DOI issue:
July to December, 1852
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16610#0236
228
PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
TRAVELLING NOTES.
BY A SCOTCHMAN WHO HAS GONE BACK.
CHAPTER I.
"Bluter Castle, near Knockintulloch, Bligmurdochshire.
a man who had
heard of Knockintulloch! Of course you go on bragging of your
knowledge, and affect to pronounce opinions on Scotland. Pretty
critics, indeed, who don't know the difference between Buittle and
Borgue, and don't know which is the oldest, Gordon of Lettkr-
fourie, or Gordon or Glenbucket !!
"I shall just give you a few preliminary reasons why I happen to be
here. From my accent, the people would never know me to be a
Scotchman.* The fact is, I left Scotland some years ago. 1 know
you laugh here. But, why do we leave Scotland ? I will tell you. In
the first place, we are naturally an adventurous people, and desirous of
spreading civilisation. That was my first impulse. Secondly, I was
desirous of seeing the world. Thirdly, I wished to study the manners
of the Eastern nations. Fourthly, I love commercial pursuits. And,
also, I should add, the property of Bluter was, in my youth, not what it
■used 4o be.
" The family of M'Spletjchan of Bluter f * * * *
* * * 'hard up.'
" People may say what they like about the causes of these changes.
There are some who pretend that the property was a mere bit of hard
hilly land at the best, and that it could not be expected to maintain an
increasing family. This has a superficial air of reasonableness about it.
But perhaps the real cause of our ruin was a large hospitality. In
the old times in this neighbourhood, the way they managed hospitality
was this. Half-a-dozen lairds were perhaps on friendly terms. Well!
they all went to live at each other's houses by turns; and, by the time
the sixth establishment was exhausted, the first was replenished. It
was at one of these feasts that my excellent grandfather breathed his
last, in what, I dare say, you fellows consider a somewhat remarkable way.
He was always a good eater; and he liked his tumbler, my dear Punch.
They had sat at table at the house of Dalzell of the Scaur for a
couple of days. Somehow or other, the old gentleman had been silent
for a little, and presently the Laird of Kilshillan called out across
the table, ' Guide us ! Bluter's looking gash!' which, being inter-
preted, means ' pale.' * Gash !' said the hospitable host, ' he's been
deed these twa hours, but I wouidna disturb the company.'
"Ah, those were the days! But I must not linger over the past.
They laid the old gentleman's moist clay with that of his ancestors.
My father found the lands of Bluter too much burdened to be longer
tenable. They passed, Sir, into the hands of the great Earls of Muir-
fowl. You must have observed, my dear Editor, that properties are
like quicksilver—the big knobs attract the little ones, and swallow
them up.
" It has been the dream of my life to recover Bluter. I have bought
Bluter; and here is the point I should like to urge on you. The
* We question this fact.—Ed.
T We have been obliged to prune our correspondent immensely here.—Ed.
Scotch, Sir, abroad—you may take them where you please—are all
aiming at getting back their Bluter! Take old Mull and Groset of
Cadiz, the wine-merchants. Take old M'Happs of Smyrna, the carpet
man. Get either of them over a bottle of Port (which I dare say you
would not at all object to), and see what the favourite vision of him is.
Or trot through any Scotch county, and ask the boy who is carrying
the letter-bag to the little place inside the fir-trees. You will find, ten
to one, that the tenant is an old retired fellow, who left the county
without a rap, and has come back and bought himself a bit of land.
But to my more immediate ' notes.'
" It is a mercy we were not run into just before we got to Carlisle.
They did what they could—I'll do them the justice to say that—as far
as stopping went. But we got on—though for some time not much
quicker than the train from Naples to Castel-a-mare—though it is driven
by a Scotchman. (But no amount of intellect will triumph in some
countries !) I was, myself, in a state of agitation more than once in
the second-class carriage—I always travel in the second class, by the
bye; I prefer it—and scarcely able at times to continue my converse
with the gentleman opposite. This was a schoolmaster taking his boys
home with him—who wondered, poor little fellows, to hear me chatting
so familiarly with their master. I am afraid I was wrong about the
longitude of Bio Janeiro, which came up in the course of conversation,
and, indeed, the schoolmaster looked as if he would have liked to flog
me. Flog me, indeed, M'Spleuchan, late of the-! Ha ! ha !
" I changed carriages at Carlisle. Two minutes for refreshment. They
don't know what an old stager can do in two minutes. Shilling's worth
cold brandy-and-water—three sandwiches—Banbury cake, half-finished,
in hand—as I hopped into the carriage just at the starting bell. A
youth in a white wide-awake was the only other occupant, and with
demoniac exultation he exclaimed at once ' Ah! Smoke now!'
' Second class !' said a voice at the window bringing an ugly female
face to it, ' This way, Ma'am.' ' Full here,' exclaimed the youth oppo-
site. But this was 'no go,' and a scowl of indignation from the ugly
female withered him up, as she passed between our knees, hugged
herself in the opposite corner, and plunged into Uncle Tom's Cabin!
"Note here—that the people who begin a chat with you in railways
about the places the train is going to always take care, in asking you
about the people there, to ask you if you know the regular tip-top
ones. For, of course, it is just as well to be a great fellow, if only incog.
' Going to Bligmurdochshire, Sir ?' ' Ah!—do you know Eaglestail
of Eaglestail P' (the largest proprietor, Lord Lieutenant, &c, &c.)
This question was put to me by a fellow-passenger; how I answered it
is nobody's business ; but this I know, that the jaunty young gent, who
did ask me this is not staying at Eaglestail—but spends most of his
time at the wretched little billiard-room in Drumsleekie (such a table
—such a rusty old cloth !) playing billiards with an ex-lawyer's clerk,
who recently succeeded to a little patch of land, in right of some mort-
gage transaction.
"' Drumsleekie Station !' I woke up from a nap which had
lasted all across the borders. ' And this,' exclaimed I—mentally, of
course, or I should have been seized as a drunkard—
' This is my own, my native land.'
"'Hooare ye, Sanders? Hoo's a' wi' ye. A' richt!' My dear
Punch, I began to feel how English my culture had been when I first
heard the Scotch tongue roaring around me. I have always liked
Burns, undoubtedly, but his Scotch gives a relish to his humour, as
olives do to wine. But all Scotch—common daily Scotch ! By Jove, I
begin to be afraid that we are like our thistles—deuced pretty and
symbolic, and all that, to look at, but—to live upon—only fit for
a donkey !
"' And this,' I resumed, ' this is the city where Bruce slew what's-
his-name; 'twas here'—but in fact 'twas drizzling. I was very hungry.
I got a fellow to carry my portmanteau to the Eaglesham Arms.
I gave him a shilling. It would ill become a M'Spleuchan of
Bluter to sneer at his countrymen; but I remarked then—and have
since—a certain elation and surprise manifested by the recipient of a
shilling, hereabouts, which—but let us not be satirical. Only note
this, also, that if the unexpected amount awakens admiration for your
generosity, that sentiment is blended with compassion for your
understanding.
" I hate your orations, and great receptions. This made me shy in
entering the Eaglesham Arms. A M'Spleuchan, I was afraid, would
be received with that empressement which, to travelled men, can only seem
a bore. The name of M'Spleuchan is—thought I—somewhat well
known, hereabouts. Well—well—I escaped the anticipated bore;
and, when I retired, I found myself conducted to a chamber as
high as the heronry that used to exist near Bluter, in better times than
these! Ha!
" I stayed at Drumsleekie some time. I mixed with the people-
talked to them. In London, we talk of and interest ourselves in
Russell, Derby, Palmerston, the Pope, &c, &c. In Drumsleekie,
everybody talks of and worships Lord Pumple, Caddle of Snigg,
Mooney of Nobbs, Gun of Gunning, and Mb. M'Pigmy of
Dunce.—Au revoir."
PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
TRAVELLING NOTES.
BY A SCOTCHMAN WHO HAS GONE BACK.
CHAPTER I.
"Bluter Castle, near Knockintulloch, Bligmurdochshire.
a man who had
heard of Knockintulloch! Of course you go on bragging of your
knowledge, and affect to pronounce opinions on Scotland. Pretty
critics, indeed, who don't know the difference between Buittle and
Borgue, and don't know which is the oldest, Gordon of Lettkr-
fourie, or Gordon or Glenbucket !!
"I shall just give you a few preliminary reasons why I happen to be
here. From my accent, the people would never know me to be a
Scotchman.* The fact is, I left Scotland some years ago. 1 know
you laugh here. But, why do we leave Scotland ? I will tell you. In
the first place, we are naturally an adventurous people, and desirous of
spreading civilisation. That was my first impulse. Secondly, I was
desirous of seeing the world. Thirdly, I wished to study the manners
of the Eastern nations. Fourthly, I love commercial pursuits. And,
also, I should add, the property of Bluter was, in my youth, not what it
■used 4o be.
" The family of M'Spletjchan of Bluter f * * * *
* * * 'hard up.'
" People may say what they like about the causes of these changes.
There are some who pretend that the property was a mere bit of hard
hilly land at the best, and that it could not be expected to maintain an
increasing family. This has a superficial air of reasonableness about it.
But perhaps the real cause of our ruin was a large hospitality. In
the old times in this neighbourhood, the way they managed hospitality
was this. Half-a-dozen lairds were perhaps on friendly terms. Well!
they all went to live at each other's houses by turns; and, by the time
the sixth establishment was exhausted, the first was replenished. It
was at one of these feasts that my excellent grandfather breathed his
last, in what, I dare say, you fellows consider a somewhat remarkable way.
He was always a good eater; and he liked his tumbler, my dear Punch.
They had sat at table at the house of Dalzell of the Scaur for a
couple of days. Somehow or other, the old gentleman had been silent
for a little, and presently the Laird of Kilshillan called out across
the table, ' Guide us ! Bluter's looking gash!' which, being inter-
preted, means ' pale.' * Gash !' said the hospitable host, ' he's been
deed these twa hours, but I wouidna disturb the company.'
"Ah, those were the days! But I must not linger over the past.
They laid the old gentleman's moist clay with that of his ancestors.
My father found the lands of Bluter too much burdened to be longer
tenable. They passed, Sir, into the hands of the great Earls of Muir-
fowl. You must have observed, my dear Editor, that properties are
like quicksilver—the big knobs attract the little ones, and swallow
them up.
" It has been the dream of my life to recover Bluter. I have bought
Bluter; and here is the point I should like to urge on you. The
* We question this fact.—Ed.
T We have been obliged to prune our correspondent immensely here.—Ed.
Scotch, Sir, abroad—you may take them where you please—are all
aiming at getting back their Bluter! Take old Mull and Groset of
Cadiz, the wine-merchants. Take old M'Happs of Smyrna, the carpet
man. Get either of them over a bottle of Port (which I dare say you
would not at all object to), and see what the favourite vision of him is.
Or trot through any Scotch county, and ask the boy who is carrying
the letter-bag to the little place inside the fir-trees. You will find, ten
to one, that the tenant is an old retired fellow, who left the county
without a rap, and has come back and bought himself a bit of land.
But to my more immediate ' notes.'
" It is a mercy we were not run into just before we got to Carlisle.
They did what they could—I'll do them the justice to say that—as far
as stopping went. But we got on—though for some time not much
quicker than the train from Naples to Castel-a-mare—though it is driven
by a Scotchman. (But no amount of intellect will triumph in some
countries !) I was, myself, in a state of agitation more than once in
the second-class carriage—I always travel in the second class, by the
bye; I prefer it—and scarcely able at times to continue my converse
with the gentleman opposite. This was a schoolmaster taking his boys
home with him—who wondered, poor little fellows, to hear me chatting
so familiarly with their master. I am afraid I was wrong about the
longitude of Bio Janeiro, which came up in the course of conversation,
and, indeed, the schoolmaster looked as if he would have liked to flog
me. Flog me, indeed, M'Spleuchan, late of the-! Ha ! ha !
" I changed carriages at Carlisle. Two minutes for refreshment. They
don't know what an old stager can do in two minutes. Shilling's worth
cold brandy-and-water—three sandwiches—Banbury cake, half-finished,
in hand—as I hopped into the carriage just at the starting bell. A
youth in a white wide-awake was the only other occupant, and with
demoniac exultation he exclaimed at once ' Ah! Smoke now!'
' Second class !' said a voice at the window bringing an ugly female
face to it, ' This way, Ma'am.' ' Full here,' exclaimed the youth oppo-
site. But this was 'no go,' and a scowl of indignation from the ugly
female withered him up, as she passed between our knees, hugged
herself in the opposite corner, and plunged into Uncle Tom's Cabin!
"Note here—that the people who begin a chat with you in railways
about the places the train is going to always take care, in asking you
about the people there, to ask you if you know the regular tip-top
ones. For, of course, it is just as well to be a great fellow, if only incog.
' Going to Bligmurdochshire, Sir ?' ' Ah!—do you know Eaglestail
of Eaglestail P' (the largest proprietor, Lord Lieutenant, &c, &c.)
This question was put to me by a fellow-passenger; how I answered it
is nobody's business ; but this I know, that the jaunty young gent, who
did ask me this is not staying at Eaglestail—but spends most of his
time at the wretched little billiard-room in Drumsleekie (such a table
—such a rusty old cloth !) playing billiards with an ex-lawyer's clerk,
who recently succeeded to a little patch of land, in right of some mort-
gage transaction.
"' Drumsleekie Station !' I woke up from a nap which had
lasted all across the borders. ' And this,' exclaimed I—mentally, of
course, or I should have been seized as a drunkard—
' This is my own, my native land.'
"'Hooare ye, Sanders? Hoo's a' wi' ye. A' richt!' My dear
Punch, I began to feel how English my culture had been when I first
heard the Scotch tongue roaring around me. I have always liked
Burns, undoubtedly, but his Scotch gives a relish to his humour, as
olives do to wine. But all Scotch—common daily Scotch ! By Jove, I
begin to be afraid that we are like our thistles—deuced pretty and
symbolic, and all that, to look at, but—to live upon—only fit for
a donkey !
"' And this,' I resumed, ' this is the city where Bruce slew what's-
his-name; 'twas here'—but in fact 'twas drizzling. I was very hungry.
I got a fellow to carry my portmanteau to the Eaglesham Arms.
I gave him a shilling. It would ill become a M'Spleuchan of
Bluter to sneer at his countrymen; but I remarked then—and have
since—a certain elation and surprise manifested by the recipient of a
shilling, hereabouts, which—but let us not be satirical. Only note
this, also, that if the unexpected amount awakens admiration for your
generosity, that sentiment is blended with compassion for your
understanding.
" I hate your orations, and great receptions. This made me shy in
entering the Eaglesham Arms. A M'Spleuchan, I was afraid, would
be received with that empressement which, to travelled men, can only seem
a bore. The name of M'Spleuchan is—thought I—somewhat well
known, hereabouts. Well—well—I escaped the anticipated bore;
and, when I retired, I found myself conducted to a chamber as
high as the heronry that used to exist near Bluter, in better times than
these! Ha!
" I stayed at Drumsleekie some time. I mixed with the people-
talked to them. In London, we talk of and interest ourselves in
Russell, Derby, Palmerston, the Pope, &c, &c. In Drumsleekie,
everybody talks of and worships Lord Pumple, Caddle of Snigg,
Mooney of Nobbs, Gun of Gunning, and Mb. M'Pigmy of
Dunce.—Au revoir."