Passing through the the villiage of Houston, down a narrow road lined with large, overhanging trees, we came to the kirk of the combined parishes of Houston and Kilallan. An inscription over the doorway recites that the church was built in 1874 in memory of Alexander Spiers (1840-1868) by his mother. The Spiers family owned the Houston estate prior to Major Maitland, who is a grand-nephew of Lady Anne Spiers.

The kirk is a beautiful building, not ancient but with enough mellow age to fit comfortably in the ancient churchyard which is croded with moss-encrusted gravestones and almost hidden by great, spreading trees. While I gazed about, lost in musing, Sunday School was dismissed and a flock of beautiful children of rosy cheek and clear white complexion emerged in their Sunday best. Several of the small boys were decked in kilts, complete with jackets, belt and swinging sporran or pocket. Hansome youngsters they were, boys and girls all, and they happily posed whlle I snapped a picture.

We were greeted by Major Maitland who introduced us to minister, Rev. George K. Mortimer. During the worship service we were moved with emotion by the beautiful notes of organ, the harmonloüs. singing of the congregation, the holy surroundings and the knowledge that behind us in the sanctuary were the 500-year-old reclining statue of Sir John Houstoun, who died in 1456, and his wife, Annes Campbell. This is the oldest existing memorial of the Houstoun lairds.

The present castle still called Houston House, stands in stately grandeur on a gently sloping hill some 200 yards from the kirk. It is of later build and much more comfortable than the original castle must have been. The east wing, the oldest part, is beleived to date back to 1625. The rest of the present structure was erected by Lady Anne Spiers between 1872 and 1900. The main part of the old castle was razed in 1781. A winding drive from the kirk approaches the castle, skirting beautiful trees in amazing variety, some native and some gathered from distant lands. It was late May and the rhododendrons, which thrive in the British Isles, were in their glory—in white, pink and deep red. The whole sloping lawn was a carpet greenery and flowers. To the right, a few favored horses kine grazed in a small paddock.

Woods skirted the ancient east wing, but to the west, hidden from the front approach, was the most fascinating part of