"_Coinnichidh na daoine ri cheile ach cha choinnich na cnuic_"--(Men will meet each other, but hills will never meet), said _Ruairidh Mor a Chnuic_, who, on this occasion, found himself in the Oak Chair. "Very true," said the next man to the left. "_Cuiridh an teanga snaim nach t-fhuasgail an fhiacaill_"--(The tongue will tie a knot which the tooth cannot loosen). "Let some one give us a story." "_Cha robh sgialach nach robh briagach_"--(He who is a good story-teller is also a good retailer of lies), says Callum a Ghlinne, or Malcolm of the Glen, an excellent story-teller when he liked. "I'll give you a riddle though, and perhaps we may get a _sgeulachd_ from the stranger, the gentleman, on my left," "_An rud nach eil 's nach robh, 's nach bi' sin do laimh 'us chi thu e_"--(What is not, never was, and never will be, stretch forth your hand and you'll see it). This was soon answered by the younger members--"_Bar na meur uileadh an aon fhad_"--(The points of the fingers the same length). It now comes the turn of the romantic stranger, who shall in these pages be known as "Norman of the Yacht." He was in no way put out, consented; and immediately began the Legend, of which, and his introductory remarks, the following is a translation:-- THE SPELL OF CADBOLL. In olden days the east coast of Scotland was studded with fortresses, which, like a crescent chain of sentinels, watched carefully for the protection of their owners and their dependents. The ruins remain and raise their hoary heads over valley and stream, river bank and sea shore, along which nobles, and knights, and followers "boden in effeyre-weir" went gallantly to their fates; and where in the Highlands many a weary drove followed from the foray, in which they had been driven far from Lowland pastures or distant glens, with whose inhabitants a feud existed. Could the bearded warriors, who once thronged these halls awake, they would witness many a wonderful change since the half-forgotten days when they lived and loved, revelled, and fought, conquered, or sustained defeat. Where the bearer of the Crann-tara or fiery cross once rushed along on his hasty errand, the lightning of heaven now flashes by telegraphic wires to the farthest corners of the land. Through the craggie passes, and along the level plains, marked centuries ago with scarce a bridle path, the mighty steam horse now thunders over its iron road; and where seaward once swam the skin _curach_, or the crazy fleets of diminutive war galleys, and tiny merchant vessels with their fantastic prows and sterns, and carved mast-heads, the huge hull of the steam propelled ship now breasts the waves that dash against the rugged headlands, or floats like a miniature volcano, with its attendant clouds of smoke obscuring the horizon.