winds are keen and cutting. Umbrella and “waterproof” are
indispensable; overshoes, also, if it is your habit to wear them, for
“the rain it raineth every day”--so to speak. This is not the remark of
a hasty tourist. I have been making trips to Scotland for the past
twenty years and I have stayed there for weeks at a time.
It is cool here and rain is frequent, but everything in this life has
its compensation. This is the twentieth day of August, 1891, and we have
strawberries for breakfast every morning and fresh green peas are in
season. Large, luscious strawberries and raspberries sixpence a quart.
Edinburgh, remember, is four hundred miles north of London. The twilight
is long and late, I was reading a badly-printed Scotch newspaper this
evening by daylight at half-past eight.
Labor is cheap here, and yet boys do men’s work, such as driving carts
and sweeping the streets.
The drives in and about Edinburgh are very attractive, and there are no
better roads anywhere.
There are tram-cars in the city: fare, inside, two pence; “on top,” one
penny. There are also two lines of cable cars.
In a “distillery agent’s” window, in Princes street, I saw flasks of
wine marked “two shillings.” I stepped in and bought a flask. “One penny
more,” remarked the salesman. “For what,” said I, inquiringly. “For the
cork.” When I reached my hotel I applied a corkscrew; it wouldn’t budge.
The penny “cork” was a glass stopper with a “worm,” to screw on and off.
It strikes a stranger as rather odd to see men and boys carry so much on
their heads and to see them balance their loads with such nicety.
Instead of using small, light push carts, or delivering goods in baskets
hanging on the arm, as is done in New York, Edinburgh boys use a tray or
flat board with an edge turned up, in which they carry vegetables, meat,
poultry, fruit, etc. This tray is placed on the head and is scarcely
ever touched by the hand except to load or unload. The head in
Edinburgh is made to do good physical service.
The house still stands, and is likely to stand for centuries, in which
Walter Scott lived for years, and in which he wrote several of his
novels. It is of granite, with a rounded (swelled) front, three stories
high and about thirty feet wide. You must look it up when you go to
Edinburgh--No. 39 Castle street. It is now used for office purposes, and
is tenanted by doctors, lawyers, civil engineers and the like. In the
transom window, over the door, you will see a small marble bust of the
novelist.
Princes street, the principal street, is not very long, only about one
mile, but as far as it goes it is not easily surpassed in any city. On
one side are the principal hotels and business blocks, all of granite or
freestone; on the other side are the handsome Princes Gardens with
monuments and the magnificent Art Institute in the foreground, and in
the background such buildings as the Castle, several churches and the
Bank of Scotland.
The gardens, with their terraces, gravel walks, fountains, rustic seats,
lawns and flower-beds are uncommonly attractive. It would seem that
nowhere are the flowers brought to a higher state of cultivation than in
the Princes Gardens.
Blackwood has a large but very quiet-looking shop in George street, not
so crowded a thoroughfare as Princes street, but in which a very select
business is transacted.
Thomas Nelson & Sons have the largest book publishing establishment in
Scotland--I was going to say in Great Britain. Their business buildings
cover a vast space of ground, and Mr. Nelson’s residence, not far from
Holyrood Palace and Arthur’s Seat, is one of the most attractive private
citizens’ residences in this part of the country. It was only two or
three years ago, so a coachman informed me, that Mr. Nelson gave ten
thousand pounds to restore the front of the castle.
David Douglas, whose retail house is at No. 9 Castle street, makes a
specialty of publishing and republishing works of American authors, and
finds his profit in it. You may pick up on his counters almost anything
of Longfellow, Holmes, Lowell, Howells, Winter and Aldrich. Winter’s
“Shakespeare in England” and his latest work, “Gray Days and Gold,” were
both published by Douglas, duplicate plates being sent over to Macmillan
of New York.
Talk of books being expensive in England: these very books by Winter
which Macmillan sells in New York at seventy-five cents each,
Douglas publishes at two shillings; in paper covers for one
shilling--twenty-five cents.
Douglas’s people tell me that Winter’s books find a ready sale in Great
Britain. The critics and the reading public are delighted with his
sketches of English and Scotch scenery, and especially with his
scholarly and beautiful descriptions of Stratford-on-Avon and
Shakespeare’s country. They think that no author has written with more
reverence and feeling about Shakespeare. They find “his language
poetical and his style artistic, with a Meissonier-like finish.”
FRUITS AND FLOWERS.--In Scotland herrings are always sold by pairs,
haddocks by threes. In England and Scotland fruit is sold by the pound,
so are vegetables: and this fair and excellent method proves
satisfactory to buyer and seller. Flowers and fruit are sold in the same
shop: the signs read, “fruiterer and florist.” Flowers are very high in
price. They use growing flowers and living plants in pots very freely to
decorate the dinner table, but this idea, which is pretty enough in its
way, is carried too far in hotel dining-rooms. So many tall plants make
the table look dark and heavy, and the broad leaves prevent you from
seeing your neighbor or chatting with a friend on the other side of the
table, for in some hotels they still persist in using the old-fashioned
long tables which are neither home-like nor comfortable. Choice fruit,
being either imported from the warmer climates or grown under glass, is
very expensive in the British kingdom. You pay sixpence or a shilling
for a peach or nectarine; two shillings each for choice varieties. The
largest and handsomest peach ever grown, possibly, or certainly ever
shown, was exhibited last summer in a shop window in Buchanan street,
Glasgow. It weighed eighteen ounces, price three-and-sixpence.
The capital of Scotland is always spelled Edinburgh, but is always
pronounced Edinboro’.
In the stamp department of the post-office in Edinburgh there is a
shallow indentation about four inches square in the table, in which a
piece of felt is kept constantly damp. Instead of putting the stamp on
your tongue you pass it over the piece of felt before placing it on the
envelope. Small matter, but very convenient, and shows thoughtfulness on
the part of the authorities.
STREET RELIGION.--There’s a great deal of poverty and drunkenness in
Edinburgh, but there is also a great deal of religion. All the churches
are well attended on Sunday, and there are preaching, praying and
singing in the public streets. Church choirs, men and women, stand and
sing in the public highways. In the lower quarters of the city they
attract people with a harmonium, which is wheeled about from place to
place. Passers-by stop, join in the singing, and in fine weather uncover
their heads. The singers are not paid for their services.
THE DOGS.--Here’s a hint for the society which Mr. Henry Bergh
founded:--On the sidewalk in front of large shops and public buildings
in Glasgow and Edinburgh they place small earthenware or iron vessels
filled with water for passing dogs. The vessel is simply and legibly
marked “DOG.” Probably the dogs cannot read, but they seem to know or to
“nose out” the shops where such a humane practice is carried out. But a
certain Scotch editor contends that Scotch dogs can read.
INDIA RUBBER PAVEMENT.--The attention of every stranger who walks in
Princes street, Edinburgh, is immediately arrested as soon as he gets in
front of a certain shop, nearly opposite the castle, where rubber goods
are sold. His attention is arrested because he finds himself on a
yielding pavement. It is a rubber “sidewalk” (as we say in New York),
and was laid there by the enterprising shopkeeper. It is very pleasant
and comfortable to walk on, and so durable that the authorities have
talked about putting down rubber pavements on both sides of Princes
street.
GLASGOW UNIVERSITY.--There is not much for the tourist to see in Glasgow
except the university, the cathedral, founded in the fourteenth century,
and the municipal buildings. But the first-named is worth walking many
miles to visit, if one is interested in such things. I spent several
hours in the university with pleasure and profit. This university,
Glasgow people claim, is the finest in Scotland. It accommodates
twenty-three hundred students, who pay on an average of forty pounds a
year. It is generously endowed. The buildings are of granite and present
a noble appearance, standing on very high ground in their own large
park, which is beautifully laid out with terraces, flower beds and
gravel walks. There are some grand old trees in the park, and a pretty
winding lake, over which are thrown many picturesque bridges. Though it
is a seat of learning, you will not expect the services of a college
professor as a cicerone, but you might naturally expect to hear fair
English spoken. The liveried servant who guides you will tell you, with
strong aspirations, of the “helementary” classes and the “school of
harts.” In describing the _modus operandi_ of taking the gold medal, the
graduate sitting in a very high-backed chair, which is several hundred
years old, you will be told “it’s a very ’igh honor.”
In the “Edinburgh Café,” a fairish kind of restaurant in Princes
street, opposite the Scott monument, a penny is charged for the
privilege of washing your hands, and a penny for the use of a napkin.
The majority of this café’s customers, however, if the truth must be
told, make a _mouchoir_ serve for a _serviette_.
SLIPPERS SUPPLIED FREE.--If you go to Philp’s Cockburn (pronounced
Coburn) Hotel in Edinburgh, it matters not if you have forgotten to pack
your slippers in your portmanteau, for the porter will provide you with
a pair. One hundred pairs of red morocco slippers are kept at this hotel
for the use of guests. A foot of any size can be accommodated, and there
is no charge.
Smoking is not allowed in bedrooms of Scotch hotels, and a notice to
that effect is posted in each room. “Smoking rooms” are provided, and
only such apartment may be used for this purpose. They are both smoky
and dingy.
AN EDINBURGH DOLLAR DINNER.--I have dined at the leading hotels in New
York, at “The States,” in Saratoga, the Breslin, at Lake Hopatcong, and
my experience includes the leading hotels in the principal European
capitals, and the leading hotels in the Southern and far Western States,
as far as California, yet I can say that the _table d’hôte_ dinner
served at Philp’s Cockburn Hotel, Edinburgh (on Sunday, August 24,
1890), will rank with the fare at any of these houses, and it excels the
table d’hôte at some high-priced hotels in London and Paris. And the
price charged for this dinner was very moderate--only four shillings,
about one dollar. The dinner included grouse, peaches, strawberries and
nectarines, and from the hare soup down to the dessert, everything was
well cooked and nicely served. The charge is remarkably moderate when it
is understood that this is a “temperance house,” and when you know that
the choice fruit is grown under glass at high cost. The dinner would
have been perfect with _café noir_ at the close, but this is not served
in British hotels without additional charge.
THE BURNS MONUMENT.
If Baltimore is the monumental city of the United States, Edinburgh may
surely be called the monumental city of the United Kingdom. The majority
of its public buildings, of freestone or granite, are noble structures
standing on hills in the heart of the city, and for their situation
alone would command admiration--the old Castle, Nelson monument, the
city prison, the National Gallery, the Bank of Scotland, etc. No bank in
the world occupies a more commandiug site than the one just named. Owing
to the peculiar natural formation of the land upon which the city is
built, an observer may stand in one spot in Edinburgh (say the Waverly
Gardens) and see a greater number of splendid buildings at a glance than
may be seen simultaneously from the level in any other city.
Not among the largest by any means but among the most interesting must
be reckoned the Burns monument, which occupies a high position near its
still higher neighbor, the Nelson monument, on Calton Hill. The Burns
monument was built in 1830 for the purpose of containing a marble statue
of the poet by Flaxman. The building, of freestone, is a circular temple
on a quadrangular basement surrounded by a peristyle of twelve
Corinthian columns which support an entablature and cornice. Over this
is a cupola, a restoration of the monument of Lysicrates at Athens. The
whole is surmounted by a tripod supported by winged griffins. The
extreme height of the structure is fifty feet, the twelve outside
columns are fourteen feet high and the twelve inside columns are ten
feet high. The latter are of freestone painted to represent variegated
marble. The cost of the monument and statue was three thousand three
hundred pounds sterling (about sixteen thousand five hundred
dollars)--not a large sum considering the result attained.
Besides the statue of the poet, the monument holds a number of
relics--letters written by or to Burns, the worm-eaten three legged
stool upon which the poet sat in 1786 and ’87 while correcting the
proofs of his poems, and other things of interest. One of the most
interesting letters is that subjoined. As is well known, the poet
spelled his name Burness (his family name) until the publication of his
poems in 1786. The letter is thus addressed:
To
Mr. James Burness,
Writer, Montrose.
_My Dear Cousin_:
When you offered me money assistance, little did I think I should
want it so soon. A rascal of a haberdasher to whom I owe a
considerable bill, taking into his head that I am dying, has
commenced a process against me and will infallibly put my emaciated
body into jail. Will you be so good as to accommodate me, and that
by return of post, with ten pounds. O, James, did you know the
pride of my heart you would feel doubly for me. Alas, I am not used
to beg. The worse of it is my health was coming about finely, you
know, and my physician assures me that melancholy and low spirits
are half my disease. Guess then my horrors since this business
began. If I had it settled I would be, I think, quite well in a
manner. O, do not disappoint me.
Among other relics preserved in frames and hung on the walls is the
printed newspaper report of Burns’s death. This occurred at Dumfries,
July 21, 1796, and the report appeared in the London _Herald_ of July
27--nearly one week after. The London _Herald_ of that day was a very
small sheet, about fifteen inches long and only four columns wide,
price fourpence halfpenny a copy. The obituary notice is unique and is
worth reproducing to-day:
DEATH OF MR. ROBERT BURNS,
THE CELEBRATED POET.
On the twenty-first instant died at Dumfries, after a lingering
illness, the celebrated Robert Burns. His poetical compositions,
distinguished equally by the force of native humor, by the warmth
and tenderness of passion, and by the glowing touches of a
descriptive pencil, will remain a lasting monument of the vigor and
versatility of a mind, guided only by the light of nature and the
inspirations of genius. The public, to whose amusement he so
largely contributed, will learn with regret that the last months of
his short life were spent in sickness and indigence, and his widow
and five infant children, and in the hourly expectation of a sixth,
is now left without any resource but what she may hope from the
regard due to the memory of her husband.
Apropos to the subject come these remarks in the New York _Sun_:
It is better to write a little book that is full of heart and
brains than a big book that lacks both. Probably there is no writer
but Robert Burns who has made such broad and enduring renown as his
through a book as small as his. This thought arose while taking a
glimpse of a new statue of the bard that is to be erected in a city
out West. There is a statue of Burns in our Central Park; there is
another up at Albany; there is at least one in Australia, and there
are several statues of him in the British Isles. All that he wrote
appears as a tiny volume in the latest edition of his works; much
of it is in a dialect that is hard to be understood by
English-speaking people, and he died in obscurity about one hundred
years ago. Yet there are probably as many public statues of him in
various parts of the globe as there are of Shakespeare, who wrote
voluminously.
Monuments, however, are not Edinburgh’s only attractions, but do not
count on seeing the sights there on Sunday. The day is closely and
strictly observed. London is surely quiet enough on a Sunday, but it is
gayety itself when compared with the capital of Scotland. Not a shop is
open; even the drug shops are open only during two hours. Everything is
shut as tight as a drum in Edinburgh except the churches, and to these
you must either walk or hire a carriage, for not the wheel of an omnibus
or car turns on Sunday.
[Illustration: THE BURNS MONUMENT.]
[Illustration] RIGHT REVEREND THE MODERATOR,
JAMES MACGREGOR, D. D.
In September, 1890, I had the privilege of listening to England’s
foremost preacher, Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, in his Tabernacle at Newington
Butts, in London; and one year later, on Sunday, September 16, 1891,
happening to be in Edinburgh, I made it a point to hear the Rev. James
Macgregor, the leading light of the Scotch Presbyterian Church.
Americans mostly flock to St. Giles’s in Canongate, on account of its
age and historical associations. They attend divine service there early
in the morning with the soldiers from the old castle. But I wanted to
hear a great preacher, so I repaired to Synod Hall, which the members of
St. Cuthbert’s parish were using as a temporary place of worship.
The extensive alterations, internally and externally, which were then
making in St. Cuthbert’s Church, will render it, in some respects,
worthy of the site, and of its long and honorable history. The present
structure dates from the year 1775. Only the tower and spire of the old
church will be retained, and the new edifice, which will not be finished
until the autumn of 1892, will accommodate a much larger number of
people than the former building did.
It is a notable fact that on the spot where the building stands--under
the Castle Rock of Edinburgh--Christian worship has been continuously
maintained for more than a thousand years. It is, indeed, one of the
very oldest shrines in Scotland, hallowed by the prayers of the
faithful, which have arisen from it for century upon century.
Originally a mere Culdee cell, dedicated to the memory of Cuthbert, the
monk of Lindisfarne, it has passed through a variety of forms. Changing
with the revolutions of Scottish history, it has been Roman Catholic,
Presbyterian, Episcopalian, and finally Presbyterian.
The whole aspect of the place where it rose has changed. The Nor’ Loch,
which stretched away from it eastward under the Castle Rock, has
disappeared; the sweep of undulating country has been transformed into
wide streets; a great city has arisen around it; and it still remains
what it has been for ages, a centre of Christian influence to a wide
community.
It is interesting as a piece of religious history to note that within
little more than a stone’s throw of the site of the present structure is
the spot where the first General Assembly was held on the 20th of
December, 1560. It consisted of forty-two members, of whom only six were
ministers. The first name on the roll is that of “John Knox.” It was a
fully equipped Ecclesiastical Convention, and at once proceeded to
important business. There is no parallel instance of a court with such
authority springing so suddenly into being. That authority was almost
sovereign. It was based on the sanction and support of the popular will.
With a power to which the Scottish Parliament never attained, it was the
representative assembly of the Scottish people, embracing within it from
the very beginning the pith of the nation’s manhood. The General
Assembly was simply the Scotch people convened, through their natural
representatives, to settle their own religious affairs. And they did it
effectually. Never was a change so radical and so beneficial effected in
as brief a space of time as that accomplished by the Scottish
Reformation.
So much for the past. Synod Hall, which, as I have said, was temporarily
occupied by the congregation of St. Cuthbert’s, is a large freestone
building occupying a prominent site in Castle Terrace opposite the back
of the Castle. It accommodates about twenty-five hundred people. A bold
placard in the vestibule informed the hundreds of strangers in and about
the vestibule that they would be admitted into the body of the church a
few minutes before the services commenced. The “strangers” waited with
all the patience they could command, and when the sign was made by one
of the deacons, they flocked in, a large space at the back of the house
being set apart for them. Soon every seat was occupied and people were
requested to please sit closer together. Then, when there was not an
inch of room to spare on the benches, chairs were placed in the aisles.
Dr. James Macgregor, the present minister, was appointed Moderator of
the General Assembly for the current year in May, 1891. He has been
connected with St. Cuthbert’s for fourteen years, having succeeded Dr.
Barclay, now in Montreal. St. Cuthbert’s, or, as it is also called, the
“West End Church,” is not given to making changes oftener than is
necessary. Dr. Barclay is said to be the only man who ever left St.
Cuthbert’s; his predecessors all died at their posts.
In Synod Hall there is no organ; the music was supplied by the
congregation and a choir. St. Cuthbert’s usually rejoices in a large
choir, but on the occasion of my visit many of its members were “away on
their holidays,” as they call their vacation in Great Britain. The choir
on that Sunday numbered fifteen--three men and twelve of the gentler
sex.
Mr. Edie, a promising and rather brilliant man under thirty, who has a
clear voice and a Scotch accent is assistant to Dr. Macgregor. The first
selection of song which he gave out was the 129th Psalm:
Lord of the worlds above
How pleasant and how fair
The dwellings of Thy love,
The earthly temples are.
Then Mr. Edie read the 62d Chapter of Isaiah. The next selection for the
congregation was the 102d Psalm, 6th Verse: “And God in His glory shall
appear;” and then the 356th Hymn: “Te Deum Laudamus.”
Mr. Edie concluded his part of the services with a fervent and beautiful
prayer in which, after the Queen, Prince of Wales, the princess, the
judges and magistrates of great Britain were enumerated, special mention
was made of the President and people of the United States; of “our
wandering brethren, the children of Israel; of our Catholic brethren;
bless all honorable business men; bless our friends and also those who
have wronged us.”
Dr. Macgregor, who then rose from a chair, took his text from the 4th
Chapter, 1st Verse, of “Hosea:” “Hear the word of the Lord, ye children
of Israel.”
Then followed a brilliant discourse on the history of the Jewish race,
in which, incidentally, much information was conveyed, the main ideas
being: first, that the government of Great Britain should use its
influence in behalf of the Russian refugees; second that the Christian
people owe much to the Jews and should therefore be most charitable
toward them.
The minister paid a high tribute to the chosen people and their
characteristics. He said that the countries which abused them most,
Spain and Portugal, had been least prosperous, and it would be strange,
indeed, if Russia suffered not for its inhuman persecution of them;
that, in fact, it was suffering.