exhibition, supplied attractions nearly unparalleled to a thousand THEATRES. Mr. James Sansom was of the greatest stature, above six feet high, and otherwise proportionably enormous. His person was coarse, his limbs large, and his manners awkward; so that while people admired the simplicity and innocence of his character, they could not help smiling at the clumsiness of his motions and the rudeness of his address. His soul was pure and untainted—the seat of many manly and amiable virtues. He was ever faithful in his duty, both as a preacher and as a tutor; warmly attached to the interests of the family where he resided; and gentle in the instruction of his pupils. As a preacher, though his manners in his public exhibitions, no less than in private society, were not in his favour, he was well received by every class of hearers. His discourses were the well-digested productions of a laborious and thoughtful mind, and his sentiments seldom failed to be expressed with the utmost beauty and elegance of diction. DANDIE DINMONT. * It has been remarked in the Quarterly Review that there is scarcely a dale in the pastoral districts of the south of Scotland, but arrogates to itself the possession of the original of Dandie Dinmont. Many farmers have been selected as having the strongest resemblance to this humourous and eccentric personage; and even a community of traits and peculiari * Vide Guy Mannering. ties have been attempted to be set up in favour of respective identity; but all we can presume from this is, that no single prototype was ever contemplated by the author; and that honest Dandie is merely the general representative of his species, "the lads of Liddesdale." The gentleman, however, to whom this high honour has been assigned with the greatest probability of justice, was, unfortunately, one who viewed a place in the novel, rather as a debasement than as an exaltation to imperishable fame. Mr. Davidson of Hindlay appears to have considered the humours of the Liddesdale hero, as detailed in Guy Mannering, and identified with the peculiarities of his own private life, more in the light of a stigma upon his fair fame, than as assistances to honourable renown. The public opinion after all was directed towards him, more from the community of designation which was found to exist between the respective dogs of the real and the imaginary character, than from any precise resemblance that could be identified with the honest farmer himself. Mr. Davidson, it appears, had decreed the hereditary titles of his terriers to be unalterably and unalienably "pepper and mustard;" and the men of Liddesdale took the opportunity of exonerating themselves of the charge of being the originals of Dandie Dinmont, by throwing the whole imputation upon the shoulders of Mr. Davidson. MEG MERRILIES*. The original of this character has been already pointed out and described in various publications, which will induce us to be very brief in our notice of Jean Gordon. It is impossible to state the exact time of her birth, though in all probability, it was about the year 1670. She was born at a place called Kirkyetholm in Roxburgh-shire, the metropolis of the Scottish gipsies; and was married to a gipsey chief named Patrick Faat, by whom she had ten or twelve children. In 1714, one of Jean Gordon's sons, named Alexander Faa, was murdered by another gipsey, called Robert Johnson, who escaped the hands of justice for nearly ten years; but was afterwards taken, tried for the crime, and sentenced to be hanged; but escaped from prison. It was easier, however, to elude the grasp of justice, than to elude the wide spread talons of gipsey vengeance. Jean Gordon scented the murderer like a bloodhound, followed him to Holland, from thence to Ireland, where she caused him to be seized and brought back to Jedburgh. Here her toils were amply rewarded by the satisfaction she felt at seeing the murderer of her son hanged on the Gallowhill. Some short time after this event, Jean was at Sourhope, a sheep farm on Bowmont water, the gudeman' said to her, "Weel, Jean, ye hae got Rob Johnson hanged at * Vide Guy Mannering. † See Gipsies, passim. last and out o' the way." "Aye gudeman," replied Jean, lifting up her apron by the two corners, " and a' that fu' o' gowd, has na done it!" Jean Gordon's "apron fu' o' gowd," may remind some of our readers of Meg Merrilies' poke of jewels and indeed the whole transaction forcibly recals the stern picture of that wretched heroine. : The circumstance of Brown (in Guy Mannering) being indebted to Meg Merrilies for lodging and protection, when he lost his way near Derncleugh, finds a remarkably precise counterpart in an anecdote related of Jean Gordon. A farmer with whom she had formerly been on good terms, though their acquaintance had been interrupted for several years, lost his way and was benighted among the Cheviot hills. A light glimmering through the hole of a desolate barn, that had survived the farm house to which it had once belonged, guided him to a place of shelter. He knocked at the door and it was immediately opened by Jean Gordon. To meet with such a personage, in so solitary a spot, and at no great distance probably from her gipsey crew, was a terrible surprise to the honest man, whose rent, to lose which would have been ruin to him, was about his person. Jean set up a shout of joyful recognition, forced the farmer to dismount, and in the zeal of her kindness handed him into the barn. Great preparations were making for supper, which the gudeman of Lochside, to increase his anxiety, observed was calculated for at least a dozen of guests. Jean soon left him no doubt upon the subject, but inquired what money he had about him, and made earnest request to be made his purse-keeper for the night, as the 'bairns' would soon be home. The poor farmer made a virtue of necessity, told his story, and surrendered his gold to Jean's custody. She made him put a few shillings in his pocket, observing it would excite suspicion were he found travelling altogether pennyless. This arrangement being made, the farmer lay down, on a sort of shake-down, but as may readily be conceived, did not feel much inclined for sleep. About midnight the gang returned with various articles of plunder, and recounted their achievements in language that made the farmer tremble. They were not long in discovering their guest, and demanded of Jean whom she had there. "E'en the winsome gudeman o' Lochside puir body," replied Jean, "he's been to Newcastle seeking for siller to pay his rent, honest man, but de'il-be-licked he's been able to gather in, and sae he's gaun e'en hame wi' a toom purse and a sair heart." That may be, Jean," replied one of the banditti, "but we maun rife his pouches a bit, an see if it be true or no." Jean set up her throat in exclamations against the breach of hospitality, but without producing any change in their determination. The farmer soon heard their stifled whispers; and light steps by his bed-side, and understood they were rummaging his clothes. When they found the money which the providence of Jean Gordon had made him retain, they held a consultation as to whether they should take it or not; but the smallness of the booty, and the vehemence of Jean's remonstrances, determined them to leave it. They caroused and went to rest. As soon as the day began to dawn, Jean roused her guest, produced his horse, which she had accommodated behind the hallem, and escorted him for some miles on 66 |