Our entrance doorway--thirty feet from the Rock--faces south-west, and is guarded by a heavy double leaved door, which opens outwards, and held open against the building by means of heavy brass thumb-snecks. An inner or vestibule door of solid brass is placed six feet further inwards--the walls here, by the way, being seven feet thick, tapering to one foot immediately beneath the balcony, sixty feet higher up. This door is also double-leaved, with the upper panels of heavy plate glass, frequently obscured by the strong westerly wind whipping the tops of the seas as they rise in front, and carrying them souse into the doorway. Standing here during the prevalence of a gale, the outlook is being constantly darkened by a curtain of hissing foam drawn across the doorway, as each sea breaks against the base of the tower, flinging the spray high overhead. Fifteen miles in front of us lies the Isle of May, with its castle-like lighthouse crowning its summit, while on a lower level stands a whitewashed relic--remnant of a time, not so long ago, when the Island boasted a double light, and electricity had not as yet usurped sole sway. Emerging from the right of the May appears the bluff outline of the Bass Rock, while away in the far distance North Berwick Law cleaves the sky-line. Away to St Abb’s Head, on the left, the Haddington coast stretches hazy and indistinct, while the green, grassy slopes of Fife, with the spires of St Andrews faintly visible, fill in the right of the picture. Laying hold of the man-ropes suspended in the doorway, and turning to the right, the Forfarshire coast is seen extending from the Tay in a long unbroken line, with the snow-clad Grampians towering majestically in the background. Right in front of us are the smoking stalks of Arbroath. Two conspicuous white dots in the foreground mark the pierheads, in front of which an impatient “flaxer” cruises in glorious uncertainty of ever being permitted to fulfil her charter and deposit her Riga-run freight on the right side of the bar. This is the panorama from the viewpoint of our doorway on a clear day, but, as seen of late through sheets of flying foam, it reminds one of a cinematograph display, in which the films are far from perfect.