Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660-1760 0198204388, 9780198204381

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Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

Title Pages Edinburgh, 1660–1760 (p.ii) (p.i) Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment (p.iii) Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment

(p.iv) Great Clarendon Street, Oxford OX2 6DP Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan South Korea Poland Portugal Singapore Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States

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Title Pages by Oxford University Press Inc., New York © R.A.Houston 1994 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) Reprinted 2011 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover And you must impose this same condition on any acquirer ISBN 978–0–19–820438–1 Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham and Eastbourne

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Preface

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

(p.v) Preface I should like to thank the various record offices which I used in preparing this book. The Scottish Record Office staff deserve a special mention. I am particularly grateful to Arnot Wilson and Margaret McBride without whose unstinting help in mining (literally as well as metaphorically) the wonderful archives of Edinburgh City Chambers this book would never have been possible. Their warmth made working in the refrigerated search room bearable. As well as providing constant support Veena compiled the index and I should like to dedicate this book to her. The early stages of my research were funded by a grant of £4,300 from the ESRC (Grant D 0023 2152) and by a further £ 250 from the Arts and Divinity Research fund of the University of St Andrews. These sums did not cover research assistants and all of what follows is based on my own labours. Punctuation has been modernized in quotations from original documents and most words rendered as modern spellings. The aim is to make quotations clear and easy to read for non-specialists. Those who gladly reach for a dictionary to translate French or German text are too often prepared to dismiss Scottish words and phrases as interesting if unimportant curiosities. Unfamiliar words, if presented in the original, will usually have the meaning explained in the text or in the glossary of possibily unfamiliar terms at the end. The footnoting system for original sources may seem inconsistent. This is because of the presentation of the documents themselves. References to documents are given in a way which should make it simple to find the cited passage. However, with some volumes paginated, some foliated, some a mix of both, some with page numbering which starts from both ends of the volume, and with some books and loose papers which have no means of identification the task is far from easy. Some documents changed their name during this period. Page 1 of 2

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Preface One newspaper (p.vi) began its life as the Echo but changed to the Eccho from issue three. Edinburgh is my home town. I love it and need no other reason for writing about it. R.A.H.

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List of Figures

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

(p.viii) List of Figures 1.1 Towns and villages in Edinburgh’s hinterland c.1700 20 1.2 ‘The Prospect of Edinburgh from the North’ (Queen Anne view); from John Slezer, Theatrum Scotiae (Edinburgh, 1814 edn.) 55 2.1 The royal burgh of Edinburgh and some of its dependent jurisdictions in the early eighteenth century. After I. H. Adams, The Making of Urban Scotland (Croom Helm, Montreal, 1978), p. 38 106 2.2 Map of Edinburgh parish boundaries c.1690. After H. Dingwall, ‘The Social and Economic Structure of Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’ (Ph.D. thesis Edinburgh University, 1989) 110 2.3 William Edgar’s map, 1742: The Plan of the City and Castle of Edinburgh’ 113 2.4 Pierre Vander Aa’s re-engraving of a plan of Edinburgh in 1647 drawn by Revd James Gordon of Rothiemay 114 2.5 ‘The Southside of the Castle of Edinburgh’; from John Slezer, Theatrum Scotiae (Edinburgh, 1814 edn.) 115 3.1 Communion wine consumption, Canongate parish, 1674–1742 184 4.1 Sums collected at church doors, 1663–1743 243 4.2 Tolbooth communicants and sums collected at church doors, 1736– 1764 245 4.3 Deaths in workhouse and coffins provided, 1745–1766 255 4.4 Workhouse inmates and out-pensioners, 1745–1766 258 5.1 ‘The Prospect of Edinbrugh from ye Dean’; from John Slezer, Theatrum Scotiae (Edinburgh, 1814 edn.) 321 6.1 Licences to sell ale and small goods, 1729–1730 372

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List of Tables

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

(p.ix) List of Tables 1.1 Proportion of nobility, gentry, and professionals (both sexes) among pew renters in nine city parishes, 1747–1748 65 1.2 Sex ratio and owner-occupation in annuity taxes, 1751 and 1754 72 1.3 Percentage of laird and titled boys apprenticed to trades 84 2.1 Edinburgh city parishes, 1641 and 1722 109 2.2 Mean and total valuation (£) by bounds, Edinburgh annuity tax, 1751 and 1754 131 2.3 Sums (£) collected from parishes in Edinburgh presbytery, 1718 132 3.1 Occupations of Tolbooth elders and deacons, 1690–1760 200 3.2 Proportions serving for specified periods on Tolbooth kirk session, 1690–1760 202 4.1 Numbers of Edinburgh poor, 1782 257

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Abbreviations

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

(p.x) Abbreviations BM British Museum ECA Edinburgh City Archives ECL Edinburgh City Library GRO General Register Office LC Lauriston Castle collection MB Minute Books of Edinburgh burgh council NCL New College Library NLS National Library of Scotland PRO Public Record Office StAUL St Andrews University Library SRO Scottish Record Office

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Introduction

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

Introduction R. A. Houston

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.003.0001

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses Edinburgh, which is the capital of Scotland and is easily the largest city in the country. It gives a description of the burghs in the city, the economy, the important institutions, its residents, and the social hierarchy. The chapter then moves to the Scottish Enlightenment, which was supposedly caused by nationalistic, political, cultural, and religious tensions. The study presented in this book posits that social differentiation should be added to the list of factors that created the context of the distinctive and dynamic Scottish Enlightenment. Keywords:   Edinburgh, Scotland, Scottish Enlightenment, tensions, social differentiation

Edinburgh in 1660 was the capital of Scotland with perhaps 25,000–30,000 inhabitants. It was easily its largest city and was ranked second in Britain after London. Given a charter in the twelfth century, Edinburgh was a ‘royal burgh’ with its own constitution or ‘set’ and extensive trading privileges.1 Restoration Edinburgh was a compact settlement, perched on a narrow ridge leading east from the rock on which Edinburgh castle was built.2 One main street ran for approximately 1,300 metres down this ridge from the castle to the royal palace of Holyrood. Nearly 300 steep and narrow ‘closes’ and ‘wynds’ (alleys) issued off this street, now known as the ‘Royal Mile’.3 Roughly half-way down, the High Street of the burgh of Edinburgh became the main street of Canongate burgh, a separate but dependent jurisdiction. Canongate was a ‘burgh of regality’: a specific area with certain jurisdictional privileges granted by the crown.4 While Canongate and Edinburgh blended Page 1 of 16

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Introduction together in one built-up area, Leith, Edinburgh’s port, was a separate town to the north of the main city. In our period, it was a ‘burgh of barony’ (similar to a regality but with fewer judicial rights) as was the southern suburb of Portsburgh, nestling under Edinburgh castle.5 By 1660 the royal burgh of Edinburgh was the feudal superior of these baronies and, by the mid-eighteenth century, of other jurisdictions such as Calton (also known as Restalrig or St Ninian’s Row) to the east and (p.2) north of Holyrood palace.6 By virtue of its status as superior, the town council of Edinburgh appointed the ‘bailies’ or magistrates who ran these subordinate jurisdictions. The lesser (‘baron’ or ‘regality’) courts over which the bailies presided were abolished in 1747 as part of the administrative reorganization of Scotland following the unsuccessful Jacobite rising of 1745–6.7 The burgh of Edinburgh (usually referred to below as ‘the city proper’) had six parishes in 1641, which increased to nine by 1722. Additionally, there were the parishes of Canongate, North and South Leith, and the huge semi-rural St Cuthbert’s or West Kirk: a total of ten and thirteen at the two dates. Each parish was administered by a ‘kirk session’ made up of minister, clerk, elders, and deacons. The twenty-one kirk sessions of the city and the rest of the county in which it lay (Midlothian) sent representatives to Edinburgh ‘presbytery’. At kirk session level, this presbyterian form of church government persisted even during the period 1660–89 when episcopacy was in force.8 Thus far, church administration was the same as elsewhere in Scotland but Edinburgh also possessed a ‘general sessions’ made up solely of representatives from the city parishes.9 Kirk sessions, general sessions, and presbytery dealt, at different levels, with ecclesiastical discipline, poor relief, and clerical appointments. Restoration Edinburgh did not have its troubles to seek. The city’s economy had suffered badly in the middle decades of the seventeenth century. Plague, trade dislocations, bad harvests, and the Cromwellian occupation had created serious commercial and financial difficulties. Population probably stagnated until well into the eighteenth century, the city’s development being held back by political, religious, economic and financial upsets. These included serious frictions over fiscal and religious matters with Charles II and James VII and II, Jacobite risings in 1715 and 1745, the reintroduction of Presbyterianism in 1690, (p.3) horrific dearths in the 1690s, and monetary crises such as the well-documented Darien disaster of 1701 and the less well-known credit crunch of the early 1740s.10 Yet, Edinburgh was easily the richest town in Scotland and far more prosperous than its relative size would suggest. The city paid a third of the taxation raised from the royal burghs of Scotland in the later seventeenth century.11 A third of Scotland’s excise revenue came from the Edinburgh station in the 1720s—this from a city with a 4–5 per cent share of the population.12 Through Leith, Edinburgh conducted an extensive coastal and foreign trade with the rest of Britain, the North Sea, and the Baltic and Atlantic coastlines.13 Its occupational Page 2 of 16

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Introduction structure was characterized by unusually large proportions of professionals and of servants, testifying to its wealth and economic orientation. Among the rest of the population, more than half were engaged in making textiles, clothes, or leather goods, about a quarter in building trades, and a sixth in food and drink.14 Edinburgh’s less well-documented suburbs may have been (p.4) more concerned with manufacturing but the capital was Scotland’s principal service centre. Edinburgh catered for visiting gentry and nobility from all over Scotland as well as its resident mercantile and professional classes.15 One way was by providing material comforts and cultural facilities. ‘Edinburgh, sir, is the metropolis of this ancient kingdom, the seat of law, the rendezvous of taste, and winter quarters of all our nobility who cannot afford to live in London’.16 In these terms a newspaper correspondent of 1767 summarized the city’s cultural status. When the Musical Society asked permission to build an assembly hall in 1754, they were careful to argue that ‘it was for the interest of the town to give countenance for such polite amusements as might encourage strangers of rank to reside in the city’.17 The capital also provided an unequalled breadth and depth of legal, educational, religious, and governmental services.18 When the crowns of Scotland and England were joined in 1603, James VI and I and his court moved from the Edinburgh palace of Holyrood to London. The Scottish Parliament sat in Edinburgh until the Union of 1707 saw it subsumed into that of Westminster, along with the separate Privy Council.19 Edinburgh had two members of parliament until 1707, one thereafter. Other institutions which drew in both permanent and temporary residents remained and flourished. These included the Court of Session, the supreme civil court in Scotland. The High Court of Justiciary, its criminal equivalent, was reconstituted in 1672 and from its Edinburgh base worked alongside the Court of Session as both a magnet for people and an integrative force (p.5) in Scottish society.20 Together they administered an important part of Scotland’s legal system, which remained separate from England’s even after the Union of Parliaments. These courts were unique but there were others in Edinburgh which had counterparts elsewhere in Scotland. The Commissary Court dealt mainly with small debts and probate; the Sheriff Court covered debts, contracts, heirships and tutories, and a wide range of criminal cases, notably theft; it also performed some administrative tasks. Justices of the Peace for the city and its adjacent county dealt with minor disturbances, begging, wages, grain supplies, weights and measures, and roads. Eighteenth-century Edinburgh was governed by a town council of thirty-three men, headed by a ‘lord provost’ or mayor. The town council administered the burgh’s internal affairs, supervised dependent jurisdictions and conducted relations with outsiders. It was made up of representatives from the city’s burgesses. Edinburgh only had one ‘guild’, the merchants’, and its members Page 3 of 16

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Introduction were called ‘burgesses and guild brothers’. Other artisans were grouped into fourteen ‘incorporations’, their members being called simply ‘burgesses’, though some also joined the guildry for social or commercial reasons.21 The 1,200 or so burgesses who belonged to these bodies at any point in time made up only a small minority of adult males in the city.22 (p.6) Despite the importance of professionals in the city, both in numbers and wealth, and of artisans (who just outnumbered merchants), city politics were dominated by merchants. Of the full or ‘extraordinary’ council, seventeen members were merchants, sixteen craftsmen; most day-to-day business was conducted by a core ‘ordinary’ council of seventeen merchants and eight tradesmen.23 The political dominance of the merchants was a source of discontent among the crafts throughout the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Professionals had no place in the city’s formal constitution until 1833 though their indirect influence was considerable. Burgesses and certain permanent residents were eligible to fill a wide range of positions in the city’s essentially amateur administration. There were, for example, twenty-eight ‘constables’ in the city proper, four in South Leith, one in North Leith, and six in the Canongate.24 Other secular posts to be filled included officers of the trained bands, overseers of markets, ‘stent masters’ (tax assessors), auditors of accounts, and a wide range of civil and criminal juries. Each incorporation had its own officials such as a deacon (elected leader and representative) and boxmaster (treasurer). Kirk sessions needed elders and deacons. Edinburgh’s relations with the London government were those of a colonial centre like Dublin, Philadelphia, or Boston rather than a less independent English provincial city.25 As a capital, it was important to the scheme of national government. Its independent institutions, led by the town council, were subject to both formal control and informal management from Westminister. In the Restoration period the main ‘fixer’ was the Duke of Lauderdale, in the reign of George II the Earl of Islay, later Duke of Argyll.26 These men dispensed government patronage and orchestrated political and religious life in the (p.7) interests of order, stability—and their own careers. Gentry, nobility and the lawyers who had no formal position in the ‘set’ also influenced the city’s political life through their wealth, contacts, and social clout. The fact that Edinburgh was arguably the most English-oriented of Scotland’s cities did little to harmonize relations between its people and the royal court before 1707, or between citizens, court, and Westminster parliament thereafter. Chronic fiscal, religious, political, and even ‘racial’ tensions afflicted relations and occasionally erupted into riot, notably in 1664, 1672, 1678, 1682, 1688–91, 1706–7, and 1736.

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Introduction Thanks to Daniel Defoe’s slanted writing on the Union and to the traumatic memory of the lynching of a government employee called Porteous in 1736, Edinburgh was said to possess a particularly turbulent populace.27 It also had an unenviable reputation in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries as one of the dirtiest cities in Europe.28 The strictures of contemporary travellers about the exiguous material comforts available in Scotland’s metropolis may be exaggerations.29 For under the influence of local and national economic developments, the sometimes restrictive regulation of production and marketing which had been a keystone of burgh life in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was changing.30 By the accession of George III Edinburgh had grown to perhaps 60,000 inhabitants. Its conurbation was still the second largest in Britain. It had acquired new institutions such as a workhouse, opened in 1743, and had spawned a range of charitable ‘hospitals’ for burgess children. The famous Royal Infirmary had begun its work, and an Improvement Act was secured in 1754 which allowed a new Exchange to be built and created the framework for more sweeping changes in the city’s (p.8) appearance.31 Edinburgh had theatre, music, a burgeoning consumer culture. Living standards began to rise for some groups as the city participated in the beginnings of that rapid economic growth which became the commercial, agricultural, and industrial revolutions.32 However, Glasgow and other towns of the central Lowlands were eclipsing the capital economically as they grew more rapidly on the back of commercial and early industrial development.33 When rapid economic and population growth did come to Edinburgh in the later eighteenth century the social problems always evident in a city where wealth was starkly polarized became glaringly obvious. During the eighteenth century Edinburgh’s society became divided. On the one hand were the minority of ‘respectable’, well-integrated people who were economically comfortable and who participated in its formal institutions of secular and ecclesiastical government. On the other were the inhabitants of the city’s workhouses (Canongate parish opened one in 1761 and St Cuthbert’s in 1762), the lesser artisans and labourers, and the floating population of servants, soldiers and economic marginals. Alongside divisions of wealth and status ran fissures created by new attitudes and ideas. From this improving, but in some ways still unpromising, environment arose two of eighteenth-century Britain’s great glories. The more tangible of these was the ‘New Town’, a set of streets and squares in the Palladian style which grew up first to the south of the ‘Old Town’ in the 1750s then, more extensively, to the north between the city and Leith from the 1760s.34 The New Town was a monument to prosperity and to changing ideas about architecture, environment, and social values. Collectively, these ideas are usually termed ‘the Enlightenment’ which flowered more in ‘North Britain’ than in England and which was concentrated in Edinburgh’s flourishing university—roughly (p.9) Page 5 of 16

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Introduction 1,000 students in 1700 (four times that number a century later)—and its fashionable salons and houses.35 Hume, Robertson, Ferguson, and Stewart are figures of European significance who lived and worked in Edinburgh. Around 1763 the Frenchman Colonel de la Rochette spoke warmly of the city: ‘Edinbourg est une ville singulière…. Les rues sont remplies de monde et la ville a un air vivant.’36 The footnotes to the foregoing outline demonstrate that sixteenth-, seventeenthand eighteenth-century Edinburgh has hardly escaped the attention of historians. Contributions have come from many angles. Starting with William Maitland (1753) and Hugo Arnot (1776), overviews of the history, archaeology, topography, and folk and literary traditions of the capital have appeared many times over the years. The eighteenth-century surveys coincided with the intellectual ferment of the enlightenment and with the beginning of the building of Edinburgh’s famous Georgian ‘New Town’. Subsequent overviews tended more or less to use the same material contained in Maitland and Arnot, often without critical comment. The shameless borrowings in Alexander Kincaid’s 1787 History, Stark’s Picture of 1806, Stevenson’s Annals (1839), and Wilson’s Memorials (1847) become abundantly and frustratingly clear upon detailed comparison. Modern scholars have also built on an established tradition of empirical studies and published documents, notably those in the Book of the Old Edinburgh Club between the 1920s and 1950s. But they have now begun to break free of this mould. Using different documents and asking new questions of well-tried sources, they have begun to produce a substantial body (p.10) of literature on religious, social, economic, and cultural change.37 The starting-point of this book is one of the more frequently quoted contemporary surveys. The Statistical Account of Edinburgh in the 1790s contains three letters from William Creech to the editor or collator, Sir John Sinclair. In them Creech outlined what he saw as the dramatic social changes which had occurred in Edinburgh in recent years. He used the dates 1763, 1783, and c.1790–2 to show what desirable and undesirable developments had taken place. The third letter concerned itself with unusual physical and geographical events and need not concern us. More important is Creech’s first letter, which celebrated improvements in the physical and cultural environment. ‘So remarkable a change’, he wrote, ‘is not perhaps to be equalled in so short a period in any city of Europe, nor in the same city for two centuries, taking all the alterations together’.38 Creech documented the rise of industrial production, improvements in water supplies, the increased importance of charitable foundations, and the growth of internal and overseas trade. Rising numbers of stage-coaches, printing works, and perfumers showed the progress of civilization.

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Introduction Creech’s second letter was more of an admonition about the potentially corrupting effects of material prosperity and thus counselled ‘the necessity of watching over the manners, as well as the morals of the people’. Creech covered the decline of churchgoing, the increasingly troublesome apprentices and journeymen, the rise in theft and drunkenness, and the growing idleness and licentiousness of youth. He even estimated that within the twenty years 1763–83 the number of brothels had risen twentyfold and street-walking prostitutes—‘the women of the town’—by 100 times.39 Some of Creech’s observations were probably incorrect. His (p.11) picture of growing sexual immorality takes some believing and the claim that public cockfighting was unknown in 1763 is almost certainly untrue.40 In other areas he may have exaggerated the importance of developments for effect, though the general picture of significant social change is surely correct. The intention of this book is not to prove Creech right or wrong on a particular issue. To attempt to do so would be a trivial and meaningless exercise. Instead, the aim is to examine the origins of many of the changes Creech identified and some he did not; to establish a case for the importance of the thirty or forty years before his starting-point of 1763; and to examine certain important continuities in urban society over the century between the Restoration and the accession of George III. More specifically, the argument is as follows. The reign of George II saw a series of overlapping and dependent changes in both the political economy and society of the city. These were partly the result of local factors, partly of national influences. Changing composition of, and attitudes towards, marginal groups in society were evident. New and harsher social divisions were apparent in popular protests long before the radical ideas of the French Revolution ‘infected’ Britain. The political meaning of riot changed dramatically. Urban space delineated by multiple jurisdictions and privileges gave way to a town where the principal divisions were of wealth and social status. New ways of belonging came into being at the same time as different ways of being different. Recreations were redefined to consolidate the separation of the élites. Public participation in urban ritual gave way to carefully orchestrated civic ceremonies which served the political needs of the dominant groups. The concept of the commonwealth of the burgess community so staunchly defended by town council and incorporated trades during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century gave way to licensing of unfree traders in the 1720s and 1730s then to laissez-faire in the 1750s and 1760s. Put together, these developments marked a social change more fundamental than any which had occurred since the ‘community of the burgh’ had ceased to be meaningful in the sixteenth century. Both the appearance and the social values of (p.12) nineteenth-century Edinburgh were made during the years between c.1720 and c.1760. Put simply, the building of the New Town which Page 7 of 16

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Introduction formed the physical backdrop to Creech’s commentaries was not by itself the cause of social division but was part of a process of change which began quarter of a century or more before its first stones were laid. And the Enlightenment which established Edinburgh’s claim to European importance cannot be divorced from a much wider set of changing attitudes to individuals, communities, and society. Historians have long recognized that the Scottish Enlightenment arose from nationalistic, political, cultural, and religious tensions but against a background of relative social harmony and fluidity which fostered a sense of identity among thinkers.41 This study posits that social differentiation must be added to the list of factors which created the context of the distinctive and dynamic Scottish Enlightenment. Two points need to be made about the aims of this study. The changes outlined above coincided with the beginnings of rapid economic growth and the flowering of the Scottish Enlightenment. It is to be hoped that there is much in this book for political theorists and philosophers to digest. For it tells us much about what it actually meant to live through a time of change from ‘civic humanist moralism’ to ‘political economy’. However, this study is not intended to be about the Enlightenment as an intellectual phenomenon. The building of the New Town and the Scottish Enlightenment are rightly seen as part of a significant intellectual change and are commonly linked together purely at that level.42 We know much about what the great men of the age thought but relatively little about the social environment which informed their ideas.43 Some of the connections (p.13) are only explicable by reconstituting a wider social, ideological, and political context as well as an intellectual one, by understanding the whole of urban society rather than just the elevated milieu in which these men operated. Historical context requires us to encompass a full range of meanings and understandings because these are what created the rich variety of experience for the people of the past. Establishing context is one aim. But a study of late seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury Edinburgh is important not just for the background it offers. Developments took place in Scotland’s capital which may shed light on the process of social change not only in Scotland but also in Britain and Europe. Nor is this intended to be an exhaustive account of Edinburgh’s economy in the century before the building of the New Town. Competition in industrial production between town and country is analysed, but only in so far as it throws light on changes in the city’s society and political economy. I shall discuss the city’s economic fortunes, its occupational structures, and its relations with its hinterland more fully in a further book.44 The aim here is to address specific issues about social relationships in a particular historical situation. This study deals with one city. In that sense it follows a long-established tradition. Eighteenth-century writers chronicled and celebrated individual towns. English historiographical practice of the 1960s and 1970s was for ‘total’ Page 8 of 16

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Introduction studies of particular towns, with a focus on economic and institutional structures.45 More recently, particular issues such as riot, political participation, and culture have been analysed in an urban context.46 The latest (p.14) fashion is to call for studies not of towns but of urban systems.47 Some historians are now dismissing analyses of single communities because they may not have been ‘typical’. Understanding the place of towns as a group in the social and economic history of early modern Europe is surely of great importance. Generalizations tend to be more easily transferable than particular cases. What is more, some contemporaries seem to have had the same outlook on towns as systems. Alongside particular chronicles, writers were beginning to adopt a national perspective on issues like economic fortunes. Some argued that individual burghs were too myopic and selfish to see the advantages of an integrated urban system over competing towns for the economy as a whole. David Black complained in his 1706 Essay about bickering in the Convention of Royal Burghs: ‘it is not their business so much as to consider which of the towns, cities, single persons or societies in the nation should be richest, but how the whole nation in general, by well-regulated trade, may bring the balance on their side’.48 Scottish burghs were becoming more national in their outlook but for much of our period the events which took place within them were shaped by essentially ‘myopic’ or ‘selfish’ local concerns. Lives were influenced by national events but lived out in a local, even ‘parochial’, context. Indeed, it is a mistake to argue that historians have been seduced into a sterile pursuit of towns by their mere physical presence and that it is only urban systems which are worth analysing.49 There are some questions which simply cannot be answered by ‘macro’ studies. To understand why and how towns played the role they did and to understand their place on the urban-rural continuum, we need to analyse their own particular dynamics. Important longterm relationships may exist between variables at a macro-level, but the reasons have to be sought in local and regional studies which focus on people, their attitudes, and the environment in which they lived. Historical change is a process, the understanding of which depends on (p.15) local as much as regional and national studies. We cannot comprehend how one set of values and social relationships became another without knowing how people interacted in a particular setting. This study makes no sweeping claims of typicality. Scottish social history is still in its infancy and only further research can tell us whether the developments are part of wider changes in Scottish, or indeed British, society. But the questions posed and answered can only be asked and resolved in the study of a locality with its own special dynamic. Like certain other European towns, Edinburgh reflected wider economic, political, intellectual, and aesthetic developments but they were worked out in a specific local context.50 Edinburgh may have been a Page 9 of 16

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Introduction British town but it was also a local community. This is not to say that the town was isolated or self-contained: a closed arena whose people were introspective. Edinburgh was definitely not an independent ‘city-state’ on the Italian model. But it is to assert that Edinburgh was a specific environment in which national developments were worked out and which therefore demands our attention. The study is a local one but the issues are general. This book seeks to analyse the changing nature of life in Edinburgh 1660–1760. Its aim is to study the social processes which created a need, the expression of which was the New Town, and to explore changing attitudes, one manifestation of which were the ideas of the Enlightenment. One approach would have been to look at fewer topics in more depth, bringing out more fully, perhaps, the influence of national events and trends. Instead, this is a study of as wide a range of social facets as possible in order to document the way they reinforced and interacted in creating a particular set of social and cultural structures and trends. History is, of course, the discipline of context but there is more than one way of creating background and understanding meanings. The analysis is informed, in part at least, by the perceptions of contemporaries like Creech. It builds on an established tradition (p.16) of sound and often excellent, if sometimes narrow, scholarship in Scottish history and deals with issues which historians hold, implicitly or explicitly, to be distinctively Scottish. However, the questions asked of the documents also derive from a large and diverse body of modern theory about the relationship between cities and social change. Systematic interaction with theory of the kind found, for example, in Langton’s excellent work on English towns, is not the aim here.51 Theory is used simply to provide ideas because addressing issues derived from other disciplines is a way of making the study more accessible to historians of English and continental societies. The concerns of those historians are also addressed, thus drawing the study into the mainstream of debates about European history. Again, considerations of space do not allow systematic comparisons, but historians of other countries will find many parallels and contrasts to ponder. The principal issues—empirical, theoretical, and comparative—are set out in the introduction to each chapter but, to help the flow of the argument, detailed comparisons with English and continental cities are generally made only in footnotes. In its treatment of social change, this book seeks to break new ground in writing Scottish history. It blends traditional scholarship with a fresh approach to the issues which is most obvious in the layout. For example, urban social histories have conventionally begun with a topographical description and a section on the political and economic context. Political, economic, social, and spatial change are here presented as part of a whole with background explained as the argument unfolds. Studies of occupational structures and wealth distribution have proved popular in the last decade, but these topics are only addressed here Page 10 of 16

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Introduction (and that briefly) when they can help to explain social solidarity or divisions. Quantitative studies of social status and economic fortunes should be only a preliminary to an analysis of their meaning rather than an end in themselves. Separate chapters discuss specific indicators of the nature of social life in an urban environment. They can be read separately but only reading the full text will convey the way the developments (p.17) overlapped and reinforced each other. Together, the components add up to a picture of structures and change in society and culture, 1660–1760. The first four chapters are about behaviour, attitudes, and social relationships: about perceptions of self, of others, and of urban space. They deal with belonging to urban communities and being different, either as an individual or a group; with definitions of, and attitudes to, poverty and poor relief; with social values and attitudes to the city, including religious and cultural norms. The final two chapters are about political economy, specifically popular protest and the changing responses to economic change. Notes:

(1) I. H. Adams, The Making of Urban Scotland (Montreal, 1978). G. S. Pryde, The Burghs of Scotland (Oxford, 1965). (2) W. Cowan and C. B. Boog Watson, The Maps of Edinburgh, 1544–1929 (Edinburgh, 1932). W. Cowan and H. R. H. Inglis, The Early Views and Maps of Edinburgh, 1544–1852 (Edinburgh, 1919). (3) J. Gilhooley, A Directory of Edinburgh in 1752 (Edinburgh, 1989). (4) J. A. Ferguson, ‘A Comparative Study of Urban Society in Edinburgh, Dublin and London in the Late Seventeenth Century’, Ph.D. thesis (St Andrews, 1982). On legal and jurisdictional aspects see Anon., ‘An Introduction to Scottish Legal History’, Stair Society, 20 (1958). (5) J. S. Marshall, ‘A Social and Economic History of Leith in the Eighteenth Century’, Ph.D. thesis (Edinburgh, 1969). (6) M. Wood, ‘Survey of the Development of Edinburgh’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 34/1 (1974), 23–56. (7) R. Mitchison, Lordship to Patronage, Scotland, 1603–1745 (London, 1983). (8) J. Buckroyd, Church and State in Scotland, 1660–1681 (Edinburgh, 1980). Episcopacy had been abolished at the time of the Scottish ‘revolution’ in 1638. (9) R. B. Sher, ‘Moderates, Managers and Popular Politics in Mid-eighteenth Century Edinburgh: The “Drysdale Bustle” of the 1760s’, in J. Dwyer, R. A. Mason, and A. Murdoch (eds.), New Perspectives on the Politics and Culture of Early Modern Scotland (Edinburgh, 1982), 180–2.

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Introduction (10) B. P. Lenman, An Economic History of Modern Scotland, 1660–1976 (London, 1977). G. Gordon and B. Dicks (eds.), Scottish Urban history (Aberdeen, 1983). (11) M. Lynch, ‘Continuity and Change in Urban Society, 1500–1700’, in R. A. Houston and I. D. Whyte (eds.), Scottish Society, 1500–1800 (Cambridge, 1989), 85–117. (12) NLS 6. 692[25]. A similar figure of a quarter to a third has been given for London’s excised beer production as a share of the national total, 1684–1750. J. Chartres, ‘Food Consumption and Internal Trade’, in A. L. Beier and R. A. P. Finlay (eds.), The Making of the Metropolis: London, 1500–1700 (London, 1986), 174–5. Even allowing for better collection of excise in the major cities and the fact that some ‘premium’ brews were sold outside the city, the difference in per capita expenditure on drink between Edinburgh or London and the rest of Scotland or England must have been very large. And since Edinburgh made up a smaller proportion of Scotland’s population than London (5% compared with 12% in the early eighteenth century), the disproportion in her share of consumption of this income-elastic commodity must have been still greater. On population share see I. D. Whyte, ‘Scottish and Irish Urbanization in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries: A Comparative Perspective’, in R. A. Houston et al. (eds.), Conflict and Identity in the History of Scotland and Ireland from the Seventeenth to the Twentieth Century (Edinburgh, 1993). (13) T. C. Smout, Scottish Trade on the Eve of Union (Edinburgh, 1963). (14) I. D. Whyte, ‘The Occupational Structure of Scottish Burghs in the Late Seventeenth Century’, in M. Lynch (ed.), The Early Modern Town in Scotland (London, 1987). H. M. Dingwall, ‘The Social and Economic Structure of Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, Ph.D. thesis (Edinburgh, 1989), 32– 3. J. MacMillan, ‘A Study of the Edinburgh Burgess Community and its Economic Activities, 1600–1680’, Ph.D. thesis (Edinburgh, 1984). (15) H. Kelsall and K. Kelsall, Scottish Lifestyle 300 Years Ago. New Light on Edinburgh and Border Families (Edinburgh, 1986). F. J. Shaw, The Northern and Western Islands of Scotland: Their Economy and Society in the Seventeenth Century (Edinburgh, 1980). (16) Quoted in A. Murdoch, ‘The Importance of Being Edinburgh: Management and Opposition in Edinburgh Politics, 1746–1784’, Scottish Historical Review, 62 (1983), 1. (17) ECA MB 72, 289. (18) J. M. Weiss, ‘Patterns of Residential Mobility in Edinburgh, 1775–1800’, Ph.D. thesis (University of Minnesota, 1985). A. Law, Education in Edinburgh in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1965). Page 12 of 16

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Introduction (19) T. I. Rae (ed.), The Union of 1707: Its Impact on Scotland (Glasgow, 1974). W. Ferguson, Scotland’s Relations with England (Edinburgh, 1977). P. W. J. Riley, The Union of England and Scotland (Manchester, 1978). (20) Anon., ‘Introduction’, Stair Society, 20. (21) A. Heron, The Rise and Progress of the Company of Merchants of the City of Edinburgh, 1681–1902 (Edinburgh, 1903). The fourteen were: baxters (bakers), bonnetmakers, cordiners (shoemakers), fleshers (butchers), furriers, goldsmiths, hammermen (metal workers), masons, skinners, surgeons, tailors, walkers (fullers), weavers, and wrights (carpenters). In Frankfurt too, artisans guilds were abolished in 1616 and the term Zunft dropped from official records since all craftsmen had to belong to associations or Handwerke. G. L. Soliday, A Community in Conflict: Frankfurt Society in the 17th and Early 18th Centuries (Hanover, NH, 1974), 140. Concepts of honour and order reminiscent of the German ‘home-town’ mentality were also important. A. Black, Guilds and Civil Society in European Political Thought from the Twelfth Century to the Present (Ithaca, NY, 1984), 124. Like France, Germany, and certain other parts of Europe, these associations remained important to Scottish social and political, and to a lesser extent economic, life until much later than was the case in England or Holland. Ibid. 123–4. English guilds declined after the sixteenth century and indeed some historians have argued that their role in regulating a town’s economic life was never great. H. Swanson, ‘The Illusion of Economic Structure: Craft Guilds in Late Medieval English Towns’, Past & Present 121 (1988), 29–48. (22) Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 382, 387. W. Makey, ‘Edinburgh in the Mid-seventeenth Century’, in M. Lynch (ed.), The Early Modern Town in Scotland (London, 1987), 192–218. MacMillan, ‘Edinburgh Burgess Community’, 30, 37. Gilhooley, Directory, p. viii. (23) Murdoch, ‘Importance of Being Edinburgh’, 1–16. (24) G. Desbrisay, ‘Authority and Discipline in Aberdeen, 1650–1700’, Ph.D. thesis (St Andrews, 1989). (25) N. T. Phillipson, ‘Lawyers, Landowners and the Civic Leadership of PostUnion Scotland’, Juridical Review (1976), 99. (26) J. S. Shaw, The Management of Scottish Society, 1707–1764: Power, Nobles, Lawyers, Edinburgh Agents and English Influences (Edinburgh, 1983). (27) G. H. Healey (ed.), The Letters of Daniel Defoe (Oxford, 1955), 133. W. Roughead (ed.), The Trial of Captain Porteous (Edinburgh, 1909). A. Aufrere, The Lockhart Papers (London, 1817), 167. NLS Ry.l.2.132[4], 4.

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Introduction (28) StAUL Typ. BE.C89XS. F. C. Mears and J. Russell, ‘The New Town of Edinburgh’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 22 (1938), 177. J. Taylor, A Journey to Edenborough in Scotland, ed. W. Cowan (Edinburgh, 1903), 134. D. Laing, ‘Proposals for Cleaning and Lighting the City of Edinburgh in the Year 1735’, Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 3/2 (1858–9), 174. (29) E. Topham, Letters from Edinburgh Written in the Years 1774 and 1775 (London, 1776), 18–19, 22–3, 152. L. Weatherill, Consumer Behaviour and Material Culture in Britain, 1660–1760 (London, 1988), 59–60, 180, 182. (30) M. Lynch, Edinburgh and the Reformation (Edinburgh, 1979). (31) W. F. Gray, ‘Edinburgh in Lord Provost Drummond’s Time’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 27 (1949), 1–24. G. B. Risse, ‘Hysteria at the Edinburgh Infirmary: The Construction and Treatment of a Disease, 1770–1800’, Medical History, 32/1 (1988), 1–22. (32) A. Gibson and T. C. Smout, Prices, Food and Wages in Scotland, c.1550–1780 (Cambridge, 1993). (33) R. A. Houston, ‘The Demographic Regime’, in T. M. Devine and R. Mitchison (eds.), People and Society in Scotland, i: 1760–1830 (Edinburgh, 1988). (34) A. J. Youngson, The Making of Classical Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1966). (35) N. T. Phillipson, ‘The Scottish Enlightenment’, in R. Porter and M. Teich (eds.), The Enlightenment in National Context (Cambridge, 1981), 19–40. N. T. Phillipson and R. Mitchison (eds.), Scotland in the Age of Improvement (Edinburgh, 1970). N. T. Phillipson, ‘Culture and Society in the 18th Century Province: The Case of Edinburgh and the Scottish Enlightenment’, in L. Stone (ed.), The University in Society, ii (Princeton, NJ, 1975), 407–48. R. A. Houston, ‘Literacy, Education and the Culture of Print in Enlightenment Edinburgh’, History, 78/254 (1993), 373–92. R. H. Campbell and A. S. Skinner (eds.), The Origins and Nature of the Scottish Enlightenment (Edinburgh, 1982). I. Hont and M. Ignatieff (eds.), Wealth & Virtue: The Shaping of Political Economy in the Scottish Enlightenment (Cambridge, 1983). (36) NLS MS 3803, fos. 43, 55v. (37) Prominent among recent studies are Lynch, Edinburgh and the Reformation. R. B. Sher, Church and University in the Scottish Enlightenment: The Moderate Literati of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1985). (38) T. C. Smout (ed.), The Statistical Account of Scotland, 1791–99…, ii: The Lothians (Wakefield, 1975), 21. For a recent survey of aspects of Creech in his Edinburgh context see B. M. Benedict, ‘“Service to the public”: William Creech

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Introduction and Sentiment for Sale’, in J. Dwyer and R. B. Sher (eds.), Sociability and Society in Eighteenth-century Scotland (Edinburgh, 1993), 119–46. (39) Smout, Lothians, 51. (40) Ibid. 53. Cockfights were held in pits and even in the streets of Leith in the 1700s. J. S. Marshall, Old Leith at Leisure (Edinburgh, 1976), 9. (41) A. Murdoch and R. B. Sher, ‘Literary and Learned Culture’, in Devine and Mitchison, People and Society, 130. (42) P. Reed, ‘Form and Context: A Study of Georgian Edinburgh’, in T. A. Markus (ed.), Order in Space and Society (Edinburgh, 1982), 115–53. D. Daiches, Literature and Gentility in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1982). (43) Some incomplete attempts have been made: J. Clive, ‘The Social Background of the Scottish Renaissance’, in N. T. Phillipson and R. Mitchison (eds.), Scotland in the Age of Improvement (Edinburgh, 1970), 225–44. A. C. Chitnis, The Scottish Enlightenment: A Social History (London, 1976). J. Rendall, The Origins of the Scottish Enlightenment, 1707–1776 (London, 1979). C. Camic, Experience and Enlightenment: Socialization for Culture Change in Eighteenth-Century Scotland (Edinburgh, 1985). D. Daiches, ‘The Scottish Enlightenment’, in D. Daiches, P. Jones, and J. Jones (eds.), A Hotbed of Genius: The Scottish Enlightenment, 1730–1790 (Edinburgh, 1986), 1–42. (44) R. A. Houston, ‘The Economy of Edinburgh, 1694–1763: The Evidence of the Common Good’, in Houston et al., Conflict and Identity, gives some preliminary findings. (45) For example A. D. Dyer, The City of Worcester in the Sixteenth Century (Leicester, 1973). D. M Palliser, Tudor York (Oxford, 1979); J. T. Evans, Seventeenth Century Norwich: Politics, Religion and Government, 1620–1690 (Oxford, 1979); W. T. MacCaffrey, Exeter, 1540–1640: The Growth of an English County Town (2nd edn., London, 1975). (46) For example T. Harris, London Crowds in the Reign of Charles II: Propaganda and Politics from the Restoration until the Exclusion Crisis (Cambridge, 1987). P. Borsay, The English Urban Renaissance: Culture and Society in the Provincial Town, 1660–1760 (Oxford, 1989). (47) H. Diederiks, ‘Economic Decline and the Urban Élite in Eighteenth Century Dutch Towns: A Review Essay’, Urban History Yearbook (1989), 78–81. E. A. Wrigley, ‘City and Country in the Past: A Sharp Divide or a Continuum?’, Bulletin of the Institute of Historical: Research, 64/154 (1991), 107–20. (48) Quoted in Smout, Scottish Trade, 79.

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Introduction (49) Wrigley, ‘City and Country’, 108. (50) R. S. Neaie, Bath, A Social History, 1680–1850 (London, 1981), 4, 173–4. D. H. Sacks, The Widening Gate: Bristol and the Atlantic Economy, 1450–1700 (Berkeley, Calif., 1991) is an excellent example of urban history in a wider context though the critique contained in pp. 4–9 may have an element of the ‘straw man’ about it. Pages 13–14 relate more closely to the approach adopted here. (51) J. Langton, ‘Residential Patterns in Pre-industrial Cities: Some Case Studies from Seventeenth Century Britain’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 65 (1975), 1–27.

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Unity and Division

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

Unity and Division R. A. Houston

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.003.0002

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses and attempts to assess what divided the society of Edinburgh and what united it. It looks at how the relative importance of cohesive and divisive forces changed in the century before the New Town was built. This assessment considers taxation bands and housing, but its main concern is subjective yardsticks. The author asks how the people saw themselves and how they regarded others. The chapter also seeks to analyse a meaning of social identity and social differentiation. Keywords:   cohesive forces, divisive forces, New Town, social identity, social differentiation, Edinburgh, taxation bands, housing

Introduction Edinburgh, including its suburbs and satellites like Leith, was inhabited by some 25,000–30,000 people in 1660 and perhaps double that number in 1760. individuals or as a family—having status—and in feeling identity or solidarity with others—belonging to one or more ‘communities’ These categories are not exclusive for personal status could derive from group membership. Contemporaries recognized the significance of these countervailing forces in British society. Adam Smith and other Scottish political economists of his day held that any complex and vital society was likely to contain divisions of wealth and status.1 People were different. Foreign commentators like Benjamin Franklin approved of the ‘agreeable and instructive society’ of the Scots while recognizing that, in the words of John Dwyer, ‘The polite and refined hospitality of Scottish society obscured the fundamental economic and social inequality upon which it was based.’.2 However, most recent historians (p.19) have Page 1 of 80

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Unity and Division argued that Edinburgh society was distinguished by an absence of social or ‘class’ divisions before the later eighteenth or even the nineteenth century.3 For one authority, the creation of the New Town was a landmark because it destroyed the ‘unity of social feeling’ in old Edinburgh.4 Mutual dependence between master and man, merchant and artisan, landowner and labourer, patron and client created a community of interest which blurred distinctions of birth, wealth, and lifestyle. Importantly, neither contemporaries nor modern historians denied that ‘egalitarianism’ could coexist with inequality of wealth since one crucial ‘freedom’ of the age was the right to accumulate property.5 The purpose of this chapter is to assess what divided Edinburgh society, what united it, and how the relative importance of cohesive and divisive forces changed in the century before the building of the New Town. Objective indicators such as taxation bands and housing will certainly be considered but the main concern is with more subjective yardsticks. We shall ask how people saw themselves and how they regarded others. If inequality of wealth and material standard of living was an accepted fact, it is unlikely that demonstrating this will tell us much about how people regarded themselves and those around them. It is interesting to know, for example, that one type of lawyer (an advocate) was, on average, richer than another (a Writer to the Signet)6 but this is only a starting-point for an analysis of the meaning of social identity and social differentiation. Historians may have taken too generally Adam Smith’s particular observation that ‘the understandings of the greater part (p.20) of men are necessarily formed by their ordinary employments’.7 Occupation can be a predictor of wealth, an indicator of status, and a basis for recruiting contacts necessary for social, cultural, and religious life as well as economic relationships. Possession of means may have been a prerequisite of certain types of display or behaviour— such as dress or visiting a social assembly. However, it is only a beginning in our search to uncover the meanings behind social relationships in eighteenthcentury Edinburgh. What we shall discuss here are not differing incomes or sources of wealth but the less tangible forces which made one person similar to or different from another in everyday life. We shall ask if Edinburgh’s truly was an open society with easy mixing between classes and no important social divisions until polite society left for the New Town. Did a sense of ‘community’, however defined, override distinctions of status and

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Unity and Division (p.21) wealth? Did mutual interdependence imply equal power and shared benefits from social relations?

Belonging Pre-industrial economies and societies were small in scale. The family was the basic unit of residence, consumption, production, reproduction, and welfare. Edinburgh was no different. Its households seem generally to have been small and ‘nuclear’—less than six people on average—but many of

Fig. 1.1 Towns and villages in Edinburgh’s hinterland c.1700

them contained servants.8 While certain detailed aspects of recent findings on the household are interesting in themselves, this section is devoted more to an analysis of the nature of relationships within and between households. Both the positive and negative aspects of family life are discussed using a range of sources from monumental inscriptions to church court records. Beyond the family were a variety of occupational, residential, religious, and recreational associations which provided further focuses of identity and belonging. To quantifiable aspects such as wealth were added intangible bonds created by oaths, shared origins, and outlook. Beginning with death may seem an odd way to analyse the values of association among the living. However, tombstones provide a direct statement of the virtues which loved ones felt the deceased possessed, or at least those by which they wished a father or mother, son or daughter, husband or wife to be remembered. Positive values attached to membership of a family and community were fixed, hopefully for all time, in monumental inscriptions. The living were drawing from, and appealing to, a uniform set of norms which highlight what was felt to be desirable. Monumental inscriptions were a public and conscious validation of certain (interchangeable) qualities and norms. Appeal to these qualities was a powerful cohesive force in urban society—a fact recognized by the town council. John Cunningham of Enterkin petitioned the town council in April 1677, ‘being resolved as in duty obliged to commemorate his lady by erecting of a monument’ on the wall of Greyfriars (p.22) churchyard.9 A collection of ‘Illustrious Inscriptions’ in several Edinburgh graveyards was made in 1704 by Robert Monteith, with a further revised volume in 1713 reprinted at the city’s expense.10 Monuments vary considerably in the.amount and type of information recorded: the fullest include, for example, details of kinship and lineage, cause of death— Margaret Hamilton, daughter of Sir Archibald Hamilton of Rosehall, was Page 3 of 80

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Unity and Division ‘snatched away by a fever’ in 1704—age at death, and lists of surviving family. The most detailed and ornate stones are those of landowners, merchants, and professionals, creating a bias towards the values of ‘the better sort’. Most interesting for a study of values in urban society are the prose or verse celebrations of the dead. Inscriptions contain no criticisms and may have been an exaggeration or even distortion of the deceased’s personality and worth. Their accuracy is, however, less important than the obvious acceptability of the characteristics by which people would have wanted to be remembered.11 One of the first players in Monteith’s Theater of Mortality is Sir Hugh McCulloch of Pilton: who with much praise, to the disadvantage of none, but with the approbation of all, purchased to himself a splendid and opulent fortune; he was grave in his manners, harmless in conversation, sincere in devotion, a faithful friend and pleasant companion, a most just citizen, singular in piety towards God, and honesty towards his neighbour. ‘A man of great prudence, piety and industry’ like Alexander (p.23) Bethune of Longhirdmonston, Writer to the Signet, could command the respect of Edinburgh society in death as in life. The more predictable manly virtues of courage and ‘a comely stature of body’ belonged to John Milne, architect and master mason who died in 1667. The most commonly mentioned characteristics of the well-remembered dead were godliness, devotion to family and friends, and an honest and industrious business life. Further sidelights on values which eased social intercourse and those which created friction are provided by Thomas Douglas’s monument in Greyfriars churchyard. A merchant burgess of Edinburgh, he had twice served as a bailie in the city, twice in the suburban jurisdictions and died at the age of 70 in 1686. However, ‘having acquired an opulent fortune, he rather shunned offices and honours in the city than desired them’, presumably meaning that he had never tried to become a town councillor, being above ‘the various heats of faction’.12 Common approbatory adjectives indicate uniformly esteemed character traits: piety, kindness, honest or ingenuous behaviour, discrete and harmless conversation, gravity of manner, fairness. On the other hand, different virtues attributed to the genders demonstrate the positive values desired among men and women in an urban environment. Attitudes towards learning were ambivalent. John Milne was ‘a man adorned with gifts of the mind, above his [artisan] degree…esteemed by all’ while Elizabeth Gillespie, daughter of an Edinburgh minister who died aged just 33 while bearing her seventh son, had in life been ‘learned far above her sex’. Both inscriptions reveal the prevalent attitude that advanced education was most appropriate to, and superior intelligence most commonly found among, men from the classes who did not

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Unity and Division work with their hands. Yet, they also display a respect for intellect and learning as universally desirable attributes. Almost all women commemorated by a headstone were, or had been, married. Female virtues are usually expressed in relation to fathers and husbands. Marjorie Brodie, a feltmaker’s wife ‘faithful and careful in her husband’s trust’, whether ‘At home, abroad, did for her husband’s credit’ and was fit to lie in the same ground as a former provost’s ‘dutiful’ wife. A good wife (p.24) like Marjorie stuck to her work in house or shop and did not ‘gad’ or wander about in the town (‘abroad’). She was chaste, virtuous, meek, and modest, but also charitable, obliging, and affectionate. An exception was Mary Moss, buried in Holyrood churchyard in 1671 at the age of 18: ‘from wedlock’s hope divorced here’. Marriage seems to have been seen as a state to which most adults should aspire and was one way of announcing full membership of local communities. Monumental inscriptions portray the positive side of marital relations. More commonly, historians have been obliged to extrapolate from information on negative or abnormal aspects of family and community life derived from civil or ecclesiastical court records.13 The resulting impression of conflict, marital strife, and break-up cannot have been typical of all couples but analysing pathological behaviour does highlight what was deemed to be ‘normal’. Cases of divorce or separation show the less desirable aspects of character. Women tended to claim brutality, men waspishness and profligacy; adultery was evenly distributed between the sexes.14 They also suggest that moralist prescriptions about the sanctity of married life were not always heeded and imply a degree of tolerance of wayward behaviour both by partners and by the rest of the community.15 Mary Wilson had been married in 1730 to Thomas Cumming, flesher, by an episcopalian minister while she was working as a servant for Cumming’s father. Soon after the marriage, Cumming had left her living with his father and gone off to Glasgow, from where she had been forced to fetch him with the help of one of his uncles. For two years prior to her petition to the presbytery in 1736 she had operated Cumming’s stall in the flesh market while he had lived with a woman called Margaret Watson and her mother. Wilson showed the presbytery the marks where Cumming had beaten her.16 Apart from kirk session and presbytery records, the most generous source of information on family life is the Consistory Court. This dealt with adherence (desertion) suits from deserted spouses, declarators of marriage in the case of ambiguities about the union, and petitions for separation or divorce. Proof that a (p.25) ceremony had taken place uniting a man and woman was strengthened if they could establish their reputation for being married: did they refer to each other as husband or wife, did they eat and sleep together, did they exchange endearments—dear, darling, jewel, love—or indulge in intimate conversation? Again, the image of marriage is a partial one. We encounter brutal husbands, shrewish wives, footloose men, adulterous women, drunken and difficult Page 5 of 80

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Unity and Division members of both sexes. Furthermore, the language of conflict is more striking than that of co-operation. Dougall Campbell wrote to his sister-in-law Marion Bannatyne after his brother Alexander’s death in 1711 to tell her bluntly that she had been ‘an expensive, chargeable, sickly, peevish, ill-natured wife’ to him.17 By considering the antithesis of these adjectives we see that the virtues admired were those of fidelity, sobriety, passivity, frugality, moderation, and silence. ‘Belonging’ in early modern Edinburgh almost always meant being part of a family. There were material advantages for women to be married: for example, husbands were responsible for wives’ debts. Jean Young, wife of James Gibson, complained to the magistrates of Edinburgh that an indweller’s widow had raised a charge against her even ‘though cloathed with a husband’.18 Women on their own might be the objects of suspicion. Nor did women together command much more credibility and respect. When Janet Wallace arrived pregnant in Duddingston parish in the autumn of 1710, session elders were delegated to interrogate her. She provided them with a weak story and two women to vouch for her but the elders were far from satisfied, ‘the women not being reckoned sufficient cautioners’.19 That the image of a ‘family’ was important to those in authority is made plain by the common use of the word in the minutes of charity workhouses and the Merchants’ Maiden hospital to describe inmates and staff.20 Events at the heart of the nuclear family created a sense of belonging. Baptizing or burying children was considered a mark (p.26) of community membership.21 Giving evidence on behalf of Magdaline Trent in an ‘adherence’ case of 1679, George Cruiks, wright burgess, said ‘he was not only witness at the baptising of one of the children procreated between them but also made a coffin for the[ir]… child which died’.22 Refusal of the offices of the established church could place individuals or groups outside the mainstream of burgh society, though baptisms and marriages celebrated in Edinburgh’s meeting houses were supposed to be registered by the clerks to the kirk sessions.23 Marriage was less commonly used to assert belonging to the city but baptizing and burying could be cited to prove that a couple were married. ‘Irregular’ or clandestine marriage was a speciality in and around the city in the early and mid-eighteenth century but there is no sign that irregularly married couples were regarded as different in the eyes of their neighbours even if the established church disapproved.24 A final resting place in death, whether chosen by the deceased or his relatives, was a sign of emotional commitment in life. John Rae, son of a former Canongate bailie, asked for a plot ‘at the eastern dyke of the church yard of the Canongate where his said father and mother-in-law are already buried for a burial place to himself, his family and successors in all time coming’.25 The choice of being buried in a rural churchyard rather than in an Edinburgh one might indicate a greater attachment to place of origin for an immigrant. William Henderson, farmer at Castlebarns in St Cuthbert’s parish, died on 29 May 1758 in his seventies. He came from a Dalmeny family and had left there thirty-six years Page 6 of 80

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Unity and Division previously but was buried in this West Lothian parish on the 31st.26 John Hoppringle of Tersonce, esquire, died at Edinburgh 21st December 1737 and was laid to rest in his own burial place in the Midlothian parish of Stow on the 24th.27 John Deans, apothecary in Edinburgh, was buried in the laird of (p.27) Woodhouselie’s aisle, Glencorse parish church on 9 April 1734.28 Extrapolating attachment from a desire by landowners to be buried in Edinburgh is less straightforward since some were professionals living and working in the city who also purchased land for their own reasons. Alexander Bethune of Longhirdmonston, WS, who was buried in Greyfriars churchyard in 1672 and Mr William Aikman of Cairnie, advocate, interred in 1699 are two examples.29 The decision to be buried outside the city does not mean that a person had the mentality of an outsider but perhaps Edinburgh failed completely to assimilate all those who lived and worked in it. Lesser mortals would have been buried where they died and it would be unsafe to infer anything about their attitude to urban life: the nameless strangers found dead in the streets and buried at the kirk’s expense in years of famine are an obvious example. James Haig, who lived in Edinburgh ‘but came out to see his brother George lying sick of a fever’, died suddenly and was buried at Carrington in April 1715.30 Funerals were one of the important life events which brought family and friends together. More generally, we are told that kinship was a central organizing principle of both economic and social relationships. Sjoberg placed great stress on the bonds of family and kinship in creating social networks. Political alignments were held by some to follow family trees. One disgruntled apothecary attributed the dominance of the physicians over his trade in the closing years of the seventeenth century to their ‘great interest…with the Landmarket club [town council]…several of them being…so nearly related in blood’.31 Examples of surname solidarity may also testify to the importance of kinship. In June 1737 George Johnston entered the council chamber demanding ‘one of his own name to be released from the guard’.32 Anecdotal evidence points to the importance of kinship. In emergencies, those who could tended to gravitate to their family of origin or seek out close relatives. However, unusual events—life crises such as marital break-up, unmarried pregnancies, or business failures—are especially likely to crop up in documents (p.28) and cannot be seen as typical of day-to-day relations. Similarly, individual cases of businessmen with extensive kin contacts or of lairds who kept up with a wide range of relatives do not provide a robust basis for generalizations about the whole society.33 Geographical mobility and the absence of a strong prescriptive emphasis on using kin may have made kinship networks in Lowland Scotland less dense and less important than has been assumed.34 More rigorous studies of early modern England and France have shown that kinship is only one basis for recruiting social, economic, political, and cultural contacts.35 These studies are based on a detailed analysis of the relative importance of kin compared with other neighbours and friends. Page 7 of 80

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Unity and Division Crucially, they establish who could be used for interactions—the population at risk—and who actually was. Without comparable information we should be unwise to claim that kinship was unusually important in binding together Scottish society. Correspondence between family may include terms which indicate the quality of a relationship—such as ‘your loving cousin’ and ‘affectionate cousin’.36 Yet, these words may simply have been included for form’s sake to elicit particular responses in the reader and need not show genuine warmth of feeling. Indeed, even anecdotal evidence warns us that relationships of blood or marriage did not necessarily mean close ties between individuals. Richard Davis wrote to his father-in-law, Robert Waterston, an Edinburgh wright in 1728, addressing him as ‘my most kind and dearest friend’. Thereafter the tone changes. Davis expressed gratitude that his stepmother had been thrown out of the house left to Davis after a lengthy court case ‘but I (p.29) was in a consternation to understand that that Godless wretch is minded to pursue me for £1,400 Scots…when my father married her, she was poor and naked without a groat’. He urged Waterston to charge his stepmother rent for the eight years she had lived in his house.37 A tailor called George Hamilton took on his brother David as an apprentice in 1747 but the latter went off to work for someone else in the suburban Pleasance soon after. He had since gone abroad without ever fulfilling any of his duties to his master. George informed the incorporation so that David would have no claim on the incorporation’s poor relief funds ‘as it is the sincere purpose of my heart to be a quiet and peaceable member of your incorporation’.38 In this context, at least, Hamilton felt that loyalty to his fellows was more important than ties of blood. While there are pointers to the quality of family life in Edinburgh, many of them are contradictory. On the one hand, poor parents allowed, or were forced to permit, their young offspring to beg in the streets, to take menial jobs, or to play largely unsupervised. On the other, in 1696 the town council agreed that the High School should open at 9 a.m. rather than 7 a.m. during the winter, ‘many of the inhabitants whose children are tender being unwilling to expose them to the cold winter mornings’.39 Private grief at the death of children is well documented. Three broadsheets published in 1717 outlined the duties of children to their parents, husbands to wives (and vice versa), and servants to masters.40 Presumably these strengthened bonds within households though the fact that there was a market for them might suggest that family solidarity was less complete than some people felt desirable. Particularly for the poor, family ties may have been weak (Chapter 4). Of such groups in early seventeenthcentury London, Brodsky has written: ‘the biological family…may have been an essentially tenuous institution…[an] inherently fragile grouping of parents and children…inadequate for the satisfaction of physical and emotional needs’.41 For urban dwellers as a whole, both demographic and (p.30) social factors may have reduced the importance of the family as a focus of security and identity. Page 8 of 80

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Unity and Division Incorporations, friends, and neighbours may have been more important for these purposes. The rhetoric of family solidarity and individual morality was strong but the practice was almost certainly weaker.42 Individual and family were integrated into the wider urban community in everyday life by familiarity with others, by adherence or appeal to certain generally accepted norms. Justice, peace, unity, and commonwealth are the most frequently mentioned. These values are embodied in the many oaths which city officials and incorporation members had to swear. Oaths were a formal way of recognizing and, hopefully, counterbalancing distrust and division.43 They would have been unnecessary without social conflict and the integrative norms expressed in them were invoked for the political purpose of establishing consensus. Statements of religious or political allegiance are examples. However, overt manipulation of these norms was difficult since any consistent gap between rhetoric and reality would provoke charges of cynicism and dishonesty. Authorities such as Black and Rublack portray early modern cities as being ‘permeated with oaths’ while Jonathan Clark argues that: The patriarchal, hierarchical, confessional state found its legal language not in rights, but in writs; its political language not in secret ballots, but in personal oaths/44 Oaths were certainly of great significance and may have carried more deeply felt responsibilities than mere legal documents. Yet, Edinburgh was also held together by formal contracts which made even less allowance for harmony. Political theory and relations between high and low might be based on the oath but everyday life and the interaction between master and servant, between tradesman and customer, between bondsman and accused person, between one man and his equal was founded (p.31) on the legal contract. The huge quantity of documents upon which this book is based are themselves almost all records of different kinds of contractual obligations. Oaths were designed to create bonds but they could also be highly divisive. No oath is recorded in a fifth of 172 burgess tickets from c.1650 to 1750 preserved in the city archives, presumably to make tacit allowance for political and religious heterodoxy.45 A copy of the Test Act applied to candlemakers in August 1694 has just seven subscriptions whereas seventeen masters and twenty-eight journeymen had entered into a bond to keep the peace in 1686.46 Forcing a person to take an oath could be used as a way of defining them out of a community or association. A new burgess declaration introduced in Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Perth in 1745 to keep catholics out of office caused a split in Scotland’s Secession church and the creation of Burgher and anti-Burgher camps in 1747.47

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Unity and Division Burgesses swore an oath on becoming citizens. The most commonly used criterion of membership of the burgh community is burgess status. Belonging to an incorporation and being a burgess enhanced individual status by giving access to social contacts, power through office holding and employing, economic opportunities, and welfare services.48 The sons of burgesses were given preference when it came to apprenticeships. Some incorporations dispensed with the rule against booking more than one apprentice in the Dean of Guild’s register every three years in the case of burgess children. Being apprenticed to someone who was a guild brother—a member of the merchant guild—was also seen as an advantage in life. Belonging to the guildry allowed a man to trade in the city and to fill certain posts. An ordinary freeman was called ‘single burgess’ to distinguish him from a burgess and guild brother.49 Burgesses did not always live within the city bounds, though (p.32) they were supposed to, and this reminds us that membership of the burgess community’ and residence within the notional geographical bounds of that community (the city limits) were not always identical. The proportion of the population who enjoyed burgess, or burgess and guild brother, status varied between Scottish towns and over time.50 In a 1635 listing of Edinburgh, some 30 per cent of householders were burgesses. One authority believes that some 2,000 men were burgesses at any point during the second half of the seventeenth century but another identifies 1,185 resident taxpaying burgesses in 1694 and asserts that ‘the burgess community at any given time was probably not as large as previously assumed’. Both agree that burgesses were roughly 7 per cent of the total adult population or a third of household heads.51 Mid-eighteenth century Edinburgh had roughly 1,200 burgesses and guild brothers at any one time, of whom some 500 would have been merchants. This was perhaps an eighth of the adult males in the city proper, a quarter of male household heads or three-quarters of the adult male householders paying the annuity tax.52 The remainder of Edinburgh’s ‘settled’ population were termed ‘indwellers’ or ‘residenters’—the equivalent of German Einwohner or Paktbürger. The burgess community had social, political, and fiscal relevance at this date, but only for a minority of men and their families. Non-burgesses could fill some of the posts in the city’s administration but being a full citizen opened up the widest avenues of political participation. Examples of ‘Athenean’ democracy are rare and confined to the period before c.1700. They show just how few men wanted to participate in political decision-making or were allowed to do so. In November 1661 the council minutes record a meeting of the full council and roughly 300 inhabitants. The purpose was to decide on how the citadel at Leith was to be demolished and for the provost to warn the people about the (p.33) threat of plague and sedition from abroad.53 Another meeting of the full council and 241 ‘neighbours’ took place on the morning of 20 June 1662. The provost informed them of the need to make up a deficit in taxation and the inhabitants assembled agreed to leave the details of assessment Page 10 of 80

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Unity and Division up to the council.54 A further meeting was held in March 1679. Following complaints by the Privy Council about the poor guard kept in the city, the town council were faced with a choice between efficiently policing the city against tumults using their own resources or having regular troops billeted on the inhabitants. ‘With consent of the neighbours convened within the old church [St Giles]’ the council decided to form a permanent town guard.55 Such direct consultation about important policies may have created a feeling of identity among participants but it was unheard of in the eighteenth century.56 Recent studies by Boulton of early seventeenth-century London and by Desbrisay of mid-seventeenth-century Aberdeen have shown that participation in local church and secular administration gave ordinary men opportunities to make their mark on society.57 Judged in this way, Edinburgh’s full citizens could participate in political activity at many levels. Electing officials to incorporations gave burgesses the chance both to influence the direction taken by their occupational association and to have a representative on the town council. They could feel that they belonged and that their membership made a tangible difference to the city’s life. In the secular sphere, the city’s twenty-eight constables were drawn from the middling ranks of craftsmen and merchants. Constables of the late seventeenth century were mainly artisans. Those appointed for the city in December 1663 included just four merchants.58 By 1716 nearly half those selected were merchants and in 1734 sixteen of the twenty-eight were merchants.59 By 1746 the short list of (p.34) eighty-four for the twenty-eight bounds included thirty-seven merchants (44 per cent), a trend which cannot be explained by the changing occupational composition of the city.60 Constables were drawn from burgesses of middling wealth. For example, of twenty-five constables who held office in the Canongate 1692–7, only six paid the minimum poll tax in 1694 and one was assessed on 10,000 merks of stock.61 Court juries and the ‘amateur’ administrators of charitable institutions were further niches which had to be filled by burgesses. The latter also gave members of the legal fraternity who could not belong to the guild or incorporations a chance formally to participate in certain areas of civic life. Jury service was part of being a citizen and a way in which men could make their views heard. A complaint of 1671 that a core of householders had frequently to sit as jurors before the Justiciary Court included a request that the clerks of the court make up a rota ‘so that all the inhabitants may be equally burdened’. A further petition in 1677 asked for present and past magistrates to be exempt since many town councillors had to do jury service.62 When Samuel Marriot, an attorney before the Exchequer, complained in 1730 that he could not win a case before that court because the principal sheriff clerks (both called Belshes) packed juries with smugglers, they riposted that juries were drawn randomly from among the inhabitants: ‘given as they lay in the constables’ rolls’.63 In the Canongate, services of heirs (a formal inheritance procedure) were presided over by the baron bailie and a jury of local burgesses.64 The Sheriff Court series followed the Page 11 of 80

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Unity and Division same procedure in granting inheritance to heirs and the Dean of Guild’s Court also used a panel of experienced local tradesmen to make property valuations.65 (p.35) Incorporations provided facilities for working together as well as socializing and politicking. From 1688, if not before, the bax-ters ran a batch oven which operated twenty-four hours a day, avoiding individuals having to foot the cost of heating up an oven solely for their own requirements.66 There were five bakehouses in the city in August 1744, set to tacksmen who were nevertheless obliged to rent them to incorporation members for 14d. per batch (lasting three hours). The foreman of the bakehouse advertises each member of his turn’ so that bookings could be made: baxters brought ingredients from their shops.67 Incorporations felt the need to preserve the appearance of unity and integrity among members. When two C^nongate weavers embezzled yarn entrusted to them, the rest of the incorporation felt that the ‘great scandal’ reflected badly on the whole incorporation and damaged their ‘credit’.68 Incorporations were small-scale associations of considerable importance as a focus of belonging. Conceivably, inferior poor relief provisions at parish level in Scotland (Chapter 4) made craft associations more important for welfare provisions than in England. Incorporations were religious as well as economic groupings whose focus of identity was the craft altar—in the Magdalen Chapel for the hammermen, for example. As Scott reminds us for fifteenth-century Freiburg, guilds were different from quarters or streets in being ‘living communities caring for, representing, and ordering the aspirations of their individual members’.69 Yet, it is clear that the ties which bound together incorporations could be sundered. The immediate post-Restoration period saw problems approaching anarchy within some incorporations. In September and October 1663 the Edinburgh hammermen’s minutes mention members walking around the Magdalen Chapel during meetings and talking among themselves and ‘the abuse of some misbelieving persons within the chapel towards their clerk, especially at every election or other voicing by chalking the walls or taking pen, ink (p.36) and paper…to the great prejudice of the house’.70 In the 1670s acts against verbal abuse of one member by another were passed with almost annual regularity.71 The hammermen were a chronically troubled band. They minuted in May 1692 that any advantage which their poor box gained from fines for non-attendance was slight compared with ‘the heat, strife, envy and debate that the said poinding [seizing goods to secure payment] occasions among the bretheren’.72 Decades later the incorporated trades of Calton debated whether to prosecute a former boxmaster for irregularities of accounting and voted ‘not to go to law’, only because of the cost of the case ‘being very expensive’.73 Edinburgh incorporations were more prone than their counterparts in later sixteenthcentury London to take disputes out of the company for solution.74 If a desire to keep disputes ‘in house’ was a sign of an association’s solidarity, Edinburgh’s Page 12 of 80

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Unity and Division incorporations 1660–1760 do not make the grade. ‘The community of the incorporation’ frequently showed serious fractures. There must have been many times when troubled artisans found irony or inspiration in the inscription above the door of the Portsburgh cordiners’ land in the West port (1696): Behold how Good a thing it is And how becoming well Together such as brethren are In unity to dwell

We might expect that any voluntary association would sometimes show tensions and divisions. However, there are other indicators of occupational solidarity which show signs of decaying brotherhood. Incorporation acts generally required members to attend burials of their fellows and their wives, widows, and children. In 1705 and again in 1723 Edinburgh’s hammermen minuted frequent failure to join the incorporation’s deacon at burials. The deacon enjoined diligent attendance since ‘it tends much to their honour and reputation to have a good company attend’.75 Against a background of stable or slightly falling (p.37) numbers in the incorporation, fines for absenteeism at the funerals of Edinburgh hammermen and their families rose from roughly half a dozen members per funeral in the early eighteenth century to more than a dozen in the 1740s and 1750s.76 The Canongate tailors kept records of fines on those who did not turn up between 1742 and 1744. Numbers ranged from four to fifteen out of roughly forty male members and a handful of women, the worst attendances being reserved for children. When one of John Brown’s children was buried on 13 June 1744, fifteen members were absent, fourteen when another of his offspring was interred on 24 July of the same year.77 Eighteenth-century ‘testaments’ (wills) contain few references to incorporations except as debtors and creditors. Like other sources, wills create the impression that loyalty to a guild or incorporation was contingent on its ability to serve practical needs rather than social and psychological ones. Belonging to a guild or incorporation was one institutionalized focus of identity. Owing suit to, say, the Leith Burlaw Court or the Baron Court of Portsburgh was another. Again, loyalty to these local courts seems to have been declining in the mid-eighteenth century as their functions became obsolete or were usurped by central bodies (Chapter 2). At the annual election of the burlaw bailies of Leith in July 1743 eighteen of thirty-four ordinary members of the court did not turn up. Two years later, admittedly at the height of a political and military crisis, twenty-nine ordinary members out of thirty-seven did not attend the meeting, nor did one of the two bailies. After the abolition of heritable jurisdictions in 1747 the court was so poorly attended that almost no business was transacted; there was no court held between 1750 and 1752, at which date the remaining officer of the court resigned.78

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Unity and Division Inferior courts regulated aspects of day-to-day life. Responsibility for local security was a further dimension of belonging. ‘Watch and ward’ was a hangover from the days of small and easily policed burgh communities. Adult male householders or their deputies were supposed to patrol the streets at (p.38) night and arrest troublemakers. The deputy was not to be a stranger but had ‘at least one of their actual servants for whom they shall be answerable’.79 In reality, the system worked only imperfectly in the later seventeenth century and was eventually abandoned because of the problem of persuading citizens to stand watch regularly or to turn out with the trained bands for prolonged periods in times of trouble.80 The council issued a stiff rebuke to those liable for watch for being ‘so remiss in performance of their duty by their punctual attendance…that they altogether for the most part slight the same and establishes in their room [place] hirelings whereby the neighbours’ houses and shops have been sometimes broken up and the peace of the city disquieted’.81 Yet, even the idea of protecting themselves and their neighbours must have created at least some sense of belonging among the householders involved. It may also have lent women—who made up exactly 100 or 11 per cent of those assessed to pay money for the watch—a sense of participation.82 The twenty ‘greycoat’ guards hired by the city in 1679 to meet Privy Council criticisms of disorder in the city were disbanded in 1682 because of their unsatisfactory behaviour towards the inhabitants, though the guard was later reformed and increased in number.83 The general view seems to have been that policing was better to come from amateurs within the community and to be inefficient rather than to be ‘professional’, impersonal, and effective. Above all, the use of regular soldiers—who epitomized alien intrusion—should be avoided.84 Antagonism towards intervention or imposition from outside, (p.39) whether physical or cultural, contributed to a shared ideology. One of several pamphlets produced at the time of the 1725 election of council members drew a strong contrast between a ‘plain man’ and a ‘politician’. The ‘plain man’ had the interests of the burgh community foremost in his mind; made a living from the town itself not from government salaries; was opposed to taxation; disapproved of intimidation by the military; adopted a pragmatic attitude to life and opposed political posturing.85 The oath sworn by members of the town council was that of the ‘plain man’, even if it is hard to see some of its members as other than ‘politicians’. As well as defending religion and the crown, officials vowed to be ‘diligent and careful to govern this burgh according to the laws of the kingdom and statutes of this burgh and shall put them to due execution without fear or favour…[and] to put the common rent [good] to the best avail and shall noways consent to the bestowing thereof unless it may serve to the necessary affairs of the town’. Lest they forget, meetings began with a prayer which asked God to ‘grant that all partiality and corrupt affections whatsoever set aside we may deal in all matters presented to us with upright hearts and single eyes…to the glory Page 14 of 80

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Unity and Division of thy name and welfare of this our native town and comfort of every faithful member of the same’.86 Negative feelings towards ‘politicians’ thus cheated a sense of shared identity among those who saw themselves as ‘plain men’. This component of community identity illustrates that there were many layers of belonging—national political allegiances as well as local ones in this case—which could overlap or oppose each other depending on the context in which they were encountered. Antipathy towards outsiders—non-burgesses, soldiers, catholics, the English, and others— helped more precisely to define belonging. Within guilds, demarcation disputes and competition for work and political representation marked off one occupational grouping from another. Candlemakers, butchers, skinners, and tanners tended to live in specific parts of Edinburgh though they were not ostracized and despised as in some parts of Europe.87 Material as well as social (p.40) and psychological penalties could be attached to being an unpopular outsider. The English were a favourite target of hostility as in autumn 1712 when Adam Barclay, turner in Edinburgh, called a soldier ‘English pock-pudding dog’.88 Edinburgh was the most open to English influence of all Scottish cities because of the administrative posts and government spending there but this did not apparently make the English any more acceptable. After falling into an argument with an English soldier called Joseph Skinner, an Edinburgh man had him falsely committed to prison ‘being a mere stranger [with] no body to interpose for him’.89 Other conflicts with outsiders reinforced the sense of identity. This happened, for example, when the magistrates were carpeted for failing to prevent the lynching of Captain Porteous or when the Court of Session held them and the gaoler of the Canongate Tolbooth responsible to the creditors of an escaped prisoner.90 The Westminster government and the Lords of Session respectively were the bogeymen. There was casual abuse of the English, but hardly a concerted hatred except for brief periods. A notable example is the anti-English feeling whipped up over the trial of Captain Green and his crew in 1705 on a trumped up charge of piracy. A Scottish vessel called the Annandale, belonging to the African company, was seized by order of the East India company in an English port. This came only a few years after the spectacular failure of attempts to establish a Scots colony at Darien in Central America—a disaster for which many Scots blamed the English government. It was also a time when Scotland’s trade was at a low ebb, provoking intense ill-feeling. Shortly after the Scottish vessel was impounded, an English ship—the Worcester, commanded by Captain Green—landed at Leith for repairs. Popular demand that it too be seized was resisted until a rumour spread that members of the crew had been guilty of piracy against another African company ship, the Speedy Return.91 The crew were prosecuted and the authorities in Edinburgh were terrorized (p.41) by xenophobic mobs into allowing Green to hang.92 The title of a verse pamphlet sums up native sentiments: The horrid murder committed by Captain Green and his crew on Page 15 of 80

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Unity and Division Captain Drummond and his whole men under design of friendship by cutting off their heads and tying them back to back and throwing them into the sea, and sold their ship unto the Indians’.93 This rambling title summed up attitudes which were strongly felt but rarely focused. An Englishman resident in Edinburgh at that time was convinced of Green’s innocence: ‘I could scarce forebear resenting this barbarous usage, but that I was informed a gentleman had like to have been stabbed for speaking his sentiments too freely’.94 The city’s inhabitants were usually less antipathetic to Scottish ‘provincials’. In the 1690s and 1700s those apprenticed to Edinburgh’s goldsmiths included John Menzies ‘north countryman’ and William Hall ‘west countryman’ (both 1699), a sprinkling of Frenchmen and Englishmen and, curiously, Thomas Aikman ‘Scotsman’ in 1700.95 When a merchant’s widow called Mary Watson found James Sutherland, a brewer’s servant, ‘easing nature’ outside her door she railed at him using terms like ‘norland villain, norland scoundrel’.96 Both dress and demeanour contributed to the stereotypical Highlander: plaids and blue caps, for example.97 In a picturesque description designed to explain why ‘the unusual number of Highlanders makes some people very uneasy here’ (during the Union riots of 1706–7), Defoe wrote: They are all gentlemen, will take affront from no man, and insolent to the last degree…a man in his mountain habit, with a broad sword, target [shield], pistol or perhaps two at his girdle, a dagger and a staff, walking down the street as upright and haughty as if he were a lord—and withall driving a cow.98 (p.42) Regional identity could be an advantage as well as a taint. When the Highland waif John Macdonald and his siblings arrived at Edinburgh in 1745 ‘we strayed down towards the bottom of the Canongate, staring at signs, coaches, and fine horses’. They were accosted by a woman ‘seeing us strangers, and in Highland dress…She was a widow, and let lodgings; her husband, before he died, was a master-chairman, of the name of MacDonald, born near the place where we were born’.99 The woman helped him again when he came back to the city in April 1746 by giving him a corner in which to sleep. After he and his brother were arrested for vagrancy, another Highlander who ran an inn and livery stables helped them out and gave them work.100 This example illustrates the informal contacts incomers could use for support and to help them become assimilated into urban society. Because the city had so many inhabitants who were not born there, it must also have had different ‘layers’ of people at different stages of becoming assimilated into various levels of ‘community’. Around this time, a Gaelic monoglot called John Forbes lived in the Canongate by taking in lodgers and selling ale.101 Highlanders like MacDonald may have gravitated to such individuals. Better-off travellers had inns to seek out. When he first came to Edinburgh in 1705, the Englishman Joseph Taylor stayed in one next to the Netherbow port run by an Englishman called Snow, ‘it being the best Page 16 of 80

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Unity and Division in town and the usual quarters of most Englishmen which resort there’.102 The Woolpack Inn at Bristo Street on the way into the city from the south became a famous staging post and landmark from the 1740s. (p.43) Immigrant and settled inhabitant alike needed to establish a reputation, and to borrow and lend money. Debt and credit without payment of interest continued to exist and to have a socially integrative function. People could lend in the expectation of future aid to themselves, to establish good will, because of family ties or as part of neighbourly expectations.103 Relationships over money were not always determined by cold business calculations. Agnes Smith, a glazier’s wife, had approached John Vans, owner of a house occupied by Marion Aitken, a writer’s widow, to take over the lease. Smith offered the landlord a higher rent than Aitken was prepared to pay but Vans ‘did agree with the widow to let her sit a year upon payment of a greater rent she having been so long my tenant’.104 Vans may have felt that he was performing a social service since he was not only securing income from the tenancy but also good will and possibly deference from the widow along with approval from neighbours for his generous use of power. Short-term credit was probably obtained by borrowing from neighbours or pawning goods—usually clothes.105 One Janet Frazer was prosecuted for enticing a 15-year-old servant away from his master and getting him ‘to pledge his clothes’.106 Specialist brokers and moneylenders were emerging during the later seventeenth century. In September 1681 Thomas Mitchell, merchant, petitioned successfully to be admitted ‘as a common broker to deal between merchant and merchant or merchant and seaman in all bargains’ for a fee. The magistrates were to agree on the level of fees and investigate how such employment is followed ‘in foreign places’.107 The wording suggests that professional financial intermediaries or ‘forfaiters’ were a novelty. The network of debt and credit on which the city depended was both extremely intricate and potentially very fragile. Credit crises, such as occurred in the 1740s, caused a scramble for liquidity in which the overstretched went broke. Yet, those forced (p.44) into insolvency do not seem to have been treated as outcasts, except perhaps by their irate creditors. Bankruptcy was not treated with the moral outrage handed out to usurers. In July 1752 the Edinburgh tailors agreed to pay the charges for securing the freedom of Francis Davidson, then imprisoned in the Tolbooth, under the 1696 insolvency act. Two months later Davidson was elected boxmaster of the incorporation in spite of protestations about his circumstances. Another tailor was eventually elected boxmaster because, understandably, Davidson could not find the necessary financial sureties for his office. Perhaps his fellow tailors were entering into a subterfuge to throw off his creditors by highlighting his poverty since debtors released after handing over their goods to creditors (cessio bonorum) could have any money or goods acquired thereafter seized by creditors. Yet, in March 1758 Davidson Page 17 of 80

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Unity and Division appears on the short list for deacon of the incorporation.108 The ‘dyvours stone’, a pillory for bankrupts near the market cross, is rarely mentioned in the documents though its mere presence in so public a place must have constituted a reminder of the shame which could follow insolvency. One remedy for bankrupts was to seek sanctuary in the precincts of the royal palace of Holyrood. Right of sanctuary in religious places was abolished over much of Europe in the sixteenth century and the notional right of Edinburgh castle in 1714. However, it was retained for debtors until the end of the nineteenth century in Scotland. Holyrood remained a haven not for any criminal but only for debtors since Scots law recognized that they might find it easier to regain solvency if they were not formally incarcerated.109 Alexander Campbell the factor often mentions debtors of his clients resorting there.110 The alternative to Holyrood was a spell in the separate, ‘open’ section of the main prison or Tolbooth.111 Insolvents could lead almost normal lives while there. Charles Hay was imprisoned in August 1730 for debt and remained there until March 1733 when he applied successfully for ‘benefit of act of grace’. (p. 45) However, his gaoler would not let him out until he had paid his prison fees. Hay pointed out that under the act of grace his creditors must now pay for his keep or for his release. His petition to the magistrates did him little good for reasons spelled out by the gaoler, James Clelland. Hay was a vintner’s son ‘and in very good circumstances, but the petitioner [Hay] having given him offence by his marriage (a conduct not so regular as he wished) he allowed or procured him to be incarcerated in the prison of Edinburgh…for a trifling sum [less than £40 Scots] but then for his maintenance in that state allowed him a yearly aliment of 400 merks and he and his wife and children still lived in the prison house till that time [1734]’.112 Edinburgh Tolbooth seems to have been a busy social centre judging by the regulations issued by the town council in 1703. There was a cellar bar; people played cards and dice; the less secure parts of the building were frequented by prisoners’ relatives and even the clients of incarcerated prostitutes; conjugal visits were permitted—behind closed doors.113 Over time, the growing size of the city made it difficult to maintain even a fiction of unity over Edinburgh as a whole.114 Increasingly, city-wide identity or ‘community’ was created by incidental factors or artificial constructs. Into the former category fall sounds. Audible all over the city in 1700, the ‘corporal bell’ in St Giles steeple was supposed to be rung when the High Court of Justiciary met.115 The council contracted with John Meikle, founder burgess, in 1698 for ‘a good and sufficient chime or set of musical bells exactly tuned conform to the rules of music…for the decoration of the city after the fashion and manner of cities abroad’, the bells to hang in St Giles.116 The bells were rung around 1 p.m. when shops closed for lunch and again at 10 p.m. to signal that taverns should close. John Menzies, stocking weaver, and John Fife, tailor, were appointed ‘joint practisers of the good town’s musical bells’ in 1726, ‘being (p.46) bound and Page 18 of 80

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Unity and Division obliged to practise and play on the said chain of bells every day of the week (the Lord’s day excepted) [for] the full space of one hour’ and at other times as instructed.117 In October 1675 the council allowed four English ‘hoboymen’ to go through the city at 5 a.m. playing coronets to tell inhabitants that it was morning, their music complementing the town drummers’ alarm call.118 One of the town drummer’s duties was to announce the roups (auctions) at the cross and throughout the city.119 During daytime, the common crier(s) made announcements and posted official sheets ‘with the clapper’.120 Hugo Arnot wrote that ballad singers still frequented the streets in the reign of George III and a town wait or musician had long been a feature of Edinburgh life.121 Into the category of artificial creations falls the conscious promotion of civic symbolism. Reorganized in 1668, the city’s charter collection was of both concrete and symbolic importance. A dispute over ownership of the harbour of Leith and its customs in 1753–4 elicited a reference to ‘the grand and golden charter, as it is commonly called’, a printed copy of which was available to every citizen.122 The charter embodied the town’s fictitious (corporate) personality and seems to have formed an important focus of identity and privilege throughout our period.123 Largely for political reasons, positive steps were taken to establish an identity for Edinburgh both within and beyond the city boundaries in the mid-eighteenth century. English provincial cities were mostly chronicled between 1530 and 1640 while Stow’s famous survey of London was first published in 1598. New ‘town histories’ were being written in the century after the Restoration but the genre flourished during the reign of George III.124 Edinburgh participated in this development. In March (p.47) 1750 the council minuted that William Maitland’s history of the town was complete. Until then, ‘Edinburgh, the metropolis of our nation, not otherwise known than by its name, remains undescribed, and as [if] it were buried in oblivion, to our great reproach’.125 A history of the town was thus desirable, even necessary. But it was not essential enough to persuade citizens to part with the 25/- subscription price, forcing Maitland to ask for (and receive) a subsidy.126 Either subsequent demand maintained the price or the subsidy was a small one because the incorporated trades of Calton bought a copy for 24/- in March 1753, having authorized the boxmaster ‘to purchase the history of the metropolis of this kingdom lately published by Mr William Maitland in the frugalest manner’.127 Maitland’s history was an exercise in public relations for the council and, potentially, a source of pride and identity for middle-class citizens. These attempts to create an identity for the burgh show that there was no single ‘community’, except at an abstract level. A good example is the unity claimed for the city’s churches. During a dispute over the right to appoint city clergymen in the 1730s, North Leith kirk session identified some distinctive features of ecclesiastical life and organization in Edinburgh which created at least one rather vague kind of ‘community’. At issue was whether parishioners or the city fathers should have the stronger voice in clerical appointments. The magistrates Page 19 of 80

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Unity and Division ‘reckon their city but one parish and the several churches but as several meeting places for the worship of the parishioners’, allowing them to move incumbents around at will. Furthermore, it was reasonable that the burgh community at large should have a say in electing clergy since there are some things in common among the ministers in Edinburgh which are not so in the country, such as their preaching by turns on the week days, having several [worshippers from different parishes] to hear them on the sabbath, who cannot conveniently be furnished with (p.48) seats in their own parish churches, their meeting together in general sessions, and having frequently access to sick and dying persons through the whole town.128 The kirk session was obviously an advocate of greater congregational influence in clerical appointments. It rehearsed this argument simply because it had little force. A suggestion made more than half a century earlier that members of the College of Justice be treated as one parish was opposed on the grounds that it would be impossible to minister to people so widely dispersed around this large city.129 Owning property, worshipping at a church, simply living in a house: all could create a feeling of belonging and a recognition from others of membership of a ‘community’. A call to Mr Alexander Ramsay to become minister of Old Kirk parish was subscribed in April 1691 by a group of men describing themselves as ‘heritors, parishioners and inhabitants’, categories which could overlap in establishing community status but which might also be discrete.130 The difficulty is in assessing whether, for example, neighbourhood solidarities were more significant than those of occupation, status, religion, or gender. Edinburgh’s population was highly mobile and had opportunities for many different kinds of interaction with people from different walks of life. The definition of ‘community’ varied according to the place where people found themselves and the individuals or groups with whom they were dealing. Central government and its political managers contributed to the development of communities by their orchestration of civic ritual and ceremony. PostRestoration Scotland had a calendar of anti-catholic rituals designed to promote the legitimacy of the regime. An act of parliament was passed in the summer of 1662 to revive celebrations ‘made for keeping in remembrance that horrid plot against king James VI…Gowrie’s conspiracy, the remembrance of which has been slighted and neglected these (p.49) many years bygone through the iniquity of the times’131 1666 was a year which offered a number of opportunities for celebration. Bonfires and bells were called for to celebrate naval victory over the Dutch in June followed by a solemn thanksgiving in all the city’s churches on 23 August.132 The defeat of the Covenanters and the execution of some of their number in October was a further cause for celebration.133 Bonfires to celebrate Page 20 of 80

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Unity and Division royal birthdays—an anniversary brought in from England after the Restoration— or coronations were not thrown up haphazardly or always spontaneously by neighbours. Some were organized by civic worthies. An accused killer, captain James Bruce, had been drinking the king’s health ‘at the major general’s bonfire’ opposite his lodging before wandering with his comrades up the High Street to Lord Justice Clerk’s conflagration one night in 1690.134 Others were paid for by levies on householders. The celebratory bonfires for Charles II’s official birthday in May 1681 were to be supervised by the city constables. They were to be placed every 40 feet along the High Street and were to ‘exact from the neighbours that ought to contribute for the expense of the said bonfires ass much as will defray the expense of the same proportionally as in their discretion they judge each neighbour ought to pay’.135 In May 1676 the council ordered that the king’s birthday and restoration be celebrated by bonfires, closing of shops, and the sixteen companies’ attending their captains.136 After the Glorious Revolution, the council ordered that for the celebration of joyous events, bonfires be replaced by fireworks and windows illuminated by candles. The latter symbols of celebration were less pagan in presbyterian eyes, more fitting for the decorous pretensions of the coming age and less likely to involve hordes of people milling through the streets. In 1693 fireworks and stone throwing (at unilluminated windows) were (p.50) proscribed.137 The birthday of Prince Frederick was celebrated in January 1729 by the ringing of bells, firing of guns, and much drinking.138 The main point about these loyalist celebrations is that they were organized by the civic authorities. While they invited certain types of participation they were far from spontaneous. With the exception of royal birthdays the trend in Edinburgh was for these commemorations to fade away and for celebrations of recent, specific events to become more significant.139 That ordinary citizens continued to participate in ceremony, albeit in an increasingly marginal way, is illustrated by a newspaper account (5 November 1729) of George II’s birthday: Thursday last being his majesty’s birthday, the same was observed here with all demonstrations of joy. In the morning the flag was displayed from the castle, and the Cross busked up in the form of a pyramid. At twelve the trained bands marched to Bruntsfield links tinder their proper officers, and about three in the afternoon returned in batalia and formed a line to the Cross through which the right honourable the lord provost, magistrates and council in their formalities, preceded by the city music, and accompanied by the nobility and principal gentry of the place, went to a large theatre and there, under the discharge of the great guns from the castle, and a triple discharge of the firearms of the city guard, drank his majesty’s health, throwing confections, fruits and glacis amongst the

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Unity and Division crowd. The evening concluded with illuminations, bonfires, drinking of loyal healths, and other marks of joy through the whole city.140 Another description from 1733 specified that the Cross was decked out in green and tells us that the ‘theatre’ was a temporary pavilion erected just below the Cross. Only one bonfire is mentioned on the castle wall (esplanade) ‘at which Major Roberton, accompanied by several persons of distinction, drank the loyal healths’.141 As early as 1684 the importance of dignity and status in this celebration had been established. The ‘theatre’ was to house nobles and judges ‘for the better lustre of the solemnity to be used’; the captains of the trained bands were to select 200 ‘persons that are of the best quality and discretion’ to (p.51) act as guards of honour; wines were to be provided ‘for the treat’ by the city’s treasurer.142 Until the Union of 1707, ridings of parliament were among the most solemn and elaborate events in the city. A printed guide to ceremonial form published in July 1681 prescribed (among other things) different routes to parliament hall for citizens in arms and footguards and that ‘the higher degree, and most honourable of that degree, is to ride always last’.143 Privy council orders in 1703 stressed the riding must be ‘without disturbance or confusion’ and went as far as to specify that parts of the High Street in the Cahongate and city should be cleared, cleaned, roped off, and spread with sand to prevent horses slipping. There was to be no shooting, showing of flags, or beating of drums which would detract from the solemnity of the procession. The city’s worthies greeted Queen Anne’s commissioners in 1702 with a procession of forty coaches and 1,200 men on horseback.144 The Lord Clerk Register and Lord Lyon, whose ceremonial duties had been fixed in 1672, ordered the procession of July 1681 as follows:145 Trumpeters and pursuivants Commissioners for burghs Commissioners for shires Four non-noble officers of state Lords of parliament Bishops Viscounts Earls Archbishops of St Andrews and Glasgow Trumpeters and pursuivants Heralds Lyon King at Arms Symbols of state accompanied by macers High Commissioner and attendant nobles Captain of HM guard and troop of guards

(p.52) After 1707 this ceremony, along with investitures of Knights of the Thistle and the inauguration of the Lord Lyon, were lost but the High Commissioner’s procession and the posting of royal proclamations were Page 22 of 80

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Unity and Division retained.146 The Lord Lyon’s swearing-in had involved a service, pageantry— heralds, trumpeters, and pursuivants—with music afterwards for nobles in attendance. After 1707 he was simply sworn in at a private ceremony before the Lords of Council and Session. Ordinary citizens used this and other events as an excuse for celebration. They were invited to show, in their own way, approval for events favouring the regime without being formal and direct participants in the ceremonies themselves. Cities dressed up for, say, princely visits made popular enjoyment greater and more easily achieved but the popular component was ‘only marginal and accessory’ to the official celebration.147 There was a growing separation between participants and spectators. Formal celebration of the Restoration of Charles II involved the magistrates processing to the Cross and drinking the king’s health on their knees.148 To add to the anniversary of the Restoration in 1663, the town council authorized dancers and musicians to erect a stage next to the Cross and ‘to exercise themselves in some handsome way’.149 The privy council ordered bells to be rung and bonfires to be lit by the city’s inhabitants to celebrate the Act of Indemnity of 1679. Recognizing that the measure would not command total support among Edinburgh’s population, they were careful to require the fires to be put out by 9 p.m. at the latest.150 The proclamation ordering celebrations of the accession of James VII and II in February 1685 concluded by warning that those who failed to show the correct ‘expressions of loyalty and great joy…will be particularly taken notice of and esteemed as persons disaffected to his present majesty his government and punished by authority accordingly’.151 These examples suggest that while the pursuit (p.53) of ideological conformity was relentless, its success in the later seventeenth century was only partial. Under the influence of church and, more particularly, state, major festivals lost their participative character in the later seventeenth and early eighteenth century. They became mere spectacles, orchestrated by and for political cliques and the upper ranks of urban society. Other participative events were under attack in the early years of the eighteenth century. In September 1709 the council announced that ordinary members of the incorporations no longer needed to accompany the magistrates to Leith on head court days. The council asked the incorporations only to wait on the magistrates on the first head court day (after the council elections) and then only to go with them as far as the Netherbow. The deacon convener (the leader of the trades on the town council) and others felt that the occasion was important to the trades, either for its symbolism or as an excuse for a holiday. Against their protests, the council stated that ‘it was a great deal of needless expense put upon the members of the incorporations to wait upon the magistrates and their deacons at these times both in neglecting their employments and spending a great deal of their money’.152 The reason given could be a genuine one, reflecting the need for economy in the city’s affairs at a time when its finances were depressed. The influence of the Society for the Reformation of Manners may also have been Page 23 of 80

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Unity and Division present as it deplored the excessive eating and drinking which occurred on court days. However, the decision could also be part of a desire to tighten the hold of oligarchy on political power by monopolizing ceremony in the hands of a coterie of elected or co-opted officials. The rhetoric of civic ceremony and ritual was surely integrative but its orchestration depended on a definition of the role of specific participants which was predicated on clear divisions within urban society. Ordinary citizens could interpret and enjoy the ceremonies in their own way. In that sense they were active participants but in ceremonies whose essential form was dictated from above. The town council continued to subscribe to, and even promote, the rhetoric of the ‘burgh community’ in the 1760s when any vestiges of unity had gone. The irony is that they helped to (p.54) bring about this change. As early as 1676 the councillors had arranged for a separate entrance to St Giles church for themselves to avoid crowds of their fellow citizens.153 They decided that the ‘great draught [picture] of the good town’ painted by John Alexander in 1677 should be hung in the low council chamber and thus have a restricted audience.154 Efforts by office holders to make themselves distinctive proceeded apace and by the mid-eighteenth century visible symbols of office had become more lavish. The incorporated trades resolved in 1761 to buy a gold chain of office for the deacon convener, a belated effort to raise him to the level of the other sporters of such symbols of office, the magistrates.155 Magistrates had swopped their velvet coats—introduced to distinguish them in 1710—for gold chains and medallions in 1754.156 Leith’s shoremaster, who doubled as keeper of the Tolbooth, pilot master and flag master, carried a silver axe.157 From 1758, the city’s twelve officers were to be dressed in blue coats with red linings and trimmings, a laced red waistcoat and red breeches, and tin or pewter buttons.158 Reinforcement of civic identity went with an increasing assertion of separateness among officials. They came to regard themselves not as ordinary citizens doing a routine job but as different to, perhaps better than, the people they served. As we shall see, the same process of differentiation was taking place among ordinary inhabitants.

Being Different Edinburgh (Fig. 1.2) had many communities and a dense web of connecting strands. One reason for devoting the first part of this chapter to cohesion is that it is both less well-documented and less eye-catching than conflict. Yet, thousands of people were (p.55)

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Unity and Division (p.56) involved in day-to-day exchanges which depended on a degree of tolerance, trust or liking. Some form of material link or an explicit or implicit appeal to shared values and norms was needed to facilitate such interactions. Indeed, given the forces which divided individuals and groups they could be regarded as essential. For example, inequalities of wealth Fig. 1.2 The Prospect of Edinburgh from were very obvious. Less tangible the North’ (Queen Anne view); from John but as important were the Slezer, Theatrum Scotiae (Edinburgh, pervasive consciousness of status 1814 edn.) and awareness of social differences. Many of the cultural divisions we shall encounter followed lines created by parental status, wealth, and gender. That wealth was unequally distributed in early modern societies is well established. Some 81 per cent of those assessed for the 1691 hearth tax of the Canongate lived in houses where one or two rooms had a fire, less than 2 per cent in dwellings with nine or more hearths. To these prominent and easily measured distinctions can be added the many small differences which marked out one social group from another in everyday life—notably dress and accent—and the more palpable divisions of residence, lifestyle, and even seating in church. The nature of social distinctions within Edinburgh were not the same as those in other European towns but the divisions themselves, however subtly graded, were no less real.

Clothes were an important and immediately recognized indicator of social standing. When the advocate Neil Campbell came out of a tavern at Abbeyhill one day in January 1711 he saw outside ‘a big lusty fellow in countrymen’s habit and a small young gentleman each of them gripping at a small white stick and struggling’. Another deponent thought the first man looked like a gardener. Well built as the rustic was, he suffered a mortal blow when four other gentlemen came to the aid of their fellow.159 Goldsmiths were said to have announced their wealth to the world by wearing cocked hats and scarlet cloaks set off by goldtopped canes. Footmen and boys were extensions of the sartorial elegance of the gentry who employed them and gave them livery to wear. So too were coaches, both in their design and the coats of arms painted on their sides. In January 1730 it was reported that ‘a gentleman some days ago had his fine new chariot arrested by the Lord Lyon King at Arms, for transgressing (p.57) the laws of heraldry, in assuming a coat armorial he had no right to’.160 Changes in fashion were eagerly followed by socialites. Women’s fashions, for example, ‘conform themselves much more to the manners and taste of Paris, with which they have as constant a communication as with England’.161 In the seventh and last issue of his organ the Mercury, aspiring style counsellor Page 25 of 80

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Unity and Division Duncan Tatler attacked hooped petticoats since ‘two ladies in the church possess the room of five’. Pompous, self-righteous, censorious, and opinionated, Duncan’s weekly paper enjoyed a brief life because it disparaged Edinburgh culture and aspired to replace its supposed errors with his own (impenetrable) version of breeding and ‘beaux esprits’. Tatler tried to be the sort of person described later in the century by Topham: ‘If a few select people here choose to say that such a thing is vulgar, there is no further question but it becomes so immediately’.162 John MacDonald’s memoirs of a Highland footman in mid-eighteenth-century Edinburgh recount how he was employed by one Mr Gills, coachman, as a liveried postillion. With the approval born of genuine deference, he described his master as ‘a gentleman, the son of a gentleman, and dressed as a gentleman, every day in his ruffles, which is uncommon for men over[seeing] horses and carriages, and never drove a coach in his life’.163 Sartorial appearance was important to business credibility among the élites who formed his clientele. Gills married the daughter of a prominent landowner and was, presumably, the genuine article.164 But simply dressing up or down to a prescribed pattern did not guarantee acceptance of the desired image. When Edinburgh’s MP was examined by the House of Lords about the rioters who participated in the lynching of Captain Porteous, he told of interrogating witnesses in the city. One, a Mr Buchanan, said he had ‘looked into many of their faces but knew none of them, that they were all dressed like tradesmen’s servants, but in his opinion by their linen and the (p.58) colour of their hands some of them seemed to be persons of better condition’.165 When Marion Boyd and Andrew Johnston, an adulterous couple from rural Midlothian, tried to rent a room in Edinburgh on the pretext of having just been married, the landlady threw them out because the said Marion was so fine and he not’.166 The mode of transport an individual chose also spoke volumes about his or her status. It cost 7/- Scots to take a sedan chair from the Abbey to the Castle in 1687: a day’s wages for a labourer.167 People could distinguish status by ear as well as eye. In his Heart of Midlothian, Walter Scott has the Duke of Argyll make the distinction between ‘court’ Scots and ‘the broad coarse Scotch that is spoken in the Cowgate of Edinburgh, or in the Gorbals’ of Glasgow.168 Speaking on behalf of an accused Covenanter, Thomas Turnbull of Knowe, an Edinburgh lawyer claimed his client had attended a conventicle armed in 1680 ‘since he is a gentleman and that all gentlemen within the kingdom are known constantly to wear arms when they go abroad and to keep the same upon them in the street of Edinburgh and all other places distant from their own house’.169 The right to carry a sword in public was an important distinguishing mark of a gentleman—a sort of traditional fashion ‘accessory’. Not that he would necessarily resort to using it unless his opponent was worthy. John Chandler, merchant in Edinburgh, was prosecuted before the Consistory Court in 1682 for berating William Byres, indweller in St Cuthbert’s parish, as ‘a villain and knave Page 26 of 80

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Unity and Division and whore’s son and that the defender [Chandler] would not set his fingers upon him himself because he was a gentleman but that he would cause a footman or liveryman to rip his nose and cut the lugs [ears] out of his head’.170 The public carrying of swords by those other than the military became less common after the Hanoverian succession. An apparently trivial example illustrates the lengths to which social snobbery could go. We might assume that all women were socially (if not in other ways) equal in the eyes of men (p.59) seeking sexual satisfaction in return for money. The case of Helen Hunter, a notorious ‘madam’, in 1749 demonstrates that fine nuances of status were important even in these circumstances. To defend himself against a charge of defaming her, William Crooks, a Calton shoemaker, had dug up evidence against Hunter including a statement from a gentleman’s servant who had used the lady’s services six years ago when she had lived in Forrester’s Wynd. His master had sent him with a message ‘desiring her to keep a room for him in her house, and to procure him a woman’. A week after the business was completed, the (anonymous) master told his servant ‘he was not well satisfied with the woman that the pursuer [Hunter] had procured for him, for that she was rather too common’ and that he would prefer a servant maid or similar. Hunter had, incidentally, done well from her trade or that of her late husband (an Abbeyhill brewer) for, at the time of her prosecution of Crooks before the Consistory Court, she was living in Milne’s Court, one of the old town’s better addresses.171 Admission to social assemblies of the early eighteenth century was confined to known gentry or ‘strangers of good appearance’.172 An obvious passport to an assembly was a wig, one of several bodily adornments used to display status. Accent too could be moulded to suit fashion. Catering for the inhabitants’ desire to appear less provincial, the Irishman Richard Brinsley Sheridan gave a wellattended series of lectures in 1761 on the ‘correct pronunciation and elegant reading’ of English, said to be ‘indispensable acquirements for people of fashion’ in non-metropolitan society.173 Other ways of signifying social standing were numerous. When Alexander Hume donated 1,000 merks to the Trinity hospital in 1671 the council ordered his name to be enrolled on the list of benefactors ‘and to affix the same in gold letters upon some eminent place of the said hospital’.174 (p.60) Complimentary burgess and guild brother tickets given to nobles were also distinguished by their gilded edges.175 Writers to the Signet were supposed to wear gowns at work and while walking the streets of Edinburgh. Acutely aware of the fine nuances which distinguished people, Walter Scott offers the following fictional description of a youth seen by the clergyman Mr Butler in the King’s Park—an account which shows how a composite impression of status was gained:

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Unity and Division His was of a kind which could hardly be said to indicate his rank with certainty, for it was such as young gentlemen sometimes wore while on active exercise in the morning, and which, therefore, was imitated by those of the inferior ranks, [such] as young clerks and tradesmen, because its cheapness rendered it attainable, while it approached more nearly to the apparel of youths of fashion than any other which the manners of the times permitted them to wear. If his air and manner could be trusted, however, this person seemed rather to be dressed under than above his rank; for his carriage was bold and somewhat supercilious, his step easy and free, his manner daring and unconstrained.176 Sartorial norms were policed not only by the better-off and better-dressed inhabitants. In 1757 the place of worship for girls in the Trades Maiden hospital was moved from Greyfriars church to the New kirk. The girls wore uniforms and their promenade provoked complaints about the abuse hurled at them on their way. It was held to be ‘unreasonable to do anything they would not put their own children to. Their poverty…should engage the governors to be more circumspect and careful to prevent anything that may hurt their characters or prejudice their education. It may have a tendency to raise in them false and foolish ideas of their own importance’177 Formal sartorial legislation did not exist but the informal statements made by dress were nevertheless important.178 (p.61) A simple way of gauging the economic status of children was to look at their feet. The daily visitor suggested in mid-November 1768 that children at St Cuthbert’s charity workhouse should have shoes and stockings in very cold weather but the managers ‘defer it till later in the season when those to whom they are most necessary may have them’.179 Even the poor cared about the way they dressed. At Whitsunday of the same year, a decision to make children leaving as presentable as possible was taken ‘there being several girls going out to service at the ensuing term whose mothers are in the house but much dissatisfied with the clothing’.180 Élites felt that recognition of their status was required at all times. George Cumming was a writer who had killed a soldier in a brawl in 1695. With two companions in their early twenties he had asked the time of the soldier at the West port. The reply cannot have been to his liking for he started a row and began verbally to abuse the man by asking ‘what answer is that to give to a gentleman’.181 Abigail Oliphant, daughter of one of the principal clerks of session, appealed to the same social values when in 1702 she accused a doctor of failing to show the ‘Christian respect which he ought to bear and carry to all persons and more especially to the complainer, a young gentlewoman’. He had told people she was pre-nuptially pregnant.182 The indignation of the offended parties may have been aggravated by a perceived contrast with the normal practice of visible deference. In 1696 the city’s advocates complained bitterly that ‘the town of Edinburgh, in the setting of the seats in the churches, did slight Page 28 of 80

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Unity and Division the members of the College of Justice, preferring to them their meanest mechanics’.183 William Forbes, Lord President and Chairman of the Court of Session in 1737 opined that ‘many of good estates commence advocates with no other view than the honour of being members of it’ but he also (p.62) ventured that 85 per cent of advocates were practising in 1710.184 Youths from well-off families occasionally over-stepped the licence given by their social status. Hugh Eccles, son to Dr Eccles, James Nairn, son to late bailie Nairn, and three other young men from good families had lept from a coach between Edinburgh and Leith to drag a young woman into it and assault her, ‘in which barbarity the said Mr Eccles and Mr Nairn distinguished themselves’.185 This example is unusual, perhaps because victims were normally reluctant to prosecute or because the indiscretions of the worthy were more likely to be settled informally and discreetly. A farmer complained to Leith Burlaw Court in 1728 about Herman Buchanan, servant, ‘for going through the complainer’s sown ground with several gentlemen with horses, dogs and guns’. There is no mention of proceedings against the gentlemen.186 Status created licence. Élite youth in particular were socialized in different ways from the bulk of their age group—the wider family was more important—and did not, apparently, subscribe to the same norms of behaviour: their money and position were not always counterbalanced by any stabilizing influence.187 All men were equal before the law but they were not all tried in the same way. David Young was to be tried by the Justiciary Court for arson in July 1738 but ‘the assize [jury] being called in the usual manner and most part of the landed gentlemen being absent so that the trial could not proceed in respect of the panel’s [defendant] being a landed man’.188 Trial by peers was intended to remove the possibility of intimidation of jurors rather than to weigh the scales of justice in favour of élites. Church discipline too was subject (in practice if not in theory) to constraints imposed by the social standing of the offenders. In 1705 Edinburgh presbytery complained about ‘unseasonable (p.63) and unnecessary walking’ on the links at Leith, in the Queen’s Park and in the fields around the city, and about drinking at Restalrig: ‘the persons guilty are sometimes of such a number and quality’ that searchers can do nothing without the help of the civil magistrates.189 At his trial for extortion in 1737, James Gray gave an eloquent speech in his defence in which he drew attention to social prejudices and tried to build up alternative benchmarks for judging a person’s status. He was, so he said: reckoned amongst his neighbours to be industrious and of considerable skill in his business as a gardener. It is true he is poor, at least has brought himself under some straits by having bestowed most of his means in purchasing a feu and building a house, of which, as yet, he has not reaped

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Unity and Division any considerable profits, but poverty is no crime, nor is integrity always confined to the rich.190 However, even poor people were subtly graded. Andrew Gairdner’s fund-raising Historical account of…the Trinity Hospital was anxious to ‘assure you that care will be taken…that such shall be preferred as shall be commended for persons of reputation and good behaviour in their day’.191 In other words, burgesses, their wives and children who were single, aged 50 years or more of blameless character ‘who have not squandered away their substance by riotous living, but they or their parents were brought to low circumstances by providential dispensations, and by which it appears they have not had a sinful hand in their own misfortunes’.192 The printed regulations of Canongate workhouse prescribed that ‘in accommodating the poor, regard is to be had to the different stations of life they have formerly been in’.193 James M’. Farlan made explicit the notion that when respectable inhabitants were reduced to poverty, it was ‘reasonable that they should be supported and educated in a way superior to those who have been born in meaner stations, and never had better prospects’.194 There was some stigma attached to being raised at one of the charity (p.64) hospitals—even the prestigious Heriot’s.195 This was despite the avowed intention ‘to give the boys admitted an education suitable to the former circumstances of their parents’.196 We shall have more to say about attitudes towards and amongst the poor in a later chapter. The boundaries of status and of social convention were clear to all the city’s inhabitants. A vintner’s servant in her early twenties had been invited by the trainee clergyman Mr William Dugud to go for a drink with him, ‘which she refused to do as being a thing very unbecoming, she being a servant’.197 Topham’s letters include the observation that Edinburgh’s common people ‘show the greatest respect to a person superior to them’.198 Association with a gentleman lent status to the lower orders—as MacDonald’s memoirs attest. Street caddies (messengers) were entitled to dispense with the wearing of their official badges if they were working for a nobleman or gentleman.199 These examples are drawn from casual interactions in everyday life. Certain marks of status were more carefully structured. Seating in church was one instance. When space for the élites was tight in the Canongate church after the Restoration, the kirk session and trades met to discuss ‘the urgency of present accommodation of noblemen and gentlemen now resident in the parish’. The trades agreed that the front two pews ‘of their respective places’ were to be set aside temporarily for nobles and gentry.200 Being a member of the upper classes was a passport in itself. In September 1692, Canongate kirk session posted two elders ‘to wait upon the kirk door and not to suffer any persons to enter but such as have [communion] tickets and persons of known quality’.201

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Unity and Division Having a pew was part of a householder’s standing in the community, be they men or women.202 However, only a minority of householders rented their own pews. A total of 868 individuals are named as pew renters 1747–8 and even including incorporation and charity hospital pews it is unlikely that pew renters approached even the 2,200 or so householders paying the annuity tax. Furthermore, the social distribution of renters is (p.65) heavily skewed. The 1747–8 rental of seats in city parishes gives the occupation or social status of 47 per cent of possessors. Five parishes have more than forty known occupations and in these pew renting was disproportionately for the élites. Between 34 per cent (New North Kirk) and 67 per cent (Tron) of men and women of known status were gentry, nobility, or professionals in these and Tolbooth, Old, and New parishes. The social tone of the Tron kirk was very different from that of the College kirk. Just one Lady rented a pew, along with one merchant and two ministers; there were only twelve craftsmen and ten individuals named. The reason was that the College kirk also housed the inmates of the Trinity Hospital and Paul’s Work.203 Group seating in other parishes reinforced rather than detracted from the social composition of known renters. The New kirk (42 per cent élite) also housed the magistrates, Court of Session staff, and the City Guard. No more than 45 per cent of those who rented private seating in the city’s churches were craftsmen and as few as 25 per cent. Even allowing for incorporation seating and for the fact that many of those whose occupations were not recorded were probably craftsmen and tradesmen, we must conclude that many would have to stand at Table 1.1. Proportion of nobility, gentry, and professionals (both sexes) among pew renters in nine city parishes, 1747–1748. Kirk

Total/known occupation

% total

% known

Tolbooth

135/76

25

45

New North

108/73

23

34

Old

93/48

30

58

New

113/55

20

42

Tron

117/61

35

67

College

26/16

12

—

Lady Yester’s

60/32

23

—

East Greyfriars

120/37

12

—

West Greyfriars

96/24

14

—

(p.66) the back or sit in public pews or not attend regularly. Renting a pew as an individual or family was more likely for the élites than for the bulk of burgesses. Page 31 of 80

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Unity and Division Church seating was important because possessing a pew was a mark of status in the parish. For over a year during 1758 and 1759, the Canongate tailors were engaged in a lawsuit with the kirk session of the parish for depriving them of one of their pews.204 Being seen in church was clearly important to those who rented their seats, as a social indicator, as a way of marking one’s place in the community, and as a sign of outward religious conformity. In 1667 the town council minuted ‘the many complaints of neighbours arising from several persons having seats in churches where they are not parishioners whereby the others who are parishioners are defrauded of seats’.205 It seems to have been expected that people would go to church in their own parish, though not everyone did. Precedence was clearly important to Edinburgh’s burgesses and may have become more so over time. Minuted arguments over the order in church, Magdalen Chapel, and on the town council among trades deacons took place in 1649,1675, and 1701. In short, élites wanted to be visible; the poor stood at the back. Beyond this, the finely graded distinctions visible in English church seating do not seem to have been apparent in Edinburgh’s churches. Indeed, families and whole incorporations were moved around the body of the church. Canongate weavers had had a loft in the new church from c.1688–1700. They then moved to the body of the church until 1739 when they agreed to take a loft between Lord Roxburgh’s and the barbers’. For their part, the barbers were given an eighteen-year tenancy of this loft subject to annual revision in case of emergency seating difficulties.206 Whether precedence was important for its own sake or as a weapon in a wider game is unclear. Around 1750 the Canongate tailors paid a joiner ‘for giving a passage to the deacon and those in the fore seat by the pillar round the loft, that as the deacon must always precede, he is first in the seat and first out, whereas it was not so formerly, nor such decency observed, he was first in the seat and last of going out’.207 Incorporations had their own order of precedence among members—whether the (p.67) deacon led the way in and out, for example—but it would seem that the most important consideration was that members of a trade could sit together. In August 1741 Portsburgh’s hammermen criticized the church officer of St Cuthbert’s parish, who, they alleged, ‘for the sake of money or other sinister views throngs the seat in the West Kirk by putting in strangers before the members of the incorporation come to the kirk’, preventing them sitting together.208 Paying local taxes or renting a pew was seen as a responsibility to the city and a mark of integration into it. Conversely, those exempt from taxation and other obligations might see themselves as distinct from the rest of the burgh community. The town council passed an act in 1691 against burgesses and guild brothers of the city using their freeman privileges ‘yet makes not their actual dwelling and residences therein’, thus avoiding paying taxes and shouldering public burdens.209 Landowners were allowed to bring the produce of their estates (including ale and building materials) into the city for their own (or their Page 32 of 80

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Unity and Division family’s) consumption without paying local levies but their legal rights and economic activities were not as much of a problem for Edinburgh’s people as they were for some European towns.210 Landowners had an important place in the structure of authority. Individual and corporate heritors (like the town council or incorporations who had halls to rent out) had the responsibility of preventing conventicles on their property during the 1660s and 1670s. The College of Justice—the formal collective name for members of the Court of Session—was also exempt from this local taxation and from contributions to watch and ward or other rating for the city’s services. What is more, its members guarded their exemptions and their special status jealously. During an argument with the council over local rates in 1695, the advocates rounded: (p.68) the streets were never worse cleansed…and it’s no more but a sham pretence to involve the members of the College of Justice in a filthy slavery notwithstanding of their privileges within the town of Edinburgh which no incorporation of either ‘souters’ or tailors would suffer or comport with.211 The legal profession had no formal place in the burgh’s constitution and, while some did become burgesses, others actually sought to be ‘outsiders’, protected by their wealth and a status which depended little on burgh membership. A bolder statement was made by the Quakers, whose efforts to establish their own burial ground at the Pleasance were stopped by the council in 1675 as ‘of ill example’.212 It is easy to identify if a person paid taxes or had other civic or parish responsibilities. Most indicators of social differentiation were less precise but no less significant. People were divided by residence, wealth, gender, status, religion, reputation, and language. David Mclntyre, a 54-year-old indweller who had no home of his own and a son in the poorhouse, told the Justiciary Court in 1752 ‘that he cannot write neither can he read any but some words of the Irish language’.213 The presbytery of Edinburgh was told in 1710 how some ministers, ‘in their visiting and catechising their bounds, they have found some persons lately come out of the Highlands who do not understand our language’. They authorized Mr Neil MacVicar to preach, baptize, and catechize for them but told him to tell the Gaelic monoglots about sermons privately ‘seeing a public intimation of that nature might occasion a great many curious people their profaning the Lord’s day’.214 MacVicar had been brought from Fort William to the West Kirk in 1707 and gathered together bands of peripatetic Highland shearers to whom he preached, as well as to Highlanders resident in the city and suburbs. MacVicar died in 1747 and there is no mention of Gaelic preaching again until 1765.215

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Unity and Division In this case, residence had little significance. The ‘community’ (p.69) was a religious one extending over the whole city, created by sharing a clergyman and place of worship. Speaking a distinctive language reinforced city-wide solidarity, especially among a small group like the Highlanders who numbered no more than 500 or 1 per cent of the city’s population in the early eighteenth century. Yet, worshipping at one church was not always a way of creating a sense of identity. The great church of St Giles was partitioned for much of this period and used by more than one congregation. One-third was called the Tolbooth church. Burgess parishioners were supposed to have precedence in the allocation of seats. However, seats had also to be found for the nobility and gentry who only worshipped occasionally in the city. Burgesses, residenters, and ‘transient’ Elites sat together but that did not detract from the differences of status which existed. Craft pews might enhance feelings of solidarity among members of an incorporation which were stronger than those created by worshipping with their fellow parishioners. Catholics clustered in Canongate, South-East, and North-East parishes though there were also a handful in South, New, New North, and Leith and St Cuthbert’s. This inquiry and a later one in 1704 showed no papists in the rural parishes of Midlothian: they were confined to the city and certain suburbs. Avowed Catholicism in this part of Lowland Scotland was an urban phenomenon. Most were gentry or professionals (including a number of military men) and their households, but crafts were also represented. Those listed in 1701 totalled at least 110 individuals, but because terms like ‘and children’ or ‘and family’ or ‘some of the Duke of Gordon’s family’ are used it is impossible to be precise about numbers.216 As we shall see in Chapter 5, protests against Catholicism as a political force were common in the late seventeenth century but attacks on individual catholics were rare unless they had a political connection. The paper maker Peter Breusch and his family, who were foreign and catholic, were physically attacked in their home in 1681 and again during the reign of James II and VII, to whom Breusch had been appointed official printer.217 (p.70) Quakers were perceived as a problem during the 1650s but are only occasionally mentioned after the Restoration. A Leith brewer, fined for sabbath breaking in 1676, retorted that ‘he might as well brew on the Sunday as Mr Hamilton [the minister] might take money for going up to a desk and talking and throwing water upon a bairn’s face’.218 Yet, adherents remained and by the late 1720s and 1730s the newspapers were reporting a resurgence. But they described it as a personal and social oddity rather than as a threat to the fabric of established religion and society. Behind the rhetoric of religious orthodoxy there was apparently a considerable amount of de facto toleration by this date at least. The existence of ‘dissenting’ groups—those who attended conventicles in the 1670s, episcopalians after 1690, Seceders from the 1730s—means that any religious community of the burgh, however general, was never complete and by the mid-eighteenth century the growth of dissent in city and suburbs meant that Page 34 of 80

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Unity and Division heterodoxy had become pervasive and probably accepted.219 The Quaker meeting house is a neat example. Initially (1681) on the city limits at the West port, it was later (1729) relocated in the heart of the city at Peebles Wynd.220 People sat (or stood) in church for only a few hours a week. They spent much longer in another visible mark of status: their house. The historical geographer Vance asserts of pre-industrial cities that ‘the wealthy normally favour investing their money in structures, which show their wealth, rather than in excessively costly central land which does not present its price to the naked eye’.221 This does not seem to have been true of Edinburgh where, until the building of the New Town began in the 1750s, élites preferred to live centrally: close to the law courts and principal church or next to the former royal residence of Holyrood. The houses belonging to the dukes of Argyll and Queensberry in the Canongate were ostentatious, but for most nobility and (p.71) gentry surroundings were undistinguished and their dwelling was often just one of a number of flats in a building.222 The 1710–11 window tax illustrates the socially specific nature of owneroccupation in the city, Canongate, and South Leith. Where ‘heritor’ is recorded under possessor in the schedule owner-occupation is indicated. Of 195 buildings with twenty or more windows and 77 with thirty or more 93 were occupied by the heritor: 34 per cent of the total. There may be additional cases. The heirs of Thomas Fisher owned two adjacent buildings, the larger of which (with more than thirty windows) was occupied by Mrs Fisher, probably his widow. Strictly, Mrs Fisher may not have owned the building but have occupied it as a liferenter.223 The annuity tax schedules for 1751 and 1754 reveal similarly restricted ownership of property. The neatly transcribed books which survive in Edinburgh City Archives give the bounds in which the property was located, the name of its occupier, his or her occupation or status, the surname of the owner or heritor, the rental of the building, the amount of tax paid, and the date at which payment was made. Unlike the window tax, the identity of the owner is not explicitly stated. Instead, it is necessary to assume that where the surname of the occupier is the same as that of the heritor, the property is occupied by its owner. The number of owner-occupiers derived by this method is likely to be a maximum one. A coincidence of surnames may be no more than that or the occupier might be a relation of the owner rather than the same individual. Yet, among the section of the settled population paying this tax likely to have owned property in any case, the prevalence of renting over owning is striking. Women were slightly less likely to own the house they lived in than men (15 per cent compared with 17 per cent in 1751 and 14 per cent versus 16 per cent in 1754). This divergence might be explained by widows who were liferenters of a dead

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Unity and Division husband’s property but who would conventionally have kept their own surnames at marriage and thus appear to be unrelated to the deceased owner (p.72) Table 1.2. Sex ratio and owner-occupation in annuity taxes, 1751 and 1754 1751

1754

Total occupiers

2,202

2,433

Sex ratio of individual occupiers

218

222

Sex ratio of owner-occupiers

251

271

% owner-occupiers of total

16

16

using this simple criterion. All properties on the schedule are included in the total of 2,202 for 1751 and 2,433 for 1754, but for calculating sex ratios the 68 properties owned by companies or mixed groups of people in 1751 and the 62 in 1754 have been excluded.

In the 1694 poll tax there were 548 householders of whom 113 were women (21 per cent) and 23 or 4 per cent were nobility or gentry: men like Robert Hamilton ‘heritor at Newbattle and frequently resident in Edinburgh’.224 This compares with 4 per cent of households occupied by gentry or nobility in the 1635 tax listing of the city.225 At the annuity tax of 1751 96 women had some sort of addition to their name—lady, countess, or madam—compared with 44 men described as ‘of or’ ‘master of’ a place, laird, lord, count, sir, honourable, earl, esquire. The figures for 1754 are 95 and 34 respectively. These gentry and aristocracy comprised 6 per cent of all occupiers in 1751 and 5 per cent in 1754. Titled women were evidently much more likely to keep an Edinburgh residence on which they paid tax than were titled men: 28 per cent of owner-occupiers were female in 1751 and 26 per cent in 1754. Having said that, just 11 per cent of owner-occupier women had titles in 1751 (6 per cent of men) and 15 per cent in 1754 (4 per cent). Both male and female nobility or gentry were more likely to rent than own in mid-eighteenth-century Edinburgh.226 A longer-term reason for the small number of élite owner-occupiers may have been the low quality of accommodation (p.73) available. In his ‘Proposals’ of 1752, Sir Gilbert Elliott asked rhetorically who from the élite would ‘exchange the handsome seats they generally possess in the country, for the scanty lodging and paltry accommodations they must put up with in Edinburgh’.227 Edinburgh certainly had mansions. Lockhart of Carnwath and Erskine of Grange had houses opposite each other in Niddry’s Wynd.228 Milton house in the Canongate was built by Andrew Fletcher of Milton in the early eighteenth century and lived in by him until his death in 1766.229 In the early 1660s, Patrick Brown, an Edinburgh butcher, built a ‘mansion’ at Tollcross. More typical of élite owners was John Dundas, Writer to the Signet and Presenter of Signatures at the Court of Session. Dundas bought at auction a house in James’s Court in the early 1730s Page 36 of 80

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Unity and Division following the bankruptcy of its builder James Brownhill. However, until c.1744 he only lived there for three or four months a year and presumably had property elsewhere in Scotland.230 David Hume moved into James’ Court in 1762, describing it as ‘such a step as a man would take in those days as a consequence of improvement in his circumstances’.231 A house in Todd’s Close which had been in the Hope family since (p.74) the early seventeenth century passed to James, Viscount Stair, as security for a bond of 3,000 guilders (the Hopes were Amsterdam merchant princes). He transferred it to his son Sir David Dalrymple who sold it in 1702 to John Wightman of Mauldsie, later lord provost of Edinburgh.232 More commonly, lairds and nobles rented their accommodation while in Edinburgh. George Home of Kimmerghame in the Borders had a sister in Edinburgh with whom he occasionally stayed in the 1690s and 1700s. However, his notebooks show occasional payments for lodging, indicating that he sometimes lodged elsewhere.233 Mostly, these ‘lodgings’ were not separate houses but what we should term ‘flats’. On staircases and in streets people of different wealth and status might encounter each other regularly. But the fact that people of different social status and widely divergent fortunes lived on the same staircase or in other close proximity does not necessarily mean that they mixed together or even acknowledged each other’s presence on the stairs or in closes and church aisles. To believe they did begs the question of the quality of interaction by assuming it is necessarily related to the frequency and regularity of contact. Such was not the case in seventeenth-century Southwark and indeed Vance recognized the general proposition that class divisions can be a social fact without being a geographical one.234 Katherine Weir, a barber’s widow who lived in the Fleshmarket Close gave evidence in a murder trial that her house was ‘directly opposite to the stair foot of the panel’s [accused’s] house, and that she knew the panel and his wife, but was not much acquainted with them’.235 Recent work on both London and Edinburgh in the late seventeenth century has shown that despite evidence of the importance of wealth and occupation for residential zoning: ‘the impression is gained of an urban scene where occupations and rich and poor are thoroughly jumbled’.236 However, a nodding (p.75) acquaintance does not mean easy social intercourse of the kind sometimes claimed for mid-eighteenth-century Edinburgh. It is surely incorrect to state that ‘Edinburgh’s Old Town was a community where people knew their places in the social order but where social barriers were virtually unknown’ or to believe that the creation of the New Town destroyed the ‘unity of social feeling’.237 Indeed, it is possible to argue that when social groups were physically close to each other it was much easier to reinforce deference and dependence on a day-to-day basis.238 The move to the New Town in the late eighteenth century marked a physical recognition of social differences which already existed. Élites moved residence not because they suddenly felt different Page 37 of 80

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Unity and Division but because they had the chance to show social distinctions in architecture and location of dwelling. Nor does the increasing presence of nobles in the masonic lodges of Edinburgh from the 1730s signal a breakdown of social divisions as the titled rubbed shoulders with artisans. Even in the early eighteenth century, Edinburgh’s masonic lodges were dominated by masters who used their meetings as an extension of their power over apprentices and journeymen.239 Why else would Edinburgh journeymen have opened their own lodge in 1708? The benefits of the late seventeenth-century building boom had disproportionately benefited a handful of master masons and the town was probably full of disgruntled journeymen taken on during the good times. Lodges were no more egalitarian than the society which spawned them. Divisions in life might be preserved in death. The choice of cemetery, ownership of a family burial plot, and quality of headstone indicated standing within the burgh community. As (p.76) long as they had their own plot, people do not seem to have been too snobbish about whom they lay beside until the day of judgement. David Trail, coppersmith, was given a plot in Canongate churchyard between that allocated to the ministers of the parish and the Earl of Marchmont’s area. There was also a common burial area for those unable to aspire to their own plot.240 The length of time bells were tolled, the quality of the mortcloth and coffin, the presence of hired attendants, the lavishness of the wake, the size and intricacy of the carved monument all announced and reinforced the status of a dead person.241 The cost of a burial plot varied considerably between churchyards. If Milne’s Court or the Lawnmarket were the places, to live in early eighteenth-century Edinburgh, Greyfriars churchyard was the place to be buried. The city’s sixteenth-century burial grounds within the walls had long been built over by the Restoration and the most prestigious final resting place was the Greyfriars churchyard between Candlemaker Row and Heriot’s hospital. In July 1677 the burgh council granted a petition of Charles Charteris, bailie, to have a burial place for his dying wife inside the south door of the church in exchange for a 500-merk donation to the poor.242 This plot, difficult to secure and much sought after since the church was so full, was passed down to Charteris’s son-in-law, Mr Alexander Nisbet, surgeon burgess of Edinburgh, by a charter granted in June 1708 and as late as 1775 Nisbet’s granddaughter Elizabeth disponed the site to her husband Alexander Stuart of Torrance.243 A sense of community with dead family was important to these people but they treated the plots in the same way as they would any other sort of investment. The lowest fee paid for a plot in the new Greyfriars in the 1730s was £100 Scots. Burgesses and heritors of the Canongate were allowed to erect a tombstone in the 1720s for a mere £12

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Unity and Division Scots.244 If interred in this yard at all, servants and the poor were buried in the common plot. With less cachet, a burial plot in the Calton yard, directly on the other side of the city, was much cheaper to purchase. In (p.77) August 1724 the brewer Alexander Morison paid 18/- sterling for a plot in the new graveyard. The average at that time was either £1 sterling or £12 Scots, double that amount for non-freemen of the barony. The yard was not meant to be used to pen livestock overnight but in February 1724 a lease was granted to a father and son to keep a maximum of twenty sheep on it in in summer and six in winter. Fourteen months later they were requesting a rent rebate on the grounds that children’s play was seriously damaging the grazing.245 Burial fixed values and status enjoyed in life. Occupations are often used as an indicator of that status on the assumption that work identity and the wealth it conferred were important in distinguishing one man from another. Conventional analyses of social structure usually stop here. Yet, gender too was important in differentiating Edinburgh’s people. Some 21 per cent of the 868 people who rented seats in nine city churches 1747–8 were women. This compares with 11 per cent of 890 who paid watch money 1730–1 and 31 per cent of annuity taxpayers in both 1751 and 1754. All figures cover the city proper. Though half a century removed, the poll tax of 1694 for certain central parishes shows that roughly a fifth of householders were women. For 1635 women were 22 per cent of householders but only 7–10 per cent of taxpayers.246 Women were a small minority of paid-up company members. The merchant guild had 310 members at the end of the seventeenth century of whom twenty were female (6 per cent).247 Between 1747 and 1751 forty-two men paid quarterly dues to the Canongate tailors and four women. The Canongate tailor Robert Moffat paid his dues to the incorporation until his death after Martinmas 1747. At Candlemas 1748 his widow began paying and did so quarterly until she remarried in 1751.248 Mrs Adamson, a widow who baked bread with George White, (p.78) baxter, at his oven in Calton agreed in January 1753 ‘to submit in paying whatever was thought reasonable for the liberty allowed her in that business’.249 Simply paying incorporation dues does not necessarily mean that a widow continued her husband’s occupation. Keeping up quarterly payments entitled a person to the guild’s charity and for some this must have been more important than the right to vote in elections or to continue trading—which one could do in practice without contributing. Brodsky finds that widows, especially of the middling sort, rapidly remarried in late sixteenth-century London, casting doubt on the idea that widowhood offered unique opportunities for economic and social independence.250 Even when a widow kept on a business it is by no means certain that she ran the production side. Janet Keir took over the maintenance of the town’s wells after her plumber Page 39 of 80

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Unity and Division husband, Alexander Skirven, died in 1664. However, it was actually her son, Patrick, who fulfilled the contract.251 The apprentice indenture of James Cheape younger of Rossie to a Leith cooper in 1726 provided that the artisan’s wife should keep the boy on if her husband died during the six-year term: ‘she always keeping a sufficient journeyman for his instruction in the art and trade of cooper craft’.252 It may have been easier to remarry or to sell up and live off the interest. The widow of Nicol Hardie WS was liferenter of a disused brewery on the south side of the Cowgate when she asked permission to rebuild it from the Dean of Guild’s Court in June 1698. However, within a few months she had rented it out to George Campbell, brewer.253 It is conventional to depict married women helping their husbands and providing a supplement to the family income. Recent work on London in the late seventeenth century has shown that the majority of married women who worked did a different job from that of their husbands.254 Impressionistic evidence suggests that the same was true of Edinburgh.255 Opening a tavern (p.79) or small shop was a popular course.256 Elizabeth M’llfriesh, a ‘merchant shopkeeper’ and the wife of an Edinburgh wright, was the object of neighbourly jealousy in 1764 because it was alleged that through her Luckenbooths shop she ‘had accumulated such wealth and made her husband a laird’.257 Seven Leith women, mostly sailors’ wives, had done good business in the early months of 1740 buying up fish at Leith, Kinghorn, and other Forth ports to sell wholesale to Edinburgh shopkeepers.258 These were among several women prosecuted for breaches of marketing regulations during the dearth of 1740–1. Furthermore, the idea of a ‘supplementary’ contribution is less appropriate than that of mutual inputs into the family budget. In a petition of 1723, William Mercer, who described himself as a merchant, told of his main employment as a ‘gadget (gauger) or customs assessor. While he received a regular salary for this work, much of it went on travelling and so could not ‘go any length to maintain my wife and six children, it being known that a single man cannot live well in that station’.259 Sarah Dolphin claimed to have been apprenticed to Mary Doure, wife of Charles Rhind writer in Edinburgh sometime during the early 1750s, and unless Mary had a separate occupation from her husband it is difficult to see what Sarah’s job would have been unless it was simply as a glorified domestic servant.260 Even if they were working at their husband’s trade, wives might be in a separate place. Fleshers complained in 1728 about having to run stalls in two separate markets. When they were out of town buying livestock ‘they are obliged to trust their stocks to their wives in the upper market and to their servants in the under’.261 Women rarely appear in incorporation or guild documents. They were formally apprenticed only infrequently. Edinburgh incorporations were masculine both in identity and in power structures. However, we cannot apply to Edinburgh Brodsky’s (p.80) depiction of female labour in late sixteenth-century London as Page 40 of 80

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Unity and Division ‘unorganized, piecemeal, untrained and auxiliary’.262 Nor is it fair to argue for Edinburgh, as it was for London, that ‘single women who had never married were all but excluded from formal participation in the economy’.263 Selling drink could be linked to other ways of making a living. During the 1700s the authorities mounted a campaign against immorality in its many forms. For example, the general sessions ordered inquiries into ‘persons who have taken more houses than one, upon design to set the same to lodgers and have only women servants to live in the rest of the houses that they pay rent for, to attend the lodgers therein, which is a great temptation to, and may be occasion of, much sin’.264 Christian Paterson, formerly a vintner’s servant, had opened up her own cellar in St Giles parish during 1709. When questioned by the kirk session on suspicion of being a prostitute, she said quite brazenly to a customer who was also being interrogated ‘that if he had not got pennyworths [value for money] enough he might come to her and get more during the time he stayed in town’.265 Paterson was a professional but other single women may have been seeking personal fulfilment rather than financial gain. Marion Young, a litster’s (dyer’s) daughter who kept a cellar opposite the Cross, was found guilty of fornication with a pewterer in her own house in Steven Lane’s Close.266 Given the strong trade in secondhand clothing and the good business done by tailors it seems unlikely that any women were actually involved in making clothes for their family. Even lower-class women might pay someone else to make their linen in preparation for giving birth.267 The fact that even relatively humble households employed servants probably meant that the wife was pursuing some occupation and had little time for (p.81) household chores. The benefit to the family lay in the difference between the cost of employing a young servant and the income earned by a mature woman. Many married women had jobs independent from their husbands: shopkeepers, milliners, graveclothes makers, rouping women (who auctioned secondhand furniture), pawnbrokers, ‘pudding wives’ (who made black pudding from blood and offal), lodging-house keepers, nurses, washers, and schoolteachers. Rachel Byres, a married woman who worked as a laundress, was caught selling monogrammed linen belonging to three gentlewomen, which she had contracted to wash, to a Mrs Ferguson who kept a cellar in Libberton’s Wynd.268 Margaret Seath, the 43-year-old widow of William Melville, metster in Leith, ‘is a midwife to her employment which she has practised for the space of five years’.269 Until she married Randall Courtney in the early 1740s, Janet Sibbet had been a widow who kept a ‘public house for selling ale and spirits and also entertained lodgers at bed and board’.270 It is often assumed, though rarely proven, that marriage created a unique opportunity for women to be socially mobile. Cities too are sometimes seen as important to social mobility, drawing in migrants and creating new opportunities Page 41 of 80

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Unity and Division for the pursuit of wealth and status. This role may have been exaggerated. Occupational continuity between sons and fathers in the Edinburgh Sheriff Court services of heirs was substantial.271 Of eighty-nine Edinburgh males succeeding to a portion of their late father’s heritable estate between 1667 and 1754, occupation or status is given for sixty-one. The remaining twenty-eight may have been too young to have been employed in their own right when served heir. More than 80 per cent of Edinburgh cases came after 1700 and the results are appropriate to the first half of the eighteenth century, albeit they also include some decisions on occupational destinations taken in the late seventeenth century. Classifying these as professionals—surgeons, advocates, (p.82) Writers to the Signet, for example—landed, and commercial—merchants, tailors, cordiners and others—allows simple comparisons of social mobility or stability. Two-thirds of sons fell in the same category as their fathers (twenty-two professionals and nineteen commercials). In 1705, for instance, Thomas Murray, skinner burgess of Edinburgh, was served heir to his father John, also a skinner burgess of the city.272 A further fourteen crossed the professional/commercial divide, ten of them from a commercial background but appearing in the registers as professionals (usually writers). Continuity of status was probably greater than these figures suggest because of the relatively lowly position of ordinary writers (rather than high status Writers to the Signet) compared with some of the other professions. For example, James Reoch, writer in Edinburgh, was served heir to his father William, wright in Edinburgh, in December 1737.273 Evidence of the interchange between commerce and landed gentry posited for England by Harold Perkin and others, or of the ties between landed and professional classes claimed by Stone, is hard to detect among these beneficiaries.274 Just four landowners’ sons became professionals and two entered commerce. James Blair, merchant in Edinburgh, was the son of James of Ardblair.275 Among the section of metropolitan society at risk of being included in services of heirs, social mobility between generations was an unusual event.276 It seems unlikely that Scotland suffered from the disdain for manual employments which apparently afflicted some southern European societies. Until the later seventeenth century, Spain had ‘derogation’ laws which meant that, strictly speaking, a noble or gentleman found working with his hands or engaging (p.83) in trade could be stripped of his title. In practice, these laws cannot have affected most landed élites but the values that had given rise to them remained dominant. For Edinburgh, a printed proposal for improving the city in 1752 celebrated the fact that ‘the middling people have laid aside their foolish pride, and think it no longer a disgrace to breed their children to mechanical employments, and that the spirit of industry reigns amongst all people’.277 What he meant by ‘the middling people’ is unclear since merchants, professionals, and lesser gentry had always apprenticed some of their children to crafts and trades. Formal apprentice indentures summarized in Table 1.3 Page 42 of 80

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Unity and Division show this.278 Apprenticing created an opportunity for mobility—sideways and downwards as well as upwards—but again the evidence suggests that we should not exaggerate social mobility in Edinburgh society. We have further evidence of social continuity and the desire to maintain it among mid-eighteenth-century professionals. The Writers to the Signet tried to close off what may have been an avenue for social mobility among talented but poor or unconnected professionals. In 1753 they specified that all candidates for Clerk to the Signet must have served formally as apprentices and nobody who had ‘acted as an agent or extractor’ before the Court of Session or any other inferior court was allowed to become an apprentice. These regulations confirmed an existing development since lawyers came increasingly from professional, merchant, or landowning backgrounds after the Restoration.279 A young man could no longer work his way up to a high professional post since he had to start from an already advanced position which could only come with money and family ties.280 Conceivably, the writers were trying to keep the best posts for their own offspring or those of their social group. The restrictions may also reinforce Adam Smith’s analysis since by confining career paths to apprenticed men remuneration was likely to be maintained.281 (p.84)

Page 43 of 80

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Unity and Division

Table 1.3. Percentage of laird and titled boys apprenticed to trades (occupations ranked by 1701–1755%) 1583–1666

1666–1700

N

%

1701–1755

N

%

N

%

Goldsmiths

37

32

37

46

105

41

Surgeons

86

54

221

49

283

31

Tailors

182

40

75

28

28

21

Skinners

134

49

76

32

85

20

Wrights & Masons

91

19

199

20

225

20

Baxters

42

41

73

15

114

20

Hammermen

92

32

142

13

178

16

Walkers

74

18

93

31

52

12

Cordiners

81

33

63

8

82

9

Weavers

63

3

37

0

47

9

TOTAL

882

1016

1199

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Unity and Division Table 1.3 indicates the extent of interactions between social élites and incorporated trades. It shows the number of apprentices booked to an incorporation from the late sixteenth to the mid-eighteenth century, the percentage of élite boys indentured, and the ranking of the ten incorporations. It is also important in giving a subtle and fairly precise indication of the relative status of the incorporations. The attractiveness of individual incorporations to landowning and titled fathers who wanted to apprentice a boy to an Edinburgh company is far more useful as an indicator of perceived social status than are simple differences in wealth among members. Apprentice indentures normally indicate the name, status, and residence of the father (living or dead) and the name and ‘mystery’ of the master to whom the boy was bound. Literary evidence suggests that fathers sought (p.85) out occupations for their sons which would allow them to earn a decent living and to maintain a social standing approximately equal to the family from which they had come. The proportion of landed and titled boys apprenticed to an incorporation therefore shows how outsiders, albeit the leaders of Scottish society as a whole, viewed the worth of an occupation. Admittedly, this is only a partial picture. Ideally, we should examine the overlap between the choices of all groups of fathers. Yet, landowners are a valuable benchmark group for our purposes since it is usually assumed that the society ultimately deferred to landed values. Furthermore, it is unlikely that a status addition would not be given to the son of a landowner, in contrast with the under-recording of other occupation and status groups. The official apprentice register is often criticized for under-recording Edinburgh youths and thus distorting the occupational breakdown of indentures but Dingwall’s comparison of the burgh register with the poll tax schedules for 1694 has shown that it is nothing like as defective as might be expected.282 The acceptability of the incorporations to prospective apprentices’ families varied enormously, the range of proportions élite in 1583–1666 differing by a factor of eighteen and in 1701–55 by nearly five. Elite choices were, not surprisingly, dominated by trades which required expensive stocks and long apprenticeships. Goldsmiths and surgeons may have increased their share of the craft stent or tax assessment over time but their position at the head of the social hierarchy of incorporations was already firmly established at the Restoration. Mr Harry Auchinlecks’s son James paid 1,100 merks plus his keep to be apprenticed to William Borthwick in 1674.283 After the Restoration, ‘as luxury increased’, the surgeons began moving away from the barbers who were formally part of their incorporation. In 1695 they merged with the apothecaries, excluding barbers from the privileges of the incorporation. It was not until 1722, three years after they had begun a Court of Session case, that the barbers were allowed their own boxmaster, officers, and meetings.284 The (p.86) hammermen may have been the wealthiest of the incorporations in the years 1649–1747 but they never rose above sixth place in terms of social status. Not Page 45 of 80

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Unity and Division all the city’s occupations are mentioned in the table. A handful of bonnetmakers are included with walkers while very few young men joined the fleshers. If merchants are ranked in the same way they head the list in 1583–1666 and 1666–1700 with 54 per cent and 52 per cent élite recruitment respectively and come second to goldsmiths in the first half of the eighteenth century (37 per cent). Absolute percentages changed over time with a steady decline in the proportion of fathers who had a title or who described themselves as ‘of rather than ‘in’ their place of residence: 34 per cent of all apprentices of known status in this sample 1583–1666 compared with 27 per cent 1666–1700 and 24 per cent 1701– 55. The proportion fell by a third but the fact that the number of élite boys declined by just 12 per cent between the early seventeenth and early eighteenth century shows that the attraction of an Edinburgh apprenticeship to families of this social class had been only slightly diminished. Alternative careers, notably in the growing legal profession, may explain the declining numbers but greater interest on the part of the expanding urban middling classes was behind the falling proportion. If absolute percentages altered, the relative standing of most of the trades changed little over the century and a half. This is especially true when comparing the late seventeenth century and the early eighteenth century. The ranking shows more stability between these two periods than it had between 1583–1666 and 1666–1700. Spearman’s rank order correlation coefficient between the first and second periods is less than 0.5 compared with 0.8 for the second and third. In other words, there was less change in the perceived status of incorporations during the period of this study than there had been between the early and late seventeenth century. Goldsmiths made the most pronounced upward move between the early and late seventeenth century, cordiners took the steepest step down. Wrights and masons drew a remarkably consistent proportion of their recruits from the upper reaches of society but saw a steady rise in their ranking as percentages for the other leaders shrank. The position of walkers fluctuated, though the late seventeenth-century percentage looks abberant. The weavers consistently (p.87) took the wooden spoon. For some companies, the decline in recruitment from the landed class was made up by a rise in the proportion of youths from professional backgrounds. Between 1666 and 1700 34 per cent of boys apprenticed to merchants were from landowning families and 9 per cent from professional; for 1701–30 the figures are 30 per cent and 15 per cent respectively. The safest conclusion to draw is that apprenticing as an institution preserved the broad outlines of wealth and status differences rather than fudging them.285

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Unity and Division Servants, Apprentices, and Journeymen Apprentices are conventionally seen as a dependent group in burgh society. In political theory and social practice there were other groups who owe their standing in historical documents—if not in their lives—to an association with a householder, usually an adult male. Disparate in origins, training, and status, these groups were united primarily by being employees.286 Servants and apprentices fell into a relatively narrow age band from the early teens to the mid-twenties. Most households in early modern Edinburgh possessed one or both type of young man or woman.287 Journeymen were older but are conventionally seen as those passing from dependence as apprentices to independence during their late twenties and early thirties. In fact, the dividing line between the three groups is much fuzzier than is usually assumed. At the same time, the status of journeymen was changing in important ways during the eighteenth century. The fortunes of these dependent groups as well as attitudes towards them and among them provide important (p.88) insights into changing social values and experiences. What we shall see is that Mumford’s medieval urban family—‘a very open unit’ including industrial and domestic servants—was becoming more closed and ‘modern’ during the eighteenth century.288 Servants were a quarter of taxable inhabitants in the heart of the city in 1694. They performed a wide range of tasks from menial household chores to managing shops. Their status too could vary from being despised and exploited to being part of the family. Isabel Fairful, who had worked intermittently for David Pringle, surgeon apothecary, and his wife Marion Maxwell since 1688, was described in a court case of 1694 as ‘an old, confident servant’, privy to domestic secrets denied to younger and less well-established employees. One such was Marion Wadie, a 19-year-old who spent six months in the household from Martinmas 1692 to Whitsunday 1693 and who was constantly being asked by outsiders how she could remain unaware of her mistress’s adultery.289 Yet, the image of servants living as one of the family was never the whole story in Edinburgh. Servants might still sleep in box beds in the kitchen but they might also be found increasingly in separate quarters or even a different building.290 The eighteenth century saw important changes in attitudes to dependents and among employees. Emotional as well as physical distancing occurred. In February 1759 the managers of the Royal Infirmary appealed for funds for their servants’ ward, stating that: by the particular situation of many families in this city the masters are necessarily obliged to remove their servants when taken ill of fevers or other acute and dangerous distempers to distant lodgings and in consequence of this it often happens that some of them are altogether neglected or committed to the uncertain care of hired nurses they have (p.

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Unity and Division 89) neither proper advice, medicine or diet and hereby many useful lives have been lost.291 Employers’ sense of responsibility to their servants could not be relied upon. Andrew Orr ‘had been serving for some time past in Colinton parish with Andrew Forrest, senior, walker to business and having taken ill of a fever or ague the said Andrew Forrest had brought him on horseback to the public street of Edinburgh and there left him and that he had been brought into this [St Cuthbert’s charity work] house having no other place of residence’.292 Employees recognized the danger. A unique printed ‘petition of the women servants within the city’ c.1700 sought permission to establish a relief fund because We daily see when any of us are rendered incapable to serve either through old age, sickness, infirmity or other accidents, we are presently exposed in an ignominious manner to seek our bread from the charity of others. Which we conceive as it is a melancholy prospect of our future fortune and cannot but be very discouraging and, in often reflecting thereupon, renders us more useless in our service. A mutual fund ‘will prevent the inhuman ejecting of us from families where we serve, in our sickness etc, by which many have been unchristianly exposed to bad houses and company in great want and misery’.293 Targeted at employers, this petition offers sidelights on their prejudices. The petition compared women servants favourably with others who had poor relief schemes of their own, in particular, various journeymen, carters, porters, and ‘link boys’: ‘we judge our condition generally much better than many of these, especially considering the question of our number’.294 The date of the women’s petition is important here because employees like household servants whose fees included diet had fared substantially better than the money-waged during the serious famines of the late 1690s. Yet the number of female servants in the city is undeniable and their purchasing power must have (p.90) been considerable, even allowing for their small cash wages. Other employer prejudices were pandered to. Paying money into a relief fund would ‘restrain our pride and vain apparel’ or propensity to spend money on clothes. Reduced poverty would increase piety and make servants more cheerful and less prone to steal as a way of creating their own personal ‘pension fund’.295 Preconceptions are more starkly displayed in the council’s summary of this petition, which is worth quoting at length.296 It is equitable that every station should contribute somewhat more than others to the poor of their own rank for this is not only a charity to which they are specially obliged but likewise the public stock for maintaining the poor is thereby so far exonerated. The servants of Edinburgh during the Page 48 of 80

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Unity and Division long dearth and the many burdens lying on householders have lived without little or no difficulty of that nature. They have had sufficiency of bread, have not felt the public burdens, nor do they contribute to the poor as others, by occasion whereof a great many of them exceed their station in pride and vain apparel and much of the wantonness, profanity and immorality of the place proceeds from too many of them who in plenty do not provide for their straits, and as every one of them may well spare a small part of their fees which is more than to lop off so much of their superfluities, so it belongs to the care of the public by raising a fund for themselves to provide for such of them as may even innocently become destitute which in consequence will not only ease the town of a great many of them who are continually a burden thereto but also may ease particular families of sick servants. Given their preconceptions, it is not surprising that employers went to some lengths to secure the right kind of servants. In a letter from Perthshire at Whitsunday 1686, Thomas Gordon and Helen Riddell asked Alexander Anderson, merchant and late bailie of Edinburgh, to send them a good woman servant.297 An employment agency or ‘office of intelligence’ was operated for employers from the end of the seventeenth century.298 Whatever the differences in job description and status, being a servant proper was generally a lowly position which most men and women took on only in the period between puberty and (p.91) marriage. They changed employer rather often. Being an apprentice could be more of a career path than a way of marking time or saving money to marry and become independent. Formal apprenticeships lasted between three and seven years and involved a transfer of financial and labour resources from the apprentice’s family to the master. Formal apprenticeship was declining from the end of the seventeenth century. During the eighteenth century, it is unclear if the term ‘apprentice’ was simply used to describe an indentured servant or if it implied the range of obligations and training specified for young men bound to Edinburgh freemen. This vagueness of definition is important as it marks the growing homogeneity of hired labour as a component of urban society. Conventionally, apprentices who had completed their term passed through a stage as journeymen before becoming masters in their own right. However, for some trades the phases seem to have been interchangeable. Thomas Aikman was booked as a journeyman to John Seatoun, goldsmith, on 21 August 1700, then as his apprentice on 1 June 1701.299 James Brown became Robert Brace’s journeyman on 14 November 1702 and his apprentice the following day.300 Conceivably, this shows a trial period before indenture. Apprentices may have been expected to show aptitude for their chosen career though among the

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Unity and Division goldsmiths, at least, not all journeymen subsequently became apprentices and not all apprentices had previously been journeymen. The same fluidity occurred in other trades. A scandal which blew up among the wrights and masons in 1694 involved booking as an apprentice an ‘expert journeyman come to years…a mere pretence for obtaining of freedom’. That the town council became involved implies that the abuse was more widespread than a single case.301 The outward appearance of the apprenticeship system was preserved into the late seventeenth century and beyond but its workings and intention seem to have been considerably altered.302 By the second quarter of the eighteenth century there is impressionistic evidence that it was becoming more common to (p.92) change masters while an apprentice, notably among cordiners and hammermen, suggesting that the status was closer to that of a journeyman. The hammermen’s incorporation took a relaxed view of this in 1741. Some master hammermen were binding journeymen as apprentices, thereby opening up the path to become freemen. They formally abolished the restriction on the number of apprentices a master could have in 1764.303 Canongate tailors used a mix of hired or indentured labour. In 1737 there were fourteen masters, six of whom had one ‘servant’, six employed two, and two had three men under them. For 1749 the type of employee is given: nine masters had a ‘servant’ each broken down into five ‘feed [paid] servants’, two apprentices, and two unspecified workers.304 Only innkeepers and some large-scale industrial enterprises employed more than a handful of servants before the mid-eighteenth century.305 Temporary contracts were by no means unusual by this date. In early April 1766, widow Hume asked for a boy from St Cuthbert’s charity workhouse ‘to draw cords in the weaving business till Lammas next’. The managers agreed ‘in hope of finding a master for him at that time to whom he may be bound as an apprentice’. The lad was bound to Alexander Wright, weaver in Water of Leith, on 5 May of that year.306 Apprentices can be seen as representatives less of the lower orders than as a young section of the middling ranks who might ultimately become masters and incorporation, or even town, officials in their own right.307 Edinburgh had 732 polled apprentices (p.93) in 1694. For the seventeenth century only 25 per cent of youths apprenticed eventually entered as burgesses.308 Between 1650 and 1699 it took roughly a decade for a man to pass from his indentures to admission as a burgess in Edinburgh. An apprentice who did not become a master and burgess might have died, returned to work in his place of origin, moved elsewhere, or stayed on in Edinburgh to work as a journeyman. A proportion had always followed the last course but by the eighteenth century these formed a substantial and clearly defined group within society. The presence of married journeymen in the poll tax for certain city parishes in 1694 and of journeymen in their thirties and forties among later seventeenth-century Justiciary Court deponents shows that not everyone could benefit from social mobility.309 Some Page 50 of 80

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Unity and Division sixty one skinners and furriers subscribed bonds to keep the peace in 1686 along with seventy-two of their journeymen. Perhaps most employees in this trade could still aspire to become masters in due course. However, there were at least 143 journeymen tailors at this date compared with seventy-nine masters and it is difficult to believe that more than a fraction of the former could ultimately become masters in the city.310 There is no inherent reason why master craftsmen should have responded to growing demand for labour by hiring partly skilled outsiders but this is what happened and the results were profound. Journeymen are traditionally presented as part of a continuum between apprentice and master. At certain periods and among some trades this is certainly true. James Plummer, who described himself as a 24-year-old journeyman flesher in his Justiciary Court deposition of 1755, had worked for Nicol Brown for a year some six years previously. He left his service then returned to it on a (renewable) yearly contract some twenty months before giving evidence.311 Journeymen tailors were paid at the end of each day from at least 1704 and the existence of men hired not even by the day but by the piece is documented (p.94) in a dispute between an employer and his ‘servant’ in Calton.312 There had long been a tradition of journeymen gaining experience with more than one employer but by the mid-eighteenth century the impression is that many journeymen were little better than hired labour and were likely never to attain the status of master. This is particularly clear among Edinburgh cordiners. George Johnston had been journeyman to deacon Thomas Dick for eight years and to deacon Patrick Orme for two before being admitted as a cobbler ‘for said servitude’ in May 1738.313 Cobblers were only allowed to repair or remodel old shoes rather than to cut new leather. Journeymen were on occasions able to bargain from a position of strength. Edinburgh’s cordiners complained in May 1665 about ‘the many prejudices that they did daily receive from such of their prentices as are past their prenticeship who do upbraid their masters and stir up the rest of the neighbours’ journeymen to strife and ill attendance of their masters and not only so but make new laws at their own hand and that they will not work unless their masters give them what they please to demand for their work’. In response, the masters set a maximum piece rate. Apprentices were also to work only inside Edinburgh and were banned from working within twelve miles of the city after their indentures had been lodged. The masters tried further to tighten the screw by obliging each journeyman or apprentice to ‘make forty pairs of sufficient work at the rate foresaid after they intimate to their masters that they are to remove from their service’.314 The dispute may have been a response to growing rural production though it may also have been the result of the weakness of the magistrates at this date and their inability to police burgh regulations effectively. These were certainly troubled times for in 1670 Thomas King was banned from working as a mason for a year after ‘making mutiny amongst his fellow journeymen’.315 Page 51 of 80

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Unity and Division The ‘bounty’ products given to journeymen could also give them a sense of independence. These constituted part of their wages and were meant to be worn or consumed by the journeyman himself. However, a regulation passed by Edinburgh’s (p.95) cordiners in 1696 suggests that it was more common to sell bounty goods, at least during this period of bad harvests. Journeymen were only supposed to receive plain shoes rather than fancy, and their masters had the option of giving them 2/6 in cash instead.316 Journeymen might also take the law into their own hands if they felt their perceived rights threatened. In October 1664 the council discovered that workers were stealing materials from certain city building projects because their employers were late in paying their wages.317 It is unclear whether this was normally countenanced or whether the employees were merely trying to lend respectability to an illegal act. Yet, coupled with regulations to prevent moonlighting, this marks one stage in the development of a completely ‘free’ labour-force reliant solely on money wages for its keep.318 The same can be said of another apparent ‘victory’ for journeymen tailors in winning a reduction in working hours from 5 a.m.–9 p.m. in the 1690s to 6 a.m.–8 p.m. by 1734. The effect was to increase relative labour surplus: masters were getting the same or more productivity from their men in a shorter space of time. The commutation of the morning drink for an extra 1d. a day on journeymen tailors’ wages in the 1730s can also be seen as a step towards a ‘free’ labour-force.319 As their dependent position became more fixed and their numbers grew, journeymen began to act in their common interests. Joint action among employees was becoming more frequent from the second quarter of the eighteenth century. (p.96) Edinburgh’s locksmiths complained in August 1750 that some of their journeymen were threatening to strike unless their working day was reduced by an hour at each end.320 When a Canongate linen manufacturer called William Cheap had a journeyman locked up for a month by the burgh magistrates in 1761, his other journeymen combined against him.321 In March 1764 journeymen masons disinterred the body of a young man found drowned in Duddingston Loch, since he had been wearing a blue coat and mason’s apron, and had the corpse reburied at their expense in Duddingston churchyard.322 Solidarity was strong at this period which saw a slump in demand for building workers: a strike for higher wages followed in the spring and summer of that year.323 Masters were not powerless. The first sanction available to employers was not to hire men who had struck. This was simply an extension of the traditional power they had had over their employees. From the 1720s masters were again using the authority of the town council and the sanction of the criminal law to discipline refractory journeymen. Following a strike in 1727 thirty tailors were arrested and ordered to be whipped through the streets.324 In June 1727 more than 200 journeymen tailors had assembled ‘in a most tumultuous mob’ following the death of George I: perhaps half of all those in the city.325 Some of Page 52 of 80

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Unity and Division the ‘managers’ of the journeymen’s poor box had asked the council to authorize them as ‘the society of the charitable concert’. However, the body of journeymen claimed ‘themselves sufficiently authorized as a society and would have nothing to do with the town council of Edinburgh or their authority’. This sort of blatant defiance was unlikely to produce a favourable reaction. That much was realized by four of what the deacon of the incorporation described as the ‘most discreet’ journeymen. Recognizing the power of the council to prosecute them for riot, these four humbly petitioned the magistrates ‘that the meetings (p.97) of the said charitable concert [all the journeymen] were nothing but an unruly mob.326 It was to no avail since the journeymen’s funds were seized and writs issued for the arrest of three. One, McDuff, raised a suit at the Court of Session and won custody of the box, beating both the town council and the deacon of his incorporation against whom costs were awarded.327 On more than one occasion the town council gave not only moral but also financial support to masters in dispute with their employees. The council paid the court expenses of William Clerk, deacon of the tailors, who had come out the loser in a Court of Session case involving journeymen tailors in 1727–8. The city fathers did this because they deemed it ‘a matter of interest to the burgh’ and a slight on the council’s authority.328 Again, in June 1734, the council ‘appointed Mr Erskine, his majesty’s solicitor, to be consulted at the town’s expense to defend the cause of the masters against the journeymen tailors’.329 A law of 1749 entitled masters to ask for journeymen weavers who had left their employment prematurely to be put in the House of Correction.330 When Canongate’s journeymen tailors petitioned the magistrates in 1758 for a breakfast hour during their morning’s work the masters joined forces with the Edinburgh incorporation to resist their ‘unjust demands’ and to curb ‘the present mutiny and rebellion of the unreasonable journeymen’.331 Relations between masters and men were not wholly onesided. When a Calton cordiner’s servant asked to leave his master because of lack of work and tardy payment (he was being paid by the piece), the other masters refused him permission, saying he was feed for six months and was not a pure pieceworker as he claimed. However, they also ordered his employer (p.98) to keep him fully employed and to pay his arrears.332 At a disadvantage before the highly discretionary criminal law, employees were by no means powerless before the civil law. Indeed, the Court of Session could be a useful ally in securing the contract rights of hired labour. Journeymen wrights and masons started a case at the Court of Session in 1714 to recover funds seized by their masters and to secure the release of two of their number incarcerated for ‘insolence’ by the deacon. They succeeded.333 Journeymen could cement association by having a common poor box separate from that of their masters. Edinburgh’s journeymen cordiners made one of a number of unsuccessful petitions for their own box in December 1700.334 Page 53 of 80

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Unity and Division Masters were generally hostile to such petitions in the late seventeenth century. Perhaps they felt a sense of responsibility towards their dependents and believed that the solidarity of the trade was important. Yet the vigour with which they opposed break-away poor relief schemes smacks more of self-interest. Young men making contributions early in their working lives may have been a valuable source of funds for the older men and their dependants, most of whom were masters. Holding the purse strings meant that subordinates who did need help were beholden to their masters for doles. They also controlled access to ‘private enterprise’ by refusing time off to skilled employees to make items for sale.335 The master tailors commented in 1727 that their journeymen had substantial funds ‘out of which refractory persons might be maintained, till their masters should be compelled to yield to their demands, however extravagant they might be’.336 Beginning in the 1700s, attitudes began to change in some incorporations. Brewers’ employees had their own ‘society’ from 1717.337 By the 1730s and 1740s attitudes had changed completely. In 1737 the journeymen cordiners achieved their goal of a separate box, albeit with two masters continuing to supervise running of the relief scheme.338 The apprentice and journeymen tanners and curriers had their own box from 1741. Both masters (p.99) and employees joined in a petition to the town council to establish the separate scheme and even those masters who had not subscribed this document were found, when approached by the council, to be in favour. This box catered both for time-served apprentices, who were charged 4/- sterling to join, and ‘such as have not served apprenticeships in manner foresaid’, for whom the entry fee was 7/-.339 Journeymen goldsmiths had a formally constituted ‘society’ from at least 1747 and their brother printers were formally constituted in 1759 though they had been operating a scheme of sorts since 1745–6 and had had a box since 1750.340 Not all journeymen were able to follow this path. A group of forty-four journeymen masons were granted the right to their own box and to be represented at the scrutinizing of the warden’s accounts in 1708 but the latter concession was withdrawn in 1712 and the books of the association removed by the masters. It was not until 1715 that the journeymen were formally allowed to set up their own scheme.341 The general committee of the Edinburgh hammermen minuted in 1744 that they thought it ‘noways proper’ for their journeymen to have a separate box which ‘might occasion journeymen to pretend many meetings for their public affairs and turn their joining together to caballing and concerts that the public and their masters might soon feel the bad consequences of’.342 The change in attitudes may be attributable to several factors. First, being a journeyman was increasingly a status for life rather than a preparatory interlude while a man was in his twenties and thirties. Masters began to feel socially distanced from their employees and may have assumed that those who did eventually become masters would come from backgrounds where they would be Page 54 of 80

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Unity and Division able to look after themselves. In the early eighteenth century, the masons reaffirmed that journeymen had to work alongside their masters, meaning that an employer could only work on one job at a time.343 Half a century later there was nothing unusual about journeymen working in a separate place. They were also much less likely to live with a master. By the mid-eighteenth century Canongate master cordiners (p.100) had apprentices and journeymen working in other houses than their own to relieve pressure on space. Contact with the master was probably only occasional as the apprentices were instructed by the journeymen.344 Instead of being net contributors to an incorporation’s poor relief funds, as journeymen became both more numerous and older they would be just as likely to call on resources as their employers. Masters retained a degree of supervision over subordinates by having representatives to oversee collection and distribution of journeymen’s funds. This was enough control in a relationship which was primarily dominated by money wages rather than by the values of association which had once bonded master to man. Not that these links had entirely disappeared. In their request to have their poor relief scheme ratified, the society of journeymen printers boasted that some of the masters had such a high opinion of it that they had not only supervised it but had also joined themselves.345 For the journeymen, the reasons are clearer. Their own box gave them a measure of independence and, after 1743, at least some control over the spectre of the workhouse (Chapter 4). The journeymen printers’ association came into being after some, ‘being reduced to a state of indigency through business being at that time [prior to 1745] quite at a standstill]…whose circumstances enabled them to do, did cheerfully contribute towards their support, as well out of regard to them as that they might not become a burden upon the charity workhouse’.346 Members of the journeymen printers’ relief scheme were called ‘co-partners’.347 The strong desire for a separate identity among some employees is shown in a 1747 petition by thirty-nine chair-bearers. They asked either to have their own box, or to have a say in the management of the box administered by the chairmasters or to be split off entirely from the latter’s society.348 By the mideighteenth century journeymen in most trades had lost any sense of solidarity with the values and traditions of their incorporations (p.101) and saw themselves as dependent wage labourers. This new form of belonging by being different had profound implications for the future.

Conclusion Historians searching for the origins of nineteenth-century class society have tended to focus on divisions within Scotland’s towns.349 The striking point about Edinburgh in the century before 1760 is that despite the tensions which existed, the strands which bound together the fragmented parts of urban society remained strong. ‘Communities’ were created by shared residence, occupation, Page 55 of 80

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Unity and Division membership of associations, and perhaps even gender. Across Edinburgh society as a whole, the values which made a worthy individual and neighbour remained much the same. Personal qualities announced on tombstones fixed desirable norms: a sort of advertisement for civic values. While not ubiquitous, oaths bound together men with different interests. Contracts fixed rights and responsibilities among those whose competing desires less tangible bonds could not reconcile. At one level, Edinburgh can be called a single community comprising those who lived within the city’s boundaries. For most of its inhabitants there were in reality many different communities. Historians generally view urban society through the institutions which created documentation but that does not mean that the parish or the guild were the only focuses of identity. An individual might have multiple loyalties to family, parish, guild, neighbourhood, city, or even national ‘party’. Hohenberg and Lees conclude of early modern European towns: ‘For the most part, the loyalties of neighbourhood, family, occupation, and clientage overrode the common interests created by economic status.’.350 By the mid-eighteenth century the formal distinctions based on legal status or membership of associations were being replaced by the less formal but long established and equally powerful ones of lifestyle, wealth, status, appearance, and even belief (discussed more fully in Chapter 3). Participation in (p.102) ceremony could be a sign of belonging; of being different; of being in authority; of dependence. Between c.1660 and c.1710 organized events developed a more explicit social and ideological purpose. Civic ceremonies in particular became expressions of the political dominance of the city’s ruling clique and of loyalty to the prevailing regime rather than a way of articulating the ideological or recreational priorities of the majority of citizens. Participation by the latter continued but it was as spectators rather than initiators or shapers of events. Changes in relations between employers and employees point the same way. As avenues for advancement closed up, the gulf between masters and men became more apparent. Servants and journeymen were coming to act separately from (and sometimes against) their masters. Strikes, separate masonic lodges, and poor relief schemes point to the creation or hardening of divisions between masters and men in certain trades. The only remaining link was the nexus of wages. In this sense ‘the common interests created by economic status’ were becoming more apparent. However, it is unlikely that journeymen saw themselves as a ‘class’ rather than as workers in a particular trade such as tailoring.351 Changes in eighteenth-century relationships were of degree rather than kind. Even in the 1660s and 1670s there had been antagonisms between journeymen and masters. Furthermore, the growing divide between masters and men was only one part of a changing mosaic of social alignments. The strength of burgess status as a symbol of identity was weakened in 1759 when the liberties of the city were extended. The heritors of the shire minuted an offer to Page 56 of 80

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Unity and Division allow anyone who lived within the new city limits to become a burgess by paying £1 sterling, though this did not make the man a burgess of the city proper because that carried more extensive trading and other privileges.352 Traditional distinctions—between freemen and unfreemen, for example—became less important in the eighteenth century but new ways of distinguishing individuals and families took (p.103) their place. The decline of the incorporations and the loosening of constraints on the location and organization of production which we shall discuss in Chapter 6 also had important social implications. Artisans were no longer protected against certain types of competition originating both outside and within their ranks. Their lives had become more atomized, more subject to the dictates of impersonal market forces. To these obvious, measurable differences were added those of changing attitude shown, for example, in the distancing of masters and mistresses from servants. Hesitant, irregular, and incomplete as they were, these developments had profound implications for urban society. Because they acted in different spheres, masters and men began to feel that they had separate interests and identities. As recreations and leisure were becoming marks of social distinction (Chapter 3) and as the poor were being more closely delineated (Chapter 4) so too was status and wealth becoming more important in everyday life. A sense of belonging to the ‘community of the burgh’ was confined to the mercantile and professional élites, and was predicated on a shared lifestyle based primarily on wealth and birth (Chapter 3). These are the groups who would become the mature ‘middle class’ of late eighteenth-century Edinburgh. Political participation in minor civil and ecclesiastical offices such as elders of the kirk session became increasingly restricted and this may have reduced the active sense of belonging which had characterized the seventeenth-century city (Chapter 3). The bulk of Edinburgh’s population still ‘belonged’ but to a local neighbourhood or an occupational grouping. Ecclesiastical and jurisdictional divisions; residence in particular closes and streets; occupational associations and religious affiliations: all created a mosaic of loyalties and identities far removed from the fifteenth-century idea of the single community of the burgh. By the start of George Ill’s reign many new ways of being different had emerged. With them came an acceptance, a pursuit, even a celebration, of difference, be it cultural, religious, material, or political. By 1760 there were new focuses of belonging but there were also many more ways of being different. Notes:

(1) ‘Birth and fortune are…the two great sources of personal distinction, and are therefore the principal causes which naturally establish authority and subor dination among men’ A. Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, ed. R. H. Campbell and A. S. Skinner, with W. B. Todd (2 vols., Oxford, 1976), 714. Additionally, Smith felt that age conferred authority as did Page 57 of 80

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Unity and Division less tangible or ‘invisible’ qualities such as ‘the superiority of personal qualifications, of strength, beauty, and agility of body; of wisdom, and virtue, of prudence, justice, fortitude, and moderation of mind’. Ibid. 711. Phillipson, ‘Scottish Enlightenment’, 30–1. Beier and Finlay, ‘Introduction’, Making of the Metropolis, 20–1 on belonging in London. P. Langford, A Polite and Commercial People: England, 1727–1783 (Oxford, 1989), 61–8, discusses what it meant to be middle class in eighteenth-century England. (2) J. Dwyer, ‘Introduction—A “Peculiar blessing”: Social Converse in Scotland from Hutcheson to Burns’, in J. Dwyer and R. B. Sher (eds.), Sociability and Society in Eighteenth-Century Scotland (Edinburgh, 1993), 10. (3) S. Nenadic, ‘The Rise of the Urban Middle Classes’, in T. M. Devine and R. Mitchison (eds.), People and Society in Scotland, i: 1760–1830 (Edinburgh, 1988), 114. Gilhooley, Directory, p. vii. (4) Youngson, Classical Edinburgh, 236, 256. This notion has a long lineage. D. Butler, The Tron Kirk of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1906), 65, writes: The crowding of all classes together within such a limited area sustained simplicity, neigh bourliness, and kindly feeling, not fostered by present conditions’. (5) P. Langford, Public Life and the Propertied Englishman, 1689–1789 (Oxford, 1991), ch. 1, discusses ‘the propertied mind’ in England. (6) R. A. Houston, ‘Mortality in Early Modern Scotland: The Life Expectancy of Advocates’, Continuity and Change, 7/1 (1992), 47–69; R. A. Houston, ‘Adult Mortality among Scottish Writers to the Signet from the Sixteenth to the Nineteenth Century’ (forthcoming). (7) N. T. Phillipson, ‘Adam Smith as Civic Moralisf’, in I. Hont and M. Ignatieff (eds.), Wealth & Virtue: The Shaping of Political Economy in the Scottish Enlightenment (Cambridge, 1983), 191. Smith’s remark relates to material interests. For example, Whyte, ‘Occupational Structure’ (8) Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 41. (9) M. Wood (ed.), Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, 1665–80 (Edinburgh, 1950), 301. Sounding dangerously like a French sociologist, Jonathan Clark remarks that: The language of “character”, like the language of “class”, does not involve an objective description; rather, such language functions as the propaganda of certain sectional interests/ J. C. D. Clark, English Society, 1688–1832: Ideology, Social Structure and Political Practice during the Ancien Regime (Cambridge, 1985), 64. (10) R. Monteith, Theater of Mortality (2 vols., Edinburgh, 1704, 1713). Monteith’s Theater was of such importance to the town council that it ordered a revised reprint at the city’s expense. J. A. Di Folco, ‘Some Aspects of Funerary Page 58 of 80

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Unity and Division Monuments in Lowland Scotland’, in G. W. S. Barrow (ed.), The Scottish Tradition (Edinburgh, 1974), 147. (11) Phillipson, ‘Adam Smith as Civic Moralist’, 186 and passim, notes ‘the desire to be praiseworthy’ as a central aspect of Enlightenment thought. Ignatieff sees this strain as ‘a concern to maintain their reputations for probity’ M. Ignatieff, ‘John Millar and Individualism’, in Hont and Ignatieff (eds.), Wealth & Virtue, 339. Such a desire obviously existed in the 1700s. (12) Douglas had been a bailie in 1679 and 1683, at the height of the political infighting which ended in the revising of the city’s constitution or ‘set’ in 1683. (13) L. Stone, Road to Divorce: England, 1530–1987 (Oxford, 1990). (14) SRO CC8/6/2–24. (15) SRO JC7/18:2 Nov. 1731. (16) SRO CH2/122/12b: ff. 156v, 159r. (17) SRO RH15/14/126. (18) SRO RH15/73/5. (19) SRO CH2/125/1:8. (20) E. S. Towill, ‘The Minutes of the Merchant Maiden Hospital’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 29 (1956), 32. A. Gairdner, An Historical Account of the Old People’s Hospital Commonly Called the Trinity Hospital in Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1728), 23,25. (21) SRO CH2/136/2, 40. (22) SRO CC8/6/2. (23) H. Armet (ed.), Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, 1689– 1701 (Edinburgh, 1962), 6–7. Aberdeen Independents in the 1650s, Quakers in the 1660s, and episcopalians in the 1690s were prepared to present their children for baptism in the established church. Desbrisay, ‘Authority and Discipline’, 105. (24) An irregular marriage was one not celebrated according to the require ments of the established church. (25) SRO CH2/122/10, fo. 2r. (26) GRO OPR 665/1. (27) GRO OPR 699/4. Page 59 of 80

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Unity and Division (28) GRO OPR 687/2. (29) Monteith, Theater, 10–11, 42. (30) GRO OPR 675/2. (31) NLS 1.152[5], 16. (32) SRO JP35/4/3. (33) T. M. Devine, ‘The Scottish Merchant Community, 1680–1740’, in R. H. Campbell and A. S. Skinner (eds.), The Origins and Nature of the Scottish Enlightenment (Edinburgh, 1982), 26–41. T. M. Devine, ‘The Social Composition of the Business Class in the Larger Scottish Towns, 1680–1740’, in T. M. Devine and D. Dickson (eds.), Ireland and Scotland, 1600–1850: Parallels and Contrasts in Economic and Social Development (Edinburgh, 1983), 163–76. M. H. B. Sanderson, ‘The Edinburgh Merchants in Society, 1570–1603: The Evidence of their Testaments’, in I. B. Cowan and D. Shaw (eds.), The Renaissance and Reformation in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1983), 183–99. (34) R. A. Houston and I. D. Whyte, ‘Introduction’, in R. A. Houston and I. D. Whyte (eds.), Scottish Society, 1500–1800 (Cambridge, 1989), 21. (35) K. Wrightson and D. Levine, Poverty and Piety in an English Village: Terling, 1525–1700 (London, 1979). E. Todd, ‘Seven Peasant Communities in Preindustrial Europe’, Ph.D. thesis (Cambridge, 1976). (36) SRO RH15/14/42/1–26. (37) SRO RH15/14/33. (38) SRO GD1/12/64, 18 Dec. 1751. (39) Armet, Extracts…1689–1701, 205. (40) NLS 1.14a[42][43][44]. (41) V. Brodsky, ‘Widows in late Elizabethan London: Remarriage, Economic Opportunity and Family Orientations’, in L. Bonfield, R. M. Smith, and K. Wrightson (eds.), The World We Have Gained: Histories of Population and Social Structure (Oxford, 1986), 140. (42) It is interesting that lohn Millar was content to follow Francis Hutcheson in depicting relations between master and servant as a household rather than a market issue. Ignatieff, ‘John Millar’, 318. (43) H.-C. Rublack, ‘Political and Social Norms in Urban Communities in the Holy Roman Empire’, in K. von Greyerz (ed.), Religion, Politics and Social Protest: Page 60 of 80

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Unity and Division Three Studies on Early Modern Germany (London, 1984), 24–60. Weber argued that oaths were not value-neutral and could be used to seize or maintain power. M. Weber, The City (London, 1960), 107–8. (44) Clark, English Society, 191–2; Black, Guilds; Rublack, ‘Political and Social Norms’ (45) ECA Moses bundles 272/8494–8553; 273/8554–8657; 274/8658–8668. (46) ECA Moses bundles 96/4121; 75/3325. (47) C. G. Brown, The Social History of Religion in Scotland Since 1730 (London, 1987), 35. (48) J. Boulton, Neighbourhood and Society: A London Suburb in the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, 1987), 102. E. L. Ewan, The Community of the Burgh in the Fourteenth Century, in M. Lynch, M. Spearman, and G. Stell (eds.), The Scottish Medieval Town (Edinburgh, 1988), 236. (49) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 198. (50) A third of burgesses were guild members in fifteenth-century Dunfermline. E. P. D. Torrie, ‘The Guild in Fifteenth-Century Dunfermline’, in Lynch, Spearman, and Stell, The Scottish Medieval Town, 247. (51) Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 382, 387. W. Makey, ‘Edinburgh in the Mid-seventeenth Century’, in M. Lynch (ed.), The Early Modern Town in Scotland (London, 1987), 192–218. MacMillan, ‘Edinburgh Burgess Community’, 30,37. (52) Gilhooley, Directory, p. viii. (53) Wood, Extracts 1655–80, 271. (54) Ibid. 295. (55) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 367. (56) Ecclesiastical polity was rather more ‘democratic’ C. G. Brown, ‘Protest in the Pews: Interpreting Presbyterianism and Society in Fracture during the Scottish Economic Revolution’, in T. M. Devine (ed.), Conflict and Stability in Scottish Society, 1700–1850 (Edinburgh, 1990), 83–105. I shall discuss clerical patronage in the city in a separate article. (57) Boulton, Neighbourhood, 263,268. Desbrisay, ‘Authority and Discipline’. (58) ECA MB 22, fo.85.

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Unity and Division (59) H. Armet (ed.), Extracts from the Burgh Records of Edinburgh, 1701–18 (Edinburgh, 1967), 328. ECA MB 52, 58. (60) NLS MS 17602, fos. 69–70. In Aberdeen, 1657–1700, 466 separate individuals served as constable, these drawn from the top third of society. G. Desbrisay, ‘“Menacing their persons and exacting on their purses”: The Aberdeen Justice Court, 1657–1700’, in D. Stevenson (ed.), From Lairds to Louns: Country and Burgh Life in Aberdeen, 1600–1800 (Aberdeen, 1986), 76–7. (61) Ferguson, ‘Comparative Study’, 196. (62) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 309. (63) SRO CC8/6/10. The sheriff received royal revenues from collectors and paid them into the Exchequer; summoned juries to the High Court of Justiciary; returned the city’s MP(s); had civil jurisdiction over most cases except heritable property and over some criminal cases. Stark, Picture, 150–1. (64) J. MacKay, History of the Burgh of the Canongate (Edinburgh, 1879), 44–5. (65) SRO SC39/36/1–4. Watch and ward is discussed below. (66) ECA Edinburgh Baxters, fo. 281. (67) SRO JP35/4/3. (68) ECA Weavers of the Canongate, 251–2. (69) T. Scott, Freiburg and the Breisgau: Town Country Relations in the Age of Reformation and Peasants’ War (Oxford, 1986), 67. Lynch, Edinburgh, 29. This was the closest Edinburgh came to the active religious confraternities of Catholic Europe. (70) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen vol. v. 21. (71) Ibid. 187, 214, 226. (72) Ibid. 524. (73) ECA Inc. Calton Trades vol. ii, 4 Sept. 1729. (74) S. Rappaport, Worlds within Worlds: Structures of Life in Sixteenth Century London (Cambridge, 1989), 382–3. (75) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen vol. vi, fos. 39v, 247v. (76) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen vols, vi–viii. W. H. Fraser, Conflict and Class: Scottish Workers, 1700–1838 (Edinburgh, 1988), 38.

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Unity and Division (77) NLS MS 1970 (reverse of volume). (78) ECA Leith Burlaw court, vols, i–iii. (79) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 70. (80) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 35. (81) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 69. Householders might turn out but slip away to their homes for sleep, making the watch ‘but a formal show’ Ibid., 367. Principal Watch Money Books, 1729–40. Watch money was commuted to a tax in the eigh teenth century. (82) It is unclear if women householders were expected to hire substitutes as a matter of course. (83) M. Wood and H. Armet (eds.), Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, 1681–9 (Edinburgh, 1954), 43. A. Kincaid, The History of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1787), 78. (84) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 265. Immigrant silk weavers guarded their exemption from watch and ward closely, emphasizing their distinctive position in burgh society. Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 20–1. R. A. Houston, ‘The Military in Edinburgh Society, 1660–1760’, War & Society 11/2 (1993), 41–56. (85) NLS 1.14a[35], 3–7. (86) ECA MB 21 frontispiece. (87) J. Colston, The Incorporated Trades of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1891), 87–8. Y.-M. Bercé, Revolt and Revolution in Early Modern Europe: An Essay on the History of Political Violence (Manchester, 1987), 76. (88) SROJC7/5. (89) SRO JC7/5. (90) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 256. Friedrichs concludes that ‘the geographical consciousness of Nördlingen’s inhabitants was dominated less by a sense of differences within the community than by the far more obvious divisions between the city within the walls and the countryside beyond’ C. R. Friedrichs, Urban Society in an Age of War: Nördlingen, 1580–1720 (Princeton, NJ, 1979), 11. (91) Taylor, Journey, 121–5. (92) BM Add. MS33, 049, fos. 21r-v. (93) NLS Ry.IIIa.10[104][105]. LC1968[17][18]. Page 63 of 80

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Unity and Division (94) Taylor, Journey, 125. (95) SRO GD1/482/13, 211–13. Goldsmiths and merchants are examples of a Europe-wide pattern: the more skilled a man’s occupation, the more likely he was to have come from a long distance and from a town. J. Meyer, Études sur les villes en Europe occidental…, i: Généralités: France (Paris, 1983), 414. (96) SRO CC8/6/11. (97) P. H. Brown, Early Travellers in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1891), 142. (98) Healey, Letters of Daniel Defoe, 146–7. The scorn evident in sixteenthcentury French writings about the countryside is not found in Scotland. Recent immigrants or those passing through a French town might be pejoratively described as pieds poudreux or ‘dusty feet’ P. M. Hohenberg and L. H. Lees, The Making of Urban Europe, 1000–1950 (Cambridge, Mass., 1985), 92. The strong loyalty to a native town and hostility to outsiders shown by Spanish towns of the late seventeenth century was not paralleled in Scotland. H. Kamen, Spain in the Later Seventeenth Century, 1665–1700 (London, 1980), 153. There is no evidence of antagonisms against, say, Glasgow or Aberdeen merchants who came to the capital simply because of their origins. Town-country antagonisms may have been present at some periods, notably during dearths or when manufacturers competed with each other for limited markets. At other times immigrants would have been more favourably received—in the aftermath of disease epidemics when the city needed labour and taxpayers, for example. Whether townspeople saw themselves as fundamentally different from rural dwellers is debatable. (99) J. MacDonald, Memoirs of an Eighteenth Century Footman…1745–1779 (London, 1927), 10. (100) Ibid. 5, 11, 13. (101) SRO JC7/27, 163–4. (102) Taylor, Journey, 100–1. (103) B. A. Hoiderness, ‘The Clergy as Money-Lenders in England, 1550–1700’, in R. O’Day and F. Heal (eds.), Princes and Paupers in the English Church, 1500– 1800 (Totowa, NJ, 1981), 206. (104) SRO CC8/6/2. (105) This was a common expedient in early seventeenth-century London. Boulton, Neighbourhood, 87–92. (106) SRO JP35/4/3, 6 Nov. 1742. Page 64 of 80

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Unity and Division (107) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 24. (108) SRO GDl/12/64. (109) L. Ewen, ‘Debtors, Imprisonment and the Privilege of Girth’, in L. Leneman (ed.), Perspectives in Scottish Social History (Aberdeen, 1988), 53–68. H. Hannah, ‘The Sanctuary of Holyrood’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 15 (1927), 55–98. (110) SRO RH15/14/32. (111) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 54–5, 168–9. (112) SRO CS234/E/1/10. (113) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 54–5. (114) Boulton argues that it was not until the late eighteenth century that London —a city perhaps ten times the size of Edinburgh—ceased to be a single community. Boulton, Neighbourhood, 293–4. (115) SRO JC6/14. (116) D. Laing, ‘Contract between the City of Edinburgh and John Meikle, for a Chime of Musical Bells, 1698’, Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 3/2 (1858–9), 198. (117) ECA MB 53, 338–9. (118) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 240. (119) J. Mackay, History of the Burgh of the Canongate (Edinburgh, 1879). (120) ECA MB 56, 47–9. (121) Arnot, History of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1816), 522–3. (122) SRO SC39/120/3, 89. Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 47–8. (123) Some argue that the burgh community remained personal in conception even in the mid-eighteenth century: ‘a community of people rather than an abstract corporation’ R. L. C. Hunter, ‘Corporate Personality and the Scottish Burgh’, in G. W. S. Barrow (ed.), The Scottish Tradition (Edinburgh, 1974), 238– 9. (124) There was no equivalent until the eighteenth century of the great town chronicles of fifteenth-century Germany or Italy. P. Clark, ‘Visions of the Urban Community: Antiquaries and the English City before 1800’, in D. Fraser and A. Sutcliffe (eds.), The Pursuit of Urban History (London, 1983), 106–7, 124. The Page 65 of 80

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Unity and Division city had been better served with maps. Hogenburg and Lees’ conjectural prospect of the sixteenth century was superseded by Gordon of Rothiemay’s much more accurate view, by Hollar’s view of c.1670, by the fine ‘Queen Anne’ prospect of the city from the north, and then by Edgars famous map of 1742. The city’s coat of arms, another potent symbol, was patented in 1732. (125) ECA MB 68, 304–5. (126) Ibid., 305–6. (127) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. iii. (128) SRO CS271/14, 204, p.3. (129) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 359. It is interesting that this objection was not considered when, at a later date, Gaelic and French churches were established. Dwyer, ‘Introduction’, 12, shows that even within the Church of Scotland there were different definitions of religious ‘community’ between ‘Moderates’ and members of the ‘Popular’ party. (130) SRO RH15/56/28. (131) ECA MB 21, fos. 145–145v. NLS, Nicoll, Diary, 75. (132) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 17. Nicoll, Diary. (133) Airy, Lauderdale Papers, ii. p. xlii. (134) ECA Edinburgh criminal register i. 15. (135) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 15–16. (136) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 268. C. A. Whatley, ‘Royal Day, People’s Day: The Monarch’s Birthday in Scotland, c. 1660–1860’, in N. MacDougall and R. Mason (eds.), People and Power in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1992), 170–88. (137) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 64, 137. ECA MB 76, 299, 381. (138) Eccho, 3:12. (139) For an English comparison see P. Borsay, ‘“All the town’s a stage”: Urban Ritual and Ceremony, 1660–1800’, in P. Clark (ed.), The Transformation of English Provincial Towns, 1600–1800 (London, 1984), 232. (140) Eccho, 44. (141) Eccho, 256. (142) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–89, 112. Page 66 of 80

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Unity and Division (143) BM Add. MS 40, 349, fo. 101v. Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 45–6. F. J. Grant, ‘State Ceremonials in Edinburgh in the Olden Time’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 18 (1933), 29–30. (144) R. Stevenson, Annals of Edinburgh and Leith…AD 320–AD 1839 (Edinburgh, 1839), 120. (145) Grant, ‘Ceremonials’, 29–30. (146) Ibid., 11, 24–9. (147) R. Muchembled, Popular Culture and tlite Culture in France, 1400–1750 (London, 1985), 139. (148) D. Wilson, Memorials of Edinburgh in the Olden Time (2 vols., Edinburgh, 1891), i. 132. (149) Wood, Extracts 1655–65, 321. (150) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 375. This may also have been a fire safety measure. (151) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 136. (152) ECA Act Book, Deacons, vol. ii. (153) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, p. xxviii. (154) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 314. (155) SRO GD348/207. Issue 40 of the Eccho for 8 Oct. 1729 reported how on ‘Sunday last the right honourable the lord provost and magistrates, in their velvet clothes and scarlet robes, attended the council, having sword and mace carried before them, went to divine service in the high church [St Giles], being the first Sunday after their election’. (156) ECA MB 72, 173. In 1681, a year of lavish ceremonies, provost George Skene of Aberdeen wrote home from Edinburgh about his new suit of striped livery: ‘every person is like to be more splendid as others and I shall not be wanting’. Desbrisay, ‘Authority and Discipline’, 232. (157) ECA MB 71, 368. (158) ECA MB 75, 35. (159) SRO JC7/4. (160) Eccho, 54:206.

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Unity and Division (161) Topham, Letters, 198. (162) Ibid. 135. (163) MacDonald, Memoirs, 17. (164) See Adam Smith, The Theory of Moral Sentiments (London, 1853 edn.), 70– 83 (‘Of the origins of ambition, and of the distinction of ranks’) and 84–90 (‘Of the corruption of our moral sentiments, which is occasioned by this disposition to admire the rich and the great, and to despise or neglect persons of poor and mean condition’). (165) Roughead, Porteous, 295. (166) SRO CH2/424/5, 31 Mar. 1681. (167) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 221. (168) W. Scott The Heart of Midlothian (n.d.), 502. (169) SRO JC6/10. (170) SRO CC8/6/2. Duels were ‘celebrated’ because they were an infrequent oddity. One took place on Leith Sands in 1667 and another in 1729. J. C. Irons, Leith and its Antiquities (2 vols., Edinburgh, 1897), ii. 128. (171) SRO CC8/6/16. (172) J. H. Jamieson, ‘Social Assemblies of the Eighteenth Century’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 19 (1933), 44. (173) T. C. Smout, A History of the Scottish People, 1560–1830 (Glasgow, 1972), 269. M E. Ingram, A Jacobite Stronghold of the Church:. Being the Story of Old St Paul’s, Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1907), 71. The use of English—as opposed to vernacular Scots or even Gaelic—was a mark of membership of polite society among intellectual and social élites by the mid-eighteenth century. Murdoch and Sher, ‘Literary and Learned Culture’, 129. (174) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 104. (175) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 122. (176) Scott, Heart, 128. (177) E. S. Towill, ‘The Minutes of the Trades Maiden Hospital’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 28 (1953), 14–15. Contemporaries sometimes complained that the lower orders were dressing above their station. This may indicate the trickling down of fashions from the upper ranks, though the practice of wearing cast-off clothes (donated or bought secondhand) through necessity rather than a Page 68 of 80

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Unity and Division fashion choice may be the explanation. In other words, élite consumption may have been changing rapidly, that of the lower orders much less so. (178) Edinburgh did not possess formal tables of ranks of the kind which divided the society of Frankfurt into five groups. Promulgated in 1597, 1671, and 1731, Frankfurt’s sartorial regulations were based on differences of wealth and status rather than legal privilege, religion, or burghership, as might be expected. B. Vogler, ‘La Rhénanie’, in A. Lottin et al. (eds.), Études sur les villes en Europe occidental, ii (Paris, 1983), 431. (179) ECA St Cuthbert’s Workhouse. (180) Ibid. (181) SRO JC6/14. (182) SRO CC8/6/4. (183) J. M. Pinkerton (ed.), The Minute Book of the Faculty of Advocates, i: 1661– 1712 (Edinburgh, 1976), 172. (184) Pinkerton, Advocates, p. xii. Phillipson, ‘Lawyers, Landowners and the Civic Leadership’, 101–2. (185) SRO CH2/121/10, 218–19. (186) ECA Leith Burlaw court i. 90. (187) However, these young Edinburgh men should not be compared with youths of the Italian or Spanish élite who brawled, raped, duelled, and murdered in defence of their perceived ‘honour’. Kamen, Spain, 171–2. D. Garrioch, Neighbourhood and Community in Paris, 1740–1790 (Cambridge, 1986), 61, 94. B. Geremek, The Margins of Society in Late Medieval Paris (Cambridge, 1987), 288. (188) SRO JC7/21. (189) SRO CH2/121/5, 278. (190) SRO JC7/21. A feu was a heritable tenure involving a lease in perpetuity in exchange for a lump sum and a small, fixed, annual rent. (191) Gairdner, Historical Account, 22. (192) Ibid. 28. (193) Regulations for the Charity Workhouse, or Hospital of the Canongate (Edinburgh, 1761), 28. Page 69 of 80

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Unity and Division (194) J. M’Farlan, Inquiries Concerning the Poor (Edinburgh, 1782), 271–2. (195) SRO JC7/28, 87. (196) M’Farlan, Inquiries, 273. (197) SRO CH2/121/9, 16–17. (198) Topham, Letters, 79. (199) ECA MB 75, 206–7. (200) SRO CH2/122/4, 324. (201) SRO CH2/122/9, fo. 55v. (202) Brown, ‘Protest’, 91–4. (203) This picture confirms Dingwall’s rinding that the New, Old, and Tolbooth parishes had groupings of professionals but the Tron is different. Perhaps the social composition of the parish had changed since the 1690s or perhaps lawyers and others sought to worship in more socially prestigious kirks. Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 432–3. (204) NLS MS 1961, 122–3, 138. (205) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 31. (206) SRO CH2/122/12c, fos. 205v-207r. (207) NLS MS 1961, 43. (208) ECA Hammermen of Portsburgh, 12. (209) SRO RH9/14/154. There was no equivalent of the ‘outburghers’, drawn from all rural classes, who were so important to the life of German towns like Freiburg in the fifteenth century. Scott, Freiburg, 32, 34. (210) J. Black, Eighteenth Century Europe, 1700–1789 (London, 1990), 145. In contrast with sixteenth-century Worcester, social status in Edinburgh 1660–1760 was not simply related to wealth but was also tied up with the ownership of landed estates and the social prestige associated with a particular lifestyle. Dyer, Worcester, 173. (211) Pinkerton, Advocates, 151. (212) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 250. (213) SRO JC7/29. Page 70 of 80

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Unity and Division (214) SRO CH2/121/7, 310, 317. (215) I. R. MacDonald, The beginnings of Gaelic preaching in Scotland’s cities’, Northern Scotland, 9 (1989), 45–6. C. W. J. Withers, ‘Kirk, Club and Culture Change: Gaelic Chapels, Highland Societies and the Urban Gaelic Subculture in Eighteenth Century Scotland’, Social History, 10/2 (1985), 171–92. Part of the reason for the chronic distancing of the town guard from the bulk of the populace during the eighteenth century was that most were Gaelic speakers. (216) SRO CH2/121/4, 52–4 for 1701. CH2/121/5, 120 for 1704. See also NLS MS 3813, fo. 6r and MS 3430, fos. 104–5v for 1703. (217) R. Waterston, ‘Early Paper Making near Edinburgh’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 27 (1949), 55. (218) Irons, Leith, ii. 135. This was a common Quaker taunt. (219) Brown, Social History of Religion, 35. (220) Apart from enquiries into catholics, there are no religious censuses such as the 1676 Compton census of England which has been used to good effect by Sacks to map the geographical distribution of dissenters in Bristol. Sacks points out that: ‘Although the city’s old parish structure remained intact, the unifor mity it had represented was shattered beyond repair.’ Sacks, Bristol, 357. (221) J. E. Vance, This Scene of Man: The Role and Structure of the City in the Geography of Western Civilisation (London, 1977), 217, 220. (222) Before the eighteenth century, town houses of the nobility were usually not the grand hôtels of Paris or Dublin. The buildings which housed Edinburgh’s landed, mercantile, and professional élites did not even possess the modest decoration of the houses of the wealthy in Amsterdam. (223) ECA Window tax. (224) M. Wood, ‘Edinburgh Poll Tax Returns’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 25 (1945), 119. (225) MacMillan, ‘Edinburgh Burgess Community’, 23. (226) This also seems to have been true of early modern English towns. Dyer, Worcester, 165. (227) F. C. Mears and J. Russell, ‘The New Town of Edinburgh’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 22 (1938), 179–80. (228) D. F. Harris, Saint Cecilia’s Hall in the Niddry Wynd: A Chapter in the History of the Music of the Past in Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1899), 6–7. Page 71 of 80

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Unity and Division (229) MacKay, Canongate, 140. Edinburgh people commonly rented a floor or a few rooms within a building rather than a whole building as in London. Edinburgh was more like Bordeaux where green field sites were used for building mansions in the last quarter of the century. J. P. Poussou, ‘Le Développement de Bordeaux au XVIII siècle’, in P. Butel and L. M. Cullen (eds.), Cities and Merchants: French and Irish Perspectives on Urban Development, 1500–1900 (Dublin, 1986), 91; D. Dickson, ‘Large-Scale Developers and the Growth of Eighteenth Century Irish Cities’, ibid. 121. Edinburgh resembled Bordeaux in that its mer cantile élite was not overshadowed by the great landowners, as happened in eighteenth-century Dublin. L. M. Cullen, The Dublin Merchant Community’, ibid. 207. The British aristocracy were essentially rural beings unlike Renaissance and Baroque figures such as the Mendozas of Guadalajara who moulded the cities of southern Europe in their own image. Vance, Scene, 223–4; Kamen, Spain, 158. (230) SRO CS271/41, 345. Milne’s Court was built in 1690 and James’ Court in the mid-1720s, both as speculative enterprises ‘to give the wealthier citizens a little more space, a little more light and air, a little escape from the congested, narrow closes and the lofty, crowded, often dilapidated tenements with their dark and dirty common stairs’ Youngson, Classical Edinburgh, 14. (231) Quoted in J. M. Weiss, ‘Patterns of Residential Mobility in Edinburgh, 1775– 1800’, Ph.D. thesis (University of Minnesota, 1985), 235. (232) Wilson, Memorials of Edinburgh, i. 198. Another branch of the family were prominent in the Edinburgh legal establishment. (233) Kelsall and Kelsall, Scottish Lifestyle 300 Years Ago, 26–7. (234) Boulton, Neighbourhood, 179, 182–3. Vance, Scene, 245. (235) SRO JC7/30, 200. (236) M. J. Power, The Social Topography of Restoration London’, in Beier and Finlay, Making of the Metropolis, 221. Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’ (237) Gilhooley, Directory, p. vii. Youngson, Classical Edinburgh, 236, 256. (238) Borsay, Urban Renaissance, 296. (239) H. Carr (ed.), The Minutes of the Lodge of Edinburgh, Mary’s chapel, no. 1, 1598–1738 (London, 1962), 301. D. Stevenson, The First Freemasons: Scotland’s Early Lodges and their Members (Aberdeen, 1988), 35, 43–7. Masonic lodges and academies proliferated during the eighteenth century in France—890 lodges were formed between 1725 and 1790. As in Scotland, these sometimes brought together nobles and commoners, but this development went against the main Page 72 of 80

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Unity and Division trend which was for associations between unequal social groups to weaken. P. Benedict, ‘French Cities from the Sixteenth Century to the Revolution: An Overview’, in P. Benedict (ed.), Cities and Social Change in Early Modern France (London, 1989), 44. (240) SRO CH2/122/11b, fos. 212v–13r. (241) Boulton, Neighbourhood, 149. (242) NLS CH 8365. (243) NLS CH 8366. CH 8371. CH 8399. (244) SRO CH2/122/12a, fos. 10–14. The closest nowadays is a Murrayfield debenture. (245) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. ii. Dyer, Worcester, 228 gives an English comparison. In seventeenth- and eighteenth-century France ‘cemeteries increasingly became supervised and silent places’, but this does not.seem to have happened to Edinburgh graveyards 1660–1760. Muchembled, Popular Culture, 215. (246) Wood, ‘Edinburgh Poll Tax’, 96. M. Lynch, The Social and Economic Structure of the Larger Towns, 1450–1600’, in Lynch, Spearman, and Stell, Scottish Medieval Town, 263. The figure for Aberdeen in 1695 is 14%. Desbrisay, ‘Authority and Discipline’, 421. (247) Heron, Merchants, 43. (248) NLS MS 1970, fos. 12v–17r. (249) ECA Inc. Calton Trades iii. (250) Brodsky, ‘Widows’, 123, 134. R. K. Marshall, Virgins and Viragos: A History of Women in Scotland from 1080 to 1980 (London, 1983), 154–6. (251) Wood, Extracts 1655–65, 360. (252) StAUL Cheape of Rossie 5/72. (253) ECA Dean of Guild court vii. 399, 438. (254) P. Earle, ‘The Female Labour Market in London in the Late Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth Centuries’, Economic History Review, 42/3 (1989), 328–53. (255) Betty Sanderson’s important Edinburgh doctoral thesis on women in eighteenth-century Edinburgh should be available by the time this volume is published. Page 73 of 80

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Unity and Division (256) See the section in Ch. 6 on licences to sell ale and other goods. (257) SRO CC8/6/24. In early nineteenth-century Glasgow the term ‘laird’ was used of rentiers or landlords who owned more than one dwelling. I owe this point to Christopher Smout. (258) SRO JP35/4/3, 18 June 1740. (259) Towill, ‘Merchant Maiden Hospital’, 9. (260) SRO CC8/6/23. (261) SRO CS236/F/2/1. (262) Brodsky, ‘Widows’, 142. (263) S. Rappaport, Worlds within Worlds: Structures of Life in Sixteenth Century London (Cambridge, 1989), 37–8. I am grateful to Betty Sanderson for sharing with me some of the findings of her Edinburgh doctoral thesis on women in eighteenth-century Edinburgh. (264) SRO CH2/131/2, 39. (265) SRO CH2/136/2, 48. (266) SRO CH2/133/2, 9 Jan. 1707. (267) These two points are based on personal information from Betty Sanderson and from Margaret Spufford. ECA Moses bundles (supplementary) 1685–1708 items 58–116 and 143–79 contain an interesting range of petitions which illus trate women’s employments. (268) SRO JC7/7, 20 June 1715. (269) SRO JC7/10, 26 Dec. 1720 (Anna Brown). (270) SRO JC7/23, 1 Aug. 1743. Edinburgh may have been like sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Nuremberg where women dominated the trades of victualling, appraising, secondhand goods, and small provisions. Brodsky, ‘Widows’, 143. (271) SRO SC39/36/1–4. (272) SRO SC39/36/1. (273) SRO SC39/36/2. (274) L. Stone and J. C. F. Stone, An Open Élitel? England, 1540–1880 (Oxford, 1984). Page 74 of 80

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Unity and Division (275) SRO SC39/36/3. (276) There is, of course, evidence of gentry becoming advocates and of merchants buying landed estates. N. T. Phillipson, ‘The Social Structure of the Faculty of Advocates in Scotland, 1661–1840’, in A. Harding (ed.), law-making and Law-makers in British History (London, 1980), 146–56. Yet historians may have exaggerated the extent of social mobility. It is also worth noting that movement between occupations does not necessarily constitute ‘social’ (as opposed to ‘occupational’) mobility. This fluidity may be a way of preserving the continuity and stability of a social group or ‘class’ (277) NCL W.e.1, 5. (278) C. B. Boog Watson (ed.), Register of Edinburgh Apprentices 1666–1700 (part 110), 1701–55 (part 111) Scottish Record Society (1929). The remaining incorporations have not been included because of small numbers. (279) Phillipson, ‘Social Structure of the Faculty of Advocates’. (280) NLS 6.1081 [18]. (281) Smith, Wealth, 140. Parisian butchers formally excluded entry to their guild to any except the sons of existing members. P. Benedict, ‘French Cities from the Sixteenth Century to the Revolution: An Overview’, in Benedict, Cities and Social Change, 17. For élite occupations in Scotland the ‘career path’ became more formalized and predictable. The standard deviation of mean age at entry to the Faculty of Advocates (which did not have a formal apprenticeship system) fell from over 7 before 1699, to 3.5 for entrants 1700–49 and to less than 3 in the last half of the eighteenth century. As career structures, entrance qualifications and professional consciousness became more precise, young men tended increasingly to enter the Faculty at a particular point in their lives. Houston, Mortality in early Modern Scotland’ (282) Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 390–1. (283) ECA Dean of Guild court vi. 142–9. (284) Answers for the Corporation of Barbers of Edinburgh, Pursuers… (Edinburgh, 1742), 1–3. (285) For comparison, Sacks, Bristol, 105–17 finds that occupational mobility among Bristol apprentices contracted markedly c. 1550–1650. By the midseventeenth century ‘Bristol’s social order was composed increasingly of kinbased occupational groupings’ and ‘social barriers were becoming higher as well’ Ibid. 113.

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Unity and Division (286) Females are, of course, the other group usually classified in this way in the sources. (287) The youngest servant who gave evidence before the Justiciary Court was aged 15. That age may reflect legal barriers to giving evidence rather than the time at which young people began working. A girl of 13 appears in the Consistory Court cases. SRO CC8/6/23. However, the incorporated trades of Calton thought that at 15 a girl was ‘in some measure able to shift for herself by attending on service’ and this seems to have been the age at which apprentice ships commonly began. ECA Inc. Calton Trades iii. 25 July 1745. (288) L. Mumford, The City in History: Its Origins, its Transformations, and its Prospects (Harmondsworth, 1966 edn.), 324, 439. (289) SRO JC6/13. (290) The same happened in contemporary London where some wealthy families placed servants and children in lodgings in Kensington while living them selves in the centre of the city. R. Wall, ‘Regional and Temporal Variations in English Household Structure from 1650’, in J. Hobcraft and P. Rees (eds.), Regional Demographic Development (London, 1977), 106. Langford, England, 118–20. (291) ECA MB 75, 213. (292) ECA St Cuthbert’s Workhouse, 30 June 1768. Colinton was then a rural parish about four miles from the city centre. (293) NLS 1.1.109. (294) NLS 1.1.109. Some thirty-one ‘workmen, porters and tronmen’ had sub scribed a bond of association in July 1694 and the obligation included a poor box. Langford, England, 99–100, discusses wage-earners’ box clubs’ (295) NLS 1.1.109. (296) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 268. (297) SRO RH15/46/8. (298) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 214–15. Armet Extracts 1701–18, 217. Langford, England, 120 says that comparable ‘register offices’ did not appear in London till the mid-eighteenth century. (299) SRO GD1/482/13, 15, 211. (300) Ibid. 18, 212. (301) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 165. Page 76 of 80

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Unity and Division (302) Langford, England, 180–1, summarizes parallel developments in England. (303) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen viii. 72, ix. 4 Feb. 1764. It had always been possible for a master to take on the apprentice of a dead colleague. (304) NLS MSS1970, fos. 1, 8. (305) The number of workers per workshop in Paris was seventeen in 1789 compared with less than four in Stockholm in 1794. W. Doyle, The Old European Order, 1660–1800 (Oxford, 1978), 136. The trend towards fewer employers with more workers was much more gradual at Edinburgh than in Madrid, where the average number per workshop in the woollen industry rose from less than two in 1757 to 118 in 1789. D. R. Ringrose, Madrid and the Spanish Economy, 1560– 1850 (Berkeley, Calif., 1983), 96. (306) ECA St Cuthbert’s Workhouse. SRO RH15/106/187/3. (307) Harris, London Crowds, 171–8. Rappaport, Worlds within Worlds. The status of apprentices can be clarified by comparing them with university students. Students were qualitatively different from other young men of the same age. While the university had a responsibility for their behaviour, students did not live in day-to-day contact with superiors who were in loco parentis and they were not resident throughout the year. (308) Roughly the same as Bristol, higher than Norwich’s 17% but not as high as the 40% who finished their term in Elizabethan London. MacMillan, ‘Edinburgh Burgess Community’, 71, 73. Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 397, 475. S. Rappaport, ‘Social Structure and Mobility in Sixteenth Century London: Part 1’, London Journal, 9/2 (1983), 116–17. (309) Wood, ‘Edinburgh Poll Tax’, 99. SRO JC6/4–14. (310) ECA Moses bundles 75/3225. (311) SRO JC7/30. (312) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 96. ECA Inc. Calton Trades ii., 27 Aug. 1724. (313) SRO GD348/207. (314) SRO GD348/206. (315) Carr, Minutes of Mary’s Chapel, 163. (316) SRO GD348/206, 1 Oct. 1696. (317) ECA MB 22, fo. 49v.

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Unity and Division (318) This did not preclude the existence of forms of ‘debt servitude’. During periods of labour shortage, some masters were not averse to binding workers to them by giving cash advances at the start of their service. The cordiners of Portsburgh and West port passed an act (number 22) in the late seventeenth century limiting advances to new servants (except in cases of ‘present necessity’ such as baptisms or burials) to £3 for single men, £6 for married men (ECA). (319) W. H. Fraser, Conflict and Class: Scottish Workers, 1700–1838 (Edinburgh, 1988), 24. Antwerp’s journeymen tailors struck in 1715 over being forced to work after 8 p.m. but an official regulation of 1765 stipulated that they had to stay until 9 p.m. A. Lottin and H. Soly, ‘Aspects de l’histoire des villes des PaysBas Meridionaux et de la principauté de Liège’, in A. Lottin et al. (eds.), Études sur les villes en Europe occidental, ii (Paris, 1983), 261. Edinburgh employees also enjoyed more success before the law than their London peers who, from the late seventeenth century, were left with few legal means of negotiating and were forced to take to the streets to protest against perceived injustices. R. B. Shoemaker, ‘The London “Mob” in the Early Eighteenth Century’, Journal of British Studies, 26/3 (1987), 279. (320) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen ix. (321) A. J. Durie, The Scottish Linen Trade in the Eighteenth Century (Edinburgh, 1979), 79. The growing cohesion of journeymen in eighteenth-century Edinburgh contrasts with contemporary Paris where population growth and the increasing power of masters over men made personal contact and occupational associations less likely. Garrioch, Neighbourhood, 112. (322) Edinburgh Advertiser, 25: 198. (323) Fraser, Conflict and Class, 50. (324) Ibid. 42. (325) Ibid. 24. (326) ECA MB 52, 297. (327) ECA MB 52, 299–300. (328) ECA MB 52, 299–300. (329) ECA MB 55, 133. (330) Durie, Linen Trade, 79. (331) NLS MS 1961, 111, 113. Journeymen rarely spoke for themselves in the documents and when they did the language they used tended to follow the rhetoric and assumptions of those in positions of authority over them. This does Page 78 of 80

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Unity and Division not necessarily mean that they accepted the ideological framework. They may have been trying to manipulate it to their own advantage. At the same time, the viewpoint of hired labour is usually recorded, selectively and often in legalistic language, by men whose background, ideas, and values were very different from those of journeymen. (332) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. ii, 27 Aug. 1724. (333) Carr, Minutes of Mary’s Chapel, 256–61. (334) SRO GD348/206. (335) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen v. 187. (336) Fraser, Conflict and Class, 42. (337) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 335. (338) SRO GD348/207, 5 May l737. (339) ECA MB 62, 94–8. (340) SRO FS1/17/55. ECA MB 75, 119–42. (341) Carr, Minutes of Mary’s Chapel, 234–5, 249–50, 259–61. (342) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen viii. 198. (343) Carr, Minutes of Mary’s Chapel, 227. (344) C. A. Malcolm, ‘Incorporation of Cordiners of the Canongate, 1538–1773’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 18 (1933), 145. (345) ECA MB 75, 122–3. (346) Ibid. 119. (347) Ibid. 124. In France and Germany too, compagnonnages or Gesellenverbände developed in occupations where journeymen were only infrequently able to become masters. Benedict, ‘French Cities’, 17. Black, Guilds, 125. (348) ECA Moses bundles (supplementary) 5/189. (349) Fraser, Conflict and Class. (350) Hohenberg and Lees, Urban Europe, 45.

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Unity and Division (351) Muchembled has argued that the presence of many small collective bodies worked against the manifestation of conflict between social classes. Muchembled, Popular Culture, 109. Journeymen’s boxes may be an example. (352) SRO SC39/120/3, 130–1. See Chs. 2 and 6 for further discussion of this issue.

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Oxford Scholarship Online

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

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Definitions of Space R. A. Houston

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.003.0003

Abstract and Keywords In Edinburgh, the people were bound together by tangible and intangible links, which included physical proximity and common privileges. Its geographical area was both united and divided by jurisdictions, and was defined for the inhabitants of the city by perceptions of space and the use of that space. This chapter discusses the legal, administrative, social, and ideological forces that structured space and decided the way its use would change. Keywords: Edinburgh, links, physical proximity, common privileges, perceptions, use, space, forces

Introduction Belonging and being different were not simply questions of self-perception. They also involved attitudes towards other people and towards physical surroundings. Indeed, it is difficult to talk about society without using spatial metaphors such as mobility or distancing, deference to those higher up, or responsibility for those below. Edinburgh people were bound together by tangible and intangible links— including physical proximity, shared religious adherence, membership of occupational associations, common privileges, oaths and obligations—into one or more urban ‘communities’. But belonging or being different were also tied up with buildings and streets, signs and symbols, boundaries and thoroughfares. The way in which space was allocated within a city is both an indicator of the type of city and may be a predictor of other dimensions of social and economic life. There is a relationship between social processes and spatial form, between shapes on the ground and shapes in society. Edinburgh’s geographical area was both united and divided by jurisdictions. It was defined for the city’s inhabitants by perceptions of space and by the use to which that space was put. Objective factors like wealth and occupations or parish and burgh boundaries, coupled with more subjective assessments of the overall ‘tone’ of a neighbourhood created those perceptions. The way in which space was used also played a part in how it was perceived. Choay distinguishes different types of space: ‘contact’, ‘theatrical’, ‘communication’ and ‘connecting’, for example.1 Sociological and psychological models have dominated (p.105) theoretical discussion of life in nineteenth- and twentieth-century towns. Analysis of social

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geography is primarily structured by theories of the historical development of urban forms.2 Ecological or ‘geophysical’ interpretations of the city tend to abstract particular issues such as building layout or location of residence and thus to ignore the social realities which create urban life. Armed with a picture of social relationships we can assess the significance of geographical dimensions to urban living. In this chapter we shall examine the legal, administrative, social, and ideological forces which structured space and decided the way its use would change. While the definition of physical space in the city became simpler, the apparent growth in uniformity and homogeneity of space was confined to certain social groups. Subtle ways of distinguishing space replaced basic, if complex and important, administrative and legal divisions. In the mid-seventeenth century administrative and physical factors delineated space on the ground as much as did social and economic considerations. By the reign of George III status and wealth were the main forces determining the way space was seen and how it was used. Space in Edinburgh had always been differentiated: what changed 1660–1760 were the forces which determined difference and the implications for urban dwellers.

Legal and Administrative Boundaries Within the medieval walls, the burgh of Edinburgh was just 800 yards long and 400 wide. The midsixteenth century Flodden Wall coincided approximately with the limits of the ‘ancient royalty’; including the North Loch it encompassed roughly 140 acres.3 Old Edinburgh was located on a narrow east-west ridge with steep sides. A printed act of c.1753 ‘for erecting several public buildings in the city… and also for widening and (p.106) (p.107) enlarging the streets’ described the problems created by a cramped layout:

by reason of its situation, and the steepness of the ascent, and by the narrow and confined avenues leading to the principal street thereof, rendered difficult of access; and the public hath not hitherto been possessed of proper areas, either for erecting buildings or opening streets, and places of resort, as well for the convenience as ornament of the said city.4 This section examines spatial divisions within

Fig. 2.1 The royal burgh of Edinburgh and some of its dependent jurisdictions in the early eighteenth century

the confines of the city proper and then looks at the legal and administrative boundaries within the wider metropolitan area. Landownership fragmented space within the city as much as geography limited the possibilities for building. The effects are obvious in the documentation about, and physical appearance of, old Edinburgh. Contemporaries recognized the problems. Even when elaborate building regulations began to be written into the suburban building feus of the 1740s and 1750s there were barriers to uniform construction. In 1757 Jean Hamilton, a brewer’s widow in the Society (near Candlemaker Row), had her feu charter changed to allow sub-feuing for ‘ornamenting that part of the city with regular buildings for the better security of the feu duties as well as for the advantage of private proprietors’. However, the project depended on creating a new street from the college to Candlemaker Row ‘but as the granting of that depended upon the different views, humours and inclinations of a variety of people’, not a stone had been laid by the summer of 1760.5

With burgage plots held from the burgh superior, urban land-holding in Scotland was more homogeneous than in England where a ‘jumble of overlords and jurisdictions’ existed.6 This is not to say that the situation was not complicated because of the existence of feus and, sometimes, layers of feudal superiors created by frequent subdivisions. A 1723 petition from the Canongate schoolmaster, his salary unpaid since 1720, brought to light developments within the burgh: the ground feus and pittance silver formerly appointed and allocated for a salary to some of his predecessors are very uncertain and (p.108) precarious by reason of some of the proprietors turning bankrupt and the tenants of their lands insolvent, and also by reason that some of the proprietors of these lands are so frequently getting charters from the town of Edinburgh, and the rights of these lands being as often trans-fered and that ground annual being omitted in their charters comes entirely to be lost…it is divided into so many small parcels and petty sums many of them not amounting to a penny or two pence Scots money, to collect which sums exactly would be more trouble than it was worth.7 A petition thirty years later made a similar point about problems in securing title to property which changed hands frequently and for which legally satisfactory title deeds were rarely available.8 In 1734 Mr George Home of Kello petitioned the council to rationalize the legal status of a building. Home had bought two burned-out tenements at the head of Libberton’s Wynd and two adjacent ones; three of these buildings had been burgage, one a feu. On the site of these he had built one large tenement, meaning that three-quarters of the building was in one form of tenure, the remainder in another. He therefore asked the council to convert his feu into a burgage as it sometimes did ‘for the encouragement of builders’.9 The council agreed and did the same for James Wight, deacon of the litsters (dyers), regarding a property he had rebuilt in the Mealmarket.10 This situation was characteristic of the land market prior to the mid-eighteenth century, with piecemeal buying and remodelling of existing buildings rather than major building projects. Exceptions include rebuilding after fires and the occasional prestige erection such as Milne’s Court. To the complexity of landholding structure was added several discrete or, more commonly, overlapping administrative layers. The royal burgh of Edinburgh had twenty-eight constables’ bounds with a further four in South Leith, one in North Leith, and six in the Canongate. To secular boundaries were added ecclesiastical ones. Four parishes existed in 1625, increasing to six in 1641 with further boundary changes in 1662. Lady Yester’s parish was created in 1655 though the church had existed since 1647; the church was closed down during the Episcopacy and (p.109) Table 2.1. Edinburgh city parishes, 1641 and 1722 1641

1722

North-west

North-west/Tolbooth

North

New

North-east

North-east/College

South-east

South-east/Tron

South

Lady Yester’s/south-south-east

South-west

South/Old New North/Haddo’s Hole South-west/East Greyfriars West Greyfriars

the parish amalgamated with the Tron. It was re-established in 1691 when a committee was appointed to divide the city into eight parishes. The meeting house in the Landmarket or Lawnmarket was made into one of the city’s recognized churches—the New North—in March 1698, its bounds carved from adjacent parishes. From 1699 the congregation met in a part of St Giles called Haddo’s Hole. There was a total of nine parishes in 1722. The bounds’ for the trained bands and for street cleansing were similar to parish boundaries but were not identical.11 There were eight bounds within the city proper for the collection of the annuity tax, again roughly corresponding with ecclesiastical divisions as found in the early eighteenth century. Bounds were numbered clockwise round the city, starting at the Tolbooth parish and finishing with Greyfriars.

Royal and, until 1747, feudal jurisdictions coexisted in the city. Some of these were limited in time and space. An example of such complex rights was thrown up one evening in August 1704, during a parliamentary session. John Robertson, Captain of the city guard, was under orders to double the sentries and be particularly vigilant on this potentially explosive occasion. He heard a boy playing a bass viola beneath the Cross, surrounded by a large crowd. Zealously exercising his duty, he broke the instrument with his staff, beat the boy, and forced the crowd to disperse. Robertson was pursued before the Earl of Errol, Lord High Constable, who had the right to try cases committed (p.110) (p.111) within four miles of the sitting parliament. The Earl imposed a penal fine and ordered Robertson to replace the viola. Robertson defended himself before his employers by saying he would not have been answerable to Errol ‘if he should have passed off these tumultuous and unseasonal assemblies being like the letting in of waters’. More telling for the council was his aside that by his treatment ‘the town’s honour and privilege was struck at, the petitioner having acted nothing but in the exercise of his office as captain of the guard that night’. If Robertson had been caught redFig. 2.2 Map of Edinburgh parish boundaries handed and tried within twenty-four hours the city c.1690 magistrates could have taken the case. The council paid for the replacement of the viola.12 Errol himself had been annoyed about what he saw as a breach of his privilege through the stationing of soldiers not under his command in the Parliament Close during the sitting.13 This particular legal anomaly disappeared with the removal of Scotland’s separate parliament after the Union.

Edinburgh contained other minor islands of administrative privilege. A complaint from the Privy Council in November 1681 threw up the issue of sanctuary privileges allegedly associated with the royal mint at the foot of Todrig’s Wynd. Other special areas included the Templar’s lands at the foot of the West Bow, marked by a cross, which claimed exemption from burghal restrictions until 1747.14 By disponing the Duke of Queensberry’s ‘great lodging arid yards’ in the Canongate to him in 1706 the council also gave him regality jurisdiction over them though again this would have disappeared with other heritable jurisdictions after 1747.15 Until the middle of the eighteenth century jurisdictional privilege was as significant an economic asset as exemption from taxation and more prestigious than donations of burgess status to important figures. Jurisdictions were closely guarded both as a symbol, and a tangible part, of personal or corporate privileges. Holding a court was a way of showing authority and wielding power, as well as a source of revenue. These complex administrative divisions give the impression of confusion, both conceptually and physically. Maps such as Edgar’s (1742) and views such as Gordon of Rothiemay’s (1647), (p.112) or contemporary descriptions of the streets and buildings reinforce this notion with visual images of unplanned, uncoordinated development. Edinburgh’s apparently higgledy-piggledy layout was the

result of its physical location, the numerous proprietors in the city and the absence of that unity of landowner-ship which made the New Town’s regularity possible. Yet, Edinburgh had bodies which provided coherence both in administration—the town council is the obvious example—and, to a degree, in the regulation of building—through the Dean of Guild’s Court. With its jurisdiction over Edinburgh proper, Canongate and Leith, the Dean of Guild’s Court regulated building throughout the conurbation, reinforcing a kind of architectural uniformity later seen in a more striking form in the building lines of the New Town.16 A good illustration of the powers of the Dean of Guild’s Court comes from the burgh council minutes of July 1682. William Dundas, advocate, owned the top three stories of a building at the head of Halkerston’s Wynd. The top two stories and the roof were ruinous and had lain unoccupied for three years ‘and it is not possible to repair them sufficiently without being at more expense than it would cost to take off the roof and build of new’. Furthermore, the three floors below Dundas’s were seriously defective both in the floors and the walls, meaning that even if he did repair the upper floors the building would probably fall down before long anyway. The town council therefore ordered the heritors to share the cost of demolishing and rebuilding the tenement from scratch.17 The Dean of Guild’s Court was an important institution since the civic consciousness of inhabitants sometimes left much to be desired and because building standards were often not high. In 1754 the tenant of the British Coffee House complained that recently ‘one side of the stair was built up to the top with a cairn of stones and the whole timber fell off one storey of the staircase which so frighted gentlemen who frequented the house that it (p.113) (p.114) (p.115) (p.116) was almost deserted’.18 The Dean of Guild’s Court in Edinburgh counteracted the effect of the fragmented nature of landholding on building in the city, making it easier to create uniformity in construction and to harmonize property development with architectural styles, amenity, and cultural values. For example, after the great fire of 1674 the council made efforts to limit the height of buildings and to ensure rebuilding with straight frontages.19 Yet any change in the physical appearance of Edinburgh in the century before 1760 was slow and unspectacular. Buildings were improved or rebuilt, streets cleared of obstacles, closes widened, nuisances curbed.

Fig. 2.3 William Edgar’s map, 1742: The Plan of the City and Castle of Edinburgh′

Vance has argued that when guild control began to decay, formal planning control of this kind would be necessary to curb speculative development’s excesses. When left to its own devices, the ‘market mechanism’ may only reflect, in buildings and layout, the interests of a part of the populace.20 Mumford agrees that ‘responsible public direction working for wellconceived public ends is essential for the foundation and development of all urban communities’.21 A 1693 Court of Session case seems to lend weight to these views. It

Fig. 2.4 Pierre Vander Aa’s re-engraving of a plan of Edinburgh in 1647 drawn by Revd James Gordon of Rothiemay

concerned the illegal building of a stairway onto the High Street and included references to a 1653 act, reiterated in 1687, ‘occasioned mainly by the wrights and masons of this burgh who take down old work and build up new work at their own hand and never acquaints the dean of guild nor his council therewith whereby the builder commonly encroaches upon his neighbours ground’.22 Yet, in so far as the Dean of Guild’s Court demonstrated the perceived need for such regulation, its establishment in 1584–5, at a time when the incorporations remained strong, indicates that other tensions existed within the burgh community which

Fig. 2.5 The Southside of the Castle of Edinburgh’; from John Slezer, Theatrum Scotiae (Edinburgh, 1814 edn.)

could not be controlled by those associations. The royal burgh of Edinburgh formed only a part of the urban area to which it gave its name. The metropolitan area comprised a variety of jurisdictions over which the royal burgh of Edinburgh held sway. Feudal superiority over the Canongate, (p.117) North Leith, and Broughton was transferred to Edinburgh in 1636 by Charles I and the Earl of Roxburgh because of heavy debts to the city and George Heriot, the king’s goldsmith. Of the three magistrates who ran the Canongate in our period, one was an Edinburgh nominee and two were elected by the burgh. Strictly speaking, the barony of Broughton was owned by the governors of Heriof s hospital but since most of these were also Edinburgh magistrates the city had effective control. The city acquired the superiority of Potteraw and Portsburgh from Sir Adam Hepburn of Humbie in 1648 for 27,500 merks and bought the adjacent King’s Stables (immediately beneath the castle rock) from James Boisland or Boirland in 1661 for a token £1,000. A charter of 1663 gave the city ownership of the citadel of Leith. The last major purchase in this period was the burgh of barony of Calton, from Lord Balmerino in 1724–5.23 The jurisdictions had different judicial privileges. For example, the Canongate was a burgh of regality, meaning that it had the right to hold courts over all but the most serious offences (such as murder, rape, and arson); to pass its own laws ‘conformable with the statutes of the realm’ for regulating the community; to elect burgesses and freemen; and to run services of heirs.24 Different courts covered not only specific offences but also certain types of individual. Cases could be ‘repledged’ from one court to another if the accused normally lived in its jurisdiction or had been arrested there rather than at the place where the alleged offence had been committed. Repledging became less common for serious offences after the reorganization of the High Court of Justiciary in 1708. The regality jurisdiction was swept away with other ‘feudal’ courts in 1747–8, at which time the royal High Court of Justiciary took over all serious criminal cases in the realm—and published a table of charges to celebrate.25 Edinburgh’s hold over the Canongate was just one branch of a hierarchy of jurisdictions since the Canongate itself had dependencies. For example, Canongate cordiners specified admissions to the freedom of North Leith and Broughton separately, both (p.118) types of freemen being called ‘barony men’.26 South Leith entrants were sanctioned by the Edinburgh incorporation of cordiners to whom the short list or ‘leet’ for oversman of the South Leith association had to be presented. One volume of the Edinburgh cordiners’ minutes (1655–1727) is called: ‘The book of the money received from the shoemakers in Leith by the cordiners of Edinburgh’.27 A Court of Session decreet (judgement) of 1731 in favour of the South Leith cordiners reveals the high-handed way the dominant Edinburgh incorporation had treated its ‘pendicle’.28 Edinburgh cordiners had the right to inspect the Leith men’s wares, control their elections, and milk them for exactions—failure to pay could be punished by imprisonment. The

city shoemakers gave little in return, withholding poor relief from indigent Leith cordiners. Other Edinburgh ‘pendicles’, as these subordinates were called, included the incorporations of Potteraw and Portsburgh.29 The web of dependent jurisdictions stretched across the metropolitan area. The magistrates of Edinburgh had a say in appointing the bailies of Canongate, regality of Broughton, and the town of South Leith. In 1668 the council had accepted the recommendation of a group of bailies that the Coalhill should be part of the barony of Broughton.30 However, they now argued that a situation where bailies holding courts at Canongate or Broughton had jurisdiction over North Leith and parts of South Leith too was one ‘whereby great interruptions arise in the administration of justice’. Control over these areas was given to the bailies of South Leith.31 This was part of a process of consolidating jurisdictions which gathered speed after the abolition of heritable courts in 1747 and during plans to extend the ‘royalty’ of the city in the 1750s. The royalty comprised the lands originally gifted to the city by the crown and held by charters which conferred marketing and taxation privileges. Its geographical extent could only be changed by act of parliament. Thus, owning a jurisdiction (like the barony of Calton) or having effective control over it (as with the town of Leith) did not automatically make the area part of the royalty.32 The town council minuted (p.119) its dismay at a Court of Session decision of December 1732 to the effect that Leith was not a part of the city’s royalty. Edinburgh was the superior of the barony of Leith but, as the House of Lords pointed out on appeal in June 1733, that did not make it part of the royalty. An accommodation was reached. Leith’s inhabitants agreed not to oppose the city’s claim provided certain of their outstanding grievances were met, notably the equalization of local taxation and trading privileges between the two burghs.33 Separate burghs and baronies were part of the complex jigsaw of jurisdictions and administrative areas. The existence of numerous complementary, supplementary, and competing jurisdictions enhanced the awareness of space within the city. A prominent example was the area in and around the Abbey of Holyrood. During a riot in December 1688, a town officer and two bailies accompanied the Lyon Herald with his trumpet to the foot of the Canongate, but the herald would not step over the gutter stone of the Abbey because by crossing this ‘strand’ or ‘girth’ he would be entering a royal precinct.34 Debtors entering the sanctuary were supposed to surrender all their goods and to register within a day; between 1741 and 1779 a total of 716 people did so. Within limits, these ‘Abbey lairds’, as they were popularly known, were protected against their creditors and even allowed out of the jurisdiction on Sundays to attend church. Any who lingered in the city after midnight on the sabbath were fair game for those to whom they owed money, another example of how some jurisdictions only operated at certain times.35 Awareness of administrative structures must have depended on context most of the time. Tradesmen wishing to sell their wares or to prevent encroachments by competitors were doubtless acutely conscious of burgh boundaries. Beggars tolerated in the Canongate would find themselves swiftly arrested if they wandered far enough west to be in the city proper. Parish boundaries might be unimportant for most day-to-day purposes. It seems unlikely that people walking north up Forrester’s Wynd from the Cowgate to the High Street thought (p.120) much about the fact that the houses on their left belonged to Greyfriars parish, those on their right to the Old Kirk. On the other hand, there were contexts in which this distinction might be crucial. When identifying miscreants and handing out poor relief, elders and deacons would have a precise idea of where their parish ended and another began. In this last sense, space was regularly reidentified by use. More formal rituals were also used. For example, jurisdictions could be identified and consolidated by perambulations of the town’s marches or boundaries. There are mentions of magistrates doing this in 1660,1669,1675,1695,1698,1701, and 1718, at which date the council decided that all members should ride the marches every seven years.36 A

riding involved a formal procession ‘attended by the neighbourhood’—anyone who wanted to tag along for business or recreation. Town officers and trumpeters led the way followed by the provost, magistrates, and council with the officers of the trained bands. The procession assembled at the foot of the West Bow, left the city by the Society port, and rode round the liberties, including the Canongate and Leith. For all their ceremony, perambulations were less symbolic assertions of the burgh’s identity than practical identifications of, and responses to, boundary disputes with other landowners, statements of the city’s authority as feudal overlord, and a check on encroachments on the town lands by building or farming.37 The riding of 1675 was the result of disagreements with the Nisbets of Dean, who owned estates to the west of the city in St Cuthbert’s parish, though march stones were also to be laid out along the boundary with Lord Balmerino’s lands to the south and east of the city.38 The council minutes of April 1718 contain a detailed account of the members’ journey around the boundaries. For example, at the edge of the laird of Merchiston’s land they observed he ‘neither attended nor paid his feu required but that he had encroached upon the entry to Tipperlin and set a (p.121) row of trees thereon and enclosed a piece of ground with a dyke’.39 Little escaped their eagle eyes. By the start of George II’s reign a complex patchwork of separate jurisdictions had been amalgamated under the control of Edinburgh town council. Other courts which had had wide cognizance of types of case and geographical area were also consolidating or extending their sway in the first half of the eighteenth century. The Justice of the Peace Court, introduced on the English model after the Union, handled a range of cases, some of which had been appropriate to baronial courts. It performed an important integrative function in the Edinburgh area and helped undermine certain lesser jurisdictions. There were ecclesiastical courts too, notably the Commissary Court. It confirmed wills; ascertained assets and liabilities of deceased persons and allowed distribution of assets; and settled debt cases worth less than £100 Scots (£40 for the other thirteen courts). The Commissary Court of Edinburgh was one of fourteen such courts covering the realm though it had certain special jurisdictions such as a national monopoly over matrimonial or ‘consistorial’ cases.40 Like the other great courts which sat in Edinburgh—notably the Court of Session—it had jurisdictions which extended far beyond the city boundaries. Even before 1747 there was a tendency for business to gravitate towards the supreme criminal and civil courts in the capital. The great civil and criminal courts cemented together different parts of the city—and indeed the nation as a whole. Edinburgh was an important centralizing force in a country which, until the eighteenth century, had a very devolved administrative and political system.41 It was part of a process of legal integration and homogenization which affected all of Scotland. But legal and jurisdictional change also affected the perception of space within the city itself.

(p.122) Nodes and Spaces Within its narrow compass, Edinburgh was a densely settled network of streets and passages. By the mid-eighteenth century, Edgar’s plan shows nearly 300 closes, wynds, and streets. Space within the city was defined by physical characteristics such as streets and buildings. Signs, icons, and monuments were also important. In 1679 the hammermen wanted the sign of ‘the fleeing horse’ removed from the side wall of their meeting place.42 The sign of the unicorn was an important landmark on the north side of the High Street to those who appeared before the Dean of Guild’s Court in the 1690s.43 Barber’s poles also served as points of reference. Topham recorded the way tradesmen painted gaudy signs on the walls outside their shops: loaves, wigs, cheeses and petticoats, for example.44 There were sundials throughout the city, usually located on vertical walls. The face of the city’s only public clock, above the Netherbow, was almost invisibly faint before it was repainted and gilded in 1673.45 A Leith-based seller of navigational instruments gave the council another one in 1682—probably the ‘horologue’ which existed in 1702 on one side of Parliament Close.46 The repair of the Town Cross in 1670, requiring masonry and fresh gilding, testifies to the significance of this landmark in the post-Restoration

period.47 Its central position in the city was reinforced by making it the site for proclamations and for important executions such as the Marquis of Argyll in 1661 and the hanging of six Covenanters or ‘Whigs’ on 22 December 1666; the Solemn League and Covenant was burned there in 1682.48 Such reference points were rendered more important by the absence of street numbers. Taylor’s 1705 description of Edinburgh noted that in the Canongate navigation was easier because house doors had the names and trades of their occupants written on them.49 Buildings labelled by the name of the (p.123) principal heritor depended on general knowledge to be useful for orientation. The fact that many buildings were identified by owners or occupiers indicates a degree of familiarity with the established inhabitants of a parish or quarter. Janet Watt, a Kelso woman found to be pregnant, identified the father as ‘William Chatto, writer, who lodges in the house of Thomas Leslie, who lives over against the court of guard in the north side of the street’ in St Giles parish.50 Mr David McGill, under process for fornication by Dalkeith presbytery, was reported living in Edinburgh in 1702 ‘in the College Wynd, first turnpike, first storey, and first door of same’.51 Effigies of James VI and Charles I were erected on the Netherbow port in 1674 ‘for adorning of the entry to the city’, following up a proposal of 1663.52 Just before his death in February 1685, a metal statue of Charles II was commissioned for the Parliament Close, to be placed on an ornate pedestal and surrounded by iron railings.53 While people may have been aware of parish or constables’ boundaries, the most obvious physical signs of administrative divisions were the city ports. Grandest of these was the Netherbow which stood at the head of the Canongate until its demolition in 1764. The city ports were flashpoints for fights and mobs. Apart from funnelling people into the city, excise officers and incorporation officials were stationed there to levy taxes and stop goods being brought into the city illegally.54 The city gates were also powerful symbols of political life. After the Porteous riots of 1736 the Lord Justice Clerk ordered the Netherbow port gates to be dismantled a bit at a time on the pretext that repairs were needed ‘because the populace fancy some of their privileges are wrapt up in the gates’.55 Beliefs about the ports were an example of perceived (if not always real) customs and use rights which proved hard to efface but which were eventually swept away (objects and symbols alike) during the eighteenth century. In June 1661 the general sessions and the magistrates agreed to close the town ports during sermons, except for the (p.124) Netherbow port, ‘which is to stand unclosed [at] that time, only during the sitting of parliament’.56 The council ordered wells to be closed on Sundays between 8 a.m. and noon and again 1 p.m.-5 p.m. as part of regulations on observation of the sabbath set out in 1689.57 In 1705 they appointed William Thomson, merchant, ‘to take care and inspect the Muse well that the same be cleaned and the chains and buckets thereof in condition fit for service and to stop people from washing of linen and woollen cloths, stockings or worsets…or watering of horses at that side of the well’.58 Washer women congregated around the wells early in the morning and ‘malicious, base vagabonds, idle persons or…young children or prentices’ tampered with, or made mischief around, them.59 Muchfrequented wells included the Muse in the Grassmarket and one at the foot of the West Bow built by Robert Milne in 1681.60 If some locations inspired antagonisms, others provoked awe and fear. As people might date events by season or in relation to important celebrations during the year, they also used specific landmarks made famous by distant events. John Hutton, a merchant who witnessed an assault in November 1712 located the incident ‘near to the place where it is said they used to burn the witches’—the Grassmarket. Ten witches and the warlock Major Weir had been executed in 1678, for example.61 There were further gibbets at Pilrig and next to the main road south to Dalkeith. And the Castlehill had been an important execution site until c.1681 when the increasingly up-market tone of this part of the High Street caused this to be discontinued. Places of punishment were sited at important nodes within the city, the meting

out of justice being most obvious there. The Gallowlee had been designated the principal place of execution for the Canongate in 1675 because the main street of the burgh became too crowded and the mob of spectators too easily influenced by the condemned. Four witches from Culross were strangled and burned at the Gallowlee in July 1675 and six Covenanters were (p.125) executed there in October 1681.62 But dispensing retribution also reinforced the attraction of the site and asserted the right of the judges to punish in the most public of places. Examples in the city, where offenders had to stand or were flogged, were the weigh house at the top of the West Bow, the Luckenbooths next to St Giles church, and the Netherbow; at Leith they included the Tolbooth and the Shore.63 Despite the density of its housing, parts of the city retained open spaces. Canongate was much less congested than Edinburgh city proper. Gordon of Rothiemay’s 1647 map shows detached houses with spacious gardens, despite evidence of infilling. Extensive open areas are still evident there in Edgar’s map of a century later. The reverend John Walker built a summer house in the garden of his Canongate dwelling in the early 1720s.64 The physic garden, located at Holyrood from c.1670, was only moved to a new site off Leith Walk in 1763.65 If some areas of the city were relatively open and uncon-gested, others were close and thronged with people. Détroits narrowed the thoroughfares at several points within the city. John Thomson, cordiner, and his wife ‘kept a stand within the head of Collingtoun’s close’ where James Douglas, vintner, lived, ‘which did greatly obstruct the repair of persons going down and coming up the said close and prejudiced the corn-plainer who keeps a public inn’.66 In the same year, Mungo Buchanan, WS, fell foul of the Dean of Guild’s Court for rebuilding a ‘ruinous roofed house’ in the Luckenbooths which had lain unrented for several years ‘and so overgrown with grass that it was a discredit to see such a house upon the forestreet of the metropolitan of this kingdom’.67 The Dean of Guild’s Court regulated the cost of building, adjudicated on the costs of repairs, and checked that completed alterations or restorations were of the required quality and met regulations. The thronging market at the head of the West Bow was (p.126) described by Defoe as: ‘generally full of wholesale traders and those very considerable dealers in iron, pitch, tar, oil, hemp, flax, linseed, painters’ colours, dyes, drugs and woods and such like heavy goods, and supplies country shopkeepers… and here I may say is a visible face of trade.’68 Markets could create ‘the focus for the proper working of the nexus of laws which governed the community’.69 This might have worked in the medieval period when there was a single market place in many burghs, especially when a single parish encompassed all inhabitants too. Seventeenth-century Edinburgh had multiple parishes and several market places, creating multiple focuses. Markets were obvious nodes within the city but their relocation in the 1680s may have altered the perception of space within the city. The flesh market was moved from Martin’s Wynd to the side of the North Loch and the veal and poultry markets were relocated in the former flesh market.70 In 1716 the corn market was moved from the foot of Martin’s Wynd to the south side of the Grassmarket.71 Though rationalized during this period, the several irregularly shaped market places were what Mumford would regard as characteristic of ‘organic’ or ad hoc urban development.72 Within old Edinburgh, closes, streets and squares like the Grassmarket created what Richard Cobb has called ‘urban villages’—though the busier the thoroughfare the less likely it was to act as a focus of community.73 At several points on the High Street, shops and stalls narrowed the thoroughfare to only a few feet. Fruit and vegetable sellers lined the north and south sides of the main street from the Luckenbooths around St Giles to Cant’s Close near the Netherbow. The stalls were crammed into a narrow space under the church walls and between buttresses. The council described the ‘indecent’ and ‘incommodious’ effect of this both on cleanliness and ease of passage.74 A favourite (p.127) pitch for mountebanks was between Blackfriars and Niddry’s Wynds.75 Further obstructions cluttered the head

of the Canongate, to the east of the Netherbow port. In 1671 the town council noted the obstructions caused by butchers selling their wares there: which is both inconvenient for narrowing the street, whereby coaches and carts cannot go one by another, which occasions great confusion at the chief port of this city, and the heritors thereabout not only greatly damnified by abating of their house rents and the entry to their houses almost stopped by crowds of people and multitudes of fleshers’ dogs, and they discouraged to build there…also unseemly in regard the said streets lying contiguous with the chief street of this city is the common passage to and from this place and the King’s palace at…Holyrood…and is likewise the principal entry of strangers from England and other foreign parts.76 During the mid-1750s, a proper footpath had been built along part of the south side of the Canongate head by the local heritors. However, this was being used by carts and the heritors also complained of ‘the great quantity of old clothes hung out for sale at the doors of the several shops and cellars and close heads adjacent of the foot walk which greatly incommoded the passage’.77 St Mary’s Wynd was well known for the sale of cheap new and secondhand garments. The Netherbow itself was dismantled in 1764, following the 1756 example of the Town Cross, moved to make passage in the High Street easier.78 These developments added to the sense of open space within the city and made moving around easier. They involved dismantling barriers which had marked the limits of the city’s jurisdictions and, implicitly at least, announcing the integration of urban space. Changes in marketing were associated with physical alterations to the city. We can see the effect in the sums offered to lease the customs collection at the various entries into the city. A one-third reduction in the amounts offered for the customs of the West and Society ports, one-fifth for the Netherbow, between 1720 and 1721 is attributable to proposals to open up (p.128) the city by making new entries. The 1724 ‘conditions’ prohibited rebates on the wine duty tack ‘on account of new ports made or to be made’. With the same volume of goods but more entries to the city increased collection costs would eat into profits. The West Bow saw a steady decline from just under 2,000 merks a year in the 1690s to just over 1,000 by 1720; the Society port also experienced a decline after c.1710; the Netherbow fluctuated in the period 1694–1722 and shows no clear trend. Sums offered for the ports are not recorded after 1722. On the other hand, an order of 1709 preventing the tacksmen of the ports charging double duties on fair days did not stop them offering 15–20 per cent more for the privilege of collecting the petty customs at the next auction. Economic ‘liberalization’ (Chapter 6) was associated with a redefinition of space. Opening up the city was done at the expense of removing important centres of contact and sociability. That not everyone approved of the removal of city landmarks is shown by two heavily ironical spoof pamphlets borrowing from the genre of scaffold speeches and confessions. ‘The last speech and dying words of the Cross of Edinburgh, which was hanged, drawn, and quartered on Monday the 15th March 1756, for the horrid crime of being an incumbrance to the street’ is a nice example, as is ‘The last speech, confession, and dying words of the Netherbow Port of Edinburgh, which was exposed to roup and sale on Thursday the 9th of August 1764’.79 Efforts to make space more accessible also made it more homogeneous and less easily endowed with traditional values of association. In effect, the identity of space was increasingly determined formally by the town council and informally by the élites who dominated the social tone of the metropolis.80

Wealth and Status If administrative boundaries and physical objects shaped perception of space within the city so too did the kinds of people who inhabited its different parts. Wealth and occupation are (p.129) useful indicators of social difference and both can be measured by using taxation documents and listings of inhabitants. The citizens of Edinburgh and its liberties were subjected to a number of taxes which allow

the geography and social distribution of wealth to be assessed. Different sources produce very different pictures of wealth distribution, but viewed together they allow us to build up a picture of the social geography of early modern Edinburgh. Historians have tended to focus on tax documents, notably the 1690s poll tax, in assessing the spatial distribution of wealth. Yet, of the relatively broadly based taxes, only the annuity tax and stent rolls offer any sort of series over time, however broken. We should be moving away from a narrow focus on one (poll) tax at one date and examining other sources which allow analysis of change. The annuity tax is a particularly useful source because it was collected over a long period. The annuity tax schedules allow analysis of the distribution of wealth shown in house rents. This rate to pay for the city’s established church ministers was authorized in 1661 and began to be collected in 1663. Householders were supposed to pay 6 per cent of the rental value of their property. Thus, a householder assessed at £100 Scots a year would fork out £6 for the tax.81 The city proper was split into eight bounds for collection purposes, these paying roughly four-fifths of the total assessed annuity for the conurbation.82 Because it was a personal rather than a property tax, owner-occupiers paid on a notional ‘rental’: what their abode would be worth if rented. Ownership is immaterial because wealth is likely to be broadly reflected in a person’s house. It is likely that overall wealth was more accurately reflected in house rent than it was in the number of hearths or in ownership of moveable property, and that the wealth of household heads would equate to that of the population as a whole, assuming all paid. The tax gives the relative wealth of payers and can be used to chart trends in overall valuation. The absolute level of assessment is less important (p.130) than the relative, provided the rating was consistent between houses and over time. Except for minor variations attributable to corruption, this seems to have been the case within a particular tax like the annuity. It is definitely not when one tax is compared with another because of obvious inconsistencies between them.83 Two years, 1751 and 1754, have been analysed in detail for comparison with other studies. The minimum valuation for all bounds was £20 with a range of maxima for 1751 between £400 in the fourth bounds and £800 in the fifth. The range of valuations for 1754 is wider: £400 is still the maximum in the fourth bounds but in the third Walter Thomson, vintner, was assessed on £1,120. In the seventh the new Royal Bank premises (formerly in the third at £500) were valued at £1,200 as were the Customs House and the Excise Office in the eighth. As well as considerable wealth disparities between individuals there were also pronounced differences between areas of the city. In 1754, the fourth bounds had a total worth of just 36 per cent of the seventh bounds. Bounds whose mean assessments gave them a higher ranking than total valuation were those with a handful of well-off individuals. In contrast, the seventh bounds had a larger proportion of reasonably comfortable inhabitants. Table 2.2 shows a healthy 12 per cent increase in total valuation and, unsurprisingly, a strong rank order correlation between the two dates of 0.90. More striking is the rank order persistence over half a century. The value of Spearman’s r when comparing total valuations by bounds between the annuity roll of 1696–7 and that of 1751 is 0.86. Throughout the period, wealth was concentrated in the south-central areas of the city.84 We can also try tentatively to rank parishes by other means. One is to compare voluntary rather than compulsory giving, using the sums collected for good causes. This is not a direct indicator of wealth because the willingness to give enters into the equation in a way it does not with formal taxation. A collection for persecuted Calvinists might not go down too well with (p.131)

Table 2.2. Mean and total valuation (£) by bounds, Edinburgh annuity tax, 1751 and 1754 Bound

1751

1754

Mean

Total

Mean

Total

1

90.8

20,700

91.7

25,410

2

116.0

34,920

109.8

32,600

3

122.1

33,700

121.2

39,020

4

68.1

15,050

67.0

15,220

5

84.8

25,530

91.3

28,200

6

74.1

19,110

75.3

21,090

7

97.7

37,420

98.4

32,390

8

77.1

17,810

87.9

25,480

All

93.0

204,240

94.2

229,410

papists. Parishes like the Canongate contained small concentrations of catholics whose religious leanings rather than the depth of their purses determined whether they would contribute. However, it is likely that the approximate prosperity of a parish is reflected in the amounts raised. Indeed, church collections have an advantage over taxation documents in that they show the willingness and ability to give of a wide spectrum of parishioners. Taxation assessments only cover those liable to pay, they are distorted by maximum and minimum assessments, and they are stickier in measuring change over time.

In late 1718 there was a voluntary collection for distressed protestants in Lithuania.85 To the nearest pound sterling, the collections are ranked in Table 2.3 for urban and rural parishes which formed part of the presbytery of Edinburgh. The distinction is slightly artificial in that parishes like Duddingston and St Cuthbert’s were semi-urban. Fully urban parishes are italicized. Table 2.3 also shows the concentration of the county of Midlothian’s wealth in the metropolitan parishes, and especially in the city proper. The contributions by parish can be compared with the total tax due by each parish at the time of the 1694 poll tax and with the percentage of elite households (excluding the (p.132) Table 2.3. Sums (£) collected from parishes in Edinburgh presbytery, 1718 Urban

Tolbootha

£

Rural 110 West (St Cuthbert’s)

£ 76

New

92 Liberton

19

Old

90 Cramond

15

College

88 Ratho

6

New North

68 Duddingston

4

Tron

66 Colinton

3

Greyfriars

56 Corstorphine

3

South Leith

39 Currie

3

Canongate

38 Kirknewton

1

Lady Yester’s

32

North Leith

9

Edinburgh castle

5

(a) Italics indicate city parishes. New North and the Castle).86 The rank order correlation of élite households with sums contributed in 1718 is rather weak at 0.54 but the association between the total tax due by each parish and donations is a strongly positive 0.84. It may be that ‘Voluntary’ contributions are a useful substitute for taxation documents in showing the relative prosperity of those above the bread line. Furthermore, they include professionals who were often not assessed for local taxes (though they were for the poll tax).

Historians can map prosperity and poverty. Contemporaries too had a ‘mental map’ of the distribution of wealth within the city. Edinburgh presbytery recognized that ‘the Old Kirk parish is one of the most considerable in the city both as to the auditory number and quality of those who reside in it’.87 However, it was not always the average wealth of the inhabitants which conditioned those perceptions. During the 1690s, Lasswade’s parishioners spoke of the College Kirk ‘which by ourselves is called the parish of beggars or the beggarly parish’.88 They must have meant that many beggars congregated there or that only part of (p.133) the parish was poor, because they acknowledged in a later statement that ‘a

great part of the parish…is in the midst of the town where many persons of quality live’.89 Perhaps their mental map was a selective one, redrawn in this instance to help them argue against the removal of a popular clergyman to Edinburgh. Contemporaries were aware of the spatial differentiation of occupation and status between different areas of the city and within buildings. James Stark’s early nineteenth-century Inquiry located labourers, porters, carters, scavengers, and paupers mostly on the southern fringe of the city and in the dingy closes and courts of the Old Town. The middling ranks lived in flats or small suburban houses while the élites might have whole houses.90 Élites perceived space within the town as either suitable or unsuitable for people of their rank. A decision was made by the magistrates and kirk session of the Canongate about the location of a school there in October 1679: taking to their consideration the benefit that may accrue to the burgh in promoting the interest of the grammar school of Canongate by transporting the school from Leith Wynd to the middle of the street for the satisfaction of some of the nobility who has their children to put to the school there who will not suffer them to go to the head of the street.91 The problem lay in the social tone of Leith Wynd and the Canongate head, both thick with taverns and secondhand clothes shops. During the eighteenth century the social division of space became more evident. Middle-class women were making certain types of space their own: churches, some types of shop, and the main streets—though only at certain times of the day and not to the exclusion of males. Hugo Arnot felt that by the 1770s, middle-class women no longer wished to be seen in the city’s markets but preferred to haunt perfumers and milliners.92 While élites preferred certain areas they had access to all sorts of space at all times. At the top of the Canongate stood the Netherbow port. Its doors were normally closed at night but since ‘in the winter session the town is frequented by many of (p.134) the nobility and gentry who having affairs to do in the night time within this town occasions their going to their quarters in the Canongate and Abbey’, the council ordered them to be given free passage at all times.93 Contrast the vagrants outside the city proper for whom the Netherbow port was a barrier, even when open, or the debtors confined behind the invisible bars of the Abbey’s gutter stones. Clusters of wealth clearly existed, especially in the central areas of the city. Edinburgh had ‘multiple nodes of wealth’. While some artisans clustered together in poorer quarters, others were spread throughout the city and some were more common in rich than poor areas. There are further differences in the number of occupations found in a ‘quarter’ of the city. The 1682 constables’ list shows that within the city proper, some of the twenty-seven bounds for which occupations are recorded had as few as eleven separate occupations while others had as many as thirty-five. The number of occupations is related to the number of liable men in an area (which ranged between 31 and 143) but the correlation is far from perfect (r = 0.7). There is some evidence that those who followed particular trades tended to congregate in certain quarters. The cordiners’ hall was at the south-west corner of the Horse Wynd, that of the skinners in the Skinner’s Close.94 However, seventeen different occupations belonging to the hammermen met in the Magdalen Chapel in the Cowgate, making it difficult for all those trades to cluster around the company hall, even if they had so wished. Furthermore, there seems to have been little soul searching about values of social association when financially straitened incorporations sold off their meeting halls in the 1740s. Tradesmen recognized the advantages of doing business in the city but on more than one occasion the town council upbraided inhabitants for shirking the responsibilities which went with their privileges. For most merchants and artisans, the decision about where to live in the city, or whether to move to the suburbs, probably depended on the state of the urban economy and access to customers rather than

perceived social, environmental, or psychological advantages. The anonymous author of a Letter from a Gentleman…(1749) noted that businessmen (p.135) had not made a beeline for the suburbs ‘where houses equally commodious are let for near one half of the rent they pay in the town’. The reason was that ‘access is every where so difficult to the scene of business’.95 If this statement is reliable—the author was an advocate of a poor rate based on valued rent within the city—it implies that at this date merchants and tradesmen preferred to live near their business premises for convenience, irrespective of rent levels and local tax burdens. Other evidence suggests that the pamphlet was correct. Robert Mitchell, feuer and brewer at Fountainbridge, complained in the 1720s that ‘the inhabitants of the city have twenty ways of making gain by their residence therein’ compared with suburban producers.96 The same point can be made about the upper bourgeoisie. There was no obvious reason why the elites had to live centrally to perform political, cultural, ceremonial, and administrative roles, even if they had perceived these as being their raison d’être. Fiscal motives lay behind the insistence of town council that burgesses who benefited from trading in the city should live within its boundaries and pay local taxes. From the sixteenth century, if not before, Edinburgh’s leaders plainly did not regard making money as a subsidiary pursuit in the way Sjoberg believed. For the middling sorts, who staffed the kirk session and who were normally expected to be resident in the parish, it was a different story. The city’s magistrates and other officials had similarly to be on call twenty-four hours a day. Commercial interest was clearly the main factor fixing artisans and tradesmen in the city. The role of these middling craftsmen and merchants in determining the social geography of the town was much more significant than the élitebased models of Vance or Sjoberg allow. Occupational zoning remained clear in eighteenth-century Edinburgh. Many of the better-off merchants still lived in the centre of the city, even if some of their peers were joining the professionals in seeking substantial suburban or rural homes.97 Elements of the middling classes retained a desire to live in the (p.136) Lawnmarket, Parliament Square, and some of the early prestige developments such as Milne’s Court. This fits some of the predictions of Sjoberg, who saw the élites inhabiting the centre of the city while the less advantaged located on the outskirts.98 Sjoberg contrasted this with twentieth-century patterns of residence where the wealthy purchased spacious, openly situated homes on the outer edges of the city. Transformation might have occurred with new technology and economic organization, as Sjoberg thought. An earlier force which changed the use of space was suggested by Vance in the form of capitalist development. Vance saw medieval use of space determined by customary values of association between guild members, without any clear wealth segregation. Sixteenth-century London, for example, is said to have had individual occupations clustered in a parish or neighbourhood around their guild hall. Merchants were centrally located because they were usually the most significant guild and enjoyed civic precedence. With the development of capitalism urban land was valued as individual property capable of generating an income rather than a means of fostering social associations. Economically aggressive townsmen began to trade in property for profit, as in seventeenth-century London. ‘The mechanism for change within the merchants’ town was the relative utility of the site, measured by the bid-rent that potential occupants were willing to pay for its use. A separate bid-rent scale for residential locations, based on social esteem, did not grow up for some time.’99 Élites moved to the suburbs while the poorer classes clustered initially in the suburbs, driven there by rising rents, and then eventually in the centre in housing vacated by the wealthy. Residence was increasingly determined by wealth. Vance also predicted that in the medieval town the wealthy courtiers would abandon the city to the merchants as their need for style and display could no longer be met within its bounds. He posited the principle that ‘the wealthy normally favor investing their money in structures, which show their wealth,

rather than in excessively costly central land, which does not present its price to the naked eye’.100 The result was that in the merchants’ town by the late seventeenth century: (p.137) at least three different scales operated in the city: (1) that for commercial premises predicated primarily on the quality of the site in the matter of access…(2) that of the working people based on the ease of daily access to the workplace…(3) that of the leisured class based on the levels of social cachet.101 Presumably it was a mixture of these considerations which encouraged Edinburgh’s legal profession to cluster in the New, Old, Tolbooth, and Tron parishes at the end of the seventeenth century.102 Not all decisions about location of residence or workplace can be reduced to either a desire for social associations or the influence of money rent. Trades which generated unpleasant smells or refuse, or which relied on fire for their work, were denied access to the most frequented parts of the town. Amongst those not allowed a choice of location were the candle-makers. Banished to remote parts of the town in 1621, they continued to pop up in different areas of the city throughout the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Canongate candle-makers and distillers were ordered by the bailies in 1671 to remove ‘to some convenient place absent from any houses’.103 Edinburgh’s candlemakers were, by the late seventeenth century, obliged to congregate in the eponymous row which formed the north-east border of Greyfriars churchyard. They built a hall there in 1722. They were also required to work on the ground floor. However, in 1742 the council granted them preference in renting or feuing buildings in the Candlemaker Row because pressure of space had forced some freemen to locate elsewhere in the city, a development ‘offensive and dangerous to the neighbourhood’.104 Growing numbers of certain types of craftsmen—like candlemakers, whose trade was ‘deregulated’ in the early seventeenth century—may have forced them to disperse around the city if the housing market could not increase at the same pace. Candlemaker Row and Fleshmarket Close were superficially similar to London’s Cheapside during the seventeenth century. The concentration of goldsmiths in the latter street was preserved by the strict policy of the company, which (p.138) owned most of it.105 There were clusters of occupations in contemporary Edinburgh but the fact that most shops and houses were rented rather than owned militated against enduring concentrations. Indeed, some incorporations sought on occasion to prevent members living and working too close to each other. Candlemaker Row was the closest thing to a ghetto in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Edinburgh.106 Choice of residence was influenced not only by wealth and occupation but also by other considerations. Brewers clustered in the triangle between Candlemaker Row, Cowgate, and the Greyfriars or Bristo port, an area known as ‘the Society’, because of its water supply and accessibility to bulk carriers of raw materials from the agricultural region to the south.107 Peebles Wynd was popular with bakers. Families needed larger premises as they had children, smaller ones as the children grew up and left home or died. Landlord attitudes to overdue rent payments or to repairs may have encouraged movement or stability. Families may have preferred to live close to any kin they had in the city, either for help in old age or while raising children. People did not want to live near flesh markets, tanning holes, and other noisome sites unless they had to and it was recognized that rents would be lower in their vicinity.108 Edinburgh surgeons were evenly distributed throughout the city in the 1690s, presumably because of the need to be close to patients.109 Wealth within Edinburgh was concentrated in certain central areas but the pattern was rendered much more complex by variations between street and close, and even within buildings. Since Edinburgh had only one main street, access to it reflected (p.139) social divisions. It was desirable to have the light, space, and air which the High Street or Lawnmarket offered. However, not all sections of the mile from the castle to Holyrood were perceived as having equal value. The Lawnmarket and Parliament Close

were prime areas and there were other spots such as the head of Forrester’s Wynd and New Street in the Canongate which were prized around the middle of the eighteenth century.110 Vance argues that in northern Europe ‘most of the functional separation of the city took place within the house’. The shop was on the ground floor, family on the first, apprentices and journeymen above and the attic was used as a store.111 Mumford distinguishes the pre-industrial city by its ‘general absence of functionally differentiated space’.112 ‘The fact that the burgher house served as workshop, store, and counting house prevented any municipal zoning between these functions’.113 If workplace and home had once been identical in Edinburgh, a division had already developed in some trades and was increasing in others by the end of the seventeenth century. For example, during the 1690s, 1700s, and 1710s, the church paid close attention to tav-erners ‘who keep cellars and women servants therein (the cellars being in one place of the city and their dwelling houses at a considerable distance in another place of the city)’ because they would be unable to supervise goings on at their premises.114 Space in Edinburgh’s buildings was seldom arranged as Vance or Mumford suggest. However, their comments direct us towards a feature of metropolitan housing upon which a number of contemporaries remarked. Topham said that ‘the highest and lowest tenements are possessed by the artificers, while the gentry and better sort of people dwell in fifth and sixth stories’.115 A tenement at the head of the West Bow provides an example. Belonging to John Birnie, younger, of Broomhill near Hamilton in Lanarkshire, it brought in approximately £320 a year in rent. The rental for 1723 shows that the wife of a gentleman’s servant lived in the ground floor flat and paid £28 a year in rent. Above her at the front of the building was a barber (£75). Occupying the second floor and two garrets was a servant to the Earl of Selkirk (£84) with a schoolmistress on the top floor (£48). (p.140) Moving to the other side of the building, Katherine Manson kept ‘the little shop in the stair’ at £11 a year, one madam Scott was above her (£24), and a writer occupied the top storey at the back (£50).116 There was a measure of functional separation in that shops were located at street level and artisans or humble professionals like writers might use the better-lit upper floors to work.117 However, the principal reason for separation was wealth rather than occupation and in particular the willingness to pay higher rents for prime first- and second-floor apartments.118 The buildings Topham had in mind were 9–10 storeys at the front and 12–13 on slopes at the back, a height made possible by the use of internal turnpike stairs rather than the external forestairs of buildings like Gladstone’s land in the Lawnmarket (now preserved as a historic monument open to the public). In reality, most were five storeys or less but the tallest buildings were in (p.141) the city centre and must have been an imposing sight to the well-heeled travellers who frequented that area. Even the poor waif John MacDonald and his siblings ‘strolled within the gates of the city of Edinburgh, to see the fine high houses’.119 Gazing upwards had its attractions. Not least it could alert passers-by to the danger of having a chamber pot emptied on their heads. However, it also paid to look down, like JosephTaylor and his companions who had to ‘take care where we trod for fear of disobliging our shoes’.120 Old Edinburgh in the eighteenth century had an unenviable reputation as one of the filthiest cities in Europe. One solution to the less pleasant aspects of urban life was to move outside the built up area. Suburbs were an integral part of Edinburgh’s social and economic life. George Square was begun in the 1760s: ‘the first truly modern house-building project in Edinburgh, and the first true square’.121 As Vance predicted, such plots were built on for the benefit of the better off.122 For example, land at Hope Park to the south of the city was bought by a bailie, the deacon of the masons, a brewer, wigmaker, and his majesty’s master tailor in North Britain in 1736.123 In contrast, Dean village’s inhabitants in 1743 were mainly carters, quarrymen, and farm labourers living in cramped and crowded housing.124

As early as 1702, St Cuthbert’s parish put in a petition to the presbytery for three ministers and another church building since it ‘still is upon the growing hand by reason of new buildings in several corners’.125 A further chapel of ease was erected at the junction between Potteraw and Bristo Street in 1757. St Cuthbert’s was unusual in having a number of prosperous landowners, millers, and burgesses living there in addition to farmers, labourers, and artisans. Most other suburban parishes (p.142) were largely the preserve of the petty artisans and manual workers. One contribution to the debate on a compulsory poor rate for the city in 1749 claimed it was pointless to levy it in the suburbs because ‘most of the poor in the neighbouring parishes reside in and about the suburbs. The houses there are generally of little value and low rented.’126 Suburbs housed some of the more unpleasant trades like butchering—near the West port from 1654, for example.127 Other unsavoury activities might be concealed outside the more densely settled and welladministered parts of the conurbation. What might be termed ‘professional’ criminals operated from suburban rather than city bases. John Watson and his wife Agnes Lamb had lived in the Potteraw for twenty years when they were prosecuted by the city’s magistrates in 1660. Far from living honest and Christian lives, they had ‘committed and been accessory to sundry villainies, cheats and abuses such as resetting and harbouring of certain scandalous persons within their dwelling and committing of theft to the prejudice of the neighbours’. The couple were notorious with St Cuthbert’s kirk session, who had banished them for harbouring ‘drunkards, swearers and cheaters’. However, they had simply moved into the adjacent Canongate parish, where they sold adulterated wine to vintners ‘and began here as they left off before’.128 Walter Scott had his heroine Effie Deans give birth to her bastard in ‘one of those solitary and secret purlieus of villainy, which, to the shame of our police, still are suffered to exist in the suburbs of this city’.129 Beyond the true ‘suburbs’ were rural areas which became increasingly popular places to live for the mercantile and professional élites of the eighteenth century. Élite preference for ‘green field’ sites and for ease of movement are both clearly seen in eighteenth-century newspaper advertisements for upmarket properties. An advertisement for a substantial house and brewery in the Canongate which appeared in the Edinburgh Chronicle of 9–11 February 1760 pointed out: ‘As it is now certain that a good turn-pike road will be made down the back of the (p.143) Canongate this spring or summer, the access to the above…will be rendered more commodious.’130 In 1761 a single arch bridge was built at Canonmills to make access for wheeled traffic to the new country residences to the north at Trinity— such as the early eighteenth-century Laverockbank house.131 The search for pleasantly situated homes away from, yet close to, the metropolis is evident from the early eighteenth century and is clear in the development of élite accommodation to the south and south-west of the city and then of the New Town to the north.132 James Brown, surgeon, bought land at St Leonards in 1703 with the intention of building a summer house for himself and his children.133 Desire for privacy and amenity was growing apace. In January 1764 the Edinburgh Advertiser notified inhabitants of the auction of ‘two new elegant houses, built by Mr Adam, architect, on his area south of the Cowgate’. Separate houses each with a coach road, ‘they are situate in an area that is extensive, and not a common passage’.134 In the following month, readers were tempted to rent a ‘new-built house, beautifully situated, on the high ground to the south of Portsburgh, commanding an extensive prospect every way, with genteel furniture, perfectly clean’.135 The élites began to create their own environment. St James’s Square, built to the north of the new bridge in the 1770s, had a residents’ association or ‘parliament’ to supervise common spaces and amenities.136 Personal and aesthetic considerations may have played their part in decisions to move out, though for the professionals who had no formal role in city government, relocation may have been a statement about their lack of involvement in civic affairs.137

With the building of the New Town, the social geography of the city changed completely. Writing in 1806, Stark observed that ‘the houses which in 1763 were possessed by the first families (p.144) were twenty years after inhabited by tradesmen or by people in humble life’, a direct crib from Creech in the Old Statistical Account: ‘In 1763—people of quality and fashion lived in houses, which, in 1783, are inhabited by tradesmen, and people in humble and ordinary life.’138 The house formerly possessed by the Lord President of the Court of Session was occupied by a woman who sold secondhand clothes and furniture.139 An earlier example of the same phenomenon is the Cowgate—‘the polite part’ of the city in the sixteenth century according to Topham but later an unsalubrious quarter.140 Some areas had never been fashionable: the Grassmarket had always possessed mean housing. The social changes which took place after c.1760 were part of a long-established process of residential relocation determined by changing amenity, fashion, and building styles.

Conclusion The middle years of the eighteenth century saw the culmination of a fundamental change in the definition and use of space within Edinburgh. By 1760, the legal anomalies which had characterized areas of the metropolis in the late seventeenth century had been significantly reduced in favour of a relatively uniform system of royal justice. Heritable jurisdictions had been abolished and the sway of royal courts extended to cover all areas of the city and surrounding countryside in serious criminal matters—as the Court of Session already did for weighty civil cases.141 The rationalization of jurisdictions was proceeding— for example, with further land purchases and the extension of harbour facilities at Leith during the 1750s. Many of the privileges of guild and incorporation were in the process of being removed, lapsing, or being voluntarily surrendered (Chapter 6). An act to extend the royalty north and south of the ancient limits was passed in 1767. One proposed in 1753 had been defeated. New roads in the suburbs and beyond and the removal of physical (p.145) obstacles within its limits were opening up the city for the movement of people. The process of jurisdictional consolidation had a long history. Between the 1630s and 1730s Edinburgh’s town council and incorporations had been extending their de facto control over the city’s satellites. The spatial divisions which remained in 1760 were of particular kinds. Civil jurisdictions and those of the ecclesiastical courts changed little. Taxation was still collected on the basis of established boundaries between the city’s component burghs and according to established bounds within them. Whether these divisions meant much in human terms is arguable. Many day-to-day administrative matters were still dealt with by bailies and other appointees of the town council within the old jurisdictions. Along with the constables’ bounds, these were probably more significant for ordinary people, though hardly for the mercantile, professional, and landed elites. For the latter, living within or outside the boundaries of the ancient royalty was the main concern since they would be liable for local taxation if resident. Parishes persisted, though the introduction of a charity workhouse for the city in 1743 (discussed in Chapter 4) furthered the process of consolidation within the city proper. Separate workhouses in Canongate and St Cuthbert’s from the 1760s served to enhance parish identity for the lower orders in other areas of the metropolis. The general point is that for the upper ranks the unification of space was proceeding apace. The city was their oyster. The poor were, if anything, becoming more rooted in their place of residence. The most significant spatial divisions which existed in the decades after the 1750s were those determined by wealth and social status. In a way, these changes can be said to have recreated a sort of ‘community of the burgh’. With competing jurisdictions largely swept away and new focuses of identity created by, for example, the shared participation in élite culture (discussed in Chapter 3), there were new opportunities to treat Edinburgh as a single entity. But it was not a community formed of all those living within an area or worshipping at a single church. Instead, ‘community’ existed only for certain groups and in specific contexts. For lawyers and town council who dealt with the whole spectrum of burgh affairs, for those

who read and were influenced (p.146) by the celebration of urban identity in Maitland’s 1753 History, for outsiders like central government and the landed classes: for these groups Edinburgh was a unit. For most urban dwellers the mental map of the city remained complex and divided by perceptions of space which were created by parishes or the day-today sociability of closes and streets. But the notion of the city was increasingly shaped by less tangible if equally powerful social and economic distinctions. Wealth could offer seasonal or permanent residence outside Edinburgh, and better living conditions for those who stayed within its bounds. Poverty offered a fixed place and limited flexibility for social or geographical mobility. On one level wealth and status made the whole city accessible, on another it gave access to particular spaces such as the assemblies and societies denied to the masses, or even to a burial plot in a particular churchyard. For some inhabitants, formal divisions of space within the city had been replaced by informal ones. Vance offers us some help in understanding these changes. Spatial organization in late eighteenthcentury Edinburgh was primarily dictated by wealth and status. However, this factor had always been important in distinguishing where people would live and what use they could make of urban space. What was distinctive about George III’s Edinburgh was that other reasons for residence and other factors delineating space on the ground had become less important. Occupational and wealth zoning had probably coexisted since at least the sixteenth century. Land use in Edinburgh had always had what Vance would call a ‘capitalist’ element, even in the seventeenth century. What made the late eighteenth century distinctive was the transformation of other forces, which had once divided space on the ground, into those unifying it, leaving wealth and status as the primary expression of both social and physical space. Notes:

(1) Quoted in F. Bédarida, The French Approach to Urban History: An Assessment of Recent Methodological Trends’, in Fraser and Sutcliffe (eds.), Pursuit of Urban History, 405. (2) G. Sjoberg, The Preindustrial City (New York, 1960) (3) E. F. Catford, Edinburgh: The Story of a City (London, 1975), 20

. Vance, Scene. . Walls

remained important but more for the flimsy barrier they afforded against smuggling and for their delineation of administrative boundaries than for their defensive qualities. Plans to use the walls against the Jacobite rebels in the autumn of 1715 were never implemented though the fact that their defensive capabilities were considered at all may indicate that they were less useless than customs officials claimed. Armet, Extracts 1701–18,301–2. (4) NLS 3.2844[11], 1. (5) ECA MB 76, 133.73, 199–202. (6) E. L. Ewan, ‘The Community of the Burgh in the Fourteenth Century’, in Lynch, Spearman, and Stell (eds.), The Scottish Medieval Town, 228–9. (7) SRO CH2/122/llb, fo. 144v. (8) NLS MS.5.1148[1], 9–10. The official register of sasines may not have been a reliable guide to the actual ownership of buildings for these reasons. (9) ECA MB 55,179–81. (10) ECA MB 60,70; MB 61,202–3.

(11) SRO T467; ECA MB 21, fos. 176r-v; Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,78,227,242. (12) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 85,145. (13) Aufrere, Lockhart Papers, 165. (14) Wilson, Memorials, ii. 133–4,165. (15) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,116,118. (16) This was the closest thing to the head court of the burgh, an institution which had bound the community together until the end of the sixteenth century. Lynch, ‘Social and Economic Structure’, 262. Edinburgh before the New Town had ‘no static design, embodying the needs of a single generation, arbitrarily ruling out the possibilities of growth, re-adaptation, change: rather…continuity in change, and unity emerging from a complex order’. Mumford, City, 370. (17) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9,47–8. (18) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse ii. 73. (19) H. Armet, ‘Notes on the Rebuilding in Edinburgh in the Last Quarter of the Seventeenth Century’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 29 (1956), 113–14. (20) Vance, Scene, 34–5. (21) Mumford, City, 506. (22) SROCS232/E/1/8. (23) Wood, ‘Survey’, 29–30, 34. Kincaid, History, 103. J. H. Stevenson (ed.), The Register of the Great Seal of Scotland, A.D. 1660–1668 (Edinburgh, 1914), 268 . Scott, Freiburg, 38–46. (24) Mackay, Canongate, 15. (25) SRO JC7/27,68–72. (26) SRO GD1/14/1. (27) SRO GD348/211. (28) NLS Ry.IVe.9[1]. (29) SRO GD1/12/64. (30) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,48. (31) SRO SC39/120/3,81–2. (32) Youngson, Classical Edinburgh, 297 and passim. (33) ECA MB 54,256,328–33,391,411. (34) SRO JC6/13,5 Aug. 1692. See Ch. 1. (35) Ewen, ‘Debtors’; Hannah, ‘Sanctuary’.

(36) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 352. Despite this minute, there is no mention of ridings in the town council registers after that date. The purchase of various estates and jurisdictions around the city in the 1710s and 1720s may have eased tensions with neighbours over boundaries. (37) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,280–2. Armet, Extracts 1701–18,350–1. (38) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,251. (39) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,350. (40) Arnot, History, 379. Anon., ‘Introduction’, Stair Soc. 20: 371. According to Topham in 1776, it sat in a room 10 feet square in the Parliament Close. Letters, 299. Indeed, most of the courts occupied rooms in that precinct, overlooked, and lent spiritual legitimacy, by St Giles church. (41) For a lucid outline of Scotland’s courts and their jurisdictions from a political standpoint see R. Scott, The Politics and Administration of Scotland 1725–48’, Ph.D. thesis (Edinburgh, 1982), 217–46. (42) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen v. 273. (43) ECA Dean of Guild court vii. 243. (44) Topham, Letters, 28. (45) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,166. (46) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9,54. Armet, Extracts 1701–18,16. A public clock was proposed for the Canongate in 1726. ECA Acts of Canongate bailies v, 6–12. (47) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,82. (48) NLS, Nicoll, Diary, 75. (49) Taylor, Journey, 103. (50) SRO CH2/136/2,8–9. (51) SRO CH2/424/8. (52) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,173–4. (53) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9,134. (54) For example, SRO JP35/4/1,20 Dec. 1661. (55) Roughead, Porteous, 100. (56) SRO CH2/131/1, fo. 36. (57) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,4. (58) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,104. (59) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. iii, 29 Oct. 1761. Wood, Extracts 1665–80, p. xliii. (60) Wilson, Memorials, ii. 166.

(61) SRO JC7/5. Wilson, Memorials, i. 134. (62) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 229. MacKay, Canongate, 78. London was apparently much more a ‘city of the gallows’. P. Linebaugh, ‘The Tyburn Riot against the Surgeons’, in D. Hay et al. (eds.), Albion’s Fatal Tree: Crime and Society in Eighteenth Century England (Harmondsworth, 1977), 66.

(63) SRO JC7/6,25 Mar. 1713. (64) SRO CH2/122/11b, fo. 134. (65) J. M. Wallace, Traditions of Trinity and Leith (Edinburgh, 1985), 4

.

(66) SRO CC8/6/3,1698. (67) ECA Dean of Guild court vii. 479–81,490–1. (68) Quoted in Smout, Scottish Trade, 85. (69) Ewan, ‘Community of the Burgh’, 236. (70) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 5, 9, 37. (71) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, p. xxvii. (72) Mumford, City, 353. (73) These groupings meshed together freely without showing the passionate rivalries which identified and divided the wards of medieval Italian cities. G. Huppert, After the Black Death: A Social History of Early Modern Europe (Bloomington, Ind., 1986), 36

. Garrioch,

Neighbourhood, 251, 254–5. (74) ECA MB 72, 290–2. (75) R. Thin, ‘Medical Quacks in Edinburgh in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centures’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 22 (1938), 134 . (76) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 103. (77) ECA MB 74, 100. (78) Wilson, Memorials, ii. 290, 292. Langford, England, 429 outlines similar developments in London. The city’s gates were dismantled in 1761 as part of a campaign of ‘improvement’ which involved opening up streets. (79) Wilson, Memorials, ii. 290, 292. (80) It is important to recognize that space had constantly to be redefined in order to preserve its social tone since there were almost no formal barriers restricting access to, say, theatres or streets. (81) W. Norrie, The Annuity Tax: A Memorable Chapter in the Ecclesiastical History of Edinburgh (Earlston, 1912), 4

. Report from the Select Committee on Annuity Tax

(Edinburgh)…(London, 1851), 614–15. Report from the Select Committee on the Edinburgh Annuity

Abolition Act (1860)…(London, 1866), 150, 248. E. Baigent, ‘Assessed Taxes as Sources for the Study of Urban Wealth: Bristol in the Later Eighteenth Century’, Urban History Yearbook (1988), 31. (82) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 127. Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 84. (83) Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 31–7. (84) Ibid. 176–7, 551. It might be objected that certain houses were only appropriate to richer people but the example of the Cowgate, and of areas of seventeenth-century London, reminds us that homes could be subdivided and that marked transformations in the social tone of a quarter were possible. (85) SRO CH2/121/10, 133–4. Another option might be to look at sums collected at church doors and recorded by the kirk treasurer. (86) Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 230, 243. (87) SRO CH2/121/10, 29. (88) SRO GD18/3025/2. Lasswade was a rural parish 5–6 miles south of Edinburgh. (89) SRO GD18/3025/8. (90) J. Stark, Inquiry into some Points of the Sanatory State of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1847), 4–5.

(91) SRO CH2/122/6, fo. 118. (92) Arnot, History, 518. (93) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 286. (94) Colston, Incorporated Trades, 92, 105. (95) Letter from a gentleman…(Edinburgh, 1749), 8. (96) SRO SC39/120/2, fo. 21Av. (97) Weiss, ‘Residential Mobility’, 287–97. Houston, ‘Advocates’. See below for further discussion of landed and professional housing preferences. (98) Sjoberg, Preindustrial City, 97–8. (99) Vance, Scene, 217. (100) Ibid. (101) Ibid. (102) Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 432–3. (103) ECA Acts of Canongate Bailies iii., 105. (104) ECA MB 63, 18. (105) Boulton, Neighbourhood, 195.

(106) There was no equivalent of a lewish quarter or the fondaco dei Tedeschi—the area reserved for German traders in xenophobic medieval Venice. S. N. Eisenstadt and A. Shachar, Society, Culture, and Urbanisation (London, 1987), 288

. Indeed the churches, wells, and streets

which made medieval cities ‘congeries of little cities’ do not seem to have created the same feeling of quarters as in Mumford’s scheme, any more than they did in, say, contemporary Nördlingen. Mumford, City, 356–7. Friedrichs, Nördlingen, 10–11. In any case, these quarters were not created purely by the physical or spatial characteristics of an area but by ideas of neighbourhood and the forms of local social organization. (107) Wilson, Memorials, ii. 152. (108) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 103. (109) H. Dingwall, ‘Seventeenth Century Edinburgh Surgeons: Trade or Profession?’, Proceedings of the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh 22/1 (1992), 94

.

(110) Mackay, Canongate, 122. (111) Vance, Scene, 153. (112) Mumford, City, 330. (113) Ibid., 327. (114) SRO CH2/131/2, 89. (115) Topham, Letters, 10. (116) BM Add. MS 28,850, fo. 45v. (117) ‘The ground floors and cellars are in general made use of for shops by the tradesmen…and the higher houses are possessed by the genteeler people.’ Topham, Letters, 27–8. Topham drew comparisons with France and indeed 71% of houses in Lyon in 1791 had four or more storeys, the poor living on the top floors (as in eighteenth-century Paris or Nantes) and only the very rich owning separate buildings. Eighteenth-century Berlin was the other city in northern Europe with prominent high-rise buildings. Doyle, Old European Order, 127. R. Darnton, ‘The High Enlightenment and the Low-Life of Literature in Pre-rev-olutionary France’, Past & Present, 51 (1971), 104 . J. Meyer, Études sur les villes en Europe occidentale, i. 17. Hohenberg and Lees, Urban Europe, 295. Paris had a comparatively high average of 25–7 people per building in 1755: assuming four storeys per building there would be seven people per floor. Meyer, Études, i. 49. This contrasts with, say, Antwerp where more than half the houses had only one or two floors. Lottin and Soly, ‘Aspects de l’histoire des villes des Pays-Bas meridionaux’, 250. In Paris or most other French cities before c.1700 lodgings could be spread over several floors of a building and the consolidation of a dwelling on one floor was less common than in Edinburgh. This made vertical social segregation less apparent in France’s cities. J. W. Konvitz, ‘Did the Century 1650–1750 Constitute a Period of Urban History? The French Evidence Reviewed’, Journal of Urban History, 14/4 (1988), 433 . R. Descimon, ‘Paris on the Eve of Saint Bartholomew: Taxation, Privilege, and Social Geography’, in Benedict, Cities and Social Change in Early Modern France, 90. (118) Quoted in A. T. Simpson, S. Stevenson, and N. Homes, Historic Edinburgh, Canongate and Leith: The Archaeological Implications of Development (Edinburgh, 1981), 28 . In his 1753 History, Maitland claimed that it was not judged mean ‘to dwell or lodge in the highest apartments

for even merchants and barbers transact their affairs in the third and fourth storeys; and many persons of distinction lodge higher’. Maitland was writing at a time when city rents were very high and his views may not apply to earlier decades. But his comment suggests that vertical stratification by wealth and status should not be regarded as universal. (119) MacDonald, Memoirs, 12. (120) Taylor, Journey, 134. (121) Youngson, Classical Edinburgh, 68. (122) Vance, Scene, 118. Most European cities of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries had suburbs devoted to industry and recreation where control over building was minimal. A. van der Woude, ‘La Ville Néerlandaise’, in A. Lottin et al. (eds.), Études sur les villes en Europe occidentale, ii. (Paris, 1983), 344

. Only on town land could ‘building leases’ be issued, a problem

common to Dublin and Edinburgh. D. Dickson, ‘Large-Scale Developers’, 113. (123) ECA MB 56, 269. (124) Wallace, Traditions of Trinity and Leith, 83. B. C. Skinner, ‘The Topography of the Water of Leith village’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 30 (1959), 17 . (125) SRO CH2/121/4, 104. (126) NLS Ry.1.5.334, 9. (127) D. Easton, By the Three Great Roads. A History of Tollcross, Fountainbridge and the West Port (Aberdeen, 1988), 29. (128) ECA Black Books, vol. i, fo. 128v. (129) Scott, Heart, 249–50. (130) 116: 151. (131) Wallace, Traditions of Trinity and Leith, 6. (132) Adam Smith pointed to the desire for rural amenity. Smith, Wealth, 378. (133) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 57. (134) Edinburgh Advertiser, 7: 56. (135) Ibid. 15: 119. (136) Catford, Edinburgh, 55–6. (137) The movement of élites to the suburbs was part of a Europe-wide development. Hôtels and weekend and summer homes grew up on suburban green field sites and in the hinterland of the more prosperous towns like Paris and Bordeaux during the eighteenth century. Meyer, Études, i. 49–50. Poussou, ‘Développement de Bordeaux’, 91. (138) Arnot, History, 508.

(139) J. Stark, Picture of Edinburgh Containing a History and Description of the City (Edinburgh, 1806), 407

.

(140) Topham, Letters, 26. (141) In 1660 and before, Edinburgh had bodies which consolidated space—the Dean of Guild’s Court, the presbytery, and the General Sessions, for example. Copyright © 2021. All rights reserved.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

Anonymity, Visibility, and Values R. A. Houston

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.003.0004

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses anonymity, visibility, and urban living in Edinburgh. It shows that the city allowed many ways of life to coexist, and that it was experiencing some aspects of what is known as ‘urban renaissance’. This new urban culture was healing previous divisions and integrating disparate parts of society. For example, it united the elites but still kept them away from other social groups. Keywords:   anonymity, visibility, urban living, Edinburgh, urban renaissance, urban culture

Introduction Theorists have often stressed the anonymity and impersonality of urban life as one of its principal distinguishing features. According to Wirth, ‘the multiplication of persons in a state of interaction under conditions which make their contact as full personalities impossible produces that segmentalization of human relationships’ characteristic of cities. Urban life was secular, disorganized, and fluid, with inhabitants unable to establish long-standing or deep relationships. People will gain freedom from urban living but lose ‘the spontaneous self-expression, the morale, and the sense of participation that comes from living in an integrated society’.1 Weber too said that ‘in the city all sorts of people meet and mingle, often without understanding one another’, accepting Simmel’s idea of the city as a place where personal acquaintance was lacking.2 For R. E. Park, cities were not simply a group of people, technology, and institutions: ‘The city is, rather, a state of mind, a body of customs and traditions, and of organized attitudes and sentiments’.3

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Adam Smith presented a more subtle analysis. ‘A man of rank and fortune’, he wrote, ‘dare not do any thing which would disgrace or discredit him’ in the eyes of others. In contrast, ‘a man of low condition’ only had a reputation to lose in a rural village and ‘as soon as he comes into a great city, he is sunk in obscurity and darkness. His conduct is observed and attended to by nobody’.4 Smith’s analysis was directed at religious behaviour— (p.148) he felt that joining a sect would transform for the better the behaviour of urban men of ‘low condition’ by bringing them into the public eye—but it provides us with a point of departure. How did people perceive metropolitan living? Were their views consistent? Were they homogeneous across society? Was there a consensus about social values? And what documented behaviour can we use to indicate specifically urban social values?

Attitudes to the City What evidence do we have that Scotland’s capital elicited special intellectual and psychological traits from its inhabitants? Early modern Edinburgh’s people have left no trace of the more extreme ‘anomie’ attributed to urban living. By contrast, the reverend Robert Kirk, a Scottish clergyman living in England 1689– 90, wrote of London with an awe that never entered into his remarks about Edinburgh: The city is a great vast wilderness. Few in it know the fourth part of its streets, far less can they get intelligence of the hundredth part of the special affairs and remarkable passages in it, unless by public printed papers, which come not to every man’s notice. The most attend their business, and an inquisitive stranger will know more of the varieties of the city than a hundred inhabitants.5 The effects of metropolitan living could be dire: unless a man ‘deeply remembers his God, his soul, death and that sure he must give a severe account for all, tis hardly possible for him to escape temptations of drinking and whoredom’.6 Of course, London was more than ten times the size of Edinburgh at this time and we should not necessarily be surprised to find no comparable statements about Scotland’s capital. Eighteenth-century writers were disgusted, bewildered, and afraid of London with its ‘distance’, anonymity, violence, and aggressive materialism. Even in the sixteenth century religious figures like Latimer criticized the lack of compassion among its inhabitants. But no Edinburgh voices echoed Cobbet’s description of London as ‘a (p.149) swelling sore that simultaneously drained and corrupted the surrounding countryside’.7 Yet, there are moralistic asides about the quality of metropolitan life in contemporary sermons. The letters of James Hogg, minister at Carnock, to his friends in Edinburgh and collected with a number of sermons are not at first sight promising material. Hogg’s writings ‘concerning the methods and efforts of Hell for extinguishing the taper of saving faith’ are largely personal and deeply Page 2 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values theological but the sermons he collected illustrate some of the prevalent stereotypes of urban life and spirituality held by the clergy.8 A sermon given by Mr James Webster on 11 February 1700, a week after a dreadful fire consumed part of the city centre, lost no time in making a religious point. Edinburgh is guilty of sins that the country are not and that in a higher degree than the country is acquainted with. There is more rejecting the offers of Christ, more contempt of his messengers, more despising of their discipline, more laughing at their persons, sermons and ways than through all the country parishes of Scotland, more uncleanness, more murder, more sabbath breaking, more sumptuous apparel, diet and furniture in Edinburgh than in all Scotland besides, excluding royal burghs.9 God’s judgement on the metropolis, comparable with Sodom, Gomorrah, Adma, Ziboiem, and Zoar, was likely to be more severe because of the many clergy and abundant preaching of his word there. Noting the fast pace of life and lack of time for contemplation, Webster returned to his theme in a 1702 sermon, announcing that ‘we may say of cities in a moral sense, what they do in a natural sense, they have an ill air…the streets of Edinburgh are not so filthy as the hearts of the citizens are, every one debauches another’.10 Webster exemplifies a common theme in clerical writing. The fires which inspired Webster were a useful reminder of divine displeasure and the basis of other sermons and moralistic poems such as James Porterfield’s ‘God’s judgement against sin or a relation of three dreadful fires (p.150) in the city of Edinburgh’.11 With thoughts like this to ponder, godly fathers might look very closely at prospective employers before placing a daughter in service in Edinburgh.12 Contemporaries perceived moral and cultural differences between town and country. James M’Farlan’s 1782 report on the poor of Edinburgh argued that children from the city would be less likely to be ‘corrupted from their infancy, by that profligacy and vice in low life which they cannot fail to witness’ if they lived instead in the countryside with industrious and well-educated cottager and labourer families.13 M’Farlan may have been influenced by Rousseau or Condorcet who saw towns as ‘artificial’, the countryside as ‘natural’. Scottish and French thinkers pondered the moral and cultural implications of urban growth but the religious condemnations of Scots clergy found no coherent secular equivalent beyond a mild preference for country air expressed by Adam Smith and his like.14 The ambivalent attitude of some contemporaries to city living is shown in the thoughts of one academic. Francis Pringle, professor of Greek in St Leonard’s college, St Andrews was headhunted in 1734 for a chair at the expanding university of Edinburgh. In his commonplace book he records the pressures applied on him and his deliberations over his proposed translation to Edinburgh, summed up in a letter to Scotstarvet. Pringle’s ‘friends’ (relatives) wanted him Page 3 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values near them in Edinburgh but he felt that in St Andrews: ‘I am at no great distance and I see them once a year. This has been the place of my lot for five and thirty years past. I have lived as easy all the while…I ask no change for the sake of more honour…I love privacy and retirement, more than hurry and public show.’ He gave his reasons for wishing to stay in ‘a healthful place, sweet and clean, surrounded with gardens…with dry walks abroad, with spacious sands…and quiet ample fields for exercise and diversion, profusely blessed…with purest vital air’. In any case, he visited his ‘friends’ during the vacation while permanent residence in Edinburgh besides the greater trouble and anxiety it would bring’ really did not suit his personality for (p.151) ‘some are as it were made to express, and fashioned by nature, for a public appearance, and to live a city life; others are by instinct appointed for retirement’.15 Pringle’s views are, of course, subjective but he tells us something of the way an intelligent outsider might see the metropolis: dirty, congested, anxietyprovoking, tiring, busy, possessed of a noisome atmosphere, obsessed with image. In all, a place to visit and stay with friends but not the environment in which to make a happy and healthy life. This ambivalence also comes through in documents written when the minister of Lasswade, James Hint, was called to take over one of the Edinburgh parishes in 1697. Those who favoured translation argued that ‘Edinburgh is the metropolis of the nation, the residence of our nobility and fixed place of our solemn judicatories’. But those who did not wish to see Hint go harked back to the unhealthy image of the city: his ‘bodily infirmities may be cured more speedily in a wholesome, warm, country place, where there is plenty of coal, wood, water and pleasant fields, than in Edinburgh’.16 Positive implications can also be drawn, for the reverse of Pringle would be the dynamic and eager men and women to whom city life was a challenge and a pleasure—as he himself recognized. Edinburgh must indeed have seemed attractive from a distance, given its ability to attract immigrants. The Highland footman John MacDonald had been drawn from the Highlands to the city along with his siblings. He lived and worked as a child in Edinburgh before getting a job with a farmer at Corstorphine, five miles west of Edinburgh. He left after two days: ‘like Lot’s wife I looked back to the city’.17 Those who looked the other way, north to the Highlands, had stronger views on the contrasts. The precentor of Greyfriars church was promised his job would be kept open for him when in 1701 he was sent on a teaching mission to ‘a place reckoned the most barbarous and wild part of the Highlands…called Abertaff’,18 Lowlanders had a jaded view of the Highlands in any case but the gap in civility was seen as even greater between metropolis and outback. (p.152) Rural dwellers would have to make considerable adjustments to urban living. As Mumford says, towns stimulated a ‘dilation of the senses’.19 Yet, preindustrial cities’ dependence on immigration from rural areas, and on regular Page 4 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values contact between their inhabitants and country folk in everyday social and economic life, must have diluted any ‘modernizing’ effect. Those moving from the less urbanized northern areas of Scotland would be most affected but people from the Lowlands would probably already know what towns were like from casual visits or from living and working in them when younger. Approximately one Scottish girl in ten aged 15–24 would have been working in Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen, or Dundee in the 1690s and many more would have passed through that stage of life in a city.20 An example is homogeneity in the perception of time. Urban dwellers continued to remember dates from significant events— harvest, prominent celebrations, hirings—rather than from a documented time continuum such as a calendar. Deponing before the Justiciary Court in 1694, Elspeth Rule, a miller’s widow, told how she left service with a surgeon apothecary four or five months after the fireworks at the North Loch to celebrate the birth of the Prince of Wales in 1688. Despite this rather vague way of dating, she had a precise recollection of the fourteen months and four days she had worked in the household.21 One woman remembered she was married ‘at the half moon’.22 Cornelius Nisbet, a suburban gardener, described events happening ‘this last summer about the cherry time’.23 A maltman’s widow who raised a complaint against a building encroachment in 1697 could remember ‘the time when the English were in the kingdom or when the plague was there’—the 1640s and 1650s.24 Literacy did not preclude traditional dating methods. A 31-year-old glover and his 19-year-old servant both dated from the last harvest but both were able to sign their names when prosecuted for excise fraud in 1729.25

(p.153) Anonymity or Visibility? Immigration, size, and sheer numbers made the city a potential melting pot. As early as 1679 Edinburgh was felt to be too large to view it as a single religious community even for a socially restricted congregation. A proposal to set up a church for the members of the College of Justice, and to treat them as a single parish, was opposed by the city’s clergy. Lawyers lived throughout the city and moved residence quite often, making it exceeding incommodious for them and their families to repair constantly to one church and absolutely impossible for one, two or three ministers to perform all the duties of their ministerial callings. Yea, it would be an insuperable task for them to know the several dwellings yearly of their parishioners which yet of necessity must precede their catechising, visiting the sick and many other things belonging to their charge. Nay, they are very sure those ministers should never be well acquainted with nor perfectly remember the habitations of their parishioners and though they could yet who could endure the wearisome toil of going from one end of

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values the town to the other upon several occasions that might fall out at one and the same day or hour.26 A petition of 1701 to set up a licensed employment agency indicated that it was less common in Edinburgh for personal recommendation to be used to recruit servants and stressed that newspaper advertisements were unsatisfactory. It was not designed to fill a vacuum but to replace alternative institutions. Specifically, ‘all wedmen and wedwives [pawnbrokers] be discharged for hereafter, for the encouragement of the said office, to fee or hire any servants whatsoever for money or other effects’.27 References and church testificates (‘passports’) were to be checked and recorded and fees were payable by both masters and servants.28 The agency must have been in existence before this date because in 1698 the kirk treasurer was delegated to supervise the two burgesses who ran it.29 Immigrants to the town travelled longer distances than those seeking service in rural parishes and information networks for employers and (p.154) employees may have been less well developed. Whether the institution worked is unclear because the ‘office of intelligence’ was taken over by the town council in 1707 and may subsequently have been discontinued because in 1711 a merchant called George Anderson set up an agency on his own account. One of Anderson’s aims was to build up a file of references and information about servants to overcome employers’ problems in finding; out about a prospective employee’s background.30 Those from the middling ranks who became apprentices or students were likely to have both formal and informal contacts which would ease their passage into urban life. The unfortunate surgeon’s apprentice Nicol Muschet had four contacts when he came to Edinburgh in 1719, though he had not the sense to take their advice: Archibald Ure, goldsmith and ‘my countryman’ (Muschet came from Alloa); Alexander Chalmers, accountant at the excise office; Robert Wood, keeper of the physic garden; John Finlayson, writer.31 Incomers like Muschet had money and contacts behind them. For the lower orders, it was the associations of their own locality which gave a measure of economic and social security against the unsettling effects of city life and also created a sense of identity. To be known and established in a parish or close was to invite the establishment of reciprocal relations with neighbours; to live an honest and sober life which would ensure poor relief was willingly given in old age or infirmity; to ensure that reputation was established in case of problems with the law. The pervasive concern with dress shows that people cared about their appearance before friends and strangers, and suggests that clothing was a way of establishing identity in a locality. Outward appearance was important where many of the people one met were strangers. As Garrioch observes of eighteenthcentury Paris, most ‘immigrants had no past’.32

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (p.155) Those who had lived unorthodox lives in their home parish might come to Edinburgh to continue their pursuits. Day-to-day life as a protestant dissenter may have been easier in the city during the seventeenth century. George Brysson had become a dissenter during his apprenticeship in Edinburgh during the late 1660s and early 1670s. After his father died, his mother summoned him back to run the family farm in the nearby rural parish of Carrington. However, he later returned to Edinburgh after suffering persecution there.33 In the eighteenth century the growth of dissent took place more in the suburbs. That the principal cities were the main resort of dismissed presbyterian clergy was acknowledged by the Privy Council in 1681 when they singled out Edinburgh, Glasgow, and St Andrews, ‘these being usually the resorts of disaffected persons, and the secret nurseries of schisms and trouble’.34 Perhaps city living changed the behaviour of people like Brysson in the first place. Mary Alexander, daughter of Lanark’s grammar school teacher, admitted fornicating with six different men between mid-November 1702 and late February 1703 while in service with Mr John Skene.35 Mary came from a respectable background and worked for a respected master. That her case came to light proves that anonymity and freedom of action were not guaranteed. James Gray, cobbler in Portsburgh had enticed a 6-year-old girl into his house in the summer of 1703 but was spotted by neighbours who suspected he was up to no good.36 One reason for the arrest and conviction of one of two celebrated robbers and murderers in 1708 was that the man—John Robertson, smith in the Pleasance—’did change his manner of living and left off his constant working and had money in greater plenty than formerly he used to have and expending it more superfluously and idly’.37 Margaret Raith’s theft from Lord Balmerino’s wife, to whom she had been a chambermaid, was revealed because she ‘had been for a considerable time past far more expensive on her body apparel as appeared by the great quantity of linen cloths for sheets and variety of gowns and petticoats found in her chest and (p.156) more expensive in companies without the family than her station and circumstances could afford’.38 This is one example of many which testifies to the intense and often selfrighteous curiosity of Edinburgh’s people. In August 1688 William Lawrie wrote to a friend about a close search recently made through the city during which ‘two or three [were] taken as denyers of the king’s authority’.39 A few days before Christmas 1692, a letter from a ‘wellwisher’ to the captain of the town guard informed on one of his neighbours: Know that there is one [John] Maitland who keeps shop at the head of Blackfriars Wynd whom to his cabal yesternight declared his having intelligence from the Earl of Lauderdale that King James would be here shortly and that he had prepared some stands of arms for his use and till

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values his death he would drink James’ health, whose picture he kept as his life in all the rooms of his house.40 Stories, true and false, could spread through Edinburgh’s narrow bounds with surprising speed. In June 1703 shorthand notes of a sermon against the secretary of state, Lord Tarbet, were said to be circulating in the city. Mr James Hart was held to have accused Tarbet of ‘cutting the throat of presbyterian government’ and taking up cudgels against Christ.41 The source was Thomas Caddell, brewer, who had repeated these words in the High Street. On closer investigation it appeared that Caddell’s claim that several sets of shorthand notes existed to prove his assertion was untrue. Not having heard Mr Hart preach for over a year, Caddell had picked up the story from a man in the street who offered to sell him transcribed notes of the sermon. Interrogation of Hart and other presbytery members who had attended the sermon revealed he had said nothing of the kind alleged. Working on the assumption that men of God under oath do not lie, we must believe that the rumour was without foundation. Rumour spread as quickly as fire in a wooden building and could inflame passions in the city just as quickly. Issue 4, page 32 of the Mercury denounced in early 1717: ‘a set of people we call news-mongers, who frequent the coffee houses and other public places to hear news, but care not a rush what end go forward, or whether the state of things be bad or good for their country, so there be news for their entertainment’. (p.157) Town officers and kirk session elders and deacons had to be curious. They had also to be well acquainted with those who lived in their quarters of the town. They would go through the parish reconciling conflicting parties before the communion, though their diligence seems to have varied over time and between parishes.42 When a suspicious stranger arrived in a parish, tongues might wag and elders and deacons be dispatched to investigate.43 William Scott was called on in 1742 to identify James Samuel, gardener at Causewayside, a suspected grave robber, ‘being well acquainted with the gardeners in the neighbourhood’.44 Street caddies or messengers—’men who wear a ticket or badge, who run messages, sell pamphlets, and attend strangers by the day or hour as servants’— were also professional busi-bodies.45 Edward Topham affirmed: ‘It is impossible at Edinburgh to be concealed or unknown: for though you enter into the city a mere traveller, and unacquainted, you cannot be there many hours before you are watched, and your name, and place of abode, found out by the caddies’.46 Someone of Topham’s social status was likely to need the services of a caddie and to attract their attention, though he claimed that they knew everyone and were indeed ‘the tutelary guardians of the city’.47 That little was taken for granted of their characters is clear from regulations of 1759 which specified that a caddie was to be dismissed if:

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values convicted of swearing, profaning the Lord’s day, frequenting houses of bad fame or going along with gentlemen to such houses, keeping company with whores, thieves or persons of bad character, gaming, drinking to excess, quarrelling, fighting, neglecting to perform what they are employed to do, giving saucy or impertinent answers, exacting a higher fare than these after mentioned, picking and stealing.48 Lacking fixed places of work, the caddies (resembling Italian laz-zaroni) were nevertheless important to the creation of a sense of ‘community’ for other inhabitants or visitors by providing information and contacts. (p.158) There were many things for which constables, kirk session elders, and caddies had to keep an eye. While impossible to quantify, the impression from kirk session registers is that mothers of illegitimate children might go to a town if they were rural dwellers or to the countryside if they had fallen pregnant in the city. Among cases before Lady Yester’s kirk session in 1702 were two unconnected women. Isabel Angus, made pregnant by her master (a teacher in the High school), went off to Wooler in Northumberland. Dorothy Leslie, formerly a Hamilton schoolteacher, had a laird’s bastard in a house in the College Wynd.49 The same thing happened with illicit liasons. From the point of view of the city authorities, the problem was one of immigrants. In September 1690 the magistrates and kirk session of the Canongate issued an order ‘that house keepers should not harbour any idle, vagrant persons who are not known, because it is found…[that they] harbour base and notorious whores and unorderly persons that come here and bears their children and goes and comes when they please’.50 Fornication cases suggest that within a parish or locality of Edinburgh and its suburbs, it was hard to escape detection. The wife of an Edinburgh baxter had remarked of a servant girl who later killed her bastard, ‘it seemed she had been at the Norland [northern] market for she had got her pack before her’. Conventional practice for those who wished to broadcast news through the city or go through the formality of finding a person suspected dead was to have an announcement read out at Leith Shore and at the Cross on the High Street. However, without such advertising, rumour and reputation may not have spread all over the metropolitan area. Anna Mitchell, whose wigmaker husband had been in London for some years, was found to be pregnant to a city guard soldier in 1727. She lived in the Old Kirk parish but met her partner in a tavern in the New Kirk parish. The scandal was unknown in either parish and she was only picked up in another parish as she had moved her residence to the head of the Cowgate.51 Among those banished from the city, some appear to have been little better than vagrants and may have left anyway. Given the high level of (p.159) population turnover, banishment may not have been the ‘civil death’ which some authorities have claimed.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Edinburgh gave extensive opportunities to live on the margins of respectable society. One man who took full advantage of these was Lewis or Ludovic Campbell, sentenced to death with an accomplice in 1730 after years of criminal activity. ‘In the year 1724…[he] began to appear in a very conspicuous manner in and about this city, not applying himself to any trade whereby to gain his livelihood he associated himself with bands of idle and “flagitious” [wicked] people of his own stamp’. Between then and 1729 he was imprisoned five times for theft or receiving stolen property; lived with three separate women claiming he was married to each of them; used aliases and agreed to leave for the plantations. In 1726 or 1727 he had enlisted for service with the Dutch army but deserted and returned to Scotland, stealing a large amount of silver from a man in county Durham on the way. Apprehended by the constables of the Canongate in October 1728 while trying to ‘fence’ the goods, his claim to be a Newcastle victualler did not prevent arrest and imprisonment. Campbell was released after agreeing to inform on his criminal contacts but reverted to his old habits and was picked up for multiple housebreaking in January 1729. He broke out of the Tolbooth in May of that year and ‘lurked near the suburbs of Edinburgh’ at Over Liberton, using it as a base for further thefts from shops and excise warehouses. The magistrates had no doubt about the correct course of action after hearing this list ‘from which it is most manifest that you are a dangerous and most incorrigible person, guilty of many abominable crimes and a public nuisance’.52 Campbell’s case is an example of what contemporaries saw as the increasingly ugly underworld of eighteenth-century Edinburgh. He could probably have conducted similar activities from some remote part of the Borders or Highlands but hardly with the same range of contacts and not with the same effect on everyday life among large numbers of people. We are reminded of contemporary Bath where Neale believes that ‘the record of violence and of migration points to the absence of community among the labouring population’.53 George de Jardeen, a (p.160) Frenchman, prosecuted two ‘loose vagrant women’ and a tavern or lodging house keeper called Elizabeth Alexander. Jardeen and the two women had been placed in a private room where they drank until he passed out and they ‘made free with his pockets’ to the tune of 12 guineas which were shared between the three women.54 A few years later, Ann Young was prosecuted for being ‘a common and notorious whore…walking the streets at unseasonable hours in the night, seducing and enticing men whom she found intoxicated with liquor to commit lewdness with her and then to pick their pockets of their money’.55 Professional crime did exist in Edinburgh: distinguished not by its scale, social status, or degree of turpitude or efficiency, but by its relative organisational differentiation from specific, individual and ad hoc amateur crime: criminal roles were allocated and integrated with supplementary support structures; power was concentrated in a leader or receiver of stolen property; codes of Page 10 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values recruitment, co-ordination and protection, an embryonic apprenticeship system, and a rationality of operations.56 Certain ‘deviants’ like Campbell were defined out of civilized society. Another individual who stepped over the bounds of acceptable behaviour was Janet Robertson, spouse of a journeyman tailor. She had been ‘in the practice for these six months past of traversing this city insulting and abusing his majesty’s lieges, cursing and swearing and convocating mobs, throwing stones and breaking the windows of the inhabitants, and…being a common nuisance’.57 Noise pollution could also be a problem. Marion Warrender was repeatedly accused of keeping an ‘ill house’ in Parliament Close: ‘lewd company frequents her house at untimely hours, frequently making a noise, singing and ranting sometimes with music which is troublesome and offensive to the neighbourhood’.58 The ultimate ostracism was in death, as in the case of Janet Hill, who hanged herself in prison while awaiting trial for witchcraft in 1679. Her body was dragged behind a horse for burial at the Gallowlee.59 Criminals tended to be physically distanced from the mainstream community in origin, operating base, and ultimate fate. (p.161) At the lower reaches of society the ‘community’ where one was known may have had much narrower geographical bounds, making a degree of anonymity possible. Furthermore, those to whom a person was known might not be disposed to report him for the sorts of behaviour which secular or religious authorities proscribed. For these groups, a conspiracy of silence was as good as genuine anonymity. In 1709 the general sessions decided to purge excommunicates, fugitives and banished miscreants ‘not known to many of the neighbourhood but entertained by them to the great prejudice of the place’. They decided to publish an annual list of suspects.60 During the dearth of 1757 the city magistrates noted that ‘gross abuses have been committed in the distribution of the meal tickets being given out not only to people who live in the county and have no title to the charity of the town but indifferently to every person who asked for them by which some people by application to different elders and church deacons had obtained a number of tickets and sold them again for profit’.61 It was evidently possible to hide some things from neighbours. William McGhie, messenger, admitted to Edinburgh presbytery that while he had lived with Isobel Innes for six years and had fathered three children by her, he was still married to a Helen Brown who lived with their children in Orkney.62 Pregnancies could be concealed, even from the eagle-eyed kirk session. Anna Maitland produced her third illegitimate child in Greyfriars parish in the autumn of 1710, the father being a military officer stationed at Leith. The child had been alive for nearly two months before the session found out since Anna had been concealed by widow Smith, who kept a ‘bad house’. She may have been sufficiently well off or well connected to achieve a degree of privacy since her other bastards— aged nine months and two and a half years—had been fathered by an advocate called Page 11 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values William Scott who supported them at Liberton, a rural parish to the south of the city.63 More outrageous behaviour could also be covered up. Major Thomas Weir, convicted and eventually executed in 1670 for an astounding range of crimes including bestiality, incest, adultery, (p.162) and witchcraft, had been accepted by ‘many, and not the worst’ sorts of people, lived in Edinburgh for many years, and had the reputation of being pious, devoted and strict in his way of life: ‘personating a deal of gravity and mortification’.64 Conceivably, neighbours only expected certain types of conformist behaviour. Those who stepped over the boundary of acceptability could find themselves outcasts. Anna Nisbet, an adulterous barber’s wife, had been doing penance for nearly a year ‘and being disowned by her husband and relations, she is brought to great straits’.65 James M’Farlan condemned begging in large cities since: the numbers are so great, and the inhabitants in such a fluctuating state, moving from one house to another, that even the oldest inhabitants seldom know one of a hundred of their fellow parishioners. In this crowd, the most worthless and the most criminal can conceal themselves, living unknown for years in the most profligate state.66 Toeing the line in some things such as religious observance could open up opportunities for more serious nonconformity. During the trial of a Leith gardener called James Christie for the murder of his wife’s lover, a young smith’s servant called Robert Thomson stated baldly that he had seen the deceased enter Christie’s house. Half an hour later he heard a commotion inside but ‘believed that James Christie was beating his wife as he used to do’. Other deponents in this 1731 case were well aware that the wife carried on with a soldier and a servant girl admitted to spying on them making adulterous love through a chink in the dividing wall between one house and another.67 The construction of buildings and narrow gaps between one side of a close and the other were hardly conducive to privacy. Houses were built ‘so close to each other that a cart could not pass between’, with upper storeys projecting over lower ‘so that persons on opposite sides could easily shake hands with each other’.68 Two butcher’s servants had heard cries from the house of Nicol Brown, flesher, who lived on the opposite side of the Fleshmarket Close from their master’s premises. Brown was in the habit of beating his wife, an activity which could be heard clearly. Further depositions in what turned into a murder trial in (p.163) January 1755 show that those who lived in the close could identify neighbours by their voices. Community norms are again apparent. Where neighbours felt James Christie’s wife deserved her beatings, opinion was divided about Janet Caldwell, Brown’s dead wife. Some people were concerned and upset about the way she was Page 12 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values treated. But another butcher’s wife from the Fleshmarket Close gave evidence that she ‘was a drunkensome woman and did not go to church on Sundays’.69 In another case involving people from the Fleshmarket Close, a tailor’s wife attested she could identify a journeyman flesher’s cough through the plank wall between their houses.70 Privacy was difficult to find but seems not to have been expected. Cases before kirk sessions and Consistory Court frequently mention couples being seen in bed together by servants or friends. Indeed, trying to disguise what one was doing seems to have been to encourage suspicion. Of course, not everybody came to Edinburgh to hide. Professor Pringle, we must remember, preferred ‘privacy and retirement’ more than the ‘hurry and public show’ which he felt characterized the metropolis. For the upper classes, the city offered easily accessible high and low life, contact with peers and plebs, relations of delicacy and debauchery. In a letter of July 1730, William Barell wrote to Major William Howe about the behaviour of Captain Hawley’s wife after she and her husband had arrived in Edinburgh: she is followed by all the town and mistreated by the ladies; the Scotch lassies are severe and say, did they give us such encouragement they might gather as great crowds of the male sex about. The first step the lady made to make herself known to the populace was by taking a march from the Canongate to the castle in a high crowned hat…attended by multitudes of the people besides spectators from their windows.71 Newspapers like the ludicrous and short-lived Mercury of 1717 depended for their effect on the author’s claim that ‘scarce a Bean in all the city can draw out his snuff-box without my knowledge, nor a farthingale-lady get cold in her breech’.72 These examples support Burke’s view of the city as an arena for (p. 164) displaying oneself: a place where image was more important than reality and where a false image was easier to maintain.73 Among the élites, everyone knew each other. Even the highest civil court in the land cannot have been immune to personal ties and social influences. Phillipson believes that personal solicitation of Court of Session judges was important to successful lawsuits in the early eighteenth century: ‘in a small, turbulent, tightly-knit landed society, it was as difficult to forget a man’s politics as his family or his face’.74 Familiarity could be an asset.

Physical Sensibility Immigrants to the city could prepare themselves for some of the new stimulae to which they would be subjected. But there were also risks inherent in the physical environment of the town. Poor sanitation, endemic diseases, and the attendant likelihood that levels of mortality for the young and for newcomers would be high might be thought to have bred a degree of carelessness about health. Certainly, medical care in Edinburgh was expensive enough to discourage its use. Doctors and physicians in the city were expensive, according Page 13 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values to a pamphlet of 1727.75 Charging a guinea for treatment was, the author claimed, much more than other practitioners in Europe and discouraged the poorer sort from making use of physicians. Other evidence shows that a home visit cost £11–12 Scots in the late seventeenth century, rising to £14–18 Scots in the early eighteenth.76 As a result, doctors ‘are seldom called (except by the richer sort, and that not always) till there is imminent danger apprehended’.77 Physicians were seen less as curers than as presiders over death; most patients probably did not expect to be ‘cured’ as much as ‘treated’. This pamphlet came just a year after the founding of a medical school at Edinburgh university, a move which may have owed more to political imperatives than to new attitudes towards health. Surgeons and apothecaries were supposed to deal with internal maladies but the élite doctors and physicians (p.165) claimed a monopoly over external ailments. From 1684, physicians also enjoyed the right to visit apothecaries shops twice a year to test the drugs on offer.78 Surgeons numbered some twenty-five in the late seventeenth century and around thirty-five c.1720.79 There were additionally thirty-three doctors of medicine and nineteen apothecaries at the earlier date. However, medicine in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Edinburgh is best seen as a continuum stretching well beyond these ‘professional’ practitioners rather than a set of discrete categories.80 Both male and female ‘healers’ in Edinburgh offered advice to their neighbours in return for money or friendship. An earlier appeal for liberalization of medical practice in the city (1707) asked ‘how many are there overtaken with diseases that neither can nor will employ physicians, but rather prefer others with whom they are better acquainted, or to whom they have more easy access’.81 Non-professional practitioners could be as mixed a blessing as surgeons and physicians, some actually causing death by the maladministration of drugs.82 Those wishing cheaper cures could also resort to patent medicines sold in the shops and streets of the city, medicines such as Dr Eaton’s ‘balsamick styptick’ for internal and external bleeding, advertised in number 24 of the Eccho. Illness was apparently common, or at least it was frequently used as an excuse for failing to write to a correspondent or for non-attendance at town council, kirk session, or incorporation meetings.83 The impression which emanates from the documents is of a society obsessed by health rather than one indifferent to physical well-being. James Cheape advised his kinsman Henry to drink a half or even a whole mutchkin of port each day after dinner for his (p.166) health.84 Sir John Gordon of Invergordon’s pocket book contains a prescription for dental care, brushing with cream of tartar and rinsing with ‘one ounce of myrrh to a pint of red wine—claret is best’.85 Unable to attend the spas at Moffat or Scarborough because of business, Sir John felt he was unable to bestow ‘that time and care upon his health which it would otherwise require’ and resolved to load up with medicines to keep him healthy.86 Page 14 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Concern with health is equally apparent among the lower classes. The city had a ‘surgeon to the poor’ from at least 1670. The newly chartered Royal College appointed two members to treat the poor in 1682 and set up a free clinic in the Fountain Close in 1704, partly as a charitable gesture, partly to give members practice.87 The surgeon to the poor was paid £150 Scots a year plus the cost of medicines at that date and 300 merks a year in the period 1711–22, meaning that he must have been doing other work besides ministering to the needy.88 Had the poor been forced to pay for his services, they would have been charged a guinea by a top doctor or physician according to the pamphlet of 1727.89 Pain and disease were an important shared experience in a society with many divisions. Eighteenth-century newspaper advertisements describing army deserters and wanted criminals often mention injury, deformity, or disfigurement. Large amounts of medical care were absorbed in early modern Edinburgh and, if only for psychological reasons, the net effect of medical care on the lives of its people was probably beneficial. The better off could buy more care from medical practitioners but probably not better health, except indirectly though housing and diet. One of the few desirable perks of being a member of the town guard was that the city picked up the bill for medical care. The town council clearly felt this privilege was being abused and during an economy drive in 1711 ordered their retained surgeon not to treat any soldier without a certificate from one of their captains that his affliction had been obtained in the line of (p.167) duty.90 The charity workhouse had a surgeon, William Wood, during the 1750s and in 1756 John Straiton, ‘surgeon and man-midwife’ asked for the use of space in the building as a lying-in room and to be appointed to care for pregnant women there. While his petition was turned down since ‘there was no room in the house nor in old bedlam, the present hospital for the sick, to receive any such stranger patients’, the managers were sympathetic to his intentions.91 Canongate workhouse regulations included a provision for nurses to tend children and the sick while scrofulous children from the orphan hospital were sent to board at Corstorphine Wells.92 Edinburgh’s Royal Infirmary had large numbers of outpatients but only fifty or sixty beds in 1752.93 The authorities evidently felt an obligation to care for the health of the indigent while the poor themselves were clearly concerned with their own health.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Sensibility about the body is also illustrated in the popular distaste for graverobbing, that necessary adjunct of eighteenth-century medical advances within the city and its university. A verse Account of the Most Horrid and Unchristian Actions of the Grave Makers…published in 1711 realized that the trade was fed by demand from surgeons for anatomical dissection subjects.94 It went on to call the practice an affront to God, an offence to relatives of the dead, and a national scandal. These monsters of mankind that made the graves To the surgeons became hired slaves They raised the dead again out of the dust And sold them to satisfy their lust As I’m informed the surgeons did give Forty shillings for each one they receive And they their flesh and bones asunder part Which wounds their living friends unto the heart.

Except among surgeons, distaste and revulsion were universal reactions to grave robbing. Two chairmen were prosecuted in 1742 for trying to smuggle a body through the Netherbow port in a sedan chair. In a description which borders on black (p.168) comedy, the Justices of the Peace were informed how the corpse was ‘placed with the head thereof undermost and the feet upwards in a most indecent posture’.95 The authorities shared popular horror of this indignity and ordered the chair to be publicly burned at the Cross. Demand for medical care was usually created by accidents or diseases. However, a degree of physical violence was also part of late seventeenth-century life. Again, urban sociologists have sometimes used high levels of interpersonal violence as an indicator of dislocation in urban life. How does Edinburgh fit their theories? First of all, the means of perpetrating violence were readily to hand. Carrying of weapons was common in Scottish society until later than was the case in England. Charles Maitland wrote to the Duke of Lauderdale about an incident on the morning of 13 March 1680. Lord MacDonald arrived at the chambers of Sir William Sharp with ‘ten highland men at his back all armed with swords and dirks [daggers] and some few pistols’ to demand his crown pension. The threat failed but, as Maitland remarked, ‘if the king’s servants be thus hectored and threatened at the cross of Edinburgh, pray what may be expected in Knoidart or Glengary?’96 The problem was not confined to unruly Highlanders. The traveller Joseph Taylor commented in 1705 that even the poorest classes wore swords in the street, as indeed did most people in contemporary Europe.97 Yet the use of destructive force between individuals was far from normal in urban life. Group crime too seems to have been restricted to relatively petty offences. The Eccho of 5 February 1729 reported that ‘last week a company of night walkers destroyed a great many windows in the Cowgate and Page 16 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Grassmarket, and did other considerable damage’.98 It is likely that these people were not organized gangs but groups of drunken young men. Muggings and other crimes by gangs were felt to be a problem in the mid-1730s: vandalism in Hope Park to the south of the city and ‘robberies, thefts, shop breakings, insults, outrages and other disorders’ within it, the offenders (p.169) being ‘idle disorderly persons who have been in use to walk in gangs through the streets and avenues in the night time putting his majesty’s subjects in fear’.99 This example sums up the impression that violence was not a predictable, structural part of city life but a haphazard, accidental phenomenon often associated with people passing through an area or facilitated by drink.100 While there was certainly a level of unpleasantness which jars on modern sensibilities it is hard to argue that this was a society which tolerated a high degree of interpersonal violence. Kindness and sensitivity were not alien to early modern Scots. The witness in an assault case of December 1661 said that the attackers had used their victim ‘more like a beast than a christian’.101 In November 1745 sensibilities were touched by the many wounded soldiers in the city needing dressings and ‘a great many tender hearted citizens sent in old rags’.102 Contemporaries too were slow to condemn. Edward Topham thought Edinburgh had a low level of crime and, on this point at least, William Creech agreed.103 Deaths by ‘violence’—accident, suicide, homicide and execution—in Edinburgh’s bills of mortality were roughly 9–10 per 100,000 in the 1750s and perhaps 12–13 in the 1770s—lower than English estimates.104 Whether accidental deaths were more common in towns than in the countryside is unclear. Number 2 of the Echo (sic) for 17 January 1729 reported the death of a surgeon’s apprentice from a ‘violent fever’ brought on by the bite of a mad dog. Fear of such infection in April 1738 prompted the council to order all fleshers’ dogs to be put down and all citizens to remove their dogs from the city for thirty days or to suffer a similar fate.105 The council made several attempts to curb dangerous dogs kept by fleshers. These were a danger to humans but attitudes to animals were very different because the large dogs were used to catch and (p.170) pull down calves and sheep for slaughter—which took place in semi-public places.106 One could speculate that Edinburgh’s people were no more violent than others in Scotland and possibly less so than in other areas of Britain and Europe. Arguably, formalized judicial violence was more awful than that casually perpetrated by individuals against each other. Executions had their own special theatre which, like the burning of prohibited literature or corporal punishment, invited public participation. Until 1736, condemned men were taken to the Tolbooth church to hear their last sermon, though this was changed after an escape produced dire consequences in the shape of the Porteous riots.107 Topham detected less insensitivity to condemned criminals than he had seen at Parisian executions but did remark on the crowds who flocked to the Page 17 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Grassmarket and the countless heads craning from windows between there and the Tolbooth.108 At the famous trial of Captain John Porteous, the accused’s lawyer observed that the people of Edinburgh did not regard all crimes equally. Of the smuggler Andrew Wilson, whose execution sparked off the Porteous riots, the advocate remarked ‘the commons have imbibed a pernicious and absurd conceit, as if the robbing of the public money was a crime more pardonable than private robbery’.109 When Wilson was cut down after being hung, some people were anxious to ’bleed’ him, since it was believed that it could revive a hanged man. Even if he was quite dead, the body had to be rescued from dissection ‘as is sometimes practised where persons of low degree, or notorious offenders, are sentenced to death’.110 Most of the civilian witnesses to the Porteous riots were in their twenties and thirties: perhaps the older generation was more blasé about executions. A later incident shows that the crowd could be more sympathetic to a condemned armed robber than to a thief. At his execution for robbery in 1764, Walter Graham attracted respect for his dignified carriage on the (p.171) gal-lows but ‘in the very time of execution, a young woman was detected in picking a gentleman’s pocket, for which she was heartily drubbed by the mob’.111 Walter Scott used the Porteous example to paint a picture of ‘the populace, whose good nature, in most cases, forgets the crime of the condemned person, and dwells only on his misery’.112 However, he also had the wit to remark on how ‘the public, where their own prejudices are not concerned, are easily engaged on the side of disinterestedness and humanity’.113 Picking pockets did not fit the bill. Scott also confirmed Topham’s later analysis of the crowd, describing their ‘callous, unthinking bustle, and brutal curiosity’ towards criminals on the way to trial or execution.114 The rites of judicial violence were indeed more terrible because they were measured and cold-blooded. Instruments of torture, ‘boots’ and thumbscrews, were ordered by the Privy Council from the Edinburgh hammermen in 1684.115 From the examples cited it is not possible to assess the value of Simmel’s picture of over-stimulated urban dwellers unable to react to new or extreme stimulae with ‘the appropriate energy’ or discrimination.116 However, from attitudes to executions and evidence of street life and court cases it is difficult to characterize Edinburgh’s inhabitants as ‘immunized’ or given to reserve, another of Simmel’s (and Wirth’s) alleged characteristics of the urban psyche.117

Reputation, Privacy, and Individualism Non-capital punishments provide further pointers to social values and relationships. Custodial terms were unusual as a means of retribution or reform. People were sent to gaol until they found caution (bail), stood trial, paid a fine, or were punished in another way. The fifty people whose incarcerations are recorded in the Canongate Tolbooth gaol book 1750–84 stayed an average (p. 172) of twenty days.118 Some were let out on the same day and the longest Page 18 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values resident, a debtor, stayed three months. Prisoners had to feed themselves or be maintained by relatives or creditors and some offenders were not incarcerated for fear they starved. Punishments for everything from misdemeanours to manslaughter were usually swift, public, and depended on a lack of anonymity in the city. Those who did not pay their pew rents promptly were to have their names read out in church before the congregation.119 Convicted of defamation before the Consistory Court, John Cochrane, gardener, was ordered to appear in sackcloth at the most frequented door of Lady Yester’s kirk for several Sunday mornings before repairing to the seat of public repentance to ‘audibly beg God, the congregation and the complainer pardon…and publicly taking himself by the tongue to cry out “False Tongue you lied”’.120 In 1604 the Court of Session ordered the town council to erect a pillory especially for bankrupts and in 1669 suitable attire for these ‘dyvours’ was specified as a full length coat, half brown, half yellow, with matching cap.121 ‘Street justice’ too depended on visibility. When they wished to attract public attention prior to abusing a person, disgruntled inhabitants sometimes stood before the victim’s house, clapping hands and beating on their door before beginning to berate them. One woman ‘made a hideous noise and disturbance and convocated a mob’. A weaver and his wife had abused a widow by calling out ‘that God’s curse might light on her face and saying that the complainer’s father and mother had been scourged through the town and drummed out at the Pleasance for hanging an apprentice’.122 Some judicial punishments aimed to rehabilitate offenders but others depended for their force on public stigma, either brief or prolonged. As a penalty, branding or other physical disfigurement such as ‘pinching’ the nose fixed a person’s criminality for life and for all to see. Prostitutes might be branded on the shoulder (where the mark was only visible to intimates) but repeated (p.173) offenders and those guilty of other crimes were burned on the cheek.123 These punishments were usually confined to repeated offenders, who were seen as condemning themselves as hardened criminals, but they effectively damned a person’s reputation. Visible marks were particularly appropriate to small-scale communities where social contacts were personal and specific, and where their influences (positive or negative) were direct and immediate.124 The survival of corporal punishment in an age of Enlightenment shows the limits to developing ideas about repair and correction in place of pain and death as means of retribution or reformation. Ritual and symbol played a strong role in punishments. A thief caught with stolen goods might be made to stand with the booty hung around his neck.125 Found guilty of stealing a turkey, Janet Smith was to be paraded through the streets to the Netherbow port, bareheaded and accompanied by the hangman, ‘a Page 19 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values bunch of turkey feathers about her neck and a label on her breast written in capital letters denoting her crime’.126 John Nicoll’s diary records a young man burned for bestiality on the Castlehill in April 1662 along with various cows and mares.127 The celebrated murderer John Chieslie of Dairy had his right hand cut off before being hanged in chains with the murder weapon round his neck, the hand to be fixed to the West port.128 Part of the public ritual was contrition. For those about to be executed, ‘last speech and dying words’ would record the court proceedings and the sentiments uttered on the gallows—or more likely those attributed to them by a publisher with an eye on a profit.129 Illegitimate publications were subject to ritual burning. Assorted ‘treasonable libels’ of Covenanting leanings were burned by the public hangman in January 1682.130 Public burning of popish paraphernalia was prescribed by the authorities, notably in the 1690s. Attitudes towards public shame as a punishment seem to have been changing. The kirk treasurer’s income was partly (p.174) composed of penalties paid by those classed as ‘fornicators’ though in years when the payments are itemized they include fines for irregular marriage, non-completion of marriage after banns had been called, ‘for a scandal’ as well as ‘for a fall before marriage’. The 1663 pages under this heading name the miscreants according to the parish in which they lived, but in later years these were consolidated in the one list. Where names are given in the last decades of the seventeenth century, three out of every four who stumped up were men. An important change in practice occurred from the 1690s. In 1694, for example, there were fifteen named men, five women, and twenty fines paid by ‘a certain person’; in 1705 some twentyeight were named, thirty-seven were coyly anonymous. The year 1713 saw the culmination of the trend towards discretion. There were seventy-five entries recording receipts ‘from a certain person’; one fine for being accessory to laying down a child; one ‘from a chapman for gaming at cards’ and £64-10-0 ‘received for twenty Virginia ladies’—prostitutes being transported to the colonies. Not a single person was named. By the beginning of the fifth surviving volume in 1716 the clerk simply recorded on one nameless line the total sum handed in ‘for fornication fines’.131 This change cannot be attributed to growing impersonality because the kirk sessions responsible for prosecuting individuals were certainly aware of their names. Instead, it reflects changing attitudes towards privacy and a different relationship between church and laity.132 Further light on the more pragmatic attitude of the kirk to sexual and moral offences is shed by a case of murder tried before the High Court of Justiciary. The case involved an adulterous (p.175) affair between two married people which culminated in scandal, unhappiness, and murder. The couple’s liaison had been notorious for some time and had attracted the attention of the minister and

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values session of the Old Kirk parish in the autumn of 1688. The wife of the guilty man, Daniel Nicolson, writer, approached Alan Ramsay, then minister, entreating that they would make no more of it because it would break them and their family and that she did believe no ill of her husband and was willing to pardon him of any thing that was amiss and upon this and the other inconveniences that their authority was under by the indulgence and by the liberty papists had, which persons in these circumstances were too ready to take them to, the matter was let fall except for an order prohibiting the couple from consorting together.133 In his evidence, the former clerk to the session said that Nicolson had paid £400 Scots to the poor box in connection with his scandalous goings on. Quizzed about why the matter had not been recorded, the clerk acknowledged that ‘it was ordinary for the kirk session where the probation [proof] was not clear to suspend such process upon payment of money for the use of the poor’ and that if substantial sums were paid the names of the guilty parties would not be inserted in the session register. Canongate kirk session, ‘frequently opportuned by all sorts of persons to grant private absolutions’, charged 100 merks to be donated to the poor for the privilege from 1687.134 In the same year the Bishop of Edinburgh’s order that marriages should take place in church during time of service was at least partly intended to raise fines.135 Desire for anonymity or individuality could be matched with the need for poor relief funds. The apparent loosening of the kirk’s insistence that moral offences should be punished irrespective of the status of the perpetrator could be justified by lack of proof and a concern for the sanctity of family life. The other fig-leaf was that political and religious changes in James VII and II’s reign had weakened the grip of church discipline, making it difficult to enforce judgement against offenders. The kirk treasurer claimed in 1691 that the lapse of payments for private absolutions with the revival of presbyterianism had cost him £3,000 Scots a year —a third of his total revenue.136 If private composition had something to be said (p.176) for it in the early 1690s, its financial attractions became even stronger as that decade progressed. Attempts were made at the height of the campaign to reform manners in 1701 to limit private absolutions for sexual offences, though without any long-term success.137 Pillories were set up at the Tron kirk and in the Grassmarket for the punishment of offenders and ‘joogs’ or pillories were set up in other public places.138 However, this was the last time that such a campaign was mounted and its lack of success may have been because it was pulling against the tide of opinion. What is interesting about the Nicolson case and about the trend towards anonymity in the kirk treasurer’s accounts is that while the changing political position of the church helps to account for the change, the kirk was clearly responding to a desire for privacy among Edinburgh’s people.139

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Church and lay society were moving towards an accommodation about privacy. The rebuilding of discipline after 1690 was not complete. The reaction against ‘fanaticism’ after the Restoration coupled with a taste of comparative freedom under crypto-catholic monarchs helped change attitudes permanently. The change was not complete until the collapse of the Society for the Reformation of Manners in the late 1720s but it was nevertheless underway. The more ‘reasonable’, secular-minded, optimistic, and aware society that was a breeding ground for the ideas of the Enlightenment was being forged from the end of the seventeenth century. Conceivably, it was not growing size which made Edinburgh more anonymous but changing social attitudes, greater tolerance, and the development of middle-class notions of privacy. Secular authorities were also changing their attitudes towards punishment in the 1690s. Edinburgh’s burgh court act book or ‘black book’ began to specify that those ordered to be scourged and banished should be flogged behind the council house and only publicly scourged if they repeated their offence. Public punishments were still enforced but the attitudes of society were changing. Public behaviour began to follow new conventions. In September 1671 two informants, backed up by independent witnesses, told the Canongate kirk session how a neighbour ‘resets (p.177) [harbours] sundry scandalous persons in his house early in the morning and late at night, and men and women lying in uncleanness [fornicating] in the open close’.140 During the eighteenth century reports of this kind become rarer. New notions of cleanliness and propriety saw such activities become increasingly private. Even a good wind blew someone ill. The master of the Tolbooth complained in 1702 that his business was suffering ‘by the mercy of the present mild government’.141 Edinburgh’s ‘lockman’ or public executioner had to travel to Dalkeith in July 1758 to whip an offender through the streets because the burgh could not find anyone to do the job.142 Privacy meant being able to do some things without others knowing and thus preserving one’s reputation within the community. The values which made up reputation are shown positively in monumental inscriptions and negatively in the language of defamation, or at least that preserved in Edinburgh court records. Negative values brought out in defamation and other cases were clearly important to Edinburgh’s men and women. The offence might be uttered in a heated moment, but while the words were then gone for ever the stain they left on a person’s personal character and business life was less transitory. A reputation that had taken years to establish could be destroyed in seconds by a few words. Some ninety-one defamation cases were brought before Edinburgh Consistory Court between 1672 and 1764 where Edinburgh people were involved as pursuers or defenders.143 Roughly two-thirds of both accusers and accused were men, a quarter women, and the rest couples or mixed groups. Abusive terms used in these cases offer an oblique and possibly partial idea of individual and Page 22 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values societal concerns. In the sorts of hot-blooded disputes recorded, invective tended to pour out in undifferentiated torrents. Calumny was often singularly unimaginative. In a dispute over shod cart duties which resulted in murder, a brewer’s servant called the port waiter ‘English bugger’.144 Sexual innuendo might accompany accusations of cheating and it is difficult to know which victim and aggressor felt was the more important. Nevertheless, breaking the cases (p. 178) down into broad categories is possible. One class involved wholly or mainly ‘economic’ criticism such as ‘cheat’, ‘fraud’, ‘thief’, or ‘knave’; the other was broadly sexual in nature and included accusations of having a sexually transmitted disease. A handful involved accusations of witchcraft, treason, poisoning, and murder. Four-fifths of male pursuers sought redress for economic slanders compared with a third of women. Females accused others of verbal sexual abuse in a third of cases and in a further fifth where sexual and economic language was used in equal measure. Men were much more concerned with business confidence than with their personal lives and women pursuers were just as likely to be interested in financial damage caused by hasty words as in taints on their moral reputation. In short, this court dealt with offences in the ‘public sphere’ rather than the private.145 Indeed, conflicts which resulted in serious criminal offences were fired up by business disputes rather than tender moral reputations. A case of aggravated assault brought against John Wardrop, merchant, and others before the Justiciary court in 1728 originated in bad feelings after the attackers were worsted by their victim, the glover John Ferguson, in a deal for gloves and in a subsequent civil court trial. The words of abuse mentioned—bugger, cheat, puny wretch, dog—seem to have been incidental.146 The person who had resorted to public ways of forcing an issue may have seen the action as a solution to a perceived grievance. For the injured party, the courts performed the same function. At the Consistory Court, Justiciary Court, and Justice of the Peace Court, defamation cases were often a continuation of existing economic disputes by other means. Evidence from the Consistory Court may be selective because it was expensive to use and could levy heavy fines of £50 sterling or more. However, other courts had a similarly light burden of defamation cases. The Portsburgh baron court book 1744–64 contains sixty-two separate cases, of which twenty-three were breach of the peace, twelve involved soliciting or keeping a bawdy house, eleven were for theft, nine covered miscellaneous (p.179) misdemeanours, and just seven involved defamation of character.147 Only a small proportion of kirk session cases concerned defamation—much smaller than those before English church courts—though numbers changed over time.148 Kirk sessions dealt much more with offences in the ‘private sphere’, notably sexual and marital affairs.149 Part of the reason may be rising or falling social tensions. Defamations formed a regular part of Canongate kirk session’s business in the troubled 1640s and 1650s, but not thereafter.150 Given the importance of English influence in Page 23 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Edinburgh, the range of civil, ecclesiastical, and criminal courts available to her people, and their willingness to resort to them, it is indeed surprising that defamation cases were so infrequent. While kirk sessions wasted little time on defamation cases, concern with reputation did pervade some sections of society. Two lairds resident in Edinburgh attacked each other with printed accusations. William Kennedy of Daljarroch had accused William Ferguson of Auchinblain of defamation. Ferguson’s response included a set of printed ‘defences’ (counter-accusations in this case) described by the print worker who did the typesetting as a ‘paper of an extraordinary nature…[which] contained all sins except bestiality’.151 William Thoirs of Muirhouse, another residenter in Edinburgh, and the schoolmaster Mr John Johnston published in 1726 a pamphlet called The fraudulent fugitive or Watt’s wickedness displayed’ accusing James Watt, brewer, of buying a house on the proceeds of cheating Lord Airly and others.152 Litigants sometimes took advertising space in the local papers to pursue their campaigns of vilification. Sensitivity to defamation of character was related to broader circumstances and to social class. Two sons of a deceased clergyman were brought before the Justiciary Court in 1692 on a (p.180) charge of incest after being caught sharing the same bed with a prostitute, Margaret Paterson. The woman was scourged and banished to the plantations in February of that year. There is no mention of the men until December, when their cautioner reported they had absconded on realizing they were to be publicly humiliated in a trial with Paterson.153 Escape was preferable to public shame. For well-off women who fornicated or bore bastards, flight to England offered some relief from scandal. Innes Stewart of West Barns’s widow escaped to London but eventually wrote back to the presbytery saying that her conscience troubled her and that she would have to repent ‘for the sin is greater than the shame’.154 The impression is that upper-class men and women were closely concerned with reputation but that for the lower and middling ranks money was more important as a reason for raising a case before a secular or ecclesiastical court. This does not mean that ordinary people did not feel shame—or indeed a sense of damage to their honour —but that they were sensitive to different issues and dealt with defamation differently. The most frequent reason given to the Justiciary Court by people petitioning voluntarily to be transported to the colonies was the loss of reputation and the social ostracism likely to result from a criminal trial or conviction.155 And a verse pamphlet ‘To the worshipful Cordiners of the West Port’ dated 1725, purporting to be written by their apprentices, concludes with a couplet alluding to cuckoldry: ‘And we shall pray while our judgement abides, May you never wear horns, and never want hides’.156 With the exception of routine administration of poor relief and church services such as marriage, Canongate kirk session business between 1686 and 1693 was dominated not by defamation but by the disciplining of fornication cases.157 Page 24 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Sexual misdemeanours were the largest single source of concern for the minister, elders, and deacons. With 218 instances during the period, fornication, adultery, bigamy, scandalous carriage, company, and converse, and the keeping of bawdy houses account (p.181) for more than four-fifths of all types of offence. Selling ale during divine service was the only other category with more than a couple of dozen instances. The years 1686–9 inclusive were much busier than those during and after the ‘Glorious Revolution’, a surprising finding in view of the efforts elsewhere of newly installed presbyterian clergy to assert their authority over congregations. Regrettably, the main survey of illegitimacy in seventeenth-and eighteenthcentury Scotland was unable to include figures on the major towns.158 On the other hand, we can be more certain that another aspect of the sexual anticipation of marriage was regarded ambivalently. Not everyone regarded prenuptial fornication as shameful, especially under promise of marriage. One of four cases which became before the Tolbooth kirk session between March and December 1663 involved John Gilchrist who ‘confessed he had fallen with his now wife Marjory Glen after the first proclamation, before the solemnization of their marriage’.159 For the church intention and circumstance made no difference to the sin but the participants and some at least of their neighbours clearly thought differently. Professional prostitutes of the kind who appear repeatedly in the ‘black books’ or before the Justice of the Peace Court seem to have been able to tolerate any calumny directed against them. Regulations for the city Tolbooth issued by the town council in 1703 suggest that prostitutes continued to entertain clients even while in prison.160 That some plied their trade openly on the streets is shown by a regulation of 1694 curbing ‘young women who under pretence of selling lemons and oranges and other fruits do go through the city and become common whores and thieves’.161 The authorities assumed these young women were outsiders unhindered by either masters or public opinion. In 1703 the town council complained of ‘the many immoralities (p.182) and abuses that are occasioned by single and unmarried women their keeping of chambers, shops and cellars who for the most part are strangers and have no friends and whose condition and christian behaviour cannot be known’.162 It was assumed that burgesses’ daughters would be better behaved, partly because their right to trade and to pass on burgess privilege depended on leading a blameless life.163 Yet, sanctions were applied even to established females in personal matters. The general sessions heard a report in May 1661 that a woman had been proclaimed to marry just a few months after her previous husband’s death. This they described as ‘immodest’ and ordered the banns to be postponed ‘for some interval of time’.164

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Living in a potentially anonymous environment created opportunities but it also bred problems. Margaret Hodson had been informed that her former servant, a local girl called Betty Carnegie, had been an honest employee when she hired her at Whitsunday 1738. Unfortunately, Carnegie had been found guilty of obtaining bread and ale under false pretences and had stolen from two of Hodson’s lodgers. The case throws up another important development in urban society. Traditionally, justice had been a matter of compensating the injured party and preventing the offender repeating the crime within the jurisdiction. During the eighteenth century a less personal notion of justice developed which is summed up by Hodson’s comment in a petition that ‘for her own part [she] would have rested satisfied with this interlocutor’, who found the charge against Carnegie unproven ‘but as it is for the interest of the public that such crimes should not pass unpunished’ asked the public prosecutor or ‘procurator fiscal’ of the city to intervene.165 By the 1750s, newspapers were carrying lengthy stories ‘by order of the lord provost and magistrates’ about professional rogues operating in the city.166

(p.183) Spiritual Life We have seen contemporaries commenting on the low quality of religious and moral life in towns. But how low was it? Measuring either the quality of faith or the quantity of religious conformity is notoriously difficult. However, attendance at communion is commonly taken as a rough guide to basic religious adherence. Callum Brown reckons that ‘rarely more than 20 per cent of parishioners came forward to receive the sacraments’.167 In contrast, 90 per cent of eligibles attended communion in late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century Southwark and 98 per cent of those received communion tokens to regulate attendance at the overcrowded diets.168 Lists of communicants (those eligible to receive the Lord’s Supper) survive for some Edinburgh parishes but there is no direct, quantitative evidence about levels of attendance of the kind used by Boulton. However, Boulton’s methodology can be applied in reverse. For, by comparing tokens issued with the vestry accounts, Boulton calculates that average annual per capita consumption of communion wine in St Saviour’s parish, Southwark, in the 1590s and 1600s was roughly one eighth of an imperial pint.169 Purchases of communion wine can be charted for the Canongate parish from 1674 to 1742.170 The amount of wine consumed during at least one of the two celebrations of the Lord’s Supper each year is known for forty-six of the sixtynine years. Two receipts (January and July) survive for most years in the 1730s and the amount purchased for each diet was the same to within two pints or roughly 5 per cent. Figure 3.1 shows wine consumption at one communion a year throughout the period. Bread receipts are rarer but an undated docket, probably from the 1670s, records forty sixpenny loaves for one communion diet. If there was a constant relationship between wine consumed and the numbers attending, the graph should show trends in the number of communicants.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Approximately 2,800 communicants were listed in the (p.184) Canongate parish in 1684 and 1687.171 If half the parish attended one diet, half the other, average consumption would have been a tenth of an imperial pint per head. If all attended both diets the figure drops to just one fluid ounce each. It is not impossible that Canongate worshippers were abstemious and that a high proportion attended, content to receive just a sip of wine. However, Scots communicants may have been a thirsty bunch. In Fig. 3.1 Communion wine consumption, his study of early modern communion, Schmidt comments Canongate parish, 1674–1742 that ‘communicants often imbibed heartily’ seeking, as the seventeenth-century divine David Calderwood said, to be ‘refreshed sensibly’. Liberal imbibing was one way in which presbyterians distinguished themselves from episcopalians and Schmidt quotes an American example of 200 people downing four fluid ounces each, or a fifth of an imperial pint.172 If the Scottish communion mouthful was the same as that in Southwark, and if all the communicants were able to attend each diet, then roughly two-fifths of listed eligibles put in an (p.185) appearance. If half the parish was supposed to attend one diet, half the other, then more than 80 per cent of communicants celebrated during a year. If communicants were putting away a fifth of an imperial pint the figures are roughly a quarter and just over a half respectively. Which estimate is closest to the truth? The church waged a campaign, more vigorously at some periods than others, to promote frequent communion, but the best level practically attained for any numbers of people over any length of time was twice yearly. It is more realistic to assume that people attended annually and that a much higher proportion of the eligibles took communion than Brown suggests.173

We can be more certain about change over time. The graph shows a rise in wine consumption during the 1690s followed by a reduction in the 1700s and 1710s to levels below those of the later 1680s. From the 1720s the same amounts were being purchased from year to year, suggesting a core of settled communicants. Other evidence points to a surge in attendance during the 1690s. Church door collections in the city of Edinburgh rose sharply as they did in St Cuthbert’s parish.174 Pressure on space in churches became apparent from the second half of 1690.175 ‘The episcopal meeting houses being by authority much restrained and many people desirous to join in the public worship with us complaining they cannot be accommodated to hear in our churches’, commented the general sessions with satisfaction in June 1696.176 Trends from the 1700s may be related to the declining economic fortunes of the Canongate after Scotland’s parliament decamped for Westminster. However, as we shall see in a discussion of kirk Page 27 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values session membership later in this chapter, the stabilization of attendance in George II’s reign can be related more satisfactorily to other religious and cultural developments. Quantifying religious adherence is difficult at the best of times. Assessing whether Edinburgh people were more or less religious than other Scots is still more difficult. Contemporaries (p.186) were no better placed to judge. Joseph Taylor found Edinburgh’s inhabitants ‘as prophane and vicious as other people, notwithstanding all the pretended sanctity of their kirk’.177 Topham recorded that churches were well attended, that the sabbath was well observed and that there was none of ‘the excess of idleness and riot’ found in London. However, he was astute enough to realize that more ‘appearance of regard to public worship’ in Scotland did not necessarily mean ‘more real religion than the English’.178 A degree of religious conformity was expected. A cobbler, his wife, and daughter ‘are frequently guilty of drunkenness, cursing and swearing and very seldom wait upon the public worship’; they also reproached the minister and mocked things religious. This comment was made by the kirk session of Lady Yester’s parish in March 1702. However, ordinary people also seem to have expected some degree of church attendance. Janet Caldwell, burned to death by her husband, was described by a neighbour as ‘a drunkensome woman [who] did not go to church on Sundays’.179 Attending church and taking communion seems to have been viewed as the basic minimum of acceptability in a community. At the beginning of life, as at its end, participation by friends and neighbours could be extensive. In 1702 the town council issued a blanket prohibition against women other than close relatives sitting on the baptism seat on weekdays during the administration of this sacrament.180 Parents seem to have been keen to baptize their infants quickly. Edinburgh’s birth to baptism intervals were comparatively short: 84 per cent baptized within one week in 1725, 71 per cent in 1743,68 per cent in 1754, and 79 per cent in 1765.181 Burials and baptisms were infrequent and irregular in the life of an individual compared with the main religious celebration: communion. The Lord’s Supper embodied ‘festivity, community, sacramentalism, and renewal’182 and was one of the important occasions in the year by which people dated events. Not receiving the sacrament could be seen as a stigma. A next-door neighbour heard Margaret Bain, stabler’s widow and notorious bawdy house keeper, having a rich conversation with one of her (p.187) ‘lodgers’ in the spring of 1716: ‘The woman says to Margaret, you are a base hypocrite and guilty of bad housekeeping for which Mr Hart [the minister] debarred you from the table of the Lord’.183 William Cuthbertson was described by Canongate kirk session as ‘a profligate, debauched fellow that was never looked upon as a member of this congregation nor admitted to the sacrament nor as a member of any civil incorporation in it, but as a renegade who was as much abroad in England and

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Ireland as here, whom we neither could be quit of nor thought worthy of church censure’.184 Communion was viewed as an important sign of social acceptability. Merely attending was not enough to establish a full place in the community but it was a necessary precondition. Not participating in public fasts and thanksgivings was viewed as a sign of social and political deviancy.185 Attendance at communion was a social and cultural, as well as a religious, event and people could become obstreperous if denied participation for some reason. In October 1710 the presbytery ordered that communion be held on the same day across the city: to prevent the great profanation of the Lord’s day by the flocking of multitudes of idle people to the West Kirk [St Cuthbert’s], Canongate and Leith churches when the sacrament of the Lord’s supper is administered there, upon pretence to hear the sermon in the church yard, whereas many do only wander about and spend the Lord’s day idly, and those who communicate incommoded by the throng of persons who do not.186 By the reign of George III the sacrament administered at Lent was the signal for ‘all the people of fashion’ to retire to the country.187 Small wonder that Robert Burns called communion the ‘holy fair’.188 On the other hand, there are many examples of individual piety. A young woman who worked for James Auchterlonie, a printer charged with fraud, described a parcel of paper as ‘about the largeness of a big bible’.189 When Robert Logan left (p.188) Canongate charity workhouse in 1764 to become an apprentice, his relatives desired ‘that he may be allowed to carry his Bible along with him’.190 Admittedly, it might have been wanted as the only object of value the boy had been given in the institution. For some, the language of morality was largely religious. Robert Marshall, a young weaver who shared a bed with another man, complained that his companion had had sex with a woman several times while he was trying to sleep. Even reading the seventh chapter of Proverbs aloud to them had not stopped the activity.191 When Chieslie of Dairy uncovered his plot to kill the president of the Court of Session to the advocate James Stewart in 1689, the latter told him ‘that it was a suggestion of the devil and the very imagination of it a sin before God’.192 There are a number of instances of Covenanters dying with impressive displays of faith while fearless ‘sweet singers’ (followers of John Gibb) were lashed for throwing plates and glasses from their prison at the Duke of York in 1681.193 A star pupil of what was described as a ‘Girls’ Society’—a phenomenon of the tail end of the Society for the Reformation of Manners in Edinburgh—was a 12year-old whose prayer ‘had been so assisted therein as it was evident the spirit of God dictated to her in her proper application of scripture, distinctness and method, and with all a great modesty and humility’.194 Such ‘personettes’ were Page 29 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values popular among the religiously committed. An Account of the Last Words of Christian Kerr, first published in 1702 according to the preface, went through many editions, of which two (1759, 1776) survive in the Lauriston Castle collection alone.195 This girl died at the age of 11 in 1702 after a long illness. During the final stages of her life, she uttered a number of religious speeches and was visited by many of Edinburgh’s clergy. Yet, for every example of high religious fervour there is one of spiritual indifference, base morals, religious misunderstandings, and theological perversions. In 1707 the church’s printer, George (p.189) Mosman, died, leaving a number of children and a wife ‘who complains much of her husband’s loss by the church’s employment, particularly that many of the acts of the General Assembly are not bought’.196 Nichol Muschet, a young man from a good family whose life went disastrously wrong as a result of lack of experience of city life (he was executed for murder in 1721), gave up religious observances when he went to university.197 Apparent irreverence and lack of concern with religion and morality might indicate a more secular, possibly ‘modern’, outlook. Yet, certain ‘traditional’ beliefs, which were part of conventional religion and could not be divorced from it, persisted in an urban milieu. Attitudes to inoculation of infants and children against smallpox, an endemic disease from the Restoration, illustrate the place of religious conservatism. The Edinburgh surgeon Robert Smith practised inoculation against smallpox during the 1750s.198 In 1765 Dr Munro found the practice ‘deemed a tempting of God’s providence and therefore a heinous crime; for it was creating a disease by which children’s lives might be in danger’.199 Religious conservatism was manifested in other ways. Walter Scott’s Mr Butler had had an encounter in the early morning with a mysterious young man in the King’s Park, a place associated with witchcraft and murder in popular consciousness.200 Butler was ‘neither wiser nor more strong-minded than those of his age and education, with whom, to disbelieve witchcraft or spectres, was held an undeniable proof of atheism’.201 The place of religious conservatism is highlighted in the celebrated case of Thomas Aikenhead, who was executed for blasphemy during the religiously charged 1690s. Aikenhead was a student who had been expressing apparently anti-Christian views to fellow students for about a year before he was charged with blasphemy in December 1696. Others who expressed similar views at this time were let off with public penance: John Fraser, a factor’s bookkeeper, for example. Aikenhead’s irreligion was of a particularly vocal, vigorous, and abusive kind, which may have been a response to the vigorous presbyterianism of the (p.190) decade. His execution was a sign that he had offended both secular and religious authorities.202

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Certain ‘superstitions’ survived within the city. Janet Buchanan was imprisoned at Christmas 1670 ‘for taking upon her to be a soothsayer and discoverer of theft’.203 The kirk session of Yester in East Lothian discovered in 1671 that its parishioners made a practice of consulting a Canongate wizard who, for a small fee, would direct their suspicions regarding stolen property.204 Possibly he was John Trumbill, weaver, brought before the Canongate kirk session ‘for using devilish and unlawful ways for discovery of theft’. A neighbour looking for stolen money identified four women who assembled before Trumbill who took a piece of paper and wrote the four women’s names and thereafter clipped them asunder and put them in a cupful of water and thereafter he took a nail and desired the women one by one to grip the nail in their hand…and that the nail did stick to one of the women’s fingers, and that the paper that the woman’s name was upon was wet and all the rest dry.205 The authorities were on the lookout for superstitious or diabolical practices around this date following the confession and trial of the wizard Major Weir, a case which itself revealed the extent of belief in magic and witchcraft. Weir himself refused to acknowledge the existence of God, to pray to him, or allow others to do so on his behalf.206 The minister of Lasswade told Dalkeith presbytery in April 1678 about parishioners who ‘had consulted the dumb man in the correction house at Edinburgh for the discovery of some money they wanted [had lost] out of (p.191) their chests’.207 A case of necromancy was referred to the presbytery of Edinburgh by South Leith kirk session in 1737. The session was told to warn perpetrators ‘of the folly thereof, and particularly of their sin in making use of the scriptures or any passages thereof in so profane a manner’.208 Jean Whitelaw was ejected from St Cuthbert’s charity workhouse in January 1769 having ‘acknowledged she was at Leith reading cups on account of some money and liquor that had been stolen’.209 If we stand back from the more sensational aspects of witchcraft, it might be possible to see ‘charmers’ and cunning people as merely providing another variety of service in a big city whose principal economic function was to do just that. White magic was one thing, maleficium and the diabolical pact another. In his diary entry for 9 March 1659 John Nicoll records five witches burnt, ‘all of them confessing their covenanting with satan, some of them renouncing their baptism, all of them oft times dancing with the devil’.210 In July 1675 four women from Culross were strangled and burned at the Gallowlee for witchcraft: possibly their first and last visit to the city.211 A mob arrested a ‘rubber man’ or contortionist from England in 1705 because they ‘had got a notion that he was a conjurer or possessed with the devil’.212 A herder’s wife from Restalrig pursued some neighbours in 1706 for ‘calling her a devil for the mark was in her brow and she dared not lift her cross cloth for all the devil’s pretences was in her brow’.213 Stories of haunting were attached to houses in different parts of the city—West Bow (the abode of Major Weir, the alleged wizard) and Mary King’s Page 31 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Close are examples.214 A former merchant’s servant was entered in Edinburgh’s black book for spreading a rumour that her erstwhile employer’s house was haunted.215 An Edinburgh newspaper reported the death in 1729 of a young man in the Midlothian parish of Glencorse ‘who ’tis said was grievously tormented with ill spirits who haunted him every night’.216 Fighting an infanticide charge in 1756, Agnes Crockat was said to have told (p.192) one woman acquaintance ‘it was the devil that made her do it’.217 Perhaps the church had to share the low expectation of outward conformity and basic knowledge of religion shown by many of the populace. Political and religious upsets interfered with catechizing. William Livingston wrote on 31 March 1691 that ‘this town is as ill provided of ministers as when our liberty first began [1689] and not one parish is yet taken under inspection by any minister or his flock’.218 Yet, this was a chronic problem. A long-delayed presbytery report on catechizing, delivered in September 1704, concluded that ‘when conscientiously managed, it is a notable means of advancing people’s edification’ and was therefore worthwhile. However, ‘considering the vast variety of the dispositions persons and families, and disproportion of congregations’ there was no way of prescribing methods or levels of acceptable success.219 Coming at the height of the most vigorous moral and religious campaign of the century 1660–1760, this cautious report is a telling indicator of the ‘realistic’ expectations of the church. A visitation of the West Kirk parish produced another frank admission in June 1711. Asked if people profited from the ministry, the session of this large parish replied that ‘there is not much success by their labours as could be wished for, yet they are hopeful that their labour is not altogether in vain, some having reformed their lives’.220 Later they added: ‘heads of families are exhorted to worship God therein and it is feared many do neglect the same’.221 This parish’s population was growing rapidly at this time and may have had unusual problems. But a visitation of the parish of South Leith the previous year was similarly cautious. In its answers, the kirk session painted a picture of an uphill struggle against religious ignorance and sabbath breaking.222 Daily prayers were required by the clergy, but inmates of the city workhouses who received catechism instruction every week were probably unusual.223 Lack of churches was not the reason for the inhabitants’ failure to live up to clerical expectations. By 1722 the city had a total (p.193) of nine parishes plus West Kirk, North and South Leith, and Canongate. In addition to parish churches, Joseph Taylor counted fifteen episcopal meeting houses in 1705 and said that they were well frequented.224 Edinburgh presbytery noted with disapproval the erection in 1707 of a meeting house in St Cuthbert’s parish by a group of former episcopalian ministers.225 One was established at Leith by 1710 and in July of that year St Giles kirk session recorded ‘a great many people that were met about the Netherbow called the prophets, pretending to divine inspiration’.226 Until the appointment of a preacher to the Skinners’ Hall in Page 32 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values 1718, the city clergy took it in turns to preach there during the 1710s to satisfy demand from the inhabitants who did not have seats in their own parish churches.227 There were even splits within episcopalianism. In 1722 a Church of England chapel was founded in the Cowgate for those prepared to recognize the Hanoverian dynasty, whereas the Scots episcopalians were non-jurants.228 The French church, in existence since 1695 at the latest, met in the common hall of the university in the late 1710s. The period C.1688–C.1710 was apparently one of considerable religious fervour. Thomas Kincaid, an apprentice surgeon, recorded the following advice in his diary in November 1688: ‘I found that it would be very useful and requisite for you to carry a pocket bible and a compendium of the Council of Trent always about with you, that they may be readily produced in any dispute you happen in’.229 There are signs that the 1690s saw a revived interest in securing religious conformity. The kirk session of St Cuthbert’s parish prosecuted forty-seven cases during 1681 of which 57 per cent were sexual matters and just 15 per cent were of sabbath breaking. For 1691–2 the total number of cases was fifty-nine of which 27 per cent involved breach of the (p.194) sabbath. By 1699 this latter category made up the largest single number of cases (twenty) and 41 per cent of forty-nine cases tried.230 The religious tone of the city changed considerably with the beginning of the Hanoverian age. Where there had been a clampdown on practising catholics in the 1700s, there was a resurgence of papist worship in the later 1710s and early 1720s: the result of political change rather than of heightened spirituality. Englishmen who advocated toleration of episcopacy had argued in 1708 that if people were not allowed to worship freely, within the bounds of loyalty to the crown and respect for secular authority, atheism and irreligion would result. The established church remained presbyterian after 1707, but in 1712 the London parliament withdrew the legal rights of the kirk sessions over non-presbyterians and allowed episcopalians freedom of worship.231 Dissenters, unusual in the city after the 1640s and 1650s, began to reappear around this time. A Quaker brewer called Thomas Erskine made several progresses through Edinburgh in January 1736, prophesying the last judgement and ‘pronounc[ing] woes and judgements on the inhabitants of the good town, if they did not speedily repent’.232 Further changes occurred in the 1720s and 1730s. Growing religious pluralism went hand in hand with a decline in both the quality and quantity of observance, if we accept the testimony of the established church. In April 1728 the presbytery spoke of ‘a lamentable decay of religion and bad attendance at gospel ordinances and diets of catechising’.233 The flat graph of communion wine in the Canongate parish from approximately this date might show that the practising

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values presbyterian congregation was becoming fixed and that fluctuations in numbers with changing religious adherence or population size were a thing of the past.234

(p.195) Church, Theatre, and Cultural Change The status of the church in urban society and the way it changed can be illustrated by analysing relations between church, town council, and populace on the one hand and two small but influential pressure groups on the other. One was radical and Sabbatarian, advocating religious and moral strictness. The other was a campaign of a wholly different kind waged by those who wanted to reduce the power of the church to control cultural norms and personal behaviour. Together they show the nature of both religious attitudes and of secular and ecclesiastical power. The Society for the Reformation of Manners in Edinburgh, whose minutes survive for the years 1699–1708 and 1740–5, was an élite lobby group of about twenty individuals.235 Meeting in private houses and coffee shops, it worked through the town council and kirk, with some overlap of personnel with those bodies. In its first flush, it was an influential and important body. The Society emerged at a time when the church was at its strongest, working closely with the civil magistrates. One of the earliest acts of the town council after the reestablishment of presbyterianism in 1690 was a ban on swearing in marketplaces and on coffee houses opening on Sunday.236 The two were said to be connected since playing cards and dice in taverns and coffee houses caused ‘horrid cursing, swearing, quarrelling, strife, contention, covetousness, tippling, loss of time, neglect of necessary business’.237 In 1694 St Cuthbert’s kirk session felt able to assert that anyone who kept the door of their house closed while elders and deacons were making their Sunday rounds should be judged guilty of sabbath breaking.238 A preacher was appointed (p.196) to remedy the ‘great and unspeakable loss’ of one to the prisoners.239 The smallest infraction might be prosecuted as when a vintner’s widow was censured by Canongate kirk session ‘for going through the streets with a small can [of water] under her plaid’.240 Thus, in 1700, the general sessions made wide-ranging recommendations for a ‘reformation of manners’ to the magistrates and town council who, on their part, were ‘pleased to represent that they are most willing and desirous to concur with the general sessions in taking what method shall be thought most convenient for the advancing of piety and godliness and for suppressing vice and immorality within the city’.241 Relations between the city magistrates and church were, at one level, harmonious and productive. Because their poor relief efforts overlapped and because both had an interest in maintaining order and civic harmony, they generally co-operated in these spheres. The church depended in part on secular authority to enforce its moral and religious judgements.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values However, even at the height of its campaign, the magistrates and council had an ambivalent attitude towards both the general sessions and the Society as alternative, rather than complimentary, sources of authority within the city. They dragged their heels in implementing a request to delegate the identification and prosecution of vice to one or more godly censors, preferring to keep direct control over secular justice.242 In March 1701, the head of the town guard, Captain Stevenson, told a member of the Society that ‘he was a member of a society for no cause’ and put him in the stocks. Another member demanded disciplinary action against the soldier from the provost ‘whose greatest difficulty was, that it might endanger their losing the town guard, because the trades have a kindness for Captain Stevenson, who was bred a goldsmith’.243 The Society claimed that the constables were threatening ‘to lay down their staves’ because the magistrates were too lenient in punishing offenders. (p.197) The early 1700s town council may simply have adopted a pragmatic attitude, attempting to prevent disruptive conflict within the city at a time of economic dislocation. However, there is a sense that they did not altogether approve of the Society’s posturing, either as it impinged on their authority or as it affected the social fabric of the city. In this they acted consistently with the ideas of social corporatism we shall encounter in Chapter 6. The church and Society could be viewed as an unwelcome revival of moral policing and religious bigotry (aspects of ‘enthusiasm’) which had prevailed in the mid-seventeenth century, and against which there had been a general reaction after 1660. The town council had to look beyond the moral probity of the inhabitants and take in all aspects of social life. For example, it was reported in June 1702 ‘that the magistrates have cautioned the constables not to trouble taverns in time of parliament’.244 An influx of people during parliaments created demand for goods and services while contact in taverns was important to the development of public opinion both among élites and ordinary people. Trying to secure compliance from sabbath breakers had never been easy and could provoke more trouble than it solved. In August 1693 the Canongate bailies warned elders, deacons, and constables that when they were checking their bounds on a Sunday they should be polite in their enquiries and mild in reproving offenders, and that they should not lose their tempers when miscreants proved ‘hot and hasty’.245 The authority of the church was weakened by general pardons issued by the crown to those under censure in, for example, 1689, 1694, and 1708. Pamphlets poking fun at complaints of moral laxity were allowed to circulate, including the bawdy and satirical ‘The Knights of the Horn Orders’ Address to the Fruit Maids of Edinburgh’ which included the lines: The fruit maids casting up their limes Were things unknown to use We ladays [boys] then thought shame to sin It cost some pains unto us.246 Page 35 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (p.198) On more than one occasion in the 1700s the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, the kirk’s supreme body, bemoaned the profanation of the sabbath by strollers on Leith shore and on the High Street of Edinburgh as well as in the Queen’s Park.247 Specifically, in June 1703 there were ‘great multitudes of Dutchmen and others vaging [wandering] on the shore and elsewhere on the Lord’s day in time of divine worship’. So numerous were they that the elders and deacons had been unable to disperse them and calls for help from the commander of troops at Leith had fallen on deaf ears.248 Not only was the aid of troops refused but the military themselves were sometimes the problem. In the autumn of 1711 the presbytery spoke indignantly of problems enforcing ecclesiastical judgement over soldiers, ‘yet notwithstanding thereof, there hath been a complaint laid before the Queen against the discipline of this church’.249 Both church and secular authorities were seeking to impose their own definition of the boundaries of acceptable behaviour. By creating the rules each would be able more effectively to exert control over society using the means at their disposal. When magistrates and church worked together, their power to shape behaviour was considerable. When the secular authorities took a separate line their ability to banish miscreants could work against church discipline either by preventing them doing penance or by sending a wrong-doer back into a parish without a testimonial. In 1706 the presbytery complained about two former kirk treasurers (city employees) who had freely admitted fining people not yet processed by the kirk ‘and said it was their business to get money for the poor, and if there was a report of persons being guilty of uncleanness, they sought money from them and took it, where they could get it, without waiting for their conviction, or enquiring where they lived’.250 A small incident documented during April and May 1729 shows tensions between kirk and council. One of the bailies of Edinburgh saved a woman accused of scandalous behaviour before the kirk session of the Canongate and through his interference she escaped church discipline.251 In the following year the town council (p.199) countermanded lobbying by Sabbatarians and ordered that street lamps should be lit on Sunday as on all other days.252 The Society for the Reformation of Manners started off as part of the mainstream campaign for moral reformation during the 1690s. It ended up as a private, self-constituted voluntary body trying without obvious success to perpetuate that drive in a very different, not to say hostile, cultural and institutional environment. Despite its godly image, the Society’s support was no less qualified even in the 1690s and 1700s than it was in contemporary English cities.253 While it is probably fair to describe most of Edinburgh’s population as godly (in their own way), they did not share the relatively extreme views of the Society: a fact which is increasingly apparent as the eighteenth century progressed. From reading the minutes of the Society in the early 1740s we gain Page 36 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values the impression more of a religious discussion group rather than a body of dynamic campaigners. By that date religious activists of a more radical disposition were on the defensive. Furthermore, the nature of support for the church was being transformed in the early eighteenth century. Changing membership of one city kirk session shows this clearly. Aided by a precentor, beadle, and a dozen or so elders and deacons, the parish minister controlled the religious, moral, and sexual behaviour of those in his charge as well as administering poor relief. The kirk session register for the Tolbooth parish contains a chronological list of elders and deacons admitted during the century after ‘the Revolution’ of 1689– 90—which saw the restoration of presbyterian church government abolished in 1660—along with the ‘years in which they served’, allowing analysis of the social composition of the officials and the nature of service.254 Table 3.1 shows that while the proportion of elders and deacons drawn from merchants was nearly equal, there is no simple way of telling whether the eldership attracted wealthier traders. However, the differences in the proportions of craftsmen and professionals recruited to the respective offices clearly (p.200) Table 3.1. Occupations of Tolbooth elders and deacons, 1690– 1760 (% of those of known occupation or status) Elders (N=105)

Deacons (N=155)

Professional

30

3

Merchant

59

64

Craftsman

10

33

demonstrates the lower status attached to being a deacon. Fourteen elders had the designation ‘Mr’—traditionally taken to show a university graduate but possibly also used as an honorific—compared with two deacons. What is more, the type of craftsman drawn into the deaconship was of a lower standing than that from which the elders were recruited: a tanner, five candlemakers, four wigmakers, a mason, and a smith, for example. Two skinners became elders compared with seventeen deacons. No writer, advocate, or resident laird soiled his hands with the deaconship in this parish. Elders also had greater experience of civic positions: six were designated former bailies, two deans of guild and one a treasurer while John Wightman, skinner, is noted ‘afterwards provost of Edinburgh’. No such office-holding is recorded for any of the deacons though both types of officer might in theory have held positions before or after being on the kirk session.

This pattern sits comfortably with membership of the session in the Canongate parish, 1630–52, described by Makey, even if his method of presenting the results makes exact comparison difficult.255 Elders there were generally prosperous middlemen (29 per cent of the total) and master craftsmen who often Page 37 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values held posts as burgh councillors or in their incorporations: three-quarters of elders did so compared with less than one deacon in (p.201) twenty. Just 9 per cent of deacons can be classed as ‘middlemen’. Other evidence confirms that elders were three times wealthier in terms of moveable property and lived in houses five times more valuable. According to Makey: the deacon tended to be an ordinary master craftsman, the deacon who later became an elder tended to be the Deacon of his craft; the first time elder tended to be a wealthy magistrate or councillor from outside the ranks of the Incorporations…the eldership represented the dominant elements of the burgh almost as faithfully as did the burgh organisation itself.256 The ‘career structure’ of Tolbooth kirk session membership shows important variations between elders and deacons. Twenty-nine men who entered as deacons between 1690 and 1753 also appear on the list of elders (18 per cent). Looked at from the elders’ point of view, 26 per cent had been deacons before taking up the more important position on the session.257 Length of service also varied between officials with deacons more likely to stay in the job for one year and less likely to last longer than five years (Table 3.2). The first deacon to serve six years or more was Alexander Mason, merchant, who filled the post from 1731–8 without a break. Until the 1710s and 1720s it was usual for members to join the session for a year at a time even if over their careers they served on more than one occasion. Until the reign of George I it was similarly unusual to hold (p.202) Table 3.2. Proportions serving for specified periods on Tolbooth kirk session, 1690–1760 (%) Elders (N=111)

Deacons (N=164)

1 year

34

46

2 years

23

20

3–5 years

23

27

6 or more years

20

7

office, even intermittently, for more than a few years in total. Thereafter, longer and more continuous service became common. From the 1710s the length of time between last service as a deacon and first as an elder for the twenty-nine who made this transition also shortened. The mean number of years from first becoming a deacon to first becoming an elder was eight (median seven) and from last time as a deacon to first as an elder four years (median three).

After c.1715 the proportion who passed from deacon to elder without a break doubled. James Laing, merchant, first became a deacon in 1698 and served again in 1701 and 1704 but had to wait until 1713 for his first stint as an elder; Page 38 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values his second and last appointment came in 1721. John Welsh, jeweller and goldsmith, who was a deacon in 1744, 1745, 1746, 1751, and 1752 moved straight on to an eldership in 1753 and held it until 1769. The social profile of kirk session officials did not change but even assuming a stable population over the seventy years the proportion of eligible middle-rank citizens serving in the Tolbooth parish must have declined. Work on the kirk session became the preserve of a core of committed, long-serving men rather than a duty spread around the respectable classes as a whole.258 This change does not seem to have been associated with any reduction in the social status of elders and deacons, as some contem- (p.203) poraries believed was happening to membership of the general sessions.259 The reasons for this change are complex and difficult to prove conclusively. There may have been greater residential persistence or improved life expectancy in the eighteenth century. MacMillan estimates that burgesses entering in the 1610s, 1640s, and 1670s, whose deaths are later recorded in their testaments, could expect to live between twenty-one and twenty-five years after becoming freemen in their mid- to late twenties.260 During the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, advocates began to live much longer. Those entering the faculty in the second half of the seventeenth century had an average expectation of life at age 25 of a further thirty-one years while early eighteenth-century entrants could look forward to another thirty-eight years of life.261 Longer lifespan could explain greater persistence of elders and deacons after appointment but not the regularity with which a relatively narrow range of individuals held office over long periods. Late seventeenth and early eighteenth-century kirk session officials are more likely to have given up their posts voluntarily rather than because of death or removal from the parish. Changes in attitude towards the pursuit of religious and moral conformity offer a more plausible explanation. Office holding, secular as well as ecclesiastical, had not been popular in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century, and men had tried actively to avoid some positions. Canongate parish (p.204) was supposed to have twelve elders and eight deacons but in 1716 the presbytery noted their numbers reduced by failure to replace those who had died or moved residence.262 Session meetings were not universally attended. At fifty-five meetings held in 1681 in St Cuthbert’s parish, average attendance was just ten. In 1699, at the start of the campaign for the reformation of manners, forty-five meetings attracted an average of twenty participants.263 Under Queen Anne, questioning of presbyterian discipline became more public, a trend which gathered pace in the Georgian era. Most Edinburgh citizens belonged to the established church even in the 1760s but only the truly dedicated would wish to continue as kirk session members in the less favourable climate which was developing from the 1710s.264 The same thing may have been happening in the secular sphere. In 1728 the town council ordered that ‘every constable, after he is out of his office of constabulary, shall continue in the office of a censor and Page 39 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values assistant to his succeeding constable, for suppressing immoralities during the time of their immediate sucessor’s office and to attend the quarterly meetings’, from which we can infer a dragging of feet.265 Ironically, the mid-eighteenth-century pattern in the Tolbooth may have been closer to the ideal proposed by Andrew Melville, a central figure in the late sixteenth-century Scottish Reformation. Melville envisaged a professional elder dedicated to running his church rather than the essentially amateur, socially determined recruitment and comparatively brief service which characterized the pre-Hanoverian era. And it may also be that the professionalization of administration detected in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Continental towns was in Edinburgh more apparent in the ecclesiastical than the secular sphere. At least in church government, the widespread participation of the seventeenth century may have been narrowing in eighteenth-century Edinburgh. The Tolbooth pattern of service may also signal a different sort of religious adherence. That a new religious and cultural climate was developing is neatly illustrated in the history of the theatre. Established musical and theatrical companies were an (p.205) eighteenth-century development in Scotland’s capital. Whether as a result of clerical proscription or lack of demand, performers were few and performances were sporadic in the Restoration decades. There is mention of a dancing master, a principal dancer, a trainee comedian, and others in the Canongate in early 1664 (when their costumes were seized to pay their debts) and a playhouse was operating there in 1669.266 Players were licensed by the town council on an ad hoc basis throughout the 1660s and 1670s but there is no evidence of continuity even in the late 1670s when the residence of the Duke of York is generally credited with adding lustre to a dull city. Later seventeenth-century Edinburgh was decidely provincial in its irregular and transient theatre.267 During the 1700s, the city’s general sessions asked magistrates to consider steps against ‘concerts of music’ and against ‘those who in their masquerades and serenades, go through the town in the night with instruments of music’.268 The arrival of the Hanoverians apparently ushered in a more favourable climate. Stage plays were again perceived as a problem by the church soon after the accession of George I when ‘comedians’ were said to cause ‘great offence to many, by trespassing upon morality and those rules of modesty and chastity’.269 The theatre did not become a major focus of ideological confrontation until the 1720s when a dispute blew up over the right of actors to perform plays. There followed a battle to secure an act of parliament legalizing playhouses in the city. In 1727 Anthony Aston, an actor or ‘comedian’ rented the Skinners’ Hall for 15/sterling a week to perform a play called ‘Love for Love’. The town council refused to allow his performances but Aston would not surrender the keys. The Court of Session case instigated by the skinners brought other interested (p. 206) parties into the fray.270 It also forced the magistrates to prosecute Page 40 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Aston.271 Aston had some powerful supporters who spoke and wrote on his behalf, including the Earl of Lauderdale and Lords Sommerville and Belhaven, who described Aston as ‘their servant, and master of the revels’. In their petition, the nobles argued that a sixteenth-century act of Queen Mary prohibited some plays because ‘about the dawning of the Reformation, the commonalty used these representatives to ridicule the priests’. This style of theatre was described as an ‘interlude’, performed by: a meaner sort of people, not able to arrive at the expense of acting a whole comedy or tragedy, generally having no settled residence, and not being able to entertain any but the lowest ranks of people, used to pick out the worst and most immoral part of plays and farces, knowing them to be most catching with the commonalty. For the historian, this comment throws light on the process of cultural borrowing and interpretation. However, the point the peers were making was that their protégé was in a different category. They also claimed that the right of noble protection of players, acknowledged in English law, extended to Aston in Scotland. Aston and his supporters obtained a bill of suspension from the Court of Session allowing the plays to continue despite the magistrates’ ban.272 The extent of tensions within the city is illustrated by a street brawl in March 1728 when one of Aston’s employees, John Norris, threatened Mr James Ross, son of the deceased archbishop of St Andrews.273 The magistrates correctly identified a threat to their authority. Aston and a few colleagues had performed for private audiences in the city during previous winters but had been encouraged by his patrons to bring twenty-four friends from London to do public shows.274 The magistrates claimed that they would have to deal with the consequences of ‘drawing great assemblies of people together…how innocent soever public diversion may be’. But the dispute was also about different definitions of taste. In an attack on traditional moral rhetoric, Aston’s patrons concluded ‘that however serious the magistrates may be…they (p.207) ought to talk with more decency concerning things authorised by the best people in the kingdom, and heard by the ladies of the best character in it, than to call them gross immoralities’. There were instances where the aristocracy nurtured talent and protected such developments with their political clout—the Duchess of Queensberry sheltered John Gay, for example. The magistrates backed the clergy this time (and in the late 1730s) because their political interests coincided with religious tenets. Aston himself was harassed by the secular authorities and was almost unique in being fined by the Justice of the Peace Court on 18 April 1728 for acting as a witness at his son’s irregular marriage.275 On other occasions, the secular authorities might differ from the clergy.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values In 1738 a further dispute over similar matters soured relations between the city and its gentry and aristocracy.276 Writing to Patrick Lindsay MP in 1739, Allan Ramsay, bookseller and self-appointed spokesman of the ‘new order’, anticipated that Lindsay would have been lobbied ‘to desire your assistance towards the impoverishing and stupifying the good town by getting everything that tends towards politeness and good humour banished, that antichristian “priesterast” and gloomy enthusiasm and contention may prevail’. Ramsay felt there was no prospect of civilization until the inhabitants ‘with one accord learn to rise above the arrogant pride of priestcraft’. He believed that one of the university regents, Robert Stuart, was behind a petition being circulated by the Dean of Guild’s officers against the playhouse. Ramsay described the subscribers, mostly merchants, as ‘the little people’ though an opponent of the playhouse claimed that the principal had signed on behalf of the college—’this sad shadow of a university’ as Ramsay termed it.277 Ramsay was a hate figure among the clergy. He had set up another theatre in 1737 which had been closed down a few months later under a general act of parliament curbing stage plays throughout Britain.278 In collusion with others he had (p.208) flaunted the law by putting on a (legal) music concert with the stage play as a second feature.279 Wodrow claimed Ramsay obtained ‘all the villainous, profane and obscene books of plays’ from London and lent them out ‘for an easy price to young boys, servant women of the better sort, and gentlemen’, the consequence being ‘vice and obscenity dreadfully propagated’.280 The same label could not be applied to John Clerk of Penicuik, a substantial heritor of the shire. In a letter to Lindsay dated the day before Ramsay’s, Clerk too wrote for the bill authorizing playhouses: I assure you it will displease nobody but ministers who by their trade must be displeased, or some antiquated folks who can be pleased with nothing of this kind. The narrow, enthusiastical spirit which govern multitudes in Edinburgh must be enlarged by some contrivance of this kind and I have been very sensible that our young ministers preach with a better grace and tone since a playhouse was first encouraged in Edinburgh.281 Clerk’s remark highlights an important point. The supporters of the bill to legalize playhouses were the landed elites who used the city’s services, including John, Lord Glenorchy.282 Behind them were middle-class advocates of new values: self-proclaimed leaders of ‘good taste’. These were the groups among whom it was becoming fashionable to be religiously lukewarm but they were not typical of opinion in the city. The bill’s opponents were the bulk of the middlerank citizens. In its petition of April 1739 against the bill to legalize playhouses, the town council argued that it:

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values will occasion an expense such as the small extent of the wealth and trade of this city cannot well afford to bear and that the manners of the youth will be in great danger of being corrupted, of whom there are great numbers residing within this city, as being the seat of the university and a place chiefly frequented for all parts of the education of children of both sexes, besides the considerable number of apprentices in it.283 (p.209) They had used similar arguments in 1727.284 Even those who advocated greater cultural licence allowed that ‘the bulk of the burghers and constant residenters in town are extremely against it’, though the gentry supported it.285 It was not until well into the reign of George III that the haunting of theatres commanded general acceptability among Edinburgh’s populace.286 The staging of the play Douglas marked an important cultural triumph for the so-called ‘moderate literati’ and their supporters, vindicating the liberty of the theatre and weakening the conservative opposition within the kirk.287 Exponents of the freedom of the theatre were part of a British tradition of opposition to religious dogmatism but also drawing on early continental Enlightenment criticism of religious obscurantism and the dead hand of the clergy. However, it is also worth noting that Douglas was written by a clergyman and that its significance as a cause lay partly in the way it split the church itself. The promoters of Douglas set the tone for the future but we cannot ignore the strong, principled opposition to such developments which before the 1750s was much more representative of public opinion. The tensions between those who advocated cultural change and those who opposed it had surfaced earlier in a seemingly more innocent context. The new social assembly of 1723 provoked less impassioned religious and legal debate but was by no means universally well received. A pamphlet entitled A Letter from a Gentleman in the Country to his Friend in the City: With an Answer thereto Concerning the New Edinburgh Assembly contained the following passage said to represent debate on the assembly: Some are pleased to say that it is only designed to cultivate polite conversation, and genteel behaviour among the better sort of folks and to (p.210) give young people an opportunity of accomplishing themselves in both; while others are of opinion that it will have a quite different effect and tend only to vitiate and deprave the minds and inclinations of the younger sort…. A gentleman who had been lately in town…was pleased to tell me that the people in town were as widely different in their opinions about it as we are…for his part he believed it would prove a machine of luxury to soften and effeminate the minds of our young nobility and gentry.288

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values By 1741 it was acceptable in some circles to poke fun at the church. Among the last recorded minutes of the Society for the Reformation of Manners in Edinburgh was this from November 1741: ‘Stage plays have begun again in this city and are very frequent…in some plays the actors thereof take occasion in the most impious manner to ridicule true and sincere religion by acting over in mockery of preaching of his word’289 With the benefit of experience, Adam Smith recognized that stage plays ‘exposing their artifices to public ridicule’ were abhorred by religious fanatics precisely because they were so effective in changing attitudes.290 After the institutionalization of poor relief in 1743, collections for charitable purposes were reorganized to take place within ‘societies’ or from house to house as the town council recognized that significant numbers either did not attend church or went to a meeting house.291 To religious divisions came slowly to be added a more secular tone.292 Too much should not be read into some signs of secularization and anticlericalism. Some acts of sabbath breaking—like the frequenter of a bawdy house in Blackfriars Wynd who vomited out of a window during service time293— were probably unthinking and may have been tolerated except when it became a private irritant or a public nuisance. In 1759 Portsburgh’s cordiners had to establish a rota of masters to sit with the apprentices at the back of Greyfriars church to stop them ‘making disturbances in the church which is a great indignity and indecency’.294 People could use sabbath regulations as a way of (p.211) seeking redress from troublesome neighbours. Bailie Brown was unfortunate enough to live under a vintner who had told him to ‘put wool in his lugs [ears]’ when he had complained about ‘a great noise by cursing, swearing, by several horrid oaths and imprecations and by roaring, crying, singing and dancing’ and used the fact that it happened on a Sunday to prosecute him before the Justices of the Peace.295 Yet, as the Hanoverian era advanced, the church seemed to recognize that it was swimming against the tide of curiosity and ‘mistaken notions of fashionable diversion’. As early as November 1727 (when it was still relatively strong) the presbytery minuted: ‘it is vain to expect…reformation of the stage as to make it consistent with the purity of the christian life’ and that the best that could be done was to warn people against frequenting plays.296 A 1728 minute of the general sessions contains an air of resignation: ‘the customary way of going through the streets on the Lord’s day by the several [kirk] sessions, in their journey, proves of little use, and does not answer the end intended; for they can only be in one part of the town at one time, and cannot know of the irregularities that may be in other parts of it’.297 After that there was a tendency to overshoot, with parishioners increasingly reluctant to accept the church’s censure under any circumstances. John Fisher, servant, had appeared once before the New kirk session in 1737 for fornication. He was cited several times to appear again, but ‘the session understanding that he declines to appear a second time to be rebuked…and finding that there are several others in the like circumstances, the Page 44 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values session agree that this case be laid before the general session that a uniform method may be taken in cases of this kind’.298 By 1740 the members of the general sessions and of Edinburgh presbytery could only look back fondly on the two decades after 1689 when, in retrospect at least, it seemed that sabbath observance had been good. Immorality and irreligion had since flourished and was manifested by ‘standing together (p.212) in companies…in the streets, the pastimes and play of children on them…idle and long gazing from windows to behold vanities, fetching of walks…unprofitable converse, loud and noisy discourse, merriment and laughter’, travelling, washing and swimming, ‘unnecessary shaving and carrying of dress wigs’, and tavern haunting.299 The irony was that during the 1690s and 1700s their predecessors had found frequent cause to complain about exactly the same things.300 It is not enough to see sabbath breaking simply as a ‘problem of discipline’ or as evidence of an increasingly powerful lay culture thumbing its nose at religious authority. People had clearly internalized some of the church’s norms and they did modify their behaviour to comply with regulations. Law shapes people’s actions just as men and women affect the nature and operations of the law. When an aleseller in the rural parish of Duddingston was prosecuted in 1711 for allowing people to break the sabbath, one of the witnesses told of three gentlemen and a lady who had trod the fine line between enjoying Sunday and conforming to church rules. They had been in the tavern: but at the beginning of sermon before noon they went out and walked until the sermons were over; that then they came back to the house and dined… at the ringing of the third bell after noon they went out again and walked till sermons were over, and that after sermon they returned to the house again, paid their reckoning and went away.301 These people were conforming to a regulation which allowed victualling houses to serve strangers between sermons.302 During the campaign against stage plays waged by the church, complaints from the Tron kirk congregation against a probationary minister who had seemed to condone popular theatre in his sermon shows that members of the public also opposed it.303 Some years later came a pamphlet about the lack of preaching and of disciplining sabbath breakers entitled ‘Unto the reverend the ministers of the several kirks and congregations of the city of s (p.213) Edinburgh, the earnest request and most humble petition of the heads of families, and others, their respective parishioners’.304 While the church had effectively given up its stricter disciplinary pretensions, there was a residual but powerful effect on cultural life. During a dispute between the impresario Mr Digges and the orchestra of the Canongate playhouse in 1758, ten musicians subscribed a paper saying that wages were Page 45 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values only substantially in arrears ‘since the Passion and Easter weeks, when houses run bad’.305 A French officer who visited Edinburgh around 1763 made a terse note: ‘Le dimanche en Ecosse [est] triste’.306 Topham displayed some sympathy for the clergy of the 1770s who were unable to go to plays or assemblies for fear of losing credibility with their flocks.307 On the other hand, he was pleasantly surprised to find none of ‘the excess of idleness and riot’ which characterized London Sundays in the 1770s.308 The footman John MacDonald noticed the absence of ranks of coaches from Edinburgh’s streets on Sundays, in contrast with some European towns.309 The power of the church may have been waning in the eighteenth century, weakened by both external influences and internal divisions. But it could still exert an influence on public opinion. One account of the Porteous riots followed these lines: It is confidently said that before the murder of Porteous, some of the clergy from their pulpits said that the land was defiled with blood, and that the judgements of God would hang over their heads till the blood-shedders were delivered into the hands of the avenger. And afterwards some of them said that God often made use of mean instruments to bring about his blessed will and purpose.310 Still less charitable was a letter which claimed that the mob’s ‘spirit of revenge [was] kept strongly alive in them by those trumpeters of sedition and cruelty in all countries, the damned priests’.311 Both accounts were probably written by English observers who regarded Scotland as a priest-ridden country but they demand attention. (p.214) Growing secularism did not prevent members of the landed elite recognizing the importance of the clergy to the overall structure of authority within the society. The heritors of the shire of Edinburgh minuted in June 1750 their opposition to a scheme to increase clerical stipends since: it will manifestly tend to the disquiet and disturbance of the peace of the country and may be prejudicial to the interest of religion itself as well as of the clergy by souring the minds of the people and alienating their affections from the pastors of the established church. Whereas nothing can be more agreeable and advantageous than an harmonious union, and a good understanding between ministers and their people in particular and between the clergy of the established church and the landed interest in general.312 The kirk’s political clout could still block the appointment of David Hume to the chair of moral philosophy at the university in 1745.313 An element within the church continued to oppose stage plays—’these seminaries of folly and vice’— through pamphlets like the 1757 Admonition and Exhortation of the Reverend Page 46 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Presbytery of Edinburgh. Another faction advocated cultural change and a loosening of restraints. In the same year as the Admonition, the minister of Liberton was suspended for attending a stage play; its author, another clergyman, resigned and a third minister was rebuked for involvement.314 When Topham wrote his letters from Edinburgh in the 1770s, the clergy had stopped trying to curb plays, preferring ‘to leave them to their ungodliness’.315 As the reign of George III progressed the established church came to accept and even promote certain Enlightenment ideas.316 The stage was set for the sorts of social transformations outlined by William Creech in the Statistical Account of the 1790s.

Popular and Élite Culture: ‘Becoming Different’ Accounts of cultural change in eighteenth-century Edinburgh have focused on the elites, whether landed classes or figures (p.215) with ‘enlightened’ views— the ‘moderate literati’. As the discussion of changing attitudes to the theatre has shown, cultural developments also impinged directly and indirectly on the lives of the middling and lower ranks of Edinburgh society. It would seem fair to assert that most of Edinburgh’s burgesses were not, by this definition, ‘enlightened’. Yet, the process of social and cultural change was a complex one whose frontiers are not always where we might expect to find them. The way in which cultural values were changing can be illustrated in other types of recreations and leisure.317 If some people viewed the city as a place for display, the eighteenth century saw more and different recreations and new material trappings which could be used to establish visibility. If religious life was undergoing mutations, secular culture too was changing to accommodate new social and ideological priorities. Cultural change was a contributor to, and a reflection of, broader social and political developments. What follows is far from an exhaustive survey. Instead, we shall discuss just one central aspect of cultural life: the changing definition of élite culture which helped to throw ‘popular’ culture into relief. Using such a simple dichotomy as a framework for analysis has shortcomings. It is impossible to abstract behaviour and attitudes from their wider context and therefore to label any documented activity as intrinsically ‘popular’. ‘Popular’ culture had no real identity of its own, except for the definition given it by proscription. Clubs, social assemblies, miscellaneous pastimes, music, and the theatre are useful indicators here but so too are pursuits such as drinking. There was probably no clear or fixed division between the cultural activities of social groups. However, the fact that those towards the top of the hierarchy tried constantly to distinguish themselves by their recreations and material lifestyle was an expression of their desire to be different. Cultural behaviour was one of the ways in which individuals and groups defined their identity. Edinburgh’s recreations and leisure underwent changes already charted for other parts of Britain and Europe. For all social classes recreation became more commercialized. Beyond that common experience, cultural life became increasingly diverse (p.216) and Page 47 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values differentiated. The social boundaries of acceptable activities were redefined. Put simply, the better-off were able to enjoy a new variety of pursuits and they sought to delimit their culture from that of the masses. What they did changed but the real shift was not so much in activities as attitudes. The culture of the landed and professional classes became redefined as ‘polite’ not because of any intrinsic difference but because of who participated. It was defined not only as different but also as better than that of the rest of urban society. Voluntary associations proliferated during the early eighteenth century. Few were wholly recreational and most had a secondary purpose such as charitable fund raising. The commonest way of raising money was through dances and concerts. An orchestral society had been in existence since the 1690s, practising at Patrick Steil’s tavern in what was later to be called Old Assembly Close and giving the first recorded concert in 1694. It became the Musical Society from 1728.318 Membership, restricted initially to seventy gentlefolk (raised to 130 by 1752), cost a guinea (one and a half guineas from 1752) and weekly concerts were held in St Mary’s chapel until the opening of St Cecilia’s Hall. Unique during the eighteenth century, its aristocratic members maintained high standards and the society exercised a profound influence on the development of music in Scotland.319 Audiences too were small and restricted to ticket holders only. A maximum of sixty were to be admitted to the Music Society concert on 21 July 1749. So important was it to be seen at such gatherings that ‘many ladies have resolved to go without hoops’ so that there was more space for sitting.320 There was more room in Heriot’s gardens where Johann Friedrich Lampe gave open air operatic recitals 1750–1.321 Developments in music and the theatre are conventionally seen as indicators of cultural ‘progress’. By 1756 Tobias Smollett could write to a friend that ‘all the diversions of London we (p.217) enjoy at Edinburgh in a small compass’.322 And in 1776 Topham could sum up the new and varied range of recreations and culture in the city in these words: ‘We have an elegant playhouse and tolerable performers; assemblies, concerts, public gardens and walks, card parties, and a hundred other diversions’.323 However, we have seen that cultural change was not value free. Analysis of other types of recreations and leisure reinforce this point. Take the case of music. Anyone could learn to play a musical instrument (subject to constraints of buying or borrowing it) and any group could enjoy listening to players. However, certain instruments were felt to be more genteel than others. The flute and keyboard along with certain stringed instruments such as the lute, harp, and viol were acceptable but fiddles and wind music had connotations of the outdoors, of the military, and of the rougher sorts. Furthermore, not all could join the Musical Society because constraints of cost and social acceptability existed. Of course, the barriers of cost were not insurmountable, which is why vaguer but equally powerful restrictions to entry based on dress and demeanour were used. Cultural, like social, divisions were Page 48 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values not created and forgotten. They were constantly being created and reinforced, defined and redefined. The same mix of formal and informal entry qualifications is shown in other voluntary associations. Groups like Alan Ramsay’s ‘Easy Club’ (1712–15) and the Rankenian Club (1716–74) met to cultivate conversation, friendship, taste, politeness, and improvement.324 They were probably small groups of (p.218) no more than the couple of dozen people who would be able to dine together comfortably. During the 1680s, 1690s, and 1700s the Faculty of Advocates became not only a professional association but also a learned society. Their library was founded and a chair of law created; clocks and scientific instruments were purchased; a coin collection was bought and collections of paintings and silver begun.325 The Royal Company of Scottish Archers, notionally the royal bodyguard in Scotland, published a list of members in 1715 along with a selfcongratulatory poem celebrating Scotland’s martial values: Such with their lives the sovereignty maintained Of Scotland, and its honour kept unstained Through many ages, to their progeny Delivering down their laws and country free.326

The post-Restoration Archers were middle-class royalists though by the early eighteenth century the group was, like similar associations, becoming increasingly aristocratic and with pronounced Jacobite leanings.327 Archery itself was one of the few student pursuits actively encouraged by the town council. They asked the college in 1673 to set up butts and even donated a silver arrow as a competition prize.328 It was also one of the sports played by the apprentice surgeon Thomas Kincaid during the 1680s and deemed to be suitable for young men of that social class. The other was golf.329 Citizens were annoyed that the tacksmen of Bruntsfield Links had ‘spoiled the golfing’ there in 1701.330 Part of the feu duty of a house at Leith from 1723 was a set of golf clubs annually to be presented to the lord provost.331 In 1744 ‘several gentlemen of honour, skilful in the ancient and healthful exercise of the golf’ petitioned the town council for a silver club as the prize in an (p.219) annual competition at Leith.332 In 1757 the sport was described as ‘manly and healthful’.333 Other exercises were available. Young gentlemen skated on the Nor Loch when it was frozen over.334 Equestrian pursuits had always had the stamp of aristocracy. In 1672 the town council sanctioned the cobbling of a ‘piece of ground in the Greyfriars’ yard where the noblemen…run at the ring for their fit and convenient exercise’.335 A riding school was opened in a southern suburb of the city in 1763 or 1764 though it was extremely expensive and, by all accounts, did little business except among the aristocracy. Ordinary gentry and urban

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values élites apparently took less interest in riding as a sport or as a social statement than was the case in England.336 Those interested in leisure, whether for health or social display, were not confined to the city boundaries. While Edinburgh itself was not a spa town, there were communities within a day’s ride of the city which served the growing postRestoration demand for watering holes by invalids, hypochondriacs, and socialites. As early as the 1700s, medicinal visits to Moffat wells constituted a legitimate excuse for ministers not attending presbytery meetings or for the clerk to the town council to be absent for a month.337 Sir John Gordon of Invergordon recorded in his pocket book on 31 July 1755 his regret that ‘since necessary business hinders for this season for bestowing that time and care upon my health which it would otherwise require, especially by passing some weeks at Scarborough or Moffaf ’he would have to resort to prescription medicines ‘till the return of the next season for these mineral waters’.338 For those unable to make it to Yorkshire, bottled Scarborough water was available from a shop at the Netherbow as early as 1707.339 Moffat was emerging as a major spa. The Edinburgh Chronicle for 31 May 1759 contained an advertisement for Moffat: Great plenty of goat whey is to be got this season. As the goats feed amongst rocks and glens which abound with wild aromatic plants near (p. 220) the well, physicians are of opinion that the milk cannot be anywhere in greater perfection…It has been a common complaint that there neither was shelter, retirement, nor any kind of accomodation at the well for the company, there is now built and will soon be finished, very near the well, a new long room with proper divisions and conveniences…Patients whose cases require it may have the waters pumped, either cold or warm, upon any particular part.340 Lesser centres began to cater for the new leisure demand. The coastal resort of Portobello, close to the city, was becoming popular from the 1740s: an early sign of the rise of seaside holidays which became an important part of middle- and upper-class leisure in the later eighteenth century. The Edinburgh Advertiser of 10 April 1764 offered goat whey, lodging, grazing, fishing, and shooting near Coupar-Angus in Perthshire.341 A Corstor-phine farmer called Alexander Blyth set up a stagecoach from Edinburgh to the village to cash in on the popularity of Corstorphine well in 1744.342 The coach ran eight times a day during the week and four times on Sunday. A Leith timber merchant built overnight accommodation for visitors but made little profit as agricultural improvements caused the well to dry up during the 1750s and 1760s.343 Demand to take the waters at St Bernard’s Well by the Water of Leith was so heavy during the summer season of 1764 that there were no lodgings to be found in the vicinity.344 The Scots Magazine announced in 1760 that this well had been ‘recently discovered’.345 In reality it had been known for its magical or medicinal Page 50 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values qualities for centuries but had only just become fashionable. A ‘foundation stone’ had been very publicly laid on 15 September 1760. Dancing was an important passport to fashionable society. Catering for healthy demand after the Restoration, Mr Edward Fountain ran a successful dancing school until his death in 1695.346 However, it was again during the eighteenth century that dancing became all the rage for the middling and upper classes. A ball of 200–300 people held by the Honourable Society of Hunters at Holy rood in 1729 was written up in the newspapers347 (p.221) Edinburgh’s baxters’ incorporation owned a hall two storeys high and 30 feet square in James Court which they rented out as a dancing school and ballroom, causing a downstairs neighbour, John Dundas, to complain (with the support of other heritors in the building) about ‘the numerous and frequent meetings of the scholars and others at balls and country dances’ in 1744. Against the defence that the previous owner had not raised any objections, Dundas replied that when he arrived twelve years previously only twenty or thirty pupils attended classes whereas there were now roughly 160 dancers. The city had at least one other large dancing school at this period, run by a Mr Downie in Carruber’s Close and another by one Signora Violante—formerly a circus act ‘noted for feats of strength, postures and tumbling’. A ‘dancing assembly’ was to be found in Bell’s Wynd in 1756.348 By the 1770s, Topham ventured the opinion that: ‘For the number of inhabitants I suppose there are more dancing masters than in any other city’.349 What was a participative recreation for one social group could be a spectacle for another. It was said that children and servants stayed out till late at night to watch the Elites come out of the social assemblies.350 As recreations became more private, expensive and regulated, ordinary people were increasingly excluded. However, the lower orders were not simply confined to gawking at social assemblies. They also aped the fashionable gatherings of their superiors. After all, anyone physically able could learn to dance. But to do so was not always viewed kindly. A ‘ball’ held at the house of Nelly Miller, widow of William Miller, ‘whitener’ (bleacher), in Craig’s Close was broken up on the night of 25 December 1761. The down-market address, the lowly status of the host and the motley composition of the guests— who included the pregnant, unmarried daughter of a Leith wheelwright, a soldier’s wife, and a gardener’s daughter— made this what the magistrates preferred to term ‘a disorderly meeting of people of both sexes’.351 Nelly’s ball is another neat example of how ‘popular’ culture (p.222) was different from élite more by definition than by activity. Elite culture distinguished itself by its private location, restricted participation, and (selfproclaimed) superior tone and taste. We find out about social assemblies like the Honourable Society of Hunters’ ball from Edinburgh newspapers, about Nelly’s ball from the city’s criminal registers. Withdrawal of the élites was achieved less Page 51 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values by changing interests (though that happened) than by a new self-consciousness about cultural pursuits. Even activities which were shared, such as drinking to excess, could be defined differently depending on who was involved. The drinking of toasts in taverns was a common source of drunken and argumentative behaviour. It was later known as ‘pushing the bottle’.352 Captain Alexander Tait was painfully blunt about a woman who accused him of fathering her bastard, ‘she being a drunkard and common whore…taken drunk like a beast upon the Lord’s day in the citadel of Leith, and could neither speak nor stand, but lay prostrate there in such a condition that she was a scandal to her sex’.353 Of course, examples of all sections of society could be found in this state. Even select groups like the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers met in an alehouse at Leith until 1767.354 But we should contrast the description of an aristocrat in a gossipy letter of July 1768. Thomas Thomson informed David Ross, writer, about an unspecified marquis who ‘has become quite a reprobate. He got drunk on Sunday was eight days and kept it up through the whole week—he went to a penny wedding on Friday, got merry there, came home in the evening and got mortal drunk’.355 This was an understandable and amusing lapse from sobriety rather than a sign of fundamental moral inadequacy. The activities of the better sort were increasingly fenced off by informal means such as membership requirements or cost and, where this was difficult, by direct proscription. Strangers were frowned upon at Musical Society concerts and ‘low mean folks excluded’.356 The importance of participants to the acceptability of a certain type of activity is shown in another example. All social groups played billiards in rooms and coffee houses— (p.223) James Ross’s coffee house had a billiard table in 1737.357 An enquiry of 1759 revealed ten billiard tables within the city and another two or three in the suburbs, mostly ‘frequented by students, apprentice boys and persons of the lowest class of mankind’. The town council ordered magistrates ‘to license such billiard tables as they shall be ascertained are only frequented by persons of rank and fashion’.358 In earlier decades less sweeping regulations had been intended to keep certain groups out at specific times of day. Those who kept billiard tables, ‘kyle’ alleys, bowling greens and shuffle boards were asked in 1695 to deny students access to their premises during college hours (mornings and 2–4 p.m.).359 Public order and ‘morality’ might have been an issue here but the message was that only the better sort could be trusted to play billiards without causing a riot. The intention of this regulation was to delineate billiards as an upper-class pursuit. Attacks on some types of recreation or consumption in Edinburgh may have been part of a growing social and spatial segregation. Certain activities were classified by civic authorities or members of the elite (or both) as ‘ignorant’, ‘vulgar’, or ‘superstitious’, as threats to order or morality. These became confined to streets and alehouses, and to ordinary folk. Hugo Arnot reported Page 52 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values that Christmas mumming was still practised by young people from the lower classes during the eighteenth century: ‘going, at that season, from house to house, in fantastic habits, endeavouring to amuse, by repeating of bombast speeches, and craving some trifling gratuity’. A century or more before, it had been prevalent among all sorts of servants and retainers rather than just youth. Customs said once to have been universal were becoming confined to the common people by George III’s reign, including that whereby the bride gave the groom a wedding shirt.360 Where people had visited places like (p.224) St Bernard’s Well for ‘superstitious’ reasons in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, polite society of the eighteenth century took the waters with the sanction of ‘rational’, medical explanations.361 By the 1770s still finer gradations of ‘taste’ existed. Members of the fashionable set sought out a summer season at Moffat or one of the English spas and looked down on those termed ‘bourgeois’ by Topham for spending it at Comely Gardens to the north-west of the city.362 Ceremonies deemed to be wasteful or improper were also proscribed. Efforts were being made to limit the ‘consumer sovereignty’ of dependent groups such as servants, wives and children, and wage labourers.363 A prohibition against excessive expenditure at penny bridals had been issued in 1662 and an act of parliament passed in 1681 to limit the number of guests and the amount spent. Yet, a visitation of the Canongate parish in 1716 reported that these types of marriage celebration were rare in the city.364 Indeed, they were known to some around this date as ‘country weddings’, a term which might indicate a distinction between urban and rural nuptial practices.365 Edinburgh’s incorporation of hammermen clamped down on ‘the great abuse done to young prentices that are presently bound to their masters by journeymen or former prentices…by drinking and washing of their aprons’ in 1667.366 Those becoming journeymen bought drinks for their fellows and when an assay was offered the aspirant master provided a dinner.367 This custom seems also to have existed in non-manual occupations. Writers to the Signet prohibited ‘the entrant writers of any expenses of (p.225) drinking or otherwise at the examination and admission’ in 1703 and again in 1755.368 Not all such activities were proscribed. Among the Edinburgh cordiners’ papers is a receipt of c.1720 for one guinea’s worth of ale ‘for the use and behalf of the journeymen about St Crispin’s day’.369 St Crispin was the patron saint of shoemakers and the journeymen assembled on 25 October to choose and crown ‘King Crispin’ and hold a pageant and procession through the town. The ‘king’ wore a red satin and ermine robe, carried a sceptre, and was attended by ‘officers of state’.370 The hammermen minuted in 1673 ‘the great abuse done by their assay master and landlord toward their patients entering to be freemen [at] the time of their assays, making too much drinking and feasting upon the patients’ [aspirants’] account’.371 The other great binge came when the leets (lists) for deacon were drawn up.372 Rituals which survived attack seem to have been those in which master craftsmen participated or those over which they Page 53 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values could exert direct control—the annual feeing of millers by the city’s baxters, held in the village near Canonmills on the Water of Leith, is an example.373 Edinburgh’s masonic lodges held an annual banquet on St John’s day (27 December).374 In this sense the pattern of craft festivities paralleled developments in civic ceremonies and thus reinforces our point about definition and participation. Some activities remained accessible. All Hallow’s Fair, subject of a later painting by Alexander Carse, was announced in the newspapers during the 1730s and was held in the shadow of the Castle rock between St Cuthbert’s church and the West port. Beltane (roughly 2–6 May) was a holiday period when courts were held, children let off school and a banquet given for (p.226) members of the incorporated trades of Calton.375 Other pastimes open to all included walking, either to rural or suburban taverns or to visit well-known sights such as the medieval chapel or ‘college’ at Roslin in Lasswade parish.376 On the way, walkers could pass by the cave and garden feued by James Paterson, smith, at Gilmerton and finished in 1724. Whyte’s eighteenth-century history of Liberton parish notes: ‘His cave for many years was deemed as a great curiosity, and visited by all the people of fashion’.377 To the north of the Nor Loch, before the New Town was built, seasonal strollers could find farms offering curds, whey, cream and fruit. The fashionable walks laid out to the south of the city—Hope Park, for example—were said in July 1741 to be frequented by ‘persons of all ranks, ages and sexes’.378 During the 1740s steps were taken to improve the amenity of Hope Park.379 Walking cost nothing. What one did while strolling might involve expenditure. Consumption of new and higher quality products grew during the century 1660– 1760. Conspicuous consumption for the better-off began to include more lavish coaches and sedan chairs, more varied diet, better quality consumer durables and semi-durables. The first recorded sedan chair came in 1661; there were said to be six for public hire in 1687 but ninety by 1753. Demand for imported beer, selling at more than local brews, suggests that even in the troubled times of the 1660s there were people with either a high disposable income or a strong desire to consume.380 A document produced by brewers in the 1720s claimed that the town’s imposition on ale plus the differential excise on the high-quality beer produced in the city meant that metropolitan producers paid four times as much tax as rural brewers. Even if this is only partly true, and even if some premium beers were sold outside the city, drinking in Edinburgh must have been an act of conspicuous consumption and willingness to pay the higher prices a testament to its (p.227) greater wealth and consumerism.381 Drinking alchohol was socially ubiquitous but what one drank could be a mark of economic well-being. Beyond the staples of diet, consumption of what Shammas calls ‘groceries’— coffee, sugar, and tobacco—was growing from the late seventeenth century.382 Allegedly introduced by the Duchess of York in the 1680s, tea became Page 54 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values increasingly fashionable, and was even found in the charity workhouse of the 1740s and 1750s.383 The example of tea shows how a commodity could change from being an expensive status symbol to an item in everyday use. However, other indicators of wealth and standing came to take its place. Citizens could roast their own coffee on Wednesday afternoons at a machine set up in the Excise office.384 Demand for fruit and vegetables was also rising faster than population, judging by the trend in sums offered for the farm of the fruit market tolls from the 1690s to the 1750s.385 The relative stability of Edinburgh building wages before the mid-eighteenth century implies growing consumption among a restricted clientele.386 Literary evidence confirms the status of fruit as an item of conspicuous consumption. The Thistle newspaper number 46 for Christmas day 1734 advertised that only one cargo of fruit had arrived that year—lemons and ‘China oranges’ from Malaga—and that these were to be sold by the importer, William Carmichael, at his shop in Edinburgh or from his warehouse in Leith. Meanwhile, the Edinburgh Chronicle (no. 37) for late July 1759 promised that cider, ‘all the best kinds of garden fruits in their seasons’, lemons, and Seville and China oranges were on sale at a fruit shop above the new Royal Exchange. (p.228) Many Midlothian parishes were involved in fruit production according to the Statistical Account of the 1790s. Potatoes are first recorded in Leith burlaw court minutes in 1741 (along with turnips).387 They too may have been a ‘luxury’ item in the city. In October 1768 the managers of St Cuthbert’s charity workhouse decided ‘to sell the potatoes which grow in the gardens, judging it of more advantage than to keep them for the use of the house’.388 More people possessed what might be termed ‘consumer durables’. During the 1690s dearths, a glover called Robert Newlands bought a watch worth £157 Scots from John Williamson, merchant—a sum equivalent to more than a year’s wages for a day labourer.389 Indeed, sedan chairs, mirrors, pictures, furniture, spectacle cases, and musical instruments were being imported from the later seventeenth century. Fishing tackle, shooting goods, and children’s toys could be bought in Thomas Henderson’s shop at the Cross Well in 1759.390 The publishers of the Edinburgh Chronicle, Hamilton and Balfour, could boast several reflecting telescopes of different sizes in their shop.391 Exposure to new products in the metropolis may have furthered the development of consumption during the eighteenth century. For example, metropolitan living may have changed attitudes towards sartorial ‘fashion’. In 1755 James Ridpath wrote of a visit to Edinburgh that he spent much time indoors. Partly, he explained this by embarrassment that his ‘clothes and equipments were not so good as the taste of the age and a town life requires’. He resolved that if he were living in (p.229) the city for longer he would have to kit himself out properly.392 We should not assume that everyone was buying items advertised in newspapers. Readership was still restricted and the products generally expensive and rarely purchased. The point is that those who read newspapers and could afford the items were Page 55 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values using them as indicators of status as much as they were fulfilling personal wants. The changes are summarized in a pamphlet written in the spirit of ‘Improvement’ by William Macintosh of Borlum during his incarceration in Edinburgh.393 Writing of the 1710s and 1720s he bemoaned the new trend in polite hospitality/Instead of being offered ale or spirits when he called on a house of a morning: ‘there is now the tea-kettle put to the fire, the tea-table, and silver and china equipage brought in, with the marmalade, cream, and cold tea’.394 Macintosh claimed that these fashions ‘strangely overrun the nation in the very remotest corners’. ‘For our cities and towns, every tradesman’s wife [has], twice a day at least, her tea and all its purtenances.’395 Macintosh was a traditionalist who disapproved of the new trends on both ‘moral’ and economic grounds—he spoke scathingly of ‘sumptuousness in table or house furniture’ and argued that the change in consumption was a result of fashionable emulation which could not be justified by greater national wealth.396 Yet, ‘consumerism’ was accepted by Scottish Enlightenment thinkers both as a palliative and as a way of promoting personal and societal improvement.397 Consumption of all kinds could be a mark of (p.230) social standing, something to which people could aspire both for personal satisfaction and as a mark of achievement. Buying and using was a token both of belonging and of being different.

Conclusion The city allowed many ways of life to coexist: religious fervour and moral deviancy, high theology and popular magic, display and discretion. Different attitudes sat alongside each other and people’s approach to the city was often ambivalent. They recognized that Edinburgh was a dirty and unhealthy place but also that it offered unique economic and cultural opportunities. Concern with personal health did not seem incompatible with living in an unhealthy environment or an abandon about disposing of refuse in the streets. Callous and caring attitudes towards executed criminals were present in the same crowd of onlookers at an execution. Those who loved their children and protected their reputations could display remarkable cruelty towards animals and indifference or hostility to marginal groups. Acknowledged as the most civilized city in Scotland, Edinburgh could be seen by the same individuals as a good place to visit but not to live. Institutions such as apprenticeship and formal or informal ‘employment agencies’ eased the integration of outsiders into the city’s many ‘communities’. Rather than being anonymous and loose, we get the impression that life in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Edinburgh was in many ways structured, ordered, and personal. Religious life between the Restoration and the accession of George III cannot be interpreted as a simple progression from strength to weakness on the part of the church and from narrow obscurantism to enlightenment on the part of the laity. The religious idiom remained powerful, as Sjoberg argued.398 The overall Page 56 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values cultural tone of the city certainly changed but throughout the (p.231) period a variety of attitudes coexisted, their relative importance fluctuating with developments in urban society and in local and national politics. Both the Society for the Reformation of Manners and the defenders of the theatre can be labelled ‘extremists’’, with town council and most middling inhabitants as the ‘silent majority’. Except at the very simplest level, there was no city-wide consensus about religious, cultural or even social values. Ultimately, the antagonism displayed by conventional middling citizens against both the interventionism of the Society and the apparent libertinism of the theatre’s protectors fed into a distinctive late eighteenth-century ‘middle class’ ethos. The shaping of that body of attitudes was far from complete during our period. Yet, the religious conservatism of the mid-eighteenth century was far removed from that of the 1690s. The ability of the church to influence everyday life does seem to have been declining. Once a body which sought to be comprehensive, the church had become much more concerned with, its own voluntary adherents. Until 1712 everyone except perhaps the Quakers expected there to be a single church polity. The point at issue was whether church government would be episcopalian or presbyterian. When toleration became unavoidable the established church in Scotland was deprived of its secular reinforcement. This created an unprecedented opportunity for people to follow individual choice. The existence of various forms of protestant dissent and even open Catholicism in the middle years of the eighteenth century is a testament to the development of explicit pluralism in values— though again not everyone accepted this. ‘Dissident’ groups such as Cameronians and Covenanters had existed after the Restoration but by the 1750s the Kirk itself was riven between ‘Moderates’ and ‘Evangelicals’. Relative homogeneity of attitude had given way not only to a proliferation of different value systems. The Seceders of the 1730s who split into Burghers and anti-Burghers in the 1740s are just one example of the fragmentation of religious adherence which was occurring throughout the eighteenth century. Among certain social groups it had also been superseded by the idea that this was not only to be tolerated but also applauded.399 These were the groups who created (p.232) the Enlightenment. But some of them were also responsible for the changing attitudes to the poor we shall explore (Chapter 4) and for the introduction of market capitalism into the supply of grain during dearths (Chapter 5). To isolate one set of forces and label them ‘advanced’ or ‘enlightened’ is to misunderstand the complexity of social and attitudinal change. Edinburgh was certainly experiencing some aspects of what, for England, Borsay has termed an ‘urban renaissance’. A new urban culture was healing previous divisions and integrating disparate parts of urban society with its ‘antipathy to ideological and religious bigotry, its emphasis on aesthetic rather than overtly political values, and its celebration of polite and gregarious behaviour’.400 It Page 57 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values united the elites but simultaneously cut them off from other social groups. The formation of socially restricted societies in the early Georgian era enhanced group feeling among members but further weakened any sense of wider ‘communal’ identity in recreations and leisure. The orchestration of ceremony and the definition of elite culture were part of the same social and ideological development. Justified by considerations of order, economics, religion, or morality, many areas of cultural participation were being fenced off. The unifying process involved defining what was acceptable and what was important in public ceremony and private recreation and appropriating it for the landed classes, the professionals, and the upper ranks of the mercantile classes. Their activities had to be exclusive yet extravagant, a mixture of display and the discreet. Even when indulging in what appear to be identical pursuits such as drinking or dancing, elite recreations had a stamp of approval or even legality denied to the lower orders. What made the activity different was who was doing it, not what it was. What was distinctive about ‘élite culture’ was the way it was defined and redefined rather than its intrinsic nature. The implication is that ‘popular culture’ existed but only by being labelled as different from that of the elites. In some ways, the process by which élite culture became distinguished (p.233) from that of the masses emerged from existing socioeconomic differences. The new world of commercial leisure, expensive consumer items, and even certain ‘groceries’ required considerable expenditure and a surplus income only available to the better-off merchants, craftsmen, professionals, and landed classes. Money enabled certain groups to enjoy aspects of material culture and to shift their preferences with changing fashion. As ‘groceries’ like tea became affordable to all, more durable items such as watches or coaches came to take their place as signs of social standing. To them was added the status to be derived from belonging to a group where barriers to entry were based on birth; on education and learning; or on participation in an activity which took place in a space where only a select few could congregate. These were less permeable barriers than financial ones but they were all the easier to police because they were subjective. The price of entry could be set in a coin that not everyone could own. That some criteria of inclusion and exclusion were less tangible than others did not make them any less important. In other senses the withdrawal was conscious: the redefinition of certain sports and pastimes; the ban on tipping; the setting of high entry fees; the orchestration of ceremony in the interests of order and stability. The net result was the establishment of a further division within Edinburgh society. Some aspects of cultural life which characterized all social classes changed little. Long-established, private and regular associations and sociabilities based on religion or occupation persisted and developed alongside the newer, public and occasional ceremonies. Both individuals and activities bridged the gap between ‘popular’ and ‘élite’ culture. Certain cultural activities could be inclusive as well as exclusive. Yet, as the eighteenth century progressed, Page 58 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values changes in recreation, ritual, and ceremony helped to define and integrate the various reaches of Edinburgh society. By seeking to relate to similar activities in different ways the diverse social groups of mid-eighteenth-century Edinburgh gave themselves a sense of belonging but also made themselves different. Notes:

(1) A. J. Weitzman, ‘Eighteenth-Century London: Urban Paradise or Fallen City?’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 36 (1975), 474. Boulton, Neighbourhood, 206–7. (2) Discussed in Weber, City, 50, 52. (3) Quoted ibid. 35. (4) Smith, Wealth, 795. (5) D. MacLean and N. G. Brett-James, ‘London in 1689–90. By Reverend Robert Kirk, MA’, Transactions of the London and Middlesex Archaeological Society, NS 6 (1927–31), 333. (6) Ibid. 493. (7) G. Davison, ‘The City as a Natural System: Theories of Urban Society in Early Modern Britain’, in Fraser and Sutcliffe, Pursuit of Urban History, 366. F. M. L. Thompson, ‘Town and City’ in The Cambridge Social History of Britain, 1750– 1950, i (Cambridge, 1990), 15–17. Weitzman, ‘Eighteenth-Century London’, 469. (8) NCL X14a 2/1,9. (9) NCL X14a 2/1,26. (10) NCL X14a 2/1,54–5. (11) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,14. (12) Scott, Heart, 121–2. (13) M’Farlan, Inquiries, 403. (14) Konvitz, ‘French Urban History’, 420. Sir John Sinclair followed a similar line of thought in the 1780s and 1790s. (15) StAUL MS LF1111.P81C99,135,137. (16) SRO GD18/3025/2. (17) MacDonald, Memoirs, 15. (18) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, p. xix.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (19) Mumford, City, 343. (20) I. D. Whyte and K. A. Whyte, ‘The Geographical Mobility of Women in Early Modern Scotland’; in L. Leneman (ed.), Perspectives in Scottish Social History (Aberdeen, 1988), 97. (21) SRO JC6/13. (22) SRO CH2/122/9, fo. 67. (23) SRO JC7/8. (24) ECA Dean of Guild court vii. 259–60. (25) SRO JC7/16. (26) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,359. (27) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,214. (28) R. A. Houston, ‘Geographical Mobility in Scotland, 1652–1811: The Evidence of Testimonials’, Journal of Historical Geography, 11 (1985), 379–94 discusses testificates or testimonials of religious and moral correctness issued by kirk sessions to members of their parish who wished to move elsewhere. (29) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,225. (30) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, xli, 217. (31) Narrative of the Life of Nicol Muschet of Boghall…(Edinburgh, 1816), 9,14. Nicol was later executed following a tragi-comic murder plot in which his victim was the woman he had been duped into marrying. (32) Garrioch, Neighbourhood, 227. For late eighteenth-century Paris, Kaplow argues that concern with reputation was strong among the lower orders and was a substitute for material displays of status. J. Kaplow, ‘The Culture of Poverty in Paris on the Eve of the Revolution’, International Review of Social History, 12 (1967), 288. (33) Memoirs of Mr William Veitch and George Brysson, Written by Themselves (Edinburgh, 1825), 268–73. (34) W. M. Bryce, History of the Old Greyfriars’ Church, Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1912), 119. (35) SRO CH2/121 /4,306. (36) SRO JC7/1.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (37) SRO JC7/2. (38) SRO JP35/4/3,6 Jan. 1741. (39) SRO RH15/106/487/3. (40) SRO RH15/49/2. (41) SRO CH2/121 /4,346,352. (42) G. Lorimer, Leaves from the Buik of the West Kirke (Edinburgh, 1885), 26. (43) SRO CH2/125/1,8. (44) SRO JC7/23. (45) Arnot, History, 512. They also pimped, collected debts, and found stolen goods. (46) Topham, Letters, 86–7. (47) Ibid. 87. (48) ECA MB 75,207. (49) SRO CH2/130/1. (50) SRO CH2/122/9, fo. 10. (51) SROCH2/121/12, 59. (52) ECA Edinburgh Criminal Register vol. ii. (53) Neale, Bath, 93. (54) SRO JP35/4/3,29 Oct. 1737. (55) SRO JP35/4/3:9 Nov. 1741. (56) J. L. McMullan, ‘Crime, Law and Order in Early Modern England’, British Journal of Criminology, 27/3 (1987), 266. (57) ECA Edinburgh Black Books vol. iii, 1 Nov. 1750. (58) SRO CH2/133/2,5 June 1707. (59) MacKay, Canongate, 87. (60) SROCH2/131/2,63. (61) ECA Corn Committee Proceedings, 15 Mar. 1757. Page 61 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (62) SRO CH2/121/13,436. (63) SRO CH2/126/1,29–30,86. (64) SRO JC6/8. (65) SRO CH2/121 /5,98. (66) M’Farlan, Inquiries, 80. (67) SRO JC7/18. (68) Stark, Inquiry, 35. (69) SRO JC7/30,212,175–215. (70) ECA Scroll book of the New kirk session, 7 Aug. 1744. (71) SRO RH15/17/18. (72) Mercury, 2:5. (73) P. Burke, ‘Urban History and Urban Anthropology of Early Modern Europe’, in Fraser and Sutcliffe, Pursuit of Urban History, 78. Adam Smith remarked on the importance of visibility to élites in his Theory of Moral Sentiments; 71–2. (74) Phillipson, ‘Lawyers’, 105. (75) NLS 2.223[8]. (76) Kelsall and Kelsall, Scottish Lifestyle, 165. (77) NLS 2.223[8], 9. (78) NLS 2.223[8], 20. 1.152[5], 2,5. Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 129. A similar division obtained on the Continent. M. Pelling, ‘Medical Practice in Early Modern England: Trade or Profession’, in W. Prest (ed.), The Professions in Early Modern England (London, 1987), 91. M. Pelling, ‘Appearance and Reality: Barber-Surgeons, the Body and Disease’, in Beier and Finlay, Making of the Metropolis, 82–112. (79) Dingwall, ‘Seventeenth Century Edinburgh Surgeons’, 5. (80) Pelling, ‘Medical Practice’, 100–1. London had few professional doctors but at least one medical practitioner, broadly defined, for every 400 people at the end of the sixteenth century and similarly high ratios prevailed in contemporary Norwich. (81) NLS 1.152[5], 55. Page 62 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (82) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse ii. 58. (83) SRO RH15/14/31/ii. (84) StAUL Cheape 10/82. (85) NLS MS 108 p. 113. (86) Ibid. 115. (87) Risse, ‘Hysteria’. Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 103; Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 161; R. Thin, ‘The Old Infirmary and Earlier Hospitals’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 15 (1927), 139. (88) ECA MB 53,548–50. (89) NLS 2.223[8],5–6. (90) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,218. (91) ECA Edinburgh Workhouse ii. 90–1. (92) Regulations for the Canongate Workhouse 1761, 24. J. Richardson, ‘Some Notes on the Early History of the Dean Orphan Hospital’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 27 (1949), 165. (93) ECA MB 70,150. (94) NLS S302.b.2[68]. The true scandal may lie in the quality of the verse. (95) SRO JP35/4/3,26 Feb. 1742. (96) O. Airy (ed.), The Lauderdale Papers, Camden society 34, 36, 38 (3 vols., London, 1884–5), iii. 197. (97) Taylor, Journey, 138. Muchembled, Popular Culture, 118. (98) Eccho, 5: 20. (99) ECA MB 57,222. MB 56,252,328. (100) There was no equivalent of Cartouche’s 200-strong band of robbers who terrorized the rich of Paris 1717–21; or the urban and suburban gangs active in late seventeenth-century Madrid; or the Parisian butchers’ paramilitary organization. Garrioch, Neighbourhood, 231. Doyle, Old European Order, 131. Kamen, Spain, 172. Meyer, Études, 12. (101) SRO JP35/4/1. (102) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse ii. 120. Page 63 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (103) Topham, Letters, 356. (104) Flinn, Scottish Population History (Cambridge, 1977), 295. (105) ECA MB 59,85–6. (106) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,59. (107) ECA MB 58, 75–6. Linebaugh, ‘Tyburn Riot’, 67, notes the chronic problems of order created by public executions in London, though they were not moved away from the public sphere until 1783. (108) Topham, Letters, 57–9. (109) Roughead, Porteous, 164. See Ch. 5. (110) Ibid. 167–8. Dissection was widely viewed as ‘a form of aggravating capital punishment’. Linebaugh, ‘Tyburn Riot’, 76. (111) Edinburgh Advertiser, 20:158. (112) Scott, Heart, 39. (113) Ibid. 43. (114) Ibid. 239. (115) W. C. Little, ‘A Historical Account of the Hammermen of Edinburgh, from their Records’, Archaeologia Scotica, 1 (1792), 179. (116) K. H. Wolff (ed. and trans.), The Sociology of George Simmel (Glencoe, 111., 1950), 414. (117) Ibid. 415–16. Weber, City, 39. (118) ECA Canongate Tolbooth gaol book. (119) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,386. (120) SRO CC8/6/12 (1736). (121) Wilson, Memorials, ii. 5. Whether, as in seventeenth-century Spain, the public shame (verguenza) reflected on a whole family or simply on the individual is unclear. Kamen, Spain, 174. (122) SRO JP35/4/3,18 June 1740,22 Aug. 1740. (123) ECA Edinburgh Burgh court act book, vol. i, 3 Apr. 1675; 16 Feb. 1700. Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9,161.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (124) Rublack, ‘Political and Social Norms’, 25. (125) SRO JP35/4/3,7 May 1740. (126) SRO JP35/4/3,9 Sept. 1741. (127) NLS Adv. MS. 33.4.1, fo. 398v. (128) ECA Criminal Register i. 9. (129) NLS MS 1.4.57. MS 1.4.58. (130) wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9,37. (131) ECA Kirk Treasurer’s accounts, vols, iii–v. Transportation as a routine punishment for serious crimes was introduced in England in 1718. See J. Rule, Albion’s People: English Society, 1714–1815 (London, 1992), 240–4 for a summary of changing non-capital punishment in eighteenth-century England. (132) Conceivably, the development may owe something to English influence. The late seventeenth and early eighteenth century saw the heyday of ‘clandestine’ (irregular) marriage in England. Marriage by licence, dispensing with banns, was also extremely fashionable at this period. Both allowed marriers more discretion. E. A. Wrigley and R. S. Schofield, The Population History of England, 1541–1871: A Reconstruction (London, 1981), 258. The number of irregular marriages in Scotland rose modestly in the 1700s and 1710s but the real peak did not come until the middle decades of the century. R. Mitchison and L. Leneman, Sexuality and Social Control: Scotland, 1660–1780 (Oxford, 1989), 99–133. (133) SRO JC6/13,29 Jan. 1694. (134) SRO CH2/122/7, fo. 77. (135) Lorimer, West Kirke, 16. (136) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,66. (137) SRO CH2/131/2,4. (138) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,271,273. (139) This change may pre-date by several decades comparable developments in rural attitudes. I owe this observation to Christopher Smout. (140) SRO CH2/122/6, fos. 49r-v (141) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,23.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (142) ECA MB 75,18. (143) SRO CC8/6/2–24. (144) SRO JC7/3,2 Mar. 1710. (145) For a discussion of these concepts see H. Schilling, Civic Calvinism in North Western Germany and the Netherlands, Sixteenth to Nineteenth Centuries (Kirksville, Mo., 1991), 52–3 and Ch. 2 passim. (146) SRO JC7/16. (147) ECA Portsburgh baron court book. (148) M. Ingram, Church Courts, Sex and Marriage in England, 1570–1640 (Cambridge, 1987; paperback edn., 1990), 292–319. J. A. Sharpe, ‘Defamation and Sexual Slander in Early Modern England: The Church Courts at York’, Borthwick Papers, 58 (1980). (149) Schilling, Civic Calvinism, 52–3, finds that Emden presbytery only began to focus on the private sphere from the mid-seventeenth century. (150) SRO CH2/122/4. (151) SRO JC7/3,26 June 1710. (152) SROCC8/6/8. (153) SRO JC6/13. (154) SRO CH2/121 /4,157,308. (155) A. R. Ekirch, ‘The Transportation of Scottish Criminals to America during the Eighteenth Century’, Journal of British Studies, 24/3 (1985), 369. (156) NLS Ry.IIIa.lO[75]. (157) SRO CH2/122/7–9. Ferguson, ‘Comparative Study’, 131. (158) Mitchison and Leneman, Sexuality. This is most unfortunate because in England urban and rural bastardy ratios were roughly equal, whereas in France they were much higher in cities, an important difference between the societies which illustrates very different social values in town and country. For France as a whole, illegitimates made up 1.3% of all births compared with 7.3% for Paris. At Bordeaux the figure is 6.1% for 1692–6 and 18.9% for 1782–6 with rural levels approximately 2% and 6% respectively. Meyer, Études, 78. (159) NLS MS 501, fo. 22v.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (160) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,54–5. (161) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,140. (162) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,42. (163) J. D. Marwick, Edinburgh Guilds and Crafts (Edinburgh, 1909), 176–7. ECA MB 75,379–80. (164) SRO CH2/131/1, fo. 35v. (165) SRO RH15/38/52. (166) Edinburgh Chronicle, 35: 279. Societies for the prosecution of felons were being founded in England from this date, again marking the reification of crime. R. Porter, English Society in the Eighteenth Century (Harmondsworth, 1982), 151. (167) Brown, Social History of Religion, 97. This is a rather general estimate for rural areas over the eighteenth century as a whole and one for which the author provides only limited statistical evidence. (168) Boulton, Neighbourhood, 282–4. (169) Ibid. (170) SRO CH2/122/140. (171) SRO CH2/125/2. (172) L. E. Schmidt, Holy Fairs. Scottish Communions and American Revivals in the Early Modern Period (Princeton, NJ, 1989), 196. (173) Ibid. 184–6. Ideally, we need to know the local practice, but the session register for the later 1680s is a small volume concerned almost exclusively with discipline. (174) Lorimer, West Kirke, 37. All over northern Europe, the 1690s saw a resurgence of religious interest thanks to the influence of pietism with its stress on moral regeneration and societal improvement. (175) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, p. xv. (176) SRO CH2/131/l, fo. 75. (177) Taylor, Journey, 136. (178) Topham, Letters, 190–1, 193.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (179) SRO JC7/30, 212. (180) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,23. (181) Flinn, Scottish Population, 285. (182) Schmidt, Holy Fairs, 213. (183) SRO CH2/126/l,194. (184) SRO CH2/122/4,184–5. (185) NLS 1.408[9], 30. (186) SRO CH2/126/1, 83. For the 1720s and beyond, Schmidt identifies such orders as an effort to stop people frequenting outdoor preaching, a cornerstone of the early evangelical movement. Holy Fairs, 199,265–6 n. (187) Topham, Letters, 238. (188) Bryce, Old Greyfriars, 134. (189) SRO JC7/8, Feb. 1716. (190) ECA Minutes of Canongate Workhouse, 104. (191) SRO CH2/125/1, 77. (192) ECA Edinburgh Criminal Register i. 6. (193) MacKay, Canongate, 78. Linebaugh, ‘Tyburn Riot’, 67 states: ‘The efficacy of public punishment depends upon a rough agreement between those who wield the law and those ruled by it’ This example shows the limits of consensus in later seventeenth-century Edinburgh. (194) NLS MS 1954,179–80. (195) NLS LC 2809 [5]. LC 2786A [25]. (196) SRO CH2/121/6,311. (197) Narrative of the Life of Nicol Muschet, 43–4. (198) SRO JC7/30,55. (199) Smout, Scottish People, 255. (200) Ibid. 128,170. (201) Scott, Heart, 130. Page 68 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (202) M. Hunter, ‘“Aikenhead the Atheist”: The Context and Consequences of Articulate Irreligion in the Late Seventeenth Century’, in M. Hunter and D. Wootton (eds.), Atheism from the Reformation to the Enlightenment (Oxford, 1992), 221–54. Students have been presented as a ‘modernizing’ element of some German towns of the eighteenth century, a counterbalance to traditional guilds and town governments. E. Hellmuth, ‘Urban Life in Eighteenth-Century Germany’, German Historical Institute, London: Bulletin, 22 (1986), 5. Their influence in contemporary Edinburgh seems to have been either weaker or more subtle. (203) ECA Edinburgh Black Books vol. i. (204) R. Mitchison, Life in Scotland (London, 1978), 52. (205) SRO CH2/122/4,163. (206) James Fraser, Superstitions, Customs, etc. of the Highlanders (1702; Edinburgh, 2 vols., 1834–7), 307–12. (207) SRO CH2/424/5. (208) SRO CH2/121/13,370,376–7. (209) ECA St Cuthbert’s Workhouse. (210) NLS Adv. MS. 33.4.1. (211) SRO JC6/9. (212) Taylor, Journey, 129. (213) SRO CC8/6/5. (214) Wilson, Memorials, i. 236. (215) ECA Burgh court act book ii. 96. (216) Eccho, 8: 32. (217) SRO JC7/30. (218) SRO RH15/106/722/13. (219) SRO CH2/121/5,199. (220) SRO CH2/121/8,79. (221) SRO CH2/121/8,82. (222) SRO CH2/121/7,333. Page 69 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (223) Regulations for the Canongate Workhouse, 16–17. (224) Taylor, Journey, 107. Edinburgh was not as well served by churches as some continental cities. Mid-eighteenth-century Cologne, a smaller city than Edinburgh, had eleven canonical churches, nineteen parish churches, and fiftyeight convents. Vogler, ‘Rhénanie’, 392. (225) SRO CH2/121/6, 272. (226) SRO CH2/121/7, 333. CH2/136/2,81. (227) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, p. xvi, 212–13. (228) D. Butler, The Tron Kirk of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1906), 31. The English episcopalian chapel later became a fashionable resort. (229) H. W. Meikle, ‘An Edinburgh Diary’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 27 (1949), 143. (230) Lorimer, West Kirke, 47. (231) Brown, Social History of Religion, 15. W. A. Speck, Stability and Strife: England, 1714–1760 (London, 1977), 179. (232) Thistle, no. 106. (233) SRO CH2/121 /12,109. (234) The surge in communicants at the Tolbooth kirk in the later 1730s and early 1740s (see Figure 4.2) is attributable to the arrival of the popular clergyman Alexander Webster at the parish in 1737. One worshipper who tried to hear his sermons in 1748 hoped that it would be easier to get into heaven than it was to secure a seat in the church. J. B. Dow, ‘Early Actuarial Work in Eighteenth-Century Scotland’, in A. I. Dunlop (ed.), The Scottish Ministers’ Widows’ Fund, 1743–1993 (Edinburgh, 1992), 38. (235) NLS MS 1954. Membership was closer to that of the Bristol society than to that of London. T. C. Curtis and W. A. Speck, ‘The Societies for the Reformation of Manners: A Case Study in the Theory and Practice of Moral Reform’, Literature and History, 3 (1976), 48. Speck relates these societies to wider developments in politics and culture in his Stability and Strife, 5–6, 86–7, 114– 15. He believes that they had given up by 1739 at the latest in England. The last meeting of the London Society was in 1738, following a decade of diminishing effectiveness. Langford, England, 128–9. (236) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,20–1,27. (237) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,71. Page 70 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (238) Lorimer, West kirke, 53–4. (239) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,18. (240) SRO CH2/122/10, fo. 3. (241) SRO CH2/131/2,1. (242) SRO CH2/131/2, 3, 6. Langford, England, 129 sees a reaction against informing and interference generally contributing to the demise of the English Societies. (243) NLS MS 1954,12,15. (244) NLS MS 1954, 25. Curtis and Speck, ‘Societies for the Reformation of Manners’, 59–61, remark on similar problems for campaigners in Bristol. (245) ECA Acts of Canongate bailies, vol. vi. (246) NLS Ry.III.a.10[19]. (247) Smout, Scottish People, 214. (248) SRO CH2/121/4, 356. (249) SRO CH2/121/8, 147. (250) SRO CH2/121/6,171. (251) SROCH2/121/12,221. (252) ECA MB 52, 491. R. D. Brackenridge, ‘The Enforcement of Sunday Observance in Post-revolution Scotland, 1689–1733’, Records of the Scottish Church History Society, 17 (1969), 33–45. (253) Curtis and Speck, ‘Societies for the Reformation of Manners’, 59–61. (254) SRO CH2/140/2. (255) w. Makey, ‘The Elders of Stow, Liberton, Canongate and St Cuthbert’s in the Mid-seventeenth Century’, Records of the Scottish Church History Society, 17 (1970), 162–4. H. Schilling, Civic Calvinism in North Western Germany and the Netherlands, Sixteenth to Nineteenth Centuries (Kirksville, Mo., 1991), 128–44, analyses these issues for the church elders and deacons of Groningen, finding similar differences in social status. (256) Makey, ‘Elders’, 164. Of sixty-six elders serving on the six kirk sessions in 1654, the burgess origins of fifty-seven are known: thirty-eight owed their status to inheritance or marriage, eleven to apprenticeship. H. Dingwall, ‘The Page 71 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values Importance of Social Factors in Determining the Composition of the Town Council of Edinburgh, 1550–1650’, Scottish Historical Review, 65/1 (1986), 22. R. B. Sher, ‘Moderates, Managers and Popular Politics in Mid-eighteenth Century Edinburgh: The “Drysdale Bustle” of the 1760s’, in J. Dwyer, R. A. Mason, and A. Murdoch (eds.), New Perspectives on the Politics and Culture of Early Modern Scotland (Edinburgh, 1982), 181–2, analyses the social composition of the general sessions in 1762–3. R. Sher and A. Murdoch, ‘Patronage and Party in the Church of Scotland, 1750–1800’, in N. MacDougall (ed.), Church, Politics and Society: Scotland, 1408–1929 (Edinburgh, 1983), 217. (257) This proportion is much lower than in Groningen where Schilling shows that half of the elders had previously been deacons during the seventeenth century, rising to two-thirds during the eighteenth century. However, only an eighth of the deacons later became elders. Schilling, Civic Calvinism, 127. if Schilling is right to conclude that having been a deacon gave elders direct experience of the congregation, and especially of the lower orders who were the objects of charity administered by the deacons, we must conclude that the argument cannot apply to a large majority of the Tolbooth elders. Ibid. 128. (258) It is commonly held that secular government became more oligarchic during this period: Speck, Stability and Strife. Schilling, Civic Calvinism, 125, notes a similar development in the church government of late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Leiden. (259) Sher, ‘Moderates, Managers and Popular Polities’, 181, 204. The General Sessions was one of the most democratic institutions in Edinburgh, comprised of representatives from the city’s kirk sessions and charged with overseeing church policy within its combined parishes. By the mid-eighteenth century the General Sessions had sixteen ministers, fifty-four elders and fifty-four deacons. It was regularly represented on the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland whereas other parishes were selected on an ad hoc basis. Even this body could be tainted by political management. The Kirk Treasurer was usually elected from the session elders but ‘of late the elders and deacons have so caballed amongst themselves’ that they were unable even to draw up a short list. The council reserved the right in January 1685 to appoint any one of the elders it chose or to pick any suitable merchant for the job. Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9,133. (260) MacMillan, ‘Edinburgh Burgess Community’, 35–6. (261) R. A. Houston, ‘Mortality in Early Modern Scotland: The Life Expectancy of Advocates’, Continuity and Change, 7/1 (1992), 47–69. Schilling, Civic Calvinism, 126 seems to regard a younger starting age for service as the reason behind the slight rise in the length of time people were elders in the Dutch town of Groningen during the seventeenth century. (262) SRO CH2/121/9,459. Page 72 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (263) Lorimer, West Kirke, 48. (264) R.B. Sher, ‘Moderates, Managers and Popular Polities’, 182. (265) SRO CS96/1/181. (266) SRO JC6/8. ECA Canongate Regality court book (James Logan). Wood, Extracts 1665–80,51. (267) H. Ouston, ‘York in Edinburgh: James VII and the Patronage of Learning in Scotland, 1679–1688’, in J. Dwyer, R. A. Mason, and A. Murdoch (eds.), New Perspectives on the Politics and Culture of Early Modern Scotland (Edinburgh, 1982), 133–55. Even when the Theatre Royal was opened at the north end of the North Bridge in 1769, Edinburgh had no equivalent of Mannheim’s late eighteenth-century Nationaltheater and it lacked the accoutrements of contemporary Bordeaux with its museum, opera, ballet, orchestra, theatre, and literary salons. Vogler, ‘Rhénanie’, 456. Hohenberg and Lees, Making of Urban Europe, 145. (268) SRO CH2/131/2,5. (269) SRO CH2/121/9,229–30. CH2/121/12,75–8. (270) SRO CS237/E/1/14. (271) SRO CS233/E1/17. (272) SRO CH2/121/12,75. (273) SRO JP35/4/2. (274) Nugae Scoticae (Edinburgh, 1829), 2. In contemporary England nonconformists lead the attack on theatrical productions. Speck, Stability and Strife, 5. (275) SRO JP35/4/2. (276) SRO CS271/14,204. (277) NLS Adv. 23.3.6, fos. 23, 25. Ramsay was a Jacobite and founder of the Rankenian Club. (278) Borsay, Urban Renaissance, 119. This act, requiring plays to be licensed by the lord chamberlain, was pushed through the Westminster parliament by Walpole to prevent the stage being used to attack his ministry. Speck, Stability and Strife, 226–7. Langford, England, 48–9. Similar criticisms of the stage’s pernicious influence were made in England. (279) Catford, Edinburgh, 158–9. Page 73 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (280) Wilson, Memorials, i. 256. (281) NLS Adv. 23.3.6, fo. 21v. (282) SRO RH15/10/41. (283) ECA MB 60, 73. Within English Anglicanism the equivalent ‘lukewarm’ approach was termed latitudinarianism. (284) This seems to have been the standard argument against the theatre. The university authorities asked that unlicensed plays be curbed in 1742 because ‘they could not but be apprehensive that idleness and corruption of manners among the youth was likely to flow from a licentious acting of stage plays while there were so many dissolute pieces of that sort in the English language and the choice left to such as either from their own taste, or in compliance with the vicious relish of the multitude, were likely to choose such performances’. EC A MB 63,244. (285) NLS Adv. 23.3.6, fo. 27. Ry.III.e.42,5–14. (286) Smout, Statistical Account, 57. (287) J. Robertson, The Scottish Enlightenment and the Militia Issue (Edinburgh, 1985), 80. (288) Jamieson, ‘Social Assemblies’, 40. (289) NLS MS 1954,100. (290) Smith, Wealth, 797. (291) ECA MB 66,57–8. MB 68,30. (292) The 1740s saw a decline of pious bequests and endowments of masses in wills in the main towns of south-east France—Marseille and Grenoble, for instance. Benedict, ‘French Cities’, 43–4. (293) SRO JP35/4/3,15 May l738. (294) ECA Cordiners of Portsburgh, 222–3. (295) SRO JP35/4/3,23 Apr. 1740. (296) SRO CH2/121/12, 76, 78. The church itself was being wracked by differences which would later harden between ‘Moderates’ and ‘Evangelicals’. (297) Brackenridge, ‘Sunday Observance’, 38. (298) ECA Scroll book of the New kirk session. Page 74 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (299) SRO CH2/121/14, 136–9. South Leith kirk session register contains catalogues of sabbath breaking during the 1750s and efforts by the ‘searchers’ to root out the perpetrators threw up only a few servants. SRO CH2/716/26, 24 Jan. 1754 and passim. (300) SRO CH2/131/2. CH2/121/4–7. (301) SRO CH2/125/1, 13. (302) ECA Acts of Canongate bailies iv. 60. (303) SRO CH2/121/13,45–6. (304) NLS Hall 197 f. (305) NLS Ry.III.e.42,42. (306) NLS MS 3803, fo. 43. (307) Topham, Letters, 237. (308) Ibid. 190–1. (309) MacDonald, Memoirs, 21. James Boswell found Utrecht depressing because its strict Sabbatarianism reminded him of Edinburgh and made him long for London. Personal communication from Christopher Smout. (310) Roughead, Porteous, 246. (311) Ibid. 241. (312) SROSC39/69/3,47–8. (313) R. L. Emerson, Professors, Patronage and Politics: The Aberdeen Universities in the Eighteenth Century (Aberdeen, 1992), 3. (314) Smout, Scottish People, 220. (315) Quoted in Sher, Church and University, 155. (316) Murdoch and Sher, ‘Literary and Learned Culture’, 130. (317) The division between work and leisure is, to a degree, an arbitrary one because socializing could take place at work and business might be done in taverns and coffee houses. (318) W. F. Gray, ‘The Musical Society of Edinburgh and St Cecilia’s Hall’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 19 (1933), 191. The following remarks benefited from a

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values one-day conference on Scottish music run by the Scottish Records Association in St Cecilia’s Hall on 6 June 1992. (319) Gray, ‘Musical society’, 190–3. Harris, Saint Cecilia’s Hall (320) Harris, Saint Cecilia’s Hall 276. (321) D. Johnson, Music and Society in Lowland Scotland in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1972), 52. (322) Harris, Saint Cecilia’s Hall, 199. This implies that metropolitan culture was simply emulated but it was also changed as Edinburgh people appropriated those aspects which were relevant to their fashions. (323) Topham, Letters, 90. (324) Phillipson, ‘Scottish Enlightenment’, 27. The examples given in Clive, ’Social background’, 225–44 are of rather exclusive clubs peopled by landed and professional men. Some of the clubs were less socially select—the Cape Club is sometimes cited as an example though this was dominated by lawyers. D. Daiches, The Scottish Enlightenment: An Introduction (Edinburgh, 1986), 26–8. It seems curious to describe the Easy Club as comprising men ‘of relatively humble rank’. Phillipson, ‘Adam Smith as Civic Moralist’, 199. Daiches writes that: ’however conscious of rank and social hierarchy in their normal behaviour, in the club life of eighteenth-century citizens there could be found varieties of social freedom not to be found in formal dinner parties…social conversation… was an Enlightenment ideal…[which] cut across class barriers’ Scottish Enlightenment, 29. Langford, England, 101–2, gives examples of clubs which show that this mixing was not exclusively Scottish: ‘Behind the barriers erected by subscription all aspiring to gentility were expected to mix freely, without the crippling respect for rank and hierarchy which was associated with the artificial manners of an earlier age’. (325) Pinkerton, Advocates, p. xx. (326) SRO RH18/1 /57. (327) Ouston, ‘Patronage of Learning’, 136. Gray, ‘Musical Society’, 195. Marshall, Old Leith, 52. (328) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,148. (329) Meikle, ‘Edinburgh Diary’, 120–1. (330) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,280. (331) C. E. S. Chambers, ‘Early Golf at Bruntsfield and Leith’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 18 (1932), 10. Page 76 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (332) ECA MB 64,206. (333) ECA MB 74,158. (334) SRO JP35/4/3,28 Jan. 1740. (335) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, U7. (336) Arnot, History, 325–6. Gray, W. F., ‘An Eighteenth-Century Riding School’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 20 (1935), 111–60. (337) SRO CH2/121/4,170. Wood, Extracts 1665–80,16. R. Morris and F. Morris, Scottish Healing Wells (Sandy, 1982). Borsay, Urban Renaissance, 180. (338) NLS MS 108,115. (339) Kelsall and Kelsall, Scottish Lifestyle, 105. (340) Edinburgh Chronicle, 22:176. (341) Edinburgh Advertiser, 29:229. (342) ECA MB 68,87–92. (343) M. Cant, Villages of Edinburgh, i. (Edinburgh, 1986), 13. (344) Edinburgh Advertiser, 34:270. (345) Morris and Morris, Healing Wells, 93. (346) Kelsall and Kelsall, Scottish Lifestyle, 78. (347) Echo, 1:4. Jamieson, ‘Social Assemblies’, 67–8. (348) SRO CS237/B/2/17. CS271/41,345. Jamieson, ‘Social assemblies’, 62. Kincaid, Edinburgh, 196. (349) Topham, Letters, 344. (350) Jamieson, ‘Social Assemblies’, 41. (351) ECA Edinburgh black books iv. 96. (352) For example, see SRO JC6/14, passim. (353) SRO CH2/121 /8,5. (354) Meikle, ‘Edinburgh Diary’, 123. Chambers, ‘Early Golf’, 4–5. (355) SRO RH15/44/14. Page 77 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (356) Gray, ‘Musical Society’, 196. (357) ECA Dean of Guild’s Court x. 252. Coffee houses were first licensed in the city in the 1670s (the Privy Council ordered one illegal one closed down in 1677) and quickly became centres for both business and recreation. Stark, Picture, 402. Wood, Extracts 1665–80,322. Some argued that by encouraging ‘conversation as a form of social interaction that taught men tolerance, moderation and the pleasures of consensus’ coffee houses could help to create a sense of moral identity which civic humanists had once located in political participation. Phillipson, ‘Scottish Enlightenment’7, 27. (358) ECA MB 75,211–12. (359) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701,174–6. (360) Arnot, History, 57. (361) Brown, Early Travellers, 113. (362) Topham, Letters, 134–5. (363) C. Shammas, The Pre-industrial Consumer in England and America (Oxford, 1991), 197–220. Providing a servant with diet or a pair of shoes rather than giving him or her money to buy what they wanted are both examples of restrictions on the freedom to decide what to consume. (364) SRO CH2/121/9, 465. Wood, Extracts 1655–65, 277. Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9,179. (365) SRO JC7/6, Russell v. Husband. (366) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen v. 102. (367) M. Wood, ‘The Hammermen of the Canongate, II’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 20 (1935), 88–9. An amusing printed poem of 1725 is entitled, To the worshipful cordiners of the West Port I A humble petition is entered in court I For apprentice boys who would fain take a drink I Be blythe like their mas ters, but want ready clink’. (368) A History of the Society of Writers to her Majesty’s Signet with a List of the Members of the Society from 1594 to 1890 with an Abstract of the Minutes (Edinburgh, 1890), 366, 402. In February 1760 the Faculty of Advocates, the Select Society of Edinburgh, and others placed an advertisement in the Edinburgh Chronicle nos. 115 and 116 about ‘the pernicious tendency of that practice, so universally prevalent, of giving vails or drink money to servants’. This ’not only tends to corrupt and debauch servants, but is also an obstruction and disgrace to all true hospitality’. Page 78 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (369) SRO GD348/122. (370) Malcolm, ‘Incorporation of Cordiners’, 135–6. (371) EC A Edinburgh Hammermen v. 172. (372) ECA Wrights and Coopers, vol. ii, 1733,1737. (373) Cant, Villages, i. 88. (374) Stevenson, Freemasons, 20. (375) H. M. Paton, The Barony of Calton: part V, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 18 (1933), 70. (376) GRO OPR 691 /5, July 1693 and 1696. (377) T. Whyte, ‘An Account of the Parish of Liberton in Mid-Lothian, or County of Edinburgh’, Archaeologia Scotica, 1 (1792), 313–14. (378) ECA MB 62,102. (379) ECA MB 62,62–4,68,251. (380) ECA MB 22, fo. 44. (381) NLS 6.692[25]. London’s excised beer production was between a quarter and a third of the national total 1684–1750. Chartes, ‘Food Consumption’, 174–5. (382) Shammas, Pre-industrial Consumer, sees tea-drinking in this social group as a comfort for undernourished and unhappy people. (383) Heron, Merchants, 21. ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse ii. 17. ECA MB 64,261. (384) Edinburgh Chronicle, 42/336 (Aug. 1759). (385) Houston, ‘Economy of Edinburgh’. By contrast, eighteenth-century Copenhagen saw modest growth in fruit and vegetable consumption, but only in line with population. P. Thestrup, The Standard of Living in Copenhagen, 1730– 1800 (Copenhagen, 1971), 58–9. (386) Personal information from Christopher Smout based on his forthcoming book with Alex Gibson on Scottish wages and prices. (387) D. Robertson, ‘The Burlaw Court of Leith’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 15 (1927), 202–3.

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values (388) ECA St Cuthbert’s Charity Workhouse. An intriguing entry in the minutes of Edinburgh charity workhouse for 1748 (pp. 7, 18) seems to suggest that inmates sometimes sold the food they were given in the workhouse and that the same thing happened in the more up-market Trinity Hospital. Assuming that these people were not over-nourished, this suggests either that they sought more variety in their diet rather than simply calories or that they used the money to buy luxuries such as tea in place of their mainly grain and vegetable-based fare or that they spent the money on non-food items, including spirits and hot drinks. Perhaps the workhouse inmates were trying to join the new fashion for consumption which they saw around them in the city. (389) ECA Dean of Guild’s Court vii. 331,333. (390) Edinburgh Chronicle, 8:64. (391) Ibid. 19:152. (392) J. B. Paul (ed.), Diary of George Ridpath, Minister of Stitchel, 1755–1761 (Edinburgh, 1922), 13. (393) W. Macintosh, An Essay on Ways and Means for Inclosing, Fallowing, Planting etc. Scotland (Edinburgh, 1729). (394) Ibid. 230. (395) Ibid. 234–5. (396) Ibid. 233,235. (397) Arnot, History, 46–7 asserted that an eighteenth-century gentleman of modest means could aspire to the same quality of household furnishing as a king or lord in the sixteenth century. Weatherill has argued that the ‘consumer revolution’ came late to Scotland compared with England—well into the eighteenth century—and even prosperous Edinburgh merchants and professionals in the early part of the century had fewer fashionable and decorative items than would have been found among comparable social groups in English provincial towns. However, her analysis of Scotland is largely impressionistic. Weatherill, Consumer Behaviour, 59–60,180,182. Gibson and Smout show that trends in real wages were not the same in Scotland as in England during the eighteenth century. This may help to explain the absence of a full-blown ‘consumer revolution’ north of the Border. Scotland also differed from France where consumption of luxuries flourished between c.1650 and c. 1750. J. R. Farr, ‘Consumers, Commerce and the Craftsmen of Dijon: The Changing Social and Economic Structure of a Provincial Capital, 1450–1750’, in Benedict, Cities and Social Change in Early Modern France, 147–8. Some see the growing incidence of theft in the eighteenth century as a response by the Page 80 of 81

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Anonymity, Visibility, and Values poor to the temptations of consumerism. Rule, Albion’s People, 233; see also 85– 8. (398) G. Sjoberg, ‘The Nature of the Pre-industrial City’, in P. Clark (ed.), The Early Modern Town: A Reader (London, 1976), 47. (399) David Hume, for example, ‘went to some trouble to present commercial society in pluralistic terms, as a society with a complex division of labour, composed of a multitude of ranks and orders of men living in different regions of the kingdom which possessed their own ideas of morality, justice and religion’; Phillipson, ‘Scottish Enlightenment’, 30. The same vision of diversity informed the novels of Smollett and MacKenzie: ibid. 35. (400) Borsay, Urban Renaissance, 317–18.

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Marginals

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

Marginals R. A. Houston

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.003.0005

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses the poor in Edinburgh. The authorities in Edinburgh spent a great deal of time alleviating and removing different types of poverty, which is the main problem of the poor. Along with more effective crisis management, the care of Edinburgh's ‘settled’ poor also went through a significant change during the 1740s. The chapter also looks at a definition of the term ‘poor’, which helped delineate the recipients of legitimate charity from the apparently idle and dangerous classes that were emerging in the city and suburbs. Keywords:   poor, Edinburgh, poverty, crisis management, settled poor

Introduction Scotland before the industrial revolution has generally been seen as a poor country. Its rural poor relief system prior to the nineteenth century has often been compared unfavourably with that of England, where compulsory rating of the better-off members of a parish had formed the core of relief since the early seventeenth century. Yet Scottish urban provision has been acknowledged to be on a par with the best European examples. Relief in large cities was more coordinated than in the Scottish countryside but the main difference was that towns had more layers of provision. In addition to neighbourly help, informal charity dispensed by the better-off, and the regular and occasional doles organized by parish vestries or ‘kirk sessions’. Edinburgh had a number of charitable ‘hospitals’. a centralized scheme organized by the city’s kirk treasurer, and the resources of the merchant guild and craft incorporations.1 A charity workhouse for the city was formally opened at Bristo in 1743, one for Page 1 of 50

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Marginals Canongate in 1761, and St Cuthbert’s in 1762. These institutions were uniquely urban at this time and remained separate throughout the eighteenth century.2 In Religion and the Rise of Capitalism, R. H. Tawney opined: ‘there is no touchstone…which reveals the true character of a social philosophy more clearly than the spirit in which it regards the misfortunes of those of its members who fall by the way’.3 (p.235) This chapter looks at the poor from two angles neatly summarized by Marco van Leeuwen: ‘The problem of the poor was poverty; the problem of the elites was the poor.’4 Alongside their commitment to preserve order and to limit the disruptive effects of economic change on producer and consumer alike, Edinburgh’s authorities devoted a great deal of time to alleviating or removing different types of poverty. During and after the appalling dearths of the later 1690s they tried a number of expedients to relieve need and banish vagrants. Throughout this period the town council recognized the need to care for some at least of society’s ‘victims’ and by the time of the shortages of 1740–1 which provoked the Bell’s Mill riot (see Chapter 5) their response was more finely tuned and effective than ever before. As well as more effective crisis management, care of Edinburgh’s ‘settled’ poor also changed significantly during the landmark decade of the 1740s. Mooted since Queen Anne’s reign, a workhouse was finally opened in 1743 and out-relief dramatically reduced, simplifying the definition of poverty at a time when distinctions between the poor and other social groups were being refined and hardened by other means.

Sources of Help Poverty is not an absolute state. Those receiving regular or occasional relief were drawn from sections of the population whose long-term economic wellbeing was always in question. It is possible that a majority of Edinburgh’s people lacked the economic reserves to cope with life-cycle or emergency need. Some people were chronically poor, others passed through stages of their lives where poverty was likely: when they had several young children or when they were old and infirm, for example.5 (p.236) For others, poverty was accidental and unforeseen: the widow whose husband had failed to provide for her after his death or the artisan crippled by an industrial accident. Serious famines drew large numbers into want. The incorporated trades of Calton minuted in November 1740 that ‘not only the poor but the whole inhabitants of the place are sufferers by the scarcity and dearth of meal’.6 Those at risk of becoming poor would have had experience of working and were expected to help in their own maintenance even when in receipt of out-relief or when an inmate of one of the charitable workhouses. The trend in later seventeenth-century England towards providing a complete subsistence dole rather than an income supplement was not paralleled in Scotland. Receiving formal relief was just part of a spectrum of subsistence strategies. Beyond self-help, these encompassed direct and indirect aid from the kirk, city, incorporations, hospitals, acquaintances, and strangers.

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Marginals Employment in minor parish or town offices was a recognized supplement to the income of the poor in Edinburgh as it was in other British cities.7 Even freemen might find such posts attractive and indeed preference was given to burgesses and long-term residents in allocating jobs. In August 1728 Alexander Hay, smith burgess, was appointed ‘ringer of the bells in the Tron kirk steeple’.8 Edinburgh’s hammermen complained in 1707 that some freemen ‘have so far deserted the incorporation as…to be officers for attending the magistrates of the good town, and to be beadles in the churches and serving in the town guards either as under officers or sentinels and thereby entirely relinquishing their occupation and trade at least that they can be no manner of way serviceable’ to the community.9 Specific examples are legion. In February 1666 the janitor of the college (university) was found to be brewing without permission (presumably for sale), smuggling goods into the city, collecting room rents but not paying them over, gaming, and playing lotteries.10 In the late autumn of 1705 the bellringer of St Giles was discovered to have set up a workshop in the steeple, complete with bed, where he worked with silk and tobacco beside an open hearth—a serious fire risk.11 (p.237) In the interests of poor relief, kirk sessions might operate a form of nepotism. John Couper, son of a Canongate church beadle, was employed at half salary to replace his father ‘being aged and infirm and unable to discharge that office’. the parents to receive the other half of the payment to maintain them.12 At the age of 80, the father had worked for forty years in this capacity and had been helped by his son for twenty years. John Couper, junior, was an Edinburgh tailor.13 Working as a church or town official may have been a form of out-relief, but those employed were expected to continue until, like William Bell the presbytery officer, they were literally incapable.14 Incorporations too had many ways of helping indigent members, short of giving formal doles. In May 1759 John Craig, cordiner, was elected clerk of the rough hides in the flesh market, a post formerly held by Thomas Dick, also of that incorporation. Dick got the job in 1744 ‘when very necessitous’ and his daughter was being cared for in the Trades Maiden hospital. The deacon reminded Thomas politely that ‘he as well as the whole incorporation not only knows that nothing but absolute necessity has made John Craig apply for this office but also that the being and well being of the incorporation has been much owing to the activity and liberality of Mr Craig’. notably during the financial crisis of the Canongate incorporations during the 1740s when Thomas Dick ‘was not in a condition to answer a sixpence’.15 Thomas was reinstated in May 1760, at which date John Craig was not a candidate for the post. Excise jobs were much sought after by tradesmen for their regular income and pension rights.16 Like minor civic and ecclesiastical offices, such posts proved popular boltholes in times when business was generally bad for artisans or throughout when particular individuals fell on hard times. Page 3 of 50

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Marginals Help from incorporations might involve fixing a man’s subordinate, dependent status. Slack demand for new shoes in 1671 coupled with competition from outsiders selling secondhand footwear prompted a petition from John Ferguson, deacon of the cordiners of Edinburgh. Ferguson pointed out that the decay of the trade forced ‘a great part of their old masters and servants (p.238) …to betake themselves to cobble shoes for a present maintenance’.17 Outsiders thronged the city every day of the week with their wares. The council agreed to restrict ‘landward’ cobblers (unfreemen from the surrounding area) to the Wednesday market, as previously. Cobbling was what a cordiner who was too old to work new leather did in later life. It could also be a job reserved for employees of cordiners who had never made it into the incorporation as masters. The equivalent among masons were called ‘cowans’, allowed to work with stone or clay but not lime: such men were common in the Canongate during the 1660s.18 Edinburgh’s shoemakers ordered in January 1697 that ‘no cobbler shall be admitted within the liberties of Edinburgh upon any pretext except such as have been servants or journeymen within the city and above 50 years of age’.19 And in February 1741 cobbling was explicitly described as ‘a business capable to support their own fallen back freemen’.20 Exactly four years later the incorporation licensed Robert Couper, journeyman, ‘to mend and vend old shoes’ provided he did not use new leather or employ anyone else. Robert had served twenty-four years as a journeyman and ‘now by reason of old age and other infirmity especially his eye sight…he was rendered incapable to work in new work’. Being a cobbler for such men was either a continuation of a dependent position or a way of staving off poverty—or both. But a point would be reached where this was no longer possible and because journeymen had never been members of the incorporation they had no call on its resources. After thirty-four years in the Canongate as a cobbler, the 68-year-old William Glen entered the parish’s workhouse in December 1762 and died before July 1765.21 The path from dependency to poverty followed by Robert Couper and William Glen may have characterized growing numbers of artisans during the eighteenth century. There came a time for men like Robert Couper when any number of makeshifts would not serve to keep poverty at bay. When ingenuity and savings were exhausted, a formal dole from the trade or from some outside body became necessary. (p.239) Incorporation funds were restricted and the number of poor they could support limited. Canongate’s tailors were supporting six quarterly pensioners with a total of 12/- sterling in 1749 and ten with £1 the following year. Quarterly collections from members made up between half and two-thirds of the outlay in the 1750s with the remainder coming from the ordinary funds administered by the boxmaster. Most recipients were given between 6/- and 10/sterling over a year in the 1750s.22 Edinburgh’s hammermen supported twenty women, eight men, and a couple in January 1740, at which time they voted 74 hundredweights of coal and 63 pecks of meal on account of ‘this hard season’.23 Page 4 of 50

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Marginals All avenues of providing help were explored. Part of the large building owned by the incorporated trades of Calton was given over to accommodation for the poor. In December 1736 widow Batish: an old residenter in the place…is reduced to great poverty and old age and she having nothing to support her but six pence per week of the [kirk] session to maintain her and pay her lodging therefore she humbly begs and craves that the masters [of trades] will allow her the use of a bedroom in the widows’ garret…out of mere charity.24 Incorporation members sometimes found relief provisions the most attractive part of membership. Those who anticipated adverse changes in their circumstances scrambled to pay arrears of dues to their collective’s box. Edward Campbell, a Canongate cordiner, had not paid his quarterly dues for some years but was anxious to be readmitted to the privileges of the incorporated trades of Calton. He offered to pay up, ‘promising that while his son, John Campbell, was in life the petitioner would be no trouble or burden on the place’.25 Perhaps he thought that his son’s days were numbered. Other incorporations felt obliged to protect themselves against freeloading late-comers. Portsburgh’s cordiners: considering that it may be a hurt and prejudice to the funds of the incorporation by selling their freedom to persons upwards of forty years of age and admitting such as have a title to enter above that age (p.240) who of purpose applies at that time of life to be admitted freeman in order to be entitled to be pensioners resolved not to admit such people in future.26 The majority of poor in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Edinburgh were helped directly or indirectly by the church. Monies came from a number of sources which were summarized in a presbytery visitation of 1706. Funds came from church door collections; burial money, green turfs (to cover graves), a third of the dues for the use of the ‘dead bell’. payments for corpses lying in or buried in the church itself; fines for moral lapses or for celebrating baptisms and marriages at ‘irregular’ times or places (not in accordance with church stipulations); and casual gifts or charitable legacies ‘but the ministers and elders do not know them all, nor how they are managed’.27 For example, when General Ramsay’s wife died in Canongate parish in 1704, he gave the minister £5 sterling to distribute among the parish poor as he saw fit.28 Further sums came from renting out pews. ‘There were not many seats paid for in the Abbey church before the year 1670 except persons of quality and note, the body of the church not being then furnished with seats’.29 Fixing seats in church may have been a response to a need for cash. Those in the Canongate church were farmed out for £467 Scots to James Crawford, cordiner, in the early 1720s.30 Canongate also experimented with a tax to pay for poor relief in the Page 5 of 50

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Marginals early 1730s: a levy of 2 per cent of valued rent from heritors and the same amount from possessors (occupants) of houses. It was estimated that £38 Scots a week was needed to pay for the poor in 1732 of which half was to be provided by the kirk session, half by the heritors.31 Regular levies may have been in place during the English occupation or just after the Restoration because the deacons complained to the general sessions in May 1661 ‘that many neighbours who are well able refuse to pay their monthly contribution to the poor’.32 In addition, the town council levied a 2 per cent rate on the valued rent of properties to fund its own pensioners (among other (p.241) outgoings) and gave a yearly grant of £200 towards poor relief by other bodies.33 In general, however, rates were strongly resisted as a regular means of funding. The principal difference between English and Scottish poor relief was the absence of a statutory provision to levy funds for parish relief north of the border. Opinion was hostile to compulsory rating in Scotland. Heritors of Midlothian were mostly opposed to a Privy Council scheme of 1699 to consolidate poor relief for the shire. Drummond of Hawthornden (an estate about five miles south of the city) said he would continue to give only to those living on his land ‘which I think as effectual a way of giving obedience to the council’s orders’ and Ramsay of Polton (near Linlithgow) was of the same mind. Sinclair of Preston felt that the idea ‘of sending our poor with the council’s establishment to Edinburgh does not seem advisable because we shall be bound to a certainty as to their maintenance and we cannot assure ourselves to be freed of others’ trouble for it may turn to a mere exchange of beggars’.34 The Edinburgh tailors opined of the rating scheme mooted in 1749: ‘it will be a burden upon the inhabitants such as they are not able to bear without ruining themselves and their families’.35 Only the merchant company and a faction within the town council seem to have supported the initiative.36 Yet there was a safety net for certain types of poor if their own efforts failed them. The kirk session of the parish where they lived might give them work or an occasional or regular dole. Just as the sources of funds were diverse, their administration was complex. An example of the uses to which collections were put is given by St Giles kirk session in the spring of 1709. They had collected £582 at the sacrament. Of this, £80 was given to the minister ‘for private charity’. £40 paid to kirk session officials—whose jobs were a kind of out-relief, £62 given to 73 poor (p.242) people, and the remainder went to the kirk treasurer ‘for the common poor’.37 Collections at the doors of the churches after the weekly service provided the kirk treasurer with his largest single source of funds. Amounts collected can be used as an index of the perception of poverty as a problem in the city. When particularly pressing, as in 1664 or 1692, monthly voluntary contributions were used to supplement weekly ones—sometimes with the threat of compulsory rating if collections did not meet needs.38 Collections reflected the willingness Page 6 of 50

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Marginals and ability of those who attended church to contribute to the relief of those they saw in the city streets.39 New sites for collections were being added to the eight parishes’ churches in the early eighteenth century, including the Skinners’ Hall (listed separately from 1718) and episcopal meeting houses in the 1730s. These were not new sources of income since those who contributed at their doors would probably have done so at existing churches with the possible exception of the episcopalians, whose inclusion from 1732 may account for the short-lived jump of 20 per cent in collections compared with 1731 (see Figure 4.1). From under £6,000 collected in 1688 and 1689, years of serious religious and political dislocation when donations plumbed even the low of 1673, the sums collected more than doubled in the following year to over £12,000. Many church deacons had refused to collect and distribute relief fund6 because they were attending meeting houses early in 1689 while parishioners too were voting against James VII and II’s ecclesiastical regime with their feet.40 The presbyterians took advantage of James’s toleration in July 1688 to purchase land for a meeting house in the North West parish.41 From an average of approximately £7,000 a year collections rose to an average of £14,000 in the 1690s before settling at £12,500 in the 1700s and 1710s. The rapid increase predates the serious dearths of the 1690s and may be attributable (p.243) to the re-establishment of presbyterianism in Scotland after the Glorious Revolution. However, the kirk treasurer told the town council of a significant increase in the number of poor during 1690–1 and also pointed to the one-third reduction in income as a result of banning private absolutions for moral lapses.42

Leith’s poor relief was in chaos at this time because of disputes over the ownership of funds formerly administered by the episcopalians while the Tron

Fig. 4.1 Sums collected at church doors, 1663–1743

Kirk had two competing kirk sessions in the early 1690s.43 Despite the victory of presbyterianism in the 1690s, there were still signs that episcopalian sympathizers were active. The general sessions ordered in May 1701 that only men who had been elders or deacons since the Revolution were to make church door collections. Collections had slumped badly in the previous year and the authorities may have suspected that money was being withheld by collectors.44 The sharp increase in voluntary giving c.1688–91 may have been a response not to growing poverty but to temporary and permanent declines in income derived

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Marginals from ‘involuntary’ sources such as rents and fines. Givers had a perception of need and gave to maintain the level of funding appropriate to it. The effect of bad harvests on public consciousness is clear. 1693’s collections were more than a fifth higher than those of (p.244) 1692 and donations peaked in 1696 at more than £18,000, a further 20 per cent higher than the average of 1693–5 inclusive and nearly three times greater than that for the 1660s, 1670s, and 1680s. Contributions remained at a high level until 1700 when they fell by 44 per cent to £8,497 but bounced back to the average for 1690–5 and 1698–9 in the following year. The explanation for this sharp downturn in a single year is unclear. Relief at the return of good harvests in 1699–1700; the effects of the Darien disaster on people’s actual wealth or their perception of their ability to give; ‘donor fatigue’ after seven years of digging deep into their pockets: all these may have played their part. In 1706 the presbytery noted that ‘the late great dearth did exhaust most of the legacies, and the town did advance of their common stock considerably at that time for the relief of the poor’.45 A similar problem had been noticed in 1676 when poor relief funds were at a low ebb ‘and the charity of the people does daily diminish’.46 Andrew Gairdner complained that people were much freer when giving money to one-off causes or to people abroad or to build bridges than they were to make a long-term commitment to look after old people on their doorstep.47 Sums collected show modest increases in the early 1720s and 1732–5 but no pronounced deviation from the gently rising average. This trend was broken in the later 1730s and especially after 1739 when public discussions about alternative means of funding poor relief began. In July 1744 all revenue was ‘made over in favour of the kirk treasurer…for the regular maintenance and employment of the poor of this city in a charitable hospital or workshouse’ which was to take care of orphans and foundlings. The ‘most part of the poor are either entertained and set on work therein or pensions settled on them for their support’. All future applications for relief were to be addressed to the managers of the charity workhouses. One estimate of average church door collections 1743–8, albeit made by an interest group, was just over £1,200 sterling a year. The opposite camp, who favoured a compulsory poor rate, claimed that now that the poor were out of sight they were also out of mind and contributions had been falling steadily since 1743 because of this and because of growing nonattendance at established church services.48 (p.245) William Creech believed that collections had been around £1,500 a year in 1763, compared with just £1,000 in 1783, rising to £1,200 in 1791.49 Individual parishes which have surviving annual records of attendance at communion and sums collected reveal the connection between the two. Figure 4.2 of the two variables in the Tolbooth parish 1736–1764 shows the broad

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Marginals correlation—at least from the early 1740s. Other evidence confirms the link. In October 1730 the incorporated trades of Calton minuted that: the session of [South] Leith was displeased that the neighbourhood in Calton did not attend their parish church on the sabbath days, also that they threatened to reduce the poors’ money on that account. The masters, considering the same, consented freely for order’s sake to attend the parish church every first sabbath of the month.50 Poor relief was a privilege and could be used as a weapon. The kirk session reasoned that if Calton people did not come to church and did not contribute to collections then their share of relief funds should be cut. (p.246) Relief from the kirk session was the safety net for the majority of the population who were not burgesses and/or guild brothers. However, the best-documented eighteenthcentury provision came in the form of the children’s hospitals, some of which survive in altered form until today. If the indigent had been paid-up members of an incorporation or guild they could appeal to its funds or ask to have their children placed in either the Merchants’ or Trades hospital (founded 1694 and 1707 respectively). The town itself was effectively in control

Fig. 4.2 Tolbooth communicants and sums collected at church doors, 1736– 1764

of Heriot’s hospital, a Caroline foundation which cared for the sons of decayed burgesses. It also had a say (through the Merchant Company) in the administration of George Watson’s bequest from the late 1720s and in the running of Watson’s hospital from 1738.51 An orphan’s hospital was built between Leith Wynd and Multries Hill in 1732–3. Artisans competed to place their children in the Trades Maiden hospital. Robert Heron’s daughter was considered for admission by the Edinburgh cordiners in 1742, ‘his circumstances being low and his trade on the decrease and his family on the increase’. After some discussion and in-fighting within the incorporation, Robert Stewart’s daughter got the place. Several other members had eligible daughters waiting in the wings.52 When the home was set up in the early 1700s, Edinburgh’s hammermen agreed to pay £320 Scots a year to have four girls maintained there.53 Even fathers who could afford to educate their own daughters seem to have tried to get them into the Maiden hospital. In Page 9 of 50

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Marginals November 1733, the deacons of crafts asked the hammermen only to present ‘such of whose indigence they have the most absolute assurance and of whose necessity and poverty they shall be ascertained by writing under the hands of their parents or friends’.54 Places were much sought after. Greyfriars kirk session’s recommendations for Heriot’s 1709–20 comprised children whose fathers had the following occupations: two each of glaziers, merchants, tailors, precentors, barbers, stablers, and skinners, and one each of gardener, wright, tanner, laird, apothecary, pewterer, walker, glover, cordiner, plumber, coppersmith, candlemaker, (p.247) and writer. Not only merchants and artisans thought these homes desirable. Margaret, Countess of Lauderdale wrote to her cousin in May 1716 about providing for the laird of Baidland’s children. She hoped to get William into Heriot’s: ‘I fear only they [will] make pretence he is not come of burgesses but I hope to get it done as for [the founder] Heriot’s being grand uncle to Baidland…I am also endeavouring to get in Jean, one of the young lasses, into the Maiden Hospital which is very well taken care of and there taught everything that can fit them to gain a livelihood; they also get £10 when they come out.’55 Andrew Gairdner looked back on the period since the 1690s as a golden age of charitable giving but regretted that the old people’s hospital had not been a beneficiary. ‘Thoughts did run upon charity for the young generation’ while the old were ‘very much neglected and forgot’.56 Assuming that burgess families were roughly the same size as those of non-burgesses (excluding professionals and landed indwellers), and (perhaps unreasonably) that all were as likely to become poor, the proportion of the child population eligible to enter children’s hospitals was at most a quarter. In so far as the bulk of Edinburgh’s population had an equal chance of reaching old age, a similar proportion were in theory eligible for the other type of hospital. Places in hospitals for adults could be bought, principally in Trinity hospital ‘for old decayed burgesses’. The council offered the right to buy entry to Trinity hospital for anyone prepared to offer at least £100 sterling. This was for a single lifetime—like an annuity—in contrast with the full right of presentation, which allowed the patron to appoint replacements for those who had died.57 In other words, those able to enter the prestige hospitals were not necessarily the most deserving but those who had already made some provision during their lives. This reminds (p.248) us of the complexity of definitions of poverty and of the caution we should exercise in trying to count the numbers of poor. Trinity hospital was rebuilt in 1730 with individual rooms, presumably to improve its image to prospective inmates. Charitable hospitals for adults were like ‘retirement homes’ for burgesses and should not be talked of in the same breath with the city workhouse or with other institutions like St Paul’s Work (usually called Paul’s Work).

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Marginals The examples of the hospitals as a whole make it clear that certain kinds of ‘charity’ were related only partly to need. Getting into one of the select children’s or adults’ hospitals had much to do with birth and connections. Casual handouts and institutionalized doles were acts of patronage as well as charity and this was also true of the allocation of places in hospitals. John Sharp, stabler in the Pleasance, made representations in March 1763 to the managers of Canongate workhouse about one of his brother’s children. The man’s business was going badly and he had recently lost his wife, leaving him to look after four young children. Realizing he had no claim to the resources of a workhouse in another parish, he ‘frankly made offer of forty shillings sterling to be annually paid by him for the maintenance and education of Bell Sharp, one of his brother’s daughters aged about five years’.58 Despite the additional layers of relief in a major city like Edinburgh it is likely that the majority of the population actually relied on the kirk session for formal doles, as they did in rural Scotland. Decidedly more down-market than the ‘hospitals’ were the long-established reformatory workhouses. By 1684 three members of the Stansfield family, originally from Wakefield in Yorkshire, had run the House of Correction. They did so as a business enterprise and were encouraged in this by the council. A petition from Robert Stansfield dated 1680 told how he had suffered losses of 2,000 merks during the dearth of 1674 when victual had been extremely expensive, when the contribution from the council towards the upkeep of prisoners had been inadequate, and when he had bought 50 stones of wool at his (p.249) own expense to keep the prisoners employed.59 Robert Mowbray took over the lease in 1684 with a subsidy from the town council. Paul’s Work, which grew out of a medieval charity revamped in the early seventeenth century, was located at the north end of Leith Wynd. Council minutes of 1681 and 1683 deplored its lack of success: in ‘training up and educating of many idle young persons and thereby freeing the city and high streets of many boys and lasses who constantly molest and trouble the lieges by begging upon the same’.60 Work had a practical as well as a moral purpose. An earlier complaint (1675) was that boys were only trained to spin, not weave or knit, with the result that they were ill prepared to find apprenticeships on leaving.61 In 1683 the institution, along with other property, was formally leased out to Thomas Kennedy, John Trotter, and their partners for nineteen years. They had already been running it as a linen manufactory since 1681. It was effectively ‘privatized’ since they were given the interest on the stock of the work and the proceeds of the labours of the inmates in exchange for a promise to keep the people fully employed.62 The town continued to be responsible for repairs and paid out money as a debtor of the work.63 More land was bought by the council and added to Paul’s Work’s patrimony in 1697.64 There were twenty-five boys supported by the town council at Paul’s Work in 1702, though the discovery that income was higher than expected allowed this to be raised to thirty in 1703.65 The original building was sold by the city in 1749 when the inmates were Page 11 of 50

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Marginals transferred to the new workhouse at Greyfriars.66 St Thomas’s hospital near the Watergate was also a pre-Reformation foundation rebuilt at the same time as Paul’s Work and used for the poor until (p.250) the mid-eighteenth century, when it was turned into coach houses. In 1728 Andrew Gairdner published a pamphlet advocating the creation of an orphans’ hospital for those ‘who have no right or title’ to enter Heriot’s, Watson’s, or the two Maiden Hospitals.67 The hospital was built by subscription on a site belonging to Trinity hospital north of the physic garden.68 A presbytery report of January 1734 mentions that the orphan school, hospital, and workhouse had begun with twenty-four boys and six girls ‘who are cloathed and maintained therein, and are learning to read and write, and also linen and woollen manufacture’ using donations of food, clothes, furniture, and labour, and supplemented by SSPCK teaching funds. Appeals for further resources were made in subsequent years and there was a total of seventy children there by 1738.69 Funding was also obtained from Paul’s Work and from the Trustees for Improving Manufactures, while the children made a contribution by spinning and weaving their own clothes and helping the servants with menial tasks.70 Numbers fell to around thirty after 1743, when part of the funding went to the new charity workhouse, but rose again to forty-three by 1768 thanks to donations and regular collections from preaching in the ‘orphan house field’.71 Both the select hospitals and the reformatory institutions were rather small, each accommodating at most a few dozen individuals in the 1730s. The charity workhouse opened in 1743 was a much larger project. Furthermore, while the institutions discussed above had been around in one form or another for decades or even centuries, the charity workhouse was a major departure, albeit one which had long been on the drawing board. In 1711 the council ordered all beggars connected with the town to enter ‘the great new stone house in the grass yard at the Society Port’ (not far from Greyfriars church) within one week. There were six men, twenty-nine women, and eighteen children there by December.72 The council also agreed with the (p.251) heritors of the shire in 1716 to provide a place to set the begging poor to work.73 This institution did not flourish. Discussion about the possibility of establishing a new and much larger charity workhouse began again in earnest in 1738. One kirk session agreed with a proposal from the general sessions ‘that all the pensions shall go for the maintenance of the poor in a public house but it is their present opinion that a due reserve be made for occasional supply of necessitous persons such as never were pensioners’.74 The formal minute book of the workhouse begins in July 1739. The novelty of the enterprise to those charged with realizing it was clear. Unsure about how to build or cost such a large edifice as the workhouse—220 feet long by 40 feet wide—they cast around for some months seeking advice. Nor would running a building drawing individuals from all parishes and several different social backgrounds be easy in a city where Page 12 of 50

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Marginals entitlement was closely linked to some specific and very localized form of ‘belonging’. In the end they sought safety in a full committee of ninety-six representatives and in borrowing the rules and bylaws of the Glasgow workhouse as a model.75 The workhouse suffered from a chronic lack of funds while it was being built. An appeal for £1,000 arrears of promised subscriptions must have fallen on deaf ears because building was halted in the summer of 1741 and again a year later. In November 1742 only one kirk session had stumped up, several incorporations were tardy in paying, and the managers approached the Faculty of Advocates for a voluntary contribution.76 Aware of the reliance on voluntary contributions, those (p.252) who framed a petition of August 1743 to open up the avenue to Hope Park noted that it would run close to the new workhouse so that strollers and travellers would be likely to make donations.77 During the transitional phase in the autumn of 1743 the kirk treasurer paid over cash in hand to the treasurer of the charity workhouse and the pensioners paid by him were to be discontinued. The city treasurer’s charges continued to receive doles in the short term but all new applicants for relief were directed to the weekly meetings of the workhouse committee.78 The transfer of pensioners from the city and kirk treasurers was completed by August 1744. Canongate had a workhouse from 1761, St Cuthbert’s from 1762. People entered and left the poor houses according to their capacity to work or the availability of employment. Mary Fortune went back to St Cuthbert’s workhouse in June 1767 after six months as a servant and in September of the same year a Fountainbridge baker asked that her servant girl be taken back into the house during an illness.79 Inmates of Canongate workhouse were allowed to keep 2d. in every shilling they earned: hardly a lavish share of the profits of their labours but not unreasonable given that they were otherwise provided for in the workhouse, and given that feed servants probably received a smaller proportion of their contribution to their master’s income.80 Over time, the charity workhouse began to encompass other facilities for marginal elements of the city’s population. Noting the delapidated condition of the House of Correction at the foot of Leith Wynd, the town council decided to build a new secure prison under the control of the managers of the workhouse.81 Before then, the managers had given occasional handouts to the keeper of the House of Correction, including one in July 1745 ‘for buying blankets for lunatics’. The first mention of the insane as part of the workhouse ‘family’ comes in the annual ‘report’ of (p.253) July 1747 which begins the second volume of the workhouse minutes. The new Bedlam had been built with twenty-one cells in 1746.82 Further details of this institution and of other means of giving help to, or dealing with, the poor will be given as the chapter unfolds.

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Marginals Numbers Estimates of the numbers of poor people in Edinburgh depend on what criterion is used. Marginal elements of the city’s population can be defined as the economically dependent, politically weak, mobile, and financially unstable. Beyond this obvious, if imprecise, classification, we find that definitions of poverty are almost as varied as studies of it.83 Dingwall finds that 1,259 of 5,185 domestic households in the 1696–7 annuity tax were deemed by the collectors to be ‘poor’.84 Other tax schemes cast further light on the distribution of wealth in the city. The proposal to levy a poor rate in 1749 threw up the claim that 3,370 householders—those who paid less than £3 sterling in yearly rent—would be exempt. This figure was arrived at by a group of heritors paying £350–3,210. Because they opposed the scheme and wished to show that the burden on the better-off would be considerable, theirs must represent an upper estimate. The 1748 valuation of the city’s houses ran to £302,060 Scots of which approximately £50,000–55,000 was made up by houses paying £35 Scots a year or less. The mean valued rent for this section of the taxpayers was just £15 Scots compared with an annuity tax threshold of £20 a year of valued rent.85 Other measures can be used. In his overview of late seventeenth-century England, Arkell identifies three tiers of poverty: 5 per cent in receipt of regular relief, 10–15 per cent occasional relief, and 25–30 per cent of marginals who never paid local (p.254) dues or national taxes.86 For London, Boulton uses ineligibility for local taxation or poor rate, burial at parish expense, absence of servants in the household, and receipt of relief in early seventeenth-century Southwark.87 Servants were ubiquitous in Edinburgh households and are less useful as an indicator than in seventeenth-century London. With no regular rating system and poor-quality listings of inhabitants, Edinburgh’s documentation only allows analysis of two of Boulton’s criteria: payments for, or contributions to, the cost of burial and recipients of regular or occasional doles. Inhabitants of ‘hospitals’ are easy to count and there are incidental estimates of vagrancy. People in need were given money (and thus appear in documents) when they had to be buried. In the 1740s and early 1750s Edinburgh charity workhouse provided coffins for many more people than actually died in the ‘family’ itself (Figure 4.3). This may have been a transition period since the number of adult residents continued rising until c.1755. The number of weekly and monthly pensioners also declined until the mid-1750s. After that date the correspondence between deaths recorded and coffins paid for is much closer though the number involved in any one year is still small. Over the city as a whole, quantifying the number of poor by this method is difficult because incorporations and individual kirk sessions would also make contributions of this sort. At the same time, the quality of funeral to which an incorporation thought a former member entitled was different from that felt appropriate for a workhouse inmate, meaning that the criterion of ‘need’ was not uniform for all ‘pauper’ burials. Families in very Page 14 of 50

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Marginals different circumstances could have their funeral costs met, reminding us that most quantifiable criteria of poverty are both arbitrary and imprecise at a human level. The most reliable estimates of numbers can be derived from those in receipt of in- or out-relief and those licensed to beg. When the charity workhouse was opening its doors in 1743, there were 613 individuals in receipt of relief from the kirk sessions, 340 paid directly by the kirk treasurer, 75 by the city (p.255) treasurer, plus about 60 ‘official’ beggars.88 These 1,100 were the responsibility of the city and its nine kirk sessions and did not include those receiving pensions from incorporations or the many unofficial beggars. Five years earlier an investigation by the general sessions revealed 691 kirk session pensioners.89 The population of Edinburgh city’s nine parishes in 1755 was approximately 31,000 and 3–4 per cent were therefore pensioners assuming each individual was only Fig. 4.3 Deaths in workhouse and coffins responsible for himself or herself. provided, 1745–1766 If each recipient is assumed to be head of a small household, the percentage rises to perhaps 10–12 per cent. If we simply look at kirk session pensioners the figures are roughly 2 per cent and 7–8 per cent.

Recreating such a figure for the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries is difficult in view of the uneven survival of kirk session accounts. However, in 1683 the general sessions records contain a list of just over 400 enrolled poor.90 Assuming that the 400 compares with the 613 kirk session pensioners and (p. 256) that population was roughly 20,000, the proportion of poor was 2 per cent or 7–8 per cent depending on the assumption about how many people were relieved. This is the same as in the early 1740s and comparable with the figure of 7 per cent for Aberdeen in the second half of the seventeenth century.91 The percentage of ‘marginals’—best defined as tax-exempt—also seems to have been relatively constant over time and between communities at roughly a quarter. Perhaps the poor (as defined in commonly available sources) were a relatively constant percentage of urban populations across time and space. However, it is also possible that the proportion of surplus a community was prepared to spend on the poor was fixed. The main constraint was financial. As Andrew Gairdner, merchant and treasurer of Trinity hospital, said in the preface to his Edinburgh fund-raising pamphlet of 1728: ‘we would be heartily willing to Page 15 of 50

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Marginals prefer ten for one, if it were within the compass of our power to maintain them’.92 Both possibilities require that historians look at changing perceptions of poverty as much as at absolute numbers, and that the context of poverty needs to encompass the total economic environment of a society or community rather than simply that of the poor. Numbers in city institutions were also small. There were about forty girls in the Merchants’ Maiden hospital in the early eighteenth century, eighty towards its end.93 The Trades Maiden had about forty when Gairdner wrote in 1728 and Paul’s Work had twenty-two children employed in spinning in 1673.94 M’Farlan’s survey of the poor in 1782 gave a list of institutions and support agencies, and the approximate numbers in them (Table 4.1).95 The principal difference between this breakdown and that which preceded the reorganization of the 1740s was that those in the charity workhouse would have been receiving outrelief. M’Farlan only mentions city institutions, omitting the Canongate and St Cuthbert’s workhouses. Not all sources of charity existed throughout the eighteenth century and only Trinity and Heriot’s plus the incorporations and the kirk (p.257) Table 4.1. Numbers of Edinburgh poor, 1782 Charity Workhouse

900

Orphan Hospital

110

Trinity hospital (elderly) Heriot’s hospital (boys)

66 110

Watson’s hospital (boys)

60

Merchants’ Maiden hospital

70

Trades Maiden hospital

50

‘Poor of the different incorporated societies’

300

Horn’s charity for poor labourers ‘(one half of)’

25

Private society for the industrious poor ‘(ditto)’

60

Infirmary ‘(ditto)’

80

Strachan of Craigcrook’s charity for old people

50

sessions were established relief givers in the seventeenth century.

This made a total of nearly 1,900 recipients plus pensioners of private chapels and religious sects. These figures represent the hard core of institutionalized ‘poor’ who were in receipt of regular relief. Figures for the charity workhouse are made up of several types of poor whose numbers fluctuated over time. The number of inmates—men, women, boys, and girls—1745–66 varied between 472 Page 16 of 50

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Marginals in 1745 and 701 in 1757. Weekly and quarterly pensioners were at their most numerous in 1745 (185 individuals), falling to a low of 87 in 1758. The reduction in out-relief in favour of institutionalization of the poor is shown in Figure 4.4. The workhouse also supported those in the house of correction—ranging from just two in 1747 to thirty-seven in 1756—and between four and 123 nurse children. The total number of dependents of this institution 1745–66 ranged from approximately 650 to over 1,000. Most inmates of the charity workhouse during the period 1745–66 were female. The sex ratio of children is close to even at 98 for this period but among adults, who made up the bulk of the workhouse’s inhabitants, there were only thirty-four men for every hundred women. Beyond these visible beneficiaries of charitable resources was a large halo of men, women, and children who received occasional doles, at least until the reorganization of relief in the 1740s. Canongate kirk session maintained 18–20 people on a (p.258) regular basis during 1690 but ten times that number were helped at some point during the year.96

Before the institutionalization of relief there were probably more licensed and unlicensed beggars. In 1676 a pewterer was paid for making 200 badges for the poor, and this was presumably the approximate number of licensed beggars in the city.97 In the severe famine of 1740–1 more than 260 badges were issued to authorized beggars, though again this must represent only a proportion of all those seeking

Fig. 4.4 Workhouse inmates and outpensioners, 1745–1766

charity on the streets.98 Conceivably the magistrates regarded 200–250 licensed beggars as all the city could or would support. As part of a 1693 clamp-down on begging in the city the town council ordered ‘half a ream of printed passes for vagrant beggars directing them to the parishes of their nativity’.99 If there were really fewer than 240 strangers begging in the city at this date then the total number (p.259) of mendicants, licensed and unlicensed, probably did not exceed 400. There may have been a beggar for each of the roughly 300 closes, wynds, and streets in old Edinburgh. This sounds a lot but as a proportion it may have been as low as 1 per cent of the whole of ‘greater Edinburgh’ or as high as 2 per cent of the population of the city

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Marginals parishes in the early 1690s. The dearths may have heightened sensibility much more than they actually increased the numbers of beggars.100 Later in that dreadful decade the town, working on its own and through the general sessions, tried the novel expedient of establishing a refugee camp. The council had decided to build two small houses in Grey friars churchyard in December 1695 and a third was added a year later; each housed twenty people.101 A collection was announced in February 1697 ‘to help defraying the great charge the town has been at in taking all the beggars from the streets and doors and lodging them in houses built for them in the new Greyfriars’ yard and maintaining them there until the summer that they can be dispersed to their parishes to which they belong’.102 At that date there were 263 people in the camp and numbers were growing daily. By January 1699 special measures were taken to prevent the refugees climbing out of the churchyard to beg. Six soldiers, to be rotated weekly in case of collusion with the poor, were employed full time to round up beggars and incarcerate them in the yard. The soldiers and three men keeping the poor there were to receive a 2/6 bonus for each escapee caught.103 The yard had been used as a holding area once before in the summer and autumn of 1679 to house nearly 1,200 rebel prisoners defeated at Bothwell Brig. A sense of permanence is given by the provision ‘that some care be taken to teach the younger sort to read and all of them the grounds of religion’.104 In the appalling year 1699 appeals were made to the better-off inhabitants like the anonymous lawyer, whose ‘computation of the charges a single gentleman may be at yearly living in Edinburgh’ dated 3 August 1699 truly shows how the other half lived. The author allocated (p.260) £200 Scots to ‘diet for self and a servant’; room rent £72; clothes and wigs £237; books £60; ‘incident and unforeseen charges’ £60, making a total of £629 Scots. He also resolved to eat chocolate at breakfast twice a week for his health.105 Edinburgh may have been faced with a relatively large number of poor. According to Adam Smith, a town supported ‘by the constant or occasional residence of a court, and in which the inferior ranks of people are chiefly maintained by the spending of revenue, they are in general idle, dissolute, and poor’.106 Edinburgh was such a city in Smith’s eyes and he contrasted it unfavourably with Glasgow. He may well have been correct. In a petition to Edinburgh town council in 1743, the managers of the newly established charity workhouse held up the example of Glasgow, whose council had donated £150 sterling to a similar project there in 1731: ‘how much more must be wanting for a work of the like kind among us where the poor are at least five or six times more numerous and building more expensive’.107 Even allowing for Glasgow’s smaller population—about 32,000 at this date—the proportion of Edinburgh’s

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Marginals people who were deemed to be poor must have been at least double that of Scotland’s second city. An alternative explanation is based on differing perceptions of the poor. After all, poverty is a social construct as much as an economic reality. Defining oneself as poor implies subjective misery and different levels of objective want. However, being poor is also an unremarkable and imprecise state. Being called ‘poor’ is a specific and distinctive label.108 While the absolute number of poor in Edinburgh may have been small, their constant presence, hands outstretched, made them a pressing issue. The town council minutes of the later seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries are thick with references to poverty and to complaints by the inhabitants about intrusive begging. Poverty and vagrancy may have been perceived as a problem within the city without actually being very extensive. Perhaps the sensibility of the inhabitants and their representatives to manifest want was high or their threshold of tolerance low. Perceptions and definitions more than measurable facts determined (p.261) responses to poverty. It is likely that both the numbers of poor and their proportion in the population had grown by the late eighteenth century. More significantly, the better-off inhabitants had changed their attitudes towards them by then. Edinburgh’s settled and vagrant poor attracted so much attention before the mid-eighteenth century because they were both visible and not well defined rather than because of their absolute numbers. By George III’s reign all that had changed.

Attitudes to the Poor The condition of the poor and the precise methods used to alleviate their difficulties are interesting in themselves. Poor relief is also an important indicator of social values both in the commitment to helping the less fortunate and the precise way in which aid was offered. Eligibility for relief and the type of support to which a person was entitled depended on birth, legal status, gender, age, and behaviour as well as simply being in need. Attitudes towards poverty could be as complex as the phenomenon itself and ways of dealing with it—and just as indicative of social norms. The begging poor were viewed with emotions ranging from pity to dislike to fear. The autumn and winter of 1675 saw the city swarming with beggars. On 24 November the inhabitants of Thomas Robertson’s newly built tenement in the heart of the city complained of the ‘many indigent, poor, sickly persons that lie every night within the meal market’ and on the last day of the year the bailies of Leith received instructions to prevent the transportation of beggars over the water from Fife. Beggars without the town’s badge were to be ejected.109 Introduced in 1619, badges helped donors and officials to distinguish proper objects of charity in a city where poverty was glaringly obvious and regularly encountered. Regular checks were kept on who was entitled to a badge.110 Page 19 of 50

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Marginals Beggars accosted people in the streets and knocked on their doors to ask for charity. Suburbs where the lower classes had their residence contained groupings of poorer people, but even within the city ‘marginal’ elements were highly visible both in times of shortage and of relative plenty’. (p.262) The problems of 1675 were far from unique. In October 1677 Canongate kirk session, with the consent of the magistrates of the burgh, appointed John Campbell ‘to be staff man for keeping the streets and parish free of sturdy and common beggars, all whores and thieves’.111 But in the same year, the town council revoked extra payments to its officers for failing to keep beggars off the city’s streets. Two years later the council minuted ‘a very great number of beggars that does daily trouble all persons that are upon the streets to the great discredit of the place’.112 The streets were apparently free of beggars in April 1685, when the magistrates asked that since people ‘are free of trouble at their houses’ they might like to increase contributions to institutional relief.113 A project of 1710–11 to maintain the common beggars ‘in a hospital for freeing the neighbourhood of trouble’ was stillborn.114 Begging was tolerated but only after consideration of ‘age, years of residence in this place, circumstances, and right or title they have to any charity of this place’.115 In contrast (August 1711): there are many sturdy beggars going about, who are a lawless crew and show no regard either to God or man, neither is there any account of their either being baptised or married, and yet they go together at their pleasure, and besides them there are other poor people who are in no case to do any thing for themselves.116 A 1731 pamphlet, ‘Some reasons for taking the present method with the street beggars’. spoke of walks in Edinburgh ‘often interrupted by the clamour and importunity of our common beggars, a sort of wretches who, by a filthy habit and a lamentable tone, impose upon our pity, and make us pay to get rid of the uneasiness they give us’. These insolent, abusive, and persistent rogues were, the author claimed, ‘not only an encumbrance to all passengers, but interrupters of traders in their shops; for a customer can scarce come to buy goods, but he is immediately pestered with three or four’.117 Removing such people from the streets was a powerful incentive for reform of poor relief provisions. The managers of the new charity workhouse said that its opening in 1743 ‘means our streets will be for (p.263) ever delivered from the numberless vagrants now our daily nuisance and public pests’.118 Added to this carrot was the stick of releasing the poor to plague the inhabitants. This had been used to effect in the late 1690s and was used again in the 1740s and 1750s when the charity workhouse needed more money. In November 1698 the magistrates called for a collection for the ‘refugee camp’ at Greyfriars from grateful householders since ‘if this contribution fail, they will be Page 20 of 50

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Marginals forced to turn the beggars loose for they cannot keep them to starve’.119 A more veiled threat was made in January 1752 when the workhouse managers felt ‘the inhabitants of this city could not but remember how much they were disturbed in the open streets and in their private houses with the mournful cries of beggars’ and hinted that, unless £800 sterling was found quickly, their memories would soon be refreshed.120 From this sort of evidence we can chart how inhabitants sought to keep the begging poor out of sight and out of mind. Yet, the poor were not viewed as an undifferentiated mass fit only for expulsion, incarceration, or exploitation. This was a society which valued hierarchy. In the west or new Greyfriars church (1747), seats 105–18 were allocated to Watson’s hospital, 119–38 to Heriot’s hospital, and 139–43 were designated ‘back seats for the poor’.121 Even when an individual or family was forced to resort to doles their social standing was preserved. Alongside the 500 or so inhabitants of the charity workhouse in 1749 there were two kinds of out-pensioners. The first were those temporarily sick or unemployed. But there were also ‘others, whose needy circumstances entitle them to support, although their former rank and station would make it indecent to lodge them under the same roof with the begging poor’.122 One thing which marked out Trinity, Heriot’s, Watson’s, Trades and Merchants’ Maiden hospitals was that regular manual labour was not a central part of the inmates’ lives. Though children were to learn practical skills they were not kept at spinning and weaving as in Paul’s Work. Andrew Gairdner was (p.264) concerned to paint a picture of genteel elderly folk in the Trinity hospital passing their time reading books.123 ‘The extremely discreet provision of assistance for the shamefaced was designed specifically to protect the social identity of those whose skills or position were considered to provide a superior rank in the ordering of society by hiding the reality of their economic distress from the community.’124 If types of poor were treated differently, it was not enough simply to be in need in order to get relief. For one thing, limited resources in some parishes like the Canongate meant that new admissions to the rolls of regular recipients could only be allowed when someone else was removed.125 In the 1760s, lack of funds meant that Canongate’s workhouse had the most stringent entry requirements of the city’s three institutions.126 At the same time, there were moral as well as financial issues at stake. One had to be the right kind of poor person, either by birth or behaviour. In the 1720s the Edinburgh hammermen’s poor relief scheme was tightened up to ensure that no one was enrolled or continued ‘but such whose life and circumstances had been narrowly enquired into and a signed schedule presented’.127 Only single people were allowed into the Trinity hospital and then only ‘such as are of a very good life and conversation and burgesses

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Marginals and burgesses’ relicts’.128 Those admitted had to have been brought low not by profligacy but by ‘providential dispensations’.129 The idea prevailed that people should take all reasonable steps to avoid poverty and try to provide for themselves if they became poor. The society of chairmasters and bearers was originally set up by the town council and ‘a few well disposed persons’ in 1688 ‘to prevent as far as possible any person who may join this society from being reduced to want or being burdensome to the public in the time of sickness, lameness or any other disease which providence may be pleased to visit them with during life’.130 As we saw in Chapter 1, there was even a project in 1700 to set up a contributory scheme for the many female servants (p.265) in the city which noted that journeymen, carters, porters, and ‘link boys’ had all operated such funds.131 Members of the more fortunate classes were ambivalent towards these developments. Landed and legal élites seem to have regarded them as a sign that the lower orders were less profligate than they had feared. For incorporations, guild, and town council this was tempered by the worry that employees might become too independent. To highlight the qualities of the deserving poor, M’Farlan’s 1782 Inquiries… expressed the view that ‘by far the greatest number of poor are such as are in want either by their own immediate fault or by their former bad conduct’— notably spending on luxuries and drink far beyond their means—an assumption which made it easier both to step back from the problem of poverty and to limit amounts spent by a subjective definition of the deserving poor.132 One chapter of his book was entitled ‘Sloth, intemperance, luxury, and other vices, the most frequent causes of poverty’.133 He drew a clear distinction with ‘the natural, and often unavoidable, causes of poverty’ afflicting those who had worked hard but had fallen into want through no fault of their own.134 Borrowing from an active debate among Enlightenment thinkers on the Continent and in Britain, James M’Farlan allowed that ‘a certain degree of ambition is to be encouraged, even among the meanest of the people, but we do them no service when we tempt thousands to aspire to those stations, which hundreds are sufficient to occupy’.135 The authorities also took constructive steps to prevent the lower orders becoming a burden on poor relief and to shape their attitudes. A memorandum of March 1743 written by Justices of the Peace about education in Edinburgh and Midlothian shows one strand of opinion among those in authority. Considering ‘the wretched condition of many hundreds of poor people in this shire who are lost in vice and idleness’ and that ‘the source and origin of all the bad habits of the said poor is owing entirely to a slothful and neglected education from (p.266) their infancy’. the Justices advocated teaching boys and girls from age 5 or 6 years ‘some handicraft and virtuous occupation’ and thus inculcate ‘early habits of virtue and industry’.136 The town council approved of ‘academic’ education but also minuted in 1752 their belief that poor children Page 22 of 50

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Marginals should be ‘early accustomed to work, by which means they are prepared to be serviceable to tradesmen in the several branches of manufactures that have of late made great progress in this country, where more hands are still wanting’.137 The deserving poor were easily distinguished even in earlier decades. Thomas Gowdie was admitted to the ranks of city pensioners in January 1690 ‘being a burgess bairn [child] and born blind and has an exceeding good memory but unable to do anything for a maintenance of himself’.138 Grisel Wallace petitioned the South kirk session in 1689, ‘having for the space of thirty years bygone made it her care to keep herself in honest service within this burgh’ but had now fallen ill, spent all her savings on doctors and was likely to starve.139 A file of successful petitions to the same session during 1692 and 1693 shows the sorts of people who were helped: a woman whose son had been killed at the battle of Killiecrankie; a widow of thirteen years with nothing to live on except charity; a sickly cripple unable to work (signed ‘a lame woman’); an old, infirm man whose wife had a broken arm; a lame woman 72 years old; a woman sick with palsy; an ageing servant woman; a crippled wright; a woman with a suckling child whose husband was too ill to work; a poor woman with a sick child.140 If attitudes towards the deserving poor were relatively benign, those displayed in connection with those to whom blame might be attached could vary widely. In 1704 the council voted a sum not to exceed £500 sterling to be used to provide work for the poor who came to Edinburgh from all over Scotland to ‘commit great wickedness in cursing, swearing, stealing and whoring’.141 The heavy overtones of religious and moral condemnation here are not typical of all statements about the poor in our period but were dictated by the campaign for the reformation of manners being waged at this date. Active hostility (p.267) was best expressed in the 1731 pamphlet ‘some Reasons for Taking the Present Method with the Street Beggars’. which painted a picture of respectable inhabitants drowning in a sea of ‘idle counterfeits, rogues, profligates’ who would rather extort money by false pretences than do an honest day’s work. The begging poor had to be contained, integrated into society, or ejected from the city. Indifference was probably the commonest attitude to the poor among the middling and upper ranks. Dunbar’s early sixteenth-century satire on Edinburgh spoke of the clamour of ‘crooked, blind and lame’ beggars who swarmed around the city while the increasingly prosperous middling sort did little to remedy the inequalities.142 Little had changed in two centuries. It was noted that despite newspaper advertisements about the opening of the charity workhouse and despite the availability of printed copies of Glasgow workhouse’s rules, circulated free of charge, no comments had yet been received. Andrew Gairdner encountered a similar problem when trying to drum up support for the Trinity hospital in 1728. His pamphlet contained a history of the hospital, run by the town council since 1579, ‘for I have met with many in this city…that knew little Page 23 of 50

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Marginals or nothing of its state, or constitution and management; yea, some have expressed themselves…that they did not so much know where it was’.143 Attitudes were not wholly censorious and the better-off people of the city did not seek solely to contain or avoid the less fortunate.144 Those working with poor people could display sensitivity to their needs, albeit tinged with pragmatism. While the charity workhouse was being filled up in 1743 kirk sessions advocated prioritizing entry. First to be allowed in should be the begging poor entitled to town charity. Then anyone who could bring bed linen with them into the house; orphans; burgesses, their widows and children; residenters, indwellers, and servants had the lowest priority. All were to be asked about their circumstances and their willingness to enter the house, but with the sanction that those who refused to live in would be struck off the relief rolls.145 (p.268) Those who had direct contact with the indigent were able to see them for the complex and often decent individuals that they could be. A case of allegedly excessive care shows the boundaries in attitudes. The workhouse chaplain, Mr William Hallowell, was in trouble in 1748 for being too lenient towards certain inmates. It was said that he had discouraged lads from working ‘by alleging that the managers bound them apprentice to the offscourings of the earth’.146 He had also given unofficial sanction to the widespread practice of inhabitants selling food given them by the managers.147 The managers issued orders on several occasions during the early eighteenth century requiring healthy inmates to eat only at the common table.148 As part of his defence at a formal hearing, Hallowell said he ‘was ever ready to contribute anything to such as was in distress’ even if it ‘was only a dish of tea. And to this any sick person without distinction was welcome.’149 The chaplain clearly had strong sympathies with the inmates and felt that they should be allowed more dignity in their situation. The minutes of the three charity workhouses in Edinburgh in the 1760s—and of the city before—suggest a restrictive but humane atmosphere very different from late seventeenth-century Paris where, Munck writes, ‘the workhouse had become a prison, a dump for misfits or the superfluous’.150 Hallowell’s case sheds an oblique light on conventional attitudes to the poor. Among the criticisms made of him was of praying ‘that the managers might be enabled to render the people’s lives as sweet, easy and comfortable as possible’. He had failed to offer any prayers ‘that the people might be made as submissive, contented and grateful as their condition required’.151 In his pamphlet on the old people’s hospital, Andrew Gairdner wrote that the reputation of the home had been damaged by the partly justified rumour that the women inmates in particular were ‘clamorous, fretting and flyting persons, that could never agree among themselves, and that were unthankful for their mercies’.152

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Marginals (p.269) It is important to realize that there was no uniform attitude towards the poor. Tolerance, sympathy, ignorance, disdain, and dislike all coexisted among Edinburgh’s inhabitants and depended on context. Broadly speaking, the closer a person was either physically or in terms of income to a beggar or workhouse inhabitant, the more likely he or she was to view them as ordinary human beings rather than threatening reprobates. Yet, it is also true that among those furthest removed from these groups opinion could be most extreme either in helping or condemning. Separation might have material benefits for the poor as well as indirect social ones for their benefactors. Élites may have felt the need to enhance the profile of their giving as they distanced themselves from the poor. From c.1730, regular assemblies were held, partly for social purposes, partly for philanthropic ladies to raise funds.153 Charitable functions were increasingly recognized from this date and during the severe winter of 1740 ticket proceeds were used to generate cash for poor relief. Between 1746 and 1776 £2,500 sterling was raised for the Royal Infirmary by this means and the same amount for the charity workhouse plus further sums for private charities.154 A Society of Musicians was formally created in 1753. Charitable funds already existed and ‘as their meetings have always been innocent and harmless, intended solely for the relief of the poor and those in distress, so several well-disposed people of character and reputation and not of their own employment (lovers of music) have been pleased to join with them in this charitable project’.155 Giving lent prestige. To encourage large donations to charity and obviate the need for rating, the incorporated trades of Calton decided in November 1749 to record contributions in gilded letters on a board in the convening house.156 Gairdner proposed that Trinity hospital should have a register of donors and those giving more than 50/- sterling could have their names on the wall.157 He recognized that institutional care of the poor allowed a more visible patronization of them by middle- and upper-class givers. The fact that they were not obliged to give (p.270) enhanced the social standing of the donors. Advocates’ (lawyers) exemption from local taxation was confirmed in 1687 but it was expected that members of ‘that numerous and opulent society’. as it was called by the managers of Edinburgh’s charity workhouse in 1742, would contribute voluntarily to good causes.158 Philanthropy serviced both the internal needs and external aims of polite culture. Throughout the century 1660–1760 the city authorities and better-off inhabitants did their best to care for the poor. Their division between deserving and undeserving may jar on the liberal sensibilities of the late twentieth century but the original documents make it plain that those charged with poor relief were far from doctrinaire or insensitive to the emotions of their charges. Magistrates increased the number of inmates of the Trinity hospital from 36 to 54 during the 1690s famine but during the early eighteenth century numbers hovered just over Page 25 of 50

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Marginals the target figure of 50.159 They were evidently reluctant to evict anyone admitted and preferred to rely on new places being created by the death of existing inmates.160 In 1764 the managers of the Canongate workhouse debated whether to implement an earlier decision to discontinue the pensions of those who refused to enter the establishment. Accordingly, they called all those receiving out-relief before them but ‘found none of them willing to come into the house and that notwithstanding they could not consistent with charity refuse any of them or cut them off altogether’.161 The same blend of concern and practicality was shown by the Edinburgh workhouse managers in 1766. Incurables turned out of the Royal Infirmary had, for some years, been a burden on the workhouse because most were ‘from distant and remote places’. Strictly, they had no right to charity but the managers ‘in few instances can humanely get free from giving them interim supplies’ or admitting such unfortunates.162 The solution was to make those who had sent the person into the Infirmary— usually their employer—responsible for sending incurables back whence they came.

(p.271) Attitudes among the Poor The views we have just encountered were those of social groups normally removed from any personal experience of hunger and want. Documentation was almost exclusively written by those who never had been, and were unlikely ever to be, termed ‘poor’. Those who made day-to-day decisions about whether the less fortunate were entitled to relief came from the middling sort who manned, for example, the kirk sessions. In striving to alleviate poverty the better-off members of society redefined the poor in quite a precise way. In that sense, they created a social ‘class’. Yet, the interaction between those who made and implemented policy on the one hand, and the objects of their attention on the other created only one context in which the poor saw themselves. Having examined relief, certain aspects of material existence, and attitudes towards the needy it is now time to consider how ‘the poor’ viewed their condition. There is probably no such thing as the authentic ‘voice of the poor’ because their actions and words were themselves shaped by the need to conform to models of deference and gratitude. Stuart Woolf has written: ‘The unrelenting moral pressure of benefactors has interposed thick layers of ideological preferences and prejudices between the poor and the historian.’163 Most paupers have left little trace of their existence, let alone an exposition of how they perceived their condition. Yet, there are indirect indicators. Those reduced to begging, doles, or the workhouse came from and had more frequent interactions with the labouring and artisan classes. There were certainly elements of Edinburgh’s population which did not regard the ‘respectable’ poor as outcasts and, on balance, ambivalent is probably the best way to describe their outlook on casual beggars and vagrants.

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Marginals While it is easier to study the records of institutions which cared for the indigent, most poor relief was probably made up of small acts of individual charity.164 The needy might be relieved by neighbours or by informal begging. Pawnbrokers were said to be numerous in Edinburgh and to do good business.165 Given the voluntary nature of most metropolitan relief, (p.272) harsh attitudes towards the poor cannot have been universal. In the winter of 1713 a Leith skipper had found a ‘weak and infirm’ old man on the street and offered to pay for coal to keep him warm in a nearby house, helped by a donation from two young women who had also been passing.166 In June of 1739 the town council drew back from prosecuting an ageing hatter for back rent since he was clearly unable to pay and would become a burden on the city if pressed: they allowed him to stay on rent free provided he maintained the premises.167 Just how varied attitudes among and towards the indigent were in early modern Edinburgh is only apparent when we move away from documents which chart relations between givers and those to whom they allowed or refused relief. Interactions between those of comparable status illustrate more clearly the vague definition of poverty and the complexity of attitudes towards it. A Duddingston aleseller, Mrs Hunter, was admonished by the kirk session in 1712 for counselling a pregnant girl ‘to father her child upon a far away father, telling her that by so doing she would be the sooner free of the session’.168 Late seventeenth-century ‘marshalls’ employed to keep the streets free of beggars had to agree not to accept bribes from them for permission to remain, suggesting that an adequate living could be made from begging. Margaret Auld had her pension stopped by Canongate kirk session in February 1693 ‘for keeping a woman with child gained in fornication in her house’.169 Indeed, it is clear that certain sections of the burgh community did not share the moral ‘consensus’ which the town council, church, and their agents tried to maintain. Unfortunate women were one example, but the most obvious split came in attitudes to the begging poor. Some even went to the lengths of rescuing arrested beggars from the city officers. In March 1744 a merchant’s widow, Margaret Aitchison, convocated a mob to release a beggar from three soldiers in the West Bow, shouting ‘to them to let the boy go and that they had taken him for a groat’—the (p.273) sum paid for each vagrant seized.170 In November 1737 the city officers apprehended a beggar woman. Thomas Gray, glover in St Mary’s Wynd, spotted them, called out to them to let her go and created such a fuss that a mob gathered. With the said mob’. Gray ‘gripped the beggar and forced her out of their grips and when the soldiers and officers endeavoured to retake her, the defender [Gray] with the said mob did resist and oppose them whereby she escaped.’171 The managers of the charity workhouse noted that just fifty people had been arrested for begging between 1 July 1759 and 1 April 1760 ‘of which number more than two thirds was pointed out to the soldiers, so that there is just reason to suspect that the soldiers do not do their Page 27 of 50

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Marginals duty, especially considering that beggars are frequently seen begging behind and before the guard itself’. Even allowing for the exaggeration of the better-off inhabitants, there must have been either indifference on the part of the town guard to, or active collusion with, the begging poor. The lower orders themselves seem to have felt little compunction about using the institutions around them to best effect. The council’s consciousness of the threat of famine and commitment to fund the purchase of grain throws another sidelight on attitudes among the poor. In January 1695 it minuted that the poor of Leith were ‘starving and dying upon the streets’.172 Indeed, the dearths of 1695–9 brought serious administrative problems to the city. Authorities responded in traditional manner, including tightening up relief criteria. In April 1695 the general session laid down that ‘no weekly pension be granted to any but upon a visit and report made by an elder and two deacons at least who are… to enquire of the person’s interest in the town and of their blameless behaviour and charge and necessity’. Pensioners had to attend catechizing diets and church regularly. Furthermore, no pensioners were to put up other poor as lodgers without a testimonial ‘for it is found the greatest burden of poor in this town are reset and encouraged to seek pension by weekly pensioners’.173 The authorities clearly believed that the poor, if not actively conspiring, were irresponsibly adding to the burden of relief. The kirk session of Duddingston, a rural parish on the southern fringe of the city, deplored those who (p.274) ‘are maintained by the session as poor that before death distribute their effects to their nearest relations, who notwithstanding refuse to pay the expenses of their funerals and thereby the session becomes burdened with their funeral charges’.174 Around the same date (1712) the general session became aware that some people were applying for relief from more than one kirk session in the city: a recurring problem.175 The attitude of the poor themselves to the workhouses and hospitals was at best ambivalent.176 On the one hand, some flatly refused to enter the new workhouse and had their pensions stopped until they complied.177 Charity may have formed part of a ‘moral economy’ but the form it took was important to the consensus between donors and recipients implied by that phrase.178 Apart from restrictions on lifestyle, those receiving residential care were required to surrender all their household goods.179 There were financial reasons for insisting on handing over moveable property but there was also a moral dimension. Giving up material possessions was seen as a symbolic act to fix dependence and possibly shame in the minds of inmates. The fact that inmates of the charity workhouse wore a distinctive uniform may also have helped to distinguish them from other members of the lower orders.180 On the other hand, recipients of in-relief might even be envied. In his 1728 fundraising pamphlet, Andrew Gairdner asserted that the inmates of the city’s poor hospitals ‘are happier than many other poor people who have toils and vexing Page 28 of 50

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Marginals thoughts how to get food and raiment’.181 Gairdner was appealing to middleclass prejudices and referring specifically to the Trinity hospital. Yet, his comment does suggest that independence could have its drawbacks and that relief in any form might be appreciated. Over time, the workhouse in Edinburgh (p.275) and its successors in Canongate and St Cuthbert’s probably became just another source of help in times of poverty—merely another part of the ‘economy of makeshifts’ of the poor. Perhaps the boundary between the labouring classes and the ‘dangerous’ classes was ‘blurred and fluctuating’ and perhaps ‘we can detect in their outlook the same basic scale of values, aspirations, morals and beliefs’.182 Yet it would be too simplistic to say there was a uniform culture of poverty which was characterized by sympathetic relations between the lower orders and the poor.183 At the lower reaches of urban society, the line between sufficiency and poverty was extremely fine and people who were above the breadline in one year might fall below it in another. As such, solidarity of the lower orders with the poor would be limited by competition for employment or poor relief. People could help the poor because they needed money or because they felt sorry for them. But there were limits to their charity.

The Redefinition of Begging Poverty was a fluid and complex phenomenon. Attitudes towards begging were ambivalent and contingent. But changes in poor relief during the 1740s required a redefinition of beggars which made this ambivalence harder to maintain. The presence of a workhouse made it easier for authorities to define the deserving and undeserving poor. It also contributed to a change in the nature of begging, removing some of those who might have begged from the streets. English acts of 1740 and 1744, clamping down on vagrancy, may have contributed to changing approaches to poverty in Edinburgh at this period.184 Both the face of poverty which citizens saw on the streets and attitudes towards it underwent important changes in the 1740s. The explicit aim of the workhouse was to clear beggars off the streets. Providing in-relief was not the only means of doing this. The changing place of marginal elements in the community is revealed in a pair of registers of ‘obligations to desist from begging’ covering the years 1726–35 and 1743–58.185 Recording of (p.276) agreements entered into by imprisoned beggars with the presiding bailie, and reinforced by a bond subscribed to by third party was part of the city’s continuing campaign against vagrancy. For example: William Martin, wheelwright burgess of Edinburgh, judicially enacts himself as cautioner for Marjory Robertson prisoner in the correction house for begging that for hereafter she shall not be found begging within this city or within the shires of Edinburgh [Midlothian], Haddington [East Lothian] or Linlithgow [West Lothian] or liberties thereof under the penalty Page 29 of 50

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Marginals of £20 Scots money to be paid by me to Robert Paterson overseer to the workhouse for the vagrant poor [correction house] or his successors in office in case of failure. Dated 9th February 1726 and signed by William Martin, countersigned by Thomas Dick, bailie. In May 1733 John Barclay, an Aberdeenshire tenant farmer, joined with Andrew Gray cordiner in Edinburgh, in a £100 bond that he would take his daughter Helen Barclay away from Edinburgh for good. Backing the bond of caution was the threat of a one- to seven-year stretch in the House of Correction or a briefer confinement on bread and water if the signatory was found begging again. In the first group of ‘obligations’ it was normal for someone else to stand surety for the miscreant. Just one of the fifty-nine put up his own caution money. In the 1740s 70 per cent of bonds were self-provided (119 of 169). Indeed, the whole nature of the bonds changes between the two periods with a clear shift from sureties stood by men established within the burgh community towards personal bonds, family based guarantees and more marginal elements, including females as cautioners. Only one woman offered to become bound for a beggar in the years 1726–35, a flesher’s widow. In the later period there were seven female cautioners out of a total of fifty. Cautioners in the earlier period were almost all craftsmen with a sprinkling of merchants and lesser professionals such as a customs collector (45 of 59) with the remainder servants, soldiers, indwellers, and very minor functionaries such as a beadle and a trumpeter. For the 1740s the concentration of craftsmen remains but the cautioners are more often described as journeymen rather than independent burgesses, and include travelling traders such as a barrow-man mason and a chapman. Nearly all lived in suburbs such as (p.277) Portsburgh, Pleasance, and Water of Leith. If the problems of metropolitan poverty were being dealt with increasingly effectively, suburban zones had still to struggle with inadequate resources. In May 1745 Duddingston kirk session recorded that ‘the poor in the parish were very numerous, that many who were not upon the roll stood greatly in need of it, and that a larger subsistence for those who were upon the roll would be necessary considering the price of the meal’.186 Having a cautioner in the later period was in itself unusual but in addition to the recruitment of sureties from lesser members of the community more beggars were bound over with immediate kin. In December 1744 we find ‘Margaret Dickson daughter to Andrew Dickson workman taken up for begging and liberate upon her mother’s application and promise never to allow her to beg again’.187 For the decade 1726–35 12 per cent of cautions were by members of the immediate family (parents, spouses, children), but this proportion had trebled by the 1740s. A change in the nature of begging seems to have occurred. Settled inhabitants who begged only during periods of extreme necessity had given way to begging by social marginals—both recently arrived and more established—for whom it was a way of life. In 1743 Duncan Robertson servant to Page 30 of 50

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Marginals an Edinburgh wright became cautioner for his son Robert, aged 6, while in the following year William Inch, barrowman mason, bound himself not to allow his sons James and Andrew to beg in the city.188 Those involved in begging were often very young but this cannot explain all of the stress on family cautions. Of sixty-three beggars who gave their ages to the bailie 44 per cent were aged 19 or less, 30 per cent 20 to 59, and 25 per cent 60 or older. More than two-thirds of the women were in the adult age groups compared with less than half the males.189 Beggars were mainly adults. At the same time, the distant origins of those recorded made it difficult for them to find cautions, assuming they were recent immigrants. Fifty of the sixty-one who gave their usual residence said it was Edinburgh or suburbs but of sixtynine (p.278) whose place of birth is recorded one-third came from Perthshire, a quarter from elsewhere in the eastern Highlands, and a fifth from Argyllshire, Inverness, and Sutherland. The remainder came from the central Lowlands. Some of the Highland beggars were Gaelic speakers and may have failed to find the sorts of contacts which could ease their entry into urban society. Two young women from Blair Atholl had to have a soldier from the town guard translate for them during their appearance before the bailie. Vagrants were finding it harder to form links with the established urban community and were driven to their own close kin and to other poor and peripheral groups or, ultimately, thrown back on their own devices. The social distance of those obliged to desist from begging is emphasized by their deep illiteracy: 86 per cent of men 1743–51 and 98 per cent of women compared with 16 per cent of men who stood surety for them.190 Other indicators confirm the changing nature of poverty and vagrancy in the second quarter of the eighteenth century. During the first decade more than four-fifths of entries were in February, March, and April, the months before the principal annual hiring date of Whitsunday. Most relief was sought during the winter months in any case because of the need to find food and fuel. For poor people, high food costs were not the only problem. In January 1740 one kirk session drew attention to the ‘want of subsistence and fuel for fire by reason of the severity of the season, and long continuance of the hard storm’.191 Even during the serious dearth of 1697 the poor housed in Greyfriars churchyard began to drift away in the spring.192 Beggars may have been those who left service early to seek new opportunities in Edinburgh. The seasonal distribution for the years 1743–5, which encompass five-sixths of the entries for the second period, is much more even across the year and points to more chronic begging and to the existence of a year-round vagrancy problem. The unequivocal presentation of the beggars in the register belies the difficulty of assessing the criteria used to arrest and (p.279) imprison them in the first place. One group ‘judicially acknowledge they are bred to no business nor have they any visible way to gain their bread and all of them are in use to beg’. Comparing the character of beggars in the two periods is hindered by the lack of Page 31 of 50

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Marginals incidental information in the 1726–35 obligations. Some from the later register seem to have been genuinely indigent or infirm: a shipwrecked sailor and a disbanded soldier; a cripple, an amputee, an idiot; the lame, blind, palsied, sickly, and old; Robina Hamilton ‘hardfavoured and pockfilled’. William Buchan from Aberdeenshire, ‘bred a farmer’. and the 42-year-old, Lanark-born David Semple, who gave up his trade as a clothier five years previously, are among those who gave a hint of their former lives. Not surprisingly, the occupations given by beggars were lowly: sailors, soldiers, workmen, former kirk session pensioners, for example. Most female beggars fall into the category of wife, widow, or daughter and the only actual occupations, as distinct from designations, were rag gathering and cinder gathering. Margaret Hamilton, a sailor’s widow and ‘a strong young woman who deals in gathering rags’. lived and worked in a Canongate close with another widow who collected rags. Again, widows had had low status husbands such as a coal carrier, workman, water carrier, soldier, and assorted journeymen. Others were no saints. One woman was described as ‘a vagrant and a common disturber of the peace’; Elizabeth Daniel daughter of Robert, who lived by the burgh muir, ‘having been for some time past in the practice of assuming to herself different names and under these names imposing upon and extracting money from the inhabitants’ agreed voluntarily to leave the city; an illiterate ‘vagrant’ guilty of assaulting a merchant and his family in the West Bow; a woman using an alias who had embezzled while resident in the poor house.193 Long-distance movers to Edinburgh tended to be of two sorts. First were those with secure backgrounds, personal and institutional contacts between the city and their place of origin, and, probably, secure futures. The other group comprised impoverished immigrants of uncertain past and future for whom the city was a vaguely perceived saviour. Purges of the undesirable immigrant poor were a regular feature of urban life from the (p.280) sixteenth century onwards. Edinburgh town council appointed four workmen in June 1676 ‘to turn out all sturdy beggars and vagabonds out of the parts of the city and to apprehend any idle boys and others who shall be found spoiling the cocks of the fountains’—the latter probably native children rather than vagrants.194 The problem recurred in 1684 and both before and during the dearth years of the 1690s.195 In 1693 the authorities in Edinburgh set out regulations but complained of efforts to implement legislation ‘being frustrated by the uncertainty of the parishes where…the beggars lived and was born’.196 Again at Martinmas 1709 cold weather and a poor harvest caused the council to post sentinels at each of the city ports for a week to keep beggars out of the city.197 In November 1712 another round-up was ordered, those caught to be incarcerated on bread and water until they were returned to their home parishes.198

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Marginals The geographical origins of those who agreed to stop begging shed further light on the nature of poverty at this period. The document is rare in allowing such a systematic study of the roots of identifiably poor migrants: other sources relate to the middling sort (apprentice records), or do not distinguish economic standing (marriage records), or almost certainly relate to servants (testimonials). Of sixty-nine children and adults who entered into obligations to stop begging in the city in the 1740s and who furnished their place of birth, nearly three-fifths came from the eastern Highlands (Aberdeenshire, Angus, Banffshire, Perthshire, and Moray) and one in three from Perthshire itself. One in five came from Argyllshire, Invernesshire, and Sutherland. Among these apparently rootless paupers there are tantalizing signs of migration routes, especially from Breadalbane, Logierait, and the Duke of Atholl’s estates. A stabler who stood surety in 1743 for the 9-year-old son of a deceased Breadalbane workman may be an example of the kind of contacts which existed, but Margaret MacDonald, ‘an old woman come from Breadalbane a year and a half ago’ had to fend for herself.199 Clustering of beggars from a certain locality cannot have been (p.281) an artefact of the prosecution process unless a succession of officials had a prejudice against, say, Perthshire people, or were trying to clean up a crime ring with connections with that area of Scotland. At the same time, the beggars in the ‘obligations’ may have been random cast-offs from summer migrant workers.200 Alternatively, those arrested were a cross-section of a more permanent migratory stream. The growing integration of Perthshire’s economy with that of the Lowlands in general and Edinburgh in particular from the second quarter of the eighteenth century is shown by that county’s increasing over-representation among apprentices indentured to Edinburgh companies.201 The limited evidence of the ‘obligations’ suggests that subsistence migration at this period was not a generalized movement from the Highlands but was specific to certain communities on the Highland/Lowland margin. One long-distance subsistence migrant is particularly well documented. John MacDonald’s memoirs told of his arrival with three siblings from the Highlands via the Kinghorn ferry sometime in 1745. After a brief visit to the city, he wandered around south-east Scotland begging before returning to Edinburgh in April 1746. Born around 1741, he cannot have been more than 5 years of age. He was arrested for begging by the town guard but found a job as a menial servant with a coachman and innkeeper called Mr Goolen. Soon after, he took a new job with a farmer at Corstorphine but quickly returned to the bright lights of Edinburgh. In October 1746 his brother Duncan joined him from the Highlands. Though Mr Goolen found Duncan an apprenticeship with a Falkirk stonemason, the lad visited John in Edinburgh occasionally.202

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Marginals MacDonald became a footman and in that sense was typical of Highland migrants who settled in eighteenth-century Edinburgh. In his 1787 history of Edinburgh, Kincaid asserted (p.282) that ‘almost all the chairmen, porters, watermen, guard-soldiers, and household servants are Highlanders, besides a vast number of day labourers and others’.203 If Highlanders did indeed dominate these jobs and were involved in few other occupations, their way of adapting to the city may have continued to distinguish and, possibly, disadvantage them. Their actions may have been a response to the difficulties of finding work in an ‘alien’ environment. But, by retaining a minority culture, language and identity they may have failed to realize the potential offered by full economic and social integration. We may assume that those already poor came to the city to seek charity or work. Authorities had long been aware of the attraction of Edinburgh to long-distance subsistence immigrants.204 The synod of Lothian and Tweeddale explicitly recognized the connection between poverty and migration to the city when it advised liaison between Edinburgh magistrates and rural sessions in May 1724 ‘seeing that great numbers of such beggars come from the country’.205 M’Farlan too understood that large towns always had more poor not only because of their existing occupational structure but also because of immigration by those looking to work or beg.206 Some immigrants fell on hard times in the metropolis, perhaps as a result of coming to it in order to benefit from its famous legal or medical facilities. Margaret Howison, her husband and two children had come over from Dublin to pursue a lawsuit but had spent all their money. That, the sickness of one of their children, and the fact that Margaret was the daughter of a deceased Potteraw por-tioner and brewer encouraged the presbytery to give her a dole.207 Andrew Gairdner claimed that barely one in ten of Edinburgh’s household heads of the 1720s had been born there.208 Gairdner wanted to raise funds for the hospital from all (p.283) over Scotland and may have exaggerated the extent to which ‘the inhabitants are made up of people from all parts of the nation’ in order to increase his constituency. However, other evidence supports his general point, if not the precise figures. James Riddoch ‘was educated in Perthshire to make brogues’ and had followed that trade until recently when his wife’s illness forced him to come to Edinburgh, ‘seeking help for her from physicians here’. Edinburgh’s cordiners allowed him to work as a cobbler to support himself and his wife.209 A collection was begun for a new Royal Infirmary building in 1738, ‘the present house not at all answering the number of sick and distressed poor that daily appear and several born in remote places of the kingdom’.210

Conclusion The ‘obligations’ provide a neat indication of changes which were occurring during the middle decades of the eighteenth century. The definition of the poor was made clearer in order to delineate the recipients of legitimate charity from the apparently idle and dangerous classes emerging in the city and suburbs. The Page 34 of 50

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Marginals ‘obligations’ and the establishment of the charity workhouse were part of the process of erecting boundaries in the early 1740s. That only a few entries were made of obligations to desist from begging c.1746–58 suggests that the process of redefinition had achieved a measure of success, rendering formal policing of the problem less necessary. Both authorities and beggars had learnt by experience. Why the authorities chose this point in time to open the workhouse and make other changes needs more research. The charity workhouse had been on the drawing board for decades and some short-term stimulus must have caused the decisionmakers to act. Its opening cannot be seen simply as an expression of ‘enlightened’ charitable sentiment. Political management, of the kind which had finally launched the Royal Infirmary in the 1720s, may have played a role. The dearth of 1740–1 and the shock of the Bells Mill riot (see Chapter 5), with its clear undertones of class-based distrust, may have (p.284) encouraged citizens to persist despite the difficulties they knew existed. Yet, the workhouse minutes show that the initial drive which led to the erection of the house began in 1738. Financial considerations such as falling interest rates and the credit crisis of this period may have encouraged the search for a new solution to a long-established problem. In 1743 Trinity hospital used a figure of 5 per cent as the average return on its investments. If rates fell below that (and they did) the hospital would stop taking in pensioners to replace those who had died unless bequests made it possible to top up the principal to a level where the return remained the same as before despite a lower level of interest.211 In England, the problems of administering out-relief in large and growing towns provided the initial stimulus: Bristol pioneered the workhouse in 1697 though a general enabling act was not passed until 1723.212 Charitable giving itself was drying up in early eighteenth-century England as attitudes towards the poor hardened. The 1723 act was designed to reduce the burden of the poor rate on English parishes.213 Finally, growing religious divisions marked by the establishment of a Secession church in 1733 had a deleterious effect on collections at the doors of the established churches. Whatever the reason, by the end of George II’s reign the poor were quite precisely defined as a social group. On the one hand was the relatively small number of recipients of official relief, most of them residents of the charity workhouse or one of the up-market hospitals plus a small minority of outpensioners. On the other was the large and varied group of indeterminate number who made up the rest of Edinburgh’s marginal population: immigrants, beggars, and others tainted by crime, labelled as outsiders, and denied access to formal charity.

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Marginals Some might see the developments we have discussed as a (p.285) criminalization of the poor. Foucault portrays the town as a place where the elite can best discipline ‘the dangerous classes’. exercising power and ‘repressing, excluding, forbidding, punishing, containing, masking, guarding, normalizing, training, controlling’.214 Yet, the changes we have seen are more accurately described as part of a process of social differentiation predicated in this instance on an increasingly precise delineation of the boundaries of acceptable behaviour. Their impact came from being specific rather than general. The main development in eighteenth-century Edinburgh was the institutionalization of the care of the settled poor, not the general incarceration of the begging and settled poor. Furthermore, Edinburgh’s middle-and upper-rank citizens sought to demarcate themselves from the poor more than to discipline them. The poor were not wholly separated because the process by which they were selected for institutions remained essentially personal. However, the workhouse removed the poor from their neighbourhoods and changed the act of giving from face-to-face to distant. The ideal of a personal relationship between donor and recipient was retained without the fact. What is important is less changes in the nature of poverty or even its incidence than the process by which one group sought to define another and the way this contributed to their own identity. Whether these changes were good or bad for the poor themselves is a question we have addressed only indirectly. Some clearly disliked institutional relief, others regarded it as a haven from the need to find food, fuel, rent, and clothing. Nor can we (p.286) claim that begging was entirely swept off the streets of a more effectively policed town from the 1740s, for this is patently untrue.215 Outrelief remained as a complement to the workhouse. Nevertheless, the decade saw fundamental changes in the place of impoverished and socially marginal people. From being at least partly integrated into the city’s life they became largely detached from it by changing social attitudes and institutional structures which placed the indigent firmly within the context of the workhouse. Outdoor relief had no reformatory intent. It made relatively few moral judgements in its rather imprecise classification of the poor. Outdoor relief upheld the independence of those designated poor. The workhouse did none of these. A shift from out- to indoor relief marked decisively by the opening of the charity workhouse in 1743 heralded a fundamental social transformation. Embedded in this some might be tempted to see a transition from Vance’s relatively egalitarian guild-city to Sjoberg’s merchant-dominated town with its conspicuous wealth and background poverty. Yet, Edinburgh before the mideighteenth century was not a paradise for the poor. Frequent purges of beggars and the ‘refugee camps’ of the late 1690s refute such a notion. The poor were controlled but in a different way. The kirk treasurer’s accounts from the Restoration period offer a guide to the seamier side of urban life. In 1687 there are three entries ‘for burying a corpse found in the street’ and one ‘for burying a murdered child found in the north loch’. Two years later the accounts include: Page 36 of 50

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Marginals ‘Bringing to the Tron 3 murdered infants and exposing them there and burial’. This was the year of the battle of Killiecrankie, ‘Revolution’. and extensive social dislocation. The bodies may have been laid out to elicit information or shame the guilty, though it may be worth noting that the Scottish Parliament passed an act in 1690, modelled on the 1624 (p.287) English statute, tightening up the law on infanticide. A display to shock people into thinking about what was perceived as a growing problem may have been intended. A handful of coffins for nameless poor found dead in the streets were among the 324 provided by the kirk treasurer for the year 1699. This almost casual mortality seems to have been less prevalent in the eighteenth century but on 27 August 1721 an old man was found dead at the entrance to Canongate churchyard and another in November.216 Poverty had always had a dark side and a dismal face. By the 1760s the division between the settled, respectable poor and the floating, marginal elements had become very evident. The city’s criminal register or ‘back book’ for that period paints a picture of a disordered and dangerous element within urban society. Admittedly, this source contains many of the worst features of Edinburgh life and the changing tone may be the result of new fashions in record keeping or of a heightened sensibility on the part of document keepers. The catalogue of frauds, pickpockets in church, burglaries, young people gambling in churchyards, bold night walking, noisy houses, and persistent, aggressive ‘sorning’ or begging with menaces is hard to ignore.217 The point is not really whether there were objective changes in crime and poverty though as George Ill’s reign went on the documents give this impression. It is that the respectable classes were developing new attitudes and the documents show this unequivocally.218 By 1770, metropolitan poor relief had become largely institutionalized. To the existing, mainly middle-class hospitals had been added another two workhouses where the less fortunate could be kept out of sight. They were not out of mind for both the town council and worthy voluntary groups made genuine (p.288) and probably successful efforts to provide for them. The aim of poor relief reorganization was to rationalize administration in a growing city and to save money. But it is plain that those who made the decision to establish the workhouse felt they were doing the best possible both by the citizens who had to pay for relief and by the poor. There are many signs that Edinburgh’s ‘haves’ appreciated the needs of the ‘have nots’ and gave willingly to them. The system of relief may have lacked the ‘modernity’ of English rating but it was highly responsive. Intention may have been honourable but the the workhouse actually performed a divisive role. The definition of the deserving poor which had existed throughout our period was formalized to mean those receiving relief in the workhouses or as their official out-pensioners. It is clear from the sources that the objective considerations of want or need were secondary to those of birth, origin, and Page 37 of 50

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Marginals behaviour when it came to deciding the level and type of relief offered—if any. The genteel poor, whose social status was determined more by who they had been than by the fact that they were now indigent, formed a separate category whether in the long-established Trinity hospital or Heriot’s, or the new children’s hospitals from the early eighteenth century. The begging poor, most of them not established in the city, were more effectively marginalized by the new system and forced increasingly to participate primarily in associations with vagrants and other peripheral elements of urban society such as common soldiers.219 The poor relief system which developed between the 1730s and the 1760s made social distinctions much clearer and easier to make. In other words, the reorganization stemmed from changing attitudes but it also helped to shape —perhaps to harden—future perceptions of the lower orders. The improvable society of the Scottish Enlightenment was based on a narrow definition of society’s acceptable members and their place in its structure. The young were nourished and educated for they were malleable; those adults to whom no blame could be attached were cared for; the rest were viewed with distrust—to be controlled by the courts or discarded. Debates thus took place against a background of stark social polarization and the perception of growing social problems. (p.289) John Dwyer reminds us how sympathy could turn to condescension, relations of humanity into those of power. In the language of Enlightenment writing, the growing acceptability of ‘sympathy’ over ‘empathy’ had a price in social terms. ‘Even the most humane sentimental constructs implied a complex system of social layering and distancing, containing elements of control.’ Though the exchange between givers and receivers ‘affirmed the values of humanity and community, it invariably transformed many objects of sympathy into victims of power’.220 This chapter has shown the process by which that change occurred. We should not exaggerate the extent to which ‘control’ had been exerted over the lower orders. The reality or the threat of the workhouse might, in theory, have been a way of making the lower orders toe the line. However, indicators such as popular protest (Chapter 5) suggest the opposite. In fact, there was little overlap between the personnel of pre-workhouse riots and those at risk of entering the workhouse. If anything, the post-1743 protests were more likely to be staged by marginals. Changes in riot and changes in poor relief were part of the same phenomenon but the association is not what we might at first suspect. The result of the changes was, however, the same for the better-off. The city’s elite could afford to move to their new homes in the fashionable squares of Edinburgh from the 1750s and 1760s, fixing by their residence and their fashionable ideas a set of social distinctions which had been in the making for more than a quarter of a century. The New Town was a product of new architectural taste and of burgeoning prosperity for some sections of urban society. But it also set the seal on emerging social divisions which allowed the Page 38 of 50

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Marginals elites comfortably to avoid social classes who were different as much as they were ‘dangerous’. Notes:

(1) R. Mitchison, ‘The Making of the Old Scottish Poor Law’. Past & Present, 63 (1974), 58–93. (2) SRO CS96/295. Stark, Picture, 326. R. A. Cage, The Scottish Poor Law, 1745– 1845 (Edinburgh, 1981), 50–2. Workhouses were largely urban in England before c.1750 though the movement spread to the countryside in the later eighteenth century. Rule, Albion’s People, 126–9. (3) Quoted in P. Mathias, The Transformation of England (London, 1979), 135. The comment apparently originated with Dr Johnson. (4) M. H. D. van Leeuwen, ‘Bijstand in Amsterdam, ca. 1800–1850: Armenzorgals beheersings- en overlevingsstrategie’. Ph.D. thesis (Utrecht, 1990), 315. (5) Stuart Woolf suggests that access to the labour market was the most important dividing line, though even that is not easy to draw. S. Woolf, ‘Order, Class and the Urban Poor’. in M. L. Bush (ed.), Social Orders and Social Classes in Europe Since 1500: Studies in Social Stratification (London, 1992), 187. Elsewhere he draws our attention to the artificiality of using any dividing line ‘which tends to ignore or mask the fluidity and gradualness of the process by which people decline, sometimes more than once, into a condition of poverty’; S. Woolf, The Poor in Western Europe in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries (London, 1986), 4. The very fluidity and relativity of the condition of being poor denies the fixity of all categorizations.’ Ibid. 5. (6) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. ii. (7) Boulton, Neighbourhood, 84. (8) ECA MB 52, 6. (9) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen, vol. vi, fo. 49v. (10) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 11. (11) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 114. (12) SRO CH2/122/12b, fo. 105. (13) ECA MB 65, 132. (14) SRO CH2/121/13, 145. (15) SRO GD348/207. Page 39 of 50

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Marginals (16) SRO GD348/207, 21 Nov. 1739. (17) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,105–6. (18) Stevenson, Freemasons, 36–7. (19) SRO GD348/206. (20) SRO GD348/207. (21) ECA Minutes of Canongate Workhouse i. 40–1. (22) NLS MS 1972. (23) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen, viii. 18. The document says that 7,400 hundredweight (370 tons!) of coal were agreed but this must be a confusion on the clerk’s part. (24) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. ii. (25) Ibid., vol. iii, 26 May 1757. (26) ECA Cordiners of Portsburgh, 248–9. (27) SRO CH2/121/6, 72. (28) SRO CH2/122/10, fo. 81r. (29) Ibid., fo. 76v. (30) SRO CH2/122/11a, fo. 75. (31) SROCH2/122/12a,fos.81,90v. (32) SRO CH2/131/1, fo. 35v. (33) A. Birnie, ‘The Edinburgh Charity Workhouse, 1740–1845’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 22 (1938), 39. (34) SRO GD18/3026. An attempt at compulsory rating is documented at South Leith 1692–3 in response to an earlier Privy Council initiative. D. Robertson, The Bailies of Leith (Leith, 1915), 270–1. (35) SRO GDI/12/64. There was still vigorous opposition to rating in the 1770s. R. Mitchison, ‘The Poor Law ’, in Devine and Mitchison, People and Society in Scotland, i. 257. (36) Heron, Merchants, 106.

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Marginals (37) SRO CH2/136/2, 10–11. Until 1743 the kirk treasurer co-ordinated collections, disbursed to weekly and monthly pensioners and handled the care of orphans and foundlings; he also paid for boarding prisoners in the House of Correction. (38) SRO CH2/122/4,433; CH2/131/1, fo. 51v. (39) ECA Kirk Treasurer’s accounts, 6 vols., 1663–1743. (40) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 262; Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 17. (41) ECA Dean of Guild’s Court vi. 119. (42) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 66. (43) Flinn, Scottish Population, 166. (44) SRO CH2/131/2, 14. (45) SRO CH2/121/6, 72. (46) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 258,263–4. (47) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 20. (48) NLS 3.2848[3], 10. Ry.l.5.334, 3. ECA MB 66, 27–43. (49) Smout, Statistical Account, 48. (50) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. ii. (51) SRO CH2/121/6, 72. The Leith equivalent of Trinity hospital was the tiny King James’s hospital. (52) SRO GD348/207. (53) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen, vol. vi. fo. 22v. (54) Ibid., vol. vii. (55) SRO RH15/28/88. Among the ranks of the more genteel poor were a small number of crown pensioners, most notably the royal bedesmen who once occupied an almshouse in the Cowgate, wore distinctive blue gowns and to whom a presentation was made at an annual ceremony. Wilson, Memorials, i. 243. The treasury in London paid out £150 sterling to Sir David Nairn ‘being the usual allowance payable to our almoner at Edinburgh for providing gowns and other charities to be distributed to the poor there upon our [royal] birthday and for his [own] allowance’. PRO Calendar of Treasury Books 23/2 (1949), 59.

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Marginals (56) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 9. (57) ECA MB 53,295–6. Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 28. (58) ECA Minutes of Canongate Workhouse, 54–5 misnumbered. Paying patients as well as paupers were allowed into the city’s Bedlam. Birnie, ‘Charity Workhouse’. 45. (59) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 412–14. The house of correction resembled a French dépôt de mendicité in contrast with the city’s charity workhouses which were more like the traditional hôpitaux before the reforms of the 1720s and before the hôpitaux began to be replaced by dépôts after 1768. R. M. Schwarz, Policing the Poor in Eighteenth Century France (Durham, NC, 1988), 168–9. (60) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 10. (61) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 247–8. (62) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 79–80. (63) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 16. (64) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 222. M. Wood, ‘St Paul’s Work’. Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 17 (1930), 49–75. (65) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 40, 260. (66) Wood, ‘St Paul’s Work’. 75. (67) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 36. (68) Richardson, ‘Dean Orphan Hospital’, 158. (69) SRO CH2/121/13, 110–11, 165, 336, 425. ECA MB 60, 212. The SSPCK was the Society in Scotland for Propagating Christian Knowledge. (70) SRO CH2/121/14, 45. (71) M’Farlan, Inquiries, 225. (72) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 211,221,227. (73) SRO SC39/120/2, fo. 3. Fourteen non-metropolitan towns founded municipal workhouses in England 1696–1715 to overcome the perceived problems of parochial poor relief. Edinburgh was more successful than London, where fail ure to centralize poor relief funds in a corporation of the poor during the 1690s and 1700s condemned the city workhouse to the role of a house of correction for the whole of the eighteenth century. S. MacFarlane, ’Social Policy and the Poor in the Later Seventeenth Century’. in Beier and Finlay, Making of the Metropolis, Page 42 of 50

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Marginals 252–77. English houses of correction outside London seem to have been shorterterm, punitive institutions which did not provide training for children. (74) ECA Scroll book of the New kirk session, 28 Mar. 1738. The latter were described in 1749 as out-pensioners ‘who have casual supplies when sick, or laid aside from work for a little time’ and decayed burgesses. NLS Ry.1.5.334, 15. (75) Glasgow’s town hospital was better managed and funded than Edinburgh’s charity workhouse throughout the eighteenth century. (76) ECA MB 62,86. MB 63,109. (77) ECA MB 64, 63. (78) ECA MB 64, 132–3. (79) ECA St Cuthbert’s workhouse. (80) ECA Minutes of Canongate Workhouse. Edinburgh’s charity workhouses seem to have played less part in the regulation of the labour-force than the French hôpitaux and dépôts. Giving people work and finding jobs for former inmates was part of their function, but Edinburgh’s hospitals and workhouses were not glorified bureaux des pauvres. Schwarz, Policing the Poor, 125–31. (81) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, vol. i, 9 Apr. 1747. (82) Ibid. ii. 4–5. Birnie, ‘Charity Workhouse’. 40. Attitudes towards insanity form a large and important topic, which I hope to address in a later book. (83) Woolf, Poor, 5, highlights the difficulties in interpreting sources which identify the poor: ‘The concept of who was poor depended in each instance on the categorization (necessarily) employed in order to draw up the list.’ (84) ECA Annuity Rolls, 1696–7. Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’. 489. (85) NLS 3.2848[3], 16, 22, 25, 28–9. This case is one of many which shows that the interests of the main political groupings—heritors, church, and town council —were far from uniform. (86) T. Arkell, The Incidence of Poverty in England in the Later Seventeenth Century’. Social History, 12/1 (1987), 23–47. (87) Boulton, Neighbourhood, 115. Langford, England, 63, uses payment of poor rates as an indicator of middle class status. (88) EC A Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, vol. i, 5 Apr. 1743. (89) ECA MB 59,200–1. Page 43 of 50

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Marginals (90) SRO CH2/131/3. (91) Desbrisay, ‘Authority and Discipline’. 355. Woolf, Poor, 6, offers a range of 4– 8% for cities in western Europe from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century. (92) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, p. v. (93) Towill, ‘Merchant Maiden Hospital’. 52. (94) Wood, ‘St Paul’s Work’. 64. (95) M’Farlan, Inquiries, 131–2. (96) Ferguson, ‘Comparative Study’. 173. (97) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 269. (98) J. D. Post, Food Shortage, Climatic Variability, and Epidemic Disease in Preindustrial Europe: The Mortality Peak in the Early 1740s (Ithaca, NY, 1985), 150. (99) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 117. (100) This information also invites a sceptical reappraisal of Fletcher of Saltoun’s estimate that 200,000 people became vagrants during the dearths of the 1690s. (101) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, p. xxxiv, 208–9. Flinn, Scottish Population, 168– 9. (102) SRO CH2/131/l, fo. 79. (103) Ibid., fos. 87–8. (104) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 3. Bryce, Old Greyfriars’, 113. (105) NLS MS 658, fos. 22,23v. (106) Smith, Wealth, 335. (107) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, vol. i, 15 Apr. 1743. (108) Woolf, ‘Order’. 186. (109) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 249,255. (110) SRO CH2/131 /l, fo. 36v. (111) SRO CH2/122/6, fo. 60. (112) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 312,381. Page 44 of 50

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Marginals (113) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 141. (114) SRO CH2/126/1, 122. (115) SRO CH2/127/1, 130. (116) SRO CH2/121/8, 118. (117) NLS1.4[29]. (118) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, vol. i, 15 Apr. 1743. (119) SRO CH2/131/1, fo. 85v. (120) ECA MB 70, 79. (121) ECA A rental of the nine churches of Edinburgh, 1746–8, 1757–8. (122) NLSRy.1.5.334, 15. (123) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 25–6,36–7. (124) Woolf, ‘Order’. 192. (125) SRO CH2/122/12b, fo. 128v. (126) Cage, Poor Law, 58. (127) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen, vol. vi. fos. 313–19. (128) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 135. (129) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 28. (130) SRO FS1/17/33, (131) NLS 1.1.109. Thomas Ruddiman established the Edinburgh Society of Teachers in 1737 to care for members’ widows and orphans. Stevenson, Annals, 130. (132) M’Farlan, Inquiries, 23,27–33. (133) Ibid. 23. (134) Ibid. 5–9. (135) Ibid. 243. (136) SRO GD18/5826. (137) Law, Education, 42. Page 45 of 50

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Marginals (138) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 27. (139) SRO RH15/57/12. (140) SR RH15/57/13. (141) Armet, Extracts 1701–18,92. (142) Lorimer, West Kirke, 33. (143) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 18. Cage, Poor Law, 72. (144) Edinburgh was not like late medieval Paris, where marginal elements were treated with ‘animosity, distrust and contempt’; Geremek, Margins, 300. (145) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, vol. i, 14 Apr. 1743. (146) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, ii. 14. (147) Ibid. ii. 18. (148) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 320. (149) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, ii. 17. (150) T. Munck, Seventeenth Century Europe, 1598–1700 (London, 1990), 196. (151) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, ii. 7. (152) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 22. (153) Jamieson, ‘social Assemblies’. 42. (154) Ibid. 77. Justifications for the opening of the Infirmary included the need to care for poor people, described in a telling phrase as ‘these miserable objects’. (155) ECA MB 71,167. (156) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. iii. (157) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 19. (158) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, vol. i, 5 Nov. 1742. (159) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 50, 243. (160) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 9. (161) ECA Minutes of Canongate Workhouse, 127. (162) ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse, ii. 234. Page 46 of 50

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Marginals (163) Woolf, Poor, 38. (164) Boulton, Neighbourhood, 247. (165) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 214. Macfarlane, ‘social Policy’. 256–7 lists the multiple sources of relief in late seventeenth-century London. Woolf, Poor, 14 regards recourse to the pawnshop as marking the last stage of a slide into poverty. (166) SRO JC7/6. (167) ECA MB 60, 113–14. (168) SRO CH2/125/1, 23–4. (169) SRO CH2/122/9. (170) Ibid. (171) SRO JP35/4/3. (172) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 168. (173) SRO CH2/131/1, fos. 70v–71r. (174) SRO CH2/125/1, 25–6. (175) SRO CH2/131/2, 113. (176) As it was in eighteenth-century Paris. Kaplow, ‘Culture of Poverty’, 283–4. (177) ECA Scroll book of the New kirk session, 26 Apr. 1743. As in England, it seems to have been the loss of liberty rather than living standards which promoted the aversion. Rule, Albion’s People, 127. (178) Woolf, Poor, 39. The term is E. P. Thompson’s and is discussed further in Ch. 5. Perhaps the building of the workhouse marked a step back from consensus by the city authorities, as was happening with their contemporary response to riot. (179) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 11. (180) Birnie, ‘Charity Workhouse’. 41. (181) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 27. (182) Geremek, Margins, 243,304, writing of late medieval Paris. (183) Burke, ‘Urban History’, 78.

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Marginals (184) Langford, England, 153. (185) ECA Burgh court records, Obligations to desist from begging. (186) SRO CH2/125/1, 15. (187) ECA obligations, 61. (188) Ibid. 8,35. (189) Of women given designations 1726–35 seven were married and seventeen 1743–58 though the high number of unknowns in both periods means that exact proportions cannot be compared with any confidence. (190) This mirrors a finding for contemporary European towns where accused people were less literate (and younger) than ‘non-criminals’ in the same occupations. P. Butel and J. P. Poussou, La Vie quotidienne til Bordeaux au XVIIIe siècle(Paris, 1980), 309. (191) SRO CH2/122/12c, fo. 211v. (192) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 213–14. (193) In order, ECA obligations 32, 76, 52, 62, 14, 45, 82, 1, 8. (194) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 268. (195) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 106. Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 85. (196) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 117, 133–4. (197) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 180. (198) Ibid. 241. (199) ECA obligations, 11, 31. (200) poussou notes regular flows of long-distance seasonal migrants from mountainous areas of southern France, travelling in groups. Quoted in P. P. Viazzo, Upland Communities: Environment, Population and Social Structure in the Alps since the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, 1989), 143. (201) A. A. Lovett, I. D. Whyte, and K. A. Whyte, ‘Poisson Regression Analysis and Migration Fields: The Example of the Apprenticeship Records of Edinburgh in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, NS 10 (1985), 324. (202) MacDonald, Memoirs, 9–18.

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Marginals (203) Kincaid, Edinburgh, 155. In this Highlanders resembled the Savoyard brentatori, who carried wine kegs in contemporary Turin, or Galician water carriers in Madrid. Workers in the transport sector of the economy of eighteenth-century Rhineland towns were predominantly recent immigrants. Viazzo, Upland Communities, 150. Meyer, ttudes, 67. Vogler, ‘La Rh£hanie’. 410. In eigh-teenth-century Paris migrants from Savoy or the Auvergne lived in the same street or even house and different regional or ethnic groups chose to retain their identity in early modern Rome and Naples. Burke, ‘Urban History’. 72–3. (204) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 92. (205) SRO CH2/424/11. (206) M’Farlan, Inquiries, 126–7. (207) SRO CH2/121/10, 268. (208) Gairdner, Trinity Hospital, 6. (209) SRO GD348/207, 17 Oct. 1754. (210) SRO CH2/121 /13, 482. (211) ECA Trinity Hospital, 134–5. Another long-mooted scheme for relieving the indigent finally realized around this date was that to help Church of Scotland ministers’ widows. Dunlop, Scottish Ministers’ Widows’ Fund. (212) Rule, Albion’s People, 128. The 1723 act lead to the creation of about 110 workhouses in England by mid-century, nearly half in London. Speck, Stability and Strife, 77. (213) Ibid. 78–9,164. There were roughly 2,000 workhouses in England by 1776, accommodating more than 90,000 people. Langford, England, 150–2. We have already noted the English vagrancy acts of 1740 and 1744. (214) Bédarida, ‘French Approach to Urban History’. 404. There are important constrasts here with contemporary France. Schwarz writes of ‘a vast program of enfertnement. Carried out from 1724 until the end of 1733 under the direction of the royal administration and with unprecedented financial support from the royal treasury, the program represented the state’s most extensive attempt prior to the 1760s to bring mendicity under control in every province of France’. Schwarz, Policing the Poor, 34. Edinburgh’s initiative was a local one, very much in the British tradition of devolved local government. Its efforts did not derive from ‘a sweeping conception of authority which justified and required the surveillance, regulation, and control of nearly everything associated with public life’. Ibid. 4. Where the French tried to incarcerate beggars, Edinburgh sought Page 49 of 50

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Marginals to house its settled poor while purging itself of vagrants and only sending those tainted by explicit criminality to the house of correction. Scotland’s capital aimed simply to control rather than to repress and exploit the poor. Edinburgh made more distinction between types of poor and dealt with them in different ways from the French. (215) See, for example, the complaints about street begging in 1757 and 1760, ECA Minutes of Edinburgh Workhouse ii. 109, 157–8. Licensed begging by badged poor was still normal elsewhere—for example, at South Leith during the 1750s. The endpiece of vol. xxvi of the surviving kirk session register has a list of names and the number of their badge. SRO CH2/716/26. Some complained that the changed climate in Edinburgh from 1743 simply exported the problem of unlicensed begging to other parishes such as South Leith. J. S. Marshall, The Life and Times of Leith (Edinburgh, 1986), 93. Robertson, Leith, 273–6. James M’Farlan felt that penal laws against begging were too severe and that humane people were reluctant to enforce them. Inquiries, 70. (216) All examples ECA Kirk Treasurer’s accounts except 1699, ECA Moses 208/7528. (217) ECA Edinburgh black books, vol. iv. (218) Similar changes have been documented for some continental towns. Bruges in the Low Countries had three times as many prosecutions for prostitution 1749–73 as in 1724–48 and ten times more for drunkenness. Ghent had a 50% increase in the per capita prosecution rate 1715–19 to 1775–9. Lottin and Soly, ‘Villes des Pays-Bas’. 264. From the mid-eighteenth century in Bordeaux, recent immigrants became heavily over-represented among those accused before the city’s criminal courts. Butel and Poussou, La Vie quotidienne h Bordeaux, 300– 20. (219) Houston, ‘Military in Edinburgh Society’. (220) J. Dwyer, ‘Enlightened Spectators and Classical Moralists: Sympathetic Relations in Eighteenth-Century Scotland’. in J. Dwyer, and R. B. Sher (eds.), Sociability and Society in Eighteenth-Century Scotland (Edinburgh, 1993), 115. Phillipson, ‘Adam Smith as Civic Moralist’. 186–9.

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Popular Protest

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

Popular Protest R. A. Houston

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.003.0006

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses a different chronology of the riots in Edinburgh. It documents some of the most significant riots in Edinburgh from 1660 until 1760, and attempts to analyse the motives, personnel, and overall ‘tone’ of the riots. The chapter asks what changes can tell the readers about the overall nature of social and political relationships in Edinburgh. Keywords:   chronology, riots, significant riots, social relationships, political relationships, Edinburgh, motives, personnel, tone

Introduction If riot is taken as a sign of divisions in a society, that of early modern Scotland may have been unusually cohesive. Historians have often remarked that documented riot was uncommon in Scottish rural life in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and early eighteenth centuries.1 Even in the early nineteenth century the agrarian social structure of Lowland Scotland militated against the eruption of protests similar to the English ‘Captain Swing’ riots.2 What protest there was before the end of the eighteenth century was mainly in towns and even there it was less common than in other countries of Europe. Recent work has begun to suggest that beneath this apparently placid exterior existed a lively tradition of group protest, notably in the towns of the central Lowlands.3 Yet, until the late eighteenth century riot did not apparently present a threat to the social fabric. Protest was usually structured and orderly: at least partly an attempt to remind the authorities of their responsibilities. Hamish Fraser notes that, as in England, riots were ‘part and parcel of how different Page 1 of 37

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Popular Protest elements in the eighteenth-century community interacted’.4 He locates important changes in the nature of protest after the 1760s and especially after c. 1790 when (p.291) he finds ‘less of a common understanding of the traditional theatricality of the crowd’s actions and a greater readiness to resort to force by both sides’.5 Changes in riot indicate a profound shift from ‘communityorientated paternalism’ to ‘the bracing winds of laissez-faire’, a development which occurred between c.1780 and 1820 but especially in the 1810s.6 Because of its rapid industrialization, Glasgow was in the forefront of this change. The 1787 weavers’ riot traumatized the city authorities who treated it not as a temporary fracture in social relations but as a pathological tumult, not as a failure of negotiation and concession but as a threat which had to be met by both propaganda and physical force.7 For Edinburgh, Fraser sees the 1811–12 Hogmanay Tron riots forming a similar watershed in social relations. This chapter posits a different chronology. It will document some of the most significant riots in Edinburgh 1660–1760 but its aim is not simply to uncover instances of protest. Instead, it will analyse the personnel, motives, and overall ‘tone’ of riots, asking what changes can tell us about the nature of social and political relationships in Edinburgh. We shall argue that while riot was a sign of serious divisions within urban society in the mid-eighteenth century, it had a much more integrative function in earlier decades. Before the mid-eighteenth century, riot allowed the young and non-burgesses as much opportunity as their elders and betters to voice opinion on religious policy, taxation, food supplies, perceived injustices, and wider political events within the kingdom. Rioters were drawn from the settled middling ranks of the burgh and they sometimes sought actively to involve the city authorities in their actions. Changes in the incidence of riot, its causes, and its nature provide important pointers to broader social changes in eighteenth-century Edinburgh. Manning speaks of English riots c.1517–c.1640 following ‘a progression from traditional rituals of social inversion through attempts to blame economic distress upon outsiders and efforts to recall magistrates to traditional standards of justice, finally emerging as cohesive and politically conscious attempts to influence royal policies’.8 Edinburgh, on the other hand, contained all these elements between 1660 and 1760, and developments (p.292) did not follow the path Manning lays out. Before c.1740, Edinburgh’s riots were closer in nature to those of contemporary London, notably in concern for national rather than local issues, and in open criticism of leaders. Indeed, Harris sees post-Restoration London riots being influenced by three inherited assumptions: belief in the independence of city government; hostility to catholicism; xenophobia.9 Similar strains run through Edinburgh riots, at least until the 1720s and 1730s. The main difference was the relative religious and political homogeneity of Edinburgh protesters compared with London. Indeed, the divisions within the community which Harris documents are much less obvious in Edinburgh riots. This is not to say that rioters were a unified group but that they tended to follow Page 2 of 37

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Popular Protest a consistent line throughout the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century. After c.1740 the nature of riot became very different.

Politics, Taxation and Religion, 1660–1736 Serious outbursts of popular protest occurred in the city during 1664, 1672, 1678, 1682, 1688–91, 1706–7, 1736, 1740 with many lesser incidents during the century 1660–1760. The large-scale riots of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century have the appearance of broadly based political protests. They drew participants principally from youth groups, journeymen, and petty artisans; their activities were generally bounded by mass perceptions of legality; their anger focused on issues of religion, taxation, and political change; and their objects were usually some form of ‘outsider’, whether an individual such as an unpopular politician or tax collector, or a group such as soldiers or catholics. In the main, sectional interests did not cause extensive riots though there was certainly a tradition of taking particular grievances onto the streets. Very different was the Bell’s Mill riot in the autumn of 1740 which marked an important change in the nature of large-scale protest. It became much more an example of sectional, (p.293) lower-class interests with an unmitigated ugliness absent from earlier protests. The riots which followed between then and the 1770s were primarily about the standard of living of those who worked with their hands. Once broadly based and politically minded, the Edinburgh crowd became narrower and more evidently ‘selfish’. This chapter details the most important riots between the 1660s and the 1730s and looks at provocations for, and participants in, some of the smaller-scale protests. It contains a good deal of detail because a close analysis of events, personnel, and motivations is essential if we are to appreciate the change which is marked by the Bell’s Mill riot. The first serious riots of the post-Restoration period began on Wednesday 23 November 1664 when the tacksman or tax farmer of the customs duties in Edinburgh sent searchers into the city’s shops to look for unstamped cloth which contravened recent customs legislation.10 The number of goods on which excise had to be paid grew after the Restoration. According to a letter from Archbishop Burnet to Archbishop Sheldon, dated the 26th, ‘his majesty has of late been so… defrauded of his customs and excise that the lords of his Exchequer judged it convenient to revive an old act for sealing all foreign cloths and stuffs and seizing what was unsealed’.11 Edinburgh’s shopkeepers did not take kindly to these changes. One, Andrew Bruce, shut his shop and several other merchants boarded up their premises in sympathy from the 23rd until Friday 25th, among them the town treasurer and one of the city bailies. Seen by Archbishop Burnet as flouting the Exchequer’s authority, this action was followed by riots on the Wednesday and Thursday nights. On the evening of the 23rd ‘a great and confused multitude of people’ assembled on the High Street near the Luckenbooths where a guard of four sentries had been posted at Bruce’s shop to prevent the goods being removed until the charge that he owed money to the Page 3 of 37

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Popular Protest tacksman had been settled in court. Archbishop Burnet stated that ‘some foolish boys and inconsiderable persons reviled and provoked’ the soldiers.12 The Lord Lyon came (p.294) down from the castle to move the mob while the lord provost tried to calm the situation. The Lord Lyon’s call for more troops from the castle produced an outcry that the provost was to be taken there. The rumour that the provost had been arrested was rife throughout the city though one deponent in the case affirmed that the provost disappeared to discuss matters amicably with the Lord Lyon in a tavern in Forrester’s Wynd.13 When he eventually appeared before the crowd at the Luckenbooths, the provost defused the situation by agreeing to speak on behalf of the crowd, who for their part consented to disperse after accompanying him to his house.14 Thus far, many sections of burgh society seem to have concurred with the essentially peaceful and legalistic actions of the crowd. Their actions were directed against those seen as outsiders or agents of national authority infringing on local privileges. Around 7 p.m. the following evening apprentices and others gathered again. This time many had swords according to Sir Charles Erskine, the Lord Lyon.15 The mood was more determined, and having a long time roved and run up and down the streets with drawn swords and great noise and clamour, they did in the end go to James Cockburn’s house upon the north side of the way upon the High Street against the court of guard, to have searched for and seized upon Sir Walter Seatoun, tacksman of his majesty’s customs, who was in use when he was in the town (as he was frequently) to stay and lodge in the said house, and did begin to throw stones at the windows.16 Their quarry was not at home and the crowd was referred to Andrew Caddell’s inn to which they gained access after stoning the rear of the building. But Seatoun was not to be found there and the crowd returned to Cockburn’s house, where they prevented the provost from gaining entry while breaking down the door of Seatoun’s apartment. Finding nothing after a search which included running their swords into the bed, the rioters left with some of Cockburn’s papers.17 The provost departed the scene after calming the rioters, most of whom dispersed. However, the arrival with reinforcements of the Lord Lyon, who seems to have been unaware that the tumult had subsided, (p.295) caused tempers to flare among the rump of the rioters. His attempt to gain access to Cockburn’s house with the help of musketeers was resisted by the remaining protesters, one of whom, Peter Richardson, servant or apprentice to Robert Mitchelson, merchant, was shot and killed.18 Archbishop Burnet’s assessment is brief and telling. This (though in itself very inconsiderable) made a great noise and might have proved a dangerous preparative.’19

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Popular Protest As it was, this proved the end of the matter. As Sir Charles Erskine said: ‘the whole tumult was dispersed and the streets turned quiet’.20 The Lord Commissioner, stationed in the Canongate, had not entered the city with cavalry until the tumult had subsided. However, on the Friday morning he carpeted the town council. Threatening the provost and magistrates (‘more…than they deserved’, according to Burnet) he demanded that shops be reopened, all rioters be seized and the city companies be raised. One man, caught by the Lord Lyon in Cockburn’s house, ‘though for ought I can hear one of the most innocent’ according to Burnet, was indicted, condemned, and sentenced to hang that Saturday afternoon. Archbishop Burnet’s comment that ‘the provost and magistrates of Edinburgh contribute not a little to our tranquillity and peace’ offers a simple and accurate diagnosis of events.21 The rioters sought actively to draw the town council into their actions, legitimizing them and thus reinforcing the consensus between rulers and ruled within urban society. The 1664 Edinburgh riots were directed against unpopular excises levied by outsiders. The city officials were the main force behind stability, the lord provost defusing potentially ugly situations on more than one occasion. Interventions by the Lord Lyon had proved counter-productive and bloody. That the Lord Commissioner had not introduced cavalry into the city at an early stage was probably a blessing. On this occasion, magistrates clearly had sympathy with the crowd’s viewpoint and had responded positively to its calls for action. A riot of this kind probably helped to reinforce the social order within Edinburgh by creating a sense of unity against a threat from outside. Edinburgh’s economy was in poor shape in the 1660s and (p.296) the crowd directed its discontent at the forces which they believed were behind this. The November 1664 riots in Edinburgh were directed against an individual collector, as in London, but unlike London the tax itself also came under attack.22 Further insights into personnel and motivation can be gleaned from the Privy Council’s investigation into these riots. The possibility of treasonable plotting in the city was played down.23 Most of the actors were ‘very young and boys for the most part, not above 20 years and some 15 and 16 years of age, so that it cannot be thought that any plot or design’ should be imputed. The leadership of the first assembly was unclear but Archibald Newall, apprentice to David Boyd, merchant, was arrested for carrying stones and a stick. Those arrested on Thursday and referred to by the Privy Council included six servants, three apprentices, a merchant, and a baxter.24 The apparently random actions and willingness to desist from rioting when asked by the provost further reinforced this view and despite the killing of a rioter no further disturbances had occurred. Furthermore, ‘the actors in the said tumults were not only merchants but some of the crafts’. Since ‘there are differences and questions presently in agitation and thereupon animosity between the merchants and crafts, so that it cannot be thought that they could cement and join together in such a design’.25 Yet, the Page 5 of 37

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Popular Protest very fact of existing divisions between merchants and crafts highlights the unifying power of the grievances which led to riot. Nor were all the merchants involved in this aggressive method of drawing attention to their grievances. Twenty merchants petitioned the Earl of Eglinton at the Exchequer court on the Thursday morning, their way of protesting being to shut their shops rather than riot, though as the Privy Council recognized, this action may have given encouragement to their apprentices and servants to act in support of their masters’ (p.297) grievances.26 The merchants themselves used legal means to press their case. Relative lack of responsibility may have allowed youths to say and do in public what their elders thought in private. Prior to their confrontation with the Exchequer, the merchants had met in a part of St Giles and raised 40 or 45 ‘dollars’ to pay for a lawyer to help them in their case.27 This evidence offers a valuable sidelight on Lynch’s perceptive comment that the craftsmen of the sixteenth century resorted to courts rather than the streets to make their point.28 Masters might in the seventeenth and eighteenth century but their journeymen and servants took more direct action. Perhaps court and street were complementary. The level of violence in the riots of November 1664 was low. Some rioters carried swords—the provost estimated that twenty were so armed29—hammers, iron bars, and large rocks. When Cockburn’s papers were seized he was advised to hand them over without protest as they would then be easier to get back.30 One young apothecary whose shop was beneath Cockburn’s house had tried unsuccessfully to stop the stone throwing there. What Sir Charles Erskine called ‘the constable guard’ remained ostentatiously inactive throughout the second tumult, despite being only yards away from Cockburn’s house.31 Menacing as the swords and sticks might have been, the only documented call for violence was a young man who cried ‘Stick Cockburn if Sir Walter could not be found’.32 Easily contained, relatively peaceful and participated in largely by hot-headed youths ‘the said tumult was only an extemporary and sudden commotion’.33 The significance of the comment that there was little love lost between merchants and crafts became apparent within two years. Much has been made of the importance of ceremony in integrating diverse and possibly antagonistic elements of urban (p.298) society.34 But organized processions and gatherings also gave structured opportunities to air and escalate existing grievances. Tensions could be exacerbated as well as attenuated by public meetings. In June 1666 the yearly procession of craft and trade companies with their arms and flags was revived after a gap of some years. The council ordered all able bodied men aged 16 to 60 to ‘provide themselves with sufficient arms, pikes, swords, muskets, powder, ball and match and such like other arms requisite for offence and defence’.35 Bands of merchant and craft youths were formed into separate companies, a long-standing source of friction over precedence in the tour of the city and liberties. Other companies, merchants, and crafts marched side by side, commanded by officers chosen alternately from each. The town council had tried Page 6 of 37

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Popular Protest to defuse tensions by arranging for one company to march out in the lead, the other to take pole position on the way back. However, on 7 September 1666 Nicoll’s Diary records the death of a merchant apprentice after a clash between the rival companies at the weapon showing. The procession, described as a rich and colourful spectacle, had gone off peacefully enough but after the bands had paraded before the High Commissioner at Holyrood, a fight broke out over precedence for the return journey to the city.36 The parade was stopped and when revived in May 1677 there ensued a full-scale riot at Holyrood. For an account of this fracas, we must rely on the evidence of Fountainhall, son-in-law of the former lord provost, Sir Andrew Ramsay, and no friend of the sitting council. He says that the council ordered the merchant youths alone to parade on 24 May and that the disgruntled craft youths rioted on the High Street on the 23rd. Despite arrests and the dispersal of the crowd, the craft ‘boys’ gathered the next day in the King’s Park, their numbers swelled to 2,000 or 3,000 by an influx of their fellows from the nearby market towns of Dalkeith and Mussleburgh. Cavalry was used to disperse the assembled youths, injuries being sustained by both sides. The council promised to contain the disturbances and to (p.299) have the leaders of the merchant and craft companies present themselves before the Privy Council. The deacons of crafts also subscribed a bond of 40,000 merks for the good behaviour of their subordinates—a large sum. The Privy Council was mollified and agreed to allow the weapon showing to go ahead, peacefully as it turned out, on 29 May 1677.37 Presumably the council had pulled out all the stops to show the government that it could keep its own house in order. In the meantime, riots had again afflicted the city in the autumn of 1672 and were reported to the Duke of Lauderdale by his correspondent John Paterson. Paterson had returned to Edinburgh at the start of October to find the city in uproar ‘on account of the late election of our magistrates, our council being filled with daily protests and our streets with such crowdings of people who seem much disposed to tumult and mutiny’.38 Paterson pointed the finger at Francis Kinloch as the instigator of these troubles. Kinloch had been a bailie in 1663–4 and Dean of Guild 1665–72 (and again 1675–7). He was leader of a faction which opposed the re-election of Sir Andrew Ramsay, a man in his midfifties who had been provost continuously since 1662 (and also 1655–7), an unprecedented term since the last reform of the city’s set in 1583. Indirect efforts ‘to obstruct the continuance of the provost’ proving ineffectual, Kinloch tried to declare the election illegal and consulted advocates with a view to an action before the Court of Session or Privy Council. He had had the support of some of the craft deacons for a time but their decision to back the elected provost robbed him of manœuvring room in the council itself. Kinloch was therefore driven to stirring up the populace of the city with the claim that the continuation of the present provost was an infringement of their liberties. In this he succeeded, ‘for yesterday around our council house was gathered such a Page 7 of 37

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Popular Protest throng of people as could hardly be passed through and at the coming forth of the provost and council the street was crowded as thick as at an execution’.39 On this occasion rioters seem to have followed the partisan lines established among the élites. Ramsay was eventually forced to stand down. Paterson spoke of ‘the fear of mutiny among our people, which cannot but be (p.300) much fomented by our fanatic party’ and concluded ‘it appears that nothing but faction is in the matter’. His allegiance to Ramsay and to great politicians like Lauderdale who favoured oligarchy as a means of governing the city is clear. Ramsay himself was a client of Lauderdale. On 23 May 1665 he had written to the duke mentioning disorder in St Cuthbert’s parish; infighting on the council; attempted bribery at an election; ‘the new clergy which begins already to be more troublesome than the old’; finally, he talks of Sir William Sharp’s ‘profuse and unusual liberality to some and of his promised great things to others if he should win his cause’.40 However, we should not accept Paterson’s implication that the crowd was a pawn of a disaffected political élite. Kinloch and others were tapping and directing an existing vein of public opinion rather than creating a new or artificial one. Further correspondence unveils details of the machinations. Kinloch and a former bailie called John Johnston (who held the office 1665–6) were said to be ‘seeking opportunities for attaining their ambitious ends’. Kinloch indeed became provost for two years in 1677 and Johnston again served as a bailie 1675–6 and 1683–4. Their argument was that Sir Andrew Ramsay could not remain provost on his elevation to Lord of Session. Having tried and failed to pack the council, election to which came eight days before that of the magistrates, time was running short for the schemers and desperate measures were called for. Kinloch distributed a hundred copies of a broadsheet to the effect that Ramsay’s election ‘would open a door to let in the ruin and loss of the liberties and privileges of the burgh which had been maintained by their predecessors with great zeal and faithfulness’—a reference to the existing disputes about the development of oligarchy through prolonged service by the politically connected on the council.41 Kinloch and Johnston sat up most of the night before the magisterial election in a tavern, cajoling the dozen or so deacons of crafts ‘of purpose to get their votes’. On the following morning hundreds of people gathered in and around the Parliament Close. Some did most insolently lift up one another on their shoulders to the windows of the council house to hear and see what the council were doing (p.301) and if there was any appearance of heat amongst them and which

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Popular Protest multitude were heard to boast that they were come to see the provost forced to demit if he would not do the same voluntarily.42 On leaving the chamber, the magistrates were surprised to encounter the throng and were ‘hemmed in on both hands with the multitude’. Kinloch spoke ominously ‘that if a moderate course had not been taken by the council that day none could have warranted the consequence of that convocation’ while promising that if anyone had been arrested they would have been rescued and the crowd would have stormed the Tolbooth if necessary.43 Kinloch was clearly a demagogue, not to mention a difficult man. He sought out one of the bailies, Alexander Pitcairn, at a friend’s funeral in the Greyfriars churchyard, abusing him there as, among other things, a bankrupt. Called to account by the burgh council, Kinloch offered to fight Pitcairn: ‘to cast his doublet with him’. George Gardener, deacon of the tailors, had been ‘sore dealt with’ and threatened with prosecution for debt if he voted for Ramsay.44 Thomas Robertson, city treasurer and an ally of Kinloch, tried to prevail with the deacon by offering to cancel a large debt Gardener owed to the town.45 Kinloch’s stance as a protector of citizen’s rights loses what little credibility it may have had when we discover that he was later tried before a crown court for ‘malversations and embezzlement of the town’s revenue and common good’ during his term as provost. He was father-in-law of the disgraced town clerk James Rocheid and part of a group which included other corrupt politicians like Magnus Prince.46 This incident is an example of one faction playing on the sensibilities of the city’s population and its fear of becoming the pawns of oligarchy and influence. Depositions about the tumult include those of people who overheard black statements: if Ramsay did not stand down ‘he would be demitted and his flesh sold through the town’ and a writer who said in drink that ‘he would give five shillings sterling for a finger of him’.47 It was (p.302) probably not difficult to appeal to the rhetoric of liberty. On the other hand, Kinloch was not wholly master of the situation and it would appear that the resolution of the provost issue robbed him of his platform. The troubles within the city prompted Charles II to withdraw the council’s right to choose magistrates, a restraint removed in the summer of 1675 thanks, among others, to the good offices of the disgraced former town clerk, Sir James Rocheid. There were times when the city’s interest needed a corrupt hand. Continued in-fighting is shown by a remark in the council minutes that ‘the factious violence of some ill-humoured persons (who perceiving that their private ends might be disappointed by taking off the said restraint) did stir up and incense many of the last [outgoing] council against’ Rocheid.48 The 1670s contained further instances of unrest. The Duke of Lauderdale wrote from Edinburgh to Charles Maitland on 13 November 1673: ‘ever since I came here I have been told of great clamours [that] had been raised against the matter of the preemption of the salt [duty] all over the country, as also against Page 9 of 37

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Popular Protest the imposition on tobacco’.49 The sensitivity of London and Edinburgh to the threat of treason is shown by the charges raised against Andrew Kennedy in January of 1673 for importing illegal books, specifically Napthalie and Jus populi vindicatum. Worse, he was accused of importing arms and corresponding with banished Scots ministers in Holland during the recent Dutch war.50 There is a reference to ‘the late tumult in the parliament yard [close]’ in a letter from Thomas Haye to the Duke of Lauderdale dated 4 July 1674. Haye says that the magistrates had been ordered to investigate those who had been present but had failed to turn up much information, even after diligent enquiry.51 On the same day the Earl of Kincardine wrote about dissent among the clergy against the bishop of Edinburgh with the observation: ‘It is strange that all sorts of people thus grow mutinous together’.52 One group who needed little encouragement to ‘mutiny’ were the university’s few hundred students. A Privy Council (p.303) proclamation of 21 January 1681 ordered the university to be closed during an enquiry into recent riots on the occasion of the Duke of York’s visit to Edinburgh. The magistrates had tried and failed in their tactful attempt to prevent students burning the pope in effigy, as they commonly did at Christmas, while the heir to the throne was in the city. Instead, ringleaders were arrested.53 The Privy Council castigated ‘several disloyal and malicious persons [who], frequenting our good town of Edinburgh, have instigated the students of the college therein, to enter bonds and combinations, and convocate in tumult’. During the past weeks the students had been guilty of assaults, ‘and to strengthen their combination, did associate themselves with prentices, and introduce a new way of tumultuating, by putting up blue ribbons as signs and cognizances, not only to difference them from others, but likewise for convocating themselves’. Despite repeated warnings, the youths had run around ‘in tumults, disquieting the nobility and gentry of both sexes, and threatening the provost…with the burning of his house of Priestfield’ and this was indeed razed.54 Shadowy figures appear in a number of the important riots of the period exploiting and perhaps orchestrating unrest.55 It is important to distinguish between faction fighting within the city and true agents provocateurs. It proved much easier to pontificate about the latter than either to identify the actual individuals concerned or assess their significance. The lively tradition of street action in which students participated could spill over into full scale riot. Alexander Cluny, tailor, was arrested and imprisoned following a riot in early May 1682. With John Hastie, litster, and James Morton, hatmaker, he had been involved in a fracas which began around 11 p.m. and (p. 304) ended at about 3 a.m. It ranged from the Canongate Tolbooth to the Lawnmarket. The issue was an attempt to impress criminals for army service with the Prince of Orange. The details of events can be briefly summarized under two heads. The first was an attack on the Lords of Council. Stones were thrown at the windows of Sir George Kinnaird, before an assembled mob entered the house where Kinnaird, the Lord Clerk Register, and the Earls of Page 10 of 37

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Popular Protest Errol, Marshall, and Kintore were meeting. A servant of the Earl of Errol was hit on the head by a stone and a rock the size of a fist hit Earl Marshall on the shoulder. When the rioters stormed the building, the nobles drew their swords and prepared to defend themselves though no fighting seems to have occurred. The second dimension to the riot was the abduction of Major George Johnston. He told the Justiciary Court how the mob had broken into the Canongate Tolbooth and come up the High Street to the Court of Guard, into which they forced their way with a hail of stones. Taken prisoner, the major was powerless to comply when a servant of Kinnaird’s summoned him to meet the Lords of Council. Instead, Johnston was spirited away around the town as the mob sought to find bailie Thomas Kennedy. In a shop at the Netherbow, Johnston was threatened by some rioters and hit a few times but John Hastie had promised he would suffer no harm. A drummer and escort appeared from the town guard to sound the call to arms but were beaten back by the rabble and the drum was broken.56 The foregoing description comes from the Justiciary Court minutes. Other sources reveal that troops had been used against the rioters and that several people had been shot by them. Specifically, these were twenty ‘greycoats’ recruited for daytime watching in 1679 at the insistence of the Privy Council. The riot had taken place on the second of May. Afterwards, the council was pressured by the Privy Council into demanding a bond from the deacons of crafts but raised a company of 118 soldiers instead who were charged with keeping the peace. A royal commission to this effect was issued ten days later. To enhance credibility, the council also prohibited sellers of ‘pigs and cans’ (p. 305) (earthenware vessels) displaying them on the High Street lest they be used as missiles.57 These are the bare bones of the riot. The testimonies reveal important details about the participants and their behaviour. Apprentices were prominent. Hastie was indentured to a litster’s widow in Glasgow and had been sent to Edinburgh to deliver a letter to her son, a student, about procuring cloth for finishing. He was supposed to be staying with the student but was detained by friends at Leith. Hastie pleaded that he had been caught up in the riot by accident, an excuse which seems to have been accepted by the judges as he was eventually released. He claimed there were hundreds of people going up and down the street with the apprentices who were not involved in the assault: ‘it is ordinary in all frays or commotions of that nature that every body runs to the street to see what the matter means’. Indeed, Morton too could only be identified by soldiers standing with two youths after the riot. Cluny was the only accused seen attacking Kinnaird’s residence and one gets the impression that the three men on trial were not especially prominent in the riot but simply had the misfortune to be recognized. Cluny’s claim that he had been in a house in Blackfriars Wynd from 7 p.m. till 1 a.m. did not exonerate him—the assault took place around 1 Page 11 of 37

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Popular Protest a.m.—but it does show that people joined riots and left them at different stages and could, unwittingly, get caught up in events. It also demonstrates the problem of distinguishing between instigators, participants, and spectators. Two further riots took place in 1686, both with a strong political and religious dimension. After the second, David Mowbray, journeyman shoemaker, was condemned to hang and three rioters were shot and killed. Apprentices had rioted against catholics in general and the Countess of Perth in particular. Wife of the Lord High Chancellor, himself a recent convert to Catholicism, she lived in the Canongate. The chief officers of state were also mobbed on account of their public celebration of mass. James VII was trying to make Edinburgh’s legal, medical, and academic establishment an extension of the royal court with figures like the apostate Robert Sibbald (Physician Royal from (p.306) 1680) part of a patronage network which consolidated the crown’s power over the city.58 On the morning of 31 January, Mowbray had been part of a mob which had rescued Robert Grieve, a baxter’s ‘boy’ (a term used interchangeably with apprentice, servant, and, sometimes, journeyman) who was to be scourged by the town officers at the Canongate head for his part in the earlier riot. The officers told how Mowbray had led the boy away by the hand after his rescue while all around them the crowd bayed, ‘crying and swearing outrageously’. The officers had been pushed to the ground and two of them said Mowbray had affirmed ‘that he would take part with the trades’. Some rioters were whipped and further protest was contained but not before soldiers from the castle had killed two men and a woman.59 Tension ran high in the late autumn of 1688. On 26 November, the town council announced to the Privy Council that they had nipped in the bud attempts by ‘some idle persons within the city who had seduced and persuaded several of the students of the college to join with them’ in subversion and riot. The authorities were in a nervous mood and a precarious position. James VII had ordered all except the ordinary garrisons to leave Scotland for England at the end of September and William of Orange had landed in England on 5 November. Drawing attention to the suppression of the January/February 1686 tumult, the Privy Council offered two standard responses: ordering the council to require bonds of all citizens that they would prevent their servants and apprentices participating in riots; and requiring magistrates and constables closely to monitor any strangers who should enter the city. They also spoke darkly of ‘a reproach to our holy religion, and a stain to our ancient loyalty’ and threatened ‘immediately [to] remove the judicatures from this, to some other town that will carry itself more dutifully’.60

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Popular Protest Ordinary measures to cap protest did not work in the extraordinary conditions of the time. On Sunday 9th there was a rumour of a massacre on the streets and groups of youths, a few (p.307) with swords, had gone through the streets crying out ‘no papists’. No harm was done to people or property because the city magistrates had ordered the ports to be closed.61 The following day, according to one young man, another group assembled, mostly armed with sticks though some had swords and one a pistol. These youths took down the Earl of Perth’s picture from a building at the back of the Canongate tron or weigh house. A suggestion that they burn Edinburgh’s tron was abandoned in favour of a march, to the beat of a drum, down the Canongate to where Captain Wallace was drawn up with a detachment in front of the Abbey. Their aim was to destroy pictures and images and pull down the papist chapel which was being guarded by Wallace. What happened then is both confused and confusing. Deponents who related events in the riot of 10 December told conflicting stories which highlight the problem for participants and authorities alike of assessing what happened, let alone why it occurred. However, testimonies from a number of perspectives allow a picture of events to be pieced together. Put simply, Captain Wallace fired on an anti-papist mob, was ordered by the Privy Council to give himself up, refused, fired again on the crowd, magistrates, and trained bands, but was eventually overpowered. Wallace seems to have over-reacted, at least initially since the crowd was largely unarmed, if menacing. One clear testimony came from James Smith, the ensign who had set up canons at the Abbey. He heard but did not see the crowd disperse after the first volley and then heard a second volley. After the firing he heard the explosion of a ‘grenade’ and, since he later discovered that the cannons had not been fired, assumed this had been thrown by the troops. The ensign had not seen any arms among the rioters but another deponent, William Pratt, described the mob as well armed and of an ugly disposition. Henry Pitcairne of Pitlour, whose lodgings overlooked the scene, identified swords and guns in the hands of some of the 400 or so rioters (he called them ‘rabble’) and heard Wallace repeatedly ask them to withdraw before ordering his troops to open fire. Whether the difference in perceptions was a result of different attitudes to (p.308) protests and authority, or physical vantage points is unclear. A surgeon’s apprentice, Thomas Kincaid, also used the word ‘rabble’ in his diary entry about the incident.62 Certainly, the confrontation could have been much worse for some rioters had earlier been refused weapons to use against ‘that dog Wallace’ by the town guard. Thomas Littlejohn, a tailor’s son, added another piece to the jigsaw. In the dark, he heard Wallace several times order the mob to disperse. Boys around him had muttered that they would not retreat after coming so far and that Wallace ‘durst not fire amongst them for his hanging’. The crowd recognized that the troops Page 13 of 37

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Popular Protest had to operate within the law and only to use moderate force, though in this case their assumption of safety proved tragically misplaced. In the initial volley, two rioters fell, one of them a stabler’s servant whose hand had been shattered by a musket ball. Littlejohn was always careful when describing the crowd to use the phrase ‘rabble or company’, implying ambivalent attitudes towards their actions. He too added weight to the idea that the crowd had its own momentum, moral and physical, asserting that ‘those who were behind did rush and drive on those who were before’. Wallace was cornered in the Abbey. Soon after, the magistrates, a heraldic messenger from the Privy Council, and Captain James Graham’s trained band arrived on the scene to require Wallace’s surrender. At this juncture, between the two volleys from Wallace’s men, some deponents claimed to have heard pistol shots from the crowd and Captain James Cunningham along with three of his men were hit by shots ‘from that company that attended the magistrates’. Wallace’s men again opened fire and had to be overpowered by the trained bands. With Wallace and his men out of the way, ‘the boys entered the Abbey, dismantled the chapel and destroyed everything in it’ according to a letter written the next day by a minister called John Birnie. They ‘have ruined the Abbey church and all the fine work there; they have rifled and spoiled utterly the Chancellor’s house, his books and furniture and all the houses of the papists and burned all at the Cross with all the pictures and images’.63 Within days, the Privy Council issued another proclamation (p.309) (13 December 1688) which made clear that the repercussions of the Edinburgh riots were being felt all over Scotland. Nothing, they held, was more damaging to religion, property, and liberty than being ‘exposed to the arbitrary insults of licentious tumults, who being guided only by blinded rage, are ready to make a prey of any whole estates, or persons [who] can satisfy their revenge or avarice’.64 Indeed, any principled content to the riots was diluted by greed and violence for the next day the Privy Council issued a further order to search for and restore looted goods and to prosecute thieves and resetters (harbourers) of the same.65 However, the authorities had no doubt about who was to blame for the killings in the city. On the afternoon of 10 December, as we have seen, the Privy Council had already ordered the magistrates of the city to use the trained bands to surround Wallace and force the surrender of himself and his officers. Interestingly, Captain John Wallace was not tried for his part in the deaths until May 1692.66 In the mean time, other tumults had occurred. At the end of May 1689 a handful of bonfires appeared in the streets and people openly drank the health of the deposed James VII. Numbers on the streets grew when the guard was called in to arrest the perpetrators. The keeper of the Tolbooth was accused of ‘making discord with prisoners for refusing to drink confusion to all them that were come to invade England’ in 1689.67 The Privy Council had to order a curfew on 6 Page 14 of 37

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Popular Protest August after their invitation to celebrate William of Orange’s victory in Ireland, issued the previous day, had backfired. Town council and Privy Council tended to blame the young for tumults. This was true at one level but the deacons of crafts allowed in June 1690 that masters bore a responsibility and should not employ unruly journeymen. Apprentices and servants had been identified throwing stones on the High Street. Recent riots were laid at the door of journeymen associating with ‘other unruly and disorderly persons and that the conniving at them heretofore when they have been guilty of tumultuous risings and disorders has given them encouragement at this present to associate with other disturbers of the peace’.68 Masters may have been (p.310) sympathetic to the goals and actions of their employees though their status within the city and obligation to serve in the militia prevented them taking to the streets themselves. Around this time, the council disbanded the town guard but quickly realized that the trained bands were no substitute because working craftsmen and tradesmen could not be expected to be on duty twenty-four hours a day.69 They were less likely to provoke antagonisms because they were ‘of the community’ but this also made the trained bands less effective. The city guard were unpopular with almost everyone. Holidays and festivals, like Whitsunday and Martinmas, were frequently associated with disorderly behaviour. Of the city guard, Walter Scott remarked: ‘On all occasions when a holiday licensed some riot and irregularity, a skirmish with these veterans was a favourite recreation with the rabble of Edinburgh.’70 Vilified by the townspeople, they were also subject to attack by regular soldiers. In one fracas during 1690 nearly a score of the guard had been injured and two killed after a run-in with members of Lord Leven’s regiment.71 A proclamation of 3 March 1693 warned inhabitants of the consequences of attacking the town guard or ‘standing forces’ who were given authority to open fire on protesters. This, it said, was made necessary ‘by the frequent tumults raised within the burgh of Edinburgh, by loose and disorderly persons, specially journeymen, prentices, and other ill-disposed servants and young men’.72 One had taken place the previous evening. Marginalia in a contemporary hand tell how: this proclamation was occasioned by a tumult that was raised upon a plea and ruffle between some tradesmen, journeymen and prentices, baxters in the Canongate, and some soldiers of Colonel Sir James Leslie his regiment of foot as they were coming from Leith on the second of March 1693 after seeing the [horse] race that is yearly kept there. Who coming to the head of Leith Wynd it became greater, on which they and (p.311) other trades lads of the city joining, they came to seek assistance of the town guard, who refusing, they joined with a great rabble of all sorts, broke open the guard and beats [them]…In which tumult there was several killed on both sides.73

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Popular Protest The shortcomings of the town guard the previous night forced the town council to order four companies of the trained bands to turn out at 4 p.m. on 3 May. To show how serious they were taking events, the council explicitly barred the use of servants or hirelings to substitute for householders. In this year the council ordered a clause to be inserted in all apprentice contracts to the effect that the youth would take no part in any tumults.74 On the night of 20 June 1700 a riot began when stones were thrown at windows not illuminated to celebrate the victory at Darien. There had been no official order to this effect but after a meeting in a tavern word spread that ‘all true Caledonians’ would light up their windows. In a letter written the following day to a Mr Carstairs, Murray of Philiphaugh opined that the crowd sought out government officials. They tried to obtain a warrant to release prisoners in the Tolbooth by threatening Lord Carmichael and then the Lord Advocate. Stone throwing and bullying escalated into an assault with hammers and then fire to release six prisoners in triumph from the Tolbooth. The tardy arrival of the magistrates and town guard, who had hoped the anger of the mob would have abated, only served to exacerbate tensions. The rioters retreated initially then cornered the guard in the Laigh Council House, where they were bombarded with stones. Murray of Philiphaugh told how the magistrates and guard ‘were beaten off by a great many in gentlemen’s habits, who came briskly up to them with drawn swords’. Swords and bayonets were used against the guard, killing one and wounding others. The rioters, numbering around 100, then marched on the Court of Guard where arms, drums, and colours were seized. Four men were indicted. One, Robert Henderson, a printer’s servant, was let off for helping to protect the keeper of the Tolbooth but the others were whipped and banished. In a riot which lasted from about 9 p.m. until 3–4 a.m., it is difficult to detect much high principle or disciplined action. Admittedly, (p.312) the ostensible purpose of the attack on the Tolbooth was to release two printers incarcerated for printing pamphlets critical of the government. However, two of the men released by the crowd had been imprisoned for armed rebellion and another, Richard Carse, flesher, had killed a man by stabbing him in the face. A Potteraw maltman’s wife tried to disarm one accused man, Charles Weir, and later asked him to help protect the keeper of the Tolbooth against the mob. However, Weir had been seen throwing stones at Viscount Seafield’s windows. A former bailie spoke of a multitude ‘running up and down the streets in great confusion throwing stones at the glass windows’ giving an impression of anarchy. Some people clearly wanted blood. Henderson had been unpopular with certain rioters for trying to protect the keeper: ‘what, will you hinder the rascal to be murdered?’75 Once the riot was over, two halberds were handed back to the guard. Carpeted by HM Commissioner in Scotland, the town council wholly condemned the actions of the crowd. The atmosphere remained tense and the magistrates Page 16 of 37

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Popular Protest themselves were subjected to further abuse in the week that followed the riot. The Earl of Melville told Carstairs that the town council had done all it could to restore order and support the government but was unable wholly to suppress dissent. The mob ordered a tune mocking King William—‘Willful Willy, wilt thou be willful still’—to be played on the town bells. The subsequent disaster at Darien provoked another outburst.76 More sinister is the evidence of James Cleland in the 1700 case who ‘saw three men in the habit of gentlemen each of them fire a pistol at the guards’. Hugh Neilson, a keeper of the Tolbooth, told how one of the accused men had saved him from the sword thrust of ‘a slender gentleman with black clothes’. One of the accused had gone into the prison looking for two men called Frazer, imprisoned for armed rebellion, for whom he asked in both English and Gaelic.77 This was an example of what might loosely be termed a ‘nationalist’ riot. AntiEnglish satires were thick on the ground in the 1700s and the traveller Taylor bought one for curiosity. By (p.313) Forbes of Disblair, it was called ‘A pill for pork eaters, or a Scotch launcet for an English swelling’. Possibly feeling a little vulnerable, Taylor remarked that ‘the children, which can but just speak, seem to have a natural antipathy against the English’.78 In 1705 a mob terrorized the Privy Council into turning down a pardon for clemency for one Captain Green, an Englishman accused of piracy. Believing he was to be reprieved at the behest of Anglophile courtiers, they ‘did attack the Lord Chancellor in his coach with stones and sticks, who with great difficulty escaped, his coach being broke to pieces, and my Lord run up the stairs to a house’.79 Anglophobia reached its height during the debates over a Union of Parliaments with England. In 1706 the house of Sir Patrick Johnston, an advocate of the Union, was attacked and soldiers were used to suppress the trouble.80 A proclamation of 24 October 1706 described rioting over debates on the proposed Union of Parliaments as ‘contrary to the very being and constitution of government, and destructive of the chief ends thereof, the safety and security of men’s lives and fortunes’. These have happened within these few days, and particularly on the 23rd instant, and near to the Parliament House, and in the Parliament Close, even [in] the time of sitting, and at the rising of the high and honourable court of Parliament, where our High Commissioner was present among them, most disorderly and insolent convocations, and gathering of commons, filling the streets with clamour and confusion, and insulting not only peaceable persons but also some of the members of our high and honourable court of Parliament, presuming to threaten and invade them in their very dwelling houses, by a most villainous and outrageous mob.81

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Popular Protest According to one account, riot was almost a daily event around this time and the nobility, High Commissioner, and Privy Councillors had to walk around rather than draw the stone-throwing mob’s fury against their coaches, which, even when driven at high speed, risked being destroyed.82 Mobbing ministers at the time of the Union of Parliaments was part of a tradition of direct involvement. The taverns, coffee shops, and streets of early eighteenth-century Edinburgh must have hummed with (p.314) political gossip and argument. Debate flourished in the city, ‘all exclaiming against the Union, and speaking very free language concerning the promoters of it’.83 Four infantry regiments were posted in Edinburgh in 1707. Popular unrest was exacerbated by disagreements between the city’s two MPs over the Union. Sir Patrick Johnston voted for it and was later obliged to leave the country.84 All aspects of city life were touched by the unrest. Daniel Defoe wrote on 5 August 1707: ‘The brewers are now going mad in their turns…Several of them gave over work, and the servants finding others did not went yesterday in a tumult to those houses that were at work and put out their fires and let their liquor run about’.85 Not all mobs were riotous. The Duke of Hamilton was regularly escorted by a friendly crowd from the parliament to his Holyrood lodgings.86 Hamilton (James Douglas) was the head of the nationalist, ‘country’ party opposed to Union. Daniel Defoe’s journalism adds detail to the picture. In a letter to Robert Harley dated 24 October he referred to troubles within the Scots parliament and to street protests.87 A few days later a mob attending Hamilton on a visit to the Duke of Atholl set to Patrick Johnston’s door. His wife called out of the window for the city guard but a bystander who tried to summon them ‘found the officers very indifferent in the matter, whether as to the cause or, is rather judged, through fear of the rabble’. The mob withdrew when the guard eventually arrived but ‘they fled not far, but hallowing and throwing stones and sticks at the soldiers’. In the evening of that day, the riot flared up again and Defoe ‘saw a terrible multitude come up the High Street with a drum at the head of them, shouting and swearing and crying out all Scotland would stand together, no Union, no Union, English dogs and the like’. The city’s ports were shut but crowds continued to throng the city.88 Never short of a well-turned phrase, Defoe evoked the atmosphere of chronic fear in late October 1706: ‘The city was at this time in a terrible fright. The guards were insulted and stoned as they stood, the mob put out all the lights, no body could stir in (p.315) the streets, and not a light be seen in a window for fear of stones’.89 Edinburgh remained quiet during November, though the Union Commissioner had been stoned, insulted, and threatened on the 19th and throughout November and December people watched anxiously as many armed strangers arrived in the city. The most serious rioting that month took place in the west, notably at Glasgow and Stirling.90 The stationing in Edinburgh of regular troops with orders to fire on rioters who did not disperse may have cooled the ardour of some opponents of Union. However, the impression is that Page 18 of 37

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Popular Protest an appeal by the city magistrates had more effect in defusing tension than direct intervention by force—for example, in October 1706.91 Feelings continued to run high. In the 1709 section of a business book belonging to David Geddes, merchant, is a section of a song: O Scotland awake and get to your arms for the English rogues have sworn that you shall be brought down down, down, down to the ground.92

The removal of Scots MPs to Westminster did not mean an end to attempts to influence national politics. Mass demonstrations of support for popular peers continued to show political consciousness. The election of peers to represent Scotland in the House of Lords normally took place at Holyrood but in June 1734 the venue was the burgh room. ‘The publicness of the place gave…an opportunity to show their sense concerning the contending sides, by the loudest acclamations, when the Patriot lords appeared on foot in the Parliament Close. The others had passed without any marks of approbation’.93 Given a chance, Edinburgh’s people would make political statements. Sometimes those statements involved stepping over the boundaries of acceptable group action. When that happened the authorities might decide to send in troops. Employing any kind of armed force against rioters was a gamble since friction between soldiers and citizens might have been the cause of the protest and the presence of the military tended to fan the flames (p.316) of unrest. Soldiers personified the forces of outside intervention so reviled by Edinburgh’s inhabitants. In June 1721 a platoon of Colonel Harrison’s regiment came to the Netherbow port and three men fired their weapons into the city killing Thomas Boyd, barber, and wounding a woman in the leg. The troops had been pelted with stones, ‘brick bats’ and dirt from the city wall as they had marched up Leith Wynd. The sergeant in command had drawn up his men outside the Netherbow, anxious that the stones might be followed by shots. A ‘mob’ gathered and, to protect his retreat down the Canongate, the sergeant left three frightened and angry men who had fired on them. There is no doubt that the troops were provoked and must have felt cornered. They had to march up and down long, narrow streets which left them at a disadvantage to potential attackers. However, the miscreants were no more than a handful of boys aged between 7 and 12 years old, according to different deponents. One affirmed that a crowd only gathered after the shooting. Several witnesses confirmed that the sergeant had tried to stop his men shooting but one witness heard a soldier say with an oath that he ‘had sent some of these Jacobites to hell’ and, of the troublesome boys, ‘he would make them sweet or sleep’.94 Crowd and troops alike were aware that the constraints of the civil law operated on both of them

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Popular Protest and that the military personnel could be prosecuted for excessive force or failure to seek magistrates’ authority. Riots against soldiers occurred throughout the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century.95 Instead of complaining to the magistrates or military officers, inhabitants with a grievance against a soldier tended to take it out on the army at large. On 20 February 1694 there was an attack on troops ‘whereby a party of the Canongate guard coming up to the council house have been thereby dissipated and a tumult occasioned’.96 The troops got their own back two years later when the town council resolved immediately to lay before the Privy Council ‘a great abuse and riot committed upon the keepers of the Canongate prison’.97 The perpetrators of this indignity were officers whose (p. 317) patience and dignity had been tested to the limit. Under normal circumstances, soldiers were evidently expected to tolerate a degree of physical abuse. A proclamation of 1734 spoke of journeymen and apprentices who had ‘at several times beaten, insulted and thrown stones at several soldiers… threatening with clubs and stones to deforce a guard of his majesty’s forces in the Canongate’.98 After two apprentices had been imprisoned by magistrates, a crowd attacked soldiers in the Canongate. The deacon convener, a surgeon called John McGill, tried to order the mob to disperse but was seized by them as a human shield to stop the troops opening fire. After the rioting ended, McGill offered to stand bail for those arrested to show his solidarity with the trades.99 Prominent here are the interaction between rioters and those in authority, and the appearance of a degree of consensus beween them. The issues of provocations, personnel, participation, and shared views which have appeared in the examples above all came together in the famous Porteous riots of 1736. These events need to be seen in the light of the hostility towards troops in Edinburgh and of the ambivalent attitude which the city’s populace had towards certain types of condemned criminals (Chapter 3). The riot came after Captain Porteous had ordered his troops to open fire on a hostile mob attending the delayed funeral of a convicted smuggler called Wilson. Porteous was locked up by the city authorities following charges of murder but the crowd took the law into their own hands and lynched him from the public gallows in the Grassmarket. The Porteous riots have been written about in a number of places and many of the documents relating to them were published early this century.100 The aim here is not to analyse the events in detail but to pick out the general points about late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century riot which they exemplify. For all the hand-wringing evident in the documentation generated by the central government’s spleen at Edinburgh, the Porteous riots were characteristic of a long-established tradition (p.318) of protest. They were well organized, legalistic, and, for the most part, peaceful. Westminster was probably wrong to assume complicity between the city authorities and the murderers of Porteous. Page 20 of 37

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Popular Protest However, they may not have been so far from the truth in their implication that the city fathers were both afraid of the mob and had at least some sympathy with their objectives. The crowd drew some of its strength from a longestablished tradition of popular action and the belief in a broad consensus between magistrates and people. On this occasion there was widespread opposition to unpopular excise duties and the condemned smuggler Wilson may have been seen as the victim of an oppressive Westminster government. Prominent as they were both in the mind of central government and in the writings of later historians, the Porteous riots were part of an existing pattern of unrest which emphasized rather than detracted from social cohesion within Edinburgh. The vigour of the government’s reaction was more the result of their changing idea of order and obedience, coupled with Walpole’s political position, than of any novelty in the event itself.101 For their part, townspeople entered into a conspiracy of silence after the event which prevented any successful prosecutions. Some clergymen even refused to read denunciations of the riot from their pulpits. The Porteous riots might have split off Edinburgh’s town council from their political overlords, but they both marked and reinforced a consensus among the bulk of the city’s inhabitants. Indeed, most of the protests of the period before the 1730s were directed against ‘outsiders’ such as catholics and courtiers, soldiers and customs men. This focus helped to limit the disruptive potential of tensions within the burgh community and to focus citizens’ minds on their shared interests, privileges, and values. Ambivalent attitudes among masters and magistrates to the activities of youths and others show their implicit recognition of the importance of street protest to urban society and politics. Actions were often precise, using tangible symbols of solidarity such as blue blankets or appealing to traditions of incorporation or city privilege. Deacons, bailies, and even royal officials were recruited or coerced into articulating grievances or legitimizing (p.319) action. Despite the connotations of words like ‘rabble’ or ‘mob’ there is an air of purpose and control about much of the documented behaviour. In these senses, Edinburgh supports writers like Simmel or Durkheim who stressed the positive and integrative function of social conflict.102 Of course, most riots contained a degree of selfish motivation on the part of some actors. Protests had contradictory aims and few demonstrations showed any complete consensus among the inhabitants. Depending on the date, rioters could be motivated by a mixture of political principle, xenophobia, anticatholicism, score settling, chronic unpopularity of the town guard, high spirits, and Jacobitism, coupled with an element made up of the unpredictability of crowd behaviour. As Geremek has written of late medieval Paris, ‘the crowd is not a social category, but a chance grouping, animated by fugitive emotions and composed of disparate elements’.103 Unfortunately, the sources rarely show rioters justifying their actions, presumably since they knew they were breaking Page 21 of 37

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Popular Protest (or at least stretching) the law and since it was usually wiser to deny or attempt to minimize involvement, or humbly to crave pardon for one’s actions. It is equally true that street protest which reinforced cultural and behavioural norms within the city did not disappear overnight. Beyond 1740, community solidarity against grave robbers, press gangs, and other ‘deviant’ or ‘alien’ groups remained evident.104 The shift we shall now chart is one of degree rather than kind.

(p.320) 1740 and Beyond Changes in the nature of riot during the second quarter of the eighteenth century are neatly illustrated in the events of November 1740. A grain mill near Edinburgh was looted in an example of a type of riot rare in Scotland but prevalent in contemporary Europe. Situated to the north-west of the Castle, Bell’s Mill was in the suburban parish of St Cuthbert’s but it involved Edinburgh people and authorities, and its significance to understanding urban society is profound. The 1739 harvest had been bad. That of 1740 was expected to be poor and indeed proved to be so. The authorities recognized the need to be seen to act at an early stage in the year. The Justices of the Peace prosecuted a mealmonger in July 1740 for selling ‘insufficient meal full of seeds…[at] a high and extravagant price’ and in September eight meal sellers were accused of selling sub-standard grain.105 Prior to the dearth, the council showed its desire that sales take place in the open market rather than outside the city or elsewhere within it. In 1739 retailers were forbidden to deal with grain suppliers within four miles of the city and the tacksmen of the meal market had the incentive of double duties from convicted forestallers.106 What the authorities seem to have been doing at this period was prosecuting visible, small retailers while at the same time promoting the less visible but larger hand of market capitalism. Following the Bell’s Mill riots the council passed several regulations concerning grain supplies which shows the steps they had taken before the outbreak. Their measures were an admission that they still lacked the public mechanisms to alleviate serious food shortages and to secure ‘the relief of those in whose circumstances the dearth must be the most severe’. In a statement of 19 December 1740 the council recognized ‘the distressed condition of the inhabitants of this populous city through the scarcity and high prices of grain of all sorts occasioned principally by the total discouragement which the traders, dealers in corn, have been brought under to import grain from abroad or from such parts of this realm where it may be had at reasonable prices’.107 The efforts of council and heritors of the shire to bring (p.321)

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Popular Protest (p.322) in supplies were explicitly recognized as being inadequate. These relief measures ‘will not effectually answer the ends proposed unless the apprehensions of such persons as have been, or as may think it upon this occasion to become, importers of corn’ are reassured that their property will not be seized or sold compulsorily ‘at other or lesser prices than they shall judge reasonable’.108

Fig. 5.1 ‘The Prospect of Edinbrugh from ye Dean’; from John Slezer, Theatrum Scotiae (Edinburg, 1814 edn.)

It will not do to write off these efforts as a cynical attempt to maximize profits for members of the council or their friends. It was a realistic assessment of the situation. For the council also knew that the mainstay of poor relief, church door collections, were inadequate to meet the burgeoning demands on funds. On 18 January 1740 meal and coal were distributed to the poor, the council recording that the collection of 9 January

‘has not been sufficient to relieve all the poor from the distress they are under by the severity of the weather, namely poor householders and others who have pensions from the city as being either burgesses or widows or children of burgesses and who had no share of the aforesaid charity’.109 Indeed, church door collections had been falling slowly but steadily since the early 1730s.110 Stimulated by the worrying memory of food riots elsewhere two decades before landowners and town councils strove to ensure efficient grain distribution using established measures: enforcing marketing legislation, curbing forestalling and regrating, providing subsidized grain stocks.111 These had been enough to prevent riot in worse periods of famine such as 1695–1700, 1704, or 1723–4. One of the few documented riots in the bad harvest years of 1695–9 was actually an attack on customs men at Leith in 1699.112 Furthermore, the effects of high food prices and unemployment were felt much less in urban and Lowland rural parishes during the dearth of 1740–1 than they had been in the 1690s. The response to the crisis of 1740–1 is usually portrayed as a landmark in the development of famine relief in Scotland.113 Yet, 1740 saw the first documented (p.323) grain riot in Edinburgh certainly since the Restoration and possibly for much longer.114 It would not be the last. Objective want was probably less than it had been in the 1690s. From the viewpoint of rioters, the issue was the measures the authorities took to alleviate shortages, for in addition to following precedent they allowed an appreciable element of private enterprise to operate in securing grain supplies. The difference between the 1690s or 1700s and 1740

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Popular Protest lay less in the provision of grain than in the atmosphere of distrust and social division which resulted from the way supplies were obtained in 1740. Within the limits of the law, those prosecuting the rioters may have chosen to select the ugliest aspects of the 1740 protest as a way of highlighting the benign actions and civilized values of the town council and heritors. Earlier protests are recorded in a way which seems to allow the legitimacy of the rioters’ stance. The 1740 riot appears in a very different light. The memory of the Porteous riots and the redefinition of ‘polite’ or acceptable behaviour taking place under the influence of the Enlightenment may have exaggerated the qualitative differences between this and earlier riots. Perhaps what changed was less the behaviour of the rioters than the perception which the authorities had of their actions and the way they chose to present them. Yet, even if this is true, it only reinforces the sense of social distancing apparent in the 1740 and later riots. What it does is to shift the source of change from the disgruntled masses to an élite which wanted to distance itself from certain aspects of popular behaviour and which required the lower classes to accept its vision of economic life and paternalist care. The Bell’s Mill riots occurred because the authorities responded to dearth in a new way which ordinary people did not understand or did not like. The advocate in charge of prosecuting William Gilchrist, blacksmith in St Cuthbert’s, before the High Court of Justiciary (p.324) in March 1741 deplored ‘the pernicious tendency of these outrages to aggravate the very calamity of dearth’.115 Gilchrist had been a leading figure in a mob which had broken into Bell’s Mill at Dean village on the night of Tuesday 28 October 1740. Also charged with sending a threatening letter to the mill’s owner, Charles Sawers, Gilchrist presented himself as a scapegoat for the rioters and, in his defence, argued that he ‘was noways qualified either by natural or acquired parts or by his rank and station in life to have such authority and influence over the people as to entitle him to be the ringleader’. This appeal to the prejudices of the élite that ordinary artisans could not initiate or organize such protests does not square with the leadership of other eighteenth-century riots.116 In addition, Gilchrist pointed out that riots had been taking place all over Britain on account of the great dearth and scarcity of provisions whereby many of the low sort of people were in hazard of starving by the exorbitant prices to which the victual was raised in many places not from absolute scarcity and want but from the sordid and avaricious tempers of some private persons who preyed upon the misery and indigence of the lower sort. Gilchrist claimed to have been at Portsburgh when the mob came to him crying that Sawers ‘hoarded up great quantities of victual which he intended to export and which they designed to prevent by seizing…and delivering it into the hands of the magistrates of Edinburgh, to be by them sold out for benefit of the poor’.

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Popular Protest The prosecuting advocate was careful to distance himself from this argument by trying to prove that, even if the mob perceived him as a ‘rascal’, Sawers was not an ‘engrosser’ of corn and that the rioters had stolen the grain for their own gain rather than to expose it for public sale. In other words, the action was presented not as a demonstration against a hoarder and profiteer but as theft aggravated by force and menaces. Sawers did buy and grind corn on his own account though his main business was said to be doing this for others. The rioters had not been sought out for prosecution immediately after the breaking of the mill until the king’s advocate had ‘consulted with and was advised by several of the most eminent heritors, magistrates (p.325) and justices of the peace of the county and city of Edinburgh as to the expediency of giving a check to these dangerous proceedings’, a statement which seems to imply that there were other circumstances under which this sort of direct intervention by ordinary people might be sanctioned. This statement hints that the events were being seen and dealt with differently from most previous protests. The mob had made two visits to the mill.117 On the first occasion they had failed to gain entry and had resorted to Sawers’ house for the key. While there, some had called for a rope ‘that therewith they might give Mr Sawers’ wife a kick because they could not find himself. Unable to get the key, they had returned to the mill to break into it by force. The nineteen bags rumoured to be ready for export were not to be found but the rioters took what little grain there was. Gilchrist’s central role was identified by a number of deponents. The person who had carried off the grain from Bell’s Mill had called Gilchrist ‘master’ and the man himself was identified by several people despite having blackened his face. Asked by an accomplice if he was not afraid of being recognized by his voice, Gilchrist said he had been speaking in French while at the mill; other deponents had only heard him swearing at Sawers’ house. His case was not helped by his drunken boasts that he was a leader of, and had entered into an oath with thirtysix other men to make Sawers suffer if he did not sell his meal more cheaply. Gilchrist’s ignoble aims were similarly documented by deponents. A Tollcross man, Thomas Sproatt, had been approached to join the rioters with the promise that ‘he would get meal to himself by it’. Gilchrist had fulfilled his promise by giving Sproatt some of the grain. Others involved in the theft, recruited in the street or in taverns, were selling the meal privately the following day. Both burgh council and advocates took the line that as well as being illegal, the seizing of grain deterred ‘gentlemen dealers in corn’ from importing. Merchants were groundlessly ‘slandered, menaced and insulted’ with the result that while ‘owners of victual are under apprehensions that their lives and properties are in danger by supplying this market, no assistance can be (p.326) expected from them’.118 A newspaper report in November 1740 said that ‘All precautions are taken here to make the poor inhabitants easy in the present scarcity of victual. The meal-mongers have printed long and elaborate defences of themselves which, if true, are sufficient to vindicate their conduct’.119 The same newspaper Page 25 of 37

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Popular Protest had carried a lengthy account of the riots which spread to Leith and Gilmerton, despite assurances from the town council and heritors that there were no secret grain hoards. The authorities played the game expected of them but the rioters plainly did not believe that this was the case. Twenty-three rioters were arrested at Leith. During an attempt by the crowd to free them from a guard of 200 soldiers, one rioter was killed and several were seriously wounded after troops opened fire.120 Gilchrist was found guilty and banished. Yet, this was not the end of the story. It has not one but two twists in the tail which only became apparent some years later. The first concerns the manipulation of the historical record of the riots. In his 1753 History of Edinburgh, Maitland originally wrote of those suffering from want in 1740: being of opinion that the dealers in corn were entered into an engagement rather to let their corn spoil than sell it under the price agreed on. And one Coutts…being a great dealer in grain, the populace imagined…that the devouring famine was in a great measure owing to him which enraged them to such a height against the said Coutts that had he not left the city… he would have been torn in pieces by the enraged multitude.121 Following representations, the town council stopped the sale of the History and insisted on an amended version which replaced the above with another description. The dearth was acknowledged but the circumstances surrounding relief measures were described very differently: the magistrates used all possible means for the relief of the necessitous. They ordered their treasurer to purchase such quantities of grain as should be found necessary for the exigencies of the poor, caused [them to] grind it, and carry it to the market to be sold at a much easier rate than otherwise could be had. Both banks [Bank of Scotland and Royal (p.327) Bank of Scotland] lent the city money, without interest, to pay for the corn bought, and Mr Coutts, and other gentlemen who dealt in the corn trade, did import great quantities of victual which they delivered to the city at prime cost…insomuch that the people lived in plenty in the midst of famine.122 If Edinburgh’s authorities had been, in E. P. Thompson’s phrase, ‘prisoners of the people’ during earlier protests—appealing to the same rhetoric and sometimes following courses of action dictated by popular demand—they had certainly broken free by the time of the Bell’s Mill riot.123 The second twist came later still. The suspicions harboured by ordinary people about the motives of the landowners of Midlothian and the honesty of importers and millers of corn were recognized by the town council and the worthies of the county alike. As part of its initiative to import and distribute grain supplies Page 26 of 37

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Popular Protest between October 1740 and May 1741, the council kept ‘an abstract of the quantities of oats and beans delivered to millers and of the returns in meal’. The committee appointed to oversee grain imports in 1740 looked at possible wastage (seeds and dust) in a sample twelve ‘boll’ lot at the start of their intervention ‘that there be no abuse or fraud in the milling of the corns’.124 This served an accounting purpose but also kept tabs on suspicious ‘wastage’ during milling. 11,582 bolls of oats and 1,655 of bear were dispatched. The return of 9,105 bolls of oatmeal meant an average loss of 21 per cent. If the difference represents variations in productive efficiency then some mills were twice as viable as others. However, changes in the actual volume of the commodity after milling were presumably uniform, and a more plausible explanation would highlight different levels of profit and embezzlement. Profit margins may have varied between millers, as might the ‘black economy’ element of meal purloined by employees or by the miller himself. Omitting the top and bottom scores of 12 per cent and 30 per cent, the remaining 21 contracts show differences between oats and oatmeal of 14 per cent to 26 per cent; 17 fall between 18 per cent and 24 per cent, showing that most worked to approximately the same percentage. Even if they knew such practices went on, the élites claimed (p.328) to be hurt and surprised by the distrust of those they were helping. Sir John Clerk of Penicuik complained of the ingratitude of the poor: we were far from receiving thanks from the country people whose lives we had supported, that they were either insensible or ungrateful…. [They] asserted that all was done for our own private advantage, not believing it possible that we had bought victual for them at 3d or 4d more than we sold it to them.125 That Gilchrist was found guilty and banished is hardly surprising in this sort of climate. The irony of the Bell’s Mill riot is that in September 1755 Charles Sawers and David Wight, baxter, both in Bell’s Mill were prosecuted by the magistrates following the discovery of a shortfall between grain and pease supplied to them during the recent dearth, and the meal delivered back for sale.126 The authorities had an idea of the relationship between unground and ground victual, and the pair had clearly overstepped the mark in trying to boost profits. Perhaps there were times when the crowd had a point about illegal profiteering from the hardship of the poor. The change in attitudes from a broad consensus to suspicion and division within burgh society may have had concrete causes. This is not to say that there was a conspiracy to deprive and humiliate the lower orders any more than it is to claim that Gilchrist and his cronies were somehow ‘class warriors’ heralding a new era of conflict. The dislike of men like Sawers and the grain importers may have had a grounding in traditional interpretations of open markets and balanced economic priorities of the kind summed up in E. P. Page 27 of 37

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Popular Protest Thompson’s ‘moral economy’. To describe Gilchrist and the others as ‘moral’ exponents would be stretching credibility too far. Whatever the objective circumstances of deprivation, it is difficult to see the activities of the rioters as anything more than the actions of rather unpleasant petty criminals. For their part, magistrates and heritors seem to have had a genuine commitment to care for the unfortunate. The furrowed brows of disbelieving landowners and town councillors stare at (p.329) us from the documents. Their astonishment that the ordinary people were turning against them seems to have been genuine. They saw themselves continuing their traditional paternalist role, albeit in a different way. But the point remains. This riot was marked by an absence of dialogue between rioters and authorities which distinguished it from what had gone before. Those in authority were trying to subsidize or promote a new type of marketing of grain in line with economic ideas increasingly current in the emerging Enlightenment. However, it was a type of economy which many consumers either did not understand or did not like. The working person of mideighteenth century Edinburgh was a long way from Adam Smith’s homo economicus.127 The actions of the rulers robbed them of ‘authority’ in the sense that they exercised power according to mutually agreed conventions. Without ‘authority’ they were reduced to using force.128 The irony was that the authorities had filled the bellies of the lower classes but left their hearts empty. The Porteous riot had stunned the Westminster government, who assumed that the town council had connived at the lynching of the Captain. The Bell’s Mill riot did the same for Edinburgh’s élites. Social relations in the city would never be the same again.

Conclusion The distinctive features of riots in late seventeenth- and early eighteenthcentury Edinburgh were these. First, the rioters were usually drawn from a wide spectrum of burgh society and were not composed of people from particular occupations. Second, they contained a high proportion of young people, mainly apprentices, journeymen, and students. Most rioters were never caught and the prominence of these young men may be a function of their social position as dependants rather than their actual proportions among perpetrators. Yet, it is hard to escape the conclusion that these ‘dependent’ elements were using the licence of youth to voice and act out the aspirations of the wider burgh community. Sectional riots certainly existed during this period, though they were generally small scale and very brief. The uglier face of popular protest—selfish, unpredictable, and (p.330) gratuitously violent—had shown itself before—in 1688, for example. Edinburgh was afflicted by disorder from the departure of the Jacobite army in late 1745 until the autumn of 1746.129 After the death of George I in 1727 more than 200 journeymen tailors had taken to the streets to protect their poor relief funds against efforts by their masters and the town council to gain control over them: ‘a most tumultuous mob’ according to the deacon of the tailors.130 However, after c.1750 this type of protest by a single Page 28 of 37

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Popular Protest interest group or a narrowly defined social class became more characteristic of Edinburgh riots. The change was not from one form of protest to another but in the balance between different ways of expressing grievances and the type of issue which provoked riot. Yet, whichever way we look at it the social implications of this development are profound. If large-scale riots of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century had been ‘integrative’, reinforcing a consensus within urban society, those of the mid-eighteenth century onwards marked clear divisions in attitudes and values which were a harbinger of the developing ‘class society’ of the later Georgian period.131 If action in earlier riots ‘was grounded upon a consistent traditional view of social norms and obligations, of the proper economic functions of several parties within the community’ shared by rioters and authorities, that in later ones was based on no such consensus.132 In the introduction to this chapter we noted the stress placed by historians on the years c.1790–c.1820 for the development of new forms of riot. A revised chronology of change was promised. The elements which Fraser identifies for late eighteenth-century Glasgow protest and that in early nineteenth-century Edinburgh were present in the capital in the autumn of 1740: sectionalism, unwillingness to give and take, a readiness to resort to violence on the part of both rioters and authorities, an (p.331) absence of real dialogue between the parties, manipulation of the facts to serve the interests of the élites. All that was missing was the systematic use of ‘social control’—notably Sunday and day schools—to shape opinion, though the idea that education could help maintain harmony was current.133 Of the eight major riots in Edinburgh since 1740 listed by Thomas Brown in 1791 four were against men like Sawers, including serious meal riots in 1764 and 1765.134 The transition from a ‘moral’ to a ‘political’ economy continued to be resisted. We must allow that the anti-catholic riots after the Relief Act of 1778 had echoes of the 1670s and 1680s protests.135 Yet, it is hard to deny that the overall nature of riot had altered by the end of George II’s reign. Smout has noted that: ‘From 1736 until near the end of the century there does appear to be some decline in the frequency of riot, and a complete absence of riots with a marked political inspiration’.136 ‘Political’ riots reappeared in Edinburgh in 1792 but they were an expression of one view of government rather than of a broadly based consensus opinion.137 The reason for the mid-century change was not simply the clampdown following the Porteous lynching but an alteration in Edinburgh’s social and political climate. Analysis of parallel changes in political economy will occupy the rest of this volume.

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Popular Protest Notes:

(1) Houston and Whyte, ‘Introduction’, 25–6. This does not mean that the society was without violence since feuding was an established part of upper-class life in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. (2) T. M. Devine, ‘Social Stability and Agrarian Change in the Eastern Lowlands of Scotland, 1810–1840’, Social History, 3/3 (1978), 331–46. (3) K. J. Logue, Popular Disturbances in Scotland, 1780–1815 (Edinburgh, 1979). Fraser, Conflict and Class. C. A. Whatley, ‘How Tame were the Scottish Lowlanders during the Eighteenth Century?’, in Devine, Conflict and Stability, 1– 30. (4) W. H. Fraser, ‘Patterns of Protest’, in Devine and Mitchison, People and Society in Scotland, i. 272. (5) Ibid. 276. (6) Ibid. 288–9. (7) Ibid. 279. (8) R. B. Manning, Village Revolts: Social Protest and Popular Disturbances in England, 1509–1640 (Oxford, 1988), 218. (9) Manning, Village Revolts, 194, 318. Harris, London Crowds, 29. G. de Krey, ‘Political Radicalism in London after the Glorious Revolution’, Journal of Modern History, 55/4 (1983), 585–617. Shoemaker, ‘London “mob”’, 273–304. (10) BM Add. MS 22,922, fos. 3r–40v. (11) Airy, Lauderdale Papers, vol. ii. p. xiv. The substance of this account is supported by Andrew Bruce’s own testimony to the authorities, albeit not under oath, recorded on 13 Dec. 1664. SRO RH9/14/42. (12) Airy, Lauderdale Papers, vol. ii. p. xiv. (13) BM Add. MS 22,922, fo. 20v. (14) Ibid., fos. 4v–6r (15) SRO RH9/14/42. (16) BM Add. MS 22,922, fo. 5. (17) Ibid., fos. 5r-v. (18) Ibid., fo. 6r.

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Popular Protest (19) Airy, Lauderdale Papers, vol. ii. p. xiv. (20) SRO RH9/14/42. (21) Airy, Lauderdale Papers, vol. ii. p. xv. (22) Harris, London Crowds, 191, 201, 206, 216. Riot could be complemented by more gentle protest. An Edinburgh penny broadsheet entitled ‘Copy of an old manuscript found in the ruins of a house which was taken down to make way for the new exchange. Articles of an Ass Race’ included a fifth rule ‘all schemes for imposts and new taxes shall be allowed to run’. StAUL typ.BE. C89.XS. (23) BM Add. MS 22,922, fos. 12v–13r. (24) Ibid., fos. 6r–11v. (25) Ibid., fo. 12v. (26) Ibid., fo. 13r. The different work rhythms of apprentices and servants may have afforded them more opportunity for riot than was the case for masters and journeymen. M. Harrison, ‘The Ordering of the Urban Environment: Time, Work and the Occurrence of Crowds, 1790–1835’, Past & Present, 110 (1986), 134–68. (27) SRO RH9/14/42. Not surprisingly, Andrew Bruce was anxious to state that none of the twenty had anything to do with the rioting. (28) Lynch, ‘Social and Economic Structure’, 265. (29) BM Add. MS 22,922, fo. 24. (30) Ibid., fo. 20. (31) SRO RH9/14/42. (32) BM Add. MS 22,922, fo. 7v. (33) Ibid., fo. 12v. (34) Borsay, Urban Renaissance, passim. (35) Wood, Extracts 1665–80,17. (36) Ibid. pp. xxi–xxii. NLS Adv. MS 33.4.1. Similar events happened in sixteenthcentury European towns but the Edinburgh fracas was a rare accident. Edinburgh’s incorporations existed primarily for economic purposes with a subsidiary military function whereas priorities were reversed in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Freiburg. Scott, Freiburg, 57. (37) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 302–5, 313. Page 31 of 37

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Popular Protest (38) BM Add. MS 23,135, fo. 207. (39) Ibid. (40) BM Add. MS 35,125, fo. 117. (41) Ibid., fo. 234r. (42) Ibid., fo. 234v. (43) Ibid., fo. 235r. (44) Ibid., fo. 45v. (45) M. Wood, ‘“All the Statelie Buildings of…Thomas Robertson”: A Building Speculator of the Seventeenth Century’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 24 (1942), 127. (46) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 82, 131. (47) BM Add. MS 22,922, fos. 42–4. (48) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 242. Historical Sketch of the Municipal Constitution of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1826), p. xxxiii. (49) Airy, Lauderdale Papers, iii. 241. (50) BM Add. MS 23,135, fo. 243. (51) Airy, Lauderdale Papers, iii. 64. (52) Ibid. 75. (53) Wilson, Memorials, i. 137. (54) SRO RH14/72. Arnot, History, 300–1. Butler, Tron Kirk, 62–3, presents the student action as a clever prank. Unlike some Continental universities, conflicts within the student body seem to have been rare, perhaps reflecting the relative homogeneity of religion and of geographical and social origin among Scottish students of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Geremek, Margins, 148. (55) For example, a proclamation of 21 June 1690 spoke of ‘divers persons of seditious and treasonable principles…[who] shelter themselves in and about our city of Edinburgh, not only to meet with, and beget in others bad impressions of us, and our government, for promoting their horrid and unnatural combinations, but likewise to render themselves more capable to discover the proceedings of our government’. SRO RH14/340. (56) SRO JC6/11. Page 32 of 37

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Popular Protest (57) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, pp. xxxviii–xxxix, 41–6. (58) Ouston, ‘Patronage of Learning’. (59) SRO JC6/12. Arnot, History, 136. Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 164–8. Stark, Picture, 40. Stevenson, Annals, 114–15. (60) SRO RH14/268. ECA Moses bundles 75/3325. Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 164–8, 250. (61) Ibid. 251–2. SRO JC6/13. BM Add. MS 28,850, fo. 93. (62) Meikle, ‘Edinburgh Diary’, 152. (63) Ibid. 152. BM Add. MS 28,850, fo. 93. (64) SRO RH14/270. (65) SRO RH14/272. (66) SRO JC6/13. (67) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, p. xi, 8. (68) ECA Act book Deacons of Crafts, vol. ii. (69) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 34–5. (70) Scott, Heart, 45. Riots did not occur with the predictable regularity of early seventeenth-century London, where May Day was marked by riots in eight of the thirty-nine years 1603–42 and Shrove Tuesday on twenty-four occasions. K. Lindley, ‘Riot Prevention and Control in Early Stuart London’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th series 33 (1983), 109–11. The closest to an annual excuse for riot in urban Scotland was the occasion of the king’s birthday: Whatley, ‘Royal Day, People’s Day’, 170–88. (71) ECA criminal register i. 9–34. (72) SRO RH14/397. (73) SRO RH14/397. (74) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 116, 118. (75) SRO JC6/14. Kincaid, Edinburgh, 76. Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 314–15. (76) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 314–15. Wilson, Memorials, i. 140. (77) SRO JC6/14.

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Popular Protest (78) Taylor, Journey, 126. (79) BM Add. MS 33,049, fo. 21. See above pp. 40–1. (80) Kincaid, History, 77. (81) SRO RH14/559. Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 128–9. (82) BM Add. MS 33,049, fos. 21r–v. (83) Aufrere, Lockhart Papers, 162–3. (84) Stark, Picture, 44. (85) Healey, Letters of Daniel Defoe, 233. (86) Ibid. 133. Wilson, Memorials, i. 142. (87) Healey, Letters of Daniel Defoe, 133. (88) Ibid. 134–5. (89) Ibid. (90) Ibid. 140–52, 182–7. (91) Ibid. 136. Aufrere, Lockhart Papers, 164. (92) SRO CS96/1325. (93) Thistle, no. 17. This publication had been set up by the opposition in Feb. 1734 and was not free of bias. (94) SRO JC7/10, Aug. 1721. JC7/11, Sept. 1721. (95) Houston, ‘Military in Edinburgh Society’. This situation was more reminiscent of contemporary France than England. (96) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 143. (97) Ibid. 188. (98) ECA MB 55, 120–1. (99) BM Add. MS 33,049, fos. 21v–22r. (100) Roughead, Porteous. Scott, ‘Politics and Administration of Scotland’, 408– 26. J. A. Houlding, Fit for Service: The Training of the British Army, 1715–1795 (Oxford, 1981), 57–74 is mainly about eighteenth-century England. The Porteous

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Popular Protest riots are ‘important’ enough to merit discussion in monographs and textbooks on English history. (101) Smout, Scottish People, 210. The riots had a profound and lasting influence on the way officers in both Scotland and England handled future riots. A. Hayter, The Army and the Crowd in Mid-Georgian England (London, 1978), 31–2. (102) Soliday, Frankfurt, 232. J. Walter and K. Wrightson, ‘Dearth and the Social Order’, Past & Present, 71 (1976), 22–42. E. P. Thompson, ‘The Moral Economy of the English Crowd in the Eighteenth Century’, Past & Present, 50 (1971), 76– 136. (103) Geremek, Margins, 292. Bercé finds that ‘the shaping of opinion…belonged to specific, literate groups, above all to legal practitioners’. Bercé, Revolt and Revolution, 217. Edinburgh professionals and notables were important instigators of change—at the time of the Reformation, for example, and during the Union disturbances. They may have been behind some street protests but have escaped detection. Overt association between rioters and the professional classes in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Edinburgh was almost unheard of. (104) SRO JC35/4/3, 19 Mar. 1742. Stark, Picture, 60. A. Boyle et al., Ruins and Remains. Edinburgh’s Neglected Heritage (Edinburgh, 1985), 76 reports a further riot against grave robbers in 1725. (105) SRO JP35/4/3. (106) ECA conditions of the roup of the common good. (107) SRO RH9/14/117. (108) SRO RH9/14/117. (109) ECA MB 60, 255. (110) ECA Kirk Treasurer’s accounts. (111) Whatley, ‘How Tame?’, 17. (112) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 78, 89, 170, 307. SRO RH9/14/93. SRO CH2/122/11b, fo. 148v. Smout, Scottish Trade, 40. (113) Post, Food Shortage. (114) The city does not seem to have experienced the meal riots which affected the smaller towns of the Forth estuary and also Glasgow in 1725. Fraser, ‘Patterns of Protest’, 272–6. Part of the reason may have been that the authorities were better prepared and quicker to act, stimulated perhaps by the Page 35 of 37

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Popular Protest arrival of Lord Islay in the city. B. P. Lenman, ‘A Client Society: Scotland between the ′15 and the ′45’, in J. Black (ed.), Britain in the Age of Walpole (London, 1984), 86. London disturbances of the eighteenth century were less correlated with peaks in food prices than elsewhere in England. Rule, Albion’s People, 220. The lack of a connection between dearth and riot also supports Thompson’s critique of ‘the spasmodic view’ of eighteenth-century riot. Thompson, ‘Moral Economy’, 76. (115) SRO JC7/23. (116) Logue, Popular Disturbances. (117) The account is reminiscent of Thompson’s ‘perambulating crowds’. Thompson, ‘Moral Economy’, 111. (118) ECA MB 61, 155. (119) Patriot, 22:480. (120) Ibid. 21:455–8. Stark, Picture, 60. Irons, Leith, ii. 158. (121) Anon., ‘Jolm Coutts, Corn Merchant and Banker’, Three Banks Review, 26 (1955), 44–53. (122) Ibid. 48–9. (123) Thompson, ‘Moral Economy’, 79. (124) ECA Scheme book…cargoes of corn, 1740–1. (125) Quoted in Post, Food Shortage, 151–2. (126) ECA MB 73, 85–6. ‘If rumours often grew beyond all bounds, they were always rooted in at least some shallow soil of fact’. Thompson, ‘Moral Economy’, 115. (127) Phillipson, ‘Scottish Enlightenment’, 36. (128) Sacks, Bristol 171. (129) ECA Minute books of the Deacons of Crafts, ii. 15 July 1746. Anon., ‘Leaves from the Diary of John Campbell, an Edinburgh Banker, in 1745’, Scottish History Society, 15 (1893), 558. (130) ECA MB 52, 297–300. It was claimed that a combination of 7,000 journey men tailors existed in London in 1721. Rule, Albion’s people, 206.

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Popular Protest (131) Even the king’s birthday, a focus of good-natured drunkenness in the postRestoration era, became more violent and threatening during George III’s reign. Whatley, ‘Monarch’s Birthday’, 177–8. Whatley detects some signs of antagonism as early as the 1730s. (132) Thompson, ‘Moral Economy’, 79. (133) Fraser, ‘Patterns of Protest’, 278–9. SRO GD18/5826. (134) Smout, Scottish People, 345. (135) R. K. Donovan, ‘Voices of Distrust the Expression of Anti-Catholic Feeling in Scotland, 1778–1781’, Innes Review, 30 (1979), 62–76. (136) Smout, Scottish People, 210. (137) Logue, Popular Disturbances, 133–46.

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

Corruption, Consensus, and Competition R. A. Houston

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.003.0007

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses corruption in politics, and consensus and competition in the economy, specifically in manufacturing. It looks at how the conditions that allowed widespread formal participation created opportunities for a degree of manipulation, as well as whether personal and civic corruption existed in all areas of economic and social relations. The chapter concludes that the merchant-dominated town council seemed to have exerted a block on socioeconomic changes, at least until the mid-eighteenth century, and reveals that there were many conspiracies in early modern Edinburgh, which were mostly cartels of wine sellers or coal shippers who wanted to keep the prices high. Keywords:   corruption, consensus, competition, manufacturing, socio-economic changes, cartels

Introduction Riot’s broadly based nature and its socially and politically integrative functions before the mid-eighteenth century fit neatly with other structures and trends in city life. Edinburgh’s constitution, guaranteeing political participation to merchant and craft burgesses alike, and its essentially amateur administration drew many adult males into both secular and religious office. Kirk sessions and incorporations required office holders. Men had to be found to act as constables, jurors, or board members for the charity workhouse. Turnover of personnel meant that many burgesses would have direct experience of office holding, however humble. This gave men the chance at least partly to shape their own destiny. When rioters appealed to magistrates, they invoked a consensus which they had helped to create.

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition However, the conditions which allowed wide spread formal participation also created extensive opportunities for a degree of manipulation, both by individuals and groups, which modern observers would call corruption. A place on the town council or a minor civic office was not only a vehicle for contributing to urban society and politics. Yet, as we shall see, those in positions of power did possess a clear conception of the burgh community as a whole and, for much of the century 1660–1760, sought to buttress the traditional social and economic order by restrictive legislation. A degree of political individualism could stand alongside values of economic and social collectivism. Personal impropriety coexisted with a measure of public probity and a strong commitment to maintain the established order within the burgh. But, like other areas of urban life, this consensus began to (p.333) break down in the early and mid-eighteenth century to allow a more laissez-faire approach to economic and social regulation. By the beginning of George III’s reign the inhabitants were more ‘individualistic’ than they had been a century before and consequently more divided.1 The changes of which riot is such a powerful indicator found other manifestations in the city’s political economy.

Corruption The institutions of city, dependent burgh or barony, parish, incorporation, and guild formed an important part of the lives of inhabitants and of the structure of Edinburgh’s communities. Early modern Edinburgh had dozens of paid and hundreds of unpaid posts in its secular and ecclesiastical administration. At any one time, perhaps a half of the city’s burgesses had held or were holding office as kirk session elders or deacons, incorporation deacons or lesser officials, or sat on one of the many juries and committees. Important secular offices like bailies and deacons could only be held for up to two years at a stretch: a defence against the development of oligarchy. A citizen who became a burgess in his late twenties and who reached sixty years of age would almost certainly have held some kind of office during his time in Edinburgh. These jobs were often time consuming and sometimes expensive. Constables had an arduous, often unpopular and occasionally dangerous job arresting vagrants or people carrying weapons, curbing sabbath breaking, supervising refuse disposal and collection, preventing fights and riots, and suppressing bawdy houses.2 Nor was service on the town council a sinecure. At the end of the eighteenth century the lord provost of Edinburgh combined the offices of sheriff, coroner, admiral for the city and liberties, president convener of the royal burghs, colonel of the trained bands, commander of the city guard, and lord lieutenant.3 In addition to its meetings, members of the council had to sit on committees. In 1729 these included treasurer’s accounts, public works, college (university) affairs, the poor, debt arrears, the roup of the common good, tacks, and (p.334) feus.4 Kirk session elders and deacons might be subject to abuse as they went about their many duties.

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition Given the onerous duties sometimes required of town officers, and the fact that only very minor offices were paid, it is difficult to see why men agreed to undertake them. Some clearly shunned their duties. Thomas Mair, merchant in Portsburgh, was bound over by the baron court there for failing to go ‘along with the constables in their patrolling to preserve the peace’.5 William Lamb paid 500 merks for refusing the post of captain of the trained bands in October 1684, the fine also exempting him from future service in the bands.6 In 1697 Gideon Elliot was fined 300 merks for refusing to accept the deaconship of the surgeons and in 1700 Patrick Crawford, merchant, was let off the kirk treasurer’s job with a fine of £50 sterling because of pressure of business.7 Despite these examples, fines for refusing to take office were rarely levied 1660– 1760. Men grumbled, more at some periods than others,8 but they took on the jobs. Few shunned civic labour. In July 1745 Leith’s tailors agreed that ‘to preserve due decorum among the several incorporations, no member for the future should be put into the “leet” (list) for deacon till such time as he officiate as boxmaster for the space of two years before’.9 Those who wanted office for political or financial reasons were calumnized. Those who accepted the burden were fulfilling one of the obligations which went alongside their privileges. The author of the 1746 Address to the Citizens countered an objection to his proposals for more representatives on a restructured council: ‘if we look back, and judge from what is past, there are but few instances of men quitting the council for the trouble of it’.10 A sense of civic responsibility and the status it brought may have been a positive part of the equation. Former deacons and bailies tended to retain their titles as a way of reminding neighbours of the qualities that had won them the office and perhaps also of perpetuating the authority it had given. By the mid-eighteenth century, even the constables had (p.335) an association or ‘society’ of their own and sense of the dignity of their office.11 Civic office was not wholly without perks. A town council act of 1666 exempted the twenty-eight constables from watch money or ‘locality’, along with their suburban colleagues and all who had served as magistrates.12 When press gangs roamed areas of Edinburgh and Leith, there was an unwritten rule that local officials would escape their attentions. One reason for the indignation of the Society of Constables against an excise commissioner who refused billeting in 1746 was that his offence was all the worse, ‘when perpetrated by any person of a high station in his majesty’s service who ought rather to protect the constables and encourage them to do their duty in quartering the king’s troops’.13 When a constable—James Donaldson, a respectable ship’s carpenter from North Leith— was press-ganged and sent to London in 1757 the other constables were appalled and threatened to give up their offices. The magistrates’ petition to the Lords of Admiralty on his behalf highlighted the importance of constables in securing some volunteers, pressing others, and organizing billeting, useful Page 3 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition services which would not be so well performed if the authorities were too heavy handed.14 Constable was a difficult if not wholly thankless job. The same might be said for different reasons about other tiers in civic administration. There was a clear association between wealth and civic office but great wealth was not a necessary prerequisite of holding office and relative poverty was not always a barrier. High civic office such as council membership could involve considerable personal outlay and only those with a financial cushion could afford to consider it. However, there were also opportunities to enhance business opportunities both in the short and the long term. Membership of the town council could be a good way for ambitious men to make lucrative business connections. There were also more immediate benefits. After monitoring the stenting process in 1707, a number of advocates (p.336) commented adversely on the exemption of city officials from taxation: ‘the magistrates and stentmasters, and many others whom they think fit to exempt, sometimes are not at all stented, or if they be, the stent is inconsiderable, or for a blind, [viz.] though they be stented as other neighbours, yet their stent is posted in the column of wastes, as will appear by the production of their books backward many years’.15 When James Nasmith retired because of ill health after twenty-two years as clerk depute to the city, he received a feu of part of an estate recently bought by the city on preferential terms.16 Edinburgh town council was know to some as the ‘Land-Market club’, an appellation similar to early seventeenth-century Southwards parish vestry, which was known as the ‘sharing house’ because it gave opportunities to secure parish property on favourable terms.17 Opportunities to make money by bending the spirit of burgh laws and breaking their letter were legion in early modern Edinburgh. Some of the political struggles which convulsed the city between 1660 and 1760 were about corruption and dishonesty. Among changes to the set of the burgh in 1683 was a prohibition against men holding positions for more than two years. This was the result of a decade of lobbying against the abuses perpetrated by Sir Andrew Ramsay during his extended period in office (1662–73). Ramsay ‘conducted himself so tyrannically…by applying the common good for the use of himself and his friends, and by inventing new employments and unnecessary offices within the city to provide for his dependants’.18 Ramsay’s term of office left a bitter taste in the mouths of many citizens who were anxious to prevent another such ‘tyrant’ getting his feet under the council table. Heartened by success, opponents of oligarchy lodged a formal complaint in 1684 against Sir James Rocheid, former town clerk, whose activities during the 1670s had raised many eyebrows. The charge, presented by bailie Thomas Hamilton, contains sixteen counts which, even if only some were true, show the possibilities (p.337) for corruption. Rocheid, it was claimed, had stirred up antagonisms and interfered in council elections. He had not recorded an act of Page 4 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition August 1675 condemning his actions but when a new council dominated by his faction was appointed later that year he did record its repeal. This was not the only omission or forgery in the council minutes. He was chronically lax about presenting accounts, diverted city revenues to his own ends, evaded local taxation, and secured preferential leases of elements of the Common Good for himself and his friends, among whom was numbered his business partner, the town treasurer Magnus Prince. Rocheid survived this censure and was in post some years later.19 The main scandal of the late 1730s and early 1740s was the sale of burgess tickets, a long-standing issue which became a matter of widespread public debate. Many years before, in July 1663, the town council had recorded that ‘in time of this session of parliament there will be a necessity to gratify those in public authority and other persons of quality by giving to them a kindly welcome to the town and by admitting them and some of their servants and followers to the freedom of this burgh’.20 In the reign of George II, William Lauder, coachmaker and former treasurer of the Canongate, accused one of the bailies, John Jack, of pocketing the proceeds of illegal sales of certificates. Emboldened by Jack’s prosecution before the Court of Session (by one Archibald Smart) and by a parallel process before the magistrates of the Canongate in which George Logan, the current treasurer of that burgh, was accused, Lauder took out advertising space in the Edinburgh Evening Courant and Caledonian Mercury of 4, 6, and 11 September 1739 to pursue his case.21 Jack was acquitted by the Court of Session for lack of proof though the judge acknowledged ‘there has been a great misapplication of the revenues of the burgh of the Canongate in useless tavern bills’.22 Hardly a year went by without some sort of enquiry into the accounts of city, incorporation or some other public body. A (p.338) well-documented case is that of Alexander Maitland, merchant and town treasurer (1730–2). In May 1734 the former Provost, John Osborne, opposed a council resolution to accept a bond from Maitland that he would pay the £1,100 sterling he owed the city’s coffers. The debt was actually £1,400 but he had been promised an ‘abatement’. Under questioning, Maitland told a story which he thought ‘might take with the council’ but eventually confessed he had used the money to fund a company he ran with another merchant called Hamilton. Having used the town’s funds for nearly three years, Maitland did not present his accounts until threatened with prosecution. Osborne regarded the terms Maitland had been offered as ‘an extraordinary reward for his no less extraordinary service’.23 The council’s tolerance, perhaps born of empathy, prevailed and in the following month Maitland’s accounts were cleared.24 Checks on such activity were already supposed to be in place—the year before Maitland took office the council ordered the treasurer not to make payments without a countersignature from the town clerk—but were clearly ineffective.25 Page 5 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition Office holders in trades’ incorporations could also expect indirect benefits. Some masters of the incorporated trades of Calton advocated tax exemptions for the boxmaster too, but these were rejected by the membership in June 1725.26 The boxmaster had the privilege of distributing work to members, more than enough compensation for his trials. Deacons of incorporations might be given preference in the allocation of certain contracts. Samuel Walker, deacon of the hammermen, got a lucrative contract for 3,600 tin buttons (part of the town guard’s new uniforms) in 1702.27 In January 1678 Andrew Paterson, deacon of the wrights, was granted a monopoly to supply coffins for the poor dying in the city.28 Preferential treatment was probably the norm except at periods of financial stringency. A different stance was adopted in 1691 when the council declared that it would choose tradesmen on the basis of price and would be under no obligation to employ deacons or other council members for public works.29 Indeed, office was not necessarily a path to riches. In (p.339) February 1747 Robert Young, former boxmaster of the incorporated trades of Calton, began to receive occasional doles from its funds and another holder of the office, James Spratt, was found to be ‘in very low circumstances’ in 1756.30 When it came to choosing tradesmen to work for an incorporation, price was only one consideration. The cordiners, not known for their harmonious brotherhood, stopped a contract with the deacon of the wrights for work on their building after he had acted contrary to their interests in a discussion over parliamentary elections in the spring of 1741. He was reinstated in the autumn of that year but in the meantime the cordiners minuted their need to have ‘a good honest man fixed for their wright work and not always left to the choice and disposal of their boxmaster would prove conducive to the lessening [of] the exhorbitant charges they are at yearly in reparations’.31 In April 1733 the Canongate wrights and coopers passed a resolution that no official was to accept work at Finlayson’s land in the head of the Canongate ‘but shall first make an estimate as to the extent of the expenses of the reparations and lay them before this house and if any other member of trade shall offer to do it cheaper’ he should have the contract.32 These are exceptions which highlight the norm. Work was commonly distributed by the incorporation’s officials to their friends or to officials from other incorporations. The deacon of the relevant incorporation seems generally to have had first refusal of city contracts. Leases too might be offered privately to favoured associates, a charge to which the town council had to respond on several occasions.33 During his tenure as deacon of the bonnetmakers in 1734–5, James Beveridge obtained a feu of Bonnington Mills from the city which he immediately transferred to James Spalding, flaxdresser, for a ‘considerable premium’. Though he refused to answer questions, Beveridge was later prosecuted.34 Handing out work was one perquisite of office. Officials might also be allowed to augment their income by other means. A 1718 act of the town council, reiterated in 1728, offered the (p.340) lord provost £300 sterling a year to enable him ‘to Page 6 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition support the dignity and character of his office in place of all emoluments ordinary or casual which were formerly…made and taken…and particularly in place of all secret acknowledgements made in money or otherways by persons elected into lucrative office in the gift of the good town’.35 Ironically, the state of the city’s finances meant that the provost’s salary had to be funded by the sale of such offices. The sums charged for ‘places of profit and trust for life’ were to be ‘reasonable’, presumably to prevent excessive avarice by holders anxious to recoup their investment: £100 sterling for the clerkship of the Dean of Guild’s Court, £400 for the conjunct Common Clerk.36 Ironically too, when one of the principal clerkships of the city became vacant in 1742 the council blithely put the post up for auction. They minuted that bribery was not allowed according to the 1728 act but that since the city’s revenues were low and several wellqualified candidates were prepared to offer more than the maximum £400 to secure the job, the successful applicant would have to offer at least £1,000 sterling. An advocate called Joseph Williamson was appointed after he gave £1,000 sterling ‘by way of a compliment to the community’ and an additional £400 towards building the charity workhouse, opened the following year.37 The 1718 provision to the provost was part of broader efforts at that time to regularize emoluments and limit graft. The act gave as one example ‘the practice of giving earnest money at the roup of the Common Good; from the secret acknowledgements made in money, or otherwise, by persons who come into lucrative offices; and from the gratuities of the same kind, given by those who obtain feus, or tacks of houses, lands, and other branches of the town’s revenue’.38 Corruption in high places is highlighted by the attempt by an alliance or ‘co-partnership’ of three men to dominate the office of city treasurer, to use the 2d. impost on ale to fund city work projects, and to manipulate the contracts for their own interest. The three were Robert (p.341) Wightman, who held office in 1716 and 1717, George Drummond (1718–19), and James Nimmo (1720–1): giving them an easy opportunity of applying the town’s money for particular uses, the one partner being intromitter, and the others inspectors, and having a great hand in the approbation of accounts; and likewise giving them an opportunity to model the whole elections at their pleasure, as being mostly in the power of the treasurer to employ craftsmen at the public works…and by favours of that kind, where the power continues so long in one hand, to seduce those who have shares in the election, to support the particular interests of their employers.39 Other sources reveal that the trio were indeed trading partners.40 This clique was vigorously opposed and taken to the Court of Session by a broadly based coalition of merchants and tradesmen.41 Tavern bills, the largest single item of outgoings after ministers’ salaries according to a 1716 account of the city’s finances, were another source of conflict. One of Wightman’s defences was that Page 7 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition he had reduced expenses ‘particularly in the article of tavern bills, and public entertainments’.42 Any occasion on which substantial public works were undertaken, such as the 1752–3 Leith harbour project, brought accusations of corruption and pocket-lining.43 A defamatory pamphlet published in 1752 rehearsed a long story of overspending and corruption dating back to the trio’s time, when ‘the public spirit of executing vast works for the public of Edinburgh city, which must infallibly have brought great emolument to some private persons, it would not surely be to the projectors of them or their friends, now rose apace and to a vast height’.44 Small wonder that the town council was known as ‘the Land-Market club’. Corruption was a way of life for high and low alike. The city paid the Duke of Lauderdale £5,000 sterling for his efforts in securing the renewal of the impost on ale in 1671 and expended £3,820 sterling for the same end in 1693.45 George Home of Kimmerghame wrote in his diary of a meeting with friends in an Edinburgh coffee house during the summer of 1700: ‘We were (p.342) together jangling and framing schemes of our allowances for expenses all morning’.46 On 2 March 1710 William Drummond recorded in his ‘waste book’ the promise to pay James Carnegie £5 sterling ‘upon condition he shall procure me an act of the Privy Council for erecting a manufactory for making new fashioned hangings, for 19 years to come prohibiting all others during that time’.47 Walter Davidson had misused poor relief funds and presented fraudulent accounts while boxmaster of the Edinburgh hammermen in 1734.48 Smuggling and tax evasion too were extensive. Notorious in 1661 for their ‘unjust entries and unthankful payment’, the city’s brewers spent decades consistently resisting efforts to force them to pay realistic amounts of excise.49 As early as 1667 the town council recorded widespread evasion of the wine duty by carters and sledders bringing wines into the city and in February 1685 the tacksman of the wine impost asked for a reduction of 5,000 merks in his year’s payment because the Nor Loch had been frozen for four months and he had suffered from widespread smuggling across the ice at night.50 The council knew that people waded across the shallow east end of the Nor Loch at night with smuggled goods.51 Nocturnal patrols by special constables were introduced in June 1739 to catch evaders of the excise but the experiment was dropped after a year.52 All but two of the twenty official weigh-house men or porters were sacked in September 1751 for irregular practices including aiding and abetting smugglers of brandy into the city.53 Examples of petty corruption are legion. In the post-Restoration period, town officers thought nothing of using their position to sell drink to those whom they arrested. Prisoners in the Tolbooth should have been paying dues to the keeper but the council discovered in 1679 that the clerk and other employees had also been charging them ‘considerable’ fees.54 The keeper paid 2,500 merks for his office and had to recoup his costs somehow; his subordinates were supposed to Page 8 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition receive only (p.343) a salary.55 James Caskie was sacked as keeper of the Tolbooth in 1689 for extortion and other misbehaviour. One of his tricks was to allow prisoners to bribe him to escape then lie in wait to recapture them as they left the building.56 Accused of breaches of marketing regulations, the city’s fleshers rounded on the town council in 1733 with the claim that the bailies pocketed the fines imposed for their infringements rather than giving them to the poor or the treasurer.57

Consensus and Competiton: Manufacturing By their very nature, underhand dealings tend to leave little trace in documents. For this reason, ‘corruption’ was probably even more extensive than suggested above. We must now ask whether the personal and civic corruption visible among high and low extended into all areas of economic and social relations. Was there a pervasive selfishness, a plot to feather individual nests and advance the corporate interests of a particular group of early capitalists? The attitudes of Edinburgh’s leaders towards dearth and riot suggest not. In the field of political economy we also find a complex set of values which we shall discuss in this section and the next. The potential to wield power for particular interests certainly existed in the city’s government structure. Edinburgh’s town council of the later seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was undeniably powerful. In many ways it was also ‘corrupt, inefficient, irresponsible—a body in which jobbery and nepotism were but feebly restrained’.58 Lord Cockburn described the unreformed council of the 1820s as ‘omnipotent, corrupt, impenetrable’.59 Corrupt it certainly was by any definition of the word and, in the light of the foregoing analysis, one could argue that the city’s inhabitants deserved nothing better. The town council was ‘irresponsible’ because it was oligarchic and, despite appearances, co-optive. According to the 1583 constitution or ‘set’ (modified in 1683, 1730, and 1763) the ‘ordinary’ council of eighteen was to comprise ten merchants—the ‘old’ or (p.344) existing provost, four bailies, dean of guild, treasurer (all ‘of the next year preceding’) and three merchants chosen by them. The first seven, all merchants, were the magistrates and the four bailies (roughly the equivalent of English aldermen) were ex officio Justices of the Peace from 1708. Deacons of crafts were elected in the most democratic part of the whole procedure, though the sitting, merchant dominated council were able to veto unacceptable candidates. The existing council called on the deacons of the fourteen crafts for a long list of suitable candidates from masters of at least two years’ standing in their respective incorporations. From each, they selected three, of whom the standing deacon would be one, from which short list the members of the incorporation were to select their deacon for that year.60 An enlarged council of twenty-five—the above plus seven extra merchants—then chose six from the fourteen new deacons of crafts.

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition The next step was to draw up leets for magistrates and office holders. The short list for magistrates was to be drawn up by the thirty (or thirty-three depending on the date) strong old and new council. For the actual election, the new council of eighteen plus the outgoing twelve members were joined by what were termed ‘extraordinary deacons’, those who had been elected by their incorporations but not subsequently selected for service on the council that year. The dominance of the merchants remained since the composition of the voters was now twenty of their number and eighteen craftsmen. The twenty-five men created by this final step ‘shall have the full government and administration of the whole commonwealth of this burgh’.61 Extraordinary deacons were allowed to vote as above and also in the granting of leases and feus of burgh property, allocation of the common good and spending of its proceeds above £20 Scots, agreeing taxes and deciding on public works. The 1583 set or decreet arbitral established the framework of (p.345) the city’s constitution during the following two centuries. It formalized the crafts’ political position and acknowledged their economic importance by making them pay more of the tax burden. However, it also fixed their subordinate status on the burgh council and there was little to prevent determined oligarchs bending the rules in their favour. Incorporations sought to carve out a niche in burgh politics, but they were themselves a dependent part of a greater power structure. While the period from the restoration of Charles II to the accession of George III would see a strengthening of craft incorporations’ formal position within the body politic they remained firmly subordinated to the political will of merchants. One instance came in the autumn of 1728 when the crafts protested against manipulation of the deacon elections. The detail is unimportant here but the intention, correctly perceived by the trades, was ‘to perpetuate the present magistrates and those under their influence and direction in the office of magistrates of this city by turns’, and so far to ‘disappoint the trades of their right of voting in the election of the magistrates and officers…as that the whole powers of disposing of the city concerns may be and remain to the magistrates and merchant councillors alone’. The ordinary council had flouted the burgh’s constitution by tampering with the long leets for deacon sent in by the incorporations ‘as they liked the faces of the persons leeted’. The council was further accused of trying to secure control over the town’s revenue by excluding the extraordinary deacons from voting for members of the crucial financial committees.62 In other words, the merchants and their allies could, and did, play fast and loose with the city’s constitution for political ends. Nor were they averse to fleecing their own nests at the expense of the burgh’s revenue or ‘Common Good’. They could also have shaped Edinburgh’s economic life to suit their own business and financial interests. That they did not tells us a great deal about the social values of the age. Of course, merchants were not a homogeneous group. A minority of Page 10 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition them handled most of the imports and exports through Leith but the range of wealth and economic interest among the 500–600 merchants at (p.346) any one time was considerable.63 Their outlook was similarly heterogeneous and it would be wrong to present merchants as a political phalanx. However, the wealthier merchants with wider economic horizons who dominated the city’s political life might have been expected to adopt economic and social policies different to those they did. It is this very diversity coupled with the potential for shaping the city’s political economy which, when contrasted with the policies which were actually implemented, means it would be a serious distortion to see the town council as nothing more than ‘the Land-Market club’, answerable to nobody except its own members. For it did try to run the city in the interests of the bulk of the established inhabitants. Incorporation monopolies were protected; profit margins were regulated but so too were prices and production standards. Undeniably a potential avenue for individual advancement, Edinburgh’s town council was not simply or even mainly an instrument of sectional interest. Its members tried to work with the secular associations of the city to preserve the social fabric. Given the supposed enmity between merchants and craftsmen, the broad consensus about forms of economic organization and the priority of social needs in civic policy which we shall encounter is remarkable. And council policies are all the more noteworthy when the councillors’ propensity to line their own pockets is taken into account. Among burgesses and town council in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries there existed a notion of equity and communal well-being bound up with a recognition of both the advantages and disadvantages of economic changes. Potentially most significant of these for burgh society was the expansion of commodity production in rural areas and the pressure of competition in urban retailing and wholesaling. Those who had most to gain from these developments were the merchant élite who dominated both the nonprofessional and non-landed wealth of the city, and effectively controlled the town council. Given their power and the extensive evidence of political frictions between merchants and crafts we might expect that the merchant élite would favour the economic differentiation which would result from an open market. But instead of countenancing (p.347) unrestricted competition, the town council tried to limit the potentially disruptive effects of change. This was certainly the case until the reign of George II when many of the traditional restrictions on production and exchange began to be removed or ignored. Burgess and guild brother, freeman and unfreeman, residen-ter and indweller: these are the classifications used in civic documents. Distinctions in wealth were also recognized but the policies of the town council were generally designed to maintain as many as possible of the city’s masters in a modest or ‘respectable’ lifestyle. Civic policies focused on the interests of burgesses and guild brothers Page 11 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition who made up perhaps a quarter of adult male householders. While perfectly happy to line their own pockets in office, councillors, guild, incorporations, and officials tried to sustain an urban society with limited poverty, full employment, and social stability. They did so against a background of inequality and friction among townspeople, and of change in the wider economy. Edinburgh’s incorporations recognized that one man could be more successful than another. The notion of a ‘moral economy’ was not incompatible with individual success. Examples of wealth inequality are numerous. To take just one instance, when the cordiners of the Canongate clubbed together in 1704 to buy a new velvet mortcloth (for wrapping corpses prior to burial), the largest sum given (by the current deacon) was £14-4-0 and twenty-two of the remaining twenty-six contributors gave less than £2.64 Incorporations also recognized that conflicting interests made harmony virtually unattainable. The sources of friction were legion. For example, no cordiner was to rent another’s house or shop (‘booth’) ‘over his head unless he be content to remove willingly or that he and his landlord cannot agree’.65 Reconciling individual profit with the general good of the incorporation and, at least notionally, with that of the whole burgh community was difficult, to say the least. It is therefore understandable that incorporations continued to adhere to the principle that work should be distributed as evenly as possible so as to maximize the general good of members. The attitude is summed up by the prayer at the beginning of the (p. 348) mid-eighteenth-century volume of Edinburgh cordiners’ minutes: ‘that no person here present…try by any means to seek their own commodity or gain to the hurt and prejudice of their brother or liberty of the craft’.66 The guild brother oath for merchants, dated 1696, speaks of ‘a common cause and a common profit’.67 Broadly based prosperity among a closely defined section of burgh society could be achieved by various means. One was to restrict the number of apprentices and journeymen a master could have. Another was to redistribute short-term overloads of work on one master to his fellows. Among the acts of the Canongate cordiners (1678) is a stipulation that ‘if any masters…shall happen to have more work than he can conveniently get wrought within his own shop…he shall be obliged to make offer of the said work to another free brother of the said burgh’. Only if all masters were busy could the recipient of the order have ‘liberty to employ any person without the liberty [i.e. from outside the jurisdiction] he pleases’.68 The deacons of crafts agreed in the following year that this should be a general principle after a case involving a locksmith who was told he had to try for at least three hours to find a colleague to do the work before employing an unfreeman.69 A third way was to restrict the numbers of premises a burgess could run, this having the same effect (p.349) as limiting the number of employees.70 Restriction of any economic change which would enhance the differences between members’ fortunes and reduce the well-being of the more Page 12 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition traditional artisan producers or small retailers was the explicit aim of these regulations.71 Contemporaries like Patrick Lindsay criticized the restrictive power of guilds in his 1733 Interest of Scotland and Adam Smith’s harsh words about these associations are well known.72 To someone like Smith the incorporations’ attitudes and the policies of the late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century town council smacked of backward-looking monopoly. In practice both bodies were trying to adjust production to economic change in such a way as to limit damage both to individual members and to the overall community of the burgh. The incorporations did not set their faces against economic developments but sought to use them to reinforce existing priorities. If there was enough work for everyone, outside labour could be used. Output could increase, new products could be produced, and the division of labour could proceed. On the other hand, for much of the period 1660–1760 slow economic gowth and marked short-term fluctuations in demand for goods and services meant that free markets in labour and capital, and changes in organization and technology within Edinburgh were restricted.73 The incorporations were threatened by competition from outside their ranks and by some members siding with the forces of change in their own individual interests. The most potent threat from outside was the development of puttingout. Canongate’s weavers complained in 1669 about people ‘transporting their yarn, linen and woollen, to county weavers and employing them to make their webs (albeit they may be better served at home and as cheap)’ and of those who ‘conceal certain yarn (p.350) delivered in to them by other neighbours who can more cleanly convey the same to the said country weavers and presently return the same in whole webs into their houses’.74 In early 1695 the cordiners incorporation of Edinburgh authorized the box-master to spend 500 merks on the wholesale purchase of leather. This was to be sold to members at ‘reasonable’ rates. It was no longer economical for individual masters to buy leather because of its high price. This, in turn, was caused by interlopers selling leather ‘in single pairs of shoes with necessaries thereto belonging’ ready to be sewn up by unskilled journeymen shoemakers. The incorporation viewed this as an ‘enhanced monopoly never formerly practised within the city and thereby the trade is decayed and cannot be served with servants through unfree cordiners their trafficking with such persons both within and without the city’.75 Freemen were forbidden to employ cobblers (journeymen) unless they lived in with the master who cut their leather and reaped the benefit of their labour. This was to prevent putting-out and the employment of unskilled piece workers by both outsiders and ambitious master freemen. A commitment to small commodity production within the city was not incompatible with control of rural putting-out in particular, or with economic expansion in general. For example, Edinburgh merchants ran extensive rural Page 13 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition domestic industrial enterprises in mid-seventeenth-century Aberdeenshire: shipping raw wool to spinners and weavers then buying back the finished product.76 However, anything which impinged on the well-being of Edinburgh’s burgesses was vigorously resisted both by local restrictions and national lobbying. The apparent stagnation in the number of craftsmen in Edinburgh during the second half of the seventeenth century can be partly accounted for by the growth of manufactures outside its boundaries. In October 1670 seventeen dyers petitioned the council against John Kippen, Uthred McDowell, and others who: have removed themselves and their workhouses forth of Edinburgh to the far end of the West Port and thereby not only prejudices the good town of the petty customs of all webbs, cloth and others coming out and in…and eschew the payment of their part of the common burdens, and are a bad example to others to do the like, but also does heavily (p.351) prejudice and wrong the supplicants who are litsters within the burgh in seducing and taking away their…customers and employment upon the pretence of working cheaper than the litsters can do within the burgh (as indeed they may by being free of common burdens, customs and by making of insufficient work…[which] does presently stain, cast and lose the colours) and thereby not only are the king’s leiges cheated and deceived, but also the said insufficient work does reflect upon the litsters of Edinburgh to their shame and disgrace and persons who have any good cloth to dye… who would have the same well done, send the said cloth out of this kingdom.77 Edinburgh was a centre of specialist cloth production and finishing rather than bulk weaving in the late seventeenth century. It had seven times as many clothiers paying the highest band of poll tax in the 1690s as Glasgow and twenty-one times as many as Aberdeen.78 Weaving was done in nearby centres like Dalkeith or Mussleburgh, but David Spence’s early eighteenth-century linen manufactory at Tollcross never flourished and was sold off in 1748.79 Weaving changed completely during the second quarter of the eighteenth century. The introduction of the flying shuttle allowed one man to do work which had previously required two weavers and a cord drawer. Independent linen weavers were also forced into dependence on manufacturers’ agents and in 1751 the last of the city incorporation’s restrictive practices were removed by act of parliament to allow free entry into the craft.80 There is another reason for seeing merchants as a force for stability and continuity in the city’s socio-economic development. They did not seek actively to promote putting-out in Edinburgh’s textile industry at the expense of small commodity production. Nor do the most ‘capitalistic’ developments in production of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century seem to have originated within the ranks of the merchants. Instead, they came from groups inside Page 14 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition Edinburgh’s artisan incorporations. When the town council intervened in the internecine disputes which provide our evidence for these changes it tended to side with the more conservative elements. The first recorded post-Restoration ‘labour dispute’ initially gives the appearance of being a struggle between masters and (p.352) employees in the weaving trade.81 The main body of the incorporation raised a case before the magistrates of the city and before the Court of Session claiming that their apprentices, journeymen, and servants had been keeping a separate box for ‘a pious use’. In their complaint to the deacons of crafts (May 1668) the weavers asserted that their dependants had never had such a facility and should not be entitled to keep their own relief funds, especially since ‘upon pretext thereof and of meeting for regulating the same they abstract themselves from their masters’ service’. Appealing to the standard rhetoric of civic order and public interest, the masters averred that ‘it will make servants so proud against their masters that they will carry little or nothing for them and neglect their service’, leading to a breakdown in the lines of authority which stretched from top to bottom of urban society. Standards of weaving would fall, consumers would suffer, and trade be damaged. Precisely how was not specified. Finally, the weavers affirmed that masters and men should pay into the same box as happened in other trades: ‘the same may be as well for the servants of other trades which the supplicants are content to supply themselves as other trades does’. The lines of dispute are in reality more complex. The journeymen, apprentices, and servants were supported by Bernard Wilkie, ‘the main author and cause of all the division’, and four other members of the incorporation who had ‘disowned the trade’—George Brown, John Home, William Naismith, and Alexander Wilson. These masters joined with the journeymen and apprentices in maintaining the separate box. The main body of the incorporation argued that disobedient workers were never to be allowed to become freemen weavers, a sanction which, if taken seriously, would imply that apprentices and journeymen would normally aspire to become masters. Such a threat would have been much less effective a century later. The complaint was primarily directed against dependent workers, but the five who had sided with them had, by their ‘concurrence and assistance’, promoted division in the incorporation and should lose their freedom. The masters’ point of view is well represented and easy to understand in the light of prevailing assumptions about order (p.353) and hierarchy. The motives of the dependent workers and the five renegades are less transparent. Having a separate fund to insure against inability to work could give journeymen and apprentices a feeling of solidarity and independence. Along with Wilkie and his abettors they may have felt that the distribution of existing funds benefited certain types of weaver more than others. Indeed, while there may have been frictions between masters and men, the affair bears the marks of factional Page 15 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition dispute among the weavers rather than an ‘industrial relations’ problem. Conceivably it was a response to broader problems within the industry associated with falling demand and a move of production to the countryside and evidenced by a steady fall in the weavers’ ranking among payers of the crafts’ stent. A breakaway silk-weavers’ incorporation was set up in the autumn of 1671,82 Certainly, the weavers were not a happy band around this time. In May 1670 William Reid persuaded a former deacon, John Clark, to call a meeting of ex-deacons and some masters to examine the incorporation’s papers ‘to the high contempt and disgrace of their present deacon’ Arthur Temple.83 Temple must have been convener of the craft deacons because the council minutes for 21 September 1670 show him as deacon of the surgeons for the coming year while one James Glasgow was deacon of the weavers.84 Temple is listed as a member, from 1666 if not earlier, in Laws and Regulations of the Royal College of Surgeons.85 A year later Temple raised a complaint against George Reid for abusing him and for riding roughshod over the apprenticing rules by booking a boy who continued to live and work with his father in the country rather than in Edinburgh with Reid himself. If everyone ‘be suffered to take an apprentice once in the three years and put him to the country to learn his calling the door may be open to all’.86 In this instance, as in many other, the town council backed up the conservative faction (p.354) within the incorporation. By its actions, the council set its face against economic change and the likely social polarization which would result. If the most serious external threat to established artisans was putting-out, the internal development least conducive to traditional social and economic relationships was the larger, integrated enterprise. Edinburgh’s hammermen complained in 1665 of masons, wrights, and others ‘taking on of bargains of building of houses and furnishing of all materials thereto and buying of all sort of ironwork in Calton and other parts of the country and…in employing of unfree persons’—by men such as John Tod, locksmith burgess of Edinburgh, in 1671.87 Present in the post-Restoration period, this tension ebbed and flowed throughout the following century. In 1746 certain members of the Portsburgh hammermen’s incorporation complained that others were ‘endeavouring to make a monopoly by assuming to themselves a privilege to execute all the several branches of the different arts of the said society’. Four years previously, the incorporation had ordered ‘that none of the different arts of this society shall have liberty to exercise any other art but that upon which they made their different assays’.88 The building trades were leaders in the development of integrated enterprises. Again in 1685 the armourers complained that the wrights and masons ‘had committed great abuses in taking on of bargains of building of houses and furnishing all materials thereto and buying of all sorts of iron work in Calton and other parts of the country and employing of unfree persons’.89

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition A Privy Council proclamation of 31 March 1680 covering Edinburgh and Midlothian sought to limit vertical integration among suppliers and producers in the brewing industry. Vintners were forbidden to brew, brewers to retail, ale ‘but that each of them keep by their own employment’. Maltmen were entitled either to deal in malt made from bought bear or make malt using clients’ bear but not both activities.90 When James Donaldson, merchant, petitioned the Privy Council in 1704 ‘for making of machines and to set up manufactories for making of (p. 355) arms and other things relating to smithcraft’ the incorporation resolved to oppose him.91 In 1733 it also set its face against a master who kept more than one shop ‘for his own profit’.92 In 1745 John Hume, coachmaker in St Mary’s Wynd, asked to be able to employ a journeyman smith on his own projects in exchange for stallanger fees. The incorporation saw this as a dangerous precedent and refused. But in 1754 a complaint was raised against James Miln, locksmith, ‘for packing and dealing’ with Hume and for ‘colouring the work’ of Hume, an unfreeman.93 The central point is that artisans responded differently to the problems and possibilities of economic change. We can see this in a final example. A dispute within the skinners’ trade produced a long judgement from the deacons of the crafts in August 1684. The background was growing competition from imports. In 1679 skins were being brought into the city and liberties, stored in stablers’ premises, and sold to merchants from Glasgow, Stirling, and Perth. What was not sold wholesale was going to the inhabitants of the town ‘under the counter’, bypassing the city’s skinners altogether.94 The specific issue was the quality of skins and wool produced by Edinburgh skinners compared with competing Borders craftsmen. Country producers were able to wash skins and wool in running water whereas the Edinburgh masters were obliged to rely on the filthy and near-stagnant waters of the North Loch. The skinners argued that ‘not only those who live in the country would get ten groats more of a stone of wool than those who wash and pull at the North Loch, but also that the inconveniences of washing and pulling there had risen to that height that none in the north would buy their wool unless it were mixed with the country wool and called under that name, as Kelso wool or the like’. ‘A testificate under the hand of a great many merchants and traffickers who drive that trade in the north’ was cited in support. What sense was there, then, in forcing skinners to use the loch when there was running water within the town’s liberties (at Canonmills) which could be used without harm to other trades, especially ‘at this time when the woollen manufactory is come to (p.356) so great a length’?95 By washing in running water ‘they were able to make as good wool as could be imported from England’ and could wash ‘English skins’ worth six shillings instead of local ones valued at just one shilling. Better still, ‘when those who wash at the North Loch are necessarily obliged to pull all their skins without washing after the Martinmas, which is the time when the best skins come in, so that by the petitioners’ method they will make more out of the two stone than those who pull it otherwise will Page 17 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition make out of three’. By washing and pulling skins at Canonmills any damage to them by transport while still wet up to the North Loch side would be avoided. Canonmills was the site of the future for skinners who wanted to increase profits, serve their fellow men, and benefit the city. A group of skinners therefore secured their deacon’s permission to work at the Canonmills and, with demand outstripping supply, were able to sell their goods at a premium rather than a discount to the rurally produced article. At this juncture, another faction within the incorporation ‘who would not be at pains to do the like…and being moved with envy of the great progress the petitioners had made by that effort both as to their own benefit and the common advantage of all the lieges’ presented the innovation as a transgression of regulations. Though the deacon felt that the intervention was an act of spite, the objectors were able to force a vote and, in the absence of the projectors, to secure an order forcing them to stop washing at the Canonmills. The ‘malice and injustice’ of the objectors was said to arise from their fear that buildings they had on the North Loch side might lie ‘waste’ (empty), a point rejected by the innovators who pointed to strong demand from fleshers for these premises. However, owners were reluctant to let to a dirty trade like slaughtering and this was the reason for waste houses. This dispute sharpens the focus on industrial production and change in the later seventeenth century. First, it testifies not to the erosion of urban skinners’ economic position but to their potential adaptability and strength. Second, it illustrates the presence of what were to prove enduring tensions between traditionalists (p.357) and the more flexible, dynamic elements of a trade, tensions in which private interest and differences of public vision played a part. This is an example of the form which the push for economic change took in Edinburgh 1660–1760. Rather than being stimulated solely by merchant capitalists who sought to control the production process, it was urban artisans themselves who responded to new opportunities and sought to break away from traditional restrictions.96 There was always a tension within incorporations between, on the one hand, those entrepreneurs who wished to expand by diversifying the services they provided and by employing unfreemen. On the other were the majority of their fellows who favoured traditional narrow specialisms and restrictions on access to trade, opposing commercial and industrial liberalization, and preferring to rely on legal privileges as burgess rather than on open market competition. The city authorities generally favoured the latter camp. In a context of relatively weak craft political representation, this suggests that the majority of merchants who dominated the town council must have shared the incorporations’ values in order to defend them. The fact that some merchants and craftsmen sought to enlarge their businesses at the expense of small commodity production shows that the ideological consensus was incomplete. However, it also strengthens the Page 18 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition argument by showing that alternative paths were available which the city authorities and burgesses as a whole chose not to follow. Friedrichs has argued that periods of economic difficulty allowed merchant capitalists to gain control of artisan means of production and thus to separate ownership from labour in early modern Germany. He follows a broadly Marxist line which sees ‘the production functions formerly carried out in households and regulated by producers’ associations or guilds…usurped by merchants who invest trading profits in industries such as textiles or metals which are or can be directed towards international commodity markets’.97 In Edinburgh, the picture differed in important ways. First, economic prosperity coupled with competition from outside the (p.358) burgh seems to have been the main stimulus to capitalistic developments. These in turn were checked by conservative elements within crafts and trades with the help of the civic authorities though the success of traditional craft production may itself have helped to inhibit the spread of large, diversified enterprises. Second, innovators in the organization of production seem to have been drawn as much from within the craft ranks as from those of thrusting merchants. For example, in 1694 the town council set its face against illegal booking of mature ‘apprentices’ by employers looking for cheap labour and a way to allow outsiders to gain freedom of the city because ‘the council cannot countenance fraud or indirect dealing to the prejudice of the community’.98 Conflicts between artisans and merchants were about retailing and the distribution of political power within the city rather than about the proletarianization of previously independent craft producers. The formation of the ‘merchant company’ in 1681 was an attempt to secure a monopoly of retailing for its members at a time when both local and national economic change was making such a structure increasingly difficult to sustain. The city’s crafts argued, with good reason, that ‘persons who wish may form voluntary societies, but a society on the lines proposed, destructive of other people’s liberties, is against all reason and without a parallel. The governors of such a company would be masters of the town.’99 The feel is for what German guilds described as bürgerliche Nahrung—‘social justice, or more specifically the protection of a just standard of living through economic self-sufficiency’; guilds ‘defended members against dependence on large-scale enterprise and kept as much of the labour force as possible in work’.100 Each citizen had a ‘respectable’ status which should be preserved. Civic authorities were prepared to defend artisan production (and retailing privileges) against both rural producers and predatory urban entrepreneurs. Neale uses the phrase ‘social corporatism’ to describe the same concept in early eighteenth-century Bath.101

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition (p.359) Writers like Adam Smith deplored the effects of these regulations. With their restrictive privileges, Smith wrote that incorporations ‘are a sort of enlarged monopolies, and may frequently, for ages together and in whole classes of employments, keep up the market price of particular commodities above the natural price’.102 Yet, Edinburgh town council accepted that customers might have to pay a higher price for goods in the interests of preserving the fabric of burgh society. The point they evidently acknowledged is that producers were also consumers. Mumford believes that ‘in its emphasis on speculation, not security, upon profitmaking innovation rather than on value-conserving traditions and continuities, capitalism tended to dismantle the whole structure of urban life and place it upon a new impersonal basis: money and profit’.103 In seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Edinburgh there was certainly a strong interest in profit which cannot be seen as anything other than ‘capitalist’. However, it coexisted with other priorities which mitigated the effects generally held to flow from capitalism. As Mumford noted of building projects in Amsterdam, if capitalist forces operate within a ‘system of collective action and orderly restraint’ where corporate supervision of rebuilding and expansion took account of public good and basic requirements (such as security against fire) the urban fabric remained human and habitable.104 The same can be said of both building and ‘social construction’ in contemporary Edinburgh. The city’s experience reinforces the idea that the transition from ‘traditional’ to ‘modern’ was hesitant, irregular, and protracted.

The Development of Laissez-faire: Retailing As Lynch notes, Edinburgh’s craftsmen and tradesmen in the age of the Reformation were ‘unashamed monopolists… (p.360) wedded to the same static view of society with its twin notions of inherited privilege bound up with service’.105 The description still applied a century later. Yet, the protection of group stability was not achieved wholly through restrictive legislation. There was slack in the system, at least in some periods. Burgesses had a history of trying to protect their privileges with one hand while profiting from their unfree competitors with the other. The story of the years 1660–1760 is of fluctuations in the relative strength of the hands, related to changing demand structures. For example, in November 1682, Edinburgh tailors and cordiners were found to have allowed men who were neither burgesses nor freemen of their trades to set up businesses in the head of the Canongate and to have milked them for dues.106 Certain prosecutions of unfreemen were specific to short-term fluctuations in labour demand: a clampdown on twelve unfree cooks in July 1663 came just prior to the opening of parliament.107 What was important about the second quarter of the eighteenth century was that the developments in competition ‘policy’ were not merely a response to short-term economic fluctuations. They marked a profound and permanent shift in attitudes towards economic

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition regulation and social order not only among the city authorities but also among burgess producers and sellers. The problem with unfree traders and outside competition which required the council’s involvement was that they interfered not only with the privileges of a particular group but also with the fabric of burgh society. Retailing was affected as much as manufacture. Shopkeepers, for example, were supposed to sell only in their shops ‘whereby every freeman burgess has an equal opportunity of vending and retailing his ware in a regular way’.108 Setting up stalls in the street and sending employees to sell in coffee houses amounted to forestalling by giving an unfair trading advantage. Staples of life such as bread were subject to strict weight, quality, and price restrictions. That explains (p.361) why in 1664 baxters from outside the city were held to prejudice the inhabitants not only by bringing in and selling of their unlawful bread upon the market day and market place but in carrying and sending them through the town by themselves and their servants and selling them to hucksters [chapmen] and taverns and what they cannot sell upon the market day they set them up in houses near the market place and sends them through the town.109 Goods had generally to be sold openly in the market place. Candles, for example, could be sold in burgess candlemakers’ shops but imports from Dalkeith and elsewhere had to be exposed for sale on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays between the head of Niddry’s Wynd and Blackfriars Wynd.110 One reason for moving the flesh markets in the late 1720s was that overcrowding made it difficult for customers to see the meat on offer.111 Other breaches of price and weight regulations by middlemen included the sale of underweight, over-priced loaves by vintners and innkeepers in early 1680, by non-burgess baxters in late 1681, and by suburban ‘hucksters’ in 1697.112 This, and a host of other retailing infringements, cropped up again in 1728. Edinburgh’s baxters petitioned the council about three specific abuses. First, vendors selling bread without a price marked on it, or at less than the advertised price. Second, discounting—selling thirteen loaves for the price of twelve—must mean loaves were lighter or flour coarser. Third, selling at odd prices like 5d. or 10d. meant that ‘the hucksters and little shop keepers which are in all corners of the town buy up such bread’ and sell it at the usual prices of 6d. or 12d., giving them an inflated profit. The baxters appealed to the notion of service to the community, claiming that hucksters had cornered the market in inferior bread but that the ‘pennyworth’ or value for money offered by the baxters was superior even if they were being (illegally) undercut.113 The council accepted the argument, recognizing that discounting allowed middlemen who bought in bulk and (p.362) sold singly to make additional profit, and that buying at 5d. and selling at 6d. was engrossing by hucksters at the expense of the poor, ‘who buy

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition only coarse wheat bread or oat bread’.114 Bread should be clearly stamped so that people could see what they were buying. When it came to basic foodstuffs, restrictions on forestalling and regrating might be stringently enforced. A 1653 act against forestalling of livestock was revived early in 1690.115 Deadstock too was subject to repeated legislation designed to prevent manipulation of the market. An act of 1608 was reiterated in 1702 and again in 1722 and 1732. At the last date, the council ordered that skins, hides, and carcasses were only to be sold in open market and not beforehand to hucksters. In 1733 the council responded to reports of price increases, caused by forestalling and regrating, by prosecuting a group of four fleshers who had devised a way ‘of exposing only part of their fleshes in their stalls and concealing the greater part in their slaughter houses and booths, thereby to make an appearance of scarcity’.116 Other abuses were identified during the 1730s. In November of 1731 the Canongate bailies had made enquiries about fleshers in North Leith who only laid out only parts of an animal rather than the whole Imlk’ or carcass, and who did not display the head and skin as well.117 The point about displaying the head was that it should not show signs of bludgeoning. Cattle and sheep were supposed to have their throats cut. Sharp operators forced the animals to run around to engorge the muscle with blood before braining them. This meant consumers were paying for blood rather than muscle when buying by measure. As part of a wider change taking place between 1732 and 1736, the council ordered that beef and mutton were only to be sold by weight.118 During the 1740 dearth they stipulated the same for pease meal since sale ‘by measure may be attended with fraud extremely hurtful to the poor’.119 There must have been some resistance to the change because the heritors of Midlothian recommended again in 1757 that selling by (standard English) weight not measure ‘is more equal and better for all parties… (p.363) and will probably be an encouragement to the farmers to endeavour to improve the quality of their grain and consequently greatly promote agriculture’.120 Where possible, the authorities sought to limit the growing importance of middlemen. George Dalgleish, flesher in Tranent, was prosecuted in the spring of 1660 for buying lambs from another flesher on the way to the Edinburgh market, as were two separate women for trying to do the same thing with poultry.121 A committee of the town council reported in January 1705 that fleshers were obliged to pay muir and fleck customs for beasts lodged there, whether bought direct from ‘private places’ or in the city market. Cowfeeders and drovers making more than one deal over livestock were also obliged to pay if more than three market days intervened between transactions. Fleshers who were freemen burgesses did not have to pay under these circumstances but

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition were liable to be charged with forestalling and regrating.122 At the 1739 roup of the Common Good: All fleshers or drovers are hereby prohibited to buy or sell the cattle brought into the city or liberties any where else except in the said market or on the pasture where they have been fed at least six weeks and particularly from buying or selling them in Dalkeith, Musselburgh or Leith under the pain of being punished as forestallers. Seven Leith women, mostly sailors’ wives, were said between March and June 1740 to have bought up salmon and other fish at Leith, Kinghorn, and elsewhere to sell at Edinburgh ‘to others who sold the same over again to the lieges whereby the inhabitants were imposed upon in paying double prices’.123 During the eighteenth century, this type of legislation was most visibly enforced during dearths and appears less frequently by mid-century. Indeed, times were changing. In August 1736, the 1608 act prohibiting ‘forehand sales’ of skins and hides was rescinded following a report by a council subcommittee which recommended that preventing the practice ‘or the limiting [of] the sales of hides and skins to the market place is contrary to the law as has been lately determined in similar (p.364) cases’.124 Only this aspect of the legislation was withdrawn and all other clauses—about searching for substandard goods, for example—remained in force. Between 1736 and 1744 the Edinburgh Justices of the Peace prosecuted thirty-three cases of forestalling and sale of substandard goods.125 Intervention in retailing was extensive. The town council set the prices of most staple items to prevent profiteering. A 1736 Court of Session action against the candlemakers established the city’s right precisely to regulate profit margins.126 They did not attempt to restrict market prices for items over which they had no control. For example, the council sanctioned a rise in coal prices in September 1739, ‘the price of coals being heightened this year by the owners thereof’—Sir John Clerk of Penicuik, Sir John Braid of Gilmerton, and John Biggar of Woolmet. However, it had clamped down firmly in 1677 on discovering that coal carriers brought loads into the city, stored it at the Pleasance, then sold it to retail consumers at a 50 per cent markup by making two loads into three.127 Attempts by the masons to establish a minimum wage to stop some members undercutting their fellows, a practice said to be ruining everyone’s standard of living, were squashed by the town council as illegal and ‘unreasonable’.128 The council intervened to reduce prices as in March 1665, when it put a ceiling of 20d. Scots on a measure of beer and condemned the ‘great abuse committed by the brewers and tapsters in this burgh brewing and selling of two and three shilling ale which is intolerable at such a time when the victual is so cheap’.129 Genuine

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition differences in supply and demand were usually accepted; artificial manipulations of them were not. Obviously restrictive practices and frauds prejudicial to the inhabitants as a whole were not tolerated. In 1707 the council clamped down on linen cloth and coarse flax being sold in the city ‘which is not of the length, breadth and quality of goodness and sufficiency prescribed by the foresaid acts [of parliament] but limed in the bleaching and is a manifest cheat put upon the (p.365) lieges’.130 Some time before 1735, John Din, writer, had employed a staymaker called James Wright to make a pair of stays for one of his children. After waiting six months for delivery, Din tried to get another tradesman to do the job but failed since Wright’s ‘bretheren of the trade would not take his business out of his hands’. The magistrates ruled in favour of Din.131 Bread and coals were staple items in everyday life. Another commodity which illustrates policy intentions and constraints was wine. Everyone knew that the price of wine fluctuated according to the grape harvest and external conditions like international relations and warfare. Following ‘the blasting of the vintage’ in 1692, prices at Edinburgh more than doubled in 1693. In 1694 they were described as ‘extraordinary’. Canongate kirk session paid 38/- a pint for communion claret in 1694, nearly double the price for the other years of that decade and not surpassed during the period 1674–1742 except in 1710.132 When ships arrived at Leith with French or Spanish wine, the merchant importer was supposed to present himself before the council with the receipts for the wine, its carriage, and other incidents like currency exchange charges. The council then set a price per tun at which the merchant could sell to vintners and a further one per pint which innkeepers were allowed to charge customers, the latter being broadcast through the town. This procedure ensured that wholesaler and retailer received ‘a competent profit’ and that the consumer’s interests were also protected.133 Whether the £20 Scots fine (1697) for retailing above the set prices bothered the vintners is another matter.134 However, there is another side to this story which involves price maintenance. The council did intervene to prevent some prices going too low as part of their policy of protecting the social and economic fabric of the burgh community. For example, unfreemen wishing to sell goods in the city could not do so at prices which would undercut established traders. More commonly, price support was achieved by cartels rather than by administrative involvement. The breakdown of one association in 1698 shows prices being ramped to support merchants’ (p. 366) profits. In the resulting Court of Session case, merchants alleged that vintners had agreed to buy wine at £48 sterling the tun, to regulate retail prices, and to prosecute any member who retailed at less than 32/- Scots per pint. The problem for the vintners was that the price of the 1697 vintage, delivered in spring 1698, was much lower than the previous year. It was also much lower than the official price set at the end of December 1697:32/- Scots per pint for Page 24 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition claret (the wine at issue), 36/- for Canary (Madeira), and 44/- for sack. They claimed that the falling price was hardly their fault and in any case some merchants were offloading stocks at £28 sterling the tun, allowing the vintners so supplied to sell as low as 20/- Scots a pint.135 These examples lend weight to Adam Smith’s tart comment that ‘people of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices’.136 One means of regulating economic life was to license unfree men and women to conduct business within the liberties of Edinburgh. In 1693 Leith’s brewers claimed to be afflicted by competition from producers living outside the town’s jurisdiction. Specifically, fourteen of them said that they would have to give up the trade, removing 7,700 merks of valued rent from the stent rolls. Because ‘every brewer employs and maintains six or seven families’, the effect on Leith’s economy would be serious.137 Brewing by unfreemen in Leith was also mentioned and part of the town council’s solution to the Leith brewer’s complaint was to license all retailers (free of charge) and insist they sold only freemen brewers’ ale. Alongside proscription, licensing was the standard response to such competition. We have seen that the existence of traders who were not burgesses but who purchased the right to make and sell goods within the privileges of the city —‘stallangers’—had long been acknowledged. The last systematic attempt to regulate and ‘tax’ such activity provides us with a valuable source for studying selling by unfree men and women in (p.367) Edinburgh proper. From 1729 a committee comprising the Dean of Guild, the previous Dean of Guild, two merchants, and three craftsmen (a goldsmith, a wright and a mason for 1729– 30) allocated licences to sell ale, small goods, and fish in exchange for a cash payment, normally of £3 Scots (5/- sterling).138 The licences were a way of tapping an illegal activity which was already tolerated within the city. An act of February 1729 against unfree traders criticized them for bringing goods into the city ‘and not content to vend and retail them in their private houses or chambers, though even that be contrary to law, have further had the assurance to hawk and carry about in their hands and other-ways in public streets and in the coffee houses, taverns and private houses’.139 The council had to balance the interests of burgesses and the city’s coffers with those of other elements of the community. It recognized in April 1729 that ‘executing against them the laws made against unfree traders would not only be a hardship upon them but also would be hurtful to the community by disabling numbers of the inhabitants from holding house’.140 Poor traders who were unable to buy the freedom to trade ‘and who only occupied some low and inconsiderable branches of trade such as the retail of ale, beer, milk, horsehiring, cowfeeding and the like’ were to be included in the new scheme, which was advertised in newspapers.141 Among those granted privileges within Page 25 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition the city was Isobel Sim, shopkeeper at Gladstone’s land in the Lawnmarket, allowed to sell ale from September 1731 until the following Whitsunday. Euphan Nisbet was allowed to sell small wares for a year while a brewer’s servant called John Mure was given the same privilege, both in August 1729. The licences were part of a broader concern with regulating and exploiting unfree commerce. Sometime in the mid-1720s, the merchant company lost its zeal for prosecuting those who infringed its privileges; fines disappear as a source of revenue in its accounts. Exactly why this happened is unclear since as recently as the early 1710s there had been a revival of disputes about competition from unfree traders. The merchant company stopped booking apprentices in 1722 and opted for the more easily administered payment of a lump sum by entrants—equivalent (p.368) to ten times the current yearly dues. Admissions to the company fell from an average of about twenty a year in 1726 to six a year two decades later. Forty-two names of long-standing members were struck off for non-payment of dues in 1730 and there was a general clearing out of ‘dead, insolvent, or out of trade’ names in 1733.142 The quality of information on occupation and location of business varies considerably over the two decades promised on the cover of the volume containing the licences. Entries for 1729–30 were selected for their relatively full detail. Between 22 August 1729 and 9 December 1730 278 men and 140 women were licensed. This compares with 222 male and eighty-one female unfree traders detected by Dean of Guild’s Court officials in an enquiry of March 1701.143 It sits less comfortably with Gilhooley’s estimate of 100 alesellers in inner Edinburgh in 1752.144 Of those licensed to sell ale in 1731, 238 were men (90 per cent) and twenty-eight women; the proportions for small goods are reversed with twenty-one males and 108 females; only nineteen men and four women were given permission to sell fish or simply ‘to trade’. Just three men were actually called ale-seller and one vintner. The range of stated occupations among men is extensive, numbering thirty-four, and among those licensed only to sell ale it was still twenty-six. The commonest designation was indweller: 121 men or 58 per cent of those of known occupation licensed to sell ale. This is hardly surprising since an indweller was not a freeman burgess and therefore exactly the sort of person the system was designed to encompass. The second largest group were stablers and horsehirers with twenty-three licensees, and tailors with eighteen. The remaining twenty-three designations covered a great variety of craftsmen: baxters, masons, wrights, cobblers, brewers, fleshers, workmen, mealmongers, a soldier, musician, painter, glassgrinder, wig-maker, and upholsterer. Most of the craftsmen were somehow associated with the victualling trade and most were journeymen rather than masters. Likely as it is that these men were supplementing their main income by selling ale, it may also be that they could not practice a trade in the city and that aleselling was (p.369) their only source of revenue. Men licensed to sell small Page 26 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition wares included merchants, a druggist, perfumer, gardener, weaver, tobacconist, bookseller, and poultryman. None of these occupations was represented among alesellers. Women made up between a third and two-fifths of licensees in four other years sampled during the 1730s and 1740s. Most were probably married women but twelve cases in the summer of 1736 mention single females allowed to trade as shopkeepers as long as they remained unmarried. One was the daughter of a minister, another the daughter of a writer: conceivably orphans or perhaps seeking an independent life for themselves. Women given an addition in the 1729–30 list were either indwellers (14) or shopkeepers (104). In the 1740s details of what was sold are sometimes specified and give a clearer insight into female shop-keeping. They include bread, butter, cream, tea, coffee, yarn, and millinery besides ale. Single women had a number of opportunities to work for themselves in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century. The town council ‘grants liberty to Anna Keith, relict of Mr James Cheyne sometime minister at Kinneller, and Marie Cheyne their daughter, servants to the dowager countess of Marischal, to keep a little shop within this burgh for venting of some small ware and other handiwork as they can work’ (June 1662).145 There were young women setting up shops who were so poor that the merchant company gave them back their poinds (deposits) and gave them time to pay their quarterly fees for trading rights. These women bought goods on credit from merchants and paid for them out of takings. Margaret Scott, a writer’s daughter, kept a small shop to support her father, though they lived separately. Her brother had squandered their father’s money and to keep him from prison she had borrowed on her own credit ‘large sums which lie heavy on her till this day’. Another unmarried shopkeeper ran a small grocer’s. She was so poor that the letters she wrote in connection with the business were penned in home-made ink. ‘Being left young and in low circumstances by her parents’ Agnes Erskine ‘had these forty years past wrought for her bread in the way of sewing though in a poor way’.146 (p.370) The word ‘apprentice’ is only rarely applied to women. Some female apprentices seem to have been genuinely indentured as such, though not recorded in official lists of bookings. Margaret Inglis, a young woman of 19, described herself as ‘apprentice’ to Mrs Pillance, merchant in Edinburgh, and made a good signature on her deposition. This contrasts with her (illiterate) fellow ‘servant’ Isobel Stirling, under process for infanticide.147 Rachel Blair, daughter to the Edinburgh goldsmith Charles Blair, was apprenticed to Katherine Young, mantua-maker, at the age of 16.148 More explicit is the account in the minutes of Edinburgh’s baxters’ incorporation for 1671 whose marginal guide reads ‘women prentices’. The association had learned of ‘several young women that were in the custody and keeping of some pastry men…for learning of the said women to work and occupy their work’. Again in 1694 ‘woman Page 27 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition prentices’ learning pastry cooking and ‘pastry schoolmistresses’ firing pies on their own were banned.149 In 1736 the town council and the merchant company accepted that women could be apprentices and work at a trade thereafter: ‘to exclude women who have or may serve apprenticeships with freemen from all manner of trade would be injurious to the freemen’ and therefore such women should be allowed to trade on payment of a fee ‘though not burgess children’.150 In other words, unmarried women who had served apprenticeships and unmarried gentlewomen already selling could keep shops by paying a fee while widows and single daughters of burgesses could trade free as of right. Despite their tone, the council was not generally opposed to the ‘great many women servants and others who, turning weary of their service, have out of a principle of avarice and habit of laziness taken up little shops, albeit they have no title to the privilege of trade in this city’ but was trying to regulate and make money out of them.151 Apprenticeship could begin a separate career for women but only in certain activities and even then their training seems to have been more for dependence than independence. (p.371) Figure 6.1 shows that unfree traders were clustered at communications nodes within the city. There were twelve alesellers and ten shopkeepers in the West Bow and near the weigh house at its head; eight ale shops and seven others in St Mary’s Wynd, the main thoroughfare into the city from the south; twelve premises in Forrester’s Wynd, ten towards the High Street end of Peebles Wynd; eleven around the exchange; sixteen at the West port and eleven at the Netherbow; seven in the mealmarket. Location within a wynd or close, where given at all, is usually specified as at the head or foot and the map probably does not distort the reality very much by placing these near the principal thoroughfares of the High Street and Cowgate. The other main nodes were wells and public buildings, notably the Tron and St Giles churches. Sir James Stewart’s close near St Giles church had at least fourteen establishments according to a survey of suspect retailers in February 1710.152 Burgesses could sell ale without a licence and the numbers shown in the ‘licences’ must therefore be regarded as a minimum. There could have been at least one aleseller in every close and wynd, and some were thick with taverns. The minimum number of alesellers per household in the city proper was perhaps one in ten or twelve, allowing for tavern keepers who did not need a licence and assuming roughly 5,000 households.153

Conclusion Before looking forward to developments later in the century we can make two general points by way of conclusion to this chapter. First, the merchantdominated town council seems to have exerted a block on socio-economic change, at least until the middle of the eighteenth century. It articulated a consensus among the city’s burgesses about the priority of broadly social

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition concerns in the city’s economic policy. Second, there were many conspiracies in early (p.372) (p.373) modern Edinburgh. But they were the cartels of wine sellers or coal shippers who wanted to keep prices high; the cabals of like-minded politicians determined to keep their hands on power and feather their own nests; the monopolies of incorporations with their restrictive practices; the groups of Fig. 6.1 Licences to sell ale and small customs men illegally creaming off money from the public. None of goods, 1729–1730. The numbers on the these conspiracies had what can map indicate the number of licenses truly be called a foundation based issued to a particular street or close on social and economic status or class. They were made up of individuals with specific, short-term, and overwhelmingly venal goals very different from some far-reaching class ambition. Put simply, there were many little conspiracies but no great one.

The second quarter of the eighteenth century marks a watershed in both production and retailing within Edinburgh. Arguments about unfreemen selling in the city became less pressing after the 1720s and 1730s. Court of Session judgements in the mid-1730s removed restrictions on ‘forehand sales of hides and skins’ or dealing in them outside the market-place.154 In 1738 leather was being sent from London to Scotland to be made into shoes for the colonies.155 By 1751 a successful petition against the relocation of the shoe market shows that the significance of outsiders to the city’s economy had been recognized. It was said that moving this market from the Cowgate to the old fishmarket would be damaging to the country shoemakers, ‘of whom the market is mostly composed’. The Cowgate market was ‘open and obvious to the country people passing by, whereby they were laid to buy shoes which they—at least many of them—would not have otherwise done’. The fishmarket site would accommodate only half the sellers and move only a third of the number of shoes.156 Country shoemakers would thus be forced to go to Dalkeith, Mussleburgh, or Haddington, which consequently must impair business and trade in this city as these country shoemakers, over and above the necessaries consumed by them on the market days, bring considerable sums of money which they expended in the purchase of leather and other materials so that branch of trade in this city must greatly sink.157 (p.374) This is not to say that groups with a vested interest did not continue to lobby. The privilege of one incorporation to make and sell a particular good had always been subject to periodic challenge and demarcation disputes did not Page 29 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition disappear entirely. For example, eight wigmakers were prosecuted by the barbers in August 1743.158 On the retailing side too traditional themes are apparent. The merchant company complained in 1742 about infringements of their privileges by vague and misleading business designations given to those being admitted burgesses or guild brothers.159 Efforts to maintain standards were similarly undiminished. In 1747 the council restricted the sale of fish by hucksters until the fish market had been open for at least two hours ‘for the good of the private families…both as to the price and quality of the fishes which are on many occasions damnified and mixed by the hucksters’.160 Nor was the market for goods and services entirely ‘liberalized’. In 1757 the magistrates were obliged to clamp down on city carters who were extorting money out of those who wished to carry within the burgh and also specified that citizens could chose anyone they liked to transport goods, irrespective of whose ‘turn’ the carters deemed it to be.161 The town council continued to set its face against naked manipulation. Their job was made easier since in the mid-eighteenth century most foodstuffs and many basic manufactured goods were bought in markets rather than shops, which tended to sell specialized, imported items.162 Even in the 1790s there continued to be jurisdictional conflicts between Edinburgh trades and their counterparts in the liberties though the prize was poor relief dues more than production and retailing monopolies.163 There were still informal means by which neighbours could police the economic activities of the more entrepreneurially minded. The flexibility in assessments for local taxes allowed (p.375) them to be used to penalize those who did not toe the line.164 On the last day of 1766 John Neal, merchant, complained to the overseer of the stent collection. According to Neal, his stent had been raised to exorbitant levels as a result of a malicious misrepresentation by envious neighbours and competitors. Whether or not Neal had been wronged, the reasons he gave for the alleged spite of his peers are telling. After more than a decade of toeing the local merchants’ line, he had abandoned the trading practice which he termed ‘wholesale’ but which the context of the complaint makes it clear was credit sales. Fixed prices and immediate payment were not well established in many areas of retailing at this period.165 Instead, he moved over to ‘retail’ dealing (cash only), thereby enabling him to lower his prices and undercut the local competition. After ten years of serious financial difficulties he had made a reasonable commercial decision and ‘his neighbours had themselves to blame if they were not as successful as him’. The implication is that one could not (or dared not) run a business without giving credit but this case also suggests that goods were more expensive under the prevailing system of credit run by merchants. Traditional practices could be maintained by informal sanctions but these only worked within the city. Changes in the wider economy made the regulation of production and transactions in one burgh increasingly untenable.

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition In any case, by the mid-eighteenth century economic buoyancy had transformed objective circumstances and attitudes. Dingwall argues that while craft and merchant privileges became less institutionalized in the later seventeenth century—exemplified by the decline in formal apprenticeship—the formal structure of trading became more orchestrated.166 Mid-eighteenth-century developments extended the trend towards ‘deregulation’. The ebb and flow of urban-rural industrial production became less important as manufacturing thrived in its ‘deregulated’ environment. The tone of the Edinburgh hammermen’s minutes is very telling in this regard. Early in 1740 the deacon and treasurer were asked to approach the unfreemen working in the city and ‘to make the best bargain they can with such persons and get the most stallanger fee from them they are (p.376) able’. A few days later the deacon reported ‘he had prevailed with some to enter into an obligation for payment of some stallangers fees…and was in hope of prevailing with others’.167 This incorporation and others (like the Canongate tailors) were still trying to seize substandard goods and to get money out of unfreemen in the 1750s. It was an uphill struggle.168 The same was true of retailers. The last effort by the merchant company to revive their exclusive privileges was in 1736 and while they continued to complain into the 1750s and 1760s their cause was lost. Indeed, the cold wind of competition blew even more strongly in the 1750s and the ability of incorporations and town councils to exclude the draught had nearly gone. Several companies in Glasgow have set up shoemaking and by that means have carried off and employed several journeymen formerly employed by this and the other incorporations of shoemakers about this city…the journeymen employed by these companies do even dare to work and manufacture their shoes within the privileges not only of Edinburgh’s cordiners but also of those in burghs throughout the Lowlands.169 The period 1752–8 saw unprecedented numbers of journeymen and others admitted as cobblers by the city’s cordiners, probably as a way of ensuring the incorporation benefited from developments over which it had little control. Tanned leather had reached a high price and manufacturers were offering strictly limited lines of credit, suggesting tight supply and strong demand. Unashamed monopoly still coexisted with a desire for stability in industrial production as a way of ensuring social continuity.170 But by the 1750s and 1760s formal restrictions in most trades had all but disappeared and attitudes were changing across the board. A ‘memorial’ prepared on behalf of the city in 1759 as part of representations to Westminster about extension of the royalty examined this issue and concluded: Page 31 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition (p.377) there are not many of the trades very much interested in their exclusive privileges—the masons and slaters are the most as no other can at present work within the town; next to them are the wrights as to all house work, for as to household furniture, these may be and very often are provided elsewhere. The house painters have also an exclusive privilege but their number and employment is very inconsiderable and as to all the rest, namely the bakers, butchers, dyers, blacksmiths etc, there is an open free market for all the commodities they deal in and when the advantages which these corporations will receive by the building and peopling of the new town are duly considered they are really greater than the loss they may sustain by laying their trade open at an easy rate.171 From trying to protect burgesses and their families through restrictive legislation, the incorporations, merchants and town council had moved through a period of licensing and accommodation to a growing acceptance of changes in production and retailing in the city. By the start of George III’s reign they were emerging into a new world of deregulation and laissez-faire where national laws and regional economic conditions had outdated traditional local protectionism. There is no celebrated case like the one at Bath in 1765 when the failure of a court to uphold the merchant tailor’s privileges established the fact that the economy was a free for all.172 Yet economic change had similarly brought about the decline of social corporatism and the growing ‘acceptance of the developmental ethos…of aggressive individualism’.173 What is striking about the change is the strong impression that it arose from within the burgess community as a whole. There was no complete unanimity among artisans or traders, let alone among the dependent section of the population who made up, for example, the Bell’s Mill rioters. But there is a feeling of consensus about the development among the city’s middling ranks. If Edinburgh’s citizens had helped to create and sustain an agreed vision of economic and social relations both through formal political structures and through riot they also seem to have participated in changing that consensus. (p.378) In a sense, the loosening of restraints which happened during Edinburgh’s boom years of the 1750s can be seen as just another part of an established cycle of prosperity and slump. What made it different was that the city would never return to the restrictions which had been imposed in the 1680s or 1700s. What may have started as a traditional response to good times took on new meaning thanks to the other changes occurring within national economy and burgh society. Dynamic and ‘modern’ as it was, the new social and economic order of later eighteenth-century Edinburgh was a far cry from the ‘common cause and a common profit’—the bürgerliche Nahrung or the ‘social corporatism’—of earlier decades. Ideas about competition had reinforced a measure of consensus within burgess society which was stronger than the disruptions caused by demarcation Page 32 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition disputes between individuals and associations. The mid-eighteenth century saw the development of new notions of the relationship between economics, politics, and society. What was emerging was a world of growing economic differentiation and social division unfettered by even the aspiration for a fair standard of living and social justice among citizens as a whole. Economy and society were increasingly left to run themselves under the dictates of the market. The society of later Georgian Edinburgh was certainly ‘respectable’, but respectability was a value coveted by the élites not shared by the bulk of settled urban society. Notes:

(1) See also Neale, Bath, 176. (2) SRO CS96/1/181. ECA MB 69, 3–6. (3) Stark, Picture, 156–7. (4) ECA MB 52, 390–2. (5) ECA Portsburgh baron court, 9 Feb. 1750. (6) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 126. (7) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 220, 258. (8) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 51. (9) ECA Tailors of Leith, 44. (10) An Address to the Citizens of Edinburgh… (Edinburgh, 1746), 12. (11) NLS MS 17515. (12) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 19, 30. (13) NLS MS 17515, fo. 54. (14) ECA MB 74, 202–7. To encourage the constables in their duties, the Privy Council offered a 20/- reward for each man pressed and additional bounties for volunteers. ECA MB 76, 354–5. (15) NLS MS 658, fo. 14v. (16) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 262. (17) NLS 1.152[5], 16. The Lawn- or Landmarket was at the top of the High Street as it led down from the castle and was the sort of select area where councillors might live. Boulton, Neighbourhood, 142–3. (18) Stevenson, Annals, 109. Page 33 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition (19) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 131, 196. In 1678 he had bought the important barony of Inverleith, to the north of Edinburgh. Wallace, Traditions of Trinity and Leith, 3. See above pp. 299–302. (20) Wood, Extracts 1655–65, 324. (21) SRO CC8/6/12. (22) SRO RH15/176/8/14. (23) ECA MB 55, 88–90. (24) Ibid. 125–6. (25) Historical sketch, p. xxxvii. (26) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. ii. (27) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 24. (28) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 328–9. (29) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 83. (30) ECA Inc. Calton Trades, vol. iii. (31) SRO GD348/207. (32) ECA Wrights and Coopers, vol. ii. (33) Historical Sketch, p. xxxvii, 38–40. ECA Inc. Trades of Calton, vol. iii., 28 Feb. 1746. (34) ECA MB 55, 319, 349. MB 56, 6. (35) ECA MB 52, 32. (36) Ibid. 33–4. (37) ECA MB 63, 75–9. A table of fees for civil matters was publicized in 1755 following ‘many abuses practised about the [Dean of] Guild court’. MB 72, 433, 454–6. (38) Historical Sketch, 51. (39) NLS 1.7[37], 2. (40) NLS 1.7[40], 2. (41) NLS 1.7[37], 1. Page 34 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition (42) NLS 1.7[38], 3. (43) NLS 3.2848[4]. 5.1148[1], 9. (44) NLS 3.2484[4], 5–6. The ‘water house’ built at Swanston to the south of the city in 1761 was described by R. L. Stevenson as a ‘municipal pleasure house… for junketing’. Cant, Villages, ii. 226. (45) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, p. xx. Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 127. (46) Kelsall and Kelsall, Scottish Lifestyle, 88. (47) SRO RH15/123/31. (48) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen, vol. vii, 11 Feb. 1738. (49) ECA MB 21, fos.3r–v. (50) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 34. Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 137. (51) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 17. (52) ECA MB 60, 120. (53) ECA MB 70, 4–6. (54) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 262, 370. (55) Wood, and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 94. (56) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 8. (57) SRO CS271/41,068. (58) Gray, ‘Edinburgh in Lord Provost Drummond’s Time’, 4. (59) Quoted in Youngson, Classical Edinburgh, 48. (60) The Sett of the City of Edinburgh 1583 (Edinburgh, 1683), 8–13. This pamphlet also contains the revised set of 1683. Murdoch, ‘Importance of being Edinburgh’ provides a short summary of procedures. Also see R. A. Houston, ‘Popular Politics in the Reign of George II: The Edinburgh Cordiners’, Scottish Historical Review (1993), 1–22; and Decreet Arbitral Determining Certain Questions that were Depending between the Magistrates, Merchant-Council, and Trades of the City of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1730). Numbers and procedure changed over time. (61) Sett 1583, 17–18. (62) ECA Act book, Deacons of Crafts, vol. ii, 7 Nov. 1728. Page 35 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition (63) Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 365–80. (64) SRO GD1/14/1, fo. 386v. (65) Ibid., fo. 392v. (66) SRO GD348/207. Of all the city’s incorporations, the cordiners were arguably most in need of a regular reminder of this ethos. German ‘home town’ guilds, according to Mack Walker, kept up ‘a satisfactory degree of equality, by penalizing or excluding the pushy, whether rich or poor, and by mutual agreements among the membership that restrained expansion and promised security’. German Home Towns (Ithaca, NY, 1971), 134. (67) SRO RH15/7/4. It should not go without mention that the maintenance of employment was first and foremost male employment, especially of burgesses. Women were among the most vulnerable elements of the labour-force. In 1694 the town council passed a series of regulations about midwives since ‘many women take upon them the office…who are noways qualified for that employment and…others take up that profession unduly and for sinister ends and…conceal unlawful births’. Appealing to the rhetoric of ‘good government’, the council required midwives to subscribe a set of rules and to receive a certificate allowing them to practice. Moral and religious concerns and the 1690 infanticide act were clearly in their minds but the regulations were also an attempt to protect the privileges of male medical practitioners in the city, notably by prohibiting the administering of drugs without a physician’s advice. Furthermore, the orders were a way of controlling an important female employment. Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 146–7. (68) SRO GD1/14/1, fo. 389v. (69) ECA act books of Deacons of Crafts vol. ii. (70) ECA Dean of Guild’s court, vol. vii, 19 Mar. 1701. (71) Not all changes were resisted. The move towards large-scale retail enterprises was opposed less vigorously and by the 1750s and 1760s, newspaper advertisements for ‘warehouses’ selling, for example, china, looking glasses and carpets had become normal. These were viewed as a legitimate way to gain commercial advantage in selling non-essential goods. (72) Fraser, Conflict and Class, 19, 32–4. Smith, Wealth, 79. (73) For comparison, see R. Duplessis and M. C. Howell, ‘Reconsidering the Early Modern Urban Economy: The Cases of Leiden and Lille’, Past & Present, 94 (1982), 78–9. (74) ECA Acts of the Canongate bailies iii. 89. Page 36 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition (75) SRO GD348/206. (76) Desbrisay, ‘Authority and Discipline’, 113–14. (77) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 88–9. (78) Whyte, ‘Occupational Structure’, 231. (79) Easton, By the Three Great Roads, 53. (80) Durie, Linen Trade, 79. (81) ECA Act book, Deacons of Crafts, vol. i, fos. 142r–v. (82) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 111–12. (83) ECA Act book, Deacons of Crafts, vol. i, fo. 147r. (84) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 86. (85) Laws and Regulations of the Royal College of Surgeons (Edinburgh, 1793), 55. (86) ECA Act book, Deacons of Crafts, vol. i, fos. 149r–v. The weavers were not the only troubled incorporation at this time. In 1670 a mason called Thomas King was trying to foment unrest among the journeymen. Again, he was no longterm renegade because he became a master of the incorporation soon after and deacon in 1679. Stevenson, Freemasons, 43. (87) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen, vol. v. 57, 151. (88) ECA Hammermen of Portsburgh, 17, 40, 75–9. Problems reappeared in the 1760s. (89) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen, vol. v. 7 Sept. 1685. (90) SRO RH14/61. (91) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen, vol. vi., fo. 26. (92) Ibid., vol. vii, 4 Aug. 1733. (93) Ibid. viii. 216. vol. ix, 8 Aug. 1754. (94) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 382. (95) Parts of Angus, Kincardine, and southern Aberdeenshire had undergone an expansion in the putting-out of wool for spinning and weaving. Desbrisay,

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition ‘Authority and Discipline’, 113–14. C. Gulvin, The Tweedmakers: A History of the Scottish Fancy Woollen Industry, 1600–1914 (London, 1973), 13–28. (96) See also Duplessis and Howell, ‘Leiden and Lille’, 49, 79–94. (97) Ibid. 49. (98) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 165. (99) Heron, Merchants, 17. (100) R. MacKenney, The City State, 1500–1700: Republican Liberty in an Age of Princely Power (London, 1989), 37. (101) Neale, Bath, 176. Soliday, Frankfurt, 234; Duplessis and Howell, ‘Leiden and Lille’, 51, 82–4; Friedrichs, Nördlingen, 206, 259–61. (102) Smith, Wealth, 79. Edinburgh’s line of development resembles one of two possibilities found in Continental Europe. It was like Leiden and Lille rather than Florence, Augsburg, Ulm, or Cologne where mercantile élites exploited their control over raw materials and distribution to win control over labour by forcing artisans into dependent relationships. Duplessis and Howell, ‘Leiden and Lille’, 78–9. The debasement of artisan production and status, underway in Nördlingen by 1700 and complete by 1800, thanks to a decline in élite paternalism did not happen in contemporary Edinburgh. Friedrichs, Nördlingen, 295–6. (103) Mumford, City, 475. (104) Ibid. 501. (105) Lynch, Edinburgh, 54. (106) Marwick, Edinburgh Guilds and Crafts, 188. (107) Wood, Extracts 1655–65, 324. (108) ECA MB 52, 196. The three-tier retailing structure identified for eighteenth-century England—stalls in markets, fixed shops, and itinerant selling —was notionally restricted in urban Scotland to the first two. I. Mitchell, ‘The Development of Urban Retailing, 1700–1815’, in Clark, Transformation of English Provincial Towns, 264. (109) ECA MB 23, fo. 28. (110) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 52. (111) SRO CS236/F/2/1.

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition (112) Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 389. Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 33. ECA Miscellaneous bundle 11. (113) ECA Edinburgh baxters, fos. 326r–v. (114) ECA Edinburgh baxters, fo. 328. (115) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 27. (116) SRO CS271/41,068. (117) ECA Acts of Canongate Bailies iv. 271. (118) ECA MB 55, 274–7. MB 59, 32. (119) ECA MB 61, 11. (120) SRO SC39/120/3, 116. (121) ECA Edinburgh Black Books vol. i, fos. 130r, 131v. (122) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 97. (123) SRO JP35/4/3. (124) ECA MB 57, 28. (125) SRO JP35/4/3. (126) Fraser, Conflict and Class, 18. (127) B. F. Duckham, A History of the Scottish Coal Industry, i: 1700–1815 (London, 1970), 238. ECA MB 60, 178. Wood, Extracts 1665–80, 319. A cartel of landowners was harder to control than one of coal carriers. (128) Stevenson, Freemasons, 19. (129) ECA MB 23, fo. 71v. (130) Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 137. (131) SRO CC8/6/12. (132) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 147, 156. SRO CH2/122/140. (133) Wood and Armet, Extracts 1681–9, 60–1. (134) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 223.

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition (135) SRO CS138/1773. Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 223. The vintners were a well-organized group. In 1661 forty-seven of them waged a successful campaign to lobby the town council for a reduction in the wine impost. ECA Moses Bundles 43/1807. (136) Smith, Wealth, 145. (137) Armet, Extracts 1689–1701, 128. (138) ECA Licences for the sale of ale, 1729–50. (139) ECA MB 52, 195. (140) Ibid. 263. (141) Eccho 32:122. ECA MB 52, 264. (142) Heron, Merchants, 66, 74–5, 90. (143) ECA Book of the Dean of Guild’s court. (144) Gilhooley, Directory, 86–7. (145) ECA MB 21, fo. 134v. (146) ECA Trinity Hospital, iii. 14–15. Personal communication from Betty Sanderson. A regulation of 1717 confined licensed shopkeeping by unfree citizens to the daughters and widows of burgesses. Armet, Extracts 1701–18, 331. (147) SRO JC7/14. (148) SRO CC8/6/12. (149) ECA Edinburgh baxters, fos. 277, 283. (150) ECA MB 56, 256–7, 316–18. Marwick, Edinburgh Guilds and Crafts, 208. (151) ECA MB 56, 257. (152) SRO CH2/136/2, 64. (153) The south London area of Boroughside in 1622 had one victualling house, inn, or tavern for every fourteen householders. Boulton, Neighbourhood, 270. For the poorer London wards outside the walls during the mid-seventeenth century the figure was one in six compared with one in thirty or forty for the richer central wards. P. Clark, The English Alehouse (London, 1983), 49. With

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition some 5,000 taverns during the 1710s Paris had one establishment for every 100 inhabitants. Bercé, Revolt and Revolution, 86. (154) ECA MB 57, 28–9. (155) Fraser, Conflict and Class, 26. Leith ‘water bailie’s’ Admiralty court jurisdiction was clarified by Edinburgh town council in 1733 because of an increasing tendency for the court to be used for civic rather than maritime cases. ECA MB 54, 527. Wallace, Traditions of Trinity and Leith, 85. (156) ECA MB 69, 226. (157) ECA MB 69, 225. (158) SRO JP35/4/3. (159) Marwick, Edinburgh Guilds and Crafts, 209. (160) ECA MB 66, 34–5. (161) ECA MB 74, 236–7. (162) W. H. Marwick, ‘Shops in Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century Edinburgh’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 30 (1959), 119–41; Mitchell, ‘Urban Retailing’; Whyte, ‘Occupational Structure’. (163) Langford has written of these developments in England: ‘the complexities and uncertainties of charters, by-laws, and traditions gave grounds for dispute in an age when the communal spirit which had previously underpinned them was weak’. England, 181. (164) ECA Valuation of the City of Edinburgh, 1760–1, John Neal. (165) Mitchell, ‘Urban Retailing’, 275. (166) Dingwall, ‘Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, 401. (167) ECA Edinburgh Hammermen, viii. 19, 23. (168) W. H. Marwick, ‘The Incorporation of the Tailors of the Canongate’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 22 (1938), 106. (169) SRO GD348/207, 2 Mar. 1756. (170) ‘The practice and ideology of local élites was divided; conservative and cautious economic corporatism on the one hand; on the other, aggressive agrarian capitalism and commercial individualism.’ Neale, Bath, 176. (171) BM Add. MS 38,332, fo. 196v. Page 41 of 42

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Corruption, Consensus, and Competition (172) Langford, England, 181. The statutory removal of urban weavers’ privileges, at least in so far as they related to the linen industry, can be seen as a landmark in 1751. Durie, Linen Trade, 79. (173) Neale, Bath, 69, 183. Thompson, ‘Moral Economy’, 132, writes that ‘the death of the old moral economy of provision was as long-drawn-out as the death of paternalist intervention in trade and industry’.

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Conclusion

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

Conclusion R. A. Houston

DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.003.0008

Abstract and Keywords This chapter discusses a summary of the changes and developments that occurred during the Scottish Enlightenment. The author tells of the need for more studies about Edinburgh, specifically the British towns of the eighteenth century. The chapter also shows that the author used a ‘positivist’ approach in order to test theory against observed experience. Keywords:   changes, developments, Scottish Enlightenment, Edinburgh, British towns, positivist approach

By the end of the eighteenth century Edinburgh had its New Town and it was the seat of the distinctive and important Scottish Enlightenment. In its physical appearance, attitudes, and society it had already become a new town. The splendid Georgian architecture and the remarkable ideas of Hume, Robertson, Ferguson, and Stewart are rightly seen as new departures which epitomized the values of an age and shaped the future. Yet they were as much an expression of, and a postscript to, changes in the city as an introduction to novel developments. Elsewhere I shall show that the reason why Edinburgh’s Georgian showpiece was built at this time was primarily economic as builders and feuers found the money to cater for new demand and new tastes. The aim of the present volume has been to chart the social changes which made mid- and late eighteenthcentury Edinburgh what it was. It has also sought to establish the context from which certain Enlightenment ideas came. Much remains to be written about Edinburgh in particular and about British towns of the eighteenth century in general. Other scholars may seek to provide Page 1 of 6

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Conclusion for other cities the overview of social and cultural topics offered here. The advantage of such an approach is that it exposes the way forces overlapped in creating the context of change. Focusing on a specific topic such as riot or physical development has the advantage of being less labour intensive while allowing detailed investigation of dimensions of an area of experience not possible in a general survey. There are many topics and voluminous documentation for doctoral theses on Scotland’s towns. Crime, population, landowner-ship, popular and élite culture, religious change, occupational structure, studies of the political leaders within the town council, the role of professionals, and the place of the university in urban life: all these and other subjects need to be covered. However, a narrower approach than the one adopted here would lose the sense in which trends reinforced each other in (p. 380) establishing the way eighteenth-century people actually experienced change. Whatever approach is adopted, it would be most surprising if either the form or the timing of the developments uncovered here were identical in other communities. Different social alignments, economic patterns, and political relationships—among other factors—make complete uniformity unlikely. Correctly identifying the importance of changes depends on comparing society and culture over long periods and on establishing the way one set of events or attitudes fits with another. Historians, it is often said, tend to exaggerate developments within their own period of study. Familiarity with a few decades in the history of a town and the eager search for transitions or watersheds combine to produce a narrow vision of change. What may seem a momentous and unique development to the avid scholar may be just another manifestation in a specific context of a much longer-term process. The development may constitute one segment of a linear progression of the kind which historians tend to find attractive. Or it may be part of series of cycles within economy and society. Furthermore, a change in one area of social or cultural life may occur within a framework of substantial continuity in other fields. The developments in Edinburgh society between 1660 and 1760 can be related to these different ways of perceiving historical change. At one level, policy on competition is an example of cyclical developments. When business was buoyant, craftsmen and tradesmen were content to allow infringements of their privileges. There was enough work to go around. When the economy was less prosperous they tried to curb competition. What is different about the relaxation of restrictions on participation from the 1730s is that the whole nature of the economy was about to change. Rapid and sustained economic growth may have brought serious social problems but it also rendered obsolete the guild and incorporation restrictions so vilified by Adam Smith. Some minor regulations about retailing remained, but most of those governing production had gone by the end of the third quarter of the eighteenth century.

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Conclusion Determined primarily by outside economic forces, this was one change which was not reversed. Another was the new uniformity of urban ceremony and urban space. In the early (p.381) sixteenth century the larger Scottish burghs had seen the fragmentation of the single ‘burgh community’. Religious and secular administrative and legal divisions had become more socially important as the boundaries of the towns had expanded. From the mid-eighteenth century such formal segmentation was disappearing to be replaced by socially determined perceptions of space. Changes in the social tone of Edinburgh neighbourhoods had taken place from the fifteenth century onwards. But the New Town formalized and fixed the mid-eighteenth century rearrangement. This was part of a wider process of spatial reordering within certain types of British and European town, but it took place within a specific local context. In the seventeenth century perceptions of space within Edinburgh had been created by many factors such as physical layout and administrative boundaries. In the later eighteenth century these factors were still important for some groups but had become subordinated to spatial differentiation based primarily on wealth and status for others. Another way of redefining space, and delineating social and cultural life, was through participation in ceremonies and voluntary associations. As space was becoming more homogenized, those who lived within it were increasingly divided and heterogeneous. Efforts to draw the boundaries of élite culture were intensifying from the 1720s onwards. Urban culture and urban space were more clearly set out thanks to the actions of the élites as they sought to define themselves as a group. The lines between advocates and critics of playgoing were those which divided ‘polite’ society from the rest in the middle decades of the eighteenth century. Those of birth and wealth had always tried to be different when it came to ritual, recreation, and ceremony. Changes in the material environment of the eighteenth century allowed them new ways to do so. If changes in culture were largely concerned with redefinition, novel nuances also entered into Edinburgh’s social relationships. The search to be culturally different took on greater importance because it was set against a background of wider social and attitudinal differentiation. Riot had once been the preserve of youth groups and journeymen acting in pursuit of broadly based religious and political motives, speaking with the voice of the burgh community. By the mideighteenth century it (p.382) had become sectional and selfish, tainted by clear signs of misunderstanding and distrust between élites and ordinary people. This was an adverse consequence of new ideas about political economy. It was also a function of changing social attitudes and served to reinforce emerging social antagonisms. Still a form of ‘political’ activity, broadly defined, riot had become by the 1740s an expression of social divisions rather than a sign of general consensus within urban life. Mid-century riots show continuities with those of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. But if Edinburgh’s citizens continued to assert their political views in the later eighteenth century, they did Page 3 of 6

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Conclusion so increasingly through words rather than actions. Separate poor relief schemes were a focus of identity for dependent employees and may have contributed to a primitive sense of ‘class’. However, it is clear that if any class was ‘making’ itself in the 1740s, 1750s, and 1760s it was the middle not the working one. And if any class was remaking itself it was the landed and professional one. The new attitudes which signalled, refined, and reinforced social change are similarly apparent in the treatment of marginal groups. The institutionalization of poor relief is an unequivocal example of a transition. Select ‘hospitals’ had a long history, but the practice of providing in- rather than out-relief for the bulk of ordinary poor from the 1740s was clearly a departure. Attitudes towards the vagrant and settled poor had fluctuated in the past with changing perceptions of the ‘problem’ they constituted but the institutionalization of relief fixed the distinction and allowed a clearer notion of the poor as a class ultimately to emerge. Alongside this development were the first signs of cracks opening up in the relations between masters and men. To the growing sectionalism of riot was added the increasingly naked self-interest of conflicts between employers and employees. Beneath the moralizing rhetoric of civic virtue and social cohesion was a society whose values and relationships were becoming much more fragmented. To paraphrase John Dwyer’s analysis of sympathy in the Enlightenment, beggars who refused to be disciplined, rioters who appealed to an outmoded set of ethics, journeymen striking for higher wages, the settled poor who did not play up to the rules set by their betters—‘all became more than nuisances, more even than enemies to order and decorum. They became cancers in the moral body, (p. 383) aberrations in an increasingly intricate social organism.’1 Such groups gained an identity by being proscribed. Those doing the defining and condemning were simultaneously developing or recreating a sense of cohesion through new means, including participation in the polite culture of the Enlightenment and, ultimately, residence in the New Town. Of course there were continuities as well as changes. Crime may have been perceived as a greater problem, but it is unlikely that qualitative aspects such as the prevalence of violence changed. At an impressionistic level, the only real novelty of the mid-eighteenth century seems to have been ‘white collar’ crime such as fraud.2 Punishments for serious offences and for the sorts of crimes perpetrated by the lower classes remained suited to a society of personal contacts. The managers of the charity workhouse continued to give out-relief to indigent pensioners. The poor were not wholly institutionalized. Social rank was maintained even when poverty had reduced the ability of burgesses and their dependents to sustain a lifestyle appropriate to their status. The influence of the church and of the religious idiom on urban life remained strong even if the church as a political pressure group saw its significance change. Concern about individual or family status within the community had always been evident in Page 4 of 6

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Conclusion household size and structure, pew renting, and the virtues celebrated on gravestones. The loyalties of neighbourhood, family, occupation, and clientage continued partly to override the common interests created by economic status. New career paths were opening up for the better-off and new sources of wealth in finance or the law. However, the extent of social mobility should not be exaggerated. Edinburgh redistributed members of the middling and upper classes between occupations of roughly similar status without moving them substantially up or down in the hierarchy of wealth and esteem. There was considerable continuity in the perceived social standing (but not wealth) of individual trade incorporations. Contemporaries went on weighing up the positive and negative aspects of city life. Certain developments had a long pedigree. Some changes had (p.384) begun in the age of George I, or even earlier in the case of the manipulation of ceremony for political and social gain. The most vigorous efforts to orchestrate civic ritual were made during the reigns of the last two Stewart monarchs. New notions of privacy and propriety can be detected even in the 1690s, but are firmly documented from as early as the 1710s. Relations between the church and secular authority show signs of strain in the 1700s and 1710s, but changed irremediably in the following two decades. The rate at which social differentiation developed between masters and men varied greatly between craft occupations.3 Yet the way important changes crowded into the second quarter of the eighteenth century, reinforcing and confirming each other, makes the reign of George II enormously important. In the mid-eighteenth century the search for status was played out in the coffee shops, promenades, social assemblies, and salons for prizes in the marriage market or for something as intangible as the esteem of one’s peers. Different communities had existed in the seventeenthcentury town and the anonymity that had always been there for those who wanted it became easier to find as population grew rapidly from the mideighteenth century. The élites wanted visibility as much as anonymity, mixing public rituals with private pleasures. Any contact with the masses should, if possible, take place at arm’s length. We have sought to demonstrate the process by which social change occurred and to provide part of the context for the ideas of the Enlightenment. Continuities, cycles, changes: these have given conceptual structure to the book. Theory has been used throughout this volume both as a way of generating questions and providing a framework in which answers can be presented. The approach has been ‘positivist’ in its efforts to test theory against observed experience. Certain theories might have provided a more coherent and intellectually satisfying overview though at the expense of an understanding of history as a process. It might have been simpler and more elegant to present the social history of Edinburgh 1660–1760 as an attempt by élites to control the Page 5 of 6

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Conclusion lower classes, to feather their own nests, and to give themselves the distinctive social airs of a new bourgeoisie. (p.385) Foucault, Gramsci, and Marx would willingly have provided the explanatory grid. To succumb to the temptation would have been intellectually dishonest and an affront to the people of Edinburgh’s past. The process by which institutions and the nature of social relations change from performing one function to another can only really be charted and explained by a historical analysis. Historians must be able to identify trends and themes, to make generalizations and theories. But we must also be ready to appreciate the importance of continuity and the often complex motivations of individuals and groups. Notes:

(1) Dwyer, ‘Sympathetic Relations’, 115. (2) R. A. Houston, ‘Fraud in the Scottish Linen Industry: Edinburgh’s Charity Workhouse, 1745–58’, Archives, 21 (1993), 43–56. (3) This point is also made by Fraser, Conflict and Class.

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Glossary

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

(p.386) Glossary Annualrent: interest payment on borrowed money. Assay: trial of work of an apprentice. Bailie: magistrate (alderman) in towns, a steward in rural areas. Bairn: child. Baron court: a bailie appointed by the landowner or feudal superior presides over economic disputes, ‘good neighbourhood’, and minor criminal offences. Baxter: baker. Bedesman: a pauper or royal pensioner. Boll: measure of grain by volume (approximately one hundredweight). Booth: stall or shop. Boxmaster: treasurer, usually of an incorporation (q.v.). Burgh of barony: territorial jurisdiction with limited judicial and trading rights. Page 1 of 6

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Glossary Burgh of regality: territorial jurisdiction with extensive judicial rights. Burlaw or birlay court: subordinate of baron court (q.v.) dealing with minor agricultural disputes. Caddie: street messenger. Calsey: paved street. Caution: bond of security; recognizance or surety. Cess: tax. Close: narrow passage or cul-de-sac leading off a main street (cf. wynd). College of Justice: the formal name for the Court of Session and lawyers associated with it. Constable: amateur peace-keeper chosen annually. Cordiner: shoemaker. Deacon (church): amateur lay kirk session (q.v.) official, of lower standing than an elder (q.v.), dealing mainly with poor relief. Deacon of craft: elected leader and representative of an incorporated trade. Dean of Guild: judge of Dean of Guild’s Court (q.v.) and head of city’s guild brothers (q.v.). (p.387) Dean of Guild’s Court: dealt with building regulations, ‘good neighbourhood’, some disputes between individuals or incorporations (q.v.). Decreet: judgement. Diligence: part of legal procedure to recover debt. Dispone: to assign or convey. Page 2 of 6

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Glossary Dyvours: bankrupts. Elder: amateur lay official of the kirk session (q.v.) charged with policing religious and moral behaviour in his parish (c.f. deacon (church)). Feu: lease in perpetuity in exchange for a lump sum and a small, fixed annual rent (‘feu duty’); a heritable tenure. Feuer: person who holds land or a building by feu. Fleck: pen. Flesher: butcher. Gear: moveable goods. General sessions: grouping of city kirk sessions (q.v.) charged with aspects of policy-making and placement of clergy. Guild brother: burgess member of the guildry which allowed men to trade retail; mostly merchants. Hammerman: metal worker or smith. Heritor: owner of heritable property, usually land or building(s). Huckster: chapman or itinerant pedlar. Incorporation: craft association. Indweller: inhabitant of a burgh who is not a burgess (cf. resi-denter). Kirk session: parish body comprising clergyman, clerk or ‘precentor’, and lay elders and deacons (q.v.); policed poor relief, and moral and religious life. Ladays: laddies, i.e. youths. Page 3 of 6

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Glossary Laird: landed proprietor described as ‘of’ rather than ‘in’ his place of residence (usually a rural estate). Land: group of separate dwellings in a building (cf. tenement). Landward: the rural area around a burgh. Leet: list (usually of candidates). Liferent: right to enjoy proceeds of an estate during one’s lifetime. Link boy: a child who accompanied street walkers with a lantern. Litster: dyer. (p.388) Lodging: individual house (modern ‘flat’) in a ‘land’ (q.v.). Lord Lyon King at Arms: overseer of heraldry. Lord provost: mayor. Lords of Council and Session: privy councillors and court of session judges. Lords of Session: court of session judges. Mail: rent. March: boundary. Mark or merk: two-thirds of £1 Scots (13/4). Metster: an official measurer or weigher. Muir: a piece of the town land for grazing or penning stock. Mutchkin: Page 4 of 6

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Glossary a measure usually for spirits of 0.75 imperial pints. Oversman: the ‘deacon’ of a subordinate incorporation. Panel: accused person appearing before a criminal court. Poind: legal seizure of goods; that which is confiscated. Port: gateway into the city. Portioner: heritor (q.v.) of part of an estate. Pound (£) Scots: approximately one twelfth of a pound (£) sterling. Presbytery: association of parish clergy and selected kirk session elders (q.v.) dealing with ecclesiastical administration and with difficult cases of moral or religious deviance sent from kirk sessions. Regality: jurisdiction similar to a barony (q.v.) but with extensive independence from royal justice. Relict: widow. Roup: auction. Sasine: act or document transferring legal ownership of heritable property. Serve heir: legal process of transferring real rights to lands. Set: burgh constitution. Stallanger: non-burgess craftsman or seller licensed to trade in the city. Stent: property tax. Tack: lease. Page 5 of 6

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Glossary Tacksman: usually a tax farmer. Teind: tithe. Tenement: the plot on which a building was erected; also called a burgage plot. Testament: will. (p.389) Tolbooth: prison or guardhouse. Tron: public weigh house. Walker or wauker: fuller. Wright: carpenter. Writers to the Signet (WS): specialist legal clerks, part of a ‘society’ or professional association of the same name. Of higher status than ordinary clerks or ‘writers’. Wynd: like a close (q.v.) but with both ends open.

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Manuscript Sources

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

Manuscript Sources Bibliography references: British Museum Add. MSS 22,922, 23,135, 23,922, 28,850, 33,049, 35,125, 35,875, 38,332, 38,338, 40,349, 61,689 EG 2725 Harl. 829 Stowe 766 Edinburgh City Archives Acts of the Bailies of the Canongate, vols, iii–vi, 1652–76, 1691–4, 1694–1731, 1732–45 Act book, Deacons of Crafts, vols, i–ii, 1577–1678, 1677–1755 Ale Duty journal, 1718–32 Annuity Rolls, 1696–7, 1751–6 Baron Court Book of Calton, 2 vols., 1727, 1727–1844 Black Books of the Canongate, 1750–78 Book of the Dean of Guild Court, 1701 Canongate Regality court book, 1663–6

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Manuscript Sources Canongate Tolbooth gaol book, 1750–84 Conditions of roup of the Common Good, 1694–1740 Cordiners of the West Port and Portsburgh minute book, 1676–1804 Corn Committee Proceedings, 1740–82 Dean of Guild Court, vols, vi, vii, x, xi, xv, 1687–95, 1697–8, 1737–8, 1747 Dean of Guild’s revenue accounts, 1626–1720 Edinburgh Baxters’ minute book, 1563–1838 Edinburgh Burgh Council minute books, vols, xxi–lxxvi, 1661–1761 Edinburgh Burgh Court act book [‘Black Book’], vols i–iv, 1627–1702, 1680–96, 1743–55, 1755–61 Edinburgh Hammermen’s minute books, vols, v–ix, 1662–1700, 1701–33, 1733–9, 1739–47, 1747–68 The Good Town of Edinburgh’s criminal register, 3 vols., 1689–1700, 1730, 1743–62 Hammermen of the Canongate minute book, 1613–87 Hammermen of Wester and Easter Portsburgh minute book, 1742–1809 Hammermen of South Leith minute book, 1730–80 Head court of the barony of Portsburgh and Potteraw, 1744–84 Incorporated Trades of Calton minute books, 3 vols., 1692–1797, 1723–43, 1743– 68 Inventory of writs of the lands of Dairy and Gorgie… (p.392) Kirk Treasurer’s accounts, vols, iii–vi, 1663–93, 1694–1715, 1716–31, 1732–43 Leith Burlaw court, vols, i–iii, 1724–34, 1734–46, 1746–52 Licences for the sale of ale, etc., 1729–50 Merchant’s ledger, 1669–87 Minute books of the magistrates and stentmasters of the Canongate, 1724–42

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Manuscript Sources Minutes of the general meetings, Edinburgh Charity Workhouse, 2 vols., 1739– 47, 1748–68 Minutes of the ordinary managers…Canongate Charity Workhouse, vol. i, 1761–8 Moses bundles Obligations to desist from begging, 1726–35, 1743–58 Poll tax schedules, 1694, 1695, 1698 Principal Watch Money Books, 1729–40 A rental of the nine churches of Edinburgh, 1746–8, 1757–8 St Cuthbert’s Charity Workhouse minutes, vol. i, 1766–9 Scheme book…cargoes of corn, 1740–1 Scroll book of the minutes of the New Kirk Session, 1735–48 Sederunt book containing the minutes of the committee of council…for guarding the city against pestilential infection, 1721 Sederunt book of the incorporation of Traffickers in Leith, 1744–82 Shores dues of Leith, 13 vols., 1726–38, 1752–6 Tailors of Leith minute book, 1738–81 Treasurer’s accounts, 1730–2, 1749–50, 1754–5, 1755–6, 1763–4 Trinity Hospital minute books, 3 vols., 1720–35, 1737–53, 1753–65 Universal rental of all that concerns the town of Edinburgh, 1669, 1729, 1747 Valuation of the City of Edinburgh, 1760–1 Weavers of the Canongate minute book, 1620–1713 Wrights and Coopers of the Canongate minute books, 2 vols., 1585–1690, 1670– 1750 Window tax survey roll, 1710–11 Edinburgh City Library Yda. 1834.682: Constables’ list 1682 Yml 28a: Minutes of the Edinburgh Assembly, 1746 Page 3 of 41

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Manuscript Sources qYHD 6462.G62R: Ledger of John Rollo, goldsmith, 1731–7 qYHD 9901.8: Scheme for promoting the woollen manufactory, 1746 YHV 8198: A report of the city guard of Edinburgh, 1749 qYTH 9448.700 General Register Office OPR 401/1, 411/2, 422/1, 2, 427/1, 439/2, 459/5, 661/3, 662/3, 663/5, 664/4, 5, 665/1, 668/6, 7, 8–11, 669/2, 672/1, 673/2, 675/2, 676/2, 677/3, 678/3, 680/1, 681/2, 682/3, 683/8, 684/6, 687/2, 688/1, 689/14, 690/1, 691/1–5, 693/7, 694/2, 4, 695/4, 696/4, 697/3, 698a/2, (p.393) 699/4, 700/4, 701/1, 702/2, 3, 704/1, 705/1, 706/6, 708/3, 711/1, 712/1, 713/2, 719/1, 720/1, 721/2 National Library of Scotland Adv. MS 33.4.1: John Nicoll’s Diary, 1650–67 Adv. MS 16.1.2, 23.3.6 CH 3558, 8365–6, 8371, 8399 Lauriston Castle Collection MS 108: Pocket Book of Sir John Gordon of Invergordon, 1754–9 MS 501: St Giles Kirk Session Register, 1663 MSS 1957, 1960–1, 1969, 1970, 1972, 1974: Canongate Tailors’ papers MS 1915, 1954, 2095, 3430, 3803, 3813, 6487, 17515, 17517, 17602 New College Library D.b/42: pamphlets W.e.1: pamphlets X14a 2/1: collected sermons Public Record Office Assizes 45: Northern Circuit Assize depositions Calendar of Treasury Books St Andrews University Library Cheape of Rossie Papers Page 4 of 41

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Manuscript Sources r

DA890.E4T814: ‘Edinburgh tracts, 1671–1799’

MS LF1111.P81C99: Commonplace Book of Francis Pringle, Professor of Greek, 1710–42 Typ. BE.C83A*S: Edinburgh pamphlets Typ. BE.C89XS: ‘Edinburgensia, 1689–1828’ Scottish Record Office B22/2/1–57: Burgh Register of Sasines, first series, 1682–1761 B22/7/1: Index to Burgh Register of Sasines, 1740–81 B22/8/41–121: Burgh Register of Deeds, 1660–1760 B22/10/2–12: Minute Books, Burgh Register of Deeds, 1671–1767 CC8/4/2–507: Edinburgh Commissary Court Processes, 1661–1760 CC8/6/2–24: Edinburgh Commissary Court, Consistorial Processes, 1658–1766 CC8/8/70–118: Edinburgh Commissary Court, Register of Testaments, 1660– 1761 CH2/121/4–14: Edinburgh Presbytery Register, 1701–42 CH2/122/4–12c: Canongate Kirk Session Register, 1649–1746 (p.394) CH2/122/48, 49, 69, 71, 140: Canongate Kirk Session, miscellaneous papers CH2/125/1: Duddingston Kirk Session Register, 1710–16, 1742–19th century CH2/125/2: Examination roll of the Canongate, 1687 CH2/126/1: Greyfriars Kirk Session Register, 1709–20 CH2/127/1: New Greyfriars Kirk Session Register, 1723–9 CH2/128/1, 2: Old Greyfriars Kirk Session Register, 1700–2, 1732–6 CH2/130/1: Lady Yester’s Kirk Session Register, 1702–3 CH2/131/1, 2: General Sessions of Edinburgh, minute books, 1657–62, 1691–9, 1700–24 CH2/133/2: Old Kirk Session Register, 1707–8 CH2/136/1, 2: St Giles Kirk Session Register, 1704–5, 1709–19 Page 5 of 41

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Manuscript Sources CH2/140/2: Tolbooth Kirk Session Register, 1689–1863 CH2/181/1: Glencorse Kirk Session Register, miscellaneous papers, 1685–1728 CH2/283/19: Newton Kirk Session Register CH2/357/21: Tranent mortality bill, 1754–81 CH2/424/4–14: Dalkeith Presbytery Register, 1654–1760 CH2/471/3–9: Lasswade Kirk Session Register, 1656–1760 CH2/716/24–6: South Leith Kirk Session Register, 1742–63 CS96: Court of Session, miscellaneous productions in processes CS138–239 (with gaps), CS271: Court of Session, Unextracted Processes CS259/3: Court of Session, Bill Chamber minute books E69/16/2–3: Hearth tax schedules, Edinburgh E70/4: Poll tax schedules, Edinburgh FS1/17/23–143: Edinburgh Friendly Societies GD1/12/64: Edinburgh Tailors’ minute book, 1747–61 GD1/14/1: Canongate Cordiners’ minute book, 1584–1773 GD1/482/1–13: Edinburgh Goldsmiths’ Incorporation records GD18: Clerk of Penicuik papers GD348/206–7: Edinburgh Cordiners’ minute books, 1613–1708, 1730–64 GD348/211, 401: Edinburgh Cordiners’ miscellaneous papers JC6/4–14: High Court of Justiciary, minute books, 1655–1701 JC7/1–31: High Court of Justiciary, minute books, 1701–57 JP4/2/1: Quarter Sessions of Midlothian minute book, 1720–33 JP35/4/1–3: Edinburgh Justice of the Peace Court minute books, 1613–63, 1728– 30, 1736–44 RD2/1–188: Register of Deeds, 1661–1760 RD4/1–188: Minute books, Register of Deeds, 1661–1760.

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Manuscript Sources RH2/8/17/1–3: Register of Protections of the Sanctuary of Holyrood House, 1686–1789 RH11/11/21–26: Warrants, Register of Deeds of the Canongate, 1660–1733 RH9, 14, 15, 18: Miscellaneous papers (p.395) RS27/1–157: Particular Register of Sasines, Edinburgh and Lothians, third series, 1660–1760 RS71/2–13: Minute books, Particular Register of Sasines, Edinburgh and Lothians, 1657–1760 SC39/36/1–4: Edinburgh Sheriff Court, Services of Heirs minute books, 1667– 1754 SC39/8/3: Edinburgh Sheriff Court, Register of Decreets, 1667–73 SC39/35/1–2: Edinburgh Sheriff Court, Bonds of Caution 1674–86, 1715–19 SC39/91/1: Sheriff Court of Midlothian, Freeholders’ minute book, 1741–54 SC39/120/1–3: Minutes of Heritors of the Shire of Edinburgh, 1707–19, 1716–47, 1745–60 Books, Pamphlets, and Broadsheets Printed before 1800

(all published in Edinburgh unless otherwise stated) An Account of the Most Horrid and Unchristian Actions of the Grave Makers in Edinburgh…in this Present Year 1711…. (1711). An Account of the Trial of Captain John Porteous (1736). Act anent Apprentices, etc… [Writers to the Signet] (1753). Act anent Cleansing of the Streets of Edinburgh (1687). Act of Council Regulating the Time for Emptying and Laying down Ashes, Foul Water and Other Nastiness (1749). An Act for Erecting Several Public Buildings in the City of Edinburgh…and also for Widening and Enlarging the Streets of the Said City [1753]. Act anent the Militia-Men of Edinburgh (1689). Act of Parliament, anent Murthering of Children (1690). Act for Preventing the Apparent Dearth (1709).

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Manuscript Sources An Act of his Royal Highness…Establishing the Order…at the Opening of the Ensuing Parliament…Edinburgh (1681). Act of the Town Council of Edinburgh, for the Discouragement of the Sale and Use of Foreign Spirits within this City and its Liberties (1731). Act of the Writers to the Signet… (1722). The Acts of the Town Council of Edinburgh for Suppressing Vice and Immorality, Made Since the Happy Revolution, Especially Since the Year 1700 (1706). An Address to the Citizens of Edinburgh, Wherein the Utter Unfitness of the Present Set of the City is Clearly and Evidently Demonstrated… (1746). An Address to the Free Citizens of Edinburgh Wherein it is Shown the Importance of their Approaching Election of Magistrates; Reasons are Offered for Excluding Place-Men from Representing them in Parliament… (1740). Admonition and Exhortation of the Reverend Presbytery of Edinburgh (1757). Advice to a Citizen of Edinburgh (1725). Answers for the Corporation of Barbers of Edinburgh, Pursuers… (1742). Answers for the Magistrates and Town Council of Edinburgh… (1721). (p.396) Answers for Walter Ferguson, Writer in Edinburgh, to the Petition of the Governors of George Heriot’s Hospital (1773). Articles of Agreement to be Sign’d by the Friendly Society of the Heritors of Edinburgh and Suburbs…for a Mutual Insurance of their Tenements and Souses, etc from Losses by Fire (1720). Bill of Advocation, the Inhabitants of Caltoun against the Procurator-Fiscal of the City of Edinburgh (1763). A Brief Advertisement Concerning East-New-Jersey, in America (1684). Brown, T., A New Guide to the City of Edinburgh (1792). Captain Thomas Green’s Last Conference with Captain Madder, his First Mate, in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh (1705). Captain Thomas Green’s Last Farewell to the Ocean and All the World, who was Execute with Two More of his Crew…1 April 1705, for Piracie and Murder (1705). Case of the West Kirk and Answers to a Memorial… (1732).

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Manuscript Sources Copy Bill of Suspension, Preston etc against Wightman etc… [Court of Session] (1721). A Copy of Declarator in Favour of the Cordiners of South Leith against the Cordiners of Edinburgh Granted by the Lords of Council and Session in 1731 (1798). Culpeper, N., Directory for Midwives (1668). Deans, A., An Account of the Last Words of Christian Kerr (1776; 1st pub. 1702). Decreet Arbitral Determining Certain Questions that were Depending between the Magistrates, Merchant-Council, and Trades of the City of Edinburgh (1730). The Dreadful Voice of Fire Begun at Edinburgh, the 3rd of February 1700 (1700). Eccles, W., An Historical Account of the Rights and Privileges of the Royal College of Physicians, and of the Incorporation of Chirurgeons in Edinburgh (1707). Edinburgh’s Answer to an Advice Address’d to a Citizen (1725). Edinburgh’s Michaelmas Almanack: or a Tradesman Turned Politician. Containing Divers Good and Sundry Advices to the Town Council… (1725). An Elegie upon the Never Enough to be Lamented Death of the Right Honourable Adam Brown, Esquire, Lord Provost of Edinburgh. Who Departed this Life the 16 of October, 1711 (1711). An Essay for Reforming the Modern Way of Practising Medicine in Edinburgh (1727). Gairdner, A., An Historical Account of the Old People’s Hospital, Commonly called the Trinity Hospital in Edinburgh (1728). Historical Account of the Establishment of the Bank of Scotland (18th century). The Horrid Murther Committed by Captain Green and his Crew, on Captain Drummond and his Whole Men… (1705). Indictment of his Majesty’s Advocate and William Roy Writer in Edinburgh, against Gavin Thomson…and Alexander Inglis… (1719). (p.397) Information to the Council of Heriot’s Hospital anent the Lecting of an Baillie for the Regality and Barony of Brughtoun (late 17th century). Information for the Deacons and Incorporations of Mary’s Chapel in Edinburgh… against the Craftsmen of Portsburgh (1727). Page 9 of 41

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Manuscript Sources Information for Walter Ferguson, Writer in Edinburgh, Defender, against the Governors of George Heriot’s Hospital, Pursuers (1773). Kincaid, A., The History of Edinburgh (1787). The Knights of the Horn Orders Address to the Fruit Maids of Edinburgh (1707). The Last Speech and Confession of Jannet Riddle, who was Execute, for Murthering her Own Child… (1702). The Last Speech and Dying Words of Lewis Campbell. Who was Execute in the Grass-market of Edinburgh, upon the 6th Day of April 1730, for the Horrid Crime of House-Breaking (1730). The Last Speech and Dying Words of Captain Thomas Green (1705). The Last Speech and Dying Words of William More. Who was Execute in the Grass-market of Edinburgh, upon the 6th Day of April 1730, for the Horrid Crime of House-Breaking (1730). Laws and Regulations of the Royal College of Surgeons (1793). A Letter from Captain Tom to the Mobb, now Rais’d for Dr Sacheverell (1710). A Letter to a Friend, who is to Give his Vote in Electing the Magistrates of Edinburgh (1725). A Letter from a Gentleman in Edinburgh to his Friend in London, Giving an Account of the Present Proceedings against the Episcopal Clergy in Scotland, for Using the English Liturgy there (1711). Letter from a Gentleman in Edinburgh to a Friend at London; in Relation to the Proposals for Establishing by Law an Equal and Certain Fund, for Maintenance and Suppport of the Begging Poor, and Out-Pensioners of the City of Edinburgh (1749). A Letter to a Gentleman in London from his Friend in Edinburgh…Relating to the Case of Mr Greenshields (London, 1711). Lindesay, P., The Interest of Scotland (1733). A List of the Royal Company of Archers (1715). M’Farlan, J., Inquiries Concerning the Poor (1782). MacIntosh, W. [of Borlum], An Essay on Ways and Means for Inclosing, Fallowing, Planting etc. Scotland (1729).

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Manuscript Sources Maitland, W., The History of Edinburgh, from its Foundation to the Present Time… (1753). Malcolm, A., A New Treatise of Arithmetick and Book-Keeping (1718). The Manner of the Barbarous Murther of James, Late Arch-bishop of St Andrews (London, 1679). Mathemat, G. C., An Almanac and New Prognostication for the Year of our Lord, 1701 (1701). Mein, R., The City Cleaned and Country Improven (1760). Memorial and Queries for the Magistrates and Council of the City of Edinburgh… (1752). (p.398) Memorial Concerning the Deplorable Case of the Brewers in and about Edinburgh (early 18th century). Memorial Containing the Reasons for Opposing (by all Lawful Means) the Imposition, at this Time, of a Poors-Rate on the City of Edinburgh, by Authority of Parliament…by a Committee of Heritors… (1749). Memorial for Several of the Merchant Burgesses, and of the Corporations of the Crafts of the Good Town of Edinburgh, against the Pretended Magistrates of the Said City (1721). Memorial for the Magistrates and Council of Edinburgh (1752). Memorial for the Session and Parishioners of the West Kirk, Concerning the Settlement of Mr Patrick Wedderspoon… (1732). Memorial or Case on Behalf of Many Orphans, Widows, and Other Persons in Low Circumstances, who would be Subjected to Great Distress, by Having their Small Properties in the City of Edinburgh Forced from them, for the Sake, or on Pretence, of Improving the Said City (1753). Minutes of the General Kirk Sessions of Edinburgh…anent the Town Council of this City their Giving in a Presentation to Supply the Present Vacancy of a Minister (1763) Monteith, R., An Theater of Mortality: or, the Illustrious Inscriptions Extant upon the Several Monuments Erected over the Dead Bodies… (1704). Narrative of the Late Treatment of the Episcopal Ministers within the City of Edinburgh (London, 1708).

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Manuscript Sources Observations by the Committees of the Writers to the Signet, and of the Heritors and Householders of Edinburgh, upon a Memorial for the Magistrates and Council, Concerning the Affair of the Poors-Rate etc (1749). Paterson, J., A Geographical Description of Scotland with the Fairs Largely Insert… (1681). —— A New Prognostication of the Year of our Lord 1683 (1683). Pennecuik, A., An Historical Account of the Blue Blanket: or Crafts-man’s Banner (1722). Petition for the Dean and Faculty of Advocates and others (1707). The Petition of John Wilson and Gilbert Blair, Barbers in the Canongate (1742). The Petition of the Women-Servants within the city [of Edinburgh] [1700]. Petrie, A., Rules of Good Deportment (1720). The Present State of Mr Greenshields’ Case, now before the Right Honourable the House of Lords. In a Letter from a Commoner of North-Britain to his Friend in Edenburgh (London, 1711). A Proclamation for Restoring the Goods of such Persons as were Robbed, and Taken away from them in the Late Tumults (1688). A Proclamation for Securing the Peace of the City of Edinburgh and Surpressing of Tumults and Insurrections therein (1688). A Proclamation for Securing the Peace within the City of Edinburgh, and Suburbs Thereof (1690). A Proclamation against Spreading of False News etc (1688). (p.399) A Proclamation for Surpressing of Tumults in Edinburgh, and Elsewhere (1688). A Proclamation against Tumults in Edinburgh (1693). Proclamation against Tumults and Rabbles (1706). Proposealls made to the Merchants of Edinburgh for the Erecting and Setting up the Mysterie and Facultie of Making Woollen Cloaths in Scotland and Weaving Silk Stockines (1681). Proposals for Retrieving the Sinking State of the Good Town of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1737).

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Manuscript Sources Regulations for the Charity Workhouse, or Hospital of the Canongate (1761). Regulations for Keeping the Streets Clean (1770). Remarkable Decisions of the Court of Session from 1716 to 1718 (1728). The Report and Representation of the United Committees of the Company of Merchants and of the Other Incorporated Societies of the City of Edinburgh (1763). Representations…for the Tanners of Edinburgh (1705). Scheme for Providing an Annuity for the Widows of the Members of the Incorporation of the Hammermen of the Canongate (1768). The Scots Narrative Examin’d; or, the Case of the Episcopal Ministers in Scotland Stated, and the Late Treatment of them in the City of Edinburgh Enquir’d into… (London, 1709). The Scottish Inquisition; or, a Short Account of the Proceedings of the Scottish Privy-Counsel, Justiciary Court, and those Commissionated by them (1689). A Seasonable Advice to All who Incline to go in Pirrating; Drawn from what has Happ’ned to Captain Green, as it were from his Own Mouth, one of that Rank [1705]. A Second Advice to a Citizen of Edinburgh (1725). The Sett of the City of Edinburgh 1583 (1683). Some Cursory Remarks on a Late Printed Paper called The Last Speeches and Dying Words of Captain Thomas Green… (1705). Some Reasons for Taking the Present Method with the Street Beggars (1731). The Substance of a Dialogue and Familiar Conversation betwixt a Member of one of the Insolvent Corporations in the Canongate, and a Considerable Creditor of both (c.1743). Supplement to an Address to the Free Citizens of Edinburgh wherein Reasons are Given for Excluding such Men in the Present Administration from being Reelected, who have Abused their Trust (1740). A Supplement to the Proposals for Increasing the Number of Inhabitants, the Trade and Riches of the City of Edinburgh (1752). To the Inhabitants of Edinburgh (1780). To the Worshipful Cordiners of the West Port… (1725). Page 13 of 41

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Manuscript Sources Topham, E., Letters from Edinburgh Written in the Years 1774 and 1775 (London, 1776). The Trial of Captain Thomas Green and his Crew, Pursued before the Judge of the High Court of Admiralty of Scotland…(1705). The True Character of a Rigid Presbyter: with a Narrative of the Dangerous Designs of the English and Scottish Covenanters (London, 1711). (p.400) The True and Last Confession of William Thomson Wright in Edinburgh, as to the Murder and Theft Committed by him, and John Robertson Smith in the Pleasants, his Accomplish [1708]. A True State of the Case of the Reverend Mr Greenshields, now Prisoner in the Tolboth in Edinburgh (London, 1710). Unto the Reverend the Ministers of the Several Kirks and Congregations of the City of Edinburgh, the Earnest Request and Most Humble Petition of the Heads of Families, and others, their Respective Parishioners (1745). A Vindication of the Conduct of the Magistrates and Town Council of Edinburgh (1721). A Vindication of the Managers of the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, from the Aspersions Cast upon their Conduct in a Late Pamphlet (1737). Whytt, R., Observations on the Nature, Causes, and Cures of the Disorders which have been Commonly called Nervous, Hypochondriac, or Hysteric (1765). Newspapers

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Manuscript Sources Armet, H. (ed.), Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, 1689– 1701 (Edinburgh, 1962). —— (ed.), Extracts from the Burgh Records of Edinburgh, 1701–18 (Edinburgh, 1967). —— ‘Notes on the Rebuilding in Edinburgh in the Last Quarter of the Seventeenth Century’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 29 (1956), 111–42. Arnot, H., History of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1816 edn.). Aufrere, A., The Lockhart Papers (London, 1817). Baigent, E., ‘Assessed Taxes as Sources for the Study of Urban Wealth: Bristol in the Later Eighteenth Century’, Urban History Yearbook (1988), 31–48. Bédarida, F., ‘The French Approach to Urban History: An Assessment of Recent Methodological Trends’, in D. Fraser and A. Sutcliffe (eds.), The Pursuit of Urban History (London, 1983), 395–406. Beier, A. L., and Finlay, R. A, P. (eds.), The Making of the Metropolis: London, 1500–1700 (London, 1986). Benedict, B. M., ‘“Service to the Public”: William Creech and Sentiment for Sale’, in J. Dwyer and R. B. Sher (eds.), Sociability and Society in EighteenthCentury Scotland (Edinburgh, 1993), 119–46. Benedict, P. (ed.), Cities and Social Change in Early Modern France (London, 1989). —— ‘French Cities from the Sixteenth Century to the Revolution: An Overview’, in Cities and Social Change in Early Modern France (London, 1989), 7–64. Bercé, Y.-M., Revolt and Revolution in Early Modern Europe: An Essay on the History of Political Violence (Manchester, 1987). Beveridge, C, ‘Childhood and Society in Eighteenth-Century Scotland’, in J. Dwyer, R. A. Mason, and A. Murdoch (eds.), New Perspectives on the Politics and Culture of Early Modern Scotland (Edinburgh, 1982). (p.402) Birnie, A., ‘The Edinburgh Charity Workhouse, 1740–1845’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 22 (1938), 38–55. Black, A., Guilds and Civil Society in European Political Thought from the Twelfth Century to the Present (Ithaca, NY, 1984). Black, J., Eighteenth-Century Europe, 1700–1789 (London, 1990).

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Manuscript Sources Boog Watson, C. B. (ed.), Register of Edinburgh Apprentices, pt. 110: 1666–1700, pt. 111: 1701–55, Scottish Record Society (Edinburgh, 1929). Borsay, P., ‘“AH the Town’s a Stage”: Urban Ritual and Ceremony, 1660–1800’, in P. Clark (ed.), The Transformation of English Provincial Towns, 1600–1800 (London, 1984), 228–58. —— The English Urban Renaissance: Culture and Society in the Provincial Town, 1660–1760 (Oxford, 1989). Boulton, J., Neighbourhood and Society: A London Suburb in the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, 1987). Boyle, A. et al., Ruins and Remains. Edinburgh’s Neglected Heritage (Edinburgh, 1985). Brackenridge, R. D., ‘The Enforcement of Sunday Observance in Post-Revolution Scotland, 1689–1733’, Records of the Scottish Church History Society, 17 (1969), 33–45. Brodsky, V., ‘Widows in Late Elizabethan London: Remarriage, Economic Opportunity and Family Orientations’, in L. Bonheld, R. M. Smith, and K. Wrightson (eds.), The World We have Gained: Histories of Population and Social Structure (Oxford, 1986), 122–54. Brown, C. G., The Social History of Religion in Scotland since 1730 (London, 1987). —— ‘Protest in the Pews: Interpreting Presbyterianism and Society in Fracture during the Scottish Economic Revolution’, in T. M. Devine (ed.), Conflict and Stability in Scottish Society, 1700–1850 (Edinburgh, 1990), 83–105. Brown, P. H., Early Travellers in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1891). Bryce, W. M., History of the Old Greyfriars’ Church, Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1912). Bryden, D. J., ‘Three Edinburgh Microscope Makers: John Finlayson, William Robertson and John Clark’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 33 (1972), 165–76. Buckroyd, J., Church and State in Scotland, 1660–1681 (Edinburgh, 1980). Burke, P., ‘Urban History and Urban Anthropology of Early Modern Europe’, in D. Fraser and A. Sutcliffe (eds.), The Pursuit of Urban History (London, 1983), 69–82. Butel, P., and Cullen, L. M. (eds.), Cities and Merchants: French and Irish Perspectives on Urban Development, 1500–1900 (Dublin, 1986). Page 17 of 41

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Manuscript Sources Desbrisay, G., ‘“Menacing their Persons and Exacting on their Purses”: The Aberdeen Justice Court, 1657–1700’, in D. Stevenson (ed.), From Lairds to Louns: Country and Burgh Life in Aberdeen, 1600–1800 (Aberdeen, 1986), 70– 90. —— ‘Authority and Discipline in Aberdeen, 1650–1700’, Ph.D. thesis (St Andrews, 1989). Descimon, R., ‘Paris on the Eve of Saint Bartholomew: Taxation, Privilege, and Social Geography’, in P. Benedict (ed.), Cities and Social Change in Early Modern France (London, 1989), 69–104. Devine, T. M., ‘Social Stability and Agrarian Change in the Eastern Lowlands of Scotland, 1810–1840’, Social History, 3/3 (1978), 331–46. —— (ed.), Conflict and Stability in Scottish Society, 1700–1850 (Edinburgh, 1990). —— ‘The Merchant Class of the Larger Scottish Towns in the Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth Centuries’, in G. Gordon and B. Dicks (eds.), Scottish Urban History (Aberdeen, 1983), 92–111. —— ‘The Scottish Merchant Community, 1680–1740’, in R. H. Campbell and A. S. Skinner (eds.), The Origins and Nature of the Scottish Enlightenment (Edinburgh, 1982), 26–41. —— ‘The Social Composition of the Business Class in the Larger Scottish Towns, 1680–1740’, in T. M. Devine and D. Dickson (eds.), Ireland and Scotland, 1600– 1850: Parallels and Contrasts in Economic and Social Development (Edinburgh, 1983), 163–76. —— and Dickson, D. (eds.), Ireland and Scotland, 1600–1850: Parallels and Contrasts in Economic and Social Development (Edinburgh, 1983). —— and Mitchison, R. (eds.), People and Society in Scotland, i: 1760–1830 (Edinburgh, 1988). de Vries, J., European Urbanization, 1500–1800 (London, 1984). Dickson, D., ‘Large-Scale Developers and the Growth of Eighteenth Century Irish Cities’, in P. Butel and L. M. Cullen (eds.), Cities and Merchants: French and Irish Perspectives on Urban Development, 1500–1900 (Dublin, 1986), 109–23. (p.405) Diederiks, H., ‘Economic Decline and the Urban Élite in Eighteenth Century Dutch Towns: A Review Essay’, Urban History Yearbook (1989), 78–81. Dingwall, H. M., ‘The Social and Economic Structure of Edinburgh in the Late Seventeenth Century’, Ph.D. thesis (Edinburgh, 1989). Page 20 of 41

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Manuscript Sources Hunter, M., ‘“Aikenhead the Atheist”: The Context and Consequences of Articulate Irreligion in the Late Seventeenth Century’, in M. Hunter and D. Wootton (eds.), Atheism from the Reformation to the Enlightenment (Oxford, 1992), 221–54. Hunter, R. L. C., ‘Corporate Personality and the Scottish Burgh’, in G. W. S. Barrow (ed.), The Scottish Tradition (Edinburgh, 1974), 223–42. (p.409) Hunter, T., and Paton, R., Report on the Common Good of the City of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1905). Huppert, G., After the Black Death: A Social History of Early Modern Europe (Bloomington, Ind., 1986). Ignatieff, M., ‘John Millar and Individualism’, in I. Hont and M. Ignatieff (eds.), Wealth and Virtue: The Shaping of Political Economy in the Scottish Enlightenment (Cambridge, 1983), 317–43. Illustrations of the Author of Waverley; Being Notices and Anecdotes of Real Characters, Scenes, Incidents etc, Presumed to be Described in his Works (Edinburgh, 1822). Ingram, M., Church Courts, Sex and Marriage in England, 1570–1640 (Cambridge, 1987, paperback edn. 1990). Ingram, M. E., A Jacobite Stronghold of the Church: Being the Story of Old St Paul’s, Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1907). Irons, J. C., Leith and its Antiquities (2 vols., Edinburgh, 1897). Jamieson, J. H., ‘Social Assemblies of the Eighteenth Century’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 19 (1933), 31–91. Johnson, D., Music and Society in Lowland Scotland in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1972). —— Scottish Fiddle Music in the Eighteenth Century (Edinburgh, 1984). Kamen, H., Spain in the Later Seventeenth Century, 1665–1700 (London, 1980). Kaplow, J., ‘The Culture of Poverty in Paris on the Eve of the Revolution’, International Review of Social History, 12 (1967), 277–91. Kelsall, H., and Kelsall, K., Scottish Lifestyle 300 Years Ago: New Light on Edinburgh and Border Families (Edinburgh, 1986). Knox, R. B., ‘Establishment and Toleration during the Reigns of William, Mary and Anne’, Records of the Scottish Church History Society, 23/3 (1989), 330–60. Page 26 of 41

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Manuscript Sources Little, W. C., ‘A Historical Account of the Hammermen of Edinburgh, from their Records’, Archaeologia Scotica, 1 (1792), 170–83. Logan, W. H. (ed.), Fragmenta Scoto-dramatica, 1715–1758 (Edinburgh, 1835). Logue, K. J., Popular Disturbances in Scotland, 1780–1815 (Edinburgh, 1979). Lorimer, G., Leaves from the Buik of the West kirke (Edinburgh, 1885). —— The Early Days of St Cuthbert’s Church, Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1915). Lottin, A., and Soly, H., ‘Aspects de l’histoire des villes des Pays-Bas meridionaux et de la principauté de Liège’, in A. Lottin et al. (eds.), Études sur les villes en Europe occidentale, ii (Paris, 1983), 215–306. Lovett, A. A., Whyte, I. D., and Whyte, K. A., ‘Poisson Regression Analysis and Migration Fields: The Example of the Apprenticeship Records of Edinburgh in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, NS 10 (1985), 317–32. Lynch, M., ‘Whatever Happened to the Medieval Burgh? Some Guidelines for Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Historians’, Scottish Economic and Social History, 4 (1984), 5–20. —— (ed.), The Early Modern Town in Scotland (London, 1987). —— ‘Continuity and Change in Urban Society, 1500–1700’, in R. A. Houston and I. D. Whyte (eds.), Scottish Society, 1500–1800 (Cambridge, 1989), 85–117. —— ‘The Social and Economic Structure of the Larger Towns, 1450–1600’, in M. Lynch, M. Spearman and G. Stell (eds.), The Scottish Medieval Town (Edinburgh, 1988), 261–86. —— Edinburgh and the Reformation (Edinburgh, 1979). —— Spearman, M., and Stell, G. (eds.), The Scottish Medieval Town (Edinburgh, 1988). (p.411) McAloon, T., ‘A. Minor Scottish Merchant in General Trade: The Case of Edward Burd, 1728–39’, in J. Butt and J. T. Ward (eds.), Scottish Themes: Essays in Honour of S. G. E. Lythe (Edinburgh, 1976), 17–27. MacCaffrey, W. T., Exeter, 1540–1640. The Growth of an English County Town (2nd edn., London, 1975). MacDonald, I. R., The Beginnings of Gaelic Preaching in Scotland’s Cities’, Northern Scotland, 9 (1989), 45–52.

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Manuscript Sources (p.417) —— (ed.), Scotland and Europe, 1200–1850 (Edinburgh, 1986). Soliday, G. L., A Community in Conflict: Frankfurt Society in the 17th and Early 18th Centuries (Hanover, NH, 1974). Speck, W. A., Stability and Strife: England, 1714–1760 (London, 1977). Stark, J., Inquiry into Some Points of the Sanatory State of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1847). —— Picture of Edinburgh Containing a History and Description of the City (Edinburgh, 1806). Stell, G., ‘Urban Buildings’, in M. Lynch, M. Spearman and G. Stell (eds.), The Scottish Medieval Town (Edinburgh, 1988), 60–79. Stevenson, D. (ed.), From Lairds to Louns: Country and Burgh Life in Aberdeen, 1600–1800 (Aberdeen, 1986). —— ‘A Unique Craft: Edinburgh Masons in the Seventeenth Century’, Scotia, 11 (1987), 1–12. —— The First Freemasons: Scotland’s Early Lodges and their Members (Aberdeen, 1988). Stevenson, J. H. (ed.), The Register of the Great Seal of Scotland, A.D. 1660– 1668 (Edinburgh, 1914). Stevenson, R., Annals of Edinburgh and Leith…AD 320–AD 1839 (Edinburgh, 1839). Stone, L., Road to Divorce: England, 1530–1987 (Oxford, 1990). —— and Stone, J. C. F., An Open Élite? England, 1540–1880 (Oxford, 1984). Strikwerda, C, ‘The City in History Revisited: New Overviews on European Urbanisation’, Journal of Urban History, 13/4 (1987), 426–50. Swanson, H., ‘The Illusion of Economic Structure: Craft Guilds in Late Medieval English Towns’, Past & Present, 121 (1988), 29–48. Taylor, J., A Journey to Edenborough in Scotland, ed. W. Cowan (Edinburgh, 1903). Thestrup, P., The Standard of Living in Copenhagen, 1730–1800 (Copenhagen, 1971). Thin, R., ‘Medical Quacks in Edinburgh in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 22 (1938), 132–59. Page 37 of 41

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Manuscript Sources —— ‘The Old Infirmary and Earlier Hospitals’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 15 (1927), 135–64. Thompson, E. P., ‘The Moral Economy of the English Crowd in the Eighteenth Century’, Past & Present, 50 (1971), 76–136. Thompson, E. P., ‘Time, Work Discipline and Industrial Capitalism’, Past & Present, 38 (1967), 5697ߝ. Thompson, F. M. L., ‘Town and City’, in The Cambridge Social History of Britain, 1750–1950, i. (Cambridge, 1990), 1–89. Thomson, A. G., The Paper Industry in Scotland, 1590–1861 (Edinburgh, 1974). Todd, E., ‘Seven Peasant Communities in Pre-industrial Europe’, Ph.D. thesis (Cambridge, 1976). Torrie, E. P. D., ‘The Guild in Fifteenth-Century Dunfermline’, in M. Lynch, M. Spearman, and G. Stell (eds.), The Scottish Medieval Town (Edinburgh, 1988), 245–60. (p.418) Towill, E. S., ‘The Minutes of the Trades Maiden Hospital’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 28 (1953), 1–43. —— ‘The Minutes of the Merchant Maiden Hospital’, Book of the Old Edinburgh Club, 29 (1956), 1–92. Tytler, W., ‘On the Fashionable Amusements and Entertainments in Edinburgh in the Last Century, with a Plan of a Great Concert of Music on St Cecilia’s Day, 1695’, Archaeologia Scotica, 1 (1792), 499–504. Vance, J. E., ‘Land Assignment in the Precapitalist, Capitalist, and Postcapitalist City’, Economic Geography, 47 (1971), 101–20. —— This Scene of Man: The Role and Structure of the City in the Geography of Western Civilisation (London, 1977). Viazzo, P. P., Upland Communities: Environment, Population and Social Structure in the Alps since the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, 1989). Vogler, B., ‘La Rhénanie’, in A. Lottin et al. (eds.), Études sur les villes en Europe occidentale, ii (Paris, 1983), 391–463. Walker, M., German Home Towns (Ithaca, NY, 1971). Wall, R., ‘Regional and Temporal Variations in English Household Structure from 1650’, in J. Hobcraft and P. Rees (eds.), Regional Demographic Development (London, 1977), 89–113. Page 38 of 41

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Manuscript Sources Wrightson, K., and Levine, D., Poverty and Piety in an English Village: Terling, 1525–1700 (London, 1979). Wrigley, E. A., ‘City and Country in the Past: A Sharp Divide or a Continuum?’, Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research, 64/154 (1991), 107–20. —— and Schofield, R. S., The Population History of England, 1541–1871: A Reconstruction (London, 1981). (p.420) Wyrobisz, A., ‘Functional Types of Polish Towns in the XVI–XVIII Centuries’, Journal of European Economic History, 12/1 (1983), 69–103. Youngson, A. J., The Making of Classical Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1966).

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Index

Social Change in the Age of Enlightenment: Edinburgh 1660–1760 R. A. Houston

Print publication date: 1994 Print ISBN-13: 9780198204381 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: October 2011 DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198204381.001.0001

(p.421) Index Abbey of Holyrood 119, 134, 240, 307, 308 ‘Abbey lairds’ 119 Abbeyhill 56, 59 Aberdeen 33, 34 n., 42 n., 54, 152, 256, 351 Aberdeenshire 276, 279, 280, 350 Abertaff 151 acceptability 162, 187, 217 accidents 168, 169 Act of Indemnity (1679) 52 actors 205, 209 n., 210 Adam, Mr. 143 Adamson, Mrs 77 administration (secular) 333–47 adultery 24, 58, 88, 161, 162, 174, 175, 180 advocates 19, 27, 56, 61, 62, 67, 81, 82 n., 112, 170, 188, 200, 203, 208, 270, 299, 323, 324, 325, 335, 340 Aikenhead, Thomas 189 Aikman, Thomas 41, 91 Aikman, William of Cairnie 27 Airly, Lord 179 Aitchison, Margaret 272 Aitken, Marion 43 alesellers 212, 272, 368, 369 Alexander, Elizabeth 160 Alexander, John 54 Alexander, Mary 155 All Hallows fair 225 Alloa 154 almoners 247 n. almshouses 247 n. amenity 143, 144 Page 1 of 42

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Index America 184 Amsterdam 71 n., 74, 359 Anderson, Alexander 90 Anderson, George 154 Anglicanism 208 n. Anglophobia 40–1, 312–13 Angus 280 Angus, Isabel 158 Annandale 40 annuity tax 71, 72, 77, 109, 129, 130, 131, 253 anonymity 147, 148, 153, 155, 161, 172, 174, 175, 176, 182, 384 anti-catholicism 48, 292, 319, 331 anti-clericalism 210 Antwerp 95 n., 140 n. apothecaries 26, 85, 88, 152, 164, 165, 246, 297 apprentices 10, 29, 75, 78, 87, 95, 99, 139, 154, 169, 180, 188, 193, 208, 210, 218, 223, 224, 281, 294, 295, 296, 298, 303, 305, 306, 308, 309, 310, 311, 317, 329, 348, 352, 353, 358, 367–8, 370 apprenticeship 31, 79, 83, 84, 86, 91, 92, 93, 99, 155, 201 n., 230 n., 249, 268, 280, 281, 353, 370, 375 archbishop 206 archbishop Burnet 293, 295 archbishop Sheldon 293 architect 23 architecture 8, 9, 75, 116, 379 Argyll, Duke of 6, 58, 70 Argyll, Marquis of 122 Argyllshire 278, 280 aristocracy 72, 207, 219 Arkell, T. 253 armourers 354 army 39, 159, 295, 298, 304, 314, 330 Arnot, Hugo 9, 46, 133, 223 arson 117 artisans 5, 6, 8, 19, 33, 75, 78, 103, 134, 135, 139, 140, 141, 142, 236, 237, 238, 246, 247, 271, 292, 324, 349, 354, 355, 358, 359 n., 377 Aston, Anthony 205, 206 atheism 189, 194 Atholl, Duke of 280, 314 attorney 34 Auchinleck, Harry 85 Auchinleck, James 85 Auchterlonie, James 187 Augsburg 359 n. Auld, Margaret 272 authorities 158, 159, 161, 167, 168, 176, 190, 198, 207, 223, 235, 243, 265, 273, 275, 280, 290, 291, 306, 309, 315, 317, 318, 320, 323, 326, 328, 329, 330, 335, 357, 358, 360, 363

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Index (p.422) authority 18 n., 33 n., 67, 96, 97, 102, 111, 120, 156, 181, 194, 197, 206, 212, 214, 294 Baidland, Laird of 247 bail 171, 317 bailies 23, 26, 62, 76, 90, 118, 119, 137, 141, 145, 197, 198, 200, 261, 276, 278, 293, 299, 300, 301, 312, 318, 333, 334, 336, 337, 343, 344, 362 Bain, Margaret 186, 187 bakehouses 35 Balmerino, Lord 117, 120, 155 Banffshire 280 banishment 180, 328 Bank of Scotland 326 bankruptcy 44, 73, 108, 172, 301 Bannatyne, Marion 25 baptism 25, 26, 68, 95 n., 186, 191, 240, 262 barbers 66, 74, 85, 122, 139, 162, 246, 316, 374 Barclay, Adam 40 Barclay, Helen 276 Barclay, John 276 Barell, William 163 baron bailie 34 barony 117, 119, 121 barony men 118 barrowman mason 276, 277 Bath 159, 358, 377 baxters 35, 78, 138, 158, 221, 225, 252, 296, 306, 310, 328, 361, 368, 370, 377 beadles 237, 276 Bedlam 248 n., 253 beggars 119, 132, 162, 241, 249, 250, 251, 254, 255, 258–63, 267, 269, 271, 272, 273, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 283, 284, 285 n., 286 n., 382 Bell, William 237 bellringers 236 Bell’s Mill riot 235, 283, 292, 293, 320, 322–9, 377 Bell’s Wynd 221 Bercé Y-M. 319 bestiality 161, 173, 179 Bethune, Alexander of Longhirdmonston 22, 23, 27 Beveridge, James 339 Bible 187, 188, 193 bigamy 180 Biggar, John of Woolmet 364 bigotry 197 bill of suspension 206 billiards 222, 223 Birnie, John 308 Birnie, John of Broomhill 139 birth 80, 233, 261, 264, 280 bishop of Edinburgh 175, 302 ‘black books’ 181, 191, 287 Page 3 of 42

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Index Black, David 14 Blackfriars Wynd 127, 156, 210, 305, 361 Blair Atholl 278 Blair, Charles 370 Blair, James 82 Blair, Rachel 370 blasphemy 189 blindness 266 Blyth, Alexander 220 Boisland or Boirland, James 117 books 260 booksellers 207, 369 bonfires 49, 52, 309 bonnet makers 86, 339 Bonnington Mills 339 Bordeaux 143 n., 181 n., 205 n., 287 n. Borders 159, 355 Borsay, P. 232 Borthwick, William 85 Boston 6 Boswell, James 213 n. Bothwell Brig 259 Boulton, Jeremy 33, 45 n., 183, 254 boundaries 119, 120, 128, 135, 145, 219 bourgeoisie 135, 224, 384 bowling greens 223 boxmaker 36 boxmaster (treasurer) 6, 44, 47, 85, 334, 338, 339, 342, 350 Boyd, David 296 Boyd, Marion 58 Boyd, Thomas 316 Braid, Sir John of Gilmerton 364 Breadalbane 280 Brensch, Peter 69 brewers 59, 70, 78, 98, 107, 135, 138, 141, 156, 179, 194, 226, 236, 282, 314, 342, 354, 364, 366, 368 bribery 300, 340, 343 Bristo 138, 234 Bristo Street 42, 141 Bristol 87 n., 93 n., 284 Bristol Society 195 n. Britain 13, 170, 215, 236, 265, 285 n., 324 British Coffee House 112 (p.423) Brodie, Marjorie 23 Brodsky, Vivien 29, 78, 79 brothels 10, 160, 333 Broughton 117, 118 Brown (bailie) 211 Brown, Callum 183, 185 Page 4 of 42

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Index Brown, George 352 Brown, Helen 161, 163 Brown, John 37 Brown, James 91, 143 Brown, Nicol 93, 162 Brown, Patrick 73 Brown, Thomas 331 Brownhill, James 73 Bruce, Andrew 283 Bruce, Captain James 49 Bruce, Robert 91 Bruges 287 n. Bruntsneld 50 Bruntsfield Links 218 brutality 24 Brysson, George 155 Buchan, William 279 Buchanan (Mr) 57 Buchanan, Janet 190 Buchanan, Mungo 125 Buchanan, Herman 62 building 116, 227, 354, 379 building boom 75 building costs 125 building regulation 107, 112, 120 burgage 108 burgerliche Nahrung 358, 378 burgesses 5, 6, 7, 23, 26, 31, 32, 45, 60, 63, 66, 67, 68, 69, 76, 82, 93, 102, 111, 117, 135, 141, 153, 182, 201 n., 215, 236, 246, 247, 248, 322, 332, 333, 346, 347, 349, 350, 357, 360, 363, 367, 370, 371, 374, 377, 383 burgess ticket (sale of) 337 non-burgesses 291, 361 burgh 1, 2, 5, 7, 14, 26, 37, 38 n., 39, 47, 53, 67, 68, 74, 85, 87, 96, 97, 104, 116, 117, 119, 124, 126, 133, 145, 149, 177, 200, 201, 262, 264, 266, 267, 272, 276, 279, 294, 300, 376 court 176 superior 107 burghers 31, 139, 209, 231 burial 75, 76, 77, 95 n., 186, 240, 254, 286, 347 money 240 Burke, P. 163–4 burlaw bailies 37 burlaw court 37 burning at the stake 173, 186, 191 Burns, Robert 187 butchering 142 Butler, Mr 60, 189 Byres, Rachel 81 Byres, William 58 Page 5 of 42

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Index Caddell, Andrew 294 Caddell, Thomas 156 caddies 64, 157, 158 Calderwood, David 184 Caldwell, Janet 163, 186 Caledonian Mercury 337 Calton 1, 36, 47, 59, 78, 87 n., 93 n., 97, 118, 239, 354 burgh of barony of Calton 117 incorporated trades of Calton 226, 236, 245, 269, 338, 339 Calton yard 77 calumny 177, 181 Calvinists 130 Cameronians 231 Campbell, Alexander 44 Campbell, Douglas 25 Campbell, Edward 239 Campbell, George 78 Campbell, John 239, 262 Campbell, Lewis or Ludovic 159, 160 Campbell, Neil 56 candlemakers 31, 39, 137, 200, 247, 361, 364 Candlemaker Row 76, 107, 137, 138 Canongate 1, 2, 6, 8, 26, 34, 35, 37, 40, 42, 51, 56, 63, 64, 66, 69, 70, 73, 77, 92, 96, 97, 99, 107, 108, 111, 112, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 122, 123, 124, 125, 127, 131, 133, 134, 137, 139, 142, 143, 145, 158, 159, 163, 167, 171, 175, 176, 179, 180, 185, 187, 188, 190, 193, 197, 198, 200 n., 205, 213, 234, 237, 238, 239, 252, 275, 279, 295, 305, 306, 307, 310, 316, 317, 337, 339, 347, 348, 349, 360, 362, 376 Canongate churchyard 76, 287 Canongate kirk 187, 240 Canongate kirk session 196, 257–8, 262, 272, 365 Canongate parish 132, 183, 184, 194, 200, 203, 224, 240, 252, 264 Canongate Tolbooth 304 Canonmills 143, 225, 355, 356 Cant’s Close 126 capitalism 136, 232, 343, 351, 357, 358, 359, 376 n. card parties 217 careers 83, 84 n., 86, 91, 201 (p.424) Carmichael, Lord 311 Carmichael, William 227 Carnegie, Betty 182 Carnegie, James 342 Carnock 149 Carrington 27, 155 Carse, Alexander 225 Carse, Richard 312 Carstairs, Mr 311, 312 cartel 364 n., 365, 373 carters 89, 133, 141, 265, 342, 374 Cartouche 169 n. Page 6 of 42

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Index Caskie, James 343 castle 50, 58, 225, 294 Castlebarns 26 Castlehill 124, 173 catechism 68, 153, 192, 273 catholics 31, 39, 69, 131, 194, 292, 305, 318 cautioners 276, 277 Causewayside 157 celebration 49, 50, 51 cemeteries 77 n. ceremonial 51, 52, 53, 102, 224, 233, 297, 380, 381, 384 chairman 42, 282 Chalmers, Alexander 154 Chandler, John 58 chapman 276 character 22 n., 279 charity 61, 78, 89, 90, 92, 145, 161, 166, 167, 188, 191, 201 n., 210, 216, 234, 239, 241, 247, 247 n., 248, 249, 257 n., 258, 261, 262, 266, 267, 270, 273, 274, 282, 283, 284 workhouse 227, 244, 249 n., 250, 251, 252, 254, 256, 257, 260, 262, 263, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 283, 286, 332, 340, 383 Charles I 117, 123 Charles II 2, 49, 52, 123, 302, 345 charter 46, 117, 118 Charteris, Charles 76 Chatto, William 123 Cheap, William 96 Cheape, Henry 165 Cheape, James of Rossie 78, 165 Cheapside (London) 137 cheating 177 Cheyne, James 369 Cheyne, Marie 369 Chieslie, John of Dalry 173, 188 children 25, 29, 31, 36, 37, 60, 61, 69, 77, 83, 138, 150, 158, 161, 167, 189, 212, 221, 224, 225, 230, 235, 250, 263, 266, 267, 286, 313, 322 chocolate 260 Christie, James 162, 163 church 21, 26, 33, 47, 49, 53, 54, 62, 64, 70, 77, 108, 109, 129, 133, 139, 170, 172, 175, 176, 180, 185, 192, 195, 197, 199, 205, 231, 240, 242, 272 attendance 186, 210 church door collections 131, 240, 242, 243, 244, 245, 284, 322 Church of England 193 Church of Scotland 198 churchyards 23, 24, 96, 137, 146, 259 church testificates (passport) 153 city-living 147–151 city ports 123, 127 n., 280, 307, 314 city walls 105 civil courts 121, 179, 180 Page 7 of 42

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Index Clark, John 353 Clark, Jonathan 30 Clark, William 97 class 22 n., 64, 82, 136, 146, 202, 215, 265, 271, 330, 373, 382 Clelland, James 45, 312 clergymen 47, 60, 69, 133, 149, 148, 150, 153, 155, 179, 181, 188, 192, 193, 207, 209, 213, 214, 300, 318 clerical appointments 47, 48 Clerk to the Signet 83 clerk of the rough hides 237 Clerk, Sir John of Penicuik 208, 328, 364 Clerks of Session 61, 175 clothiers 279, 351 clothing 80, 127, 133, 154 clubs 215, 217 n. Cape club 217 n. Old Edinburgh club 9 Ramsay’s (Alan) Easy club 217 Rankenian club 217 Cluny, Alexander 303, 305 coach-houses 250 coachmaker 337, 355 coachman 57, 281 coal 239, 364, 365, 373 Coalhill 118 Cobb, Richard 126 Cobbet, W. 148 cobblers 95, 155, 186, 237, 283, 350, 368, 376 Cochrane, John 172 Cockburn, James 294, 295, 297 Cockburn, Lord 343 (p.425) cockfighting 11 coffee houses 156, 195, 215 n., 222, 223 n., 227, 313, 341, 360, 367, 384 Colinton 89, 132 College of Justice 61, 67, 68, 153 College Kirk 65, 132 College parish 109, 132 College Wynd 123, 158 Collingtouns Close 125 Cologne 193 n., 359 n. colonies 180 comedy 168, 205, 206 Comely Gardens 224 commerce 82 commercialization 215 commercial premises 137 Commissary Court 5, 121 common criers 46 Common Good 127–8, 301, 333, 336, 337, 340, 344, 345, 363 Page 8 of 42

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Index communicants 183, 184, 185, 194 n. communion 183, 185, 186, 187, 245 communion tokens 64, 183 communion wine 183, 184, 185, 194, 365 community 12, 15, 17, 18, 20, 21, 24, 25, 26, 30, 31, 32, 39, 42, 45, 47, 48, 53, 54, 75, 64, 66, 67, 68, 75, 101, 103, 104, 116, 126, 145, 153, 157, 159, 160, 161, 163, 173, 177, 186, 187, 219, 256, 275, 289, 290, 291, 318, 329, 332, 333, 347, 349, 358, 361, 365, 367, 377, 380, 381, 383, 384 competition 332–378, 380 concerts 205, 208, 216, 217, 236 Condorcet 150 conformity 53, 162, 183, 186, 192 congestion 126–7 consensus 332, 343–9, 371, 377, 378 Consistory Court 24, 58, 59, 87 n., 163, 172, 177, 178 conspiracy 48, 373 constables 6, 33, 34, 34 n., 49, 108, 134, 145, 158, 159, 196, 197, 204, 306, 332, 333, 334, 335, 342 consumption 21, 184, 226, 228, 229, 233, 274, 349 n. convent 193 conventicles 58, 70 Convention of Royal Burghs 14 cooks 360 coopers 78 Copenhagen 227 coppersmith 76, 246 cordiners 36, 82, 84, 86, 92, 94, 95, 95 n., 97, 98, 99, 125, 134, 180, 210, 225, 237, 238, 239, 240, 246, 276, 283, 339, 347, 348, 350, 360, 376 corporal punishment 170, 173 corporate personality 46 corporatism 197, 332, 346, 358, 376 n., 377, 378 corruption 10, 130, 208, 209 n., 301, 302, 332–43 Corstorphine 132, 151, 220, 281 Corstorphine Wells 167 cottagers 150 Council of Trent 193 Coupar-Angus 220 Couper, John 237 Couper, Robert 238 courtiers 136, 313, 318 courts 2, 4, 5, 21, 24, 34, 70, 117, 121, 121 Court of Session 4, 40, 61, 65, 67, 73, 83, 85, 97, 98, 116, 118, 119, 121, 144, 164, 172, 188, 205, 206, 299, 337, 341, 352, 364, 366, 373 Courtney, Randall 81 Coutts, Mr 326, 327 Covenanters 49, 58, 122, 124, 188, 231 Covenanting 173 cowfeeders 363 Cowgate 58, 78, 119, 130 n., 134, 138, 143, 144, 158, 168, 193, 247 n., 371, 373 Page 9 of 42

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Index craftsmen 6, 33, 65, 93, 135, 137, 199, 200, 201, 225, 233, 276, 296, 297, 298, 310, 344, 346, 355, 357, 359, 380 Craig’s Close 221 Craig, John 237 Cramond 132 Crawford, James 240 Crawford, Patrick 334 credit 43, 284, 375, 376 creditors 37, 40, 44, 45, 119, 172 Creech, William 10, 11, 12, 15, 144, 169, 124, 245 crime 5, 10, 117, 142, 159, 160, 161, 168, 169, 170, 173, 178, 284, 383 criminal courts 121, 179, 180 criminals 44, 142, 160, 230, 304 Crockat, Agnes 191 Crooks, William 59 Cross well 228 cruelty 230 (p.426) Cruiks, George 26 Culross 124, 191 cultural change 195, 214, 215 culture 4, 57, 116, 145, 214, 215, 216, 217, 221, 222, 230, 231, 232, 233, 381 Cumming, George 61 Cumming, Thomas 24 Cunningham, Captain James 308 Cunningham, John of Enterkin 21 Currie 132 curriers 98 customs 46, 123, 127, 128, 147, 223 customs duties 293, 302 customs house 130 customs men 318, 322, 373 Cuthbertson, William 187 Dalgleish, George 363 Dalkeith 123, 124, 177, 190, 298, 351, 361, 363, 373 Dalmeny 26 Dalry 173 Dalrymple, David 74 dancing 205, 216, 220 school 221 Daniel, Elizabeth 279 Daniel, Robert 279 Darien 2, 40, 244, 311, 312 Davidson, Francis 44 Davison, Walter 342 Davis, Richard 28 deacons (craft) 6, 44, 53, 54, 66, 67, 95, 96, 97, 108, 120, 141, 157, 161, 180, 195, 225, 237, 240, 246, 273, 299, 300, 304, 309, 318, 333, 334, 338, 339, 344, 348, 352, 353, 355, 356 deacons (church) 6, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201 and n., 202, 203, 204, 242, 243, 333, 334 Page 10 of 42

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Index Dean of Guild 31, 34, 78, 190 n., 200, 299, 344, 367, 368 Dean of Guild’s Court 112, 116, 122, 125, 340 Dean of Guild officers 207 Dean Village 141, 324 Deans, Effie 142 Deans, John 26 death 21, 22, 23, 26, 29, 75, 148, 159, 160, 164, 165, 169, 170, 191, 203, 204, 220, 236, 254, 255, 270, 274, 298 debt 25, 43, 117, 121, 205, 301, 338 debt servitude 95 n. debtors 37, 44, 134, 172, 249 defamation 177, 178, 179, 180 deference 43, 57, 61, 75, 104, 271 Defoe, Daniel 7, 126, 314 deformity 166 dental care 166 dependence 75, 87, 237, 238, 253, 274, 353, 370 depôt de mendicité 249 n. derogation laws 82 Desbrisay, G. 33 deviants 160, 187, 230, 319 Dick, Thomas 95, 237, 276 Dickson, Andrew 277 Dickson, Margaret 277 diet 166, 226, 227, 362 Dijon 230 Din, John 265 Dingwall, H. 85, 253, 375 discipline 33 n., 62, 176, 198, 213 disease 42 n., 164, 165, 168, 169, 189, 264 disfigurement 166 dissection 167, 170 dissenters 155, 194, 231 distillers 137 divorce 24 doctors 164, 165 and n., 166, 266 doles 236, 237, 238, 248, 252, 254, 257 n., 263, 271, 339 Dolphin, Sarah 79 Donaldson, James 335, 354 donations (church) 244, 250, 269 donors 244, 269–70, 274, 285 Douglas, James 125 Douglas, Thomas 23 Doure, Mary 79 Downie (Mr) in Carrubers Close 221 dress 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 154, 163, 217, 229, 260 drink 80, 148, 215, 222, 224, 225, 226, 227 drovers 363 druggist 369 Page 11 of 42

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Index drugs 126, 165 drummers 46 Drummond, George 341 Drummond of Hawthornden 241 Drummond, William 342 drunkenness 10, 186, 287 n. Dublin 6, 71 n., 73 n., 282 Duddingston 25, 131, 132, 212, 272 Duddingston churchyard 96 Duddingston kirk session 273, 277 Duddingston Loch 96 (p.427) duels 58 n. Dugud, William 64 Dunbar 267 Dundas, John 221 Dundas, William 112 Dundee 152 Dunfermline 32 n. Durham 159 Durkheim, Émile 319 Dutch 49, 159, 198 Dwyer, John 18, 278, 382 dyers 350, 377; see also litsters East Greyfriars kirk 65, 109 East India Company 40 East Lothian 190, 276 Eccles, Hugh 62 ecclesiastical boundaries 108–10 ecclesiastical courts 121, 145, 179, 180 economic change 2, 13, 17, 281, 354 economic growth 8, 12, 349, 380 economic relationships 20 Edgar, W. 47 n., 111, 113, 122, 125 Edinburgh Castle parish 132 Edinburgh City Archives 71 Edinburgh Chronicle 225 n., 227, 228 Edinburgh Evening Courant 337 Edinburgh Royal Infirmary 7, 88, 167, 257, 269, 270, 283 education 64, 208, 233, 246, 249, 250, 265, 266, 331 egalitarianism 19 Eglinton, Earl of 296 elders 6, 25, 103, 120, 157, 158, 161, 195, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 201 n., 202, 203, 240, 243, 273, 333, 334 elections (council) 39, 78, 299, 300 élites 11, 57, 61, 62, 65, 69, 70, 71 n., 72, 73, 83, 84, 85, 86, 103, 128, 131, 132, 133, 135, 136, 142, 143, 145, 164, 195, 197, 203 n., 204, 208, 214, 215, 219, 221, 222, 223, 232, 235, 265, 269, 285, 289, 299, 300, 323, 324, 327, 329, 331, 346, 359 n., 376 n., 378, 381, 382, 384 Elliot, Gideon 334 Page 12 of 42

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Index Elliott, Sir Gilbert 73 employees 87, 238, 310, 349, 352, 382 employment 80, 81, 236, 252, 322, 347, 348 n. agency 90, 153, 154 endowments 210 n. England 35, 39–42, 46, 57, 66, 148, 152, 168–9, 174, 179, 181 n., 182 n., 186, 187, 194, 195 n., 196 n., 199, 206 n., 209 n., 213, 229 n., 232, 234, 234 n., 236, 251 n., 253, 265, 284 and n., 288, 290, 291, 306, 309, 314, 316 n., 317 n., 318 n., 360 n., 374 n. Enlightenment 8, 9, 12, 15, 22 n., 173, 176, 209, 217 n., 219, 229, 232, 288, 289, 323, 329, 379, 382, 383, 384 environment 10, 164 episcopacy 2, 108, 193, 194 episcopal meeting house 185, 193, 242 Episcopalians 24, 70, 184, 194, 231, 242, 243 episcopalian ministers 193 equestrian pursuits 219 Errol, Earlof 109, 304 Erskine, Agnes 369 Erskine of Grange 73 Erskine, Sir Charles (Lord Lyon) 294, 295, 297 Erskine, Thomas 194 Europe 13, 73 n., 82, 101, 141, 164, 168, 170, 185 n., 213, 215, 234, 290, 320 evangelicals 211 n., 231 exchequer 34, 293, 296, 297 excise 3, 123, 152, 154, 237, 293, 295, 318 excise office 130, 227 excommunicates 161 extortion 63 Faculty of Advocates 82 n., 84 n., 218, 225 n., 251 Fairful, Isabel 88 Falkirk 281 family 18, 21, 23, 24, 25, 27, 28, 29, 30, 62, 69, 78, 88, 138, 150, 156, 175, 277, 383 famine 27, 236, 258, 270, 273, 320, 322, 326, 327 fanaticism 176 farmers 62, 220, 276, 279, 281, 363 farming 120 fashion 57, 217 n., 220, 228 feltmaker 23 Ferguson, Adam 9, 379 Ferguson, John 178, 237 Ferguson, Mrs 81 Ferguson, William of Auchinblain 179 festivals 53, 225 feu duty 107, 218 feudal courts 117 feuers 135, 379 (p.428) feus 107, 108, 120, 137, 334, 339, 340, 344 fever 169 Fife, John 45 Page 13 of 42

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Index Finlayson, John 154 Finlayson’s land 339 fireworks 49 Fisher, John 211 Fisher, Thomas 71 flag master 54 flaxdresser 339 flesh market 126, 138, 237, 361 fleshers 24, 39, 73, 79, 83 n., 86, 127, 162, 163, 169, 276, 312, 343, 362, 363, 368 Fleshmarket Close 74, 137, 162, 163 Fletcher, Andrew of Milton 73 Flint, James 151 Flodden Wall 105 Florence 359 n. footmen 56, 57, 151, 213, 281 Forbes, John 42 Forbes of Disblair 313 Forbes, William 61 forestalling 320, 362, 363 forfaiters 43 fornication 80, 123, 158, 174, 177, 180, 211, 272 Forrest, Andrew 89 Forrester’s Wynd 59, 119, 139, 294, 371 Fort William 68 Fortune, Mary 252 Foucault, M. 285, 385 foundlings 242 n., 244 Fountain, Edward 220 Fountainbridge 135, 252 Fountainhall 298 France 28, 41, 75 n., 77 n., 100 n., 140 n., 150, 160, 181 n., 210 n., 213, 229 n., 249 n., 252 n., 281 n., 285 n., 316 n., 365 Frankfurt 61 n. Franklin, Benjamin 18 Fraser, Hamish 290, 291, 330, 384 n. Fraser, John 189 fraud 152, 287, 327, 342, 358, 362, 364, 383 Frazer, Janet 43 Frederick (prince) 50 freemasons 75 n. freemen 91, 92, 102, 117, 118, 236, 238, 240, 347, 350, 363, 370 Freiburg 35, 67 n., 298 n. French church 193 Friedrichs, C. R. 357 fruit 227–8 fruit maids 197 fugitives 161 funerals 27, 37, 76, 254, 274, 301, 317 furniture 228, 229 Page 14 of 42

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Index furriers 93 gadger (gauger) 79 Gaelic language 42, 56, 59, 68, 69, 278, 282, 312 Gairdner, Andrew 63, 244, 247, 250, 256, 263, 267, 274, 282–3 Galicia 282 n. Gallowlee 124, 160, 191 gallows 170–1, 173, 317 gambling 287 gangs 168, 169 gardeners 152, 157, 162, 172, 221, 246, 369 Gardener, George 301 gardens 125, 217 Garrioch, D. 154 Gay, John 207 Geddes, David 315 gender 48, 56, 68, 77, 261 General Assembly of the Church of Scotland 189, 198, 203 n. general sessions 2, 80, 161, 185, 196, 203 n., 205, 211, 243, 255, 259, 273 gentlefolk 216 gentlemen 58, 60, 62, 64 gentry 7, 50, 56, 59, 69, 69, 72, 82, 83, 134, 139, 207, 209, 210, 219, 303 George I 96, 201, 205, 330, 384 George II 6, 50, 185, 284, 337, 347, 384 George III 7, 11, 46, 103, 105, 121, 146, 187, 209, 214, 223, 230, 261, 287, 333, 345, 377 George Square 141 Geremek, B. 319 German traders 138 n., 190 n. Germany 100 n., 348 n., 357, 358 ghetto 138 Gibb, John 188 gibbets 124 Gibson, James 25 Gilchrist, John 181 Gilchrist, William 323, 324, 325, 326, 328 Gilhooley, J. 368 (p.429) Gillespie, Elizabeth 23 Gills, Mr 57 Gilmerton 226, 326 Girls’ Society 188 Gladstone’s land 140, 367 Glasgow 8, 24, 31, 42 n., 79 n., 152, 155, 155, 251, 260, 291, 305, 315, 323 n., 330, 351, 355, 376 workhouse 267 Glasgow, James 353 glassgrinder 368 glazier 43, 246 Glen, Marjory 181 Glen, William 238 Page 15 of 42

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Index Glencorse 27, 191 Glengary 168 Glenorchy, Lord John 208 glovers 152, 178, 228, 246, 273 goldsmiths 41, 56, 84, 85, 86, 91, 99, 117, 154, 196, 202, 367, 370 Goolen, Mr 281 Gorbals (Glasgow) 58 Gordon, Duke of 69 Gordon, James of Rothiemay 47, 111, 114, 125 Gordon, Thomas 90 Gordon, Sir John of Invergordon 166, 219 government 40, 48, 146, 318, 329, 331 Gowdie, Thomas 266 Gowrie conspiracy 48 grace (act of) 44–5 Graham, Captain James 308 Graham, Walter 170 grammar school 155 Gramsci, A. 385 Grassmarket 124, 126, 144, 168, 170, 176, 317 grave robbing 157, 167, 319 graveclothes maker 81 graveyards 22, 76–7 Gray, Andrew 276 Gray, James 63, 155 Gray, Thomas 273 Green, Captain 40, 41, 313 Grenoble 210 n. Greyfriars 21, 22, 23, 27, 60, 76, 120, 132, 137, 138, 151, 161, 210, 249, 250, 263 Greyfriars churchyard 219, 278, 301 Greyfriars kirk session 246 Grieve, Robert 306 Groningen 200 n., 201 n., 203 n. guild brothers 67, 246, 347, 348, 374 guilds 5, 32, 37, 39, 60, 77, 79, 101, 116, 136, 144, 234, 246, 265, 333, 349, 357, 358 Haddington 276, 373 Haddo’s Hole 109 Haig, George 27 Haig, James 27 Halkerston’s Wynd 112 Hall, William 41 Hallowell, Mr William 268 Hamilton, Mr 70 Hamilton 139, 158 Hamilton, David 29 Hamilton, Duke of (James Douglas) 314 Hamilton, George 29 Hamilton, Jean 107 Hamilton, Margaret 22, 279 Page 16 of 42

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Index Hamilton, Sir Archibald of Rosehall 22 Hamilton, Robert 72 Hamilton, Robina 279 Hamilton, Thomas 336 hammermen 35, 36, 37, 84, 86, 92, 99, 122, 134, 171, 224, 225, 236, 239, 246, 264, 338, 342, 354, 355, 375 Hanoverian dynasty 58, 193–4, 205, 211 harbour 46, 341 Hardie, Nicol 78 Harley, Robert 314 Harris, T. 292 Harrison, Colonel 316 Hart, James 156 Hart, Mr 187 harvest 95, 152, 243, 244, 280, 320 Hastie, John 303, 304, 305 hatmaker 272, 303 haunting 191 Hawley, Captain 163 Hay, Alexander 236 Have, Thomas 302 healers 165 health 164, 165, 166, 167, 219, 220, 230, 260 Heart of Midlothian 58 hearth tax 56 Henderson, Robert 311, 312 Henderson, Thomas 228 Henderson, William 26 Hepburn, Sir Adam of Humbie 117 heraldry 57 (p.430) Heriot’s hospital 64, 76, 117, 246, 247, 250, 256, 257, 263, 288 Heriot, George 117 Heriot’s gardens 216 heritors 48, 67, 71, 72, 76, 102, 112, 123, 127, 208, 214, 221, 240, 241, 251, 253, 320, 323, 324, 326, 328, 362 Heron, Robert 246 heterodoxy 70 High Commissioners 52, 298, 312, 313 High Court of Justiciary 34, 45, 62, 68, 87 n., 93, 117, 152, 174, 178, 179, 180, 304 323 High Street 1, 49, 51, 116, 119, 122, 124, 126, 127, 139, 156, 158, 198, 293, 294, 298, 304, 305, 309, 314, 371 High school 158 Highlands 41, 57, 68, 151, 159, 168, 278, 280, 281 Highlanders 41, 42, 69, 168, 282 Hill, Janet 160 hoboymen 46 Hodson, Margaret 182 Hogg, James 149 Hogmanay Tron riots (1811–12) 291 Page 17 of 42

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Index Hohenberg, P. 101 holidays 220, 225 Holland 302 Hollar, T. 47 Holyrood 1, 2, 24, 44, 70, 125, 139, 220, 298, 314, 315 Home, George of Kells 108 Home, George of Kimmerghame 74, 341 Home, John 352 honour 150, 180 Honourable Company of Edinburgh golfers 222 Honourable Society of Hunters 220, 222 Hope family 73 Hope Park 141, 168, 226, 252 Hoppringle, John of Tersonce 26 Horse Wynd 134 hospitality 229 hospitals 7, 25, 64, 168, 234, 236, 246, 247, 254, 274, 284, 382 House of Correction 97, 242 n., 248, 249 n., 251 n., 252, 257 n., 276, 285 n. House of Lords 57, 119, 315 households 21, 32, 87, 132, 253, 255, 357, 383 householders 34, 37, 38 n., 49, 64, 72, 7, 129, 311 housing 19, 56, 63, 73, 74, 125, 127, 130 n., 133, 135 and n., 136, 137, 138, 139, 140 and n., 141, 142, 143, 144, 162, 166, 191, 201, 240, 259, 262, 263, 289 Howe, Major William 163 Howison, Margaret 282 hucksters 361–2, 374 Hume, Alexander 59 Hume, David 73, 92, 124, 379 Hume, John 355 Hunter, Helen 59 Hunter, Mrs 272 Hutton, John 124 icons 122 identity 21, 30, 37, 39, 40, 42, 45, 46, 69, 77, 100, 101, 102, 103, 120, 145, 146, 154, 215, 223 n., 264, 282, 382 ideology 39 idleness 10 illegitimacy 158, 161, 180, 181 illiteracy 278, 279, 370 illness 88, 89, 165, 264, 266, 268, 282 image 164 immigrants 41 n., 42 n., 43, 151, 152, 153, 158, 164, 277, 279, 280, 281, 282, 284, 287 n. immorality 11, 80, 90, 181, 196, 204, 211 impersonality 147 importers 327, 328 imprisonment 44, 45, 118, 159, 171, 190, 229, 279, 285 n. improvement 7, 10, 127 n., 229 incest 161, 180 Page 18 of 42

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Index Inch, William 277 income 78, 79, 226, 233, 237 incorporation 11, 30, 31, 36, 44, 47, 53, 54, 65, 66, 68, 69, 79, 84, 85, 86, 96, 97, 98, 100, 103, 116, 118, 134, 138, 144, 145, 165, 187, 200, 201, 221, 224, 225, 234, 236, 237, 238, 239, 246, 251, 254, 255, 256, 264, 298, 299, 318, 332, 333, 334, 338, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348 n., 349, 350, 351, 352, 353, 354, 355, 356, 357, 359, 376 indentures 85, 91, 92, 370 independence 78, 95, 100 individualism 171, 175, 332, 333, 376 n. industrial accident 236 (p.431) industrial revolution 234 industrialization 290 industry 266, 351 indwellers 32, 58, 68, 247, 267, 276, 347, 368, 369 inequality 56, 347 infanticide 191, 286–7, 348 n., 370 Inglis, Margaret 370 inhabitants 43, 48 inheritance 81, 201 n. Innes, Isobel 161 innkeepers 92, 281, 294, 361, 365 inoculation 189 insanity 252, 253 interest rates 284 Inverness 278 Invernesshire 280 Ireland 187, 309 Irishmen 59 irreligion 194, 211 Islay (Earl of) 6, 323 n. Italy 126, 157 Jack, John 337 Jacobites 2, 105 n., 207 n., 218, 316, 319, 330 James VI and I 4, 48, 123 James VII and II 2, 52, 69, 175, 242, 305, 309 James of Ardblair 82 James’ Court 73, 221 Jardeen, George de 159, 160 Jewish quarter 138 n. Johnston, Andrew 58 Johnston, George 27, 95 Johnston, John 179, 300 Johnston, Major George 304 Johnston, Sir Patrick 313, 314 journeymen 10, 31, 75, 87, 89, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 102, 139, 160, 163, 224, 225, 238, 265, 276, 279, 292, 297, 305, 306, 310, 317, 329, 330, 348, 350, 352, 353, 355, 368, 376, 381, 382 judges 164, 305, 309 judiciary 4, 5 Page 19 of 42

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Index jurisdiction 1, 2, 11, 37, 104, 109, 111, 112, 117, 118, 119, 121, 127, 144, 145, 182 jury service 34, 332, 333 justice 30, 118, 182, 291 Justice of the Peace Court 121, 168, 178, 181, 207 justices of the peace 211, 265, 320, 325, 344, 364 keeper of the Tolbooth 54, 309, 312, 343 Keir, Janet 78 Keith, Anna, 369 Kelso 123, 355 Kennedy, Andrew 302 Kennedy, William of Daljarroch 179 Kennedy, Thomas 249, 304 Kensington 88 n. Killiecrankie, battle of 266, 286 Kincaid, Alexander 9, 281 Kincaid, Thomas 193, 218, 308 Kincardine, Earl of 302 King, Thomas 94, 353 n. King’s Park 60, 189, 298 King’s Stables 117 Kinghorn 79, 281, 363 Kinloch, Francis 299, 300, 301, 302 Kinnaird, Sir George 304, 305 kinship 22, 27, 28, 138, 277, 278 Kintore, Earl of 304 Kippen, John 350 kirk 2, 27, 173, 186, 195, 198, 209, 212, 231, 236 Kirk, Revd Robert 148 kirk session 2, 6, 24, 26, 47, 48, 52, 64, 80, 103, 133, 135, 157, 158, 161, 163, 165, 174, 176, 179, 180, 185, 186, 190, 194, 199, 200, 201 n., 202, 203, 204, 211, 234, 237, 239, 240, 241, 244, 245, 246, 248, 251, 254, 255, 257, 267, 272, 274, 278, 332, 333, 334 kirk treasurer 153, 175, 176, 198, 203 n., 234, 242, 243, 252, 254, 286, 287, 334 Kirknewton 132 Knights of the Horn Order 197 Knights of the Thistle 52 knitting 249 Knoidart 168 kyle alleys 223 labour (female) 78, 80 labour market 91, 95, 235 n., 360 labour shortage 95 n. labourers 8, 19, 101, 133, 141, 224, 257, 275 Lady Yester’s kirk 65, 172 Lady Yester’s parish 108, 109, 132, 158, 186 Laing, James 202 (p.432) lairds 28, 79 and n., 246 Lamb, Agnes 142 Lamb, William 334 Lanark 155, 279 Page 20 of 42

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Index Lanarkshire 139 landed class 146, 214, 233 landholding 108, 116 landmarks 122, 128 Landmarket or Lawnmarket 76, 106, 109, 110, 136, 139, 140, 304, 336 n., 367 landowners 19, 22, 27, 67, 82, 84, 120, 141, 322, 327, 328, 364 n. landownership 107, 112, 144 landlords 43, 138 Langford, P. 374 n. Langton, J. 16 Lasswade 132, 151, 190, 226 Latimer, bishop 148 latitudinarianism 208 n. Lauder, William 337 Lauderdale, Duke of 6, 168, 299, 300, 302, 341 Lauderdale, Earl of 156, 206 Lauderdale, Margaret Countess of 247 laundress 81 Lauriston castle 188 Laverockbank house 143 law 62, 98, 154, 212, 308 English 206 La wrie, William 156 lawyers 7, 19, 83, 145, 153, 170, 259, 270, 297 lazzaroni 157 learning 23, 233 Lees, L. 101 legacies (charitable) 210 n., 240, 244 legal integration 121 legal profession 34, 68, 86, 137 Leiden 202 n., 359 n. leisure 215 and n., 217, 219, 220, 226, 233 leisured class 137 Leith 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, 11 n., 18, 32, 37, 40, 46, 47, 53, 54, 62, 63, 69, 70, 78, 79, 81, 112, 117, 119, 120, 122, 125, 144, 161, 162, 187, 191, 193, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 227, 243, 261, 272, 273, 305, 310, 322, 326, 334, 335, 341, 345, 363, 365, 366, 373 n. Leith Burlaw Court 62, 228 Leith Shore 125, 158, 198 Leith Walk 125 Leith Wynd 133, 246, 249, 252, 310, 316 Leslie, Colonel Sir James 310 Leslie, Dorothy 158 Leslie, Thomas 123 Leven, Lord 310 libertinism 231 Liberton 132, 161, 200 n., 214 Liberton parish 226 Libberton’s Wynd 81, 108 library 218 Page 21 of 42

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Index licencing (of retailing) 366–71, 377 licentiousness 10 Liège 95 n. life expectancy 203 liferenters 71 lifestyle 56, 101, 274 Lille 359 n. Lindsay, Patrick 207, 349 lineage 22 linen manufacture 96, 249, 250, 349–50, 351 ‘link boys’ 89, 265 Linlithgow 241, 276 literacy 152 literature 170, 173 Lithuania 131 litsters (dyers) 80, 108, 303, 305, 351 Littlejohn, Thomas 308 Livingstone, William 192 local government 5, 285 n. locality 154, 158 Lockhart of Carnwath 73 locksmith 95, 348, 354, 355 lodgings 74 lodging housekeepers 81 Logan, George 337 Logan, Robert 187 Logierait 280 London 1, 4, 6, 29, 33, 36, 46, 73 n., 74, 78, 80, 88 n., 93 n., 95 n., 127 n., 130 n., 136, 137, 148, 158, 165 n., 170 n., 180, 186, 194, 195 n., 206, 208, 213, 216, 227 n., 247 n., 251 n., 254, 272 n., 284 n., 292, 296, 302, 310 n., 335, 371 n., 373 Lord Advocate 311 Lord Clerk Register 51, 304 Lord Commissioner 295 Lord High Chancellor 305, 313 Lord High Constable 109, 112 Lord Justice Clerk 49, 123 (p.433) Lord Lyon King of Arms 51, 56, 293, 294 Lord President of the Court of Session 144 lord provost 5, 32, 33, 50, 74, 120, 182, 196, 200, 218, 294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 333, 338, 340, 344 Lord Roxburgh 66 Lords of Admiralty 335 Lords of Council 52, 304 Lords of Session 40, 300 Lords supper 183, 186, 187 lotteries 236 Low countries 287 n. Lowlanders 151, 152 Lowlands 28, 69, 278, 281, 290, 322, 376 Page 22 of 42

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Index loyalty 42 n., 52, 101, 102, 103, 194, 383 Luckenbooths 79, 125, 126, 293, 294 lying-in 167 Lynch, M. 297, 359 Lyon 140 n. Lyon Herald 119 M’Farlan, James 63, 150, 162, 256, 265, 282 M’Illfriesh, Elizabeth 79 McCulloch, Sir Hugh of Pilton 22 McGhie, William 161 McGill, David 123 McGill, John 317 McIntyre, David 68 MacVicar, Neil 68 MacDonald, Duncan 281 MacDonald, John 42, 57, 141, 151, 213, 281 MacDonald, Margaret 280 McDowell, Uthred 350 MacIntosh, William of Borlum 229 Madrid 92 n., 169 n., 282 n. Magdalen chapel 35, 66, 134 magic 190, 230 magistrates 2, 40, 43, 45, 47, 50, 52, 53, 54, 65, 95, 96, 97, 111, 117, 118, 120, 123, 133, 135, 142, 158, 159, 161, 182, 195, 196, 197, 198, 201, 205, 206, 207, 221, 223, 236, 258, 262, 263, 270, 282, 291, 295, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 306, 307, 308, 309, 311, 312, 315, 316, 317, 318, 324, 326, 328, 332, 334, 336, 337, 344, 345, 352, 365, 374 Makey, Walter 200, 201 Mair, Thomas 334 Maitland, Alexander 338 Maitland, Anna 161 Maitland, Charles 168, 302 Maitland, John 156 Maitland, William 9, 47, 146, 326 Malaga 227 maltman 152, 312, 354 managers (charity workhouse) 268, 270, 273 man-midwife 167 Mannheim 205 n. Manning, R. B. 291, 292 Manson, Katherine 140 mantua-maker 370 manufacturing 4, 343–59, 375 maps 111–12 Marchmont, Earl of 76 marginals 234, 253, 256, 275, 277, 286, 287, 382 Marischal, Countess of 369 marital relations 24, 25, 162, 163 market capitalism 232, 320 market mechanism 116, 377, 378 Page 23 of 42

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Index marketing 7, 118, 127, 329 markets 126, 133, 158, 349 Marlin’s Wynd 126 marriage 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 78, 81, 91, 93, 174, 175, 179, 180, 181, 201, 207 n., 223, 224, 240, 262, 280, 384 Marriot, Samuel 34 Marseilles 210 n. Marshall, Earl of 304 Marshall, Robert 188 Martin, William 276 Marx, K. 385 Mary King’s Close 191 Mason, Alexander 201 masonic lodges 75, 102, 225 masons 23, 84, 86, 91, 95, 98, 99, 116, 141, 200, 354, 364, 367, 368, 377 masters 31, 93, 95, 96, 97, 99, 100, 102, 153, 158, 225, 237, 245, 296, 297, 309, 330, 344, 347, 348, 350, 352, 382 Maxwell, Marion 88 mealmarket 108, 126, 261, 371 mealmonger 320, 326, 368 medical school 164 medicine 165, 166 meeting houses 185, 193, 242 Meikle, John 45 Melville, Andrew 204 (p.434) Melville, Earl of 312 Melville, William 81 Members of Parliament 314, 315, 339 Mendozas of Guadalajara 73 n. Menzies, John 41, 45 Mercer, William 79 merchant company 246, 358, 367–8, 370, 374, 376 merchants 4, 5, 6, 19, 22, 23, 32, 33, 34, 41 and n., 42 n., 43, 58, 65, 74, 77, 79, 82, 83, 86, 87, 90, 124, 134, 135, 136, 154, 178, 191, 199, 200, 201, 202, 207, 220, 228, 229 n., 233, 241, 246, 247, 256, 272, 276, 286, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299, 315, 325, 332, 334, 338, 341, 343–34, 345–36, 348, 350, 351, 354, 355, 357, 358, 365, 366, 367, 369, 370, 375, 377 Merchants’ Maiden hospital 25, 250, 256, 257, 263 Merchiston, Laird of 120 Mercury 57, 163 messenger 157, 161 metropolis 147–51, 163 metropolitan 116 metster 81 middle class 18 n., 47, 133, 176, 208, 218, 220, 231, 274, 287, 291, 382 middlemen 200, 201, 361, 363 Midlothian 26, 58, 69, 131, 191, 228, 241, 265, 276, 327, 354, 362 midwife 81, 348 n. migration 81, 159 Page 24 of 42

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Index Miller, Nellie 221 Miller, William 221 millers 141, 152, 327 milliners 81, 133 Miln, James 355 Milne’s Court 59, 108, 136 Milne, John 23 Milne, Robert 124 Milton House 73 minister 23, 24, 65, 70, 129, 141, 149, 153, 175, 180, 186, 187, 192, 199, 208, 212, 214, 219, 240, 241, 302, 369 miscreants 120, 161 Mitchell, Anna 158 Mitchell, Robert 135 Mitchell, Thomas 43 Mitchelson, Robert 295 mobility 83, 104, 146, 303 moderates 211 n., 231 Moffat 166, 224 Moffat, Robert 77 Moffat wells 219, 220 money 43, 135, 137, 180, 243, 280 moneylenders 43 monopoly 346, 349, 350, 359, 373, 374, 376 Monteith, Robert 22 monumental inscriptions 21, 24, 122, 177 ‘moral economy’ 328, 347, 377 n. moral lapses 203, 240, 243 moralism 12, 124, 149, 150 morality 30, 174, 183, 188, 189, 205, 223, 232 Morison, Alexander 77 mortality 164, 169, 287 mortcloth 76, 347 Morton, James 303, 305 Mosman, George 188, 189 Moss, Mary 234 mountebanks 127 Mowbray, David 305, 306 Mowbray, Robert 249 muggings 168 Multries Hill 246 Mumford, L. 88, 116, 126, 139, 152, 359 mumming 223 Munck, T. 268 Munro, Dr. 189 murder 117, 149, 154 n., 155, 162, 169, 174, 175, 177, 178, 189, 286, 317, 318 Mure, John 367 Murray, of Philliphaugh 311 Murray, Thomas 82 Page 25 of 42

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Index Muschet, Nicol 154, 189 Muse well (Grassmarket) 124 music 8, 215, 217 musical instruments 217 Musical Society 216, 217, 222, 269 musicians 213, 368 Mussleburgh 298, 351, 363, 373 Nairn, Sir David 247 n. Nairn, James 62 Naismith, James 336 Naismith, William 252 Nantes 140 n. Naples 282 n. nationalism 314 navigational instruments 122 Neal, John 375 Neale, R.S. 159, 358 necromancy 191 (p.435) neighbourhood 104, 136, 138 n., 161, 285, 381, 383 neighbours 28, 30, 33, 38, 155, 162, 163, 161, 165, 181, 211, 374, 375 Neilson, Hugh 312 nepotism 237 Netherbow port 42, 53, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 133, 134, 167, 173, 193, 219, 304, 316, 371 New Greyfriars church 263 New kirk 60, 65, 158 New North Kirk 65 New North parish 69, 109, 132, 137 New Street 139 New Town 8, 9, 12, 13, 15, 19, 20, 70, 112, 143, 226, 289, 377, 379, 381, 382 Newall, Archibold 296 Newbattle 72 Newcastle 159 Newlands, Robert 228 newspapers 229, 337, 367 Nicoll, John 173, 191, 298 Nicolson, Daniel 175, 176 Niddry’s Wynd 73, 127, 361 Nimmo, James 341 Nisbet, Alexander 76 Nisbet, Anna 162 Nisbet, Cornelius 152 Nisbet, Euphan 367 Nisbets of Dean 120 nobility 4, 7, 28, 50, 60, 64, 69, 70, 72, 133, 134, 151, 210, 304 nodes 122, 126, 371 nonconformity 162 non-jurants 193 Nördlingen 359 n. Page 26 of 42

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Index Norris, John 206 North Bridge 205 n. North Britain 141 North East parish 69, 109 North kirk session 211 North Leith 108, 117, 193, 335, 362 North Leith parish 132 North or Nor Loch 105, 126, 152, 219, 226, 286, 342, 355, 356 North west parish 109, 242 Northumberland 158 Norwich 92 n., 165 n. Nuremberg 81 n. nurses 81, 167 oaths 30, 31, 39, 101, 104, 211, 325, 348 occupation 20, 41 n., 48, 71, 74, 11, 80, 81, 85, 101, 104, 128, 134, 133, 136, 138, 146, 200, 279, 282, 368, 383 occupational associations 104 occupational composition 34 occupational mobility 82 n., 83, 87 n. occupiers 72, 123 office (sale of) 340 office-holders 200–3 Old Assembly Close 216 Old kirk 48, 120, 132, 158 Old kirk parish 132, 137, 175 Old Statistical Account 144, 214, 228 Old Town 8, 75, 133 oligarchy 336, 345 Oliphant, Abigail 61 Orange, William Prince of 304, 306, 309 Orkney 161 Orme, Patrick 95 orphans 167, 242 n., 244, 265, 267 hospital 246, 250, 257 Orr, Andrew 89 orthodoxy 70 Osborne, John 338 ostracism 160, 162 outburghers 67 n. out-relief 241, 256, 257, 270, 284, 286, 288, 382, 383 outsiders 39, 40, 42 n., 291, 292, 295, 318, 319, 331 Over Liberton 159 oversman 118 owner-occupation 71, 72, 129 ownership 71, 108 n., 129 pageant 225 painter 368, 377 pamphlets 39, 41, 128, 135, 157, 164, 179, 180, 197, 209, 212, 214, 228, 250, 256, 262, 267, 268, 274, 312, 341 Page 27 of 42

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Index paper maker 69 papists 69, 131, 194, 307, 308 Paris 57, 92 n., 96 n., 140 n., 143 n., 154 and n., 169 n., 170, 181 n., 267 n., 268, 282 n., 319, 371 n. parishes 2, 8, 25, 26, 27, 35, 48, 58, 64, 65, 77, 93, 101, 104, 108, 109, 119, 120, 123, 126, 130, 131, 132, 133, 135, 136, 141, 142, 145, 146, 151, 153, 154, 158, 157, 158, 161, 174, 183, 202, 203, 212, 236, 240, 241, 245, 251, 258, 259, 264, 273, 274 n., 280, 284, 333 parish boundaries 108–9 parishioners 47, 48, 183, 190, 242 (p.436) parish churches 48, 242, 245 Park, R.E. 147 Parliament (Scottish) 4, 51, 111, 124, 185, 197, 224, 286, 314, 337, 360 Parliament Close 111, 122, 123, 136, 139, 160, 300, 302, 313, 315 parliamentary elections 339 pastimes 215, 226 paternalism 290, 323, 329, 359 n., 377 n. Paterson, Andrew 338 Paterson, James 226 Paterson, John 299, 300 Paterson, Margaret 180 Paterson, Robert 276 patients 138, 164 patronage 6, 19, 33 n., 206, 248, 306 Patterson, Christian 80 Paul’s Work 65, 248, 249, 250, 256, 263 pawnbrokers 81, 153, 271, 272 n. Peebles Wynd 70, 138, 371 peers 62 penance 198 pendicles 118 pension 168, 237, 239, 244, 250, 255, 270, 272, 273, 274, 322 pensioners 240, 242 n., 247 n., 251, 252, 255, 257 n., 258, 263, 266, 273, 284, 383 perfumers 10, 133, 369 Perkin, Harold 82 Perth 31, 355 Perth, Countess of 305 Perth, Earl of 307 Perthshire 90, 220, 278, 280, 281, 283 pew rental 64, 65, 66, 67, 69, 77, 172, 240, 383 pewterer 80, 246, 258 Philadelphia 6 philanthropy 270 Phillipson, N. 164 physic garden 154, 250 physicians 164, 165, 220, 283, 305, 348 n. pickpocketing 171, 287 piety 22, 23, 162, 187 Pillance, Mrs 370 Page 28 of 42

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Index pillories 176 pilot master 54 Pilrig 124 piracy 40, 313 Pitcairn, Alexander 301 Pitcairn, Henry of Pitlour 307 plague 2, 33, 152 plantations 159 playhouses 205, 207, 208, 213, 217 Pleasance 29, 68, 155, 248, 277, 364 plumbers 78, 246 Plummer, James 93 poisoning 178 political activity 33, 222, 242, 292, 332, 382 political economy 10, 12, 17 poll tax 34, 72, 77, 85, 93, 129, 131, 351 poor 29, 61, 63, 64, 90, 103, 133, 136, 145, 140, 166, 167, 232, 234, 235, 236, 239, 240, 242, 243, 244, 245, 247, 248, 249, 251, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 259, 260, 261, 263, 265, 266, 268, 269, 271, 273, 274, 275, 277, 278, 282, 283, 284, 286, 287, 288, 322, 324, 328, 382, 383 badges for 261, 286 n. box 36, 98, 175 house 68, 252 rate 142, 253, 254, 284 relief 2, 17, 29, 35, 89, 90, 98, 100, 102, 118, 120, 154, 175, 180, 196, 199, 210, 234, 235, 237, 239, 240, 241, 243, 244, 245, 246, 248, 251 n., 257, 258, 261 n., 262, 264, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 278, 284, 285, 287, 288, 322, 330, 352–3, 374, 382 popular culture 215, 379 population 2, 3, 8, 29, 32, 159, 192, 227, 246, 253, 256, 261, 379 Porteous, Captain John 7, 40, 57, 123, 170, 171, 213 Porteous riots 213, 317, 318, 323, 329, 331 Porterfield, James 149 porters 89, 133, 264, 282, 342 portioners 282 Portobello 220 Portsburgh 1, 36, 67, 95 n., 117, 118, 143, 155, 210, 239, 277, 324, 334, 354 Portsburgh Baron Court 37, 70, 178, 334 post-Restoration 218, 219, 292, 293, 342, 351, 354 Potteraw 117, 118, 141, 142, 282, 312 poultry market 126 poultrymen 369 poverty 17, 44, 60, 63, 90, 132, 146, 235, 236, 238, 242, 243, 246, 248, 253, 254, 260, 261, 264, 265, 269, 272, 275, 277, 278, 280, 282, 286, 287, 347 power 21, 31, 43, 75, 79, 96, 111, 160, 195, 198, 213, 285, 289, 296, 306, 329, 332, 343, 358 (p.437) Pratt, William 307 preacher 195 preaching 68 Page 29 of 42

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Index pregnancy 158, 161, 167, 221 pre-nuptial fornication 181 presbytery (Edinburgh) 24, 62, 63, 68, 123, 131, 132, 141, 161, 180, 187, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 198, 204, 211, 219, 244, 250, 282 officer 237 presbyterians 242 presbyterian church government 199, 204, 231 presbyterianism 2, 33 n., 49, 155, 156, 175, 181, 184, 189, 194, 195, 204, 243 press gangs 319, 335 prestige 67 n. price maintenance 365–6, 373 Priestfield 303 priests 206, 207, 213 Prince of Wales 152 Prince, Magnus 301, 337 Pringle, David 88 Pringle, Francis 150, 151, 163 printers 99, 100, 187, 311, 312 printing works 10 prison 45, 171, 181, 252, 268, 312 prisoners 40, 196, 248, 249, 259, 276, 342, 343 privacy 143, 150, 162, 163, 161, 171, 174, 176, 177, 222, 384 privilege 46, 104, 111, 117, 118, 119, 123, 134, 144, 166, 182, 239, 294, 300, 318, 370, 376, 377, 380 Privy Council 4, 33, 38, 51, 52, 111, 155, 171, 223 n., 241 and n., 296, 299, 302, 303, 304, 306, 307, 308, 309, 313, 316, 335 n., 342, 354 procession 51, 298 procurator fiscal 182 production 7, 13, 21, 349, 373, 376, 380 profanity 186 professionals 3, 4, 5, 6, 22, 27, 65, 69, 81, 82, 83, 86, 135, 140, 142, 143, 145, 182, 200, 218, 229 n., 233, 247, 276, 379 professionalization of administration 204 property 19, 48, 70, 71, 107–8, 116, 136, 201, 240, 307 property tax 129 proprietors 112 prosecution 159, 160, 301, 318, 338 prosperity 3, 8, 10, 131, 132, 289, 348, 378 prostitutes 10, 45, 160 prostitution 59, 80, 172, 174, 180, 181, 287 n. Protestants 131, 155 proverbs 188 publishers 228 pudding wives 81 punishment 40, 49, 122, 124, 125, 154 n., 161, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 176, 177, 189, 190, 230, 311, 317, 383 putting-out 349–54 Quakers 68, 70, 194, 231 quarrymen 141 Page 30 of 42

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Index Queen Anne 51, 204, 235 Queen Mary 206 Queen’s Park 63, 198 Queensberry, Duke of 70, 111 Queensberry, Duchess of 207 Raith, Margaret 155 Ramsay, Allan 207, 208 Ramsay, Alexander 48 Ramsay, Sir Andrew 298, 299, 300, 301, 336 Ramsay, General 240 Ramsay of Polton 241 rank 59, 60, 147, 202, 206, 215, 217 n., 223, 264, 266, 285, 383 Rankenian Club 207 n., 217 rape 117 rating (compulsory) 241 n., 242, 244 Ratho 132 Rea, John 26 reading 264 recreation 11, 215, 216, 217, 221, 223, 233, 381 Redpath, James 228 Reformation 204, 206, 359 reformation of manners 204, 266 reformatory institutions 250 regality 117 regents 207 Register of Sasines 108 n. regulation 116 Reid, George 353 Reid, William 353 Relief Act (1778) 331 (p.438) religion 39, 48, 68, 70, 149, 147, 153, 183, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 192, 194, 195, 199, 203, 208, 210, 215, 231, 259, 266, 292, 383 religious: adherence 107, 204 condemnation 150 divisions 147, 210 dislocation 242 dogmatism 209 fervour 188, 230 observance 189 pluralism 194, 231 policy 291 remarriage 78 Renaissance 73 n. rent 43, 71, 73 n., 129, 135, 136, 137, 138, 140, 140 n., 240, 243, 272 repledging 117 reputation 68, 171, 177, 178, 179, 180 residence 21, 136, 138 residence patterns 136 resident associations 143 Page 31 of 42

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Index residenters 32, 267, 347 residential zoning 74 responsibility 89 Restalrig 63, 191 Restoration 6, 11, 35, 46, 48, 49, 64, 70, 76, 83, 85, 122, 176, 189, 205, 220, 230, 231, 240, 286, 293, 323 retailing 346, 359–71, 373, 380 retirement 151, 248 revenue 3, 11 Revolution (French) 11 Revolution (Glorious) 49, 181, 199, 243, 286 Rhind, Charles 79 Richardson, Peter 295 Riddel, Helen 90 Riddock, James 283 riot (popular protest) 10, 17, 41, 96, 170, 213, 223, 289, 290–331, 343, 379, 381–2 Roach, James 82 Roach, William 82 robbers 155, 169 n. robbery 170 Robertson, Duncan 277 Robertson, Janet 160 Robertson, John 109, 111, 155 Robertson, Marjory 276 Robertson, Thomas 261, 301 Robertson, William 9, 379 Rocheid, Sir James 301, 302, 336–7 Rochette, Colonel de la 9 rogues 182 Rome 282 n. Roslin 226 Ross, David 222 Ross, James 206, 223 rouping women 81 Rousseau, J.-J. 150 Roxburgh, Earl of 117 Royal Bank of Scotland 130, 326–7 royal bedesmen 247 n. royal burgh 1, 108, 116 Royal Company of Scottish Archers 218 Royal exchange 227 Rublack, H. C. 30 Ruddiman, Thomas 265 n. Rule, Elspeth 152 rumour 156, 158 Sabbatarians 199, 213 n. sabbath-breaking 211, 212, 333 sacrament 186, 187, 241 sailors 79, 279, 363 Page 32 of 42

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Index St Andrews 150, 155, 206 St Bernard’s well 220, 224 St Cecilia’s Hall 216 St Crispin 225 St Cuthbert’s 26, 58, 61, 67, 69, 89, 92, 123, 131, 141, 145, 185, 187, 191, 193, 200 n., 234, 252, 275 St Cuthbert’s workhouse 228, 252, 256 St Cuthbert’s church 225 St Cuthbert’s parish 204, 300, 320, 323 St Cuthbert’s kirk session 142, 193–4, 195 St Giles 33, 45, 54, 69, 80, 109, 123, 125, 126, 236, 297, 371 St Giles kirk session 193, 241 St James Square 143 St John’s day 225 St Leonard’s college 150 St Mary’s chapel 216 St Mary’s Wynd 127, 273, 355, 371 St Saviour’s parish, Southwark 183 St Thomas hospital 249 Samuel, James 157 sanctuary 44, 111 Savoy 282 n. Sawers, Charles 324, 325, 328, 331 scaffold speeches 128 scandal 158, 175 Scarborough 166, 219 scavengers 133 schism 155 Schmidt, L. E. 184, 187 n. school 133, 250 schoolmaster 107, 179 (p.439) schoolmistress 139 schoolteachers 81, 155, 158 scientific instruments 218 Scotstarvet, laird of 150 Scott, Margaret 369 Scott, T. 35 Scott, Walter 58, 60, 142, 171, 189, 310 Scott, William 157, 161 Seafield, Viscount 312 seaman 43 seaside 220 Seath, Margaret 81 seating 64, 65, 66, 67 Seatoun, John 91 Seatoun, Sir Walter 294 seceders 31, 70, 231, 284 second-hand goods 81 n., 127, 133, 144, 237 Secretary of State 156 Page 33 of 42

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Index sects 147, 257 n. secularism 210, 214 security 30, 37 sedan chair 226 sedition 33 self-perception 104 Selkirk, Earl of 139 Semple, David 279 sensibility 164, 167 sensitivity 169 serenades 205 sermons 147, 156, 170, 187, 194, 212 servants 3, 8, 29, 30, 38, 41, 43, 80, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 94, 97, 102, 152, 153, 162, 163, 182, 191, 211, 221, 223, 224, 237, 252, 254, 260, 265, 266, 267, 276, 277, 280, 282, 295, 296, 297, 304, 306, 309, 311, 352, 361, 367, 369 ‘set’ (constitution) 1, 343–5 sex-ratios 72 sexual offences 176, 193 shame 180 Shammas, C. 227 Sharp, Bell 248 Sharp, John 248 Sharp, Sir William 168, 300 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley 59 Sheriff Court 5, 34, 81 shoemakers 59, 118, 225, 238, 305, 350, 373, 376 shopkeepers 79, 81, 126, 293, 360, 367–71 shops 133, 138, 139, 140, 296, 347, 360 n., 361 shoremaster 54 shuffle boards 223 Sibbald, Robert 305 Sibbet, Janet 81 signs 122 silk-weavers 38 n., 353 Sim, Isobel 367 Simmel, G. 147, 171, 319 sin 149 Sinclair of Preston 241 Sinclair, Sir John 10, 150 n. singers (ballads) 46 Sir James Stewart Close 371 Sjoberg, G. 27, 135, 136, 230, 286 skating 219 Skene, John 155 Skinner, Joseph 40 skinners 39, 82, 84, 93, 134, 200, 205, 246, 355, 356 Skinner’s Close 134 Skinners’ Hall 193, 205, 242 Skirven, Alexander 78 Page 34 of 42

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Index Skirven, Patrick 78 Slezer, John 115, 321 smallpox 189 Smart, Archibald 337 smiths 200, 226, 236, 323, 377 Smith, Adam 18, 19, 83, 147, 210, 260, 329, 349, 359, 366, 380 Smith, Agnes 43 Smith, James 307 Smith, Janet 173 Smith, Robert 189 Smollett, Tobias 216 smugglers 36, 170 smuggling 236, 317, 318, 342 snobbery 58 social: alignment 102 assemblies 215, 217, 221, 269, 384 barriers 87 n. behaviour 160, 198, 199, 264, 285 change 10, 13, 16, 209, 379, 382 composition 65 conflict 30, 319 control 331 convention 64 differentiation 12, 54, 56, 68, 75, 77, 129, 285, 323, 378, 381, 384 dislocation 286 distancing 88, 104 distinction 18 n., 56, 102, 103, 146 display 66, 219 division 12, 133, 138–9, 140 n., 217, 289, 290, 291, 382 freedom 217 n. geography 105, 129, 135, 143 harmony 12 hierarchy 217, 263, 353, 383 integration 282 interaction 74, 84, 147 (p.440) mobility 81, 83, 93, 383 order 295 polarization 288, 354 profile 202 relations 13, 17, 21, 27, 105, 291, 329, 351–2, 377, 381 segregation 140 n., 223 stability 82, 347, 351, 360, 376 standing 59, 230, 270 structure 77, 290 values 8, 11, 17, 21, 23, 56, 101, 116, 147, 148, 171, 177, 208, 215, 218, 231, 261, 318, 345, 357, 378 socialization 62, 215 n. society 12, 15, 18, 19, 26, 33, 101, 104, 107, 120, 159, 161, 176, 215, 220, 222, 264, 284, 298, 378 Page 35 of 42

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Index Society, the 138, 196, 197, 231 society of chairmasters and bearers 264 Society for the Reformation of Manners 53, 176, 188, 195, 196, 199, 210, 231 Society port 127, 128, 250 soldiers 8, 38, 39, 111, 158, 162, 166, 169, 196, 198, 221, 259, 273, 276, 278, 279, 282, 292, 293, 295, 304, 305, 306, 310, 313, 314, 316, 317, 318, 368 Solemn League and Covenant 122 solidarity 36, 48, 69, 96, 100, 275, 353 Sommerville, Lord of Belhaven 206 soothsayer 190 South parish 69, 109 South East parish 69, 109 South kirk session 266 South Leith 71, 108, 118, 118, 193, 241 n., 245, 286 n. South Leith parish 132 South Leith kirk session 191, 192, 212 South-south-east parish 109 South west parish 109 Southwark 74, 183, 184, 254, 336 spa 166, 219, 220, 224 space 104, 105, 119, 120, 121, 122, 125, 126, 127, 128, 133, 136, 139, 140, 144, 145, 146, 380, 381 Spain 42 n., 82, 172 n., 365 Spalding, James 229 spatial differentiation 105, 133, 381 spatial divisions 107, 145, 146, 223 Spence, David 351 spinning 249, 256, 263, 350 spiritual life 183 Spratt, James 339 Sproatt, Thomas 325 stablers 246, 248, 280, 368 stage-coaches 10, 220 stage plays 205, 208, 210, 211, 213, 214 Stair, James Viscount 74 stallanger 355, 366, 375–6 standards of living 8, 19, 146, 293 Stansfield family 248 Stansfield, Robert 248 Stark, James 9, 133, 143 status 8, 11, 18, 20, 31, 32, 48, 56, 58, 59, 61 and n., 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 74, 76, 77, 81, 82, 84, 85, 86, 87, 92, 99, 101, 103, 105, 111, 128, 133, 140 n., 145, 146, 154 n., 157, 160, 175, 200 and n., 201 n., 202, 221, 227, 229, 237, 261, 279, 288, 310, 383, 384 staymakers 365 Steil, Patrick 216 stent rolls 129, 366 stentmasters (tax assessors) 6, 336, 375 Steven Lane’s Close 80 Page 36 of 42

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Index Stevenson, R. 9 Stevenson, Captain 196 Stewart, Dugald 9, 379 Stewart, Innes 180 Stewart, James 188 Stewart, Robert 246 Stirling 315, 355 Stirling, Isobel 370 Stockholm 92 n. Stone, L. and J. C. F. 82 stonemason 281 Stow 26, 46, 200 n. Straiton, John 167 strangulation 124, 191 street cleansing 109 street justice 172 strikes 96, 102 Stuart, Alexander of Torrance 76 Stuart, Robert 207 students 92 n., 154, 189, 190 n., 218, 223, 302, 303, 305, 306, 329 subordination 18 n., 237 subsistence strategies 236 suburbs 134, 135, 141, 142, 143 n., 144, 155, 159, 276, 277 suicide 160, 169 sundials 122 superstition 190 surgeons 76, 81, 84, 85, 88, 138, 143, 152, 154, 164, 165, 166, 167, 169, 189, 193, 218, 317, 334, 353 Sutherland 278, 280 Sutherland, James 41 (p.441) symbolism 46, 53 sympathy 269 Synod of Lothian and Tweeddale 282 tacksman 35, 128, 218, 293, 294, 320, 342 tailors 29, 37, 44, 45, 66, 77, 80, 82, 84, 92, 93, 95 and n., 96, 97, 98, 141, 160, 163, 237, 239, 241, 246, 301, 303, 330, 334, 360, 368, 376 Tait, Captain Alexander 222 tanners 39, 98, 200, 246 tanning holes 138 taste 206, 208, 209 n., 217, 222, 224 Tarbet, Lord 156 Tatler, Duncan 57 taverns 78, 133, 160, 216, 222, 223, 313, 341, 367 taverners 139 Tawney, R.H. 234 tax: documents 129, 131, 132 exemption 67, 256, 336, 338 farmers 293 Page 37 of 42

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Index taxation 3, 6, 19, 32, 33, 38 n., 39, 64, 67, 71, 72, 77, 85, 88, 111, 118, 119, 123, 129, 130, 131, 132, 135, 135, 145, 240, 253, 254, 270, 291, 292, 296, 342, 344, 345, 351, 374–5 taxpayers 42 n., 253 Taylor, Joseph 42, 122, 141, 168, 186, 193, 312–13 tea 227, 229 Templar 111 Temple, Arthur 353 tenants 108, 112 tenement 108, 112, 139, 261 Test Act 31 testaments (wills) 37, 121, 210 n. testimonials 280 thanksgiving 49, 187 theatre 8, 195, 204, 205, 206 and n., 207, 209 and n., 212, 215, 231 Theatre Royal 205 n. theft 155, 159, 190 theology 230 thieves 181, 262 Thistle 227 Thoirs, William of Muirhouse 179 Thompson, E. P. 274 n., 323 n., 325 n., 327, 328 Thomson, John 125 Thomson, Robert 162 Thomson, Thomas 222 Thomson, Walter 130 Thomson, William 124 thumbscrews 171 Tipperlin 120 title deeds 108 tobacco 227, 302 tobacconist 369 Tod, John 354 Todd’s Close 73 Todrig’s Wynd 111 Tolbooth 40, 44, 65, 69, 109, 125, 132, 159, 170, 171, 177, 200, 201 n., 202, 204, 301, 311, 312, 342 Tolbooth kirk session 181, 201 Tolbooth parish 132, 137, 19, 245 tolerance 56, 176, 194, 223 n., 231, 269 Tollcross 73, 325, 351 Topham, Edward 57, 64, 122, 139, 140, 144, 157, 169, 170, 171, 186, 213, 214, 217, 221, 224 topography 9, 104–46 torture 171 town clerk 219, 301, 336, 338 town council 2, 5, 6, 11, 21, 22 n., 27, 29, 32, 33, 38, 39, 45, 46, 47, 49, 50, 52, 53, 59, 66, 67, 68, 76, 90, 91, 95, 96, 97, 99, 108, 111, 112, 116, 118, 120, 121, 122, 126, 127, 128, 134, 135, 137, 145, 154, 165, 166, 169, 172, 181, 186, 195, 196, 197, 198, 200, 203 Page 38 of 42

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Index n., 204, 205, 218, 223, 231, 235, 238, 240, 241, 243, 247, 248, 249, 250, 252, 258, 260, 262, 264, 265, 266, 267, 272, 273, 280, 287, 295, 298, 300, 301, 304, 306, 309, 310, 311, 312, 316, 318, 320, 322, 323, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 332, 333, 334, 335, 336, 337, 338, 339, 340, 341, 342, 343, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348 n., 349, 351, 353, 354, 357, 358, 359, 361, 362, 365, 367, 369, 370, 371, 373 n., 374, 376, 377, 379 town councillors 34, 54, 200, 201, 205, 208, 219, 253 n. Town Cross 50, 52, 109, 122, 127, 158, 168, 308 town guard 65, 109, 111, 158, 166, 273, 278, 281, 304, 308, 310, 311, 314, 333 town treasurer 293, 301, 337, 338, 340, 341, 244 trade 1, 2, 3, 10, 31, 40, 78, 80, 83, 126, 137, 181, 208 traders 11, 126, 199 (p.442) Trades Maiden hospital 60, 237, 246, 250, 263 tradesmen 6, 34, 65, 119, 122, 134, 135, 144, 237, 239, 266, 339, 341, 359, 380 traditions 9, 147 trained bands 109, 120, 310, 333, 334 Trail, David 76 Tranent 363 transportation 174 and n., 180 Trent, Magdaline 26 Trinity 143 Trinity hospital 59, 65, 228, 247, 248, 250, 256, 257, 263, 264, 267, 269, 270, 274, 284, 288 Tron kirk 65, 176, 212, 236, 243, 286, 371 Tron parish 109, 132, 137 Trotter, John 249 Trumbill, John 190 trumpeter 276 Trustees for improving manufactures 250 Turin 282 n. Turnbull, Thomas of Knowe 58 turner 40 Tyburn Riot 125 n. Ulm 359 n. underworld 159 unfreemen 102, 347, 348, 354, 355, 357, 360, 365, 366, 367, 368, 373, 375, 376 Union of Parliaments 4, 5, 7, 41, 51, 111, 121, 313, 314, 315 university 92 n., 164, 167, 189, 193, 200, 207, 208, 209 n., 124, 236, 302, 303, 306, 333, 379 upholsterer 368 upper class 163, 220 Ure, Archibald 154 Utrecht 213 n. vagrancy 42, 254, 260, 261, 263, 275, 276, 278, 279, 285 n. vagrants 134, 158, 235, 259 n., 263, 271, 278, 280, 288, 333, 382 valuation 130, 131, 253 Vance, J. E. 70, 74, 116, 135, 136, 139, 141, 146, 286 vandalism 168 van Leeuwen, Marco 235 Vans, John 43 Page 39 of 42

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Index veal market 126 vegetables 227, 228 Venice 138 n. victualler 159 victualing 81 n., 212 vintners 64, 80, 125, 130, 196, 211, 354, 361, 365, 366, 368 Violante, signora 221 violence 148, 159, 168, 169, 170, 171, 297, 302, 309, 330, 383 virtues 23, 266 visibility 147, 153, 172, 215 visual images 112 voluntary associations 216, 217, 381 voluntary giving 243, 251 Wadie, Marion 88 wages 90, 95, 100, 101, 102, 213, 227, 229 n., 382 Wakefield 248 Walker, Mack 348 n. Walker, Revd. John 125 Walker, Samuel 338 walkers 84, 86, 89, 246 Wallace, Captain John 307, 308, 309 Wallace, Grisel 266 Wallace, Janet 25 Walpole, Robert 208 n., 318 Wardrop, John 178 warlock 124 Warrender, Marion 160 washers 81 washer women 124 watch money 77, 335 Water of Leith 92, 220, 225, 277 Watergate 249 watermen 282 Waterston, Robert 28, 29 Watson, George (bequest) 246 Watson, John 142 Watson, Margaret 24 Watson, Mary 41 Watson’s hospital 246, 250, 257, 263 Watt, James 179 Watt, Janet 123 wealth 3, 7, 8, 11, 18, 19, 20, 21, 34, 56, 61 n., 67 n., 68, 70, 77, 74, 79, 81, 84, 87, 101, 103, 104, 105, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 134, 136, 138, 140, 145, 146, 201, 208, 227, 229, 244, 253, 286, 335, 345, 348, 381, 383 weapons 168, 294, 297, 298, 299, 304, 307, 308, 311, 312, 316, 333 (p.443) weavers 35, 38 n., 45, 66, 84, 86, 92, 97, 172, 188, 190, 291, 349–53, 369 weaving 249, 263 Weber, M. 147 Webster, Alexander 194 n. Page 40 of 42

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Index Webster, James 149 weigh house 125, 307, 371 Weir, Charles 312 Weir, Katherine 74 Weir, Major Thomas 124, 161, 190, 191 welfare 21, 31, 35 Welsh, John 202 Westminster 4, 6, 7, 40, 185, 207 n., 315, 318, 329, 376 West Barns 180 West Bow 111, 120, 124, 125, 128, 139, 191, 272, 279, 371 West Greyfriars: kirk 65 parish 109 West kirk 67, 68, 132, 193 parish 192 see also St. Cuthbert’s West Lothian 26, 276 West port 61, 70, 95 n., 127, 143, 225, 350, 371 wheelwright 221, 276 White, George 77 white magic 191 Whitelaw, Jean 191 whitener (bleacher) 221 wholesaling 346 whoredom 148, 158, 160, 181, 222, 262, 266 Whyte, T. 226 widows 36, 41, 43, 71, 77, 78, 81, 92, 107, 152, 152, 161, 172, 180, 186, 221, 236, 265, 266, 267, 276, 279, 284 n., 305, 322, 369, 370 wife beating 162, 163 Wight, David 328 Wight, James 108 Wightman, John of Mauldsie 74, 200 Wightman, Robert 340–1 wigmaker 141, 158, 200, 368, 374 Wilkie, Bernard 352, 353 William III 312 Williamson, John 228 Williamson, Joseph 340 Wilson, D. 9 Wilson, Andrew 170, 317, 318 Wilson, Mary 24 window tax 71 wine duty 128, 342 Wirth, L. 147, 171 witchcraft 160, 162, 178, 189, 190, 191 witches 124, 191 witnesses 169, 170, 176 wizard 190 Wodrow 208

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Index women 36, 38, 71, 72, 77, 80, 81, 89, 133, 144, 152, 160, 162, 163, 172, 177–8, 180, 181, 182, 264, 272, 273, 276, 277 n., 278, 279, 348 n., 363, 368, 369, 370 Wood, Robert 154 Wood, William 167 Woodhouselie, laird of 26–7 Woolf, S. 235 n., 271 woollen industry 92 n., 250, 349–50, 356 Wooller 158 Woolpack Inn 42 Worcester 50, 67 n. work 215 n., 236, 241, 249, 250 workhouses 8, 25, 61, 63, 92, 100, 145, 167, 188, 191, 192, 234, 235, 236, 238, 244, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 254, 255, 258, 268, 273, 274, 275, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 289 workmen 279 wright 26, 28, 79, 84, 86, 91, 98, 116, 246, 266, 277, 338, 339, 354, 367, 368, 377 Wright, Alexander 92 Writer to the Signet 19, 23, 27, 60, 73, 82, 83, 224 writers 43, 82, 123, 140, 148, 154, 175, 200, 246, 365 xenophobia 40, 41, 292, 319 York, Duchess of 227 York, Duke of 188, 205, 303 Yorkshire 219, 248 Young, Ann 160 Young, David Young, Jean 25 Young, Katherine 370 Young, Marion 80 Young, Robert 339 youths 62, 208, 292, 297, 298, 303, 306, 307, 329, 381

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