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Among the many fertile, beautiful, and richly cultivated
estates of the county of Stirling, none is more pleasantly associated,
nor holds a higher place, than the ancient and interesting estate of
Garden.
The mansion-house is beautifully situated on a commanding
eminence at the foot of the sequestered glen of Arn-gibbon, one of the
prettiest retreats in the west of Scotland. The spacious park in which
the house stands is carefully adorned with grand old trees, rearing high
their princely heads, and spreading wide their giant boughs, that have
for ages welcomed the zephyrs of summer, and borne unscathed the
hurricanes of winter, while conspicuous among their fellows stand some
of the very finest silver firs in the kingdom.
The old castle of Garden stood a little to the north of
where the present mansion is built, and on a small eminence in what was
in early times a small lake, but now a fertile meadow. The castle was of
the circular tower form, and in feudal days must have been considered
impregnable, having been surrounded by water, and protected by a
draw-bridge. Some distance to the north-west of the old castle was the
“gallows-hill,” where poor offending wretches “gat the rape;” and, in
the memory of some of the oldest inhabitants, there was to be seen a
stone with an inscription denoting the felons’ names who ignominiously
perished.
The glen of Arngibbon is about two miles in length, and
may be termed “beautiful and interesting” rather than grand. The lower
portion is finely ornamented with large trees of various kinds; and,
farther on, the slopes are covered with fine young copsewood. Here the
geologist may explore, the botanist roam, and the naturalist find
instruction; while the lover of Nature’s beauties can admire the
feathered banks that rise around him, and gaze on the fern-covered rocks
that overhang his head in shattered masses, the moss and lichen clinging
for life and sustenance to their brown faces—or look at the crystal
stream as it tumbles over its rocky bed at his feet;—
“For o’er thy crags, with sullen roar,
The moorland waters loudly pour,
Leaping on from rock to rock,
Till plunging o’er with sullen shock,
It weareth deep the cavern riven,
That opes her yawning jaws to heaven.”
In several parts of the glen there are beautiful little
cascades, the largest one being at the top, where the water from the
moorland heights tumbles over a rock about fourteen feet high, forming a
delightful pool beneath. Around, the rocks rise to a height of about
sixty feet, their faces covered with lichen and fern, and their tops
crowned with fantastic roots. At their base the wrecks of ages, torn
from their slopes by the suns of summer and the winds of winter, lie
scattered in the bed of the turbulent stream, washed by the waters of a
thousand years.
By the kind permission of the proprietor, this exquisite
retreat is left open to all who use the privilege with propriety; and I
know of no other place where one can spend a leisure hour or two with
more pleasure and profit than in the glen of Arngibbon. Here, in the
quiet eventide, you can hearken to the hoarse croak of the raven, as it
perches on some giant bough, or view it as it soars in beautiful circles
high overhead, or listen to the feathered warblers as they chant their
evening hymn, and fill the air with their melodies. You can watch the
finny tribe as they sportive play in the pool, walled with granite and
paved with rock. You can trace the wanderings of the tawny owl, as it
feeds its tender young on yon shelving crag, and again goes a roving
after other prey.
A little above the village of Arnprior stood the old
castle of Arnfinlay, now completely erased.
The village of Arnprior is now solely the property of Mr.
Stirling of Garden, and the stranger visiting it will not be
disappointed. There is a commanding view of the vale of Monteith; and
should he wish to see some of “my friends” in their glory, he ought to
meet them after their third tumbler, when
“It kindles wit, it waukens lair,
It bangs us fou o’ knowledge.”
Adjoining the village is the beautiful little glen of
that name, rendered for ever classic by the residence on its banks of
Buchanan of Arnprior, the famous “King o’ Kippen,” and his descendants.
This glen very much resembles that of Arngibbon, and need not be
described. It is, however, remarkably interesting, and well repays a
visit, the only drawback being that the walks have been allowed to
disappear. |
