and the unsoundness 
 and the fallacy of its inferences and conclu- 
 fions, drawn as they are from partial and 
 all-founded premises. Its systems of noso- 
 logy rest upon a very slender foundation, 
 for they class diseases according to their 
 symptoms ; but no certainty can be ob- 
 tained by the abstract attention to symp- 
 toms independent of those causes, which 
 excite or remove- disease ; and diseases, the 
 most opposite to each other in their nature 
 and their indications of cure, ai-e attended 
 with a similarity in point of symptoms. 
 Besides, a disease is never stationary ; it is 
 continually moving, and consequently al- 
 tering its symptoms. We can class and ar- 
 range stones and minerals, w^iich are in 
 their nature fixed; but at what precise mo- 
 ment are we to fix upon the symptoms of a 
 disease for its nosological definition ? 
 
 Suppose the precise moment to be fixed; 
 
The Scottish universities touched on, 627 
 in^the next hour the symptoms will vary ; 
 (this is particularly the case in hydroce- 
 phalus internus, which differs much in its 
 symptoms in its different stages of progres- 
 sion ;) and in what class will the nosologist 
 then place it ? Would it not be better care- 
 fully to note the aberrations from health, 
 and endeavour to remove the offending 
 cause, and to remedy its evil effects, than 
 wander about in the trackless and bewil- 
 dered region of nosology, which indeed, 
 enables a man to talk a great deal about 
 diseases, but does not enable him to cure 
 them, nor does it advance, but truly re- 
 tards, the improvement of medicine, by 
 directing that attention to mere words, 
 which ought to be employed about things ? 
 Medicine has been particularly impeded 
 in its progress : First, by a propensity to 
 systematize, and an unwillingness to endure 
 the toil, and trouble, and length of time 
 necessary to ftudy and to inveftigate parti- 
 cular facts ; from the accurate and correct 
 accumulation of which alone any general 
 and beneficial principle can be arrived at : 
 secondly, by a desire to account for ulti- 
 mate facts, beyond which human reason 
 s s ^ 
 
628 The Scottish universities touched on. 
 cannot reach : thirdly, affecting to show 
 -vvhy causes operate, and not how they 
 act : fourthly, the almost total neglect of 
 physicians to make philosophical analyses, 
 to attend to the principles of induction, 
 of clear and simple arrangement, of strong 
 and satisfactory evidence : fifthly, the 
 desire of doctors to establish their own, or 
 their teacher's, respective hypotheses and 
 phantasies, rather than to enlarge the 
 boundaries of medical knowledge : fixthly, 
 blending the hypotheses of philosophy with 
 the dogmas of physicians. 
 
 The only effectual method of correct- 
 ing and removing the evils arising from 
 these causes of error is, to study natural 
 philosophy, which discovers the laws and 
 explains the phenomena of the sensible 
 motions of the insensible assemblages of 
 inanimate matter; after which the human 
 mind will be so strengthened and chastened 
 by a long and steady pursuit of clear, un- 
 sophisticated truth, that it may then 
 devote itself to the specific study of me- 
 dicine without any fear of deviating into 
 w^ild, absurd, and senseless reveries, whims, 
 visions, and mere uselessly speculative in- 
 
^he Scottish universities touched on. 6^9 
 qulrles. But not only is it impossible for 
 ftudcnts at Edinburgh, while its present 
 mode of medical instruction exists, to be- 
 come acquainted with natural philosophy; 
 but, also, it does not appear likely, that 
 it w^ould be very generally studied, even 
 by those physicians who have the opportu- 
 nity of receiving a much more liberal and 
 extensive education, than falls to the lot 
 of the Scottish students, I mean those at 
 Cambridge, at Oxford, and at Dublin. 
 
 For, in all ages, have men been shy of 
 this study, which is, in fact, the mother 
 of all sciences, and without w^hose foster- 
 ing aid the rest can only be vamped up for 
 use, but they cannot grow to any maturity 
 of size or strength. While this pursuit is 
 neglected, and while general literature is 
 disregarded by the medical students at 
 Edinburgh, the art of medicine cannot be 
 improved, nor can the profession fail to 
 receive disgrace and detriment from the 
 continued accession of such jargonized 
 doctors. I shall close this long string of 
 remarks upon the medical department of 
 the Caledonian metropolis, in the memo- 
 rable w^ords of the immortal Bacon, as 
 s s 3 
 
630 l^he Scottish universities touched on, 
 applicable^ indeed, to all universities, but 
 particularly to the medical department at 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 *' In the cuftoms and institutions of 
 schools and universities, and the like con- 
 ventions, destined for the seats of learned 
 men, and the promotion of knowledge, 
 all things are found opposite to the ad- 
 vancement of the sciences ; for the read- 
 ings and exercises are here so managed, 
 that it cannot easily come into any one s 
 mind to think of things out of the com- 
 mon road. Or, if one, here and there, 
 should venture to use a liberty of judging, 
 he can only impose the tafk upon himself, 
 vs^ithout obtaining assistance from his fel- 
 lows ; and if he could dispense with this, 
 he will find his industry and resolution 
 a great hindrance to the rising of his 
 fortune. 
 
 *' For the study of men, in such places, 
 is confined and pinned down to the writings 
 of certain authors, from which, if any 
 man happens to differ, he is presently re- 
 prehended as a disturber and an innovator. 
 But there is, surely, a great difference be- 
 tween arts and civil affairs ; for the danger 
 
^he Scottish universities touched oiu 651 
 is not the same from nev/ light, as from new 
 commotions. In civil affairs, it is true, a 
 change for the better is suspected, through 
 fear of disturbance, because these affairs de- 
 pend upon authority, consent, reputation, 
 and opinion, and not upon demonllration ; 
 but arts and sciences fliould be like mines, 
 resounding on all sides witii new works, and 
 further progress. And this it ought to be, 
 according to right reason ; but the case, in 
 fact, is quite otherwise ; for the above- 
 mentioned administration and policy of 
 schools and universities, generally opposes, 
 and greatly prevents, the improvements of 
 the sciences." 
 
 I had intended to examine the present 
 state of medicine in Great Britain ; but I 
 find that neither time nor opportunity, at 
 present, allows of such an investigation, 
 which 1 hope, however, to enter upon, at 
 some future period. 
 
 I trust that every unprejudiced and un- 
 biassed person will clearly perceive, that I 
 have said nothing from malice or malignity 
 againft the university of Edinburgh itself, 
 which, as a repository of learning and a 
 school of science, 1 respect, honuur, and 
 s s 4 
 
632 The Scottish universities touched on. 
 revere. I have merely pointed out the 
 spots and the blemishes in the sun, that, 
 they being removed, this blessed luminary 
 may gladden and enlighten the inhabitants 
 of the earth vs^ith pure, unsullied, and 
 cloudless majefty. As an individual, I take 
 this public opportunity of declaring, in 
 terms of the most unequivocal and affec- 
 tionate gratitude, that I have spent two 
 years of the most pure and unalloyed feli- 
 city, which can, perhaps, fall to the lot 
 of human nature, under the fostering in- 
 fluence, and in the calm, the hallowed 
 retreats of this justly distinguished and 
 deservedly honoured university: 
 
 ^^ Whose liberal heart and judging eye 
 The flovv'r unheeded doth descry. 
 And bid it round heaven's altar shed 
 The fragrance of its blushing head. 
 Raises from earth the latent gem 
 To glitter on the diadem/' 
 
 To the candid and liberal-minded of all 
 parties, and particularly to those of Edin- 
 burgh, I bid farewell in the words of the 
 enlightened and intrepid Beccarla. 
 
 ^' Gli uomini pensatori, pe' quali scrivo, 
 
Jpthecarizlng slightly handled. 6Zo 
 
 sapranno distinguere i miei passi. Me for- 
 tunato, se potro ottenere i segreti rin- 
 graziamenti degli oscuri e pacifici seguacl 
 della reglone, e se potro inspirare quel dolce 
 fremlto, con cul le anlme sensibili rispon- 
 dono a cm sostiene gl' interessi della 
 umanita. 
 
 I cannot prevail on myself to abstain 
 from offering a few general remarks on 
 the present state of apo^hecarizing in the 
 kingdom of Great Britain. If any thing 
 ever called aloud for reformation, with 
 the imperious and impressive voice of ne- 
 cessity, aided by every consideration of 
 humanity, of justice, and of religion, it is 
 the situation of those young persons, who 
 labour under the most deplorable of all 
 misfortunes, the being chained down to 
 the counter of an apothecary, under the 
 flimsy and fallacious pretence of being in- 
 structed in the medical art. A young gen- 
 tleman (often, indeed, not a young gen- 
 tlem.an, but an unlicked, ignorant, and 
 unlettered cub) is, generally, at the age 
 of fourteen, just at the time, if he has 
 ^ny intellect, that his mind begins to 
 
6:34 Jpoihecarmng slightly handled, 
 expand with the desire of knowledge, and 
 to be sensible of the delight, and the in^ 
 estimable benefit of learning, taken from 
 school, and bound over as an apprentice 
 to an apothecary ; that is, sold as a slave 
 for seven years. 
 
 All powder of instruction is, from this 
 dread moment, palsied and destroyed ; for 
 to read books is to defraud his master of 
 the time due to his services. And v^hen 
 the volumes of the dead are closed to him 
 for ever, where is he to get knowledge ? 
 He has access to no livmg pages of in- 
 struction ; he cannot get it from the mere 
 mechanical drudgery in which he is em- 
 ployed from morning till night, and which 
 only serves to obliterate the very traces of 
 the fev7 ideas which he might have 
 acquired before he v/as buried in the vault 
 and charnel-house of all that ennobles and 
 dignifies man. Conversation with his 
 master he is seldom permitted to hold; 
 and when he does, what is to be gained 
 from his master ? 
 
 In order to know this, w^e have only 
 briefly to recount the definition of an apo- 
 thecary, (I mean the genus, there are 
 
Apothecarizing slightly handled. 635 
 
 some little varieties in the species, which 
 occur so seldom, that they are not worth 
 noticing), and to state concisely the course 
 of life, which his apprentice runs. 
 
 An apothecary is, generally, an animal, 
 that has nothing in his head, save a con- 
 fused jumble of pulse-feelings, and bottles, 
 and gallipots, and catarrhs, and diarrhoeas, 
 and cathartics, and bolusses, and plasters, 
 and pills, and charges of journeys, and 
 deliveries of women, and bowing, and 
 scraping, and wheedling, and tattling, and 
 gossiping, and card-playing, and swearing, 
 apd cursing, and beating his apprentice ; 
 and in his heart nothing save a combina- 
 tion of avarice and of vanity ; of inso- 
 lence and of meanness ; of ostentatious 
 liberality and of selfish narrowness of soul; 
 of affected humility and the most pre- 
 sumptuous audacity of ignorance. 
 
 I know, and rejoice, that there are some 
 honourable exceptions to this general rule, 
 am.ong the exifling race of apothecaries in 
 this kingdom ; but I confidently affirm, 
 that the mode of educating, as it is called, 
 young men to become pharmacopolists, 
 or, in one word, the mode of apotheca- 
 
636 Apothecarizing slightly handled, 
 rizing human beings, almost necessarily 
 and unavoidably leads them to become the 
 originals of that picture which 1 have just 
 faintly sketched. 
 
 So much for the master ; now for the ap- 
 prentice : — A young gentleman is received 
 into the house of a vender and adminis- 
 trator of drugs, and pays a premium, 
 actually gives a sum of money for the en- 
 viable privilege of being indentured, or 
 sold as a slave to another mortal for a cer- 
 tain term of years. He soon finds his situ- 
 ation infinitely worse than that of a menial 
 servant, w^ho, not only receives wages for 
 his labour, but can, when he chooses, 
 leave his master. But the bounden appren- 
 tice is a flave without comfort and without 
 hope ; he has nothing but misery and tor- 
 xnent for his inseparable companions ; he is 
 employed in drudgery and in dirty work, 
 , from morn till night, not unfrequently 
 fixteen hours out of the four and twenty, 
 generally more than twelve : his are filthy 
 employments, which a scavenger in the 
 streets could not be prevailed upon to un- 
 dergo, on any account, or for any pecu- 
 
Apthecanzlng slightly handled, 637 
 
 niary consideration. He mixes draughts, 
 rolls pills, beats bolusses, spreads plasters, 
 grinds bark, mrkes up horse, dog, cat, 
 cow, and sheep medicines ; washes bottles^ 
 cleans windows, sweeps shop, scours and 
 mundifies greasy, filthy, beastly kettles, 
 pans, dishes, mortars, and. porringers of 
 human blood, and tills, counters, and 
 house-steps ; with an infinite deal more, 
 which occupies his time completely from 
 the moment he rises to th^ moment of 
 his going to bed ; and, not seldom, his rest 
 is broken, and he is called up at night to 
 perform some of these operations. 
 
 Pray, is there any thing in all this, which 
 can improve the mind or mend the heart ? 
 Is there any thing which can teach a man 
 aught of the knowledge of medicine?- Can 
 beings so trained be properly qualified to take 
 care of, and to heal, those that are sick and 
 in affliction ? Just at the very time of life 
 when we ought to have the greatest num- 
 ber of objects presented to our senses from 
 which we may derive ideas, are boys shut up 
 in a dark dismal dungeon, and made to toil, 
 worse than a negro-slave, at employments 
 the most calculated to debase and to corn 
 
B38 ylpothecarizing slightly handled. 
 
 nipt the heart ; to pervert and to cripfjle 
 
 the understanding. 
 
 And for all this labour the youth obtains 
 the very honourable distinction and the 
 Very gratifying reward of surliness and of 
 blows from the master ; of petulance and 
 of insolence frorn the wife of his master; 
 of kicks, of insults, of impertinence, of 
 pinches, of cuffs, of scratches, and of au- 
 thoritative commands from the w^hole 
 brood of ckildren, however numerous, 
 ignorant, contemptible and abominable 
 they may be; and of contempt, of ridi- 
 cuh, and of brutality from the servants, 
 who generally consider the apprentice as 
 an animal of a lower order than them- 
 selves, and never fail to make him feel the 
 inferiority of his condition. At first, the 
 agony which all this misery and cruelty 
 occasion to a youth of delicate feelings and 
 of ready intellect, is unspeakable and in- 
 conceivable to all those who have not ex- 
 perienced it. Till, after a while, his sen- 
 sibility is ground down by the great nether 
 mill-stone of oppression, ^is faculties are 
 paralysed and rendered torpid, and he is 
 cut down into a wretch and a slave^ wdio 
 
Apothecarizing slightly handled, 639 
 
 ^eeks to mitigate the severity of his lot by 
 the most abject, dishonourable, and un- 
 icondltional compliance with, and submis- 
 sion to, all the whims and capricious foole- 
 ries, which ignorance and hardened cruelty 
 can devise. 
 
 All cowards and slaves only want the 
 opportunity to become tyrants and des- 
 pots ; for both these horrid qualities pro- 
 ceed from the same cause — a base, wretch* 
 ed, selfish disposition, lost to all sense of 
 principle and of honour. The apprentice, 
 therefore, at the expiration of his term of 
 bondage, goes to London, or to Edin- 
 burgh perhaps, (sometimes not, but starts, 
 at once, a ready-made apothecary, cut 
 and dried from his ci-devant master's 
 counter), where, in the course of six, and 
 sometimes only three, months, he becomes, 
 to all intents and purposes, qualified, by a 
 superficial smattering of the minor parts of 
 medical knowledge, and presumption, and 
 interested rapacity, and unblushing im- 
 pudence, all supported and standing on 
 the broad basis of ignorance, to commence 
 apothecary, and indict the same degree of 
 torture on the hapless wretches who may 
 
640 Apothecarizwg slightly handled. 
 
 fall under his lafli, as he once experienced 
 from his master. 
 
 If, which very rarely happens, a lad 
 shall go, at a later period, suppose seven- 
 teen or eighteen, with a mind cultivated 
 and expanded by a liberal education, and a 
 spirit rendered indomitable and terribly 
 irresistible by some years of training at 
 one of our great public schools south of 
 the Tweed ; if such a lad, in an evil and 
 an inauspicious hour, is placed w^ithin the 
 vertex of an apothecary's destructive in- 
 fluence, instead of cowering under the 
 wings of despotism, he disdains the me- 
 chanical drudgery, flies to his beloved 
 books, awes the ignorant barbarians of the 
 household into a respectful distance, and at 
 length snaps asunder the chain, which could 
 never confine the efforts of a genius, that 
 was unable to stoop to those viic and con- 
 tracted operations, w^hich totally forbid the 
 workings of the mind, and prevent all 
 exercise of the understanding. 
 
 Think not, O indisinant reader! that I 
 have been describing an imaginary evil. I 
 have, in my own person, seen and felt all, 
 and more than all, that I have wTitten. 
 
Apothecarizlng slightly handled, 641 
 Under the roof of an apothecary I wore 
 away three years of unutterable agony ; of 
 agony, the remembrance of which count- 
 less ages of felicity can never obliterate 
 from my soul. I cannot, here, enter mi- 
 nutely, and into detail, upon the miseries 
 that I suffered, and the less than nothing 
 which I learned ; for of all this, at no very- 
 distant period, I mean to give a full ac- 
 count, that I may, if possible, rouse the 
 attention of parents, to pause and to con- 
 sider, ere they consign their children to the 
 haunts of ignorance and of dulness, of 
 barren sorrow and of irretrievable misery ; 
 where no little ray of hope comes, at un- 
 frequcnt and protracted intervals, faintly to 
 break upon the darkness of the gloom, and 
 to cheer the wretched captive in his dun- 
 geon of despair. 
 
 A very brief and faint outline, however, 
 I will present of the man, w^ho took upon 
 himself the high and responsible office o£ 
 instructing me in the great foundation 
 principles of medical science. 
 
 Benjamin Bolus was not, as far as I 
 know, much worse than other apotheca- 
 ries. By nature he was not dull ; but long 
 
 yOL. 11, T T 
 
6A'2 Jpcthccarlzlng slightly handkiL 
 continued and systematic iguorancc pro- 
 duces the same effects as original stupidity : 
 it blunts and hebetates all the faculties of 
 the mind. Bolus was acquainted with no 
 language, save his own vernacular idiom, 
 which was not English, but a dialectic and 
 barbarous yell, that is spoken in his native 
 place, a remote and obscure province of the 
 kingdom. Of course, as men never re- 
 gard what they do not know, he affected 
 to despise learning of every kind ; and his 
 house (to speak gently) was no habita- 
 tion of the muses. He passed, however, 
 for a good apothecary, and a safe deliverer 
 of women, (surgery in the country is but 
 little needed, and ffill less known any 
 thing about), because he tattled and 
 gossipped incessantly from morn till 
 noon, from noon till dewy eve, always 
 talking an infinite deal of nothing; he 
 was a complete master in the art of not 
 getting on in a story ; and of long tales, 
 wliich he never finished, no man had a 
 greater store. Add to this, he was very 
 facetious and a wit ; though, to be sure, 
 the joke was generally so very finely and 
 nicely concealed, that it was a secret to 
 
j^pothecarizing slightly handled. 64S 
 tvery one but himself: however, he al- 
 ways laughed much at his own witticisms, 
 and wo betide all those over whom he 
 had any power, if they did not muster a 
 laugh also. 
 
 As a necessary consequence of all this, 
 his curiosity was insatiable ; he was con- 
 tinually prying and inquiring into all the 
 minute and petty occurrences about him, 
 merely to have the pleasure of telling 
 them again ; for he was like the honest 
 squire of La Mancha's knight, a secret 
 retained four and tw^enty hours would have 
 burst his belly. His manners were the 
 coarsest of any that I ever witnessed in 
 man or beaft. His pride was excessive, 
 but it was not that pride which prevent5> 
 a man from stooping to any thing base 
 and mean, and which is, sometimes, found 
 in elevated minds, and proves a kind of 
 substitute for virtue ; it was vulgarity of 
 insolence, derived from a long continued 
 habit of ruling w^ith uncontrolled sway 
 over his wife and servants. 
 
 He indulged himself in the most violent 
 paroxysms of anger and of WTath upon 
 the slightest, or on no provocation; and 
 
 T T Z 
 
6^4f yipothecarizing slightly handled. 
 
 as anger differs from madness only in 
 duration, it is madness while the fit lasts, 
 we may safely say, that Bolus is a mad- 
 man, for he is scarcely ovit of one fit of 
 anger but he falleth into another. I 
 never detected in him any thing like 
 the offspring of humanity and of enlarged 
 benevolence : he seemed to live chiefly for 
 himself; and a special life it was : it 
 might be described in a few words, he 
 ate, drank, rode on horseback, sold medi- 
 cines, obstetricized, and flept. 
 
 But of all this, if no one was affected 
 but himself, I should take no notice. But 
 every one that is any ways connected with 
 him must be a sufferer. No man can teach 
 what he does not know ; consequently, 
 Bolus can never explain to his appren- 
 tice the general principles of medicine ; 
 he cannot teach him anatomy, nor 
 surgery, for that depends directly upon 
 anatomy, as, indeed, does all medical 
 knowledge ; he cannot teach him the phy- 
 siology nor the practice of medicine, for 
 what practice, worth knowing, is to be 
 obtained without a previous knowledge of 
 physiology? What business, then, has Bo- 
 
 I 
 
Apothecarizing slightly handled, G45 
 
 lus with an apprentice ? A porter or a 
 shoeblack can do all the mechanical filth 
 of bottle rinfnig, kettle-scouring, shop- 
 sweeping, window-cleaning, &c. &c. about 
 which an apprentice is employed, and 
 which, whatever Bolus may think, will 
 never enable a man to become an expert 
 surgeon, or a good physician, 
 
 I freely, however, forgive Bolus all his 
 systematic attempts to prevent me from 
 acquiring knowledge, by forbidding my 
 access to books ; and, also, for his futile 
 and jejune endeavours to convert me to 
 scepticism and unbelief; for he crowns all 
 his other accomplishments with the affec- 
 tation of being a sceptic, and amuses him- 
 self with uttering coarse and contemptible 
 ribaldry upon the resurrection, the day of 
 judgment, and all those subjects, which 
 every wise and every good man treats with 
 becoming reverence and humility. I lost 
 three years of life by being under this 
 man's roof, and with them the opportu- 
 nity of acquiring much knowledge; an evil 
 that I cannot cease to deplore as long as I 
 breathe. But I am willing to attribute 
 all the miseries, which I suffered in that 
 
 T T 
 
 O 
 
6A6 Apothecarizing slightly handled. 
 state of absolute privation from all instruc- 
 tion and from all comfort, to the marvel- 
 lous ignorance of Bolus, and, in pity and 
 in compassion, I forgive him. 
 
 But I cannot so easily forget his continued 
 and abominable tyranny and brutality to 
 his wife; who discharged (to the full extent 
 of all her range of know^ledge, and her 
 understanding w^as good, though not much 
 cultivated) the sacred and important duties 
 of w^ife and of mother with a degree of 
 exemplary virtue and of prudence which 
 I have seldom witnessed in any woman, 
 I wish not to dwell upon such an odious 
 picture ; if what I have now said should 
 be the means of procuring a less intolerable 
 degree of persecution to a female, whose 
 uniformity and excellence of conduct de- 
 serve every kindness that the moft affec- 
 tionate attention can bestow, I shall have 
 gained my end. 
 
 To conclude. Under the guidance and 
 direction of such a being as Bolus, was it 
 to be expected, that a youth could acquire 
 the range of intellect, the comprehension 
 of mind, and the grasp of thought, which 
 ^re requisite to enable a man to .move 
 
Our reception at Glasgow. 647 
 
 With respectability, with credit, and wdth 
 honour, in that sphere of adlion, and in that 
 department of hfe, which it hath pleased the 
 Almighty, in his infinite wisdom, to ordain 
 him to execute and to fulfil ? 
 
 I shall not make any apology for the 
 length of this digression, because, perhaps, 
 if not the most entertaining, it is the 
 most useful part of the book ; proceed we 
 now to the confummation of our diary. 
 Having wearied ourselves sufficiently by 
 an abundance of discourse we went to bed, 
 and were nearly bitten to death by the 
 bugs, which swarmed in such numbers, 
 that it v^as in vain to think of procuring 
 any sleep, till towards the morning, by 
 which time these vermin had nearly 
 drained us of all our blood. 
 
 We rose between nine and ten o'clock 
 on the 1 6th of Au2:ust, and brcakfafted 
 in a room looking out on the quay, 
 commanding a lovely view of the river 
 Clyde, and a fine country all around, 
 adorned with hill, and dale, and lawn, 
 and wood, and many a fair and goodly 
 edifice. As our cash now approj^imated, 
 T T 4 
 
64S Our reception at Glasgow, 
 
 very nearly to evanescence, and I could 
 not possibly, by any power of intreaty, 
 prevail on Cowan to apply to any of his 
 acquaintances for the loan of a few guineas 
 to carry us over to Ireland, we were com- 
 pelled to steer directly for Edinburgh, in 
 our present crippled and rag2;ed state, 
 without even money enough to purchase a 
 better shoe than honest Macnaughtan's, 
 which threatened utterly to demolish my 
 foot. Our charges at the house were rea- 
 sonable, and we departed with the bene- 
 dictions of our host and hostess. 
 
 We called upon a merchant of Glasgow, 
 an acquaintance of Cowan's : the gentle- 
 man's name was Boaz. I rather wondered 
 that Andrew ventured to fhow himself in 
 his present tatterdemallion condition ; but 
 my wonder ceased the moment I saw his 
 friend, whose countenance evinced so much 
 intelligence and quickness, that it was 
 plainly perceivable that his good sense was 
 much too great to regard our appearance as 
 any obstacle to an admittance into his com- 
 pany. His conversation was very interest- 
 ing, and showed that he had taken much 
 pains to cultivate a mind originally power- 
 
Our reception at Glasgow. 6^49 
 
 ful. The discourse was desultory and 
 various upon our expedition, what we had 
 seen, and what we had endured, &c. He 
 then took occasion to make some remarks, 
 w^hich appeared to me so judicious that I 
 diarized them the very first opportunity. 
 
 He said, that a striking proof of the 
 gradual and progressive advancement of 
 the human intellect, was, that we now 
 seldom saw any author so besotted and so 
 servile as to write fawning, fulsom, adula- 
 tory dedications, to what are called great 
 men ; nor were the new discoveries in 
 science often stamped with the name of a 
 prince or a noble, unless that noble or 
 prince happened to be the discoverer. But 
 that this species of debasement and of 
 degradation was very frequent in former 
 times. Indeed, this is not the general 
 method of accounting for the fact ; for 
 many people fancy themselves very wise 
 and very severe upon the great men of the 
 present day, by lavishing an abundance of 
 censure upon them for not patronizing 
 men of letters. But the fact i$, men of 
 letters have, at last, learned their own 
 strength ; and find, that, by an appeal to 
 
650 Our reception at Glasgow. 
 
 the discernment of the public voice, and 
 trustinc^ to the merit of their own works, 
 they can do much better for tliemselves, 
 -than by eating the bread of dependance and 
 drinking the water of slavery, from an ab- 
 ject subservience to the whim and caprice of 
 beings, whom, for tlic most part, ignorance 
 and vice render contemptible, in spite of 
 all the great advantages of wxalth and of 
 rank ; which advantages, indeed, are so 
 great, and so calculated to w^in upon the 
 minds of most men, that a very moderate 
 share of virtue and of knowledge renders 
 those in an exalted station objects of reve- 
 rence, almost amounting to idolatry, in 
 the eyes of the multitude. 
 
 We may, therefore, say, that the men 
 of letters have relinquished the claims of a 
 patron's bondage for the sure and steady 
 support of an enlightened and an inde- 
 pendent public. If, indeed, the gilded 
 butterflies of our day had sufficient great- 
 ness of mind and loftiness of soul to be- 
 come such patrons as Cosmo de Medici, 
 whom the inimitable lloscoe thus describes : 
 — '' In affording protection to the arts 
 of architecture, painting, and sculpture. 
 
We make for Ham if ton, S5i 
 
 \vhich then began to revive in Italy, Cosmo 
 set the great example to those, who, by 
 tiielr rank and their riches, could alone 
 afford them effectual aid. The counte- 
 nance shown by him to those arts, was 
 not of that kind which their professors 
 generally experience from the great ; it was 
 not conceded as a bounty, nor received as 
 a favour, but appeared in the friendship and 
 equality that subsisted betvveen the artist; 
 and his patron." — If such patronage could 
 be found now, intellectual men might 
 accept of such assistance w^ithout any im- 
 putation of meanness being attached to 
 their character, and without incurring the 
 infamy of making genius and knowledge 
 bow to the pitiful pageantry of mere 
 wealth and title, unaided by any internal 
 and solid possession, unsupported by under- 
 standing, and unadorned by virtue. 
 
 Of this gentleman we took our leave, 
 and made for Edinburgh by way of La- 
 nark. We had not proceeded more than 
 two miles from Glasgow, wdien we over- 
 took four young damsels all travelling to- 
 gether tow-ards Hamilton. They accosted 
 
632 JVe make for Jhmiltcti, 
 
 us, and, for some time, wc talked at a di^s* 
 tance, on opposite sides of the road ; but 
 Andrew, after a while, sidled over to oner 
 of the females, a short, thickset, squat, 
 Dutch-built girl, with whom he presently 
 entered into very close and earnest con- 
 versation, as I could perceive by the incli- 
 nation of his head, and the animated 
 movements of his gesture. For a few 
 minutes I continued to w alk on, without 
 attaching myself to this female phalanx. 
 At length, however, I determined to 
 bother the tallest and the youngest of the 
 set, and see if I could obtain any charac- 
 teristic traits worth observing. 
 
 Accordingly, I came alongside the girl 
 •whom I had intended to single out, and 
 the other two damsels fell back and 
 brought up the rear. My fair companion 
 (whose features, excepting that she was 
 much tanned by the sun, and somewhat 
 dirty, were not disagreeable) inquired very 
 minutely into my history and mode of 
 employment, and what were my prospects 
 in life ; to all which I replied, that I was 
 an American farmer, and had been through 
 part of the Highlands of Scotland to im- 
 
We make for Hamilton. 653 
 
 prove myself in agriculture, and was now 
 returning to Pennsylvania to take up my 
 abode, and procure myself the means of 
 existence by my own industry in tilling 
 the ground. She then inquired earnestly 
 about the women in my country, w hether 
 they were handsome, and clever, and good 
 for any thing ? I replied, that they were 
 handsome enough, but neither notable, 
 diligent, or skilful, and fit only to be 
 breeders of sinners. 
 
 I observed her face brighten up at this 
 account, and she immediately edified me 
 with a minute detail of herself and family ; 
 that she was born in Paisley ; that her 
 father was dead, and her mother in gcnteei 
 circumstances, for she kept a small huck- 
 ster's shop ; that she herself was a tambour- 
 worker, and could earn a much money a 
 \Veek ; that all the Paisley girls were pro- 
 verbially noted for making good wives ; 
 that she w^as but nineteen, had always 
 heard a very good character of the Ameri- 
 can farmers, and concluded by hinting, in 
 no very distant terms, that if a young man 
 of that description should ever make^ her 
 
654 U'^e make for Hamltioft, 
 
 an offer, she would very readily accompany 
 
 .him to America as his spouse. 
 
 As this was a kind of challenge that I 
 could not very well, in honour, decline, I 
 turned my discourse towards the subjc6l of 
 matrimony ; and, while we were adjusting 
 this important point of joining ourselves 
 together in the bands of Hymen, (a deed 
 which, although I had not the hardihood 
 to venture on, the girl seemed very eager to 
 commit,) we came up with Cowan and his 
 fair one, at the branching off of two great 
 roads, the one leading directly to Hamilton, 
 the other pointing towards Edinburgh by 
 a different route. We intended to zo to 
 Hamilton, the females did not; but there 
 w^ould have been no great difficulty in 
 prevailing upon our respective nymphs to 
 bear us company, had not Cowan unfortu- 
 nately told his dulcinea that he was a 
 gentleman, and that I was one also. Surely 
 this girl's faith was stronger than her rea- 
 son to believe Andrew's assertion, when, 
 by looking upon our forlorn and miserable 
 appearance, her senses must have told her, 
 that we wxre more likely to be in the 
 lowest scale of beggary and of want. 
 
We make for Hamilton, 655 
 
 This piece of information was communi- 
 cated, in a whisper, by his damsel to mine ; 
 whereupon she drew up her head^ looked 
 furious and disdainful, and said, that I had 
 deceived her, and she would go no farther 
 with me. And she would have me to 
 know, that she was as good as I was, for 
 though she now worked at tambouring, 
 yet she was not a common body, as some 
 poor people were ; but that she had an 
 uncle in London, a very rich baker, w-ho 
 was formerly a bankrupt manufacturer of 
 bread in Paisley, from whence he escaped 
 free of his creditors^ and went to London, 
 where he soon got to do well through the 
 assistance of one of his countrymen, who 
 employed him and brought him forward ; 
 that he himself had also made men of two 
 of her cousins, who had been bankrupted 
 as bakers in the neighbourhood of Paisley, 
 and had found their w^ay up to London ; 
 and that her uncle employed four journey- 
 men, all from Scotland, in his own service. 
 This, and much more concerning the gran- 
 deur of her family, did the enraged gentle- 
 woman utter, and would not listen to all 
 the attempts at an apology which I made, 
 
656 IFe make for Hamilton, 
 
 but turned upon her heel with great con- 
 tempt, and, together with her companions, 
 marched off towards Edinburgh, leaving 
 Andrew somewhat disappointed ; because, 
 as he told me, he had, by the force of his 
 rhetoric, and promises of future reward, 
 for he had no money now, brought his 
 little round tub of a damsel to consent to 
 pass as his wife at their next abode for the 
 Txight ; but that I had spoiled all, by my 
 foolish rhodomontade about the American 
 farmer. 
 
 I laughed immoderately at Andrew's 
 rueful visage, and the forlorn look which 
 he cast, as he caught the last glimpse of 
 the rotundity of his departing spouse ; and 
 I bantered him so effectually on the ele- 
 gance of his taste and the personal graces 
 of his dulcinea del Toboso, that in his ow^n 
 defence he presently resumed his wonted 
 tranquillity, and relapsed into his accus- 
 tomed silence. Wc proceeded on our way 
 tow-ards Hamilton. Not long before we 
 entered the town we overtook an old 
 woman, w^ho put to ns very many ques- 
 tions, of who and what we were, &c. and 
 was evidently very desirous of appearing 
 
We make for Hamilton, 667 
 
 wonderfully gnostic. She said, that though 
 we were dressed like sailors, yet nobody 
 could impose upon her, and she would not 
 believe that we really were such, unless we 
 showed her our compasses, for sailors never 
 knew how to find out their way without 
 steering by the compass. Upon this I 
 showed her my little blue eye-glass, as 
 newly- invented compasses, and she de- 
 clared that she was now fully satisfied, 
 that we were seamen ; that she had once 
 a son a sailor, but he had long since been 
 dead ; that all sailors w^ere bad horsemen, 
 and that she herself once rode a horse full 
 gallop for nearly a quarter of a mile ; that 
 she was well acquainted with all the tow^n 
 of Hamilton, and that the large building 
 on our right-hand (which, by the bye, 
 happened to be some newly-erected bar- 
 racks, at this time holding a regiment of 
 cavalry) was the duke of Hamilton's 
 palace, containing a window for each day 
 in the year, in all three hundred and sixty- 
 five ; and that Hamilton was the first duke 
 in Scotland, the second in England, and 
 the third in France. 
 
 We told her that the fashion of dukes 
 
 VOL. II. U U 
 
658 Our reception at Hamilton, 
 
 had passed away in France, and, therefore, 
 that Hamilton could claim no honour from 
 any title in that country, whatever he might 
 in Scotland and in England. We now, 
 with some difficulty, got rid of the old 
 woman, who seemed very desirous of en- 
 tertaining us awhile longer with her dis- 
 course ; indeed, wx had given her some 
 broad hints about leaving us, but all to no 
 purpose ; we, therefore, laid ourselves 
 down on the ground, and waited till she 
 had gotten on a considerable way before 
 us, and then we entered Hamilton, and 
 applied at the first public-house which we 
 saw, for some dinner, but a very stout 
 fellow answered in a surly tone, that he 
 had none for us. 
 
 We asked at the next house wdth a sign, 
 and an old wretch, a very hag, another 
 Tisyphone, with matted locks and squalid 
 face, and diabolical expression of counte- 
 nance, yelled out, that we should get about 
 our business directly, for she would let us 
 have nothing. We tried a third abode, 
 which professed to afford entertainment 
 and refreshment for strangers, and were 
 
Our reception at HamiltGn, 659 
 
 stopped ere we crossed the threshold, and 
 denied admittance by both host and host- 
 ess, a couple of young and dirty people, 
 that stopped up the door-way with their 
 bodies. 
 
 All that we had hitherto seen were 
 miserable alehouses; we now staggered 
 into the Buck's-head inn, a very decent 
 good-sized house in its outward appearance. 
 Here, in a little room up-stairs, on a very 
 filthy table-cloth, we procured some tole- 
 rably good cold mutton, vile dough half- 
 baked mutton pies, stuff which was called 
 pastry, and cheese so dirty that we had not 
 time and leisure to ascertain its colour. 
 We went forward ere we had well rested 
 ourselves ; the town is all on a bustle on 
 account of the races, which thrive under 
 the patronage of the duke. The Hamil- 
 ton palace and domains are splendid and 
 spacious, and afford an excellent view from 
 the road ; the country round was well cul- 
 tivated and wooded ; apple-orchards were 
 to be seen in great abundance, a circum- 
 stance by no means common in any of the 
 parts of Scotland which I have ever visited. 
 We saw the Clyde, at intervals, wind its 
 
 U U 2 
 
660 We try to get a night's lodging. 
 
 stream along the vale, and then hide Itself 
 amid the thick embowering woods, which 
 overhung its banks. 
 
 The night grew dark, and all the sur- 
 rounding prospect was lost in obscurity; 
 all was wrapped in silence, save that the 
 sound of the torrent was heard from the 
 hill, and the low sullen growl of the watch- 
 dog was borne along the breeze, and smote 
 faintly on our ear. We came, at length, 
 a little before twelve o'clock at night, to a 
 public-house on the road; we entered, and 
 saw, in a very nasty room, with a mud 
 floor, naked walls, and wooden ceiling, 
 two young females, the eldest apparently 
 about nineteen, with a little babe hanging 
 at her breast. We asked if we could be 
 provided with some supper and a lodging ; 
 the wenches answered. No ; that we might 
 go on to Lanark, about five miles farther 
 on the road. 
 
 We replied, that we were fairly worn 
 down with fatigue, were faint and crippled, 
 and utterly unable to crawl on any farther. 
 But all our rhetoric produced not the least 
 effect on these tender-hearted damsels. 
 
We try to get a nlght^s lodging, 66l 
 
 who, with great sang-froid, observed, that 
 the night was fine, and, if we were tired, 
 we 'might sleep under a hedge, for we 
 should have no bed in that house ; and 
 concluded their charitable and humane 
 speech by telling us, in plain terms, to get 
 along about our business as fast as possible. 
 In vain we endeavoured to move the com- 
 passion of these two blocks in female shape ; 
 they paid no regard to our distressed situ- 
 ation, and still persisted in denying us a 
 resting-place for our heads. 
 
 Not to stir, however, were wc de- 
 termined, and continued to harangue 
 the girls, who very deliberately seated 
 themselves by a blazing fire of wood, 
 although the night was hot and close, even 
 to suffocation, and leant a deaf ear to all 
 our eloquence. I began to despair of sue* 
 cess, for I was now so spent with fatigue 
 that I actually could not articulate my 
 words without pain and difficulty, when, 
 from a neighbouring apartment, stalked 
 hito the place where we were, a tall elderly 
 man, with a very short dirty shirt on, and 
 a red greasy worsted nightcap on his pate ; 
 other clothes he had none. His aspect was. 
 u u^ 
 
o6'^ We obtain d.mght*s lodging, 
 
 shrewd, keen, cunning, stern, and able, 
 with some expressive lines of comic hu- 
 mour marked on it. 
 
 He first surveyed us with much curi- 
 osity, and heard our request for a lodging 
 preferred in earnest and urgent terms, 
 while he stood with his back to the two 
 girls, his daughters, scratching his naked 
 posteriors for their edification, for he had 
 elevated the scanty portion of his shirt for 
 the purpose of more easily applying his 
 nails to the pa»t affected. He then turned 
 round to the girls, by which movement he 
 favoured us with the aforesaid exhibition 
 a tergo, and roughly rebuked them for their 
 inhumanity, bade them instantly get some 
 sheets, and make up a bed for us in his 
 own room. This was soon done, and, 
 without any supper (for they had nothing 
 to be eaten or drunken in the house except 
 half a pint of sour small beer, which An- 
 drew swallowed in a twinkling, and made 
 a miserable face as soon as it was safely 
 lodged in his belly) we went into a very 
 damp bed in the most filthy chamber ima- 
 ginable, and swarming with bugs, where- 
 
IVe oltain a night'' s lodging. 663 
 
 by I was speedily so much bitten that I 
 was in -such an intolerable state of irrita- 
 tion as not to endure any longer an abode 
 in bed; wherefore, I got up and dressed 
 myself, and sate on a little stool near the 
 window of the room. 
 
 Here I waited, in a most miserable con- 
 dition, half-famished and half-mad, till 
 about three o'clock in the morning, when 
 I grew so very impatient, that I began to 
 ferret Cowan, in order to get him to rise 
 that we may pursue our journey. — Cowan, 
 Cowan, turn out, — said I, w^ith some ve- 
 hemence, as he continued to grunt, and to 
 heave himself in his bed. — Let Cowan 
 take a sleep, — quoth our host, w^ho now 
 reared his long carcase from off the mise- 
 rable couch on which he lay, — let Cowan 
 take a sleep, and do you be quiet.and make 
 yourself easy. — But I did not choose to 
 make myself easy, or to be quiet, in a roorn 
 whose vapour was making hasty strides to 
 poison me outright on the spot; where- 
 fore I continued to persecute Andrew 
 without mercy, and incessantly, till I had 
 routed him out of bed ; and without food, 
 unwashed, unrecruited, and comfortless^ 
 u U4 
 
664f JVe obtain a nighfs lodging, 
 
 we discharged our bill, and marched on 
 
 for Lyanark on the 1 7th of August. 
 
 Our landlord saw us to the door, and 
 dismissed us with some sapient advice. 
 He told us, that such poor miserable fellows 
 as we were should never think of travel- 
 ing, which was only calculated for gentle- 
 men, who could afford the necessary ex- 
 pences of the road. We thanked him for 
 his kindness, and departed. The country 
 appeared very steril around us, and the 
 scenery somewhat gloomy withal. At 
 rather more than a mile's distance from 
 Lanark, we went down, on the left hand, 
 a very steep descent to the fall of the 
 Clyde, called Stone-byre, which exhibited 
 no very grand appearance, because the 
 weather had continued dry so long, that 
 the body of v^ater fell in a comparatively 
 small sheet, owing to the shallowness of 
 the river. The dashing of the stream^, 
 however, as it rolled down from the 
 broad rock, and fell against the stony chan- 
 nel below, soon lulled us to sleep, and 
 we enjoyed two hours of refreshing slum- 
 ber;, stretched on a rugged wooden benchj 
 
We visit Lanark. 665 
 
 with our knapsacks serving as pillowSj by 
 the brink of the water. 
 
 We then rose, stripped, and w^ashed our- 
 selves thoroughly in the Clyde, and steered 
 for Lanark, around which the country was 
 beautifully dressed with wood, and studded 
 thickly with villas. We were now so 
 much in want of food, that we went 
 directly to the first inn that presented 
 itself to us ; it happened to be the best In 
 the town. In the yard stood half a dozen 
 postchalses, the house itself was very large, 
 and exhibited a grand appearance. I 
 bounced up the flight of steps leading Into 
 the front of the house, and, at my entrance 
 into the passage, was stopped by a pro- 
 fusely pate-bepow'dered waiter, who eyed 
 us and our appendages Vv^lth the most 
 ineffable contempt, which was increased 
 and blended with a stare of utter astonish- 
 ment, when I asked for a room* and some 
 breakfast. 
 
 The fellow turned upon his heel, and 
 was sheering off with all due expedition, 
 w^hen I planted myself between him and 
 the bar-door, and, in the most authcritatlve 
 
C^ JVe visit Lanark^ 
 
 tone, accompanied with a half flourish of 
 my bludgeon, commanded him to show us 
 into a room immediately, and send us up 
 some breakfast. The waiter then apolo- 
 ,gized, and said, that all the sitting rooms 
 were full of company, but that we might 
 sit in a bed-room, if we could take break- 
 fast there. We answered in the affirma- 
 tive, and were forthwith shown up into a 
 large apartment up- stairs, where stood two' 
 beds, tumbled from having been lately 
 laid in, and the whole room exhibiting 
 such marks of nastiness and filth as would 
 not easily be credited by those who have 
 never seen any excepting English inns. 
 From our window wx commanded an ex- 
 quisite view of an extended range of hills, 
 and the intermediate scenery was lovely, 
 soft, and cultivated. 
 
 We waited a considerable time before 
 we could obtain any breakfast, and then 
 the waiter brought us bread, but neither 
 butter, sugar, tea-spoons, knife, or water. 
 I applied my hand to the bell, and rung 
 violently for some minutes, and up came a 
 tall, awkward, very stupidly-looking, well- 
 dressed lad, whom (imagining him to be 
 
We viftt Lanarh 667 
 
 the waiter) I scolded soundly, and ordered 
 him to bring up the things which we 
 wanted immediately. He stood aghast, 
 holding the handle of the door in his 
 fingers, and, with a countenance pallid, 
 rueful, and confused, in terror and in 
 amazement, stammered out, that he came 
 up to get his bundle from this room, in 
 which he had slept the preceding evening 
 together with his uncle, on his way home 
 from Hamilton races. 
 
 I then looked into his visage more mi- 
 nutely and attentively, and recollected 
 that he was a student of medicine at Edin- 
 burgh, a great orator in the medical so- 
 ciety there, and nephew to the famous 
 surgeon of that city, w^ho hath published 
 divers books, and earned unto himself 
 great notoriety among his Caledonian 
 brethren. I explained to the young gentle- 
 man the cause of my mistake, and apolo- 
 gized for having taken possession of his 
 apartment, and for the manner of the salu- 
 tation with which I had greeted him. 
 This polished youth, however, took no 
 notice of my apology, but stalked across 
 the room, seized a bundle of dirty linen. 
 
668 David Bale. 
 
 grasped it close to his breast, and, in great 
 trepidation, ran down stairs as if in danger 
 of his life being taken away. 
 
 At length wx obtained the scantiest and 
 t]ie worst breakfast which had been set 
 before us during the whole of our route, 
 were obliged to pay double the sum that 
 had hitherto been charged for such a mea{^ 
 and left the house, 
 
 We then went to survey David Dale's 
 little territory, where he hath erected a 
 flourishing lovely town, on a spot, which, 
 not many years since, presented not to the 
 eye of the beholder one stone placed upon 
 another. I must be allowed to say a few 
 words in praise of this true patriot, Mr. 
 Dale, who is considered as a father to all 
 the indigent and distressed in his neigh- 
 bourhood : and when it is remembered, 
 that he has raised himself to his present 
 state of respectability and of opulence from 
 one of the lowest conditions in w^hich men 
 can move in the present established forms 
 of society, that of a journeyman weaver, 
 his merit will appear still more astonishing 
 and brilliant. 
 
David Dak, 669 
 
 Dale's cotton mills, and the habitations 
 of the labourers employed in the manufac- 
 tory, constitute a sweet little town, called 
 New Lanark, placed in a valley nearly sur- 
 rounded on all sides by a romantic ridge 
 of hills ; a more lovely spot cannot be ima- 
 gined. With the machinery of the mills 
 I am but little or nothing acquainted, my 
 chief business is to point out the great 
 merit of Mr. Dale, as a benefactor to the 
 human race. I may, however, observe, 
 that the river Clyde supplies the water 
 which puts the mills in motion, and that 
 the stream is directed and applied by a 
 subterraneous aqueduct cut through the 
 solid rock, for the space of several hundreds 
 of yards. There arc four mills; the two 
 first are 154 feet in length, the third 130, 
 and the fourth 156 feet long. In the two 
 first mills are twelve thousand spindles for 
 spinning water twist; the two last are 
 used in spinning mule yarn. 
 
 But I hasten, with pleasure and w^ith 
 delight, to show how Mr. Dale dispenses 
 happiness and comfort to so many of his 
 fellow-creatures, by his attention not only 
 to their health but to their morals. His 
 
670 David Dak. 
 
 little kingdom consists of neat well-built 
 houses, forming broad, regular, and cleanly 
 streets. Near the middle of the town 
 stand the mills, and opposite to them the 
 chief mansion of the place, the residence 
 of the supcrintendant of the works, and 
 occasionally of Mr. Dale himself. The 
 town contains nearly two thousand in- 
 habitants, mostly Highlanders; all of 
 whom, that are capable of labour, are em- 
 ployed by Mr. Dale in his service, either 
 in working at the cotton manufactory, or 
 in repairing and keeping the mills in order. 
 Five hundred children are entirely fed, 
 clothed, and instructed, at the expence of 
 this venerable philanthropist. The rest of 
 the children live with their parents in 
 comfortable and neat habitations in the 
 town, and receive weekly wages for their 
 labour. 
 
 The health and the happiness depicted 
 in the countenances of these children, show 
 that the proprietor of the Lanark mills has 
 remembered mercy in the midst of his 
 gain; the regulations adopted here for the 
 preservation of the health, both of body 
 and of mind, are such as do honour to the 
 
David Dale, 67 1 
 
 Sfoodness and the discernment of Mr. Dale, 
 and present a striking contrast to the gene- 
 rality of large manufactories in this king- 
 dom, which are the schools of vice and of 
 profligacy, the very hotbeds of disease and 
 of contagion. It is a truth w hich should 
 be engraven in letters of gold, to the eternal 
 honour of the founder of l^tw Lanark, 
 that, out of nearly three thousand children 
 working in these mills, during a period of 
 twelve years, from 1785 to 1797, only 
 fourteen have died, and not one has suffer- 
 ed criminal punishment. 
 
 Pure and fresh air, without which life 
 cannot exist, is administered in abundance 
 to this manufactory, by frequently opening 
 the w^indows, and by airholes, under cw^rj 
 other window, which are left open during 
 the summer months. The children are 
 all washed before they go to work, and 
 after they have finished their daily labour, 
 previous to their appearance in the schools. 
 The floors and the machinery of the mills 
 are w^ashed once a week w^th hot water ; 
 and the walls and ceilings, twice a year, are 
 w^hite-washed with unslaked lime. The 
 children are lodged in large airy rooms. The 
 boys and girls are kept separate from each 
 
672 J^avid Bale. 
 
 other during rest, mealtimes, and workingr 
 hours. Hence, one most material source 
 of the corruption and the profligacy which 
 prevail in almost all other large manufac- 
 tories, is here prevented from existing. 
 
 They are fed plentifully with plain and 
 wholesome food, which consists chiefly of 
 fresh beef, and barley broth, cheese, po- 
 tatoes, and barley-bread> with now and 
 then some fresh herrings as a variety. 
 Their breakfast and supper is, principally, 
 oatmeal porridge, w^ith milk in the summer, 
 and in winter, a sauce made of beer and 
 melasses. At seven o'clock the children 
 sup ; after this there is no ni^htwork, a 
 pernicious and infamous practice in use at 
 most ether manufactories, for the purpose, 
 as it should seem, of promoting immo- 
 rality and debauchery among the poor, ig- 
 norant, unfortunate, manufacturers. After 
 supper the schools open, and continue so 
 till nine o'clock. The lesser children, that 
 are not yet old enough to work, are in- 
 structed in the day-time ; the elder chil- 
 dren learn in the evening, w^hen the daily 
 labour is concluded. Proper masters and 
 mistresses are employed to teach both the 
 
David Dak. O73 
 
 boys and girls ; the boys learn to read, and 
 write, and cast accounts ; the girls, in ad- 
 dition to these inestimable acquisitions, arc 
 taught to work at the needle. Some of 
 the children are taught church-music ; 
 and on Sunday they, all, under the im- 
 mediate guidance of the masters, attend a 
 place of divine worship, and the rest of 
 the day is occupied, chiefly, in receiving 
 moral and rehgious instruction from these 
 masters. 
 
 Some few years since a vessel, carrying 
 emigrants from the Highlands to America, 
 was driven by foul wxather into Greenock, 
 and, in consequence, more than two hun- 
 dred poor creatures were put on shore in 
 a most helpless and wretched state. Mr. 
 Dale, as soon as he knew it, offered them 
 all employment, and most of them enter- 
 ed immediately info his service. He, also, 
 soon after invited other people from the 
 Highlands, and undertook to provide habi- 
 tations for two hundred families. The 
 invitation was joyfully accepted, and num- 
 bers of Highlanders came, and have taken 
 up their abode in the territory of their 
 benevolent employer. Many families also, 
 
 VOL. II, X X 
 
674' David Bale, 
 
 that were lately driven from Ireland by 
 want and by famine, have found protec- 
 tion, support, and employment, for them 
 and for their little ones, from this indefati- 
 gable philanthropist. 
 
 Such is the praise, the rare, the enviable 
 praise, of Dale ; of one who has done more 
 for his country and for the benefit of man- 
 kind, than all the warriors and all the con- 
 querors that have ever lived ; than all those 
 whose names now stain the page of his- 
 tory with characters of desolation and of 
 blood. But the name of Dale .shall be 
 remembered, and shall shine forth with 
 honour in that great day, when the book 
 of life shall be opened, and it shall be pro- 
 nounced unto every man according to his 
 deeds; in that awful and tremendous day 
 when men shall not be judged as kings and 
 as princes, and as lords, and as destroyers 
 of cities, and as murderers of their fellow- 
 creatures ; but all shall be judged as of- 
 fending sinners. In that day, will those ^ 
 who have been deemed great upon the 
 earth, in that they possessed and einployed 
 the power of oppressing and of afflicting 
 human nature, hide their heads in con- 
 
David Dale, 6j5 
 
 fusion and in dismay ; while all those, who, 
 like the benevolent Dale, have blessed their 
 fellow-beings, even as the dews of heaven 
 have blessed them, shall receive their re- 
 ward, and sit as glorified saints on the 
 right hand of Him who descended from 
 the throne of God to save and to redeem 
 fallen and lost mortality. 
 
 Before I quit this subject, I must offer 
 a few remarks on large manufactories, 
 merely considering them in a moral and a 
 political point of view. In most of these 
 places every incentive to vice and to im- 
 morality is applied; and every avenue to 
 disease and to contagion is laid open by 
 negligence and by filth. Boys and girls 
 are huddled together in lots, by day and by 
 night, deprived of ail education, instructed 
 neither in religion nor in morals ; so that^ 
 even in childhood, before the state of in- 
 fancy be well passed, every species of horrid 
 and of disgusting debauchery is committed. 
 From these pestilential vaults and charnel- 
 houses of all virtue and of all proper know- 
 ledge, are continually vomited forth thieves 
 and prostitutes of every description, to prey 
 upon and to plunder the community, and 
 X X :? 
 
676 David Dale. 
 
 to weaken the very sinews of all good go- 
 vernment and of all social order. 
 
 I wish not invidiously to point cut by 
 name the several manufactories which thus 
 slaughter the morals and the principles of 
 so many thousands of human beings ; all 
 who have paid any attention to the gene- 
 ral conduct of these places, know that 
 what I now say is true; and that the evil 
 calls aloud for redress. 
 
 And where can redress be had, but from 
 the government of the country ? The mas- 
 ters and the proprietors, in general, (would 
 that I could point out more such blessed 
 exceptions as David Dale !) have been suf- 
 fered, long enough, to show that the health 
 and the m^orals of their labourers are not 
 even secondary and subordinate consider- 
 ations with them. I am as far as any man 
 from w^ishlng that any infringements should 
 be made on the property of individuals ; 
 but surely some attention, on the part of 
 the legislature, is due also to those WTCtch- 
 cd beings who are regularly trained to dis- 
 ease and to vice. Let manufacturers gain 
 w^hat profits they please, so that their pelf 
 Is^ not obtained at the expence of the health 
 
David Bale. ' 677 
 
 and of tlic morals of the poor; for upon 
 the virtue and upon the industry of the 
 poor the A-cry safety and existence of the 
 nation depend. 
 
 Let the government extend the arm of 
 paternal aid and protection to the many 
 thousands of wretched beings, that have 
 hitherto bcen^ and are now, the victims of 
 disease and of vice, daily and hourly im- 
 molated on the blood-stained altar of ra- 
 pacity and of avarice, lest the cry of their ■ 
 misery and of their wickedness ascend 
 unto the heaven, and the Lord of Hosts 
 arise to take vengeance upon their op- 
 pressors ! ! ! Let habits of cleanliness and 
 of decency be established and enforced;' 
 let the children be instructed in their 
 moral and religious duties ; let the in- 
 famous and inhuman custom of nia'ht- 
 work be utterly abolished ; let the males 
 be separate and kept distinctly apart from 
 the females, at all times during the hours 
 of meals and of employment; let magis- 
 trates and men of influence and of respec- 
 tability be appointed to see that all these 
 things are regularly and exactly fulfilled ; 
 X X 3 
 
<.)78 ^Ve mala for Edlnlurgh. 
 
 and that all the apartments are properly 
 
 ventilated and whitewashed. 
 
 Let these regulations, or some such as 
 these, whatever shall s::em meet to the 
 wisdom of those in authority, be establish- 
 ed and carried into execution by tlie para- 
 mount power of the governmental sceptre, 
 and our manufactories wdll no longer exist 
 for the baneful and destructive purpose of 
 enriching a very few individuals, at the 
 cxpence of entailing all the unutterable 
 and endless miseries of disease and of ini- 
 quity upon numberless thousands of the 
 British people ! ! ! 
 
 From the blessed territory of the philan- 
 thropic Dale we went to see the fall of 
 Corallind ; to which, however, we could 
 not obtain access but by giving a silver sop 
 to a Cerberus of a porter, w^hose principal 
 wages (for he received very little yearly 
 revenue from his master, some baronet, 
 whose name I forget) are the fees which' 
 he picks up from those who go to see the 
 Clyde-falls, that are situated in his mas- 
 ter's domains. Here we were amply gra- 
 
We make for Edinburgh. 679 
 
 tificd for all our past toils and troubles; 
 we sat ill a summer-house perched on the 
 top of a lofty hill, and surveyed, at a little 
 distance beneath us, the torrent tumblinp* 
 down its rocky bed, in many a perturbed 
 and broken sheet ; the banks of the river 
 were fringed with wood, and enamelled 
 with vegetation's gayest coloured herbs. 
 On the opposite hill to that on which we 
 were seated, stood a small neat cottage, the 
 residence of three elderly ladies, who could, 
 at all times, as they sate in their little 
 apartment, enjoy the unspeakable delight of 
 beholding the descent of the whitened flood 
 beneath, and of listening to the deepened 
 roar of the ever-dashing stream. The sce- 
 nery of the country round was lovely, and 
 for a time we enjoyed the most unalloyed 
 luxury and happiness of indulging our sen» 
 sations uninterrupted and undisturbed. 
 
 But v/e were roused from our reverie of 
 Elysium by the garrulity of our attendant, 
 the porter, who descanted on the wealth 
 and grandeur of his master, the hardness of 
 the times, the stupidity of the Enghsh, 
 the savage barbarity of the Irish, and the 
 wisdom and civiliz ition of his own country- 
 X X 4 
 
t>30 IVc make for Edinhurg^j. 
 
 men ; hinting also, that he understood the 
 Americans to be a discreet people. Find- 
 ing that we could no longer be allowed to 
 indulge our sensations in silence, we took 
 leave of tliis enthusiastic janitor, who 
 would not, however, suffer us to depart 
 till he had told us, that he was the father 
 of eight children, for whom the scantiness 
 of his annual income could but ill provide 
 the bare means of existence ; and that he 
 could not afford to give them a good and 
 genteel education, which, he declared, 
 hurt him more than any other hardship 
 that he was doomed to endure in his 
 journey through life. 
 
 We marched onward, and a few miles 
 farther on our road, overtook a poor dis- 
 tressed widow sitting on a bank. She told 
 us a tale of want and of misery, and re- 
 ceived all the bawbies w^e had, about nine- 
 pence halfpenny. We proceeded, and a 
 little farther on met a little boy wdth a 
 can of milk ; wx offered him sixpence for 
 a draught ; the child, though not apparently 
 :ilx years old, refused, saying, that we would 
 not give him the m.oney when we had 
 drank the mlik, but w^ould run away, and 
 
We make for Edinburgh, 6S 1 
 
 cheat him. Ptun a hundred yards we 
 CDuld not, if it had been to save our lives ; 
 however, we put the sixpence into the 
 lad's hand, he examined it very carefully, 
 and bit it several times ; at length he de- 
 clared that it was a good one, and let us 
 drink some milk out of the can. Surely, 
 thought I, as I looked into the little fel- 
 low's prudent, careful face, this child will, 
 one day, become wealthy ; for the seeds of 
 caution and of mistrust, so early planted in 
 his bosom, will, ere he arrives at m.anhood, 
 ripen into all the plants qualified to bear 
 the fruits of mercantile success and of 
 trading opulence. I did not like the young 
 animal the better for having so soon ex- 
 tinguished the glow of charity and of kind- 
 ness by the chill frost of circumspection 
 and of suspicion. 
 
 Refreshed by this grateful beverage we 
 marched on all cheerily, and were soon 
 met by a well-dressed, intelligentjly-iooking, 
 and rather a handsome man, about thirty ; 
 he stopped us, and asked if we were not 
 Americans; we answered, Yes. He said, 
 that he had been informed of two American 
 eailors having parsed through Lanark in the 
 
6\S2 ll-'e make for Edinburgh, 
 
 morninc:; and had therefore gone in quest 
 of us, in order to learn something of the 
 t^tatc of our country, concerning which he 
 now questioned us very minutely, not to 
 say tediously. To all his interrogations, 
 which were none of the shortest, we re- 
 plied briefly and summarily. He thanked 
 us for the information which we gave him, 
 and told us, that his countrymen were, for 
 the most part, particularly the poor, so 
 ground down by a variety of cruel circum- 
 stances, that it was impossible for by far 
 the major portion of the people to exist in 
 any degree of comfort ; and that, for his 
 own part, he should think seriously of 
 going to America, since there the people 
 were allowxd to enjoy the fruits of their 
 own industry, and were not burdened by 
 such grievous imposts and exorbitant tax- 
 ations, as made Hfe itself only a continued 
 burden and a curse. 
 
 We told him, that it was no light under- 
 taking for a man to leave his native coun- 
 try, and to settle in a strange land ; and 
 that if he had any capital he would do well 
 to employ it in England, where industry 
 and ability, backed by monej, could per- 
 
We makefcr Edinburgh. 683 
 
 form almost any thing ; that it was true, 
 the poor who had no property but the 
 labour of their hands, suffered much ; yet 
 for those who could command a capital, 
 perhaps, no country in the world was so 
 favourably circumstanced as Great Britain. 
 He replied^ that he would consider of what 
 we said, and then took his leave ; wo 
 marched onward. 
 
 The sun became now so intensely 
 fierce, that we were unable to proceed. I 
 felt it strike through my brain like a stroke 
 of fire, and we crawled into a plantation 
 of firs by the road-side, Vv'here we rested 
 awhile, and then renewed our tramp. We 
 at length arrived at Crownworth, (I think 
 the village was so called,) w^ent to an inn, 
 and asked for some dinner. We wxre im- 
 mediately shown into a tolerably decent 
 room by the hostess, who was a well-look- 
 ing cleanly w^oman, in the eighth month 
 of her pregnancy, as nearly as I could 
 judge by looking at her. The cloth was 
 laid immediately, and a servant girl and 
 the landlady herself bustled about very 
 busily, telling us that we should have our 
 
684? IVe make for Edinburgh, 
 
 dinner In a few minutes, and the flavour of 
 her porter was particularly pccommendcd. 
 
 At the sound of this, Andrew, who is 
 no mortlfier of the flesh, unless when he 
 cannot possibly help it, began to lick his 
 lips, and look forward to a delicious regale 
 of some savoury fare. But, in the midst of 
 all these preparations, it occurred to me to 
 examine the state of our finances, and I 
 found that two shillings completed the 
 sum total of our cash. As I well knew 
 that this portion of money was not suffi- 
 cient to defray the expences of a very plen- 
 tiful dinner, and 1 did not choose to de- 
 ceive the good woman of the house, I im- 
 mediately called her into the room, and 
 told her exactly the state of our affairs ; 
 that we had travelled through a part of 
 the Highlands, that wx were now return- 
 ing to Edinburgh, and that all our money- 
 was expended save two shillings ; for which 
 £um I desired that she would let us have 
 whatever food, in quantity and in quality, 
 she could afford, without incurring any 
 loss or inconvenience to herself. 
 
 I had scarcely made an end of this 
 
tVe make for Edinhurgh. 6^5 
 
 happy speech, before I perceived the evil 
 consequences of a declaration of poverty. 
 In a moment the whole scene was chan2!;ed ; 
 the good landlady's countenance (which had 
 visibly been lengthened and twisted also, 
 during the whole of my oration) now ex- 
 changed the simpering smirk of obsequious 
 complaisance, for the most insolent, con- 
 temptuous, and forbidding aspect of dia- 
 bolism. She deigned not to utter a sylla- 
 ble in reply ; but immediately snatched oiF 
 the table-cloth, with the knives, forks, 
 spoons, salt-cellars, plates, &c. &c. and, 
 having first demanded and received the 
 luckless two shillings, flung herself out of 
 the room with such precipitation and ve- 
 hemence, that she banged a certain part of 
 her body, which shall be nameless, so fur 
 riously against the ledge of the wainscot, 
 that I am sure the blow must derange 
 some of its functions (that of sitting cle- 
 verly and at ease, for instance) for some 
 considerable time to come. 
 
 I could not help smiling at the sudden- 
 ness of this man(suvre. Andrew's visage 
 fell, for he foresaw that it augured but a 
 very scanty and plain dinner, which pr^ 
 
686 We make for Edinhurgh. 
 
 sentiment was soon fulfilled ; as presently 
 thereafter, a little dirty damsel brought us 
 in a platter of some wash, which she called 
 broth, with two wooden spoons In it, but 
 no plate, knife, or fork, not even a draught 
 of small beer. We attempted, but in vain, 
 for our very gorge rose against every mouth- 
 ful, to swallow the said semi-solid sub- 
 stance. We had not sat in the room half 
 an hour before the same small drab came 
 in to tell us that her mistress desired we 
 would leave the house as soon as possible, 
 for she wanted the room to entertain some 
 genteel company, who could pay for what- 
 ever they ate or drank. 
 
 We had now about thirty long miles to 
 walk ; it was after six o'clock in the even- 
 ing ; we were crippled and faint from 
 fatigue and long fasting, for we had not 
 swallowed a full and fair meal since our 
 leaving Glasgow yesterday morning; and 
 the country all before us was sterility itself. 
 At our hostess' broad hint, however, we 
 thought it meet to depart, and each of us 
 swallowed a large wadding of solid opium, 
 that we might stimulate nature sufficiently 
 to prevent us from dropping dow^n through 
 
We make for Edinburgh, 6%7 
 
 mere exhaustion by the way. I did not 
 care how soon I left the abode of a belns 
 that regarded not, in the least, our distress, 
 which was very nearly on the point of 
 conducting us out of existence, as our ex- 
 hausted and wo-begone countenances and 
 emaciated carcases evidently demonstrated. . 
 
 We limped off from the house without 
 receiving a single smJlc, a single look of 
 compassion, a single w^ish expressed for our 
 welfare, from any one human being in the 
 place. A little spotted black and white 
 spaniel seemed to pity us, for he couched 
 at our feet, wagged his tail, and looked up 
 wistfully in our faces ; for which deed ot 
 kindness the big-bellied hostess gave him 
 a terrible kick, that made the poor creature 
 cry out and howl most miserably. 
 
 From these two-legged brutes we made 
 what haste we could to get away ; but we 
 could not, with all our efforts, cravvd on at 
 a greater rate than about a mile and a half 
 an hour. The country w^as very barren 
 and dreary ; wx were met by many people 
 on horseback, in carts, and on foot ; 
 scarcely one of whom failed to question us, 
 as to our condition, and what wx were 
 
688 We make for Edinburgh, 
 
 about to do ; whence we came, whither 
 we were goings &c. &c. ; but none ever 
 expressed the least desire to assist us, or 
 even exhibited the smallest mark of com- 
 passion for our distress. Surely, all these 
 beings, thought I, have long since dried up 
 all the drops of the milk of human kind- 
 ness; or, perhaps, 
 
 ^' The weeping blood la vvoman^s breast 
 To them was never known. 
 Nor the bahn that drops on wounds of wo 
 Vvom vjoman's pliijing ee.'* 
 
 The night now began to darken ; but, as 
 the country was so desolate, we had no 
 loss from being deprived of the surround- 
 ing scenery. We grew so very faint, that, 
 in spite of the opium which we again 
 swallowed largely, and w^ashed dow^n with 
 thick puddle water from a ditch, we could 
 scarcely move ourselves on. I shall never 
 forget my sensations at that time ; my soul 
 w^as sick even unto death ; life seemed to 
 have no charms left for me ; indeed, I felt 
 myself so very miserable, both in body and 
 in mind, that I desired to die ; and I should 
 certainly have laid down and perished 
 
We make for Edinburgh, 689 
 
 quietly, without a struggle, had not my 
 mind been amused, and, for a while, ab- 
 stracted from all sense of evil and of pain, 
 by reflecting on these plaintive lines in the 
 lament of Mary queen of Scots. 
 
 ^^ O, soon to me may simmer suns 
 
 Nae mair light up the morn ; 
 To me, nae mair, may autumn winds 
 
 Wave O'er the yellow corn. 
 But, in the narrow house of death 
 
 Chili winter round me rave. 
 And the next flow'rs that deck the spring, 
 
 Bloom on my peaceful grave." 
 
 Andrevr, whose frame of mind is of a 
 much stronger texture than mine, did not , 
 so easily yield to the severity of his bodily 
 sufferings, but trudged on in sullen silence, 
 with a determined ruggedness of soul to 
 persist in his march, till he actually drop- 
 ped dead on the road, or found a place of 
 shelter and of rest. But presently we were 
 tormented with thirst, and could find no 
 water any where ; we would gladly have 
 had recourse to any thing in the shape of a 
 liquid, because the opium had induced 
 such an intolerable droue;ht in us that we 
 
 VOL. II. Y y 
 
^90 We make for Edinhur^. 
 
 wem really more than half frantic ; I eould 
 have torn my flesh from oft' my bones, I 
 was in a state of such insufferable irri- 
 tation. 
 
 In this extremity we saw a little lone 
 cottage, at whose door I knocked, and 
 earnestly besought that we might l)e given 
 a draught of cold water. A female voice 
 answered, that the gude mon was not at 
 home, and she had nothing for us. — I then 
 asked if the gude mon had locked up the 
 pump, and, if he had not, requested that 
 we might be given some water, or we 
 should perish at the door. At length, after 
 very much entreaty from me, and with 
 great reluctance on her part, the door was 
 cautiously opened, and three large, brawny^, 
 voung females appeared,^ in their chemises ; 
 one of them presented to us a very filthy 
 wooden pail, containing some horribly dirty 
 water; we most greedily drank an abun- 
 dant quantity, and tlianked them for tfeeir 
 kindness. We then answered some ques- 
 tions which they put to us, concerning our 
 being in fuch a deplorable state, which 
 being done they expressed not the least 
 concern for cur distress^ either by word or 
 
IVe make for Edinburgh. 69 1 
 
 gesture ; but told us, that it was nearly 
 tweive o'clock at night, and that we had 
 about twenty miles to walk before we 
 could reach Edinburgh. Saying which, 
 they s.hut the door. 
 
 We wxre very much refreshed by the 
 liquid that we had sw^allowed, and limped 
 on rather briskly ; but ere an hour was 
 elapsed, I was so worn out as to be abso- 
 lutely unable to stand, and I gradually 
 sunk down on the ground by the road-side, 
 and by no effort could I rise again, so ut- 
 terly exhausted w^as my strength. Covv^an 
 was in a most forlorn condition, but he 
 held it out rather better than 1 did ; he de- 
 clared, that if he w^as to lie down in his 
 present debilitated state, owing to pain, 
 want of food, absence of sleep, and the 
 stimulating effects of the opium, forcing 
 an overstretched and unnatural vigour and 
 exertion, for the time, only to be followed 
 by a proportionably greater lassitude and 
 weakness, he should, without the least 
 doubt, perish ; for his frame could never 
 endure the depressing damps of the nighfc> 
 and live ; he, therefore, marched on, and 
 \ saw him no more during our route. It 
 
 T 1.? 
 
6Q'2 We make fur Edinburgh, 
 
 seems he wandered on all night, and about 
 six o'clock in the morning reached Edin- 
 burgh, in a condition much more nearly- 
 resembling death than life ; and was some 
 days before he recovered strength sufficient 
 to resume his wonted employments. 
 
 While I lay gasping for breath on the 
 ground, and before I had recovered suffi- 
 cient vitality to sleep, I was interrupted by- 
 some carters, two of whom came and 
 moved my body very roughly with their 
 clumsily-shod feet, supposing that I was 
 drunk, and asked why I did not get up, 
 and where 1 was going, and what business 
 I had there upon the heath, at that time 
 of night ? — To all which I, with difficulty, 
 (for the exertion of speaking was productive 
 of great pain,) replied, that I wished to go 
 to Edinburgh, but had not strength enough 
 left to walk on any farther. 
 
 At hearing this, they went on their way 
 without making any other comment than, 
 ■ — ^^O ! that's it, is it ? Or some such excla- 
 mation of indifference ; not testifying the 
 least concern for the deplorable state in 
 which I was, or ofrerlng to convey me in 
 one of their carts^ and there were three 
 
We make for Edinburgh, ^93 
 
 empty, although they had just told me they 
 v/ere making for Edinburgh themselves. 
 I was too far gone, too weak and languid, 
 even to feci Irritated at the brutality of 
 these beings ; indeed, I expected that un- 
 less I could get some sleep, I should, in a 
 fcv^ minutes, breathe my last, for I never 
 felt the vital powers at so low an ebb as at 
 this mioment. But my present couch was 
 not a spot favourable for procuring sleep ; 
 for almost every minute I was interrupted, 
 cither by people coming up and kicking 
 me, by way of salutation, and hallooing 
 loudly to know v>diat I did there ; or by 
 dogs approaching to examine my carcase, 
 and making their remarks by snorting and 
 growling in my ear. 
 
 This last species of annoyance was more 
 than I could bear, and I began to fear that 1 
 migh^ be torn piecemeal before I was fairly 
 dead. At length, a large shaggy cur, after 
 investigating me for about half a minute, 
 and not finding that I moved, for I was too 
 debile to make any exertion which was not 
 absolutely necessary, seized hold of my 
 neckcloth and jacket- collar with his teeth, 
 and, when I put up my hand, very feebly, 
 
694- iVe make fcr Edinburgh, 
 
 to testify my disapprobation of sucli a ijiea- 
 sure, the beast relinquished his hold, it is 
 true ; but, in order to show his utter con- 
 tempt for me, he lifted up his hinder leg 
 and founted all over the middle of my 
 body. 
 
 This little jeu d" esprit, this mprofnptii of 
 the dog, convinced me that it was to no 
 purpose to think of procuring any rest on 
 the spot where I was ; I therefore crawled 
 on slowly, a little farther, and somewhat to 
 the right, away from the road, and crept 
 np a steep bank. Here I, almost im- 
 mediately, fell into a deep and refreshing 
 sleep ; from ^vhich, however, I was soon 
 awakened by a most painful and horrid 
 sense of suffocation. I made an eifort 
 to rise, and presently found out the cause 
 of this sensation. I w^as completely soused 
 and ducked. In my sleep I had rol^d off 
 from the bank into a large ditch, nearly 
 three parts full of water ; and was, in con- 
 sequence, almost drowned;, as the whole of 
 my body, head and all, were, perhaps, for 
 half a minute, completely under water. 
 
 It was in vain to hope for any farther 
 slumber or repose in my present bedrcnch- 
 ed state^ w^ith not a single dry thread about 
 
We make for Edinhurgh. €95 
 
 me. I, therefore, walked on, for my short 
 period of rest had recruited my strength 
 considerably, though I was nearly famish- 
 ed ; to allay the gnawings of hunger, how- 
 CYcr, I crammed a piece of solid opium 
 into my mouth. In rather more than the 
 ?pace of half an hour I descended across 
 some fields, to a river, on the right hand, 
 and a little removed from the road. Here 
 I washed myself thoroughly, and bathed; 
 and although I had not strength enough 
 left to swim, yet I found that my frame 
 was newly strung for action. I had not 
 quite dressed myself, but was sitting on the 
 bank, and was drawing on my left stock- 
 ing, when I beheld a sight that amply 
 compensated me for all my past incon- 
 veniencies. 
 
 It was the rising of the sun on a most 
 lovely autumnal morning. First, the sky 
 was clothed in the palest blue streaked 
 with white ; but was soon imperceptibly 
 arrayed in the dimmest red, wdiich pro- 
 gressively deepened, till, glowing with tbe 
 utmost intensity of colour, the whole of 
 the eastern horizon seemed wTapped in 
 fire. This dazzling radiance, this hcamf 
 
 y r 4 
 
696 IVe make for Edinhur^h. 
 
 splendour, soon faded into tints of a milder 
 hue, and retired into the faintest azure 
 blended with virgin white. Suddenly, be- 
 neath these beauteous but evanescent forms 
 apparently in the nether sky, hung a globe 
 of fire, which quickly melted into nothing ; 
 when, emerging from its curtained vail, 
 burst upon my enraptured sight the bright 
 luminary of day. 
 
 ^^ See, how the morning opes her golden gates, 
 And takes her farewell of the glorious sun.** 
 
 ^^ Short is the doubtful empire of the night ; 
 And soon, observant of approaching day, 
 The meek-ey*d morn appears^ mother of dews. 
 At first faint gleaming in the dappled east; 
 Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow. 
 And from before the lustre of her face 
 White break the clouds away. With (juicken'd 
 
 step 
 Brown night retires, young day pours in apace. 
 And opens all the lawny prospect wide. 
 The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top. 
 Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 
 Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents 
 
 shine; 
 And from the bladed field the fearful hare 
 Limps awkward, while along the forest glade 
 The wild deer trip, and often tuniing, gaze 
 At earhj passenger. Music awakes 
 
We make for Edlnhurgh. G'JJ 
 
 The native voice of undissembled joy. 
 
 And thick around ihe woodland hymns arise. 
 
 Rous'd by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves 
 
 His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells; 
 
 And from the crowded fold in order drives 
 
 His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn." 
 
 ^^ But yonder comes the powerful king of day 
 Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, 
 The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow 
 lllum'd with fluid gold, his near approach 
 Betoken glad Lo ! now apparent all. 
 Aslant the dew-bright earth, and colour'd air. 
 He looks in boundless hiajesty abroad. 
 And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays 
 On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering 
 
 streams. 
 High-gleaming from afar. — Prime chcerer, light ! 
 Of all material beings first and best! 
 Efl!lux divine ! Nature's resplendent robe ! 
 Without whose vesting beauty all w^ere wra]'p'd 
 In unessential gloom ; and thou, O sun ! 
 Soul of surrounding worlds ! z'/z thee, lest see?i, 
 Shines out thy Maker,'* 
 
 *^ First in his east, the glorious lamp was seen. 
 Regent of day, and all th' horizon round 
 Invested with bright rays, jocund to run 
 His longitude thro' heaven's high road ; the gre^' 
 Dawn, and the pleiadcs before him danc'd. 
 Shedding sweet influence." 
 
 The emotions of my heart, while I bc- 
 j:>e!d the sun rejoicing as a giant to run his 
 
698 We make fcr Ed'mhurgh. 
 
 course, were such as far surpass all the 
 power of language to describe; my soul 
 w^as elevated above the earth and all its 
 jmiseries; she was humbled before the 
 throne of her God, and burned with a pure 
 flame of devotion, which I hope and trust 
 will never be extinguished in her, long as 
 the circling hours roll round In an eternal 
 sphere. 
 
 After awhile, I m.ovcd on slowly, but 
 in good spirits, and cheerily ; the country 
 assumed a m.ore cultivated and pleasing 
 aspect as I approached the metropolis of 
 Caledonia ; the joy of my soul was beyond 
 all bounds, Hv hen I once again beheld the 
 spires and the turrets of Edinburgh, which 
 I had, during much of the last night, de- 
 spaired of ever seeing more. All my heart 
 danced with ecstasy, and prompted me to 
 move with greater speed, and to use more 
 exertion than I was capable of supporting. 
 in my present enfeebled state. I was so 
 faint that, bein^ unable to crawl on far- 
 ther, I laid myself down on a stone 
 bridge which was throw^n over a river, at a 
 village distant about two miles from Edin- 
 burgh. 
 
JVe make for Edlnliirgh^ 6og 
 
 As I was lyinp; here, and was thou.dit 
 to be asleep, some of the villagers came 
 near, and comm.ented on my ragged and 
 forlorn appearance. — Who is that poor 
 miserable wretch ? — said one. — A lame, 
 crippled, half-starved sailor, — replied ano- 
 ther, — who looks as if he v/ould die before 
 he crawled on another mile. — Whether he 
 dies or not, — observed a third, — it does not 
 signify, he will get nothing from us. — But 
 if he should die, — remarked a fourth, — we 
 had better push him off into the river, and 
 his body will float down the stream, to 
 some other place, where the people will 
 fancy he was drowned, and m^ay, perhaps, 
 give him a Christian burial. 
 
 To all this very benevolent and inte- 
 resting conversation I listened very quietly 
 till mention was made of quoiting my car- 
 case into the river ; and as I had no incli- 
 nation at present for Christian burial, I 
 made a few gentle motions of my hand, 
 to signify that I was yet alive, and could 
 dispense with their kind intention o? 
 drowning me before my time. This had 
 the desired effect; for, observing that I 
 moved, one of them cried out, — Aye, but 
 
700 Conc!u!>kn. 
 
 he is not dead yet ; perhaps he will recover, 
 by and bye, enough strength to creep on a 
 little farther, so that we shall not be trou- 
 bled with him when he perishes. 
 
 I lay some time longer on the bridge, 
 till these good people were all gone, and I 
 had rested myself sufficiently, as I thought, 
 to proceed to Edinburgh without any 
 more stopping by the way, and thdn re- 
 sum.ed my march. I reached home about 
 ten o'clock in the mornmg of the i8th of 
 August, fifteen days after my first setting 
 out on this pedestrian peregrination. 
 
 Before I go hence, and am no more 
 seen, I must be allowed to ofi^er my little 
 tribute of gratitude and of affection to 
 those gentlemen whose kindness and at- 
 tention to me, during my abode in Scot- 
 land, chiefly contributed to cause the pe- 
 riod of my residence at Edinburgh to be 
 numbered amongst the happiest hours of 
 my life ; hours full of felicity and full of 
 instruction. The names of these gentle- 
 men are easily enumerated, for I had the 
 fortune to be acquainted, excepting very 
 slightly, with but few individuals in that 
 
Conclusion, 7^ 5 
 
 celebrated school of learning and of sci- 
 ence. 
 
 To the kindness of the Greek professor, 
 Mr. Dalzell, the librarian of the university, 
 I shall always consider myself as indebted 
 for much of improvem.ent and much ot 
 pleasure ; by his facilitating my access to 
 the books of the college library, and by his 
 conversation occasionally, though not fre- 
 quently ; for he is a gentleman who is al- 
 most incessantly employed, either in the 
 immediate duties of his office, or in pre- 
 paring some literary work for the press. 
 
 From the conversation and the hospi- 
 tahty of Mr. Christison, one of the mas- 
 ters of the high-school at Edinburgh, I 
 have received an incalculable amount or 
 instruction and of delight. I never con- 
 versed with this gentleman on any 'subject, 
 without gaining new ideas, and correcting 
 old ones; without having my mind 
 strengthened and expanded. His erudi- 
 tion and his • general intormation ars 
 really stupendous ; and his mighty under- 
 standing so arranges, and directs, and regu- 
 lates ah his knowledge, that I know no 
 man in whom it is so portable, so ready tor 
 
702 QQudusiGn, 
 
 imaaediate use ; his discourse is one con- 
 tinued rich stream of intellectual infor- 
 mation, always clear and unclouded, al- 
 ways enriching, and always exhilarating 
 the mind of the hearer. 
 
 To Mr. Francis Scott, of Queen Street 
 in the New Town, formerly in the civil 
 service of the East Indian company, to 
 Mrs. Scott, and to all their family, I offer 
 the warmest effusions of gratitude and of 
 respectful remembrance that my heart is 
 capable of feeling, for their kindness and 
 attention to me while I was in Scotland. 
 In the house o^ this gentleman I have ex- 
 perienced all that glow of cheerfubiess and 
 that hilarity of soul which sweeten the 
 current of life, and which can only be de- 
 rived from an intercourse with those of 
 polished manners and of refined, of cultivat-^ 
 ed minds. I must not, also, forget the many 
 hours of agreeable, of pleasurable, conver- 
 sation w^hich Mr. Scott and I have enjoy- 
 ed in the inner apartment of cur common 
 friend, Mr. Laing, one of theiaiost respect- 
 able booksellers in Great Britain. 
 
 To Dr. Wright, late physician- general to 
 sir Ralph Abercrombie's West Indian arm- 
 
Conclusion, 703 
 
 ament, I present my grateful and respect- 
 -ful acknowledgments, for. the care and ci- 
 vility with which he treated me on my 
 iirst coming to Scotland, and during the 
 W'hoie of my stay in that country. 
 
 A word or two on the scenery around 
 Edinburgh, and 1 have done. All that 
 nature can perform towards delighting the 
 eyes of man, and towards elevating his 
 soul with scenes of sublimitv and of <::ran- 
 deur, she has done (and art has lent her aid 
 also) for this town. From that majestic 
 and venerable edifice, the Castle, our pros- 
 pect is, indeed, magnificent and extensive. 
 V/e survey the New Town below% adorn- 
 ed with the most regular and elegant build- 
 ings, and broad, spacious, airy streets ; her 
 spires and turrets glittering in the sun, 
 swarming with inhabitants, and resound- 
 ing with the busy hum of men. We cast 
 our view over the Frith of Forth ; and be- 
 yond the gleaming of the silver wave the 
 kingdom of Fyfe stretches its length of 
 coast. 
 
 Turning our back upon this scerre, we 
 behold the Old Town beneath, presenting 
 a m.ost picturesque view from the anti- 
 
704 Conctusion. 
 
 qulty and the height of its buildings, and 
 the frequent alternation of eminences and 
 of depressions on which the houses are 
 erected; some seeming to hang In mid air, 
 while others are sunk in the vale belovV. 
 Casting our view beyond the city, we 
 survey a fair and a pleasant country, adorn- 
 ed with verdure, and crowned with corn ; 
 and beyond all, terminating the prospect, 
 the long-extended ranges of the Pentland 
 mountains lift their bleak heads to the sky. 
 It is impossible for me to describe a 
 thousandth part of the excessive grandeur 
 of the scenery, or to give the faintest image 
 of the exquisite delight which every sen- 
 sible mind must experience in contemplat- 
 ing such a prospect. But let the Bard of 
 Caledonia speak, in strains of immortality, 
 of the excellencies of this highly-favoured 
 spot. 
 
 '^ Edlna ! Scotia's darling seal ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
 Where once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat legislation's sovereign pow'rs ! 
 From marking wildly- scattered flow'rs. 
 
 As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd. 
 And singing lone the ling'ring hours 
 
 I shelter'd in thine honour'd shade. 
 
Conclusion, 705 
 
 *^ Here wealth still swells the golden tide. 
 
 As busy trade his labours plies ; 
 There architecture's noble pride 
 
 Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
 Here justice, from her native skies. 
 
 High wields her balance and her rod ; 
 There learning, with his eagle eyes. 
 
 Seeks science in her coy abode. 
 
 '^ Thy sons, Edina, social^ kind. 
 
 With open arms the stranger hail ; 
 Their views enlarg'd, their liberal mind, 
 
 Above the narrow rural vale ; 
 Attentive still to sorrow's wail. 
 
 Or modest merit's silent claim; 
 And never may their sources fail ! 
 
 And nevet envy Hot their name / 
 
 ^' Thy daughters bright, thy walks adorn. 
 
 Gay as the gilded summer sky. 
 Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn. 
 
 Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
 Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye. 
 
 Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
 T see the Sire of love on high. 
 
 And own his work indeed divine ! 
 
 ^^ There, watching high the least alarms, 
 Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar. 
 
 Like some bold veteran, grey in arms. 
 And mark'd with many a seamy scar ; 
 
 The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 
 Grim rising o'er the rugged rock, 
 
 VOL. II. Z Z 
 
706 Conclusion. 
 
 Have oft withstood assailing war, 
 And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. 
 
 ^^ With awe- struck thought, and pitying tears, 
 
 I view that noble stately dome. 
 Where Scotia's kings of other years, 
 
 Fam'd heroes, had their royal home, 
 Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! 
 
 Their royal name low in the dust ! 
 Their hapless race wild-wond'ring roam ! 
 
 Though rigid law cries out *twas just ! 
 
 *^ Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, 
 
 W4iose ancestors, in days of yore. 
 Through hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 
 
 Old Scotia's bloody lion bore. 
 E'en I who sing in rustic lore. 
 
 Haply, 7717/ sires have left their shed. 
 And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar. 
 
 Bold-following, where your fathers led, 
 
 ^^ Edina ! Scotia's darling scat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and tow'rs. 
 Where once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat legislation's sovereign powers ! 
 From marking wildly-scatter'd flowr's, 
 
 As on the banks of Jyr I stray'd. 
 And singing lone the lingering hours, 
 
 I shelter'd in thine honour'd shade,'' 
 
 T^E END. 
 
 T. Benfley, Printer, Eolt Court, Fleet Street. 
 
This Day is pullishedy 
 
 Embellished with Nine Engravings on Copper and Wood, 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 (Containing No. 1 to 6), 
 Price I2S. in Boards, and on Royal Paper, price il. 4s. in Boards ; and also 
 
 NUMBER I. 
 
 To be published Weekly, Price Two Shillings, on a Fine Demy Paper; 
 
 And Four Shillings, on an Extra Royal Paper, both hotpressed, 
 
 If^ith Proof Impressions of the Plates, 
 
 OF 
 
 WALLIS^S ORNAMENTED EDITION 
 
 HUMKS HISTORY OF ENGLAND, 
 
 FROM THE INVASION OF JULIUS C^SAR 
 TO THE REVOLUTION IN ]6S8. 
 
 IVITH THE CONTINUATION BY SMOLLETT. 
 
 CONDITIONS. 
 
 I. This Work, viz, Hume's His- 
 tory of England, will be com- 
 pleted in Sixty Numbers, and 
 •Smollett's Continuation, in Thirty- 
 six Numbers, forming in the whole 
 Ninety-six Numbers, and making 
 Sixteen handsome Volumes, 8vo. of 
 which a Volume' will be published 
 every Six Weeks, and a Number 
 will be published every Saturday till 
 completed; but if any interruption 
 should be experienced in the course 
 of publication, the delay will be very 
 short (as the Vv^ork is in great for- 
 wardness) and it will arise only from 
 the quantity of embellishments in 
 the Artists hands, and tire high state 
 of finish which it is intended to be- 
 stow on every Subject. 
 
 II. In the course of the Work will 
 be given Forty -three Portraits, 
 (accompanied with new and ap- 
 propriate ornaments) all engraved 
 in the highest Style of Beauty, 
 by the following Artists: — Arm- 
 strong, Erovlly, Collyer, 
 A.R. A. Delattre, Fittler, 
 
 A.R.A. Milton, Neagle, Pyk, 
 Parker, Raimbach, Rhodes, 
 Smith, A. R. A. C. Warren, 
 J. Warren, &c. &c. 
 Ill- To add to the Novelty and Va- 
 riety of Embellishxnent to this Edi- 
 tion, will be annexed upwards of 
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 trative of particular and interesting 
 events, all from Designs by Mr. 
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 best Style by Messrs. Bewick, 
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 IV. The Work will be handsomely 
 and uniformly printed by Messrs. 
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 in their best Manner, in a bold and 
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 my, and extra Royal Paper, both of 
 which will be hotpressed. 
 
 V. The Continuation of the History 
 of England since Smollett, or from 
 the Death of Geo. \l. is in fhe 
 hands of an eminent Historian, 
 and will be published in the same 
 uniform Style of Splendour. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 published by JAMES WALUS, 40, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 Sold also by Chappie, Pall Mall; Bo th, Portland Place; Champante and Co. Aldpate; Cox, 
 Borough; Hanwell and Parker, Cooke, Bliss's, and S]:irrer and Mnnday, Oxford; 
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 T. Bensley, Printer, Bolt Court, Fleet Street. 
 
PROSPECTUS. 
 
 Jn such anrnliglitencd period of Society, as thnt in which we now live, to 
 descant upon the utility and the necessity of a general acquaintance with His- 
 tory, and a more particular and intimate knowledge of the annals of our own 
 kingdom, would be super (luoiis and fooliih. For every child is well aware, 
 that a very great part of the knowledge, which now illumines and adorns the 
 human race, has been imparted by History, the faithful record of mortal 
 actions. It is only incumbent on us, therefore, to shew that Hume's account 
 is the best, which we possess, and that it de!»erves to be presented to the pub- 
 lic in a handsomer form, than it has hitherto assumed. 
 
 We have not in our language any history of our own country, so elegant 
 and so satisfactory as Hume's. No man has embarked so much of mind in 
 the service of history. He has done, more than any man in this kingdom, 
 towards directing history into her proper channel, namely, the consideration of 
 the manners and condition of the people at different periods of timej marking 
 out the causes, whic h have retarded or accelerated the progressive march of 
 the human intellect towards a higher degree of perfection j and d\\'elling more 
 sligluly upon the atrocities of the butcheis and blood-hounds of the human 
 race, who cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war, whose steps are traced by 
 the blood of myriads of their fellow-creatures, and whose progress is marked 
 only by the desolation of the fairest provinces of the earth. These horrible 
 transactions, which are a libel on the understanding and the virtue of man- 
 kind, should be passed over rapidly, and with expressions of abhorrence; while 
 our chief attention should be directed by the Historian to those means, by 
 which the knowledge, the happiness, and the virtues of mankind have been 
 augmented and advanced. 
 
 Every Edition of Hume and Smollett, hitherto offered to the public, is 
 neither sufficiently correct, nor sufficiently elegant (excepting the splendid 
 Edition of Bowyer," ) to deter the present publisher from his undertaking. 
 Jt is ncedless; it is invidious to dwell longer upon this unpleasant and un- 
 grateful subject. Suffice it to say, that this history, which is an honour to 
 our nation, deserves to have a better monument erected to the memory of de- 
 parted genius, than many inaccurate and shabby editions, which have, hereto- 
 Ibre, made their appearance. In order, therefore, that tlie patrons of the Fine 
 Arts, in this kingdom, may have an opportunity of at once paying the tribute 
 of respect to the names of Hume and of Smollett, and of promoting the 
 progress of tiie liberal Arts, this Edition is offered to the Public. 
 
 It w^ill be printed with the utmost accuracy and elegance, in the same 
 form as the Edition of Shakspeare's Plays, now publishing by J. Wallis. 
 Portraits of the Kings will be exquisitely engraved in Copper-plate by the 
 best Artists, with the addition of new ornaments, and an elegant Wood-cut, 
 illustrative of the remarkable events in our history, w^ill be interspersed 
 through the Work, with an appropriate historical Quotation. No expence, 
 and no attention shall be wanting to render thisWork w^orthy of the protection 
 of a judicious and enlightened public, whose patronage of the Graphic Art 
 surpasses in munificence and lib(*rality all former ages. 
 
 In the full confidence, that his labours for the instruction of the young, 
 for the amusement of the learned, and for the refined pleasure of those, who 
 are blessed with a correct and polished taste, will meet with all due encou- 
 ragement from a generous and enlightened nation, the Publisher offers this 
 Work to the People of Great Britain. 
 
 * A very splendid Edition in folio, with Engravings, which is sold at a Guinea a Num-» 
 bcr. This is, indeed, an h(mour to the English nation, and a monument worthy of the 
 memory of these heroes of Literature. But very few people can afford to purchase so ex- 
 pensive a work ; consequently, it can be no objection to thi" present publication, whicb 
 unites cheapness with elegance, and convenience with splendour. 
 
 T, Hensley, Primer, Bolt Court, Fleet Street. 
 
DUE DATE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES 
 
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