represent the brave Oscar, and _Cairbre Lifeachair_ as falling by each others’ hands in the deadly struggle. Oscar was the beloved son of Ossian, and his grandfather Finn, who died a year before the battle of _Gabhra_, is brought back to life by the Romancists to pronounce a eulogy on the fallen Oscar. Irish annalists are satisfied that the fatherland of Finn and his heroes was Ireland; but no one appears to be able to point out the territories over which Finn reigned. It is an undoubted fact that _Cairbre Lifeachair_ was the monarch of Erin when Finn died, and when the battle of _Gabhra_ was fought. What can be more natural then than to suppose with Macpherson that Finn was monarch of Albin? In Macpherson’s works Finn is represented always as going from Albin to Erin, a rendering of history which the Irish authorities refuse to accept. When we look for the Kingdom of Finn in Scotland where Macpherson has located it, we certainly fail to ascertain its boundaries by means of his mystifying phrases. That his Morven is not the Mor_vern_ of Argyllshire has been pointed out long ago; nor is much satisfaction to be found in Dr Clerk’s interpretation of _Mor Bheanna_, the Great Hills, as a general characteristic of Scotland. It is another illustration of Macpherson’s prudent indefiniteness behind which the secret of his works has been preserved. Now it appears to me that I am led aright in my studies of this period of Albin’s history, when I regard the Féinne as the last leaders of the great race in Albin and Erin who disappeared in history before the extension of the Gaelic conquest and supremacy. The spirit of their struggle is truly recorded in the ballads when it is repeatedly declared that they went forth to the battle, but that they always fell. This is the melancholy key-note of the Ossianic poetry. This is the passionate patriotism—a brave, resolute and chivalrous race, ever ready for the fight, ever ready to go forth to battle—and has always appealed to the popular heart. The brave Finians, however, seemed to go forth to die. The fate of possible extinction appears to have pressed heavily on the heart of the people. And when the leaders were all dead and gone, Ossian the immortal singer of their exploits and enterprises mourned in his blindness and solitude the departure of his brother heroes and hunters,—dwelling with pathetic tenderness on the oft-recurring refrain: “The last of my race!”