. The name Druim-an-t-Sealbhain is giving way to the
complimentary title of "Dorothy Wordsworth's View." From the front
windows of the hotel, the same calm inland seas, grassy hills, Morven
mists, grim old forts, and intricate communion of land and water, can be
seen precisely as they were seen by the Wordsworths more than a century
ago. The Port-na-croish inn has become a village store: it is well
worthy of note, not merely for the reference in the letter, but for a
fine legend, which I shall now narrate.

MACDONALD'S GRATITUDE.

The first tenant of the inn was a Macdonald of Glencoe, a man between
sixty and seventy at the time of the story, the year 1755 namely. He had
around him a family of stalwart sons, all imbued with intense hatred of
the clan Campbell. The peculiar and fiendish malignity of the terrible
massacre of Glencoe precluded all possibility of forgiveness on the part
of the clan. Highland hospitality has always been a lavish and
magnificent thing, and Colonel Campbell and his assassins had been
treated with exceptional kindness in Glencoe. The bloody outrage, in a
midnight of winter snows, was too terrible a meed of hospitality to be
readily forgotten or forgiven by the Macdonalds. This old innkeeper of
Port-na-croish, then, hated the Campbells with the unquenchable hate
that deep wrongs, done not alone to an individual but to a tribe,
engender in the Celtic soul.

One day a white-bearded wayfarer begged food and shelter in the little
hostel, and in the course of conversation over the meal that was soon
spread on the board for his wants, he let slip an avowal that, in his
youth, as one of Campbell's men, he had taken part in the gruesome
massacre of the "valley of weeping." Without more ado, the landlord
slipped out and posted his sons at the door, with whispered orders to
them that the stranger should be dirked to death on crossing the
threshold of the inn. Returning indoors, old Macdonald, dissimulating
his fell intentions, proceeded to ply the visitor with question upon
question, so as to gain a detailed knowledge of all the incidents of the
weird carnage. Finally he said, "Tell me, Campbell, what part of that
devilish business made the strongest impression on your mind?" "I will
tell you," said the old soldier, "what to me was the outstanding
incident of that night. Towards the close of the massacre, a child's
voice was heard piercingly on the night air--a scream it was, and seemed
to come from