Walks near Edinburgh

WALKS NEAR EDINBURGH.

WALK I.

Bruntisfield--St. Margaret's Convent--Canaan Lane-- Hermitage of Braid--Morton Hall--Dreghorn--Colinton-- Craiglockhart--Craighouse--Merchiston Castle--The Wryteshouses.

At the outset of these walks, I must pause and explain to my imaginary companions where we are going, and what we are going to see. Let them not raise their hopes too high! I am taking them neither to the dark and mysterious wynds of the Old Town, nor to the beautiful and distant glen of the Esk, nor farther afield, to Linlithgow's "lonely bower." My sphere is a humbler one. The Old Town of Edinburgh has been so much and so ably written upon, that it can only be from idleness that any one is ignorant of its history. Roslin, Hawthornden, Dalkeith, Linlithgow, have each their separate guide-books, with every detail most fully given. But extending round Edinburgh, at a distance of from three to five miles, are a number of curious old places, and remains of antiquity, of which the traditions are gradually dying away. The great extension of the town of late years has swept away the memory of some; others, from having changed owners at short intervals, have lost the recollections of their former days; others, again, can only have their history unravelled by a diligent search through scarce, and sometimes voluminous works.

To collect some of these stories and out-of-the-way facts together has been my object; and if those who have neither time nor money for more distant expeditions will accompany me on an afternoon ramble, I think they will find much to interest them. I have avoided statistics of any kind,--they are the dry bones of description, and can easily be looked up if they are wanted,--and I have limited myself to the desultory information, which would naturally be poured forth in the course of a walk. The first one begins very much within the suburbs, but, as one writes most readily of what one knows best, I begin with my own home.

Bruntisfield is the last of the old houses in the immediate vicinity of Edinburgh which is still inhabited by its owners. Merchiston Castle and the Grange are let; the Wryteshouse has long disappeared; but Bruntisfield, in spite of recent additions and alterations, still preserves much of the character of the semi-fortified mansion, with protecting outworks, which centuries ago frowned over the Boroughmuir. Its antiquity is even more apparent inside than outside, from the thickness of the walls, the diversities of the levels, and the steep little turret stairs.

The earliest owners of Bruntisfield appear to have been the Lauders of Haltoun (or Hatton, as it is called now). In 1452 we find James II. granting a charter to his consort, Queen Marie, "for the very sincere affection which he bears towards her," of the lands of Haltoun, the Plat, Weschal, Nortoun, Broumysfelde (Bruntisfield), the North Row of Rathow, and the rents of Gogar, belonging to the king by the forfeiture of the late "William de Laudre of Haltoun." The Lauders seem to have been shortly after restored, for in 1490 King James IV. granted a charter to "Sir Alexander Lawdre of Haltoun of the lands of Broumsfield." The same Sir Alexander, seven years later (1497), assigned "Brounisfeld, with its mansion-house, garden and herbarium (or park), to his son Alexander Lawder," who in James IV.'s confirmation of the charter (1506) is quaintly styled "the king's familiar," and who held these lands of his father by the yearly payment of a red rose. Bruntisfield appears to have been considered a suitable appanage for the heir-apparent of Haltoun, for in August 1586 we find James VI. confirming a charter of Sir William Lauder granting these lands to his eldest son Alexander.

Soon after this (in 1603) Bruntisfield passed away from the Lauders, being sold by Alexander Lauder to John Fairlie, probably a cadet of the family of Braid.[1] He apparently altered and added to the house, as it would seem from the date 1605, which with the initials I. F.--E. W., is over some of the windows. The original house was of much older date, as we have evidence that a mansion-house stood here in 1457.

[1] The arms of Fairlie of Bruntisfield were--or, a lion rampant; in chief three stars gules. (Nisbet's Heraldry.)

In 1695 William Fairlie sold Bruntisfield to George Warrender, afterwards Lord Provost of Edinburgh, and created a baronet in 1715. His family was of French extraction,--his ancestor, a De Warende, having come from Picardy in the train of Mary of Guise. By degrees he acquired other lands lying contiguous to Bruntisfield, by purchase from Rigg of Riggsland, Biggar of Whitehouse, and Dick of Grange; and these form the property of Bruntisfield as it now stands.

The Lauders of Haltoun became extinct in the 17th century, and their representation devolved on the Maitland family by the marriage of Elizabeth Lauder, the heiress of Haltoun, with Charles, fourth Earl of Lauderdale. That descent we have inherited through my father's mother, Lady Julian Maitland; so that, after a lapse of nearly three hundred years, the descendants of the original possessors inhabit the old house again.

After the purchase of Bruntisfield by George Warrender, it remained for nearly a hundred years in possession of the younger branch of the family, which came to an end in 1820 by the death of Hugh Warrender, an old bachelor, who was Crown Agent for Scotland.[2] He was succeeded by his cousin, my grand-uncle, the Right Hon. Sir George Warrender, M.P., who on taking possession discovered the existence of a secret room. The house was then thickly covered with ivy. Lee, the Royal Academician, and an architect that Sir George had brought down from London with him, were the first to suspect its existence, from finding more windows outside than they could account for. The old woman who had charge of the house denied for a long time any knowledge of such a room; but, frightened by Sir George's threats, she at length showed them the narrow entrance, that was concealed behind a piece of tapestry. This was torn down, and the door forced open, and a room was found, just as it had been left by some former occupant,--the ashes still in the grate. Whether, as one story said, it had been used as a hiding-place in troubled times,--or whether, according to another legend, it had been the room of a dearly loved child of the house, after whose death it had been hurriedly shut up, never to be entered again by the broken-hearted parents,--there are now no means of knowing; but the blood-stains on the floor point to some darker tragedy, and a tradition still lingers that, not long after the discovery of the room, a skeleton was found buried below the windows. It is still known as the Ghost-room, though nothing has been seen, at any rate for many years.

[2] The following lines were found among some old family papers, and are headed,--

VERSES--A FRAGMENT.

Descriptive of Bruntisfield House, now in the possession of Mr. Warrender, written in June 1790 at the desire of a young lady to whom the author was much attached.

Near where Edina's smoky turrets rise, And Arthur rears his bold and lofty head, Where the green meadow broad expanded lies, And yellow furze the sporting links bespread,--

By tallest Elms and spreading Beech concealed From vulgar eyes--from busy care retired, To tender Melancholy alone revealed, Or Love, by Truth and Gentleness inspired,--

An ancient Pile of gothic structure stands, Whose massy walls still brave the lapse of years, Once the retreat of rude confederate Bands, Or safe Asylum to a virgin's fears.

No longer now the seat of War's alarms, Far gentler sounds are echoed here around, Sacred to Genius--here th' Enthusiast warms, Or pensive walks as o'er enchanted ground.

No longer on the jarring hinges sweeps Th' unwieldy Portal as in times of yore. Secure within the peaceful owner sleeps, Nor dreams of wounds, or pants for human gore.

The arched Gateway open still invites, The curious Traveller to pause awhile, Instructs the grave--the gay but ill delights, Nor asks the vacant for a single smile.

High o'er its top the branching Elms ascend, And gild their summits in the Evening beam, The creeping ivy, Ruin's constant friend, Clasps its worn sides and enters every seam.

Musing, within these limits oft I rove, A slave to Love's alternate hopes and fears, With heedless footsteps pace the silent grove, And vent the Sorrows of my heart in tears.

Here tune my Soul to Pity's softest strain, Mark the swift progress of Life's fleeting hour, Learn, from my own, to feel another's Pain, Nor covet wealth, or court ambitious Power.

Here too, when from the West the sun's last ray Shoots thro' the gloom, and brightens all the scene, Here fair Eliza oft was wont to stray, And add new lustre to the vernal green.

The newly-built houses which now closely surround Bruntisfield have swept away two curious landmarks of the past. One was the mound of earth on which James IV. stood to review his army, preparatory to the expedition which ended so disastrously at Flodden.[3] The other was a flat, moss-grown stone which lay in the park, almost hidden by the grass and daisies growing round it. On it was carved a skull, surmounted by a winged hour-glass and a mutilated scroll; and below it a shield bearing a saltier, and the initials M. I. R. and the date 1645. "The M.," says Wilson in his Reminiscences of Old Edinburgh, "surmounted the shield, indicative of the standing of the deceased as a Master of Arts, and so telling of a scholar and a gentleman, who slept there apart from his kin, a victim to that last and most fatal visitation of the plague." When that part of the park was built over, the stone was carefully removed from its ancient site, and placed in safety against a wall in the garden of Bruntisfield, where, though much obliterated by weather, its carvings can still be traced.

[3] When my aunt, Lady John Scott, was staying at Bruntisfield in 1863, she trenched the mound across, and made a thorough examination of it, but discovered nothing, beyond that it was undoubtedly artificial.

Once outside the gate of Bruntisfield, we find ourselves on the Links, but there is little of their former country wildness left about them now. Houses hem them closely in on every side. The straight paths, formal rows of young trees, and stiff plots of shrubbery, give them the look of a suburban common. The occasional golf-player, a rare sight now, seems like a ghost of the past still lingering in his old haunts. Let us call back the past as it was two hundred and fifty years ago, and what a different scene is here! Before us lies an open, undulating muirland, covered with whin and broom, and in the more sheltered hollows grow thickets of thorn and natural oak. This is the great Boroughmuir, which stretches far away to the hills of Braid, and in more remote times formed part of the ancient forest of Drumselch. A long winding loch lies between us and the town, in the low ground which future generations were to call the Meadows. Its placid waters and reed-fringed shores are the haunts of innumerable wild-fowl. The moor is bare and desolate, but here and there rises a stern, grey tower, half fortress, half dwelling-house, with a few humble cottages clustering round it for protection and defence. Such is the Wryteshouse, the ancient home of the Napiers, its walls enriched with quaint carvings and inscriptions, which crowns the gently rising ground at the south-west corner of the loch. The evening breeze no longer brings us the sweet sound of St. Catherine's vesper bell, for long before the day whose story is unrolled before us the tide of the Reformation had swept wildly through the land; but the shattered walls still remain to bear witness to the piety of an elder generation. St. Roque's Chapel is in ruins, but the victims of the plague still find a last resting-place near the shrine of their patron saint.