Who has not heard of Simon Aleyn, the Vicar? His memory is still as fresh as it was three centuries back, when he died. He lived from the time of Henry VIII. to that of Elizabeth, and was an Anglican, a Presbyterian or a Papist as was expedient. It does no harm to repeat old Fuller’s words, although they appear in the guide book: “He had seen some martyrs burned at Windsor, and found this too hot for his tender temper. This Vicar being taxed by one with being a turncoat and an inconsistent changling, ‘Not so,’ said he, ‘for I have always kept my principle, which is to live and die Vicar of Bray.’” After the service we walked through the churchyard, and, Scotchman-like, I looked among the tombstones to see if there were any Dugalds, Donalds or Macs. There were none. I never before felt so much being in the heart of England. There was not a record of one Scotchman having died here, and I thought they had penetrated everywhere. I can well recollect making a trip to the west coast a few years back. It was during the period when the Honourable A. Mackenzie was Premier of Canada. I was then an officer of the Canadian Government on leave. I visited Truro, the most southern city in England, and on entering the principal business street the first sign I saw was that of Alexander Mackenzie & Co. I certainly thought then I was a long way from Scotland, and still further from all Canadian associations. I have been in many strange and remote corners of the globe on both continents, but I was never before in a place where there was no trace of the ubiquitous, enterprising and energetic north-country man. And yet it was a Vicar of the church which I had just attended who curtly refused to pay a bill of James the First at Maidenhead. That monarch, on a certain occasion, having outrode his hunting escort, and being hungry, begged leave to join the Vicar and curate at dinner. His Majesty seems to have been in excellent humour. He told so many stories that the two listeners, who did not know their Royal guest, laughed as they seldom did. The bill came, the King had no money, and asked his companions to pay for him. The Vicar declined, it would seem, somewhat irately. The curate was more kindly disposed, and paid the bill. In the meantime the retinue arrived, and with it recognition of the Royal person. The Vicar threw himself on his knees, and asked pardon for his harshness. James told him he should not disturb him in his vicarage, but that he should always remain Vicar of Bray. The genial curate he would make a Canon of Windsor, so that he would look down on both him and his vicarage.