In one of the last chapters Scott treats us to a specimen of the lofty eloquence and undying hate of an old highland chief in his last words to his grandson: “In the thicket of the wilderness, and in the mist of the mountain, keep thou unsoiled the freedom which I leave thee as a birthright. Barter it neither for the rich garment, nor for the stone roof, nor for the covered board, nor for the couch of down—on the rock or in the valley, in abundance or in famine—in the leafy summer, and in the days of the iron winter—son of the mist! be free as thy forefathers. Own no lord—receive no law—take no hire—give no stipend—build no hut—enclose no pasture—sow no grain; let the deer of the mountains be thy flocks and herds—if these fail thee, prey upon the goods of our oppressors—of the Saxon and of such Gael as are Saxon in their souls. Remember those who have done kindness to our race, and pay their services with thy blood, should the hour require it. Farewell, beloved! and mayst thou die like thy forefathers, ere infirmity, disease, or age shall break thy spirit.” Robert Aytoun in his poem on the “Execution of Montrose,” which occurred a few years subsequent to our story, caught the true spirit of the Gael, in the Highlander’s address to Evan Cameron: “’Twas I that led the Highland host Through wild Lochaber’s snows, What time the plaided clans came down To battle with Montrose. I’ve told thee how the Southrons fell Beneath the broad claymore, And how we smote the Campbell clan By Inverlochy’s shore. I’ve told thee how we swept Dundee, And tamed the Lindsey’s pride; But never have I told thee yet How the great Marquis died. A traitor sold him to his foes;— O deed of deathless shame! I charge thee, boy, if e’er thou meet With one of Assynt’s name— Be it upon the mountain side, Or yet within the glen: Stand he in martial gear alone, Or backed by armed men— Face him, as thou wouldst face the man Who wronged thy sire’s renown; Remember of what blood thou art, And strike the caitiff down!”