‘Bodkin in the Barrack Park’ (27 July, 1861)

The following is one of the many epistles of Tammas Bodkin, the character used by editor William D. Latto to speak frankly (and amusingly) on current affairs. Latto became editor of the people’s journal in December 1860 and used the platform to launch Tammas, bringing himself a fair amount of fame in Victorian Scotland. In this entry the focus is a public disturbance that had occurred the previous Tuesday at a meeting of the Forfarshire Rifle Volunteers in the Barrack Park.

Dundee Advertiser, Wednesday 24 July, 1861

It being necessary that our Volunteers should have opportunities for firing practice it is also obviously necessary that, if places like the Barrack Park are granted them for the purpose, the public must on such occasions submit to exclusion from the ground while the firing goes on, or that they be strictly confined to a part of it, so as to leave the Volunteers ample space for their evolutions. Instead of only one serious accident occurring last night, it would not have been surprising if there had been a score. It was positively frightful to see the manner in which the crowd mixed with the firing parties; any of the young and giddy continually rushing into positions of the utmost danger, to say nothing of the embarrassment caused by their impeding in the movements of the several Companies. In future it will be rash to attempt firing in similar circumstances; and either the crowd must be excluded altogether, or parties must be told off to keep clear ample space for the evolutions of the Volunteers.

Maister Editor,—It wad be needless to mak’ a lang story aboot it, but Tibbie nae sooner heard the firin’ i’ the Barrack Park on Tuesday nicht, than she cam’ ben to me an’ says, “Tammas, d’ye hear that awfu’ firin’ gaen on?” “Hear it!” quoth I, “ye dinna suppose I’m deaf, d’ye, Tibbie?” “Ou na, Tammas,” quoth Tibbie, “but I was thinkin’ we micht do waur than tak’ a daunder oot the length o’ the Park, an’ honour the ploy wi’ oor countenance.” I was aye a loyal subject o’ her Majesty, an’ her twa uncles, an’ her grandfaither afore them, an’ sae I made nae objection, the mair sae as it was a fine nicht, an’ I was needin’ the air at ony rate, no to mention that, what wi’ the dulness o’ trade, an’ ae thing an’ anither, business has been rather slack wi’ me for some time back, as it has been wi’ ower mony folk, to their sad experience. I had a kind o’ hereditary respect for the Volunteers, too, seein’ as hoo, when I was an apprentice wi’ Maister Manzie Waugh, I was wont to accompany him on parade in the capacity o’ armour-bearer. That’s mony a year an’ day syne, but I’ve been blest wi’ a gleg memory that disna soon forget veeve impressions, an’ sae the rattle o’ the rifles brocht back to my recollection that memorable nicht when a’ the Volunteers turned oot, on a false alarm that “Bony” had landit at Dunbar, as I’ve heard the story rehearsed ower an’ ower again by the lips o’ Maister Waugh, wha played a very prominent part in that celebrated turn-oot.

It needit little o’ Tibbie’s eloquence, therefore, to induce me to fling on my pepper-an-saut suit, tak’ her airm, an’ daunder awa to the Barrack Park to see hoo matters were moovin’. The first sight me got, hooever, was onything but a pleasant ane—naething less than a puir man being carried awa to the Infirmary, woondit mortally, as it oonfortunately proved next day. That man’s family, noo that they hae lost their breadwinner, are clearly entitled to be adopted by the toon, an’ brocht up an’ educated at the public expense. That’s as little as can be done for them, an’ it’s naething put what is oor duty to do. I’m no very sure that the crood that pressed sae in upon the ranks o’ the Volunteers is a’thegither clear o’ that man’s death. I’ve seen nae that few croods i’ my lifetime noo, but the rablle i’ the Barrack Park on Tuesday nicht was aboot the wildest an’ most misleared that ever cam’ oonder my observation. If they wanted a guid view o’ the movements, they tane the very warst system o’ gratifeein’ their curiosity, for it was physically impossible for ony mortal man to see ocht for foondit except a confused boorich o’ bannets an’ moleskin jackets, wi’a baignet stickin’ up here an’ there juist to show that there really were a few Volunteers in the Park. On a Queen’s Birth Nicht folk dinna expect onything but a oonruly rabble, an’ if a body gets his hat knocked aff an’ his coat tails blawn to bits, as I did twa months’ syne, it’s a’ in the fair way o’ business; but when oor Volunteers come oot for a trial o’ their skill, they sid be allooed to gang through wi’ their exercise withoot bein’ mobbit an’ bamboozled the way they were on Tuesday nicht. Noo, Maister Rabblement, ye’ve smelt my breath on the subject, an’ if ye’ve ony desire to stand weel in my opinion, ye maun behave yersel’ better for the time to come. Continue reading “‘Bodkin in the Barrack Park’ (27 July, 1861)”

‘Bodkin in Bachelor’s Hall’ (20 July, 1861)

The following is one of the many epistles of Tammas Bodkin, the character used by editor William D. Latto to speak frankly (and amusingly) on current affairs. Latto became editor of the people’s journal in December 1860 and used the platform to launch Tammas, bringing himself a fair amount of fame in Victorian Scotland.

Maister Editor,—As I’ve had three or four weeks experience o’ bachelor’s ha’—Tibbie havin’ staid ahent me at Crummiehillocks, as ye’ll remember—I think I micht do waur than juist gi’e ye a full, a true, an’ a particular accoont o’ my exploits at hoosekeepin’. At the very ootset o’ my story I maun needs observe, that little as we menfolk do at times profess to think o’ oor guidwives, they are, nevertheless and notwithstandin’, a sort o’ necessary evils. They are unco expensive variorums to hae aboot the hoose, especially when a new gown, or a new bannet, or a new creenoline is in request, but batin’ thae sma’ drawbacks, they are, takin’ them for better, for waur, as the ministers say when they are tyin’ the marriage knot, a source o’ oonspeakable comfort an’ convenience baith by nicht an’ by day. We could weel dispense wi’ their ootheady flichts o’ vanity an’ vexation o’ speerit, but for keepin’ the hoose clean, makin’ meat, mendin’ stockin’s, washin’ an’ ironin’, an’, in my ain particular case, heatin’ the guse, they are the happiest inventions discovered by the wit an’ wisdom o’ man, sin the foundation o’ the warld. This I will say, even at the risk o’ makin’ Tibbie set ower high a value on her services, for the truth sid aye be told, even though the heavens sid fa’.

Weel, ye see, as I’ve juist been observin’, I left Tibbie at Crummiehillocks, an’ so, of coorse, it behooved me to look after hoosehold affairs durin’ her absence. Till Tibbie cam’ hame an’ showed me anither o’t, I was congratulatin’ mysel’ a’ the time that I was doin’ business on the maist economical principles. She was, as far as I can calculate, four weeks oot o’ my house, an’ durin’ that time the ase was only ance cleaned oot frae the grate, an’ the bed made twice. When the dross raise to be on a level wi’ the lower bar o’ the grate I ga’e it a shove back wi’ my fit an’ trampit it hard doon in order to make it occupy the sma’est possible amount o’ space, an’ it was only when the process o’ compression had been carried to the utmost boonds o’ possibility that I tane speech in hand wi’t, an’, wi’ the assistance o’ Willie Clippins, got it conveyed to the dust cart. As for my bed, I tane gude care when risin’ therefrom to mak’ as little hogglin’ an’ bogglin’ as possible—juist slippin’ oot by stratagem, as it were—an’ sae I creepit into the auld hole at nicht again withoot bein’ put to the disagreeable needcessity o’ makin’ the bed. Ae nicht, hooever, I had eaten some cheese to my supper, an’ it sae wrocht on my stammack through my sleep that it brocht on the nicht-mare, an’ what wi’ kickin’, an’ wrestlin’, an’ strikin’ at a muckle fiery dragon that in my disordered imagination I thocht was sittin’ on my breast-bane, it sae happened that a’ the blankets an’ sheets were completely touslt and dung heads an’ thrawarts beyond redemption. So wi’ the assistance o’ Willie Clippins I set to wark, an’, him haudin’ the duds by the ae end an’ me by the ither, we succeeded, after a considerable display o’ skill an’ patience, no oonmingled wi’ a spice o’ stupidity I fear, in restorin’ the dormitory to something like decency an’ order, but as it was a job I didna like, I registered a vow to eat nae mair cheese oontil Tibbie sid be at hand to mak’ the bed.

The meat makin’ was anither sair grievance. I’m eneuch o’ a Scotchman to like broth to my dinner. In fack, I can never think my dinner complete withoot kail o’ some kind—even if it sid be but water kail. This was a luxury I had only ance durin’ Tibbie’s absence. I made a pat-fu’ on the Sabbath-day—“the better day the better deed,” hooever, wasna in this case verified, for by some misfortunate means or ither I let them sit to the boddom o’ the pat, insaemuch that they baith tastet an’ smelt o’ the fire, an’ were far frae bein’ a palatable dish. I resolved henceforth to attempt naething higher i’ the culinary line than makin’ brose an’ maskin’ a drap tea, twa sciences that were mair level to my comprehension. In naething was Tibbie mair sairly missed than in makin’ ready my ite o’ meat; an’ when I sat doon to my dry brose, an’ lookit across to her toom seat, an’ refleckit on the mysterious ways o’ Providence, an’ hoo the time micht come when it will be toom never mair to be filled by her on earth, I felt a sense o’ loneliness creepin’ ower me that rendered me perfectly oonhappy. For a moment I wad think mysel’ livin’ in a garret in a state o’ widowhood, an’ what an ooncomfortable dowie matter that would be! But then I wad refleck that Tibbie wad be back again in the name o’ nae time, as it were, an’ sae I said the grace laigh in to mysel’, an’ proceedit to sup my brose wi’ thankfulness, an’ drink my tea wi’ a merry heart. Continue reading “‘Bodkin in Bachelor’s Hall’ (20 July, 1861)”

‘Bodkin on the Grampians’ (13 July, 1861)

The following is one of the many epistles of Tammas Bodkin, the character used by editor William D. Latto to speak frankly (and amusingly) on current affairs. Latto became editor of the people’s journal in December 1860 and used the platform to launch Tammas, bringing himself a fair amount of fame in Victorian Scotland.

Maister Editor,—Last week I gae ye a detail o’ what was said an’ dune at Crummiehillocks up to twal o’clock on Saturday nicht. I may here premise that I was nane the waur o’ my twa tumblers o’ toddy, batin’ an excrutiatin’ thirst through the nicht, that set me up twa or three times to hunt after the water stoup, an’ a dunes sair head an’ an ill-taistit tongue next mornin’. Jeames thocht that a half-a-glass afore breakfast wad brak’ the wind on oor stammacks, an’ set us a’ to richts, an’ sae he tane me into the pantry, where we had a thumblefu’ oonbekenned to Tibby or Mrs Witherspoon. Breakfast ower, there was some crack aboot gaen to the kirk, but as Jeames belanged to the Auld Leddy as by law established, an’ as I belanged to the Dissentin’ interest, it was agreed on atween Jeames an’ me, after some little argie-bargiein, that we wad spleet the difference, an’ stay at hame for ae Sabbath. Baith Jeames an’ me bein’ decent bodies, we sat i’ the parlour maist feek o’ the day an’ read oor books, an’ Tibbie and Mrs Witherspoon were similarly engaged, except when they retired for twa or three oors i’ the forenoon to mak’ some culinary experiments, an’ anither twa or three oors after dinner to mak’ an examination o’ Mrs Witherspoon’s wardrobe. I got my hands on the Pilgrim’s Progress, an’ followed Christian’s fortunes frae the time o’ his settin’ oot frae the City o’ Destruction to his bein’ caught nappin’ on the grunds o’ Doubting Castle by the Giant Despair, an’ I maun say I was greatly edifeed thereby. For Jeames, he divided his attention atween the Ready Reckoner an’ the Edinburgh Almanack; an’ sae the day slippit ower withoot producin’ ony extraordinary phenomenon.

Jeames was anxious to let us see a bit o’ the warld for ance, an’ sae he proposed to drive us next day in his spring cart roond by Fettercairn, through Drumtochty, to Auchinblae, an’ then on to Laurencekirk, in time to catch the last train for Dundee. I was delightit wi’ the arrangement, an’ sae was Tibbie, an’ sae was Mrs Witherspoon, an’ so we a’ agreed to gang thegither, settin’ aff neist morning by the skraigh o’ day. Next mornin’ was clear an’ sunny, an’ the bits o’ lavrocks an’ linties were at wark betimes singing their hymns o’ praise wi’ an’ earnestness that micht be an example to mony a droosy congregation o’ mortals. We were a’ up an’ riggit oot for oor jaunt afore sax o’clock. Mrs Witherspoon attendit to the commissariat, fillin’ a basket wi’ plenty o’ bread an’ cheese, an’ roast beef and boiled beef an’ twa chickens that had escaped demmolition at the Saturday nicht’s blaw oot, an’ Jeames, he tane care to provide himsel’ wi’ a bottle o’ the very best an’ bauldest that his cellars could afford. So we were weel prepared for whatever micht betide.

Bess—that was the name o’ Jeames’s mare—having been yokit, an’ me, an’ Tibbie, an’ Mrs Witherspoon having been safely embarked, Jeames sprang up on the front, tane the reins, crackit his whip, an’ awa’ we whirlt alang the quiet green lanes keepin’ aye oor noses in the direction o’ Fettercairn. Tibbie an’ Mrs Witherspoon sat on the back seat, an’ Jeames an’ me occupied the fore-front o’ the battle, but, seein’ that Mrs Witherspoon was rather wechty, Jeames restored the equilibrium o’ the veehikle by placing the basket wi’ the provisionis in the fore pairt, an’ that had the effeck o’ makin’ a’ thing fair an’ square. On arrivin’ at Fettercairn we tarried nae langer than juist to tak’ a stap inbye to the kirk-yaird to see what was what aboot the swine-killin’ establishment an’ the foul water-hole, an’ we remarkit that sanitary measures had made some progress sin’ the reddin’ up the subjeck got i’ th’ newspapers some months syne. Awa’ we gaed birlin’ past Fasque an’ Arnbarrow, perfectly delightit wi’ the grandeur o’ the scenery that persentit itsel’ on the richt hand an’ on the left. Jeames an’ me did the grazin’ an’ agricultural department o’ the conversation, an’ Tibbie an’ Mrs Witherspoo, I could hear, were eloquent on skin-milk cheese, an’ clockin’ hens. By the time we got to the Clatterin’ Brigs, Jeames suggested that Bess was gettin tired an’ hungry, an’, as there was a public-hoose no far bye, on the hillside to the northward, he made a motion that we micht do waur than drive up the brae an’ gie the beast a feed o’ corn. Of coorse I seconded the motion, an’ it was carried withoot a division, Mrs Witherspoon sayin’ naething, an’ Tibbie contentin’ hersel’ wi’ merely enterin’ her dissent on the minutes. Bess was like to hae a sair pull up the brae, but Jeames an’ me dismounted, an’ we garred Tibbie an’ Mrs Witherspoon dismount also, an’ what wi’ Jeames rivin’ at the bridle, crackin’ his whup, an’ lettin’ aff something geyan like an’ aith occasionally, no to mention my ain exploits in the way o’ pushing’ at the hinder end o’ the veehikle, we succeedit wi’ an’ unco sair warsle in transportin’ the haill establishment up to Knowgreens, where we faund the landlady ready to gie us a hearty Heelan’ welcome. Customers are no that rife in that oot-o’-the-way place, an’ a cartload o’ them wasna an every-day occurrence; an’ sae Mrs Boniface was up to the oxters in wark for ance in her lifetime. Havin’ seen that Bessie’s temporal needcessities were duly meenistered unto, we gaed in to attend to oor ain interests. Jeames wad hae “Athol brose,” juist to let me an’ Tibbie pree the haste o’t, but I maun say it had ower muckle o’ the consistency o’ castor ulzie for the comfort o’o my stammack, an’ Tibbie, ye ken, she merely put it to her lips, an’ then hoastit, an’ hackit, an’ spat as if she had been poisoned. Jeames he leuch like very mad to see Tibbie in sic an’ awfu’ quandary, an’ so it cam’ to pass that he ahad the suppin’ o’ the maist feck o’ the Athol brose. By-an’-bye there cam’ in a Heelan drover, wha had been sooth at some o’ the laigh coontry markets, an’ wha was on his way north ower the Cairn-o-month. Jeames an’ him an’ me fell to oor cracks aboot the weather an’ craps an’ the state o’ the markets, an’ an unco intelligent sort o’ a chield he was, an’ had seen nae that little hard service in his day. Judgin’ frae appearances, he couldna be little short o’ the three score an’ ten, yet he was as haill an’ heary an auld cock as yye could with to clap an e’e on. Donald Fraser, for that was his name, as I discovered in the coorse o’ the conversation, had been in his early days engaged in the smugglin’ line o’ business, an’ had professionally traversed every fit o’ grund on a’ the eastern range o’ the Grampians. He was as foo o’ stories aboot gangers as an egg’s fu’ o’ meat, but I coulna help thinkin’ that he was inclined to sklent a little at times. Tak’ his word for’t he was aye victorious, an’ the gaugers invariably ootwitted, or something waur. “Ae nicht,” quoth Donald, “Tuncan M’Nab an’ her nainsel’ were prewin’ a trap tram ower pye at the Howe o’ Klen Feugh, an’ juist fan we were pizzy turnin’ ower tapoilin’ worts, four o’ ta fide kauger loons put tere faces in at ta door o’ oor pit hut, an’ ane o’ tem says— ‘My cood lads, fat pees gaen’ on hereawa?’ ‘Aye, aye, Tonald Fraser,’ quoth anither, ‘we’ve been lookin’ for you ever sin Caunelmas, because as hoo ye tid then fiolently fesist Mr M’taggart, ta Supervisor, in ta execution o’ his duty; an’ tid riotously, an’ wickedly, an’ plude-thirstily, prak his collar-pane wi’ ta wecht o’ your neive, forpye mischievin’ his powny sae oonmercifu’ tat ta puir prute never plaid plew ahent it. So ye’ll come alang wi’ us, Tonald lad, in ta King’s name, an’ ye’ll get yer craig raxed afore ta Towbooth o’ Aberdeen, an’ be thankfu’ ye win aff sae easily.’ ‘Tak’ ye tat, my cood lads,’ quoth Tuncan M’Nab, flingin’ a haill pucketfu’ o’ poilin’ water i’ ta faces o’ ta exisemen; put if ye had seen foo ta coofs ran an’ takit at tere een! Twa o’ tem never recovered tere e’esicht frae tat tay to this—an’ o’ tem was fiddlin’ through Falkirk Tryste for pawpees nae farther gane than twa years syne—an’ for the ither twa they were never mair heerd tell o’. So, shentlements, ye may pelieve me or no as ye likes, but that is ta Got’s truths I’m tellin’ ye.” Continue reading “‘Bodkin on the Grampians’ (13 July, 1861)”

‘Bodkin in Clover’ (6 July, 1861)

The following is one of the many epistles of Tammas Bodkin, the character used by editor William D. Latto to speak frankly (and amusingly) on current affairs. Latto became editor of the people’s journal in December 1860 and used the platform to launch Tammas, bringing himself a fair amount of fame in Victorian Scotland.

Maister Editor,—Last week I ga’e ye a scrift o’ hoo we were gettin’ on at Crummiehillocks, but I had to break aff i’ the thread o’ my discoorse. I’ve sittin’ doon enoo—though I’m certain sure I’ve mair need to be at the needle—to detail the hinder end o’ my story.

Weel, ye see, after discussin’ oor curds an’ cream an’ a cawker apiece, Jeames an’ me set aff to mak’ a survey o’ the farm steadin’, an’ a’ the oots an’ ins o’ the concern. First an’ foremost we made a superficial examination o’ the thrashin’ mill, an’ Jeames describit a’ hoo the corn was put in, an’ hoo it cam’ oot, hoo the fanners blew awa’ the chaff an’ the licht-corn, an’ hoo the heavy grain was preserved to be food for man an’ beast, an’ I was greatly enlichtened an’ edified by his mechanical exposition, an’ a poor o’ conversation we had boot this, that, an’ the ither thing. It sae happened, hooever, that the mill was infestit wi’ a colony o’ rottans, an’ juist i’ the middle o’ oor discoorse there pouts oot a fierce lookin’ rascal frae behind a sack, an’ dairts wi’ the velocity o’ greased lichtenin’ in below a heap o’ wechts an’ riddles, an’ graith o’ that kind, that were lyin’ in a corner o’ the barn floor. Jeames vowed vengeance against the souple scoundrel, an’ so he arms himsel’ wi’ a broom besom, an’ made his dispositions for an assault on the Malakoff [note: A reference to the siege of Sevastopol]. Wi’ the besom o’ destruction uplifit aboon his head, Jeames drew up his forces in front o’ the enemy’s stronghold, fairly blockin’ up the only practicable way o’ retreat open to the beleagured garrison. My duty was, airmed wi’ my siller-headed cane, to march bauldly in an’ storm the citadel. It taks me lang to describe the action, but the haill affair didna last ootower three quarters o’ a minute. In I marched at double quick time, an’ bravely commenced the attack by tisslin’ up the wechts and riddles wi’ the view o’ dislodgin’ the enemy. Oot he dartit like a rocket, an’ Jeames let at him wi’ a poorfu’ blenter, but missed his mark like mony ane mair. So I lent a reishel at him next, an’ also missed. The puir bewilderet mortal was at his wits’ end an’ bounded hither an’ thither, Jeames lounderin’ at him wi’ the besom, an’ me paikin’ awa’ wi’ my cane. Bein’ mair zealous than prudent, hooever, an’ mair anxious to tak’ the life o’ the rottan than to preserve my ain, I had the misfortune to thrust my head-piece within the sweep o’ Jeames’s besom, an’ sae doon he cam’ what he could draw ower the croon o’ my hat, whereby it was knockit firmly doon ower my coontenance, completely steekin’ up my daylichts, an’ deprivin’ me for the time bein’ o’ the use o’ my speaking apparawtus. Naethin’ but my chouks were veesible, as Jeames informed my afterwards. Jeames flang awa’ the besom, an’ of coorse I flang awa’ my cane. I banged up my hands to edge up my tile, an’ Jeames he flew to my assistance, thinkin’ he had brained me, but by a special interposition o’ mercyment, I wasna ae whit the waur, the hat bein’ the only party that had felt the brunt o’ the blow. But the hat wasna the warst pairt o’ the ploy, for in the hurrybustle o’ the business, the ill-faur’d tuke o’ a rottan had the impudence to rin up the very leg o’ my slacks, wi’ the view, nae doot, o’ makin’ good his quarters in that quiet climate. I banged doon my hands to arrest his progress, but he was ower souple for me, an’ sae he ran up the ae leg an’ doon the ither, an’ a’ the time I keepit dancin’ an duntin’ my feet upo’ the floor, as if I had been afflickit wi’ St Vitus’ Dance. Jeames didna ken aboot the rottan bein’ sic a near neebor, an’, my mooth bein’ shut up wi’ the hat, I couldna communicate the necessary information on the subjeck; an’ sae, when he saw me glaumin’ at my legs, he ran awa’ wi’ the erroneous impression that, in the hurrybustle o’ the moment—for the hail mischanter was the wark o’ an instant or twa—he had somehow or ither come athort my cyrpin as well as my head-piece. Jeames was muckle concerned aboot it, puir chield, an’ quoth he, “Tammas, I haena hurt ye sair, hae I?” But feint a word could I reply, except a hollow groan that micht, by a violent stretch o’ the imagination, be translatit into the monosyllabie “No!” Jeames soon jealoused what was up wi’ me, an’ sae he applied himsel’ wi’ vigour to oonship my hat, wherein he at last succeedit, muckle to my relief, an’ nae that little to his satisfaction, seein’ there was nae hole knockit in my skull, as he had half-expeckit. I thereupon lodged a complaint iw’ Jeames against the unwarrantable proceedin’s o’ his rottanship, an’ sae he soon settled wi’ him, seizin’ hauds o’ ‘m through the claith wi’ his ponderous neives that had the faculty o’ a smith’s vice, an’ crackin’ his very banes, as if they had been naething but a wheen pipe-stapples. I shook him oot o’ the leg o’ my slacks, an’ he lay i’ the floor—

“A towsie tyke, black, grim, an’ large.”

—Od, it was ugsum to think o’ haein’ sic a barbarous-lookin’ tenant, wi’ a lang tail, an’ teeth as gleg as needles, rammelin’ up an’ doon the legs o’ my breeks, an’ I canna tell hoo thankfu’ I was to be relieved o’ his society. Jeames an’ me clubbit oor skill thegither, an’ made a few repairs on the croon o’ the hat, insomuch that neither Tibbie nor Mrs Witherspoon jaloused what had happened, an’ we agreed to keep oor ain coonsels on the subjeck, for if they had got their fingers in the pie there wad hae been nae end to their claverin’ aboot it. Continue reading “‘Bodkin in Clover’ (6 July, 1861)”