Part 8

Hume removed at Whitsunday 1762 to a house which he purchased in James’s Court—the eastern portion of the third floor in the west stair (counting from the level of the court). This was such a step as a man would take in those days as a consequence of improvement in his circumstances. The philosopher had lived in James’s Court but a short time, when he was taken to France as secretary to the embassy. In his absence, which lasted several years, his house was occupied by Dr Blair, who here had a son of the Duke of Northumberland as a pupil. It is interesting to find Hume, some time after, writing to his friend Dr Ferguson from the midst of the gaieties of Paris: ‘I am sensible that I am misplaced, and I wish twice or thrice a day for _my easy-chair and my retreat in James’s Court_.’ Then he adds a beautiful sentiment: ‘Never think, dear Ferguson, that as long as you are master of your own fireside and your own time, you can be unhappy, or that any other circumstance can add to your enjoyment.’[42] In one of his letters to Blair he speaks minutely of his house: ‘Never put a fire in the south room with the red paper. It was so warm of itself that all last winter, which was a very severe one, I lay with a single blanket; and frequently, upon coming in at midnight starving with cold, have sat down and read for an hour, as if I had had a stove in the room.’ From 1763 till 1766 he lived in high diplomatic situations at Paris; and thinking to settle there for life, for the sake of the agreeable society, gave orders to sell his house in Edinburgh. He informs us, in a letter to the Countess de Boufflers (_General Correspondence_, 4to, 1820, p. 231), that he was prevented by a singular accident from carrying his intention into effect. After writing a letter to Edinburgh for the purpose of disposing of his house, and leaving it with his Parisian landlord, he set out to pass his Christmas with the Countess de Boufflers at L’Isle Adam; but being driven back by a snowstorm, which blocked up the roads, he found on his return that the letter had not been sent to the post-house. More deliberate thoughts then determined him to keep up his Edinburgh mansion, thinking that, if any affairs should call him to his native country, ‘it would be very inconvenient not to have a house to retire to.’ On his return, therefore, in 1766, he re-entered into possession of his _flat_ in James’s Court, but was soon again called from it by an invitation from Mr Conway to be an under-secretary of state. At length, in 1769, he returned permanently to his native city, in possession of what he thought opulence—a thousand a year. We find him immediately writing from his retreat in James’s Court to his friend Adam Smith, then commencing his great work _On the Wealth of Nations_ in the quiet of his mother’s house at Kirkcaldy: ‘I am glad to have come within sight of you, and to have a view of Kirkcaldy from my windows; but I wish also to be within speaking-terms of you,’ &c. To another person he writes: ‘I live still, and must for a twelvemonth, in my old house in James’s Court, which is very cheerful, and even elegant, but too small to display my great talent for cookery, the science to which I intend to addict the remaining years of my life!’

Hume now built a superior house for himself in the New Town, which was then little beyond its commencement, selecting a site adjoining to St Andrew Square. The superintendence of this work was an amusement to him. A story is related in more than one way regarding the manner in which a denomination was conferred upon the street in which this house is situated. Perhaps, if it be premised that a corresponding street at the other angle of St Andrew Square is called _St Andrew Street_—a natural enough circumstance with reference to the square, whose title was determined on in the plan—it will appear likely that the choosing of ‘St David Street’ for that in which Hume’s house stood was not originally designed as a jest at his expense, though a second thought, and the whim of his friends, might quickly give it that application. The story, as told by Mr Burton, is as follows: ‘When the house was built and inhabited by Hume, but while yet the street of which it was the commencement had no name, a witty young lady, daughter of Baron Ord, chalked on the wall the words, ST DAVID STREET. The allusion was very obvious. Hume’s “lass,” judging that it was not meant in honour or reverence, ran into the house much excited, to tell her master how he was made game of. “Never mind, lassie,” he said, “many a better man has been made a saint of before.”’

That Hume was a native of Edinburgh is well known. One could wish to know the spot of his birth; but it is not now perhaps possible to ascertain it. The nearest approach made to the fact is from intelligence conveyed by a memorandum in his father’s handwriting among the family papers, where he speaks of ‘my son David, born in the _Tron Church parish_’—a district comprehending a large square clump of town between the High Street and Cowgate, east of the site of the church itself.

One of Hume’s most intimate friends amongst the other sex was Mrs Cockburn, author of one of the beautiful songs called _The Flowers of the Forest_. While he was in France in 1764, she writes to him from _Baird’s Close,[43] Castle-hill_: ‘The cloven foot for which thou art worshipped I despise; yet I remember _thee_ with affection. I remember that, in spite of vain philosophy, of dark doubts, of toilsome learning, God has stamped his image of benignity so strong upon thy _heart_, that not all the labours of thy head could efface it.’ After Hume’s return to Edinburgh, he kept up his acquaintance with this spirited and amiable woman. The late Mr Alexander Young, W.S., had some reminiscences of parties which he attended when a boy at her house, and at which the philosopher was present. Hume came in one evening behind time for her _petit souper_, when, seeing her bustling to get something for him to eat, he called out: ‘Now, no trouble, if you please, about quality; for you know I’m only a glutton, not an epicure.’ Mr Young attended at a dinner where, besides Hume, there were present Lord Monboddo and some other learned personages. Mrs Cockburn was then living in the neat first floor of a house at the end of Crighton Street, with windows looking along the Potterrow. She had a son of eccentric habits, in middle life, or rather elderly, who came in during the dinner tipsy, and going into a bedroom, locked himself in, went to bed, and fell asleep. The company in time made a move for departure, when it was discovered that their hats, cloaks, and greatcoats were all locked up in Mr Cockburn’s room. The door was knocked at and shaken, but no answer. What was to be done? At length Mrs Cockburn had no alternative from sending out to her neighbours to borrow a supply of similar integuments, which was soon procured. There was then such fun in fitting the various _savants_ with suitable substitutes for their own proper gear! Hume, for instance, with a dreadnought riding-coat; Monboddo with a shabby old hat, as unlike his own neat chapeau as possible! In the highest exaltation of spirits did these two men of genius at length proceed homeward along the Potterrow, Horse Wynd, Assembly Close, &c., making the old echoes merry with their peals of laughter at the strange appearance which they respectively made.[44]

I lately inspected Hume’s _cheerful and elegant_ mansion in James’s Court, and found it divided amongst three or four tenants in humble life, each possessing little more than a single room. It was amusing to observe that what had been the dining-room and drawing-room towards the north were _each_ provided with one of those little side oratories which have been described elsewhere as peculiar to a period in Edinburgh house-building, being designed for private devotion. Hume living in a house with two private chapels!

JAMES BOSWELL.

It appears that one of the immediately succeeding leaseholders of Hume’s house in James’s Court was James Boswell. Mr Burton has made this tolerably clear (_Life of Hume_, ii. 137), and he proceeds to speculate on the fact of Boswell having there entertained his friend Johnson. ‘Would Boswell communicate the fact, or tell what manner of man was the landlord of the habitation into which he had, under the guise of hospitality, entrapped the arch-intolerant? Who shall appreciate the mental conflict which Boswell may have experienced on this occasion?’ It appears, however, that by the time when Johnson visited Boswell in James’s Court, the latter had removed into a better and larger mansion right below and on the level of the court—namely, that now (1846) occupied by Messrs Pillans as a printing-office. This was an extraordinary house in its day; for it consisted of two floors connected by an internal stair. Here it was that the Ursa Major of literature stayed for a few days, in August 1773, while preparing to set out to the Hebrides, and also for some time after his return. Here did he receive the homage of the trembling literati of Edinburgh; here, after handling them in his rough manner, did he relax in play with little Miss Veronica, whom Boswell promised to consider peculiarly in his will for showing a liking to so estimable a man. What makes all this evident is a passage in a letter of Samuel himself to Mrs Thrale (Edinburgh, August 17), where he says: ‘Boswell has very handsome and spacious rooms, level with the ground on one side of the house, and on the other four stories high.’ Boswell was only tenant of the mansion. It affords a curious idea of the importance which formerly attached to some of these Old Town residences, when we learn that this was part of the entailed estate of the Macdowalls of Logan, one of whom sold it, by permission of an act of parliament, to redeem the land-tax upon his country property.

Boswell ceased to be a citizen of Edinburgh in 1785, when he was pleased to venture before the English bar. He is little remembered amongst the elder inhabitants of our city; but the late Mr William Macfarlane, the well-known small-debt judge, told me that there was _this_ peculiarity about him—it was impossible to look in his face without being moved by the comicality which always reigned upon it. He was one of those men whose very look is provocative of mirth. Mr Robert Sym, W.S., who died in 1844, at an advanced age, remembered being at parties in this house in Boswell’s time.

LORD FOUNTAINHALL.

Before James’s Court was built, its site was occupied by certain closes, in one of which dwelt Lord Fountainhall, so distinguished as an able, liberal, and upright judge, and still more so by his industrious habits as a collector of historical memorabilia, and of the decisions of the Court of Session. Though it is considerably upwards of a century since Lord Fountainhall died,[45] a traditionary anecdote of his residence in this place has been handed down till the present time by a surprisingly small number of persons. The mother of the late Mr Gilbert Innes of Stow was a daughter of his lordship’s son, Sir Andrew Lauder, and she used to describe to her children the visits she used to pay to her venerable grandfather’s house, situated, as she said, where James’s Court now stands. She and her sister, a little girl like herself, always went with their maid on the Saturday afternoons, and were shown into the room where the aged judge was sitting—a room covered with gilt leather,[46] and containing many huge presses and cabinets, one of which was ornamented with a death’s-head at the top. After amusing themselves for an hour or two with his lordship, they used to get each a shilling from him, and retire to the anteroom, where, as Mrs Innes well recollected, the waiting-maid invariably pounced upon their money, and appropriated it to her own use. It is curious to think that the mother of a gentlewoman living in 1839 (for only then did Miss Innes of Stow leave this earthly scene) should have been familiar with a lawyer who entered at the bar soon after the Restoration (1668), and acted as counsel for the unfortunate Earl of Argyll in 1681; a being of an age as different in every respect from the present as the wilds of North America are different from the long-practised lands of Lothian or Devonshire.

The judicial designation of Lord Fountainhall was adopted from a place belonging to him in East Lothian, now the property of his representative, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder. The original name of the place was Woodhead. When the able lawyer came to the bench, and, as usual, thought of a new appellative of a territorial kind—‘Woodhead—Lord Woodhead,’ thought he; ‘that will never do for a judge!’ So the name of the place was changed to Fountainhall, and he became Lord Fountainhall accordingly.

[1868.—The western half of James’s Court having been destroyed by accidental fire, the reader will now find a new building on the spot. The houses rendered interesting by the names of Blair, Boswell, Johnson, and Hume are consequently no more.]

FOOTNOTES

[40] From whom it got its name—James’s Court.

[41] A ‘land’ still standing (1912) as it was when Hume lived there. It was also the residence of the Countess of Eglinton when she left the Stamp Office Close in the High Street. See p. 192.

[42] Burton’s _Life of Hume_, ii. 173.

[43] Formerly called Blair’s Close (p. 19). The name was altered to Baird’s Close when the Gordon property passed into the possession of Baird of Newbyth.

[44] Mrs Cockburn, writing to Miss Cumming at Balcarres, describes ‘a ball’ she gave in this house. ‘On Wednesday I gave a ball. How do ye think I contrived to stretch out this house to hold twenty-two people, and had nine couples always dancing? Yet this is true; it is also true that we had a table covered with divers eatables all the time, and that everybody ate when they were hungry and drank when they were dry, but nobody ever sat down.... Our fiddler sat where the cupboard is, and they danced in both rooms. The table was stuffed into the window and we had plenty of room. It made the bairns all very happy.’—_Mrs Cockburn’s Letters_, edited by T. Craig Brown.

[45] His lordship died September 20, 1722 (Brunton and Haig’s _Historical Account of the Senators of the College of Justice_).

[46] A stuff brought, I believe, from Spain, and which was at one time much in fashion in Scotland.

STORY OF THE COUNTESS OF STAIR.

In a short alley leading between the Lawnmarket and the Earthen Mound, and called _Lady Stair’s Close_,[47] there is a substantial old mansion, presenting, in a sculptured stone over the doorway, a small coat-armorial, with the initials W. G. and G. S., the date 1622, and the legend:

FEAR THE LORD, AND DEPART FROM EVILL.

The letters refer to Sir William Gray of Pittendrum, the original proprietor of the house, and his wife. Within there are marks of good style, particularly in the lofty ceiling and an inner stair apart from the common one; but all has long been turned to common purposes; while it must be left to the imagination to realise the terraced garden which formerly descended towards the North Loch.

This was the last residence of a lady conspicuous in Scottish society in the early part of the last century—the widow of the celebrated commander and diplomatist, John, Earl of Stair. Lady Eleanor Campbell was, by paternal descent, nearly related to one of the greatest historical figures of the preceding century, being the granddaughter of the Chancellor, Earl of Loudon, whose talents and influence on the Covenanting side were at one time believed to have nearly procured him the honour of a secret death at the command of Charles I. Her ladyship’s first adventure in matrimony led to a series of circumstances of a marvellous nature, which I shall set down exactly as they used to be related by friends of the lady in the last century. It was her lot, at an early age, to be united to James, Viscount Primrose, a man of the worst temper and most dissolute manners. Her ladyship, who had no small share of the old chancellor in her constitution, could have managed most men with ease, by dint of superior intellect and force of character; but the cruelty of Lord Primrose was too much for her. He treated her so barbarously that she had even reason to fear that he would some day put an end to her life. One morning she was dressing herself in her chamber, near an open window, when his lordship entered the room behind her with a drawn sword in his hand. He had opened the door softly, and although his face indicated a resolution of the most horrible nature, he still had the presence of mind to approach her with caution. Had she not caught a glimpse of his face and figure in the glass, he would in all probability have come near enough to execute his bloody purpose before she was aware or could have taken any measures to save herself. Fortunately, she perceived him in time to leap out of the open window into the street. Half-dressed as she was, she immediately, by a very laudable exertion of her natural good sense, went to the house of Lord Primrose’s mother, where she told her story, and demanded protection. That protection was at once extended; and it being now thought vain to attempt a reconciliation, they never afterwards lived together.

Lord Primrose soon afterwards went abroad. During his absence, a foreign conjurer, or fortune-teller, came to Edinburgh, professing, among many other wonderful accomplishments, to be able to inform any person of the present condition or situation of any other person, at whatever distance, in whom the applicant might be interested. Lady Primrose was incited by curiosity to go with a female friend to the lodgings of the wise man in the Canongate, for the purpose of inquiring regarding the motions of her husband, of whom she had not heard for a considerable time. It was at night; and the two ladies went, with the tartan _screens_ or _plaids_ of their servants drawn over their faces by way of disguise. Lady Primrose having described the individual in whose fate she was interested, and having expressed a desire to know what he was at present doing, the conjurer led her to a large mirror, in which she distinctly perceived the appearance of the inside of a church, with a marriage-party arranged near the altar. To her astonishment, she recognised in the shadowy bridegroom no other than her husband. The magical scene was not exactly like a picture; or if so, it was rather like the live pictures of the stage than the dead and immovable delineations of the pencil. It admitted of additions to the persons represented, and of a progress of action. As the lady gazed on it, the ceremonial of the marriage seemed to proceed. The necessary arrangements had at last been made, the priest seemed to have pronounced the preliminary service; he was just on the point of bidding the bride and bridegroom join hands, when suddenly a gentleman, for whom the rest seemed to have waited a considerable time, and in whom Lady Primrose thought she recognised a brother of her own, then abroad, entered the church, and advanced hurriedly towards the party. The aspect of this person was at first only that of a friend who had been invited to attend the ceremony, and who had come too late; but as he advanced, the expression of his countenance and figure was altered. He stopped short; his face assumed a wrathful expression; he drew his sword, and rushed up to the bridegroom, who prepared to defend himself. The whole scene then became tumultuous and indistinct, and soon after vanished entirely away.[48]

When Lady Primrose reached home she wrote a minute narrative of the whole transaction, to which she appended the day of the month on which she had seen the mysterious vision. This narrative she sealed up in the presence of a witness, and then deposited it in one of her drawers. Soon afterwards her brother returned from his travels, and came to visit her. She asked if, in the course of his wanderings, he had happened to see or hear anything of Lord Primrose. The young man only answered by saying that he wished he might never again hear the name of that detested personage mentioned. Lady Primrose, however, questioned him so closely that he at last confessed having met his lordship, and that under very strange circumstances. Having spent some time at one of the Dutch cities—it was either Amsterdam or Rotterdam—he had become acquainted with a rich merchant, who had a very beautiful daughter, his only child, and the heiress of his large fortune. One day his friend the merchant informed him that his daughter was about to be married to a Scottish gentleman, who had lately come to reside there. The nuptials were to take place in the course of a few days; and as he was a countryman of the bridegroom, he was invited to the wedding. He went accordingly, was a little too late for the commencement of the ceremony, but fortunately came in time to prevent the sacrifice of an amiable young lady to the greatest monster alive in human shape—his own brother-in-law, Lord Primrose!

The story proceeds to say that although Lady Primrose had proved her willingness to believe in the magical delineations of the mirror by writing down an account of them, yet she was so much surprised by discovering them to be the representation of actual fact that she almost fainted. Something, however, yet remained to be ascertained. Did Lord Primrose’s attempted marriage take place exactly at the same time with her visit to the conjurer? She asked her brother on what day the circumstance which he related took place. Having been informed, she took out her key, and requested him to go to her chamber, to open a drawer which she described, and to bring her a sealed packet which he would find in that drawer. On the packet being opened, it was discovered that Lady Primrose had seen the shadowy representation of her husband’s abortive nuptials on the very evening when they were transacted in reality.[49]

Lord Primrose died in 1706, leaving a widow who could scarcely be expected to mourn for him. She was still a young and beautiful woman, and might have procured her choice among twenty better matches. Such, however, was the idea she had formed of the marriage state from her first husband that she made a resolution never again to become a wife. She kept her resolution for many years, and probably would have done so till the last but for a singular circumstance. The celebrated Earl of Stair, who resided in Edinburgh during the greater part of twenty years, which he spent in retirement from all official employments, became deeply smitten with her ladyship, and earnestly sued for her hand. If she could have relented in favour of any man, it would have been for one who had acquired so much public honour, and whose private character was also, in general respects, so estimable. But to him also she declared her resolution of remaining unmarried. In his desperation, he resolved upon an expedient which strongly marks the character of the age in respect of delicacy. By dint of bribes to her domestics, he got himself insinuated overnight into a small room in her ladyship’s house, where she used to say her prayers every morning, and the window of which looked out upon the principal street of the city. At this window, when the morning was a little advanced, he showed himself, _en déshabillé_, to the people passing along the street; an exhibition which threatened to have such an effect upon her ladyship’s reputation that she saw fit to accept of him for a husband.[50]