where famous and well-born people had their lodging; and as you look up, out pops the head of a slatternly woman from the countess’s window.  The Bedouins camp within Pharaoh’s palace walls, and the old war-ship is given over to the rats.  We are already a far way from the days when powdered heads were plentiful in these alleys, with jolly, port-wine faces underneath.  Even in the chief thoroughfares Irish washings flutter at the windows, and the pavements are encumbered with loiterers.

These loiterers are a true character of the scene.  Some shrewd Scotch workmen may have paused on their way to a job, debating Church affairs and politics with their tools upon their arm.  But the most part are of a different order — skulking jail-birds; unkempt, bare-foot children; big-mouthed, robust women, in a sort of uniform of striped flannel petticoat and short tartan shawl; among these, a few surpervising constables and a dismal sprinkling of mutineers and broken men from higher ranks in society, with some mark of better days upon them, like a brand.  In a place no larger than Edinburgh, and where the traffic is mostly centred in five or six chief streets, the same face comes often under the notice of an idle stroller.  In fact, from this point of view, Edinburgh is not so much a small city as the largest of small towns.  It is scarce possible to avoid observing your neighbours; and I never yet heard of any one who tried.  It has been my fortune, in this anonymous accidental way, to watch more than one of these downward travellers for some stages on the road to ruin.  One man must have been upwards of sixty before I first observed him, and he made then a decent, personable figure in broad-cloth of the best.  For three years he kept falling - grease coming and buttons going from the square-skirted coat, the face puffing and pimpling, the shoulders growing bowed, the hair falling scant and grey upon his head; and the last that ever I saw of him, he was standing at the mouth of an entry with several men in moleskin, three parts drunk, and his old black raiment daubed with mud.  I fancy that I still can hear him laugh.  There was something heart-breaking in this gradual declension at so advanced an age; you would have thought a man of sixty out of the reach of these calamities; you would have thought that he was niched by that time into a safe place in life, whence he could pass quietly and honourably into the grave.

One of the earliest marks of these DEGRINGOLADES is, that the victim begins to disappear from the New Town thoroughfares, and takes to the High Street, like a wounded animal to the woods.  And such an one is the type of the quarter.  It also has fallen socially.  A scutcheon over the door somewhat jars in sentiment where there is a washing at every window.  The old man, when I saw him last, wore the coat in which he had played the gentleman three years before; and that was just what gave him so pre-eminent an air of wretchedness.