A party of their young men set out once upon a foray; they marched over the hills for several hours, and at last descended into a little glen, which was rented as a black cattle farm by a widow woman and her two sons.  The sons were absent from home on some excursion, and had carried most of their servants with them, so that the M’Alisters met with no resistance in their attempts to raise the cattle.  They hunted every corner of the glen, secured every beast, and, in spite of the tears of the widow, they drove her herd away.  When the sons returned, and heard the story of the raid, they collected a strong party of their friends, and crossing the hill secretly by night, surprised the few M’Alisters who were left in charge of the spoil, vanquished them easily, and recovered their cattle.  Such a slight to the power of M’Alister More could not go unpunished.  The chief himself headed the band which set out to vindicate the honour of the clan.  He marched steadily over the rugged mountains, and arrived towards sunset in the little glen.  To oppose the force he brought with him, would have been fruitless; the sons and their few adherents were speedily overpowered, and led bound before him; they were small in number, but they were gallant and brave, and yielded only to superior strength.  M’Alister More was always attended by four and twenty bowmen, who acted as his body guard, his jury, his judges, and his executioners.  They erected on the instant a gibbet before the door of the wretched mother, and there her sons were hung.

Her cottage was built at the foot of a craggy, naked rock, on a strip of green pasture land, and beside a mountain torrent; the gibbet was a few paces from it, on the edge of the shelf; and the setting rays of a bright summer sun fell on the bodies of the widow’s sons.  They were still warm when she came and stood beside them.  She raised her eyes on the stern chief, and his many followers, and slowly and steadily she pronounced her curse:—­

“Shame, shame on you, M’Alister!  You have slain them that took but their own; you have slain them you had injured!  You have murdered the fatherless, and spoiled the widow! but he that is righteous shall judge between us, and the curse of God shall cling to you for this for ever.  The sun rose on me the proud mother of two handsome boys; he sets on their stiffening bodies!” and she raised her arm, as she spoke, towards the gibbet.  Her eye kindled, and her form dilated, as she turned again to her vindictive foe.  “I suffer now,” said she, “but you shall surfer always.  You have made me childless, but you and yours shall be heirless for ever.  Long may their name last, and wide may their lands be; but never, while the name and the lands continue, shall there be a son to the house of M’Alister!”