purlieus of his abode. His house fell under such a load
of infamy that no one dared to sleep in it, until
municipal improvement levelled the structure to the
ground. And my father has often been told in the nursery
how the devil's coach, drawn by six coal-black horses
with fiery eyes, would drive at night into the West Bow,
and belated people might see the dead Major through the
glasses.

Another legend is that of the two maiden sisters. A
legend I am afraid it may be, in the most discreditable
meaning of the term; or perhaps something worse - a mere
yesterday's fiction. But it is a story of some vitality,
and is worthy of a place in the Edinburgh kalendar. This
pair inhabited a single room; from the facts, it must
have been double-bedded; and it may have been of some
dimensions: but when all is said, it was a single room.
Here our two spinsters fell out - on some point of
controversial divinity belike: but fell out so bitterly
that there was never a word spoken between them, black or
white, from that day forward. You would have thought
they would separate: but no; whether from lack of means,
or the Scottish fear of scandal, they continued to keep
house together where they were. A chalk line drawn upon
the floor separated their two domains; it bisected the
doorway and the fireplace, so that each could go out and
in, and do her cooking, without violating the territory
of the other. So, for years, they coexisted in a hateful
silence; their meals, their ablutions, their friendly
visitors, exposed to an unfriendly scrutiny; and at