as passed and accepted, and the meeting fixed at a
neutral spot, used as the place of rencontre upon such occasions, and
which he himself had distinguished by numerous victories. He exulted
so much in the conquest which he anticipated, that, to nerve his son to
still bolder exertions, he conferred upon him, as champion of his clan
and province, the celebrated weapon which he had hitherto retained in
his own custody.

This was not all. When the day of combat arrived, the Laird's Jock, in
spite of his daughter's affectionate remonstrances, determined, though
he had not left his bed for two years, to be a personal witness of the
duel. His will was still a law to his people, who bore him on their
shoulders, wrapped in plaids and blankets, to the spot where the combat
was to take place, and seated him on a fragment of rock, which is still
called the Laird's Jock's stone. There he remained with eyes fixed on
the lists or barrier, within which the champions were about to meet.
His daughter, having done all she could for his accommodation, stood
motionless beside him, divided between anxiety for his health, and for
the event of the combat to her beloved brother. Ere yet the fight began,
the old men gazed on their chief, now seen for the first time after
several years, and sadly compared his altered features and wasted
frame with the paragon of strength and manly beauty which they once
remembered. The young men gazed on his large form and powerful make as
upon some antediluvian giant who had survived the destruction of the
Flood.

But the sound of the trumpets on both sides recalled the attention
of every one to the lists, surrounded as they were by numbers of both
nations eager to witness the event of the day. The combatants met in the
lists. It is needless to describe the struggle: the Scottish champion
fell. Foster, placing his foot on his antagonist, seized on the
redoubted sword, so precious in the eyes of its aged owner, and
brandished it over his head as a trophy of his conquest. The English
shouted in triumph. But the despairing cry of the aged champion, who saw
his country dishonoured, and his sword, long the terror of their
race, in the possession of an Englishman, was heard high above the
acclamations of victory. He seemed for an instant animated by all his
wonted power; for he started from the rock on which he sat, and while
the garments with which he had been invested fell from his wasted frame,
and showed the rui