The Life of Mansie Wauch - Tailor in Dalkeith, written by himself

D. M. (David Macbeth) Moir

Informations

• Publié par: zewyig
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 48
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Life of Mansie Wauch, by David Macbeth
Moir
The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Life of Mansie Wauch, by David Macbeth
Moir
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Life of Mansie Wauch
Tailor in Dalkeith, written by himself
Author: David Macbeth Moir
Release Date: December 10, 2007 [eBook #20767]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF MANSIE WAUCH***
Transcribed from the 1845 William Blackwood and Sons edition by David
Price, email [e-mail]
THE LIFE
of
MANSIE WAUCH
tailor in dalkeith
written by himself
a new edition
william blackwood and sons
edinburgh and londonm.dccc.xlv
to
JOHN GALT, Esq.
author of “the annals of the parish,” “the provost,” “the ayrshire legatees,” &c.
&c. &c.
THE FOLLOWING SKETCHES,
principally of humble scottish character,
are dedicated,
by his sincere friend and admirer,
THE EDITOR.
ADVERTISEMENT.
Between the first and last genuine Editions of the following biography, it has
been repeatedly reprinted both in America and France; and portions of it,
pirated in the shape of cheap pamphlets, have, for two or three years bypast,
formed a staple article of commerce with the Peripatetic Bibliopoles in this
country. Popularity to an author must be always gratifying; but it were well that
it came through the proper channels.
* * * * *
The present Edition has been carefully revised, and it embodies all the
additions made to the book since its first appearance. Sixteen years have now
passed over since Mr Wauch joined his name to those of Rousseau and
Franklin as an autobiographer; and it must be pleasing to him in his venerable
old age to learn, that he is still a favourite with the Public. Nay, more, it is to be
hoped that the accommodating moderation in the rates of charges anent his
present fashions and furnishings, may be the means of yet further enlarging the
circle of his literary acquaintances.
p. iPRELIMINARIES.
Having, within myself, made observation of late years, that all notable
characters, whatsoever line of life they may have pursued, and to whatever
business they might belong, have made a trade of committing to paper all the
surprising occurrences and remarkable events that chanced to happen to them
in the course of Providence, during their journey through life—that such as
come after them might take warning and be benefited—I have found it
incumbent on me, following a right example, to do the same thing; and have set
down, in black and white, a good few uncos, that I should reckon will not soon
be forgotten, provided they make as deep an impression on the world as they
have done on me. To this decision I have been urged by the elbowing on of not
a few judicious friends; among whom I would particularly remark James Batter,
who has been most earnest in his request, and than whom a truer judge on any
thing connected with book-lear, or a better neighbour, does not breathe the
breath of life: both of which positions will, I doubt not, appear as clear as
p. iidaylight to the reader, in the course of the work: to say nothing of the approval
the scheme met with from the pious Maister Wiggie, who has now gone to hisaccount, and divers other advisers, that wished either the general good of the
world, or studied their own particular profit.
Had the course of my pilgrimage lain just on the beaten track, I would not—at
least I think so—have been o’ercome by ony perswasions to do what I have
done; but as will be seen, in the twinkling of half-an-eye, by the judicious
reader, I am a man that has witnessed much, and come through a great deal,
both in regard to the times wherein I have lived, and the out-o’-the-way
adventures in which it has been my fortune to be engaged. Indeed, though I
say it myself, who might as well be silent, I that have never stirred, in a manner
so to speak, from home, have witnessed more of the world we live in, and the
doings of men, than many who have sailed the salt seas from the East Indies to
the West; or, in the course of nature, visited Greenland, Jamaica, or Van
Diemen’s Land. The cream of the matter, and to which we would solicit the
attention of old and young, rich and poor, is just this, that, unless unco doure
indeed to learn, the inexperienced may gleam from my pages sundry grand
lessons, concerning what they have a chance to expect in the course of an
active life; and the unsteady may take a hint concerning what it is possible for
one of a clear head and a stout heart to go through with.
Notwithstanding, however, these plain and evident conclusions, even after
writing the whole out, I thought I felt a kind of a qualm of conscience about
p. iiisubmitting an account of my actions and transactions to the world during my
lifetime; and I had almost determined, for decency’s sake, not to let the papers
be printed till after I had been gathered to my fathers; but I took into
consideration the duty that one man owes to another; and that my keeping
back, and withholding these curious documents, would be in a great measure
hindering the improvement of society, so far as I was myself personally
concerned. Now this is a business, which James Batter agrees with me in
thinking is carried on, furthered, and brought about, by every one furnishing his
share of experience to the general stock. Let-a-be this plain truth, another point
of argument for my bringing out my bit book at the present time is, that I am here
to the fore bodily, with the use of my seven senses, to give day and date to all
such as venture to put on the misbelieving front of Sadducees, with regard to
any of the accidents, mischances, marvellous escapes, and extraordinary
businesses therein related; and to show them, as plain as the bool of a pint
stoup, that each and every thing set down by me within its boards is just as true,
as that a blind man needs not spectacles, or that my name is Mansie Wauch.
Perhaps, as a person willing and anxious to give every man his due, it is
necessary for me explicitly to mention, that, in the course of this book, I am
indebted to my friend James Batter, for his able help in assisting me to spell the
kittle words, and in rummaging out scraps of poem-books for headpieces to my
different chapters.
p. 5CHAPTER I.—OUR OLD GRANFATHER.
The sun rises bright in France,
And fair sets he;
But he has tint the blithe blink he had
In my ain countree.
Allan Cunningham.Some of the rich houses and great folk pretend to have histories of the
auncientness of their families, which they can count back on their fingers
almost to the days of Noah’s ark, and King Fergus the First; but whatever may
spunk out after on this point, I am free to confess, with a safe conscience, in the
mean time, that it is not in my power to come up within sight of them; having
never seen or heard tell of any body in our connexion, further back than auld
granfaither, that I mind of when a laddie; and who it behoves to have belonged
by birthright to some parish or other; but where-away, gude kens. James Batter
mostly blinded both his eyes, looking all last winter for one of our name in the
Book of Martyrs, to make us proud of; but his search, I am free to confess, worse
than failed—as the only man of the name he could find out was a Sergeant
p. 6Jacob Wauch, that lost his lug and his left arm, fighting like a Russian Turk
against the godly, at the bloody battle of the Pentland Hills.
Auld granfaither died when I was a growing callant, some seven or eight years
old; yet I mind him full well; it being a curious thing how early such matters take
hold of one’s memory. He was a straught, tall, old man, with a shining bellpow,
and reverend white locks hanging down about his haffets; a Roman nose, and
two cheeks blooming through the winter of his long age like roses, when, poor
body, he was sand-blind with infirmity. In his latter days he was hardly able to
crawl about alone; but used to sit resting himself on the truff seat before our
door, leaning forward his head on his staff, and finding a kind of pleasure in
feeling the beams of God’s own sun beaking on him. A blackbird, that he had
tamed, hung above his head in a whand-cage of my father’s making; and he
had taken a pride in learning it to whistle two three turns of his own favourite
sang, “Oure the water to Charlie.”
I recollect, as well as yesterday, that, on the Sundays, he wore a braid bannet
with a red worsted cherry on the top of it; and had a single-breasted coat,
square in the tails, of light Gilmerton blue, with plaited white buttons, bigger
than crown-pieces. His waistcoat was low in the neck, and had flap pouches,
wherein he kept his mull for rappee, and his tobacco-box. To look at him, with
his rig-and-fur Shetland hose pulled up over his knees, and his big glancing
buckles in his shoon, sitting at our door-cheek, clean and tidy as he was kept,
was just as if one of the ancient pat