William Nelson A Memoir 24

William Nelson A Memoir 24

It is thus apparent that there were scarcely any limits to his ideal of

the Edinburgh of the future. The maintenance of his native city in

unblemished honour and beauty was the source of many a fascinating

dream, and took form at times in the union of such idealizations with

his practical liberality. Hence the desertion of the Highlands for the

city was no exchange of the poetry of life for mere prosaic realities.

Edinburgh was rich in all the materials wherewith to fashion an ever-new

romance: a thing of beauty to be preserved or to be made more beautiful.

There the landscape gardener, the architect, and decorator, were all

busily at work on his plans for renovating St. Bernard’s Well. The

sculptor’s studio had to be visited to learn of the progress of the new

statue. Then, too, official formalities and obstructions had at length

yielded to his quiet persistency, and the plans were in progress for

restorations, not only on the great hall of the Castle, but also on the

Argyle Tower, and the venerable little oratory known as St. Margaret’s

Chapel. With the latter object in view, more than one excursion had been

made to Iona, where the little Norman structure styled the Chapel of St.

Oran is affirmed to have been built by St. Margaret, the queen of

Malcolm Canmore. Hence it was assumed to furnish the fittest model for a

design to replace the somewhat commonplace modern restoration of the

original doorway. A photograph of it was accordingly secured, and

placed, for that purpose, in the architect’s hands.

 

The Argyle Tower, of old the state prison, was to be freed from manifold

incongruities of modern barbarism, as has since been done in the best

taste. But William Nelson’s sympathies were not narrowed within the

bounds of his native city, and a special occasion now invited his

practical co-operation elsewhere. The approaching anniversary of the

death of the good king Alexander III., last and best of Scotland’s

Celtic kings, was to be signalized by the erection of a memorial cross

to mark the scene of that fatal event of six centuries before, the

fruits of which are bewailed in the fine old fragment of native elegy

preserved for us in Wyntoun’s Chronicles, the earliest known lyric in

the Scottish language. The old chronicler pictures the prosperity of the

nation under the rule of him that led Scotland in love and loyalty; and

then he says,--

 

“This failèd fra he died suddenly;

This sang was made of him forthi:

When Alexander our king was dead,

That Scotland led in love and lea,

Away wes söns of ale and bread,

Of wine and wax, of gaming and glee;

Our gold was changèd into lead.

Christ, born into virginity,

Succor Scotland and remede

That stad is in perplexity.”

 

Kinghorn, the birthplace of William Nelson’s mother, and the scene of

many of the happiest days of his own childhood and youth, was the place

historically associated with the national disaster. When he carried off

his sisters to revisit the old scenes, it will be remembered that one of

the special spots pointed out to them was “The King’s Crag,” as the

point is called which tradition assigns as the actual cliff over which,

when his horse stumbled, Alexander III. was precipitated. The event was

thus associated with many of William Nelson’s earliest recollections;

and the proposal to mark it with a suitable monument was responded to by

him with hearty enthusiasm. From its initiation his zeal never flagged.

First came his subscription, the most liberal of all; then

correspondence and deliberations as to the design, the inscription, the

most durable and best material. He writes to the Rev. Charles Shaw from

Glenfeochan in October 1886, in reference to the appeal for

subscriptions:--“Let me know as soon as you can what is the result, and

I will then see what I can do to make up the sum.” In December he

discusses the details of the design and material. He fears, from its

exposed site on the highroad from Burntisland to Kinghorn, that the

monument will be liable to injury; has “called the architect Mr. Blanc’s

attention some time ago to this circumstance, and that he ought not to

forget it in making his finished drawings.” Again he writes in the

following February:--“Mr. Blanc says that the memorial cross ought

decidedly to be of Peterhead granite; and you will please hold me

responsible for whatever shortcoming there may be in consequence.” Then

comes an equally characteristic passage: “I don’t think there is any

occasion for you or Dr. Rogers telling the committee of what you call my

handsome offer. If this were done, the matter would, I have no doubt, be

blazoned forth in the newspapers, and I would not like that at all.” The

next proposition was that he should unveil the monument, in the erection

of which he had manifested so practical an interest. But that he would

not hear of, and suggested the Earl of Elgin as Lord Lieutenant of the

county, and a good man to boot. “Failing him, you should apply to Lord

Napier and Ettrick, or Lord Rosebery.”

 

When at length the memorable day arrived, there was not only the

beautiful memorial cross to unveil, but a new public park and golfing

ground to open. The authorities of the ancient burgh would not be balked

of their wish to mark in some way their sense of Mr. Nelson’s generous

co-operation in the work, so Lord Elgin and he were both admitted to all

the honours and privileges of burgesses of Kinghorn. The speech of the

latter, in reply to the provost’s address in handing to him his burgess

ticket, is too replete with characteristic feeling and personal

reminiscences to be omitted here. He was no orator, and indeed shrank

with instinctive reserve from all public appearances; but the simple

utterances of genuine feeling are the best of all oratory.

 

“Fortunately for myself,” he said, “and perhaps still more fortunately

for those who hear me, I am not often in circumstances which call upon

me to speak in public. On the present occasion, when there has been

conferred on me the high honour of being made a burgess of the royal

burgh of Kinghorn--an honour which I never expected, and which I do not

feel that I have done anything to merit--for this, gentlemen, I thank

you most sincerely. It is an honour which shall ever be held by me, and

by those who come after me, in the highest esteem. There are many things

which make Kinghorn a place of much interest to me, and which give a

peculiar value to any mark of respect which comes from its town council

or its inhabitants. For one thing, it was the birthplace of my mother,

and we all know what that means. But it must not be supposed that my

attachment to Kinghorn is solely on this account. I love it for its own

sake, for its quaint and picturesque old character as a royal burgh; and

I love it also for its fine coast-scenery, with its beautiful sands, its

bold rocks, and its many advantages for bathing, fishing, and even for

those who think they perform their whole duty at the seaside when they

merely saunter along it and inhale its health-giving breezes. But I love

it still more--perhaps most of all--for the sunshine with which it

filled my early years, making my holidays holidays indeed. I stayed

always with my grandfather and grandmother, whose kindness was very

great and unceasing. So strong was the impression made upon me at that

early period of my life, that I never allow a season to pass without

visiting Kinghorn, and renewing my acquaintance with the rocky scenery

of the coast, which must be admitted to be exceptionally fine. So great

is my familiarity with the coast here that I know every rock of any

consequence that it contains; and I may add that there are few places

more richly endowed with all the amenities which health-seekers are in

quest of and value. It ought to be one of the most popular of the

health-resorts on our shores. Another thing which took a hold of me in

my early years, and which I still remember well, was the talk of the old

folks. They had some themes on which they never ceased to descant. One

of these was Paul Jones’s piratical visit to the Firth of Forth, which

was looked upon as a very formidable event by the small towns on the

coast of Fife, but which happily turned out a scare. My grandmother saw

the big ship of the pirate from near the hamlet of Glassmount, about two

miles from Kinghorn. And there is good news for strangers who may come

now-a-days to the old place for summer quarters. They need not be afraid

for another Paul Jones coming to alarm them, as there is now a strong

fortress on the Pettycur road, under the shadow of whose wings they may

rest in perfect safety. But there was another matter quite as

engrossing, and that was the injury which steam-boats had done or would

do to the town. Before these began to ply there were big, ordinary boats

which carried passengers; and as these boats started only at particular

times of the tide, passengers had generally to stay some time in the

town: more to the delight of the innkeepers and others, we should

imagine, than to that of the strangers thus detained, in order to have

the opportunity of leaving a little of their money behind them. We know

better now; and I am sure that the inhabitants of Kinghorn would not be

inclined to go back, on any terms whatever, to those good old ways, so

easy in all that belonged to them. Such retrospects, while both

interesting and instructive, are not without an infusion of sadness. In

my case, early companions in and about Kinghorn have all disappeared but

two: namely, Henry Darney, a worthy citizen of the town, and Major

Greig, now of Toronto, Canada. It is a touching thought, and brings to

my remembrance the tender and beautiful verses of Delta, with which I

conclude:--

 

‘Where are the playmates of those years?

Hills arise and oceans roll between.

We call, but scarcely one appears;

No more shall be what once has been.

 

‘Yet, gazing o’er the bleak green sea,

O’er snow-capped cliffs and desert plain,

Mirrored in thought methinks to me

The spectral past returns again.

 

‘Once more to retrospection’s eyes,

As ’twere to present life restored,

The perished and the past arise,

The early lost and long deplored.’”

 

While the memorial cross erected on the King’s Crag had been thus

occupying so much of his attention, the various works of restoration

undertaken by him in Edinburgh were not neglected. They continued,

indeed to engage his attention, and to furnish him with ever-renewed

pleasure, till the close of his life. He thus writes to me in April

1887:--“St. Bernard’s Well is not quite finished yet, but it begins to

look very different from what you will remember of it in our morning

visits together: quite a little gem indeed, now that the mosaic work is

done, or nearly so. A handsome parapet wall with railing runs along the

river-side. The grounds are laid out, I think, in good taste, and a fine

broad stair leads down from the street instead of the dingy back way you

and I used to have to traverse in our morning visits to the well.