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And the spectator, according as he was a lover of old things or an amateur of novelties, would have sighed or approved.
The little city, strung from the Castle to Holyroodhouse along her rib of hill, where more history had been made than in any place of like size save Athens, Rome and Jerusalem—which, according to the weather and the observer’s standpoint, looked like a flag flung against the sky or a ship riding by the shore—was enlarging her bounds and entering upon a new career.
Cannon were being made for many nations, and the Carron pipes and sugar-boilers and fire-grates were soon to be famous throughout the land.
There, within sight of the Highland Line, a quarter of a century after a Jacobite army had campaigned on that very ground, the coal and iron of the Scottish midlands were being used in a promising industry.
The failure of Jacobitism flung Scotland back upon herself and forced her to work out her own salvation.
But that bitter task did not increase her love for her southern neighbour.
Around the tavern board or the dinner-table he found the illuminati good Scotsmen, speaking the tongue he fondly remembered, and perpetuating the tales and humours of his youth.
But their public performance surprised him, for it was a sedulous aping of London.
But now the moat of the Nor’ Loch was spanned, and on its farther shore building had begun according to the plans of the ingenious Mr Craig.