the parish of Kilmany, about four miles to the north of Cupar. He was executed at Edinburgh in such a way as to justify the words of the inscription, " And also one of the Hands of DAVID HACKSTON of Rathillet who was most cruelly murdered at EDINR."

The original order for his execution is in the Antiquarian Museum in Edinburgh, and its details are of the most revengeful and barbarous character. The construction of its clauses is in keeping with the barbarity they strive to express. And from all accounts the order was carried out to the letter. It sentences him to die that day, July 30, 1680, "at the cross of Edinburgh, and there upon a high scaffold erected a little above the cross of, have his right hand struck off, and after some time to have his left hand struck off, and then to be hanged up and cut down alive, and the bowels taken out, and his heart to be shown to the people by the hand of the hangman, and his heart and bowels to be burnt in the presence of the people in a fire prepared for that purpose upon the scaffold, and afterwards to have his head cut off, and his body divided in four quarters, and his head to be affixed on the Netherbow, and one of his quarters with both of his hands to be affixed at St Andrews, another quarter at Glasgow, the third at Leith, the fourth at Burntisland, and that none presume to be in mourning for him, nor he to have a coffin, and that none be on the scaffold with him but two bailies, four officers, the executioner and his servants, and this sentence to be put in

execution against him this thirtieth day of July instant betwixt three and five o'clock in the afternoon. And ordained his name, fame, memory, and honours to be extinct, and his arms to be riven and delete furth of the books of arms, so that his posterity may never be able to bruick [i.e., enjoy] or joyse [i.e., enjoy] any lands, heritage, offices, titles of dignities, within this realm in time coming." Nothing more savage or revengeful can possibly ever have been written in the books of the Inquisition than this sentence.

Cupar churchyard has little to attract beside the Martyrs' Monument. The parish church is a large building, of date 1785. The tower and part of the old church still stand at its west end. They contrast favourably with the barn-like structure alongside of them.

From Cupar we took the road, at the east end of the town, which leads to St Andrews. As we crossed the Eden the wooded hills of Dura lay before us. It was the 1st of June, so that the fields and roadsides were putting on their summer dress. The poppy,

with its red flowers, so seldom seen in the west of Scotland, was plentiful everywhere, and took place alongside of the familiar daisy and dandelion and shepherd's purse. After a three miles' walk we came upon the entrance to Dura Den, and turned aside for half-a-mile to see its wonders, and found them as worthy of a visit as ever. Besides the sandstone rocks that are full of material for the geologist, the thickly wooded glen down which the Eden flows is

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one of more than ordinary beauty. another object before us than Dura Den, and so we reluctantly turned back when barely half-way down the path that leads to Dairsie at its north end. A few yards on the road from Cupar brought us to a small village with a toll-house, which bore the familiar name of Pitscottie. Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie lived in a narrow country house covered with straw and reed," on a site on which now stands the steading of Pitscottie farm. His "Chronicles of Scotland" are said not to be very trustworthy, but they are often very vividly written, and few readers will take them up without being led to read on to their close. The stories of Patrick Hamilton, George Wishart, and Walter Mill, are wonderfully well told. Among the books of the sixteenth century there are few more worthy of republication than the "Chronicles of Scotland." If wisely annotated, it would be eagerly laid hold of by the students of Scottish history. At Pitscottie toll the road to St Andrews divides itself into two; the one goes to the north-east, afterwards to turn east, the other strikes off in an easterly direction, and both unite again before entering its streets. We took the road that turns to the north-east. For three miles it led us through a well-cultivated country. When about four miles from St Andrews, its tall tower and the sea beyond it came in sight. A walk of about ten minutes brought us due south of the straggling village of Strathkinness, which lay about half-a-mile to the