But these causes, powerful and sufficient as they appear, were not the only ones to which we are to attribute the fall of this family. There were higher, more potent and less fallible causes at work, the existence of which, in the decline and fall of the family, it would be as impious to deny, as the attempt to describe the mode in which they operated, would be rash and presumptuous. The Christian believes, and the infidel feels and fears, the certainty of retributive justice. Its progress may be accelerated or protracted, but nothing is so certain in physical science,—in the investigations of the astrologer or the chemist; nor even in the certainty of the connection which must exist between cause and effect, as that justice will be done even upon earth; and that he who gives the assurance that the bread, which is thrown upon the waters, shall, after many days, return with increase, will as certainly punish "the iniquities of the father upon the children, even to the third and fourth generation."

Exposed to the operation of these agencies, and writhing under the withering influences of the unconcealed dislike of the clan, the openly expressed distrust of their neighbours, and what was still more galling to their feelings and pride, being openly bearded and defied by the worthless wretches who had been called into importance by their power and patronage, the Lairds of Borlum as they declined in power, became more remorseless. As the means of committing injustice became more limited, their passions became more fiendish and debased;—their infamy increased as their degradation was made more manifest;—their moral turpitude became more impervious as loss succeeded loss, and degradation followed degradation, until at last, like the ruined gambler of modern times, who has become involved in the vortex of play, and who resorts to one unfair trick after another, as his means melt away, despised and scouted by his former associates, he is forced to seek other company, among whom he may play a still more disreputable part,—the Mackintoshes gradually fell from their feudal power and lordly splendour, and were forced to leave

"The land o’er which they had ruled supreme,"

and take up their residence on the estate of Raitles in Badenoch, and sink from the dignified position of lairds levying black mail, to the less honourable profession of "taking purses, and going by the moon and seven stars."

At Raitles, or as it is now called Belleville, the last Laird of Borlum, Edward Mackintosh resided. In many respects he excelled most of his forefathers in ferocity, and was one of the most daring robbers that ever lived in the Highlands of Scotland. Within a mile and a half of the mansion-house, there is an artificial cave in which he and his band found a convenient and secure lurking place, from which to sally forth to rob travellers of their purses, and sometimes of their lives. In a recently published statistical account of Inverness-shire, will be found mention made of this cave, "It states that the excavation, when entire, amounted to 145 yards—was artificially built round with dry stones, and covered on the top with large gray flags, by a desperate band of depredators, commonly called Clannmagilleanoidh." Over the cave was erected a turf cottage, or dwelling-house, such as the people of the country inhabited at the time, the inmates of which enjoyed the confidence of the occupiers of the cave; were the depositaries of their secrets, and participated along with them in the spoil of the Macphersons.

In the now thriving village of Kingussie, in the immediate vicinity of the haunt of the Mackintoshes and their associates, there were at the time of which we write, but a few miserable, straggling huts, whose proximity to the cave imposed no check upon Borlum’s movements, but rather aided, than obstructed him in his bad and bold career; for it not unfrequently happened that travellers, whilst refreshing themselves at the little public-house in the village, were joined by some of Edward’s associates, who on such occasions kept the mountain dew in circulation, so as to make easier victims; and when the unfortunate traveller sallied forth to renew his journey, under the disadvantage of a glass too much, some of the gang were sure to waylay him, and ease him of his cash. For a long time, Edward and his lawless crew conducted their depredations with caution and secresy; but emboldened by impunity and success, they at length became recklessly daring, put the law at defiance, and committed crimes of the greatest enormity in open day, insomuch that the whole district was alarmed, and accounts of their crimes spread over the kingdom, and prevented travellers from going by that road. Nevertheless, there were no means taken to suppress the daring outrages daily committed by this band of highwaymen. On one occasion, Edward being informed by some of his satellites, that Mr Macgregor, factor or chamberlain for the Laird of Grant., was collecting the rents from the tenants in Glen Urquhart, thought it no bad concern to lay in wait for his return in the lonely, wild, and craggy rocks of Slochmuicht. Accordingly, he set out alone, thinking—being well armed, that he himself would easily overcome the worthy factor, and accomplish the object sought, viz., to rob him of all his money. In that obscure and wild retreat, he remained two days in the utmost anxiety. Mr Macgregor at last made his appearance, mounted on a Highland pony, accompanied by a trusty gillie. Edward Mackintosh immediately sprung from his hiding place, levelled and fired his piece, but as the factor anticipated that, Ned Mackintosh, or some of his party would be on the look out for securing a rich booty, he took the precaution of having himself and servant well armed; consequently, when the shot was fired, fortunately with no effect, the factor, in the true spirit of his namesake Rob Roy, returned the fire, and then challenged Ned to fight with claymore or pistol. Edward finding he was thus discovered, precipitately fled to his place of concealment, like a tiger disappointed of his prey, and Mr Macgregor was allowed to proceed in safety with his wallet well filled with bank notes, gold and silver, to Castle Grant. All were not so fortunate as Mr Macgregor, for sometime thereafter, a poor wandering and aged fiddler, who, besides supplying the surrounding country with his wares, was also the newsvender and chronicler of events, and who, from his honest principles and inoffensive humour, had become a favourite for many years with high and low, and familiar with all, had been waylaid, robbed, and murdered, as it was conjectured, by Ned Mackintosh or some of his companions, and his body afterwards buried in the sands of Spey side. Justice, though it may for a time be eluded, and sometimes frustrated, will eventually prevail, for

A drover of the name of John M’Rory, alias Macfarquhar, from the neighbourhood of Redcastle, Ross-shire, who had been for many years in the habit of driving cattle south by the Perth road and was reputed wealthy, was one time returning home from the southern markets, where he had been disposing of his cattle, and when two or three miles north of the now flourishing, clean, and populous village of Kingussie, was waylaid by Edward and (as he said) his illegitimate brother Alexander. M’Farquhar, or as he was more commonly called M’Rory, (by which last name we will abide), was rather an ugly customer to deal with, and in a fair stand up fight, would have paid any man in as sound a manner as he got. Edward, who was some distance in advance of his brother, commanded M’Rory to deliver up his purse, otherwise his life must pay the forfeit. M’Rory did not much relish either the proposition or the alternative; but ere he had time to speak, Edward’s hand had grasped his throat, and with the other, seized the bridle of the drover’s horse. M’Rory was fully sensible of his perilous situation. Alexander was hastening to his brother’s assistance, and was not many yards off, when to increase his fear and anxiety, the drover heard the tread of approaching footsteps caused no doubt by the advance of some more of the same gang. There was no time to lose—every thing depended upon expedition and self command. The drover raised his right hand to his throat, as if to grasp the oppressive hand of his antagonist, but in reality to cut his neckerchief with his knife. This done he passed his hand to the reins, and cut them; then clutching Ned by the throat, hurled him to the distance of some yards, and at the same moment applying the whip to his garron, made "twa pair of legs" worth one pair of hands. Bending his body down as far as possible on the neck of his nag, off he went at full speed. He did not, however, altogether escape scaithless, for ere he could get beyond the range of their fire the bullets whistled, as he afterwards declared, "like hailstanes aboot his lugs," some of which even penetrated his clothes, particularly his great coat, but fortunately no further. But for the thick quality and superabundant quantity of his apparel, Jock M’Rory might bid adieu to all terrestrial affairs. Upon his arrival in Inverness, he called upon the Sheriff, Mr Campbell of Delnies, (a gentleman to whom access at all times was easily obtained), to whom he communicated the particulars of his unpleasant encounter. A warrant was immediately issued, and placed in the hands of an officer, for the apprehension of Edward Mackintosh, and his brother Alexander, they being the only persons M’Rory had ever seen and could identify. Although the officer received injunctions to apprehend the Mackintoshes with the utmost secrecy and despatch, yet Edward contrived to get information of the warrant for his apprehension having been issued, and the directions for executing it given to the officer to whom it was intrusted, when he summoned a full attendance of his companions in crime to the house of Raitts, where he entertained them to a sumptuous supper and splendid ball, and early next morning took his departure for the south, escorted a number of miles by his comrades.

He remained in private for some weeks in the house of a friend in Edinburgh, and afterwards made good his escape to France, where, previous to the Revolution, he attained to some eminence in the army of that country, but his ultimate fate is unknown. Whether he took part in the tragedy which Europe beheld with horror and amazement enacted in a country holding the first place in the march of civilization, and in the bloody actions of which he was, by his recklessness and ferocity, so well calculated to take a prominent part, is also unknown. The star of his house arose amidst the darkness and the barbarity of the feudal times, and attained, with surprising velocity, a high altitude in power and in crime. In its progress it produced terror and destruction—the increasing light of advancing civilization gradually diminished its power, until, after more than three hundred years, it sank for ever, and their name

Although Edward Mackintosh, Laird of Borlum, as already mentioned, succeeded in effecting his escape, yet his illegitimate brother, Alexander, was apprehended and conveyed to Inverness, and, in due time, tried for robbery, and other crimes. He pleaded Not Guilty, and attempted to prove an alibi. The evidence of Macfarquhar, alias Macrory, as to the facts before detailed, and Alexander’s identity, was positive; and other witnesses were adduced on the part of the crown to corroborate, by circumstantial evidence, the testimony of the principal witness. Mackintosh produced several witnesses to prove that it was not he who fired at Macrory, and that he never in his life accompanied Edward in his lawless pursuits—his habits being quiet, peaceable, and honest. Some of these witnesses had been acquainted with Edward and his associates, and their evidence was therefore in a great degree disregarded. His counsel made an able and eloquent appeal in his behalf; but the charge of the judge—who, in summing up, told the jury that very little reliance was to be placed on the credibility of the witnesses for the defence—entirely removed the impression which the prisoner’s counsel had made; and from the positive testimony of Macrory, and the bad notoriety which the prisoner’s brother, Edward, and his companions had acquired, the jury, after some deliberation, returned a verdict of guilty. The prisoner heard the verdict with the same calm, and decent composure, which he manifested throughout the trial. The Court was crowded to suffocation, and great sympathy was manifested by the majority of the audience for the prisoner, whom they believed to be innocent, and none felt and sympathised more than the present narrator of those events. The most death-like silence pervaded the Court—every countenance reflected the awful solemnity which all felt, and, in slow and impressive accents, the Judge pronounced the dreadful sentence of the law—the most awful it can inflict—death. Even during the delivery of this terrible judgment—every word of which, sunk into the prisoner’s soul, and called forth tears of compassion and pity from many not used to the melting mood—even in this dreadful hour the prisoner flinched not—no weakness such as might have been expected on such an occasion manifested itself, and his fine, handsome form, clad in the humble grey thickset, or home-spun corded cloth, stood erect and firm, with that dignity so characteristic of the Highlanders on great and solemn occasions. Not a limb trembled—his look was sad, but steady, and not a muscle moved, except a slight quivering of the lip,— immoveable as a rock. Neither terrified nor dismayed by the awful scene around, he appeared the impersonation of manly fortitude and conscious innocence, bearing calamity without shrinking. When the Judge had ceased, Mackintosh, fixing his eyes steadily on him, solemnly and emphatically denied his guilt; and said, that although he had been guilty of many sins against his Maker, for which he hoped for forgiveness, he called that God before whom he must soon appear, to witness that he was as innocent of the crime for which he was condemned, as the infant at the breast. This declaration, at so serious a moment, and with a certain and ignominious death before him, produced a strong impression on the audience, which was increased by pity and commiseration for his wife and family. His wife was a mild and gentle creature, and in every respect a most amiable woman. The prisoner was removed from the bar amidst the prayers and blessings, both loud and deep, of the greater portion of the audience.

At length, the day of Mackintosh’s execution arrived. How solemn was that dreadful day! Such as could leave their avocations did so in the morning, and paraded the streets in gloomy silence, or, if they spoke, it was only in whispers. By twelve o’clock the streets were almost entirely deserted, and nearly half the population of the town and neighbourhood was collected round the gibbet. It was erected at Muirfield, a little above the town, upon the top of the hill,

and on which several splendid villas, have recently been built. It was then, however, bare and naked—its desolate and cheerless appearance, suiting well to the appalling scene that was about to take place. The day was cold and cloudy. The spectators, ranged around, looked with anxious fear on the unconscious instruments of death. At length, the culprit, accompanied by two clergymen (the Rev. Messrs Fraser and Mackenzie), the magistrates, and a strong posse of constables, appeared. Mackintosh ascended the fatal ladder with a steady and firm step and stared vacantly around—he appeared overwhelmed by internal agony—his face was pale, and large drops of perspiration rolled down his cheeks. The Rev. Murdo Mackenzie almost immediately commenced to discharge his sad duty. He began by prayer, to which the culprit listened with the utmost attention, and his countenance became more settled, as if communing with his Maker, and composing his soul. After prayer a psalm was sung, the voices of the assembled multitude raising in solemn consonance into the air. Methought, says John, the very wind wafted the heart-giving offering to the Throne on high. Mr Fraser thereafter read a text, and commented upon it at considerable length. The subject of discourse was the great merit of the Redeemer’s blood; and, as he proceeded, with great earnestness and animation, he consoled, cherished, and elevated the culprit’s soul, by expatiating on the goodness and infinite mercy of God, and the efficiency, as well as the universality of the Redeemer’s sacrifice. After this, another psalm was sung, and the Divine again concluded by praying, in so earnest and pathetic a manner as to draw tears from young and old. All eyes were now rivetted on the person of the unfortunate victim. The executioner slowly adjusted the noose and pulled down the white cap over his face, The feeling of the crowd was intense—no one breathed—a load oppressed all,—the brain became giddy, and every faculty, physical and mental, seemed convulsed when the culprit’s voice broke in accents of piercing agony upon the ear, and sunk into the heart—the last words he uttered were—"Oh, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I come." The sound was still murmuring in the breeze when the crowd were startled by a short, sharp knock, or jerk—a something falling, but not distinctly seen, that

and the culprit’s lifeless body was swinging in the wind, and his soul winging its flight into the mansions of eternity. With mingled feelings of sorrow and horror, the multitude slowly and silently dispersed, many, if not most of the company, placing a small piece of bread under a stone, which, according to a superstitious tradition, would prevent after-dreams of the unfortunate Alexander Mackintosh.

Notwithstanding the harsh and persevering attempts of every successive Government—from the accession of William the Third to the throne, down to the period of which we write—to destroy the feudal power of the chiefs, and to extirpate that feeling of clanship which had so long and so powerfully prevailed amongst the Highlanders, they still secretly, and sometimes openly, maintained their attachment to their chief, and their friendly and brotherly feeling to their namesakes and clansmen. Neither the Disarming Act nor the defeat at Culloden had extinguished this species of filial feeling between the members of the same clan, and although the law was now too powerful to permit this feeling to display itself on an extensive scale in the open field, still it manifested itself not unfrequently at fairs and district gatherings—sometimes at marriages and funerals—and at times in the everyday business of ordinary life. The clan Mackintosh, in particular, had preserved with the utmost tenacity that spirit of clanship; and the disgrace which, the execution of even an illegitimate member of the clan was supposed to bring upon the whole, was sensitively and painfully felt by them, and yet though they knew the fruitlessness of any attempt to impede or obstruct the course of justice, a few of them, resident in and about the town of Inverness, came to the determination of preventing any long continuance of the exposure of the body, by cutting it down and interring it. Amongst the number was William Mackintosh, a dyer, better known by the name of "Muckle Willie the Dyster," who, from his daring and great strength, was looked upon as a leader. The day, as we have said, had been cold and cloudy, and towards evening, showers of drizzling rain began to fall, the wind gradually increased, and about seven o’clock, when the dyer and his companions thought it safe to put their purpose into execution, it swept along, in strong gusts. The night was very dark—not a star was to be seen—and as the Mackintoshes stole cautiously out of the town, they, in an under tone, congratulated each other, that the night was so favourable for their design. They walked circumspectly and slowly until they reached the burn of Aultnaskiach, when they proceeded up the bed of the burn until they arrived at the bridge which crosses it, beyond the late Provost Robertson’s house. From that place they crept, rather than walked, over the barren heath, in the direction of the gallows. The eager dyer, in the exuberant ardour of his feelings for the honour of the clan, urged upon his companions (some of whom he perceived to be getting faint-hearted) to be firm and resolute, and stand by him; telling them that the honour of the "clan was at stake, and that not a moment was to be lost. They did not, however, much relish Willie’s proposition and appeal, but insisted on the necessity of caution. Whilst the ardent dyer was thus endeavouring to convince his associates, the whole party (with exception of the dyer,) were almost transfixed with fear, by hearing a short, hard, screeching sound, at no great distance from them. The clansmen stood statue-stiff—each held his breath—every one listened attentively to catch the faintest sound—every eye was strained to penetrate the darkness of the night, to discover the cause of the interruption—every heart beat with fear and apprehension; and a cold, clammy sweat trickled down their cheeks. For upwards of a minute the whole party stood fixed and mute—nothing was to be seen—nothing heard, save the whistling of the wind, and the grating sound produced by the swinging of the iron cage wherein the body was suspended. The party, however, seeing it like a black cloud hanging in the horizon above their heads, became irresolute and discouraged, and were on the eve of returning home, when Willie broke the silence by a very unceremonious "Pooh, you heard nothing but the wind. If there was any noise, why did I not hear it too? Come, come, let us do our work, and the— tak’ the hinmost." On this, they feebly and slowly followed Willie, who sprang to the post, and climbing up with the agility a cat would a mountain, was speedily sitting on the top, undoing the fastenings, and in a few minutes the cage, with its contents, fell at the feet of his companions with a crash, which they afterwards solemnly declared shook the earth under them. The body was taken out of the cage with the utmost despatch, and carried across the moor to the bank of the burn. Here they made a hole in the sand with their hands, in which the body was deposited, and covering it over, returned to their dwellings, inwardly congratulating themselves that so disagreeable and dangerous a piece of business was ended, and resolving never again to be engaged in such an enterprise, under any circumstances whatever. In the morning, when it was discovered that the body of Alister Mackintosh had been taken away during the night, a reward of five pounds was immediately offered to any person who should discover the perpetrators of this daring act, and considerable excitement was created in the town by the circumstance. Towards evening, a claimant appeared in the person of Little Tibbie, the wife of Archy the Waterman. She had been at Aultnaskiach burn for sand, and, to her amazement, discovered the stolen body of Mackintosh. She, with great speed, repaired to the town to claim the reward, and, burning with the importance of her discovery and anticipated reward, roared out as she ran—"Oh, sirs, sirs, Saunders Mackintosh’s body!" She proceeded to the house of the Provost, who himself was a clansman; but a faithful clansman, who had heard Tibbie proclaiming the discovery she had made, arrived at the residence of the Provost before her, and communicated the disagreeable tidings that Saunders’ body had been found. The Provost, although obliged in the discharge of his duty to offer the reward, was by no means sorry that the body of his namesake had been taken down, and there were some who even insinuated that he was the instigator of the act himself. Be that however as it may; when Tibbie made her appearance before the Provost, she was not only coldly received, and the promised reward flatly refused, but she was likely to have more kicks than halfpence; for she was threatened with a night’s lodging in the blackhole. In the meantime, another party of the clan, headed by the ever ready dyer, proceeded with the greatest expedition to Aultnaskiach burn, and removed the body to Campfield, where it was again interred, and allowed to remain.

The narrator relates the singular occurrence of a descendant of the Borlum family, whose life had been forfeited to the law, being buried not many yards from the spot where Provost Junor was assassinated, more than two centuries before, and he does not fail to ascribe to the Great Ruler of Events the circumstance which thus so forcibly realised the truth of the commandment, that the "Sins of the father shall be visited upon the children to the third and fourth generation." Standing upon this spot, and recalling to memory the former pride, power, and cruelty of the Mackintoshes of Borlum—their subsequent misfortunes and disgrace—how variable appear the vicissitudes of human affairs, and the danger and instability of human greatness, and over the grave of the unfortunate Alister, how appropriate would be the line,

"Proud lineage! now how little thou appearest."

The widow and children of Alister were amply provided for in every respect, by the humane and patriotic Bailie Inglis, a gentleman who was continually

The eldest son, James, entered the Gordon Fencibles, and was speedily promoted, but soon thereafter died. He was truly a worthy young man. Edward, the second son, entered the navy, but the Inverness historian never heard what his ultimate fate was. There was also a daughter, who, after being educated in all the branches of education suitable to a lady of rank, repaired to the south. She was an amiable girl, and very much respected by all the gentry of the town and neighbourhood.

That Alister Mackintosh was innocent, was very generally believed at the trial, but the subsequent fate of M’Rory increased and confirmed the suspicion. The latter very rapidly sunk in general estimation. His respectability and supposed wealth quickly left him, until at last he became a solitary outcast; in the midst of society stamped with the brands of perjury and murder; and a few years after the execution of poor Alister, he terminated his miserable existence in the village of Beauly.