Street, we acknowledge, had the distinguished honour of being
defended by fortifications, of which we can show no vestiges. We
will not descend to notice the claims of more upstart districts,
called Old New Town and New New Town, not to mention the favourite
Moray Place, which is the Newest New Town of all. We will not match
ourselves except with our equals, and with our equals in age only,
for in dignity we admit of one. We boast being the court end of the
town, possessing the Palace and the sepulchral remains of monarchs,
and that we have the power to excite, in a degree unknown to the
less honoured quarters of the city, the dark and solemn recollections
of ancient grandeur, which occupied the precincts of our venerable
Abbey from the time of St. David till her deserted halls were once
more made glad, and her long silent echoes awakened, by the visit
of our present gracious sovereign.

My long habitation in the neighbourhood, and the quiet respectability
of my habits, have given me a sort of intimacy with good Mrs. Policy,
the housekeeper in that most interesting part of the old building
called Queen Mary's Apartments. But a circumstance which lately
happened has conferred upon me greater privileges; so that, indeed,
I might, I believe, venture on the exploit of Chatelet, who was
executed for being found secreted at midnight in the very bedchamber
of Scotland's mistress.

It chanced that the good lady I have mentioned was, in the discharge
of her function, showing the apartments to a cockney from London
--not one of your quiet, dull, commonplace visitors, who gape,
yawn, and listen with an acquiescent "umph" to the information doled
out by the provincial cicerone. No such thing: this was the brisk,
alert agent of a great house in the city, who missed no opportunity