The three noble couples were married in Queenhoo-Hall upon the same day, being the twentieth Sunday after Easter.There is a prolix account of the marriage-feast, of which we can pick out the names of a few dishes, such as peterel, crane, sturgeon, swan, etc.etc., with a profusion of wild-fowl and venison.We also see that a suitable song was produced by Peretto on the occasion; and that the bishop who blessed the bridal beds which received the happy couples, was no niggard of his holy water, bestowing half-a-gallon upon each of the couches.We regret we cannot give these curiosities to the reader in detail, but we hope to expose the manuscript to abler antiquaries, so soon as it shall be framed and glazed by the ingenious artist who rendered that service to Mr.Ireland's Shakspeare MSS.And so (being unable to lay aside the style to which our pen is habituated), gentle reader, we bid thee heartily farewell.]
No.III.<! p489>
ANECDOTE OF SCHOOL DAYS, UPON WHICH MR.THOMAS SCOTT PROPOSED TO FOUND A TALE OF FICTION.
It is well known in the South that there is little or no boxing at the Scottish schools.About forty or fifty years ago, however, a far more dangerous mode of fighting, in parties or factions, was permitted in the streets of Edinburgh, to the great disgrace of the police, and danger of the parties concerned.These parties were generally formed from the quarters of the town in which the combatants resided, those of a particular square or district fighting against those of an adjoining one.Hence it happened that the children of the higher classes were often pitted against those of the lower, each taking their side according to the residence of their friends.
So far as I recollect, however, it was unmingled either with feelings of democracy or aristocracy, or indeed with malice or ill-will of any kind towards the opposite party.In fact, it was only a rough mode of play.
Such contests were, however, maintained with great vigour, with stones, and sticks, and fisticuffs, when one party dared to charge, and the other stood their ground.Of course, mischief sometimes happened: boys are said to have been killed at these _Bickers,_ as they were called, and serious accidents certainly took place, as many contemporaries can bear witness.
The Author's father residing in George Square, in the southern side of Edinburgh, the boys belonging to that family, with others in the square, were arranged into a sort of company, to which a lady of distinction presented a handsome set of colours.Now this company or regiment, as a matter of course, was engaged in weekly warfare with the boys inhabiting the Crosscauseway, Bristo Street, the Potterrow---in short, the neighbouring suburbs.These last were chiefly of the lower rank, but hardy loons, who threw stones to a hair's-breadth, and were very rugged antagonists at close quarters.The skirmish sometimes lasted for a whole evening, until one party or the other was victorious, when, if ours were successful, we drove the enemy to their quarters, and were usually chased back by the reinforcement of bigger lads who came to their assistance.If, on the contrary, we were pursued, as was often the case, into the precincts of our square, we were in our turn supported by our elder brothers, domestic servants, and similar auxiliaries.
It followed, from our frequent opposition to each other, that, though not knowing the names of our enemies, we were yet well acquainted with their appearance, and had nick-names for the most remarkable of them.
One very active and spirited boy might be considered as the principal leader in the cohort of the suburbs.He was, I suppose, thirteen or fourteen years old, finely-made, tall, blue-eyed, with long fair hair, the very picture of a youthful Goth.This lad was always first in the charge, and last in the retreat---the Achilles, at once, and Ajax, of the Crosscauseway.He was too formidable to us not to have a cognomen, and, like that of a knight of old, it was taken from the most remarkable part of his dress, being a pair of old green livery breeches, which was the principal part of his clothing;for, like Pentapolin, according to Don Quixote's account, Green-Breeks, as we called him, always entered the battle with bare arms, legs, and feet.
It fell, that once upon a time, when the combat was at the thickest, this plebeian champion headed a sudden charge, so rapid and furious that all fled before him.He was several paces before his comrades, and had actually laid his hands on the patrician standard, when one of our party, whom some misjudging friend had entrusted with a _couteau de chasse,_ or hanger, inspired with a zeal for the honour of the corps, worthy of Major Sturgeon himself, struck poor Green-Breeks over the head, with strength sufficient to cut him down.When this was seen, the casualty was so far beyond what had ever taken place before, that both parties fled different ways, leaving poor Green-Breeks, with his bright hair plentifully dabbled in blood, to the care of the watchman, who (honest man) took care not to know who had done the mischief.The bloody hanger was flung into one of the Meadow ditches, and solemn secrecy was sworn on all hands; but the remorse and terror of the actor were beyond all bounds, and his apprehensions of the most dreadful character.The wounded hero was for a few days in the Infirmary, the case being only a trifling one.But though inquiry was strongly pressed on him, no argument could make him indicate the person from whom he had received the wound, though he must have been perfectly well known to him.When he recovered, and was dismissed, the Author and his brothers opened a communication with him, through the medium of a popular ginger-bread baker, of whom both parties were customers, in order to tender a subsidy in name of smart-money.