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p>Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 701 / June 2, 1877

      WINDOW WILLIE

A TWEEDSIDE TRADITION, BY W. CHAMBERS, LL.D

      Crossing the tall and narrow old bridge of several arches which spans the Tweed at Peebles, is seen an aged gentleman riding composedly on a small white pony. His head is bent droopingly down, as if meditating on some important mission. From his general aspect, he may be a gentleman-farmer, disposed to take things easily at his time of life; or he may be some retired public official who keeps a pony, and in good weather pops about for amusement. His dress has nothing particular about it. He wears a blue coat with metal buttons and capacious outside pockets. His legs are endued in buff breeches, white rig-and-fur woollen stockings, and black spats, a kind of short gaiters, over the ankles. Any one may observe that he is no common person. At the end of his watch-chain dangle a gold seal, a Queen Anne sixpence, a small and very pretty shell, and a flexible watch-key. Instead of using a riding-whip, he has in his right hand a perfectly respectable gold-headed cane, with which he occasionally gives a gentle pat on the side of the pony. Altogether a creditable affair, as things went towards the end of last century.

      This imposing personage, according to tradition, was proceeding in a southerly direction across the bridge from his residence at Cabbage Hall, on Tweed Green, in order to pursue his way down the right bank of the river to the mansion of Traquair. It is a pleasant ride of seven to eight miles; and looking to the leisurely progress of the little nag, it is not unlikely he may reach his destination in an hour and a half. So far well. But who is this venerable gentleman? His proper designation is of no consequence. Locally, and somewhat irreverently, he is known as Window Willie, a man of genial temperament, but who professionally commands a degree of respect in the neighbourhood; for he is the district inspector in relation to the tax on window-lights, and it is not surprising that with all his good humour people are a little afraid of him.

      Is Window Willie going to inspect windows in that old weather-beaten château of the Earl of Traquair? Not at all. He is a chum of the old Earl, and what his particular business happens to be on the present occasion will afterwards appear. In the meantime, as paving the way for Window Willie's interview, we may run over a few particulars concerning the Traquair family. There need be the less ceremony in speaking of them, as all have gone to their rest. The family is extinct, leaving not a shred behind.

      The Stewarts of Traquair come first prominently into notice in the reign of Charles I., 1628, when Sir John Stewart of Traquair, Knight, was raised to the peerage as Lord Stewart of Traquair, and shortly afterwards elevated to the dignity of Earl of Traquair, Lord Linton, and Caberston. In looking into history, we cannot discover that this gentleman had a single good quality. Like too many at that period, he was a time-server, devoid of anything like settled principle. In politics and religion he discreetly sided with the uppermost – a Puritan or an Anglican of the Laud type, whichever seemed to promise to pay best.

      There is a very curious old book, which few know anything about, called the 'Staggering State of Scots Statesmen, for one hundred years from 1550 to 1650, by Sir John Scot of Scotstarvit.' It was printed from a manuscript in 1754, and is exceedingly rare. This little book is full of amusing gossip about the wretchedly struggling noblemen and officers of state at that unhappy period of Scottish history, during a large portion of which the central ruling authority was in London, and only a delegation of subordinates, who domineered at will, in Edinburgh. These subordinates were needy Scotsmen, of whom for more than a century hardly a good word can be said. They did as they liked, plundered and tyrannised without mercy. The Staggering State gives an awful account of them. Among the whole, none was such an adept at looking to his own interest as the newly created Earl of Traquair. Appointed Lord High Treasurer, he 'managed matters so nimbly' that in a short time he was able, by purchase, to vastly extend the possessions of the family. He also enlarged the old mansion at Traquair, and made a handsome avenue lined with trees as an approach.

      When Charles I. got into trouble, the Earl of Traquair for a time stuck to his cause, which in a half-hearted way he afterwards thought fit to desert. The Commonwealth under Cromwell proved a sore trial to every class of home-rulers in Scotland. A stern system of honesty and justice was introduced, at which the native nobility and judges stood aghast. Monopolies were abolished. Free trade was established between England and Scotland. Very hard all this on those who had been pocketing the public money, thriving on monopolies, and selling justice to the highest bidder. Turned out of office, and his estate being sequestrated, the Earl of Traquair was ruined. By some manœuvre, his son Lord Linton had the address to save for himself and his heirs at least a portion of the family property, and was able to keep house at Traquair, while the Earl was exposed to vicissitudes, uncheered by public respect or sympathy. Lord Linton can hardly be acquitted of having acted an unnatural part towards his father. He allowed him to drop into such extreme poverty that he was fain to accept an alms from an old friend, and to dine on a salt herring and an onion. Broken in spirit, he died in 1659; and as evidencing the meanness of his circumstances, it is recorded that at his burial there was no pall, but only a black apron over the coffin.

      So ended the first Earl, who though not without the faults common to the period, was at least an historical personage. His son, the second Earl, was noted only for scandalous irregularities, and by him Roman Catholicism was introduced into the family, through his marriage with Lady Anne Seton. He was succeeded by his elder son, William, as third Earl; and he was succeeded by his brother, Charles, as fourth Earl, who married Lady Mary Maxwell, daughter of the fourth Earl of Nithsdale. We need say nothing of the fifth Earl. In the sixth Earl we begin to have a living interest. He had a son, Charles, and three daughters, Christiana, Mary, and Lucy. Lady Christiana caused serious trouble in the family by what was deemed a mésalliance. The story is that she fell in love with a young man named Griffiths, who as a lawyer's clerk had visited Traquair on some piece of business, married him – and was disowned. There is no doubt of the marriage, whatever might have been the position of Mr Griffiths; for it is recorded in the Peerage of Sir Robert Douglas. Descendants of Lady Christiana are still living, we believe, in America.

      The Ladies Mary and Lucy do not appear to have been married. As genteel spinsters they lived in the Canongate, Edinburgh, which even in their time had not been entirely deserted by noble families. Charles, their brother, who succeeded as seventh Earl in 1779, and was already married, dwelt for a time in Edinburgh. There to him was born a daughter, Louisa, 20th March 1776; and a son, Charles, 31st January 1781. After the birth of the two children, the Earl and his Countess spent most of their time at Traquair House. Here, for a number of years the Earl flourished, if it can be called flourishing, the more appropriate term being vegetating, at the period when Window Willie was in his glory.

      There lingered some traditions of the Countess of Traquair in our young days. She was an invalid. The rumour in Peebles was that she had been afflicted with an 'eating cancer in her great toe.' Whether there was any truth in the report we cannot tell. All we know is, that the ailment of her Ladyship gave rise to a droll and popular myth. The cancer being an 'eating' cancer, required something to eat. If it was not properly provided with food, it would eat off her Ladyship's foot, and finally eat her up bodily. To avert this calamity, it was customary – so ran the legend in Peebles – to provide the cancer every morning regularly with a fresh pigeon, which it devoured with a relish in the course of the day, and so the foot of the Countess was luckily saved. The gossip about the daily consumption of a pigeon was possibly a piece of nonsense. At anyrate, the Countess having been much of an invalid, the old Earl her husband sought to amuse himself in a way, immediately to be specified.

      We are now ready for the interview with Window Willie, who has been jogging on his way to Traquair. For the last hour the Earl had been expecting him, and now and then looks out from a small apartment with a low ceiling to see his approach down a side avenue. There at length he comes on his little white pony; and giving the animal to a groom, he enters the antiquated mansion.

      'Glad to see you,' said the Earl. 'I've been out of work for a week; at least hardly anything to do. I hope you have brought something. How many have you got?'

      'Well, my Lord,' replied Willie, 'I think I have made a pretty good haul. I have just returned from my circuit in the western district of the county, and have managed to pick up a round dozen.'

      'That will do

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