wild and sweetly, and being themselves charmed, have charmed the world. When chastened learning and sober science have challenged their attention, they have claimed to lead the rest of mankind-at least they will not be led. They are a people that go by themselves. They have a character of their own, and must have. They respect themselves, and are respected. Look at her warriors of times gone by, but not to be forgotten-look to her poets, her men of science, her metaphysicians, her theologians, and her universities-look to her arts and cities-and say, if Scotland has not a character of her own? She is not stamped by the rest of the world, nor by any part of it, even though, for want of a political importance, the world is not stamped by her. And it is not a little remarkable, it is an illustrious fact-I speak of it as a matter of fact, without deciding the question of its moral influence as good or bad -yet it is a fact, that the genius of a single man has consecrated those wide regions as modern classic ground, and the history of that country as a classic legend. Italy and Greece have at this moment, if possible, less interest in the eye of travellers for their classic associations than the land which gave birth to Walter Scott.

As notable as Scotland has made herself, it is also remarkable that her population should still be quoted at only 2,365,807. The truth is, that her national and political importance having been long merged in what is courteously called a union with England, under the title of North Britain, but what is in fact a subjection to the English crown, the still unsubdued spirit and enterprise of her sons have sought and found scope for action and eminence as rivals among the Southrons, and for a well-earned distinction over the widespread regions of British empire, on which the sun never sets. They fought for national independence till they could fight no longer; since which, they have held on the race for pre-eminence over their neighbours of another kind. In intellectual greatness, in moral virtue, in commercial tact-in literature and science-in the pulpit, in the forum, in parliament, and on the bench-in the drudgery of common life, in affairs of state-at home and abroad-on the sea and on the field-whenever brought into competition with the English in any of these pursuits and in all others, they have generally excelled and carried off the palm.

Once the Scotchman loved his home-and still he loves it, however far away, in the undying affections that are garnered up in the recollections of what he has left behind -in the physical beauties of his native regions, in the endearments of the domestic relations, in the romantic history and poetry of his country, in the religion and patriotism of his ancestors-in all that imagination, and philosophy, and filial piety have made him heir to. In every region of the

Does this seemHe who finds the

globe, and among all shades of national and individual character he is a Scotchman still and true. But so it is: "an Englishman is never happy till he gets in trouble; an Irishman is never in peace till he gets fighting; and the Scotchman is never at home till he gets abroad." ing paradox need an explanation? Scotchman everywhere, has it; the Irish character is too well known to require it; and the characteristic fortitude of the English, which best develops their patience when they have got to a ne plus ultra of difficulty, may answer for them.

HOLYROOD HOUSE.

"Will you wait and see the Duke de Bordeaux ?" said the porter, as I asked his services to show me the Palace of Holyrood in August, 1832.

"How soon will he be out?"

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Immediately. His carriage is waiting, as you see.” "How old is the duke ?"

We met, not only within the gates, but in the very court of the palace. The few who happened to be standing there, uncovered, as the young duke approached, supported by two gentlemen, who assisted him into the carriage, and took seats with him, and the carriage drove off.

Charles X. was not in. I was told, "If you meet a tall man with a long nose, he is the ex-king of France." I have met several men answering to this description since, but I am not sure that either of them was he.

The Dutchess de Berri, mother of the Duke de Bordeaux -alias of Henry V. of France-alias of that little boy, was said to be at that time in London, on her way to the repose of Holyrood, after having endured the fatigues and anxieties of her invasion of France, and of her attempt to dethrone Louis Philip, and place upon the head of her son the crown of the Capets. Poor woman! The French are said to be a fanciful and romantic people, and the Dutchess de Berri is frightfully ugly. They were not charmed. I suppose she had been advised by Chateaubriand's letter, in which he says to her, "The Dutchess de Berri will find neither a throne nor a grave in France. She will be made prisoner, condemned, and pardoned. Judge, madam, whether this will be agreeable." And so the Dutchess de Berri was expected every day at Holyrood. She did not, however, make her appearance, as her errors have since developed.

By the generous hospitality of the King and Parliament of Great Britain, Holyrood House has been made a refuge for the exiled kings of the French branch of the Bourbons. And there the family were residing in dignified retirement, when I visited the place, expecting (poor things) by that

same infatuation which lost them their throne, to return and occupy it again. And even that, peradventure, is possible; for who can tell what shall come next in France?

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

Holyrood House is especially interesting, as having been occupied by the unfortunate Queen Mary, and as the scene of the Rizzio tragedy. The palace lies on the east of Edinburgh, directly between Calton Hill on the north, and Salisbury Crag on the south, down in the lowest bosom of the city, just without the meanest and filthiest part of it. It is built on three sides of a square, the west side or line towards the city being a wall and gate. Within this square of course is an open court, the inner fronts and each side at each story being run with spacious and convenient corridors, giving free access from and to every part of the palace within the court, without exposure to the weather. The building has nothing remarkable in its external features, being in all respects inferior in the style of its architecture to hundreds of houses in the new town of Edinburgh. At the northeast angle without, are the ruins of the ancient chapel, quite picturesque and romantic, the walls only standing.

Having seen the little fellow, Master the Duke, drive off from the gate of the palace, I pursued my way to see what might be seen within. Of course, the apartments appropriated to the use of the ex-king of France and his family were not open to visiters. The gallery of ancient paintings and the apartments of Queen Mary-the very apartments which she occupied, and the very furniture which she used, and the very work of her own fingers, all in statu quo, as she used and left them-(as nearly so as possible, making allowance for such changes in arrangement as might be convenient for the purposes of keeping and of exhibition)— these, as might well be imagined, were the things most attractive.

And there, suspended on the walls of the picture-gallery, large as life, were the portraits of the Scottish monarchs. There was Robert Bruce in his armour, whose eye, fired with purpose of revenge, seemed to be fixed on the distant camp of the Southrons. And there was Mary, in most unfit society for such a woman-the tender among the rude. Would that her feminine virtues, associated with the charms of her person and the subduing grace of her manners, could be seen apart from her offences. Alas! while we weep at her fate, too cruel for such delicacy, we weep also at her weaknesses. She was a woman-in the midst of temptation.

Royal state rooms of the 19th century must not be thought of when we enter the state rooms of three centuries agone. And yet such comparison is quite necessary to enable us to estimate the difference between the two. It is by this that

our amazement swells big as the vanity of the age in which we live. And really-is it possible, that Queen Mary could have been proud of such chairs and of such tables ?-or contented with such a bed and with such furniture? It makes one think of the coarse woollen stockings that Queen Elizabeth wore at court, and of her quilted petticoat, the roughness of which would make one shudder to think of, as would the filing of a saw. And the needlework, too, done by the fingers of Queen Mary, would make a fair subject of a downright scolding lecture from a common school-mistress, if one of her ragged and untaught girls should bring her such a sample. And the wicker-basket, once used as the depository of the linen of the infant babe, afterward James VI. of Scotland and I. of England, but, that it is a precious relic of such a time and circumstance, might as well be sold for the use of the fishmonger women of Edinburgh. Have ye ever seen a great-great-grandfather's chair, ready to tumble down if ye sit upon it ?—or his desk, as inconvenient as the rusty iron buckles of his shoes?-Have ye seen a great-great-grandmother's high-post bed, with all its tasselled, quilted, and various-coloured furniture-the reposing frame of which was not so lofty that persons of high stature must have had a ladder to get upon it, as in these days-but so humble that a dwarf must stoop to find it? Have ye seen any specimens of antiquated tapestry, the devices of which would make a clown laugh outright, that its figures were all done so badly? Have ye seen any old garret full of rusty knight's armour, with boots and spurs, any one suit of which might well be supposed to make a horse groan under its burden? Add to all this every kind of goods and chattels necessary to a princely mansion, correspondent in quality and shapes with all these-and then allow that I have amused myself here with a small degree of colouringit must also be allowed, that I have been well provoked to it by the actual exhibition of things, which have furnished occasion for this account. And did the royal Mary, Queen of the Scots, live there? Were these her conveniences and comforts? Was that double chair, not a bad pattern of which may be found in an old lumber-wagon in the back woods of America, made at her order, in which herself and stolen husband were to be crowned? Is that the mirror, twelve inches by six, before which she was accustomed to make her toilet? It is true, there is some gold wrought in all this furniture-and not a little waste of uncultivated fancy, in the profusion of homely and rude ornaments by which it was once adorned. But such as it is-and for the reasons that it is as it is, I had rather look upon it than upon all the costly show of the present state apartments of the castle of William IV. at Windsor.. I am sure that Queen Mary once tenanted those apartments-that she slept upon

that bed-that she sat in that chair-that she worked that piece of embroidery by her own hands—that there she entertained her guests, alas! not always lawful.

And there in that little corner, scarce twelve feet square, was she surprised by Darnley and Ruthven, who, with their murderous train, came upon her by a private passage, now open to inspection, and seized upon her favourite, David Rizzio, sitting in her company and at her table: and, in spite of the interposition of her authority, in violation of the sacredness of her character, against all the tenderness of her womanhood and the peculiar delicacy of her condition, and her beseeching remonstrances, plunged the fatal dagger in his bosom before her eyes, while he hung upon the skirts of her garments for protection; and then, dragging him into an adjoining apartment, left him weltering in the blood which flowed from the wounds inflicted by their ruthless vengeance! The stains of the vital current are now visible on the floor. Surely it is no marvel, that her son, born some four months after this tragical event, always shuddered and hid his face at the sight of a drawn sword. Those were rude times in which the unfortunate Mary lived; and that was a rude day which lost her head, that had worn a crown in a sea of troubles-of troubles which in no small part her own imprudence brought upon her. While her fate will for ever claim and receive the sympathy of those who read her story, her faults shall not remain unwept.

EDINBURGH.

EDINBURGH is indebted for not a little of its imposing character to the very rare physical features of its site-to the hills and mountains, near and remote, with which it is surrounded-and to that sweet vision, the Frith of Forth, which runs up and hides itself among the hills, and descending spreads out its floods wider and wider, till they are lost in the North Sea. There are extraordinary natural and geographical features in this town and all around it, almost without number, any one of which would make a city remarkable. The town itself lies upon three remarkable and lofty ridges, running east and west, and of course must have in its bosom two corresponding, deep, and precipitous ravines-or ravines that once were-but now most usefully and thoroughly appropriated. The stranger, passing from the new town, and crossing a stone bridge to the old, looks down upon his right, expecting to see the bosom of a river, and lo! instead, a neat, well-provided, and bustling market. On the left, instead of shipping, he looks over the tops of a sea of houses, at the farther extremity of which, on the same low ground, and directly under the brow of a perpendicular and lofty crag, lies Holyrood Palace. Advancing over the middle ridge, through the heart