Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character by Edward Bannerman Ramsay

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It may, perhaps, be said that the change we speak of is not peculiar to
Scotland; that in England the same change has been apparent; and that
drunkenness has passed away in the higher circles, as a matter of
course, as refinement and taste made an advancement in society. This is
true. But there were some features of the question which were peculiar
to Scotland, and which at one time rendered it less probable that
intemperance would give way in the north. It seemed in some quarters to
have taken deeper root amongst us. The system of pressing, or of
_compelling_, guests to drink seemed more inveterate. Nothing can more
powerfully illustrate the deep-rooted character of intemperate habits in
families than an anecdote which was related to me, as coming from the
late Mr. Mackenzie, author of the _Man of Feeling_. He had been involved
in a regular drinking party. He was keeping as free from the usual
excesses as he was able, and as he marked companions around him falling
victims to the power of drink, he himself dropped off under the table
among the slain, as a measure of precaution; and lying there, his
attention was called to a small pair of hands working at his throat; on
asking what it was, a voice replied, "Sir, I'm the lad that's to lowse
the neckcloths." Here, then, was a family, where, on drinking
occasions, it was the appointed duty of one of the household to attend,
and, when the guests where becoming helpless, to untie their cravats in
fear of apoplexy or suffocation[32]. We ought certainly to be grateful
for the change which has taken place from such a system; for this change
has made a great revolution in Scottish social life. The charm and the
romance long attached in the minds of some of our countrymen to the
whole system and concerns of hard drinking was indeed most lamentable
and absurd. At tavern suppers, where, nine times out often, it was the
express _object_ of those who went to get drunk, such stuff as "regal
purple stream," "rosy wine," "quaffing the goblet," "bright sparkling
nectar," "chasing the rosy hours," and so on, tended to keep up the
delusion, and make it a monstrous fine thing for men to sit up drinking
half the night, to have frightful headaches all next day, to make
maudlin idiots of themselves as they were going home, and to become
brutes amongst their family when they arrived. And here I may introduce
the mention of a practice connected with the convivial habits of which
we have been speaking, but which has for some time passed away, at least
from private tables--I mean the absurd system of calling for toasts and
sentiments each time the glasses were filled. During dinner not a drop
could be touched, except in conjunction with others, and with each
drinking to the health of each. But toasts came _after_ dinner. I can
just remember the practice in partial operation; and my astonishment as
a mere boy, when accidentally dining at table and hearing my mother
called upon to "give the company a gentleman," is one of my earliest
reminiscences. Lord Cockburn must have remembered them well, and I will
quote his most amusing account of the effects:--"After dinner, and
before the ladies retired, there generally began what was called
'_Rounds_' of toasts, when each gentleman named an absent lady, and each
lady an absent gentleman, separately; or one person was required to give
an absent lady, and another person was required to match a gentleman
with that lady, and the persons named were toasted, generally, with
allusions and jokes about the fitness of the union. And, worst of all,
there were 'Sentiments.' These were short epigrammatic sentences,
expressive of moral feelings and virtues, and were thought refined and
elegant productions. A faint conception of their nauseousness may be
formed from the following examples, every one of which I have heard
given a thousand times, and which indeed I only recollect from their
being favourites. The glasses being filled, a person was asked for his
or for her sentiment, when this, or something similar, was
committed:--'May the pleasures of the evening bear the reflections of
the morning;' or, 'may the friends of our youth be the companions of our
old age;' or, 'delicate pleasures to susceptible minds;' 'may the honest
heart never feel distress;' 'may the hand of charity wipe the tear from
the eye of sorrow.' The conceited, the ready, or the reckless, hackneyed
in the art, had a knack of making new sentiments applicable to the
passing incidents with great ease. But it was a dreadful oppression on
the timid or the awkward. They used to shudder, ladies particularly; for
nobody was spared when their turn in the _round_ approached. Many a
struggle and blush did it cost; but this seemed only to excite the
tyranny of the masters of the craft; and compliance could never be
avoided, except by more torture than yielding.... It is difficult for
those who have been under a more natural system to comprehend how a
sensible man, a respectable matron, a worthy old maid, and especially a
girl, could be expected to go into company easily, on such
conditions[33]."

This accompaniment of domestic drinking by a toast or sentiment--the
practice of which is now confined to public entertainments--was then
invariable in private parties, and was supposed to enliven and promote
the good fellowship of the social circle. Thus Fergusson, in one of his
poems, in describing a dinner, says--

"The grace is said; it's nae ower lang,
The claret reams in bells.
Quo' Deacon, 'Let the toast round gang;
Come, here's our noble sels
Weel met the day.'"

There was a great variety of these toasts, some of them exclusively
Scottish. A correspondent has favoured me with a few reminiscences of
such incentives to inebriety.

The ordinary form of drinking a health was in the address, "Here's t'
ye."

Then such as the following were named by successive members of the
company at the call of the host:--

_The land o' cakes_ (Scotland).
_Mair freens and less need o' them.
Thumping luck and fat weans_.

_When we're gaun up the hill o' fortune may we ne'er
meet a freen' coming doun.
May ne'er waur be amang us.
May the hinges o' freendship never rust, or the wings o'
luve lose a feather.
Here's to them that lo'es us, or lenns us a lift.
Here's health to the sick, stilts to the lame; claise to
the back, and brose to the wame.
Here's health, wealth, wit, and meal.
The deil rock them in a creel that does na' wish us a'
weel.
Horny hands and weather-beaten haffets (cheeks).
The rending o' rocks and the pu'in' doun o' auld
houses_.

The above two belong to the mason craft; the first implies a wish for
plenty of work, and health to do it; the second, to erect new buildings
and clear away old ones.

_May the winds o' adversity ne'er blaw open our door.
May poortith ne'er throw us in the dirt, or gowd into
the high saddle[34].
May the mouse ne'er leave our meal-pock wi' the tear
in its e'e.
Blythe may we a' be.
Ill may we never see.
Breeks and brochan (brose).
May we ne'er want a freend, or a drappie to gie him.
Gude een to you a', an' tak your nappy.
A willy-waught's a gude night cappy[35].
May we a' be canty an' cosy,
An' ilk hae a wife in his bosy_.
_A cosy but, and a canty ben,
To couthie[36] women and trusty men.
The ingle neuk wi' routh[37] o' bannoch and bairns.
Here's to him wha winna beguile ye.
Mair sense and mair siller.
Horn, corn, wool, an' yarn[38]_.

Sometimes certain toasts were accompanied by _Highland_ honours. This
was a very exciting, and to a stranger a somewhat alarming, proceeding.
I recollect my astonishment the first time I witnessed the ceremony--the
company, from sitting quietly drinking their wine, seemed to assume the
attitude of harmless maniacs, allowed to amuse themselves. The moment
the toast was given, and proposed to be drunk with Highland honours, the
gentlemen all rose, and with one foot on their chair and another on the
_table_, they drank the toast with Gaelic shrieks, which were awful to
hear, the cheering being under the direction of a toast-master appointed
to direct the proceedings. I am indebted to the kindness of the Rev.
Duncan Campbell, the esteemed minister of Moulin, for the form used on
such occasions. Here it is in the Gaelic and the Saxon:--

_Gaelic._

So! Nish! Nish! Sud ris! Sud ris! Thig ris! Thig ris! A on uair eile!

_Translation._

Prepare! Now! Now! Yon again! Yon again! At it again! At it again!
Another time, or one cheer more!

The reader is to imagine these words uttered with yells and
vociferations, and accompanied with frantic gestures.

The system of giving toasts was so regularly established, that
collections of them were published to add brilliancy to the festive
board. By the kindness of the librarian, I have seen a little volume
which is in the Signet Library of Edinburgh. It is entitled, "The
Gentleman's New Bottle Companion," Edinburgh, printed in the year
MDCCLXXVII. It contains various toasts and sentiments which the writer
considered to be suitable to such occasions. Of the taste and decency of
the companies where some of them could be made use of, the less said
the better.

I have heard also of large traditionary collections of toasts and
sentiments, belonging to old clubs and societies, extending back above a
century, but I have not seen any of them, and I believe my readers will
think they have had quite enough.

The favourable reaction which has taken place in regard to the whole
system of intemperance may very fairly, in the first place, be referred
to an improved _moral_ feeling. But other causes have also assisted; and
it is curious to observe how the different changes in the modes of
society bear upon one another. The alteration in the convivial habits
which we are noticing in our own country may be partly due to alteration
of hours. The old plan of early dining favoured a system of suppers, and
after supper was a great time for convivial songs and sentiments. This
of course induced drinking to a late hour. Most drinking songs imply the
night as the season of conviviality--thus in a popular madrigal:--

"By the gaily circling glass
We can tell how minutes pass;
By the hollow cask we're told
How the waning _night_ grows old."

And Burns thus marks the time:--

"It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie;
She shines sae bright, to wyle us hame,
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee."

The young people of the present day have no idea of the state of matters
in regard to the supper system when it was the normal condition of
society. The late dining hours may make the social circle more formal,
but they have been far less favourable to drinking propensities. After
such dinners as ours are now, suppers are clearly out of the question.
One is astonished to look back and recall the scenes to which were
attached associations of hilarity, conviviality, and enjoyment. Drinking
parties were protracted beyond the whole Sunday, having begun by a
dinner on Saturday; imbecility and prostrate helplessness were a common
result of these bright and jovial scenes; and by what perversion of
language, or by what obliquity of sentiment, the notions of pleasure
could be attached to scenes of such excess--to the nausea, the disgust
of sated appetite, and the racking headache--it is not easy to explain.
There were men of heads so hard, and of stomachs so insensible, that,
like my friend Saunders Paul, they could stand anything in the way of
drink. But to men in general, and to the more delicate constitutions,
such a life must have been a cause of great misery. To a certain extent,
and up to a certain point, wine may be a refreshment and a wholesome
stimulant; nay, it is a medicine, and a valuable one, and as such, comes
recommended on fitting occasions by the physician. _Beyond_ this point,
as sanctioned and approved by nature, the use of wine is only
degradation. Well did the sacred writer call wine, when thus taken in
excess, "a mocker." It makes all men equal, because it makes them all
idiotic. It allures them into a vicious indulgence, and then mocks their
folly, by depriving them of any sense they may ever have possessed.

It has, I fear, been injurious to the cause of temperance, that emotions
of true friendship, and the outpouring of human affections, should so
frequently be connected with the obligation that the parties should _get
drunk together_. Drunkenness is thus made to hold too close an
association in men's minds with some of the best and finest feelings of
their nature.

"Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,"

is the constant acknowledged strain of poetical friendship: our own
Robert Burns calls upon the dear companion of his early happy days, with
whom he had "paidl't i' the burn, frae mornin' sun till dine," and
between whom "braid seas had roar'd sin auld lang syne," to commemorate
their union of heart and spirit, and to welcome their meeting after
years of separation, by each one joining his pint-stoup, and by each
taking a mutual "richt guid willie-waught," in honour of the innocent
and happy times of "auld lang syne." David marks his recognition of
friendship by tokens of a different character--"We took sweet counsel
together, and walked _in the house of God_ as friends."--Ps. lv. 14.

Reference has already been made to Lord Hermand's opinion of drinking,
and to the high estimation in which he held a staunch drinker, according
to the testimony of Lord Cockburn, There is a remarkable corroboration
of this opinion in a current anecdote which is traditionary regarding
the same learned judge. A case of some great offence was tried before
him, and the counsel pleaded extenuation for his client in that he was
_drunk_ when he committed the offence. "Drunk!" exclaimed Lord Hermand,
in great indignation; "if he could do such a thing when he was drunk,
what might he not have done when he was _sober!_" evidently implying
that the normal condition of human nature, and its most hopeful one, was
a condition of intoxication.

Of the prevalence of hard drinking in certain houses as a system, a
remarkable proof is given at page 102. The following anecdote still
further illustrates the subject, and corresponds exactly with the story
of the "loosing the cravats," which was performed for guests in a state
of helpless inebriety by one of the household. There had been a
carousing party at Castle Grant, many years ago, and as the evening
advanced towards morning two Highlanders were in attendance to carry the
guests up stairs, it being understood that none could by any other means
arrive at their sleeping apartments. One or two of the guests, however,
whether from their abstinence or their superior strength of head, were
walking up stairs, and declined the proffered assistance. The attendants
were quite astonished, and indignantly exclaimed, "Agh, it's sare
cheenged times at Castle Grant, when shentlemens can gang to bed on
their ain feet."

There was a practice in many Scottish houses which favoured most
injuriously the national tendency to spirit-drinking, and that was a
foolish and inconsiderate custom of offering a glass on all occasions as
a mark of kindness or hospitality. I mention the custom only for the
purpose of offering a remonstrance. It should never be done. Even now, I
am assured, small jobs (carpenters' or blacksmiths', or such like) are
constantly remunerated in the West Highlands of Scotland--and doubtless
in many other parts of the country--not by a pecuniary payment, but by a
_dram_; if the said dram be taken from a _speerit_-decanter out of the
family press or cupboard, the compliment is esteemed the greater, and
the offering doubly valued.

A very amusing dialogue between a landlord and his tenant on this
question of the dram has been sent to me. John Colquhoun, an aged
Dumbartonshire tenant, is asked by his laird on Lochlomond side, to stay
a minute till he _tastes_. "Now, John," says the laird. "Only half a
glass, Camstraddale," meekly pleads John. "Which half?" rejoins the
laird, "the upper or the lower?" John grins, and turns off _both_--_the
upper and lower_ too.

The upper and lower portions of the glass furnish another drinking
anecdote. A very greedy old lady employed another John Colquhoun to cut
the grass upon the lawn, and enjoined him to cut it very close, adding,
as a reason for the injunction, that one inch at the bottom was worth
two at the top. Having finished his work much to her satisfaction, the
old lady got out the whisky-bottle and a tapering wineglass, which she
filled about half full; John suggested that it would be better to fill
it up, slily adding, "Fill it up, mem, for it's no like the gress; an
inch at the tap's worth twa at the boddom."

But the most whimsical anecdote connected with the subject of drink, is
one traditionary in the south of Scotland, regarding an old Gallovidian
lady disclaiming more drink under the following circumstances:--The old
generation of Galloway lairds were a primitive and hospitable race, but
their conviviality sometimes led to awkward occurrences. In former days,
when roads were bad and wheeled vehicles almost unknown, an old laird
was returning from a supper party, with his lady mounted behind him on
horseback. On crossing the river Urr, at a ford at a point where it
joins the sea, the old lady dropped off, but was not missed till her
husband reached his door, when, of course, there was an immediate search
made. The party who were despatched in quest of her arrived just in time
to find her remonstrating with the advancing tide, which trickled into
her mouth, in these words, "No anither drap; neither het nor cauld."

A lady, on one occasion, offering a dram to a porter in a rather small
glass, said, "Take it off; it will do you no harm," on which the man,
looking at the diminutive glass, observed, "Harm! Na, gin it were
poushon" (poison).

I would now introduce, as a perfect illustration of this portion of our
subject, two descriptions of clergymen, well known men in their day,
which are taken from Dr. Carlyle's work, already referred to. Of Dr.
Alexander Webster, a clergyman, and one of his contemporaries, he writes
thus:--"Webster, leader of the high-flying party, had justly obtained
much respect amongst the clergy, and all ranks indeed, for having
established the Widows' Fund.... His appearance of great strictness in
religion, to which he was bred under his father, who was a very popular
minister of the Tolbooth Church, not acting in restraint of his
convivial humour, he was held to be excellent company even by those of
dissolute manners; while, being a five-bottle man, he could lay them all
under the table. This had brought on him the nickname of Dr. Bonum
Magnum in the time of faction. But never being indecently the worse of
liquor, and a love of claret, to any degree, not being reckoned in those
days a sin in Scotland, all his excesses were pardoned."

Dr. Patrick Cumming, also a clergyman and a contemporary, he describes
in the following terms:--"Dr. Patrick Cumming was, at this time (1751),
at the head of the moderate interest, and had his temper been equal to
his talents, might have kept it long, for he had both learning and
sagacity, and very agreeable conversation, _with a constitution able to
bear the conviviality of the times._"

Now, of all the anecdotes and facts which I have collected, or of all
which I have ever heard to illustrate the state of Scottish society in
the past times, as regards its habits of intemperance, this assuredly
surpasses them all.--Of two well-known, distinguished, and leading
clergymen in the middle of the eighteenth century, one who had "obtained
much respect," and "had the appearance of great strictness in religion,"
is described as an enormous drinker of claret; the other, an able leader
of a powerful section in the church, is described as _owing_ his
influence to his power of meeting the conviviality of the times. Suppose
for a moment a future biographer should write in this strain of eminent
divines, and should apply to distinguished members of the Scottish
Church in 1863 such description as the following:--"Dr. ---- was a man
who took a leading part in all church affairs at this time, and was much
looked up to by the evangelical section of the General Assembly; he
could always carry off without difficulty his five bottles of claret.
Dr. ---- had great influence in society, and led the opposite party in
the General Assembly, as he could take his place in all companies, and
drink on fair terms at the most convivial tables!!" Why, this seems to
us so monstrous, that we can scarcely believe Dr. Carlyle's account of
matters in his day to be possible.

There is a story which illustrates, with terrible force, the power
which drinking had obtained in Scottish social life. I have been
deterred from bringing it forward, as too shocking for production. But
as the story is pretty well known, and its truth vouched for on high
authority, I venture to give it, as affording a proof that, in those
days, no consideration, not even the most awful that affects human
nature, could be made to outweigh the claims of a determined
conviviality. It may, I think, be mentioned also, in the way of warning
men generally against the hardening and demoralising effects of habitual
drunkenness. The story is this:--At a prolonged drinking bout, one of
the party remarked, "What gars the laird of Garskadden look sae
gash[39]?" "Ou," says his neighbour, the laird of Kilmardinny, "deil
meane him! Garskadden's been wi' his Maker these twa hours; I saw him
step awa, but I didna like to disturb gude company[40]!"

Before closing this subject of excess in _drinking_, I may refer to
another indulgence in which our countrymen are generally supposed to
partake more largely than their neighbours:--I mean snuff-taking. The
popular southern ideas of a Scotchman and his snuff-box are inseparable.
Smoking does not appear to have been practised more in Scotland than in
England, and if Scotchmen are sometimes intemperate in the use of snuff,
it is certainly a more innocent excess than intemperance in whisky. I
recollect, amongst the common people in the north, a mode of taking
snuff which showed a determination to make the _most_ of it, and which
indicated somewhat of intemperance in the enjoyment; this was to receive
it not through a pinch between the fingers, but through a quill or
little bone ladle, which forced it up the nose. But, besides smoking and
snuffing, I have a reminiscence of a _third_ use of tobacco, which I
apprehend is now quite obsolete. Some of my readers will be surprised
when I name this forgotten luxury. It was called _plugging_, and
consisted _(horresco referens_) in poking a piece of pigtail tobacco
right into the nostril. I remember this distinctly; and now, at a
distance of more than sixty years, I recall my utter astonishment as a
boy, at seeing my grand-uncle, with whom I lived in early days, put a
thin piece of tobacco fairly up his nose. I suppose the plug acted as a
continued stimulant on the olfactory nerve, and was, in short, like
taking a perpetual pinch of snuff.

The inveterate snuff-taker, like the dram-drinker, felt severely the
being deprived of his accustomed stimulant, as in the following
instance:--A severe snow-storm in the Highlands, which lasted for
several weeks, having stopped all communication betwixt neighbouring
hamlets, the snuff-boxes were soon reduced to their last pinch.
Borrowing and begging from all the neighbours within reach were first
resorted to, but when these failed, all were alike reduced to the
longing which unwillingly-abstinent snuff-takers alone know. The
minister of the parish was amongst the unhappy number; the craving was
so intense that study was out of the question, and he became quite
restless. As a last resort the beadle was despatched, through the snow,
to a neighbouring glen, in the hope of getting a supply; but he came
back as unsuccessful as he went. "What's to be dune, John?" was the
minister's pathetic inquiry. John shook his head, as much as to say that
he could not tell; but immediately thereafter started up, as if a new
idea had occurred to him. He came back in a few minutes, crying, "Hae!"
The minister, too eager to be scrutinising, took a long, deep pinch, and
then said, "Whaur did you get it?" "I soupit[41] the poupit," was John's
expressive reply. The minister's accumulated superfluous Sabbath snuff
now came into good use.

It does not appear that at this time a similar excess in _eating_
accompanied this prevalent tendency to excess in drinking. Scottish
tables were at that period plain and abundant, but epicurism or gluttony
do not seem to have been handmaids to drunkenness. A humorous anecdote,
however, of a full-eating laird, may well accompany those which
appertain to the _drinking_ lairds.--A lady in the north having watched
the proceedings of a guest, who ate long and largely, she ordered the
servant to take away, as he had at last laid down his knife and fork. To
her surprise, however, he resumed his work, and she apologised to him,
saying, "I thought, Mr. ----, you had done."

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