How the race became extinct—if it is extinct—cannot be determined. John _Dubh_ Mac Crimmon was the last who held the hereditary office, and of him it is related that about 1795 he determined, probably because of the changed circumstances, to emigrate to America, that he actually went as far as Greenock, but that there his love for the misty island became too much for him, and he went back to Skye. But he was not then piper to Mac Leod, and he spent the rest of his life in retirement. When he became too infirm to play the pipes, he would sit outside and run over the notes on his walking stick. He lived to the age of 91, dying in 1822, and was buried with his fathers in the kirkyard at Durinish. _Music of the Highland Clans_, written in 1862, states that the last of this noble race of minstrels was a blind and venerable old gentleman then living at Gourock; but Logan’s _Scottish Gael_, written in 1831, says a Captain Mac Crimmon “died lately in Kent at an advanced age, and the descendant of these celebrated pipers is now a respectable farmer in Kent.” The author of _Musical Memoirs of Scotland_ (1849) says the Mac Crimmons ended in a woman then keeping school in Skye, who could go through all the intricacies of the pibroch on the family instrument. There is said to have been a piper of the name in Glasgow about 1872, who claimed to be a direct descendant of the Mac Crimmons. He was an old man then, and all trace of him is now lost. If he is dead, which is highly probable, it is almost certain, that although the race as dimmed. So Mac Crimmon generally found some excuse for sending Mac Arthur away to some distance when he wished to play these tunes. One day his master had a visitor who desired to hear one of the highly-prized melodies, and in order to get the boy Mac Arthur out of the way Mac Crimmon sent him a message to a neighbouring township some miles distant. But the boy, suspecting the plot, lingered about the door until he heard the tunes, and then rushed off on his message. Afterwards in a secluded spot he practised the airs until he became perfect. But Mac Crimmon one day suddenly heard a tune which he thought he alone could play, and angrily approaching the performer, whom he found to be his pupil, he said:—“You young rascal, where have you picked up that piece of music?” “I picked it up in the back door that day you entertained your friend to it,” said Mac Arthur, assuming the utmost indifference; “and,” he continued, “I shall lose no more time than the boat shall take on her voyage to Mull in telling my master that you are not giving me the full benefit of your talents, for which you were amply paid by my benefactor.” Old Mac Crimmon felt somewhat alarmed at the cool indifference with which his pupil addressed him, and, knowing what would result from the matter being made known to his influential patron, he very discreetly confessed his guilt, and promised his clever pupil better attention in the future. Pupil and