The Ayrshire Legatees; Or, The Pringle FamilyGalt, John
General
The Ayrshire Legatees; Or, The Pringle Family
Galt, John
Scotland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
The morning on which we bade farewell for a time--alas! it was to me as
if for ever, to my native shades of Garnock--the weather was cold, bleak,
and boisterous, and the waves came rolling in majestic fury towards the
shore, when we arrived at the Tontine Inn of Ardrossan. What a monument
has the late Earl of Eglinton left there of his public spirit! It should
embalm his memory in the hearts of future ages, as I doubt not but in
time Ardrossan will become a grand emporium; but the people of Saltcoats,
a sordid race, complain that it will be their ruin; and the Paisley
subscribers to his lordship's canal grow pale when they think of profit.
The road, after leaving Ardrossan, lies along the shore. The blast came
dark from the waters, and the clouds lay piled in every form of grandeur
on the lofty peaks of Arran. The view on the right hand is limited to
the foot of a range of abrupt mean hills, and on the left it meets the
sea--as we were obliged to keep the glasses up, our drive for several
miles was objectless and dreary. When we had ascended a hill, leaving
Kilbride on the left, we passed under the walls of an ancient tower.
What delightful ideas are associated with the sight of such venerable
remains of antiquity!
Leaving that lofty relic of our warlike ancestors, we descended again
towards the shore. On the one side lay the Cumbra Islands, and Bute,
dear to departed royalty. Afar beyond them, in the hoary magnificence of
nature, rise the mountains of Argyllshire; the cairns, as my brother
says, of a former world. On the other side of the road, we saw the
cloistered ruins of the religious house of Southenan, a nunnery in those
days of romantic adventure, when to live was to enjoy a poetical element.
In such a sweet sequestered retreat, how much more pleasing to the soul
it would have been, for you and I, like two captive birds in one cage, to
have sung away our hours in innocence, than for me to be thus torn from
you by fate, and all on account of that mercenary legacy, perchance the
spoils of some unfortunate Hindoo Rajah!
At Largs we halted to change horses, and saw the barrows of those who
fell in the great battle. We then continued our journey along the foot
of stupendous precipices; and high, sublime, and darkened with the shadow
of antiquity, we saw, upon its lofty station, the ancient Castle of
Skelmorlie, where the Montgomeries of other days held their gorgeous
banquets, and that brave knight who fell at Chevy-Chace came pricking
forth on his milk-white steed, as Sir Walter Scott would have described
him. But the age of chivalry is past, and the glory of Europe departed
for ever!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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