Page:Letters from England.djvu/104

 place of them small stone walls range along. Small stone walls, stone villages, stone towns; beyond the river Tweed is the land of stone.

An English friend of mine was almost right when he declared Edinburgh to be the finest city in the world. It is a fine place, stonily grey and strange of aspect. Where in other cities a river flows, there a railway runs; on one side is the old town, on the other side the new one, with streets wider than any where else, every vista showing a statue or a church; and in the old town the houses are appallingly high, a thing which exists no where in England, and the washing is flaunted upon clothes-lines above the streets like the flags of all nations—and this also does not exist down in England; and there are dirty, red-headed children in the streets—this also does not exist down in England; and black smiths, carpenters and all sorts of fellows, this also does not exist in England; and strange little streets, wynds or closes, this also does not exist in England; and fat, dishevelled old women, this also does not exist