The baxter in whose shop we saw this told us that her majesty said, on being invited to take her dinner at an inn on the road from Dover, that she would be content with a mutton-chop at the King's Arms in London, {2} which shows that she is a lady of a very hamely disposition.Mrs.Pringle thought her not big enough for a queen; but we cannot expect every one to be like that bright accidental star, Queen Elizabeth, whose effigy we have seen preserved in armour in the Tower of London, and in wax in Westminster Abbey, where they have a living-like likeness of Lord Nelson, in the very identical regimentals that he was killed in.They are both wonderful places, but it costs a power of money to get through them, and all the folk about them think of nothing but money; for when I inquired, with a reverent spirit, seeing around me the tombs of great and famous men, the mighty and wise of their day, what department it was of theAbbey--"It's the eighteenpence department," said an uncircumcised Philistine, with as little respect as if we had been treading the courts of the darling Dagon.
Our concerns here are now drawing to a close; but before we return, we are going for a short time to a town on the seaside, which they call Brighton.We had a notion of taking a trip to Paris, but that we must leave to Andrew Pringle, my son, and his sister Rachel, if the bit lassie could get a decent gudeman, which maybe will cast up for her before we leave London.Nothing, however, is settled as yet upon that head, so I can say no more at present anent the same.
Since the affair of the sermon, I have withdrawn myself from trafficking so much as I did in the missionary and charitable ploys that are so in vogue with the pious here, which will be all the better for my own people, as I will keep for them what I was giving to the unknown; and it is my design to write a book on almsgiving, to show in what manner that Christian duty may be best fulfilled, which I doubt not will have the effect of opening the eyes of many in London to the true nature of the thing by which I was myself beguiled in this Vanity Fair, like a bird ensnared by the fowler.
I was concerned to hear of poor Mr.Witherspoon's accident, in falling from his horse in coming from the Dalmailing occasion.How thankful he must be, that the Lord made his head of a durability to withstand the shock, which might otherwise have fractured his skull.What you say about the promise of the braird gives me pleasure on account of the poor; but what will be done with the farmers and their high rents, if the harvest turn out so abundant? Great reason have I to be thankful that the legacy has put me out of the reverence of my stipend; for when the meal was cheap, I own to you that I felt my carnality grudging the horn of abundance that the Lord was then pouring into the lap of the earth.In short, Mr.Micklewham, I doubt it is o'er true with us all, that the less we are tempted, the better we are; so with my sincere prayers that you may be delivered from all evil, and led out of the paths of temptation, whether it is on the highway, or on the footpaths, or beneath the hedges, I remain, dear sir, your friend and pastor, ZACHARIAH PRINGLE.
"The Doctor," said Mrs.Glibbans, as the schoolmaster concluded, "is there like himself--a true orthodox Christian, standing up for the word, and overflowing with charity even for the sinner.But, Mr.Snodgrass, I did not ken before that the bishops had a hand in the making of the Acts of the Parliament; I think, Mr.Snodgrass, if that be the case, there should be some doubt in Scotland about obeying them.However that may be, sure am I that the queen, though she was a perfect Deliah, has nothing to fear from them; for have we not read in the Book of Martyrs, and other church histories, of their concubines and indulgences, in the papist times, to all manner of carnal iniquity? But if she be that noghty woman that they say"- -"Gude safe's," cried Mrs.Craig, "if she be a noghty woman, awa' wi' her, awa' wi' her--wha kens the cantrips she may play us?"Here Miss Mally Glencairn interposed, and informed Mrs.Craig, that a noghty woman was not, as she seemed to think, a witch wife."I am sure," said Miss Becky Glibbans, "that Mrs.Craig might have known that." "Oh, ye're a spiteful deevil," whispered Miss Mally, with a smile to her; and turning in the same moment to Miss Isabella Tod, begged her to read Miss Pringle's letter--a motion which Mr.Snodgrass seconded chiefly to abridge the conversation, during which, though he wore a serene countenance, he often suffered much.
