THE OLD TOWN. 21
whose residence as the Duke of York in Scotland furnishes the blackest page
in all his history, and the chief vestige of whose personal presence in Edinburgh-‘
the Duke’s Walk,’ near Holyrood-became appropriately the haunt
of duelIits and suicides ; Charles Edward, his descendant, whose entrance
into the city, seeming mock-heroic now from its insignificant or hapless
Fesults, was really a grand affair, being the reward of vdour and good
fortune, and taking place. amidst picturesque accompaniments and glowing,
though hollow, hopes,-superior far surely to the avatar of George IV., at
which Scotland now blushes even more than she does at the abortive
‘ NationaI Monument’ and at the statue erected to his memory in her noblest
New Town street, of which the poet so justly sang
‘ Let one vast bloodstone be the mighty base,’
although as much inferior to that already commemorated of Victoria riding
up from the Palace ‘to the CradIe of her ancestors I
KNOX’S S N D Y .
We have named incidentally already some of the great names of Queen
Mary‘s and still later days. Edinburgh was truly a magnificent place when
Mary, the loveliest of women and most accomplished of princesses, was
