ovincial regiment
left there, and a battalion of the New York regiment, under Colonel
Woolsey, at the landing.

A LEGEND OF TICONDEROGA.--Mention has been made of the
death of Major Duncan Campbell of Inverawe. The following
family tradition relating to it was told me in 1878 by the late
Dean Stanley, to whom I am also indebted for various papers on
the subject, including a letter from James Campbell, Esq., the
present laird of Inverawe, and great-nephew of the hero of the
tale. The same story is told, in an amplified form and with some
variations, in the _Legendary Tales of the Highlands_ of Sir Thomas
Dick Lauder. As related by Dean Stanley and approved by Mr.
Campbell, it is this:--

The ancient castle of Inverawe stands by the banks of the Awe,
in the midst of the wild and picturesque scenery of the western
Highlands. Late one evening, before the middle of the last century,
as the laird, Duncan Campbell, sat alone in the old hall,
there was a loud knocking at the gate; and, opening it, he saw
a stranger, with torn clothing and kilt besmeared with blood, who
in a breathless voice begged for asylum. He went on to say that
he had killed a man in a fray, and that the pursuers were at his
heels. Campbell promised to shelter him. "Swear on your dirk!"
said the stranger; and Campbell swore. He then led him to a secret
recess in the depths of the castle. Scarcely was he hidden when
again there was a loud knocking at the gate, and two armed men
appeared. "Your cousin Donald has been murdered, and we are
looking for the murderer!" Campbell, remembering his oath,
professed to have no knowledge of the fugitive; and the men went
on their way. The laird, in great agitation, lay down to rest in
a large dark room, where at length he feel asleep. Waking suddenly
in bewilderment and terror, he saw the ghost of the murdered
Donald standing by his bedside, and heard a hollow voice
pronounce the words: _"Inverawe! Inverawe! blood has been shed.
Shield not the murderer!"_ In the morning Campbell went to the
hiding-place of the guilty man and told him that he could harbor
him no longer. "You have sworn on your dirk!" he replied; and
the laird of Inverawe, greatly perplexed and troubled, made a
compromise between conflicting duties, promised not to betray
his guest, led him to the neighboring mountain, and hid him in
a cave.

In the next night, as he lay tossing in feverish slumbers, the
same stern voice awoke him, the ghost of his