Edinburgh Castle could not be conceived, much less built, nowadays, when all our energy is consumed in bettering the condition of the 'submerged tenth'! What did they care about the 'masses,' that 'regal race that is now no more,' when they were hewing those blocks of rugged rock and piling them against the sky-line on the top of that great stone mountain! It amuses me to think how much more picturesque they left the world, and how much better we shall leave it; though if an artist were requested to distribute individual awards to different generations, you could never persuade him to give first prizes to the centuries that produced steam laundries, trolleys, X rays, and sanitary plumbing.
What did they reck of Peace Congresses and bloodless arbitrations when they lighted the beacon-fires, flaming out to the gudeman and his sons ploughing or sowing in the Lang Dykes the news that their 'ancient enemies of England had crossed the Tweed'! I am the most peaceful person in the world, but the Castle was too much for my imagination.

I was mounted and off and away from the first moment I gazed upon its embattled towers, heard the pipers in the distance, and saw the Black Watch swinging up the green steps where the huge fortress 'holds its state.' The modern world had vanished, and my steed was galloping, galloping, galloping back into the place-of-the-things-that-are-past, traversing centuries at every leap.
'To arms! Let every banner in Scotland float defiance to the breeze!' (So I heard my new-born imaginary spirit say to my real one.) 'Yes, and let the Deacon Convener unfurl the sacred Blue Blanket, under which every liege burgher of the kingdom is bound to answer summons! The bale-fires are gleaming, giving alarm to Hume, Haddington, Dunbar, Dalkeith, and Eggerhope.

Rise, Stirling, Fife, and the North! All Scotland will be under arms in two hours.

One bale-fire: the English are in motion! Two: they are advancing! Four in a row: they are of great strength! All men in arms west of Edinburgh muster there! All eastward, at Haddington! And every Englishman caught in Scotland is lawfully the prisoner of whoever takes him!' (What am I saying?
I love Englishmen, but the spell is upon me!) 'Come on, Macduff!' (The only suitable and familiar challenge my warlike tenant can summon at the moment.) 'I am the son of a Gael! My dagger is in my belt, and with the guid broadsword at my side I can with one blow cut a man in twain! My bow is cut from the wood of the yews of Glenure; the shaft is from the wood of Lochetive, the feathers from the great golden eagles of Locktreigside! My arrowhead was made by the smiths of the race of Macphedran! Come on, Macduff!' And now a shopkeeper has filled his window with royal Stuart tartans, and I am instantly a Jacobite.
'The Highland clans wi' sword in hand, Frae John o' Groat's to Airly, Hae to a man declar'd to stand Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.
'Come through the heather, around him gather, Come Ronald, come Donald, come a'thegither, And crown your rightfu' lawfu' king, For wha'll be king but Charlie ?' It is the eve of the battle of Prestonpans.

Is it not under the Rock of Dunsappie on yonder Arthur's Seat that our Highland army will encamp to-night?
At dusk the prince will hold a council of his chiefs and nobles (I am a chief and a noble), and at daybreak we shall march through the old hedgerows and woods of Duddingston, pipes playing and colours flying, bonnie Charlie at the head, his claymore drawn and the scabbard flung away! (I mean awa'!)-- 'Then here's a health to Charlie's cause, And be't complete an' early; His very name my heart's blood warms To arms for Royal Charlie! 'Come through the heather, around him gather, Come Ronald, come Donald, come a'thegither, And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king, For wha'll be king but Charlie ?' I hope that those in authority will never attempt to convene a Peace Congress in Edinburgh, lest the influence of the Castle be too strong for the delegates.