mere tableaux vivans, as on this occasion, but not without the apology of Bacon when he wrote "of Masques and Triumphs." "These things are but toys," said the philosopher; "but yet, since princes will have such things, it is better they should be graced with elegance than daubed with cost." What was chiefly remarkable in the visit of George

was the tact with which the monarch avoided every occasion of offence, and how, trading on so very slender a stock of real worth as that which he possessed, and in the face of so large an amount of adverse feeling as that which he had previously excited, he should have contrived to render himself popular by the exercise of the "petty moralities” alone. Never did the "mere gentleman," abstracted from the good, great, generous qualities of our nature, accomplish more. He came to Edinburgh only two years after the trial of Queen Caroline; and, without exhibiting anything higher than the urbanity of the thoroughly well-bred man, he taught all Scotland to forget for the time the result of that trial. We regret that Sir Robert Peel should not have availed himself of the advantages of having served under so accomplished a master in the art of pleasing. George IV. came to Edinburgh under every disadvantage, and regained there much of the popularity which he had previously lost; Sir Robert came to Edinburgh in the train of his royal mistress,-a monarch in whose favour the partialities of the nation had been largely awakened; and, after losing well-nigh all that remained of his own popularity, he would have lost for her, had the thing been possible, her popularity too.

The recent royal progress through Edinburgh has had its many striking scenes; but the chronicler who may have to concentrate himself on one description as a specimen of the whole, would do well to select the scene of Saturday last, as exhibited in the upper part of the High Street, when her Majesty, after just receiving the city keys, passed on to the

Castle.

As a pageant the thing was nothing: it had the disadvantage, too, which the Queen's passage through the city on Thursday morning had not, of being artificial,-a projected piece of parade, with but the parade itself for its ostensible object. The Queen rode along the streets just that people might see the Queen. There is sublimity, however, in the appearance of vast multitudes animated by some overpowering feeling; and we know not that crowds could be better disposed for effect, or in a locality richer in historic recollection, than along the High Street of Edinburgh, with its old Parliament Hall, its venerable High Church, and its double line of tall antique houses, some of which must have cast their shadows over the pageant of Mary, and not a few of them over the pageant of Charles. The morning, though not bright, was pleasant; the rack flew high over head, showing that a smart breeze blew in the upper regions; but all was comparatively calm beneath. Now and then an occasional gleam of the sun lighted up the tall gray fronts on the western side, or played among the fantastic tracery and lofty pinnacles of St Giles. But it passed as suddenly as it flashed out, and the general tone was a subdued smoky gray. A dense and ever-increasing crowd occupied the space below; direct through the middle there ran a narrow passage, that reminded one of a river with steep erect banks, winding its way through a flat alluvial meadow. At one point it expanded into what seemed a small lake,-'twas where the city Magistracy awaited her Majesty, clad in their long scarlet cloaks of office; and here a few dragoons flitted across the open space, or paced along the winding passage,—the shallops of this lake and river. Every window was crowded, storey on storey, from the windows immediately over the street, to the casements of the attics eighty feet above head. Even the roofs had their clustering groupes. We marked a few ragged boys, perilously grouped round a chimney full ninety

feet from the pavement; and to this dizzy eminence the urchins had contrived to bring with them the tattered fragment of a flag, which ever and anon they waved with huge glee. The group was one in which a Hogarth would have delighted. The roof of St Giles' seemed scarce less densely occupied than the street below; and the effect of the whole was striking in the extreme. Blair, in his "Grave," speaks of "over-bellying crowds." The spectators of the scene of Saturday must have been able to appreciate the picturesqueness of the phrase. The living masses hanging from every corner and coign of vantage, seemed, if we may so express ourselves, to project the antique architecture of the High Street against the sky. Almost every snugger corner, too, had its temporary scaffold or balcony. There was, in particular, one scaffold that greatly gratified us: the object of its erection showed both good taste and good feeling. It had been raised for the accommodation of the boys and girls of Heriot's; and never was there a group of happier faces than that which it exhibited. Such was the scene, when, shortly after eleven, a solitary horseman came spurring up the street, and, pausing for a moment in the centre of the open space, where the Magistracy of the city were assembled, he intimated that the Queen had reached Holyrood. The whisper passed along the crowd, and was caught from balcony to window, and from window to roof. The bells of the city had been rung at intervals from morning: they now broke out into a merry peal; and the near boom of cannon from the neighbouring Castle suddenly awoke the echoes of the High Street. There was a movement in the close-wedged crowds beneath,—a murmur expressive of the general excitement,—a swaying to and fro; and then for a space all was still as before. From our point of observation we could catch a view of the roofs and upper storeys of the tenements in the lower part of the street, with their dimly-seen groupes

of spectators. We could mark a sudden waving of handkerchiefs, a deep though distant cheer; a cry of the Queen, the Queen, passed along the crowd. The masses opened heavily and slowly, as if compressed by the lateral weight; a train of coaches was seen advancing; there was the gleam of helmets, the flash of swords; the shout rose high; and, as the vehicle in front moved on, there was a fluttering of scarfs and kerchiefs at every casement and in every gallery, as if a stiff breeze had swept by and shaken them as it passed. The city Magistrates, in their scarlet robes, had formed a group in front of the Exchange; and here the royal vehicle paused, and the Lord Provost went through the ceremony of delivering the city keys into the hands of the Sovereign. We sat within less than twenty yards of her Majesty at the time, and employed ourselves in marking how thoroughly the countenance is a German one,-how very much of Brunswick there is in it, and how little of the Stuarts. It bears trace of the Guelphs in every feature and lineament. As a family face, it has its historic associations, speaking of Revolution principles and the Protestant succession. The pageant moved on, and disappeared as, passing from where the street terminates in front of the Castle, it entered on the esplanade.

Such is a faint and imperfect outline of the one prominently striking scene connected with the recent progress. We have said that the progresses of James, Mary, and Charles were characteristically impressed by the stamp of their time, and linked to the main events and more striking traits of the national history. May the recent progress be regarded as also characteristic? Time alone can show. It may be found to speak all too audibly of the revived superstition to which the troubles of Charles were mainly owing,-the superstition which conducted him ultimately to the front of Whitehall, and his younger son to a French palace in

B

St Germains.

But we shall meanwhile hope for the best, without, however, attempting to conceal from ourselves that one cloud more seems to have arisen on the already darkened horizon of the Church of Scotland.-September 10, 1842.

THE INFANT PRINCE.

A PRINCE born to the throne of Great Britain ! The firing of cannon, the ringing of bells, the crackling of fire-works, the blazing of bonfires, holiday dresses and holiday faces everywhere, all testify to the general joy.

We are reminded of a day which must have mingled with the first recollections of even the most aged of our readers, and which men in the prime of early manhood are quite old enough to remember too,-that happy fourth of June, the birthday of the good George III., on which, for two whole generations, and a little longer, there used to be such waving of flags and flashing of gunpowder, and, notwithstanding all our wars abroad, and all our difficulties and troubles at home, so large an amount of hearty national enjoyment. Is the ninth of November to be just such another day to the generations of the future? Shall flags be flaunting gaily in the sun, to welcome the birthday of the reigning monarch,—the child of our Victoria,—at a time when our tombstones shall be casting their shadows across the withered November sward of silent churchyards and shall bonfires be blazing on the hills, as the stars twinkle out one by one from amid the deepening blue, to look down upon our graves?

The future belongs to One only,-to that Adorable Being who has made his great goodness so manifest to our country for ages and centuries, and rarely more vividly manifest