Was Wishart in the plot to assassinate the cardinal, as hostile critics suggest? Over his ashes a tremendous controversy has arisen, and this is one of the unsettled questions in Scottish history. There was another George Wishart, bailie of Dundee, who was in the plot. Certainly the preacher’s name is great in Scotland’s history. One of the relics of bygone days, which the Dundeeans keep in repair, is a section of the old battlemented city wall crossing one of the important streets. This for a time was the pulpit of the great reformer. With mine host of the Temperance Hotel, Bailie Mather, who took me, as other antiquarians, poets, and scholars did also, through the old alleys and streets, where the vestiges of historic architecture still remain from the past, I mounted this old citadel of freedom. On the whole, the Reformation in Dundee was peacefully carried out, but in 1645, during the Civil War, the city was sacked and most of its houses went down in war fires. In 1651, General Monk, sent by Cromwell, captured Dundee, and probably one sixth of the garrison were put to the sword. Sixty vessels were loaded with plunder to be sent away, but “the sailors being apparently as drunk as the soldiery” the vessels were lost within sight of the city. “Ill got, soon lost,” said Monk’s chaplain. Governor Lumsden, in heroic defence, made his last stand in the old tower, which still remains scarred and pitted with bullet marks. Dundee rose to wealth during our Civil War, when jute took the place of cotton. Being a place of commerce rather than of art, literature, or romance, and touching the national history only at long intervals, few tourists see or stay long in “Jute-opolis.” Nevertheless, from many visits and long dwelling in the city and suburbs, Dundee is a place dearly loved by us three; for here, in health and in sickness, in the homes of the hospitable people and as leader of the worship of thousands, in the great Ward Chapel, where he often faced over a thousand interested hearers, the writer learned to know the mind of the Scottish people more intimately than in any other city. Nor could he, in any other better way, know the heart of Scotland, except possibly in some of those exalted moments, when surveying unique scenery, it seemed as if he were in the very penetralia of the land’s beauty; or, when delving in books, he saw unroll clearly the long panorama of her inspiring history.