That night, the most fashionable shoemaker made a pair of fine blue velvet slippers, sewn over with seed-pearls in the form of a thistle, and strangely soled with the prepared bark of a tree; and he paid a visit to the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street in the morning.

That night, the descendant of the best armourer of Grenada, an exiled Moor, fashioned a sword on a stone anvil with flint hammers, caring greatly that it should touch no iron, and handed it, polished and finished, wrapped up in a linen cloth, to a man who had watched him untiringly from evening till grey dawn; and that Moor spoke of the pilgrimage to Mecca through the day, and of a shop in the Bezestein of Grand Cairo.

Bright and early Donald Og rose from refreshing sleep, and found in attendance a goodly array of his friends and countrymen. The fashion of his garb struck them not a little; but there were other things to speak of, and it passed uncriticised. The rendezvous gained, the Italian was there, and a throng of the most celebrated persons of the time. If Donald Og's raiment seemed strange to his friends, it did no less so to his antagonist. He felt for the first time in his life alarmed, and tried to touch his adversary's sword with iron, but failed in the attempt.

"When thou touchest my sword, stranger, it shall be in thy body," exclaimed Donald Og.

They at once engaged, and three opponents appeared before young Monaltrie; but he only heeded the mid one. It was a desperate fight, and the spectators looked on in silence, and their eyes felt sore and dazzled by the rapid flashing of the steel, as it were by lightning. The Italian, though alarmed, felt that his was a charmed life, and at every onset would, with his two shadows, leap shoulder high, and fall on his enemy with dreadful downward plunge. But the Celt parried and thrust undauntedly, and the sharp rattle of the steel grated on the spectators' ears, and their eyes, fascinated by the terrible struggle, stared on unwinkingly. And the combat continued desperate and relentless, the swords jarring together, and the wrists stiffened into iron. Again and again came the dread downward thrust, and again the quick sure parry, and the Scot's sword glittered through the Italian's side.

"I have it," said he, "withdraw thy sword, Scot."

"Let the spit go with the roast," replied Donald Og.

"The devil," groaned the Italian, "hath kept ill faith with me, or man of woman born should never have overcome me." "The devil hath kept good faith with thee, for I was cut out of my mother's side."

Loud applause rent the sky while these words passed between

the combatants, and the Italian fell back and expired. The measure of gold was brought forward and handed to the victor. But some envious, sordid wretches exclaimed, "See how the Scots beggar pockets our English gold!" Donald, overhearing this brutal observation as every other one present, scattered the gold among the crowd, crying out, "See how the English dogs gather up the gold which they could not themselves win, but which a Scot won for them!" The English pocketed the affront with the gold, and Donald Farquharson of Monaltrie was thence styled, "Domhnull Og na h-Alba."

If we may believe tradition, Donald Og's adventures at court did not end here. He is held to be the hero of the tale in the Legend of Montrose, relative to the superiority of Scottish over English candlesticks. The story has indeed been current on the Braes of Mar before the novel was written, and the whole would well agree with Donald's well-known pride of country and ready wit. The denouement is said to have taken place in London, some recruits from Aberdeenshire to the "Garde Ecossaise" to have officiated as candlesticks, and Donald to have both made the bet and fallen on the scheme to gain it.

Then Donald Og na h-Alba returned home, and the family bard composed, and the whole clan assembled and met him singing

"Welcome home, Domhnull Og na h-Alba,

Welcome to your lady and children," &c.

In England he left a higher name and reputation than any other head of family or chief of our country. Some of the English gentry, indeed, hearing him so much spoken of, wished to see in what style this brilliant cavalier lived at Monaltrie, and set out for the north. Through his friends, Donald heard of their purpose. Monaltrie House would ill accord with their notions of grandeur and magnificence. But the reputation of the Highlands shall not suffer through Monaltrie. Ordering his servants, if any strangers called, to admit them to the hall only, but there treat them with the best of everything on silver plate, Donald left home, and directed his course over the Cairnwall, by which route he understood the Englishmen were to come; and truly he met them on the hill, and learnt from their own mouths with what intention they had come. He regretted that business, brooking no delay, called him south; but if they wished to prove the hospitality of Monaltrie, they had simply to call at the kitchen, taking care not to let the servants know who they were, or what they wanted.

"And," quoth he, " as your expenses hither must have far surpassed expectation, accept this trifle to provide against mis

adventure on your return home." At the same time the munificent Monaltrie gave them with his right hand a purse of gold, and with his left a purse of silver. The Englishmen were treated like princes at Monaltrie, and returned home perfectly astonished. Of course they were questioned on every hand.

"How looks Monaltrie House, and what treatment met you there?"

"Monaltrie House is small indeed; we saw, however, only into the kitchen; but its hospitality passes belief, for even there we were treated like princes. What would it then have been had we sat at the laird's own table?"

"And who was your best friend in Scotland ?" "Donald Og's right hand."

"And the next best?"

"Donald Og's left hand!"

And the fame of our hero still increased.

The only other mention we find of Monaltrie, before the renewal of the war, is in Spalding: "On the 16th February 1643, he, with Gordon, laird of Craigie, and Gordon, younger of Arradoul, brought into Aberdeen a party of soldiers, who were shipped for France to recruit the Garde Ecossaise."""

The fiery spirits of the royal party finding it impossible to make the Marquis of Huntly rise while the Scots Covenanting army is in England, succeed with Drum and Haddo. Those two, with a few horse, surprise Aberdeen, take prisoners the provost, the Commissioner-General for the Estates, and some other chief Covenanters, bring them to Huntly, and thence have them sent to, and incarcerated in, Auchindown. This, as was anticipated, forces Huntly to action. He appoints a rendezvous of the Royalists at Aboyne-Spalding says Kintore and on the day agreed finds there assembled about a thousand foot and two hundred horse, at the head of which he marches into Aberdeen. Here information is received of the miscarriage of Montrose, and Aboyne's attempt in the west of Scotland, and of their retreat to Carlisle; and at the same time of Argyle's return from England with a body of troops directed against the Gordons. Huntly's men dwindle away on the intelligence; young Drum is sent south to reconnoitre. Our hero, Donald Farquharson, joins him at the North Esk with three hundred Highlanders, and the small party chivalrously storm Dundee on the 20th April 1644, returning to Aberdeen with little loss. Huntly, understanding he is too weak to cope with Argyle, retires, deserted by Haddo and Gight, and, finally disbanding, retreats, himself and a few followers, into Strathnaver. Argyle takes possession of the three counties-Banff, Aberdeen, and the Mearns. And then it was that John Grant, the Cam-Ruadh

-"that heauine-dasleing sparke,” as Patrick would say-shone forth among the

"Brave bowmen of Mar."

THE LEGEND OF THE CAM-RUADH,

OR THE ONE-EYED RED-HAIRED MAN.

THE Cam-Ruadh was as ugly a five-feet-high "carlie" as you could wish to see on the longest summer day's journey. He had a provoking warty little nose, that came out between his eyes broad and flat like my thumb, and turned up into the air in a most impertinent pug, just as if it was not worth its pains to smell anything earthly. A pair of broad cheeks, whereon you could see every rough, red, knotted vein, like the ditches of a corn-field on a dry summer, ended on each side of the nose with a hump below the eyes, in a thin crop of red whiskers, the birse of which went away scrambling everywhere, as in a desperate search for their neighbours. I said his eyes-pardon me, he had but one that could be called an eye. In place of the other was a lump of unseemly matter, covered with a bluish transparent skin, streaked with blotches of blood, and staring wide open. His thin lips seemed to have fasted and dried a year or two in the roost, such a couple of ghost instruments they were; and when determinedly pressed together, the strong broad tusks within showed their inequalities through them, in a way to make a tender person's flesh creep. Had a dry tuft of rushes, mixed with waterwrack, been substituted for his hair, the crop, to outward appearance, would have been the same. As the head stood, then, like a kind of hedgehog, it appeared impossible to make any sense of it. I must, however, I think, make an exception in favour of his seeing eye-a large border of red surrounding a bright circle of blue -so bright indeed that it shone like a star, defying mortal vision to withstand its glance. The frame of the Čam-Ruadh, though rather short, was strong as a block of oak, and as to his arms and hands, not Sampson, Goliath, Gog, or Magog, rejoiced in better. His legs were shockingly bandied, I grant you, and his feet as flat as shingles. What of that? "A man's a man for a' that;" and the Cam-Ruadh was possessed of many enviable qualifications and acquirements. Ĥe could have distinguished a bluebottle on a greyish stone at a distance of twenty yards,

one-eyed as he was. He could send an arrow twice as far as an ordinary person, with force to kill an ox, and accuracy to hit a midge. I am not aware that he considered his bandy legs or flat feet personal beauties; but not hind, hound, or hare could beat them at a long race, and but little at a short one. No person can say much of the Cam-Ruadh's sentiments or opinions, for he seldom said more than three words at a time. As to his character, he was a snappish, crusty, snarling cur, who would put up with nobody, as obstinate as a pig, and a deal more cunning than a fox. Such as he was, he found the way of winning one fair damsel's heart, and descendants of theirs are still amongst us.

The Glen Shee folk would have us believe that the CamRuadh dwelt in Glen Taitneach, a little above the Spittal; but it has been preserved as a family tradition with us, that he lived and died at Aldmhaidh in Glen Cluny. Many other good authorities will tell you the same. He was unquestionably a contemporary of Donald Og na h-Alba.

You all know about the Argyle men called the Cleansers, who ravaged the Highlands of Aberdeenshire from the beginning of May 1644 to the beginning of July. They were afraid to show themselves often above Crathie, but at times wandering_parties pounced on the cattle and flocks of the lower parts of Braemar, and made several rather extensive raids into Glen Shee and Glen Isla.

For offences, defaults, and misdemeanours of this kind against his goods and chattels, the Cam had conceived an inexpressible hatred to these gentlemen, as indeed to all kern kind in general, and he shot them down like "houdie-craws," till every corrie and glen smelt with carrion, and gleds and birds of prey rejoiced and grew fat on the dead. One night, however, as he returned from the hills, disgusted with the sights that met him on every hand, the Cam-Ruadh vowed his hand should not, for the space of one whole day, be lifted against human life, Cleansers and kern included, unless in self-defence. Unfortunately, that very night the Cleansers made an inroad from Cromar, and cleansed Glen Shee and Glen Isla of hoof and horn. Glen Shee was furious, and Glen Isla in a ferment: the men of both countries rose, and it was agreed that, marching from opposite directions, they should simultaneously surround and destroy the enemy. To make surer work, a messenger was despatched to M'Coinnich mor na Dalach (Big M‘Kenzie, Laird of Dalmore), praying him to haste with his Braemar men to their assistance. By the grey of morning the different parties were in march. Unfortunately, no leader was chosen and no rendezvous appointed, and the Glen Shee men went forward in small straggling bands, as they hap