is threshold, but I
recall that years after his death I saw a large quantity of silver which
he had inherited, and which bore a martin for a crest. He was a terror
to all the children in our vicinity, and it was his habit to walk on the
neighboring roads clad in a dressing gown. More than once as I passed
him he accosted me with the interrogative, "Are you Nancy Hazard's
brat?"--a query that invariably prompted me to quicken my pace. Mr.
Martin kept a fine herd of cattle, among which was an obstreperous bull
whose stentorian tones were familiar to all the residents of the
adjoining places. When the children of our household were turbulent my
mother would often exclaim, "Listen to Martin's bull roaring!" This
invariably had a soothing effect upon the children, and strange to say
this trivial incident has descended among my kindred to the fourth
generation, for my mother's great-grandchildren are as familiar with
"Martin's bull" as my sisters and brothers and I were in our own
childhood.

Malcolm Campbell, my paternal grandfather, left Scotland subsequently to
our Revolution, accompanied by his wife and son James (my father), and
after a passage of several weeks landed in New York. His wife was Miss
Lucy McClellan. His father, Alexander Campbell, fought in the battle of
Culloden, and I have heard my father say that his grandfather's regiment
marched to the song of:

"Who wadna fight for Charlie?
Who wadna draw the sword?
Who wadna up and rally,
At their royal prince's word?
Think on Scotia's ancient heroes,
Think on foreign foes repell'd,
Think on glorious Bruce and Wallace,
Who the proud usurpers quell'd."

It is said he had previously been sent to Italy to collect arms and
ammunition for the "Young Pretender," the grandson of James II. The
battle of Culloden, which was fought on the 16th of April, 1746, and
which has often been called the "Culloden Massacre," caused the whole
civilized world to stand aghast. The order of the Duke of Cumberland to
grant no quarter to prisoners placed him foremost in the ranks of
"British beasts" that have disgraced the pages of history, and earned
for him the unenviable title of "The Butcher of Culloden." It has been
suggested in extenuation of his fiendish conduct that His Grace was
"deep in his cups" the night before the battle, and that the General to
whom the order was given, realizing the condition of the Duke, insisted
that his