that each gentleman should be obliged to sing or pay the usual equivalent of a story. This paved the way to many amusing anecdotes and tales of wonder, and most of the fair ornaments of the party soon claiming the same privilege of the beaux, the song at length universally gave place to the narrative.

In the latitude of Strath-Eihre it would have been surprising if the general spirit of this species of entertainment had not been decidedly marvellous. Accordingly, each successive tale breathed more and more of the world of fable, till, at length, the colour had almost disappeared in every lovely cheek, and each fair listener seemed enchained to her seat by eager curiosity.

When this species of excitement had been kept up for a considerable time, the Doctor had the hardihood to express an opinion that certain mysterious facts, which had been stated by some of the speakers, could be accounted for, on certain principles of nature, without calling in the aid of supernatural agency, and even went so far as to throw out some remarks, tending to lessen the credit of the whole system of Celtic mythology. This provoked a universal combination of the ladies against him. Dunbreckan, whether prompted by his gallantry or by a generous impulse to aid the weaker party-though it certainly had the aid of ten to one in point of numbers-bent the whole weight of his logic to the cause of the fair combatants, while Maclaine, from motives equally inexplicable, though the reader may have his own theory on the subject, took part with the Doctor.

A general collision of opinions now ensued, and a very animated debate sprung up. Each remaining member of the company adopted the side of the question that best suited his conviction or his humour, though the majority still went with the ladies. Many staggering facts were now alleged by the advocates of the marvellous, corroborated withal by such a host of authorities, that they boldly defied their opponents to offer any plausible explanation of them without calling in the aid of some supernatural agent to loose the knot.

The Captain and the Doctor, however, with their few adherents, still maintained their position with pertinacious resolution. Maclaine became particularly animated in the debate, and showed himself no less a master of the syllogism than of the weapons of Mars and the muses. Even the arguments of his adored Jacobina herself were insufficient to drive him from his ground, though he stated his objections with all becoming deference.

As for Dunbreckan and the other gentlemen who seemed only to have obeyed the dictates of their gallantry, by engaging in this serious affray, they soon found that the office they had taken upon them was almost a total sinecure; for it speedily appeared that the fair heroines were quite able to carry on the combat by their own unaided might.

One of them—an amazon of nearly climateric years-named Grisilda Fraser, displayed the most signal prowess, and offered fairly to carry off the prize of valour. Miss Grisilda directed her blows particularly against the head of the undaunted Captain, till, believing him just on the point of giving in, and that one other effort would reduce him to utter silence, she summed up the controversy with the unanswerable and decisive assertion, that the doctrine of apparitions was as true as the gospel, and that she

could not persuade herself that any one sincerely disbelieved it, though it had, now-a-days, become the fashion for every would-be-wit to cavil at the creed of his fathers, in order to show his own superiority to vulgar prejudices.

Maclaine's answer to this irresistible kind of logic not seeming to be in readiness, the victory was believed, both by Miss Grisilda and some others, to be on her side. But, not content with having prostrated her antagonist, she appeared disposed to indulge her vindictiveness still further, by making an ungenerous use of her supposed advantage. She therefore added, when she found herself in the undisputed possession of the field, that, for all the Captain's vapouring, she would risk any bet that he would not have courage to go alone, that same night, to the Uaimh-a-Bhodaich and fetch Jacobina's gloves.

Maclaine immediately sprung to his feet, and intimated his readiness to go to any cave that Miss Grisilda might name, within an hour's walk of Auldour, on the bare condition that she should make him the compliment of a pair of gloves and a piece of bride-cake on her wedding-day. His terms, being so reasonable and gallant, were, with the fair Grisilda's graceful blushes, instantly acceded to, and the Captain deferred his nocturnal adventure only till he had exchanged his dress-shoes for others better adapted to the ruggedness of the mountain path, and till it had been further stipulated that, if he should not happen to discover Miss Mackenzie's gloves in the darkness of the night and cave, he should leave one of his own in evidence of the accomplishment of his undertaking.

Scarcely had he sallied forth when the ladies, looking out to the pitchy blackness of the sky, felt their gentle bosoms moved with concern about the unpleasant expedition, for which their pertinacity had obliged him to exchange the comfort of the fireside. Jacobina said little; but her feelings were sufficiently manifested by her thoughtful silence. Even Miss Grisilda herself seemed to repent of her own severity. Had the Captain not been already beyond reach, she would probably have sent after him a messenger to acquaint him that the marriage gloves might be earned without incurring such trouble and danger.

As the night was now far advanced, the ladies retired without waiting the Captain's return. By and bye, most of the remaining portion of the company followed their example, till at last only the Doctor, another cousin, and myself were left to hail the Captain's return. He failed not to reappear as soon as could reasonably be expected, bearing no visible marks on his person of the hard knuckles of the Bodach-Glas, nor betraying any other symptom of alarm or misfortune than a slight sprain in one of his ankles, which he attributed to a stumble in the dark. arrival was immediately discovered by several of his fair friends, whose kind apprehensions on his account had not allowed them to go to bed till they once more beheld him in safety. With Miss Grisilda at their head they once more returned to the dining-room, burning with curiosity to know the result of his adventure.

His

On hearing them coming, he slyly "tipped us the wink," assumed, with the facility of another Mathews, a very long visage, and, in every respect, counterfeited, with surprising success, the air and behaviour of one just escaped from Limbo. Pulling from his pocket a pair of kid gloves, he presented them to Jacobina, and begged she would say whether

they were the same which she had left in the cave. She assured him they were, and did him the flattering compliment to add that she would thenceforth keep them carefully as a memorial of his hardihood.

"A dear memorial it has been to somebody," was the Captain's only reply, while he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and with a tremulous hand, helped himself to a glass of wine. The ladies all looked alarmed, drew nearer to the fire and each other, and eagerly asked what had happened.

"Whatever has happened," said the adventurer dryly, "I shall make no more midnight visits to the Uaimh-a-Bhodaich. Miss Grisilda," he added, "you may triumph in your argument without a dissenting voice before I again enter the lists against you; and if you knew at what expense I have gained the bet, you would to-morrow accept the hand of some one of your suitors, that you might have an opportunity of paying me your forfeit."

"I am glad, at least, Captain," said Miss Grisilda, overlooking the point in this last remark, "that you have been frightened out of your scepticism. But, for goodness sake, tell us what you have seen or heard to make you look so pale and bewildered. It is enough, I protest, to make one die of terror to look at you."

"Do tell us what you have seen, Captain, or what you have heard," demanded, at once, some half-dozen of voices.

"Did you meet with the Bodach ?" said one.

"Had you a scuffle with him?" said another.

"Did you hear the wild troopers of the Corry?" said a third.

"O, can't you tell us all about it, Captain, without any urging?" summed up a fourth in a coaxing tone.

The pale-lipped querists meantime had crowded still nearer together, and caught hold of each other's arms, while they darted many suspicious looks towards the door.

"I am unwilling to spoil your night's rest," said Maclaine, thus assailed;" but since you insist upon it I shall tell you a part of what I heard and saw, though the whole you must not expect me to relate till I see the light of another day. Meantime I pledge my word to the truth of all I tell. Well, as I was going along by the old church-yard, humming to myself my new words to Faillirin, illirin, I suddenly observed something white before me."

"Gracious!" exclaimed Miss Grisilda, interrupting him, and shrugging her shoulders, while all the other Misses shrugged in sympathy with her. "I halted to take a view of it," resumed the narrator, "and if ever a sheeted ghost was seen in a church-yard at midnight, I protest that was one."

"Preserve us all!" with upturned eyes, again exclaimed Miss Grisilda. "I rubbed my eyes," continued the Captain, "lest they might be imposing upon me. But still the white figure stood upright before me. At length it advanced a few paces towards me, and uttered some sounds resembling an eldrich laugh."

(To be Continued.)

EVICTIONS AND THE HIGHLAND CROFTER.
BY A PROPRIETOR.

I have just finished reading your pamphlet on the Highland Clearances, concluding with a description of the Highland crofter.

Your footnote at the end, saying you would be glad to have the views of those who had given the subject any attention, induces me to give you mine, such as they are, though I by no means pretend to solve the difficulty. Yet, I think discussion from all points of view will, if it does nothing else, at any rate, tend to throw some light on the question, and that ultimately it will be found that, like many other difficult problems, it will sooner or later right itself.

I read with melancholy interest your account of the evictions, and though I agree with you in the main, still I differ from you in some particulars.

In the first place I don't think the past evictions should all be placed in the same category of harshness and bad policy. That an eviction must smack of more or less harshness to the evicted is certain, but that such an eviction was necessarily a folly as well as a crime, may be an open question; and to decide on this, before arriving at a just conclusion, one would require to have the whole circumstances of each eviction before one, such as the position and prospects of the tenant previous to eviction, and what would have been the probable results had those evictions not been carried out.

Are we justified in concluding that in each and every instance of eviction the object of the proprietor of the day was to obtain an enhanced rental? and to accomplish which the rights of property were strained to too great a length, and the duties of the same left quite out of sight. If such, indeed, were the motives that called for such harsh measures, then the very memory of the actors deserves to be execrated; but, taking a calm and perfectly impartial view of what the then position probably was, it is quite possible that some of the proprietors might have been actuated by the highest motives for the ultimate interests of the evicted, if they happened to have been at the time in a really miserable condition.

It is now probably impossible to arrive at the then actual existing state of affairs, and the only way to judge, even approximately, of what it was is by analogy, taking the present general position of the crofter as our basis in considering the matter, though it must be borne in mind that steam has greatly altered the circumstances since, and that an eviction that might have been justifiable in former days, might be the height of folly now-a-days; but before entering into a consideration of the question in this aspect, I must state a fact in connection with two of the sad instances you give, and though it may not throw a ray of light on the dark picture you have painted, will, at any rate, deprive it of one of its gloomy features. What I mean refers to the evictions of Boreraig and Suishinish, Isle of Skye, in 1853.

Though your account of those evictions may not distinctly say so, still it inters that the late Lord Godfrey Macdonald, though, as you say, he bitterly regretted the evictions afterwards, at the time apparently sanctioned

them. You are evidently conversant with the fact that he was in the hands of trustees when the evictions from the townships in question were carried out. What I have now to say is that those evictions were not carried out with Lord Macdonald's sanction, but in direct opposition to his wishes and in violation of his feelings, as testified by several Skye gentlemen who were with him at Armadale at the time, and to whom he expressed his annoyance and grief, his hatred of the business, and his sympathy for the evicted tenants, but he was powerless in the hands of his rapacious agent. It is quite true he occupied the position mentioned by Mr Donald Ross, but against this we must put the fact that he himself was not aware of the power he possessed at the time, and it is a satisfaction to know that no Skye man's hand is stained by this blot.

The real point at issue is, what really was the position of the crofter in those days? It seems to me it was very much the same as it is now, minus the advantage of steam of the present day, but it is apparent that, whether for weal or woe to the crofter, his position has attracted more or less sympathy or the reverse for a long time past, and all sorts of fates have been suspended over his unfortunate head, embracing schemes extending from proposals for his banishment altogether from the land of his forefathers, down to the replacing him in possession of his original glens, according to the notions of his enemies or friends, Some have recommended improvement of the crofter's holding, while others say he should be left alone. All these views may be equally worthy of consideration except the banishing theory, which happily is now impossible even should it be tried; so we may dismiss it as cruel in intent, and deserving of no further notice.

The general impression seems to be that the present crofts are too small, and if the minimum could be fixed at £10 of a yearly rental, that would be all right. This, no doubt, would work well in some localities, and during a limited period, but when we come to apply the rule to members and the existing state of affairs, like most other rules, it has its exceptions, such, for instance, as in the case of widows. It is well known, a widow, if she has not a strong and grown-up family, or some capital to fall back on, cannot, as a rule, continue to retain a holding of this size, though she might manage to keep up one paying £3 or £4 of a yearly rental, and presently we shall see the reason why. If capital had been the stock-in-trade that worked the croft during the husband's lifetime, the widow, no doubt, would be able to retain the holding, and continue to work it as the husband did during his lifetime, but labour being the real stock-in-trade, it ceased with the husband's life, hence the widow cannot continue to work or hold the croft in question. Yet she can hold a smaller one, as she has still a small command of labour, i.e., what she represents in her own person.

Take an average family of, say half-a-dozen, viz., husband, wife, and four children. To support this family in the present day requires the sum, say, in round figures, of from £30 to £40 a year, according to management, but I shall base it on the following calculation, supposing the family requirements to be £30 yearly:

Say a croft yields three rentals. A croft or any other piece of ground fairly rented should yield three returns. At this rate a croft paying £10 yearly rent and rates, should yield equal to £30; deduct rent, &c., £10;