Go, disown the royal Stewart, for whom your father, and his fathers, and your mother's fathers, have crimsoned many a field with their blood.

Go, put your head under the belt of one of the race of Dermid, whose children murdered--Yes," she added, with a wild shriek, "murdered your mother's fathers in their peaceful dwellings in Glencoe! Yes," she again exclaimed, with a wilder and shriller scream, "I was then unborn, but my mother has told me--and I attended to the voice of MY mother--well I remember her words! They came in peace, and were received in friendship--and blood and fire arose, and screams and murder!" [See Note 9 .-- Massacre of Glencoe.] "Mother," answered Hamish, mournfully, but with a decided tone, "all that I have thought over.

There is not a drop of the blood of Glencoe on the noble hand of Barcaldine; with the unhappy house of Glenlyon the curse remains, and on them God hath avenged it." "You speak like the Saxon priest already," replied his mother; "will you not better stay, and ask a kirk from Macallum Mhor, that you may preach forgiveness to the race of Dermid ?" "Yesterday was yesterday," answered Hamish, "and to-day is to-day.

When the clans are crushed and confounded together, it is well and wise that their hatreds and their feuds should not survive their independence and their power.

He that cannot execute vengeance like a man, should not harbour useless enmity like a craven.