The scenes of excess which occurred in the houses where deep drinking was practised must have been most revolting to sober persons who were unaccustomed to such conviviality; as in the case of a drinking Angus laird, entertaining as his guest a London merchant of formal manners and temperate habits.  The poor man was driven from the table when the drinking set in hard, and stole away to take refuge in his bedroom.  The company, however, were determined not to let the worthy citizen off so easily, but proceeded in a body, with the laird at their head, and invaded his privacy by exhibiting bottles and glasses at his bedside, Losing all patience, the wretched victim gasped out his indignation—­“Sir, your hospitality borders upon brutality.”  It must have had a fatal influence also on many persons to whom drinking was most injurious, and who were yet not strong-minded enough to resist the temptations to excess.  Poor James Boswell, who certainly required no extraordinary urging to take a glass too much, is found in his letters, which have recently come to light, laying the blame of his excesses to “falling into a habit which still prevails in Scotland;” and then he remarks, with censorious emphasis, on the “drunken manners of his countrymen.”  This was about 1770.

A friend of mine, however, lately departed—­Mr. Boswell of Balmuto—­showed more spirit than the Londoner, when he found himself in a similar situation.  Challenged by the host to drink, urged and almost forced to swallow a quantity of wine against his own inclination, he proposed a counter-challenge in the way of eating, and made the following ludicrous and original proposal to the company,—­that two or three legs of mutton should be prepared, and he would then contest the point of who could devour most meat; and certainly it seems as reasonable to compel people to eat, as to compel them to drink, beyond the natural cravings of nature.

The situation of ladies, too, must frequently have been very disagreeable—­when, for instance, gentlemen came up stairs in a condition most unfit for female society.  Indeed they were often compelled to fly from scenes which were most unfitting for them to witness.  They were expected to get out of the way at the proper time, or when a hint was given them to do so.  At Glasgow sixty years ago, when the time had come for the bowl to be introduced, some jovial and thirsty members of the company proposed as a toast, “The trade of Glasgow and the outward bound!” The hint was taken, and silks and satins moved off to the drawing-room.

In my part of the country the traditionary stories of drinking prowess are quite marvellous.  On Deeside there flourished a certain Saunders Paul (whom I remember an old man), an innkeeper at Banchory.  He was said to have drunk whisky, glass for glass, to the claret of Mr. Maule and the Laird of Skene for a whole evening; and in those days there was a traditional story of his despatching, at one sitting,