d to and be familiar with, my
dear Hector; for, in the strange contingencies of the present war which
agitates every corner of Europe, there is no knowing where you may be
called upon to serve. If in Norway, for example, or Denmark, or any part
of the ancient Scania, or Scandinavia, as we term it, what could be
more convenient than to have at your fingers' ends the history and
antiquities of that ancient country, the officina gentium, the mother of
modern Europe, the nursery of those heroes,

Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure,
Who smiled in death?--

How animating, for example, at the conclusion of a weary march, to find
yourself in the vicinity of a Runic monument, and discover that you have
pitched your tent beside the tomb of a hero!"

"I am afraid, sir, our mess would be better supplied if it chanced to be
in the neighbourhood of a good poultry-yard."

"Alas, that you should say so! No wonder the days of Cressy and
Agincourt are no more, when respect for ancient valour has died away in
the breasts of the British soldiery."

"By no means, sir--by no manner of means. I dare say that Edward and
Henry, and the rest of these heroes, thought of their dinner, however,
before they thought of examining an old tombstone. But I assure you, we
are by no means insensible to the memoir of our fathers' fame; I used
often of an evening to get old Rory MAlpin to sing us songs out of
Ossian about the battles of Fingal and Lamon Mor, and Magnus and the
Spirit of Muirartach."

"And did you believe," asked the aroused Antiquary, "did you absolutely
believe that stuff of Macpherson's to be really ancient, you simple
boy?"

"Believe it, sir?--how could I but believe it, when I have heard the
songs sung from my infancy?"

"But not the same as Macpherson's English Ossian--you're not absurd
enough to say that, I hope?" said the Antiquary, his brow darkening with
wrath.

But Hector stoutly abode the storm; like many a sturdy Celt, he imagined
the honour of his country and native language connected with the
authenticity of these popular poems, and would have fought knee-deep,
or forfeited life and land, rather than have given up a line of them.
He therefore undauntedly maintained, that Rory MAlpin could repeat
the whole book from one end to another;--and it was only upon
cross-examination that he explained an assertion so general, by adding
"At least, if he was allowed whisky enough, h