The Antiquary | Page 5

Andrew Gemmells.
This singular mendicant had generally, or was supposed to have, much
money about his person, as would have been thought the value of his
life among modern foot-pads. On one occasion, a country gentleman,
generally esteemed a very narrow man, happening to meet Andrew,
expressed great regret that he had no silver in his pocket, or he would
have given him sixpence. --"I can give you change for a note, laird,"
replied Andrew.
Like most who have arisen to the head of their profession, the modern
degradation which mendicity has undergone was often the subject of

Andrew's lamentations. As a trade, he said, it was forty pounds a-year
worse since he had first practised it. On another occasion he observed,
begging was in modern times scarcely the profession of a gentleman;
and that, if he had twenty sons, he would not easily be induced to breed
one of them up in his own line. When or where this laudator temporis
acti closed his wanderings, the author never heard with certainty; but
most probably, as Burns says,
--he died a cadger-powny's death, At some dike side.
The author may add another picture of the same kind as Edie Ochiltree
and Andrew Gemmells; considering these illustrations as a sort of
gallery, open to the reception of anything which may elucidate former
manners, or amuse the reader.
The author's contemporaries at the university of Edinburgh will
probably remember the thin, wasted form of a venerable old Bedesman,
who stood by the Potterrow-Port, now demolished, and, without
speaking a syllable, gently inclined his head, and offered his hat, but
with the least possible degree of urgency, towards each individual who
passed. This man gained, by silence and the extenuated and wasted
appearance of a palmer from a remote country, the same tribute which
was yielded to Andrew Gemmells' sarcastic humour and stately
deportment. He was understood to be able to maintain a son a student
in the theological classes of the University, at the gate of which the
father was a mendicant. The young man was modest and inclined to
learning, so that a student of the same age, and whose parents where
rather of the lower order, moved by seeing him excluded from the
society of other scholars when the secret of his birth was suspected,
endeavoured to console him by offering him some occasional civilities.
The old mendicant was grateful for this attention to his son, and one
day, as the friendly student passed, he stooped forward more than usual,
as if to intercept his passage. The scholar drew out a halfpenny, which
he concluded was the beggar's object, when he was surprised to receive
his thanks for the kindness he had shown to Jemmie, and at the same
time a cordial invitation to dine with them next Saturday, "on a
shoulder of mutton and potatoes," adding, "ye'll put on your clean sark,
as I have company." The student was strongly tempted to accept this
hospitable proposal, as many in his place would probably have done;
but, as the motive might have been capable of misrepresentation, he

thought it most prudent, considering the character and circumstances of
the old man, to decline the invitation.
Such are a few traits of Scottish mendicity, designed to throw light on a
Novel in which a character of that description plays a prominent part.
We conclude, that we have vindicated Edie Ochiltree's right to the
importance assigned him; and have shown, that we have known one
beggar take a hand at cards with a person of distinction, and another
give dinner parties.
I know not if it be worth while to observe, that the Antiquary,* was not
so well received on its first appearance as either of its predecessors,
though in course of time it rose to equal, and, with some readers,
superior popularity.
* Note A. Mottoes.

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION
TO
THE ANTIQUARY.
"THE ANTIQUARY" was begun in 1815; the bargain for its
publication by Constable was made in the October of that year. On
December 22 Scott wrote to Morritt: "I shall set myself seriously to
'The Antiquary,' of which I have only a very general sketch at present;
but when once I get my pen to the paper it will walk fast enough. I am
sometimes tempted to leave it alone, and try whether it will not write as
well without the assistance of my head as with it,--a hopeful prospect
for the reader!'" It is amazing enough that he even constructed "a
general sketch," for to such sketches he confesses that he never could
keep constant. "I have generally written to the middle of one of these
novels without having the least idea how it was to end,--in short, in the
hab nab at a venture style of composition" (Journal, Feb. 24,