We entered the glass building. Within were planted shrubs and trees, some of them bearing fruit, others seeds. There were no cages, but I observed numerous nests attached to the bushes and trees. The floor was the natural earth; the sun shone warmly, and all was beautiful. There were no doors, but here and there entrance-ways, always open for the convenience of the feathered denizens of the place, who came and went of their pleasure. A stream of water gushed from a rock, and gurgled and plashed over a heap of stones. This was the bird-house belonging to the estate, and the especial pride of “Highland Mary.” We tarried a few moments, and then continued our way to the house, which we soon reached. How different the scene! A plain, unpretentious, white dwelling, with no attempt at ornamentation, the sun shining down upon it, fully displaying all its simplicity. Within was the same; neat and cheerful, suggestive of comfort and repose, but nothing finical, nothing tawdry; no glitter, no display. There was no covering to the cool, white floors, excepting here and there a rug or mat of green rushes. The walls of the apartment into which I was ushered were draped with a snowy gossamer-like fabric; the chairs round, wide, and comfortable, the tables oval and plain. Here we were served with refreshments,—fruit of various kinds, sweet cake formed of honey and the meat of nuts, and sparkling water. Afterward I entered the sitting-room of spirit Mary. Here the walls were draped with blue silken stuffs; the furnishings were more elaborate and elegant than the other parts of the house, and all arranged in exquisite taste. My hostess entertained us with her tender, soulful singing, striking a harp-shaped instrument, which sent forth a delicious accompaniment to the song. In Mary’s apartment, or boudoir, I observed a pot of primroses in full bloom, the yellow petals of the flowers recalling old familiar scenes of earth; and the sight of these flowers recalled to me also that they were the only ones I had noticed within the dwelling. This seemed singular to me; with all that wealth of bloom and fragrance without, it would only be natural to find every room adorned with slips and cuttings. Of course the drift of my thought was perceived. Burns smiled, but Mary enlightened me. “Robbie will never pluck a flower,” said she, “for his own use; he does not think it right to bring them out of their native elements, and deprive them of life on the stalk. He thinks they are hurt when they are culled; he also leaves them all out to be enjoyed by anyone who comes along; but I have seen him often break the flowers for some wee lassie, or poor laddie, who luks at them wistfully. He knows by that they had none too many flowers and pleasures on earth.”