[17] From the Edinburgh Magazine, 1817.
[18] His expression was, that “begging was a worse trade by twenty pounds a year than when he knew it first.”
[19] This word is of Danish origin.
[20] Dr. Ferguson lived for some time at Neidpath Castle, from whence he removed to Hallyards, in Manor parish. He was a most devoted and enthusiastic snuff-taker. An amusing anecdote is preserved of the good old man’s simplicity of character and love of snuff. One day, on his son’s arrival from Edinburgh, he begged a pinch from young Adam’s box, which, on receiving, he declared to be exceedingly good, and, of course, he inquired where that delightful mixture was to be procured. “I got it from Traquair,” answered his son, alluding to a tobacconist of that name, who dwelt at the corner of the piazzas leading into the Parliament Square in Edinburgh. This the old gentleman did not comprehend, but thought that his son meant Traquair, a little village about seven miles down Tweed, beyond Peebles: and he actually despatched a man on horseback to that place to procure some of the snuff which had so taken his fancy.
[21] The chapel was built in the fourteenth century, by Sir William St. Clair of Roslin, in consequence of a vow which he made in a curious emergency. One day, hunting with King Robert I., he wagered his head that his hounds, Help and Hold, would kill a certain beautiful white deer before it crossed the March burn. On approaching the boundary, there seemed little chance of his hounds being successful; but he went aside, and vowed a new chapel to St. Catherine if she would intercede in his behalf; and she, graciously accepting of his offer, inspired the hounds with supernatural vigour, so that they caught the deer just as she was approaching the other side of the burn.
[22] This spirited article is copied (by express permission of the Publishers,) from “The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.”
[23] Among other ridiculous occurrences, it is said that some of Charles’s gallantries were discovered by a prying neighbour. A wily old minister was deputed by his brethren to rebuke the King for his heinous scandal. Being introduced into the royal presence, he limited his commission to a serious admonition, that, upon such occasions, his Majesty should always shut the windows. The King is said to have recompensed this unexpected lenity after the Restoration. He probably remembered the joke, though he might have forgotten the service.
[24] See the life of this booted apostle of prelacy, written by Swift, who had collected all his anecdotes of persecution, and appears to have enjoyed them accordingly.
[25] “They raved,” says Peden’s historian, “like fleshly devils, when the mist shrouded from their pursuit the wandering Whigs. One gentleman closed a declaration of vengeance against the conventicles with this strange imprecation, ‘or may the devil make my ribs a gridiron to my soul.’”—MS. Account of the Presbytery of Penpont. Our armies swore terribly in Flanders, but nothing of this.
[26] Peden complained bitterly that, after a heavy struggle with the devil, he had got above him, spur-galled him hard, and obtained a wind to carry him from Ireland to Scotland—when, behold! another person had set sail, and reaped the advantage of his prayer-wind, before he could embark.