“My dear Christie,—In this place of retirement you will easily perceive what a delightful variety the Caledonian Sabbath, observed con amore, must create. The minister of this place owed his promotion to a cause no doubt very common, although seldom so barefacedly exposed to the view of mankind. It seems the last minister left a solitary daughter of eighteen. The patron had great compassion on her light purse, and wrote to her in plain terms, that he referred the appointment of her father’s successor entirely to her own judgment. The lady, having caused this munificent offer of the
68 | LIFE OF J. G. LOCKHART. |
“At another time, having occasion to make his masonic
audience comprehend what is meant by calling Christ the foundation of our
faith—‘A foundation,’ said he, ‘may thus
be defined, “that part
of a superstructure which the canny
artist first endeavoureth to make steadfast.”’ So much for
Presbyterian eloquence. We have the repenting stool here in all its glory. The
poor man almost went out of his wits last Sunday in rebuking a damsel who
appeared for the fifth time, in silk stockings. I suppose Traill is no longer with you. Connell was here lately, for a day or two,
and, according to him, Traill’s motions have been
totally different from his original intentions. Remember me to him and
Knight if they are in your
neighbourhood. I am sensible that you can find (little) amusement in such
letters as these. I hope I shall be able to atone in winter when I get among
the luminaries of Auld Reekie. Jeffray
(sic)—the cool-headed
Jeffray—was lately, I hear, taken and released
by Commodore Rogers on his way to
America—from the North of Scotland—and on what errand? to marry a
niece of John Wilkes, who lives at
Charlestown. The Commodore knew Jeffray’s kindred
soul, and treated him, it seems, with singular kindness. He got a letter from
Rogers to the Mayor of Charlestown, and various
friends of Republicanism with whom our ‘wee reekit deil’ of a
reviewer will, no doubt, participate in many dinners and many toasts from
which—Metu aut Montibus—we are unhappily
debarred.—Yours ever affectionately, THE CUTTY-STOOL 69