Introduction.

Had we the power of conferring canonization, we would rather make a saint of the Legislator that gives us one additional holiday, than of any Chancellor of the Exchequer whatsoever who contrives a new tax. Judge, then, what our feelings of love and loyalty must be towards his Most Gracious Majesty King George the Fourth, for having conferred, at one time, upon the delighted lieges of his ancient Kingdom of Scotland, a whole fortnight of festivals, to their inexpressible solace and satisfaction, and the particular profit of the pleasant and facetious citizens of Edinburgh.

But that our pen is of a local and constipated nature, we would expatiate upon this amiable benignity of the Monarch, and the joy with which, like the universal sunshine, the Royal presence blithened all the land. We would describe its urbane influences extending into the misty depths of the Highland glens, and calling, like spirits from the vasty deep, a wild and wondering race to walk the streets of the metropolis with an innocent fierceness which found nothing to destroy; we would talk largely of the relapse and conversion of genteel writers to the signet into the likenesses of savage Celts and roving barbarians—and with all the redolence of eloquence we would discourse of gausy bailies, provosts proud, and the detail of other smirking corporate bodies. These things, however, are above the stinted mediocrity of our genius; and, therefore, with a judicious economical respect for our own limited powers, we propose to ourselves the humbler task of relating a few circumstances connected with the part and interest which the inhabitants of the West Country took in the festivities of the Royal Visit.

Greenock folk.

“Sawners M‘Auslan,” said the mistress, as soon as she had stretched herself in the bed beside her husband, “Sawners M‘Auslan, are ye sound already?”

“I’m no sleeping,” replied the skipper, a little gruffly, still remaining with his face towards the wall.

“Gin ye’re no sleeping, tak tent, I hae something to say.”

“I can hear you—what is it?”

“Ye ken, Sawners, that ye hae lang promis't me a jaunt, and everybodie’s gaun intil Edinburgh.—Dinna ye think a jaunt to see the King would be a real fine ane?—Na, as I’m to be trustit, the man’s snoring in a dead sleep.—I say, Sawners M‘Auslan.”

“I’m no sleeping.”

“Then, what were the last words I said?”