Canongate, Edinburgh, one Gavin Wilson, a hard-working bootmaker, or, as his sign described him, “Arm, Leg and Boot maker, but not to his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.” He was a singular fellow, and was the inventor of an art for hardening and polishing leather, so as to be workable into powder-flasks, snuff-boxes, drinking-mugs, ink-cases, and other articles of a similar kind. His genius did not stop at this rough work, but enabled him to form a German flute and a violin, both of leather, which, for neatness of workmanship and melodiousness of tone, were, friendly critics said, not a bit inferior to any fiddle or flute formed of wood. His greatest triumphs, however, were artificial arms and legs, also made of leather, which not only completely remedied loss of limb, but also closely resembled their human prototypes, being covered with skin, nails, &c. The unexampled success of his endeavours in this way was curiously illustrated by a person who, having lost both his hands by a cannon-shot, was provided with a new and useful pair by Gavin Wilson. This man expressed his gratitude in a letter of thanks, written with the artificial hands, which appeared in the Caledonian Mercury for 1779, along with an advertisement of the ingenious mechanic. Wilson had also pretensions to wit, and was occasionally a votary of what Foote once described as the Tuneful Ten. “Nine and one are ten,” said Foote one day to an accountant, who was anxious the wit should hear his poetry, and who commenced, “Hear me, O Phœbus and ye Tuneful Nine!” Having got so far, he accused Foote of inattention; but the latter said, “Nine and one are ten—go on,” which was too near the shop to be pleasant. The following advertisement may serve as a specimen of Wilson’s poetical attempts:—
Gavin Wilson.
Notwithstanding that their day is past, occasional poetical advertisements are to be found in the papers now. They are, as