er, sword of state, a silver rod of office, and other
jewels, all enclosed in a glass case surrounded by iron work. St.
Margaret's Chapel, seventeen feet long and eleven feet wide, stands
within the castle enclosure and is the oldest building in the city. A
very old cannon, called Mons Meg, was brought back to the castle through
the efforts of Walter Scott, and is now on exhibition. I visited the
Hall of Statuary in the National Gallery, the Royal Blind Asylum, passed
St. Giles Cathedral, where John Knox preached, dined with Brother
Murray, and boarded the train for Kirkcaldy, where I as easily found
Brother Campbell at the station as Brother Murray had found me in
Edinburgh.

I had been in correspondence with Brother Campbell for some years, and
our meeting was a pleasure, and my stay at Kirkcaldy was very enjoyable.
We went up to St. Andrews, and visited the ruins of the old Cathedral,
the University, a monument to certain martyrs, and the home of a sister
in Christ. But little of the Cathedral remains to be seen. It was
founded in 1159, and was the most magnificent of Scottish churches. St.
Rule's Tower, one hundred and ten feet high, still stands, and we had a
fine view from the top. The time to leave Kirkcaldy came too soon, but I
moved on toward Wigan, England, to attend the annual meeting of churches
of Christ. Brother Campbell accompanied me as far as Edinburgh, and I
then proceeded to Melrose, where I stopped off and visited Abbotsford,
the home of Sir Walter Scott. It is situated on the River Tweed, a short
distance from Melrose, and was founded in 1811. By the expenditure of a
considerable sum of money it was made to present such an appearance as
to be called "a romance in stone and lime." Part of this large house is
occupied as a dwelling, but some of the rooms are kept open for the
numerous visitors who call from time to time. The young lady who was
guide the day I was at Abbotsford, first showed us Sir Walter's study.
It is a small room, with book shelves from the floor to the ceiling, the
desk on which Scott wrote his novels sitting in the middle of the floor.
A writing-box, made of wood taken from one of the ships of the Spanish
Armada, sits on the desk, and the clothes worn by the great novelist a
short time before his death are kept under glass in a case by the
window, while a cast of his face is to be seen in a small room
adjoining the study. We next passed into the library, which, with the
books in t