Poor old man, I fear he never played on his harp again; for I learned later that he had found his Athole haven broken up, and his daughter and her husband about to emigrate to Canada, so that he went with them, and died on the way--perhaps as much from the mountain-longing and home-sickness as from any more tangible ill. I have a double memento of him that I value. In Islay he had bought or been given a little book of Gaelic songs (the Scoto-Gaelic must have puzzled him sorely, poor old _eirionnach_), and this he left behind him, and my minister friend gave it to me, with much of the above noted down on its end-pages. The little book had been printed early in the century, and was called _Ceilleirean Binn nan Creagan Aosda_, literally "Melodious Little Warblings from the Aged Rocks"; and it has always been dear to me because of one lovely phrase in it about birds, where the unknown Gaelic singer calls them "clann bheag' nam preas," the small clan of the bushes, equivalent in English to "the children of the bushes." This occurs in a lovely verse-- "Mu'n cuairt do bhruachaibh ard mo glinn, Biodh luba gheuga 's orra blath, 's clann bheag' nam preas a' tabhairst seinn Do chreagaibh aosd oran graidh." ("Along the lofty sides of my glen let there be bending boughs clad in blossom, and the children of the bushes making the aged rocks re-echo their songs of love")--truly a characteristic Gaelic wish, characteristically expressed. And though this that I am about to say did not happen on Iona, I may tell it here, for it was there and from an islander I heard it, an old man herding among the troubled rocky pastures of Sguir Mòr and Cnoc na Fhiona, in the south of that western part called Sliav Starr--one translation of which might be Wuthering Heights, for the word can be rendered wind-blustery or wind-noisy; though I fancy that _starr_ is, on Iona, commonly taken to mean a strong coarse grass. (Fhiona here I take to be not the genitive of a name, nor that of "wine," but a mis-spelling of _fionna_, grain.)