The Rural Magazine, and Literary Evening Fire-Side, Vol. 1 No. 05 (1820)Various
Philosophy
The Rural Magazine, and Literary Evening Fire-Side, Vol. 1 No. 05 (1820)
Various
Agriculture; Agriculture -- Periodicals
The last time I was present at this meeting I was invited to
breakfast at the house of a respectable and recently converted
member of the "Broken Remnant," a warm-hearted weaver, a man of
rare conversation--ready wit, and cutting dry sarcasm. He was also
as much celebrated for his poetry as the unrivalled productions of
his loom. His birds-eye, his barley-pickle, his lowland plaiden,
and fine linen, were the theme of praise among the young maids in
danger of being married--and to their praise I add mine. I have
proved his hospitality, and proved the labours of his loom. I sat
down to an ample breakfast with this Cameronian worthy--his wife
lively always, and once handsome--his two sons, inheriting their
father's powers even to overflowing, and a solemn browed Cameronian
from the borders of the moorlands. This family auxiliary undertook
to pronounce a blessing on our good cheer; a serious trial of my
patience and appetite. I endured his sermon for many minutes; it
was in its nature controversial. He touched on the adventure at
Drumclog, and addressed Providence in strong and familiar term
anent the disaster at Bothwell Brig. I looked piteous but resigned,
and the good housewife poured forth the tea. But then there came
headings and hangings, and finings and confinings, and sad travels
and sore tortures. The goodwife placed a plate of smoking savoury
cake before him, but he was not to be tempted; he threw a passing
curse or two on patronage, still he was distant from our day
half a century at least. I looked with an imploring eye, and my
entertainer closed his; but I could see by the sarcastic curl at
the corners of his mouth that he was inwardly enjoying my misery.
Once I stretched my hand, for I had half a mind, like the renowned
and impatient good man of Drumbreg, on a time of similar trial, to
seize my cup with a cry of "Ye have done brawly man," and cut short
all explanation by falling to. I endured it to an end however,
and an excellent breakfast enabled me to endure the infliction of
a "return thanks," eminently curious and controversial. We then
sallied forth to the preaching--the pastor had already commenced; it
might be half past 9 o'clock. I was struck with the magnitude and
repose of the congregation. Besides the sodded seats which held the
oldest and most respectable members, the broom then, I think, in
full bloom, with all its perfume about it, was bent down for many
acres to form rural seats to Cameronian dames, and dames indeed of
all persuasions.--There were many dressed in the latest fashion; the
old simple mode of dress however prevailed. Though all shewed deep
symptoms of devotion, and many of awe, the young women by no means
confined their eyes, and many had bright ones, to the contemplation
of the preacher. This festival always attracts an immense
multitude, and though the Cameronians are the only communicants,
all sects and denominations of Presbyterians crowd to the place,
and occupy the vacant ground.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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