rated by the ideas of antiquity, and the multitude of human beings, are so much swelled and improved by the admixture of those other lofty, perhaps yet loftier feelings, which arise from the contemplation of free and spacious nature herself. Edinburgh, even were its population as great as that of London, could never be merely a city. Here there must always be present the idea of the comparative littleness of all human works. Here the proudest of palaces must be content to catch the shadows of mountains; and the grandest of fortresses to appear like the dwellings of pigmies, perched on the very bulwarks of creation. Everywhere-all around-you have rocks frowning over rocks in imperial elevation, and descending, among the smoke and dust of a city, into dark depths such as nature alone can excavate. The builders of the old city, too, appear as if they had made nature the model of their architecture. Seen through the lowering mist which almost perpetually envelopes them, the huge masses of these erections, so high, so rugged in their outlines, so heaped together, and conglomerated and wedged into each other, are not easily to be distinguished from the yet larger and bolder forms of cliff and ravine, among which

their foundations have been pitched. There is a certain gloomy indistinctness in the formation of these fantastic piles, which leaves the eye, that would scrutinize and penetrate them, unsatisfied and dim with gazing.

In company with the first friend I saw, (of whom more anon,) I proceeded at once to take a look of this superb city from a height, placed just over the point where the old and new parts of the town meet. These two quarters of the city, or rather these two neighbouring but distinct cities, are separated by a deep green valley, which once contained a lake, and which is now crossed at one place by a huge earthen mound, and at another by a magnificent bridge of three arches. This valley runs off towards the estuary of the Forth, which lies about a mile and a half from the city, and between the city and the sea there rises on each side of it a hill-to the south that called Arthur's Seat-to the north the lower and yet sufficiently commanding eminence on which I now stood-the Calton Hill.

This hill, which rises about 350 feet above the level of the sea, is, in fact, nothing more than a huge pile of rocks covered with a thin coating of soil, and, for the most part, with a

beautiful verdure.

It has lately been circled all round with spacious gravelled walks, so that one reaches the summit, without the least fatigue. It seems as if you had not quitted the streets, so easy is the ascent; and yet where did streets or city ever afford such a prospect! The view changes every moment as you proceed; yet what grandeur of unity in the general and ultimate impression! At first, you see only the skirts of the New Town, with apparently few public edifices, to diversify the grand uniformity of their outlines; then you have a rich plain, with green fields, groves, and villas, gradually losing itself in the sea-port town of Edinburgh,-Leith. Leith covers, for a brief space, the margin of that magnificent Frith, which recedes upwards among an amphitheatre of mountains, and opens downward into the ocean, broken everywhere by isles green and smiling, excepting where the bare brown rock of the Bass lifts itself above the waters midway to the sea. As you move round, the Frith disappears, and you have Arthur's Seat in your front. In the valley between lies Holyrood, ruined-desolate-but majestic in its desolation. From thence the Old Town stretches its dark shadow-up, in a line

to the summit of the Castle rock-a royal residence at either extremity-and all between an indistinguishable mass of black tower-like structures-the concentrated "walled city," which has stood more sieges than I can tell of.

Here we paused for a time, enjoying the majestic gloom of this most picturesque of cities. A thick blue smoke hung low upon the houses, and their outlines reposed behind on ridges of purple clouds ;—the smoke, and the clouds, and the murky air, giving yet more extravagant bulk and altitude to those huge strange dwellings, and increasing the power of contrast which met our view, when a few paces more brought us once again upon the New Town-the airy bridge the bright green vale below and beyond it and skirting the line of the vale on either side, the rough crags of the Castle rock, and the broad glare of Prince's Street, that most superb of terraces-all beaming in the open yellow light of the sun-steeples and towers, and cupolas scattered bright beneath our feet-and, far as the eye could reach, the whole pomp and richness of distant commotion-the heart of the city.

Such was my first view of Edinburgh. I descended again into her streets in a sort of stupor of admiration.

you

Excuse my troubling you with all this, now that I have written it; but do not be alarmed with any fear, lest I should propose to treat with much more of the same kind of diet. I have no intention to send you a description of the cities and scenery of Scotland. I refer you semel et simul to Sir John Carr and our dear countryman Mr Pennant. I have always been "a fisher of men;" and here also, I promise you, I mean to stick to my vocation. enough for the present.

But

Your's sincerely

P. M.

P. S.-I write from one of the most comfort

able hotels I ever was in, and have already ascertained the excellence of the port.