‘Foote remained quiet for a few hours after breakfast, until he had
beat about for game, as he termed it, and he first fixed on worthy
Mrs Little, his hostess. By some occult means he had managed to get
hold of some of the old lady’s habiliments, particularly a favourite
night-cap—provincially, a _mutch_. After attiring himself _à la_ Mrs
Little, he went into the kitchen and through the house, mimicking the
garrulous landlady so very exactly in giving orders, scolding, &c.
that no servant doubted as to its being the mistress _in propriâ
personâ_. This kind of amusement went on for several days for the
benefit of the people in Moffat. By-and-by the snow allowed the united
parties to advance as far as the Crook, upon Tweed, and here they were
again storm-stayed for ten days. Nevertheless, Foote and his companion,
who was well qualified to support him, never for a moment flagged in
creating merriment or affording the party amusement of some sort. The
snow-cleared away at last, so as to enable the travellers to reach
Edinburgh, and there to end their journey. The intimacy of Foote and
Ardwell did not end here, but continued until the death of Foote.
‘After this period Foote several times visited Scotland: he always in
his writings showed himself partial to Scotland and to the Scotch.
On every visit which he afterwards made to the northern metropolis,
he set apart a night or two for a social meeting with his friend
Ardwell, whose family lived in the second house from the head of that
pretty row of houses more than half-way down Leith Walk, still called
Springfield. In the parlour, on the right-hand side in entering that
house, the largest of the row, Foote, the celebrated wit of the day,
has frequently been associated with many of the Edinburgh and Leith
worthies, when and where he was wont to keep the table in a roar.
‘The biography of Foote is well known. However, I may add that Mr Mouat
and Mr M’Culloch died much lamented in the year 1793. David M’Culloch
(Wee Davie) died in the year 1824, at Cheltenham, much regretted.
For many years he had resided in India. In consequence of family
connection, he became a familiar visitor at Abbotsford, and a favourite
acquaintance of Sir Walter Scott.[272] Mr Lockhart tells us that, next
to Tom Moore, Sir Walter thought him the finest warbler he had ever
heard. He was certainly an exquisitely fine singer of Scotch songs. Sir
Walter Scott never heard him sing until he was far advanced in life, or
until his voice had given way to a long residence in India. Mr Lockhart
also tells us that David M’Culloch in his youth was an intimate and
favourite companion of Burns, and that the poet hardly ventured to
publish many of his songs until he heard them sung by his friend. I
will only add that the writer of this has more than once heard Burns
say that he never fully knew the beauty of his songs until he heard
them sung by David M’Culloch.’