EDINBURGH- -LINLITHGOW. 25 and thus, in eleven and a half hours, you will have travelled four hundred miles, and passed through the greater portion of two countries, and seen many of their notable features; and you, who were so late within the sound of Bow bells, are here plunged into the very heart of Edinburgh, at a station bearing the name that first made world-famous Scotia's best-loved son. The time of year is August; therefore, at half-past eight in the evening it is dark, and our first view of Dun-Edin is by gaslight and a wonderfully striking sight it is! When we have left Edinburgh, it is too decidedly dark to see even the black outlines of the hills; and, even if it were otherwise, we are too fatigued by our long journey to care much for hills or castles or landscapes, however historical and interesting. The slackening of the train rouses us, as the stoppage of the noisy mill-wheel does the sleepy miller; and the sudden glare of station-lamps, simultaneously with the shouting of the word 'Linlithgow' in the vernacular of the country, is as an enchanter's wand, whose wave bids start up before our mind's eye curiously-mingled visions of Mary Queen of Scots, and Marmion, and Hawley's Dragoons. But before we can sufficiently shake ourselves up to an endeavour to separate the mingled webs of this historical tapestry, the train is again in motion, and its monotonous rattle lulls us into drowsiness. We must have passed through Falkirk in a dream, for when next we are roused to consciousness, it is by hearing the word Castle Cary sharply screamed in our ears, in a tone as though there were a note of interrogation at the end of the word, and the speaker of it was putting it in the form of a question. We drowsily recognise this interrogative mode of expression to be after the manner of Scotland, which tells you a fact as though it was begging the question, and raises its voice at the proclamation of anything that does not call for a reply. But while we are mechanically asking ourselves 'Saw ye my Mary?' and making answer to ourselves, 'She's frae Castle Cary,' and just as we have begun to plunge ourselves into vague speculations as to the probability of the young lady being a unique specimen of the Caledonian Albino, from the fact that her hair it was lintwhite,' the monotonous rattle of our onward-rushing train again transports us to the land of Nod, and we know nothing more of our journey until we find ourselves at its termination. For one brief waking moment we fancy ourselves to be travelling through The Black Country' of Staffordshire (in England, as we now think with great emphasis), but our watches tell us that we are at Glasgow-that it is half-past ten o'clock-and, that in the last thirteen hours and a half, we have travelled nearly four hundred and fifty miles, without so much as a change of carriage, or the slightest anxiety respecting luggage, for here it all is, in the very same luggage-van that brought it from King's Cross this morning. And here, in the second city of Great Britain, are we, who this morning stood in Great Britain's first city. A little before nine o'clock in the morning, we saw Trafalgar Square, London, and at half-past ten at night we are in Glasgow, and under the tutelary care of St. Mungo. Thankfully we gather together our luggage, amid a storm of supplications from porters and cab-drivers. We have been recommended to go to the George Hotel, in George Square; and we incautiously ask the question, how far it may be to that locality. 'George Square, Sir? oh, ever such a way, Sir!' replies a cannie Scotch porter, in a dialect that I feel GLASGOW-THE QUEEN'S HOTEL. 27 myself quite unable to put down on paper, and which I therefore translate into the Anglo-Saxon tongue. 'But how far?' I ask, as his answer, though charmingly indefinite, is not satisfactory. 'Oh, iver such a way! quite in another part,' is the reply. But here's a grand hotel close by―ye'll see it here, Sir; where the lights are shining the Queen's Hotel the grandest in the ceetee and I'll carry all yer things there—and ye won't have the expense of the cab-hire.' So, touched by this argumentum ad pocketumwhich, after all, is frequently the most effective of arguments—and, being tired and desirous of getting into comfortable rooms with as little loss of time as possible, we yield to his persuasive powers. With the aid of a porter's knot, he, and a companion Goliath, sling our portmanteaus and other impedimenta over their shoulders; we form ourselves into a procession of four, and, closely following up our new edition of Porter's Progress, we take a few steps out of the station yard, and, in a few more seconds, are within the swinging doors of the Queen's Hotel. A minute or so has decided the fact, that the porter's recommendation had proceeded from very satisfactory premisses, and had conducted us to premises equally satisfactory. Perhaps he received a douceur for every traveller brought under his convoy to the hotel doors, and, by the aid of this refresher, could plead with fervid energy in this particular hotel's favour; but, however this may be, the cause he advocated was a good cause. The hotel was everything that could be desired; and right glad were we to avail ourselves of its manifold comforts. While we were having tea, I said to the waiter, 'How far is the George from here?' "A very few yards, Sir; just on the other side of the Square.' Then is this Hotel in George Square?' I asked. 'Yessir,' said the waiter. But my opinions regarding the porter I reserved until the waiter had left the room. Doubtless, that porter went to bed happy at having proved too cannie for the Southron. I trust that his slumbers were equally as sound as were mine, on that my first night in my tour in Tartan-land. CHAPTER IV. THE SECOND CITY IN GREAT BRITAIN. A Scotch Institution-Snuff Sellers and Smellers-Scotch THE HE next morning-either from the custom of the country, or from a delicate attention on the part of the waiter-our breakfast-room was supplied with an enormous ramshorn, furnished with a lid, and elaborately decorated at either extremity with cairnghorms set in silver. On closer inspection, it proved to be― not a bugle, for summoning the waiter, as my companion had suggested-but a reservoir for snuff: and how many pounds of rappee may have been stowed away within its cavernous interior I am unable to state; but, as it was evident that the longest fingers could not secure a pinch when the ramshorn's exchequer was running low, a long spoon, or ladle, had been thoughtfully provided, by whose assistance the furthest recesses could be partially explored. As everyone buys eau de Cologne when at Cologne, drinks champagne at Epernay, eats Banbury cakes at Banbury, and sucks Everton toffee at Liverpool, so, I |