Air a cluain thughte an t’ainm, Loch meidhe raite ris an Loch, Am biodh a Bheist anns gach uair, Is a Craos a suas an Dos. This is the “Report’s,” literal translation of these verses: We bore to the grove of Fraoch, The body of the hero to its circular pale; After the worthy has died, To be alive is our regret. Cruelest of woman was she, That ever was seen by eyes, Who sent Fraoch to tear the branch, After the fruit had been torn away. The grove bears his name, Loch Meyo is the name of the lake, Where the monster kept watch, And its open jaw to the tree. This is the original material out of which Jerome Stone wrought his translation as follows:— But now he’s gone and nought remains but woe For wretched me; with him my joys are fled; Around his tomb my tears shall ever flow, The rock my dwelling, and the clay my bed! Ye maids and matrons, from your hills descend, To join my moan and answer tear for tear; With me the hero to the grave attend, And sing the songs of mourning round his bier, Through his own grove his praise we will proclaim, And bid the place forever bear his name. The idea may come to many readers as a surprise that if Jerome Stone had been spared to perform the part of translator of the Gaelic ballads and small epics of the Finnic mythus, he would probably furnish the world with “translations” which would not be nearer the “originals” than Macpherson’s have been. The reference here is not to Macpherson’s Gaelic published subsequently, but to the Ossianic compositions which became such a source of general Celtic inspiration during the latter half of the eighteenth century. JOHN SMITH, D.D.