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, bare-foot
children; big-mouthed, robust women, in a sort of uniform
of striped flannel petticoat and short tartan shawl;
among these, a few surpervising 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 same face comes often under the notice of an
idle stroller. In fact, from this point of view,
Edinburgh is not so much a small city as the largest of
small towns. It is scarce possible to avoid observing