'_I ken my fate by what the Duke of Argyle has just said to Mr.Macintosh_.' O, it's been a scandal! The great Argyle he gaed before, He gart the cannons and guns to roar, and the very macer cried 'Cruachan!' But now that I have got you again I'll never despair.

The oak shall go over the myrtle yet; we'll ding the Campbells yet in their own town.

Praise God that I should see the day!" He was leaping with excitement, emptied out his mails upon the floor that I might have a change of clothes, and incommoded me with his assistance as I changed.

What remained to be done, or how I was to do it, was what he never told me nor, I believe, so much as thought of.
"We'll ding the Camphells yet!" that was still his overcome.

And it was forced home upon my mind how this, that had the externals of a sober process of law, was in its essence a clan battle between savage clans.