If I had devoted years to the subject, having the body of Susanna
Crum before my eyes every minute of the time for inspiration,
Susanna Crum is what I should have named that maid. Not a vowel
could be added, not a consonant omitted. I said so when first I saw
her, and weeks of intimate acquaintance only deepened my reverence
for the parental genius that had so described her to the world.



Chapter III. A vision in Princes Street.



When we awoke next morning the sun had forgotten itself and was
shining in at Mrs. M'Collop's back windows.

We should have arisen at once to burn sacrifices and offer
oblations, but we had seen the sun frequently in America, and had no
idea (poor fools!) that it was anything to be grateful for, so we
accepted it, almost without comment, as one of the perennial
providences of life.

When I speak of Edinburgh sunshine I do not mean, of course, any
such burning, whole-souled, ardent warmth of beam as one finds in
countries where they make a specialty of climate. It is, generally
speaking, a half-hearted, uncertain ray, as pale and transitory as a
martyr's smile; but its faintest gleam, or its most puerile attempt
to gleam, is admired and recorded by its well-disciplined
constituency. Not only that, but at the first timid blink of the
sun the true Scotsman remarks smilingly, `I think now we shall be