St. Ronan's Well

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER I.

  AN OLD-WORLD LANDLADY.

  But to make up my tale, She breweth good ale, And thereof maketh sale.

  SKELTON.

  Although few, if any, of the countries of Europe, have increased sorapidly in wealth and cultivation as Scotland during the last halfcentury, Sultan Mahmoud's owls might nevertheless have found inCaledonia, at any term within that flourishing period, their dowery ofruined villages. Accident or local advantages have, in many instances,transferred the inhabitants of ancient hamlets, from the situationswhich their predecessors chose with more respect to security thanconvenience, to those in which their increasing industry and commercecould more easily expand itself; and hence places which standdistinguished in Scottish history, and which figure in David M'Pherson'sexcellent historical map,[I-A][I-1] can now only be discerned from the wildmoor by the verdure which clothes their site, or, at best, by a fewscattered ruins, resembling pinfolds, which mark the spot of theirformer existence.

  The little village of St. Ronan's, though it had not yet fallen into thestate of entire oblivion we have described, was, about twenty yearssince, fast verging towards it. The situation had something in it soromantic, that it provoked the pencil of every passing tourist; and wewill endeavour, therefore, to describe it in language which can scarcelybe less intelligible than some of their sketches, avoiding, however, forreasons which seem to us of weight, to give any more exact indication ofthe site, than that it is on the southern side of the Forth, and notabove thirty miles distant from the English frontier.

  A river of considerable magnitude pours its streams through a narrowvale, varying in breadth from two miles to a fourth of that distance,and which, being composed of rich alluvial soil, is, and has long been,enclosed, tolerably well inhabited, and cultivated with all the skill ofScottish agriculture. Either side of this valley is bounded by a chainof hills, which, on the right in particular, may be almost termedmountains. Little brooks arising in these ridges, and finding their wayto the river, offer each its own little vale to the industry of thecultivator. Some of them bear fine large trees, which have as yetescaped the axe, and upon the sides of most there are scattered patchesand fringes of natural copsewood, above and around which the banks ofthe stream arise, somewhat desolate in the colder months, but in summerglowing with dark purple heath, or with the golden lustre of the broomand gorse. This is a sort of scenery peculiar to those countries, whichabound, like Scotland, in hills and in streams, and where the travelleris ever and anon discovering in some intricate and unexpected recess, asimple and silvan beauty, which pleases him the more, that it seems tobe peculiarly his own property as the first discoverer.

  In one of these recesses, and so near its opening as to command theprospect of the river, the broader valley, and the opposite chain ofhills, stood, and, unless neglect and desertion have completed theirwork, still stands, the ancient and decayed village of St. Ronan's. Thesite was singularly picturesque, as the straggling street of the villageran up a very steep hill, on the side of which were clustered, as itwere, upon little terraces, the cottages which composed the place,seeming, as in the Swiss towns on the Alps, to rise above each othertowards the ruins of an old castle, which continued to occupy the crestof the eminence, and the strength of which had doubtless led theneighbourhood to assemble under its walls for protection. It must,indeed, have been a place of formidable defence, for, on the sideopposite to the town, its walls rose straight up from the verge of atremendous and rocky precipice, whose base was washed by Saint Ronan'sburn, as the brook was entitled. On the southern side, where thedeclivity was less precipitous, the ground had been carefully levelledinto successive terraces, which ascended to the summit of the hill, andwere, or rather had been, connected by staircases of stone, rudelyornamented. In peaceful periods these terraces had been occupied by thegardens of the Castle, and in times of siege they added to its security,for each commanded the one immediately below it, so that they could beseparately and successively defended, and all were exposed to the firefrom the place itself--a massive square tower of the largest size,surrounded, as usual, by lower buildings, and a high embattled wall. Onthe northern side arose a considerable mountain, of which the descentthat lay between the eminence on which the Castle was situated seemed adetached portion, and which had been improved and deepened by threesuccessive huge trenches. Another very deep trench was drawn in front ofthe main entrance from the east, where the principal gateway formed thetermination of the street, which, as we have noticed, ascended from thevillage, and this last defence completed the fortifications of thetower.

  In the ancient gardens of the Castle, and upon all sides of it exceptingthe western, which was precipitous, large old trees had found root,mantling the rock and the ancient and ruinous walls with their duskyverdure, and increasing the effect of the shattered pile which toweredup from the centre.

  Seated on the threshold of this ancient pile, where the "proud porter"had in former days "rear'd himself,"[I-2] a stranger had a complete andcommanding view of the decayed village, the houses of which, to afanciful imagination, might seem as if they had been suddenly arrestedin hurrying down the precipitous hill, and fixed as if by magic in thewhimsical arrangement which they now presented. It was like a suddenpause in one of Amphion's country-dances, when the huts which were toform the future Thebes were jigging it to his lute. But, with such anobserver, the melancholy excited by the desolate appearance of thevillage soon overcame all the lighter frolics of the imagination.Originally constructed on the humble plan used in the building of Scotchcottages about a century ago, the greater part of them had been longdeserted; and their fallen roofs, blackened gables, and ruinous walls,showed Desolation's triumph over Poverty. On some huts the rafters,varnished with soot, were still standing, in whole or in part, likeskeletons, and a few, wholly or partially covered with thatch, seemedstill inhabited, though scarce habitable; for the smoke of thepeat-fires, which prepared the humble meal of the indwellers, stoleupwards, not only from the chimneys, its regular vent, but from variousother crevices in the roofs. Nature, in the meanwhile, always changing,but renewing as she changes, was supplying, by the power of vegetation,the fallen and decaying marks of human labour. Small pollards, which hadbeen formerly planted around the little gardens, had now waxed into hugeand high forest trees; the fruit-trees had extended their branches overthe verges of the little yards, and the hedges had shot up into huge andirregular bushes; while quantities of dock, and nettles, and hemlock,hiding the ruined walls, were busily converting the whole scene ofdesolation into a picturesque forest-bank.

  Two houses in St. Ronan's were still in something like decent repair;places essential--the one to the spiritual weal of the inhabitants, theother to the accommodation of travellers. These were the clergyman'smanse, and the village inn. Of the former we need only say, that itformed no exception to the general rule by which the landed proprietorsof Scotland seem to proceed in lodging their clergy, not only in thecheapest, but in the ugliest and most inconvenient house which thegenius of masonry can contrive. It had the usual number ofchimneys--two, namely--rising like asses' ears at either end, whichanswered the purpose for which they were designed as ill as usual. Ithad all the ordinary leaks and inlets to the fury of the elements, whichusually form the subject of the complaints of a Scottish incumbent tohis brethren of the presbytery; and, to complete the picture, theclergyman being a bachelor, the pigs had unmolested admission to thegarden and court-yard, broken windows were repaired with brown paper,and the disordered and squalid appearance of a low farm-house, occupiedby a bankrupt tenant, dishonoured the dwelling of one, who, besides hisclerical character, was a scholar and a gentleman, though a little of ahumourist.

  Beside the manse stood the kirk of St. Ronan's, a little old mansionwith a clay floor, and an assemblage of wretched pews, originally ofcarved oak, but heedfully clouted with white fir-deal. But the externalform of the church was elegant in the outline, having been built inCatholic times, when we cannot deny to the for
ms of ecclesiasticalarchitecture that grace, which, as good Protestants, we refuse to theirdoctrine. The fabric hardly raised its grey and vaulted roof among thecrumbling hills of mortality by which it was surrounded, and was indeedso small in size, and so much lowered in height by the graves on theoutside, which ascended half way up the low Saxon windows, that it mightitself have appeared only a funeral vault, or mausoleum of larger size.Its little square tower, with the ancient belfry, alone distinguished itfrom such a monument. But when the grey-headed beadle turned the keyswith his shaking hand, the antiquary was admitted into an ancientbuilding, which, from the style of its architecture, and some monumentsof the Mowbrays of St. Ronan's, which the old man was accustomed topoint out, was generally conjectured to be as early as the thirteenthcentury.

  These Mowbrays of St. Ronan's seem to have been at one time a verypowerful family. They were allied to, and friends of the house ofDouglas, at the time when the overgrown power of that heroic race madethe Stewarts tremble on the Scottish throne. It followed that, when, asour old _naif_ historian expresses it, "no one dared to strive with aDouglas, nor yet with a Douglas's man, for if he did, he was sure tocome by the waur," the family of St. Ronan's shared their prosperity,and became lords of almost the whole of the rich valley of which theirmansion commanded the prospect. But upon the turning of the tide, in thereign of James II., they became despoiled of the greater part of thosefair acquisitions, and succeeding events reduced their importance stillfarther. Nevertheless, they were, in the middle of the seventeenthcentury, still a family of considerable note; and Sir Reginald Mowbray,after the unhappy battle of Dunbar, distinguished himself by theobstinate defence of the Castle against the arms of Cromwell, who,incensed at the opposition which he had unexpectedly encountered in anobscure corner, caused the fortress to be dismantled and blown up withgunpowder.

  After this catastrophe the old Castle was abandoned to ruin; but SirReginald, when, like Allan Ramsay's Sir William Worthy, he returnedafter the Revolution, built himself a house in the fashion of that laterage, which he prudently suited in size to the diminished fortunes of hisfamily. It was situated about the middle of the village, whose vicinitywas not in those days judged any inconvenience, upon a spot of groundmore level than was presented by the rest of the acclivity, where, as wesaid before, the houses were notched as it were into the side of thesteep bank, with little more level ground about them than the spotoccupied by their site. But the Laird's house had a court in front and asmall garden behind, connected with another garden, which, occupyingthree terraces, descended, in emulation of the orchards of the oldCastle, almost to the banks of the stream.

  The family continued to inhabit this new messuage until about fiftyyears before the commencement of our history, when it was much damagedby a casual fire; and the Laird of the day, having just succeeded to amore pleasant and commodious dwelling at the distance of about threemiles from the village, determined to abandon the habitation of hisancestors. As he cut down at the same time an ancient rookery, (perhapsto defray the expenses of the migration,) it became a common remarkamong the country folk, that the decay of St. Ronan's began when LairdLawrence and the crows flew off.

  The deserted mansion, however, was not consigned to owls and birds ofthe desert; on the contrary, for many years it witnessed more fun andfestivity than when it had been the sombre abode of a grave ScottishBaron of "auld lang syne." In short, it was converted into an inn, andmarked by a huge sign, representing on the one side St. Ronan catchinghold of the devil's game leg with his Episcopal crook, as the story maybe read in his veracious legend, and on the other the Mowbray arms. Itwas by far the best frequented public-house in that vicinity; and athousand stories were told of the revels which had been held within itswalls, and the gambols achieved under the influence of its liquors. Allthis, however, had long since passed away, according to the lines in myfrontispiece,

  "A merry place, 'twas said, in days of yore; But something ail'd it now,--the place was cursed."

  The worthy couple (servants and favourites of the Mowbray family) whofirst kept the inn, had died reasonably wealthy, after long carrying ona flourishing trade, leaving behind them an only daughter. They hadacquired by degrees not only the property of the inn itself, of whichthey were originally tenants, but of some remarkably good meadow-land bythe side of the brook, which, when touched by a little pecuniarynecessity, the Lairds of St. Ronan's had disposed of piecemeal, as thereadiest way to portion off a daughter, procure a commission for theyounger son, and the like emergencies. So that Meg Dods, when shesucceeded to her parents, was a considerable heiress, and, as such, hadthe honour of refusing three topping-farmers, two bonnet-lairds, and ahorse-couper, who successively made proposals to her.

  Many bets were laid on the horse-couper's success, but the knowing oneswere taken in. Determined to ride the fore-horse herself, Meg wouldadmit no helpmate who might soon assert the rights of a master; and so,in single blessedness, and with the despotism of Queen Bess herself, sheruled all matters with a high hand, not only over her men-servants andmaid-servants, but over the stranger within her gates, who, if heventured to oppose Meg's sovereign will and pleasure, or desire to haveeither fare or accommodation different from that which she chose toprovide for him, was instantly ejected with that answer which Erasmustells us silenced all complaints in the German inns of his time, _Quaerealiud hospitium_;[I-3] or, as Meg expressed it, "Troop aff wi' ye toanother public." As this amounted to a banishment in extent equal tosixteen miles from Meg's residence, the unhappy party on whom it waspassed, had no other refuge save by deprecating the wrath of hislandlady, and resigning himself to her will. It is but justice to MegDods to state, that though hers was a severe and almost despoticgovernment, it could not be termed a tyranny, since it was exercised,upon the whole, for the good of the subject.

  The vaults of the old Laird's cellar had not, even in his own day, beenreplenished with more excellent wines; the only difficulty was toprevail on Meg to look for the precise liquor you chose;--to which itmay be added, that she often became restiff when she thought a companyhad had "as much as did them good," and refused to furnish any moresupplies. Then her kitchen was her pride and glory; she looked to thedressing of every dish herself, and there were some with which shesuffered no one to interfere. Such were the cock-a-leeky, and thesavoury minced collops, which rivalled in their way even the vealcutlets of our old friend Mrs. Hall, at Ferrybridge. Meg's table-linen,bed-linen, and so forth, were always home-made, of the best quality,and in the best order; and a weary day was that to the chambermaid inwhich her lynx eye discovered any neglect of the strict cleanlinesswhich she constantly enforced. Indeed, considering Meg's country andcalling, we were never able to account for her extreme and scrupulousnicety, unless by supposing that it afforded her the most apt andfrequent pretext for scolding her maids; an exercise in which shedisplayed so much eloquence and energy, that we must needs believe it tohave been a favourite one.[I-4]

  We have only further to commemorate, the moderation of Meg's reckonings,which, when they closed the banquet, often relieved the apprehensions,instead of saddening the heart, of the rising guest. A shilling forbreakfast, three shillings for dinner, including a pint of old port,eighteenpence for a snug supper--such were the charges of the inn of St.Ronan's, under this landlady of the olden world, even after thenineteenth century had commenced; and they were ever tendered with thepious recollection, that her good father never charged half so much, butthese weary times rendered it impossible for her to make the lawingless.[I-5]

  Notwithstanding all these excellent and rare properties, the inn atSaint Ronan's shared the decay of the village to which it belonged. Thiswas owing to various circumstances. The high-road had been turned asidefrom the place, the steepness of the street being murder (so thepostilions declared) to their post-horses. It was thought that Meg'sstern refusal to treat them with liquor, or to connive at theirexchanging for porter and whisky the corn which should feed theircattle, had no small influence on the opinion of
those respectablegentlemen, and that a little cutting and levelling would have made theascent easy enough; but let that pass. This alteration of the highwaywas an injury which Meg did not easily forgive to the country gentlemen,most of whom she had recollected when children. "Their fathers," shesaid, "wad not have done the like of it to a lone woman." Then the decayof the village itself, which had formerly contained a set of feuars andbonnet-lairds, who, under the name of the Chirupping Club, contrived todrink twopenny, qualified with brandy or whisky, at least twice orthrice a-week, was some small loss.

  The temper and manners of the landlady scared away all customers of thatnumerous class, who will not allow originality to be an excuse for thebreach of decorum, and who, little accustomed perhaps to attendance athome, loved to play the great man at an inn, and to have a certainnumber of bows, deferential speeches, and apologies, in answer to theG--d d--n ye's which they bestow on the house, attendance, andentertainment. Unto those who commenced this sort of barter in theClachan of Saint Ronan's, well could Meg Dods pay it back, in their owncoin; and glad they were to escape from the house with eyes not quitescratched out, and ears not more deafened than if they had been withinhearing of a pitched battle.

  Nature had formed honest Meg for such encounters; and as her noble souldelighted in them, so her outward properties were in what Tony Lumpkincalls a concatenation accordingly. She had hair of a brindled colour,betwixt black and grey, which was apt to escape in elf-locks from underher mutch when she was thrown into violent agitation--long skinny hands,terminated by stout talons--grey eyes, thin lips, a robust person, abroad, though flat chest, capital wind, and a voice that could match achoir of fishwomen. She was accustomed to say of herself in her moregentle moods, that her bark was worse than her bite; but what teethcould have matched a tongue, which, when in full career, is vouched tohave been heard from the Kirk to the Castle of Saint Ronan's?

  These notable gifts, however, had no charms for the travellers of theselight and giddy-paced times, and Meg's inn became less and lessfrequented. What carried the evil to the uttermost was, that a fancifullady of rank in the neighbourhood chanced to recover of some imaginarycomplaint by the use of a mineral well about a mile and a half from thevillage; a fashionable doctor was found to write an analysis of thehealing waters, with a list of sundry cures; a speculative builder tookland in feu, and erected lodging-houses, shops, and even streets. Atlength a tontine subscription was obtained to erect an inn, which, forthe more grace, was called a hotel; and so the desertion of Meg Dodsbecame general.[I-6]

  She had still, however, her friends and well-wishers, many of whomthought, that as she was a lone woman, and known to be well to pass inthe world, she would act wisely to retire from public life, and takedown a sign which had no longer fascination for guests. But Meg's spiritscorned submission, direct or implied. "Her father's door," she said,"should be open to the road, till her father's bairn should be streekitand carried out at it with her feet foremost. It was not for theprofit--there was little profit at it;--profit?--there was a dead loss;but she wad not be dung by any of them. They maun hae a hottle,[I-7] maunthey?--and an honest public canna serve them! They may hottle thatlikes; but they shall see that Lucky Dods can hottle on as lang as thebest of them--ay, though they had made a Tamteen of it, and linkit awtheir breaths of lives, whilk are in their nostrils, on end of ilk otherlike a string of wild-geese, and the langest liver bruick a', (whilk wassinful presumption,) she would match ilk ane of them as lang as her ainwind held out." Fortunate it was for Meg, since she had formed thisdoughty resolution, that although her inn had decayed in custom, herland had risen in value in a degree which more than compensated thebalance on the wrong side of her books, and, joined to her usualprovidence and economy, enabled her to act up to her lofty purpose.

  She prosecuted her trade too with every attention to its diminishedincome; shut up the windows of one half of her house, to baffle thetax-gatherer; retrenched her furniture; discharged her pair ofpost-horses, and pensioned off the old humpbacked postilion who drovethem, retaining his services, however, as an assistant to a still moreaged hostler. To console herself for restrictions by which her pride wassecretly wounded, she agreed with the celebrated Dick Tinto to re-painther father's sign, which had become rather undecipherable; and Dickaccordingly gilded the Bishop's crook, and augmented the horrors of theDevil's aspect, until it became a terror to all the younger fry of theschool-house, and a sort of visible illustration of the terrors of thearch-enemy, with which the minister endeavoured to impress their infantminds.

  Under this renewed symbol of her profession, Meg Dods, or Meg Dorts, asshe was popularly termed, on account of her refractory humours, wasstill patronised by some steady customers. Such were the members of theKillnakelty Hunt, once famous on the turf and in the field, but now aset of venerable grey-headed sportsmen, who had sunk from fox-hounds tobasket-beagles and coursing, and who made an easy canter on their quietnags a gentle induction to a dinner at Meg's. "A set of honest decentmen they were," Meg said; "had their sang and their joke--and what forno? Their bind was just a Scots pint over-head, and a tappit-hen to thebill, and no man ever saw them the waur o't. It was thae cockle-brainedcallants of the present day that would be mair owerta'en with a puirquart than douce folk were with a magnum."

  Then there was a set of ancient brethren of the angle from Edinburgh,who visited Saint Ronan's frequently in the spring and summer, a classof guests peculiarly acceptable to Meg, who permitted them more latitudein her premises than she was known to allow to any other body. "Theywere," she said, "pawky auld carles, that kend whilk side their breadwas buttered upon. Ye never kend of ony o' them ganging to the spring,as they behoved to ca' the stinking well yonder.--Na, na--they were upin the morning--had their parritch, wi' maybe a thimblefull of brandy,and then awa up into the hills, eat their bit cauld meat on the heather,and came hame at e'en with the creel full of caller trouts, and had themto their dinner, and their quiet cogue of ale, and their drap punch, andwere set singing their catches and glees, as they ca'd them, till teno'clock, and then to bed, wi' God bless ye--and what for no?"

  Thirdly, we may commemorate some ranting blades, who also came from themetropolis to visit Saint Ronan's, attracted by the humours of Meg, andstill more by the excellence of her liquor, and the cheapness of herreckonings. These were members of the Helter Skelter Club, of theWildfire Club, and other associations formed for the express purpose ofgetting rid of care and sobriety. Such dashers occasioned many a racketin Meg's house, and many a _bourasque_ in Meg's temper. Various were thearts of flattery and violence by which they endeavoured to get suppliesof liquor, when Meg's conscience told her they had had too much already.Sometimes they failed, as when the croupier of the Helter Skelter gothimself scalded with the mulled wine, in an unsuccessful attempt to coaxthis formidable virago by a salute; and the excellent president of theWildfire received a broken head from the keys of the cellar, as heendeavoured to possess himself of these emblems of authority. But littledid these dauntless officials care for the exuberant frolics of Meg'stemper, which were to them only "pretty Fanny's way"--the _dulcesAmaryllidis irae_. And Meg, on her part, though she often called them"drunken ne'er-do-weels, and thoroughbred High-street blackguards,"allowed no other person to speak ill of them in her hearing. "They weredaft callants," she said, "and that was all--when the drink was in, thewit was out--ye could not put an auld head upon young shouthers--a youngcowt will canter, be it up-hill or down--and what for no?" was heruniform conclusion.

  Nor must we omit, among Meg's steady customers, "faithful amongst theunfaithful found," the copper-nosed sheriff-clerk of the county, who,when summoned by official duty to that district of the shire, warmed byrecollections of her double-brewed ale, and her generous Antigua, alwaysadvertised that his "Prieves," or "Comptis," or whatever other businesswas in hand, were to proceed on such a day and hour, "within the houseof Margaret Dods, vintner in Saint Ronan's."

  We have only farther to notice Meg's mode of conducting herself towa
rdschance travellers, who, knowing nothing of nearer or more fashionableaccommodations, or perhaps consulting rather the state of their pursethan of their taste, stumbled upon her house of entertainment. Herreception of these was as precarious as the hospitality of a savagenation to sailors shipwrecked on their coast. If the guests seemed tohave made her mansion their free choice--or if she liked theirappearance (and her taste was very capricious)--above all, if theyseemed pleased with what they got, and little disposed to criticise orgive trouble, it was all very well. But if they had come to SaintRonan's because the house at the Well was full--or if she disliked whatthe sailor calls the cut of their jib--or if, above all, they werecritical about their accommodations, none so likely as Meg to give themwhat in her country is called a _sloan_. In fact, she reckoned suchpersons a part of that ungenerous and ungrateful public, for whose sakeshe was keeping her house open at a dead loss, and who had left her, asit were, a victim to her patriotic zeal.

  Hence arose the different reports concerning the little inn of SaintRonan's, which some favoured travellers praised as the neatest and mostcomfortable old-fashioned house in Scotland, where you had goodattendance, and good cheer, at moderate rates; while others, lessfortunate, could only talk of the darkness of the rooms, the homelinessof the old furniture, and the detestable bad humour of Meg Dods, thelandlady.

  Reader, if you come from the more sunny side of the Tweed--or even if,being a Scot, you have had the advantage to be born within the lasttwenty-five years, you may be induced to think this portrait of QueenElizabeth, in Dame Quickly's piqued hat and green apron, somewhatovercharged in the features. But I appeal to my own contemporaries, whohave known wheel-road, bridle-way, and footpath, for thirty years,whether they do not, every one of them, remember Meg Dods--or somebodyvery like her. Indeed, so much is this the case, that, about the periodI mention, I should have been afraid to have rambled from the Scottishmetropolis, in almost any direction, lest I had lighted upon some one ofthe sisterhood of Dame Quickly, who might suspect me of having showedher up to the public in the character of Meg Dods. At present, though itis possible that some one or two of this peculiar class of wild-cats maystill exist, their talons must be much impaired by age; and I think theycan do little more than sit, like the Giant Pope, in the Pilgrim'sProgress, at the door of their unfrequented caverns, and grin at thepilgrims over whom they used formerly to execute their despotism.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [I-1] See Editor's Notes at the end of the Volume. Wherever a similarreference occurs, the reader will understand that the same directionapplies.

  [I-2] See the old Ballad of King Estmere, in PERCY'S _Reliques_.

  [I-3] In a colloquy of Erasmus, called _Diversaria_, there is a veryunsavoury description of a German inn of the period, where an objectionof the guest is answered in the manner expressed in the text--a greatsign of want of competition on the road.

  [I-4] This circumstance shows of itself, that the Meg Dods of the talecannot be identified with her namesake Jenny Dods, who kept the inn atHowgate,[I-B] on the Peebles road; for Jenny, far different from ourheroine, was unmatched as a slattern.

  [I-5] This was universally the case in Scotland forty or fifty years ago;and so little was charged for a domestic's living when the author becamefirst acquainted with the road, that a shilling or eighteenpence wassufficient board wages for a man-servant, when a crown would not nowanswer the purpose. It is true the cause of these reasonable chargesrested upon a principle equally unjust to the landlord, and inconvenientto the guest. The landlord did not expect to make any thing upon thecharge for eating which his bill contained; in consideration of which,the guest was expected to drink more wine than might be convenient oragreeable to him, "_for the good_," as it was called, "_of the house_."The landlord indeed was willing and ready to assist, in this duty, everystranger who came within his gates. Other things were in proportion. Acharge for lodging, fire, and candle, was long a thing unheard of inScotland. A shilling to the housemaid settled all such considerations. Isee, from memorandums of 1790, that a young man, with two ponies and aserving-lad, might travel from the house of one Meg Dods to another,through most parts of Scotland, for about five or six shillings a-day.

  [I-6] Note I.--Building-Feus in Scotland.

  [I-7] This Gallic word (hotel) was first introduced in Scotland during theauthor's childhood, and was so pronounced by the lower class.