There is a long; low; flat-topped; and prettily wooded eminence; that rises out of the middle of the bonny haughs of Kilmaichly; at some distance below the junction of the rivers Aven and Livat. I don’t remember that it has any particular name; but it looks; for all the world; like the fragment of some ancient plain; that must have been of much higher level than that from which it now rises; which fragment had been left; after the ground on each side of it had been worn down to its present level; by the changeful operations of the neighbouring streams. But whatever you geology gentlemen might say; as to what its origin might have been; every lover of nature must agree; that it is a very beautiful little hill; covered as its slopes are with graceful weeping birches; and other trees. The bushes that still remain; show that; in earlier times; it must have been thickly wooded with great oaks; which probably gave shelter to the ould auncient Druids; when engaged in their superstitious mysteries. At the period to which the greater part of my story belongs—that is; in and about that of the reign of King James the III.—the blue smoke that curled up from among the trees betrayed the existence of a cottage; that sat perched upon the brow of its western extremity; looking towards the Castle of Drummin. This little dwelling was much better built; and; in every respect; much neater than any of those in the surrounding district; and its interior exhibited more comforts as to furniture and plenishing of all sorts; and those too of a description; superior to any thing of the kind which a mere cottager might have been reasonably expected to have possessed.