e had most of
common nature on a grand scale; his humor, his passion, his sweetness,
are all his own; they need no picturesque or romantic accessories to
give them due relief: looked at by all lights they are the same. Since
Adam, there has been none that approached nearer fitness to stand
up before God and angels in the naked majesty of manhood than Robert
Burns;--but there was a serpent in his field also! Yet but for his
fault we could never have seen brought out the brave and patriotic
modesty with which he owned it. Shame on him who could bear to think
of fault in this rich jewel, unless reminded by such confession.

We passed Abbotsford without stopping, intending to go there on our
return. Last year five hundred Americans inscribed their names in its
porter's book. A raw-boned Scotsman, who gathered his weary length
into our coach on his return from a pilgrimage thither, did us the
favor to inform us that "Sir Walter was a vara intelligent mon," and
the guide-book mentions "the American Washington" as "a worthy old
patriot." Lord safe us, cummers, what news be there!

This letter, meant to go by the Great Britain, many interruptions
force me to close, unflavored by one whiff from the smoke of Auld
Reekie. More and better matter shall my next contain, for here and
in the Highlands I have passed three not unproductive weeks, of which
more anon.

LETTER IV.

EDINBURGH, OLD AND NEW.--SCOTT AND BURNS.--DR. ANDREW COMBE.--AMERICAN
RE-PUBLISHING.--THE BOOKSELLING TRADE.--THE MESSRS. CHAMBERS.--DE
QUINCEY THE OPIUM-EATER.--DR. CHALMERS.

Edinburgh, September 22d, 1846.

The beautiful and stately aspect of this city has been the theme of
admiration so general that I can only echo it. We have seen it to the
greatest advantage both from Calton Hill and Arthur's Seat, and our
lodgings in Princess Street allow us a fine view of the Castle, always
impressive, but peculiarly so in the moonlit evenings of our first
week here, when a veil of mist added to its apparent size, and at the
same time gave it the air with which Martin, in his illustrations
of "Paradise Lost," has invested the palace which "rose like an
exhalation."

On this our second visit, after an absence of near a fortnight in the
Highlands, we are at a hotel nearly facing the new monument to Scott,
and the tallest buildings of the Old Town. From my windows I see
the famous Kirk, the spot where the old Tolbooth was, and can almost
distinguish that w