to his father’s trade, and in due time became associated with him in his thriving business. In those days no self-denying ordinance obtained in the Town Council, and Francis Brodie’s municipal connection secured for him and his son the most of the city work. The young man had the ball at his foot, as the saying goes, and only good behaviour and application to business were required for the attainment of an assured position. Unhappily for himself, however, he soon exhibited that taste for dissipation which ultimately led to such dire results; and while his days were occupied in following his respectable employment, in which he speedily obtained proficiency, his nights were largely devoted to gambling and kindred pursuits.
The social customs of the time were not conducive to steadiness and sobriety among the youthful citizens. It was the Edinburgh of Humphrey Clinker and of Topham’s Letters; the “Auld Reikie” of Fergusson’s convivial muse—
Auld Reikie! wale o’ ilka town
That Scotland kens beneath the moon;
Whare couthy chiels at e’ening meet
Their bizzing craigs and mou’s to weet:
And blythly gar auld Care gae bye
Wi’ blinkit and wi’ bleering eye.
The early hours of the evening were at that period universally spent by Edinburgh tradesmen in one or other of the innumerable taverns of the old town. So soon as the business of the day was over, as Fergusson tells us—
When auld Saunt Giles, at aught o’clock,
Gars merchant louns their shopies lock,
There we adjourn wi’ hearty fock
To birle our bodies,
And get wharewi’ to crack our joke,
And clear our noddles.
“All the shops in the town,” says Chambers, “were then shut at eight o’clock, and from that hour until ten—when the drum of the Town Guard announced at once a sort of licence for the deluging of the streets with nuisances, and a warning of the inhabitants home to their beds—unrestrained scope was given to the delights of the table.” At the latter hour the more reputable roysterers sought their homes; but it was then that the clubs, which formed so prominent a feature of the old city life, began the business of the evening. Fergusson, who has given us in his incomparable “Auld Reikie” a glowing picture of the Edinburgh of his day, thus alludes to the subject—
Now Night, that’s cunzied chief for fun,
Is wi’ her usual rites begun;
Thro’ ilka gate the torches blaze,
And globes send out their blinking rays.
Now some to porter, some to punch,
Some to their wife, and some their wench,
Retire, while noisy ten-hours drum
Gars a’ your trades gae dandring home.
Now mony a club, jocose and free,
Gi’e a’ to merriment and glee;
Wi’ sang and glass, they fley the pow’r
O’ care that wad harass the hour.
But chief, O Cape! we crave thy aid,
To get our cares and poortith laid:
Sincerity, and genius true,
Of Knights have ever been the due:
Mirth, music, porter deepest dy’d,
Are never here to worth deny’d;
And health, o’ happiness the queen,
Blinks bonny, wi’ her smile serene.
Of this, the most famous of the Edinburgh social clubs, Brodie was admitted a member on 25th February, 1775. The Cape Club usually held its festivals in James Mann’s tavern, facetiously known as “The Isle of Man Arms,” situated in Craig’s Close. The roll of the Knights Companions of the Cape contains many celebrated names, including those of David Herd, the antiquarian; Robert Fergusson, the poet; Alexander Runciman, the painter; and Sir Henry Raeburn—William Brodie’s election occurring four months after Fergusson’s death. Each member was required to assume some fanciful title, Brodie taking that of “Sir Lluyd.” On the margin of the roll prefixed to the minute-book an ingenious member has drawn a representation of his last public appearance on the new drop, some thirteen years later. The insignia of the Sovereign of the Cape are in the possession of the Society of Antiquaries, together with the club records, excerpts from which relating to Deacon Brodie will be found in the Appendix.