or parish schoolmaster; but, like the great American editor,
he was exceedingly slovenly, both by nature and by long habits of
carelessness. When in the street, he always wore the plaid, although
that garment was quite out of use, and indicated at once something
quaint or rustic in the wearer. At this time Miller was living in one of
the suburbs of Edinburgh, called Porto Bello. When we exchanged
greetings in the street, his countenance, usually overcast with the pale
hue of thought, would light up with a bright and open smile, which
continued as long as he was speaking, but soon yielded to returning
abstraction. One of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen was the
groups of youth whom Miller used to invite as companions of an afternoon
walk. None were forbidden on the score of childhood, and many a 'wee
bairn' trotted after the larger lads who accompanied 'the gude
stane-cracker,' and 'the bonnie mon what gaes amang the rocks.' He might
well be called the 'stane-cracker,' since I have seen him on Calton
Hill, or Arthur's Seat, or among the crags, lecturing, in a calm, quiet
tone, on the mysteries which his hammer had brought to light. These were
the only recreations of one whose days and nights were, with the
exception of a brief and often wakeful season of rest, given to
laborious study. Had he indulged more freely in them, he might have
escaped the terrible fate which overtook him. But he never could
emancipate himself from the labor to which he was chained. His
'Impressions of England,' which is one of the most delightful of his
books, was the product of a subsequent tour for health. If such were his
recreations, what must have been his labors? Miller's domestic life did
much to cheer an over-worked system. He gives, in the 'Schools and
Schoolmasters,' a pleasing allusion to the fascination of his courtship;
and his subsequent life was graced by one whoso appearance, as I
remember her, was singularly lovely and interesting. In his home circle,
Miller was truly a happy man. I may remark, in passing, that this is a
feature in Scottish genius. While Shelley, Byron, Bulwer, Dickens, and
other English authors, have been wrecked by home difficulties, Scott,
Chalmers, Miller, Wilson, and the whole line of Scottish authors, drank
deep of domestic felicity. Perhaps this may be explained by the contrast
between the warmth of Scottish character, and the saturnine and unsocial
disposition of the English. Edinburgh could at t