Well

sition, intelligence, morality, and religion. may the stubborn Scot be proud of such a metropolis. Graceful beyond all other cities, she sits a queen upon her many hills. The old town, like a venerable mother grown gray with age, round whose hoary piles is wreathed the highest historical interest; and beside her, like a maiden fair, sits the new town, with her broad avenues and regal squares, the noble offspring of so venerable a parent; while the old castle, standing a little at one side, seems proud to be the guardian of both. No other city can present so great an array of architectural beauty, rendered interesting by the pen of genius. Its literary character is stamped on all sides; every block in Princess street seems to contain a bookstore, and some of them I think more than one. The people are intelligent, warmhearted, enthusiastic, and kind. A more delightful place in which to spend the eve of life could not well be imagined. Business is not driven with that intensity and on that high-pressure system so peculiar to our American cities. Though men have made fortunes, and some kinds of business are conducted on the largest scale, yet all is carried on in a manner becoming rational and im

mortal beings. The same is true of working men. Mechanics throughout the city work ten hours and a half on the first five days of the secular week, and they all quit work at half-past two on Saturday afternoon. The odd half hour of five days being carried to the credit of Saturday, they have thus an afternoon's leisure, without expense either to themselves or their employers. practice, I think, is well worthy of imitation.

This

One afternoon I clambered up the steep hill overhanging the city, on the top of which is Arthur's Seat. The wind was blowing so strongly, it was with great difficulty that I could retain footing, as I pushed my way up its rugged side ; but once on the top, I was well repaid for my labor, by the magnificent panorama that lay before me. Part of eighteen counties can be seen from this elevated position. Immediately at my feet lay the city, with its princely dwellings, tall spires, and tasteful monuments; beyond it the Solway Frith, and still further on, the hills of Fife; behind lay Duddingston, with its pretty loch, in picturesque beauty; at some distance to the right, and a little way out in the ocean, was the Bass Rock, celebrated as the place of confinement, in

persecuting times, of the holy men of God-men of "whom the world was not worthy." To the left, the view was limited only by dim distance, and included Libberton, Morningside, Roslin, and other places of singular beauty. What is termed Arthur's Seat is a kind of little shelf, just large enough to sit upon, on the very highest point of the rock, where King Arthur (of round-table celebrity) is said to have sat, when his men were contending in battle with the enemy, in the valley below.

In almost every direction around Edinburgh are open parks or meadows, in which, without restriction, the citizens may stroll, affording the strongest temptations to the lover of nature to indulge his taste.

The next morning I rose at half-past five, and, in company with a friend, made a pilgrimage to the tomb of Dr. Chalmers. His remains lie in a cemetery, recently opened, called Mornington, a little way out of Edinburgh, and not far from Morningside, where he dwelt when living. His grave is near the wall. In the wall is placed immediately over the grave a plain tablet of stone, like the man, massive and simple, re

cording merely his name, age, and the time of his death; his friends thinking, and thinking correctly, that genius like his needed no eulogy; the works he has left behind him being a higher testimony to it than any living pen could furnish. The remains of his wife lie beside him, and both their names are on the same stone.

We then went to Greyfriars churchyard, where repose the ashes of many of Scotland's sainted dead-George Buchanan-Professor Robertson— Dr. McCrie, and others. A series of vaults are built in the wall on the one side, in one of which Archbishop Sharpe was buried. It seems difficult to find language sufficiently strong to express the abhorrence that all honorable-minded men must feel for this hypocritical villain. At the restoration of Charles II., he was sent up to London to represent the Presbyterian interests, by some of the leading ministers in Edinburgh. While he was in their employ and confidence, he was at the same time purchasing for himself, at the expense of sacrificing the interests of his representatives, and his own professed principles, the position of Archbishop. When he attained the object of his ambition, he became a violent persecutor.

Welsh, Cameron, Kidd, and Douglass were the special objects of his hatred. He was a member of a council which ordered the Earl of Linlithgow to send out an armed force against them, merely because they preached the gospel in its purity, authorizing him to seize them wherever found, "and," to quote the language of the council, "in case of resistance, to pursue them to the death." He was an apostate, and a perjured man. For eighteen years he had been the chief cause of much bloodshed, and of terrible suffering to the people of God. On one occasion, by withholding the King's letter, nine sufferers, whom it would have saved, were put to a cruel and ignominious death. Such was the character of this man-and as he showed no mercy to others, so he found none in his own death. He was met by three mistaken zealots, while crossing a moor near St Andrews, and told by them that he must die. "Judas be taken," was their language, as they stopped his carriage. He begged for his life-offered to give them money and to abandon his prelatic station if they would have mercy on him-but they were relentlessthe blow was struck and his guilty soul passed into eternity. He was buried no doubt with great