tuarts.[285] Lady Margaret was one of seven
sisters, famed for their loveliness, and for the "Eglintoune air," a
term applied to that family as a tribute to the lofty grace of their
deportment. "It was a goodly sight," observes Mr. Chambers, "a century
ago, to see the long processions of sedans containing Lady Eglintoune
and her daughters devolve from the Close,[286] and proceed to the
Assembly Rooms in the West Bow, where there was usually a considerable
crowd of plebeian admirers congregated, to behold their lofty and
graceful figures step from the chairs on the pavement." Lady Margaret
was greatly beloved in Skye. When she rode through the island, the
people ran before her, and took the stones off the road, lest her horse
should stumble. Her husband was also very popular. Such was the
hospitality of Mugstat, that every week a hogshead of claret was drunk
at his table.[287]

Lady Margaret had now been married six years to Sir Alexander Macdonald
of Macdonald. She was the mother of three sons, two of whom were
eminently distinguished. The first, Sir James Macdonald, was a young man
of singular accomplishments, and the friend of Lord Lyttleton; he was
endowed "with great talents for business, great propriety of behaviour,
great politeness of manners." To these acquirements he added those
amiable qualities, which, united to great erudition, procured him the
title of the "Marcellus of the Western Isles." His early death was
regarded as a general calamity; his tomb was honoured by an inscription
composed by Lyttleton. When Dr. Johnson visited the isle of Skye, this
young man, who died at Rome in the twenty-fifth year of his age, was
still mentioned with tears. His brother, Sir Alexander, the English-bred
chieftain, but ill-supplied his loss. He was no Highlander. "Were I in
your place, sir," said Johnson to the young chieftain, "in seven years I
would make this an independent island. I would roast oxen whole, and
hang out a flag as a signal to the Macdonalds to come and get beef and
whiskey." Sir Alexander, of whom Johnson had heard heavy complaints of
rents racked, and the islanders driven to emigration, bore with
politeness the rough assaults of the Doctor: he nevertheless started
difficulties. "Nay, sir," rejoined Johnson, "if you are born to object,
I have done with you, sir. I would have a magazine of arms." "They would
rust," was the meek reply. "Let there be men to clean them," cried the
Doctor, "your ancestors did