that the grand old volcanic mountain had once more, after a rest of some hundreds of thousands of years, burst out again in its former vehemence of eruptive activity.

There were, of course, many very distinguished men who took part in the pageant of the king's entry into Edinburgh, but none of them had their presence more cordially acknowledged than Sir Walter Scott, who never felt more proud of "his own romantic town" than he did upon this occasion. It is unnecessary to mention the many interesting features of the royal reception. The king's visit lasted for seven or eight days, and everything passed off loyally, orderly, happily, and successfully.

Shortly after this time there was a great deal of distress among the labouring classes. All the manufacturing towns were short of employment, and the weavers and factory workers were thrown upon the public. Many of the workmen thought that politics were the causes of their suffering. Radical clubs were formed, and the Glasgow weavers began to drill at nights in the hopes of setting things to rights by means of physical force. A large number of the starving weavers came to Edinburgh. A committee was formed, and contributions were collected, for the purpose of giving them temporary employment. They were set to work to make roads and walks round the Calton Hill and Crags. The fine walk immediately under the precipitous crags, which opens out such perfect panoramic views of Edinburgh, was made by these poor fellows. It was hard work for their delicate hands and fingers, which before had been accustomed only to deal with threads and soft fabrics. They were very badly suited for handling the mattock, shovel, and hand-barrow. The result of their labours, however, proved of great advantage to Edinburgh in opening up the beauties of its scenery. The road round the crags is still called "The Radical Road."

Let me here mention one of the most memorable incidents of the year 1824. I refer to the destructive fire which took place in the old town of Edinburgh. It broke out in an apartment situated in one of the highest piles of houses in the High Street. In spite of every effort of the firemen the entire pile was gutted and destroyed. The fire was thought to be effectually arrested; but towards the afternoon of the next day smoke was observed issuing from the upper part of the steeple of the Tron Church. The steeple was built of timber, covered with lead. There is never smoke but there is fire; and at last the flames burst forth. The height of the spire was so lofty that all attempts to extinguish the fire were hopeless. The lead was soon melted, and rushed in streams into the street below. At length the whole steeple fell down with a frightful crash.

I happened to see the first outbreak of this extraordinary fire, and I watched its progress to its close. Burning embers were carried by the wind and communicated the fire to neighbouring houses. The last outburst took place one night about ten. All the fire-engines of Edinburgh and the neighbourhood were collected round the buildings, and played water upon the flames, but without effect. Whole ranges of lofty old houses were roaring with fire. In the course of two or three hours, several acres, covered by the loftiest and most densely crowded houses in the High Street, were in a blaze. Some of them were of thirteen stories. Floor after floor came crashing down, throwing out a blaze of embers. The walls of each house acted as an enormous chimney -- the windows acting as draught-holes. The walls, under the intense heat, were fluxed and melted into a sort of glass. The only method of stopping the progress of the fire was to pull down the neighbouring houses, so as to isolate the remaining parts of the High Street.

As the parapet of the grand old tower of the High Church, St. Giles, was near the site of the fire, -- so near as to enable one to look down into it, -- my father obtained permission to ascend, and I with him. When we emerged from the long dark spiral stairs on to the platform on the top of the tower, we found a select party of the most distinguished inhabitants looking down into the vast area of fire; and prominent among them was Sir Walter Scott. At last, after three days of tremendous efforts, the fire was subdued; but not till after a terrible destruction of property. The great height of the ruined remains of the piles of houses rendered it impossible to have them removed by the ordinary means. After several fruitless attempts with chains and ropes , worked by capstans, to pull them down, gunpowder was at last resorted to. Mines were dug under each vast pile; one or two barrels of gunpowder were placed into them and fired; and then the before solid masses came tumbling down amidst clouds of dust. The management of this hazardous