Many of the citizens of Edinburgh may remember the old Bank close, and the edifice about to be described. On the west side of that narrow street, which descended abruptly on the southern side of the city's central hill, stood in former days a house of massive construction and sombre aspect. Its walls were enormously thick and elaborately jointed; its passages narrow, dark, and devious; its stairs ascended and descended in secret corners, and one led to the paved bartizan, which formed the roof. Many of its gloomy chambers were vaulted. Over its small and heavy doorway appeared the date 1569, encrusted by smoke and worn with time. The whole aspect of the edifice was peculiarly dismal; the walls were black as if coated over with soot, the windows were thickly grated with rusted iron stanchells, and sunk in massive frames, the little panes were obscured by the dust and cobwebs of years. It was the ancient prison of the city. In older days it had been built by a rich citizen named Gourlay, and had held within its walls the ambassadors of England and France. From its strength it had been converted into a Tolbooth, and was used as such until the time of the Solemn League and Covenant, when the spacious and more famous prison was adopted for that purpose; but the older, darker, more obscure, and more horrid place of confinement was still used at this time. A party of the ancient City Guard, armed with swords and Lochaber axes, buff coats, and steel bonnets, occupied one of the lower apartments entering from the turnpike stair, at the foot of which stood a sentinel with his axe, before the door, which though small, was a solid mass of iron-studded oak, bolts and long bars.