On the fourteenth day after the departure of the family from the manse,
the Rev. Mr. Charles Snodgrass, who was appointed to officiate during the
absence of the Doctor, received the following letter from his old chum,
Mr. Andrew Pringle. It would appear that the young advocate is not so
solid in the head as some of his elder brethren at the Bar; and therefore
many of his flights and observations must be taken with an allowance on
the score of his youth.
LETTER IV
_Andrew Pringle_, _Esq._, _Advocate_, _to the Rev. Charles Snodgrass_
LONDON.
MY DEAR FRIEND--We have at last reached London, after a stormy passage of
seven days. The accommodation in the smacks looks extremely inviting in
port, and in fine weather, I doubt not, is comfortable, even at sea; but
in February, and in such visitations of the powers of the air as we have
endured, a balloon must be a far better vehicle than all the vessels that
have been constructed for passengers since the time of Noah. In the
first place, the waves of the atmosphere cannot be so dangerous as those
of the ocean, being but "thin air"; and I am sure they are not so
disagreeable; then the speed of the balloon is so much greater,--and it
would puzzle Professor Leslie to demonstrate that its motions are more
unsteady; besides, who ever heard of sea-sickness in a balloon? the
consideration of which alone would, to any reasonable person actually
suffering under the pains of that calamity, be deemed more than an
equivalent for all the little fractional difference of danger between the
two modes of travelling. I shall henceforth regard it as a fine
characteristic trait of our national prudence, that, in their journies to
France and Flanders, the Scottish witches always went by air on
broom-sticks and benweeds, instead of venturing by water in sieves, like
those of England. But the English are under the influence of a maritime
genius.
When we had got as far up the Thames as Gravesend, the wind and tide came
against us, so that the vessel was obliged to anchor, and I availed
myself of the circumstance, to induce the family to disembark and go to
London by LAND; and I esteem it a fortunate circumstance that we did so,
the day, for the season, being uncommonly fine. After we had taken some
refreshment, I procured places in a stage-coach for my mother and sister,
and, with the Doctor, mounted myself on the outside. My father's
old-fashioned notions boggled a little at first to this arrangement,
which he thought somewhat derogatory to his ministerial dignity; but his
scruples were in the end overruled.
The country in this season is, of course, seen to disadvantage, but still
it exhibits beauty enough to convince us what England must be when in
leaf. The old gentleman's admiration of the increasing signs of what he
called civilisation, as we approached London, became quite eloquent; but
the first view of the city from Blackheath (which, by the bye, is a fine
common, surrounded with villas and handsome houses) overpowered his
faculties, and I shall never forget the impression it made on myself.
The sun was declined towards the horizon; vast masses of dark low-hung
clouds were mingled with the smoky canopy, and the dome of St. Paul's,
like the enormous idol of some terrible deity, throned amidst the smoke
of sacrifices and magnificence, darkness, and mystery, presented
altogether an object of vast sublimity. I felt touched with reverence,
as if I was indeed approaching the city of THE HUMAN POWERS.
The distant view of Edinburgh is picturesque and romantic, but it affects
a lower class of our associations. It is, compared to that of London,
what the poem of the _Seasons_ is with respect to _Paradise Lost_--the
castellated descriptions of Walter Scott to the _Darkness_ of Byron--the
_Sabbath_ of Grahame to the _Robbers_ of Schiller. In the approach to
Edinburgh, leisure and cheerfulness are on the road; large spaces of
rural and pastoral nature are spread openly around, and mountains, and
seas, and headlands, and vessels passing beyond them, going like those
that die, we know not whither, while the sun is bright on their sails,
and hope with them; but, in coming to this Babylon, there is an eager
haste and a hurrying on from all quarters, towards that stupendous pile
of gloom, through which no eye can penetrate; an unceasing sound, like
the enginery of an earthquake at work, rolls from the heart of that
profound and indefinable obscurity--sometimes a faint and yellow beam of
the sun strikes here and there on the vast expanse of edifices; and
churches, and holy asylums, are dimly seen lifting up their countless
steeples and spires, like so many lightning rods to avert the wrath of
Heaven.
The entrance to Edinburgh also awakens feelings of a more pleasing
character. The rugged veteran aspect of the Old Town is agreeably
contrasted with the bright smooth forehead of the New, and there is not
such an overwhelming torrent of animal life, as to make you pause before
venturing to stem it; the noises are not so deafening, and the occasional
sound of a ballad-singer, or a Highland piper, varies and enriches the
discords; but here, a multitudinous assemblage of harsh alarms, of
selfish contentions, and of furious carriages, driven by a fierce and
insolent race, shatter the very hearing, till you partake of the activity
with which all seem as much possessed as if a general apprehension
prevailed, that the great clock of Time would strike the doom-hour before
their tasks were done. But I must stop, for the postman with his bell,
like the betherel of some ancient "borough's town" summoning to a burial,
is in the street, and warns me to conclude.--Yours,
ANDREW PRINGLE.
LETTER V
_The Rev. Dr. Pringle to Mr. Micklewham_, _Schoolmaster and
Session-Clerk_, _Garnock_
LONDON, 49 NORFOLK STREET, STRAND.
DEAR SIR--On the first Sunday forthcoming after the receiving hereof, you
will not fail to recollect in the remembering prayer, that we return
thanks for our safe arrival in London, after a dangerous voyage. Well,
indeed, is it ordained that we should pray for those who go down to the
sea in ships, and do business on the great deep; for what me and mine
have come through is unspeakable, and the hand of Providence was visibly
manifested.
On the day of our embarkation at Leith, a fair wind took us onward at a
blithe rate for some time; but in the course of that night the bridle of
the tempest was slackened, and the curb of the billows loosened, and the
ship reeled to and fro like a drunken man, and no one could stand
therein. My wife and daughter lay at the point of death; Andrew Pringle,
my son, also was prostrated with the grievous affliction; and the very
soul within me was as if it would have been cast out of the body.
On the following day the storm abated, and the wind blew favourable; but
towards the heel of the evening it again came vehement, and there was no
help unto our distress. About midnight, however, it pleased HIM, whose
breath is the tempest, to be more sparing with the whip of His
displeasure on our poor bark, as she hirpled on in her toilsome journey
through the waters; and I was enabled, through His strength, to lift my
head from the pillow of sickness, and ascend the deck, where I thought of
Noah looking out of the window in the ark, upon the face of the desolate
flood, and of Peter walking on the sea; and I said to myself, it matters
not where we are, for we can be in no place where Jehovah is not there
likewise, whether it be on the waves of the ocean, or the mountain tops,
or in the valley and shadow of death.
The third day the wind came contrary, and in the fourth, and the fifth,
and the sixth, we were also sorely buffeted; but on the night of the
sixth we entered the mouth of the river Thames, and on the morning of the
seventh day of our departure, we cast anchor near a town called
Gravesend, where, to our exceeding great joy, it pleased Him, in whom
alone there is salvation, to allow us once more to put our foot on the
dry land.
When we had partaken of a repast, the first blessed with the blessing of
an appetite, from the day of our leaving our native land, we got two
vacancies in a stage-coach for my wife and daughter; but with Andrew
Pringle, my son, I was obligated to mount aloft on the outside. I had
some scruple of conscience about this, for I was afraid of my decorum. I
met, however, with nothing but the height of discretion from the other
outside passengers, although I jealoused that one of them was a light
woman. Really I had no notion that the English were so civilised; they
were so well bred, and the very duddiest of them spoke such a fine style
of language, that when I looked around on the country, I thought myself
in the land of Canaan. But it's extraordinary what a power of drink the
coachmen drink, stopping and going into every change-house, and yet
behaving themselves with the greatest sobriety. And then they are all so
well dressed, which is no doubt owing to the poor rates. I am thinking,
however, that for all they cry against them, the poor rates are but a
small evil, since they keep the poor folk in such food and raiment, and
out of the temptations to thievery; indeed, such a thing as a common
beggar is not to be seen in this land, excepting here and there a sorner
or a ne'er-do-weel.
When we had got to the outskirts of London, I began to be ashamed of the
sin of high places, and would gladly have got into the inside of the
coach, for fear of anybody knowing me; but although the multitude of
by-goers was like the kirk scailing at the Sacrament, I saw not a kent
face, nor one that took the least notice of my situation. At last we got
to an inn, called _The White Horse_, Fetter-Lane, where we hired a
hackney to take us to the lodgings provided for us here in Norfolk
Street, by Mr. Pawkie, the Scotch solicitor, a friend of Andrew Pringle,
my son. Now it was that we began to experience the sharpers of London;
for it seems that there are divers Norfolk Streets. Ours was in the
Strand (mind that when you direct), not very far from Fetter-Lane; but
the hackney driver took us away to one afar off, and when we knocked at
the number we thought was ours, we found ourselves at a house that should
not be told. I was so mortified, that I did not know what to say; and
when Andrew Pringle, my son, rebuked the man for the mistake, he only
gave a cunning laugh, and said we should have told him whatna Norfolk
Street we wanted. Andrew stormed at this--but I discerned it was all
owing to our own inexperience, and put an end to the contention, by
telling the man to take us to Norfolk Street in the Strand, which was the
direction we had got. But when we got to the door, the coachman was so
extortionate, that another hobbleshaw arose. Mrs. Pringle had been told
that, in such disputes, the best way of getting redress was to take the
number of the coach; but, in trying to do so, we found it fastened on,
and I thought the hackneyman would have gone by himself with laughter.
Andrew, who had not observed what we were doing, when he saw us trying to
take off the number, went like one demented, and paid the man, I cannot
tell what, to get us out, and into the house, for fear we should have
been mobbit.
I have not yet seen the colonel's agents, so can say nothing as to the
business of our coming; for, landing at Gravesend, we did not bring our
trunks with us, and Andrew has gone to the wharf this morning to get
them, and, until we get them, we can go nowhere, which is the occasion of
my writing so soon, knowing also how you and the whole parish would be
anxious to hear what had become of us; and I remain, dear sir, your
friend and pastor,
ZACHARIAH PRINGLE.
On Saturday evening, Saunders Dickie, the Irvine postman, suspecting that
this letter was from the Doctor, went with it himself, on his own feet,
to Mr. Micklewham, although the distance is more than two miles, but
Saunders, in addition to the customary _twal pennies_ on the postage, had
a dram for his pains. The next morning being wet, Mr. Micklewham had not
an opportunity of telling any of the parishioners in the churchyard of
the Doctor's safe arrival, so that when he read out the request to return
thanks (for he was not only school-master and session-clerk, but also
precentor), there was a murmur of pleasure diffused throughout the
congregation, and the greatest curiosity was excited to know what the
dangers were, from which their worthy pastor and his whole family had so
thankfully escaped in their voyage to London; so that, when the service
was over, the elders adjourned to the session-house to hear the letter
read; and many of the heads of families, and other respectable
parishioners, were admitted to the honours of the sitting, who all
sympathised, with the greatest sincerity, in the sufferings which their
minister and his family had endured. Mr. Daff, however, was justly
chided by Mr. Craig, for rubbing his hands, and giving a sort of
sniggering laugh, at the Doctor's sitting on high with a light woman.
But even Mr. Snodgrass was seen to smile at the incident of taking the
number off the coach, the meaning of which none but himself seemed to
understand.
When the epistle had been thus duly read, Mr. Micklewham promised, for
the satisfaction of some of the congregation, that he would get two or
three copies made by the best writers in his school, to be handed about
the parish, and Mr. Icenor remarked, that truly it was a thing to be held
in remembrance, for he had not heard of greater tribulation by the waters
since the shipwreck of the Apostle Paul.