office, but we found no letter from you, though I expected to find one awaiting me when I arrived.  I wrote last on Friday.  I merely want to know once how you are, and if all is well I shall move onward.  It is of not much use staying here.

After I had written to you on Friday I crossed by the ferry over the Firth and walked to Beauly, and from thence to Beaufort or Castle

Downie.  At Beauly I saw the gate of the pit where old Fraser used to put the people whom he owed money to—it is in the old ruined cathedral, and at Beaufort saw the ruins of the house where he was born.  Lord Lovat lives in the house close by.  There is now a claimant to the title, a descendant of old Fraser’s elder brother who committed a murder in the year 1690, and on that account fled to South Wales.  The present family are rather uneasy, and so are their friends, of whom they have a great number, for though they are flaming Papists they are very free of their money.  I have told several of their cousins that the claimant has not a chance as the present family have been so long in possession.  They almost blessed me for saying so.  There, however, can be very little doubt that the title and estate, more than a million acres, belong to the claimant by strict law.  Old Fraser’s brother was called Black

John of the Tasser.  The man whom he killed was a piper who sang an insulting song to him at a wedding.  I have heard the words and have translated them; he was dressed very finely, and the piper sang:

You’re dressed in Highland robes, O John,
   But ropes of straw would become ye better;
You’ve silver buckles your shoes upon
   But leather thongs for them were fitter.

Whereupon John drew his dagger and ran it into the piper’s belly; the descendants of the piper are still living at Beauly.  I walked that day thirty-four miles between noon and ten o’clock at night.  My letter of credit is here.  This is a dear place, but not so bad as Edinburgh.  If you have written, don’t write any more till you hear from me again.

God bless you and Hen.
George Borrow.

Letter VII.

Inverness,
September 30th, [1858].

Dear Carreta,

I write another line to tell you that I have got your second letter—it came just in time, as I leave to-morrow.  In your next, address to George Borrow, Post Office, Tobermory, Isle of Mull, Scotland.  You had, however, better write without delay, as I don’t know how long I may be there; and be sure only to write once.  I am glad we have got such a desirable tenant for our Maltings, and should be happy to hear that the cottage was also let so well.  However, let us be grateful for what has been accomplished.

I hope you wrote to Cooke as I desired you, and likewise said something about how I had waited for Murray.  Between ourselves that account of theirs was a shameful one, whatever they may say.

I met to-day a very fat gentleman from Caithness, at the very north of Scotland; he said he was descended from the Norse.  I talked to him about them, and he was so pleased with my conversation that he gave me his card, and begged that I would visit him if I went there.  As I could do no less, I showed him my card—I had but one—and he no sooner saw the name than he was in a rapture.

I am rather glad that you have got the next door, as the locality is highly respectable.  Tell Hen