Part 17

But we felt quite sure that the town of Douglas would in council assembled extend a warm welcome to the Americans and see us safely housed, even if there were not a hotel in the place. So on we went. While passing through Lugar, a pretty young miss ran out of the telegraph office, and holding up both hands, called: "Stop! It's no aff yet! it's no aff yet!" A message was coming for the coaching party. It proved to be from our Douglas landlord, saying, All right! he would do the best he could for us. When the party was informed how much we had been trusting in Providence for the past few hours, such was their enthusiasm that some disappointment was expressed at the reassuring character of the telegram. Not to know where we were going to be all night--may be to have to lie in and on the coach--would have been such fun! But "Behind yon hill where Lugar flows," sung by Eliza, sounded none the less sweet when we knew we were not likely to have to camp out upon its pretty banks. It is essential for successful happy coaching with ladies that every comfort should be provided. I am satisfied it would never do to risk the weaker sex coaching in any other land. The extreme comfort of everything here alone keeps them well and able to stand the gypsy life.

We travelled most of the day among the ore lands and blast furnaces of the Scotch pig-iron kings, the Bairds. To reach Edinburgh we had to drive diagonally eastward across the country, for we had gone to the westward that Dumfries and the Land of Burns might not be missed. This route took us through less frequented localities, off the main lines of travel, but our experience justified us in feeling that this had proved a great advantage, for we saw more of Scotland than we should have done otherwise.

Our luncheon to-day was a novel one in some respects. No inn was to be reached upon the moors, and feed for the horses had to be taken with us from Cumnock; but we found the prettiest little wimpling burn, across which a passage was made by throwing in big stones, for the shady dell was upon the far side. The horses were unhitched and allowed to nibble the wayside grass beside our big coach, which loomed up on the moor as if it were double its true size.

[Sidenote: _Scotch Weather._]

The thistle and the harebell begin to deck our grassy tables at noon, and fine fields of peas and beans scent the air. All is Scotch; and oh, that bracing breeze, which cools deliciously the sun's bright rays, confirms us in the opinion that no weather is like Scotch weather, when it is good; when it is not I have no doubt the same opinion is equally correct, but we have no means of judging. Scotland smiles upon her guests, and we love her with true devotion in return. "What do you think of Scotland noo?" came often to-day; but words cannot express what we do think of her. In the language of one of our young ladies, "She is just lovely!"

The question came up to-day at luncheon, would one ever tire of this gypsy life? and it was unanimously voted never! At least no one could venture to name a time when he would be ready to return to the prosy routine of ordinary existence while blessed with such weather and such company. Indeed, this nomadic life must be the hardest of all to exchange for city life. It is so diametrically opposed to it in every phase. "If I were not the independent gentleman I am," says Lamb, "I should choose to be a beggar." "Chapsey me a gypsy," gentle Elia, you could not have known of that life, or perhaps you considered it and the beggar's life identical. But, mark you, there is a difference which is much more than a distinction. A gypsy cannot beg, but he or she tells fortunes, tinkers a little and deals in horses. Even if he steals a little now and then, I take it he is still within the lines of the profession; while your beggar who does anything in the way of work, or who steals, is no true man. His license is for begging only. The gypsy obviously has the wider range, and I say again, therefore, "Chapsey me a gypsy," gentle Elia.

Davie and I walked over to the railway line after luncheon to have a talk with the surfacemen we saw at work. They were strong, stalwart men, and possessed of that shrewd, solid sense which is invariably found in Scotch workmen. Their pay seemed very small to us; the foreman got only twenty shillings per week ($5), while the ordinary surfaceman got fourteen shillings ($3.50). Although this was only a single-track branch line, it was almost as well laid as the Pennsylvania Railroad. None of the men had ever been in America, but several had relatives there who were doing well, and they looked forward to trying the new land some day.

We reached pretty Douglas in the evening, and sounded our horn longer than usual to apprize mine host that the host was upon him. We were greatly pleased to see him and his good wife standing in the door of the inn with pleasant, smiling faces to greet us. They had arranged everything for our comfort. Many thanks to those gentlemanly officers who had so kindly given up their rooms to accommodate their American cousins. Quarters for the gentlemen had been found in the village, and Joe and Perry and the horses were all well taken care of. Thus we successfully passed through the only occasion where there seemed to be the slightest difficulty about our resting-place for the night.

[Sidenote: _Home Castle._]

Douglas, the ancient seat of that family so noted in Scotland's history, is really worth a visit. Home Castle, their residence, is a commanding pile seen for many miles up the valley as we approach the town. Our visit to it was greatly enjoyed, we had such a pretty walk in the evening, and a rest on the slope of the hill overlooking the castle. We lay there in the grass and enjoyed the quiet Scotch gloaming which was gathering round us, and so silently, so slowly shutting in the scene. The castle upon the left below us, the Douglas water so placidly gliding through the valley at our feet, the old church where lay mouldering generations of the Douglases, and the dark woods beyond, formed a picture which kept us long upon the hill.

In their day, what bustling men were these doughty Douglases--full of sturt and strife--the very ideal representatives of the warrior bold, who made their way and held their own by the strength of their good right arms.

"A steede, a steede of matchless speede, A sword of metal keene, All else to noble minds is dross, All else on earth is meane; And O the thundering press of knights, When loud their war cries swell, Might serve to call a saint from heaven Or rouse a fiend from helle."

This was their ideal--the very reverse, thank God, of the ideal of to-day--but note how peacefully they lie now in the little antiquated church in this obscure valley. What shadows we are! What shadows we pursue! This vein once started in the Scotch gloaming upon the hills, where the coloring of the scene is so sombre as to be not only seen but felt, must be indulged in sparingly, or some of the Charioteers might soon have to record a new experience--a fit of the blues. But this was prevented by comparing the advance made by the race upon this question of war within the past century. The "profession of arms" is very soon to be rated as it deserves. The apology for it will be the same as for any other of the butchering trades--it is necessary. Granted for the present, but what of the nature which selects such a profession!

[Sidenote: _Epitaphs._]

The inscriptions upon the tombs of the Douglases recalled other epitaphs; some one said of all the inscriptions yet seen, he thought that upon the tomb of the Duke of Devonshire gave us the best lesson.

It runs thus:

"Who lyeth heare? Ye gude Yearle of Devenshere-- What he had is gone, What he kept is lost, What he gave--_that_ he hath."

We were on the verge of moralizing. Some one scenting the danger, said he thought an equally suggestive epitaph headed one of the chapters of "David Elginbrod":

"Here lies David Elginbrod, Hae mercy on his soul, oh God! As he'd a-had, had he been God, An ye'd been David Elginbrod."

Yes, there is food for thought here too. David must have been a queer one.

The sky grew darker, and the far-off woods faded into a cloud upon the horizon; the party rose, and in so doing regained their usual hilarity--forgot all about tombs and were off for a run hand-in-hand down the gentle slope to the valley, shouting and laughing in great glee--and so on over the pretty bridge to their delightful inn.

* * * * *

DOUGLAS, July 20.

Edinburgh, Scotia's darling seat, only forty-four miles distant. All aboard, this pretty morning, for Edinburgh! "Right, Perry!" and off we went quite early through Douglas, for the capital. Our path was through woods for several miles, and we listened to the birds and saw and heard many of the incidents of morn so prettily described by Beattie:

"The wild brook babbling down the mountain-side, The lowing herd; the sheep-fold's simple bell; The hum of bees, and linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove."

It was to be a long day's drive, but an easy one; only one hill, and then a gradual descent all the way to Edinburgh. So it might have been by the other road, but the mile-stones which told us so many miles to Edinburgh should also have said: "Take the new road; this is the old one, over the hills and far away." But they did not, and we could not be wrong, for this was a way, if not _the_ way, to "Auld Reekie." After all, it was one of the richest of our experiences as we look back upon it now. So many hills to walk up and so many to walk down; so many moors with not a house to be seen, nothing but sheep around us and the lights and shadows of a Scotch sky overhead. But it was grand, and recalled some of Black's wonderful pen pictures. And then we enjoyed the heather which we found in its beauty, though scarcely yet tinted with its richest glow of color. This was our introduction to it. The heathery moor was new to most of the party and many were the exclamations produced by its beauty. There's "meat and drink" to a Scotchman in the scent of the heather.

About luncheon time we began to look longingly for the expected inn, but there was no habitation to be seen, and we became suspicious that, notwithstanding the mile-stones, which stood up and told us the lie which was half the truth (ever the blacker lie), we were not upon the right road to Edinburgh. At this juncture we met a shepherd with his collies, and learnt from him that we were still twelve miles from an inn. It was a cool, breezy day; the air had the "nip" in it which Maggie missed so in England, and we were famishing. There was nothing else to do but to stop where we were, at the pretty burn, and tarry there for entertainment for man and beast.

As proof of our temperance, please note that the flasks filled with sherry, whiskey, and brandy, at Brighton, I believe, as reserve forces for emergencies, still had plenty in them when called for to-day; and rarely has a glass of spirits done greater good, the ladies as well as we of the stronger sex feeling that a glass was necessary to keep off a chill. We were "o'er the moors among the heather" in good earnest to-day, but how soon we were all set to rights and laughing over our frolic! The shepherd and his dogs lunched with us, and many a glint of Scottish shepherd life did we get from his conversation. He was a happy, contented man, and ever so grateful that he was not condemned to live in a city. He thought such a cramped-up life would soon kill him.

[Sidenote: _Sheep and Collies._]

Good-bye, my gentle shepherd and "Tweed" and "Rab," your faithful, sagacious companions. Your life leads to contentment, and where will you find that jewel when you leave mother earth and her products, her heather and her burns, your doggies and your sheep?

Davie, in Andrew M----'s absence, sang us that song whose prettiest verse, though all are fine, is this:

"See yonder paukie shepherd Wha lingers on the hill, His ewes are in the fauld And his sheep are lying still."

Softly, softly, pianissimo, my boy! These lines must be sung so, not loudly like the other verses. Andrew knows the touch.

"But he downa gang to rest, For his heart is in a flame To meet his bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame."

And so we parted from our shepherd, the chorus of our song reaching him over the moors till he faded out of sight. I am sure we wish him weel. Happiness is not all in the higher walks of life; and surely in virtue's paths the cottage leaves the palace far behind.

Another song followed, which I thought equally appropriate, for it tells us that "Ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew." Ah, the shepherd's drops of the dew of life are often what princes vainly sigh for.

[Sidenote: _Arthur's Seat._]

After many miles up and down, we finally reached the top of the hill from which we saw lying before us, fourteen miles away, the modern Athens. There was no mistaking Arthur's Seat, the lion crouching there. "Stop, Perry!" Three times three for the "Queen of the Unconquered North!" "What do you think of Scotland noo?" Match that city who can! Not on this planet will you do it, search where you may.

It was only a few miles from where we now stood that Fitz Eustace, enraptured with the scene,

"And making demi-volte in air, Cried, Where's the coward that would not dare To fight for such a land!"

Fight for it? I guess so, to the death! Scotland forever!

We were about completing one stage of our journey, for Edinburgh had been looked forward to as one of the principal points we had to reach, and we were to rest there a few days before marching upon the more ancient metropolis, Dunfermline. Most of us had been steadily at work since we left Brighton, and the prospect of a few days' respite was an agreeable one; but after all it was surprising how fresh even the ladies were. Still, steady coaching is pretty hard work; none of us gained weight during the journey, but we all felt as if in condition just fit to do our very best in the way of athletic exercise.

Miss R----, a native of Edinburgh, was here called to the front, alongside of Perry, to act as guide into and through the city to our hotel in Prince's Street. The enthusiasm grew more and more intense as we came nearer and fresh views were obtained. There remained one more toll-gate, one of the few which have not yet been abolished. Joe had as usual gone forward to pay the toll, but the keeper declared she did not know the charge, as never since she kept toll had anything like that--pointing to the coach--passed there. Was it any wonder that we attracted attention during our progress northward?

From one hill-top I caught sight of the sparkling Forth, beyond which lay "the dearest spot on earth to me." The town could not be seen, but when I was able to cry, "Dunfermline lies there," three rousing cheers were given for the "Auld gray Toon," my native city.

* * * * *

EDINBURGH, July 21-26.

[Sidenote: _Edinburgh._]

Our route lay through Newington, that we might leave the young artist at home. We tried to do it quietly, but our friend Mrs. H. was out and shaking hands with us ere we could drive off. Mr. MacGregor, of the Royal, had been mindful of us; a grand sitting room fronting on Prince's Street and overlooking the gardens gave us the best possible view, the very choice spot of all this choice city. The night was beautiful, and the lights from the towering houses of the old town made an illumination, as it were, in honor of our arrival. That the travellers were delighted with Edinburgh, that it more than fulfilled all expectations, is to say but little; and those who saw it for the first time felt it to be beyond all that they had imagined. Those of us who knew its picturesque charms were more than ever impressed with its superiority over all other cities. Take my word for it, my readers, there is no habitation of human beings in this world as fine in its way, and its way itself is fine, as this, the capital of Scotland.

The surprise and delight of my friends gave me much pleasure. Scotland had already won all hearts. They had admired England, but Scotland they loved. Ah, how could they help it! I loved her too, more deeply than ever.

It is best to disband a large party when in a city possessed of many and varied attractions, allowing each little group to see the sights in its own way; assembling, however, at breakfast and dinner, and spending the evenings together, recounting the day's adventures. This was the general order issued for Edinburgh.

The new docks at Leith were opened with much ceremony during our stay, and I took a party of our Edinburgh friends upon the coach to witness the opening. It was not a clear day, meteorologically considered, but nevertheless it was a happy one for the coaching party. Upon our return, a stop at Mr. N.'s magnificent residence was specially agreeable. He and his daughters were most kind to us while in Edinburgh. Mr. N. gave us a rare treat by showing us through their immense printing establishment, where such exquisite things are done, such Easter and Christmas cards, such friendship tokens, and a thousand other lovely forms we had never seen before, in their various stages of manufacture.

[Sidenote: _Valuable Importations._]

I asked Mr. N. what he had to say in reply to the admissions of the leading art authorities of the superiority of American work in black and white, such as our magazines excel in. He said this could not be questioned; there was nothing done in British publications that equalled the American. The reason he gave furnishes food for thought. I pray you, fellow countrymen, take note of it. Two principal American illustrated magazines, _Harper's_ and the _Century_, print each more than one hundred thousand copies, while no British magazine prints half that number. The American publisher can consequently afford to pay twice as much as the British publisher for his illustrations. If this be the true reason of America's superiority in this respect, and I am sure Mr. N. knows what he is stating, then as its population increases more rapidly than the British the difference between their respective publications must increase, and finally drive the home article into a very restricted position. Pursuing this fact to its logical conclusion, Britain may soon receive from her giant child all that is best in any department of art which depends upon general support for success. This seems to me to betoken a revolution, not as implying the inherent superiority of the American, but simply flowing from the fact that fifty-five millions of English-speaking and reading people can afford to spend more for any certain article than thirty-five millions can. That Colonel Mapleson now brings over Her Majesty's Opera Company for the New York season as regularly as he opens his London season, and especially that he makes far more profit out of the former than out of the latter, is another significant fact. That leading actors find a wider field here than at home is still another, and even ministers are finding that the call of the Lord to higher labors and higher salaries often comes from the far side of the Atlantic. Drs. McCosh, Hall, Ormiston, and Taylor, our leading divines, get treble salaries in the Republic, and are said to be valuable importations. As Mr. Evarts said one night in a post-prandial effort: "They are about the only specimens of 'the cloth' admitted duty free." As long as America sent Britain only pork and cheese and provisions, and such products of the soil, it was all well enough, but if she is beginning to send the highest things of life, the art treasures, which give sweetness and light to human existence, it is somewhat alarming. For my part, I do not like to think that these Americans are to send Britain every good thing, and that the once proud country that led the world is to stand receiving as it were the crumbs from this rich land's table. In one department America can be kept second for as long a term as we need worry about--she has nothing to compare with the leading English reviews. Our generation will see no close rival to the _Fortnightly_ or the _Nineteenth Century_, to _Blackwood_ or _Chambers' Journal_, or to the _Edinburgh_ or _Westminster Review_; although the _North American_ and the _International_ show that even in this race America enters two not indifferent steeds.

I must not forget to mention that the birds in the _Century_ magazine which the _Athenæum_ pronounced so far superior to any British work were designed by a young lady and engraved by her sister. The work of two American young ladies excelled the best of England; and then did not Miss Rosina Emmet send a Christmas greeting of her own composition to friends in England which took the second prize at the London Exhibition, although not intended for anything more than a private token of friendship. Let a note be made of all this, with three loving cheers for the young lady artists of the Republic. Instead of losing the charms of women by giving public expression to their love of the beautiful in all its forms, they but add one more indescribable charm which their less fortunate sisters can never hope to attain. How a man does reverence a woman who does fine things in art, literature, or music, or in any line whatever!

[Sidenote: _On a Yacht._]

The Charioteers gave leave of absence to the Scribe and General Manager to spend Sunday with my friends Mr. and Mrs. G., at Strathairly House, on the banks of the Forth. It was a most delightful visit. The Commodore of the Forth Yachting Squadron (for such Mr. G. is) had the Ranee ready to take us back to Edinburgh Monday morning. We enjoyed the sail down the Forth very much. That we could not accept the Commodore's invitation to change the Gay Charioteers into Bold Mariners for a day and visit St. Andrews in the Ranee gave rise to deep regret, when the other members of the party were informed of the treat proposed; but we cannot glean every field upon our march. Some other time, Commodore, the recently elected member of the squadron will report for duty on the flagship and splice the main brace with you and your jolly crew. There is a craze for yachting in Britain, which is also showing its symptoms on this side. I am not at home in vessels much smaller than an Atlantic steamer. The Charioteers resolved unanimously that their yacht should have four wheels and four horses, and should run on land.