never liked the French all my days, but now I hate them.’  If Thomas Smith, the Edinburgh Spearman, were in court, he must have been tempted to applaud.  The people of that land were his abhorrence; he loathed Buonaparte like Antichrist.  Towards the end he fell into a kind of dotage; his family must entertain him with games of tin soldiers, which he took a childish pleasure to array and overset; but those who played with him must be upon their guard, for if his side, which was always that of the English against the French, should chance to be defeated, there would be trouble in Baxter’s Place.  For these opinions he may almost be said to have suffered.  Baptised and brought up in the Church of Scotland, he had, upon some conscientious scruple, joined the communion of the Baptists.  Like other Nonconformists, these were inclined to the Liberal side in politics, and, at least in the beginning, regarded Buonaparte as a deliverer.  From the time of his joining the Spearmen, Thomas Smith became in consequence a bugbear to his brethren in the faith.  ’They that take the sword shall perish with the sword,’ they told him; they gave him ’no rest’; ‘his position became intolerable’; it was plain he must choose between his political and his religious tenets; and in the last years of his life, about 1812, he returned to the Church of his fathers.

August 1786 was the date of his chief advancement, when, having designed a system of oil lights to take the place of the primitive coal fires before in use, he was dubbed engineer to the newly-formed Board of Northern Lighthouses.  Not only were his fortunes bettered by the appointment, but he was introduced to a new and wider field for the exercise of his abilities, and a new way of life highly agreeable to his active constitution.  He seems to have rejoiced in the long journeys, and to have combined them with the practice of field sports.  ’A tall, stout man coming ashore with his gun over his arm’—­so he was described to my father—­the only description that has come down to me by a light-keeper old in the service.  Nor did this change come alone.  On the 9th July of the same year, Thomas Smith had been left for the second time a widower.  As he was still but thirty-three years old, prospering in his affairs, newly advanced in the world, and encumbered at the time with a family of children, five in number, it was natural that he should entertain the notion of another wife.  Expeditious in business, he was no less so in his choice; and it was not later than June 1787—­for my grandfather is described as still in his fifteenth year—­that he married the widow of Alan Stevenson.