We were reminded of this more than once, and it never failed to
depress us properly. If one had ever lived in Pittsburg, Fall
River, or Kansas City, I should think it would be almost impossible
to maintain self-respect in a place like Edinburgh, where the
citizens `are released from the vulgarising dominion of the hour.'
Whenever one of Auld Reekie's great men took this tone with me, I
always felt as though I were the germ in a half-hatched egg, and he
were an aged and lordly cock gazing at me pityingly through my
shell. He, lucky creature, had lived through all the struggles
which I was to undergo; he, indeed, was released from `the
vulgarising dominion of the hour'; but I, poor thing, must grow and
grow, and keep pecking at my shell, in order to achieve existence.

Sydney Smith says in one of his letters, `Never shall I forget the
happy days passed there [in Edinburgh], amidst odious smells,
barbarous sounds, bad suppers, excellent hearts, and the most
enlightened and cultivated understandings.' His only criticism of
the conversation of that day (1797-1802) concerned itself with the
prevalence of that form of Scotch humour which was called wut; and
with the disputations and dialectics. We were more fortunate than
Sydney Smith, because Edinburgh has outgrown its odious smells,
barbarous sounds, and bad suppers and, wonderful to relate, has kept
its excellent hearts and its enlightened and cultivated
understandings. As for mingled wut and dialectics, where can one
find a better foundation for dinner-table conversation?

The hospitable board itself presents no striking differences from
our own, save the customs of serving sweets in soup-plates with
dessert-spoons, of a smaller number of forks on parade, of the
invariable fish-knife at each plate, of the prevalent `savoury' and