The first person that twined the bands of Hymen this way is supposed to
have been a man named Scott, who resided at the Rigg, a few miles from
the village of Gretna, about 1750 or 1760. He was accounted a shrewd,
crafty fellow, and little more is known of him.
George Gordon, an old soldier, started up as his successor. He always
appeared on marriage occasions in an antiquated full military costume,
wearing a large cocked hat, red coat, jack boots, and a ponderous sword
dangling at his side. If at any time he was interrogated “by what
authority he joined persons in wedlock?” he boldly answered, “I have a
special license from government, for which I pay fifty pounds per
annum.” He was never closely examined on the subject, and a delusion
prevailed during his life, that a privilege of the kind really existed.
Several persons afterwards attempted to establish themselves in the same
line, but none were so successful as Joseph Paisley, who secured by far
the greatest run of business, in defiance of every opposition. It was
this person who obtained the appellation of the “Old blacksmith,”
probably on account of the mythological conceit of Vulcan being employed
in rivetting the hymeneal chains. Paisley was first a smuggler, then a
tobacconist, but never, at any time, a blacksmith. He commenced his mock
pontifical career about 1789. For many years he was careful not to be
publicly seen on such occasions, but stole through by-paths to the house
where he was called to officiate, and he there gave a certificate
miserably written, and the orthography almost unintelligible, with a
feigned signature. An important trial arose out of one of his marriages;
and on being summoned to London in consequence, to undergo an
examination, he was so much alarmed that he was induced to consult a
gentleman of the Scotch bar on the occasion. His legal adviser stated as
his opinion, that using a feigned name was decidedly a misdemeanour, and
recommended the mock parson to effect, if possible, the destruction of
the original certificate, and substitute another in which he should
appear by his own name, and merely as a witness to the parties’
declaration that they were married persons. Afterwards, he invariably
adopted the plan of merely subscribing his own name as a witness in
future; and this has been the usual course of his successors. From that
period he made no secret of his profession, but openly walked the
street when called upon to officiate, dressed in his canonicals, with
the dignity of a bishop! He was long an object of curiosity to
travellers. He was tall, and had been well proportioned, but at his
death he was literally an overgrown mass of fat, weighing twenty-five
stone. He was grossly ignorant, and insufferably coarse in his manners,
and possessed a constitution almost proof against the ravages of
spirituous liquors; for though an habitual drinker, he was rarely ever
seen drunk: for the last forty years of his life he daily discussed a
Scotch pint, equal to two English quarts, of brandy. On one occasion, a
bottle companion, named “Ned the turner,” sat down with him on a Monday
morning to an anker of strong cogniac, and before the evening of the
succeeding Saturday they kicked the empty cask out at the door; neither
of them were at any of the time drunk, nor had they had the assistance
of any one in drinking.
After the decease of Paisley, the field lay more open for competition in
the trade, and the different candidates resorted to different means to
acquire the best share. Ultimately the post-boys were taken into
partnership, who had the power of driving to whichever house they
pleased: each mock-parson had his stated rendezvous; and so strong did
this description of opposition run, that at last the post-boys obtained
one entire half of the fees, and the business altogether got worse. The
rates were lowered to a trifle, and the occupation may now be said, in
common with others, to have shared the effects of bad times and
starvation prices.
There are two principal practitioners at present, one of whom was
originally a chaise-driver; the other, David Laing, an old soldier, who
figured as a witness on the trial of the Wakefields. At home they
exhibit no parade of office; they may be seen in shabby clothes at the
kitchen firesides of the pot-houses of the village, the companions of
the sots of the country, and disrespected by every class.
* * * * *