n peeping out of the clouds, and flooding these features with a
sudden, transient river of light, gives them a glow and glory that
would delight the artist. After a long walk through such scenery, I
reached, late in the evening, Auld Reekie, a favorite home-name
which the modern Athenians love to give to Edinburgh. Being anxious
to push on and complete my journey as soon as practicable, I only
remained in the celebrated Scotch metropolis one night, taking staff
early next morning, and holding northward towards the Highlands.

Edinburgh has made its mark upon the world and its place among the
great centres of the world's civilization. On the whole, no city in
Great Britain, or in Christendom, has ever attained to such well-
developed, I will not say angular, but salient individuality. This
is deep-featured and ineffaceable. It is, not was. Edinburgh has
reared great men prolifically and supplied the world with them, and
kept always a good number back for itself to give a shaping to
others the world needed. Its prestige is great in the production of
such intellects. But it keeps up with the times. It is faithful to
its antecedents, and appreciates them at their full value and
obligation. It does not lie a-bed until noon because it has got its
name up for educating brilliant minds. Its grand old University
holds its own among the wranglers of learning. Its High School is
proportionately as high as ever, notwithstanding the rapid growth of
others of the same purpose. Its pulpit boasts of its old mind-power
and moral stature. Its Theology stands iron-cabled, grand and solid
as an iceberg in the sea of modern speculation, unsoftened under the
patter of the heterodox sentimentalities of human philanthropy. It
is growing more and more a City of Palaces. And the palaces are all
built for housing the poorest of the poor, the weakest of the weak
and the vilest of the vile. These hospitals are the Holyroods of
Edinburgh II. They honor it with a renown better than the royal
palace of the latter name ever won.

I said Edinburgh the Second. That is correct. There are two towns,
the Old and the New; the last about half a century's age. But the
oldest will be the youngest fifty years hence. The hand of a
"higher civilization," with its spirit-level, pick, plane and
trowel, is upon it with the grip of a Samson. That hand will tone
down its great distinctive individualities and give it the modern
_uniformity_ of d