Not having seen Edinburgh since August, 1776, I longed to see it again, and set out on this journey on the 11th August, 1823, and went through by coach on that day. I always thought highly of Edinburgh and its bold and commanding situation; but the new town, or city of palaces, as it is sometimes called, had been added to it since I had seen it. But all these splendid buildings are of trivial import compared with the mass of intellect and science which had taken root and had been nurtured and grown up to such a height as to rival, and perhaps to outstrip, every other city in the world. My stay was only a fortnight; and this was a busy time, both as to its being taken up with the kindness and hospitality met with everywhere as well as in visiting its various scientific and other establishments. It being at a vacation season, when most of the learned professors were out of town, I saw only Professors Jameson and Wallace, and was often at the table of the former, which was surrounded by men of learning and science who visited him from all parts of the world. The attentions of Professor Wallace were most friendly. He shewed me the use of the Eidograph, an instrument which he had invented for the purpose of either reducing or enlarging a drawing or design most accurately to any size that might be required. I visited Patrick Neil, Esq., and was much pleased with seeing the tamed birds and other curiosities which embellished his little paradise. His uncommon kindness will ever remain impressed upon my memory. I also often called upon my friend, Mr. Archibald Constable, accounted the first bookseller in Scotland; and, although he was unwell at the time, I partook of his kind attentions. I visited the splendid exhibition of paintings of the late Sir Henry Raeburn, Bart., the rooms of Mr. William Allan, historical painter, Mr. Stewart, engraver, and those of several others who were absent. With other artists, who were known to me, I spent some time in several calls. These calls were upon my old friend, Mr. Nasmyth, landscape painter; my townsman, Mr. Wm. Nicholson; Mr. James Kirkwood, now up in years, but who had in his prime led the way to excellence in engraving. I also paid my respects to the son and successor of my kind friend of former days, the late Mr. Hector Gavin; and the same to the sons and successors of the late Mr. D. Lizars. All these had attained to that degree of excellence which did honour to Edinburgh, now the seat of learning, and rendered brilliant by the gems of art, and by the science with which it is adorned. I have almost forgotten to name my being introduced to Messrs. Ballantyne and Robertson, lithographic printers. Whilst I was in their office, the latter pressed me to make a sketch on the stone for him. I was then preparing to leave Edinburgh, and the only time left me was so short that I was obliged to draw this sketch before breakfast the next morning, and the proofs were taken from it on the same day. In doing this, though very slight, I could see what that manner of making prints was capable of. I left Edinburgh on the 23rd August, 1823, and I think I shall see Scotland no more.

After my journeys (long ago) to Cherryburn were ended, I used, as formerly, seldom to miss going in the mornings to Elswick Lane, to drink whey, or buttermilk, and commonly fell in with a party who went there for the same purpose; and this kind of social intercourse continued for many years. I also, at that time, on the Sunday afternoons, went to visit and contemplate in the church-yards, and there give vent to my mind, in feelings of regret, and in repeating a kind of soliloquy over the graves of those with whom I had been intimate.

I recounted in my memory the numbers of my friends thus put by to be forgotten, amongst the millions of others who had been for longer or shorter periods also in this world, and who have passed away into Eternity. Even the “frail memorial”—erected to “perpetuate the memory” of those who had been esteemed—seemed to be of little avail, and their mementos, as well as those decked out with ornamented flatteries, would, in time, all go to decay, and be no longer remembered than until all who once knew them were also dead; and the numbers of both the one and the other appeared to me to be so immense that to estimate them seemed impossible, and like attempting to count the grains of sand on the sea beach. It is thus that the grave swallows all up without distinction. The true estimate of their various merits can only be known to the Creator of all. It appears clear to those whose souls habitually adore and commune with Him, while they remain in this state of probation, that He will, in His infinite goodness, wisdom, truth, justice, and mercy—place everyone, on quitting this mortal abode, in the unknowable worlds befitting their reception.

Besides the temporary mementos dedicated to private worth, others of a different character may have their use. Monuments might therefore be erected to those who have, by their virtues and patriotism, promoted the happiness of mankind. It is a debt of gratitude due to the Author of our being for the loan of departed worth, and may stimulate others “to do so likewise.” The posthumous praise or blame of the world is to them of no avail; they are done with all things on this side of Time, and are out of the reach of both the one and the other.

While I was pursuing my ramblings in the Highlands, and beheld with admiration the great projecting rocks so often to be seen holding up their bare heads to the winds, it struck me that it was a great pity they could not be converted to some use: and the best I could think of was, that the illustrious names of Wallace and Bruce—as well as those of their other worthies—should be inscribed upon them, to hold up their heads with these names to the sun for ever. I have often thought since, that the bare rocks in other parts of our islands might with good effect be filled up in the same way. The first name to be fixed upon ought to be that of Alfred the Great, followed by many others—statesmen, patriots, philosophers, poets, &c.—who have shone out like polished diamonds, and who have embellished and illumined this country, and civilized the world. Their venerated names, with their maxims, or quotations from their works, would fill up many of these rocks, which are waiting for them, and might make all who beheld them inclined to profit by, or to imitate, their virtues. How many incomparably good, wise, and beautiful texts from the Bible might also with great propriety be added to fill up every vacant spot. I often lamented that I had not the means to enable me to be at the expense of getting such quotations inscribed in this way. Often, while angling on a hot, sunny day, which slackened my sport, I have sat down by the water side, and thought over some of the beautiful lines of our poets, fit to be applied in this way; and remember my having thought of those lines of Cunningham, which I would, if I could have afforded it, have committed to the care of a rock. He says:—

How easy would it be for gentlemen to get the names of the illustrious dead thus inscribed upon rocks; or, where that could not be done, to erect pillars, or small obelisks, over copious springs (like the holy wells of old), to contain such inscriptions as those I have hinted at, and thus leave these their marks behind them; and which would long continue to put the passing stranger in mind of some religious, moral, or patriotic sentiment; and, while he was refreshing himself by quenching his thirst, he might be put in mind that—