110 Field Meetings. 



We were soon screened from Sol's hot beams by the stately 

 trees in the policies of Springkell. Signs of the costly activity 

 of Mr Johnson-Ferguson, M.P., abounded from the entrance gate 

 throughout. In truth, we felt for the rest of the afternoon as if 

 we were in dreamland, and on a visit to Tennyson's Palace of 

 Art. Springkell, we understand, has always been famed for its 

 trees. Every variety in arboriculture seems to be represented 

 there by first-class specimens, the whole crowned by a giant 

 silver fir in the lawn. Of modified Grecian architecture, tlie 

 house is an exquisite harmony in stone, and the present owner 

 has vastly improved the frontage by walling off a portion of the 

 lawn and filling it with joarterres. 



Met at Springkell by Mr Johnson-Ferguson in person, who 

 had just returned from Parliament and the Vaccination Bill, we 

 were conducted by him through umbrageous walks odorous with 

 flowers, and by the banks of the Kirtle, to the ancient Kirk- 

 connell graveyard. On reaching the gate, we observed 

 the notice anent applying for admission at the estate oflice, 

 also two pencillings, the one telling the public to " Take no 

 heed of this board," the other declaring with genuine wrathful 

 Border emphasis — " This board should be taken down 

 and burned at once." We looked, sorrowing that the peace and 

 loveliness of those Kirtle solitudes should be disturbed by this 

 contretemps. Mr Johnson-Ferguson was not long resident in 

 Springkell before he enforced the present regulations. He 

 changed his policy at the graveyard, he informed us, in conse- 

 quence of a nervous shock received last autumn by Mrs 

 Fert'uson and some lady visitors, from observing a skull exposed 

 there still covered more or less with skin and hair ! The matter 

 is sub judice for the present, but it was manifest to us that all 

 who are interested in the improvement, preservation, and 

 sanctity of Kirkconnel Churchyard, whether they know it or 

 not, have a friend in the laird of Springkell. We meditated, of 

 course, at the coupled graves of Helen and Adam, whose pathetic 

 story descends from age to age in the ballad Where Helen Lies ; 

 we also saw much more of antiquarian interest, including a 

 curious old epitaph which tells how somebody " died by a fall 

 from a horse in which both were killed." On leaving the 

 rouiantic graveyard, we were shown a rude cross marking the 

 spot to which Adam carried the dying Helen after the tragedy, 

 also the thorn on Kirtle's pleasant banks where the lovers were 



