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The Ayrshire Legatees

Page 31

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.

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