. by Chantrey, in George street: the artist has
caught the pert strut so familiar in the portraits, at sight of which
one involuntarily exclaims, "Behold the royal swell!"

[Illustration: THE NORTH BRIDGE.]

But the New Town has two superb features, about whose merits all are
agreed: we need hardly say these are Princes street and the Calton
Hill. Princes street extends along the brow of the hill over-hanging the
ravine which separates the two towns, and which is now occupied by
public gardens: along their grassy slopes the eye wanders over trees and
flowers to the great rock which o'ertops the greenery, bearing aloft the
Castle as its crown, while from the Castle the Old Town, clustering
along the height, streams away like a dark and deeply-colored train. The
Calton Hill offers to the view a wide-spreading panorama. At our feet
are the smoking chimneys of Auld Reekie, from which we gladly turn our
eyes to the blue water and the shores of Fife, or seek out in the shadow
of Salisbury Crags and Arthur's Seat the tottering arch of Holyrood
Abbey. The hill is well dotted over,

All up and down and here and there,
With Lord-knows-what's of round and square;

which on examination prove to be monuments to the great departed. A
great change has taken place in the prevalent taste since they were
erected, and they are not now pointed out to the stranger with fond
pride, as in the past generation. The best one is that to Dugald
Stewart, an adaptation, the guide-books say, of the Choragic Monument of
Lysicrates. The all-pervading photograph has made it so familiar that it
comes upon one as an old friend.

The Burns Monument is a circular edifice with columns and a cupola. It
has all the outward semblance of a tomb, so that one is rather startled
to find it tenanted by a canny Scot--a live one--who presides with
becomingly sepulchral gravity over a twopenny show of miscellaneous
trumpery connected with Robert Burns. Everywhere in old Edinburgh we
have seen going on the inevitable struggle between utility and
sentiment: at Burns's Monument it ceases, and we conclude our ramble at
this point, where the sentimentalist and the utilitarian shake hands,
the former deeply sympathizing with the sentiment which led to the
building of the monument, while the latter fondly admires the ingenuity
which can turn even a cenotaph to account.

ALFRED S. GIBBS.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Baloo is a lullaby,