LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

Number XX.

EDINBURGH, May 22nd, 1856.

MY DEAR FRIEND:—The rain pours in torrents; the proposed expedition to "fair Melrose," is, therefore, necessarily postponed until brighter skies smile before us; and I eagerly embrace the brief leisure, to sit down and tell you what I have been doing and seeing since I last wrote; but as I have seen a great many interesting things and places in a short space of time, and am much pressed for leisure, in which to recount my peregrinations, you and your readers must kindly pardon the marks of haste that will appear in these rapidly written sketches.

In my last, I believe I told you of KOSSUTH's visit to Edinburgh, and of his two splendid Lectures on the The great Hungarian formed the chief subject of conversation and of interest during the week of his presence in "the modern Athens." Only one of the with whom I have met in Edinburgh, spoke of him with contempt, and told me he "" and , think you, was this? He who people say wrote ""—an old friend of yours—an old correspondent of mine—but one who now looks as if he had only lost all hope in the promise of the life to come, but all faith in the good and true of the present life. "I have no enthusiasm," said he, coldly to me. I needed not to be told this; I saw it at a glance, that "soul was wanting there."

"Oh! happier had he ne'er been born
Who reads to doubt, or reads to scorn."

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One day last week I spent by the sea side, partly at Portobello, a watering place, (three miles from Edinburgh,) very much frequented in the summer season; and thence I was escorted to , and , to partake of a , for which the latter place is famous; and justly famous, I thought, as dish after dish of beautifully cooked and of divers kins of fish was served up before the hungry guests, who, dining late, and having been inhaling the find sea breezes many hours, did ample justice to the good cheer of good Mrs. CLAREK, the celebrated Fish purveyor of New Havin. We afterwards walked all through the little fishing town which presents an air of extreme neatness and order. The Edinburgh fishwomen so noted throughout Scotland, live here and it being Monday, I had an opportunity of conversing with some of them for Monday is the general washing day, when the women stay at home. The men of New Haven are all fishermen, and the females are occupied five days of the week in selling the produce of their

husbands industry in the Edinburgh markets and streets. They form a distinct community, rarely intermarrying with any other class. The village reminds me greatly of some of the little Swiss villages—the outside stair-cases and little galleries, and the many gay colored skirts, hung upon them—the scrupulous neatness, the picturesque and unique costume of the women, and their contented, happy faces, carried me in thought, to a village in one of the Protestant Cantons of Switzerland. One pretty looking woman walked a distance with us. We found her intelligent and communicative, yet quite respectful. She told us she had just finished he washing, and now with her cap of snowy whiteness, her many gay skirts, appearing one below the other, her neat apron, and jaunty jacket, and her in her arms, she was taking her evening walk. The men were busy with their fishing boats, and some of the women and children were preparing the tackle and bait, in readiness for the night's excursion. The evening was delightfully fine. Old ocean looked grand and glorious!

"The scene was more beautiful far to the eye
Than if day in its pride had arrayed it;
The land breeze blew mild and the azure arched sky
Looked pure as the spirit that made it."

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Another day last week I mounted to the top of ; and the weather being clear and bright, I was amply repaid by the magnificence of the panorama that met my view, at the summit of this far-famed . As your memory, my friend, is tenacious, you will, without doubt, be able to bring it to mind. The hill is more than 800 feet above the level of the sea; but it is neither difficult nor dangerous to climb. We ascended from the vicinity of , (a spot as retired as if it were hundreds of miles from a great city,) and came down near St. Anthony's chapel.

An intelligent old man lives up on the summit all day, to refresh weary travellers with lemonade, and to direct their attention to the chief objects of interest that here are presented to view. Look with me a moment. On the one side is ""—beautiful Edinburgh! whose site in panoramic splendor is generally admitted to be unequalled by any capital in Europe. Almost beneath our fee lies , with its neighboring ruin of . Above these rises the , surrounded by splendid Terraces, and crowned with its many monuments. Nelson's Monument, twelve columns of an unfinished National Monument, a graceful monument to Dugard Stewart, and Burns' Monument, are all visible; so are the Observatory, the monument to Professor Playfair, and the High School, and the beautiful building, which I had, at first, some difficulty to believe a , it bears such a striking resemblance to Windsor

Castle. Now, we trace the long line of Princes' Street, with its many noble structures, and imposing edifices. The New College, the Royal Institution of the Grecian architecture, the National Gallery, and the beautiful Monument to Sir Walter Scott are here; and yonder, on a precipitous, rocky eminence, stands that imposing old fortress, Edinburgh Castle. At its base, and extending along the whole line of Princes' Street, are beautiful gardens, thronged with promenades. Now trace we the fashionable quarter of the city with its buildings of architectural beauty; now we turn to the lofty houses of the , dark and dingy with smoke of centuries; and now we trace out Newinton and Libberton, where lived. But our guide speaks and we are all attention. He points us to the Firth of Forth—to the Fifeshire Hills beyond it—to Portobello—and to Musselburgh, where the battle of was fought in 1574. To the south of Musselburgh he pointed out Carberry Hill, on which Queen Mary stood and viewed the battle, and then surrendered herself prisoner to the confederated Lords. In the dim distance, on the sea coast, we discern a speck; he tells us it is ; that near it are the ruins of the once famous ; and that close by are St. Abbs' Head, and Fast Castle, the "Wolf's Craig," of "the Bride of Lammermoor!". And now he points out Preston Pans, where Prince Charlie gained a memorable victory, and North Berwick Law.' Now we strain our eyes far and long, and dimly discern the Bass Rock, one of the many fearful prisons, in which the persecuted Covenanters were confined. that looks upon its distant gloom does not call to mind the wild raving of ? "I have it; when did I hear it? Was it not in the tower of BASS, that overhangeth the wide, wild sea? and it howled of the winds, and it roared in the billows, and it screamed, and it whistled, and it changed with the screams, and the clang, and the whistle of the sea birds, as they floated, and flew, and dropped, and dived, on the bosom of the waters?"—Our guide awakens us from a dismal reverie of the Scottish Reign of Terrors, to show us Craigmillar Castle—once the abode, and once the prison, of poor Many, and , so called from Mary's French attendants who once frequented it—the Braid Hills, Blackford Hill, the picturesque Pentland Hills, the distant Lammermoor range, and more distant Ochils, close to the splendid prospect on one side; while the Frith of Forth gradually expands into the German Ocean, and loses itself in the horizon on the other.

"Traced like a map, the landscape lies,
In cultured beauty, stretching wide;
Here Pentland's green acclivities;
There ocean, with its swelling tide;
There Arthur's Seat and gleaming through
Thy Southern wing, Dull Edin blue!
While, in the Orient, Lammer's daughters,
A distant giant range, are seen,
North Berwick Law, with cone of green,
And Bass amid the waters."

We bade a friendly adieu to our intelligent guide, (who had vainly tried to make us believe that a little modern cottage at the foot of Arthur's Seat was the veritable abode of . ) and descended by way of what is called St. Anthony's Chapel, an old ruin, supposed to have been once a hermitage, dedicated to Saint Anthony. The Saint's is high; there we refreshed ourselves with clear cold water, and like any other pilgrims went on our way.

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Another morning we visited the, in which the Scottish Parliament met before the union. The Hall is 122 feet long, and broad in proportion! The roof is of oak, arched and handsomely finished. A fine statue of the famous Henry Dundas, the first Lord Melville, is there, and one of the eminent lawyer, Lord President Blair.

We next went to "the Advocate's Library," which adjoins the Parliament House. The most valuable collection of books in Scotland is here—the printed works amounting to 150,000 volumes, and the manuscrips to 1700—THis is one of the four libraries that receive, from Stationers' Hall, a copy of every new work published in Great Britain and Ireland.—We walked through room after room, with walls lined with books. I was most desirous to see the original "Solemn League and Covenant," and at length we found it, framed and set in a dark corner. The ink had paled, and the signatures were most of them, illegible, but unmistakable were on it.—The manuscripts of , in the neat handwriting of Sir Walter Scott, is in this Library, and some signatures of Mary Stuart, (.) and some nice, little letters of Charles the 1st, (when he was a boy,) to his father, King James, written in the spirit of an affectionate son to a kindly father! Oh! that the Stuarts, as a race, had been more worthy the generous affection with which many in Scotland still cling to their memory. I always feel sad when I

think of the Stuarts, and when I hear the Scottish ladies singing with such national enthusiasm, " [illegible] follow thee, King of the Highlands, bonnie I believe it is a somewhat general trait in human nature, to side with the unfortunate—so long before I trod the shore of "Caledonia, stern and wild," indeed, long as I can remember to have read history as a child, I sided with the gallant Prince Charlie, and did not see why he, should have been called "the ," when he was no pretender, but the veritable Prince! But I have not the time to digress; I must hastily close, to save the mail, and must reserve many things without which I intended to speak to-day, until another week.

The time of my sojourn in this beautiful city, is fast drawing to a close, and what with visiting places, and seeing dear friends, I have scarcely a moments leisure. I must beg of you, therefore, to take the will for the deed, and to be assured that I do the best I can under the circumstances. Adieu, my friend,

JULIA GRIFFITHS.