NOTE 4.-LUM CLEEKS, p. 164

The cleek here intimated is the iron hook, or hooks, depending from the chimney of a Scottish cottage, on which the pot is suspended when boiling. The same appendage is often called the crook. The salmon is usually dried by hanging it up, after being split and rubbed with salt, in the smoke of the turf fire above the cleeks, where it is said to reist, that preparation being so termed. The salmon thus preserved is eaten as a delicacy, under the name of kipper, a luxury to which Dr. Redgill has given his sanction as an ingredient of the Scottish breakfast.-See the excellent novel entitled Marriage.

NOTE 5.-CLAN SURNAMES, p. 165

The distinction of individuals by nicknames when they possess no property is still common on the Border, and indeed necessary, from the number of persons having the same name. In the small village of Lustruther, in Roxburghshire, there dwelt, in the memory of man, four inhabitants called Andrew, or Dandie, Oliver. They were distinguished as Dandie Eassil-gate, Dandie Wassil-gate, Dandie Thumbie, and Dandie Dumbie. The two first had their names from living eastward and westward in the street of the village; the third from something peculiar in the conformation of his thumb; the fourth from his taciturn habits.

It is told as a well-known jest, that a beggar woman, repulsed from door to door as she solicited quarters through a village of Annandale, asked, in her despair, if there were no Christians in the place. To which the hearers, concluding that she inquired for some persons so surnamed, answered, ‘Na, na, there are nae Christians here; we are a' Johnstones and Jardines.'

NOTE 6.-GIPSY SUPERSTITIONS, p. 172

The mysterious rites in which Meg Merrilies is described as engaging belong to her character as a queen of her race. All know that gipsies in every country claim acquaintance with the gift of fortune-telling; but, as is often the case, they are liable to the superstitions of which they avail themselves in others. The correspondent of Blackwood, quoted in the Introduction to this Tale, gives us some information on the subject of their credulity.

'I have ever understood,' he says, speaking of the Yetholm gipsies, 'that they are extremely superstitious, carefully noticing the formation of the clouds, the flight of particular birds, and the soughing of the winds, before attempting any enterprise. They have been known for several successive days to turn back with their loaded carts, asses, and children, upon meeting with persons whom they considered of unlucky aspect; nor do they ever proceed upon their summer peregrinations without some propitious omen of their fortunate return. They also burn the clothes of their dead, not so much from any apprehension of infection being communicated by them, as the conviction that the very circumstance of wearing them would shorten the days of the living. They likewise carefully watch the corpse by night and day till the time of interment, and conceive that "the deil tinkles at the lykewake" of those who felt in their dead-thraw the agonies and terrors of remorse.'

These notions are not peculiar to the gipsies; but, having been once generally entertained among the Scottish common people, are now only found lingering among those who are the most rude in their habits and most devoid of instruction. The popular idea, that the protracted struggle between life and death is painfully prolonged by keeping the door of the apartment shut, was received as certain by the superstitious eld of Scotland. But neither was it to be thrown wide open. To leave the door ajar was the plan adopted by the old crones who understood the mysteries of death-beds and lykewakes. In that case there was room for the imprisoned spirit to escape; and yet an

obstacle, we have been assured, was offered to the entrance of any frightful form which might otherwise intrude itself. The threshold of a habitation was in some sort a sacred limit, and the subject of much superstition. A bride, even to this day, is always lifted over it, a rule derived apparently from the Romans.

NOTE 7.-HIGH JINKS, p. 245

I believe this strange species of game or revel to be the same mentioned in old English plays, and which was called 'Coming from Tripoli.' When the supposed king was seated in his post of elevation, the most active fellow in the party came into the presence, leaping over as many chairs and stools as he could manage to spring over. He is announced as

A post

King. From whence? Post. From Tripoli, my liege.

He then announces to the mock monarch the destruction of his army and fleet. This species of High Jinks was called 'Gerunto,' from the name of the luckless general. I have seen many who have played at it. Among the rest, an excellent friend and relative, now no more (the late Mr. Keith of Dunnottar and Ravelstone), gave me a ludicrous account of a country gentleman coming up to Edinburgh rather unexpectedly, and finding his son, who he had hoped was diligently studying the law in silence and seclusion, busily engaged in personating the king in a full drama of 'Gerunto.' The monarch, somewhat surprised at first, passed it off with assurance, calling for a seat to his worthy father, and refusing to accost him otherwise than in the slang of the character. This incident-in itself the more comic situation of the twosuggested the scene in the text.

[The old play referred to in this note was probably Fletcher's comedy of Monsieur Thomas, Act iv. Sc. 2.

Seb. Get up to that window there, and presently,

Like a most complete gentleman, come from Tripoly.
Tho. Good Lord, sir, how are you misled! What fancies-
Fitter for idle boys and drunkards, let me speak't.

Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, by Dyce, vol. vii. p. 376.

The phrase To come on high from Tripoly is also to be found in Ben Jonson's Silent Woman, Act v. Sc. 1.-Laing.]

NOTE 8.-ROADS OF LIDDESDALE, p. 269

The roads of Liddesdale, in Dandie Dinmont's days, could not be said to exist, and the district was only accessible through a succession of tremendous morasses. About thirty years ago the author himself was the first person who ever drove a little open carriage into these wilds, the excellent roads by which they are now traversed being then in some progress. The people stared with no small wonder at a sight which many of them had never witnessed in their lives before.

NOTE 9.-TAPPIT HEN, p. 276

The Tappit Hen contained three quarts of claret-

Weel she loed a Hawick gill,

And leugh to see a tappit hen.

I have seen one of these formidable stoups at Provost Haswell's, at Jedburgh, in the days of yore. It was a pewter measure, the claret being in ancient days served from the tap, and had the figure of a hen upon the lid. In later times the name was given to a glass bottle of the same dimensions. These are rare apparitions among the degenerate topers of modern days.

NOTE 10.-CONVIVIAL HABITS OF THE SCOTTISH BAR, p. 276

The account given by Mr. Pleydell of his sitting down in the midst of a revel to draw an appeal case was taken from a story told me by an aged gentleman of the elder President Dundas of Arniston (father of the younger President and of Lord Melville). It had been thought very desirable, while that distinguished lawyer was king's counsel, that his assistance should be obtained in drawing an appeal case, which, as occasion for such writings then rarely occurred, was held to be matter of great nicety. The solicitor employed for the appellant, attended by my informant acting as his clerk, went to the Lord Advocate's chambers in the Fishmarket Close, as I think. It was Saturday at noon, the Court was just dismissed, the Lord Advocate had changed his dress and booted himself, and his servant and horses were at the foot of the close to carry him to Arniston. It was scarcely possible to get him to listen to a word respecting business. The wily agent, however, on pretence of asking one or two questions, which would not detain him half an hour, drew his Lordship, who was no less an eminent bon vivant than a lawyer of unequalled talent, to take a whet at a celebrated tavern, when the learned counsel became gradually involved in a spirited discussion of the law points of the case. At length it occurred to him that he might as well ride to Arniston in the cool of the evening. The horses were directed to be put in the stable, but not to be unsaddled. Dinner was ordered, the law was laid aside for a time, and the bottle circulated very freely. At nine o'clock at night, after he had been honouring Bacchus for so many hours, the Lord Advocate ordered his horses to be unsaddled; paper, pen, and ink were brought; he began to dictate the appeal case, and continued at his task till four o'clock the next morning. By next day's post the solicitor sent the case to London, a chefd'œuvre of its kind; and in which, my informant assured me, it was not necessary on revisal to correct five words. I am not, therefore, conscious of having overstepped accuracy in describing the manner in which Scottish lawyers of the old time occasionally united the worship of Bacchus with that of Themis. My informant was Alexander Keith, Esq., grandfather to my friend, the present Sir Alexander Keith of Ravelstone, and apprentice at the time to the writer who conducted the cause. [Compare Lockhart's Life of Scott, vol. i. pp. 281-288.]

NOTE 11.-GIPSY COOKING, p. 330

We must again have recourse to the contribution to Blackwood's Magazine, April 1817:

To the admirers of good eating, gipsy cookery seems to have little to recommend it. I can assure you, however, that the cook of a nobleman of high distinction, a person who never reads even a novel without an eye to the enlargement of the culinary science, has added to the Almanach des Gourmands a certain Potage à la Meg Merrilies de Derncleugh, consisting of game and poultry of all kinds, stewed with vegetables into a soup, which rivals in savour and richness the gallant messes of Camacho's wedding; and which the Baron of Bradwardine would certainly have reckoned among the epula lautiores.'

The artist alluded to in this passage is Mons. Florence, cook to Henry and Charles, late Dukes of Buccleuch, and of high distinction in his profes

sion.

NOTE 12.-LORD MONBODDO, p. 353

The Burnet whose taste for the evening meal of the ancients is quoted by Mr. Pleydell was the celebrated metaphysician and excellent man, Lord Monboddo, whose cœna will not be soon forgotten by those who have shared

his classic hospitality. As a Scottish judge he took the designation of his family estate. His philosophy, as is well known, was of a fanciful and somewhat fantastic character; but his learning was deep, and he was possessed of a singular power of eloquence, which reminded the hearer of the os rotundum of the Grove or Academe. Enthusiastically partial to classical habits, his entertainments were always given in the evening, when there was a circulation of excellent Bourdeaux, in flasks garlanded with roses, which were also strewed on the table after the manner of Horace. The best society, whether in respect of rank or literary distinction, was always to be found in St. John's Street, Canongate. The conversation of the excellent old man, his high, gentlemanlike, chivalrous spirit, the learning and wit with which he defended his fanciful paradoxes, the kind and liberal spirit of his hospitality, must render these noctes cœnæque dear to all who, like the author (though then young), had the honour of sitting at his board.

NOTE 13.-LAWYERS' SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, p. 355

It is probably true, as observed by Counsellor Pleydell, that a lawyer's anxiety about his case, supposing him to have been some time in practice, will seldom disturb his rest or digestion. Clients will, however, sometimes fondly entertain a different opinion. I was told by an excellent judge, now no more, of a country gentleman who, addressing his leading counsel, my informer, then an advocate in great practice, on the morning of the day on which the case was to be pleaded, said, with singular bonhomie, 'Weel, my Lord (the counsel was Lord Advocate), the awful day is come at last. I have nae been able to sleep a wink for thinking of it; nor, I daresay, your Lordship either.'

NOTE 14.-WHISTLING, p. 368

Whistling, among the tenantry of a large estate, is when an individual gives such information to the proprietor or his managers as to occasion the rent of his neighbour's farms being raised, which, for obvious reasons, is held a very unpopular practice.

NOTE 15.-HEREZELD, p. 405

This hard word is placed in the mouth of one of the aged tenants. In the old feudal tenures the herezeld, the best horse or other animal on the vassals' lands, became the right of the superior. The only remnant of this custom is what is called the sasine, or a fee of certain estimated value, paid to the sheriff of the county, who gives possession to the vassals of the crown.

NOTE 16. THE GAD, p. 416

This mode of securing prisoners was universally practised in Scotland after condemnation. When a man received sentence of death he was put upon the gad, as it was called, that is, secured to the bar of iron in the manner mentioned in the text. The practice subsisted in Edinburgh till the old jail was taken down some years since, and perhaps may be still [1829] in use.