I retire from the field, conscious that there remains behind not only a large harvest, but labourers capable of gathering it in.  More than one writer has of late displayed talents of this description; and if the present author, himself a phantom, may be permitted to distinguish a brother, or perhaps a sister shadow, he would mention, in particular, the author of the very lively work entitled marriage.

IV.  APPENDIX.

No.  I

The scarcity of my late friend’s poem may be an excuse for adding the spirited conclusion of Clan Alpin’s vow.  The Clan Gregor has met in the ancient church of Balquidder.  The head of Drummond-Ernoch is placed on the altar, covered for a time with the banner of the tribe.  The Chief of the tribe advances to the altar: 

     And pausing, on the banner gazed;
     Then cried in scorn, his finger raised,
     “This was the boon of Scotland’s king;”
     And, with a quick and angry fling,
     Tossing the pageant screen away,
     The dead man’s head before him lay. 
     Unmoved he scann’d the visage o’er,
     The clotted locks were dark with gore,
     The features with convulsion grim,
     The eyes contorted, sunk, and dim. 
     But unappall’d, in angry mood,
     With lowering brow, unmoved he stood. 
     Upon the head his bared right hand
     He laid, the other grasp’d his brand: 
     Then kneeling, cried, “To Heaven I swear
     This deed of death I own, and share;
     As truly, fully mine, as though
     This my right hand had dealt the blow: 
     Come then, our foeman, one, come all;
     If to revenge this caitiffs fall
     One blade is bared, one bow is drawn,
     Mine everlasting peace I pawn,
     To claim from them, or claim from him,
     In retribution, limb for limb. 
     In sudden fray, or open strife,
     This steel shall render life for life.” 
     He ceased; and at his beckoning nod,
     The clansmen to the altar trod;
     And not a whisper breathed around,
     And nought was heard of mortal sound,
     Save from the clanking arms they bore,
     That rattled on the marble floor;
     And each, as he approach’d in haste,
     Upon the scalp his right hand placed;
     With livid lip, and gather’d brow,
     Each uttered, in his turn, the vow. 
     Fierce Malcolm watch’d the passing scene,
     And search’d them through with glances keen;
     Then dash’d a tear-drop from his eye;
     Unhid it came—­he knew not why. 
     Exulting high, he towering stood: 
     “Kinsmen,” he cried, “of Alpin’s blood,
     And worthy of Clan Alpin’s name,
     Unstain’d by cowardice and shame,
     E’en do, spare nocht, in time of ill
     Shall be Clan Alpin’s legend still!”

No.  II.

It has been disputed whether the Children of the Mist were actual MacGregors, or whether they were not outlaws named MacDonald, belonging to Ardnamurchan.  The following act of the Privy Council seems to decide the question:—­