Journal as a Pedlar, 1789-90
My companion had been sitting alone by the kitchen fire, over a solitary bottle, when a little, old, decent-dressed man entered, who was soon followed by his spouse, and both were invited to a share of his bottle. This, after some few apologies, was accepted, and they diffidently sat down. In a simple, open manner the old man told him, that he was a weaver in the town; that it was not his usual custom to frequent public-houses, but at very rare times. “This woman and I,” continued he, “have lived man and wife, upwards of forty years together, and it has been our custom, on the Tuesday's night after our Occasion, to be hearty over a pint; and, indeed, sir, when folks come to our time of life, they are much the better of a little; and a simple bottle at a time, you know, can do nobody harm.” My comrade readily agreed with his sentiments, and in the midst of much chit-chat, the cann was cheerfully circling when I entered and joined the company. As the liquor began to ascend to our friend's upper flat, he forgot the reserve and diffidence that at first so much embarassed him, and jocosely entertained us with the transactions of his youth. These anecdotes, silly and unimportant as they were, were yet related with such an ignorant simplicity, and bespoke such undebauched innocence of manners, (a quality too rarely to be met with in an old man) that I listened, or rather gazed on the harmless creature, with uncommon delight. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you are acquaint with the world, what news do you hear about this time? Think ye, will we have any fighting or no?”—“The last expresses bring bad news,” replied my companion, “the Dutch have landed a large army on Holland, and taken possession of it.” “Say you so! (said he with great concern) that is bad news indeed. That puts a stop to all! If the Dutch have really taken Holland, I doubt we're all over, for Holland had sworn to be on our side.” Such was this reverend sire's knowledge of the world, and I believe it were much to the temporal and spiritual peace and interest of some modern politicians, that they knew no more. My comrade now entreated that he would favour us with a song. “As for songs,” said he, “I can sing none; but if any here would assist me, we'll try to have a Psalm tune; it is the far sweetest of all music.” To this we all immediately agreed, and our groggy old dad giving out the words, “O mother dear Jerusalem,” raised the Martyrs, but in such a style, with such a profusion of graces, and melancholy of tone, solemnity of look, and distortion of features, as made the whole company burst out into an universal roar of laughter, his spouse alone excepted, who, while the tune went on, seemed wrapt up in all the enthusiasm of devotion.
Having amused ourselves to a late hour with this simple, honest couple, and sent them staggering home in the greatest good humour, we retired to our room, there to forget the toils of the day in sleep. Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, I prepared to traverse the town, and marking out with my eye a few of the most genteel houses, proceeded to business. On the east end of this town, in a retired and most agreeable situation, stands the celebrated Pinky-house, the seat of the Honourable Sir Archibald Hope. As his lady desired me to send her a copy, as soon as published, I set out without delay for the house, where I was kindly received, and generously encouraged. This was adding fire to my fancy, and vigour to my resolution; I returned her ladyship my sincere acknowledgments, and, though in the course of my future applications that day, I met with a greater number of insolent rebuffs than usual, yet, the consideration of the success I had been honoured with in the morning, made me overlook them all. When we are once conscious of enjoying the kind wishes and approbation of the wise and good, the neglect of fools and the scandal of the world, make but a slight impression on the mind. Persuaded of their applause, we rise above the malice of envy, and support the pressure of misfortunes with an undaunted fortitude and magnanimity of soul. This I call true fame, at once the inspiration and ample reward of every noble action. All else, is but empty contemptible babbling; the breath of fools, the noisy shootings of an undiscerning mob, and the certain destroyer of that invaluable blessing, peace of mind. At evening as I was about to return home, remembering of having lent an innkeeper of the town a volume of my poems the preceding night, that he might have some idea of the merits of the book before purchasing it, I immediately paid him a visit, and asked how he was pleased with the pieces. “By God,” said he, “they're clever, d—ned clever, but I incline more to the historical way, such as Goldsmith's Scots History, the Inquest of Peru, and things of that kind, else I would cheerfully take a copy. The book is cheap,” continued he, turning it round and round, “perfectly cheap. A gentleman from England, who stayed here all summer, and went away only about two weeks ago, had the biggest cargo of books that ever I laid my eyes on. Had you been but so lucky as to have come here then—by G—d he would have bought a whole trunk-full from you!” The experience I had of the world made me soon see through this silly evasion, and but little regret my want of acquaintance with this wonderful literary hero; yet I could not help smiling at his harangue, and enquiring when the gentleman would return, told him not to neglect writing to me as soon as he arrived, and putting the poems in my pocket, went directly home. And now, having done all the business we could in this place, and directed the bulk of our goods to Haddington, we called our landlady and discharged the bill, in order to be ready for setting out at an early hour next day. Before concluding my account of this town, I might here mention some gentlemen, whose generosity I experienced, and likewise present the reader with a sketch of some characters, whose insults, pride, and stupidity, I bore with; but as the former of these will, I hope, accept of this general acknowledgment, and as the latter are of a class too despicable for notice, I decline saying any more. Some of them, I am convinced, suffer at present the effects of their own folly, and by their wretched poetical attempts and translations, have exposed to the world their miserable taste and enormous ignorance.