what it ought to be; but I say unto you as Elisha said unto Naaman the Syrian, that I will receive nothing of thy hand."

"Well, well! that's all arranged," said Dr Buchanan, "so there's no more to be said on the subject."

"But whaur am I to put the bairn for this nicht?" persisted Eppie; "I canna let him lie a' nicht his lane, in yon wee bit room at the tap o' the house, and I kenna whaur 1 am to lay my ain head."

"Heaven grant me patience!" cried the Doctor, with a vigorous pull at the bell ; was there ever an

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unfortunate man so cursed with useless servants as I am! Here!-youPeggie-idiot-why don't you show Mrs Osett to the blue room?"

"The blue room, did ye say, sir?" stammered the Highland maid; "it's

the best room in the hoos."

"That's the very reason why I wish Master Norman and Mrs Osett to have it, you fool. I never see company, and where would be the sense of letting it stand empty?" "But it's no empty, sir, ava'. It's been occupied thae four months."

Occupied?" cried my uncle. "Who the devil has occupied it? Speak out, you slut, or I'll instantly send for the police!"

"Deed, sir, it wasna my doing," sobbed the damsel. "He wad hae the room to himsel', for ought I could say to the contrair; and he threatened he would ding out my harns if I ever lat ye ken."

"He? whom do you mean by he?" "Just Saunders Jaap, yer honour." The Doctor started from his chair in a towering passion.

"I never committed murder," said he, "but the temptation is strong upon me now! The scoundrel!-the useless, insolent old vagabond! I know him to be a thief and a liar, but I never thought he durst have done this. Give me a candle, woman -I'll see to this instantly."

So saying, the Doctor rushed towards the blue room, and we, excited by curiosity, followed. There, sure enough, lay Mr Jaap, snoring in bed, as luxuriously lodged as any gentleman in the land. A strong odour of coarse tobacco which pervaded the apartment, indicated that the sensual Saunders, before retiring to rest, had

derived solace from a pipe; while the remains of a cold fowl, and a brandybottle almost empty of contents, showed that his creature comforts had been duly cared for.

"Get up, you old rascal!" shouted my uncle. "Get out of that this instant, or I'll brain you with the water-jug!"

Mr Jaap opened a lack-lustre eye, but displayed no alacrity in obeying the command.

"Was ye wanting onything frae me?" he said.

'Wanting anything from you?" repeated my uncle, mechanically.

"Ay-for if ye want naething, what's the sense o' disturbing folk at this time o' nicht? Can ye no let a body rest in peace?"

"Damn your impudence! Out of that instantly, or I'll have you lugged to the Tolbooth!"

"Weel-since that's your wull, I'm conformable. But ye had better bide outside the door till I put on my breeks."

"And finish the brandy, you incorrigible thief!- my best French brandy, too!"

Oo, if ye grudge it, ye're walcome to what's in the bottle. Puir stuff it is too, though ye mak' sic a sang aboot it-no to be compared to Hieland whisky. And whaur is it your pleasure that I should sleep this nicht?"

"In the gutter or the King's Park; anywhere but under my roof!" "Ye canna pit me out till the morning," said Jaap, deliberately, "it's clean again' the law. And there's wages and board-wages-I'll no stir a foot till ye pay me them: I've had nae regular warning. And I hold ye responsible for my claes, forbye---"

Here my uncle lost all remnant of patience. He seized Jaap, who by this time was struggling into his garments, by the neck, thrust him down stairs and out of the house, and then pitched the remainder of his apparel from the window.

"The Lord be praised!" ejaculated my uncle, helping himself to the driblet of brandy that remained. "I've got rid at last of the greatest nuisance of my life!"

My nurse and I being thus installed, matters went on more smooth

ly and comfortably in Dr Buchanan's establishment than before. Up to that time the poor man had been entirely at the mercy of his servants, and not having the faintest notion of housekeeping, was sometimes in positive danger of being starved. Peggie M'Craw, as may readily be supposed, had never studied the works of Mrs Dalgairns, that oracle of the Scottish kitchen; consequently her style of cookery was such as would hardly have been tolerated by a Hottentot. But in justice to Peggie, it must be stated that even the succulent Dalgairns would have found some difficulty in sending up a banquet from a kitchen void of the most ordinary culinary utensils. Now, among her other accomplishments, Eppie was an excellent cook, well versed in the composition of the favourite old Scottish dishes, and was, moreover, a firstrate manager; so, before she had been in office many days, a vast reform was effected in the commissariat department; and my uncle, who previously might have been indicted for conspiracy on account of his lean and hungry look, waxed quite plump and pursy, and began to throw out some indefinite hints as to the propriety of asking some friends to dine with him; a notion which, I am persuaded, had not entered the brain of the worthy gentleman for the last twenty years.

As for myself, I was sent in due time to school; but that time did not arrive until the ensuing winter. Scotland in general, and Edinburgh in particular, were then in a state of pleasurable excitement such as had not been known for centuries. George the Fourth, whose personal popularity had been somewhat damaged in consequence of the trial of Queen Caroline, had, very wisely, resolved to make an attempt upon the affections of his northern subjects, by paying them a royal visit; and as this was the first time that royalty had vouchsafed so much, since the accession of the House of Hanover to the throne, the popular enthusiasm was tremendous. In vain did infant Liberalism, hardly emancipated from its swaddling-clothes, insist upon the insensate folly of a cordial national reception, and demonstrate that a severe reticence and cold respect was all that ought to be exhibited by the people to their sovereign. The instinctive feeling of the people taught them otherwise. They resolved that this should be an ovation, unparalleled of its kind; and they gave no heed to the grumbling of the disaffected, though they grumbled with unusual pertinacity. But the Royal visit, the first public event of which I have any distinct remembrance, must form the argument of a new and separate chapter.

Edinburgh, though even then a noble city, had not at the period to which I allude attained its present magnificence. Much of the New Town was still unbuilt, in particular the western portion, situated upon grounds belonging to the Earl of Moray which were still private enclosures. The beautiful gardens which divide Heriot Row from Queen Street were then simply bleachingfields, and the elegant suburb of Inverleith had not yet been constructed. Its growth and extension has been more gradual than that of other cities, but it has never experienced a check; and although it is by no means probable that Edinburgh will ever become an emporium of trade or a seat of manufactures, it

possesses more attractions as a place of residence than any other city in the United Kingdom, with the exception of imperial London.

When it became known that George the Fourth intended to visit his ancient kingdom of Scotland, intense was the excitement that prevailed. If there is one feature in the Scottish character more marked than another, it is the desire common to all classes of exhibiting their country in the most favourable aspect to the eyes of strangers. Hence in the old days when Scotland was a separate kingdom, and in reality one of the poorest in Europe, foreigners were amazed at the magnificence exhibited at the Court of Holyrood, at the masques and public rejoicings which attended

a royal progress, and at the semiregal state maintained by some of the greatest of the nobility. It is true that after the Reformation, or at least after the deposition of Queen Mary, public ceremonies fell into disuse, a gloomy asceticism superseded the ancient joyous spirit, and the more elegant forms of court entertainment were ill supplied by a coarse and illicit revelry. The union of the crowns in the person of James the Sixth, threw over Scotland a gloom which lasted for a long period. Civil wars and dissensions, political and polemical strife, both distracted and impoverished the nation. It became of no weight at all in the councils of Europe; for though it still retained a Parliament, and had a separate Ministry, it was justly regarded by foreign powers as a mere appanage to England; and having lost its importance as a state, it possessed no other attraction. The union of the kingdoms did not at first effect any amelioration in the social state of Scotland; nay, it rather seemed for a time to produce a detrimental effect, by causing the removal of the nobility and members of Parliament to London, and depriving Edinburgh of its last claim to recognition as a metropolis. It is not to be wondered at, that the great measure to which the present wealth and enterprise of Scotland must be mainly attributed, should have been long unpopular even with the middle classes; and should have been felt by the lesser nobility and gentry as a grievous blow to their importance, and a serious injury to their order, inasmuch as it lessened their chances of lucrative public employment. The insurrections of 1715 and 1745 threw a further impediment in the way of progress; and the eighteenth century had well-nigh closed, before Scotland took that wonderful start which has since raised her to such high consideration.

Notwithstanding all these drawbacks affecting her material wealth, Scotland still continued to preserve a fair literary reputation. The names of Hume, Robertson, Reid, Smith, and Blair were well known beyond the boundary of the Tweed; Thomson and Beattie proved that the fire of poetry was not extinguished; and

Smollett as a novelist must be ranked equal with, if not superior to, Fielding. Also, in the Northern universities, physics were studied with a zeal and diligence unknown elsewhere; so that, however much Englishmen might be inclined to sneer at Scottish pride and poverty, they could not refuse them credit for considerable intellectual acquirement. The fame of the University of Edinburgh, in its medical and metaphysical departments, began to attract visitors, and to initiate that intercourse which might now be more aptly designated as a fusion. But it was reserved for Sir Walter Scott, by far the most wonderful literary phenomenon of his age, to renovate the history of his country; to give it prominence in the eyes of Europe; to invest its grey towers and mouldering ruins with the glowing tints of romance; to portray the character of its people with marvellous minuteness and fidelity; to give a new enchantment to its beautiful scenery and an interest to its every relic; and to transform it from an obscure and half-forgotten region, seldom named abroad and very rarely visited, to a land of poetry and renown. Well may Scotland be proud of that colossal genius; for not only did he raise its literary reputation to the highest point which it ever attained, but he gave it new life, vigour, and energy, restored it to its pristine place among the nations, swept away the gloomy cloud that had obscured it so long, and prepared it for its new career.

Scarce one-half of that great man's work was accomplished when the royal visit was announced; but so strong had been the effect of his writings upon the national mind, so completely had he fascinated his countrymen and imbued them with his own romantic spirit, that they would not be content with a gathering however enthusiastic, or a reception however cordial, unless it partook of the nature of a pageant recalling the memories of the past. That an idea so ultra-romantic, and so opposed to the sober usages of the present century, should have possessed a hard-headed people like the Scots, might well excite the astonishment of those who knew not the deep under-current of national pride, not

easily distinguishable from fanaticism, which, far more than reason, actuates their conduct, and which alone can furnish the explanation of many an historical anomaly. But it was so determined and done. The universal feeling was that the King's reception in Scotland should be of au exclusively Scottish character; and as the customs and costumes of the present age were not peculiarly distinctive, the only alternative was to fall back on those of the past, and to make the processions resemble as nearly as possible those which would have been marshalled at the coronation of the last of the Scottish kings. In the eyes of the disciples of Carlyle, this, no doubt, will appear to be tomfoolery, but God help the nation that accepts the incoherent Thomas as its instructor!

So the fiery cross was sped "o'er mountain and through glen," and the Highlanders were summoned once more to display a general gathering of the clans. They answered with alacrity to the call; and from Dunkeld to Caithness there was such a brushing-up of sporrans and furbishing of dirks and claymores as would, eighty years previously, have stricken the hearts of the Lowlanders with consternation. I remember well being taken to the green in front of Heriot Row, to see the mustering of the sons of the Gael, whose stalwart forms and tartan array inspired me with awe and veneration. Of course I knew not that many of those sinewy warriors, than whom Achilles, clad in the divine armour of Vulcan, could scarce have looked more terrible and resplendent, followed the humble but exceedingly useful calling of chairmen and street-porters. If I had known it, I question whether my admiration would have been diminished; for Achilles himself, at the Court of Lycomedes, assumed a disguise less creditable than the greatcoat and leather straps of the caddie; and yet, in the camp before Troy, no one dared to allude to his performances at the distaff and the loom.

To a stranger unacquainted with the cause of the excitement, the streets of Edinburgh must have presented an extraordinary spectacle.

Tartan, I need hardly say, was in the ascendant; for every man who wrote himself a Mac, considered it a point of honour to don the philabeg. Some Macs there were, however, especially of the Gallovidian breed, M'Candlishes, M'Caskies, M'Crackens, M'Haffies, M'Letchies, M'Ritchies, M'Whannels, M'Whinnies, and M'Whirters, whose pedigree no bard could unravel, and whose checker was unknown. But even for them there was balm in Gilead. They might either claim affinity with the MacGregor, alleging a remote change of name in consequence of the proscription of that warlike sept; or, if expense was of no moment, they could procure at wonderfully short notice, through the medium of enterprising haberdashers, tartan of an entirely new pattern and brilliant hues, to be set apart for their glorification, and that of their heirs for ever. Next to the Gael in number were the Royal Archers, whose antique costume would have been really picturesque, but for the absurd ruff which they wore round the neck—a palpable anachronism, as the traditions of the body-guard are much more ancient than the invention of starch. As in duty bound, the retainers of the Lyon Court shone out in blazoned splendour

"Heralds and pursuivants, by name,

Bute, Islay, Marchmont, Rothsay, came
In painted tabards, proudly showing
Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing."

Pages, beef-eaters, and yeomen of the guard met you at every turn. Only a few jackmen from the Border were wanting to give a complete realisation of the picture so vividly portrayed in Marmion. For those who had no pretext for masquerading, heather was provided, to be worn in the hat, and stars and cockades bearing the white cross of St Andrew. Every one was pected to exhibit some kind of decoration; and by common consent all traces of mourning disappeared, and black was a forbidden colour.

ex

I remember perfectly the difficulty which we experienced in making our way through the encumbered streets, on the day when the King landed, to the gallery at the corner of York Place, for which we had secured tickets,

in order to witness the procession. Brought up in a secluded pastoral district, I felt both bewildered and awed at the spectacle of such a mighty mass of humanity; for not only were the streets so thronged as to obstruct the passage, but the Calton Hill was crowded to the very top, and no pinnacle or place of vantage, however dizzy or dangerous, but was occupied by an eager group. The galloping of the horses, the flash and clash of steel, and the stunning discharge of artillery from the Castle, fairly took away my senses; and though by no means devoid of curiosity, I would very willingly have given my St Andrew's cross, the most valued thing in my possession, to any benevolent genie that would have wafted me away to the quiet banks of the Meggat. We reached the stand, however, without any mishap; and, perched in a place of safety, I had ample leisure to survey, with childish wonder, the stirring scene beneath, to pester my good-natured uncle with a succession of disjointed questions, and occasionally to regale myself with sugar almonds, of which nurse Osett had given me a supply.

My recollection of the procession itself is vivid as to its general feature, but indistinct as to details. I remember hearing afar off the sound of tumultuous cheering mingled with military music, whereat there was a sudden movement and swaying of the crowd immediately below us, and a hum of expectation which deepened into a roar as the leading horsemen, in crimson and gold, the Lord Lyon and his suite, came into sight. Gorgeous was the array that followed, knights and squires on prancing steeds, cavalry, Highlanders, yeomen, in almost interminable succession, until an open carriage, drawn by (I know not how many) splendid led horses, rounded into the square, and a deafening shout of acclamation welcomed the presence of the King.

It is a common observation, and has almost passed into a proverb, that children are easily pleased; meaning thereby, I presume, that they are never critical as to the congruity of any spectacle which they behold, but regard the passing

pageant with absorbing wonder and delight. I am rather inclined to doubt the soundness of that position. I think that children are very often critical after their own peculiar fashion, and that the conclusions which they form through natural induction are sometimes more shrewd and sensible than those of their elders, who are biassed by prepossession or prejudice. At all events, I shall frankly confess that my first impression on gazing at George the Fourth was one of sad disappointment. Although my education was not far advanced, I had read something and heard more about kings, and I had seen their effigies set forth in picture-books; and my fixed idea was that a king never went anywhere, even to breakfast, without a jewelled crown on his head, a gorgeous mantle on his shoulders, a sceptre in one hand, and a golden ball surmounted by a cross in the other. What was the reality that I beheld? A very stout elderly gentleman, almost bursting through his clothes, with a swollen face and elaborate periwig, bowing from side to side with a sort of mechanical motion! Was that indeed the King? Why, he was not half so fine as the other king who headed the procession-(I had been particularly fascinated by the apparition of the King-at-Arms, whose equipment that day, I am satisfied, gave the hint for the sketch of Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat, in the Talisman)—and as for dignity, I could discern nothing of the kind. Young radical that I was! I had hit upon the real blot. The palpable absurdity lay in the medieval character of the pageant. To have made it congruous and intelligible, George the Fourth should have appeared in the costume of Harry the Eighth, which would have suited him remarkably well, and in that dress his undeniably fine presence would have made him the stateliest among the stately. As it was, but for a certain self-possession and air of high-breeding, scarce, however, to be distinguished at a momentary glance, he might have been mistaken for that omnivorous alderman, Sir William Curtis, who pertinaciously followed in his train.