stones of the Cowgate. He could see nothing. The scattered
gas-lamps, blurred by the wet, only made a timbered gallery or
stone stairs stand out here and there or lighted up a Gothic
gargoyle to a fantastic grin. The street lay so deep and narrow
that sleet and wind wasted little time in finding it out, but
roared and rattled among the gables, dormers and chimney-stacks
overhead. Happy in finding his master himself again, and sniffing
fresh adventure, Bobby tumbled noisily about Auld Jock's feet
until reproved. And here was strange going. Ancient and warring
smells confused and insulted the little country dog's nose. After
a few inquiring and protesting barks Bobby fell into a subdued
trot at Auld Jock's heels.

To this shepherd in exile the romance of Old Edinburgh was a
sealed book. It was, indeed, difficult for the most imaginative
to believe that the Cowgate was once a lovely, wooded ravine,
with a rustic burn babbling over pebbles at its bottom, and along
the brook a straggling path worn smooth by cattle on their driven
way to the Grassmarket. Then, when the Scottish nobility was
crowded out of the piled-up mansions, on the sloping ridge of
High Street that ran the mile from the Castle to Holyrood Palace,
splendor camped in the Cowgate, in villas set in fair gardens,
and separated by hedge-rows in which birds nested.

In time this ravine, too, became overbuilt. Houses tumbled down
both slopes to the winding cattle path, and the burn was arched
over to make a thoroughfare. Laterally, the buildings were
crowded together, until the upper floors were pushed out on
timber brackets for light and air. Galleries, stairs and jutting
windows were added to outer walls, and the mansions climbed,