Queen Of Science. Somerville Mary

      At that time Edinburgh was really the capital of Scotland: most of the Scotch families of distinction spent the winter there, and we had numerous acquaintances who invited me to whatever gaiety was going on. As my mother refused to go into society when my father was at sea, I had to find a chaperone; but I never was at a loss, for we were somehow related to the Erskine° family, and the Countess of Buchan, an amiable old lady, was always ready to take charge of me.

      It was under Lady Buchan’s care that I made my first appearance at a ball, and my first dancing-partner was the late Earl of Minto, then Mr Gilbert Elliot°, with whom I was always on very friendly terms, as well as with his family. Many other ladies were willing to take charge of me, but a chaperone was only required for the theatre, and concerts, and for balls in the public assembly rooms; at private balls the lady of the house was thought sufficient. Still, although I was sure to know everybody in the room, or nearly so, I liked to have some one with whom to enter and to sit beside. Few ladies kept carriages, but went in sedan chairs, of which there were stands in the principal streets. Ladies were generally attended by aman-servant, but I went alone, as our household consisted of two maid-servants only. My mother knew, however, that the Highlanders who carried me could be trusted. I was fond of dancing, and never without partners, and often came home in bright daylight. The dances were reels, country dances, and sometimes Sir Roger de Coverley.

      [At this period, although busily engaged in studying painting at Nasmyth’s academy, practising the piano five hours a day, and pursuing her more serious studies zealously, my mother went a good deal into society, for Edinburgh was a gay, sociable place, and many people who recollect her at that time, and some who were her dancing-partners, have told me she was much admired, and a great favourite. They said she had a graceful figure, below the middle size, a small head, well set on her shoulders, a beautiful complexion, bright, intelligent eyes, and a profusion of soft brown hair. Besides the various occupations I have mentioned, she made all her own dresses, even for balls. These, however, unlike the elaborate productions of our day, were simply of fine India muslin, with a little Flanders lace. She says of her life in Edinburgh:—]

Girls had perfect liberty at that time in Edinburgh; we walked together in Princes Street, the fashionable promenade, and were joined by our dancing-partners. We occasionally gave little supper parties, and presented these young men to our parents as they came in. At these meetings we played at games, danced reels, or had a little music – never cards. After supper there were toasts, sentiments, and songs. There were always one or two hot dishes, and a variety of sweet things and fruit. Though I was much more at ease in society now, I was always terribly put out when asked for a toast or a sentiment. Like other girls, I did not dislike a little quiet flirtation; but I never could speak across a table, or take a leading part in conversation. This diffidence was probably owing to the secluded life I led in my early youth. At this time I gladly took part in any gaiety that was going on, and spent the day after a ball in idleness and gossiping with my friends; but these were rare occasions, for the balls were not numerous, and I never lost sight of the main object of my life, which was to prosecute my studies. So I painted at Nasmyth’s, played the usual number of hours on the piano, worked and conversed with my mother in the evening; and as we kept early hours, I rose at day-break, and after dressing, I wrapped myself in a blanket from my bed on account of the excessive cold – having no fire at that hour – and read algebra or the classics till breakfast time. I had, and still have, determined perseverance, but I soon found that it was in vain to occupy my mind beyond a certain time. I grew tired and did more harm than good; so, if I met with a difficult point, for example, in algebra, instead of poring over it till I was bewildered, I left it, took my work or some amusing book, and resumed it when my mind was fresh. Poetry was my great resource on these occasions, but at a later period I read novels, The Old English Baron, The Mysteries of Udolpho, A Romance of the Forest, &c.25 I was very fond of ghost and witch stories, both of which were believed in by most of the common people and many of the better educated. I heard an old naval officer say that he never opened his eyes after he was in bed. I asked him why? and he replied, ‘For fear I should see something!’ Now I did not actually believe in either ghosts or witches, but yet, when alone in the dead of the night, I have been seized with a dread of, I know not what. Few people will now understand me if I say I was eerie, a Scotch expression for superstitious awe. I have been struck, on reading the life of the late Sir David Brewster, with the influence the superstitions of the age and country had on both learned and unlearned. Sir David was one of the greatest philosophers of the day. He was only a year younger than I; we were both born in Jedburgh, and both were influenced by the superstitions of our age and country in a similar manner, for he confessed that, although he did not believe in ghosts, he was eerie when sitting up to a late hour in a lone house that was haunted. This is a totally different thing from believing in spirit-rapping, which I scorn.

      We returned as usual to Burntisland, in spring, and my father, who was at home, took my mother and me a tour in the Highlands. I was a great admirer of Ossian’s poems, and viewed the grand and beautiful scenery with awe; and my father, who was of a romantic disposition, smiled at my enthusiastic admiration of the eagles as they soared above the mountains. These noble birds are nearly extirpated; and, indeed, the feathered tribes, which were more varied and numerous in Britain than in any part of Europe, will soon disappear. They will certainly be avenged by the insects.

      On coming home from the journey I was quite broken-hearted to find my beautiful goldfinch, which used to draw its water so prettily with an ivory cup and little chain, dead in its cage. The odious wretches of servants, to whose care I trusted it, let it die of hunger. My heart is deeply pained as I write this, seventy years afterwards.

      [1D, 47 verso: The Fife county races were held at Dunfermline and Mrs Wemyss of Cuttle Hill, married to a coarse hard drinking man of good family and fortune, was kind enough to take me to them. She was a witty agreeable woman and a pleasant person for a shy girl to go with, for I still became shy when placed in a new position. I had been at Leith races which were very gay and pretty. At spring tide the sea along the coast of Leith retires to a great distance, leaving the sand hard and dry for the race. On this occasion the course was turf and although the scene was less brilliant and the horses probably not so good, I was delighted and enjoyed the balls which took place on the alternate nights exceedingly because I was well dressed and had plenty of partners. The town was so crowded that we girls had to sleep two in a room. We generally made little parties on the quiet evenings to talk matters over. One night they assembled in the room where I was; we sat up late and were criticising our partners, when we were startled by a loud knock on the wainscot, when a female voice called out, ‘Take care what you say of your beaux, young ladies, for I hear every word.’ It was Mary Lady Clerk, a person well known in Edinburgh. We thought it so ladylike that we thanked her next day.]

In Fifeshire, as elsewhere, political opinions separated friends and disturbed the peace of families; discussions on political questions were violent and dangerous on account of the hard drinking then so prevalent. [1D, 47 verso: Not long after the races, but I forget exactly when, a dispute arose at a club in Dunfermline between Sir Alexander Boswell of Affleck, and Mr Stuart of Dunearne, both young men – a challenge was sent, a duel was fought and Sir Alexander was killed on the spot. Mr Stuart fled, escaped to the United States where he remained for some years; when he returned it was scarcely possible to recognise him so much had that fatal event distressed him. The gossips in Fife especially the old ladies at Burntisland had selected Mr Stuart as a match for me, but there never was any reason.]26 At this time the oppression and cruelty committed in Great Britain were almost beyond endurance. Men and women were executed for what at the present day would only have been held to deserve a few weeks’ or months’ imprisonment.27 Every liberal opinion was crushed, men were entrapped into the army by promises which were never kept, and press-gangs tore merchant seamen from their families, and forced