YEAR 1780
THIS was, among ourselves, another year of few events. A sound, it is
true, came among us of a design, on the part of the government in London,
to bring back the old harlotry of papistry; but we spent our time in the
lea of the hedge, and the lown of the hill. Some there were that a panic
seized upon when they heard of Lord George Gordon, that zealous
Protestant, being committed to the Tower; but for my part, I had no
terror upon me, for I saw all things around me going forward improving;
and I said to myself, it is not so when Providence permits scathe and
sorrow to fall upon a nation. Civil troubles, and the casting down of
thrones, is always forewarned by want and poverty striking the people.
What I have, therefore, chiefly to record as the memorables of this year,
are things of small import—the main of which are, that some of the
neighbouring lairds, taking example by Mr. Kibbock, my father-in-law that
was, began in this fall to plant the tops of their hills with mounts of
fir-trees; and Mungo Argyle, the exciseman, just herried the poor
smugglers to death, and made a power of prize-money, which, however, had
not the wonted effect of riches, for it brought him no honour; and he
lived in the parish like a leper, or any other kind of excommunicated
person.
But I should not forget a most droll thing that took place with Jenny
Gaffaw, and her daughter. They had been missed from the parish for some
days, and folk began to be uneasy about what could have become of the two
silly creatures; till one night, at the dead hour, a strange light was
seen beaming and burning at the window of the bit hole where they lived.
It was first observed by Lady Macadam, who never went to bed at any
Christian hour, but sat up reading her new French novels and play-books
with Miss Sabrina, the schoolmistress. She gave the alarm, thinking that
such a great and continuous light from a lone house, where never candle
had been seen before, could be nothing less than the flame of a burning.
And sending Miss Sabrina and the servants to see what was the matter,
they beheld daft Jenny, and her as daft daughter, with a score of candle
doups, (Heaven only knows where they got them!) placed in the window, and
the twa fools dancing, and linking, and admiring before the door.
“What’s all this about, Jenny,” said Miss Sabrina.—“Awa’ wi’ you, awa’
wi’ you—ye wicked pope, ye whore of Babylon—is na it for the glory of
God, and the Protestant religion? d’ye think I will be a pope as long as
light can put out darkness?”—And with that the mother and daughter began
again to leap and dance as madly as before.
It seems that poor Jenny, having heard of the luminations that were
lighted up through the country on the ending of the Popish Bill, had,
with Meg, travelled by themselves into Glasgow, where they had gathered
or begged a stock of candles, and coming back under the cloud of night,
had surprised and alarmed the whole clachan, by lighting up their window
in the manner that I have described. Poor Miss Sabrina, at Jenny’s
uncivil salutation, went back to my lady with her heart full, and would
fain have had the idiots brought to task before the session, for what
they had said to her. But I would not hear tell of such a thing, for
which Miss Sabrina owed me a grudge that was not soon given up. At the
same time, I was grieved to see the testimonies of joyfulness for a holy
victory, brought into such disrepute by the ill-timed demonstrations of
the two irreclaimable naturals, that had not a true conception of the
cause for which they were triumphing.