NOT having seen Edinburgh since August, 1776, I longed to see it again,
and set out on this journey on the 11th August, 1823, and went through
by coach on that day. I always thought highly of Edinburgh and its bold
and commanding situation; but the new town, or city of palaces, as it is
sometimes called, had been added to it since I had seen it. But all
these splendid buildings are of trivial import compared with the mass of
intellect and science which had taken root and had been nurtured and
grown up to such a height as to rival, and perhaps to outstrip, every
other city in the world. My stay was only a fortnight; and this was a
busy time, both as to its being taken up with the kindness and
hospitality met with everywhere as well as in visiting its various
scientific and other establishments. It being at a vacation season, when
most of the learned professors were out of town, I saw only Professors
Jameson and Wallace, and was often at the table of the former, which was
surrounded by men of learning and science who visited him from all parts
of the world. The attentions of Professor Wallace were most friendly. He
shewed me the use of the Eidograph, an instrument which he had invented
for the purpose of either reducing or enlarging a drawing or design most
accurately to any size that might be required. I visited Patrick Neil,
Esq., and was much pleased with seeing the tamed birds and other
curiosities which embellished his little paradise. His uncommon kindness
will ever remain impressed upon my memory. I also often called upon my
friend, Mr. Archibald Constable, accounted the first bookseller in
Scotland; and, although he was unwell at the time, I partook of his kind
attentions. I visited the splendid exhibition of paintings of the late
Sir Henry Raeburn, Bart., the rooms of Mr. William Allan, historical
painter, Mr. Stewart, engraver, and those of several others who were
absent. With other artists, who were known to me, I spent some time in
several calls. These calls were upon my old friend, Mr. Nasmyth,
landscape painter; my townsman, Mr. Wm. Nicholson; Mr. James Kirkwood,
now up in years, but who had in his prime led the way to excellence in
engraving. I also paid my respects to the son and successor of my kind
friend of former days, the late Mr. Hector Gavin; and the same to the
sons and successors of the late Mr. D. Lizars. All these had attained to
that degree of excellence which did honour to Edinburgh, now the seat of
learning, and rendered brilliant by the gems of art, and by the science
with which it is adorned. I have almost forgotten to name my being
introduced to Messrs. Ballantyne and Robertson, lithographic printers.
Whilst I was in their office, the latter pressed me to make a sketch on
the stone for him. I was then preparing to leave Edinburgh, and the only
time left me was so short that I was obliged to draw this sketch before
breakfast the next morning, and the proofs were taken from it on the
same day. In doing this, though very slight, I could see what that
manner of making prints was capable of. I left Edinburgh on the 23rd
August, 1823, and I think I shall see Scotland no more.
After my journeys (long ago) to Cherryburn were ended, I used, as
formerly, seldom to miss going in the mornings to Elswick Lane, to drink
whey, or buttermilk, and commonly fell in with a party who went there
for the same purpose; and this kind of social intercourse continued for
many years. I also, at that time, on the Sunday afternoons, went to
visit and contemplate in the church-yards, and there give vent to my
mind, in feelings of regret, and in repeating a kind of soliloquy over
the graves of those with whom I had been intimate.
“And then I lov’d to haunt lone burial places,
Pacing the church-yard path with noiseless tread,
To pore on new-made graves for ghastly traces,—
Brown crumbling bones of the forgotten dead.”
I recounted in my memory the numbers of my friends thus put by to be
forgotten, amongst the millions of others who had been for longer or
shorter periods also in this world, and who have passed away into
Eternity. Even the “frail memorial”—erected to “_perpetuate_ the
_memory_” of those who had been esteemed—seemed to be of little avail,
and their mementos, as well as those decked out with ornamented
flatteries, would, in time, all go to decay, and be no longer remembered
than until all who once knew them were also dead; and the numbers of
both the one and the other appeared to me to be so immense that to
estimate them seemed impossible, and like attempting to count the grains
of sand on the sea beach. It is thus that the grave swallows all up
without distinction. The true estimate of their various merits can only
be known to the Creator of all. It appears clear to those whose souls
habitually adore and commune with Him, while they remain in this state
of probation, that He will, in His infinite goodness, wisdom, truth,
justice, and mercy—place everyone, on quitting this mortal abode, in the
unknowable worlds befitting their reception.
Besides the temporary mementos dedicated to private worth, others of a
different character may have their use. Monuments might therefore be
erected to those who have, by their virtues and patriotism, promoted the
happiness of mankind. It is a debt of gratitude due to the Author of our
being for the loan of departed worth, and may stimulate others “to do so
likewise.” The posthumous praise or blame of the world is to them of no
avail; they are done with all things on this side of Time, and are out
of the reach of both the one and the other.
While I was pursuing my ramblings in the Highlands, and beheld with
admiration the great projecting rocks so often to be seen holding up
their bare heads to the winds, it struck me that it was a great pity
they could not be converted to some use: and the best I could think of
was, that the illustrious names of Wallace and Bruce—as well as those of
their other worthies—should be inscribed upon them, to hold up their
heads with these names to the sun for ever. I have often thought since,
that the bare rocks in other parts of our islands might with good effect
be filled up in the same way. The first name to be fixed upon ought to
be that of Alfred the Great, followed by many others—statesmen,
patriots, philosophers, poets, &c.—who have shone out like polished
diamonds, and who have embellished and illumined this country, and
civilized the world. Their venerated names, with their maxims, or
quotations from their works, would fill up many of these rocks, which
are waiting for them, and might make all who beheld them inclined to
profit by, or to imitate, their virtues. How many incomparably good,
wise, and beautiful texts from the Bible might also with great propriety
be added to fill up every vacant spot. I often lamented that I had not
the means to enable me to be at the expense of getting such quotations
inscribed in this way. Often, while angling on a hot, sunny day, which
slackened my sport, I have sat down by the water side, and thought over
some of the beautiful lines of our poets, fit to be applied in this way;
and remember my having thought of those lines of Cunningham, which I
would, if I could have afforded it, have committed to the care of a
rock. He says:—
“How smooth that rapid river glides
Progressive to the deep!
The poppies pendent o’er its sides
Have lull’d the waves to sleep.
“Pleasure’s intoxicated sons!
Ye indolent! ye gay!
Reflect,—for as the river runs
Time wings his trackless way.”
How easy would it be for gentlemen to get the names of the illustrious
dead thus inscribed upon rocks; or, where that could not be done, to
erect pillars, or small obelisks, over copious springs (like the holy
wells of old), to contain such inscriptions as those I have hinted at,
and thus leave these their marks behind them; and which would long
continue to put the passing stranger in mind of some religious, moral,
or patriotic sentiment; and, while he was refreshing himself by
quenching his thirst, he might be put in mind that—
“Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.”
[Illustration]
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