St. Ronans Well | Page 8

by which it was surrounded, and was
indeed so small in size, and so much lowered in height by the graves on
the outside, which ascended half way up the low Saxon windows, that
it might itself have appeared only a funeral vault, or mausoleum of
larger size. Its little square tower, with the ancient belfry, alone
distinguished it from such a monument. But when the grey-headed
beadle turned the keys with his shaking hand, the antiquary was
admitted into an ancient building, which, from the style of its
architecture, and some monuments of the Mowbrays of St. Ronan's,
which the old man was accustomed to point out, was generally
conjectured to be as early as the thirteenth century.
These Mowbrays of St. Ronan's seem to have been at one time a very
powerful family. They were allied to, and friends of the house of
Douglas, at the time when the overgrown power of that heroic race
made the Stewarts tremble on the Scottish throne. It followed that,
when, as our old naïf historian expresses it, "no one dared to strive with
a Douglas, nor yet with a Douglas's man, for if he did, he was sure to
come by the waur," the family of St. Ronan's shared their prosperity,
and became lords of almost the whole of the rich valley of which their
mansion commanded the prospect. But upon the turning of the tide, in
the reign of James II., they became despoiled of the greater part of
those fair acquisitions, and succeeding events reduced their importance
still farther. Nevertheless, they were, in the middle of the seventeenth
century, still a family of considerable note; and Sir Reginald Mowbray,
after the unhappy battle of Dunbar, distinguished himself by the
obstinate defence of the Castle against the arms of Cromwell, who,

incensed at the opposition which he had unexpectedly encountered in
an obscure corner, caused the fortress to be dismantled and blown up
with gunpowder.
After this catastrophe the old Castle was abandoned to ruin; but Sir
Reginald, when, like Allan Ramsay's Sir William Worthy, he returned
after the Revolution, built himself a house in the fashion of that later
age, which he prudently suited in size to the diminished fortunes of his
family. It was situated about the middle of the village, whose vicinity
was not in those days judged any inconvenience, upon a spot of ground
more level than was presented by the rest of the acclivity, where, as we
said before, the houses were notched as it were into the side of the steep
bank, with little more level ground about them than the spot occupied
by their site. But the Laird's house had a court in front and a small
garden behind, connected with another garden, which, occupying three
terraces, descended, in emulation of the orchards of the old Castle,
almost to the banks of the stream.
The family continued to inhabit this new messuage until about fifty
years before the commencement of our history, when it was much
damaged by a casual fire; and the Laird of the day, having just
succeeded to a more pleasant and commodious dwelling at the distance
of about three miles from the village, determined to abandon the
habitation of his ancestors. As he cut down at the same time an ancient
rookery, (perhaps to defray the expenses of the migration,) it became a
common remark among the country folk, that the decay of St. Ronan's
began when Laird Lawrence and the crows flew off.
The deserted mansion, however, was not consigned to owls and birds
of the desert; on the contrary, for many years it witnessed more fun and
festivity than when it had been the sombre abode of a grave Scottish
Baron of "auld lang syne." In short, it was converted into an inn, and
marked by a huge sign, representing on the one side St. Ronan catching
hold of the devil's game leg with his Episcopal crook, as the story may
be read in his veracious legend, and on the other the Mowbray arms. It
was by far the best frequented public-house in that vicinity; and a
thousand stories were told of the revels which had been held within its

walls, and the gambols achieved under the influence of its liquors. All
this, however, had long since passed away, according to the lines in my
frontispiece,
"A merry place, 'twas said, in days of yore; But something ail'd it
now,--the place was cursed."
The worthy couple (servants and favourites of the Mowbray family)
who first kept the inn, had died reasonably wealthy, after long carrying
on a flourishing trade, leaving behind them an only daughter. They had
acquired by degrees not only the property of the inn itself, of which
they were originally tenants, but of some remarkably good