Perthshire in bygone days

156 PERTHSHIRE IN BYGONE DAYS.
and feeling your great countryman had few equals, and no
superior."
On arriving at Hore's Wharf, I said to Mr. Edie, that if
his friend and he would accompany me to a house in the
heart of the City, where I had frequently boarded, we would
have breakfast, and I would try to find St. Paul's and
the Duke of Wellington. This was at once agreed to, and
we drove to 22, Ironmonger Lane. The landlord was a
native of Pittenweem, rejoicing in the classic name of
Joseph Andrews, so my Fifish friends agreed to board with
their countryman. This is the house to which a Perth
friend of mine went to board, on the occasion of his first
visit to London. On his return, his mother asked. "Where
did you lodge in London?" "At 22, Ironmonger Lane,
Cheapside," he replied. "O aye, Jamie," said the old lady,
" I was sure if there was a cheap-side in a' London ye
wad find it out ! "
For some years before and after 1835, this rather well-
frequented Scotch house was tenanted by Joseph Andrews
and Kirsty his wife ; but one morning, the year before the
coronation of our good Queen Victoria, Joseph put on his
best suit, packed up his portmanteau, and having placed a
nice little pile of carefully selected sovereigns in the breast
pocket of his coat, he told his watchful spouse that he was
going down to Greenwich to spend a day with an "old ship-
mate." Being naturally somewhat of a sea-faring disposi-
tion, the proposal did not surprise her much ; so he went
off without "the better horse" exercising her veto. Next
day he returned not, nor next week, nor next year. Nay,
for five long years did this lone woman fret and pine, and
worry her customers by declaring, " I might as well have
no husband at all."
Eventually she lost patience, and married a second
husband right off, keeping her own secret and the old door-
plate. But " the course of true love never did run smooth,"
and one morning the great bell of St. Paul's had just rung
out five, and day was breaking, when the brass knocker of
No. 22 struck the hollow door like a sledge-hammer, send-
ing its echoes through every hole and cranny between
Gresham Street and Cheapside. The door was opened,
and a stranger carrying a carpet-bag came boldly into the
passage. He wore a rough sailor's jacket, and a fur cap
with the flaps turned down over his ears, and was altogether
rather too fierce-looking for the newly-wakened girl's