RONALD MACDONALD.—The merits of this bard were overshadowed by the great fame of his father, _Mac Mhaighstir Alasdair_. He was a man of considerable attainments and of undoubted poetic gifts, and published a selection of his own and his father’s poems in 1775. He was to publish more, but did not meet with suitable encouragement. LACHLAN MACPHERSON.—This writer, probably better known as “Strathmasie,” his territorial designation, and described as a gentleman and a scholar, was born about the year 1723, and died in 1767. He gave able assistance to James Macpherson of Ossianic fame in his translations. The relation of Strathmasie to the work has been a subject of very acrid discussion. His own acknowledged poems are in good idiomatic Gaelic, and in style and metre are quite different from the Gaelic poems of James Macpherson’s Ossian, but quite like the poetry of the other Gaelic bards. In all his published poems there is not a stanza or even a line _a la_ Ossian. In poetic power and originality he is much behind Duncan Bàn and _Mac Mhaighstir Alasdair_, but he has shown that he is quite able to write tolerable poetry. The titles of his poems are—_An Elegy on Cluny_; _The Fellowship of Usquebay_; _A Marriage_; _The Dun Breeks_; _A Hunting Song_; _The Advice_; _An Amorous Piece_; _Satire on Mice_. JOHN ROY STUART.—Colonel Stuart was a native of Kincardine in Badenoch. He first served in the French army against the British Government. He was afterwards with Prince Charles on the fatal moor of Culloden. After lurking for some time in this country he managed to escape to France, where he died. His signal bravery at Culloden was observed by the Duke of Cumberland, who asked who he was: “Ah, that is John Roy Stuart.” “Good God!” exclaimed the Duke, “the man I left in Flanders doing the butcheries of ten heroes! Is it possible that he could have dogged me here!” Stuart’s Poems—the principal of them is on _Culloden Day_—are impetuous, racy, and vigorous. An English bit of humorous verses, called _Roy Stuart’s Psalm_, extemporised where he was hiding on one occasion, runs thus:— The Lord’s my targe, I will be stout, With dirk and trusty blade, Though Campbells come in flocks about, I will not be afraid. The Lord’s the same as heretofore, He’s always good to me, Though red-coats come a thousand more Afraid I will not be.