We should ill perform the part of faithful historians, did we omit to
record the sentiments expressed by the company on this occasion. Mrs.
Glibbans, whose knowledge of the points of orthodoxy had not their equal
in the three adjacent parishes, roundly declared, that Mr. Andrew
Pringle's letter was nothing but a peesemeal of clishmaclavers; that
there was no sense in it; and that it was just like the writer, a canary
idiot, a touch here and a touch there, without anything in the shape of
cordiality or satisfaction.
Miss Isabella Tod answered this objection with that sweetness of manner
and virgin diffidence, which so well becomes a youthful member of the
establishment, controverting the dogmas of a stoop of the Relief
persuasion, by saying, that she thought Mr. Andrew had shown a fine
sensibility. "What is sensibility without judgment," cried her
adversary, "but a thrashing in the water, and a raising of bells?
Couldna the fallow, without a' his parleyvoos, have said, that such and
such was the case, and that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh
away?--but his clouds, and his spectres, and his visions of Job!--Oh, an
he could but think like Job!--Oh, an he would but think like the patient
man!--and was obliged to claut his flesh with a bit of a broken crock, we
might have some hope of repentance unto life. But Andrew Pringle, he's a
gone dick; I never had comfort or expectation of the free-thinker, since
I heard that he was infected with the blue and yellow calamity of the
Edinburgh Review; in which, I am credibly told, it is set forth, that
women have nae souls, but only a gut, and a gaw, and a gizzard, like a
pigeon-dove, or a raven-crow, or any other outcast and abominated
quadruped."
Here Miss Mally Glencairn interposed her effectual mediation, and said,
"It is very true that Andrew deals in the diplomatics of obscurity; but
it's well known that he has a nerve for genius, and that, in his own way,
he kens the loan from the crown of the causeway, as well as the duck does
the midden from the adle dib." To this proverb, which we never heard
before, a learned friend, whom we consulted on the subject, has enabled
us to state, that middens were formerly of great magnitude, and often of
no less antiquity in the west of Scotland; in so much, that the Trongate
of Glasgow owes all its spacious grandeur to them. It being within the
recollection of persons yet living, that the said magnificent street was
at one time an open road, or highway, leading to the Trone, or
market-cross, with thatched houses on each side, such as may still be
seen in the pure and immaculate royal borough of Rutherglen; and that
before each house stood a luxuriant midden, by the removal of which, in
the progress of modern degeneracy, the stately architecture of Argyle
Street was formed. But not to insist at too great a length on such
topics of antiquarian lore, we shall now insert Dr. Pringle's account of
the funeral, and which, patly enough, follows our digression concerning
the middens and magnificence of Glasgow, as it contains an authentic
anecdote of a manufacturer from that city, drinking champaign at the
king's dirgie.