years (1857-1887)--surely even the thirty years
that have gone by since Thomas Stevenson died cannot have laid all those
dear ghosts we conjured up!

We thanked our guide and took leave of him. If the firm of Guild and
Shepherd should ever see this, surely they will forgive our innocent
deception, for the honour of R.L.S. I wonder if any one has yet put a
tablet on the house? If not, Mifflin and I will do so, some day.

In the evenings we used to wander up to Heriot Row in the long Northern
dusk, to sit on the front steps of number 17 waiting for Leerie to come
and light the famous lamp which still stands on the pavement in front of
the dining-room windows:

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;
And O! before you hurry by with ladder and with light,
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!

But no longer does Leerie "with lantern and with ladder come posting
up the street." Nowadays he carries a long pole bearing a flame
cunningly sheltered in a brass socket. But the Leerie of 1911
("Leerie-light-the-lamps" is a generic nickname for all lamplighters in
Scotland) was a pleasant fellow even if ladderless, and we used to have
a cigar ready for him when he reached 17. We told him of R.L.S., of whom
he had vaguely heard, and explained the sanctity of that particular
lamp. He in turn talked freely of his craft, and learning that we were
Americans he told us of his two sisters "in Pennsylvania, at 21 Thorn
Street." He seemed to think Pennsylvania a town, but finally we learned
that the Misses Leerie lived in Sewickley where they were doing well,
and sending back money to the "kiddies." Good Leerie, I wonder do you
still light the lamps on Heriot Row, or have you too seen redder
beacons on Flanders fields?

One evening I remember we fell into discussion whether the lamp-post was
still the same one that R.L.S. had known. We were down on hands and
knees on the pavement, examining the base of the pillar by match-light
in search of possible dates. A very seedy and disreputable looking man
passed, evidently regarding us with apprehension as detectives. Mifflin,
never at a loss, remarked loudly "No, I see no footprints here," and as
the ragged one passed hastily on with head twisted over his shoulder, we
followed him. At the corner of Howe Street he broke into an uneasy
shuffle, and Mifflin turned a great laugh into a Scotland Yard