In answer to an inquiry on the part of Mr. Denoon as to how things had fared with himself since last they met, Andrew Ayton informed him regarding the letter of intercommuning which had forced him to visit Morayshire much sooner than he otherwise would have done, being desirous of remaining in Fifeshire some little time longer, in order that he might, if possible, labour in conjunction with others in behalf of those who desired to have the pure gospel preached unto them. "You are now," said Mr. Denoon with a sigh, "called upon to share in the trials and sorrows of those who have as it were cast the world behind them. But fear not; there is One who will guide thy bark upon the waters, and still the waves which threaten to engulph thee. Cast, therefore, thy care upon Him, and should thy path through life be compassed with thorns, yet thy reward hereafter will be great." As they walked to and fro amongst the venerable ruins, Mr. Denoon attracted the attention of his youthful companion towards the beautiful and elaborate carving with which the walls of the interior were adorned. "See," said he, "that exquisite tracery on yonder cornice; mark that curiously-defined cross; how strange that such things should still exist, when those who grudged not the time and labour bestowed on perishable works such as these have long been mouldering in the dust. What changes are produced by the flight of years! At no very distant period," he continued, "this priory was inhabited by a body of monks, who, according to their constitution, were obliged to lead a lonely and austere life. For some time they religiously adhered to the rules of their order, until at length grown weary of so restricting themselves, they gave way to riotous excesses, and from being an independent house, Pluscardine was degraded to a cell dependent on the Abbey of Dunfermline. Years rolled on, and the tide of Reformation resistlessly rushed over the hills and valleys of Scotland. All gave way before it. The walls of the monasteries and cathedrals then existing in our country were razed to the ground, the monks fled to less hostile shores, and now"—here Mr. Denoon paused for a moment, as if overwhelmed by painful thoughts—"this green turf once pressed by the sandalled foot, is trod by the feet of those who are at this moment trembling for the safety of that Church our fathers strove to establish in our land." "Was it not," said Andrew Ayton, "in reference to the gay doings of the monks of Pluscardine that the verses I am about to repeat were written?" So saying, he recited the following:— A right merry set were the monks of old, They lived on the best of cheer; They drank the red wine out of cups of gold, And hunted the fallow-deer. Quoth father Anselmo, "I wot that we, Thrive right well on the faithful’s charity."