On receiving from him a small MS. volume of Original Scottish Poems.
April, 1803.
WHILE colleg'd Bards bestride Pegasus,
An' try to gallop up Parnassus,
By dint o' meikle lear,
The lowe o friendship fires my saul,
Tae write you this poetic scrawl,—
Prosaic dull, I fear !
But, weel I ken, your gen'rous heart
Will overlook its failings,
And whar the poet has come short,
Let frien'ship cure his ailings ;
Tis kind, man, divine, man,
Tae hide the faut we see,
Or try tae men't, as far's we ken't,
Wi true sincerity.
This last observe, bring'st in my head,
Tae tell you here my social creed—
Let's use a' mankind weel,
An ony Bumph wha'd use us ill,
Wi' dry contempt let's treat him still,
He'll feel it warst himsel :
I never flatter—praise but rare,
I scorn a double pairt ;
An when I speak, I speak sincere,
The dictates o my heart ;
I truly hate the dirty gait
That mony a bodie tak's,
Wha fraise ane, syne blaze ane
As soon's they turn their backs.
In judging, let us be richt hooly ;
I've heard some fouks distant sae freely,
On ither people's matters,
As if theirsel's war real perfection,
Whan, had they stood a fair inspection,
The abus'd war far their betters :
But gossips ay maun hae their crack,
Though moralists shoud rail.
Let's end the matter wi this fac',
That, “Goodness pays itsel.”
The joys, man, that rise, man,
To ane frae daeing weel,
Are siccan joys that harden'd vice
Can seldom ever feel.
O Jamie, man ! I'm proud to see't,
Our ain auld muse yet keeps her feet,
Maist healthy as before ;
For sad predicting fears foretauld,
When Robin's [1] glowing heart turn'd cauld,
Then a our joys war o'er,
(Ilk future Bard revere his name,
Through thousan years to come,
And though we cannot reach his fame,
Busk laurels roun his tomb :)
Yet, though he's dead, the Scottish reed,
This mony a day may ring,
In Livingston, [2] in Anderson, [3]
In Scadlock, [4] and in King. [5]
The Tap-room,”—what a glorious treat!
“Complaint and wish”—how plaintive sweet !
“The Weaver's” just “Lament.”
“The Gloamin' Fragment” [6] —how divine !
There Nature speaks in every line,
The Bard's immortal in't !
Yon “Epigram on Jeanie Lang,”
Is pointed as the steel,
An “Hoot ! ye ken yoursel's,”—a sang
Would pleas'd e'en Burns himsel !
Let snarling, mean quarr'ling,
Be doubly damn'd henceforth,
And let us raise the voice of praise,
To hearten modest worth.
And you, my dear respectit frien,
Your “Spring's” a precious evergreen,
Fresh beauties budding still.
Your “Levern Banks,” an “Killoch Burn,” [7]
Ye sing them wi sae sweet a turn,
Ye gar the heart-strings thrill.
“October Winds”—e'en let them rave,
Wi Nature-blasting howl,
If, in return, kind heaven gi'e
The sunshine of the soul:
The feeling heart that bears a part,
In ithers' joys and woes,
May still depend to find a frien
Howe'er the tempest blows.
Yet, lang I've thocht, and think it yet,
True frien's are rarely to be met,
Wha share in ithers' troubles,
Wha jointly joy, or drap the tear
Reciprocal—and kindly bear
Wi ane anither's foibles ;
Ev'n such a frien I ance could boast,
Ah ! now in death he's low—
But fond anticipation hopes
For such a frien in you.
Dear Jamie, forgi'e me,
That last presumptive line ;
See—here's my han at your command
Ye hae my heart langsyne.
Note in 1825 Edition.—“James Scadlock, engraver, was born at Paisley on 7th Oct„ 1775, and died in 1818. His posthumous works, consisting of Poems. Odes, and Songs, etc., have since been published. along with a short sketch of his life.”
James Scadlock was born on 7th October, 1775, and brought up in Abbey Close of Paisley. His father, a weaver, gave him the usual education imparted to children in his class of society, and he was sent to the school taught by William Adie, Session-Clerk. The father, being an intelligent person himself, his children derived considerable knowledge from their parent. James Scadlock exhibited a taste for drawing, which latterly became a favourite pursuit with him, and afterwards an accessory to the business he was ultimately taught. Almost every youth in Paisley was sent to the loom at an early age, whether they had an inclination for the weaving trade or not,—silk weaving being light work, and the wages high. James Scadlock's father accordingly set his son to that trade to earn his maintenance. From some cause or other, he felt disinclined to follow that trade, and relinquished it before a twelvemonth. He was next sent to the service of a bookseller and stationer; but the business being in a decline, and the master becoming insolvent, young Scadlock was discharged. James Scadlock formed an early attachment to books from the well-furnished library of his father, and that inclination was extended and gratified by his attendance in the bookseller's shop, He likewise, from that opportunity, became acquainted with several authors ; hut he indulged more particularly in poetical writings. He recited to his juvenile acquaintances passages he had read, and occasionally added poetry from his own pen. Drawing, however, was his favourite pursuit; and his father, now anxious to place his son at a business congenial to his tastes, apprenticed him, in his 19th year, for seven years as a copperplate engraver to the firm of Findlay, Ure, Bryce, & Co., printers at Fereneze, near Neilston, where he had considerable opportunities for cultivating his taste For the fine arts. In writing poetry, and associating with intelligent companions, the time whirled insensibly past, and, on 11th June, 1801, he received his indenture with a certificate of faithful service. He was an acquaintance of Tannahill for several years. Both Scadlock and Tannahill became members of the Paisley Croft Friendly Society,—a society for supporting its members in sickness. The Society was formed in 1761 by the weaver feuars of the Croft land of Paisley, from William, seventh Earl of Dundonald. Scadlock, wishing to perpetuate his skill in drawing and engraving, designed and engraved a ticket of admission to the society, which is a work of art. We tried to discover the original plate to give a copy of it as an illustration to this volume; but were unsuccessful. The ticket which Tannahill received on his admission into the Society is still in existence. It is headed—
“In Unity we all agree.”
Then follows a Coat of Arms,—the armorial bearings of the weavers. A
shield with a cheveron argent, charged with three cinquefoils and three cats' heads,—each with a shuttle in the mouth, in dexter and sinister chief, and base azure. The crest, a cat's head with a shuttle in the mouth, and a cap made of coops or pirns. There are also two oval pictures on the ticket,—one with a widow and three orphan children, and the other containing the figure of Justice, with sword and balance. There is also inscribed on the ticket,—
ERECTED, IN 1761,
THE PAISLEY CROFT SOCIETY.
HERE POVERTY AND SICKNESS
CAN CLAIM RELIEF.
NO. 30.
A general stagnation of trade had affected the firm with whom Scadlock was engaged, by which he and a great number of others were thrown out of employment. It was a difficult matter for him to obtain employment, and he had almost given up all hope, when he received an offer from a firm in Perth, which he accepted. Tannahill, in June, 1804, addressed a second Epistle (No. 21) to his friend in that town; but before a year passed away, Scadlock returned to the service of his former employers. While resident in Perth, he wrote the song of “The Scottish Exile,” which was first printed in Maver's Gleaner, 1806 (See Note to No. 5), and signed with his name. This brought him into notice as a poet. In April, 1808, he married Mary Ewing, the daughter of a respectable fellow-workman. This turned out a happy union. James Scadlock died from an attack of typhus fever on 4th July, 1818, in the 43rd year of his age, leaving a widow and four children to lament his loss.
The same year, 1818, “The Posthumous Works of James Scadlock, containing Poems, Songs, Odes, and other poetical pieces, with a Sketch of the Author's Life,” was published at Paisley in an 8vo, of 96 pages, including the Life. See Notes to Nos. 21 and 86.—Ed.
[1] Robert Burns.—Ed.
[2] William Livingston, weaver, poet, and comedian, was born in 1776. He was an early and intimate acquaintance and correspondent of Tannahill. Two of his letters to Tannahill will be found in the Correspondence, and are dated Kirkcudbright, 18th November, 1804, and Killyleagh, March 7th, 1806. He was in the company of Mr. Archibald Pollock, manager of the Paisley Theatre; and he, along with Pollock, urged Tannahill to write the dramatic piece of “The Soldier's Return.” He was also in the company of Mr. Harry Johnston when he had his Theatre in the Saracen's Head Inn, Paisley; and in referring to a handbill of Mr. Johnston's intimating the performance for Wednesday evening, 17th July, 1822, of the celebrated new tragedy of “Bertram, or the Castle of Saint Aldobrand,” we observed the name of Mr. Livingston put down for the character of Hugo. In the melodrama, the same evening, of “Ella Rosenberg,” his name is put down for the character of Flutterman. Livingston, “Old Livy” as he was called in his latter days, trod the boards of theatres for upwards of fifty years both in Scotland and Ireland, but more particularly in the West of Scotland, chiefly Paisley and Glasgow. In the prime of life, he enjoyed a respectable share of popularity in his sphere; but he did not like the life of a strolling player, and frequently left the buskin for his trade of a weaver, or a small stationery business. He must be well remembered by a large number of those gentlemen, both in Glasgow and Paisley, who attended the theatre in their youth. He wrote the “Weaver's Lament,” “The ‘Gloamin’,” and a number of other poems and songs. His health declined in 1845, and he removed to Greenock to recruit his strength. On the 10th of June, 1849, when taking a walk on the quay at low water, and in stepping along the steamboat wharf, his foot slipped, he stumbled and fell over, struck the breastwork in falling, and was thus deprived of life in the 73rd year of his age.—Ed.
[3] William Anderson, clockmaker, precentor, teacher of music, and poet. He was a shrewd and talented member of the social club with which Tannahill was connected and was one of the founders of the Paisley Burns' Club in 1805. He was so well informed on different subjects that he was always ready to discuss any question on any side that might arise in either of these clubs; but he loved a liquor which destroyed his company.—Ed.
[4] The subject of this Epistle. See Notes to No. 86.—Ed.
[5] John King. See Notes to Nos. 6 and 73.—Ed.
[6] “The Gloamin : a Fragment” (by the author of “The Weaver's Lament,” “Complaint and Wish,” etc., transmitted by a Correspondent) appeared in the Glasgow Selector of 1805, Vol. III., page 199. The Correspondent would be Tannahill:
and from respect for that guileless old man, William Livingston, we here insert it:—
"See how bricht wi gouda bleezin,
Purple-shaded shines the west;
Cool the air, an sweet an pleasin,
Now the burnin day is past.
Now, while the sun, fast sinkin,
Yellow tints yon eastern braes,
And the clachan bell is clinkin,
Let me sit, an—list'ning—gaze.
Seated on this verdant knowie,
Whar the curlin foggage grows
An the sunbeams faintly glow, ay,
An the Burnie quietly rows ;
Frae the hedge, by yonder plantin,
Sweeter far than notes o airt
Hark ! the blackbird, how he's chantin
Loud an clear,—it thrills the heart.
Saft I hear the lammies bleatin,
Distant kye rowt a aroun ;
Echo fine the hichts repeatin,
Lengthens out the varied sewn.
Fresh the zephyrs, gently breathin,
Sleekly bend the noddin bere;
Carryin scented fragrance wi them
Frae the, clover an the brier.
See the cotter, pacin slowly
To his but below the hill ;
Hams's ay hame, the e'er sae lowly,
There, tho puir, he's welcome still.
Blythe the wee bit whistlin herdie
Drives his charge out owre the lee,
Wi the nest o some sweet birdie,
Herried frae its chosen tree ;
While he hauds secure his plunder,
Tentless that he's doin wrang,
Fancy hears the mither, yonder,
Wail her loss in plaintive sang.
Stop !—forbear your wanton thievin !
Little robber, hear yon tune !
Kent ye how the mither's grievin,
Sure ye'd rue the deed ye've dune.
Now, the haukie-bird attendin
Minds me that it's wearin late,
An the moistening dews descendin
‘Gin to weet my grassy seat.”—Ed.
[7] The following three verses were written by Scadlock in three separate songs on the romantic scenery of Killoch Burn:—
“The sun's now setting in the west,
And mild's his beam on hill and plain,
No sound is heard, save Killoch Burn
Wild murmuring down its woody glen.”
“Will you gae to Glen Killoch, my Mary,
Whar the burnie fa's owre the linn;
Its murmurs are dear to me, Mary,
When borne on the saft-brcathin win.”
“Hark the winds around us swell,
Raving doon Glen Killoch dell,
Where aft wi thee, my bonnie Bell,
l've wander'd blythe and cheery.”
See No. 86, and Note on that song.—Ed.
[Semple 19]