The most notable member of this stock in modern times was that Alexander Robertson, whose memory gave Scott one model for his Baron of Bradwardine, a no doubt composite picture for which Lord Pitsligo is also said to have sat. This Robertson seems to have been an “original,” bearing among his neighbours the nickname “Elector of Struan,” and not quite such an honourable reputation as did Waverley’s father-in-law. He was “out” in all the Jacobite risings, from Killiecrankie to Prestonpans, yet, with intervals of exile, he managed to live jovially for the most part in his own country; and his great age in 1745 perhaps induced the Government to let him die peacefully at home a few years later, when his funeral was attended by two thousand mourners on a march of a dozen long miles. His heir, indeed, had some of the woeful experiences of lurking out of the way of capture, as described in _Waverley_. The old laird was in more danger from bailiffs, against whose invasions he had the passes guarded, and once got into trouble with the law through his “tail” having stripped one of these venturesome enemies and ducked him almost to death. He was a poet and a scholar as well as a warrior, who in his youth had run away from St. Andrews University to join Dundee. His verses are hardly remembered now, unless for those specimens of classical translation put by Scott into the Baron’s mouth. Cruel love has garter’d low my leg, And clad my hurdies in a philabeg. Also his vernacular rendering of _Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer_-- A fiery etter-cap, a fractious chiel, As het as ginger, and as stieve as steel. --which may have been a fair description of the poet’s [Illustration: THE MOOR OF RANNOCH] own personality, when sober. Much of his verse was not fit for publication, his Muse being evidently nursed more on brandy and claret than on the midnight oil. A little volume published in his name a few years after his death, contains a good deal of Strephon, Damon, and such-like, with other hints of classical inspiration, but also religious pieces that read as if written in headachy morning hours. He appears a mixture of pedant, soldier, and sot, whose life, prolonged over fourscore years, makes no edifying example for teetotallers. That worthy would certainly not have stooped to serve under the Duke of Atholl, as did his descendant, of whom also Dr. John Brown speaks in warmly reminiscent terms which this “Captain of the Atholl Guard” seems to have well deserved. In my youth a rival chieftain gave himself bold advertisement, a fuliginous personage--I think he was a coal merchant by trade--who under the style of Dundonnachie, stalked about Perth in fiery tartans, and carried on raids upon the duke as to freeing the bridge of Dunkeld from toll, by which he got himself into duress vile, but was not otherwise taken very seriously.