over the valley between the Old Town and the New: here, full
of railway trains and stepped over by the high North Bridge upon its
many columns, and there, green with trees and gardens.

On the north, the Calton Hill is neither so abrupt in itself nor has it
so exceptional an outlook; and yet even here it commands a striking
prospect. A gully separates it from the New Town. This is Greenside,
where witches were burned and tournaments held in former days. Down that
almost precipitous bank, Bothwell launched his horse, and so first, as
they say, attracted the bright eyes of Mary. It is now tessellated with
sheets and blankets out to dry, and the sound of people beating carpets
is rarely absent. Beyond all this, the suburbs run out to Leith; Leith
camps on the seaside with her forest of masts; Leith roads are full of
ships at anchor; the sun picks out the white pharos upon Inchkeith
Island: the Firth extends on either hand from the Ferry to the May; the
towns of Fifeshire sit, each in its bank of blowing smoke, along the
opposite coast; and the hills inclose the view, except to the farthest
east, where the haze of the horizon rests upon the open sea. There lies
the road to Norway: a dear road for Sir Patrick Spens and his Scots
Lords; and yonder smoke on the hither side of Largo Law is Aberdour,
from whence they sailed to seek a queen for Scotland.

"O lang, lang, may the ladies sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Or e'er they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the land!"

The sight of the sea, even from a city, will bring thoughts of storm and
sea disaster. The sailors' wives of Leith and the fisherwomen of
Cockenzie, not sitting languorously with fans, but crowding to the tail
of the harbour with a shawl about their ears, may still look vainly for
brave Scotsmen who will return no more, or boats that have gone on their
last fishing. Since Sir Patrick sailed from Aberdour, what a multitude
have gone down in the North Sea! Yonder is Auldhame, where the London
smack went ashore and wreckers cut the rings from ladies' fingers; and a
few miles round Fife Ness is the fatal Inchcape, now a star of guidance;
and the lee shore to the east of the Inchcape is that Forfarshire coast
where Mucklebackit sorrowed for his son.

These are the main features of the scene roughly sketched. How they are
all tilted by the inclination of the ground, how each stands out in
delicate relief against the rest, what manif