the crests, autographs, and seals of the ancient nobles and Highland chieftains, many of whose hands were less familiar with the pen than with the good claymore. In the archives of the Antiquarian Society, which are kept in a noble building on the plan of the Parthenon, there seems a sort of blending of antique with modern recollections, as you examine coats of mail, warriors' boots of amazing weight and capacity, the terrible two-handed sword, the cumbrous and cruel instrument of death, strangely called "The Maiden," the pulpit of John Knox, and the joint-stool hurled by Jane Geddes at the head of the dean of Peterborough, who she said was "preaching popery in her lugs," because he essayed to read the Liturgy, just commanded to be used in the churches by Charles the First.
I have hinted that an unusual perseverance animated us in our explorations of Edinburgh. We seemed neither to feel fatigue, nor to fear satiety. The acme of a traveller's zeal came over us there. It was like a first love, rendered more unquenchable by the restraints and apprehensions of the voyage, from which we had just escaped. Old Holyrood, the wind-swept eminences of Salisbury and Arthur's Seat, the cold trickling waters of St. Anthony's fountain, the rugged cairn of Nichol Muskat, and the birth-place of the magician who described it, the sweet scenery of Randolph's cliff, the squares, the statues, the drives in the suburbs, the noble University, the prince-
