literary sentiment to deplore the revolutionary
improvements of Mr. Chambers and his following. It is easy to be a
conservator of the discomforts of others; indeed, it is only our good
qualities we find it irksome to, conserve. Assuredly, in driving streets
through the black labyrinth, a few curious old corners have been swept
away, and some associations turned out of house and home. But what
slices of sunlight, what breaths of clean air, have been let in! And
what a picturesque world remains untouched! You go under dark arches,
and down dark stairs and alleys. The way is so narrow that you can lay a
hand on either wall; so steep that, in greasy winter weather, the
pavement is almost as treacherous as ice. Washing dangles above washing
from the windows; the houses bulge outwards upon flimsy brackets; you
see a bit of sculpture in a dark corner; at the top of all, a gable and
a few crowsteps are printed on the sky. Here, you come into a court
where the children are at play and the grown people sit upon their
doorsteps, and perhaps a church spire shows itself above the roofs.
Here, in the narrowest of the entry, you find a great old mansion still
erect, with some insignia of its former state--some scutcheon, some holy
or courageous motto, on the lintel. The local antiquary points out where
famous and well-born people had their lodging; and as you look up, out
pops the head of a slatternly woman from the countess's window. The
Bedouins camp within Pharaoh's palace walls, and the old war-ship is
given over to the rats. We are already a far way from the days when
powdered heads were plentiful in these alleys, with jolly, port-wine
faces underneath. Even in the chief thoroughfares Irish washings flutter
at the windows, and the pavements are encumbered with loiterers.

These loiterers are a true character of the scene. Some shrewd Scotch
workmen may have paused on their way to a job, debating Church affairs
and politics with their tools upon their arm. But the most part are of a
different order--skulking jail-birds; unkempt, barefoot children;
big-mouthed, robust women, in a sort of uniform of striped flannel
petticoat and short tartan shawl: among these, a few supervising
constables and a dismal sprinkling of mutineers and broken men from
higher ranks in society, with some mark of better days upon them, like a
brand. In a place no larger than Edinburgh, and where the traffic is
mostly centred in five or six chief streets, the