The breakfast in Scotland, as in the British Isles generally, is one that suits admirably the free-born Briton. It is certainly a festival of freedom for the servants, who are usually apt to be upstairs or attending to other domestic duties, though in a large family, the members of which sit down at the same time, there is usually one maid present to wait upon the table. At several places where I was entertained, even in well-to-do families, the grown sons and daughters or members of the household came and went at their convenience, helping themselves at will from dishes on a sideboard. After the table has been laid by one of the maids, who may or may not remain present, it may be that the elder daughter serves. At Invergowrie there was a large, normal family, consisting of parents and children, with sufficient uniformity of dispositions and habits to make both the breakfast and the dinner time a delightful gathering, with merriment and leisure. The news of the day, the happenings of the neighborhood, the things alike and different as between Scotland and America, the annals of the village fair, or the social chat, or those pleasant nothings that lubricate life, made the moments pass all too rapidly. That father benign and mother of imposing presence have been long laid to sleep; but in London, and Edinburgh, and Dundee, in the world at large, live yet these sons and daughters of “Bonnie Scotland” who have made the Americans’ memories of their lovely home in their home land a storehouse of delight. Besides the private grounds of the home, with their trees and shrubbery, there were walks that afforded plenty of room for rambles. Still farther afield, yet not far away from either the house or the railway station, were ruins of Dargie Church. These touched the imagination and called history to resurrection. It appeared strange to come across the footprints of our old friend St. Winifred, or Boniface, whom we met with in our studies of the Pilgrim Fathers, and in the Netherlands, whose varied and strenuous life, as ecclesiastical politician as well as saint and soldier of the Papacy, quite as much as preacher of the gospel, was one of such amazing activity. At Scrooby in England, at Dokkum in Friesland, in France and in Germany, where I visited the places made historic by his activities, he left enduring marks of his influence and power. At Invergowrie I meditated among the ruins of the old kirk, in which, or near by, it is said, St. Boniface, the apostle to Germany and a legate from the Church of Rome, in the eighth century preached and planned to neutralize the work of the Irish monks in favor of British uniformity, and by means of conformity with Rome. Here also are still to be seen some singular examples of ancient sculptured stone monuments.