t does not enter into the plan of this book to give a detailed description of the principal towns and sites in Scotland. That can be found in any guide-book.

The aim of this little volume is to give an idea of the character and customs of the Scotch, from Souvenirs of several visits made by the author to the land of Burns and Scott.

But a few words must be said on the subject of the City of Granite.

Aberdeen is a large, clean-looking town, with more than a hundred thousand inhabitants; wide, regular streets, fine edifices, and many statues, among which we are happy, for a change, not to find that of you know whom.

If Glasgow and Dundee are the principal centres of commercial activity in Scotland, Edinburgh and Aberdeen are the two great centres of learning.

Union Street, the principal thoroughfare, is about half-a-mile long, and is built entirely of light grey granite, which gives it a rather monotonous aspect. Public buildings, churches, private houses, pavements, all are grey; the inhabitants are mostly dressed in grey, and look where you will, you seem to see nothing but grey.

Just as it is in London, Edinburgh, and Glasgow, the fashionable quarter is the west, and the poor live in the east.

Is this due to chance?

The most conspicuous edifice of the town is the Municipal Building, forming a town hall and a court of justice. The most interesting is Marischal College, the home of the Faculty and School of Medicine, which now form part of the University of Aberdeen, after having had a separate existence for two hundred and sixty-six years. The college is a very fine building, but is unfortunately hemmed in by a number of other buildings which hide its faÇade.

A mile from the town stands the college of the university (King's College), built in 1495 on the model of the Paris university. Most of the Scotch buildings, which date from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, have a very pronounced French character.

I would advise tourists, who go as far north as Aberdeen, not to miss making the ascension of the Blue Hill, which is about four miles from the town. From the summit of this hill, they will see a delightful panorama of Aberdeen, a stretch of fifty or sixty miles of coast, the ruins of the celebrated castle of Dunnottar, and all the valley of the Dee framed in hills. It is a grand sight; unfortunately, to thoroughly bring out its beauties, a clear sky is essential, and there comes the rub.

The county of Aberdeen is not only one of the great intellectual centres of Scotland, it is the home of Caledonian shrewdness and pawkiness. Aberdeenshire alone furnished more than half the anecdotes collected by Dean Ramsay.

The Aberdonians are the chosen people, the elect of God.

Every Scot is proud of his nationality, but an Aberdonian will tell you: "Not only am I a Scotchman, but I was born in Aberdeen."

And true enough, "tak' awa' Aberdeen, and twal' miles round, and faar are ye?"

It is related that a provost of Aberdeen, having come to London with his wife, someone recommended the lady to be sure and go to Covent Garden to see the opera.

"No," she replied, "we have come to London to be quiet and not to receive ovations. We shall not show ourselves in public during our stay in the capital."

Her resolution was adhered to, and London saw them not.

For the future life, the Aberdonian has no fears, and if he will only recommend you to Saint Peter, you will not have to wait long at the gates of Paradise.

Society in Aberdeen is of the choicest. Its aristocracy is an aristocracy of talent. In Aberdeen, as in Edinburgh, the local lions are the professors of the university, literary people, doctors, barristers, and artists. To cut a figure there, you need not jingle your guineas, but only show your brains and good manners. In Glasgow, show your savoir-faire; but, in Edinburgh and Aberdeen, your savoir-vivre.

I cannot quit the subject of Aberdeen without relating a little incident which exceedingly diverted me.

A few hours before delivering a lecture at the Albert Hall, I paid a visit to the place to see if my reading-desk had been properly arranged. Great was my surprise, on entering the hall, to see near the platform an elegant improvised green-room, curtained off. I asked the caretaker if there was not a retiring-room, in which I could await the moment for beginning my lecture, to which he replied:

"Yes, sir; we have an anteroom over there, but I have set apart this little green-room, because I thought it would be more comfortable for you to go and change your dresses in during the performance."

The worthy fellow evidently imagined that I was going to appear in tights before the lairds of Aberdeen.

The learned professor, who had kindly come to introduce me to my audience, laughed heartily with me over the joke.