CHAPTER XI.

MR. MESSENGER M'CRONE -THE INNOCENT CALDER FARMER, AND HIS "HECKLING WIFE,” IN GLASGOW.

REFERENCE has already been made by us, in previous pages, to the celebrated Mr. James M'Crone, Messengerat-Arms, in Glasgow, who was patronised by the Dukes of Athol, and rose to great eminence in the Isle of Man. His first practice, however, in Glasgow, was rather of a rough description, and we have a real tit-bit of a story to tell about him and a simple farmer, who came into Glasgow one day, from the neighbouring parish of Calder, to do some business in the city.

In order to prevent misconception, however, we may remark that, fifty or sixty years ago, a good deal of LINT, or Flax, was grown by the smaller farmers in the neighbourhood of Glasgow; and they brought it into the city, where it was split up-or heckled, as it was called-for the wife's spinning-wheel; and the manufacturer doing this was designated "the Heckler." Every farmer's wife, indeed, of any thrift or consequence-and not a few of the chief ladies in Glasgow-had spinning wheels, from

which was made their best linen sheets, or napery of various kinds-hence the racy old song of "There was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow." But that old, domestic, pretty little wooden spinning-wheel is rarely to be seen in any dwelling now. The iron jaws of the picking and scutching machines, the whirring spinning-jennies, and the rattling power-looms of the huge flax and cotton mills, have now superseded these tiny wheels, just as the Railways have superseded the old stage coaches.

Now for our story. There was, at the period referred to, a douce, decent, canny body of a farmer, in the aforesaid parish of Calder, who occasionally made deposits in the old Ship Bank of Glasgow, where he had a tolerably good account for one of his condition, and he was wellknown to the Bank people for his compound of natural sagacity and simplicity. His wife, however-" the old grey mare," as the saying was, " appeared to be the better horse."

He was coming in one market-day to the city to lodge his money snugly in the Bank, but before starting on his Rosinante in the morning, his thrifty wife laid upon him the injunction, that when he got to the Bank, and did his business carefully there, "he would be sure and speir (inquire) at auld Robin (viz., Robert Carrick, the chief partner in the Bank), or at Michael (viz., Mr. Michael Rowand, its manager), or at Lang John (viz., Mr. John Marshall, its accountant), wha (who) in a' Glaska' they could safely recommend tae her as the best 'heckler' for her Lint in the city. She had been 'unco fashed' and disappointed by some of her former 'hecklers'-the Bredies and M'Ilwham's in Bell Street-but she would have a real active, good one now; and the Bauk folks would be able to give to him (her husband) the best and most

reliable information and advice upon that (to her) most important business."

Some of the few young bucks of clerks in the Bank— there were precious few of them at that period-were mightily tickled and amused with John the farmer's simple request to be supplied with the best "heckler" for his wife. He replied to some of their waggish interrogations, "that Jean, the wife, was really getting very particular, indeed, about her 'heckling' business; — she wanted,” he repeated, "to employ the very best man in Glasgow for that purpose, and she would not grudge to pay him something extra, if he pleased her well, and did the job to perfection. Their dochter, Jenny," he added-with all the rising emotion of rustic pride and good feeling-"was soon to be married to one of the nephews of the laird of Robroyston, in the neighbourhood; and they wanted ‘to set her off' with their best made linen sheets, as clean as the snaw on Tintock tap." All the Bank people, from the gravest to the gayest, grouped together, and were mightily pleased with the farmer's discourse about the 'heckling for his wife, so new to them in the midst of their banking avocations. One of them, the youngest and the merriest, and perhaps the best of the lot, viz., Mr. George Loudon, whom we knew in after life, took speech in hand, and, winking to the others, gravely enough-but with perfect even-down honesty-recommended to our friend, the farmer, "that if he would just step up the length of the High Street, to Mr. Alexander Leith's stable-yard in that place, and ask for Sandy himself (well-known as 'Sandy Leith, the famous horse-couper in Glasgow') that he, Sandy, who was the best informed man in that line in Glasgow, would be able to give him the requisite information about some of the best 'hecklers' in his immediate

neighbourhood!" The honest farmer, pleased with this direction, hastened towards Sandy, found him out, and soon told him his errand,

Now, Sandy was a bit of a wag in his own way. We formerly introduced him to our readers as an important witness in the famous Bank Robbery Case. The tip of his nose had been bitten off by one of his own horses, which gave his voice a most peculiar twang; but he was, withal, a great favourite with many in Glasgow; and, certainly, he was the most skilled and extensive horse-couper by far of any at that time in the city. He saw at once how the land lay with the honest farmer, so he determined to have a joke with him, or out of him, seeing that he had obviously come indorsed with one from the Bank, in favour of the best "heckler" in the city. Sandy scratching his head-to the farmer, "feggs, my friend, I know a famous 'heckler,' not very far from the stable here-he's just up the street a little bit,-see yonder close on the left hand side;" and the farmer got his eyes upon it at once. "His name," said Sandy, "is Maister James M'Crone. He does a good stroke of business in the law besides; but I can certify, from my own experience of him-as many others that have come across him can do that he is the

"Feggs," said blunt Calder

Just go up and

best 'heckler,' by far, of any in the city. tell him that you have been recommended to him in that capacity, and that you wish to engage him to 'heckle' for you and the wife as well as he can. Faith he'll heckle' you," said Sandy, smiling now in his own sleeve; he'll 'heckle' you, if he gets you, to your heart's content; he'll put you, in the first instance, through his fanners with his hornings, and then he finishes the heckling' process with his nippers and his captions. No lint or tow from Calder,

or any other place, can slip from his grasp, when once he gets it; he'll ding the very stour out of your bonnet, when he sets his grinders in operation; and he generally contrives to finsh his job with fine clean paper—never charging less than sax-and-eightpence for one turn of his grinding machinery."

The simple farmer was mightily pleased with this unique and rare description. He said "that Mr. M'Crone just answered the very description of the kind of 'heckler' he wanted to get for his wife.” "Very well," said Sandy, "be unco canny, and take care with him at first, for he's an awful swearer, and the least thing offends him if it crosses his path in the way of business. He's the very deevil incarnate, when he takes his fits of cursing and swearing, but in other ways he's a real decent gentleman, though I dinna envy him and his multifarious business at all. But see and introduce yourself civilly, without letting him know that I sent you. Just tell him quite frankly that you have been recommended to him as the very best heckler' in all Glasgow, and that you have come to employ him to do your wife's job, and that she may give him something extra if he does it to her satisfaction! But don't call him Mr. M'Crone-call him the 'Heckler,' and stick to him by that name, and no othertill you see whether he undertakes to perform the job."

Away the farmer goes, in his perfect simplicity, to Mr. M'Crone's Chambers, never imagining that the latter was a keen messenger-at-arms, or a redoubtable limb of the law, who had as little to do with lint, in the 'heckling' line, as he had to do with skinning rabbits in the Tron steeple!

The farmer, on entering, and respectfully taking off his bonnet, inquired if " Mr. M'Crone, the 'heckler,' was then