and historic surroundings, is perhaps the most
interesting town of Scotland. No one who pretends to see Scotland will
miss it, and no motor tour worthy of the name could be planned that
would not lead through the quaint old streets. From afar one catches a
glimpse of the castle, perched, like that of Edinburgh, on a mighty
rock, rising almost sheer from a delightfully diversified plain. It is a
many-towered structure, piercing the blue sky and surrounded by an air
of sullen inaccessibility, while the red-cross flag flying above it
proclaims it a station of the king's army. It is not by any means the
castle of the days of Bruce and Wallace, having been rebuilt and adapted
to the purpose of military barracks. True, many of the ancient portions
remain, but the long, laborious climb to the summit of the rock and the
battlements of the castle will, if the day be fine, be better repaid by
the magnificent prospect than by anything else. If the barrack castle is
a little disappointing, the wide sweep of country fading away into the
blue mountains on the west---Ben Venue, Ben Ledi and Ben Lomond of "The
Lady of the Lake"--eastward the rich lowlands, running for miles and
miles down the fertile valley of the Forth, dotted with many towns and
villages; the wooded hills to the north with the massive tower of the
Wallace monument and the dim outlines of the ruins of Cambuskenneth
Abbey; or, near at hand, the old town under your very eye and the
historic field of Bannockburn just adjoining, will make ample amends.
The story of "The Lady of the Lake" pictures Stirling in its palmiest
days, and no one who visits the castle will forget the brilliant closing
scene of the poem. Here too,

"The rose of Stuart's line
Has left the fragrance of her name,"

for Mary was hurried for safety to the castle a few days after her birth
at Linlithgow Palace, and as a mere baby was crowned Queen of Scotland
in the chapel. The parish church was also the scene of many coronations,
and in the case of James VI, later James I of England, John Knox
preached the sermon.

One cannot go far in Scotland without crossing the path of Prince
Charlie or standing in the shadow of some ancient building associated
with the melancholy memory of Queen Mary, and, despite the unquestioned
loyalty of the Scottish people to the present government, there seems to
linger everywhere a spirit of regret over the failure of the chevalier
to regain the throne of his fat