MERLIN. 221 



East Lothian. Straight before me, like a giant lean- 

 ing on his elbow, or a volcano that in a single night has 

 emerged from the deep, rises the rocky protuberance 

 of the Bass, the haunt of thousands of gannets, which 

 at this distance, however, I can perceive only with the 

 aid of fancy. Beyond this, to the left, is the dun isle 

 of the May, with its glimmering light, surmounting a 

 range of whitened cliffs, and indicating to the mariner 

 in the darkness of night, and amid the howl of the tem- 

 pest, the path that will lead him to his desired haven. 

 Along the eastern horizon stretches a dim ridge of un- 

 dulated ground, the culminating points of which, as the 

 French geologists say, are the broad eminence of Largo 

 Law, the two Lomonds, and lastly, the Ochil Hills, far 

 in the north-west, and shrouded in the undispersed 

 haze of night. Nearer, but yet distant, is the beautiful 

 mountain called Arthur's Seat, behind which is the me- 

 tropolis of Auld Scotland. There, though you cannot 

 see her, sits Edina, like a queen, on her throne of hills. 

 As yet none are astir on the quiet streets of the fair 

 city save the drowsy watchman, who, methinks, (or 

 more correctly, I think), I hear at this moment pro- 

 claiming to the tall houses of the High Street, or the 

 arches of George the Fourth's Bridge, that it is half- 

 past three. 



But look this way : a Merlin has already arrived, 

 bearing in his claws an unfortunate snipe, which he 

 clutched as it was searching for a few worms, to satisfy 

 the hunger of its patient and uncomplaining young, that 

 lay squat among the moss in the low grounds beside 

 the Milton Burn. What a clamour the ravenous crea- 

 tures make, as their motlier throws down the prey, 



