LEITH. "7
~~~ ~~~ ~
There are other names, both living and dead, which well deserve some notice
here; but our limits forbid. There are two, however, we must not overlook;
we refer to Robert Nicoll and Robert Gilfillan Of the former we regret to
say that Leith has not shown herself very sensible of the honour his connection
with her has conferred; otherwise she never would have suffered his
grave to remain so long in the neglected and shameful condition in which it
is. On paying it a visit the other day, we were perfectly shocked to find it
quite overgrown with rank grass and nettle, with nothing to mark it off from
the other deep deep sleepers but an humble stone with the humble inscription,
' In memory of Robert Nicoll, Author of Poems and Lyrics, who died on the
7th December 1837, aged 23 years.' A youthful genius of so much promise,
which the rude, rough hand of death had so prematurely plucked, denying
him the opportunity of cultivating and ripening into fruit the mighty
potentialities which were in him, deserves a sweeter spot and a more adorned
resting-place. Surely it would involve no great sacrifice on the part of our
merchant princes, and would be creditable alike to their head and their heart,
to raise over his lowly dust some tablet or monument honouring to him and
worthy of themselves.
And what is true of Robert Nicoll in this respect is, in some measure,
true also of his brother-lyrist, Robert Gilfillan. He has not had the honour
done him, either, that his name and memory deserve ; and we trust the day is
not far distant when our fellow-townsmen will bestir themselves in the matter,
and evince, in some substantial and handsome way, their livelier sympathy
with, and deeper interest in, the genius and eminence which has budded and,
blossomed in their own streets and within their own walls. Gilfillan, like
Nicoll, although not a native of, was very early in life connected with, Leith,
long occupying the situation of collector of police rates in the burgh,-not
a lucrative office certainly, but one in which he could fairly live,-and
employing his leisure hours in courting the Muses, and pouring out those
short, sweet, linnet-like likings of which he has given us but too few.
James Hogg says of Burns's fine Song, ' The Lass 0' Ballochmyle,' that ' upon
first reading it, it made the hair of his head stand on end, he thought it so
beautiful.' We cannot say that we were just so moved upon hem'ng sung for
the first time that tender, regretful effusion of our Leith bard, '0 why left I
my hame?' but we thought it very beautiful. Elliot the poet observes of
Nicoll, ' Unstained and pure, at the age of 23, died Scotland's second Bums.'
We have no such high word of praise for Gilfillan ; but this at least we shall
venture to say, that, if not 'a second Bums,' he has at any rate much of
I18 QUEENSFERRY TO MUSSELBURGH.
Bums’s sweetness and pathos, and emits in many of those musically strung
and beautifully expressed warblings of his the true Bums’s intonation or ring.
‘ The idea of their lives should sweetly creep
Into our study of imagination ;
And every lovely organ of their lives
Should come apparell’d in more precious habit
. Into the eye and prospect of our souls
Than when they lived indeed.’
P o RT o BE p L 0.‘
Travelling eastward for about two miles along the shore we reach this
town, pleasantly situated and looking out upon the Firth, with a considerable
extent of fine level sandy beach, which renders it a most enjoyable place
during the summer for sea-side holiday-seekers. It lies in the parish of
buddingstone, and is comparatively of recent origin. Little over half a
century ago it could hardly be said to have an existence; and it is only
within these last thirty years that it has shot up into anything like its present
extensive and imposing dimensions. Indeed, within the memory of many
still living, the whole district around was one rude barren waste, covered
with furze or whin, the haunts of the tinker, the smuggler, and the robber.
‘The Figget,’ as it was then called, was the terror of travellers in that
direction after nightfall, and many are the stories told of hairbreadth escapes,
daring rencontres, and cruel, murderous assaults, as associated with the
locality. Perhaps it may not be uninteresting to state that, at a much earlier
period, this same wild, whin-covered district-the last remnants of which
may be seen on the north and southeast slopes of Arthur’s Seat-gave shelter
to a much more respectable set of outlaws,-to Wallace and his brave compatriots
who at this time were meditating an attempt on Berwick.
He foresaw that the
district, wild and waste as it was, was capable of improvement,and he set
himself to do what might have been done long years before,-to reclaim and
enclose the land. Very noticeably, too, just about this time, and a little
inland from the shore of this ill-reputed and dreary quarter, an humble,
solitary cottage was seen to arise. Tradition says that it was built and
inhabited by a retired sailor. As the story runs, he had served under
Admiral Vernon in his South American Expedition in 1739, and returning
with the little prize-money he had been prudent enough to save, erected this
The proprietor meanwhile began to bestir himself.
