Jean's Wa's (Walls) are marked on the early maps on the banks of the Garple Burn. This is the story of Jean Gordon who lived there. Taken from the book Lights and Shadows of Scottish Character and Scenery, by "Cincinnatus Caledonius" published in 1824.

JEAN'S WA'S

There are ruins and naked walls in many parts of Scotland, which bring recollections of the times that are gone ! There are walls, even of huts and of ordinary habitations, which often stand accompanied with romantic reminiscences.

Of these some exist in Galloway. One, in a strange situation, in the parish of Balmaclellan. It hath not been a baronial castle. It hath not been a warder's tower. Neither hath it been a fortalice since the days of the Bruce. The walls and foundations mark it only as the remains of a private domicile.

And the site hath been highly romantic. And there are romantic recollections yet following its builder!

On the southern bank of the Galloway Garpal, elevated, perhaps, one hundred feet above the bed of the stream, remain the relics of a house yet named " Jean's Wa's." The situation is not entirely unlike the more famous Hawthornden. A bold, precipitous rock, overhung with oaks and mountain ash, and stuck full, in its crevices, with wizard shrubs, — this forms the southern bank of the stream. The wa's, or walls, remain a few yards from the brink of this wooded and precipitous rock. The Garpal murmurs plaintively beneath. An exceeding large stone, like a cone, usurps the middle of the channel, almost directly opposite to the wa's. On this stone hath often sat the heron and the hawk. In the merry months of spring, too, often, from its summit, does the cuckoo issue its April note.

Another large stone stands farther up the stream. To the east, at the distance of nearly a mile, stands the castellated mansion of Barscoob. Nearly at the same distance, and nearly opposite to the venerable mansion, the Garpal falls over a rock, and forms the " Holy Linn."

Directly opposite to the vestiges of "Jean's Wa's" rises, like an amphitheatre, a beautiful plantation of pines. In former days, 'twas a variegated natural forest. This wood, or plantation, which rises amphitheatrically from the eastern or northern bank of the Garpal, hath long been called, and, perhaps, may long retain the appellation of "Kate's Wood." To the north-west are seen the mansion and "glen of Ardoch" and, far beyond, the mountains on the confines of Carrick and of Cumnock. To the south (but unseen,) spreads the beautiful lake of Kenmore, with its celebrated castle perched at its head — the ancient residence of "Holm," — and, farther south, the ivied tower of Shirmus or Skirmars, adorns the banks of the Ken and its spreading lake.

Such the scenery, and such the environs of the ruins named "Jean's Wa's."

And who was Jean? Who was she who chose this retired and remarkable residence?

There are some such characters as "Jeanie Deans." And there are some such characters as "Minna Troil." And there may be some persons, who, in some degree, unite the characters of both these beautiful creations.

And some such character Jean Gordon was. We are not about to describe the character of the prototype of Meg Merrilies, or the monarchess of tinkers and gipsies. The "Jean Gordon" of Skirmars was a very different personage. Born to some fortune, and educated as a superior female in the seventeenth century, Jean Gordon, to all the softness of the sex, joined a superior intellect. She was tall and beautiful. Her Grecian contour, and auburn locks, sometimes made impressions not easily effaced. And alas! these impressions did not always turn out to the comfort of the accomplished Jean.

A youth came from Ayrshire. Lyndsay was his name. He fell deeply in love with Jean Gordon. He, too, was tall and personable. And he wanted not the grace and the power to please. Somewhat like the "Darnley" of Mary Stuart, Lyndsay was unworthy of Jean Gordon's heart. But he won her heart — he won it — and he cast it away!

The marriage-day was all but fixed. Lyndsay went to Ayrshire, seemingly to prepare for his bride. He there met with another mate. Miss Crawford was certainly a dashing girl. To flutter in public was her aim and her forte. A superior dowry seemed likewise awaiting her. She fluttered with Lyndsay, and he forgot his Jean. He married Miss Crawford. He told not even the former mistress of his heart! Jean languished in neglect. She wondered what had befallen her Lyndsay. But Lyndsay never came. 'Twas only by accident that Jean Gordon was made acquainted with the inconstancy of her Lyndsay.

The tender soul of Jean was almost unhinged. Honest herself, she put full confidence in others. Faithful on her part, she trusted to the constancy of Lyndsay. She trusted, and was deceived. She was deceived, and almost broke her heart.

Her friends would have her listen to the addresses of another. But to this the deceived Jean would never consent. She had once been deceived — she was determined never to trust again to man.

She decided to build a cottage in a solitary glen, and to devote the remainder of her days to devotion.

There were sequestered spots in the Wood of Skirmars. A sweet lake expanded betwixt the Skirmars wood and the "Lowran" Hill. Here she might have dwelt. But she had a sister wedded to Maclellan of Barscobe; and she wished for a residence at a small distance from her sister.

As the families at "Holm" and Skirmars were connected, she obtained from the Gordons of Holm a spot to her mind. On the southern bank of the Garpal she decided to dwell. And her domicile was erected near the brow of a precipitous but well-wooded rock.

Here, then, somewhat after the beginning of the seventeenth century, did the lovely Jean Gordon take up her abode. She was little more than twenty. Her attendants were females, and few. Her Bible, and Shakespeare, and Spenser, composed her library. She often walked by herself on the banks of the Garpal. In dry summer-days she would cross the stream — she would then lose herself in the shades and thickets of the eastern wood.

And oft, as if by prophetic foot, would she wander by that hollow, which afterwards got the appellation of "Society Holm." Here she would sit on the shagged rocks. Here would she listen to the song of the blackbird. And oft would the "sooty blackbird seem to mellow his sad song," as if to please the melancholy Jean. And often, when the mavis would chirp mournfully, would Jean rise and say — "Alas, poor bird! thou also may have lost thy mate!"

Indeed, the after-tidings of Lyndsay that reached the retirement of Jean, were not of a nature to compose her mind. He lived unhappy with Anne Crawford. They parted. He went abroad. He joined the levies of a foreign prince. But a military man, a relative of Jean's, who knew his ungentlemanly conduct to his cousin, challenged Lyndsay, and stabbed him to the heart! When dying, the miserable man exclaimed — "May God forgive me! And 0, bear my blood and my remorse to the injured Jean Gordon!"

Jean lived not long. For deep despondence preyed upon her soul. In one of her evening walks she caught cold — she fevered, and sickened — and died!

Some say she was buried on the bank of the stream where she delighted so often to muse. But there is an ancient tomb in the church-yard of Balmaclellan which incloses the dead of the joint houses of Holm and Skirmars. Perhaps in this repository hath mouldered the dust of the lamented Jean Gordon.

The domicile of "Jean" had now become tenantless. The Garpal murmured by, but "Jean" heard it no more. The cuckoo cried on the big grey stone — but she cooed no longer for "Jean." The mavis sang sweet in the woods of Bogue — but "Jean" walked there no longer to hear it. The blackbird, in the sombre summer evenings, whistled his sad song, beneath the rock which supported "Jean's" cottage — but alas! the heart of "Jean" was responsive no more. The "season" of the leafless woods succeeded, and the rustling of the sere leaves beneath the woodman's feet brought to his heart the flower which had fallen on the other side.

So faded the flower of the Ken, which had thus been transplanted to the banks of the Garpal! Yes — the flower faded — the maid withered — but her spotless spirit winged its way to the mansion of peace! The Father of Mercy received that wounded soul! He received and renewed it in the Land of Emanuel! The stream of the Garpal was succeeded by the River of Life — the woods around her cottage by the Garden of God! The slighted bride of Skirmars was now united to the Bridegroom of Immortality !

The sister at Barscobe lamented her loss. All the poor lamented Jean Gordon for "Jean" was the sister of the poor. Her domicile stood tenantless. But there was a new mansion to be built at Barscobe. Maclellan and his spouse were determined to rebuild even the stones of "Jean's" cottage into their castellated mansion. (Engraved on the house, 1647)

And they did rebuild their mansion. And they carried even the stones of their sister's cottage there! The foundation, however, remained, as if to mark where had been the domicile of a lamented friend. And even in 1823 the vestiges remain.

And the Maclellans themselves are no more! But their mansion stands. And yet, above its doorway, and in other parts of the house, may be noticed the arms of Maclellan quartered with those of the Gordons!

And the vestiges of "Jean's" dwelling remain. And long hath it been called, and may yet be longer named, by the country people — Jean's Wa's !

And forty or fifty years after the death of "Jean'' did the hymn of devotion again ascend from the sides of the Garpal. And wanderers and melancholy men besought the Power of Mercy and Salvation!

And while the persecuted hid themselves in the eastern woods by day, or wandered down the banks of the stream by the mellow moonlight, — sometimes lifting their eyes to the wa's of "Jean," would they sigh, and say — "The child of sorrow is gone! But, had she remained, her roof would have been our shelter!"