xx Scotland

What a call! Are at the world then, strange fascinating lands beckoneth, bid us rebel and their exotic spenders.

Come with us as we head for a port of call! Northward to the I-R-E-C, our giant steamer carries us swiftly toward our port of call, Scotland. The distant hills are purple with fragrant heber, the sodden myths of morning lift to reveal a shore of prags and cliffs.

With here and there the dimming beacons of lighthouses fading in the dew-dap and dawn. Off to Starbird we see a village, where in the quiet splendor of simplicity early rising farmers and merchants are making ready for another day.

That village is ballon-free, famed in fiction by Robert Louis Stevenson. Untold an author ship glides silently through the birth of Clyde, past Grenick, past Gumbaughton, finally into the muddy, sluggish waters of the river Clyde.

two tiny tugs guide us into our birth between two great piers, we see ahead a modern, busy city. Great Gothic spires point heavenward, guarding and guiding the millions of souls who bust the long and sturdy activity below. Fine parks, broad boulevards, electric lights, street railways and subways. All the evidences of 20th century civilization, greet our fascinating

days as we realize we have reached our protocol, Glasgow, the mightiest and most important city of old Scotland. With all this activity of modern times fades away in the soft half-light of the magnificent Gothic cathedral in the northeastern part of Glasgow.

Dating from the year 1248, this great edifice has been the scene of many an important event, now for the least of which occurred in 1300-6. A solemn visaged, intense, vigorous man stands within a small anti-room by the side of a beautiful, sympathetic woman.