The evil that men do lives after them. So these stories derogatory to pipers have been preserved while many equally good and reflecting credit on their characters as public men have no doubt been buried with their bones. They always had a “guid conceit o’ themselves,” and were apt to think they were better than average humanity, so much so that “as proud as a piper” passed into a proverb. When the late Duke of Edinburgh required a piper he asked the advice of the Prince of Wales’s piper as to how he should get one. The Prince’s piper asked the Duke what kind of a piper he wanted, whereupon the Duke said “Oh, just a piper like yourself, Donald.” “Oh, it’s easy to get a piper,” said Donald, “but it’s no easy to get a piper like me.” Then there was Mac Donel, the famous Irish piper, who lived in great style, keeping servants and horses. One day he was sent for to play to a large company during dinner, and a table and chair were placed for him on the landing outside the door, a bottle of claret and a glass on the table and a servant waiting behind the chair. Mac Donel appeared, took a rapid survey of the preparations, filled his glass, stepped to the dining room door, looked full in the midst of the gathering, said “Mr. Grant your health, and company,” drank off the dram, threw half-a-crown on the table with the remark to the servant, “There, my lad, is two shillings for my bottle of wine and a sixpence for yourself,” then ran out, mounted his horse and galloped off, followed by his groom. An almost similar story is told of _Ian Dall_, the Gairloch piper, but in his case the language used was hardly so choice. It was of the kind which is best represented thus * * * * Not only were the old masters proud, they were also jealous. When the colleges for training pipers were in Skye, the Mac Crimmons had some private “tips” on pipe music which they did not give away to their pupils. A girl friend, however, learned how some of the secret notes were produced, and in private she taught her sweetheart. When her nearest relatives learned what she had done, they instantly cut off her fingers that she might show no more how they practised their tunes. Ross, a grand old Breadalbane piper, in a mad fit of jealousy, thrust the right hand of his boy brother into the fire, and held it there till it became a charred lump, to prevent the boy becoming a better piper than himself, which seemed likely. Neil Munro’s story of _Red Hand_ is but a variation of the same theme. Giorsal, jealous of her stepson Tearlach’s piping being better than that of her husband, cuts off Tearlach’s hand while he sleeps. It is beautifully told, but that is the whole story.