Some of the stories told of Donald Roy, which serve to identify him with this class, are worthy of being preserved. On one occasion, it is said, that when walking after nightfall on a solitary road, he was distressed by a series of blasphemous thoughts, which came pouring into his mind despite of all his exertions to exclude them. Still, however, he struggled manfully, and was gradually working himself into a better frame, when looking downwards he saw what seemed to be a black dog trotting by his side. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “and so I have got company; I might have guessed so sooner.” The thing growled as he spoke, and bounding a few yards before him, emitted an intensely bright jet of flame, which came streaming along the road until it seemed to hiss and crackle beneath his feet. On he went, however, without turning to the right hand or to the left, and the thing bounding away as before, stood and emitted a second jet. “Na, na, it winna do,” said the imperturbable Donald: “ye first tried to loose my haud o’ my Master, and ye would now fain gie me a fleg; but I ken baith him and you ower weel for that.” The appearance, however, went on bounding and emitting flame by turns, until he had reached the outer limits of his farm, when it vanished. About seventy years after the Revolution, he was engaged in what is termed _proofing_ the stacks of a corn-yard, on the hilly farm of Castle-Craig. There were other two men with him employed in handing down and threshing the sheaves. The clay was exceedingly boisterous, and towards evening there came on a heavy snow-storm. “Our elder,” said one of the men to his companion, “will hae deep stepping home through the snaw thraves; he would better stay at the Craig--will you no ask him?” “Man, look,” said the other, “what is he about?--look--look!” At a little distance, in a waste corner of the barn, sat the elder, his broad blue bonnet drawn over his brow, his eyes fixed on the wall; and ever and anon would he raise his hands and then clasp them together, as if witnessing some scene of intense and terrible interest. At times, too, he would mutter to himself like a deranged person; and the men, who had dropped their flails and stood looking at him, could hear him exclaiming in a rapid but subdued tone of voice, “Let her drive--let her drive!--Dinna haud her side to the sea.” Then striking his palms together, he shouted out, “She’s o’er--she’s o’er!--O the puir widows o’ Dunskaith!--but God’s will be done.” “Elder,” said one of the men, “are ye no weel?--ye wald better gang in till the house.” “No,” said Donald, “let’s awa to the burn o’ Nigg;--there has been ill enough come o’ this sad night already--let’s awa to the burn, or there’ll be more.” And rising from his seat with the alacrity of his club-playing days, though he was now turned of ninety, he strode out into the storm, followed by the two men. “What’s that?” asked one of the men, pointing,