Warriston--Caroline Park--Muirhouse--Lauriston
Castle--Cramond--Braehead--Cammo--Barnton--Craigcrook--Ravelston.
To-day we come to our last walk, which will take us past several
curious and interesting places. There is no more imposing and
majestic way for the traveller to approach or leave Edinburgh,
than the Queensferry Road, which is our choice to-day. The broad,
well-engineered road sweeps with an easy curve over the Dean Bridge,
passes the handsome stone houses of Buckingham Terrace, and in a
few moments more emerges into open country, without any of the
intervening hovels which generally encumber the outskirts of a
great town. We diverge from the main road at Comely Bank, and then
turn due north towards Granton. To our left hand is the property
of Craigleith, on which stands the massive pile of St. Cuthbert's
Poorhouse. It is far over-topped and outshone by its neighbour on
the opposite side of the road, Fettes College, founded in 1863 in
accordance with the will of Sir William Fettes, Lord Provost of
Edinburgh, to whom the estate of Comely Bank belonged. Bryce was
the architect, and at some future period, when the surrounding
plantations have grown up, it will look very well, but its solitary
position, at the top of an exposed ridge, gives it a bare and
comfortless appearance.
No old legends linger about either of these places, but about a
mile and a half to the east of us stands a house whose history is
too noticeable to overlook, though in the course of to-day's walk
we do not actually pass it. This is Warriston House, which stands
on a gentle eminence beyond the Botanical Gardens. It belonged once
to the family of Kincaid, cadets of the Kincaids of that Ilk in
Stirlingshire, and in 1600 it was the scene of a dreadful tragedy.
John Kincaid of Warriston was married to a beautiful woman, much
younger than himself, Jean Livingston, the daughter of the Laird
of Dunipace. Owing to some alleged ill-treatment, she conceived a
deadly hatred of her husband, which was fomented and encouraged by
her nurse. The lady was induced to tamper with a young man named
Robert Weir, a servant of her father's at Dunipace, and at last she
persuaded him to become her instrument. Early one morning, in July
1600, Weir came to Warriston, and being secretly admitted to the
laird's chamber, he fell upon him and beat him to death with his
fists. He then fled. The lady and the nurse remained at home, and
seem to have taken no steps to evade the punishment of their crime.
They were both seized, taken before the magistrates, and condemned to
death. In the interval between the sentence and the execution, Lady
Warriston, who was only twenty-one, was brought by the offices of a
pious clergyman to a state of repentance and resignation to her fate.
The case is reported in a curious old pamphlet called "Memorial of
the Conversion of Jean Livingston (Lady Warriston), with an account
of her carriage at her execution," which was reprinted by Charles
Sharpe. She stated that on Weir assaulting her husband, she went to
the hall, and waited till the deed was done. She thought she still
heard the pitiful cries uttered by her husband while struggling with
his murderer. Afterwards, by way of dissembling, she tried to weep,
but not a tear could she shed. She could only regard her approaching
death as a just punishment of her offence.
Her relations do not seem to have shown much grief at her fate, but
for their own sakes they made interest to obtain that her execution
should be as little public as possible. It was arranged that while
the nurse was being burnt on the Castle-hill at four in the morning,
and thus attracting the attention of any that should be about at that
early hour, the lady should be taken to the Girth Cross, at the east
end of the town, and should there be beheaded by the Maiden.
According to the contemporary pamphlet: "The whole way, as she went
to the place of execution, she behaved herself so cheerfully, as if
she had been going to a wedding and not to her death. When she came
to the scaffold, and was carried up upon it, she looked up to the
Maiden, with two longsome looks, for she had never seen it before.
This I may say of her, to which all that saw her will bear record,
that her only countenance moved, although she had not spoken a word.
For there appeared such majesty in her countenance and visage, such
a heavenly courage in her gesture, that many said, '_That woman is
ravished with a higher spirit than man or woman._'" She then calmly
resigned herself to her fate. A melancholy end for one so young!
It shows the horror in which her deed was held at the time, that
in the ballad of "The Laird of Warriston," the Enemy of Mankind is
introduced as appearing to her, and tempting her to this awful crime.
Four years later, her accomplice, Weir, was taken and broken on the
wheel, a punishment hardly ever before inflicted in Scotland.[61]
[61] Chambers's _Domestic Annals of Scotland_; Pitcairn's _Criminal
Trials_, ii. p. 445.
We now return to our actual walk, and soon find ourselves facing the
lodge-gates of Caroline Park, or Roystoun, as it was called before it
became the property of John, Duke of Argyle.
Though many years have passed since I last saw Caroline Park, how
vividly it rises before me, with its curious, steep-pitched roof, and
the carved inscription below it, telling how George, Lord Tarbat, had
erected this little cottage (_tuguriolum_) in 1685.
[Illustration: _Caroline Park._]
When you entered the door, you passed through an outer hall into
the courtyard, round which the house was built. The flagstones
which paved it were green and damp-stained; but a little path of
well-worn bricks, with a wooden roof supported on pillars (to shield
one from the weather), led straight across to the low, matted hall,
with its further door opening on the sea-view, and its framed
diagrams of yacht-flags and signals, which recalled the days of
the _Lufra_ and the _Flower o' Yarrow_. A door to the right led to
the great staircase, which was bordered by the most beautiful iron
trellis-work, hammered into flowers and arabesques, that it was
ever my good fortune to see. Up-stairs, owing to the house being
only one room thick, and being built in a complete square round
the courtyard, all the rooms opened into one another, though by an
ingenious arrangement of staircases it was possible to get to each
suite separately. Heude, a pupil of Verrio, had painted the ceilings,
and though the "Diana and Endymion" in the smaller drawing-room was
perhaps the more exquisitely lovely, it was hard to decide between
it and the "Aurora" in the larger room. What a beautiful room that
great drawing-room was, as I remember it! with its panelled walls
painted white, hung with portraits of the exiled Stuart kings, and
over the chimney-piece and above the doors landscapes in grisaille
let into the walls. There were a good many of these in the house.
They were principally foreign scenes, but there was a curious view of
Edinburgh, painted before the North Loch was drained and while the
New Town was still unthought of, which is now preserved at Dalkeith.
When my aunt, Lady John Scott, lived here, a curious circumstance
sometimes occurred in this room. The first time she remembered its
happening, she was sitting alone about eleven o'clock one evening.
Suddenly the window at the end of the room, close to the door opening
into the dining-room, was violently burst open, and a cannon-ball
(apparently) bounded in, falling heavily on the floor and rolling
forwards. It rebounded three times, and seemed to come as far as the
screen half-way up the room, and stop there. My aunt rang violently,
but when the servants came nothing could be seen, the window was shut
and uninjured, and everything as usual. Every effort was made to find
out what had caused this noise, but in vain; and as there were no
rooms above this part of the house, it was the more unaccountable.
I remember, in January 1879, when we, as children, were spending a
fortnight there alone with our German governess, that she heard the
same sound one evening, and was so terrified, that she would never
sit alone in that room at night again. This time the cannon-ball
seemed to roll right up to where she was sitting by the fire. The two
maid-servants who were always left in the house constantly heard it,
but got used to it, and did not mind. Nothing was ever seen, and it
could never be accounted for in any way.
To the east of the house, under the trees, where the first daffodils
flowered each spring, was an ancient moss-grown well, out of which,
tradition said, the "Green Ladye" rose at midnight, and rang the
alarm bell in the courtyard. Many a time have I heard that bell
toll mournfully, when every one in the house was in their beds, and
there was not a breath of wind to sway it. On the same side of the
house, but close to where the railway now runs through the park, lay
formerly a large flat stone. The story went that above two hundred
years ago, a foreign vessel came into the Forth, and drifted on
to the low rocks and sand close to Caroline Park. The crew were
stricken with the plague, and in a day or two the captain and the
men were all found dead. A very deep pit was dug on this spot, and
the crew were buried together in one large grave. The captain was
buried alone on the top of the others, about three or four feet below
the surface of the ground, and the large flat stone was laid above
them all. When Lord and Lady John Scott were living at Caroline Park,
they had a great wish to know if there was any truth in this wild
legend, so they moved the stone and dug beneath it. A few feet down
they came on the entire bones of one man, and a few feet farther
they found a great mass of bones all thrown together into one deep
grave. They put everything back carefully, as it had been before, and
replaced the stone on the top. Before leaving Caroline Park that year
to go to England, Lord John begged Mr. Howkins, the Granton engineer,
to see that during the making of the railway (then in progress)
neither grave nor stone should be touched. Unfortunately, none of his
directions were attended to, and when he returned, he found the grave
cut away, and the stone propped up against the park wall, so that of
this curious spot, nothing is left but the empty tale.
There are beautiful old stone gate-pillars to the sea-entrance, with
ducal coronets surmounting the carved finials; but the hammered iron
gates, which corresponded with the staircases inside the house, have
long been removed, and their places filled by common wooden doors.
They were taken away early in this century by a well-known judge, and
they now ornament the lodge of Gogar, where we saw them yesterday.
[Illustration: _Gateway at Caroline Park._]
To the west of the place lay the garden, the most enchanting tangle
of flowers, fruit-trees, and shady bowers. Everything in it seemed
to grow to greater perfection, and to bloom earlier than elsewhere,
it was so sheltered and so sunny. Peaches and apricots ripened on the
walls, and the beds were full of every old-fashioned, sweet-scented
flower. Beyond it rose the ruins of Granton Castle, over which
strayed the Persian yellow rose and the Austrian briar, and veiled
the mouldering walls with wreaths of golden petals. In the corner
next the old fig-tree, a door opened into what we used to call the
"opera-box." It had exactly its shape and form. You stepped in and
found yourself overhanging the shore,--but instead of a painted
scene, lay the wide panorama of the Forth, with the hills beyond
fading into softer and softer purple; and for music, there was the
ceaseless plash of the waves on the rocks far down below us.
The "opera-box" itself had been part of the outer buildings of the
old castle. This once belonged to Sir Thomas Hope of Craighall,
the famous lawyer of Charles I.'s time, who made it his principal
residence. After his death in 1646, it passed through many different
hands, including various members of the Hope family, till it was
bought in 1740 by John, Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, who had
acquired Roystoun the year before from Sir James Mackenzie, grandson
of the Lord Tarbat who built the house. The Duke threw the two
places together, and called them Caroline Park, out of compliment
to his royal mistress, the queen of George II. At his death, the
property passed, by the marriage of his daughter Caroline, to the
ducal family of Buccleuch, who now possess it. The prosperity of the
neighbouring port of Granton has proved the destruction of Caroline
Park. Warehouses and other buildings press closely upon it, and the
beautiful old house itself has been turned into the offices of a
printing-ink manufactory.
Leaving it behind us, we turn along a road which leads westwards from
the lodge, and, passing a little place called Granton House, we soon
reach Muirhouse. Griffins surmount the gate-pillars which open on
to a broad and fine avenue, at the end of which stand the ruins of
the old royal hunting-lodge, and a finely wooded park slopes down to
the sea. This barony was granted by King Robert Bruce to Sir William
Oliphant of Aberdalgy. Previously it had been royal property. The
last Oliphant that possessed Muirhouse, or the Murrows, as it was
then called, was Sir James Oliphant of Newton (born in 1612), who in
a drunken fit stabbed his own mother with a sword, so that she died.
This dreadful event obliged him to fly into Ireland, where he died
in great penury and wretchedness.[62] All his property was sold.
Muirhouse now belongs to the Davidson family, who acquired it in 1776.
[62] Scot's _Staggering State_.
[Illustration: _Carved Stone at Lauriston Castle._]
A little to the south-west of Muirhouse, we pass Drylaw, a place that
once belonged to a younger branch of the Foresters of Corstorphine,
and then come to the village of Davidson's Mains, or Muttonhole,
hole, as it used to be called. The east gate of Barnton faces us,
but we shall describe that place later, and, turning to the right
along the park wall, we soon see the towers of Lauriston rising
between us and the sea. The castle appears to have been built about
the end of the 16th century, as over two of the windows we can still
see the letters S. A. N. and D. E. M. They are the initials of Sir
Archibald Napier and his second wife, Dame Elizabeth Mowbray. They
acquired Lauriston from the Foresters in the latter half of the
sixteenth century. One of the windows near the roof has a kind of
stone shelf at its base, intended to hold a beacon, which could be
seen simultaneously from the castles of Merchiston and Barnbougle,
the former homes of its master and mistress. At Sir Archibald's
death in 1608, Lauriston passed to his younger son, Sir Alexander.
He has left a trace of his tenure in the _Celestial Theme_, which is
cut on a stone nineteen inches square, and is still preserved here.
It was probably calculated for him by his more celebrated brother,
John Napier, the inventor of Logarithms, who was deeply versed in
astrology. After his death, Lauriston passed away from the Napiers,
and in 1683 came into the hands of the family with which its name is
most closely associated. John Law, the great financier, succeeded his
father here in 1688.[63]
[63] See Wood's _Account of the Parish of Cramond_, 1794.
The history of the famous Comptroller-General, whose fertile brain
evolved the Mississippi Scheme, is too well-known to repeat here;
but it is only just to his memory to say that he was no ordinary
speculator. He believed as firmly in the reality of these golden
dreams as the most enthusiastic of his followers; and his system
appears to have been founded on a real intention to extend the
commerce and improve the credit of France. It was against his
wish, and in opposition to his advice, that the fatal edict was
promulgated, which, by lowering the value of the bank-note, brought
about the downfall of public credit; and in the crash that followed
Law lost everything, including the large private fortune he had
inherited from his father. The end of his life was a sad one, for he
died at Venice in great poverty in 1729, at the comparatively early
age of fifty-seven. It is a touching trait of his character, that,
even in the height of his power and prosperity, his thoughts still
fondly turned to his distant Lauriston. Archibald, Duke of Argyle,
then Lord Islay, relates that, going to wait upon him by appointment,
he found the antechambers filled with persons of the highest
quality in France. Being by special order admitted to Law's private
apartments, he found him writing what, from the number and the rank
of those left to await his leisure, he took to be most important
despatches. On saying this to his old friend, to his amusement he
learnt that Law was only writing to his gardener at Lauriston, and
giving him directions to plant cabbages in a particular spot. This
was at a time when he stood at a giddy height, which few subjects
have ever reached. He was the object of the adulation, almost the
worship of the whole nation. After his death, and that of his only
son, Lauriston Castle passed to his brother William and to his
descendants, who were all in the French service.[64]
[64] The Laws of Lauriston bear ermine, a bend between two cocks,
gules. The cock in their arms is supposed by Nisbet to refer to the
concluding part of the crow of that bird having a similar sound to
the name Law.
William Law's son was Baron de Lauriston and Governor of Pondicherry.
His grandson was Napoleon's distinguished general, Alexander, Marquis
de Lauriston (born 1768, died 1828). He served in most of Napoleon's
campaigns, and was sent on important embassies to London and St.
Petersburg. After the Restoration he reconciled himself to the royal
family, and was given various posts at court, and finally was created
Maréchal de France in 1823. His son Auguste was an almost equally
distinguished officer. When hardly more than a boy, he served in the
Imperial campaigns from 1808-1814. He carried on the line of the
family in France, where they still exist, and are known by their
French title. Their Scottish home was sold early in this century
to Mr. Allan, a banker in Edinburgh. It has since belonged to Lord
Rutherfurd, and is now the property of Mr. Macknight Crawford.
A little farther west we see before us the woods which surround
Cramond House, or Nether Cramond, as it was formerly called. This has
always been a remarkable place. The early British fort on the Amon
(Caer-Amon, hence Cramond) became later an important Roman military
station. On the opposite side of the river, in the park of Dalmeny,
there can still be seen the figure of an eagle, rudely carved on the
Hunter's Craig, a rock close to the sea, which has remained there
since the days of the Roman occupation. In the 12th century Robert
Avenel, who had received these lands from David I., granted them to
the bishopric of Dunkeld, and for many years this was the bishop's
principal residence south of the Forth. Hence it was sometimes called
Bishop's Cramond, to distinguish it from Cramond Regis (King's
Cramond), which stood where Barnton stands now. A ruined tower close
to the modern house of Cramond is all that is left of the bishop's
palace. It is a small building about twenty-four feet square and
forty feet high. About 1624 this property was acquired by the Inglis
family, to whose descendant, Colonel Inglis Craigie Halket, it now
belongs. The last of the direct line was Anne, Lady Torphichen,
who spent all the latter years of her life here. She was very fond
of the place, and kept it up beautifully till her death in 1849.
Chopin, the famous Polish musician, once stayed with her at Cramond,
and I have often heard his visit, his playing, and his delight in
the woods of Dalmeny described by a relation of mine, who as a girl
lived much with Lady Torphichen. In front of the house stands a very
elaborate sundial, bearing thirty-three gnomons. One of the faces is
dated 1732, and it bears the names of _Sir Rob. Dickson_, for whom
it was made, and _Ach. Handasyde_, the maker. He was a native of
Musselburgh, or "Conchi Polensis," as it is more classically termed
on his tombstone in Inveresk churchyard. There is a legend that this
dial was brought here from Lauriston Castle, where it originally
stood.
A little farther up the Almond in a sheltered nook stands Braehead,
which has been in the Howieson Crawfurd family since their ancestor
received it from James V. That king, on one of his solitary,
adventurous expeditions, was attacked on Cramond Bridge by some
gipsies. A poor man who was threshing corn in a barn close by,
hearing the scuffle, and seeing one man defending himself against
four or five, went to the king's help, and, laying about him lustily
with his flail, soon dispersed the assailants. He then took the
king into the barn, and brought him a towel and water, with which
to wash the blood from his face, and finally escorted him a little
way towards Edinburgh, in case he should be again attacked. On the
way, James asked him who and what he was. The labourer answered that
his name was John Howieson, and that he was a bondsman on the farm
of Braehead (which belonged to the king). James then asked him if
there was any wish he particularly desired to have gratified; and
Howieson confessed he should be the happiest man in Scotland, were
he but proprietor of the farm on which he wrought as a labourer. He
then asked the king in turn who _he_ was; to which James replied, as
usual, that he was the Goodman of Ballengeich, a poor man who had a
small appointment about the palace; and he added that if Howieson
would come to see him the following Sunday, he would endeavour to
repay his opportune assistance.
Howieson accordingly presented himself at Holyrood the following
Sunday, and inquired for the Goodman of Ballengeich. The king had
given orders he should be admitted, and received him in the same
disguise he had formerly worn. He then, preserving the character of
an inferior officer of the household, conducted Howieson through the
different apartments, and was amused by his wonder and his remarks.
At length he offered to show him the king. "But how," asked the
countryman, "am I to know his Grace from the nobles who will be all
about him?" "Easily," replied his companion; "all the rest will be
uncovered, the king alone will wear his hat or bonnet."
So saying, King James led him into a great hall, which was filled
by the nobility and officers of the crown. Howieson was a little
frightened, and drew close to his conductor, but was still unable to
distinguish the king. "I told you you should know him by his wearing
his hat," said his companion. Then said the man, "It must be either
you or me, for all but us two are bareheaded." The king laughed
heartily, and revealed himself, and then rewarded his deliverer with
the farm of Braehead, which he gave him as a free gift, on condition
that John Howieson or his successors should be ready to present a
basin and ewer, for the king to wash his hands, whenever his Majesty
should come to Holyrood Palace or should pass by the bridge of
Cramond. Accordingly, in 1822, when George IV. came to Scotland,
Howieson of Braehead appeared at Holyrood and offered his Majesty
water from a silver ewer.[65]
[65] Scott's _Tales of a Grandfather_.
The old bridge of Cramond is little used now. It stands a hundred
yards lower down the water than the new bridge, over which the road
runs to Queensferry. The woods of Dalmeny sweep down the river-side,
but above the bridge Craigie Hall claims one bank, and Cammo the
other. Cammo, or New Saughton, as it used to be called, belonged
to the Watsons, and then passed by the marriage of the last of the
family to the Earls of Morton. It was sold a few years ago. When the
Queen paid her first visit to Scotland in 1842, the young heiress of
Saughton rode out at the head of her tenantry to meet her and escort
her to Edinburgh. Two years later she became Lady Aberdour, and was
mother to the present Lord Morton.
We are now on the Queensferry Road once more, and turning eastwards,
with our faces towards Edinburgh, we continue to skirt the wall of
Barnton. This place, which now belongs to Sir James Gibson Maitland,
is formed of two properties thrown together. The present house was
originally Cramond Regis, where there had been a royal hunting-seat.
The house was built in 1640 by Sir John Smith of Grotthill, who
was Lord Provost of Edinburgh. He sold the place, and it passed
through several hands before being bought in the last century by
Mr. Ramsay, a banker in Edinburgh. He also bought Barnton. The site
of the old house is near the lodge at Davidson's Mains, and not far
from where the gardens now are. It belonged in 1507 to Sir Robert
Barton, the master-skipper of the _Great Michael_, a famous ship,
built by James V. He was afterwards Comptroller of the Exchequer,
Lord High Treasurer (1529), and Master of the Mint. In 1580, Barnton
was sold to James Elphinston, first Lord Balmerino, in whose family
it continued till 1688. The fine pillar sundial that still exists
here was put up by the father of the Lord Balmerino of the '45.[66]
At the end of the last century, Barnton belonged to Wilhelmina, Lady
Glenorchy, to whom it was left by her husband. She spent many years
of her pious and blameless life at this place, but in 1786, shortly
before her death, she sold it to Mr. Ramsay. He lived here while he
was altering and improving the house of Cramond Regis, and when that
was finished, the old house of Barnton was pulled down, and its name
usurped by its younger rival.
[66] There are two curious sundials at Barnton. One is an obelisk
dial, about twelve feet high, dated 1692. The other, of monumental
design, was erected by Lord Balmerino.
Mr. Ramsay's grandson was the well-known M. F. H. He was fond of all
kinds of sport, and with his friend, Captain Barclay of Urie, horsed
and drove the "Defiance" coach to and from Aberdeen. Lanercost, the
best horse he ever owned, keeps his memory green on the turf. His
only son succeeded him, at whose death Barnton passed to his nearest
relations, the Gibson Maitlands. They have preferred living at
Sauchie, their own place in Stirlingshire, and Barnton has been let
for many years.
We now find ourselves back at Davidson's Mains; but, instead of going
straight home to Edinburgh by Blackhall, we turn abruptly to the
right, along a quiet country road, which winds along the base of the
Corstorphine Hills. About half a mile farther on, we pass the gate of
Craigcrook, a pretty little place which seems sheltered from every
harsh wind in the lap of these wooded heights. For many years it was
the home of Francis, Lord Jeffrey, the critic, the "immortal Jeffrey"
of Lord Byron's bitter lines,[67] who settled here in 1815. Over the
outer gate of the courtyard there is a stone, with the date 1621, and
a shield which bears traces of the arms of the Adamsons, early owners
of Craigcrook. In the sixteenth century, William Adamson was one
of the largest proprietors on this side of Edinburgh. His property
extended from Craigleith to Cammo. He was slain, with his kinsman,
Alexander Napier of Merchiston, at the battle of Pinkie in 1547.
Craigcrook now forms part of the Strachan Mortification, the lands
having been left for charitable purposes by Mr. Strachan, Writer to
the Signet, who died in 1719.
[67]
Health to immortal Jeffrey! once in name
England could boast a judge almost the same.
_English Bards and Scotch Reviewers._
As we turn again to the right, our attention is attracted by the
romantic and fairy-like scene, which is only divided from us by a
low wall. A miniature lake lies embosomed in the woods, and on its
eastern side rise beetling crags, crowned with Scotch firs. Ivy,
in some places, hangs down the face of the cliff, and here and
there a dislodged block of stone has given foothold to broom and
bramble bushes. Few winds can ruffle that little lake, it lies in so
sheltered a spot, and on a sunny afternoon, it smilingly reflects
each crevice and ivy-trail in the rocks above it. In the 16th century
a quarry was worked here, but many, many years must have passed since
the hand of man last profaned this lovely spot, and nature has swept
all trace of his work away. It lies in the grounds of Ravelston, a
pretty old place, which stands on an eminence to our left. The old
house is a little to the west of the present one, and nearer the
road. Over the entrance is the inscription, "G. F. _Ne quid nimis_,
1622. J. B." This is probably the date of its erection, and the
initials are those of George Foulis, and Janet Bannatyne his wife.
The Foulis owned Ravelston for many years. The last of the family
took the name of Primrose from his grandmother, the heiress of
Dunipace, and was the gallant Sir Archibald Primrose, who suffered
for his king at Carlisle, in 1746.[68] His lands were forfeited, but
Ravelston had been sold some time before, and had been acquired in
1726 by Mr. Keith, a relation of the Earl Marischal. His grandson,
who built the present house, was knighted by George IV. on his visit
to this country, and made Knight Marischal of Scotland. A near
relationship subsisted between Sir Walter Scott and the Ravelston
family, his grandmother, Mrs. Rutherford, and old Mrs. Keith having
been sisters;[69] and in his letters and memoir we find constant
references to Ravelston. It now belongs to Miss Murray Gartshore,
whose father bought it from his nephew, Sir Patrick Keith Murray. The
well-known song, "Hark the voice of joy and singing," was written
by the late Mrs. Murray Gartshore, who sang beautifully, and wrote
several very pretty things. There used to be a beautiful avenue of
walnut-trees near the house, but they have all been either cut or
blown down.
[68] It was either this Sir Archibald's widow or his mother, that
was the Lady Primrose who entertained Flora Macdonald so hospitably
in London, during her detention there in 1747, and to whose house in
Essex Street, Strand, Prince Charles came during the secret visit
he paid to London in 1750. Dr. King, in his _Political and Literary
Anecdotes_, gives an account of meeting the Prince at Lady Primrose's.
[69] They were both Swintons of Swinton.
Ravelston brings us almost to the end of our pilgrimage. Either the
road straight before us, or that to the right through Murrayfield,
will quickly take us back to Edinburgh. Let us linger a few moments
before we part, and, turning round, let us climb the steep path that
leads over the shoulder of the hill to the village of Corstorphine.
As breathless and exhausted we reach the top, we sink gratefully on
the seat, which long has been known as "Rest and be thankful," and
let our eyes and thoughts stray over the beautiful scene. Before us
lies Edinburgh, with its castle and its spires,--beyond is the sea
and distant Lammermuirs. Over all the golden light of evening is
shining, and the fir-trees throw long shadows at our feet. From this
spot we can see most of the places to which our weary steps have
wandered in turn; and as we sit here in peace, may the recollections
of the past, which I have striven to reawaken, touch each place, as
it rises in your memory, with a ray of gold as bright as that which
the setting sun throws o'er them now!
The book is completed and closed like the day,
And the hand that has written it, lays it away!