p. 116

And it fell on the morrow’s morning, In the fiercest of the fight, That the Cameron bit the dust As he foretold at night; p. 117And far from the hills of heather Far from the isles of the sea, He sleeps in the place of the name As it was doomed to be.

p. 117

p. 119NOTES TO TICONDEROGA

p. 119

Introduction.—I first heard this legend of my own country from that friend of men of letters, Mr. Alfred Nutt, “there in roaring London’s central stream,” and since the ballad first saw the light of day in Scribner’s Magazine, Mr. Nutt and Lord Archibald Campbell have been in public controversy on the facts. Two clans, the Camerons and the Campbells, lay claim to this bracing story; and they do well: the man who preferred his plighted troth to the commands and menaces of the dead is an ancestor worth disputing. But the Campbells must rest content: they have the broad lands and the broad page of history; this appanage must be denied them; for between the name of Cameron and that of Campbell, the muse will never hesitate.

Introduction

[103] Note 1, page 103. Mr. Nutt reminds me it was “by my sword and Ben Cruachan” the Cameron swore.

[109] Note 2, page 109. “A periwig’d lord of London.” The first Pitt.

[111] Note 3, page 111. “Cathay.” There must be some omission in General Stewart’s charming History of the Highland Regiments, a book that might well be republished and continued; or it scarce appears how our friend could have got to China.

p. 121HEATHER ALE A GALLOWAY LEGEND

p. 121

A GALLOWAY LEGEND

p. 123HEATHER ALE

p. 123

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