To the author whose duty leads him so low in the scale of nature, that the manners and the miseries of a vicious and insubordinate race, prominent in hideous circumstances of unvarnished reality, are all he is permitted to record, it must ever be gratifying to find traits of such fine enthusiasm, such devoted fidelity, as the conduct of Jean Gordon exhibits in the foregoing incidents. _They_ stand out with a delightful and luminous effect from the gloomy canvas of guilt, atoning for its errors and brightening its darkness. To trace further, as others have done, the disgusting peculiarities of a people so abandoned to all sense of moral propriety, would only serve to destroy the effect already created by the redeeming characters of Jean Gordon and her nobler sister, and more extensively to disgrace the general respectability of human nature. FOOTNOTES: [10] From which all the works of the author of “Waverley,” besides many other publications of the highest character, have issued. It is perhaps worth while to record, that “Peveril of the Peak” was the last work of the author of “Waverley’s” that appeared here—its successor, “Quentin Durward,” being published (May, 1823) a few days after Constable and Co. had forsaken the High Street for the genteeler air of the New Town. [11] Even when the judges lived in the distant suburb of George’s Square, they did not give up this practice. Old Braxfield used always to put on his wig and gown at home, and walk to the Parliament House, _via_ Bristo Street, Society, Scott’s Close, and the Back Stairs. One morning his barber, old Kay, since the well-known limner, was rather late in taking his Lordship’s wig to George’s Square. Braxfield was too impatient to wait; so he ran off with only his night-cap on his head, and was fortunate enough to meet his tardy barber in Scott’s Close, when he seized his wig with one hand, took off his night-cap with the other, and adjusting the whole matter himself, sent Kay back with the undignified garment exued. This is a picture of times gone by never to return; yet, as if to show how long traces of former manners will survive their general decay, Lord Glenlee, who continues to live in Brown’s Square, still dresses at home, and walks to court in the style of his predecessors. [12] The _Peter Peebles_ of “Redgauntlet.” [13] “Newhaven, Leith, and Canonmills Supply them wi’ their Sunday gills: There writers aften spend their pence, And stock their heads wi’ drink and sense.” _Robert Fergusson._ [14] The juvenile mob of Edinburgh was in the habit of dressing up an effigy of this hero of liberty, which they treated in the most ignominious manner, every 4th of June—a relic of the odium excited by the publication of the _North Briton_, No. 45.