ist, so
remarkably striking were his ordinary attitudes. Andrew Gemmells had
little of the cant of his calling; his wants were food and shelter, or
a trifle of money, which he always claimed, and seemed to receive as his
due. He, sung a good song, told a good story, and could crack a severe
jest with all the acumen of Shakespeare's jesters, though without using,
like them, the cloak of insanity. It was some fear of Andrew's satire,
as much as a feeling of kindness or charity, which secured him the
general good reception which he enjoyed everywhere. In fact, a jest of
Andrew Gemmells, especially at the expense of a person of consequence,
flew round the circle which he frequented, as surely as the bon-mot of
a man of established character for wit glides through the fashionable
world, Many of his good things are held in remembrance, but are
generally too local and personal to be introduced here.

Andrew had a character peculiar to himself among his tribe for aught I
ever heard. He was ready and willing to play at cards or dice with any
one who desired such amusement. This was more in the character of the
Irish itinerant gambler, called in that country a "carrow," than of the
Scottish beggar. But the late Reverend Doctor Robert Douglas, minister
of Galashiels, assured the author, that the last time he saw Andrew
Gemmells, he was engaged in a game at brag with a gentleman of fortune,
distinction, and birth. To preserve the due gradations of rank, the
party was made at an open window of the chateau, the laird sitting on
his chair in the inside, the beggar on a stool in the yard; and they
played on the window-sill. The stake was a considerable parcel of
silver. The author expressing some surprise, Dr. Douglas observed, that
the laird was no doubt a humourist or original; but that many decent
persons in those times would, like him, have thought there was
nothing extraordinary in passing an hour, either in card-playing or
conversation, with Andrew Gemmells.

This singular mendicant had generally, or was supposed to have, much
money about his person, as would have been thought the value of his life
among modern foot-pads. On one occasion, a country gentleman, generally
esteemed a very narrow man, happening to meet Andrew, expressed great
regret that he had no silver in his pocket, or he would have given him
sixpence.--"I can give you change for a note, laird," replied Andrew.

Like most who have arisen to the head of their prof