My country neighbours at Mount Duffer are not literary. So very remote
from this condition are they, that they regard men of letters as
"awful men," in the Shakspearian sense of the word. Consequently,
since those papers began to appear, sometimes, in the pages of _Mr.
Punch_, I have risen in the general esteem. Even JOHN DUC MACNAB has
been heard to admit, that though the MAC DUFFER is "nae gude ava' with
the rod or the rifle, he's a fell ane with the pen in his hand. Nae
man kens what he means, he's that deep." In consequence of the spread
of this flattering belief, I have been approached by various local
Parties, to sound my fathomless depths as a possible Candidate.
[Illustration]
First came a deputation of Jacobites. They were all ladies, of
different ages, young and old; all wore ornaments in which the locks
of Queen MARY, CHARLES THE FIRST, Prince CHARLIE, and other Saints and
Martyrs, were conspicuously displayed. Would I stand as a Jacobite?
they asked, and generally in the interests of Romance and Royalism. I
said that I would be delighted; but inquired as to whether we had not
better wait for Female Suffrage. That seemed our best chance, I said.
They replied, that FLORA MACDONALD had no vote, and what was good
enough for her was good enough for them. I then hinted that it would
be well to know for which King, or Queen, I was to unfurl the banner
at Glenfinnon. I also suggested that the modern Crofters did not seem
likely to rally round us. The first question provoked a split, or
rather several splits in our Party. It appeared that some five or
six Pretenders of both sexes, and of intricate genealogies, had their
advocates. An unpleasant scene followed, and things were said which
could never be forgiven. The deputation, which had been expected
to stay to luncheon, retired in tears, exclaiming for a variety of
monarchs all "over the water."
The local Gladstonians came next. I had never declared myself, they
said. Was I for Home Rule? I said we must first review Mr. GLADSTONE's
numerous writings about HOMER, and then come to Home Rule. "HOMER
stops the way!" Were Mr. GLADSTONES Homeric theories compatible with
a rational frame of mind? Here I felt very strong, and animated with
a keen desire to impart information. The deputation said all this
was ancient history. As to Home Rule itself, they said it really
did not matter. What they wanted was, free poaching, free private
whiskey-stills, free land, and a large head of game, to be kept up by
the proprietor, for the benefit of the glen, as in old times. I said
that these seemed to me to be Utopian demands. If you all fish, and
shoot, and drown the keepers in the linn, I urged, there will soon be
no game left for any of you. No Game-laws, I observed, and you will
obviously have no poaching. There will be nothing to poach, and no
fun in doing it. They said that they would pay keepers to hold the
Southern bodies off, out of the rates, and the rates would be paid by
the Laird--meaning me. I said I knew that several Lairds were standing
on this platform, but that, personally, if my land and rents were to
be taken away, I did not see how the rates were to be got out of my
empty sporran. This was a new idea to them, but I cheered them up
by saying I was in favour of Compulsory Access to Mountains, with
no Personal Option in the matter. This was what the people needed, I
said--they needed to be made to climb mountains, beginning with Box
Hill. On Bank Holidays, I remarked, they never go to the top. They
stay where the beer is. I would have a staff of Inspectors, to see
that they went. The general limbs and lungs would be greatly improved,
and the sale of whiskey, from private stills, would be increased.
This unlucky remark divided my Party. The Free Kirk Minister wore a
blue ribbon, and was a Temperance-at-any-price politician. Two of "The
Men," however,--a kind of inspired Highland prophets--had a still of
their own, and they and the Minister nearly came to blows. The Party
then withdrew, giving three cheers for Mr. GLADSTONE, but not pledging
themselves to vote for me.
The Eight Hours' people were at me next. I said I saw that the Bill
would provide employment for a number of people, but I added, that I
did not see who was to pay the wages, nor who was to buy the goods.
For, I remarked, you certainly cannot compete with foreign countries
at this rate, and at home the Classes will be competing with _you_,
being obliged to have recourse to manual labour. They said that was
just what they wanted, everybody to labour with his hands. I answered
that many of the Classes, a poor lot at best (_cheers_), would come
on the Parish. Who was to pay the rates when everybody was working,
and nobody was buying what was made? If there were no markets, where
were you to sell your produce? They said they would live on the land.
I answered that the land would not support the population: you would
need to import bread-stuffs, with what were you going to pay for them?
I added that my heart was with them, but that they could only attain
their ends by massacring or starving three-fourths of the population,
and who knew how he himself might fare, with a three-to-one chance
against his survival? Suppose it did not come to that, I urged,
suppose the Bill gave all the world employment; suppose that, somehow,
it also paid their wages, or supported them, in a very short time you
would need a Four Hours' Bill (_cheers_), a Two Hours' Bill, a One
Hour's Bill, of course with no fall in wages. The constitution of
things would not run to it.
They said that I had clearly not fought out the economic aspect of
the question. I said that was how my hair was blanched, with trying to
fight it out, but that, somehow, it always baffled me. I added remarks
about squaring the circle, but they said it was a good deal easier to
square Mr. GLADSTONE. The friends of Total Prohibition of Vaccination
and of Beer were waiting, also a deputation, who wanted subscriptions
for a SHELLEY Memorial, Russian Jews, Maxim guns for Missionaries,
and other benevolent objects. I declined to see _them_, however, and
was left to solitude, and to the reflection that I am unfitted for
the sphere of active politics. In this belief the neighbours are now
pretty generally agreed, which, as I have no keen ambition to shine in
Parliament, is a very fortunate circumstance.
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[Illustration: A VICTORY OF THE POLLS.
MENTAL COLLAPSE OF AN ELECTION EDITOR AFTER COMPILING STATISTICS DAY
AND NIGHT FOR THE LAST THREE WEEKS!]
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