breakfast. The morning was dry, but cold. Travelled as before, along
the shores of Loch Lubnaig, and along the pass of the roaring stream of
Leny, and reached Callander at a little past eight o'clock. After
breakfast set off towards Stirling, intending to sleep there; the
distance eighteen miles. We were now entering upon a populous and more
cultivated country, having left the mountains behind, therefore I shall
have little to tell; for what is most interesting in such a country is
not to be seen in passing through it as we did. Half way between
Callander and Stirling is the village of Doune, and a little further on
we crossed a bridge over a pleasant river, the Teith. Above the river
stands a ruined castle of considerable size, upon a woody bank. We
wished to have had time to go up to the ruin. Long before we reached the
town of Stirling, saw the Castle, single, on its stately and commanding
eminence. The rock or hill rises from a level plain; the print in
Stoddart's book does indeed give a good notion of its form. The
surrounding plain appears to be of a rich soil, well cultivated. The
crops of ripe corn were abundant. We found the town quite full; not a
vacant room in the inn, it being the time of the assizes: there was no
lodging for us, and hardly even the possibility of getting anything to
eat in a bye-nook of the house. Walked up to the Castle. The prospect
from it is very extensive, and must be exceedingly grand on a fine
evening or morning, with the light of the setting or rising sun on the
distant mountains, but we saw it at an unfavourable time of day, the
mid-afternoon, and were not favoured by light and shade. The Forth makes
most intricate and curious turnings, so that it is difficult to trace
them, even when you are overlooking the whole. It flows through a
perfect level, and in one place cuts its way in the form of a large
figure of eight. Stirling is the largest town we had seen in Scotland,
except Glasgow. It is an old irregular place; the streets towards the
Castle on one side very steep. On the other, the hill or rock rises from
the fields. The architecture of a part of the Castle is very fine, and
the whole building in good repair: some parts indeed, are modern. At
Stirling we bought Burns's Poems in one volume, for two shillings. Went
on to Falkirk, ten or eleven miles. I do not recollect anything
remarkable after we were out of sight of Stirling Castle, except the
Carron Ironworks, seen at a distance;--the sky above them was red with a
fiery light. In passing through a turnpike gate we were greeted by a
Highland drover, who, with many others, was coming from a fair at
Falkirk, the road being covered all along with horsemen and cattle. He
spoke as if we had been well known to him, asking us how we had fared on
our journey. We were at a loss to conceive why he should interest
himself about us, till he said he had passed us on the Black Mountain,
near King's House. It was pleasant to observe the effect of solitary
places in making men friends, and to see so much kindness, which had been
produced in such a chance encounter, retained in a crowd. No beds in the
inns at Falkirk--every room taken up by the people come to the fair.
Lodged in a private house, a neat clean place--kind treatment from the
old man and his daughter.
* * * * *
_Thursday_, _September_ 15_th_.--Breakfasted at Linlithgow, a small town.
The house is yet shown from which the Regent Murray was shot. The
remains of a royal palace, where Queen Mary was born, are of considerable
extent; the banks of gardens and fish-ponds may yet be distinctly traced,
though the whole surface is transformed into smooth pasturage where
cattle graze. The castle stands upon a gentle eminence, the prospect not
particularly pleasing, though not otherwise; it is bare and wide. The
shell of a small ancient church is standing, into which are crammed
modern pews, galleries, and pulpit--very ugly, and discordant with the
exterior. Nothing very interesting till we came to Edinburgh. Dined by
the way at a small town or village upon a hill, the back part of the
houses on one side overlooking an extensive prospect over flat corn
fields. I mention this for the sake of a pleasant hour we passed sitting
on the bank, where we read some of Burns's poems in the volume which we
had bought at Stirling.
Arrived at Edinburgh a little before sunset. As we approached, the
Castle rock resembled that of Stirling--in the same manner appearing to
rise from a plain of cultivated ground, the Firth of Forth being on the
other side, and not visible. Drove to the White Hart in the
Grass-market, an inn which had been mentioned to us, and which we
conjectured would better suit us than one in a more fashionable part of
the town. It was not noisy, and tolerably cheap. Drank tea, and walked
up to the Castle, which luckily was very near. Much of the daylight was
gone, so that except it had been a clear evening, which it was not, we
could not have seen the distant prospect.
* * * * *
_Friday_, _September_ 6_th_.--The sky the evening before, as you may
remember the ostler told us, had been 'gay and dull,' and this morning it
was downright dismal: very dark, and promising nothing but a wet day, and
before breakfast was over the rain began, though not heavily. We set out
upon our walk, and went through many streets to Holyrood House, and
thence to the hill called Arthur's Seat, a high hill, very rocky at the
top, and below covered with smooth turf, on which sheep were feeding. We
climbed up till we came to St. Anthony's Well and Chapel, as it is
called, but it is more like a hermitage than a chapel,--a small ruin,
which from its situation is exceedingly interesting, though in itself not
remarkable. We sate down on a stone not far from the chapel, overlooking
a pastoral hollow as wild and solitary as any in the heart of the
Highland mountains: there, instead of the roaring of torrents, we
listened to the noises of the city, which were blended in one loud
indistinct buzz,--a regular sound in the air, which in certain moods of
feeling, and at certain times, might have a more tranquillizing effect
upon the mind than those which we are accustomed to hear in such places.
The Castle rock looked exceedingly large through the misty air: a cloud
of black smoke overhung the city, which combined with the rain and mist
to conceal the shapes of the houses,--an obscurity which added much to
the grandeur of the sound that proceeded from it. It was impossible to
think of anything that was little or mean, the goings-on of trade, the
strife of men, or every-day city business:--the impression was one, and
it was visionary; like the conceptions of our childhood of Bagdad or
Balsora when we have been reading the Arabian Nights' Entertainments.
Though the rain was very heavy we remained upon the hill for some time,
then returned by the same road by which we had come, through green flat
fields, formerly the pleasure-grounds of Holyrood House, on the edge of
which stands the old roofless chapel, of venerable architecture. It is a
pity that it should be suffered to fall down, for the walls appear to be
yet entire. Very near to the chapel is Holyrood House, which we could
not but lament has nothing ancient in its appearance, being sash-windowed
and not an irregular pile. It is very like a building for some national
establishment,--a hospital for soldiers or sailors. You have a
description of it in Stoddart's Tour, therefore I need not tell you what
we saw there.
When we found ourselves once again in the streets of the city, we
lamented over the heavy rain, and indeed before leaving the hill, much as
we were indebted to the accident of the rain for the peculiar grandeur
and affecting wildness of those objects we saw, we could not but regret
that the Firth of Forth was entirely hidden from us, and all distant
objects, and we strained our eyes till they ached, vainly trying to
pierce through the thick mist. We walked industriously through the
streets, street after street, and, in spite of wet and dirt, were
exceedingly delighted. The old town, with its irregular houses, stage
above stage, seen as we saw it, in the obscurity of a rainy day, hardly
resembles the work of men, it is more like a piling up of rocks, and I
cannot attempt to describe what we saw so imperfectly, but must say that,
high as my expectations had been raised, the city of Edinburgh far
surpassed all expectation. Gladly would we have stayed another day, but
could not afford more time, and our notions of the weather of Scotland
were so dismal, notwithstanding we ourselves had been so much favoured,
that we had no hope of its mending. So at about six o'clock in the
evening we departed, intending to sleep at an inn in the village of
Roslin, about five miles from Edinburgh. The rain continued till we were
almost at Roslin; but then it was quite dark, so we did not see the
Castle that night.
* * * * *
_Saturday_, _September_ 17_th_.--The morning very fine. We rose early
and walked through the glen of Roslin, past Hawthornden, and considerably
further, to the house of Mr. Walter Scott at Lasswade. Roslin Castle
stands upon a woody bank above a stream, the North Esk, too large, I
think, to be called a brook, yet an inconsiderable river. We looked down
upon the ruin from higher ground. Near it stands the Chapel, a most
elegant building, a ruin, though the walls and roof are entire. I never
passed through a more delicious dell than the glen of Roslin, though the
water of the stream is dingy and muddy. The banks are rocky on each
side, and hung with pine wood. About a mile from the Castle, on the
contrary side of the water, upon the edge of a very steep bank, stands
Hawthornden, the house of Drummond the poet, whither Ben Jonson came on
foot from London to visit his friend. We did hear to whom the house at
present belongs, and some other particulars, but I have a very indistinct
recollection of what was told us, except that many old trees had been
lately cut down. After Hawthornden the glen widens, ceases to be rocky,
and spreads out into a rich vale, scattered over with gentlemen's seats.
Arrived at Lasswade before Mr. and Mrs. Scott had risen, and waited some
time in a large sitting-room. Breakfasted with them, and stayed till two
o'clock, and Mr. Scott accompanied us back almost to Roslin, having given
us directions respecting our future journey, and promised to meet us at
Melrose two days after. {246}
We ordered dinner on our return to the inn, and went to view the inside
of the Chapel of Roslin, which is kept locked up, and so preserved from
the injuries it might otherwise receive from idle boys; but as nothing is
done to keep it together, it must in the end fall. The architecture
within is exquisitely beautiful. The stone both of the roof and walls is
sculptured with leaves and flowers, so delicately wrought that I could
have admired them for hours, and the whole of their groundwork is stained
by time with the softest colours. Some of those leaves and flowers were
tinged perfectly green, and at one part the effect was most exquisite:
three or four leaves of a small fern, resembling that which we call
adder's tongue, grew round a cluster of them at the top of a pillar, and
the natural product and the artificial were so intermingled that at first
it was not easy to distinguish the living plant from the other, they
being of an equally determined green, though the fern was of a deeper
shade.
We set forward again after dinner. The afternoon was pleasant.
Travelled through large tracts of ripe corn, interspersed with larger
tracts of moorland--the houses at a considerable distance from each
other, no longer thatched huts, but farm-houses resembling those of the
farming counties in England, having many corn-stacks close to them. Dark
when we reached Peebles; found a comfortable old-fashioned public-house,
had a neat parlour, and drank tea.
SIXTH WEEK.
_Sunday_, _September_ 8_th_.--The town of Peebles is on the banks of the
Tweed. After breakfast walked up the river to Neidpath Castle, about a
mile and a half from the town. The castle stands upon a green hill,
overlooking the Tweed, a strong square-towered edifice, neglected and
desolate, though not in ruin, the garden overgrown with grass, and the
high walls that fenced it broken down. The Tweed winds between green
steeps, upon which, and close to the river side, large flocks of sheep
pasturing; higher still are the grey mountains; but I need not describe
the scene, for William has done it better than I could do in a sonnet
which he wrote the same day; the five last lines, at least, of his poem
will impart to you more of the feeling of the place than it would be
possible for me to do:--
Degenerate Douglass! thou unworthy Lord
Whom mere despite of heart could so far please,
And love of havoc (for with such disease
Fame taxes him) that he could send forth word
To level with the dust a noble horde,
A brotherhood of venerable trees,
Leaving an ancient Dome and Towers like these
Beggar'd and outraged! Many hearts deplored
The fate of those old trees; and oft with pain
The Traveller at this day will stop and gaze
On wrongs which Nature scarcely seems to heed;
For shelter'd places, bosoms, nooks, and bays,
And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed,
And the green silent pastures yet remain.
_I_ was spared any regret for the fallen woods when we were there, not
then knowing the history of them. The soft low mountains, the castle,
and the decayed pleasure-grounds, the scattered trees which have been
left in different parts, and the road carried in a very beautiful line
along the side of the hill, with the Tweed murmuring through the unfenced
green pastures spotted with sheep, together composed an harmonious scene,
and I wished for nothing that was not there. When we were with Mr. Scott
he spoke of cheerful days he had spent in that castle not many years ago,
when it was inhabited by Professor Ferguson and his family, whom the Duke
of Queensberry, its churlish owner, forced to quit it. We discovered a
very fine echo within a few yards of the building.
The town of Peebles looks very pretty from the road in returning: it is
an old town, built of grey stone, the same as the castle. Well-dressed
people were going to church. Sent the car before, and walked ourselves,
and while going along the main street William was called aside in a
mysterious manner by a person who gravely examined him--whether he was an
Irishman or a foreigner, or what he was; I suppose our car was the
occasion of suspicion at a time when every one was talking of the
threatened invasion. We had a day's journey before us along the banks of
the Tweed, a name which has been sweet to my ears almost as far back as I
can remember anything. After the first mile or two our road was seldom
far from the river, which flowed in gentleness, though perhaps never
silent; the hills on either side high and sometimes stony, but excellent
pasturage for sheep. In some parts the vale was wholly of this pastoral
character, in others we saw extensive tracts of corn ground, even
spreading along whole hill-sides, and without visible fences, which is
dreary in a flat country; but there is no dreariness on the banks of the
Tweed,--the hills, whether smooth or stony, uncultivated or covered with
ripe corn, had the same pensive softness. Near the corn tracts were
large farm-houses, with many corn-stacks; the stacks and house and
out-houses together, I recollect, in one or two places upon the hills, at
a little distance, seemed almost as large as a small village or hamlet.
It was a clear autumnal day, without wind, and, being Sunday, the
business of the harvest was suspended, and all that we saw, and felt, and
heard, combined to excite one sensation of pensive and still pleasure.
Passed by several old halls yet inhabited, and others in ruin; but I have
hardly a sufficiently distinct recollection of any of them to be able to
describe them, and I now at this distance of time regret that I did not
take notes. In one very sweet part of the vale a gate crossed the road,
which was opened by an old woman who lived in a cottage close to it; I
said to her, 'You live in a very pretty place!' 'Yes,' she replied, 'the
water of Tweed is a bonny water.' The lines of the hills are flowing and
beautiful, the reaches of the vale long; in some places appear the
remains of a forest, in others you will see as lovely a combination of
forms as any traveller who goes in search of the picturesque need desire,
and yet perhaps without a single tree; or at least if trees there are,
they shall be very few, and he shall not care whether they are there or
not.
The road took us through one long village, but I do not recollect any
other; yet I think we never had a mile's length before us without a
house, though seldom several cottages together. The loneliness of the
scattered dwellings, the more stately edifices decaying or in ruin, or,
if inhabited, not in their pride and freshness, aided the general effect
of the gently varying scenes, which was that of tender pensiveness; no
bursting torrents when we were there, but the murmuring of the river was
heard distinctly, often blended with the bleating of sheep. In one place
we saw a shepherd lying in the midst of a flock upon a sunny knoll, with
his face towards the sky,--happy picture of shepherd life.
The transitions of this vale were all gentle except one, a scene of which
a gentleman's house was the centre, standing low in the vale, the hills
above it covered with gloomy fir plantations, and the appearance of the
house itself, though it could scarcely be seen, was gloomy. There was an
allegorical air--a person fond of Spenser will understand me--in this
uncheerful spot, single in such a country,
'The house was hearsed about with a black wood.'
We have since heard that it was the residence of Lord Traquair, a Roman
Catholic nobleman, of a decayed family.
We left the Tweed when we were within about a mile and a half or two
miles of Clovenford, where we were to lodge. Turned up the side of a
hill, and went along sheep-grounds till we reached the spot--a single
stone house, without a tree near it or to be seen from it. On our
mentioning Mr. Scott's name the woman of the house showed us all possible
civility, but her slowness was really amusing. I should suppose it is a
house little frequented, for there is no appearance of an inn. Mr.
Scott, who she told me was a very clever gentleman, 'goes there in the
fishing season;' but indeed Mr. Scott is respected everywhere: I believe
that by favour of his name one might be hospitably entertained throughout
all the borders of Scotland. We dined and drank tea--did not walk out,
for there was no temptation; a confined barren prospect from the window.
At Clovenford, being so near to the Yarrow, we could not but think of the
possibility of going thither, but came to the conclusion of reserving the
pleasure for some future time, in consequence of which, after our return,
William wrote the poem which I shall here transcribe:--
From Stirling Castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravell'd,
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travell'd.
And when we came to Clovenford,
Then said my winsome Marrow,
'Whate'er betide we'll turn aside
And see the Braes of Yarrow.'
'Let Yarrow Folk frae Selkirk Town,
Who have been buying, selling,
Go back to Yarrow:--'tis their own,
Each Maiden to her dwelling.
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow,
But we will downwards with the Tweed,
Nor turn aside to Yarrow.
'There's Gala Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us;
And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus.
There's pleasant Teviot Dale, a land
Made blithe with plough and harrow,
Why throw away a needful day,
To go in search of Yarrow?
'What's Yarrow but a river bare,
That glides the dark hills under?
There are a thousand such elsewhere,
As worthy of your wonder.'
Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn,
My true-love sigh'd for sorrow,
And look'd me in the face to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow.
'Oh! green,' said I, 'are Yarrow's Holms,
And sweet is Yarrow flowing,
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
But we will leave it growing.
O'er hilly path and open Strath
We'll wander Scotland thorough,
But though so near we will not turn
Into the Dale of Yarrow.
'Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burnmill Meadow,
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake
Float double, swan and shadow.
We will not see them, will not go,
To-day nor yet to-morrow;
Enough if in our hearts we know
There's such a place as Yarrow.
'Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown,
It must, or we shall rue it,
We have a vision of our own,
Ah! why should we undo it?
The treasured dreams of times long past,
We'll keep them, "winsome Marrow,"
For when we're there, although 'tis fair,
'Twill be another Yarrow.
'If care with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,
Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy,
Should life be dull and spirits low,
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow
That earth has something yet to show--
The bonny Holms of Yarrow.' {254}
The next day we were to meet Mr. Scott, and again join the Tweed. I wish
I could have given you a better idea of what we saw between Peebles and
this place. I have most distinct recollections of the effect of the
whole day's journey; but the objects are mostly melted together in my
memory, and though I should recognise them if we revisit the place, I
cannot call them out so as to represent them to you with distinctness.
William, in attempting in verse to describe this part of the Tweed, says
of it,
More pensive in sunshine
Than others in moonshine.
which perhaps may give you more power to conceive what it is than all I
have said.
* * * * *