Besides these and other
shows, there were the wandering minstrels, most of whom were "Waterloo
veterans" wanting arms or a leg. I remember one whose arms had been
"smashed by a thunderbolt at Jamaica." Queer bent old dames, who
superintended "lucky bags" or told fortunes, supplied the uncanny
element, but hesitated to call themselves witches, for there can still
be seen near Thrums the pool where these unfortunates used to be
drowned, and in the session book of the Glen Quharity kirk can be read
an old minute announcing that on a certain Sabbath there was no
preaching because "the minister was away at the burning of a witch."
To the storm-stayed shows came the gypsies in great numbers. Claypots
(which is a corruption of Claypits) was their headquarters near Thrums,
and it is still sacred to their memory. It was a clachan of miserable
little huts built entirely of clay from the dreary and sticky pit in
which they had been flung together. A shapeless hole on one side was
the doorway, and a little hole, stuffed with straw in winter, the
window. Some of the remnants of these hovels still stand. Their
occupants, though they went by the name of gypsies among themselves,
were known to the weavers as the Claypots beggars; and their King was
Jimmy Pawse. His regal dignity gave Jimmy the right to seek alms first
when he chose to do so; thus he got the cream of a place before his
subjects set to work. He was rather foppish in his dress; generally
affecting a suit of grey cloth with showy metal buttons on it, and a
broad blue bonnet. His wife was a little body like himself; and when
they went a-begging, Jimmy with a meal-bag for alms on his back, she
always took her husband's arm. Jimmy was the legal adviser of his
subjects; his decision was considered final on all questions, and he
guided them in their courtships as well as on their deathbeds. He
christened their children and officiated at their weddings, marrying
them over the tongs.

The storm-stayed show attracted old and young--to looking on from the
outside. In the daytime the wagons and tents presented a dreary
appearance, sunk in snow, the dogs shivering between the wheels, and
but little other sign of life visible. When dusk came the lights were
lit, and the drummer and fifer from the booth of tumblers were sent
into the town to entice an audience. They marched quickly through the
nipping, windy streets, and then returned with two or three score of
men, w