Reference has already been made to Lord Hermand’s opinion of drinking, and to the high estimation in which he held a staunch drinker, according to the testimony of Lord Cockburn, There is a remarkable corroboration of this opinion in a current anecdote which is traditionary regarding the same learned judge.  A case of some great offence was tried before him, and the counsel pleaded extenuation for his client in that he was drunk when he committed the offence.  “Drunk!” exclaimed Lord Hermand, in great indignation; “if he could do such a thing when he was drunk, what might he not have done when he was sober!” evidently implying that the normal condition of human nature, and its most hopeful one, was a condition of intoxication.

Of the prevalence of hard drinking in certain houses as a system, a remarkable proof is given at page 102.  The following anecdote still further illustrates the subject, and corresponds exactly with the story of the “loosing the cravats,” which was performed for guests in a state of helpless inebriety by one of the household.  There had been a carousing party at Castle Grant, many years ago, and as the evening advanced towards morning two Highlanders were in attendance to carry the guests up stairs, it being understood that none could by any other means arrive at their sleeping apartments.  One or two of the guests, however, whether from their abstinence or their superior strength of head, were walking up stairs, and declined the proffered assistance.  The attendants were quite astonished, and indignantly exclaimed, “Agh, it’s sare cheenged times at Castle Grant, when shentlemens can gang to bed on their ain feet.”

There was a practice in many Scottish houses which favoured most injuriously the national tendency to spirit-drinking, and that was a foolish and inconsiderate custom of offering a glass on all occasions as a mark of kindness or hospitality.  I mention the custom only for the purpose of offering a remonstrance.  It should never be done.  Even now, I am assured, small jobs (carpenters’ or blacksmiths’, or such like) are constantly remunerated in the West Highlands of Scotland—­and doubtless in many other parts of the country—­not by a pecuniary payment, but by a dram; if the said dram be taken from a speerit-decanter out of the family press or cupboard, the compliment is esteemed the greater, and the offering doubly valued.

A very amusing dialogue between a landlord and his tenant on this question of the dram has been sent to me.  John Colquhoun, an aged Dumbartonshire tenant, is asked by his laird on Lochlomond side, to stay a minute till he tastes.  “Now, John,” says the laird.  “Only half a glass, Camstraddale,” meekly pleads John.  “Which half?” rejoins the laird, “the upper or the lower?” John grins, and turns off both—­the upper and lower too.