Are shadows, not substantial things.”
The memory has been preserved of “some cellar-looking places,” but no tradition of human habitation has come down to our time.
“Dr. Johnson wanted to mount the steeples (writes Boswell), but it could not be done. One of them, which he was told was in danger, he wished not to be taken down; ‘for (said he) it may fall on some of the posterity of John Knox; and no great matter.’”
ST. RULE’S TOWER.
Among the posterity was to be born eight-and-twenty years later a little girl, destined to become famous as the wife of Thomas Carlyle.[465] What was the hindrance to the ascent of St. Rule’s Tower I could not ascertain. The staircase, which is perfect, has in no part a modern appearance, but nevertheless, it is possible that some of the steps were missing. Saint-Fond, nevertheless, went up it not long after Johnson’s visit. Sir Walter Scott, a few years before his death, visiting the ruins, wrote that he had not been strong enough to climb the tower.
“When before did I remain sitting below when there was a steeple to be ascended? I sat down on a grave-stone, and recollected the first visit I made to St. Andrews, now thirty-four years ago. What changes in my feelings and my fortunes have since then taken place!—some for the better, many for the worse. I remembered the name I then carved in runic characters on the turf beside the Castle Gate, and I asked why it should still agitate my heart.”[466]
WEST DOOR, ST. ANDREWS.
As we wander among these ancient ruins it is pleasant to think not only on the days when the cathedral stood in all its magnificence, and on those other days when the wild mob raved through it, but also on old Samuel Johnson, wrapped up in contemplation or preaching about retirement, and on Walter Scott resting on a gravestone and dreaming of his first love. We may pause, too, for one moment in the old chapel beneath the tower, at the spot where that good man and good antiquary Robert Chambers lies in everlasting rest. From the top of the tower I looked with pleasure on the long row of young trees planted along the main street. The reproach of bareness will not long hang over the town. Indeed, much had been done to remove it by an earlier generation, for this noble street was adorned not many years ago by a fine group of trees. Unfortunately a reforming provost arose, who swept them away. Near the cathedral I noticed an inscription which might have called forth Johnson’s sarcastic wit had he chanced to see it. It bore the date of 1712, and was in memory of “John Anderson who was Minister of the Gospel of St. Andrews.”