The volume was published posthumously, and in the friendly biography prefixed to it, we find a charming professional portrait—‘always ready to serve every one to the utmost of his power, and even at the risk of his own life—never sacrificing the health of his patients for any humour or caprice’—‘not concerned about fees’—‘went with greater cheerfulness to those from whom he could expect nothing but good-will, than to persons of the highest condition’—often, where needful, left marks of his charity, as well as his art, with the sick. ‘This virtue of charity was indeed quite his own in its manner, for he usually conducted it in such a way that those benefiting by it remained ignorant of his being their benefactor.’ It is also stated of him that he was of ‘a pleasant engaging humour; that life sat easy upon him in all circumstances; that he despised many, but hated none.’
In a country journey, Pitcairn discovered the learning and genius of Thomas Ruddiman, and he succeeded in bringing this remarkable man into a position which enabled him to exercise his talents. Ruddiman afterwards repaid the favour by gathering the many clever Latin poems of his patron, which he gave to the world in 1727. They are chiefly complimentary to the famous men on the cavalier side, or directly expressive of his political feelings; but some are general, and include such happy turns of thought as make us regret their not being in English. One of the most noted of his pieces was a brief elegy on the death of Dundee, which was translated into English by Dryden; and it must be acknowledged as something for a Scottish writer of Latin verses in that age, to have had men like Dryden and Prior for translators.
One cannot but reflect with pleasure on such connections amongst men of genius as that between Pitcairn and Ruddiman; and the association of ideas leads us to another anecdote connected with Pitcairn and to a similar purport. When the learned |1713.| physician acted as professor at Leyden, he had amongst his pupils two men of great eventual eminence, Herman Boerhaave and Richard Mead, both of whom entertained a high sense of the value of his instructions. A son of Pitcairn having forfeited his life by appearing in the rebellion of 1715, Mead, then in great favour in high places, went to Sir Robert Walpole to plead for the young man’s pardon. ‘If I have been able,’ he said, ‘to save your or any other man’s life, I owe the power to this young man’s father.’ The claim was too strong, and put in too antithetic terms, to be resisted.
My old friend Alexander Campbell, editor of Albyn’s Anthology, was intimately acquainted with a maiden daughter of Pitcairn, who lived till the closing decade of the eighteenth century. He spoke of having once asked her to accompany him to the theatre, to see Mrs Siddons, when the old lady said gaily: ‘Aih, na, laddie; I have not been at ony playhouse since I gaed to ane in the Canongate wi’ papa, in the year ten.’
Nov.
‘This month there was an incident at Glasgow which made a very great noise in the country. Mr Gray [one of the clergy] was visiting [his flock], and in some house meets with one Andrew Watson, a journeyman shoemaker, lately come into the town from Greenock.’ On inquiry, he learned that this man did not attend his ministrations, and, asking the reason, he was told it was because he, the minister, had taken the oath of abjuration. He seemed a stiff, pragmatical fellow, and in the course of an altercation which ensued, he called Mr Gray perjured. A lay elder, accompanying Mr Gray, resented this expression of the shoemaker, and reported it to Bailie Bowman, who, sending for Watson, demanded if he called Mr Gray perjured. ‘Yes, and I will so call every one who takes the oath of abjuration.’ ‘Do you own Mr Gray as your minister?’ ‘I will own no one who took that oath.’ ‘Do you own the magistrates?’ ‘No, if they have taken that oath.’ Here was a rebel for the worthy magistrates and ministers of Glasgow to be cherishing in their community. It was not to be borne. Bailie Bowman clapped the man up in jail, till it should be determined what was to be his ultimate fate. After a day or two, the magistrates sent for him, and questioned him as he had been questioned before, when he not only gave the same answers, but subscribed a paper disowning both ministers and magistrates, on the ground of their having taken the aforesaid oath. ‘They kept him in prison ten or twelve |1713.| days, but could make nothing of him. They offered to let him out if he would confess he had given offence to the magistrates; but that he would not do.’ There were some who cried out against this procedure as ‘persecution,’ and they took care that the man did not want for maintenance. The last we hear of the matter is, that the magistrates ‘resolve to banish him the town.’ Wodrow, who relates this occurrence,[[464]] soon after makes the observation, that ‘the Presbyterians are ill termed bigot and narrow-spirited:’ that character ‘does best agree to papists and prelatists.’
Dec.
It was remarked that an unwholesome air prevailed at this time, causing many hasty deaths, and favouring small-pox, of which eighty children died within a little time in Eglesham parish. ‘I hear it observed,’ says Wodrow, ‘that in the summer-time never was known such a quantity of flees [flies.]’
1714. Jan. 10.
Campbell of Lochnell having died about this day, his son, a Jacobite, kept the corpse unburied till the 28th, in order that the burial might be turned to account, or made use of, for political purposes. It was customary for the obsequies of a Highland chief or gentleman to be attended by a vast multitude of people, who usually received some entertainment on the occasion. It seems to have been understood that those who came to Lochnell’s funeral were making a masked demonstration in favour of the exiled Stuart. Those of the opposite inclination deemed it necessary to attend also, in order to be a check upon the Jacobites. Hence it came to pass, that the inhumation of Lochnell was attended by two thousand five hundred men, well armed and appointed, five hundred being of Lochnell’s own lands, commanded by the famous Rob Roy, carrying with them a pair of colours belonging to the Earl of Breadalbane, and accompanied by the screams of thirteen bagpipes. Such a subject for a picture![[465]]