HEATHER, THE MARTYR'S FRIEND 



In a dream of the night I was wafted away 

 To the moorland of mist where the martyrs lay ; 

 Where Cameron's sword and his Bible are seen, 

 Engraved on the stone where the heather grows green. 



Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood, 

 When the minister's home was the mountain and wood; 

 When in Wellwood's dark moorlands the standard of Zion, 

 All bloody and torn 'mang the heather was lying. 



It was morning and summer's young sun from the east 

 Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's breast, 

 On Wardlaw and Cairn-Table, the clear shining dew, 

 Glistened sheen 'mang the heather-bells and mountain flowers 



blue. 

 From "The Cameraman's Dream," by James Hislop. 



IN the troubled times when Scotsmen sought the 

 seclusion of their country's mountains to worship 

 God in their own way; when the sword held in 

 place the leaves of the Bible against the rushing of the 

 mountain wind ; when the evening prayer was followed 

 by the crash of battle, and the moans of the wounded 

 and dying mingled in the glen with the fading echo of 

 the melody of the last psalm, the Heather often proved 

 of greatest service, as furnishing a hiding place for 

 the hunted worshippers. Such a one, "The Cave of 

 Garrick Fell," is thus described in "The Traditions of 



