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Updated: May 8, 2025
At last M'Iver rapped on the door and demanded attention. "Is there any one there with the English?" he asked. The gentleman of Dalness answered that he could speak English with the best cateran ever came out of MacCailein Mor's country, and he called for instant release, with a menace added that Hell itself could not excel the punishment for us if they were kept much longer under lock and bar.
Patrick Mor's seven brave sons could have been no more to him than her six tall lads had been to her; and now the last of them was going away from her. "Do you know," said Janet, quickly, to her cousin across the table, "that it is said no piper in the West Highlands can play 'Lord Lovat's Lament' like our Donald?" "Oh yes, he plays it very well; and he has got a good step," Macleod said.
Then she lived in Mor's Home and she watched With pride her sons and her crop, Till one day the wish in her grew To view from the mountain-top All, all that she owned, so she Traveled without any stop. And what did she see? A thousand Fields and her own fields small, small! "What a fine and wide place is Eirinn," said she, "I am Mor, but not great after all."
Para Mor's unfortunate gentleman was the only living person to see when we looked into the gut, and he was too little that way to say much about. Para had fired for the head, but struck lower, so that the scout writhed to his end with a red-hot coal among his last morning's viands.
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