The genialities of the most genial of us are not eternal; and I have found this in my own case,—not because my kindliness has been so often scorned, or received with anger if not oaths, but on another account, which the reader will scarcely suspect. We have all heard of the madman who went to the doctor at Morningside, and, with a grave face, opened his subject with— “ Sir, I am concerned about Mr_____ ,” (the keeper.) ‘’Why?” answered the doctor. “ He is in a very bad way, sir.” “ In what respect? ” “ That’s for you to find out, sir. It is for me, who hope I am a humane man, to take prompt measures for his benefit, or I’ll not answer for the consequences. I do enough to give you the hint. It is necessary, in the first place, that you shave his head; secondly, that you submit him to the shower-bath ; thirdly, that you should bleed him freely; fourthly, that you should purge him; fifthly, that you bind him down with strong ropes to his bed; and, sixthly, that you set watchers over him, of whom, for humanity’s sake, I am willing to be one. I discharge my duty in making this announcement; and if my advice is not followed, you will abide by the consequences.”
The keeper, though a genial man, could not have suffered all this without being angry. Neither could I resist a feeling of indignation at an act of a similar kind on the part of those under my charge. For some time, in 1846, I was aware that many pockets were picked by two of the most cunning of their tribe I ever met, George or Charles Holmes (I forget which) and Angus M‘Kay. They went always together; and if they had by their cunning resisted or baulked me,—nay, if they had even stood up to fight me,—I might still have retained my temper; but all the while the people were sending us charges, with complaints of emptied pockets, they were busy taking care of me. I believe, if they had had their will, I would have been shaved, bathed, bled, purged, bound, and watched; but their care was limited to the last. “When I went home at night, I observed that they regularly followed me, saw me housed, and then went to play in their old way of lightening the pockets of the lieges. Nor were they content with seeing me home—they actually posted a companion of the name of Bryce, who went by the name of “ The Watcher,” to hang about my stair- foot all the evening; so that when “The Watcher” was not visible by them while plying their art on the Bridges, they could make certain that I was not in the way. This was to my temper rather too much. I never cared for patronage, but these honours were hard to bear; and what made it worse was, that they thought I was utterly ignorant of all this care taken of me, just as if they were satisfied with the consciousness that “ virtue is its own reward.” I bear only to a certain extent, like the most patient, and that extent was reached. On a certain day, when I knew their pockets were absolutely filled with the results of their successes of the previous night, I observed them at their old patronising care. There they were after me, with “The Watcher” on the other side; nor did they leave me till they saw me safe in my house, at the foot of the Old Fishmarket Close, in the Canongate. For this kindness I could repay them in another way than by being excessively angry at them. They would be busy that night in adding industriously to their store, and my opportunity was apparent. After taking my tea, I sat down and wrote a note to my assistant:— “ Send down an officer, and take up Bryce, whom you will find hanging about my stair-foot, and give him in charge at the office; then dress in plain clothes, and, with another man also plain, wait for me below the south arch of the bridge, at seven.” This note I despatched in a basket, carried by a girl who lived ben in the adjacent flat, and proceeded to effect as good a transformation in myself as would enable me to pass for a countryman come in to Hallow Fair, (then being held,) with, it was to be hoped, a hundred pounds or two upon him, received for stirks, in a pocket- book in the outer breast-pocket of his rough coat, I was at my post by seven, and found my faithful assistant very well changed, and his companion along with him. I opened my plans to them, after being satisfied that “The Watcher” was safe. We then mounted the long stair leading to the North Bridge. We then separated, but only on the condition that we should never lose sight of each other. The streets were much crowded, in consequence of the fair. The big gudgeons, all supplied with the money derived from their sales, were stalking about; the mermaids were trying their fatal charms in every direction—not combing their own hair at so busy a time, but rather trying to tie that of their victims; and the sharks were plentiful, greedy, and shy as ever. There was that night more of concert between the two latter than we find in books of natural history, where they are represented as working on their own individual hook; but otherwise they were true to their kind : the yellow-haired sirens, when they got a victim in their arms, plunging with him to their caves—not pure coral—and there devouring him in the dark; and the blue sharks gobbling them up just where they caught them,—the one courting embraces, and the other shying them, but both equally fatal.
Of the real blue kind there were my patrons and keepers, Holmes and M‘Kay—sharp, active, and hopeful —turning up their bellies every now and then, as they tried a bite. They were sure “ The Watcher ” was not to be seen, and therefore I could not be seen either; neither was I; and hence their confidence, and hence, too, mine. Perhaps the pleasure of that condition called incognito —into which, I rather suspect, all men and women, when their eyes have been glared upon by the disturbing sun of curiosity or notoriety, love to glide—was equal on both sides. Ay, where is the man and woman without their occasional mask? If you search well, you will detect, not only the skeleton which is behind the green curtain over the recess in every house, but also the mask which is in some spring-guarded drawer in the bureau,—often beneath the pillow,—___sometimes at the back of the death- bed, when the parson (who has one often in his pocket) is praying over the expiring wretch; sometimes it is put into the coffin along with the corpse, so that no one shall ever know what deeds he or she, who looks so calm and innocent there, was doing for the sixty years of their pilgrimage in this world of masks.
Opposite Mr Craig’s shop, my attention was for a little taken off my two friends—it was not my time yet to renew my acquaintance with them—by the attraction of “The Swan,” a long-necked nymph, who was doing “ Charlie [Holmes] is my darling,” in a very good street style, to an admiring circle extending over the pavement. She was a true Vesuvienne1, and a good devourer of the gold-fish, probably from that fine, long, white neck of hers; nor had I seen her at the minstrel trade before. Why now, when, in place of halfpennies and pennies— which I knew she despised—she might have been, like her companions of the lava streets, picking up crown-pieces, or perhaps pounds, which had been given for fat gim- mers or stots in the forenoon? The question was only to be answered by me, and it was not a difficult one. I saw Holmes and M’Kay among her crowd, paying great attention to her siren strains—“ The Swan” was not dying just then—that is, with their eyes; and, then, hands and fingers are not necessary to the enjoyment of good music. Nay, it was even with a little humour in his small gray eye that Holmes went and put something into her hand, very likely a small portion of the price of the foresaid gimmers and three-year-olds; and you could not have detected in “ The Swan’s ” looks the slightest difference between the gratitude conferred on the giver and that with which she favoured some stalworth Peeblesshire feeder, who wanted to shew his admiration of Charlie and “ the darling ” at same time, by giving her a penny. I have said it was only I that could explain this. “The Swan ” was the “ fancy ” of Holmes, and her singing on the street was just the treble of his base on the pavement. She collected the crowd, and he collected the money from the crowd, without the trouble of “ Please, sir, help the poor girl,”—“ A penny, sir, for the singer,” —or simply, “Please, sir.” All that was unnecessary, when the fingers.were even more subtle than the tongue. To say the truth, I was amused by the play, even to the suspending for a time my own proper part ofthe performance, if I did not entirely forget my anger at my patrons. Certainly, though I saw some smaller actors in the walking-gentleman line trying to do a bit of business, I had no heart forwatching their pickeries, so insignificant by the contrast of the true Jeremys. I did not even notice our worthy captain, who, as he was passing to the office, stood for a moment listening to the assiduous damsel, as innocent of all this by-play that was going on, with his favourite M’Levy in the role, as if he had been one of the bumpkins from the grazing hills himself. It was not just then convenient to renew my acquaintanceship with him, so I let him enjoy himself a little, with the intention probably of reminding him next day of the figure he was cutting as a dummy, though the sharpest head in the city. At length he left, to resume his arduous duties in the High Street; and it was for me to let him go, if I was not glad of his departure, from a place where his presence could only interrupt, not only the playful tricks of my patrons, but my own.
But I must now act; to delay longer was to run a risk of being foiled, for so many good opportunities for the transference of pocket-books presented themselves, that my friends might succeed in a great effort, and be off, contented with their booty, without bestowing any attention on me. My assistant was behind me, and still kept his eye on me. I became still more entranced by the strains of “ The Swan ; ” nor was Holmes—whom I now contrived to get near—less captivated. Though not requiring much elevation of the head, I was so intent upon catching every note of her voice, that I stood on tiptoe, looking over the heads of those-before me, and is with no more attention to that valuable pocket-book of mine—so proud of its contents that it poked its head out of its place—than merely sufficed to let me know that it was taken away. Could Holmes resist so ardent a gudgeon, entranced by a living, not a dying swan 1 Not likely, when he was, by my skill, just alongside of me, with M‘Kay behind him, to get handed to him, if he could, that same pocket-book which was determined also to be in the play. I never put on a pair of handcuffs in a kindly way with more pleasure in the touch than I now permitted Holmes’ hand to have its own way. My book was off in a moment, but not given to M‘Kay before my assistant had Holmes in his grasp. The other policeman seized M’Kay. The strains of “ The Swan ” were hushed; nor did she begin again; she was too much affected to be able to sing when her tender mate was in the claws of the eagles. I was the victim, and required to keep up my character, in which I gained a kind of honour, or rather sympathy, which I had never before had an opportunity of enjoying. The crowd, many of whom were Hallow-Fair men, crowded about me, inquiring how much money was in my pocket-book; and I was in the humour. “ A hundred pounds; the price of six three-year-olds, and all I’m worth in the world.” “Might have been me,” said another, “for I’ve as muckle in my book.” “But, Lord, how cleverly the villains have been nabbed,” said a second. “They’ll no try that game again,” rejoined a third. All which I heard very pleasantly as I proceeded, still the victim along with the captors. Meanwhile my assistant retained the pocket-book, which he had caught as Holmes was on the eve of throwing it away. As yet neither of the fellows had recognised either me or my assistant, and they were indignant at being seized by un- official personages; nor did they know in whose hands they were till they were fairly before the captain, who, as we entered, was sitting altogether oblivious of “The Swan’s” strains, whatever effect they might have produced upon him while listening to them. “ Sir,” said I, as I stood before him, keeping my face as much from my patrons as I could; “I have been robbed of my pocket-book, wi’ the price o’ a’ my three- year-olds, by thae twa vagabonds there.” “Why, these are old offenders, I suspect,” said the captain, not very well able to restrain himself, as he looked in my face and recollected how I had been watched and annoyed by them; “ but I hope your money’s safe. Let me see the pocket-book; ” and getting it from Mulholland and opening it, “ The price of all your stock, good sir; why, there’s nothing in it but rags and paper!” “ Sold for nothing, by G—d ! ” said Holmes to M’Kay. “ More than your value,” said I, turning round, and looking them straight in the face, in the midst of the laughter of the men; “and yet not so cheap as you think; search them.” A process not so soon accomplished, for out of every pocket there came various waifs, some of them singular enough; a net purse with two sovereigns and a penny, a small clasp leather one with some shillings, three or four handkerchiefs, two or three pound-notes crumpled up, a number of shillings and coppers, a lady’s wig- frontlet carefully rolled up in a piece of paper, and other curiosities. “We will get customers for all these tomorrow’” said I; “so that it will not be necessary for the farmer to charge you for the price of the beeves.” “Who could have thought that it was the rascal himself?” muttered Holmes between his gnashing teeth. “Ay, and he so snugly watched in the Old Fishmarket Close,” said I, for a man has sometimes a pleasure to let an old friend know a grievance he (that friend) has put upon him. In short, I was for once revengeful in my humour, and what is the use of revenge unless the wrong-doer knows your triumph? “ But we are not quite done yet,” I continued; then, turning to my assistant, “ Go to ‘ The Swan’s ’ nest, and see if you can find any more of that kind of articles,—she may be a magpie in disguise.” “ I only gave her a penny,” said Holmes, sneeringly ; “ perhaps you ’ll find that. I’ve nothing to do with her.” “ Beyond getting her to sing for a crowd you might work upon,” added I. “ You see you are scarcely masters for me, whom you took so much care of; but now I’ll take care of you—lock them up.” And they were taken off, swearing and threatening in their rage and disappointment. It was not long till my assistant brought in “ The Swan,” and with her a great number of valuable articles, of which she had been the resetter from Holmes. Many of them, on being compared with the books, answered the description of valuables robbed or stolen a good while before, and the charming singer was deposited in a suitable cage, where {Charles Holmes being her lover) she could sing, as she had done that night before,—
“ Charlie is my darling, My young chevalier,”
without .adding d’industrie2, for fear of hurting his feelings in the neighbouring cage. But by and by the tune was changed, when the Sheriff gave them their terms as old offenders,—not too hard terms either, when it is considered how much anguish they had caused in many houses, not forgetting some anxiety in my own.
James McLevy 