Edinburgh, July 21-26.
Edinburgh.
Our route lay through Newington, that we might leave the young artist at home. We tried to do it quietly, but our friend Mrs. H. was out and shaking hands with us ere we could drive off. Mr. MacGregor, of the Royal, had been mindful of us; a grand sitting room fronting on Prince's Street and overlooking the gardens gave us the best possible view, the very choice spot of all this choice city. The night was beautiful, and the lights from the towering houses of the old town made an illumination, as it were, in honor of our arrival. That the travellers were delighted with Edinburgh, that it more than fulfilled all expectations, is to say but little; and those who saw it for the first time felt it to be beyond all that they had imagined. Those of us who knew its picturesque charms were more than ever impressed with its superiority over all other cities. Take my word for it, my readers, there is no habitation of human beings in this world as fine in its way, and its way itself is fine, as this, the capital of Scotland.
The surprise and delight of my friends gave me much pleasure. Scotland had already won all hearts. They had admired England, but Scotland they loved. Ah, how could they help it! I loved her too, more deeply than ever.
It is best to disband a large party when in a city possessed of many and varied attractions, allowing each little group to see the sights in its own way; assembling, however, at breakfast and dinner, and spending the evenings together, recounting the day's adventures. This was the general order issued for Edinburgh.
The new docks at Leith were opened with much ceremony during our stay, and I took a party of our Edinburgh friends upon the coach to witness the opening. It was not a clear day, meteorologically considered, but nevertheless it was a happy one for the coaching party. Upon our return, a stop at Mr. N.'s magnificent residence was specially agreeable. He and his daughters were most kind to us while in Edinburgh. Mr. N. gave us a rare treat by showing us through their immense printing establishment, where such exquisite things are done, such Easter and Christmas cards, such friendship tokens, and a thousand other lovely forms we had never seen before, in their various stages of manufacture.
Valuable Importations.
I asked Mr. N. what he had to say in reply to the admissions of the leading art authorities of the superiority of American work in black and white, such as our magazines excel in. He said this could not be questioned; there was nothing done in British publications that equalled the American. The reason he gave furnishes food for thought. I pray you, fellow countrymen, take note of it. Two principal American illustrated magazines, Harper's and the Century, print each more than one hundred thousand copies, while no British magazine prints half that number. The American publisher can consequently afford to pay twice as much as the British publisher for his illustrations. If this be the true reason of America's superiority in this respect, and I am sure Mr. N. knows what he is stating, then as its population increases more rapidly than the British the difference between their respective publications must increase, and finally drive the home article into a very restricted position. Pursuing this fact to its logical conclusion, Britain may soon receive from her giant child all that is best in any department of art which depends upon general support for success. This seems to me to betoken a revolution, not as implying the inherent superiority of the American, but simply flowing from the fact that fifty-five millions of English-speaking and reading people can afford to spend more for any certain article than thirty-five millions can. That Colonel Mapleson now brings over Her Majesty's Opera Company for the New York season as regularly as he opens his London season, and especially that he makes far more profit out of the former than out of the latter, is another significant fact. That leading actors find a wider field here than at home is still another, and even ministers are finding that the call of the Lord to higher labors and higher salaries often comes from the far side of the Atlantic. Drs. McCosh, Hall, Ormiston, and Taylor, our leading divines, get treble salaries in the Republic, and are said to be valuable importations. As Mr. Evarts said one night in a post-prandial effort: "They are about the only specimens of 'the cloth' admitted duty free." As long as America sent Britain only pork and cheese and provisions, and such products of the soil, it was all well enough, but if she is beginning to send the highest things of life, the art treasures, which give sweetness and light to human existence, it is somewhat alarming. For my part, I do not like to think that these Americans are to send Britain every good thing, and that the once proud country that led the world is to stand receiving as it were the crumbs from this rich land's table. In one department America can be kept second for as long a term as we need worry about—she has nothing to compare with the leading English reviews. Our generation will see no close rival to the Fortnightly or the Nineteenth Century, to Blackwood or Chambers' Journal, or to the Edinburgh or Westminster Review; although the North American and the International show that even in this race America enters two not indifferent steeds.
I must not forget to mention that the birds in the Century magazine which the Athenæum pronounced so far superior to any British work were designed by a young lady and engraved by her sister. The work of two American young ladies excelled the best of England; and then did not Miss Rosina Emmet send a Christmas greeting of her own composition to friends in England which took the second prize at the London Exhibition, although not intended for anything more than a private token of friendship. Let a note be made of all this, with three loving cheers for the young lady artists of the Republic. Instead of losing the charms of women by giving public expression to their love of the beautiful in all its forms, they but add one more indescribable charm which their less fortunate sisters can never hope to attain. How a man does reverence a woman who does fine things in art, literature, or music, or in any line whatever!
On a Yacht.