rk of Field, St. Mary's Wynd,
a pleasant walk along the outside of the fortifications to the great
monastery on its plateau, with the Pleasance, a name suggestive of all
freshness and greenery and rural pleasure, at its feet. Inside the town,
between the castle gates and those of the city, were the crowded
habitations of a mediaeval town, the only place where business could be
carried on in safety, or rich wares exhibited, or money passed from hand
to hand. The Lawnmarket or Linen Market would be the chief centre of
sale and merchandise, and there, no doubt, the booths before the lower
stories, with all their merchandise displayed, and the salesmen seated
at the head of the few deep steps which led into the cavernous depths
within, would be full of fine dresses and jewellery, and the gold and
silver which, some one complains, was worn away by the fine workmanship,
which was then more prized than solid weight. The cloth of gold and
silver, the fine satins and velvets, the embroidery, more exquisite than
anything we have time or patience for now--embroidery of gold thread
which we hear of, an uncomfortable sort of luxury, even upon the linen
of great personages--would there be put forth and inspected by gallants
in all their fine array, or by the ladies in their veils, half or wholly
muffled from public inspection. Even the cheaper booths that adorned the
West Bow or smaller wynds, where the country women bought their kirtles
of red or green when they brought their produce to the market, would
show more gay colours under their shade in a season than we with our
soberer taste in years; and the town ladies, in their hoods and silk
gowns, which were permitted even in more primitive times to the
possessors of so much a year, must have been of themselves a fair sight
in all their ornaments, less veiled and muffled from profane view than
more high-born dames and demoiselles. No doubt it would be a favourite
walk with all to pass the port and see what was doing among the great
people down yonder at Holyrood, or watch a gay band of French knights
arriving from Leith with their pennons displayed, full of some challenge
lately given by the knights of Scotland, or eager to maintain on their
own account the beauty of their ladies and the strength of their spears
against all comers. Edinburgh can never have been so amusing, never so
gay and bright, as in these fine times; though, no doubt, there was
always the risk of a rush together of