.- 
 
 I 
 
 nil
 
 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH
 
 7^V UNIFORM STYLE 
 Each compiled by ALFRED H. HYATT 
 
 THE CHARM OF LONDON 
 
 With Twelve Illustrations in Colour by YOSHIO MARKIKO 
 
 THE CHARM OF VENICE 
 
 With Twelve Illustrations in Colour by HARALD SUND 
 
 THE CHARM OF PARIS 
 
 With Twelve Illustrations in Colour by HARRY MOW.IT 
 
 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 With Twelve Illustrations in Colour by HARRY MORLKT 
 PHILADELPHIA: GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
 
 HK;H STREET, EDINBURGH
 
 THE 
 
 CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 AN ANTHOLOGY 
 
 
 
 COMPILED BY ALFRED H. HYATT 
 WITH 12 ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRY MORLEY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO. 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 PRINTED IN ENGLAND
 
 EDITOR'S NOTE 
 
 EDINBURGH has been praised by many famous pens. 
 The city's beautiful situation has afforded theme 
 for the poet ; the romances of its streets have pre- 
 sented the novelist with plots for tales of supreme 
 interest ; and in dealing with its past life the histori- 
 ographer finds ample and rich material. 
 
 In the following pages have been gathered together 
 poems and prose passages which illustrate the charm 
 of Edinburgh. These, collected under various sec- 
 tions, introduce many famous names, and afford 
 delightful word-pictures of the scenery and life of 
 the Northern metropolis. 
 
 A. H. H. 
 
 To the present edition have been added twelve 
 illustrations after the water-colour drawings of Mr. 
 HARRY MORLEY. 
 
 September^ 1913,
 
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 
 
 FOR permission kindly given to include copyright 
 passages and poems, the compiler desires to tender 
 his thanks to the following authors and publishers : 
 To Mr. Edward Arnold for two extracts from ' The 
 Life and Letters of Maria Edge worth '; to Messrs. 
 Seeley and Co. for an extract from Robert Louis 
 Stevenson's ' Edinburgh : Picturesque Notes '; to 
 Mr. J. M. Barrie for an extract from ' Margaret 
 Ogilvy ' (Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton) ; to Messrs. 
 W. P. Nimmo, Hay, and Mitchell for extracts from 
 Hugh Miller's works and Alexander Smith's poem 
 ' Edinburgh '; to Messrs. Macmillan and Co. for 
 an extract from Maurice Hewlett's ' The Queen's 
 Quair '; to The Macmillan Co. for extracts from 
 William Winter's ' Gray Days and Gold '; to Mr. 
 T. Fisher Unwin and Mr. S. R. Crockett for an extract 
 from ' The Stickit Minister '; to Messrs. James 
 Clarke and Co. and Mr. S. R. Crockett for extracts 
 from ' Kid McGhie ' and ' Kit Kennedy '; to Mr. W. 
 Brown for an extract from Joseph Taylor's ' A 
 Journey to Edenborough in 1705 '; to Mr. Gordon 
 Wordsworth for an extract from Dorothy Words-
 
 viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 
 
 worth's ' Recollections of a Tour in Scotland ' (Mr. 
 David Douglas) ; to Miss Rosaline Masson for an 
 extract from ' In Our Town ' (Messrs. Hodder and 
 Stoughton) ; to the editors of The Scotsman and The 
 Spectator and Mr. Will H. Ogilvie respectively for 
 two poems, ' Holyrood ' and ' Spring in Scotland '; to 
 Mr. Fred. G. Bowles for ' A Northern Song ' ; to Mr. 
 David Nutt for poems by W. E. Henley ; to Miss 
 Christabel Massey for poems from Gerald Massey's 
 ' My Lyrical Life '; to Messrs. Chatto and Windus 
 for various passages and poems from those of Robert 
 Louis Stevenson's books which they control ; to 
 Mr. Alfred Noyes for a poem ; to Mr. Henry Johnston 
 for two poems ; to Mr. John Drinkwater for a poem ; 
 and to Mrs. Moulton for an extract from ' Random 
 Rambles.'
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACK 
 
 EDINA'S CHARM i 
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 37 
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 71 
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 125 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 153 
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 191 
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 243 
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 279 
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 305 
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 331 
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 373 
 
 THE SEASONS IN EDINBURGH 419 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 433
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 HIGH STREET, EDINBURGH Frontispiece 
 
 OLD EDINBURGH FROM WAVERLEY BRIDGB Tofaufage 22 
 
 EDINBURGH FROM CALTON HILL 72 
 
 A VIEW FROM CALTON HILL 152 
 
 THE CASTLE FROM GRASSMARKBT 186 
 
 PRINCES STREET, LOOKING EAST 228 
 
 HOLYROOD 282 
 
 THE CASTLE AND THE SCOTT MEMORIAL 302 
 
 LADY STAIR'S CLOSE 324 
 
 JOHN KNOX'S HOUSE 344 
 
 ARTHUR'S SEAT, HOLYROOD, AND THE BURNS MONUMENT 382
 
 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 EDINA'S CHARM
 
 The combination of historic association with a matchless 
 beauty which no change can efface gives Edinburgh her 
 supreme attraction. By universal judgment, Edinburgh has 
 a place, possibly the highest place, in the small group of the 
 great towns of Europe conspicuous for romance and physical 
 charm. 
 
 SIR HENRY CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN. 
 
 I 
 
 Venice, it has been said, differs from all other cities in the 
 sentiment which she inspires. The rest may have admirers ; 
 she only, a famous fair one, counts lovers in her train. And, 
 indeed, even by her kindest friends, Edinburgh is not con- 
 sidered in a similar sense. These like her for many reasons, 
 not any one of which is satisfactory in itself. They like her 
 whimsically, if you will, and somewhat as a virtuoso dotes 
 upon his cabinet. Her attraction is romantic in the nar- 
 rowest meaning of the term. Beautiful as she is, she is not so 
 much beautiful as interesting. She is pre-eminently Gothic, 
 and all the more so since she has set herself off with some 
 Greek airs, and erected classic temples on her crags. 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 THE FAMOUS METROPOLIS OF THE NORTH 
 
 THE ancient and famous metropolis of the North sits 
 overlooking a windy estuary from the slope and 
 summit of three hills. No situation could be more 
 commanding for the head city of a kingdom ; none 
 better chosen for noble prospects. From her tall 
 precipice and terraced gardens she looks far and wide 
 on the sea and broad champaigns. . . . Meditative 
 people will find a charm in a certain consonancy be- 
 tween the aspect of the city and its odd and stirring 
 history. Few places, if any, offer a more barbaric 
 display of contrasts to the eye. In the very midst 
 stands one of the most satisfactory crags in Nature 
 a Bass Rock upon dry land, rooted in a garden shaken 
 by passing trains, carrying a crown of battlements and 
 turrets, and describing its war-like shadow over the 
 liveliest and brightest thoroughfare of the new town. 
 From their smoky beehives, ten stories high, the un- 
 washed look down upon the open squares and gar- 
 dens of the wealthy ; and gay people, sunning them- 
 selves along Princes Street, with its mile of com- 
 mercial palaces all beflagged upon some great occa- 
 sion, see, across a gardened valley set with statues, 
 where the washings of the Old Town flutter in the 
 breeze at its high windows. And then, upon all sides, 
 what a clashing of architecture ! In this one valley, 
 where the life of the town goes most busily forward, 
 there may be seen, shown one above and behind 
 another by the accidents of the ground, buildings in 
 
 12
 
 4 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 almost every style upon the globe. Egyptian and 
 Greek temples, Venetian palaces and Gothic spires, 
 are huddled one over another in a most admired dis- 
 order ; while, above all, the brute mass of the Castle 
 and the summit of Arthur's Seat look down upon 
 these imitations with a becoming dignity, as the works 
 of Nature may look down upon the monuments of 
 Art. But Nature is a more indiscriminate patroness 
 than we imagine, and in no way frightened of a 
 strong effect. The birds roost as willingly among 
 the Corinthian capitals as in the crannies of the crag ; 
 the same atmosphere and daylight clothe the eternal 
 rock and yesterday's imitation portico ; and as the 
 soft northern sunshine throws out everything into 
 a glorified distinctness, or easterly mists, coming up 
 with the blue evening, fuse all these incongruous 
 features into one, and the lamps begin to glitter 
 along the street, and faint lights to burn in the high 
 windows across the valley, the feeling grows upon 
 you that this also is a piece of Nature in the most 
 intimate sense ; that this profusion of eccentricities, 
 this dream in masonry and living rock, is not a drop- 
 scene in a theatre, but a city in the world of every- 
 day reality. 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 A SPOT OF ENCHANTMENT 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN AT THE HERMITAGE OF BRAID, NEAR 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 WOULD you relish a rural retreat, 
 
 Or the pleasure the groves can inspire, 
 
 The city's allurements forget, 
 
 To this spot of enchantment retire,
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 5 
 
 Where a valley, and crystalline brook, 
 Whose current glides sweetly along, 
 
 Give Nature a fanciful look, 
 
 The beautiful woodlands among. 
 
 Behold the umbrageous trees 
 A covert of verdure have spread, 
 
 Where shepherds may loll at their ease, 
 And pipe to the musical shade : 
 
 For, lo ! thro' each op'ning is heard, 
 
 In concert with waters below, 
 The voice of a musical bird, 
 
 Whose numbers do gracefully flow. 
 
 The bushes and arbours so green, 
 The tendrils of spray interwove, 
 
 With foliage shelter the scene, 
 And form a retirement for love. 
 
 Here Venus transported may rove 
 From pleasure to pleasure unseen, 
 
 Nor wish for the Cyprian grove 
 Her youthful Adonis to screen. 
 
 Oft let me contemplative dwell 
 
 On a scene where such beauties appear ; 
 
 I could live in a cot or a cell, 
 And never think solitude near. 
 
 ROBERT FERGUSSON. 
 ' OUR TOWN ' 
 
 OUR Town, like the Castle, is in itself complete. 
 Metaphorically speaking, it is a walled city, having 
 within its walls all that it finds necessary for its exist-
 
 6 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 ence. It has its social life, its intellectual life, its 
 religious life, all within its own metaphorical walls. 
 And so it happens that people may come to Our 
 Town and make it their home for years, and take no 
 hold of it, remaining in it and yet not of it. 
 
 Criticized as a picture, Our Town may be lacking 
 in colour : regarded as a photograph, it is the most 
 beautiful city in the world. We all know that we 
 live in the most beautiful city in the world. Strangers 
 may jest or grumble, according to their natures and 
 tempers, about our climate ; but we can afford to 
 smile. Who would be such a boor as to cavil at the 
 most beautiful woman in the world because her 
 temper was not equable ? 
 
 I happened to be the only man at a large afternoon 
 tea-gathering the other day, and I was trying to make 
 myself inconspicuous in the doorway until some 
 other man should arrive to bear me company, or until 
 I could make good my escape. In this position I 
 overheard the greetings and conversations of two 
 ladies. They were both natives of Our Town, and 
 knew each other intimately ; but the exigencies of 
 marriage had torn one away for a few years. They 
 sank down by one another on a sofa inside the door- 
 way, and pressed each other's hands. 
 
 ' It is a beautiful town, is it not ?' asked she who 
 had remained in it. 
 
 ' It is indeed !' replied the other fervently. ' Coming 
 back to Our Town after living elsewhere, one is struck 
 afresh by it !' 
 
 ' Ah, you will be !' answered the first sympatheti- 
 cally. ' Indeed, I never go out but I say to myself, 
 " What a beautiful city it is we live in, the 
 Castle " '
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 7 
 
 ' And such broad streets !' 
 
 ' And the public gardens !' 
 
 ' And the magnificent buildings !' 
 
 ' And the Old Town so picturesque !' 
 
 ' And the New Town so regular !' 
 
 ' Ah, it is a beautiful city !' 
 
 Do you, in other towns, say all this when you meet 
 after a few years' separation, I wonder ? 
 
 Our dear old Town ! We boast that it, like Rome, 
 is spread amid seven hills ; but its grey old back- 
 bone lies jagged and worn along a single ridge from 
 its Castle on the height to its Palace in the depth ; 
 and every vertebra of that ancient backbone is rich 
 in crusted association and legend and tragedy and 
 history. Our dear old Town, with its haze of blue- 
 grey smoke hanging over it by day, and its hundreds 
 of twinkling lights by night ! Cold and grey and 
 hard and beautiful, it is like some exquisite pearl 
 flung up on the shores of the misty sea. 
 
 ROSALINE MASSON. 
 
 THE BEAUTY OF EDINBURGH 
 
 EVERY true Scotsman believes Edinburgh to be the 
 most picturesque city in the world ; and truly, stands 
 ing on the Calton Hill at early morning, when the 
 smoke of fires newly kindled hangs in azure swathe, 
 and veils about the Old Town which from that 
 point resembles a huge lizard, the Castle its head- 
 church-spires spikes upon its scaly back, creeping 
 up from its lair beneath the Crags to look out on the 
 morning world one is quite inclined to pardon the 
 enthusiasm of the North Briton. The finest view 
 from the interior is obtained from the corner of
 
 8 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 St. Andrew Street, looking west. Straight before 
 you the Mound crosses the valley, bearing the white 
 Academy buildings ; beyond, the Castle lifts, from 
 grassy slopes and billows of summer foliage, its 
 weather-stained towers and fortifications, the Hall- 
 Moon battery giving the folds of its standard to the 
 wind. Living in Edinburgh there abides, above all 
 things, a sense of its beauty. Hill, crag, castle, rock, 
 blue stretch of sea, the picturesque ridge of the Old 
 Town, the squares and terraces of the New these 
 things seen once are not to be forgotten. The quick 
 life of to-day sounding around the relics of antiquity, 
 and overshadowed by the august traditions of a 
 kingdom, makes residence in Edinburgh more im- 
 pressive than residence in any other British city. I 
 have just come in surely it never looked so fair 
 before ? What a poem is that Princes Street ! The 
 puppets of the busy, many-coloured hour move about 
 on its pavement, while across the ravine Time has 
 piled up the Old Town, ridge on ridge, grey as a 
 rocky coast washed and worn by the foam of cen- 
 turies ; peaked and jagged by gable and roof ; win- 
 dowed from basement to cope ; the whole surmounted 
 by St. Giles's airy crown. The New is there looking 
 at the Old. Two Times are brought face to face, and 
 are yet separated by a thousand years. Wonderful 
 on winter nights, when the gully is filled with dark- 
 ness, and out of it rises, against the sombre blue and 
 the frosty stars, that mass and bulwark of gloom, 
 pierced and quivering with innumerable lights. 
 There is nothing in Europe to match that, I think. 
 Could you but roll a river down the valley it would be 
 sublime. Finer still, to place one's self near the 
 Burns Monument and look toward the Castle. It is
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 9 
 
 more astonishing than an Eastern dream. A city 
 rises up before you painted by fire on night. High 
 in air a bridge of lights leaps the chasm ; a few 
 emerald lamps, like glow-worms, are moving silently 
 about in the railway station below ; a solitary 
 crimson one is at rest. That ridged and chimneyed 
 bulk of blackness, with splendour bursting out at 
 every pore, is the wonderful Old Town, where Scottish 
 history mainly transacted itself ; while, opposite, 
 the modern Princes Street is blazing throughout its 
 length. During the day the Castle looks down 
 upon the city as if out of another world ; stern with 
 all its peacefulness, its garniture of trees, its slopes of 
 grass. The rock is dingy enough in colour, but after 
 a shower, its lichens laugh out greenly in the returning 
 sun, while the rainbow is brightening on the lower- 
 ing sky beyond. How deep the shadow which the 
 Castle throws at noon over the gardens at its feet 
 where the children play ! How grand when giant 
 bulk and towery crown blacken against sunset ! 
 Fair, too, the New Town sloping to the sea. From 
 George Street, which crowns the ridge, the eye is 
 led down sweeping streets of stately architecture to 
 the villas and woods that fill the lower ground, and 
 fringe the shore ; to the bright azure belt of the 
 Forth, with its smoking steamer or its creeping sail ; 
 beyond, to the shores of Fife, soft blue, and flecked 
 with fleeting shadows in the keen, clear light of 
 spring, dark purple in the summer heat, tarnished 
 gold in the autumn haze ; and farther away still, 
 just distinguishable on the paler sky, the crest 
 of some distant peak, carrying the imagination 
 into the illimitable world. Residence in Edin- 
 burgh is an education in itself. Its beauty refines
 
 io THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 one like being in love. It is perennial, like a play 
 of Shakespeare's. Nothing can stale its infinite 
 variety. 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH. 
 
 EDINBURGH'S CALL 
 
 THE tropics vanish, and meseems that I, 
 From Halkerside, from topmost Allermuir, 
 Or steep Caerketton, dreaming gaze again. 
 Far set in fields and woods, the town I see 
 Spring gallant from the shadows of her smoke, 
 Cragged, spired, and turreted, her virgin fort 
 Beflagged. About, on seaward-drooping hills, 
 New folds of city glitter. Last, the Forth 
 Wheels ample waters set with sacred isles, 
 And populous Fife smokes with a score of 
 towns. 
 
 There, on the sunny frontage of a hill, 
 Hard by the house of kings, repose the dead, 
 My dead, the ready and the strong of word. 
 Their works, the salt-encrusted, still survive ; 
 The sea bombards their founded towers ; the 
 
 night 
 Thrills pierced with their strong lamps. The 
 
 artificers, 
 
 One after one, here in this grated cell, 
 Where the rain erases, and the rust consumes, 
 Fell upon lasting silence. Continents 
 And continental oceans intervene ; 
 A sea unchartered, on a lampless isle, 
 Environs and confines their wandering child 
 In vain. The voice of generations dead
 
 EDINA'S CHARM u 
 
 Summons me, sitting distant, to arise, 
 My numerous footsteps nimbly to retrace, 
 And, all mutation over, stretch me down 
 In that denoted city of the dead. 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 EDINBURGH'S STATELY BEAUTY 
 
 IT is a long trip from London to Edinburgh, but if 
 you take the Flying Scotchman, you do it in ten 
 hours. The Flying Scotchman is the fast express, 
 which makes only three or four stops between the 
 two cities, and goes, I believe, at the rate of sixty 
 miles an hour. It does, indeed, seem like flying. A 
 bird on rapid wing must get much such glimpses of 
 the world about him as we got, tearing on through 
 the country, that long day. 
 
 We reached Edinburgh in the evening. The friend 
 we were to visit was glad of this ; for he was an 
 American of Scotch descent, and had enough of a 
 Scotchman's pride in Edinburgh to want us first to 
 see ' The Castle ' in all its morning glory. Every- 
 body talks of the Castle when you are in Edinburgh. 
 You cannot forget it if you would, for it dominates 
 everything, and it is the heart of everything. 
 
 Edinburgh is a city of hills and vaUeys. Castle 
 Rock, as the site of the Castle is called, is soms seven 
 hundred feet in circumference, and on three sides it 
 is just bare rock, so precipitous that foot of man could 
 hardly scale it. Accessible only on one side, a 
 place more perfectly adapted for a fortress can scarcely 
 be imagined. 
 
 The old grey Castle itself is one of the most im- 
 pressive of buildings. Whether you see it at sun-
 
 12 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 rise, at high noon, in the tender twilight time, or 
 when the pale moon visits it, it is alike beautiful ; 
 but I think the view of it which will linger longest in 
 my memory is that I had one afternoon when I sat 
 on a green bank in the Princes Street Gardens. The 
 sun sank lower and lower, until at last the valley was 
 in shadow, while all the sunset glow and glory rested 
 on the grey old Castle, making its windows flame like 
 opals. 
 
 I remember Edinburgh and the region round it 
 in a series of pictures. The buildings are all of 
 stone, a fine-grained sandstone, which is quite 
 equal in beauty to marble. It is susceptible of the 
 utmost delicacy of carving, and it so well resists the 
 effects of time and the weather as to retain longer 
 than almost any other stone its freshness of aspect. 
 Arthur's Seat attracted me most among the many 
 hills. The Seat itself is a great rock at the very top 
 of the hill, in which you can trace a sort of fantastic 
 resemblance to a chair. 
 
 I sat there on the jagged old rock, and looked forth 
 with such a swelling at my heart as I cannot at all 
 put into words. I have seldom if ever seen a view 
 at once so extended and so lovely. Edinburgh lay 
 spread out there in all its stately beauty. Other 
 more distant hills confronted you with their solemn 
 peace. Off at one side was Leith, the seaport of 
 Edinburgh, and beyond it the sea, blue, bright, 
 illimitable. It was worth a much harder climb to 
 look upon such a scene. 
 
 LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 13 
 
 ' A GRAN' SPEECH ' 
 
 Shepherd. Mr. North, sir ; gie's ane o' your gran' 
 speeches. I want to fa' asleep. 
 
 North, Yes, Edina, thou art indeed a noble city, 
 a metropolis worthy the land of Mountain and of 
 Flood, Glen, Forest, Loch, and long-winding arms of 
 Ocean. Queen of the North ! which of thy august 
 shrines dost thou love the best ? The Castle Cliff, 
 within whose hoary battlements Kings were born ; 
 the Green Hill looking down on deserted Holyrood ; 
 the crags smitten into grandeur and beauty by time 
 and the elements ; or the Mountain, like a lion 
 couchant, reposing in the sky ? 
 
 Shepherd. Losh me ! that's beautifu' language. 
 
 North. The glorious works of Nature everywhere 
 overshadow those of men's hands, and her primeval 
 spirit yet reigns, with paramount and prevailing 
 power, over the region that art has made magnificent 
 with spires, towers, temples, and palaces ! 
 
 Shepherd. Nane o' your asthmatic coughs ; on wi' 
 ye, on wi' ye, ye deevil. 
 
 North. Wheel round the city, as on eagle's wing, 
 skimming the edge of the smoke, and the din, and 
 the tumult, in itself a world, yet bordered how 
 beautifully by another world of plains, woods, and 
 ranges of hills, and that glorious Firth, all silent, 
 serene, sublime ; and overhead a heaven swept into 
 cloudless azure by the sea-blasts, and stretching 
 out an ample circumference for the path of the 
 sun ! 
 
 Shepherd. Eh ? Was ye speaking to me ? Oo 
 ay, it's a gude jug. 
 
 North. Eastward : those are ships hanging afar off
 
 14 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 between wave and weather-gleam ; westward : those 
 are not clouds, but snow-capt mountains, whose 
 sides are thundering with cataracts, and round whose 
 bases lie a hundred lakes. . . . The eye needs not, 
 here, the aid of Imagination ; but Imagination will not, 
 in such a scene, suffer the eye to be without her aid. 
 The past and the future she makes to darken or 
 brighten on the present the limits of the horizon 
 she extends afar and around ' stately Edinburgh, 
 throned on craggs,' arises a vision of old Scotland 
 from sea to sea ! 
 
 Shepherd (starting). Lord, sirs, I thocht I had 
 coupit ower a precipice just then. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER NORTH. 
 
 MAGNIFICENT EDINBURGH 
 
 THE situation of Edinburgh is probably as extra- 
 ordinary an one as can well be imagined for a me- 
 tropolis. The immense hills, on which great part of 
 it is built, make the views uncommonly magnificent. 
 You have seen the famous street at Lisle, la Rue 
 Royale, leading to the port of Tournay, which is said 
 to be the finest in Europe ; but which I can assure 
 you is not to be compared either in length or breadth 
 to the High Street at Edinburgh ; and would they be 
 at the expense of removing some buildings which 
 obstruct the view, by being placed in the middle of 
 the street, nothing could be conceived more mag- 
 nificent. ... I make no manner of doubt but that 
 the High Street in Edinburgh is inhabited by a 
 greater number of persons than any street in Europe. 
 The ground floors and cellars are in general made 
 use of for shops by the tradesmen ; who here Style
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 15 
 
 themselves merchants, as in France ; and the higher 
 houses are possessed by the genteeler people. 
 
 In London, you know, such an habitation would 
 not be deemed the most eligible, and many a man in 
 such a situation would not be sorry to descend a little 
 lower. The style of building here has given rise to 
 different ideas : Some years ago a Scotch gentleman, 
 who went to London for the first time, took the upper- 
 most storey of a lodging house, and was very much 
 surprised to find what he thought the genteelest place 
 in the whole at the lowest price. His friends who 
 came to see him, in vain acquainted him with the 
 mistake he had been guilty of. ' He ken'd vera 
 weel,' he said, ' what gentility was, and when he 
 lived all his life in a sixth storey, he was not come to 
 London to live upon the ground.' 
 
 From the left of the High Street you pass down 
 by a number of different alleys, or as they call them 
 here, wynds and closes, to the different parts of the 
 Old Town. They are many of them so very steep that 
 it requires great attention to the feet to prevent 
 falling ; but so well accustomed are the Scotch to 
 that position of body required in descending these 
 declivities, that I have seen a Scotch girl run down 
 them with great swiftness in pattens. . . . 
 
 After all the agreeable hours I have passed here, 
 the remembrance of which will ever be dear to me, I 
 am on the point of taking my leave of this kingdom. 
 Travellers, you know, generally affect a sorrow on 
 parting with those who have received them civilly, 
 and sometimes probably may feel one. But I can 
 assure you that on this occasion it is not necessary 
 ' to assume a virtue which I have not.' I am so 
 well convinced of the merit of those I leave behind
 
 16 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 me, that I feel the most sincere regret for my de- 
 parture. 
 
 The wandering life I have hitherto led has by no 
 means extinguished these sensations ; for, though I 
 despise all attachments to this place or the other, 
 merely for being such, I make it my study to conform, 
 as far as I can, to the opinions, and even to the 
 prejudices of every country into which I go. Every 
 man should do so, because it is the means of making 
 his own happiness. 
 
 The little time I have now left me must be employed 
 in acknowledging the numerous civilities I have 
 received, and in parting from those I most esteem. 
 I wish this last office over, for it is a very painful one, 
 and answers no one purpose that I know of but that 
 of making us more melancholy. Were I to spare my 
 own feelings alone on this occasion, I might probably 
 be willing to escape without the ceremonies of an 
 audience ; but the gratitude I owe the Scotch must 
 make me forego such a thought. 
 
 CAPTAIN TOPHAM (1775). 
 
 QUEEN OF THE UNCONQUERED NORTH 
 
 THEN proudly fling thy white arms to the sea, 
 Queen of the unconquered North ! lo ! yonder deep, 
 With all his subject waves, doth worship thee ! 
 Stately thou sittest on thy mountain throne, 
 Thy towers and temples like a cloudy sky ; 
 And scarce can tell what fabrics are thine own, 
 Hung 'mid the air-built phantoms floating by. 
 Oh ! ne'er may that bright diadem be shorn, 
 By thee, for many an age, majestically worn ! 
 
 PROFESSOR WILSON.
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 17 
 
 A HOT-BED OF GENIUS 
 
 I SHOULD be very ungrateful, dear Lewis, if I did not 
 find myself disposed to think and speak favourably 
 of this people, among whom I have met with more 
 kindness, hospitality, and rational entertainment in 
 a few weeks, than ever I received in any other 
 country during the whole course of my life. . . . 
 Edinburgh is a hot-bed of genius. I had the good 
 fortune to be made acquainted with many authors 
 of the first distinction, such as the two Humes, 
 Robertson, Smith, Wallace, Blair, Fergusson, Wilkie, 
 etc., and I have found them all as agreeable in con- 
 versation as they are instructive and entertaining in 
 their writings. . . . Though this city, from the nature 
 of its situation, can never be made either very 
 convenient or very cleanly, it has nevertheless an 
 air of magnificence that commands respect. The 
 Castle is an instance of the sublime in site and 
 architecture. Its fortifications are kept in good 
 order, and there is always in it a garrison of regular 
 soldiers, which is relieved every year ; but it is in- 
 capable of sustaining a siege carried on according to 
 the modern operations of war. The Castle-hill, 
 which extends from the outward gate to the upper 
 end of the High Street, is used as a public walk for 
 the citizens, and commands a prospect equally 
 extensive and delightful, over the county of Fife, 
 on the other side of the Firth, and all along the sea- 
 coast, which is covered with a succession of towns 
 that would seem to indicate a considerable share of 
 commerce ; but if the truth must be told, these 
 towns have been falling to decay ever since the 
 Union, by which the Scotch were in a great measure 
 
 2
 
 i8 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 deprived of their trade with France. The palace 
 of Holyrood-house is a jewel in architecture, thrust 
 into a hollow where it cannot be seen ; a situation 
 which was certainly not chosen by the ingenious 
 architect, who must have been confined to the site 
 of the old palace, which was a convent. Edinburgh 
 is considerably extended on the south side, where 
 there are divers little elegant squares built in the 
 English manner ; and the citizens have planned some 
 improvements on the north, which, when put in 
 execution, will add greatly to the beauty and con- 
 venience of this capital. 
 
 The sea-port is Leith, a flourishing town, about a 
 mile from the city, in the harbour of which I have 
 seen above one hundred ships lying altogether. You 
 must know I had the curiosity to cross the Firth in a 
 passage-boat, and stayed two days in Fife, which is 
 remarkably fruitful in corn, and exhibits a surprising 
 number of fine seats, elegantly built and magnifi- 
 cently furnished. There is an incredible number of 
 noble houses in every part of Scotland, that I have 
 seen Dalkeith, Pinkie, Yester, and Lord Hopetoun's, 
 all of them within four or five miles of Edinburgh, 
 are princely palaces, in every one of which a sovereign 
 might reside at his ease. I suppose the Scotch affect 
 these monuments of grandeur. If I may be allowed 
 to mingle censure with my remarks upon a people I 
 revere, I must observe that their weak side seems to 
 be vanity. I am afraid that even their hospitality 
 is not quite free from ostentation. I think I have 
 discovered among them uncommon pains taken to 
 display their fine linen, of which indeed they have 
 great plenty, their furniture, plate, housekeeping, 
 and variety of wines, in which article, it must be
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 19 
 
 owned, they are profuse, if not prodigal. A burgher 
 of Edinburgh, not content to vie with a citizen of 
 London who has ten times his fortune, must excel 
 him in the expense as well as elegance of his enter- 
 tainments. . . . We shall set out [for Glasgow] in 
 two days, and take Stirling in our way, well provided 
 with recommendations from our friends at Edinburgh, 
 whom, I protest, I shall leave with much regret. I 
 am so far from thinking it any hardship to live in 
 this country, that, if I was obliged to lead a town 
 life, Edinburgh would certainly be the headquarters 
 of, yours always, MATT BRAMBLE. 
 
 EDINBURGH, August 8. TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 
 
 THE GOOD TOWN OF EDINBURGH 
 
 DEAR PHILLIPS, If I stay much longer at Edinburgh, 
 I shall be changed into a downright Caledonian. My 
 uncle observes, that I have already acquired some- 
 thing of the country accent. The people here are so 
 social and attentive in their civilities to strangers 
 that I am insensibly sucked into the channel of their 
 manners and customs, although they are in fact 
 much more different from ours than you can imagine. 
 That difference, however, which struck me very 
 much at my first arrival, I now hardly perceive, and 
 my ear is perfectly reconciled to the Scotch accent, 
 which I find even agreeable in the mouth of a pretty 
 woman. It is a sort of Doric dialect, which gives an 
 idea of amiable simplicity. You cannot imagine how 
 we have been caressed and feasted in the good town of 
 Edinburgh, of which we are become free denizens and 
 guild-brothers, by the special favour of the magistracy. 
 I had a whimsical commission from Bath, to a 
 
 2 3
 
 20 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 citizen of this metropolis. Quin, understanding our 
 intention to visit Edinburgh, pulled out a guinea, 
 and desired the favour I would drink it at a tavern, 
 with a particular friend and bottle-companion of 
 his, one Mr. Robert Cullen, a lawyer of this city. 
 I charged myself with the commission, and, taking 
 the guinea, ' You see,' said I, ' I have pocketed your 
 bounty.' ' Yes,' replied Quin, laughing, ' and a 
 headache into the bargain, if you drink fair.' I 
 made use of this introduction to Mr. Cullen, who 
 received me with open arms, and gave me the ren- 
 dezvous, according to the cartel. He had provided 
 a company of jolly fellows, among whom I found 
 myself extremely happy ; and did Mr. Cullen and 
 Quin all the justice in my power ; but, alas ! I was 
 no more than a tyro among a troop of veterans, who 
 had compassion upon my youth, and conveyed me 
 home in the morning, by what means I know not. 
 Quin was mistaken, however, as to the headache ; 
 the claret was too good to treat me so roughly. 
 While Mr. Bramble holds conferences with the 
 graver literati of the place, and our females are enter- 
 tained at visits by the Scotch ladies, who are the 
 best and kindest creatures upon earth, I pass my time 
 among the bucks of Edinburgh, who, with a great 
 share of spirit and vivacity, have a certain shrewd- 
 ness and self-command that is not often found among 
 their neighbours in the hey-day of youth and exul- 
 tation. Not a hint escapes a Scotchman that can 
 be interpreted into offence by any individual in the 
 company ; and national reflections are never heard. 
 In this particular, I must own, we are both unjust 
 and ungrateful to the Scotch ; for, as far as I am 
 able to judge, they have a real esteem for the natives
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 21 
 
 of South Britain, and never mention our country 
 but with expressions of regard. . . . 
 
 All the remarkable places in the city and its 
 avenues, for ten miles around, we have visited, 
 much to our satisfaction. In the Castle are some 
 royal apartments, where the sovereign occasionally 
 resided ; and here are carefully preserved the regalia 
 of the kingdom, consisting of a crown, said to be of 
 great value, a sceptre, and a sword of state adorned 
 with jewels. Of these symbols of sovereignty the 
 people are exceedingly jealous. A report being 
 spread, during the sitting of the Union Parliament, 
 that they were removed to London, such a tumult 
 arose that the Lord Commissioner would have been 
 torn in pieces if he had not produced them for the 
 satisfaction of the populace. 
 
 The palace of Holyrood-house is an elegant piece 
 of architecture, but sunk in an obscure, and, as I 
 take it, unwholesome bottom, where one would 
 imagine it had been placed on purpose to be con- 
 cealed. The apartments are lofty but unfurnished ; 
 and as for the pictures of the Scottish Kings, from 
 Fergus I. to King William, they are paltry daubings, 
 mostly by the same hand, painted either from the 
 imagination, or porters hired to sit for the purpose. 
 All the diversions of London we enjoy at Edinburgh 
 in a small compass. Here is a well-conducted 
 concert, in which several gentlemen perform on 
 different instruments. The Scotch are all musicians. 
 Every man you meet plays on the flute, the violin, 
 or violoncello ; and there is one nobleman whose 
 compositions are universally admired. Our com- 
 pany of actors is very tolerable, and a subscription is 
 now on foot for building a new theatre. But their
 
 22 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 assemblies please me above all other public exhibi- 
 tions. 
 
 We have been at the hunters' ball, where I was 
 really astonished to see such a number of fine women. 
 The English who have never crossed the Tweed, 
 imagine erroneously that the Scotch ladies are not 
 remarkable for personal attractions : but I declare 
 with a safe conscience, I never saw so many handsome 
 ladies together as were assembled on this occasion. 
 At the Leith races the best company comes hither 
 from the remoter provinces, so that, I suppose, we 
 had all the beauty of the kingdom concentrated, as 
 it were, into one focus ; which was indeed so vehe- 
 ment that my heart could hardly resist its power. 
 Between friends, it has sustained some damage 
 from the bright eyes of the charming Miss Renton, 
 whom I had the honour to dance with at the ball. 
 The Countess of Melville attracted all eyes, and the 
 admiration of all present. She was accompanied by 
 the agreeable Miss Grieve, who made many con- 
 quests ; nor did my sister Liddy pass unnoticed in 
 the assembly. She is become a toast at Edinburgh, 
 by the name of the Fair Cambrian. . . . We shall 
 set out to-morrow or next day for Stirling and 
 Glasgow ; and we propose to penetrate a little way 
 into the Highlands, before we turn our course to the 
 southward. Commend me to all our friends round 
 Carfax, and believe me to be, ever yours, J. MELFORD. 
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 
 Edinburgh, AUGUST 8. 
 
 THE CANONGATE : ONE OF THE WORLD'S SIGHTS 
 
 THE Canongate . . . has many visitors. The tourist 
 is anxious to make acquaintance with it. Gentlemen
 
 OLD KUINHURGH FROM WAVERLEY 13K1DGE
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 23 
 
 of obtuse olfactory nerve, and of an antiquarian turn 
 of mind, go down its closes, and climb its spiral 
 stairs. Deep down these wynds the artist pitches 
 his stool, and spends the day sketching some pictur- 
 esque gable or doorway. 
 
 The New Town is divided from the Old by a gorge 
 or valley, now occupied by a railway-station ; and the 
 means of communication are from the Mound. . . . 
 You stand on the South Bridge, and looking down, 
 instead of a stream, you see the Cowgate, the . . . 
 most densely peopled of Edinburgh streets. Admired 
 once by a French ambassador at the court of one of 
 the Jameses, and yet with certain traces of departed 
 splendour, the Cowgate has fallen into the sere and 
 yellow leaf of furniture-brokers, second-hand jewellers, 
 and vendors of deleterious alcohol. These second- 
 hand jewellers' shops, the trinkets seen by bleared 
 gaslight, are the most melancholy sights I know. 
 Watches hang there that once ticked comfortably in 
 the fobs of prosperous men, rings that were once 
 placed by happy bridegrooms on the fingers of happy 
 brides, jewels in which lives the sacredness of death- 
 beds. What tragedies, what disruptions of house- 
 holds, what fell pressure of poverty brought them 
 there ! Looking in through the foul windows, the 
 trinkets remind one of shipwrecked gold embedded 
 in the ooze of ocean gold that speaks of unknown, 
 yet certain, storm and disaster, of the yielding of 
 planks, of the cry of drowning men. Who has the 
 heart to buy them, I wonder ? The Cowgate is 
 the Irish portion of the city. Edinburgh leaps over 
 it with bridges. . . . The people of the Cowgate 
 seldom visit the upper streets. You may walk about 
 the New Town for a twelvemonth before one of these
 
 24 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Cowgate pariahs comes between the wind and your 
 gentility. Should you wish to see that strange 
 people ' at home,' you must visit them. The Cow- 
 gate will not come to you : you must go to the Cow- 
 gate. To walk along it, then, from the West Port, 
 through the noble open space of the Grassmarket 
 where the Covenanters and Captain Porteous suffered 
 on to Holyrood, is one of the world's sights, and 
 one that does not particularly raise your estimate of 
 human nature. . . . 
 
 But Edinburgh keeps all these evil things out of 
 sight, and smiles, with Castle, tower, church-spire, 
 and pyramid rising into sunlight out of garden 
 spaces and belts of foliage. The Cowgate has no 
 power to mar her beauty. There may be a canker 
 at the heart of the peach there is neither pit nor 
 stain on its dusty velvet. Throned on crags, Edin- 
 burgh takes every eye ; and, not content with 
 supremacy in beauty, she claims an intellectual 
 supremacy also. She is a patrician amongst British 
 cities, ' A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.' She 
 has wit if she lacks wealth : she counts great men 
 against millionaires. The success of the actor is 
 insecure until thereunto Edinburgh has set her seal. 
 The poet trembles before the Edinburgh critics. 
 The singer respects the delicacy of the Edinburgh 
 ear. Coarse London may roar with applause : 
 fastidious Edinburgh sniffs disdain, and sneers 
 reputations away. London is the stomach of the 
 empire Edinburgh the quick, subtle, far-darting 
 brain. Some pretension of this kind the visitor 
 hears on all sides of him. It is quite wonderful how 
 Edinburgh purrs over her own literary achievements. 
 Swift, in the dark years that preceded his death,
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 25 
 
 looking one day over some of the productions of his 
 prime, exclaimed, ' Good heaven ! what a genius I 
 once was !' Edinburgh, looking some fifty years 
 back on herself, is perpetually expressing astonish- 
 ment and delight. Mouldering Highland families, 
 when they are unable to retain a sufficient following 
 of servants, fill up the gaps with ghosts. Edinburgh 
 maintains her dignity after a similar fashion, and for 
 a similar reason. Lord-Advocate Moncreiff, one of 
 the members for the city, hardly ever addresses his 
 fellow-citizens without recalling the names of Jeffrey, 
 Cockburn, Rutherfurd, and the other stars that of 
 yore made the welkin bright. On every side we hear 
 of the brilliant society of forty years ago. Edinburgh 
 considers herself supreme in talent just as it is 
 taken for granted to-day that the present English 
 navy is the most powerful in the world, because 
 Nelson won Trafalgar. The Whigs consider The 
 Edinburgh Review the most wonderful effort of 
 human genius. The Tories would agree with them, 
 if they were not bound to consider Blackwood's 
 Magazine a still greater effort. It may be said that 
 Burns, Scott, and Carlyle are the only men really 
 great in literature taking great in a European sense 
 who, during the last eighty years, have been con- 
 nected with Edinburgh. I do not include Wilson in 
 the list ; for although he was as splendid as any of 
 these for the moment, he was evanescent as a Northern 
 light. In the whole man there was something spec- 
 tacular. A review is superficially very like a battle. 
 In both there is the rattle of musketry, the boom of 
 great guns, the deploying of endless brigades, charges 
 of brazen squadrons that shake the ground only the 
 battle changes kingdoms, while the review is gone
 
 26 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 with its own smoke- wreaths. Scott lived in or near 
 Edinburgh during the whole course of his life. Burns 
 lived there but a few months. Carlyle went to Lon- 
 don early, where he has written his important works, 
 and made his reputation. Let the city boast of 
 Scott no one will say she does wrong in that but 
 it is not so easy to discover the amazing brilliancy 
 of her other literary lights. Their reputations, after 
 all, are to a great extent local. What blazes a sun at 
 Edinburgh, would, if transported to London, not un- 
 frequently become a farthing candle. Lord Jeffrey 
 when shall we cease to hear his praises ? With per- 
 fect truthfulness one may admit that his lordship 
 was no common man. His ' vision ' was sharp and 
 clear enough within its range. He was unable to 
 relish certain literary forms, as some men are unable to 
 relish certain dishes an inaptitude that might arise 
 from fastidiousness of palate, or from weakness of 
 digestion. His style was perspicuous ; he had an 
 icy sparkle of epigram and antithesis, some wit, and 
 no enthusiasm. He wrote many clever papers, made 
 many clever speeches, said many clever things. But 
 the man who could so egregiously blunder as to 
 Wilhelm Meister, who hooted Wordsworth through 
 his entire career, who had the insolence to pen the 
 sentence that opens the notice of the Excursion in 
 The Edinburgh Review, and who, when writing 
 tardily, but really well, on Keats, could pass over the 
 Hyperion with a slighting remark, might be possessed 
 of distinguished parts, but no claim can be made for 
 him to the character of a great critic. Hazlitt, 
 wilful, passionate, splendidly gifted, in whose very 
 eccentricities and fierce vagaries there was a gener- 
 osity which belongs only to fine natures, has sunk
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 27 
 
 away into an almost unknown London grave, and 
 his works into unmerited oblivion ; while Lord Jeffrey 
 yet makes radiant with his memory the city of his 
 birth. In point of natural gifts and endowment 
 in point, too, of literary issue and result the English- 
 man far surpassed the Scot. Why have their des- 
 tinies been so different ? One considerable reason 
 is that Hazlitt lived in London Jeffrey in Edinburgh. 
 Hazlitt was partially lost in an impatient crowd and 
 rush of talent. Jeffrey stood, patent to every eye, 
 in an open space in which there were few competitors. 
 London does not brag about Hazlitt Edinburgh 
 brags about Jeffrey. The Londoner, when he visits 
 Edinburgh, is astonished to find that it possesses a 
 Valhalla filled with gods chiefly legal ones of 
 whose names and deeds he was previously in ignor- 
 ance. The ground breaks into unexpected flowerage 
 beneath his feet. He may conceive to-day to be a 
 little cloudy may even suspect east wind to be 
 abroad but the discomfort is balanced by the 
 reports he hears on every side of the beauty, warmth, 
 and splendour of yesterday. He puts out his hands 
 and warms them, if he can, at that fire of the past. 
 ' Ah ! that society of forty years ago ! Never on this 
 earth did the like exist. Those astonishing men, 
 Homer, Jeffrey, Cockburn,* Rutherfurd ! What wit 
 was theirs what eloquence, what genius ! What a 
 city this Edinburgh once was !' 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH. 
 THE INFLUENCE OF THE PAST 
 
 EDINBURGH is not only in point of beauty the first 
 of British cities but, considering its population, the 
 general tone of its society is more intellectual than
 
 28 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 that of any other. In no other city will you find 
 so general an appreciation of books, art, music, and 
 objects of antiquarian interest. It is peculiarly free 
 from the taint of the ledger and the counting-house. 
 It is a Weimar without a Goethe Boston without 
 its nasal twang. But it wants variety ; it is mainly 
 a city of the professions. London, for instance, con- 
 tains every class of people ; it is the seat of legislature 
 as well as of wealth ; it embraces Seven Dials as well 
 as Belgravia. In that vast community class melts 
 imperceptibly into class, from the Sovereign on the 
 throne to the wretch in the condemned cell. In that 
 finely-graduated scale the professions take their own 
 place. In Edinburgh matters are quite different. 
 It retains the gauds which royalty cast off when it 
 went South, and takes a melancholy pleasure in re- 
 garding these as a lady the love-tokens of a lover 
 who has deserted her to marry into a family of higher 
 rank. A crown and sceptre lie up in the Castle, but 
 no brow wears the diadem, no hand lifts the golden 
 rod. There is a palace at the foot of the Canongate, 
 but it is a hotel for her Majesty, en route for Balmoral 
 a place where the Commissioner to the Church of 
 Scotland holds his phantom Court. With these 
 exceptions, the old halls echo only the footfalls of 
 the tourist and sight-seer. When royalty went to 
 London, nobility followed ; and in Edinburgh the 
 field is left now, and has been so left for a long time 
 back, to Law, Physic, and Divinity. The professions 
 predominate ; than these there is nothing higher. At 
 Edinburgh a Lord of Session is a Prince of the Blood, 
 a Professor a Cabinet Minister, an Advocate an heir 
 to a peerage. The University and the Courts of 
 Justice are to Edinburgh what the Court and the
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 29 
 
 Houses of Lords and Commons are to London. . . . 
 In Edinburgh we have had princes of late years, and 
 seen the uses of them. A prince at Holyrood would 
 effect for the country what ' Scottish Rights ' 
 Associations and University reformers have so long 
 desired. The nobility would again gather for a 
 portion of the year at least to their ancient capital ; 
 and their sons, as of old, would be found in the 
 University class-rooms. Under the new influence 
 life would be gayer, airier, brighter. The social 
 tyranny of the professions would to some extent be 
 broken up, the atmosphere would become less legal, 
 and a new standard would be introduced whereby 
 to measure men and their pretensions. For the 
 Prince, himself, good results might be expected. He 
 would at the least have some specific public duties 
 to perform ; and he would, through intercourse, be- 
 come attached to the people, as the people in their 
 turn would become attached to him. Edinburgh 
 needs some little gaiety and courtly pomp to break 
 the coldness of gray stony streets ; to brighten a 
 somewhat sombre atmosphere ; to mollify the east 
 wind that blows half the year, and the ' professional 
 sectarianism ' that blows the whole year round. You 
 always suspect the east wind, somehow, in the city. 
 You go to dinner, the east wind is blowing chillily 
 from hostess to host. You go to church, a bitter east 
 wind is blowing in the sermon. The text is that 
 divine one, GOD is LOVE ; and the discourse that 
 follows is full of all un charitableness. 
 
 Of all British cities, Edinburgh Weimar-like in 
 its intellectual and aesthetic leanings, Florence-like in 
 its freedom from the stains of trade, and more than 
 Florence-like in its beauty is one the best suited for
 
 30 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 the conduct of a lettered life. The city, as an entity, 
 does not stimulate like London, the present moment 
 is not nearly so intense, life does not roar and chafe 
 it murmurs only ; and this interest of the hour, 
 mingled with something of the quietude of distance 
 and the past which is the spiritual atmosphere of 
 the city is the most favourable of all conditions for 
 intellectual work or intellectual enjoyment. You 
 have libraries you have the society of cultivated 
 men and women you have the eye constantly fed 
 by beauty the Old Town, jagged, picturesque, 
 piled up ; and the airy, open, coldly-sunny, unhurried, 
 uncrowded streets of the New Town and, above all, 
 you can ' sport your oak,' as they say at Cambridge, 
 and be quit of the world, the gossip, and the dun. 
 In Edinburgh you do not require to create quiet for 
 yourself ; you can have it ready-made. Life is 
 leisurely ; but it is not the leisure of a village, arising 
 from a deficiency of ideas and motives it is the 
 leisure of a city reposing grandly on tradition and 
 history, which has done its work, which does not 
 require to weave its own clothing, to dig its own 
 coals, to smelt its own iron. And then, in Edinburgh, 
 above all British cities, you are released from the 
 vulgarizing dominion of the hour. The past con- 
 fronts you at every street corner. The Castle looks 
 down out of history on its gayest thoroughfare. The 
 winds of fable are blowing across Arthur's Seat. 
 Old kings dwelt in Holyrood. Go out of the city 
 where you will, the past attends you like a cicerone. 
 Go down to North Berwick, and the red shell of 
 Tantallon speaks to you of the might of the Douglases. 
 Across the sea, from the grey-green Bass, through a 
 cloud of gannets, comes the sigh of prisoners. From
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 31 
 
 the long sea-board of Fife which you can see from 
 George Street starts a remembrance of the Jameses. 
 Queen Mary is at Craigmillar, Napier at Merchiston, 
 Ben Jonson and Drummond at Hawthornden, Prince 
 Charles in the little inn at Duddingston ; and if you 
 go out to Linlithgow, there is the smoke of Bothwell- 
 haugh's fusee, and the Great Regent falling in the 
 crooked street. Thus the past checkmates the 
 present. To an imaginative man, life in or near 
 Edinburgh is like residence in an old castle : the 
 rooms are furnished in consonance with modern 
 taste and convenience ; the people who move about 
 wear modern costume, and talk of current events in 
 current colloquial phrases ; there is the last news- 
 paper and book in the library, the air from the last 
 new opera in the drawing-room ; but, while the hour 
 flies past, a subtle influence enters into it enriching, 
 dignifying from oak panelling and carvings on the 
 roof from the picture of the peaked-bearded 
 ancestor on the wall from the picture of the fanned 
 and hooped lady from the old suit of armour and 
 the moth-eaten banner. On the intellectual man, 
 living or working in Edinburgh, the light comes 
 through the stained window of the past. To-day's 
 event is not raw and brusque ; it comes draped in 
 romantic colour, hued with ancient gules and or. And 
 when he has done his six hours' work, he can take 
 the noblest and most renovating exercise. He can 
 throw down his pen, put aside his papers, and walk 
 round the Queen's Drive, where the wind from the 
 sea is always fresh and keen ; and in his hour's walk 
 he has wonderful variety of scenery the fat Lothians 
 the craggy hill -side the valley, which seems a bit 
 of the Highlands the wide sea, with smoky towns
 
 32 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 on its margin, and islands on its bosom lakes with 
 swans and rushes ruins of castle, palace, and 
 chapel and, finally, homeward by the high towering 
 street through which Scottish history has rushed like 
 a stream. There is no such hour's walk as this for 
 starting ideas, or, having started, captured, and used 
 them, for getting quit of them again. 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH. 
 
 THE SCOT ABROAD 
 
 THE old land is still the true love, the others are but 
 pleasant infidelities. . . . Somewhere, deep down in 
 the heart of each one of us, something yearns for the 
 old land, and the old kindly people. Of all mysteries 
 of the human heart, this is perhaps the most inscrut- 
 able. There is no special loveliness in that gray 
 country, with its rainy, sea-beat archipelago ; its 
 fields of dark mountains ; its unsightly places, black 
 with coal ; its treeless, sour, unfriendly looking corn- 
 lands ; its quaint, gray, castled city, where the bells 
 clash of a Sunday, and the wind squalls, and the 
 salt showers fly and beat. I do not even know ii I 
 desire to live there ; but let me hear, in some far land, 
 a kindred voice sing out, ' Oh, why left I my hame ?' 
 and it seems at once as if no beauty under the kind 
 heavens, and no society of the wise and good, can 
 repay me for my absence from my country. And 
 though I think I would rather die elsewhere, yet in 
 my heart of hearts I long to be buried among good 
 Scots clods. I will say it fairly, it grows on me with 
 every year : there are no stars so lovely as Edinburgh 
 street-lamps. When I forget thee, auld Reekie, may 
 my right hand forget its cunning !
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 33 
 
 The happiest lot on earth is to be born a Scotch- 
 man. You must pay for it in many ways, as for all 
 other advantages on earth. You have to learn the 
 shorter catechism ; you generally take to drink ; 
 your youth, as far as I can find out, is a time of 
 louder war against society, of more outcry and tears 
 and turmoil, than if you had been born, for instance, 
 in England. But somehow life is warmer and closer ; 
 the hearth burns more redly ; the lights of home 
 shine softer on the rainy street ; the very names, 
 endeared in verse and music, cling nearer round our 
 hearts. 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 THE SCOTTISH EXILES 
 
 CANADIAN BOAT-SONG 
 
 LISTEN to me, as when you heard our father 
 Sing, long ago, the song of other shores ; 
 
 Listen to me, and then in chorus gather 
 All your deep voices as ye pull your oars. 
 
 Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand ; 
 But we are exiles from our fathers' land. 
 
 From the lone shieling of the misty island 
 Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas ; 
 
 Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, 
 And we, in dreams, behold the Hebrides. 
 
 We never shall tread the fancy-haunted valley 
 Where 'tween the dark hills creeps the small clear 
 
 stream, 
 
 In arms around the patriarch banner rally, 
 Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam. 
 
 3
 
 34 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 When the bold kindred, in the time long vanished, 
 Conquered the soil and fortified the keep, 
 
 No seer foretold the children should be banished, 
 That a degenerate lord might boast his sheep. 
 
 Come foreign raid ! let discord burst in slaughter ! 
 
 Oh, then, for clansmen true and stern claymore ! 
 The hearts that would have given their blood like water 
 
 Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar. 
 
 Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand ; 
 But we are exiles from our fathers' land. 
 
 HUGH MONTGOMERIE, EARL OF EGLINTON. 
 
 (From the Gaelic.) 
 
 HOME 
 
 WHEN, of an autumn evening, the train brought me 
 into Edinburgh, the scales of familiarity having to 
 some little extent fallen from my eyes, I thought I 
 had never before seen it so beautiful. Its brilliancy 
 was dazzling and fairy-like. It was like a city of 
 Chinese lanterns. It was illuminated as if for a great 
 victory, or the marriage of a king. Princes Street 
 blazed with street-lamps and gay shop - windows. 
 The Old Town was a maze of twinkling lights. The 
 Mound lifted up its starry coil. The North Bridge, 
 leaping the chasm, held lamps high in air. There 
 were lights on the Calton Hill, lights on the crest of the 
 Castle. The city was in a full blossom of lights to 
 wither by midnight, to be all dead ere dawn. And 
 then, to an ear accustomed to silence, there arose on 
 every side the potent hum of moving multitudes, 
 more august in itself, infinitely more suggestive to the 
 imagination, than the noise of the Atlantic on the
 
 EDINA'S CHARM 35 
 
 Skye shores. The sound with which I had been for 
 some time familiar was the voice of many billows ; 
 the sound which was in my ears was the noise of men. 
 
 And in driving home, too, I was conscious of a 
 curious oppugnancy between the Skye life which I 
 had for some time been leading, and the old Edinburgh 
 life which had been dropped for a little, and which 
 had now to be resumed. The two experiences met 
 like sheets of metal, but they were still separate sheets 
 I could not solder them together and make them 
 one. I knew that a very few days would do that 
 for me ; but it was odd to attempt, by mental effort, 
 to unite the experiences and to discover how futile 
 was all such effort. Coming back to Edinburgh was 
 like taking up abode in a house to which one had been 
 for a while a stranger, in which one knew all the rooms 
 and all articles of furniture in the rooms, but with 
 whose knowledge there was mingled a feeling of 
 strangeness. I had changed my clothes of habit, and 
 for the moment I did not feel so much at ease in the 
 strange Edinburgh, as the familiar Skye, suit. 
 
 It was fated, however, that the two modes of life 
 should, in my consciousness, melt into each other im- 
 perceptibly. When I reached home, I found that my 
 friend the Rev. Mr. Macpherson of Inverary had sent 
 me a packet of Ossianic translations. These transla- 
 tions, breathing the very soul of the wilderness I had 
 lately left, I next day perused in my Edinburgh sur- 
 roundings, and through their agency the two experi- 
 ences coalesced. Something of Edinburgh melted 
 into my remembrance of Skye something of Skye 
 was projected into actual Edinburgh. Thus is life 
 enriched by ideal contrast and interchange. 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH. 
 
 32
 
 36 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 EDINBURGH : AN IMPRESSION 
 
 IMAGINATION stirs thy paved ways 
 With hapless heroes and with poets brave, 
 Whose glory was a thrust or song to save 
 Their country's fame ; thy pillared pride obeys 
 Their summons, and upon thee ever stays 
 A large recording majesty sublime, 
 The chronicled impassiveness of time, 
 The silent emblem of triumphant days. 
 
 Guard yet thy beauty as thou guard'st it now, 
 Unheeding aught of gain so beauty brood 
 Inviolate upon thine unseared brow, 
 And strangers still, departing from thy gates, 
 Shall gather of thy changeless quietude 
 A measure for the solace of their fates. 
 
 JOHN DRINKWATER.
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH
 
 Stately Edinburgh throned on crags. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Edinburgh, the most beautiful of Scotch towns, and, indeed, 
 in its way, of European towns, whatever a peevish poet caught 
 by the east winds may say. 
 
 MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 Edinburgh is really a very interesting place, to me very 
 singular. How can I describe the view from the hill that 
 overlooks the palace ; the fine group of buildings which form 
 the castle ; the bridges, uniting the two towns ; and the beau- 
 tiful view of the Firth and its islands ? 
 
 CRABBE. 
 
 When looking forth, 
 I view yon Empress of the North 
 
 Sit on her hilly throne ; 
 Her palace's imperial bowers, 
 Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 
 Her stately halls and holy towers. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 The sun, going down behind the Pentlands, casts golden 
 lights and blue shadows on their snow-clad summits, stunted 
 obliquely into the rich plains before them, bathing with rosy 
 splendour the leafless, snow-sprinkled trees, and fading gradu- 
 ally into shadow in the distance. To the south, too, they 
 behold a deep-shaded amphitheatre of heather and bracken 
 the course of the Esk, near Penicuik, winding about at the 
 foot of its gorge the broad, brown expanse of Maw Moss 
 and fading into blue distinctness in the south, the wild heath- 
 clad Peebles-shire hills. 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
 
 EDINBURGH FROM BLACKFORD HILL 
 
 MINE OWN ROMANTIC TOWN 
 
 BLACKFORD ! on whose uncultured breast, 
 
 Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, 
 A truant- boy, I sought the nest, 
 Or listed, as I lay at rest, 
 
 While rose, on breezes thin, 
 The murmur of the city crowd, 
 And, from his steeple jangling loud, 
 
 Saint Giles's mingling din. 
 Now, from the summit to the plain, 
 Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 
 
 And o'er the landscape as I look, 
 Nought do I see unchanged remain, 
 
 Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. 
 To me they make a heavy moan 
 Of early friendships past and gone. 
 
 But different far the change has been 
 
 Since Marmion, from the crown 
 Of Blackford, saw that martial scene 
 
 Upon the bent so brown : 
 Thousand pavilions, white as snow, 
 Spread all the Borough-moor below, 
 
 Upland, and dale, and down : 
 A thousand did I say ? I ween 
 Thousands on thousands there were seen, 
 That chequered all the heath between 
 
 The streamlet and the town ; 
 39
 
 40 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 In crossing ranks extending far, 
 
 Forming a camp irregular ; 
 
 Oft giving way, where still there stood 
 
 Some relics of the old oak wood, 
 
 That darkly huge did intervene, 
 
 And tamed the glaring white with green : 
 
 In these extended lines there lay 
 
 A martial kingdom's vast array. 
 
 For from Hebudes, dark with rain, 
 To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, 
 And from the Southern Redswire edge, 
 To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge ; 
 From west to west, from south to north, 
 Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 
 Marmion might hear the mingled hum 
 Of myriads up the mountain come ; 
 The horses' tramp, the tingling clank, 
 Where chiefs review'd their vassal rank, 
 
 And charger's shrilling neigh ; 
 And see the shifting lines advance, 
 While frequent flash'd, from shield to lance, 
 
 The sun's reflected ray. 
 
 Thin curling in the morning air, 
 
 The wreathes of falling smoke declare 
 
 To embers now the brands decay'd, 
 
 Where the night-watch their fires had made. 
 
 They saw, slow rolling on the plain, 
 
 Full many a baggage-cart and wain, 
 
 And dire artillery's clumsy car, 
 
 By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war ; 
 
 And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven, 
 
 And culverins which France had given.
 
 Ill-omen'd gift ! the guns remain 
 The conquer'd spoil on Flodden plain. 
 
 Nor mark'd they less, where in the air 
 A thousand streamers flaunted fair ; 
 
 Various in shape, device, and hue, 
 
 Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, 
 Broad, narrow, swallow-tail'd, and square, 
 Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol there, 
 
 O'er the pavilions flew. 
 Highest and midmost, was descried 
 The royal banner floating wide ; 
 The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight, 
 Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone, 
 Which still in memory is shown, 
 
 Yet bent beneath the standard's weight 
 Whene'er the western wind unroll'd, 
 
 With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold, 
 And gave to view the dazzling field, 
 Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield, 
 
 The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold. 
 
 Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright 
 He view'd it with a chief's delight 
 
 Until within him burn'd his heart, 
 
 And lightning from his eye did part, 
 As on the battle-day ; 
 
 Such glance did falcon never dart, 
 
 When stooping on his prey. 
 ' Oh ! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, 
 Thy King from warfare to dissuade 
 
 Were but in vain essay ; 
 For, by St. George, were that host mine, 
 Not power infernal nor divine,
 
 42 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Should once to peace my soul incline, 
 Till I had dimm'd their armour's shine 
 
 In glorious battle-fray !' 
 Answer' d the Bard, of milder mood : 
 ' Fair is the sight and yet 'twere good 
 
 That kings would think withal, 
 When peace and wealth their land has bless'd, 
 'Tis better to sit still at rest, 
 
 Than rise, perchance to fall.' 
 
 Still on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd, 
 
 For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd. 
 When sated with the martial show 
 That peopled all the plain below, 
 The wandering eye could o'er it go, 
 And mark the distant city glow 
 With gloomy splendour red ; 
 For on the smoke-wreathes, huge and slow 
 That round her sable turrets flow, 
 The morning beams were shed, 
 And tinged them with a lustre proud, 
 Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 
 
 Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, 
 
 Where the huge Castle holds its state, 
 And all the steep slope down, 
 
 Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 
 
 Piled deep and massy, close and high, 
 Mine own romantic town ! 
 
 But northward far, with purer blaze, 
 
 On Ochil mountains fell the rays, 
 
 And as each heathy top they kiss'd, 
 
 It gleam'd a purple amethyst. 
 
 Yonder the shores of Fife you saw ; 
 
 Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law :
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 43 
 
 And, broad between them roll'd, 
 The gallant Firth the eye might note, 
 Whose islands on its bosom float, 
 
 Like emeralds chased in gold. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 EMERALDS CHASED IN GOLD ' 
 
 ' The gallant Firth . . . 
 Whose islands on its bosom float, 
 Like emeralds chased in gold.' 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 VIEW from this height the winding Forth, 
 That lovely jewel of the north ; 
 See, on its glittering bosom lie 
 Islands, like gems, majestically. 
 
 From Blackford Hill the eye may count 
 Ten islands on that shining fount, 
 That, till they reach the open main 
 Are emeralds in a golden chain. 
 
 The giant Bass Rock, Inchgarvie, 
 May's Isle, Cramond, Inchmickery, 
 Inchcolm, and Findra, and Inchkieth, 
 Lamb, and the island of Craigleith. 
 
 Fair, glittering ' emeralds chased in gold,' 
 What sight more lovely to behold ! 
 Spread for the wandering eye to see, 
 This emerald island rosary. 
 
 A. HUME HAMILTON. 
 
 THIS DELIGHTFUL AND BEAUTIFUL CITY ! 
 
 THIS delightful and beautiful city ! I thought 
 Bristol, taking in its heights and Clifton with its
 
 44 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 rocks and river, was the finest city in the world ; 
 but it is nothing to Edinburgh, with its castle, its 
 hills, its pretty little seaport detached from it, its vale 
 of rich land lying all around, its lofty hills in the 
 background, its views across the Firth. I think 
 little of its streets and its rows of fine houses, though 
 all built of stone, and though everything in London 
 and Bath is beggary to these ; I think nothing of 
 Holyrood House ; but I think a great deal of the fine 
 and well-ordered streets of shops ; of the regularity 
 which you perceive everywhere in the management of 
 business ; and I think still more of the absence of 
 that foppishness and that affectation of carelessness 
 and insolent assumption of superiority in almost all 
 young men you meet in the fashionable parts of the 
 great towns in England. I was not disappointed, 
 for I expected to find Edinburgh the finest city in the 
 kingdom. 
 
 WILLIAM COBBETT. 
 ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH 
 
 EDINA ! Scotia's darling seat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
 Where once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
 From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 
 
 As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
 And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 
 
 I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 
 
 Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 
 As busy Trade his labour plies ! 
 
 There Architecture's noble pride 
 Bids elegance and splendour rise ;
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 45 
 
 Here Justice, from her native skies, 
 High wields her balance and her rod ; 
 
 There Learning, with his eagle eyes, 
 Seeks Science in her coy abode. 
 
 Thy sons, Edina ! social, kind, 
 
 With open arms the stranger hail ; 
 Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, 
 
 Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
 Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 
 
 Or modest merit's silent claim ; 
 And never may their sources fail ! 
 
 And never envy blot their name ! 
 
 Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, 
 
 Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
 Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 
 
 Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
 Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, 
 
 Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
 I see the Sire of Love on high, 
 
 And own his work indeed divine ! 
 
 There, watching high the least alarms, 
 
 Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar ; 
 Like some bold vet'ran, grey in arms, 
 
 And mark'd with many a seamy scar : 
 The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 
 
 Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, 
 Have oft withstood assailing war, 
 
 And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. 
 
 With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 
 
 I view that noble, stately dome, 
 Where Scotia's kings of other years, 
 
 Fam'd heroes ! had their royal home :
 
 46 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! 
 
 Their royal name low in the dust ! 
 Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! 
 
 Tho' rigid law cries out, ' Twas just !' 
 
 Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 
 
 Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
 Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 
 
 Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
 Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, 
 
 Haply, my sires have left their shed, 
 And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, 
 
 Bold-following where your fathers led ! 
 
 Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
 Where once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
 From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 
 
 As on the banks of Ayr I stray 'd, 
 And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours. 
 
 I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 ELOQUENT EDINBURGH 
 
 DR. JOHNSON named Edinburgh as ' a city too well 
 known to admit description.' That judgment was 
 proclaimed more than a hundred years ago before 
 yet Caledonia had bewitched the world's heart as the 
 haunted land of Robert Burns and Walter Scott 
 and if it were true then it is all the more true now. 
 But while the reverent pilgrim along the ancient high- 
 ways of history may not wisely attempt description, 
 which would be superfluous, he perhaps may usefully
 
 47 
 
 indulge in brief chronicle and impression for these 
 sometimes prove suggestive to minds that are kindred 
 with his own. Hundreds of travellers visit Edin- 
 burgh ; but it is one thing to visit and another thing to 
 see ; and every suggestion, surely, is of value that 
 helps to clarify our vision. This capital is not learnt 
 by driving about in a cab ; for Edinburgh to be truly 
 seen and comprehended must be seen and compre- 
 hended as an exponent of the colossal individuality 
 of the Scottish character ; and therefore it must be 
 observed with thought. Here is no echo and no imi- 
 tation. Many another provincial city of Britain is a 
 miniature copy of London ; but the quality of Edin- 
 burgh is her own. Portions of her architecture do 
 indeed denote a reverence for ancient Italian models, 
 while certain other portions reveal the influence of 
 the semi-classical taste that prevailed in the time of 
 the Regent, afterwards George IV. The democratic 
 tendency of this period expressing itself here pre- 
 cisely as it does everywhere else, in button-making 
 pettiness and vulgar commonplace is likewise suffi- 
 ciently obvious. Nevertheless in every important 
 detail of Edinburgh, and of its life, the reticent, reso- 
 lute, formidable, impetuous, passionate character of 
 the Scottish race is conspicuous and predominant. 
 Much has been said against the Scottish spirit the 
 tide of cavil purling on from Dr. Johnson to Sydney 
 Smith. Dignity has been denied to it, and so has 
 magnanimity, and so has humour ; but there is no 
 audience more quick than the Scottish audience to 
 respond either to pathos or to mirth ; there is no 
 literature in the world so musically, tenderly, and 
 weirdly poetical as the Scottish literature ; there is 
 no place on earth where the imaginative instinct of
 
 48 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 the national mind has resisted, as it has resisted in 
 Scotland, the encroachment of utility upon the domain 
 of romance ; there is no people whose history has 
 excelled that of Scotland in the display of heroic, 
 intellectual, and moral purpose, combined with pas- 
 sionate sensibility ; and no city could surpass the 
 physical fact of Edinburgh as a manifestation of broad 
 ideas, unstinted opulence, and grim rugged grandeur. 
 Whichever way you turn, and whatever object you 
 behold, that consciousness is always present to your 
 thought the consciousness of a race of beings in- 
 tensely original, individual, passionate, authoritative, 
 and magnificent. 
 
 The capital of Scotland is not only beautiful but 
 eloquent. ... At every step the sensitive mind is 
 impressed with the splendid intellect, the individual 
 force, and the romantic charm of the Scottish char- 
 acter, as it is commemorated and displayed in this 
 delightful place. What a wealth of significance it 
 possesses may be indicated by even the most meagre 
 record and the most superficial commentary upon the 
 passing events of a traveller's ordinary day. 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER. 
 
 WRITTEN IN EDINBURGH 
 
 EVEN thus, methinks, a city reared should be, 
 Yea, an imperial city, that might hold 
 Five times an hundred noble towns in fee, 
 And either with their might of Babel old, 
 Or the rich Roman pomp of empery 
 Might stand compare, highest in arts enrolled, 
 Highest in arms ; brave tenement for the free, 
 Who never crouch to thrones, or sin for gold.
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 49 
 
 Thus should her towers be raised with vicinage 
 Of clear bold hills, that curve her very streets, 
 As if to vindicate 'mid choicest seats 
 Of art, abiding Nature's majesty ; 
 And the broad sea beyond, in calm or rage 
 Chainless alike, and teaching Liberty. 
 
 ARTHUR HENRY HALLAM. 
 
 THE HEART OF SCOTLAND 
 
 ' The Heart of Scotland, Britain's other eye' 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 A BRIGHT blue sky, across which many masses of thin 
 white cloud are borne swiftly on the cool western wind, 
 bends over the stately city, and all her miles of grey 
 mansions and spacious, cleanly streets sparkle be- 
 neath it in a flood of summer sunshine. It is the 
 Lord's Day, and most of the highways are deserted 
 and quiet. From the top of the Calton Hill you look 
 down upon hundreds of blue smoke-wreaths curling 
 upward from the chimneys of the resting and restful 
 town, and in every direction the prospect is one of 
 opulence and peace. A thousand years of history are 
 here crystallized within the circuit of a single glance, 
 and while you gaze upon one of the grandest emblems 
 that the world contains of a storied and romantic 
 past, you behold likewise a living and resplendent 
 pageant of the beauty of to-day. Nowhere else are 
 the Past and the Present so lovingly blended. There, 
 in the centre, towers the great crown of St. Giles. 
 Hard by are the quaint slopes of the Canongate, 
 teeming with illustrious, or picturesque, or terrible 
 figures of Long Ago. Yonder the glorious Castle 
 Crag looks steadfastly westward, its manifold, 
 
 4
 
 50 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 wonderful colours continuously changing in the 
 changeful daylight. Down in the valley Holyrood, 
 haunted by a myriad of memories and by one resplen- 
 dent face and entrancing presence, nestles at the foot 
 of the giant Salisbury Crag ; while the dark, rivened 
 peak of Arthur's Seat rears itself supremely over the 
 whole stupendous scene. Southward and westward, 
 in the distance, extends the bleak range of the Pent- 
 land Hills ; eastward the cone of Berwick Law and 
 the desolate Bass Rock seem to cleave the sea ; and 
 northward, beyond the glistening crystal of the Forth, 
 with the white lines of embattled Inchkeith like a 
 diamond on its bosom the lovely Lomonds, the 
 virginal mountain breasts of Fife, are bared to the 
 kiss of heaven. It is such a picture as words can but 
 faintly suggest ; but when you look upon it you readily 
 comprehend the pride and the passion with which a 
 Scotsman loves his native land". 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER. 
 
 TWILIGHT IN EDINBURGH STREETS 
 
 IN due time Kit Kennedy went to Edinburgh. It 
 was the dowie time of the year. November was just 
 beginning. . . . The noise and stir of the city took 
 Kit by the throat. And though from the point of 
 view of the Strand and Fleet Street, Edinburgh may 
 be considered a quiet city ; to a boy accustomed to the 
 Black Craig of Dee it roared like Babylon. . . . Kit 
 Kennedy and Dick Bisset went into the pale blue 
 misty twilight of Edinburgh streets. A frosty wind 
 had whipped them dry, and now drove a stray flake 
 or two of snow horizontally along the roadways 
 which opened out north and south. Kit had never
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 51 
 
 in his life been conscious of so keen an elation of the 
 blood as on this humming lamplit evening of early 
 winter. A tingling appreciation of life bubbled 
 headily in his brain. He saw everything with a curious 
 clearness, and seemed to divine by instinct whither 
 each passenger was going and what drew him thither. 
 
 Kit did not know that this power of heightening his 
 own sensations by contrast with those of others was 
 due to a certain essential corpuscle of his blood 
 inherited from his father. . . . Kit only knew that 
 merely to walk by the side of Dick Bisset in the crisp 
 frosty bite of the winter twilight, through the ex- 
 citing pour of the well-dressed people, made the 
 Cottage by the Crae seem a thousand miles away. 
 It came upon him suddenly and not at all remorsefully 
 that for the first time in his life he had that morning 
 forgotten to say his prayers. As the two youths 
 swung out of the defile of high houses on the Bridges 
 they emerged upon that astonishing panorama, which, 
 seen at the hour of gloaming, never fails to excite 
 a thrill in the most hardened and most unemotional 
 in the lawyer escaping from the grinding monotony 
 of Parliament House, and the engine-driver coming 
 up from a twelve-hours' spell upon the footplate. 
 
 The Waverley station was now no more a prosaic 
 railway terminus. Common details were sunk in a 
 pale, luminous, silver mist, through which burned a 
 thousand lights, warm, yellow, and kindly. The 
 blue deepened beneath the Castle rock. There it 
 was indigo, with a touch of royal scarlet where the 
 embers of the sunset lay broadly dashed in against 
 the west. Princes Street, that noblest of earthly 
 promenades, whose glory it is to be no mere street, 
 lay along the edge of a blue and misty sea, bejewelled 
 
 42
 
 52 
 
 with scattered lights, festooned with fairy points of 
 fire, converging, undulating, and receding till they 
 ran red as blood into the eye of the sunset. 
 
 Above all towered the ancient strength of the Castle, 
 battlemented from verge to verge, light as a cloud, 
 insurgent as a wave, massive as its own foundations, 
 etched bold and black against the spreading splen- 
 dours of the west. 
 
 ' Oh, look,' said Kit, laying his hand impulsively 
 on the arm of his companion, ' I did not know God 
 had created anything half so beautiful !' 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT. 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 INSTALL'D on hills, her head near starry bowers, 
 
 Shines Edinburgh, proud of protecting powers. 
 
 Justice defends her heart ; Religion east 
 
 With temples ; Mars with towers doth guard the west ; 
 
 Fresh Nymphs and Ceres serving, wait upon her, 
 
 And Thetis, tributary, doth her honour. 
 
 The sea doth Venice shake, Rome Tiber beats, 
 
 While she but scorns her vassal water's threats. 
 
 For sceptres nowhere stands a town more fit, 
 
 Nor place where town, world's queen, may fairer sit ; 
 
 But this my praise is, above all most brave, 
 
 No man did e'er defame thee but a slave. 
 
 WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN. 
 QUEEN OF THE NORTH 
 
 A FRAGMENT 
 
 YET, ere Oblivion shade each fairy scene, 
 
 Ere capes and cliffs and waters intervene, 
 
 Ere distant walks my pilgrim feet explore, 
 
 By Elbe's slow wanderings, and the Danish shore,
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 53 
 
 Still to my country turns my partial view 
 That seems the dearest at the last adieu ! 
 
 Ye lawns and grottos of the clustered plain ; 
 Ye mountain-walks, Edina's green domain ; 
 Haunts of my youth, where oft, by fancy drawn 
 At vermeil eve, still noon, or shady dawn, 
 My soul, secluded from the deafening throng, 
 Has wooed the bosom-prompted power of song : 
 And thou, my loved abode, romantic ground, 
 With ancient towers and spiry summits crowned ! 
 Home of the polished arts and liberal mind, 
 By truth and taste enlightened and refined ! 
 Thou scene of Scotland's glory, now decayed, 
 Where once her Senate and her Sceptre swayed, 
 As round thy mouldered monuments of fame 
 Tradition points an emblem and a name, 
 Lo ! what a group Imagination brings 
 Of starred barons, and of throned kings ! 
 Departed days in bright succession start, 
 And all the patriot kindles in my heart ! 
 
 Even musing here, beside the Druid-stone, 
 Where British Arthur built his airy throne, 
 Far as my sight can travel o'er the scene, 
 From Lomond's height to Roslin's lovely green, 
 On every moor, wild wood, and mountain side, 
 From Perth's fair windings to the ocean tide, 
 On each, the legendary loves to tell, 
 Where chiefs encounter'd, and the mighty fell ; 
 Each war-worn turret on the distant shore 
 Speaks, like a herald, of the feats of yore ; 
 And though the shades of dark Oblivion frown 
 On sacred seats and deeds of high renown,
 
 54 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Yet still some oral tale, some chanted rhyme, 
 Still mark the spot, and teach succeeding time 
 How oft our fathers, to their country true, 
 The glorious sword of Independence drew ; 
 How well the plaided clans, in battle tried, 
 Impenetrably stood or greatly died, 
 How long the genius of their rights delay'd, 
 How sternly guarded, and how late betrayed. 
 Fair fields of Roslin memorable name ! 
 Attest my words, and speak my country's fame ! 
 Soft as yon mantling haze of distance broods 
 Around thy waterfalls and aged woods, 
 The south sun checkers all thy birchen glade 
 With glimmering lights and deep-retiring shade ; 
 Fresh coverts of the dale, so dear to tread, 
 When morn's wild blackbird carols overhead ; 
 Or, when the sunflower shuts her bosom fair, 
 And scented berries breathe delicious air. 
 Dear is thy pastoral haunt to him that woos 
 Romantic Nature Silence and the Muse ! 
 But dearer still when that returning time 
 Of fruits and flowers the year's Elysian prime 
 Invites, one simple festival to crown, 
 Young social wanderers from the sultry town ! 
 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL. 
 
 A DISTANT VIEW OF EDINBURGH 
 
 THE path runs down and peeps out in the lane 
 That loiters on by fields of wheat and bean, 
 Till the white-gleaming road winds cityward. 
 Afar, in floods of sunshine, blinding white, 
 The city lieth in its quiet pride, 
 With castled crown, looking on Towns and Shires,
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 55 
 
 And Hills from which cloud-highlands climb the 
 
 heavens : 
 
 A happy thing in glory smiles the Firth ; 
 Its flowing azure winding like an arm 
 Around the warm waist of the yielding land. 
 
 GERALD MASSEY. 
 
 FAMOUS EDINBURGH 
 
 Arnold. O how sweetly the weather smiles, the 
 horizon looks clear, the sky is serene, and the birds 
 you may see them beat the ambient air with their 
 tunable notes. Come, Theophilus, let us mount our 
 horses, and lift up our eyes to behold those lofty 
 embellishments of Edinburgh. 
 
 Theophilus. They are obvious enough, half an 
 eye may see them. 
 
 Ar. Welcome to these elevated parts, the princely 
 court of famous Edinburgh. This city stands upon 
 a mighty scopulous mountain, whose foundations are 
 cemented with mortar and stone ; where the bulk of 
 her lofty buildings represent it a rock at a reasonable 
 distance, fronting the approaching sun ; whose ele- 
 vations are seven or eight stories high, mounted aloft 
 in the ambient air. But the length, as I take it, 
 exceeds not one mile, and the breadth on't measures 
 little more than half a mile ; nor is there more than 
 one fair street, to my best remembrance. But then 
 it's large and long, and very spacious, whose ports are 
 splendid, so are her well-built houses and palaces, 
 corresponding very much to complete it their metro- 
 polis. 
 
 Th. What fabric is that on the east of Edin- 
 burgh ?
 
 56 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Ar. Hallirood House, the Regal Court of Scot- 
 land. 
 
 Th. But there's yet another great fabric that pre- 
 sents westward. 
 
 Ar. That's Edinburgh Castle, elevated in the air, 
 on an impregnable precipice of rocky earth, perpen- 
 dicular in some parts, rampir'd and barrocadoed with 
 thick walls of stone and grass proportionable, to con- 
 tribute an additional strength. So that you are to 
 consider this inaccessible castle shines from a natural 
 as well as an artificial product ; because part of it 
 you see contiguous with the rock ; but the other part, 
 because affixed by cemented stone, which inoculates 
 and incorporates them so firmly together, that the 
 whole mass of building is of such incredible strength, 
 that it's almost fabulous for any man to report it, 
 or sum up the impregnable lustre and beauty of 
 this fair fortress, that defies all attempts, except 
 famine, disease, or treachery be conduct. . . . 
 True it is, many arguments of art and artillery have 
 been sent to examine this impregnable castle, but 
 none were ever found more successful than hunger and 
 disease, or the golden apples of the Hesperides. 
 Such kind of magnets muzzle mercenaries, and make 
 them a golden bridge to pass over. 
 
 Th. Is this fair fabric the Parliament House, where 
 the grandees sit on national affairs ? 
 
 Ar. Yes, this is their palace where the Parliament 
 sits to accommodate the kingdom, whose famous 
 ports we now relinquish to take a review of the bars 
 of Musselburg. But that on our right hand is delicate 
 Dalkeith. 
 
 RICHARD FRANCK.
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 57 
 
 EDINBURGH : A NATIVE'S PRAISE 
 
 EDINA'S guardian genius, lend 
 
 A humble bard, no muckle ken'd, 
 
 Thy aid to sing, in verses wild, 
 
 Edina, Scotia's auldest child, 
 
 A town that yields to nane, I ken, 
 
 For bonny queans an' strappin' men ; 
 
 The place where first I drew my breath, 
 
 Whilk I to leave hae aft been laith, 
 
 An' aye shall hae, while warm my bluid, 
 
 My wishes best an' gratitude. 
 
 An' tho' by fortune's biting blast, 
 
 I should be far 'mang strangers cast, 
 
 I'll aye think on the happy hours 
 
 I've spent beside Edina's towers, 
 
 Which while my throbbing heart shall beat, 
 
 I'll aye wish prosp'rous, rich, an' great. 
 
 My muse, frae cowrin' now tak's wing, 
 Thy praise, Auld Reekie, now I sing. ... 
 The Castle proud oure-tapping stands, 
 An' the wide country round commands ; 
 Ilk auld grey tower sae venerable, 
 Reminds us o' the days o' trouble, 
 While lang impregnable they stood, 
 Ere cannon's awfu' thunder loud 
 Was heard, or that vile monk was known 
 Wha brought sic mischief mankind on. 
 High-munted on stupendous rock, 
 Ilk warlike art it then could mock, 
 An' nought but fraud or famine's spite 
 Could get possession o' this height. 
 There kings were born and princes bred 
 Secure, while factious bluid was shed.
 
 58 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 But now, alas ! nae king dwells there, 
 Auld Scotia mourn'd their loss fu' sair. . . . 
 Now silence reigns, and naught is heard 
 Save the slow pace o' watchfu* guard. 
 Twa regiments still are kept therein, 
 An' cannons big to make a din 
 On hallow days, wi' loud rebound 
 Frae Arthur's Seat an' hills around. 
 
 Then we descend to the parade 
 Improvement by Lord Adam made. 
 Parade like this, ye'll find but few, 
 Commanding sic a bonny view 
 O' hills an' dales on ilka side, 
 An' the braid Forth whar vessels ride 
 Proudly at anchor, while the gale 
 O' ithers sweetly swells the sail. 
 
 Down the Lawn-market neist we daunder, 
 Whar 'bout their doors shopkeepers wander, 
 Shawin' their wares, wi' muckle clack, 
 An' tryin' in the wives to tak'. 
 Far fam'd's this street for politicians, 
 Wha fain wad be the States' physicians. . . . 
 
 Saint Giles's lofty spire in view, 
 For architecture match'd by few ; 
 In shape like an imperial crown, 
 It towers majestic o'er the Town. 
 On festive days, whan bailies meet, 
 Her music-bells soun' simply sweet, 
 Or her great bell, wi' thundering noise, 
 Gars ilka burger's heart rejoice. 
 Beneath this steeple four kirks join, 
 O' Gothic art a sample fine, 
 An' in condition seldom seen, 
 Whar presbyterians were sae keen.
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 59 
 
 A pile o' noble buildings soon 
 Will grace this part o' Reekie's town ; 
 The braw town-ha's to front the street, 
 Whar provost will wi' council meet, 
 An' a' their cronies drest fu' gay 
 To drink the healths on King's birth-day. 
 There lords an' tinklers, knights, an' waukers, 
 Will o' red wine tak' hearty caukers. . . . 
 
 In Parl'mem Square, near to the corse, 
 We see King Charles an' his horse, 
 A specimen of sculpture fine, 
 Whilk in this square cuts nae sma' shine ; 
 An' had Edina twa or three mae, 
 'Twad grace her squares sae rich an' gay. 
 
 The Royal Exchange, a building fine, 
 Spoilt by some council's love o' coin ; 
 The piazzas, ance meant to be open, 
 Are now completely cram'd wi' shopin' ; 
 An' sons o' commerce eke and trade, 
 Maun meet at corse, whar bargain's made ; 
 But if it rain on market-day, 
 Beneath the pillars they maun gae, 
 Or stand thereout like drouket mouse, 
 Or daunder to some public-house, 
 When, had the Exchange still open been, 
 They'd a' been there, snug, dry, an' clean. 
 
 Down the High Street, see the Tron Kirk, 
 Whilk formerly look'd fearfu' mirk ; 
 But worthy Blair, in lucky hour, 
 Buskt her fu' braw, whilk gar's fock glowr ; 
 Some scarcely think it the same place 
 Since their auld friend gat her new face. 
 Fergusson said little o' hersel', 
 But made immortal her curs'd bell ;* 
 * See Fergusson's ' The Tron Kirk Bell,' p. 137.
 
 60 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The council sure our thanks should hae 
 For gi'en the deel his bell away. 
 
 Just here, North-Brig an' South Brig meets, 
 Twa spacious, han'some, usefu' streets, 
 That northern parts an' southern join, 
 An' makes Edina trigly shine. . . . 
 
 The College stands at the south side, 
 For architecture, Reekie's pride ; 
 But sure they've been to prospects blind 
 Wha a' its grandeur sae confm'd. 
 There's no ae point, by a' that's true, 
 Ye can hae o't a proper view ; 
 But for professors, wise an' clear, 
 Few wi' Edina can compare ; 
 In physic, an' philosophy, 
 Law, logic, an' divinity, 
 She's lang excel' d, and climes remote 
 Send aff their sons to this fam'd spot, 
 Whar the wise sage points out the way 
 By many a bright enlightening ray, 
 How studious youth attains a name, 
 An' gains, like him, immortal fame. . . . 
 
 Now wi' my muse I took a flight 
 To Arthur's Seat, whose towering height 
 Affords a most saul-cheering sight. 
 Here's a' that mak's a picture sweet, 
 In this ae spot the e'e does meet. 
 See countless lovely seats around, 
 Begirt wi' verdant pleasure-ground ; 
 Trees in full blossom, bonny fields, 
 That please the e'e an' plenty yields ; 
 Wee hillocks, an' tremendous mountains, 
 Clear loughs, sma' burns, and wimpling fountains; 
 The sea, whar Forth and Ocean meet,
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 61 
 
 On whilk plies many a boatie sweet, 
 
 Large fleets o' ships, an' islands sma', 
 
 Inch Keith, the Bass, North Berwick Law ; 
 
 Towns, villages, alang the coast, 
 
 An' distant hills, in clouds maist lost. 
 
 When on Edina's bonny town, 
 
 Wi' bird's e'e view ane glanceth down, 
 
 It has sae grand an' strange effect, 
 
 I wad hae nane this view neglect. 
 
 I stood enchanted, glowr'd below, 
 
 An' hardly frae the spot could go ; 
 
 My enraptured fancy lost was quite ; 
 
 My muse observ'd me no that right, 
 
 An' urged me then to gang away, 
 
 When smiling I to her did say, 
 
 Sair it maun be; or black as night, 
 
 The heart that does nae gie delight. 
 
 ANON (1810). 
 
 VOICES OF MYSTERY 
 
 BY mountain sheer and column tall, 
 How solemn was the evening fall ! 
 The air was calm, the stars were bright, 
 The hoar-frost flightered down the night. 
 But oft the listening groups stood still, 
 For spirits talk'd along the hill. 
 The fairy tribes had gone and won 
 In southland climes beneath the sun ; 
 By shady woods, and waters sheen, 
 And vales of everlasting green, 
 To sing of Scotia's woodlands wild, 
 Where human face had never smiled. 
 The ghost that left the haunted yew, 
 The wayward bogle fled the clough,
 
 62 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The darksome pool of crisp and foam 
 Was now no more the Kelpie's home : 
 But polar spirits sure had spread 
 O'er hills which native fays had fled ; 
 For all along, from cliff to tree, 
 On Arthur's Seat and Salisbury, 
 Came voices floating down the air 
 From viewless shades that lingered there. 
 The words were fraught with mystery : 
 Voices of men they could not be. 
 Youths turned their faces to the sky, 
 With beating heart, and bended eye ; 
 Old chieftains walked with hastened tread, 
 Loath that their hearts should bow to dread, 
 They feared the spirits of the hill 
 To sinful Scotland boded ill. 
 
 JAMES HOGG. 
 
 EDINBURGH : RICH IN ELEGANCIES AND 
 AMENITIES 
 
 THE Scottish capital is one of the few great cities of 
 the empire that possesses natural features, and which, 
 were the buildings away, would, while it ceased to be 
 town, become very picturesque country. And hence 
 one of the peculiar characteristics of Edinburgh. The 
 natural features so overtop the artificial ones its 
 hollow valleys are so much more strongly marked 
 than its streets, and its hills and precipices than its 
 buildings, Arthur's Seat and the Crags look so 
 proudly down on its towers and spires, and so huge 
 is the mass, and so bold the outline of its Castle rock 
 and its Calton, CQrnpar'ed with those of the buildings 
 which overtop them, that intelligent visitors, with
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 63 
 
 an eye for the prominent and distinctive in scenery, 
 are led to conceive of it rather as a great country 
 place than as a great town. It is a scene of 
 harmonious contrasts. Not only does it present us 
 with a picturesque city of the grey, time-faded past, 
 drawn out side by side, as if for purposes of compari- 
 son with a gay, freshly-tinted city of the present, rich 
 in all the elegancies and amenities, but it exhibits also, 
 in the same well-occupied area, town and country ; as 
 if they, too, had been brought together for purposes 
 of comparison, and as if, instead of remaining in 
 uncompromising opposition, as elsewhere, they had 
 resolved on showing how congruously, and how much 
 to their mutual advantage, they could unite and agree. 
 
 HUGH MILLER. 
 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 AH me, the years they come and go ! 
 Twelve times the snowdrop o'er the snow 
 
 Hath shivered ; June hath sway'd 
 Rich rose-branch, full-blown rose and bud ; 
 Broad sun-flower from its disc of blood 
 
 A sun-like glory ray'd 
 Since, urged by passionate unrest 
 I sang the City of the West. 
 
 Grown staider, somewhat now I scorn 
 The mavis of my early morn, 
 
 Clear-singing 'gainst the sheen ; 
 Care, that sleeps late, and early stirs, 
 Like daily feet of villagers 
 
 Across the village green, 
 Hath worn its track and youth's delight 
 An Autumn swallow, taken flight.
 
 64 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Another and a nobler Me 
 Dwells in regretful memory, 
 
 Bright-eyed, and golden-hair'd ; 
 No more I breathe melodious song ; 
 Yet to these later years belong 
 
 Moods, passions, unimpair'd : 
 Still lives the rapture of the eye, 
 Dim city, hanging in the sky ! 
 
 The dazzling cataract, strong and loud ; 
 The reddening of the morning cloud ; 
 
 Ben Blaaven's craggy spears, 
 And ridge, half lost in misty steam ; 
 Brown tangle-beds, that heave and gleam 
 
 Idly round stony piers ; 
 Rude turf hut, girl in scarlet cloak 
 Sit in an azure film of smoke 
 
 I love, as I did long ago ; 
 
 Yea, better ; for I've come to know 
 
 The loveliest space of sky 
 Is that which silently o'erbends 
 Old apple-blossom'd gable-ends, 
 
 Wherein men live and die. 
 The world is lovely ; and the sight 
 Of man adds pathos to delight. 
 
 Girt with thy cloudy equipage, 
 Swart city, thou wert once the cage 
 
 In which I sang Afar 
 I cannot hear thy solemn roar 
 Ascending, when day's toil is o'er, 
 
 To meet the evening star. 
 My later home is still and fair 
 With mournfulness of sunset air. 

 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 65 
 
 Edina, high in heaven wan, 
 Towered, templed, Metropolitan, 
 
 Waited upon by hills, 
 River, and widespread ocean tinged 
 By April light, or draped and fringed 
 
 As April vapour wills, 
 Thou hangest, like a Cyclop's dream, 
 High in the shifting weather-gleam. 
 
 Fair art thou when above thy head 
 The mistless firmament is spread ; 
 
 But when the twilight's screen 
 Draws glimmering round thy towers and spires, 
 And thy lone bridge, uncrown 'd by fires, 
 
 Hangs in the dim ravine, 
 Thou art a very Persian tale 
 Oh, Mirza's vision, Bagdad's vale ! 
 
 The springtime stains with emerald 
 Thy Castle's precipices bald ; 
 
 Within thy streets and squares 
 The sudden summer camps, and blows 
 The plenteous chariot-shaken rose ; 
 
 Or, lifting unawares 
 My eyes from out thy central strife, 
 Lo, far off, harvest -brazen Fife ! 
 
 When, rain-drops gemming tree and plant, 
 The rainbow is thy visitant, 
 
 Lovely as on the moors ; 
 When sunset flecks with loving ray 
 Thy wilderness of gables grey, 
 
 And hoary embrasures ; 
 
 When great Sir Walter's moon-blanch' d shrine, 
 Rich carved, as Melrose, gleams divine, 
 
 5
 
 66 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 I know thee ; and I know thee, too, 
 On winter nights, when, 'gainst the blue 
 
 Thy high, gloom-wilder'd ridge 
 Breaks in a thousand splendours ; lamps 
 Gleam broadly in the valley damps ; 
 
 The air-suspended bridge 
 Shines steadfast ; and the modern street 
 Looks on, star-fretted, loud with feet. 
 
 Once, on a Royal Nuptial Eve, 
 I saw thy bulk of Castle heave* 
 
 In fire and vapour roll'd ; 
 St. Giles wore strange and gem-like light ; 
 St. George's dome, aloft in night, 
 
 Hung like a fleece of gold ; 
 Sir Walter's shrine, 'mid rubies, beryls 
 Glow'd with the chasten' d glow of pearls : 
 
 March winds in fitful gusts that came 
 Made stream the wild padella flame ; 
 
 Dull came the cannon's boom : 
 Past all thy fronts of blazing pride, 
 Through streets that shone, a jubilant tide 
 
 Rolled, hued, with sudden bloom, 
 As rainbow-like, through festal air, 
 Passed emerald gleam and crimson glare. 
 
 Fair art thou, City, to the eye, 
 But fairer to the memory : 
 
 There is no place that breeds 
 Not Venice 'neath her mellow moons, 
 When the sea-pulse of full lagoons 
 
 Waves all her palace weeds 
 Such wistful thoughts of far away, 
 Of the eternal yesterday. 
 * Ou the occasion of the marriage of Edward VII.
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 67 
 
 Within thy high-piled Canongate 
 The air is of another date ; 
 
 All speaks of ancient time : 
 Traces of gardens, dials, wells, 
 Thy dizzy gables, oyster-shells 
 
 Imbedded in the lime 
 Thy shields above the doors of peers 
 Are old as Mary Stuart's tears. 
 
 Street haunted by the step of Knox ; 
 Darnley's long, heavy-scented locks ; 
 
 Ruthven's blood-freezing stare : 
 Dark Murray, dreaming of the crown 
 His ride through fair Linlithgow town, 
 
 And the man waiting there 
 With loaded fuse, undreamed of wiles 
 Of Mary, and her mermaid smiles ! 
 
 Thou saw'st Montrose's passing face 
 Shame-strike the gloating silk and lace, 
 
 And jeering plumes that filled 
 The balcony o'erhead ; with pride 
 Thou saw'st Prince Charles bare-headed ride 
 
 While bagpipes round him shrilled, 
 And far Culloden's smoky racks 
 Hid scaffold craped, and bloody axe. 
 
 What wine hast thou known brawl be-spilt ! 
 What daggers ruddy to the hilt ! 
 
 What stately minuets 
 Walked slowly o'er thy oaken floors ! 
 What hasty kisses at thy doors ! 
 
 What banquetings and bets ! 
 What talk, o'er man that lives and errs, 
 Of double-chinned philosophers ! 
 
 52
 
 68 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Great City, every morning I 
 See thy wild fringes in the sky, 
 
 Soft-blurr'd with smoky grace : 
 Each evening note the blazing sun 
 Flush luridly thy vapours dun 
 
 A spire athwart his face : 
 Each night I watch thy wondrous feast, 
 Like some far city in the East. 
 
 But most I love thee faint and fair, 
 Dim-pencill'd in the April air, 
 
 When in the dewy bush 
 I hear from budded thick remote 
 The rapture of the blackbird's throat, 
 
 The sweet note of the thrush ; 
 And all is shadowless and clear 
 In the uncoloured atmosphere. 
 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH 
 
 (last poem, unfinished). 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 CITY of mist and rain and blown grey spaces, 
 
 Dashed with wild wet colour and gleam of tears, 
 Dreaming in Holyrood halls of the passionate faces 
 
 Lifted to one Queen's face that has conquered the 
 
 years, 
 Are not the halls of thy memory haunted places ? 
 
 Cometh there not as a moon (where the blood-rust 
 
 sears 
 Floors a-flutter of old with silks and laces), 
 
 Gliding, a ghostly Queen, thro' a mist of tears ?
 
 THE PRAISE OF EDINBURGH 69 
 
 ii. 
 
 Proudly here, with a loftier pinnacled splendour, 
 
 Throned in his northern Athens, what spells re- 
 main 
 Still on the marble lips of the Wizard, and render 
 
 Silent the gazer on glory without a stain ! 
 Here and here, do we whisper, with hearts more 
 tender, 
 
 Tusitala wandered thro' mist and rain, 
 Rainbow-eyed and frail and gallant and slender, 
 
 Dreaming of pirate-isles in a jewelled main. 
 
 III. 
 
 Up the Canongate climbeth, cleft asunder 
 
 Raggedly here, with a glimpse of the distant sea 
 Flashed thro' a crumbling alley, a glimpse of wonder ! 
 
 Nay, for the City is throned on Eternity ! 
 Hark ! from the soaring Castle a cannon's thunder 
 
 Closeth an hour for the world and an aeon for me, 
 Gazing at last from the war-swept heights where- 
 under 
 
 Deathless memories roll to an ageless sea. 
 
 ALFRED NOYES. 
 
 TO EDINBURGH 
 
 FAREWELL VERSES 
 
 QUEEN of cities, for the last time 
 Now mine eyes upon you fall, 
 Looking down upon your Palace, 
 Gazing up to Castle wall.
 
 70 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 While I view your long and stately 
 Street, and many a noble square, 
 
 Let them fade in wonted beauty 
 As eve's lamps are planted there. 
 
 Let me muse upon your history 
 
 In these moments that are mine, 
 As it passes here before me 
 
 Like a pageant divine ; 
 As a masque of stately figures 
 
 Fancy conjures from your past, 
 Men and women whose life's story 
 
 Shall be told while ages last. . . . 
 
 City, as I muse upon you, 
 
 Thus the pageant goes by, 
 And before me one Queen passes, 
 
 Falleth from her lips a sigh, 
 Mary, that elusive woman, 
 
 Fathomed not shall be her tale, 
 Nor her story be unravelled 
 
 While the ages long prevail. 
 
 Queen of cities, fade in splendour ! 
 
 To your twilight bells I list ; 
 Palace, die in pearly shadow, 
 
 Castle, fade in purple mist ! 
 North or south, whichever calls me, 
 
 East or west, where'er I be, 
 Nought shall dim your fame and beauty, 
 
 City of my memory ! 
 
 A. HUME HAMILTON.
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN
 
 ' Come wi' me, Jock, and I'll show ye Edinburgh, as you have 
 showed me the hills of heather !' This was Ralph's invita- 
 tion. 
 
 ' Na,' said Jock, ' an' thank ye kindly a' the same. There's 
 muckle cankersome loons there that micht snap up a guid- 
 lookin' lad like Jock, an' ship him ontill their nesty ships afore 
 he could say " Mulwharchar and Craignell !" Jock Gordon may 
 be a fule, but he kens when he's weel aff. Nae Auld Reekies 
 for him, an 1 thank ye kindly.' 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT. 
 
 From the summit of Calton Hill, there is a prospect un- 
 equalled by any to be seen from the midst of a great city. 
 Westward lies the Forth, and beyond it, dimly blue, the far 
 away Highland hills ; eastward, rise the bold contours of 
 Arthur's Seat, and the rugged crags of the Castle Rock, with 
 the grey Old Town of Edinburgh ; while, far below, from a 
 maze of crowded thoroughfares, the hoarse murmur of the 
 toil of a polity of energetic men is borne upon the ear. At 
 times, a man may be as solitary here as in a veritable wilder- 
 ness ; and may meditate undisturbedly upon the epitome of 
 nature and of man the kingdoms of this world spread out 
 before him. 
 
 PROFESSOR HUXLEY.
 
 APPROACHING A MAGICAL CITY 
 
 AFTER losing sight of the Hill of Cromarty, the Leith 
 smack in which I sailed was slowly threading her 
 way, in a morning of light airs and huge broken fog- 
 wreaths, through the lower tracts of the Firth of 
 Forth. The islands and distant land looked dim and 
 grey through the haze, like objects in an unfinished 
 drawing ; and at times some vast low-browed cloud 
 from the sea applied the sponge as it rolled past, and 
 blotted out half a county at a time ; but the sun occa- 
 sionally broke forth in partial glimpses of great 
 beauty, and brought out into bold relief little bits of 
 the landscape now a town, and now an islet, and 
 anon the blue summit of a hill. A sunlit wreath rose 
 from around the abrupt and rugged Bass as we 
 passed ; and my heart leaped within me as I saw, for 
 the first time, that stern Patmos of the devout and 
 brave of another age looming dark and high through 
 the diluted mist, and enveloped for a moment, as 
 the cloud parted, in an amber-tinted glory. ... I 
 looked with a double interest on the bold sea-girt 
 rock, and the sun-gilt cloud that rose over its scared 
 forehead, like that still brighter halo which glorifies 
 in the memories of the Scottish people. Many a long- 
 cherished association drew my thoughts to Edin- 
 burgh. I was acquainted with Ramsay, and Fer- 
 gusson, and the ' Humphrey Clinker ' of Smollett, 
 and had read a description of the place in the ' Mar- 
 mion ' and the earlier novels of Scott ; and I was 
 not yet too old to feel as if I were approaching a great 
 73
 
 74 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 magical city like some of those in the ' Arabian 
 Nights ' that was even more intensely poetical than 
 Nature itself. I did somewhat chide the tantalizing 
 mist, that, like a capricious showman, now raised one 
 corner of its curtain, and anon another, and showed 
 me the place at once very indistinctly, and only by 
 bits at a time ; and yet I know not that I could in 
 reality have seen it to greater advantage, or after a 
 mode more in harmony with my previous conceptions. 
 ... At one time a flat reach of the New Town came 
 full into view, along which, in the general dimness, 
 the multitudinous chimneys stood up like stacks of 
 corn in a field newly reaped ; at another the Castle 
 loomed out dark in the cloud ; then, as if suspended 
 over the earth, the rugged summit of Arthur's Seat 
 came strongly out, while its base still remained in- 
 visible in the wreath ; and anon I caught a glimpse of 
 the distant Pentlands, enveloped by a clear blue sky, 
 and lighted up by the sun. Leith, with its thicket 
 of masts, and its tall round Tower, lay deep in shade 
 in the foreground. . . . Such was the strangely 
 picturesque countenance with which I was favoured 
 by the Scottish capital, when forming my earliest 
 acquaintance with it. ... 
 
 I was as entirely unacquainted with great towns 
 at this time as the shepherd in Virgil ; and, excited 
 ay what I saw, I sadly tasked my friend's peripatetic 
 abilities, and, I fear, his patience also, in taking an 
 admiring survey of all the more characteristic streets, 
 and then in setting out for the top of Arthur's Seat 
 from which, this evening, I watched the sun set behind 
 the distant Lomonds that I might acquaint myself 
 with the features of the surrounding country, and the 
 effect of the city as a whole. And amid much con-
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 75 
 
 fused and imperfect recollections of picturesque 
 groups of ancient buildings, and magnificent assem- 
 blages of elegant modern ones, I carried away with 
 me two vividly distinct ideas first results, as a 
 painter might say, of a ' fresh eye,' which no after 
 survey has served to freshen or intensify. I felt that 
 I had seen, not one, but two cities a city of the past 
 and a city of the present set down side by side, as if 
 for purposes of comparison, with a picturesque valley 
 drawn like a deep score between them, to mark off the 
 line of division. And such in reality seems to be the 
 grand peculiarity of the Scottish capital its dis- 
 tinguishing trait among the cities of the empire ; 
 though, of course . . . greatly modernized in many 
 parts, has become less uniformly and consistently 
 antique in its aspect. ... Of its older portions I 
 used never to tire : I found I could walk among them 
 as purely for the pleasure which accrued as among 
 the wild and picturesque of Nature itself. 
 
 HUGH MILLER. 
 
 LORD MARMION ENTERS EDINBURGH 
 
 THUS through the Scottish camp they pass'd, 
 And reach the City gate at last, 
 Where all around, a wakeful guard, 
 Arm'd burghers kept their watch and ward. 
 Well had they cause of jealous fear, 
 When lay encamped, in field so near, 
 The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 
 As through the bustling streets they go, 
 All was alive with martial show : 
 At every turn, with dinning clang, 
 The armourer's anvil clash'd and rang ;
 
 76 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Or toil'd the swarthy smith, to wheel 
 
 The bar that arms the charger's heel ; 
 
 Or axe, or falchion, to the side 
 
 Of jarring grindstone was applied. 
 
 Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace, 
 
 Through street, and lane, and market-place, 
 
 Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; 
 While burghers, with important face, 
 
 Described each new-come lord, 
 Discuss'd his lineage, told his name, 
 His following, and his warlike fame. 
 The Lion led to lodging meet, 
 Which high o'erlook'd the crowded street ; 
 
 There must the Baron rest, 
 Till past the hour of vesper tide, 
 And then to Holy-Rood must ride 
 
 Such was the King's behest. 
 Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns 
 A banquet rich, and costly wines, 
 
 To Marmion and his train ; 
 And when the appointed hour succeeds, 
 The Baron dons his peaceful weeds, 
 And following Lindesay as he leads, 
 
 The palace-halls they gain. 
 
 Old Holy-Rood rung merrily 
 That night, with wassell, mirth, and glee ; 
 King James within her princely bower 
 Feasted the Chiefs of Scotland's power, 
 Summon'd to spend the parting hour ; 
 For he had charged, that his array 
 Should southward march by break of day. 
 Well loved that splendid monarch aye 
 The banquet and the song.
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 77 
 
 By day the tourney, and by night 
 The merry dance, traced fast and light, 
 The maskers quaint, the pageant bright, 
 
 The revel loud and long. 
 This feast outshone his banquets past, 
 It was his blithest and his last. 
 The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay, 
 Cast on the Court a dancing ray ; 
 Here to the harp did minstrels sing ; 
 There ladies touch'd a softer string ; 
 With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest, 
 The licensed fool retail'd his jest ; 
 His magic tricks the juggler plied ; 
 At dice and draughts the gallants vied ; 
 While some, in close recess apart, 
 Courted the ladies of their heart, 
 
 Nor courted them in vain ; 
 For often, in the parting hour, 
 Victorious Love asserts his power 
 
 O'er coldness and disdain ; 
 And flinty is her heart, can view 
 To battle march a lover true 
 Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 
 
 Nor own her share of pain. 
 
 Through this mix'd crowd of glee and game, 
 The King to greet Lord Marmion came, 
 
 While, reverent, all made room. 
 An easy task it was, I trow, 
 King James's manly form to know, 
 Although, his courtesy to show, 
 He doff d to Marmion bending low, 
 
 His broider'd cap and plume. 
 For royal was his garb and mien,
 
 78 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 His cloak, of crimson velvet piled, 
 Trimm'd with the fur of martin wild ; 
 
 His vest of changeful satin sheen, 
 The dazzled eye beguiled ; 
 
 His gorgeous collar hung adown, 
 
 Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown, 
 
 The thistle brave, of old renown ; 
 
 His trusty blade, Toledo right, 
 
 Descended from a baldric bright ; 
 
 White were his buskins, on the heel 
 
 His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 
 
 His bonnet, all of crimson fair, 
 
 Was button'd with a ruby rare : 
 
 And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen 
 
 A prince of such a noble mien. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 FROM DUNBAR TO EDINBURGH 
 
 DEAR LEWIS, Dunbar is well situated for trade, and 
 has a curious basin, where ships of small burden may 
 be perfectly secure ; but there is little appearance of 
 business in the place. From thence, all the way 
 to Edinburgh, there is a continual succession of fine 
 seats belonging to noblemen and gentlemen ; and, as 
 each is surrounded by its own parks and plantation, 
 they produce a very pleasing effect in a country 
 which lies otherwise open and exposed. At Dunbar 
 there is a noble park, with a lodge, belonging to the 
 Duke of Roxburgh, where Oliver Cromwell had his 
 head-quarters, when Leslie, at the head of a Scotch 
 army, took possession of the mountains in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and hampered in such a manner, that he 
 would have been obliged to embark and get away by
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 79 
 
 sea, had not the fanaticism of the enemy forfeited 
 the advantage which they had obtained by their 
 general's conduct. Their ministers, by exhortation, 
 prayer, assurance, and prophecy, instigated them to 
 go down and slay the Philistines in Gilgal, and they 
 quitted their ground accordingly, notwithstanding 
 all that Leslie could do to restrain the madness of 
 their enthusiasm. When Oliver saw them in motion, 
 he exclaimed, ' Praised be the Lord, he hath de- 
 livered them into the hands of his servant !' and 
 ordered his troops to sing a psalm of thanksgiving, 
 while they advanced in order to the plain, where the 
 Scotch were routed with great slaughter. ... At 
 Musselburgh, however, I had the good fortune to 
 drink tea with my old friend Mr. Cardonel, and at his 
 house I met with Dr. Caiiyle, the parson of the 
 parish, whose humour and conversation inflamed me 
 with a desire of being better acquainted with his 
 person. I am not at all surprised that these Scotch 
 make their way in every quarter of the globe. 
 
 This place is but four miles from Edinburgh, 
 towards which we proceeded along the sea-shore, 
 upon a firm bottom of smooth sand, which the tide 
 had left uncovered in its retreat. Edinburgh, from 
 this avenue, is not seen to much advantage ; we had 
 only an imperfect view of the castle and upper parts 
 of the town, which varied incessantly according to 
 the inflections of the road, and exhibited the appear- 
 ance of detached spires and turrets, belonging to some 
 magnificent edifice in ruins. 
 
 The palace of Holyrood-house stands on the left 
 as you enter the Canongate. This is a street con- 
 tinued from hence to the gate called the Netherbow, 
 which is now taken away ; so that there is no interrup-
 
 8o THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 tion for a long mile, from the bottom to the top of the 
 hill, on which the castle stands in a most imperial 
 situation. Considering its fine pavement, its width, 
 and the lofty houses on each side, this would be un- 
 doubtedly one of the noblest streets in Europe, if an 
 ugly mass of mean buildings, called the Luckenbooths, 
 had not thrust itself, by what accident I know not, 
 into the middle of the way, hke Middle Row in 
 Holborn. The city stands upon two hills, and the 
 bottom between them ; and, with all its defects, may 
 very well pass for the capital of a moderate kingdom. 
 It is full of people ; and continually resounds with 
 the noise of coaches and other carriages, for luxury as 
 well as commerce. . . . All the people of business 
 at Edinburgh, and even the genteel company, may be 
 seen standing in crowds every day, from one to two 
 in the afternoon, in the open street, at a place where 
 formerly stood a market cross, which, by the bye, was 
 a curious piece of Gothic architecture, still to be seen 
 in Lord Somerville's garden in this neighbourhood : 
 I say the people stand in the open street from the force 
 of custom rather than move a few yards to an ex- 
 change, that stands empty on one side, or to the 
 Parliament close on the other, which is a noble square, 
 adorned with a fine equestrian statue of King 
 Charles II. The company thus assembled are enter- 
 tained with a variety of tunes, played upon a set of 
 bells, fixed in a steeple hard by. As these bells are 
 well toned, and the musician, who has a salary from 
 the city for playing upon them with keys, is no bad 
 performer, the entertainment is really agreeable, and 
 very striking to the ears of a stranger. . . . 
 
 I shall stay [in Edinburgh] until I have seen 
 everything that is remarkable in and about this
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 81 
 
 capital. I now begin to feel the good effect of exer- 
 cise. I eat like a farmer, sleep from midnight till 
 eight in the morning, without interruption, and enjoy 
 a constant tide of spirits, equally distant from in- 
 anition and excess ; but whatever ebbs or flows my 
 constitution may undergo, my heart will still declare 
 that I am, dear Lewis, your affectionate friend and 
 servant, MATT. BRAMBLE. 
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 
 EDINBURGH, July i8th. 
 
 THE MERRY GLEE OF EDINBURGH TOWN 
 
 FAREWELL, my bonny, lovely, witty, pretty Maggy, 
 
 And a' the rosy lasses milking on the down : 
 Adieu the flowery meadows, aft sae dear to Jocky, 
 
 The sports and merry glee of Edinborrow town. 
 Since French and Spanish lowns stand at bay, 
 And valiant lads of Britain hold 'em play, 
 My reap-hook I maun cast quite away, 
 
 And fight too like a man 
 
 Among 'em for our royal Queen Anne. 
 
 Each carle of Irish mettle battles like a dragon : 
 
 The Germans waddle, and straddle to the drum ; 
 The Italian and the butter bowzy Hogan Morgan : 
 
 Good - faith then, Scottish Jocky mauna ly at 
 
 hame : 
 
 For since they are ganging to hunt renown, 
 And swear they'll quickly ding auld Monsieur 
 
 down, 
 I'll follow for a pluck at his crown, 
 
 To show that Scotland can 
 
 Excel 'em for our royal Queen Anne. 
 
 ALLAN RAMSAY. 
 6
 
 82 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 THE distant view of Edinburgh is picturesque and 
 romantic. ... It is, compared to that of London, 
 what the poem of the Seasons is with respect to Para- 
 dise Lost, the castellated descriptions of Walter Scott 
 to the Darkness of Byron, the Sabbath of Graham to 
 the Robbers of Schiller. In the approach to Edin- 
 burgh, leisure and cheerfulness are on the road : 
 large spaces of rural and pastoral nature are spread 
 openly around : and mountains, and seas, and head- 
 lands : and vessels passing beyond them, going like 
 those that die, we know not whither, while the sun is 
 bright on their sails, and hope with them. But in 
 coming to this Babylon there is an eager haste and a 
 hurrying on from all quarters towards that stupendous 
 pile of gloom, through which no eye can penetrate ; an 
 unceasing sound, like the enginery of an earthquake 
 at work, rolls from the heart of that profound and 
 indefinable obscurity ; sometimes a faint and yellow 
 beam of the sun strikes here and there on the vast 
 expanse of edifices, and churches and holy asylums 
 are dimly seen lifting up their countless steeples and 
 spires like so many lightning-rods to avert the wrath 
 of Heaven. 
 
 The entrance to Edinburgh awakens feelings of a 
 more pleasing character also. The rugged, veteran 
 aspect of the Old Town is agreeably contrasted with 
 the bright, smooth forehead of the New, and there is 
 not such an overwhelming torrent of animal life as 
 to make you pause before venturing to stem it : the 
 noises are not so deafening, and the occasional sound 
 of a ballad-singer or of a Highland piper varies and 
 enriches the discords. But here, a multitudinous
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 83 
 
 assemblage of harsh alarms, of selfish contentions, and 
 of furious carriages driven by a fierce and insolent 
 race, shatter the very hearing, till you partake of the 
 activity with which all seem as much possessed as if 
 a general apprehension prevailed that the great clock 
 of Time would strike the doom-hour before their 
 tasks were done. . . . 
 
 Betimes in the morning, having taken our break- 
 fast, we got a caddy to guide us and our wallise to 
 Widow M'Vicar's, at the head of the Covenanters' 
 Close. She was a relation to my first wife, Betty 
 Lanshaw, my own full cousin that was, and we had 
 advised her, by course of post, of our coming and 
 intendment to lodge with her as uncos and strangers. 
 But Mrs. M'Vicar kept a cloth shop and sold plaidings 
 and flannels, besides Yorkshire superfines, and was 
 use to the sudden incoming of strangers, especially 
 visitants, from both the West and the North High- 
 lands, and was withal a gawsy, furthy woman, taking 
 great pleasure in hospitality, and every sort of kindli- 
 ness and discretion ; and she would not allow of such 
 a thing as our being lodgers in her house, but was so 
 cagey to see us, and to have it in her power to be civil 
 to a minister (as she was pleased to say) of such 
 repute, that nothing less would content her but that 
 we must live upon her, and partake of all the best 
 that could be gotten for us within the walls of ' the 
 gude town.' 
 
 When we found ourselves so comfortable, Mrs. 
 Balwhidder and me waited on my patron's family 
 that was, the young ladies, and the laird, who had 
 been my pupil, but was now an advocate high in the 
 law. They likewise were kind. In short, everybody 
 in Edinburgh was in a manner wearisome kind, and 
 
 62
 
 84 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 we could scarcely find time to see the Castle and the 
 palace of Holyrood House, and the more sanctified 
 place where the Maccabeus of the Kirk of Scotland, 
 John Knox, was wont to live. ... It was in this 
 visit to Edinburgh that Mrs. Balwhidder bought her 
 silver teapot, and other ornamental articles ; but 
 this was not done, as she assured me, in a vain spirit 
 of bravery (which I could not have abided), because 
 it was well known that tea draws better in a silver 
 pot, and drinks pleasanter in a china cup, than out of 
 any other kind of cup or teapot. 
 
 JOHN GALT. 
 DUN-EDIN 
 
 SEE yon little hamlet, o'ershadowed with smoke ; 
 See yon hoary battlement throned on the rock ; 
 Even there shall a city in splendour break forth, 
 The haughty Dun-Edin, the Queen of the North ; 
 There learning shall flourish, and liberty smile, 
 The awe of the world, and the pride of the isle. 
 
 But thy lonely spirit shall roam in dismay, 
 And weep o'er thy labours so soon to decay, 
 In yon western plain, where thy power overthrew 
 The bulwarks of Caledon, valiant and few ; 
 Where beamed the red faulchion of ravage and 
 
 wrath ; 
 
 Where tyranny, horsed on the dragons of death, 
 Rode ruthless through blood of the honoured and just, 
 When Graeme and brave Stuart lay bleeding in dust, 
 The wailings of liberty pierced the sky ; 
 The Eternal, in pity, averted His eye ! 
 
 Even there the dread power of thy nations com- 
 bined, 
 Proud England, green Erin, and Normandy joined,
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 85 
 
 Exulting in numbers, and dreadful array, 
 
 Led on by Carnavon, to Scotland away, 
 
 As thick as the snow-flakes that pour from the pole, 
 
 Or silver-maned waves on the ocean that roll, 
 
 By a handful of heroes, all desperate driven, 
 
 Impelled by the might and the vengeance of heaven, 
 
 By them shall these legions be all overborne, 
 
 And melt from the field like the mist of the morn. 
 
 The Thistle shall rear her rough front to the sky, 
 
 And the Rose and the Shamrock at Carron shall die. 
 
 JAMES HOGG. 
 
 ENTERING EDINBURGH 
 
 DEAR WAT, We entered Scotland by a frightful 
 muir of sixteen miles, which promises very little for 
 the interior parts of the kingdom ; but the prospect 
 mended as we advanced. Passing through Dunbar, 
 which is a neat little town, situated on the sea-side, 
 we lay at a country inn, where our entertainment far 
 exceeded our expectation. . . . Yesterday we dined 
 at Haddington, which has been a place of some con- 
 sideration, but is now gone to decay ; and in the 
 evening arrived [at Edinburgh]. It is very romantic, 
 from its situation on the declivity of a hill, having a 
 fortified castle at the top, and a royal palace at the 
 bottom. . . . What first strikes the eye is the uncon- 
 scionable height of the houses, which generally rise 
 to five, six, seven, and eight stories, and, in some 
 places (as I am assured) to twelve. This manner of 
 building, attended with numberless inconveniences, 
 must have been originally owing to want of room. 
 Certain it is, the town seems to be full of people ; but 
 their books, their language, and their customs, are so
 
 86 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 different from ours, that I can hardly believe myself 
 in Great Britain. . . . Recollecting that [my uncle] 
 had a letter of recommendation to one Mr. Mitchelson, 
 a lawyer, he sent it by his servant, with a compliment, 
 imparting that he would wait upon him next day in 
 person ; but that gentleman visited us immediately, 
 and insisted upon our going to his own house, until he 
 could provide lodgings for our accommodation. We 
 gladly' accepted of his invitation, and repaired to his 
 house, where we were treated with equal elegance 
 and hospitality, to the utter confusion of our aunt, 
 whose prejudices, though beginning to give way, were 
 not yet entirely removed. To-day, by the assistance 
 of our friend, we are settled in convenient lodgings, 
 up four pair of stairs, in the High Street, the fourth 
 story being, in this city, reckoned more genteel than 
 the first. The air is, in all probability, the better ; 
 but it requires good lungs to breathe it at this distance 
 above the surface of the earth. While I do remain 
 above it, whether higher or lower, provided I breathe 
 at all, I shall ever be, dear Philip, yours, J. MELFORD. 
 
 _. TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 
 
 EDINBURGH, July iBth. 
 
 WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN 
 
 TWAS within a mile of Edinburgh town, 
 
 In the rosy time of the year, 
 Sweet flowers bloom'd and the grass was down, 
 And each shepherd woo'd his dear. 
 Bonnie Jockie, blythe and gay, 
 Kissed young Jennie making hay ; 
 The lassie blushed, and frowning cried, 
 ' Na, na, it winna do : 
 ' I canna, winna, maunna buckle to.'
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 87 
 
 Jockie was a wag that never wad wed, 
 
 Though lang he had followed the lass ; 
 Contented she earned and ate her brown bread, 
 And merrily turned up the grass. 
 Bonnie Jockie, blythe and free, 
 Won her heart right merrily ; 
 Yet still she blushed, and frowning cried, 
 ' Na, na, it winna do : 
 ' I canna, winna, maunna buckle to.' 
 
 But when he vow'd he wad make her his bride, 
 
 Though his flocks and herds were not few, 
 She gie'd him her hand and a kiss beside, 
 And vow'd she'd for ever be true. 
 Bonnie Jockie, blythe and free, 
 Won her heart right merrily ; 
 At kirk so no more frowning cried : 
 ' Na, na, it winna do : 
 ' I canna, winna, maunna buckle to.' 
 
 T. D'UFREY. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON MAKING EDINBURGH'S 
 ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 I KNOW not a feeling of more delightful excitation 
 than that which attends a traveller, when he sallies 
 out on a fine clear morning, to make his first survey of 
 a splendid city, to which he is a stranger. I have 
 often before experienced this charming spirit-stirring 
 sensation. ... A thick blue smoke hung low upon 
 the houses, and their outlines reposed behind on ridges 
 of purple cloud ; the smoke and the clouds, and the 
 murky air, giving yet more extravagant bulk and 
 altitude to those huge strange dwellings, and in- 
 creasing the power of contrast which met our view,
 
 88 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 when a few paces more brought us once again upon 
 the New Town, the airy bridge, the bright green vale 
 below and beyond it, and skirting the line of the vale 
 on either side, the rough crags of the Castle rock, 
 and the broad glare of Princes Street, that most superb 
 of terraces ; steeples and towers, and cupolas scattered 
 bright beneath our feet ; and, far as the eye could reach, 
 the whole pomp and richness of distant commotion, 
 the heart of the city. Such was my first view of 
 Edinburgh. I descended again into her streets in a 
 sort of stupor of admiration. . . . The way [to 
 Holyrood] lies straight down the only great street of 
 the Old Town, a street by far the most impressive in 
 its character of any I have ever seen in Britain. The 
 sombre shadows, cast by those huge houses of which 
 it is composed, and the streams of faint light cutting 
 the darkness here and there, where the entrance to 
 some fantastic alley pierces the sable mass of building ; 
 the strange projectings, recedings, and windings ; the 
 roofs, the stairs, the windows, all so luxuriating in 
 endless variety of carved work ; the fading and moul- 
 dering coats of arms, helmets, crests, coronets, sup- 
 porters, mantles, and pavilions ; all these testimonials 
 of forgotten pride, mingled so profusely with the 
 placards of old-clothes men, and every sign of 
 plebeian wretchedness ; it is not possible to imagine 
 more speaking emblems of the decay of a once royal 
 city. . . . Since I came to this town the weather 
 has in general been of a very unpleasant kind. When 
 you look out from the windows of your apartment, 
 nothing can be finer than the appearance everything 
 presents. The air is as clear as amber overhead, and 
 the sun shines with so much power, that in these 
 splendid streets, the division of the bright from the
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 89 
 
 shadowy part, reminds one of the richest effects of a 
 Cuyp, or a Sachtleeven. . . . Either at what hour 
 or from what point of view, the external appearance 
 of this city is productive of the noblest effect. I 
 walk round and round it, and survey it from east, 
 west, north and south, and everywhere it assumes 
 some new and glorious aspect, which delights me so 
 much at the moment, that I am inclined to think I 
 have at last hit upon the true station from whence to 
 survey its beauties. A few steps bring me to some 
 new eminence, from which some yet wider and more 
 diversified picture of its magnificence opens itself to my 
 eyes, or perhaps to some winding ravine, the dark and 
 precipitous sides of which, while they shut out much 
 of this imposing expanse of magnitude, form a deep 
 and concentrating framework, in whose centre some 
 one isolated fragment assumes a character of sublimity, 
 that seems almost to throw the wider field of variety 
 and splendour into temporary shade. I have at last 
 given up the attempt ; and am contented to let my 
 admiration be as impartial as the charm is universal. 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 THE GRAY METROPOLIS OF THE NORTH 
 
 LOVE, what hours were thine and mine, 
 In lands of palm and southern pine ; 
 
 In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, 
 Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine. 
 
 We took our last adieu, 
 And up the snowy Splugen drew, 
 
 But ere we reach' d the highest summit, 
 
 1 pluck'd a daisy, I gave it you.
 
 90 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 It told of England then to me, 
 And now it tells of Italy. 
 
 O Love, we two shall go no longer 
 To lands of summer across the sea ; 
 
 So dear a life your arms enfold 
 Whose crying is a cry for gold : 
 
 Yet here to-night in this dark city, 
 When ill and weary, alone and cold, 
 
 I found, tho' crush'd to hard and dry, 
 This nurseling of another sky 
 
 Still in the little book you lent me, 
 And where you tenderly laid it by : 
 
 And I forgot the clouded Forth, 
 
 The gloom that saddens Heaven and Earth, 
 
 The bitter east, the misty summer, 
 And gray metropolis of the North. 
 
 Perchance, to lull the throbs of pain, 
 Perchance, to charm a vacant brain, 
 
 Perchance, to dream you still beside me, 
 My fancy fled to the South again. 
 
 ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. 
 
 COLONEL MANNERING IN EDINBURGH 
 
 MANNERING, with Sampson for his companion, lost 
 no time in his journey to Edinburgh. They travelled 
 in the Colonel's post-chariot, who, knowing his com- 
 panion's habits of abstraction, did not choose to lose 
 him out of his own sight, far less to trust him on horse- 
 back, where, in all probability, a knavish stable-boy 
 might with little address have contrived to mount
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 91 
 
 him with his face to the tail. Accordingly, with the 
 aid of his valet, who attended on horseback, he con- 
 trived to bring Mr. Sampson safe to an inn in Edin- 
 burgh, for hotels in those days there were none, 
 without any other accident than arose from his stray- 
 ing twice upon the road. ... As soon as they ar- 
 rived in Edinburgh, and were established at the 
 George Inn, near Bristo-Port, then kept by old Cock- 
 burn (I love to be particular), the Colonel desired the 
 waiter to procure him a guide to Mr. Pleydell's, the 
 advocate, for whom he had a letter of introduction 
 from Mr. Mac-Morlan. He then commanded Barnes 
 to have an eye to the Dominie, and walked forth with 
 a chairman, who was to usher him to the man of 
 law. 
 
 The period was near the end of the American War. 
 The desire of room, of air, and of decent accommoda- 
 tion had not as yet made very much progress in the 
 capital of Scotland. Some efforts had been made on 
 the south side of the town towards building houses 
 within themselves, as they are emphatically termed ; 
 and the New Town on the north, since so much ex- 
 tended, was then just commenced. But the great 
 bulk of the better classes, and particularly those 
 connected with the law, still lived in flats or dungeons 
 of the Old Town. The manners also of some of the 
 veterans of the law had not admitted innovation. 
 One or two eminent lawyers still saw their clients in 
 taverns, as was the general custom fifty years before ; 
 and although then: habits were already considered 
 as old-fashioned by the younger barristers, yet the 
 custom of mixing wine and revelry with serious 
 business was still maintained by these senior coun- 
 sellors, who loved the old road, either because it was
 
 92 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 such, or because they had got too well used to it to 
 travel any other. Among those praisers of the past 
 time, who with ostentatious obstinacy affected the 
 manners of a former generation, was this same Paulus 
 Pleydell, Esq., otherwise a good scholar, an excellent 
 lawyer, and a worthy man. 
 
 Under the guidance of his trusty attendant, Colonel 
 Mannering, after threading a dark lane or two, reached 
 the High Street, then clanging with the voices of the 
 oyster-women and the bells of pie-men, for it had, as 
 his guide assured him, just ' chappit eight upon the 
 Tron.' It was long since Mannering had been in the 
 street of a crowded metropolis, which, with its noise 
 and clamour, its sounds of trade, of revelry and of 
 license, its variety of lights, and the eternally changing 
 bustle of its hundred groups, offers, by night especi- 
 ally, a spectacle which, though composed of the most 
 vulgar materials when they are separately considered, 
 has, when they are combined, a striking and powerful 
 effect on the imagination. The extraordinary height 
 of the houses was marked by lights, which, glimmering 
 irregularly along their front, ascended so high among 
 the attics that they seemed at length to twinkle in 
 the middle sky. This coup d'ceil, which still subsists 
 in a certain degree, was then more imposing, owing 
 to the uninterrupted range of buildings on each side, 
 which, broken only at the space where the North 
 Bridge joins the main street, formed a superb and uni- 
 form Place, extending from the front of the Lucken- 
 booths to the head of the Canongate, and correspond- 
 ing in breadth and length to the uncommon height 
 of the buildings on either side. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT.
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 93 
 
 AULD REIKIE 
 
 ' Auld Reeky, a name the country people give Edinburgh, 
 from the cloud of smoke or reek that seems always impending 
 over her.' ALLAN RAMSAY. 
 
 AULD REIKIE, wale o' ilka town 
 That Scotland kens beneath the moon ! 
 Whare couthy chiels at e'ening meet 
 Their bizzing craigs and mous to weet ; 
 And blythly gar auld care gae by 
 Wi' blinkit and wi' bleering eye : 
 O'er lang frae thee the Muse has been 
 Sae frisky on the simmer's green, 
 Whan flowers and gowans wont to glent 
 In bonny blinks upo' the bent ; 
 But now the leaves o' yellow dye, 
 Peel'd frae the branches, quickly fly ; 
 And now frae nouther bush nor brier 
 The spreckl'd mavis greets your ear ; 
 Nor bonny blackbird skims and roves 
 To seek his love in yonder groves. 
 
 Then Reikie, welcome ! Thou canst charm 
 Unfleggit by the year's alarm ; 
 Not Boreas, that sae snelly blows, 
 Dare here pap in his angry nose : 
 Thanks to our dads, whase biggin stands 
 A shelter to surrounding lands. 
 
 Now morn, wi' bonny purple smiles, 
 Kisses the air-cock o' St. Giles ; 
 Rakin' their ein, the servant lasses 
 Early begin their lies and clashes ; 
 Ilk tells her friend o' saddest distress 
 That still she broods frae scawling mistress. . . . 
 
 On stair wi' tub, or pat in hand, 
 The barefoot housemaids loe to stand,
 
 94 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 That antrin fock may ken how snell 
 Auld Reikie will at morning smell : 
 Then, with an inundation big as 
 The burn that 'neath the Nor' Lochbrig is, 
 They kindly shower Edina's roses, 
 To quicken and regale our noses. 
 Now some for this, wi' satire's leesh, 
 Hae gi'en auld Edinbrough a creesh : 
 But without souring nocht is sweet ; 
 The morning smells that hail our streets, 
 Prepare and gently lead the way 
 To simmer canty, braw and gay : 
 Edina's sons mair eithly share 
 Her spices and her dainties rare, 
 Than he that's never yet been call'd 
 Aff frae his pladdie or his fauld. 
 
 Now stair -head critics, senseless fools, 
 Censure their aim, and pride their rules, 
 In Luckenbooths wi' glouring eye, 
 Their neighbour's sma'est fauts descry : 
 If ony loun shou'd dander there, 
 ,O' aukward gate, and foreign air : 
 They trace his steps, till they can tell 
 His pedigree as weel's himsell. 
 
 Whan Phoebus blinks wi' warmer ray, 
 And schools at noon -day get the play, 
 Then, bus'ness, weighty bus'ness, comes, 
 The trader glours ; he doubts, he hums : 
 The lawyers eke to Cross repair, 
 Their wings to shaw, and toss an air : 
 While busy agent closely plies, 
 And a' his kittle cases tries. 
 
 Now night, that's cunzied chief for fun, 
 Is wi' her usual rites begun ; 
 Thro' ilka gate the torches blaze,
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 
 
 And globes send out their blinkin' rays. 
 The usefu' cadie plies the street, 
 To bide the profits o' his feet ; 
 For by their lads Auld Reikie's fock 
 Ken but a sample o' the stock 
 O' thieves, that nightly wad oppress, 
 And mak baith goods and gear the less. 
 Near him the lazy chairman stands, 
 And wats na how to turn his hands ; 
 Till some daft birky, ranting fu', 
 Has matters somewhare else to do ; 
 The chairman willing gi'es his light 
 To deeds o' darkness and o' night. . . . 
 
 If kail sae green, or herbs, delight, 
 Edina's street attracts the sight ; 
 Not Co vent -garden, clad sae braw, 
 Mair fouth o' herbs can eithly shaw : 
 For mony a yard is here sair sought, 
 That kail and cabbage may be bought, 
 And hcalthfu' salad to regale, 
 Whan pamper'd wi' a heavy meal. 
 Glowr up the street at simmer morn, 
 The birk sae green, and sweet-brier thorn, 
 Wi' spraingit flow'rs that scent the gale, 
 Ca' far awa the morning smell, 
 Wi' which our ladies' flow'r-pats fill'd, 
 And every noxious vapour kill'd. 
 O Nature ! canty, blythe and free, 
 Whare is there kneeing-glass like thee ? 
 Is there on earth that can compare 
 Wi' Mary's shape and Mary's air, 
 Save the empurpl'd speck that grows 
 In the saft faulds o' yonder rose ? 
 How bonny seems the virgin breast, 
 Whan by the lilies here carest,
 
 96 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 And leaves the mind in doubt to tell 
 Which maist in sweets and hue excel ? . 
 
 On Sunday here, an alter'd scene 
 O' men and manners meets our ein ; 
 Ane wad maist trow some people chose 
 To change their faces wi' their clo'es, 
 And fain wad gar ilk neighbour think 
 They thirst for goodness as for drink ; 
 But there's an unco dearth o' grace, 
 That has nae mansion but the face ; 
 And never can obtain a part 
 In benmost corner o' the heart. 
 Why shou'd religion mak us sad, 
 If good frae Virtue's to be had ? 
 Na, rather gleefu' turn your face ; 
 Forsake hypocrisy, grimace ; 
 And never hae it understood 
 You fleg mankind frae being good. 
 
 In afternoon, a' brawly buskit, 
 The joes and lasses loe to frisk it ; 
 Some tak a great delight to place 
 The modest bon-grace o'er the face ; 
 Tho' you may see, if so inclin'd, 
 The turning o' the leg behind. 
 Now Comely-garden, and the Park, 
 Refresh them, after forenoon's wark ; 
 Newhaven, Leith, or Canon-mills, 
 Supply them in their Sunday's gills ; 
 Whare writers aften spend their pence, 
 To stock their heads wi' drink an' sense. 
 
 While dand'ring its delight to stray 
 To Castle Hill, or public way, 
 Whare they nae other purpose mean, 
 Than that foul cause o' being seen ;
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 97 
 
 Let me to Arthur's Seat pursue, 
 Whare bonny pastures meet the view ; 
 And mony a wild-lorn scene accrues, 
 Befitting Willie Shakespeare's muse : 
 If Fancy there would join the thrang, 
 The desert rocks and hills amang, 
 To echoes we should lilt and play, 
 And gie to Mirth the live-lang day. 
 
 Or shou'd some canker'd biting show'r 
 The day and a' her sweets deflow'r, 
 To Holyrood-house let me stray, 
 And gie to musing a' the day ; 
 Lamenting what auld Scotland knew 
 Bien days for ever frae her view : 
 O Hamilton, for shame ! the Muse 
 Wad pay to thee her couthy vows 
 Gin ye wad tent the humble strain, 
 And gie 's our dignity again : 
 For O, waes me ! the thistle springs 
 In domicile o' ancient kings, 
 Without a patriot to regret 
 Our palace and our ancient state. . . . 
 
 Reikie, farewell ! I ne'er cou'd part 
 Wi' thee but wi' a dowy heart ; 
 Aft frae the Fifan coast I've seen 
 Thee towering on thy summit green, 
 So glowr the saints when first is given 
 A fav'rite keek o' glore and heaven ; 
 On earth nae mair they bend their ein, 
 But quick assume angelic mien ; 
 So I on Fife wad glowr no more, 
 But gallop'd to Edina's shore. 
 
 ROBERT FERGUSSON.
 
 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 THE WATER POET IS ENTERTAINED IN 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 THE moon [being] four days old, the wind at west, I 
 came to take rest, at the wished, long expected, 
 ancient famous city of Edinburgh, which I entered 
 like Pierce Penniless, altogether moneyless, but I 
 thank God, not friendless ; for being there, for the 
 time of my stay, I might borrow, (if any man would 
 lend) spend if I could get, beg if I had the impudence, 
 and steal if I durst adventure the price of a hanging, 
 but my purpose was to house my horse, and to suffer 
 him and my apparel to lie in durance, or lavender 
 instead of litter, till such time as I could meet with 
 some valiant friend, that would desperately disburse. 
 Walking thus down the street, (my body being tired 
 with travel, and my mind attired with moody, muddy 
 Moor-ditch melancholy) my contemplation did de- 
 votely pray, that I might meet one or other to prey 
 upon, being willing to take any slender acquaintance 
 of any map whatsoever, viewing, and circumviewing 
 every man's face I met, as if I meant to draw his 
 picture. ... At last I resolved, that the next gentle- 
 man that I met withal, should be acquaintance 
 whether he would or no : and presently fixing mine 
 eyes upon a gentleman -like object, I looked on him, 
 as if I would survey something through him, and make 
 him my perspective : and he much musing at my 
 gazing, and I much gazing at his musing, at last he 
 crossed the way and made toward me, and then I made 
 down the street from him, leaving him to encounter 
 my man, who came after me leading my horse whom 
 he thus accosted. My friend (quoth he), doth yonder 
 gentleman, (meaning me) know me, that he looks so
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 99 
 
 wistly on me ? Truly, sir, said my man, I think 
 not, but my master is a stranger come from London, 
 and would gladly meet some acquaintance to direct 
 him where he may have lodging and horse-meat. 
 Presently the gentleman, (being of a generous disposi- 
 tion) overtook me with unexpected and undeserved 
 courtesy, brought me to a lodging, and caused my 
 horse to be put into his own stable whilst we dis- 
 coursing over a pint of Spanish, I relate as much 
 English to him, as made him lend me ten shillings, 
 (his name was Master John Maxwell) which money I 
 am sure was the first that I handled after I came 
 from out the walls of London : but having rested two 
 hours and refreshed myself, the gentleman and I 
 walked to see the City and the Castle, which as my 
 poor unable and unworthy pen can, I will truly de- 
 scribe. 
 
 The Castle on a lofty rock is so strongly grounded, 
 bounded, and founded, that by force of man it can 
 never be confounded ; the foundation and walls are 
 impenetrable, the rampiers impregnable, the bulwarks 
 invincible, no way but one it is possible or can be 
 possible to be made passable. In a word, I have 
 seen many straits and fortresses in Germany, the 
 Netherlands, Spain and England, but they must all 
 give place to this unconquered Castle, both for 
 strength and situation. 
 
 Amongst the many memorable things which I was 
 shewed there, I noted especially a great piece of 
 ordnance of iron ; it is not for battery, but it will serve 
 to defend a breach, or to toss balls of wild-fire against 
 any that should assail or assault the Castle ; it [Mons 
 Meg] lies now dismounted. . . . 
 
 So leaving the Castle, as it is both defensive against 
 
 72
 
 ioo THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 my opposition, and magnific for lodging and receite, 
 I descended lower to the City, wherein I observed the 
 fairest and goodliest street that ever mine eyes beheld, 
 for I did never see or hear of a street of that length, 
 (which is half an English mile from the Castle to a 
 fair part which they call the Nether-Bow] and from 
 that part, the street which they call the Kenny-gate 
 is one quarter of a mile more, down to the King's 
 Palace, called Holy -rood-House, the buildings on each 
 side of the way being all of squared stone, five, six, 
 and seven stories high, and many bye-lanes and closes 
 one each side of the way, wherein are gentlemen's 
 houses, much fairer than the buildings in the High 
 Street, for in the High Street the merchants and 
 tradesmen do dwell, but the gentlemen's mansions 
 and goodliest houses are obscurely founded in the 
 aforesaid lanes : the walls are eight to ten foot thick, 
 exceeding strong, not built for a day, a week, or a 
 month, or a year ; but from antiquity to posterity, 
 for many ages ; there I found entertainment beyond 
 my expectation or merit, and there is fish, flesh, 
 bread, and fruit, in such variety, that I think I may 
 offenceless call it superfluity, or satiety. The worst 
 was, that wine and ale was so scarce, and the people 
 there such misers of it, that every night before I went 
 to bed, if any man had asked me a civil question, all 
 the wit in my head could not have made him a sober 
 answer. . . . 
 
 But once more, a word or two of Edinburgh, 
 although I have scarcely given it that due which 
 belongs unto it, for their lofty and stately buildings, 
 and for their fair and spacious streets, yet my mind 
 persuades me that they in former ages that first 
 founded that city did not so well in that they built it
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 101 
 
 in so discommodious a place ; for the sea, and all 
 navigable rivers being the chief means for the enrich- 
 ing of towns and cities, by the reason of traffic with 
 foreign nations, with exportation, transportation, and 
 receite of variety of merchandizing ; so this city, had 
 it been built but one mile lower on the seaside, I doubt 
 not but it had long before this been comparable to 
 many a one of our greatest towns and cities in Europe, 
 both for spaciousness of bounds, port, state, and 
 riches. 
 
 JOHN TAYLOR. 
 
 TO THE MERCHANTS OF EDINBURGH 
 
 AN ADDRESS 
 
 QUHY will ye, Merchantis of renoun, 
 Lat Edinburgh, your nobill toun 
 For laik of reformatioun 
 The commone proffeitt tyne and fame ? 
 
 Think ye nocht schame, 
 That ony uther regioun 
 Sail with dishonour hurt your Name ! . 
 
 At your hie Croce, quhair gold and silk 
 Sould be, thair is bot curdis and milk ; 
 And at your Trone but cokill and wilk, 
 Pausches, pudingis of Jok and Jame : 
 
 Think ye nocht schame, 
 Sen as the world sayis that ilk 
 In hurt and sclander of your Name ! 
 
 Your commone Menstrallis hes no tone, 
 But Now the day dawis, and Into Joun ; 
 Cuningar men scherve Sanct Clown,
 
 102 
 
 And nevir to uther craftis clame : 
 
 Think ye nocht schame, 
 To hald sic mowaris on the moune, 
 In hurt and sclander of your Name ! 
 
 Tail youris, Soutteris, and craftis vyll, 
 The fairest of your streitis dois fyll ; 
 And merchandis at the stinkand Styll 
 AT hamperit in ane honey came : 
 
 Think ye nocht schame, 
 That ye have nether witt nor wyll 
 To win your selff ane bettir Name ! 
 
 Your Burgh of beggaris is ane nest, 
 
 To schout and swen youris will nocht rest ; 
 
 All honest folk they do molest, 
 
 Sa piteuflie thai cry and rame : 
 
 Think ye nocht schame, 
 That for the poore hes no thing drest, 
 In hurt and sclander of your Name ! 
 
 Your proffeit daylie dois incress 
 Your godlie workis less and less ; 
 Through streittis nane may mak progress, 
 For cry of cruikit, blind, and lame ; 
 
 Think ye nocht schame, 
 That ye sic substance dois possess, 
 And will nocht win ane bettir Name ! 
 
 Sen for the Court and the Sessioun, 
 The great repair of this regioun 
 Is in your Burgh, thairfoir be boun 
 To mend all faultis that ar to blame, 
 
 And eschew schame ; 
 Gif thai pas to ane uther Toun 
 Ye will decay, and your great Name !
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 103 
 
 Thairfoir strangeris and leigis treit, 
 Tak nocht ouer meikle for thair meit, 
 And gar your Merchandis be discriet, 
 That na extortiounnes be proclaime, 
 
 Awfrand ane schame : 
 Keip ordour, and poore nychtbouris belt, 
 That ye may gett ane bettir Name ! 
 
 Singular proffeit so dois yow blind, 
 The common proffeit gois behind : 
 I pray that Lord remeid to fynd 
 That deit into Jerusalem ; 
 
 And gar you schame ! 
 That sum tyme ressoun may yow bind, 
 For to reconqueis yow guid Name ! 
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 ' THIS, then, is Edinburgh ?' said the youth, as the 
 fellow-travellers arrived at one of the heights to the 
 southward, which commanded a view of the great 
 northern capital 'this is that Edinburgh of which 
 we have heard so much ?' 
 
 ' Even so,' said the falconer ; ' yonder stands Auld 
 Reekie you may see the smoke hover over her at 
 twenty miles' distance, as the goss-hawk hangs over a 
 plump of young wild-ducks ay, yonder is the heart 
 of Scotland, and each throb that she gives is felt from 
 the edge of Solway to Duncan's-bay head. See, 
 yonder is the old Castle ; and see to the right, on yon 
 rising ground, that is the Castle of Craigmillar, which 
 I have known a merry place in my time.' 
 
 ' Was it not there,' said the page in a low voice, 
 ' that the Queen held her court ?'
 
 104 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 ' Ay, ay,' replied the falconer, ' Queen she was then, 
 though you must not call her so now. Well, they may 
 say what they will many a true heart will be sad for 
 Mary Stewart, e'en if all be true men say of her ; for 
 look you, Master Roland she was the loveliest crea- 
 ture to look upon that I ever saw with eye, and no 
 lady in the land liked better the fair flight of a falcon. 
 I was at the great match on Roslin-moor betwixt 
 Bothwell he was a black sight to her that Bothwell 
 and the Baron of Roslin, who could judge a hawk's 
 flight as well as any man in Scotland a butt of 
 Rhenish and a ring of gold was the wager, and it was 
 flown as fairly for as ever was red gold and bright 
 wine. And to see her there on her white palfrey, 
 that flew as if it scorned to touch more than the 
 heather blossom ; and to hear her voice, as clear and 
 sweet as the mavis's whistle, mix among our jolly 
 whooping and whistling ; and to mark all the nobles 
 dashing round her happiest he who got a word or a 
 look tearing through moss and hag, and venturing 
 neck and limb to gain the praise of a bold rider, and 
 the blink of a bonny Queen's bright eye ! she will 
 see little hawking where she lies now ay, ay, pomp 
 and pleasure pass away as speedily as the wap of a 
 falcon's wing.' . . . 
 
 The principal street of Edinburgh was then, as now, 
 one of the most spacious in Europe. The extreme 
 height of the houses, and the variety of Gothic gables, 
 and battlements, and balconies, by which the sky-line 
 on each side was crowded and terminated, together 
 with the width of the street itself, might have struck 
 with surprise a more practised eye than that of 
 young Graeme. The population, close packed within 
 the walls of the city, and at this time increased by the
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 105 
 
 number of the lords of the King's party who had 
 thronged to Edinburgh to wait upon the Regent 
 Murray, absolutely swarmed like bees on the wide 
 and stately street. Instead of the shop-windows, 
 which are now calculated for the display of goods, 
 the traders had their open booths projecting on the 
 street, in which, as in the fashion of the modern 
 bazaars, all was exposed which they had upon sale. 
 And though the commodities were not of the richest 
 kinds, yet Graeme thought he beheld the wealth of the 
 whole world in the various bales of Flanders cloths, 
 and the specimens of tapestry ; and, at other places, 
 the display of domestic utensils, and pieces of plate, 
 struck him with wonder. The sight of cutlers' 
 booths, furnished with swords and poniards, which 
 were manufactured in Scotland, and with pieces of 
 defensive armour, imported from Flanders, added to 
 his surprise ; and, at every step, he found so much 
 to admire and to gaze upon, that Adam Woodcock 
 had no little difficulty in prevailing on him to advance 
 through such a scene of enchantment. 
 
 The sight of the crowds which filled the streets was 
 equally a subject of wonder. Here a gay lady, in her 
 muffler, or silken veil, traced her way delicately, a 
 gentleman-usher making way for her, a page bearing 
 up her train, and a waiting gentlewoman carrying her 
 Bible, thus intimating that her purpose was towards 
 the church. There he might see a group of citizens 
 bending the same way, with their short Flemish 
 cloaks, wide trowsers, and high-caped doublets ; a 
 fashion to which, as well as to their bonnet and feather, 
 the Scots were long faithful. Then, again, came the 
 clergyman himself, in his black Geneva cloak and 
 band, bending a grave and attentive ear to the dis-
 
 106 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 course of several persons who accompanied him, and 
 who were doubtless holding serious converse on the re- 
 ligious subject he was about to treat of. Nor did there 
 lack passengers of a different class and appearance. 
 
 At every turn, Roland Graeme might see a gallant 
 ruffle along in the newer or French mode, his doublet 
 slashed, and his points of the same colours with the 
 lining, his long sword on one side, and his poniard on 
 the other, behind him a body of stout serving-men 
 proportioned to his estate and quality, all of whom 
 walked with an air of military retainers, and were 
 armed with sword and buckler, the latter being a 
 small round shield, not unlike the Highland target, 
 having a steel spike in the centre. Two of these 
 parties, each headed by a person of importance, 
 chanced to meet in the very centre of the street, or, as 
 it was called, ' the crown of the causeway,' a post of 
 honour as tenaciously asserted in Scotland, as that 
 of giving or taking the wall used to be in the more 
 southern part of the island. The two leaders being 
 of equal rank, and, most probably, either animated 
 by political dislike, or by recollection of some feudal 
 enmity, marched close up to each other, without 
 yielding an inch to the right or the left ; and neither 
 showing the least purpose of giving way, they stopped 
 for an instant, and then drew their swords. Their 
 followers imitated their example ; about a score of 
 weapons at once flashed in the sun, and there was an 
 immediate clatter of swords and bucklers, while the 
 followers on either side cried their master's name ; the 
 one shouting ' Help ! a Leslie !' while the others 
 answered with shouts of ' Seyton ! Seyton !' with the 
 additional punning slogan, ' Set on, set on bear the 
 knaves to the ground !'
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 107 
 
 If the falconer found difficulty in getting the page 
 to go forward before, it was now perfectly impossible. 
 He reined up his horse, clapped his hands, and, de- 
 lighted with the fray, cried and shouted as fast as any 
 of those who were actually engaged in it. 
 
 The noise and cries thus arising on the High-gate, 
 as it was called, drew into the quarrel two or three 
 other parties of gentlemen and their servants, besides 
 some single passengers, who, hearing a fray betwixt 
 these two distinguished names, took part in it, either 
 for love or hatred. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 EDINBURGH : A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY 
 VIGNETTE 
 
 EDENBOROW is the seat of the King of Scotland, and 
 the Courts of Justice are held in the same. Of old, 
 according to the changeable fortune of warre, it was 
 sometimes in the possession of the Scots, sometimes 
 of the English inhabiting this Easterne part of Scot- 
 land, till the English Kingdome being shaken with 
 invasions of the Danes, at last about the yeere 960, 
 it became wholly in the power of the Scots. This 
 City is high seated, in a fruitfull soyle and wholesome 
 aire, and is adorned with many Noblemens' Towers 
 lying about it, and aboundeth with many springs of 
 sweet waters. At the end towards the East, is the 
 King's Pallace joyning to the Monastery of the Holy 
 Crosse, which King David the First built, over which, 
 in a Parke of Hares, Conies, and Deare, an high moun- 
 taine hangs, called the chaire of Arthur (of Arthur the 
 Prince of the Britanes, whose monuments, famous 
 among all Ballad-makers, are for the most part to be
 
 io8 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 found on these borders of England and Scotland). 
 From the King's Pallace at the East, the City still 
 riseth higher and higher towards the West, and con- 
 sists especially of one broad and very faire street 
 (which is the greatest part and sole ornament thereof). 
 . . . This length from the East to the West is about 
 a mile, whereas the bredth of the City from the North 
 to the South is narrow, and cannot be halfe a mile. 
 At the furthest end towards the West, is a very strong 
 Castle, which the Scots hold unexpugnable. Cam- 
 den saith this Castle was of old called by ... the 
 Scots ' The Castle of the Maids ' (of certaine Virgines 
 kept there by the King of the Picts), and by Ptolemy 
 ' The Winged Castle.' And from this Castle towards 
 the West, is a most steepe Rocke pointed on the 
 highest top, out of which this Castle is cut. But on 
 the North and South sides without the wals, lie plaine 
 and fruitful fields of corne. In the midst of the fore- 
 said faire streete, the Cathedrall Church is built, which 
 is large and lightsome, but little stately for the build- 
 ing, and nothing at all for the beauty and ornament. 
 In this Church the King's seate is built some few 
 staires high of wood, and leaning upon the pillar next 
 to the pulpit. And opposite to the same is another 
 seate very like it, in which the incontinent use to 
 stand and doe pennance ; and some few weekes past, a 
 'gentleman, being a stranger, and taking it for a place 
 wherein men of better quality used to sit, boldly 
 entered the same in sermon time, till he was driven 
 away with the profuse laughter of the common sort, 
 to the disturbance of the whole congregation. The 
 houses are built of unpolished stone, and in the faire 
 streete good part of them is of free stone, which in that 
 broade streete would make a faire shew, but that the
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 109 
 
 outsides of them are faced with wooden galleries, 
 built upon the second story of the houses ; yet these 
 galleries give the owners a faire and pleasant prospect, 
 into the said faire and broad streete, when they sit 
 or stand in the same. 
 
 FYNES MORYSON. 
 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY EDINBURGH 
 
 THE City is built between two steep hills, and the 
 Castle on another, so that it may not improperly be 
 compar'd to a spread Eagle. The hill whereon the 
 Castle is built being the head, and the two barren 
 mountains on each side of it the wings. I have the 
 more reason to make this comparison, because Adam 
 in the British signifys wing'd, so that Edenborough 
 being a Compound of British and Saxon, implyes a 
 wing'd Borough. . . . When I first came in sight of 
 Edenborough, I thought the loftiness of the houses 
 and the prospect of the Castle made a fine show, but 
 I was soon of the same opinion with the English 
 Captain, who having been well entertain'd by the 
 Scotch, was ask'd how he lik'd the Country, he 
 answered not at all, upon which enquiring into the 
 reason, he told them, he thought they had not so 
 much Religion as other Nations. At that they were 
 amazed, knowing their religion even carry'd them to 
 Superstition, so they requir'd why he thought soe, 
 because sayes the English Captain, you have but 
 8 commandments, they told him they had 10, as well 
 as he, No says the Captain, you have but 8, for you 
 have nothing to covet and nothing to steale. . . . 
 We went on Sunday to the Kirk. . . . The Minister 
 made such a prodigious noise in broad Scotch, and 
 beat his Pulpit so violently, that he seem'd better
 
 no THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 qualified for a Drummer than a Parson. The women 
 were most vail'd with plods, which gave us but little 
 opportunity of passing our Judgment on the Scotch 
 beautyes, but those we saw were very indifferent. 
 There is no other place but the Church to take a view 
 of them at, for in Edenborough the Kirk allows of no 
 plays, or public Entertainments, neither are there any 
 walks for the Ladyes ; when any one dyes, the Bellman 
 gives notice to all faithfuU brothers and sisters, and 
 a day or two after acquaints them with his Funerall. 
 It's very observable that a poor pedlar . . . wears 
 his Sword, and has his little Box resembling a Tapp 
 fill'd with Mindungoe in his pocket, without which 
 he can't live, and if he has but a few Baubies, or half 
 pennyes, about him, he struts like an Emperour ; 
 they talk of everything in the Superlative degree, and 
 gave us a large account of their Royall Navy, which 
 when we came to enquire into was only one single 
 Ship, call'd by that name, commanded by Captain 
 Gordon, who has taken severall Ffrench prizes with 
 her : The Highlander's dress is very pretty, he wears 
 a Scotch plodd over his Shoulders, like a Scarfe, and 
 a great Basket hilted Sword by his side, a Pistoll 
 tuck't into his Belt, a Bonnet with a Bunch of Ribbons 
 on his head, and a pair of pumps on his feet, with 
 which hee'l travell 60 miles a day. 
 
 JOSEPH TAYLOR. 
 
 THE only great lounging book-shop in the New Town 
 of Edinburgh is Mr. Blackwood's. . . . This shop is 
 situated very near my hotel, so Mr. Wastle carried 
 me into it almost immediately after my arrival in
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN in 
 
 Edinburgh ; indeed, I asked him to do so, for the noise 
 made even in London about the Chaldee MS., and 
 some other things in the Magazine, had given me some 
 curiosity to see the intrepid publisher of these things, 
 and the possible scene of their concoction. Wastle 
 has contributed a variety of poems, chiefly ludicrous, 
 to the pages of the New Miscellany, so that he is of 
 course a mighty favourite with the proprietor, and I 
 could not have made my introduction under better 
 auspices than his. 
 
 The length of vista presented to me on entering the 
 shop has a very imposing effect, for it is carried back, 
 room after room, through various gradations of light 
 and shadow, till the eye cannot distinctly trace the 
 outline of any object in the farthest distance. First 
 there is, as usual, a spacious place set apart for retail 
 business, and a numerous detachment of young clerks 
 and apprentices, to whose management that impor- 
 tant department of the concern is entrusted. Then 
 you have an elegant oval saloon, lighted from the roof, 
 where various groups of loungers and literary dilet- 
 tanti are engaged in looking at, or criticising amongst 
 themselves, the publications just arrived by that day's 
 coach from London. In such critical colloquies the 
 voice of the bookseller himself may ever and anon be 
 heard mingling the broad and unadulterated notes 
 of its Auld Reekie music ; for, unless occupied in the 
 recesses of the premises with some other business, it 
 is here he has his usual station. He is a nimble, 
 active-looking man, of middle age, and moves about 
 from one corner to another with great alacrity, and 
 apparently under the influence of high animal spirits. 
 His complexion is very sanguineous, but nothing can 
 be more intelligent, keen, and sagacious than the ex-
 
 H2 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 pression of the whole physiognomy ; above all, the 
 grey eyes and eyebrows, as full of locomotion as 
 those of Catalani. The remarks he makes are, in 
 general, extremely acute much more so, indeed, than 
 those of any other member of the trade I ever heard 
 upon such topics. The shrewdness and decision of the 
 man can, however, stand in need of no testimony 
 beyond what his own conduct has afforded above 
 all, in the establishment of his Magazine (the conception 
 of which, I am assured, was entirely his own), and 
 the subsequent energy with which he has supported 
 it through every variety of good and ill fortune. . . . 
 
 Another of the great morning lounges has its seat 
 in a shop, the character of which would not at first 
 sight lead one to expect any such thing a clothier's 
 shop, namely, occupied by a father and son, both of 
 the name of David Bridges. The cause and centre 
 of the attraction, however, is entirely lodged in the 
 person of the junior member of the firm, an active, 
 intelligent, and warm-hearted fellow, who has a pro- 
 digious love for the Fine Arts, and lives on familiar 
 terms with all the artists of Edinburgh. Around him, 
 in consequence of these circumstances, the whole 
 connoisseurs and connoisseurships of the North have 
 by degrees become clustered and concentrated, like 
 the meeting of the red and yellow stripes in the back 
 of a tartan jacket. 
 
 This shop is situated in the High Street, not above 
 a couple of yards from the house of my friend Wastle, 
 who, as might be supposed, is one of its most fre- 
 quent visitors. I had not been long in Edinburgh 
 before I began to make some enquiries concerning the 
 state of art in Scotland, and Wastle immediately con- 
 ducted me to this dilettanti lounge, saying, that here
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 113 
 
 was the only place where I might be furnished with 
 every means of satisfying all my curiosity. On 
 entering, one finds a very neat and tasteful looking 
 shop. ... A few sedate-looking old-fashioned cits 
 are probably engaged in conning over the Edinburgh 
 papers of the day, and perhaps discussing mordicus 
 the great question of burgh reform. . . . After wait- 
 ing a few minutes the younger partner tips a sly wink 
 across his counter, and beckons you to follow him 
 through a narrow cut in its mahogany surface, into 
 the unseen recesses of the establishment. A few steps 
 downwards, and in the dark, land you in a sort of 
 cellar below the shop proper, and here by the dim and 
 religious light which enters through one or two well- 
 grated peeping-holes, your eyes soon discover enough of 
 the furniture of the place, to satisfy you that you have 
 at last reached the sanctum sanctorum of the Fine Arts. 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 MERRY EDINBURGH 
 
 FOR sekerly the truth to tell, 
 
 I come among you here to dwell ; 
 
 Fra sound of St. Giles's bell 
 
 Never think I to flee. 
 Wherefor in Scotland come I here, 
 With you to bide and persevere 
 In Edinburgh, where is merriest cheer ; 
 
 Pleasant disport, and play ; 
 Which is the lamp, and A per se 
 Of this region, in all degree 
 Of wellfare and of honesty, 
 
 Renown and rich array. 
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 8
 
 H4 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 AN INCIDENT FROM ' WAVERLEY ' 
 
 AN EXTERIOR ASPECT OF EDINBURGH 
 
 EARLY in the morning they [the travellers] were again 
 mounted, and on the road to Edinburgh, though the 
 pallid visages of some of the troop betrayed that they 
 had spent a night of sleepless debauchery. They 
 halted at Linlithgow, distinguished by its ancient 
 palace, which, Sixty Years since, was entire and hab- 
 itable, and whose venerable ruins, not quite Sixty 
 Years since, very narrowly escaped the unworthy fate 
 of being converted into a barrack for French prisoners. 
 May repose and blessings attend the ashes of the 
 patriotic statesman, who amongst his last services to 
 Scotland, interposed to prevent this profanation ! 
 
 As they approached the metropolis of Scotland, 
 through a champaign and cultivated country, the 
 sounds of war began to be heard. The distant, yet 
 distinct report of heavy cannon, fired at intervals, 
 apprized Waverley that the work of destruction was 
 going forward. Even Balmawhapple seemed moved 
 to take some precautions, by sending an advanced 
 party in front of his troop, keeping the main body in 
 tolerable order, and moving steadily forward. 
 
 Marching in this manner, they speedily reached an 
 eminence, from which they could view Edinburgh 
 stretching along the ridgy hill which slopes eastward 
 from the Castle. The latter, being in a state of siege, 
 or rather of blockade, by the northern insurgents, 
 who had already occupied the town for two or three 
 days, fired at intervals upon such parties of High- 
 landers as exposed themselves, either on the main 
 street, or elsewhere in the vicinity of the fortress. The 
 morning being calm and fair, the effect of this dropping
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 115 
 
 fire was to invest the Castle in wreaths of smoke, 
 the edges of which dissipated slowly in the air, while 
 the central veil was darkened ever and anon by fresh 
 clouds poured forth from the battlements ; the whole 
 giving, by the partial concealment, an appearance of 
 grandeur and gloom, rendered more terrific when 
 Waverley reflected on the cause by which it was pro- 
 duced, and that each explosion might ring some 
 brave man's knell. 
 
 Ere they approached the city, the partial cannonade 
 had wholly ceased. Balmawhapple, however, having 
 in his recollection the unfriendly greeting which his 
 troop had received from the battery at Stirling, had 
 apparently no wish to tempt the forbearance of the 
 artillery of the Castle. He therefore left the direct 
 road, and sweeping considerably to the southward, 
 so as to keep out of the range of the cannon, ap- 
 proached the ancient palace of Holyrood, without 
 having entered the walls of the city. He then drew 
 up his men in front of that venerable pile, and de- 
 livered Waverley to the custody of a guard of High- 
 landers, whose officer conducted him into the interior 
 of the building. 
 
 A long, low, and ill-proportioned gallery, hung 
 with pictures, affirmed to be the portraits of kings, 
 who, if they ever flourished at all, lived several hun- 
 dred years before the invention of painting in oil 
 colours, served as a sort of guard chamber, or vesti- 
 bule, to the apartments which the adventurous 
 Charles Edward now occupied in the palace of his 
 ancestors. Officers, both in the Highland and Low- 
 land garb, passed and repassed in haste, or loitered 
 in the hall, as jf waiting for orders. Secretaries were 
 engaged in making out passes, musters, and returns. 
 
 82
 
 n6 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 All seemed busy, and earnestly intent upon something 
 of importance ; but Waverley was suffered to remain 
 seated in the recess of a window unnoticed by anyone, 
 in anxious reflection upon the crisis of his fate, which 
 seemed now rapidly approaching. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 NOBLE EDINBURGH 
 
 OF all the cities in the British Islands, Edinburgh is 
 the one which presents most advantages for the dis- 
 play of a noble building ; and which, on the other 
 hand, sustains most injury in the erection of a com- 
 monplace or unworthy one. You are all proud of your 
 city : surely you must feel it a duty in some sort to 
 justify your pride ; that is to say, to give yourselves 
 a right to be proud of it. That you were born under 
 the shadow of its two fantastic mountains that you 
 live where from your room windows you can trace 
 the shores of its glittering Firth, are no rightful 
 subjects of pride. You did not raise the mountains, 
 nor shape the shores ; and the historical houses of 
 your Canongate, and the broad battlements of your 
 Castle, reflect honour upon you only through your 
 ancestors. Before you boast of your city, before 
 even you venture to call it yours, ought you not 
 scrupulously to weigh the exact share you have had 
 in adding to it or adorning it, to calculate seriously 
 the influence upon its aspect which the work of your 
 own hands has exercised ? I do not say that, even 
 when you regard your city in this scrupulous and 
 testing spirit, you have not considerable ground for 
 exultation. As far as I am acquainted with modern 
 architecture, I am aware of no streets which, in
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 117 
 
 simplicity and manliness of style, or general breadth 
 and brightness -of effect, equal those of the New Town 
 of Edinburgh. But yet I am well persuaded that 
 as you traverse those streets, your feelings of pleasure 
 and pride in them are much complicated with those 
 which are excited entirely by the surrounding scenery. 
 As you walk up or down George Street, for instance, 
 do you not look eagerly for every opening to the north 
 and south, which lets in the lustre of the Firth of 
 Forth, or the rugged outline of the Castle Rock ? 
 Take away the sea-waves, and the dark basalt, and I 
 fear you would find little to interest you in George 
 Street by itself. Now I remember a city, more nobly 
 placed even than your Edinburgh, which, instead of 
 the valley that you have now filled by lines of railroad, 
 has a broad and rushing river of blue water sweeping 
 through the heart of it ; which, for the dark and soli- 
 tary rock that bears your castle, has an amphitheatre 
 of cliffs crested with cypresses and olive ; which, for 
 the two masses of Arthur's Seat and the ranges of the 
 Pentlands, has a chain of blue mountains higher than 
 the haughtiest peaks of your Highlands ; and which, 
 for your far-away Ben Ledi and Ben More, has the 
 great central chain of the St. Gothard Alps : and yet, 
 as you go out of the gates, and walk in the suburban 
 streets of that city I mean Verona the eye never 
 seeks to rest on that external scenery, however 
 gorgeous ; it does not look for the gaps between the 
 houses, as you do here : it may for a few moments 
 follow the broken line of the great Alpine battle- 
 ments ; but it is only where they form a background 
 for other battlements, built by the hand of man. 
 There is no necessity felt to dwell on the blue river or 
 the burning hills. The heart and eye have enough
 
 n8 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 to do in the streets of the city itself ; they are con- 
 tented there ; nay, they sometimes turn from the 
 natural scenery, as if too savage and solitary, to dwell 
 with a deeper interest on the palace walls that cast 
 their shade upon the streets, and the crowd of towers 
 that rise out of that shadow into the depth of the sky. 
 That is a city to be proud of, indeed ; and it is this 
 kind of architectural dignity which you should aim 
 at, hi what you add to Edinburgh or rebuild in it. 
 For remember, you must either help your scenery or 
 destroy it ; whatever you do has an effect of one kind 
 or the other ; it is never indifferent. But, above all, 
 remember that it is chiefly by private, not by public, 
 effort that your city must be adorned. It does not 
 matter how many beautiful public buildings you pos- 
 sess, if they are not supported by, and in harmony 
 with, the private houses of the town. Neither the mind 
 nor the eye will accept a new college, or a new hospital, 
 or a new institution, for a city. It is the Canongate, 
 and the Princes Street, and the High Street that are 
 Edinburgh. It is in your own private houses that 
 the real majesty of Edinburgh must consist ; and, 
 what is more, it must be by your own personal interest 
 that the style of the architecture which rises around 
 you must be principally guided. Do not think that 
 you can have good architecture merely by paying for 
 it. It is not by subscribing liberally for a large 
 building once in forty years that you can call up 
 architects and inspiration. It is only by active and 
 sympathetic attention to the domestic and every-day 
 work which is done for each of you, that you can edu- 
 cate either yourselves to the feeling, or your builders 
 to the doing, of what is truly great. 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN.
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 119 
 
 REVISITING EDINBURGH 
 
 You must know I am a native of Edinburgh, where I 
 passed my youth, and received my education ; but 
 have long been settled in London. Some years ago, 
 I was impelled by a very natural desire to revisit my 
 native country. . . . On my arrival in Edinburgh, 
 I will own that what first struck me was the total 
 change of faces. Very few were left whom I knew 
 when a boy, and those so altered in their appearance, 
 so much the shadows only of what they once were, as 
 could not fail to excite many serious reflections. 
 Hardly a single house did I find inhabited by the same 
 persons I left in it : but everywhere a new race, new 
 manners, and new modes of living. In short, I found 
 myself, in almost every sense of the word, an utter 
 stranger. Even the improvements that had been made 
 during my long absence displeased me. The corn-fields 
 on the south side of the town were quite covered with 
 substantial houses ; Barefoot's Parks, where I have 
 had many a retired and pleasant walk, converted into 
 a splendid city ; and in the old town, many ruinous 
 buildings, the scenes of some of my youthful amuse- 
 ments, now rebuilt with equal solidity and elegance. 
 
 Nor were these my only grievances. The removal 
 of the Cross, of the Netherbow-port, and of many 
 other incumbrances ; in short, every alteration, 
 though evidently for the better, that had taken 
 place since my departure, more or less displeased 
 me. ... I will acknowledge, however, that I 
 had the satisfaction to find many more places that 
 did not hurt me by any alteration or improvement. 
 Your wynds and closes were nearly in the state I left 
 them ; and where, in some parts of the streets, you
 
 120 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 have got new pavements, the good people who live 
 at the sides of them take care that there shall be no 
 innovation in point of cleanliness. Your Theatre and 
 Concert-hall are new buildings ; but your Assembly- 
 room, where people of the highest fashion resort, is 
 just as paltry as ever. But as they dance there for 
 the benefit of the poor, I shall forbear any farther 
 remarks on it. Charity covereth a multitude of sins. 
 
 The High-school, and its environs, I found un- 
 altered, though the yards appeared to me to be much 
 diminished in their extent. The College, too, re- 
 mained the same plain, mean, unadorned building it 
 was half a century ago, and seemed to me, after having 
 seen the splendid palaces of Oxford and Cambridge, 
 more homely than ever. Though, perhaps, in litera- 
 ture, as in religion, Sister Peg confines herself to sub- 
 stance, without much regard to ornament ; yet, 
 methinks, it is rather a reproach to the capital of our 
 country, that, amidst all its improvements, this 
 university, so much celebrated over Europe for the 
 ability of its professors, and the success with which 
 every branch of science is there cultivated, should 
 present to the eye of a stranger a set of buildings so 
 inconvenient as well as mean. The present period is, 
 perhaps, not very favourable to expensive public 
 designs. . . . Nor could I refrain, as I passed along, 
 from dropping a tear over the ruins of our religious 
 houses ; which, however they might have perverted 
 from the original purposes of their erection, I could not 
 help considering as splendid monuments of the piety 
 of our ancestors. Some of them I saw had still more 
 tender ties upon my mind. I remembered having 
 played when a boy, under arches, which Time had since 
 mouldered away, with companions, the echo of whose
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 121 
 
 voices was still fresh in my memory, though they, alas ! 
 as well as those arches, were now crumbled into 
 dust! 
 
 Were I to go on, I find I should be in danger of 
 growing too serious. Recalling to remembrance days 
 long past, and the juvenile society of those who are 
 now no more, is an awful operation of the human 
 mind ; and while it speaks loudly of the truth of St. 
 Paul's observation, that ' the fashion of this world 
 passeth away,' imperceptibly leads to a train of think- 
 ing that might be here out of place, though it is neither 
 unpleasing nor unsuitable to the character of a 
 rational being, who hath been taught and accustomed 
 to consider himself as an immortal part of the creation. 
 
 HENRY MACKENZIE. 
 
 THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY 
 
 THERE'S a youth in this city, 
 
 It were a great pity 
 That he frae our lasses shou'd wander awa' ; 
 
 For he's bonnie and braw, 
 
 Weel favour'd witha', 
 And his hair has a natural buckle an' a'. 
 
 His coat is the hue 
 
 Of his bonnet sae blue : 
 His fecket is white as the new driven snaw ; 
 
 His hose they are blae, 
 
 And his shoon like the slae, 
 And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 
 
 For beauty and fortune 
 The laddie's been courtin' ; 
 Weel-featured, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted, and braw;
 
 122 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 But chiefly the siller, 
 That gars him gang till her, 
 The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. 
 There's Meg wi' the mailen 
 That fain wad a haen him ; 
 And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha' ; 
 There's lang-tocher'd Nancy 
 Maist fetters his fancy 
 But the laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a'. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 SALISBURY CRAGS 
 
 Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, 
 
 The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me ; 
 
 St. Anton's Well shall be my drink, 
 Sin' my true-love's forsaken me. 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 IF I were to choose a spot from which the rising or 
 setting sun could be seen to the greatest possible 
 advantage, it would be that wild path winding 
 around the foot of the high belt of semicircular rocks, 
 called Salisbury Crags, and marking the verge of the 
 steep descent which slopes down into the glen on the 
 south-eastern side of the city of Edinburgh. The 
 prospect, in its general outline, commands a close- 
 built, high-piled city, stretching itself out beneath in 
 a form, which, to a romantic imagination, may be 
 supposed to represent that of a dragon ; now, a noble 
 arm of the sea, with its rocks, isles, distant shores, 
 and boundary of mountains ; and now, a fair and fer- 
 tile champaign country, varied with hill, dale, and 
 rock, and skirted by the picturesque ridge of the 
 Pentland mountains. But as the path gently circles 
 around the base of the cliffs, the prospect, composed
 
 EDINBURGH TOWN 123 
 
 as it is of these enchanting and sublime objects, 
 changes at every step, and presents them blended 
 with, or divided from, each other, in every possible 
 variety which can gratify the eye and the imagina- 
 tion. When a piece of scenery so beautiful, yet so 
 varied, so exciting by its intricacy, and yet so 
 sublime, is lighted up by the tints of morning or 
 of evening, and displays all that variety of shadowy 
 depth, exchanged with partial brilliancy, which gives 
 character even to the tamest of landscapes, the effect 
 approaches near to enchantment. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 TO FRIENDS LEFT IN EDINBURGH 
 
 WRITTEN AT ST. ANDREWS 
 
 ALONG the shelves that line Kilriven's shore 
 I lingering pass, with steps well poised and slow, 
 Where brown the slippery wreathes of sea-weeds 
 grow, 
 
 And listen to the weltering ocean's roar. 
 
 When o'er the crisping waves the sunbeams gleam, 
 And from the hills the latest streaks of day 
 Recede, by Eden's shadowy banks I stray, 
 
 And lash the willows blue that fringe the stream ; 
 
 And often to myself, in whispers weak, 
 
 I breathe the name of some dear gentle maid, 
 Of some loved friend, whom in Edina's shade 
 
 I left, when forced these eastern shores to seek. 
 And for the distant months I sigh in vain, 
 To bring me to those favourite haunts again. 
 
 JOHN LEYDEN.
 
 124 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 FAREWELL ON LEAVING EDINBURGH 
 
 FAREWELL, Edina ! pleasing name, 
 
 Congenial to my heart ! 
 A joyous guest to thee I came, 
 
 And mournful I depart. 
 
 And fare thee well, whose blessings seem 
 Heaven's blessing to portend. 
 
 Endeared by nature and esteem 
 My sister and my friend ! 
 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL.
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS
 
 Princes Street, that noblest of earthly promenades. 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT. 
 
 August, around, what public works I see ! 
 Lo, stately streets ! lo, squares that court the breeze ! 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 Queen Street is a very gay one, and so is Princes Street, 
 for all the lads and lasses, besides bucks and beggars, parade 
 there. 
 
 MARJORIE FLEMING (' PET MARJORIE ').
 
 FROM A WINDOW IN PRINCES STREET 
 
 ABOVE the Crags that fade and gloom 
 
 Starts the bare knee of Arthur's Seat ; 
 Ridged high against the evening bloom, 
 
 The Old Town rises, street on street ; 
 With lamps bejewelled, straight ahead, 
 
 Like rampired walls the houses lean, 
 All spired and domed and turreted, 
 
 Sheer to the valley's darkling green ; 
 Ranged in mysterious disarray, 
 
 The Castle, menacing and austere, 
 Looms through the lingering last of day ; 
 
 And in the silver dusk you hear, 
 Reverberated from crag to scar, 
 Bold bugles blowing points of war. 
 
 W. E. HENLEY. 
 
 * 
 
 THE HIGH STREET OF EDINBURGH 
 
 TIER upon tier I see the mansions rise, 
 Whose azure summits mingle with the skies ; 
 There, from the earth the labouring porters bear 
 The elements of fire and water high in air ; 
 There, as you scale the steps with toilsome tread, 
 The dripping barrel modifies your head ; 
 Thence, as adown the giddy round you wheel, 
 A rising porter greets you with his creel ! 
 Here, in these chambers, ever dull and dark, 
 The lady gay received her gayer spark, 
 Who, clad in silken coat, with cautious tread, 
 Trembled at opening casements overhead ; 
 
 127
 
 128 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 But when in safety at her porch he trod, 
 
 He seized the ring, and rasped the twisted rod. 
 
 No idlers then, I trow, were seen to meet, 
 
 Linked, six-a-row, six hours in Princes Street ; 
 
 But, one by one, they panted up the hill, 
 
 And picked their steps with most uncommon skill ; 
 
 Then, at the Cross, each joined the motley mob 
 
 ' How are ye, Tarn ?' and, ' How's a' wi' ye, Bob ?' 
 
 Next to a neighbouring tavern all retired, 
 
 And draughts of wine their various thoughts inspired. 
 
 O'er draughts of wine the beau would moan his love ; 
 
 O'er draughts of wine the cit his bargain drove ; 
 
 O'er draughts of wine the writer penned the will ; 
 
 And legal wisdom counselled o'er a gill. . . . 
 
 Yes ! mark the street, for youth the great resort, 
 
 Its spacious width the theatre of sport. 
 
 There, midst the crowd, the jingling hoop is driven ; 
 
 Full many a leg is hit, and curse is given. 
 
 There, on the pavement, mystic forms are chalked, 
 
 Defaced, renewed, delayed but never balked ; 
 
 There romping Miss the rounded state may drop, 
 
 And kick it out with persevering hop. 
 
 There, in the dirty current of the strand, 
 
 Boys drop the rival corks with ready hand, 
 
 And, wading through the puddle with slow pace, 
 
 Watch in solicitude the doubtful race ! 
 
 And there, an active band, with frequent boast, 
 
 Vault in succession o'er each wooden post. 
 
 Or a bold stripling, noted for his might, 
 
 Heads the array, and rules the mimic fight. 
 
 From hand and sling now fly the whizzing stones, 
 
 Unheeded broken heads and broken bones. 
 
 The rival hosts in close engagement mix, 
 
 Drive and are driven by the dint of sticks.
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 129 
 
 The bicker rages, till some mother's fears 
 Ring a sad story in a bailie's ears. 
 Her prayer is heard ; the order quick is sped, 
 And, from that corps which hapless Porteous led, 
 A brave detachment, probably of two, 
 Rush, like two kites, upon the warlike crew, 
 Who, struggling, like the fabled frogs and mice, 
 Are pounced upon, and carried in a trice. 
 
 SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL. 
 
 THE PLAID IN THE HIGH STREET 
 
 LIGHT as the pinions of the airy fry 
 
 Of larks and linnets who traverse the sky, 
 
 Is the Tartana, spun so very fine 
 
 Its weight can never make the fair repine ; 
 
 Nor does it move beyond its proper sphere, 
 
 But lets the gown in all its shape appear ; 
 
 Nor is the straightness of her waist denied 
 
 To be by every ravished eye surveyed ; 
 
 For this the hoop may stand at largest bend, 
 
 It comes not nigh, nor can its weight offend. . . . 
 
 If shining red Campbella's cheeks adorn, 
 
 Our fancies straight conceive the blushing morn, 
 
 Beneath whose dawn the sun of beauty lies, 
 
 Nor need we light but from Campbella's eyes. 
 
 If lined with green Stuarta's plaid we view, 
 
 Or thine, Ramsilia, edged around with blue, 
 
 One shows the spring when nature is most kind, 
 
 The other heaven whose spangles lift the mind. . . 
 
 From when the cock proclaims the rising day, 
 
 And milkmaids sing around sweet curds and whey, 
 
 Till grey-eyed twilight, harbinger of night, 
 
 Pursues o'er silver mountains sinking light, 
 
 9
 
 130 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 I can unwearied from my casement view 
 
 The Plaid, with something still about it new. 
 
 How we are pleased when, with a handsome air, 
 
 We see Hepburna walk with easy care ! 
 
 One arm half circles round her slender waist, 
 
 The other like an ivory pillar placed, 
 
 To hold her plaid around her modest face, 
 
 Which saves her blushes with the gayest grace ; 
 
 If in white kids her slender fingers move, 
 
 Or, unconfmed, jet through the sable glove. 
 
 With what a pretty action Keitha holds 
 Her plaid, and varies oft its airy fold ! 
 How does that naked space the spirits move, 
 Between the ruffled lawn and envious glove ! 
 We by the sample, though no more be seen, 
 Imagine all that's fair within the screen. 
 
 Thus belles in plaids veil and display their charms, 
 The love-sick youth thus bright Humea warms, 
 And with her graceful mien her rivals all alarms. 
 
 ALLAN RAMSAY. 
 
 BOB AINSLIE AND I 
 
 FOUR-AND-THIRTY years ago, Bob Ainslie and I were 
 coming up Infirmary Street from the High School, 
 our heads together, and our arms intertwisted, as 
 only lovers and boys know how , or why. 
 
 When we got to the top of the street, and turned 
 north, we espied a crowd at the Tron Church. ' A 
 dog-fight !' shouted Bob, and was off ; and so was 
 I, both of us all but praying that it might not be 
 over before we got up ! and is not this boy-nature ? 
 and human nature too ? and don't we all wish a
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 131 
 
 house on fire not to be out before we see it ? Dogs 
 like fighting ; old Isaac says they ' delight ' in it, 
 and for the best of all reasons ; and boys are not 
 cruel because they like to see the fight. They see 
 three of the great cardinal virtues of dog or man 
 courage, endurance, and skill in intense action. 
 This is very different from a love of making dogs 
 fight, and enjoying, and aggravating, and making 
 gain by their pluck. A boy be he ever so fond him- 
 self of fighting, if he be a good boy, hates and despises 
 all this, but he would have run off with Bob and me 
 fast enough : it is a natural, and a not wicked interest, 
 that all boys and men have in witnessing intense 
 energy in action. 
 
 Does any curious and finely-ignorant woman wish 
 to know, how Bob's eye at a glance announced a 
 dog-fight to his brain ? He did not, he could not 
 see the dogs fighting ; it was a flash of an inference, 
 a rapid induction. The crowd round a couple of 
 dogs fighting is a crowd, masculine mainly, with 
 an occasional active, compassionate woman, fluttering 
 wildly round the outside, and using her tongue and 
 her hands freely upon the men, as so many ' brutes ' ; 
 it is a crowd annular, compact, and mobile ; a crowd 
 centripetal, having its eyes and its heads all bent 
 downwards and inwards, to one common focus. 
 
 Well, Bob and I are up, and find it is not over : 
 a small, thoroughbred, white bull-terrier is busy 
 throttling a large shepherd's dog, unaccustomed to 
 war, but not to be trifled with. They are hard at it ; 
 the scientific little fellow doing his work in great 
 style, his pastoral enemy fighting wildly, but with 
 the sharpest of teeth and a great courage. Science 
 and breeding, however, soon took their own ; the 
 
 92
 
 132 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Game Chicken, as the premature Bob called him, 
 working his way up, took his final grip of poor 
 Yarrow's throat, and he lay gasping and done for. 
 His master, a brown, handsome, big young shepherd 
 from Tweedsmuir, would have liked to have knocked 
 down any man, ' drunk up Esil, or eaten a croco- 
 dile,' for that part, if he had a chance : it was no 
 use kicking the little dog ; that would only make him 
 hold the closer. Many were the means shouted out 
 in mouthfuls, of the best possible ways of ending it. 
 ' Water !' but there was none near, and many shouted 
 for it who might have got it from the well at Black - 
 friars Wynd. ' Bite the tail !' and a large, vague, 
 benevolent, middle-aged man, more anxious than 
 wise, with some struggle got the bushy end of 
 Yarrow's tail into his ample mouth, and bit it with all 
 his might. This was more than enough for the much- 
 enduring, much-perspiring shepherd, who, with a 
 gleam of joy over his broad visage, delivered a terrific 
 facer upon our large, vague, benevolent, middle-aged 
 friend, who went down like a shot. 
 
 Still the Chicken holds ; death not far off. ' Snuff ! 
 a pinch of snuff !' observed sharply a calm, highly- 
 dressed young buck, with an eye-glass in his eye. 
 ' Snuff, indeed !' growled the angry crowd, affronted 
 and glaring. ' Snuff ! a pinch of snuff !' again 
 observes the buck, but with more urgency ; whereon 
 were produced several open boxes, and from a mull 
 which may have been at Culloden, he took a pinch, 
 knelt down, and presented it to the nose of the 
 Chicken. The laws of physiology and of snuff take 
 their course ; the Chicken sneezes, and Yarrow is free ! 
 
 The young pastoral giant stalks off with Yarrow 
 in his arms, comforting him.
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 133 
 
 But the Chicken's blood is up, and his soul un- 
 satisfied ; he grips the first dog he meets, but dis- 
 covering she is not a dog, in Homeric phrase, he 
 makes a brief sort of amende, and is off. The boys, 
 with Bob and me at their head, are after him ; down 
 Niddry Street he goes, bent on mischief ; up the 
 Cowgate like an arrow Bob and I, and our small 
 men, panting behind. 
 
 There, under the large arch of the South Bridge, 
 is a huge mastiff, sauntering down the middle of the 
 causeway, as if with his hands in his pockets : he is 
 old, grey, brindled ; as big as a little Highland bull, 
 and has the Shakesperian dewlaps shaking as he goes. 
 
 The Chicken makes straight at him, and fastens 
 on his throat. To our astonishment, the great crea- 
 ture does nothing but stand still, hold himself up, 
 and roar yes, roar ; a long, serious, remonstrative 
 roar. How is this ? Bob and I are up to them. He 
 is muzzled ! The bailies had proclaimed a general 
 muzzling, and his master, studying strength and 
 economy mainly, had encompassed his huge jaws in 
 a home-made apparatus, constructed out of the 
 leather of some ancient breechin. His mouth was 
 open as far as it could ; his lips curled up in rage 
 a sort of terrible grin ; his teeth gleaming, ready, from 
 out the darkness ; the strap across his mouth tense 
 as a bowstring ; his whole frame stiff with indignation 
 and surprise ; his roar asking us all round, ' Did you 
 ever see the like of this ?' He looked a statue of anger 
 and astonishment, done in Aberdeen granite. 
 
 We soon had a crowd : the Chicken held on. 'A 
 knife !' cried Bob ; and a cobbler gave him his knife : 
 you know the kind of knife, worn away obliquely 
 to a point, and always keen. I put its edge to the
 
 134 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 tense leather ; it ran before it ; and then ! one sudden 
 jerk of that enormous head, a sort of dirty mist 
 about his mouth, no noise, and the bright and 
 fierce little fellow is dropped, limp, and dead. A 
 solemn pause ; this was more than any of us had 
 bargained for. I turned the little fellow over, and 
 saw he was quite dead : the mastiff had taken him by 
 the small of the back like a rat, and broken it. 
 
 He looked down at his victim appeased, ashamed, 
 and amazed ; snuffed him all over, stared at him, and 
 taking a sudden thought, turned round and trotted off. 
 Bob took the dead dog up, and said, ' John, we'll bury 
 him after tea.' ' Yes,' said I ; and was off after the 
 mastiff. He made up the Cowgate at a rapid swing : 
 he had forgotten some engagement. He turned up the 
 Candlemaker Row, and stopped at the Harrow Inn. 
 
 There was a carrier's cart ready to start, and a 
 keen, thin, impatient, black-a-vised little man, his 
 hand at his grey horse's head, looking about angrily 
 for something. ' Rab, ye thief !' said he, aiming a 
 kick at my great friend, who drew cringing up, and 
 avoiding the heavy shoe with more agility than 
 dignity, and watching his master's eye, slunk dis- 
 mayed under the cart, his ears down, and as much 
 as he had of tail down too. 
 
 What a man this must be thought I to whom 
 my tremendous hero turns tail ! The carrier saw the 
 muzzle hanging, cut and useless, from his neck, and 
 I eagerly told him the story, which Bob and I always 
 thought, and still think, Homer, or King David, or 
 Sir Walter, alone were worthy to rehearse. The 
 severe little man was mitigated, and condescended 
 to say, ' Rab, my man, puir Rabbie,' whereupon 
 the stump of a tail rose up, the ears were cocked,
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 135 
 
 the eyes filled, and were comforted ; the two friends 
 were reconciled. ' Hupp !' and a stroke of the whip 
 were given to Jess ; and off went the three. 
 
 JOHN BROWN, M.D. 
 
 WHO can revert to the literature of the land of Scott 
 and of Burns without having directly in his mind, 
 as inseparable from the subject and foremost in the 
 picture, that old man of might, with his lion heart 
 and sceptred crutch Christopher North. I am glad 
 to remember the time when I believed him to be a 
 real, actual, veritable old gentleman, that might be 
 seen any day hobbling along the High Street of 
 Edinburgh with the most brilliant eye but that is 
 no fiction and the greyest hair in all the world 
 who wrote not because he cared to write, not because 
 he cared for the wonder and admiration of his fellow- 
 men, but who wrote because he could not help it, 
 because there was always springing up in his mind a 
 clear and sparkling stream of poetry which must 
 have vent, and like the glittering fountain in the 
 fairy tale, draw what you might, was ever at the full, 
 and never languished even by a single drop or bubble. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 THE LAST SPEECH OF EDINBURGH CROSS 
 
 I WAS built up in Gothic times, 
 
 And have stood several hundred reigns ; 
 
 Sacred my mem'ry and my name, 
 
 For kings and queens I did proclaim. 
 
 I peace and war did oft declare, 
 
 And roused my country ev'ry where :
 
 136 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Your ancestors around me walk'd, 
 
 Your kings and nobles 'side me talk'd, 
 
 And lads and lasses with delight 
 
 Set tryst with me to meet at night ; 
 
 No tryster e'er was at a loss, 
 
 For why, /'// meet you at the Cross. 
 
 I country people did direct 
 
 Through all the city with respect, 
 
 Who missing me will look as droll 
 
 As mariners without the pole. 
 
 On me great men have lost their lives, 
 
 And for a maiden left their wives. . . . 
 
 With loyal men on loyal days 
 
 I dress'd myself in lovely bays, 
 
 And with sweet apples treat the crowd, 
 
 While they hurra'd around me loud. 
 
 Professions many have I seen, 
 And never have disturbed been ; 
 I've seen the Tory party slain, 
 And Whigs exulting o'er the plain. 
 I've seen again the Tories rise, 
 And with loud shouting pierce the skies, 
 Then crown their king and chase the Whig 
 From Pentland Hill to Bothwell Brig. 
 I've seen the Covenant by all sworn, 
 And likewise seen them burned and torn. 
 I neutral stood as peaceful Quaker, 
 With neither side was I partaker. 
 
 I wish my life had longer been, 
 That I might greater ferlies seen, 
 Or else like other things decay, 
 Which time alone does waste away. 
 
 CLAUDERO.
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 137 
 
 TO THE TRON KIRK BELL 
 
 WANWORDY, crazy, dinsome thing, 
 As e'er was fram'd to jow or ring, 
 What gar'd them sic in steeple hing 
 
 They ken themsel', 
 But weel wat I they coudna bring 
 
 War sounds frae hell. 
 
 What de'il are ye ? that I should bann, 
 Your neither kin to pat nor pan ; 
 Nor ugly pig, nor maister cann, 
 
 But weel may gie 
 Mair pleasure to the ear o' man 
 
 Than stroke o' thee. 
 
 Fleece merchants may look baul' I trow, 
 Sin' a' Auld Reikie's childer now 
 Maun strap their lugs wi' teats o' woo, 
 
 Thy sound to bang, 
 And keep it frae gawn thro' and thro' 
 
 Wi' jarrin' twang. 
 
 Your noisy tongue, there's nae abidin 't, 
 Like scaulding wife's, there is nae guidin 't : 
 Whan I'm 'bout ony bis'ness eident, 
 
 It's sair to thole : 
 To deave me, than, ye tak a pride in't 
 
 Wi' senseless knoll. 
 
 ! were I provost o' the town, 
 
 1 swear by a' the pow'rs aboon, 
 I'd bring ye wi' a reesle down ; 
 
 Nor shou'd you think 
 (Sae sair I'd crack an' clour your crown) 
 Again to clink.
 
 138 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 For whan I've toom'd the meikle cap, 
 And fain wad fa' owr in a nap, 
 Troth I cou'd doze as soun's a tap, 
 
 Wer't na for thee 
 That gies the tither weary chap 
 
 To wauken me. 
 
 I dreamt ae night I saw Auld Nick ; 
 Quo' he : ' This bell o' mine's a trick, 
 A wyly piece o' politic, 
 
 A cunnin' snare 
 To trap folk in a cloven stick, 
 
 Ere they're aware. 
 
 ' As lang's my dautit bell hings there, 
 
 A'body at the kirk will skair ; 
 
 Quo' they, gif he that preaches there 
 
 Like it can wound, 
 We douna care a single hair, 
 
 For joyfu' sound.' 
 
 If magistrates wi' me wud 'gree, 
 For ay tongue-tackit shou'd ye be, 
 Nor fleg wi' anti-melody 
 
 Sic honest folk, 
 Whase lugs were never made to dree 
 
 Thy doolfu' shock. 
 
 But far frae thee the bailies dwell, 
 Or they wou'd scunner at your knell : 
 Gie the foul thief his riven bell, 
 
 And than, I trow, 
 The by-word hads, ' The de'il himsel' 
 
 Has got his due.' 
 
 ROBERT FERGUSSON.
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 139 
 
 EMBRO HIE KIRK 
 
 THE Lord Himsel' in former days 
 Waled out the proper tunes for praise 
 An' named the proper kind o' claes 
 
 For folk to preach in : 
 Preceese and in the chief o' ways 
 
 Important teachin'. 
 
 He ordered a' things late and air' ; 
 He ordered folk to stand at prayer, 
 (Although I cannae just mind where 
 
 He gave the warnin'), 
 An' pit pomatum on their hair 
 
 On Sabbath mornin'. 
 
 The hale o' life by His commands 
 Was ordered to a body's hands ; 
 But see ! this corpus juris stands 
 
 By a' forgotten ; 
 An' God's religion in a' lands 
 
 Is deid an' rotten. 
 
 While thus the lave o' mankind's lost, 
 O' Scotland still God makes His boast 
 Puir Scotland, on whase barren coast 
 
 A score or twa 
 Auld wives wi' mutches an' a hoast 
 
 Still keep His law. 
 
 In Scotland, a wheen canty, plain, 
 Douce, kintry-leevin' folk retain 
 The Truth or did so aince alane 
 
 Of a' men leevin' ; 
 An' noo just twa o' them remain 
 
 Just Begg an' Niven.
 
 140 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 For noo, unfaithfii to the Lord, 
 Auld Scotland joins the rebel horde ; 
 Her human hymn-books on the board 
 
 She noo displays : 
 An' Embro Hie kirk's been restored 
 
 In popish ways. 
 
 O punctum temporis for action 
 To a' o' the reformin' faction, 
 If yet, by ony act or paction, 
 
 Thocht, word, or sermon, 
 This dark an' damnable transaction 
 
 Micht yet determine ! 
 
 For see as Doctor Begg explains 
 Hoo easy 't's dime ! a pickle weans, 
 Wha in the Hie Street gaither stanes 
 
 By his instruction, 
 The uncovenantit, pentit panes 
 
 Ding to destruction. 
 
 Up, Niven, or ower late an' dash 
 Laigh in the glaur that carnal hash ; 
 Let spires and pews wi' gran' stramash 
 
 Thegether fa' ; 
 The rumlin' kist o' whustles smash 
 
 In pieces sma'. 
 
 Noo choose ye out a walie hammer ; 
 About the knottit buttress clam'er ; 
 Alang the steep roof stoyt an' stammer, 
 
 A gate mis-chancy ; 
 On the aul' spire, the bells' hie cha'mer, 
 
 Dance your bit dancie.
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 141 
 
 Ding, devel, dunt, destroy, an' ruin, 
 Wi' carnal stanes the square bestrewin', 
 Till your loud chaps frae Kyle to Fruin, 
 
 Frae Hell to Heeven, 
 Tell the guid wark that baith are doin' 
 
 Baith Begg an' Niven. 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 SCOTLAND'S SHRINE 
 
 I LEAVE the busy crowded street 
 To step within your silent aisles, 
 
 Where the dead hearts of centuries beat 
 Beneath your storied roof, St. Giles' ! 
 
 Where choir and chapel void and vast 
 
 Are filled with spirits of the Past ! 
 
 In golden shafts and rainbow spears 
 The light falls soft on oak and stone, 
 
 So filters through nine hundred years 
 The glory that is Scotland's own ; 
 
 For these your sombre walls include 
 
 Our country's pride of nationhood ! 
 
 The feet of heroes tread your pave 
 While echo to their fame replies ; 
 
 The voice of Knox still fills your nave ; 
 Dead Stewart in your south aisle lies ; 
 
 Your roof and steeple once again 
 
 Are rampart for Queen Mary's men ! 
 
 The sounds of trampling feet intrude, 
 
 A slow procession winds in state 
 Out of the grey-towered Holyrood 
 
 And up the mourning Canongate. 
 'Tis great Montrose they carry home 
 To his long rest beneath your dome !
 
 142 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Around me stand, Time's trusted fanes, 
 , The tributes to our later Dead ; 
 
 The triumph fadeth, there remains 
 
 But grief the tears that Scotland shed ; 
 And high upon your splendid walls 
 The stained old colours droop like palls ! 
 
 Deep falls the early winter eve, 
 
 And deeper grows the winding spell 
 
 That old Romance will always weave 
 Around the shrine we love so well ! 
 
 Oh ! House of Heroes, proud, apart, 
 
 How much you hold of Scotland's heart ! 
 
 WILL H. OGILVIE. 
 
 ON A STATUE IN PARLIAMENT CLOSE 
 
 There is in the stately square at Edinburgh, the Parliament 
 Close, a very fine statue of Charles II. on horseback, a cast in 
 lead larger than life. Some years ago the Provost of the city, 
 from a strange Gothic fancy, had it laid over with a thick coat 
 of paint.to make it look WHITE and NEW. This occasioned the 
 following : 
 
 WELL done, my Lord, with noble taste, 
 
 You've made Charles gay as five-and-twenty ; 
 We may be scarce of gold and corn, 
 
 But sure there's lead and gold in plenty. 
 Yet for a public work like this 
 
 I would have had some famous artist, 
 Though I had made each mark a pound 
 
 I would have had the very smartest. 
 
 Why not bring Allan Ramsay down 
 From stately coronet and cushion ? 
 
 For he can paint a living king 
 
 And knows the English Constitution.
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 143 
 
 The milk-white steed is well enough, 
 But why thus daub the man all over, 
 
 And to the swarthy Stuart give 
 The cream complexion of Hanover ? 
 
 JAMES BOSWELL. 
 
 SCOTTISH INNS 
 
 THE courtesy of an invitation to partake a traveller's 
 meal, or at least that of being invited to share what- 
 ever liquor the guest called for, was expected by cer- 
 tain old landlords in Scotland even in the youth of 
 the author. In requital, mine host was always 
 furnished with the news of the country, and was 
 probably a little of a humourist to boot. The devo- 
 lution of the whole actual business and drudgery 
 of the inn upon the poor gudewife, was very common 
 among the Scottish Bonifaces. There was in ancient 
 times, in the city of Edinburgh, a gentleman of good 
 family, who condescended, in order to gain a liveli- 
 hood, to become the nominal keeper of a coffee-house, 
 one of the first places of the kind which had been 
 opened in the Scottish metropolis. As usual, it was 
 entirely managed by the careful and industrious 
 
 Mrs. B ; while her husband amused himself with 
 
 field sports, without troubling his head about the 
 matter. Once upon a time the premises having 
 taken fire, the husband was met, walking up the 
 High Street loaded with his guns and fishing-rods, 
 and replied calmly to some one who enquired after 
 his wife, ' that the poor woman was trying to save 
 a parcel of crockery, and some trumpery-books ' ; 
 the last being those which served her to conduct the 
 business of the house.
 
 144 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 There were many elderly gentlemen in the author's 
 younger days, who still held it part of the amusement 
 of a journey ' to parley with mine host,' who often 
 resembled, in his quaint humour, mine Host of the 
 Garter in ' The Merry Wives of Windsor ' ; or Blague of 
 the George in 'The Merry Devil of Edmonton.' Some- 
 times the landlady took her share of entertaining the 
 company. In either case the omitting to pay 
 them due attention gave displeasure, and perhaps 
 brought down a smart jest, as on the following occa- 
 sion : 
 
 A jolly dame who, not ' Sixty Years since,' kept 
 the principal caravansary at Greenlaw, in Berwick- 
 shire, had the honour to receive under her roof a 
 very worthy clergyman, with three sons of the same 
 profession, each having a cure of souls ; be it said in 
 passing, none of the reverend party were reckoned 
 powerful in the pulpit. After dinner was over, the 
 worthy senior, in the pride of his heart, asked Mrs. 
 Buchan whether she ever had had such a party in 
 her house before. ' Here sit I,' he said, ' a placed 
 minister of the Kirk of Scotland, and here sit my 
 three sons, each a placed minister of the same kirk. 
 Confess, Luckie Buchan, you never had such a party 
 in your house before.' The question was not pre- 
 mised by any invitation to sit down and take a glass 
 of wine or the like, so Mrs. B. answered dryly, ' Indeed, 
 sir, I cannot just say that ever I had such a party 
 in my house before, except once in the forty-five, 
 when I had a Highland piper here, with his three 
 sons, all Highland pipers ; and deil a spring they could 
 play amang them.' 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT.
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 145 
 
 GREYFRIARS 
 
 GREYFRIARS. An impressive place. Huge, auld, red, 
 gloomy church ; a countless multitude o' grass-graves 
 a' touchin' ane anither. A' aroun' the kirkyard 
 wa's marble and freestane monuments without end, 
 o' a' shapes, and sizes, and ages. Some quaint, 
 some queer, some simple, some ornate ; for genius 
 likes to work upon grief. And these tombs are like 
 towers and temples, partakin' not o' the noise o' the 
 city, but stannin' aloof frae the stir o' life, aneath 
 the sombre shadow o' the castle-cliff, that heaves 
 its battlements far up into the sky. A sublime ceme- 
 tery, yet I su'dna like to be interr'd in't. It looks 
 sae dank and clammy and cauld. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER NORTH. 
 
 IN FISHERROW 
 
 A HARD north-easter fifty winters long 
 
 Has bronzed and shrivelled sere her face and neck ; 
 
 Her locks are wild and grey, her teeth a wreck ; 
 
 Her foot is vast, her bowed leg spare and strong. 
 
 A wide blue cloak, a squat and sturdy throng 
 
 Of curt blue coats, a mutch without a speck, 
 
 A white vest broidered black, her person deck, 
 
 Nor seems their picked, stern, old-world quaintness 
 
 wrong. 
 
 Her great creel forehead-slung, she wanders nigh, 
 Easing the heavy straps with gnarled, brown fingers, 
 The spirit of traffic watchful in her eye, 
 Ever and anon imploring you to buy, 
 As looking down the street she onward lingers, 
 Reproachful, with a strange and doleful cry. 
 
 W. E. HENLEY. 
 10
 
 146 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 OUT OVER THE FORTH 
 
 OUT over the Forth I look to the north, 
 
 But what is the north and its Highlands to me ? 
 
 The south nor the east gi'e ease to my breast, 
 The far foreign land, or the wide-rolling sea. 
 
 But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 
 That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 
 
 For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 
 The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 SUNDAY IN EDINBURGH 
 
 BLEST be the ray which from the purpling east 
 First darts its light on Scotia's lovely isle 
 Upon the morning of the holy day ; 
 And blessed be the day-spring's glowing flood 
 Of glory ; blessed be the lark's shrill note, 
 That, gently warbled, to the sabbath soul 
 Comes fraught with soothing influence, and lulls 
 To rest the sorrows which perplex the mind ; 
 And blessed be the white-edged silvery clouds 
 That float around the mountain's hoary peak, 
 
 The drapery of heaven. 
 The city streets now gradually begin 
 To team with life, and hurriedly along 
 Numbers pass to and fro. Meanwhile 
 The clamour loud of church-bells fills the air ; 
 While, slowly pausing, old St. Giles sends forth 
 His loud sonorous note, and gay St. George 
 Answers again. Callous, indeed, must be 
 The heart that throbs not at the solemn sound. 
 Before the service of the sacred day,
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 147 
 
 Let me towards the silent lonely spot 
 Where sleep the countless dead, direct my steps, 
 And muse awhile upon the end of time ; 
 Instruction drawing from the lettered stones 
 Which thickly sad Greyfriars' field of graves, 
 Where, nameless, untold thousands rest ; and where 
 The noble, the polite, and learned mix 
 Their ashes with the humblest of the land, 
 And where the ever-honoured martyr lies. 
 Green grows the grass o'er Renwick's precious dust, 
 And Guthrie's, who, in truth's behalf, amidst 
 A storm of opposition from the powers 
 Of earth and hell confederate, stood firm 
 And in the cause of freedom nobly fell, 
 In ' Scotland's evil day,' beneath the hand 
 Of violence and misrule. The wild-flowers wave 
 Above the lowly bed of others, who, 
 Although less known to fame, resistance made 
 In liberty's defence, beneath the flag 
 Which, floating on the breeze, displayed to view 
 The thrilling motto, that might well have quailed 
 The spirits of the foe, and made them pause 
 ' Christ's Crown Covenant.' . . . Here sleeps in peace 
 Buchanan of unmatched renown, a name 
 Of whom our country well may boast. Here too 
 The poet rests, his harp unstrung, and hushed 
 The voice that charmed mankind ; and he who wooed 
 And won the muse of history ; and the sage, 
 Who into nature's laws with prying eye 
 Intently gazed, and from the dark recess 
 Brought truth imperishable into light, 
 That all might mark her fair and graceful form. 
 The learned divine here sleeps, his labours o'er, 
 And many round him whom with care he led 
 
 10 2
 
 148 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Into the green and flowery pastures, where 
 The river of immortal life rolls on 
 Its purifying waters. Sacred spot. 
 Within thy precincts rest the wise and good. . . . 
 Anon the church-bells' cheerful sound is heard, 
 And crowds pursue their homeward path, or stray, 
 Listless, amid the 'embowered retreat that shades 
 The city's southern bound ; or musing, pace 
 The daisied sward of Bruntsfield. Some resort 
 To where the ancient warlike fortress sits, 
 O'er looking fair and spacious streets, or rich 
 And graceful colonnades ; while, stretched around 
 Scenes all-unrivalled meet the view, and well 
 Repay the lover of the picturesque. 
 Before him, and around, the city lies, 
 Basking in all her splendour, 'neath the clear 
 Unclouded sky ; while, to the south, the view 
 Is bounded by the Pentlands' classic cliffs, 
 And northward far the wide and restless sea. 
 
 ANON (1849). 
 
 R. L. S. IN HIS CHILDHOOD CITY 
 
 THERE stands, I fancy, to this day (but now, how 
 fallen !) a certain stationer's shop at a corner of the 
 wide thoroughfare that joins the city of my childhood 
 with the sea. When, upon any Saturday, we made a 
 party to behold the ships, we passed that corner ; 
 and since in those days I loved a ship as a man loves 
 Burgundy or daybreak, this of itself had been enough 
 to hallow it. But there was more than that. In 
 the Leith Walk window, all the year round, there 
 stood displayed a theatre in working order, with
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 149 
 
 a ' forest set,' a ' combat,' and a few ' robbers carous- 
 ing ' in the slides ; and below and about, dearer ten- 
 fold to me ! the plays themselves, those budgets 
 of romance, lay tumbled one upon another. Long 
 and often have I lingered there with empty pockets. 
 One figure, we shall say, was visible in the first 
 plate of characters, bearded, pistol in hand, or draw- 
 ing to his ear the clothyard arrow ; I would spell the 
 name : was it Macaire, or Long Tom Coffin, or 
 Grindoff, 2d dress ? O, how I would long to see 
 the rest ! how if the name by chance were hidden 
 I would wonder in what play he figured, and what 
 immortal legend justified his attitude and strange 
 apparel ! And then to go within, to announce your- 
 self as an intending purchaser, and, closely watched, 
 be suffered to undo those bundles and breathlessly 
 devour those pages of gesticulating villains, epileptic 
 combats, bosky forests, palaces, and warships, 
 frowning fortresses and prison vaults it was a giddy 
 joy. That shop, which was dark and smelt of 
 Bibles, was a loadstone rock for all that bore the 
 name of boy. They could not pass it by, nor, having 
 entered, leave it. It was a place beseiged ; the 
 shopmen, like the Jews rebuilding Salem, had a 
 double task. They kept us at the stick's end, frowned 
 us down, snatched each play out of our hand ere we 
 were trusted with another ; and, incredible as it 
 may sound, used to demand of us upon our entrance, 
 like banditti, if we came with money or with empty 
 hand. Old Mr. Smith himself, worn out with my 
 eternal vacillation, once swept the treasures from 
 before me, with the cry : ' I do not believe, child, 
 that you are an intending purchaser at all !' These 
 were the dragons of the garden ; but for such joys of
 
 150 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 paradise we could have faced the Terror of Jamaica 
 himself. Every sheet we fingered was another 
 lightning glance into obscure, delicious story ; it 
 was like wallowing in the raw stuff of story-books. 
 I know nothing to compare with it save now and then 
 in dreams, when I am privileged to read in certain 
 unwrit stories of adventure, from which I awake to 
 find the world all vanity. The crux of Buridan's 
 donkey was as nothing to the uncertainty of the boy 
 as he handled and lingered and doated on these 
 bundles of delight ; there was a physical pleasure 
 in the sight and touch of them which he would 
 jealously prolong ; and when at length the deed was 
 done, the play selected, and the impatient shopman 
 had brushed the rest into the grey portfolio, and the 
 boy was forth again, a little late for dinner, the 
 lamps springing into light in the blue winter's even, 
 and The Miller, or The Rover, or some kindred drama 
 clutched against his side on what gay feet he ran, 
 and how he laughed aloud in exultation ! I can hear 
 that laughter still. Out of all the years of my life, 
 I can recall but one home-coming to compare with 
 these, and that was on the night when I brought 
 back with me the Arabian Entertainments in the fat, 
 old, double-columned volume with the prints. I 
 was just well into the story of the Hunchback, I 
 remember, when my clergyman-grandfather (a man 
 we counted pretty stiff) came in behind me. I 
 grew blind with terror. But instead of ordering the 
 book away, he said he envied me. Ah, well he 
 might ! 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
 
 IN EDINBURGH STREETS 151 
 
 DISCHARGED 
 
 CARRY me out 
 
 Into the wind and the sunshine, 
 
 Into the beautiful world. 
 
 O the wonder, the spell of the streets ! 
 
 The stature and strength of the horses, 
 
 The rustle and echo of footfalls, 
 
 The flat roar and rattle of wheels ! 
 
 A swift tram floats huge on us ... 
 
 It's a dream ? 
 
 The smell of the mud in my nostrils 
 
 Is brave like a breath of the sea ! 
 
 As of old, 
 
 Ambulant, undulant drapery, 
 Vaguely and strangely provocative, 
 Flutters and beckons. O yonder 
 Scarlet ! the glint of a stocking ! 
 Sudden a spire, 
 
 Wedged in the mist ! O the houses, 
 The long lines of lofty, grey houses ! 
 Cross-hatched with shadow and light, 
 These are the streets . . . 
 Each is an avenue leading 
 Whither I will ! 
 
 Free . . . ! 
 
 Dizzy, hysterical, faint, 
 
 I sit, and the carriage rolls on with me 
 
 Into the wonderful world. 
 
 W. E. HENLEY. 
 
 THE OLD INFIRMARY, EDINBURGH, 
 I873-7S.
 
 152 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 EDINBURGH STREETS BY NIGHT 
 
 BEAUTIFUL to behold as the spacious streets of 
 Edinburgh are by day, they have a strange fasci- 
 nation by night. Perhaps, more than in any other 
 city, the memories of Edinburgh's romantic past 
 return to the mind of one who is a wanderer by 
 silent night or late evening, as he threads this city's 
 almost deserted streets and squares. Take Edin- 
 burgh at what season you will, thoughts of its 
 storied past, at such an hour, will come crowding 
 to the mind. Upon a clear, calm, wintry night, when 
 the moon is bright and the stars glitter as they can 
 in this northern sky, the beauty of the city is most 
 inspiring. At such a time, while emerging from a 
 street and to suddenly behold the lofty Castle, a huge 
 black mass set in a back-ground of a star-pierced 
 purple sky, is to gaze upon a sight the majesty of 
 which the world has no equal. Or, wander to the 
 Calton Hill when the moonlight plays between the 
 range of columns on its crown ; then the spell of this 
 Northern Athens is upon one as he gazes down upon 
 the lamp-hung city. I have looked upon Edinburgh 
 in one of her own wilder night moods of drifting rain, 
 when the festooned lights of her streets dimly seen 
 from a distance have formed for me a picture strangely 
 beautiful and affecting. 
 
 ROBERT MACCRIE.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH
 
 Mine own romantic town. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Scott is enthusiastic about the beauties of Edinburgh, and 
 well he may be, the most magnificent as well as the most 
 romantic of cities. 
 
 MARIA. EDGEWORTH.
 
 THE BALLAD OF HYND HORN 
 
 Ax Edinburgh was a young child born, 
 
 And his name it was called young Hynd Horn. 
 
 Seven lang years he served the King, 
 And it's a' for the sake o' his dochter Jean. 
 
 The King an angry man was he, 
 
 He sent young Hynd Horn to the sea. 
 
 ' Oh, I never saw my love before, 
 Till I saw her thro' an augre bore. 
 
 ' And she gave me a gay gold ring, 
 With three shining diamonds set therein. 
 
 ' And I gave to her a silver wand, 
 
 With three singing laverocks set thereon. 
 
 ' What if those diamonds lose their hue, 
 Just when my love begins for to rue ?' 
 
 ' For when your ring turns pale and wan, 
 Then I'm in love with another man.' 
 
 Hynd Horn has gone away to sea, 
 
 He has stayed there seven years and a day. 
 
 Seven lang years he has been on the sea, 
 
 And Hynd Horn has looked how this ring may be. 
 
 But when he looked this ring upon. 
 
 The shining diamonds were pale and wan.
 
 156 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Oh, the ring was both black and blue, 
 And she's either dead or she's married. 
 
 To Edinburgh Town Hynd Horn has come, 
 And the first he met was an auld beggar- man. 
 
 ' What news, what news ? tell me, my man, 
 For it's seven years since I have seen the land.' 
 
 ' No news at all,' said the auld beggar-man, 
 ' But there's a wedding in the King's hall. 
 
 ' But the King's dochter nae bride will be 
 Till she hears tell o' her ain Hynd Horn.' 
 
 ' Wilt thou give to me thy begging-coat ? 
 An' I gie thee my scarlet cloak.' 
 
 The auld beggar-man cast off his coat, 
 An' he's taken up the scarlet cloak. 
 
 The auld beggar-man was bound for the mill, 
 But young Hynd Horn for the King's hall. 
 
 When he came to the royal gate, 
 
 He asked a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake. 
 
 These news unto the bonnie bride came, 
 That at the gate there stands an auld man. 
 
 ' There stands an auld man at the King's gate, 
 He asketh a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake.' 
 
 ' I'll go me through nine fires all so hot, 
 But I'll give him a drink for young Hynd Horn's 
 sake.' 
 
 She went to the gate where the auld man stood, 
 And gave him a cup from her own fair hand.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 157 
 
 He took him the cup from that lily hand, 
 And when he had drank dropt in the ring. 
 
 ' Got thou this ring by sea or land ? 
 Or got thou it from a dead man's hand ?' 
 
 ' Not by the sea, but by the land ; 
 I took it from thine own fair hand.' 
 
 ' I'll cast me off my gowns o' brown, 
 And I'll follow thee from town to town. 
 
 ' I'll cast me off my gowns o' red, 
 And along with thee I'll beg my bread.' 
 
 ' Thou need not cast off gowns o' brown, 
 For I'll make thee lady o' many a town.' 
 
 The bridegroom thought he this maid had wed, 
 But young Hynd Horn took the bride instead. 
 
 TRADITIONAL. 
 
 A SHEPHERD-SWAIN OF THE NORTH COUNTRIE 
 
 ' Many an eyebrow in Auld Reekie rose in wonder, and many 
 a voice exclaimed " Who can this be ?" when verses so good by 
 " J. B. Fordoun " [James Beattie, of Fordoun] flashed upon 
 the public from time to time.' GEORGE GILFILLAN. 
 
 THERE lived in Gothic days, as legends tell, 
 A shepherd-swain, a man of low degree ; 
 Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might dwell, 
 Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady ; 
 But he, I ween, was of the north countrie ; 
 A nation famed for song and beauty's charms ; 
 Zealous, yet modest ; innocent, though free ; 
 Patient of toil ; serene amidst alarms ; 
 Inflexible in faith ; invincible in arms.
 
 158 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made, 
 On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock ; 
 The sickle, scythe, or plough he never swayed : 
 An honest heart was almost all his stock ; 
 His drink the living water from the rock : 
 The milky dams supplied his board, and lent 
 Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock ; 
 And he, though oft with dust and sweat besprint, 
 Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er 
 they went. 
 
 JAMES BEATTIE. 
 
 MY BONNIE MARY 
 
 THE PIER O' LEITH 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 
 
 An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
 That I may drink, before I go, 
 
 A service to my bonnie lassie ; 
 The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry ; 
 The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 
 
 And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 
 
 The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 
 
 The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 
 The shouts o' war are heard afar, 
 
 The battle closes thick and bloody ! 
 But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 
 
 Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
 Nor shout o' war that's heard afar 
 
 It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 159 
 
 THE EVE OF FLODDEN 
 
 ' When the invading army was encamped upon the Boroughmuir 
 numberless midnight apparitions did squeak and gibber upon 
 the streets of Edinburgh, threatening woe to the kingdom, and 
 there was a spectral procession of heralds, who advanced to the 
 Cross, and summoned the king, and a long list of nobility to their 
 final doom.' 
 
 WHO are these so dim and wan, 
 Haggard, gaunt, and woe-begone ! 
 Who in suits of silvery mail 
 Wander in the moonlight pale, 
 Through Dun Edin's narrow street, 
 
 Sad and slow, 
 And with mournful voice repeat, 
 
 Singing low 
 
 ' Dim the night, but dark the morrow 
 Long shall last the coming sorrow, 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe !' 
 
 Helm on head and sword in hand, 
 Whence this melancholy band ? 
 Even the banner that they bear 
 Droops dejected on the air, 
 As they walk with noiseless tread 
 
 To and fro, 
 And the sleeper from his bed 
 
 Rises slow, 
 
 Listening to that chant of sorrow 
 ' Dim the night, but dark the morrow 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe !' 
 
 What they are, and their intent 
 Whence they come, and whither bent 
 If they come from kirkyard cold, 
 Or are men of mortal mould,
 
 160 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 No one knows ; but all night long, 
 
 As they go, 
 There is heard a doleful song, 
 
 Clear, but low, 
 
 1 Deep the grief that's now beginning, 
 Scotland's loss is England's winning 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe !' 
 
 Never yet Dun Edin's street 
 Saw such ghastly warriors meet. 
 Now upon the Cross they stay ; 
 And a radiance clear as day, 
 When the day is dim and chill, 
 
 Seems to glow 
 All around ; and from the hill 
 
 Overflow 
 
 Gable, tower, and steeple-crosses, 
 And the lonely wynds and closes : 
 
 ' Woe to Scotland, woe !' 
 
 One steps forward from the rest, 
 Stately, gaunt, and richly dress'd ; 
 And they form a circle round, 
 Sadly looking to the ground ; 
 And a summons loud and shrill 
 
 Sounds below, 
 Downwards from the Calton Hill 
 
 Passing slow ; 
 
 Then a trumpet-call to rally 
 Echoes over mount and valley 
 
 ' Woe to Scotland, woe !' 
 
 Then the ling 'ring echoes die 
 Faint and fainter on the sky, 
 And the spokesman of the band 
 Raises high his mail'd right hand,
 
 And exclaims with earnest voice, 
 
 Speaking slow : 
 ' Long will Scotland's foes rejoice : 
 
 Hearts shall glow 
 At recital of our story, 
 And of Scotland's faded glory. 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe ! 
 
 ' Nought shall bravery avail ; 
 Dust before the wild March gale 
 Flies not faster than shall fly 
 Scotland's proudest chivalry, 
 Royal Stuart, when thy might 
 
 Stricken low, 
 Shall be scatter 'd in the fight 
 
 By the foe, 
 
 And thy fairest ranks be trodden 
 On the bloody field of Flodden. 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe ! 
 
 ' Crawford, Huntley, and Montrose ! 
 Loud your shrill war-trumpet blows ; 
 Home and Bothwell ! high in air 
 Flaunt your banners free and fair ; 
 Lennox ! well your stalwart men 
 
 Wield the bow ; 
 Fierce and fleet from hill and glen 
 
 On the foe, 
 
 From wild Cowal to the Grampians, 
 Rush, Argyll ! your stoutest champions ;- 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe ! 
 
 ' But in vain shall they unite ; 
 And in vain their swords shall smite ; 
 And in vain their chiefs shall lead ; 
 Vainly, vainly shall they bleed ; 
 
 ii
 
 162 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 England's hosts shall smite them down 
 
 At a blow, 
 And our country's ancient crown 
 
 Be laid low ; 
 
 And for warriors death-cold sleeping 
 Long shall last the wail and weeping 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe !' 
 
 Thus he speaks, and glides away, 
 Melting in the moonlight grey : 
 And the pale knights follow on 
 Through the darkness, and are gone. 
 But all night is heard the wail 
 
 Rising slow, 
 As the pauses of the gale 
 
 Come and go, 
 
 ' Dim the night and dark the morrow ; 
 Long shall last the coming sorrow 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe !' 
 
 CHARLES MACKAY. 
 EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN 
 
 NEWS of battle ! news of battle ! 
 
 Hark ! 'tis ringing down the street : 
 And the archways and the pavement 
 
 Bear the clang of hurrying feet. 
 News of battle ! who hath brought it ? 
 
 News of triumph ? Who should bring 
 Tidings from our noble army, 
 
 Greetings from our gallant King ? 
 All last night we watched the beacons 
 
 Blazing on the hills afar, 
 Each one bearing, as it kindled, 
 
 Message of the opened war.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 163 
 
 All night long the northern streamers 
 
 Shot across the trembling sky : 
 Fearful lights, that never beckon 
 
 Save when kings or heroes die. 
 
 News of battle ! Who hath brought it ? 
 
 All are thronging to the gate ; 
 ' Warder warder ! open quickly ! 
 
 Man is this a time to wait ?' 
 And the heavy gates are opened : 
 
 Then a murmur long and loud, 
 And a cry of fear and wonder 
 
 Bursts from out the bending crowd. 
 For they see in battered harness 
 
 Only one hard-stricken man ; 
 And his weary steed is wounded, 
 
 And his cheek is pale and wan : 
 Spearless hangs a bloody banner 
 
 In his weak and drooping hand 
 God ! can that be Randolph Murray, 
 
 Captain of the city band ? 
 
 Round him crush the people, crying, 
 
 ' Tell us all oh, tell us true ! 
 Where are they who went to battle, 
 
 Randolph Murray, sworn to you ? 
 Where are they, our brothers children ? 
 
 Have they met the English foe ? 
 Why art thou alone, unf olio wed ? 
 
 Is it weal or is it woe ?' 
 Like a corpse the grisly warrior 
 
 Looks from out his helm of steel ; 
 But no word he speaks in answer, 
 
 Only with his armed heel 
 
 II 2
 
 164 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Chides his weary steed, and onward 
 
 Up the city streets they ride ; 
 Fathers, sisters, mothers, children, 
 
 Shrieking, praying by his side. 
 ' By the God that made thee, Randolph ! 
 
 Tell us what mischance hath come.' 
 Then he lifts his riven banner, 
 
 And the asker's voice is dumb. 
 
 The elders of the city 
 
 Have met within their hall 
 The men whom good King James had 
 charged 
 
 To watch the tower and wall. 
 ' Your hands are weak with age/ he said, 
 
 ' Your hearts are stout and true ; 
 So bide ye in the Maiden Town, 
 
 While others fight for you. 
 My trumpet from the Border-side 
 
 Shall send a blast so clear 
 That all who wait within the gate 
 
 That stirring sound may hear. 
 Or, if it be the will of heaven 
 
 That back I never come, 
 And if, instead of Scottish shouts, 
 
 Ye hear the English drum, 
 Then let the warning bells ring out, 
 
 Then gird you to the fray, 
 Then man the walls like burghers stout, 
 
 And fight while fight you may. 
 'Twere better than in fiery flame 
 
 The roofs should thunder down, 
 Than that the foot of foreign foe 
 
 Should trample in the town !'
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 165 
 
 Then in came Randolph Murray, 
 
 His step was slow and weak, 
 And, as he doffed his dinted helm, 
 
 The tears ran down his cheek : 
 They fell upon his corselet 
 
 And on his mailed hand, 
 As he gazed around him wistfully, 
 
 Leaning sorely on his brand. 
 And none who then beheld him 
 
 But straight were smote with fear, 
 For a bolder and a sterner man 
 
 Had never couched a spear. 
 They knew so sad a messenger 
 
 Some ghastly news must bring ; 
 And all of them were fathers, 
 
 And their sons were with the King. 
 
 And up then rose the Provost 
 
 A brave old man was he, 
 Of ancient name and knightly fame, 
 
 And chivalrous degree. 
 He ruled our city like a Lord 
 
 Who brooked no equal here, 
 And ever for the townsman's rights 
 
 Stood up 'gainst prince and peer. 
 And he had seen the Scottish host 
 
 March from the Borough-muir, 
 With music-storm and clamorous shout, 
 And all the din that thunders out 
 
 When youth's of victory sure. 
 But yet a dearer thought had he, 
 
 For, with a father's pride, 
 He saw his last remaining son 
 
 Go forth by Randolph's side,
 
 i66 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 With casque on head and spur on heel, 
 
 All keen to do and dare ; 
 And proudly did that gallant boy 
 
 Dun Edin's banner bear. 
 Oh ! woeful now was the old man's look, 
 
 And he spake right heavily 
 ' Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings, 
 
 However sharp they be ! 
 Woe is written on thy visage, 
 
 Death is looking from thy face : 
 Speak ! though it be of overthrow 
 
 It cannot be disgrace !' 
 
 Right bitter was the agony 
 
 That wrung that soldier proud : 
 Thrice did he strive to answer, 
 
 And thrice he groaned aloud. 
 Then he gave the riven banner 
 
 To the old man's shaking hand, 
 vSaying ' That is all I bring ye 
 
 From the bravest of the land ! 
 Ay ! ye may look upon it 
 
 It was guarded well and long, 
 By your brothers and your children, 
 
 By the valiant and the strong. 
 One by one they fell around it, 
 
 As the archers laid them low, 
 Grimly dying, still unconquered, 
 
 With their faces to the foe. 
 Ay ! ye may well look upon it 
 
 There is more than honour there, 
 Else, be sure, I had not brought it 
 
 From the field of dark despair. 
 Never yet was royal banner 
 
 Steeped in such a costly dye ;
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 167 
 
 It hath lain upon a bosom 
 
 Where no other shroud shall lie. 
 Sirs ! I charge you, keep it holy, 
 
 Keep it as a sacred thing, 
 For the stain ye see upon it 
 
 Was the life-blood of your King !' 
 
 Woe, woe, and lamentation ! 
 
 What a piteous cry was there ! 
 Widows, maidens, mothers, children, 
 
 Shrieking, sobbing in despair ! 
 Through the streets the death-word rushes, 
 
 Spreading terror, sweeping on 
 ' Jesu Christ ! Our King has fallen 
 
 O great God, King James is gone ! 
 Holy Mother Mary, shield us, 
 
 Thou who erst didst lose thy Son ! 
 O the blackest day for Scotland 
 
 That she ever knew before ! 
 O our King the good, the noble, 
 
 Shall we see him never more ? 
 Woe to us, and woe to Scotland ! 
 
 O our sons, our sons and men ! 
 Surely some have 'scaped the Southron, 
 
 Surely some will come again !' 
 Till the oak that fell last winter 
 
 Shall uprear its shattered stem 
 Wives and mothers of Dun Edin 
 
 Ye may look in vain for them ! 
 
 But within the Council Chamber 
 
 All was silent as the grave, 
 Whilst the tempest of their sorrow 
 
 Shook the bosoms of the brave. 
 Well indeed might they be shaken 
 
 With the weight of such a blow :
 
 168 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 He was gone, their prince, their idol, 
 
 Whom they loved and worshipped so ! 
 Like a knell of death and judgment 
 
 Rung from heaven by angel hand 
 Fell the words of desolation 
 
 On the elders of the land. 
 Hoary heads were bowed and trembling, 
 
 Withered hands were clasped and wrung ; 
 God had left the old and feeble, 
 
 He had ta'en away the young. 
 
 Then the Provost he uprose, 
 
 And his lip was ashen white ; 
 But a flush was on his brow, 
 
 And his eye was full of light. 
 ' Thou hast spoken, Randolph Murray, 
 
 Like a soldier stout and true ; 
 Thou hast done a deed of daring 
 
 Had been perilled but by few. 
 For thou hast not shamed to face us, 
 
 Nor to speak thy ghastly tale, 
 Standing thou a knight and captain, 
 
 Here alive within thy mail ! 
 Now, as my God shall judge me, 
 
 , I hold it braver done, 
 Than hadst thou tarried in thy place, 
 
 And died above my son ! 
 Thou needst not tell it : he is dead. 
 
 God help us all this day ! 
 But speak how fought the citizens 
 
 Within the furious fray ? 
 For, by the might of Mary ! 
 
 'Twere something still to tell 
 That no Scottish foot went backward 
 
 When the Royal Lion fell !'
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 169 
 
 ' No one failed him ! He is keeping 
 
 Royal state and semblance still ; 
 Knight and noble lie around him, 
 
 Cold on Flodden's fatal hill. 
 Of the brave and gallant-hearted 
 
 Whom ye sent with prayers away, 
 Not a single man departed 
 
 From his Monarch yesterday. 
 Had you seen them, O my masters ! 
 
 When the night began to fall, 
 And the English spearmen gathered 
 
 Round a grim and ghastly wall ! 
 As the wolves in winter circle 
 
 Round the leaguer on the heath, 
 So the greedy foe glared upward, 
 
 Panting still for blood and death. 
 But a rampart rose before them, 
 
 Which the boldest dared not scale ; 
 Every stone a Scottish body, 
 
 Every step a corpse in mail ! 
 And behind it lay our Monarch, 
 
 Clenching still his shivered sword : 
 By his side Montrose and Athole, 
 
 At his feet a southron lord. 
 All so thick they lay together, 
 
 When the stars lit up the sky, 
 That I knew not who were stricken, 
 
 Or who yet remained to die. 
 Few there were when Surrey halted, 
 
 And his wearied host withdrew ; 
 None but dying men around me, 
 
 When the English trumpet blew. 
 Then I stooped, and took the banner, 
 
 As you see it, from his breast,
 
 170 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 And I closed our hero's eyelids, 
 
 And I left him to his rest. 
 In the mountains growled the thunder, 
 
 As I leaped the woeful wall, 
 And the heavy clouds were settling 
 
 Over Flodden, like a pall !' 
 
 So he ended, and the others 
 
 Cared not any answer then ; 
 Sitting silent, dumb with sorrow, 
 
 Sitting anguish-struck like men, 
 Who have seen the roaring torrent 
 
 Sweep their happy homes away, 
 And yet linger by the margin, 
 
 Staring idly on the spray. 
 But, without, the maddening tumult 
 
 Waxes ever more and more, 
 And the crowd of wailing women 
 
 Gather round the council door. 
 Every dusky spire is ringing 
 
 With a dull and hollow knell, 
 And the Miserere's singing 
 
 To the tolling of the bell. 
 Through the streets the burghers hurry, 
 
 Spreading terror as they go ; 
 And the rampart's thronged with watchers 
 
 For the coming of the foe. 
 From each mountain-top a pillar 
 
 Streams into the torpid air, 
 Bearing token from the Border 
 
 That the English host is there. 
 All without is flight and terror, 
 
 All within is woe and fear 
 God protect the Maiden City, 
 
 For thy latest hour is near !
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 171 
 
 No ! not yet, thou high Dun Edin ! 
 
 Shalt thou totter to thy fall ; 
 Though thy bravest and thy strongest 
 
 Are not there to man the wall. 
 No, not yet ! the ancient spirit 
 
 Of our fathers hath not gone ; 
 Take it to thee as a buckler 
 
 Better far than steel or stone. 
 Oh, remember those who perished 
 
 For thy birthright at the time 
 When to be a Scot was treason, 
 
 And to side with Wallace, crime ! 
 Have they not a voice amongst us, 
 
 Whilst their hallowed dust is here ? 
 Hear ye not a summons sounding 
 
 From each buried warrior's bier ? 
 Up ! they say and keep the freedom 
 
 Which we won you long ago : 
 Up ! and keep our graves unsullied 
 
 From the insults of the foe ! 
 Up ! and if ye cannot save them, 
 
 Come to us in blood and fire : 
 Midst the crash of falling turrets, 
 
 Let the last of Scots expire ! 
 
 Still the bells are tolling fiercely, 
 
 And the cry comes louder in ; 
 Mothers wailing for their children, 
 
 Sisters for their slaughtered kin. 
 All is terror and disorder, 
 
 Till the Provost rises up, 
 Calm, as though he had not tasted 
 
 Of the fell and bitter cup. 
 All so stately from his sorrow,
 
 172 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Rose the old undaunted chief, 
 That you had not deemed, to see him, 
 
 His was more than common grief. 
 ' Rouse ye, Sirs !' he said ; ' we may not 
 
 Longer mourn for what is done ; 
 If our King be taken from us, 
 
 We are left to guard his son. 
 We have sworn to keep the city 
 
 From the foe, whate'er they be, 
 And the oath that we have taken 
 
 Never shall be broke by me. 
 Death is nearer to us, brethren, 
 
 Than it seemed to those who died, 
 Fighting yesterday at Flodden, 
 
 By their lord and master's side. 
 Let us meet it then in patience, 
 
 Not in terror or in fear ; 
 Though our hearts are bleeding yonder, 
 
 Let our souls be steadfast here. 
 Up, and rouse ye ! Time is fleeting, 
 
 And we yet have much to do ; 
 Up ! and haste ye through the city, 
 
 Stir the burghers stout and true ! 
 Gather all our scattered people, 
 
 Fling the banner out once more, 
 Randolph Murray ! do thou bear it, 
 
 As it erst was borne before : 
 Never Scottish heart will leave it, 
 
 When they see their Monarch's gore ! 
 
 ' Let them cease that dismal knelling ! 
 
 It is time enough to ring 
 When the fortress-strength of Scotland 
 
 Stoops to ruin like its King.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 173 
 
 Let the bells be kept for warning, 
 
 Not for terror or alarm ; 
 When they next are heard to thunder, 
 
 Let each man and stripling arm. 
 Bid the women leave their wailing 
 
 Do they think that woeful strain, 
 From the bloody heaps of Flodden, 
 
 Can redeem their dearest slain ? 
 Bid them cease, or rather hasten 
 
 To the churches, every one ; 
 There to pray to Mary Mother, 
 
 And to her anointed Son, 
 That the thunderbolt above us 
 
 May not fall in ruin yet ; 
 That in fire, and blood, and rapine, 
 
 Scotland's glory may not set. 
 Let them pray, for never women 
 
 Stood in need of such a prayer ! 
 England's yeomen shall not find them 
 
 Clinging to the altars there. 
 No ! if we are doomed to perish, 
 
 Man and maiden, let us fall, 
 And a common gulf of ruin 
 
 Open wide to whelm us all : 
 Never shall the ruthless spoiler 
 
 Lay his hot insulting hand 
 On the sisters of our heroes, 
 
 Whilst we bear a torch or brand ! 
 Up ! and rouse ye, then, my brothers, 
 
 But when next ye hear the bell 
 Sounding forth the sullen summons 
 
 That may be our funeral knell, 
 Once more let us meet together, 
 
 Once more see each other's face ;
 
 174 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Then, like men that need not tremble, 
 
 Go to our appointed place. 
 God, our Father, will not fail us 
 
 In that last tremendous hour, 
 If all other bulwarks crumble, 
 
 HE will be our strength and tower : 
 Though the ramparts rock beneath us, 
 
 And the walls go crashing down, 
 Though the roar of conflagration 
 
 Bellow o'er the sinking town ; 
 There is yet one place of shelter, 
 
 Where the foemen cannot come, 
 Where the summons never sounded 
 
 Of the trumpet or the drum. 
 There again we'll meet our children, 
 
 Who, on Flodden's trampled sod, 
 For their King and for their country 
 
 Rendered up their souls to God. 
 There shall we find rest and refuge, 
 
 With our dear departed brave ; 
 And the ashes of the city 
 
 Be our universal grave !' 
 
 WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN. 
 
 MARIA EDGEWORTH VISITS SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 IN EDINBURGH 
 
 WRITTEN TO MRS. RUXTON 
 
 EDINBURGH, 
 
 32, ABERCOMBY PLACE, 
 
 June 8, 1823. 
 
 THE drive from Linlithgow to Edinburgh is nothing 
 extraordinary, but the road approaching the city is 
 grand, and the first view of the Castle and ' mine
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 175 
 
 own romantic town ' delighted my companions ; the 
 day was fine, and they were sitting outside on the 
 barouche seat a seat which you, my dear aunt, 
 would have envied them with all their fine prospects. 
 By this approach to Edinburgh there are no suburbs ; 
 you drive at once through magnificent broad streets 
 and fine squares. All the houses are of stone, darker 
 than the Ardbraccan stone, and of a kind that is 
 little injured by weather or time. Margaret Alison 
 had taken lodgings for us in Abercomby Place 
 finely built, with hanging shrubbery garden, and the 
 house as delightful as the situation. As soon as we 
 unpacked and arranged our things the evening of 
 our arrival, we walked, about ten minutes' distance 
 from us, to our dear old friends, the Alisons. We 
 found them shawled and bonneted, just coming to 
 see us. Mr. Alison and Sir Walter Scott had settled 
 that we should dine the first day after our arrival 
 with Mr. Alison, which was just what we wished ; but 
 on our return home we found a note from Sir Walter : 
 
 Miss EDGEWORTH, 
 ' I have just received your kind note, just 
 when I had persuaded myself it was most likely I 
 should see you in person or hear of your arrival. 
 Mr. Alison writes to me you are engaged to dine with 
 him to-morrow, which puts Roslin out of the question 
 for that day, as it might keep you late. On Sunday 
 I hope you will join our family-party at five, and on 
 Monday I have asked one or two of the Northern 
 Lights on purpose to meet you. I should be engross- 
 ing at any time, but we shall be more disposed to be 
 so just now, because on the I2th I am under the 
 necessity of going to a different kingdom (only the
 
 176 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 kingdom of Fife) for a day or two. To-morrow, if 
 it is quite agreeable, I will wait on you about twelve, 
 and hope you will permit me to show you some of 
 our improvements. 
 
 ' I am always, 
 
 ' Most respectfully yours, 
 ' EDINBURGH, Friday. ' WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 ' Postscript. Our old family coach is licensed to 
 carry six ; so I take no care on that score. I enclose 
 Mr. Alison's note ; truly sorry I could not accept 
 the invitation it contains. 
 
 ' Postscript. My wife insists I shall add that the 
 Laird of Staffa promised to look in on us this evening 
 at eight or nine, for the purpose of letting us hear 
 one of his clansmen sing some Highland boat-songs 
 and the like, and that if you will come, as the Irish 
 should to the Scotch, without any ceremony, you 
 will hear what is perhaps more curious than melli- 
 fluous. The man returns to the isles to-morrow. 
 There are no strangers with us ; no party ; none but 
 all our own family and two old friends. Moreover, 
 all our women-kind have been calling at Gibbs's 
 hotel, so if you are not really tired and late, you have 
 not even pride, the ladies' last defence, to oppose to 
 this request. But, above all, do not fatigue yourself 
 and the young ladies. No dressing to be thought of.' 
 
 Ten o'clock struck as I read the note ; we were 
 tired we were not fit to be seen ; but I thought it 
 right to accept ' Walter Scott's ' cordial invitation ; 
 sent for a hackney coach, and just as we were, without 
 dressing, went. As the coach stopped, we saw the 
 hall lighted, and the moment the door opened, heard 
 the joyous sounds of loud singing. Three servants
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 177 
 
 ' The Miss Edge worths ' sounded from hall to landing- 
 place, and as I paused for a moment in the ante- 
 room, I heard the first sound of Walter Scott's voice 
 ' The Miss Edgeworths come.' 
 
 The room was lighted by only one globe lamp. A 
 circle were singing loud and beating time all 
 stopped in an instant, and Walter Scott in the most 
 cordial and courteous manner stepped forward to 
 welcome us : ' Miss Edgeworth, this is so kind of 
 you !' My first impression was, that he was neither 
 so large, nor so heavy in appearance as I had been 
 led to expect by description, prints, bust, and pic- 
 ture. He is more lame than I expected, but not so 
 unwieldly ; his countenance, even by the uncertain 
 light in which I first saw it, pleased me much, benevo- 
 lent, and full of genius without the slightest effort 
 at expression ; delightfully natural, as if he did not 
 know he was Walter Scott or the Great Unknown of 
 the North, as if he only thought of making others 
 happy. After naming to us ' Lady Scott, Staffa, my 
 daughter Lockhart, Sophia, another daughter Anne, 
 my son, my son-in-law Lockhart,' just in the broken 
 circle as they then stood, and showing me that only 
 his family and two friends, Mr. Clark and Mr. Sharpe, 
 were present, he sat down for a minute beside me on 
 a low sofa, and on my saying, ' Do not let us interrupt 
 what was going on,' he immediately rose and begged 
 Staffa to bid his boatman strike up again. ' Will 
 you then join in the circle with us ?' he put the end 
 of a silk handkerchief into my hand, and others into 
 my sister's ; they held by these handkerchiefs all in 
 their circle again, and the boatman began to roar 
 out a Gaelic song, to which they all stamped in 
 time and repeated the chorus which, as far as I could 
 
 12
 
 178 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 hear, sounded like ' At am Vaun ! At am Vaun /' 
 frequently repeated with prodigious enthusiasm. In 
 another I could make out no intelligible sound but 
 ' Bar ! bar ! bar !' But the boatman's dark eyes 
 were ready to start out of his head with rapture as 
 he sung and stamped, and shook the handkerchief on 
 each side, and the circle imitated. 
 
 Lady Scott is so exactly what I had heard her 
 described, that it seemed as if we had seen her before. 
 She must have been very handsome French dark 
 large eyes ; civil and good - natured. Supper at 
 a round table, a family supper, with attention to 
 us just sufficient and no more. The impression 
 left on my mind this night was, that Walter Scott is 
 one of the best-bred men I ever saw, with all the 
 exquisite politeness which he knows so well how to 
 describe, which is of no particular school or country, 
 but which is of all countries, the politeness which 
 arises from good and quick sense and feeling, which 
 seems to know by instinct the character of others, to 
 see what will please, and put all his guests at their 
 ease. As I sat beside him at supper, I could not 
 believe he was a stranger, and forgot he was a great 
 man. Mr. Lockhart is very handsome, quite unlike 
 his picture in Peter's Letters. 
 
 When we wakened in the morning, the whole 
 scene of the preceding night seemed like a dream ; 
 however, at twelve came the real Lady Scott, and we 
 called for Scott at the Parliament House, who came 
 out of the Courts with joyous face as if he had 
 nothing on earth to do or to think of, but to show us 
 Edinburgh. Seeming to enjoy it all as much as we 
 could, he carried us to Parliament House Advo- 
 cates' Library, Castle, and Holyrood House. His
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 179 
 
 conversation all the time better than anything we 
 could see, full of a-propos anecdotes, historic, serious, 
 or comic, just as occasion called for it, and all with 
 a bonhomie and an ease that made us forget it was 
 any trouble even to his lameness to mount flights of 
 eternal stairs. Chantrey's statues of Lord Melville 
 and President Blair are admirable. There is another 
 by Roubillac, of Duncan Forbes, which is excellent. 
 Scott is enthusiastic about the beauties of Edinburgh, 
 and well he may be, the most magnificent as well as 
 the most romantic of cities. . . . 
 
 Next day, Sunday, went to hear Mr. Alison ; his 
 fine voice but little altered. To me he appears the 
 best preacher I have ever heard. Dined at Scott's ; 
 only his own family, his friend Skene, his. wife and 
 daughter, and Sir Henry Stewart ; I sat beside Scott ; 
 I dare not attempt at this moment even to think of 
 any of the anecdotes he told, the fragments of poetry 
 he repeated, or the observations on national char- 
 acter he made, lest I should be tempted to write 
 some of them for you, and should never end this letter, 
 which must be ended some time or other. His strong 
 affection for his early friends and his country gives a 
 power and a charm to his conversation, which can- 
 not be given by the polish of the London world and 
 by the habit of literary conversation. 
 
 Quentin Durward was lying on the table. Mrs. 
 Skene took it up and said, ' This is really too bare- 
 faced.' Scott, when pointing to the hospital built 
 by Heriot, said, ' That was built by one Heriot, you 
 know,, the jeweller, in Charles the Second's time.' 
 
 There was an arch simplicity in his look, at which 
 we could hardly forbear laughing. 
 
 Life and Letters of Maria Edge-worth. 
 
 12 2
 
 i8o THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 DR. JOHNSON IN EDINBURGH 
 
 ON Saturday the fourteenth of August, 1773, late 
 in the evening, I received a note from him, that he 
 [Dr. Johnson] was arrived at Boyd's inn, at the head 
 of the Canongate. I went to him directly. He em- 
 braced me cordially ; and I exulted in the thought, 
 that I now had him actually in Caledonia. Mr. 
 Scott's amiable manners, and attachment to our 
 Socrates, at once united me to him. He told me 
 that, before I came in, the doctor had unluckily had 
 a bad specimen of Scottish cleanliness. He then 
 drank no fermented liquor. He asked to have his 
 lemonade made sweeter ; upon which the waiter, 
 with his greasy fingers, lifted a lump of sugar, and 
 put it into it. The doctor, in indignation, threw it 
 out of the window. Scott said, he was afraid he 
 would have knocked the waiter down. Mr. Johnson 
 told me, that such another trick was played him at 
 the house of a lady in Paris. He was to do me the 
 honour to lodge under my roof. I regretted sin- 
 cerely that I had not also a room for Mr. Scott. Mr. 
 Johnson and I walked arm-in-arm up the High 
 Street, to my house in James's Court. As we 
 marched slowly along ... he acknowledged that the 
 breadth of the street, and the loftiness of the buildings 
 on each side, made a noble appearance. 
 
 My wife had tea ready for him, which it is well known 
 he delighted to drink at all hours, particularly when 
 sitting up late, and of which his able defence against 
 Mr. Jonas Hanway should have obtained him a 
 magnificent reward from the East India Company. 
 He showed much complacency, upon finding that the 
 mistress of the house was so attentive to his singular
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 181 
 
 habit ; and as no man could be more polite when he 
 chose to be so, his address to her was most courteous 
 and engaging ; and his conversation soon charmed 
 her into a forget fulness of his external appearance. 
 . . . We sat till nearly two in the morning, having 
 chatted a good while after my wife left us. She 
 had insisted, that to show all respect to the sage, she 
 would give up her own bed-chamber to him and take 
 a worse. This I cannot but gratefully mention, as 
 one of a thousand obligations which I owe her, since 
 the great obligation of her being pleased to accept 
 of me as her husband. . . . 
 
 We walked out, that Dr. Johnson might see some 
 of the things which we have to show at Edinburgh. 
 We went to the Parliament House, where the Parlia- 
 ment of Scotland sat, and where the Ordinary Lords 
 of Session held their courts ; and to the New Session 
 House adjoining to it, where our Court of Fifteen 
 (the fourteen Ordinaries, with the Lord President at 
 their head) sit as a Court of Review. We went to 
 the Advocates' Library, of which Dr. Johnson took 
 a cursory view, and then to what is called the Laigh 
 (or under) Parliament House, where the records of 
 Scotland, which has an universal security by register, 
 are deposited, till the great Register Court be finished. 
 I loved to behold Dr. Samuel Johnson rolling about 
 in this old magazine of antiquities. There was, by 
 this time, a pretty numerous circle of us attending 
 upon him. Somebody talked of happy moments for 
 composition ; and how a man can write at one time, 
 and not another. ' Nay (said Dr. Johnson), a man may 
 write at any time, if he will set himself doggedly to it.' 
 
 I there began to indulge old Scottish sentiments, 
 and to express a warm regret, that, by our Union
 
 i82 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 with England, we were no more ; our independent 
 kingdom was lost. JOHNSON. ' Sir, never talk of 
 your independency, who could let your Queen remain 
 twenty years in captivity, and then be put to death, 
 without even a pretence of justice, without ever 
 attempting to rescue her ; and such a Queen too ! as 
 every man of any gallantry of spirit would have 
 sacrificed his life for.' Worthy MR. JAMES KERR, 
 Keeper of the Records. ' Half our nation was bribed 
 by English money.' JOHNSON. ' Sir, that is no de- 
 fence. That makes you worse.' Good MR. BROWN, 
 Keeper of the Advocates' Library. * We had better 
 say nothing about it.' BOSWELL. ' You would have 
 been glad, however, to have had us last war, Sir, to 
 fight your battles !' JOHNSON. ' We should have had 
 you for the same price, though there has been no 
 Union, as we might have had Swiss, or other troops. 
 No, no, I shall agree to a separation. You have 
 only to go home.' Just as he had said this, I, to 
 divert the subject, shewed him the signed assurances 
 of the three successive Kings of the Hanover family, to 
 maintain the Presbyterian establishment in Scotland. 
 :' We'll give you that into the bargain,' said he. 
 
 We next went to the great church of St. Giles, 
 which had lost its original magnificence in the in- 
 side, by being divided into four places of Presby- 
 terian worship. ' Come (said Dr. Johnson jocularly 
 to Principal Robertson), let me see what was once a 
 church !' We entered that division which was for- 
 merly called the New Church, and of late the High 
 Church, so well known by the eloquence of Dr. Hugh 
 Blair. It is now very elegantly filled up ; but it 
 was then shamefully dirty. Dr. Johnson said nothing 
 at the time ; but when we came to the great door of
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 183 
 
 the Royal Infirmary, where, upon a board, was this 
 inscription, ' Clean your feet f he turned about slyly, 
 and said, ' There is no occasion for putting this at 
 the doors of your churches !' 
 
 We then conducted him down the Post-house 
 stairs, Parliament Close, and made him look up from 
 Cowgate to the highest building in Edinburgh (from 
 which he had just descended), being thirteen floors 
 or stories from the ground upon the back elevation. . . . 
 
 We showed him the Royal Infirmary, for which, 
 and for every other exertion of generous public 
 spirit in his power, that noble-minded citizen of 
 Edinburgh, George Drummond, will be ever held in 
 honourable remembrance. And we were too proud 
 not to carry him to the Abbey of Holyrood-house, 
 that beautiful piece of architecture, but, alas ! that 
 deserted mansion of royalty, which Hamilton of 
 Bangour, in one of his elegant poems, calls 
 
 ' A virtuous palace, where no monarch dwells.' 
 
 I was much entertained while Principal Robertson 
 fluently harangued to Dr. Johnson, upon the spot, 
 concerning scenes of his celebrated History of Scot- 
 land. We surveyed that part of the palace appropri- 
 ated to the Duke of Hamilton, as Keeper, in which 
 our beautiful Queen Mary lived, and in which David 
 Rizzio was murdered ; and also the state rooms. 
 Dr. Johnson was a great reciter of all sorts of things, 
 serious or comical. I overheard him repeating here, 
 in a kind of muttering tone, a line of the old ballad, 
 ' Johnny Armstrong's Last Good-night ': 
 
 ' And ran him through the fair body !' 
 
 I suppose his thinking of the stabbing of Rizzio had 
 brought this into his mind, by association of ideas. , . .
 
 i84 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 We set out from Edinburgh. . . . When we came 
 to Leith, I talked with perhaps too boasting an air, 
 how pretty the Firth of Forth looked ; as indeed, 
 after the prospect from Constantinople, of which I 
 have been told, and that from Naples, which I have 
 seen, I believe the view of that Firth and its en- 
 virons, from the Castle Hill of Edinburgh, is the 
 finest prospect in Europe. ' Aye ' (said Dr. Johnson) 
 ' that is the state of the world. Water is the same 
 everywhere.' 
 
 ' Una est injusti caerula forma maris.' 
 
 I told him the part here was the mouth of the river 
 or water of Leith. ' Not Lethe,' said Mr. Nairne. 
 ' Why, Sir (said Dr. Johnson), when a Scotchman 
 sets out from this part for England, he forgets his 
 native country.' NAIRNE. ' I hope, Sir, you shall 
 forget England here.' JOHNSON. ' Then 'twill be 
 still more Lethe.' 
 
 JAMES BOSWELL. 
 THACKERAY : AN EDINBURGH REMINISCENCE 
 
 THACKERAY had a warm heart towards Edinburgh. 
 It was here he took courage from the cordial, appre- 
 ciative reception he got when he lectured here, and 
 he always returned to us with renewed relish. . . . 
 We cannot resist recalling one Sunday evening in 
 December, when he was walking with two friends 
 along the Dean Road, to the west of Edinburgh, one 
 of the noblest outlets to any city. It was a lovely 
 evening, such a sunset as one never forgets ; a rich 
 dark bar of cloud hovered over the sun, going down 
 behind the Highland hills, lying bathed in amethystine 
 bloom ; between this cloud and the hills there was a
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 185 
 
 narrow slip of the pure ether, of a tender cowslip 
 colour, lucid, and as it were the very body of heaven 
 in its clearness ; every object standing out as if 
 etched upon the sky. The north-west end of 
 Corstorphine Hill, with its trees and rocks, lay 
 in the heart of this pure radiance, and there a 
 wooden crane, used in the quarry below, was so 
 placed as to assume the figure of a cross ; there it 
 was, unmistakable, lifted up against a crystal- 
 line sky. All three gazed at it silently. As they 
 gazed, he gave utterance in a tremulous, gentle, and 
 rapid voice, to what all were feeling, in the word 
 ' CALVARY !' 
 
 JOHN BROWN, M.D. 
 
 THE GRASSMARKET 
 
 IN former times, England had her Tyburn to which 
 the devoted victims of justice were conducted in 
 solemn procession up what is now called Oxford 
 Road. In Edinburgh, a large open street, or rather 
 oblong square, surrounded by high houses, called the 
 Grassmarket, was used for the same melancholy 
 purpose. It was not ill chosen for such a scene, being 
 of considerable extent, and therefore fit to accommo- 
 date a great number of spectators, such as are usually 
 assembled by this melancholy spectacle. On the 
 other hand, few of the houses which surround it were, 
 even in early times, inhabited by persons of fashion ; 
 so that those likely to be offended or over deeply 
 affected by such unpleasant exhibitions were not 
 in the way of having their quiet disturbed by 
 them. The houses in the Grassmarket are, generally 
 speaking, of a mean description ; yet the place is
 
 186 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 not without some features of grandeur, being over- 
 hung by the southern side of the huge rock on 
 which the castle stands, and by the moss-grown 
 battlements and turreted walls of that ancient 
 fortress. 
 
 It was the custom, until within these thirty years,* 
 or thereabouts, to use this esplanade for the scene of 
 public executions. The fatal day was announced to 
 the public, by the appearance of a huge black gallows- 
 tree towards the eastern end of the Grassmarket. 
 This ill-omened apparition was of great height, with 
 a scaffold surrounding it, and a double ladder placed 
 against it, for the ascent of the unhappy criminal and 
 the executioner. As this apparatus was always 
 arranged before dawn, it seemed as if the gallows had 
 grown out of the earth in the course of one night, like 
 the production of some foul demon ; and I well re- 
 member the fright with which the schoolboys, when 
 I was one of their number, used to regard these 
 ominous signs of deadly preparation. On the night 
 after the execution the gallows again disappeared, 
 and was conveyed in silence and darkness to the place 
 where it was usually deposited, which was one of the 
 vaults under the Parliament House, or courts of 
 justice. This mode of execution is now exchanged 
 for one similar to that in front of Newgate, with 
 what beneficial effect is uncertain. The mental 
 sufferings of the convict are indeed shortened. He 
 no longer stalks between the attendant clergymen, 
 dressed in his grave-clothes, through a considerable 
 part of the city, looking like a moving and walking 
 corpse, while yet an inhabitant of this world ; but, 
 as the ultimate purpose of punishment has in view 
 * 1818.
 
 THE CASTLE FROM GRASSMARKET
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 187 
 
 the prevention of crimes, it may at least be doubted 
 whether, in abridging the melancholy ceremony, we 
 have not in part diminished that appalling effect 
 upon the spectators which is the useful end of all 
 such inflictions, and in consideration of which alone, 
 unless in very particular cases, capital sentences can 
 be altogether justified. 
 
 Adjacent to the tolbooth or city jail of Edinburgh 
 is one of three churches into which the cathedral of 
 St. Giles is now divided, called, from its vicinity, the 
 Tolbooth Church. It was the custom, that criminals 
 under sentence of death were brought to this church, 
 with a sufficient guard, to hear and join in public 
 worship on the Sabbath before execution. It was 
 supposed that the hearts of these unfortunate 
 persons, however hardened before against feelings 
 of devotion, could not but be accessible to them upon 
 uniting their thoughts and voices, for the last time, 
 along with their fellow-mortals, in addressing their 
 Creator. And to the rest of the congregation, it 
 was thought it could not but be impressive and 
 affecting, to find their devotions mingling with those 
 who, sent by the doom of an earthly tribunal to 
 appear where the whole earth is judged, might be 
 considered as beings trembling on the verge of 
 eternity. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 FROM ' SONG OF THE OUTLAW MURRAY ' 
 
 ' GOD mot thee save, brave Outlaw Murray ! 
 
 Thy ladye, and all thy chyvalrie !' 
 ' Marry, thou's wellcum, gentleman, 
 
 Some King's messenger thou seemis to be.'
 
 188 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 ' The King of Scotlonde sent me here, 
 And, gude Outlaw, I am sent to thee ; 
 
 I wad not of whom ye hald your landis, 
 Or man, wha may thy master be ?' 
 
 ' Thir landis are MINE !' the Outlaw said ; 
 
 ' I ken nae King in Christentie ; 
 Frae Soudron I this Foreste wan, 
 
 When the King nor his knightis were not to 
 see.' 
 
 ' He desyres you'll cum to Edinburgh, 
 
 And hauld of him this Foreste fre ; 
 And, gif ye refuse to do this, 
 
 He'll conquess baith thy landis and thee. 
 He hath vow'd to cast thy castell down, 
 
 And mak a widowe o' thy gaye ladye ; 
 
 ' He'll hang thy merryemen, payr by payr. 
 
 In ony frith where he may them finde.' . 
 ' Ay, by my troth !' the Outlaw said, 
 
 ' Than would I thinke me far behinde. 
 
 ' Ere the King my feir countrie get, 
 
 This land that's nativest to me ! 
 Mony o' his nobilis sail be cauld, 
 
 Their ladyes sail be right wearie.' 
 
 Then spak his ladye, feir of face, 
 
 She seyd, ' Without consent of me, 
 That an Outlaw suld cum before a King ; 
 
 I am right afraid of treasonrie. 
 Bid him be gude to his lordis at hame, 
 
 For Edinburgh my lord sail nevir see.' 
 
 Border Minstrelsy.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF EDINBURGH 189 
 
 THE FIRTH OF FORTH 
 
 SLIDE soft, fair Forth, and make a crystal plain, 
 Cut your white locks, and on your foamy face 
 Let not a wrinkle be, when you embrace 
 The boat that earth's perfections doth contain. 
 Winds, wonder, and through wond'ring hold your 
 
 peace ; 
 
 Or if that ye your hearts cannot restrain 
 From sending sighs, mov'd by a lover's case, 
 Sigh, and in her fair hair yourselves enchain ; 
 Or take these sighs which absence makes arise 
 From mine oppressed breast, and wave the sails, 
 Or some sweet breath now brought from Paradise : 
 Floods seem to smile, love o'er the winds prevails, 
 And yet huge waves arise ; the cause is this, 
 The ocean strives with Forth the boat to kiss. 
 
 WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN. 
 TO CLARINDA 
 
 ON THE POET'S LEAVING EDINBURGH 
 
 CLARINDA, mistress of my soul, 
 
 The measur'd time is run ! 
 The wretch beneath the dreary pole 
 
 So marks his latest sun. 
 
 To what dark cave of frozen night 
 
 Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 
 Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 
 
 The sun of all his joy ? 
 
 We part but, by these precious drops 
 
 That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
 No other light shall guide my steps 
 
 Till thy bright beams arise.
 
 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
 
 Has blest my glorious day ; 
 And shall a glimmering planet fix 
 
 My worship to its ray ? 
 
 ROBERT BURNS.
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES
 
 Now here is the advantage of Edinburgh. In the country, 
 if a sense of inability seizes me, it haunts me from morning to 
 night, but in town the time is so occupied and frittered away 
 by official duties and chance occupations, that you have not 
 leisure to play Master Stephen and be melancholy and gentle- 
 manlike. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT.
 
 FROM ' THE MOTHER'S IDOL BROKEN ' 
 
 WITHIN a mile of Edinburgh town 
 We laid our little darling down ; 
 Our first seed in God's acre sown ! 
 
 So sweet a place ! Death looks beguiled 
 Of half his gloom ; or softly smiled 
 To win our wondrous spirit-child. 
 
 God giveth His Beloved sleep 
 
 So calm, within its silence deep, 
 
 As Angel-guards the watch might keep. 
 
 The City looketh solemn and sweet ; 
 It bares a gentle brow, to greet 
 The Mourners mourning at its feet. 
 
 The sea of human life breaks round 
 
 This shore o' the dead, with softened sound : 
 
 Wild flowers climb each mossy mound 
 
 To place in resting hands their palm, 
 
 And breathe their beauty, bloom and balm ; 
 
 Folding the dead in fragrant calm. 
 
 A softer shadow Grief might wear ; 
 And old Heartache come gather there 
 The peace that falleth after prayer. 
 
 Poor heart, that danced along the vines 
 All reeling-ripe with wild love-wines, 
 Thou walk'st with Death among the pines ! 
 !93 13
 
 194 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Lorn Mother, at the dark grave-door, 
 She kneeleth, pleading o'er and o'er ; 
 But it is shut for evermore. 
 
 She toileth on, the mournfull'st thing, 
 
 At the vain task of emptying 
 
 The cistern whence the salt tears spring. 
 
 Blind ! blind ! She feels, but cannot read 
 Aright ; then leans as she would feed 
 The dear dead lips that never heed. 
 
 The spirit of life may leap above, 
 But in that grave her prisoned Dove 
 Lies, cold to th' warm embrace of love, 
 
 And dark, though all the world is bright ; 
 And lonely, with a City in sight ; 
 And desolate in the rainy night. 
 
 Ah, God ! when in the glad life-cup 
 The face of Death swims darkly up, 
 The crowning flower is sure to droop ! 
 
 And so we laid our Darling down, 
 When summer's face grew ripely brown, 
 And still, though grief hath milder grown, 
 
 Unto the Stranger's land we cleave, 
 
 Like some poor Birds that grieve and grieve, 
 
 Round the robbed nest, and cannot leave. 
 
 GERALD MASSEY. 
 
 EDINBURGH SOCIETY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT'S 
 TIME 
 
 BEFORE I ever met Scott in private, I had, of course, 
 heard many people describe and discuss his style of
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 195 
 
 conversation. Everybody seemed to agree that it 
 overflowed with hearty good-humour, as well as 
 plain, unaffected good sense and sagacity ; but I had 
 heard not a few persons of undoubted ability and 
 accomplishment maintain, that the genius of the great 
 poet and novelist rarely, if ever, revealed itself in his 
 talk. It is needless to say, that the persons I allude 
 to were all his own countrymen, and themselves im- 
 bued, more or less, with the conversational habits 
 derived from a system of education in which the 
 study of metaphysics occupies a very large share of 
 attention. The best table-talk of Edinburgh was, 
 and probably still is, in a very great measure made up 
 of brilliant disquisition such as might be trans- 
 ferred without alteration to a professor's note-book, 
 or the pages of a critical Review and of sharp word- 
 catchings, ingenious thrusting and parrying of 
 dialectics, and all the quips and quibblets of bar 
 pleading. It was the talk of a society to which 
 lawyers and lecturers had, for at least a hundred years, 
 given the tone. From the date of the Union, Edin- 
 burgh ceased to be the headquarters of the Scotch 
 nobility and long before the time of which I speak, 
 they had all but entirely abandoned it as a place of 
 residence. I think I never knew above two or three 
 of the Peerage to have houses there at the same time 
 and these were usually among the poorest and most 
 insignificant of their order. The wealthier gentry 
 had followed their example. Very few of that class 
 ever spent any considerable part of the year in 
 Edinburgh, except for the purpose of educating their 
 children, or superintending the progress of a law- 
 suit ; and these were not more likely than a score or 
 two of comatose and lethargic old Indians, to make 
 
 13 2
 
 196 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 head against the established influences of academical 
 and forensic celebrity. Now Scott's taste and re- 
 sources had not much in common with those who had 
 inherited and preserved the chief authority in this 
 provincial hierarchy of rhetoric. He was highly 
 amused with watching their dexterous logomachies 
 but his delight in such displays arose mainly, I 
 cannot doubt, from the fact of their being, both as to 
 subject-matter and style and method, remote a 
 Sccevolee studiis. He sat by, as he would have done 
 at a stage-play or a fencing match, enjoying and 
 applauding the skill exhibited, but without feeling 
 much ambition to parade himself as a rival either of 
 the foil or the buskin. I can easily believe, therefore, 
 that in the earlier part of his life before the blaze 
 of universal fame had overawed local prejudice, and 
 a new generation, accustomed to hear of that fame 
 from their infancy, had grown up it may have 
 been the commonly adopted creed in Edinburgh, 
 that Scott, however disguised otherwise, was not to 
 be named as a table-companion in the same day with 
 this or that master of luminous dissertation or quick 
 rejoinder, who now sleeps as forgotten as his grand- 
 mother. . . . Scott had a marvellous stock of queer 
 stories, which he often told with happy effect, but 
 that, bating these drafts on a portentous memory, set 
 off with a simple old-fashioned naivete of humour 
 and pleasantry, his strain of talk was remarkable 
 neither for depth of remark nor facility of illus- 
 tration ; that his views and opinions on the most 
 important topics of practical interest were hopelessly 
 perverted by his blind enthusiasm for the dreams of 
 bygone ages. ... I fancy it will seem equally 
 credible, that the most sharp-sighted of these social
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 197 
 
 critics may not always have been capable of tracing, 
 and doing justice to, the powers which Scott brought 
 to bear upon the topics which they, not he, had 
 chosen for discussion. In passing from a gas-lit 
 hall into a room with wax candles, the guests some- 
 times complain that they have left splendour for 
 gloom ; but let them try by what sort of light it is 
 most satisfactory to read, write, or embroider, or 
 consider at leisure under which of the two either men 
 or women look their best. ... As for the clever old- 
 world anecdotes which these clever persons were con- 
 descending enough to laugh at as pleasant extrava- 
 gances, serving merely to relieve and set off the 
 main stream of debate, they were often enough, it 
 may be guessed, connected with the theme in hand 
 by links not the less apt that they might be too 
 subtle to catch their bedazzled and self-satisfied 
 optics. . . . There are a thousand homely old 
 proverbs, which many a dainty modern would think 
 it beneath his dignity to quote in speech or writing, 
 any one of which condenses more wit (take that word 
 in any of its senses) than could be extracted from all 
 that was ever said or written by the doctrinaires of 
 the Edinburgh school. Many of those gentlemen 
 held Scott's conversation to be commonplace exactly 
 for the same reason that a child thinks a perfectly 
 limpid stream, though perhaps deep enough to drown 
 it three times over, must needs be shallow. But it 
 will be easily believed that the best and highest of 
 their own idols had better means and skill of measure- 
 ment. I can never forget the pregnant expression 
 of one of the ablest of that school and party, Lord 
 Cockburn, who, when some glib youth chanced to 
 echo in his hearing the consolatory tenet of local
 
 198 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 mediocrity, answered quietly, ' I have the misfortune 
 to think differently from you ; in my humble opinion, 
 Walter Scott's sense is a still more wonderful thing 
 than his genius.' ... Of his Edinburgh acquaintances 
 . . . with few exceptions, the really able lawyers of 
 his own or nearly similar standing had ere this time 
 attained stations of judicial dignity, or were in the 
 springtide of practice ; and in either case they were 
 likely to consider general society much in his own 
 fashion, as the joyous relaxation of life, rather than 
 the theatre of exertion and display. Their tables 
 were elegantly, some of them sumptuously spread ; 
 and they lived in a pretty constant interchange of 
 entertainments upon a large scale, in every circum- 
 stance of which, conversation included, it was their 
 ambition to imitate those voluptuous metropolitan 
 circles, wherein most of them had from time to time 
 mingled, and several of them with distinguished 
 success. Among such prosperous gentlemen, like 
 himself past the mezzo cammin, Scott's picturesque 
 anecdotes, rich easy humour, and gay involuntary 
 glances of mother-wit, were, it is not difficult to sup- 
 pose, appreciated above contributions of a more 
 ambitious stamp ; and no doubt his London reputa- 
 tion de salon (which had by degrees risen to a high 
 pitch, although he cared nothing for it) was not with- 
 out effect in Edinburgh. 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 A DINNER IN ST. JOHN STREET 
 
 JAMES BALLANTYNE then [1818] lived in St. John 
 Street, a row of good old-fashioned and spacious 
 houses, adjoining the Canongate and Holyrood, and
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 199 
 
 at no great distance from his printing establishment. 
 ... As far as a stranger might judge, there could 
 not be a more exemplary household, or a happier 
 one ; and I have occasionally met the poet [Scott] 
 in St. John Street when there was no other guests 
 but Erskine, Terry, George Hogarth, and another 
 intimate friend or two, and when James Ballantyne 
 was content to appear in his own true and best 
 colours, the kind head of his family, the respectful 
 but honest school-fellow of Scott, the easy landlord 
 of a plain, comfortable table. But when any great 
 event was about to take place in the business, 
 especially on the eve of a new novel, there were 
 doings of a higher strain in St. John Street ; and to 
 be present at one of those scenes was truly a rich 
 treat, even if not especially for persons who, like 
 myself, had no more knowledge than the rest of the 
 world as to the authorship of ' Waverley.' Then 
 were congregated about the printer all his own 
 literary allies, of whom a considerable number were 
 by no means personally familiar with ' THE GREAT 
 UNKNOWN '; who, by the way, owed to him that 
 widely adopted title ; and He appeared among the 
 rest with his usual open aspect of buoyant good- 
 humour, although it was not difficult to trace, in the 
 occasional play of his features, the diversion it afforded 
 him to watch all the procedure of his swelling con- 
 fidant, and the curious neophytes that surrounded 
 the well-spread board. 
 
 The feast was, to use one of James's own favourite 
 epithets, gorgeous ; an aldermanic display of turtle 
 and venison, with the suitable accompaniments of 
 iced punch, potent ale, and generous Madeira. When 
 the cloth was drawn, the burley preses arose, with
 
 200 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 all he could muster of the port of John Kemble, and 
 spouted with a sonorous voice the formula of Mac- 
 beth 
 
 ' Fill full ! 
 I drink to the general joy of the whole table !' 
 
 This was followed by ' The King God bless him !' 
 and second came, ' Gentlemen, there is another toast 
 which never has nor shall be omitted in this house 
 of mine. I give you the health of Mr. Walter Scott 
 with three times three !' All honour having been 
 done to this health, and Scott having briefly thanked 
 the company with some expressions of warm affec- 
 tion to their host, Mrs. Ballantyne retired ; the 
 bottles passed round twice or thrice in the usual 
 way ; and then James rose once more, every vein on 
 his brow distended, his eyes solemnly fixed upon 
 vacancy, to propose, not as before in his stentorian 
 key, but with ' 'bated breath,' in a sort of whisper 
 by which a stage conspirator thrills the gallery, 
 ' Gentlemen, a bumper to the immortal Author of 
 Waverley /' 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 EDINBURGH'S GLORIOUS LITERARY PERIOD 
 
 EDINBURGH for about a hundred and thirty years 
 after the Union continued to be in effect, and not in 
 name merely, the capital of a kingdom, and occupied 
 a place in the eye of the world scarcely second to 
 
 that of London The high place which Edinburgh 
 
 held among the cities of the earth it owed exclusively 
 to the intellectual standing and high literary ability 
 of a few distinguished citizens, who were able to do 
 for it greatly more in the eye of Europe than had
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 201 
 
 been done by its Court and Parliament, or than could 
 have been done through any other agency, by the 
 capital of a small and poor country, peopled by 
 but a handful of men. . . . During the last 
 quarter of a century* one distinguished name after 
 another has been withdrawn by death from that 
 second great constellation of Scotchmen resident in 
 Edinburgh to which Chalmers, Sir Walter Scott, and 
 Lord Jeffrey belonged ; and with Sir William 
 Hamilton the last group may be said to have dis- 
 appeared. For the future, Edinburgh bids fair to 
 take its place simply among the greater provincial 
 towns of the empire ; and it seems but natural to 
 look upon her departing glory with a sigh, and to 
 luxuriate in recollection over the times when she 
 stood highest in the intellectual scale, and possessed 
 an influence over opinion co-extensive with civilized 
 man. . . . Lord Cockburn [author of the notable 
 ' Memorials '] came into life just in time to occupy 
 the most interesting point possible as an observer. 
 He was born nearly a year before Chalmers, only 
 eight years after Scott, and about fourteen years 
 before Lockhart. The place he occupied in that 
 group of eminent men to which the capital of Scot- 
 land owed its glory was thus, chronologically, nearly 
 a middle place, and the best conceivable for obser- 
 vation. He was in time too to see, at least as a boy, 
 most of the earlier group. The greatest of their 
 number, Hume, had, indeed, passed from off the 
 stage ; but almost all the others still lived. Home, 
 Robertson, Blair, Henry, were flourishing in green 
 old age at a time when he had shot up into curious 
 observant boyhood ; and Mackenzie and Dugald 
 * Written in 1856.
 
 202 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Stewart were still in but middle life. It is perhaps 
 beyond the reach of philosophy to assign adequate 
 reasons for the appearance at one period rather than 
 another of groups of great men. . . . Nor can it be 
 told why the Humes, Robertsons, and Adam Smiths 
 should have appeared together in one splendid group, 
 to give place to another group scarce less brilliant, 
 though in a different way. ... It is greatly easier to 
 say why such talent should have found a permanent 
 centre in Edinburgh. Simple as it may seem, the 
 prescriptive right of the capital to draft to its pulpits 
 the elite of the Established clergy did more for it 
 than almost aught else. Robertson the historian 
 had been minister of Gladsmuir ; Henry the historian, 
 minister of a Presbyterian congregation in Berwick ; 
 Hugh Blair, minister of Collessie ; Finlayson, so dis- 
 tinguished at one time for his sermons, and a meri- 
 torious Logic Professor in the University, had been 
 minister of Borthwick ; MacKnight, the Harmonist 
 of the Gospels, minister of Jedburgh ; and Dr. John 
 Erskine, minister of Kirkintilloch. But after they 
 had succeeded in making themselves known by their 
 writings, they were all concentrated in Edinburgh, 
 with not a few other able and brilliant men ; and, in 
 an age in which the Scottish clergy, whatever might 
 be their merely professional merits as a class, were 
 perhaps the most literary in Europe, such a privilege 
 could not fail to reflect much honour on the favoured 
 city for whose special benefit it was exerted. The 
 University, too, was singularly fortunate in its pro- 
 fessors, . . . and long maintained in high repute by 
 the Munroes, Cullens, and Gregories, and which 
 reckoned among its offshoots, though they concen- 
 trated their energies rather on physical and natural
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 203 
 
 than on medical science, men such as Hutton and 
 Black. In mathematics it had boasted in succession 
 of a David Gregory and Colin Maclaren, both friends 
 and proteges of Sir Isaac Newton ; and in later times 
 of a Matthew Stewart, John Playfair, and Sir John 
 Leslie. Both these last, with their predecessor 
 Robison, had also rendered its chair of natural 
 philosophy a very celebrated one ; and of its moral 
 science, it must be enough to say that its meta- 
 physical chair was filled in succession by Dr. Adam 
 Ferguson, Dugald Stewart, Thomas Brown, and 
 latterly by the brilliant Wilson, who, if less disting- 
 guished than his predecessors in the walks of abstract 
 thought, more than equalled them in genius, and in 
 his influence over the general literature of the age. 
 Such men are the gifts of Providence to a country, 
 and cannot be produced at any given time on the 
 ordinary principle of demand and supply. But even 
 when they exist, they may be kept out of their proper 
 places by an ill-exercised patronage ; and it must be 
 conceded to the old *close corporation of Edinburgh 
 that in the main it exercised its patronage with great 
 discrimination, and for the best interests of the city. 
 
 HUGH MILLER, 
 
 EDINBURGH SOCIETY 
 
 THERE is a very old rule, to do like the Romans when 
 you are in Rome ; and the only merit I lay claim to 
 on the present occasion, resolves itself into a rigid 
 observance of this sage precept. It is the fashion 
 here for every man to lead two or three different 
 kinds of lives all at once, and I have made shift to 
 do somewhat like my neighbours. In London, a
 
 204 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 lawyer is a lawyer, and he is nothing more ; for 
 going to the play or the House of Commons, now 
 and then, can scarcely be considered as any serious 
 interruption of his professional habits and existence. 
 In London, in like manner, a gay man is nothing but 
 a gay man ; for, however he may attempt to dis- 
 guise the matter, whatever he does out of the world 
 of gaiety is intended only to increase his consequence 
 in it. But here I am living in a city, which thrives 
 both by law and by gaieties, and, would you believe 
 it ? a very great share of the practice of both of these 
 mysteries lies in the very same hands. It is this, so 
 far as I can judge, which constitutes what the logi- 
 cians would call the differential quality of the society 
 of Edinburgh. ... Of late years the gentry of some 
 of the northern English counties have begun to come 
 hither, in preference to going to York as they used 
 to do ; and out of all this medley of materials, the 
 actual mass of the society of Edinburgh is formed. 
 I mean the winter society of Edinburgh ; for in the 
 summer months, that is, from April till Christmas, 
 the town is commonly deserted by all, except those who 
 have ties of real business to connect them with it. 
 Nay, during a considerable portion of that time, it 
 loses, as I am informed, the greater part even of its 
 eminent lawyers, and has quite as green and desolate 
 an appearance, as the fashionable squares in London 
 have about the falling of the leaf. 
 
 The medley of people thus brought together for 
 a few months every year to inhabit a few streets in 
 this city, cannot afford to split their forces very 
 minutely, so as to form many different spheres of 
 society, according to their opinions of their relative 
 rank and importance. It is now admitted every-
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 205 
 
 where, that no party is worth the going to unless it 
 be a crowded one ; now, it is not possible to form a 
 party here that shall be at once select and crowded. 
 The dough and the leaven must go together to make up 
 the loaf, and the wives of lords and lairds, and 
 advocates, and writers, must be contented to club 
 their forces, if they are to produce anything that 
 deserves the honourable name of a squeeze. Now and 
 then, indeed, a person of the very highest importance 
 may by great exertion succeed in forming one excep- 
 tion to the rule. But the rule is in general a safe 
 one ; and the Edinburgh parties are in the main 
 mixed parties. I do not mean that they are mixed 
 in a way that renders them at all disagreeable, even 
 to those who have been accustomed to the style of 
 society in much greater capitals, but that they are 
 mixed in a way of which no example is to be found in 
 the parties of London, or indeed of any European 
 capital. . . . People visit each other in Edinburgh 
 with all the appearance of cordial familiarity, who, 
 if they lived in London, would imagine their differ- 
 ence of rank to form an impassable barrier against 
 such intercourse. . . . However composed and 
 arranged, the routs and balls of this place are, during 
 their season, piled upon each other with quite as 
 much bustle and pomp as those even of London. 
 Every night some half a dozen ladies are at home, 
 and everything that is in the wheel of fashion is 
 carried round, and thrown out in due course at the 
 door of each of them. There is at least one regular 
 ball every evening, and besides this, half of the routs 
 are in their waning hours transformed into carpet - 
 dances, wherein quadrilles are performed in a very 
 penseroso method to the music of the pianoforte.
 
 206 
 
 Upon the whole, however, I am inclined to be of 
 opinion, that even those who most assiduously fre- 
 quent these miscellaneous assemblages are soon 
 sickened, if they durst but confess the truth, of the 
 eternal repetition of the same identical crowd dis- 
 playing its noise and pressure under so many different 
 roofs. Far be it from me to suspect, that there are 
 not some faces, of which no eye can grow weary ; but, 
 in spite of their loveliness, I am certainly of opinion, 
 that the impression made by the belles of Edinburgh 
 would be more powerful, were it less frequently 
 reiterated. 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 A GROUP OF LADIES IN OLD EDINBURGH 
 
 THERE was a singular race of excellent Scotch old 
 ladies. They were a delightful set ; strong-headed, 
 warm-hearted, and high-spirited ; the fire of their 
 tempers not always latent ; merry, even in solitude ; 
 very resolute ; indifferent about modes and habits of 
 the modern world ; and adhering to their own ways, 
 so as to stand out, like primitive rocks, above ordinary 
 society. Their prominent qualities of sense, humour, 
 affection, and spirit, were embodied in curious out- 
 sides ; for they all dressed, and spoke, and did, exactly 
 as they chose ; their language, like their habits, 
 entirely Scotch, but without any other vulgarity 
 than what perfect naturalness is sometimes mis- 
 taken for. 
 
 There sits a clergyman's widow, the mother of the 
 first Sir David Dundas. . . . We used to go to her 
 house in Bunker's Hill, when boys, on Sundays be- 
 tween the morning and afternoon sermons, where we
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 207 
 
 were cherished with Scotch broth, and cakes, and 
 many a joke from the old lady. Age had made her 
 incapable of walking, even across the room ; so, 
 clad in a plain black silk gown, and a pure muslin 
 cap, she sat half encircled by a high-backed black 
 leather chair, reading, with silver spectacles stuck 
 on her thin nose, and interspersing her studies, and 
 her days, with much laughter, and not a little sar- 
 casm. What a spirit ! There was more fun and 
 sense round that chair than in the theatre or the 
 church. I remember one of her grand- daughters 
 stumbling, in the course of reading the newspapers 
 to her, on a paragraph which stated that a lady's 
 reputation had suffered from some indiscreet talk 
 on the part of the Prince of Wales. Up she of four- 
 score sat, and said with an indignant shake of her 
 shrivelled fist and a keen voice, ' The dawmed villain ! 
 does he kiss and tell !' 
 
 And there is Lady Armiston, the mother of Henry 
 Dundas, the first Lord Melville, so kind to us mis- 
 chievous boys on Saturdays. She was generally to 
 be found in the same chair, on the same spot ; her 
 thick black hair combed all tightly up into a cone on 
 the top of her head ; the remains of considerable 
 beauty in her countenance ; great and just pride in 
 her son ; a good representative in her general air and 
 bearing of what the noble English ladies must have 
 been in their youth, who were queens in their family 
 castles, and stood sieges in defence of them. . . . 
 
 And Sophia or, as she was always called, Suphy 
 Johnston, of the Hilton family. There was an 
 original ! Her father, from some whim, resolved to 
 see how it would turn out, and gave her no education 
 whatever. Possessed of great natural vigour of
 
 208 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 mind, she passed her youth in utter rusticity ; in the 
 course of which, however, she made herself a good 
 carpenter and a good smith, arts which she practised 
 occasionally, even to the shoeing of a horse, I believe, 
 till after the middle of her life. It was not till after 
 she became a woman that she taught herself to read 
 and write ; and then she read incessantly. She must 
 have been about sixty before I ever saw her, which 
 was chiefly, and often, at Niddrie. Her dress was 
 always the same, a man's hat when out of doors, and 
 generally when within them, a cloth covering exactly 
 like a man's great-coat, buttoned closely from the 
 chin to the ground, worsted stockings, strong shoes 
 with large brass clasps. And in this raiment she sat 
 in any drawing-room, and at any table, amidst all 
 the fashion and aristocracy of the land, respected and 
 liked. For her dispositions were excellent ; her talk 
 intelligent and racy, rich both in old anecdote, and 
 in shrewd modern observation, and spiced with a good 
 deal of plain sarcasm ; her understanding powerful ; 
 all her opinions free, and very freely expressed ; and 
 neither loneliness, nor very slender means, ever 
 brought sourness or melancholy to her face or her 
 heart. 
 
 Sitting, with her back to the light, in the usual arm- 
 chair by the side of the fire, in the Niddrie drawing- 
 room, with her great-coat and her hat, her dark 
 wrinkled face, and firmly pursed mouth, the two feet 
 set flat on the floor and close together, so that the 
 public had a full view of the substantial shoes, the 
 book held by the two hands very near the eyes, if 
 the quick ear overheard any presumptuous folly, be 
 it from solemn gentleman or fine lady, down went the 
 volume, up the spectacles ' that's surely great non-
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 209 
 
 sense, sir,' though she had never seen him before ; 
 then a little Quart and Tierce would begin, and the 
 wight must have been very lucky if it did not end by 
 his being smote. 
 
 Her own proper den was in a flat on the ground 
 floor of a house in Windmill Street, where her sole 
 companion was a single female servant. When the 
 servant went out, which she generally took the liberty 
 of doing for the whole of Sunday, Suphy's orders 
 were that she should lock the door, and take the key 
 with her. This saved Suphy the torment of always 
 rising ; for people went away when they found the 
 house, as they thought, shut up. But she had a hole 
 through which she saw them perfectly well ; and, if 
 she was inclined, she conversed through this orifice ; 
 and when tired of them told them to go away. 
 
 Though enjoying life, neither she nor any of those 
 stout-hearted women had any horror of death. 
 When Suphy's day was visibly approaching, Dr. 
 Gregory prescribed abstinence from animal food, and 
 recommended ' spoon meat,' unless she wished to 
 die. ' Dee, Doctor ! odd I'm thinking they've for- 
 gotten an auld wife like me up yonder !' However, 
 when he came back next day, the doctor found her 
 at the spoon meat supping a haggis. 
 
 The contrasts to these were Lady Don, and Mrs. 
 Rochead of Inverleith, two dames of high aristo- 
 cratic breed. They had both shone, first as hooped 
 beauties in the minuets, then as ladies of ceremonies 
 at our stately assemblies. Each carried her peculiar 
 qualities and air to the very edge of the grave ; Lady 
 Don's dignity softened by gentle sweetness, Mrs. 
 Rochead's made more formidable by cold and rather 
 severe solemnity. 
 
 14
 
 210 
 
 Except Mrs. Siddons in some of her displays of 
 magnificent royalty, nobody could sit down like the 
 lady of Inverleith. She would sail, like a ship from 
 Tarshish, gorgeous in velvet or rustling in silk, and 
 done up in all the accompaniments of fan, earrings 
 and finger rings, falling sleeves, scent bottle, em- 
 broidered bag, hoop and train all superb, yet all 
 in purest taste ; and managing all this seemingly 
 heavy rigging, with as much ease as a full blown 
 swan does its plumage, she would take possession of 
 the centre of a large sofa, and at the same moment, 
 without the slightest visible exertion, would cover 
 the whole of it with her bravery. The graceful folds 
 seeming to lay themselves over it like summer waves. 
 The descent from her carriage too, where she sat like 
 a nautilus in its shell, was a display which no one in 
 these days could accomplish or even fancy. The 
 mulberry-coloured coach, spacious but apparently 
 not too large for what it carried, though she alone 
 was in it ; the handsome jolly coachman and his 
 splendid hammercloth loaded with lace ; the two 
 respectful liveried footmen, one on each side of the 
 richly carpeted step ; these were lost sight of amidst 
 the slow majesty with which the lady came down and 
 touched the earth. She presided, in this imperial 
 style, over her son's excellent dinners, with great 
 sense and spirit, to the very last day almost of a 
 prolonged life. 
 
 Lady Don (who lived in George Street) was still 
 more highly bred, as was attested by her polite 
 cheerfulness and easy elegance. The venerable faded 
 beauty, the white well-coiled hair, the soft hand 
 sparkling with old brilliant rings, the kind heart, the 
 affectionate manner, the honest gentle voice, and the
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 211 
 
 mild eye, account for the love with which her old 
 age was surrounded. She was about the last person 
 (so far as I recollect) in Edinburgh who kept a private 
 sedan chair. Hers stood in the lobby, and was as 
 handsome and comfortable as silk, velvet, and gilding 
 could make it. And, when she wished to use it, two 
 well-known respectable chairmen, enveloped in their 
 livery cloaks, were the envy of their brethren. She 
 and Mrs. Rochead both sat in the Tron Church ; and 
 well do I remember how I used to form one of the 
 cluster that always took its station to see these 
 beautiful relics emerge from the coach and the chair. 
 
 Lady Hunter Blair too ! and Mrs. Murray of 
 Henderland ! Unlike, but both admirable. Lady 
 Blair's elegance and sprightliness would have graced 
 and enlivened the best society ; but her tastes and 
 virtues were entirely domestic, and made her the most 
 delightful of household deities. Mild, affectionate, 
 and cheerful, she attracted the love of all ages, and 
 closed her many days without once knowing from 
 personal consciousness what selfishness or want of 
 charity meant. 
 
 Mrs. Murray was stately, even to stiffness ; but 
 friendly and high minded ; calm and ladylike in her 
 dignity. The ceremonious formality of her air and 
 demeanour was made graceful and appropriate by 
 a once beautiful countenance still entire in its best 
 features, but attenuated into such a death-like 
 paleness, that but for the unquenched light of a 
 singularly radiant eye, she would have been a human 
 statue. 
 
 Miss Menie Trotter, of the Mortonhall family, was 
 of a later date. She was of the agrestic order. Her 
 pleasures lay in the fields and long country walks. 
 
 14 2
 
 212 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Ten miles at a stretch, within a few years of her 
 death, was nothing to her. Her attire accorded. 
 But her understanding was fully as masculine. 
 Though slenderly endowed, she did, unnoticed, acts 
 of liberality for which most of the rich would expect 
 to be advertised. Prevailing loneliness gave her 
 some entertaining habits, but never impaired her 
 enjoyment of her friends, for whom she had always 
 diverting talk, and occasionally ' a bit denner.' 
 Indeed, she generally sacrificed an ox to hospitality 
 every autumn, which, according to a system of her 
 own, she ate regularly from nose to tail ; and as she 
 indulged in him only on Sundays, and with a chosen 
 few, he feasted her half through the winter. This 
 was at Blackford Cottage, a melancholy villa on the 
 north side of Blackford Hill, where the last half, at 
 the least, of her life was passed. I remember her 
 urging her neighbour Sir Thomas Lauder, not long 
 before her death, to dine with her next Sunday : 
 ' For eh ! Sir Thammas ! we're terrible near the tail 
 noo.' She told me that her oldest friends were the 
 Inneses of Stow and the Scotts of Malleny, families 
 she had known for above eighty-five years. They 
 and the Mortonhall family had each a mansion house 
 in town ; two of them being the two corner houses at 
 the lower end of a close leading from the High Street 
 down to the Cowgate, and the third one of the 
 corner houses opposite, at the lower end of the close 
 leading from the Cowgate southwards, each of the 
 three houses looking into both the Cowgate and the 
 close. . . . On one of her friends asking her, not long 
 before her death, how she was, she said, ' Vera weel 
 quite weel ! a fearfu' dream !' ' Aye ! I'm sorry 
 for that what was it ?' ' Ou ! what d'ye think !
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 213 
 
 Of a' places i' the world, I dreamed I was in heeven ! 
 And what d'ye think I saw there ? Deil ha'et but 
 thoosands upon thoosands, and ten thoosands upon 
 ten thoosands, o' stark naked weans ! That wad be 
 a dreadfu' thing ! for ye ken I ne'er could bide bairns 
 a' my days !' 
 
 HENRY COCKBURN. 
 
 EDINBURGH BEAUS AND BELLES 
 
 THE Assembly Close received the fair ; 
 
 Order and elegance presided there 
 
 Each gay Right Honourable had her place, 
 
 To walk a minuet with becoming grace. 
 
 No racing to the dance, with rival hurry 
 
 Such was thy sway, O famed Miss Nicky Murray ! 
 
 Each lady's fan a chosen Damon bore, 
 
 With care selected many a day before ; 
 
 For, unprovided with a favourite beau, 
 
 The nymph, chagrined, the ball must needs forgo, 
 
 But previous matters to her taste arranged, 
 
 Certes, the constant couple never changed ; 
 
 Through a long night, to watch fair Delia's will, 
 
 The same dull swain was at her elbow still. 
 
 SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL. 
 ART IN EDINBURGH 
 
 Shepherd. Catch me harpin' ower lang on ae string. 
 Yet music's a subject I could get ga'en tiresome upon. 
 
 Tickler. So is painting and poetry. 
 
 Shepherd. Paintin' ! na that's the warst ava. 
 Gang into an exhibition, and only look at a crowd 
 o' cockneys, some wi' specs, and some wi' quizzing- 
 glasses, and faces without ae grain o' meaning in
 
 214 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 them o' ony kind whatsomever, a' glowering perhaps 
 at a picture o' ane o' Nature's maist fearfu' or mag- 
 nificent warks ! Mowdiewarts ! they might as well 
 look at the new-harled gable-end o' a barn. Is't a 
 picture o' a deep dungeon den o' ruefu' rocks, and 
 the waterfa' its raging prisoner, because nae wizard 
 will with his key open but a wicket in the ancient 
 gates of that lonesome penitentiary ? Is't a picture 
 o' a lang endless glen, wi' miles on miles o' dreary 
 mosses, and hags, and lochs thae wee black fear- 
 some lochs that afttimes gurgle in their sullen sleep 
 as if they wanted to grup and drown ye as you gang 
 by them, same lonely hour, takin' care to keep at 
 safe distance along the benty knowes mountain 
 above mountain far and near, some o' them illumin- 
 ated with a' their woods till the verra pine-trees seem 
 made o' heaven's sunshine, and ithers, wi' a weight 
 o' shadows that drown the sight o' a' their precipices, 
 and gar the michty mass o' earth gloom like thunder- 
 clouds, wi' nae leevin' thing in the solitude but 
 your plaited self, and the eagle like a mote in the fir- 
 mament. Siccan a scene as Tamson o' Duddingston 
 wad trummel as he daured to paint it. What, I ask, 
 could a Princes Street maister or missy ken o' sic a 
 work mair than a red-deer wad ken o' the inside o' 
 George's Street Assembly Rooms, gin he were to be 
 at Gow's Ball ? 
 
 Tickler. Or in the vegetable market. North, have 
 you seen that worthy original Martin since he came 
 to town ? 
 
 North. I have and I have seen his collection too at 
 No. 44, North Hanover Street ; rare, choice, splendid. 
 What a Paul Potter ! What a Rembrandt ! What a 
 Correggio ! It is a proud thing to know that such
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 215 
 
 pictures find purchasers in Scotland : for we are not 
 rich. 
 
 Tickler. Neither are we poor. We say that Edin- 
 burgh is a city of palaces. This is a somewhat 
 exaggerated spirit of vain talk ; but certainly it con- 
 tains no small number of large commodious houses, 
 in which, five, ten, twenty thousand a year may be 
 spent with consistency and decorum ; and of the 
 furniture of each shall no part be pictures ? Bare 
 walls in the houses of wealthy men betray a poorness 
 of spirit. Let them go to my friend Martin. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER NORTH. 
 
 MARJORY MUSHROOM WRITES TO ' THE 
 LOUNGER ' 
 
 EDINBURGH, 
 
 February 25, 1786. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 I troubled you some time ago with a letter 
 from the country ; now that I am come to town, I 
 use the freedom to write to you again. I find the 
 same difficulty in being happy, with every thing to 
 make me so here as there. When I tell this to my 
 country friends, they won't believe me. Lord ! to 
 see how the Miss Homespuns looked when they came 
 to take leave of me the morning we set out for Edin- 
 burgh ; I had just put on my new riding-habit which 
 my brother fetched me from London ; and my hat, 
 with two green and three white feathers ; and Miss 
 Jessy Homespun admired it so much ; and when I 
 let her put it on, she looked in the glass, and said with 
 a sigh, how charming it was ! I had such a head- 
 ache with it all the morning, but I kept that to 
 myself. ' And do, my dear, (said she) write to us
 
 216 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 poor moping creatures in the country. But you 
 won't have leisure to think of us ; you will be so 
 happy, and so much amused.' At that moment 
 my brother's post coach rattled up to the door, and 
 the poor Homespuns cried so when we parted ! To 
 be sure, they thought a town life, with my brother's 
 fortune to procure all its amusements, must be quite 
 delightful. Now, sir, to let you know how I found it. 
 I was content to be lugged about by my sister for 
 the first week or two, as I knew that in a large town 
 I should be like a fish out of water, as the saying is. 
 But my sister-in-law was always putting me in mind 
 of my ignorance : ' and you country-girls, and we 
 who have been in London, and we who have been 
 abroad.' However, between ourselves, I don't find 
 that she knows quite so much as she would make me 
 believe. . . . We have got masters that come in to 
 give us lessons in French, and music, and dancing. 
 The two first I can submit to very well. I could 
 always get my tongue readily enough about any 
 thing ; and I could play pretty well on the virginals 
 at home, though my master says my fingering is 
 not what it should be. But the dancing is terrible 
 business. My sister-in-law and I are put into the 
 stocks every morning to teach us the right position 
 of our feet ; and all the steps I was praised for in the 
 country are now good for nothing, as the cotillon 
 step is the only thing fit for people of fashion ; and 
 so we are twisted and twirled till my joints ache 
 again ; and after all, we make, I believe, a very bad 
 figure at it. Indeed, I have not yet ventured to try 
 my hand, my feet I mean, before any body. But my 
 sister-in-law, who is always praised for every thing 
 she does, would needs try her cotillon steps at the
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 217 
 
 assembly ; and her partner, Captain Coupee, a con- 
 stant visitor at my brother's, told her what an 
 admirable dancer she was ; but in truth she was out 
 of time every instant, and I heard the people titter- 
 ing at her country fling as they called it. And so in 
 the same manner the captain one day at our house 
 swore she sung like an angel (drinking her health in 
 a bumper of my brother's champagne) ; and yet as I 
 walked behind him next morning in Princes Street, I 
 overheard him saying to one of his companions, that 
 Mushroom's dinners were damn'd good things, if it 
 were not for the bore of the singing ; and that the 
 little Nabobina squalled like a peahen. . . . 
 
 Here, as before, comme il faut is still held out as 
 a law to us. We have besides got another phrase, 
 which is perpetually dinned into my ears by my 
 sister-in-law, and that is ton. Such a person is a 
 very good kind of person, but such another is more 
 the ton : such a lady is handsomer, more witty, more 
 polite, and more good-humoured than another ; 
 but that other is much more the ton. I have often 
 asked my sister, and even my French master, to 
 explain the meaning of this word ton ; but they have 
 told me there was no translation for it. I think, 
 however, I have found it out to be a very convenient 
 thing for some people. Tis like what my grand- 
 father, who was a great admirer of John Knox, used 
 to tell of popish indulgences : folks who are the ton 
 may do any thing they like, without being in the 
 wrong ; and every thing that is the ton is right, let 
 it be what it will. ... I can't help often secretly 
 wishing I were back again at my father's, where I 
 should not be obliged to be happy whether I would 
 or not. Yours, etc., MARJORY MUSHROOM.
 
 2i8 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Later. 
 SIR, 
 
 Here (at home) I have much more time to 
 write ; but, unfortunately, I have fewer subjects ; 
 and those too none of the most enlivening. ... I 
 find my time hang very heavy on my hands ; though 
 I try all I can to coax away a great part of the day. 
 As I am a person of some consequence since my late 
 journey (to Edinburgh), they indulge me a good deal 
 in the disposal of my time, even though it sometimes 
 runs a little cross to the regularity of theirs ; only 
 my father growls now and then ; but we don't mind 
 that much. I seldom rise till near eleven, and 
 generally breakfast in bed. I read the newspapers 
 my brother sends down, all except the politics. I 
 stroll out between one and three ; then, if I dress, 
 or perhaps alter the set of my cap, or change my 
 feathers before the glass, I am seldom ready till long 
 past dinner-time ; they put it back an hour ever 
 since my brother first came home. In the evening 
 I play the new minuets, teach my sisters cards, or we 
 guess the riddles in the Lady's Magazine ; and I think 
 of the promenade in Princes Street, and of Dunn's 
 rooms, and of being in Edinburgh next winter if I 
 can. Believe me, I am, whether in town or country, 
 your constant reader and admirer, MARJORY MUSH- 
 ROOM. 
 
 HENRY MACKENZIE. 
 
 ' THE LOUNGER ' IN EDINBURGH 
 
 February 26, 1785. At an assembly at which I hap- 
 pened to be present a few nights ago, my notice was 
 peculiarly attracted by a gentleman with what is 
 called a fresh look for his age, dressed in a claret-
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 219 
 
 coloured coat, with gold buttons, of a cut not alto- 
 gether modern, an embroidered waistcoat with very 
 large flaps, a major wig, long ruffles nicely plaited 
 (that looked, however, as if the fashion had come to 
 them rather than that they had been made for the 
 fashion) ; his white-silk stockings ornamented with 
 figured clocks, and his shoes with high insteps, 
 buckled with small round gold buckles. His sword, 
 with a silver hilt somewhat tarnished, I might have 
 thought only an article of his dress, had not a cockade 
 in his hat marked him for a military man. It was 
 some time before I was able to find out who he was, 
 till my friend Mr. S. informed me he was a very 
 worthy relation of his, who had not been in town 
 above twice these forty years ; that an accidental 
 piece of business had lately brought him from his 
 house in the country, and he had been prevailed on 
 to look on the ladies of Edinburgh at two or three 
 public places before he went home again, that he 
 might see whether they were as handsome as their 
 mothers and grandmothers, whom he had danced 
 with at balls, and squired to plays and concerts, near 
 half a century ago. ' He was,' continued my friend, 
 ' a professed admirer and votary of sex ; and when he 
 was a young man fought three duels for the honour 
 of the ladies, in one of which he was run through the 
 body, but luckily escaped with his life. The lady, 
 however, for whom he fought, did not reward her 
 knight as she ought to have done, but soon after 
 married another man with a larger fortune ; upon 
 which he forswore society in a great measure, and 
 though he continued for several years to do his duty 
 in the army, and actually rose to the rank of 
 lieutenant-colonel, mixed but little in the world,
 
 220 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 and has for a long space of time resided at his estate 
 a determined bachelor, and with somewhat of mis- 
 anthropy, and a great deal of good-nature about 
 him. If you please, I will introduce you to him 
 Colonel Caustic, this is a very particular friend of mine, 
 who solicits the honour of being known to you.' 
 
 April 9, 1785. Some weeks ago, a piece of im- 
 portant family business brought me to town. The 
 morning after I arrived, I sent for a tailor, wishing to 
 make a decent appearance in your city ; which, by 
 the way, I found so much changed since I had left 
 it, that till I got into what is called the Old Town, 
 I did not know where I was, and could not recognize 
 the ancient dusky capital of Caledonia. As I was 
 at no time very attentive to dress, and as now I only 
 wished to comply so far with the fashion of the 
 times as not to offend those with whom I was to 
 mingle in society, I desired my tailor to make me a 
 plain suit of clothes, leaving the choice of the colour, 
 etc., entirely to him. Next day, he brought me home 
 a blue frock, a scarlet waistcoat, with gold buttons, 
 and a pair of black silk breeches. I could not help 
 observing, that I should have preferred a plain suit, 
 all of a piece, to the parti-coloured garment in 
 which he had decked me. But he shut my mouth, 
 by saying, that it was quite the fashion ; that every- 
 body wore it. ... Being engaged to dine at the house 
 of a gentleman high in office, I dressed myself in my 
 new suit ; and when I joined the company, which was 
 numerous, I found that my tailor had done me 
 justice, almost everybody being precisely in the 
 same dress ; and some of the guests were of the first 
 distinction. Next day I went to dine at the house 
 of Lord , to whom I have the honour of being
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 221 
 
 related. I found assembled here a large company 
 of ladies and gentlemen. Soon after I entered the 
 room we were called to dinner ; and at table I had 
 the good fortune to be placed next to the beautiful 
 
 and sprightly Lady . As upon the former day, 
 
 so here, the conversation soon turned upon the 
 present administration ; but, to my no small astonish- 
 ment, the opinion of every person present was in every 
 particular directly opposite to every opinion I had 
 heard the day before. ... I ventured to ask Lady 
 
 what objection she had to Mr. Pitt ? ' O, I 
 
 can't bear him,' said she, ' he does not like us ; and 
 the only mark of attention he ever paid us was im- 
 posing an odious burden upon our ruffes and aprons.' 
 At that instant I happened to unbutton my coat, and 
 
 Lady immediately exclaimed, ' Lord, sir, are 
 
 you a Pittite ? I took you for one of us.' I, though 
 surprised at the question, answered gravely, that I 
 was more a Pittite than a Hittite. ' Then, sir, why 
 do you wear a red waistcoat ? I am sick at the very 
 sight of it. Why are you not in buff ? I would not 
 give a farthing for a man but in buff.' This observa- 
 tion called my attention to the dress of the gentlemen 
 at table, and I found that all of them were dressed 
 in buff waistcoats, to which some of them, who 
 appeared to be most zealous in their political prin- 
 ciples, had added buff breeches. ... In short, sir, 
 I now find that the good people of your town are 
 divided into two opposite parties, and that a spirit 
 of faction universally prevails. ... It is with pleasure 
 I remark, that the ladies of Edinburgh have contented 
 themselves with such little eccentricities of appearance, 
 and never indulged in those excesses which prevail in 
 other parts of the island, particularly in the capital.
 
 222 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 May 7, 1785. A person who, after living a number 
 of years in retirement, returns again into society, is 
 somewhat in the situation of the foreigner. Like 
 him, he is apt to be misled by prejudices ; but, like 
 him too, he remarks many things which escape the 
 observation of those whose sensations are blunted by 
 habit, and whose attention is less awake to the objects 
 around them. It was this that afforded me so much 
 amusement in the conversation of my new acquaint- 
 ance, Colonel Caustic. Like the Sleepers, when they 
 entered the city of Ephesus, Colonel Caustic, on 
 coming to Edinburgh after forty years' residence in 
 the country, found a total change in the appearance, 
 in the dress, the manners, and the customs of its in- 
 habitants. Every man, perhaps, at an advanced age, 
 is more or less a laudator temporis acti, and naturally 
 feels a predilection for those happy days when 
 novelty added to the charms of life, and gave a zest 
 to every enjoyment. . . . The conversation soon 
 turned upon the improvements of this city. Mr. B. 
 spoke with much fluency on this subject ; and, 
 addressing himself to Colonel Caustic, observed that 
 formerly Edinburgh was in a manner uninhabitable ; 
 that thirty years ago there was not a house fit for a 
 gentleman to live in ; that the pleasures of society 
 were then unknown ; and that we now only begin to 
 know how to live. Colonel Caustic admitted, that 
 as a town Edinburgh no doubt was improved. ' But 
 you must forgive me,' added he, ' for doubting if the 
 society of Edinburgh has improved in an equal de- 
 gree.' ' Unquestionably it has,' said Mr. B. ' You 
 must remember the time when there was not a dinner 
 to be had in any house in town ; when the men passed 
 their whole time in taverns, and the women were
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 223 
 
 left alone, to amuse themselves as best they could.' 
 ' There is some truth in the observation,' said Lady 
 
 ; ' but yet, upon the whole, those were not bad 
 
 times.' ' I agree with your ladyship,' said Colonel 
 Caustic. 
 
 January 21, 1786. It is possible that in the 
 country they may have given way to some vulgar 
 prejudices, which it were highly improper to retain 
 in town. It may not be amiss, however, to inform 
 them, in this place, what they might otherwise have 
 scrupled to believe, that the church has of late be- 
 come a place of fashionable resort in Edinburgh ; and 
 what is still more odd, that fine people actually attend 
 to the sermon. The eloquence of some of our 
 preachers, like the dagger of Macbeth, has ' murdered 
 sleep ' there ; for which reason, it will not be so con- 
 venient as formerly to go thither after a late supper, 
 or a long party at whist, the night before. 
 
 HENRY MACKENZIE. 
 
 MISS BETTY AND HER EDINBURGH MANTLE 
 
 IT happened that Miss Betty Wudrife, the daughter 
 of an heritor, had been on a visit to some of her 
 friends in Edinburgh ; and, being in at Edinburgh, 
 she came out with a fine mantle, decked and adorned 
 with many a ribbon-knot, such as had never been 
 seen in the parish. The Lady Macadam, hearing of 
 this grand mantle, sent to beg Miss Betty to lend it 
 to her, to make a copy for young Mrs. Macadam. 
 But Miss Betty was so vogie [vain] with her gay 
 mantle that she sent back word, it would be making 
 it o'er common ; which so nettled the old courtly 
 lady that she vowed revenge, and said the mantle 
 would not be long seen on Miss Betty. Nobody
 
 224 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 knew the meaning of her words ; but she sent pri- 
 vately for Miss Sabrina, the schoolmistress, who was 
 aye proud of being invited to my lady's, where she 
 went on the Sabbath night to drink tea, and to read 
 Thomson's Seasons and Hervey's Meditations for her 
 ladyship's recreation. Between the two a secret 
 plot was laid against Miss Betty and her Edinburgh 
 mantle ; and Miss Sabrina, in a very treacherous 
 manner, for the which I afterwards chided her 
 severely, went to Miss Betty, and got a sight of the 
 mantle, and how it was made, and all about it, until 
 she was in a capacity to make another like it ; by 
 which my lady and she, from old silk and satin 
 negligees which her ladyship had worn at the French 
 court, made up two mantles of the self-same fashion 
 as Miss Betty's, and, if possible, more sumptuously 
 garnished, but in a flagrant fool way. On the Sunday 
 morning after, her ladyship sent for Jenny Gaffaw, 
 and her daft daughter Meg, and showed them the 
 mantles, and said she would give them half a crown if 
 they would go with them to the kirk, and take their 
 place in the bench beside the elders, and, after wor- 
 ship, walk home before Miss Betty Wudrife. The 
 two poor natural things were just transported with 
 the sight of such bravery, and needed no other bribe ; 
 so, over their bits of ragged duds, they put on the 
 pageantry, and walked away to the kirk like pea- 
 cocks, and took their place on the bench, to the great 
 diversion of the whole congregation. 
 
 I had no suspicion of this, and had prepared an 
 affecting discourse about the horrors of war, in which 
 I touched, with a tender hand, on the troubles that 
 threatened families and kindred in America ; but all 
 the time I was preaching, doing my best, and ex-
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 225 
 
 patiating till the tears came into my eyes, I could not 
 divine what was the cause of the inattention of my 
 people. For the two vain haverels were on the bench 
 under me, and I could not see them ; and there they 
 sat, spreading their feathers and picking their wings, 
 stroking down and setting right their finery, with 
 such an air as no living soul could see and withstand, 
 while every eye in the kirk was now on them, and 
 now on Miss Betty Wudrife, who was in a worse 
 situation than if she had been on the stool of re- 
 pentance. 
 
 Greatly grieved with the little heed that was paid 
 to my discourse, I left the pulpit with a heavy heart. 
 But when I came out into the kirkyard, and saw the 
 two antics, linking like ladies, and aye keeping in 
 the way before Miss Betty, and looking back and 
 around in their pride and admiration, with high 
 heads and a wonderful pomp, I was really over- 
 come, and could not keep my gravity, and laughed 
 loud out among the graves, and in the face of all my 
 people ; who, seeing how I was vanquished in that 
 unguarded moment by my enemy, made a universal 
 and most unreverent breach of all decorum, at which 
 Miss Betty, who had been the cause of all, ran into 
 the first open door, and almost fainted away with 
 mortification. 
 
 This affair was regarded by the elders as a sinful 
 trespass on the orderliness that was needful in the 
 Lord's house ; and they called on me at the manse 
 that night, and said it would be a guilty connivance 
 if I did not rebuke and admonish Lady Macadam of 
 the evil of her way ; for they had questioned daft 
 Jenny, and had got at the bottom of the whole plot 
 and mischief. I, who knew her ladyship's light way, 
 
 15
 
 226 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 would fain have had the elders to overlook it rather 
 than expose myself to her tantrums ; but they con- 
 sidered the thing as a great scandal, so that I was 
 obligated to conform to their wishes. I might have 
 as well stayed at home, however, for her ladyship was 
 in one of her jocose humours when I went to speak to 
 her on the subject, and it was so far from my power 
 to make a proper impression on her of the enormity 
 that had been committed that she made me laugh, 
 in spite of my reason, at the fantastical drollery of 
 her malicious prank on Miss Betty Wudrife. 
 
 It did not end here, however ; for the Session, 
 knowing that it was profitless to speak to the daft 
 mother and daughter, who had been the instru- 
 ments, gave orders to Willy Howking, the betheral, 
 not to let them again so far into the kirk ; and 
 Willy, having scarcely more sense than them both, 
 thought proper to keep them out next Sunday alto- 
 gether. The twa said nothing at the time ; but the 
 adversary was busy with them, for, on the Wednesday 
 following, there being a meeting of the synod at Ayr, 
 to my utter amazement the mother and daughter 
 made their appearance there in all their finery, and 
 raised a complaint against me and the Session for 
 debarring them from church privileges. No stage 
 play could have produced such an effect. I was per- 
 fectly dumfoundered ; and every member of the 
 synod might have been tied with a straw, they were 
 so overcome with this new device of that endless 
 woman, (when bent on provocation), the Lady 
 Macadam. In her the saying was verified, Old folk 
 are twice bairns ; for in such plays, pranks, and pro- 
 jects, she was as play rife as a very lassie at her 
 sampler ; and this is but a swatch to what lengths
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 227 
 
 she would go. The complaint was dismissed ; by 
 which the Session and me were assoilzied. But I'll 
 never forget till the day of my death what I suffered 
 on that occasion, to be so put to the wall by two 
 born idiots ! 
 
 JOHN GALT. 
 
 AN EDINBURGH HIGH SCHOOL 
 
 THERE is in this place, which everybody talks about 
 the High School, I think they call it. 'Tis said to be 
 the best school in the whole island ; but the idea of 
 one's children speaking Scotch broad Scotch ! . . . 
 Let me call thee up before my mind's eye, High 
 School, to which, every morning, the two English 
 brothers took their way from the proud old Castle 
 through the lofty streets of the Old Town. High 
 School ! called so, I scarcely know why ; neither 
 lofty in thyself nor by position, being situated in a 
 flat bottom ; oblong structure of tawny stone, with 
 many windows fenced with iron netting with thy 
 long hall below, and thy five chambers above, for 
 the reception of the five classes, into which the eight 
 hundred urchins, who styled thee instructress, were 
 divided. Thy learned rector and his four sub- 
 ordinate dominies ; thy strange old porter of the tall 
 form and grizzled hair, hight Boee, and doubtless of 
 Norse ancestry, as his name declares ; perhaps of the 
 blood of Bui hin Digri, the hero of northern song 
 the Jomsborg Viking who clove Thorsteinn Midlaagr 
 asunder in the dread sea battle of Horunga Vog, and 
 who, when the fight was lost and his own two hands 
 smitten off, seized two chests of gold with his bloody 
 stumps, and, springing with them into the sea, cried 
 
 15-3
 
 228 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 to the scanty relics of his crew, ' Overboard now, all 
 Bui's lads !' Yes, I remember all about thee, and 
 how at eight of every morn we were all gathered 
 together with one accord in the long hall, from which, 
 after the litanies had been read (for so I will call them, 
 being an Episcopalian), the five classes from the five 
 sets of benches trotted off in long files, one boy after 
 the other, up the five spiral staircases of stone, each 
 class to its destination ; and well do I remember how 
 we of the third sat hushed and still, watched by the 
 eye of the dux, until the door opened, and in walked 
 that model of a good Scotchman, the shrewd, in- 
 telligent, but warm-hearted and kind dominie, the 
 respectable Carson. 
 
 And in this school I began to construe the Latin 
 language, which I had never done before, notwith- 
 standing my long and diligent study of Lilly, which 
 illustrious grammar was not used at Edinburgh, nor 
 indeed known. Greek was only taught in the fifth 
 or highest class, in which my brother was ; as for 
 myself, I never got beyond the third during the two 
 years that I remained at this seminary. I certainly 
 acquired here a considerable insight in the Latin 
 tongue ; and, to the scandal of my father and horror 
 of my mother, a thorough proficiency in the Scotch, 
 which, in less than two months, usurped the place of 
 the English, and so obstinately maintained its ground, 
 that I still can occasionally detect its lingering re- 
 mains. I did not spend my time unpleasantly at 
 this school, though, first of all, I had to pass through 
 an ordeal. 
 
 ' Scotland is a better country than England,' said 
 an ugly, blear-eyed lad, about a head and shoulders 
 taller than myself, the leader of a gang of varlets who
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 229 
 
 surrounded me in the playground, on the first day, 
 as soon as the morning lesson was over. ' Scotland 
 is a far better country than England, in every re- 
 spect.' 
 
 ' Is it ?' said I. ' Then you ought to be very thank- 
 ful for not having been born in England.' 
 
 ' That's just what I am, ye loon ; and every morn- 
 ing when I say my prayers, I thank God for not being 
 an Englishman. The Scotch are a much better and 
 braver people than the English.' 
 
 ' It may be so,' said I, 'for what I know indeed, 
 till I came here, I never heard a word either about 
 the Scotch or their country.' 
 
 ' Are ye making fun of us, ye English puppy ?' 
 said the blear-eyed lad ; ' take that !' and I was 
 presently beaten black and blue. And thus did I 
 first become aware of the difference of races and their 
 antipathy to each other. 
 
 ' Bow to the storm, and it shall pass over you.' I 
 held my peace, and silently submitted to the superi- 
 ority of the Scotch in numbers. This was enough ; 
 from an object of persecution I soon became one of 
 patronage, especially amongst the champions of the 
 class. ' The English,' said the blear - eyed lad, 
 ' though a wee bit behind the Scotch in strength and 
 fortitude, are nae to be sneezed at, being far ahead of 
 the Irish, to say nothing of the French, a pack of 
 cowardly scoundrels. And with regard to the 
 English country, it is na Scotland, it is true, but it 
 has its gude properties ; and, though there is ne'er 
 a haggis in a' the land, there's an unco deal o' gowd 
 and siller. I respect England, for I have an auntie 
 married there.' . . . 
 
 But, the Scotch though by no means proficients in
 
 230 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 boxing (and how should they box, seeing that they 
 have never had a teacher ?) are, I repeat, a most 
 pugnacious people ; at least they were in my time. 
 Anything served them, that is, the urchins, as a 
 pretence for a fray, or, Dorically speaking, a bicker ; 
 every street and close was at feud with its neighbour ; 
 the lads of the school were at feud with the young 
 men of the college, whom they pelted in winter with 
 snow, and in summer with stones ; and then the feud 
 between the Old and New Town ! 
 
 One day I was standing on the ramparts of the 
 castle on the south-western side which overhangs the 
 green brae, where it slopes down into what was in 
 those days the green swamp or morass, called by the 
 natives of Auld Reekie the Nor Loch ; it was a dark 
 gloomy day, a thin veil of mist was beginning to 
 settle down upon the brae and the morass. I could 
 perceive, however, that there was a skirmish taking 
 place in the latter spot ; I had an indistinct view of 
 two parties apparently of urchins and I heard 
 whoops and shrill cries : eager to know the cause of 
 this disturbance, I left the castle, and descending the 
 brae reached the borders of the morass, where was a 
 runnel of water and the remains of an old wah 1 , on 
 the other side of which a narrow path led across the 
 swamp : upon this path at a little distance before me 
 there was ' a bicker.' I pushed forward, but had 
 scarcely crossed the ruined wall and runnel, when the 
 party nearest to me gave way, and in great confusion 
 came running in my direction. As they drew nigh, 
 one of them shouted to me, ' Wha are ye, mon ? are 
 ye o' the Auld Toon ?' I made no answer. ' Ha ! 
 ye are of the New Toon ; De'il tak ye, we'll murder 
 ye ;' and the next moment a huge stone sung past
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 231 
 
 my head. ' Let me be, ye fule bodies,' said I, ' I'm 
 no of either of ye, I live yonder aboon in the castle.' 
 ' Ah ! ye live in the castle ; then ye' re an auld tooner ; 
 come gie us your help, man, and dinna stand there 
 staring like a dunnot, we want help sair eneugh. 
 Here are stanes.' 
 
 For my own part I wished for nothing better, and, 
 rushing forward, I placed myself at the head of my 
 new associates, and commenced flinging stones fast 
 and desperately. The other party now gave way 
 in their turn, closely followed by ourselves ; I was in 
 the van, and about to stretch out my hand to seize 
 the hindermost boy of the enemy, when, not being 
 acquainted with the miry and difficult paths of the 
 Nor Loch, and in my eagerness taking no heed of my 
 footing, I plunged into a quagmire, into which I sank 
 as far as my shoulders. Our adversaries no sooner 
 perceived this disaster, than, setting up a shout, they 
 wheeled round and attacked us most vehemently. 
 Had my comrades now deserted me, my life had not 
 been worth a straw's purchase ; I should either have 
 been smothered in the quag, or, what is more prob- 
 able, had my brains beaten out with stones ; but they 
 behaved like true Scots, and fought stoutly around 
 their comrade, until I was extricated, whereupon 
 both parties retired, the night being near at hand. 
 
 ' Ye are na a bad hand at flinging stanes,' said the 
 lad who first addressed me, as we now returned up 
 the brae ; ' your aim is right dangerous, mon, I saw 
 how ye skelpit them, ye maun help us agin thae New 
 Toon blackguards at our next bicker.' 
 
 So to the next bicker I went, and to many more, 
 which speedily followed as the summer advanced ; 
 the party to which I had given my help on the first
 
 232 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 occasion consisted merely of outlyers, posted about 
 half way up the hill, for the purpose of overlooking 
 the movements of the enemy. 
 
 Did the latter draw nigh in any considerable force, 
 messengers were forthwith despatched to the ' auld 
 toon/ especially to the filthy alleys and closes of the 
 High Street, which forthwith would disgorge swarms 
 of bare-headed and bare-footed ' callants/ who, with 
 gestures wild and ' eldrich screech and hollo/ might 
 frequently be seen pouring down the sides of the hill. 
 I have seen upwards of a thousand engaged on either 
 side in these frays, which I have no doubt were full 
 as desperate as the fights described in the Iliad, 
 and which were certainly much more bloody than 
 the combats of modern Greece in the war of inde- 
 pendence ; the callants not only employed their 
 hands in hurling stones, but not unfrequently slings ; 
 at the use of which they were very expert, and 
 which occasionally dislodged teeth, shattered jaws, 
 or knocked out an eye. Our opponents certainly 
 laboured under considerable disadvantage, being 
 compelled not only to wade across a deceitful bog, but 
 likewise to clamber up part of a steep hill before they 
 could attack us ; nevertheless, their determination 
 was such, and such their impetuosity, that we had 
 sometimes difficulty enough to maintain our own. 
 I shall never forget one bicker, the last indeed which 
 occurred at that time, as the authorities of the town, 
 alarmed by the desperation of its character, stationed 
 forthwith a body of police on the hill side, to prevent, 
 in future, any such breaches of the peace. 
 
 It was a beautiful Sunday evening, the rays of the 
 descending sun were reflected redly from the grey 
 walls of the castle, and from the black rocks on which
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 233 
 
 it was founded. The bicker had long since com- 
 menced, stones from sling and hand were flying ; 
 but the callants of the New Town were now carrying 
 everything before them. 
 
 A full-grown baker's apprentice was at their head ; 
 he was foaming with rage, and had taken the field, 
 as I was told, in order to avenge his brother, whose 
 eye had been knocked out in one of the late bickers 
 He was no slinger or flinger, but brandished in his 
 right hand the spoke of a cart-wheel, like my country- 
 man Tom Hickathrift of old in his encounter with the 
 giant of the Lincolnshire fen. Protected by a piece 
 of wicker-work attached to his left arm, he rushed on 
 to the fray, disregarding the stones which were 
 showered against him, and was ably seconded by his 
 followers. Our own party was chased half way up 
 the hill, where I was struck to the ground by the 
 baker, after having been foiled in an attempt which I 
 had made to fling a handful of earth into his eyes. 
 All now appeared lost, the Auld Toon was in full re- 
 treat. I myself lay at the baker's feet, who had just 
 raised his spoke, probably to give me the coup de 
 grdce, it was an awful moment. Just then I heard 
 a shout and a rushing sound ; a wild-looking figure 
 is descending the hill with terrible bounds ; it is a lad 
 of some fifteen years ; he is bare-headed, and his red 
 uncombed hair stands on end like hedgehogs' bristles ; 
 his frame is lithy, like that of an antelope, but he has 
 prodigious breadth of chest ; he wears military un- 
 dress, that of the regiment, even of a drummer, for 
 it is wild Davy, whom a month before I had seen 
 enlisted on Leith Links to serve King George with 
 drum and drumstick as long as his services might be 
 required, and who, ere a week had elapsed, had
 
 234 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 smitten with his fist Drum-Major Elzigood who, 
 incensed at his inaptitude, had threatened him with 
 his cane ; he has been in confinement for weeks, this 
 is the first day of his liberation, and he is now de- 
 scending the hill with horrid bounds and shoutings ; 
 he is now about five yards distant, and the baker, 
 who apprehends that something dangerous is at hand, 
 prepares himself for the encounter ; but what avails 
 the strength of a baker, even full grown ? what 
 avails the defence of a wicker shield ? what avails 
 the wheel-spoke, should there be an opportunity of 
 using it, against the impetus of an avalanche or a 
 cannon-ball ? for to either of these might that wild 
 figure be compared, which, at the distance of five 
 yards, sprang at once with head, hands, feet and 
 body, all together, upon the champion of the New 
 Town, tumbling him to the earth amain. And now 
 it was the turn of the Old Town to triumph. Our 
 late discomfited host, returning on its steps, over- 
 whelmed the fallen champion with blows of every 
 kind, and then, led on by his vanquisher who had 
 assumed his arms, namely the wheel-spoke and wicker 
 shield, fairly cleared the brae of their adversaries, 
 whom they drove headlong down into the morass. 
 
 GEORGE BORROW. 
 TROOPS LEAVING EDINBURGH 
 
 FOR Freedom's battle march Auld Scotland's men, 
 And Edinburgh streets are piled with life to-day. 
 High on her crags the royal City sits, 
 To watch the files of war far- win ding out, 
 And with the gracious golden Morning smiles 
 Her proudest blessing down.
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 235 
 
 Old Arthur's Seat 
 
 Flings up his cap of cloud for brave success ; 
 While the Sea flashes in the sun, our Shield, 
 So rich in record of heroic names ! 
 But the old Castle standeth still and stern, 
 As some scarred Chief who sends his boys to battle : 
 Hath done so many a time as staidly calm. 
 
 The gay Hussars come riding through the Town, 
 A light of triumph sparkling in their eyes ; 
 The Music goeth shouting in their praise, 
 Like a loud people round the Victor's car ; 
 And Highland plumes together nod as though 
 There went the Funeral Hearse of a Russian host : 
 The bickering bayonets flutter wings of fire, 
 And gaily sounds the March o' the Cameron Men. 
 
 The War-steeds sweeping men to battle going 
 The wave of Beauty's hand meed of her eyes 
 The kisses blown from dainty finger-tips 
 The banners with old battle-memories stirred 
 The thrilling Pibroch, and the wild war-drum, 
 The stern sword-music of our grand Hurrah; 
 And answering cheer for death or victory 
 All make me tingle with a triumph of life, 
 And I could weep that I am left behind, 
 To see the tide ebb where I may not follow. 
 And there our gallant fellows march afield ; 
 To win proud death, or larger life, they leave 
 Home's rosy circle ringed with blessings rich, 
 For the far darkness and the battle-cloud, 
 Where many have fall'n, and many yet must fall 
 In spurring their great hearts up to the leap, 
 For such brave dashes at unconquered heights. 
 The shadow of solemn Sorrow falls behind,
 
 236 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Where sobbing Sweethearts look their loving last, 
 
 Or with tight lips hold in the bursting heart ; 
 
 And weeping Wives lift up the Little Ones. 
 
 The sun sets in their faces, life grows gray, 
 
 And sighs of desolation sweep its desert. 
 
 The winter of the heart aches in the eyes 
 
 Of Mothers who have given their all, their all. 
 
 And yet methinks the Heroic Time returns, 
 Such look of triumph lit the meanest face 
 To-day : there seemed no heart so earthy but 
 Had some blind gropings after nobler life, 
 With hands that reached toward God's Gate Beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 Our Britain bright'ning thro' the battle smoke, 
 Has touched them with her glory's lovelier light. 
 And though their darlings fall, and though they die 
 In this death-grapple in the dark with Wrong ; 
 The memory of their proud deeds shall not die. 
 They may go down to dust in bloody shrouds, 
 And sleep in nameless tombs. But for all time, 
 Foundlings of Fame are our beloved Lost. 
 For me, this day of glorious life shall be 
 One of the starry brides of Memory, 
 Whose glittering faces light the night o' the soul. 
 
 GERALD MASSEY. 
 
 SONG OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT 
 DRAGOONS 
 
 To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies, 
 
 The bugles sound the call ; 
 The Gallic navy stems the seas, 
 The voice of battle's on the breeze, 
 
 Arouse ye, one and all !
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 237 
 
 From high Dun-Edin's towers we come, 
 
 A band of brothers true ; 
 Our casques the leopard's spoils surround, 
 With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned ; 
 
 We boast the red and blue. 
 
 Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown 
 
 Dull Holland's tardy train ; 
 Their ravished toys though Romans mourn, 
 Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, 
 
 And, foaming, gnaw the chain ; 
 
 Oh ! had they marked the avenging call 
 
 Their brethren's murder gave, 
 Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
 Nor patriot valour, desperate grown, 
 
 Sought freedom in the grave ! 
 
 Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, 
 
 In Freedom's temple born, 
 Dress our pale cheek in timid smile, 
 To hail a master in our isle, 
 
 Or brook a victor's scorn ? 
 
 No ! though destruction o'er the land 
 
 Come pouring as a flood, 
 The sun, that sees our falling day, 
 Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway, 
 
 And set that night in blood. 
 
 For gold let Gallia's legions fight, 
 
 Or plunder's bloody gain ; 
 Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw, 
 To guard our King, to fence our Law, 
 
 Nor shall their edge be vain.
 
 238 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 If ever breath of British gale 
 
 Shall fan the tricolor, 
 Or footstep of the invader rude, 
 With rapine foul, and red with blood, 
 
 Pollute our happy shore, 
 
 Then farewell, home ! and farewell, friends ! 
 
 Adieu, each tender tie ! 
 Resolved, we mingle in the tide, 
 Where charging squadrons furious ride, 
 
 To conquer, or to die. 
 
 To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam ; 
 
 High sounds our bugle call ; 
 Combined by honour's sacred tie, 
 Our word is Laws and Liberty ! 
 
 March forward, one and all ! 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 GOLF 
 
 IN the fields called the Links, the citizens of Edinburgh 
 divert themselves at a game called golf, in which they 
 use a curious kind of bat tipt with horn, and small 
 elastic balls of leather stuffed with feathers, rather less 
 than tennis-balls, but of a much harder consistence. 
 This they strike with such force and dexterity from 
 one hole to another, that they will fly to an incredible 
 distance. Of this diversion the Scotch are so fond, 
 that, when the weather will permit, you may see a 
 multitude of all ranks, from the senator of justice to 
 the lowest tradesman, mingled together in their shirts, 
 and following the balls with the utmost eagerness. 
 Among others, I was shown one particular set of 
 golfers, the youngest of whom was turned four score.
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 239 
 
 They were all gentlemen of independent fortunes, 
 who had amused themselves with this pastime for the 
 best part of a century, without having ever felt the 
 least alarm from sickness or disgust, and they never 
 went to bed without having each the best part of a 
 gallon of claret. Such uninterrupted exercise, co- 
 operating with the keen air from the sea, must, with- 
 out all doubt, keep the appetite always on edge, and 
 steel the constitution against all the common attacks 
 of distemper. 
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 
 
 TO ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAM, ESQ., 
 
 WRITER, EDINBURGH 
 
 MY god-like friend nay, do not stare, 
 You think the phrase is odd-like : 
 
 But ' God is Love,' the saints declare, 
 Then surely thou art god-like. 
 
 And is thy ardour still the same ? 
 
 And kindled still at Anna ? 
 Others may boast a partial flame, 
 
 But thou art a volcano ! 
 
 Ev'n Wedlock asks not love beyond 
 Death's tie-dissolving portal ; 
 
 But thou, omnipotently fond, 
 May'st promise love immortal ! 
 
 Thy wounds such healing powers defy, 
 Such symptoms dire attend them, 
 
 That last great antihectic try 
 Marriage perhaps may mend them.
 
 240 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Sweet Anna has an air a grace, 
 
 Divine, magnetic, touching ; 
 She talks, she charms but who can trace 
 
 The process of bewitching ? 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 LOVE FROM THE NORTH 
 
 I HAD a love in soft south land, 
 Beloved through April far in May ; 
 
 He waited on my lightest breath, 
 And never dared to say me nay. 
 
 He saddened if my cheer was sad, 
 
 But gay he grew if I was gay ; 
 We never differed on a hair, 
 
 My yes his yes, my nay his nay. 
 
 The wedding hour was come, the aisles 
 
 Were flushed with sun and flowers that day ; 
 
 I pacing balanced in my thoughts : 
 ' It's quite too late to think of nay.' 
 
 My bridegroom answered in his turn, 
 Myself had almost answered ' yea ' : 
 
 When through the flashing nave I heard 
 A struggle and resounding " nay.' 
 
 Bridesmaids and bridegroom shrank in fear, 
 But I stood high who stood at bay : 
 
 ' And if I answer yea, fair Sir, 
 What man art thou to bar with nay ?' 
 
 He was a strong man from the north, 
 
 Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous grey ; 
 
 ' Put yea by for another time 
 In which I will not say thee nay.'
 
 SOME EDINBURGH PHASES 241 
 
 He took me in his strong white arms, 
 
 He bore me on his horse away 
 O'er crag, morass, and hairbreadth pass, 
 
 But never asked me yea or nay. 
 
 He made me fast with book and bell, 
 With links of love he makes me stay ; 
 
 Till now I've neither heart nor power, 
 Nor will nor wish to say him nay. 
 
 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. 
 
 WILLIE'S AWA! 
 
 This epistle was addressed to William Creech, the well-known 
 Edinburgh bookseller and member of the Town Council, during 
 his absence in London. Creech's quaint bookshop at the 
 eastern end of the Luckenbooth was frequented by all the eminent 
 men of the Scottish metropolis. 
 
 AULD chuckie Reekie's sair distrest, 
 Down droops her ance weel-burnisht crest, 
 Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest 
 
 Can yield ava, 
 
 Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 
 Willie's awa ! 
 
 O Willie was a witty wight, 
 And had o' things an unco slight ; 
 Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight, 
 
 An' trig an' braw : 
 But now they'll busk her like a fright, 
 
 Willie's awa ! 
 
 16
 
 242 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
 The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
 They durst nae mair than he allow'd, 
 
 That was a law : 
 We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, 
 
 Willie's awa ! . . . 
 
 The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer 
 May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour ; 
 He was a dictionar and grammar 
 
 Amang them a' ; 
 I fear they'll now mak' mony a stammer, 
 
 Willie's awa ! 
 
 Nae mair we see his levee door 
 Philosophers and poets pour, 
 And toothy critics by the score, 
 
 In bloody raw ! 
 The adjutant o' a' the core, 
 
 Willie's awa ! 
 
 Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
 Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace, 
 Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace 
 
 As Rome ne'er saw ; 
 They a' maun meet some ither place, 
 
 Willie's awa ! . . . 
 
 May I be slander's common speech ; 
 A text for infamy to preach ; 
 And lastly, streekit out to bleach 
 
 In winter snaw ; 
 When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 
 
 Tho' far awa ! 
 
 ROBERT BURNS.
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 
 
 16 2
 
 SEATED on the rocks which are more old than any history, 
 though those precipices are now veiled with verdure and soft- 
 ness, and the iron way of triumphant modern science runs at 
 their feet ; with her crown of sacred architecture hanging over 
 her among the mists, and the primeval shrine mounted upon her 
 highest ridge ; with her palace, all too small for the requirements 
 of an enlarged and splendid royalty, and the great crouched and 
 dormant sentinel of nature watching over her through all the 
 centuries ; with her partner, sober and ample, like a comely 
 matron, attended by all the modern arts and comforts, seated 
 at the old mother's feet, Edinburgh can never be less than 
 royal, one of the crowned and queenly cities of the world. It 
 does not need for this distinction that there should be millions 
 of inhabitants within her walls, or all the great threads of 
 industry and wealth gathered in her hands. The pathos of 
 much that is past and over for ever, the awe of many tragedies, 
 a recollection almost more true than any reality of the present, 
 of ages and glories gone add a charm which the wealthiest 
 and greatest interests of to-day cannot give, to the city, always 
 living, always stirring, where she stands amid traditionary 
 smoke and mist, ' the gray metropolis of the North,' the 
 Edinburgh of a thousand fond associations, 
 
 OUR OWN ROMANTIC TOWN. 
 
 MRS. OLIPHANT.
 
 THE LOVELY MARY ENTERS EDINBURGH 
 
 SCOTLAND, involved in factious broils, 
 Groaned deep beneath her woes and toils, 
 And looked o'er meadow, dale and lea, 
 For many a day her Queen to see ; 
 Hoping that then her woes would cease, 
 And all her valleys smile in peace. 
 The spring was past, the summer gone ; 
 Still vacant stood the Scottish throne : 
 But scarce had autumn's mellow hand 
 Waved her rich banner o'er the land, 
 When rang the shouts, from tower and tree, 
 That Scotland's Queen was on the sea. 
 Swift spread the news o'er down and dale, 
 Swift as the lively autumn gale ; 
 Away, away, it echoed still, , 
 O'er many a moor and Highland hill, 
 Till rang each glen and verdant plain, 
 From Cheviot to the northern main. 
 
 Each bard attuned the loyal lay, 
 And for Dun-Edin hied away ; 
 Each harp was strung in woodland bower, 
 In praise of beauty's bonniest flower. 
 The chiefs forsook their ladies fair ; 
 The priest his beads and books of prayer ; 
 
 The farmer left his harvest day, 
 The shepherd all his flocks to stray ; 
 The forester forsook the wood, 
 And hasted on to Holyrood. 
 245
 
 246 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 After a youth, by woes o'ercast, 
 After a thousand sorrows past, 
 The lovely Mary once again 
 Set foot upon her native plain ; 
 Kneeled on the pier with modest grace, 
 And turned to heaven her beauteous face. 
 'Twas then the caps in air were blended, 
 A thousand thousand shouts ascended ; 
 Shivered the breeze around the throng ; 
 Grey barrier cliffs the peals prolong ; 
 And every tongue gave thanks to heaven, 
 That Mary to their hopes was given. 
 
 Her comely form and graceful mien, 
 Bespoke the Lady and the Queen ; 
 The woes of one so fair and young, 
 Moved every heart and every tongue. 
 Driven from her home, a helpless child, 
 To brave the winds and billows wild ; 
 An exile bred in realms afar, 
 Amid commotion, broil, and war : 
 In one short year her hopes all crossed, 
 A parent, husband, kingdom lost ! 
 And all ere eighteen years had shed 
 Their honours o'er her royal head. 
 For such a Queen, the Stuarts' heir, 
 A Queen so courteous, young, and fair, 
 Who would not every foe defy ! 
 Who would not stand ! who would not die ! 
 
 Light on her airy steed she sprung, 
 Around with golden tassels hung, 
 No chieftain there rode half so free, 
 Or half so light and gracefully.
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 247 
 
 How sweet to see her ringlets pale 
 
 Wide waving in the southland gale, 
 
 Which through the broom-wood blossoms flew, 
 
 To fan her cheeks of rosy hue ! 
 
 Whene'er it heaved her bosom's screen, 
 
 What beauties in her form were seen ! 
 
 And when her courser's mane it swung, 
 
 A thousand silver bells were rung. 
 
 A sight so fair, on Scottish plain, 
 
 A Scot shall never see again. 
 
 When Mary turned her wondering eyes 
 On rocks that seemed to prop the skies ; 
 On palace, park, and battled pile ; 
 On lake, on river, sea, and isle ; 
 O'er woods and meadows bathed in dew, 
 To distant mountains wild and blue ; 
 She thought the isle that gave her birth 
 The sweetest, wildest land on earth. 
 
 Slowly she ambled on her way 
 Amid her lords and ladies gay. 
 Priest, abbot, layman, all were there, 
 And presbyter with look severe : 
 Then rode the lords of France and Spain, 
 Of England, Flanders, and Lorraine, 
 While serried thousands round them stood, 
 From shore of Leith to Holyrood. 
 
 Though Mary's heart was light as air 
 To find a home so wild and fair ; 
 To see a gathered nation by, 
 And rays of joy from every eye ; 
 Though frequent shouts the welkin broke, 
 Though courtiers bowed and ladies spoke,
 
 248 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 An absent look they oft could trace 
 Deep settled on her comely face. 
 Was it the thought that all alone 
 She must support a rocking throne ? 
 That Caledonia's rugged land 
 Might scorn a Lady's weak command, 
 And the Red Lion's haughty eye 
 Scowl at a maiden's feet to lie ? 
 
 No ; 'twas the notes of Scottish song, 
 Soft pealing from the countless throng : 
 So mellowed came the distant swell, 
 That on her ravished ear it fell 
 Like dew of heaven, at evening close, 
 On forest flower or woodland rose. 
 For Mary's heart, to Nature true, 
 The powers of song and music knew : 
 But all the choral measures bland, 
 Of anthems sung in southern land, 
 Appeared an useless pile of art, 
 Unfit to sway or melt the heart, 
 Compared with that which floated by, 
 Her simple native melody. 
 As she drew near the Abbey stile, 
 She halted, reined, and bent the while : 
 She he?rd the Caledonian lyre 
 Pour forth its notes of Runic fire. 
 
 JAMES HOGG. 
 
 A ROYAL PAGEANT THROUGH EDINBURGH 
 
 THE rank dew lies heavy on grass and stone ; a deep 
 gloom hangs over the landscape, a thick unwhole- 
 some fog, unstirred by the wind ; but we can see the
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 249 
 
 huge back of Arthur's Seat faint and grey amid the 
 haze, with the unaltered outline of the crags below ; 
 and yonder are the two western towers of Holyrood, 
 and yonder the Abbey, with its stone-roof entire, 
 and the hoar damps settling on its painted glass. . . . 
 The sun has not shone for five days, nor the moon 
 for five nights ; the boom of the cannon from the 
 distant harbour, where the French galleys lie, falls 
 dead and heavy on the ear, like the echoes of a 
 sepulchral vault ; the mingled shouts and music from 
 the half-seen crowds sound drearily amid the chill 
 and dripping damps, like tones of the winter wind in 
 a ruin at midnight ; and yonder comes the pageant 
 of the day, enwrapped in fog, like a drifting vessel 
 half-enveloped in the spray of a lee shore. Mark 
 these gay and volatile strangers, the elite of the 
 French Court. Yonder are the three Maries, and 
 yonder the two Guises ; and here comes the Queen 
 herself encircled by her iron barons. And who is 
 that Queen ? Mary, the gay, the fascinating, the 
 exquisitely beautiful, a true sovereign of the im- 
 agination, a choice heroine of poetry and ro- 
 mance, a woman whose loveliness still exerts its 
 influence over hearts, a monarch whose misfortunes 
 and sorrows still command tears. 
 
 HUGH MILLER. 
 
 LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, 
 
 ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING 
 
 Now Nature hangs her mantle green 
 
 On every blooming tree, 
 And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 
 
 Out o'er the grassy lea :
 
 250 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, 
 And glads the azure skies ; 
 
 But nought can glad the weary wight 
 That fast in durance lies. 
 
 Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, 
 
 Aloft on dewy wing ; 
 The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 
 
 Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
 The mavis, wild wi' mony a note, 
 
 Sings drowsy day to rest : 
 In love and freedom they rejoice, 
 
 Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 
 
 Now blooms the lily by the bank, 
 
 The primrose down the brae ; 
 The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 
 
 And milk-white is the slae ; 
 The meanest hind in fair Scotland 
 
 May rove their sweets amang ; 
 But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 
 
 Maun lie in prison strang ! 
 
 I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 
 
 Where happy I hae been ; 
 Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, 
 
 As blythe lay down at e'en : 
 And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 
 
 And mony a traitor there ; 
 Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 
 
 And never-ending care. 
 
 But as for thee, thou false woman ! 
 
 My sister and my fae, 
 Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 
 
 That thro' thy soul shall gae !
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 251 
 
 The weeping blood in woman's breast 
 
 Was never known to thee ; 
 Nor the balm that drops on wounds of woe 
 
 Frae woman's pitying e'e. 
 
 My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 
 
 Upon thy fortune shine ! 
 And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 
 
 That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
 God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 
 
 Or turn their hearts to thee : 
 And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, 
 
 Remember him for me ! 
 
 Oh ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 
 
 Nae mair light up the morn ! 
 Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 
 
 Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
 And in the narrow house o' death 
 
 Let winter round me rave ; 
 And the next flow'rs, that deck the spring, 
 
 Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 THE QUEEN'S MARIE 
 
 MARIE HAMILTON'S to the kirk gane, 
 
 Wi' ribbons in her hair ; 
 The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, 
 
 Than any that were there. 
 
 Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, 
 
 Wi' ribbons on her breast ; 
 The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, 
 
 Than he listen'd to the priest.
 
 252 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, 
 
 Wi' gloves upon her hands ; 
 The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, 
 
 Than the Queen and a' her lands. 
 
 She hadna been about the King's court 
 
 A month, but barely one, 
 Till she was beloved by a' the King's court, 
 
 And the King the only man. 
 
 She hadna been about the King's court 
 
 A month, but barely three, 
 Till frae the King's court Marie Hamilton, 
 
 Marie Hamilton durstna be. 
 
 The King is to the Abbey gane, 
 
 To pu' the Abbey tree, 
 To scale the babe frae Marie's heart ; 
 
 But the thing it wadna be. 
 
 O she had row'd it in her apron, 
 
 And set it on the sea, 
 ' Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe, 
 
 Ye'se get nae mair o' me.' 
 
 Word is to the kitchen gane, 
 
 And word is to the ha', 
 And word is to the noble room, 
 
 Amang the ladyes a', 
 That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed, 
 
 And the bonny babe's mist and awa.' 
 
 Scarcely had she lain down again, 
 
 And scarcely fa'en asleep, 
 When up then started our gude Queen, 
 
 Just at her bed-feet ; 
 Saying ' Marie Hamilton, where's your babe ? 
 
 For I'm sure I heart it greet.'
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 253 
 
 ' O no, O no, my noble Queen ! 
 
 Think no such thing to be ; 
 'Twas but a stitch into my side, 
 
 And sair it troubles me.' 
 
 ' Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton ; 
 
 Get up, and follow me ; 
 For I am going to Edinburgh town, 
 
 A rich wedding for to see.' 
 
 O slowly, slowly raise she up, 
 
 And slowly put she on ; 
 And slowly rode she out the way, 
 
 Wi' mony a weary groan. 
 
 The Queen was clad in scarlet, 
 
 Her merry maids all in green ; 
 And every town they cam to, 
 
 They took Marie for the Queen. 
 
 Ride hooly, hooly gentlemen, 
 Ride hooly now wi' me ! 
 For never, I am sure, a wearier burd 
 Rade in your companie.' 
 
 But little wist Marie Hamilton, 
 
 When she rade on the brown, 
 That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town, 
 
 And a' to be put down. 
 
 * Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives, 
 
 Why look ye so on me ? 
 O, I am going to Edinburgh town, 
 
 A rich wedding for to see.'
 
 254 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs, 
 The corks frae her heels did flee ; 
 
 And lang or e'er she came down again, 
 She was condemn'd to die. 
 
 When she cam to the Netherbow port, 
 She laughed loud laughters three ; 
 
 But when she cam to the gallows foot, 
 The tears blinded her ee. 
 
 ' Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, 
 The night she'll hae but three ; 
 
 There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton, 
 And Marie Carmichael, and me. 
 
 ' O, often have I dress'd my Queen, 
 
 And put gold upon her hair ; 
 But now I've gotten for my reward 
 
 The gallows to be my share. 
 
 ' Often have I dress'd my Queen, 
 
 And often made her bed ; 
 But now I've gotten for my reward 
 
 The gallows tree to tread. 
 
 ' I charge ye all, ye mariners, 
 
 When ye sail ower the faem, 
 Let neither my father nor mother get wit, 
 
 But that I'm coming hame. 
 
 ' I charge ye all, ye mariners, 
 
 That sail upon the sea, 
 Let neither my father nor mother get wit, 
 
 This dog's death I'm to die.
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 255 
 
 ' For if my father and mother got wit, 
 
 And my bold brethren three, 
 O mickle wad be the gude red blude 
 
 This day wad be spilt for me ! 
 
 ' O little did my mother ken, 
 
 That day she cradled me, 
 The lands I was to travel in, 
 
 Or the death I was to die !' 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT : Border Minstrelsy. 
 
 THE ACCESSION OF JAMES I 
 
 HOW THE NEWS REACHED HOLYROOD 
 
 WHEN I came to Court [at Richmond] I found the 
 Queen [Elizabeth] ill disposed, and she kept her inner 
 lodging. Yet she, hearing of my arrival, sent for 
 me. I found her in one of her withdrawing cham- 
 bers, sitting low upon her cushions. She called me 
 to her. I kissed her hand, and told her, it was my 
 chiefest happiness to see her in safety and health, 
 which I wished might long continue. She took me 
 by the hand, and wrung it hard ; and said, ' No, 
 Robin, I am not well !' and then discoursed with me 
 of her indisposition, and that her heart had been sad 
 and heavy for ten or twelve days : and, in her dis- 
 course, she fetched not so few as forty or fifty great 
 sighs. 
 
 I was grieved, at the first, to see her in this plight : 
 for, in all my lifetime before, I never knew her fetch 
 a sigh, but when the Queen of Scots was beheaded. 
 Then, upon my knowledge, she shed many tears and 
 sighs ; manifesting her innocence that she never gave 
 consent to the death of that Queen.
 
 256 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 I used the best words I could to persuade her from 
 this melancholy humour ; but I found, by her, it 
 was too deep rooted in her heart ; and hardly to be 
 removed. This was upon a Saturday night : and 
 she gave command that the great closet should be 
 prepared for her to go to chapel the next morning. 
 The next day, all things being in a readiness ; we 
 long expected her coming. After eleven o'clock, one 
 of the grooms came out, and bade make ready for the 
 private closet ; for she would not go to the great. 
 There we stayed long for her coming : but at last she 
 had cushions laid for her in the Privy Chamber, hard 
 by the closet door ; and there she heard service. . . . 
 
 I, hearing that neither her Physicians, nor none 
 about her, could persuade her to take any course for 
 her safety, feared her death would soon after ensue. I 
 could not but think in what a wretched estate I should 
 be left : most of my livelihood depending on her 
 life. And hereupon I bethought myself with what 
 grace and favour I was ever received by the King of 
 Scots, whensoever I was sent to him. I did assure 
 myself it was neither unjust, nor unhonest, for me to 
 do for myself ; if God, at that time, should call her to 
 His mercy. Hereupon I wrote to the King of Scots, 
 knowing him to be the right heir to the Crown of 
 England ; and certified him in what state Her Majesty 
 was. I desired him not to stir from Edinburgh : and 
 if, of that sickness she should die, I would be the first 
 man that should bring him news of it. ... 
 
 I went to my lodging, and left word with one in 
 the cofferer's chamber to call me, if that night it was 
 thought the Queen would die ; and gave the porter 
 an angel to let me in at any time, when I called. 
 Between one and two of the clock on Thursday
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 257 
 
 morning, he that I left in the cofferer's chamber, 
 brought me word, ' The Queen is dead.' . . . 
 
 Very early on Saturday I took horse for Edin- 
 burgh ; and came to Norham about twelve at noon. 
 So that I might well have been with the King at 
 supper time : but I got a great fall by the way ; 
 and my horse, with one of his heels, gave me a great 
 blow on the head, that made me shed much blood. 
 It made me so weak, that I was forced to ride a soft 
 pace after : so that the King was newly gone to bed 
 by the time I knocked at the gate [of Holyrood 
 Palace]. 
 
 I was quickly let in ; and carried up to the King's 
 Chamber. I kneeled by him, and saluted him by 
 his title of ' England, Scotland, France, and Ireland.' 
 He gave me his hand to kiss ; and bade me welcome. 
 
 After he had long discoursed of the manner of the 
 Queen's sickness, and of her death, he asked, what 
 letters I had from the Council ? 
 
 I told him none : and acquainted him how narrowly 
 I escaped from them. And yet I brought him a 
 blue ring from a Lady, that I hoped would give him 
 assurance of the truth that I had reported. He took 
 it, and looked upon it, and said, ' It is enough. I 
 know by this, you are a true messenger.' Then he 
 committed me to the charge of my Lord Home ; 
 and gave straight command that I should want 
 nothing. He sent for his chirurgions to attend me ; 
 and when I kissed his hand, at my departure, he said 
 to me these gracious words : ' I know you have lost 
 a near kinswoman and a loving Mistress : but take 
 here my hand, I will be as good a Master to you ; and 
 will requite you this service with honour and reward.' 
 So I left him that night, and went with my Lord Home 
 
 17
 
 258 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 to my lodging : where I had all things fitting for so 
 weary a man as I was. After my head was dressed, I 
 took leave of my Lord and many others that attended 
 me ; and went to my rest. 
 
 SIR ROBERT CAREY. 
 
 During the continuance of His Majesty in Scotland, 
 before his Progress towards England, his whole care 
 was for the peaceable government of that realm, from 
 which he was a while to part. And to that end, he 
 had sundry conferences with his nobility, laying the 
 safest projects that, in his wisdom and their experi- 
 ences, seemed likely for effecting his royal desire : 
 which, God willing, will come to pass to his great 
 liking and the benefit of both the realms. 
 
 But that it might more to his people appear, he in 
 person came graciously to the city of Edinburgh, 
 unto the public sermon. And after the sermon was 
 finished, in a most learned but more loving oration, 
 he expressed his occasion of leaving them, to the 
 burgesses and a number of the people : exhorting 
 them to continue in obedience, being the bond that 
 binds princes to affect their subjects, which broken 
 on their part he trusted should never be, and of his 
 they were assured ; persuading them also to agreement 
 amongst themselves, being the bond of charity that 
 tied all men, especially Christians, to love and bear 
 with one another. In which obedience to him, and 
 agreement amongst themselves if they continued : 
 howsoever he was, in a manner, at that time, con- 
 strained to leave them ; yet he would, in his own 
 person, visit them, and that shortly, in times con- 
 venient and most necessary for his own advancement 
 and their benefit.
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 259 
 
 Yet for all his kingly oratory, mild behaviour, and 
 true intention, the people's hearts against his de- 
 parture were even dead : and grief seized every 
 private man's reins, saving only those that were made 
 happy by attending his royal person into England. . . . 
 
 His Majesty, with great solemnity and pomp, was 
 proclaimed King of England, Scotland, France, and 
 Ireland, at the Market Cross of Edinburgh, in presence 
 of the whole officers of estate of the realm, and many 
 of the nobility of Scotland, and sundry knights and 
 gentlemen of England. 
 
 And in the evening of that day, there were many 
 hundreds of bonfires made all about the city ; with 
 great feasting and merriment held till the appearing 
 of the next day. But as joyful as they were of His 
 Majesty's great advancement, and enlarging of his 
 Empire, so were they, as I before noted, for their 
 private want of him no less filled with grief as, above 
 all other times, was most apparently expressed at 
 his departure from Edinburgh towards England : the 
 cries of the poor people being so lamentable and con- 
 fused that it moved His Majesty to much compas- 
 sion ; yet seeing their clamours were only of affection 
 and not grounded on reason, with many gracious 
 and loving words he left them, and proceeded on his 
 Progress. 
 
 T. M. (1603). 
 
 FROM ' THE BALLAD OF CHEVY CHACE ' 
 
 WORD is comen to Edinburgh, to Jamy the Scottish 
 
 King, 
 That doughty Douglas, Lieutenant of the Marches, he 
 
 lay slain Cheviot within. 
 
 172
 
 26o THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 His hands did he weal and wring. He said, ' Alas ! 
 
 and woe is me ! 
 Such another Captain, Scotland within,' he said, ' i' 
 
 faith ! should never be.' ... 
 As our noble King made his avow, like a noble Prince 
 
 of renown, 
 For the death of the Lord Percy, he did the battle of 
 
 Humble Down ; 
 Where six and thirty Scottish Knights, on a day, 
 
 were beaten down ; 
 Glendale glittered on their armour bright, over 
 
 Castle, tower, and town. 
 This was the Hunting of the Cheviot, that there 
 
 began this spurn. 
 Old men, that know the ground well enough, call it 
 
 the Battle of Otterburn. 
 
 At Otterburn began this spurn, upon a Monday. 
 There was the doughty Douglas slain. The Percy 
 
 never went away ! 
 There was never a time, in the March parts, sen the 
 
 Douglas and Percy met, 
 But it is marvel and the red blood run not, as the rain 
 
 does in the street. 
 
 Jesu Christ, our bale's bete ! and to the bliss us bring ! 
 Thus was the Hunting of the Cheviot. God send us 
 
 all good ending. 
 
 ANON. (1558). 
 
 PRINCE CHARLES ENTERS EDINBURGH AFTER THE 
 BATTLE OF PRESTON 
 
 PAINTED BY THOMAS DUNCAN 
 
 THE morning sun has risen high over the Old Town 
 of Edinburgh, and the beams fall clear and bright
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 261 
 
 through a cloudless autumn sky, on half the high- 
 piled, picturesque tenements of the Canongate, and 
 half the street below. The other half lies grey in 
 the shade. I saw, just in front, on the sunny side, 
 the castellated jail of the burgh, with its blackened 
 turrets and its Flemish-looking clock-house. The 
 barred windows are thronged with faces ; and a few 
 disarmed, half -stripped, forlorn soldiery huddled 
 together on an outer staircase, show that the in- 
 carcerated crowd are military prisoners from the 
 field of Preston. The street lies in long perspective 
 beyond, house rising over house, and balcony pro- 
 jecting beyond balcony. Every flaw and weather- 
 stain has the mark of truth ; every peculiarity of the 
 architecture reminded me of the scene and the age. 
 A dense crowd occupies the foreground. The 
 Highlanders, after totally routing the superior 
 numbers of Cope, have entered the city with their 
 Prince at their head, and have advanced thus far on 
 their march to Holyrood House. The apparently 
 living mass seems bearing down upon the spectator. 
 There is a mischievous-looking, ragged urchin, half- 
 extinguished by the cap of some luckless grenadier, 
 who has possibly no further use for it, scampering 
 out of the way : and an unfortunate barber, the very 
 type of Smollett's Strap, has got himself fast jambled 
 between a projecting outside stair and the brandished 
 war-axe of a half-naked and more than half-savage 
 gillie, who is exerting himself with tremendous 
 vigour in clearing a passage, and who, as if to add to 
 the poor barber's distress and peril, is looking in 
 another direction. There are other strokes of the 
 comic in the piece. In one corner a Jacobite laird, 
 blin' fou, is threatening destruction with unsheathed
 
 262 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 whinyard to all and sundry who will not drink the 
 Prince's health. In another, two pipers are marching 
 side by side. The one, a long-winded young fellow, 
 cast in the Herculean mould of his country, and proud 
 of his strength and his music, is adjusting the drone 
 of his pipe with a degree of self-complacency that 
 might serve even the Dean of Faculty himself. The 
 other, an old man of at least seventy- five, with 
 features fiercely Celtic, and an expression like a 
 thunder-cloud, is evidently enraged at the better 
 breath of his opponent ; but, collecting his strength 
 for another effort, he seems determined rather to 
 die than give in. The Prince rides in the centre on a 
 noble steed, that seems starting out of the canvas. 
 We recognize him at once, not only from his promi- 
 nent place and princely bearing, but from the striking 
 truth of the portrait, one of the most spirited, 
 perhaps, that has yet appeared, and most like the 
 man when at his best. Has the reader ever noticed 
 the striking resemblance which the better portraits 
 of Prince Charles bear to those of his remote an- 
 cestress, Queen Mary ? . . . All the more celebrated 
 heroes of the rebellion are grouped round the Prince, 
 full, evidently, of a generous enthusiasm, in which the 
 spectator can hardly avoid sympathizing. . . . Be- 
 hind the Prince rides Clanranald, the Chief of Clan- 
 Colla. His Highlanders take precedence of the 
 other clans, for the Bruce had assigned them their 
 place of honour in the right when they fought at 
 Bannockburn. Young Clanranald, a tall handsome 
 youth, and his cousin, Kinloch Moidart, have ad- 
 vanced in front ; old Hugh Stewart, a rugged deep- 
 chested veteran of the Black Watch, who fought in 
 all the battles of Charles, and whose portrait is still
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 263 
 
 preserved, presses on behind them ; and the gigantic 
 miller of Inverrahayle's Mill, a tremendous specimen 
 of the wild mountaineer, is still more conspicuous 
 among a group of clansmen on the left. There is a 
 dense crowd behind, and what seems a thick wood of 
 spears and axes, with here and there a banner, 
 among the rest, an English standard taken from the 
 dragoons at Preston. . . . 
 
 The pictorial history of Scotland promises to 
 excel all its other histories, and it does not contain 
 a more brilliant page than the page contributed by 
 Duncan. 
 
 Gallant Highlanders, men of warm hearts and 
 tender feelings, and spirits that kindle as the danger 
 comes, the phantom of mistaken loyalty deludes you 
 no longer ; you have closed with a better faith ; and, 
 while the strength of the character still remains 
 unbroken, all its fierceness is gone. I have lived 
 amid the quiet solitude of your hills ; and, as I have 
 passed your cottages at the close of evening, have 
 heard the voice of psalms within. I have sat with 
 you at the humble board, to share your proffered 
 hospitality, the hospitality of willing hearts, that 
 thought not of the scanty store whence the supply 
 was derived. I have marked your untaught courtesy, 
 ever ready to yield to the stranger, and have laid me 
 down in security at night amid your hamlets, with 
 only the latch on the door. I have seen you pouring 
 forth your thousands from brown distant moors and 
 narrow glens, to listen with devout attention to the 
 words of life from the lips of your much-loved pastors, 
 and to worship God among your mountains in the 
 open air. I know, too, the might that slumbers 
 amid your gentlemen of nature ; and that, when the
 
 264 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 day of battle comes, ' and level for the charge your 
 arms are laid,' desperate indeed must that enemy 
 be, and much in love with death, that awaits the 
 onset. 
 
 HUGH MILLER. 
 
 THE THISTLE AND THE ROSE 
 
 This emblematic song was made for the marriage, at Edin- 
 burgh, in 1503, of the Princess Margaret of England, eldest 
 daughter of Henry VII., with King James IV. of Scotland. 
 
 WHEN March was, with varying winds, past, 
 
 And April had, with her silver showers, 
 Ta'en leave at Nature with an orient blast ; 
 And lusty May, that mother is of flowers, 
 Had made the birdes to begin their Hours, 
 Among the tender odours red and white, 
 Whose harmony to hear it was delight ; 
 
 In bed, at morrow, sleeping as I lay, 
 
 Methought, Aurora, with her crystal een, 
 In at the window looked by the day, 
 And halsed me, with visage pale and green ; 
 On whose hand, a lark sang fro the spleen, 
 ' Awake, Lovers ! out of your slumbering ! 
 See how the lusty morrow does upspring !' 
 
 Methought fresh May before my bed upstood, 
 
 In weed depaint of mony diverse hue, 
 Sober, benign, and full of mansuetude ; 
 In bright attire of flowers forged new, 
 Heavenly of colour, white, red, brown, and blue, 
 Balmed in dew, and gilt with Phoebus' beams ; 
 While all the house illumined of her learns.
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 265 
 
 ' Sluggard !' she said, ' awake anon, for shame ! 
 And, in my honour, something thou go write ! 
 The lark has done the merry day proclaim 
 To raise up Lovers with comfort and delight ; 
 Yet nought increases thy courage to indite ! 
 Whose heart sometimes has glad and blissful 
 
 been, 
 Songs to make, under the leaves green/ 
 
 ' Whereto,' quod I, ' shall I uprise, at morrow ? 
 
 For, in this May, few birdes heard I sing ! 
 They have more cause to weep, and plain their 
 
 sorrow ! 
 
 Thy air, it is not wholesome nor benign ! 
 Lord ^Eolus does in thy season reign ! 
 So busteous are the blasts of his horn. 
 Among thy boughs to walk I have forborne !' 
 
 With that, this Lady soberly did smile, 
 
 And said, ' Uprise ; and do thy observance ! 
 Thou didst promise, in May's lusty while, 
 For to descrive the Rose of most pleasance ! 
 Go, see the birdes, how they sing and dance ! 
 Illumined o'er with orient skies bright, 
 Enamelled richly with new azure light !' 
 
 When this was said, departed she, this Queen, 
 
 And entered in a lusty garden gent ; 
 And then, methought, full hastily beseen 
 In serk and mantle, after her I went 
 Into this garth most duke and redolent 
 Of herbs and flowers, and tender plants 
 
 sweet ; 
 And green leaves doing of dew down fleet.
 
 266 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The purple sun, with tender beames red, 
 
 In orient bright as angel did appear, 
 Through golden skies putting up his head ; 
 Whose gilt tresses shone so wondir clear, 
 That all the world took comfort, far and 
 
 near, 
 
 To look upon his fresh and blissful face 
 Doing all sable, from the heavens chase. 
 
 And as the blissful song of hierarchy, 
 
 The fowls sang, through comfort of the light, 
 The birdes did, with open voices, cry, 
 
 ' O, Lovers' foe ! away, thou dully night ! 
 And welcome, day ! that comforts every wight ! 
 Hail, May ! Hail, Flora ! Hail, Aurora sheen ! 
 Hail, Princess Nature ! Hail, Venus, Love's 
 Queen !' 
 
 Dame Nature gave an inhibition there 
 
 To fierce Neptune, and ^Eolus the bold, 
 Not to perturb the water, nor the air ; 
 And that no showers, nor blastes cold 
 Effray should flowers, nor fowls, on the fold ! 
 She bade eke Juno, goddess of the sky, 
 That she the heavens should keep amene and 
 dry! 
 
 She ordained eke that every bird and beast 
 
 Before her Highness should anon compeir ; 
 And every flower of virtue, most and least, 
 And every herb by field far and near, 
 As they had wont, in May, from year to year, 
 To her, their Maker, to make obedience, 
 Full low inclining, with all due reverence.
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 267 
 
 With that, anon she sent the swift roe 
 To bring in beasts of all condition ; 
 The restless swallow commanded she also 
 To fetch all fowl of small and great renown ; 
 And to gar flowers compeir of all fashion, 
 Full craftily conjured she the Yarrow 
 Which did forth swirk as swift as any arrow. 
 
 All present were, in twinkling of an e, 
 Both beasts, and birds, and flowers, before the 
 
 Queen. 
 And first the lion, greatest of degree, 
 
 Was callM there : and he, most fair to seen, 
 With a full hardy countenance and keen, 
 
 Before Dame Nature came ; and did in- 
 cline, 
 With visage bold, and courage leonine. 
 
 This awful beast full terrible was of cheer, 
 
 Piercing of look, and stout of countenance, 
 Right strong of corps, of fashion fair, but feir, 
 Lusty of shape, light of deliverance, 
 Red of his colour, as is the ruby glance ; 
 On field of gold he stood full mightily, 
 With fleur-de-lis encircled lustily. 
 
 This Lady lifted up his clawes clear, 
 
 And let him listly lean upon her knee ; 
 And crowned him with diadem full dear 
 Of radiant stones, most royal for to see, 
 Saying, ' The King of Beastes make I thee ; 
 And the chief protector in woods and shaws ! 
 Unto thy lieges go forth, and keep the 
 laws !
 
 268 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 ' Excerce justice, with mercy and conscience ; 
 
 And let no small beast suffer scath, nor scorns, 
 Of great beasts, that be of more puissance ! 
 Do law alike to apes and unicorns ! 
 And let no bowgle, with his busteous horns, 
 
 The meek plough-ox oppress, for all his pride ; 
 And in the yoke go peaceably him beside !' 
 
 When this was said, with noise and sound of joy, 
 
 All kinds of beast es, into their degree, 
 At once cried loud, ' Vive le Roi /' 
 And till his feet fell with humility ; 
 And all, they made him homage and fealty : 
 And he did them receive with princely laitis ; 
 Whose noble ire is parcere prostratis. 
 
 Syne, crowned she the eagle, King of Fowls ; 
 
 And as steel darts sharpened she his pennes, 
 And bade him, ' Be also just to whaups and owls 
 As unto peacocks, popingays, or cranes ; 
 And make a law for wight fowls and for wrens : 
 And let no fowl of ravin do effray, 
 Nor devour birds but his own prey !' 
 
 Then called she all flowers that grew on field, 
 
 Discerning all their fashions and effeirs. 
 Upon that awful Thistle she beheld, 
 
 And saw him kept with a bush of spears : 
 Considering him so able for the wars, 
 A radiant crown of rubies she him gave, 
 And said, ' In field go forth, and 'fend the lave ! 
 
 ' And, sen thou art a King, thou be discreet ! 
 
 Herb without virtue thou hold not of such price 
 As herb of virtue and of odour sweet ! 
 
 And let no nettle vile, and full of vice,
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 269 
 
 Her fellow to the goodly fleur-de-lis I 
 Nor let no wild weed, full of churlishness, 
 Compare her till the lily's nobleness ! 
 
 ' Nor hold none other flower in such dainty 
 
 As the fresh rose, of colour red and white ! 
 For if thou dost, hurt is thine honesty. 
 Consid'ring that no flower is so perfite, 
 So full of virtue, pleasance, and delight. 
 So full of blissful angelic beauty, 
 Imperial birth, honour, and dignity !' 
 
 Then to the rose she turned her visage, 
 
 And said, ' O lusty daughter ! most benign, 
 Above the lily, illustrious of lineage, 
 
 From the stock royal rising fresh and ying, 
 But any spot or macule doing spring : 
 
 Come, bloom of joy ! with gems to be crowned ; 
 For, o'er the lave, thy beauty is renowned.' 
 
 A costly crown, with clarified stones bright, 
 
 This comely Queen did on her head enclose, 
 While all the land illumined of the light : 
 
 Wherefore methought, all flowers did rejoice, 
 Crying at once, ' Hail, be thou richest, Rose ! 
 Hail, herbes' Empress ! Hail, freshest Queen of 
 
 flowers ! 
 To thee be glory and honour at all hours !' 
 
 Then all the birdes sang with one voice on hight ; 
 Whose mirthful sound was marvellous to hear. 
 The mavis sang, ' Hail, Rose, most rich and right, 
 That dost up-flourish under Phoebus' sphere ! 
 Hail, plant of youth ! Hail, Princess, daughter dear, 
 Hail, blossom breaking out of the royal blood ; 
 Whose precious virtue is imperial.'
 
 270 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The merle, she sang, ' Hail, Rose of most delight, 
 Hail, of all flowers Queen and Sovereign !' 
 The lark, she sang, ' Hail, Rose, both red and white, 
 Most pleasant flower, of mighty colours twain !' 
 The nightingale sang, ' Hail, Nature's suffragan 
 In beauty, nurture, and every nobleness, 
 In rich array, renown, and gentleness !' 
 
 The common voice uprose of birdes small, 
 Upon this wise, ' O, blessed be the hour, 
 That thou wast chosen to be our principal ! 
 Welcome to be our princess of honour, 
 Our pearl, our pleasure, and our paramour, 
 Our peace, our play, our plain felicity ! 
 Christ thee conserve from all adversity !' 
 
 Then all the birdes sang with such a shout, 
 
 That I anon awoke where that I lay ; 
 And, with a braid, I turned me about 
 
 To see this Court : but all were went away. 
 Then up I leaned, halflings in affray ; 
 
 And thus I wrote, as ye have heard to forrow, 
 Of lusty May upon the ninth morrow. 
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 TO THE KING 
 
 AT HIS RETURNING FROM SCOTLAND TO THE QUEEN AFTER HIS 
 CORONATION THERE.* 
 
 ROUSE up thyself, my gentle Muse, 
 Though now our green conceits be grey, 
 
 And yet once more do not refuse 
 To take my Phrygian harp, and play 
 In honour of this cheerful day. 
 * Charles I., crowned at Holyrood June 18, 1633.
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 271 
 
 Make first a song of joy and love, 
 Which chastely flame in royal eyes ; 
 
 Then tune it to the spheres above 
 When the benignest stars do rise, 
 And sweet conjunctions grace the skies. 
 
 To this let all good hearts resound, 
 While diadems invest his head ; 
 
 Long may he live, whose life doth bound 
 More than his laws, and better lead 
 By high example than by dread ! 
 
 Long may he round about him see 
 
 His roses and his lilies blown ; 
 Long may his only dear and he 
 
 Joy in ideas of their own, 
 
 And kingdom's hopes so timely sown ; 
 
 Long may they both contend to prove, 
 That best of crowns is such a love ! 
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON. 
 
 CHARLES THE FIRST'S PROGRESS THROUGH EDIN- 
 BURGH 
 
 CHARLES I., when he visited Scotland in 1633 . r . 
 brought with him Archbishop Laud. . . . The age of 
 Charles, however, was, much more than the present, 
 an age of mysteries and emblems : it was an age of 
 the masque and the allegory, an age in which even 
 a Bacon could write of such things, and a Quarles of 
 scarce anything else ; and I question whether Edin- 
 burgh was not as interesting a sight when Charles I. 
 /. . as when Queen Victoria visited it. ' The streets 
 on both sides,' says Stevenson, ' were lined by the
 
 272 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 citizens in their best apparel and arms, from the West 
 Port to Holyrood.' At one ' theatre, exquisitely 
 adorned,' where the Lord Provost presented the keys 
 to his Majesty, there was a ' painted description of 
 the city.' At another near the Luckenbooths, were 
 arranged the portraits of all the kings of Scotland 
 from Fergus downward. A fountain at the cross ran 
 with wine for the benefit of the lieges ; and Bacchus, 
 large as life, superintended the distribution of the 
 liquor. The Muses made themselves visible in Hunter 
 Square ; the heavenly bodies danced harmoniously 
 at the Netherbow. Bells chimed, cannon rattled, 
 and ' all sorts of music that could be invented ' 
 mingled their tones with the booming of the guns, the 
 pealing of the bells, the melody of the planets, the 
 speeches of Fergus, Bacchus, and the Provost, and 
 the songs of Apollo, the Burghers, and the Muses. 
 We are farther told that the streets were actually 
 ' sanded,' and that the ' chief places were set out 
 with stately triumphant arches, obelisks, pictures, 
 artificial mountains, and other costly shows.' It 
 must have been altogether a bizarre scene. Par- 
 nassus, with all its rocks, trees, and fountains, leaned 
 against the old weigh-house. When the Muses sung, 
 the nymphs of the Cowgate joined in the chorus. 
 The genius of Scotland discoursed of war and con- 
 quest in the middle of the West Bow, classic arches 
 of lath strided over the odoriferous Cranes, festoons 
 of flowers hung romantically above the unsullied 
 waters of Nor'-Loch, obelisks of pasteboard shot 
 up their taper pinnacles among the grey chimneys 
 of the Grassmarket, the entire city must have not 
 a little resembled its defunct patron saint of blackened 
 wood, ' old St. Gyle,' when bedizzened on a holiday
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 273 
 
 with coloured glass, tinsel, and cut paper. And then, 
 the handsome, imperious, melancholy Charles, with 
 violent death impressed, according to the belief of 
 the age, in the very lines of his countenance, and the 
 withered, diminutive Laud, perplexed by some half- 
 restored recollection of his last night's dream, or bent 
 to the full stretch of his faculties in originating some 
 new religious form suggested by the surrounding 
 mummeries, or in determining whether his cope 
 might not possibly be improved by the addition of a 
 few spangles, must have looked tolerably picturesque 
 as they passed along the lines of grave whiskered 
 burghers stretching on either hand, surmounted by 
 all the beauty of the place, as it hung gaping and 
 curious from the windows above. 
 
 HUGH MILLER. 
 QUEEN VICTORIA'S VISIT TO EDINBURGH 
 
 SEPTEMBER 3, 1842 
 
 IT was one of those mild agreeable days of tempered 
 sunshine and shadow of which our better tracts of 
 autumn weather are mainly composed. It was what 
 Gilbert White of Selborne would have termed a 
 delicate day. Thsre were a few white clouds over- 
 head ; there rested on the outer skirts of the land- 
 scape a soft grey haze ; a slight breeze just served, 
 by rippling the waters of the Firth, to give intensity 
 to their tints of blue ; the distant heights, with theii 
 multitudinous squares of yellow, so significant of the 
 decline of the season, looked soft and dim, as if 
 sketched in an unfinished drawing ; the city itself, 
 seated proudly amid its hills, raised its picturesque 
 and close-piled masses through the thin haze, as if it 
 
 18
 
 274 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 were a thing half of earth, half of cloud, its shadows 
 softened into a bluish-grey, its mingling lights 
 sobered down into a pale and smoky amber. One of 
 our poets speaks of the roar sent by a great city 
 ' through all its many gates.' One had but to stand 
 and listen on this morning, to decide regarding the 
 appropriateness of the phrase. An infinity of 
 blended tones, the hum of eager and moving crowds, 
 the rattle of coaches, the incessant strokes of 
 workmen employed by hundreds in the erection of 
 balconies and scaffolds, a thousand nameless sounds, 
 besides, were all mingled into one mighty roar the 
 voice of the city resembling at a distance the noise 
 of a high wind in a leafless wood, or the murmur of 
 the far-off ocean in a tempest. The streets were early 
 astir. There were, if I may so speak, main currents 
 in the living tide, which continued to flow from long 
 before noon till nightfall. One main current had set 
 in towards the shore ; others of less volume and 
 momentum, and more broken by meeting tides, 
 flowed full in the direction of the nearer heights which 
 command a full view of the Firth. The Calton, 
 blackened by its moving thousands, resembled a huge 
 ant-hill just stirred. We could descry, too, in the 
 distance, and but barely descry, that the upper out- 
 line of Arthur's Seat was roughened by its anxious 
 crowds. But in no locality was the appearance 
 exhibited of a more animating or impressive char- 
 acter than in the immediate neighbourhood of 
 Granton, the projected scene of her Majesty's landing. 
 It was in this direction that the main current had set 
 in. The green sloping bank which runs parallel to 
 the shore, at the distance of less than half a field's 
 breadth from the beach, and which at one period
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 275 
 
 must have formed the coast-line, was literally black- 
 ened by spectators. The road below was more than 
 equally crowded, the broad strip of beach un- 
 covered by the tide was mottled by its restless groups. 
 Nor was the Firth beyond less a scene of life and 
 animation. Boats, and vessels of larger size, crowded 
 by their pleasure parties, flitted around the huge 
 mole which here projects its vast length into the sea, 
 now casting anchor, now again making sail, and 
 turning their heads down the Firth, as if in eager 
 anxiety to descry the expected flotilla. Steamboats, 
 with their long evanescent trails of cloud, went 
 gliding in every direction athwart the blue ; ever and 
 anon a larger vessel hove round, and, turning her 
 side to the shore, saluted the harbour with a gun. 
 The echoes rang merrily ; the group of vessels laid 
 along the mole, when some half-dozen steamers or 
 so moored at once among them, seemed as if enveloped 
 in cloud and darkness ; and flag and pennon waved 
 sullenly from amid the smoke, like the gauds and 
 braveries of life when dimmed by its troubles. The 
 day wore fast on : still no signal intimated from cliff 
 or castle that the royal flotilla had entered the Firth. 
 The tides and winds had been adverse : it was feared, 
 too, that what had been but a thin fleecy haze ashore 
 might have been a fog at sea. All expectations of 
 the Queen's arrival before nightfall at length vanished, 
 and about four o'clock the vast clouds began to break 
 up and disperse. We could mark not a few blank 
 countenances among the humbler pedestrians, 
 many of the country people from the neighbouring 
 counties, who had just got their single day to see the 
 Queen, and who, disappointed once, could entertain 
 no hope of enjoying a second opportunity. We 
 
 18 3
 
 276 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 could sympathize in the vexation manifested by a 
 stalwart shepherd in a grey maud, who had left his 
 flock on the previous evening on a hill -side some thirty 
 miles away, as, in turning from his conspicuous and 
 well-chosen stand, he gave vent to his feeling of dis- 
 appointment in a half-sad, half-humorous, ' Dash it, 
 and will I no see her after a' !' 
 
 The fall of evening was marked by a scene scarce 
 less striking than that of the day, though of a char- 
 acter altogether different. A brown haze hung over 
 the skirts of the horizon, dense enough to blot out 
 the whole opposite line of coast and the wide extent 
 of Firth below, and yet not so dense but that the 
 fires kindled up on all the more conspicuous heights 
 shone through, each surrounded by its own dusky 
 halo. A dotted outline of red light served to restore 
 well-nigh all the bolder features of the vanished 
 landscape. The flames rose broad and high on the 
 nearer heights. A huge uneven pennon of fire 
 flared on the summit of Arthur's Seat, lighting up its 
 own swart trail of smoke with an umbry red, and 
 converting into a vast halo, of more than a thousand 
 yards diameter, the mist-wreaths that brooded 
 above. The rugged outline of Salisbury Crags stood 
 out distinctly visible in the foreground, like a sketch 
 in black richly bronzed. The ridge of the Pent- 
 lands had its three fires ; the Binny and Dalmahoy 
 Crags,* in the long retiring valley to the west, had 
 each their beacon ; and with these, many a solitary 
 peak besides, where the unwonted light must have 
 scared the fox in his lair and the hawk on her perch. 
 The Calton Hill, even after the night had closed, was 
 crowded by its thousands of spectators, its brown 
 and sombre groups, half visible, and only half, by
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH 277 
 
 the red flickering light that streamed from the neigh- 
 bouring hill. There was a charm to detain them in 
 the scene itself, well-nigh one of the most sublime 
 of the kind ever witnessed ; and there was something 
 for the imagination to lay hold of, in the circumstance 
 that already must the expected flotilla have entered 
 the Firth, a long dim vista tracked in fire ; and that 
 all the flaming peaks which composed the line on 
 either side must have addressed their welcome ere 
 now to the gaze of the royal voyager. At length the 
 flames began to sink, and the crowds to disperse. 
 
 The morning rose dull and drizzly, but it cleared 
 up as the hours passed ; and ere nine o'clock, though 
 still somewhat gloomy, it had become at least dry 
 overhead. The morning papers had intimated to 
 the city the arrival of the royal squadron in the roads 
 over night. And at seven o'clock a signal-gun had 
 been fired from the Castle. We were fortunate 
 enough not to know exactly what the latter had been 
 intended to mean ; and, inferring that it just inti- 
 mated that the Queen was to be soon visible, we set 
 out early, determined, at all events, to see the Queen. 
 . . . We made our way to the Calton, where we 
 found a few hundreds already assembled, and en- 
 sconced ourselves among the shrubbery on the edge 
 of the low precipice that overhangs the road. The 
 Castle guns began to fire, and we concluded that the 
 Queen had just touched Scottish ground. . . . The 
 cry arose, ' Here comes the military !' We looked 
 westward, and saw that Princes Street, from the 
 Mound to the North Bridge, had suddenly become 
 one dense sea of moving heads, and that every cross- 
 street and opening was pouring in its thousands to 
 swell the amount. There was a minute patch of
 
 278 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 scarlet inlaid in the mass ; all was dingy around it ; 
 and it came moving steadily along in the midst, like 
 a float of drift-wood falling down a river. This, 
 thought we, must be the van of the procession, the 
 advanced guard, to reconnoitre and clear the way : 
 the main body, with the Queen, must still be a con- 
 siderable distance behind. The patch of scarlet 
 came floating on. We could discern bright helmets 
 and the glitter of steel ; we could mark a sudden 
 crowding to the windows, a hasty rush to the over- 
 hanging galleries, more than two-thirds empty but 
 a minute before, a waving of handkerchiefs and of 
 hats ; and a cry, not loud, but deep, which we could 
 scarce term a cheer, but which seemed to express a 
 deeper feeling, ran along the line of spectators as 
 the military passed. Could this be the Queen ? It 
 was. She sat in a low open carriage, with Prince 
 Albert on her left, clear-complexioned, but pale, 
 tastefully but plainly dressed, one whom in private 
 life we would perhaps describe as a pretty woman, 
 very thoroughly the lady . . . the daughter of a 
 hundred kings, and a monarch on whose vast do- 
 minions the sun never sets. 
 
 HUGH MILLER.
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE
 
 The Palace of Holyrood has been left aside in the growth of 
 Edinburgh. ... It is a house of many memories. Great 
 people of yore, kings and queens, buffoons and grave am- 
 bassadors, played their stately farce for centuries in Holyrood. 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 Palace and ruin, bless thee evermore ! 
 Graceful we bow thy gloomy tow'rs before ; 
 For the old Kings of France hath found in thee 
 That melancholy hospitality 
 Which in their royal fortune's evil day 
 Stuarts and Bourbons to each other pay. 
 
 VICTOR HUGO : Holyrood Palace.
 
 THE ECHO OF THE ROYAL PORCH OF THE PALACE 
 OF HOLYROOD HOUSE 
 
 WHICH FELL UNDER MILITARY EXECUTION, 1753 
 
 YE sons of Mars, with black cockade, 
 Who wear the gun and murd'ring blade, 
 Against your foes in battle hot, 
 And die, or conquer on the spot ; 
 To devastation ye are bred, 
 By blood ye swear, and blood's your trade. 
 No (Echo then reply 'd aloud,) 
 They do not always deal in blood ; 
 Nor yet in breaking human bones ; 
 For Quixot-like they knock down stones. 
 Regardless they the mattock ply, 
 To root out Scots antiquity. 
 My aged arch for centuries ten 
 Hath spared been by Scottish men. 
 As Judah's porches, sacred mine, 
 Where kings did rule by right divine. 
 Your ancient Kings did enter here, 
 Tho' strangers now for many a year ; 
 And many barons in my sight 
 Were honour 'd with the title ' Knight,' 
 Whose race now tamely sees my fall, 
 Relentless at my mournful call. 
 When Rec-coats struck, I loud did shriek, 
 And to Auld Reikie thus did speak : 
 ' What is my crime ? Oh ! what my blot ?' 
 Auld Reikie cried, ' Thou'rt an old Scot.' 
 ' What then ?' my Echo loud did cry, 
 281
 
 282 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 ' Must Scots antiquity now die ?' 
 ' Yes,' cried Auld Reikie, ' die you must, 
 For ... at you has a disgust. 
 My cross likewise, of old renown, 
 Will next to you be tumbled down ; 
 And by degrees each ancient place 
 Will perish by this modern race.' 
 My Echo then did loud rebound, 
 With cries which shook the neighbouring ground ; 
 And, all amazed, the soldier bands 
 Suspended stood with trembling hands ; 
 While these sad accents I let fly, 
 Which sharply pierc'd the azure sky : 
 ' Adieu, Edina, now adieu, 
 
 Fair Scotia's glory's gone.' 
 This said, she bowed her ancient head, 
 
 And gave her final groan. 
 Edina echo'd then aloud, 
 
 And bid her long farewell ; 
 The Calton Hill and Arthur's Seat 
 Did ring her parting knell. 
 
 CLAUDERO. 
 
 TO THE PRINCESS MARGARET 
 
 ON HER ARRIVAL AT HOLYROOD 
 
 Now fayre, fayrest off every fayre, 
 Princess most pleasant and preclare, 
 The lustyest one alyve that byne, 
 Welcum to Scotland to be Quene ! 
 
 Younge tender plant of pulcritud, 
 Descendyd of Imperyalle blode ; 
 Fresh fragrant floure of fayre hede shene, 
 Welcum of Scotland to be Quene !
 
 HOLY ROOD
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 283 
 
 Sweet lusty lusum lady clere, 
 Most myghty kynges dochter dere, 
 Borne of a princess most serene, 
 Welcum of Scotland to be Quene ! 
 
 Welcum the Rose bothe rede and whyte, 
 Welcum the floure of oure delyte ! 
 Our secrete rejoysyng from the sone beine, 
 Welcum of Scotland to be Quene ! 
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 HOLYROOD : THE TRAGEDY OF THE QUEEN'S 
 CABINET 
 
 THE Queen, as he [Des-Essars] could see, lay back in 
 her elbow-chair obviously suffering, picking at some 
 food before her, but not eating any. Her lips were 
 chapped and dry ; she moistened them continually, 
 then bit them. Lady Argyll, handsome, strong- 
 featured, and swarthy, sat bolt upright and stared 
 at the sconce on the wall ; and as for the Italian, he 
 did as he always did, lounged opposite his Queen, his 
 head against the wainscot. Reflective after food, he 
 used his toothpick, but no other ceremony what- 
 soever. He wore his cap on his head, ignored Lady 
 Argyll half-sister to the throne and when he 
 looked at her Majesty, as he often did, it was as a 
 man might look at his wife. She, although she 
 seemed too weary or too indifferent to lift her heavy 
 eyelids, knew perfectly well that both her companions 
 were watching her : Des-Essars was sure of that. He 
 watched her himself intensely, and only once saw her 
 meet Davy's eye, when she passed her cup to him to 
 be filled with drink, and he, as if thankful to be
 
 284 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 active, poured the wine with a flourish and smiled in 
 her face as he served her. She observed both act and 
 actor, and made no sign, neither drank from the cup 
 now she had it, but sank back to her wretchedness 
 and the contemplation of it, being in that pettish, 
 brooding habit of mind which would rather run on in 
 a groove of pain than brace itself to some new shift. . . . 
 
 The little cabinet was very dim. There were 
 candles on the table, but none alight in the sconces. 
 From beyond, through a half-open door, came the 
 drowsy voices of the Queen's women, murmuring 
 their way through two more hours' vigil. Intermin- 
 able nights ! Cards would follow supper, you must 
 know, and Signior Davy would try to outsit Lady 
 Argyll. He always tried, and generally succeeded. 
 
 The Queen shifted, sighed, and played hasty tunes 
 with her fingers on the table : she was never still. It 
 was evident that she was at once very wretched and 
 very irritable. Her dark-red gown was cut low and 
 square, Venetian mode : Des-Essars could see quite 
 well how short her breath was, and how quick. Yet 
 she said nothing. Once she and Lady Argyll ex- 
 changed glances ; the Mistress of the Robes inquired 
 with her eyebrows, the Queen fretfully shook the 
 question away. It was an unhappy supper for all 
 but the graceless Italian, who was much at his ease 
 now that he had unfastened some of the hooks of his 
 jacket. The French lad, who had always been in 
 love with his mistress and yet able to criticize her 
 as a Protestant may adore the Virgin Mary admits 
 that at this moment of her life, in this bitter mood, 
 he found her extremely piquant. ' This pale, help- 
 less, angry, pretty woman !' he exclaims upon his 
 page. He would seldom allow that she was more
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 285 
 
 than just a pretty woman ; and now she was a good 
 deal less. Her charms for him had never been of 
 the face she had an allure of her own. ' Mistress 
 Seton was lovely, I consider, my Lady Bothwell 
 most beautiful, and Mistress Fleming not far short of 
 that : but the Queen's Majesty ah ! the coin from 
 Mr. Knox's mint rang true. Honeypot ! Honey- 
 pot ! There you had her essence : sleepy, slow, soft 
 sweetness with a sharp after-taste, for all that, to 
 prick the tongue and set it longing.' 
 
 More than nice considerations, these, which the 
 stealthy opening of a door and a step in the passage 
 disturbed. Des-Essars would have straightened him- 
 self on that signal, to stand as a page should stand in 
 the view of any one entering. Then he saw, out of 
 the corner of his eye, the King go down the little 
 stair. It must be the King, because to say nothing 
 of the tall figure, small-headed as it was, he had 
 seen the long white gown. The King wore a white 
 quilted silk bedgown, lined with ermine. At the 
 turning of the stair Des-Essars saw him just glance 
 backwards over his shoulder towards the cabinet, but, 
 being stiff within the shadow of the curtain, was not 
 himself seen. After that furtive look he saw him go 
 down the privy stair, his hand on the rope. Obviously 
 he had an assignation with some woman below. 
 
 Before he had time to correct this conclusion by 
 the memory of the cloaked men in the hall, he heard 
 returning steps somebody, this time, coming up 
 the steps ; no ! there were more than one two or 
 three at least. He was sure of this his ears had 
 never deceived him and yet it was the King alone 
 who appeared at the stair-head with a lighted taper 
 in his hand, which he must have got from the hall.
 
 286 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 He stood there for a moment, his face showing white 
 and strained in the light, his mouth open, too ; then, 
 blowing out his taper, he came directly to the curtain 
 of the Queen's cabinet, pulled it aside and went in. 
 He had actually covered Des-Essars with the curtain 
 without a notion that he was there ; but the youth 
 had had time to observe that he was fully dressed 
 beneath his gown, and to get a hot whiff of the strong 
 waters in his breath as he passed in. Urgent to see 
 what all this might mean, he peeped through the 
 hangings. 
 
 Lady Argyll rose up slowly when she saw the King, 
 but made no reverence. Very few did in these days. 
 The Italian followed her example, perfectly com- 
 posed. The Queen took no notice of him. She 
 rested as she had been, her head on the droop, eye- 
 brows raised, eyes fixed on the disordered platter. 
 The King, whose colour was very high, came behind 
 her chair, stooped, and put his arm round her. His 
 hand covered her bosom. She did not avoid, though 
 she did not relish this. 
 
 ' Madam, it is very late,' he said, and spoke 
 breathlessly. 
 
 ' It is not I who detain you,' said she. 
 
 ' No, madam, no. But you do detain these good 
 servants of yours. Here is your sister of Argyll ; 
 next door are your women. And so it is night after 
 night. I think not of myself.' 
 
 She lifted her head a little to look up sideways but 
 not at him. ' You think of very little else, to my 
 understanding. Having brought me to the state 
 where now I am, you are inclined to leave me alone. 
 Rather, you were inclined ; for this is a new humour, 
 little to my taste.'
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 287 
 
 ' I should be oftener here, believe me,' says the 
 King, still embracing her, ' if I could feel more sure 
 of a welcome if all might be again as it was once 
 between you and me.' 
 
 She laughed, without mirth ; then asked, ' And how 
 was it once ?' 
 
 The King stooped down and kissed her forehead, 
 by the same act gently pushing back her head till 
 it rested on his shoulder. 
 
 ' Thus it was once, my Mary,' he said ; and as she 
 looked up into his face, wondering over it, searching 
 it, he kissed her again. ' Thus it was once/ he re- 
 peated in a louder voice ; and then, louder yet, 
 ' Thus, O Queen of Scots !' 
 
 Once more he kissed her, and once more cried out, 
 ' O Queen of Scots !' Then Des-Essars heard the 
 footsteps begin again on the privy stair, and saw 
 men come into the passage many men. 
 
 Three of them, in cloaks and steel bonnets, came 
 quickly to the door, and passed him. They went 
 through the curtain. These three were Lord Ruth- 
 ven, Ker of Fawdonsyde, and Mr. Archibald Douglas. 
 Rigid in his shadow, Des-Essars watched all. 
 
 Seeing events in the Italian's eyes, rather than with 
 her own for Signior Davy had narrowed his to two 
 threads of blue the Queen lifted her head from her 
 husband's arm and looked curiously round. The 
 three stood hesitant within the door ; Ruthven had 
 his cap on his head, Fawdonsyde his, but Archie 
 showed his grey poll. Little things like these 
 angered her quickly ; she shook free from the King 
 and sat upright. 
 
 ' What is this, my Lord Ruthven ? You forget 
 yourself.'
 
 288 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 ' Madam ' he began ; but Douglas nudged him 
 
 furiously. 
 
 ' Your bonnet, man, your bonnet !' 
 
 The Queen had risen, and the fixed direction of her 
 eyes gave him understanding. 
 
 ' Ah, my knapscall ! I do as others do, madam,' 
 he said, with a meaning look at the Italian. ' What 
 is pleasant to your Majesty in yonder servant should 
 not be an offence in a counciDor.' 
 
 ' No, no, ma'am, nor it should not,' muttered 
 Fawdonsyde, who, nevertheless, doffed his bonnet. 
 
 The King was holding her again, she staring still 
 at the scowling man in steel. ' What do you want 
 with me, Ruthven ?' she said. She had very dry 
 lips. 
 
 He made a clumsy bow. ' May it please your 
 Majesty,' he said, ' we are come to rid you of this 
 fellow Davy, who has been overlong familiar here, 
 and overmuch for your Majesty's honour.' 
 
 She turned her face to the King, whose arm still 
 held her a white, strong face. 
 
 ' You,' she said fiercely, ' what have you to do in 
 this ? What have you to say ?' 
 
 ' I think with Ruthven with all of them my 
 friends and well-wishers. 'Tis the common voice : 
 they say I am betrayed, upon my soul ! I cannot 
 endure I entreat you to trust me ' He was in- 
 coherent. 
 
 She broke away from his arm, took a step forward 
 and put herself between him and the three. She was 
 so angry that she could not find words. She stam- 
 mered, began to speak, rejected what words came. 
 The Italian took off his cap and watched Ruthven 
 intently. The moment of pause that ensued was
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 289 
 
 broken by Ruthven's raising his hand, for the Queen 
 flashed out, ' Put down your hand, sir !' and seemed 
 as if she would have struck him. Fawdonsyde here 
 cocked his pistol and deliberately raised it against 
 the Queen's person. ' Treason ! treason !' shrieked 
 Des-Essars from the curtain, and blundered forward 
 to the villain. 
 
 But the Queen had been before him ; at last she 
 had found words, and deeds. She drew herself up, 
 quivering, went directly towards Fawdonsyde, and 
 beat down the point of the pistol with her flat hand. 
 ' Do you dare so much ? Then I dare more. What 
 shameless thing do you here ? If I had a sword in 
 
 my hand ' Here she stopped, tongue-tied at what 
 
 was done to her. 
 
 For Ruthven, regardless of majesty, had got her 
 round the middle. He pushed her back into the 
 King's arms ; and, ' Take your wife, my lord,' says 
 he ; ' take your good-wife in your arms and cherish 
 her, while we do what must be done.' 
 
 The King held her fast in spite of her struggles. 
 At that moment the Italian made a rattling sound 
 in his throat and backed from the table. Archie 
 Douglas stepped behind the King, to get round the 
 little room ; Ruthven approached his victim from the 
 other side ; the Italian pulled at the table, got it 
 between himself and the enemy, and overset it : then 
 Lady Argyll screamed, and snatched at a candle- 
 stick as all went down. It was the only light left in 
 the room, held up in her hand like a beacon above a 
 tossing sea. Where was Des-Essars ? Cuffed aside 
 to the wall, like a rag doll. The maids were packed 
 in the door of the bedchamber, and one of them had 
 pulled him into safety among them. 
 
 19
 
 290 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 All that followed he marked : how the frenzied 
 Italian, hedged in between Douglas and Ruthven, 
 vaulted the table, knocked over Fawdonsyde, and 
 then, whimpering like a woman, crouched by the 
 Queen, his fingers in the pleats of her gown. He 
 saw the King's light eyelashes blink, and heard his 
 breath come whistling through his nose ; and that 
 pale, disfigured girl, held up closely against her hus- 
 band, moaning and hiding her face in his breast. 
 And now Ruthven, grinning horribly, swearing to 
 himself, and Douglas, whining like a dog at a rat- 
 hole, were at their man's hands, trying to drag him 
 off. Fawdonsyde hovered about, hopeful to help. 
 Lady Argyll held up the candle. 
 
 Douglas wrenched open one hand, Ruthven got 
 his head down and bit the other till it parted. 
 
 ' Dio ! Dio /' long shuddering cries went up 
 from the Italian as they dragged him out into the 
 passage, where the others waited. 
 
 It was dark there, and one knew not how full of 
 men ; but Des-Essars heard them snarling and mauling 
 like a pack of wolves ; heard the scuffling, the panting, 
 the short oaths and then a piercing scream. At 
 that there was silence ; then some one said, as he 
 struck, ' There ! there ! Hog of Turin !' and another 
 (Lindsay), ' He's done.' 
 
 The King put the Queen among her maids in a 
 hurry, and went running out into the passage as they 
 were shuffling the body down the stair. Des-Essars 
 just noticed, and remembered afterwards, his naked 
 dagger in his hand as he went out helter-skelter after 
 his friends. Upon some instinct or other, he followed 
 him as far as the head of the stair. From the bottom 
 came up a great clamour howls of execration, one
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 291 
 
 or two cries for the King, a round of welcome when he 
 appeared. The page ran back to the cabinet, and 
 found it dark. 
 
 It was bad to hear the Queen's laughter in the bed- 
 chamber worse when that shuddered out into 
 moaning, and she began to wail as if she were keening 
 her dead. He could not bear it, so crept out again 
 to spy about the passages and listen to the shouting 
 from the hall. ' A Douglas ! a Douglas !' was the 
 most common cry. Peeping through a window 
 which gave on to the front, he saw the snowy court 
 ablaze with torches, alive with men, and against the 
 glare the snowflakes whirling by, like smuts from a 
 burning chimney. It was clear enough now that the 
 palace was held, all its inmates prisoners. But what 
 seemed more terrifying than that was the emptiness 
 of the upper corridors, the sudden hush after so much 
 riot and the Queen's moan, haunting all the dark 
 like a lost soul. 
 
 MAURICE HEWLETT. 
 ON A MIRROR IN HOLYROOD PALACE 
 
 ONE could muse for many an hour over the little 
 Venetian mirror that hangs in the bedroom of Mary 
 Stuart in Holyrood Palace. What faces and what 
 scenes it must have reflected ! How often her own 
 beautiful countenance and person, the dazzling 
 eyes, the snowy brow, the red gold hair, the alabaster 
 bosom may have blazed in its crystal depths, now 
 tarnished and dim, like th< record of her own calami- 
 tous and wretched days ! Did those lovely eyes look 
 into this mirror and was their glance scared and 
 tremulous, or fixed and terrible on that dismal 
 
 19 2
 
 292 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 February night, so many years ago, when the fatal 
 explosion in the Kirk o' Field resounded with an 
 echo that has never died away ? Who can tell ? 
 This glass saw the gaunt and livid face of Ruthven 
 when he led his comrades of murder into that royal 
 chamber, and it beheld Rizzio screaming in mortal 
 terror as he was torn from the skirts of his mistress 
 and savagely slain before her eyes. Perhaps, also, 
 when that hideous episode was over and done with, it 
 saw Queen Mary and her despicable husband the next 
 time they met and were alone together in that ghastly 
 room. ' It shall be dear blood to some of you,' the 
 Queen had said, while the murder of Rizzio was doing. 
 Surely, having so injured a woman, any man with 
 eyes to see might have divined his fate, in the perfect 
 calm of her heavenly face and the quiet tones of her 
 gentle voice, at such a moment as that. ' At the 
 fireside tragedies are acted ' and tragic enough 
 must have been the scene of that meeting, apart from 
 human gaze in the chamber of crime of death. No 
 other relic of Mary Stuart stirs the imagination as 
 this mirror does unless, perhaps, it be the little 
 ebony crucifix once owned and reverenced by Sir 
 Walter Scott, and now piously treasured at Abbots - 
 ford, which she held in her hands when she went to 
 her death in the hall of Fotheringay Castle. 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER. 
 
 HOLYROOD 
 
 THE moon held court in Holyrood last night ten 
 
 thousand stars 
 By ancient tower and archway climbed and kissed the 
 
 window bars ;
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 293 
 
 The night wind knelt upon the hill, the crouching lion 
 
 lay 
 With shoulder to the Capital and blind eyes to the 
 
 Bay. 
 
 The moon held court in Holyrood, and, as she entered 
 
 in, 
 On damask fringe and tapestry the spider ceased to 
 
 spin ; 
 The slow moon slipped across the floor and bowed a 
 
 queenly head 
 
 To greet the train that passed her by a thousand 
 
 sleepless dead ! 
 
 She drifted down the storied halls and touched with 
 
 spread white wings 
 The gallery of the Hundred Dead, the Corridor of 
 
 Kings ; 
 She smiled upon a rebel prince and stretched white 
 
 hands to shrive 
 The gallant men, the peerless maids, that danced in 
 
 'Forty-five. 
 
 She crossed a sleeping chamber hung with trappings 
 
 rich and rare, 
 And kissed them softly one by one it was a queen 
 
 lay there ! 
 She heard the lute notes rise and fall, and watched the 
 
 dagger sped, 
 While underneath her trembling wings the brown 
 
 stain turned to red ! 
 
 The moon kept court in Holyrood, and from the 
 
 northern tower 
 She looked along the High Street sad at heart for 
 
 Scotland's flower,
 
 294 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 And looking saw a rider pass, pale-iaced and battle- 
 worn, 
 
 Beneath the drooping Flodden flag, all red and 
 slashed and torn ! 
 
 The moon passed out of Holyrood, white-lipped, to 
 
 open sky ; 
 The night-wind whimpered on the Crags to see the 
 
 ghosts go by ; 
 
 And stately, silent, sorrowful, the lonely lion lay 
 Gaunt shoulder to the Capital and blind eyes to the 
 
 Bay. 
 
 WILL H. OGILVIE. 
 
 OVER THE BRIG 
 
 ' Yon river is called the Tweed ; and yonder, over the brig, is 
 Scotland. Did ye never hear of the Tweed, my bonny man ?' 
 
 WE found ourselves at Edinburgh, or rather in the 
 Castle, into which the regiment marched with drums 
 beating, colours flying, and a long train of baggage- 
 waggons behind. The Castle was, as I suppose it 
 is now, a garrison for soldiers. . . . 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say much about this 
 Castle, which everybody has seen ; on which account, 
 doubtless, nobody has ever yet thought fit to describe 
 it at least that I am aware. Be this as it may, I 
 have no intention of describing it, and shall content 
 myself with observing that we took up our abode in 
 that immense building or caserne, of modern erection, 
 which occupies the entire eastern side of the bold 
 rock on which the Castle stands. A gallant caserne 
 it was the best and roomiest that I had hitherto 
 seen rather cold and windy, it is true, especially in
 
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 295 
 
 the winter, but commanding a noble prospect of a 
 range of distant hills, which I was told were ' the 
 hieland hills,' and of a broad arm of the sea, which 
 I heard somebody say was the Firth of Forth. . . . 
 
 The Castle on which I dwelt stood upon a rock, a 
 bold and craggy one, which, at first sight, would seem 
 to bid defiance to any feet save those of goats and 
 chamois ; but patience and perseverance generally 
 enable mankind to overcome things which, at first 
 sight, appear impossible. Indeed, what is there 
 above man's exertions ? Unwearied determination 
 will enable him to run with the horse, to swim with 
 the fish, and assuredly to compete with the chamois 
 and the goat in agility and sureness of foot. To scale 
 the rock was merely child's play for the Edinbro' 
 callants. It was my own favourite diversion. I 
 soon found that the rock contained all manner of 
 strange crypts, crannies, and recesses, where owls 
 nestled, and the weasel brought forth her young ; 
 here and there were small natural platforms, over- 
 grown with long grass and various kinds of plants, 
 where the climber, if so disposed, could stretch 
 himself, and either give his eyes to sleep or his mind 
 to thought ; for capital places were these same plat- 
 forms either for repose or meditation. The boldest 
 features of the rock are descried on the southern side, 
 where, after shelving down gently from the wall for 
 some distance, it terminates abruptly in a precipice, 
 black and horrible, of some three hundred feet at 
 least, as if the axe of nature had been here employed 
 cutting sheer down, and leaving behind neither ex- 
 crescence nor spur a dizzy precipice it is, assimi- 
 lating much to those so frequent in the flinty hills of 
 Northern Africa, and exhibiting some distant re-
 
 296 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 semblance to that of Gibraltar, towering in its horrid- 
 ness above the neutral ground. 
 
 It was now holiday time, and having nothing par- 
 ticular wherewith to occupy myself, I not unfre- 
 quently passed the greater part of the day upon the 
 rocks. Once, after scaling the western crags, and 
 creeping round a sharp angle of the wall, overhung by 
 a kind of watch tower, I found myself on the southern 
 side. Still keeping close to the wall, I was proceeding 
 onward, for I was bent upon a long excursion which 
 should embrace half the circuit of the Castle, when 
 suddenly my eye was attracted by the appearance 
 of something red, far below me ; I stopped short, 
 and, looking fixedly upon it, perceived that it was a 
 human being in a kind of red jacket, seated on the 
 extreme verge of the precipice, which I have already 
 made a faint attempt to describe. Wondering who 
 it could be, I shouted ; but it took not the slightest 
 notice, remaining as immovable as the rock on which 
 it sat. ' I should never have thought of going near 
 that edge,' said I to myself ; ' however, as you have 
 done it, why should not I ? And I should like to 
 know who you are.' So I commenced the descent 
 of the rock, but with great care, for I had as yet never 
 been in a situation so dangerous ; a slight moisture 
 exuded from the palms of my hands, my nerves were 
 tingling, and my brain was somewhat dizzy and 
 now I had arrived within a few yards of the figure. 
 ... A small stone which I dislodged now rolled 
 down the rock, and tumbled into the abyss close 
 beside him. He turned his head, and after looking 
 at me for a moment somewhat vacantly, he resumed 
 his former attitude. I drew yet nearer to the hor- 
 rible edge ; not close, however, for fear was on me.
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 297 
 
 ' What are you thinking of, David ?' said I, as I 
 sat behind him and trembled, for I repeat that I was 
 afraid. 
 
 David Haggart. I was thinking of Willie Wallace. 
 
 Myself. You had better be thinking of yourself, 
 man. A strange place this to come to and think of 
 William Wallace. 
 
 David Haggart. Why so ? Is not his tower just 
 beneath our feet ? 
 
 Myself. You mean the auld ruin by the side of 
 Nor Loch the ugly stane bulk, from the foot of 
 which flows the spring into the dyke, where the 
 watercresses grow ? 
 
 David Haggart. Just sae, Geordie. 
 
 Myself. And why were ye thinking of him ? The 
 English hanged him long since, as I have heard 
 say. 
 
 David Haggart. I was thinking that I should wish 
 to be like him. 
 
 Myself. Do ye mean that ye would wish to be 
 hanged ? 
 
 David Haggart. I wad na flinch from that, Geordie, 
 if I might be a great man first. 
 
 Myself. And wha kens, Davie, how great you may 
 be, even without hanging ? Are ye not in the high 
 road of preferment ? Are ye not a bauld drummer 
 already ? Wha kens how high ye may rise ? perhaps 
 to be general, or drum-major. 
 
 David Haggart. I hae na wish to be drum-major ; 
 it were na great things to be like the doited carle, 
 Elsethan-gude, as they call him ; and, troth, he has 
 nae his name for naething. But I should have nae 
 objection to be a general, and to fight the French and 
 Americans, and win myself a name and a fame like
 
 298 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Willie Wallace, and do brave deeds, such as I have 
 been reading about in his story book. 
 
 Myself. Ye are a fule, Davie ; the story book is 
 full of lies. Wallace, indeed ! the wuddie rebel ! I 
 have heard my father say that the Duke of Cumber- 
 land was worth twenty of Willie Wallace. 
 
 David Haggart. Ye had better sae naething agin 
 Willie Wallace, Geordie, for, if ye do, de'il hae me, if 
 I dinna tumble ye doon the craig. 
 
 GEORGE BORROW. 
 
 THE CASTLE ROCK : THE EYE OF THE LANDSCAPE 
 
 IN every point of view, however, the main centre of 
 attraction is the Castle of Edinburgh. From what- 
 ever side you approach the city, whether by water 
 or by land, whether your foreground consist of height 
 or plain, of heath, of trees, or of the buildings of the 
 city itself, this gigantic rock lifts itself high above all 
 that surrounds it, and breaks upon the sky with the 
 same commanding blackness of mingled crags, cliffs, 
 buttresses, and battlements. These, indeed, shift 
 and vary their outlines at every step, but everywhere 
 there is the same unmoved effect of general expres- 
 sion, the same lofty and imposing image, to which 
 the eye turns with the same unquestioning worship. 
 Whether you pass on the southern side, close under 
 the bare and shattered blocks of granite, where the 
 crumbling turrets on the summit seem as if they had 
 shot out of the kindred rock in some fantastic freak 
 of Nature, and where, amidst the overhanging mass 
 of darkness, you vainly endeavour to descry the track 
 by which Wallace scaled ; whether you look from the 
 north, where the rugged cliffs find room for some
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 299 
 
 scanty patches of moss and broom, to diversify their 
 barren grey, and where the whole mass is softened 
 into beauty by the wild green glen which intervenes 
 between the spectator and its foundations, wherever 
 you are placed, and however it is viewed, you feel at 
 once that here is the eye of the landscape, and the 
 essence of the grandeur. 
 
 Neither is it possible to say under what sky or 
 atmosphere all this appears to the greatest advantage. 
 The heavens may put on what aspect they choose, 
 they never fail to adorn it. Changes that elsewhere 
 deform the face of Nature, and rob her of half her 
 beauty, seem to pass over this majestic surface only 
 to dress out its majesty in some new apparel of 
 magnificence. If the air is cloudless and serene, 
 what can be finer than the calm reposing dignity of 
 those old towers every delicate angle of fissured 
 rock, every loop-hole and every lineament seen clearly 
 and distinctly in all their minuteness ? or, if the mist 
 be wreathed around the basis of the rock, and frown- 
 ing fragments of the citadel emerge only here and 
 there from out the racking clouds that envelop them, 
 the mystery and the gloom only rivet the eye the 
 faster, and half-baffled Imagination does more than 
 the work of Sight. At times, the whole detail is 
 lost to the eye ; one murky tinge of impenetrable 
 brown wraps rock and fortress from the root to the 
 summit ; all is lost but the outline : but the outline 
 atones abundantly for all that is lost. The cold 
 glare of the sun, plunging slowly down into a melan- 
 choly west beyond them, makes all the broken laby- 
 rinth of towers, batteries, and house-tops paint their 
 heavy breadth in tenfold subtle magnitude upon that 
 lurid canvas. At break of day how beautiful is the
 
 300 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 freshness with which the venerable pile appears to 
 rouse itself from its sleep, and look up once more with 
 a bright eye into the sharp and dewy air ! At the 
 ' grim and sultry hour ' of noon, with what languid 
 grandeur the broad flag seems to flap its long weight 
 of folds above the glowing battlements ! When the 
 daylight goes down in purple glory, what lines of 
 gold creep along the hoary brow of its antique 
 strength ! When the whole heaven is deluged, and 
 the winds are roaring fiercely, and ' snow and hail, 
 and stormy vapour,' are let loose to make war upon 
 its front, with what an air of pride does the veteran 
 citadel brave all their well-known wrath, ' cased in 
 the unfeeling armour of old time !' The Capitol 
 itself is but a pigmy to this giant. 
 
 But here, as everywhere, moonlight is the best. 
 Wherever I spend the evening, I must always walk 
 homewards by the long line of Princes Street ; and 
 along all that spacious line, the midnight shadows of 
 the Castle rock for ever spread themselves forth, and 
 wrap the ground on which I tread in their broad 
 repose of blackness. It is not possible to imagine a 
 more majestic accompaniment for the deep pause of 
 that hour. The uniform splendour of the habita- 
 tions on the left opening every now and then broken 
 glimpses up into the very heart of the modern city ; 
 the magnificent terrace itself, with its stable breadth 
 of surface ; the few dying lamps that here and there 
 glimmer faintly ; and no sound, but the heavy tread 
 of some far-off watchman of the night. This alone 
 might be enough, and it is more than almost any 
 other city could afford. But turn to the right and 
 see what a glorious contrast is there. The eternal 
 rock sleeping in the stillness of Nature ; its cliffs of
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 301 
 
 granite, its tufts, all alike steeped in the same un- 
 varying hue of mystery ; its towers and pinnacles 
 rising like a grove of quiet poplars on its crest, the 
 whole as colourless as if the sun had never shone 
 there, as silent as if no voice of man had ever dis- 
 turbed the echoes of the solemn scene. Overhead, 
 the sky is all one breathless canopy of lucid crystal 
 blue here and there a small bright star twinkling in 
 the depth of aether, and full in the midst the moon 
 walking in her vestal glory, pursuing, as from the 
 bosom of eternity, her calm and destined way, and 
 pouring down the silver of her smiles upon all of 
 lovely and sublime that Nature and art could heap 
 together, to do homage to her radiance. 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 EDINBURGH CASTLE 
 
 THE Castle rock of Edinburgh is, as far as I know, 
 simply the noblest in Scotland, conveniently ap- 
 proachable by any creatures but sea-gulls or peewits. 
 Ailsa and the Bass are of course more wonderful ; 
 and, I suppose, in the West Highlands there are 
 masses of crag more wild and fantastic ; but people 
 only go to see these once or twice in their lives, 
 while the Castle rock has a daily influence in forming 
 the taste, or kindling the imagination, of every 
 promising youth in Edinburgh. Even irrespectively 
 of its position, it is a mass of singular importance 
 among the rocks of Scotland. It is not easy to find 
 among your mountains a ' craig ' of so definite a 
 form, and on so magnificent a scale. Among the 
 central hills of Scotland, from Ben Wyvis to the 
 Lammermuirs, I know of none comparable to it ;
 
 302 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 while, besides being bold and vast, its bars of basalt 
 are so nobly arranged, and form a series of curves at 
 once so majestic and harmonious, from the turf at 
 their base to the roots of the bastions, that, as long 
 as your artists have that crag to study, I do not see 
 that they need casts -from Michael Angelo, or any 
 one else, to teach them the laws of composition or 
 the sources of sublimity. 
 
 But if you once cut into the brow of it, all is over. 
 Disturb, in any single point, the simple lines in which 
 the walls now advance and recede upon the tufted 
 grass of its summit, and you may as well make a 
 quarry of it at once, and blast away rock, Castle, 
 and all. It admits of some question whether the 
 changes made in the architecture of your city of late 
 years are in every case improvements ; but very 
 certainly you cannot improve the architecture of 
 your volcanic crags by any explosive retouches. . . . 
 You may restore Trinity Chapel, or repudiate its 
 restoration, at your pleasure, but there will be no 
 need to repudiate restoration of the Castle rock. You 
 cannot re-face nor re-rivet that, nor order another in 
 a ' similar style.' It is a dangerous kind of engrav- 
 ing which you practise on so large a jewel. . . . 
 
 Nothing can be more noble or interesting than the 
 true thirteenth or fourteenth century castle, when 
 built in a difficult position, its builder taking ad- 
 vantage of every inch of ground to gain more room, 
 and of every irregularity of surface for purposes of 
 outlook and defence ; so that the castle sate its rock 
 as a strong rider sits his horse, fitting its limbs to 
 every width of the flint beneath it ; and fringing the 
 mountain promontory far into the sky with the wild 
 crests of its fantastic battlements. Of such castles
 
 CASTLE AND PALACE 303 
 
 we can see no more ; and it is just because I know 
 them well and love them deeply that I say so. I 
 know that their power and dignity consists, just as a 
 soldier's consists, in their knowing and doing their 
 work thoroughly ; in their being advanced on edge 
 or lifted on peak of crag, not for show nor pride, but 
 for due guard and outlook ; and that all their beautiful 
 irregularities and apparent caprices of form are in 
 reality their fulfilments of need, made beautiful by 
 their compelled association with the wild strength 
 and grace of the natural rock. . . . The grandeur of 
 Edinburgh Castle depends eminently on the great, 
 unbroken, yet beautifully varied parabolic curve in 
 which it descends from the Round Tower on the 
 Castle Hill to the terminating piece of independent 
 precipice on the north. It is the last grand feature of 
 Edinburgh left us yet uninjured. 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 EDINBURGH CASTLE: THE BIRTH OF JAMES I. 
 
 THE Castle seemed a hive of rock-bees. Afar off, it 
 was said, you could hear them humming within ; on 
 sudden alarms out they came in a swarm, and ill fared 
 physician or priest, or discreet, wide-eared gentleman 
 sent by his wife to get a piece of news. June was in 
 and well in, skies were clean, the twilight long in 
 coming and loth to go. Queen Mary lay idle by her 
 window, and watched the red roofs turn purple, the 
 hills grow black, the paling of the light from yellow 
 to green, the night's solemn gathering-in, the star shine 
 clear in a dark-blue bed out there over Arthur's Seat. 
 . . . She bade fair to be weary of matron and maid
 
 304 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 alike, with their everlasting talk of ' the promise of 
 Scotland.' . . . 
 
 In the drowsy days of mid- June the Queen suffered 
 and bare a son. First to know it outside the Castle- 
 hive was brisk Sir James Melvill, who had it from 
 Mary Beaton before they fired the guns on the 
 platform ; and that same night, by the soaring light 
 of the bonfires, rode out of Lothian to carry the great 
 news into England. . . . The King [Darnley] was 
 lodged in the Castle by now ; and one good reason 
 for Huntly's vigil may have been that his Majesty 
 and his people had swamped the house-room. The 
 Earls of Moray, Argyll and Mar were there ; Atholl 
 also and Crawfurd (to name no more). ... At the 
 end of her four days' grace the Queen sent for her 
 brothers first among men the three black Stuarts, 
 James, John, and Robert ; and two of them obeyed 
 her. . . . She spoke faintly, in the voice of a woman 
 too tired to be disheartened. ' You shall see your 
 Prince, my lords. Fetch me in the Prince.' 
 
 The child was brought in upon a cushion, a mouth- 
 ing, pushing, red epitome of our pretensions, with a 
 blind, pitiful face. Lady Mar and Lady Reres held 
 it between them, passed it elaborately under the 
 review of the lords ; and as these looked upon it in 
 the way men use, as if timid to admit relationship 
 with a thing so absurd here is a James Stuart to be 
 taken, and that other left ! the Queen watched 
 them with bitter relish, turned to be a cynic now, for 
 the emptiness of disenchantment was upon her. 
 
 MAURICE HEWLETT.
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 
 
 30
 
 The Old Town of Edinburgh ! . . . The closes and wynds 
 of that picturesque place I 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 Who could ever hope to tell all its story, or the story of a 
 single wynd in it ? 
 
 J. M. BARRIE. 
 
 Never did he [Sir Walter Scott] seem to enjoy himself more 
 fully than when placidly surveying, at such sunset or moon- 
 light hours, either the massive outlines of his ' own romantic 
 town, 1 or the tranquil expanse of its noble estuary. He de- 
 lighted, too, in passing, when he could, through some of the 
 quaint windings of the ancient city itself. 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 What recollections rush upon my mind, 
 
 Of Lady Stairs's Close and Blackfriars Wynd ; 
 
 There lived our Nobles and here Judges dwelt ! 
 
 SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL.
 
 AN ANTIQUE WORLD 
 
 FROM a historical and picturesque point of view the 
 Old Town is the most interesting point of Edinburgh ; 
 and the great street running from Holyrood to the 
 Castle in various portions of its length called the 
 Lawnmarket, the High Street, and the Canongate is 
 the most interesting part of the Old Town. In that 
 street the houses preserve their ancient appearance ; 
 they climb up heavenward, story upon story, with 
 outside stairs and wooden panellings, all strangely 
 peaked and gabled. . . . Everything in this long 
 street breathes of the antique world. If you pene- 
 trate the narrow wynds that run at right angles from 
 it, you see traces of ancient gardens. Occasionally 
 the original names are retained, and they touch the 
 visitor patheticaDy, like the scent of long-withered 
 flowers. Old armorial bearings may yet be traced 
 above the doorways. Two centuries [and a half] ago 
 fair eyes looked down from yonder window. ... If 
 we but knew it, every crazy tenement has its tragic 
 story ; every crumbling wall could its tale unfold. 
 The Canongate is Scottish history fossilized. What 
 ghosts of kings and queens walk there ! What strifes 
 of steel-clad nobles ! What wretches borne along, 
 in the sight of peopled windows, to the grim embrace 
 of the ' maiden '! What hurrying of burgesses to 
 man the city walls at the approach of the Southron ! 
 What lamentations over disastrous battle days ! 
 James rode up this street on his way to Flodden. 
 307 20 2
 
 308 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Montrose was dragged up hither on a hurdle, and 
 smote, with disdainful glance, his foes gathered 
 together on the balcony. Jenny Geddes flung her 
 stool at the priest in the church yonder. John Knox 
 came up here to his house after his interview with 
 Mary at Holyrood grim and stern, and unmelted 
 by the tears of a queen. In later days the Pretender 
 rode down the Canongate, his eyes dazzled by the 
 glitter of his father's crown, while bagpipes skirled 
 around, and Jacobite ladies, with white knots in 
 their bosoms, looked down from lofty windows, ad- 
 miring the beauty of the ' Young Ascanius ' and his 
 long yellow hair. Down here of an evening rode 
 Dr. Johnson and Boswell, and turned in to the White 
 Horse. David Hume had his dwelling in this street, 
 and trod its pavements, much meditating the wars of 
 the Roses and the Parliament, and the fates of English 
 sovereigns. One day a burly ploughman from Ayr- 
 shire, with swarthy features and wonderful black 
 eyes, came down here, and turned into yonder church- 
 yard to stand, with cloudy lids and forehead rever- 
 ently bared, beside the grave of poor Fergusson. 
 Down the street, too , often limped 2. little boy, Walter 
 Scott by name, destined in after years to write its 
 Chronicles. The Canongate once seen is never to be 
 forgotten. The visitor starts a ghost at every step. 
 Nobles, grave senators, jovial lawyers, had once their 
 abodes here. In the old, low-roofed rooms, half- 
 way to the stars, philosophers talked, wits coruscated, 
 and gallant young fellows, sowing wild oats in the 
 middle of last century, wore rapiers and lace ruffles, 
 and drank claret jovially out of silver stoups. In 
 every room a minuet has been walked, while chair- 
 men and linkmen clustered on the pavement beneath.
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 309 
 
 But the Canongate has fallen from its high estate. 
 Quite another race of people are its present in- 
 habitants. 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE OLD TOWN 
 
 HAIL, Edinburgh ! thou famous city, 
 To ca' thee less wad be a pity ; 
 For in low terms I daurna greet ye, 
 
 Nor am I wanting : 
 Tho' gaping cuifs ca' thee Auld Reekie, 
 
 By way o' taunting. 
 
 Thae vera fools wha use thee ill, 
 
 When they're compell'd to tak' farewell, 
 
 Wi' heavy hearts, ah me ! to tell, 
 
 They shed a tear, 
 To lea'e thy guid bairns, an' thy sell, 
 
 Wham they haud dear. 
 
 Wi' pride thy provost in thee reigns, 
 An' thy wise laws he weel maintains ; 
 For justice by him aye has been 
 
 Reliev'd frae clamour : 
 The baillies hear ilk wrang'd ane's name 
 
 I' the council chamber. 
 
 Here naething thrives sae weel's the law, 
 
 For lawyers now are unco braw ; 
 
 Ye fee them weel, which gars them craw, 
 
 An' look sae big, 
 In their lang goun, as black's a daw, 
 
 Wi' powder'd wig !
 
 3io THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 From you, Edina, rises men, 
 
 For sword, an' word, an' 'genious pen ! 
 
 Wi' meikle pride aft them ye sen', 
 
 Baith here, an' there ; 
 On sea, an' land, to mak' a fen', 
 
 They never fear. 
 
 Thy sons aye show their tender nature, 
 
 In humanity to ilka creature ; 
 
 To thae wha guid or bad, nae matter, 
 
 Where'er's their hame ; 
 Real friendship marks their greatest feature, 
 
 To kin, an' frem'. 
 
 The far fam'd College, our great pride, 
 It's sair worn wa's we couldna 'bide, 
 But raised a new ane, high* an' wide, 
 
 On its auld stance : 
 It was to grandeur a far stride, 
 
 Beyond our glance ! 
 
 O' banking houses we ha'e na few, 
 Wha help our trade right weel, I trow ; 
 Some o' them's auld, but ane is new, 
 
 On Nor' Loch side, 
 Which far excels them in the view, 
 
 Like a fair bride ! 
 
 Our public offices are stately, 
 
 Their wa's are polish'd, an' carved neatly ; 
 
 But th' Register dings them completely 
 
 It is our boast : 
 For 'twas erected vera lately, 
 
 Wi' taste, an' cost.
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 311 
 
 There's steeples glittering in the sky, 
 An' mony buildings towering high ; 
 Twal' stories aften we descry, 
 
 A dreadfu' sight ! 
 Some strangers say, when them they're nigh, 
 
 They shake wi' fright. 
 
 Our fine auld Scots tunes ilka day, 
 On Giles's bells we sweetly play ! 
 For a' wha hear them, croon ilk lay 
 
 Unto themsel ; 
 Tho' they were grave, 'twould mak' them gay, 
 
 An' care dispel. 
 
 The hill on which Edina's plac'd, 
 A gentle rise takes in the east ; 
 An' falls abruptly to the west, 
 
 A rugged rock, 
 Whereon the Castle cocks its crest, 
 
 Our foes to mock. 
 
 Still's fu' the Palace to this date, 
 
 0' ancient furniture o' state, 
 
 The sculptur'd wa' are yet complete, 
 
 An' looks fu' grand ! 
 On a sweet plain, near Arthur's Seat, 
 
 They fair do stand. 
 
 O what a pleasure's to our een, 
 Fam'd Arthur's hill for ever green, 
 Its towering height frae far is seen, 
 
 For 't stands alane, 
 On its top many aft have been 
 
 To view the plain.
 
 312 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Our braw New Town's sae large, an' fine, 
 That ilka place it does outshine, 
 Where Nature's beauties a' combine : 
 
 Look to the north ! 
 An view our noble river win', 
 
 The flowin' Forth. 
 
 Fair Pentland Hills wi' water sweet, 
 
 Supplies profusely ilka street ; 
 
 An' there are lights to guide our feet 
 
 I' the right road, 
 Sud drouthy neebors keep us late 
 
 Frae our abode. 
 
 Now just before I drap my quill, 
 
 I maun sing th' far fam'd Calton Hill ; 
 
 The views from which, I've heard those tell 
 
 Wha 'broad had been, 
 That ilka place they far excel 
 
 They e'er had seen. 
 
 Edina, ye're gaun down the Walk 
 
 To guid friend Leith, her hands to shak' 
 
 An' about trade to ha'e a crack, 
 
 An' view the Pier ; 
 When finished, it will you up wak', 
 
 Ye needna fear. 
 
 Before the constant driving gale, 
 A' sorts o' ships to you will sail, 
 An' bring you o' a' wares the wale, 
 
 For gold, or barter : 
 Sin' your wet -docks will never fail 
 
 To yield safe quarter.
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 313 
 
 Your liberal sons their gowd ne'er spare, 
 To mak' ye usefu', neat, an' fair ; 
 In trade, an' ilka art that's rare, 
 
 Ye bear the bell : 
 An' those wha see you loud declare, 
 
 Ye a' excel. 
 
 ANON. (1805). 
 
 A THERSITES OF ' THE PLEASANCE ' 
 
 CLEG KELLY was out of his latitude, and knew it. He 
 was a Pleasance laddie, and he lived in one of the 
 garret rooms of a big ' land,' as full of passages and 
 bye-ways as a rabbit warren. He was not a Chris- 
 tian, was Cleg Kelly. Neither was his father. He 
 said he was a ' snow-shoveller,' and as his profession 
 could be carried on during a very limited number of 
 days in the year, he made his fellow-citizens charge- 
 able for his keep during the rest of the year, and 
 personally collected the needful. So his fellow- 
 citizens thoughtfully provided for his accommodation 
 a splendid edifice on the side of the Calton the 
 same which American tourists wax enthusiastic 
 about as they come into the Scots metropolis by the 
 North British Railway, mistaking its battlemented 
 towers for those of Edinburgh Castle. . . . Cleg 
 Kelly was out of his latitude, and he did not like 
 it. It was Sunday afternoon, and he had been across 
 the narrow isthmus of houses which separates the 
 Alps of the Salisbury Crags from the Lombard plain 
 of the Meadows. He had been putting in his atten- 
 dances at five Sunday Schools that day, for it was the 
 leafy month of June when ' trips ' abound, and Cleg 
 Kelly was not quite so green as the summer foliage ;
 
 314 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 besides all which, about five o'clock there are lots 
 of nice clean children in that part of the town on 
 their way home from ' Congregational ' Sabbath- 
 schools. These did not speak to Cleg, for he only 
 went to the Mission schools which were especially 
 adapted for such as he. Also, he wore no stockings. 
 But Cleg Kelly was not bashful, so he readily spoke 
 to them. He noted, especially, a spruce party of 
 three leaving a chemist's shop on the shortest track 
 between the park and the Meadows, and he followed 
 them down through the narrow defile of Gifford 
 Park thoughts of petty larceny crystallizing in 
 his heart. Ere they could escape through the 
 needle's eye at the further end, Cleg Kelly had 
 accosted them after his kind. 
 
 ' Hey, you, gie's that gundy, or I'll knock your 
 turnip heids thegither !' The three lambs stood at 
 bay, huddled close together, and helplessly bleated 
 feeble derisives at the wolf who had headed them off 
 from safety ; but their polite and Englishy tone was 
 a source of Homeric laughter to this Thersites of the 
 Pleasance. He mocked their decent burgher attire ; 
 he sparred up to them his ' neives ' describing 
 stately circles like a paddle wheel and, shaking a 
 murky fist an inch below their several noses, he 
 invited them individually to ' smell that,' and then 
 inform him where they would like it applied 
 together with other resourceful amenities, as the 
 auctioneer's advertisements say, too numerous to 
 mention. While the marauding wolf was thus at 
 play with his innocent victims, scorning their feeble 
 efforts at rejoinder, and circumventing without 
 difficulty their yet feebler efforts at flight, it so hap- 
 pened that a member of the city force, to whom
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 315 
 
 Master Cleg Kelly was well known, stopped for a 
 moment to look down the aristocratic avenues of the 
 park, bordered with frugal lines of ' ash backets ' 
 for all ornament. The coincidence of necessity and 
 presence is remarkable, but not unprecedented. He 
 was a young officer of but eighteen months' standing, 
 and his district had been previously in the ' Sooth 
 Back,' a district to which the talent of Master Kelly 
 was indigenous. Had the officer been six months 
 more in the service, he would probably have con- 
 tented himself with a warning trumpet note which 
 would have sent the enemy flying ; but being young 
 and desirous of small distinctions, he determined to 
 ' nab the young scamp and take him along.' He had 
 full justification for this, for at this moment a howl 
 told that the assault had reached the stage of battery, 
 and that the young ' gundy ' garrotter was qualify- 
 ing for the cat at an early age, by committing robbery 
 with violence. 
 
 It was at this moment that Cleg felt that there's 
 no place like home. He was a stranger in a strange 
 land, where he knew not even the walls that had 
 nicks in them, climbable by the sooty toe of an 
 eleven-year-old city boy. He could not tell whether 
 any particular ' land ' had a ladder and trap-door 
 valuable right-of-way upon the roof. He knew not 
 the alleys which gave double exit by unexpected 
 elbows, and he could not shun those which invited 
 fair promises, but which were really traps with no 
 way of escape. He did not wish, in that awful mo- 
 ment, that he had been a better boy, as his young 
 Sunday-school teacher in Hunker Court had often 
 urged him to become ; what he wanted was the 
 ' Sooth Back,' ten yards start, and the rigour of
 
 316 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 the game. But there was no time for meditation, 
 for the heavy-footed but alert young ' bobby ' was 
 almost upon him. Cleg Kelly sprang sideways and 
 dived into the first convenient entry. Then he 
 skimmed up some steps that wound skyward, down 
 again, and along a passage with not a single side 
 turning. He heard his pursuer lumbering after him, 
 and his own heart kettle-drumming in his ears. An 
 unexpected doorway gave outward as his weight 
 came on it, and he found himself in a curious court 
 somewhere at the back of Simon Square, as near as 
 he could make out. There was a strange square 
 block towards one side of the open space, round 
 which he ran ; and, climbing up a convenient zone 
 of water pipe, he squirmed himself through a stair 
 window, crossed the landing of an uninhabited house, 
 and looked down on the interior of a court which 
 was well known to him, from the safe elevation of a 
 first-floor window. As he rested, panting, he said to 
 himself that he ' kenned where he was noo.' 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT. 
 
 THE ROMAUNT OF ST. MARY'S WYND 
 
 OF Scotland's cities, still the rarest 
 
 Is ancient Edinburgh town ; 
 And of her ladies, still the fairest 
 
 There you see walk up and down ; 
 Be they gay, or be they gayless, 
 
 There they beck and there they bow, 
 From the Castle to the Palace, 
 
 In farthingale and furbelow.
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 317 
 
 Says Lady Jane to Lady Janet, 
 
 ' Thy gown, I vow, is stiff and grand ; 
 Though there were feint a body in it, 
 
 Still I trow that it would stand.' 
 And Lady Janet makes rejoinder : 
 
 ' Thy boddice, madam, is sae tend, 
 The bonny back may crack asunder, 
 
 But, by my faith, it winna bend.' 
 
 But few knew one both fairer, kinder, 
 
 The fair maid of St. Mary's Wynd ; 
 Among the great you will not find her, 
 
 For she was of the humbler kind. 
 For her minnie, spinning, plodding, 
 
 She wore no ribbons to her shune, 
 No mob-cap on her head nid-nodding, 
 
 But aye the linsey-woolsey gown. 
 
 No Lady Jane in silks and laces, 
 
 How fair soever she might be, 
 Could match the face, the nature's graces 
 
 Of this poor, humble Marjory : 
 Her eyes they were baith mirk and merry, 
 
 Her lire was as the lily fair, 
 Her lips were redder than the cherry, 
 
 And flaxen was her glossy hair. 
 
 Ye bucks who wear the coats silk-braided, 
 
 With satin ribbon at your knee, 
 And cambric ruffles starched and plaited, 
 
 With cocked bonnets all ajee, 
 Who walk with mounted canes at even, 
 
 Up and down so jauntilie, 
 Ye would have given a blink of heaven 
 
 For one sweet smile from Marjory.
 
 318 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 But Marjory's care was aye her minnie, 
 
 And day by day she sat and span ; 
 Nor did she think it ought but sin aye, 
 
 To bear the stare of gentleman : 
 She doated on her own dear Willie, 
 
 For dear to her fond heart was he, 
 Who, though his sire was poor, yet still he 
 
 Was far above the low degree. 
 
 It was aye said his father's father 
 
 Did claim some Spanish pedigree, 
 Which many well believed, the rather 
 
 That he was not of our countrie : 
 His skin was brown as nut of hazel, 
 
 His eye was black as Scottish sloe, 
 And all so bright that it would dazzle 
 
 The eye that looked that eye into. 
 
 There came into his head a notion, 
 
 Which wrough and wrough within his brain, 
 That he would cross th' Atlantic Ocean, 
 
 And seek the land of Spanish Main ; 
 And there amass a routh of treasure, 
 
 And then come back with bosom leal 
 To his own Marjory, and release her 
 
 From rock and reel and spinning-wheel. 
 
 Up spake the minnie it did not please her 
 
 That he should ' gae sae far fra hame '; 
 ' Thoul't reap less in yon Abiezer 
 
 Than thou wilt glean in this Ephraim ; 
 For there's a proverb faileth never : 
 
 A lintie safe within the hand, 
 Though lean and lank, is better ever 
 
 Than is a fat finch on the wand.'
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 319 
 
 Then Marjory, with eye so tearful, 
 
 Whispered in dark Willie's ear, 
 ' Thou wilt not go and leave me careful, 
 
 Friendless, lonely, starving here ; 
 My minnie God hath gien a warning, 
 
 And I can do nae mair spin, 
 And slowly, slowly comes the earning 
 
 That with my wheel I daily win.' 
 
 ' Oh, fear not, Marjory dear content ye, 
 
 Blackfriar John hath to me sworn, 
 That man of God will kindly tent ye 
 
 Until I again return ; 
 And he has promised fair to write me 
 
 Of how ye live and prosper twain, 
 And I will faithfully requite ye 
 
 With my true love to you again.' 
 
 ii 
 
 Dark Willie took his sad departure, 
 
 And left at home his Marjory dear 
 To doubt and fear from every quarter, 
 
 Weep weeping sadly on the pier ; 
 And o'er the sea, all dangers scorning, 
 
 And o'er the sea he boldly sailed, 
 Until upon the fortieth morning 
 
 The promised land at last he hailed. 
 
 Now ! thou one of the fateful sisters 
 That spins for man the silver thread, 
 
 Spin one of gold that glints and glisters 
 For one who stands in meikle need ; 
 
 Spin it quick and spin it finely, 
 Till Willie's golden fortune's made,
 
 320 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 And send him back to Marjory kindly, 
 Who spins at home for daily bread. 
 
 There was a rich old Spanish senor, 
 
 Who bore dark Willie's Spanish name, 
 And came to feel the kindly tenor 
 
 Of plighted friendship's sacred claim ; 
 He gave his right hand to dark Willie, 
 
 With shares of a great companie, 
 Which sent forth goods far o'er the billow, 
 
 In ships that sailed on every sea. 
 
 Don Pedro had an only daughter, 
 
 The Donna Clara, passing fair, 
 Who, when her sire took his departure, 
 
 Would be her father's only heir : 
 Her eyes, so like two sterns of even, 
 
 Shining the murky clouds among, 
 And black her ringlets as the raven, 
 
 That o'er her marble shoulders hung. 
 
 Oh, Willie ! Willie ! have thou care, man ! 
 
 And give unto thine heart a stay, 
 For there are witcheries working there, man, 
 
 May steal that heart of thine away. 
 No need ! to him blue eyes are glowing, 
 
 To him most beautiful of all, 
 No need ! for flaxen hair is flowing 
 
 To keep his loving heart in thrall. 
 
 in 
 
 A year had passed, and he had written 
 Of loving letters more than one, 
 
 The while gold pieces still remitting 
 All to holy Blackfriar John ;
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 321 
 
 Yet still no answer had he gotten ; 
 
 And as the days still passed away, 
 He fell to musing, and deep thought on 
 
 What had caused the strange delay. . . . 
 
 But time would tell : there came a letter 
 
 That filled his soul with dire dismay, 
 And told him his dark fears' abettor, 
 
 His Marjory's health had flown away : 
 Even as the clay her cheek was paling, 
 
 Her azure eyes were waxing dim, 
 Her hair unkempt, and loose, and trailing, 
 
 And all for hopeless love of him. 
 
 Sad harbinger of things to harrow, 
 
 Another came, ah ! soon a day, 
 To tell him his dear winsome marrow 
 
 From this sad world had passed away. 
 No more for him those eyes so merry, 
 
 That were to him so sweet to see ! 
 No more those lips red as the cherry, 
 
 That were to him so sweet to pree ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Alas ! there are of things we see them 
 
 Without the aid of wizard's spell ; 
 But there are other things we dree them, 
 
 No art of wizard can foretell : 
 Strange thing the heart where love and power, 
 
 So tossed with joy or racked with pain ! 
 Dark Willie from that fatal hour 
 
 Seemed fated ne'er to smile again. 
 
 In vain now Clara's sembling gladness, 
 Plies the magic of her wile, 
 
 21
 
 322 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 To draw him off from his great sadness, 
 And cheat him of a loving smile : 
 
 The more her sympathy she tenders, 
 The more he will by art defy 
 
 All beauty which but contrast renders 
 With his own dear lost Marjory. 
 
 Now Time's big silent, solemn billow 
 
 Rolls quietly on from year to year ; 
 Don Pedro lies on his green pillow, 
 
 With love-lorn Clara sleeping near. 
 But, ere he died, he did declare it 
 
 His pleasures when his days were told, 
 And Clara dead, with none to share it, 
 
 Don William should heir all his gold. 
 
 Gift vain, oh vain ! would wealth restore him 
 
 His long-lost Marjory to his arms ? 
 Nay, would it wake and bring before him 
 
 One only of her envied charms ? 
 No, it might cause another courtship, 
 
 A love he could not now control : 
 Great Mammon lured him to his worship, 
 
 And lorded in his inmost soul. 
 
 What though ten years away had stolen ? 
 
 'Twas not to him all weary time, 
 Who every day was pleased to roll in 
 
 The tempting Mammon's golden shrine. 
 But when he laid him on his pillow, 
 
 His fancy sought the farthest east, 
 And conjured up some lonely willow 
 
 That waved o'er her he loved the best.
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 323 
 
 Change still a passion changed to pity ! 
 
 No other solace would he have 
 A wish to see his native city, 
 
 And sit and weep o'er Marjory's grave. 
 To see that house, yea, buy the sheiling 
 
 In that old wynd of St. Marie, 
 A hermit there to live and dwell in, 
 
 Then sleep beside his Marjory. 
 
 VI 
 
 Blow soft, ye winds, and tender-hearted 
 
 This hermit waft to yonder shore, 
 From which for sordid gold he parted 
 
 Ten weary years and one before. 
 Ho ! there's the pier where last he left her, 
 
 That dear, loved one, to weep alone, 
 And for that love of gold bereft her 
 
 Of all the pleasures she could own. 
 
 He's now within the ancient borough ! 
 
 He sought the well-known White Horse Inn, 
 And there he laid him down in sorrow, 
 
 Some strengthening confidence to win ; 
 Then up the street, with none to greet him, 
 
 He held his sad and sorrowing way, 
 When lo ! who should there be to meet him 
 
 But Friar John ? who slunk away. 
 
 Strange thing ! but lo ! the sacred sheiling 
 
 In that old wynd of St. Marie 
 The window where with mirthful feeling 
 
 He tap't the sign to Marjory. 
 He sought the lobby dark and narrow, 
 
 Groped gently for the well-known door, 
 
 21 2
 
 324 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Where he might hear of his winsome marrow, 
 Who died there many years before. 
 
 He drew the latch, and quietly entered : 
 
 There someone spinning merrilie ! 
 A faltering question then he ventured : 
 
 ' My name, kind sir, is Marjory.' 
 ' Great God !' he cried, in voice all trembling, 
 
 And sank upon a crazy chair, 
 And tried to trace a strange resembling 
 
 In her who sat beside him there. 
 
 A maiden she still young and buxom, 
 
 Nor change but what ten years may bring, 
 Her hair still of the glossy flaxen, 
 
 Her eyes still blue as halcyon's wing. 
 He traced the lines, he knew each feature 
 
 Of all her still unfaded charms ; 
 And now this long lost, worshipped creature 
 
 Is locked fast in his loving arms. . . . 
 
 ' 'Twas Friar John wrote me a letter, 
 
 He said he saw thee on thy bier ; 
 And sore I mourned with tears, oh, bitter ! 
 
 For one I ever loved so dear.' 
 ' Oh, wae befa' that wicked friar, 
 
 Wha sairly tried my love to gain ; 
 Wae, wae befa' that wicked liar, 
 
 Wha brought on us sae meikle pain.' 
 
 And he has bought a noble mansion, 
 And stocked it with all things genteel 
 
 Of costly price nor need we mention 
 The rock and reel and spinning-wheel ;
 
 LADY STAIR S CLOSE
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 325 
 
 And he has bought a noble carriage, 
 
 With servants in gay liverie, 
 I trow there was an unco marriage 
 
 In that ancient wynd of Saint Marie. 
 
 ALEXANDER LEIGHTON. 
 
 SOME CHARACTERS OF RAGMAN'S CLOSE 
 
 RAGMAN'S CLOSE, North Pleasance, in the city of 
 Edinburgh, occupied one of the oldest and most un- 
 reformed situations of that still ancient and un- 
 reformed town. It was called by its present highly 
 honourable name owing to the fact that formerly it 
 had contained the official residence of the city heads- 
 man, the blade and ' hag clog ' of whose profession 
 were still to be traced over the low door of the tall, 
 old, grimy ' land.' 
 
 There are few ' lands ' like that in Edinburgh now 
 that is, of the older sort. Thirty years ago, how- 
 ever, they were the rule. And, as the number of 
 those who know what an actual old - time ' land ' 
 was, is growing steadily fewer, I will try to sketch 
 this towering rabbit warren in a few sentences. 
 
 A cliff-like face of grimy grey stone, broken by 
 rows upon rows of small windows with small panes, 
 many of them broken, stuffed with rags, and mended 
 with paper. Seven and eight stories the rule, ten 
 and eleven the exception. Four families, sometimes 
 eight, on each landing. These landings lit by day 
 through one narrow arrow slit in the tower of the 
 turnpike stair by night not lit at all. Thirty to 
 sixty families in all, exclusive of lodgers and casuals, 
 lived in that grimy barrack, all going to and fro upon 
 their occasions up and down that winding staircase.
 
 326 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 . . . Children swarmed under foot at all stages of 
 the ascent, and it was a constant miracle how more 
 of them did not tumble over, and so achieve (what 
 was the best thing for them) Nirvana at the earliest 
 age possible. 
 
 Some did, and were happy ever after. The others 
 survived, and were both sorry for it themselves and 
 made others sorry also. 
 
 Such was a ' land ' the outside of it, that is, before 
 you entered the separate dwellings of which this vast 
 human warren was composed. 
 
 ' I'm wee Kid McGhie I'm wee Kid McGhie ' 
 (the impersonal voice said), 
 
 ' My faither killed himsel' 
 An' my mither killed me !' 
 
 Over and over he said it, like the burden of a song. 
 The stroke of Tom Dinwiddie's spanner had somehow 
 struck out in that small brain the faint semblance of 
 a rhyme. 
 
 ' I'm wee Kid McGhie I'm wee Kid McGhie 1 
 My faihter killed himsel' 
 An' my mither killed me !' 
 
 It was a curious life for a country-bred boy. The 
 Kid's mother, erstwhile Mag McGhie, had on her 
 arrival in town, promptly remarried with a certain 
 ' Knifer ' Jackson, who when required, for purposes 
 of law and order, to specify his profession, said 
 vaguely, that he was ' employed upon the streets.' 
 
 ' Knifer ' was not tall, but very broad. His arms 
 swung to his knees, the elbows out a little like an 
 ape's trying to walk erect. The most prominent 
 part of his face was his chin, and an upper lip which
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 327 
 
 stuck out like the ram of an ironclad. There was 
 at most times a kind of doubtful smile on Knifer's 
 face, and ' Don't provoke me ' was his word ' I 
 know my weakness. Don't provoke me !' 
 
 And as Knifer's best-known weakness was homicide 
 and homicide, too, with but a faint dividing line 
 between it and murder few people did care to pro- 
 voke Knifer Jackson. Most certainly, however, he 
 had worked a strange reformation in Mad Mag, his 
 new wife, before she had kept house a month in 
 Hagman's Close. It was whispered in Number 
 Seven Land that Mag had once seen the Knifer in 
 wrath. The other man died. 
 
 And from this and a few other circumstances had 
 grown her respect for her husband. At any rate, the 
 respect was there, as well as a curious desire to please 
 her master. And as Mad Mag was well-looking in 
 a bold, gusty way, though burnt so brown that her 
 china-blue eyes made holes in her face, Knifer 
 Jackson rather liked to be seen out of doors with his 
 wife on Sunday afternoons. They went down the 
 length of the Pleasance, disappeared into a close, 
 came out among the respectable houses in Arthur 
 Street, and so downhill into the Queen's Park. There, 
 as was customary, they went arm in arm. 
 
 It was on such an excursion, up among the gorse 
 of the Whinny Hill, that Knifer earned his wife's 
 admiration. It was soon after they were married, 
 and Mag, having let her hair down so that the wind 
 could blow through it, was wondering in her heart if 
 she could wind this man round her finger as she had 
 done Davie McGhie. 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT.
 
 328 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 LAMENT FOR THE AULD EDINBURGH HOSTELS 
 
 ' OH Edinburgh, hich and triumphand toun, 
 
 Within thy bounds rycht merrie haif I bene !' 
 Sae Sir David Lyndsay, that she loun, 
 
 Wha kenned what merrines wes rycht well, I 
 wene ; 
 
 And sae say I, that monie a bouse haif sene, 
 In quiet houses round the Cross 
 
 (Haply now harbour for the vyle and meane), 
 In the High Street, or else in wynd and close, 
 
 Renowned for punche and aill, and eke hie-relished 
 soss. 
 
 But now, alas for thee, decayit Dun-Edin, 
 
 Thy dayis of glory are depairit quite ; 
 For all those places that we once were fed in, 
 
 And where we decently got foue o' night, 
 
 Those havyns of douce comforte and delighte, 
 Are closed, degraded, burnt, or changed, or gone, 
 
 Whyle our old hostesses have ta'en their flight, 
 To far-off places, novel and unknowne, 
 About whose verie names we scarcely may depone. 
 
 Whair now is Douglas's ? whair Clerihugh's ? 
 
 Whair is John's Coffee-house ? and tell me whair 
 Is Mistress P 's ? to which, when these old shoes 
 
 Were new, at eight we used to make repair ; 
 
 By her own ladye hand showne up the staire, 
 Through a long trance, into a panyled roome 
 
 Whair lords had erst held feist wyth ladies faire, 
 And which had still an air of lordly gloome, 
 That scarss two sturdie mouldes colde utterlie 
 illume.
 
 CLOSE AND WYND 329 
 
 Oh for the pen of Fergusson to painte, 
 
 ' The parloure splendours of that festyf place !' 
 
 The niche, sumtyme the shrine of some auld sainte, 
 The ceiling that still bore, in antique grace, 
 Many a holye, chubby, white-washt face ; 
 
 The dark-brown landscape, done of old by Norie, 
 On the broad panel o'er the chimney-brace ; 
 
 The blue-tiled fire-place gleamin' in its glorye, 
 
 Relating, verse for verse, some moral scripture 
 storye. 
 
 Then on the wall was hung that rare and rych 
 
 Memorial! of a tyme and mode gone by, 
 The ' sampler,' showing every kind of stitch 
 
 E'er known or practised underneath the sky ; 
 
 Thread-circled holes denominated ' pye,' 
 Embattled lines, of square-tayled lambs a paire, 
 
 Strange cloven-footed letters awkwardlye 
 Contriving to make up the Lorde hys prayer, 
 And names of John and Jean and William all were 
 thair. 
 
 Thair, also, hung around the wainscot wall, 
 
 Each in its panel, of old prynts a store ; 
 Adam in paradyse before the Fall ; 
 
 The sailours mutinying at the Nore ; 
 
 Flora, Pomona, and the Seasons four ; 
 Lord Nelson's victory at Trafalgar ; 
 
 The death of Cooke on Otaheite's shore ; 
 Lord North rigged out in garter and in star ; 
 With manie more from Histories of the War. 
 
 Then thair were tablis also, squayr and round, 
 
 Derke as the face of old antiquity, 
 Yet, when inspected, each a mirror found, 
 
 So that ilke feature you full well could spye ;
 
 330 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The jugges and glasses on those planes did lye, 
 Like summer barques in glassye seas reflected ; 
 
 And chairs were there, as vertical and high 
 As the proud race upon them once erected, 
 In each of whom, 'tis said, ane poker was rejected. 
 
 But ah, the mere externe of this olde haunte, 
 Preciouse althoughe in every lineamente, 
 
 Wes the leaste worthie subject of descante ; 
 
 The sorrow which mine anxious muse would vent, 
 Regards alone the happy moments, spent 
 
 Sae cozilie, within this humble dome, 
 In nights of other years, jocoseness blent 
 
 With courtesie, the decencies of home, 
 
 Yet o'er the realmes of talk for ever free to roam. 
 
 To me who love the olde with such regrette, 
 What charm can be apparent in the new ; 
 
 Divans, saloons, and cafes may beset 
 The hearts of youth, and seem to fancy's view 
 Places more fit to lounge in, while the stewe 
 
 Of numbers has a charme ; but oh, how far 
 From hearty is the pleasure they pursue, 
 
 Each man his single rummyr and cigarre, 
 
 Puffing, all by himself a sulky, smoky warre ! 
 
 But vain it is to sorrow for the past, 
 
 Dun-Edin stands not now quhair once it stoode : 
 Ilka thing of old is hastenyng from it fast, 
 
 And brydges it must haif, althoch no floode ; 
 
 The auld wes cozie, and the auld wes goode, 
 And Mistress P of hostelress wes the quene ; 
 
 But dinging down is now the reigning moode, 
 And auld-toun hostels are extynguyshed clene ; 
 I haif, in troth, ane end of all perfection seen. 
 
 ROBERT CHAMBERS.
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS
 
 The pilgrim strolls away into the Canongate, . . . and still 
 the storied figures of history walk by his side or come to meet 
 him at every close and wynd. John Knox, Robert Burns, 
 Tobias Smollett, David Hume, Dugald Stuart, John Wilson, 
 Hugh Miller Gay, led onward by the blythe and gracious 
 Duchess of Queensberry, and Dr. Johnson, escorted by the 
 affectionate and faithful James Boswell, the best biographer 
 that ever lived, these and many more, the lettered worthies 
 of long ago, throng into this haunted street and glorify it 
 with the rekindled splendours of other days. You cannot be 
 lonely here. This it is that makes the place so eloquent and 
 so precious. 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER.
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 SCOTT is representative of the mind of his age : and 
 because he is the greatest man born amongst us, and 
 intended for the enduring type of us, all our principal 
 faults must be laid on his shoulders, and he must 
 bear down the dark marks to the latest ages ; while 
 the smaller men, who have some special work to do, 
 perhaps not so much belonging to this age as leading 
 out of it to the next, are often kept providentially 
 quit of the encumbrances which they had not strength 
 to sustain, and are much smoother and pleasanter to 
 look at, in their way : only that is a smaller way. 
 
 Thus, the most startling fault of the age being 
 its faithlessness, it is necessary that its greatest 
 man should be faithless. Nothing is more notable 
 or sorrowful in Scott's mind than its incapacity of 
 steady belief in anything. He cannot even resolve 
 hardily to believe in a ghost, or a water-spirit ; 
 always explains them away hi an apologetic manner, 
 not believing, all the while, even in his own explana- 
 tion. He never can clearly ascertain whether there 
 is anything behind the arras but rats ; never draws 
 sword, and thrusts at it for life or death ; but goes 
 on looking at it timidly, and saying, ' it must be the 
 wind.' He is educated a Presbyterian, and remains 
 one, because it is the most sensible thing he can do 
 if he is to live in Edinburgh. . . . 
 
 The excellence of Scott's work is precisely in pro- 
 portion to the degree in which it is sketched from 
 333
 
 334 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 present nature. His familiar life is inimitable ; his 
 quiet scenes of introductory conversation, as the 
 beginning of Rob Roy and Redgauntlet, and all his 
 living Scotch characters, mean or noble, from Andrew 
 Fairservice to Jeanie Deans, are simply right, and 
 can never be bettered. ... It was necessary that 
 Scott should know nothing of art. He neither cared 
 for painting nor sculpture, and was totally incapable 
 of forming a judgment about them. He had some 
 confused love of Gothic architecture, because it was 
 dark, picturesque, old, and like Nature. . . . Like all 
 pure moderns, he supposes the Gothic barbarous, 
 notwithstanding his love of it ; admires, in an equally 
 ignorant way, totally opposite styles ; is delighted 
 with the new town of Edinburgh ; mistakes its dull- 
 ness for purity of taste, and actually compares it, in 
 its deathful formality of street, as contrasted with 
 the rudeness of the old town, to Britomart taking off 
 her armour. Again : as in reverence and irreverence, 
 so in levity and melancholy, we saw that the spirit 
 of the age was strangely interwoven. Therefore, 
 also, it is necessary that Scott should be light, careless, 
 unearnest, and yet eminently sorrowful. Through- 
 out all his work there is no evidence of any purpose 
 but to while away the hour. His life had no other 
 object than the pleasure of the instant, and the 
 establishing of a family name. All his thoughts were, 
 in their outcome and end, less than nothing, and 
 vanity. And yet, of all poetry that I know, none is 
 so sorrowful as Scott's. Other great masters are 
 pathetic in a resolute and predetermined way, when 
 they choose ; but, in their own minds, are evidently 
 stern, or hopeful, or serene ; never really melancholy. 
 Even Byron is rather sulky and desperate than
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 335 
 
 melancholy ; Keats is sad because he is sickly ; 
 Shelley because he is impious ; but Scott is inherently 
 and consistently sad. Around all his power, and 
 brightness, and enjoyment of eye and heart, the far- 
 away jEolian knell is for ever sounding ; there is not 
 one of those loving or laughing glances of his but it 
 is brighter for the film of tears ; his mind is like one 
 of his own hill rivers, it is white, and flashes in the 
 sun fairly, careless, as it seems, and hasty in its going, 
 but 
 
 ' Far beneath, where slow they creep 
 From pool to eddy, dark and deep, 
 Where alders moist, and willows weep, 
 You hear her streams repine. 
 
 Life begins to pass from him very early ; and while 
 Homer sings cheerfully in his -blindness, and Dante 
 retains his courage, and rejoices in hope of Paradise, 
 through all his exile, Scott, yet hardly past his youth, 
 lies pensive in the sweet sunshine and among the 
 harvests of his native hills. 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER NORTH 
 (PROFESSOR WILSON*) 
 
 THERE are many Newtons in England : yet, for all 
 that, there is but one Newton for earth and the chil- 
 dren of earth ; which Newton is Isaac, and Kepler is 
 his prophet. There are many Wilsons in Scotland, 
 and indeed many out of Scotland ; yet, for all that, 
 Mother Earth and her children recognize but one, 
 which one sits in the Edinburgh chair of Moral 
 Philosophy. And when that is said, all is said ; is 
 there anything to say more ? . . . Such a radiance, 
 * Part author of the celebrated ' Noctes Ambrosianae.'
 
 336 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 which extinguishes all lesser lights, has its own evils. 
 If a man like Mr. Touchwood of the Hottle in ' St. 
 Ronan's Well ' should find his way to Tim- (or to 
 Tom-) bucktoo, no matter which, for Tim and Tom 
 are very like each other (especially Tim) in that 
 case, he might have occasion to draw a bill upon 
 England. And such a bill would assuredly find its 
 way to its destination. The drawer of this bill 
 might probably be intercepted on his homeward 
 route, but the bill would not. Now, if this bill were 
 drawn upon ' John Wilson,' tout court, not a post- 
 office in Christendom would scruple to forward it to 
 the Professor. The Professor, in reply, would 
 endorse upon it ' no effects.' But in the end he would 
 pay it, for his heart would yearn with brotherly 
 admiration towards a man who had thumped his 
 way to the very navel of Africa. . . . From Oxford, on 
 returning to Scotland, Wilson rejoined his mother, 
 then living in Queen Street, Edinburgh. He adopted 
 the law as his nominal profession, with no fixed resolu- 
 tion, perhaps, to practise it. ... We think it was 
 [in 1817] that Blackwood's Magazine was established, 
 which, from the seventh number downwards (though 
 latterly by intermitting fits), has continued to draw 
 more memorable support from him than ever journal 
 did from the pen of an individual writer. . . . Out 
 of these magazine articles has been drawn the occa- 
 sion of a grave reproach to Professor Wilson. Had 
 he, it is said, thrown the same weight of energy and 
 the same fiery genius into a less desultory shape, it 
 is hard to compute how enormous and systematic 
 a book he might have written. That is true : had 
 he worked a little at the book every day of his life, 
 on the principle of the Greek painter nulla dies
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 337 
 
 sine linea by this time the book would have towered 
 into that altitude as to require long ladders and 
 scaffoldings for studying it ; and, like the Vicar of 
 Wakefield's family picture, could find its way into 
 no human chambers without pulling down the sides 
 of the house. In the foot-notes, where the street 
 lamps would keep him in order, the Professor might 
 have carried on soberly enough. But in the upper 
 part of the page, where he would feel himself striding 
 away in nubibus, oh crimini ! what larkings there 
 would have been, what sprees with the Aurora 
 Borealis ! What a rise he would have taken out of 
 us poor wretches below ! The man in the moon 
 would have been frightened into apogee by the 
 menaces of the crutch. And, after all, the book 
 never could have been suffered to stay at home ; it 
 must have been exported to Central Asia on Dr. 
 Johnson's principle, who said to Miss Knight, a young 
 Englishwoman of very large dimensions, when she 
 communicated to the doctor her design to live on 
 the Continent, ' Do, my dear, by all means really 
 you are too big for an island.' Certainly, awful 
 thoughts of capsizing flit across the fancy, when one 
 sees too vast a hulk shipped on board our light little 
 Britannic ark. But, speaking seriously, the whole 
 doctrine, from which exhales this charge against the 
 Professor of misapplied powers, calls for revision. . . . 
 To the author of every big book, so far from regarding 
 him as a benefactor, the torture ought to be adminis- 
 tered instantly by this interrogative dilemma : Is 
 there anything new (which is not false) in your book ? 
 If he says no, then you have a man, by his own con- 
 fession, ripe for the gallows. If he says yes, then 
 you reply : What a wretch in that case must you be, 
 
 22
 
 338 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 that have hidden a thing, which you suppose im- 
 portant to mankind, in that great wilderness of a 
 book where I and other honest men must spend 
 half a life in running about to find it ! It is, besides, 
 the remark of a clever French writer in our own 
 days, that hardly any of the cardinal works, upon 
 which revolve the capital interests of man, are large 
 works. Plato, for instance, has but one of his many 
 works large enough to fill a small octavo. Aristotle, 
 as a bulk, is a mere pamphleteer, if you except per- 
 haps four works ; and each of those might easily 
 be crowded into a duodecimo. Neither Shakespeare 
 nor Milton has written any long work. Newton's 
 Principia, indeed, makes a small quarto ; but this 
 arises from its large type and its diagrams : it might 
 be printed in a pocket shape. And, besides all this, 
 even when a book is a large one, we usually become 
 acquainted with it but by extracts or by abstracts 
 and abridgments. All poets of any length are read 
 by snatches and fragments, when once they have 
 ascended to great popularity ; so that the logic of 
 reproach against Professor Wilson is like that logic 
 which Mr. Bald, the Scottish engineer, complained 
 of in the female servants of Edinburgh. ' They in- 
 sist,' said he, ' upon having large blocks of coal fur- 
 nished to them ; they will not put up with any that 
 are less : and yet every morning the Cynic, who 
 delights in laughing at female caprices, may hear 
 these same women down in areas braying to pieces 
 the unmanageable blocks, and using severe labour, 
 for no purpose on earth but at last to bring the coal 
 into that very state in which, without any labour at 
 all, they might have had it from our collieries.' So 
 of Professor Wilson's works they lie now in short
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 339 
 
 and detached papers that is, in the very state fitted 
 for reading ; and, if he had hearkened to his coun- 
 sellors, they would have been conglutinated into one 
 vast block, needing a quarryman's or a miner's 
 skill to make them tractable for household use. . . . 
 A philosophy of human nature, like the philosophy of 
 Shakespeare, and of Jeremy Taylor, and of Edmund 
 Burke ... is scattered through the miscellaneous 
 papers of Professor Wilson. Such philosophy by its 
 very nature is of a far higher and more aspiring 
 nature than any which lingers upon more scholastic 
 conundrums. It is 'a philosophy that cannot be pre- 
 sented in abstract forms, but hides itself as an in- 
 carnation in voluminous mazes of eloquence and 
 poetic feeling. Look for this amongst the critical 
 essays of Professor Wilson, which, for continual 
 glimpses and revelations of hidden truth, are perhaps 
 absolutely unmatched. 
 
 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 
 
 A PORTRAIT OF ROBERT BURNS 
 
 IT was a curious phenomenon, in the withered, un- 
 believing, secondhand eighteenth century, that of 
 a hero starting up, among the artificial pasteboard 
 figures and productions, in the guise of a Robert 
 Burns. Like a little well in the rocky desert places, 
 like a sudden splendour of heaven in the artificial 
 Vauxhall ! People knew not what to make of it. 
 They took it for a piece of the Vauxhall fire-work ; 
 alas ! it let itself be so taken, though struggling half- 
 blindly, as in bitterness of death, against that ! 
 Perhaps no man had such a false reception from his 
 fellow-men. Once more a very wasteful life-drama 
 
 222
 
 340 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 was enacted under the sun. . . . No lot could be 
 more perverse than Burns's. Among those second- 
 hand acting-figures, mimes for most part, of the 
 eighteenth century, once more a giant original man ; 
 one of those men who reach down to the perennial 
 deeps, who take rank with the heroic among men : 
 and he was born in a poor Ayrshire hut. The largest 
 soul of all the British lands came amongst us in the 
 shape of a hard-handed Scottish peasant. . . . 
 
 One of the most considerable Saxon men of the 
 eighteenth century was an Ayrshire peasant named 
 Robert Burns. Yes, I will say, nere too was a piece 
 of the right Saxon stuff : strong as the Harz-rock, 
 rooted in the depths of the world ; rock, yet with 
 wells of living softness in it ! A wild impetuous 
 whirlwind of passion and faculty slumbered quiet 
 there ; such heavenly melody dwelling in the heart 
 of it. A noble rough genuineness ; homely, rustic, 
 honest ; true simplicity of strength : with its lightning- 
 fire, with its soft dewy pity ; like the old Norse 
 Thor, the peasant-god ! 
 
 Burns's brother Gilbert, a man of much sense and 
 worth, has told me that Robert, in his young days, in 
 spite of their hardship, was usually the gayest of 
 speech ; a fellow of infinite frolic, laughter, sense and 
 heart ; far pleasanter to hear there, stript cutting 
 peats in the bog, or such-like, than he ever afterwards 
 knew him. I can well believe it. This basis of 
 mirth (fond gaillard, as old Marquis Mirabeau calls 
 it), a primal -element of sunshine and joyfulness, 
 coupled with his other deep and earnest qualities, is 
 one of the most attractive characteristics of Burns. 
 A large fund of hope dwells in him ; spite of his 
 tragical history, he is not a mourning man. He
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 341 
 
 shakes his sorrows gallantly aside ; bounds forth vic- 
 torious over them. It is as the lion shaking ' dew- 
 drops from his mane '; as the swift-bounding horse, 
 that laughs at the shaking of the spear. But indeed, 
 hope, mirth, of the sort like Burns 's, are they not the 
 outcome properly of warm generous affection, such 
 as is the beginning of all to every man ? . . . 
 
 My last remark is on that notablest phasis of 
 Burns's history, his visit to Edinburgh. Often it 
 seems to me as if his demeanour there were the 
 highest proof he gave of what a fund of worth and 
 genuine manhood was in him. If we think of it, 
 few heavier burdens could be laid on the strength of 
 a man. So sudden ; all common lionism, which ruins 
 innumerable men, was as nothing to this. It is as 
 if Napoleon had been made a king of, not gradually, 
 but at once from the artillery lieutenancy in the 
 Regiment La Fere. Burns, still only in his twenty- 
 seventh year, is no longer even a ploughman ; he is 
 flying to the West Indies to escape disgrace and a jail. 
 This month he is a ruined peasant, his wages seven 
 pounds a year, and these gone from him : next month 
 he is in the blaze of rank and beauty, handing down 
 jewelled duchesses to dinner ; the cynosure of all eyes. 
 Adversity is sometimes hard upon a man ; but for one 
 man who can stand prosperity, there are a hundred 
 that will stand adversity. I admire much the way 
 in which Burns met all this. Perhaps no man one 
 could point out, was ever so sorely tried, and so little 
 forgot himself. Tranquil, unastonished ; not abashed, 
 not inflated, neither awkwardness nor affectation : 
 he feels that he there is the man Robert Burns ; 
 that the ' rank is but the guinea-stamp '; that the 
 celebrity is but the candle-light, which will show
 
 342 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 what man, not in the least make him a better or 
 other man ! Alas, it may readily, unless he look to 
 it, make him a worse man ; a wretched inflated wind- 
 bag, inflated till he burst and become a dead lion ; 
 for whom, as some one has said, ' there is no resurrec- 
 tion of the body '; worse than a living dog ! Burns 
 is admirable here. 
 
 And yet, alas, as I have observed elsewhere, these 
 lion-hunters were the ruin and death of Burns. It 
 was they that rendered it impossible for him to live ! 
 They gathered round him in his farm ; hindered his 
 industry ; no place was remote enough from them. 
 He could not get his Monism forgotten, honestly as 
 he was disposed to do so. He falls into discontents, 
 into miseries, faults ; the world getting ever more 
 desolate for him ; health, character, peace of mind all 
 gone ; solitary enough now. It is tragical to think 
 of. These men came but to see him ; it was out of 
 no sympathy with him, nor no hatred to him. They 
 came to get a little amusement : they got their 
 amusement ; and the hero's life went for it ! 
 
 THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 A PORTRAIT OF JOHN KNOX 
 
 IN the history of Scotland I can find properly but 
 one epoch : we may say it contains nothing of world- 
 interest at all but this Reformation by Knox. . . . 
 This that Knox did for his nation ... we may 
 really call a resurrection as from death. It was not 
 a smooth business ; but it was welcome surely, and 
 cheap at that price, had it been far rougher. On 
 the whole, cheap at any price ; as life is. The 
 people began to live : they needed first of all to do
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 343 
 
 that, at what cost and costs soever. Scotch litera- 
 ture and thought, Scotch industry ; James Watt, 
 David Hume, Walter Scott, Robert Burns : I find 
 Knox and the Reformation acting in the heart's 
 core of every one of these persons and phenomena ; 
 I find that without the Reformation they would not 
 have been. ... He is the one Scotchman to whom, of 
 all others, his country and the world owe a debt. 
 He has to plead that Scotland would forgive him 
 for having been worth to it any million ' unblam- 
 able ' Scotchmen that need no forgiveness ! He 
 bared his breast to the battle ; had to row in French 
 galleys, wander forlorn in exile, in clouds and storms ; 
 was censured, shot at through his windows ; had a 
 right sore fighting life : if this world were his place 
 of recompense, he had made but a bad venture of 
 it. I cannot apologize for Knox. To him it is very 
 indifferent, these two hundred and fifty years or more, 
 what men say of him. But we, having got above all 
 those details of his battle, and living now in clearness 
 on the fruits of his victory, we, for our own sake, 
 ought to look through the rumours and controversies 
 enveloping the man, into the man himself. 
 
 For one thing, I will remark that this post of 
 prophet to his nation was not of his seeking ; Knox 
 had lived forty years quietly obscure, before he 
 became conspicuous. He was the son of poor parents ; 
 had got a college education ; became a priest ; adopted 
 the Reformation, and seemed well content to guide 
 his own steps by the light of it, nowise unduly in- 
 truding it on others. He had lived as tutor in 
 gentlemen's families ; preaching when any body of 
 persons wished to hear his doctrine ; resolute he to 
 walk by the truth, and speak the truth when called
 
 344 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 to do it ; not ambitious of more ; not fancying him- 
 self capable of more. In this entirely obscure way 
 he had reached the age of forty ; was with the small 
 body of reformers who were standing siege in St. 
 Andrews Castle, when one day in their chapel, 
 the preacher after finishing his exhortation to these 
 fighters in the forlorn hope, said suddenly, that there 
 ought to be other speakers, that all men who had a 
 priest's heart and gift in them ought now to speak ; 
 which gifts and heart one of their own number, John 
 Knox the name of him, had : had he not ? said the 
 preacher, appealing to all the audience : what then 
 is his duty ? The people answered affirmatively ; 
 it was a criminal forsaking of his post, if such a man 
 held the word that was in him silent. Poor Knox 
 was obliged to stand up ; he attempted to reply ; he 
 could say no word ; burst into a flood of tears, and 
 ran out. It is worth remembering, that scene. He 
 was in grievous trouble for some days. He felt what 
 a small faculty was his for this great work. He felt 
 what a baptism he was called to be baptized withal. 
 He ' burst into tears.' . . . 
 
 This Knox cannot live but by fact : he clings to 
 reality as the shipwrecked sailor to the cliff. He is 
 an instance to us how a man, by sincerity itself, be- 
 comes heroic : it is the grand gift he has. We find in 
 Knox a good honest intellectual talent, no trans- 
 cendent one ; a narrow, inconsiderable man, as 
 compared with Luther : but in heartfelt instinctive 
 adherence to truth, in sincerity, as we say, he has 
 no superior ; nay, one might ask, What equal he has ? 
 The heart of him is of the true prophet cast. ' He 
 lies there,' said the Earl of Morton at his grave, ' who 
 never feared the face of man.' He resembles, more
 
 JOHN KNOXS HOUSE
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 345 
 
 than any of the moderns, an Old-Hebrew prophet, 
 ... an Old-Hebrew prophet in the guise of an 
 Edinburgh minister of the sixteenth century. We 
 are to take him for that ; not require him to be 
 other. 
 
 Knox's conduct to Queen Mary, the harsh visits 
 he used to make in her own palace, to reprove her 
 there, have been much commented upon. Such 
 cruelty, such coarseness fills us with indignation. 
 On reading the actual narrative of the business, 
 what Knox said, and what Knox meant, I must say 
 one's tragic feeling is rather disappointed. They are 
 not so coarse, these speeches ; they seem to me about 
 as fine as the circumstances would permit ! Knox 
 was not there to do the courtier ; he came on another 
 errand. Whoever, reading these colloquies of his 
 with the Queen, thinks they are vulgar insolences of 
 a plebeian priest to a delicate high lady, mistakes 
 the purport and essence of them altogether. It 
 was unfortunately not possible to be polite with the 
 Queen of Scotland, unless one proved untrue to the 
 nation and cause of Scotland. A man who did not 
 wish to see the land of his birth made a hunting-field 
 for intriguing ambitious Guises, and the cause of God 
 trampled underfoot of falsehoods, formulas and the 
 devil's cause, had no method of making himself 
 agreeable ! ' Better that women weep,' said Morton, 
 ' than that bearded men be forced to weep.' Knox 
 was the constitutional opposition-party in Scotland : 
 the nobles of the country, called by their station to 
 take that post, were not found in it ; Knox had to 
 go or no one. The hapless Queen ; but the still more 
 hapless country, if she were made happy ! Mary 
 herself was not without sharpness enough, among
 
 346 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 her other qualities : ' Who are you/ said she once, 
 ' that presume to school the nobles and sovereign of 
 this realm ?' ' Madam, a subject born within the 
 same,' answered he. Reasonably answered ! If the 
 ' subject ' have truth to speak, it is not the ' sub- 
 ject's ' footing that will fail him here. . . . 
 
 I am not prepared to say that Knox had a soft 
 temper ; nor do I know that he had what we call an 
 ill-temper. An ill-nature he decidedly had not. 
 Kind, honest affections dwell in the much-enduring, 
 hard-worn, ever-battling man. That he could re- 
 buke Queens, and had such weight among those 
 proud turbulent nobles, proud enough whatever else 
 they were ; and could maintain to the end a kind of 
 virtual presidency and sovereignty in that wild 
 realm, he who was only ' a subject born within the 
 same ': this of itself will prove to us that he was 
 found, close at hand, to be no mean acrid man ; but 
 at heart a healthful, strong, sagacious man. . . . 
 Withal, unexpectedly enough, this Knox has a vein 
 of drollery in him ; which I like much, in combination 
 with his other qualities. He has a true eye for the 
 ridiculous. His History, with its rough earnestness, 
 is curiously enlivened with this. When the two 
 prelates, entering Glasgow Cathedral, quarrel about 
 precedence ; march rapidly up, take to hustling one 
 another, twitching one another's rochets, and at last 
 flourishing their crosiers like quarter-staves, it is a 
 great sight for him everyway ! Not mockery, scorn, 
 bitterness alone ; though there is enough of that too. 
 But a true, loving, illuminating laugh mounts up 
 over the earnest visage ; not a loud laugh ; you would 
 say, a laugh in the eyes most of all. An honest- 
 hearted, brotherly man ; brother to the high, brother
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 347 
 
 also to the low ; sincere in his sympathy with both. 
 He has his pipe of Bourdeaux too, we find, in that 
 old Edinburgh house of his ; a cheery social man, 
 with faces that loved him ! They go far wrong who 
 think this Knox was a gloomy, spasmodic, shrieking 
 fanatic. Not at all : he is one of the solidest of men. 
 Practical, cautious-hopeful, patient ; a most shrewd, 
 observing, quietly discerning man. In fact, he has 
 very much the type of character we assign to the 
 Scotch at present : a certain sardonic taciturnity is 
 in him ; insight enough ; and a stouter heart than he 
 himself knows of. 
 
 THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 SIR DAVID LYNDSAY 
 ' Davie Lyndsay, " still thy verse has charms." * 
 
 HE was a man of middle age ; 
 In aspect manly, grave, and sage, 
 
 As on King's errand come ; 
 But in the glances of his eye, 
 A penetrating, keen, and sly 
 
 Expression found its home ; 
 The flash of that satiric rage, 
 Which, bursting on the early stage, 
 Branded the vices of the age, 
 
 And broke the keys of Rome. 
 On milk-white palfrey forth he paced ; 
 His cap of maintenance was graced 
 
 With the proud heron-plume. 
 From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast, 
 
 Silk housings swept the ground, 
 With Scotland's arms, device, and crest, 
 
 Embroider'd round and round.
 
 348 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The double tressure might you see, 
 
 First by Achaius borne, 
 The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, 
 
 And gallant unicorn. 
 So bright the King's armorial coat, 
 That scarce the dazzled eye could note, 
 In living colours, blazon'd brave, 
 The Lion, which his title gave : 
 A train which well beseem'd his state, 
 But all unarm'd, around him wait. 
 Still is thy name in high" account, 
 
 And still thy verse has charms, 
 Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, 
 
 Lord Lion King-at-arms ! 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 GEORGE HERIOT 
 
 WORTH of character, goodness of heart, and recti- 
 tude of principle, were necessary to one who laid no 
 
 claim to high birth [or] romantic sensibility A 
 
 person who has left the most magnificent proofs of 
 his benevolence and charity that the capital of Scot- 
 land has to display. To the Scottish reader little more 
 need be said than that the man alluded to is George 
 Heriot. But for those south of the Tweed, it may be 
 necessary to add, that the person so named was a 
 wealthy citizen of Edinburgh, and the King's gold- 
 smith, who followed James to the English capital, 
 and was so successful in his profession, as to die, in 
 1624, extremely wealthy for that period. He had 
 no children ; and after making a full provision for 
 such relations as might have claims upon him, he 
 left the residue of his fortune to establish an hospital,
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 349 
 
 in which the sons of Edinburgh freemen are gratui- 
 tously brought up and educated for the station to 
 which their talents may recommend them, and are 
 finally enabled to enter life under respectable auspices. 
 The hospital in which this charity is maintained is a 
 noble quadrangle of the Gothic order, and as orna- 
 mental to the city as a building, as the manner in 
 which the youths are provided for and educated, . . . 
 many of whom have done honour to their country in 
 different situations. 
 
 The founder of such a charity as this may be 
 reasonably supposed to have walked through life 
 with a steady pace, and an observant eye, neglecting 
 no opportunity of assisting those who were not 
 possessed of the experience necessary for their own 
 guidance. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 WRITTEN IN EDINBURGH 
 
 Poor Gillies never rose above that course of extravagance in 
 which he was at that time living, and which soon reduced him to 
 poverty and all its degrading shifts, mendicity being far from the 
 worst. I grieve whenever I think of him, for he was far from 
 being without genius, and had a generous heart, not always to 
 be found in men given up to profusion. He was nephew of 
 Lord Gillies the Scotch judge. 
 
 FROM the dark chambers of dejection freed, 
 Spurning the unprofitable yoke of care, 
 Rise, Gillies, rise ; the gales of youth shall bear 
 Thy genius forward like a winged steed. 
 Though bold Bellerophon (so Jove decreed 
 In wrath) fell headlong from the fields of air, 
 Yet a rich guerdon waits on minds that dare, 
 If aught be in them of immortal seed, 
 And reason govern that audacious flight
 
 350 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Which heavenward they direct Then droop not thou, 
 
 Erroneously renewing a sad vow 
 
 In the low dell 'mid Roslin's faded grove : 
 
 A cheerful life is what the Muses love, 
 
 A soaring spirit is their prime delight. 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 R. L. S. 
 
 THESE familiar initials are, I suppose, the best be- 
 loved in recent literature, certainly they are the 
 sweetest to me, but there was a time when my 
 mother could not abide them. She said ' That 
 Stevenson man ' with a sneer, and it was never easy 
 to her to sneer. At thought of him her face would 
 become almost hard, which seems incredible, and she 
 would knit her lips and fold her arms, and reply with 
 a stiff ' oh ' if you mentioned his aggravating name. 
 In the novels we have a way of writing of our heroine, 
 ' she drew herself up haughtily,' and when mine 
 draw themselves up haughtily I see my mother think- 
 ing of Robert Louis Stevenson. He knew her 
 opinion of him, and would write, ' My ears tingled 
 yesterday ; I sair doubt she has been miscalling me 
 again.' But the more she miscalled him the more 
 he delighted in her, and she was informed of this, 
 and at once said, ' The scoundrel !' If you would 
 know what was his unpardonable crime, it was this : 
 he wrote better books than mine. 
 
 I remember the day she found it out, which was 
 not, however, the day she admitted it. That day, 
 when I should have been at my work, she came upon 
 me in the kitchen, ' The Master of Ballantrae ' beside 
 me, but I was not reading : my head lay heavy on the
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 351 
 
 table, and to her anxious eyes, I doubt not, I was 
 the picture of woe. ' Not writing !' I echoed, no, I 
 was not writing, I saw no use in ever trying to write 
 again. And down, I suppose, went my head once 
 more. She misunderstood, and thought the blow had 
 fallen ; I had awakened to the discovery, always 
 dreaded by her, that I had written myself dry ; I 
 was no better than an empty ink-bottle. She wrung 
 her hands, but indignation came to her with my 
 explanation, which was that while R. L. S. was at 
 it we others were only 'prentices cutting our fingers 
 on his tools. ' I could never thole his books,' said 
 my mother immediately, and indeed vindictively. 
 
 ' You have not read any of them,' I reminded her. 
 
 ' And never will,' said she with spirit. 
 
 And I have no doubt that she called him a dark 
 character that very day. For weeks too, if not for 
 months, she adhered to her determination not to 
 read him, though I, having come to my senses and 
 seen that there is a place for the 'prentice, was 
 taking a pleasure, almost malicious, in putting ' The 
 Master of Ballantrae ' in her way. I would place it 
 on her table so that it said good-morning to her when 
 she rose. She would frown, and carrying it down- 
 stairs, as if she had it in the tongs, replace it on its 
 book-shelf. I would wrap it up in the cover she had 
 made for the latest Carlyle : she would skin it con- 
 temptuously and again bring it down. I would hide 
 her spectacles in it, and lay it on the top of the 
 clothes-basket and prop it up invitingly open against 
 her tea-pot. And at last I got her, though I forget 
 by which of many contrivances. What I recall 
 vividly is a key-hole view, to which another member 
 of the family invited me. Then I saw my mother
 
 352 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 wrapped up in ' The Master of Ballantrae ' and mutter- 
 ing the music to herself, nodding her head in approval, 
 and taking a stealthy glance at the foot of each page 
 before she began at the top. Nevertheless she had an 
 ear for the door, for when I bounced in she had been 
 too clever for me ; there was no book to be seen, 
 only an apron on her lap, and she was gazing out at the 
 window. Some such conversation as this followed : 
 
 ' You have been sitting very quietly, mother.' 
 
 ' I always sit quietly, I never do anything, I'm 
 just a finished stocking.' 
 
 ' Have you been reading ?' 
 
 ' Do I ever read at this time of day ?' 
 
 ' What is that in your lap ?' 
 
 ' Just my apron.' 
 
 ' Is that a book beneath the apron ?' 
 
 ' It might be a book.' 
 
 ' Let me see.' 
 
 ' Go away with you to your work.' 
 
 But I lifted the apron. ' Why, it's ' The Master 
 of Ballantrae !' I exclaimed, shocked. 
 
 'So it is !' said my mother, equally surprised. 
 But I looked sternly at her, and perhaps she blushed. 
 
 ' Well, what do you think : not nearly equal to 
 mine ?' said I with humour. 
 
 ' Nothing like them,' she said determinedly. 
 
 ' Not a bit,' said I, though whether with a smile or 
 a groan is immaterial ; they would have meant the 
 same thing. Should I put the book back on its 
 shelf ? I asked, and she replied that I could put it 
 wherever I liked for all she cared, so long as I took it 
 out of her sight (the implication was that it had 
 stolen on to her lap while she was looking out at the 
 window). My behaviour may seem small, but I
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 353 
 
 gave her a last chance, for I said that some people 
 found it a book there was no putting down until they 
 reached the last page. 
 
 ' I'm no that kind,' replied my mother. 
 
 Nevertheless our old game with the haver of a 
 thing, as she called it, was continued, with this 
 difference, that it was now she who carried the book 
 covertly upstairs, and I who replaced it on the shelf, 
 and several times we caught each other in the act, 
 but not a word said either of us ; we were grown 
 self - conscious. Much of the play no doubt I 
 forget, but one incident I remember clearly. She 
 had come down to sit beside me while I wrote, and 
 sometimes, when I looked up, her eye was not on 
 me, but on the shelf where ' The Master of Ballantrae ' 
 stood inviting her. Mr. Stevenson's books are not 
 for the shelf, they are for the hand ; even when you 
 lay them down, let it be on the table for the next 
 comer. Being the most sociable that man has penned 
 in our time, they feel very lonely up there in a stately 
 row. I think their eye is on you the moment you 
 enter the room, and so you are drawn to look at them, 
 and you take a volume down with the impulse that 
 induces one to unchain a dog. And the result is 
 not dissimilar, for in another moment you two are at 
 play. Is there any other modern writer who gets 
 round you in this way ? Well, he had given my 
 mother the look which in the ball-room means, ' Ask 
 me for this waltz,' and she ettled to do it, but felt 
 that her more dutiful course was to sit out the dance 
 with this other less entertaining partner. I wrote 
 on doggedly, but could hear the whispering. . . . 
 
 ' The Master of Ballantrae' is not the best. Conceive 
 the glory, which was my mother's, of knowing from 
 
 23
 
 354 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 a trustworthy source that there are at least three 
 better awaiting on the same shelf. She did not know 
 Alan Breck yet, and he was as anxious to step down 
 as Mr. Bally himself. John Silver was there, getting 
 into his leg, so that she should not have to wait a 
 moment, and roaring, ' I'll lay to that !' when she 
 told me consolingly that she could not thole pirate 
 stories. Not to know these gentlemen, what is it 
 like ? It is like never having been in love. But they 
 are in the house ! That is like knowing that you will 
 fall in love to-morrow morning. With one word, by 
 drawing one mournful face, I could have got my 
 mother to abjure the jam-shelf nay, I might have 
 managed it by merely saying that she had enjoyed 
 ' The Master of Ballantrae.' For you must remember 
 that she only read it to persuade herself (and me) of 
 its unworthiness, and that the reason she wanted to 
 read the others was to get further proof. All this 
 she made plain to me, eyeing me a little anxiously 
 the while, and of course I accepted the explanation. 
 Alan is the biggest child of them all, and I doubt not 
 that she thought so, but curiously enough her views 
 of him are among the things I have forgotten. But 
 how enamoured she was of ' Treasure Island,' and 
 how faithful she tried to be to me all the time she 
 was reading it ! I had to put my hands over her 
 eyes to let her know that I had entered the room, 
 and even then she might try to read between my 
 fingers, coming to herself presently, however, to say 
 ' It's a haver of a book.' 
 
 ' Those pirate stories are so uninteresting,' I would 
 reply without fear, for she was too engrossed to see 
 through me. ' Do you think you will finish this 
 one ?' . . .
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 355 
 
 I remember how she read ' Treasure Island,' hold- 
 ing it close to the ribs of the fire (because she could not 
 spare a moment to rise and light the gas), and how, 
 when bed-time came, and we coaxed, remonstrated, 
 scolded, she said quite fiercely, clinging to the book, 
 ' I dinna lay my head on a pillow this night till I 
 see how that laddie got out of the barrel.' . . . 
 
 At times . . . some podgy, red-sealed, blue-crossed 
 letter arrived from Vailima, inviting me to journey 
 thither. (His directions were, ' You take the boat 
 at San Francisco, and then my place is the second 
 to the left.') Even London seemed to her to carry 
 me so far away that I often took a week to the 
 journey (the first six days in getting her used to the 
 idea), and these letters terrified her. It was not the 
 finger of Jim Hawkins she now saw beckoning me 
 across the seas, it was John Silver, waving a crutch. 
 Seldom, I believe, did I read straight through one of 
 these Vailima letters ; when in the middle I suddenly 
 remembered who was upstairs and what she was prob- 
 ably doing, and I ran to her, three steps at a jump, to 
 find her, lips pursed, hands folded, a picture of gloom. 
 
 ' I have a letter from ' 
 
 ' So I have heard.' 
 
 ' Would you like to hear it ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Can you not abide him ?' 
 
 ' I canna thole him.' 
 
 ' Is he a black ?' 
 
 ' He is all that.' 
 
 Well, Vailima was the one spot on earth I had any 
 great craving to visit, but I think she always knew I 
 would never leave her. Sometime, she said, she 
 should like me to go, but not until she was laid
 
 356 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 away. ' And how small I have grown this last 
 winter. Look at my wrists. It canna be long 
 now.' No, I never thought of going, was never 
 absent for a day or two from her without reluctance, 
 and never walked so quickly as when I was going 
 back. In the meantime that happened which put 
 an end for ever to my scheme of travel. I shall never 
 go up the Road of Loving Hearts now, on a ' won- 
 derful clear night of stars,' to meet the man coming 
 toward me on a horse. It is still a wonderful clear 
 night of stars, but the road is empty. So I never 
 saw the dear king of us all. But before he had 
 written books he was in my part of the country with 
 a fishing-wand in his hand, and I like to think that 
 I was the boy who met him that day by Queen 
 Margaret's burn, where the rowans are, and busked a 
 fly for him, and stood watching, while his lithe figure 
 rose and fell as he cast and hinted back from the 
 crystal waters of Noran-side. 
 
 J. M. BARRIE. 
 
 APPARITION 
 R. L. S. 
 
 THIN-LEGGED, thin-chested, slight unspeakably, 
 Neat-footed and weak-fingered : in his face 
 Lean, large-boned, curved of beak, and touched 
 
 with race, 
 
 Bold-lipped, rich-tinted, mutable as the sea, 
 The brown eyes radiant with vivacity 
 There shines a brilliant and romantic grace, 
 A spirit intense and rare, with trace on trace 
 Of passion and impudence and energy. 
 Valiant in velvet, light in ragged luck,
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 357 
 
 Most vain, most generous, sternly critical, 
 Buffoon and poet, lover and sensualist : 
 A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck, 
 Much Antony, of Hamlet most of all, 
 And something of the Shorter-Catechist. 
 
 W. E. HENLEY. 
 
 THE MEMORIAL TO R. L. S. IN ST. GILES'S 
 
 THIS memorial of Stevenson, in my judgment, will 
 not be his true and permanent memorial ; that 
 memorial will be in the school he has founded, in the 
 infinite number of readers and almost idolaters of 
 his works that exist throughout the world, and last, 
 but not least, in his writings, that remain an almost 
 unparalleled memorial of a great man of genius. And 
 yet it is well that we should have our memorial here. 
 Is it not a pathetic thought that this Scottish genius, 
 so pre-eminently Scottish, should have laid his 
 bones, not in the Lothians that he loved so well, or 
 even in the land which he adorned with his genius, 
 but in the far distant islands of the Pacific ? There 
 seems something anomalous in that, and yet genius 
 is world-wide, and we should not grudge to Samoa 
 that it holds the remains of Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 For long years to come those who love these Lothians, 
 and, indeed, all Scotland, will come with not undue 
 reverence to visit the memorial. 
 
 LORD ROSEBERY. 
 
 A PORTRAIT OF LORD BRAXFIELD PAINTED BY 
 RAEBURN 
 
 ANOTHER portrait which irresistibly attracted the 
 eye was the half-length of Robert M' Queen, of Brax-
 
 358 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 field, Lord Justice-Clerk. If I know gusto in painting 
 when I see it, this canvas was painted with rare 
 enjoyment. The tart, rosy, humorous look of the 
 man, his nose like a cudgel, his face resting squarely 
 on the jowl, has been caught and perpetuated with 
 something that looks like brotherly love. A peculiarly 
 subtle expression haunts the lower part, sensual and 
 incredulous, like that of a man tasting good Bordeaux 
 with half a fancy it has been somewhat too long un- 
 corked. From under the pendulous eyelids of old 
 age the eyes look out with a half-youthful, half- 
 frosty twinkle. Hands, with no pretence to dis- 
 tinction, are folded on the judge's stomach. So 
 sympathetically is the character conceived by the 
 portrait -painter, that it is hardly possible to avoid 
 some movement of sympathy on the part of the 
 spectator. And sympathy is a thing to be encouraged, 
 apart from humane considerations, because it supplies 
 us with the materials for wisdom. It is probably 
 more instructive to entertain a sneaking kindness for 
 any unpopular person, and, among the rest, for Lord 
 Braxfield, than to give way to perfect raptures of 
 moral indignation against his abstract vices. He 
 was the last judge on the Scotch bench to employ the 
 pure Scotch idiom. His opinions, thus given in 
 Doric, and conceived in a lively, rugged, conversa- 
 tional style, were full of point and authority. Out 
 of the bar, or off the bench, he was a convivial man, 
 a lover of wine, and one who ' shone peculiarly ' at 
 tavern meetings. He has left behind him an un- 
 rivalled reputation for rough and cruel speech ; and 
 to this day his name smacks of the gallows. . . . 
 After having made profession of sentiments so 
 cynically anti-popular as these, when the trials were
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 359 
 
 at an end, which was generally about midnight, 
 Braxfield would walk home to his house in George 
 Square with no better escort than an easy conscience. 
 I think I see him getting his cloak about his shoulders, 
 and, with perhaps a lantern in one hand, steering his 
 way along the streets in the mirk January night. 
 It might have been that very day that Skirving had 
 defied him in these words : ' It is altogether un- 
 availing for your lordship to menace me ; for I have 
 long learned to fear not the face of man '; and I can 
 fancy, as Braxfield reflected on the number of what 
 he called Grumbletonians in Edinburgh, and of how 
 many of them must bear special malice against so 
 upright and inflexible a judge, nay, and might at 
 that very moment be lurking in the mouth of a dark 
 close with hostile intent I can fancy that he in- 
 dulged in a sour smile, as he reflected that he also 
 was not especially afraid of men's faces or men's 
 fists, and had hitherto found no occasion to embody 
 this insensibility in heroic words. For if he was an 
 inhumane old gentleman (and I am afraid it is, a fact 
 that he was inhumane), he was also perfectly intrepid. 
 You may look into the queer face of that portrait for 
 as long as you will, but you will not see any hole or 
 corner for timidity to enter in. 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 ROBERT FERGUSSON 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON 
 
 CURSE on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, 
 And yet can starve the author of the pleasure ! 
 O thou, my elder brother in misfortune,
 
 360 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 By far my elder brother in the muses, 
 With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
 
 Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
 Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ? 
 
 LINES ON FERGUSSON 
 
 Ill-fated genius ! Heaven-taught Fergusson ! 
 
 What heart that feels and will not yield a tear, 
 To think life's sun did set ere well begun 
 
 To shed its influence on thy bright career ? 
 Oh, why should truest worth and genius pine 
 
 Beneath the iron grasp of Want and Woe, 
 While titled knaves and idiot greatness shine 
 
 In all the splendour Fortune can bestow ! 
 
 EPITAPH ON FERGUSSON 
 
 ' No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 
 " No storied urn nor animated bust "; 
 This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
 To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust.' 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 A POEM, 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE LEARNED AND 
 EMINENT MR. WILLIAM LAW, PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY 
 IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH 
 
 WHICH, from the crowded journal of thy fame, 
 
 Which of thy many titles shall I name ? 
 
 For, like a gallant prince, that wins a crown, . 
 
 By undisputed right before his own, 
 
 Variety thou hast : our only care 
 
 Is what to single out, and what forbear.
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 361 
 
 Though scrupulously just, yet not severe ; 
 Though cautious, open ; courteous, yet sincere ; 
 Though reverend, yet not magisterial ; 
 Though intimate with few, yet loved by all ; 
 Though deeply read, yet absolutely free 
 From all the stiffnesses of pedantry ; 
 Though circumspectly good, yet never sour ; 
 Pleasant with innocence, and never more. 
 Religion, worn by thee, attractive show'd, 
 And with its own unborrow'd beauty glow'd : 
 Unlike the bigot, from whose watery eyes 
 Ne'er sunshine broke, nor smile was seen to rise ; 
 Whose sickly goodness lives upon grimace, 
 And pleads a merit from a blubber'd face. 
 Thou kept thy raiment for the needy poor, 
 And taught the fatherless to know thy door ; 
 From griping hunger set the needy free ; 
 That they were needy, was enough to thee. 
 
 Thy fame to please, while others restless be, 
 Fame laid her shyness by, and courted thee ; 
 And though thou bade the flattering thing give o'er, 
 Yet, in return, she only woo'd thee more. 
 
 ROBERT BLAIR 
 
 (born in Edinburgh 1699). 
 
 AN EDINBURGH MAGISTRATE 
 
 ' MY name is Middleburgh Mr. James Middleburgh, 
 one of the present magistrates of the city of Edin- 
 burgh.' 
 
 ' It may be sae,' answered Deans laconically, and 
 without interrupting his labour. 
 
 ' You must understand,' he continued, ' that the 
 duty of a magistrate is sometimes an unpleasant one.'
 
 362 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 ' It may be sae,' replied David ; ' I hae naething to 
 say in the contrail '; and he was again doggedly silent. 
 
 ' You must be aware,' pursued the magistrate, 
 ' that persons in my situation are often obliged to 
 make painful and disagreeable inquiries of individuals, 
 merely because it is their bounden duty.' 
 
 ' It may be sae,' again replied Deans ; ' I hae 
 naething to say anent it, either the tae way or the 
 t'other. But I do ken there was ance in a day a just 
 and God-fearing magistracy in yon town o' Edin- 
 burgh, that did not bear the sword in vain, but were 
 a terror to evil-doers, and a praise to such as kept 
 the path. In the glorious days of auld worthy 
 faithfu' Provost Dick, when there was a true and 
 faithfu' General Assembly of the Kirk, walking hand 
 in hand with the real noble Scottish-hearted barons, 
 and with the magistrates of this and other towns, 
 gentles, burgesses, and commons of all ranks, seeing 
 with one eye, hearing with one ear, and upholding 
 the ark with their united strength and then folk 
 might see men deliver up their silver to the State's 
 use, as if it had been as muckle sclate stanes. My 
 father saw them toom the sacks of dollars out o' 
 Provost Dick's window intill the carts that carried 
 them to the army at Dunse Law ; and if ye winna 
 believe his testimony, there is the window itsell still 
 standing in the Luckenbooths I think it's a claith- 
 merchant's booth the day at the airn stanchells, 
 five doors abune Gossford's Close. But now we 
 haena sic spirit amang us ; we think mair about the 
 warst wally-draigle in our ain byre, than about the 
 blessing which the angel of the covenant gave to the 
 Patriarch even at Peniel and Mahanaim, or the 
 binding obligation of our national vows ; and we wad
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 363 
 
 rather gie a pund Scots to buy an unguent to clear 
 our auld rann ell-trees and our beds o' the English 
 bugs as they ca' them, than we wad gie a plack to 
 rid the land of the swarm of Arminian caterpillars, 
 Socinian pismires, and deistical Miss Katies, that 
 have ascended out the bottomless pit, to plague this 
 perverse, insidious, and lukewarm generation.' 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 THREE EDINBURGH FRIENDS 
 
 ONE November afternoon in 1810 the year in 
 which Waverley was resumed and laid aside again, 
 to be finished off, its last two volumes in three weeks, 
 and made immortal in 1814, and when its author, by 
 the death of Lord Melville, narrowly escaped getting 
 a civil appointment in India three men, evidently 
 lawyers, might have been seen escaping like school- 
 boys from the Parliament House, and speeding arm- 
 in-arm down Bank Street and the Mound, in the 
 teeth of a surly blast of sleet. 
 
 The three friends sought the bield of the low wall 
 old Edinburgh boys remember well, and sometimes 
 miss now, as they struggle wiih the stout west wind. 
 
 The three were curiously unlike each other. One, 
 ' a little man of feeble make, who would be unhappy 
 if his pony got beyond a foot pace,' slight, with 
 ' small, elegant features, hectic cheek, and soft hazel 
 eyes, the index of the quick, sensitive spirit within, 
 as if he had the warm heart of a woman, her genuine 
 enthusiasm, and some of her weaknesses.' Another, 
 as unlike a woman as a man can be ; homely, almost 
 common, in look and figure ; his hat and his coat, 
 and indeed his entire covering, worn to the quick, but
 
 364 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 all of the best material ; what redeemed him from 
 vulgarity and meanness were his eyes, deep - set, 
 heavily thatched, keen, hungry, shrewd, with a 
 slumbering glow far in, as if they could be dangerous ; 
 a man to care nothing for at first glance, but some- 
 how, to give a second and not-forgetting look at. 
 The third was the biggest of the three, and though 
 lame, nimble, and all rough and alive with power ; 
 had you met him anywhere else, you would say 
 he was a Liddersdale store-farmer, come of gentle 
 blood ; ' a stout, blunt carle,' as he says of himself, 
 with the swing and stride and the eye of a man of 
 the -hills a large, sunny, out-of-door air all about 
 him. On his broad and somewhat stooping shoulders, 
 was set that head which, with Shakespeare's and 
 Bonaparte's, is the best known in all the world. 
 
 He was in high spirits, keeping his companions 
 and himself in roars of laughter, and every now and 
 then seizing them and stopping, that they might take 
 their fill of the fun ; there they stood shaking with 
 laughter, ' not an inch of their body free ' from its 
 grip. At George Street they parted, one to Rose Court, 
 behind St. Andrew's Church, one to Albany Street, the 
 other, our big and limping friend, to Castle Street. 
 
 We need hardly give their names. The first was 
 William Erskine, afterwards Lord Kinnedder, chased 
 out of the world by a calumny, killed by its foul 
 breath, 
 
 ' And at the touch of wrong, without a strife, 
 Slipped in a moment out of life.' 
 
 There is nothing in literature more beautiful or more 
 pathetic than Scott's love and sorrow for this friend 
 of his youth.
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 365 
 
 The second was William Clerk, the Darsie 
 Latimer of Redgauntlet ; ' a man,' as Scott says, ' of 
 the most acute intellects and powerful apprehen- 
 sion,' but of more powerful indolence, so as to leave 
 the world with little more than the report of what he 
 might have been, a humorist as genuine, though 
 not quite so savagely Swiftian as his brother, Lord 
 Eldin, neither of whom had much of that commonest 
 and best of all the humours, called good. 
 
 The third we all know. What has he not done for 
 every one of us ? Who else ever, except Shakespeare, 
 so diverted mankind, entertained and entertains a 
 world so liberally, so wholesomely ? We are fain 
 to say, not even Shakespeare, for his is something 
 deeper than diversion, something higher than plea- 
 sure, and yet who would care to split this hair ? 
 
 Had anyone watched him closely before and after 
 the parting, what a change he would see ! The 
 bright, broad laugh, the shrewd jovial word, the man 
 of the Parliament House and of the world ; and next 
 step, moody, the light of his eye withdrawn, as if 
 seeing things that were invisible ; his shut mouth, like 
 a child's, so impressionable, so innocent, so sad ; he 
 was now all within, as before he was all without ; 
 hence his brooding look. As the snow blattered in 
 his face, he muttered, ' How it raves and drifts ! On- 
 ding o' snaw ay, that's the word on-ding.' He 
 was now at his own door, ' Castle Street, No. 39.' 
 He opened the door, and went straight to his den ; 
 that wondrous workshop, where, in one year, 1823, 
 when he was fifty-two, he wrote Peveril of the Peak, 
 Quentin Durward, and St. Ronan's Well, besides much 
 else. . . . 
 
 He sat down in his large, green morocco elbow-
 
 366 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 chair, drew himself close to his table, and glowered 
 and gloomed at his writing apparatus, ' a very hand- 
 some old box, richly carved, lined with crimson 
 velvet, and containing ink-bottles, taper-stand, etc., 
 in silver, the whole in such order, that it might have 
 come from the silversmith's window half an hour 
 before.' He took out his paper, then, starting up 
 angrily, said, ' " Go spin, you jade, go spin." No, 
 d it, it won't do 
 
 ' My spinnin* wheel is auld and stiff, 
 
 The rock o't wunna stand, sir, 
 To keep the temper-pin in tiff 
 Employs ower aft my hand, sir.' 
 
 I am off the fang. I can make nothing of Waverley 
 to-day ; I'll awa' to Marjorie. Come wi' me, Maida, 
 you thief.' The great creature rose slowly, and the 
 pair were off, Scott taking a maud (a plaid) with him. 
 ' White as a frosted plum-cake, by jingo !' said he, 
 when he got to the street. Maida gambolled and 
 whisked among the snow, and his master strode 
 across to Young Street, and through it to i, North 
 Charlotte Street, to the house of his dear friend, Mrs. 
 William Keith of Corstorphine Hill, a niece of Mrs. 
 Keith of Ravelston. . . . 
 
 Sir Walter was in that house almost every day, 
 and had a key, so in he and the hound went, shaking 
 themselves in the lobby. ' Marjorie ! Marjorie !' 
 shouted her friend, ' where are ye, my bonnie wee 
 croodlin doo ?' In a moment a bright, eager child 
 of seven was in his arms, and he was kissing her 
 all over. Out came Mrs. Keith. ' Come yer ways 
 in, Wattie.' ' No, not now. I am going to take 
 Marjorie wi' me, and you may come to your tea in 
 Duncan Roy's sedan, and bring the bairn home in
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 367 
 
 your lap.' ' Tak' Marjorie, and it on-ding o' snaw /' 
 said Mrs. Keith. He said to himself, ' On-ding 
 that's odd that is the very word.' ' Hoot, awa ! 
 look here,' and he displayed the corner of his plaid, 
 made to hold lambs (the true shepherd's plaid, 
 consisting of two breadths sewed together, and 
 uncut at one end, making a poke or cul-de-sac). ' Tak' 
 yer lamb,' said she, laughing at the contrivance, 
 and so the Pet was first well happit up, and then 
 put, laughing silently, into the plaid neuk, and the 
 shepherd strode off with his lamb, Maida gambol- 
 ling through the snow, and running races in her mirth. 
 Didn't he face ' the angry airt,' and make her 
 bield his bosom, and into his own room with her, and 
 lock the door, and out with the warm, rosy, little 
 wine, who took it all with great composure ! There 
 the two remained for three or more hours, making 
 the house ring with their laughter ; you can fancy the 
 big man's and Maidie's laugh. 
 
 JOHN BROWN, M.D. 
 CADIES 
 
 THERE is at Edinburgh a society or corporation of 
 errand - boys called cadies, who ply in the streets 
 at night with paper lanterns, and are very serviceable 
 in carrying messages. These fellows, though shabby 
 in their appearance, and rudely familiar in their 
 address, are wonderfully acute, and so noted for 
 fidelity, that there is no instance of a cadie's having 
 betrayed his trust. Such is their intelligence, that 
 they know not only every individual of the place, but 
 also every stranger, by the time he has been four- 
 and-twenty hours in Edinburgh ; and no transaction,
 
 368 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 even the most private, can escape their notice. 
 They are particularly famous for their dexterity in 
 executing one of the functions of Mercury ; though, 
 for my own part, I never employed them in this 
 department of business. Had I occasion for any 
 service of this nature, my own man, Archy M'Alpin, 
 is as well qualified as e'er a cadie in Edinburgh ; and 
 I am much mistaken if he has not been heretofore of 
 their fraternity. Be that as it may, they resolved 
 to give a dinner and a ball at Leith, to which they 
 formally invited ah 1 the young noblemen and gentle- 
 men that were at the races ; and this invitation was 
 reinforced by an assurance that all the celebrated 
 ladies of pleasure would grace the entertainment 
 with their company. I received a card on this occa- 
 sion, and went thither with half a dozen of my 
 acquaintance. In a large hall, the cloth was laid on 
 a long range of tables joined together, and here the 
 company seated themselves to the number of about 
 fourscore, lords and lairds, and other gentlemen, 
 courtezans and cadies, mingled together, as the 
 slaves and their masters were in the time of Saturnalia 
 in ancient Rome. The toast-master, who sat at the 
 upper end, was one Cadie Fraser, a veteran pimp, 
 distinguished for his humour and sagacity, well- 
 known and much respected in his profession by all 
 the guests. He had bespoke the dinner and the 
 wine. He had taken care that all his brethren should 
 appear in decent apparel and clean linen ; and he 
 himself wore a periwig with three tails, in honour of 
 the festival. I assure you the banquet was both 
 elegant and plentiful and seasoned with a thousand 
 sallies, that promoted a general spirit of mirth and 
 good-humour. After the dessert, Mr. Fraser pro-
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 369 
 
 posed the toasts, which I don't pretend to explain. 
 . . . All these toasts being received with loud bursts 
 of applause, Mr. Fraser called for pint glasses, and 
 filled his own to the brim. Then standing up, and 
 all his brethren following his example, ' Ma lords and 
 gentlemen,' cried he, ' here is a cup of thanks for the 
 great and undeserved honour you have done your 
 poor errand-boys this day.' So saying, he and they 
 drank off their glasses in a trice, and, quitting their 
 seats, took their station each behind one of the other 
 guests, exclaiming, ' Noo we're your honours' cadies 
 again.' 
 
 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 
 
 'THE CADIE' 
 
 IN Smollett's time . . . the people all inhabited in the 
 Old Town of Edinburgh, packed together, family 
 above family, for aught I know clan above clan, in 
 little more than one street, the houses of which may, 
 upon an average, be some dozen stories in height. 
 The aerial elevation, at which an immense proportion 
 of these people had fixed their abode, rendered it a 
 matter of no trifling moment to ascend to them. . . . 
 To seek out a stranger among a hundred or two 
 such staircases, was of course an undertaking. And 
 so it became a matter of absolute necessity that 
 Edinburgh should possess some body of citizens set 
 apart, and destined ab ovo, for climbing staircases 
 and carrying messages. 
 
 From this necessity sprung the high lineage of 
 ' The Cadies of Auld Reekie.' When I use the word 
 ' lineage,' I do not mean to say that their trade ran 
 
 24
 
 370 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 in their blood, or that the cadies, as the Lake poet 
 
 sings : 
 
 ' To sire from grandsire, and from sire to son, 
 Throughout their generations, did pursue 
 With purpose, and hereditary love, 
 Most stedfast and unwavering, the same course 
 Of labour, not unpleasant, nor unpaid.' 
 
 The cadies bore more resemblance in this respect to 
 the Janissaries and Mamelukes of Modern, than to 
 hereditary hammermen, cooks, physicians, and priests 
 of ancient Egypt. . . . Every year brought from the 
 fastnesses of Lochaber and Braemar a new supply 
 of scions to be engrafted upon the stock rooted 
 immovably in the heart of Auld Reekie. . . . How- 
 ever produced and sustained ; whatever might be 
 the beauties or the blemishes of their pedigree, this 
 race continued for many generations, to perform 
 with the same zeal and success the same large variety 
 of good offices to the citizens of Edinburgh. The 
 cadie preserved, amidst all his functions, not a little 
 of the air and aspect natural to him in his own 
 paternal wilderness. 
 
 ' A savage wildness round him hung, 
 
 As of a dweller out of doors ; 
 In his whole figure and his mien 
 A savage character was seen, 
 
 Of mountains and of dreary moors.' 
 
 He climbed staircases with the same light and 
 elastic spring which had been wont to carry him 
 unfatigued to the brow of Cairngorm or Ben-Nevis ; 
 and he executed the commands of his employer 
 pro tempore, whatever they might be, in the same 
 spirit of unquestioning submission and thorough- 
 going zeal with which he had been taught from his 
 infancy to obey the orders of Maccallamore, Glen-
 
 A FEW EDINBURGH PORTRAITS 371 
 
 gary, Gordon, Grant, or whosoever the chieftain of 
 his clan might be. In order to qualify him for the 
 exercise of this laborious profession, it was necessary 
 that the apprentice-cadie should make himself 
 minutely familiar with every staircase, every house, 
 every family, and every individual in the city, and 
 to one who had laid in this way a sound and accurate 
 foundation of information, it could be no difficult 
 matter to keep on a level with the slight flood of 
 mutation, which the city and its population was at 
 that period accustomed to. The moment a stranger 
 arrived in Edinburgh, his face was sure to attract 
 the observation of some of this indefatigable tribe, 
 and they knew no rest till they had ascertained his 
 name, residence, and condition considering it, 
 indeed, as a sort of insult upon their body that any 
 man should presume to live within the bounds of 
 their jurisdiction, and yet remain unpenetrated by 
 the perspicacity of their unwearied espionage. 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH 
 
 WARRISTON, not more beautiful than Dean, is perhaps 
 more beautiful in situation ; certainly it commands a 
 more beautiful prospect. You will visit Warriston 
 for the sake of Alexander Smith ; for you have not 
 forgotten the Life Drama, the City Poems, Edwin of 
 Deira, Alfred Hagart's Household, and A Summer in 
 Skye. ' He lies in the north-east corner of the ground, 
 at the foot of a large lona cross which is bowered by a 
 chestnut tree. The cross is thickly carved with 
 laurel, thistle, and holly, and it bears upon its front 
 
 24 2
 
 372 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 the face of the poet, in bronze, and the harp that 
 betokens his art. It is a bearded face, having small, 
 refined features, a slightly pouted, sensitive mouth, 
 and being indicative more of nervous sensibility than 
 of rugged strength. . . . Standing by his grave, at 
 the foot of this cross, you can gaze straight away 
 southward to Arthur's Seat, and behold the whole 
 line of imperial Edinburgh at a glance, from the 
 Catton Hill to the Castle. It is such a spot as he 
 would have chosen for his sepulchre face to face 
 with the city that he loved so dearly. 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER.
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH
 
 I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power ... to 
 make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia ; to sit on the 
 fields of her battles ; to wander on the romantic banks of her 
 rivers ; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, 
 once the honoured abodes of her heroes. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh . . . with Stevenson it is the burden of the 
 song. 
 
 MARGARET ARMOUR.
 
 BEN JONSON IN EDINBURGH 
 
 ' Edinborough The heart of Scotland, Britaine's other eye' 
 BEN JONSON.* 
 
 THE day before I came from Edenborough I went to 
 Leeth, where I found my long approved and assured 
 good friend, Master Benjamin Jonson, at one Master 
 John Stuart's house : I thanke him for his great 
 kindnesse towards me ; for at my taking leave of 
 him, he gave me a piece of gold of two and twenty 
 shillings to drink his health in England ; and withal 
 willed me to remember his kind commendations to 
 all his friends. So with a friendly farewell, I left 
 him as well as I hope never to see him in a worse 
 estate ; for he is amongst Noblemen and Gentlemen 
 that knowe his true worth, and their own honours, 
 where with much respective love he is worthily 
 entertained. 
 
 JOHN TAYLOR. 
 
 MY PICTURE, LEFT IN SCOTLAND 
 
 I now think, Love is rather deaf than blind, 
 
 For else it could not be, 
 That she 
 
 Whom I adore so much, should so slight me, 
 And cast my suit behind : 
 I'm sure my language to her was as sweet, 
 
 And every close did meet 
 
 In sentence of as subtle feet, 
 
 * Of Ben Jonson's lost poem, ' Edinborough,' only this line 
 
 exists. 
 
 375
 
 376 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 As hath the youngest he 
 
 That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree. 
 
 Oh ! but my conscious fears, 
 That fly my thoughts between, 
 Tell me that she hath seen 
 My hundreds of gray haires 
 Told six and forty years, 
 Read so much waste as she cannot embrace 
 My mountain belly and my rocky face, 
 And all these, through her eyes, have stopt her ears. 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 EDINBURGH'S CALL TO BURNS 
 
 TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CALEDONIAN 
 HUNT 
 
 MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN : 
 
 A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose 
 highest ambition is to sing in his country's service 
 where shall he so properly look for patronage as to 
 the illustrious names of his native land ; those who 
 bear the honours and inherit the virtues of their 
 ancestors ? The Poetic Genius of my Country found 
 me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha at the 
 PLOUGH ; and threw her inspiring mantle over me. 
 She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural 
 scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil, in my 
 native tongue : I tuned my wild, artless notes, as she 
 inspired. She whispered me to come to this ancient 
 Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my Songs under 
 your honoured protection : I i^ow obey her dictates. 
 Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not 
 approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the 
 usual style of dedication, to thank you for past
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 377 
 
 favours : that path is so hackneyed by prostituted 
 learning, that honest rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor 
 do I present this Address with the venal soul of a 
 servile author, looking for a continuation of those 
 favours : I was bred to the plough, and am indepen- 
 dent. I come to claim the common Scottish name 
 with you, my illustrious Countrymen ; and to tell 
 the world that I glory in the title. I come to con- 
 gratulate my country, that the blood of her ancient 
 heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and that from 
 your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may 
 expect protection, wealth, and liberty. In the last 
 place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes to the 
 Great Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of the 
 Universe, for your welfare and happiness. 
 
 When you go forth to waken the echoes, in the 
 ancient and favourite amusement of your fore- 
 fathers, <nay Pleasure ever be of your party : and 
 may social Joy await your return ! When harassed 
 in courts or camps with the jostlings of bad men 
 and bad measures, may the honest tonsciousness 
 of injured worth attend your return to your native 
 seats ; and may domestic happiness, with a smiling 
 welcome, meet you at your gates ! May corruption 
 shrink at your kindling indignant glance ; and may 
 tyranny in the ruler, and licentiousness in the people, 
 equally find you an inexorable foe ! 
 
 I have the honour to be, 
 
 With the sincerest gratitude and highest respect, 
 My Lords and Gentlemen, 
 
 Your most devoted humble Servant, 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 EDINBURGH, April 4, 1787.
 
 378 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 BURNS IN EDINBURGH 
 
 * As I came in by Glenap 
 I met an aged woman, 
 And she bade me cheer up my heart, 
 For the best of my days was coming.' 
 
 THIS stanza was one of Burns's favourite quotations ; 
 and he told a friend, many years afterwards, that he 
 remembered humming it to himself, over and over, 
 on his way from Mossgiel to Edinburgh. ... In so 
 small a capital, where everybody knows everybody, 
 that which becomes a favourite topic in one leading 
 circle of society soon excites an universal interest ; 
 and before Burns had been a fortnight in Edinburgh, 
 we find him writing to his earliest patron, Gavin 
 Hamilton, in these terms : ' For my own affairs, I 
 am in a fair way of becoming as eminent as Thomas 
 a Kempis or John Bunyan ; and you may expect, 
 henceforth, to see my birthday inscribed among the 
 wonderful events in The Poor Robin and Aberdeen 
 Almanacks, along with the Black Monday and the 
 Battle of Bothwell Bridge. . . .' He is thus 
 addressed by one of his old associates who was 
 meditating a visit to Edinburgh : ' By all accounts, 
 it will be a difficult matter to get a sight of , you 
 at all, unless your company is bespoke a week 
 beforehand. There are great rumours here of your 
 intimacy with the Duchess of Gordon and other 
 ladies of distinction. I am really told that 
 
 " Cards to invite, fly by thousands each night " ; 
 
 and if you had one, there would also, I suppose, be 
 " bribes for your old secretary." I observe you are 
 resolved to make hay while the sun shines, and
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 379 
 
 avoid, if possible, the fate of poor Fergusson. In this 
 proud career, however, the popular idol needed no 
 slave to whisper whence he had risen, and whither 
 he was to return in the ebb of the spring-tide of 
 fortune. His " prophetic soul " was probably fur- 
 nished with a sufficient memento every night, when, 
 from the soft homage of glittering saloons or tumul- 
 tuous applause of convivial assemblies, he made his 
 retreat to the humble garret of a writer's apprentice, 
 a native of Mauchline, and as poor as himself. . . .' 
 ' It was ' [says Cromek], ' in the house of a Mrs. 
 Carfrae, Baxter's Close, Lawnmarket, first scale 
 stair on the left hand in going down, first door in 
 the stair.' . . . The bucks of Edinburgh accomplished, 
 in regard to Burns, that in which the boors of Ayrshire 
 had failed. After residing some months in Edin- 
 burgh, he began to estrange himself, not altogether, 
 but in some measure, from graver friends. Too 
 many of his hours were now spent at the table of 
 persons who delighted to urge conviviality. . . . He 
 was not yet irrevocably lost to temperance and 
 moderation. ... 'I leave Edinburgh ' [he writes] 
 ' in the course of ten days or a fortnight. I shall 
 return to my rural shades, in all likelihood never 
 more to quit them. I have formed many intimacies 
 and friendships here, but I am afraid they are all of 
 too tender a construction to bear carriage a hundred 
 and fifty miles. . . .' 
 
 The magnificent scenery of the capital itself filled 
 the poet with extraordinary delight. In the spring 
 mornings he walked very often to the top of Arthur's 
 Seat, and, lying prostrate on the turf, surveyed the 
 rising of the sun out of the sea in silent admiration ; 
 his chosen companion on such occasions being that
 
 380 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 ardent lover of Nature and learned artist, Mr. 
 Alexander Nasmyth. The Braid Hills, to the south 
 of Edinburgh, were also among his favourite morning 
 walks ; and it was in some of these that Mr. Dugald 
 Stewart tells us ' he charmed me still more by his 
 private conversation than he had ever done in com. 
 pany. He was passionately fond of the beauties of 
 Nature ; and I recollect once he told me, when I was 
 admiring a distant prospect in one of our morning 
 walks, that the sight of so many smoking cottages 
 gave a pleasure to his mind which none could under- 
 stand who had not witnessed, like himself, the 
 happiness and the worth which they contained.' 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 TO ROBERT BURNS 
 
 FROM HIS FRIEND ON LEAVING EDINBURGH 
 
 WHILE Reekie's bards your muse commen', 
 An' praise the numbers o' your pen, 
 Accept this kin'ly frae a frien' 
 
 Your Dainty Davie, 
 Wha ace o' hearts does still remain, 
 
 Ye may believe me. 
 
 I ne'er was muckle gi'en to praisin', 
 Or else ye might be sure o' fraisin' : 
 For trouth I think, in solid reason, 
 
 Your kintra reed 
 Plays sweet as Robin Fergusson, 
 
 Or his on Tweed. . . . 
 
 Brave Ramsay now an' Fergusson, 
 Wha hae sae lang time fill'd the throne
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 381 
 
 O' poetry, may now lie down 
 
 Quiet in their urns, 
 Since fame, in justice, gies the crown 
 
 To Robert Burns. 
 
 Hail ! happy bard ! ye're now confest 
 The king of singers i' the West : 
 Edina hath the same exprest ; 
 
 Wi' joy they fin' 
 That ye're, when tried by Nature's test, 
 
 Gude sterlin' coin. . . . 
 
 Sae to conclude, auld frien' an' neebor, 
 Your muse forgetna weel to feed her, 
 Then steer thro' life wi' birr an' vigour, 
 
 To win a horn 
 Whase soun' shall reach ayont the Tiber, 
 
 Many ears unborne. 
 
 DAVID SILLAR. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS RETURNS HOME FROM 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 ELLISLAND, 
 March 4, 1789. 
 
 To MRS. DUNLOP. 
 
 Here am I, my honoured Friend, returned safe 
 from the Capital. To a man who has a HOME, how- 
 ever humble or remote ; if that HOME is like mine, 
 the scene of Domestic comfort ; the bustle of Edin- 
 burgh will soon be a business of sickening disgust. 
 
 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate you I 
 
 When I must sculk into a corner, lest the rattling 
 equipage of some gaping blockhead, contemptible 
 puppy, or detestable scoundrel should mangle me
 
 382 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 in the mire, I am tempted to exclaim ' What merits 
 have these wretches had, or what demerits have 
 I had, in some state of Pre-existence, that they 
 are ushered into this state of being with the sceptre 
 of rule and the key of riches in their puny fists ; and 
 I am kicked into the world, the sport of their folly 
 or the victim of their pride ?' I have read some- 
 where of a monarch, in Spain I think it was, who 
 was so out of humour with the Ptolemean system of 
 astronomy, that he said, had he been of the Creator's 
 council he could have saved Him a great deal of 
 labour and absurdity. I will not defend this blas- 
 phemous speech ; but often as I have glided in 
 humble stealth through the pomp of Princes Street, 
 it has suggested itself to me as an improvement on 
 the present Human figure, that a man in proportion 
 to his own conceit of his consequence in the world, 
 could have pushed out the longitude of his common 
 size, as a snail pushes out his horns, or as we draw 
 out a perspective. This trifling alteration, not to 
 mention the prodigious saving it would be in the 
 tear and wear of the neck and limb-sinews of many of 
 his Majesty's liege subjects in the way of tossing the 
 head and tiptoe strutting, would evidently turn out 
 a vast advantage in enabling us at once to adjust the 
 ceremonials in making a bow or making way to a 
 Great Man, and that, too, within a second of the 
 precise spherical angle of reverence or an inch of 
 the particular point of respectful distance, which the 
 important creature itself requires ; as a measuring 
 glance at its towering altitude would determine the 
 affair like instinct. ... I have the honour to be, 
 Madam, your obliged friend and humble servt., 
 
 ROBT. BURNS.
 
 ARTHUR'S SEAT, HOLYROOD, AND THE BURNS MONUMENT
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 383 
 
 SHELLEY IN EDINBURGH 
 
 MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
 
 Direct to the Edinburgh Post-Office my own 
 name. I passed to-night with the Mail. Harriet is 
 with me. We are in a slight pecuniary distress. We 
 shall have seventy-five pounds on Sunday, until 
 when can you send 10 ? Divide it in two. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 PERCY SHELLEY. 
 
 This letter was written by my friend at York, in 
 passing through at midnight ; it did not come to me 
 by the post, but was brought to my lodgings the next 
 morning from the inn. I wrote immediately to 
 Shelley detailing my projects, and promising to be 
 with him almost as soon as my letter. I took my 
 seat on the outside of a stage coach, a front seat 
 carpet bags were not yet discovered, but I saw my 
 small leathern portmanteau placed in front boot. 
 
 Prudence prescribes as little luggage as possible 
 on a journey ; in genteel society an excuse serves a 
 traveller quite as well as the most fashionable dress- 
 coat ; with vulgar people tawdry finery is indis- 
 pensable, but the immortal gods hate the man who 
 trusts himself under the same roof with them. The 
 day was in the first week of September, the time of 
 day was the afternoon ; the weather was dry and 
 fine. . . . 
 
 From a hill, a mile or two before we came to 
 Berwick, there was a noble prospect of the sea, the 
 mouth of the Tweed, and much besides ; and I be- 
 held for the first time the hills of Scotland, behind 
 which I was to find my incomparable friend again.
 
 384 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 We descended to the river Tweed, and passed it 
 by a very long bridge, upon which then stood an 
 ancient gateway, with a picturesque and remarkable 
 effect. Thirty years later, when I came again to 
 this old town to grow very familiar with it, the old 
 gateway had vanished. Our coach drew up at an 
 inn not very far from the bridge ; here we were to 
 remain some time, and to dine. The inn was super- 
 latively nasty, and the dinner impracticable, im- 
 pregnable. I was glad to escape from the smell of 
 stale fish, and from the other noisome smells, and to 
 take a turn upon the walls ; the scene was sparkling 
 and pleasant. We continued our journey, and after 
 riding a few miles farther I was informed that we had 
 entered Scotland. The evening was delightful ; at 
 some points of the road we had fine sea views, and a 
 bold, rocky coast ; at one spot the guard made us 
 get down and look from a bridge into a deep, woody 
 ravine ; he called the place, I think, Pease Bridge. 
 There were open uninclosed fields, with excellent 
 crops of corn in some places, very clean and promis- 
 ing, and a surprising breath of flourishing turnips, as 
 well Swedes as the common kind. I remarked at 
 many of the farms small windmills ; these, I was in- 
 formed, were used to turn winnowing and threshing 
 machines ; they were new to me. At other portions 
 of the road we crossed extensive moors ; and we passed 
 through Dunbar, a dirty, stinking, fishing town. We 
 saw for some time the Bass Rock, over the summit of 
 which hovered prodigious flocks of sea birds. On 
 the whole, I found much of pleasure and interest 
 in what I saw of Scotland this afternoon. 
 
 Nor did I want for information and instruction. 
 At the back of the coach sat a little, serious, middle-
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 385 
 
 aged man, whom we picked up somewhere after 
 entering Scotland ; he, learning that I was a stranger, 
 and that this was my first visit to a region which he 
 assured us was the finest, happiest, most refined and 
 civilized country in the known world, kindly took 
 upon himself the trouble of informing, and indeed of 
 forming my mind. He stood up at his place, behind 
 a stack of luggage, and continually addressed me 
 across the roof of the coach. He discoursed, or 
 rather, I may say, lectured concerning the excellence 
 of the district and of its inhabitants ; of the agricul- 
 ture of the Lothians, and its vast and infinite 
 superiority to all other farming. Having discovered 
 that I was going to Edinburgh, he expounded the 
 admirable nature and character of that city, and 
 told me all that I ought to see, and to believe on his 
 authority. 
 
 ' You will find it a most remarkable city ; by far 
 the most remarkable under the heavens, without any 
 exception !' 
 
 ' Yes ! And it has a Review, as remarkable as 
 itself !' . . . 
 
 Mr. Pennant, with all the gravity of a Welshman 
 and a naturalist, writes in perfect seriousness : 
 ' Asses are very rare in Scotland ; there are none in 
 the north.' But a greater and a graver than Pennant 
 was there ; and he asseverated that Oxford was for 
 ever silenced : that University was totally annihi- 
 lated ; she could never show her face again, never 
 hold up her head ; she was extinguished ; she must at 
 once retire ; she must leave the work of education to 
 abler hands than her own. Shoals of stndents would 
 come flocking thence by thousands to Edinburgh, to 
 Aberdeen, to St. Andrews, and to the other renowned 
 
 25
 
 386 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Scottish Universities. He spoke much about the 
 Oxford StraWo, without appearing at all to know 
 what he meant. I longed to ask him, what he sup- 
 posed the Oxford Strabbo really was ; but I did not 
 venture. He talked very largely of ' Mr. Francis 
 Jeffrey, of Edinburgh, advocate '; but he did not 
 seem to be personally acquainted with him ; and 
 indeed he admitted, in answer to my question, that 
 he was not. ' Mr. Francis Jeffrey, of Edinburgh, 
 advocate ' for he always gave the name of the 
 learned editor in full, with the additions ' is a little 
 man, and a very clever man.' Both these facts are 
 undoubted. I had afterwards abundant opportunity 
 to verify them myself. ' He very wisely holds that 
 ridicule is the real and genuine, and indeed the sole 
 test of truth : that it is still more necessary than 
 even the laws themselves for the due maintenance of 
 order in a state of high civilization. And, accord- 
 ingly, he has used it most unsparingly, as you will 
 yourself allow, in his critical journal ; and he pur- 
 poses to continue so to use it.' 
 
 It began to grow dark ; and at the approach of 
 night all creatures feel fatigue, even the most per- 
 severing, and grow weary at last, even of wearying 
 others. The little prig himself got tired of lecturing ; 
 he became silent, and at some place, where we 
 changed horses, quietly withdrew. 
 
 It was the first time I ever underwent this sort of 
 thing ; I have suffered it oiten since, God knows how 
 often so often, in truth, that being once told that it 
 was impossible accurately to define a philosopher, I 
 was provoked to answer : ' Oh no ; A philosopher is 
 a Scotch clerk in a public office in England !' 
 
 We entered Edinburgh in the dark, through mean,
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 387 
 
 narrow streets, the aspect of which, by the faint 
 light of dim lamps, ill accorded with the magnificent 
 promises of the splendour of the proud metropolis 
 of the whole earth of the capital of social elegance, 
 and of perfect refinement. 
 
 I remained for the night at the wretched inn where 
 the coach stopped, for I knew of no other, although 
 it was a disgusting place. Nobody appeared to re- 
 gard me. I didn't understand what they said ; 
 neither could I make the people understand me. In 
 truth, they did not care to know what I wanted. 
 However, I succeeded, with some difficulty, in catch- 
 ing hold of a stupid, red-haired, bare-necked, bare- 
 footed, dirty girl, by the arm ; I held her fast, and 
 made her conduct me upstairs to a squalid little bed- 
 room. When we got there, she found out what I 
 required : another light, besides that which she held 
 in her hand, of a sudden broke upon her, and she 
 exclaimed with vivacity, ' Oh ! you will want a 
 chamber.' I observed the impressions of naked and 
 muddy feet, of bare toes and heels, on the hearth 
 and on the floor, but no other traces of social elegance : 
 the young wench was half naked, as it was ; had she 
 been stark, most assuredly I should not have taken 
 her for one of the three Graces, whatever the little 
 lecturer might have affirmed. I took the candle from 
 her, and she withdrew, muttering some words of her 
 sweet northern Doric, which probably signified, 
 ' Good night !' The bed was less distasteful than the 
 chamber. I had passed thirty hours, or more, in 
 the open air, on the top of the coach, and had travelled 
 two hundred miles : this was a powerful opiate. . . . 
 When I awoke in the morning, it was quite light : bell 
 there was none ; calling out, however loud, was dis- 
 
 252
 
 388 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 regarded, my little sylph would not come, nor would 
 any of her fairy sisters, if she had any. I put on my 
 clothes, and went downstairs into a common room, 
 an uncommonly dirty, dingy hole ; here I procured 
 some breakfast, which was not so much amiss. I 
 then sallied forth to discover if the rest of the New 
 Jerusalem was as mean and shabby as what I had 
 already seen ; I more than half suspected that it 
 was. I soon emerged from the narrow streets ; and 
 then, O ! glorious spectacle, by force of contrast 
 made still more noble, more glorious ; I wandered 
 about, lost in admiration. I ascended the Castle- 
 hill, the Calton-hill, my delight still increasing. 
 Yet it was a meeting of extremes : I beheld magnifi- 
 cence triumphs of art and of nature ; yet I saw 
 many odious and revolting objects, which I had 
 never met with, even in the poorest places in England, 
 and which I forbear to describe. 
 
 Having at once satisfied and inflamed my curiosity, 
 I began to think of the main purpose of my long 
 journey my college friend. I had written to him 
 that I would join him here, but I had not given him 
 any address, for I did not know any, neither had I 
 received a direction from him. Was there a better, 
 a speedier course, than the hope of a chance meet- 
 ing in the streets of a large city ? I bethought me 
 of the post-office ; he might have sent a letter for 
 me thither. I was standing musing on the bridge 
 which connects the New Town with the Old : a grave, 
 white, middle-aged man was passing. I inquired of 
 him for the post-office. 
 
 ' Come with me, I am going there myself. You 
 are a stranger ?' 
 
 'Yes.'
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 389 
 
 ' You never saw so fine a bridge before, as this is, 
 I am very sure. It is the finest in the known world !' 
 
 ' I have seen a finer river ; one with more water in it.' 
 
 He seemed much disconcerted. I told him how I 
 was situated. 
 
 ' They will give you the address you require at the 
 post-office, they are sure to have it ; we will go to the 
 post-office together ; but you must first see our new 
 University, as you are a stranger.' 
 
 We passed the post-office and came to a large 
 building, not only unfinished, but not in progress. It 
 appeared that the work had ceased for want of funds. 
 
 ' What do you think of that, sir ?' 
 
 ' When it is completed it will be a very handsome 
 building, and, I dare say, very commodious.' 
 
 ' Not only that, but if all the buildings at Oxford 
 and Cambridge were moulded and amalgamated 
 together into one edifice, the effect would not be the 
 same ; it would be far inferior !' 
 
 I had learned that it was most discreet to be silent. 
 We returned to the post-office. There was no letter 
 for me, but they gave me my friend's address in 
 George Street. Whether he had left it there for me, 
 or for his own letters, I did not ask. 
 
 ' I am going in that direction, myself. I will point 
 out George Street to you.' 
 
 We returned on our steps. 
 
 ' That is the Register-Office,' said my kind, grave 
 guide ; ' it is the finest building on the habitable earth.' 
 
 I looked him in the face ; I had wounded his 
 feelings about the bridge, without at all diminishing 
 his obliging good-nature. 
 
 ' It is universally acknowledged to be so ! But you 
 must see the interior 1'
 
 390 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 We entered it ; it was a handsome structure 
 certainly ; perhaps needlessly large. We walked 
 along Princes Street together ; at the corner of a 
 cross street he took leave of me with sundry profound 
 and solemn bows, having previously pointed out 
 George Street. I soon set foot in George Street, a 
 spacious, noble, well-built street ; but a deserted 
 street, or rather a street which people had not yet 
 come fully to inhabit. I soon found the number 
 indicated at the post-office ; I have forgotten it, but 
 it was on the left side the side next to Princes Street. 
 I knocked at the door of a handsome house ; it was 
 all right ; and in a handsome front-parlour I was 
 presently received rapturously by my friend. He 
 looked just as he used to look at Oxford, and as he 
 looked when I saw him last in April, in our trellised 
 apartment ; but now joyous at meeting again, not 
 as then sad at parting. I also saw and for the first 
 time his lovely young bride, bright as the morning 
 as the morning of that bright day on which we first 
 met ; bright, blooming, radiant with youth, health, 
 and beauty. I was hailed triumphantly by the new- 
 married pair ; my arrival was more than welcome ; 
 they had got my letter and expected to rejoice at 
 my coming every moment. ' We have met at last 
 once more !' Shelley exclaimed, ' and we will never 
 part again ! You must have a bed in the house !' 
 It was deemed necessary, indispensable. At that 
 time of life a bed a mile or two off, as far as I was 
 concerned, would have done as well : but I must have 
 a bed in the house. The landlord was summoned ; he 
 came instantly. A bed in the house ; the necessity 
 was so urgent that they did not give him time to 
 speak. When the poor man was permitted to answer, 
 he said, ' I have a spare bedroom, but it is at the top
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 391 
 
 of the house. It may not be quite so pleasant.' 
 He conducted me up a handsome stone staircase of 
 easiest ascent ; the way was not difficult, but very 
 long. It appeared well nigh interminable. We 
 came at length to an airy, spacious bedroom. ' This 
 will do very well.' A stone staircase is handsome and 
 commodious, and, in case of fire, it must be a valuable 
 security ; but whenever a door was shut it thun- 
 dered ; the thunder rolled pealing for some seconds. 
 I was to lodge with Jupiter Tonans at the top of 
 Olympus. Of all the houses in London, with which 
 I am acquainted, those in Fitzroy Square alone re- 
 mind me, by their sonorous powers, of Edinburgh, 
 and of the happy days which I passed in that beautiful 
 city. On returning to my friends our mutual greet- 
 ings were repeated ; each had a thousand things to 
 tell and to ask of the rest. Our joy being a little 
 calmed, we agreed to walk. ' We are in the capital 
 of the unfortunate Queen Mary,' said Harriet ; ' we 
 must see her palace first of all.' We soon found 
 Holyrood House. . . . We saw Mary's bedroom, the 
 stains of Rizzio's blood, and all the other relics. 
 These objects, intrinsically mean and paltry, greatly 
 interested my companions, especially Harriet, who 
 was well-read in the sorrowful history of the unhappy 
 queen. Bysshe must go home and write letters, I 
 was to ascend Arthur's Seat with the lady. We 
 marched up the steep hill boldly, and reached the 
 summit. The view may be easily seen, it is im- 
 possible to describe it. It was a thousand pities 
 Bysshe was not with us, and then we might remain 
 there ; one ought never to quit so lovely a scene. 
 
 ' Let us sit down ; probably when he has finished 
 writing he will come to us.' 
 
 We sat a long time, at first gazing around, after-
 
 392 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 wards we looked out for the young bridegroom, but 
 he did not appear. It was fine while we ascended ; 
 it was fine, sunny, clear, and still, whilst we remained 
 on the top ; but when we began to descend, the wind 
 commenced blowing. Harriet refused to proceed ; 
 she sat down again on the rock, and declared that 
 we would remain there for ever ! For ever is rather 
 a long time ; to sit until the wind abated would 
 have been to sit there quite long enough. Entreaties 
 were in vain. I was hungry, for I had not dined on 
 either of the two preceding days. The sentence 
 never to dine again was a severe one, and although 
 it was pronounced by the lips of beauty, I ventured 
 to appeal against it ; so I left her and proceeded 
 slowly down the hill, the wind blowing fresh. She 
 sat for some time longer, but finding that I was in 
 earnest, she came running down after me. Harriet 
 was always most unwilling to show her ankles, or 
 even her feet, hence her reluctance to move in the 
 presence of a rude, indelicate wind, which did not 
 respect her modest scrupulousness. If there was not 
 much to admire about these carefully concealed 
 ankles, certainly there was nothing to blame. 
 
 The accommodations at our lodgings in George 
 Street were good, and the charges reasonable ; the 
 food was abundant and excellent ; everything was 
 good, the wine included : in one particular only was 
 there a deficiency, the attendance was insufficient, 
 except at meals, when our landlord officiated in 
 person. One dirty little nymph, by name Christie, 
 was the servant of the house the domestic, she 
 was termed ; she spoke a dialect which we could not 
 comprehend, and she was, for the most part, unable 
 to understand what we southerns said to her, or
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 393 
 
 indeed anything else, save only perchance political 
 economy and metaphysics. After ringing the well- 
 hung bells many times in vain, she would suddenly 
 open the door, and exclaiming, ' Oh ! The kittle !' 
 darted off to be brought back again, after a long 
 delay, by the like exertions and with the like result. 
 Her sagacity had discovered that we drank much tea, 
 and therefore often required the services of the tea- 
 kettle. However, if she was of no great use to us, 
 the poor little girl at least afforded us some amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Shelley was of an extreme sensibility of a morbid 
 sensibility and strange, discordant sounds he could 
 not bear to hear ; he shrank from the unmusical 
 voice of the Caledonian maiden. Whenever she 
 entered the room, or even came to the door, he rushed 
 wildly into a corner and covered his ears with his 
 hands. We had, to our shame be it spoken, a childish 
 mischievous delight in tormenting him ; in catching 
 the shy virgin and making her speak in his presence. 
 The favourite interrogatory so often administered 
 was, ' Have you had your dinner to-day, Christie ?' 
 ' Yes.' ' And what did you get ?' ' Sengit heed and 
 bonnocks,' was the unvarying answer, and its efficacy 
 was instantaneous and sovereign. Our poor sensitive 
 poet assumed the air of the Distracted Musician, 
 became nearly frantic, and, had we been on the pro- 
 montory, he would certainly have taken the Leu- 
 cadian leap for Christie's sake, and to escape for ever 
 from the rare music of her voice. 
 
 ' Oh ! Bysshe, how can you be so absurd ? What 
 harm does the poor girl do you ?' 
 
 ' Send her away, Harriet ! Oh ! send her away ; 
 for God's sake, send her away !'
 
 394 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 On the whole, nothing could be better than our 
 position in George Street ; yet few things are abso- 
 lutely perfect even in Scotland, even in Edinburgh 
 itself. It is allowable to discern spots in the sun ; 
 science, it is believed, derives benefit from such dis- 
 coveries. . . . 
 
 It was the year of the famous comet, and of the 
 still more famous vintage, the year 1811 ; the weather 
 was fine, and often hot ; not one drop of rain fell 
 all the time I was in Edinburgh. The nights were 
 clear and bright ; we often contemplated the stranger 
 comet from Princes Street ; and not only the comet, 
 but the ordinary array of the shining hosts of heaven. 
 The heavens are the home of a divine poet ; the 
 stars are his nearest kindred : Shelley frequently 
 turned his wild, wandering eyes homewards ; he was 
 fond of looking at the stars, and of speculating about 
 the heavenly bodies, and of reading and hearing the 
 speculations of astronomers. He had, however, a 
 leaning, as became a poet, towards the systems, 
 hypotheses, and figments of the first and ancient 
 star-gazers ; moreover, his attention had been first 
 called towards celestial matters by his beloved Pliny, 
 the greater part of whose vast and inestimable work 
 on Natural History he had translated at Eton ; he 
 dearly loved to ponder over that author's inexplicable 
 doctrines, and to endeavour to comprehend and 
 expound them. . . . 
 
 I soon found, to my sorrow, that my project of 
 making pedestrian excursions from Edinburgh was 
 quite impracticable ; my friend could not possibly 
 leave his young bride alone : to have gone by myself, 
 which I would willingly have done, if I might, would 
 have been unpopular, being accounted unkind : the
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 395 
 
 scheme therefore was entirely relinquished, although 
 not without regret ; and I never could find another 
 opportunity of executing the design, consequently I 
 know nothing more of Scotland than the little which 
 I could learn during my first and only visit to its 
 majestic and picturesque capital. 
 
 THOMAS JEFFERSON HOGG. 
 
 SCOTT'S HOME LIFE IN EDINBURGH 
 
 ON the i2th of May, 1818, Scott left Abbotsford, for 
 the summer session in Edinburgh. ... He at this 
 time occupied as his den a square small room, behind 
 the dining parlour in Castle Street. It had but a 
 single Venetian window, opening on a patch of turf 
 not much larger, than itself, and the aspect of the 
 place was on the whole sombrous. The walls were 
 entirely clothed with books ; most of them folios and 
 quartos, and all in that complete state of repair 
 which at a glance reveals a tinge of bibliomania. A 
 dozen volumes or so, needful for immediate pur- 
 poses of reference, were placed close by him on a 
 small movable frame something like a dumb-waiter. 
 All the rest were in their proper niches, and wherever 
 a volume had been lent, its room was occupied by a 
 wooden block of the same size, having a card with 
 the name of the borrower and date of the loan 
 tacked on its front. The old bindings had obviously 
 been retouched and regilt in the most approved 
 manner ; the new, when the works were of any mark, 
 were rich but never gaudy a large proportion of 
 blue morocco all stamped with his device of the 
 portcullis, and its motto, Clausus tutus ero being an 
 anagram of his name in Latin. Every case and shelf
 
 396 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 was accurately lettered, and the works arranged 
 systematically ; history and biography on one side, 
 poetry and the drama on another, law books and 
 dictionaries behind his chair. The only table was a 
 massive piece of furniture which he had had con- 
 structed on the model of one at Rokeby ; with a desk 
 and all its appurtenances on either side, that an 
 amanuensis might work opposite to him when he 
 chose ; and with small tiers of drawers, reaching all 
 round to the floor. The top displayed a goodly array 
 of session papers, and on the desk below were, 
 besides the MS. at which he was working, sundry 
 parcels of letters, proof-sheets, and so forth, all 
 neatly done up with red tape. His own writing 
 apparatus was a very handsome old box, richly 
 carved, lined with crimson velvet, and containing 
 ink-bottles, taper-stand, etc., in silver, the whole 
 in such order that it might have come from the 
 silversmith's window half an hour before. Besides 
 his own huge elbow-chair, there were but two others 
 in the room, and one of these seemed, from its posi- 
 tion, to be reserved exclusively for the amanuensis. 
 I observed, during the first evening I spent with him 
 in this sanctum, that while he talked, his hands were 
 hardly ever idle sometimes he folded letter-covers 
 sometimes he twisted paper into matches, performing 
 both tasks with great mechanical expertness and 
 nicety ; and when there was no loose paper fit to be 
 so dealt with, he snapped his fingers, and the noble 
 Maida aroused himself from his lair on the hearth- 
 rug, and laid his head across his master's knees, to 
 be caressed and fondled. The room had no space for 
 pictures except one, an original portrait of Claver- 
 house, which hung over the chimneypiece, with a
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 397 
 
 Highland target on either side, and broadswords and 
 dirks (each having its own story) disposed star- 
 fashion round them. A few green tin-boxes, such as 
 solicitors keep title-deeds in, were piled over each 
 other on one side of the window ; and on the top of 
 these lay a fox's tail, mounted on an antique silver 
 handle, wherewith, as often as he had occasion to 
 take down a book, he gently brushed the dust off the 
 upper leaves before opening it. I think I have 
 mentioned all the furniture of the room except a 
 sort of ladder, low, broad, well-carpeted, and strongly 
 guarded with oaken rails, by which he helped himself 
 to books from his higher shelves. On the top step 
 of this convenience, Hinse of Hinsfeldt (so called 
 from one of the German Kinder-mdrcheri) a vener- 
 able tom-cat, fat and sleek, and no longer very loco- 
 motive, usually lay watching the proceedings of his 
 master and Maida with an air of dignified equanimity ; 
 but when Maida chose to leave the party, he signified 
 his inclinations by thumping the door with his huge 
 paw, as violently as ever a fashionable footman 
 handled a knocker in Grosvenor Square ; the Sheriff 
 rose and opened it for him with courteous alacrity, 
 and then Hinse came down purring from his perch, 
 and mounted guard by the footstool, vice Maida 
 absent upon furlough. Whatever discourse might 
 be passing, was broken every now and then by some 
 affectionate apostrophe to these four-footed friends. 
 He said they understood everything he said to them, 
 and I believe they did understand a great deal of 
 
 it 
 
 Scott managed to give and receive great dinners, 
 ... at least as often as any other private gentleman 
 in Edinburgh ; but he very rarely accompanied his
 
 398 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 wife and daughters to the evening assemblies, which 
 commonly ensued under other roofs for early to rise, 
 unless in the case of spare-fed anchorites, takes for 
 granted early to bed. When he had no dinner engage- 
 ment, he frequently gave a few hours to the theatre ; 
 but still more frequently, when the weather was 
 fine, and still more, I believe, to his own satisfaction, 
 he drove out with some of his family, or a single 
 friend, in an open carriage ; the favourite rides being 
 either to the Blackford Hills, or to Ravelston, and 
 so home by Corstorphine ; or to the beach of Porto- 
 bello, where Peter was always instructed to keep his 
 horses as near as possible to the sea. More than 
 once, even in the first summer of my acquaintance 
 with him, I had the pleasure of accompanying 
 him on these evening excursions ; and never did 
 he seem to enjoy himself more fully than when 
 placidly surveying, at such sunset or moonlight 
 hours, either the massive outlines of his ' own 
 romantic town,' or the tranquil expanse of its noble 
 estuary. He delighted, too, in passing, when he 
 could, through some of the quaint windings of 
 the ancient town itself, now deserted, except at mid- 
 day, by the upper world. How often have I seen 
 him go a long way round about rather than miss 
 the opportunity of halting for a few minutes on the 
 vacant esplanade of Holyrood, or under the darkest 
 shadows of the Castle rock, where it overhangs 
 the Grassmarket, and the huge slab that still 
 marks where the gibbet of Porteous and the Cove- 
 nanters had its station. His coachman knew him 
 too well to move at a Jehu's pace amidst such scenes 
 as these. No funeral hearse crept more leisurely 
 than did his landau up the Canongate or the Cow-
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 399 
 
 gate ; and not a queer tottering gable but recalled 
 to him some long-buried memory of splendour or 
 bloodshed, which, by a few words, he set before the 
 hearer in the reality of life. . . . 
 
 Whatever might happen on the other evenings of 
 the week, Scott always dined at home on Sunday, 
 and usually some few friends were then with him, but 
 never any person with whom he stood on ceremony. 
 These were, it may be readily supposed, the most 
 agreeable of his entertainments. He came into the 
 room rubbing his hands, his face bright and glee- 
 some, like a boy arriving at home for the holidays, 
 his Peppers and Mustards gambolling about his 
 heels, and even the stately Maida grinning and 
 wagging his tail in sympathy. . . . 
 
 The sound of music (even, I suspect, of any 
 sacred music but psalm-singing) would be con- 
 sidered indecorous in the streets of Edinburgh on a 
 Sunday night ; so, upon the occasions I am speaking 
 of, the harp was silent, and Otterburne and The Bonnie 
 House of Airlie must needs be dispensed with. To 
 make amends, after tea in the drawing-room, Scott 
 usually read some favourite author for the amuse- 
 ment of his little circle ; or Erskine, Ballantyne, or 
 Terry did so, at his request. He himself read aloud 
 high poetry with far greater simplicity, depth, and 
 effect, than any other man I ever heard ; and, in 
 Macbeth or Julius C&sar, or the like, I doubt if 
 Kemble could have been more impressive. . . . 
 
 39, Castle Street, June 18, 1823. ' Miss Edge- 
 worth is at present the great lioness of Edinburgh, 
 and a very nice lioness ; she is full of fun and spirit ; 
 a little slight figure, very active in her motions, very 
 good-humoured, and full of enthusiasm. . . .
 
 400 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 February i^th, 1826. ' I have not seen a creature 
 at dinner since the direful lyth of January, except my 
 own family and Mr. Laidlaw. The love of solitude 
 increases by indulgence ; I hope it will not diverge 
 into misanthropy. It does not mend the matter 
 that this is the first day that a ticket for sale is on 
 my house, poor No. 39. One gets accustomed even to 
 stone walls, and the place suited me very well. All our 
 furniture, too, is to go a hundred little articles that 
 seemed to me connected with all the happier years 
 of my life. It is a sorry business. But sursum corda. 
 
 February i6th, 1826. ' " Misfortune's growling 
 bark " comes louder and louder. 
 
 March ist, 1826. ' Looked out a quantity of things, 
 to go to Abbotsford ; for we are flitting, if you 
 please. It is with a sense of pain that I leave 
 behind a parcel of trumpery prints and little orna- 
 ments, once the pride of Lady S 's heart, but 
 
 which she sees consigned with indifference to the 
 chance of an auction. Things that have had their 
 day of importance with me I cannot forget, though 
 the merest trifles. . . . 
 
 March i$th, 1826. ' This morning I leave No. 39, 
 Castle Street, for the last time. " The cabin was 
 convenient," and habit had made it agreeable to 
 me. I never reckoned upon a change in this par- 
 ticular so long as I held an office in the Court of 
 Session. In all my former changes of residence it 
 was from good to better ; this is retrograding. I 
 leave this house for sale, and I cease to be an Edin- 
 burgh citizen, in the sense of being a proprietor, 
 which my father and I have been for sixty years at 
 least. So farewell, poor 39, and may you never 
 harbour worse people than those who now leave you.
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 401 
 
 Not to desert the Lares all at once, Lady S. and 
 Anne remain till Sunday. As for me, I go, as afore- 
 said, this morning. 
 
 '"Hatilmitulidh!"* 
 
 ' So farewell, poor No. 39. What a portion of my 
 life has been spent there ! It has sheltered me from 
 the prime of life to its decline ; and now I must bid 
 good-bye to it. I have bid good-bye to my poor 
 wife, so long its courteous and kind mistress, and I 
 need not care about the empty rooms ; yet it gives 
 me a turn. Never mind ; all in the day's work.' 
 
 LOCKH ART'S Life of Scott. 
 
 CRABBE 
 
 IT was during the last of my father's very active 
 seasons in London, 1822, that he had the satisfaction 
 of meeting with Sir Walter Scott ; and the baronet, 
 who was evidently much affected on seeing Crabbe, 
 would not part with him until he had promised to 
 visit him in Scotland the ensuing autumn. But I 
 much regret that the invitation was accepted for that 
 particular occasion ; for, as it happened, the king 
 fixed on the same time for his northern progress'; 
 and, instead of finding Sir Walter in his own mansion 
 in the country, when Crabbe reached Scotland, in 
 August, the family had all repaired to Edinburgh, 
 to be present amidst a scene of bustle and festivity 
 little favourable to the sort of intercourse with a 
 congenial mind, to which he had looked forward with 
 such pleasing anticipations. He took up his residence, 
 however, in Sir Walter's house in North Castle Street, 
 Edinburgh, and was treated by him and all his con- 
 
 * ' I return no more.' 
 
 26
 
 402 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 nections with the greatest kindness, respect, and 
 attention ; and though the baronet's time was much 
 occupied with the business of the royal visit, and he 
 had to dine almost daily at his majesty's table, still 
 my father had an opportunity not to be undervalued 
 of seeing what was to him an aspect of society wholly 
 new. The Highlanders, in particular, their language, 
 their dress, and their manners were contemplated 
 with exceeding interest. I am enabled by the kindness 
 of one of my father's friends to offer some extracts 
 from a short journal, which he kept for her amuse- 
 ment during his stay in the northern metropolis : 
 
 ' Whilst it is fresh in my memory I should describe 
 the day which I have just passed, but I do not believe 
 an accurate description to be possible. What avails 
 it to say, for instance, that there met at the sumptuous 
 dinner, in all the costume of the Highlanders, the 
 great chief himself and officers of his company. This 
 expresses not the singularity of appearance and 
 manners the peculiarities of men, all gentlemen, but 
 remote from our society leaders of clans joyous 
 company. Then we had Sir Walter Scott's national 
 songs and ballads, exhibiting all the feelings of 
 clanship. I thought it an honour that Glengarry 
 even took notice of me, for there were those, and 
 gentlemen, too, who considered themselves honoured 
 by following in his train. There were also, Lord 
 Enrol, and the Macleod, and the Frazer, and the 
 Gordon, and the Ferguson ; and I conversed at dinner 
 with Lady Glengarry, and did almost believe myself 
 a harper, or bard, rather for harp I cannot strike 
 and Sir Walter was the life and soul of the whole. 
 It was a splendid festivity, and I felt I know not how 
 much younger.
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 403 
 
 ' I went to the palace of Holyrood House, and was 
 much interested ; the rooms, indeed, did not affect 
 me, the old tapestry was such as I had seen before, 
 and I did not much care about the leather chairs, 
 with three legs each, nor the furniture, except in one 
 room that where Queen Mary slept. The bed has 
 a canopy very rich, but time-stained. We went into 
 the little room where the Queen and Rizzio sat, when 
 his murderers broke in and cut him down as he 
 struggled to escape : they show certain stains on the 
 floor ; I see no reason why you should not believe 
 them made by his blood, if you can. 
 
 ' Edinburgh is really a very interesting place, to 
 me very singular. How can I describe the view from 
 the hill that overlooks the palace ; the fine group of 
 buildings which form the castle ; the bridges, uniting 
 the two towns ; and the beautiful view of the Firth 
 and its islands ? 
 
 ' But Sunday came, and the streets were forsaken ; 
 and silence reigned over the whole city. London has 
 a diminished population on that day in her streets ; 
 but in Edinburgh it is a total stagnation a quiet that 
 is in itself devout. 
 
 ' A long walk through divers streets, lanes, and 
 alleys, up to the Old Town, makes me better ac- 
 quainted with it ; a lane of cobblers struck me par- 
 ticularly ; and I could not but remark the civility 
 and urbanity of the Scotch poor ; they certainly exceed 
 ours in politeness, arising, probably, from minds more 
 generally cultivated. 
 
 ' This day I dined with Mr. Mackenzie, the Man 
 of Feeling, as he is commonly called. He has not the 
 manner you would expect from his works ; but a rare 
 sportsman, still enjoying the relation of a good day, 
 
 26 2
 
 404 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 though only the ghost of the pleasure remains. What 
 a discriminating and keen man is my friend ; and I 
 am disposed to think highly of his son-in-law, Mr. 
 Lockhart of his heart his understanding will not 
 be disputed by anyone.' 
 
 At the table of Mr. Lockhart, with whom Crabbe 
 commonly dined when Sir Walter was engaged to 
 the King, he one day sat down with three of the 
 supposed writers or symposiasts of the inimitable 
 Nodes Ambrosiana ; namely, his host himself, the 
 far-famed Professor Wilson, whom he termed ' that 
 extraordinary man,' and the honest Shepherd of 
 Ettrick, who amused him much by calling for a 
 can of ale, while champagne and claret, and other 
 choice wines were in' full circulation. . . . 
 
 Before he retired at night, he had generally the 
 pleasure of half an hour's confidential conversation 
 with Sir Walter, when he spoke occasionally of the 
 Waverley Novels though not as compositions of 
 his own, for that was yet a secret but without 
 reserve upon all other subjects in which they had a 
 common interest. These were evenings ! 
 
 ' It is true,' writes Lockhart, ' that in consequence 
 of Sir Walter's being constantly consulted about the 
 details of every procession and festival of that busy 
 fortnight, the pleasing task of showing Crabbe the 
 usual lions of Edinburgh fell principally to my 
 share. . . . The literary persons in company with 
 whom I saw him most frequently were Sir Walter 
 and Henry Mackenzie ; and between two such 
 thorough men of the world as they were, perhaps his 
 apparent simplicity of look and manners struck one 
 more than it might have done under different circum- 
 stances : but all three harmonized admirably together.
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 405 
 
 Crabbe's avowed ignorance about Gaels, and clans, 
 and tartans, and everything that was at the moment 
 uppermost in Sir Walter's thoughts, furnishing him 
 with a welcome apology for dilating on such topics 
 with enthusiastic minuteness, while Crabbe's coun- 
 tenance spoke the quiet delight he felt in opening 
 his imagination to what was really a new world, and 
 the venerable " Man of Feeling," though a fiery 
 Highlander himself at bottom, had the satisfaction 
 of lying by and listening until some opportunity 
 offered itself of hooking it, between the links, perhaps, 
 of some grand chain of poetical imagery, some small 
 comic or sarcastic trait, which Sir Walter caught up, 
 played with, and, with that art so peculiarly his own, 
 forced into the service of the very impression it 
 seemed meant to disturb. . . . Crabbe seemed to ad- 
 mire, like other people, the grand natural scenery 
 about Edinburgh ; but when I walked with him to 
 the Salisbury Crags, where the superb view had then 
 a lively foreground of tents and batteries, he appeared 
 to be more interested with the stratification of the 
 rocks about us than with any other feature in the 
 landscape. As to the city itself, he said he soon got 
 weary of the New Town, but could amuse himself 
 for ever in the Old one. He was more than once 
 detected rambling after nightfall by himself, among 
 some of the obscurest wynds and closes ; and Sir 
 Walter, fearing that, at a time of such confusion, he 
 might get into some scene of trouble, took the pre- 
 caution of desiring a friendly caddie, from the corner 
 of Castle Street, to follow him the next time he went 
 out alone in the evening.' 
 
 Life of Crabbe, by HIS SON.
 
 4o6 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL 
 
 WHEN the author of The Pleasures of Hope went to 
 Edinburgh, his friend Hamilton Paul said to him, 
 ' Thomas", I see from the way poetry is coming upon 
 you, that whatever other profession you try, it will 
 be the one through which you will be most distin- 
 guished in the world.' It is probable, indeed most 
 certain, that the rough copy of The Pleasures of Hope 
 yet existing in manuscript, was all that the poet 
 brought to Edinburgh. . . . That he must have well 
 employed his residence in Edinburgh is hardiy 
 doubtful. Few anecdotes of him made public relate 
 to that time. It appears, that while there he was 
 much given to solitude. He was often seen wandering 
 alone over bridge or in the vicinity of the city, 
 perhaps mentally working up the verses of his poem, 
 and nurturing flattering visions of the future. At 
 times he went saunteringly along, unobservant of all 
 around him. ... As a literary critic, Dr. Anderson 
 was distinguished by a warm and honest sensibility 
 to the beauties of poetry, and by extreme candour. 
 His character was marked by the most urbane 
 manners, the most honourable probity in his dealings, 
 and by unshaken constancy in friendship. He was 
 an encouraging friend to young writers, and to him 
 the author of The Pleasures of Hope, who was long 
 and mutually attached to him, dedicated his first 
 production. This is, at least, declaratory of the 
 poet's recollection of past obligations, of which he 
 was never unmindful to show his acknowledgment, 
 when they occurred to him, for it is necessary to premise 
 this. ... No man existing had a better heart, or was 
 more ready to perform a friendly action. He spoke
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 407 
 
 in the kindest manner of Dugald Stewart, too, who 
 was one of his first Edinburgh acquaintance. . . . 
 Dr. Anderson introduced young Campbell to the best 
 Edinburgh society, among which were Jeffrey, 
 Brougham, and one of his earliest and best friends, 
 Mr. Thompson of Clithero. There, too, Campbell 
 found an old friend in Grahame, author of The 
 Sabbath, whom he had known in Glasgow. At this 
 time he seems to have made the acquaintance of 
 Scott. Lockhart states as much, and that Scott was 
 amongst the foremost to welcome him to Edin- 
 burgh. . . . Returning, after an absence, the poet 
 became for a time the lion of Edinburgh. 
 
 ' The last time I saw you,' said a lady of advanced 
 age, to the poet, ' was in Edinburgh, when you were 
 swaggering about in a Suwarrow jacket.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Campbell, ' I was then a contemptible 
 puppy.' 
 
 ' But that was thirty years ago and more,' she 
 remarked. 
 
 ' Whist, whist !' said Campbell, ' it is unfair to 
 reveal both our puppyism and our years. . . .' 
 
 I remember be dwelt [in later years] even with 
 pathos, upon recollections of his early life, as I never 
 heard him do before, for he was exceedingly reserved 
 about all that related to his personal feelings, as if 
 he would fain have it thought he was indifferent to 
 that which most affected mankind in general. He 
 spoke of calling upon some friends in Edinburgh, and 
 of Professor Wilson, who was not at home when he 
 came through. He spoke of Sir Walter Scott, and 
 of hearing that he was not in as good health as every- 
 body wished ; of the continued changes he observed 
 in the Scottish capital, to which he expressed a great
 
 408 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 attachment, and wound up all by remarking that he 
 thought the locality of a vast city like London had 
 this recommendation in its favour, that it made 
 personal changes less visible, and buried in its per- 
 petual round of bustle and anxiety the acuteness of 
 those feelings which in the country, from their causes 
 being continually present, were sure to be prolonged 
 to no good end. What did it matter, we ran the same 
 inevitable round towards age, less perceptibly in 
 London than in the country ; here 
 
 ' Tempora labunter, tacitis que senescimus annis,' 
 
 it was some consideration not to have the continued 
 observation of it before our eyes. 
 
 CYRUS REDDING. 
 SAMUEL ROGERS : HIS EDINBURGH MEMORIES 
 
 WHEN a young man, I went to Edinburgh, carrying 
 letters of introduction ... to Adam Smith, Robertson, 
 and others. When I first saw Smith, he was at 
 breakfast, eating strawberries ; and he descanted on 
 the superior flavour of those grown in Scotland. I 
 found him very kind and communicate. He was 
 (what Robertson was not) a man who had seen a great 
 deal of the world. Once, in the course of conversa- 
 tion, I happened to remark of some writer, that ' he 
 was rather superficial, a Voltaire.' ' Sir,' cried 
 Smith, striking the table with his hand, ' there has 
 been but one Voltaire !' 
 
 Robertson, too, was very kind to me. He, one 
 morning, spread out the map of Scotland on the 
 floor, and got upon his knees, to describe the route I 
 ought to follow in making a tour on horseback 
 through the Highlands.
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 409 
 
 At Edinburgh I became acquainted with Henry 
 Mackenzie, who asked me to correspond with him ; 
 which I (then young, romantic, and an admirer of 
 his Julia de Roubigne) willingly agreed to. ... 
 
 The most memorable day, perhaps, which I ever 
 passed was at Edinburgh, a Sunday ; when, after 
 breakfasting with Robertson, I heard him preach 
 in the forenoon, and Blair in the afternoon, then took 
 coffee with the Piozzis, and supped with Adam 
 Smith. Robertson's sermon was excellent both for 
 matter and manner of delivery. Blair's was good 
 but less impressive ; and his broad Scotch accent 
 offended my ears greatly. 
 
 My acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Piozzi began 
 at Edinburgh, being brought about by the landlord 
 of the hotel where they and I were staying. He 
 thought that I should be gratified by hearing ' Mr. 
 Piozzi 's pianoforte ' : and they called upon me, on 
 hearing from the landlord who I was, and that Adam 
 Smith, Robertson, and Mackenzie had left cards for me. 
 
 SAMUEL ROGERS. 
 
 ROBERT FERGUSSON 
 ' Of Fergusson, the bauld and slee.' BURNS. 
 
 I COULD once reckon among my dearest and most 
 familiar friends, Robert Burns and Robert Fergus- 
 son. . . . Youth is the season of warm friendships 
 and romantic wishes and hopes. We say of the 
 child, in its first attempts to totter along the wall, 
 or when it has first learned to rise beside its mother's 
 knee, that it is yet too weak to stand alone ; and we 
 may employ the same language in describing a young 
 and ardent mind. It is, like the child, too weak to
 
 410 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 stand alone, and anxiously seeks out some kindred 
 mind on which to lean. I had had my intimates at 
 school, who, though of no superior cast, had served 
 me, if I may so speak, as resting-places, when wearied 
 with my studies, or when I had exhausted my lighter 
 reading ; and now, at St. Andrews, where I knew 
 no one, I began to experience the unhappiness of 
 an unsatisfied sociality. . . . Among the students of 
 the upper classes, however, there was at least one 
 individual with whom I longed to be acquainted. He 
 was apparently much about my own age, rather 
 below than above the middle size, and rather deli- 
 cately than robustly formed ; but I have rarely seen 
 a more elegant figure or more interesting face. His 
 features were small, and there was what might per- 
 haps be deemed a too feminine delicacy in the whole 
 contour ; but there was a broad and very high ex- 
 pansion of forehead, which, even in those days, when 
 we were acquainted with only the phrenology taught 
 by Plato, might be regarded as the index of a capa- 
 cious and powerful mind ; and the brilliant light of his 
 large lack eyes seemed to give earnest of its activity. 
 
 ' Who, in the name of wonder, is that ?' I inquired 
 of a class-fellow, as this interesting-looking young 
 man passed me for the first time. 
 
 ' A clever, but very unsettled fellow from Edin- 
 burgh,' replied the lad ; ' a capital linguist, for he 
 gained our first bursary three years ago ; but our Pro- 
 fessor says he is certain he will never do any good. He 
 cares nothing for the company of scholars like himself ; 
 and employs himself though he excels, I believe, in 
 English composition in writing vulgar Scotch rhymes, 
 like Allan Ramsay. His name is Robert Fergusson.' 
 
 I felt, from this moment, a strong desire to rank
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 411 
 
 among the friends of one who cared nothing for the 
 company of such men as my class-fellow, and who, 
 though acquainted with the literature of England 
 and Rome, could dwell with interest on the simple 
 poetry of his native country. 
 
 There is no place in the neighbourhood of St. 
 Andrews where a leisure hour may be spent more 
 agreeably than among the ruins of the Cathedral. 
 I was not slow in discovering the eligibilities of the 
 spot ; and it soon became one of my favourite haunts. 
 One evening, a few weeks after I had entered on my 
 course at college, I had seated myself among the 
 ruins in a little ivied nook fronting the setting sun, 
 and was deeply engaged with the melancholy Jaques 
 in the forest of Ardennes, when, on hearing a light 
 footstep, I looked up, and saw the Edinburgh student 
 whose appearance had so interested me, not four 
 yards away. He was busied with his pencil and his 
 tablets, and muttering, as he went, in a half audible 
 voice, what, from the inflection of the tones, seemed 
 to be verse. On seeing me, he started, and apolo- 
 gizing, in a few hurried but courteous words, for what 
 he termed the involuntary intrusion, would have 
 passed ; but, on my rising and stepping up to him, 
 he stood. . . . We quitted the ruins together, and 
 went sauntering along the shore. There was a rich 
 sunset glow on the water, and the hills that rise on 
 the opposite side of the Firth stretched their undu- 
 lating line of azure under a gorgeous canopy of 
 crimson and gold. My companion pointed to the 
 scene : ' These glorious clouds,' he said, ' are but 
 wreaths of vapour ; and these lovely hills, accumula- 
 tions of earth and stone. And it is thus with the past 
 with the past of our own little histories, that
 
 412 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 borrows so much of its golden beauty from the medium 
 through which we survey it with the past, too, of 
 all history. There is poetry in the remote ; the bleak 
 hill seems a darker firmament, and the chill wreath 
 of vapour a river of fire. . . .' We walked out together 
 [again] in the direction of the ruins : the evening was 
 calm and mild as when I had walked out on the 
 preceding one ; but the hour was earlier, and the sun 
 hung higher over the hill. A newly formed grave occu- 
 pied the level spot in front of the little ivied corner. 
 
 ' Let us seat ourselves here,' said my companion, 
 ' and I will tell you a story I am afraid a rather 
 tame one ; for there is nothing of adventure in it, 
 and nothing of incident ; but it may at least show 
 you that I am not unfitted to be your friend. It is 
 now nearly two years since I lost my father. He 
 was no common man common neither in intellect 
 nor in sentiment ; but though he once fondly hoped it 
 should be otherwise for in early youth he indulged 
 in all the dreams of the poet he now fills a grave 
 as nameless as the one before us. He was a native 
 of Aberdeenshire ; but held, latterly, an inferior 
 situation in the office of the British Linen Company in 
 Edinburgh, where I was born. Ever since I remember 
 him, he had awakened too fully to the realities of 
 life, and they pressed too hard on his spirits to leave 
 him space for the indulgence of his earlier fancies ; 
 but he could dream for his children, though not for 
 himself ; or, as I should perhaps rather say, his 
 children fell heir to all his more juvenile hopes of 
 fortune, and influence, and space in the world's eye ; 
 and, for himself, he indulged in hopes of a later 
 growth and firmer texture, which pointed from the 
 present scene of things to the future. I have an only
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 413 
 
 brother, my senior by several years, a lad of much 
 energy, both physical and mental ; in brief, one of 
 those mixtures of reflection and activity which seem 
 best formed for rising in the world. My father 
 deemed him most fitted for commerce, and had 
 influence enough to get him introduced into the 
 counting-house of a respectable Edinburgh merchant. 
 I was always of a graver turn in part, perhaps, the 
 effect of less robust health and me he intended for 
 the Church. I have been a dreamer, Mr. Lindsay, 
 from my earliest years prone to melancholy, and 
 fond of books and of solitude ; and the peculiarities 
 of this temperament the sanguine old man, though 
 no mean judge of character, had mistaken for a serious 
 and reflective disposition. You are acquainted with 
 literature, and know something, from books at least, 
 of the lives of literary men. Judge, then, of his 
 prospect of usefulness in any profession, who has lived, 
 ever since he knew himself, among the poets. My 
 hopes, from my earliest years, have been hopes of cele- 
 brity as a writer ; not of wealth, or of influence, or ol 
 accomplishing any of the thousand aims which furnish 
 the great bulk of mankind with motives. You will 
 laugh at me. There is something so emphatically 
 shadowy and unreal in the object of this ambition, 
 that even the full attainment of it provokes a smile. . . .' 
 I visited Edinburgh in the latter part of the autumn 
 of 1773. ... It was a fine calm morning, one of 
 those clear sunshiny mornings of October, when the 
 gossamer goes sailing about in long cottony threads, 
 so light and fleecy that they seem the skeleton 
 remains of extinct cloudlets ; and when the distant 
 hills, with their covering of grey frost rime, seem, 
 through the clear cold atmosphere, as if chiselled in
 
 414 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 marble. The sun was rising over the town through 
 a deep blood-coloured haze the smoke of a thousand 
 fires ; and the huge fantastic piles of masonry that 
 stretched along the ridge looked dim and spectral 
 through the cloud like the ghosts of an army of 
 giants. I felt half a foot taller as I strode on towards 
 the town. It was Edinburgh I was approaching 
 the scene of so many proud associations to a lover of 
 Scotland ; and I was going to meet as an early friend 
 one of the first of Scottish poets. I entered the town. 
 There was a bookstall in a corner of the street ; and 
 I turned aside for half a minute to glance my eye over 
 the books. 
 
 ' Fergusson's Poems !' I exclaimed, taking up a 
 little volume. 
 
 I again set foot in Edinburgh. Alas ! for my un- 
 fortunate friend ! He was now an inmate of the 
 asylum, and on the verge of dissolution. . . . The 
 asylum in which my unfortunate friend was confined, 
 at this time the only one in Edinburgh, was situated 
 in an angle of the city wall. It was a dismal-looking 
 mansion, shut in on every side, by the neighbouring 
 houses, from the view of the surrounding country ; 
 and so effectually covered up from the nearer street, 
 by a large building in front, that it seemed possible 
 enough to pass a lifetime in Edinburgh without 
 coming to the knowledge of its existence. I shud- 
 dered as I looked up to its blackened walls, thinly 
 sprinkled with miserable-looking windows, barred 
 with iron, and thought of it as a sort of burial-place 
 of dead minds. But it was a Golgotha, which, with 
 more than the horrors of the grave, had neither its 
 rest nor its silence. I was startled, as I entered the
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 415 
 
 cell of the hapless poet. . . . The mother and sister 
 of Fergusson were sitting beside his pallet, on a sort 
 of stone settle which stood out from the wall ; and 
 the poet himself, weak and exhausted, and worn to 
 a shadow, but apparently in his right mind, lay ex- 
 tended on the straw. He made an attempt to rise 
 as I entered ; but the effort was above his strength, 
 and, lying down, he extended his hand. 
 
 ' This is kind, Mr. Lindsay,' he said ; ' it is ill for 
 me to be alone in these days ; and yet I have few 
 visitors, save my poor old mother and Margaret. But 
 who cares for the unhappy ? . . .' We parted, and, 
 as it proved, for ever. Robert Fergusson expired 
 during the night ; and when the keeper entered the 
 . cell the next morning, to prepare him for quitting 
 the asylum, all that remained of this most hapless 
 of the children of genius was a pallid and wasted 
 corpse, that lay stiffening on the straw. I am now 
 a very old man, and the feelings wear out ; but I find 
 that my heart is even yet susceptible of emotion, and 
 that the source of tears is not yet dried up. 
 
 HUGH MILLER. 
 
 WILLIAM AND DOROTHY WORDSWORTH IN 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 Thursday, September i$th [1803]. Arrived at 
 Edinburgh a little before sunset. As we approached, 
 the Castle rock resembled that of Stirling in the 
 same manner appearing to rise from a plain of .culti- 
 vated ground, the Firth of Forth being on the other 
 side, and not visible. Drove to the White Hart in 
 the Grassmarket, an inn which had been mentioned 
 to us, and which we conjectured would better suit
 
 416 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 us than one in a more fashionable part of the town. 
 It was not noisy, and tolerably cheap. Drank tea, 
 and walked up to the Castle, which luckily was very 
 near. Much of the daylight was gone, so that except 
 it had been a clear evening, which it was not, we could 
 not have seen the distant prospect. 
 
 Friday, September i6th. The sky the evening before, 
 as you may remember the ostler told us, had been 
 ' gay and dull,' and this morning it was downright 
 dismal : very dark, and promising nothing but a wet 
 day, and before breakfast was over the rain began, 
 though not heavily. We set out upon our walk, 
 and went through many streets to Holyrood House, 
 and thence to the hill called Arthur's Seat, a high hill, 
 very rocky at the top, and below covered with smooth 
 turf, on which sheep were feeding. We climbed up 
 till we came to St. Anthony's Well and Chapel, as 
 it is called, but it is more like a hermitage than a 
 chapel, a small ruin, which from its situation is 
 exceedingly interesting, though in itself not remark- 
 able. We sat down on a stone not far from the 
 chapel, overlooking a pastoral hollow as wild and 
 solitary as any in the heart of the Highland moun- 
 tains : there, instead of the roaring torrents, we 
 listened to the noises of the city, which were blended 
 in one loud indistinct buzz, a regular sound in the 
 air, which in certain moods of feeling, and at certain 
 times, might have a more tranquillizing effect upon 
 the rnind than those which we are accustomed to hear 
 in such places. The Castle rock looked exceedingly 
 large through the misty air : a cloud of black smoke 
 overhung the city, which combined with the rain 
 and mist to conceal the shapes of the houses, an 
 obscurity which added much to the grandeur of the
 
 THE POETS IN EDINBURGH 417 
 
 sound that proceeded from it. It was impossible to 
 think of anything that was little or mean, the goings- 
 on of trade, the strife of men, or everyday city busi- 
 ness : the impression was one, and it was visionary ; 
 like the conceptions of our childhood of Bagdad or 
 Balsora when we have been reading the Arabian 
 Nights' Entertainments. Though the rain was very 
 heavy, we remained upon the hill for some time, then 
 returned by the same road by which we had come, 
 through green flat fields, formerly the pleasure- 
 grounds of Holyrood House, on the edge of which 
 stands the old roofless chapel, of venerable architec- 
 ture. It is a pity that it should be suffered to fall 
 down, for the walls appear to be yet entire. . . . When 
 we found ourselves once again in the streets of the 
 city, we lamented over the heavy rain, and indeed, 
 before leaving the hill, much as we were indebted 
 to the accident of the rain for the peculiar grandeur 
 and affecting wildness of those objects we saw, we 
 could not but regret that the Firth of Forth was 
 entirely hidden from us, and all distant objects, and 
 we strained our eyes till they ached, vainly trying to 
 pierce through the thick mist. We walked indus- 
 triously through the streets, street after street, and, 
 in spite of wet and dirt, were exceedingly delighted. 
 The old town, with its irregular houses, stage above 
 stage, seen as we saw it, in the obscurity of a rainy 
 day, hardly resembles the work of men, it is more 
 like a piling up of rocks, and I cannot attempt to 
 describe what we saw so imperfectly, but must say 
 that, high as my expectations had been raised, the 
 city of Edinburgh far surpassed all expectation. 
 Gladly would we have stayed another day. 
 
 DOROTHY WORDSWORTH. 
 27
 
 418 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 TO MY OLD FAMILIARS 
 
 Do you remember can we e'er forget ? 
 
 How, in the coiled perplexities of youth, 
 
 In our wild climate, in our scowling town, 
 
 We gloomed and shivered, sorrowed, sobbed and 
 
 feared ? 
 
 The belching winter wind, the missile rain, 
 The rare and welcome silence of the snows, 
 The laggard morn, the haggard day, the night, 
 The grimy spell of the nocturnal town, 
 Do you remember ? Ah, could one forget ! 
 
 I have since then contended and rejoiced ; 
 Amid the glories of the house of life 
 Profoundly entered, and the shrine beheld : 
 Yet when the lamp from my expiring eyes 
 Shall dwindle and recede, the voice of love 
 Fall insignificant on my closing ears, 
 What sound shall come but the old cry of the wind 
 In our inclement city ? what return 
 But the image of the emptiness of youth, 
 Filled with the sound of footsteps and that voice 
 Of discontent and rapture and despair ? 
 So, as in darkness, from the magic lamp, 
 The momentary pictures gleam and fade 
 And perish, and the night resurges these 
 Shall I remember, and then all forget. 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
 
 THE SEASONS IN EDINBURGH 
 
 27 2
 
 Traced like a map, the landscape lies 
 
 In cultured beauty, stretching wide : 
 There Pentland's green acclivities, 
 
 There ocean, with its azure tide, 
 There Arthur's Seat, and gleaming through 
 Thy southern wing, Dun-Edin blue ! 
 While in the orient, Lammer's daughters, 
 
 A distant giant range, are seen ; 
 
 North Berwick Law, with cone of green. 
 And Bass amid the waters. 
 
 DELTA.
 
 SPRINGTIME VISION 
 
 THIS morning, when the stormy front of March 
 
 Is mask'd with June, and has as sweet a breath, 
 
 And sparrows fly with straws, and in the elms 
 
 Rooks flap and caw, then stream off to the fields, 
 
 And thence returning, flap and caw again, 
 
 I gaze in idle pleasantness of mood, 
 
 Far down upon the harbour and the sea 
 
 The smoking steamer half-way 'cross the Firth 
 
 Shrunk to a beetle's size, the dark-brown sails 
 
 Of scattered fishing-boats, and still beyond, 
 
 Seen dimly through a veil of tender haze, 
 
 The coast of Fife endorsed with ancient towns, 
 
 As quaint and strange to-day as when the queen, 
 
 In whose smile lay the headsman's glittering axe, 
 
 Beheld them from her tower of Holyrood, 
 
 And sigh'd for fruitful France, and turning, cower'd 
 
 From the lank shadow, Darnley, at her side. 
 
 Behind, the wondrous city stretches dim 
 With castle, spire, and column, from the line 
 Of wavy Pentland, to the pillar'd range 
 That keeps in memory the men who fell 
 In the great war that closed at Waterloo. 
 Whitely the pillars gleam against the hill, 
 While the light flashes by. The wondrous town, 
 That keeps not summer, when the summer comes, 
 Without her gates, but takes it to her heart ! 
 The mighty shadow of the castle falls 
 At noon athwart deep gardens, roses blow 
 And fade in hearing of the chariot -wheel. 
 421
 
 422 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 High-lifted capital that look's! abroad, 
 
 With the great lion couchant at thy side, 
 
 O'er fertile plains emboss'd with woods and towns ; 
 
 O'er silent Leith's smoke-huddled spires and masts ; 
 
 O'er unlink'd Forth, slow wandering with her isles 
 
 To ocean's azure, spreading faint and wide, 
 
 O'er which the morning comes if but thy spires 
 
 Were dipp'd in deeper sunshine, tenderer shade, 
 
 Through bluer heavens rolled a brighter sun, 
 
 The traveller would call thee peer of Rome, 
 
 Or Florence, white-tower'd, on the mountain side. 
 
 Burns trod thy pavements with his ploughman's 
 
 stoop 
 
 And genius-flaming eyes. Scott dwelt in thee, 
 The homeliest-featured of the demigods ; 
 Apollo, with a deep Northumbrian burr, 
 And Jeffrey with his sharp-cut critic face, 
 And Lockhart with his antique Roman taste, 
 And Wilson, reckless of his splendid gifts, 
 As hill -side of its streams in thunder rain ; 
 And Chalmers, with those heavy slumberous lids, 
 Veiling a prophet's eyes ; and Miller, too. 
 Primeval granite amongst smooth-rubb'd men ; . . . 
 Aytoun with silver bugle at his side, 
 That echo'd through the gorges of romance. 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH. 
 
 APRIL IN SCOTLAND 
 BENEATH the green fir branches where doves sit wing 
 
 to wing 
 A maid comes up the pathway across the woods of 
 
 Spring ;
 
 423 
 
 Her face is lit with sunshine, her eyes are soft with 
 
 showers, 
 Her heart is filled with music, and both her hands 
 
 with flowers. 
 Her tresses touch the beeches, her feet dance in the 
 
 dew, 
 And fair about her shoulders the white clouds fleck 
 
 the blue ; 
 
 Primroses are her fortune and daffodils her care ; 
 Her hand is slipped in Summer's ere half the world's 
 
 aware. 
 The last snow fades before her, and looking in her 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Spelled by their witching magic the last rude storm- 
 wind dies, 
 And on the cradle branches down all the woodlands 
 
 deep, 
 Like a child tired of playing drops suddenly to sleep. 
 
 She stands within our garden at breaking of the day, 
 One hand holds dying snowdrops and one holds 
 
 budding may ; 
 
 She stands within our garden at falling of the night, 
 One foot on silver dewdrops and one on hoar-frost 
 
 white. 
 
 A month before her coming the thrush to song has 
 
 thrilled, 
 A month behind her passing the nesting swallows 
 
 build ; 
 
 And this is happy April, fair maid of sun and showers, 
 With her heart filled with music and both her hands 
 
 with flowers ! 
 
 WILL H. OGILVIE.
 
 424 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 JUNE IN EDINBURGH 
 
 WHITE lamps the chestnut-tree adorn, 
 
 The lilacs and the golden-rain, 
 The snowy and the rosy thorn 
 
 Are rife with blossom once again. 
 
 Though on this pleasance June bestows 
 His gifts with such a lavish hand, 
 
 Not like a beggar hence he goes ; 
 His largess reaches all the land. 
 
 But from the Bridge I lean and look, 
 Going and coming, late and soon, 
 
 And thank God for this flowery nook, 
 The Paradise of peerless June. 
 
 HENRY JOHNSTON. 
 
 SUMMER IN EDINBURGH 
 
 SUMMER has leaped suddenly on Edinburgh like a 
 tiger. The air is still and hot above the houses ; 
 but every now and then a breath of east wind startles 
 you through the warm sunshine like a sudden 
 sarcasm felt through a strain of flattery, and passes 
 on detested of every organism. But, with this 
 exception, the atmosphere is so close, so laden with 
 a body of heat, that a thunderstorm would be almost 
 welcomed as a relief. Edinburgh, on her crags, held 
 high towards the sun too distant the sea to send 
 cool breezes to street and square is at this moment 
 an uncomfortable dwelling-place. Beautiful as ever, 
 of course for nothing can be finer than the ridge 
 of the Old Town etched on hot summer azure but 
 close, breathless, suffocating. Great volumes of
 
 THE SEASONS IN EDINBURGH 425 
 
 white smoke surge out of the railway station ; great 
 choking puffs of dust issue from the houses and shops 
 that are being gutted in Princes Street. The Castle 
 rock is gray ; the trees are of a dingy olive ; languid 
 ' swells,' arm-in-arm, promenade uneasily the heated 
 pavement ; water-carts everywhere dispense their 
 treasures ; and the only human being really to be 
 envied in the city is the small boy who, with trousers 
 tucked up, and unheeding of maternal vengeance, 
 marches coolly in the fringe of the ambulating shower- 
 bath. Oh for one hour of heavy rain ! Thereafter 
 would the heavens wear a clear and tender, instead 
 of a dim and sultry hue. Then would the Castle 
 rock brighten in colour, and the trees and grassy 
 slopes doff their dingy olives for the emeralds of April. 
 Then would the streets be cooled, and the dust be 
 allayed. Then would the belts of city verdure, re- 
 freshed, pour forth gratitude in balmy smells ; and 
 Fife low-lying across the Forth break from its hot 
 neutral tint into the greens, purples, and yellows 
 that of right belong to it. But rain won't come ; 
 and for weeks, perhaps, there will be nothing but hot 
 sun above, and hot street beneath ; and for the 
 respiration of poor human lungs an atmosphere of 
 heated dust, tempered with east wind. 
 
 Moreover, one is tired and jaded. The whole man, 
 body and soul, like sweet bells jangled, out of tune, 
 and harsh, is fagged with work, eaten up of impa- 
 tience, and haunted with visions of vacation. One 
 ' babbles o' green fields,' like a very Falstaff ; and the 
 poor tired ears hum with sea-music like a couple of 
 sea-shells. At last it comes, the ist of August, and 
 then like an arrow from a Tartar's bow, like a bird 
 from its cage, like a lover to his mistress one is off ;
 
 42b THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 and before the wild scarlets of sunset die on the 
 northern sea, one is in the silence of the hills, those 
 eternal sun-dials that tell the hours to the shepherd, 
 and in one's nostrils is the smell of peat-reek, and in 
 one's throat the flavour of usquebaugh. Then come 
 long floating summer days, so silent the wilderness, 
 that one can hear one's heart beat ; then come long 
 silent nights, the waves heard upon the shore, although 
 that is a mile away, in which one snatches the ' fearful 
 joy ' of a ghost story, told by shepherd or fisher, who 
 believes in it as in his own existence. Then one 
 beholds sunset, not through the smoked glass of 
 towns, but gloriously through the clearness of en- 
 kindled air. Then one makes acquaintance with 
 sunrise, which to the dweller in a city, who conforms 
 to the usual proprieties, is about the rarest of this 
 world's sights. 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH. 
 
 THANKS FOR A SUMMER'S DAY 
 
 O PERFECT light which shade away 
 
 The darkness fra the light, 
 An' set a ruler o'er the day, 
 
 Another o'er the night. 
 
 Thy glory, when the day forth flies, 
 
 More vively does appear, 
 Nor at mid-day unto our eyes 
 
 The shinin' sun is clear. 
 
 The shadow of the earth anon 
 
 Removes and drawis by, 
 Syne in the east, when it is gone, 
 
 Appears a clearer sky.
 
 THE SEASONS IN EDINBURGH 427 
 
 For joy the birds with boulden throats, 
 
 Against his visage sheen, 
 Tak' up their kindly music notes 
 
 In woods and gardens green. 
 
 The misty reek, the clouds of rain 
 
 From tops of mountain skails, 
 Clear are the highest hills and plain, 
 
 The vapours tak' the vales. 
 
 The rayons dure descending down. 
 
 All kindle in a gleid ; 
 In city, nor in burrough town, 
 
 May none set forth their heid. 
 
 Back fra the blue pavemented whun, 
 
 An' fra ilk plaster wall, 
 The hot reflexing of the sun 
 
 Inflames the air an' all. 
 
 The caller wine in cave is sought, 
 Men's brothing breasts to cool ; 
 
 The water cold an' clear is brought, 
 An' sallets steept in ule. 
 
 Now noon is gone gone is mid-day, 
 
 The heat does slake at last, 
 The sun descends down westaway, 
 
 For three o'clock is past. 
 
 Great is the calm, for everywhere 
 
 The wind is setting down, 
 The reek throws up right in the air, 
 
 From every tower an' town.
 
 428 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The gloamin' comes, the day is spent, 
 
 The sun goes out o' sight, 
 An' painted is the Occident 
 
 Wi' purple sanguine bright. 
 
 Through a' the land great is the gild 
 
 Of rustic folk that cry ; 
 Of bleating sheep, fra they be filled, 
 
 Of calves an' rowting kye. 
 
 All labourers drawen home at even, 
 
 And can to others say, 
 Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, 
 
 Who sent this summer day. 
 
 ALEXANDER HUME. 
 
 THE KING'S BIRTHDAY IN EDINBURGH 
 
 I SING the day sae aften sang, 
 
 Wi' which our lugs hae yearly rang, 
 
 In whase loud praise the Muse has dang 
 
 A' kind o' print ; 
 But wow ! the limmer's fairly flang ; 
 
 There's naething in't. 
 
 I'm fain to think the joy's the same 
 In London town as here at hame, 
 Whare fouk o' ilka age and name, 
 
 Baith blind an' cripple, 
 Forgather aft, O fy for shame ! 
 
 To drink an' tipple. 
 
 O Muse, be kind, an' dinna fash us 
 To flee awa' beyont Parnassus,
 
 THE SEASONS IN EDINBURGH 429 
 
 Nor seek for Helicon to wash us, 
 
 That heath'nish spring ; 
 
 Wi' Highland whisky scour our hawses, 
 An' gar us sing. 
 
 Begin then, dame, ye've drunk your fill, 
 You wouldna hae the thither gill ? 
 You'll trust me, mair would do you ill, 
 
 An' ding you doitet : 
 Troth 'twould be sair against my will, 
 To hae the wyte o't. 
 
 Sing then, how, on the fourth of June, 
 Our bells screed off a loyal tune, 
 Our ancient Castle shoots at noon, 
 
 Wi' flag-staff buskit, 
 Frae which the soger blades come down 
 
 To cock their musket. 
 
 Oh willawins ! Mons Meg, for you, 
 'Twas firing crak't thy muckle mou ; 
 What black mishanter gart ye spew 
 
 Baith gut an' ga' ! 
 I fear they bang'd thy belly fu' 
 
 Against the law. 
 
 Right seenil am I gi'en to bannin, 
 But, by my saul, ye was a cannon, 
 Cou'd hit a man had he been stannin 
 
 In shire o' Fife, 
 Sax lang Scots miles ayont Clackmannan, 
 
 An' tak his life. 
 
 The hills in terror wou'd cry out, 
 An echo to thy dinsome rout ;
 
 430 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 The herds wou'd gather in their nowt, 
 That glowr'd wi' wonder, 
 
 Haslins asleyed to bide thereout 
 To hear thy thunder. 
 
 Sing likewise, Muse, how Blue-gown bodies, 
 Like scar-craws new ta'en down frae woodies, 
 Come here to cast their clouted duddies, 
 
 An' get their pay : 
 Than them what magistrate mair proud is 
 
 On king's birth-day ? 
 
 On this great day the city-guard, 
 
 In military art weel lear'd, 
 
 Wi' powder'd pow and shaven beard, 
 
 Gang thro' their functions, 
 By hostile rabble seldom spar'd 
 
 O' clatty unctions. 
 
 O soldiers ! for your ain dear sakes, 
 For Scotland's alias, Land o' Cakes, 
 Gie not her bairns sic deadly pakes, 
 
 Nor be sae rude, 
 Wi' firelock or Lochaber aix, 
 
 As spill their blude. . . . 
 
 ROBERT FERGUSSON. 
 
 A NORTHERN SONG 
 
 THERE is music in the autumn aisles of sleep, 
 And the plaintive woodland voices call me forth, 
 
 Where the tide of leaves is flowing light and deep 
 In the golden windy sunshine of the North. 
 
 There are sudden floods of leaves whose tinkling 
 
 speech 
 Breaks in pools of gathered sunlight from the oak ;
 
 THE SEASONS IN EDINBURGH 431 
 
 There are scarlet waves of colour from the beech, 
 And they hide the happy earth as with a cloak. 
 
 There are belts of brooding mist that turn to gold 
 On the brackens, dusky-red, beneath the hill ; 
 
 There are fretted ferns all crumpled on the wold 
 With the light of summer evenings in them still. 
 
 Ah, the reminiscent reaches of the wood, 
 With the rose-flame of the sunset in the sky ; 
 
 Not a leaf but tells how beautiful it stood 
 Not a leaf but murmurs softly, ' All things die !' 
 
 And the forest-shrine is bright with burnished gold, 
 Tiny sandals are the leaves from spirit-feet : 
 
 Let us worship in the temple as of old, 
 
 For the place is holy ground whereon we meet. 
 
 FRED. G. BOWLES. 
 
 SUMMER NIGHTFALL IN EDINBURGH 
 
 THE dark has come and this Edinburgh [has] . . . 
 closed its own magnificent day. You are standing on 
 the rocky summit of Arthur's Seat. From that 
 superb mountain peak your gaze takes in the whole 
 capital, together with the country in every direction 
 for many miles around. The evening is uncommonly 
 clear. Only in the west dense masses of black cloud 
 are thickly piled upon each other, through which the 
 sun is sinking, red and sullen with menace of the 
 storm. Elsewhere and overhead the sky is crystal, 
 and of a pale, delicate blue. A cold wind blows 
 briskly from the east and sweeps a million streamers 
 of white smoke in turbulent panic over the darkening 
 roofs of the city, far below. In the north the lovely
 
 432 THE CHARM OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Lomond Hills are distinctly visible across the dusky 
 level of the Forth, which stretches away toward the 
 ocean, one broad sheet of glimmering steel its 
 margin indented with many a graceful bay, and the 
 little islands that adorn it shining like stones of 
 amethyst set in polished flint. A few brown sails 
 are visible, dotting the waters, and far to the east 
 appears the graceful outline of the Isle of May, 
 which was the shrine of the martyred St. Adrian, 
 and the lonely, wave -beaten Bass Rock, with its 
 millions of seagulls and solan geese. Busy Leith and 
 picturesque Newhaven and every little village on the 
 coast is sharply defined in the frosty light. 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER. 
 
 WINTER IN EDINBURGH 
 
 SNOW on the Ochils and sun on the snow 
 Ah, my brave Winter, if you can bestow 
 Out of your penury treasures like these, 
 Never grudge Summer her blossoms and bees ! 
 
 Gardens in glory and balm in the breeze 
 Ah, pretty Summer, e'en boast as you please, 
 Sweet are your gifts, but to Winter we owe 
 Snow on the Ochils and sun on the snow. 
 
 HENRY JOHNSTON.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 TITLE 
 
 SOURCE OP EXTRACT 
 
 AUTHOR 
 
 PACK 
 
 A Character of the High 
 
 
 
 
 Street .... 
 
 ' Speeches ' 
 
 Charles Dickens . 
 
 35 
 
 Addressed to the Old 
 
 
 
 
 Town . . ... 
 
 
 
 Anon (1803) . 
 
 309 
 
 Address to Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Robert Burns . 
 
 44 
 
 A Dinner in St. John 
 
 
 
 
 Street .... 
 
 1 Life of Scott ' 
 
 /. G. Lockhart 
 
 198 
 
 A Distant View of Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh .... 
 
 ' Craigcrook Castle '. 
 
 Gerald Massey 
 
 54 
 
 ' A Gran' Speech * . . 
 
 ' Noctes Ambrosi- 
 
 
 
 
 anaa ' . 
 
 Christopher North . 
 
 '3 
 
 A Group of Ladies in 
 
 ' Memorials of His 
 
 
 
 Old Edinburgh 
 
 Time ' . 
 
 Henry Cockburn 
 
 206 
 
 A Hot-bed of Genius 
 
 ' Humphrey Clinker ' 
 
 Tobias Smollett 
 
 17 
 
 Alexander Smith . . 
 
 ' Gray Days and 
 
 
 
 
 Gold* . 
 
 William Winter . 
 
 37i 
 
 An Antique World . 
 
 ' A Summer hi Skye * 
 
 Alexander Smith . 
 
 307 
 
 An Edinburgh High 
 
 
 
 
 School 
 
 1 Lavengro ' . 
 
 George Borrow 
 
 227 
 
 An Edinburgh Magis- 
 
 ' The Heart of Mid- 
 
 
 
 trate 
 
 lothian ' . . 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 361 
 
 An Incident from ' Wa- 
 
 
 
 
 verley ' 
 
 ' Waverley ' . . 
 
 Sir Waller Scott . 
 
 "4 
 
 A Northern Song . 
 
 ' Northern Lyrics ' . 
 
 Fred. G. Bowles . 
 
 430 
 
 A Poem .... 
 
 ' Poetical Works ' . 
 
 Robert Blair . 
 
 360 
 
 A Portrait of Robert 
 
 1 Heroes and Hero 
 
 
 
 Burns 
 
 Worship ' . 
 
 Thomas Carlyle . 
 
 339 
 
 A Portrait of John Knox 
 
 ' Heroes and Hero 
 
 
 
 
 Worship ' . 
 
 Thomas Carlyle 
 
 343 
 
 A Portrait of Lord Brax- 
 
 ' Virginibus Puer- 
 
 Robert Louis Steven- 
 
 
 field painted by Rae- 
 
 isque* 
 
 son . 
 
 337 
 
 burn 
 
 
 
 
 Apparition 
 
 4 Poems ' 
 
 W. E. Henley 
 
 336 
 
 Approaching a Magical 
 
 ' My Schools and 
 
 
 
 City 
 April in Scotland . 
 
 Schoolmasters ' . 
 ' Hearts of Gold ' . 
 
 Hugh Miller 
 Will H. Ogilvi* . 
 
 73 
 422 
 
 A Royal Pageant through 
 Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Essays ' 
 
 Hugh Miller 
 
 248 
 
 Art in Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Noctes Ambrosi- 
 
 
 
 
 aaas ' . 
 
 Christopher North 
 
 213 
 
 A Shepherd-swain of the 
 
 
 
 
 North Countrie . 
 
 ' The Minstrel ' 
 
 fames Beattie 
 
 57 
 
 A Spot of Enchantment . 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Robert Fergusson . 
 
 4 
 
 A Thersites of 'The 
 
 'The Stickit Minis- 
 
 
 
 Pleasance ' 
 
 ter' . 
 
 S. R. Crockett 
 
 3*3 
 
 Auld Reikie . 
 
 ' Poems' . 
 
 Robert Fergusson . 
 
 93 
 
 433 
 
 28
 
 434 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 TITLE 
 
 SOURCE OP EXTRACT 
 
 AUTHOR 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Ben Jonson in Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh 
 
 ' Travels ' 
 
 John Taylor 
 
 375 
 
 Bob Ainslie and I . 
 
 ' Rob and his 
 
 
 
 
 Friends ' 
 
 John Brown, M.D. . 
 
 130 
 
 Burns in Edinburgh 
 
 ' Life of Burns ' 
 
 J. G. Lockhart 
 
 378 
 
 Cadies .... 
 
 'Humphrey Clinker" 
 
 Tobias Smollett 
 
 367 
 
 Charles the First's Pro- 
 
 
 
 
 gress through Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh 
 
 ' Essays 
 
 Hugh Miller 
 
 271 
 
 Christopher North . 
 
 ' Works ' 
 
 Thomas de Quincey 
 
 335 
 
 Colonel Mannering in 
 
 
 
 
 Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Guy Mannering ' . 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 90 
 
 Crabbe .... 
 
 ' Life of Crabbe ' . 
 
 By his Son . 
 
 401 
 
 Discharged 
 
 4 A Book of Verses ' . 
 
 W. E. Henley 
 
 150 
 
 Dr. Johnson in Edin- 
 
 ' Tour in the 
 
 
 
 burgh 
 
 Hebrides ' . 
 
 James Boswell 
 
 1 80 
 
 Dun-Edin 
 
 "The Queen's Wake ' 
 
 James Hogg . 
 
 84 
 
 Edinburgh 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Alfred Noyes 
 
 68 
 
 Edinburgh 
 
 ' Poems ' . 
 
 William Drummond 
 
 5* 
 
 Edinburgh . ' . 
 
 ' Last Leaves ' . 
 
 Alexander Smith . 
 
 63 
 
 Edinburgh after Flodden 
 
 ' Lays of the Scot- 
 
 
 
 
 tish Cavaliers ' . 
 
 W. E. Aytoun 
 
 162 
 
 Edinburgh : An Impres- 
 
 
 
 
 sion .... 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 John Drinhwater . 
 
 36 
 
 Edinburgh : A Native's 
 
 
 
 
 Praise 
 
 ' Edinburgh ' . 
 
 Anon 
 
 57 
 
 Edinburgh : A Seven- 
 
 
 
 
 teenth-Century Vig- 
 
 
 
 
 nette .... 
 
 ' An Itinerary ' 
 
 Fynes Moryson 
 
 107 
 
 Edinburgh Beans and 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Sir Alexander Bos- 
 
 
 Belles 
 
 
 well . 
 
 213 
 
 Edinburgh Castle . 
 
 'Arrows of the Chace' 
 
 John Ruskin 
 
 301 
 
 Edinburgh Castle : The 
 
 
 
 
 Birth of James 1. 
 
 ' The Queen's Quair ' 
 
 Maurice Hewlett 
 
 33 
 
 Edinburgh from Black- 
 
 
 
 
 ford Hill . 
 
 ' Marmion ' 
 
 Sir Waller Scott . 
 
 39 
 
 Edinburgh : Rich in Ele- 
 
 ' Edinburgh and its 
 
 
 
 gancies and Amenities 
 
 Neighbourhood ' . 
 
 Hugh Miller . 
 
 62 
 
 Edinburgh's Call . 
 
 ' Songs of Travel ' . 
 
 Robert Louis Steven- 
 
 
 
 
 son 
 
 10 
 
 Edinburgh's Call to 
 
 Dedication to 
 
 
 
 Burns 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 376 
 
 Edinburgh' s Glorious 
 
 
 
 
 Literary Period . 
 
 ' Essays ' 
 
 Hugh Miller 
 
 200 
 
 Edinburgh Society . 
 
 ' Peter's Letters to 
 
 
 
 
 his Kinsfolk * 
 
 J. G. Lockhart 
 
 203 
 
 Edinburgh Society of Sir 
 
 
 
 
 Walter Scott's Time . 
 
 'Life of Scott'. 
 
 J. G. Lockhart 
 
 194 
 
 Edinburgh's Stately 
 
 ' Random Rambles " 
 
 Louise Chandler 
 
 
 Beauty 
 
 
 Moulton 
 
 ii 
 
 Edinburgh Streets by 
 
 
 
 
 Night 
 
 ' Edinburgh ' . 
 
 Robert MacCrie . 
 
 151 
 
 Edinburgh : The Famous 
 
 
 
 
 Metropolis of the 
 
 ' Edinburgh : Pic- 
 
 Robert Louis Steven- 
 
 
 North 
 
 turesque Notes ' . 
 
 son 
 
 3 
 
 Eighteenth - Century 
 
 ' A Journey to Eden- 
 
 
 
 Edinburgh 
 
 borough in 1705 ' . 
 
 Joseph Taylor 
 
 109 
 
 Eloquent Edinburgh 
 
 ' Gray Days and 
 
 
 
 
 Gold' . 
 
 William Winter . 
 
 46
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 435 
 
 TITLK 
 
 SOURCE OP EXTRACT 
 
 AUTHOR 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Embro Hie Kirk . 
 
 ' Underwoods ' . 
 
 Robert Louis Steven- 
 
 
 
 
 son 
 
 139 
 
 ' Emeralds Chased In 
 
 
 
 
 Gold' 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 A. Hume Hamilton 
 
 43 
 
 Entering Edinburgh 
 
 ' Humphrey Clinker" 
 
 Tobias Smollett 
 
 83 
 
 Famous Edinburgh 
 
 ' Northern Mem- 
 
 
 
 
 ories ' . . 
 
 Richard Franch . 
 
 55 
 
 Farewell on leaving Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh 
 
 Poems . 
 
 Thomas Campbell . 
 
 124 
 
 From a Window in 
 
 
 
 
 Princes Street 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 W. E. Henley 
 
 127 
 
 From Dunbar to Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh 
 
 ' Humphrey Clinker ' 
 
 Tobias Smollett 
 
 78 
 
 From ' Song of the Out- 
 
 
 
 
 law Murray ' 
 
 ' Border Minstrelsy ' 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 187 
 
 From 'The Ballad of 
 
 
 
 
 Chevy Chase ' 
 
 ' Percy R cliques ' . 
 
 Anon (1558) . 
 
 359 
 
 From ' The Mother's Idol 
 
 
 
 
 Broken ' 
 
 ' My Lyrical Life f . 
 
 Gerald Massey 
 
 193 
 
 George Heriot . . 
 
 ' The Fortunes of 
 
 
 
 
 Nigel ' 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 348 
 
 Golf .... 
 
 ' Humphrey Clinker ' 
 
 Tobias Smollett 
 
 238 
 
 Greyfriars ... 
 
 ' Noctes Ambrosi- 
 
 
 
 
 anae ' . 
 
 Christopher North . 
 
 M5 
 
 Holyrood 
 
 ' Hearts of Gold ' . 
 
 Will H. Ogilvie . 
 
 292 
 
 Holyrood : The Tragedy 
 
 
 
 
 of the Queen's Cabinet 
 
 ' The Queen's Quair ' 
 
 Maurice Hewlett . 
 
 283 
 
 Home .... 
 
 ' A Summer in Skye' 
 
 Alexander Smith . 
 
 34 
 
 In Fisherrow . . . 
 
 ' Poems ' . 
 
 W. . Henley 
 
 145 
 
 In Grassmarket . . 
 
 ' Waverley ' . . 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 185 
 
 June in Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 Henry Johnston . 
 
 424 
 
 Lament for the Auld 
 
 
 
 
 Edinburgh Hostels 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Robert Chambers . 
 
 328 
 
 Lament of Mary Queen 
 
 
 
 
 of Scots 
 
 ' Poems ' . 
 
 Robert Bum* 
 
 249 
 
 Lord Marmion enters 
 
 
 
 
 Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Marmion ' . 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 75 
 
 Love from the North 
 
 1 Poems ' . . 
 
 Christina Rossetti . 
 
 240 
 
 Magnificent Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Letters from Edin- 
 
 
 
 Maria Edgeworth visits 
 
 burgh ' 
 
 Captain Topham . 
 
 H 
 
 Sir Walter Scott in 
 
 ' Life and Letters of 
 
 Edited by Augustus 
 
 
 Edinburgh 
 
 Maria Edgeworth ' 
 
 J. C. Hare 
 
 174 
 
 Marjory Mushroom writes 
 
 
 
 
 to ' The Lounger ' 
 Merry Edinburgh . 
 Miss Betty and her Edin- 
 
 ' The Lounger ' 
 ' Wealth ' 
 ' Annals of the 
 
 Henry Mackenzie . 
 William Dunbar . 
 
 5 
 
 "3 
 
 burgh Mantle 
 
 Parish ' 
 
 John Gait 
 
 223 
 
 My Bonnie Mary . . 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 Robert Burns . 
 
 158 
 
 My Picture left in Scot- 
 
 
 
 
 land .... 
 
 ' Underwoods ' . 
 
 Ben Jonson . . 
 
 37S 
 
 282
 
 436 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 TITLE 
 
 Noble Edinburgh 
 
 On a Mirror in Holyrood 
 Palace 
 
 On a Statue in Parlia- 
 ment Close 
 
 ' Our Town ' . 
 
 Out over the Forth . 
 
 Over the Brig. . . 
 
 Prince Charles enters 
 
 SOURCE OF EXTRACT 
 
 ' Address to the 
 Citizens of Edin- 
 burgh ' . . 
 
 ' Gray Days and 
 
 Gold' . 
 ' Tour in the 
 
 Hebrides ' . 
 ' In Our Town ' 
 ' Poems ' . 
 
 ' Lavengro ' . 
 
 AUTHOR PAGE 
 
 John Ruskin . .116 
 
 William Winter 
 
 291 
 
 James Boswell . 142 
 
 Rosaline Masson , 5 
 
 Robert Burns . 146 
 
 George Borrow . 294 
 
 Battle of Preston . 
 
 ' Essays ' . . 
 
 Hugh Miller . 
 
 260 
 
 Queen of the North . 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 Thomas Campbell . 
 
 52 
 
 Queen of the Uncon- 
 
 
 
 
 quered North 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 Professor Wilson . 
 
 16 
 
 Queen Victoria's Visit to 
 
 
 
 
 Edinburgh 
 
 ' Essays ' . . 
 
 Hugh Miller . 
 
 V3 
 
 R. L. S. 
 
 ' Margaret Ogilvy' . 
 
 J. M. Barrie . 
 
 350 
 
 R. L. S. in his Childhood 
 
 ' Memories and Por- 
 
 Robert Louis Steven- 
 
 
 City 
 
 traits ' 
 
 son . . . 
 
 148 
 
 Revisiting Edinburgh 
 
 ' The Mirror ' . 
 
 Mackenzie 
 
 119 
 
 Robert Burns returns 
 
 
 
 
 Home from Edinburgh 
 
 ' Letters ' 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 38i 
 
 Robert Fergusson . 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Robert Bums . 
 
 359 
 
 Robert Fergusson . . 
 
 ' Recollections of 
 
 
 
 
 Fergusson ' . 
 
 Hugh Miller . 
 
 409 
 
 Salisbury Crags . . 
 
 ' The Heart of Mid- 
 
 
 
 
 lothian ' . . 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 122 
 
 Samuel Rogers 
 
 ' Table Talk ' . 
 
 Samuel Rogers 
 
 408 
 
 Scotland's Shrine . . 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 Will H. Ogilvie . 
 
 141 
 
 Scottish Inns . 
 
 ' Waverley ' . 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 143 
 
 Scott's Home Life in 
 
 
 
 
 Edinburgh . 
 Shelley in Edinburgh 
 
 ' Life of Scott ' . 
 ' Life of Shelley * . 
 
 J. G. Lockhart 
 Thomas Jefferson 
 
 395 
 
 
 
 Hogg 
 
 383 
 
 Sir David Lyndsay . 
 
 ' Marmion ' . . 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 347 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 ' Modern Painters ' . 
 
 John Ruskin 
 
 333 
 
 Some Characters of 
 
 
 
 
 Hagman's Close . 
 
 ' Kid McGhie ' 
 
 S. R. Crockett 
 
 325 
 
 Some Lounging Shops in 
 
 ' Peter's Letters to 
 
 
 
 Old Edinburgh 
 
 his Kinsfolk ' 
 
 J. G. Lockhart 
 
 no 
 
 Song of the Royal Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh Light Dragoons 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 
 
 236 
 
 Springtime Vision . 
 
 ' A Summer in Skye ' 
 
 Alexander Smith . 
 
 421 
 
 Summer in Edinburgh . 
 
 ' A Summer in Skye ' 
 
 Alexander Smith . 
 
 424 
 
 Summer Nightfall in 
 
 ' Gray Days and 
 
 
 
 Edinburgh 
 
 Gold ' 
 
 William Winter . 
 
 43 
 
 Sunday in Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Sunday in Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh ' . 
 
 Anon (1849) . 
 
 146 
 
 Thackeray : An Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh Reminiscence . 
 
 ' Horas Subsecivae ' . 
 
 John Brown, M.D. 
 
 184 
 
 Thanks for a Summer 
 
 
 
 
 Day .... 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 Alexander Hume . 
 
 426
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 437 
 
 TITLE 
 
 The Accession of J ames I. 
 
 The Ballad of Hynd Horn 
 The Beauty of Edinburgh 
 The Cadie 
 
 The Canongate : One of 
 
 the World's Sights . 
 The Castle Rock : The 
 
 Eye of the Landscape 
 The Edinburgh of Marie 
 
 Stuart 
 The Echo of the Royal 
 
 Porch 
 The Eve of Flodden 
 
 The Firth of Forth . 
 The Good Town of Edin- 
 burgh .... 
 The Grassmarket . 
 
 The Gray Metropolis of 
 
 the North 
 The Heart of Scotland . 
 
 The High Street of Edin- 
 burgh 
 
 The Influence of the Past 
 
 The King s Birthday in 
 Edinburgh . 
 
 ' The Lounger ' in Edin- 
 burgh .... 
 
 The Last Speech of Edin- 
 burgh Cross 
 
 The Lovely Mary enters 
 Edinburgh . 
 
 The Memorial to R. L. S. 
 in St. Giles's Church . 
 
 The Merry Glee of Edin- 
 burgh Town 
 
 The Plaid in the High 
 Street 
 
 The Pleasant Entrance 
 into Edinburgh . 
 
 The Queen's Marie . 
 
 There's a Youth in this 
 City .... 
 
 The Romaunt of St 
 Mary's Wynd 
 
 The Scot Abroad . 
 
 The Scottish Exiles 
 The Thistle and the Rose 
 The Water Poet is en- 
 tertained in Edinburgh 
 This Delightful and 
 
 Beautiful City . 
 Thomas Campbell . 
 Thoughts on making 
 Edinburgh's Acquaint- 
 ance . 
 
 SOURCE OP EXTRACT 
 
 ' Stuart Tracts ' 
 
 ' Traditional ' 
 ' A Summer in Skye ' 
 ' Peter's Letters to 
 his Kinsfolk ' 
 
 ' A Summer in Skye ' 
 ' Peter's Letters to 
 his Kinsfolk ' 
 
 'The Abbot* . 
 
 ' Miscellanies in 
 
 Prose and Verse ' 
 4 Legends of the 
 
 Isles' . 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 ' Humphrey Clinker ' 
 4 The Heart of Mid- 
 lothian ' . . 
 ' The Daisy ' . 
 
 ' Gray Days and 
 
 Gold' . 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 ' A Summer in Skye ' 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 ' The Lounger ' 
 
 ' Miscellanies ' . 
 
 ' The Queen's Wake ' 
 
 'Speech' 
 Tea-table 
 lany ' . 
 
 Miscel- 
 
 of the 
 
 ' Poems' 
 ' Annals 
 
 Parish ' 
 'Border Minstrelsy' 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 ' Tales of the Bor- 
 ders ' . 
 
 1 The Silverado 
 Squatters ' . . 
 
 ' From the Gaelic * . 
 
 ' .'ocms ' . 
 
 ' I-enniless Pilgrim- 
 age ' . 
 
 1 Edinburgh ' . 
 Life of Campbell . 
 
 1 Peter's Letters to 
 his Kinsfolk ' 
 
 AUTHOR PACK 
 
 Sir Robert Carey and 
 
 T. M. . . 255 
 
 Anonymous . . 155 
 
 Alexander Smith . 7 
 
 /. G. Lockhart . 369 
 
 Alexander Smith . 22 
 
 /. G. Lockhart . 298 
 
 Sir Walter ScoU . 103 
 
 Claudero . . 8i 
 
 Charlts Mackay . 159 
 
 William Drummond 189 
 
 Tobias Smollett . 19 
 
 Sir Walter ScoU . 185 
 Alfred, Lord Tenny- 
 son ... 89 
 
 William Winter . 49 
 Sir Alexander Bos- 
 well . . . 127 
 Alexander Smith . 27 
 
 Robert Fergusson . 428 
 
 Henry Mackenzie . 218 
 
 Claudero . . 135 
 
 James Hogg . . 245 
 
 Lord Rosebery . 357 
 
 Allan Ramsay . 81 
 
 Allan Ramsay . 129 
 
 John Gait . . 82 
 
 Sir Walter Scott . 251 
 
 Robert Burns . 121 
 
 Alexander Leighton 316 
 Robert Louis Steven- 
 son . . -3* 
 
 Tfo Ear/ o/ Eglinton 3 3 
 
 Wi//iam Dunbar . 264 
 
 /o*n ray/or . . 98 
 
 William Cobbett . 43 
 
 Cyrus Redding . 406 
 
 /. G. Lockhart . 87
 
 438 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 TITLE 
 
 SOURCE OP EXTRACT 
 
 AUTHOR 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Three Edinburgh Friends 
 
 ' Marjorie Fleming ' 
 
 John Brown, M.D. 
 
 363 
 
 To Alexander Cunning- 
 
 
 
 
 ham, Esq. 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 239 
 
 To Clarinda . 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 189 
 
 To Edinburgh 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 A. Hume Hamilton 
 
 69 
 
 To Friends left in Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh . . . 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 John l.eyden . 
 
 i3 
 
 To My Old Familiars 
 
 ' Poems ' . 
 
 Robert Louis Steven- 
 
 
 
 
 son 
 
 418 
 
 To Robert Barns . 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 David Sillar . 
 
 380 
 
 To the King . 
 
 ' Poems * . . 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton . 
 
 270 
 
 To the Merchants of 
 
 
 
 
 Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Poems-* . 
 
 William Dunbar 
 
 101 
 
 To the Princess Margaret 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 William Dunbar 
 
 282 
 
 To the Tron Kirk Bell . 
 
 ' Poems ' . . 
 
 Robert Fergusson . 
 
 137 
 
 Troops leaving Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh 
 
 'My Lyrical Life* . 
 
 Gerald Massey 
 
 34 
 
 Twilight in Edinburgh 
 
 
 
 
 Streets 
 
 ' Kit Kennedy ' 
 
 S. R. Crockett 
 
 50 
 
 Voices of Mystery . 
 
 ' The Queen's Wake' 
 
 James Hogg . 
 
 61 
 
 William and Dorothy 
 
 
 
 
 Wordsworth in Edin- 
 
 ' Recollections of a 
 
 Dorothy Words- 
 
 
 burgh . . 
 
 Tour in Scotland ' 
 
 worth 
 
 45 
 
 Willie's Awa 1 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Robert Burns . 
 
 241 
 
 Winter in Edinburgh 
 
 ' Poems ' . 
 
 Henry Johnston 
 
 43* 
 
 Within a Mile of Edin- 
 
 
 
 
 burgh Town 
 
 ' Scottish Poems ' . 
 
 T. D'Ufrey . 
 
 86 
 
 Written in Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Poems ' 
 
 Arthur Henry Hal- 
 
 
 
 
 lam 
 
 48 
 
 Written in Edinburgh . 
 
 ' Memorials of a 
 
 WiUiam Words- 
 
 
 
 Tour in Scotland ' 
 
 worth . 
 
 349 
 
 THE END 
 
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