Part 26 (2/2)

I did stand the ”consekences,” and dined very comfortably indeed, then jogged leisurely on. This was the first and last time ever a policeman put an uninvited foot on my steps, and I do but mention it to show intending caravanists that a gipsy's life has its drawbacks in the county of Midlothian.

It is about six miles from Musselburgh to Edinburgh, through Portobello, and one might say with truth that the whole road is little else than one long street. We had stayed over the Sunday in that s.p.a.cious old tan-yard. We were not only very comfortable, but quiet in the extreme.

Close to the beach where we lay, great waves tumbled in from the eastern ocean on sands which I dare not call golden. We were in the very centre of the fisher population, and a strange, strange race of beings they are. Of course I cultivated their acquaintance, and by doing so in a kindly, friendly way, learned much of their ”tricks and their manners”

that was highly interesting.

The street adjoining my tan-yard was quaint in the extreme. Clean? Not very outside, but indoors the houses are tidy and wholesome. They are not tall houses, and all are of much the same appearance outdoors or in.

But was.h.i.+ng and all scullery work is done in the street. Looking up Fishergate, you perceive two long rows of tubs, buckets, and baskets, with boxes, and creels, and cats and dogs _galore_. Being naturally fond of fish, cats here must have a high old time of it.

The older dames are--now for a few adjectives to qualify these ladies; they are short, squat, square, apparently as broad as they are long; they are droll, fresh, fat, and funny, and have right good hearts of their own. The most marvellous thing is their great partiality for skirts. As a rule I believe they wear most of their wardrobes on their bodies; but ten to fifteen skirts in summer and twenty in winter are not uncommonly worn.

The children on week days look healthy and happy; a dead puppy or a cod's head makes a delightful doll to nurse in the gutter, and any amount of fun can be got out of ”partans' taes and tangles.” [Crabs'

toes and seaweed canes.]

But these children are always clean and tidy on the Sabbath day.

At the village of Kirkliston, some miles from Corstorphine, with its intelligent policemen, I stopped for the night in a little meadow. It was a pleasant surprise to find in the clergyman here a man from my own University.

Kirkliston was all _en gala_ next day; flags and bands, and games and shows, and the greatest of doings. But after an early morning ride to those wonderful works where the Forth is being bridged, we went on our way, after receiving gifts of fruit and peas from the kindly people about.

By the way, Kirkliston boasts of one of the biggest distilleries in Scotland.

But it quite knocks all the romance out of Highland whisky to be told it is made from American maize instead of from malt. Ugh!

Splendid road through a delightful country all the way to Linlithgow.

Pretty peeps everywhere, and blue and beautiful the far-off Pentlands looked.

At Linlithgow even my coachman and valet were made to feel that they really were in Scotland now, among a race of people whose very religion causes them to be kindly to the stranger.

Through Polmont and on through a charming country to Falkirk, celebrated for its great cattle tryst.

_July 29th_.--At Linlithgow I visited every place of note--its palace and its palace prison, and its quaint and ancient church. Those gloomy prison vaults made my frame s.h.i.+ver, and filled my mind with awe. ”Who enters here leaves hope behind” might well have been written on the lintels of those gruesome cells.

There are the remains of a curious old well in the palace courtyard. A facsimile of it, when at its best, is built in a square in the town.

Standing near it to-day was a white-haired, most kindly visaged clergyman [The Rev Dr Duncan Ogilvie], with whom I entered into conversation. I found he came originally from my own s.h.i.+re of Banff, and that he was now minister of a church in Falkirk.

He gave me much information, and it is greatly owing to his kindness that I am now, as I write, so comfortably situated at Falkirk.

A pleasant old stone-built town it is, with homely, hearty, hospitable people. Many a toil-worn denizen of cities might do worse than make it his home in the summer months. There is plenty to see in a quiet way, health in every breeze that blows, and a mine of historical wealth to be had for merely the digging. The town is celebrated for its great cattle fair, or tryst.

Away from Falkirk, after holding a _levee_ as usual, during which a great many pleasant and pretty people stepped into the Wanderer.

The country altogether from Edinburgh to Glasgow is so delightful that I wonder so few tourists pa.s.s along the road.

As soon as we leave the last long straggling village near Falkirk, with its lovely villas surrounded by gardens and trees, and get into the open country, the scenery becomes very pretty and interesting, but on this bright hot day there is a hazy mist lying like a veil all over the landscape, which may or may not be smoke from the great foundries; but despite this, the hills and vales and fertile tree-clad plains are very beautiful to behold.

Stone fences (d.y.k.es) by the wayside now divide the honour of accompanying us on our journey with tall hedges snowed over with flowering brambles, or mingled with the pink and crimson of trailing roses. [A d.y.k.e in Scotland means a stone or turf fence.]

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