THE GRANTS AND THE MACGRUTHERS.

THERE had been a sanguinary encounter between the Grants and the Macgruthers, resulting in the overwhelming defeat of the latter, their few survivors having had to seek safety by dispersing, each man looking only to himself. Thus it happened that towards nightfall the leader of the Macgruthers found himself in an awkward predicament. In the confusion. of his hurried retreat, added to his ignorance of the locality, instead of running away from his foes, he found, to his intense chagrin, that he had actually run right into their midst; for, from where he stood, on a slight elevation, he could see the hamlet right below him, and could see the men straggling in by twos and threes on their return from the pursuit of his own flying followers. He could even hear the joyful shouts with which the women and children greeted the successful warriors. In utter desperation poor Macgruther threw his body on the ground, and gave himself up for lost. He had been severely wounded in the fight, which, combined with his subsequent efforts, had completely exhausted him. He could neither flee nor defend himself. In his anguish he groaned aloud, exclaiming "It is all over with me, I can go no further, and I must either die here like a dog and become the prey of the fox and the eagle, or be discovered by some of the accursed Grants, who will soon put an ignominious end to my miserable life." Even the iron will and athletic frame of the hardy mountaineer could not longer sustain the terrible strain of mind and body, and Macgruther grew faint, a mist came before his eyes, his brain reeled, then all was dark. The strong man had swoored.

When he regained consciousness it was night, the keen frosty air chilled his blood, causing his many wounds to smart again. With difficulty he moved his stiffened limbs and rose to his feet. By the clear cold light of the full moon he looked anxiously around in the vain hope of seeing some place where he could obtain succour. Alas! no habitation met his view save those of his deadly enemies, who were even now seeking his life; for though all was silent in the village below, he could plainly hear the men who were placed as sentinels on every hillock and point of advantage calling to each other, and he well knew if either of them caught sight of him, his doom was sealed.

All at once he formed a desperate resolve which only his extreme peril made him entertain for a moment. This was nothing else than to approach the house of the Chieftain of the Grants, and boldly demand his hospitality for the night; for he felt that to remain exposed, with his wounds uncared for, during the severe frosty night would most likely prove fatal.

Fortunately for his daring design, he was between the line of watchmen and the village, so he apprehended no danger from them provided he was careful to keep in the shade.

With a great effort, and supporting his tremulous limbs with his trusty broadsword, Macgruther at length reached the Chieftain's house, and knocked loudly for admittance.

Those were the days when men slept with their claymores ready to

their hand at the slightest alarm, for a midnight assault was no uncommon occurrence, so, before Macgruther had scarcely done knocking, the door flew open, discovering the leader of the Grants with his drawn sword in one hand and a lighted pine torch in the other. "Who art thou that so rudely breaks my rest?" he exclaimed; then, as the light fell full on his untimely visitor, he started, "Ha! a stranger, and methinks a foe; speak! what dost thou want?" "Chieftain," said Macgruther, "you see before you a vanquished enemy. I am Macgruther, alone, wounded, and entirely in your power; but I throw myself upon your hospitality, and trust to your generosity to give me food and shelter. Here is my sword," and handing his weapon to the astonished chieftain, Macgruther drew himself up, and waited with a proud air for his answer. For a moment Grant was silent, while conflicting emotions surged within his breast. Here was the man he hated, on whom he had sworn to be revenged, standing helpless before him; how easy it were by one stroke to rid himself for ever from his constant and dangerous enemy; then the nobler part of his nature asserted itself, and, refusing the proffered sword, with a graceful gesture he said, "I cannot say thou art welcome Macgruther; but thou hast appealed to my hospitality, which has never yet been refused to mortal man. Come in, and rest in safety until thy strength be restored. Nay, keep thy sword, thou hast trusted me and I will not doubt thee." The brave old Chieftain then aroused his household, and bade them attend to the stranger's wants.

They bound up his wounds, put meat and drink before him, and provided him with a couch on which he was glad to rest his wearied form. All this was done with the greatest kindness and attention, not a single rite of hospitality was omitted.

One

The next day Macgruther was sufficiently recovered to resume his journey, and, with many acknowledgments to his generous foeman, he prepared to take his departure. "Hold!" said Grant, "thou hast been my guest, and I must see that no harm happens to thee this day. of my sons shall guide thee safely until sunset. To-morrow see to thyself, for remember that the Grants and the Macgruthers are still foes, and if ever I meet thee in fair fight I shall not spare thee, and I charge thee to do the same with me or mine. Adieu !" and, with a courtly bend of the head, the proud old chieftain turned and re-entered his house.

Guided safely by young Grant, Macgruther was enabled to regain the road towards his home; at sunset they bade each other farewell, and parted as friends, who were to be foes on the morrow.

M. A. ROSE.

MARRIAGE OF MARY J. MACCOLL, THE POET. At Kingston, Ontario, Canada, was married, on the 27th June, Miss Mary MacColl, eldest daughter of Evan MacColl, the Bard of Lochfyne. The bridegroom was Mr Otto H. Schulte, of the Hasbruck Institute, Jersey City, U.S. Intellectually the happy pair were drawn together, both having been for years engaged in literary and educational pursuits. Miss MacColl has been long well-known in the United States and Canada as a poet of no mean order, and her last work, "Bide a Wee," recently noticed in these pages, will, we are sure, cause her to be better known and appreciated in this country. We sincerely hope the auspicious union, just consummated, will prove one of enduring happiness.

THE EIGHTEENTH OF JUNE, 1881-THE SCOTS GREYS

AND THE 92D GORDON HIGHLANDERS.

·0-

THE 18th of June, 1881, was a red letter day in the annals of the Scottish Regiments, representing, as it did, not only the 66th anniversary of the battle of Waterloo, but also the bi-centenary year of service of the "Royal Scots Greys." Raised by a commission granted by King Charles II., in 1681, to Sir Robert Dalzell, the "Greys" have always represented, par excellence, the Cavalry of Scotland, just as the "Highlanders" have been universally accepted as the beau ideal of its Infantry. Who were the Highlanders? The wives of the men who rode the white horses! Such was the belief of at least one foreign commander, if tradition speaks true.

During the hottest of the fight at Waterloo the Royal Scots Greys and the 92d Gordon Highlanders gathered their laurels side by side. It was in the attack upon Drouet's column that the gallant Picton, the "most distinguished general of the fighting division," having received a musket shot in the forehead, fell at the head of the 42d and 92d Highlanders. It was then too that Wellington, seizing the opportunity for repelling the French attack, launched upon Drouet Ponsonby's heavy cavalry brigade the Royals, Greys, and Enniskillens-under Lord Uxbridge. They came down like a whirlwind, the earth trembling under the shock of their attack, and, notwithstanding the death of the brave Sir William Ponsonby, who was "pierced to the heart with a lance," carried everything before them. The French infantry was paralysed-the cannoniers fell, sabred beside their guns, twenty-two of which were immediately overturned-and the eagles of the 45th and 105th French Regiments of the line fell into the hands of the victors, the former being captured by Sergeant Ewart of the Royal Scots Greys. It must have been a grand spectacle. Napoleon, whilst biting his lips with vexation at the repulse of his column, could not control the feeling of admiration which arose in a soldier's breast-"Regardez ces chevaux gris!" he exclaimed, "quelles braves troupes! comme ils se travaillent!" It is deeds such as these that awaken a spirit of noble emulation in martial bosoms. No wonder the Royal Scots Greys and the 92d Gordon Highlanders have been sister regiments since the field of Waterloo.

On the 18th of June last a goodly gathering assembled at the Albion Tavern, Aldersgate Street, in the City of London, to commemorate the greatest victory the Iron Duke ever achieved, with, perhaps, the solitary exception of the battle of Assaye. The dinner was given by the Scots Greys, not only on the 66th anniversary of the great fight, but to record that they were about to enter into their third century of military service. What then more natural than that they should invite their old comrades of the 92d to hold high festival with them on such an auspicious occasion. A slight damper was thrown upon the proceedings by the fact that, owing to the existing state of affairs in Ireland, only a small number of the officers of the Greys were able to obtain leave of absence. Among the past and present officers of the two regiments who at

tended, the following distinguished names may, however, be mentioned-General Darby Griffith, C. B., in the chair, owing to the absence, through sudden illness, of General Sir John Gough, G.C.B., Colonel of the Greys; H.S.H. The Duke of Teck; Field-Marshal Lord Strathnairn; Lieut.-General Calvert Clarke, C.B.; Major-General Hawley, C.B., Assist.-Adjt. General; the Earl of Dunmore; Lord Rathdonnell; the Hon. George Waldegrave Leslie; and Sir George Warrender, Bart.; Colonels Carrick Buchanan, C. B., Nugent, Hozier, Gardyne, Macbean, Tatnall, Hibbert, and Prendergast; Majors von Vietinghoff (military attaché to the Imperial German Embassy), Wallace, Miller, Bethune, Macewen, &c. Several valuable and curious objects connected with the history of the Greys were shewn on the occasion. In the banquettingroom hung Miss Thomson's (Mrs Butler) picture of "Scotland for Ever," and the "Fight for the Standard," representing the prowess of Sergeant Ewart, as before mentioned, which had been kindly lent for the occasion by Mrs Baird of Cambusdoon. Besides a quantity of old regimental plate, there might be observed the original commission granted by Charles II. to Sir Robert Dalzell in 1681; an old post-box, decorated with the Waterloo medal, which accompanied the regiment during the campaign of 1815; a journal kept by Lieut. Hamilton of Dalzell, giving an account of the battle of Waterloo, and a photograph of the monument (erected in the church of Sholto, Lanarkshire) to the memory of Lieut. James Inglis Hamilton, who fell there in the famous charge, at the head of the regiment; and, finally, a "cuach" presented by the officers of the 92d to the officers of the Greys on the 50th anniversary of the battle, 1865.

It would be futile here to recount the Menu; those who know the capabilities of the Albion will readily believe that it upheld its wellearned reputation. Neither would it avail much to dwell upon the toasts in general. Suffice it to say, that they conveyed those loyal and patriotic sentiments, dear to the heart of all who esteem it an honour to wear Her Majesty's uniform-that they were ably responded to-and that the accompanying airs were most suitably chosen, and were rendered by the band with becoming spirit. But it is impossible to pass by, without comment, the toasts of the evening-the two sister regiments-"The Royal Scots Greys" and the "92d Gordon Highlanders." In honour of the occasion, two original songs (never before printed) had been composed by Archibald Maclaren, Esq., and were sung amidst the most boundless enthusiasm. Mr Maclaren gives no further clue to his identity than his name; but, unless the writer is grievously mistaken, he hails, or at least used to do so, not a hundred miles from Oxford. Be that as it may, Mr Maclaren courts no feeble muse; his verses possess dash and " go"-the verve which is to the song what elan is to the soldier. As these martial ditties, which remind one strongly of the "Soldateu Leider" of Germany, were only printed for circulation at the dinner, and are consequently beyond the reach of the majority of the readers of the Celtic Magazine, I am induced to reproduce them; and if they give to others half the enjoyment they have given to me, I am sure they will readily declare that among the Soldier Songs of Scotland they should deservedly stand in the first rank.

The first song is in honour of the Greys, and is entitled the "Battle of Fontenoy," which was fought on the 11th May 1745, and which Highlanders will remember as affording the "Black Watch," as

well as the Greys, an opportunity of displaying the most distinguished heroism. The following extract from Stewart's "Sketches" will sufficiently explain the subject of the song:-"Sir William Erskine entered the Scots Greys in 1743. He was a cornet at the Battle of Fontenoy, and carried a standard; his father, Colonel Erskine, commanding the regiment. On the morning of the battle, Colonel Erskine tied the standard to his son's leg, and told him, 'Go, and take good care of your charge; let me not see you separate; if you return alive from the field, you must produce the standard.' After the battle, the young cornet rode up to his father, and showed him the standard as tight and fast as in the morning." The second song refers to the recruiting of the 92d Gordon Highlanders, when the bonnie Duchess of Gordon rode to fairs and weddings, clad in scarlet doublet, a bonnet and feathers, and a skirt of her clan tartan, and gave a hearty smack to every lad who listed for the regiment; a kiss from her ruddy red mouth proving far more attractive to the Highland bumpkin, than the prosaic shilling of King George. But without more ado, here are the songs that you may judge for yourselves :

ΤΗΕ ΒΑTTLE OF FONΤΕΝΟΥ.

Air-"THE MILLER OF DRONE."

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