Annals of Duddingston.
INTRODUCTION.
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OF the many charming walks in the neighbourhood of the City of Edinburgh, it may be safely said that none can surpass for variety and beauty that which a stranger may be tempted to take to the secluded and romantic village of Duddingston. Whether he approach it by the north or by the south, by way of Portobello, or by the “Queen’s Drive” from the south side of Edinburgh, past the lofty crags and precipices of Arthur Seat, he cannot fail to be struck with the quiet old-world look of the place. There is nothing indeed finer in the whole of Midlothian than the prospect which opens to view from the road which circles the hill. Entering the Park by the St Leonard’s gate, with the haunch of the “Lion” in front, and following up the road above “Samson’s Ribs,” with Salisbury Crags on the left, we are in a few minutes beyond the hum of the City. On the right the eye wanders with delight over the undulating umbrageous country stretching for miles to the Pentlands, the Lammermoors, and Moorfoot Hills, in which mansions, castles, woods, and cornfields make up a varied and interesting middle distance. A little further along and looking eastward, the Firth of Forth bounds the view with North Berwick Law, the Links of Gullane, and the Bass Rock on the one side, and on its northern shore the kingdom of Fife.
Immediately below, and filling up the intervening space the eye rests on the wooded grounds of Prestonfield, the little loch dotted over with swans, coots, and other waterfowl, the quaint old church on its rocky perch overlooking the loch, and surrounded by the red-tiled houses of the village of Wester Duddingston, peeping out so snugly from among their setting of trees. “'Tis a mere toy village,” says Alexander Smith, “breathing soft smoke pillars, breathing fruit-tree fragrance. The quietest place in the whole world you would say, not a creature to be seen in the little bit of a street visible, silent as Pompeii itself, motion only on the lake
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