* * *

No gift I have made or can ever make can possibly approach that of
Pittencrieff Glen, Dunfermline. It is saturated with childish
sentiment--all of the purest and sweetest. I must tell that story:

Among my earliest recollections are the struggles of Dunfermline to
obtain the rights of the town to part of the Abbey grounds and the
Palace ruins. My Grandfather Morrison began the campaign, or, at
least, was one of those who did. The struggle was continued by my
Uncles Lauder and Morrison, the latter honored by being charged with
having incited and led a band of men to tear down a certain wall. The
citizens won a victory in the highest court and the then Laird ordered
that thereafter "no Morrison be admitted to the Glen." I, being a
Morrison like my brother-cousin, Dod, was debarred. The Lairds of
Pittencrieff for generations had been at variance with the
inhabitants.

The Glen is unique, as far as I know. It adjoins the Abbey and Palace
grounds, and on the west and north it lies along two of the main
streets of the town. Its area (between sixty and seventy acres) is
finely sheltered, its high hills grandly wooded. It always meant
paradise to the child of Dunfermline. It certainly did to me. When I
heard of paradise, I translated the word into Pittencrieff Glen,
believing it to be as near to paradise as anything I could think of.
Happy were we if through an open lodge gate, or over the wall or under
the iron grill over the burn, now and then we caught a glimpse inside.

Almost every Sunday Uncle Lauder took "Dod" and "Naig" for a walk
around the Abbey to a part that overlooked the Glen--the busy crows
fluttering around in the big trees below. Its Laird was to us children
the embodiment of rank and wealth. The Queen, we knew, lived in
Windsor Castle, but she didn't own Pittencrieff, not she! Hunt of
Pittencrieff wouldn't exchange with her or with any one. Of this we
were sure, because certainly neither of us would. In all my
childhood's--yes and in my early manhood's--air-castle building (which
was not small), nothing comparable in grandeur approached
Pittencrieff. My Uncle Lauder predicted many things for me when I
became a man, but had he foretold that some day I should be rich
enough, and so supremely fortunate as to become Laird of Pittencrieff,
he might have turned my head. And then to be able to hand it over to
Dunfermline as a public park--my paradise of childhood! Not for a
crown would I barte