While quartered at Stirling I several times visited Dunkeld, the scene of the heroic defence of the Cameronians, now the Scottish Rifles, against the Highlanders, being greatly impressed by the courage and determination of Cleland, who, when his Lowlanders, all Glasgow Covenanters, upbraided him for having brought them into the Highlands to be massacred by their foes, saying, “It is all very well for you; when they come down, you can mount your horse and ride off,” replied, “Bring out the horses;” and when they were led forth, said, “Now cut their throats.” With a revulsion of feeling the Cameronians refused, and on the 21st August 1689 withstood the determined and repeated attacks of 5000 Highlanders till 11 p.m., when they raised a Psalm of triumph and thanksgiving, as their foes drew off and dispersed. On my third visit, I asked the caretaker to show me Cleland’s grave. She said, with much astonishment, “Wha’s that? If ye come here, I’ll show ye a real Christian’s grave,” and she took me over to the opposite side of the graveyard and showed me the tomb of a Bishop. I said, “I am not interested at all; I wanted to see where Cleland’s body lies, who, with his officers, gave up his life in defence of this building.” “Ah, man,” she said, “but this was a Christian.” “Well, and why should not Cleland have been a Christian?” “Nae, man; ye said he was a sodger.” When I joined the 90th Light Infantry, it came to my knowledge that although it had been in possession of its new Colours for two years, the tattered remnants of those that had been previously carried were still in the Quartermaster’s Store at Glasgow, and after some correspondence the Regiment accepted my suggestion, and I was asked to arrange with the Provost and Council of Perth to hang the Colours in the Cathedral of the City in which the Regiment was raised. The arrangements necessitated two or three visits to Perth, and on the first occasion, as the Councillors accompanied me back to the station, which was close to the Council Chamber, I asked one of them, pointing to a distinguished-looking old man, with a long white beard, who he was, and received the somewhat contemptuous reply, “Oh, he is of no importance--only an old Peninsula soldier.” I repeated my question to the stationmaster, who was more sympathetic, and at my request obtained his initials from the Goods Office. When I got back to Stirling, I went up to the Mess-room, where we had Army Lists for eighty years past, and was rewarded by finding the name of the distinguished-looking old man, who had been present in a Fusilier Regiment at the battle of Albuera in 1811. William Napier wrote marvellously graphic English, but of all his work one piece stands out pre-eminent, “The Attack of the Fusilier Brigade at Albuera,” and I committed to memory rather more than a page of his account of the climax of the battle. On the 27th June we went up to Perth--16 officers and 14 non-commissioned officers, and the