sun would not shine and thus make our task the harder. We
have looked our last on the old gray town from Calton Hill, of all
places the best, perhaps, for a view; since, as Stevenson says, from
Calton Hill you can see the Castle, which you lose from the Castle,
and Arthur's Seat, which you cannot see from Arthur's Seat. We have
taken a farewell walk to the Dean Bridge, to gaze wistfully eastward
and marvel for the hundredth time to find so beautiful a spot in the
heart of a city. The soft flowing Water of Leith winding over pebbles
between grassy banks and groups of splendid trees, the roof of the
little temple to Hygeia rising picturesquely among green branches, the
slopes of emerald velvet leading up to the gray stone of the
houses,--where, in all the world of cities, can one find a view to
equal it in peaceful loveliness? Francesca's "bridge-man," who, by the
way, proved to be a distinguished young professor of medicine in the
university, says that the beautiful cities of the world should be
ranked thus,--Constantinople, Prague, Genoa, Edinburgh; but having
seen only one of these, and that the last, I refuse to credit any
sliding scale of comparison which leaves Edina at the foot.

It was nearing tea-time, an hour when we never fail to have visitors,
and we were all in the drawing-room together. I was at the piano,
singing Jacobite melodies for Salemina's delectation. When I came to
the last verse of Lady Nairne's "Hundred Pipers," the spirited words
had taken my fancy captive, and I am sure I could not have sung with
more vigor and passion had my people been "out with the Chevalier."

"The Esk was swollen sae red an' sae deep,
But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep;
Twa thousand swam oure to fell English ground,
An' danced themselves dry to the pibroch's sound.
Dumfounder'd the English saw, they saw,
Dumfounder'd they heard the blaw, the blaw,
Dumfounder'd they a' ran awa', awa',
Frae the hundred pipers an' a', an' a'!"

By the time I came to "Dumfounder'd the English saw" Francesca left
her book and joined in the next four lines, and when we broke into the
chorus Salemina rushed to the piano, and although she cannot sing, she
lifted her voice both high and loud in the refrain, beating time the
while with a dirk paper-knife.

[Transcriber's Note: A brief musical score appears in the text here,
with the lyrics:: Wi' a hun-dred pi-pers an' a', an' a', Wi' a hun-dred
pi-pers