The Cruise of the Land-Yacht "Wanderer" Part 25

At the top of the hill the tourist may well pause, as we did, to look at the view beneath. It is a fertile country, only you cannot help admiring the woods that adorn that wide valley--woods in patches of every size and shape, woods in rows around the cornfields, woods in squares and ovals, woods upon hills and knolls, and single trees everywhere.

On again, and ere long we catch sight of a great braeland of trees--a perfect mountain of foliage--worth the journey to come and see. That hill rises up from the other side of the loch. We now open a gate, and find ourselves in a very large green square, with farm buildings at one side and a great stone well in the centre. Far beneath, and peeping through the trees, is the beautiful mansion-like model farmhouse. It is surrounded by gardens, in which flowers of every colour expand their petals to the sunshine. No one is at home about the farmyard. The servants are all away haymaking, so we quietly unlimber, stable, and feed Pea-blossom. Hurricane Bob, my Jehu, and myself then pa.s.s down the hill through a wood of n.o.ble trees, and at once find ourselves on the margin of a splendid sheet of water that winds for miles and miles among the woodlands and hills.

I seat myself in an easy-chair near the boathouse, a chair that surely some good fairy or the genii of this beautiful wildery has placed here for me. Then I become lapt in Elysium. Ten minutes ago I could not have believed that such scenery existed so near me.

What a lonesome delightful place to spend a long summer's day in! What a place for a picnic or for a lover's walk! Oh! to fancy it with a broad moon shining down from the sky and reflected in the water!

The road goes through among the trees, not far from the water's edge, winding as the lake winds. The water to-day is like a sheet of gla.s.s, only every now and then and every here and there a leaping fish makes rings in it; swallows are skimming about everywhere, and seagulls go wheeling round or settle and float on the surface. We see many a covey of wild ducks too, but no creature--not even the hares and rabbits among the brackens--appear afraid of us.

Nowhere are the trees of great height, but there is hardly one you can give a name to which you will not find here by the banks of this lovely lonesome lake, to say nothing of the gorgeous and glowing undergrowth of wild shrubs and wild flowers.

Weary at last, because hungry, we returned to the green square where we had left our carriage, and, first giving Pea-blossom water, proceeded to have our own luncheon.

We had enough for the three of us, with plenty to spare for the feathered army of fowls that surrounded us. They were daring; they were greedy; they were insolent; and stole the food from our very fingers.

Ambition in this world, however, sometimes over-reaches itself. One half-bred chick at last stole a whole polonie, which was to have formed part of Bob's dinner. Bob knew it, and looked woefully after the thieving chick; the brave little bird was hurrying off to find a quiet place in which to make its dinner.

It had reckoned rather rashly, though.

A cochin hen met the chick. "What daring audacity!" cried the hen.

"Set _you_ up with a whole polonie, indeed!"

A dig on the back sent the chick screaming away without the sausage, and the big hen secured it.

"I'll go quietly away and eat it," she said to herself, "behind the water-b.u.t.t."

But the other fowls spied her.

"Why, she's got a whole polonie!" cried one.

"The impudence of the brazen thing!" cried another.

"A whole polonie! a whole polonie!" was now the chorus, and the chase became general. Bound and round the great stone well flew the cochin, but she was finally caught and thrashed and deprived of that polonie.

But which hen was to have it? Oh! every hen, and all the four c.o.c.ks wanted it.

A more amusing scene I never witnessed at a farmyard. It was like an exciting game of football on the old Rugby system, and at one time, while the game was still going on, I counted three pairs of hens and one pair of Dorking c.o.c.ks engaged in deadly combat, and all about that polonie. But sly old Bob watched his chance. _He_ was not going to lose his dinner if he could help it. He went round and lay flat down behind the well, and waited. Presently the battle raged in that direction, when suddenly, with one glorious spring, Bob flung himself into the midst of the conflict. The fowls scattered and fluttered and fled, and flew in all directions, and next minute the great Newfoundland, wagging his saucy tail and laughing with his eyes, was enjoying his polonie as he lay at my feet.

Returning homewards, instead of pa.s.sing the Pitc.o.x lodge-gate, we boldly enter it; I cannot help feeling that I am guilty of trespa.s.s. However, we immediately find ourselves in a great rolling park, with delightful sylvan scenery on every side, with a river--the winding Papana-- meandering through the midst of the glen far down beneath and to the right.

After a drive of about a mile we descend by a winding road into this glen, and cross the river by a fine bridge. Then going on and on, we enter the archway, and presently are in front of the mansion house of Biel itself. It is a grand old place, a house of solid masonry, a house of square and octangular towers, long and low and strong.

It is the seat of a branch of the Hamilton ilk. Miss Hamilton was not then at home.

"No, the lady is not at home at present, sir," a baker who was driving a cart informed me, "but it would have been all one, sir. Every one is welcome to look at the place and grounds, and she would have been glad to see you."

We really had stopped at the back of the house, which is built facing the glen, but I soon found my way to the front.

I cannot describe the beauty of those terraced gardens, that one after another led down to the green glen beneath, where the river was winding as if loth to leave so sweet a place. They were ablaze with flowers, the gra.s.s in the dingle below was very green, the waters sparkled in the sunlight, and beyond the river the braeland was a rolling cloudland of green trees.

We drove out by an avenue--two miles long--bordered by young firs and cypresses.

Altogether, the estate is a kind of earthly paradise.

And think of it being constantly open to tourist or visitor!

"What a kind lady that Miss Hamilton must be, sir!" said my coachman.

"Yes, John," I replied. "This is somewhat different from our treatment at Newstead Abbey."

I referred to the fact that on my arrival at the gates of the park around that historical mansion where the great Byron lived, I could find no admission. In vain I pleaded with the lodge-keeper for liberty only to walk up the avenue and see the outside of the house.

No, she was immovable, and finally shut the gates with an awful clang in my face.

I have since learned that many Americans have been treated in the same way.

The heat of July the 23rd was very great and oppressive, and a haze almost hid the beautiful scenery 'twixt Dunbar and Haddington from our view.

Arrived at the latter quaint old town, however, we were soon at home, for, through the kindness of the editor of the _Courier_, the Wanderer found a resting-place in the beautiful haugh close by the riverside, and under the very shadow of the romantic old cathedral and church adjoining.

The cathedral was rendered a ruin by the soldiery of Cromwell, and very charming it looks as I saw it to-night under the rays of the moon.

The people of Haddington are genuinely and genially hospitable, and had I stayed here a month I believe I would still have been a welcome guest.

It is said that the coach-builders here are the best in Scotland. At all events I must do them the credit of saying they repaired a bent axle of my caravan, and enabled me on the afternoon of the 24th to proceed on my way in comfort and safety.

Not, however, before I had made a pilgrimage to the grave of poor Mrs Carlyle. The graveyard all around the church and cathedral is s.p.a.cious and well-kept, but her grave is inside the ruin.

It was very silent among these tall red gloomy columns; the very river itself glides silently by, and nothing is to be heard except the cooing of the pigeons high over head. The floor is the green sward, and here are many graves.

It was beside Mrs Carlyle's, however, that I sat down, and the reader may imagine what my thoughts were better than I can describe them.

An old flat stone or slab covers the grave, into which has been let a piece of marble bearing the following inscription beneath other names:

"Here likewise now rests Jane Welsh Carlyle, Spouse of Thomas Carlyle, Chelsea, London.

She was born at Haddington, 14th July, 1800, The only child of the above John Welsh, And of Grace Welsh, Caplegill, Dumfriesshire, his wife.

In her bright existence she Had more sorrows than are common, but also a soft Invincibility and clearness of discernment, and a n.o.ble Loyalty of heart which are rare. For 40 years she was The true and ever-loving helpmate of her husband, And by act and word unwearily forwarded him as none Else could, in all of worthy, that he did or attempted.

She died at London on the 21st April, 1866, Suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed away from him, and The light of his life, as if gone out."

I believe the above to be a pretty correct version of this strange inscription, though the last line seems to read hard.

There is a quaint old three-arched bridge spanning the river near the cathedral, and in it, if the tourist looks up on the side next the ruin, he will notice a large hook. On this hook culprits used to be hanged.

They got no six-foot drop in those days, but were simply run up as sailors run up the jib-sail, the slack of the rope was belayed to something, and they were left to kick until still and quiet in death.

A visit to a celebrated pigeonry was a pleasant change from the churchyard damp and the gloom of that ruined cathedral. Mr Coalston is a famous breeder of pigeons of many different breeds. The houses are very large, and are built to lean against a tall brick wall. The proprietor seemed pleased to show me his lovely favourites, and put them up in great flocks in their aviaries or flights.

So successful has this gentleman been in his breeding that the walls are entirely covered with prize cards.