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Women and the
Natural Sciences in
Edwardian Britain
In Search of Fellowship
Peter Ayres
Palgrave Studies in the History of Science
and Technology

Series Editors
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Colby College
Waterville, ME, USA

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Designed to bridge the gap between the history of science and the history
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 Peter Ayres

Women and the

Natural Sciences
in Edwardian Britain
In Search of Fellowship
Peter Ayres
Lancaster University
Lancaster, UK

Palgrave Studies in the History of Science and Technology

ISBN 978-3-030-46599-5    ISBN 978-3-030-46600-8 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46600-8

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 Preface: ‘Associations of Persons United
by Some Common Interest’

Through the Victorian era, age-old prejudices still prevailed concerning

the fitness of women to be scientists or, more generally, to enter the pro-
fessions. It was pointed out by men that the weight of a woman’s brain
was less than that of a man’s; others argued that the physical exertion of a
working life would imperil a woman’s reproductive health (Cock and
Forsdyke 2008, 178; Rayner-Canham and Rayner-Canham 2003). Or,
quite simply, it was held that a woman’s first duty was to support her hus-
band and his children, and not to spend her time pursuing some high-­
flown science. Such attitudes infected even the thinking of women; writing
about ‘Our School Girls’, Mrs CE Humphry, one of the first female jour-
nalists (and an extremely popular one) reflected;

What is the use of class successes if they are won at the expense of health? And
though scholarships are very pleasant things…they may cost too dear. If the
money they save has to go on doctors’ fees, of what earthly use are they.
(Humphry 1898, 19)

It is neither the purpose of this book to examine how those particular

prejudices were overcome, nor to review the debate that ‘the mind has no
sex’—a debate which has stretched down the years, from Lydia Becker’s
proposal to a meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of
Science (1868) that differences between the minds of women and men
were a result of nurture rather than nature, until today (Gianquitto 2013).
It is a debate which continues to occupy the energies of some of the finest

v
vi PREFACE: ‘ASSOCIATIONS OF PERSONS UNITED BY SOME COMMON INTEREST’

feminist scholars, who ask whether women ‘do’ science in a way that is
different from the way it is done by men, and, by extension, whether femi-
nism has changed science.
It is the purpose of this book to look at one little explored aspect of
the wider debate, the historical exclusion of women from leading sci-
entific societies and the impact that that had on their efforts to become
integrated into the world of professional science. The promise held
out by the fundamental tenet of 18th century European Enlightenment
that ‘all men are by nature equal’ was not realised for, as the nine-
teenth century progressed, women were progressively excluded as the
culture of science was gradually closed to them (Schiebinger 1999, 13
and 69). There occurred, in parallel, a professionalization of science
and a privatisation of the family, the two spheres being, respectively,
the domain of men and women.
My own past interests have centred on the professionalization of bot-
any in the decades immediately preceding World War I. In writing about
some of the leading men of the time I have been struck by how often their
researches were assisted by women, although each for only a short time—
suggesting that either a lack of funding, or marriage, ended each woman’s
connection with her successful man and, thereby, her potential career. The
names of a few women do, however, recur again and again in the pages of
fledgling journals such as the New Phytologist (in which I declare a per-
sonal interest) and the Annals of Botany. Perhaps they were women who,
exceptionally, found permanent employment, or who enjoyed private
means? My enquiries into the lives of these women led me to seek com-
parisons with the lives of women in other natural sciences and, almost
inevitably, parallels became apparent—not least the difficulties all women
had in acquiring fellowships in scientific societies.
The wider background to the late-Victorian and Edwardian periods
involves, of course, women’s fight for the right to vote (a fight which itself
spawned numerous clubs, associations, and societies). It is not a co-­
incidence that the two struggles were contemporaneous, and as individual
lives are explored, it will be seen that the same women were often involved.
The extent to which women in the natural sciences depended on male
help is explored, as is the question why some men chose to be ‘enablers’,
when others stood in the way of women’s progress. In such analysis, two
things should be borne in mind. First, it is probable that the majority of
 PREFACE: ‘ASSOCIATIONS OF PERSONS UNITED BY SOME COMMON INTEREST’ vii

male scientists had no strong views one way or the other. Second, many
men were educated in an all-male environment; they knew little about the
abilities and interests of females of the same age. Unfamiliarity could all
too easily lead to an awkwardness and shyness, resulting in them avoiding
social or professional interactions with the opposite sex.
Finally, with tongue somewhat in cheek, I return to my own earlier
interests. Writing about Charles Darwin led me to his grandson, Bernard,
golf correspondent of The Times newspaper from 1907 to 1953. Bernard’s
interests stretched, however, beyond golf clubs to ‘Gentlemen’s Clubs’,
which he called, ‘…associations of persons united by some common inter-
est meeting periodically for cooperation or conviviality’ (Darwin 1943).
He could easily have extended his definition to include Societies.
In 1941, with most of Europe under Nazi domination, the London
publisher Collins launched a series of social history books called ‘Britain in
Pictures’. The slim volumes were designed to boost morale but also to
record a British way of life that was at risk of extinction. Bernard Darwin
was invited to contribute a book on the subject of ‘British Clubs’ (Darwin
1943). Gentleman’s clubs, ranging from dining to debating to sporting
ones, and mostly dating from the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries,
were, he argued, a defining characteristic of British society. While some of
the ‘Social Clubs’ have since Darwin’s time admitted women, for example,
The Athenaeum in 2002, others, such as Boodle’s, Brooks’s, and White’s
are still for men only. To be fair, the University Women’s Club (founded
in 1921 as the University Club for Ladies) excludes men, but the overall
conclusion is that in London’s clubland, centred in St James’, at the heart
of the metropolis, old habits die hard.
Is it any wonder then that the oldest of Britain’s scientific societies,
which were effectively gentlemen’s clubs, were so resistant to change,
so averse to opening their doors to women? Male scientists—supposedly
enlightened and rational—were no better than their non-scientific peers.
This book explores how prejudice and ignorance in those societies were
slowly overcome by a small band of women, and their sympathetic male
supporters. Or, as Bernard might have put it, ‘…how women became
clubbable’.

Lancaster, UK Peter Ayres

viii PREFACE: ‘ASSOCIATIONS OF PERSONS UNITED BY SOME COMMON INTEREST’

References
Cock, A., and D.R. Forsdyke. 2008. Treasure Your Exceptions: The Science and Life
of William Bateson. New York: Springer.
Darwin, B. 1943. British Clubs. London: William Collins.
Gianquitto, Tina. 2013. Botanical Smuts and Hermaphrodites; Lydia Becker,
Darwin’s Botany and Education Reform. Isis 104: 250–277.
Humphry, Charlotte E. 1898. A Word to Women. London: James Bowden.
Rayner-Canham, Marelene F., and G.W. Rayner-Canham. 2003. Pounding on the
Doors: The Fight for Acceptance of British Women Chemists. Bulletin for the
History of Chemistry 28: 110–119.
Schiebinger, Londa. 1999. Has Feminism Changed Science? Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
 By the Same Author

Harry Marshall Ward and the Fungal Thread of Death. 2005. St. Paul
Mn.: American Phytopathological Society.
The Aliveness of Plants. The Darwins at the Dawn of Plant Science. 2008.
London: Pickering and Chatto.
Shaping Ecology: The Life of Arthur Tansley. 2012. Chichester: John Wiley.
Medicinal Plants in Wartime. Britain’s Green Allies. 2015. Kibworth:
Matador.

ix
 Acknowledgements

In pursuing the women who sought fellowship I needed practical help

from many, many groups and institutions, and it was always given cheer-
fully and generously. The archivists and historians to whom I owe thanks
are Nicola Allen (Woburn Abbey), Gill Butterfill and Philippa Lewis
(Kew), Mark Carine, Helen Pethers, and Laura Brown (Natural History
Museum), Elen Curran (James Allen’s Girls School), Katrina Dean
(Cambridge University Library), Brent Elliot (Royal Horticultural
Society), William George (Essex Field Club), Alison Harvey (Cardiff
University), Mary Henderson (Dundee Women’s Trail), Debbie Hunt
(Royal Microscopical Society), Nancy Janda (Hunt Institute for Botanical
Documentation, Carnegie Mellon University, PA), Pete Kinnear (Dundee
University), Paula Lightfoot (Yorkshire Naturalists Union), Gillian
Murphy (London School of Economics), Kate O’Donnell (Somerville
College, Oxford), Norman Porrett (British Mycological Society), Carol
Sandford (Holmesdale Natural History Club), Carol Stewart (Strathclyde
University), Naomi Sturges and Matilda Watson (Girton College,
Cambridge), Anne Thomson (Newnham College, Cambridge), Annabel
Valentine and Ellis Huddart (Royal Holloway College), Hannah Westall
(Girton College, Cambridge), Alison Wheatley (Handsworth College). At
the Linnean Society, Gina Douglas, and Liz McGow gave invaluable help.
On the trail of Mrs Farquharson, Claire Jones, Sarah Pedersen, Val
Pollitt, and Lindy Moore were most helpful; on that of Emma Turner,
James Parry kindly supplied a lot of information; and in my pursuit of
Lilian Clarke, Dawn Sanders and Roy Vickery gave both insights and

xi
xii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

encouragement. Cynthia Burek guided me most helpfully on the subject

of Maria Ogilvie-Gordon, and John Maris introduced me to the family
tree of the Embletons.
I thank Patricia Fara (Churchill College, Cambridge) and Jane Robinson
(Somerville College, Oxford) for their interest and support. Old friends,
Jeff Duckett and Miriam David, offered much-needed help and advice.
And, finally, the project would never have been initiated or completed
without the unwavering support of my wife, Mary. To her I owe my great-
est thanks.
 Praise for Women and the Natural Sciences
in Edwardian Britain

“In this compelling history with modern relevance, Peter Ayres describes the
female pioneers who realised that scientific success lay in solidarity. Networking
towards the future, they campaigned for entry into universities, societies and labo-
ratories, collectively achieving the individual recognition they deserved.”
—Patricia Fara, Fellow of Clare College, Cambridge and author of
A Lab of One’s Own: Science and Suffrage in the First World War

“This is discovery in the purest sense of the word: the revelation of something
always there, but forgotten. In Women and the Natural Sciences Peter Ayres pres-
ents us with a group of fascinating pioneers. He polishes away the accretion of
convention, institutional prejudice and natural diffidence, allowing their extraordi-
nary—and ordinary—achievements to shine at last.”
—Jane Robinson, social historian and author of Ladies Can’t Climb
Ladders: the Pioneering Adventures of the First Professional Women
 Contents

1 Fellowship and a Woman’s Place in Edwardian Britain  1

2 Joining the Like-Minded. Societies and Meeting Places 11

3 Educational Opportunities for Girls and Women 33

4 How Mrs Farquharson Triumphed but Was Excluded

from a Glittering Occasion 59

5 Miss Sargant and a Botanical Web 81

6 Approved by Mrs Farquharson?113

7 Microbiology Learned Through Practice127

8 An Unavoidable Need for Male Support145

9 Diverse Paths to Dentistry, Exploration, and Wildlife

Photography165

xv
xvi CONTENTS

10 They Sought Fellowship but Did They Make Good

Fellows?187

Appendix: The First Female Fellows of the Linnean Society201

Bibliography203

Index217
 List of Figures

Fig. 2.1 Over 40 men and women of the Essex Field Club gathered at
Tyler’s Common, near Upminster, on 26 July 1890. (Source:
Permission of the Essex Field Club) 22
Fig. 3.1 Newnham College teaching staff, 1896. Back row: Helen
Klaassen (second from left); front row: Ida Freund (third from
left); Eleanor Sidgwick (fifth), Margaret Tuke (sixth), and
Philippa Fawcett (far right). (Source: Reproduced by courtesy
of the Principal and Fellows of Newnham College, Cambridge) 44
Fig. 3.2 The Balfour Biological Laboratory for Women, University of
Cambridge. The bust of Francis Maitland Balfour overlooks the
students’ worktables. The laboratory was housed in what had
formerly been a Congregational chapel. (Source: Reproduced
by courtesy of the Principal and Fellows of Newnham College,
Cambridge)46
Fig. 3.3 Setting off on a geological expedition to the Lake District,
July 1890. Thomas McKenny Hughes is seated, front left; his
wife, Carrie, stands near right (both wear ‘deer-stalker’ hats).
An anonymous correspondent of The Queen and Lady’s
Newspaper (2nd August 1890), observed that while the young
women arrived ‘anaemic and nervous’, they left ‘rosy and
vigorous’ after twelve days in wind and rain. (Source: Courtesy
of The Sedgwick Museum of Earth Sciences, University of
Cambridge)53

xvii
xviii LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 4.1 Mrs Robert Farquharson (née Marian Ridley), (a) during her
marriage and sometime before 1898, (b) ca. 1903–1904,
during widowhood at Tillydrine House. Her attempts to join
the Linnean and other societies were made in the years between
the photos. (Source: Fig. 4.1a is from Fraser-Mackintosh
(1898), Fig. 4.1b is from Royle (1903)) 60
Fig. 5.1 First year students at Girton College, Cambridge, 1881. Ethel
Sargant is on the left end of the middle row. (Source:
Permission of the Mistress and Fellows of Girton College,
Cambridge)84
Fig. 5.2 The Suffrage Shop in Tunbridge Wells, Kent, a centre for fund
raising, ca. 1910. (Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/
lselibrary/40080806642/in/photolist-244NBqo)90
Fig. 5.3 Margaret Benson, Head of the Botany Department at Royal
Holloway College, Egham, Surrey. (Source: Supplied from the
archives (PP26/10/7) of Royal Holloway College, University
of London) 94
Fig. 5.4 Kammatograph. The device was invented and patented by
Leonard Kamm of Powell Street, London. (Source: From
Jones, Claire. 2010. Bodies of Controversy. Women and the
Royal Society. HerStoria Magazine, 6: 20–24) 106
Fig. 5.5 Ethel Sargant, centre front, among botanists at the 1913
meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of
Science. Also in the front row are (left to right); G.S. West,
R.H. Yapp, O. Stapf, J. Reinke, D.H. Scott, and F.W. Oliver.
(Source: Courtesy of the Hunt Institute for Botanical
Documentation, Carnegie Mellon University, Pittsburgh, PA) 109
Fig. 6.1 Alice Embleton, on the left, and Celia Wray, in the centre, of a
group of suffrage supporters photographed in Barnsley,
Yorkshire, after the General Election of 1910. Sir Joseph
Walton, the successful Liberal candidate, had voted in favour of
the Women’s Enfranchisement Bill of 1908. In the election,
7560 signatures were separately collected in favour of women’s
suffrage. (Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/
lselibrary/31268307763)124
Fig. 7.1 Gulielma Lister, 1926, or ‘Miss Gully’ as she was known around
the small Dorset town of Lyme Regis. She was President of the
Essex Field Club, 1916–1919. (Source: Permission of the Essex
Field Club) 135
Fig. 8.1 Edith Saunders. (Source: Permission of the Principal and
Fellows of Newnham College, Cambridge) 159
 CHAPTER 2

Joining the Like-Minded. Societies

and Meeting Places

They [scientific societies] draw an arbitrary line among scientific

students and say to one half of the human race—you shall not enter into
the advantages we have to offer.
—Lydia Becker to The Manchester Ladies’ Literary Society, 30
January 1867 (cited by Parker 2001, 633)

The first annual conference of Lady Warwick’s Association (1899) was a

newsworthy event, reported not just in The Times newspaper but also in
the journal Nature where the anonymous correspondent, having reported
the motion that women should be able to join scientific societies, reviewed
recent moves in that direction;

Six years ago the Council of the Royal Geographical Society elected several
ladies as ordinary fellows, but their action was disapproved at two special meet-
ings, and resolutions to the effect that it was inexpedient to admit ladies as
ordinary fellows were carried by conclusive votes. Ladies are however admitted
to meetings of the Society, and papers are accepted from them. In the case of the
Royal Astronomical Society, ladies are only admitted to the ordinary meetings
by special invitation of the president, sanctioned by the Council.

The article concluded discouragingly:

© The Author(s) 2020 11

P. Ayres, Women and the Natural Sciences in Edwardian Britain,
Palgrave Studies in the History of Science and Technology,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46600-8_2
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 THE UNLUCKY TOP BOOTS.

Chapter I.
Top Boots, as everybody must have remarked, are now [1833]
nearly altogether out of fashion. Their race is all but extinct. An
occasional pair may indeed still be seen encasing the brawny legs of a
stout elderly country gentleman on a market day, or on the occasion
of a flying visit to the metropolis; but with this exception, and with
probably that of some hale obstinate bachelor octogenarian, who, in
full recollection of the impression which his top boots had made on
the public mind some fifty years since, still persists in thrusting his
shrivelled shanks into the boots of his youth;—we say, with the first
positive, and the last probable exception, this highly respectable-
looking, and somewhat flashy, article of dress has entirely
disappeared.
Time was, however, and we recollect it well, when matters stood
far otherwise with top boots. We have a distinct vision of numberless
pairs flitting before our eyes, through the mazes of the various
thoroughfares of the city; but, alas! they have vanished, one after
another, like stars before the light of approaching day. Rest to their
soles—they are now gathered to their fathers—their brightness is
extinguished—their glory is gone. The Conqueror of Waterloo hath
conquered them also. The top boots have fallen before the
Wellingtons!
We have said that we recollect when it was otherwise with top
boots, and so we do. We recollect when a pair of top boots was a
great object of ambition with the young, whose worldly prosperity
was all yet to come—whose means of indulging in such little vanities
of the flesh were yet to be acquired. To them a pair of top boots was a
sort of land-mark in the voyage of life; a palpable, prominent, and
desirable object to be attained; a sort of Cape Horn to be doubled.
Nor were they less objects of ambition at the time we speak of—say
about 40 years since—to the more advanced, whose circumstances
required a long previous hint to prepare for such an event as the
purchase of a pair of top boots. In short, top boots were the rage of
the day. The apprentice, the moment he got “out” of his time, got
“into” his top boots. The first thing the young grocer did was to get a
pair of top boots. No lover then went to woo his mistress but in top
boots, or at least if he did, the chance was, that he would go to very
little purpose. The buckishly-inclined mechanic, too, hoarded his
superfluous earnings until they reached the height of a pair of top
boots, in which to entomb his lower limbs. Although their visits now,
as we have already hinted, are “few and far between,” we have seen
the day when, instead of being but occasionally seen, like solitary
points of light as they are now, on the dusky street, they converted it
by their numbers into an absolute via lactea,—a perfect galaxy of
white leather,—or shot, frequent, pale, and flitting, like northern
streamers, through the dark tide of humanity as it strolled along.
No marvel is it, therefore, that, in the midst of the wide prevalence
of this top boot epidemic, poor Tommy Aikin should have fallen a
victim to the disease—that his heart should have been set upon a pair
of top boots; nor is it a marvel that Mr Aikin should have been able
finally to gratify this longing of his, seeing that he was in tolerable
circumstances, or at least in such circumstances as enabled him, by
retrenching a little somewhere else, to attain the great object of his
ambition—a pair of top boots. No marvel, then, as we have said, are
these things which we have related of Mr Aikin; but great marvel is it
that a pair of top boots should have wrought any man such mischief,
as we shall presently show they did to that honest man. But let us not
anticipate. Let us, as has been before wisely said, begin at the
beginning, and say who Mr Aikin was, and what were the evils in
which his top boots involved him.
Be it known, then, to all whom it may concern, that Mr Thomas
Aikin was an officer of Excise, and was, at the period to which our
story relates, residing in a certain small town not more than fifty
miles distant from the city of Glasgow. Mr Aikin was a stout-made
middle-aged man, exceedingly good-natured, kind, civil, and
obliging. In short, he was an excellent fellow, honest and upright in
all his dealings, and a faithful servant of the revenue. Everybody
liked Mr Aikin, and Mr Aikin liked everybody; and sorely did
everybody lament his misfortunes when they fell upon him. Mr Aikin
had for many years led a happy life in the bosom of his family. He
laughed and joked away, took his jug of toddy, caressed his children,
spoke always affectionately to and of his wife, and was so spoken to
and of by her in return. In short, Mr Aikin was a happy man up to
that evil hour when he conceived the idea of possessing himself of a
pair of top boots.
“Mary,” said Mr Aikin, one luckless evening, to his loving wife,
after having sat for about half an hour looking into the fire.
“Aweel, Thomas?” said his spouse, in token of her attention.
“I wad like to hae a pair o’ tap boots,” replied Mr Aikin, shortly,
and without further preamble, although he had in reality bestowed a
good deal of thought on the subject previously; indeed, a dim
undefined vision of top boots had been floating before his mind’s eye
for nearly a month before it took the distinct shape of such a
determination as he was now about to express.
“Aweel, Thomas,” replied his better half, with equal brevity, “ye
had better get a pair.”
“They’re decent lookin’ things,” rejoined Mr Aikin.
“Indeed are they,” said his indulgent spouse,—“very decent and
respectable, Thomas.”
“Rather flashy though, I doubt, for the like o’ me,” quoth Mr Aikin.
“I dinna see that, Thomas, sae lang as ye’re able to pay for them,”
remarked Mrs Aikin.
“No so very able, my dear,” responded her husband; “but I wad
like to hae a pair for a’ that, just to wear on Sundays and collection
days.”
“Aweel, Thomas, get them; and what for no?” replied Mrs Aikin,
“since your mind’s bent on them. We’ll save the price o’ them aff
something else.”
We need not pursue further the amiable colloquy which took place
on this fatal night between Mr Aikin and his wife. Suffice it to say,
that that night fixed Mr Aikin’s resolution to order a pair of top
boots. On the very next day he was measured for the said boots; and
late on the Saturday evening following, the boots, with their tops
carefully papered, to protect them from injury, were regularly
delivered by an apprentice boy into the hands of Mrs Aikin herself,
for her husband’s interest.
As Mr Aikin was not himself in the house when the boots were
brought home, they were placed in a corner of the parlour to await
his pleasure; and certainly nothing could look more harmless or
more inoffensive than did these treacherous boots, as they now
stood, with their muffled tops and shining feet, in the corner of Mr
Aikin’s parlour. But alas! alas! shortsighted mortals that we are, that
could not foresee the slightest portion of the evils with which these
rascally boots were fraught! To shorten our story as much as
possible, we proceed to say that Mr Aikin at length came home, and
being directed to where the boots lay, he raised them up in one hand,
holding a candle in the other; and having turned them round and
round several times, admiring their gloss and fair proportions, laid
them down again with a calm quiet smile of satisfaction, and retired
to bed.
Sunday came, the church bells rang, and Mr Aikin sallied forth in
all the pomp and glory of a pair of spick and span new top boots.
With all Mr Aikin’s good qualities, there was, however,—and we
forgot to mention it before,—a “leetle” touch of personal vanity; the
slightest imaginable it was, but still such an ingredient did enter into
the composition of his character, and it was this weakness, as
philosophers call it, which made him hold his head at an unwonted
height, and throw out his legs with a flourish, and plant his foot with
a firmness and decision on this particular Sunday, which was quite
unusual with him, or, at least, which had passed unnoticed before.
With the exception, however, of a few passing remarks, in which
there was neither much acrimony nor much novelty, Mr Aikin’s
boots were allowed to go to and from the church in peace and
quietness. “Hae ye seen Mr Aikin’s tap boots?” “Faith, Mr Aikin looks
weel in his tap boots.” “Mr Aikin was unco grand the day in his tap
boots.” Such and such like were the only observations which Mr
Aikin’s top boots elicited on the first Sunday of their appearance.
Sunday after Sunday came and departed, and with the Sundays came
also and departed Mr Aikin’s top boots, for he wore them only on
that sacred day, and on collection days, as he himself originally
proposed. Like every other marvel, they at length sank quietly to rest,
becoming so associated and identified with the wearer, that no one
ever thought of discussing them separately. Deceitful calm—
treacherous silence!—it was but the gathering of the storm.
It so happened that Mr Aikin, in the language of the Excise,
surveyed, that is, ascertained and levied the duties payable by a
tanner, or leather dresser, who carried on his business in the town in
which Mr Aikin resided. Now, the Honourable Board of Excise were
in those days extremely jealous of the fidelity of their officers, and in
a spirit of suspicion of the honour and faith of man peculiar to
themselves, readily listened to every report prejudicial to the
character of their servants. Here, then, was an apparently intimate
connection, and of the worst sort,—a pair of top boots,—between a
revenue officer and a trader, a dresser of leather. Remote and
obscure hints of connivance between the former and the latter began
to arise, and in despite of the general esteem in which Mr Aikin was
held, and the high opinion which was entertained of his worth and
integrity, these hints and suspicions—such is the wickedness and
perversity of human nature—gradually gained ground, until they at
length reached the ears of the Board, with the most absurd
aggravations.
Their honours were told, but by whom was never ascertained, that
the most nefarious practices were going on in ——, and to an
enormous extent. Large speculations in contraband leather, on the
joint account of the officer and trader, were talked of; the one sinking
his capital, the other sacrificing the king’s duties. Whole hogsheads
of manufactured boots and shoes were said to be exported to the
West Indies, as the common adventure of the officer and trader. The
entire family and friends of the former, to the tenth degree of
propinquity, were said to have been supplied gratis with boots and
shoes for the last ten years. In short, the whole affair was laid before
their honours, the Commissioners of Excise, decked out in the
blackest colours, and so swollen, distorted, and exaggerated, that no
man could have conceived for a moment that so monstrous a tale of
dishonesty and turpitude could have been manufactured out of a
thing so simple as a pair of top boots. Indeed, how could he? For the
boots—the real ground of the vile fabrication—were never once
mentioned, nor in the slightest degree alluded to; but, as it was, the
thing bore a serious aspect, and so thought the Honourable Board of
Excise.
A long and grave consultation was held in the Board-room, and the
result was, an order to the then collector of Excise in Glasgow to
make a strict and immediate inquiry into the circumstances of the
case, and to report thereon; a measure which was followed up, in a
day or two afterwards, by their honours dispatching two surveying-
generals, as they are called, also to Glasgow, to assist at and
superintend the investigation which the collector had been directed
to set on foot. On the arrival of these officers at Glasgow, they
forthwith waited upon the collector, to ascertain what he had learned
regarding Mr Aikin’s nefarious practices. The result of the
consultation, which was here again held, was a determination, on the
part of the generals and the collector, to proceed to the scene of Mr
Aikin’s ignominy, and to prosecute their inquiries on the spot, as the
most likely way of arriving at a due knowledge of the facts.
Accordingly, two chaises were hired at the expense of the Crown,
one for the two generals, and another for the collector and his clerk—
all this, good reader, be it remembered, arising from the simple
circumstance of Mr Aikin’s having indulged himself in the luxury of a
single solitary pair of top boots,—and, moreover, the first pair he
ever had. The gentlemen, having seated themselves in the carriages,
were joined, just before starting, by a friend of the collector’s, on
horseback, who, agreeably to an arrangement he had made with the
latter on the preceding day, now came to ride out with them to the
scene of their impending labours; and thus, though of course he had
nothing to do with the proceedings of the day, he added not a little to
the imposing character of the procession, which was now about to
move in the direction of Mr Aikin’s top boots.
An hour and a half’s drive brought the whole cavalcade into the
little town in which the unfortunate owner of the said boots resided;
and little did he think, honest man, as he eyed the procession passing
the windows, marvelling the while what it could mean—little, we say,
did he think that the sole and only object, pro tempore at least, of
those who composed it, was to inquire how, and by what means, and
from whom, he had gotten his top boots. Of this fact, however, he
was soon made aware. In less than half an hour he was sent for, and
told, for the first time, of the heavy charges which lay against him. A
long, tedious investigation took place; item after item of poor Aikin’s
indictment melted away beneath the process of inquiry; until at
length the whole affair resolved itself into the original cause of all the
mischief,—the pair of top boots. Nothing which could in the slightest
degree impugn Mr Aikin’s honesty remained but these unlucky top
boots, and for them he immediately produced his shoemaker’s
receipt:—
Mr Aikin,
Bought of David Anderson,

One pair of Top Boots, £2, 2s.

Settled in full,

David Anderson.

With this finisher the investigation closed, and Mr Aikin stood fully
and honourably acquitted of all the charges brought against him. The
impression, however, which the affair made at head-quarters, was far
from being favourable to him. He was ever after considered there in
the light, not of an innocent man, but as one against whom nothing
could be proven; and his motions were watched with the utmost
vigilance. The consequence was, that, in less than three months, he
was dismissed from the service of the revenue, ostensibly for some
trifling omission of duty; but he himself thought, and so did
everybody else, that the top boots were in reality the cause of his
misfortune.
One would have thought that this was quite enough of mischief to
arise from one pair of top boots, and so thought everybody but the
top boots themselves, we suppose. This, however, was but a
beginning of the calamities into which they walked with their
unfortunate owner.
 Chapter II.
About four miles distant from the town in which Mr Aikin lived,
there resided an extensive coal-mine proprietor of the name of
Davidson; and it so happened that he, too, had a predilection for that
particular article of dress, already so often named, viz., top boots;
indeed, he was never known to wear anything else in their place.
Davidson was an elderly gentleman, harsh and haughty in his
manner, and extremely mean in all his dealings—a manner and
disposition which made him greatly disliked by the whole country,
and especially by his workmen, the miners, of whom he employed
upwards of a hundred and fifty. The abhorrence in which Mr
Davidson was at all times held by his servants, was at this particular
moment greatly increased by an attempt which he was making to
reduce his workmen’s wages; and to such a height had their
resentment risen against their employer, that some of the more
ferocious of them were heard to throw out dark hints of personal
violence; and it was much feared by Davidson’s friends—of whom he
had, however, but a very few, and these mostly connected with him
by motives of interest—that such an occurrence would, in reality,
happen one night or other, and that at no great distance of time. Nor
was this fear groundless.
Mr Davidson was invited to dine with a neighbouring gentleman.
He accepted the invitation, very foolishly, as his family thought; but
he did accept it, and went accordingly. It was in the winter time, and
the house of his host was about a mile distant from his own
residence. Such an opportunity as this of giving their employer a
sound drubbing had been long looked for by some half dozen of Mr
Davidson’s workmen, and early and correct information on the
subject of his dining out enabled them to avail themselves of it. The
conspirators, having held a consultation, resolved to waylay
Davidson on his return home. With this view they proceeded, after it
became dark, in the direction of the house in which their employer
was dining. Having gone about half way, they halted, and held
another consultation, whereat it was determined that they should
conceal themselves in a sunk fence which ran alongside of the road,
until the object of their resentment approached, when they should all
rush out upon him at once, and belabour him to their hearts’ content.
This settled, they all cowered down into the ditch, to await the arrival
of their victim. “But how will we ken him i’ the dark?” said Jock
Tamson, one of the conspirators, in a low whisper, to his next
neighbour; “we may fa’ foul o’ somebody else in a mistak.” The
question rather posed Jock’s neighbour, who immediately put it to
the person next him, and he again to the next, and on went the
important query, until all were in possession of it; but none could
answer it. At length, one of more happy device than the rest
suggested that Mr Davidson might be recognised by his top boots.
The idea pleased all, and was by all considered infallible, for the fame
of Mr Aikin’s boots had not yet reached this particular quarter of the
country. Satisfied that they had hit upon an unerring mark by which
to know their man, the ruffians waited patiently for his approach.
At length, after fully two hours’ watching, the fall of a footstep
broke faintly on their ears; it came nearer and nearer, and became
every moment more and more distinct. Breathless with the intensity
of their feelings, the conspirators, in dead silence, grasped their
cudgels with increased energy, and sunk themselves in the ditch until
their eyes were on a level with the ground, that they might at once
place the approaching object full before them, and between them and
the feeble light which lingered in the western sky. In the meantime,
the wayfarer approached; two dim whitey objects glimmered
indistinctly in the darkness. They were instantly recognized to be Mr
Davidson’s top boots; a loud shout followed this feeling of
conviction; the colliers rushed from their hiding-place, and in the
next instant half a dozen bludgeons whistled round the ears of the
unfortunate wayfarer. The sufferer roared lustily for mercy, but he
roared in vain. The blows fell thick and fast upon his luckless head
and shoulders, for it was necessary that the work should be done
quickly; and a few seconds more saw him lying senseless and
bleeding in the ditch in which his assailants had concealed
themselves. Having satisfied their vengeance, the ruffians now fled,
leaving their victim behind them in the condition we have described.
Morning came; a man was found in a ditch, speechless, and bleeding
profusely from many severe wounds on the head and face. He was
dragged out, and, after cleansing his face from the blood and dirt
with which it was encrusted, the unfortunate man was recognised to
be—Mr Thomas Aikin!
The unlucky boots, and they alone, were the cause of poor Aikin’s
mischance. He had, indeed, been mauled by mistake, as the reader
will have already anticipated. There was no intention whatever on
the part of the colliers to do Mr Aikin any injury, for Mr Aikin, in the
whole course of his harmless life, had never done them any; indeed,
he was wholly unknown to them, and they to him. It was the top
boots, and nothing but the top boots, that did all the mischief. But to
go on with our story. Aikin was carried home, and, through the
strength of a naturally good constitution and skilful surgical
assistance, recovered so far in six weeks as to be able to go about as
usual, although he bore to his grave with him on his face the marks
of the violence which he had received, besides being disfigured by the
loss of some half dozen of his front teeth.
The top boots, which poor Aikin had worn before as articles of
dress, and, of course, as a matter of choice, he was now obliged to
wear daily from necessity, being, as we have already related,
dismissed from his situation in the Excise. One would think that
Aikin had now suffered enough for his predilection for top boots,
seeing—at least so far as we can see—that there was no great harm in
such an apparently inoffensive indulgence; but Mr Aikin’s evil stars,
or his top boots themselves, we do not know which, were of a totally
different opinion, and on this opinion they forthwith proceeded to
act.
Some weeks after the occurrence of the disaster just recorded, the
little town of ——, where Aikin resided, was suddenly thrown into a
state of the utmost horror and consternation by the report of a foul
murder and robbery having been committed on the highway, and
within a short distance of the town; and of all the inhabitants who
felt horror-struck on this occasion, there was no one more horrified
than Mr Thomas Aikin. The report, however, of the murder and
robbery was incorrect, in so far as the unfortunate man was still
living, although little more, when found in the morning, for the deed
had been committed over night. Being a stranger, he was
immediately conveyed to the principal inn of the town, put to bed,
and medical aid called in. The fiscal, on learning that the man was
still in existence, instantly summoned his clerk, and, accompanied by
a magistrate, hastened to the dying man’s bedside, to take down
whatever particulars could be learnt from him regarding the assault
and robbery. After patiently and laboriously connecting the half
intelligible and disjointed sentences which they from time to time
elicited from him, they made out that he was a cattle-dealer, that he
belonged to Edinburgh, that he had been in Glasgow, and that,
having missed the evening coach which plies between the former and
the latter city, he had taken the road on foot, with the view of
accomplishing one stage, and there awaiting the coming up of the
next coach. They further elicited from him that he had had a large
sum of money upon him, of which, of course, he had been deprived.
The fiscal next proceeded to inquire if he could identify the person or
persons who attacked him. He mumbled a reply in the negative.
“How many were there of them?” inquired the magistrate. “Were
there more than one?”
“Only one,” muttered the unfortunate man.
“Was there any peculiarity in his dress or appearance that struck
you?” asked the fiscal.
He mumbled a reply, but none of the bystanders could make it out.
The question was again put, and both the magistrate and fiscal
stooped down simultaneously to catch the answer. After an interval it
came—and what think you it was, good reader? Why, “top boots,”
distinctly and unequivocally. The fiscal and magistrate looked at each
other for a second, but neither durst venture to hint at the
astounding suspicion which the mention of these remarkable objects
forced upon them.
“He wore top boots, you say?” again inquired the fiscal, to make
sure that he had heard aright.
“Y-e-s, t-o-p b-o-o-ts,” was again the reply.
“Was he a thin man, or a stout man?”
“A stout man.”
“Young or middle-aged?”
“Middle-aged.”
“Tall or short?”
“Short,” groaned out the sufferer, and, with that word, the breath
of life departed from him.
 This event, of course, put an immediate end to the inquiry. The
fiscal and magistrate now retired to consult together regarding what
was best to be done, and to consider the deposition of the murdered
man. There was a certain pair of top boots present to the minds of
both, but the wearer of them had hitherto borne an unblemished
character, and was personally known to them both as a kindhearted,
inoffensive man. Indeed, up to this hour, they would as soon have
believed that the minister of the parish would commit a robbery as
Mr Aikin—we say Mr Aikin, for we can no longer conceal the fact,
that it was Mr Aikin’s boots, however reluctantly admitted, that
flashed upon the minds of the two gentlemen of whom we are now
speaking.
“The thing is impossible, incredible of such a man as Mr Aikin,”
said the magistrate, in reply to the first open insinuation of the fiscal,
although, in saying this, he said what was not in strict accordance
with certain vague suspicions which had taken possession of his own
mind.
“Why, I should say so too,” replied the officer of the law, “were I to
judge by the character which he has hitherto borne; but here,” he
said, holding up the deposition of the murdered man, “here are
circumstances which we cannot be warranted in overlooking, let
them implicate whom they may. There is in especial the top boots,”
went on the fiscal; “now, there is not another pair within ten miles of
us but Aikin’s; for Mr Davidson, the only man whom I know that
wears them besides, is now in London. There is the personal
description, too, exact. And besides all this, bailie,” continued the law
officer, “you will recollect that Mr Aikin is and has been out of
employment for the last six months; and there is no saying what a
man who has a large family upon his hands will do in these
circumstances.”
The bailie acknowledged the force of his colleague’s observations,
but remarked, that, as it was a serious charge, it must be gone
cautiously and warily about. “For it wad be,” he said, “rather a hard
matter to hang a man upon nae ither evidence than a pair o’ tap
boots.”
“Doubtless it would,” replied the fiscal; “but here is,” he said, “a
concatenation of circumstances—a chain of evidence, so far as it
goes, perfectly entire and connected. But,” he continued, as if to
reconcile the bailie to the dangerous suspicion, “an alibi on the part
o’ Mr Aikin will set a’ to rights, and blaw the hale charge awa, like
peelin’s o’ ingans; and if he be an innocent man, bailie, he can hae
nae difficulty in establishing an alibi.”
Not so fast, Mr Fiscal, not so fast, if you please; this alibi was not
so easily established, or rather it could not be established at all. Most
unfortunately for poor Aikin, it turned out, upon an inquiry which
the official authorities thought it necessary to set on foot before
proceeding to extremities—that is, before taking any decisive steps
against the object of their suspicion—that he had been not only
absent from his own house until a late hour of the night on which the
murder and robbery were committed, but had actually been at that
late hour on the very identical road on which it had taken place. The
truth is, that Aikin had been dining with a friend who lived about a
mile into the country, and, as it unfortunately happened, in the very
direction in which the crime had been perpetrated. Still, could it not
have been shown that no unnecessary time had elapsed between the
moment of his leaving his friend’s house and his arrival at his own?
Such a circumstance would surely have weighed something in his
favour. So it would, probably; but alas! even this slender exculpatory
incident could not be urged in his behalf; for the poor man, little
dreaming of what was to happen, had drunk a tumbler or two more
than enough, and had fallen asleep on the road. In short, the fiscal,
considering all the circumstances of the case as they now stood, did
not think it consistent with his duty either to delay proceedings
longer against Aikin, or to maintain any further delicacy with regard
to him. A report of the whole affair was made to the sheriff of
Glasgow, who immediately ordered a warrant to be made out for the
apprehension of Aikin. This instrument was given forthwith into the
custody of two criminal officers, who set out directly in a post-chaise
to execute their commission.
Arriving in the middle of the night, they found poor Aikin, wholly
unconscious of the situation in which he stood, in bed and sound
asleep. Having roused the unhappy man, and barely allowed him
time to draw on his top boots, they hurried him into the chaise, and
in little more than an hour thereafter, Aikin was fairly lodged in
Glasgow jail, to stand his trial for murder and robbery, and this
mainly, if not wholly, on the strength of his top boots.
 The day of trial came. The judge summed up the evidence, and, in
an eloquent speech, directed the special attention of the jury to
Aikin’s top boots: indeed, on these he dwelt so much, and with such
effect, that the jury returned a verdict of guilty against the prisoner at
the bar, who accordingly received sentence of death, but was strongly
recommended to mercy by the jury, as well on the ground of his
previous good character, as on that of certain misgivings regarding
the top boots, which a number of the jury could not help
entertaining, in despite of their prominence in the evidence which
was led against their unfortunate owner.
Aikin’s friends, who could not be persuaded of his guilt,
notwithstanding the strong circumstantial proof with which it was
apparently established, availing themselves of this recommendation
of the jury, immediately set to work to second the humane
interference; and Providence in its mercy kindly assisted them. From
a communication which the superintendent of police in Glasgow
received from the corresponding officer in Edinburgh, about a week
after Aikin’s condemnation, it appeared that there were more
gentlemen of suspicious character in the world who wore top boots
than poor Aikin. The letter alluded to announced the capture of a
notorious character—regarding whom information had been received
from Bow Street—a “flash cove,” fresh from London, on a foraying
expedition in Scotland. The communication described him as being
remarkably well dressed, and, in especial, alluded to the
circumstance of his wearing top boots; concluding the whole, which
was indeed the principal purpose of the letter, by inquiring if there
was any charge in Glasgow against such a person as he described.
The circumstance, by some fortunate chance, reached the ears of
Aikin’s friends, and in the hope that something might be made of it,
they employed an eminent lawyer in Edinburgh to sift the matter to
the bottom.
In the meantime, the Englishman in the top boots was brought to
trial for another highway robbery, found guilty, and sentenced to
death without hope of mercy. The lawyer whom Aikin’s friends had
employed, thinking this a favourable opportunity for eliciting the
truth from him, seeing that he had now nothing more to fear in this
world, waited upon the unfortunate man, and, amidst a confession of
a long series of crimes, obtained from him that of the murder and
robbery for which poor Aikin had been tried and condemned. The
consequence of this important discovery was, the immediate
liberation of Aikin, who again returned in peace to the bosom of his
family. His friends, however, not contented with what they had done,
represented the whole circumstances of the case to the Secretary of
State for the Home Department; and under the impression that there
lay a claim on the country for reparation for the injury, though
inadvertent, which its laws had done to an innocent man, the
application was replied to in favourable terms in course of post, and
in less than three weeks thereafter, Mr Thomas Aikin was appointed
to a situation in the custom-house in London, worth two hundred
pounds a-year. His steadiness, integrity, and general good conduct,
soon procured him still further advancement, and he finally died,
after enjoying his appointment for many years, in the annual receipt
of more than double the sum which we have just named. And thus
ends the eventful history of Mr Thomas Aikin and his Top Boots.—
Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal.
 MY FIRST AND LAST PLAY.

By D. M. Moir, M.D.

The time of Tammie Bodkin’s apprenticeship being nearly worn

through, it behoved me, as a man attentive to business and the
interests of my family, to cast my een around me in search of a
callant to fill his place, as it is customary in our trade for our young
men, when their time is out, taking a year’s journeymanship in
Edinburgh to perfect them in the mair intricate branches of the
business, and learn the newest manner of the French and London
fashions, by cutting claith for the young advocates, the college
students, and the rest of the principal tip-top bucks.
Having, though I say it myself, the word of being a canny maister,
mair than ane brought their callants to me, on reading the bill of “An
Apprentice Wanted” plaistered on my shop window. Offering to bind
them for the regular time, yet not wishing to take but ane, I thocht
best no to fix in a hurry, and make choice of him that seemed mair
exactly cut out for my purpose. In the course of a few weeks three or
four cast up, among whom was a laddie of Ben Aits, the mealmonger,
and a son of William Burlings, the baker; to say little of Saunders
Broom, the sweep, that wad fain hae putten his blackit-looking bit
creature with the ae ee under my wing; but I aye lookit to
respectability in these matters, so glad was I when I got the offer of
Mungo Glen.—But more of this in half a minute.
I must say I was glad of any feasible excuse to make to the sweep,
to get quit of him and his laddie,—the father being a drucken ne’er-
do-weel, that I wonder didna fa’ lang ere this time of day from some
chumley-head, and get his neck broken; so I tell’t him at lang and
last, when he came papping into the shop, plaguing me every time he
passed, that I had fittit mysel, and that there would be nae need of
his taking the trouble to call again. Upon which he gaed his blackit
neeve a desperate thump on the counter, making the observe, that
out of respect for him I might have given his son the preference.
Though I was a wee puzzled for an answer, I said to him, for want of
a better, that having a timber leg, he couldna weel crook his hough to
the labroad for our trade.
“Hout, tout,” said Saunders, giving his lips a smack—“crook his
hough, ye body you! Do ye think his timber leg canna screw off?
That’ll no pass.”
I was a wee dumbfoundered at this cleverness; so I said, mair on
my guard, “True, true, Saunders; but he’s ower little.”
“Ower little, and be hanged to ye!” cried the disrespectful fellow,
wheeling about on his heel, as he graspit the sneck of the shop door,
and gaed a grin that showed the only clean pairts of his body—to wit,
the whites o’ his een, and his sharp teeth,—“Ower little!—Pu, pu!—
He’s like the blackamoor’s pig, then, Maister Wauch,—he’s like the
blackamoor’s pig—he may be ver’ little, but he be tam ould;” and
with this he showed his back, clapping the door at his tail without
wishing a good day; and I am scarcely sorry when I confess that I
never cuttit claith for either father or son from that day to this ane,
the losing of such a customer being no great matter at best, and
amaist clear gain, compared with saddling mysel wi’ a callant with
only ae ee and ae leg, the tane having fa’en a victim to the dregs of
the measles, and the ither having been harled aff wi’ a farmer’s
threshing-mill. However, I got mysel properly suited.—But ye shall
hear.
Our neighbour, Mrs Grassie, a widow woman, unco intimate wi’
our wife, and very attentive to Benjie when he had the chincough,
had a far-away cousin o’ the name o’ Glen, that haddit out amang the
howes of the Lammermoor hills—a distant part of the country, ye
observe. Auld Glen, a decent-looking body of a creature, had come in
wi’ his sheltie about some private matters of business—such as the
buying of a horse, or something to that effect, where he could best fa’
in wi’t, either at our fair, or the Grassmarket, or sic like; so he had
up-pitting free of expense from Mrs Grassie, on account of his
relationship, Glen being second cousin to Mrs Grassie’s brother’s
wife, wha is deceased. I might, indeed, have mentioned, that our
neighbour hersel had been twice married, and had the misery of
seeing out baith her gudemen; but sic was the will of fate, and she
bore up with perfect resignation.
Having made a bit warm dinner ready—for she was a tidy body,
and kent what was what—she thought she couldna do better than ask
in a reputable neighbour to help her friend to eat it, and take a
cheerer wi’ him; as, maybe, being a stranger here, he wouldna like to
use the freedom of drinking by himsel—a custom which is at the best
an unsocial ane—especially wi’ nane but women-folk near him, so
she did me the honour to make choice of me, though I say’t, wha
should na say’t; and when we got our jug filled for the second time,
and began to grow better acquainted, ye would just wonder to see
how we became merry, and crackit away just like twa pen-guns. I
asked him, ye see, about sheep and cows, and corn and hay, and
ploughing and thrashing, and horses and carts, and fallow land, and
lambing-time, and har’st, and making cheese and butter, and selling
eggs, and curing the sturdie, and the snifters, and the batts, and sic
like; and he, in his turn, made enquiry regarding broad and narrow
claith, Kilmarnock cowls, worsted comforters, Shetland hose,
mittens, leather caps, stuffing and padding, metal and mule-buttons,
thorls, pocket-linings, serge, twist, buckram, shaping, and sewing,
back-splaying, rund-gooseing, measuring, and all the ither
particulars belanging to our trade, which he said, at lang and last,
after we had jokit thegither, was a power better ane than the farming.
“Ye should mak yer son ane, then,” said I, “if ye think sae. Have ye
ony bairns?”
“Ye’ve het the nail on the head. ’Od, man, if ye wasna sae far away,
I would bind our auldest callant to yersel, I’m sae weel pleased wi’
yer gentlemanly manners. But I’m speaking havers.”
“Havers here or havers there; what,” said I, “is to prevent ye
boarding him, at a cheap rate, either wi’ our friend Mrs Grassie, or
wi’ the wife? Either of the twa wad be a sort of mother till him.”
“’Deed, I daursay they would,” answered Maister Glen, stroking his
chin, which was gey rough, and hadna got a clean sin’ Sunday, having
had four days of sheer growth—our meeting, ye’ll observe by this,
being on the Thursday afternoon—“’Deed would they. ’Od, I maun
speak to the mistress about it.”
 On the head of this we had anither jug, three being cannie, after
which we were baith a wee tozy-mozy; so I daursay Mrs Grassie saw
plainly that we were getting into a state where we wad not easily
make a halt; so, without letting on, she brought in the tea things
before us, and showed us a play-bill, to tell us that a company of
strolling play-actors had come in a body in the morning, with a hale
cartful of scenery and grand dresses, and were to make an exhibition
at seven o’clock, at the ransom of a shilling a head, in Laird
Wheatley’s barn.
Mony a time and often had I heard of play-acting, and of players
making themselves kings and queens, and saying a great many
wonderful things; but I had never before an opportunity of making
mysel a witness to the truth of these hearsays. So Maister Glen being
as fu’ o’ nonsense, and as fain to have his curiosity gratified as mysel,
we took upon us the stout resolution to gang out thegither, he
offering to treat me, and I determined to rin the risk of Maister
Wiggie our minister’s rebuke for the transgression, hoping it would
make no lasting impression on his mind, being for the first and only
time. Folks shouldna at a’ times be ower scrupulous.
After paying our money at the door, never, while I live and
breathe, will I forget what we saw and heard that night; it just looks
to me, by all the world, when I think on’t, like a fairy dream. The
place was crowded to the full; Maister Glen and me having nearly got
our ribs dung in before we fand a seat, and them behint were obliged
to mount the back benches to get a sight. Right to the forehand of us
was a large green curtain, some five or six ells wide, a guid deal the
waur of the wear, having seen service through twa three simmers;
and, just in the front of it, were eight or ten penny candles stuck in a
board fastened to the ground, to let us see the players’ feet like, when
they came on the stage,—and even before they came on the stage,—
for the curtain being scrimpit in length, we saw legs and feet moving
behind the scenes very neatly; while twa blind fiddlers they had
brought with them played the bonniest ye ever heard. ’Od, the very
music was worth a sixpence of itsel.
The place, as I said before, was choke-full, just to excess, so that
one could scarcely breathe. Indeed, I never saw ony part sae
crowded, not even at a tent-preaching, when the Rev. Mr Roarer was
giving his discourses on the building of Solomon’s Temple. We were
obligated to have the windows opened for a mouthful of fresh air, the
barn being as close as a baker’s oven, my neighbour and me fanning
our red faces wi’ our hats, to keep us cool; and, though all were half
stewed, we certainly had the worst o’t,—the toddy we had ta’en
having fermented the blood of our bodies into a perfect fever.
Just at the time that the twa blind fiddles were playing “The
Downfall of Paris,” a handbell rang, and up goes the green curtain;
being hauled to the ceiling, as I observed wi’ the tail of my ee, by a
birkie at the side, that had haud of a rope. So, on the music stopping,
and all becoming as still as that you might have heard a pin fall, in
comes a decent old gentleman at his leisure, weel powthered, wi’ an
auld fashioned coat on, waistcoat with flap-pockets, brown breeches
with buckles at the knees, and silk stockings with red gushets on a
blue ground. I never saw a man in sic distress; he stampit about,
dadding the end of his staff on the ground, and imploring all the
powers of heaven and yearth to help him to find out his runawa’
daughter, that had decampit wi’ some ne’er-do-weel loon of a half-
pay captain, that keppit her in his arms frae her bedroom window, up
twa pair o’ stairs. Every father and head of a family maun hae felt for
a man in his situation, thus to be rubbit of his dear bairn, and an only
daughter too, as he tell’t us ower and ower again, as the saut, saut
tears ran gushing down his withered face, and he aye blew his nose
on his clean calendered pocket napkin. But, ye ken, the thing was
absurd to suppose that we should ken onything about the matter,
having never seen either him or his daughter between the een afore,
and no kenning them by headmark; so though we sympathised with
him, as folks ought to do wi’ a fellow-creature in affliction, we
thought it best to haud our tongues, to see what might cast up better
than he expected. So out he gaed stumping at the ither side,
determined, he said, to find them out, though he should follow them
to the world’s end, Johnny Groat’s House, or something to that
effect.
Hardly was his back turned, and amaist before ye could cry Jack
Robinson, in comes the birkie and the very young leddy the auld
gentleman described, arm-in-arm thegither, smoodging and lauching
like daft. Dog on it! it was a shameless piece of business. As true as
death, before all the crowd of folk, he pat his arm round her waist,
and ca’ed her his sweatheart, and love, and dearie, and darling, and