CHAPTER VII.
ENGLAND VERSUS SCOTLAND.
The rectorial election had come and had gone, but another great event had taken its place.

It was the day of the England and Scotland Rugby match.
Better weather could not have been desired.

The morning had been hazy, but as the sun shone out the fog had gradually risen, until now there remained but a suspicion of it, floating like a plume, above the frowning walls of Edinburgh Castle, and twining a fairy wreath round the unfinished columns of the national monument upon the Calton Hill.
The broad stretch of the Prince's Street Gardens, which occupy the valley between the old town and the new, looked green and spring-like, and their fountains sparkled merrily in the sunshine.

Their wide expanse, well-trimmed and bepathed, formed a strange contrast to the rugged piles of grim old houses which bounded them upon the other side and the massive grandeur of the great hill beyond, which lies like a crouching lion keeping watch and ward, day and night, over the ancient capital of the Scottish kings.

Travellers who have searched the whole world round have found no fairer view.
So thought three of the genus who were ensconced that forenoon in the bow windows of the _Royal Hotel_ and gazed across the bright green valley at the dull historical background beyond.