Glasgow (7 page)

THE NATIONAL JEALOUSY OF THE ENGLISH, 1818
Sir Walter Scott

The influence and importance of Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832) is incalculable. Born in Edinburgh, he is forever associated with the Borders, where he built a house, Abbotsford, on the banks of the Tweed near Melrose. Called to the Bar in 1792, he combined a career in the law with writing. His first fame came as a poet but it is as a novelist that he is best remembered. His first novel
, Waverley,
appeared anonymously in 1814, but his secret was soon out. Many others followed and drew admirers from across the globe. The following extract is taken from
Rob Roy
(1817), which is set immediately before the Jacobite rising of 1715. One of its main characters, and a great favourite with readers, is Bailie Nicol Jarvie of Glasgow
.

We now pursued our journey to the northwestward, at a rate much slower than that at which we had achieved our nocturnal retreat from England. One chain of barren and uninteresting hills succeeded another, until the more fertile vale of Clyde opened upon us, and with such dispatch as we might we gained the town, or, as my guide pertinaciously termed it, the city of Glasgow. Of late years, I understand, it has fully deserved the name, which, by a sort of political second sight, my guide distinguished it. An extensive and increasing trade with the West Indies and American colonies, has, if I am rightly informed, laid the foundation of wealth and prosperity, which, carefully strengthened and built upon, may one day support an immense fabric of commercial prosperity; but, in the earlier time of which I speak, the dawn of this splendour had not arisen. The Union had, indeed, opened to Scotland the trade to the English colonies; but, betwixt want of capital, and the national jealousy of the English, the merchants of Scotland were as yet excluded, in a great measure, from the exercise of the privileges which that memorable treaty conferred upon them. Glasgow lay on the wrong side of the island for participating in the east country or continental trade, by which the trifling commerce as yet produced in Scotland chiefly supported itself. Yet, though she then gave small promise of the commercial eminence to which, I am informed, she seems now likely one day to attain, Glasgow, as the principal central town of the western district of Scotland, was a place of considerable rank and importance. The broad and brimming Clyde, which flows so near its walls, gave the means of an inland navigation of some importance. Not only the fertile plains in its immediate neighbourhood, but the districts of Ayr and Dumfries regarded Glasgow as their capital, to which they transmitted their
produce, and received in return such necessaries and luxuries as their consumption required.

The dusky mountains of the Western Highlands often sent forth wilder tribes to frequent the marts of St Mungo's favourite city. Hordes of wild, shaggy, dwarfish cattle and ponies, conducted by Highlanders, as wild, as shaggy, and sometimes as dwarfish as the animals they had in charge, often traversed the streets of Glasgow. Strangers gazed with surprise on the antique and fantastic dress, and listened to the unknown and dissonant sounds of their language, while the mountaineers, armed even while engaged in this peaceful occupation with musket and pistol, sword, dagger, and target, stared with astonishment on the articles of luxury of which they knew not the use, and with avidity which seemed somewhat alarming upon the articles which they knew and valued. It is always with unwillingness that the Highlander quits his deserts, and at this early period it was like tearing a pine from its rock to plant him elsewhere. Yet even then the mountain glens were over-peopled, until thinned occasionally by famine or by the sword, and many of their inhabitants strayed down to Glasgow – there formed settlements – there sought and found employments, though different, indeed, from those of their native hills. This supply of a hardy and useful population was of consequence to the prosperity of the place, furnished the means of carrying on the few manufactures which the town already boasted, and laid the foundation of its future prosperity.

The exterior of the city corresponded with these promising circumstances. The principal street was broad and important, decorated with public buildings, of an architecture rather striking than correct in point of taste, and running between rows of tall houses, built with stone, the fronts of which were occasionally richly ornamented with mason-work, a circumstance which gave the street an imposing air of dignity and grandeur, of which most English towns are in some measure deprived, by the slight, unsubstantial, and perishable quality and appearance of the bricks with which they are constructed.

GLASGOW INVADES EDINBURGH, 1819
Henry Thomas Cockburn

Towards the end of 1819 economic distress was acute and there were many popular disturbances throughout Britain. These were called the ‘Radical War'. There were few such disturbances in Scotland, but a rumour spread that ‘the Radical Army' would march from Glasgow
and ‘capture' Edinburgh on the last night of the year. The following extract shows just how seriously this supposed threat was taken. Henry Cockburn (1779–1854) was Edinburgh born, bred and educated. He was called to the Bar in 1800 and in 1830 he became Solicitor-General for Scotland. A year later he was elected Rector of Glasgow University. He was the author of
Memorials of His Time
(1856), from which the following is taken
.

The perfect facility with which a party of forty or fifty thousand weavers could march from Glasgow, and seize upon the Banks and Castle of Edinburgh, without ever being heard of till they appeared in our streets, was demonstrated. Our magistrates therefore invited all loyal citizens to congregate, with such arms as they had, at various assigned posts. I repaired to the Assembly rooms in George Street, with a stick, about eight in the evening. The streets were as quiet as an ordinary Sunday; but their silence was only held by the excited to forebode the coming storm. There seemed to be nobody abroad except those who, like myself, were repairing to their forlorn hopes. On entering the large room, I found at least 400 or 500 grown gentlemen, pacing about, dressed coarsely, as if for work, according to taste or convenience, with bludgeons, fowling pieces, dirks, cane-swords, or other implements. A zealous banker laboured under two small swivels set on stocks, one under each arm. Frivolity, though much provoked, and a good deal indulged in corners, was reproved as unbecoming the crisis. At last, about ten p.m., the horn of the Glasgow coach was heard, and the Lord Provost sent us word from the council chamber that we might retire for the night. We never met again.

THE RITUAL OF PUNCH-MAKING, 1819
J.G. Lockhart

Born in Lanarkshire, the son of a Church of Scotland minister, John Gibson Lockhart (1794–1854) spent his boyhood in Glasgow, where he graduated from the High School to college. Aged 13, he went up to Balliol College, Oxford, where in 1813 he took a first in classics. In 1820 he married Sophia, the eldest daughter of Sir Walter Scott, whose first and fabled biographer he subsequently became. A caustic wit and occasionally savage critic, his book
, Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk
(1819) makes fun at the expense of the Edinburgh intellectuals and the bourgeoisie
.

The sugar being melted with a little cold water, the artist squeezed about a dozen lemons through a wooden strainer, and then poured in enough water almost to fill the bowl. In this state, the liquor goes by the name of sherbet, and a few of the connoisseurs in his immediate neighbourhood were requested to give their opinion of it – for in the mixing of the sherbet lies, according to the Glasgow creed, at least one half of the whole battle. This being approved by an audible smack of the lips of the umpires, the rum was added to the beverage, I suppose, in something about the proportion of one to seven. Last of all, the maker cuts a few limes, and running each section rapidly round the rim of his bowl, squeezed in enough of this more delicate acid to flavour the whole composition. In this consists the true
tour de maitre
of the punch-maker.

Glasgow punch should be made of the coldest spring water taken from the spring. The acid ingredients above mentioned will suffice for a very large bowl.

AN INVINCIBLE NOSE, 1819
Robert Southey

The son of a Bristol linen-draper, Robert Southey (1774–1843) was brought up by an eccentric aunt who indulged his love of reading. He was appointed poet laureate in 1813, a position he grew to loathe and for which he received much mockery from among others Lord Byron. He wrote copiously, prose as well as poetry, on subjects as diverse as the history of Brazil, the Peninsular War and Admiral Nelson. He also liked to travel and was often drawn, as this excerpt from his
Journal of a Tour of Scotland
shows, to things usually overlooked
.

A City like Glasgow is a hateful place for a stranger, unless he is reconciled to it by the comforts of hospitality and society. In any other case the best way is to reconnoitre it, so as to know the outline and outside, and to be contented with such other information as books can supply. Argyle Street is the finest part; it has a mixture of old and new buildings, but is long enough and lofty enough to be one of the best streets in G. Britain. The Cathedral is the only edifice of its kind in Scotland which received no external injury at the Reformation. Two places of worship have been neatly fitted up within. I observed, however, three things deserving of reprobation. The window in one of these kirks had been made to imitate painted glass, by painting on the glass, and this of course had a paltry and smeary appearance. The arches in those upper
passages which at Westminster we used absurdly to call the nunneries, and of which I do not know the name, are filled up with an imitation of windows: these are instances of the worst possible taste. The other fault belongs to the unclean part of the national character; for the seats are so closely packed that any person who could remain there during the time of service in the warm weather, must have an invincible nose. I doubt even whether any incense could overcome so strong a smell.

I was much struck with the picturesque appearance of the monuments in the Church yard – such large ones as we have in our churches, being here ranged along the wall, so that even on the outside their irregular outline makes an impressive feature in the scene. They were digging a grave near the entrance of the Church; had it been in any other situation, I should not have learnt a noticeable thing. A frame consisting of iron rods was fixed in the grave, the rods being as long as grave was deep. Within this frame the coffin was to be let down and buried, and then an iron cover fitted on to the top of the rods, and strongly locked. When there is no longer any apprehension of danger for the resurrection-men, the cover is unlocked and the frame drawn out: a month it seems is the regular term. This invention, which is not liable to the same legal obligations as the iron coffins, is about two years old. The price paid for its use is a shilling a day.