A few weeks after this I received the sacred rite of the laying on of hands from a Bishop of the old Scottish Church. Many years have passed since then; but I have never ceased to hold in the highest esteem the simple, homely teaching of the old bookseller; and I have never for a moment regretted crossing the Rubicon. VI. Settling Down Even if a traveller spends but a day or two in Edinburgh, he may see many things that will call forth surprise and admiration. The Castle, the High street, with all its closes and wynds, the ancient palace of Holyrood--indeed the whole of the Old Town--all are full of historic interest. If he has been fortunate enough to enlist the services of one of the authorized city guides, his interest will be greatly intensified, for the old man will reel off, in a dignified but somewhat monotonous voice, a farrago of historical information that will simply appal his auditor; and, should the said auditor attempt, in the evening, to enter in his notebook an account of all he has seen and heard, he will find himself in a state of chaos and will give up the effort in despair. It is no exaggeration to say that our Scottish capital is one of the most historic cities in the world. It is no wonder that Scotsmen are proud of it. Its natural position is wondrously picturesque; the romantic and legendary lore that hangs, like a Scotch mist, around its ancient courts and archways, is of the most thrilling character; the relics of past grandeur that meet one everywhere are such as to compel investigation and inquiry; in fact, there are so many items of interest crowding in on the visitor’s brain that he feels that he would like to spend a year, instead of a day or two, in the contemplation of them. “Edina, Scotia’s darling seat,” as Scotia’s peasant-bard affectionately terms it, indeed deserves all that has been said in its praise; but there is another and sadder aspect under which it may be viewed, one that is only realized by those who have spent years of residence there. One might truly go further and say that the seamy side of the Maiden Town is only fully understood by comparatively few of its inhabitants. Around the base of the great rock on which stands the old fortress of the Scottish kings, and within a very short distance of their ancient palace, there are vast tenements in which thousands of the poor, and miserable, and sinful, are huddled together, seemingly regardless of decency and cleanliness and comfort.