Chapter 6

NEW TOWN - TOWN AND COUNTRY.

IT is as much a matter of course to decry the New
Town as to exalt the Old; and the most celebrated
authorities have picked out this quarter as the very
emblem of what is condemnable in architecture. Much may
be said, much indeed has been said, upon the text; but to
the unsophisticated, who call anything pleasing if it
only pleases them, the New Town of Edinburgh seems, in
itself, not only gay and airy, but highly picturesque.
An old skipper, invincibly ignorant of all theories of
the sublime and beautiful, once propounded as his most
radiant notion for Paradise: 'The new town of Edinburgh,
with the wind a matter of a point free.' He has now gone
to that sphere where all good tars are promised pleasant
weather in the song, and perhaps his thoughts fly
somewhat higher. But there are bright and temperate days
- with soft air coming from the inland hills, military
music sounding bravely from the hollow of the gardens,
the flags all waving on the palaces of Princes Street -
when I have seen the town through a sort of glory, and
shaken hands in sentiment with the old sailor. And
indeed, for a man who has been much tumbled round
Orcadian skerries, what scene could be more agreeable to
witness? On such a day, the valley wears a surprising
air of festival. It seems (I do not know how else to put
my meaning) as if it were a trifle too good to be true.
It is what Paris ought to be. It has the scenic quality
that would best set off a life of unthinking, open-air
diversion. It was meant by nature for the realisation of
the society of comic operas. And you can imagine, if the
climate were but towardly, how all the world and his wife
would flock into these gardens in the cool of the
evening, to hear cheerful music, to sip pleasant drinks,
to see the moon rise from behind Arthur's Seat and shine
upon the spires and monuments and the green tree-tops in
the valley. Alas! and the next morning the rain is
splashing on the windows, and the passengers flee along
Princes Street before the galloping squalls.

It cannot be denied that the original design was
faulty and short-sighted, and did not fully profit by the
capabilities of the situation. The architect was
essentially a town bird, and he laid out the modern city
with a view to street scenery, and to street scenery
alone. The country did not enter into his plan; he had
never lifted his eyes to the hills. If he had so chosen,
every street upon the northern slope might have been a
noble terrace and commanded an extensive and beautiful
view. But the space has been too closely built; many of
the houses front the wrong way, intent, like the Man with
the Muck-Rake, on what is not worth