prisoner, and died a martyr to the horrid evils that had then to be endured in a Scottish jail. M'Grigor of Inverigny, and Fleming of Auchintoul, fell wounded side by side. A ball had broken one of Auchintoul's legs. In the evening, while both lay writhing with pain, some soldiers passed, and one of them, seeing M'Grigor move, drove his bayonet through his shoulder, and thus died the Laird of Inverigny. Fleming wore a pair of excellent new boots, which caught the covetous eyes of one of the wretches, and he proceeded instantly to possess himself of them. He lay still, while the ruffian drew off the boot on the sound limb; but, alas! when he had to endure the same operation on the broken one. The fate of his comrade was a warning to him, however, and he bore the pain unmoved, without a groan, without the contraction of one muscle, as if lifeless, letting the broken member, when unbooted, fall to the ground out of the soldier's hands.

"I have been in danger, and I have seen death face to face; but my fortitude and courage were never more severely tried than by the undoing of my boots on Drummossie Moor. The villains! had I been able to stand, not ten of them had dared the attempt with Auchintoul."

During the night, he managed to crawl to a cottage, and was there tended and concealed till his recovery. A certain fair maid in the cottage, who had been exceedingly tender of the wound, whose bright eyes had alleviated the grief of the warrior, whose light hands had smoothed down the soft pillow for his feverish head, won the Fleming's heart. He married her, and both came to Gairnside, where the appearance of the veteran, who was believed among the slain, caused demonstrations of the greatest joy.

Malcolm Durward of Mullach saw his two brothers fall by his side, at the moment the clansmen broke through the first rank of the redcoats. He himself got unhurt out of the confused mêlée of the rout. In his flight he met a convoy for the English army, and without a word he cut out with his sword the first horse of the train, and, mounting him, rode off. Not one of the drivers, though armed, durst interfere; his size and apparent strength terrified them. As he rode up the hillside, he came on a little active acquaintance from Crathie, who had run into a quagmire, and was torturing and twisting his body in every shape and direction to avoid the thrusts and cuts of three dragoons, by whom he was surrounded. Durward dis mounting, led forward his horse, and cut down two of the ruffians the third took to flight.

"Nis, dhuine bhig, dian air do shon fhein." "Now, my little man, look out for yourself."

"And that,” replied he jumping out of the bog," will be to keep in your company."

And so the little man and he came home together.

Some years after Culloden, the Grants of Rothiemurchusfor to them the horse employed to forward the convoy which had been assaulted by the champion of Mar belonged—some way learned who the abstractor of it happened to be, and that the animal was still in his possession. They therefore laid claim to it, which, if they made good, might go hard against Malcolm, as the English garrisons in the country would have damnatory proof of Jacobitism against him. He therefore required that the Grants should prove their case. The owner of the horse, in consequence, brought two men with him from Speyside, who might swear to the identity. Malcolm also brought two friends to the Mullach, and prepared in his own way for the reception of the Grants the rascally Whiggamores. If the houses in those times were miserable ill-lit hovels, imagine only what the offices were. The Grants were let into the stable, in the two stalls of which were two Highland garrons. The judges, without hesitation stepped up to the nearest, and, slapping the animal on the back, said:

"This is the horse."

"Ah! but," replied one of Malcolm's friends, "it just happens that that is a mare, if you please, and whether or not."

The confounded Speymen looked; and, by the beard of Rothiemurchus, a mare it was. Naturally, after that, no claim could be maintained, and Malcolm kept the horse, which was drawn up in the next stall, till he went to rejoin his forefathers in the paradise of horses.

Let us drop a tear to the memory of the gallant Harry of Whitehouse, the tender and true, the loyal and bold, who, gloriously fighting, fell on the fatal field

"Drummossie moor! Drummossie moor!"

In a short time the broken remnant that returned had the redcoats at their heels. The houses of Auchintoul, Inverigny, Monaltrie, and Auchindryne were burnt to the ground. The Auchindrynes then took up their habitation at Tomintoul, an elevated position, to be out of harm's way. William the tutor's residence does not seem to have been touched. Garrisons were established at Corgarff, at Abergeldie, in the new castle of Braemar, and at the Dubrach, to overawe the district, to disarm the inhabitants, and to enforce all the odious enactments consequent on the defeat of the rising. This they did not find at all easy to do; in particular, I may mention that the disuse of the Highland dress-the garb of old Gael-could not be brought about.

There were, indeed, not a few other spirits besides Black Donald the Egyptian, and Donald the son of Robert the mighty, who did not fraternise with the redcoats. I will not mention, nor can I approve of the murder of sergeant Davis in Glenchristie. Sir Walter Scott has treated the trial of the suspected murderers with his magic pen, and the circumstances of the affair are all before the public.

Let me speak of men of another stamp-even of James Lamont the "taillear cuirt," or the vicious tailor. The tailor loathed the redcoats, and hated them as much as it was possible for man to do. He had, in consequence, frequent quarrels with them, and on several occasions made them feel the weight of his arm he was a formidable fraction of a man, the vicious tailor. In his justification, it must be said, that the soldiers provoked these quarrels by their own bad conduct, stealing eggs, fowls, &c. from the people, abusing them, and acting towards them in the haughtiest and most overbearing manner. At the time I refer to, the garrison was composed of Argylemen, a most precious parcel of villains. On the Spittal market-day, a party of them, in sportive humour, wishing to treat the Braemar men to a bit of their mind, punctuated with the thumps of strong cudgels, determined to intercept them on their way home. Those they were able to catch, they belaboured to within an inch of their lives, you may well trust. The "taillear cuirt," active and light, managed to slip through their hands, and, though they pursued him three miles down the Cluny, escaped. He did more. He organised a small body of the most determined warriors in the country, and led them up the Cluny to treat the Campbells to a bit of his mind. Armed with bludgeons only, they fortunately surrounded the obnoxious crew in the hostelry of the Coldrach, whither they had gone to celebrate, over reaming cogues, the glorious exploits of the day. The "taillear cuirt" burst in upon them, kicking the door about their ears. Instantly they started to their feet; instantly a hedge of bayonets bristled all around them. What now, James Lamont, vicious tailor though ye be? With a bound and a swing, James Lamont was up on the rafters of the house, and over above the Argylemen; instantly his plaid descended like a shroud over them; instantly he dropped down on the floor in the innermost corner of the apartment; instantly his good cudgel flourished in the air; and instantly the heads and shoulders of the villains responded to its repeated application like a hundred brass kettle-drums. Oh! Mhic Chailean-Mhoir-Oh, ye sons of Colin the Great.

"The Braemar men are at the door," cried the tailor in a voice of thunder, flailing away at every prominence that rose

below his plaid; "throw down your arms and surrender, else ye are dead men, every rascal of you."

The men threw their arms from them on the ground, and begged for mercy; and it was well they did, for the tailor's companions had now effected an entrance, and no less actively employed their bludgeons than he himself. The Braemar men possessed themselves of the arms, and marched their prisoners to Invercauld, the nearest magistrate. He had them severely chastised, and soon after procured their recall from Braemar. Though Invercauld had not himself taken part with the Prince, he was very active in protecting those who had from the consequences this step entailed. Indeed, he harboured in his own house Fear na Bruach, the man of the Braes-that is, the Laird of Broughdearg—whose uncle and tutor left the MS. History we so often quote. The young man was one of the Prince's surgeons. But you must have his history, though the clock reminds me I must be brief.

Fear na Bruach was sent by his parents to Italy to study medicine. When he returned home, father and mother were both dead, and his affairs intrusted to the management of a tutor. The celebrated physician-the famous Cagliostro, namely -under whom the young man had completed his studies, informed his pupil by letter that he could see from Italy a white serpent going daily at noon to drink from a well at the bottom of Coire Chronie, or the Dubh Choire-the corrie of echoes, or the black corrie. He instructed Fear na Bruach to catch this serpent by laying out for it a repast of fresh cream, and he desired him to bring it forthwith to Italy. The Laird followed the physician's directions, caught the white serpent, and with it sailed away. On his arrival, Cagliostro ordered him to boil it in a cauldron; but, on pain of death, not to touch the contents, or let it boil over. With care and dread Fear na Bruach stirred round the seething decoction of the white serpent, but, in spite of all his endeavours, up came the hissing spurting liquid, up even to the brim. Rapid as thought, he dipped his finger into it, raised it to his mouth, and then fled amain. Instant pursuit followed, and the bay of bloodhounds came loud and close on his track. In despair he leaped forward, and struck against a huge tree, the side of which, incredible to relate, burst open, and he fell breathless into a hollow inside the trunk. With great presence of mind, he rose and re-adjusted the door which admitted him, and here lay concealed for twentyfour hours. Finally, he slipt on board a ship which was just ready to sail from a harbour near by, and returned home again. The tasting he permitted himself of the decoction of the white serpent, rendered him omniscient in medicine, so that no dis

ease could baffle his skill, neither could he ever fail in effecting a cure. It is, indeed, to be wondered that he and his generation are not still in the land of the living. But old age is no malady, and death, then, but the falling of the ripened fruit. After the wars, in which so skilled a physician must have been of the greatest use, and while he harboured at Invercauld, Fear na bruach often spoke of another well in Craig Choinnich, the waters of which would render physicians unnecessary, by having virtue to cure all diseases. In the night time he could see it, from the dining room windows of Invercauld house, on the face of the hill, below a bush of rushes, a gold ring lying in its bed; but neither he, nor any one else, has yet found it. Fear na bruach also told, that another white serpent would be found at Pannanich, and no sensible man can doubt, but it is entirely on account of it that the wells there have their healing virtues. Happy, thrice happy, the man or woman who may find the well of Craig Choinnich, or the white serpent of Pannanich. Either of them would be worth the magnificent estates of Invercauld. The lucky man will now-thanks to yours truly-be able to make proper use of the discovery.

Another protégé of Invercauld's was the ancestor of the late Breda, Charles, the son of Andrew Farquharson of Allergue. After the act of grace, he became Factor to Invercauld, and went under the title of the Muckle Factor of the Clung. He, with other friends, having under their care the charter chest of Invercauld, had their hiding-place in a hollow of the steep and almost inaccessible Craig Chliny. While underlying here, Charles often heard the red coats revelling in his own house, during unsuccessful visitations in search of him.

The Factor Mor, as well as Fear na Bruach, survived those evil days.

Grigar Riach, the bard, was among the number of those who came home from the wars, to suffer insult and biting sarcasm from the Forbeses. Grigar made a proper reply in a poem of his called "The Bad Spring." In it high tribute is paid to Balmoral the brave, who led the "bra' lads" forward at Falkirk. Being on account of his wound unable for active service, he withdrew with his lady to his estate of Auchlossan, and remained there in hiding till his death. His barn was fitted at one of the ends with double walls, and the space between them formed the laird's concealment.

When the M'Kenzies sold their Braemar estate, one of them went to England to push his fortune, but having been unsuccessful, he returned home to Gairnside, where the family then lived. On account of his stay in the south, the people called him "an Sassanach," or the Saxon. The lairds of the country,