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Updated: June 4, 2025
The picture hung in the place of honour in the long narrow gallery at the Manor Moat, with trophies of Flodden and Zutphen arranged against the blackened oak panelling above it. The Kirklands had been a race of soldiers since the days of Edward III. The house was full of war-like decorations tattered colours, old armour, memorials of fighting Kirklands who had long been dust.
Thence to Brahan. On the 31st, pic-nic to the Falls of Rogie, with Lord Blandford playing on the bugle. September 1st. To Raith. 7th, to Arniston. 10th, to Ancrum, Kirklands. 16th, to see Harriet Martineau at Ambleside. 18th. Home. September 22nd. Torry Hill. 23rd, excursion to Margate races, with Lord Kingsdown. Shooting at Torry Hill. Mr. Richardson died at Kirklands on October 4th.
They went one day to the top of the highest hill in the neighbourhood. They had just left the hills, and stood on the turnpike-road between Dunmoor and Kirklands, the other lads to go to the manse, and Archie to go home, a good two miles away yet.
But if the little girl with her white pony could have come back again to Kirklands, they would have missed many a familiar face, and searched in vain for many a cottage.
The little girl seemed possessed with the idea that Miss Campbell would be sure to be able to help Geordie in this extremity; and so she left her old granny to find her way alone, and had hurried away in the direction of Kirklands to tell her sorrowful tale, meeting Grace, as we know, in the elm avenue, after her eventful talk with her brother.
"You're a good-like sort of a lad, I think," said the old woman; "Sim was here ower the night last night." "Where is he now?" said Robbie. "He left me this morning at t' edge o' t' daylight. He axed for t' coach to Lancaster, and I telt him it started frae the Woodman, in Kirklands, and so he went off there." "Kirklands; where's Kirklands?" "In Kendal, near the church."
It was a chilly Scotch spring day. The afternoon sun glistened with fitful, feeble rays on the windows of the old house of Kirklands, and unpleasant little gusts of east wind came eddying round its ancient gables, and sweeping along its broad walks and shrubberies, sending a chill to the hearts of all the young green things that were struggling into life.
In the North British Review, No. 82, there is an extremely interesting sketch of this learned Peerage lawyer. He died in his 85th year, in 1864, at his country seat, Kirklands in Roxburghshire, which he had purchased by Sir Walter's advice. The following amusing narrative of what took place on Tweedside when these two old friends were in their prime is given in Mr. Richardson's own words:
No wonder she was weary; for at the dawn of that long August day, now closing so dimly over the smoky town, her feet had pressed the purple heather on the hills that skirt the little village of Kirklands. A neighbouring farmer had driven her part of the way, but she had walked since then seven-and-twenty miles of the distance that lay between her and her home.
Some things, however, which they read and heard in the little quiet room at Kirklands sank into their hearts as they had never done when they read them as the stereotyped portion of the Bible-reading lesson amid the mingled jangle of slates and pencils and pattering feet, with the hum of rough northern tongues, which prevailed in the parish school-room.
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