Renfrewshire characters and scenery A Poem, in three hundred and sixty five cantos. By Isaac Brown [i.e. William Motherwell] |
 |
|
| 1. |
 | Renfrewshire characters and scenery |  |
Et placidas summis sectari in montibus auras.
Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.
As yon far mountain, so the mind is filled
Not as the object's great, but as 'tis near.
Shadow, a Tragedy.
RENFREWSHIRE SCENERY AND CHARACTERS.
A POEM.
CANTO FIRST.
1
Oh yes, we have full many a varied scene,Of rural grace, here in the West countrie:
Green undulating hills, soft glens between,
Where still the peasant loves his home to be,
Beside the brook that murmurs pleasantly:
Rich vales, where equally the graceful skill
Of Culture's hand, and Nature's gifts we see,
Where fresh'ning rivers, swell'd by many a rill,
Their winding channels, high as their green margins, fill.
2
But none of all these scenes to me ere seems,Than pastoral Inchinnan, half so sweet;
Where, gliding through their vales, two sister streams,
After long devious wanderings, haste to meet,
And stray together in that calm retreat.
That scene holds o'er my heart, a pleasing spell;
Still, as my lingering visits I repeat,
I love it more; and yet I scarce can tell,
What dear associations this heart-pleasure swell.
3
The Church of Inchinnan is truly of “simplest form and hoary
age.” Tradition, which never stickles at a trifle, says it was built
in 1110.
A very gentle eminence rises from the brink of the
Black Cart, and, on this eminence, the Church stands. A few old
trees throw their sad and solemn shadows upon the church, the
green hillocks of the dead and the still waters, imparting to this
secluded spot, a tranquil loveliness to be felt, not described. Many
of the tomb-stones appear to be of remote antiquity; and, on a few,
there may still be seen, sculptured, the cross peculiar to the order of
Military Friars, to whom the Church at one time belonged. And no
doubt under these faded monuments repose the ashes of many a stout
and valiant Red-cross knight, who hath confronted the horrors of
Paynim war, and done his devoir to advance the glory of Christian
chivalry, on the distant shores of Palestine or Egypt. If, to be curious
about the choice of a place of sepulture, were a comfort to one's
spirit, after it hath laid aside the garments of its mortality, methinks,
there are few places that could be more affected than this, as a depository
for decaying bones, it is so lone and pleasant withal. And I
would make bold to opine, that here the most fretful and malicious
ghost, that ever begrudged the living their enjoyments, and had the
the most lively inclinations to mar them, what, between the murmur
of the waters, and the music of the trees, would be so fascinated,
as never to dream of wandering beyond the narrow girth of its
grave, or of revisiting its former haunts, and mingling again in the
affairs of men, to prosecute its wonted avocations, like the restless
apothecary, Christopher Monig,
or those two pestilent knaves, the
Cobler of Breslaw, and the Alderman of Pentsch in Silesia.
The church of simplest form, and hoary age,
The Church of Inchinnan is truly of “simplest form and hoary age.” Tradition, which never stickles at a trifle, says it was built in 1110. A very gentle eminence rises from the brink of the Black Cart, and, on this eminence, the Church stands. A few old trees throw their sad and solemn shadows upon the church, the green hillocks of the dead and the still waters, imparting to this secluded spot, a tranquil loveliness to be felt, not described. Many of the tomb-stones appear to be of remote antiquity; and, on a few, there may still be seen, sculptured, the cross peculiar to the order of Military Friars, to whom the Church at one time belonged. And no doubt under these faded monuments repose the ashes of many a stout and valiant Red-cross knight, who hath confronted the horrors of Paynim war, and done his devoir to advance the glory of Christian chivalry, on the distant shores of Palestine or Egypt. If, to be curious about the choice of a place of sepulture, were a comfort to one's spirit, after it hath laid aside the garments of its mortality, methinks, there are few places that could be more affected than this, as a depository for decaying bones, it is so lone and pleasant withal. And I would make bold to opine, that here the most fretful and malicious ghost, that ever begrudged the living their enjoyments, and had the the most lively inclinations to mar them, what, between the murmur of the waters, and the music of the trees, would be so fascinated, as never to dream of wandering beyond the narrow girth of its grave, or of revisiting its former haunts, and mingling again in the affairs of men, to prosecute its wonted avocations, like the restless apothecary, Christopher Monig, or those two pestilent knaves, the Cobler of Breslaw, and the Alderman of Pentsch in Silesia.
The grassy church-yard, with its moss-grown stones,
And circling trees, that cast a soft umbrage,
And soothe the dead, with sighs and gentle moans;
Warning the living loiterer, that postpones
His ghostly task, with truths most sage; close by,
The neat snug manse, a cheerful sight—green lones,
Where Age right garrulous rests pleasantly,
And Youth, let loose from school, sports like the summer fly.
4
A country manse improves a landscape much;It makes us think of many a blessing rare;
Blessings for mind and mouth—we feel, we touch;
An active leisure, and a pleasing care,
For duties done of love a double share,
Fat hens, fresh eggs, from out the gudewife's store,
Of meal, and malt, what the gudeman can spare,
From bridegroom's superfines, still valued more,
And augmentations, which make heritors feel sore.
5
I say not, were it hard press'd upon me,I would refuse a wealthy bishoprick;
Say were it steepy Durham's golden See,
For, in ambition, I'm not quite a stick,
But mine burn'd to the latest snuff of wick
Would be with any Scottish country manse—
My teeth are wat'ring for the tiends—I'll lick
My lips whene'er I get them:—Ah, no chance
Have I for this, no more than being king of France.
6
Mr. Brown, in his many voyages in the pleasant æstuary of the
Clyde, and the lochs circumjacent, picked up much maritime knowledge,
which circumstance accounts for the multitude of nautical
phrases occurring in this stanza. I believe the term Goose-wings, is
used to describe the peculiar appearance which the fore and main-sail
of a schooner-rigged vessel assume when it is running before the
wind, these sails being then spread to opposite sides: And of a verity,
for I have seen the spectacle myself, the ship doth then look like unto a prodigious goose in full flight.
The pious pastor, watchful o'er his flock,
Mr. Brown, in his many voyages in the pleasant æstuary of the Clyde, and the lochs circumjacent, picked up much maritime knowledge, which circumstance accounts for the multitude of nautical phrases occurring in this stanza. I believe the term Goose-wings, is used to describe the peculiar appearance which the fore and main-sail of a schooner-rigged vessel assume when it is running before the wind, these sails being then spread to opposite sides: And of a verity, for I have seen the spectacle myself, the ship doth then look like unto a prodigious goose in full flight.
Wooing, supporting, guiding them to heaven;
Though infidels and wantons jeer and mock,
I deeply venerate. Whilst we are driven
With goose-wings, down the wind, such men are given,
To hail, arrest us in our course, and aid
To reef, bear up, and strive as those have striven
Who now ride safe in port, 'gainst currents, trade-
Winds—all by devilish passions, men and devils made.
7
As old Polonius says, “where did I leave,”'Twas 'bout Inchinnan, which I love so well;
The monarchs of the A, B, C, 'twould grieve,
Were I my many truant tricks to tell,
When a poor school-slave, yielding to the spell,
With which the rural nymphs had bound me, chief
Those that love by Cart's blending streams to dwell
Description, at the best, is low relief;
Go, then, and use your eyes, the walk's most sweet and brief.
8
Go, without pausing, to the eastern bridge,(For there are two, and stately structures both,)
And place yourself upon the very ridge;
When there, to gaze for hours you'll not be loath:
When asked the petty dues, Oh, be not wroth,
One penny sure is small for a fine view;
And, O believe me, avarice is a moth
That eats our happiness even through and through,
And turns the heart to dust, which time cannot renew.
9
These bridges were uprear'd some years ago,And cost, I think, full twenty thousand pound;
The old one, though not old, was builded so,
That, when it fell, it seem'd an earthy mound,
Or that the stones to powder had been ground;
Too late, alas, that 'twas a sandy pile,
Thin cas'd in ill-built stone, the public found:
'Twas waggish work to build in such a style,
But let us draw some morals from the tale, the while.
10
And first of all, from hence we're clearly taughtThat judgement must not rest on outward guise;
How oft the man that seems with virtues fraught,
When better known, we utterly despise.
By works a wise man each man round him tries,
Oft by some current deep life's path is cross'd,
To some true friend, as bridge, the pilgrim hies
He's half way o'er, just when he needs it most,
The bridge proves cas'd, and in the centre stream he's lost.
11
The other morals which we meant to teach,We must let rest to a more fitting time:
And now the proper point of view we reach,
And 'tis of summer day the cheerful prime;
Look every way, and say if even rhyme
Can tell the gladness which the heart now feels,
Can ring in unison with its full chime:
Ah, there are high and inward rapture-peals,
By nature wak'd, which rhyme, blank verse, nor prose reveals.
12
What of the poor heart would become, were proseThe only outlet, when its tide swells high;
So pent, how desperate would be its throes!
Prose is a reptile that crawls heavily;
But eagle Poesy mounts to the sky.
Our earthly thoughts in drossy prose remain,
But all that have their fiery source on high,
Mount in the flame of poesy, to gain
Their sphere, the whilst their glory all men's eyes constrain.
13
No quaint apologies I deign to make,For these digressions; to digress is law,
For lawyers oft do so—even for the sake
Of glorious liberty, I'd hum and haw,
And, peevishly, at stated rules cry, pshaw.
And, really, when in bondage with these rhymes,
To be the slave of method—that Bashaw—
Would be a punishment no common crimes
Should meet—'twould make still worse these very worst of times.
14
“Clyde is the Thames of Scotland,” &c. We hear that the enterprizing
Glasgow merchants have sagely resolved to construct East
and West India Docks at the Broomielaw! When this takes place,
Greenock and Port-Glasgow's occupation will be gone. But the ancient
Burgh of Renfrew, determined not to be outdone in Utopian
projects, and in honest rivalship of St. Mungo's City, hath resolved,
as we are creditably informed, to deepen the Pudzioch, and run long
moles into the Clyde, and to form such stupendous docks for shipping
of every possible size and tonnage, as will make the Broomielaw, and
all its conceited improvements, when brought into competition, appear
as insignificant as duck puddles and midden dubs.
It is perhaps not generally known that Renfrew, at one time, had
no less than sixty Whalers.
Look o'er the northern ledge—a glorious view,
“Clyde is the Thames of Scotland,” &c. We hear that the enterprizing Glasgow merchants have sagely resolved to construct East and West India Docks at the Broomielaw! When this takes place, Greenock and Port-Glasgow's occupation will be gone. But the ancient Burgh of Renfrew, determined not to be outdone in Utopian projects, and in honest rivalship of St. Mungo's City, hath resolved, as we are creditably informed, to deepen the Pudzioch, and run long moles into the Clyde, and to form such stupendous docks for shipping of every possible size and tonnage, as will make the Broomielaw, and all its conceited improvements, when brought into competition, appear as insignificant as duck puddles and midden dubs.
It is perhaps not generally known that Renfrew, at one time, had no less than sixty Whalers.
Wood, water, islets, lawns, and meadows green,
Round grassy knolls, brown hills, and mountains blue;
Beneath a rushing, wide-spread stream is seen
To bear a double tribute to the queen,
Or king, if that's preferred, of Scottish rivers:
Clyde is the Thames of Scotland now, I ween,
Not from the water hourly it delivers,
But from the trading bustle which its current fevers.
15
There, on that green lawn, rather to the right,New labours of the architect appear,
By old high trees, half hidden from the sight;
A noble pile—the castle of good cheer,
Whose sunny visag'd lord's known far and near,
For generous living, and for generous deeds;
‘Live and let live,’ his motto—it is queer,
So rich and lavish, that he ne'er proceeds
Certain small things, to blot one in the Red Book reads.
16
A little way to the east of Inchinnan bridge, and in a field on the
north side of the road to Renfrew, a large stone is shewn, as marking
the spot where Argyle was apprehended. This stone has evidently
been used for the purposes of the ferry, which at one time was here.
The top of it is hollow, where probably an iron ring has once been
fixed, and the middle part of the stone is worn, as if with the friction
of cables winding about it.
The last continuator of Crawfurd's History
of Renfrewshire, in a note, hath noticed what he conceives to be
a topographical error in calling the place, where Argyle was taken, a
ford of the Inchinnan. But this wise gentleman is himself mistaken,
for, from the point where the two Carts are united, to that of their
efflux into the Clyde, the united stream assumes the common appellation
of the water of Inchinnan; and the ford and the ferry were
always called the ford and ferry of Inchinnan, till Mr. Robertson, who
has the admirable knack of discovering errors, where in fact none
exist, and of unaccountably overlooking gross mistakes when they
really occur, found a new name for them
The accounts of Argyle's seizure all vary in some minute
particulars. That given by Woodrow is perhaps the most correct,
and it is the one followed by Fox. Captain Creichton says,
that “Argyle was found alone, a mile above Greenknock at the waterside,
endeavouring to get into a little boat, and grappling with the
owner thereof, (a poor weaver.) It seems he wanted presence of
mind, to engage the man with a piece of money to set him over on
the other side,”
But as Creichton professes only to give memoirs
of himself, and not a history of the times, it will be as well to adhere
to the account which the Marquis has given of this transaction as related by Woodrow:—
“The way of my taking was, in short, when our friends had run so
far, that to follow and rally them would never do, I was past a possibility
of getting to Argyleshire. I attempted to hide, but I fell
from one difficulty into another, till two militia-men fell upon me,
after I had laid by my sword, to pass for a countryman. I answered
their challenges civilly, but at last they laid hands upon me, one
upon each side, all of us on horseback. I grappled with both, and
one of them, and I went to the ground; but I got up and rid myself
of them both, by presenting my pocket pistols. After that, five
came on me, and fired close at me without touching me, and I was
like to get rid of them, till they knocked me down with their swords.
As soon as they knew what I was, they seemed to be much troubled,
but durst not let me go.
”
The Earl, after his apprehension, was first conveyed to Renfrew,
and afterwards to Glasgow, from which place he was sent to Edinburgh,
under a strong guard, where he was beheaded on Tuesday the
30th June 1685. He met his death with pious fortitude. On the
night previous to his execution he penned certain “soft, pleasant, and
affecting lines,” for his own epitaph, which, who lists, may read in the
author above quoted.
“Look to the left bank of the Cart,” &c. Mr. Brown here assumes
that the Templars had a Commandery in the parish of Inchinnan,
and the site of it he takes to have been on a hill almost due
south from the church. Whether they had any such considerable establishment
in this quarter, I cannot determine. Certain it is, however,
that the church was a vicarage belonging to their order,
and
besides it, they had very considerable possessions in this parish, as well
as in other parts of the country. If they had a commandery, I think
it is more likely to have been situated either where the farm steading
of Inchinnan, or that of Greenhead, (which I believe was also called
Greenend,) now stands. The Templars were introduced into Scotland
in the reign of David I., and soon acquired considerable property,
“there being scarce a parish wherein they had not some lands, farms,
or houses.” According to Spottiswood, their principal residences
were at The Temple in Mid-Lothian, Balantradoch in the same shire,
Tulloch and Aboyne in Aberdeenshire, Mary Culter in Kincardine,
Oggerstone in Stirlingshire, St. German's in East Lothian, and Inchinnan
in Renfrewshire
. When the order was suppressed in 1312,
Inchinnan, along with many other of their possessions and sources of
revenue, was conferred upon their rival order, that of the Hospitallers
or Knights of St. John of Jerusalem. The principal residence of
this order, was at Torphichen
. At the Reformation, by charter from
Queen Mary, dated 24th January 1563. Sir James Sandilands, the
last preceptor of the Hospitallers in Scotland, got the lands, belonging
to his order, erected into a temporal Lordship, with the dignity
of Lord Torphichen and St John. And the Temple lands in Renfrewshire,
afterwards erected into a Regality, called the Regality of Greenend,
were by him disponed to Bryce Sempil of Cathcart
.
The Templars began under Hugo de Paganis and Godfredus, of St. Omers, in the
year 1119. They agreed in profession with the Hospitallers. Baldwin assigned them
apartments nigh the Temple, from which circumstance they derived their name.
Their habit was a white cloak with a red cross
Tandem vero post IX. annos in Concilio, Tecras celebrato instituta est eis regula
and habitus albus a papa Honorio assignatus. Postmodum vero tempore Eugenii
Papæ cruces de panno rubeo suis assuerunt mantellis a parte sinistra, ut esset eis tam
triumphale signum pro clipeo, ne fugerunt pro aliquo infideli tanta talique protectione
communiti, utque sic signati a cæteris religiosis viris valerent discerni
Matthew Paris.
This order was at first exceedingly
poor; and, in memory of their original poverty, their seal bore two knights, riding
on one horse;
Qui primo adeo pauperes, licet strenui fuerunt, quod unum solum dextrarium illi
duo habuerunt; unde propter primitivæ paupertatis memoriam & ad humilitatis observantiam
in sigillo eorum insculpti sunt duo unum equum equitantes
—Mat Paris. See also Gough's Sepulchral Monuments—Fuller's History of the Holy War.
“and hence it was,” says Fuller, “that if the Turks took any
of them prisoners, their constant ransom was sword and belt; it being conceived that
their poor state could stretch to no higher price.”
In every part of Europe these orders acquired immense property, and enjoyed
great privileges. The Hospitallers are said to have had 19,000 Lordships or Manors, and the Templars 9,000.
The unjust and cruel suppression of the last mentioned order, by Philip the Fair,
and Pope Clement the V. gives a melancholy interest to the story of the once powerful
and proud Templars
Anno Mo. iii. c xo ordo Templariorum uno die per papam tam in Anglia quam in
Francia extinctus est. Sprotti, [illeg.]onica. This may give an idea of the suddenness
and secrecy with which the members of the order were arrested; but it was not till
1312, that the Council of Vienna finally abolished the order. And it was in the
following year that James de Molay, the Grand Master, was burned at Paris, along with
many of the knights.
. “The Historie thereof,” observes Fuller, “is but in twilight,
not clearly delivered, but darkened with many doubts and difficulties.” As a
pretext for their abolition, they were charged with impiety, and every species of monstrous
crime. Witnesses were suborned to substantiate the charges, and the Knights
themselves, after being weakened by long imprisonment, were subjected to the torture,
and confessions were wrung from their lips. These confessions were afterwards used as
the grounds for their condemnation. The details of the foul and infamous conspiracy
against the lives and property of this celebrated and unfortunate order, are truly hideous.
“Yon farther hills are traced by the Roman wall and moat.” Alluding
to the wall of Antoninus, which, beginning at Abercorn, crossed
the country, and, terminating at Dunglass, formed the northern boundary
of the Roman province of Valentia.
Still farther to the right, the place is seen,
A little way to the east of Inchinnan bridge, and in a field on the north side of the road to Renfrew, a large stone is shewn, as marking the spot where Argyle was apprehended. This stone has evidently been used for the purposes of the ferry, which at one time was here. The top of it is hollow, where probably an iron ring has once been fixed, and the middle part of the stone is worn, as if with the friction of cables winding about it. The last continuator of Crawfurd's History of Renfrewshire, in a note, hath noticed what he conceives to be a topographical error in calling the place, where Argyle was taken, a ford of the Inchinnan. But this wise gentleman is himself mistaken, for, from the point where the two Carts are united, to that of their efflux into the Clyde, the united stream assumes the common appellation of the water of Inchinnan; and the ford and the ferry were always called the ford and ferry of Inchinnan, till Mr. Robertson, who has the admirable knack of discovering errors, where in fact none exist, and of unaccountably overlooking gross mistakes when they really occur, found a new name for them
The accounts of Argyle's seizure all vary in some minute particulars. That given by Woodrow is perhaps the most correct, and it is the one followed by Fox. Captain Creichton says, that “Argyle was found alone, a mile above Greenknock at the waterside, endeavouring to get into a little boat, and grappling with the owner thereof, (a poor weaver.) It seems he wanted presence of mind, to engage the man with a piece of money to set him over on the other side,” But as Creichton professes only to give memoirs of himself, and not a history of the times, it will be as well to adhere to the account which the Marquis has given of this transaction as related by Woodrow:—
“The way of my taking was, in short, when our friends had run so far, that to follow and rally them would never do, I was past a possibility of getting to Argyleshire. I attempted to hide, but I fell from one difficulty into another, till two militia-men fell upon me, after I had laid by my sword, to pass for a countryman. I answered their challenges civilly, but at last they laid hands upon me, one upon each side, all of us on horseback. I grappled with both, and one of them, and I went to the ground; but I got up and rid myself of them both, by presenting my pocket pistols. After that, five came on me, and fired close at me without touching me, and I was like to get rid of them, till they knocked me down with their swords. As soon as they knew what I was, they seemed to be much troubled, but durst not let me go. ”
The Earl, after his apprehension, was first conveyed to Renfrew, and afterwards to Glasgow, from which place he was sent to Edinburgh, under a strong guard, where he was beheaded on Tuesday the 30th June 1685. He met his death with pious fortitude. On the night previous to his execution he penned certain “soft, pleasant, and affecting lines,” for his own epitaph, which, who lists, may read in the author above quoted.
“Look to the left bank of the Cart,” &c. Mr. Brown here assumes that the Templars had a Commandery in the parish of Inchinnan, and the site of it he takes to have been on a hill almost due south from the church. Whether they had any such considerable establishment in this quarter, I cannot determine. Certain it is, however, that the church was a vicarage belonging to their order, and besides it, they had very considerable possessions in this parish, as well as in other parts of the country. If they had a commandery, I think it is more likely to have been situated either where the farm steading of Inchinnan, or that of Greenhead, (which I believe was also called Greenend,) now stands. The Templars were introduced into Scotland in the reign of David I., and soon acquired considerable property, “there being scarce a parish wherein they had not some lands, farms, or houses.” According to Spottiswood, their principal residences were at The Temple in Mid-Lothian, Balantradoch in the same shire, Tulloch and Aboyne in Aberdeenshire, Mary Culter in Kincardine, Oggerstone in Stirlingshire, St. German's in East Lothian, and Inchinnan in Renfrewshire . When the order was suppressed in 1312, Inchinnan, along with many other of their possessions and sources of revenue, was conferred upon their rival order, that of the Hospitallers or Knights of St. John of Jerusalem. The principal residence of this order, was at Torphichen . At the Reformation, by charter from Queen Mary, dated 24th January 1563. Sir James Sandilands, the last preceptor of the Hospitallers in Scotland, got the lands, belonging to his order, erected into a temporal Lordship, with the dignity of Lord Torphichen and St John. And the Temple lands in Renfrewshire, afterwards erected into a Regality, called the Regality of Greenend, were by him disponed to Bryce Sempil of Cathcart .
The Templars began under Hugo de Paganis and Godfredus, of St. Omers, in the year 1119. They agreed in profession with the Hospitallers. Baldwin assigned them apartments nigh the Temple, from which circumstance they derived their name.
Their habit was a white cloak with a red crossTandem vero post IX. annos in Concilio, Tecras celebrato instituta est eis regula and habitus albus a papa Honorio assignatus. Postmodum vero tempore Eugenii Papæ cruces de panno rubeo suis assuerunt mantellis a parte sinistra, ut esset eis tam triumphale signum pro clipeo, ne fugerunt pro aliquo infideli tanta talique protectione communiti, utque sic signati a cæteris religiosis viris valerent discerni Matthew Paris.
Qui primo adeo pauperes, licet strenui fuerunt, quod unum solum dextrarium illi duo habuerunt; unde propter primitivæ paupertatis memoriam & ad humilitatis observantiam in sigillo eorum insculpti sunt duo unum equum equitantes —Mat Paris. See also Gough's Sepulchral Monuments—Fuller's History of the Holy War.
In every part of Europe these orders acquired immense property, and enjoyed great privileges. The Hospitallers are said to have had 19,000 Lordships or Manors, and the Templars 9,000.
The unjust and cruel suppression of the last mentioned order, by Philip the Fair, and Pope Clement the V. gives a melancholy interest to the story of the once powerful and proud Templars
Anno Mo. iii. c xo ordo Templariorum uno die per papam tam in Anglia quam in Francia extinctus est. Sprotti, [illeg.]onica. This may give an idea of the suddenness and secrecy with which the members of the order were arrested; but it was not till 1312, that the Council of Vienna finally abolished the order. And it was in the following year that James de Molay, the Grand Master, was burned at Paris, along with many of the knights.
“Yon farther hills are traced by the Roman wall and moat.” Alluding to the wall of Antoninus, which, beginning at Abercorn, crossed the country, and, terminating at Dunglass, formed the northern boundary of the Roman province of Valentia.
Where great Argyle, playing the patriot's part,
Was seized. How has no monument yet been
Rear'd there? Look to the left bank of the Cart,
In fancy do you see helm'd warriors, swart,
Tilting beside yon green hill—near that spot,
From battlements, the pride of Gothic art,
The banner of Knights Templars once did float.
Yon farther hills are trac'd by the Roman wall and moat.
17
Look o'er the southern ledge—a goodly sight;The distant Paisley-braes the prospect bound,
The Mistilaw towers further on the right;
A fleecy cloud its sunny peak floats round;
But, nearer, see yon hill with tall spire crown'd,
Studded with many a mansion, school, and church,
Whilst round its base, a thronging town is wound;
A town upon whose merits we would wish to touch,
'Bout which, so great they are, we cannot say too much.
18
“For turning kings and wooden trenchers round;” Even as Kilmarnock,
in the present day, is celebrated for its manufacture of blue
bonnets and striped worsted night-caps, so, in times of yore, so says
tradition, Paisley was famous for the fabrication of wooden trenchers.
It is also rumoured that one of our kings, meditating a visitation to
his loving and loyal lieges, the Bailies of this Burgh, they, on learning
his intention, were, incontinent, put into a wonderful consternation,
lest the whole goods of their common weal, should be devoured
in entertaining his Majesty, and thereupon they most unceremoniously
begged him to defer the purposed honour, till another and a more fitting
season
His Majesty, indignant at this inhospitable request, accordingly
turned on his heel, and shook the dust from his feet This
report may be true or false for ought I know. But, to the glory of
the town be it said, that when it was known that the consort of our
Scottish Solomon, James VI., intended to be in these parts, the Bailies
magnanimously and unanimously concluded, 1st. That a painter
should be sent for to decorate the kirk—and, 2d. That a wright should
be conduced with to big, mend, and repair the ports of the Burgh.
How magnificent in their conceptions, how loyal in their hearts,
our Bailies be! But still more unequivocal testimonies of their
unaffected loyalty were shewn in the address which they presented
to his present Majesty, previous to his arrival into Scotland.
They invited him solemnly to visit the tombs of his ancestors! His
Majesty not finding it convenient at that time to render up the ghost,
declined to accept of this lugubrious invitation to the House of Death.
Paisley, it is y'clep'd; of much renown,
“For turning kings and wooden trenchers round;” Even as Kilmarnock, in the present day, is celebrated for its manufacture of blue bonnets and striped worsted night-caps, so, in times of yore, so says tradition, Paisley was famous for the fabrication of wooden trenchers. It is also rumoured that one of our kings, meditating a visitation to his loving and loyal lieges, the Bailies of this Burgh, they, on learning his intention, were, incontinent, put into a wonderful consternation, lest the whole goods of their common weal, should be devoured in entertaining his Majesty, and thereupon they most unceremoniously begged him to defer the purposed honour, till another and a more fitting season His Majesty, indignant at this inhospitable request, accordingly turned on his heel, and shook the dust from his feet This report may be true or false for ought I know. But, to the glory of the town be it said, that when it was known that the consort of our Scottish Solomon, James VI., intended to be in these parts, the Bailies magnanimously and unanimously concluded, 1st. That a painter should be sent for to decorate the kirk—and, 2d. That a wright should be conduced with to big, mend, and repair the ports of the Burgh.
How magnificent in their conceptions, how loyal in their hearts, our Bailies be! But still more unequivocal testimonies of their unaffected loyalty were shewn in the address which they presented to his present Majesty, previous to his arrival into Scotland. They invited him solemnly to visit the tombs of his ancestors! His Majesty not finding it convenient at that time to render up the ghost, declined to accept of this lugubrious invitation to the House of Death.
Near and far known for many a wondrous deed;
For turning kings, and wooden trenchers round;
For weaving muslin webs of finest reed,
And schemes political that must succeed;
For wealthy tradesmen, and for deep divines;
Wise bailies; prudent matrons, that take heed
To all their neighbours' virtues; chief, it shines
With writers douce, save when Pap-in their wit refines.
19
“Pap-in! thou beveridge of the Gods!—Pap-in!” Isaac speaks
here like Apollo himself. I could bet a groat to a sixpence, this line
was written ere the fumes of his meridian tankard had quite evaporated.
Of the virtues and nature of Pap-in, allow me, courteous reader,
to give thee a taste. 'Tis a wholesome and generous beverage, compounded
of whisky and single beer, the which is usually quaffed in
wooden bickers, caups, or quaighs;—and, by the worthies cognominated
Corks, who habitate in the various streets and crooked windings of
this ever-to-be admired town, it is held in much and deserved esteem.
Of the exact quantity of aqua-vitæ which goeth to the pint of single
beer, I have not been able to learn that there is any positive canon;
that being held a matter indifferent, and regulated solely by the taste, and peculiar habits of the toper. To the unformed and rude palate, the
taste of this nectarious fluid, is somewhat disagreeable; but, by degrees,
it becometh sweet and pleasant, diffusing through the whole
heart, a kindly warmth, tickling the spleen, and wonderfully invigorating
and refreshing the head, breeding therein many pretty fancies
and sage observations, worth their weight in gold. A neophyte ought
to be sparing in his libations, for it is seductive and intoxicating in the
extreme. But the seasoned bag may be filled without fear of bursting.
Pap-in! thou beveridge of the gods—Pap-in!
“Pap-in! thou beveridge of the Gods!—Pap-in!” Isaac speaks here like Apollo himself. I could bet a groat to a sixpence, this line was written ere the fumes of his meridian tankard had quite evaporated. Of the virtues and nature of Pap-in, allow me, courteous reader, to give thee a taste. 'Tis a wholesome and generous beverage, compounded of whisky and single beer, the which is usually quaffed in wooden bickers, caups, or quaighs;—and, by the worthies cognominated Corks, who habitate in the various streets and crooked windings of this ever-to-be admired town, it is held in much and deserved esteem. Of the exact quantity of aqua-vitæ which goeth to the pint of single beer, I have not been able to learn that there is any positive canon; that being held a matter indifferent, and regulated solely by the taste, and peculiar habits of the toper. To the unformed and rude palate, the taste of this nectarious fluid, is somewhat disagreeable; but, by degrees, it becometh sweet and pleasant, diffusing through the whole heart, a kindly warmth, tickling the spleen, and wonderfully invigorating and refreshing the head, breeding therein many pretty fancies and sage observations, worth their weight in gold. A neophyte ought to be sparing in his libations, for it is seductive and intoxicating in the extreme. But the seasoned bag may be filled without fear of bursting.
That giv'st a soul to him who may have none,
In every club thou swellest every skin
Like Arab bottles. Whatsoe'er the sun
Can do for earth, by thee, for us, is done.
Beneath thy sway life is both warm and bright;
Like Docks and Dandy-lions Wit and Fun,
Spread forth their beauties to thy genial light;
Wise saws, like haws and hips, thick clustering to the sight.
20
“This town is noted too for rhyming men.” Yea, it is greatly celebrated
as a nursery for poetical genius. The fame of many of these,
to be sure, hath not travelled beyond the skirts of their own town, but
that is owing to the want of taste in the reading public. It may be
asked, Is there any one whose religious feelings have not been warmed
and cherished by the devotional effusions of worthy Mr. James Maxwell,
the first on record who assumed the enviable title of Poet of
Paisley? or is there one now living, whose heart hath not leaped
with the rarest delight, as he heard the late William Glassford pour
forth his sparkling and exhilarating lyricks! In William died the
office of Civic laureat. Since his lamented departure none hath been
bold enough to assume the title. He whose muse produced the pithy
lines given below, the only lines, 'tis believed, he ever did produce,
but lines which convey so much sterling and substantial truth, in so brief
a compass, as to make ample amends for having written so little, is the
only one, if he still lives, who should lay claim to the dormant dignity.
It is worthy of note, that Greenock, the second town in the shire, has
produced no rhymers of any account; but this may be ascribed to the
perpetual fogs and rains with which that Bœotia of Scotland is afflicted—making
the inhabitants of a dull melancholious humour, very
much alien to any thing like a poetic temperament
. Never did the
united genius of Paisley display itself in more concentrated vigour
and transcendant effulgence, than when Mr. Lawless honoured “The
Friends of Liberty” here with his presence, and helped them to empty
a few bowls of weak toddy. Then it was that the said Mr. Lawless,
Editor of an Irish Newspaper, was destined to receive a gift, which,
so long as it lasts, will prove a monument of Paisley politics, poetry,
and taste. It was a cup formed of alternate staves of Queen Mary's
Yew at Cruickston, and Wallace's Oak at Elderslie, the which was
finely garnished with silver, and on a small tablet of the same metal
there was engraved this precious and delectable poesy:
“I've shaded Queen Mary,
“I've sheltered Brave Wallace,
“And think it no less glorious
“To honour a Lawless.”
At first this cup, with its inscription, was said to be presented to
Mr. Lawless, as a mark of esteem by The People of Paisley; but
it at length struck some of the cooler heads, that 150 individuals
could scarcely, with any degree of modesty, take upon themselves a
designation that was common to a population of 40,000; and Mr.
Lawless had to be content with having it told him, that the cup was
presented by a number of the people of Paisley, who admired his principles.
“In Plunkin which runs off the Causeyside.” The street called
Plunkin, is by the Genteel denominated Orchard-street. What the
etymology of Plunkin is, may be as difficult, for ought I know, to
resolve as the etymology of Paisley itself, and that is sufficiently puzzling.
Both of them might poze Dean Swift, who was fruitful enough in
devising whimsical etymologies. The Causeyside was at one time a
small clachan in the neighbourhood of Paisley, and took its name
from its vicinity to the Roman Causeway which was at this place. It
is now a street of manufacturer's warehouses.
This town is noted too, for rhyming men,
“This town is noted too for rhyming men.” Yea, it is greatly celebrated as a nursery for poetical genius. The fame of many of these, to be sure, hath not travelled beyond the skirts of their own town, but that is owing to the want of taste in the reading public. It may be asked, Is there any one whose religious feelings have not been warmed and cherished by the devotional effusions of worthy Mr. James Maxwell, the first on record who assumed the enviable title of Poet of Paisley? or is there one now living, whose heart hath not leaped with the rarest delight, as he heard the late William Glassford pour forth his sparkling and exhilarating lyricks! In William died the office of Civic laureat. Since his lamented departure none hath been bold enough to assume the title. He whose muse produced the pithy lines given below, the only lines, 'tis believed, he ever did produce, but lines which convey so much sterling and substantial truth, in so brief a compass, as to make ample amends for having written so little, is the only one, if he still lives, who should lay claim to the dormant dignity. It is worthy of note, that Greenock, the second town in the shire, has produced no rhymers of any account; but this may be ascribed to the perpetual fogs and rains with which that Bœotia of Scotland is afflicted—making the inhabitants of a dull melancholious humour, very much alien to any thing like a poetic temperament . Never did the united genius of Paisley display itself in more concentrated vigour and transcendant effulgence, than when Mr. Lawless honoured “The Friends of Liberty” here with his presence, and helped them to empty a few bowls of weak toddy. Then it was that the said Mr. Lawless, Editor of an Irish Newspaper, was destined to receive a gift, which, so long as it lasts, will prove a monument of Paisley politics, poetry, and taste. It was a cup formed of alternate staves of Queen Mary's Yew at Cruickston, and Wallace's Oak at Elderslie, the which was finely garnished with silver, and on a small tablet of the same metal there was engraved this precious and delectable poesy:
“I've sheltered Brave Wallace,
“And think it no less glorious
“To honour a Lawless.”
At first this cup, with its inscription, was said to be presented to Mr. Lawless, as a mark of esteem by The People of Paisley; but it at length struck some of the cooler heads, that 150 individuals could scarcely, with any degree of modesty, take upon themselves a designation that was common to a population of 40,000; and Mr. Lawless had to be content with having it told him, that the cup was presented by a number of the people of Paisley, who admired his principles.
“In Plunkin which runs off the Causeyside.” The street called Plunkin, is by the Genteel denominated Orchard-street. What the etymology of Plunkin is, may be as difficult, for ought I know, to resolve as the etymology of Paisley itself, and that is sufficiently puzzling. Both of them might poze Dean Swift, who was fruitful enough in devising whimsical etymologies. The Causeyside was at one time a small clachan in the neighbourhood of Paisley, and took its name from its vicinity to the Roman Causeway which was at this place. It is now a street of manufacturer's warehouses.
Whose fame, o'er all the country wide, has spread,
It has, of living songsters, nine or ten,
And many more have been, alas, now dead;
When Milton is forgot they will be read.
There I myself, endeavour to reside,
Though almost starv'd; my ample sign is spread
In Plunkin, which runs off the Causeyside,
Where those, that lie in wait for monied merchants, bide.
21
This merchant-catching is a cruel trade;That 'tis a crime the council must decree.
Some say, that our prosperity would fade,
If merchants were not caught thus craftily,
Oh, 'tis a sight worth ten miles walk to see,
Behind their webs, these spiders lurking sly,
And peering forth, lest any prey may be,
And darting on the unsuspecting fly—
Sucking its blood, till as a whistle it is dry.
22
Corks, a fancy term for manufacturers. “To bluid the Cork,” to
procure money at the warehouse.—Vide Causeyside Slang Dictionary,
voce Cork, a work of great learning and utility, at present in the press.
“I'd dangle like the bell,” &c. The arms of the renowned city
of Glasgow are well known, and the legend thereof hath passed into a nursery rhyme:
“This is the tree that never grew,
“This is the bird that never flew,
“This is the bell that never rang,
“And this the fish that never swam.”
An explication of these mystical symbols will be given by way of appendix
to a New and Improved Edition of the small Chronicle entitled
“An account of His Majesty's visit to Scotland, in so far as the
City of Glasgow was concerned.”
Ye muslin regions! climes where Corks have thriven,
Corks, a fancy term for manufacturers. “To bluid the Cork,” to procure money at the warehouse.—Vide Causeyside Slang Dictionary, voce Cork, a work of great learning and utility, at present in the press.
“I'd dangle like the bell,” &c. The arms of the renowned city of Glasgow are well known, and the legend thereof hath passed into a nursery rhyme:
“This is the bird that never flew,
“This is the bell that never rang,
“And this the fish that never swam.”
Where sign-boards, in their glory, flourish still,
Should from your flow'ry paradise be driven,
And pack'd, with baggage, o'er the three-mile hill,
We innocents, of manufacturing skill,
Worse than a fall of prices it would be;
Rather than in that thorny desert till,
Call'd “Glasgow city,” from its growthless tree,
I'd dangle like the bell, which on its branch we see.
23
'Tis luxury beyond compare, all day,About the Causeyside, from door to door,
With hands in breeches' pocket, warm, to stray,
And tell and hear queer stories o'er and o'er,
And into all our neighbour's business bore;
And then, O rare, the penny club at night,
Where, socially, we hum-drum, smoke, and snore,
Dreaming of times—we have the second sight—
When merchant swarms appear, with purses long and bright,
24
Fine muslins, and fine women we have both:The former always takes the market well;
But how the merchants should continue loath
To take the latter too, I cannot tell.
Had I the management, I would not sell
The one, unless the other too was taken.
One damsel fair, with every thousand ell,
Is not too much, or I am much mistaken.
It breaks my heart to see our maidens thus forsaken.
25
The Abbey of Paisley, founded by Walter the Steward of Scotland,
in 1160, grew to be one of the richest and best endowed monasteries
in the Kingdom. In 1485,
its munificent abbot, George Schaw,
surrounded the church and monastery with a lofty wall of hewn stone,
upwards of a mile in circuit. This wall was adorned at frequent intervals
with goodly statues of cunning workmanship.
The great
tower of the Cross church, was built at immense cost by John Hamilton,
another abbot, who was afterwards promoted to the See of St. Andrews.
This tower, on a former occasion, and ere it was well completed,
had, from its weight, and the insufficiency of its foundation, given way.
It is impossible to say precisely at what period, or from what cause, it
again fell. Crawfurd mentions that it went to decay about the time
of the Reformation, and nothing is more likely than that it should suffer
along with other ecclesiastical edifices, from the fury of ignorant fanatics
and iconoclastic mobs, goaded on by interested and disaffected
individuals. The account which tradition gives of its destruction is,
that during the first effervescencies of the Reformation, the fabric of
the Cross church was materially injured, and shortly afterwards its tall
spire, said to have been 300 feet in height, having been struck by
lightning, in a violent thunderstorm, fell, demolishing, with its ruins,
the roof of the choir at the same time. The walls of the choir were,
from time to time, taken to erect other buildings, and this sacrilegious
plunder did not end till they were reduced to their present height of seven feet.
It does not appear that there has ever been a south transept to the
church; the sounding aisle, a small chapel entering from the cloister
court, seems to have answered that purpose.
Paisley was one of the four holy places in Scotland to which pilgrimages
were made. The church was dedicated to St. James the
apostle, and St. Miren the confessor.
The Abbey of Paisley, founded by Walter the Steward of Scotland, in 1160, grew to be one of the richest and best endowed monasteries in the Kingdom. In 1485, its munificent abbot, George Schaw, surrounded the church and monastery with a lofty wall of hewn stone, upwards of a mile in circuit. This wall was adorned at frequent intervals with goodly statues of cunning workmanship. The great tower of the Cross church, was built at immense cost by John Hamilton, another abbot, who was afterwards promoted to the See of St. Andrews. This tower, on a former occasion, and ere it was well completed, had, from its weight, and the insufficiency of its foundation, given way. It is impossible to say precisely at what period, or from what cause, it again fell. Crawfurd mentions that it went to decay about the time of the Reformation, and nothing is more likely than that it should suffer along with other ecclesiastical edifices, from the fury of ignorant fanatics and iconoclastic mobs, goaded on by interested and disaffected individuals. The account which tradition gives of its destruction is, that during the first effervescencies of the Reformation, the fabric of the Cross church was materially injured, and shortly afterwards its tall spire, said to have been 300 feet in height, having been struck by lightning, in a violent thunderstorm, fell, demolishing, with its ruins, the roof of the choir at the same time. The walls of the choir were, from time to time, taken to erect other buildings, and this sacrilegious plunder did not end till they were reduced to their present height of seven feet.
It does not appear that there has ever been a south transept to the church; the sounding aisle, a small chapel entering from the cloister court, seems to have answered that purpose.
Paisley was one of the four holy places in Scotland to which pilgrimages were made. The church was dedicated to St. James the apostle, and St. Miren the confessor.
And there you see a darkly towering fane,
The ‘Abbey Church,’ 'tis call'd, now half thrown down:
I wish I saw it proudly rear'd again.
The blot of vandalism, the name must stain
Of those who strew'd in dust its saintly choir.
The knavish rascals let the nave remain,
But not the transepts, with their lofty spire.
Some say, its labell'd bell is now in Durham shire.
26
According to Winton, Robert III, is interred in the Abbey of Paisley:—
A thousand and foure hundyr yere,
To tha the sext al reknyt clere,
Sanct Ambros fest intil Aprile,
The ferd fallis, bot in that quhile.
That fest fell on Palm Sonday,
The quhilke before Pasche fallis ay.
Robert the thrid, our Lord the King,
Maid at Dundonald his endyng,
His Body wes had than to Paslay,
And wes entyrit in that Abbay,
The quhilk his Eldris devotely,
Fondyt and dowyt rechely.
Thare entyrit his Body lyis,
His spyrite intil Paradys.
Crawfurd mentions that his father, Robert II. is interred here also.
It is probably nothing but a typographical mistake; for Robert II.
was buried at Scoon. Mr. Robertson, who takes upon him to make
trifling corrections on the Historian of Renfrewshire's text, has overlooked this substantial error.
The wives of Robert II. Elizabeth Mure and Euphame Ross, were
however interred here, as also his mother, Margery, daughter of Robert
the Bruce, and Walter the Steward of Scotland.
According to Winton, Robert III, is interred in the Abbey of Paisley:—
To tha the sext al reknyt clere,
Sanct Ambros fest intil Aprile,
The ferd fallis, bot in that quhile.
That fest fell on Palm Sonday,
The quhilke before Pasche fallis ay.
Robert the thrid, our Lord the King,
Maid at Dundonald his endyng,
His Body wes had than to Paslay,
And wes entyrit in that Abbay,
The quhilk his Eldris devotely,
Fondyt and dowyt rechely.
Thare entyrit his Body lyis,
His spyrite intil Paradys.
Crawfurd mentions that his father, Robert II. is interred here also. It is probably nothing but a typographical mistake; for Robert II. was buried at Scoon. Mr. Robertson, who takes upon him to make trifling corrections on the Historian of Renfrewshire's text, has overlooked this substantial error.
The wives of Robert II. Elizabeth Mure and Euphame Ross, were however interred here, as also his mother, Margery, daughter of Robert the Bruce, and Walter the Steward of Scotland.
Is held within its consecrated bound;
Parents of kings too—Walter and Margery—
Have long since there a place of slumber found.
Where such repose, a glory hovers round;
And many more, of various titled name,
Enrich, with noble dust, the sacred ground.
Death beats the leveller at his favourite game;
To him the monarch, noble, peasant, are the same.
27
The sounding aisle you've seen; like other people,Who visit our New Town and Burgh, no doubt,
You've sought that aisle, and climb'd the High Church steeple.
In that dim aisle of echoes, round about,
From wall and groin'd roof, unseen spirits shout,
Answering to him who calls: But when is sung,
By some sweet choral band, a hymn devout,
Ah, then is heard full many a seraph tongue:
For mortal sounds, back raptured strains of heaven are flung.
28
The town is much indebted to the taste of the late Dr. Boog, for
restoring the Abbey to something like what it was. By his exertions
the western front was stripped of the mean buildings which blocked
up part of its fine windows, and beautiful porch: and the sculptured
effigy of Queen Blear-eye, which long lay exposed and neglected, was
under his superintendance, cleaned, and transported from the cloister-court to the sounding aisle.
Thanks to the D. D. who, so piously,
The town is much indebted to the taste of the late Dr. Boog, for restoring the Abbey to something like what it was. By his exertions the western front was stripped of the mean buildings which blocked up part of its fine windows, and beautiful porch: and the sculptured effigy of Queen Blear-eye, which long lay exposed and neglected, was under his superintendance, cleaned, and transported from the cloister-court to the sounding aisle.
Bemoan'd, wip'd off the deep disgrace, which time
And hands profane, had laid on Queen Blear-eye;
Both eyes with moss were blear'd, and dust and slime,
Her noble cheeks and robes, did sore begrime;
But now, in seemly state, both clean and neat,
Upon her stone couch does she safe recline
Within this aisle, as waiting to repeat
Some holy sister's strain, in echoings lingering sweet.
29
Oh, wherefore in this bustling age was castMy woful lot, in which man's wretched life
Is like the quickened mails, that run too fast,
Holding with time a vain and jading strife.
With a most reekless sweep, the pruning knife
Lops every graceful bough from life's fair tree:
'Tis only where the golden fruit is rife,
That the relentless hand may sparing be;
Thus paring life to shapeless, bare utility.
30
The golden age is past—'tis no such thing;At least the age for thirsting after gold;
For golden dreams, and costly offerings
To Mammon, God of wealth, so called of old.
All goes for yellow-metal. I'll uphold
That if you bid for Noses a fair price,
Soon by the gross you'll find these to be sold,
And, if in quality you're not so nice,
Behold, you've made the age quite noseless in a trice.
31
Bottles are labell'd, telling what's within,So are the dead, and why not living men?
With name and place, the label might begin,
Next—age, and rank, and birth, both where and when.
The temperament, the principles, and then
The lowest sum that can be taken for these,
The label, in nine cases out of ten,
Would be the porter's charge, “just what you please,”
To hold our principles does nothing else but teaze.
32
These calculating times are not for me:I should have lived three hundred years ago,
And spent my easy days in errantry,
As monk, or knight, to care a mortal foe.
I'd like to fight, indeed, but so and so;
With fiery dragons, and with giants grim
When others fought, I might have cried—bravo!
With age, these monster's eyes would have been dim,
Ere to molest their peace, my heart had been in trim.
33
More in my element I would have been,Wandering, at pleasure, all the country round,
A peaceful brother, Monk, or Capuchin,
Whilst, in each house, a kindly host I found;
Or loitering in the shady cloister's bound;
Or sunning myself on bank, where wild-thyme grows;
In that calm sphere, each stilly sight and sound
Would have called forth my genius for repose;
Kind cherishing each high propensity—to doze.
34
To nod, to doze, to slumber, to sleep sound,These form, of human happiness, the scale;
For waking bliss has never yet been found;
At least, if found, it very soon turns stale:
The grains of paradise, they mix with ale,
In drowsy bliss, the willing senses steep,
Whilst care makes still our slumberings to fail.
To eat, to walk is but to sow—to reap
Life's richest harvest—is, in corner warm, to sleep.
35
I hope the good old times will yet come back,The jovial times of nuns, and monks, and masses.
I think, I'm gifted with the sacred knack
Of playing Abbot—riding upon asses,
In which this town each other town surpasses.
The Abbot of Paisley, then, I ought to be:
With many a holy tax I'd bless all classes:
The Paisley bank-notes would belong to me,
For pictur'd on each one the Abbot's self you see.
36
Quickly, the New Town shall demolish'd be,And with the stones rebuilt the garden wall;
Within, I'll plant each goodly flower and tree,
From the low snow-drop to the poplar tall;
Mazes I'll form, and arbours, fountains, all
That minister to ease, and soft delight;
The mill and mulcturer ground to powder small,
I'll rear a neat refectory on the site,
Where lunch and waterfalls will soothe my care-worn sprite.
37
Oh, Smith, thou son legitimate of song,First cousin of the vocal sisters nine,
Thou far too modest, worthy man, I long
To see thee, whilst we kneel at Mary's shrine,
Leading my choir-men, chaunting airs divine,
Delating, warming, ravishing each heart,
With those rich, mellow, gushing tones of thine:
Fortune will play thee, then, a truer part—
St. Peter's men, to bob for purses, know the art.
38
From imperfect information, or from irritation of feeling, Mr.
Brown does much injustice to a very worthy and ingenious man, to
defend whom I am obliged to be rather more minute on the affair of
the bell, than its importance may warrant. The late High Church
bell was a great favourite with the Causeyside Corks, being hung in
the steeple for their particular accommodation; for at the time of its
suspension, the principal merchants of the town, living in the beloved
and bustling quarter above-mentioned, it, instead of being swung east
and west, as bells generally are, was swung north and south, for the
purpose of its pleasant tones reaching their ears in a clearer and fuller
stream, while they lazily sunned themselves and daikered to and fro
before their respective warehouses. When the bell therefore met with
its misfortune, namely, a villainous rent occasioned by its perpetual
clapper-clawing, morning and evening, all those who dwelled in Causeyside,
the Plunkin, and parts adjacent, to a man, sympathized in its
fate. An application was therefore made to our worthy friend, (who
being cunning in all manner of stringed instruments, and other instruments
of music, was deemed the fittest to undertake the delicate
job of patching up the bell's reputation,) that he should examine the
same, and do thereunto what to him might seem meet. Accordingly,
with all due deliberation, various experiments were made upon bells
of smaller calibre, such as table bells and weavers' bells, and the result
of these experiments was, that a cracked bell might be improved
in tone, by sawing, off or otherwise reducing the asperities on the edge
of the crack. This result being obtained, the experiment was tried on
a more magnificent scale, namely, on the bell itself, and Candour
must allow that its tones were considerably improved, although there
was no getting away with its dull clanking broken-pot sound. When
I think of this bell's misfortunes, and compare them with those of the
Port-Glasgow bell, I cannot but rejoice in the superior sagacity and
prudence of my townsmen. It is a matter of authentic history, that
the Port-Glasgow bell was most beautifully painted and gilded, no
doubt to gratify the taste of the rooks, or whatever other birds might chuse
to frequent the steeple. But this unadvised step most woefully impaired
its tones. When this was discovered, with a rashness more
calamitous than even the painting, the alarmed citizens instantly took
down the bell, and boiled it to rags in a cauldron of oil. Unhappy
experiment! fatal precipitation! they might have tarred and feathered
it as well—for no sooner was it again hung up, after its boiling, than
they found that the paint and the oil had insinuated themselves more
subtilely into the pores of the metal, and utterly destroyed its sonorousness.
Port-Glasgow, like Pisa and Bononia is celebrated for
its crooked steeple. A freezing horror shoots through the heart of
the passer-by as he looks up and beholds the impending spire nodding
destruction to all beneath it.
To return to our own bell. When it was found unfit for duty it
was cashiered, and a new one was subscribed for by a number of patriotic
individuals, whose names, it is said, are recorded to after ages in the
books of the Burgh. This bell was hung in the steeple, with all due
solemnity, in August 1823, where Heaven grant it may long
abide. 'Tis a right lusty, long, loud, and heavy-tongued bell; and,
from the manful mode in which it performs its duty at Matins and
Vespers, men call it Roaring Tom, Big Tom, Jolly Tom, and a hundred
other fair and honourable epithets.
From imperfect information, or from irritation of feeling, Mr. Brown does much injustice to a very worthy and ingenious man, to defend whom I am obliged to be rather more minute on the affair of the bell, than its importance may warrant. The late High Church bell was a great favourite with the Causeyside Corks, being hung in the steeple for their particular accommodation; for at the time of its suspension, the principal merchants of the town, living in the beloved and bustling quarter above-mentioned, it, instead of being swung east and west, as bells generally are, was swung north and south, for the purpose of its pleasant tones reaching their ears in a clearer and fuller stream, while they lazily sunned themselves and daikered to and fro before their respective warehouses. When the bell therefore met with its misfortune, namely, a villainous rent occasioned by its perpetual clapper-clawing, morning and evening, all those who dwelled in Causeyside, the Plunkin, and parts adjacent, to a man, sympathized in its fate. An application was therefore made to our worthy friend, (who being cunning in all manner of stringed instruments, and other instruments of music, was deemed the fittest to undertake the delicate job of patching up the bell's reputation,) that he should examine the same, and do thereunto what to him might seem meet. Accordingly, with all due deliberation, various experiments were made upon bells of smaller calibre, such as table bells and weavers' bells, and the result of these experiments was, that a cracked bell might be improved in tone, by sawing, off or otherwise reducing the asperities on the edge of the crack. This result being obtained, the experiment was tried on a more magnificent scale, namely, on the bell itself, and Candour must allow that its tones were considerably improved, although there was no getting away with its dull clanking broken-pot sound. When I think of this bell's misfortunes, and compare them with those of the Port-Glasgow bell, I cannot but rejoice in the superior sagacity and prudence of my townsmen. It is a matter of authentic history, that the Port-Glasgow bell was most beautifully painted and gilded, no doubt to gratify the taste of the rooks, or whatever other birds might chuse to frequent the steeple. But this unadvised step most woefully impaired its tones. When this was discovered, with a rashness more calamitous than even the painting, the alarmed citizens instantly took down the bell, and boiled it to rags in a cauldron of oil. Unhappy experiment! fatal precipitation! they might have tarred and feathered it as well—for no sooner was it again hung up, after its boiling, than they found that the paint and the oil had insinuated themselves more subtilely into the pores of the metal, and utterly destroyed its sonorousness. Port-Glasgow, like Pisa and Bononia is celebrated for its crooked steeple. A freezing horror shoots through the heart of the passer-by as he looks up and beholds the impending spire nodding destruction to all beneath it.
To return to our own bell. When it was found unfit for duty it was cashiered, and a new one was subscribed for by a number of patriotic individuals, whose names, it is said, are recorded to after ages in the books of the Burgh. This bell was hung in the steeple, with all due solemnity, in August 1823, where Heaven grant it may long abide. 'Tis a right lusty, long, loud, and heavy-tongued bell; and, from the manful mode in which it performs its duty at Matins and Vespers, men call it Roaring Tom, Big Tom, Jolly Tom, and a hundred other fair and honourable epithets.
(Association joins these by her spell,)
Andrew! thou man of genius, queer and knacky,
What hast thou done with our good High Church bell?
What malice 'gainst it in thy breast could dwell?
Thou tun'd it with a vengeance—took it down,
Then hung it up, to ring its funeral knell;
Thou didst not cease till all its tones had flown;
Till what was once its pride, disgraces now the town.
39
It's ghost will haunt thee, thou hard-hearted one;It's broken tones will grate still in thine ear:
With such a thing how thought ye to make fun;
I'm sure, in conscience' pangs, 'twill cost thee dear.
Such bell we'll never get, again, I fear,
It's solemn, lengthy, deep, sonorous tones,
Which did each Paisley-man's heart good to hear,
Fill'd, with their tide, the houses, streets, and lones,
And fuller swell'd, till even they thrill'd the very stones.
40
They floated wide, o'er hill and plain around,In the still morning, and the stiller eve;
Rousing the hind to toil, from sleep profound,
And calling him again these toils to leave.
The far-off peasant, now, will sadly grieve,
Missing those sacred Sounds on sabbath morn:
Whilst, scarce the bosom of the air they heave,
The wild bee drowns them with his tiny horn,
But still, again, they're caught, through the hush'd distance borne.
41
Andrew! thou man of double-attic bliss,Thy thin frame perch'd in Paton's attics high,
Thy spirits in those of Happiness, I wis:
Beneath, the clouds of Care may meet thine eye,
But ne'er can reach thee, in the middle sky.
Smiling enthusiast! every new moon brings
Thee some new fancy, whilst confusedly lie
Discarded whims, snuff boxes, coins, base-strings,
Bells, music, varnish'd sticks, and all such oddish things.
42
Andrew Lindsay is truly an interesting character. He is a man
of genius, and, what is better, he is a man of sterling worth: he has
been all his life-time temperate, contented, and cheerful. He lost his
sight, we believe, in infancy, by the small-pox. For his station in
life, he received a good education, but was obliged to betake himself
to that common refuge of blind men—the profession of a musician.
He for long played the first fiddle at all the assemblies, balls, &c. in and round Paisley.
If we cannot call Andrew a learned, yet he is certainly an accomplished
man, for he has made considerable proficiency in the French,
Latin, Greek, and Hebrew Languages, and has, occasionally, we believe,
taught all of them. In the pursuit of his favourite objects, he
betrayed all the enthusiasm and ingenuity of resource, as to means,
which are peculiar to men of genius, and which enable them successfully
to persevere in tasks which ordinary men would at once shrink
from, or very soon renounce, in despair. Except the Latin, (for Andrew
attended the grammar-school of this town,) he mastered the
other languages with which he is acquainted, almost solely by his own
unaided exertions. In accomplishing this he had, of course, many
formidable obstacles to surmount. The want of a person to give him
the sounds of the various words and letters, was not the least of these.
This difficulty he removed in a curious way. He managed to teach
his mother, an uneducated woman, and, at the time, pretty far advanced
in life, to pronounce all the languages, with which he sought an
acquaintance, not excepting the Greek and Hebrew.
Andrew is now above 70 years of age; and is consequently quite
unfitted to strike up either reel or country-dance. On this account,
for his profession never yielded him more than a bare livelihood, he
is now in a very destitute state. He has by no means, however, been
quite forgotten by his townsmen, for, some time ago, a considerable
number of humane gentlemen contributed a sum for his relief; and
we hope—we are sure—that more will be done in this way. To
suffer such a man as Andrew Lindsay, however humble he may be
in life, to end his days amongst us in misery, would entail a lasting
disgrace on the town, we may say, on the county.
We had almost forgot to mention that Andrew used to be a
keen florist, and has walked many miles to see, as he expressed it, a fine flower.
Andrew's somnolent feats too, should not be forgotten. Mr. Coleridge
has certainly the advantage of Andrew during their waking
hours, but, when both are sound asleep, Andrew is the greater man
of the two. Mr. Coleridge can only make rhymes in the land of
Nod, but Andrew, when there, can play such merry springs to
them in the land of the waking, as to render it impossible for any
one to sleep but himself. As one instance of this out of many;
a gentleman informed us that at a private dance which he attended,
a number of years ago, and when Andrew was the sole minstrel,
on one of the reels being lengthened out considerably beyond
the ordinary time, the usual signals for stopping the music were
given once and again, but to no purpose; seeing that the musician
would take no common hint, the dancers tried the more broad
one of ceasing to dance: to the astonishment of the whole party,
however, the music still went on, correctly and spiritedly too,
when, upon going up to Andrew, to ascertain the cause of this extraordinary
conduct, he was found fast asleep, in which state he
must have been playing for, at least, 5 or 7 minutes, perhaps much
longer. This is a wonderful instance of the power of habit.
Andrew Lindsay is truly an interesting character. He is a man of genius, and, what is better, he is a man of sterling worth: he has been all his life-time temperate, contented, and cheerful. He lost his sight, we believe, in infancy, by the small-pox. For his station in life, he received a good education, but was obliged to betake himself to that common refuge of blind men—the profession of a musician. He for long played the first fiddle at all the assemblies, balls, &c. in and round Paisley.
If we cannot call Andrew a learned, yet he is certainly an accomplished man, for he has made considerable proficiency in the French, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew Languages, and has, occasionally, we believe, taught all of them. In the pursuit of his favourite objects, he betrayed all the enthusiasm and ingenuity of resource, as to means, which are peculiar to men of genius, and which enable them successfully to persevere in tasks which ordinary men would at once shrink from, or very soon renounce, in despair. Except the Latin, (for Andrew attended the grammar-school of this town,) he mastered the other languages with which he is acquainted, almost solely by his own unaided exertions. In accomplishing this he had, of course, many formidable obstacles to surmount. The want of a person to give him the sounds of the various words and letters, was not the least of these. This difficulty he removed in a curious way. He managed to teach his mother, an uneducated woman, and, at the time, pretty far advanced in life, to pronounce all the languages, with which he sought an acquaintance, not excepting the Greek and Hebrew.
Andrew is now above 70 years of age; and is consequently quite unfitted to strike up either reel or country-dance. On this account, for his profession never yielded him more than a bare livelihood, he is now in a very destitute state. He has by no means, however, been quite forgotten by his townsmen, for, some time ago, a considerable number of humane gentlemen contributed a sum for his relief; and we hope—we are sure—that more will be done in this way. To suffer such a man as Andrew Lindsay, however humble he may be in life, to end his days amongst us in misery, would entail a lasting disgrace on the town, we may say, on the county.
We had almost forgot to mention that Andrew used to be a keen florist, and has walked many miles to see, as he expressed it, a fine flower.
Andrew's somnolent feats too, should not be forgotten. Mr. Coleridge has certainly the advantage of Andrew during their waking hours, but, when both are sound asleep, Andrew is the greater man of the two. Mr. Coleridge can only make rhymes in the land of Nod, but Andrew, when there, can play such merry springs to them in the land of the waking, as to render it impossible for any one to sleep but himself. As one instance of this out of many; a gentleman informed us that at a private dance which he attended, a number of years ago, and when Andrew was the sole minstrel, on one of the reels being lengthened out considerably beyond the ordinary time, the usual signals for stopping the music were given once and again, but to no purpose; seeing that the musician would take no common hint, the dancers tried the more broad one of ceasing to dance: to the astonishment of the whole party, however, the music still went on, correctly and spiritedly too, when, upon going up to Andrew, to ascertain the cause of this extraordinary conduct, he was found fast asleep, in which state he must have been playing for, at least, 5 or 7 minutes, perhaps much longer. This is a wonderful instance of the power of habit.
Shall I not, Andrew Lindsay, sing of thee,
And of thy good bow-hand? so bold and true;
Neil Gow's might be more fine, but not more free.
Each heel was winged—each eye and heart were glee,
Even with the tuning flourish of thy bow,
The reel struck up, and each had made congee,
What crossing, skipping, swinging to and fro—
High cutting, shuffling, whirling—such we'll see no moe.
43
Good humour'd, virtuous man! Nature on thee,Above mere fiddling, has bestow'd a mind:
Thou art a scholar of no mean degree;
A linguist, though from infancy stone blind.
I see the son-taught mother, meekly kind,
Reading to thee on Greek or Hebrew page:
And Oh, it grieves me, Andrew, now to find
Thee press'd at once, by poverty and age.
Shall Paisley town neglect her minstrel and her sage?
Mr. MacDirdum's patriotism makes him swerve a small jot from the truth. His whalers turn out to be salmon cobles. Speaking of Renfrew, Bishop Lesly says: “Municipes rei piscatoriæ ita operam dant, ut in eo sœpe videre licet sexaginta piscatorias naves toto vere æstateque piscatione occupatus”—The Burgh now can only muster half a dozen salmon boats, with one or two sand punts. Printer's Devil.
The curious Reader will find further mention made of this Stone in the “Historiola Beati Mireni” subjoined to these Notes.
“On these lands (Kirkland) near to the Bridge of Inchinnan, there is a grey store still fondly visited by those who admire the ill-fated Argyle, who perished on the scaffold in the reign of James II. He was taken at this spot endeavouring to escape by a ford where the bridge is now built, Laing and Fox, and Wood, (Quæritur, Woodrow?) call this a ford of the Inchinnan. This is a topographical mistake—there is no water of that name—it was the Cart.” This is a rare discovery.
Vide Special Service of Bryce Sempil of Cathcart to his Great-Grandfather, 2d December 1725.—Crawfurd's History of Renfrewshire.
Mr. Crawfurd is very confused and careless in the account he gives of the Templars. He uniformly confounds them with the Hospitallers, or Knights of St. John. That stupendous folly which poured European armies upon the shores of Syria, gave rise to many orders of religious knighthood, the two most distinguished of which were the knights of St. John the Baptist, of Jerusalem, and the Knights Templars or Red Friars. The Knights of St John, were instituted about the year 1099 by Gerard of Tholouse, their first Grand Master. They occupied a Hospital dedicated to St. John the Baptist, which had been first reared, for the accommodation of Pilgrims, by the piety of some Neapolitan merchants. They wore a black habit, with a white cross of eight points, in token of the eight beatitudes. They took the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. Their office in common with that of the Templars, was to defend the holy sepulchre, to succour pilgrims, and destroy infidels. After Jerusalem was won by the victorious arms of Saladine, and the Christian powers at length compelled to evacuate the whole of Palestine, the Hospitallers successively occupied the Islands of Rhodes and Malta, and hence have been styled Knights of Rhodes, and, latterly, Knights of Malta. They were approved soldiers, and did good service for Christendom.
In real meat
Knox.
These two lines, pregnant with the most important truths, occur in the advertisement of a Concert some years ago, for behoof of the author, John Knox, twister in Paisley.
A rash assertion. Look into its Newspaper, Mr. MacDirdum, and be convinced of the contrary. Moreover, some of its natives have written such excellent morsels of poetry that they be too good for this generation, but are printed and laid past in secure repositories to delight and astonish posterity. —Printer's Devil.
At the north-west corner of the wall which is the angle formed by the present Lawn-street and Incle-street there was placed and still is to be seen, the following Inscription:—
About my Abbay gart make this wawe;
A thousande four hvndereth zheyr,
Auchty and fywe the date but vier:
[OMITTED] that made thus nobil fundaciovn.
The line “Pray for his salvation,” was obliterated, according to Semple, between the years 1710 and 1735. We have, for the first time, given an exact and literal copy of this inscription, so far as the want of a character representing the Saxon th, would permit us to do. The inscription is still perfectly legible, but it is erroneously copied by Crawfurd, Pennant, Semple, and Robertson.
Spottiswood mentions another inscription, “In one of the corners of this curious wall, towards the outer side, there was a niche with a Statue of the Virgin Mary, with this distich engraven under her feet:—
Sit semper sine væ, qui tibi dicit Ave.”
The part of the church too, which is yet standing, the authors above-named have uniformly called the Chancel, although any person at all acquainted with Ecclesiastical architecture knows it to be the Nave. This error has been silently corrected by the learned and reverend author of the article ‘Paisley,’ in Dr. Brewster's Encyclopædia. In a note subjoined to that article the author laments that no account is given by any of our legendarian historians, of St. Miren, but we have corrected him in this particular, as he will find by consulting the sketch of the Saint's life, appended to these notes.
Quod (monasterium) magnificentissimo muro, quadro penitus lapide, pulcherrimis ac crebro eminentibus statuis ultra mille passus undique cingebatur. —Leslœus.
Porro Pasleti immensis sumtibus Ecclesiæ turrim, nulli apud nos secundam extruxit Joannes ultimus archiepiscopus S. Andreæ, quæ antea parum firmo nixa fundamento, vix dum absoluta mole sua conciderat. —Ibid.
At Bathgate a gret seknes tas.
His iwill ay woux mar and mar,
Quhill men persawit be his far,
That him worthit nede pay the det,
That na man to pay may let;
Schrywyn and als repentit weill,
Quhen all wes doyn him ilk deill
That Crystynman nedyt till have,
As gude Crystyn the gast he gave.
Than men mycht her men gret and cry:
And mony a knicht, and mony a lady,
Mak in apert rycht iwill cher,
Sai did thai all that euir thai war:
All men him menyt commonaly,
For of his eild he was worthy.
Quhen thai lang quhile their dule had maid,
The corss to Paisley haiff they haid
And thair with gret solempnyte,
And with gret dule erdyt was he.
God for his mycht his saule bring
Quhar joy ay lestis but ending!
Bruce, Buke XIII. apud Jamieson.
| Renfrewshire characters and scenery | |