[Footnote 75: Blaze.]

[Footnote 76: Caused.]

[Footnote 77: Roll.]

[Footnote 78: Age.]

[Footnote 79: Begin.]

In 1743 his circ.u.mstances were such as enabled him to build a small octagon shaped house on the north side of the Castle Hill, which he named Ramsay Lodge, but which some of his witty friends compared to a goose pie. He told Lord Elibank one day of this ungracious comparison.

"What," said the witty peer, "a goose pie! In good faith, Allan, now that I see _you_ in it, I think the house is not ill named." He lived in this odd-looking edifice till the day of his death, enjoying the society of his friends, and cracking his jokes with perhaps greater quietness, but with as much gust and hilarity as ever. He was a man of genius, and has exerted great influence on the lighter literature of Scotland. He was an immense favorite with Burns, his equal in genius, his superior in depth of feeling, in tenderness and beauty of expression. But Burns doubtless owed something to the "wood notes wild," of his ill.u.s.trious predecessor.

Both have done much to ill.u.s.trate and beautify their native land.

Next morning at early dawn we are rambling in and around the pretty village of La.s.swade, which lies so sweetly on the left bank of the North Esk. The river runs in many charming sinuosities through the parish, now pa.s.sing over a smooth ledge of rocks, then "wimpling" over shining pebbles, then gliding with a scarcely perceptible motion "among the green braes," now wetting the pendant branches of the birch and broom, anon sleeping in a deep pellucid pool, then leaping "o'er a linn," and then gushing with a hollow murmur, among the loose gray rocks. Nothing can be more beautiful and picturesque. Many pretty cottages and handsome villas adorn the neighborhood. De Quincy, the celebrated English "opium eater" lives here, and Sir Walter Scott at one time occupied a cottage in the vicinity. The following is a happy description from his pen, of the enchanting scenes through which the North and South Esk flow. It is taken from his ballad of the "Grey Brother."

Sweet are the paths--O pa.s.sing sweet!

By Esk's fair streams that run, O'er airy steep, through copsewood's deep, Impervious to the sun.

There the rapt poet's step may rove, And yield the muse the day; There beauty led by timid love, May shun the tell-tale ray.

From that fair dome[80] where suit is paid, By blast of bugle free, To Auchindinny's hazel glade, And haunted Woodhouselee.

Who knows not Melville's beechy groove, And Roslin's rocky glen, Dalkeith, which all the virtues love, And cla.s.sic Hawthornden.

[Footnote 80: Pennycuick House, the romantic and elegant residence of Sir George Clerk, Baronet. "It stands on a flat, in a curve of the river, with a picturesque glen behind, carrying up the view to the ruins of Branstane Castle, and the western extremity of the Pentlands--a a little plain in front, gemmed with a beautiful artificial pond, and overhung by ascents which are mantled all over with wood--and swells and eminences on each side, dissevered by ravines, and moulded into many curvatures of beauty. On the opposite side of the river, at the end of an avenue at the top of a bank, stands an obelisk, raised by Sir James Clerk, to the memory of his friend and frequent inmate, Allan Ramsay."]

It is not surprising that mult.i.tudes from Edinburgh come to reside here in the summer time; for what with the varied scenery of rock and river, copsewood and fell, the pleasant a.s.sociations of the present, and the thrilling memories of "Auld lang syne," no region can be more attractive and agreeable.

Sauntering along, we approach Glenesk, so called from the deep and charming glen, formed by the winding river. Yonder is an old man at work in his garden, who looks quite patriarchal, and I dare say knows a good deal of the neighborhood. Let us accost him.

"Good morning, sir!"

"Gude mornin' gentlemen!"

"You seem to be quite early in your garden this morning."

"Ou aye, we maun mak hay while the sun shines, ye ken, and this is a graund time for planting."

"You have lived in the neighborhood a considerable time, I presume."

"A' my days."

"Well, it's a beautiful country."

"Ou aye, it's weel eneuch. My faither before me lived in that bit housie out yonder amang the trees, and he used aften to say, gude auld man!

that the lines had fallen to us in pleasant places, and that we had a goodly heritage. For my pairt, I like the country unco weel. The burn there is verra pleasant, its sae caller[81] like, wimpling amang the rocks and bushes. And what's mair to the pint, it has got a fouth[82] of fine fish in 't, though thae new fangled mills are frightening them awa."

[Footnote 81: Fresh.]

[Footnote 82: Abundance.]

"Trout, I suppose."

"Yes, sir, and fine anes too. Ah! mony's the day I hae paidlt in that burn, when a wee bit callant, catching the trout amang the stanes, when the water was low."

"Did you know any thing of Sir Walter Scott? He used to live near La.s.swade, and I dare say often wandered this way to fish."

"Ken him! That I did fu' weel. And an honest freendly man he was. He cam up the burn every noo and then, sometimes wi' a fishing-rod, and sometimes wi' a staff in his han. He and I got weel acquaint after a time, for he was nane o' your upstarts, but an unco frank, freespoken kind of a man. Not that he talked sae muckle himsel, but he was aye askin about something or ither, and kept my tongue waggin' a' the time.

Ah yes, Sir Walter was a canny man. He knew the hail kintra side, and used to spier a great many questions about the ways o' the auld folks.

One day he cam alang the burn side, wi' anither gentleman. I happened to be working down there. His line got tangled in a stane, and he got me to fetch it out. He then coost it into the deep pule below, making the flee skim alang the top o' the water, as skeelfully as onything ye ever saw.

When up louped a muckle spotted trout, and in a moment dragged the line to the other side, then spanked up the burn at an unco rate, running the line aff the reel, which birred like a spinnin' wheel. Sir Walter hobbled after it as weel as he could. He was lame, ye ken, but managed to move pretty quick. The trout plunged and flounced over the shallow water, got into another deep pule, and ran into the bank, in the hollow of twa big stanes that were lying there. Now, cried Sir Walter, I have you my boy; so he kept jerkin awa at him, and out he cam again, when Sir Walter gave him a wallop, and laid him flat amang the gowans. 'Twas a bonny sight, I tell you. The trout was nae less than a fit and a quarter lang, as thick as my arm, and spotted all o'er wi' shining spots, like a leopard. Sir Walter was unco pleased--rubbed his hans', and every now and then broke into a smile, as he cracked some joke about the trout.

Hech! it was a guid sight for sair een--to see Sir Walter after the trout, and specially to see the trout walloping amang the gowans."

"But don't you think that it was rather cruel sport?"

"Cruel! why man, the fish kens naething ava, and out o' its ain element, it gets choked in a minute. And, for my pairt, I dinna see what fish is guid for, if not to be catch'd and eaten, specially the big anes! My gude auld faither used often to say to us, 'Boys, ye mauna be cruel to the dumb beasts, and when ye gang a fishing, be sure to let the wee fish gae.'"

"Your father was a worthy man, I dare say."

"That he was, I can a.s.sure you. He was respeckit by the hail kintra side. When auld and feeble, he wud sit before the door, on a divot seat, the hail simmer day, wi' a braid bonnet on his head, and a lang staff by his side, reading the Bible, or maybe 'Pilgrim's Progress,' or takin'

wi' the neebors wha cam to see him."

"Did he belong to the established kirk?"

"Na, na, he was ane o' the auld Covenanters, and used to talk a deal about Cameron and McMillen, as unco powerfu' preachers. He thocht the present times were wonderfu' degenerate, that the solemn League and Covenant o' Scotland was amaist forgotten, and that the people now-a-days were a sort o' inferior race. But he was a gude man; unco pleasant to look upon, and unco pleasant to hear, when he talked o' the faithfulness o' Israel's G.o.d, and the comfort and blessedness of being his children. When he deed, he seemed to fa' asleep. A smile was on his pale face, and his han' lay upon his breast, as it were in token of resignation to the will o' heaven. He lies buried in the auld kirk-yard, o'er yonder, wi' the words on his head-stane at his ain request, 'Blessed are the deed that dee in the Lord.'"

"Are you too a Cameronian?"

"Why no, to tell ye the honest truth. The auld Cameronians are amaist a'

gane; and I just gang o'er here to the free kirk, where, to my notion, we hae as guid sound preachin as ye'll meet wi' in the hail kintra side.

I'm no sae gude a man as my faither; but I canna forget his counsels and his prayers."

"Have you any family, my friend?"

"Ou aye. A bit callant, and twa strapping la.s.ses, one of whom is married."

"Well, that's a comfort."

"A great comfort, sir, in my auld days. Jeanie is weel married, and has bairns o' her ain. Marion wad a been married, but she was kind a skary, and so she stays at hame. The bit callant is no my ain, but a neebor's son that we adopted frae pity, seeing his mither is puir, and his faither was lost at sea."

"And your wife, is she well?"

"Well! Aye, that she is--in heaven! She's been gane these five years--(here the tears started in the old man's eyes.) We maun a' dee.

(A brief pause.) But, as my gude auld faither used to say, 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord.'"

"Yes, my good old friend, the hope of a Christian, which you seem to cherish, is a source of infinite comfort. It sweetens the cares of life, and robs death of its sting. Good morning."

"Gude mornin; and the Lord bless you!"