"Well, I hope those untidy servants of ours do not smoke bacon in the carriage," said Mr. F——.
"Oh, dear, no," replied his wife, with a hearty laugh. "No fear of that, my dear."
Shortly after, the carriage stopped at the church door; and Mr. and Mrs. F—— mounted the stairs to their pew, which was in the gallery, and conspicuous to the whole congregation. The lady seated herself, and laid her prayer-book on the velvet cushion before her. Mr. F—— put his hand into his pocket, in search of his own prayer-book, and pulled out a long parallelogram, which was not a prayer-book, but which he laid on the cushion likewise.
"I don't wonder there was a smell of bacon in the carriage, my dear," whispered Mrs. F——; and, to his horror, he perceived lying before him, in the eyes of a thousand persons, a very fine piece of red-and-white streaky bacon, which he had taken up in the kitchen, thinking it was his prayer-book.
On only one subject could Mr. F—— concentrate his thoughts, and that was the law, in the profession of which he obtained considerable success, although occasionally, an awful blunder was committed; but, strange to say, never in the strictly legal part of his doings. He would forget his own name, and write that of some friend of whom he was thinking instead. He would confound plaintiff with defendant, and witnesses with counsel; but he never made a mistake in an abstract legal argument. There, where no collateral, and, as he imagined, immaterial circumstances were concerned—such as, who was the man to be hanged, and who was not—the reasoning was clear, acute, and connected; and for all little infirmities of mind, judges and jurors, who generally knew him well, made due allowance.
Other people had to make allowance also; and especially when, between terms, he would go out to pay a morning visit to a friend, Mrs. F—— never counted, with any certainty, upon his return for a month. He would go into the house where his call was to be made, talk for a few minutes, take up a book, and read till dinner time—dine—and lucky if he did not fancy himself in his own house, and take the head of the table. Toward night he might find out his delusion, and the next morning proceed upon his way, borrowing a clean shirt, and leaving his dirty one behind him. Thus it happened, that at the end of a twelvemonth, his wardrobe comprised a vast collection of shirts, of various sorts and patterns, with his own name on very few of them.
The stories of poor Jimmy F——'s eccentricities in Edinburgh were innumerable. On one occasion, seeing a lady, on his return home, coming away from his own door, he handed her politely into her carriage, expressing his regret that she had not found Mrs F—— at home.
"I am not surprised, my dear," said the lady, who was in reality his own wife, "that you forget me, when you so often forget yourself."
"God bless me," cried Jimmy, with the most innocent air in the world. "I was quite sure I had seen you somewhere before; but could not tell where it was."
Dear old Edinburgh, what a city thou wert when I first visited thee, now more than forty years ago! How full of strange nooks and corners, and, above all, how full of that racy and original character which the world in general is so rapidly losing! Warm hearted hospitality was one of the great characteristics of Auld Reekie in those times, and it must be admitted that social intercourse was sometimes a little too jovial. This did not indeed prevent occasional instances of miserly closeness, and well laughed at were they when they were discovered. There was a lady of good station and ample means in the city, somewhat celebrated for the not unusual combination of a niggard spirit, and a tendency to ostentatious display. Large supper parties were then in vogue; and I was invited to more than one of these entertainments at the house of Lady C—— G——, where I remarked that, though the table was well covered, the guests were not very strenuously pressed to their food. She had two old servants, a butler and a foot-man, trained to all her ways, and apparently participating in her economical feelings. These men, with the familiarity then customary in Scotch servants, did not scruple to give their mistress any little hints at the supper table in furtherance of her saving propensities, and as the old lady was somewhat deaf, these asides were pretty much public property. On one occasion, the butler was seen to bend over his mistress's chair, saying, in a loud whisper, and good broad Scotch, "Press the jeelies, my leddy—press the jeelies. They'll no keep."