Chapter C: K. Sharpe, Notes to Law’s Memorials, p. xlvii (1)

BLACKFRIARS WYND.

PALACE OF ARCHBISHOP BETHUNE—BOARDING-SCHOOLS OF THE LAST
CENTURY—THE LAST OF THE LORIMERS—LADY LOVAT.

Those who now look into Blackfriars Wynd—passing through it is out of the question—will be surprised to learn that, all dismal and wretched as it is in all respects, it was once a place of some respectability and even dignity. On several of its tall old _lands_ may be seen inscriptions implying piety on the part of the founder—one, for example:

PAX INTRANTIBUS,
SALUS EXEUNTIBUS;

another:

MISERERE MEI, DEUS;

this last containing in its _upper floor_ all that the adherents of Rome had forty years ago as a place of worship in Edinburgh—the chapel to which, therefore, as a matter of course, the late Charles X. resorted with his suite, when residing as Comte d’Artois in Holyrood House. The alley gets its name from having been the access to the Blackfriars’ Monastery on the opposite slope, and being built on their land.

PAGE 228.]

PALACE OF ARCHBISHOP BETHUNE [OR BEATON].

At the foot of the wynd, on the east side, is a large mansion of antique appearance, forming two sides of a quadrangle, with a _porte-cochère_ giving access to a court behind, and a picturesque overhanging turret at the exterior angle.[193] This house was built by James Bethune, Archbishop of Glasgow (1508-1524), chancellor of the kingdom, and one of the Lords Regent under the Duke of Albany during the minority of James V. Lyndsay, in his _Chronicles_, speaks of it as ‘his owen ludging quhilk he biggit in the Freiris Wynd.’ Keith, at a later period, says: ‘Over the entry of which the arms of the family of Bethune are to be seen to this day.’ Common report represents it as the house of Cardinal Bethune, who was the nephew of the Archbishop of Glasgow; and it is not improbable that the one prelate bequeathed it to the other, and that it thus became what Maitland calls it, ‘the archiepiscopal palace belonging to the see of St Andrews.’

The ground-floor of this extensive building is arched over with strong stone-work, after the fashion of those houses of defence of the same period which are still scattered over the country. Some years ago, when one of the arches was removed to make way for a common ceiling, a thick layer of sand, firmly beaten down, was found between the surface of the vault and the floor above. Ground-floors thus formed were applied in former times to inferior domestic uses, and to the storing of articles of value. The chief apartments for living in were on the floor above—that is, the so-called _first floor_. And such is the case in all the best houses of an old fashion in the city of St Andrews at this day.

I shall afterwards have something to say of an event of the year 1517, with which Archbishop Bethune’s house was connected. It appears to have been occupied by James V. in 1528, while he was deliberating on the propriety of calling a parliament.[194]

The Bethune palace is now, like its confrères, abandoned to the humblest class of tenants. Eighty years ago, however, it must still have been a tolerably good house, as it was then the residence of Bishop Abernethy Drummond, of the Scottish Episcopal communion, the husband of the heiress of Hawthornden. This worthy divine occupied some space in the public eye in his day, and was particularly active in obtaining the repeal of the penal statutes against his church. Some wag, figuring the surprise in high places at a stir arising from a quarter so obscure, penned this epigram:

‘Lord Sydney, to the privy-council summoned,
By testy majesty was questioned quick:
“Eh, eh! who, who’s this Abernethy Drummond,
And where, in Heaven’s name, is his bishopric?”’

BOARDING-SCHOOLS OF THE LAST CENTURY.

When the reader hears such things of the Freir Wynd, he must not be surprised overmuch on perusing the following advertisement from the _Edinburgh Gazette_ of April 19, 1703: ‘There is a Boarding-school to be set up in Blackfriars Wynd, in Robinson’s Land, upon the west side of the wynd, near the middle thereof, in the first door of the stair leading to the said land, against the latter end of May, or first of June next, where young Ladies and Gentlewomen may have all sorts of breeding that is to be had in any part of Britain, and great care taken of their conversation.’

I know not whether this was the same seminary which, towards the middle of the century, was kept by a distinguished lady named Mrs Euphame or Effie Sinclair, who was descended from the ancient family of Longformacus, in Berwickshire, being the granddaughter of Sir Robert Sinclair, first baronet of Longformacus, upon whom that dignity was conferred by King Charles II., in consideration of his services and losses during the civil war. Mrs Effie was allied to many of the best families in Scotland, who made it a duty to place their children under her charge; and her school was thus one of the most respectable in Edinburgh. By her were educated the beautiful Miss Duff, afterwards Countess of Dumfries and Stair, and, by a second marriage, lady of the Honourable Alexander Gordon (Lord Rockville); the late amiable and excellently well informed Mrs Keith, sister of Sir Robert Keith, commonly called, from his diplomatic services, _Ambassador Keith_;[195] the two Misses Hume of Linthill; and Miss Rutherford, the mother of Sir Walter Scott. All these ladies were Scottish cousins to Mrs Effie. To judge by the proficiency of her scholars, although much of what is called accomplishment might be then left untaught, she must have been possessed of uncommon talents for education; for all the ladies before mentioned had well-cultivated minds, were fond of reading, wrote and spelled admirably, were well acquainted with history and with _belles-lettres_, without neglecting the more homely duties of the needle and the account-book; and, while two of them were women of extraordinary talents, all of them were perfectly well-bred in society.

It may be added that many of these young ladies were sent to reside with and be _finished off_ by the Honourable Mrs Ogilvie, lady of the Honourable Patrick Ogilvie of Longmay and Inchmartin, who was supposed to be the _best-bred_ woman of her time in Scotland (ob. 1753). Her system was very rigorous, according to the spirit of the times. The young ladies were taught to sit quite upright; and the mother of my informant (Sir Walter Scott), even when advanced to nearly her eightieth year, never permitted her back to touch the chair in sitting. There is a remarkably good and characteristic anecdote told of the husband of this rigorous preceptress, a younger brother of the Earl of Findlater, whose exertions, while Lord High-chancellor of Scotland, in favour of the Union were so conspicuous. The younger brother, it appears, had condescended to trade a little in cattle, which was not considered derogatory to the dignity of a Scottish gentleman at that time, and was by no means an uncommon practice among them. However, the earl was offended at the measure, and upbraided his brother for it. ‘Haud your tongue, man!’ said the cattle-dealer; ‘better sell nowte than sell nations,’ pronouncing the last word with peculiar and emphatic breadth.

I am tempted, by the curious and valuable document appended, to suspect that the female accomplishments of the last century were little behind those of the present in point of useless elaboration.

‘_Thursday, December 9, 1703._—Near Dundee, at Dudhope, there is to be taught, by a gentlewoman from London, the following works, viz.—1. Wax-work of all sorts, as any one’s picture to the life, figures in shadow glasses, fruits upon trees or in dishes, all manner of confections, fish, flesh, fowl, or anything that can be made of wax.—2. Philligrim-work of any sort, whether hollow or flat.—3. Japan-work upon timber or glass.—4. Painting upon glass.—5. Sashes for windows, upon sarsnet or transparent paper.—6. Straw-work of any sort, as houses, birds, or beasts.—7. Shell-work, in sconces, rocks, or flowers.—8. Quill-work.—9. Gum-work.—10. Transparent-work.—11. Puff-work.—12. Paper-work.—13. Plate-work on timber, brass, or glass.—14. Tortoise-shell-work.—15. Mould-work, boxes and baskets.—16. Silver landskips.—17. Gimp-work.—18. Bugle-work.—19. A sort of work in imitation of japan, very cheap.—20. Embroidering, stitching, and quilting.—21. True point or tape lace.—22. Cutting glass.—23. Washing gauzes, or Flanders lace and point.—24. Pastry of all sorts, with the finest cuts and shapes that’s now used in London.—25. Boning fowls, without cutting the back.—26. Butter-work.—27. Preserving, conserving, and candying.—28. Pickling and colouring.—29. All sorts of English wines.—30. Writing and arithmetic.—31. Music, and the great end of dancing, which is a good carriage; and several other things too tedious here to be mentioned. Any who are desirous to learn the above works may board with herself at a reasonable rate, or may board themselves in Dundee, and may come to her quarterly.’—Advertisement in _Edinburgh Gazette_, 1703.

Another distinguished Edinburgh boarding-school of the last century was kept by two ladies, of Jacobite predilections, named the Misses Ged, in Paterson’s Court, Lawnmarket. They were remarkable at least for their family connections, for it was a brother of theirs who, under the name of Don Patricio Ged, rendered such kindly and effective service to Commodore Byron, as gratefully recorded in the well-known _Narrative_, and gracefully touched on by Campbell in the _Pleasures of Hope_:

‘He found a warmer world, a milder clime,
A home to rest, a shelter to defend,
Peace and repose, _a Briton and a friend_.’

Another member of the family, William Ged, originally a goldsmith in Edinburgh, was the inventor of stereotype printing. The Misses Ged were described by their friends as of the Geds of Baldridge, near Dunfermline; thorough Fife Jacobites every one of them. The old ladies kept a portrait of the Chevalier in their parlour, and looked chiefly to partisans of the Stuarts for support. They had another relative of less dignity, who, accepting a situation in the Town-guard, became liable to satiric reference from Robert Fergusson:

‘Nunc est bibendum, et bendere bickerum magnum,
Cavete Town-guardum, _Dougal Geddum_, atque Campbellum.’

Dougal had been a silversmith, but in his own conceit his red coat as a Town-guard officer made him completely military. Seeing a lady without a beau at the door of the Assembly Room, he offered his services, ‘if the arm of an old soldier could be of any use.’ ‘Hoot awa, Dougal,’ said the lady, accepting his assistance, however; ‘an auld tinkler, you mean.’

THE LAST OF THE LORIMERS.

To return for a moment to the archiepiscopal palace. It contained, about eighty years ago, a person calling himself a LORIMER—an appellative once familiar in Edinburgh, being applied to those who deal in the ironwork used in saddlery.[196]

LADY LOVAT.

The widow of the rebel Lord Lovat spent a great portion of a long widowhood and died (1796) in a house at the head of Blackfriars Wynd.

Her ladyship was a niece of the first Duke of Argyll, and born, as she herself expressed it, in the year _Ten_—that is, 1710. The politic _Mac Shemus_[197] marked her out as a suitable second wife, in consideration of the value of the Argyll connection. As he was above thirty years her senior, and not famed for the tenderest treatment of his former spouse, or for any other amiable trait of disposition, she endeavoured, by all gentle means, to avoid the match; but it was at length effected through the intervention of her relations, and she was carried north to take her place in the semi-barbarous state which her husband held at Castle Downie.

Nothing but misery could have been expected from such an alliance. The poor young lady, while treated with external decorum, was in private subjected to such usage as might have tried the spirit of a Griselda. She was occasionally kept confined in a room by herself, from which she was not allowed to come forth even at meals, only a scanty supply of coarse food being sent to her from his lordship’s table. When pregnant, her husband coolly told her that if she brought forth a girl he would put it on the back of the fire. His eldest son by the former marriage was a sickly child. Lovat therefore deemed it necessary to raise a strong motive in the step-mother for the child being taken due care of during his absence in the Lowlands. On going from home, he would calmly inform her that any harm befalling _the boys_ in his absence would be attended with the penalty of her own death, for in that event he would undoubtedly shoot her through the head. It is added that she did, from this in addition to other motives, take an unusual degree of care of her step-son, who ever after felt towards her the tenderest love and gratitude. One is disposed to believe that there must be some exaggeration in these stories; and yet when we consider that it is an historical fact that Lovat applied to Prince Charles for a warrant to take President Forbes _dead or alive_ (Forbes being his friend and daily intimate), it seems no extravagance that he should have acted in this manner to his wife. Sir Walter Scott tells an additional story, which helps out the picture. ‘A lady, the intimate friend of her youth, was instructed to visit Lady Lovat, as if by accident, to ascertain the truth of those rumours concerning her husband’s conduct which had reached the ears of her family. She was received by Lord Lovat with an extravagant affectation of welcome, and with many assurances of the happiness his lady would receive from seeing her. The chief then went to the lonely tower in which Lady Lovat was secluded, without decent clothes, and even without sufficient nourishment. He laid a dress before her becoming her rank, commanded her to put it on, to appear, and to receive her friend as if she were the mistress of the house; in which she was, in fact, a naked and half-starved prisoner. And such was the strict watch which he maintained, and the terror which his character inspired, that the visitor durst not ask, nor Lady Lovat communicate, anything respecting her real situation.’[198] Afterwards, by a letter rolled up in a clew of yarn and dropped over a window to a confidential person, she was enabled to let her friends know how matters actually stood; and steps were then taken to obtain her separation from her husband. When, some years later, his political perfidy had brought him to the Tower—forgetting all past injuries, and thinking only of her duty as a wife, Lady Lovat offered to come to London to attend him. He returned an answer, declining the proposal, and containing the only expressions of kindness and regard which she had ever received from him since her marriage.

The singular character of Lord Lovat makes almost every particular regarding him worth collecting.

Previous to 1745, when the late Mr Alexander Baillie of Dochfour was a student at the grammar-school of Inverness, cock-fights were very common among the boys. This detestable sport, by the way, was encouraged by the schoolmasters of those days, who derived a profit from the beaten cocks, or, as they were called, _fugies_, which became, at the end of every game, their appropriated perquisite. In pursuit of cocks, Mr Baillie went to visit his friends in the Aird, and in the course of his researches was introduced to Lord Lovat, whose policy it was, on all occasions, to show great attentions to his neighbours and their children. The situation in which his lordship was found by the schoolboy was, if not quite unprecedented, nevertheless rather surprising. He was stretched out in bed between two Highland lasses, who, on being seen, affected out of modesty to hide their faces under the bedclothes. The old lord accounted for this strange scene by saying that his blood had become cold, and he was obliged to supply the want of heat by the application of animal warmth.

It is said that he lay in bed for the most part of the two years preceding the Rebellion; till, hearing of Prince Charles’s arrival in Arisaig, he roused himself with sudden vehemence, crying to an attendant: ‘Lassie, bring me my brogues—I’ll rise _noo_!’

One of his odd fancies was to send a retainer every day to Loch Ness, a distance of eight miles, for the water he drank.

His intimacy with his neighbour President Forbes is an amusing affair, for the men must have secretly known full well what each other was, and yet policy made them keep on decent terms for a long course of years. Lovat’s son by the subject of this notice—the Honourable Archibald Campbell Fraser—was a boy at Petty school in 1745. The President sometimes invited him to dinner. One day, pulling a handful of foreign gold pieces out of his pocket, he carelessly asked the boy if he had ever seen such coins before. Here was a stroke worthy of Lovat himself, for undoubtedly he meant thus to be informed whether the lord of Castle Downie was accustomed to get remittances for the Chevalier’s cause from abroad.

After the death of Lord Lovat, there arose some demur about his lady’s jointure, which was only £190 per annum. It was not paid to her for several years, during which, being destitute of other resources, she lived with one of her sisters. Some of her numerous friends—among the rest, Lord Strichen—offered her the loan of money to purchase a house and suffice for present maintenance. But she did not choose to encumber herself with debts which she had no certain prospect of repaying. At length the dispute about her jointure was settled in a favourable manner, and her ladyship received in a lump the amount of past dues, out of which she expended £500 in purchasing a house at the head of Blackfriars Wynd,[199] and a further sum upon a suite of plain substantial furniture.

It would surprise a modern dowager to know how much good Lady Lovat contrived to do amongst her fellow-creatures with this small allowance. It is said that the succeeding Lady of Lovat, with a jointure of £4000, was less distinguished for her benefactions. In Lady Lovat’s dusky mansion, with a waiting-maid, cook, and footboy, she not only maintained herself in the style of a gentlewoman, but could welcome every kind of Highland cousin to a plain but hospitable board, and even afford permanent shelter to several unfortunate friends. A certain Lady Dorothy Primrose, who was her niece, lived with her for several years, using the best portion of her house, namely, the rooms fronting the High Street, while she herself was contented with the duller apartments towards the _wynd_. There was another desolate old person, styled Mistress of Elphinstone, whom Lady Lovat supported as a friend and equal for many years. Not by habit a card-player herself, she would make up a whist-party every week for the benefit of _the Mistress_. At length the poor Mistress came to a sad fate. A wicked, perhaps half-crazy boy, grandson to her ladyship, having taken an antipathy to his venerable relative, put poison into the oatmeal porridge which she was accustomed to take at supper. Feeling unwell that night, she did not eat any, and the Mistress took the porridge instead, of which she died. The boy was sent away, and died in obscurity.

An unostentatious but sincere piety marked the character of Lady Lovat. Perhaps her notions of Providence were carried to the verge of a kind of fatalism; for not merely did she receive all crosses and troubles as trials arranged for her benefit by a Higher Hand, but when a neighbouring house on one occasion took fire, she sat unmoved in her own mansion, notwithstanding the entreaties of the magistrates, who ordered a sedan to be brought for her removal. She said if her hour was come, it would be vain to try to elude her fate; and if it was not come, she would be safe where she was. She had a conscientiousness almost ludicrously nice. If detained from church on any occasion, she always doubled her usual oblation at the _plate_ next time. When her chimney took fire, she sent her fine to the Town-guard before they knew the circumstance. Even the tax-collector experienced her ultra-rectitude. When he came to examine her windows, she took him to a closet lighted by a single pane, looking into a narrow passage between two houses. He hesitated about charging for such a small modicum of light, but her ladyship insisted on his taking note of it.[200]

Lady Lovat was of small stature, had been thought a beauty, and retained in advanced old age much of her youthful delicacy of features and complexion. Her countenance bore a remarkably sweet and pleasing expression. When at home, her dress was a red silk gown, with ruffled cuffs, and sleeves puckered like a man’s shirt; a fly-cap, encircling the head, with a mob-cap laid across it, falling down over the cheeks, and tied under the chin; her hair dressed and powdered; a double muslin handkerchief round the neck and bosom; _lammer-beads_; a white lawn apron, edged with lace; black stockings with red gushets; high-heeled shoes.[201] She usually went abroad in a chair, as I have been informed by the daughter of a lady who was one of the first inhabitants of the New Town, and whom Lady Lovat regularly visited there once every three months. As her chair emerged from the head of Blackfriars Wynd, any one who saw her sitting in it, so neat and fresh and clean, would have taken her for a queen in waxwork, pasted up in a glass-case.

Lady Lovat was intimate with Lady Jane Douglas; and one of the strongest evidences in favour of Lord Douglas being the son of that lady[202] was the following remarkable circumstance: Lady Lovat, passing by a house in the High Street, saw a child at a window, and remarked to a friend who was with her: ‘If I thought Lady Jane Douglas could be in Edinburgh, I would say that was her child—he is so like her!’ Upon returning home, she found a note from Lady Jane, informing her that she had just arrived in Edinburgh, and had taken lodgings in —— Land, which proved to be the house in which Lady Lovat had observed the child, and that child was young Archibald Douglas. Lady Lovat was a person of such strict integrity that no consideration could have tempted her to say what she did not think; and at the time she saw the child, she had no reason to suppose that Lady Jane was in Scotland.

Such was the generosity of her disposition that when her grandson Simon was studying law, she at various times presented him with £50, and when he was to pass as an advocate she sent him £100. It was wonderful how she could spare such sums from her small jointure. Whole tribes of grand-nephews and grand-nieces experienced the goodness of her heart, and loved her with almost filial affection. She frequently spoke to them of her misfortunes, and was accustomed to say: ‘I dare say, bairns, the events of my life would make a good _novelle_; but they have been of so strange a nature that nobody would believe them’—meaning that they wanted the _vraisemblance_ necessary in fiction. She contemplated the approach of death with fortitude, and in anticipation of her obsequies, had her grave-clothes ready and the stair whitewashed. Yet the disposal of her poor remains little troubled her. When asked by her son if she wished to be placed in the burial-vault at Beaufort, she said: ‘’Deed, Archie, ye needna put yoursel’ to ony fash about me, for I dinna care though ye lay me aneath that hearthstane!’ After all, it chanced, from some misarrangements, that her funeral was not very promptly executed; whereupon a Miss Hepburn of Humbie, living in a floor above, remarked, ’she wondered what they were keeping her sae lang for—stinkin’ a’ the stair.’ This gives some idea of circumstances connected with Old Town life.

The conduct of her ladyship’s son in life was distinguished by a degree of eccentricity which, in connection with that of his son already stated, tends to raise a question as to the character of Lord Lovat, and make us suspect that wickedness so great as his could only result from a certain unsoundness of mind. It is admitted, however, that the eldest son, Simon, who rose to be a major-general in the army, was a man of respectable character. He retained nothing of his father but a genius for making fine speeches.[203] The late Mrs Murray of Henderland told me she was present at a supper-party given by some gentleman in the Horse Wynd, where General Fraser, eating his egg, said to the hostess: ‘Mrs ——, other people’s eggs overflow with _milk_; but yours run over with _cream_!’

FOOTNOTES

[193] This historic building was demolished many years ago. Its main front faced the Cowgate, and to the north and east were extensive gardens.

[194] In this house, too, Queen Mary was entertained at a banquet given by the citizens. ‘Upon the nynt day of Februar at evin the Queen’s grace come up in ane honourable manner fra the palice of Holyrudhouse to the Cardinal’s ludging in Blackfriars Wynd, ... and efter supper the honest young men in the town come with ane convoy to her,’ and escorted her back to Holyrood.—_Diurnal of Occurrents._

Before the opening of the original High School in the grounds of the Blackfriars’ Monastery the pupils were temporarily accommodated in Beaton’s palace.

[195] The title ‘Ambassador Keith’ is usually applied to Sir Robert’s father, who, after several minor diplomatic appointments on the Continent, was the representative of Great Britain at the court of St Petersburg. An interesting sketch of him, under the title of ‘Felix,’ by Mrs Cockburn, is appended to the volume of that lady’s _Letters_, edited by Mr T. Craig Brown. Miss Keith, known to Edinburgh society as ‘Sister Anne,’ was Scott’s ‘Mrs Bethune Balliol’ of the _Chronicles of the Canongate_. This gentleman was absent from Edinburgh about twenty-two years, and returned at a time when it was supposed that manners were beginning to exhibit symptoms of great improvement. He, however, complained that they were degenerated. In his early time, he said, every Scottish gentleman of £300 a year travelled abroad when young, and brought home to the bosom of domestic life, and to the profession in which it might be his fate to engage, a vast fund of literary information, knowledge of the world, and genuine good manners, which dignified his character through life. But towards the year 1770 this practice had been entirely given up, and in consequence a sensible change was discoverable upon the face of good society. (See the _Life of John Home_, by Henry Mackenzie, Esq.).

[196] It is curious to observe how, in correspondence with the change in our manners and customs, one trade has become extinct, while another succeeded in its place. At the end of the sixteenth century the manufacture of offensive weapons predominated over all other trades in Edinburgh. We had then cutlers, whose _essay-piece_, on being admitted of the corporation, was ‘ane plain finished quhanzear’ or sword; gaird-makers, whose business consisted in fashioning sword-handles; Dalmascars, who gilded the said weapon; and belt-makers, who wrought the girdles that bound it to the wearer’s body. There were also dag-makers, who made hackbuts (short-guns) and dags (pistols). These various professions all became associated in the general one of armourers, or gunsmiths, when the wearing of weapons went into desuetude—there being then no further necessity for the expedition and expediency of the modern political economist’s boasted ‘division of labour.’ As the above arts gave way, those which tended to provide the comforts and luxuries of civilised life gradually arose. About 1586 we find the first notice of locksmiths in Edinburgh, and there was then only one of the trade, whose essay was simply ‘a kist lock.’ In 1609, however, as the security of property increased, the essay was ‘a kist lock and a hingand bois lock, with an double plate lock;’ and in 1644 ‘a key and sprent band’ were added to the essay. In 1682 ‘a cruik and cruik band’ were further added; and in 1728, for the safety of the lieges, the locksmith’s essay was appointed to be ‘a cruik and cruik band, a pass lock with a round filled bridge, not cut or broke in the backside, with nobs and jamb bound.’ In 1595 we find the first notice of shearsmiths. In 1609 a heckle-maker was admitted into the Corporation of Hammermen. In 1613 a tinkler makes his appearance; Thomas Duncan, the first tinkler, was then admitted. Pewterers are mentioned so far back as 1588. In 1647 we find the first knock-maker (_clock-maker_), but so limited was his business that he was also a locksmith. In 1664 the first white-iron man was admitted; also the first harness-maker, though lorimers had previously existed. Paul Martin, a distressed French Protestant, in 1691, was the first manufacturer of surgical instruments in Edinburgh. In 1720 we find the first pin-maker; in 1764, the first edge-tool maker and first fish-hook maker.

[197] The Highland appellative of Lord Lovat, expressing _the son of Simon_.

[198] _Quarterly Review_, vol. xiv. p. 326.

[199] First door up the stair at the head of the wynd, on the west side. The house was burnt down in 1824, but rebuilt in its former arrangement.

[200] [The window-tax was first imposed in 1695, and repealed in 1851.]

[201] An old domestic of her ladyship’s preserved one of her shoes as a relic for many years. The heel was three inches deep.

[202] [The view of the famous ‘Douglas Cause,’ affirmed in the House of Lords in 1771.]

[203] Mrs Grant of Laggan held another opinion of General Simon Fraser. A pleasing exterior covered a large share of the paternal character—‘No heart was ever harder, no hands more rapacious than his.’

THE COWGATE.

HOUSE OF GAVIN DOUGLAS THE POET—SKIRMISH OF
CLEANSE-THE-CAUSEWAY—COLLEGE WYND—BIRTHPLACE OF SIR WALTER
SCOTT—THE HORSE WYND—TAM O’ THE COWGATE—MAGDALEN CHAPEL.

Looking at the present state of this ancient street, it is impossible to hear without a smile the description of it given by Alexander Alesse about the year 1530—_Ubi nihil est humile aut rusticum, sed omnia magnifica!_ (‘Where nothing is humble or homely, but everything magnificent!’) The street was, he tells us, that in which the nobles and judges resided, and where the palaces of princes were situated. The idea usually entertained of its early history is that it rose as an elegant suburb after the year 1460, when the existing city, consisting of the High Street alone, was enclosed in a wall. It would appear, however, that some part of it was built before that time, and that it was in an advanced, if not complete, state as a street not long after. It was to enclose this esteemed suburb that the city wall was extended after the battle of Flodden.

HOUSE OF GAVIN DOUGLAS THE POET—SKIRMISH OF CLEANSE-THE-CAUSEWAY.

So early as 1449, Thomas Lauder, canon of Aberdeen, granted an endowment of 40s. annually to a chaplain in St Giles’s Church, ‘out of his own house lying in the Cowgaite, betwixt the land of the Abbot of Melrose on the east, and of George Cochrane on the west.’ This appears to have been the same Thomas Lauder who was preceptor to James II., and who ultimately became Bishop of Dunkeld. We are told that, besides many other munificent acts, he purchased a lodging in Edinburgh _for himself and his successors_.[204] That its situation was the same as that above described appears from a charter of Thomas Cameron, in 1498, referring to a house on the south side of the Cowgate, ‘betwixt _the Bishop of Dunkeld’s land on the east_, and William Rappilowe’s on the west, the common street on the north, and the gait that leads to the Kirk-of-Field on the south.’

PAGE 240.]

From these descriptions we attain a tolerably distinct idea of the site of the house of the bishops of Dunkeld in Edinburgh, including, of course, one who is endeared to us from a peculiar cause—Gavin Douglas, who succeeded to the see in 1516. This house must have stood nearly opposite to the bottom of Niddry Street, but somewhat to the eastward. It would have gardens behind, extending up to the line of the present Infirmary Street.

We thus not only have the pleasure of ascertaining the Edinburgh whereabouts of one of our most distinguished national poets, but we can now read, with a somewhat clearer intelligence, a remarkable chapter in the national history.

It was in April 1520 that the Hamiltons (the party of the Earl of Arran), with Bethune, Archbishop of Glasgow, called an assembly of the nobility in Edinburgh, in order to secure the government for the earl. The rival magnate, the Earl of Angus, soon saw danger to himself in the great crowds of the Hamilton party which flocked into town. Indeed warlike courses seem to have been determined on by that side. Angus sent his uncle, the Bishop of Dunkeld, to caution them against any violence, and to offer that he should submit to the laws if any offence were laid to his charge. The reverend prelate, proceeding to the place of assembly, which was in the archbishop’s house, at the foot of Blackfriars Wynd, found the Hamilton party obstinate. Thinking an archbishop could not or ought not to allow strife to take place if he could help it, he appealed to Bethune, who, however, had actually prepared for battle by putting on armour under his rochet. ‘Upon my conscience, my lord,’ said Bethune, ‘I know nothing of the matter,’ at the same time striking his hand upon his breast, which caused the armour to return a rattling sound. Douglas’s remark was simply, ‘Your conscience clatters;’ a happy pun for the occasion, clatter being a Scotch word signifying to tell tales. Gavin then returned to his lodging, and told his nephew that he must do his best to defend himself with arms. ‘For me,’ he said, ‘I will go to my chamber and pray for you.’ With our new light as to the locality of the Bishop of Dunkeld’s lodging, we now know that Angus and his uncle held their consultations on this occasion within fifty yards of the house in which the Hamiltons were assembled. The houses, in fact, nearly faced each other in the same narrow street.

Angus now put himself at the head of his followers, who, though not numerous, stood in a compact body in the High Street. They were, moreover, the favourites of the Edinburgh citizens, who handed spears from their windows to such as were not armed with that useful weapon. Presently the Hamiltons came thronging up from the Cowgate, through narrow lanes, and entering the High Street in separate streams, armed with swords only, were at a great disadvantage. In a short time the Douglases had cleared the streets of them, killing many, and obliging Arran himself and his son to make their escape through the North Loch, mounted on a coal-horse. Archbishop Bethune, with others, took refuge in the Blackfriars’ Monastery, where he was seized behind the altar and in danger of his life, when Gavin Douglas, learning his perilous situation, flew to save him, and with difficulty succeeded in his object. Here, too, local knowledge is important. The Blackfriars’ Monastery stood where the High School latterly was, a spot not more than a hundred yards from the houses of both Bethune and Gavin Douglas. It would not necessarily require more than five minutes to apprise Douglas of Bethune’s situation, and bring him to the rescue.

The popular name given to this street battle is characteristic—_Cleanse-the-Causeway_.

COLLEGE WYND—BIRTHPLACE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

The old buildings of the College of Edinburgh, themselves mean, had for their main access, in former times, only that narrow dismal alley called the College Wynd,[205] leading up from the Cowgate. Facing down this humble lane was the gateway, displaying a richly ornamented architrave. The wynd itself, strange as the averment may now appear, was the abode of many of the professors. The illustrious Joseph Black lived at one time in a house adjacent to the College gate, on the east side, afterwards removed to make way for North College Street.[206] Another floor of the same building was occupied by Mr Keith, father of the late Sir Alexander Keith of Ravelston, Bart.; and there did the late Lord Keith reside in his student days. There was a tradition, but of a vague nature, that Goldsmith, when studying at the Edinburgh University, lived in the College Wynd.

PAGE 242.]

The one peculiar glory of this humble place remains to be mentioned—its being the birthplace of Sir Walter Scott. In the third floor of the house just described, accessible by an entry leading to a common stair behind, did this distinguished person first see the light, August 15, 1771. It was a house of plain aspect, like many of its old neighbours yet surviving; its truest disadvantage, however, being in the unhealthiness of the situation, to which Sir Walter himself used to attribute the early deaths of several brothers and sisters born before him. When the house was required to give way for the public conveniency, the elder Scott received a fair price for his portion of it; he had previously removed to an airier mansion, No. 25 George Square, where Sir Walter spent his boyhood and youth.

In the course of a walk through this part of the town in 1825, Sir Walter did me the honour to point out the site of the house in which he had been born. On his mentioning that his father had got a good price for his share of it, in order that it might be taken down for the public convenience, I took the liberty of jocularly expressing my belief that more money might have been made of it, and the public certainly _much more_ gratified, if it had remained to be shown as the birthplace of a man who had written so many popular books. ‘Ay, ay,’ said Sir Walter, ‘that is very well; but I am afraid I should have required to be dead first, and that would not have been so comfortable, you know.’

In the transition state of the College, from old to new buildings, the gate at the head of the wynd was shut up by Principal Robertson, who, however, living within the walls, found this passage convenient as an access to the town, and used it accordingly. It became the joke of a day, that from being the principal gate it had become only a gate for the Principal.[207]

THE HORSE WYND.

This alley, connecting the Cowgate with the grounds on the south side of the town within the walls, and broad enough for a carriage, is understood to have derived its name from an inn which long ago existed at its head, where the Gaelic Church long after stood. Although the name is at least as old as the middle of the seventeenth century, none of the buildings appear older than the middle of the eighteenth. They had all been renewed by people desirous of the benefit of such air as was to be had in an alley double the usual breadth. Very respectable members of the bar were glad to have a flat in some of the tall _lands_ on the east side of the wynd.[208]

On the west side of the wynd, about the middle, the Earl of Galloway had built a distinct mansion, ornamented with vases at top. They kept a coach and six, and it was alleged that when the countess made calls, the leaders were sometimes at the door she was going to, when she was stepping into the carriage at her own door. This may be called a _tour de force_ illustration of the nearness of friends to each other in Old Edinburgh.

TAM O’ THE COWGATE.

A court of old buildings, in a massive style of architecture, existed, previous to 1829, on a spot in the Cowgate now occupied by the southern piers of George IV. Bridge. In the middle of the last century it was used as the Excise-office; but even this was a kind of declension from its original character. It is certain that the celebrated Thomas Hamilton, first Earl of Haddington, President of the Court of Session, and Secretary of State for Scotland, lived here at the end of the sixteenth century, renting the house from Macgill of Rankeillour.[209] This distinguished person, from the circumstance of his living here, was endowed by his master, King James, with the nickname of TAM O’ THE COWGATE, under which title he is now better remembered than by any other.

The earl, who had risen through high legal offices to the peerage, and who was equally noted for his penetration as a judge, his industry as a collector of decisions, and his talent for amassing wealth, was one evening, after a day’s hard labour in the public service, solacing himself with a friend over a flask of wine in his house in the Cowgate[210]—attired, for his better ease, in a nightgown, cap, and slippers—when he was suddenly disturbed by a great hubbub which arose under his window in the street. This soon turned out to be a _bicker_ between the High School youths and those of the College; and it also appeared that the latter, fully victorious, were, notwithstanding a valiant defence, in the act of driving their antagonists before them. The Earl of Haddington’s sympathies were awakened in favour of the retiring party, for he had been brought up at the High School, and going thence to complete his education at Paris, had no similar reason to affect the College. He therefore sprang up, dashed into the street, sided with and rallied the fugitives, and took a most animated share in the combat that ensued, so that finally the High School youths, acquiring fresh strength and valour at seeing themselves befriended by the prime judge and privy-councillor of their country (though not in his most formidable habiliments), succeeded in turning the scale of victory upon the College youths, in spite of their superior individual ages and strength. The earl, who assumed the command of the party, and excited their spirits by word as well as action, was not content till he had pursued the Collegianers through the Grassmarket, and out at the West Port, the gate of which he locked against their return, thus compelling them to spend the night in the suburbs and the fields. He then returned home in triumph to his castle of comfort in the Cowgate, and resumed the enjoyment of his friend and flask. We can easily imagine what a rare jest this must have been for King Jamie.

When this monarch visited Scotland in 1617, he found the old statesman very rich, and was informed that the people believed him to be in possession of the Philosopher’s Stone; there being no other feasible mode of accounting for his immense wealth, which rather seemed the effect of supernatural agency than of worldly prudence or talent. King James, quite tickled with the idea of the Philosopher’s Stone, and of so enviable a talisman having fallen into the hands of a Scottish judge, was not long in letting his friend and gossip know of the story which he had heard respecting him. The Lord President immediately invited the king, and the rest of the company present, to come to his house next day, when he would both do his best to give them a good dinner and lay open to them the mystery of the Philosopher’s Stone. This agreeable invitation was of course accepted; and the next day saw his Cowgate _palazzo_ thronged with king and courtiers, all of whom the President feasted to their hearts’ content. After dinner the king reminded him of his Philosopher’s Stone, and expressed his anxiety to be speedily made acquainted with so rare a treasure, when the pawky lord addressed His Majesty and the company in a short speech, concluding with this information, that his whole secret lay in two simple and familiar maxims—‘Never put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day; nor ever trust to another’s hand what your own can execute.’ He might have added, from the works of an illustrious contemporary:

‘This is the only witchcraft I have used;’

and none could have been more effectual.

A ludicrous idea is obtained from the following anecdote of the estimation in which the wisdom of the Earl of Haddington was held by the king, and at the same time, perhaps, of that singular monarch’s usual mode of speech. It must be understood, by way of prefatory illustration, that King James, who was the author of the earl’s popular appellation, ‘_Tam o’ the Cowgate_,’ had a custom of bestowing such ridiculous _sobriquets_ on his principal councillors and courtiers. Thus he conferred upon that grave and sagacious statesman, John, Earl of Mar, the nickname _Jock o’ Sklates_—probably in allusion to some circumstance which occurred in their young days when they were the fellow-pupils of Buchanan. On hearing of a meditated alliance between the Haddington and Mar families, His Majesty exclaimed, betwixt jest and earnest: ‘The Lord hand a grup o’ me! If Tam o’ the Cowgate’s son marry Jock o’ Sklates’s daughter, what’s to come o’ _me_?’ The good-natured monarch probably apprehended that so close a union betwixt two of his most subtle statesmen might make them too much for their master—as hounds are most dangerous when they hunt in couples.

The Earl of Haddington died in 1637, full of years and honours. At Tyningham, the seat of his family, there are two portraits of his lordship, one a half-length, the other a head; as also his state-dress; and it is a circumstance too characteristic to be overlooked that in the crimson-velvet breeches there are no fewer than _nine pockets_! Among many of the earl’s papers which remain in Tyningham House, one contains a memorandum conveying a curious idea of the way in which public and political affairs were then managed in Scotland. The paper details the heads of a petition in his own handwriting to the Privy Council, and at the end is a note ‘to _gar_ [that is, make] the chancellor’ do something else in his behalf.

A younger son of Tam o’ the Cowgate was a person of much ingenuity, and was popularly known, for what reason I cannot tell, by the nickname of ‘Dear Sandie Hamilton.’ He had a foundry in the Potterrow, where he fabricated the cannon employed in the first Covenanting war in 1639. This artillery, be it remarked, was not formed exclusively of metal. The greater part of the composition was leather; and yet, we are informed, they did some considerable execution at the battle of Newburnford, above Newcastle (August 28, 1640), where the Scots drove a large advanced party of Charles I.’s troops before them, thereby causing the king to enter into a new treaty. The cannon, which were commonly called ‘Dear Sandie’s Stoups,’ were carried in swivel fashion between two horses.

The Excise-office had been removed, about 1730, from the Parliament Square to the house occupied many years before by Tam o’ the Cowgate. It afforded excellent accommodations for this important public office. The principal room on the second floor, towards the Cowgate, was a very superb one, having a stucco ceiling divided into square compartments, each of which contained some elegant device. To the rear of the house was a bowling-green, which the Commissioners of Excise let on lease to a person of the name of Thomson. In those days bowling was a much more prevalent amusement than now, being chiefly a favourite with the graver order of the citizens. There were then no fewer than three bowling-greens in the grounds around Heriot’s Hospital; one in the Canongate, near the Tolbooth; another on the opposite side of the street; another immediately behind the palace of Holyrood House, where the Duke of York used to play when in Scotland; and perhaps several others scattered about the outskirts of the town. The arena behind the Excise-office was called Thomson’s Green, from the name of the man who kept it; and it may be worth while to remind the reader that it is alluded to in that pleasant-spirited poem by Allan Ramsay, in imitation of the _Vides ut alta_ of Horace:

‘Driving their ba’s frae whins or tee,
There’s no ae gouffer to be seen,
Nor doucer folk wysing a-jee
The byas bowls on Tamson’s green.’

The green was latterly occupied by the relict of this Thomson; and among the bad debts on the Excise books, all of which are yearly brought forward and enumerated, there still stands a sum of something more than six pounds against Widow Thomson, being the last half-year’s rent of _the green_, which the poor woman had been unable to pay. The north side of Brown’s Square was built upon part of this space of ground; the rest remained a vacant area for the recreation of the people dwelling in Merchant Street, until the erection of the bridge, which has overrun that, as well as every other part of the scene of this article.[211]

FOOTNOTES

[204] Myln’s _Lives of the Bishops of Dunkeld_. Edinburgh, 1831.

[205] Originally the name was the ‘Wynd of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the Fields,’ as being the approach to the collegiate church so named which stood on the site of the University—the ‘Kirk o’ Field’ of the Darnley tragedy.

[206] Now Chambers Street.

[207] A small ‘bit’ of College Wynd, ending in a _cul de sac_, is all that remains of this once leading thoroughfare between the city and the ‘Oure Tounis Colledge.’

[208] When it became an unfashionable place of residence it was dubbed by the fops of the town ‘Cavalry Wynd.’ The northern end of Guthrie Street is the site of the old Horse Wynd.

[209] Macgill was King’s Advocate to James VI., and is said to have died of grief when his rival, Thomas Hamilton, was preferred for the presidentship.

[210] Most of the traditionary anecdotes in this article were communicated by Charles, eighth Earl of Haddington, through conversation with Sir Walter Scott, by whom they were directly imparted to the author.

[211] Near by is the Magdalen Chapel, a curious relic of the sixteenth century, belonging to the Corporation of Hammermen. It was erected immediately before the Reformation by a pious citizen, Michael Macquhan, and Jonet Rhynd, his widow, whose tomb is shown in the floor. The windows towards the south were anciently filled with stained glass; and there still remain some specimens of that kind of ornament, which, by some strange chance, had survived the Reformation. In a large department at the top of one window are the arms of Mary of Guise, who was queen-regent at the time the chapel was built. The arms of Macquhan and his wife are also to be seen. In the lower panes, which have been filled with small figures of saints, only one remains—a St Bartholomew—who, by a rare chance, has survived the general massacre. The whole is now very carefully preserved. When the distinguished Reformer, John Craig, returned to Scotland at the Reformation, after an absence of twenty-four years, he preached for some time in this chapel, in the Latin language, to a select congregation of the learned, being unable, by long disuse, to hold forth in his vernacular tongue. This divine subsequently was appointed a colleague to John Knox, and is distinguished in history for having refused to publish the banns between Queen Mary and Bothwell, and also for having written the National Covenant in 1589. Another circumstance in the history of this chapel is worthy of notice. The body of the Earl of Argyll, after his execution, June 30, 1685, was brought down and deposited in this place, to wait till it should be conveyed to the family burying-place at Kilmun.

ST CECILIA’S HALL.

Few persons now living (1847) recollect the elegant concerts that were given many years ago in what is now an obscure part of our ancient city, known by the name of St Cecilia’s Hall. They did such honour to Edinburgh, nearly for half a century, that I feel myself called on to make a brief record of them, and am glad to be enabled to do so by a living authority, one of the most fervent worshippers in the temple of the goddess. Hear, then, his last _aria parlante_ on this interesting theme.