GLIMPSES OF WESTERN EUROPE. 
137 
to-morrow. Distance to Melrose, 15 miles. Would my patience suffer more 
by the delay, or my legs from the journey on foot ? Patience is of more 
value, and so I risk the legs. “The way to Melrose, if you please sir?” 
“That is it, sir; smooth and not difficult.” “Thank you.” The night is 
pleasant, the time sufficient, and I shall not hasten my steps. * * Fancy 
leads me to wander from the way and climbing yonder mountain wait for the 
rising sun. May be it will reveal to my gaze a good part of all Scotland ! 
At length the tops of the eastern hills are touched by the finger of Aurora, 
and a soft and radiant light steals over the world: and now in even more 
than wonted majesty and glory, the sun, thus fitly heralded, appears. Verily 
my dream was not a vain one ; for does not “ the glory of the whole earth” 
lie before me ? Mountains and valleys, rivers, verdant fields and barren 
moors, a score of villages, and in the far distance the longed for Edinburgh, 
city of centuries! I stand upon the Eildon Hills. Melrose, with its far-famed 
old Abbey, built by David I. almost a thousand years ago, lies at my very 
feet, and Abbotsford, home of the immortal Scott, near by, on the rolling 
Tweed. Charming visits to the Abbey and to Abbotsford, and then off for 
Edinburgh. 
The splendid fertile farms of East Lothian, with their fine old substantial 
dwellings, barns and other buildings, fiit by like leaves on the wind; the lo¬ 
comotive whistles its bold, cheery salute ; the grey old spires and castle tur¬ 
rets return a grim and stately welcome, and we are at last in the very pre¬ 
cincts of Edinburgh, ancient metropolis of heroic old Scotia! The 
railway enters the city through the valley once known as North Loch, 
but now redeemed from the straggling waters of the Firth of Forth and made 
beautiful as Fontainebleau by the substitution therefor ©f blooming gar¬ 
dens and sparkling fountains. 
First of all we pass Holyrood Palace, and the remains of a dilapidated Ab¬ 
bey built in the old times of 700 years ago—a famous spot in the history of 
Scotland. The Abbey, founded in 1128, included with it a circuit of some five 
miles, which entire area was (and we are told still remains) a sanctuary for 
debtors, within which no bailiff, with his posse comitaius, dare enter. What a 
heaven for shiftless fellows, poor unfortunates and unscrupulous scalawags ! 
The wonder is that a circuit of only five miles should uot be uncomfortably 
packed a good part of the time. Either the dwellers in the “ Land O’Cakes” 
are remarkably honest, or the officers of the law are unmercifully swift. 
The Abbey has gone to ruins but the Palace is still kept in good repair. 
On the right as we pass to the station, is seen Caton Hill, 344 feet above 
the level of the sea, and crowned with Lord Nelson’s tall and circular tower, 
with the half completed Parthenonic National monument to the memory of 
heroic Scotchmen who fell in the Napoleonic wars, with monuments to Play¬ 
fair, Dugal! Stewart, a Corinthian temple, with a statue of Robert Burns, and 
the High School, the Observatory and Gaol. The lout ensemble of this 
array of public and artistic works is thoroughly suggestive of Athenian and 
Roman scenes, and produces a pleasing effect upon the mind of the beholder. 
The train stops. I ascend a staircase, pass through the great waiting room 
and stand upon High Bridge. Immediately before me, in the beautiful valley 
of the Loch, are railway tracks, winding like serpents through grassy lawns 
and charming gardens; and further on, standing grim and grey upon the 
the very brow of a bold projecting cliff, three hundred feet above the valley, 
is the veritable old castle of which we have all read and dreamed, glowering 
down upon the city, old and new, with glimpses of a magnificent landscape 
yet beyond. On the high hillside are college buildings, the Bank of Scot¬ 
land and quaint old blocks of merchant shops and dwellings, some of them 
eleven stories high 1 While to the right, parallel with the valley and lined 
with stately buildings, and especially marked by the towering Gothic monu¬ 
ment to Sir Walter Scott, lies Princess’ strqet, one of the most charming 
promenades of Europe. The effect is beyond description, surpassing any¬ 
thing that I have hitherto experienced in my European travels. * * *• 
Here I find a friend of Wisconsin acquaintance, Mr. J. P. Faulkner, barris¬ 
ter, by whom I am cordially received and entertained. In the evening, after 
a day charmingly spent in visiting the city and and its surroundings, we sup 
