86 MEMOIR OF THOMAS BEWICK. 



should have been, at the nod of their chieftains, 

 called out to the wild foray by the slogan horn, or 

 the shrill notes of the bugle; that they should have 

 been led to meet and slaughter each other, to 

 manure the ground with their blood, amidst the 

 clash of arms and the thrilling music of the pipes, 

 which helped to excite them on to close their eyes 

 in death. These transactions, which are handed 

 down to their descendants of the present generation 

 in traditionary tales, and kept in remembrance by 

 the songs and tunes of old times, serve now only 

 as food for reflection or amusement. 



On entering Edinburgh, having been recom- 

 mended by Mr. Robertson, silversmith, to the 

 landlord of the George Inn, Bristoport, I halted 

 there ; but, being quite unacquainted with the 

 customs of living in such places, I knew not what 

 to do, or how to conduct myself. I, however, 

 called for a pint of beer, and I think it was the 

 first I ever called for in my life, when, lo ! a good- 

 looking girl, bare-footed and bare-legged, entered 

 with a pewter pot, almost the size of a half leg of 

 a boot. This I thought I could not empty in a 

 week. As I found I could not remain in this place, 

 I sought for another, and luckily fell in with an old 

 Newcastle acquaintance, Mrs. Hales, the wife (or 

 widow) of - - Hales, the coachman to Lord Chief 

 Baron Ord; and to her I stated my case, went with 

 her, and felt quite at home in her house. After I 

 had seen as much of u Auld Reekie" as I could, 

 and been lost in admiration at the grandeur of its 

 situation, and of its old buildings, I next day called 

 upon Hector Gavin, an engraver, in Parliament 

 Close. This kind man a stranger to me after a 

 bit of chat about the arts, c., threw by his tools, 



