The Book-Hunter
For those who do not know Aberdeen, it may be proper to say that _Old_
Aberdeen is as entirely distinct from New Aberdeen as Edinburgh is from
Leith--in a different way. The distance between them is somewhat
greater, about two miles; and whereas New Aberdeen is a highly
prosperous commercial city, as entirely devoid of beauty or interest as
any city under the sun, Old Aberdeen is a sweet, still, little place,
hardly more than a village in size, in appearance utterly unlike any
other place in Scotland, resembling a little English cathedral
town,--the towers and spires of college and cathedral beautifully seen
through ancient trees from the windows of Miss Peggy Paton's old house,
to which that managing lady added a wing, and which possessed a good
flower and fruit garden, wherein grew plenty of gooseberries, ever Dr
Burton's favourite fruit. His birthday, 22d August, was, during his
mother's life, always celebrated by a family feast of them.
Such were the scenes and circumstances of Dr Burton's childhood and
early youth. As he grew old enough to begin those long walks which to
the end were the great pleasure of his life, he made acquaintance with
the beautiful scenery of the Upper Dee and Don. In holiday time his
mother used to give him a small sum of money, at most one pound, and
allow him to travel as far as the amount would take him. His legs were
almost always his only conveyance; throughout his life he entertained an
aversion to either riding or driving. His temper was too impatient, too
energetic, to allow him to enjoy progress without exertion. After
railways existed he sometimes used them in aid of his walking power; but
all horse vehicles were odious to him, partly by reason of an excessive
tenderness for animals. He could not bear to see a horse whipped, or any
living creature subjected to bodily pain.
Wonderful are the accounts the writer has heard of the duration of that
holiday pound: how Dr Burton and sometimes a chosen companion would
subsist day after day on twopence-worth of oatmeal, that by so doing
they might travel the farther; or how, having improvidently finished
their supply, they would walk some incredible distance without any food
at all, till they reached either their home or the house of some friend.
In these holiday rambles Dr Burton made the acquaintance of several
families either more or less related to him through his Grandholm
kindred, or willing, in the old Scotch fashion, to extend hospitality to
any wayfarer who needed it. In this way Dr Burton has described himself
as the guest of Mrs Gordon at Abergeldie, who, as he said, made a
request that when he came to visit her he would if possible arrive
before midnight. Invercauld, Glenkindie, Tough, and many other
country-houses, were visited in the same unceremonious way.
The letter here given was written to his mother during one of these
holiday rambles, when its writer was about twenty, and describes some of
the scenes of the wonderful flood of '29, so graphically described by
Sir Thomas Dick Lauder. The Colonel H. was the son of Dr Burton's
godfather, and a man of mature years at the time the Highlander and Dr
Burton describe him as having "run away." The writer can offer no
explanation of this rather amusing passage in the letter: it might
either be a mere joke or refer to some family quarrel of the Colonel's.
"LAKEFIELD, _8th September 1829_.
"MY DEAR MOTHER,--I have just arrived at Lakefield in the midst of
determined and ceaseless rain. I expected of course to meet A.H.
here, but it seems he ran away the other day, and will by this time
be in Aberdeen. He wrote to Mrs Grant from Elgin, but she has not
yet heard of his arrival in Aberdeen.
"In my way here I ran a risk of being violently used for his sake.
As I was perambulating slowly the border of Loch Ness I met a tall,
gaunt-looking man, who eyed me rather suspiciously, and stretched
forth his hands in the attitude of one interrupting a stray sheep.
I looked at the being in my turn, and began to be a little
suspicious of his purpose, and to think of my dirk. The man
approached nearer still in the attitude of making a spring. When he
had come so close that I could hardly escape him, he roared out:
'Is't you 'at's the laad Colonel H. 'at's been runnan' awa'?' 'No,'
said I, 'I am not.'
"The man continued to eye me rather suspiciously, and then went
slowly away. I suppose he hoped to be rewarded for me. I have told
you that I got rain. When I was proceeding to Huntly, as you are
aware, in the coach, there came two or three heavy gusts of wind
from the hills, carrying along with it a sort of soft drizzle, but
nothing like rain, and the roads appeared dry. After I had passed
Keith, however, the whole country had a drenched and draggled
appearance, the burns were swollen, the corn was hanging like wet
hair, the trees were drooping and black, and the country people
themselves looked as if they had been held in water for the last
six months. A heavy and unceasing rain came on. The clouds grew
black and seemed to settle, everything had a ghastly and dismal
appearance. I met a man, and asked him if it always rained here.
'Ou ay, sir,' replied he, 'it's the parish o' _Rayne_.' I was
content with the answer, and asked nothing more. In a condition you
may easily imagine, I reached Elgin and dried myself. The rain
stopped, but the clouds did not clear. I went and visited the
cathedral, and wandered about the ruins for an hour or two. It is a
noble and beautiful building, but I will not begin to speak about
it, as the post leaves in a few minutes. On Saturday afternoon I
left Elgin for Forres, with the hope of better weather. During the
walk I could hardly persuade myself I was out of Aberdeenshire, the
country is so very like, but it is rather flatter. Next morning was
clear and cloudless, and the sun shone bright over a country
drenched and covered with water. I wished that day to reach
Inverness, but a new difficulty appeared. I was told that the
Findhorn was so swollen that no mortal man could get across. I saw
the boatman going to his ferry-house, and I followed him to see how
the matter stood. I soon came to a deep and rapid sweep of water,
which appeared to spread far beyond two narrow banks which might
have formerly bounded it. This I thought to be the Findhorn, but
ere I went many paces farther another sight met my eyes--the real
river itself dashing through the glen with an awful majesty, and
carrying roots, trees, and herbage of every description hurriedly
over its broad breast. In the midst of this scene of devastation
appeared the ruins of a noble bridge, nothing but the piers
remaining, and these dashing to pieces in the furious current. The
stream I had seen at first was the river flowing down the road. The
river fell in the evening, and I crossed the ferry. I had two days
of most delightful weather, and yesterday evening I had a sunset
and moonlight walk by the side of Loch Ness, among the most noble
scenery I ever beheld. The sky was perfectly clear, and without a
single cloud.
"I must now finish, as the post is going away. If you see Joseph
[_i.e._, the late Joseph Robertson, a constant companion and
attached friend], tell him I will write to him soon and have a deal
to say to him, particularly of my discovering a sculptured stone in
Elgin Cathedral. Notwithstanding the fineness of the evening, this
day is determinedly rainy. If you see any of the H.'s, give Mrs
Grant's compliments.--Adieu for the present; and I remain, my dear
mother, your affectionate and dutiful son,
"J. HILL BURTON."
The writer has heard many farther details of the excursion of which this
letter records the beginning. The temporary clearing up of the weather
referred to was but a hollow truce in the tremendous elemental warfare
of that memorable autumn. The flood described in the Findhorn was but a
faint precursor of the wave sixty feet high, which, a week or two later,
burst through the splendid girdle of rock which at Relugas confines that
loveliest of Scotch rivers, and spread over the fertile plain beneath,
changing it into a sea. At some points in Morayshire, the enormous
overflow of the rivers broke down the banks which bound the ocean, and
permanently changed the coast-line of the country. The most striking and
extraordinary part of Sir Thomas Dick Lauder's description of this flood
is an extract from the log of a sailing packet--a sea-going
vessel--which directed its course over and about the plain of Moray,
picking the inhabitants off the roofs of their houses, or such other
elevations as they could reach.
Dr Burton had the good fortune to see the Fall of Foyers during this
great flood, and had the temerity to cross its stream, which lay on his
road, upon a remaining parapet of the fallen bridge!
CHAPTER II.
EDINBURGH.
_Apprenticeship in lawyer's office--Grandfather's letter--J.H. Burton's
letters to his mother, conveying first impressions of Edinburgh, and
account of passing Civil Law trial._
On the completion of his studies, John Burton was apprenticed to a
writer in Aberdeen. He has talked of this period as one of the most
painful of his life. He was utterly unable to master the routine of
office-work, or to submit to its restraints; and one of his most joyful
days was that in which his indentures were, by mutual desire, cancelled.
A piece of yellow old paper was found in Dr Burton's desk when he died.
It was a letter written some fifty-five years before, and had probably
lain there during all these years. As it refers to this period of Dr
Burton's life, it may be given. It seems fully to bear out the writer's
conception of the unsympathising character of the intercourse between
Mrs Burton and her family. No stronger incentive to exertion could have
been offered to a man of Dr Burton's character, than the desire to
falsify the implied prediction of such a missive. With a view to its
effect in this way it had probably been given him by his mother. It is
an entire letter, and the whole is here printed.
"GRANDHOLM, _June 6th_.
"DEAR ELIZA,--I have this day received a letter from my father,
part of which I think it necessary to transcribe to you, as the
best mode of giving you his meaning.
"'The account of John Burton's being in such an idle unemployed way
displeases me much. I wish you, Mary, would speak to his mother on
the subject; tell her I would have acquainted her with my
displeasure before now, only, on account of her misfortune in her
family [this must refer to the death of her son David], I deferred
what I ought to have done. Why was he taken away from his
attendance at Mr Winchester's office? Doctor Dauney said he could
not be better than with him, as there was plenty of business, such
as was going. Tell her that as I have neither funds nor inclination
to support idle gentlemen, or rather vagabonds, I have given
directions to Mr Alcock not to pay up her next half-year's annuity,
till he hears from me on the subject, and until she gives you
satisfactory accounts concerning her son's return to Mr
Winchester's office or otherwise. Tell her not to write to me, but
to act as is her duty.'"
The sister here continues, "I hope Mary [Dr Burton's only sister,
the youngest child of his mother] continues well, and that you will
not fail to give me an answer to this, as you see it will be