We arrived at the royal and ancient burgh of Linlithgow at about nine o’clock.  The town, as Burns says, “carries the appearance of rude, decayed, idle grandeur”; it is, however, very pleasantly situated, with rich, fertile surroundings.  There is a fine old royal palace here within which, on December 7th, 1542, the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots was born, whose beauty and magnificence have imbued her history with so deep and melancholy an interest.  Sir Walter Scott in “Marmion” sings the praises of this palace as follows:—­

  Of all the palaces so fair,
    Built for the royal dwelling. 
  In Scotland, far beyond compare
    Linlithgow is excelling.

We fully endorsed the great Sir Walter’s opinion, for it certainly was a magnificent structure and occupied a grand situation, with a large lake in front covering perhaps a hundred acres.  We were now, however, getting ravenously hungry, so we adjourned to the hotel for breakfast, which was quickly served and almost as quickly eaten.  The palace was not open until ten o’clock, so we had to be content with a view of the exterior, nor could we visit the fine old church, for we wanted to reach Edinburgh, where we had decided to stay the week-end in order to see some of the sights of the historic capital.

[Illustration:  MONUMENT EXECUTED BY A ONE-ARMED MAN.]

A halo of deepest interest surrounded the history of Linlithgow, whose every stone spoke volumes of the storied past.  The traditions of the place go far back into the dim shadowy regions where historic fact merges into myth and legend.  Solid ground is only reached about the twelfth century.  The English had possession of the palace in 1313, and the way it was taken from them was probably unique in the history of such places.  The garrison was supplied with hay for the horses by a local farmer named Binnock, who determined to strike a blow for the freedom of his country.  A new supply of hay had been ordered, and he contrived to conceal eight men, well armed, under it.  The team was driven by a sturdy waggoner, who had a sharp axe concealed in his clothing, while Binnock himself walked alongside.  The porter, on seeing their approach, lowered the drawbridge and raised the portcullis to admit of the passage of the hay within the castle walls.  Just as they reached the centre of the gateway the driver drew his axe and cut off the tackle that attached the oxen to the waggon, at the same time striking the warder dead and shouting a preconcerted signal—­“Call all!  Call all!” “The armed men jumped from amongst the hay, and a strong party of Scots, who by arrangement were in ambush outside, rushed in and attacked the astonished garrison, who were unprepared for the onslaught—­the load of hay being so placed that the gate could not be closed nor the bridge raised—­and so the Scots made themselves masters of the palace.”

[Illustration:  WINDOW IN SOUTH CHANCEL OF ST. MICHAEL’S CHURCH, WHERE JAMES IV SAW THE VISION BEFORE THE BATTLE OF FLODDEN.]