CHAPTER VII. 



THE BBAEMAE GATHEEING. 



Breathes there a man, with soul so dead, 

 Who never to himself hath said, 



This is my own, my native land ! 

 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 

 As home his footsteps he hath turned 



From wandering on a foreign strand. 

 If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 

 For him no minstrel raptures swell ; 

 High though his titles, proud his name, 

 Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 

 Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 

 The wretch, concentered all in self, 

 Living shall forfeit fair renown, 

 And doubly dying, shall go down 

 To the vile dust, from which he sprung, 

 Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung. 



Lay of the Last Minstrel 



IP you would see pride of nationality displayed, historic 

 traditions observed, and old feelings of clanship 

 maintained,, then attend the annual gathering at the 

 Castletown of Braemar ; and note well the bearing of 

 the braw Hielanders, retainers of the Laird of Inver- 

 cauld and the Earl of Fife, when they march on the 

 ground with banners flying to the martial music of the 

 bagpipes, in order to take part in the athletic games 



