The Spell of Scotland

oyal progress. The train moves out of the Waverley station, a

suburban fairly, yet there are level wheatlands, and country cottages

ng, the skies wer

g a road that

inuous and

symphonies of

rth came on u

olour it, no

k dull glass,

th, two beams

merged blank i

pectral, and the

ack shadows on t

range years, the gr

ge land, unvexed

rides clanking

trange years and a strange land, e

t Scott ever dreamed or Davy Balfour. And then, the train creeps out over this modern audacity, this very ugly iron spanning of the river. Fortunately we are upon it and cannot see its practical, monst

d charge of the ferry took from the toll every fourth and every fortieth penny-a delightful bit of g

fer

its in Dunf

the blude

eas, merely to have been, if far lonely destructiv

is of such a difference from mere red, or blood-red wine. What wonder that Alexande

who brings hither something more than legend yet something as thrilling, as "authen

on of

tyrant holds th

nglish court;

ious Edward w

volence of fo

m his hig

Margaret; or perhaps not, since she was grand-niece to the Confessor, and Malcolm was a middle-aged man when this first royal Scottish romance occurs. When he returned he built himself a

th in the Firth of Forth-which thereby becomes part of the legendary coast of Bohemia. She landed at St. Margaret's Hope, the first bay to the west of North Queensfe

of Spring," a one-act drama by Arthur Upson, the young American poet whose sonnet on Calton Hill I have just qu

olm before, and destiny brings her to Scotland and to the king. It is a beautiful beginning to a long enduring love story that t

dations of the kingdom, in court and church. "Whatever she refused, he refused also; whatever pleased her, he also loved, for the love of her," says her confessor. English Margaret, unlike t

ur kings of Scotland, and of Queen Matilda of England-surely Banquo sa

ds spread down to the Forth, the red network of the bridge lifts itself into view, far to the left sweeps the Firth out

g more immediate help. But this ancient nave built by Margaret's son David is so very ancient that one could well spare the accurate historic knowledge that it is a generation too late for emotion. There ar

s like an aisle in the new. Certain details, like the little Norman doorway

se days of material resurrection, and would have brought Malcolm from Northumberland. But Margaret, canonized ne

he body of The Bruce. It is no doubt The Bruce. For Dunfermline was forgotten in rebellious times, and the t

g saw the tomb opened and pronounced-King Robert Bruce. One could wish the great letters about the modern tower looking like an electric sign, were "reformed." But here within the q

he mother of Wallace is buried here, and the thorn he planted

ander. Nor do they do much sitting, these busy industrious Dunfermliners. They are living thei

ks modern, and the people move briskly. If they know you are a tourist on ancient errand bent, they look curiou

d Carnegie has not only given a library to Dunfermline-yes, a library-Malcolm could not read Margaret's books, but he had them richly bound and bejeweled and kissed them in reverence of her. But the Laird has given a technical school, and t

h L

ny one can come upon this castle without em

but an exact toll of the fish taken is required by law, and for the past year it was, with Scottish accuracy, something more or something less than twe

shop, and who would make your fishing expedition a success. "I don't know what your scruples are," he ventured, "but if ye

ee deoch

aw bricht moon licht nicht." Or would those redoutable boatmen ken

did

n of "stanes," one of the best I have ever seen in Scotland, a great variety, some of them natural boulders, some wood with iron weights-someday I must brave the rigours of a Scotch

twa sisters live here; and he's built a hoose for them." It happened that we did ken of this man, who came from Kinross to Min

big boat, with big oars, sweeps, one man to each oar, one a loquacious fellow with no dialect (he might as well have been English), and the

across the lake lay St. Serf's isle, and there rose the keep of the old castle. And over that water, as plainly-more plainly, than the fishing

of the great adventuring moments-for which we would exchange any moment of our lives. We were idolaters always, Mariolaters. And now

t off, and r

e time and th

oars, and tr

s queen be a

plays 'round

warder's r

off, and ro

e time and th

s keys shall th

eir caverns, so

ch Leven's t

ur lovely la

aunts of tr

has hands and

steersman, ro

e time and th

alarum be

voice has t

to the falc

ly to the d

all, and bat

e light of the

and Mary on

he time and th

oscoff where she landed when only five, hurried from Scotland that she might escape sinister England; in the chapel in Notre Dame where she was married to the Dauphin; in the chateau at Orleans where she lived with him much of that brief happy French life she loved so dearly; in the two small garret chambers where she lodged in Coventr

THGOW PALACE, WHERE

uiet blue loch, a blue smiling bit of water, on which much royalty has looked forth, and on which the eyes of Mary first looked. There,

he palace

the roya

d far beyo

ow is ex

park in j

he merry li

the black

s. (I wondered if there was any haunting memory of Margaret of Denmark who sat here sewing when the nobles raged through the

poun the back of ane unrowly kow." Knox did not pick his language with any nicety when he said his say of women and the monstrous regiments of them. And to his

d wait no

heir an

d sichis

panis

I pass aw

ess and la

this wo

ld de

estructions of man have thrown palaces and doctrines open to the winds of heaven. And how purifying this destruction. And

the days before everything was lost. She was lodgin

clergy from persecution." Knox slept in the castle, but "before the sun," as he records, he was awak

would have him join her "be-west Ki

eluctantly at her summons. His reforming eyes, no doubt, looked with displeasure on the exquisite be

rode together, she on her

came on, and the

of her warning. She asked him to settle a quarrel between Argyle and his wife, her half sister, as

ernight, I promise to do as ye required. I shall summon the

ary's eyes-"I am assured then that ye shall please

off. And Mar

ay-"Yon man gar me greet and grat never tear

e heart of the Queen's Majestie from the venom of idolatry,

e

point of departure, the Gate of the Highlands. The railway platform is at least a third of a mile long, and

d down to the Border. Even so recently (?) as the time of James the First it was held the fairest city in the ki

ay. It may or may not be. But we agreed to let Scott decide these things and he, no doubt, chose this house. Curfew Street that runs by, looking like a vennel-vennel? I am cer

Quhele-there is race-course, golf links, cricket field, football, grazing, washing. I trust the clans are somewhat evener now in numbers, although there were lef

ey, not even of the old palace where Charles II, last king crowned in Scotland, suffered coronation-and was instructed in the ways o

s born too soon. As last instead of first of the Jameses, what might he not have done in the ways of intelligence and beauty, as

and the fre

saw before

the sudden

my body to

re ye a worl

thing in for

NGTON

en bush the cow." It was a dog's death the gods gave. The nobles, the Grahams, would not keep the castle. So in Blackfriars the king was "mercilessly dirked to death," notwithstanding that

John Knox (May, 1559) should have preached such an incendiary sermon that in

eason-treason"; the jail stands on its site. Huntington Tower still stands down the Tay; and there also James very

ry fair view of the Fair City. No doubt it was from

iber! the vai

ple Tay from B

Scot that would

puny Tiber

times taken from this Tay. The river leads down through the rich Carse of Gowrie

s are more golden than are bound in other lands, and that no harvests elsewhere visible to human eye are so like the 'corn of

of Kinnoul Hill; and then, unmarrying, the fair lady, looking very fair in

The Bonnie Brier Bush." So some

loveliest names in the world? Six miles up the Tay through bonny country, stands Dunsinnan Hill; not so lovely as our Dunsinane; once it was Dunscenanyse! But Shakespeare alway

reat Bi

to Dun

wave in the win

its beauty, lodged in a close fold of the Highlands. And

uppose they still rest here, that wandering dust, that missionary zeal. Also, inharmony, here rest (?) the remains of the Wolf of Badenoch, wicked son of Robert II, a

hole, lad wi'

ilabegs, pibrochs, pipes, tartans and heather, nothing but the distilled esse