And the most bogeyish part of the story is about such houses.

Two generations back they still stood dark and empty; people avoided them as they passed by; the boldest schoolboy only shouted through the keyhole and made off; for within, it was supposed, the plague lay ambushed like a basilisk, ready to flow forth and spread blain and pustule through the city.

What a terrible next-door neighbour for superstitious citizens! A rat scampering within would send a shudder through the stoutest heart.

Here, if you like, was a sanitary parable, addressed by our uncleanly forefathers to their own neglect.
And then we have Major Weir; for although even his house is now demolished, old Edinburgh cannot clear herself of his unholy memory.

He and his sister lived together in an odour of sour piety.