the government, or to stay a few days until they saw what use my Lord Dundee would make of his victory.  They knew the rapidity of his motions, and were convinced that he would allow them no time to deliberate.  On this account it was debated, whether such of the nobility and gentry as were confined for adhering to their old master, should be immediately set at liberty or more closely shut up; and though the last was determined on, yet the greatest revolutionists among them made private and frequent visits to these prisoners, excusing what was past, from a fatal necessity of the times, which obliged them to give a seeming compliance, but protesting that they always wished well to King James, as they should soon have occasion to show when my Lord Dundee advanced.”

“The next morning after the battle,” says Drummond, “the Highland army had more the air of the shattered remains of broken troops than of conquerors; for here it was literally true that

  ‘The vanquished triumphed, and the victors mourned.’

The death of their brave general, and the loss of so many of their friends, were inexhaustible fountains of grief and sorrow.  They closed the last scene of this mournful tragedy in obsequies of their lamented general, and of the other gentlemen who fell with him, and interred them in the church of Blair of Atholl with a real funeral solemnity, there not being present one single person who did not participate in the general affliction.”

I close this notice of a great soldier and devoted loyalist, by transcribing the beautiful epitaph composed by Dr. Pitcairn:—­

  “Ultime Scotorum! potuit, quo sospite solo,
    Libertas patriae salva fuisse tuae: 
  Te moriente, novos accepit Scotia cives,
    Accepitque novos, te moriente, deos. 
  Illa nequit superesse tibi, tu non potes illi,
    Ergo Caledoniae nomen inane, vale. 
  Tuque vale, gentis priscae fortissime ductor,
    Ultime Scotorum, ac ultime Grame, vale!”

THE BURIAL MARCH OF DUNDEE

  Sound the fife, and cry the slogan—­
    Let the pibroch shake the air
  With its wild triumphal music,
    Worthy of the freight we bear. 
  Let the ancient hills of Scotland
    Hear once more the battle-song
  Swell within their glens and valleys
    As the clansmen march along! 
  Never from the field of combat,
    Never from the deadly fray,
  Was a nobler trophy carried
    Than we bring with us to-day;
  Never, since the valiant Douglas
    On his dauntless bosom bore
  Good King Robert’s heart—­the priceless—­
    To our dear Redeemer’s shore! 
  Lo! we bring with us the hero—­
    Lo! we bring the conquering Graeme,
  Crowned as best beseems a victor
    From the altar of his fame;
  Fresh and bleeding from the battle
    Whence his spirit took its flight,
  Midst the crashing charge of squadrons,