d the
monument on my left hand, while a man was standing in the road, ahead of
us, blowing a cornet,--and just beyond was the new bridge over the Doon,
a short distance below the old one, which is well preserved and
profusely decorated with the initials of many visitors. Along the bank
of "bonny Doon" lies a little garden, on the corner of which is
situated a house where liquor is sold, if I mistake not. It was before
this house that I saw the musician already mentioned. As I came up from
the old "brig o' Doon," I saw and heard a man playing a violin near the
monument. When I went down the road toward the new bridge and looked
over into the garden, I saw a couple of persons executing a cake-walk,
and an old man with one leg off was in the cemetery that surrounds the
ruined church, reciting selections from Burns. Such is the picture I
beheld when I visited this Ayrshire monument, raised in memory of the
sympathetic but unfortunate Scottish poet, whose "spark o' nature's
fire" has touched so many hearts that his birth-place has more visitors
per annum than Shakespeare's has.

On the following day I had a pleasant boat-ride up Loch (Lake) Long,
followed by a merry coach-ride across to the "bonny, bonny banks of Loch
Lomond," which is celebrated in song and story. It is twenty-two miles
in length and from three-quarters of a mile to five miles wide, and is
called the "Queen of Scottish lakes." Ben Lomond, a mountain rising to a
height of more than three thousand feet, stands on the shore, and it is
said that Robert Bruce, the hero of Bannockburn, once hid himself in a
cave in this mountain. A pleasant boat-ride down the lake brought me
back to Glasgow in time to attend a meeting of the brethren in Coplaw
Street that night.

Leaving my true friends who had so kindly entertained me in Glasgow, I
proceeded to Edinburgh, the city where Robert Burns came into
prominence. In the large Waverley Station a stranger, who knew of my
coming through word from Brother Ivie Campbell, of Kirkcaldy, stopped me
and asked: "Is your name Don Carlos Janes?" It was another good friend,
Brother J.W. Murray. He said he told some one he was looking for me, and
was told, in return, that he would not be able to find me. His answer to
this was that he had picked out a man before, and he might pick out
another one; and so he did, without any difficulty. After a little time
spent in Waverley gardens, I ascended the Walter Scott Monument, which
is two