insensible, and were too apt to imagine the disgust of strangers as little better than affectation.[1] Yet it was not affectation which led John Wesley, in May, 1761, to make the following entry in his Journal:—
"The situation of the city on a hill shelving down on both sides, as well as to the east, with the stately castle upon a craggy rock on the west, is inexpressibly fine. And the main street so broad and finely paved, with the lofty houses on either hand (many of them seven or eight stories high) is far beyond any in Great Britain. But how can it be suffered that all manner of filth should still be thrown, even into this street, continually? Where are the Magistracy, the Gentry, the Nobility of the Land? Have they no concern for the honour of their nation? How long shall the capital city of Scotland, yea and the chief street of it, stink worse than a common sewer?"[2]
Ten years earlier he had described the town as dirtier even than Cologne. According to Wolfe, it was not till after Christmas, when the company had come into it from the country, that it was "in all its perfection of dirt and gaiety."[3] Gray called it "that most picturesque (at a distance) and nastiest (when near) of all capital cities."[4] "Pray for me till I see you," he added, "for I dread Edinburgh and the—."[5] To add to the insalubrity, the windows would not readily open. In Scotland they neither opened wide on hinges, nor were drawn up and down by weights and pulleys. For the most part the lower sash only could be raised; and when lifted, it was propped open by a stick or by a pin thrust into a hole.[6] "What cannot be done without some uncommon trouble or particular expedient will not often be done at all. The incommodiousness of the Scotch windows keeps them very closely shut."[7] From this closeness Johnson suffered not a little, for he loved fresh air, "and on the coldest day or night would set open a window and stand before it," as Boswell knew to his cost.[8] Topham, who sided with his Scotch friends against Johnson, scoffed at these observations on window-frames and pulleys. "Men of the world," he wrote, "would not have descended to such remarks. A petty and frivolous detail of trifling circumstances are [sic] the certain signs of ignorance or inexperience."[9] Johnson, in introducing the subject, had guarded himself against such reflections. "These diminutive observations," he said, "seem to take away something
