It was the afternoon of a September day; the last detachment of Dunbarton's Foot had marched into Edinburgh, from the famous expedition against the Macdonalds of Keppoch, in attacking whom they had been co-operating with a battalion of the Guards, and the horsemen of the celebrated Captain Crichton, whose memoirs were edited by Dean Swift; and now to enjoy a complete military re-union, all the cavalier officers of the ancient corps sat down to a banquet in the great dining hall of the White Horse Cellar. The long apartment was lighted by several windows that faced the Calton hill, which towered away to the north and westward, covered with whin and broom, where the fox, the hare, and the weazel yet made their lairs unheeded and unhunted. The hall was spacious, elegant, and hung with arras, and a great painting by Jameson, our Scottish Vandyke, the pupil of Rubens, hung over the yawning fire-place. It was a fanciful representation of the fair Mary, on that favourite white palfrey, which a hundred and fifty years before had given a name to the hostel, when the range of stabling below it had been occupied as a mews of the Scottish kings. Beneath this, hung the battered headpiece and Jedwood axe which Gibbie Runlet had wielded--and wielded well as the king's rebels knew to their cost--in the wars of the glorious Montrose. The sturdy legs of the old oak beauffet appeared to bend under the load of glittering crystal, shining plate, and various good things piled upon its shelves, while underneath in columns dark and close, were ranged in deep array the flasks of good old wine, from the cool vaults of the White Horse cellar, and covered with the undisturbed dust and cobwebs of years of long repose. Clad in their rich military dresses, bright steel, and spotless scarlet, glittering with jewels and gold lace, the row of cavalier guests on each side of that long and festive board, presented a very gay and striking appearance, as the setting sun shone full upon them, and caused the whole vista of the dinner table to glitter with sparkling objects, and the curling steam of the smoking banquet. In a great chair, with high back and stuffed arms, rough with carving and rich with nails and scarlet leather sat the portly master, Gilbert Runlet (that host of immortal memory), with a vast red face, that seemed like the harvest-moon rising at one end of the table; while the great rotund form spreading out below it, a yard in diameter, loomed like a mountain, closing the long perspective of the board. Gibbie had been for twenty years the most substantial burgess of the Canongate; and as a stanch and irascible Royalist, had long "ruled the roast" at the council board of that ancient burgh. The beau ideal of a jovial host, he laughed and talked, and helped on all sides incessantly, yet never appeared to be behind any one in emptying his own plate or tankard, which were replenished and emptied with wonderful celerity.