Puslapio vaizdai

is, for the first time, employed in contributing a | A lower projection of the hill exhibits that curious share of its strength towards the promotion of the basaltic series of prismatic bent columns which manufactures of its country, by affording the ne- are known by the name of Samson's Ribs; and cessary supply of water to a pretty considerable above these, the line of the grand new Victoria tanning establishment; after which it runs down Road, executed by the Honourable the Commisa continuance of the same valley, having gardens sioners of Woods and Forests, in a style which on its left bank, and a fine stretch of rich arable might almost with truth be asserted to rival that fields on the other. It then washes the walls of of the Simplon itself, is seen stretching along the the new cemetery called the Newington Necro- face of the hill, and affording, at every step you polis, which is partially laid out on the slopes move, a changeful series of views of the utmost of its left bank, and which is doubtless destined richness and grandeur, rendering this pleasing to contain the ashes of many a great and good drive through the Royal Park of Holyrood altoman and woman. After leaving this, our little gether one of the most remarkable that the vicistream approaches a place called Sharpdale, nity of any great European city can boast of. nearly opposite to the pretty residence of "The It was by this side of the hill that Prince Charles Cameron," which is a small appendage to the and his Highlanders marched both to and from Prestonfield estate. the battle of Prestonpans in 1745, and their en

Here opens to us a field of geological and anti-campment was on the green slope under the rock quarian research, and etymological discussion, of Dunsappie, and immediately over the village which, to folks of our speculative kidney, is almost of Duddingstone. too tempting to be resisted, did we not feel that it is much too extensive for us to call upon our readers to follow us through it. But, on the other hand, we fear we might be accused of undue negligence, if we permitted ourselves to pass it by altogether without notice. To save time, however, we will ask of the reader, without putting us to the expense of finding arguments, or himself to that of finding patience to listen to them, to take it for granted, on our authority, that the Lake of Duddingstone, or some other lake of much larger extent, once covered all the plain here, and encircling a little islet where the house of "The Inch" stands-in this way conferred on it its name. In this state of things, "The Cameron" was "the crooked-nosed promontory" that here thrust itself into the lake. At the time when this was the condition of matters, our Jordan must have here finished its course; but since this large loch has disappeared, or receded from its ancient bounds, the existence of the stream has been extended, and it has been led to pursue a somewhat devious course, as it passes through the grounds of Prestonfield, afterwards to receive the stream of the Burn of Braid, near the place where it enters the Park of Duddingstone House. Just above this point, it is joined by the small stream supplied by and discharged from the loch. In this last part of its course, although it perfumes the summer air with its beds of Queen of the Meadow, its more immediate banks possess few features of interest either pictorial or historical. But the objects at some distance from them on either side are well worthy of notice. Prestonfield, the seat of Sir Robert Keith Dick Conynghame, is a fine old place, which has been a good deal modernised. It stands among some ancient trees; and, to the north of it, the bold face of Arthur Seat rises very grandly. It is now quite bare of timber, but we believe that not much more than a century and a half, or perhaps two centuries, have elapsed since it was covered with oak wood, for the destruction of which every possible encouragement was held out by the authorities, seeing that it served as a place of shelter "for all manner of thieves and lymmers."

This is a very pretty little village, chiefly composed of nice houses, each with its pleasant garden. The church, which stands on a knoll rising over the lake, is old and curious, and the manse and its terrace gardens, which are in themselves most lovely, are rendered doubly so to us from their association in our minds with many an innocent, happy, intellectual, and instructive hour which we have had the good fortune to pass there with a late incumbent, the Rev. John Thomson. In his parish he was warmly estimated for his deeds of Christian kindness and charity; but by the world at large he was chiefly known by the exquisite landscapes he painted, which, in regard to composition and colouring, were always full of the highest poetical imagination and feeling. To this day, he stands unrivalled in these particulars. But great as were his talents in this fascinating art, as well as in the sister art of music, the science of which he deeply understood, we who partook of the closest intimacy of friendship with him-who knew his head, and the wonderful extent of his information, and the acuteness of his perception, which enabled him to take an immediate grasp of any subject, and to discuss it with a truth and a clearness that rendered him almost unrivalled in conversation, and with a playfulness of manner, too, that made everything, however valuable, fall from him like dew-drops shaken from the lion's mane; and, above all, we who knew that generous and feeling heart, which was at all times prompting him to afford us lessons in his own person of pure practical Christianity—are disposed to give but a secondary place to that high accomplishment which has gained him so public and so permanent a name. How lovely has that retired lake often appeared to us, when, tired with the turmoil of the city, we, often in company with the late amiable Grecian Williams, have sought shelter for an hour or two from its bustle in his improving society! and how have we watched the effect of sunset, pouring its level rays past the southern shoulder of Arthur Seat, and lighting up the whole of its surface into one golden flame!

Considerably to the right of the course of our

Jordan, there is a very old Scottish mansion, through the extensive grounds of Dreghorn, and thence through an agricultural country, which is without any great or particular marked object of

known by the name of Peffer Mill, which most people have set down as the true and legitimate place of Dumbiedykes. But a still more strik-interest, until it throws itself into the deep and ing feature in the surrounding landscape is that most interesting ruin, Craigmillar Castle, which crowns the rising ground to the south. As our tributary, the Burn of Braid, runs to the north of it, we should perhaps, under a more strict attention to order, have left it for notice whilst describing that stream; but, as it comes so prominently into view here, we may perhaps as well discuss it now. It was an ancient seat of the Prestons, who continued in possession of it for about three hundred years. Their arms are to be found upon it; and in one place, on the lintel of a doorway in the outer courtyard wall, a pun on the name is carved in the form of a wine press and a ton. The arms of the Cockburns of Ormiston, the Congaltons of Congalton, the Mowbrays of Barnbougle, and the Otterburns of Redford, all ancient families with whom the Prestons were intimately connected, are to be found here. King James V. resided here for some months during his minority, having been obliged to leave Edinburgh Castle on account of the plague. But the best known and most interesting association with this castle is, that Queen Mary frequently made it her residence after her return from France in 1561, and her French retinue were quartered in a small village at the foot of the southern side of the hill, which was thence called Petit France, a name which it still retains to this day.

We have now followed the Jordan from its source till it receives the Burn of Braid. Before tracing it hence downwards to the sea, we must give a short and very general notion of the beauties of this its sister stream. The Burn of Braid rises from two separate sources in the Pentland Hills, above Lord Cockburn's residence of Bonaly; and it was this fact which misled one of the disputants in regard to the source of the Jordan. These streams unite in, and give great additional beauty to, the lovely wilderness of sweets which art and taste have created here. The place itself is a beautiful retreat, and the views of the distant city and country from some of its terraces are matchless. But, interesting as it would be as a theme to expatiate upon, how much more interesting, and how much more extensive would be that which is furnished by the very name of the owner! And we ask our reader, whether we are not really and truly merciful in quietly submitting to abandon so prolific a subject, which might have enabled us, without any great risk of being thought unreasonable, to have given an account of the origin and early history of the Edinburgh Review, together with a recapitulation of all the most celebrated criminal trials in Scotland for many years back, together with an outline of every rational scheme that has ever been brought forward in recent times for ameliorating the political, the physical, or the moral condition of the people?

After leaving Bonaly, the stream passes

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romantic rocky and grandly wooded Glen of Braid, whence it receives its name. This opens longitudinally between the two hills of Blackford and of Baird. A more wild or beautiful scene for solitary contemplation cannot be imagined'; and here is the House of Braid, which has fancifully been called "The Hermitage," to which its position more than its architecture may give it some claim. This was the principal estate of Sir William Dick, whose history we have already given. It passed from him to his eldest son, and from him into the family of the Browns of Gorgie, who had heavy mortgages on it. After passing out of the eternal shade of this dark part of the glen, the stream runs sparkling along the more open part of it for more than a mile, where not a tree occurs to throw a shadow over its smiling surface. On the south side, there are fine sloping agricultural fields,! and high up above them rises the very rude, old, peel tower of Libberton; whilst, on the north, there are crags and large beds of furze, the haunts of linnets and goldfinches, and the imme diate banks of the stream are covered with the broad leaves of the Tussilago Petasites, a plant which is so valuable to landscape painters for the enrichment of their foregrounds. The agricultural part of the valley then extends downwards for about a mile, after passing through which the stream skirts the place of "The Inch," formerly noticed; whence it hurries past the ancient house of Peffer Mill, to form its junction with the Jordan immediately above the point where their united waters enter the park of the Marquis of Abercorn's delightful residence of Duddingstone House. There, they are tastefully expanded into a very beautiful little lake; and, upon leaving these grounds, they are made to give motion to some very important mills; after the performance of which duty, they quietly find their way onwards through an extremely rich agricultural district, passing near to the remains of an ancient Roman Road, vulgarly called the Fishwife's Causeway, from the fisherwomen carrying basket loads of fish to Edinburgh, always preferring to take it in preference to the ordinary highway. This has been much obliterated by the operations of the Great North British Railway, under the viaduct of which the stream afterwards passes in its way to throw itself into the sea, at the northern extremity of the pretty and well-frequented bathing place of Portobello.

We have now completed a task, which we must confess to have been an extremely pleasant one to ourselves, however it may have affected our readers; and offering to them, as we now do, this account of our little Jordan as our primitiæ in regard to our articles on the Scottish Rivers, we leave them, upon the principle of “Ex pede Herculem," to judge as to what they may look for when we come to our Clyde or our Tweed, our Spey or our Findhorn.

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(Concluded from the March Number.)

THE readers of this Magazine will remember its being | With some difficulty and great exertion, we managed to remarked by the first speaker at the Forest Coun- get the chaise to the next village, and to the inn, or cillor'srather beer-house-there was but one, and that a dirty, “Besides, Morn did not reject the world till the smoky den. I inquired immediately for a smith and a world rejected him."

"That is, he was cheated by a few knaves, from whom no one in their senses would have expected anything else, and he did not find everybody ready to make prompt acknowledgment of his merits and services, some of them being, by the bye, known only to those interested in concealing them.”

"Was he the only person who, because his situation was subordinate, has been obliged to submit in silence, while others engrossed the fruits of his labours? Right doing would be a mighty easy thing, if applause and profit were its certain rewards."

These words produced a second dispute. Each defended his own views with warmth, if not with judgment; and the party separated more confirmed, or at least more obstinate, in their own opinion than ever. At the next weekly meeting at the Forest Councillor's, some of the disputants took up the argument where they had left it, and prepared to fight the battle manfully all over again. The Councillor remained faithful to his character for moderation, and chose a middle path between Morn's censurers and his eulogists. The party were getting somewhat over warm, when our host reminded us that we had not yet heard the story of the second Millionaire. There was an immediate silence, at which the Councillor dexterously profited to put an end to the dispute by the following narration :—

Some years ago, I was returning from Amsterdam, where I had been sent by my Government to obtain payment for some timber for ship-building, about which some difficulties had arisen with the Dutch Government. I had succeeded beyond my expectation in my commission: a new and more advantageous bargain had been concluded, and I was congratulating myself on the credit I should obtain with my Government. It was evening: I was snugly packed in the corner of my new travelling chaise, hugging myself on the prospect of a comfortable night's rest, after travelling the whole of the preceding night over some of the worst roads in Germany, and that is saying much. I was soon shaken out of my doze into which I had fallen, by a tremendous jolt. My old servant, Kunz, who was on the box, was sent flying through the air, and deposited high and dry on a bank by the road-side, before he had time to take the pipe from his mouth, and I was projected with such force in the rear of the postilion, that he was under the horses' feet in a second. Fortunately, the animals, being natives," and to the matter born," took our mishap very coolly, and stood quite still, while the bipeds were scattering in all directions, as if it had been an adventure they expected, and had made up their minds to. The axle-tree and a spring of the chaise were broken, and so was the postilion's nose; I was quit for the fright, but poor Kunz had dislocated his shoulder.


wheelwright; neither were to be had in the place, and the landlord himself advised me to go on to Hard, where I should get all I wanted. "There were no better workmen for many hundred miles round than were to be found at Hard."

Poor Kunz was suffering greatly, and the Esculapius of the village, who had been immediately summoned, could only shake his head and lament that the surgeon had died a few weeks before he himself never undertook operations. "The best thing you can do," said he, "is to take your servant to Hard, where you will find an excellent surgeon.

"And where, then, is this same Hard?" asked I; "I know no town of that name here."

"It is not a town; it is a village, a short four miles hence."

"And how is it that the best artisans and the most skilful professional men live in the villages instead of the towns?"

"Oh, that is the doing of the Schulze; he is a strange character-a humourist, as it is called-a fool, I say, who can do nothing like other people. He wants to make a city of his paltry village, I believe. He has money enough; they say he is a Millionaire, and it is like enough; but he is a miserable, parsimonious wretch, and has as many whims as hairs. I know him well enough, though I have nothing to do with him, thank Heaven.”

"And I shall find a good inn at Hard, you say?


Oh, yes, certainly; a very good one. There are mineral waters there. Ila Schulze has built a house there for the visiters to the springs, and that will be his ruin, in my humble opinion-that and the doctor he has thought fit to establish there ;-a conceited, ignorant body-a mere quack, with his new-fangled notions."

The old gentleman held forth long and loudly in dispraise of his learned, or unlearned, brother or rival, whichever he might be; nevertheless, as he admitted I should find the best surgeon, the best wheelwright, and the best smith in Hard, to Hard I resolved to go. On the following morning, the chaise was patched up as well as it could be with ropes and poles; Kunz, who was still in great pain, packed in as comfortably as circumstances admitted, and despatched before me to the much-talked-of Hard; and the weather being extraordinarily fine, and the way not easily mistaken, I followed on foot.

Scarcely half a mile from the village I was leaving, there was a sudden and striking improvement in the condition of the land. On both sides of the carefullykept road were rows of fruit trees, in the finest order. The fields beyond seemed admirably cultivated; not a weed to be seen, the grass abundant, and of the richest quality. Before me lay the village, consisting of cot


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Ugh!" replied the old man, with a discontented grunt, unlike it is, sure enough, Our village was burnt to the ground about fifteen years ago, and we were obliged to build it so, because the Government would have it. They couldn't have done it worse. I have a good mile further to go to church every Sunday, and that's hard enough for us old folks, especially in winter, and some must go farther still. Ah! it was a terrible fire, sure enough, There were not five houses spared."

"And how did the fire happen?"


Straight on, Sir, on the left hand, near the church; I am the landlady."

"So much the better. Then you can tell me at once what accommodation I can have for myself and my servant for a few days."

"Oh," said the old lady, with a discontented air, "that's another thing. I can't lodge gentlefolk: I've no convenience. You must go t'other house there, higher up on the hill. I saw a broken gimcrack of a chaise there a while agone, I suppose it was yours."

"Do you see that little white house with the green shutters there," continued the old woman, when I asked for some further direction; "that's the Schulze's, and close to it is the big new inn for strangers."

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'It is of no advantage to you, then ?"

"Not it, indeed, nor to any one else. Since he's been in the village, my house is not worth half what it was. God forgive him! he will have much to answer for at the last day. Yes, yes," continued she, grumbling, "I should change my plan, quotha. A pretty thing, indeed, at my time of life, to go to school! I was not to be cozened that way, Mr. Schulze! The heavens be praised! I can do without him or the house either, for the matter of that."

"Ugh! Heaven knows! People say all sorts of things! Some will have it, the Schulze set it on fire himself, on purpose to vex us; but I don't say that actly." “But that is a terrible charge indeed against your with a smile of malicious satisfaction. "Ah, ah, old Schulze."

While she was speaking, I heard a sudden and warm ex-strife of tongues in one of the neighbouring cottages. The old lady pricked up her ears, and nodded her head

"Ah!" said the elder, shaking his head significantly, "many and many's the trick he has played us, He was schoolmaster here first; but he had interest somehow with the Government, and so he was palmed upon us as Schulze. Oh, he's as cunning as a fox, and as hard to catch."

"Is he rich ?"

“I believe you; as rich as a Jew! But he can't enjoy his money; he lives poorer than any day-labourer. But he is caught sometimes, cunning as he is," added the old man, chuckling. "When the whim seizes him, he throws away his money by the handful. He'll ruin himself at last with his new-fangled nonsense; and who cares? He only uses his money to tyrannise over his poor neighbours.”

In this strain the ancient went on wandering, till I wished him good morning, and he struck off through a bye-path.

The view was so charming, so like our dreams of Arcadia, that, involuntarily loitering on my way, I sat down under a tree to enjoy it at my leisure. "How happy, how supremely happy, might the dwellers in this Paradise become, if Satan did not always take a hand in the game of life," thought I. "Who but Satan could have put it into the heads of the Government to send a fellow here to play the great man, and make these honest folks miserable."

While I thus mused, an old woman passed, whom I immediately hailed,

"Good day, mother; Whereabouts in the village is the public house, can you tell me?"

Gletchen's catching it at last; serve her right, too— serve her right;" and the old dame trotted off, evidently well pleased that one of her gossips had got into a scrape of some sort, probably with the redoubtable village monarch himself. As I passed the house whence the sounds proceeded, the door opened, and a man, in a dress no way superior to that of a peasant, except that it was scrupulously clean, came out. He was evidently displeased at something; close to him came an old woman in tears, who seemed to be deprecating his wrath, and after her walked a young man, who held out his hand to the departing visiter, with the words, " You are perfectly right, Master Schulze; I had warned mother often enough," pronounced in a hearty tone.

"Well, well," returned the Schulze, with a kind of authoritative kindness; "for this once I will overlook it."

The old woman reiterated her assurances that the subject of complaint, whatever it might be, should not again occur, and the village despot walked off. He took the same path that had been pointed out to me as the nearest to the inn I was in search of. I quickened my pace. I had a curiosity to see the face of the griping millionaire of whom I had heard so much in so short a time; yet I could not say why I should have any desire to see more of a man, to whose advantage so little could be said by those who knew him best. He walked on so quickly that I should not have easily overtaken him, if he had not stopped again to speak to some countrymen coming from the village, We exchanged salutations as I came up, and he gave me the pas civilly enough, and that was enough to begin a conver




"But you, strangest of beings! how came you so ? Why, with your fine talents and abundant knowledge, do I find you buried in this remote nook of earth? Can it be your free choice?"

sation. It turned naturally enough upon the fruitful- "I," replied Engelbert, laughing: "you may satisfy ness of the surrounding country. His manner was per-yourself-look at me. I am what I look like a peafectly unassuming, but very decided, and his expressions sant, and also Schulze of this village." betrayed a degree of cultivation greatly beyond what might have been expected from his rustic appearance. As to the land, he asserted roundly that it was neither better nor worse than the other land in the neighbourhood, with which I had instituted a comparison greatly to the advantage of the former; the only difference he would admit was the better cultivation. "That very circumstance," I said, "was worthy all my admiration!" "Every proprietor lives here in the midst of his own land," said the Schulze," and thus it is the easier to overlook and cultivate it."

But this rich pasturage," said I

"My free choice!" "And how long have you lived here?" "Nineteen years, and most happily." "Well, well, but explain yourself a little."

"Another time; come to breakfast now. My wife and family will be waiting for us."

We went on a little further, and a sudden turn of the path brought us to the lime trees, under the shade of which sat a beautiful woman of about thirty years of age, in a rustic dress, and with an infant on her lap, At her feet sat another, under two years of age, to whom a rosy cheeked, golden-haired brother was bringing flowers. Two elder boys, apparently between the ages of seven and twelve, were standing near their lovely mother with books in their hands, and their great blue eyes fixed on me with curiosity. Their dress was like their father's, and no way differing either in form or material from that of peasants. The Schulze presented me to his wife, over whose delicate features a gentle blush passed as she returned my salutation. I was speedily acquainted with the whole charming group, The children lay on the grass round a large, exquisitely clean wooden vessel full of milk, which, with the ordi

"You have not perhaps observed, that all the meadows lie together and are well irrigated. We have also fine marl in the neighbourhood. So they have, or might have, in the other places of which you spoke just now; but the people are idle and ignorant. Nature is always a kind mother, but men do not always give themselves the trouble to understand her language; they prefer their own darkness to her light." This remark was somewhat too philosophical for a village schoolmaster or Schulze. I turned to look again at my companion in his rustic tunic and coarse straw hat. There was, I thought, something beyond his condition in his countenance-I might almost say something noble. I fancied, moreover, that the features were familiar to me. The Schulze returned my gaze with a penetrating look.nary black bread, formed their breakfast. White bread "Are you not," said he at length, Adolphe Von Rödern!" "Von Rödern is my name," still unable to identify the person before me.


He laughed, and held out his hand. "What, my slender friend, once the delight of every bright eye in ." I attempted to withdraw my hand, for I took it into my head that my new acquaintance was hoaxing me; but he held it fast, and went on "The world goes well with you; why, what a broad-shouldered, portly-looking young man you are become! And what good wind has blown you hither from the golden middle path you love so well, to such a bye-way as the road to Hard? I bid you heartily welcome, however, since you eame. What, do you not know me yet?"

I stood looking stupid enough, I believe. I could not for my life recollect where I had seen the speaker. Suddenly a ray of light flashed on my mind. Was it -could it be my University friend, Engelbert ? "Engelbert it is, and no other." I was deeply moved; the golden days of my youth returned in a moment. I returned his embrace heartily, and forgot in a moment all the ill that had been spoken of him. He called a boy from a neighbouring field, and bade him run directly to his wife. Say that I have found a brother," said he; "tell her to have the breakfast carried under the lime trees, We will join her directly."



I was called upon immediately for a sketch of my life since we had parted at Inbingen, the cause of my present journey, and my visit to Hard. The story of many of our former mutual friends came in episodically; and, among others, Morn's, you may be sure, was not forgotten. "And now for yourself, my friend," said I at length, “it is your turn now,”

and newly-churned fresh butter were brought for me, with a flask of old Burgundy. "I know of old your hostility to milk breakfasts," said Engelbert. It seemed to me like a dream; the sight of this really picturesque group, and the extraordinary rencontre with Engelbert as a peasant-he who had been admitted to be the best endowed by nature, the richest in acquired knowledge amongst our whole circle at the University! Somewhat eccentric he had always been considered, but his singularities had been excused as the harmless freaks of a young, inexperienced, and enthusiastic head. But that such a one, destined by nature and fortune for the most splendid career, should end in becoming a village schoolmaster and Schulze-who, in heaven's name, could ever have expected this?

His Augusta-so he called his wife-his children, were evidently most fondly attached to him, as he was to them. How could this man be so selfish, so grasping, so hard-hearted as he had been painted to me? And yet the wealth he was said to possess awakened my suspicions; it had been well known at the University that his family was very moderately endowed with the goods of fortune, and then how did this opulence tally with the simplicity, not to say parsimony, exhibited in the dress and style of living of his family? A miser he must certainly be. I resolved to lengthen my stay, and examine my man a little closer. After breakfast, we continued our walk up the hill.

"I cannot lodge you under my humble roof," said Engelbert, "for I have no spare room. But you will find everything you can want in the inn. I have established baths there over the sulphur springs, and you may take your choice of the rooms, as the season has not yet begun. No visiters will be here before next month,"

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