[CHAPTER XIX.]
THE EDINBURGH LIONS—LITERARY CELEBRITIES—JEFFREY IN THE FORUM—SIR WALTER AT THE DESK—RIDING WITH SCOTCH LADIES—BEAUTIFUL SCENERY—A SCOTCH MIST.
Edinburgh was then decidedly the literary metropolis of the three kingdoms; not through the amount of its productions, but their superiority. I had several letters of introduction; among them one to Blackwood; another to Constable; another to Miss Y——. The latter proved fortunate. Her father was a Writer to the Signet; an elderly gentleman of excellent position, and exceedingly fond of showing off "Auld Reekie." Well, indeed, might he be; for of all the cities I have seen, it is, in many respects, the most interesting. I am told it is gloomy in winter; but now it was summer. And in these high latitudes, nature makes ample amends in this season for the gloom and inclemency of the winter.
The day after delivering my letters, Mr. Y—— called on me, and showed me the lions of the town. Many of them—all, indeed—were interesting; but I pass them by, and shall only linger a short time at the Court of Sessions, which is the supreme civil court of Scotland. This, with the High Court of Justiciary—the supreme criminal court—forms the College of Justice, and constitutes the supreme tribunal of Scotland. Their sessions are held in the old Parliament House, situated in the centre of the Old Town.
We entered a large Gothic hall, opening, as I observed, into various contiguous apartments. Here I saw a considerable number of persons, mostly lawyers and their clients; some sauntering, some meditating, some gathered in groups and conversing together. There was a large number of people distributed through the several apartments, and in the grand hall there was a pervading hum of voices, which rose and rumbled, and died away amid the groinings of the roof above.
Among the persons in this hall, a man some thirty years of age, tall and handsome, dressed in a gown, but without the wig, attracted my particular attention. He was walking apart, and there was a certain look of coldness and haughtiness about him. Nevertheless, for some undefinable reason, he excited in me a lively curiosity.
"Who is that gentleman?" said I, to my guide.
"That large, noble-looking person, with a gown and wig? That is Cranstoun, one of our first lawyers, and the brother-in-law of Dugald Stuart."
"No: that person beyond, and to the left? He is without a wig."